The speech was not without some problematic elements – what,
for instance, is considered “art” within the paradigm of Western culture as
opposed to the rest of the world and not (MMA within the United States versus
Hong Kong cinema), which is not entirely out of line with Ms. Streep’s speckled
resume of ahistorical interpretations of race relations and power dynamics – but
at its very core, the speech was noteworthy not only for its advocacy of free
press, good journalism, and human decency, but also because it hit a note that
many seemed to miss:
Demagoguery is performative.
It was no accident that Streep focused in on Trump’s
mockery of a journalist with a disability – there were many other instances of
his bigotry that she could have focused on – because at the very heart of that
moment, he was performing for a crowd.
A performance needs an audience.
In the case of Mr. Kovaleski being targeted, the performance
drew mockery, jeer, and debauchery. The performance in question was successful
in arousing some of the worse guttural instincts of a crowd that revels in a
severe lack of empathy, and even more successful because it was circulated
through news and cascaded into further marked outrage or dehumanizing
validation.
Demagogues thrive under any reaction.
Streep, among many of the best actors, understands that
reaction is centerfold to how effective any performance is, and she correctly
zeroed in who Trump is:
He is Hollywood, and he is a performer – and Hollywood will
never accept his performance, no matter how successful he arouses the basest of
emotions.
It was a brilliant and humane craftsmanship of speech
writing.
In these next four years, it will be even more important to
consider the performative nature of demagoguery that comes with an individual
defined by narcissism and a delusionary reality of alternative facts: we must
understand that such a performance is designed to instigate the worse of
instincts, to rile up bigotry, to gaslight one’s sense of reality, to shift
blame and accountability against the unsuspecting, to ultimately manipulate.
Streep understood this, and hit back – hard.
Everyone should be taking note of her rallying cry,
especially as we navigate a White House dominated solely by narcissism that,
amongst many other forms reminiscent of autocracies, aims control of the media
narrative.
Demagogues do not forego their public performance of abuse
because morality and ethics do not bely their conscious. Given that he has
employed Steve Bannon– former editor of the 21st Century version of
“alternative facts” (read: lies) for the “alternative right” (read: white
supremacists; Nazis; misogynists) outlet, “Breibart” – as one of his top
strategic advisors, it will be even more imperative to stay on target in
following and covering the political reality show as it unfolds.
The ensuing story of this country’s politics will not adhere
to human decency: Bannon understands this, and will continue to guide Trump in
this manner because traditional American media does not know how to cover a man
so publicly and proudly devoid of such.
The next four years (dare I even suggest eight?) will be a constant stream of
performative demagoguery, a performance that designed to derange and derail
public attention from the more insidious underpinnings of legislative
undermining and redesign to render the most powerful even more powerful, and
the most vulnerable even more vulnerable to the point of nonexistence. We have
already seen it with the rising advent of Richard Spencer and hate crimes since
that fateful election day, as well as the advent of blatant, baseless lies.
We must continue to be vigilant as to how the performance
and lies of a demagogue point not to the truth, but to the intended effect of
their words: that is, when someone claims that “millions of illegals voted,” do
not waste your attention on refuting and providing facts, but remember that
they do not care, and that such a lie is a proclamation of intent – “millions
of people did not vote for me, and I intend to make voting even more difficult
because of that.”
They have already done it before with voting rights restrictions as recently as last year, and they will continue to do so.
Do not accept such a performance, and do not lose sight of
the mechanisms and intent behind a performance.
Streep understood this, which is why her speech was
particularly powerful.
She refused to accept this performance, and rightfully
advocated for continued free and investigative journalism that runs counter to
an Orweillian possibility of an unrelenting propaganda of “alternative facts”
from the “alternative right.” She focused in what was actually happening behind
the performance, rightfully deemed it demagoguery, and rejected it.
Hollywood followed in suit, and we must too.
Rejecting performative demagoguery will be core to our own
sanity and survival, especially since truly terrible, terrifying forces are
puppeteering the whole orchestration.
Do not accept the demagogue’s performance, anticipate the
intents of its puppeteers, and do everything you can to protect their intended
targets.
It seems apt that, as I finish writing this, Ms. Streep just
received her 20th Oscar nomination. Congratulations Meryl – for
rejecting a demagogue on all of our behalf, for advocating and rallying for the
free press, and for breaking your own award record in the process.
On Friday, I received an email from a reader that stumbled onto my Tumblr blog post inquiring about what I meant about “resisting distinctly as an artist.”
I sent them the following email to elaborate (with minor omissions specific to what the reader shared privately):
…
Regarding what I meant by “resisting distinctly as an artist”: it’s a loaded statement ripe for interpreting as you see fit and appropriate for your own circumstances. That being said, I hope these points will help you find your own means of resistance as an artist:
When creativity and creation are seen as assets to be commodified into economics – create anything and everything that is in direct opposition to economics. For instance, in Hollywood, if creativity and creation mean that whiteness is the centerfold of a story – create a world and story in which whiteness is not the centerfold of a story.
Understanding the politics of your identity is key to usurping pivots of power. Within the context of America, the pivots of power are currently white supremacy and patriarchy: if you are a heteronormative white cis-male in America, you are allotted societal privilege to behave and engage in a spectrum of human experiences and emotions without the restrictions of assumed categories; compare this to the larger narrative of what how most Americans perceive African American women (see: welfare queens, angry black woman, etc.)
In understanding the politics of your identity and how it falls within the spectrum of your circumstances, you can work actively against that as an artist in what you choose to create. Drawing from the previous example: within the American pivot of power: creating an artistic endeavor that imagines African American women as free agents of their own destiny and desire – distinctly juxtaposed to the current narrative of ‘welfare queens’ – is an act of defiance against the assumed underlying power dynamic that ‘only white cis-male individuals are able to achieve certain degrees of human accomplishment.’ Or, to paraphrase Mindy Kaling: “I have a personality defect where I refuse to see myself as an underdog because I was raised with the entitlement of a tall, blond, white man.”
Boiling it all down:
Understanding current limitations and boundaries of imagination and reality helps us create works of art that undermine those limitations and boundaries: as artists, we can imagine worlds beyond the paradigms of what is currently assumed and normal.
Dare to imagine something beyond what is considered the norm and assumed, and be mindful in how you approach your imagination. What are the implications of creating something new, or inspired by something prior? Are you appropriating something, or are you paying due homage? What norms and assumptions are you challenging in your creation?
Disregard what is seen as ‘profitable’ and consider what is moral and ethical.
Speaking for myself, I am a filmmaker foremost, and everything else in my life is secondary and informative of how I approach filmmaking. I don’t limit myself only to the spectrum of cinema – my participation and engagement with life helps me understand larger implications beyond my own individual experience, how my experience is consequently informed, and how I can consequently challenge larger systems in place. It’s a circular system of analysis, deconstruction, and construction of something different, if not entirely new – just like jazz. (For more on this, I highly recommend watching this video essay on Chuck Jones’ development as an artist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHpXle4NqWI)
Artists have the power to question power indirectly while having profoundly direct impacts on the minds of those who experience our work. It’s why the phrase “it’s just a book” and different iterations of such are so, so false: the jester in “King Lear” understood this with regards to comedy, and likewise Hitler understood this with regards to the power of xenophobia in Mein Kamf.
Some last notes:
When it comes to art – nothing angers oppressors more than being out done by anyone they aim to oppress. Oppressors aim to stifle progress and creativity because they themselves are fundamentally incapable of imagining and inventing a better world than what is currently the status quo. So as an artist, creating art that is better than what an oppressor can conjure up is one of the greatest forms of resistance because an oppressor can never, ever replicate true talent and sincerity. (See: Trump’s replica of Obama’ inauguration cake.)
Existing is an act of resistance – never forget that.
I have been thinking continuously, feverishly, voraciously about what to do since November 8th, 2016.
Yesterday, I finally resolved myself to what that is.
…
It began with a normal morning of news briefings to be aware of reality before checking back into my usual work flow. Call it a bitter blessing, but I have an unusually high tolerance for stress, so usually I can cope with the level of anxiety each headline gives me.
But this was different.
“Plans to Eliminate National Endowment for the Arts and Humanities.”
Post headlines likes this usually whip a distinct, audible crack of sadness, a painful sadness — a sadness that I am usually able to bear in a blessedly bitter sense, so that I can recoup and rethink about how to proceed.
This headline did not whip like other headlines. Instead of the audible crack I’d grown numb to, this was a preemptive strike with a clear, underlying message:
“Artists are not valuable to society, and they do not deserve funding from society.”
Words cannot describe the emotions I felt when I read this headline.
The closest I could conjure up was this:
“Alive.”
…
There is something strange about growing up in a society that, at large, never seems to accept you into its larger notion of normality, no matter what you’re naturally capable of.
I’ve experienced this kind of rejection in different iterations, and have experienced it the longest as an artist in a world of globalized commodification and consumerism.
Artists do not fit nicely into this kind of world because artists are fundamentally juxtaposed to a commodification and consumerism of critical engagement, philosophical exploration, and emotional expression.
Artists are imaginative, inquisitive, and inventive. We are musical, verbose, and mesmerized by the possibilities beyond what reality currently dictates — possibilities of despair, and possibilities of dreams.
We are also survivors, for by virtue of the fluidity of our imaginative, inquisitive, and inventive existences, we have also navigated societies that reject the fluidity of our imaginative, inquisitive, and inventive existences in favor of logic, order, and rules in the form of commodification and consumerism.
Time and time again, we have experienced rejection of our worth and capabilities: that what we are able to do artistically is not valuable to economic progress, that it is only valuable when it is categorized towards that kind of progress; that we are ‘too emotional and too illogical’ to be proper functioning members of an unemotional and logical society; that there is no funding to pay us for what we can create, yet we are expected to create the highest quality of work without any compensation beyond a possible ‘thanks’ at best, or no credit (outright piracy) at worst.
In spite of all of this, artists continue to exist because we know that we are worthwhile of dignity and respect.
Artists are some of the strongest, most resilient survivors you will ever meet because our very existence is largely rejected by most of our modern, globalized world.
…
There are many ways to resist what is surely many institutional waves of devaluation, erasure, and privatization of public good, space, and thought.
For me, it is to remember that I am many things, but that I am fundamentally an artist, and that I am alive in spite of a larger, crueler reality.
I am alive in a society that has largely rejected what I’m naturally dispositioned towards, what I am inherently passionate about.
I am alive in a time where artists are again being pushed to the fringe of equity because our contributions and capabilities are considered even less worthy than what was insinuated with previous cuts from previous decades.
We are used to being considered ‘non-valuable,’ and this recent action is nothing we haven’t experienced before.
We are capable of imagining, inventing, and inquiring of a world that is and does better than its predecessors — qualities that oppressors will never be capable of harnessing, no matter how much they try to consume and commodify everything around them.
We are dangerous to oppressors because we fundamentally think forwards as opposed to the status quo or, in some cases, backwards.
We have the courage to imagine possibilities as opposed to limitations.
So in this unknown path towards an unknown future:
I will be resisting distinctly as an artist — as someone who dares to imagine, invent, and inquire of a better world, of a future distinct from our current reality.
I am one of many artists, and we will not stop existing.
In lieu of my discussion on “Ghosting,” a few weeks ago Allan Estrella recommended Time of Eve, commenting that the story was exceptional in exploring human behavior with respect to artificial beings – specifically robots and androids, or artificial “ghosts."
The premise is this: in the (likely) future of Japan, androids have become as commercial as the cell phone and laptop. However, in order to maintain traditional social structure, humans and androids are discouraged from interaction beyond basic controls and commands, and androids are required to always maintain a halo-like projection above their heads so they may not be mistaken as humans.
The main character, Rikuo, has taken robots for granted his entire life. One day, he discovers that his family’s home android, Sammy, has begun acting independently, and with his friend Masaki traces her movements to a cafe called "Time of Eve,” where any patron – android or human – is welcomed, and no one is discriminated against.
From there on out, the story explores different vignettes of characters, from the hyperactive Akiko to the lovers Koji and Rina. The main conflict, of course, is how humancentric behavior arises in lieu of an intelligent, artificial being created by humans, and how such fears, prejudices, and pride can make us as inhuman as the androids we make out to be. In Time of Eve, humans commonly treat androids subserviently, coldly ordering them about without a single glance. Social stigma additionally deters people from acting kindly, graciously or gratefully to androids: the mere act of holding an umbrella over an android will get others pointing and laughing at you, derogatively labeling you as a dori-kei (“android holic”). Such behavior is encouraged non-governmental organization, the Robot Ethics Committee, which advocates segregation between humans and robots and the government to enforce such.
At the heart of this conflict is one of emotional legitimacy: given that robots and androids are cognitively capable (if not more than humans regarding information processing) due to their code and algorithmic coding (and are thus self-learning, perhaps to an extent), does this mean they are capable of emotional display and reception?; and if so, should we consider such as legitimate?
First, let’s consider living organisms, more particularly the vertebrates (reptiles, birds, mammals). Animals, while possibly exhibiting physical features or behavior similar to humans (Chimpanzees, for example), are not us: we cannot interbreed viable offspring with non-Homo sapiens, yet there is a tendency for animal lovers to anthropomorphize certain aspects of animals we observe (I’m particularly fond of Oxboxer’s description of cheetah cubs: “They look like the kid you hated in preschool because he got light-up sneakers three months before they were even being sold in the States, and lorded it over everyone until your friend colored his hair green with a marker during nap time.”) This is especially true for household pets, and lends us to distress whenever they pass away. Understandably, our tendency to become emotionally attached to animals is not unusual: their behaviors are invariably tied to their emotions, and while we cannot completely communicate or understand between them and ourselves the underlying attachment is one of organic core – our natural, organic ghosts, per se.
Now let’s consider why we get attached to inanimate objects. Most of the time it’s because of nostalgia or keepsake, or perhaps even habitual. These objects are not human, yet somehow we find some sort personal meaning in them. For instance, for months I rode a 11-year-old bike that was too small for me, and had a broken front derailed, severely misaligned rim breaks, an old chain, and a steel frame so heavy I’m pretty sure my upper arm strength increased significantly just from lifting it on occasion; yet I never had the heart to abandon it because I had so many biking memories attached to it (I even named it “Bikey” to commemorate my affection). Eventually, I had to invest in a new bike because the effort of pedaling up and down hills with Bikey increasingly irritated the tendonitis in my left knee, and unless I wanted to continue half-limping on foot I knew it was time to put Bikey in the garage (for the record, I named my current bike “BB”, only highlighting another tendency of mine to become attached to objects otherwise inanimate).
This leads us to the last level which is on the verge of the uncanny valley: an intelligent artificial being constructed by our own algorithms and for our own purposes. Assuming that A.I. are capable of self-learning to an extent, the conflict is now a question of whether or not our own emotional reactions to them and their’s to ours have true emotional weight, or if we should abide by our own logic and merely consider them derivatives of our own being, tools that are anthropomorphized very closely to our likeness but nevertheless derivatives.
This latter mentality is presented in Roger Ebert’s review of Stanley Kubrick’s and Steven Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence, where he states:
But when a manufactured pet is thrown away, is that really any different from junking a computer? … From a coldly logical point of view, should we think of David, the cute young hero of “A.I.,” as more than a very advanced gigapet? Do our human feelings for him make him human? Stanley Kubrick worked on this material for 15 years, before passing it on to Spielberg, who has not solved it, either. It involves man’s relationship to those tools that so closely mirror our own desires that we confuse them with flesh and blood…
Ebert brings up an interesting point, which is whether we impose and project our own beliefs and feelings upon what is otherwise an animate and well-programmed tool – a practice not too unsimilar to a child projecting their fantasies and adventures upon their doll or stuffed animal, for instance. There is also a question of a A.I. being so well-programmed as to detect our facial muscles twitch, contract and relax and react so appropriately human that they effectively trick us into believing their emotions are real, thus resulting in our illogical mentality of humanizing something that is nothing more than a extremely sophisticated tool.
Do you remember that one that was constantly reading books? Well, when we got to the lab, the first thing the techs did was take apart its brain! It kind of seemed like that tachikoma liked it though.
Oh, I see! Then, they were lucky enough to experience death…
Consider this: in Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex, Major Motoko Kusanagi and her team at Section 9 work with A.I. tanks called Tachikoma. As the series progresses, the Tachikoma increasingly develop more and more distinct personalities and have increasing tendencies to act independently despite orders from their users. Troubled by this, Motoko eventually halts use of the Tachikoma’s and has them sent back to the lab for further testing. However, as the series progress and only three remaining Tachikoma return to help Batou (Motoko’s closest companion amongst the Section 9 members), they eventually sacrifice themselves in order to save Batou’s life; and as Motoko looks on at their remains, she acknowledges that she mistakenly had them put out of commission, and even ponders if they had reached the state of creating their own distinct ghosts.
While these questions are interesting to mull over, I believe the more important question is how we behave to an intelligent entity that is otherwise unbounded by our biological, organic limits of the flesh. We can argue to the end of time whether or not an A.I.’s “emotions” are real or not, and there can really be no way of knowing for sure; what we can assess is our own reactions, feelings and behavior when confronted with them.
For an analogy, let’s consider video games: I’m not going to argue whether or not the medium is an art form, but I think we can all agree that all video games offer a virtual simulation of something – fighting, adventure, strategy, interaction, etc. The virtual environment is the product of programmers piecing together polygons into what conceptual artists conceived and writers hoped to flesh out within the constructs of a console or computer; algorithms and codes allow players to do whatever they want within the confines of the programmed environment, and with nothing short of individual A.I. and environments aspects for us to talk to or mess around with. Now, logic dictates that these virtual environments are nothing more but gateways for temporal detachment from our immediate physical environment; yet I dare anyone to claim that they did not experience something while running through the desert’s of Red Dead Redemption or confronting the likes of Andrew Ryan in Bioshock.
The process of creating a videogame may be the greatest and grandest illusion ever created, but when finished, it holds the capacity to grant us experiences we can never experience. Loves we have never loved, fights we have never fought, losses we have never lost. The lights may turn off, the stage may go dark, but for a moment, while the disc still whirs and our fingers wrap around the buttons, we can believe we are champions.
Video game players will always invest a certain amount of emotions into any game they choose to engage in. Whether it be placing your heart on Pikachu in Super Smash Brothers Brawl or wondering when the hell the story in Final Fantasy XIII is going to actually become interesting, there is almost a guarantee that these games elicit some emotional reaction from us – excitement, fear, frustration, sorrow, these emotions are real to us. Whether or not the game A.I.s share such sentiment is irrelevant, for we can only truly account for ourselves, and ourselves alone.
So perhaps a robot or android may create the illusion of seeming more human than they actually are, or perhaps deep down their circuitry they perhaps do care about how we feel – we will never know. We can account for our behavior towards such A.I., and consider what exactly we feel entitled to in our given society and culture.
In Time of Eve, there is a distinct political and social structure that discourages people from acting humanely towards androids, who are governed by the Three Laws of Robotics:
A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
Additionally, all androids in Time of Eve are required to always display a halo projection above their heads, a marker that determines their subservient status. Constant propaganda ads spearheaded by the non-governmental Ethics Committee claim that sociable interaction between humans and androids are unhealthy, will end in disaster and possibly lead to the end of humanity; and it is neither uncommon for android owners to toss luggage at them without so much of a glance or unimaginable thank you, less they be deemed dori-kei and face ridicule from their peers. To be blunt, there’s nothing short of social norms or policy that enforces human and android segregation.
Stepping back, the social and political structures in Time of Eve are not so unlike a democracy that deems segregation a norm. The most obvious example is that of Apartheid in South Africa, where a white minority democratically voted for segregation and lacking civil rights to their native African country. It took years for the likes of Nelson Mandela and other activists to end political mandate justifying racism, mostly because for years the empowered, minority white South Africans considered the social and political barriers a norm: by virtue of politics beginning from colonial times, caucasian Afrikaaners were obviously quite comfortable with their perceived birth right; it didn’t matter that their comfort and political representation was at the expense of a color majority – they had politicians to back up their views, and democratically so because for years the majority black Afrikaans were deprived of citizenship.
The argument can be made that because androids are not human, we cannot treat them like how we would treat other fellow human beings. Perhaps this would be convincing if incarnations of it beforehand had not be used to justify injustice between fellow human begins beforehand: African slavery, European colonialism, the Holocaust – all atrocities against human rights twisted humanity into a sort of superiority complex, rationalizing entitlement rights groups of people believed they had above others. Furthermore, this argument structure again ignores the most pressing issue – how we behave as humans when dealing with individuals we are unfamiliar with.
* Some may strongly stand by the divide between organic and inorganic beings, and state that since androids are artificial intelligence, we cannot equate such segregation to that between humans. If this is the case, then I offer this other example: if I were to equate androids to computers by virtue of them both being created as tools, our behavior is still indicative of ourselves at least. That is, if I take horrendous care of my MacBook and repeatedly drop it or fail to do simple maintenance on it, my MacBook may still operate and function but my carelessly reflects poorly of me regarding my behavior and lack of responsibility towards maintaining my computer; if I take excellent care of my MacBook (and I contest that I do), my MacBook may still operate and function but my maintenance and care for my MacBook reflects well of my abilities as a computer owner and responsibility towards it.
In Time of Eve, policies and social structures against human-android interaction likely stem from public fear, distrust and insecurity culminating into a nationwide superiority complex, where it is absolutely normal for a person to feel superior than an android, regardless of the android’s intellectual and functional capabilities. As this negativity became more and more widespread, social structures morphed as well to accommodate such fervor, and eventually formed the policies which forbade human-android relationships from progressing into the uncanny valley of emotions and attachment. It’s considered taboo to humans to be humane to androids. Now given the social and political structures deeming inhumane behavior proper and normal, what does it mean when one chooses to or not abide by such norms?
It takes no courage to act accordingly within social and political structures which provide you power at the expense of others’ dignity and civil rights; it takes an extraordinary person to break away from inhumane behavior otherwise deemed normal by a democratic majority, and especially speaks volumes about our ability to aspire towards a humanistic ideal above and beyond our dark, personal demons. Our emotions are our own, and if we feel an attachment to something otherwise illogical, then so be it – it is our right as humans, as well as our responsibility to act in the positive if we are to claim our rights to humanity. So if it means I’ll get laughed at for holding an umbrella over an android’s head, that’s fine by me.
To be real is to be mortal; to be human is to love, to dream and to perish.
Awhile ago I wrote a bit on Scott Pilgrim and lamented how it performed poorly during its opening weekend after getting sandwiched by Eat, Pray, Love and The Expendables. A few weeks later and things haven’t looked up for the game-love, internet-meme-awesome film that seems to have been released at the wrong time. Some have theorized that the marketing led to the film’s box office failure, that failed to clearly present Scott Pilgrim as a “fighting film” instead of “Michael Cera gets the girl again, and this time we have gamers and asian stuff like anime and hello kitty.” The idea is that at this point in time, Americans are sick of hipsters taking the big screen and want something less nuanced, less subtle, and less slice-of-life. Chuck out shenanigan slinging Juno and in with Stallones and Rambos!–echoed the box office.
I’m not going to reiterate my disappointment that things turned out the way they did for Scott Pilgrim. Instead, I’m going to talk about a current trend in films I’ve seen of late based off trailers that flash on the telly. These days, it seems like a majority of movies echo of ‘80s macho-nacho burly men killing everything in sight as a form of democratic negotiation, or hot teenage girls in tight clothing getting murdered and hacked to death in devilishly gruesome ways. This isn’t Tarantino paying over-the-top, eclectic stylization, or quiet reminiscences about similar social scenarios like in Adventureland – this is about balls out, The Expendables testosterone, Piranha 3D exploitation backlash from the '70s and '80s, the grindhouse days of cinema.
I started noticing the trend in movies back in spring this year after hearing that The A–Team was getting a release this (past) summer; later, I saw the trailer for the upcoming Machete, which looked amazingly B-movie status despite its A-list cast. Then the list of movies started piling up: A Nightmare on Elm Street remake; MacGruber, a full-length adaptation of the SNL sketch that spoofed MacGyver; The Karate Kid, which I thought was a great remake despite its editing flaws; Jackass 3D, which looks amazingly stupid and awesome; Saw 3D, which means this serial is getting classier by the day; Burlesque, which looks like another case of cliche writing and a music video director not understanding how to create a musical montage; and lastly Tron: Legacy, which I need not say anything further.
So what’s going on? Why does it seem like more and more ads that skitter across the screen are starting to sound like echoes of decades before? Theoretically, the digital generation should be at its peak: Kindles are ousting booksellers, Super Smash Brothers Brawl are tournaments, Facebook is getting a movie tribute, YouTube is what America’s Funniest Home Videos wanted to be but never could, having a cell phone that “only” makes a call is archaic, online classes are at a boom, information is just a Google away – whether or not you think this is fantastic or horrendous doesn’t matter except that right here and now, this digital generation – a product of the internet and video games genesis and evolution – is thriving, and vivaciously so.
So why the '80s? Why does it seem that Hollywood studios are busting out penis-envy flicks that, for a time, we all thought were over after Terminator 2 ended, and most definitely when Schwarzenegger called it quits with Hollywood and started politics in the vein of Reagan. And even with Spielberg’s Indiana Jones 4 or Stallone’s reawakening in 2006 and 2008 with Rocky Balboa and Rambo, respectively, it didn’t seem as overwhelmingly in the public eye as 2010 films like his executive produced The Expendables or the more-than-obvious remakes like The A-Team, The Karate Kid and Tron: Legacy. It’s strange, though, putting these films in context with films that were only released a few years previously: Juno is the top of the list, detailing the snark and snips and shenanigans of a slang-slinging teenager with a sharp attitude and a smart personality; closely following Diablo Cody’s uncannily witty screenplay is The 40-year-old Virgin, which essentially began the slew of buddy bromance comedies like The Hangover and Pineapple Express; biting, honest and surprisingly sympathetic portraits of dysfunctional individuals that stray far from the picture perfect household like in Little Miss Sunshine and Up in the Air; or even surprisingly quiet and beautiful films that say the most in their silence such as Lost in Translation and Wall•E. So I’ll ask this again: what’s going on, and why the '80s?
I commented in the Scott Pilgrim article that perhaps current American economics (the recession, for a starter) have invariably driven Hollywood studios to produce less creative, more box office safe® movies to keep themselves afloat, and considering what has been released this past year I’d say this isn’t too bad of a guess. Now to answer the second question (seriously, why the '80s?), I’ve drawn solely from observation alone, and theorize this: the '80s revival gives people a sense of absolutes in a time of uncertainties.
Let’s look at the characteristics of Stallone’s most famous filmography, which are easy to dissect and boil down into one banally simple appeal: definitive masculinity. Absolute power. I got pecks, I got techs. Popping veins. Bulging biceps. Hulk smash kittens. This is Spartan. Etcetera.
Now, in a time where political and social constructions are even less absolute – post-9/11 sentiment is one of secrecies, conspiracies, torture and corruption, and increasing awareness of the LGBT community makes those who worship traditional gender roles in an uncomfortable position – the subconscious of the American moviegoing public invariably desires the absolutes, a torchlight of ideals and ideas that they can strive towards and emulate. This is a time of uncertainty and instability, and the last thing the average American moviegoer wants is a film that portrays a honest, mirror-like depiction of a life they may be all too familiar with, or a life that is unexciting enough to kick-start them from the slump resultant of life’s stressors. This is a time where more than ever in the public eye, movies are escapism as opposed to artistic merit.
This is the sentiment that doomed Scott Pilgrim in the shadow of The Expendables after numerous movies about (less than) average, scrawny adolescents released prior – Superbad, Garden State, (500) Days of Summer, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Knocked Up, Kick-Ass, The Last Kiss, I Love You Man, Shallow Hal, Adventureland, Zombieland – inadvertently saturated the market. I’d argue Scott Pilgrim is the best reflection of the digital generation, but that’s irrelevant to what box office numbers reflect: and in this case, they reflect changing, significant tides that are a result of political and social turmoil happening externally. The public doesn’t want any more Michael Cera’s stealing the hot chick that’s out of his league; they want good old fashioned fist-fighting, blood spitting lip splits that a “real man” has to endure if he ever wants to “earn” his woman. Exploitation films like Machete, Jackass 3D, Saw 3D and Piranha 3D relish on the extreme ends of this sentiment, which I can only assume is the geographical equivalent of Siberia.
Marketing is one aspect – I agree that Scott Pilgrim could have been marketed a bit smarter to reach a larger demographic – but beneath the commercializing aspect there are deeper implications as to what is occurring outside of Hollywood and invariably driving studios’ decisions to green light or shelve screenplays and productions. In this case, these implications are that the American public currently relishes in the nostalgia of Reagan-era eighties, with the awesome neon tights and big hair and definitive gender roles. It’s a complete swing from the middle-grounded, level-headed and easy-going mentality to the action-packed, sweat-brimmed and iron-fisted mentality that I hate for numerous reasons.
So to be absolutely banal: viva el Scott Pilgrim, and screw you The Expendables – I’ve had my share of testosterone-filled idiots spewing out crap like entitlement and birth rights and that lot. I’d rather be a Holden Caulfield and a Juno MacGuff than a John Rambo or a Madonna. And if that makes me a nutcase, then that’s just pure and dandy. After all, the Fool was the only with any sense in his head during King Lear’s mental trip, and if I have to get me some double rainbows or pineappling expression to feel right at home, then that’s just fine by me.
*Pardons for the day-late update: I’ve been moving boxes of books and clothing this past week, and only got settled down yesterday. On a plus side, I’ve got the Wii set up nicely, so now Netflix-ing on a whim isn’t as cumbersome as it used to be.
