by Jillian Butler, Ampersandology
I always take note when my brother asks me questions -- he's got an active, curious mind, and usually asks me simple things that spin an entire subject into a new perspective. That very thing occurred when he asks me the deceptively straightforward question, out of the blue: "Do movies lie to us?"
He meant it in a very specific way, and he went on to clarify: he had seen a video on YouTube of a guy mimicking, of all things, the makeshift Beatles concert in the film Love Actually. The film version, for anyone who hasn't seen it, is here.
Then feast your eyes on its real life equivalent:
My brother went on to notice that while it was a very sweet gesture, the longer it went on, the more awkward it got. Like no one knew exactly how to stand, or what expression to have on their face. It's like they wanted it to end so they could immediately transition to the more comfortable position of "Hey, remember that time when...?"
But of course it's awkward. These poor people don't have three takes to nail the right "delightfully surprised" look, they have no stylists adjusting them, and no set decorators to make sure the hallway is just the right shade of "whimsically downtrodden." But moreover, I think it's these events are so rare in everyday life that we aren't taught how to react to them. We shift uncomfortably. We giggle nervously. Really, we want it to end immediately.
But it made me think: do movies lie to us? And if they do, isn't that somehow what we asked them to do?
Even the short answer is complicated. I don't think the answer boils down to a simple yes or no. Movies are defined as a representation of real life, the key word being representation. That sneaky little addition covers all manner of sins.
Film lovers roll their eyes at unrealistic chase scenes or one-dimensional romances, but at the end of the day, movies are meant to entertain as well as educate. They're meant as an escape as much as an artistic outlet. The best films are those that manage to satisfy all those requirements: they provide escapist entertainment, have artistic merit, AND they convincingly capture human interaction as much as a fiction can. Quite a tall order, that, which is why understandably fall short on one or two counts.
So what do I mean by lying? I don't mean when a film glosses over, say, hailing a cab or doing the dishes; quite frankly, I think we all do enough of that in real life to skip over such trivialities in film and television. I'm talking about when they lie about the outcomes of the most basic human interactions, and navigation through the confusing, modern world.
This is all very general criticism, so I'll use an example to concede my point. I'm not talking about most action movies which, in a way, asks you to sign away plausibility upon entering the theater. Nor does this apply to sci-fi or fantasy films, a genre which, incidentally, have produced some of the most touching portrayals of humanity perhaps because they are so removed from mundane realities. No, there's only one offender that stands out when I parse through this question: the romantic comedy.
I don't mean one with any redeeming qualities. I mean the typical, fantasy-fulfillment, strangely anti-female dreck that washes up on the noble shores of cinema once or ten times a year. Perhaps no other genre has played so fast and loose with the realities of human interaction, nor been so successful for that reason.
The direct cinematic forefather to the current incarnation of the romantic comedy is, obviously, the 1920s/1930s screwball comedy, as well as the harmless Pillow Talk era Hudson/Day prototypes (as well as -- believe it or not -- your basic Shakespearean comedy). But even those, as perfect as they seem, are not without their little fibs: by and large, money was far from a concern to their characters, and so they were free to gad about the countryside with their estranged husband/escaped leopard/special Russian envoys. But still, it was a noble tradition: misunderstanding occurs, and hijinks ensue.
Then something soured along the way. After the Golden Age (roughly 1977-1989, which produced Annie Hall, Moonstruck, Tootsie and Working Girl, the best movies EVAH), I'm sad to say the nineties entered the picture. And from there, the genre devolved into the blistered form we currently observe today, wherein the characters thinly resemble humans.
How do romantic comedies lie to us? Well, by forgetting the simplicities of human communication. Inevitably, in the worst offenders of the genre, everything could be solved with one conversation. Of course, then you don't have anything resembling a movie. Observe (and spoilers, obviously, follow):
Sweet Home Alabama
"Oh, by the way, future husband, I know I should have told you, but I was married to my high school sweetheart. But it's no big deal, since obviously, it wasn't a real marriage of any kind. But you know what? Let's just use your mother's lawyers. She is the mayor of New York, after all. That's a much better idea than getting emotionally involved. It's better to leave this volatile matters up to the court of law."
Two Weeks Notice
"Sooooo....I'm filing a sexual harassment suit against you. Bummer!"
The Wedding Date
He: "So we're clear: I'm a prostitute, right? And you intend to pay me for services rendered?"
She: "Obviously! You have sex for money, so this is a business transaction."
He: "Cool. I just wanted to clear that up. Some women have crazy unrealistic expectations that I'll fall in love with their quirky hang-ups and apparent need to pay for sex."
If it was harmless, I don't think it would be lying, per se. But within the vast majority of these movies, there's only one acceptable way of life being advocated: get yourself a vague but trendy-sounding career, get a man (preferably one who is already attached/argues with you non-stop) and within 90 minutes, you will have everything you ever wanted.
And that's a big fat lie.
I always take note when my brother asks me questions -- he's got an active, curious mind, and usually asks me simple things that spin an entire subject into a new perspective. That very thing occurred when he asks me the deceptively straightforward question, out of the blue: "Do movies lie to us?"
*
He meant it in a very specific way, and he went on to clarify: he had seen a video on YouTube of a guy mimicking, of all things, the makeshift Beatles concert in the film Love Actually. The film version, for anyone who hasn't seen it, is here.
Then feast your eyes on its real life equivalent:
My brother went on to notice that while it was a very sweet gesture, the longer it went on, the more awkward it got. Like no one knew exactly how to stand, or what expression to have on their face. It's like they wanted it to end so they could immediately transition to the more comfortable position of "Hey, remember that time when...?"
But of course it's awkward. These poor people don't have three takes to nail the right "delightfully surprised" look, they have no stylists adjusting them, and no set decorators to make sure the hallway is just the right shade of "whimsically downtrodden." But moreover, I think it's these events are so rare in everyday life that we aren't taught how to react to them. We shift uncomfortably. We giggle nervously. Really, we want it to end immediately.
But it made me think: do movies lie to us? And if they do, isn't that somehow what we asked them to do?
*
Even the short answer is complicated. I don't think the answer boils down to a simple yes or no. Movies are defined as a representation of real life, the key word being representation. That sneaky little addition covers all manner of sins.
Film lovers roll their eyes at unrealistic chase scenes or one-dimensional romances, but at the end of the day, movies are meant to entertain as well as educate. They're meant as an escape as much as an artistic outlet. The best films are those that manage to satisfy all those requirements: they provide escapist entertainment, have artistic merit, AND they convincingly capture human interaction as much as a fiction can. Quite a tall order, that, which is why understandably fall short on one or two counts.
So what do I mean by lying? I don't mean when a film glosses over, say, hailing a cab or doing the dishes; quite frankly, I think we all do enough of that in real life to skip over such trivialities in film and television. I'm talking about when they lie about the outcomes of the most basic human interactions, and navigation through the confusing, modern world.
*
This is all very general criticism, so I'll use an example to concede my point. I'm not talking about most action movies which, in a way, asks you to sign away plausibility upon entering the theater. Nor does this apply to sci-fi or fantasy films, a genre which, incidentally, have produced some of the most touching portrayals of humanity perhaps because they are so removed from mundane realities. No, there's only one offender that stands out when I parse through this question: the romantic comedy.
The direct cinematic forefather to the current incarnation of the romantic comedy is, obviously, the 1920s/1930s screwball comedy, as well as the harmless Pillow Talk era Hudson/Day prototypes (as well as -- believe it or not -- your basic Shakespearean comedy). But even those, as perfect as they seem, are not without their little fibs: by and large, money was far from a concern to their characters, and so they were free to gad about the countryside with their estranged husband/escaped leopard/special Russian envoys. But still, it was a noble tradition: misunderstanding occurs, and hijinks ensue.
How do romantic comedies lie to us? Well, by forgetting the simplicities of human communication. Inevitably, in the worst offenders of the genre, everything could be solved with one conversation. Of course, then you don't have anything resembling a movie. Observe (and spoilers, obviously, follow):
Sweet Home Alabama
"Oh, by the way, future husband, I know I should have told you, but I was married to my high school sweetheart. But it's no big deal, since obviously, it wasn't a real marriage of any kind. But you know what? Let's just use your mother's lawyers. She is the mayor of New York, after all. That's a much better idea than getting emotionally involved. It's better to leave this volatile matters up to the court of law."
Two Weeks Notice
"Sooooo....I'm filing a sexual harassment suit against you. Bummer!"
The Wedding Date
He: "So we're clear: I'm a prostitute, right? And you intend to pay me for services rendered?"
She: "Obviously! You have sex for money, so this is a business transaction."
He: "Cool. I just wanted to clear that up. Some women have crazy unrealistic expectations that I'll fall in love with their quirky hang-ups and apparent need to pay for sex."
*
If it was harmless, I don't think it would be lying, per se. But within the vast majority of these movies, there's only one acceptable way of life being advocated: get yourself a vague but trendy-sounding career, get a man (preferably one who is already attached/argues with you non-stop) and within 90 minutes, you will have everything you ever wanted.
And that's a big fat lie.
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