The Prolongation of Work

Tristan Colaizzi

 

Six seconds isn’t a lot of time. It takes about six seconds to tie your shoe or unlock your door, but six seconds was the magic length that made Vine, a social media powerhouse, engage over 40 million users. The concept behind the app is users post six second videos that repeat on an endless loop, allowing users to re-watch Vines, over and over again without having to move a finger. Vine, under Twitter’s ownership, does have similarities to Facebook and Instagram, in its user base and popularity, but its unique six second platform is what allowed for Vine to break into the highly competitive market in 2013. Vine serves as a platform for raunchy, childish, low-blow carnivalesque content, while reshaping the internet in many respects by creating countless fads, which grabbed the attention of millions, such as What Are Those? Smack Cam, and Damn Daniel, to name a few. It changed how millions of people interact with each other and is, by Bakhtinian standards, a modern carnival of epic proportions.

The first logical question to ask when examining Vine is why six seconds was chosen. It turns out that is a pretty easy question to answer. In an interview that aired on NPR’s All Things Considered, Vine creator, Dom Hoffman, admitted that creators had toyed with the idea of ten seconds and five seconds which turned out to be too long or short respectively. (Sydell) They decided on six seconds because it “allowed for the aesthetic feel the creators wanted but preserved the quickness they wanted to promise users.” (Sydell) After deciding on six seconds and realizing that the videos “end[ed] very quickly and [] felt anti-climactic,” Hoffman added in the unique endless looping feature, giving birth to a non-stop, hectic, carnivalesque atmosphere that all vines have. (Sydell) But even though six seconds was chosen because it felt right to the creators, why is it the formula that became so popular? The answer is in our attention. In today’s world and especially online everything happens quicker and more seamlessly, so to grab someone’s attention can be difficult and to keep it is in another challenge entirely. Getting someone’s attention is more on the users of Vine than anything else. If your content is interesting, people are going to look at what you have to say. However, content is not exclusive to Vine, the same people can use Facebook or Instagram to spread their ideas too, and they do. What is unique to Vine is how the app keeps your attention. Psychologists have created many different models of memory over the last century that try to explain how we pay attention and store memories. One of these models is the “Multi-Store Model,” by Richard Atkinson and Richard Shiffrin. The model published in 1968 is relevant because it gives time limits for the three classes of memory; sensory register (several hundred milliseconds), short-term store (30 seconds or less), and long-term store (indefinite). What Vine does, different from Instagram and Facebook, is their platform exists only in short-term store, more commonly known as working memory. (Atkinson) What this allows for is the user to view many videos in a very short period of time, paying attention to the video in its entirety. In a perfect carnival there is mixing of people and ideas, so much mixing and so much happening all at the same time that it becomes chaotic and crazed. A Vine feed is the same thing, an infinite number of diverse six second videos mixing one after the other in one chaotic all containing app. It isn’t possible to become bogged down in one vine for half an hour like can happen with a video on Facebook, instead by keeping the user’s attention in short-term store she is constantly inundated with new, different, exciting information just like in a Bakhtinian carnival.

This carnival is not exclusive either. For as long as it has been around, Vine has been absolutely free to download from the Apple app store and later free on Android as well. Any smartphone has a camera, and almost everyone, regardless of class has a smartphone. Given it may not be the newest version with the best camera, but you don’t need a good camera to use vine. In fact, in an all-time greatest Vines compilation on YouTube the vast majority of the videos are blurry, with muffled audio. (Best Vines Of All Times) This all is to say that Vine is accessible to all, and it can be seen in its diverse user base.

The modern carnival’s platform may be the structure of the app, but it is the content on Vine that makes it a carnival. The carnival as Bakhtin put it is a “suspension of all hierarchical rank, privileges, norms.” (Bakhtin 87) The best content to look at is the content that has been seen by the most people on Vine, therefore the users that have the most loops played of their vines. One of those people is Matthew Espinosa, a kid I grew up with.

Matthew Espinosa is a nineteen-year-old from Northern Virginia who attended Bishop Ireton High-School where he played football and lacrosse. He comes from a middle class family living in the suburbs of DC. Matthew also has over six million followers on Vine and has now starred in his own movie. But when Matthew was 15, before Vine landed itself in every teenager’s phone across America, he was just another kid in my neighborhood. He went to the same elementary school, and played in the same sports leagues as every kid in our town. Matthew is a normal kid, and he became one of the most famous Viners of all time. Vine is not an app whose content is dominated by famous celebrities or political figures, in fact only one person on the list of top fifty Viners was previously famous. (Rankzoo) The other forty-nine were kids just like Matthew who millions and millions of people loved for their vines. Matthew puts it perfectly in one of his vines where he says, “I’m not famous, I’m not in movies, TV shows, magazines, I don’t have paparazzi, I’m just a kid with a camera and a Vine account,” that was before he reached six million followers. Matthew’s vines were for the average kid, not a bloating of an ideal to live up to. Matthew and Viners alike brought the carnival down to the people, they didn’t hold it above their heads. One example of this common vine was one where Matthew recounts a childhood fear, “When you’re in line at the grocery store and your mom leaves you; She’s coming I swear, I don’t know how to use a credit card [starts crying], [pulls out phone] mom I need you! Hurry up! [then more exaggerated tears]” (Huge Matthew Espinosa 15:50) In another he exaggerates the fearful moment we have all had while dreaming, “Am I the only one that literally has a heart attack when you’re like half sleeping and half awake, and you trip in your dream and you wake up like, like crying and you’re like Uggghmmeee [starts crying in tears]” (Huge Matthew Espinosa 16:30) Across most of his vines Matthew over-dramatizes everything he says or does. In doing so he embarrasses and makes a fool of himself, by screaming and crying in a real grocery or poking fun at the childish terror he sometimes feels while dreaming. But, in Vine, just like in Bakhtin’s carnival, it is precisely the suspension of seriousness and formality that qualifies something as a Carnival. Bakhtin notes that “in reality, it is life itself, but shaped according to a certain pattern of play.” (Bakhtin 86) The vines are real, they do exist in reality, but under their own rules.

Matthew’s Vines, although carnivalesque, don’t entirely show a dissolution of social boundaries. But we can see this in the most famous Viner of all time, Andrew B. Bachelor. Unlike Matthew who comes from a white middle class family, Andrew, better known as King Bach is an American immigrant, initially born in Canada and raised by two Jamaican immigrants. Both Bach and Matthew were unknown before Vines release in 2013, and now sit with a collective 22 million followers. (Rankzoo) Accompanying them on the top are Lele Pons, and Brittany Furlan, two female Viners. The diversity of race, sex, and economic status of the most popular Viners shows the dissolution of social boundaries that the carnival calls for, unlike the predominantly rich, white stars of Hollywood.  Moreover, if Vine truly is a dissolution of social boundaries, then we should see social interactions of people with wildly varying social backgrounds. The most prominent Viners have numerously made appearances in each other’s Vines, not as an outsider sitting in one of Ellen’s white chairs, but as an integral member of the Vine. For example, King Bach and Brittany Furlan often play a couple in many of their shared Vines. They partake in the raunchy unfiltered chaos that is Vine’s carnival seamlessly together, and they are only able to do so because of the dissolution of social boundaries that exists. It is precisely this type of qualification that makes Vine a carnival under Bakhtin’s classification.

King Bach’s Vines show what Bakhtin calls a “marked suspension of all hierarchical rank, privileges, norms.” (Bakhtin 87) Many of King Bach’s vines do this through racial play with police. He takes the power structure in America and reverses it. Bach, just like Matthew often does an exaggeration of typical life, seen in one of his videos where he gets pulled over by a policeman who then frames him with alcohol and a gun, because he is black. (King Bach Police Vine) By making this Vine, Bach is calling out the injustices in the ranks and norms of our society. His voice gets heard in Vine, not the voice of the policeman that is quoted in Sundays newspaper. He is turning society upside down by making his, economically and socially depressed voice, heard over the policeman’s. Bach goes from being the town peasant to being the King. This theme continues over to another one of his Vines where Bach is pulled over by an officer who asks him “do you have any idea how fast you were going?” to which Bach responds, “according to my snapchat selfie, 24 miles per hour, ya bitchhhhhh.” (Ultimate King Bach 5:55) In real life if Andrew B. Bachelor said this to a police officer, not only would he be ticketed and arrested, but risks even being killed. King Bach’s ability to do something so unrealistic and backwards from real life, yet playfully humorous goes to show how Vine is a modern carnival. Vine is a place where diverse people can disregard the rules and hierarchies that normally govern them, and in an endless six seconds of raunchy unfiltered chaos flip the rules of society.

Unlike a Mardi Gras carnival Vine was created to turn a profit. This requires Vine, just like Facebook and Instagram to have advertisements. But unlike Facebook and Instagram, Vine’s advertisements do not compromise its ability to be a Carnival. If we look at advertisements on Facebook they often surround the user’s news feed. On Instagram advertisements are placed into a user’s feed, often looking just like a post your friend would make. But on Vine advertising is different. For example, if you work in marketing for Nike and you want to advertise a new shoe that is coming out, on Instagram you would pay to post your advertisement on a million feeds and it would come up as the users scrolled through. On Vine, however, you pay them to advertise the new shoe, but they don’t just throw it into users feeds. What Vine does is they reach out to a famous Viner who has followers that are likely to buy Nike, such as King Bach, and he would make a vine where he says “Check out the new Nike shoes I just got, they aren’t out yet, my friend hooked me up, but you can pick them up on December 3^rd.” But King Bach doesn’t have to make that Vine if he doesn’t want to. If he decides that he is against Nike for some reason Vine cannot make him post a video. They cannot force content into the users’ phones like Facebook and Instagram do. In other words, the power of the carnival is still in the hands of the people who populate it. The lack of control on other social media platforms is striking. On Facebook and Instagram you might think that by having ads surrounding your feed, or mixed into it, doesn’t affect what you are consuming, but psychology says otherwise. These ads cannot be weeded out or ignored because of the way that all humans pay attention to what is in front of them. As it is noted in Attention by Alan R. White, “when one attends to X, e.g [Facebook or Instagram], although there must be some description of X, e.g. as [Facebook or Instagram], under which it is true that one is aware of X or realizes that it is X, yet it is not merely possible but very common that one does not realize that in paying attention to X one is paying attention to Y” e.g an advertisement. (White 1) White is saying that in being focused on your feed on Facebook or Instagram you are, by default, subconsciously playing attention to the ads that surround it.

So it seems like Vine has struck gold. It has provided 40 million users with a modern version of Bakhtin’s carnival. In all controllable aspects of the app that is undoubtedly true, but that doesn’t mean it’s possible. A little under a month ago Twitter announced that after five quarters of loss and firing nine percent of their employees they would be shutting down Vine. The carnival was no longer profitable, at no fault of its own, and we cannot blame Twitter for shutting it down. In fact, Vine’s closure says nothing about the efficacy of the app. It says something about the industry that the carnival had to exist in. An industry that values profit over the carnival.

 

Works Cited

Atkinson, Richard C., and Richard M. Shiffrin. “STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL PROCESSES IN LONG-TERM

Bakhtin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World. Compiled by Stephen Duncombe, London, Verso, 2002.

“Best Vines Of All Times (Best Compilation) (@VineCreative).” Youtube, www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1MLpsU7QWs. Accessed 17 Nov. 2016.

“Huge Matthew Espinosa Vine Compilation – All Matthew Espinosa Vines (212 Vines) – BEST VIN.”Youtube, 23 Aug. 2014, www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0qbKoq-zjI. Accessed 17 Nov. 2016.

“King Bach Police Vine.” YouTube, www.youtube.com/watch?v=Na88ilPgikI. Accessed 17 Nov. 2016.

MEMORY.” Psychological Review, vol. 76, no. 2, 1969, pp. 179-93. APA PsycNET, psycnet.apa.org/ journals/rev/76/2/179/. Accessed 16 Nov. 2016.

Sydell, Laura. “How Vine Settled on 6 Seconds.” NPR, 20 Aug. 2013, www.npr.org/sections/ alltechconsidered/2013/08/20/213846816/how-vine-settled-on-6-seconds. Accessed 16 Nov. 2016.

“Ultimate King Bach Vine Compilation with Titles – All KingBach Vines 2016.” Youtube, 2016,  www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPrDK_olPuM. Accessed 17 Nov. 2016.

“Vine Users Ranked in the Top 1000.” Rankzoo, rankzoo.com/vine_users?page=1. Accessed 16 Nov. 2016.

White, Alan R. Attention. Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1964.

The glamorous world of the show business attracts a large audience, and for a good reason. The combined effort and talent of the playwright, actors, directors, and set designers can produce a beautiful product: awe-inspiring shows. But why are humans so captivated by entertainment? Not everyone has the knowledge and experience to appreciate or criticize entertainment the way professional show or movie critics do. For most people, it is simply because they enjoy the experience. That is, they leave the play feeling better than how they arrived. Many plays (and movies, for that matter) offer the viewers a picture of a better, more perfect world than the one in which they actually live. Richard Dyer, in his essay “Entertainment and Utopia”, writes that entertainment, specifically show business, present elements of the utopian through the plotline, characters, set, and music, in a way that enthralls the audience; they can temporarily enter into an idealized world. This appears in Wicked The Musical, most obviously during the song “Defying Gravity”, when Ephaba rises from the stage, suspended in mid air, surrounded by artificial fog, as she sings about about her newfound power and freedom. Wicked attracts a worldwide audience because it tells a story about love, true friendship, and valuing others for who they are at the core, not on the surface. But could there be a different type of entertainment that succeeds without offering an idealized version of the world? A type that still attracts crowds, but possibly for different reasons? In an alternate type of entertainment, realism replaces utopianism, and the world on stage allows the viewer to acknowledge and relate to the universal experience of humans as we are, rather than the idealized vision of how we would like to be.

In the play, The Humans (New York opening 2016), written by Stephen Karam and directed by Joe Mantello, we enter the lives of the Blakes, a middle-class American family, during their Thanksgiving celebration. The play takes place in the new home of Brigid Blake (Sarah Steele) and her boyfriend, Rich (Arian Moayed), in their tiny, two-story Manhattan duplex. But as with many family get-togethers, any seemingly ordinary event can quickly turn into a nightmare. A sudden influx of familiar faces revives past arguments, and provides an open-mic for honest, and sometimes harsh, opinions. Throughout the course of the play, the multi-layered complexities of the Blakes unravel and the tension grows until they reach their breaking point. In the opening scene, Brigid’s family arrives from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Her father, Eric (Reed Birney), her mother, Deirdre (Jayne Houdyshell), her sister, Aimee (Cassie Beck), and her grandma, Momo (Eric’s mother, played by Lauren Klein) who has dementia and resides in a wheelchair, all eventually settle into the less-than-homey apartment. The couple, Brigid and Rich, have not completely moved in yet, so the already dreary apartment looks especially barren and “a touch ghostly” on this Thanksgiving evening. The set includes a narrow metal spiral staircase that connects the top floor to the basement, and a folding table with plastic chairs. Someone hung a singular string of Christmas lights over the kitchen in attempt to brighten the permanently dull space. The apartment is nothing special, and everyone in the audience recognizes the characters as ordinary, middle-class human beings.

What good is a play that depicts an ordinary world in which nothing seems exciting or amusing? In other words, what are we, as the audience, to gain by watching this play? It does not captivate us for its grandiose music, costumes, or sets in the way that other plays do. Jill Dolin in Utopia in Performance: Finding Hope in Theater writes that utopian entertainment “calls the attention of the audience in a way that lifts everyone slightly above the present, into a hopeful feeling of what the world might be like if every moment of our lives were as emotionally voluminous, generous, aesthetically striking, and intersubjectively intense”(5). Rather than depicting “what the world might be like” or what humans could be like, realism appeals to an audience for another reason. It allows us to focus in on a universally relatable topic: what it means to be human. Nothing in the play, no songs, sound effects, costumes, or anything within the realm of the utopian, distracts the audience from this because they do not exist. The director, Joe Mantello, and set director, David Zinn, successfully make the set of the play so common and generic, so real, that the audience forgets that these people are actually actors in a play, not just, say, our next-door neighbors. The audience feels at home with the Blakes, they welcome us into their family holiday to be a part of their evening. The Blake’s world is our world, and as they become more and more real, their lives on stage take on the characteristics of our lives: unstaged and unscripted

Certain sentiments arise in the play that undeniably relate to most humans. For example, the feeling that life is a never-ending list of chores and responsibilities. Eric and Deirdre have worked for decades in the same jobs, as a school maintenance worker, and as a office manager at a firm, respectively. Despite their many years of work, they still face financial insecurity. Eric says “I’ll tell you, Rich, save your money now. I thought I’d be settled by my age, you know, but man, it never ends. Mortgage, car payments, Internet, our dishwasher just gave out”. Karam does a wonderful job capturing how difficult it is for people to make ends meet. Another source of disagreement springs from Eric and Deirdre’s interactions with their daughters in sort of battle between generations. Even the location of their homes shows a divide. Brigid has just moved to the glamorous New York City, while Deirdre and Eric live in suburban Scranton, Pennsylvania. Additionally, they are devout Christians who constantly nag their daughters for their disinterest, which is made obvious when Brigid says, “no religion at the table!”. Eric says to Brigid, “you put your faith in juice cleansing…”, in another stab at the younger generation. And Deirdre makes her point crystal clear when she gives the young couple a statue of the Virgin Mary as a housewarming gift. Another disagreement arises between Brigid and Deirdre, who cannot for the life of her understand why Brigid and Rich have not gotten married yet! Never missing an opportunity to bring it up, Deirdre responds to Brigid’s reference to her “mother-in-law” by saying under her breath, “She isn’t your mother unless you get married”. Furthermore, Eric stigmatizes mental illness and refuses to pay for Brigid’s therapy, despite her constant insistence on needing it. “Well, save some of the money you spend on organic juice and pay for it yourself” he says to Brigid, a harsh response, indicating clearly their differing views. These interactions between the family members on stage feel all too real to us audience members. The ability to relate to to these characters almost has an effect of breaking down the fourth wall between the audience and performers, as if we are present in the room with them.

The Humans reaches another level of realism through its use of humor. Despite the dark reality that this play depicts, Karam still manages to incorporate humor into the script, and its response by the audience is both expected and puzzling at the same time. At the dinner table, Eric asks Rich if he takes medication for his mental illness, because “in our family, we don’t have that sort of depression”, to which Aimee responds “yeah, no, we just have a lot of stoic sadness”. The audience, myself included, laughed. Moreover, Deirdre sends articles to her family via text and email all the time, mostly articles about faith and homosexuality (because Aimee, the elder daughter, is gay). Brigid, annoyed with her mother’s constant messages says, “you don’t have to text her [Aimee] every time a lesbian kills herself”. The audience responded to that remark with a kind of uncomfortable laugh. But how can we justify laughing at these topics? Depression, sexuality, and suicide are serious matters that hit uncomfortably close to home for so many people, so why did we laugh? In The Culture Industry, Adorno explains that “there is laughter because there is nothing to laugh about. Laughter, whether reconciled or terrible, always accompanies the moment when a fear is ended” (112). Similarly, The Freudian Relief Theory states that “laughter is a physical manifestation of the release of nervous energy” (Bardon, 9). Maybe one of these theories can offer some insight as to why human’s response is laughter, since undoubtedly some element of fear or anxiety associated with these topics exists. Karam understands the human aspect of it; what provokes genuine laughter, but also what the effect of this laughter is. When an actor said something, everyone in the audience laughed together, along with the characters who chuckled on stage. In the presence of discomfort or fear, everyone responded the same way through laughter. The shared laughter creates solidarity between audience members. In a sense, laughter in this play brings people closer together into a community of shared experiences, shared fears, and shared anxieties.

The small gestures, subtle remarks, and dark humor that feel so genuine to us point to an even bigger picture of humanity. According to Karam, The Humans explores the “big existential horrors of life that everyone deals with”(Lecture Series), and the Blakes perfectly embody these “horrors”. After years of facing financial difficulties, Eric asks the heart-wrenchingly revealing question, “Don’tcha think it should cost less to be alive?” Not only Eric feels hopeless about life. Aimee faces the possibility of being fired from the law firm where she has worked for years. Even more, her ulcerative colitis has worsened and she may need surgery. And on top of all of this, she is heartbroken over a recent breakup with her girlfriend. How’s that for perfect timing? In utopian entertainment, a character might resolve his/her issues on the premise of the saying, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Take Forrest Gump, for example. In this utopian world, he never meets a challenge he cannot overcome. But the overriding message in The Humans reflects the more realistic sentiment that when life gives you lemons, it is awfully difficult to make lemonade. Forrest Gump survives a war, makes millions as a shrimper, and runs across the country with few, if any, setbacks. Eric Blake cannot even retire. If utopian entertainment offers its viewers impossibilities, why not look to realism for a better understanding of what is possible?

People are drawn to entertainment that offers a more perfect world, but in analyzing The Humans, it becomes clear that Stephen Karam sees greater value in representing the real world. The play offers satisfying and refreshing depiction of reality. No sugarcoating, just true hard life. So, to return to my question, what are we, as the audience, to gain by watching this play? The answer is a greater understanding and appreciation for humans, with all of our imperfections. By using realism rather than utopianism in his play, Karam offers us a greater understanding of ourselves, the humans around us, and the world in which we live.

 

Inglourious Basterds is Quentin Tarantino’s alternative to one of America’s more comfortable historical narratives. World War II’s morally simplistic narrative of good versus evil is relatively uncontested. Especially in the European sphere, a continent away from the nasty questions of atomic weapons and internment camps, the West celebrates American heroism and its conquering of Nazi evil. When George Bush wanted to label his enemies, the conquered alliance of WWII offered a name: the Axis of Evil, which wasn’t the descendent of the Axis Powers historically but was forced into that narrative rhetorically. The war’s memory might not be fresh among living Americans, but it still offers a shortcut for accessing feelings of American victory over evil. What should we make, then, of Tarantino’s new ending to the war?

Critic Jonathan Rosenbaum, formerly of the Chicago Reader, offers a critical takedown of the movie’s new ending: “Inglourious Basterds makes the Holocaust harder, not easier to grasp as a historical reality,” (italics his). That is, by ignoring some of the horrors of reality, Basterds’ fantasy encourages historical amnesia. However, this seems challenging to reconcile with the opening scene’s portrayal of the coldblooded murder of Jews to the delight of an SS officer. An officer who responds to being called the Jew Hunter with relish, for he “love[s] the title.” The movie contains depictions of the day-to-day horror of the bureaucratic work that supported the Holocaust, and takes the time to capture Shoshanna’s fear in response to it. Her gulps of air, after Hans Landa stops questioning her, sound like she has been choked by fear. Ignoring the Holocaust would be problematic, but Basterds doesn’t deny its existence, or even its horror. Additionally, this probably isn’t the right line of inquiry. Rosenbaum-and critics like him- seem occupied with representation of history. But with Tarantino’s construction of a new history, the larger concern should be with the implications of the new ending. What does it show about the stories we want to be true, as compared to the ones that are?

One path to an answer is through the movie’s recasting of the victors, specifically how the alternate conquerors defy Nazi categories of racial purity. The US army fighting on the European front was ethnically diverse; black Americans discriminated against at home fought for the country at war. But Basterds replaces an ethnically mixed group of soldiers with a group of Jews, led by a Native American man. Lt. Aldo Raine “got a little Indian in,” him, and the script suggests his noticeable but never mentioned neck scar comes from a noose. While Raine looks white (he’s played by Brad Pitt!), his backstory grants him the mantle of the racially impure. The other Basterds backstories are easier; they are Jews fighting the Third Reich, two from Austria and Germany, the rest from the States. This shift in history offers the chance for the World War II Jew to be more than a victim. Not only do they escape a pitying victimhood, but the movie invests time and energy into the creation of what Christian Thorne calls the “image of the tough-guy Jew,” so it can celebrate Jews pumping Hitler full of lead, castrating a Nazi via bullets, or lunging in slow-motion to kill Hitler’s bodyguard. But the movie’s character creation doesn’t stop there. The other revenge plot features two conspirators: a Jewish woman and her black lover. She escapes the Nazis before plotting their death. While she does not represent the same vein of Jewish machismo as the Basterds, Shoshanna still offers Jewish resistance. Fredrick Zoller, the Nazi sniper and boy wonder, chases after the Frenchwoman’s love, and expresses an entitlement to her body during the fateful scene in the projection room. The Nazis view her as inferior for her identities as both a woman and a Jew. Her black lover’s inferiority gets taken as fact by Goebbels, who won’t even let Marcel perform his job as projectionist because of his race. Contrast their success with the film’s two white heroes, Bridget von Hammersmark and Archie Hicox, who die before they can come close to defeating the Nazis.  The movie’s resistance comes from the very people the Nazis made a national project of oppressing.

The alternate history’s alternate heroes offer a direct repudiation of Nazi ideology. America’s victory clearly indicated that racially integrated troops could defeat the Aryan army. But the Allies real-life win is complicated by America’s ugly racial past, a point made clear by an SS officer’s pointed jab at “the history of the Negro in America.” Where the US can’t be a perfect hero, the victims of Nazi violence can be. The new world constructed by this alternate fiction places power in the hands of those the Nazis hate, and allows them to defeat their enemies. Basterds’s victory shows us what a world looks like where Nazi ideology doesn’t just lose, but loses to those it hates the most.

Tarantino’s alternate history offers a new path to salvation through ethnic and religious minorities, but also via culture. The conflagration in the theater positions the “movie as WMD, destroying the Third Reich, ending the war,” Ben Walters claims, which is “an alluring idea, indeed, but a flagrantly fantastical one.” (20) A combination of homemade and classic culture destroys both propaganda and Nazis as the whole. Old reels offer the kindling to destroy Nazi culture and society. Two amateurs film offer a narration of the destruction. Movie culture saturates Basterds; Operation Kino is German for cine, as in cinema; Hicox and Hammersmark are a critic and a star respectively; German directors of the period get namedropped; Aldo Raine comes from Aldo Ray; and so on, the movie’s accoutrements forming a veritable mountain of referential winks and nods. The movie indicates a desire to care about movies, and to show that it cares. Movies matter, Tarantino says, and says, and says. The climax comes from movies offering a response to propaganda, with the antidote to poisonous culture coming from its genuinely good variants. The better ending to World War II comes with a cultural solution. Good movies save us from the bad.

This reading of the movie sees it as genuinely transformative. For two and a half hours, the path to a new-and-improved world gets put on display. In this world, the victimized strike back decisively against their oppressors, and movies aid in their fight. But Tarantino doesn’t make this an easy escape to a better world. What critics describe as a fantasy is more complicated than escapism. There are two problems with it. The first comes from the realm of the Basterds.

The Basterds’ obsession with marking their enemies doesn’t indicate a desire to create a new world, but to solidify the hierarchy of the old. The second-to-last shot of the movie is Aldo’s knife carving a swastika into Landa’s forehead, with blood gushing, the victim screaming, and the camera lingering on the butchered skin. Then, the camera flips perspective to a smiling Aldo and Utivich, admiring their “masterpiece.” The stated rationale is that, post-war, Landa will remove his uniform and become anonymous, just another rich man on Nantucket. The scars keep the recognition of Landa’s evil. Preserving the moral hierarchy of the past seems unnecessary-after the real war, Nazis get sent to jail, and even a colonel with immunity likely wouldn’t escape notice as a German who fought on behalf of the Nazis. Beyond redundancy, the markers indicate a desire for a moral hierarchy for the future derived from the status quo. Rather than offer a solution to the conflicts of the old world, the new creation apparently should maintain the old’s battles. Not only is Raine’s practice cruel and bloody, but it passes up transcendence for preservation.

The second issue with Inglourious Basterds as a solution comes from Tarantino’s treatment of film. The movies-as-savior narrative doesn’t align with the film’s actual stance. Rather, Tarantino forces both film and its creators to die a fiery death. Zoller and Shoshanna die; Marcel and Goebbels die; Nation’s Pride and the unnamed revenge flick both burn. Shoshanna responds to Zoller’s film question “Who has a message for Germany?” by saying she does, for she is the “face of Jewish vengeance.” Then everything bursts into flames. Jewish vengeance answers Nazi patriotism, and the consequence is it all dies. At best, vibrant movie culture serves as a rejoinder to overzealous propaganda. At worst, it cancels it out. Either way, movie culture fails to offer enduring salvation.

Even in Tarantino’s references to movie history, movies create tragedy. One of the weirdest little injections of outside culture comes from the scene where nitrate film’s explosiveness gets explained to the moviegoer. A split screen effect allows for the left side to pan over spools of film while the right contains a clip from Alfred Hitchcock’s 1936 film Sabotage. After the part excerpted for Inglourious Basterds, the boy shown with nitrate film from the sample makes it onto a bus. The package under his arm turns out to be a bomb, which explodes, and the nitrate film amplifies the explosion. The innocent boy dies. Movies can’t be relied on to defend us; we shouldn’t even rely on them to avoid killing us.

Even as Tarantino “both salutes and problematizes the power of film,” as Walters describ es it, he draws comparisons between the actions of the Nazis and their Allied counterparts. (22) Thorne shows this through in a series of paired images; the carving of the swastika in the forehead and Nation’s Hero carving a swastika into wood; Eli Roth and Zoller taking the same angle down the barrel of their guns; the Apache comments from Aldo Raine and the drunken German. Look at the only two times the camera zooms in on a cigarette. First, Hans Landa stabs it into a delectable strudel, ruining the dessert. Next, it rotates in slow-motion after Marcel’s throw before lighting the pile of film. The seemingly unnecessary shot of strudel protruding from cigarette can’t pass without an equally extraneous shot of a cigarette preparing to hit the nitrate. Walters describes a parallel between Landa and Tarantino’s pacing. “The multilingual, dialogue-heavy longueurs that precede each chapter’s concluding ecstasy of violence map onto Landa’s taking his time with his victims, stringing out the small talk, having another glass of milk, not eating the strudel before the cream arrives,” with both the director and the SS officer relishing that suspense. (22) That parallel phrasing produces the uncomfortable comparison of the audience, of us, to the victims. The power of film certainly is “problematized,” for it ties together all-too-tightly the fascists and their opponents.

But then the film reaches off-screen to make sure its critique hits home, too. Both Walters and Thorne point out the callous laughter of Hitler as echoing the cackles within the theater during the exact same show. “Only a thoughtless viewer will not see him or herself reflected in shots of Hitler cackling,” Walters proclaims, with the implication that there are lots of thoughtless viewers. (22) The audience can’t be inoculated from viral ill-will just because it’s separated by a screen. Watching the movie and celebrating its deaths makes you resemble Hitler, which would merely be like the baser elements of internet name calling if Tarantino didn’t lodge this critique through an elaborate visual schema of similarities.

Looking at the film’s alternate history seems misguided as an exercise in finding political messages. Though it creates a new history, that history is subsumed to a larger message. The movie takes on the Third Reich not to prove a point about resistance to fascism, though it comments on it along the way. Rather, the moral logic of Nazism, and our abhorrence for its associations, lulls an audience into cheering for the reversal of Nazi evil as justice. Rosenbaum’s concern- “Basterds makes the Holocaust harder, not easier to grasp as a historical reality,”- gets it perfectly wrong. Basterds makes it possible to grasp the Holocaust as a modern possibility.

Works Cited

Rosenbaum, Jonathan. “Some Afterthoughts about Tarantino.” Blog post. 27 Aug. 2009. Web. 17 Nov. 2016. <www.jonathanrosenbaum.net/2009/08/16606/>.

Thorne, Christian. “Tarantino, Nazis and Movies That Can Kill You-Part 1.” Blog post. Commonplace Book. Williams College, 9 June 2011. Web. 17 Nov. 2016. <http://sites.williams.edu/cthorne/articles/tarantino-nazis-and-movies-that-can-kill-you-part-1/>.

Thorne, Christian. “Tarantino, Nazis and Movies That Can Kill You-Part 2.” Blog post. Commonplace Book. Williams College, 17 June 2011. Web. 17 Nov. 2016. <http://sites.williams.edu/cthorne/articles/tarantino-nazis-and-movies-that-can-kill-you-part-2/>.

Walters, Ben. “Debating Inglourious Basterds.” Film Quarterly, vol. 63, no. 2, 2009, pp. 19–22. www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/fq.2009.63.2.19.

RJ Shamberger

When your community does not accurately value anachronistic literature, you are conditioned to mimic its views and never realize that the answers to life that you are so desperately searching for may loom in a book. When you are struggling to find ways to feed your family in a capitalist society, you don’t pause your day to read a Shakespearian play or any of the other novels considered to be ‘Great Books.’ Likewise, what could William Shakespeare – a white man whose last breaths were taken five hundred years ago in the United Kingdom – possibly know about the current struggles of an African-American family? Why would I ever feel the need to study Shakespeare’s works or any other orthodox great work of literature? Instead, I would gravitate towards art forms that I can relate to and believe will help me better my situation, which is what I have done? Thus far in my life, I have found comfort and knowledge in songs that are written by people who not only look like me but speak directly to me – rap music. I would even go as far as to say that it is more important to study these songs than great orthodox works of literature and that they have given me a head start towards becoming a better human being. One of such rap songs is “Love Yourz” by J. Cole which I believe can alone challenge the purpose of the great books in its mere three minutes and thirty-two seconds of run time. I will now share my beliefs to why “Love Yourz” should be considered a great work of literature, if it has given me a head start on the path of human perfection, and if it has helped me make me fit for humane existence.

 

So what makes a great work of literature? I will begin by analyzing William Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” – one of the most well-known pieces of literature and consensually considered great work. The tragic love affair “Romeo and Juliet” details the lives of two star-crossed lovers destined to be separate due to a long-lasting family feud. Within the play are themes of the strength of love and friendship as well as darker themes of irrational violenceand vengeance. Strong themes along with Shakespeare’s beautiful prose has seen the play last centuries and vast cultural changes, and today it stands as a great work of literature. Similarly, J. Cole’s “Love Yourz” delivers an uplifting ballad of loving yourself, valuing your life regardless of your situation and the struggles of success. The song showcases equally strong themes of love and happiness as well as pain and regret. J. Cole then substitutes Shakespeare’s prose for talented and well-placed wordplay. And as of today the song’s impact has lasted all of three years and will continue to live. As far as literature I consider each delicately crafted great works, but I believe that it is the differences of the two that reveal how “Love Yourz” is a far better piece. I’ll begin with the authors. William Shakespeare was born into an affluent white family wasn’t subjected to particular struggles do to his situation – his father a successful business and his mother a member of a prominent surname – and lived a comfortable childhood. J. Cole’s was born into a working-class family – his father nonexistent and his mother a mail carrier – and lived a tumultuous childhood where he was subject to financial and identity struggles as a black youth born in Germany to a white mother. Due to his background, I cannot see how Shakespeare could relate to me or how I could even apply to writings to my life. Although Shakespeare’s themes are similar to J. Cole, the application of his ideas are far-fetched, and I cannot implement them into my life. The plot of “Romeo and Juliet” contains more twists than naturally possible; also I must acknowledge that the work is a piece of fiction. Conversely, J. Cole’s lyrics to “Love Yourz” speak directly from his modern day experiences that are also similar to mine. J. Cole does in mere minutes all of what Shakespeare does in more than one hundred pages while also connecting to his audience proves that his song is a great work of literature according to the standard.

Do the great orthodox works give their readers a head start on the path of human perfection? Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” teaches its readers of the many shortcomings of humanity as well as provides an ideal purpose to live by – love. The themes in the play present great dilemmas, and Shakespeare delivers his perspective on what would happen in those situations. However, I again cannot relate the conflicts in Shakespeare to my modern day problems. My fractured family cannot compare to those of either Romeo or Juliet nor am I a star-crossed lover kept from partner due to such conflicts. When I read Romeo and Juliet, I enjoy the fairy tale of the young couple, but there is no point while reading that I can take away any lesson to help me reach human perfection. If the purpose of the great works is to give their readers a head start on the path of human perfection, when does it do so? Instead of providing me with tools to become a better person “Romeoand Juliet” taught me that love kills. Although the play splendidly conveys its themes, those themes did not help me yet “Love Yourz” provides its readers with a clear model and purpose.  J. Cole opens the song with the line, “No such thing as a life that’s better than yours.” From the line J. Cole teaches the reader to value their life regardless of where they are in life. J. Cole’s first few words immediately contradict Shakespeare’s words that detail the murders and deaths of multiple characters as well as the senseless violence portrayed. Continuing in explaining his message J. Cole later states, “Think being broke was better.” This quote is significant because J. Cole associates his views with the capitalist society in which I live and apply them. Through his words, he tells his listeners that he understands the circumstance that they may be in and teaches them to continue striving for self-love. When I see my parents struggle to make ends meet, I harp on the lyrics and refuse to value myself as anything less than exceptional. J. Cole dives deeper into the topic with, “What’s money without happiness?” In entirety I absorb the lyrics to debunk exactly how to get a head start on life – be happy and do so by loving yourself. If I believe that my life is valued regardless of what is going on and that I can it so by finding happiness, J. Cole has given me a firm head start that Shakespeare could not. It makes me wonder if the tragic events in “Romeo and Juliet” would have occurred had they heard J. Cole’s? Regardless of how Shakespeare romanticized it, Romeo and Juliet each ceased to believe in the purpose of their life and chose to commit suicide.

Have the great works made me a better person concerning those around me? Do I now have a positive effect on the lives of those around me? Not only has J. Cole’s “Love Yourz” made me a better human as I have stated above but it has helped me affect others. The teachings that I have from the song bleed out into my life and touch others, such as when I see someone who is in the Romeo and Juliet mindset thinking that he cannot continue on the path to human perfection. In my community, I often come across people who are depressed because they are struggling to provide for their families, and in these instances, I can spread first that money does not directly equal happiness. I teach people to value what they have just as I have begun to do so. Again it makes me wonder if J. Cole’s lyrics could have saved the lives of the tragedy-laden Romeo and Juliet. If either of the two were living exhibiting a humane existence, they would have been able to more positively respond to their situation, especially when Romeo mistakenly kills himself. Shakespeare’s does not exemplify proper characteristic for people to model their lives by and thus cannot help make me fit for a humane existence since it doesn’t teach people to be better.

The characteristics of great work of literature are its ability to convey strong themes through its exceptional prose, and its effect will last throughout a significant period. Although there are orthodox pieces of literature that hold these features such as Shakespeare’s classic “Romeo and Juliet” to model what a great work of literature should be, in the modern age using the similar criteria a song like J. Cole’s “Love Yourz” can rival the classics or even better them in the message they convey and effect they have. Not only is “Love Yourz” an example of a great work of literature, but it has also given me a head start on the path of human perfection, and it has helped me make me fit for a humane existence.

 

“Shakespeare’s Life.” Folger Shakespeare Library. Creative Commons, 03 May 2016. Web. 18 Oct. 2016.

@themusictimes. “J. Cole Talks Rough Childhood On ‘2014 Forest Hills Drive'” Music Times RSS. Music Times, 09 Dec. 2014. Web. 18 Oct. 2016.

Cole, Jermaine. “Love Yourz.” 2014 Forest Hills Drive. Dreamville Records, 2014. CD.

The Dark Knight is “clearly one of the top conservative films ever made,” in the eyes of Breitbart, a news organization dedicated to satiating racists. (Shapiro) It identifies right-wing politics with a protagonist that “utilizes full scale surveillance, beats up a terrorist during an interrogation, and takes heat while doing it, all in order to save civilization from monsters,” placing the Christopher Nolan film at the center of authoritarian aggression-and delighting in it. Batman becomes a weapon of state authority against the Other, and does so while flouting liberal checks. Meanwhile, John Ip from the University of Auckland claims the film proves that “society ideally should not rely on heroic vigilantes, that the people themselves need to show resoluteness and courage, and that, in the long run, the law—together with the legitimacy it confers—is not a liability, but an asset,” arguing the film’s politics value civic virtue. (229) Ip refuses to valorize the vigilante, but rather finds the blockbuster’s hero in unnamed civilians who refuse to give in to their baser instincts while finding refuge in civic institutions. These views fundamentally clash- Breitbart’s demeaning of governing checks can’t be reconciled with Ip’s celebration of the rule of law. Each critic places a separate ideology across Batman’s shoulders, conscripting the movie into political service. But the film itself doesn’t buckle under the weight of varied political views. Rather, the movie accepts and promotes simplistic politics.

Simple, partially because it’s so familiar. Comic books and the accompanying film genre carry with them plenty of associations. Capes, chiseled chins and criminal masterminds ensure you don’t confuse it with anything else. When critics praise The Dark Knight as “the first superhero film that makes a serious bid to transcend its burgeoning genre,” they mean that it retains genre trappings while seemingly filmed with minimal access to sunlight. (Orr) Or, alternately, that the movie concerns itself quite clearly with its own importance. The Dark Knight refuses to accept being ‘just’ a superhero movie. Its plot is overlaid with overt political references.

After all, Christopher Nolan can be accused of many things; subtlety isn’t one of them. The Dark Knight exults in brash symbolism. Harvey Dent’s coin conveniently burns one of its two faces, and the camera rests, languorously, upon the altered side. Don’t you get it? Now he’s been turned into a different person, just like the coin has changed. The movie’s politics similarly shout to be noticed. I want to spend the next few paragraphs nailing down these images-not because of any inherent complexity, but because the sheer amount of effort devoted to the symbolism by Nolan.

First, let’s focus on the film’s animating force: Heath Ledger’s Joker. One critic came close to describing the essence of Ledger, who “seems less the creation of a living self than the annihilation of one, an exercise in the center not holding,” as he embodies an intentionally confusing evil. (Orr) The Joker’s aims to disrupt the established order for the purpose of disruption. He employs suicide bombers and continuously jerry-rigged (or, say, improvised) explosive devices, importing the tactics of the Green Zone to Gotham. Shaky, handheld videos of hostages unnerve, and proclaim a kinship of style with Osama Bin Laden’s video messages or hostage videos worldwide (take a look at the embedded image and video to see). Even when his violence doesn’t fit neatly within preexisting categories, it fits the understanding of terrorism as aimed at terrifying the populace. Dead bodies slam into glass, pencils pierce eye sockets-the violence is used for shock value, as ways to distinguish him from any other criminals. After all, he just wants to “watch the world burn.” In one unsuccessful attempt, the Joker impersonates an officer and launches an attack on an elected official. Of course, the infiltrator had a clear-as-day mark of his irregularity on his face. Not his skin color (this time), but the type of simple signifier that “extreme vetting” could notice. Harvey Dent names this threat accurately at the press conference-the Joker is a “terrorist,” which in America means a Muslim man. To make explicit what Nolan almost does, the Joker is a stand-in for Islamic terrorism. He’s the sort of caricatured enemy that “hates us for our values,” and delights in violence in pursuit of an anarchic ideology.

(watch through 0:21)

Next, I’ll turn to the hero of The Dark Knight: Batman, the caped crusader (or is it Crusader?) and his attempts to save his city, his woman, and his moral code. The valiant fighter combatting a shifting order amidst moral decrepitude. Batman aspires to be omnipresent-the primary fictional invention of the movie allows Batman to hear and see everything. His retort to Alfred asking him to be more cautious is to proclaim his power, for “Batman has no limits.” The superhero’s attempts at control extend far beyond the city of Gotham; “Batman has no jurisdiction,” as he reminds us. Unlimited, across the globe, Batman wages a unilateral war on evil. Ring any bells? This distillation of Bush-era imperialism is enlivened by the movie’s portrayal of certain acts from the War on Terror. Batman drops a crime-lord from a building, snapping his ankles, so he can ask a few questions. He mercilessly beats the Joker. Torture is justified- it gets him the information he wants about Rachel and Harvey Dent. And with the Joker, there’s no sign we should even care about the torture. The recipient of the beating laughs through it. The irrational enemy doesn’t suffer pain like we do; they don’t need the protections we do, either. After that, we see Batman create an expansive surveillance system- through our cellphones- to save the city. While the movie was released before the Snowden leaks, knowledge of broad surveillance programs created under the Patriot Act already existed. The empire depended upon surveilling at home to monitor threats. Batman serves as a not-so-subtle stand-in for American empire post-9/11, and his violence should be understood as our own.

With the dual structural supports for the politics of The Dark Knight in place, the rest of the symbolic framework can be sketched in. Like, for example, the geopolitical hints created by character’s nationalities. The mob coopted by the Joker prominently contains “the Chechen”. The quintessentially American Wayne Enterprises almost enters into a major business relationship with a Chinese company-but doesn’t, because China’s accounting is rigged. Nolan takes care to dismiss Hollywood’s other geopolitical bogeymen. The USSR exists only as a small-time cog in a criminal machine and China’s rise depends upon a willful suspension of disbelief. The real threat comes from Muslims. If nothing else, the film argues for its own existence, for its fictionalized account of a social threat as most deserving your attention.

The story’s symbolism continues. Like, for example, the technological wizardry of Lucius Fox. He describes his plan for extracting Batman and Lau as inherited from an old CIA plot, and that’s probably a good way to start understanding him. He creates new technologies for Batman, like a new suit. What changes are made to Batman’s armor? It becomes more flexible in response to new threats. With a military now asked to fight asymmetric threats, the movie’s focus on armor carries the paradigmatic shifts of the armed forces. Fox, then, doesn’t just stand-in for the CIA; he’s the director of a vast national security apparatus. In this capacity, he reconnoiters abroad, and controls surveillance at home. He even intimidates an admittedly-craven whistleblower. If Batman fights for American empire, Lucius Fox sits at the helm of its bureaucracy.

More time could be devoted to this symbolism. Harvey Dent as the false hope of elected officials; the wizened Alfred representing his own country and its faltering empire; the unnerving clown masks, which substitute for the visual shorthand of brown faces with beards. But I’d like to address some of the critic’s views of the film’s politics, put them to the test of the movie’s persistent symbolism, and see the consequences.

First, let’s explore John Ip’s view of the movie as a testament to civic virtue. He accepts the War on Terrorism motif, but sees the movie’s relationship to Bush-era human rights abuses as reflecting negatively upon them. His qualms are too legalistic to accurately deny the movie’s political goals. Ip claims the overseas capture of Lau “cannot be interpreted as any kind of endorsement of the Bush Administration’s practice of extraordinary rendition, because…it is not that kind of rendition,” which imposes a knowledge requirement on the layman in the theater. (216) Distinguishing between the legal terms ignores the imagery of the vigilante traveling overseas to snatch a criminal away for prosecution at home. The only unusual aspect of the capture is the inverted nature of certain imperial escapades of the past; this time, empire entered under the guise of corporate interests, instead of the other way around. Ip next dismisses the film’s use of torture as providing little useful information. While true, the characters don’t blame the torture for this as much as they blame their inability to act sooner. The film doesn’t indict the torture; instead, as discussed above, it ignores its potential for real pain. The injured mobster continues a conversation despite his shattered ankles. The Joker laughs it off. Torture should be ignored, because even the Batman can’t cause all that much pain. Ip similarly addresses Wayne Enterprises cell-phone based mass surveillance, claiming it differs in type from the actual War on Terror and thus can’t be understood as a defense of the same. Part of the strength of the film’s endorsement comes from its dissimilarity to real actions. Rather than bear the burden of advocating mass surveillance, it defends a specific, fictionalized instance. After all, the stand-in for our national security bureaucracy doesn’t even want the surveillance. Someone in a position of power will look out for us, because authority figures abide by the audience’s moral standards.

(note, as an aside, the way the complex debate over surveillance is reduced to less than 80 seconds)

Other critics attempted to identify the film’s central premise. Like, for example, one argues that its “less a film about good versus evil than about order versus chaos.” (Orr) That broad claim ignores the way the film merges the two. The film’s evil is chaos. The Joker substitutes sewing chaos for a fleshed-out ideology. Even his backstory is murky- he always tells different stories about he received his scars. Nothing can explain the Joker, as the movie reminds us. Islamic terrorism lacks history, and thus a motivating purpose. The Joker can’t be traced back to anything at the county jail-not fingerprints, DNA, a single prior identity. Viewing the Joker in this light vindicates us of any possible role in creating the monster society must deal with.

Orr also posits that the “film [is] about politics by other means,” which necessarily evokes von Clausewitz’s famous formulation: “war is the continuation of politics by other means.” Complete the circle and say it with me: The Dark Knight’s about war. Not just any war, but a Huntington-esque clash of civilizations. The War on Terror can’t be rationalized. Instead, it pits the impenetrable mystique of the Other against the just empire. As much as I dislike claiming this, Breitbart’s analysis rings true. When it claims Batman “save[s] civilization from monsters,” it accurately diagnoses the film’s biggest fear: America subjugated by Islam.

I want to jump to the end of the film. After Batman sacrifices his reputation for that of Harvey Dent, Jim Gordon’s son points out plaintively that Batman “didn’t do anything wrong.” The child seems to be voice of reason. Empire just saved everyone, and it’s sent to hide away (in its luxurious mansion). The movie’s sense of outrage isn’t derived from shattered bones but from the morally immaculate empire being scorned. The Dark Knight seems to answer most of its own questions, but leaves this one hanging. Why don’t you defend empire? After all, Nolan spent the previous two hours and thirty-two minutes doing the best he could. American empire needs you; will you answer the Bat-Signal?

 

We so often assume that the best way to combat bigotry and ignorance is through awareness, that injustices of the past can be alleviated with the right knowledge and appreciation. Through history, we reason, the errors of the past are clear and guide us in improving the present and future. We delegate months to celebrate the specific histories of oppressed groups, produce films about their movements, and immortalize their leaders. In terms of social justice and oppression, the right move is always to talk about it, to remember. This makes perfect sense before considering the way we look at race today; we naturally can’t help but overlook the basic and purposeful ideological motives that lie behind contemporary forms of normalized racism. Though it is hard to stomach, widespread racist assumptions exist today just as the belief of the inferiority of black people existed in the 1930s. Denying this all together is naive and idealistic, on par with the suggestion that we live in a post-racial world. I am not arguing in any way that we should stop remembering and learning about civil rights movements, just that the way we present them (and everything, for that matter) is subject to our fundamental ideologies. Oftentimes these ideologies are so elusive to identification that they are often perceived as instances of racial harmony, friendship, and progress.

          This is a difficult distinction to make, but after having done so, I am reminded of an unintentionally hilarious interview of Morgan Freeman, in which he proclaims that the best way to end racism is to simply “stop talking about it.” As seemingly nonsensical as this first seems, it also makes a lot of sense– oftentimes when we attempt to discuss or portray racial struggles, ideological biases cloud our reasoning. They can incline us to be overly optimistic and make false assumptions the same way that pictures of black and white children holding hands on Facebook can convince your aunt that we live in a racially harmonious and equal society.

          A well-documented formula for the depiction of race in film is seen in the trope of the “white savior” that cuts across almost every genre and era of entertainment. In more modern examples, films with this archetypal structure frequently masquerade as stories of redemption and justice in which a white character rescues a poor non-white character from their suffering. Presented without any form of autonomy, minorities in white savior films are presented as helpless and primitive, in need of the redemption that a white savior brings to improve their menial lives. Movies like The Blind Side and The Freedom Writers portray this motif all too clearly– depicting white women who use their resources and intellect to “get through” to black and latino/a youth, forever transforming their lives and creating an awareness in them that they can forge a path out of the struggle they were so unfortunately born into.  

          Even in our depiction of slavery and segregation this trope resurfaces its ugly head, often misinterpreting and devaluing key aspects of the civil rights movement. And rarely is it ever so compelling as it is in The Help, a film directed by Tate Taylor based on the novel by Kathryn Stockett that follows the ambition of Eugenia “Skeeter” Phelan as she writes a novel from the perspective of black maids who raise the children of prominent white families during the early 1960s. Skeeter (as a typical white savior) is the catalyzing force of change in the film, as her bravery and acceptance of the black maids is depicted as the only reason anything significant even happens in the previously-stagnant town of Jackson, Mississippi. Rather than the culmination of decades and decades of racism inspiring black leaders to unite the black community and inspire change, the fact that it is impressed by an oddball, white, feminist figure primarily driven by the emotional attachment she had for her childhood maid not only devalues the history of the civil rights movement, but also proposes an uncomfortable proposition that black people wouldn’t have been able to strive for justice if it wasn’t for compassionate white people.

          Not only is Skeeter the typical white savior, she is also inexplicably clueless regarding the accepted social norms that govern interactions between black and white people in Jackson. The first maid Skeeter reaches out to is Aibileen, with the purpose of getting her help to write a cleaning advice column. Skeeter later tells Aibileen about her idea for the novel excitedly, obviously without having considered how dangerous such a pursuit could be for a black woman. Skeeter then approaches Aibileen again for an answer at a black bus stop,  completely oblivious to how strange it looks for her to be there, a detail that is conveyed cinematically through the obvious confusion of the white people observing the interaction in the background. Skeeter assures Aibileen that they will be safe, to which a disgruntled Aibileen notes responds “this already ain’t safe” and that the way Skeeter is going about creating this novel “scares [her] more than Jim Crow.” Only is it after Aibileen agrees to participate and the two meet up that Skeeter says she “know[s] now that what [they’re] doing is illegal.” The extent of Skeeter’s cluelessness regarding commonplace racial interactions and taboos in her hometown has no real explanation. Sure, she went away to Ole Miss for college for four years, but after having spent at least seventeen years in Jackson before leaving, it’s fair to say that she should have at least a rudimentary understanding of the power balances between black and white people in her home town (especially when it comes to potentially endangering her primary ally Aibileen). Her apparent “color-blindness” and empathy for black women make her an anachronistically perfect savior in a society that would be more realistically portrayed as overwhelmingly and monotonously racist.  

          Hilly, the villainous racist of the novel, is the exact opposite of Skeeter. Basically a racist mean girl-esque socialite bully, Hilly pushes for legislation requiring the help have separate bathrooms in every home, and tries to frame Aibileen for stealing silverware to have her arrested. Where Skeeter is unaware of certain social conventions, Hilly epitomizes them. She is the president of the Junior League, and maintains power over the other white women of Jackson thorough blackmail and threats. She sticks staunchly to her pro-segregation beliefs, readily punishing those who disagree, and even fires her maid Minny Jackson for using her toilet. Despite this, through much of the film she is shown to be preoccupied with her charity efforts for the “Poor Starving Children of Africa Fund.” In this way The Help almost seems to be mocking the white savior complex– depicting the faulty logic behind the Junior League of Women who would never offer to help the children of their maids, but work instead to send food to the starving children in Africa. This detail functions as a not-so-subtle jab at Hilly, who in a previous scene refused to give her maid Yule May Davis a fifty dollar advance to allow her to send both of her sons to school, leaving her with the choice of deciding which one to send.

          Trapped between these hero and villain figures are the maids. Particularly Minny Jackson and Aibileen Clark, the latter being the most central maid in novel (also the narrator of the film), as the first to talk to Skeeter and as a connection to the rest of the black community. One of the most important things Aibileen does is reach out to other maids to tell their stories, explaining that she and Skeeter “ain’t doing no civil rights” but rather “telling stories like they really happen.” This is the most recognizable point in the movie that depicts Aibileen’s initial submissiveness to the racism that permeates her life. The apparent dissatisfaction in Aibileen is connected to her son’s death in a senseless accident that plants a “bitter seed” in her that severely lessens her patience with her boss, Mrs. Leefolt. Despite this, she maintains a torturous yet quiet obedience, never does it seem that she is criticising or objecting to the racism of the south so much as enduring it expectantly. In a dramatic scene at the end of the movie, Aibileen strides into the sunlight after being fired by Mrs. Leefolt, recounting how being able to tell the truth to Skeeter was “liberating” to her as she decides to leave her life as a maid behind her and pursue a life dedicated to writing the stories of those around her– just as Skeeter had done for her. Aibileen’s transition from the stereotypical obedient, matronly, and religious maid to an activist dedicated to those around her happens quite suddenly in the film and is very clearly only a result of the actions of Skeeter.

          So why is it important that Skeeter is white, and so unaware of the social conventions of Jackson, and that Hilly is the epitome of these conventions at play? Where does Aibileen come in in the mix? The answer to the first of these questions is that having a completely pure, positive white character is a surefire way to absolve the sensitivities of white audiences dealing with the inherent conflict they have viewing and living in such a racial world. Many white moviegoers constantly feel victimized by racially-based conflicts in film. Thus, saviors like Skeeter play an integral role in alleviating their tiredness with the topic, by depicting a white person going the extra mile for people of color who can’t. In doing this, the film essentially provides white people a reason to feel better when looking back to times such as the civil rights movement. Skeeter’s presence in the plot line of The Help is what makes it, for many, an uplifting movie about racial cooperation rather than a black movie about civil rights. Thus the fictional trope of the white savior functions to solve a very real problem– the modern “tiredness” and guilt white people have living in  a racial world so clearly attributed to the actions of white people that must be completely absolved for a movie such as The Help to be successful.

          So what exactly is the cost of  placating white audiences whenever race is a topic of interest in film? In essence, the feelings of white viewers are placed over those of minorities by compromising the representation of minorities in film.  The instances of cooperation and friendship between Skeeter and the maids subverts the concept of white supremacy at a higher level, confronting segregationist, KKK-level racism,  but it also exists more subliminally, weakening the characterization of black figures, oftentimes conveying less obvious messages of white supremacy through the stereotypes of black dependency and white paternalism. In the film, characterization of Skeeter and Hilly as opposites brings us to a generic conversation of good versus evil, a much too simple juxtaposition when considering the complexities of race in the 1960s or today. Hilly’s complete entrenchment in the social norms of society versus Skeeter’s complete rejection of these norms is a dichotomy that is depicts a lot about the function of how we view race ideologically. It concludes that racism exists in the binary: white or black, racist or not. It further attributes racism as a whole to the anger and brokenness of a few “bad eggs,” rather than any sort of organized and systematic oppression. Skeeter is not racist because she is an educated, wholesome person. Hilly is because she is vindictive, mean, and manipulative. The time period and culture they were both born into is given no weight at all. Minorities, in the meantime, are secondary to this conflict of good versus evil. Hilly and Skeeter make all of the moves, battling out the fate of the help who do little more than observe and obey them. The biggest step the black women make is in the decision to talk to Skeeter, which as evident through my discussion of this earlier, is ultimately nothing more than a show of black dependence.

          The trivialization of black characters in order to minimize white  guilt through the usage of a white savior is not only indicative of normalized racial ideologies that each of us is likely to be carrying around with us, it also goes to show how Morgan Freeman could be correct in some regard about talking about racism. Though I disagree and still see value in realistic discussions regarding race, it is interesting to question how the discussed ideological motives will continue to permeate in our thoughts. In other words, what if  the same desire to create awareness that led to films like The Help and other white savior movies is still leading us further from the actual significance of history and deeper into a new undecipherable ideological mess? At that point I’d definitely be ready to stop talking about it. But hell if I know.

 

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Hughey, Matthew W. “White Savior Films: The Content of Their Character.” The White Savior Film: Content, Critics, and Consumption. N.p.: n.p., n.d. N. pag. Print.

Weiss, Joanna. “‘The Help’: America Pats Itself on the Back.” Boston.com. The New York Times, 16 Aug. 2011. Web. 17 Oct. 2016.             <http://archive.boston.com/bostonglobe/editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2011/08/16/the_help_america_pats_itself_on_the_back/>.

 

The idea of the white savior is simple: a white, typically privileged character helps the non-white characters in their struggle and by doing this, he/she becomes a morally enlightened human. Take The Blind Side, for example. Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock) is an white upper class woman, bored with her daily routine as a suburban mother and socialite, who rediscovers meaning in her life when she adopts a homeless black boy, Michael (Quinton Aaron), and helps him succeed as a student and athlete. Or look at The Help, which tells the story of Skeeter (Emma Stone), a girl of the Southern Debutante class, who wishes to pursue her career as a writer, and in doing this, allows the voices of the black housemaids to be heard. These characters are often presented in blaringly obvious ways; Leigh Anne Tuohy is rich and white, Michael Oher is poor and black. But the white savior can exist in subtler forms. Now I will diverge from the mainstream white savior archetype and discuss a more peculiar form, in which the saviors are no longer superior to, but rather identify with those they save.

Whether you have or have not seen Hairspray (2007), you probably associate it with its eccentric costumes, fun songs, and dances, all of which are based on the culture of Baltimore in 1962. The movie tells the story of Tracy Turnblad, an overweight, white, high school girl. Her dream is to dance on the Corny Collins Show, a local TV show that features “nice white kids” who dance and sing to the latest hits. One day, Tracy decides to pursue her dream and audition for the show, but she is rudely rejected by Velma Von Tussle, the snobby manager and mother of the show’s star performer, when she says, “And so my dear, so short and stout, you’ll never be in so we’re kicking you out!”. Right off the bat, the viewer sides with Tracy as the underdog. That same day in detention, Tracy meets and befriends a group of black kids (Seaweed and his friends), who are infatuated by her confidence and stylish dance moves. They tell her, “you one of us” since she fits with their crowd. Seaweed and his friends later face an identical rejection when Von Tussle tells them that Negro Day (the one day per month when they are allowed to perform) is officially over. Tracy and Seaweed (and his friends) have similar struggles, experiences, and dreams to perform on the Corny Collins Show. Though each briefly get the chance to perform, both face discrimination and cannot pursue their dreams because of physical appearance.

Given everything I have discussed about this movie so far, (this being very little), it is easy to think that the issue with this particular type of white saviorism requires less attention than the more typical type, since Tracy is depicted as equal to, rather than superior to, the black people. I will tell you why this idea is wrong, but first let me ask this question: to what extent can society’s criticism of bodies (commonly known as fat shaming) be viewed with equal importance as the issues of racism and segregation? This seems especially egregious in Baltimore, a city that still today faces immense racial separation and socioeconomic divides. I cannot imagine putting fat shaming into the same category as segregation and racism, given their historical significance and impact on our nation. The movie, Hairspray (2007) diminishes the importance of the segregation faced by the black characters by comparing them to the problems Tracy faces as an overweight person.

The initial interaction between Tracy and Seaweed and his friends takes place in detention. Tracy enters the room and is immediately taken by the smooth moves of the kids around her. When she joins in, she is warmly received by the group, who all clap after she puts on a little solo. Contrastingly, when Link Larkin, the Corny Collins Show’s lead singer and heartthrob, attempts to join in, he is given the cold shoulder. The movie equates Tracy and the black characters by situating them both in detention, and then reinforces that exclusively Tracy is one of them when Link is outwardly rejected. Following Tracy’s brief fame on the Corny Collins Show, the detention room suddenly transforms into the coolest room on campus. When Penny, Tracy’s friend, appears at the door, Tracy casually says, “She’s with me” the way a rock star would give a friend access to the VIP section. She makes detention, a previously negatively connoted space, a hip place for her new friends to hang out in and feel good about. This scene enforces that Tracy can be compared to the black characters because of their similarities.

A similar trend appears later on in the movie. Tracy, in her role as white savior and agent for change suggests “If we can’t dance, let’s march” to Maybelle (Seaweed’s mother). Soon thereafter, a non-violent march processes through the streets of Baltimore. Tracy, with her “Integration Not Segregation” sign in hand, leads the pack until they meet face to face with the Baltimore Police. They cannot proceed, but Tracy will not back down without a fight. When the police officer turns his back on the protesters, Tracy hits him on the back with her sign. The police officer then threatens to “take the whole lot in”, and the scene erupts into violence.

Now I am coming closer to making my point. The movie reinforces over again the depiction of Tracy as an ally to the black characters. So, it is believable that Tracy would actively participate in the march, stand at its forefront, and even hit a police officer for a cause she believes in. But in presenting Tracy in this way, Hairspray gives the impression that Tracy, because of her struggles as an “outsider”, truly can identify with the black characters and their struggle with racism. However, this is wrong. She is not an outsider just because she is overweight, even though the movie portrays her as such. The fact that she is white and will never experience what a black person experienced in Baltimore in 1962 brings me to my point that Hairspray trivializes the real struggles that people faced in their fight for civil rights when Tracy, who is also presented as facing social discrimination, effortlessly unites people and creates change for civil rights.

That a march for civil rights could have been led by a teenage girl as easily as Tracy did in the movie, or that protesters could have escaped police arrest and violence as easily as Tracy and others did in this movie, brings me to my next point, which concerns the misrepresentation of Baltimore in the 1960s.

In the “Welcome to The 60s” scene, Tracy drags her hermit mother out of their house for the first time in ten years. To Edna’s surprise, the whole world has changed for the better! The scene is full of vivid colors, action shots, and lots of sparkles. The 1950s did not cater to the plus size woman, but the 1960s do! Edna walks out of a dress shop in a pink sequined dress, a dramatic contrast to the drab clothing she previously wore. The scene implies that the coming decade will bring a new and improved version of everyone and everything. But the song misrepresents the reality of life in Baltimore in the 1960s, and puts an idealized, white washed version on display instead. The Dynamites, three beautiful black female performers, ironically sing, “take your old-fashioned fears, and just throw them away”, and “the future’s got a million roads for you to choose.” In reality, black people had a lot to fear in the coming decade; the Riot of 1968 brought on deeper racial divides, police violence, and anything but “a million roads for you to choose” from. The movie’s representation of Baltimore in the 1960s shows what a white girl might see in her own idealized future, but ignorantly overlooks the fact that this was not at all the case for black people, which is ironic considering the story is supposed to be about racial integration.

The final scene, “You Can’t Stop The Beat” really hits home my final point. The characters, all different colors and sizes, come together on The Corny Collins Show in the grande finale. Tracy and her black friends have succeeded! But what exactly have they succeeded in? Throughout the movie, Tracy wishes for her own right, and for the right of black people to perform on television, but in obtaining this goal, the group becomes homogenized to the white way of doing things. After performing solo, Little Inez wins “Miss Hairspray”, a traditionally white prize and status. The integrated group of dancers perform to “You Can’t Stop The Beat”, a song that views the future with immense optimism for all people. But the song is white-sounding, especially when compared to “Big, Blonde and Beautiful” or “Now Run and Tell That”, both of which are performed by black characters in the movie, and both of which also have a traditionally black, soulful sound. So, Tracy triumphs in the successful integration of the Corny Collins Show, but Hairspray the movie ultimately enforces the idea that the white way is the right way.

            According to Rotten Tomatoes’ critical consensus, DreamWorks Animation’s 2015 animated film “Home” is “Colorful, silly, and utterly benign… a passable diversion” (Home(2015)). The premise of the movie centers around a semi-purple, six-legged alien race called the Boov as they flee across the universe and resettle on Earth to escape their enemy the Borg, along the way displacing the planet’s human residents. Oh, a sincere, socially ostracized young Boov, sees his species’ relocation as the opportunity to finally win over his fellow Boov and make friends. In his excitement to invite his “best friend Kyle” to a welcome party, Oh nearly alerts the Borg to the Boov’s whereabouts and so he is forced into hiding where he meets Tip, a young human who is searching for her mother. By the end of the film, after a series of misadventures, Tip, Oh, and the Boov reach their fairly classic DreamWorks endings: Tip is reunited with her mom, Oh makes countless friends, and the Boov and humans coexist peacefully. Everyone is happy. It is a “colorful, silly, and utterly benign” ending. At least until it is viewed against a modern political backdrop. When analyzed in the context of recent backlash against immigration and refugees in the United States, “Home“, 2015’s family friendly DreamWorks Animation movie, begins to embody a strong xenophobic political ideology aimed directly at the most impressionable members of our society.

First, let’s address the idea of the Boov as refugees. Homeland Security defines a refugee as “a person who is unable or unwilling to return to his or her country of nationality because of persecution or a well-founded fear of persecution on account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion” (Martin). The Boov fit this definition to a T. The catalyst of the entire movie is that the Boov are being relentlessly hunted by the Gorg. When the viewer is introduced to this concept, the film writers give no reason for the animosity between the two species, nor do they provide an adequate description of any cultural, theological, ideological, etc. differences. Because of this void of information, the viewers derive the aliens’ shared fundamental distrust of each other from the only difference they have been able to observe: their species. The filmmakers have crafted, through omission of information, a scenario in which one group appears to have fled their home to escape persecution from another. As a matter of semantics, though the definition doesn’t include species (because the policy makers were only addressing human conflicts), in a the Official Trailer #1, DreamWorks first identifies the Boov as a “nomadic race,” bringing them linguistically under the arch of the definition. Additionally, the descriptor further intertwines the two groups by assigning to the Boov the qualification of nomadism, which is characterized by continuous movement from place to place and is a core trait of refugees.

Beyond this textbook definition, however, the Boov are decidedly outsiders to “American” society. The first spoken line of the movie makes this clear. As the Boov’s blue mothership comes into view and Oh’s narration begins, we hear “Today is best day ever!” To start the movie with a snippet of monologue spoken in imperfect English sets the tone of “otherness.” English is not their first language, therefore they are foreign. In addition to this, the Boov consistently show a thorough misunderstanding of both frivolous and essential elements of American life. Within the first six minutes of the movie, Oh cooks a cookbook, decorates with toilet paper, and brushes his teeth with a toilet bowl cleaner. Captain Smek mistakes footballs (a staple of american sports culture) for fruit, tires for headbands and evening wear (but that one’s a euphemism for an extra layer of fat around the waist), oranges for shoes, a vacuum for a horse, etc. Besides simple misconceptions about objects used in daily life, the Boov believe they “are best at deciding what is useful. And what is not,” so when they begin their settlement, they create enormous floating balls of everything they deem “useless,” ranging from toilets and chairs, to bikes and grand pianos.

Now all that’s left to determine is which group of refugees are the Boov supposed to represent. The Boov show important societal variances from Americans that indicate Eastern origins. They exhibit none of the stereotypical American friendly and outgoing personality traits. They are instead more reserved, a trait often assigned to Middle Eastern and Asian cultures, indicating that the Boov are a reference to Syrian refugees.

So hopefully you’re convinced that the Boov represent Syrian refugees and are outsiders in American society. But featuring characters from different cultures and backgrounds hardly makes a movie xenophobic. In fact, it really only indicates inclusivity. So how did the creators of “Home” turn inclusivity into xenophobia? They did it in three steps:

Firstly, the movie begins by playing on American ideals to build a pathos against refugees. While the initial trailer defined the Boov as a “nomadic race,” Oh’s own definition of his people is that the Boov are the “Best species ever at running away!” To an American audience, running away means defeat and defeat means weakness. Weakness is a deplorable quality to many Americans. The nation is locked in a constant struggle to prove itself to be the strongest and the fiercest in the world. The average movie goer would find it incredibly difficult to empathise with characters who consider vulnerability a trait of which they should be proud. And the Boov certainly take pride in it. Captain Smek, the commander of the Boov, lists his admirable leadership skills as “cowering, running, and pulling a skedaddle.”  In American culture, there are heavy, negative connotations associated with these words and ideas because they run in direct opposition of American heroism. The film writers craft the Boov’s dialogue so that these negative connotations are in turn transferred onto the act of fleeing violence and danger. If the Boov had not fled their home planet they would have died but the gravity of that is undermined by the negative pathos of the language of the film. The viewer is instinctively led to look down on the Boov, and, subconsciously, the refugees they mirror.

Secondly, the film plays into two American anti-immigrant and refugee fears. A 2013 Stanford Business School article reports that, “one recent survey found 70% of Americans thought allowing more immigrants would make it harder to find jobs”(Zacharia). This scenario is quite literally the first thing you see happen in the movie. Well, more accurately, before the movie even starts. Within the first 30 seconds of the opening credits, the classic DreamWorks boy on the moon is sucked up and replaced with a Boov. The first representation of the refugee aliens feeds off of a very real fear in the modern American psyche. This singular abduction is amplified a thousand fold when the Boov descend on the planet, remove all the people, and relegate them to a false suburbia in Australia. This drives home the point that when outsiders come, they have the potential to significantly disrupt American way of life.

The looming threat of the Gorg invasion gets to the second fear. A month and a half before the movie came out, abcNews published a story that opened with “Top U.S. counterterrorism officials say they worry a potential terrorist could be hiding among refugees who are looking to come to the United States after escaping the brutal war in Syria”(Fishel). There is a substantial fear felt across the country that as the government invites in refugees, it also opens the door to the terrorists the refugees are fleeing. This sentiment has been growing for years and continues on today. Presidential hopeful Donald Trump bolstered his campaign by engaging with this fear and proposing a ban on all muslims and refugees coming into the United States. The movie also capitalizes on this when Oh mistakenly notifies the Gorg about the Boov’s location, nearly resulting in the destruction of the planet. This storyline magnifies the audience’s investment in the plot of the film because it reinforces fears that are prevalent in their own lives.

The film hammers the final nail into the proverbial, xenophobic coffin with the concluding message of the film: you are not welcome here unless you adopt our ways. This idea develops through the relationship between Tip and Oh. When we first see Tip, she is watching a video of mom playing in the snow. As the camera pans out, you see tacked on the walls drawings that say DIE BOOV, small Boov cutouts with pins sticking out of their hearts, and a dartboard with a Boov face covered in darts. She thoroughly despises them for ripping her family apart but by the end of the movie, Oh is her best friend. What spurred this transition? The Boovs learned how to be American.

Throughout the journey, Tip instructs Oh about Western culture. She explains that animals don’t need to serve a purpose outside of companionship, elements of gender when she kicks him out of the women’s restroom, and the general idea of holding on to hope and persevering through hardship, rather than giving up. But for all that she’s teaching Oh, Tip never bothers to learn anything about his culture. She consistently brushes off all of his attempts to share. Perhaps the most outright the movie comes in revealing this discrepancy is at a moment when Oh tries to play Tip Boov music and she immediately rejects it and puts on Western music. She tells him “If you want humans to not hate you, you could start by liking some of our stuff.” This is a blatant revelation that the Boov, and therefore refugees, will only find a place in society if they abandon their culture and embrace America’s. Tip serves as a model for transition. Her family immigrated from Barbados and she learned to share American ideals. Once she learned how to “fit in” with the American kids, she was “finally happy.” In the end, the refugee Boov must change their entire way of life to fit into American society.

This is not a new theme in entertainment but what makes it so shocking is its source. “Home” was carefully and meticulously crafted by DreamWorks Animation SKG inc. Jeffrey Katzenberg, president of DreamWorks Animation, is the largest Democratic donor and fundraiser in Hollywood and anyone in the film industry could tell you that his studio reflects that party’s liberal beliefs (Daunt). Heck, anyone who’d watched a Dreamworks movie could probably tell you that. They tend to challenge societal prejudices about marginalized groups and incorporate messages of acceptance. “Home” is a sharp and utterly abrupt departure from that mold. The xenophobic ideology of the film is so unexpected and deeply buried under the guise of inclusivity that it makes liberally inclined people agree to cultural homogenization.

 

Louis Althusser, a French philosopher writes, “All stories work by doing two things: First, they make vivid some real social crisis (or conflict); and then they provide imaginary solutions to that crisis.” He believes that any story or movie can create an underlying crisis in our society and provide a solution to that problem by providing a solution within the movie. This is very evident in the movie The Dark Knight. Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight is a chaos driven movie that shows how the true nature of humans react when pushed to their limits of order. The Joker represents the chaos that terrorism creates through merciless attacks against people and places. Batman, the protector of Gotham, represents the order that is enforced through our military and police force. Batman, dressed in all black, fights crime throughout Gotham and strikes fear into his enemies. The Joker, a crazed psychopath, pushes the people to their limits and forces them to make irrational decisions. The battle between the Joker and Batman is very similar to the United States’ War on Terror. These two battling directly correlates to the U.S. fighting terrorists and how the terrorists influence U.S. citizens. Now I want to pose two points about the movie. First, when all else fails who do the people of Gotham turn to in their time of need? The authoritarian, fascist Batman. Yes, Batman is a Fascist. He runs (and glides) around Gotham under no rules with no one to answer to and delivers “justice” to criminals in the city. The People would rather let an uncontrolled vigilante loose on the streets to protect them than let the men and women of the police force and military do their job. They would give up their rights if it meant they would be safer from all the chaos. The only way to bring order is not by fighting the bad forces with the good, but with other bad forces. And this is why I pose my next point: The Joker is the actual hero of Gotham. Before Joker, Gotham was a mess, the crime mobs ran freely in the streets, police officials were corrupt, and people had little hope. What happened after the presence of the Joker? Everything changed. People needed that chaos the Joker delivered to allow for the order they wanted and so needed. They were willing enough to give up their rights to have to security and social order they desired; sound familiar? (I’ll get to this later). This is because only through chaos can we have order in our society.

Now it may or may not surprise you for me to say that Batman is a Fascist. I mean just look at the guy’s actions. Sure he has one rule to not kill anyone, but that’s it. Is that really the only excuse he needs to do as he pleases? To have to most advanced technology at his disposal, to be one of, if not the most, skillful fighters in the world and not have to answer to anyone makes him a very dangerous person. He acts on his own wishes, does what he wants and does so through fear and intimidation. He has complete control over the city and protects its people by beating criminals to a pulp. And the people allow him. Why? Because they need someone/something that will claim dominance over them. They feel they need something above the law to protect them. The more chaotic it becomes the more power they give him.

October 26^th, 2001, the PATRIOT Act was signed. The act, created because of the terrorist attack on 9/11, was made so the United States was able to fight terrorism domestically and around the world easier and stronger. The act was a tremendous accomplishment for the War on Terror and greatly enhanced the United States’ ability to fight terrorism and keep its citizens safe. But the act also violates many citizen’s constitutional rights. It infringes on their right to privacy, right to a trial, right to free speech and many more. People loved the act so much that they were willing to give up their sacred rights given to them that this nation was founded on. Some people say the politicians who signed the act didn’t even read it. They were so desperate to end terrorism that they didn’t care what the costs would be as long as it would make them safer. The act has authoritarianism written all over it. It gives the government complete control when dealing with terrorist attacks and pretty much says they can do whatever they want to stop them from happening. And it works. The country is much safer than it was before the 9/11 attacks. National defense has improved, flying on airplanes has become much safer, and the government is keeping a much closer eye on possible terrorist attacks. The more of a threat the terrorist seemed to be the more power the people gave to the government. This authoritarian piece of law keeps the United States’ and its citizens much safer from attacks and maintains order within the country. And what was the cause that created this document? The terrorist attacks. Without them, this document would’ve never been passed.

Now I’m not saying to thank the terrorists for killing over 3,000 people in one day. I’m simply saying that without that event the PATRIOT Act would’ve never been signed and we wouldn’t be as safe of a country. Without the terror that filled every American that day they would’ve never felt the need to improve their security and push for better defense. The terrorist created chaos in a country that was already having trouble. It is very similar to how the Joker’s chaos led to a safer Gotham.

Before Joker arrived, organized crime ran free, corrupt police infested the system, the city was in worse shape than ever, people didn’t feel great about living there. Now, you might say the Joker was a twisted, evil-minded psycho that killed for fun. He created chaos throughout the city and made the people do things they wouldn’t normally do like try to kill a man who knows the identity of batman so the Joker wouldn’t blow up a hospital. He killed plenty of people and seemed to have no motivation except to create chaos. But who was the majority of the people he killed? Mob bosses, bank robbers, corrupt city officials. He practically wiped out the city’s crime problem all by himself. He took out almost all head mob members, and the ones he didn’t kill he brought under his command. He both exposed and killed many of the corrupt police officers. And at the end of the day, the spirit of Gotham’s citizens was brightened. He did more in a few weeks than Batman was able to do the entire time he fought crime. Although he constantly said he didn’t have a plan, that he “just does things”, it’s a complete façade. He has a very calculated plan throughout the movie and executes that plan perfectly. From the first bank robbing scene to wanting to get caught by Commissioner Gordon. Everything he does is with purpose and it is with this purpose that he was able to accomplish all his goals. It was only with the Jokers chaos was Gotham able to have peace and order. So in this sense the Joker was much more successful in improving Gotham than Batman ever was and is, in some sense, a hero to Gotham. He was hero they needed, but not the one they deserved.

Going back to post 9/11 America, we see a very different America than we saw before the attacks. The attacks woke a sleeping giant. American military force woke up and deployed overseas to combat terrorists. Back home American pride grew and was much stronger before the attacks. The Bush administration took control of the country and gained power through the citizens to combat the War on Terror. They gave the government the power to do what was necessary to keep them safe. They pretty much gave the government unlimited power to do as it wants. Through this, the government was able to combat terrorism and a scale they weren’t able to do before and greatly increased the level of security in our country, which is still apparent today. It was because the terrorist creating chaos that America became a much safer place and a much prouder country for standing up to terrorism. The acts of those few terrorists on that one day, changed America forever. They were the ultimate reason for America being the way it is today.

So how did the Joker create so much good through such bad actions? It’s the same way Batman couldn’t create good through doing good; he, in some sense created bad. Batman was never a hero of Gotham; he was just whatever they needed him to be. Like Alfred said many times throughout the movie, he was able to make the decisions that no one else could. He tried to inspire a city by showing that common people can stand up and rise above the ordinary to make the city a better place. But the reason he failed was because you can’t fight bad with good; you have to get your hands dirty. This is why the Joker is so glorious in establishing order. He knows Batman’s technique will never work, he knows that the only way to stop the crime in Gotham is to plunge the city into chaos. He shows the city of Gotham what real anarchy looks like, they experienced the terror he brought on them, and they came out a better people and a better city. You have to fight fire with fire, chaos with chaos. And it is only through chaos that we can have established order.

When people are pushed to their limits, on the verge of death, or in the face of chaos, their true nature comes out. They show who they really are. In Joker’s ferry experiment, the people, and criminals, of Gotham show their true nature. When evacuating the city, the city loads two ferries to leave Gotham; one with criminals from jail, the other with civilians. As part of his plan the joker rigs the boats with explosives and gives them each the detonator to the other ship. He tells them if one boat switches the detonator to the other boat that boat will live (they only had about thirty minutes to decide). The movie switches between the two boats and shows how at first the passengers want to pull the trigger right away. But they can’t decide what to do. The boat with the civilians takes a vote, which ends up being an overwhelming amount in favor of detonating. But no one can do it. When finally, one man volunteers to do it, he gets up, walks over, takes the detonator out the box, holds it in his hand, puts his finger on the key…and freezes. When on the brink of taking hundreds of lives, putting his beliefs to the test, he couldn’t do. He showed that at his core, he wasn’t a killer. Even on the ferry of criminals, one man stood up, took the trigger and threw it out the window. This goes to show that even in the city’s darkest hour, when everyone thought all hope was lost, the people showed that they are better than who they show. That deep down, they are not all as ugly as the chaos they were thrown into. It was through Jokers actions and him pushing them to their limits that he was able to bring out the true nature within them, their good and belief in each other.

When the 9/11 attacks occurred heroes were born. In one of the darkest hours this generation has seen, the common people of America rose up and became part of something greater than themselves. The first responders showed the courage within themselves to help protect and rescue the civilians in harm’s way. Regular citizens too rose up to the call, and instead of running away, ran into the flames or chaos and helped those injured from the attacks. It is in these times of great duress, brought upon by an outside force, that humans show their true colors. It is only through chaos that people see who they really are. This chaos shows the flaws in systems, the injustices hidden, and the good within. The Dark Knight shows us that only through chaos is order able to be established in our society. It shows how the 9/11 attacks, though were a terrible event in our nation’s history, ended up creating good in our society and created a safer nation.

The land was gullied and eroded and barren. The bones of dead creatures sprawled in the washes. Middens of anonymous trash. Farmhouses in the fields scoured of their paint … all of it shadowless and without feature. A marsh where the dead reeds lay over the water. Beyond the edge of the fields the sullen haze hung over earth and sky alike. (McCarthy 177)

Lengthy descriptions such as these are frequent in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, and comprise the majority of the novel’s content. So, in response to passages like this one, many readers are justifiably led astray to think of the work as simplistically hopeless and forlorn, and lacking in real depth or worth. One reader and online reviewer even summed up the book as follows: “A boy and his father travel south in a post-apocalyptic United States, then the father dies” (Sullivan). Despite what this summary suggests, I find that the novel actually strives, through somber description, to make us discover the vein of goodness that runs deep in its story. A tale riddled with desperate wandering and repulsive human acts, this books exposes the goodness in humanity that we, as humans in the modern world, attempt to rediscover, or even create, in our similarly troubled everyday lives.

The tale follows a father and son’s journey through the vast expanse of an unspecified, post-apocalyptic world. The man’s son is all he has left, and it is clear from the very onset of the novel that every action the father takes is for the betterment of his son’s life, character, and humanity.  McCarthy clearly portrays the man’s selfless objective through the father’s actions towards and teachings to his son. Although there are several instances in which the father demonstrates his deep desire to better his son’s life, the earliest instance of this occurs when the father finds a can of Coca Cola and hands it to his son. McCarthy writes this of the scene:

What is it, Papa?

It’s a treat. For you … Go ahead, he said.

The boy took the can. It’s bubbly, he said.

Go ahead.

… You have some, Papa.

I want you to drink it.

You have some.

He took the can and sipped it and handed it back. You drink it, he said. Let’s just sit here.

… Okay, the boy said. (McCarthy 23)

Acts of kindness such as these, all the more powerful and striking in the post-apocalyptic context of the novel, contrast distinctly with the cruelty of the greater world surrounding the main characters. Most importantly, they are difficult acts to demonstrate in the world is so different from the one the father knew. And although the son does already seem to possess some level of innate altruism, as seen by his returned generosity with the drink, and the father undoubtedly examples selfishness at times, I argue that the father maintains a continuous role of moral teacher by becoming responsible for the instillation of rationality, that I will further explain later.

Furthermore, it is important to note that throughout this entire work McCarthy writes the story and actions of unspecified characters; neither the boy nor the man are ever named. They are never described. They may easily be any and every man or child. Additionally, the story’s third-person voice makes moments in which, the author directly addresses the reader, in lieu of the father, especially clear. The multitude of instances where McCarthy breaks this fourth wall suggests the author’s aim to be a foil of sorts to the father, and, in this way, make the reader a parallel of the son. By then establishing this real relationship beyond the pages, McCarthy actually relays the father’s wisdom, as the fictional character does to his son, to the reader.  The reader becomes the recipient of the father’s moral lessons – at times even being substituted as the father – and it becomes clear that McCarthy’s true intent is to inspire readers to act selflessly even in the face of dire situations, and to desire that their children do as well.

One of the most important aspects to the father’s goal of instilling positive characteristics in the boy is reminding him that they “are the good guys” (McCarthy 67). Continuing the previous interpretation of subject ambiguity, good guys are to be taken as people who resist the loss of not only hope, but cultural/societal knowledge as well. The father portrays this when he alludes to the old world’s explicit customs, an event seldom seen, but in which there are distinct attempts to preserve old ways:

He’d carved the boy a flute from a piece of roadside cane and he took it from his coat and gave it to him. The boy took it wordlessly. After a while he fell back and after a while the man could hear him playing. A formless music for the age to come. Or perhaps the last music on earth called up from out of the ashes of its ruin. (McCarthy 77)

When the father passes on these ways of the past to his son, of how to make music, of playing card games, of not resorting to cannibalism no matter what, his son is made better and distinct from the “bad guys” for having learned and kept more of the past, suggesting the notion of “good” being retention of the past (McCarthy 67). McCarthy furthers this notion by utilizing comparison to the positive connotation of music – the high, soft notes of a flute – in a way that creates appreciation for the opportunity to carry a remnant of the past into “the [coming] age” (McCarthy 77). And it is when the boy’s music is thought to be the last that will ever exist, that the past is depicted as a ruin covered in ashes. By viewing the father and son as simple representations of necessary teaching and change across generations, this imparting and receiving of knowledge is indicative of the now commonplace role of family and schools, and their “wordless” exchange.  Although some readers may point out that the boy later throws away the flute, and thus the knowledge given to him, the actions of the boy do not alter the hope and necessity the father felt in providing the boy with the opportunity to preserve the knowledge of the past. The boy’s later action stuns the father, so it seems clear that it is neither expected nor wanted and actually supports the claim I make here – that McCarthy pleads us to find gratitude for the past and the envoys for its proliferation, if only because family and school keep beauty and human knowledge in our world. But those envoys do not do so alone.

The father has become their aid, taking on the role of both the family and the school, the singular entity that can provide his child with what he needs to be moral and human. Again, the notion of each character representing separate generations comes into play when interpreting this peculiarity, of dual roles that are split with fervor in today’s society. In this case, the past generation becomes responsible of assuring that the most essential of knowledge, the most important facets of humanity, are passed down into the new generation. This may be most explicitly stated in the symbolic “fire” of goodness that the boy imagines the father to be holding throughout the entire novel (McCarthy 129). It is only in the father’s dying breaths that the son takes the fire, by finally understanding its significance and true nature:

You have to carry the fire.

I dont know how to.

Yes you do.

Is it real? The fire?

Yes it is.

Where is it? I dont know where it is.

Yes you do. It’s inside you. I can see it. (McCarthy 278-279)

The boy has by this point associated the fire to whatever keeps them alive and “good”, from the father’s survival skills to his opposition to cannibalism, and in this moment those essential facets of being human are passed down. The father acknowledges s that he has given what he can, and he has brought his son closer to human greatness by ensuring the passing down. Ultimately, McCarthy tells the reader, “You, as what will become the past, are the most important factor in giving the next generation a head start towards human perfection.”

The “fire” inside the boy – the goodness, humanity, and knowledge within him – that the father keeps alive must be protected and fostered because it is what makes life worth living, especially in the toughest of times. When readers allow themselves to be receptive without criticality, the novel provides lessons of morality that lead us to an understanding of what offers a head-start on the path to universal human perfection. It is important to study great works of art, and especially great works of literature such as The Road, because they give you a head start on the path of human perfection without raising readers to the defensive. They help make you fit for a humane existence, and help you plan out a life worth living.

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The Road. Directed by John Hillcoat, performances by Viggo Mortensen and Kodi Smit-McPhee. Icon Productions, 2009.

McCarthy, Cormac. The Road. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2006. Print.

Sullivan, Robin. “A Review of the Road.” Goodreads, 31 Jan. 2009, http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/35257193?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1.