Jerry's Ink

SEE NO EVIL, HEAR NO EVIL




I saw an incredibly funny movie on television the other night called See No Evil, Hear No Evil. The film stars Richard Pryor as a blind man and Gene Wilder as a deaf man who work together to solve a murder.

There’s a hilarious scene where the Pryor character, named Wally (who refuses to admit he’s totally blind), is in a bar fight with a bully whom he cannot see, and he is being directed on where to swing by Wilder’s character, named Dave, who can see but cannot hear. While I was watching it, I laughed more than I have laughed in a long time.

When it was over, I had a horrible thought: this wonderful movie was made in 1989. It can never be made again.

Why? Because Hollywood, which is the center of the politically correct world, would never allow it to be made, and the politically correct Nazi zombies who have taken over our lives would march against it. Also marching will be groups who represent the blind and groups who represent the deaf. Let’s not forget the Facebook fascists and humorless angry liberals who haven’t smiled since the year 2000 who will march, because to them nothing is funny.

Thank God for Trump, who is a horrible jerk and a menace, but he’s the only thing that the PC liberals allow themselves to laugh about these days. No joke about Trump or his family is ever deemed to be too tasteless by these rulers of taste.

When did everyone become so sensitive?

For me, it started when they murdered Charlie Chan.

I used to love Charlie Chan. Poor Charlie was one of the first victims of the politically correct mafia.

In case you’re too young to remember, he was the jolly little round Chinese detective in those great mystery movies of the 1930s, ‘40s and ‘50s. They kicked him off the tube years ago.
Charlie Chan movies were all pretty much alike. There was a murder, and Charlie Chan was called in to solve it. The killer was usually a guy with a mustache. That was the formula for the B-movies of that era. FH=M. Facial Hair equals Murderer.

Charlie Chan was assisted by his Number 1 son and by his driver, Birmingham Brown. Both the kid and the driver were frightened, blithering idiots. Charlie spent most of the time giving us his corny “Confucius say” fortune-cookie sayings that are not unlike the great philosophical insights we now see written on our bumper stickers and T-shirts.

What I found fascinating was that you never saw a bullet hole, or blood or violence in those movies. There’s always a scene where someone would say, “I know who the killer is. It’s . . . it’s . . .” Then you saw a close-up of a gun. Then the lights went out, and then a shot rang out. And the person who was about to give the evidence was crumpled in a heap on the floor. Then Charlie kneeled over the body and said, “He’s dead. Killer is both clever and cunning. No one leave room, please.”

Charlie always got his man. But then one day Charlie Chan was murdered in cold blood. Killed by those people who decided Charlie Chan movies were not politically correct and you and I could not be allowed to see them.

Asians hated that he was a stereotypical Chinese man. He spoke with a Chinese accent. It didn’t help that Charlie Chan was played by Caucasians (Sidney Toler and Roland Winters), who were pretending to be Chinese.

The PC hated that his Number 1 son was a dope and was probably the first Chinese person in history who wasn’t good at math. (How’s that for a stereotype?) Black groups hated the fact that he had a driver and the driver was black and was something of a boob. The holier-than-thou political groups marched against Charlie Chan. Grown men got up and made speeches against Charlie and all that he stood for.

In time, not one single television station in the country would carry these movies because no one folds faster than a broadcaster when faced with the slightest bit of pressure.

Now, one of the detective movie series they continued to show over the years was Sherlock Holmes with Basil Rathbone, a South African, as Sherlock and Nigel Bruce as Dr. Watson, his “partner.” I was always suspicious of the Holmes/Watson living-together relationship, and I guess it’s safe to say that today the two of them couldn’t get their wedding blessed by Vice President Mike Pence.
The author Loren Estleman wrote of Dr. Watson: “If a mop bucket appeared in a scene, his foot would be inside it, and if by some sardonic twist of fate, he managed to stumble upon an important clue, he could be depended upon to blow his nose on it and throw it away.”

But WASPs didn’t picket the television stations because Dr. Watson was a bit of dope. In fact, there is no record of any WASPs picketing anything because a fellow WASP is portrayed as a dope.

This leads me to believe that either WASPs aren’t very organized, or that they feel that they have more dopes than any other group, or they’ve been around so long they don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of them. Anyway, WASPs are the only group in the world who haven’t protested anything since their last great success, the Boston Tea Party. Let’s hear it for WASPs.

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