In case you haven't seen enough "Why Satan Won" thinkpieces over the last year or so, this one actually takes a fresher, more academic approach. I am aware of, but not familiar with, Bakhtin's "carnival" theory, but as explained in the link, it sounds similar to Barthes' deconstructed musings on pro wrestling as the true artistic expression of the proletariat.
The idea that the "jester" can provide a healthy outlet for the frustrations of the masses, without (usually) causing harm to the jester or the masses, is obviously an ancient and venerable one. Done well, it can provide the attentive ruler (or ruling class) an outlet as well, a path toward corrective behavior that could conceivably save their elite hides from a revolution.
But we're not on a path to revolution, or civil war, or anything else. It's just not going to happen. Nothing fazes us anymore. Billionaires have been screwing everyone else since the word "billionaire" was invented; to paraphrase Balzac, it's how they got there in the first place.
The elevation (to candidate for political office) of a comically boorish fake billionaire who pretends to be a populist certainly fits the carnival narrative of upending polite norms, embracing vulgarity and eschewing "correctness" and slapping the snobs in the face. But once the point's been made, elevating the cretin further -- or actually putting him in the seat of power -- makes the entire exercise utterly dependent on the person in question, their character or lack of it.
Pro wrestling was never particularly interesting to me, but the individuals from the ring that I've seen in interviews and movies tend to be very interesting people. There's a terrific documentary about Andre the Giant on HBO right now. Dwayne Johnson has crafted a successful movie career, mostly predicated on his likability, and John Cena is starting to do the same thing. Mick Foley was always funny and cool in his Daily Show guest appearances. Chris Jericho has his metal band Fozzy, as well as a goofy cameo in Devin Townsend's space-rock opera Z2 . And of course there's They Live. Even Hulk Hogan was fun before he turned into a weird, cuckolded asshole with douchebag kids.
What made all the above individuals (and more that I'm forgetting, surely) funny and interesting is that they all made it very clear -- not explicitly, but clear all the same through their words and mannerisms -- that they were playing characters, that it was acting in the guise of sport. (Not to say that the physical damage and abuse isn't real; even if the punches and moves are exaggerated, most of us wouldn't last a minute in that ring.) They are there to entertain, have fun, hopefully make a few bucks.
It's much more difficult to tell where the crowds are at, though. They get into it with full-throated vigor, without seeming to have the knowing cynicism that comes with watching something that everyone knows is schtick, that we're all in on. And this will sound sexist, and I don't care, but if you've ever worked in an office with a lot of women, they can jabber on and on and fucking on about [pick virtually any "reality" teevee show, but used to be Survivor or Dancing with the Stars, now more likely one of the Bachelor franchises] as if the participants in these shows are "real" in the conventional sense, as if there's anything remotely non-contrived about a bunch of conventionally attractive people pretending to look for love in a hot tub while being filmed and selectively edited.
Unless I'm misreading the carnival theory premise (which is always possible), one of its central attributes is that it's temporary. Catharsis is important, but permanent catharsis would be paralyzing in many ways -- mentally, emotionally, productively. Set in an environment of epistemic closure, where facts and misbehavior don't matter, where the "legitimate" media are in a never-ending struggle to get clicks and keep moving, we've ended up with enough bitter, ignorant people who are too dumb and lazy to inform themselves, and instead act out of pure spite.
But that's exactly what the Republican Party has been cultivating for decades now, this ridiculous list of imaginary grievances, a narrative of complaints instead of policy and facts. It shouldn't be any surprise to have this massive audience of baying morons who take the schtick seriously, as literal truth. They were willing enough to vote for the wrestler who played to them, without worrying about the inherent cynicism.
Now they finally have a wrestler who is not playing a character. I think most people figured that the current waste of orange leather was playing the "heel" character, winking knowingly at "his" fans. We are all used to the schtick, regardless of our particular political persuasions. We expect the cynicism. Most people did not expect a wrestler who is his character, who has no separation at all from the jerkoff he has played on teevee for many years. (It is not for nothing that he really is a member of the WWE Hall of Fame, and that he frequently refers to his supporters as "fans".)
Emperor Snowflake is an old, lazy man who doesn't (perhaps can't) read, has the attention span and impulse control of a four-year-old, and wants to grow up to be a banana republic caudillo. The main thing to keep in mind here (beyond his innate, lifelong ineptitude) is that he's old. He'll be gone, maybe sooner rather than later, but statistically some point in the next decade or so.
(I sincerely look forward to taking a huge shit on his grave, whenever that time comes. I'll eat half an all-meat pizza and chug a pitcher of beer first, maybe a few shots of whiskey. Should be a good ten-pound growler for His Majesty.)
But the audience will still be there, rabid, ravenous, incoherent, impossible to please. It's one thing to sublimate your own identity for an entertainment product, to live vicariously through imaginary heroes because your own life is going nowhere. It's quite another to actively subvert the future of your country because the most important thing to you is sticking your finger in the eye of an imagined caricature of your political opponents. If this doesn't change or at least get disempowered, sent back to its rightful place of impotent rage, then we are screwed, and maybe we deserve it.
The idea that the "jester" can provide a healthy outlet for the frustrations of the masses, without (usually) causing harm to the jester or the masses, is obviously an ancient and venerable one. Done well, it can provide the attentive ruler (or ruling class) an outlet as well, a path toward corrective behavior that could conceivably save their elite hides from a revolution.
But we're not on a path to revolution, or civil war, or anything else. It's just not going to happen. Nothing fazes us anymore. Billionaires have been screwing everyone else since the word "billionaire" was invented; to paraphrase Balzac, it's how they got there in the first place.
The elevation (to candidate for political office) of a comically boorish fake billionaire who pretends to be a populist certainly fits the carnival narrative of upending polite norms, embracing vulgarity and eschewing "correctness" and slapping the snobs in the face. But once the point's been made, elevating the cretin further -- or actually putting him in the seat of power -- makes the entire exercise utterly dependent on the person in question, their character or lack of it.
Pro wrestling was never particularly interesting to me, but the individuals from the ring that I've seen in interviews and movies tend to be very interesting people. There's a terrific documentary about Andre the Giant on HBO right now. Dwayne Johnson has crafted a successful movie career, mostly predicated on his likability, and John Cena is starting to do the same thing. Mick Foley was always funny and cool in his Daily Show guest appearances. Chris Jericho has his metal band Fozzy, as well as a goofy cameo in Devin Townsend's space-rock opera Z
What made all the above individuals (and more that I'm forgetting, surely) funny and interesting is that they all made it very clear -- not explicitly, but clear all the same through their words and mannerisms -- that they were playing characters, that it was acting in the guise of sport. (Not to say that the physical damage and abuse isn't real; even if the punches and moves are exaggerated, most of us wouldn't last a minute in that ring.) They are there to entertain, have fun, hopefully make a few bucks.
It's much more difficult to tell where the crowds are at, though. They get into it with full-throated vigor, without seeming to have the knowing cynicism that comes with watching something that everyone knows is schtick, that we're all in on. And this will sound sexist, and I don't care, but if you've ever worked in an office with a lot of women, they can jabber on and on and fucking on about [pick virtually any "reality" teevee show, but used to be Survivor or Dancing with the Stars, now more likely one of the Bachelor franchises] as if the participants in these shows are "real" in the conventional sense, as if there's anything remotely non-contrived about a bunch of conventionally attractive people pretending to look for love in a hot tub while being filmed and selectively edited.
Unless I'm misreading the carnival theory premise (which is always possible), one of its central attributes is that it's temporary. Catharsis is important, but permanent catharsis would be paralyzing in many ways -- mentally, emotionally, productively. Set in an environment of epistemic closure, where facts and misbehavior don't matter, where the "legitimate" media are in a never-ending struggle to get clicks and keep moving, we've ended up with enough bitter, ignorant people who are too dumb and lazy to inform themselves, and instead act out of pure spite.
But that's exactly what the Republican Party has been cultivating for decades now, this ridiculous list of imaginary grievances, a narrative of complaints instead of policy and facts. It shouldn't be any surprise to have this massive audience of baying morons who take the schtick seriously, as literal truth. They were willing enough to vote for the wrestler who played to them, without worrying about the inherent cynicism.
Now they finally have a wrestler who is not playing a character. I think most people figured that the current waste of orange leather was playing the "heel" character, winking knowingly at "his" fans. We are all used to the schtick, regardless of our particular political persuasions. We expect the cynicism. Most people did not expect a wrestler who is his character, who has no separation at all from the jerkoff he has played on teevee for many years. (It is not for nothing that he really is a member of the WWE Hall of Fame, and that he frequently refers to his supporters as "fans".)
Emperor Snowflake is an old, lazy man who doesn't (perhaps can't) read, has the attention span and impulse control of a four-year-old, and wants to grow up to be a banana republic caudillo. The main thing to keep in mind here (beyond his innate, lifelong ineptitude) is that he's old. He'll be gone, maybe sooner rather than later, but statistically some point in the next decade or so.
(I sincerely look forward to taking a huge shit on his grave, whenever that time comes. I'll eat half an all-meat pizza and chug a pitcher of beer first, maybe a few shots of whiskey. Should be a good ten-pound growler for His Majesty.)
But the audience will still be there, rabid, ravenous, incoherent, impossible to please. It's one thing to sublimate your own identity for an entertainment product, to live vicariously through imaginary heroes because your own life is going nowhere. It's quite another to actively subvert the future of your country because the most important thing to you is sticking your finger in the eye of an imagined caricature of your political opponents. If this doesn't change or at least get disempowered, sent back to its rightful place of impotent rage, then we are screwed, and maybe we deserve it.
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