Movies and Role Models
I saw Fargo the other day (now one of my all-time favorites), and while the movie was full of enduring moments, one scene in particular—one that many actually seem to find rather inexplicable—is still on my mind a good while after. And before you ask, it isn’t the infamous woodchipper scene, nor the heartfelt ending speech from Frances McDormand (though it was a tour de force performance). It’s the scene that leads up to the bloody climax, the one where Marge meets up with an old friend who’s obviously still enamored with her—that one seems to stick.
In fact, whenever I see a character (generally in movies) who’s intentionally written with some very human but very clear flaws, their image tends to stay with me for a while after. Basically, I’m left thinking: “Well, gee, I don’t want to be like them.” It’s stronger if I’ve felt something close to what the character felt once, or at the very least could imagine myself in their shoes (as ever, good acting helps). I don’t think I’m the only one who does this, and I also think a lot of good movie plots actually rely on the idea of a character representing one or many negative traits that can be reflected in the average person.
And I think this idea of avoiding certain aspects of a flawed character (and the opposing, standard notion of taking on those of a good character) is an important part of the value of media. More so in movies, which can show not just the negative things but the subtle human tendencies that accompany them. I like to call these types of characters “reverse role models,” since the idea is opposite to a standard role model in that you’re essentially trying to avoid some aspect of them.
Role Models and the Reverse
Depending on how you look at it, Fargo can be full of reverse role models. Take a look at its pseudo-protagonist, Jerry: he’s not very good at being a criminal, and you can tell by his little tendencies how difficult it is for him to keep up an ongoing double lie—one to his father-in-law about the amount they’re asking for ransom and another to the hired kidnappers on how much the father is actually paying. In the end, hubris and greed do him in.
The kidnappers themselves are also a good example. Buscemi’s character is a mousy, nervous man, rough around the edges with anger issues. His partner, Grimsrud, is a play on the silent type, aloof but quickly turning to violence when the opportunity arises. Everything they do, from their day-to-day interactions with people to when they’re actually out committing crimes, reveals their negative traits in what feels like a visceral, raw manner, even though the acting is quite subtle. The slow but firm lecturing Marge gives towards the end further adds to the feeling of the movie setting an example.
An important factor linking all these characters is that they’re all believable; Their motivations are within reason for any human and so part of the movie’s job is to show us where they took things too far. And since they have that added believability factor, you can see how in some situation you might be the one making the same poor choices.
But again, of all the characters in this movie designed with believable flaws that fail them in spectacular ways, I still feel worse about the awkward guy than the serial murderer. Or at the very least, I’m left thinking about his actions more. Why? Well, he hits closer to home. And I think for most people, being in an awkward situation is a lot more common than killing (though the motivation, greed, is common enough). No one even considers likening themselves to the guy stuffing a body into a woodchipper, but it’s easy to put yourself into a similarly awkward situation and see all the little ways that you might also give away that you feel uncomfortable. The movie reflects what you were or could be when things don’t really go your way.
So, far from the stories of grandeur that tend to create our standard role models, the best reverse role models aren’t overblown, dramatic evils but everyday people with failures like you and I. And it makes sense that the dynamics would work out this way; if you’re aiming to be more like someone else, they better be at the top of their respective game. But a proper warning shouldn’t come from someone so far below you that you don’t even consider having their issues. To be effective reverse role models, they need to embody the problems that you could potentially have. In my opinion, the best movies often have characters/actors that do this very well.
Reverse Role Models and You
But I think the most interesting part of it is that we don’t often do this with real people. In movies, you can sometimes feel what the characters feel, and indeed many factors are in place in a good movie to make sure that you do. You can’t not participate in feeling. It’s just you face-to-face with raw awkwardness (or whatever other bad trait they’re highlighting). But when we see a real person doing something dumb, it’s usually easier to just avoid thinking about the circumstances that got them there and how they might feel in their current situation. We certainly don’t learn from them with the same ease that we tend to have with movie characters. Humans may be the only creatures truly capable of empathy, but that doesn’t mean we’re good at it.
So why is it easier to connect with most fictional characters than real people? I have a pet theory, and it’s based on two tenets: First, when you invest time into reading a book or watching a film, you’ve already assigned value to the characters in it, more or less equal to amount of time you spent viewing their respective work. On top of that, good fiction is carefully crafted to make its characters feel real. All the important characters’ stories are either shown to you directly or strongly implied. Real people don’t get this luxury with you.
So people tend to infer. And that almost never produces good results. To test it out, go look at a total stranger’s online profile. Seriously, do it. Look up a random name on Facebook or Instagram or LinkedIn or something. Really dig in there, and pay attention to all the little details. You’ll probably find yourself trying to work out all of their (usually negative) characteristics. Perhaps they have a picture of themselves that supposedly reveals some part of their personality. Maybe they have a job that you deem only for a certain type of person. It’s possible you even feel immense second-hand embarrassment in accord to something you believe they’ve done, or for the type of person they’ve become. The Germans have a nice little word for that. It’s called Fremdschämen (or if you feel good about it, Schadenfreude).
Pictures generally seem to be (but aren’t actually) the most revealing parts of a social profile. Under certain contexts, pictures can make people look boring, interesting, narcissistic, timid, smart, outgoing, vapid, etc. And it feels very instinctual to categorize them that way. When people say “first impressions matter” they often forget how important it is you look the part, too.
Sometimes, when we spot negative things about people we don’t know well, we also like to think “they should just do x, and their lives would be so much better/easier.” Even if that were true, it’s hard to imagine the different factors (often psychological) that prevent them from making that decision.
The Proposal
Now here’s the fun part: Given all the assumptions made about that random person, really try and consider how valid they would all be if you actually met them. In other words, using your best judgement, try to give a rough estimate on the percentage of your predictions that would actually come true. Also consider the amount of characteristics that person would probably have that you never would have suspected.
It might feel weird to consider a stranger fully now. As in, they’ve now become a real human with needs and desires, leading a life as complex as any other (vitally, including your own). The dictionary of obscure sorrows recently coined a term for that weird feeling: sonder.
If I did something like this, I have a pretty good guess on what my conclusion would be. Based on the people I’ve made friends with, who’ve often proven my first impressions of them wrong, time and time again, I’d say the percentage is low and the amount is high, respectively. And I’d argue it’s basically the same for most people, too.
So, keeping all that in mind, I have a proposal: Let’s try and consider other people the way we already do with fictional characters—with perspective.