In between hobnobbing with Marvel glitterati, dodging velociraptors, and sampling butterbeer yesterday, we spent some time in the section of Universal devoted to Dr. Seuss. Now, I've never been a Cat in the Hat guy (Mike Myers' film version might be the worst movie ever made). But I do like me the Lorax.
We all know the plot, the unsubtle evisceration of corporate greed and paean to environmental stewardship. The Lorax speaks for the trees. Now, I've been around my share of tree-cutting. Among the wonderful ironic contrasts between Becky Turner and myself as running mates 20 years ago this spring was the juxtaposition of a tree-hugger with a guy who had grown up with sawdust in his hair.
But The Lorax isn't specifically a hatchet job on the lumber industry. It's not that narrow or small. It's an indictment of consumerism and a call to individual action, a desperate plea for each reader to realize our own destiny and power. That's a hell of a message from a short dude in a mustache. Unless...