Clint was channeling a bit of Jimmy Stewart’s * semi-affable Harvey; not everybody in Tinselgrad is Left of Lenin, and Old Joe’s the intellect of the Party they say – still, does he mean Biden or Stalin?
the Man With no Name got where he is on by own making, as an Icon of the American West, of Creativity and Drive. He shoots from the hip and his shots strike the Bad and the Ugly. The mysterious, skinny-hip smoker from Whoknowswhere got where he is by Chicago-style politics, and strikes the clenched-fist jaw-up pose of Mussolini – and he doesn’t get it. We don’t want to be Europeans, we make fun of Europeans – they come here and succeed where they couldn’t in the Old Country, and we forget about it until we have to go fight a war (or two) to save them from a nasty Dictatorship of their bad ideas. We’re the Not-Old Country, and Dictators are a European institution – that’s why South America is so messed-up. All the damn Dictators and Old World ways of thinking.
Get out of the way Kid and let the Grownups run things, your sticky candy-covered hands don’t belong on the mechanisms of Power, they’re gumming up the works – and people need to get back to work. The Old Country Ideas you celebrate and think are hip (wtf?) are a specious and self-referential Parisian shadow-play and court-drama, a bad French Art-Film with illegible subtitles. Our icon’s and History are not the gunned-down panicked crowds of Battleship Potemken, or the smarmy little greasy Peter Lorre Euro-men lurking in the shadows with a pocket Browning, we’re out in the open facing down Bears with a Bowie knife like Daniel Boon, or with Colt and Winchester in the major calibers – and we crap bigger than that. Hey you got a problem with that? Save it for the Nazis you crumb!
(* I did not know that Brig. Gen. Stewart got his flight-time right here in what is now Googleopolis…)