The Best-Laid Plans

What is it that they say about the best-laid plans? Is there another half to that adage, or is it just the dismissive first and the rest is left to the imagination?
We got up to Sundance! It was a kind of last minute decision and there was much tramping about in the snow (it was soo cold, we almost lost Davis, and our faux-hawked friend waxed particularly snarky in regards to snow sports--"any sport where you have to wear that much clothing..." again left to the imagination) but we got some standbys and ended up in the very last showing of the festival. Cool.
We caught a collection of shorts. I like short films for a couple of reasons: first I think that they have the potential for pithy wit that short stories have. That is, there has to be an interesting turn at some point, but it has to be subtle because you only have 20 minutes to develop it but it has to be interesting or it's just a commercial. I think that it's a delicate balance, and that when it's struck, brilliance ensues. Second, it's interesting to see how people handle character development in such a confined space (really an extension of the first point). Third, if it's trash, it's over in a minute.
Some highlights: The first short was set in the Katrina-ravaged South. A man hires two others (who are in straights financially) to gut his house. He screws them over repeatedly, the two guys end up resorting to violence. The climax shot is the trailer the guy lives in with his wife, and you can hear the sounds of struggle and screaming which continues as the two guys run away. The final shot--the guys shuffling home, the main one just crying. It was unsettling, in a good way (I think): it was an interesting exploration of the things that could lead a person to violence. It might have excused it--and that's what I'm chewing on right now, was that ok? But what do you do when you're trying your best to get by and the infrastructure isn't working for you and you're trying your best to do good but you are cut off at every turn? What's left to do?
Also, Dennis. The story of a socially dysfunctional body-builder. Dennis calls a girl to go out to dinner, we meet his overprotective mom who tries to guilt him into not going, he goes anyway, the girl ends up convincing him to drink a little and they're dancing at a friends' house. He runs (rides his bike) home where his mom guilts him for going and drinking. Last scene: he asks his mom if he can sleep in her bed. She says yes and "you remind me so much of your father" (Amanda: Freud just wet his coffin). And I usually don't dig the painfully awkward thing, and this was painfully awkward. There's a moment where the girl is dancing with him and all the pain and distance of the human experience is there: not being able to connect with people, being judged on just one aspect of yourself, manipulation and control. In it's simplicity of theme it was really universal-feeling.
There were a couple other that were good, and a couple that were just awful (so much so that Faux-hawk did all she could to engage me in conversation to distract) and kind of gratuitously so.

So a thought. I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about people who have made really bad decisions. The shorts program was an interesting culmination of it. I've also spent the last couple of weeks with Cormac McCarthy who spends a lot of time with characters who have made so many bad decisions (murder, incest, necrophilia) that it's a challenge to relate to them. What McCarthy does really well, though, is invite you into their lives to see their side of the story.
I like this in theory. In theory it seems like working to relate to people who are different than you would be a great exercise in empathy. But in delving into the ambiguities that define the worlds of these characters I find myself in this darker place than I'm fully comfortable. McCarthy's Child of God, for instance, follows Lester through trauma, to social ineptitude to necrophilia to serial murder+necrophilia. McCarthy challenges his audience with the question is Lester a child of God? He asks us to see him completely, to relate to him, and to see then if we feel comfortable judging. And I don't. I think the strength of McCarthy's characters is attested to by the fact that they're bad'ns, but still human and loveable. Back to my point, though, in delving into the challenges of these characters I become acutely aware of my own shortcomings. And not in a positive way either. I guess the point is this: I feel drawn down by all of this ambiguity-surfing and I'm not sure why that is or what it says. Do I stop thinking about the exceptions to the rule? Do I write myself off as a softy and give up McCarthy?
Phil said something about being a relating reader versus being a resisting reader--and is that the issue here? I take these things too much to heart and I should put some distance between myself and the things I'm encountering? A sorting of ideas.