Leave Cynicism at the Concession Stand
In an age of irony and cynicism, can audiences truly embrace film?
My Sunday plans thwarted by the rarest of Los Angeles rain showers, I wandered into a theater yesterday with the intention of buying a ticket for whatever was interesting and playing soon. Seeing that Hacksaw Ridge started in 20 minutes, I bought a ticket.
I didn’t know much about Hacksaw Ridge walking into that theater; I’d never even seen a trailer. I just knew it was critically well-received and poised to be Mel Gibson’s comeback to filmmaking. As a fan of Braveheart, I was intrigued. So I bought my ticket and settled down by myself to check out the film.
I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve cried during a movie. And I’ve seen a lot of movies. In other words, I don’t cry in movies. But I spent at least an hour of Hacksaw Ridge in tears. It was like a sit-in-your-car-in-the-parking-garage-afterwards-still-shaking cry. This was a rare film experience for me. And the strangest thing about it all is that I made a conscious decision to let that movie have that effect on me.
Hacksaw Ridge is the story of a Christian pacifist who enlisted in World War II to serve as a medic but was faced with hostility by the Army for his refusal to even touch a gun. The film is presented to you as the main character, Desmond Doss (Andrew Garfield), sees the world. There is not a drop of cynicism in Desmond or this film. Everything is presented with complete sincerity.
And my first instinct was to roll my eyes at this mindset. When young Desmond almost kills his brother in a play fight, he prays for forgiveness and swears off violence, a crucial aspect to his story. But a part of me wanted to instead chuckle at the similarities to the machete scene from Walk Hard. I chose to fight off that cynicism a little longer and give the film a chance.
Then Garfield shows up as grown Desmond with a thick Virginia accent and an ever-present grin on his face. When he starts courting a local nurse (Teresa Palmer) with the corniest pick-up lines you’ve ever heard, I came close to heaving an exasperated sigh and shutting down for the rest of the film, but I reminded myself keep my mind open.
I do have to admit to a uncontrollable skeptical snicker when Vince Vaughn shows up as the hard-ass drill sergeant, but even this too I determined to accept. And soon, some time around 30 minutes into the movie, I realized I was completely emotionally invested in this movie. I had almost forced myself to let down my guard, despite many instincts telling me otherwise, and believe in Desmond’s sincerity as the film paints it.
The story takes your emotions gently as you hand them over, leading you along Desmond’s trials as he is hazed and almost kicked out of the Army for refusing to carry a rifle. You’ll smile or even shed a few happy tears as Desmond’s unshakeable convictions inspire his family and his Army unit.
Then Desmond and his unit get sent to Japan to storm the deadly battleground of Hacksaw Ridge. This is when the film takes those emotions, ones that you willfully handed over, and proceeds to punch you repeatedly and relentlessly in the gut for over an hour. This is war in all its gore and brutality, and the fact that you are experiencing it through Desmond’s earnest worldview makes it all the more difficult to endure.
Was this whole emotional ride a pleasant experience? I couldn’t say that. I was visibly shaken by this film for at least an hour or two after walking out of the theater. Am I glad I experienced this film in this way? Absolutely.
This whole experience just highlights a question I’ve been asking myself for the past few months. Have we, as audiences, become too cynical for movies? I don’t mean all movies, of course, but I am concerned that we’re now disregarding movies that rely on heightened emotions.
Take, for instance, the reception of Derek Cianfrance’s recent film The Light Between Oceans. While not a perfect film, I enjoyed the story, cast, and especially the visual work of incredibly talented cinematographer Adam Arkapaw. Yet the film received many negative reviews criticizing it as a melodrama.
This concerned me a little. Not that the film received negative reviews, but that most critics seemed to think categorizing a film as a melodrama is the only justification needed to give it a bad review. This just seems incredibly lazy and dismissive.
After all, the very history of storytelling is rooted in melodrama. Defined as “a dramatic piece with exaggerated characters and exciting events intended to appeal to the emotions,” melodrama has been part of stories from the Odyssey to Romeo and Juliet to It’s A Wonderful Life.
Maybe an overexposure to the schmaltzy melodrama of films from writers like Nicholas Sparks have made us cautious of accepting the heightened emotions of other dramas, or maybe film and television’s turn toward gritty realism in the last decade or so have made us immune to a good tearjerker. Either way, it seems audiences are increasingly more skeptical of surrendering to the pathos of a film.
I was immensely saddened to read a critic’s story in Vulture of seeing Moonlight, a brilliant and heartbreaking film about growing up in poverty and discovering your sexuality, with an audience who refused to surrender emotionally. Instead, to the critic’s confusion and dismay, they chose to laugh at all mentions and depictions of homosexuality.
Film is not always meant to line up with our worldviews. But being an audience member in a film requires handing over your trust to the main characters and allowing yourself to empathize with their point of view. You shouldn’t have to endure multiple miscarriages to feel Isabel’s heartbreak in The Light Between Oceans. You shouldn’t have to identify as homosexual to be deeply affected by Chiron’s struggle and search for identity in Moonlight. You shouldn’t have to be a pacifist or a Christian to root for Desmond and his steadfast convictions in Hacksaw Ridge.
That’s the very point of storytelling. To bring you to other places, to follow other people with other points of view that you might never know otherwise. We just have to surrender to the story, drop all our barriers of cynicism and skepticism, and allow them to take us over.
As a film student, writer and producer, I worry often about my own smugness while consuming film. It’s far too easy to claim that I could have done something better than what I’m seeing on screen. That’s easier sometimes than admitting my own jealousies or insecurities. That’s just a barrier I construct for myself sometimes, and it often prevents me from fully emotionally experiencing a story.
I know we all have our own barriers up. It’s a strange time in the world right now, and with fake news, hoaxes, pranks, etc, the Internet era has left most of us a bit wary of media in general. Or maybe we’re just too afraid, too hurt from the heartbreaks of other stories, to attach ourselves emotionally to fictional characters anymore. I blame George RR Martin for that one.
Regardless, I urge you to give it a try. Even if a film is coming off as a little too earnest for you, maybe a little too melodramatic, or maybe uncomfortably different from your own worldviews, just go with it. Let it envelop you emotionally. You never know where it will take you.
For me, it took me to my seat in the 1:45pm screening of Hacksaw Ridge, hugging my knees while tears streamed down my face. But maybe that’s just me.
