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An Amusing Anthropological Exploration Of The UFO Phenomenon.
By Christopher Weir
Dreamland: Travels Inside the Secret World Of Roswell And Area
51, by Phil Patton, (Villard Books). Cloth, $25
IN RECENT YEARS, Area 51--the top-secret air base in southern
Nevada whose restricted airspace is known as Dreamland--has come
to represent everything and, consequently, signify nothing. Both
a proving ground for America's most exotic air power and a cheap
prop for Hollywood's next alien flick, it doesn't so much conceal
truth as stimulate the imagination. The result is a phantasmal
terrain that, as captured by Phil Patton, is often ridiculous
yet vaguely profound.
Until about 10 years ago, Area 51, also known as Groom Lake,
was an essentially anonymous test site for such aircraft as the
U2 and SR-71 spyplanes, as well as the F-117 stealth fighter.
Then, in 1989, a cryptic figure named Bob Lazar burst onto the
UFO scene claiming that he had been recruited to work at a place
called S-4 in the vicinity of the Groom Lake complex. There, he
claimed, he was shown captured flying saucers whose "antimatter"
reactors were fueled by the mysterious "element 115."
Soon, the veracity of Lazar's tale was immaterial to the appealing
notion of Area 51 as a sort of informational black hole that would
digest any idea or fantasy, an ideological prism that could refract
fringe obsessions into a rainbow of pop culture realities. Today,
among hundreds of examples, Volkswagen runs commercials that irreverently
suggest its Bug was "reverse engineered from UFOs,"
a concept first popularized by Lazar's tale of testing and deconstructing
flying saucers to determine their engineering secrets.
Patton's approach to this phenomenon is largely, and successfully,
anthropological. In charting the relatively brief history of Area
51, he discovers a real-time mythology churning at hyperspeed
through the gears of the information age. Events or news that
transpired just years ago, or even yesterday, are enshrouded in
layers of interpretation and embellishment that would have once
taken decades to manifest.
This process, Patton points out, is encouraged by Area 51's implicit
flirtation with the unknown: "Folklore and superstition begin
where science and knowledge end. And knowing stopped at the perimeter
around Dreamland."
In his quest to define Dreamland, Patton engages everything from
the ethics of secret military budgets to the slippery process
of government disinformation, the inspiring tales of fearless
test pilots to the antics of UFO researchers. With one hand on
the steering wheel and a pile of brilliantly distilled research
on the passenger seat, he cruises across the arid west and narrates
a tale that is curiously epic, frequently humorous and always
entertaining.
The only time Patton runs into trouble is when his lateral-minded
prose blows an occasional gasket: "You could see the black
budget as a kind of hoodoo book of conjure spells, a set of computer
viruses in bureaucratic codes--a pattern somewhere between hex
and hexadecimal."
Excuse me?
Meanwhile, a certain charm percolates through the book's impossible
cast of characters, including the eminently likable Norio Hayakawa,
a "conspiratorologist," full-time funeral director and
part-time honky-tonker. Writes Patton, "He was wild about
country-and-western music. He had a portable keyboard system,
which he had brought with him and played at the Little A'Le'Inn....
In the desert, I thought, everyone is a country star, everyone
is an American--and everyone is an alien."
As it navigates Area 51's shifting mirage of astounding accomplishments
and staggering absurdities, of elusive conspiracies and inevitable
exploitations, Dreamland ultimately unveils a fantastic
landscape laid to waste by overexposure and cynicism. The military
brass and aircraft enthusiasts get fed up with the intrusions
of UFO buffs, the UFO buffs get pissed off at misrepresentations
in the media and Hollywood, and soon the media and Hollywood will
be done with Area 51, but only after they've beat the whole concept
to a pulp.
Thus, the dynamic of Dreamland becomes a metaphor for
too many things in postmodern America: Everyone getting sick and
tired of a place that doesn't necessarily exist, and before they
ever really got to enjoy it.
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