Every single day, a few odd hundred thousand people stare into poisonous blue light rays and feel debilitating rage at some things that understandably prompt it and some things that do not. In any event, they will respond with a generic style of online sarcasm that’s been culled from the greatest perma-banned posters of the last decade and sanitized into nothingness. You spew out their words while you react to every macro and micro Trump scandal, watching him mostly weather each cycle not so much unscathed, but ready for a new one that will make you forget about the last one. Everyone is always having a normal one in the normal world, as we clench our teeth so hard we begin to bleed.
People aren’t complete idiots, and know that consuming and reacting to every bit of political media input in and of itself won’t change anything. But I think for some, they’re in a paralyzed state. It’s like a hangover, where any light or movement causes unfathomable pain and you’ve just got to lie in a dehydrated heap until those vapors leave your brain. You know the boring, inconclusive future, and so you have no use in imagining a better life. You just sit around reacting until the next thing.
If you’ve got into the habit of taking and spitting out everything, it’s easy to apply the same rubric to culture. That is how you get the reaction you got to Todd Phillips’s 2019
Joker. In goes a shockingly average movie that I’d probably rate under
Four Brothers,
out goes more fear-mongering and
vociferous defense than for any movie from the past couple of years.
...
The movie had very little to do with the
incel panic people built up around it. The Joker’s main antagonist is the wealthy, and for good reason. He has fantasies about women, but he doesn’t seem terribly interested in laying clown pipe. At no point does he consider getting cosmetic cranial surgery. But everyone pinning this particular set of fears on this movie was incredibly predictable, as “incel” is one of those words journalists learned a year ago and have tricked themselves into believing they’ve known it their whole lives and can deploy it fluently. People saw this and decided that a movie about an abandoned, sad, abused man was about their new favorite word, alternating between repetitive mockery and belief that they would be martyred for reviewing it. It could be one of the darkly funnier outcomes, that this unremarkable movie about a sad, fecked-up guy becomes a rallying point for incels solely because journalists decided that’s what it was about, but I suspect that like everything in our culture, this will be swept up before we notice it.