A Story Well Told
This weekend, we took two welcome days off. Sometimes the idea-generating hamster wheel inside my brain needs a healthy dose of sunlight and fresh air. So, we got some on Saturday with the windows down en route to the local CinemaWorld, where we took in Stop-Loss. It was an incredible story that was, IMHO, poorly told. And, because my brain rarely leaves the world of Epic Change for very long, it reminded me of the the powerful stories with which we’ve been entrusted, and of my sincere hope that we find ways to share them that are worthy of their characters and content.
Stop-Loss was one of those movies where I was constantly reminded that I was outside the story; it was an inauthentic experience. I felt removed, disconnected from the story and its characters. The story was sad, but I wasn’t sad. Dramatic scenes and music played, and I was unmoved. Normally I’m a total sucker, too, and am easily overcome with empathy, so this was bad. It’s a shame that such a compelling story was so poorly told. Over 650,000 men have been sent to war in Iraq & Afghanistan. Of those, 81,000 have been “stop-lossed”. Some have called it a “back door draft.” Regardless of your politics, and even if, unlike me, you’re not the daughter and sister of soldiers, it’s an important issue. The movie was too comfortable; it didn’t demand anything of the audience. It didn’t beg for that two-hour-long conversation over coffee that it should have. By not demanding action, it enabled apathy. It was easy. Entertaining, perhaps, but not inspiring.
When we got home, Sanjay sat down to bask in the glow of “his” Bruins taking on Xavier. UCLA was up by nearly 20, so he took a quick break to flip the channel to the WE (yes, “Women’s Entertainment”) network. The movie Monster was on. If you haven’t seen it, it’s masterful, perhaps one of the most disturbing movies you’ll ever see. You can’t sleep after you watch it. It requires something of its audience; it absolutely demands discussion, consideration, debate. You can’t leave the film feeling a sense of closure; it only opens the door for your own brain’s percolation. If you’ve seen the play Doubt or seen dance choreographed by Stephen Petronio, it’s the same. It’s the reason Plato wrote in dialogues; presumably he wanted readers to thoughtfully consider the moral issues he presented themselves rather than taking his word at face value. It’s far more difficult, but so much more fulfilling. It’s like having a lively conversation with an artist rather than listening passively to a lecture.
My question? What’s the difference between Stop-Loss & Monster? I wish it were as simple as a question of acting, but if you’ve seen Ryan Phillipe in Crash or Cruel Intentions, you know it’s just not that easy. (That said, Charlize Theron was a genius as serial killer Aileen Wuornos.)
In any case, as a storytelling organization, this seems an imperative distinction. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:
- Great stories are about their readers. Great storytellers don’t allow us to be idle bystanders. We see ourselves somewhere in the story. They make us think about ourselves perhaps even more than the characters. Even though I could never see myself as a serial killer, for instance, there was some part of me that I saw in Aileen. When she was couple skating to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing,” I was there.
- Amalgamation forfeits authenticity. Even though Stop-Loss was likely based on a conglomeration of many real stories, its summarization felt contrived. People can identify with an individual, but not with an entire population. As Paul Slovic, a psychology professor at the University of Oregon pointed out in a 2007 article in The Chronicle of Philanthropy, “We cannot wrap our minds around two people as well as around one.”
- The audience’s reaction shouldn’t be dictated. Many stories are told to elicit a very particular reaction like sadness, fear, guilt or happiness; they prescribe to the audience exactly what to feel. Like a Sally Struthers video carefully concocted to manufacture pity. Reality, though, is rarely summarized in a single predictable emotion; it is more nuanced. The best stories inspire a myriad of subtle responses that are influenced not only by the story but by our unique personal experiences.
I’d love to expand this list into a few more guiding principles as we continue telling stories about our partners in Tanzania, and other communities whose stories we’ll share as Epic Change moves forward. Any ideas for a storyteller’s “rules of engagement”?
PS: Bruins win by 19. Go UCLA! (That’s for Sanjay – though it might surprise most of you, I’m not a baller; I’d rather be a shot-caller. No, I do not have 20-inch blades on my Impala. For those of among you who are catching the reference to Lil’ Troy – rock on.)
Posted: March 31st, 2008 under The Foundry.
Comments: 3