Fond of firearms as I am, liking war movies as I do, and following Mark Wahlberg’s transformation from rapper to thespian with awe (as who could help but be), I rented Shooter not long back. There I beheld the latest depiction of a pervasive attitude in modern Western culture, one that applies to all institutions, be they political, social, or religious: the wizened snarl.

In the film, Bob Lee Swagger (a classic name in every possible way), is a marine scout sniper introduced while lying on the ground in Ethiopia, covered with camouflaged carpet. His gaze is trained through the scope of his high-powered rhino rifle on a convoy of bad guy transport vehicles. Next to Swagger (Wahlberg) is his “spotter”—the man who relates what’s going on all around so the shooter can make crucial, nano-second calculations. This spotter is also Swagger’s best buddy, though I forget the guy’s name. It doesn’t really matter, because in the midst of their easy, alpha male banter, the spotter takes out a picture of his wife—so you know he’s about to die.

Sure enough, a battle ensues, and though the two young patriots perform their mission with admirable aplomb, they’re abandoned by their government. Left stranded beneath hellacious helicopter fire, the spotter is cut down. Still, Swagger finishes the assignment by mortaring the strafers with an inspiring last ditch blast (we get to hear him breathe steadily through all this, to let us know he’s got the nerves of a crustacean).

Next we see Swagger, he’s living in Alaska at a cabin that’s masculinely but tastefully decorated (a Ralph Lauren Quonset hut) with a big dog that drinks beer (something filmmakers find endearing; everybody likes guys who give animals alcohol). His father received the Congressional Medal of Honor, so there’s a family tradition of patriotism, but Swagger himself is bitter and betrayed.

So when a mysterious government heavy (Danny Glover) finds his retreat and offers “one more mission,” it takes some convincing. At stake: the president’s life; there’s “chatter” about an assassination attempt. Only someone with Swagger’s skills can uncover the potential killer’s lair, giving the feds a head start. Swagger, neither a red state nor a blue state dude, but more of a white state, purer-than-thou type, takes the job; he’s a sucker for America.

And what does he get for all his trouble? Dadgummit if he’s not betrayed again, a frame-up that sends him on the lam.

It’s all entertaining enough, but the larger point (explicated by a basset hound over a gin and tonic), and sadly the more insidious one, is what comes by way of object lessons and archetypes. From time to time, we get to hear speeches by jaded gun experts, cynical military higher-ups, down-and-out weaponists, bloviated go-to men, and Dodsworthian-inspired politicians who let us know that “everybody is corrupt”; “your terrorist is my freedom fighter”; and “all conflicts have ulterior motives” (especially current ones—lots of cheap Bush bashing, which is like shooting fish in a barrel nowadays).

It’s all an inside job, see? There’s always a grassy knoll and a 9-11 cover-up and a studio in the desert where they faked the moon launch. The only guy worth a damn is the lone wolf; anybody in an institution—any institution—gets swept up into the rot or driven down into a bottle.

Why I bring all this up is that lately it’s common to hear this said everywhere, not just read it on a crackpot’s bumper sticker. And if you make the most tepid observation that while politicians, priests, etc. fail us too often, the principles of the country or faith, if sound, must be held to—you get a snarl, a sneer, and the accusation of being a naïf.

Though it’s wise to be circumspect about what any solution can promise, and responsible to be aware of our own hair-raising pasts, what are we left with when all is reduced to cynicism but a smug vanity of individualist snarkdom? It takes no courage to disbelieve. There’s a peculiar cowardice in this degree of distrust, one too afraid to risk disappointment, and too lazy for the hard effort of reconciling what we aspire to and what we’re capable of.