No Going Back: How College Changed The Way I Watch Movies

If only there were warning signs, bright and yellow, flashing on the course catalog. Maybe then I wouldn’t have taken so many psychology and philosophy classes. Maybe then the knowledge I gained wouldn’t have come at the price of my ability to view movies. But that never happened. So during freshman year, being the ignorant and naive Tian that I was, I enrolled in all the psychology and philosophy classes that I could possibly seize after upperclassmen had dropped their seats.

Oh, how obsessive I was. I would check day and night just for a seat, a chance to learn about the human mind. In the end, my obsession paid off. I took almost two semesters worth of psychology and philosophy classes. Were the classes worth it though? Well, that depends (an unsatisfying but honest answer that I’ve come to appreciate after taking those classes). 

Here’s the thing: I don’t think it’s fair to say that I completely regret taking those classes, because after all, there is a reason why I’m majoring in psychology. My only complaint is that it would have been nice if someone had warned me about the dangers of accumulating knowledge: about how the more you know, the more it interferes with regular life. The fact is, after taking all those classes, I can’t for the life of me go back to the way I used to feel when watching movies. 

Image by Aaron Burden from Unsplash

Let me explain. Before all those classes came along, I watched movies purely for their entertainment value, nothing else. I laughed when a joke was made. I cried when a character died. I got scared when sinister music cued. To put it simply, I just went along with the flow of storylines and never questioned anything.

After taking those classes, however, I do the complete opposite. Now, if a joke is made, I feel compelled to understand all the references it alludes to. If a character dies, I agonize over how their death might impact the people around them and how the story will move forward. If sinister music is cued, I mull over why that particular track is used and what effects it adds to the horror.

Basically, this is my long-winded way of explaining how my obsession with seizing leftover seats from upperclassmen has transformed itself into another beast: my obsession with analyzing all the details in movies, especially those concerning overarching story themes and character development and personality. 

I first noticed the symptoms when I re-watched Tangled for my social development class last year. I remember watching the movie for the first time at the age of ten. I’m not going to lie, I loved the movie. Who wouldn’t? On the surface, Tangled is about a long-lost princess who not only reunites with her family but finds true love. The famously captivating lantern scene is so romantic and perfect that it burrowed its way into my heart despite my resistance. Its shadow still lingers somewhere deep inside me today.

Upon viewing Tangled a second time with my newfound knowledge, however, instead of falling in love with the movie all over again, which I was eager to, I fell out of love with it as soon as the first song began. All I could focus on was the outrageous sexist undertone of the movie, supposedly targeted at children. Without even needing to specify all the explicit and implicit messages that are tangled up in its music and dialogue, the fact that Rapunzel’s choice of weapon is a pan, which is associated with the gender norm that women belong in the kitchen, is a telltale sign. My heart was crushed by the weight of this new realization.

Image by Loren Javier from Flickr

Though becoming more aware is not necessarily all bad, I can’t help but feel like the knowledge I gained has tarnished a part of my childhood; Tangled was one of my good memories too. From then on, my relationship with visual media became complicated. I couldn’t (and still struggle to) stop the tools that my psychology classes gave me for understanding characters and the tools that my philosophy classes gave me for identifying themes from interfering.

Sometimes I simply miss being able to enjoy a movie without having to pause and rewind every ten minutes, just to think about the moral implications of a particular scene or potential personality disorders that a certain character may have. Needless to say, this makes finishing a movie extremely difficult; sometimes I can spend hours on a twenty-minute short film. Just imagine my struggle with TV shows. 

Up to this point, I think I have been quite biased towards the more negative side of things. However, my philosophy classes made sure to ingrain into my brain that it’s always important to consider the other side. So here’s the silver lining: I think the knowledge I gained and the movies I viewed fostered a certain kind of compassion in me. My painstaking obsession often forces me to get inside the characters’ heads, to truly understand them by dissecting their minds into what they want, need, and fear. With enough practice, this kind of dissection has become natural to me.

Before I knew it, my obsession with characters had overflowed from the screen and into real life; just before the campus closed, I caught myself trying to tap the air in front of me to pause and rewind one of my lectures when my professor spoke about his research (his want). Moreover, when I meet new people or reunite with old friends (virtually now), instead of appearing indifferent, which I had a tendency of doing in the past due to my shyness, I’ve learned to take an interest in what their biggest desires are and what, if anything, is stopping them from achieving their goals. Somehow, in an ironic twist, during the time that I spent isolated from those around me while I watched movies, I actually learned how to care about them more deeply. 

Image from Flickr

By reflecting on my relationship with visual media, I realize that I can’t simply say if the nature of the relationship is positive or negative. It would be an obvious lie; I have conflicted feelings to say the least. Compared to ten-year-old me, I am now able to see more nuanced layers of movies. On one hand, I think that this is a good thing because it allows me to gain a better appreciation of movies, not just as media confined to fictional worlds but as messages that apply to real life.

On the other hand, I think that this is a curse, and it’s one of the reasons why I’m starting to understand what people mean when they say that ignorance is bliss. Perhaps my complicated relationship with visual media is just a sign of my familiarity with it. Though I am still struggling to strike a balance in my relationship with visual media, I am eager to see how my opinions will evolve within the next few years.