If I were given a choice between two films and one was dark and

In the words of David Schwimmer, “If I were given a choice between two films and one was dark and explored depraved, troubled, or sick aspects of our culture, I would always opt for that over the next romantic comedy.” These words, though simple in appearance, reveal the hunger of the human spirit to wrestle not only with joy, but with shadow. For there is wisdom in turning one’s gaze toward the brokenness of the world, rather than retreating always into ease and laughter. To choose the dark story is to accept the duty of understanding, of confronting the sickness of one’s age, and perhaps, through art, to seek its healing.

The ancients knew well the power of this choice. The Greeks, who delighted in comedy and revelry, also gave birth to tragedy, that highest of dramatic forms. In the plays of Sophocles and Euripides, audiences beheld kings falling into ruin, families torn apart, and cities brought low by pride, betrayal, and despair. These were not entertainments of lightness, but mirrors held up to the soul of the people, reminding them of their flaws, their mortality, their need for wisdom. To sit through troubled tales was not to wallow in sorrow, but to learn, to purge, to grow stronger.

Consider the example of Shakespeare. Though he wrote comedies filled with wit and romance, it is his tragedies—Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear—that endure most powerfully. Why? Because they stare unflinchingly at ambition, madness, betrayal, and death. They show us the abyss within humanity, and yet, in showing it, they teach us what must be resisted. Schwimmer’s preference for such stories echoes this ancient wisdom: that art should not only delight, but disturb; not only comfort, but awaken.

And yet, one must not despise the romantic comedy. Laughter and love are also needed, for they provide rest to weary hearts. But if a culture consumes only lightness, it grows complacent, blind to its own sickness. Just as the body requires both bread and bitter herbs, so too does the soul require both joy and sorrow to remain whole. To choose the dark tale is to take upon oneself the discipline of facing what others turn from, to dig into the rot of society in hope that truth may rise from it.

The deeper meaning here is that we cannot heal what we refuse to acknowledge. To watch only stories of love fulfilled and laughter unbroken is to live in dream alone. But to see the depraved aspects of our culture portrayed boldly is to be confronted with reality—and confrontation is the beginning of change. The artist who dares to tell such stories is not a pessimist, but a prophet, pointing to wounds that must be addressed if humanity is to rise higher.

Thus the lesson is clear: do not flee always to comfort. Be willing to enter the hard places, to witness the brokenness of the world, to wrestle with uncomfortable truths. It is better to endure the sting of reality than to drift endlessly in illusions. For the wise know that darkness, when faced with courage, can lead to light, and that through grappling with the troubled and the sick, we become more compassionate, more just, more human.

And what should you do in your own life? Seek out art that challenges as well as entertains. Do not be afraid of stories that disturb, for they sharpen your soul. Look honestly at the shadows within your culture, your community, and yourself, and let that knowledge stir you to action. Balance joy with truth, comedy with tragedy, light with darkness. For in this balance lies wisdom, and in this courage lies the path to renewal.