Reflections on Cinema and Meaning
Recently, many Americans felt a sense of relief as a series of films, often criticized for their supposed “woke” narratives, have seemingly come to an end. Those that did manage to get released ended up in the entertainment equivalent of a graveyard.
However, another issue persists.
What truly gives life its ultimate meaning? Woke ideology struggles to provide an answer to this profound question, one that every civilization and individual inevitably faces.
As illustrated through the story of John Wick, choices can lead to significant consequences. After over 15 years characterized by cultural awakenings in education and entertainment, American viewers may be reaching a point where they can no longer engage with films that tackle the serious questions surrounding human existence.
Let me elaborate on why this concern looms large.
The so-called “woke agenda” has trained countless students and audiences to approach issues superficially, leading to a distorted understanding of suffering, often attributed to concepts like “whiteness” and “heteronormativity.” The belief that electing enough democratic socialists will magically resolve these issues feels like a naïve fantasy.
Take a stroll through modern college campuses, and you might notice how frequently life’s profound questions are reduced to matters of identity.
Why do people suffer? Inequality is often blamed on the perceived oppressive systems.
Why does life carry a sense of emptiness? Economic hindrances are thought to be the culprit.
While a typical DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) educator might categorize the problem in terms of student identity, suggesting that one group’s struggles are the result of another’s privileges, the proposed solution remains tragically simple: become an activist, champion marginalized voices, rebuild society, or, in some cases, just stop being white.
It’s a bit perplexing, don’t you think? Consider each movie that bombards audiences with these supposed answers. Marvel, for instance, has been particularly intense in its messaging. In one series, Ultron attempted to confront the problem of evil, yet it spiraled into chaos and violence.
The overarching narrative in this franchise suggests that humans are inherently good, but only when under the protective watch of superheroes. Ironically, these same characters often perpetrate the very evil that Ultron perceives in the fabric of history.
The Avengers series, in particular, presents a puzzling dilemma, prompting viewers to question whether the characters were ever truly meant to be the absurd heroes they claim to be.
These moments lead me to wonder if audiences today, influenced by DEI ideologies, would even grasp the nuances of classic films like Cool Hand Luke.
This film probably wouldn’t resonate with today’s audiences, and yet I can’t help but wonder—would they even wait to see it through to the end? Do they comprehend the existential queries it poses?
In it, Luke, embodied by Paul Newman, returns home from World War II, only to find himself devoid of clear direction or purpose. His acts of rebellion lead him into a prison camp, but the true stakes lie deeper than his initial offenses.
This film isn’t merely about crime or punishment; it probes the ancient question of what individuals do when they can’t discover meaning in their lives.
Luke’s journey is existential; he initially confronts the fiercest prisoners as a testament to his refusal to relinquish his humanity. When he wins a poker game, he earns the nickname “Cool Hand Luke.”
This calmness stands as a form of defiance against an indifferent universe. Why unleash anger when everything seems to be fine within yourself?
In many ways, imprisonment serves as a metaphor for human existence itself. Laws and regulations appear arbitrary. At one point, Luke expresses to a fellow inmate:
“All I see is that a lot of people have a lot of rules and regulations.”
Later, during a poignant visitation with his dying mother, the exchange lacks warmth. Referring to her simply as “Arletta” instead of “Mom,” they both sidestep emotional vulnerability. In a flat farewell, Luke states, “Well then, Arletta. Take care.”
Through a haunting melody, Luke further mocks the shallow promises of popular religion.
Get Sweet Madonna
sitting wearing rhinestones
This is an abalone shell pedestal.
I’m not scared when I’m 90 years old
‘Cause I got the Virgin Mary
Please assure me that I will not go to hell.
In this world, neither the law nor empty religious sentiment seems capable of soothing Luke’s troubled spirit, pushing him to escape yet again.
Upon recapture, he hears a captain utter a pivotal line:
“What we’re getting here is a failure of communication.”
In a grotesque cycle, he is condemned to excavate a grave-like hole, constantly told to fill it back up again. Eventually, he reaches his breaking point, making promises never to run away or rebel again, only to break those promises once more.
Eventually, he finds refuge in an empty church, an intimate moment of raw honesty where he addresses God simply:
“Hello, Grandpa.”
He confesses his fatigue and longing for answers, yet is met with silence.
“I think you have a pretty difficult case, too,” Luke remarks not long before someone tries to persuade him to come out. Before he fully articulates his thoughts, he’s shot dead.
This film rejects simple solutions. Viewers are left with the task of wrestling with complex questions surrounding purpose and existence.
While Luke may be incorrect about an ultimate void, the crux remains: where can we seek meaning if neither law nor superficial popular belief offers it?
This is the very query our culture increasingly shuns.
Over the last 15 years, numerous narratives have revolved around DEI and its teachings. It’s worrisome to think that those raised in this environment, having navigated woke educational systems, may struggle to grapple with the deeper implications of a film like Cool Hand Luke.
They might simplify the film into demographics, viewing Luke as just another white prisoner or the circumstances of his imprisonment through the lens of oppression.
As someone who teaches philosophy, my hope is that Americans haven’t lost the capacity to engage with narratives that compel them to confront their most profound questions. I wish for them to seek a truth deeper than the surface-level insights offered by DEI.
What ultimately gives human life its meaning? That’s a puzzle that woke ideology can’t solve, and yet it’s one every civilization and individual must engage with.
