Though I’m not a fan of his work or the messy celebrity circle jerk that goes on during the Golden Globes, the empty mouthed criticism that has marred Woody Allen’s lifetime achievement award is undeserved. Don’t get me wrong. The allegations of sexual assault on a minor, particularly his adopted daughter, are a very real concern and warrant the utmost admonishment and scrupulous attention. But what is at stake here is not Woody or his combined experiences or his personal failings, but art itself.
Let me step back. Art is a product of humanity’s ingenuity. It is the combination of thought, sound, love, breath creating life, life creating breath.
What is more is that good artists, as Oscar Wilde said, exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. I believe this stands true for Woody Allen. Although his life is important and the minutiae of his experiences are worthy of scrutiny in both good and bad lenses, his personal background does not comprise the whole of his being. This is especially true in his art. He is not fantastic because he is a New Yorker. He does not resonate with me because he has seen some of the places I’ve seen. Nor is he a bad person because he may have voted for Bush, though it would certainly make his judgement questionable (if alleged sexual assault wasn't a big enough indicator).
Neither the personal bad nor good ruin one another. They are isolated compartments. He, and the art he creates, is worthy of merit because despite it all, despite his vulnerabilities, his possible evils, and his warped idiosyncrasies, he kept on living, kept on feeling, kept on directing.
This does not excuse his alleged act of molestation nor does it make it right. Nor, too, does the fact that there is a celebration of the possible perpetrator instead of the victim - the one who was really hurt - go unnoticed. Rather receiving this award is a testament that he was able to transform the pain of his life into beauty through his work. Rather than be a resultant process of his problems, rather than allow them to dictate his lifestyle, he moved beyond his darkness.
With lights, camera, and action, he achieved greatness even if he himself wasn’t, and isn't, great.
Photo c/o ThomasThomas on Flickr.
Andrew Terefenko
Opinions Editor
When one is violently bed-ridden (by a sickness, not a serial killer, of course), there are few avenues for entertainment at hand. So from my choices I tried to select the one that was least likely to send me into a slumberous stupor. Alas, I fialed. This is my experience watching the 2012 Golden Globes.
The Hollywood Foreign Press hands out these pristine statuettes to the actors, actresses and even disappointment-bound act-kids that they deem, through some voodoo clandestine methods, are most deserving of the notoriety and precious stage presence the award entails.
On that note, I come to what is the most noticeable problem with the gala, which is the gush-heavy, smug-breeding acceptance speeches.
Given the star-struck nature of the average North American citizen, the Globes become a highly public avenue for celebrities to voice their concerns and grievances with the world at large. Some like Clooney choose to chastise the world for ignoring the underprivileged and departed, while the Pitts and Jolies may instead opt to congratulate their fellow A-listers for doing just the opposite.
It is an event that serves to further perpetuate the illusion that these people are not only richer, but also better than us. There is already such an irreparable issue with celebrity status in this part of the world, among others, where the downtrodden populace is not content with viewing acting as a mere career, and a neat way to mete out some scratch.
They are instead worshipped, idolized and basted in a marinara sauce of millions of dollars, and thus taken more seriously at times than the uninteresting people who run our world. If Helen Mirren can be more influential than Harper, I think it is just cause to be taken aback.
I don’t want to take away the dazzle in that little prospect’s eyes that strikes when he or she sees a star on the big screen and aspires to wear grey hairs with just as much dignity as the Hollywood aged elite, but one must consider that the culture of entertainment vastly poisons the way that priorities are set in our civilization. When the writers or screen actors guilds go on strike, there is a larger outcry than the single bleep we hear during scandalous political injustices.
The flawed income distribution and frightening media attention on depraved lifestyles are problems enough on their own, but the issue begins and ends with perception.
The powers that reign, whether they are God, NBC or Albertan oil, only capitalize on what the public is easily distracted with. It is difficult to focus on the real commotions that motion our lives when our eyes are glued to the best and worst dressed lists, spreads and photo orgies that populate every event like this one.
Abandoning a celebrity-central society focus can be a great step towards taking back control of our broken, penniless lives, and the sooner we break out of this Hollywood hypnosis the sooner we can get back to occupying financial centers and grieving about Eastern world disasters. It is all too easy to fall into the trap of staring at shiny objects like a race of bipedal magpies.
The world is our oyster, but far too many of us are blinded by the pearl in the center, so I sincerely hope people make the extra effort to avoid the celebrity draw, unlike me.
Of course, it’s a difficult habit to break, but I’ll be damned if a major world crisis gets overshadowed by another Streep breakdown.
