How to Hate the Arts

A Brief Course in Cultural Criticism

I think we’ve all said more than enough about Christopher Nolan’s Odysseus. But to give the briefest recap… The movie was an entertaining summer epic with fun set pieces. It fell short artistically due to some heavy-handed ruminations on the fall of Western civilization which seemed out of character for Odysseus as the film portrayed him. Engrossing. Good popcorn. Nice to hear moderns discussing and reading this foundational poem. Not a major piece of cinematic art.

But during the online reaction, many political conservatives beclowned themselves with their grumpy-pants tantrums. The nonsense about Nolan’s betrayal of Homer’s original intentions was comical coming from people who clearly knew nothing about Homer or his intentions, which are hard to discern even for scholars.

To be clear, political leftists beclown themselves constantly. Giving Oscars to DEI minutia like Moonlight and despicable propaganda like One Battle After Another, ranking any ephemeral novel by a black woman with The Great Gatsby, and so on. Leftist cultural commentary is a ceaseless parade of virtue-signaling buffoonery.

But. The left owns the means of cultural production, so they are free to revel in their power like Scrooge McDuck bathing in his cash. Conservatives, on the other hand, are fighting a cultural war structurally similar to the American Revolution: as the Evil Empire marches through our publishing houses and movie theaters, we have to hide behind rocks and trees and pop up to take our shots when we can. We’ve got to make every bullet count.

So, rather than revisit this embarrassing event, I would simply like to deliver a brief lesson on when the arts need hating and how to hate them when they do. Don’t try to thank me. You couldn’t possibly thank me enough.

First, when it comes to the existence of a work of art, there are three major lines of responsibility. The responsibility of the audience to the work, the responsibility of the work to the audience, and the responsibility of the artist to the work.

The responsibility of the audience to the work is non-existent. We are here to be entertained. We do not have to live up to the work’s intellectual depth or moral standards. If you think we didn’t watch Supergirl because we’re sexists — too bad, loser. Stop making girlboss crap and maybe we’ll show up. Maybe. Meanwhile, we have plenty of other things with which to occupy our precious time. The audience only has a responsibility to other audience members: don’t talk or text during the movie, don’t give away the ending of a book when you recommend it to your friends.

The responsibility of the work to the audience is to delight. It is not to “shock” or “instruct” or “challenge.” These three words all mean the same thing: “To flaunt the faddish elite opinions of the moment in the faces of non-elites.” My response: Bite me. Then delight me. Make me laugh, cry, shudder, bite my nails or simply gape in awe at your power to create beauty. Give me an experience I will treasure and remember. Otherwise, bugger off and die.

The responsibility of the artist to the work is to make it delightful but also true. It can emerge from his personal vision of life, it can contain his criticism of social norms or anything else. But if it lies to us, we’ll eventually catch him, and even if we don’t, he’ll have done something morally wrong, so screw him.

That said, the artist has no responsibility to his source material. If you don’t like Nolan’s Homer, read Homer’s Homer. It’s readily available. Don’t whine about the fact that Nolan made a work of his own. That’s his job.

Now. Three tips on when it is and isn’t worth saying something nasty about a work.

1. Just because something is popular doesn’t mean it matters. There’s a country song doing well on the charts right now. Something about a girl from Tennessee losing her man to a girl from Texas. People are writing whole articles about it. They should stop. It’s a toe-tapping ditty sung by a pretty lady with a nice voice about a more-or-less typical country music subject. Why shouldn’t people enjoy it? It tells us nothing about “these kids today,” or state’s rights or anything else.

2. The two things in the arts that tend to produce good cultural commentary are trends and successful works of excellence that catch the public’s attention.

Trends. The current explosion of romantasy novels probably tells us something about women’s longings in this moment. The steady stream of horror movies tells us something too, though maybe only that horror movies are cheap and easy to make. But one romantasy novel or one horror movie isn’t likely to tell us much. UNLESS…

Unless it is a work of excellence. A work of excellence always reveals something about something: the human condition, the struggle of the individual against society, the joys and heartaches of love and death, the search for God — something. And in the event that work of excellence actually captures the public’s attention, it probably tells us something that is particularly relevant to the moment. The Godfather, a great film, is, like Shakespeare’s Othello, a meditation on the complexities of assimilation. Its success tells us that it came out at a moment when America was struggling with its identity in fresh and anxiety-producing ways. Or maybe something else. But something — something worth discussing.

3. Your world is not under artistic attack unless it is. By which I mean: An individual artist’s attack on your personal moral outlook is not necessarily bad or good or interesting. It’s part of the art-audience dynamic. If I decide to write a novel detailing the corruption of the Catholic church or the Mormon church or Charlotte Church, that’s my prerogative. You can ignore me or curse my name or spit in my general direction. That’s your prerogative. But it’s all good. Your church will ultimately live or die on its merits and so will my work.

What is not okay, is a cabal of powerful moneyed art producers declaring by fiat that a certain point of view is required and others are banned. When every married couple in the arts is mixed race, that is not commentary, it’s propaganda. I don’t care who marries whom in real life, but I also don’t care who Hollywood and New York muckamucks think should marry whom. Again, they can bugger — and I mean this sincerely — off. Don’t lecture me about how strong women are, how many black people had knighthoods in 17^th century England, how real men do dishes, how gay people rock — just because that’s what you win awards for or don’t get canceled for or get your tummy scratched for. Make works that come from your heart and your desire to make a buck (a perfectly noble motive when it serves the quality of the work).

The problem with the arts in America is not the arts, it’s the de facto censorship. Recently, action star Alan Ritchson said a bunch of absurd stuff about the president, whom he despises. That’s great. He’s a person. He’s allowed to think what he thinks. The problem is not Ritchson. The problem is Gina Carano getting fired on trumped-up charges for supporting the president. If Ritchson can speak, and he should, so can Gina, and she should. Or they can both shut up and act. Either way.

The trouble in the arts today is not that artists are egotistical idiots. This is always so. The trouble is that a powerful cabal controls their output and bans anything that threatens their own outlook and, of course, their own power. The arts are being strangled by a tyrannical regime that needs to be called out and taken down. That’s a legitimate reason for attack criticism — not boo-hoo, poor Homer.

That’s it. Congratulations. You now have an undergraduate degree in complaining about the arts. Use it wisely. But remember this one last thing:

The arts will only be redeemed by those who love them. If you’re angry because the arts won’t tell you what you want to hear, you are angry at the arts themselves. But if you’re angry because a vehicle of joy has been commandeered by a small cadre of powerful elites for their own self-aggrandizing and oppressive purposes, then you’re on the right track.

You have to want the arts to be good, before you know how to attack them for being bad.