On the surface, Harold Ramis’s film Caddyshack appears to be an irreverent summer comedy. The cast includes mostly stand-up comedians, the jokes are juvenile, and it lacks a cohesive plot. It’s funny, most viewers and reviewers agree, but not anything more than that. Gene Siskel, in his review of the movie in the Chicago Tribune, calls it a “most disposable motion picture, the kind of film that drive-ins were designed to play” (Siskel). Maybe, though, Caddyshack is more than just a stupid comedy. Critical thinkers have argued that all stories—including comedies—present a real social crisis and proceed to offer a solution to that conflict. What real social conflict, then, does Caddyshack present? What solution does it offer? Or does a story not necessarily have to do these two things, and Caddyshack really is nothing more than a dumb comedy

To think more carefully about this,we must focus not on the comedic aspect of the movie but instead on its characters and plot. The film centers on Bushwood, an exclusive country club. A variety of characters populate the story: Danny, a caddy, Maggie, his girlfriend, Ty, a relatively young member, Carl, the hapless groundskeeper, and Lacey, an attractive young woman. However, what drives the story is the conflict between the two most important characters: Judge Smails, a proper, long-time club member and self-proclaimed gentleman, and Al Czervik, an brazen, obnoxious nouveau-riche newcomer to the club. The Judge resents any change to the atmosphere and decorum of his beloved club, and Czervik’s boisterous personality and lewd jokes certainly threaten to disrupt that atmosphere. To anyone who reflects on the film even briefly, it becomes clear that the conflict between these two represents a conflict between the traditional, conservative values of the judge and the progressivism of Czervik. So, upon even a cursory inspection of the plot, the film shows itself to be more than just an irreverent comedy. We need to dive deeper into the film, however, to explore the real social conflict it presents to us. What traditional values, exactly, does the Judge represent? What does Czervik represent?

To answer these questions, we must focus on another aspect of the film: its fascination with sex. Three distinct sexual encounters take place on screen—Danny and Maggie, Ty and Lacey, and Danny and Lacy—but more than that, sex is constantly on our minds as viewers. The movie bombards us with sexual metaphors and imagery to ensure it. Carl lusts after the female golfers while stroking a golf ball-cleaning machine. He later drags a hose along the golf course with the end sticking out between his legs. Danny—and all of the other young men—lust after Lacey. The very act of golfing—a bunch of men swinging sticks—is just another sexual metaphor. The movie never lets us forget that its true focus is sex.

So let’s bring these two ideas together and see if that makes sense. Let’s suppose that Judge Smails represents traditional sexual values, and that Czervik represents sexual progressivism, and see what kinds of specific evidence we can come up with to support that theory.

First, however, we must determine exactly what “traditional” and “progressive” sexual values were at the time. In the 1960s and 70s, young baby boomers carried out what has been called a sexual revolution, attempting to change traditional values towards “women’s sexuality, homosexuality, and freedom of sexual expression” (Escoffier, 1). One of the principle ideas they fought for was the end of sexual repression, which they believed “distorted psychological development and led to authoritarian behavior” (Escoffier, 2). Thus, sexual repression—not talking about sex and not having sex—constitutes a traditional value while the fight to end sexual repression is a progressive one. So let’s see if Judge Smails represents sexual repression and Czervik the fight against it.

In the film, Judge Smails does focus deliberately on repressing sexuality and any mention of sex at all. During the dinner scene at the club, he balks at Czervik’s sexual jokes, aghast that anyone would say such a thing in civilized, proper society. To a gentleman like Smails, sexuality is not something to be talked about; it is something to be hidden away, never discussed publicly: repressed. Later, when the Judge sees Danny in bed with his niece Lacey, he fills with rage at the display of pre-marital sex, violently attacking Danny as he flees. With this action, the Judge reveals his hatred for sexuality and his desire for sexual repression; why else would he become so enraged at Danny?

The Judge’s focus on sexual repression also manifests itself metaphorically with the gopher. Judge Smails assigns Carl the task of killing a gopher that has invaded the course. Through Carl, Judge Smails literally tries to stamp out a “varmint” that has invaded his proper country club, just as he tries to stamp out any mention of sex from proper conversation and sexuality itself. It is also worth noting that this gopher came over from the property of one of Czervik’s construction sites; Judge Smails is trying to stamp out the sexual permissiveness of Czervik.

For his part, Czervik certainly represents a more permissive sexual culture, one in which sexuality is not something to be repressed, but instead celebrated. He cracks sexual jokes regularly, talking about sex in a way the conservative Judge Smails refuses to. With the final line of the film, Czervik proclaims “We’re all going to get laid!” This statement contrasts noticeably with the Judge’s anger over Danny and Lacey, demonstrating Czervik’s openness to sexuality where the Judge has none.

So the film does present us with a real social conflict—the conflict between sexual repression and liberty. What, then, is the solution that it offers? Just by looking at which of the characters is more likeable, that solution is not obvious. Judge Smails is conceited and mean, while Czervik is brash and obnoxious. Neither one presents a particularly appealing model to emulate. In the final showdown between the two—a golf match with $80,000 riding on it—Czervik defeats the Judge, potentially indicating the film’s preference for Czervik’s sexual liberty, but his victory does not alter his obnoxious arrogance.

Instead of using Czervik to provide us the ultimate embodiment of sexual liberty, however, the film gives us Ty and Danny, both significantly more likeable than either Czervik or Judge Smails. Those two side with Czervik in his golf match against Judge Smails—they side with the sexually liberating man rather than the repressive one. In the end, it is actually the team of Danny and Ty who win the match on Czervik’s behalf—not Czervik himself. The Judge’s metaphorical sexual repression inadvertently causes their victory; Carl sets off a series of explosions in an effort to destroy the gopher that cause Danny’s final putt to drop into the hole and destroy golf course. By trying to repress sexuality, Judge Smails actually provides for the victory of sexual liberation and the destruction of his traditional club. Thus, as the solution to the conflict, the filmmakers present the rejection of sexual repression and the acceptance of sexual liberty.

To recap: an inane comedy made a bold cultural and political statement without you consciously realizing it. The film, however, exerts a subtle influence over its viewers, compelling them to accept its views as they root for the Danny and Ty to triumph over the Judge.

This is where the historical context for the film becomes important. The sexual revolution happened largely in the 1960s and 70s, yet Caddyshack was not released until 1980. So was the film merely affirming people’s new views about sexuality, or was it trying to change the opinions of those who still held out for traditional beliefs? I would suggest that it was trying to change the views of those still hesitant about the new ideals. The film revolves around golf, a famously traditional and conservative sport played predominantly by older men, and thus could have attracted an older, more conservative audience, an audience that had not quite readily accepted these new values. It then proceeded to demonstrate to these people how they did not want to be like Judge Smails and allowed them to revel in the fact that they could change their views on sexuality without becoming Czervik by demonstrating that they could instead becoming Ty. Ty still represents these new values, yet he is much more acceptable to these audiences than is the obnoxious Czervik. In this way Caddyshack, a stupid comedy, could have changed the views of its audience on a major cultural issue without them necessarily even realizing it.

Works Cited

Caddyshack. Directed by Harold Ramis, Warner Bros., 1980. Amazon, amazon.com. Accessed 14 Oct. 2017.

Escoffier, Jeffrey. “The Sexual Revolution, 1960-1980.” glbtq. glbtq Archives, 2004, www.glbtqarchive.com. Accessed 14 Oct. 2017.

Siskel, Gene. “‘Caddyshack’ right on course as a low-budget laugher.” Chicago Tribune [Chicago], 29 July 1980, chicagotribune.com. Accessed 14 Oct. 2017.

Most avid moviegoers or chronically tardy people have likely had the experience of arriving late to a movie showing. They hustle to their seats while trying to determine if the previews are still going or the main feature has already started. The latter task can be challenging in an era where blockbuster films bear little difference from the initial previews and advertisements. After seeing explicit advertising for the theater’s concession stand and future films, we get a subtler plug for the next film in the franchise, a line of action figures, or a ride at the studio’s theme park. With strong dependability, you can expect every film to sell something. The Truman Show (1998), however, would seem to defy that expectation. Released amid the rise of reality television, it promises to critique such programming and the values and consumption it promotes. And the film strives so much towards this promise that the viewer can easily see it as a radical alternative to and attack on the usual propaganda of the film industry. Under this interpretation, it satirizes the use of product placement and the superficial perfection of suburban life, among other things. Fatally, this interpretation ignores the simple truth that The Truman Show is yet another product—a commercially successful one at that—of the film industry, and to think that the industry would ever criticize itself or change its ways is wonderfully naïve.

The film centers around the title character, Truman, who by all accounts holds the pieces a perfect American life: a tidy house with a picket fence in suburban community, a beautiful wife, and a job selling insurance. But, his life is all a 24-hour reality show, captured on thousands of hidden cameras within a massive dome that contains his whole world. Truman is the only one unaware of the reality, with the rest of people in his life being paid actors under the direction of Christof, the producer of the show. After several unusual events—a studio light falling from the sky, a voice on the radio tracking him—he begins to suspect that the world around him is not what it seems. The film ends with him sailing to the edge of the dome and walking out an exit door.

At first glance, it is perfectly reasonable to treat the film as a subversive critique of media. The writer, Andrew Niccol, had previously written Gattaca (1997), which questions the role of technology in our lives, and the director, Peter Weir is known for thought-provoking films. Many film critics fell into this trap, with Rita Kemply of the Washington Post calling it “subversively entertaining satire”[1] and Peter Travers of Rolling Stone perceiving a “penetrating meditation on the forces that control our existence.”[2] These reviewers confuse provocation with subversion: a film can make you think but limit that thinking to realms that fall well within the norms that the entertainment industry enforces. The Truman Show might make you wonder if you are actually the star of a reality show or even kindle a secret desire to be so, but it will not prompt any real thought about the conditions that actually confine us. The confusion regarding the film originates from the bold way it sets about reinforcing a common narrative. Normally, a work of popular culture simply outlines the values it seeks to reproduce. A sitcom, for example, will depict a typical American family and derive humor from occurrences that fall mostly within the usual realm of life. The viewer watches it and, as a result of absorbing the included ideological blueprint, learns to play his or her role in family life. But The Truman Show explores the idea that someone could be in a sitcom but think that it is real life. Ultimately, this twist has little impact of the views propagated in the film.

That the viewers might applaud the film industry for criticizing itself is in fact a goal of the film. Ronald Bishop, a professor of Communication at Drexel University, writes that “films like Truman are created and packaged by entertainment companies as a means to exploit, and at the same time dissipate, our desire to engage in genuine media criticism.”[3] You can walk away feeling that you watched something critical and cutting-edge, but that is only because the filmmakers want you to feel that way. In generally unfulfilling lives, people love the idea that they are engaging in a subversive action. The entertainment industry, being charged with enforcing normality through media, must give people a false, controlled outlet for subversion so that they do not engage in any real rebellion. On a more practical level, perception that the film industry has some self-awareness gives people hope that they can safely continue to consume the industry’s products with no risk of being subjected to propaganda.

Every film or story presents a real issue,[4] and to the best of my knowledge, no one today is actually stuck in a dome as the unwilling star of a reality show, so the real message is something else. The situation is the same but the agent is different; we are trapped in our lives, but by media, corporations, and everyday routines. The symbolism is striking: television controls Truman’s life just as media controls ours; Truman is adopted and owned by a corporation just as capitalism owns most aspects of us. Another guard against Truman’s escape is his fear of water, carefully crafted by the show’s creators through the maritime death of his father. In a place entirely surrounded by water, this fear represents a fear of the unknown, which advertising and entertainment has cultivated in us. Behind the intriguing show-within-a-movie setup are the conditions of real life, indeed exaggerated, but still hitting too close to home perhaps. In the film, the reality show uses product placement to avoid having to stop for ads, so Truman’s wife must regularly turn to the camera and pitch the latest product she has bought. Outside the film, such a situation exists only in an adverting executive’s wildest fantasies, but it echoes the advertising found in our music, art, and high school gymnasia. Truman’s routine is almost comically identical each day. On the way to work, he always wishes his neighbors “good afternoon, good evening, and good night” then gets stopped by two men who always push him into a billboard featuring a rotating advertisement. The only discrepancy between his world and ours is that his fellow people are happier while doing the same thing everyday, but we must remember that in the film they are paid to—or in Truman’s case, don’t know any better—whereas we are beaten into submission, which tends to produce less merry results.

So what’s the solution to all this, to a monotonous life under the control of capitalist media? According to the film, you can just leave. Truman overcomes his fear of water and starts sailing away from the island. Once the Christof locates him, the producer engineers a storm in attempt to capsize the boat and dissuade Truman from continuing his escape. Eventually Christof ends the storm and allows Truman to sail to the edge of the dome, where he finds a door and exits. But this ending is not a triumph of the ordinary person over those who control him or her. Once Christof accepts that Truman is going to leave, he lets him, and directs the camera angles to ensure that Truman looks heroic while doing so. And while Truman’s captivity easily relates to our own, his escape does not offer a real solution because there is no door marked with an exit sign. Baring life on a desert island, for most of the film’s audience, there is no feasible alternative to media and capitalism.

The fantasy that the film produces is not one of escape but of living in a world like Truman’s, that is, a perfect one. This seems counterintuitive, but that is just a product of the film’s masking of its ideological bent. Those arguing against me would point to Truman’s escape as an example for the viewer to follow. But his escape is meaningless both due to the previously mentioned lack of feasibility and his awareness. It’s hard to long for escape when you do not even realize you are trapped. Christof says in an interview that people accept their surroundings by default, and based on the story of Truman, a switch away from the default requires extremely odd events. The viewer is not meant to follow Truman as a leader but instead dream of having his perfect life at the beginning then be glad to avoid his fate at the end. After all, who wants to risk his or her life escaping the perfect place? The ending scene is the one place where the true goals of the film peek out boldly from behind the curtain of self criticism, as Cristof makes an impassioned plea for Truman to stay in the perfect, “real” world of Seahaven. The musical score during his speech, sappy end-of-movie music, accentuates his argument and creates a sense of finality. As the final plug for the film industry’s views, the Hollywood executives would have probably preferred to end the film there, but the plot mandates Truman’s escape.  The film still makes one last appeal for Seahaven life with the image of Truman leaving a celestial bed of clouds for a door into darkness.

The visuals throughout also further the fantasy. From the opening of the film, the most visually striking aspect is the setting. The white picket fences surrounding pastel-colored houses with cupolas and the brick streets filled with pedestrians and bicyclists all present the image of perfection. But this is not a perfection created in a studio in Hollywood; it is a real town in Florida. The filmmakers only had to fictionalize it slightly—changing the name from Seaside to Seahaven—and, voila, the set already existed. The irony is that in this film, a real place plays a studio whereas the opposite usually holds true. The use of this setting, however, goes beyond the location scouts doing an astute job; the fantasy that the film creates can actually be a reality. As long as films have been able to construct a world unlike our own, the viewers have wanted to go there. Places like Disneyland and Universal Studios exist to satisfy this desire, and based on the astronomical attendance at these destinations, the desire is quite strong. The Truman Show creates a desire for the suburban communities that are scattered thickly across the country and of which Seaside is the poster child.

The Truman Show teaches us that we have to be careful about how we watch films, especially when we think they might be questioning other media or the ideals that media enforces. We can let down our guard slightly at film festivals and art museums, but once money and big studios involved, caution is advised. Moreover, The Truman Show represents an especially clever packaging of its message in that the viewer can easily enjoy the film for its “edginess”—and superior quality—while also absorbing its ideology. In many ways, this cleverness is scary; the film is almost 20 years old, and, with the rapidly advancing strategies of advertising and messaging, one can only imagine what the film industry has been doing to us for the past two decades.

 

 

[1] Kemply, Rita, “‘Truman’: The Camera Never Sleeps,” The Washington Post (1998)

[2] Travers, Peter, “The Truman Show”, Rolling Stone (1998)

[3] Bishop, Ronald. “Good Afternoon, Good Evening, and Good Night: The Truman Show as Media Criticism.” Journal of Communication Inquiry 24, no. 1 (2000): 6-18.

[4] Jameson, Fredric. Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1982.

Do you like your job? Do you think that it has meaning or significance? Do you relate with your company’s mission? If you responded “no” to any of those questions, you are far from alone. Forbes reports that 52.3% of Americans are unhappy at work (Adams), and a study by the Harvard Business Review of 12,000 professionals found that half answered “no” to each of the latter two questions (Bergman). So, what’s going wrong? We tell our kids they are going to be successful and change the world, but by the time they enter the workforce, they don’t care about their jobs and aren’t dedicated to bettering themselves or society. How, then, can they be convinced that their work does matter? One solution is to sit down and watch The Office.

David Graeber argues that much of people’s unhappiness at work can be attributed to “bullshit jobs”, which he says exist “as if someone were out there making up pointless jobs just for the sake of keeping us all working”. What, specifically, are these jobs, you ask? They are “professional, managerial, clerical, sales, and service” positions, and I would wage that if you answered “no” to the questions earlier, your work is included in this list.

Enter The Office: a fictional documentary of people doing the bullshittiest of bullshit jobs. Within four minutes of the first episode, Jim tries to describe his work, but says that he’s “boring himself just talking about this”. Right off the bat, it is clear that this show is meant to epitomize the crisis of employees feeling unhappy and useless in the American workplace. They have an annoying boss, work in a branch that is likely to be shut down soon due to downsizing, and are doing work that can be done just as easily by machines.

This fear that robots are going to take away our jobs is one that has been around for decades. But more recently, the technology has become so advanced that this is no longer just a fear but an imminent reality. It is estimated that at least 47% of all American jobs are at high risk of being overtaken by machines in the next 20 years (Bregman). And you guessed it, the jobs that are most likely to be taken over by computers are none other than the “bullshit jobs”. But the fear that machines will take over our jobs doesn’t just make us afraid of the future, it also reinforces the idea that the work we are doing right now is pointless.

The Office recognizes the enormous weight of this and in a comical way, challenges its validity. The most blatant example of this is during the episode “Launch Party”, in which Dwight takes on the company’s new website, Dunder Mifflin Infinity. The site makes and records its paper sales, just as a salesperson would. Dwight, refusing to bow to machines, takes on and succeeds at the challenge of selling more reams of paper during the work day than it. Sure, the episode was hilarious, but whether the viewer realized it or not, it also left them with the idea that ultimately, machines can’t do what people can.

In fact, the whole show highlights the importance of people, and more specifically, their relationships with one another. The overarching plot through the many seasons is about how the characters on the show are growing and becoming happier. At the beginning, Michael Scott is pretty unlovable. He makes crude and insensitive jokes and seems to care little about his workers. In response, the employees dislike their boss and try to avoid him as much as possible. But throughout the show, we see that he really does care for his employees. In “Goodbye, Michael”, which is about Michael’s last day before he moves to Colorado and leaves the show, he says, “the people you work with are, just when you get down to it, your very best friends”. Because of this, both we, the viewers, and his employees, have a change of heart for Michael. This is well represented by his relationship with Pam. At the start of the show, she found him annoying on a good day and downright offensive on a bad one. But In “Goodbye, Michael”, she chases him down at the airport to tearfully say goodbye to him before he leaves. It is clear that her attitude towards him has shifted and she cares deeply for him.

But Pam changes more than just in her relationship with Michael; she changes her entire person. Initially, she is insecure and easily pushed around, especially by her fiancée at the time. She seems to have no purpose in life and has no hope of future success. But throughout the show, she takes control of her life: she dumps her fiancée, marries Jim, pursues her love of art, and after trying her hand at being a saleswoman, convinces her bosses to give her the position of administrative assistant. Though it is not a high-level title, being administrative assistant gives her power and allows her to make herself more essential to the company. By the end of the series, Pam is visibly more confident, more productive, and more content in her role at the office. Note also that she is able to find a position she likes within the company rather than going elsewhere like many people would think to do if they were unhappy.

This relationship between the company and its employees is very important. Even though at times it seems like Dunder Mifflin doesn’t care about its workers, the employees ultimately have a positive attitude towards “corporate”. David Wallace, the chief financial officer, is the most consistent character to represent corporate and seems to be liked by most of the Scranton branch. He’s easy to talk to, as can be seen when he’s chatting and shooting hoops with Jim, and comes across as a wholesome family man. Despite losing his job during season six, Wallace returns in season eight to buy back the company and save it from the crazy CEO. He has an individual relationship with each of his employees and through him, it is implied that the entire company cares about the workers. Yes, it has temporary failures, but in the end, Dunder Mifflin comes across as a corporation that values its employees and treats them well.

One time in particular that Wallace fails an employee is during “The Deposition” when he says that he was never seriously considering Michael for the corporate job, which is incredibly upsetting to Michael, who believed he was being “groomed” for it. Even so, when Michael is asked if he agrees that the company “exhibits a pattern of disrespect towards its employees”, his response is “absolutely not”. And this response is not an easy one. If he had said yes, his girlfriend, Jan, would have won 4 million dollars in a lawsuit against Dunder Mifflin, but because he ultimately trusts the company and believes that it has his best interests at heart, he sides with it. But where Michael normally seems foolish and silly, his loyalty to the company is framed in a way that makes him seem noble and causes the viewer to respect him more.

But what does Michael standing up to his girlfriend have to do with believing your work matters? The Office is telling you that even if your company seems to be screwing you over and your boss seems like an asshole, they ultimately do care about you and you should care for them in return. When Michael sides with Dunder Mifflin in the lawsuit, it is sending the message that believing in your company is a good thing. These people are in as bad of a position as it gets when it comes to useless jobs, but ultimately, they still find their work to be a positive place. They can see that Dunder Mifflin does indeed want the best for them, and they are seen as better for caring about the company in return. They find that there is a mutual love between them and their boss, and as they discover this good relationship they also become happier. Pam’s improvement as a person coincides directly with her finding meaning in her work through good relationships in the office and a position that she likes. And forget about machines replacing your jobs. The show is saying that you are more capable than a computer and are valued as so. In the end, Dunder Mifflin Infinity gets shut down while Dwight persists through entire series, so it is clear that even if your job feels mundane, you are necessary not just to the company but to the functionality of society.

Through its story, The Office is trying to get its viewers to believe that they have a valued spot in the workplace. It is attempting to soothe American’s fears that their work is mundane and they are replaceable. It is telling you that even if it seems like you have a “bullshit job”, you should care about your work because your boss and your company and the people around you care about you. So, what may seem on the surface like mindless humor is actually teaching you to be content with your deadening job. Don’t even try to do something else, it’s telling you: you will fail like Michael and his startup or Pam and art school. You will end up right back at the company where you started. You belong at your company and you will be happiest there, or so they want you to believe.

If you ask your typical claiming-nonracist confederate sympathizer – I’m not talking about revisionist-history reenactors or statue-enthusiasts, who are wrong for their own reasons; I mean bumper-sticker-on-a-pickup-truck guys – why they own Stars and Bars paraphernalia if not to express a hatred of African Americans, you’ll invariably get the same response: an endorsement of a spirit of rebellion*. Most people, particularly the culturally-liberal set overrepresented among those who care about the American film canon, realize that this explanation is either mendacious or foolish: rebellions are only laudable when they fight against something pernicious. So why, then, have those progressives elevated to the level of a classic a film that seeks to celebrate a doomed resistance to the cultural advancement of women and black people? For that’s what One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is, a movie that valorizes the efforts of white men to retard social progress, and does so effectively enough to get even the most liberal of audiences not only cheering throatily for gendered violence but also associating the plight of the modern white man with the suffering of a group that white men were primarily responsible for perpetrating a genocide against.

This deception may seem like a difficult feat, but it’s easily accomplished through the film’s use of narrative structure. Viewers understand from the start they are to root for McMurphy, who is established as the film’s protagonist by his positive portrayal in every scene. It’s certainly not by virtue of his character – he’s been in and out of jail for assault, and has malingered his way into a mental institution to avoid a work farm after a statutory rape conviction. No matter his personal failings, he is favored by the story in his conflict with the authority in the psychiatric hospital, shown as the only patient courageous enough to resist the demands of the domineering hospital staff when he craftily avoids having to swallow mandatory pills and proposes the strict schedule be altered to allow the men to watch the World Series. The hospital authority is shown as dominating, oppressive, particularly through its leader Nurse Ratched, who asks bullying questions during group therapy and manipulates a vote to ensure the patients cannot watch the baseball game despite the enthusiastic support of every aware member of the ward. Her name is a unsubtle bit of dramatic nomenclature: “Ratched” is essentially “ratchet”, a tool used to tighten and to bludgeon. McMurphy’s rebellion is against this repressive authority that seeks to clamp down on the men’s desires and beat back any challenges to its power.

This resistance to domination is seen by many as the point of the film, and is the reason it remains lauded. But a framing of the movie as a mere celebration of rebellion is incomplete – it misses the symbols and cues that indicate the broader cultural forces represented by McMurphy and the hospital authority he is fighting against.

McMurphy’s acts of resistance check all the boxes of stereotypical masculinity. He likes sports – he defies Nurse Ratched by requesting the men be allowed to watch the World Series and jolts the patients out of their stupors by starting a pickup basketball game during recreation time. He’s into fishing, conversing buddy-buddy with a doctor about a photo of the latter’s biggest catch; when it comes time to steal a school bus and break the men off the ward, he takes them out to sea and and teaches them the tricks of angling. On the way, he proves that he also likes sex by picking up a prostitute friend of his named Candy and cavorting with her below the deck of the boat. These desires are under normal ward circumstances denied to him by authority, and not just any authority; McMurphy is a non-crazy person in a mental institution, a confinement that suggests the stereotypical wants of guys have been pathologized, declared medically abnormal and requiring intensive treatment to correct.

The person in charge of constraining his desires is Nurse Ratched, presented as the embodiment of female command over men; she rules over the ward with an iron voice. The film makes her a symbol of a larger conflict through contrast and by action. Ratched and her crony are the only female characters important to the film’s central conflict, and they’re the antagonists. Ratched goes about her domination in a way that evokes a stereotypical difference between women and men – while McMurphy is a man of action, running around getting into hijinks, Ratched maintains her distance, controlling the men through procedure and implicit threats. Medication is distributed from behind a window; orders are given over a loudspeaker. Privileges are revoked and cigarettes rationed. When physical force is required, she retreats behind the glass and calls in a squad of orderlies to bring McMurphy to the shock therapy table; she isn’t there when they give him the volts. Her most cruel act is a verbal threat: she tells the poor, stuttering, Oedipally-afflicted Billy that she will tell his mother that he had sex during the patients’ night of drunken revelry, a prospect so devastating for him he commits suicide. It’s here the gender dynamics are most clear – a stereotypical male action is turned against Billy by the social pressure of two women who control his life. McMurphy’s attempted revenge on Ratched after Billy’s body is found is also gendered – he chokes her, trying to remove the two things that give the nurse her power: her distance and her voice. It’s a man reasserting the primacy of physical violence, a sphere where he has the advantage, to try to make a woman – all controlling, nagging women – shut up forever.

McMurphy is foiled and Ratched saved by Washington, one of the three main orderlies on the ward. These orderlies have a feature in common: they’re all black. With the exception of Chief Bromden, to whom we will return, these are the film’s only characters who are recognizably non-white. Their blackness is made conspicuous not only by contrast to the white patients but also by dialogue. In a fight with McMurphy, Washington holds him down and calls him a “punk-ass motherfucker”; in response to McMurphy indicating he is to be free in sixty-eight days, Washington informs him “that’s in jail, sucka”, implying his hospital stay is indefinite. None of this is particularly subtle and it seems embarrassing to continue to list evidence – the point is, the orderlies talk in a way that is recognizable as Black English. The three African-Americans are not the only orderlies on the ward – others appear to break up fights – so the decision to depict them as the main henchmen on the villainous side is purposeful – it suggests black people collude with the system to oppress the desires of white men.

To understand One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is to understand what its characters represent. It is not enough to view the film as a tale of resistance to authority and celebrate it on that basis; it is a tale of a specific resistance – that of white men to their perceived confinement as a result of social change – to a specific domination  – that of the supposedly ascendant cultural position of women and African-Americans. It makes this conflict real and picks the viewers’ side for them. But what does it present as a solution? That answer is more complex, and is revealed only in the movie’s famous final scenes.

The film makes clear neither side is willing to abandon the fight. After McMurphy’s boat trip, a group of correctional bureaucratic-types are in a meeting debating whether to remove him from the hospital and send him back to the work farm. Nurse Ratched comes down strongly against this proposal, insisting he remain on her ward – she will not back down from fixing a problem. Nor will McMurphy from a fight – during the patients’ all-night party, he steals a key and opens a previously locked window through which he could escape to the outside world, but chooses not to, instead falling asleep on the ground beneath it. By giving both sides a choice to exit that they decline the film makes clear it does not see a scenario where one side opts out of the conflict.

Other potential solutions to the conflict are hinted at, but ultimately rejected. The problem of controlling, oppressive women – the world’s Nurse Ratcheds – can be solved if women became pliable, agreeable, compliant – the prostitutes Candy and Rose, who laugh at everyone’s jokes, say things like “nice place you’ve got here, Mac” when entering the hospital, and have sex with whomever McMurphy tells them to. Aggressive black men working as the muscle of the system can be replaced by those like the night guard, Turkle, who allows McMurphy to smuggle in women and liquor in exchange for some cash and favors. These positively-portrayed characters are only a temporary respite from the fight, however – in the morning, Nurse Ratched and the orderlies return to restore order and administer punishment. The idea of going back to the old paradigm is shown to be a fantasy.

The film’s true solution is not a solution at all. It reveals itself during the movie’s denouement, after the climactic scene where McMurphy tries to choke out Nurse Ratched and in so doing seals his fate.

To understand the significance of the ending of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest you must understand the character of Chief Bromden and his implications for the film’s symbolic conflict. Chief is the only non-white patient on the ward, a towering Native American man who is feigning deafness and dumbness to deal with trauma and avoid interacting with others. His presence can be seen as a way of concealing the movie’s racial argument – the film isn’t depicting a struggle between whites and nonwhites because Chief is on the whites’ side. But it is more significant than that. At one point in this history of this land, Native Americans were unopposed by any group – they were the only ones here. Their desires were bounded only by squabbles with each other. Only after white people arrived did any sort of conflict begin; those fights ended with massive death tolls and, ultimately, the marginalization of Native Americans. By placing Bromden on the side of McMurphy and the ward, the film implies that something similar will happen to the traditional white men of the world – that the arrival of new cultural forces will result in previously untrammeled freedom being constrained almost entirely. This is the film’s conflict taken to a conclusion: if Ratchet and the orderlies win, white men will go the way of the chiefs of the past, a message made bitterly ironic by the fact that white men were primarily responsible for the genocide and segregation of Native Americans in the first place.

And the film does argue that the forces of cultural change will prevail. McMurphy is thwarted in the attempt to kill Nurse Ratchet with his bare hands. He is punished with a lobotomy that leaves him a husk. In lobotomizing McMurphy, the film reveals its belief that to survive in the coming future stereotypical white men will either become institutionalized – the men on the ward – or turned into shells of their former selves. McMurphy is not left in that hollow condition for long, though – Chief Bromden finds his friend unresponsive with telltale scars on his forehead and smothers him with a pillow. The audience understands this to be a mercy killing, and it’s a bittersweet ending, lightened by Chief’s escape after he smashes a window with a massive hydrotherapy cart.

Chief’s escape can be seen as the solution to the conflict the film depicts – the only way to avoid the coming cultural marginalization is to escape into the night. But that’s not a solution at all – McMurphy is dead on a cot, and the other men on the ward are still under the control of Nurse Ratched and the system. Chief’s escape is impossible for any other man to pull off – McMurphy tried his best to budge the cart and could not move it an inch. What he said after his failed attempt reveals the film’s true answer to its conflict: “But I tried, didn’t I?”. Some stories make vivid a real social conflict and are content to not provide a solution; instead, they valorize the efforts of the defeated in a fight long lost**. They’re stories of a war – literal or not – that is over and that has shaped the world in its aftermath. Better to fight back – McMurphy trying and failing to choke Nurse Ratched to stop her power – than to go meekly along with your subjugation; this way you’ll be rewarded mercifully with death rather than see yourself humiliated in defeat. The Confederates after Appomattox, the white men who fought cultural change, will always be heroes to someone, and will be favored in stories glorifying their attempts. At least they tried.

* This idea can be found explored in more detail in Alex Nichols’s essay here

** The idea of stories depicting a real-world conflict and providing a solution is common in studies of literature, but is most often attributed to Jamison’s Political Unconscious

Since I first saw The Breakfast Club when I was 13, it has been one of my favorite movies. It is simple and easy to understand; it presents an engaging and relatable story. I was thoroughly intrigued by each of the characters and fell in love with the story. Despite my love of this movie, there has always been something that I felt was off about it and I could never really place my finger on just what it was. Now I find myself wondering what the purpose of this classic, worn-out story is. There must be more to it than what it presents itself to be: a story of outcasts working to overcome differences and opposites falling in love.

On the surface, this is a movie about the breakdown of stereotypes and breaking of molds that we use to define those around us. However, in reality, even though the movie purports to break down these stereotypes, it simply reinforces them. The movie accepts the stereotypes it presents with a defeatist attitude, resigning itself and its viewers to the fact that stereotypes are an inherent part of our society. Many stories will at least attempt to provide solutions to the problems they present with idyllic endings and happily-ever-afters, yet The Breakfast Club does not even make a half-hearted attempt to do that.

The stereotypes this movie presents are extremely harmful and confining, separating all in our society into a certain number of little boxes that define people’s personalities and their lives. The worrisome part is that since this movie came out in 1985, the story has become a staple in our society; most people know the story of The Breakfast Club and view it with an endearing attitude. What does this mean for all of us who love this movie? Are we buying into its defeatist attitude and the stereotypes it presents?

To answer this question, we must first determine what the stereotypes this movie is presenting actually are. It helps to start broadly here, and realize that the surface level stereotyping that the movie does is most clear in the examples it presents of the classic high school students. For a basis, these are the types of stereotypes that people dress up as for Halloween because they are so widely recognized and accepted. The Breakfast Club states that these stereotypes do not only exist in the sense that people dress up as them for Halloween, but in the way that society works to mold people, especially teenagers, to fit into certain stereotypes.

The Breakfast Club attempts to comment on these stereotypes by exaggerating them and attempting to portray the “deeper” side to each character. For example, Brian is the classic nerd. He is smart and participates in the stereotypical ‘nerd’ clubs: “the math club, the Latin club, and the physics club.” He has been confined to this stereotype not only by those around him at school, but by his parents. In the first scene of the movie, Brian’s mom places pressure on him to “use the time to [his] advantage” and study as much as he can. In this way, his mother is forcing a stereotype onto him, in a way that leaves Brian with no freedom to figure out who he actually is. Next, John Bender embodies the stereotype of the criminal. He is the kid in high school who does not come to school or follow the rules. Thus, people assume that he is a bad person. However, the movie attempts to show that there is more to this stereotype of the criminal than most people realize, providing Bender with a back story of an abusive home life and a father who believes he is worthless. There cannot be a movie about high school stereotypes without portraying a “popular girl,” and The Breakfast Club fulfills that requirement with the character of Claire. Claire wears diamond earrings, is a participant in Student Council, has many friends, and conforms to fit in with those friends. Popular girls are often seen as lacking substance and being privileged, but the movie attempts to break this stereotype by making Claire more self-aware and showing that she dislikes the pressure she feels from those around her to act a certain way: “I hate having to go along with everything my friends say!” The popular girl is always accompanied by the athlete, who in this movie is a wrestler named Andy. In many ways, Andy fits the stereotype of the dumb jock who uses his status to bully other people (he is in detention for taping someone’s balls together) and repeatedly uses force to get what he wants. But the movie also tries to show that Andy breaks his stereotype in the way that he treats Allison and becomes vulnerable during the “confession circle.” Finally, there is Allison, who is stereotyped as the crazy, mentally-ill person. Throughout the first half of the movie, Allison barely talks, only making a few grunting noises here and there. Allison’s scream in response to what Claire says about her parents, the cinematography, the way Allison is dressed, her makeup, and her movements portray her as animal-like. In this way, the movie draws an analogy between the mentally ill and animals. This association dehumanizes the mentally ill and stereotypes them as something less than human. The story tries to break this stereotype by having Allison open up to the other characters, fall in love with the athlete, and be given her a makeover.

This all seems well and good: The Breakfast Club presents a bunch of stereotypes, but then shows the characters breaking these stereotypes and moving against the grain of society. What is the problem here? The problem is subtle because this is not exactly what the movie is doing. The movie does not actually portray the characters breaking the stereotypes they represent; instead it ingrains these stereotypes deeper into the characters’ personalities, making it so that there is no escaping these stereotypes. The stereotypes are trivialized and viewers are subconsciously led to think that the characters simply are their stereotypes. The clearest instances in which the movie does this are seen in the characters of Andy, Claire, and Allison. For example, although the “deeper” side of Andy is shown when he talks to Allison, Andy only fully begins to appreciate Allison once she has gotten a makeover, instead of simply valuing her for her personality and because he sees something in her besides her looks. Then there is Claire, who also fails to have her stereotype broken, with her “shallowness” being reinforced throughout the movie: her talent is putting on lipstick using her boobs; her major act of kindness is giving Allison a makeover; her last action in the movie is giving Bender her diamond earring. Then, of course, there is Allison. The movie makes no effort to truly combat her characterization as mentally ill, but instead perpetuates it. The issue of mental illness itself is trivialized. Allison is “fixed” by Claire when she is given a makeover. However, mental illness does not simply go away like that; it is a lifelong struggle that people who suffer from mental illness must deal with each day. Additionally, the stigma surrounding mental illness that was widely present in society then and is still prominent in the world today, was given no concrete solution. According to the movie, the mentally ill should be forever condemned to be seen as subhuman.

It would be a travesty if after all this talk about stereotypes, I did not discuss the gender stereotypes that this movie presents. These stereotypes are the most dangerous that The Breakfast Club presents because they are not as obviously presented as the previous ones discussed, and their implications are just as serious, if not more so. The movie reinforces the stereotypes often applied to women, and trivializes the discrimination that women and outcasts of society face. The first stereotype it enforces is the one that portrays women as weak beings needing the protection of men. The number of times that Claire fails to stand up for herself, and Andy or Bender feel responsible to come to her rescue is frustrating. Each time this occurs, viewers subconsciously root this idea of women as weak deeper in their minds. Another stereotype the movie enforces about women is the concept of women as objects whose function is to sit, look pretty, conform to societal pressures and be there for men to “take.” Bender thinks it is appropriate for him to touch Claire without her permission; he mainly sees Claire as a sexual object, not as a strong human who possesses her own agency. Claire makes no effort to combat these beliefs, but reinforces the fact that a woman’s job is to look pretty when she puts on makeup using her boobs and gives Allison a makeover. Claire has none of her own agency and does not work to obtain any. Thus, The Breakfast Club validates this view of women and provides no solution to the problem that half the world’s population is seen as less than the other half. The movie pushes a male agenda, and when we decide that we like the way that Claire and Allison act in the movie (and for those of us who like this movie, it is hard to say that we do not), we are supporting this male agenda. Women are weak; women need men; women are pure and their value lies in their virginity; these are the statements that we accept when we watch this movie.

We (the viewers) buy into the stereotypes presented by the movie and the breaking of these stereotypes by the characters; but in fact, this is all a lie. The stereotypes are not broken, but trivialized and further ingrained. The movie has resigned itself to the fact that the stereotypes it presents can never be overcome. When Brian asks Claire if the five of them will all be friends on Monday, Claire responds honestly saying, “I don’t think so.” The Breakfast Club takes the easy way out, and instead of providing fixes (even frivolous ones), the inherent problem of stereotypes within society is just accepted. Some may bring up the end of the movie, stating that the opposites falling in love (Bender and Claire, Andy and Allison) is a breaking of stereotypes. However, the stereotypes and the falling in love are non-sequiturs; just because the opposites fall in love, does not imply that the stereotypes were broken. Thus, this story does not provide any sort of solution to the problems in our society but only engrains them further.

Ernest Hemingway once said, “Every man’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another”. Hemingway not only realizes something that many in our world today have seemed to miss, but he also exemplifies it through his story, The Old Man and the Sea. That misunderstanding is our society’s view of success. When I refer to society, I’m not referring to those who are perceived as superior due to their political prowess or superior economic status, but those who look up to these people, who strive to achieve and be what these people have become. Society does’t realize that they’re blinded in multiple ways by the stardom and publicity that these ‘successful’ people have, while there are really many other things to it. The underlying word in this debate is success, and, ultimately, the way that we perceive it as a general public is deeply flawed, creating a social crisis that few want to address. When referring to social crisis, I’m not referring to gun control and immigration, but rather our understanding of our own self-value and personal success as a society. Hopefully I can redeem the many who read this and allow you to understand a little something that is misunderstood by many.

Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea is a story that revolves around persistence and faith, at least that what’s it seems like from the surface. In this story, an old man has gone days without catching a fish, so many days that the other fisherman have deemed him as unlucky and, frankly, unsuccessful. The old man, on the contrary, doesn’t care about the perception that the other fisherman have of him, he’s faithful, having high hopes as he begins his journey out to sea. As time passes, the old man finally hooks the fish that he has been waiting for and demands of himself to stay with it, not giving up. The fish pulls his boat for hours on end, dragging him further and further out to sea. Days pass and the man sticks with the fish, refusing to let his pain and tiredness lead him to defeat. This eventually allows him to complete this great catch, getting the fish to the surface and attached to his boat. He then begins his journey back home, having to deal with various sharks, who tear the fish down to its head, tail, and bones. On this journey home, the old man begins to regret killing the fish and sticking with it for so long. He learns something about himself. The big prize he has been seeking doesn’t seem worthwhile to him anymore, it doesn’t provide him with the happiness and joy that he anticipated. He returns, stumbles off to his shack, and eventually falls asleep. Meanwhile, many of the other fisherman see the remnants of the fish still strapped to the side of the old man’s boat, astonished at how big of a fish it must’ve been.

It is amazing how the old man had the opportunity to catch the fish of a lifetime, and get all of the gratification and praise that he would’ve earned through the public eye, but yet he restrains from seeking this. He initially wants to gratify himself, not those who see him as unlucky and unsuccessful. He doesn’t care about the public opinion, but rather pursues self-gratification. As is stated in the poem “The Man in the Mirror”, “But your final reward will be heartache and tears / If you’ve cheated the man in the glass”. This is the contrary to what many in the world strive to achieve. Everyone wants to be perceived as successful by others, we have a craving for this, but how long does that level of gratification and satisfaction truly last? I’d go to say, not that long.

Success for the old man came from catching the big fish and that was originally what he thought would lead to happiness, joy, and all positive emotions. However, it is not until he caught this fish and was returning home with his prize, that his perspective changed. Similarly, the common perception that we have of someone who is successful is a person who has achieved great wealth, as well as attained many grand achievements. Grand achievements meaning those that people dream of conquering, such as being the world’s next business mogul or becoming the next star athlete, or being like the old man and catching the big fish. People have a craving for attention and the bigger the stage, the greater the craving. It’s amazing how we are drawn more towards those who are on ‘the bigger stage’, yet we believe that being in that position will provide us all of the gratification that we need. Mark Cuban, known for his wealth, as well as his role on ABC’s Shark Tank and owning the Dallas Mavericks of the NBA, was interviewed by Steiner Sports, where he said, “The definition of success is waking up in the morning with a smile on your face, knowing it’s going to be a great day. I mean I was happy and felt like I was successful when I was poor, living with six guys in a three bedroom apartment, sleeping on the floor”. He later goes on to say that “if you really love what you do, you’re not working”. So what do people that the general population look up to view as success? It seems that happiness is a common theme.

I’m sure you’re beginning to think that this is easy for them to say considering all that they’ve accomplished, as well as their material possessions. But I challenge you to think a little bit more about this. The old man, after catching the big fish, was viewed as successful by the other fisherman, but he himself didn’t feel successful, and, frankly, wasn’t happy. What’s the value in that? If fame and fortune don’t supply you with the joy that you’re seeking in life, it is up to you to find what does make you enjoy life and, really, that is what we should be pursuing.

This isn’t to say that wealth and accomplishing great things can’t provide you with the happiness that you seek in your life. But how long does this happiness last after you achieve these things? After an NFL player is part of a Super Bowl winning team, does that single event supply them with enough joy and happiness to live for the rest of their lives? No, it may act as something that they can reminisce upon, bringing a smile to their face, but that enthusiasm that you see as the confetti falls only lasts so long. Players return the next season, start right where they were before, seeking out the same objective even after completing it already. This fact alone shows that they simply aren’t satisfied with that lone Super Bowl win. In fact, at least for some, wealth isn’t entirely what these men are seeking, they are pursuing their love of football, something they enjoy. If you don’t believe this, one example is Peyton Manning, just go ahead and watch his retirement speech. Yes, achievements are a part of playing the game, as well as defeats, but there is more to it than that. It is the passion and enjoyment that a person gets from working and doing something they love that allows to really immerse themselves in that gratification, the achievements just supply them with moments of great satisfaction.

Stories around the globe provide us with lessons and acknowledge issues that need to be acknowledged, whether we want them to or not, and often supplement us with solutions. The Old Man and the Sea, which serves as an example of this, is definitely a story that is deeply defined by faith and persistence, but there is more to it than that. Catching a fish that would put him to fame amongst fellow fisherman is something that many would dream of, just as today, having achieved grand accolades in the business, political, or athletic realm would lead others to view someone as being more successful. But, the old man comes to discover that what he truly thought would provide him the greatest satisfaction, is ultimately what breaks him and causes him to understand that there is more to life than just getting the ‘big catch’, just as people should realize in our world today. The old man’s unhappiness supplies us with our answer regarding true success … that happiness itself is what we should be after.

***Main proposition influenced by ENGL 117 class and Frederic Jameson’s Political Unconsciousness

The Hunger Games is the 3rd highest grossing action film of all time, making 408 million dollars at the box office (The Numbers). But why? Aside from an expansive production budget and top name actors, there must be something more that appealed to the public enough to generate this cult following and extensive profit. One review argues that the film, “Begs us to be disgusted by the spectacle of the games and, like Katniss, to determine what is the best response to those who would go to any lengths to maintain power and wealth for themselves.” (Power and Wealth). The public sees hope in Katniss’ struggle against an oppressive, overtly classist totalitarian government and cheers her on from their theatre seats. But what you likely missed, masked by the pseudo-progressive fight against oppression, are the hidden politics that reinforce the very same oppressive systems that it externally seems to speak out against. As much as this film seems to speak against the system, it strikes a much different chord in its ideological charge.

First off, to establish the basis of why this film reads as interpreted as anti-establishment. The first scene of the film shows extravagant showman Caesar Flickerman in a television interview with meticulously bearded Game Maker Seneca Crane talking of this year’s Hunger Games. Crane says “It comes out of a particularly painful part of our history. At first it was a reminder of the rebellion, it was the price the Districts had to pay” (The Hunger Games) demonstrating the oppressive nature of the games. They punish the masses for revolting against the government by hosting a gladiator-esque showdown between tributes from each district in the futuristic, dystopian version of North America known as Panem. The next scene pictures Katniss illegally hunting in the woods and talking to Gale about how they could stop the games with a boycott. Barely three minutes into the film, it’s obvious what the conflict is meant to be. The individual, female, rebellious Katniss is pitted against the oppressive, overarching, predominantly male capital embodied by Seneca Crane and, later, godlike president Coriolanus Snow. And, in the end of course, Katniss wins the Hunger Games along with her newly found love interest Peeta Mellark. The heroine shows up the oppressors and gets a boyfriend along the way, so her side wins, right? This often-reached conclusion has misled most every viewer of the film and successfully masks the ideological charge.

As we move throughout the film, the underlying politics become increasingly evident. Katniss and her sister Primrose walk solemnly to what is known as the ‘Reaping’. The scene of all the children of District 12 walking to this event is visually reminiscent of Nazi concentration camps, featuring children in literal striped pajamas surrounded by sterile guards, known as “Peacekeepers”, armed to the teeth. The children’s fingers are pricked for blood to determine their identity and register. The stage is taken by the ridiculously adorned Effie Trinket, whose name (Trinket? Really?) and garb reflect eccentricity and wasted wealth, a not-so-subtle reference to the 1%. Effie calls the names of the tributes who are being sent to their seemingly imminent demise, in the games. This situation shows a decadently rich socialite being allowed to act as essentially the Grim Reaper, randomly selecting individuals for death. As she calls the names, Katniss’ younger sister Primrose is called as the female tribute. Katniss, of course, ‘volunteers’ to be tribute in her place to spare her 14-year-old sister. Katniss is congratulated by Effie on her choice, remarking that this is the first ‘volunteer’ from District 12 in the history of the Games. Katniss is consistently reminded that she ‘chose’ to be there much like in today’s world, oppressed people are often reminded that their position is their choice as they could have simply worked their way out of it. The motif of the ‘Illusion of Choice’ reverberates throughout the film in even the most basic explanation of the games, suggesting that the Districts consent to the Games by their own choice. The illusion of choice throughout the film is highly reminiscent of modern society’s similar mode of oppression.

Moving away from District 12, the two tributes are whisked away in a lavish train towards the Capital where they meet their advisor, the jaded alcoholic Haymitch Abernathy. He is the sole living Victor from District 12 and one of those stereotypical characters obviously trying to drown their past torment and current problems in alcohol. It is suggested that though Haymitch has lived in the Capital since his victory 24 years ago, he drinks to forget his time in District 12 rather than the horrors he saw in the games as he never truly seems bothered by the gore and death that the games present. Haymitch consistently represents the reality that without the full support of the Capital (read: rich people), it is impossible for District 12 (read: poor people) to come close to winning. Haymitch’s first piece of actual advice, instead of just telling them they are going to die, comes when he says, “You really wanna know how to stay alive? You get people to like you” (The Hunger Games). This reinforces the idea that you can’t win unless ‘chosen’ by a member of a higher class with real power, much like in today’s world, many success stories come from people ‘chosen’ by the rich (see Jay Gatsby, chosen by Dan Cody) rather than people who work their way up. This implies that Katniss and Peeta are not Victors in the end, they were merely spared by the rich which seems to be the highest form of achievement for a citizen of District 12. This ends up ringing true as Katniss is saved by the sponsors as after she was burned, Haymitch was shown schmoozing the elite members of the capital to get Katniss some medicine. Her life was saved by the sponsors here as was Peeta’s in a similar situation. Later in the training process, Katniss reinforces this ideal by actually setting herself on fire to get the attention of the sponsors. While this becomes a sort of signature look for Everdeen, it is an entirely desperate attempt at appealing to the rich by any means necessary. When asked about dressing to represent their District, as most do, their stylist Cinna says, “But I don’t want to do that. I’m gonna do something that they’re gonna remember” noting that representing their actual district would be horribly banal and forgettable. The system in which the games are played and presented silently reinforces classism and shows how without being ‘spared’ or ‘chosen’ by the powerful, the lower classes can’t possibly succeed, in today’s world as well.

Additionally, the way in which resources are distributed in the Games reinforces class systems. For most of the games, the Career tributes hold the Cornucopia and all the resources that came with it. They took this treasure trove over in the initial bloodbath, fighting off and killing anyone who tried to get their weapons and supplies. The only way in which lower class tributes are shown acquiring resources is theft. Most notably, Katniss receives her trademark bow in a scene depicting Katniss, in a hallucinogenic stupor, stealing the bow off Glimmer’s dead body. To me at least, this was highly reminiscent of a date rape scenario, with Katniss taking advantage of the compromised Glimmer, shown at the 2:30 mark in the clip below. So, the only scene depicting a lower-class tribute getting resources from the rich tributes, also known as redistribution of wealth, is presented as rape.

As they begin to train, the physical and mental disparity between the tributes of each district becomes obvious. The tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are physically superior, predominantly blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and generally cold and calloused in their interactions outside of their own group. Conversely, the tributes from other districts vary much more ethnically but are weaker and much less skilled in this type of warfare outside of a few outliers. The tributes from the first districts utterly dominate the training sessions hinting that dominance and skill may be directly correlated with Aryan characteristics and privilege. Similarly, none of the tributes from the first two districts are directly killed by Katniss or Peeta, but they were rather forced into deaths by nature or others like when Peeta throws Cato off the Cornucopia to the Mutts or when Glimmer was killed by the Tracker Jackers, suggesting that their deaths weren’t truly caused by Katniss and Peeta because it would be wrong for a District 12 tribute to kill a Career tribute. Class distinctions, although seemingly the biggest statement made by this film, are ideologically reinforced throughout.

Immediately after this intense training scene ends, the film flashes to the reality show aspect of the games where the tributes are paraded around in ornate dress for the entire nation to admire. The female tributes who were just depicted as hard-edged killing machines in the training exhibition are dolled up in frilly dresses, looking like pageant queens. The tributes also seem to be excited to dress up and show off as they are shown giggling and flirtatiously brushing up against their male counterparts. Sexualizing these absolute athletic phenomena devalues their skill and prowess along with normalizing their subjugation. The two Career females, Clove and Glimmer (Glimmer? You’ve got to be kidding), could easily kill most everyone in the room yet they are still objectified and portrayed as weaker, more feeble people. Further, when Peeta begins his interview with Caesar he tells the nation of this crush he has on a girl. Caesar immediately responds, “I’ll tell you what Peeta. You go out there and you win this thing. And when you get home. She’ll have to go out with you” (The Hunger Games). This comment brings forth raucous applause from the crowd and depicts women as prizes, but as a viewer, you generally agree with what Caesar says. Continuing throughout the film, many work to feed the romance between the District 12 tributes. Haymitch tells Katniss, “It makes you desirable” (The Hunger Games). When told by President Snow to give the masses something to root for, Game maker Seneca Crane suggests ‘Young love’, obviously in Peeta and Katniss. Later in the Games when Katniss finds Peeta by the river, suffering from serious wounds, she makes him a priority and endangers herself for him. She cooks for him and cleans his wound, very stereotypically domestic actions which work to portray the strongest women in the games as a docile housewife. Clearly, many portrayals of women throughout the film promote the internalization of sexist norms.

Furthermore, right when the games begin the bloodbath starts as the most concentrated killing scene by far in the film. The first two tributes killed on screen are both minorities and they were both killed by the Careers. In this first sequence, the audio is drowned out by a loud, blaring noise that mutes the screams and cries of the victims. This creates a blurry mental picture of the scene and doesn’t allow the viewer to sympathize with the victims, thus emphasizing that these deaths (of minorities) aren’t as painful or meaningful. Later in the film, Rue, one of three black tributes, saves Katniss by helping her escape from a tree by pointing out a Tracker Jacker nest. The two form an alliance and work together until they are walking in the forest and are attacked by another tribute. Rue is hit by a spear while Katniss dodges it and kills the attacker. Rue, one of the few black characters, metaphorically takes a bullet for Katniss, the white heroine. Rue in her last words utters, “You have to win” (The Hunger Games). It relatively obvious that Rue acts as a sacrifice for Katniss’ success as Thresh, the other black tribute from Rue’s district, saves Katniss from sure death and then spares her, saying “Just this time 12, for Rue” (The Hunger Games). This entire sequence depicts both Rue and Thresh as heroes but only in the way that they sacrificed themselves for the advancement of the ‘real’ white heroes. Additionally, when Rue is killed, her father is shown starting a large riot back in her district. The peacekeepers in District 11, the predominantly black district, are shown in full riot gear quelling this uprising using water hoses. This scene is highly reminiscent of the 1960’s civil rights riots in Birmingham, Alabama. This historical reference works to normalize the suppression of racial anger, in the United states and in Panem.

What it boils down to is this. This film’s ideological charge causes you to normalize, internalize and accept the exact same oppressive systems that you thought it was so valiantly speaking out against. This is a frightening thought for many. You don’t want to be duped and you of course would always like to think that your interpretations of culture are relatively insightful and accurate. This also presents a scary reality for our political climate today. If a people pleasing, feel good, seemingly liberal film like this can cause you to accept and even cheer for the subjugation of minorities, strong class divisions and highly sexist stereotypes, what can heavier movies do? What can political films do? Films about war? Films about crime? It’s entirely apparent that it’s not the obvious that presents a danger to us, it’s the discrete. We need not worry about the produced propaganda, you can see through that. We need worry about The Hunger Games. We need worry about the commercials for children. We need worry about the seemingly inane and harmless entertainment we consume loads of daily. The silent is dangerous because you watched The Hunger Games and happily cheered for the ‘star crossed lovers’ thinking that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

 

“Amusement, free of all restraint, would be not only the opposite of art but its complementary extreme.”

-Theodor Adorno, “The Culture Industry”