One Hour Photo: Gluttony, Envy, Idolatry

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on November 24, 2007.

It seems appropriate to review Mark Romanek's One Hour Photo (2002) during the Thanksgiving season since at the heart of this thriller lies a message about gratitude and family. Thus, after engaging in the socially permissible gluttony that marks this time of year, you might want to curl up on your favorite couch and pop this movie into your DVD player. Ideally, you would be watching One Hour Photo with your family, and your family would be wealthy, attractive, and knowledgeable about good taste. That, after all, is the reason why you're thankful, isn't it?

That sentiment lies as the heart of Sy Parrish (Robin Williams), a photo technician at the local SavMart, who has spent the past 20 years of his life processing other people's cherished memories (along with insurance-claims evidence, homemade pornography, and anything else that customers drop at his work station). Keep in mind that this movie was made when middle-class consumers were just starting to transition to digital cameras, which would allow them to print their own photos at home. Beforehand, consumers had to trust their memories to technicians like Sy.

This is where things get creepy. Sy becomes enamored with the Yorkins, a seemingly picture-perfect (pun intended) family, whose photos he has been developing for years. Living alone and with no friends, Sy yearns for some kin of his own, and he "adopts" the Yorkins, processing extra copies of their prints for his own collection at home. The movie provides plenty of cringe-inducing moments in which Sy crosses—just a tad—socially-constructed boundaries in relation to the Yorkins (especially in relation to nine-year-old Jake). (His inappropriate behavior is not sexual, mind you; he just desperately wants to be "Uncle Sy.") In reality, of course, Sy doesn't even pass for an acquaintance: he's just an employee of a big-box retailer who has no business stalking the family.

Since One Hour Photo is a thriller, our main character, of course, has to snap. Why does he snap? It turns out that the Yorkins are not so picture-perfect, after all. Will, the father, is "emotionally neglectful," according to wife Nina; while the superficial reason for his aloofness is the long hours that he has to devote to work, we later learn that Will has been engaging in some extra-curricular activities with a colleague. His philandering ways threaten the stability of the entire family, and Sy, who has invested years of emotional energy in that family, has to put a stop to it.

Despite his creepy ways, Sy serves as a moral compass in the film because he reminds Will Yorkin of how thankful he should be. By most measures, Will is a successful man: he runs his own company, makes a sizable income, is married to a conventionally attractive woman, and has a well-behaved child. To chase after another woman seems the height of gluttony: despite all he has, he is unhappy and simply wants more. (This reminds me of a recent commentary on happiness by Eduardo Porter, in which he notes: "...while money boosts happiness, the effect doesn't last. We just become envious of a new, richer set of people than before. Satisfaction soon settles back to its prior level, as we adapt to changed circumstances and set our expectations to a higher level."¹)

Sy, on the other hand, has relatively little. His job at SavMart won't make him rich, and, as noted before, he is a loner seeking greater connection and intimacy with others. His relative deprivation gives him greater insight into the differences between the haves and have-nots, and thus, he has some authority by which to lecture Will on the virtues of gratitude and fidelity.

Yet, Sy's sentiment is marred by a vice of his own: envy. Encouraging others to be grateful—or, in Sy's case, forcing others into an "attitude of gratitude"—is a tricky task. For a rich person to lecture the poor on the virtue of thankfulness is both cruel and self-righteous. On the other hand, a poor person's condemnation of the rich for their lack of gratitude may smack of envy. While we certainly should feel sympathy for Sy—and while his critique of Will is spot-on—he nevertheless does covet what his neighbor has (Ex 20:17).

Besides his envy, we must be wary of the content of Sy's desires. What does he value? The romanticized, upper-middle-class American family. By idolizing this institution, he in effect believes that the people who are part of it lead more valuable, authentic lives. He sees his life, on the other hand, as less than authentic, and he desperately strives to catch just a glimmer of the Yorkins' glory. This is, perhaps, the saddest part of the movie. While he leads a life of relative deprivation by conventional standards, it seems simply incorrect to condemn Sy Parrish's life as inauthentic, relative to Will Yorkin's. We can (and do) create all sorts of standards by which to measure one's life as more authentic, more deserving of respect, than another's. However, such standards are usually socially constructed and seem to carry no deep, fundamental validity. If Sy had realized this, then perhaps he would have saved himself a lot of trouble.

So, as we enter this materialist season in which we gorge on food and presents—while keeping our eye on those who have even more stuff than we—let us learn a lesson from the sad lives of Will Yorkin and Sy Parrish. At some point, our gluttonous ways catch up with us and—in the worst-case scenarios—lead to tragic consequences. Despite its worldly implication of success, gluttony does not signify a more authentic existence; thus, to envy the gluttonous is to set oneself up for a disastrous fall.

Note

¹ Many thanks to Jason Mathes for pointing me to this commentary.