Missing the Point
The State of Modern Storytelling
Stories—as evidenced by every single civilization, religion, ideology, movement, and so on that has ever existed—are of vital importance for the human experience. Whether they come in the form of the great Greek epics, or the Nordic sagas, or the myriad of stories presented in the Bible—which are, in themselves, all part of a greater story, that of Salvation—they constitute a pillar around which culture proliferates.
Stories constitute the quintessential form of communication. The only one, I believe, capable of reaching straight from the senses to the heart. From this characteristic, and the fact that their power seems to be ubiquitous across all human groups, stems it civilization-crafting power.
From careful, contemplative reading of the works of the Ancient Greeks one can usually understand them more truly than from reading more scholarly books. Their spirit, rarely contained in the ever-present market of secondary and academic literature, can be reached to in the Odyssey, the Iliad, the tragedies of Sophocles, and the comedies of Aristophanes, and so on. The same occurs with any other group or individual in the history of humanity.
Based on this premise—that one can begin to understand an individual or a group of people based on the stories they produce and consume—one can spiral into sadness by taking a look into our own time and groups and seeing the absolute disarray the realm of stories finds itself in. One can only wonder what a future historian—or simply a hobbyist historian—will feel when he is faced by this same storytelling mess we now reside in.
Failing at Form
One could argue, that the first problem stories face nowadays is the way in which they are delivered, saying that cinema and TV—particularly TV—seem like places were reaching for meaning rather than mere reactions from an audience is a difficult task. In his short introduction to aesthetics, aptly titled Beauty: A Very Short Introduction, Sir Roger Scruton says ‘cinema and its offshoots are most at fault among the arts, in pursuing effect at the cost of meaning,’ and I don’t believe him to be wrong about it.
While it is true that this mediums may not be optimal for true, meaningful stories—notice that I purposely avoid the term ‘deep’, for it is often stories that are not particularly ‘deep’ which are the most impactful—as others have been throughout history, reducing the catastrophic state of stories and storytelling to a problem of the devices used to deliver such stories. The existence of good and even great stories produced and delivered in such mediums is enough to prove the fault does not lie on them alone.
It is, however, also true that certain characteristics of the way such mediums are used today definitely affect the stories they carry. It is, for instance, impossible to produce good stories in an industrial fashion, as can be attested by the consumers of the content streaming companies (try to) put out on a weekly basis.
Nobody would find the statement ‘I’ve looked at the Sistine Chapel… in pictures,’ to be equivalent in any way to ‘I’ve been to the Sistine Chapel.’ It is not the same experience in any way shape or form. The message and the beauty cannot be carried in the same manner. No contemplation can be achieved. How, then, is watching film on a tiny phone screen comparable to watching it in the silver screen it was crafted for
Meaning and form in stories, and also in art in general, are inseparable1.
Failing at Meaning
The question of meaning is far more complex, at least to me. The eternal quest for begetting some meaning into stories may be the primary reason why so many lack any true meaning and, thus, its partner in crime, beauty. If you don’t believe me, search for your favorite Protestant movie. Chances are you may enjoy it, but have to accept it is simply horrendous, storytelling wise. Most of them suffer from such and obsession with being full of meaning that they end up missing it at all or, worse, sounding preachy. Good stories can make for good preaching, but good preaching don’t necessarily make for good stories.
This same mistake, albeit in far more terrible form, is seen in most secular media. That is, in all bad secular media.
Meaning is like good wine: it requires, first and foremost, time. You cannot produce it en masse to hold it and imbue your stories with them as you please. It must find you, and you must nurture it as it grows and takes hold of you and whatever you are writing and turns it into its own. This slow, patient approach does not work for media companies nowadays, of course, for it is not in their interest to make stories that are merely great but to make stories that sell. The organic approach, while leading to better, truer stories, leads to less stories, and you can’t have that in the world of Netflix and chill.
Failing at Purpose
There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that interacting with stories—by both hearing them and telling them—is of vital importance to Man. It is a knack that resides at the core of our being; it is essential to us.
I like to think of stories as quasi-sacramental: they are perceptible things meant not only to symbolize imperceptible truths but take us to them. The best—actually, the perfect—example of this is the Greatest Story Ever Told: the Story of Salvation. By the physical, strenuous sacrifice of Christ in the Cross we are lifted back into Communion with God. By the founding of the Church, a perceptible institution, we are allowed to reside in the Mystical Body of Christ.
Now, of course the Story of Salvation is a special example but it is not difficult to find other instances of stories elevating the human spirit into greater things. Does the Iliad not inspire in the reader a greater respect for honor, as seen in Hector? Does the the chivalry of El Cid and men like Sir Perceval and many other knights means nothing to the reader? When one finally closes a good book for the last time, is he not a different man from the one he was when he opened it the first time?
‘It’s just a movie,’ is not a valid excuse to interact with stuff that wrecks our soul. We must be responsible, then, for what we consume and what we make. In other words, we must always interact with stories with purpose in mind. ‘Why am I reading this?’ ‘Is this worth watching?’ are questions that we should be asking ourselves on a daily basis2.
If we ever hope to recover the grandeur of storytelling, it is necessary for us to understand this hard but beautiful truth: The stories we make and the stories we interact with touch our souls and mold them. Thus, we better watch, read, write, film, make, and demand great stories. Only then can Man be great.
As a comment, I would say this is part of the reason why adaptations—so popular amongst producers these days—are so hard to do right and, thus, rarely any good. Even the most lauded ones—Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings and Dennis Villeneuve’s Dune for instance—are far inferior when compared to their source material, even if greatly enjoyable.
These questions do not leave out the possibility of merely passing time with enjoyable content. Merely, they force us to do so consciously. As in, we want to ‘pass the time’ willingly; we don’t do so out of mere impulse.