Doctor Strange & Fortune Cookie Zen in Hollywood
By: Ryan Morris
Tags: Movies, Features, Film, Philosophy, Zen

As all good things do, it started with Star Wars: probably the most culturally iconic movie of all time. In it, a young apprentice must learn the ways of the Force, a mystical magic taught by a sage old monk, so he can defeat Evil and bring balance to the galaxy. Crucially and over the course of the original films, Luke Skywalker makes mistakes, suffers, then learns his lessons and grows into the Jedi knight he needs to be. This we all know. What’s less-known is how eastern origins influenced the magic and how important the hero’s journey is to conquering it.

When Star Wars burst on the scene in 1977, it not only provided a visually alluring platform for western audience’s exposure to eastern schools of thought, but it also showed the importance of the main character internalising the morals and meanings behind these philosophies. It’s clear that if Luke hadn’t learned the lessons inherent to becoming a Jedi, he couldn’t have defeated the Empire. For context, in crafting this journey, George Lucas borrowed — to use the term liberally — from Akira Kurosawa’s Samurai films of the 1950s and Joseph Cambell’s famous hero’s journey to produce the padawan/Jedi mentor relationship that moulded a new kind of hero in the west.

Fast-forward through 40 turbulent years of old eccentric mentors with their wisened eastern philosophies dotted throughout Hollywood, and the inner meaning so integral to their application’s been cast aside in favour of bite-sized koans (riddles designed to make the apprentice think for themselves) which demand little to no change in the character and provide a simple shortcut to the magic at its heart. That was a mouthful, but let me explain…

In Hollywood’s staple training montage, sometimes by sheer virtue of the magic or the mind-bending physics of the world, they have to rely on eastern spiritualist disciplines for explanations. Fair enough, the cold science of the modern west may be conducive to the Tony Stark’s and Spock’s of the universe, but can’t explain the more mystical unknowns of our reality. In steps the Mr Miyagi mentor. The trouble comes when Hollywood tries to condense the delicate and infinitely intricate understandings of Buddhism, Hinduism, Zen, etc, all across the east into a few digestible lines of dialogue.

Ralph Macchio & Pat Morita in The Karate Kid. © Columbia Pictures

From that, you get cringe-worthy truisms like ‘let your emotions flow, like water’ and ‘I control by surrendering control? That doesn’t make any sense.’ To which Hollywood curtails the sage response of the master into, ‘not everything does.’ Lines like this surely make it easier for Hollywood to draw comedy from and visualise the infinitely unexplainable, but completely miss the point or lesson of the story: to internalise the morals behind the words and change into a better person.

To clarify, its not the deeper meaning of films that have specific ties to traditionally eastern philosophies and religions — Her (2013), The Matrix (1999), Inception (2010), even The Big Lebowski (1998) — all of which question the nature of reality and consciousness in some manner, and/or contain characters that strive for some form of enlightenment — but how they are boiled down by the old mentors on the silver screen.

Of course, a significant amount of condensing has to happen for any screenplay to convey the explanations, let alone messages, behind thousands upon thousands of texts and their inherent realisations. That much is obvious. What’s annoying is the way many characters in Hollywood skip over internalising the true lessons and instead sail along the unhindered fast-track to power because the plot requires them too. Life lessons which would otherwise require, if not time, then struggle and suffering to understand, become one crack fortune cookie notes that all too easily trigger a hero’s ‘eureka’ moment.

Which brings us right around to Doctor Strange (2016). In it, he’s told a few lines of discount wisdom, put under a little pressure, then capriciously starts to develop the magical tools to heal himself and fight evil. Does he have to change and become a better person in order to receive this mythical gift? Does he have to understand the meaning behind the philosophy or undergo a deep realisation of what truly matters? Does he even have to cast aside his selfish ways and learn the true humility behind the teachings? Not even remotely.

What Strange and many other ‘shortcut heroes’ do is apply the rules of western learning to their eastern philosophy. They memorise the literature, the style and the teachings. As if the way to learn the meaning at the heart of such philosophies is with Strange’s photographic memory — a technique which may be conducive to cramming in the west, but doesn’t come in handy when mastering the morals behind the words is what matters, not the words themselves.

What’s upsetting about Doctor Strange is Benedict Cumberbatch, whose career mainly consists of bringing unstable geniuses to life, who had a chance for this incarnation to finally evolve out of his typical anti-hero asshole role and become a hero who embodies both the traditional and the new world view: a merging of the old philosophies and modern science, one who becomes a better human because of his realisation, employing both magic and rational mind to save the world. Unfortunately, they skip over any meaningful character development, any struggle and patience necessary to attain ‘enlightenment’, and have him master the mystical arts almost instantly — just because, well, he’s really good at being smart…

Around the midpoint, they justify denying the character any struggle and resulting growth by suggesting Strange was prophesied to become the greatest among them: a cinematic Get Out Of Jail Free if ever there was one. The biggest drawback of which is the audience is left asking: wait, what makes him so special? He’s not only done little else than selfishly study, but he’s also not helped in any more meaningful way and all while being an unlikeable dick most of the time — quite an achievement in itself. And then they add the icing on the cake. By the end of the climactic fight, Strange has managed to win not thanks to any lessons learned or understanding gleaned, not by changing or embodying a better message the audience can live by, but by doubling down on the dastardly behaviour that got him in that situation in the first place: he’s daring, reckless and outwits his opponent using magic he doesn’t understand. Consequences? Don’t be silly.

Visually, these fights make for spectacular set-pieces but sacrifice emotional journeys full of change and choice the audience wants in favour of snappy dialogue and stories where the status-quo is never truly threatened. Don’t worry about inspiring change Doctor Strange, who needs thousands of years of meta insight and meaning anyway? Simply exert your razor-sharp mind on the troublesome issue at hand and all will be well.

Rachel McAdams & Benedict Cumberbatch in Doctor Strange. © Marvel Studios

Funnily enough, his arrogance is actually what got him into his partially disabled mess in the first place. But he doesn’t have to grow out of it to redeem himself, simply steal knowledge and power which should be earned before he’s ready. Does he get punished for this? Does he face his comeuppance for arrogance? Does he experience a back and forth struggle of want over need? Of course not, he’s too busy being rewarded by the story. And if his ‘heartfelt’ sorry to his colleague and love interest whom he treated appallingly is meant to show contrition on his part, you’d be wrong. Because again, he didn’t have to change in order to succeed. He only became sorry after proving he doesn’t have to change to win and become powerful.

Adding to the irony is a scene in Doctor Strange where he ignorantly refers to the magic as “parlour tricks”, only then to be blindsided by its reality. The true irony here is that his entire training is essentially cinematic parlour tricks: snappy editing, colourful kaleidoscopes, and clever dialogue designed to distract from the real illusion. The character never proved himself worthy of the knowledge. In the comic-books, Strange is initially rejected and only accepted as a student of the Ancient One when he selflessly attempts to stop a nemesis from committing murder, earning him the right to learn the ancient arts. Flip to the film version, where all he has to do is huddle wretchedly on the doorstep for a few hours and give his best pitying puppy-dog eyes. I guess the homeless are accepted into the magic school all the time then; they’ve got my vote over Strange for the next Sorcerer Supreme.

Another example would be the live-action flop, Avatar: The Last Airbender (2010). Now I know, at this point, picking on this film is like kicking a hundred-year-old turd, but one of the major palm to face moments is when the main character, Aang, seeks advice about how to use water magic to defeat the enemy. He journey’s to the Spirit World, supposedly the mecca of wise words and helpful advise and upon finding it, the dragon spirit says ‘use the ocean, show them the power of water. Go, do this now…’ Really, that’s it? That was all the hero had to do? A few awkward scenes down the line and the character is splashing water around and controlling the currents of the sea as though he’d been doing it for his whole life. No meditation, no change, no contemplation and little to no practice required. It turns out simple ice cream koans are the key to learning millennia-old magic. If only the ancient monks had known that, they might have made and conquered Hollywood centuries ago.

Funnily enough, what Doctor Strange and other western movies have misappropriated in recent times, tv shows have been spoofing and mocking for years. Samurai Jack called it ‘FORTUNE COOKIE NONSENSE!’, The Mighty Boosh ripped it as “simple rustic wisdom”, and the children’s series Recess had Guru kid — whom everyone would return to for advice, even though it usually sent the recipient chasing their own tail before realising the ice cream was a flavourless as the wafer. Even the Avatar: The Last Airbender TV show knew how to respect the meaning behind the original condensed wisdom, managing to encourage change in its hero while making fun of the eccentric mentor’s rather convenient logic at the same time.

Annoyingly with Doctor Strange, Marvel Studios had a chance to diverge from their generic, scientifically-created heroes and instead mould a character who cultivated his magic through time and the realisation of what it means to be a better human, not too dissimilar from Thor. All of the above are exactly why Strange’s unproblematic western approach is so frustrating. I mean, if kids shows are parodying the trope and Doctor Strange can’t even understand that then what hope is there for the rest of Hollywood?

Source: Warner Bros. Pictures

The Last Samurai (2003) managed to be one of the industries’ only ventures into the east where an understanding of spiritual heritage is honoured. In it, Tom Crusie’s doesn’t learn specific techniques or study the ancient ways with the purpose of gaining enlightenment. He attains it through experience and slow recognition of what matters in life; the void his character has struggled with since the war is meaningfully replaced by his newfound peaceful outlook. Importantly, this discovery takes place over the entire second third of the film and prompts him to make different choices as a result. In other words, from his adopted culture he learns a new way of life and chooses to defend what he has ‘come to love.’

I just wish this wasn’t one of the only good examples of appropriating eastern lessons into the west, but unfortunately Hollywood seems to prefer splashy visuals and half-baked ‘answers’ to the emotional journeys of Luke Skywalker and Aang. In this way, Hollywood’s shooting itself in the foot because both Star Wars and Avatar: The Last Airbender have both accumulated cult followings since release and become some of the most rewatchable entities available, due in part to the respectful incorporation of eastern disciplines and the journey of discovery the hero must go on. Indeed it's these that audiences love and want more of, not demeaning representations and meaningless action: we have Michael Bay for those.

Perhaps Doctor Strange and other wannabes should take a page out of the Star Wars and Kurosawa’s script, lest Hollywood continue down the play-it-safe road to creative hell.