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The crapulent major’s death troubles the narrator greatly, but he consoles himself with the idea that “revolutionaries can never be innocent” (111). The narrator attends a Vietnamese-American wedding in a giant reception hall, having been invited by the father of the bride who was a marine colonel back in Saigon. Ms. Mori attends as the narrator’s date. The narrator tries to enjoy the festivities, but the evening is interrupted by a gory hallucination of the crapulent major’s severed head on one of the wedding tables—the narrator simply cannot get the crapulent major off of his mind.
A few drinks later, the narrator looks to the performers onstage and recognizes one of the wedding singers as Lana, the General’s eldest daughter. While Saigon fell, Lana had been away at University of California-Berkeley, so until this wedding, the narrator had not seen her in quite some time. “Her ultimate form of rebellion,” the narrator says “was to be a superb student who, like me, earned a scholarship to the States” (115). This womanly Lana onstage is much different from the innocent young girl the narrator knew in Saigon: “Even I was shocked by the black leather miniskirt that threatened to reveal a glimpse of the secret I had so often fantasized about” (116). Wailing a throaty version of “Twist and Shout,” Lana seems fully assimilated in American rock n’ roll culture; the narrator is wildly attracted to her.
An announcement is made that a surprise visitor is attending the wedding—a Republican Congressman who is “so anti-red in his politics he might as well have been green, one reason he was one of the few politicians to greet the refugees with open arms” (117). The congressman makes a speech about how he and the refugees are united in their “common cause of democracy and liberty,” and promises that “one day the land you have lost will be yours again! Because nothing can stop the inevitable movement of freedom and the will of the people” (119). The Congressman’s speech ends with him leading the audience in chanting “Vietnam forever!” When the Sonny, the newspaper editor, notes that the congressman’s slogan is the same one the Communist Party uses, Ms. Mori shrugs and says, “A slogan is just an empty suit…Anyone can wear it” (120). When Sonny asks what the narrator thought of the Congressman, the narrator says, “He’s the best thing that could have happened to us,” which is not a lie, but “the best kind of truth, the one that meant at least two things” (121).
The following weekend, the General, Madame, and the narrator attend a lunch at the Congressman’s house in Huntington Beach. They chat about communism in Cuba, as well as censorship in Hollywood. The Congressman, through his work in Hollywood, has been asked to give feedback on a screenplay called The Hamlet about the Phoenix Program, in which the main character is a Green Beret who has to save a hamlet in Southern Vietnam. The General tells the Congressman that the narrator would be happy to provide notes to the director of the screenplay.
The director of The Hamlet,referred to as the Auteur, invites the narrator to his home in the Hollywood Hills to go over his comments on the screenplay. The narrator is not there to simply flatter the Auteur, and in fact has many criticisms on the Auteur’s script: “I was flummoxed by having read a screenplay whose greatest special effect was neither the blowing up of various things nor the evisceration of various bodies, but the achievement of narrating a movie about our country where not a single one of our countrymen had an intelligible word to say” (128). The narrator has made several suggestions to make the screenplay more realistic, and while the Auteur is polite, it is clear he does not take too kindly to the narrator’s edits. The Auteur defends the veracity of his screenplay by saying that he read up on the psychology and history of Vietnam, so “I think I know something about you people” (130). The narrator replies by saying that the Auteur did not even get the screams of the Vietnamese people right—clearly, unlike the narrator, the Auteur does not know the shades of difference in the “different kinds of terror,” which only first-hand experience can bring. The scene in the Auteur’s villa ends in a darkly comical moment, with the narrator demonstrating the different kinds of screams for the Auteur and his personal assistant.
The narrator then heads to the General’s house to update him on the meeting with the Auteur, discussed over a bowl of pho made by Madame. The General and Madame agree that the Auteur seems rude. The General then turns the conversation to the latest edition of Sonny’s newspaper, which reported on the death of the crapulent major, arousing the General’s suspicion. The General expresses his frustration with Sonny to the narrator: “He’s supposed to be a reporter. That means to report the facts, not to make things up or interpret them or put ideas in people’s heads” (136). The General asks the narrator to speak to Sonny about being more careful about the information he includes in his publication.
The General reports that the Congressman is making plans to help place soldiers in Thailand, where the General can begin his overthrow of the communist regime in South Vietnam. The General does not want Sonny—or anyone—to talk about war being over. “We must not allow our people to grow complacent,” the General says (138).
Much to the narrator’s surprise, the Auteur has a change of heart and invites the narrator to be a special consultant on Vietnamese matters in The Hamlet. Filming will take place in the Philippines, where the narrator is tasked with wrangling the most destitute of Vietnamese refugees—called “the boat people”—who will be used as extras in the movie. The narrator vows that half of the payment he receives from this work will go to the crapulent major’s widow and children, the “innocents to whom wrong had been done, as I had once been an innocent child to whom wrong was done” (140). Thinking about violated innocence, the narrator recalls a memory from his childhood, in which his Vietnamese aunts gave him only half the New Year’s gifts to match his half-blooded self. One of the narrator’s cousins explains that, because the narrator is “a bastard,” the narrator is only entitled to half the New Year’s gifts (141).
Back to the present, the narrator tells his aunt in Paris—again, actually a cover for Man—he has accepted the consultant job offered by the Auteur. He also reports that the Congressman has agreed to help the General form a non-profit, the Benevolent Fraternity of Former Soldiers of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. The General assures the Congressman that if he helps fund this veteran’s organization, the General can promise his people will cast their votes for him in the upcoming election. In essence, with the creation of this non-profit, the Congressman is buying the Vietnamese vote.
Three months later, the narrator lands in the Philippines for the filming of The Hamlet. Harry, the production designer, gives him a tour of the set: the Central Highland, the temple, and the cemetery. The narrator recalls when his mother died of tuberculosis at just thirty-four years old, when the narrator was a junior in college. There in Luzon, the narrator attaches his mother’s picture to a tombstone in the set’s cemetery, so that her image will be memorialized in the movie: “At least in this cinematic life she would have a resting place fit for a mandarin’s wife, an ersatz but perhaps fitting grave for a woman who was never more than an extra to anyone but me” (154).
The narrator’s guilt surrounding the crapulent major’s death grows in Chapters 7 through 9. With hallucinations of the major’s corpse becoming increasingly persistent, the narrator drinks copious amount of alcohol to cope: “Besides my conscience my liver was the most abused part of my body” (114). Alcoholism is not only a physical addiction for the narrator; linked to his conscience, his abuse of alcohol also serves as a gauge for a deeper, spiritual sickness, as well.
The narrator says that “the best truth means two things” and later refers to “the two-faced truth” (121). This kind of riddle-like, indirect way of speaking about the truth is quintessential to the narrator’s outlook. The truth, in his view, is never simple, an idea that is raised time and time again throughout the book.
In The Hamlet, the Phoenix Program’s Green Berets are portrayed as the heroes, but in reality, the Phoenix Program (an actual historical military group) had a terrible reputation by the end of the war. While the Phoenix Program’s primary mission was to collect intelligence about the Viet Cong, the group was mostly known for its brutal maiming and murdering of Vietnamese. Former Serviceman K. Milton Osborn in his book To Vietnam in Vain described the Phoenix Program as a “sterile depersonalized murder program” at the U.S. Congressional hearing debating the group’s legitimacy in 1971. That is to say, the very premise of the movie—that Phoenix Program’s members could be heroes—is a very unlikely one, and demonstrates the Auteur’s lack of understanding of the American military’s role in the war. Still, despite the many problematic elements of the movie, Ms. Mori encourages the narrator to see the positive side of his involvement in the movie: “You have it in you to do something wonderful with this movie. I have confidence in you that you can make it better than it could be. You can help shape how Asians look in the movie. That’s no small thing” (152). Representation and controlling the narrative of history are two important themes explored in this section.
Dark humor is utilized frequently in the novel to underscore the tragicomic elements of the narrator’s plight. Particularly in chapter 8, humor is used to emphasize the ludicrousness of a refugee advising the self-important Hollywood Auteur on an ill-conceived movie about war. Gesturingtothe Hollywood sign, whichisvisiblefromthewindowofhisvilla, theAuteurscreamsathisgardener José for obstructing the view before launching into a number of platitudes about Hollywood: “Like the Word of God just dropped down, plunked on the hills, and the Word was Hollywood. Didn’t God say let there be light first. What’s a movie but light” (129). Without the narrator’s voice actually appearing in the text (a stylistic choice that enhances the humor), we “hear” the narrator interrupting the Auteur’s poeticwaxing: “What. All right, so it doesn’t say Hollywood. You got me. Good eye. Thing’s falling to pieces. One O’s half fallen and the other O’s fallen altogether. The word’s gone to shit. So what. You still get the meaning” (129).
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