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Timothy Noah and Marjorie Williams

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Observatory

By Marjorie Williams
Posted Thursday, July 9, 1998, at 5:36 PM ET

Dear Tim,

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But the point is, precisely, that: George W. Bush (or "W," as the younger cognoscenti call him, to suggest they knew him back in his father's campaigns) will make five perceived comebacks from five invented crises before the first caucus vote is counted. None of them will have made a bit of difference-at least not, she suggested slyly, to any level-headed person unimpeded by a Y chromosome. (A polarizing business, this breakfast table.) Besides, you were too kind to Hunt's column. He mostly dished the usual stuff about how "seasoned political analysts" question whether Bush can "hit big league political pitching." While he did say that Bush's message is 'vacuous'-and, okay, he gets points for rendering an opinion of his own--he didn't tell us much about why he thought so.

Our New York Observer arrived in the mail today. It would be a shame if its Tina-lessness caused readers to pass it up: Frank DiGiacomo's Transom column begins on the front, above the fold, with a way-fun report on historian Stephen Ambrose's hiring as a consultant to Steven Spielberg's new World War II movie, Saving Private Ryan. Ambrose was given a contract worth "less than $100,000" for his help in promoting the film-and also for the filmmakers' use of several of his books as a resource (both for general background information on what it was really like to fight in the war, and for more specific personal stories Ambrose learned in interviews with former GIs). The odd part: Spielberg's minions never called their "historical consultant" until after the movie was finished. DiGiacomo is blunt in suggesting that the contract was a last-minute effort to avoid the Amistad Problem-the plagiarism lawsuit (later dismissed) that Spielberg's first Dreamworks production drew from author Barbara Chase-Riboud.

Fortunately for Spielberg, Ambrose loved the movie, declaring it "the best war movie ever made." And he told DiGiacomo that he was enjoying his foray into film promotion, hanging out with Spielberg and star Tom Hanks and "what's-his-name, the young guy"-by which he means Matt Damon. DiGiacomo writes that when he "pointed out to Mr. Ambrose that most people in his position would have pulled a Brinks truck up to Dreamworks' offices, the historian explained that he took such a reasonable fee 'because... I just think so much of the movie that I'm as pleased as I can be that I'm connected with it."

Proving once again that Stephen Spielberg is the luckiest man alive.

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