The Smallness and Greatness of Things (part 1)

I used to think of movies as sources of entertainment, things that I should pay attention to only when I have enough free time to actually sit still, focus on just one thing, and not fall asleep. In recent months, however, I have come to regard movies as chapters of "required-reading" books, lessons that I have to learn in order to become a better artist, social activist, and individual. It was because of this newfound mindset that I have been on the lookout for art films, foreign language films, rare classics, and even anime. Because of this, I now schedule my TV and movie viewing as I would any other business activity.

In the past few weeks, I was fortunate enough to have viewed these "required-reading" chapters one after the other, as if the lesson were of such magnitude that it really had to drill itself through my head. Two weekends ago, the chapter was on war and heroism, with such titles as To Be or Not To Be (a Mel Brooks classic), Uncle Saddam, Fahrenheit 9/11, Troy, and Spiderman 2 leaping out from among the list of cable and DVD movie titles.

At the end of it all, I realized that they were all speaking to me about just one thing.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

* * * * *

 
In To Be or Not To Be, funnyman Mel Brooks is a Jewish-Polish thespian struggling with the demands of his art and his illusions of greatness in the midst of the Holocaust. By some strange twist of fate, he finds himself face-to-face with the Gestapo on several occasions, using his theatrical skills to fool the idiots into thinking that he is both a Polish informant and Die Führer, Adolf Hitler. He successfully averts the execution of the Poles through a series of well-executed plots and theatrical ruses, giving his best performance away from the spotlight and without an audience.

Uncle Saddam, on the other hand, exposes the atrocities of the Hussein regime in Iraq in an ironic, almost comical fashion—intersplicing footage of actual interviews with the dictator and news clips of his activities, with humorous commentaries from both allies and critics. It shows how the incredibly vain Saddam Hussein perpetuated a self-serving, self-inflating regime that benefited close friends and family members, vanquished detractors and foes, and ultimately held millions of Iraqis hostage. The human rights violations shown in this film would have been enough justification for the world to take the old man down, without the United States piping in and claiming a questionable Al Qaeda connection.

And now, on to the United States. Michael Moore’s controversial and award-winning Fahrenheit 9/11 shows how, in the eight months of the Bush presidency before the September 11, 2001 attacks, George W. Bush "spent 42 percent of the time on vacation", whether he was playing golf, fishing, hanging out at his Texas ranch, or posing for photo ops. It shows how the U.S. could have braced itself for the terrorist attacks had the president been doing his job, and how—more importantly—the Bush administration concealed the connections between Osama Bin Laden/Al Qaeda and Saudi businessmen who were closely linked to the Bush family. Ultimately, Saddam Hussein (the asshole that he is) should not have been the target of those large-scale counter-terrorist attacks that killed thousands of Americans and Iraqis, and benefited a handful of American businesses (most, if not all, of them with a Bush/Cheney connection).

Troy and Spiderman 2, I suppose, need no introduction.

* * * * *

 
Watching these films made me wonder even more about how war—any war—could be justified. It made me realize that, taken in their proper context, some seeming acts of greatness (such as taking down an Iraqi dictator who is "endangering the whole world" with his "weapons of mass destruction") are actually just selfish, self-serving actions done to cover up the foibles of men and nations in positions of great power and influence; while small, selfless acts without sound bites of photo ops (such as sacrificing one’s dreams and loved ones to the call of duty) are the deeds of which real heroism is made.

Through these films, I have seen how human beings, in an effort to communicate or perpetuate their greatness (such as in Saddam Hussein’s case), are reduced to small, selfish creatures with limited vision and myopic interests. Or, the reverse: to cover up shameful deeds that reduce great leaders to small-minded bigots (such as in Paris’ or George W. Bush’s cases), they fabricate great stories and causes that others would be willing to die for, invoking such timeless (and otherwise vague) ideals as justice, freedom, and security to gain sympathy and support.

Meanwhile, the "little people", those who wish for nothing more than to have their basic needs and to live rather comfortably, are thrown—by their sense of civic duty and responsibility—in the midst of war, to support their leaders (these great men) in their fight for justice, freedom, and security. These "little people" are not in positions of power or influence; it was not their decision to fight these battles and conquer these enemies. But they know that it takes more than one man to topple an unjust regime, or to save the lives of others in danger, so they willingly give up their own needs and comforts so that others may have theirs.

Peter Parker, without his Spidey suit, is just a normal kid who’s trying so hard to make ends meet by juggling a job, a freelance job, and school. In trying to help others (and thus do "great" and noble deeds), he is made more acutely aware of his smallness, his limitations. (For how can one man save the world, do his job, and ace his exams at the same time?) Mr. Bronsky (Mel Brooks’ character in To Be or Not To Be) fumbles onstage when performing his self-acclaimed piece, "Highlights from Hamlet", but gives the greatest performance of his life away from the audience and the applause. The American soldiers who have gone to Iraq know that it is their duty to serve their country, and so they leave their homes and their families to do a thankless job that will ultimately cost them their lives, in a war that will ultimately benefit a handful of men who couldn’t care less.

War brings out the greatness of being small, and the smallness of being great. It turns great leaders into cowards, and ordinary men into heroes.

Not all wars, of course, but these ones that I’ve somehow witnessed, at least.

So what end does war really achieve, and how can it really be justified? More importantly, what does it really mean to fight a war, and what does it really take to be a hero?

Will we ever really know?
 
(Written: July 25, 2004)