Tuesday, November 17, 2009

2012 and how it made me feel. . .

It only took Roland Emerich a little over 2 hours to destroy the world. Somehow I believe that it would take us minutes. We fecklessly throw around our earnest opinions while practicing indifference towards that of others. Distrust is our modus operandi. Faith is an undeniable and impervious to facts because it feels right. Facts and science are framed and can be framed as nothing more than an opinion. We hold onto our conscience and believe so hard what our heart is telling us, or what we think it's telling us that to confront the probability is to arduous a task nor a noble one in our eyes. Our ignorance is our solace because the very notion that something is unknown or unaccounted for is too terrifying for us to grasp.

Apocalyptic tales have always fascinated me, and in many cases affect me like no other film can. The world is full of so much hatred, Racism, bigotry, xenophobia, liberalism and conservatism, etc, yada yada. These have evolved into something more lethal then opposition or even rivalry. The debate is no longer a progressive dialogue. Most people have entrenched themselves philosophically. The conversation has spilled over into something laced with violent undertones. Greed is pandemic, and knows no one group better than the other. Then the nihilist and anarchists voice pervades our minds and seemingly become relevant.

Then futility is borne from the volatility. It has often been suggested, and historically proven that we are the most likely threats and contributors to our own demise.

Cormac Macarthy's the Road paints a bleak picture at the conclusion of these events. One of the most beautifully written, and haunting stories ever written. His story confronts reality more than the custom Hollywood fare. All of these stories hit too close to home for me when I really get to thinking about it.

Sadly, this genre is more fantasy then the horror films (that reflect the news) that have become so popular lately. In every story, and less effectively in many, the end-times narrative has a spirit of altruism that no other story can capture. The CGI driven theatrics may be the major draw, but the heroics of the characters are what moves me. The triumph of the human spirit despite the destruction of everything we deem as valuable by our checkbooks and attention. Humanity and character is something rarely celebrated and insufficiently exalted in the daily grind. These stories illustrate the grandeur of such selflessness. The real reverence of such an ultimate sacrifice.

2012 is as good as any film under a similar guise. I hope that we can avoid such catastrophe in our time or our children's. The world is fragile, but can humanity overcome such devastation when we hate each other so much?  Is it only in the destruction of these lines that the divide between us is capable of being bridged? Or do I have it wrong and to be human is to hate--to self destruct? Are the nihilist right?  When so much of religious teaching and American philosophy are based on understanding and acceptance how can we as individuals or community look at ourselves in the mirror?


These movies get to me and compel me to think--what will be our legacy? Too much time on our computers, and gaming systems? Have we preoccupied ourselves in pursuit of pleasure? Have we created a virtual Babylon? Do we feel better watching our opinion-of-comfort prevail without another perspective to challenge our very core understanding? All of this is true. That's the horror of it. Like moths to the flame we are impelled towards gratification. This behavior begs the question, is to be human—to be hopelessly drawn to pleasure? It's one of the core principles of evolution. Are we so different from animals?


 

That is why I am drawn to these stories. Because I am no better than the person next to me, nor do I claim to be. I do not live in a glass house. These stories are sometimes listed under science fiction. I guess I am proposing that I wish the heroics of humanity were a little less fictional. Then again it's only 7:07 in the morning and I'm probably delirious. Mad even. . .

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