Okay, that may be the wrong causal flow. It might be more accurate to say:
Greed exploits censorship.
But either way, I do think there exists a dangerous correlation that has yet to be looked at –- and taken — seriously. We live in a time when we are increasingly allowing non-creators to corrupt art for their own ends; and we do so with such little protest it boggles my mind.
I’m not talking slippery slope here, but more like a cliff drop.
The drop starts out with the theoretically good intentions of self-proclaimed “moral” people saying they are just trying to protect children or some other disingenuous holier-than-thou claim. They bleep over a “Fuck” or fuzz out a nipple. They cut away from a knife going into flesh. And Heaven forbid a penis, soft or erect, ever is viewed.
We wouldn’t want Americans to think people were born without clothes or that all that begetting in the bible has anything to do with sexual organs. Protecting the innocence of ignorance is evidently worth the cost of such defamation and goes largely unchallenged.
But cutting is an addiction. Soon whole scenes are deleted, or CGI altered to meet a current and ephemeral social inclination. Soon, great swaths of film are butchered; not just for ostensibly “moral” reasons, but rather for the avarice of subverted capitalism.
Have a ninety-minute movie with a two hour slot, but want forty-five minutes of commercials? No problem; just cut wherever. Who reads credits, anyway? So run them up the half-screen as fast as can be. Have some all-important show announcement to make? Flash it on the screen with some cheery animation. And don’t forget the growing-ever-larger network bug; who cares about what’s going on movie-wise in that bottom right-hand corner, anyway?
I do. That’s who. And I wonder if I am the only one.
I do, because I care deeply about the words I put on the page. I care about the words others put on the page. I care about film and paintings and sculptures. I care about dance and song and poetry. I care about vivid expressions of humanity that are far more priceless than an American Express card.
I care about the creative force of our culture being lost; of it being subjugated by the almighty dollar.
How much of our soul will we allow to be deceptively “edited for content” before we rise up and say, “What the hell do you think you are doing? Keep your filthy, infernal hands off MY art.”
How long before we take back control over our own creations?
Will we ever?