Tag Archives: Stories and Writing

Reflections on "The Crying Game"

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I saw the movie, The Crying Game, when it first came out in 1992. The plot twist caught me by surprise, as it did most people at the time (though not my apartment mate.) Since then, I have only seen the movie once or twice. Recently I found myself trying to figure out what it is about the movie that struck me and makes me want to see it again, since clearly it can’t be the surprise factor.
“I know you. You’re the kind one.”
That’s what Jody says to Fergus, one of his abductors, and that’s the line that always comes back to me, the core of the movie for me. Fergus is the Kind One.
Jody tells Fergus the story of the scorpion and the frog. The scorpion begs a ride across the river on the frog’s back. The frog refuses at first, saying, “You’re a scorpion. You’ll sting me.” The scorpion responds, “If I sting you, we’ll both drown.” The frog thinks about it and says, “All right.” Halfway across the river, the frog feels the scorpion’s sting. As they both sink, he cries, “What did you do that for? Now we’re both going to die!” And the scorpion says, “I can’t help it. It’s my nature.”
Jody is more realistic about the likely outcome of his abduction than Fergus is. He insists that Fergus look at the photo of his girl, Dil, which is in his wallet. He gets Fergus to agree that if anything happens to Jody, Fergus will go and… here I forget the details. I think maybe he just has to buy her a drink, but maybe he is to say that it is from Jody, or say something about Jody. It isn’t huge request, but it would require Fergus to go to London to the pub where she works. And remember, Fergus is one of the men who abducted Jody in the first place. They aren’t even on the same side.
But Jody has identified Fergus as someone who can be relied on, someone he can charge with looking in on his girl. Moreover, he believes Fergus will not make matters worse for Dil, as sending the wrong person might.
Things go badly and Fergus ends up in London. He looks up Dil. He finds himself alternately fascinated, puzzled, shocked, and afraid. Keeping his promise has landed him in a very confusing and eventually dangerous situation. I remain uncertain how to interpret his relationship with Jody’s girl—I’m not sure Fergus himself knows—but one thing is clear. He stays true to his nature throughout.
Of course, this is a movie. There is a school of thought that suggests how real people behave has more to do with seemingly irrelevant details of our circumstances than with any stable character traits. One of the studies often cited is “Helping for a dime.” People who found a dime in a phone booth were much more likely to help someone else gather spilled papers than people who found nothing. To take a personal example, I must admit that how generously I tip often has a lot to do with what happens to be in my wallet at that moment and whatever has been on my mind recently, rather than with the quality of the service or some innate generosity or stinginess.

Still, some people are consistently better to be around than others. They are like the frog, willing to help you across the river on their backs. Other people, alas, are like the scorpion. You can be pretty sure that if you are around them long enough, they will hurt you–even if in so doing, they harm themselves as well. (See “Words and Character.”)

So that’s it. I like the movie because I like seeing Fergus negotiate situations and relationships for which he has no clear rules, all while remaining himself. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it—maybe twenty years—and it will be interesting to find out if it strikes me the same way after another viewing.
Till next post.

"You Need to Forgive Yourself"–why does this phrase set my teeth on edge?

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In an episode of a television show I watched recently, one character advised another that “you need to forgive yourself.” I think this phrase gets thrown around too easily and too often. Whenever I come across it in fiction, I brace myself for plot twists that may be saccharine or implausible. When I hear it in real life, I get fidgety. Why does this phrase bother me?

In the first place, it seems too facile. Has this person actually done wrong? In that case, do they really have the authority to forgive themselves? It seems that the forgiveness they should be seeking is that of the person they have wronged. Granted, even if that person forgives them, they have to accept that they are forgiven, which I suppose involves forgiving themselves. But the other person’s forgiveness should come first, or at least be sought simultaneously.

Of course, the wronged person may not be able or willing to forgive them. I’ll agree that at some point, wrong-doers who have sincerely done their best to make amends may let themselves off the hook. They should forgive themselves. But only after they have done their best.

In the second place, “forgive yourself” is sometimes the wrong expression. Suppose this person hasn’t done wrong, but blames himself for things that were never really up to him in the first place. In the episode I am thinking of, another character said, “Don’t blame yourself for things that weren’t in your control.” Now that is true. People do blame themselves, and feel guilty, about things that are not their fault. However, telling someone that he shouldn’t blame himself and telling him to forgive himself are two different things. The results may feel similar–an easing of guilt (inappropriate guilt in the first case). But you can’t “forgive” yourself unless there is a wrong to be forgiven.

Finally, there is one area in which “forgive yourself” does seem appropriate. As human beings, we inevitably make mistakes. We step on people’s toes, say and do things we shouldn’t, and basically mess up. Repeatedly. This tendency, as opposed to the specific wrongs that result from it, isn’t our fault. We can’t help being human. At the same time, it does lead us to wrong others. So maybe it makes sense to say that we should “forgive ourselves” for our tendency to make mistakes, even as we try to avoid making them and try to make amends for the ones we have already made. We shouldn’t feel guilty for not being perfect. We should only feel guilty if we are not trying.

So maybe the character in the episode did need to forgive himself, as well as ceasing to blame himself for things out of his control. Maybe the phrase irritated me because I knew he also had a lot of forgiveness to seek as well–amends to be made, apologies to be offered–and that wasn’t explicitly addressed. Given his history, “forgive yourself” sounded more like a feel-good platitude and less like a real resolution to the problem.

But I think he got it right in the end.

Till next post.

The TV Show "Lucifer" and the Difference Between Real Evil and Stage "Evil"

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Recently I’ve started watching the series “Lucifer” on Netflix. Lucifer Morningstar is the devil, and he is on vacation and running a nightclub in Los Angeles. I’m only on the third episode and it’s clear that he’s being influenced (for the good) by some of the people around him, but even apart from that influence, this character isn’t very devilish. He isn’t evil; he’s only “evil.”
That is, there’s a difference between real evil and stage “evil”, rather like there’s a difference between being a ballet dancer and simply wearing a costume of tutu and ballet shoes. I’m not complaining. If the character were truly evil, the show would be unwatchable. Who wants to watch a show with a totally unsympathetic main character?
(Note: I did just finish watching “Deathnote”, but the main character started off thinking he was pursuing justice, even if he was wrong about his methods. He became increasingly evil as the show went on, but he was opposed by some good characters and it made for a fascinating battle of wits. As long as you have equally important good characters in opposition and the main character isn’t completely evil, you can still have a very watchable series.)
Stage “evil” is the fun kind, the trappings of evil without the substance. Lucifer has devilish good looks and charm, a bold disregard for rules and authority, and a penchant for causing trouble. But let’s notice that the people he causes trouble for are usually themselves either troublemakers or really irritating people. He scares a school bully and terrifies a fraudulent street preacher. If he really wanted to increase the misery in the world, he should have encouraged them, not scared them. But the audience wouldn’t like him then, because that would be real evil.
He also runs a nightclub with scantily clad dancers and is often found in bed with a number of individuals of either gender who are equally scantily clad (and would be wearing even less if this weren’t a TV show.) But notice that it is strongly implied that all these individuals chose to be there, and that there is never the slightest hint that the nightclub dancers might be exploited or working for him only reluctantly. He’s sleeping with a psychiatrist, but there’s no suggestion that she might be married or otherwise attached. No one gets hurt.
I said that he does cause trouble for troublemakers, and Lucifer rationalizes his selectivity by saying that he is punishing evil-doers, and isn’t punishing evil what the devil is supposed to do? 
 That’s curious, because punishing evil doesn’t itself seem evil (though it isn’t merciful either.) If the devil is supposed to be evil, presumably he would encourage evil-doing in order to cause more misery. The devil is supposed to tempt people in ways that twist their souls and ruin their lives and the lives of other people as well.
But again, a main character who was truly evil wouldn’t make for an entertaining show. If you want to learn about real evil, there are plenty of documentaries, but I wouldn’t call them “entertaining.”
Why make a big deal about this distinction between evil and “evil”? Because real evil doesn’t come with labels, and people sometimes mistake stage “evil” for the real thing.
I’m thinking, for instance, of people I have known who find dark, occult-looking things appealing. Or maybe they’re into vampires. Stage “evil.” They’re playing with props. They aren’t really evil at all. But some people don’t seem to realize that. They take the appearance of stage “evil” as a desire for the real thing.
Granted, there are some people drawn to stage “evil” who really are kind of twisted, and others who do so in order to shock and offend (not exactly a kind motive). On the other hand, there are people who are drawn to exactly the opposite symbols (of goodness and light) while behaving in a genuinely evil manner. You really have to look at people’s deeds, not their outerwear or outer attitude.
So, I’m enjoying a TV show about the devil on vacation in Los Angeles. That’s okay. It doesn’t mean I’ve been drawn to the dark side. I know the difference between “evil” and evil.