Word Wars: What's Wrong with Obsession?

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on December 1, 2005.

My wife, the sociologist, occasionally reminds me that when we examine labels and definitions, we need to find out not only what those labels and definitions are, but who initiates and/or perpetuates them. If our knowledge is socially mediated (or, in a more extreme sense, socially constructed), then it is helpful to know who is trying to get us to believe what. While it is true that the mere fact that a particular person or group is advancing an idea should not automatically invalidate that idea, it is nevertheless helpful to examine the person's/group's overall perspective. Where are they coming from? Do they have an overall agenda? Does the idea fit neatly (perhaps too neatly) into that agenda?

This may seem like an odd way to begin a review of a documentary about competitive Scrabble, but as we shall see, the way we label and define the characters in this film are not necessarily "objectively" determined, but socially mediated.

At one level, Eric Chaikin and Julian Petrillo's Word Wars (2004) would fall into the "freak show" category of documentaries. Such films give viewers a glimpse into unusual subcultures that they normally would not encounter, essentially providing an opportunity to gawk at—and mock—"weird" people with disturbing habits, unsophisticated tastes, and quirky obsessions. Other documentaries that fall into this vein are Errol Morris' Fast, Cheap & Out of Control, an examination of four men who are experts (nay, geniuses) at their respective crafts but who may lack a "healthy" or "balanced" worldview, and Roger Nygard's Trekkies, which needs no elaboration. While all three of these films are intelligent and entertaining, we, the viewers, must admit that at least two of them (Word Wars and Trekkies) allow us to play the part of snickering voyeur, to feel superior to the poor saps who, for the most part, have wasted their lives on "worthless" pursuits.

Word Wars tracks the lives of four competitive Scrabble players—Joe, Joel, Marlon, and Matt—who spend much of the year traveling to various tournaments across the country and who all want to become the next national champion. (One of the players, Joe, already won the coveted title in a previous year.) They come from widely disparate backgrounds, but they all share an acute ability to memorize long, obscure words and to figure out wildly complicated anagrams. They are all nationally ranked, and as such, know each other from all of their tournament play (we also see that their relationships fall into the "love-hate" variety).

Now, you might be sitting there, thinking to yourself: "Well, I usually win the Scrabble game at my family's annual Christmas gathering. I'm also really good at crosswords. Maybe I should quit my gig as an orthopaedic surgeon and join the Scrabble circuit where there's real money to be made." Alas, if only life were that simple. Unfortunately, the most that anybody can make at a single Scrabble tournament is $25,000 — and that's for the national champion! As we see in Word Wars, the best players usually can make only a few hundred dollars at any given tournament; after subtracting travel costs, we see that the Scrabble circuit is not the steadiest way to make a living.

This brings up the underlying question of Chaikin and Petrillo's documentary: How do these guys live? Joe is the only one who has a steady job; we see him practicing with flashcards as he drives to work. It is not terribly clear how Joel and Matt get money (sympathetic relatives, perhaps?), though it is clear that their material possessions are few (by U.S. standards). (Their homes are also very messy — there's not much time for cleaning when the next tournament is just days away!). Marlon lives with his mother in inner-city Baltimore; she clearly takes care of his lodging, though it is not clear whether she also funds his tournament travel and prodigious pot habit.

Regardless of how "professional" Scrabble players live, Word Wars makes it obvious for what they live. Here comes the "freak show" element. These men (and others like them) have an intellectual and emotional attachment to the game that goes beyond that of the general public (who would just see Scrabble as an occasional pursuit, solely for the purpose of fun and camaraderie); they are, in short, "obsessed." If these men had dedicated the same amount of time and energy to a more lucrative endeavor, they would have been sitting pretty by now. However, they have chosen to dedicate their lives to Scrabble, and their obsession has put them in the social category of "losers."

This, of course, is what we're supposed to believe. No "sane" person would dedicate his/her life to a board game, right? Sure, there are some people who can make it big in parlor pursuits, but most of us have to strive for contentment with our "day jobs" and relegate fun to the realm of "free time" — that is, if we want to build a career, own nice things, and contribute to a 401(k).

Our society's use of the term "obsession" implies that the obsessed party could be doing something better with his/her time. However, while this implication holds strong social weight, it is not necessarily true. It is completely possible that Joe, Joel, Marlon, and Matt have tapped into a plane of consciousness that is higher than that occupied by the pedestrian hordes. Perhaps the orthopaedic surgeon should quit his/her profession and seek a more profound life on the Scrabble circuit. Perhaps the career, the possessions, the 401(k) are obstructions that prevent us from living a pure, unmediated life. Perhaps all we really need is a sleeping bag, a change of clothes, and a Scrabble set — at which point, we finally will be happy.

This may seem ludicrous, but just tweak my words ever so slightly, and you'll see that this theme of acceptable (nay, moral) obsession is entirely consistent with the New Testament. The Biblical passages exhorting us to give up everything for the One True God (e.g., Mt. 13:44-6, Mk. 10:17-31 Ph. 3:1-11), are numerous and yet, easily glossed over by our culture. While by no means an explicitly theological movie, Word Wars still illustrates, albeit indirectly, a theological truth: the only valuable pursuit for a Christian is, in fact, an obsessive pursuit of Jesus. Everything else is mere C₃ H₄ A₁ F₄ F₄.