Criticism is easier than creation

Darby O’Gill and the Little People is a good example. Some people may have heard that “Irish people” don’t like it because it stereotypes them. And as a result feel obligated to criticize it and feel morally bad about enjoying it. Agreeable, socially conscious, and conscientious people especially will be easily swayed by such appeals. They want to do the right thing, they care what other people think, and they fundamentally want to validate other people’s feelings and acede to their demands. They want to clean up and straighten the shared environment and set things to right. So out it goes, or at least give it a good flogging whenever you approach it. And, frankly, that’s a pretty extreme approach.

The alternative extreme response is to say, I don’t give a $#!* what those people think, I only care what these people think, and these people say it’s a fun movie, so get off my back and stop trying to tell me what I can and can’t enjoy.

A more patient and balanced approach that’s willing to waste time on such trivial moral injunctions as “it’s wrong to enjoy a Disney movie about a leprechaun” would take the time to negotiate between these extremes and consider the objections and responses on their own merits.

Is it reasonable to make moral claims against works of art, particularly past works of art? Maybe. That might not be a sufficient justification for censoring them, though. Do people have the right to deprive others of the right to enjoy what art they want to enjoy? It’s not clear that that’s the case. Not, at least, without some serious argumentation beyond “I’m not happy about it.” or “Some people aren’t happy with it.” After all, you can find people who will happily object to anything, regardless of intent or effect. People are sensitive, people are unreasonable, and people are jerks, so you can’t set your clock by the reactive potential of other people’s feelings or opinions (or by their lack of them, because those people might be insensitive unreasonable jerks).

To the claim that this work or any work is wrong purely because it stereotypes (in this case) Irish people; well, when it comes to art, that’s a somewhat incoherent, inarticulate objection. What do you mean by stereotype? Is there a difference between a stereotype and a representation? Is it an accurate stereotype, with a reasonable basis? Is it a negative stereotype? What exactly is being objected to? What would you prefer? What substitute do you provide? All portrayals are, in some sense, stereotypes. Because they’re all limited, they all have to come down to a specific character of some type. Even counter-stereotypes can become, themselves, stereotypes, like female mechanics in cartoons. What seemed creative once can quickly become a trope. And avoiding any defined content or consistency by constantly shifting your representations so they have no stable or common elements simply hollows out the category and deprives it of any meaning. Any choice to depict something means picking a specific and limited angle on it. It also means picking what stands out of the crowd of generic non-specificity. And it is possible to do so quite affectionately.

The Dutch are stereotypically tall and beautiful. The fact is, though, that I’m of Dutch descent and have a Dutch name, but I’m not beautiful and tall. I also don’t wear wooden shoes or grow tulips or put my fingers in dikes. I am pretty frugal though. And I’m a little distant and cool when I meet people. And none of these stereotypes, whether true or false, bother me. They amuse me. They’re part of my history. They’re idiosyncrasies; they have character. They may not reflect me personally, but if I wanted to do that I could get a mirror, or write my own story about being a Dutchman, that would be frightfully dull because it would lack any obvious qualities connecting it to my heritage.

So I take portrayals of the history and idiosyncrasies and stereotypes of my people in good humor. And all the jokes about the poor qualities of Dutchmen that I’ve heard, I heard with delight mostly from other Dutchmen. We enjoy seeing ourselves poked fun at. Partly because we see some truth in it, partly because it relieves tension over our own flaws and idiosyncrasies. It let’s us see ourselves and welcome ourselves, even the less beautiful bits, which surely do exist. And being mature enough to be seen that way let’s others welcome us, too. It lets us belong, in a way. Being big enough and secure enough not to take ourselves so seriously is often a precondition for being part of society.

Of course no one cares much or knows much about the Dutch to even bother stereotyping them. And that doesn’t bother me. Why should anyone be expected to know or care about us but us? It’s our history, and other people have their own. Frankly, the only major Dutch character I ever noticed that I can think of was Goldmember (from Austin Powers). And I thought he was hilarious. It was a delight just to be noticed, and to get some play as a subject of humor. And, frankly, the dry, peeling skin and freckles reminded me of my dad.

I’m getting off topic, but I just wanted to dispel the idea that all stereotyping is bad. Not even all negative stereotyping is bad. In fact, it can be very useful. Stereotypes are large scale, broad abstractions, and that’s actually a very interesting way to look at yourself and at others. It allows broad generalities of character to emerge and reinforces a sense of shared identity, in both the positive and negative qualities and habits and history we share. My own wife never even perceived how southern her own family was until she married me, who has no southern roots nor experience. They are very southern, in fact, being from Texas and Florida. But if you spend all your time with people just like you, you may not even realize that you have a thing and a history and a unique character until someone else comes along with a different thing and a different history to compare it to.

When it comes to art, though, the main job of the artist isn’t to make a profile of all the possible variations in a population and portray all possible permutations of humanity to fulfill some sort of moral quota. Their job is to tell a good story. Not everyone’s story. This story. And maybe a story that means something to the people it’s being told by and about and to.

Did anyone every decide that they hated Irish people because of Darby O’Gill? Or, more probably, did it make people who might otherwise have never given them much thought or heard any of their stories learn to love them and be come interested in them? Did it create something that connected people and added to their lives? Was the intent of Walt Disney in making the movie to harm or belittle Irish culture? Or was it meant to be a fun, delightful romp in a corner of a culture that has given pleasure to generations of Irish people, and now to plenty of people who aren’t Irish? Is anyone taking Darby O’Gill seriously as a work of exhaustive scholarship on Irish demographics that can serve as a substitute for knowing or understanding actual Irish people? Or is it just a fun story that gives some people an introduction to Irish folklore?

Since the question of intent was raised, it’s probably worth considering why Walt Disney made his movies, and why he made this particular movie. Walt Disney universally made movies out of stories because he loved them and wanted to share them and believed in their value. That was it. He got the idea for this particular movie after visiting an Irish cultural festival. The story itself is based on a book by an Irish author. Disney spent three months studying Irish folklore in Dublin and consulting with traditional folktellers as preparation for adapting the book. It stars one of the most handsome and charismatic men ever to grace the screen, and the actress who played the female lead won a golden globe. So everyone was truly giving it their best. They saw in this story something that would delight children, that had been delighting Irish children already, and that Disney believed had universal appeal and deserved to be shared with the whole world.

So to those who wish to play spoiler with this movie, at least, I am sorry for your feelings. I’m sorry you can’t enjoy this story which in many ways reflects and shares the love of your own heritage. Those are your feelings, you have a right to them. You just don’t get to take this good away from everyone else and dictate their feelings for them. You don’t get to hold the world hostage with your own displeasure. If it helps, you don’t have to watch. And you have my sympathy. But not my assent.

I think one question worth asking is why critics go after the targets they typically go for. The easy targets, like Darby O’Gills and Dr Seuss, things and people like that. The ones that seem to have good intentions. Possibly it’s because they sense weakness, a desire to please. And that makes them vulnerable. I doubt Irish people are going to come to America and complain on the street on St. Patrick’s day in New York that the people there are perpetuating stereotypes. They might get punched in the face or made fun of. There seems to be an instinct, like the instinct children have for manipulating parents, of knowing when and how someone is vulnerable and how to use their positive instincts against them. There are things my kids would try with my wife they would never try with me. Simply because they know it won’t work and won’t find any traction. My wife is more sympathetic than I am, and that creates an opening children are quick to try to exploit.

So no one is putting much work into criticizing The Boondock Saints or actual Irish Americans (who do more than anyone to reinforce stereotypes about them), partly because The Boondock Saints are badass, and partly because actual Irish people would just tell you to go to hell. If you’re not at least pretending to care what some people think and don’t feel at least some obligation to back up or share or validate their feelings, possibly at the expense of your own, the whole effort just falls apart. You’re upset? Bummer. I’m not. You think I should be? Well, I’m not, hit the bricks.

Women, in general, seem to be more likely as a group to be willing to sacrifice their own feelings for the sake of agreement with and validation of other people’s. Men seem to be, as a group, fairly bad at this. And there’s a usefulness to both instincts. Because it’s not always clear at the outset what the correct response is. You need some resistance, because it might be merited, and you need some consideration, because it also might be merited.

What you can’t do is take either reaction uncritically for granted as correct. Once you’ve got past the initial instinctive reactions, if it’s an issue that really matters, then it’s time set both aside and go for the measured approach discussed above. In this mode, you aren’t obligated to any reaction based on someone else’s positive or negative reactions, and aren’t obligated to any conclusion based on the demands or lack of demand of someone’s feelings. Just because it doesn’t bother you at all, or you like it, doesn’t mean that I can’t find things to criticize. And just because it bothers you a lot, doesn’t means I’m obligated to agree with you to validate those feelings, if I can’t find sufficient justification.

Feelings are feelings. You’re not obligated to them positively or negatively. They’re instinctive reactions, informations, signals to be tested. They’re an alert, but they’re low resolution and unexplicated. They draw attention. And that’s good. But an alert to check something out isn’t the same as understanding it and making a balanced judgment about it.