Oscars and Art, Miracles and Myth
On what people want to see and believe.
“Audiences don’t want to see realistic films about the war in Iraq. They want to escape all the bad news.” So says Howard Suber (UCLA Film and TV Producers Program founding chair and author of “The Power of Film,”) reacting to this year’s decidedly gloomy crop of Oscar nominees. I agree. And then, I disagree.
Since the nominated films haven’t done well, relatively speaking, at the box office, Suber’s claim holds water; people tend not to flock to downer movies. But those who enjoy provocative, thoughtful films made with great craft and artistic vision do go to see the kinds of movies on the Academy’s short-list. The Oscars aim to reward notable artistic achievements in film, not rampant popularity. They provide much-needed counterweight to the rather less lofty day-to-day goals of the film studios.
This confusion of box office success and artistic merit masks a positive phenomenon in the American film industry — artistry can make its furtive way into movies that have no purported artistic aim, and block busters can have great artistic merit without needing to be labeled “art” movies. The movies “Knocked Up” and “Superbad,” for instance, both big draws in 2007, both pitched and consumed as “raunchy comedies,” accomplished their low, uncouth objectives while revealing flashes of superior, if uneven, comic artistry.
In the American film industry, art will out, it seems, despite the drive for popular appeal and profit. Movies can’t be divided into “art” and “popular” movies, because some popular movies involve incredible artistry and some purportedly artistic movies are mediocre imitations or approximations of art. (Big names can make seriously flawed movies and pass them of as serious.)
The Academy then has a tough job, rewarding artistic achievements where they see them, without there being any kind of reliable delineation between the serious and the silly.
Pastor Casimiro Roca also has a tough job persuading his flock to give credit where credit is due. The poor priest presides over a small church in Chimayo, New Mexico, where people come seeking to be cured. Roca despairs that many of those who come believe that the dirt in a pit in the middle of the church has miraculous powers. Roca believes it’s the Lord. (The dirt he replenishes regularly, having it trucked in.)
It seems odd that Roca enables the perpetuation of the myth by importing the dirt and keeping the shrine, as he does, as something of a destination. But perhaps, like the Academy, Roca does what he does not in support of the masses but in support of miracles that reveal themselves despite the masses.
Postscript: As a rationalist one can’t dismiss out of hand things that defy our current comprehension. Reason must allow for doubt. Science has revealed its own share of completely unexpected findings. Einstein’s general relativity, quantum mechanics, and supersymmetry, for instance, all require us to move beyond everyday reason. The term miracle misleads, though, and perhaps when we come across evidence of events that defy reason, the term “unexplained phenomenon” is more appropriate.
Tags: academy-awards, art, artistry, dirt, miracle, no-country-for-old-men, oscars, pastor
July 20th, 2008 at 10:56 pm
I discovered your site while trying to remember the name of a little church in New Mexico we visited fifteen years ago. My wife and I spent a week in Taos just before Christmas and visited several churches as well as Georgia O’Keeffe’s home in Abiquiu. We were visiting the church to look at the architecture and religious art, not a miracle cure. In fact, we didn’t know about that aspect of the church at Chimayo when we arrived.
I’d suffered several major back injuries when I was younger and, while shifting suitcases, had re-injured a troublesome vertebrae that had once been fractured. As a result, I was in a great deal of pain, finding it difficult to get in and out of bed - let alone a car - and walking with a cane.
We went into the church, looked around and went into the small room cum shrine at the back. Then we returned to the main sanctuary and sat in one of the pews.
When I got up to leave, the back pain was gone and complete mobility had returned. I haven’t used the cane since.
Irrational? Don’t ask me. All I know is that, after 36 years of on and off back pain, periods of immobility and the threat of corrective surgery, I haven’t experienced any further back problems since that day at Chimayo. And if that’s a miracle, then I’m all for them whether they’re irrational or not.