FinermanWorks

From the Irony archives, the remarkable world of Antonin Scalia….

The 19th Amendment’s Statute of Limitations

Addressing its gender gap among American women, the Republican Party now disputes women have a right to vote.  “Yes, there was some sort of amendment in 1920” stated Justice Antonin Scalia, “and I suppose anyone who was alive back then would still be entitled to vote.  But from a strict constructionist interpretation, that right does not apply to anyone born since then.”

Chief Justice John Roberts added even 92 year women “cannot  just waltz into the voting booth.  These prospective voters would need ten pieces of identification to verify their age.  That would include their Wellesley yearbooks, notarized cotillion dance cards, medical records of hickeys from F. Scott Fitzgerald.  A written note from their father would also be required.”

Election judges will also have the right to challenge the voter’s gender.  “Medical probes probably won’t be necessary.  A few cellphone photos of the appropriate areas should suffice.”

 

The Supine Court

Apr 28th, 2008 | WASHINGTON — The Supreme Court ruled Monday that states can require voters to produce photo identification without violating their constitutional rights, validating Republican-inspired voter ID laws. In a splintered 6-3 ruling, the court upheld Indiana’s strict photo ID requirement, which Democrats and civil rights groups said would deter poor, older and minority voters from casting ballots. Its backers said it was needed to prevent fraud.

Discounting Indiana’s requirement of 12 photos–including three nudes and one of the prospective voter eating watermelon, Chief Justice John Roberts dismissed the objections that the standards were discriminatory and onerous. “Twelve photographs are easily accumulated. A picture at a Rotary golf outing, your Harvard yearbook, the wedding announcement in the New York Times. And anyone who hasn’t been photographed nude at a frat party just hasn’t lived.” The Chief Justice did acknowledge the possibility that the poor and minority groups might not have such prestigious photos, if any at all. “In that case, just bring a letter of introduction from your former owner.”

In a concurring but separate opinion, Justice Clarence Thomas felt that prospective voters–should at the request of election judges or state troopers–sing ‘Camptown Racetrack.’ “I do it without them even asking. And if you don’t know the words, you don’t deserve to vote.”

Justice Antonin Scalia recommended that, in lieu of a photo ID, the prospective voter have a finger cut off. “If nothing else, this will prevent anyone from voting more than ten times in an election.” When Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg asked if that would prevent a citizen from voting in more than ten elections, Scalia replied, “So?” and then hit her.

 Blind Justice–and how to do it!

In its customary five-to-four decision, the Supreme Court has ruled that the Constitution only prohibits “unusual” punishments. “‘Cruel and usual‘ are hunky-dory” wrote Chief Justice John Roberts. “Punishment is supposed to be cruel, and believe me the Founding Fathers were inured to suffering. Look at everyone’s teeth on the John Adams series. And that was probably their cleanest orifice.”

The Court did offer some guidelines as to the definition of an unusual punishment. “It would have to be too obscure for Jeopardy” explained Roberts.

Justice Antonin Scalia elaborated, “Public disembowelment is permissible because everyone has heard of ‘hanging, drawing and quartering’. Impalement is another time-honored practice. Beheading, burning at the stake, hot coals in the eyes, all those nostalgic favorites are sanctioned by this court. So what is an unusual punishment? Imagine stuffing uranium in someone’s mouth and then sewing the lips shut with piano wire. This would be an unusual punishment because I just thought of it–and I am applying for the patent.”

In his concurring opinion Justice Anthony Kennedy explained, “Forgive me but Scalia knows where my grandchildren live.”

 

So, what would I do if I ever grew up?  (Public relations was never meant for adults.)  I have thought about teaching history.  As you readers know, I do that without being asked.  Why not make a career of it?  However, before I apply for a masters degree in becoming Mr. Chips, my wife offered a word of caution.  Try substitute teaching; experience all the disillusioning reality before committing myself to a year’s worth of college classes.

And that is what I am doing–or at least attempting.  I have contacted the surrounding school districts and begun filling out their application forms.  However, I am amazed at the differences in their questions and criteria. (The names of the school districts have been changed to protect the guilty.)

At “Ordinary People” High, where the school yearbook portraits are by John Singer Sargent,  the application asked:

Can you speak English without using your hands?

Under what circumstances, if any, would you mind a student beating you with a polo mallet?

At “Risky Business” High, the ideal applicant is a professor of education who wants to go slumming.  Its form had some dozen essay questions on my educational methodology.  I replied that as a substitute teacher I was hoping to take a fairly-accurate attendance.  (I would be wary of any class where the boys all claim their names are Dick or Heywood.)

“John Hughes” High seemed obsessed with my criminal activity.  Its application was a litany of accusations and self-incriminations.

Why should we believe you?

List your gang insignia tattoos.

What would you most enjoy about being a Catholic priest?

And I mustn’t forget a letter of recommendation from my parole officer.

Perhaps I should delay adulthood and stay in public relations.

Buckingham Palace announced today that Matthew Crawley will receive a state funeral and his body interred in Westminster Abbey.  The awkward fact that the late Mr. Crawley is a fictitious character on the soap opera “Downton Abbey” did not alter the Queen’s declaration of public mourning.  A Palace Spokesman (actually Prince Philip) explained, “Princess Di wasn’t all that real, either.”

In Parliament, there was debate regarding  Crawley’s death in a traffic accident.  The government promised to put a memorial stoplight at the site of the accident.  That failed to placate the public outrage.  Noting that worse things have occurred at the BBC, such as a staff comprised of KGB moles, Prime Minister Cameron did concede that the plot twist was outrageously stupid.  If anyone could come up with a better ending, the Prime Minster asked for suggestions.

Here is what members of Parliament, passing tourists and the cafeteria staff recommended…

The death most in keeping with Lady Mary’s character: After a successful mating with her husband, she beheads him.

The death most enjoyable to Labour voters:  A servant insurrection, of course.  Matthew holds off the scythe-wielding footmen while the rest of the aristocracy escapes.

The death most enjoyable to Tory voters:  Matthew is assassinated by Mohandas Gandhi.

The death most comprehensible to an American audience: While playing cricket, Matthew is bored to death.

The death most convenient for other British series:  The time machine of Doctor Who lands on Matthew.

The death with the best marketing possibilities:  Downtown Abbey merges with Boardwalk Empire.  It turns out that Lady Cora’s brother is Meyer Lansky.  Matthew apparently has a hunting accident with a Tommy Gun, although the quick marriage of Lady Mary with Al Capone raises some questions.  (HBO insists that Maggie Smith do nude scenes–but she still will look better than Lena Dunham.)

Who wants the body of Richard III?  In death as in life, there would be more of a demand for Charles II.  His skeleton may yet have some aphrodisiac powers, and some Chinese billionaires might bid for that “enhancement.”  Poor scoliotic Richard is no one’s idea of a dietary supplement.  So, without such marketing allure, the site of Richard’s grave is largely a matter of etiquette.

The obvious answer might also be the most tactless one:  Westminster Abbey.  The Plantagenet family already occupies a number of sepulchres there; given that precedence–and the fact that he no longer takes up much room–Richard could be stuffed in some nook.  If Richard has to posthumously become an Anglican, it is only a formality.  He probably already is a Mormon.  No, the problem for Westminster Abbey would be the likely disapproval of its most prominent parishioner.

Although Mrs. Mountbatten seems an affable soul, she might not appreciate being reminded that she is from the bastard branch of the Lancasters.   Her ancestor Henry VII was certainly mindful of his dubious pedigree; to justify his seizure of the English throne, the new king’s first act was to vilify the late Yorkist king.  In a bill presented to Parliament, Richard was condemned for tyranny and usurpation.  The legislation also set the beginning of Henry’s reign to the day prior to the battle of Bosworth Field.  Through that remarkable casuistry, Richard became the rebel and Henry the rightful sovereign.   Parliament, either intimidated or with a delightful sense of irony, passed the bill.  The vilification of Richard became a Tudor tradition.  If you were an ambitious young bureaucrat (Thomas More) or a writer looking for patronage (a Mr. Shakespeare) just concoct some new monstrosities about Richard, and you will be handsomely rewarded.  So Richard became the diabolical hunchback.

Obviously, such a fiend would never belong in hallowed ground; and certainly not the most fashionable hallowed ground in Britain.  The idea of Richard in Westminster Abbey would be more than a burial; it would be his rehabilitation.  I can’t quite see the Queen admitting “We Tudors were such liars.”  No, Westminster Abbey is unavailable.

So where will Richard be interred?  Since the body was found in Leicester, the city has a legal claim and has announced its intention to bury him there.  But there is some sentiment and an email petition to have “this sun of York” buried in that city; however York seems reluctant to acquire the corpse, the media and the tourists.  (The town is already cashing in on “Downton Abbey”.)

And I can think of one place in London that would be an appropriate and appreciative site for Richard.  Give him an attractive urn and a good seat at the National Theater.

According to the ever-whimsical Jewish calendar, this year Purim will be in late February.  (I am waiting for our holiday to coincide with Cinco de Mayo.)

For our new readers as well our forgetful ones, here is what I wrote two years ago…

My Latest Attempt at a Pulitzer

Now back to the present tense.  Call it typecasting, but once again I will be portraying the villainous Haman.  I also offered to play the hero Mordechai.  As I explained to our Cantor, I envisioned a Gustav Mahler Purim, where our main character is schizophrenic with self-loathing.  If only he could massacre his Jewish identity….To the Cantor’s credit, she dissuaded the Sunday school principal from calling the police.  But the principal (Cromwell with an Isro) did have the final word in choosing this year’s skit.  Our Megillah will have a Disney theme.

I had to wonder which Disney character would make the best villain.  Ironically, most of the villains during the Golden Age of Uncle Walt were women:  the Wicked Queen, the Wicked Stepmother, the Evil Fairy, Cruella De Vil, and you’ve heard the rumors about Minnie Mouse.  (Think how Mickey got that voice!)

About 15 seconds later, I knew the answer.  There was a Disney character, an older man who seemed warm and avuncular; yet, beneath that endearing facade was a hard-drinking, womanizing bigot.  Think of a Mel Gibson who had yet to be caught.  Yes, this is the Haman I would love to play, and I would have him sing:

I‘m the paragon of film purity.

I make great cartoons and dumb comedies.

While I ply wholesome style, I’m a racist reptile.

I’ve a small mind after all.

chorus:  I’ve a small mind after all, I’ve a small mind after all, etc., etc…ad nauseum.

I can kill Ol’ Yeller and blame the Jews.

Whether rabies or rabbis  ‘s’a point of view.

This is my little reich, where we don’t employ kikes.

I’ve a small mind after all.

So, do you think this will get past the Sunday School principal…or the Disney estate?

Experts find remains of England’s King Richard III

AP

Mon Feb 4,

He was king of England, but for centuries he lay without shroud or coffin in an unknown grave, and his name became a byword for villainy.

But on Monday, scientists announced they had rescued the remains of Richard III from anonymity — and the monarch’s fans hope a revival of his reputation will soon follow.

In a dramatically orchestrated news conference, a team of archaeologists, geneticists, genealogists and other scientists from the University of Leicester announced that tests had proved what they had scarcely dared to hope — a scarred and broken skeleton unearthed under a drab municipal parking lot was that of the 15th-century king, the last English monarch to die in battle.

Lead archaeologist Richard Butler said that a battery of tests proved “beyond reasonable doubt” that the remains were the king’s.

Buckingham Palace:  When informed of the identification of Richard III, Prince Harry said, “Huh?”

Prince Philip, however, did have a better idea of Richard.  “Oh, bloody Hell.  Cement, you say. I’d rather be under a polo field.  He really was more Froggie, you know.  Plant-a-genet… What a French way to say ‘Straw.’  Cement, so improper.  Sounds almost American, although they would have had him in a car boot.  I suppose that there now will be some ceremony.  One of us will have to attend, but I am certainly not going to Leicester.  Waving, nodding, speeches.  Richard’s not missing much.  Royalty’s just not what it used to be.  Of course, he had his share of bad press.  Mind you, I can think of a few princes I wish I had strangled.”

Washington D.C.:  Denouncing the death of Richard III as another failure of the Obama administration, House Republicans demanded hearings and possible impeachment.  Speaker John Boehner indignantly asked,  “Why did this administration wait 500 years to tell the American people, and why would you trying tell them in iambic pentameter?  And why would you begin this collection of policy failures with ‘Now is the winter of our discontent…’  This is not the time to discuss global warming.”

The similarity between February and febrile is not just my feverish imagination.  In the old Roman calendar Februarius was the last month of the year, and it seemed an appropriate time to atone for the previous 11 months.  The name “Februarius” is derived from the Latin word “februare”–to purify.  Of course the Gods would expect payment for their favor–and mere vows of future virtue would not impress or convince a Roman deity.  No, the repentant were obliged to sacrifice animals.

But the dead oxen and sheep were not left to rot on the altar.  Very few religions encourage cholera.  No, with all appropriate theatrics, the sacrificed animals were burned and so presumably were the sins of the penitents. The purification required fire, and the name February referred to the burning, “fovere.”

We still have a February, although it is generally dismissed as a runt nuisance.  And we still refer to fever and febrile; now, however, when we are the burning sacrifice, we don’t feel holier for it.

Judging from travel posters and movies, you would think the Eiffel Tower was built expressly as a backdrop for romance.  Yet, when the Tower was constructed in the 1880s, it was an act of defiance.  The world’s tallest building, composed of an intricate lattice of wrought iron, certainly refuted both the laws of gravity and the conventions of beauty.  But more than that, the Eiffel Tower would proclaim to the world that France was not to be dismissed as a declining power.  If other countries now had greater armies or more extensive empires, France remained the cultural center of Europe.

Yet a decade earlier France was in ruins.  In 1870, a French diplomat and a Prussian dignitary had an argument.  The Prussian Crown demanded an apology, the French government refused, and the consequence was the Franco-Prussian War.  France thought it would teach Prussia a lesson, but it was Prussia that had done all the studying.  The German army was ready for war, the French simply for a parade.   Within two months, the French army had been trapped and captured.  Paris was besieged, enduring four months of bombardment and starvation before it surrendered.   By the time the French asked for an armistice, they had lost 138,000 men; the German losses were 28,000 dead.

The relative ease of its victories did not make Prussia more magnanimous.  Otto von Bismarck was never that affable.  Nein, France was to be humiliated.  The French provinces of Alsace and Lorraine were annexed by the German state.  France was further obliged to pay an indemnity–in gold–that was intended to cripple her economy; and until that indemnity was paid, German troops would occupy Northern France.  Here, at least, the Germans underestimated France;  the French raised the money in less than three years.  (The money was borrowed from a well-known banking family; but 3 percent interest to the Rothschilds was a bargain compared to the room and board for the German garrisons.)

The Rothschilds might have seemed reckless at the time.  Throughout the 1870s, the French Republic was always on the verge of a collapse or a coup.  A majority of the deputies of the National Assembly actually favored the restoration of  the monarchy.  The unlikely savior of the Republic was the Bourbon heir to the throne.  The cantankerous Comte de Chambord, the grandson of the Charles X, refused any constitution to constrain his divine right to rule.  Even the Royalist deputies were not that nostalgic for the 17th century.  So the Republic survived, if only for lack of a tolerable alternative.

And that survival was to be celebrated.  France would host a World’s Fair in 1889, for the 100th anniversary of the French Republic.   There was a certain Gallic gall in that choice of a theme.  Most of Europe abhorred the idea of the French Revolution; it conjured images of the guillotine and memories of Napoleon. In fact, Tsarist Russia refused any official recognition of this Jacobin commemoration.  So the Russian pavilion would be “unofficial”; there could be no Imperial insignia but the city seals of Moscow and Kiev would be permitted. (The Russians always were good at choreography.)

Yet, a World’s Fair in Paris had an undeniable allure; commerce and entertainment would take precedence over politics.  But such an Exposition would require years of  preparation and bold planning.  In 1884, a government commission announced a competition to create a monument that would represent the spirit of the World Fair.  The challenge certainly piqued Gustave Eiffel (1832-1923), France’s greatest engineer.  His bridges spanned rivers in Bolivia, Hungary and Indo-China.  He was the engineering consultant to the governments of Russia and Japan.  The Statute of Liberty, France’s gift to a fellow republic, was constructed on a framework by Eiffel.  Given his worldwide commitments, Eiffel employed a staff  of engineers, architects and draftsmen.  It was one of his subordinates, an engineer named Maurice Koechlin, who first sketched a design of a most unique tower.

There would be four giant columns of wrought iron, a strong but malleable metal.  The columns would taper until, some 600 feet above ground, they would form one tower that would rise another 300 feet.   Their lattice work structure would limit wind resistance, so it would be possible for the tower to reach an unprecedented height of 300 meters– 984 feet.  That would be twice as high as the Washington Monument, then the world’s tallest building.  Eiffel recognized the brilliance of Koechlin’s proposal, and he applied the resources of his company into turning a sketch into a blueprint.  Under Eiffel’s supervision, forty draftsmen worked on a full-scale design of the tower.  There were to be 18,000 iron girders, beams and joists, each individually designed with a mathematical precision.  Any deviation or miscalculation would threaten the structure.  The blueprints took up 5,000 sheets of drawing paper.

More than 100 designs were presented for the competition, but it was no contest.  On May 12, 1886 the Exposition Committee approved of Eiffel’s proposal.  The Tower would be built on the Champs de Mars and serve as the gateway to the Exposition.  Construction began on January 22, 1887.  The foundations were laid 51 feet underground; that required the excavation of one million cubic feet of soil.  By June the columns began to rise.  Three hundred workers assembled the iron pieces in accordance with the meticulous plans.  But the incomplete structure did not look like a masterpiece.  In an open letter to the Exposition Committee some of France’s leading artists and writers–including Guy de Maupassant and Charles Gounod–denounced the Tower:

“We come, writers, painters, sculptors, architects, passionate lovers of the beauty of Paris — a beauty until now unspoiled — to protest with all our might, with all our outrage, in the name of slighted French taste, in the name of threatened French art and history, against the erection, in the heart of our capital, of the useless and monstrous Eiffel Tower…

Listen to our plea! Imagine now a ridiculous tall tower dominating Paris like a gigantic black factory smokestack, crushing with its barbaric mass Notre Dame, Sainte Chapelle, the Tour Saint-Jacques, the Louvre, the dome of Les Invalides, the Arc de Triomphe, all our humiliated monuments, all our dwarfed architecture, which will be annihilated by Eiffel’s hideous fantasy. For twenty years, over the city of Paris still vibrant with the genius of so many centuries, we shall see, spreading out like a blot of ink, the shadow of this disgusting column of bolted tin.”

That, at least, was the polite criticism.  The more vehement accusation was that the Tower looked Jewish.  The Tower does not seem particularly circumcised, but its design evidently was exotic, foreign, sinister…You know where the synonyms are leading.  Of course, Gustave Eiffel himself was incriminated; he did have a German grandfather.  That grandfather was a Christian; most Germans were.  If you counted on your fingers all the Jews on the Prussian General Staff and in the Imperial Court…

But French conservatives would insist that this was a bar mitzvah.

Yet the hideous Jewish spiderweb continued its construction, and was completed ahead of schedule and under budget.  No doubt, that was further proof of its alien nature.   The World’s Fair opened on May 6th, and the Eiffel Tower was the gateway to 61,722 exhibits and shows.  The visitor could see replicas of the Bastille, Javanese villages, and an Egyptian marketplace–with belly dancers .  From America, there was Buffalo Bill and his Wild West Show; the sharpshooting Annie Oakley was the crowd favorite.  Reflecting the latest advances in technology, the Fair was lit by electricity.  With that added illumination, the Eiffel Tower stood as distinct in the night as it did in the day.  Although the Exposition ended in October, tourists still came to see the world’s tallest building.  In its first year, the Tower sold 1.9 million admissions.  Gustave Eiffel made back all his investment in five months.

Today, more than 250 million visitors have ascended the Eiffel Tower, and it is one of the world’s most beloved landmarks.  French conservatives now are reconciled to it, and they did have the solace of the Dreyfus Affair and the Vichy Regime.

January 14th

On this day in 1943, Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill set the standard for product placement by meeting in Casablanca. Perhaps FDR did owe a favor to Warner Bros., the only Democratic studio in Hollywood. Jack Warner was not deeply imbued with liberal principles; however, he felt compelled to be the political opposite of Republican Louis B. Mayer. Churchill went along with the choice of Casablanca, although he hated being mistaken for Sidney Greenstreet.

While the movie had only been planned as a B-list production, the actual Casablanca Conference was a Hollywood extravaganza. The location alone was thrilling. Here were Franklin and Winston in Morocco, which the Allied armies had just coerced from the Pro-Vichy French. (Warner Bros. would have staged better battle scenes than the French did, but heroics is not part of a collaborator’s charm.) If our leading men could meet in Casablanca, it was reassuringly obvious that that the Allies controlled the Atlantic. You did not see Hitler and Mussolini holding a conference in Havana (and I doubt that Meyer Lansky would have made Hitler feel welcome).

Although the North African campaign was not yet over, an Allied victory there was inevitable. True, the Axis still had four corps in Tunisia, but three of them were Italian and had been trying to surrender since 1941. Despite the proximity of Italy, the Axis was unable to either resupply or evacuate the trapped army there; how many men can fit in a U-Boat? Caught between Allied armies advancing from Algeria and Libya, the remnants of the Afrika Korps and Mussolini’s “Legions of Iron” surrendered in May, 1943.

If the ten day conference at Casablanca was supposed to have a memorable quote, it was “unconditional surrender.” The Allies would accept nothing less. The proclamation was meant to reassure Stalin as well as intimidate Hitler. The Soviet leader had been invited to the conference but he was somewhat preoccupied with an invading German army. The ongoing battle of Stalingrad would turn out to be quite gratifying, but Stalin still needed the Americans and British to open a second front against the Germans.

Of course, the Americans felt ready to land in France; after all the Germans had been such pushovers in 1918. However, the British remembered what pushovers the Germans had been in 1914, 1915, 1916 and 1917; and they definitely had a second wind by 1940. No, the British favored an invasion of Italy; it was conveniently close to North Africa and the Italians were a congenial enemy. Roosevelt agreed. The Second Front would be against the Italians; Stalin must have felt so relieved.

It is only a matter of time before “The Forsyte Saga” is made into a two-hour action epic set in outer space.  (Princess Irene is unhappily married to Soames Vader and runs off with his cousin Jolyon Vader.)  I recently saw “Moll Flanders” relocated to the Red Neck South.  Yes, that does seem like a clever idea;  but that was the limit of its wit.  The updated “Jolene” kept all the hapless heroine’s sexual misadventures but none of Dafoe’s bawdiness.  It was more anthropological than fun.  I gave up after 20 minutes, although that was enough for two nude scenes by Jessica Chastain.  (This film is recommended for teenage boys.)

So you can imagine my dread in viewing “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.”  How do you condense the complexities of a John Le Carre espionage novel into two hours?  Worse, now that the Cold War is ancient history, how do you edify an audience that watched “Lincoln” thinking the Civil War was fought against the Germans.  (That was only true in Wisconsin.)  Some 30 years ago, film makers considered the challenge of “Tinker, Tailor…” and resigned themselves into producing a six hour mini-series.  It starred Alec Guinness as the sly, subtle George Smiley.

Now, the story has been remade as a two-hour movie with Gary Oldman as the understated hero.  (I must compliment any Oldman performance where he doesn’t seem like Sid Vicious.)  Let’s see if I can describe the plot.  There is a Soviet double-agent in one of the top positions of British intelligence, and George Smiley has to find him.  No, don’t congratulate me for that succinct explanation; I only know it because I saw the six-hour miniseries.  There are four suspects; of course, the traitor turns out to be the only one who is likable.  Even his rationale for treason is somewhat endearing:  he didn’t think that he was betraying Britain but rather annoying America.

Of course, we annoying Americans might not appreciate that explanation, so the two-hour film chose to condense the answer from “those appalling Yanks”  into more of an existential shrug.  Somebody has to be a traitor; why not me.  That may be tactful but not satisfactory.  So I am offering an alternate script.

Smiley:  I do have a slight question.

Traitor (who also is the handsomest of the four suspects–but you’d expect that):  The Soviets do have a better national anthem than the Americans.

Smiley: Yes, the tune is much better, but the lyrics are absurd.  “Land of happy tractors, heroic beets…”

Traitor (who isn’t feigning a stutter in this role, and so won’t win an Academy Award):  There is an advantage to not speaking Russian.

Smiley:  If you determine your treason by the best national anthem, why aren’t you spying for the French?

Traitor (who you still picture as Mr. Darcy):  I did offer.  But French intelligence only wanted nude photos of Petula Clark.  I offered some pornography with Princess Margaret, but everyone has that.

Smiley:  At least, the Soviets respect Petula Clark.

Traitor (who really resents being confused with Colin Farrell):  It is not Russian morals so much as aesthetics.  They want nude photos of Margaret Rutherford.

p.s.  And here is the Soviet anthem:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yDrtNEr_5M