A masculine obsession

I wrote previously on what I asserted was the defining feature of cinema, being the impact that visual representation of humans have on a viewer.  In short; we as an audience resonate with depictions of ourselves, and film presents a very comprehensive, humanistic way of conveying this.  

If you want to read the entire post, see here.

In that post, I note some character examples from a bunch of films, all a part of what I reffered to as the literally me collection.  Probably best described as a piece of fiction in which a morally-conflicted protagonist who challenges our preconceived notions of good and bad, encounters a series of threatening, often traumatic incidents.   Mostly male and often an oxymoronic combination of contemplative and violent, the protagonist is a fringe dweller of a decaying society.  There is no place for him or his ideology in their broken world, that continually attempts to dispossess or disempower him, almost as though the universe is governed by some transcendental law - or worse, entity - that is determined to undermine his very existence. 

They also really love journaling. 

And for some reason, male viewers absolutely love them. 

I want to put emphasis on the compromised morality the protagonist often encompasses.  These men are at worst, complete monsters by every measure (Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, Louis Bloom from Nightcrawler, Alex from A Clockwork Orange), but can often just be reduced to the other, sometimes through their (reasonably) justifiable violence, or their stoic approach in dealing with regrettable actions, or both.  Travis Bickle murders pimps and mafioso - not particularly paragonic men themselves.  The Driver; a skillful, career criminal, crushes a man's skull into a literal mush in an elevator whilst his partner watches.  Patrick Bateman tries to feed a cat to an ATM, and that’s probably the least disgusting thing he does all film.  

There is however an element of moral cognisance to their character, as they’re often remorseful of their actions, even if for a moment.  Travis attempts suicide after murdering multiple men. The Driver begrudgingly reveals his true, violent nature to Irene in order to save her, but not before one final, passionate kiss.  Patrick has a full-fledged emotional breakdown in his office, confessing all of his morbid crimes in hope of catharsis.  Whether they’re on a flawed crusade, simply surviving in their world of circumstance, or fulfilling some sort of sick ideation, they all seem to at least hope for some respite, absolution or punishment.  But it never comes, or at least in the way they hope.  The Driver loses the girl.  Patrick never gets caught nor punished.  Travis finally attains Betsy’s admiration through his violent means when he’s spent an entire film trying to win her through kindness.  Knowing this, he resigns himself to loneliness yet again.  What’s apparent is that they’re not entirely enthralled with the outcome of their actions, most of which are motivated by the circumstance of their existence. 

What I questioned, at the time of writing the original piece and now, is why films that revolve around this over-gratuitous violence, this terrible suffering and anguish, perpetuated and experienced by these fringe players of society, seem to so deeply resonate with male audiences?  

I started writing this piece pre-emptively, before watching Matt Reeves’ take on Batman.  A 3 hour, kind of hard-boiled, detective-fiction marathon.  A plot that explores corruption at every level in Gotham, we delve into the psychological and physical burden the Bat endures, battling his gallery of rogues and dealing with the damage of his family’s history.  A great cinema experience, with wonderful and wild action sequences, complete with sound design that moves and shakes with you. But most masterful of all, is the understanding of the psychological nature of The Batman.  Orphan, billionaire, vigilante, but most of all, a young man so traumatised, he dresses up as a fucking latex bat to fight crime. 

That’s pretty other.

He’s not a watchful protector.  He’s an angst-ridden, twenty-something that has built a series of psychological barriers to protect himself from ever feeling loss again.  As is repeatedly grumbled through the film, he’s vengeance.  Not justice. Not hope like his boy-scout contemporary.  He’s brutal, unflinching and unrelenting.  Incapable of trust, or fulfilling human connection.  He snips the budding romance with Selina off before it even has a chance to begin.  He’s a complete gronk to Alfred.  He even drops a bitchy line to his butler/confidant/literal only friend, to the effect of “you’re not my real Dad”.  

It was absolutely fantastic.  He’s just a nocturnal and neurotic mess.  With an unkempt physical image, very obviously autistic tendencies and an unhealthy level of obsessiveness that rivals the Riddler.  

He’s so similar to the Riddler in fact, that not only is he constantly the only one capable of uncovering his cryptic ciphers, but the big bad fraternises with him as if he were his contemporary or peer.  To him, they’re on the same side of this crusade against corruption - seeking revenge against those that desecrate their home.  The Riddler makes his primary targets those that willingly aid in undermining the people and the city.  There’s even a deleted scene that nods very conspicuously to this parallel.  In it, Batman meets with the Joker (Barry Keoghan) in Arkham Asylum to discuss The Riddler’s potential motives.  This fleeting role is Hannibal Lecter-esque, providing a criminal perspective to the investigation.  Joker very importantly highlights how the two do in fact parallel.

“You don’t really care about his motives… You’re just terrified ‘cause you’re not sure he’s wrong.  You think they [the victims] deserved it.”

Batman is seemingly one bad day away from becoming what he despises most. 

And it’s because he blurs his own drawn lines of morality, it seems like there has been unanimous agreement - Rob Pat’s Bats is undoubtedly “one of the boys”.   But how can someone so very obviously removed from normalcy - what is considered appropriate, civil and social - resonate so astutely with such a large audience?  In that I mean, why do men admire a violent, PTSD-stricken, taxi-driving murderer with a hero-complex, a Wall-Street yuppie who moonlights as serial killing cannibal, a brooding billionaire vigilante with a fascination for latex and flying mammals, that brutalises petty criminals as an outlet for his psychological trauma?  

A single answer doesn’t suffice.  Is it deterministic fantasy?  Wish fulfilment gone wrong?  Men of action, rallying against causality?  There is certainly an element to all of that.  I’ll highlight once more that these characters are somewhat sympathetic but ultimately undesirable beings, made so by the deplorable world in which they belong.  They’re surrounded by “the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit”.   They are, at least to themselves, a reprieve from the vapidness, the degeneracy and the corruption of their world.  Their violent methods are built from the ashes of the decaying world that crumbles around them.  But they are conscious, willing, or driven enough, to reciprocate with a means made by and for the world they inhabit.  

Understandably, some may wonder whether audiences “miss the point” by admiring these characters.  Surely this kind of empathy is unhealthy; symptomatic of some sort of societal malaise.  

And that is acutely the point.  

The most dangerous means these maniacs produce isn’t on the end of a gun's barrel, or knife’s edge, or chainsaw, or brain-splattered boot.

All they need to do some real damage, is hold up a mirror.