erupted among the Russians who sawnthe movie. Yet Zhivago, even in itsnWestern version, at least succeeded innconveying Boris Pasternak’s knowledgenand sense of evil, which exuded evennfrom the cosmeticized Hollywood renditionnof the revolution. Reds, in whichncomrade Zinoviev looks like an Englishnbookie from the 1930’s, and revolutionarynsoldiers, with a change of costume,ncould fit into a production of Oklahoma,nis dismally inauthentic. Any genuinenessnis limited to the American scenes,nand even those have a rather warpedneffect. Looking at Reds’depiction of thenGreenwich Village radical bohemianncoterie, one has a comforting feelingnthat their moral legacy has resulted notnin any serious intellectual asset but innthe Vogue-Women’s Wear Daily crowd,nin the “world view” from Central ParknWest penthouses. Would not Edna St.nVincent Millay and Mabel Dodge qualifyntoday as purveyors of sex manuals.”nBut is this the whole truth about Americannradical liberalism and leftist sentiments.”nDid not Max Eastman* die anhard-bitten conservative.” From thisnperspective, John Reed looks like andoleful clown who mismanages his penchantsnfor tweed jackets and Shetlandnpullovers—a possible subject for annironic movie or a bitter-wise shortnstory, but not the material for any valuablenmodel of human existence andnendeavor.nStill, this is how Reds tries to enshrinenhim. The movie’s shallow, prefabricatednintellectual stereotypicality doesnnot make it necessarily procommunist.nBut it is an archetypal liberal movie, andnas such—all indignant protests notwithstanding—itnbecomes a procommunistnpropaganda movie by dint of its misguidednintentions, its feebleminded cognitionnand purpose—an agitprop piecenby proxy. Here is Reed, glamor boy ofn*Eastman epitomizes the movie’s cheap mendacity.nActually, he was the handsomestn”scorer” in the then sexually emancipated set,nmuch more attractive than John Reed; in thenfilm, he looks and behaves like an overfednbookworm.nAmerican communism, personified asnthe embodiment of charm, sensitivity,ntender sophistication, blue-ribbon liberalnsentiment, the choicest social virtuesnand graces. Here is a woman, LouisenBryant (played by the most modish actressnof the last decade), who is lovednby both John Reed, the radical prodigy,nand Eugene O’Neill, one of America’sngreatest playwrights. She sumptuouslynflourishes all the “in” liberationistrevolutionaryngabble of a radical-chicnpro-grape-pickers cocktail party. Whynthese two men on the screen are so profoundlynin love with this vestige ofnWaspish good looks from the coveredwagonnera, now covered with a mountainousnlayer of maquillage (even amidstnthe deprivations of revolutionary Petrograd),nis not too clear. She continuouslynspouts feminist slogans, not those enhancednwith the stylish suffragettes’nfreshness of the portrayed epoch, butnin the stale lingo of Ms. magazine platitudesnthat are as repulsive as they arenanachronistic. At one point she lashesnout at Eugene O’Neill, accusing him ofnbarren cynicism as compared to Reed’snengage attitude of a social idealist. It’snhard to stomach this lowbrow liberalnposturing; after all. Reed’s idealismnhelped to create Gulags and Soviet imperialism,nwhile O’Neill produced anbody of writing which is the pride ofnAmerican literature. What she is actuallynranting against is human intelligencenand talent—which might provenfalse her liberal ethos that condonesnthe sacrifice of rationality on the altarnof the cause. Her intellectual “victory”nover the Senate investigating committeentherefore becomes a grim verbalnslapstick.nYes, it is an ultraliberal movie, andnthe mafia of liberal critics—from thenNew York Times to Mademoiselle—nhas gone to work to establish it as thisnseason’s “masterpiece” and “stunningnachievement.” The reception and responsenwas indeed stupefying, but it wasncertainly assured for a movie that romanticizesnand glamorizes the “revolutionaryndream.” The hberal critics makenno connection between Reed’s activitiesnand the history of enslavement and martyrdomnof the human masses from Vladivostocknto the Elbe. The, dimwittednliberal apologist at the Times wrote thatnReds “dramatizes in a way that no otherncommercial movie in my memory hasnever done—the excitement of beingnyoung, idealistic and foolish in a timenwhen everything still seemed possible.”nWe wonder if he would write the samenwords about a movie “dramatizing”nHorst Wessel—the early “martyr” ofnthe nazi movement—who, in point ofnfact, was also “young, idealistic andnW’l- arc Mr. Reagan s .supportcr.s, i-vcn admirers. Srill. we are occasionallynappallfd at his lapses of jiKljinu-nt and rasti.”. We’ve read that he endorsed anWhite 1 louse screening; of Reds, a movie about John Reed, the only Amt-rii:annwho helped lo estahlLsli the Giilan enipiri’ and. even worse, its cult followingnamong the American liberal intelli>;c:ntsia. For this service Mr. Reed wasnelevatc-d lo conimunisr sainthood and is enlonibed in (he Kremlin cemetery.nPresident Reai^an foiinil it fil to publicize ihe movie as an “event” and invitednto the White House Mr. Warren Ueatty. director and producer of Reds andnwealthy worshiper of various shady leftist causes.nThe same daily paper brought us the news I hat Burl Reynolds is the mostnadmired personage among American teen-agers, ranking far aliove any Americannstatesman, scientist, .social activist, philosopher or intellectual. Bynlegitimizing, even honoring, Mr. Beatty (who plays the part of John Reed) andnhis specious movie with a White Hou.se accolade. Mr. Reagan, perhaps inadvertently,nhas cultivated a miserable and harmful mishmash in the mindsnof average, youthful Americans, ‘i’hey will see the picture and say to themsi-lves:n”Gee. President Reagan liked that Beatty/Reed. He’s hand.some andnwell dressed and ijuite a stud and he apparently liked communism. Shouldn’tnwe too.'” DnnnMarcli/AprU198Sn