Dark and gritty vs. optimism in art
A couple of days ago, Adrienne and I went to see the new Star Trek movie. I geeked out over it for a while - I really like it and think it's the best Star Trek movie since Wrath of Khan at least - it was the last straw on something artsy that's been coming for a while, now.
I write pretty bleak things pretty often. Condotierri is almost nihilistic in its bleakness, intentionally so because part of what I was doing was demonstrating that free market logic really stinks. The idea of a moral corporation is absurd. Simon Peter turned out to be far less bleak and, I suppose, was something of an artistic turning point for me. I intend for Revolutionary Boy Martin to be downright hopeful. So this has all been coming for a while, now.
But for a long time I struggled with the idea I've rejected on this very journal - that darkness is deep. All the fucking time I'll hear some critic or the other praise something because of its darkness - the feeling being that it's darkness is a sign of quality and emotional maturity and depth. The opposite is generally true, however. Optimism and making the world a better place, believing that better world is possible and striving towards it, well, now, that's maturity. That optimism is one of the core beliefs in Star Trek - the future is populated by people who are saner, better educated, more tolerant, more respectful, better governed and in pretty much all ways better than the people we are today. They are not driven by demons. They do not succumb to despair. Fear of strangers and outsiders do not control them. They are trusting, not in a foolish and naive way, but with the understanding that trust makes a better world, that it brings out the best in people. That peace is better than war, knowledge is better than ignorance, mercy is better than revenge, respect better than ridicule and the persistent and beautiful notion that every sentient being - every one! - is to be valued and cherished. All of this is true even when clumsily executed - I'm not praising Star Trek for perfection, but for an insistence that tomorrow will be better than today and it is our duty and pleasure to be the people who make it better.
(For full disclosure, one of those "difficult to write" things because it breaks a few social taboos, but I was very poorly raised as a child. The words "abuse" and "neglect" come up a whole lot. But there are two TV characters who, as I get older, I now understand have influenced me quite a bit in the person that I am today: Spock from the original series Star Trek played wonderfully by Leonard Nimoy and Hawkeye Pierce from M*A*S*H played by Alan Alda. Hey, if I couldn't have a real father, at least my proxy made-up dads are pretty cool, right? My point here is that I might be a little biased on this whole Star Trek thing.)
But watching the new Star Trek movie brought the artsy stuff to a head. I'm coming to the conclusion that darkity-dark-darkness is a kind of artistic laziness. Rather than making the character interesting, hell, just give them a traumatic backstory, a smidge of regret and have them do terrible things (even if the author doesn't realize they're terrible things - this happens all the time in fantasy; hell, just the other day I was watching Prince Caspain the movie and literally seconds after not killing the evil king, the "High King" goes on to slash his way through a dozen extras - message for the day: if you're a king you get special treatment despite your cruel deeds, but if you're a regular foot soldier ordered into battle after being lied to about what you're doing you deserve to be decapitated without a second thought . . . most fantasy and quite a bit of science-fiction is quite a bit like this with the creation of generic goons that can be massacred without the slightest bit of sympathy for the fallen . . . and also one of the ways that Star Trek distinguishes itself pretty regularly).
But here's my realization, in a more concrete way. Sane, rational protagonists can be:
1. Funny. Wit and humor do not need to be abusive or degrading. The characters can, and should, laugh. They should freely lampoon the absurd and joke with each other. They can be sarcastic, even sharp and biting, so long as the targets richly deserve it or it is done without malice or an intend to degrade.
2. Sexy. What's sexier than the person who will be there, no matter what? Nothing. Except, maybe, the person who is willing to open up their heart in a full and complete way, exposing their vulnerability without fear and with hope. That's just hot, let's face it. Lots hotter than some guy in a leather jacket who treats people like garbage.
3. Complex. Deciding what the right thing is can be real hard, and being a good person doesn't mean that you don't have issues - it means that you struggle against your instinct and trauma to do the right thing. And it doesn't always mean you do the right thing, even when you act from the right reasons, but doing the right thing is complex and interesting.
4. Emotional. While I'll probably never be a fan of any version of righteous fury (or, probably more accurately, self-righteous fury), good people have the full range of emotions - including the negative ones - they just don't let the negative ones define them. They feel fury and hatred but they strive for peace and love. This struggle, complex, funny and sexy, hehe, is one of the things that helps to define the characters.
No doubt a lot more things that I'll realize in the days and years to come. So, what makes Rick in Casablanca so interesting isn't that he's a suave bad boy - but at the end, he's changed. He can't sit idly by while atrocity surrounds him. He does the right thing and that transformation is what is so interesting. In that vein, what is best about Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe aren't that they do bad things, but through all the problems in their life they keep a solid core of right and wrong that transcends their flaws. Y'know. For instance. To keep with the general geek character of this post, I probably should have used Han Solo, instead, so in begging your indulgences I hope you see my point.
This isn't to reject dark and brooding protagonists or works, I should add. I'm not saying, y'know, if you dig on Conan you're a bad person or anything like that. This is just me trying to get all this stuff out of my own system. Apocalypse Now is still going to be one of my favorite movies, The Three Musketeers is still going to be one of my favorite books. It's just I'm . . . I dunno, hehe. Maybe it's that I'm becoming saner. For a long time, I wrote my nightmares because I found them were more interesting, or at least thought other people would find them more interesting. Maybe now I'm learning to give voice to my dreams.
I've probably said this clumsily, perhaps incomprehensibly so, and I hope to say it better when I've got it more sorted out.
I write pretty bleak things pretty often. Condotierri is almost nihilistic in its bleakness, intentionally so because part of what I was doing was demonstrating that free market logic really stinks. The idea of a moral corporation is absurd. Simon Peter turned out to be far less bleak and, I suppose, was something of an artistic turning point for me. I intend for Revolutionary Boy Martin to be downright hopeful. So this has all been coming for a while, now.
But for a long time I struggled with the idea I've rejected on this very journal - that darkness is deep. All the fucking time I'll hear some critic or the other praise something because of its darkness - the feeling being that it's darkness is a sign of quality and emotional maturity and depth. The opposite is generally true, however. Optimism and making the world a better place, believing that better world is possible and striving towards it, well, now, that's maturity. That optimism is one of the core beliefs in Star Trek - the future is populated by people who are saner, better educated, more tolerant, more respectful, better governed and in pretty much all ways better than the people we are today. They are not driven by demons. They do not succumb to despair. Fear of strangers and outsiders do not control them. They are trusting, not in a foolish and naive way, but with the understanding that trust makes a better world, that it brings out the best in people. That peace is better than war, knowledge is better than ignorance, mercy is better than revenge, respect better than ridicule and the persistent and beautiful notion that every sentient being - every one! - is to be valued and cherished. All of this is true even when clumsily executed - I'm not praising Star Trek for perfection, but for an insistence that tomorrow will be better than today and it is our duty and pleasure to be the people who make it better.
(For full disclosure, one of those "difficult to write" things because it breaks a few social taboos, but I was very poorly raised as a child. The words "abuse" and "neglect" come up a whole lot. But there are two TV characters who, as I get older, I now understand have influenced me quite a bit in the person that I am today: Spock from the original series Star Trek played wonderfully by Leonard Nimoy and Hawkeye Pierce from M*A*S*H played by Alan Alda. Hey, if I couldn't have a real father, at least my proxy made-up dads are pretty cool, right? My point here is that I might be a little biased on this whole Star Trek thing.)
But watching the new Star Trek movie brought the artsy stuff to a head. I'm coming to the conclusion that darkity-dark-darkness is a kind of artistic laziness. Rather than making the character interesting, hell, just give them a traumatic backstory, a smidge of regret and have them do terrible things (even if the author doesn't realize they're terrible things - this happens all the time in fantasy; hell, just the other day I was watching Prince Caspain the movie and literally seconds after not killing the evil king, the "High King" goes on to slash his way through a dozen extras - message for the day: if you're a king you get special treatment despite your cruel deeds, but if you're a regular foot soldier ordered into battle after being lied to about what you're doing you deserve to be decapitated without a second thought . . . most fantasy and quite a bit of science-fiction is quite a bit like this with the creation of generic goons that can be massacred without the slightest bit of sympathy for the fallen . . . and also one of the ways that Star Trek distinguishes itself pretty regularly).
But here's my realization, in a more concrete way. Sane, rational protagonists can be:
1. Funny. Wit and humor do not need to be abusive or degrading. The characters can, and should, laugh. They should freely lampoon the absurd and joke with each other. They can be sarcastic, even sharp and biting, so long as the targets richly deserve it or it is done without malice or an intend to degrade.
2. Sexy. What's sexier than the person who will be there, no matter what? Nothing. Except, maybe, the person who is willing to open up their heart in a full and complete way, exposing their vulnerability without fear and with hope. That's just hot, let's face it. Lots hotter than some guy in a leather jacket who treats people like garbage.
3. Complex. Deciding what the right thing is can be real hard, and being a good person doesn't mean that you don't have issues - it means that you struggle against your instinct and trauma to do the right thing. And it doesn't always mean you do the right thing, even when you act from the right reasons, but doing the right thing is complex and interesting.
4. Emotional. While I'll probably never be a fan of any version of righteous fury (or, probably more accurately, self-righteous fury), good people have the full range of emotions - including the negative ones - they just don't let the negative ones define them. They feel fury and hatred but they strive for peace and love. This struggle, complex, funny and sexy, hehe, is one of the things that helps to define the characters.
No doubt a lot more things that I'll realize in the days and years to come. So, what makes Rick in Casablanca so interesting isn't that he's a suave bad boy - but at the end, he's changed. He can't sit idly by while atrocity surrounds him. He does the right thing and that transformation is what is so interesting. In that vein, what is best about Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe aren't that they do bad things, but through all the problems in their life they keep a solid core of right and wrong that transcends their flaws. Y'know. For instance. To keep with the general geek character of this post, I probably should have used Han Solo, instead, so in begging your indulgences I hope you see my point.
This isn't to reject dark and brooding protagonists or works, I should add. I'm not saying, y'know, if you dig on Conan you're a bad person or anything like that. This is just me trying to get all this stuff out of my own system. Apocalypse Now is still going to be one of my favorite movies, The Three Musketeers is still going to be one of my favorite books. It's just I'm . . . I dunno, hehe. Maybe it's that I'm becoming saner. For a long time, I wrote my nightmares because I found them were more interesting, or at least thought other people would find them more interesting. Maybe now I'm learning to give voice to my dreams.
I've probably said this clumsily, perhaps incomprehensibly so, and I hope to say it better when I've got it more sorted out.