Jun 15, 2013


 Undoubtedly, if the white working-class and white bourgeois united as an anti-leftist, anti-globalist collective, they would take America back virtually instantaneously and start reversing its decided degeneration via multicultural third worldization and Hebraic Hollywoodization and such a sweet scenario seemed to be deranged Jewish screenwriter Henry Wexler’s worst nightmare, at least if one were to judge by his screenplay for Joe (1970) directed by Hollywood ‘for hire’ hack John G. Avildsen (Rocky, The Karate Kid). Joe is the ultra cynical celluloid tale of a corporate executive Wasp type who accidentally kills his daughter’s drug dealer boyfriend and subsequently joins up with a blue collar bro named Joe of the seemingly Irish-American sort who respects the banal bourgeois boob for wasting a piece of hippie shit. Penned by a man whose own daughter described him as “a brilliant man with an IQ of 180 and a Russian-Jewish immigrant drive” and that was "capable of emptying a 13th-floor hotel room on to the street and announcing on a plane his intention to kill President Nixon, inciting the FBI to arrest him. Horrified by her son’s mental illness and consumed with guilt and shame, my grandmother committed suicide,” Joe is certainly a work scripted by a man who simultaneously hates the Anglo-Saxon bourgeois in a Trotskyite fashion, but also the white working-class in a rich kosher capitalist manner, which he portrays as being nothing short of barbaric and vulgar, especially in regard to the film’s 'white and proud' title character. Quite similar to Paul Schrader’s Hardcore (1979) in its depiction of members of an older and more self-restrained generation entering the decidedly debauched counter-culture realm of the boobtube-brainwashed baby boomers—the first generation brought up on and brainwashed by TV and arguably the most spoiled generation in all of human history, hence their self-righteous need to turn America, as well as the Occident, into the corrupt cosmopolitan cesspool it is today—Joe shows the needlessly nasty results of what happens when a concerned and respectable father attempts to save his daughter from a life of drug addiction, loveless sex, and borderline poverty. Of course, before he knows it, at least according to Wexler’s Hebraic logic, the traditional western man's hippie hating also leads to nigger and faggot hatred, as well as coldblooded murder of the totally nonsensical sort. Luckily, Joe backfired on its crazy kosher creators because instead of working to vilify the anti-liberal anti-heroes as intended by Wexler, many viewers saw the flower child killers of the film as all-American heroes , so much so that star Peter Boyle was rather perturbed to witness audience members cheering on his character's homicidal liquidation of an entire house of hedonistic hippies. Starring Susan Sarandon in her debut role as a naïve hippie poser who takes too much speed and has a ‘bad trip’ at a grocery store, Joe, despite the political campaign of its director and screenwriter, is indubitably a therapeutic piece of accidentally politically incorrect carnage that delivers shotgun bullets to the degeneration generation of peace and love and other phony self-absorbed pseudo-cultural swill. 

 Despite growing up comfortably in a rather wealthy family from New York's Upper East Side, brainwashed would-be-beatnik broad Melissa (Susan Sarandon) has decided of her own free will to live in near destitution with her heroin addicted, drug dealer boyfriend, who is such a good boyfriend that he virtually enslaves his girlfriend with a candy bowl full of drugs. After taking a little too much speed, Melissa has an unbecoming public freak out at a mom-and-pop grocery store and is hospitalized, which infuriates her father, stoic Bill Compton (Dennis Patrick), who goes to his daughter’s ghetto apartment to collect her stuff and ultimately runs into the jaded junky boyfriend, thus resulting in a confrontation that thankfully leaves one dirty hippie dead. Bill gathers up the drugs he finds laying around the apartment and goes to a blue collar bar where he runs into American ‘everyman’ Joe Curran (Peter Boyle), a crudely charismatic working-class mick fellow who loves to rant about his sheer and utter hatred for fags, queers, nigs, social workers, and the young in general. As far as gentleman Joe is concerned, “The niggers, the niggers are gettin’ all da money. Why work, tell me, why the fuck work, when you can screw, have babies, an’ get paid for it?” and “And the kids, the white kids. They’re worse than the niggers. Money don’t mean nothin’ to them. Motocycles, Marijuana. Five dollar records.” Undoubtedly in a state of shock after wasting a “skinny fucker” of a deadbeat junky, Bill mentions to random stranger Joe that he killed one of these very same worthless hippies that he was ranting about (Joe even goes as far as saying “I'd love to kill one” in regard to beatnik bastards), which rather impresses the brazen blue collar worker, thus striking a 'stranger than fiction' bond between the two born class enemies. Sticking it to bourgeois failure Marx (a man who never worked a day in his life and lived off the generosity of others) and his bogus materialistic theories for introducing class war to the Occident, Bill and Joe ultimately become friends united in their hatred for hippies and disgust from aberrant America’s cultural decline. While Bill likes the working-class man’s ‘no bullshit’ attitude due to his own bourgeois friend’s impenetrable phoniness, Joe respects the somewhat uptight advertising executive for doing what he always wanted to do: trampling on a flower child without mercy. After overhearing her mother and father talking, Melissa learns that Bill killed her bum boy toy and naturally she runs away and goes missing. Using the drugs he stole from his daughter’s apartment, Bill meets up with Joe and they start searching for Melissa, eventually partying with a group of hippies that they hope will lead them to the runaway drama queen. Both Bill and Joe smoke some weed out of a hookah and even have sex with some hot hippie hoes, but things take a turn for the worse when two of the male hippies of the group steal the older men’s wallets and drugs. Joe smacks the shit out of a loose hippie chick he just screwed and learns the beatnik crooks are probably staying at a commune in upstate New York. Arriving with shotguns blazing, Joe wastes some hippie pigs and Bill regrettably joins in, bringing carnage to the commune and the literal and allegorical death of a nuclear family. 

 Undoubtedly, screenwriter Henry Wexler’s Hebraic hatred for traditional Anglo-America and everything it represents reaches its peak at the conclusion of Joe when a wealthy white father unwittingly puts bullet holes in his own daughter in a scene that is nothing short of a Judeo-bolshevik wet dream. In the end, one cannot help but think Wexler had a self-satisfied smirk on his semi-Asiatic face while penning Joe knowing, as portrayed in the film, that no matter how much love and good intentions a father may have had for his children, they had already been lost to a lifetimes worth of brainwashing and spiritual degeneration via Talmudic television and addiction to sex, drugs, and rock n roll, hence why daughter Melissa states “What are you gonna do, kill me too?” Indeed, only after her death is Melissa truly ‘saved’ from a life of senseless sacrilege and STD-ridden sensuality, as the girl essentially died in the spiritual sense the day she bought into the unholy gospel of counter-culture garbage. Interestingly, Melissa’s druggy boyfriend, who is a hack degenerate artist who seems to be a pathetic parody of Warhol Superstar Joe Dallesandro characters in the “Paul Morrissey Trilogy,” especially Flesh (1968) and Trash (1970), which are sardonic satires of the toilet culture that is liberalism and the related counter-culture movements. It has been my experience that most viewers of Joe empathize with the anti-hippie plight of Joe and Bill, and it's highly doubtful that a film like this could be made in Hollywood today. After all, nothing strikes fear in the dead souls of the heebs of Hollywood and the mainstream media more than the idea of the white working-class and bourgeois uniting against the metaphysical disease of leftist degeneracy and taking back America by force. Nowadays, with a good portion of young proletarian whites being shameless wiggers who wish they were poor Negroes and the white upper-classes being contaminated with slavish liberalism, philo-semitism, and hyper-hedonism, the unlikely alliance of the Euro-American blue collar and white collar in Joe seems all the more ridiculous, but as a famous assassinated colored man once so eloquently stated, “I have a dream” and some dreams, like Joe's, are greater and more righteous than others.

-Ty E

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