[This piece comes in the wake of some people accusing filmmakers of having “ulterior motives” by picking controversial stories to tell.]
I’m not in the habit of judging people. And I’m certainly not in the habit of judging filmmakers.
I can choose to watch their work and I can choose to review it if I want to. If I do not like what I see, I can choose to refrain from commenting on it, or I can choose to write about what I did not like. I have that power over filmmakers, and to be honest, I do enjoy it. It gives me the right to decide something for myself.
But sometimes, I fear it. Why do I fear it? Am I fearful of them tracking me down and hitting me on the head with a brick? Maybe. But the fear I’m talking about is a different kind of fear. I fear I may be wrong about it.
There was a tiny problem I used to face often when I started out writing reviews: If a film I watch contains themes or sequences I have an objection to, because they go against my morals, do I call that film “bad”? Just because the filmmaker does not believe in the same things I do? That the filmmaker is so tactless that they decide what I should believe in? I believe I saw something objectionable in a film. Now I am outraged that someone was trying to convince me it is right. That’s right; that filmmaker had ulterior motives! Otherwise why would they include it in the film?
If that is how it works, I am not aware of it. Is there a rule written anywhere that people who make movies – or any kind of people, really – have to believe in the same things I do? Or have to believe in the same things that the general consensus says is right?
The answer is no. Filmmakers are not obligated to believe in the “right” things, and they are not obligated to tell us what’s “right.” They are not obligated to make “right” films either.
A film is a form of expression. It’s a cliché. We all know that. It can choose to tell a story or just be the product of a person experimenting with the form. Or maybe discuss an idea. It can be about anything. It can be about everything.
When I am watching a film, I do not make the mistake of forgetting that it is subjective. It’s a person’s viewpoint. It does not represent what a group thinks, or an industry, or a community, or an entire people. It represents what one person thinks. Maybe two or three. But definitely not a large number of people, simply because a single person cannot speak with a degree of conviction for a large group.
I’m allowed to expect things from it. I’m allowed to expect sensitivity on the part of the makers, partly because no filmmaker knows what kind of an audience their film will garner. They don’t know who will watch their film, where or when. The target audience may not be the target audience after all. If the themes in a certain film are delicate, they should be dealt with in a certain way. Complete freedom dictates that a film can be made in any way the maker wants to, but a little sensitivity never hurt anyone. Why upset anyone for no good reason? Now that is moral, but again, it is not imperative.
In the four years I have spent writing film reviews, I never pinned a label on someone and told them they’re something. I have chosen to be a critic or an admirer of their work, but not of them as a person. I have never indulged in trying to figure out what kind of people they are from the work they have done. My ethics prevent me from making that judgment.
Cinema moves me, but seldom does it carry enough weight to influence the way I think. I’m too proud a person to that gullible. And I do feel a pinch of disappointment when a controversial story is told safely, without trying to actually say anything new.
There is no “right” film and there is no “wrong” film. If such an concept is introduced, absurd it very well may be, it's bound to become a threat to creative freedom. Something that is worse than a “wrong” film is a film made out of fear. Such a film does not indicate a healthy environment for artistic freedom, and a creatively oppressed country is not a free country.
We can choose to listen to filmmakers, argue with them or embrace them. The choice is ours. But we cannot reach conclusions about their character or intentions. In doing so, we are stepping into shoes too big for us. And those shoes didn’t belong to us in the first place.
We can choose to listen to filmmakers, argue with them or embrace them. The choice is ours. But we cannot reach conclusions about their character or intentions. In doing so, we are stepping into shoes too big for us. And those shoes didn’t belong to us in the first place.
(Not For Reproduction)
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