RIVER CITY JOURNAL: REALLY, IT'S OK IF A MOVIE MAKES YOU PROUD TO BE AMERICAN

Fourth of July, it turned out, was a good day to see "Pearl Harbor."

My wife and I realized this week that we hadn't been inside a movie theater with its smell of freshly popped popcorn for a long time.

Why?

Because we can't find many movies worth the effort.

We're not snobs. But we hate to spend money and then leave a movie a half-hour after it starts because it's ridiculous or crude or lewd. And most of today's moviemakers have cross-stitched wall hangings that say: The Easy Way to Make Money Is to Be Ridiculous, Crude and Lewd.

By the way, so do most companies that produce stuff for TV.

Which is why we're down to the rock-bottom basic level of cable TV and possibly headed for rabbit ears.

So when my wife and I were deciding how to spend our non-Monday holiday, we chose to buck up and see "Pearl Harbor."

After three hours of bombing and strafing, we left the theater satisfied.

Not that "Pearl Harbor" is a particularly good movie. The acting is stilted. The scenery is too pristine. Even the Hawaiian dive where the sailors hang out looked nice enough for a family reunion.

But what a wonderful love story.

A love story in a movie about the Japanese sneak attach on the U.S. Navy's Pacific fleet?

That's what "Pearl Harbor" the movie is all about.

And it's a confectionate love story at that.

Let's face it, folks. I'm a sucker for a good love story with a simple plot where the good guy gets the girl even if it means his best buddy has to die in his arms.

"Pearl Harbor" reminded me of the straightforward war movies I saw as a child at the Saturday matinees at the old Malinda Theater in my favorite hometown in the Ozarks west of here.

Those were afternoons when the trials and tribulations of growing up on a farm melted away. For a couple of hours every week the world of make-believe in a dark theater was all that mattered.

There are some movie critics who think movies ought to be about real life.

Give me a break.

I live real life.

Even when I was a boy, I didn't need a movie to remind me that a milk cow was all that stood between me and the free world.

Or that the weeds among the rows of potatoes and pole beans wouldn't go away without a hoe in my hand.

Or that no one was going to pick me first to play outfield for the pickup softball game.

I don't know if the scenes in "Pearl Harbor" that were supposed to fire up my patriotic juices ever happened or not. But when FDR got out his wheelchair to give his wartime advisers a well-deserved tongue lashing, I wanted to stand right there with him and cheer.

Most of all, I wanted a happy ending.

That's hard to do with a movie about thousands of dead soldiers and sailors.

If I had a complaint about the movie, it was too long. I'm fussy about that. I don't think movie depictions of real-life events should last longer than the real thing. I still think it took the Titanic longer to sink on screen that it did in the North Atlantic.

I wasn't disappointed in how "Pearl Harbor" ended. Maybe it's because I had a father and step-father and a whole gob of uncles who were in World War II and had told stories that made the film's account of war look tame. Maybe it's because I grew up in that postwar period that gave Americans so much promise and magnified the nation's leadership status in world affairs. Maybe it's because I remember the squadrons of fighters and bombers headed off to the Korean War that droned overhead while we played Red Rover, Red Rover on the playground at Shady Nook School. Maybe it's because my generation's war, the one in Vietnam, ripped this country apart.

For whatever reason, "Pearl Harbor" made me proud to be an American. And it made me proud that somewhere out there is a moviemaker who thinks a simple, made-up story about how people fall in love during wartime is a worthwhile thing to do.

Now my wife and I have another major decision: What are we going to do for Labor Day?

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.