https://www.frontpagemag.com/david-mamets-tribute-to-trump/
Like the late David Horowitz, David Mamet, now 77, was a red-diaper baby who, after spending the first act of his career as a prominent member of the left, eventually had second thoughts. Horowitz announced his change of mind in a 1985 Washington Post article, co-authored with his writing partner Peter Collier, headlined “Lefties for Reagan”; Mamet went public with his own political metamorphosis in a 2008 Village Voice essay entitled “Why I Am No Longer a ‘Brain-Dead Liberal.’” In the years since, Mamet, whose oeuvre already included first-rate plays like Glengarry Glen Ross (1984) and top-notch screenplays like Wag the Dog (1997) and Hannibal (2001), has published a slew of wise – and wise-ass – books about politics, culture, and the arts, including Recessional (2022), which I summed up as follows: “What, you ask, does he write about? Answer: What doesn’t he write about?”
Like Recessional, Mamet’s new collection of essays, The Disenlightenment: Politics, Horror, and Entertainment, also covers a wide range of topics: the glories of his hometown, the Windy City (“The culture of the Western world is American, which is to say Chicagoan”); the destructiveness of American schools under the aegis of the Department of Education; the mediocrity of poetry (or, at least, New Yorker poetry); the corruption of art museums; the the fraudulence of climate-change orthodoxy; the greatness of Shakespeare; the nature of heaven. While I agree with Mamet almost all the time, I must admit that I dissent from a handful of his robust assertions. “Government, like Circe, turns men into swine,” he states. Does it really? Or does it instead, I wonder, attract men who already are swine?
Unsurprisingly, given his long career as a Hollywood writer and director, many of Mamet’s reflections are about cinema (which was the focus of his delightful 2024 book Everywhere an Oink Oink): the preposterousness of the current Oscar rules, which demand that the credits of nominated pictures include a certain number of minority-group members; the lameness of most of today’s film dialogue (“few,” he insists, “can write dramatic dialogue”) and film music (nowadays, he feels, “all film scores sound alike”); and the absurdity of the concept of “Method acting” (“there is no such thing as ‘The Method’”). Ditto on all counts, although I beg to disagree, again, with the claim that the imposition of the Motion Picture Production Code (1934–68) resulted in three decades of cinematic “drivel.” Drivel? Casablanca? Random Harvest? The Good Earth? Citizen Kane? Really?