“You know why there will never be a great movie or great art about the Iraq War?” she asked. “Why’s that?” “Because it hewed too didactically to its own absurdity.” She looked off at the cold parking lot. “Like, most war is stupid in the existential sense, but this one was bad-joke stupid. You can’t get a piece of art to grapple with what’s already brain-dead, you know? I mean, the fucking child-boy president landed on an aircraft carrier with a sock stuffed in the crotch of his flight suit and stood in front of a banner that said— Well, you know what it said. How can you make subtle,
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