My posts have been sporadic at best, I know, but every now and then inspiration will hit that's slightly larger and weirder than a typical facebook post, and then low and behold, I'm provided another brief Sabbath moment to capture that inspiration in blog form. Maybe next time, I'll write about Bernie Sanders, but I like having the few friends I still have on both sides of the political spectrum, so I might have to pass. So instead, I'll play it safe and write about Hollywood movies, literature and racism.
I finally saw The End of the Tour, a film that is based on David Lipsky's book-length interview with David Foster Wallace which I haven't read. This is fine, because prior knowledge of the book or David Foster Wallace is not required to appreciate this quietly moving film. Far from a biopic, Tour captures a starstruck/jealous small time author simultaneously trying to interview and befriend a rising star on the literary scene. Jesse Eisenberg sells his role competently,and Jason Segel defies criticism with a complete transformation and vulnerable performance. The writing, direction, and acting make simple, quiet scenes come to life in a film that is composed of mostly two men talking. What they are talking about and the meaning behind it sells the tension and pathos. This should take home several Oscars, especially for Segal, but even as I type that I feel guilty. Yes, this is another movie about two white authors, giving the male whiteout of literature and Hollywood an almost poetic intersection. So maybe it needs to step aside and make way for more diverse pictures that are just as deserving of praise for their craft. Too bad it's so well made.
It's not like the movie is unaware of this, or at least DFW in the movie. When Lipsky asks him who he thinks his primary audience is, he says something to the effect of "probably other nerdy white men". Earlier, he speaks of the loneliness of being a writer and wishes he had someone to share his time with who is not a dog. "Please tell your readers my relationship my dogs is platonic," he tells Lipsky. Even when there's not much at stake, there is for DFW, who doesn't want to give his readers the wrong impression (a concern sustained through the film). A white male superstar writer tells an insecure white male worshiper to be conscious of the insecure white male audience who will be judging him. Some might consider his admission of his audience as an aside: I see it as an interrogation of literary fiction itself. I know that the names are factual, but both men being named David shades this picture of men basically writing to themselves for approval (think about Lipsky's desire to share his book with DFW and receive feedback from his hero/rival) and in effect feeding their own loneliness. There could be a solution, but their egos won't allow it.
As a white male who appreciates much of what DFW has written (although, good as it was, this film captures what DFW was saying about loneliness and addiction more concisely and possibly better than Infinite Jest) I also can't escape the truth that there are other voices out there who deserve to be heard, and the more voices that I listen to, the less lonely I feel in relation to the world as it stands. Once I read the Achebe's, the Morrisons, the Angelous, the Marquez's, the Murakamis, and, heck, even the Welty's and O'Connors, I feel connected to something larger than myself. I'm not longer trapped in a staring contest with myself, but I'm participating in a much larger conversation. It's freeing, and I'm also convinced that it's much more productive than the alternative. I can set aside my pen and listen, and wait until I have something to say. In the meantime, I can point others towards the wide selection of voices worth listening to. The theme is universal: we're not alone.
I'm not sure how this connects to the movie. Whether this subversion of "another man story" was intentional, it's still another white male story. It's a well-crafted one, and worthy of praise, but is that enough to justify the continual silencing of diverse artists who are just as deserving? I can't say, but I do think that if the hidden critique makes its way into the collective conscience of both fans of literary fiction and movies, it might not be that much of a waste after all.
