THIS IS MY CONFESSION, BABY, AND IT'S SUNG BY ALL YOUR SONGS

They say confession is good for the soul.  Here’s a confession.  I often have trouble summoning up outrage over the latest celebrity scandal.  That’s true even when the behavior in question is truly outrageous, as in the case of the pedophilia allegations against Michael Jackson (or R. Kelly, or Woody Allen, sadly ad infinitum). 

When a new allegation surfaces, it doesn’t usually take long for the conversation to shift from support for the victims (nothing wrong with that) to enthusiastic demands that the newly disgraced bad guy be cast into outer darkness.  From this day forward, no respectable person should attend, watch, listen to, or read his work.  He’s persona non grata until further notice, and don’t hold your breath waiting for that notice to come.

There’s even a name for this phenomenon – “cancel culture,” in which the canon in a given field is subject to instantaneous revision as the names of the unrighteous are purged from the rolls.  Two new documentaries have spotlighted the (alleged) crimes of Michael Jackson and R. Kelly.   I don’t have much at stake with these two artists.  I like a few of Michael Jackson’s songs, mostly from the Jackson 5 days.  I’m completely unfamiliar with the life and works of R. Kelly.  I don’t know whether allegations of pedophilia came as a shock to Kelly’s fans.  But anyone who paid attention to the last decade of Michael Jackson’s life had to know that something was seriously wrong with him.  Do the gory details make that much difference?

I started this post a few weeks ago, prompted by the controversy over Louis C.K.’s return to standup.  People had questions and concerns.  Is it too soon?  But if not now, when?  Is he sufficiently penitent?  But how can we know for sure? And who gets to decide?  Should we boycott?  But who should we boycott?  Louis C.K. was barely on my radar screen before his scandal broke, and I see no reason to start paying attention to him now.  I’m not boycotting him, exactly.  I’m simply continuing to ignore someone I never paid attention to in the first place.

But while I’m going to stay out of the debate about Louis C.K.’s path to redemption (assuming there is such a path, as well as someone with the authority to decide whether and when he’s completed it), I AM interested in the broader question of how to relate to art that was created by deeply flawed people.  For me, it’s not just an academic question, because quite a bit of my favorite music and literature was produced by people who led problematic personal lives.

While I was ruminating on these matters, Corinne Cooper posted a Facebook link to an article by Ben Freeland, entitled “When Does Good Art by Awful People Become Untouchable?”  Freeland offers examples of artists he regards as awful people, ranging from contemporaries like Roman Polanski and Bill Cosby to historical figures such as Charles Dickens.

Cutting to the chase, in my view the question posed in the article’s title is a false choice.  I believe that good art never becomes bad art just because its creator was a bad person. 

To me, it doesn’t make sense to argue, for instance, that “CHINATOWN is a great movie, but no one should watch it, because the director was a sexual predator.” Or “DAVID COPPERFIELD is a great novel, but no one should read it, because the author dumped his wife and took up with a floozy.” 

Creating art doesn’t exempt an artist from the rules of civilized behavior.  We should be open minded enough to tolerate eccentricities.  But there’s a difference between being eccentric and being a dick, not to mention being a criminal.  If an artist is a dick, by all means call him out.  If he’s crossed the line into criminality, put him on trial and throw him in jail if he’s convicted.  Do everything possible to make his victims whole, and to prevent him from victimizing others in the future.  Boycott his work if you think economic pressure is likely to bring about a change in his behavior, or help change the behavior of others like him. 

But a boycott isn’t going to have much impact on Charles Dickens and other dicks from bygone ages.  No one can read everything, and no one is obligated to read anything.  But judging the content of a creative work by the character of its maker strikes me as unnecessarily restrictive – not to mention that I have no information about the private lives of most of the artists I enjoy.

Personally, I think D.H. Lawrence got it right when he wrote: “Never trust the artist.  Trust the tale.”  Artistic creativity is a mysterious thing.  Tales take on a life of their own in the telling.  The best stories and songs go well beyond the intent, and even the understanding, of their creators.

That said, actors pose a special challenge in separating the artist from the tale he’s telling.  An actor’s job, after all, is to pretend to be someone he’s not.  Actors have makeup artists to help them look good and screenwriters to make them sound good – smart, brave, compassionate, and/or witty, depending on the circumstances. 

When I was a kid, I absorbed it all uncritically.  As far as I knew, Lucille Ball and Lucy Ricardo were the same person.  Of courses, when I was a kid, I also believed in Santa Claus.  But I got older and at least a little bit wiser.  I’m now able to distinguish between an actor and the character he or she is playing.  I believe it ought to be possible to admire Cliff Huxtable and despise Bill Cosby. 

And having said that, I’m also aware that there are people who insist that it’s impossible to separate the art from the artist.  All I can say is that those folks have a different view of art – and of human nature – than I do. 

I’ll limit myself to one example.  Frank Sinatra had one of the most expressive voices of the 20th century.  He could take a banal lyric and infuse it with loneliness, yearning, bitterness, or delight.  He was clearly a sensitive man.  A romantic, even.  Who knows, maybe his sensitivity made him feel unmanly and he tried to compensate by being a tough guy.  For whatever reason, he had lifelong anger-management problems, hung out with mobsters, and treated women badly.  Sinatra was often a nasty piece of work.  And he was also a great singer.   

Do Sinatra’s private flaws outweigh his artistic achievement?  I say no.  I also say it’s a mistake to frame it as an either/or question.  I can enjoy Sinatra’s music without endorsing his personality.  If I’m naïve enough to assume that artists I admire share my personal values, I deserve to be disappointed. 

I live in a world full of flawed people, including me.  If I focused on their vices to the exclusion of their virtues, I’d quickly turn into a grumpy old man.  OK, I’m already a grumpy old man, but I’d get even grumpier.

My choice is to enjoy good art wherever I find it.  I do my best to avoid assuming that because someone is a good actor, or singer, or basketball player, he must also be a good person.  Maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t.  There’s no way to extrapolate from professional excellence to personal probity. 

Having said all that, I’ll finish with this.  I don’t presume to be the arbiter of what is and isn’t acceptable art.  You, dear reader, have a right to draw your personal line in a different place than I do.  As Jiminy Cricket used to say, let your conscience be your guide. 

https://medium.com/@benfreeland/when-does-good-art-by-awful-people-become-untouchable-b24b8fdd118f