I recently watched Yes Man. It wasn’t an overly interesting movie, nor was it particularly funny. Like most popular movies, it had its moments (most of which were featured in the trailer), but just like the rest of them, its was cliché and numbingly predictable. Call me cynical, but I am becoming increasingly irritated at how easy it is to anticipate plot, and sometimes even dialogue. The only saving grace for me was the charm and talent of Zooey Deschanel, an actor deserving of more worthy roles.

I’m not picking on Yes Man, all you have to do is pick up a romantic comedy and 9 out of 10 times, you’d ultimately be watching the same movie. The main character is usually down and out, single or divorced, then some life-changing event causes them to do something out-of-character and low and behold they meet an unlikely mate who nonchalantly enters their life. They fall in love (usually in a matter of days), and then just when you think things couldn’t get any better, the main character (occasionally the supporting role), does something foolish or some damaging truth surfaces, then it all falls apart.

But, in its usual predicable fashion, the main character (or foolish doer), performs some elaborate or vulnerable stunt, apologises, achieves redemption, and wins back the mate in a climactic romantic scene, and blah blah blah, they all live happily ever after. Sound familiar? That’s because I just described 90% of every romantic comedy to come out of Hollywood since I was born. And that’s just one genre, you’ve got your political thrillers where some inexperienced amateur discovers some corporate conspiracy and manages to bring to justice a large corporation in a David & Goliath type battle. The list goes on, don’t even get me started on action movies.

Now, I understand the reason behind the predictability—according to the rules of narrative, a necessary element of literature is to present a conflict and resolve it. You see this common theme in each of these painfully unimpressive films—they all have happy endings. The guy gets the girl, the bad guy gets busted, or the main character gains redemption, often triumphantly. These rules of narrative are seen as necessary to keep the interest of the reader or viewer. It seems that we overwhelmingly favour the conflict resolution narrative. Why?

Well, for one, fictional constructs (film, literature etc) must contain elements of prediction and fulfilment because our mind needs narrative to make sense of things. We seek a beginning, a middle and an end. That’s how we understand and construct meaning. The problem is however, that reality is not always like that, it is very difficult to understand, and we struggle to construct meaning out of our everyday experience. In short, life doesn’t always play out according to the predictably redemptive narrative of film, for many, there is no happy ending.

This brings me to an interesting supposition about the nature of modern society. We overwhelmingly favour the conflict resolution narrative because we prefer the reproduction of reality to reality itself. We have an immeasurable obsession with fiction and fantasy because it provides escape. It provides form and constancy in an often chaotic and unpredictable world, and more interestingly, I believe it provides a fleeting departure from our own miserable existence.

Thirdly, maybe its a clue, but I’ll touch on that at the end. For now, let’s explore that second point a little more. Let’s be honest, our lives hardly resemble the excitement, adventure and quixotic romance that Hollywood portrays. Life is complicated, unpredictable and our expectations are seldom met. Life is full of pain, heartache, brokenness, and for many, unimaginable suffering. In my opinion, the popularity of fiction has to do with its ability to offer viewers the opportunity to live vicariously through the fictitious characters of unrealistic stories. Within that moment of delusion, we feel a part of an exciting narrative, but one that ultimately doesn’t exist.

Standing in stark contrast to Yes Man is a brilliant film called The Wrestler. I loved this film. Loved it. Why? Because it was real. It was true. It was nestled in reality. It was beautiful because it was tragic. Rather than depict an impossible story that presents a false portrayal of redemption, it shared a story that so many of us can relate to. It helped me to better understand the reality of the human condition and the suffering of my fellow man. It made me feel deeply burdened by the reality of pain in our world and the deep longing for redemption.

The story draws us into the world and point of view of a broken man. Granted, there is danger in wallowing in sickness and exploiting and indulging in brokenness, but that’s not what’s happening here. The film evokes an earnest empathy for the main character. Empathy is a strong emotion and a powerful driving force for action. The incarnation of Christ can be understood as the greatest demonstration of empathy. The way The Wrestler draws us into a tragic narrative is an allusion to how Jesus enters into our narrative to understand the fullness of our condition. After becoming like us and experiencing our pain, He takes it upon himself.

You see, we want to live in the delusion that there is always a happy ending for everyone. It appeases our conscience and sustains inaction. It gives us a false assurance that the world’s suffering is somehow, somewhere resolving itself in a happy ending. Our society doesn’t like being faced with reality, delusion is its sanctity, truth is its profanity. We switch the channel from the World Vision commercial back to Masterchef, we’d rather watch The Devil Wears Prada than face the painful truth of a film like Invisible Children. It disturbs us.

We’d much rather live in the delusion that life plays out according to a Hollywood narrative. It’s a false assumption to assume that conflict always resolves itself. Most conflict is never resolved in this lifetime. We battle an internal conflict within ourselves, we fight an ongoing war with culture, we are struggling for survival on a depleting planet, and our relationships have unresolved conflict. Look at the narrative of Middle-Eastern conflict and the intifada, or the continuation of poverty.

Now, I’m not saying that we ought to do away with the conflict-resolution narrative; it certainly has its place along with fiction, without a doubt. I would be contradicting my own belief system. You see, I believe in an over-arching meta-narrative, a grand story that actually represents a final and apodictic truth, which is ultimately: redemption. All I am saying is that popular media has too zealously bombarded us with a romanticised narrative that fails miserably in its portrayal of conflict and tragedy. How it deals with the resolution of tragedy isolates us in our own unresolved tragedy and insulates us from the reality of the world’s unresolved tragedy.

We need a balance of fiction and truth in popular media, purely because of the significance of the role of popular media in shaping culture. Film, in my opinion, should always strike a balance between presenting a conflict and resolving it (which there is truth in), reflecting a common belief in hope, but also leaving conflict unresolved (which is the reality for many), evoking empathy, and subsequently, action. But that gets us into questions of the purpose of art, literature and film, which is way too complicated.

One final observation: why the common hope for redemption? Is that how we were wired? Is it a clue to our purpose? Also, how do we reconcile what seems to be a common hope for redemption with the equally common non-religious accord in the western world? If we so demand redemption for the broken and repulsive protagonist, and if we so long for the peaceful resolution (happy ending) to internal and external conflict, then why the empty pews? Does the redemptive character of Christ not satisfy the yearning of those seeking hope in an unpredictable and painful world? Are the answers of secular thought winning out in the war of ideas over meaning?

‘The Project’ is officially back up and running again after a break over the holiday season—you’ll be seeing regular posts from here on in.

For most of us, this year has begun well. For others, it has been tainted by disaster. You have no doubt heard about the devastating earthquake in Haiti. On Tuesday January 12, a catastrophic magnitude 7 quake struck approximately 25 kms west of Port-au-Prince (Haiti’s capital). According to some estimates, up to 200,000 people are tragically reported dead.

All of a sudden, this tiny Caribbean nation has been cast into the international spotlight. The nations of the world are lending their support and resources to respond to the disaster and aid agencies are appealing to the world for humanitarian aid all in an effort to lend a helping hand to Haitians. I personally gave to World Vision’s relief effort and I encourage you to do the same.

Now, here’s the thing. Why does everyone care so much about Haiti all of a sudden? On January 11, Haiti was just as desperate as it was on January 12. There is a strange phenomenon that occurs when a natural disaster strikes—we all of a sudden become sympathetic. Why? Is it because we feel that a natural disaster is the only justifiable reason to respond hastily to human tragedy in the third world?

Are not hunger, disease, dirty water, inadequate shelter, internal conflict etc good enough reasons to respond hastily? 30,000 children die each day from hunger alone. Where are the celebrity tele-fundraisers or charity sporting events for them? Is it because we feel that a natural disaster, unlike systematic poverty, isn’t their fault and they are therefore deserving of our help only in this situation?

The same thing happened with the 2004 Tsunami. Wow, what a response! But why did we care so much about death in Indonesia when it was by Tsunami as opposed to hunger? Haiti is a really interesting example, they have a complex past and a very complicated political and social situation today. A victim of European colonial enslavement, Haiti continues to struggle with external political influences.

Corruption, structural violence, disease, desperate poverty, slavery, despotism, conflict and environmental devastation are rife in Haiti. This tiny nation was often an object of critical engagement throughout my undergraduate political science degree, often cited as an archetype of systematic oppression. It is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere and the rest of the time, it flies under the radar.

If there was ever a country that needed help, a plight that ever needed to be broadcast to the world, a story that ever needed to be told—it was Haiti. But being a victim of structural violence, systematic rape and starvation is apparently not as newsworthy as being a victim of an earthquake.

As my friend Richard Fleming points out, Japan and California have had much stronger earthquakes in more densely populated areas than the one that hit Port-au-Prince, yet the death tolls have been relatively minor. The high death toll in Haiti is purely a product of its complete and utter vulnerability due to its poverty – an issue that clearly has never been worth a front page story.