We Need Movies.

It’s funny. I’ve often tried to measure the worth of my dream career, which is film criticism. Oftentimes I fail to find its merit. People are building things, discovering new horizons, curing us of our greatest afflictions, saving people… With a plethora of greatness of careers, what role does my pesky little “Is that a job?” have.

It wasn’t until a momentary existential crisis I realized my dream job has worth because its subject has worth. It’s no secret that books are heralded as greatness, the accessible and noble art with which all good and (at least somewhat) intelligent people must pursue. I love literature like the next guy. Books have incredible worth. As much as students whine and moan about the English class they are in and the monthly 400-page novel they must analyze, I am certain that at least everybody has a book that has impacted them dearly.

           

For my generation, this was J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series. It wasn’t just an engaging 40,000-page adventure that people have an unhealthy obsession over because of that cheap thrill. It taught us about humanity and how to be good to our fellow man and those who are different than us; it created relatable characters who we can learn from in similar circumstances (outside of defeating the Dark Lord); it showed us the reality of death and the beauty of life, of friends, of family. I’m sure I’m forgetting some things but ask your local millennial; they can fill you in on the rest.

In many ways, film and television are the “new book.” (In reality, they’re merely a companion in the art of story, but they function much the same as books.) Much like we need books, I believe we need movies. In many ways, it’s easier to relate to a character in a movie than in a book. Sure, we can technically know a character better in a book because we have several paragraphs that inform us about them and get in their head. Yet in a film, you see the actor’s portrayal of a character: you see this representation of a character go through events and relatable crises; lines stick out more because you heard them—they’re not merely phantoms of impressions that most books tend to leave behind (often one has to read a book multiple times to remember a notable quote).

I think of Begin Again, a recent musical film with Kiera Knightley and Adam Levine. As Levine sang “Lost Stars” in the final scene, I was blown back by how the scene—the lyrics, the performers’ expressions, the melody, Levine’s tone—affected me; I related to them. It brought me back to a time when a relationship with a friend was at its nadir and later remedied. I think of The Tree of Life, Terrence Malick’s magnum opus. The film impacts me spiritually in the way only a film can, with stunning imagery and effective musical cues, with a difficult theme to tackle—our place in the universe and our relationship with the God that made it. I think of the TV show The Office and the many times I felt a personal connection with these characters, relating with the real-life situations they go through outside all the chaos. Even now Andy Bernard’s farewell line has relentlessly hooked itself to my mind and emotions as I’m in a whole new and unfamiliar college environment: “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.” And I think, in the wake of a controversial and divisive election, we all enjoy a good two-hour musical or comedy to take us out of the vitriol and sadness that has invaded our casual conversation.

           

Movies have an underrated worth. They have the artful quality of literature yet transcendentally affect the common man in all of us. As much you may celebrate the high art of a The Grapes of Wrath or The Scarlet Letter or (somehow) Things Fall Apart, you must admit you were captivated with Ross and Rachel’s many “breaks” (or when Chandler and Monica got together!) and the fate of Luke Skywalker when facing Emperor Palpatine. Movies are more than conduits for escapism, though. They harbor the lessons and characters and stories from which we learn and relate and become better people. They act as windows to the things we need, and show us that in a relatively short amount of time (and they’re cheap!). Sure, there are countless bad ones, but we can all admit that that is a relative way of speaking. They are contemporary and real; they help people through their stories they may never here anywhere else.

I remember watching an interview with the writer of the 1993 film My Life, where Michael Keaton plays a man afflicted with cancer. The film was critically derided for being melodramatic and cliché. Yet the writer was still proud of it, not because of the ego all writers have about their “babies,” but because of certain audience reactions. At some moment of time after the film came out, a family came up to writer Bruce Joel Rubin and told him how that movie helped them get through a similar crisis in their lives. “We write movies for them,” I remember him saying. This is the transcendental quality of film. So go out and watch movies and learn from them. Let them impact you! I hope in my work I can guide you to the right ones you need.