Despite the fact that we are stampeding through this century with new technologies that isolate and consume us, old Hollywood is still a major player with it comes to the battle for our souls. In the past, their studio chieftans gave us epic heroes like Ronald Reagan and Charlton Heston. They gave us charlatans selling bunk fantasies like Tom Cruise and his Scientology. They have used their incredible power unscrupulously to promote sex (Madonna) and perversion (Elton John). Yet in the midst of our current cultural and economic crisis there is one danger that is subtler than the violence and drugs that is normal fare for major motion pictures these days. That danger is represented in the actor known as Bill Murray.
What this man symbolizes is far more ruinous than California’s buffet dinner of liberal socialist philosophies, homosexual lifestyles and pre-teen consumerism. No, what Bill Murray means to America is the acceptance and celebration of an ultimate apathy. He is a weak man, a murderer of lambs, a despicable hedonist who waves the white flag welcoming the end of American moral and economic primacy. He is a harbinger of our death as a culture, the death of that preëminent philosophy of faith married to capitalism that has saved the world countless times from repression and annihilation. Bill Murray is a fatal disease and the sad news we bring you today is that your children have been infected.
HOLLYWOOD HORSEMAN OF THE AMERICAN APOCALYPSE
Celebrity Murray is a sleazy slacker, a hero to “hipsters,” an icon of the unemployed. From his role as the potsmoking day laborer in Caddyshack to the hermaphrodite in Ed Wood to the sex-crazed pervert pushing demonology in Ghostbussers, to the lusty elderly hotel guest in Lost In Translation, Murray has explored every cranny of shamefulness. He never appears clean cut or sober, never moral or compassionate. He is a hollow man, a two-dimensional figure mirroring contemporary society’s addiction to half-hearted hedonism (i.e. those too drunk to rape). Despite this, his fame has steamrolled to the point where he is now one of the most beloved characters for the 15-35 male demographic, commanding an incalculable power over the futures of our children and consequently America (though, in true Bill Murray fashion, his fans are too lazy to have set up even one unique fansite for him).
When you see this man on screen, his eyes wander all over you like a caged New York City rat. They seek out your curves and muscles with eerie desire. Those are not the eyes of someone you can trust. His mischievous grin suggests rape and sex and wanting to violate any thing he comes into contact with in the dead of night. He seems willing to say whatever it takes to get you where he wants to go, both physically and intellectually. Many of my fellow journalists have reported their fear of this man and his wicked charm, the way he works his way into the depths of your life, gets you to confess your darkest secrets. (See “Dinner With Bill Murray: A Party Reporter’s Guide” and “Here’s More Evidence That Bill Murray Is Awesome”.)
He has also been spotted by gossip reporters and police investigators showing up uninvited at “hipster” parties in places like Williamsburg, Brooklyn, once a Jewish enclave now a secret community of bearded 20-somethings wasting their parent’s hard-earned money on cocaine and clothes. Yes, he likes to slip into crowds half his age, squeeze the smooth young legs of Sarah Lawrence grads while joking with indie-band drummers about German poets, groping young men in Union Square Park, asking for change and warning them to tell no one, or singing to Japanese schoolgirls as they shower. One notorious urban legend recounts how Murray encouraged a subway train of young people to strip off their pants at midnight while he sang to them. (Evidence: “Sad Bill Murray: Accosting People In Union Square” and “Bill Murray Reads Poetry to Construction Workers”.)
THE BILL MURRAY EXPERIENCE
Mr. Murray likes to play the gentle, befuddled older man, one who could ask a child to help him find a puppy in a quiet corner of a public park. Yet once you agree, it’s too late. You’ve been drawn into his celebrity orbit, like some delicious secret Bill has deigned to share with the modest creature that is you. Yes, this is the Bill Murray experience, showering the simple with his celebrity charm in the dark alleyways of America. But what is the endpoint here? The pattern is familiar to criminologists and it’s not hard to draw similarities to the lives of Jeffrey Dahlmer or John Wayne Gacy. Murray has not yet been charged with anything more than narcotic arrests and drunk driving, but at the very least parents should be deeply concerned. Is it not better to be safe than sorry when dealing with a man who may be the next national scandal for his bloodthirst and perversion? Would you not do everything in your power to protect your children from death and failure?
In an era when honest, clean hard work makes the most righteous of our youth generation rise to the top, this man Murray represents the scum of the bottom. We need heroes to inspire our children to excel in math and sports, to stand muscle to muscle with those hearty Russians, brain to brain with the human calculators of China. We need American heroes who hark back to the greatest era of Christian morality and innovation, the men who protected the planet from the scourge of Soviet communism while simultaneously inventing the personal computer and the internet.
Instead, we have boozy Bill Murray on our screens, luring young teens to jump in to his musty van of laziness. He seems to say it’s okay to be white and old and a fool because this country is good and will reward you your failure (welfare?). No, this is wrong. We need adults who act like adults: grandfathers who impart patriotism on their offspring, dedicated employees who keep the engines of our economy greased irregardless of their aging, noble gentlemen who are humble before their great God. We do not need perverts like Bill Murray lusting after our beautiful children with a reckless almost urgent need to tear them from innocence so he can insanely explore his lost, burning childhood on their soft bodies on old couches in dirty apartments in the ghettos of America. What have we lost? What will we ever gain? What does it mean when we say that Jesus died for our sins? What has happened to the country I once loved!
America needs to boycott Bill Murray and do it now! Peel back the layers of this aging man: slapstick comedian, jaded movie star, imperious intellectual, notorious bon vivant, restless wanderer in the dark, slick self-promoter… Have you reached the core yet? Is he hollow? Or has Bill Murray come to the grand revelation himself that he is desperately clawing against his own mortality with half-hearted sexual perversion and intellectual degeneracy, wandering drunken through the night, without passion or direction, already lost to the game of life. He is defeat. He has given up making meaningful gestures of faith or righteousness to instead nest in those small moments of self-satisfaction before he slips into the quiet bosom of obscurity. There is no denying that this grotesque and dangerous creature can be described as nothing less than one of the four horsemen of America’s impending Apocalypse.
“I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the seven living creatures say in a voice like thunder, ‘Come!’ I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on Conquest.” –Revelation 6:1-2.