Whitney Evans Part B:
Tragedy and Spectacle, Including the Sublime (Obj. 2)
Tragedy does not rely on flash or over exaggerated
visual stimuli to prove its point.
Instead, it seeks to eliminate nearly all excess in order to present a purer
plot. It does not rely on the easy
feelings of laughter and happiness to win over its crowd.
Tragedy is more focused on the words and choices of characters rather
than the gluttony of showiness and excessive breaks of humor.
The old cliché holds true with the immensely raw genre of tragedy:
with spectacle, less is more.
Spectacle in the sense of superficial emotion has no
place, and will not be found in tragedy.
Simple emotions like happiness and carefree love will not be found
because they do not mimic reality.
Yes, happiness and love are abundant and evident emotions, but life more
typically seems to focus in on the negative, troubling issues that never go
away. Succinctly, life is not simple;
therefore our literature and art should not be simple.
To limit ourselves in our art only to that which is easy and superfluous
would drastically halt self-knowledge.
We must replicate true problems in our psyche and society in our art in
an effort to study it and broaden our ideas of the self.
Aristotle states, “First, the instinct of imitation is implanted in
[humanity] from childhood, one difference between [the human] and other animals
being that people are the most imitative of living creatures, and through
imitation, we learn our earliest lessons (Poetics handout).”
It is only natural our instinct of repetition.
To pretend that dark, taboo issues like incest, infanticide,
and patricide do not exist in our world would be to deny our true reality.
In contrast to tragedy, comedy and/or romance do not present the innate,
terrible realities of life. Often,
comedy and romance serve as an escape from the subject matter of tragedy.
It is much easier to pretend something does not exist than to face it
head on and try to understand it.
It is also easier to look at something pretty for a distraction from the ugly
truth. This “something pretty” is
often referred to as spectacle. For
example, in the film You’ve Got Mail,
the “problem” involves a woman who is falling in love with two separate men:
the man who is going to put her out of business, and the man who she is
secretly conversing with online.
Instead of having to make a difficult decision regarding whom she will spend the
rest of her life with, (like one would be forced to do in real life) the entire
dilemma is just pushed to the side, because the two men are, in fact, the same
man! How easy it would be if life
worked out so well.
Spectacle does not have to be pretty.
It does not have to be a punch line and a “happily ever after.”
Most of the obvious spectacle seen in present day art is that of violence
and action. The horror movies of
today rely on sickeningly close-up shots of knives on throats and intestines
flying all over the place. The
audience is unsettled to see their insides displayed
in such a way. Adrian Hernandez
refers to this as the “O-M-G factor.”
What spectacle fails to offer is a good reason.
Yes, the bad serial killer in the slasher film is “evil,” but do we ever
discover why? What happened to this
person to cause them to turn into this monster?
Tragedy provides the why.
If we were to just hear about Oedipus, the incestuous murderer, we would
never be on his side. But what
tragedy does by limiting the use of spectacle is create the sublime.
The idea of the sublime is that which is, according to Aristotle,
beautiful and terrible, pleasurable and pitiful, sympathetic and repulsive.
While the audience is disgusted with Oedipus’ actions, they are also
considering the fact that his plight was placed upon him.
He is nearly without fault, because it was the prophecy of Apollo that
ordained his destiny. Yes, he
killed his father, but he did so unknowingly.
When you contrast Oedipus’ good intentions with his actions, it’s hard to
place blame on him alone and entirely.
He left his home willingly, left his family and all he knew to keep from
allowing the prophecy to come to fruition.
This alone shows that Oedipus, at the very least, was repulsed by the
idea of murdering his father and bedding his mother.
Jennifer Clary states, “The sublime allows the reader of a
tragic play to merge their own human characteristics with those of the [tragic]
character (Clary, model assignment).”
This is the true success of tragedy as a genre.
It intermingles true human emotion into its discourse.
The audience is intricately woven into the feelings and thoughts of the
characters because they aren’t merely static, but real, mistake-making people.
We are the characters on the stage, in some way.
We cannot completely cut ourselves away from their problems.
Tragedy cuts straight to the psyche and extracts that which all of us, in
some way, have within. Rather than
being able to label a “bad guy,” we are instead left with the troubling fact
that the tragic hero had good, redeeming qualities he (or she) made choices we
ourselves could have made. We are
able to see both sides and argue them, but in the end, there is no good or bad
guy. It is “a powerful mixture of pleasure and pain (Aristotle,
sublime handout)” that keeps the line of good and bad from being drawn.
The sublime doesn’t let us off easy.
Where we are completely disgusted by Oedipus’ actions, he pleases us
because he saved The construct of tragedy to repress this use of spectacle
speaks to its potency. It stands on
its own without need of pomp and circumstance.
The audience does not need to see Oedipus sleep with his mother to be
completely grossed out by it.
Spectacle in tragedy would serve only to spoon-feed the audience.
The situations and deep psychological problems stand on their own without
need of show. When you have
characters that are so deeply flawed and real, spectacle is not needed and would
only serve to dilute the story.
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