But that’s not the moment that I’m thinking of.  It’s about three sentences earlier.  Cameron Crowe knows how to write dialogue; he easily inherits the chair of conversation-mastery recently vacated by the late Eric Rohmer.  Yet this monologue wanders and meanders, and finally Jerry loses his train of thought.  He pauses, and in a wonderful non-sequitur, slowly says, “We live in a cynical world.  A cynical … world …”

It’s the final breakdown of the artifice of Jerry’s character, and it’s accomplished when Crowe strips language away from his smooth-talking protagonist.  There’s grief and anguish and a deep realization of the possibility of hope, both in the line on the page and in Tom Cruise’s (great) delivery of it.  It resonates because it’s not just Jerry Maguire speaking, it’s Cameron Crowe reaching out and telling us the truth.

And it is true.  We do live in a cynical world.  As such, I’m going to appraise the new internet meme, “Pardon Me,” giving its star, Maxine Swaby, the benefit of the doubt.

Before I get started, watch it for yourself.

In all likelihood, this video — which was written and shot a decade ago by Patrick McNeill (you can see his hands on the keyboard) — was produced as the equivalent of a demo tape.  The title card at the start confirms this.

Something like this could only come from a pre-Web 2.0 era.  Reality TV and the instantaneous manifestation of “fame” through MySpace (Justin Biber, Colbie Caillait) or American Idol have narrowed the sights of “dreaming” musicians. The song itself is never trying to be something that it’s not.  ”Pardon Me” has clearly been written as gentle fodder for elevators, Trinidadian soft-rock radio stations, and a small release.  It’s from the pre-American Idol and MySpace-ization of musical yearning; rather than assuming that “I should be the greatest recording artist of the year”–which is the literal goal of American Idol– Ms. Swaby and Mr. McNeill simply wrote a song and picked up a camera.

To state the obvious, the chord progression and melody of the song aren’t all that bad; problems arise when Maxine Swaby goes for the high notes and Patrick McNeill makes some odd stylistic choices for the music video.  It’s completely beyond me why they chose to shoot in a church or why she’s dressed like she works on a cruise liner (unless she actually happens to work on a cruise liner).  There are editing hiccups amid the oddly framed tulips and arbitrary swans. But those criticisms are too simple and to simply dismiss the work is a cop-out.

What this music video does have is a clear statement of gumption and heart, as well as a satisfactory structure.  It “works” as a music video.  A lot of work that is easy to label as “bad” have these very same characteristics, perhaps the greatest of which is Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space.

People have brought Plan 9 From Outer Space into the realm of camp by claiming that it’s dialogue is ‘so bad it’s good’.  Yet Plan 9 From Outer Space is a much more carefully considered work than much of what’s half-heartedly released today (take Leap Year and Did You Hear About The Morgans? as prime examples).  I say that with all seriousness.  Plan 9 From Outer Space, like “Pardon Me,” is an innocent in a cynical world.  There are dozens of low budget sci-fi films coming out on the festival circuit this year, helmed by film school kids with hard-ons for Maya and Flame and Shake (3D effects programs), that are far more concerned with the sheen reflection on the pool of digital blood than with creating a film that has something to say.  Ed Wood knew exactly what he was trying to say with Plan 9, just like McNeill and Swaby know what they’re attempting with their music video.  The statements aren’t profound, each cloaked in innumerable clichés, but at least they’re willing to say something at all.

By no means am I saying that “Pardon Me” contains great legitimate cultural or artistic value.  Rather, it’s simply that it’s very simple in our digital, our cynical, day and age to dismiss and laugh simply because we see a reflection of the vulnerability we all share when we dare to make something — anything — and put it out to the world.