'Titanic' and the Purpose of Film

For every entity, there is an opposing, yet necessary counterpart.  Superman has Lex Luthor, Coca-Cola has Pepsi, country songs have good music.  Likewise, where there is art, there are critics.  However, like art, criticism is subjective and arguably unnecessary.  Yet critics outnumber artists by an order of magnitude.  Art criticism broadly--and film criticism specifically--has become a very lucrative business.  Similarly, the internet is filled with innumerable jackasses who must give their two cents about every movie that is released (he said, self-referentially).  One would think that constant, widespread discussions about art would lead to deeper, more intelligent discourse about the pieces of art themselves and art more broadly.  And one would be correct.  Sometimes.  Usually, however, not so much.

To understand art criticism, we must first understand art.  What is the purpose of art?  Or, perhaps we should ask, "What makes for great art?"  There is no "objective" answer, but history tells us that the greatest pieces of art speak the truth about life.  Moreover, great art asks questions, but it need not answer them.  By extension, art criticism should reflect on how well a piece of art accomplishes these goals.  However, art criticism broadly--and film criticism specifically--has recently been stemming from all the wrong places.

In film criticism, a film's so-called "plot holes" are a popular talking point.  Examples include, "Why didn't the hobbits just fly the on the eagles to Mordor?"  "Why does Buzz pretend to be a toy around people when he thinks he's a real space ranger?"  "Why didn't Marty's parents recognize him when he went back to the future?"  And--our focal point--"Why didn't Rose share the raft?"  

First, let us discuss the history of Titanic.  Released in 1997, the year of your theater-worthy guide, it was once the highest-grossing film of all time until that slot was taken initially by Avatar and eventually claimed by Avengers: Endgame.  (Setting aside the "adjusting for inflation" list, which is topped by Gone with the Wind.)  After winning 11 Oscars including Best Picture, Titanic has remained one of the most talked-about films to date, and for many reasons.  Just not the reasons it should.

Titanic recently trended on Twitter, which brought forth the usual suspects.  Indeed, one simply cannot mention Titanic without having one of two subsequent conversations.  The first is how it has a PG-13 rating even though Kate Winslet shows her boobs in it.  The second and far less sexy conversation is that Rose should have shared the raft with Jack.  We see this conversation everywhere.  Websites, blogs, memes, social media--even Brad Pitt's Oscar-acceptance speech.  And I, for one, am beyond tired of it.

And not even because it is blatantly incorrect.  Jack didn't stay on the raft not because it wasn't big enough, but because it wasn't buoyant enough.  When he and Rose initially tried to get on it together, they both fit.  The problem is that it began to sink under their combined weight, not that there wasn't enough room for both of them.  But that is not the point.  Truthfully, I'd be tired of this conversation even if the raft were big enough and buoyant enough for both of them.  

If you watch the scene closely, you can see Jack's look of resignation after he gets in the water.  He knows his fate, and he accepts it because Rose's life is worth it.  This scene isn't an example of a "plot hole"; it is a beautiful exploration of the human condition, one that shows how one is willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of their loved ones.  Indeed, when discussing the film, I get frustrated.  I get frustrated because Titanic is one of the most profound, brilliant, impactful, and simply beautiful movies ever made.  And hardly anyone still cares.

Titanic is a testament to what art is supposed to do and how it is supposed to be.  It is a timeless, lovely, joyous, painful, heartbreaking tale that is told through effectively perfect filmmaking.  It is the most accurate, breathtaking portrayal of a real, horrific tragedy that has been put to film.  It explores further tragedies that stem from disasters and the different ways they impact people.  It asks age-old questions like, "What are we willing to sacrifice for love?"  "How do people behave in a crisis?"  "Is one type of life worth saving at the cost of another?"  "What does it mean to be a man?  A woman?"  And so many more.  Additionally, it balances themes of classism, time, memory, greed, loss, and unbridled enthusiasm; all while telling a tear-inducing love story that will continue to touch hearts for generations.  

Moreover, it is a testament to classic filmmaking made by one of the most meticulous and astute directors of his time.  James Cameron made one of the most technically masterful films of all time, ranging from mesmerizing set pieces, practical effects, camerawork, direction, and sound, to pitch-perfect acting and iconic, beautiful, tear-inducing music.  

And all anyone cares about is why Jack didn't stay on the raft.

While Titanic is my biggest personal gripe with plot-hole criticism, the overarching issue goes far beyond one film.  There are scores of issues with focusing film discourse around so-called "plot holes," the least of which being that plot-hole-complainers are relentlessly irritating and think they are far more clever than they are.  No, the biggest issue is that this plot-hole worldview about films completely undercuts why we love them.

We turn to films for numerous reasons.  Sometimes we just need a good laugh--or a good cry.  Other times we want to have our minds and worldviews expanded.  Maybe we want some background noise when we're home alone.  Perhaps we simply need a source of entertainment.  They serve as conduits for bonding, discussions, debates, and can even serve as foundations for meaningful friendships.  If nothing else, we can turn to them to temporarily set aside our troubles; or, as said by Billy Joel, "to forget about life for a while."  

We have placed such emphasis on films' logical consistencies that we have forgotten why we love them in the first place.  We've substituted artistic discourse for debates about whether a film can be "objectively" good or bad.  There is, of course, no such thing as an "objectively bad" film, but forget about that for now.  My point is that always being logically consistent is not what great art is supposed to do.  It is supposed to make us think about the world in a deeper, more critical way, and allow us to express the inexplicable.  

To be clear, I am not saying that films cannot be both logically consistent (i.e, without "plot holes") and speak truths about the world.  Nor am I saying that we shouldn't appreciate films that are both logically consistent and ask meaningful questions.  What I am saying is that we should care more about what a film has to say than how logically it says it.  I would much rather read tweets and articles discussing how the iceberg in Titanic can serve as a metaphor for the inevitability of time than whether Jack's drawing could have actually survived at the bottom of the ocean for almost 90 years. 

Much to my chagrin, there has not been a move released for several months.  However, much like our lives, films will inevitably return.  When they do, I hope more of us can see the films that look "boring" or "too artsy."  I hope we can discuss character arcs before we discuss continuity errors.  Most importantly, however, I hope we can once again be united by shared interests and enjoyment after a time when we have been so divided and joyless.