Aristotle says George Lucas can suck it.

I started reading James Monaco's How to Read Film a while back but go sidetracked by the bar exam. Monaco, however, includes a discussion on the nature of art and theories of aesthetics in order to make the point that film is an art. Monaco starts with Aristotle's Poetics, and since I have a copy of that sitting on my shelf, I decided to give it a quick read before continuing with Monaco's book.

It is somewhat surprising how modern and relevant Poetics is. As a theory, it is not spectacular, but that is in large part because Aristotle was writing under certain cultural assumptions that no longer hold true, or are only partially true. For example, Aristotle wrote:

The perfect Plot, accordingly, must have a single, and not a double issue; the change in the hero's fortunes must be not from misery to happiness, but on the contrary from happiness to misery; and the cause of it must lie not in any depravity, but in some great error on his part.

This is pretty specific and contrary to a lot of our current cultural assumptions. We in fact like movies where people move from misery to happiness. We like to say they evidence a "triumph of the human spirit." And furthermore, we often like movies about depraved characters. The prime example of this is would be There Will Be Blood, which was critically acclaimed and essentially a study of an evil character.

So, Aristotle's theory isn't perfect, but he still makes a lot of excellent points that remain relevant today. For example, he argues that plots should be tightly constructed:

The truth is that, just as in the other imitative arts one imitation is always of one thing, so in poetry the story as imitation of action, must represent one action, a complete whole, with its several incidents so closely connected that the transposal or withdrawal of any one of them will disjoin and dislocate the whole. For that which makes no perceptible difference by its presence or absence is no real part of the whole.

And he says that episodic plots are to be avoided:

Of simple Plots and actions the episodic are the worst. I call a Plot episodic when there is neither probability nor necessity in the sequence of its episodes. Actions of this sort bad poets construct through their own fault, and good ones on account of the players. His work being for public performance, a good poet often stretches out a plot beyond its capabilities, and is thus obliged to twist the sequence of incident.

My favorite part, however, is Aristotle's argument about the proper use of "Spectacle." Simply put the Spectacle is the "stage-appearance of the actors." The point of a tragedy, in Aristotle's view is to make the audience feel fear and pity for main character and the events in the drama. He writes:

The tragic fear and pity may be aroused by the Spectacle; but they may also be aroused by the very structure and incidents of the play--which is the better way and shows the better poet. The Plot in fact should be so framed that, even without seeing the things take place, he who simply hears the account of them shall be filled with horror and pity at the incidents; which is just the effect that the mere recital of Oedipus would have on one. To produce this same effect by means of the Spectacle is less artistic, and requires extraneous aid. Those, however, who make use of the Spectacle to put before us that which is merely monstrous and not productive of fear, are wholly out of touch with Tragedy.

Suck it George Lucas.

Is This Funny? #1: Humiliation

Issue: Can we say that humiliation is funny?

Example: ABC's new series Eli Stone.

Discussion: This entire show bases it's supposed humor on humiliating its titular character. You see, he suffers from very realistic hallucinations that interrupt his normal life. He becomes so involved in the hallucinations that he will do things like dive under desks at inopportune times or start singing and dancing in public. Suddenly, he will open his eyes only to see many people staring at him. Oh, isn't it so funny?

No, actually, it's not. These sorts of jokes only work on the assumption that there are rules of acceptable behavior that generally should not be violated, and when they are violated, the person in question is deserving of ridicule. That is simply not the case. There are no oppressive, puritan, middle class standards of behavior by which we are all bound. To the extent that anything of that sort ever existed, it has been repeatedly attacked and destroyed by punk music, independent films, and social satire of every sort. That is in fact the point of satire: it punctures and destroys the extraneous and oppressive rules of society.

Conclusion: Humiliation is not funny. I submit that Eli Stone should be immediately canceled for crimes against comedy.

Purposes

Having a discussion with friends last night about life and art which has lead me to some interesting points and conclusions.

In the course of the conversation, I mentioned that there was a girl I went to college with who I came to think of as a horrible person largely because she was extremely self-centered, but also because her ultimate dream in life was to get married and have kids. In response, one of my friends made the fair point that there isn't really wrong with that so long as the person has chosen that life.

Another friend argued, however, that there are some people who never aspire to even that but instead want to experience life simply by traveling, watching movies, listening to music, and otherwise taking in the world. It's important that this is described as "taking in" the world for that is what I maintained: that such a life cannot be as highly valued as those people would want because in fact all they will have done with their life is consume and ultimately, they will have nothing to say for themselves. Furthermore, that you cannot even say that you have experienced life to its fullest if you never act, do, make, create, or whatever synonym you want to use.

So, the question becomes, if that is the case, what is the purpose of art. If in fact it is basically or essentially empty to consume art, then what purpose can it have. This is not to denigrate the value of art directly, since art can have a large impact on our lives. It can produce catharsis, it can change our mood, or console our melancholy. But after the immediate perception, its effects seem to just float away.

One friend made the cogent and intelligent point that in the first place, the purpose of art is for the artist. It is for the artist to act, do, make, or create. In the second place, from the audience's standpoint, it is there for consumption my friend maintained.

And here's the big conclusion: The reason that a life spend consuming the world is ultimately empty, even if it's spent consuming the greatest works of art in the world, is that such a life would never put the message into practice. If art is in some way going to make us better people, we can't be better people without taking some action. A life spent in consumption is one without action, and being a good person requires getting out of your own head and engaging with the world.

Sartre bites everyone in the ass.

A Quick Note about FAMILY GUY

I'm not a huge Family Guy fan largely because I don't think its pop culture reference humor is very funny. They occasionally get a good joke out of a random reference to an obscure movie from the 1980's, but they just as often misfire. In a 22 minute episode, the references can leave me feeling bored and frustrated. "You want me to laugh at this?" I angrily ask in my mind.

But when they do story related humor or make up their own jokes, they still get a good one in there sometimes. Case in point is this scene where Peter, Bryan, Chris, and Stewie all drink ipecac and try to see who can hold out the longest. Yes, I hear you saying, it is just bodily function humor. But it's still damn funny.

Cupcakes

A few weeks back, I went to a movie with some friends, but we got there late and decided to catch a later show instead of going in late. To pass the time, we decided to get a cup of coffee. This plan was interrupted when we walked past a little shop with a sign that said simply, "Georgetown Cupcake." A line of 20 or 30 people stretched out of the shop and up the street, and on this basis my friends decided they wanted to get cupcakes. The conversation went something like this:

Friend: Ooooh, cupcakes, let's go there.

Me: Really? You feel like a cupcake?

Friend: Yeah, cupcakes sound good!

Me: And you want to go stand in that line?

Friend: Yeah, it has to be good if it has a line like that!

Me: So you really don't know anything about this place?

Friend: Nope, never even heard of it before.

Me: But you're willing to stand in a line just because all those other people are standing in line?

Friend: Yeah!!!

Me: You realize that this place is just exploiting twenty-something nostalgia for childhood.

Friend: I love the marketing!

And this is what really bothered me. I maintained that people were being exploited through a specific emotional manipulation and my friend said that he loved it. Since I am not good at letting things go, this developed into a bigger argument. My position was that we shouldn't let ourselves fall prey to such emotional manipulation and his position was that everything attempts to exploit your emotions.

This exploitation of twenty-something nostalgia for childhood is extremely prevalent in our society right now, and I think we need to be on guard against it. It is the reason that Michael Bay got to make Transformers and Broken Lizard got to make The Dukes of Hazzard. Both movies have nothing to recommend them except the fact that they are recognizable franchises that are well known to men in the 18-29 demographic. The other thing that both have in common is that in retrospect both series have elements that are risible. Transformers was originally part of Hasbro's Saturday morning cartoon lineup, which was probably the best toy marketing scheme ever devised. The Dukes of Hazzard is a crazy story about two Southern brothers who use their stock car to escape inept police officers while stopping the evil plans of the short and fat Boss Hogg.

It's their ridiculousness that makes these sorts of aging cultural artifacts so central to "college humor," and even to the website of the same name. That website and the associated "college" culture is continually fascinated by things like ninjas and pirates because ninjas and pirates are basically absurd myths that we tell children. By talking about ninjas or Chuck Norris or The Dukes of Hazzard, people get to have two simultaneous reactions. First, they get to recognize the absurdity of these stories, to laugh at and make fun of them. But they also get to remember what it was like to be a child, to relive some part of their childhood for a few moments even as they make fun of it. It's a combination of mocking and sincere appreciation. I have to credit this popmatters article for making a similar point and influencing my thinking.

This is a particularly easy way to exploit people. For one thing, it is basically empty. This sort of humor doesn't require any originality or creative action. All one has to do is to point at some old TV show and note its particular stupidity. It doesn't increase one's appreciation of the old show, or or bring any insight into ninjas. But as a two for one, it might even be called efficient.

My disgust with these sorts of things is related to my hatred for affectation. People often go out of their way to merely to create an specific image for themselves, usually to find approval from a group. People do all kinds of things for show. They drink wine in order to appear sophisticated when they would rather have a shot of whiskey. They buy ugly clothes because everyone says the clothes are "cool." They buy expensive cars to keep up with the Joneses.

There are many things that bother me about affectations, but at the heart of it is that people choose to waste energy on activities and behaviors that are essentially empty. The wine snob is not a better person than the beer slob. In the mind of the wine snob, he is the better person because he appreciates something finer than other people. Obviously, it is often a sign of class bias since people try to emulate the upper classes as if wealth makes someone good and imitation will bring the same benefits.

Connoisseurship is empty because imparts no meaning. A good wine can give us some momentary pleasure, and it is not wrong to seek out that pleasure, but drinking good wine to the extent it is about the quality of the wine doesn't tell us anything. Unlike art, literature, science, or philosophy it doesn't inform the human experience. It makes no argument.

Most affectations produce the same result. Wearing a specific garment won't improve one's life for the same reason that traveling is often disappointing: one always travels with oneself and no matter what clothes a man wears, it's still him underneath.

So, we should also be particularly wary of appeals to status and connoisseurship since these things are as empty as appeals to childhood nostalgia.

Cupcake shops make these appeals. Georgetown Cupcake--note the specific use of the singular--doesn't really offer anything to its patrons beside a brief moment to remember eating cupcakes in grade school at everyone's birthday. It sells cupcakes for exorbitant amounts and tries to convince its patrons that they are getting a special product--both appeals to status. In short, they are selling a product based largely on image rather than its quality or inherent value.

And this is where my friend and I disagreed. I maintain that we shouldn't allow ourselves to be susceptible to these sorts of appeals; that more often than not falling prey to them will lighten our wallet without an sufficient return in value. He, however, argued that every thing is sold to us in the same way. The conversation went something like this:

Me: So, was it worth it? Was it worth standing in that line for extremely expensive but mediocre cupcakes?

Friend: Oh come on, they were pretty good.

Me: They were ok, but we didn't eat them because they were good, we ate them because you bought into the appeal to nostalgia and status.

Friend: So what?

Me: I just don't like being sold something.

Friend: Ok, but you can say that about anything. Aren't you the guy who sits around Starbucks?

Me: Well, I go to Starbucks for internet access, not because I think they make a great cup of coffee, and certainly not because I'm trying to prove that I like good coffee.

It should be noted that there are still some people out there who think that Starbucks represents a pinnacle of coffee snobbery. But can it be said that every thing is just an appeal to snobbery?

That is something I struggle with, but ultimately I don't think so. My natural response is problematic. I want to say in the first instance that there are things that I genuinely like, and because I genuinely like them, I am not being sold something that isn’t worth it. In other words, in specific instances, I find the value of what I receive meets or exceeds the value of what I offer in exchange; and also that the object merits the quality that is attributed to it. That cannot be the case when something is sold based on status or nostalgia because these things neither add value to the object nor represent some value in the object.. They are qualities external to the object that may but probably won’t be realized—it’s the sizzle and not the steak.

However, it is a subjective test. Maybe the subjectivity implies that the object in question cannot be said to be appreciated for its inherent properties. We can improve the test a little bit by asking how someone is selling something rather than just why it appeals to us. It doesn’t remove the all the subjectivity, but it might improve the accuracy.

But perhaps I am a sucker. Perhaps I have convinced myself that I genuinely like things when without their sales pitch, I wouldn’t otherwise like. Or perhaps there are some things that I like that cannot be appreciated without a connected but external quality. That may be true, but I don’t see how that argument leads anywhere. After all, I have no reason to distrust myself about how genuinely I like the things that I like.

And I don’t see that as a problem. We are responsible for our actions and must find the right reasons and motivations for selecting a specific action. Ultimately, my argument is not about what how other people ought to market their cupcakes or what movies should be made. It’s about how I should act when presented with these things. In short, we shouldn’t let ourselves be susceptible to arguments and marketing that makes appeals that service our egos.