In light of my late-night viewing of 1949’s The Red Menace, it became impossible to believe that the same Soviet Union that withstood a Nazi invasion was the same nation who, when pushed to expand its operation to American shores, thought so little of actual planning that it all but redefined the word “ragtag.” Maybe the best and brightest of the young comrades died with Trotsky, or Stalin had so purged the inner circle that mere bumblers remained, but again, I remind the faithful: this is the same outfit that stopped the world’s most intimidating military force stone-cold. Came to Yalta with more than a hint of swagger. And don’t get me started on Potsdam. This was an empire on the move. Bloodied beyond imagining, yes, but more than fit to tackle the arrogant West.
But it simply wasn’t to be. In sum, the Cold War, from Churchill’s Iron Curtain speech to the fall of the Berlin Wall, was based on an insidious lie. Far from the masterminds of legend, the post-war Russian behemoth was little more than a paper tiger. A comical sideshow. A gang of buffoons so inept, it managed to slip through the gates, only to watch everything fall apart over a long weekend. Whatever it was that overthrew an all-powerful Czar, or consolidated a land mass so large it contains eleven time zones, that special magic left the building when it came to adding the United States to its collection. From recruitment to installation, the clown show ruled the day, and we’re free on this very afternoon because of it.
Let’s cut to The Red Menace, one of the first Commie classics out of the gate. If you’re Bill Jones, you’re pissed as all get out. Promised land and a home by the Veteran’s Administration, you come to find that it’s all a bunch of bullshit. Not only are these dreadful parcels in the sticks, there’s not a shot in hell you’ll ever be able to install plumbing. And if our fighting men can’t get an even break, imagine how much worse it is down the line. I know what you’re thinking: who better to pounce all over and exploit this rage than the Communists? They’re way ahead of you. Only instead of disciplined troops at the ready, they send some mustached milquetoast to hang around the VA building, cracking wise. Given his methods, anyone with sense might assume it’s an undercover officer trying to trap homosexuals.
But Bill is ripe for exploitation. He’s the sort of dim bulb the party counts on, even if he’s not exactly able to understand every word of the literature. Still, he’s ready to sit in a living room or two, listening to the pitch. Why not? Maybe there’s some prime real estate at the end of this. Only the Communists have another plan. Tickle them with grievance, seduce them with pussy. Prime pussy, straight from the Eastern bloc. Chicks who may or may not shave their legs and have that Stalingrad experience to harden the heart. Hookers, yes, but sans pay. They gladly open wide for Uncle Joe, and they have Bill in their sights. Yes, my friends, The Soviet machine is going to end the American Way in the bedroom. Just like Marx prophesized.
Introducing Nina Petrovka. A looker if you stay in the shadows, she’s every red-blooded American’s idea of the perfect lay: breathing, yes, and coherent, but not nearly enough to fall for. No matter, as the pipeline is filled to the brim with Ninas, and they can all be had for an un-laminated membership card. Only you’d better not sign the thing, as it will ensure you don’t get a job from coast to coast. And the one you do have will insist on a closed-door meeting. Sure, we hire illiterates, racists, morons, and mouth-breathers, but we draw the line at those who insist on controlling the means of production. And then there’s Yvonne Kraus, the living proof that when the tyrants came, first they banned laughter. Her lips, forever pursed in sanctimonious rage, are available for other matters, but joyless intercourse is why you left your last marriage. It’s hardly the start of a new day.
Again, I must ask: is signing up the angry and discontented, literally one by one, truly the way to glory? I mean, sure, America would fall to the Soviets somewhere around 2097, but would it still be worth having? Maybe the stateside apparatchiks are content with such an approach, but I’m thinking they may as well fold their tents and wire a few words back to the Politburo: drop that newly minted bomb we stole from Los Alamos and send in the troops. Far easier than late night bull sessions ending with fellatio. Besides, they’re starting to wonder why we can’t get more blondes from Ukraine.
In the end, our hero sees the light, escapes, and heads to Arizona with his now Americanized chippie in tow. Collectivized agriculture sounds great on a sofa, but I’m starting to wonder why it has a 97% mortality rate. I can starve just fine in Los Angeles, friend, and at least there’s an ocean nearby. As The Red Menace proved, again and again, Communism is an impossible sell, even more so when the salesmen can’t even muster the energy to care. The Soviets had one shot at this and one hell of a small window to get it done (once rock ‘n roll arrives, good luck), and they blew it big time. As bad as McCarthy and his band of fools were, the ball game was damn near over by that point anyway. Few were listening. Something about working refrigerators and I Love Lucy that keep the barbarians from the gate.
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