I'm drawing battle lines. In the war between realism versus escapism, the latter seems to always win handily when it comes to the general public's cultural preferences, at least on the commercial front. Box office receipts and television ratings overwhelmingly support the fact that we, as a whole, prefer crap with questionable entertainment value over movies with more "challenging" or "difficult" subject matter. Quality is apparently irrelevant; it seems that even if one film is vastly superior to the other, we'll still go for the cheap laughs or corny romance. But why?
I witnessed the front lines of the conflict this weekend, when I went to see "Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push' by Sapphire" and found myself submerged in a terrifying Running of the Bulls-esque scenario in the middle of downtown Boston last Friday.
The perpetrators: teenage girls and their raging hormones.
The victims: me, along with everyone else at the theater with a penis and/or a post-1993 date of birth.
The cause: the opening night of the abstinence education propaganda known as "The Twilight Saga: New Moon."
"Precious" is an extraordinary, devastating, searing piece of work. My first thought when I recovered from my post-film daze: if only the throng of squealing "Twi-hards" in the lobby was clamoring so desperately to see "Precious."
I get that people crave to be entertained, but the stark disparity in the commercial fortunes of these two films adds a new layer to that point of view. I'm just puzzled as to why (how?) "New Moon" made 14 times more money this past weekend than "Precious." Why do audiences flock en masse to the mindless and flee from that which challenges and provokes?
An obvious argument is that "New Moon" is easier to sit through than "Precious." The latter depicts the story of an obese, pregnant (by her father, for the second time), illiterate, impoverished, horribly abused, HIV-positive, black 16-year-old. And, yes, the movie's just as depressing as it sounds. But "New Moon" sounds even rougher; according to various critical eviscerations, it's utterly insufferable and somehow entirely devoid of a narrative. If I were a glutton for punishment, I'd be first in line for "New Moon" over "Precious."
In real life, I'm drawn to people to whom I can relate, but apparently this principle doesn't apply to the general public's taste in culture. There's a fine line between the "comfortable," to which we flock, and the "familiar," from which we run. The hot, brilliant doctors of the predictable, cliché-ridden "Grey's Anatomy" seem to appeal more to the public than the honest portrayals of painfully relatable high school scenarios in swiftly cancelled relics like "My So-Called Life" and "Freaks and Greeks." Aspiration takes precedence over familiarity.
Beyond the horrific realities of Precious' circumstances, she's a fairly normal, relatable teenager: She longs for a boyfriend, for acceptance and to look like a model. By contrast, Bella of "New Moon" seems to have it all: she's gorgeous and waif-like and at the center of a love triangle between an oft-shirtless duo. Teenage girls would obviously rather be — and thus would apparently rather see — Bella than Precious.
Phenomenal movies like "The Hurt Locker" (2009) about bomb diffusers in Iraq fail commercially, while more fantastical pictures like "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen" (2009) succeed spectacularly, despite analogous levels of violence. It might just be that the realities of life are rough enough without the situations staring back at you on a massive movie screen — it's like cringing when you hear a recording of your own voice.
So it boils down to this: Maybe, if "New Moon" is sold out next weekend, check out "Precious." It's just as rough a sit, but it's actually worth your time and money. Realism may yet win the battle over schlocky escapism.
