The Quest for The Rock and Youth Lost in the 90s

The heart of INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE is, of course, the father/son dynamic between Indiana and his dad. It's significant to note, however, that the movie title employs a certain ambiguity and specifically leaves out mention of the object that serves as the catalyst of the crusade. By evoking the word "crusade," which itself is rife with numerous socio-political and historical implications, and then introducing an artifact central to the Judeo-Christian mythology, the filmmakers effectively misdirect the audience. The "misdirect" here, however, is more in line with its use in relation to a magic trick rather than, oh, I don't know, distracting someone so you can slip something into his drink and unwittingly make him the host of an alien life form of unknown make or model.

By the end of the movie, though, it becomes clear that the grail was a metaphor for what both Indiana and his father were really searching for, which was an emotional connection (People... People who need people...).  THE LAST CRUSADE is actually thematically similar to FIELD OF DREAMS, insofar as the main characters were on a quest for something they thought held some form of Ultimate Meaning, but really they were looking for reconciliation with dear old dad.  For me, one of the final scenes of THE LAST CRUSADE, when Henry Jones Sr. gently urges his son to "let it go" is almost as emotionally poignant as when Ray asks his dad to play catch at the end of FIELD OF DREAMS.  There's a certain catharsis in those moments.  Nothing's really solved per se, but in that moment there's a connection, and all of the shit kind of melts away and there's something Real and raw and significant.

Spring Break 4 Eva... Cultural Dysphoria Armed to the Teeth. And Bikinis to Boot.

"Just pretend it's a video game. Like you're in a fucking movie."

This is the immortal advice given by one of the young protagonists of SPRING BREAKERS to her three partners in (future) crime as they make their way towards their first armed robbery. This is not the rousing call to arms that one might expect from warriors on their way to find glory on the field of battle, unless, of course, those warriors were four, young college-aged women in the early twenty-first century on their way to commit a felony, and the field of battle was a crowded restaurant filled with unsuspecting part-time employees, slack-jawed customers, and enough MSG to satisfy a village in China for a month.

The Death of Dusty from Twister and Other Sad Tales

TWISTER is a seminal addition to the cinematic landscape of the 1990s.  Not because it was a particularly great flick.  It was pretty standard, contrived summer blockbuster fare, with precisely timed action beats to which the narrative was completely enslaved, a treasure trove of stock characters, a semi-ludicrous premise, and the typical will-they-or-will-they troubled romantic relationship that gets the focus at the most inappropriate times (like in the middle of a goddamned tornado) and that everybody in the audience knows will be resolved by the end of the (ahem) story.  It was also the movie that introduced a great many in its audience - myself included - to Philip Seymour Hoffman, though I wouldn't become aware of it until much later.  And oddly enough, it was the first role of his that I thought of when I heard of his death on February 2, 2014.

In TWISTER, Hoffman played a character named Dusty: a lovably loud and outgoing pseudo-stoner archetype with a beat up baseball cap and clothes that had rarely seen the inside of a washing machine who was almost innocently devoted to his friends and would vehemently denounce those he perceived to have compromised their integrity.  The character was essentially an exposition machine, educating the audience on such scientific concepts such as the "suck zone" and the past nude exploits of Bill Paxton.  Dusty wasn't a starring role, but it was a memorable one.  And the main reason it was memorable was because of Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Looking at Hoffman's later filmography, it's hard to believe that the same dude who played Dusty in TWISTER went on to star in movies like CAPOTE, SYNECDOCHE NEW YORK, and THE MASTER and provide memorable turns in countless others like THE BIG LEBOWSKI, ALMOST FAMOUS, and MONEYBALL.  He played Ben Stiller's friend in ALONG CAME POLLY, the bad guy in MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE III, and even showed up in the HUNGER GAMES movies as a character whose name I never bothered to remember.

The thing is, though, that whether he was playing Dusty the gravy-obsessed stoner or a cultural icon like Truman Capote, the dude was fucking present in a way that most of us never are.  It seemed that, at least in a professional capacity, he could never not go all in.  He seemed able to invest in what he was doing, or, perhaps more accurately, unable not to invest.  A lot of Hoffman's smaller roles might just have easily have been phoned in (to use the parlance of our times) and not really affected the quality of the final product in any meaningful way, but even when he wasn't in the spotlight, he fucking gave it everything he had.

There was a certain refreshing quality in the way Hoffman seemed to approach his life's work, and it wasn't in some self-sacrificing way, though passion and dedication in any context has a way of inspiring others and encouraging them to better themselves.  No, in Hoffman's case it seemed to be something far more personal.  He was refreshing because he seemed not to really give a shit about what anybody else thought.  He was never in the running to win any awards or accolades by playing Dusty (or any other character for that matter) in TWISTER.  Hell, he probably wasn't even making that much, at least not in comparison to bigger names at the time.  But he owned that shit like nobody else could (or even would).

Forty-six years on this spinning, blue orb seems like far too short a time for anybody let alone somebody like Philip Seymour Hoffman, who embodied the adaptability and commitment that seem to elude so many of us so much of the time.  For me, there are few greater things that can be said of a man than he gave it everything he had, even when it seemed unnecessary.  Because the thing is, at the end of the day, when you're lying in bed alone with your own thoughts on the precipice of twilight, sometimes the only redemption comes from the knowledge that despite all of the shit and all of the things that were beyond your control, you still made the choice to give 100 percent.  Not for any external recognition, but because it was the only thing you can accomplish with any degree of certainty on any given day.  And that's why, in moments of silent contemplation at the end of the day, my thoughts will now sometimes turn towards the man who played Dusty in TWISTER.  See you on down the trail.        

Superman Unbound: A Tale of Two Fathers (And a Bonus Messiah Complex)

Suck it, Brandon Routh

There are some things that work great on paper but seem to have some internal mechanism that prevents them from bridging the gap with implementation.  For most of us, this might manifest as everyday, mundane activities like orchestrating a simple kidnapping or arson, or a three-way with your girlfriend's hot cousin, or the impregnation of your impotent friend's wife at the couple's behest.  Then, of course, there's Superman.

I have a Superman shirt.  And it is fucking awesome.  And when I wear it, my awesome quotient invariably increases.  I always loved the idea of Superman, but I hated the character of Superman.  As a cultural icon, Superman is pretty powerful (even more so than a locomotive or a massive load shot out at Mach 3 from Ron Jeremy's massive cock).  He represents strength: not only physical, but also moral.  Invoking the tropes specific to the mythology of Superman is to draw inspiration to be our best selves.  We can look towards him as an archetype of incredible physical feats and endurance or the epitome of "good guy" morality in situations that have (comparatively) more clear ethical boundaries and we might be tempted to falter.  Superman as a symbol works great.  He's an ideal; something to strive towards but never to be attained.  Superman tracks down the owner of the lost wallet full of cash and returns it personally.  Wolverine drops the wallet off at the cop shop with all of the ID and credit cards in tact but keeps the cash as a finder's fee.  Lobo keeps the wallet, then tracks down its owner and beats the shit out of him for being a dumbass. 

A Wolf in the Hand is Worth Two in the Street

What's in your wallet?

On a large enough scale, the profane and the sublime eventually intersect and become indistinguishable. It's one of the countless indefinable, constantly shifting, and oftentimes unrecognizable lines from which the tangled web of both our cultures and our psyches are woven. Human perception is sort of a paradoxical endeavor in that it is dependent upon creating boundaries and making distinctions that are always arbitrary and subject to constant change. It's kind of weird to think about, but our understanding of the world and ourselves and every achievement and failure, every triumph and tragedy, every altruistic deed and act of pure debauchery, is dependent upon absolutely necessary yet completely meaningless distinctions.

Which is not to say that I embrace nihilism or believe that everything is meaningless. Well, actually, everything is meaningless. People, places, events, natural phenomenon, etc., are only meaningful insofar as they are attributed meaning by us. Humans are the meaning-making animal. We are a species of Prometheuses, bestowing that mystical fire of relative significance upon all that we see, and our gaze stretches far indeed.

Now I wish to follow the gaze of Martin Scorsese and his latest film The Wolf of Wall Street. This is, by far, his most postmodern work as it serves as a deconstruction of the subjectivity of morality. While there are hints throughout, the real key to the cipher was the final shot of the final scene. The movie focuses on the exploits of the real-life Jordan Belfort (played by Leonardo DiCaprio), a Wall Street savant who made millions swindling people, often blue collar workers spending their life savings on the desperate hope that was peddled to them on the edge of a diabolically mesmerizing sales pitch. However, the final scene is a reversal as the camera turns its focus on the audience of a get-rich-quick seminar run by the only slightly hard-done-by Belfort. And as we look at their blank, eager faces, we see a twisted reflection of ourselves. At the same time we despise men like Belfort, we are also fascinated by them.

Santa's Hos, and Other Fine Holiday Traditions

The condom was hung on his chimney with care...

In one sense, Santa Claus represents a pretty shitty model of morality.  It's basically the Stockbroker
Mentality, where everything is OK as long as you don't make the cardinal (and only) sin of getting caught.  It's a morality dependent on the constant threat of surveillance and punishment from some kind of ubiquitous Authority Figure in whose absence all manner of depravity is all but guaranteed to take place because it is completely dependent on external forces and does not require any sort of deep internalization or encourage independent thought, which, for some, is kind of the point.  It's safe to say that the concept of Santa Claus is not particularly conducive to any form of Modified Altruism, where an individual can critically analyze a situation, empathize to some degree with a variety of other social agents (both immediate and potential), and make some kind of a decisions based on the nebula of concepts surrounding the dictum "the most good for the greatest number of people"...

But on the other hand, the tradition of Santa Claus is something of a cultural boon for atheists and all manner of freethinkers from various walks of life.  I admit that recently after I had freed my mind from religious tyranny, I quickly added a clause to my worldview that took a hardline stance against teaching fairy tales and superstitions in any way that conflated mythology and reality.  Yes, for a short while I was among the ranks of douchebags who don't let their kids believe in Santa Claus.  Thankfully, a little perspective and a lot of booze helped me on the road to enlightenment and to not strip my children's childhood of all Awe and Wonder like a selfish prick.  In fact, upon further consideration and a healthy dose of whiskey in addition to the beer (and a few Tylenol 3s, because fuck it), I realized how the tradition of the myth of Santa Claus was, in fact, the perfect atheist tradition and counterpoint to the rigid application of religious dogma and blind faith.

The myth of Santa Claus is a secular parable in rational thought.  Santa Claus has about as much in common with religion as Justin Bieber does with that lion at the zoo who tried to pee on us last year, which is to say absolutely nothing.  There are two main reasons why Santa Claus is tha shit when it comes to positive life lessons, dog:

Round 1: I Am the (All-Knowing and All-Seeing) Walrus

God - whichever of the thousands of deities that humankind has worshiped and/or continues to worship - is always held up as an absolute.  That is, figures of religious authority outrightly discourage any critical analysis of their god and any and all related paraphernalia.  Critical thinking, logic, and reason in all their wonderful forms have been and are actively disparaged by religious authorities and other true believers while Blind Faith is actually encouraged as a legitimate paradigm to construct an effective worldview. 

On the other hand, Santa Claus encourages critical thinking skills in children.  Well, the myth of Santa Claus fosters these skills not Santa himself because that portly motherfucker doesn't really exist.  From a culturally objective standpoint it does seem a bit odd that a large segment of our culture spends the amount of time and energy it does to convince our children that some magical dude with a sled and flying ungulates annually delivers presents only to all of the well-behaved children of the world whose families can already afford to get them presents, the Santa myth is great. 

The great thing about the Santa myth is that when our children get old enough to critically analyze the myth and realize that it's bullshit, we verify that it is, indeed, bullshit.  And furthermore, we don't penalize them for questioning the myth and using their evolutionarily-bestowed mental faculties to question the world around them.  Santa Claus is like a code that kids have to learn how to crack.  As children grow older, they start to examine the quantifiable, empirical evidence and weigh it against their own beliefs to see if the two are compatible.  And once they get to the cognitive point that they cannot reconcile observable reality with a deeply-held belief, they fucking change or abandon that belief.  And what's more, they are encouraged to do so. 

 

All you haterz can lick my North Pole.

A 35-year-old man who legitimately believes in Santa Claus would, in today's world, be looked at as suspect and potentially mentally unstable.  Belief in Santa Claus requires the same Blind Faith that belief in a god or gods does; the only difference is that the faith in one is dogmatically defended despite no supporting evidence and in the face of all evidence to the contrary.  The Santa Claus myth represents the perfect model for one important component of self-actualization - the willingness and requisite mental plasticity to modify one's worldview based on critically analyzing and weighing all available evidence and drawing conclusions based on the countless forms of logical thinking and scientific inquiry at our disposal.

Round 2: Because Because, That's Why

Religious beliefs are based on hierarchy.  Especially here in Western Civilization, religion has a particularly useful tool for establishing the "inherent" authority of some human beings over others.  A belief in god, and particularly the Judeo-Christian version of the bloke, necessitates a similar belief in a natural order where each member of a given community has a clearly-defined role within a hierarchy of authority and upward mobility is not tolerated.  A few related concepts include the Great Chain of Being, the Divine Right of Kings, and the conflict between the AIs and humans in THE MATRIX.  (Also, to a lesser extent, the slaves on Tatooine in THE PHANTOM MENACE that Qui Gon Jinn chose not to help for some reason.)  However, the purpose is always the same: to justify imbalances of power, particularly in the oppression of the common majority for the benefit of the elite minority.  Without these kinds of social systems in place, people might object to being fucked over while their king owned more land, and collected more taxes, and just fucking told people what to do or while bankers, stockbrokers, and executives squandered the future of the many to fund the present of the few.

The concept of a god or gods emphasizes not just Blind Faith, but specifically Blind Faith in an unquestionable and "right" figure of authority within an equally unquestionable and "right" chain of command.  The purposes of espousing this sort of worldview are strictly for the manipulation, exploitation, and oppression of one group of people by another.  I'm not saying that religion or a belief in a deity or deities is the absolute cause of all institutionalized social systems of manipulation, exploitation, and oppression in the world today, but I am saying that the mindset of those who do embrace the notion of gods is thoroughly and completely in line with those systems. 

Those in positions of power have found religion to be a useful tool for maintaining social hierarchies for three main reasons.  Firstly, most religious beliefs involving deities also incorporate some variation of the Perfect Plan trope, which is to say everything that happens in the world is driven by the conscious design of some sort of higher being.  Secondly, a great deal of religious dogma revolves around strict adherence to the status quo and hence a resistance to change in any shape or form.  Thirdly, most - if not all - religious belief systems include some concept of Supernatural Justice, whether that be some variant of the heaven/hell dichotomy or karma or spiritual enlightenment.  On the basis of these three ideological tenets alone, a belief in a god or gods, then, can be easily exploited by those who know how and for those whose best interests lie in exploiting it. 

How do you quell rebellion from the masses?

Step 1: Convince the exploited that their exploitation is, in fact, not exploitation at all but instead part of a larger plan that they just can't comprehend.  Bonus points if you can convince them that everybody's station in society is preordained by a deity or deities.

Step 2: Simplify all of the complexity of human social interaction into two extremes - Order and Chaos.  Use some variation of the "it could always be worse" trope to make the subjugated majority believe that any change is away from the Order of the current social system towards the only viable alternative that is Chaos.  Bonus points if you can actually get the exploited people to fear change so much that they actively work against their own best self interests and allow their basic human rights to be violated.   

Step 3: Persuade the huddled masses that their suffering is transitory and that they should endure suffering without question because it's either a test from a Higher Power or because True Justice awaits everyone after death.  This is a key step, because people will endure a lot of shit if they believe that the people inflicting the shit on them are due for some kind of cosmic comeuppance and they are due for some kind of eternal reward during the final reckoning.  Bonus points if you can get them to freely give even more money/possessions than are already stolen from them by institutionally established means.

The Santa Claus myth, on the other hand, is pretty much the polar opposite (some North Pole humour for you there) of this sort of dogma.  Santa Claus is established among children as an omniscient authority figure that arbitrarily metes out justice.  However, the social negotiations surrounding Santa Claus as a child ages provides a model for entering into effective dialogue with figures of authority.  This is a rite of passage that not only teaches children to question what they're told but also how to challenge authority in a constructive way.  Within this particular cultural model, people are encouraged to call other people out on their bullshit but in a negative way like "You've been lying to me for 12 years, motherfucker, and I'm going to carve your dead, black heart out of your chest with your own broken femur," but in a rational, thoughtful way like "Based on the available evidence, I don't believe that your assertions of one man's supernatural toy distribution system should have any bearing on my worldview and I respectfully challenge the validity of this dominant social narrative." 

But you see, abortion is wrong
because then we have less
children to molest.

That's the fucking brilliance of Santa Claus.  Without even realizing it, the model for peaceful social progression has been sitting under our noses.  Rational, logical thought based on effective interpretations of available evidence coupled with ongoing dialogical processes.   

The point is not to deny our children fairy tales; it's to make sure they develop the critical thinking skills necessary to not confuse myth with reality.  Neither is the point to deny our children a sense of wonder or awe at the universe.  Fairy tales are OK when they're used to inspire or for entertainment or educational purposes but not when they are proselytized as facts in order to foster blind adherence to potentially harmful and regressive dogma for some ulterior motive whether that motive be some kind of financial or material gain, the abusive exercise of power, the subjugation or alienation of fellow human beings, or, in the case of the Catholic church, the raping of young boys.  In a nutshell, as long as we acknowledge fairy tales and myths as fairy tales and myths and don't elevate them to the status of religion then we'll all be a lot better off.

Food for Pejorative Thought

Real innovation in expletives and other such colourful and rich linguistic expressions is, unfortunately, few and far between.  Luckily, the varied array of expressions that we do have at our disposal for all manner of social interactions has not begun to stagnate.  Though, we must always be on our guards if we want to ensure that the wide selection of terms we have to express fear, anger, surprise, joy, or triumph; effectively congratulate or denigrate deserving parties in accordance with our best understanding of the principals of Social Karmic Justice; or simply enhance our everyday speech with precisely placed, expertly executed displays of linguistic diversity.

Fortunately, we have a solid base built upon strong foundation of expletives: from the classics fuck, shit, ass, bitch, cock, pussy, and cunt to those with a religious etymology like Jesus Christ or goddamn  all the way down to their milder cousins hell, damn, dick, and balls.  Douchebag has also made a well-documented comeback in recent times, for which, I'm sure, we are all now thankful.  From these basic building blocks, innovators the English-speaking world over have concocted devilishly creative variations.  There are, of course, countless well-known compound words building off of the basics: asshole, cocksucker, bullshit, horse shit, dog shit, etc.  From there, one can also go to "pure," expletive-only variants: "shitdick," "assfuck," "Jesus fucking Christ."  Then there are more advanced combinations. 

Take shit for example; it's one of the crown princes of swear words and practically an institution unto itself.  In addition to the various *insert animal name here* + shit variations, there are other combinations like "shitfaced" and even more advanced versions like "shit for brains," "shit out of luck," "full of shit," "shit-eating grin," and "built like a brick shithouse."   

Then, of course, there's a personal favourite of mine - fuck - which is an institution unto itself.  I mean, there are few phrases in the English language more void of ambiguity than the old favourite "Go fuck yourself!"  Then you have "fucker," "fuckwad," "fuckface," "motherfucker," "skull-fuck," "butt-fuck," "fuck you," "fuck off," and "fuck me."  Fuck is also a great tool to employ because not only can it be used as practically any part of speech, it can also be used to internally modify individual words, for example "fan-fucking-tastic" or "abso-fucking-lutely."  Truly a standout in the entire pantheon.

While the examples I've given are indicative of a much larger repertoire, it is important to continue to branch out and explore new alternatives and combinations.  There are two reasons for this.  First, just as with any linguistic interchange, a wide and varied range of vocabulary helps to keep the audience engaged by eliminating unnecessary or avoidable repetition.  Secondly, as is always the case with clear and effective communication, specificity is key.  Capturing the particular nuances of each situation is a challenge that even the most cunning linguist must constantly address lest he or she run the risk of falling behind the curve, metaphorically speaking.

That's why I'm always on the lookout for new innovations and variants as a way to more accurately match the infinitely variable situations that we can experience in the universe.  One of my personal favourites is the expression "like old people fuck," as in "You write an email like old people fuck."  It's a great descriptor that evokes some pretty poignant imagery.  Another personal favourite when describing my personal state of being is "I feel like 10 pounds of shit in a 5-pound sack."  One mainstay of my uncle's vernacular that stuck with me was "I wouldn't fuck her with your dick," indicating an individual so aesthetically repugnant that one wouldn't even feel the vicarious thrill of one's friends tapping said ass. 

I remember a particularly innovative variation from a former coworker who was describing how some musician or another dealt with a heckler thusly: "Hey, cocksmoker, why don't you go eat a bag of dicks?"  This is a particularly evocative epithet, as my coworker initially pointed out to me.  The variant "cocksmoker" as opposed to "cocksucker" implied not just an unnatural love of cock but also the individual's savouring of the flavour of cocks merely for flavor sake.  In fact, one might imagine the target of this vitriolic expression enjoying and handling a cock in much the same way Arnold Schwarzenegger or another fellow sophisticate relishes a fine Cuban cigar.  Eating a bag of dicks is even more evocative, perhaps bringing to mind an image of a variation on the glory hole, and incredibly effective in implying that the target enjoys cock so much that he indulges as casually as another might indulge in a bag of potato chips.

Though I wouldn't dare count myself among the top innovators of all time, or even of this generation, I have recently derived my own linguistic variation, a small contribution I would like to offer to others in the hope of - if at least in some small way - adding to the vast dialogue on the subject.  If I can help even one person in some small way by providing the singularly perfect vocabulary for a particular situation, then I will feel as though I have been able to touch the life or lives of a person or numerous people.  And in the end, isn't that what it's all about?

So here it is, my own linguistic variation on a beloved classic:

Shit McMuffin  

I originally stumbled upon this gem while discussing the culinary merits of my wife's meal choice one evening and in my frustration over the prospect of a mediocre supper I texted her something the long the lines of "You can keep your Shit McMuffin to yourself."  It wasn't until further reflection that I realized the wonderful implications of my newly minted phrase and its potential real-world application.

First, I will define its proper usage:

Shit McMuffin noun 

1. an ignorant, repulsive, disliked, or otherwise generally contemptible or worthless person 

(John ate the last Pop-Tart.  He's a real Shit McMuffin.)

2. a vitriolic admonishment to an offending party 

(Hey buddy!  Why don't you go eat a Shit McMuffin?!)

3. a difficult or unpleasant situation or event that one has been forced to endure whether by chance, through the direct intervention of a third party, or by one's own hand 

(Mark's wife has been fucking his brother.  That's a hell of a Shit McMuffin for anybody to swallow.)

4. as an alternative esp. to illustrate the contemptible or undesirable nature of the person or situation at hand (Listen to Garth Brooks?  I'd rather eat a Shit McMuffin.  

I'd rather eat a Shit McMuffin than be seen in public with Sharon.)

Again, as with some of my favourites, I feel that this expression conjures up some great imagery.  When written out, it needs to always be capitalized in order to match the pop culture reference of the McDonalds breakfast sandwich.  This is important in order for the audience or recipient to get the full effect of the visual of the greasy fast food sandwich now garnished with a steaming, oozing pile of shit dripping out from among the existing English muffin and other components.   This expression also conjures up notions of consumerism, in this case satirically represented as all parties involved are involved in a literal economy of shit.  A person or a situation getting called out as worthy of the Shit McMuffin honorific has paid for that classification in a currency of shit.  This makes it even more poignant for there is the implication that the object of this epithet has, in a very real, and conscious way, bought and paid for it of its own accord. 

(As a bonus, shortly after my initial exchange with my wife, I came up with a variation to increase the intensity of the expression: Shit McMuffin with a side of ass browns.  As in, "You fucked my wife and ate my Pop-Tarts all while listening to Garth Brooks?  Buddy, you can eat a Shit McMuffin with a side of ass browns!")  

If you're reading this, then it is my sincerest wish that you take what you've learned here and use it freely where appropriate and also that you continue to experiment in your own life and spread the word.  I would also urge you to send me your own linguistic innovations and variations to keep the metaphysical ball rolling.  Remember, innovation is the key to our survival and our ability to thrive as a species, so it's important to spread the word because we can never be sure what word needs to be spread unless and until we try.   

  

The Darkest One: I Don't Think It Means What You Think It Means

A couple months ago I made a pilgrimage to witness STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS, the latest installment in the long-running, multimedia Star Trek franchise.  My mission: to seek out new plots and new characterizations.  I had been left to my own devices for the week and decided to seek out this strange, (semi-) new movie.  Initially I had not been excited for this latest trek, but a slick marketing campaign and a third of a bottle of Crown Royal can soften even the hardest of resolves.  Bolstered by my corporately inspired confidence and just-under-the-legal-limit-as-far-as-the-cops-are-concerned level of inebriation, I set out to boldly avoid paying the premium for 3-D at all costs.  And so I found myself sitting in a semi-crowded theatre on a Wednesday night partly because I'm a fan of all things science fiction, partly because of my Star Trek fandom in general, and mostly because they have yet to produce a full-length, live-action Mass Effect movie.

Even now, months later, I'm finding that STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS is a strange beast to pin down.  This is in large part due to the jaded mentality of which I have become a part of due to the fucking deluge of sequels, prequels, reboots, reimaginings, remakes, spin-offs, and every other conceivable cinematic circle jerk that creatively bankrupt and dick-hardeningly rich Hollywood leeches have tried to drown us with in recent years.  Despite my love of both the Star Trek and Star Wars universes in general, I'm experiencing a kind of cultural claustrophobia now that it seems that audiences of science fiction are doomed to constant rehashings of these two franchises.  These two, aging juggernauts have become tired champions, shadows of their former selves, the victims of fight promoters creating a false market and using all available means to keep any genuine contenders from gaining any real foothold in the business.  Both Star Wars and Star Trek have come dangerously close to collapsing under the weight of trying to recapture former glories (and indeed, if one were so inclined, one might be able to effectively argue that this threshold might already have been breached).  For some, it seems, that the notion of retiring with dignity has given way to bleeding them dry...  

But they are juggernauts still, and STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS still has enough of that something you can't learn in school (let's call it ZAZ) to engage the audience and, which, if not quite enough to ignite a burning conflagration in their collective imaginations, was at least still able to offer some small spark still.  Much like Harvey Dent, I am still of two minds about this movie.  It was frustrating insofar as director J.J. Abrams seemed capable of simultaneously squandering and fulfilling the promise he made with the first STAR TREK reboot movie back in 2009.        

Despite the whole concept of the previous STAR TREK film and creating an alternate timeline thereby preserving the original continuity for the most hard line (and annoyingly vocal) fans while opening up vast possibilities for future iterations, STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS is filled with meta-considerations that unnecessarily influence the plot of the movie.  It's like making a sandwich and choosing condiments based on what type of fertilizer was used to grow the grain for the bread.  These considerations are further muddled by obviously conflicting ideologies, none of which involve my dick getting sucked by a beautiful blonde with big tits and an ass that tastes like French vanilla ice cream.  The main example of this is the revelation of Khan Noonien Singh as the sort of main villain.  In the movie, the revelation of the character's name is dropped with the gravitas of a photon torpedo on an unarmed civilian population.  But the thing is that this "big reveal" is not really a reveal in the typical sense like Darth Vader being Luke's father or Bruce Willis being a ghost.  To illustrate, let's consider the reveal of Khan's identity framed in the following three contexts:

1) Fans of Star Trek, or those with a passing knowledge of Trek lore
2) The general movie-going public with little to no knowledge of Star Trek cannon
3) The context of the movie universe itself

Now, the only context that the reveal of Khan's identity has any relevance or impact whatsoever is in the first, where people already aware of who and what Khan was and what he did (which, admittedly, wasn't actually a whole lot) in previous iterations of the Star Trek universe.  The general movie-going public, at which this latest series of movies is explicitly being more geared towards, couldn't expected to give a shit about this guy's name, because for them the character hasn't been established yet.  Ditto for the protagonists of the film.  I mean, Khan name-drops himself in this really impassioned speech, and the other characters are like, "Yeah, so what?  Is that supposed to mean something to us?"  Any tension that the filmmakers were hoping to build from this meta-knowledge is lost because it is irrelevant to a large cross-section of the audience and also to the protagonists of the narrative itself.

What do you mean they don't have Netflix any more?

Even more baffling is the fact that the character refers to himself only as "Khan" and not "Khan Noonien Singh."  Khan is a pretty generic name, and there's a high probability that with the Enterprise's diverse crew there must be at least a couple of dudes with "Khan" as either a first or last name.  I mean, if the goal is to intimidate your enemies a la Heisenberg in Breaking Bad ("Say my name!"), then the point is to allow your opponents to associate your name with a specific reputation.  In order for this strategy to be successful, specificity really is the key.  Otherwise you're just another scenery-chewing schmuck whose skull I couldn't give two shits about phaser-fucking.

Compare this with the reveal of Darth Vader as Luke Skywalker's father in THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK.  That reveal was relevant not only to fans of the first movie, but also to the general movie-going audience and the characters themselves.  Because major threads of this complex relationship were sown in the movie that the reveal actually took place, any fucking jawa stepping in off the street could understand the significance of that reveal.  It's kind of a psychological cluster-fuck for the antagonist of the film to be revealed as the father of the protagonist, and it's also a dilemma tied to larger repercussions that (almost) anybody in the audience could understand or empathize with (i.e., the greater good in being forced to potentially kill a family member to prevent the suffering of countless other random strangers).  It's also of extreme significance to a number of characters in the narrative and influences their development.

In STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS, Khan had no previous interaction with the main characters in any meaningful way.  Yeah, he killed Captain Kirk's (Chris Pine's) on-again-off-again-mentor and parental figure Christopher Pike (Bruce Greenwood), but he did it from afar and in a way that didn't allow for any kind of personal connection that would have made later interactions more complex or meaningful.  He's just this guy they have to track down and assassinate.  And it's not like Khan couldn't be a hugely fascinating character.  What he represents is a certain sort of transhumanist view of improving humanity through eugenics and genetic engineering, which would be a pretty prescient theme considering the current scientific and social landscape.  What makes us human?  That's a pretty fucking compelling theme, and the heart not only of Star Trek but also science fiction at large.  If Khan really was better "at everything," then how did he stay under the thumb of Admiral Marcus for so long?  The dude is obviously capable of singlehandedly raising shit on an intergalactic scale.

In the original series/timeline, Khan takes control of a Federation starship and imprisons her entire crew in a couple of days.  I know that the whole issue was that Marcus was holding Khan's crew/genetically modified tyrant superfriends hostage, but along with his whole "reveal" speech, he also touts one of his strengths as opposed to Spock is his willingness to "break bone."  It seems like he's saying that he's willing to make sacrifices for what he considers to be the greater good, which would fit in with the whole "needs of the many > needs of the one/few" theme they were trying to resurrect from START TREK II: THE WRATH OF KHAN.  Maybe he couldn't have saved all 78 or so of his crew, but he could have at least saved half a dozen or so, which - judging by Khan's own demonstrated mental and physical capabilities - would have been more than enough to start building a new army of genetic supermen.

It would have been really cool if the terrorist attacks and whatnot were a way of inspiring fear into the masses, then Khan and his posse step in as the new big swinging dicks on the block offering hope to people.  INTO DARKNESS aptly demonstrated that Khan's massive intellect also makes him great at influencing/manipulating people.  In the original Star Trek television show, the members of the Khan Club were seen by history as a bunch of despots all trying to carve the world out into a bunch of kingdoms.  Khan himself was heard to remark that they "offered the world order."  Then you can work in the moral debate of what if some kind of benevolent dictatorship by some kind of genetically enhanced demigod would actually be a good thing if it saved/enhanced the lives of more people. So Khan steps up with evidence of Starfleet's corruption and their inability to keep them safe, and people start flocking to him, so there's a whole rogue faction of Federation citizens that Kirk and all have to contend with.  So when Kirk comes in to bust up his party there's some personal stakes when they meet up later and it's more emotionally charged when they have to team up to take down Admiral Marcus.

Then at the end, Kirk actually takes what Khan says to heart, and where Khan was willing to sacrifice other people, Kirk was willing to sacrifice himself exposing Khan's bullshit.  Then you can work in some kind of Star Trek feelgood rhetoric about the power of the human spirit, and about how there's a strength inside of us that's greater than anything genetic enhancement can achieve, and so on and so forth.

But I guess that's neither here nor there, because what is, is, and there's nothing really that can be done about it.  I guess that like the makers of INTO DARKENESS themselves, I am caught up in the current cultural pastime of "what-iffing" shit to death. I also derive pleasure from the fine art of Ragging on Stuff I Actually Enjoy as, despite my criticisms of START TREK INTO DARKNESS, overall I actually did enjoy this latest Star Trek movie. Or at least, I'm fairly certain that I did. I still need at least one more viewing to render final judgements in the case, but at least for now I find the defendant innocent of being a stinking shit house and guilty of being mildly - moderately entertaining, if lacking a bit in depth. Despite cries from some corners of the Internet for lynching INTO DARKNESS with the moniker of "worst Star Trek movie ever" (a title rightly still held by STAR TREK V: THE FINAL FRONTIER), it is not even close to the territory of my classic dilemma of having to balance the quality of my movie collection versus owning complete sets of films/TV shows, otherwise known as the ALIEN: RESURRECTION Conundrum.

While under the direction of J.J. Abrams (and whoever the fuck directed the Next Generation movies (aside from Jonathan Frakes for FIRST CONTACT)) the Star Trek movie franchise has definitely skewed more towards the action side of affairs as opposed to the social, political, and philosophical commentary that the various series were known and loved for. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as swinging the pendulum too far in the pedantic philosophizing direction produces boring-ass shit like STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE. However, to me the key to Star Trek's draw has always been the substance (with the glaring exception of ENTERPRISE and 99% of VOYAGEUR). Luckily, though INTO DARKNESS is evidence of the driving forces behind the franchise having submerged up to their balls in the philosophically frigid waters of Pure Spectacle, the film still managed to include just enough substance to prevent it from capsizing. (Though INTO DARKNESS is getting dangerously close to the McDonalds Threshold: containing just enough actual meat to classify it as genuine foodstuff.)

Only one prime directive? Fucking pussies.

There is some political intrigue with Admiral Marcus conniving a convoluted plot to incite war with the
neighbouring Klingon Empire to turn Starfleet into a military organization instead of the scientific endeavor it was originally intended to be. Then there is some minor philosophical debate as Captain Kirk is first sent to assassinate Khan, which he is more than willing to do to get some revenge for the loss of Admiral Pike, and then realizes that as a civilized member of an enlightened society he can't in good conscience go around randomly killing people. Faithful old Scotty (Simon Pegg) also leaves the Enterprise due to conscientious objections to both the murder mission and bringing on board a bunch of untested, unlicensed weapons of mass destruction.

(On a side note can we for once have at least one admiral or high-ranking Starfleet official who isn't totally corrupt as fuck?  This is the kind of trope that should be used sparingly, if at all, because various Star Trek movies and TV shows have abused it to the point that you basically have to be a soulless monster to qualify for a position in the upper echelons of Star Fleet.  Yeah, it's great that we see the guys on the front line know what's up and that bureaucrats living in their ivory towers don't know shit and make selfish decisions that don't take into consideration the needs of the many, and yadda, yadda, yadda.  But, speaking both as a fan and as a lover of cinema, it would also be nice to see that this organization, which is supposedly guided by a spirit of exploration, scientific discovery, peaceful co-existence, and fucking hot alien babes, isn't merely a breeding-ground for legions of corrupt officials.  There must be at least a couple of non-assholes on the Federation Council.  Or at least a few who are making some tough calls but who carefully balanced out the pros and cons and made the best decision in the worst situation.  Maybe none of the writers for any of the Star Trek shows or movies never had a boss or parent who wasn't an asshole to model some kind of positive authority figure.  Then again, maybe not.  Who knows?)

Also, Khan finally lived up to all of the potential they kept slinging around in the original series and WRATH OF KHAN.  Part of it was Benedict Cumberbatch's performance (fucking Sherlock dude!), which was superb as always.  The other part was that the character was finally allowed to demonstrate so much of the genetically modified hype he kept building up for himself was back on Stardate 1967.  Despite all of Khan's bluster, though, all that he really managed to do was briefly take over a Federation starship before getting exiled for life on a random planet, overcoming the inventor and master of Kirk-Fu in a head to head fight, lifting Chekov off the ground with one hand (with the help of a conveniently placed handle), and escaping his lifelong exile only to die later the same day in his blind pursuit of revenge.

In INTO DARKNESS, Khan is finally taking names and kicking ass in a way that he always never did before.  In this movie he launches a terrorist attack, eliminates a number of high-ranking Federation officials, single-handedly takes out a squad of klingons with a Jess Ventura-worthy laser gatling gun, endures Kirk's rage beating with nary a flinch, mind-fucking the Enterprise crew into actually helping him, brutally murdering Admiral Marcus in front of his daughter (OK, in all fairness, that one might have actually warranted a Spoiler Alert), out-logicing Spock (Zachary Quinto), and crashing a state-of-the-art starship into a major urban centre causing even more death and destruction.  All in all, the new and improved Khan was a far more dangerous and engaging character.  That's not to take anything away from the originator Ricardo Montalban.  I mean, the dude was amazing with what he had to work with, but Cumberbatch was just given a lot more to work with.

Can I cook in my underwear or can't I?

In a lot of ways, though, Khan was the perfectly emblematic of everything that was both right and wrong with the STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS and the latest incarnation of the Star Trek franchise as a whole.  It's frustratingly on the verge of coming into its own and being entertaining in its own right, yet it disappointingly can't quite shake the burden of the source of its inspiration.  Again, it's the line between inspiration and imitation.  On the one hand while it was great as a longtime fan of the franchise to see call-outs like the whole Redshirt Death paradigm, allusions to Sulu's (John Cho's) promising career as a future Starship captain, the introduction of Carol Marcus (Alice Eve) the potential love interest of Captain Kirk and mother of potential children, and references to tribbles and gorn and whatnot.

But on the other hand, we also have scenes ripped line for line from WRATH OF KHAN.  And the aforementioned references to classic Trek moments were "neat" for longtime fans, they kind of missed the point of the "spirit" of what Trek was all about.  And it is important to note that in the hands of a lesser cast, what substance there was might have been lost entirely.  As interesting of a thought experiment as it is to rearrange all of the old familiar elements, what I would really like to see is for the caretakers of the franchise to "boldly go" where no filmmakers have gone before.  Not an easy feat, but as with all ideals their value lay not their achievement (for ideals by their very definition are unattainable) but in the struggle to reach as close as possible.  I guess the other problem, though, is to what ideal one wishes to set his sights.

Until further viewings the highest I could possibly rate STAR TREK INTO DARKNESS would be a 7.5/10 = One Genetically Modified Head With a Scheming Mind and an Incredible Head of Hair

 

Fast Food, Robots, and a Lesson in the Proper Use of Non Sequiturs

Some things just stay with you. 

This one time, Rybone ordered a Spicy Chicken combo at Wendy's and it had a tomato on it.  Now, the Spicy Chicken sandwich, besides being a beacon of edibility in the otherwise deadly landscape of debauched and largely indigestible fast food fare, typically comes topped with both lettuce and tomato along with the white, totally non-jizz-like sauce.  Ryebone, however, has an unnatural, irrational hatred of tomatoes that borders on psychopathic rage.  I asked him to explain it once, and he got this crazed look in his eye, a cross between a man pushed passed the brink and a rabid animal about to rampage.  Through his rage he sputtered something about how tomatoes "rob a man of his goddamned virility" and that bisected or sliced tomatoes look like "some weird fucking space vaginas" coming to "suck your soul out through the tattered shreds of your asshole."  He then proceeded to light his pubic hair on fire and put it out in a bowl of Ranch dressing, something he described as a "purification ritual" between howls of what I'm still not sure were pleasure or pain.  I once saw him throw a chair through a third story window at a party at the mere suggestion of ordering a pizza with tomatoes on it. 

One time I pointed out that it was funny that although he hated tomatoes so much he seemed to love ketchup.  By the time the police arrived, Rybone had already dismantled most of the stove and was - as I was later informed - dangerously close to completing his homemade flamethrower, with which he had planned to burn through the bathroom door where I had barricaded myself to "see if I was OK" and not "cleanse my impurity with the Holy Flame" as we had previously stated.      

The Legacy Syndrome: The Bad has Been Broken and We're All the Better For It

Gonna find my baby gonna hold her tight
gonna grab some afternoon delight...

In GOODFELLAS Henry Hill's (Ray Liota) description of fellow gangster James Conway (Robert DeNiro) included the following poetic and memorable line in a movie chalked full of poetic and memorable lines:

"Jimmy was the kind of guy that rooted for the bad guys in the movies."

Well, as it turns out, a great many of us are more similar to the psychotic Jimmy than are probably willing to admit, though not for the reasons you'd suspect.  There are many characters that have existed in various media from folk tales to reality TV ("Don't laugh!  This ain't reality TV!") that have embodied the antihero, which has become a cultural buzzword that has come to dominate the communal conscious.  In fact, if one were so inclined, one might effectively argue that the Age of the Hero is over and we are currently living in the Age of the Antihero.  While depending on whom you ask, the term "antihero" has either become another worn out, meaningless word like "awesome," or "epic," or "transvestite hooker" or a fundamental addition to the parlance of our times.  I fall somewhere in the middle, like the meat of the philosophical manwich.  The term "antihero" - much like "postmodernism" - can be part of an effective arsenal to intelligently contribute to various ongoing cultural dialogues with other free-thinking citizens as long as it is used sparingly and treated with the proper respect and care and not paraded out in front of friends and family in order to appear cosmopolitan and learned - much like a transvestite hooker.

You see, the reason that Jimmy and I and probably a lot of you can relate to the antihero is because most of us pretty much are antiheroes in our own life narratives.  Basically, the antihero is the protagonist of a narrative who does not embody attributes typically considered heroic such as altruism or selflessness or sacrifice... ness or the tendency when fucking a person in the ass to provide the goddamn common courtesy of a reach-around.  These individuals are typically self-centered, though they do have some sort of "code of (dis)honour" that anchors them and keeps them from drifting so far into the dark waters of moral ambiguity that those in the audience can no longer relate to or sympathize with them.  The fact is, most people are assholes most of the time, sometimes deliberately and sometimes through no fault of our own.  Most of us aren't heroic supermen who always do "the right thing" and, in fact, aren't always sure of what the right thing is or if there even is a right thing.

The archetype of the antihero was most recently exemplified in the quite excellent television show BREAKING BAD, which chronicled the misadventures of high school chemistry teacher turned drug kingpin Walter White (Bryan Cranston) as he cooked crystal meth in order to provide a nest egg for his wife and two children after he passed on from the lung cancer with which he had recently been diagnosed.  With help from former student Jesse (Aaron Paul) (of course you realize that I'm going to have to punctuate the rest of this article with random, emphatic exclamations of "Bitch!") and a host of wacky characters, including crazy Latino drug dealers, calm and collected Latino drug lords, sadistic Latino hit men, a dismembered Latino head-turtle-bomb, and his (not Latino) DEA brother-in-law who has no idea his wife's sister is married to the greatest thing to happen to crystal meth since somebody created a terrible drug using incredibly volatile and harmful chemicals (for some reason) that gets you high for a little while but ultimately basically rots your face off from the inside.  And they say innovation is dead.

I am the one who knocks... And occasionally the one who
sits surrounded by fat stacks of cash and stares menacingly
in case somebody happens to walk into my field of vision.
I mean, from that exact angle, I will scare the shit out of you.

Much like Tony Soprano, Walter White was a character who, on paper, is the kind of guy that beating to death with a tire iron would literally and quantifiably make the world a better place.  But in the context of the narrative of BRAKING BAD, it's seductively easy to sympathize with Mr. White, yo, because he's presented not as a desperate man engaged in increasingly depraved and destructive criminal activities but as a man with untapped potential a little down on his luck who is now properly motivated to solve increasingly complex problems.  We see things through Walt's eyes, so we see the production of crystal myth from a clinical (yet passionate) perspective as an entrepreneurial enterprise, a business.  He's like the little kid selling lemonade in homemade stand in front of his house who transforms into a soft drink magnate with a multinational corporation unleashing sugary drinks en masse to an unsuspecting yet willing public.  He's a businessman, an entrepreneur, who, with the right application of talent and motivation, can rise through the ranks and carve out his own sizable piece of the pie.  It's a twist on the same philosophy that gave rise to the trope of the American Dream.  Walter White is relatable because he's a projection of how so many of us would like to see ourselves; the underappreciated genius who given half a chance could excel - really fucking excel - at something and assert themselves and establish themselves as somebody to remembered for that one Great Thing who is also a part-time badass with a heart of gold (sort of like Han Solo).  

For some, the dialogue surrounding BREAKING BAD - especially the final season - revolved around a moral analysis or commentary on Walter's actions.  However, discussions about the morality of Walter White and especially of whether he was "a monster" (or "the devil" if you want to be dramatic like Jesse, bitch) are, at best, tangentially relevant to the mythology of the show.  Besides the incredibly useless and unhelpful endeavor of trying to categorize people according to essentialist notions of "good" and "bad" - as if people could only ever wholly embody one of these two alignments - from the very outset of the series, it was clear that BREAKING BAD was never a morality tale.  If it were, then it would have explored the (tens of ) thousands of lives ruined or severely harmed through the recreational (?) use of the thousands of pounds of methamphetamines that Walter and Jesse produced over the course of five seasons (or two years in BREAKING BAD time).

The only way to read the show and not be considered a soulless, sociopathic asshole is as an analogy or some kind of Western mythos.  Just as we in the audience were meant to sympathize and "cheer for" Tony Soprano in THE SOPRANOS, it was obvious that Vince Gilligan and the gang wanted the audience to sympathize with and cheer for Walter White.  Throughout the narrative, everything that transpired was ultimately filtered through a prism that bent the audience's perception to match that of Walter's.  Everything that happened in the show would always be shown in relation to Walter.  And if you were to interpret BREAKING BAD on a purely literal level and still garnered any enjoyment out of it, you would be a quantifiably terrible human being.  The shit that Walter White - not to mention almost every other character on the show - did could be classified somewhere on a sliding scale of moral reprehensibility.

Some might point to Walt's literal partner in crime Jesse as the show's moral compass and heart, but people seem to forget several important facts.  One, Jesse was the catalyst for Walter's transformation into the chronically knocking and dangerous drug lord Heisenburg, bitch.  Without Jesse's street connections to crack into the very competitive illegal drug market, Walter's plan to cook and sell meth might have ended as merely the insane ravings of a madman.  Two, Jesse spent a great chunk of the series as a degenerate junkie who was constantly engaged in criminal activities related to the distribution and ingestion of various mind-altering substances.  Three, despite his initial objections, Jesse ultimately guns down an unarmed man in cold blood.  Yeah, he felt guilty after, but curiously not guilty to actually turn himself in or, you know, face the consequences of his actions in any meaningful, mature way.

Walter's wife Skylar might also be seen as the moral yin to Walter's yang, but she, too, also existed in an ethical twilight zone.  While some spewed forth extremely vicious vitriol against Skylar and the actress playing her (Anna Gunn) for some reason, I never hated the character as some seemed to.  Skylar seemed kind of annoying sometimes, which was natural because we were seeing her from Walt's point of view as someone who was questioning him and impeding his ability to manufacture and sell poison to faceless users who could have included schoolkids and nuns for all he knew.  The worst part about Skylar wasn't that she was annoying; it was that she seemed to exist independent of any sense of agency and simple as an entity for Walt to lie to.  She only got more interesting when her own twisted morality was revealed.  Not only did she have an affair with her boss, she was also complicit in covering up and enabling Walter's rise to drug power.  Also like Jesse, despite her later reservations about her questionable decisions regarding her (admittedly limited) involvement in the drug trade, she also wants to get out scott free and avoid any actual consequences if she can.

For some, the foil to Walter's villainy was Hank's unquenchable thirst for justice.  But a closer examination reveals that Hank was also an asshole, just an asshole of another variety and caliber.  Hank wasn't exactly a  lighthouse of morality guiding everybody through stormy seas to a safe haven.  In the family proceedings prior to Walt's descent/ascent into the role of drug kingpin, Hank was the big swinging dick of the gang.  However, in the fifth season when he finally discovers that the drug lord Heisenburg is actually his seemingly mild-mannered brother-in-law, Hank becomes obsessed with bringing Walt down not for any moral reasons but because of wounded pride and the challenge to his alpha dog status.  If Hank was going the Robocop route to Serve the Public Trust, Protect the Innocent, and Uphold the Law, then he would have gone to his superiors right away with all of his suspicions and/or evidence even at the potential loss of his job, which he (probably) likely figured would be forfeit for, you know, being a top-ranking DEA agent who has been unable to identify a drug kingpin sitting right under his nose for almost two years like some kind of 70s style high school teacher mustache.  See, that's the very definition of nobility: sacrificing of oneself for the common or greater good.  But Hank wasn't interested in serving the greater good, only his own ego.  The real issue with Hank was that he was simultaneously A) envious of Walt who succeeded to a far greater extent in his chosen field than Hank ever did (or as it turns out, would) in his own and B) suffering from wounded pride for having been "one-upped" and outsmarted by Walter there by stripping Hank (in Hank's mind anyway) of his superior social status.  (Also, Hank eagerly admitted that he didn't give a shit about Jesse when he was working as an informant and would gladly have sacrificed him if it meant bringing down Walter.)

Hail to the king, baby.

All of the main characters were antiheroic to some degree, showing inclinations towards both socially positive and negative decisions and acts.  The point of the show wasn't to depict some epic battle of good versus evil.  No, ultimately what BREAKING BAD was all about was legacies and the establishing and passing on thereof.  Walt himself summed it up best when he declared to Jesse that he was "in the empire business."

This is another reason why it's easy to sympathize with Walter and others like him.  The need to establish a legacy, to do that one great thing that will live on in the collective memory of as many people as we each deem are necessary after we've all gone up to that great meth lab in the sky.  It's a form of immortality in a way to have something you created and built up stand as a monument to your memory long after you are gone.  It's one thing to be remembered, but it's another thing entirely to have somebody stand in the shadow of your creation and stare up in awe and wonder; if this monument, this achievement is so magnificent, how much greater must be the one who created it?  Creating a legacy is not just an effort to be remembered but the ability to differentiate oneself sufficiently by creating something unique that nobody else could have.  To look upon one's works and despair as was encapsulated in Shelly's poem Ozymandias recited to chilling effect by Walter White at the beginning of the (quite excellent) BREAKING BAD episode of the same name.  When your creation is so monumental that even its ruins inspire awe and wonder, then you know you've maxed out your legacy points.

For some reason, contemporary storytelling has relied on the trope of the criminal empire to address this concept of legacy in regards to empire building, otherwise known as the SCARFACE effect.  Bitch.  This, in part, is what has lead to some misinterpretations of BREAKING BAD and similar narratives as morality tales.  I think the key to viewing the trope of the criminal empire as containing the DNA of Shakespeare's famous dramas and tragedies.  In reality, those involved in the upper echelons (and lower echelons for that matter) of the drug trade are generally terrible people who would just as soon shoot you as shoot you full of their product.  But as metaphors or analogies, they represent a more visceral kind of empire building where one man or woman can rise to the top through sheer force of will (and a lot of bullets or exotic poisons).  It's a tantalizing proposition because in that dog eat dog (or man hit other man with Pontiac Aztec) world, one's rise to power is ultimately dependent upon the pure strength of that individual.  The concept of the criminal empire has been romanticized, and its a pill we can all swallow (bitch!) because through these narratives each member of the audience is enticed to see themselves as that exceptional individual.

A criminal empire is also enticing because it is an underworld with a unique and privileged membership and clientele.  It's appealing because if you have access it's like a secret fraternity.  You feel empowered because you have access to another world that other people can't even see even though it's right there in front of them.  It's a backstage pass of the highest caliber.  One can't help but feel a certain high not only from being able to traverse across boundaries between worlds most people can't even see but also to wield clandestine power right under the unsuspecting noses of all of those without that access.  There's nothing quite like being the werewolf in sheep's clothing, so to speak.

Huh, so that's what a donkey show looks like.

The other appeal in seeing legacy and empire in this sense is that it is a template of individual talent and ability that can be applied to various situations in our own lives.  From the pseudo-fatalist perspective, an individual rises to emperor status through the proper application of one's natural or unnatural gifts.  The problem with looking at people's talents as "callings," that is some kind of cosmic force urging us down a particular path is that people always assume that callings are noble of purpose and divine in spirit.  If the Calling Theory were true, we'd have to accept that just as many people were called to do as much shitty stuff as good.  When Walter finally admits to his wife Skylar in the final episode that he embarked on his little adventure mostly to satisfy his own ego and need to establish a legacy, he also admits that he was really good at cooking meth and he really enjoyed cooking meth.  If you're going to subscribe to this kind of fatalistic concept of individuals being called upon by some Entity to be really, really good at something, then you're also going to have to eventually confront the fact that all talents are not distributed equally across the spectrum of whatever prevailing moral philosophy is being used to measure their relative worth.  I mean, odds are, given the sheer odds, most of us are probably (and evidently) really talented at really useless stuff or really terrible (in the pejorative sense) stuff.

Which leads us back to the archetype of the antihero, bitch.  In order to balance out our most likely problematic talents and self-centered legacy- and empire-building tendencies, we like to try and embrace some sort of moral code (actually, it's more of a guideline).  A twisted moral code no doubt, but a basic set of rules and general lines in the sand that we continually convince ourselves that we will not cross in our pursuit of legacy.  In our relatively antiheroic lives, we need some kind of anchor to hold onto some semblance of what we consider to be humanity, some kind of redemptive quality to keep us from going all the way over the edge in our own minds or in the minds of others.  In a way maintaining a code is like maintaining some sort of karmic balance, a check mark in the Cosmic Ledger to show that despite all of the shit we bring into this universe, we also haven't completely extinguished all light either.  It's OK to be the scoundrel so long as you help blow up the occasional Death Star.

BREAKING BAD was that rare specimen; a critically acclaimed and popular television show that didn't overstay its welcome and try to milk another four or five seasons just for the sake of making a couple more bucks. The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, as they say.  It was the perfect proof of concept that it's OK to break bad, just as long as you do it well, and no doubt its legacy has been secured for the foreseeable future.

May you (and I) go and do likewise.

Amen, bitch.

Rating: BREAKING BAD is 10/10 = One Head Who is the One Who Knocks