ATTENTION must be paid to the attention that’s been paid to Arthur Miller, playwright, darling of the Left, husband of Marilyn Monroe, self-appointed public moralist, and did I mention that he was married to Marilyn Monroe? The outpouring of sanctimonious twaddle that greeted Miller’s death at 89 in February was partly queasy-making, partly comic.
The emetic side came from the pent-up liberal self-righteousness that erupted everywhere like a nasty boil. The comedy-if such ghastliness can really be called comic-followed from the yawning disproportion between cause (Miller’s modest artistic accomplishment) and effect (wailing and gnashing of teeth as if a hybrid of Sophocles and Mahatma Gandhi had suddenly passed away).





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