By Felix Hughes
To many, Forest Gump is a heart-warming, if oversimplified, classic, but in looking at the more negative reviews there is a common criticism: that it is “conservative propaganda” and a “conservative fantasy.” This criticism of a movie as propaganda might seem far fetched, but it’s not uncommon.
The holiday classic, It’s a Wonderful Life, seemed to have irked both sides of the political spectrum, with the FBI once viewing it as communist propaganda, while some left-wing critics accuse it of being capitalist propaganda. In both films we can see an issue of film criticism that has become highly prevalent in today’s film industry: the extent to which politics and film intersect.
In the run-up to the release of Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, a GQ article wrote that it should be mandatory viewing for men to “support women” and to not watch the movie would mean “failing to see women as human beings.” Thus, the viewing of the movie becomes not about its quality as a film but about the importance of its political message.
If a film is ‘important’ – viewing not because of its qualities as a film but of the importance of its message – we lose the ability to properly critique the film. The film becomes stripped of its entertainment and cultural appeal in favour of a broader political statement, and therefore, we no longer see the film for what it is—a film.
We forget about Gerwig’s screenplay that can keep a nonlinear story from breaking apart and we forget about the excellent ensemble cast; rather, it is simply viewed as a political victory for women in a male-dominated industry. This is not to say the film isn’t such a victory, however, to view through this lens instead of championing it as an exceptional film in and of itself means we do not see it as a film that we can praise and critique but instead something we can only view as ‘important.’
“Thus, the viewing of the movie becomes not about its quality as a film but about the importance of its political message. ”
Viewing a film through the lens of its importance to society, leads to an unfair critique of films when they do not offer the political message we want. In a review of Quentin Tarantino’s, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, social critic Caitlin Flanagan criticises the movie’s ending in which the protagonists Rick Dalton and Cliff Booth fight off the Manson family. She objects to the film’s making a hero out of the characters, stating, “we can’t have a movie like this” in the current American political climate because “it affirms things the culture wants killed.”
Flanagan is criticising the film for making heroes out of the men in the situation as opposed to the real-life victim, Sharon Tate, who in the film remains in a nearby house undisturbed. The film’s ending, as Flanagan sees it, makes a dangerous political statement that glorifies male machismo and objectifies women.
Yet, by arguing that the film must have a politically-favourable ending reduces the importance of the actual ending in favour of something less artistic and more didactic. Cliff and Rick get their happy ending; they get to return to their days of Hollywood success. Sharon receives a bittersweet ending in allowing her to exist, not as a victim of a horrible crime, but instead as a successful actress living her life as she wanted. This ending is about giving Sharon “that life back.” The film’s ending is powerful – insisting on an ending that makes a political point would ruin that power in favour of some kind of moral lesson.
I come to my final argument, the loss of escapism, by way of this loss of meaning. Political discussion is the very opposite of escapism. At its most pessimistic, it reminds us of the worst of society and the walls that bound us in them. Film is designed to offer something else; to show the very artistic creations society has to offer on the big screen, a medium that is to be praised and criticized with equal grandeur.
Yet, if we view films from an inherently political lens, we lose that. Instead of loving a film because of inventive direction or a powerful score, it leads us to like a film because of whether it aligns with our political opinions.
Both Dune movies received negative feedback for glorifying the white saviour narrative. Some even called the films “fascist,” despite the original book and the films’ intention to subvert the trope. Filmmaker Dennis Villeneuve made it clear that subversion was his intention.
To ignore this subversion and take the film at face value is a failure to appreciate the journey the lead, Paul Atreid, takes from protagonist to antagonist. Thus, presenting the fine line between virtue and vice. If Dune is interpreted from a viewpoint of praising the white saviour narrative because it includes such a narrative, you no longer view it as a film to be enjoyed or analysed but as a political statement to despise.
Now, approaching films from a political perspective is not inherently wrong. In certain films it is a necessity; many films do have an important and worthy message. But to insist on such a link risks destroying the way we watch, criticise, and most importantly, enjoy films.
Image courtesy of Vanity Fair.