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As an introvert and writer Charlie is deeply empathetic. He sees in others sad stories that reflect his own. His sister is in an abusive relationship, and his gay friend is having a secret affair with a closeted peer. In being so deeply introspective Charlie misses the destructive consequences of his own actions.
This year, in my immediate family, there has been a separation, the sale of a beloved home, the purchase of another house, and the birth of a child, my nephew. If you, like me, are someone who is accustomed to Christmas Day as a 'family occasion', you may be equally aware of the fraught nature of that innocent description.
A teen attempts suicide after being ridiculed by the judges of an American Idol style talent show. A news anchor spouts propaganda so extreme it might make a Fox News presenter blush. A reality TV participant extracts an in-use tampon and hurls it at a rival. Appalled by this endless stream of TV trash, one man snaps.
A quadriplegic and a virgin, Mark hears from others how disability hinders or enhances their sexual activity, and recalls the humiliation of ejaculating involuntarily while being bathed. It is a human dignity issue for him, but what of the dignity of the 'sex surrogate' whose specialised services he employs?
A grief-stricken Amish man stalks and psychologically tortures the man who murdered his daughter. A Vietnamese veteran seeks vengeance on the American soldiers who slaughtered his fellow villagers. But for one alcoholic writer, the idea of absolving violence through violence jars with his pacifistic leanings.
I've never been a member of a cult, but I do have limited fringe experience of one fervent pentecostal church. The Master's portrayal of cult life chimes disturbingly with that experience. The cult members are attracted not just to the promise of meaning and belonging, but also to the eerie comfort of having someone else do their thinking.
A narcissistic journalist's attempts to reunite with a former girlfriend reflect a human desire to resolve regret by returning to the past. Resolution for him lies in the agony and necessity of letting go. For his cynical intern and her eccentric friend, however, hope may be found in more metaphysical possibilities.
On a television in a grimy bar, Barack Obama waxes lyrical about the unity of the people. In the foreground, a brutal and enigmatic enforcer of the criminal underworld scoffs. America is not a community, he counters — it's a business. 'I'm living in America, and in America, you're on your own.'
It has never seemed just an accident that John Lennon and Paul McCartney first met at a church fete. The broad message of Christianity is at the very front of the lyric concerns of the Beatles, even if Christianity itself is rarely acknowledged. In art and belief, they were never interested in experimentation for its own sake but in how to make something new out of something old.
Robert Miller has built an empire that is about to be sucked into the mire by a bad investment. Now he wants to offload it quickly before the purchaser realises anything is amiss. His practical obligations to his family and employees usurp his human obligations to those who become pawns in his efforts to maintain order.
The book is essentially misogynistic. Women are objects of hedonistic possibilities in the same way that drugs are. Even the Kerouac figure Sal's self-deprecating account of failing to impress a virginal lover manages to marginalise the woman in question. The film seeks to rectify this by giving flesh to its female characters.
After losing a bet, a gawky teenager asks a girl with a physical disability out on a date, and is humiliated when she rejects him. A deaf Jewish girl is abused in Nazi Germany. A man has a stroke and begins the hard journey back to the land of words. This is no pity party, but a challenge to engage in stories that enhance empathy.