Why Constraint Is Good

The amount of information available to us on the Internet is limitless,but how often do we actually take a look at a totally random site? When do we ever go on a trawl through hundreds of disparate pages, unless it’s for the purposes of research? On the other hand, sites like StumbleUpon and Digg are hugely popular, and becoming moreso.

Why are these filtration sites so popular? Don’t they somehow fly in the face of the random beauty of the Internet? Well, maybe from a technological perspective. But true chaos is not generally desirable to the human experience. We enjoy being held back, and it works in our favour.

Illustrations are readily evident in the creative arts. For example, the first Matrix film was a hugely ambitious project that drew in discrete elements of Manga, existentialist philosophy, martial arts, technology etc. It should have been a total mess. It wasn’t. The second and third Matrix films, however, used the exact same elements – and were total messes ( Come on, what the hell what going on in the third one?). The difference? Personally, I think it may have been the lack of constraints on the directors (the Wachowski brothers) after the monumental success of the first film. With their debut, they were taking a huge gamble and absolutely had to at least make it a little audience-friendly to guarantee box office returns. After that, Warner Bros said, “Hey guys, do whatever you want.” And the Wachowskis indulged, throwing everything and the kitchen sink into the sequels. Filmmaking with no restraints resulted in films that made no sense.

“Donnie Darko” is one of the most beautiful, rich films I’ve seen. The director, Richard Kelly was given a much bigger canvas and budget to make his second film, based on Donnie’s success. The result was “Southland Tales“, a free-jazz-on-film film that makes very little sense and, to my mind at least, is intensely boring.

Indeed, constraint is a wonderful thing when applied properly. It gives you something to prove, something to rail against.

Every self-help book worth its salt tells the reader that they absolutely must set out their goals. This may be via a process of writing them down, of intensive visualization, of telling your friends and family of your deadlines so that you will adhere to them. The common element with every goal that is set is that is immediately enforces a set of constraints. It focuses the mind like a laser, pushing out other, irrelevant thoughts. If you have one thing to do, and one thing only, the chances are that you will do it.

Constraint often equates with brevity, which can be a wonderful tool for effectively conveying information. Dan Brown’s “The Da Vinci Code“, which was an international publishing phenomenon, was notable for its concise chapters. Readers loved that; it made for a fast-paced read, which, though it heavy with religious and historical symbolism, was sectioned into easily-digested portions. One of my favourite books, The Lucifer Principle, does the same with an elaborate theory on the relationship between science and religion.

I think that’s why someone like Kurt Cobain or Bob Dylan will always be more appealing to the masses than guitar virtuosos like Steve Vai or Joe Satriani. Cobain and Dylan were and are much more restrained in terms of their musical ability, and that can be a good thing. There’s a scene in the Nirvana film “Live, Tonight, Sold Out!” where a music journalist described Nirvana’s music as being like nursery rhymes that you can’t get out of your head. I always thought that was very insightful; for example, “Come As You Are” is based on a slow riff that consists of 5 notes. Vai or Satriani, on the other hand, could easily play 10 notes per second on one of their tracks. Which is a fantastic ability, but complexity doesn’t necessarily mean quality. And it’s those nursery-rhyme, 5-note melodies that invariably seep into public consciousness and convey their message most effectively. I guess that’s why it’s ‘popular’ music.

I suppose the ideal is to have all of these creative tools at one’s disposal, but to still be able to maintain that popular sensibility when you want to use it. A great example of one such musician is Jeff Buckley; his technical abilities were second to none, but he was consistently able to distill them down to something subtle, refined and accessible.

And that’s a difficult thing to do, because having too many options can be crippling. It goes against the classical idea that more choice equates to more freedom, which equates to more happiness – but there it is. In his book “The Paradox Of Choice“, author Barry Schwartz argues ‘why the abundance of choice in modern society is actually making us miserable’. He says that it actually creates a state of paralysis; that having too many things to choose from makes it very difficult to actually make a choice. Not only that, but even if you do make a choice, and a good one at that, but the idea that you could have made a better decision in the first place can make you regretful.

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Here is Schwartz’ short lecture from the famous TedTalks series:

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Schwartz makes the example of clothing; when he was younger, buying a pair of jeans was simple. You went into the store and you bought the one type of jeans that was on the rack. And you were happy with them, because there was no other choice to make. Today, you go to buy a pair of jeans and are confronted with hundreds of varieties; faded, stone-washed, designer, boot cut, torn, brand-label etc etc. So while you may find a pair that fits and looks pretty good, the unrealised potentiality of choice still hangs over you. And if you do happen to find something – anything – wrong with those jeans, it can only be your fault. Why? Because the choice was all yours.

This may seem trivial, but if you expand that phenomenon across millions of different products, combined with the incessant psychic pummeling of advertising (which tells us explicitly that we will be unhappy if we make the wrong choice), we can imagine the rate of misery generated growing exponentially. We are told that we need the products to be content; then the range of choice makes contentment, even with the product, impossible anyway.

Henry Ford said about his cars, “You can have it in any colour, as long as it’s black”. And that was coming from one of the most successful industrialists of the twentieth century. That’s not to say that “the good old days” of one choice only were perfect. But having one choice certainly makes things a lot simpler, and seems to promote contentment. Even if that one choice is far from ideal, it still gives the chooser something to complain about and fight against; a goal of sorts. But limitless choice means that the burden of responsibility is totally on the shoulders of the chooser. There is no constraint, the individual becomes a veritable island of personal responsibility – and that can lead to a great deal of misery.

5 Reasons Films Are Getting Better (Or, Are Old Films Getting Worse?)

This is a question that’s been bothering me for ages now. I have tended not to bring it up too much in general conversation, for the simple fact that it sounds like such a stupid thing to say. I have a Masters Degree in Film Studies, but bringing this topic up makes people look at me like a child who eats crayons.

But hear me out.

Are films getting better? Much better than older films? I mean, in pretty much every sense? Before you answer, consider the following :

1. Film is becoming a universally available and easily producible medium. Digital technology means that anyone with a camcorder and a pc can put their mini-opus together. Of course, that means a whole load of crap is produced, but for people with the ideas and the ingenuity, the opportunities to make your film is there. (The Blair Witch Project, Supersize Me etc)

2. We have seen some amazing films in the last decade. Just think of The Sixth Sense, Fight Club, American Beauty, Lord Of The Rings, The Matrix, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, LA Confidential, Saving Private Ryan, The Big Lebowski, The Prestige, Donnie Darko, The Departed…. I could go on. People talk about the Forties and the Seventies as “Golden Ages” of film; the fact is that we’ve been enjoying a Golden Age of film since about 1990, one that shows no signs of letting up.

3. Acting is getting better. Yes, it is. Granted, Marlon Brando and the Method school ushered in a vast sea-change in the art, but can you really tell me that there is any comparison between the stilted hamming of the 30’s and 40’s and the naturality of say, Edward Norton or De Niro?

4. Special effects. CGI is allowing directors to create images, nay, worlds from their imaginations. Compare the opening scene of Peter Jackson’s “Lord Of The Rings” to Ralph Bakshi’s 1978 disastrous version, purely in visual terms.

Jackson:

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Bakshi:

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There’s no comparison, right?

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5. I think that a lot of older movies get more respect than they deserve solely because they’ve got a few decades on them; they can sport that miasma of age that seems to render them untouchable. For instance, I watched James Whale’s 1931 “Frankenstein” recently. This is considered a horror classic, and created the modern image of Frankenstein’s monster as a lumbering flat-top, bolt-neck behemoth (the image is still under the copyright of Universal Pictures). It also features the famous line, “It’s alive! It’s alive!” (voted the #49 movie quote of all time by the American Film Institute).

Frankenstein:

But, despite all of this, I thought the movie was pretty crap. I’m a big fan of Mary Shelley’s book, and I was appalled to see that the film discarded that story almost completely. The placement of American actors with thick American accents in the roles of German characters was atrocious. The tacked-on happy ending was painful. If that movie was made today, it would be a straight-to-video bottom-shelfer. All in all, I think that Kenneth Branagh’s 1994 version is leagues ahead of that version; it is far more subtle, believable and retains much more of the book’s poignant Oedipal themes.

But try saying that to any “serious” film fan or critic. I think I can safely say that if they don’t implode on the spot, they will subject you to a tirade of vitriol based mainly on the dogmatic clout of the film’s age.

(By the way, I have listened to film lecturers tell me that American Beauty is “implausible”, Lord Of The Rings is “juvenile”, and Titanic is “unwatchable”. I can tell you right now that if any of those films had been released 50 years ago – special effects notwithstanding – academics would today consider them cinematic landmarks. And in 50 years’ time, they will. But in academic circles at least, they haven’t earned their chronological kudos quite yet.)

The obvious counterargument is that movies are always made within the context of their times. And that our modern movies wouldn’t be here without them. Well, that’s true. But why, then, are there many older movies that totally transcend their times and context; that instead of being just a rung towards greatness, skip the queue and just are great? For example, “The Cabinet Of Dr. Caligari” (1920) or “Nosferatu” (1922) were hugely popular films when they released, and still stand as amazing horror films. They are subtle, creepy and beautiful – and in a different league totally to the American “Frankenstein”.

What I mean to propose is this….. What if more films are doing this today? What if more movies are simply obviating the constraints of context, passing “go” and hitting greatness? This may be a result of the sheer number of films being made. It may be because of studios becoming more liberal and independent. It may be because of the general freedom of information today as opposed to even a few decades ago. But the situation remains that we are, at least relatively speaking, being inundated with truly great films, and the trend doesn’t seem to be about to stop.

I will leave you with the immortal words of Peter Griffin: “I did not care for the Godfather….”