"I feel bad about a lot of the movies I see that teach kids that if they do bad, they'll win"
About this Quote
Morgan Brittany voices an old but urgent worry: popular cinema too often flips the moral ledger so that wrongdoing looks like the winning strategy. When stories consistently reward deceit, cruelty, or lawbreaking with status and thrill, they do more than entertain; they model a worldview for young viewers about how the world works and what behavior pays.
Hollywood once policed this through the Production Code, which insisted that crime must not pay. After the code’s collapse in the late 1960s, filmmakers embraced moral ambiguity and the flawed, compelling antihero. That creative opening yielded great art, but it also normalized protagonists who succeed precisely because they cross ethical lines. Heist capers that end in applause, revenge sagas that elevate savagery to righteousness, or comedies that turn cheating into cleverness can blur the link between action and consequence. Brittany, who began her career as a child performer and later became widely known on Dallas, understands how powerfully screen narratives imprint habits, aspirations, and a sense of justice.
Psychology backs the concern. Social learning theory argues that children imitate behavior that appears rewarded, even when they know it is wrong. If the arc closes on triumph without accountability, the lesson can be that clever transgression beats patience, empathy, or work. That does not mean stories must be sanitized or villains simple. Moral complexity is valuable, and young audiences can handle it. The key is the narrative calculus: Are consequences visible and meaningful? Is charm separated from virtue? Do characters grow by confronting the costs of their choices, rather than dodging them?
Brittany’s lament is a plea for responsibility, not censorship. Make goodness dramatic rather than didactic. Portray consequence without preachiness. Offer antiheroes whose allure does not erase the harm they cause. When films let integrity, courage, and care be the engines of victory, they teach kids that virtue can compete with spectacle, and that doing good can, in fact, be a way to win.
Hollywood once policed this through the Production Code, which insisted that crime must not pay. After the code’s collapse in the late 1960s, filmmakers embraced moral ambiguity and the flawed, compelling antihero. That creative opening yielded great art, but it also normalized protagonists who succeed precisely because they cross ethical lines. Heist capers that end in applause, revenge sagas that elevate savagery to righteousness, or comedies that turn cheating into cleverness can blur the link between action and consequence. Brittany, who began her career as a child performer and later became widely known on Dallas, understands how powerfully screen narratives imprint habits, aspirations, and a sense of justice.
Psychology backs the concern. Social learning theory argues that children imitate behavior that appears rewarded, even when they know it is wrong. If the arc closes on triumph without accountability, the lesson can be that clever transgression beats patience, empathy, or work. That does not mean stories must be sanitized or villains simple. Moral complexity is valuable, and young audiences can handle it. The key is the narrative calculus: Are consequences visible and meaningful? Is charm separated from virtue? Do characters grow by confronting the costs of their choices, rather than dodging them?
Brittany’s lament is a plea for responsibility, not censorship. Make goodness dramatic rather than didactic. Portray consequence without preachiness. Offer antiheroes whose allure does not erase the harm they cause. When films let integrity, courage, and care be the engines of victory, they teach kids that virtue can compete with spectacle, and that doing good can, in fact, be a way to win.
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