I caught most of The Last Crusade on TV today. Indiana Jones is--I dunno--it's fun; I kinda like it. Something about how unabashedly over-the-top it is somewhat charming. It's the first time in several years that I've seen anything from any of the Indiana Jones movies; I'd forgotten how exciting they were when I was a child.
In The Last Crusade, a bad man shoots the elder Dr. Jones and then demands that Indy go retrieve the Holy Grail. Knowing that the Grail is the only thing that can save his father, Indy goes for the Grail. That made sense to me when I was younger, but today it kinda caught me off guard. I mean, I can understand wanting to save your father's life, but is that really worth granting infinite longevity to an evil man--or any man, really: we were not meant to live forever in this state.
Now, I realize that the question is nearly absurd because this is not a possible situation to have, but the principles of this conundrum are fascinating to me. I can't think of a similar predicament that might actually come up real life, but I think there must be one. I think standing up for what is right when your own life is pretty intense, but to sacrifice the life of a loved one for the greater good--I can't imagine.
I'm sure there's a statement regarding the Atonement to be made here, but I daresn't liken the suffering of the Christ to Indiana Jones, so I'll call this good for now; I prefer raising questions to making statements anyway.
Showing posts with label Morals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Morals. Show all posts
10 May 2008
22 April 2008
Post 118
Hooray for solid stances!
Alright. So. It's been a while since I touched on my deliberations over my stance on R-rated movies, but the debate has been silently raging within me--especially since I bought Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind about a month ago. My dilemma has been this: though I have seen a couple of edited R-rated movies, Sweeney Todd is still the only fully R-rated movie I've ever seen, and I saw it in innocence. So am I or am I not the sort of person who watches R-rated movies? My official declaration of morals says, essentially, that I am generally opposed to R-rated moves but that I am not officially abstaining from them 100%. Still, I've owned Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for almost a month without removing its shrink wrap--partly because I haven't had a strong inclination to watch it because I've seen it fairly recently, but mostly because I've only ever seen an edited version, so I don't really know what badness it may secretly contain (as I mentioned a couple of posts ago).
Last night, right around 2:30am, I removed it from its shrink wrap very ceremoniously--which means you're in for another fairly melodramatic episode from the life of me.
Yesterday, I and some of my roommates decided that we wanted to watch a movie, so I rented Memento for us to watch. We started it pretty late, ending a little before 2am. I gotta say, I was completely blown away by that movie. I cannot remember a time that a movie has so thoroughly amazed me. The writing is brilliant, the acting is great, the directing is superb--really a well-rounded, high-quality flick. The F-bomb is uttered a ridiculous number of times, but foul language doesn't really offend me, and I'm pretty sure that, were such a story to happen in real life, it would be accompanied by plenty of swearing.
Momento is rated R for "violence, language and some drug content," but I'm gonna say that it was the language that really earned it the rating: the violence was nothing too terribly intense, and the "drug content" was so incredibly brief that I probably would have missed it if I hadn't been on the lookout for it (unless insulin injections count, because we do see a few of those). I'm pretty sure it's the exorbitant over-usage of the F-bomb that got it the rating; there was a lot of that....
But can I just reiterate that I loved this movie? I don't think I've ever seen a movie that was so intellectually stimulating! I'm always saying that I like "thinking movies"--movies that require the audience to actively pay attention to what going on--and Memento wins the magic chocolate monkey award for that, lemme tell ya.
2am and my brain is positively humming with delight. I'm trying my best to rewatch the movie in my mind so I can piece it all together. The more I think, the more I like it. Absolutely amazing, that's what that movie was.
Every night before I go to bed, I say a prayer. Whenever I pray, I do my best to silence the white noise of my soul and focus entirely on conversing with my Creator. Last night, as I did my best to quiet down the euphoric literary lobes and rejoicing analytical regions of my brain and steer my train of thought toward higher ground, I became increasingly more away that, while all was sunshine and skittles in my skull, a doleful cry (previously drowned out by the noise of my cerebral party) was echoing softly in my chest cavity.
Huh. I wonder what this unhappiness in my heart is. Weird. Anyway. Heavenly Father, I'm really grateful for the intellectual--uh--the, uh, the intellectually stimulating--uh--the, uh....
Going nowhere fast.
I was not to be deterred, though, and I managed some sort of prayer and then got under my covers and began making swift strides toward sleep.
I only got so far as delirium, though. As my brain powered down to the stage where intelligible thought ceases to exist, the abstract sense of gaping emptiness became the only thing I was concretely aware of.
Have you ever tried to rouse a sleeping cat? You know that look they give you when they just barely crack their eyes open and look at you with this what-on-earth-makes-you-think-you're-worth-waking-up-for look? I'm pretty sure that that's the look I gave my bedside clock last night.
"It's 2:30 on a Monday night. I have to get up to go to work in less than five hours--am I really gonna get up and walk to my thinking place just now?"
I groaned silently and rolled over--yes, yes I am.
I didn't even bother to put shoes on, I was so tired. The 40-some-odd degree weather and rough sidewalks were quick to point out to me the poorness of this decision, but I didn't particularly care; I needed an empty bench in a quiet park so I could sit and think. I frequent one such bench that sits about 5 minutes' walking from my place, and I was determined to go there.
So I went and sat and prayed and thought, and I came to the conclusion that, regardless of how engrossing a movie is, if it's gonna make me feel like this, I don't wanna watch it.
-So, Schmetty--how 'bout that R rating, huh?
Well, I'm pretty sure that it was the crazy twist at the end that left me feeling icky, and I don't think that that part of the movie contributed to the R rating....
-But, had you avoided the movie because of its R rating, you could have avoided that, too.
Seems irrelevant; that twist could have just as easily been in a PG-13 movie. Besides, my brain hasn't had this much exercise in far too long; even returning to the college scene has failed me! It feels good.
-But was it worth it?
Mmmm, pondering. Uh, no, probably not.
Phooey.
My intellect still tells me that a rule like "All R-rated movies are bad" is too simplistic to really be fair, but my gut tells me that I'll be feeling guilty every time I watch one. Even a very hungry intellect doesn't want to cope with irrational guilt just to get some excitement--at least, mine doesn't. And I'm not convinced that this guilt is entirely irrational. I think that if intellectual pursuits ever threaten to conflict with spiritual ones, it's always best to error on the side of spiritual improvement. Furthermore, even among the movies I really like, I can't think of a single one that I would say everybody has to watch, so I think it may be safe to assume that, if someone someday produces the best movie ever, and if that movie happens to be rated R, I would fare better by passing up the best movie ever because of a superficial rating system than I would by occasionally opening myself up for a soulectemy every now and again--not that even I am quite that melodramatic; the hyperbole is meant merely to drive home my point.
Resolved: no more R-rated movies for this little butterfly; no sir.
I walked home, feeling solid in my resolution but unclear on its implications for the R-rated movie I owned.
-Is it grandfathered in?
Gimme a break, Schmetty, that'd be like grandfathering in your wine cellar when you decide to give up drinking [not that I drink... or have a wine cellar...].
-Can we sell it?
If you decided to give up your porn addiction, would you sell your Playboys to a high schooler? [Not that I have a porn addiction, either--again, it's that hyperbole thing, my favorite device.]
-I know. We'll donate it to DI! We shall be philanthropic with our aborted bad habits!
Riiiiight.
Phooey again.
So, I came home, took Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind down from my shelf, and went back outside, removing the shrink wrap on the way. As I did so, I talked to the thing much like I imagine I might address a geriatric pet that I was taking out back to shoot--cooing my adoration, asserting my lack of regret for both purchasing and now destroying.
Shrink wrap: into the dumpster.
Factory sealing stickers: into the dumpster.
DVD case: into the dumpster.
DVD: one last goodbye, snapped in half, into the dumpster.
Thus end the days of R-rated ambivalence; now on to something better....
Alright. So. It's been a while since I touched on my deliberations over my stance on R-rated movies, but the debate has been silently raging within me--especially since I bought Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind about a month ago. My dilemma has been this: though I have seen a couple of edited R-rated movies, Sweeney Todd is still the only fully R-rated movie I've ever seen, and I saw it in innocence. So am I or am I not the sort of person who watches R-rated movies? My official declaration of morals says, essentially, that I am generally opposed to R-rated moves but that I am not officially abstaining from them 100%. Still, I've owned Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for almost a month without removing its shrink wrap--partly because I haven't had a strong inclination to watch it because I've seen it fairly recently, but mostly because I've only ever seen an edited version, so I don't really know what badness it may secretly contain (as I mentioned a couple of posts ago).
Last night, right around 2:30am, I removed it from its shrink wrap very ceremoniously--which means you're in for another fairly melodramatic episode from the life of me.
Yesterday, I and some of my roommates decided that we wanted to watch a movie, so I rented Memento for us to watch. We started it pretty late, ending a little before 2am. I gotta say, I was completely blown away by that movie. I cannot remember a time that a movie has so thoroughly amazed me. The writing is brilliant, the acting is great, the directing is superb--really a well-rounded, high-quality flick. The F-bomb is uttered a ridiculous number of times, but foul language doesn't really offend me, and I'm pretty sure that, were such a story to happen in real life, it would be accompanied by plenty of swearing.
Momento is rated R for "violence, language and some drug content," but I'm gonna say that it was the language that really earned it the rating: the violence was nothing too terribly intense, and the "drug content" was so incredibly brief that I probably would have missed it if I hadn't been on the lookout for it (unless insulin injections count, because we do see a few of those). I'm pretty sure it's the exorbitant over-usage of the F-bomb that got it the rating; there was a lot of that....
But can I just reiterate that I loved this movie? I don't think I've ever seen a movie that was so intellectually stimulating! I'm always saying that I like "thinking movies"--movies that require the audience to actively pay attention to what going on--and Memento wins the magic chocolate monkey award for that, lemme tell ya.
2am and my brain is positively humming with delight. I'm trying my best to rewatch the movie in my mind so I can piece it all together. The more I think, the more I like it. Absolutely amazing, that's what that movie was.
Every night before I go to bed, I say a prayer. Whenever I pray, I do my best to silence the white noise of my soul and focus entirely on conversing with my Creator. Last night, as I did my best to quiet down the euphoric literary lobes and rejoicing analytical regions of my brain and steer my train of thought toward higher ground, I became increasingly more away that, while all was sunshine and skittles in my skull, a doleful cry (previously drowned out by the noise of my cerebral party) was echoing softly in my chest cavity.
Huh. I wonder what this unhappiness in my heart is. Weird. Anyway. Heavenly Father, I'm really grateful for the intellectual--uh--the, uh, the intellectually stimulating--uh--the, uh....
Going nowhere fast.
I was not to be deterred, though, and I managed some sort of prayer and then got under my covers and began making swift strides toward sleep.
I only got so far as delirium, though. As my brain powered down to the stage where intelligible thought ceases to exist, the abstract sense of gaping emptiness became the only thing I was concretely aware of.
Have you ever tried to rouse a sleeping cat? You know that look they give you when they just barely crack their eyes open and look at you with this what-on-earth-makes-you-think-you're-worth-waking-up-for look? I'm pretty sure that that's the look I gave my bedside clock last night.
"It's 2:30 on a Monday night. I have to get up to go to work in less than five hours--am I really gonna get up and walk to my thinking place just now?"
I groaned silently and rolled over--yes, yes I am.
I didn't even bother to put shoes on, I was so tired. The 40-some-odd degree weather and rough sidewalks were quick to point out to me the poorness of this decision, but I didn't particularly care; I needed an empty bench in a quiet park so I could sit and think. I frequent one such bench that sits about 5 minutes' walking from my place, and I was determined to go there.
So I went and sat and prayed and thought, and I came to the conclusion that, regardless of how engrossing a movie is, if it's gonna make me feel like this, I don't wanna watch it.
-So, Schmetty--how 'bout that R rating, huh?
Well, I'm pretty sure that it was the crazy twist at the end that left me feeling icky, and I don't think that that part of the movie contributed to the R rating....
-But, had you avoided the movie because of its R rating, you could have avoided that, too.
Seems irrelevant; that twist could have just as easily been in a PG-13 movie. Besides, my brain hasn't had this much exercise in far too long; even returning to the college scene has failed me! It feels good.
-But was it worth it?
Mmmm, pondering. Uh, no, probably not.
Phooey.
My intellect still tells me that a rule like "All R-rated movies are bad" is too simplistic to really be fair, but my gut tells me that I'll be feeling guilty every time I watch one. Even a very hungry intellect doesn't want to cope with irrational guilt just to get some excitement--at least, mine doesn't. And I'm not convinced that this guilt is entirely irrational. I think that if intellectual pursuits ever threaten to conflict with spiritual ones, it's always best to error on the side of spiritual improvement. Furthermore, even among the movies I really like, I can't think of a single one that I would say everybody has to watch, so I think it may be safe to assume that, if someone someday produces the best movie ever, and if that movie happens to be rated R, I would fare better by passing up the best movie ever because of a superficial rating system than I would by occasionally opening myself up for a soulectemy every now and again--not that even I am quite that melodramatic; the hyperbole is meant merely to drive home my point.
Resolved: no more R-rated movies for this little butterfly; no sir.
I walked home, feeling solid in my resolution but unclear on its implications for the R-rated movie I owned.
-Is it grandfathered in?
Gimme a break, Schmetty, that'd be like grandfathering in your wine cellar when you decide to give up drinking [not that I drink... or have a wine cellar...].
-Can we sell it?
If you decided to give up your porn addiction, would you sell your Playboys to a high schooler? [Not that I have a porn addiction, either--again, it's that hyperbole thing, my favorite device.]
-I know. We'll donate it to DI! We shall be philanthropic with our aborted bad habits!
Riiiiight.
Phooey again.
So, I came home, took Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind down from my shelf, and went back outside, removing the shrink wrap on the way. As I did so, I talked to the thing much like I imagine I might address a geriatric pet that I was taking out back to shoot--cooing my adoration, asserting my lack of regret for both purchasing and now destroying.
Shrink wrap: into the dumpster.
Factory sealing stickers: into the dumpster.
DVD case: into the dumpster.
DVD: one last goodbye, snapped in half, into the dumpster.
Thus end the days of R-rated ambivalence; now on to something better....
09 January 2008
Post 69
Big news!
Okay, so, in the last several posts, I've been doing a lot of exploring of morals &c, babbling endlessly, and reaching conclusions rarely and vaguely. This is all part of a phase that I've been going through recently that I think is now (thankfully) winding down. The year 2007 was an interesting one for me; I don't regret much of what I did with it, but looking back, I see I basically went through adolescence between the ages of 21 and 22 instead of the normal ages of 13 and 19. See, I never rebelled as a teenager because I never felt any reason to rebel. All that stuff about teenagers searching for identity was never something that I felt inclined to do as a teenager, but suddenly, as a young adult, I started doing all those teenagery things like listening to loud music, running away from home, pressing the limits of goodness in my media choices, and so forth; I would often look at the way I was living and think, "These really aren't the sorts of things that I am normally wont to do, so why am I being so dumb?" And then I'd shrug and think, "Oh, well. Not hurting anybody. Can't be too bad."
Well, now I'm done rebelling. I have a lot of theories as to why I was rebelling and what I was rebelling against, but I shan't be boring you with such things in this post, nevertheless I should like to share with you some of the conclusions that I have come to. These are intended to be answers to questions that I've raised in previous posts, but they are only answers for me; I hope they give you somethings to think about, but I also hope (more passionately, even) that you think about them a lot more than you accept them as your own--because they aren't your own; they're mine, and you can't have them! Unless, of course, you really want them, then, okay, whatever, it's your life; so long as you aren't hurting anyone, do whatever the heck you feel like.
(NOTE: each of the following resolutions will be hyperlinked to the post in which I initially explored the morals involved for convenience's sake; don't feel obligated to follow any of those links unless you wish to review my confused rantings.)
Resolution 1: I Am Morally Opposed to Profanity, but--
I am morally opposed to profanity, but I recognize its place in literature. I am one of those who believes that literature ought to be (and, of necessity, is) a reflection of the human condition; authors can try to whatever they will to write something that is totally irrelevant to humanity, but on some fundamental level, they have to draw from their own experiences sometime and cannot, therefore, ever fully detach themselves from the human condition. I believe that fiction, to really do its job, has to be believable, and to be believable, it must be realistic in at least some degree. Therefore, I have decided that I am okay with fiction having profanity in it and that I will feel no guilt should I ever make a creative work that employs profanity as a device.
That said, I am morally opposed to profanity in real life; I do not appreciate when those around me swear in any way, and I myself am through with swearing (Post 67 was a landmark in that it was the first time I myself have ever sworn; it is also decidedly the last such occasion). I am not going to be so uptight as to whine when others swear around me, but I am also going to cease my encouragement of colorful language (I have been very encouraging of it lately whenever I find myself in the company of those more brash than I).
Resolution 2: I Am Morally Opposed to Vulgarity, but--
My stance on vulgarity is almost identical to my stance on profanity except that I am not as accepting of it in fiction. I understand that vulgar things really do occur in the real world, but I believe that the portrayal of evil in art is best done by allusion and implication--off-screen action, so to speak, is not only less offensive, it is generally more artistic and can often be more poignant (as I watched Sweeny Todd, for example, I was struck with the realization that everybody knows that a razor across the throat will produce a lot of blood and that every regular movie-goer knows that modern cinema has the capability to make such a thing look very real--so where's the art in a gorefest? I believe that the whole movie could have been far more artistic and even a bit more intense had Tim Burton employed silhouettes and off-screen action; beyond making it cleaner, it would have made it higher quality).
Resolution 3: Generally, R-rated Movies Aren't Worth Admission Costs.
Upon deciding that I had no moral obligation to abstain from r-rated movies, I began searching for ones that I could watch. I wanted to have a list of movies that I could hold up as a sort of token of courage to all my namby-pamby Mormon peers to help them understand the truth about movies--it was part of this belated teenaged rebellion I was going through. Having searched around, I've decided that it isn't worth the effort. I still believe that the sweeping generalization that "All r-rated movies are bad" is unfair, but I now also believe that I would lose more in seeking good r-rated movies than I would lose in rejecting all r-rated movies. If someone says, "Here's this movie I really like; I think you should watch it," and it's rated R, I'll seriously consider watching the movie, but I'm not going to go out of my way to see The Passion of Christ or The Last of the Mahicans or Schindler's List or any of the other r-rated movies that are surely worth my time. I understand that certain parts of life--and especially historical facts--can only be rendered honestly in r-rated ways, and I don't believe that that makes watching them necessarily wrong, but as I am not especially interested in seeing any such movies right now, I'm not going to suffer through them for the sake of proving a point.
Resolution 4: Money Is--(sigh)--a Necessary Evil.
I still don't like money; I still don't desire it; I still fear it; I still think it is unfair, inconsistent, stupid, and ridiculous, but I'm not going to go shouting about how much I hate it because I don't have a better system to suggest.
This is certainly the most painful resolution, therefore it is also the shortest, therefore I am done.
Okay, so, in the last several posts, I've been doing a lot of exploring of morals &c, babbling endlessly, and reaching conclusions rarely and vaguely. This is all part of a phase that I've been going through recently that I think is now (thankfully) winding down. The year 2007 was an interesting one for me; I don't regret much of what I did with it, but looking back, I see I basically went through adolescence between the ages of 21 and 22 instead of the normal ages of 13 and 19. See, I never rebelled as a teenager because I never felt any reason to rebel. All that stuff about teenagers searching for identity was never something that I felt inclined to do as a teenager, but suddenly, as a young adult, I started doing all those teenagery things like listening to loud music, running away from home, pressing the limits of goodness in my media choices, and so forth; I would often look at the way I was living and think, "These really aren't the sorts of things that I am normally wont to do, so why am I being so dumb?" And then I'd shrug and think, "Oh, well. Not hurting anybody. Can't be too bad."
Well, now I'm done rebelling. I have a lot of theories as to why I was rebelling and what I was rebelling against, but I shan't be boring you with such things in this post, nevertheless I should like to share with you some of the conclusions that I have come to. These are intended to be answers to questions that I've raised in previous posts, but they are only answers for me; I hope they give you somethings to think about, but I also hope (more passionately, even) that you think about them a lot more than you accept them as your own--because they aren't your own; they're mine, and you can't have them! Unless, of course, you really want them, then, okay, whatever, it's your life; so long as you aren't hurting anyone, do whatever the heck you feel like.
(NOTE: each of the following resolutions will be hyperlinked to the post in which I initially explored the morals involved for convenience's sake; don't feel obligated to follow any of those links unless you wish to review my confused rantings.)
Resolution 1: I Am Morally Opposed to Profanity, but--
I am morally opposed to profanity, but I recognize its place in literature. I am one of those who believes that literature ought to be (and, of necessity, is) a reflection of the human condition; authors can try to whatever they will to write something that is totally irrelevant to humanity, but on some fundamental level, they have to draw from their own experiences sometime and cannot, therefore, ever fully detach themselves from the human condition. I believe that fiction, to really do its job, has to be believable, and to be believable, it must be realistic in at least some degree. Therefore, I have decided that I am okay with fiction having profanity in it and that I will feel no guilt should I ever make a creative work that employs profanity as a device.
That said, I am morally opposed to profanity in real life; I do not appreciate when those around me swear in any way, and I myself am through with swearing (Post 67 was a landmark in that it was the first time I myself have ever sworn; it is also decidedly the last such occasion). I am not going to be so uptight as to whine when others swear around me, but I am also going to cease my encouragement of colorful language (I have been very encouraging of it lately whenever I find myself in the company of those more brash than I).
Resolution 2: I Am Morally Opposed to Vulgarity, but--
My stance on vulgarity is almost identical to my stance on profanity except that I am not as accepting of it in fiction. I understand that vulgar things really do occur in the real world, but I believe that the portrayal of evil in art is best done by allusion and implication--off-screen action, so to speak, is not only less offensive, it is generally more artistic and can often be more poignant (as I watched Sweeny Todd, for example, I was struck with the realization that everybody knows that a razor across the throat will produce a lot of blood and that every regular movie-goer knows that modern cinema has the capability to make such a thing look very real--so where's the art in a gorefest? I believe that the whole movie could have been far more artistic and even a bit more intense had Tim Burton employed silhouettes and off-screen action; beyond making it cleaner, it would have made it higher quality).
Resolution 3: Generally, R-rated Movies Aren't Worth Admission Costs.
Upon deciding that I had no moral obligation to abstain from r-rated movies, I began searching for ones that I could watch. I wanted to have a list of movies that I could hold up as a sort of token of courage to all my namby-pamby Mormon peers to help them understand the truth about movies--it was part of this belated teenaged rebellion I was going through. Having searched around, I've decided that it isn't worth the effort. I still believe that the sweeping generalization that "All r-rated movies are bad" is unfair, but I now also believe that I would lose more in seeking good r-rated movies than I would lose in rejecting all r-rated movies. If someone says, "Here's this movie I really like; I think you should watch it," and it's rated R, I'll seriously consider watching the movie, but I'm not going to go out of my way to see The Passion of Christ or The Last of the Mahicans or Schindler's List or any of the other r-rated movies that are surely worth my time. I understand that certain parts of life--and especially historical facts--can only be rendered honestly in r-rated ways, and I don't believe that that makes watching them necessarily wrong, but as I am not especially interested in seeing any such movies right now, I'm not going to suffer through them for the sake of proving a point.
Resolution 4: Money Is--(sigh)--a Necessary Evil.
I still don't like money; I still don't desire it; I still fear it; I still think it is unfair, inconsistent, stupid, and ridiculous, but I'm not going to go shouting about how much I hate it because I don't have a better system to suggest.
This is certainly the most painful resolution, therefore it is also the shortest, therefore I am done.
27 December 2007
Post 62
Mea culpa....
So, I just got back from seeing Sweeney Todd. This raises a very important moral question--one that has nothing to do with murder or revenge or lying or anger or--or anything remotely related to the movie itself, actually. Sweeney Todd is rated R; I am a Mormon. Good Mormons don't watch R-rated movies; Sweeney Todd is my first.
It was an innocent mistake, really; my ignorance is to blame. It's a stupid story, really, so I shan't relate any details, but basically I thought the title was Swinging Todd and had no idea that it had nothing to do with WWII-era music and dance until I saw the movie poster at the theater.
Yes, I'm a moron. And you read my blog, so maybe you are, too.
Anyway, this post really isn't a movie review, but it also isn't the sort of writing in which the author babbles about his guilt and pleads for the readers' forgiveness; my intent here is to explore the rigidity of morality and the implications thereof.
While I was on my mission, I came up with a catchphrase that became a sort of--eh--the appellation of "battle cry" is entirely too enthusiastic; perhaps "mission statement" would be better--either way, I decided that I wanted to become the sort of person that could honestly be described this way, and I still do; I want people to say of me, "He's straight-laced but not high-strung."
A noble balance to seek, don't you think--being straight-laced without being high-strung--or maybe upright without being uptight? I mean, when I think of my theological role models--heck, when I think of pure Christianity--I just can't get into the Puritanical point of view that advocates such over-the-top piety that rules out all fun.
That said, a quick punch for my relative conservatism: I am appalled by those my age who think that life is all about fun and that fun=happiness, so don't think that that's the direction I'm headed in.
Strictness of morals has been a recurring theme in my ponderings throughout the year 2007, but I've yet to reach a solid conclusion about anything. Lately, I've simply done my best to keep all the commandments that I know and then followed every whim that pops into my head, hoping that my righteous living keeps me close enough to God and far enough from Satan that the former will prevail over the latter in domineering said whims. But that isn't a very stable philosophy to live on; I mean, don't you have to nail down and quantify and qualify morality at some point if you hope to be even remotely consistent? The poet in me says that morals cannot be pigeonholed so neatly, yet my internal philosopher (unschooled, though he may be) cries out that they must be and that the life I'm living dangerously resembles the ever-popular "Do what feels right" sentiment--the Lord of Misrule that has led many like me into riotous living.
Okay. I'm rambling. Let's refocus a bit; come on, little Schmetterling; stay the course, young man!
Music is the main reason that I have scrutinized my morals this year. Since I've returned from my mission (January '07), my musical preferences have gotten progressively harder; whereas in high school, Billy Joel's "Pressure" was too intense for my palette, I now regularly listen to Ozzy and Aerosmith--I even enjoy things like "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger and occasional Metallica songs. Granted, I'm no hard rocker, and the moral dilemma presented by my choice of music really has nothing to do with how hard a song is; the real question here has to do with profanity and vulgarity (I'll draw a distinction shortly) because a lot of these artists employ them.
Here I wish to make a couple of nearly-arbitrary definitions for two closely related words: profanity and vulgarity. For the sake of this discussion, profanity is cussing, and vulgarity is shady content. So Bon Jovi's "Keep the Faith" is profane without being vulgar; Aerosmith's "Rag Doll" is vulgar without being profane. Good enough? Hope so....
So let me say here that I really have no problem with profanity. Maybe that makes me a bad Mormon, but that's how it stands. I myself am not one to cuss, but I think that even a "bad word" can sometimes be the right word. Jon Bon Jovi taught me this; "Keep the Faith" and "Someday I'll Be Saturday Night" are two very powerful, beautiful songs, I think, and I feel that the profanity in them are more than just fitting but actually beautiful in their own right.
Now, granted, profanity is rarely beautiful; it is, in fact, repulsive most times, and I choose not to cuss because I feel my vocabulary is strong enough to allow me to express myself in other ways. Just watch, oh, say, The Freedom Writer--a movie I like a lot and actually own--and you'll see that someone can cuss a lot without being very good at it. Profanity, to me, is like a bitter herb or a nasty pigment: it ought to be used but sparingly and only when nothing else will do. This is not to say that Freedom Writers would be better without the cussing--it would probably come out sounding sanitized and unconvincing--I'm just saying that in music especially (and perhaps poetry also, though I have no convincing examples there), sometimes bad words are good words.
Vulgarity is much different, and this is where things get rather problematic for me and my morals. On the whole, I am opposed to vulgarity. I don't like things that are dirty, crass, suggestive, raucous--I don't like vulgar things! This is not to say I've never laughed at a dirty joke, but I kinda wish that I could say I haven't. I really--I just--I don't like it, and maybe I'm only mollycoddling myself, but I kinda wish it'd go away!
That said, it isn't as true as I wish it were (honestly, I was only looking to use the word "mollycoddle" or one of its derivatives), but it's pretty close to the truth; I really don't like vulgarity, but I do see its place in art as well as reality. Opposition in all things, right? And in the sanitized life I live, I sometimes thirst for color, for worldly things--not to be worldly, but to--to--to be in the world--yaknow--without being of the world.
Since I'm probably not done referencing it, I'm just gonna put the lyrics to Bon Jovi's "Someday I'll Be Saturday Night" here in their entirety, and then I'll kinda pick 'em apart so you can see what I mean (I'll number the verses for referencing):
Okay, so that isn't their entirety (there's some repetition-to-fade-out kind of stuff at the end that I chopped off), but that's the bulk of it--unedited.
Kay. So. Let's look at this a bit, yeah? Check out that first verse. OHMYPOORVIRGINEARS, he said the S word! Yes. He did. It's vernacular; you got a better suggestion? You really think a kid my age in that circumstance is gonna say something more sanitary than that? Get real! So there is a meager defense of profanity, but that's not really why I included these lyrics.
Check out verses 2 and 3; 2 talks about prostitution and abuse, and the speaker in 3 is suicidal. But here is the important part: it doesn't advocate these things. Orson Scott Card wrote an essay (maybe several, I dunno) about the place of evil in fiction; he said the important part is to portray evil without justifying it, and I feel that this song is a moving example of that. It'd probably be better if you heard it rather than read it, but I hope you can get the idea. Verse 2 tears me apart whenever I hear it; it's so incredibly sad and says so much about the pain of abuse and the sorrow of regret. 3 to me is the most powerful of all, though; I imagine many parents (mine included, perhaps) would be offended by a song that says "I want to blow myself away," but people like that are taking things out of context because here we have some poor youth saying he's tired of life and just wants to kill himself but then give that stirring refrain of hope: maybe tomorrow will be better, so I gotta hold on the best I can. To me, the contrast of feeble hope in the midst of such terrible times is powerful enough to justify the use of profanity and even vulgarity.
That said, I'm still steadfastly against things that advocate vulgarity. For example, Aerosmith's "Rag Doll" is just about the catchiest song I've ever heard, but it's--uh--not really the sort of song that I could recommend to you.
So those are my morals; I think they're pretty good, but I still struggle with them. See, I'm aware of my failings; I know I'm not invulnerable. Earlier this year--back in the spring sometime--I went on a road trip to visit a sister in Flagstaff. Before going, I checked out a bunch of CDs from the library to keep me company while I drove. One was "Devil's Got a New Disguise: The Very Best of Aerosmith." It is because of that CD that I know that I like a lot of Aerosmith's songs; they are a very talented group, and I enjoy their music. I was listening to that CD as I pulled into Flagstaff and had some of those songs ("Rag Doll" included) stuck in my head that whole weekend.
One night while I was there, I had a dream. I don't remember anything about the dream except that it disturbed me when I awoke because someone had cussed in it. I'm okay with cussing being around me, but I don't cherish the thought of it getting inside. As long as I can remember, I've been fed cute little metaphors like "You can't roll in the mud and not get dirty," but I never really thought that such things applied to me because I'm not one to dabble in dirtiness; I just tolerate it.
Now, this isn't to say that I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up and *POOF* I'll be a pottymouth, but I can't help but wonder what the implications are of having dreams I don't approve of.
Anyway, that's the pondering I've been doing this year, and it's raised questions like the following:
So. Sweeney Todd. What is my opinion of The Demon Barber of Fleet Street? Honestly, it's a quality flick. Cinematography, writing, acting, singing--all very fine. The music was amazing. But I would never ever ever ever EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER recommend it to anyone because it is an incredibly demented story.
That said, I've kinda been hungry for catharsis lately; I've been looking for a good tragedy for a few days now. Just last night, I got to thinking about what I said about Cast Away, and I wondered whether I could find an irony more painful than that. And I did. Sweeney Todd has the most painful irony imaginable: a man seeking to avenge his dead wife ends up killing her (I figure that, since I'm not recommending this movie, I may as well ruin the ending for my readers). That's right--turns out she isn't dead at all, and he kills her (not knowing it's her, of course; he finds that out afterward, and then he himself gets killed).
AND CATHARSIS CAME GUSHING OUT OF THE SCREEN!!!!!!
Or something like that....
So, I just got back from seeing Sweeney Todd. This raises a very important moral question--one that has nothing to do with murder or revenge or lying or anger or--or anything remotely related to the movie itself, actually. Sweeney Todd is rated R; I am a Mormon. Good Mormons don't watch R-rated movies; Sweeney Todd is my first.
It was an innocent mistake, really; my ignorance is to blame. It's a stupid story, really, so I shan't relate any details, but basically I thought the title was Swinging Todd and had no idea that it had nothing to do with WWII-era music and dance until I saw the movie poster at the theater.
Yes, I'm a moron. And you read my blog, so maybe you are, too.
Anyway, this post really isn't a movie review, but it also isn't the sort of writing in which the author babbles about his guilt and pleads for the readers' forgiveness; my intent here is to explore the rigidity of morality and the implications thereof.
While I was on my mission, I came up with a catchphrase that became a sort of--eh--the appellation of "battle cry" is entirely too enthusiastic; perhaps "mission statement" would be better--either way, I decided that I wanted to become the sort of person that could honestly be described this way, and I still do; I want people to say of me, "He's straight-laced but not high-strung."
A noble balance to seek, don't you think--being straight-laced without being high-strung--or maybe upright without being uptight? I mean, when I think of my theological role models--heck, when I think of pure Christianity--I just can't get into the Puritanical point of view that advocates such over-the-top piety that rules out all fun.
That said, a quick punch for my relative conservatism: I am appalled by those my age who think that life is all about fun and that fun=happiness, so don't think that that's the direction I'm headed in.
Strictness of morals has been a recurring theme in my ponderings throughout the year 2007, but I've yet to reach a solid conclusion about anything. Lately, I've simply done my best to keep all the commandments that I know and then followed every whim that pops into my head, hoping that my righteous living keeps me close enough to God and far enough from Satan that the former will prevail over the latter in domineering said whims. But that isn't a very stable philosophy to live on; I mean, don't you have to nail down and quantify and qualify morality at some point if you hope to be even remotely consistent? The poet in me says that morals cannot be pigeonholed so neatly, yet my internal philosopher (unschooled, though he may be) cries out that they must be and that the life I'm living dangerously resembles the ever-popular "Do what feels right" sentiment--the Lord of Misrule that has led many like me into riotous living.
Okay. I'm rambling. Let's refocus a bit; come on, little Schmetterling; stay the course, young man!
Music is the main reason that I have scrutinized my morals this year. Since I've returned from my mission (January '07), my musical preferences have gotten progressively harder; whereas in high school, Billy Joel's "Pressure" was too intense for my palette, I now regularly listen to Ozzy and Aerosmith--I even enjoy things like "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger and occasional Metallica songs. Granted, I'm no hard rocker, and the moral dilemma presented by my choice of music really has nothing to do with how hard a song is; the real question here has to do with profanity and vulgarity (I'll draw a distinction shortly) because a lot of these artists employ them.
Here I wish to make a couple of nearly-arbitrary definitions for two closely related words: profanity and vulgarity. For the sake of this discussion, profanity is cussing, and vulgarity is shady content. So Bon Jovi's "Keep the Faith" is profane without being vulgar; Aerosmith's "Rag Doll" is vulgar without being profane. Good enough? Hope so....
So let me say here that I really have no problem with profanity. Maybe that makes me a bad Mormon, but that's how it stands. I myself am not one to cuss, but I think that even a "bad word" can sometimes be the right word. Jon Bon Jovi taught me this; "Keep the Faith" and "Someday I'll Be Saturday Night" are two very powerful, beautiful songs, I think, and I feel that the profanity in them are more than just fitting but actually beautiful in their own right.
Now, granted, profanity is rarely beautiful; it is, in fact, repulsive most times, and I choose not to cuss because I feel my vocabulary is strong enough to allow me to express myself in other ways. Just watch, oh, say, The Freedom Writer--a movie I like a lot and actually own--and you'll see that someone can cuss a lot without being very good at it. Profanity, to me, is like a bitter herb or a nasty pigment: it ought to be used but sparingly and only when nothing else will do. This is not to say that Freedom Writers would be better without the cussing--it would probably come out sounding sanitized and unconvincing--I'm just saying that in music especially (and perhaps poetry also, though I have no convincing examples there), sometimes bad words are good words.
Vulgarity is much different, and this is where things get rather problematic for me and my morals. On the whole, I am opposed to vulgarity. I don't like things that are dirty, crass, suggestive, raucous--I don't like vulgar things! This is not to say I've never laughed at a dirty joke, but I kinda wish that I could say I haven't. I really--I just--I don't like it, and maybe I'm only mollycoddling myself, but I kinda wish it'd go away!
That said, it isn't as true as I wish it were (honestly, I was only looking to use the word "mollycoddle" or one of its derivatives), but it's pretty close to the truth; I really don't like vulgarity, but I do see its place in art as well as reality. Opposition in all things, right? And in the sanitized life I live, I sometimes thirst for color, for worldly things--not to be worldly, but to--to--to be in the world--yaknow--without being of the world.
Since I'm probably not done referencing it, I'm just gonna put the lyrics to Bon Jovi's "Someday I'll Be Saturday Night" here in their entirety, and then I'll kinda pick 'em apart so you can see what I mean (I'll number the verses for referencing):
Hey, man I'm alive; I'm takin' each day and night at a time.
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday Ill be Saturday night.
(1)Hey, my name is Jim; where did I go wrong?
My life's a bargain basement; all the good shit's gone.
I just can't hold a job; where do I belong?
I'm sleeping in my car; my dreams move on.
(2)My name is Billy-Jean; my love is bought and sold.
I'm only sixteen; I feel a hundred years old.
My foster daddy went, took my innocence away;
The street life ain't much better, but at least I'm gettin' paid!
And Tuesday just might go my way;
It cant get worse than yesterday.
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind,
But somehow I'll survive.
Hey man I'm alive; I'm takin' each day and night at a time.
Yeah, I'm down, but I know Ill get by.
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life
Like I ain't got nothin' but this roll of the dice;
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
(3)Now I can't say my name or tell you where I am;
I want to blow myself away--don't know if I can.
I wish that I could be in some other time and place
With someone else's soul, someone else's face!
Oh, Tuesday just might go my way;
It cant get worse than yesterday.
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind,
But somehow Ill survive.
Hey, man I'm alive; I'm takin' each day and night at a time.
Yeah, I'm down, but I know I'll get by.
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life!
I'm gonna pick up all the pieces and what's left of my pride.
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday Ill be Saturday night.
(1)Hey, my name is Jim; where did I go wrong?
My life's a bargain basement; all the good shit's gone.
I just can't hold a job; where do I belong?
I'm sleeping in my car; my dreams move on.
(2)My name is Billy-Jean; my love is bought and sold.
I'm only sixteen; I feel a hundred years old.
My foster daddy went, took my innocence away;
The street life ain't much better, but at least I'm gettin' paid!
And Tuesday just might go my way;
It cant get worse than yesterday.
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind,
But somehow I'll survive.
Hey man I'm alive; I'm takin' each day and night at a time.
Yeah, I'm down, but I know Ill get by.
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life
Like I ain't got nothin' but this roll of the dice;
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
(3)Now I can't say my name or tell you where I am;
I want to blow myself away--don't know if I can.
I wish that I could be in some other time and place
With someone else's soul, someone else's face!
Oh, Tuesday just might go my way;
It cant get worse than yesterday.
Thursdays, Fridays ain't been kind,
But somehow Ill survive.
Hey, man I'm alive; I'm takin' each day and night at a time.
Yeah, I'm down, but I know I'll get by.
Hey hey hey hey, man gotta live my life!
I'm gonna pick up all the pieces and what's left of my pride.
I'm feelin' like a Monday, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
Okay, so that isn't their entirety (there's some repetition-to-fade-out kind of stuff at the end that I chopped off), but that's the bulk of it--unedited.
Kay. So. Let's look at this a bit, yeah? Check out that first verse. OHMYPOORVIRGINEARS, he said the S word! Yes. He did. It's vernacular; you got a better suggestion? You really think a kid my age in that circumstance is gonna say something more sanitary than that? Get real! So there is a meager defense of profanity, but that's not really why I included these lyrics.
Check out verses 2 and 3; 2 talks about prostitution and abuse, and the speaker in 3 is suicidal. But here is the important part: it doesn't advocate these things. Orson Scott Card wrote an essay (maybe several, I dunno) about the place of evil in fiction; he said the important part is to portray evil without justifying it, and I feel that this song is a moving example of that. It'd probably be better if you heard it rather than read it, but I hope you can get the idea. Verse 2 tears me apart whenever I hear it; it's so incredibly sad and says so much about the pain of abuse and the sorrow of regret. 3 to me is the most powerful of all, though; I imagine many parents (mine included, perhaps) would be offended by a song that says "I want to blow myself away," but people like that are taking things out of context because here we have some poor youth saying he's tired of life and just wants to kill himself but then give that stirring refrain of hope: maybe tomorrow will be better, so I gotta hold on the best I can. To me, the contrast of feeble hope in the midst of such terrible times is powerful enough to justify the use of profanity and even vulgarity.
That said, I'm still steadfastly against things that advocate vulgarity. For example, Aerosmith's "Rag Doll" is just about the catchiest song I've ever heard, but it's--uh--not really the sort of song that I could recommend to you.
So those are my morals; I think they're pretty good, but I still struggle with them. See, I'm aware of my failings; I know I'm not invulnerable. Earlier this year--back in the spring sometime--I went on a road trip to visit a sister in Flagstaff. Before going, I checked out a bunch of CDs from the library to keep me company while I drove. One was "Devil's Got a New Disguise: The Very Best of Aerosmith." It is because of that CD that I know that I like a lot of Aerosmith's songs; they are a very talented group, and I enjoy their music. I was listening to that CD as I pulled into Flagstaff and had some of those songs ("Rag Doll" included) stuck in my head that whole weekend.
One night while I was there, I had a dream. I don't remember anything about the dream except that it disturbed me when I awoke because someone had cussed in it. I'm okay with cussing being around me, but I don't cherish the thought of it getting inside. As long as I can remember, I've been fed cute little metaphors like "You can't roll in the mud and not get dirty," but I never really thought that such things applied to me because I'm not one to dabble in dirtiness; I just tolerate it.
Now, this isn't to say that I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up and *POOF* I'll be a pottymouth, but I can't help but wonder what the implications are of having dreams I don't approve of.
Anyway, that's the pondering I've been doing this year, and it's raised questions like the following:
- How much badness ought I tolerate?
- Does supporting culturally unsanitized art make me an unsanitary person?
- Even though portraying and advocating evil are two very different things, they are sometimes hard to differentiate between; is the line, then, too dangerous to safely play around?
So. Sweeney Todd. What is my opinion of The Demon Barber of Fleet Street? Honestly, it's a quality flick. Cinematography, writing, acting, singing--all very fine. The music was amazing. But I would never ever ever ever EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER recommend it to anyone because it is an incredibly demented story.
That said, I've kinda been hungry for catharsis lately; I've been looking for a good tragedy for a few days now. Just last night, I got to thinking about what I said about Cast Away, and I wondered whether I could find an irony more painful than that. And I did. Sweeney Todd has the most painful irony imaginable: a man seeking to avenge his dead wife ends up killing her (I figure that, since I'm not recommending this movie, I may as well ruin the ending for my readers). That's right--turns out she isn't dead at all, and he kills her (not knowing it's her, of course; he finds that out afterward, and then he himself gets killed).
AND CATHARSIS CAME GUSHING OUT OF THE SCREEN!!!!!!
Or something like that....
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