Rutland Barrington as Captain Corcoran Though "bother it" I may
occasionally say,
I never use a big, big D.
– Captain Corcoran, G & S's "H.M.S. Pinafore"
No, my war isn't with "damn"; that once-taboo epithet has lost most of its bite, thanks to Clark Gable and countless others who have uttered it over the years. The battle I fight is with a word which is not offensive in and of itself, but which can be when it represents an unwillingness to accept an artist's decision to express certain aspects of life over other ones.
The word is "depressing".
How many times I've bristled at hearing someone say of a play or novel or movie, "It's good, but it's depressing." My inner response is: "Why 'but'?" Would the same person ever say, "It's good, but it's uplifting"? Why are some people so quick to use the word "depressing" as anything from a warning to a pejorative?
My views on this matter have led more than a few individuals to form some misconceptions about me. Chief among these is that, a priori, I like works of art that are sad, grim or seemingly without hope. This is emphatically not the case; it would be accurate to say that I don't mind if a work of art is depressing. If an artist has produced something in which I find worth and depth, irrespective of its emotional tenor, I am uplifted by having been reached and touched by it. What care I if the bad guys win, whether Boy or Girl eventually gets Girl or Boy, or if it ends in a minor key?
Some people are maddeningly fickle: they accept feel-good art without hesitation – even if they readily acknowledge its inferior quality – but balk at anything which yields a less-than-happy ending, although it is the obvious work of a master. One of the most specious arguments in support of this viewpoint is: "The world is such a depressing place already. Why should I spend time watching or reading something that will just remind me of that? I'd rather spend my time with something that will take my mind off sad things." Hardnosed though I may seem, I regard that viewpoint as escapism – using the work of an artist as an anesthetic against reality.
One could reject a lot of great art indulging in such a mindset. Imagine an eager willingness to see any of Shakespeare's comedies, but steering clear of Macbeth or Hamlet or King Lear because they are so emotionally wrenching. Consider the incomplete picture one would have of a great composer like Tchaikovsky if his "Pathétique" Symphony or the Piano Trio were eschewed because their final movements die away in despair, depriving audiences of rock-'em-sock-'em, ovation-inducing endings. And could anyone really hope to comprehend an artist as penetrating as Ingmar Bergman if one only embraced his "lighter" works and avoided at all costs such masterpieces as The Virgin Spring, Persona and Cries and Whispers?
I don't believe in unconditional love as far as creative artists go; even Beethoven was capable of such horrors as the Choral Fantasy and Wellington's Victory. But I do think it somewhat childish to reject certain works of a great artist because of their effect on the putative delicacy of one's sensibilities, and not because of their relative merit. Those who make such choices don't seem to realize how suspect their aesthetics appear as a result. It's not unlike a personal relationship: if you want the passion and the understanding, you may just have to put up with some emotional baggage and a little snoring, too.
"Depressing" be damned.
_
occasionally say,
I never use a big, big D.
– Captain Corcoran, G & S's "H.M.S. Pinafore"
No, my war isn't with "damn"; that once-taboo epithet has lost most of its bite, thanks to Clark Gable and countless others who have uttered it over the years. The battle I fight is with a word which is not offensive in and of itself, but which can be when it represents an unwillingness to accept an artist's decision to express certain aspects of life over other ones.
The word is "depressing".
How many times I've bristled at hearing someone say of a play or novel or movie, "It's good, but it's depressing." My inner response is: "Why 'but'?" Would the same person ever say, "It's good, but it's uplifting"? Why are some people so quick to use the word "depressing" as anything from a warning to a pejorative?
My views on this matter have led more than a few individuals to form some misconceptions about me. Chief among these is that, a priori, I like works of art that are sad, grim or seemingly without hope. This is emphatically not the case; it would be accurate to say that I don't mind if a work of art is depressing. If an artist has produced something in which I find worth and depth, irrespective of its emotional tenor, I am uplifted by having been reached and touched by it. What care I if the bad guys win, whether Boy or Girl eventually gets Girl or Boy, or if it ends in a minor key?
Some people are maddeningly fickle: they accept feel-good art without hesitation – even if they readily acknowledge its inferior quality – but balk at anything which yields a less-than-happy ending, although it is the obvious work of a master. One of the most specious arguments in support of this viewpoint is: "The world is such a depressing place already. Why should I spend time watching or reading something that will just remind me of that? I'd rather spend my time with something that will take my mind off sad things." Hardnosed though I may seem, I regard that viewpoint as escapism – using the work of an artist as an anesthetic against reality.
One could reject a lot of great art indulging in such a mindset. Imagine an eager willingness to see any of Shakespeare's comedies, but steering clear of Macbeth or Hamlet or King Lear because they are so emotionally wrenching. Consider the incomplete picture one would have of a great composer like Tchaikovsky if his "Pathétique" Symphony or the Piano Trio were eschewed because their final movements die away in despair, depriving audiences of rock-'em-sock-'em, ovation-inducing endings. And could anyone really hope to comprehend an artist as penetrating as Ingmar Bergman if one only embraced his "lighter" works and avoided at all costs such masterpieces as The Virgin Spring, Persona and Cries and Whispers?
I don't believe in unconditional love as far as creative artists go; even Beethoven was capable of such horrors as the Choral Fantasy and Wellington's Victory. But I do think it somewhat childish to reject certain works of a great artist because of their effect on the putative delicacy of one's sensibilities, and not because of their relative merit. Those who make such choices don't seem to realize how suspect their aesthetics appear as a result. It's not unlike a personal relationship: if you want the passion and the understanding, you may just have to put up with some emotional baggage and a little snoring, too.
"Depressing" be damned.
_
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