However, I piped up about "Shenandoah" the other day to my father, who deemed it "okay". I hadn't seen "Shenandoah" since I was about, oh... eight. At the latest. But, quite naturally, my interest was piqued by the ringing endorsement of the Mises site. To wit:

Shenandoah (1965)
This film starring Jimmy Stewart portrays a widower named Anderson at the time of the War between the States who refuses to join either side and just wants to be left alone. His crusty independence and anti-war attitude have made this film a libertarian favourite. As an exercise in nostalgia, Mr. Anderson's rugged individualism is enjoyable. But don't forget how impractical it is... What if Americans all started minding their own business like him? Imagine if all Americans, like Mr. Anderson, focussed primarily on raising virtuous, hard-working children and cultivating their own property instead of "accepting responsibility" as world leaders and getting involved in every two-bit border conflict on the globe and starving Iraqi children out. Here's some favourite quotes from the film:
"Virginia needs all of her sons, Mr. Anderson."
"That might be so, Johnson. But these are my sons. They don't belong to
the state. We never asked anything of the state & never expected anything."
"What's confiscate mean, Pa?" "Steal."
"Like all wars I suppose... The undertakers are winning it."
Well, damn it. I'm easy prey to these kinds of endorsements. So, I fed the Missus' bad Pop Punk/Emo habit by plunking down way too much money for the new A.F.I. disc and the two films for my father as well. He might be underwhelmed at the notion of getting "Shenandoah" for Christmas, but I dare postulate he ought to be thankful he got anything at all from his ingrate son and that, together, we will enjoy the shared experience of watching "Shenandoah", in all its individualist Technicolor glory, on Christmas afternoon while the shorties are obsoleting their new action figures.
And speaking of A.F.I., let me echo the words of Amazon customer "Scudpool":
"How does a band who's written great punk anthems like 'I Wanna Get A Mowhawk (But My Mom Won't Let Me)' end up writing sappy feel-sorry-for-yourself junk like 'The Great Disappointment'?"
My sympathy goes out to Scudpool, wherever he is.
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