Sites of mass killings, like the Aurora theater, acquire a sense of the sacred. As such, it’s hard to imagine a return to normalcy, to the showing of everyday movies as if nothing had happened, especially violent movies like Batman that depict gratuitous death and mayhem and that, for perplexing cultural reasons, are thought to be a form of entertainment. The pain is still raw today, just a few days after the horror, and it’s easy to want to button down the site, to raze the entire building and replace it with a memorial, as has been suggested.

At the same time, a good argument can be made for turning our collective backs on death and getting on with life. It is what some family members of Aurora victims say would have been desired by their loved ones. But to whitewash this event, to sterilize its memory and remove all traces from sight seems somehow wrong. It needs to be remembered.

Perhaps the answer is to create a permanent memorial at the entrance to Theater 9, a shrine that reverently honors those who died and those heroes who acted to preserve life. We do this in many places, from Ford’s Theater to the Ground Zero. Let the movies go on, but let moviegoers walk by a plaque of names and faces. Let them enter the hall to reflect. Let the story be told. Let it be remembered. For there is something worth remembering here. Let it be remembered that the depiction of violence for its own sake in our houses of entertainment does not contribute to a more peaceful world.

I know that many factors are in play here. I know that movies are not entirely to blame. Most people know the difference between fiction and reality. But neither can I absolve the culture that celebrates the sort of low literature we’ve come to admire.