If Memory Swerves, ‘twas on this day in history—December 7—that a fake-believe retelling of “Pearl Harbour” descended upon an unsus- pecting public, exacting a grave toll of human suffering. The flycasting was bloody merciless: Celebrity Bostonian Ben Aflac as a dashing and daring flyboy, Cuban footballer Rod Tidwell as a celebrated war hero, Josh Somebody as a spit-polished chiselhead whose line readings were stiffer than the starch in his fitted uniform. Bloody hell, gents, show me the acting. Also on hand for the jest-ivities were unconvincing scene-chewer-uppers Dr. Dan “Detroit” Akroyd and Alex Basinger Baldwin as senior military officials, sweating their fat, white-panted arses off on the tropical military base. Blimey, sound the 21-gun sa- lute. The only thing I found believable in this cinematic shellacking was English beauty Kate Beckinsdale as a civilian war nurse, but when she ended up on a Tennessee farm with Aflac, I stormed out of the theatre in outrage. Methinks those who lost their lives so that “Pearl Harbour” might be etched onto celluloid deserved far better. While I’m as sentimental about wartime conflict as the next uniformed of- ficial, you’ll forgive me if I don’t get down on one knee—and risk rup- turing my outstretched ballbag—to honour this shameful assault on the senses and wallets of decent citizenry who hired the babysitter, sprang for the undiscounted tickets, the tub of oily, popped corn and large sodie with two straws to sit in a narrow cine-flex—in equally, squeakily narrow Lazy Boy rockers—to witness a phony baloney reenactment of one of history’s darkest days? You want a war film? Rent the video cassette recording of “Zulu” with Michael Caine, or “The Green Berets” with Charlie Heston or possibly John Wayne, or “Kelly’s Heroes,” featuring the inimitable Theo Kojak. Noble chaps doing their battling best in glorious Technicolor and/or Pandavision. Bad Lieutenants Michael Fey and Jerry Bruckheimer can bloody well go to hell with bayonets up their arses.
