Like most people this past Sunday, I woke up to the horrific news of events that happened at Pulse in Orlando, Florida. An armed man murdered 50 and injured 53 of the patrons at the gay dance club as they celebrated Latin night. This now marks the single biggest mass shooting in American history. Like all rational people, I was shocked and very depressed by the news. However, I became equally concerned that the conversation would quickly shift towards yet another debate about gun laws. To be honest, I am a film critic. I don't like writing about these things largely because I am too shy to deal with opposition. Most of my political beliefs are held privately, and I feel like it has been for the better (you don't need my soapbox opinion amid a movie review). However, it does get harder not to talk about them when it happens so frequently and with each gunman seeming to up the ante. For this piece, I am not going to explain how I feel about rules and regulations. I am mostly going to talk about how the shootings have altered the way I have watched cinema since. If you don't like me getting personal, or even find this brief rhetoric pathetic, just come back for the next article. I assure you that it will be more upbeat and movie-centric than what's to follow.
I suppose for a reference point, I probably should mention where I was in 2008 when Optigrab was first started. I was 19 and naive - wanting to be the aggressive shock artist that got attention. You can't fault teenagers. They do dumb stuff. Having access to the media department in college only helped to make my passion linger. I wouldn't say I was awful, or even hostile. However, I do sometimes think back on my various opinions in the short eight years since and see how they have evolved. I remember writing a piece on Joe Wright being a tame director and wanting to punch whoever thought he could do good action for Hanna. I was delusional and initially liked Taxi Driver for the antisocial aspect. It could be that I was myself still trying to figure out who I was. Even then, I'm more surprised that even at my worst, I was attracted to indie dramas where everyone talked at a table. I had to be coaxed into even liking Arnold Schwarzenegger movies by a Nerd's Eye View co-host.
What's probably the most indicative came in 2011 when director Bobcat Goldthwait released God Bless America, which is about a disaffected man who murders vapid teenagers and pop stars. Still lingering with the shock jock aspect, I found the fantasy thrilling and maybe was too enthusiastic about the film at the time. I haven't seen it since, but it reads like pandering wish fulfillment five years later that I am embarrassed to admit that I had as I went from society's target demographic of 18-25 to the "old guys" of 26+. Yet the film immediately felt like vomit in my throat when 2012 reared its ugly head. A mentally unstable man in Aurora, Colorado shot up a theater wanting to see The Dark Knight Rises. Murder was nothing new to me, but the story fascinated me, as I felt like it was an attack on my own home front. What's more bizarre is that among my first thoughts were why nobody mentioned that there was a scene very similar in God Bless America where our protagonist shoots a man speaking loudly at a theater.
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| Scene from God Bless America |
It's about here that things clicked a little. I only say a little because I wasn't squeamish towards all aspects of violence in cinema. I still like myself a good dark comedy, and I think that there's merit in well choreographed action set pieces. Yet suddenly and gradually I began to feel a change in what I actually looked for in cinema. Even if I still admire Goldthwait's other films, I do feel like I may never revisit God Bless America in fear of perpetuating self-loathing at my younger, more naive self. I still have conflicted feelings due to having a passionate in-law who is an ex-marine and who is a great person and very responsible with firearms. It's caused me to view war films - such as the controversial American Sniper- and sympathize not with the barrage of bullets, but more with the uncertainty and dedication that's necessary to be a soldier. It's difficult because it is itself contradicting my increasing problems with how I view violence on film.
Things only got worse over 2014 and 2015. By then, I had mellowed out and was becoming what I felt was a more passive artist. I began to write short stories with some frequency, some often depicting death. I admit that my fascination may seem morbid, but I think it stems from that feeling of separation. What happens when a life is lost? While I have written some more active stories like "Dead Horse in a Dead Town" where I intended to kill everyone off, I tried to do so with purpose. I admit that I fluctuate and sometimes just dive into dark comedy death, but that's generally around the time where I am not overwhelmed with the idea of mass shootings and incidents like the Ferguson riots - which unfortunately mirrored the events depicted in Selma a tad too realistically. Even my unfortunate moment of seeing the infamous Eric Garner "I can't breathe." story on the news only traumatized me more.
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| Allison Parker |
I know that there are those who can unfortunately rattle off all of the different shooting sprees. What about Sandy Hook? What about San Bernadino? What about Paris? The truth is, that there's sadly too many to even reference as having an impact on me. By the end of 2015, I was so flummoxed by the massive amount of casualties that I even questioned my own health. It was depressing, and suddenly I found more comfort in old Howard Hawks comedies of the 1950's than I did in Quentin Tarantino. Of course, I generally think that Tarantino (who I don't blame as solely influencing Sandy Hook) has evolved into a nut job personality anyways. Still, I remember the Aurora, CO shooting delaying the release of Gangster Squad - a mob movie whose third act is very much a shoot'em up. Even knowing that the film was delayed because of a theater shooting scene made it hard to enjoy. I kept thinking about how pointless the violence was - an odd fact, since I would enjoy The Raid: Redemption artistically.
If forced to name what shooting impacted me the most, it likely is of WDBJ journalist Allison Parker and her cameraman Adam Ward. To summarize: Parker was around my age and about to be married. It was her last day and her last piece for the studio before moving into the next wonderful phase of her life. In the middle of an interview segment, a gunman walks up to her and shoots her on air along with Ward. I suppose it in part impacted me because Parker reminded me vaguely of a woman I used to work in my college's newsroom with. My momentary belief that this person was dead made it hurt even more. Once I began to fill in the gaps of poetic tragedy, it became more uncomfortable. Even if all losses are tragic, there's something tragic about someone in your field who had her whole life ahead of her. I have done my best not to forget her, and she remains one of those figures along with Garner and Aurora, CO that still make it hard to watch violent cinema.
To say that I have given up on violent cinema is untrue. I still watch whatever people are talking about in order to be on the radar of conversation. However, I don't find myself as much attracted to praising it as much as I used to. I genuinely dislike Man of Steel because of the pointless murders in the third act. I've even become conscious of the background, unseen deaths depicted in blockbusters. For instance, there's long stretches of Captain America: The Winter Soldier that I am distracted by Samuel L. Jackson's reckless driving and how it likely killed a few people. He's the good guy. The films have done their best to talk around this later on (with mixed results), but I do think that even if I'm not squeamish to violence just yet, I definitely don't see it as the shock and awe that I once did.
Which brings me back to yesterday when I woke up to the sickening news. There is that part of me that is now too familiar with the violence. I get it more from news articles than movies, which is something that I didn't think would happen. However, it becomes difficult to properly address because I don't want to pick arguments over things that allude my intelligence, especially in an election year where I don't like the Republican nominee and fear the worst can come. Still, I wonder what the point is sometimes. The escapism of film is starting to feel more like a mirror than a fantasy, even if the good guy still saves the day and the world ends in a better place. I do believe that the world can get better, but sometimes my belief can be shattered pretty easily, as is the case in Paris or Orlando.
I wish that I could offer something more to change the tide, but I generally don't know how. I do my best to be a good person, and I think it is in large part because I've noticed how miserable violence makes people. I do my best to not perpetuate cynical, destructive thoughts on the internet as I used to. I generally support artists of any gender, race, creed, or sexuality. I promote what I like, and I believe that the world is a great place because so many different types can coalesce. It does feel disarming at times to think that I am a straight white male, who is often the least susceptible target. It doesn't mean that I don't sympathize any less, it just means that whatever I do, I can never fully understand the struggle. All I can do is be supportive, and even my lack of activism makes me feel bad at times.
Yet in light of Orlando, I watched the Tonys with a sign of hope in my demeanor. James Corden opened with a quick memorial before diving into a bombastic performance. Winners, such as Hamilton's Lin-Manuel Miranda, offered their own message of hope. Speaking as the tragedy wasn't even a day old by the broadcast, it's even more impressive how quick they were to respond. Still, there was the message that seemed to be that the theater community would support those who were victims of a senseless shooting. Even Last Week Tonight saw John Oliver call the gunman a dipshit for trying to destroy the very essence of American culture. It's heartwarming in a sense to think that people are standing strong, and people are even lining up by the thousands to donate blood.
It's small reminders like that that make me think that the world isn't such a bad place, even if that's sometimes hard to believe. As much as I wish to keep my politics off of the internet, it's hard for me to admit that I wasn't bubbling with my own frustration. It's bad enough that there's been more like this shooting spree that I may never know about, let alone do a full dedication like this to lives lost. However, I think that the big takeaway is that the senseless violence has made certain facets of cinema hard to watch. I am not a "coward" who ignores it entirely, but in closing I want to point out how the violence has changed me. Whereas in 2011, I was eagerly praising God Bless America for shooting people that I thought were dumb, I'm now more attracted to empathy than ever before. In times like this, I definitely think it's what the world needs more of.
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