I liked the Movie GWTW, but whoever wrote that sequel should have been horsewhipped.
As Groucho Marx says in one of the Marx Brothers movies, "I'd horsewhip you, if I had a horse."
Amen. The only reason there was a sequel was that the copyright was about to expire, so the estate of Peggy Marsh (Margaret Mitchell's name in her daily life) wanted to push out an officially sanctioned sequel before everyone and his brother turned out unofficial ones.
Some of the best writers of the South, notably Pat Conroy, lined up for the gig. But for reasons that can only be explained by the injudicious use of hard drugs, Mitchell's heirs chose Alexandra Ripley, a prolific hack with a long resume of bodice-ripping melodrama.
The sequel was appalling, and I can almost hear Margaret Mitchell spinning in her grave from here. She's buried in Atlanta's Oakland Cemetery, the city's oldest municipal cemetery and one with a large Confederate section, some graves marked, others not.
Will's column gets the gist, but leaves out an important detail -- John Marsh didn't just drop a ream of paper and tell his wife to write a book. He also made daily runs to the public library, returning books and bringing new ones home.
GWTW was meticulously researched, and while it is a work of fiction, it is an accurate tactical account of the Atlanta Campaign, and an accurate account of Reconstruction -- certainly not objective, but how Southerners saw things. The best teacher I had in high school, Mr. Morgan, used GWTW as a starting point to teach that period of history.
One other point -- GWTW is the biggest movie blockbuster in history, and it isn't close. Adjusted for inflation (first-run GWTW viewers paid a nickel to see it; if you want to watch it in a theater today, eight bucks is the minimum), Titanic is a relative pipsqueak. With the competition from TV, home video, video games, the Internet and iPods, I don't think GWTW will ever be dethroned.
The gala premiere was held at Atlanta's Lowe's Grand theatre. The after-party was at the Biltmore Hotel. Hattie McDaniel, who would win an Oscar for her portrayal of Mammy in the movie, was not invited to either of those strictly-segregated venues.
Meanwhile, a couple miles down Auburn Avenue, a young Michael Lester King, Jr. (his father would later legally change his name and his son's to Martin Luther) was just learning to read and write.
Will is dead-on in observing that we've come a very long way in a pretty short time.