Category Archives: Problem Practices

Communication behavior or analysis that is often counter-productive

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Is Our Storytelling Too Dystopian?

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Why are Movies so Dark? America’s video and film narratives are out of whack with the optimism that an individual needs in order to thrive.

There are obviously many cultural forces at work in shaping the movies and television series that capture our attention. But taking a long view, the national nervous system seems overwhelmed with accounts for climate catastrophes, political mean-spiritedness and personal despair brought on by a social structure that still leaves too many behind. Shooter games are a better signifier of what films have become rather than novels about relationships. And then there is an apparent and natural impulse in men and boys to master games of destruction.  Kids with every advantage are probably as enamored with games of domination and death as those who might justifiably use them as a kind of catharsis. Add in media that shows the worst of human behavior accessible on any time of the day, and we can be loaded down with dispair.

My impression is that too much of America’s video and film narratives are out of whack with the optimism that the individual needs in order to thrive. The case for this conclusion is incredibly easy to make. According to the data base, IMDb, the top grossing movies in the U.S. last year are notable for their dark subjects that range from cartoonish to vividly real. There is “Gorr the God Butcher” in Thor, versions of Dr. Strange who “threatens to wipe out millions,” Batman against a “sadistic serial killer,” and even a minion who wants to become “the world’s greatest supervillain.”  Most films with characters like these target young viewers. Their older counterparts are predictably in for even darker fair. Reading the brief summaries of top-grossing films in the U.S. is an exercise in trying to fathom a world gone mad.  Genre movies dominate. Even those produced under the Disney umbrella can be surprisingly grim. Do these films lift the spirits of those who are watching? For example should we have to look to a young actor’s script from 30 years ago to find a scene with real humans displaying pure and unalloyed joy?

A 60s band from Erie Pa. hears the first radio airplay of their only hit. (Writer: Tom Hanks, That Thing You Do!)

Narratives naturally thrive on some sort of conflict or human impasse. To be sure, no one expects the broad viewing public to demand more costume dramas inside old English manor houses.  And the kinds of rom coms that played to the mainstream in the 1960s are unlikely to return. Think of studio products that featured Doris Day, Rock Hudson, Fred Astaire, or Cary Grant. A few films still use their old Hollywood tropes. But most U.S. producers have ceded the idea of pressing for post-modern stories that could usefully explore the backstories of families or institutions, faltering or thriving. There is not enough Richard Linklaters or Wes Andersons able to find backers and willing to risk explorations into the inner lives and dense pluralities within ordinary souls. I suspect that the truth is that the hardest task for a film team is the creation of truly layered characters that can surprise us with their insights.

What seems to be missing in the mix of releases are films represented by master screenwriters like Neil Simon, David Mamet, Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, Aaron Sorkin, James Brooks, Larry Gelbart, William Goldman, Wes Anderson, Nora Ephron and many others. Their films are usually about the interpersonal dynamics that define their characters: words and non-verbal cues that others in a narrative must answer. Some work on the very human challenges of connecting or disconnecting with the significant others through comedy; others took a hard look at the harsh conversations that individuals must negotiate in lieu of filmic but inhuman action that typically drives a fantasy plot forward.

It is interesting to look at older films that are most frequently revisited. They include obvious choices like Citizen Kane (1941), All About Eve (1950), Casablanca (1942), Some Like it Hot (1959) and Singing in the Rain (1952). Some are dreams of a fertile imagination. But most take us to places without guns or magical powers. Some would be considered “talky” by modern standards. But all also had the virtue of relying on language written into scenes of intense feelings and heightened expression. This is in the realm of our human birthright to engage in discourse. It is what defines us as humans.

There is a curious twist here. The United States is not a routinely unruly society.  Most of its cities and towns are relatively peaceful. But many Americans seem to identify with con artists, crooks, and tax cheats. There are our standard cinematic romances with violence: from Bonnie and Clyde to Mad Max to Indiana Jones. And there is the even more obvious example of a presidential candidate whose obvious criminality is even acknowledged by his supporters. In our day, political chaos seems to be its own reward.

Would it be outrageous to suggest that Martin Scorsese’s most satisfying film is not Taxi Driver (1976), but Hugo (2011)? More than we do, we should want the latter film’s message of hope.

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What Reasons-Based Dispute Looks Like

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Good counterarguments may slightly raise the chances of receiving a  thoughtful response.

In the previous post I noted that we have evidence suggesting that people do not change their views, even in the face of compelling evidence and counterarguments. One response is to give up and not even bother. Moving on from someone’s rage can preserve our sanity.

A middle course is to imagine what kinds of counterarguments can be made that will raise the chances—if only slightly–of receiving a thoughtful hearing.

Having lived through another multi-year deluge of dubious ideas badly argued, it is good to pause and remember what a more thoughtful exchange of views should look like.

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To begin, in any exchange we would expect contested assertions to be backed up by evidence or evident good reasons. A person interested in rattling off opinions with no reference to sound reasons or evidence is not worth your effort. Even in an informal conversation we expect to hear compelling support for claims. A judge or a responsible policy maker would expect tangible evidence.  But it is true also our classrooms, where student debaters cannot simply offer unsubstantiated claims.

The basic unit of a counter-response is an argument. Its basic structure is simple and contains at least two parts: (1) An assertion or claim and (2) supporting evidence or good reasons. Those reasons may be widely honored values, or specific examples and–better yet–the testimony of experts who have a history of making accurate statements.  The quality of supporting evidence increases the force of an argument.

The claim “the 2020 presidential election was free of fraud” is a common example.  If I stop there in the presence of a MAGA true-believer, I am uttering a statement that—in formal terms—lacks “force.” To be sure, we are extremely happy to display our opinions like flags. They signal our attitudes and beliefs. But they have no power to bind doubters.

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How can I meaningfully assert that the last election was fair and accurate? Where is my evidence? I ought to be able to supply it, and not—as the former President does with claims reworded to appear to be reasons. So, if I am making a claim, I ought to be able to put “because” after it and find that the reasons that follow will make sense: will sound right. Our example might unfold in the following sequence.

“The Election was free of fraud.”

                                    Because. . .

  1. The Attorney General in the Trump Administration said so.
  2. The administration’s head of cyber-security said so.
  3.  No state government found evidence of significant instances of fraud.
  4.  Respected journalists covering the election found no significant evidence of a corrupted vote.
  5. A vast array of American courts could not evidence of vote tampering, except for a scattering of Trump supporters (i.e., some fake electoral college delegates).

To be sure, each of these assertions may need their own specifics or testimony. An example for the first claim could include Attorney General William Barr’s own words: “to date, we have not seen fraud on a scale that could have effected a different outcome in the election.” As testimony, Barr’s words are especially credible because he is (1) in a position to know, and (2) he is a “reluctant” source, meaning that Barr’s natural bias would be to support the views of the president who appointed him.

Arguments work best with truth claims. What can you do with your Uncle Fred’s assertion that he still “believes” some dead Democrats “voted” in 2020? You can ask him for evidence. But Fred may use the intellectual slight-of-hand of converting a belief into a claim of fact. That is dishonest, but telling him so probably will not keep him up at night. As we have noted before, you cannot usually do much about changing the fantasies that individuals need to believe them.

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