Saturday, September 12, 2020

The Cat's-Paw

A man raised in China by missionaries suddenly finds himself in New York, his first trip back home to the States since he was but the weest lad.

Unaccustomed to anything besides a life of study in rural environs, he accidentally finds himself running to become mayor of the bustling city.

The party he represents is controlled by their opposition, and was instructed to find a candidate who would without a doubt most certainly lose.

But as fate would have it through blind dumb luck he aptly wins race, and proceeds to set the highest bar altruistically apace.

He's also searching for a wife to one day bring back to Asia, and meets a streetwise countergirl breathtaking poised regalia.

Having no knowledge of worldly affairs and even less of bureaucratic intrigue, he governs according to the philosophy of Ling Po, a Chinese sage he's studied exhaustively. 

His alternative methods disgruntle his adversaries who are used to the status quo, and unfamiliar with philosophy, and none too pleased with all the extra work.

They take advantage of Ezekiel's (Harold Lloyd) innocence and soon he's the victim of a scandal.

To which he fluidly responds with an ancient epic gamble.

The Cat's-Paw's wondrous naive enthusiasm generates holistic applause, as working solutions combat corruption in a metamorphic state of bureaucratic nature.

Ezekiel applies his knowledge with well-meaning bold intent, and finds effective cost cutting measures that encourage less dependent fiscal enterprise.

It's fun to watch as a sheltered intellectual governs with no strings attached, his worldly shocked advisors in a constant state of panic.

A sense of calm restorative ease ascends as he honestly settles the score, like deficits and graft and cons will fade forevermore.

But for every wide-eyed dreamer who ably governs through ancient texts, a hundred more and then some keep them historically in check.

Certainly old school writings can influence the present, but when they outstrip their mortal bonds things become rather unpleasant.

That is, new sets of circumstances inevitably emerge (an overpopulated planet, extremely stressed environmental resources) to which the antiquated writings cannot be applied, and if cultures need new strategies to solve the unprecedented problems, a reliance upon ancient texts can be problematic.

You would think they would simply adapt to reasonable scientific observation.

But that doesn't seem to happen.

Perennially at odds, no progress, no quarter. 

No comments: