A few weekends back, I went to see The Wackness with Mr. Zelmer and his girlfriend Ox. The movie takes place in 1994 in New York City. A lonely, unsure high schooler, Luke, who sells weed out of a vendor cart, begins exchanging the good stuff with a psychiatrist for his counseling. The psychiatrist is disoriented and troubled, and the two develop an uncomfortable but endearing friendship as well as a business (selling that chronic) relationship. Simultaneously, Josh falls for the psychiatrists' daughter, a confident, popular girl with fleeting interests. The movie is mostly a character study, and Ben Kingsley, as the psychiatrist, is captivating. Having sincerely enjoyed the movie, we were eager to read reviews to compare our opinions. Instead of fresh perspectives, however, the reviews never made it past the wading pool. They were far too shallow and caught up with the minutia. Perhaps that is a weak comparison. I doubt wading pools are ever caught up with minutia, but babies do pee in them.
The NY Times review complained about the overstatement of nostalgic items related to 1994. It also moans that Josh Peck, who plays Luke, didn't do a good enough job in one scene of conveying the tension between his outward affectlessness (which, by the way, is a word not even recognized by Microsoft Office) and the riot of feeling inside him. As valid as these criticisms may be, they seem to miss the point. I liken it to receiving a brand new Lexus on your 16th birthday, and complaining about a spec of dirt on the windshield.
Sweet Sixteen aside, are these complaints reasonable coming from a movie critic? Perhaps sitting down to watch a movie with the specific intent of criticizing it distorts the experience and amplifies seemingly meaningless imperfections. Quite aptly, they ARE called critics. However, I see a few issues with the conventional movie review. First, should the review's purpose be to espouse inadequacy no matter how insignificant? Many movie reviews are written with this intent. But, it is not necessarily useful to the reader.
Many times, the reader of a movie review is simply trying to inform their decision on which movie to see. Among readers who have yet to see a movie, criticisms on, for example, the inability of an actor to portray a certain struggle of emotions in a specific scene has no context. These readers would be alternatively better served with an evaluation of the enjoyment, emotion, excitement, and entertainment offered by the movie.
This kind of review would attempt to define the ‘entertainment value’ of a movie, helping a reader decide whether or not the movie is worth seeing. Or, in what context [with who] it is best seen.
So, to help usher in an era of user-centric movie criticism, I would like to found a new website: ReelReviews.com. Now hiring.
Wednesday, August 20
Friday, August 1
Charity and Moral Obligation
A friend recently gave 25 dollars to UNICEF. He had been telling himself to donate for awhile, to no avail. With the guiding hand of inebriation, however, he championed children's rights worldwide with the triumphant click of a button...and his debit card.
Making a donation is simple and selfless. But, our conversation lead us to find much deeper, more complex issues in the decision to give. Among others, what is the purpose of your giving? To satisfy your own moral framework? To meet a larger moral obligation? For recognition? Recognition is a significant psychological barrier for many. With the donation to UNICEF, you are affecting children thousands of miles away in an undefinable and unseen way. Without recognition, incentive falls to morality. Moral giving quickly becomes a sticky issue. My friend brought up the following scenario:
You are on your way to an ethics lecture (can this be drenched in any more irony?) and walk past a lake with a baby drowning. You are faced with a decision. Either, ignore the cute, little water-logged bundle of joy, and continue on your way. Or, save the little guy. Saving the baby, however, means ruining your clothes and missing your lecture. If the person agrees that they are obligated to concede a day of productivity and, say, $200 in clothes, then, logically, they are equally obligated to donate $200 to save a child overseas.
This is an effective way of motivating charitable giving, but in my mind, the logic of this moral obligation doesn't stand up. Consider if, instead of walking by one drowning baby, you are subjected to this same situation, day after day, for a year. 365 babies saved, 365 days of lost productivity, and theoretically $73000 in clothes. How can you be morally obligated to save a baby one day, but not the next? Taken to the test, it seems that the rather innocuous moral obligation of $200 soon becomes an entire year's productivity and 73000 dollars.
So, on what basis can you find an indefensible and definable moral obligation to give? Perhaps, instead of seeking an overarching moral framework, giving must be predicated on personal choice and an emotional aversion to suffering. I haven't reached a conclusion, yet. Maybe a donation to UNICEF will clear my mind.
Making a donation is simple and selfless. But, our conversation lead us to find much deeper, more complex issues in the decision to give. Among others, what is the purpose of your giving? To satisfy your own moral framework? To meet a larger moral obligation? For recognition? Recognition is a significant psychological barrier for many. With the donation to UNICEF, you are affecting children thousands of miles away in an undefinable and unseen way. Without recognition, incentive falls to morality. Moral giving quickly becomes a sticky issue. My friend brought up the following scenario:
You are on your way to an ethics lecture (can this be drenched in any more irony?) and walk past a lake with a baby drowning. You are faced with a decision. Either, ignore the cute, little water-logged bundle of joy, and continue on your way. Or, save the little guy. Saving the baby, however, means ruining your clothes and missing your lecture. If the person agrees that they are obligated to concede a day of productivity and, say, $200 in clothes, then, logically, they are equally obligated to donate $200 to save a child overseas.
This is an effective way of motivating charitable giving, but in my mind, the logic of this moral obligation doesn't stand up. Consider if, instead of walking by one drowning baby, you are subjected to this same situation, day after day, for a year. 365 babies saved, 365 days of lost productivity, and theoretically $73000 in clothes. How can you be morally obligated to save a baby one day, but not the next? Taken to the test, it seems that the rather innocuous moral obligation of $200 soon becomes an entire year's productivity and 73000 dollars.
So, on what basis can you find an indefensible and definable moral obligation to give? Perhaps, instead of seeking an overarching moral framework, giving must be predicated on personal choice and an emotional aversion to suffering. I haven't reached a conclusion, yet. Maybe a donation to UNICEF will clear my mind.
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