The 82nd Annual Academy Awards are this Sunday, and one of the forerunners for Best Picture is “Precious.” The Oprah-endorsed movie, based on the novel “Push” by Sapphire, tells the story of a black teenager from Harlem in the late 1980s who experiences a litany of personal struggles: she is sexually, emotionally, and physically abused by her parents from an early age. She is illiterate and overweight. She is pregnant with her second child, the result of incest. Oh, and she’s HIV positive.
The above plot summary reads like a report on the failings of the American government, law enforcement, and our education system—but no, it’s entertainment.
In German, the word is schadenfreude: taking pleasure in the misfortune of others. It’s what makes reality television and tabloids so fun. How dysfunctional are the Kardashians? What incendiary thing is John Mayer going to say next? Still, the stakes in these perverse pleasures are relatively low—maybe Khloe gets too drunk at a party and makes a fool of herself, but no one is seriously hurt.
What happens when the pleasure is derived not from simple misfortune but from pure misery?
Enter “misery porn,” a genre of books and films gaining mainstream traction. Unlike “torture porn”—films like “Saw” that emphasize physical pain—misery literature and films exploit our sense of empathy with emotional pain. Rather than elaborate death traps, we get child abuse and neglect, poverty, and mental suffering.
Last year’s Best Picture winner, “Slumdog Millionaire,” is one of the most successful examples of this phenomenon. The movie follows the misadventures of Jamal, a “slumdog” orphan. In scene after scene, like a deluge, Jamal and those he loves are subject to violence, predatory adults, and destitution. His mother is killed during sectarian riots, he just barely escapes an orphanage that blinds children with acid for higher profits, and his childhood love is raised to become a prostitute.
We bought the movie tickets, sat safely in our seats with popcorn and Coke, and watched this story unfold. And when it was over, the overhead lights turned back on and we filed out onto Broadway. Their misery is our pleasure, and our pleasure comes with no obligations.
After all, “Slumdog Millionaire” made over $141 million at the box office and won eight Academy Awards, starred Anil Kapoor, one of India’s biggest movie stars, and featured music by A. R. Rahman, one of India’s biggest composers—and yet, the film’s popularity hasn’t helped the inhabitants of India’s slums. The child actors are in jeopardy of losing their trust funds and monthly stipends because of their failure to attend school regularly, the easy promise of money incapable of effecting any real or lasting change. No politician, celebrity—no one at all, really—has stepped forward to give importance to the cause. India has emerged as a formidable economic power in the last decade, with increases in GDP of about 8% every year—but poverty has unfortunately not seen an equivalent decline, and has decreased by only 0.8% every year. And so the situation remains the same.
The problem is in the disconnect between the spectator in the movie theater and the citizen outside of it. The more we see graphic depictions of misery, poverty, and child abuse as entertainment rather than representative of real social issues, the less we are able to actively fight them.
With critical acclaim and the support of some of the most influential people in Hollywood—and maybe even a few Academy Awards—“Precious” has the power to be a film that opens discussion and inspires activism in America. The movie has already given victims of child abuse the courage to speak out—both Tyler Perry and Mo’Nique, who plays Precious’ mother in the film, publicly addressed the abuse in their pasts. With any luck, awareness of and action against the inequalities and inadequacies of our education system and child protective services will follow suit.
The movie’s tagline claims that “We are all Precious.” Well, that’s not entirely true. You’re probably not illiterate and hopefully never had to endure the severe abuse the title character did. But by thinking of movies not only as works of fiction but also as mirrors of reality, we can begin exiting the theater not only entertained, but also enlightened.
Aarti Iyer is a Columbia College junior majoring in creative writing. She is the editor-in-chief of The Fed. Culture Vulture runs alternate Fridays.