The Vertigo Of Wokeism

As an adolescent movie buff in the early 1990s who became fascinated by old cinema largely through the work of Alfred Hitchcock, I had read enough to know that Hitchcock바카라�s treatment of some of his leading ladies (and his gay or bisexual leading men) could be sadistic. And that Tippi Hedren had been a target of much bullying during the filming of The Birds. However, it wasn바카라�t until a decade ago바카라�partly through the Donald Spoto book Spellbound by Beauty바카라�that I learnt of Hedren바카라�s stronger allegations: that Hitchcock made clearly inappropriate demands on her, 바카라�expected me to make myself sexually accessible바카라�, and played a role in damaging her film career when she didn바카라�t acquiesce.

These are some thoughts that flitted through my mind as I processed this. If everything Hedren said was true바카라�and there didn바카라�t seem any reason to disbelieve her바카라�then, in a fairer world than the one we live in, he should have been held to account in some clear-cut way, depending on the magnitude of the offence: if not prosecuted by law, then at least prevented from further unmonitored exercising of power.

Of course, this is hypothetical: whether it바카라�s a supposedly backward 1963 or a supposedly enlightened 2024, powerful people with connections routinely get away with crimes. And allegations that by their nature involve private encounters have to be proven, which provides loopholes to the culpable.

Meanwhile, another scrambled thought: there had been whis­pers about Hitchcock바카라�s nasty behaviour (criminal behaviour?) towards other performers like Vera Miles before he worked with Hedren. If he had been brought to book earlier, landmark films like Vertigo and Psycho may not have been made, or not made in the way that they were. This would have had a very large implication for film history, including the critical arguments of the 1960s, which centred on genre cinema.

It would also have had strong personal implications for me, because much of my life as a film obsessive바카라�and eventually a writer바카라�dates back to that time, at the age of 13, when I became deeply moved by Psycho, related to the sadness and darkness in it, and disappeared down a rabbit hole of cinematic analysis. Without that film to stimulate and console me, it바카라�s likely that my personality and life would have developed in other ways than they did (this could be for bad, or for good, or a mix of both).

And that바카라�s okay바카라�if it helped some meaningful form of justice to be served, c바카라�est la vie.

***

For me, that바카라�s the pragmatic way of looking at these things. What I have never felt, though, is that in such cases the director바카라�s films become tainted by association or have to somehow be detached from him, as if their finer, more elevated qualities바카라�which many of us responded to바카라�were independent of the 바카라�monster바카라� who helmed them.

Hitchcock apart, I have always been interested in creative people who put a great deal of themselves바카라�their lives, their scars, their best and worst dimensions바카라�into their work. And this may be why I find most iterations of the art-vs-artist debate unsatisfying. The anguished question, 바카라�Can we separate the art from the artist?바카라� has become a lazy formulation that tends to be answered in one of two ways:

• I cannot separate the person from his art. Therefore, I will not consume any more of his output바카라�for ethical reasons and out of unwillingness to contribute to his income. The art must be rejected as unsavoury; or,

• I can separate the art from the artist, and have no issues with continuing to consume it. But this is with the understanding that the art exists in some vacuum, and has little or nothing to do with the artist바카라�s 바카라�reality바카라�.

Both positions carry a buried implication: that when an artist who has done terrible things creates a film (or book, or song) that shows positive human values; it means he was being hypocritical while creating it바카라�concealing his true (bad) self. While there may be some truth to this in specific cases, on the whole, I find it a problematic view (to deploy a favourite Woke word). However repulsed we may be by someone바카라�s actions, are we really saying that they couldn바카라�t have more reflective, sensitive sides that they tapped into when doing their best work?

I have been using the pronoun 바카라�he바카라�, since male artists are far more often the subjects of such discussion바카라�but the most recent teeth-gnashing centres on the writer Alice Munro and her part-complicity in her daughter Andrea Skinner바카라�s victimisation. And once again the language involved has been the smugly judgemental one that involves labelling someone as a 바카라�monster바카라�바카라�as if that was Munro바카라�s sole, defining reality바카라�and the difficulty of squaring this with her much-loved short fiction.

But what does 바카라�separating art from artist바카라� even mean, when it comes to creative people who have produced what we think of as personal art바카라�a novelist or painter working alone, or a studio filmmaker reworking themes within the constraints of his environment, or a more independent writer-director who has the freedom to make almost anything?

How can you possibly 바카라�separate바카라� Hitchcock from (just one example) his critically acclaimed Vertigo바카라�a film that gets so much of its power from the fact that its depiction of male sexual jealousy and insecurity (and the darker, more possessive aspects of 바카라�love바카라�) reflects the way Hitchcock himself felt about some of his actresses? How do you separate V S Naipaul from An Area of Darkness? Woody Allen from Annie Hall? Or Marlon Brando바카라�who, by many accounts, participated in the exploitation of Maria Schneider during the Last Tango in Paris shoot바카라�from that animalistic shriek of 바카라�Stellaaa!!바카라� in A Streetcar Named Desire: a scream that may come from a little boy terrified of losing his wife, or a patriarchal man who has just attacked that same wife, or both those people cohabiting in the same body.

And how do you separate Roman Polanski from his work when he embedded his own history, fetishes and traumas into almost everything he did바카라�not just in obviously personal films like The Pianist, but even in works adapted from enshrined literary material, like Macbeth (with its visualisation of the line 바카라�Macduff was from his mother바카라�s womb untimely ripped바카라�바카라�just a year after Polanski바카라�s heavily pregnant wife Sharon Tate was murdered).

In Polanski바카라�s case, the facts of criminality are damning: he pleaded guilty to unlawful sex with a 13-year-old (probably to escape a bigger conviction) and has been a fugitive from the US justice system since the 1970s. It is completely reasonable to wish that he had been prosecuted and tucked away then바카라�so what if that halted an important film career. But even if you choose to see him mainly as a predator, to erase his connection with the films he did make is a very strange position.

To be clear: I understand if someone is so triggered by the details of the lives of Polanski (or Hitchcock, or anyone else) that they wouldn바카라�t further engage with their work바카라�that is a personal, moral choice, and I have versions of those triggers myself. What I don바카라�t understand is the removal of Polanski바카라�s name from a 50th anniversary Blu-ray edition of Chinatown (as was done recently), with the virtue-signalling pretence that the man had no connection with a major film even though so much of him is in it.

***

During a monologue at a recent stand-up performance in Delhi, actor-comedian Vir Das stated that there are two types of people: the ass****s and those who have to deal with the ass****s. The audience chortled (most of us were probably self-assured that we belonged to the latter category, and could picture our tormentors in the former). 바카라�And both those people,바카라� Das continued, 바카라�are the same.바카라� This time the laughs were still there, but more muted, as if people didn바카라�t fully comprehend Das바카라� point about monsters within and outside us.

In intellectual circles, the line 바카라�everyone contains multitudes바카라� is an oft-uttered one (plurality being a liberal commandment)바카라�but looking through my social media feeds, and articles written by people whose work I have long admired, I feel very few of us face up to the full implications of that idea. Why, for instance, is it so hard to believe that people who have done heinous things in one context are also capable바카라�over a long lifetime바카라�of producing thoughtful, moving art; and, doing this honestly?

Linked to this aspect of the debate is something that has been common in recent cultural discourse: an intolerance for creative works that are very dark, pessimistic or non-affirmative in their worldview, or prominently use the lenses of unsympathetic characters. More than once, I have heard versions of the question, 바카라�Why was it necessary to make this film?바카라� (The recent Animal has often been the subject, and the 바카라�liberal바카라� bullying has been so shrill that a few perfectly sane and sensible people I know who liked the film바카라�or could engage with it바카라�have opted to keep their feelings hidden). Well, one answer is: it isn바카라�t 바카라�necessary바카라� to create any art at all바카라�negative or affirmative. But if you do choose to create, with serious world-building, it is fine to tell a bleak, cynical story that doesn바카라�t have comforting takeaways. Such art can make the world a little better, simply by being very well done, presenting a particular way of looking, and leaving us with uncomfortable questions that we might or might not be equipped to address.

Like many others who were seriously invested in books or films from an early age, I grew up believing that one of the important functions of art is to discomfit us and warn us about facile binaries such as 바카라�moral바카라� and 바카라�monstrous바카라�. During creative-writing classes, when the subject of ideology comes up, I occasionally cite the novel The Glass Pearls, by the great screenwriter Emeric Pressburger. Here was a Jewish man who had to flee Germany in the 1930s, whose mother died in a concentration camp, who lived in fear of Nazi persecution바카라� and who also wrote this thriller about a Nazi in hiding in 1960s England, where the narrative바카라�s impact hinges on us being able to feel for the protagonist바카라�not to think that Karl Braun is a 바카라�good바카라� person who should escape justice, but to see that he is a multi-dimensional human being with qualities all of us can relate to. We feel his sense of paranoia and persecution; his grief for a wife and child who died; and his boy-like excitement at a new romantic prospect. And these are all honest emotions. But many people who hold forth these days about art and artists, 바카라�toxic바카라� and 바카라�progressive바카라� films, wouldn바카라�t know how to deal with Pressburger바카라�s book바카라�or thousands of others like it.

One of the more sensible things I have read in Munro-related chatter is from the writer Brandon Taylor, who points out that what most people love about Munro바카라�s fiction is 바카라�the way she reveals how, at bottom, we are capable of true ugliness and viciousness바카라�바카라�and yet, despite this, the same readers are confused when they learn of 바카라�the common smallness바카라� of someone they admired. 바카라�That, to me, betrays a lack of understanding of human nature, particularly the one advanced by Munro바카라�s work,바카라� Taylor says, and I agree. More pertinent than that hoary 바카라�art-artist바카라� question is this: how has it become so easy to ignore the mirror, to outrage constantly over instances of misbehaviour that most of us would be capable of given the right (or wrong) circumstances바카라�and to fail to recognise the things that good art (including the art made by people who do bad things) can tell us about ourselves?

(Views expressed are personal)

Jai Arjun Singh, is an independent writer and critic. His books include Jaane Bhi do Yaaro: Seriously Funny Since 1983