Suspended Articulation
The smartest moment in my life happened when I was a kid, sitting at home flicking channels on the TV. A movie was just about to start so I paused during the opening of the black and white title sequence, waiting to see what kind of potluck broadcast television was bringing to a bored pre-teen boy. Turned out it was the movie Them!, a film I'd heard of but had never seen. Most importantly, I didn't know anything about it.
The story begins somewhere in southwestern desert. People are brutally murdered or killed or eaten or some such thing. No one knows what is going on or what to make of the ravaged sugar stores left behind in the kitchens of the isolated households where the grisly crimes were committed.
Or something like that. It's been years since I've seen the beginning of the movie and the point is that what was going on was a mystery. It took a while for the authorities to figure it out but by then, and within minutes of the opening, as I recall, I had figured out who the villain was. Or what the villain was: ants. Really, really big ones. The clues were there and I was all over them and man, did I feel thrilled watching the rest of the story play out.
I was thinking of this because I was considering how rarely I "figure out" who the bad guy is or what the secret of the house on the hill is or whether or not the presence of the buffalo nickel in the kitchen drawer was really significant or not. There's a reason for it all, and it's not, I hope, because I'm an idiot.
Just like there must be a willingness to suspend belief if we are to enjoy fantastic fiction or movies or any form of media, it also helps if we can suspend our tendency to analyze things, to intellectualize what it is we're actually reading, watching or listening to
When I was even younger than I was when I first saw Them! I used to read the Encyclopedia Brown books by Donald Sobol. Each book was made up of short mystery stories that were solved by the adolescent and phenomenal Encyclopedia Brown. The challenge for the reader was to figure it out along with the hero, of course, but what was brilliant about the stories was that the reasoning behind the solutions were never presented in the stories themselves. The logic for each mystery was printed at the end of the book which meant the stories never bogged down with cumbersome Aha! moments, never slowed for repetitive denouements, they just crackled from page to page, mystery to mystery.
I never did figure out that many of the darn things and it always vaguely bothered me. I was supposed to be the smart kid, maybe not like Encyclopedia Brown, but at least like someone who knew a thing or two about ants. My father would read the books, too, and as far as I could tell he'd figure out the solution to every one of the stories, making me feel both awe and deficient.
The thing is that I was so caught up in the wonderment of the stories, of the being entertained, that I would not or could not allow the analytical machinery to get in the way of the roller coaster ride. I didn't care what made the gears turn, I just loved the fact that they carried me along with them. My father I'm sure treated them as riddles, appetizing as popcorn, and about as enjoyable. It's only now that I realize while we were reading the same books, we weren't doing it for the same reason.
Clearly my father was not about to be mystified by anything intended for a grade school audience but that's not the point. Even today, if the solution to the mystery or the identity of the bad guy pops into my head before the book or movie intends it, I think there's more likely something wrong or clumsy with the plot or structure. I've never had a problem with a willingness to suspend belief, but now I realize that suspension of the intellectual process is just as important. When it's all over, yes, I will pick the book or story apart mercilessly trying to figure out why it did or didn't work, or even what I think they could have done to make it better. Often I'll even engage in idly wondering what I would have done had I been the author.
But if this process takes hold while I'm reading or watching or listening, than something's wrong. The imagination, the place where the action is supposed to be unfolding, is thrown off. It's like when your favorite toy broke as a kid and as long as it doesn't work any more, you smash the rest of it open and wonder how it did what it did. The magic is gone, though, and you can't get it back, at least not in that particular toy.
Now when I read reviews or hear people talk about how they figured out the ending early on, I wonder, Why would you want to? I did it once, way back when, and I was lucky enough to get the genie back where it belongs. If I hadn't, I'm not sure I'd be looking for any more bottles.
The story begins somewhere in southwestern desert. People are brutally murdered or killed or eaten or some such thing. No one knows what is going on or what to make of the ravaged sugar stores left behind in the kitchens of the isolated households where the grisly crimes were committed.
Or something like that. It's been years since I've seen the beginning of the movie and the point is that what was going on was a mystery. It took a while for the authorities to figure it out but by then, and within minutes of the opening, as I recall, I had figured out who the villain was. Or what the villain was: ants. Really, really big ones. The clues were there and I was all over them and man, did I feel thrilled watching the rest of the story play out.
I was thinking of this because I was considering how rarely I "figure out" who the bad guy is or what the secret of the house on the hill is or whether or not the presence of the buffalo nickel in the kitchen drawer was really significant or not. There's a reason for it all, and it's not, I hope, because I'm an idiot.
Just like there must be a willingness to suspend belief if we are to enjoy fantastic fiction or movies or any form of media, it also helps if we can suspend our tendency to analyze things, to intellectualize what it is we're actually reading, watching or listening to
When I was even younger than I was when I first saw Them! I used to read the Encyclopedia Brown books by Donald Sobol. Each book was made up of short mystery stories that were solved by the adolescent and phenomenal Encyclopedia Brown. The challenge for the reader was to figure it out along with the hero, of course, but what was brilliant about the stories was that the reasoning behind the solutions were never presented in the stories themselves. The logic for each mystery was printed at the end of the book which meant the stories never bogged down with cumbersome Aha! moments, never slowed for repetitive denouements, they just crackled from page to page, mystery to mystery.
I never did figure out that many of the darn things and it always vaguely bothered me. I was supposed to be the smart kid, maybe not like Encyclopedia Brown, but at least like someone who knew a thing or two about ants. My father would read the books, too, and as far as I could tell he'd figure out the solution to every one of the stories, making me feel both awe and deficient.
The thing is that I was so caught up in the wonderment of the stories, of the being entertained, that I would not or could not allow the analytical machinery to get in the way of the roller coaster ride. I didn't care what made the gears turn, I just loved the fact that they carried me along with them. My father I'm sure treated them as riddles, appetizing as popcorn, and about as enjoyable. It's only now that I realize while we were reading the same books, we weren't doing it for the same reason.
Clearly my father was not about to be mystified by anything intended for a grade school audience but that's not the point. Even today, if the solution to the mystery or the identity of the bad guy pops into my head before the book or movie intends it, I think there's more likely something wrong or clumsy with the plot or structure. I've never had a problem with a willingness to suspend belief, but now I realize that suspension of the intellectual process is just as important. When it's all over, yes, I will pick the book or story apart mercilessly trying to figure out why it did or didn't work, or even what I think they could have done to make it better. Often I'll even engage in idly wondering what I would have done had I been the author.
But if this process takes hold while I'm reading or watching or listening, than something's wrong. The imagination, the place where the action is supposed to be unfolding, is thrown off. It's like when your favorite toy broke as a kid and as long as it doesn't work any more, you smash the rest of it open and wonder how it did what it did. The magic is gone, though, and you can't get it back, at least not in that particular toy.
Now when I read reviews or hear people talk about how they figured out the ending early on, I wonder, Why would you want to? I did it once, way back when, and I was lucky enough to get the genie back where it belongs. If I hadn't, I'm not sure I'd be looking for any more bottles.
posted by Rick Ollerman at 5:18 PM
3 Comments:
I've never been one to try to figure out endings, preferring to be taken for the complete ride (even with Encyclopedia Brown books, which prove difficult to solve even now ... when I try).
These days, when a solution occurs to me unbidden, I see it as a flaw in the material. After all, if my subconscious figured it out, it must not have been very difficult.
I agree with this completely. For years I've been puzzled not only by people who actively try to figure out, deduce, or guess endings, but when others are disappointed in me for not seeing it coming. It's as though I've let them down by somehow not living up to my intellect. It's not that I *can't* solve the mystery (or not, beats me), but I don't want to spoil the reading by trying.
I really appreciate those rare instances where a writer presents you with an ending that not only slips past your subconscious but that is as much of a surprise as it is a logical ending.
Indeed. I even saw a movie recently where the romantic leads did not end up together — which utterly shocked me even though it was exactly right for the story.
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