Our Dangerous Protagonist Love Affair

Not all of us are sending love letters to murderers, but we’re close.  Under the spell of what may be termed Walter White syndrome, or, to sound more up on the times, Frank Underwood syndrome, we have fallen prey to the machinations of evil television geniuses.  Unless I’m the only one who feels drawn to these characters, in which case this just got awkward.

As a philosopher and social critic in the early 20^th century, Walter Benjamin experienced the proliferation of film as a medium.  In contrast to earlier art forms, he remarks, film does not keep a natural distance from reality, but rather “penetrates deeply into its web.”  What he didn’t mention though, is that we might not like what we find when it does.

So does film represent reality in a more incisive way than our ordinary experience?  When we empathize and even root for our protagonists as they leave countless lives in their wake, are we learning something about reality and ourselves that we couldn’t comprehend before?

In a word, no.  This answer, however, is an oversimplified response to a complex question.  Have we ever given someone the benefit of the doubt when we shouldn’t have because of arbitrary or irrelevant reasons?  Of course.  But what Benjamin fails to grasp is that while the camera penetrates into reality, it returns with a warped or, at best, incomplete assessment.  For obvious reasons, the camera cannot document the fictional lives of all those devastated by these fictional protagonists, the communities Walt destroyed, the families Frank ripped asunder.  Call me charitable, but I think we root for these characters because we want a good show, nothing more.  We can’t possibly believe that they express reality for a simple reason; reality is boring.  If you need any further convincing, read David Foster Wallace’s commencement speech to Kenyon College.

If you want to understand reality, look elsewhere.  But if you want to enjoy a good show, let me know.  I’ll bring the popcorn.