Artist-Versues-Art

Movie Club Sandwich is a place for all kinds of people with varying degrees of film knowledge, from cinephiles to movie curious folks, and everyone in between. No matter your level of expertise, chances are you’ve enjoyed films created by people whose personal lives range from questionable to outright reprehensible. The reality is that some of the most celebrated films involve actors, directors, and creators who have been accused—or convicted—of behaviors, and crimes that are disturbing, even unforgivable. This can make watching their work complicated, uncomfortable, or, for some, impossible.

I constantly wrestle with my own feelings about this. Creating a newsletter that endorses films, even implicitly, makes me feel responsible for acknowledging the artist-versus-art debate. Some of my favorite films are inextricably tied to people whose actions I condemn, be they creators, producers or characters. It was hard for me to tease out overwhelmingly warm feelings for Tony Soprano, and many of the other equally violent and bigoted characters on The Sopranos, my all time favorite television series. With age, time and thirty-seven rewatches, I have come to feel that one of the critical themes of the show is for us, as viewers, to engage with the paradox of the antihero, on screen, in the real world, and within ourselves. Likewise, I’m embarrassed to admit how much I love many of Woody Allen’s films, but the truth remains that Annie Hall was formative for me, Manhattan is one of my favorite films of all time. There are at least a dozen others that I have seen a thousand times—made by a man who has been many times accused of sexual assault, including by his own daughter. I watched these films with my parents as a kid. They helped shape my sense of humor, style, and made me want to live in New York City. I feel guilty for liking them. But I also feel unwilling to let one man’s actions erase my relationship with the work, themes, and creative contributions of hundreds of other people that made these movies what they are.

I don’t like good movies made by bad people because I like bad people. I like them because they’re great films. I try to experience them separately from the misconduct, misogyny, abuse or ugly beliefs that are all too often attached to these projects. That separation isn’t an excuse; it’s a framework for engaging with art critically. Brilliant and creative people can also be people who inflict pain and harm on others, and our choice to separate these truths is personal and conditional. Sometimes a movie has been “grandfathered” into my brain and heart, because I loved it long before I understood its context. Other times, awareness of a filmmaker’s views makes me hesitant to engage with their future work, even if I still appreciate their past contributions. This is particularly hard when someone’s views are in direct opposition with mine, like Tarantino, one of my favorite filmmakers of all time, hanging out with the IDF. (If you hate these people AND their films, I get it and would never attempt to convince you otherwise.) It’s not a perfect system—I don’t have specific guidelines for what I choose to watch, and my choices are emotional, not rigidly defined.

This newsletter features films made by or starring people with complicated legacies. I will write about movies I love, even when they contain or are tied to violence, or troubling themes or figures. That doesn’t mean I’m excusing, endorsing, or ignoring the reality of these individuals—it means I’m choosing to engage with the work itself. I don’t write lengthy takedowns of every nefarious character, though critical discussions may naturally find their way into essays, as is so often provoked, intentionally or not, by the work itself or the conversation around it. My focus is on celebrating what I love about film, and filmmaking, and the questions they raise. I am not choosing to ignore pain, but maybe to understand film’s ability to challenge, provoke, and process the good, the bad and the ugly.

While I eagerly invite discussion and discourse about the films featured here, and film in general, I will let it be known that I do not like or celebrate cruel or abusive people, or their actions. I love movies, and I separate them in the way that works for me. Because this is such a personal issue, everyone must navigate it in their own way. If you prefer to avoid films created by people whose actions you find irredeemable, I deeply respect you. If, like me, you grapple with the gray areas, I recommend Constance Grady’s Vox essay, as well as Claire Dederer’s book Monsters: A Fans Dilemma. Both helped me articulate my own feelings.

This is a fun and exciting place to talk about movies. Cinema is always the clearest way for me to make sense of an often senseless world. I hope that we can delve deeper into an ongoing quest for clarity and creativity together, and use the murkiness of life, art and humanity to unveil a powerful brightness.

xx,

Z