My dad is a total sucker for based-on-true-events Hollywood movies.
Result: I’ve seen every film in the genre, probably twice. My dad is a man who hates Harry Potter but lives in a Harry Potter world, and the only non-violent form of protest available to him is to drag his family to the local theater whenever a possible Academy Award nominee hits the big screen. The latest in his long line of guerilla fights against fantasy was the new Tom Hanks movie, “Captain Phillips,” the story of an American cargo ship hijacked by Somali pirates in 2009. Also, it was the most disturbing movie I’ve seen in years.
Don’t get me wrong — the film itself was wonderful. It featured great acting, a well-written script and brilliant cinematography. My problem rests with my fellow audience members.
Here’s the thing: about half of them were laughing.
It was bizarre. The characters in “Captain Phillips” weren’t cracking jokes. I’ll be the first to admit that my skill with social cues, called “charming” by some, doesn’t get me invited to a lot of parties, but I’m pretty sure the movie had no comedic intentions. It takes a psychological plunge into a frightening real-world situation — I was on the edge of my seat for most of the movie. So why the laughter?
Eventually, I figured it out. The audience laughed every time something bad happened to one of the Somali pirates.
One of them steps barefoot on broken glass — the audience chuckled. Another has an infected wound — giggles. Two of them whack around a third — general amusement. I can’t state this emphatically enough — we were not watching “Home Alone,” where slapstick violence carries the plot. Our disbelief did not hang in suspension, because the film advertised itself as a realistic depiction. People laughed, I guess, because they thought the pirates were getting what they deserved.
What’s particularly infuriating is how the movie did a fair job of setting up sympathy for the pirates. They were normal guys living in incredibly difficult circumstances, doing what they felt they had to do to survive. Does that excuse their actions? No. Does that make them the bad guys? I’m not sure. Does it give an American audience the right to view a Somali pirate’s life as somehow more petty or insignificant or contemptible than the upstanding American protagonist’s?
No. Absolutely not.
I don’t believe in karma. I don’t believe in fairness. If everyone got what they “deserved,” I imagine we’d all be pretty miserable, because no one’s perfect. But I believe I’m not qualified to make assumptions about who deserves what, and I’m definitely not comfortable with laughing at pain. That’s what my psychology textbook calls “sadism.” Nope. No thanks, Rihanna.
I didn’t intend to spend my Friday night with a bunch of ruthless movie-goers. I felt like I was surrounded by cutthroats, each far more vicious than those pirates. The film was great, but I wouldn’t see it again in theaters, especially not with my little brother, who gets even more enraged by injustice than I do. If looks could kill in a darkened room, I don’t think the laughers in the audience would have survived the movie.