I'm all about sticking it to The Man in the form of Mr. Potter.
For an adult, as a fully-reasoned choice in a society where there will be aid to you in your endeavours.
Not having it heaped upon you by your neighbors, by your family, by fate and literally by the fuck*ng Lord Hisself to play Jesus for a town of incompetents who can't begin to understand what you're even doing and WILL fall to the next Mr. Potter (Wal-Mart in two generations, I'm sure) once you're dead or no longer capable of fighting the "good" fight.
Heaping it all upon one competent man to nanny Bedford Falls past the boogiemen for one more generation, with nothing learned by anyone other than the bitter ashes of a life unlived in George Bailey's mouth whenever God finally allows the guy to die...
That ain't what I'm talking about at all.
The duty George Bailey did is... to steal the words of The Bastards... a hand-out not a hand-up, y'know.
And a wasted hand-out at that. Fools losing bags of money, idioting away their town to the wolves... George Bailey's sacrifice isn't real change, it is a band-aid and a wasted one. The wound simply festers beneath, exposed again when the dressing's tackiness finally fails.
The same way where Mother Theresa's "compassion" toward the poor of the far East was utterly wasted because, while she balmed some short-term wounds, she made the long-term wounds worse by being beholden to bankrupt Catholic sexual moralities.
A slick corporate douchebag handing out condoms would have, yeah, done that part of the world a lot more good than a sanctamonious old bitty handing out wheat for tomorrow and ignorance for ten generations to come.
And, anyway, as much as I'm against the Mr. Potters of the world, my passions flame far hotter against such cruel paternalistic visions of Divinity than any tinpot plutocrat.
Mr. Potter, too, would have fallen to Wal-Mart or someone like them by now, after all.
Ultimately, my complaints transcend the Potters of the world because... they couldn't exist if not for the ignorance and patronizing hate handed out in the name of the ancient kind of God that movie represented.
Bedford Falls was going to burn itself down one way or the other, guys and ladies, no need for George Bailey to throw his youth upon the pyre to slow it down for another twenty years.
That poor abandoned steamertrunk and a wasted life and a cruel fuckin' Lord.