Here’s Skypilot (Adam) again, following up his Borat post with some closely related thoughts on satire. - Kristin

This Thanksgiving weekend I was able to convince my family to watch Thank You For Smoking with me. If you haven’t seen it, Aaron Eckhart plays Nick Naylor, a spokesperson for big tobacco who is good at his job because, Naylor explains, he possesses “moral flexibility.” It’s a delightful film, entertaining and stimulating at the same time. Without being preachy, it exposes the downsides of some of our American freedoms: Our right to pursue happiness, for instance, often means we can pursue it at the expense of others, and our freedom of speech gives us the right to be dishonest, using logic and argument to obscure truth. So, although the content of Thank You for Smoking is somewhat depressing, the film also encourages me to be honest with myself and with others, and to consider the ways I am “morally flexible.” I think that’s part of what makes it a great satire.

Just so we’re on the same page, I define “satire” as a literary or artistic technique that uses irony and wit to attack foolishness. (Foolisness in the sense of manipulation, greed, short-sightedness and other human flaws.) Satire is often funny, which is itself ironic. From Aristophanes (445-375 B.C.) to Jon Stewart today, much satire has come from the same thing–what Stewart calls “frustration over reality.” Satirists see people acting foolishly, and respond with their art and wit. Good satire is passionate engagement with the world.

Some say that satire, especially The Daily Show, breeds cynicism, but I don’t fully understand that claim. It’s hard for me to believe that Stewart, or any artist, wants their audience to become more cold and apathetic. And if good satirists are accused of not taking politics (or whatever) seriously, their accusers are only half right. Satirists call foolishness what it is, which is what makes them “dangerous” in the eyes of some.

It can be depressing to see foolishness, especially when it feels like you can do nothing to fight it. Stewart once called The Daily Show “a comic box lined with sadness.” That’s fitting; the satirist sees the world as a sad box lined with comedy. Drawing out that comedy is ultimately an encouraging act, not just because it makes us laugh, but because it encourages us to explore ourselves and our choices.

Some films, which may look like pure comedy at first glance, manage to sneak in some clever social observations. Talladega Nights is like this. When racer Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) prays, it’s as if Jesus is just another one of his sponsors. Ricky’s “health-and-wealth” Christianity is just like any logo on his race car–a shallow signifier in which Ricky finds his identity. Like his homophobia. Or his patriotism (which, in Ricky, seems to be more like a derision of anything “un-American”).

Which, of course, brings me back to Borat, the focus of my previous post. Some have hailed Borat as a new genre–an “ambush comedy.” Although I like aspects of the film, I’m not eager to see more like it. I think Baron Cohen was a bully, taking some cheap shots at undeserving people who were never let in on the joke. Sometimes it isn’t even a very good joke. (”Hey, I just destroyed $400 worth of merchandise and only paid the guy $200!”) At times, Borat reveals prejudices held by certain American individuals, but what’s the social value of that? Does the fact that they’re real people make the movie more biting than Talladega Nights or Thank You for Smoking? I’m not convinced.

What I’m ultimately pointing out is that satire is already a powerful tool, and has been for hundreds of years. I don’t want on-camera provocation to replace it in today’s films. We can be honest in our satire without being bullies. And we can be critical without being cynical. We can have fun, too–that’s what makes satire so beautiful.