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What unites Beck's disparate themes is a sense of siege. On March 13, he served up a kind of fear combo platter--war, chaos, totalitarianism, financial ruin--with the 9/12 Project, a tearful call to viewers to rediscover the common purpose they felt after 9/11. In 2001, that common purpose involved cable-news talkers' dialing down the us-vs.-them shtick for a day or two; now Beck urged viewers to reject the notion that "they" have all the power. "They don't surround us," he declared. "We surround them."
Beck's surround sound plays like a mix of colonial pamphleteering, Great Depression demagoguery and the movie Red Dawn. But is he serious? He describes himself as a "rodeo clown," and he is a talented TV showman--joking and self-effacing, with a gift for big visuals and low-tech explainer stunts like his Jenga bit. Unlike O'Reilly et al., he's not a shouter. He calls his program "the fusion of entertainment and enlightenment."
Then again, he recently devoted a "War Room" episode to gaming out an American economic collapse in 2014--the result of debt and high taxes--including the rise of "Mad Max" militias and civil unrest. Because if anything spells laff riot, it's the breakdown of lawful society! Whether Beck is stirring up frightening social currents or just playing in them, his material and its resonance are deadly serious.
Of course, I'm a "them." And if there's one thing we thems love, it's tarring dissenters as scary. As he played with his Jenga tower, Beck made just that point, introducing his next guest, former Republican presidential candidate Ron Paul. "Remember," Beck said sarcastically, "he is a dangerous militia member!"
Then a wooden piece gave way, and the whole toy edifice came crashing down.