Last spring the production of the new Angelina Jolie movie Salt was filming parts of an action sequence in Albany, New York. At the time, I was living blocks from where the location of these movie shoots were taking place, and like the majority of other minor disturbances in my life, it caused massive irritation, tantamount to conducting brainstorming sessions for ways of disrupting the movie to a point of relocation- so as to not disturb my normal morning commute (even going so far as to host weekly meetings in my apartment, where no one showed up, and the discussion was often diverted to the lack of refreshment items contained in the refrige). These plans never materialized; the movie production continued in its path toward finishing the film, and the general populace in Albany, as well as the majority of the rest of the world, reveled in the knowledge that a new Angelina Jolie movie was making its way down the conveyor belt and into existence while I gnashed my teeth in rush hour traffic.
Coinciding with the release of the newest Jolie spy thriller this summer is the actual capture of eleven suspected Russian spies spread across this continent, two weeks ago. TV news crews could be found infiltrating banal Connecticut suburbs to talk to the neighbors of the alleged suspects, who were in (totes) fucking awe that they were living next door to Russian spies, and may have sometimes shared tea together. During brief television interviews with these neighbors you could detect the mirth creeping into their testimony, as they generally confided that they had no (*$#!$@!) idea that they were living in the vicinity of such ‘distinguished foreign peoples’.
With the exception of an attractive twenty-eight year-old housewife- who has been depicted by the American news media as leading a lifestyle which has been described as less than discrete- a majority of the suspect’s lives have been portrayed as far more routine in nature. One FBI correspondence shows a couple concerned about whether they or their Russian state sponsors actually owned the house that they live in. Because, wouldn’t they, after all, having paid for the house, be the actual owners of this estate?
It makes you wonder if these ‘spies’ were just way off task, lulled by the woozy ways of the American consumer indoctrination system? Or inversely, were they doing a really good job of fitting in, using tactics from their elite state sponsored Moscow training school to do what ‘normal Americans’ might do? These questions are more rudimentary when compared to the contextually pertinent ones, like what, exactly, is the nature of the ‘intelligence’ which these spies were charged with ascertaining? And aren't these tactics just twenty years out of date?
Fast forward to two weeks later and the proceedings have been finalized, with some under-the-table exchange of the captures in a neutral state, further pointing out the innocuousness of these spies and whatever information they may have. Back in Moscow, the ticker tape has been dropped, and the accompanying promise of high-ranking political positions for these prisoners back home. All of which gives you the weird psychic notion of the cold war for two seconds, like someone is going to conduct a bomb training drill, and have you’ll be having to take cover under your desk while some teacher sounds a mock air raid horn over the school PA.
For the actual story, we will have to wait for the movie “Salt” to debut in theaters, which by comparison promises to feature some pretty sweet action sequences, with Albany landmarks thrown in for good measure. I’ll probably see it on rental, but only to look for unplanned cameos of myself, suspended in a traffic jam as the camera pans by and immortalizes me forever, with teeth gnashed and white knuckle fists clutching onto the wheel of my late model automobile.
