My fellow classmates’ many posts on homelessness in New York City reminded me of a little known independent film I watched recently, Chop Shop.

Chop Shop centers around a young boy struggling to survive on the streets of Queens. The movie has a rough, neo-realist grit that those with a taste for the grimy, pseudo-documentary social commentary will enjoy.

I understand the power of the media to instigate. Its roots stretch far back—long before Upton Sinclair and Yellow Journalism.
Personally, though, I am more motivated by a well-researched paper than an artsy indie film. When Alejandro sprints across the screen and the camera lens follows him in a wide arc, nipping Shea Stadium in the left corner of the frame, the reporter in me can’t help but wonder what percentage of children live as he does, in New York, and around the world. I lose focus as the ensuing debate between my Inner Optimist and Inner Cynic presides over the film’s gritty redundancies.

They conclude that while I did not necessarily learn anything new about reality, I did come to better understand my dislike for film as a social commentary, and social commentary as a form of entertainment.