I think as an American society, when we're paying too many taxes

Hear the words of Zoe Saldana, who gazed upon the hearts of her people and spoke with clarity: “I think as an American society, when we’re paying too many taxes or dealing with war, we don’t want to see sad things at the movies.” At first, these words seem like a comment on entertainment, yet beneath them flows an eternal truth: when life burdens the spirit with hardship, men and women seek not heavier sorrow but relief, not reminders of pain but the balm of laughter, light, and hope.

The weight of taxes and the horror of war are not new to history. From ancient empires to modern states, people have always groaned beneath these burdens. In Rome, when citizens were pressed by endless levies and conscriptions, the emperors offered them “bread and circuses.” The amphitheater roared with chariot races and gladiators, not because such spectacles solved their suffering, but because they distracted from it. So too, in modern times, the movie screen becomes a kind of amphitheater, where citizens weary of politics, poverty, and conflict may rest their hearts in stories of adventure, comedy, or wonder.

And yet, Saldana’s words contain sadness as well as understanding. For there is danger when a society flees too far into comfort. If people refuse to look upon grief, injustice, or the wounds of their time, then those wounds deepen unchecked. When Athens turned away from the tragic poets who warned them of arrogance and folly, their city soon crumbled in war. When societies choose only light entertainment, ignoring the hard stories, they risk becoming blind to the struggles of their neighbors. Thus, while the yearning for relief is natural, the refusal of truth can become deadly.

Consider the age of the Great Depression in America. Bread lines stretched across cities, hunger stalked families, and despair clouded the land. And yet, it was in this time that musicals and comedies flourished on the silver screen. Audiences, weary of reality, flocked to see dancing, song, and joy. These films did not erase the poverty of the streets, but they gave people the strength to face another day. Here is the paradox that Saldana touches: art can both soothe and blind, can comfort the weary yet distract from the urgent.

Her wisdom is not condemnation but recognition: that a society in crisis hungers for respite. When citizens are weighed down by war, they crave peace, even if only for two hours in the darkened hall of a cinema. When overburdened by taxes, they seek a story that lifts them above their struggles. The longing for relief is deeply human, and to deny it is to deny the frailty of flesh. Yet to consume only relief, and never reflection, is to abandon growth. For the soul requires both joy and sorrow, both laughter and truth.

The lesson, then, is this: let art be both a mirror and a balm. Seek not only films or stories that comfort, but also those that awaken. Do not fear the sad tales, for they may sharpen your compassion, deepen your understanding, and stir your resolve to change the world around you. But also cherish the tales that make you laugh and dream, for they give strength to endure the weight of life. Balance is the wisdom—relief when the heart is weary, truth when the spirit grows complacent.

Therefore, let all who hear take this counsel: in your life, do not flee always to distraction, nor bind yourself always to despair. Read the hard stories, watch the films that trouble you, listen to the voices of the suffering. But also let yourself rejoice in art that lifts your spirit, that brings joy even in darkness. For the soul needs both medicine and mirror, both healing and honesty.

Thus, the teaching endures: when society is weary, it hungers for light; when it is blind, it must be reminded of shadow. The wise do not choose only one, but walk the narrow path between, finding in art both the power to endure and the courage to see. In this balance lies the strength of nations, and the renewal of the human spirit.