I had a
thread on this a while back, although the essay it focused on had some serious issues with trying to cram the issue into a Marxist framing (which works for some aspects, but not for others)
You raise an interesting question because not every "drug lord" story, much less every story that fetishizes evil, ends up with a "just" ending. Some end with the anti-hero being successful (e.g., Hannibal, Peaky Blinders). Hence, I don't really think "atonement" is the general emphasis here. I think it has more to do with the celebration of the "unconquerable will" and the freedom embodied in criminal transgression.
Hence, I still agree with you 100% here:
reason is the power that allows you to spit on everyone (the law, morality, society, the state, stupid gangsters with automatics); only chance can still oppose him. — Astorre
Exactly. And it is an
instrumentalized reason that allows one to do this. The question of what reason says one
ought to do is often deferred, sometimes indefinitely, although as you note, sometimes there is a redemptive "crisis point," as when Walter has to save Jesse.
Anyhow, I think such endings often play more of a role of showing how the character has ultimately decided to brave "real stakes and dangers," as well as providing a sort of convenient plot element for closing a series/film with pathos, rather than any sort of moral lesson (i.e., "crime doesn't pay"). Redemption is sometimes in the mix (Pulp Fiction... sort of), but not always (e.g., not in Scarface or Goodfellas really). Either way, the anti-hero who dies or is finally imprisoned is often presented like Icarus. They flew too close to the sun, but we can also say "at least they flew! At least they tried!"
Also, it's sort of a trope in some modernist literature and literary analysis that it is precisely the inevitability of defeat, and the impossibility of "total victory" that lends "struggle" its meaning, and this often seems to be part of the idea as well. (You even see this reading of Homer too, although I take it that the key insight Homer gives us is actually that
even immortality cannot make the meaningless meaningful,
not that finitude grants meaning to the otherwise meaningless).
For example, in another well-known series, "Game of Thrones," each character does something morally reprehensible (at least according to our understanding of medieval and even modern morality). And for modern cinema, this is something of a quality mark. On the surface, this adds realism. The creators tell us, "You can't be a saint, we're all sinners," "the world is a complicated place," "not everything is so clear-cut." It looks cool. — Astorre
Right, sometimes you'll see the claim that "morally grey" characters are a helpful addition to modern art. I don't think this is quite right. Aeneas is morally grey and ultimately fails to live up to the principles he is supposed to embody. David is morally grey; he commits adultery and then covers it up with murder and is condemned by the prophet Nathan. I think the real difference is a sort of perspectivism that justifies such characters. The David Story (Samuel - early I Kings) is incredibly rich, but it doesn't ask us to see the Bathsheba incident in a way that "justifies David in his own eyes."
Well, there is good and bad here. No doubt, the modern novel has led to psychological portraits with more depth. I think a problem though is that perspectivism as a narrative tool can often bleed into perspectivism as a sort of philosophy (and this is bad when it is not intentional, but something an author or audience feels they cannot avoid). The way this tends to play out IMHO is that authors need to keep conjuring up ever more wicked and sadistic villains in order to project some semblance of moral order onto their plots (certainly something you see in A Game of Thrones).The irony here is that the need to introduce super sadistic, over the top evil villains ends up sort of bowdlerizing the plot in the same way a more sanitized story would.
And yet people ultimately do end up idolizing him, although perhaps not quite as much as Tony Montana (Scarface), Thomas Shelby (The Peaky Blinders), etc. The drug lord anti-hero is a sort of trope at this point.
You make a very important point; Walter is a relatable, but also somewhat pathetic figure. Weeds had a somewhat similar thread with a "single mom turned crime lord." Walter, through ambition and a shedding of social niceties, transcends this pathetic, "beta male" mentality and moves into a space of limitless ambition, or as he puts it, the pursuit of "empire." I think this goes along with our society's fetishization of acquisitiveness (pleonexia is now pretty much a virtue instead of a vice, we are to never be satisfied, always striving for more, maintaining our grindset mindset, etc.). Yet at a deeper level I think this has to do with the fear in our culture, particularly among men, of degenerating into a bovine consumer, a castrated subhuman who no longer receives or
deserves recognition (thymos). This thread in modern life was aptly diagnosed by Fukuyama in The End of History and the Last Man for instance . Yet, whatever else the drug lord is, they aren't one of Nietzsche's "Last Men." Walter's story is partially the tale of a man transcending Last Manhood through crime. The point isn't so much the crime, as this transcending motion.
But this also intersects with the particularly capitalist elevation of fortitude when wed to ambition and acquisitiveness. Mark Fisher gets at part of this when he analyzes the notion of "keeping it real" in gangster rap culture. To "keep it real" is to cease being a dupe and beta, to no longer pretend that the old morality of piety, temperance, humility, etc. has any real purchase. It is to be "real" in precisely the way liberalism says man *really* is, i.e., as an atomized self-interested utility maximizer driven on by irrational bodily and thymotic appetites. This is all anyone *really* ever was; the "old morality" was variously a duplicitous trick played on the masses by the elites, and the clergy's own twisted will to power coming out in the will to dominate themselves and others through religion. Walter White and other similar characters shed their connection to custom and desire for safety, and so overcome mediocrity and the omnipresent ill of bourgeois boredom and self-hatred.
You can see this in the cut throat competition of "reality TV" as well. They often seem to try to cast people who will gladly play up the "win at all cost" psychopath role.
I don't know Breaking Bad, but another example commonly given is the way that the Batman nemesis Joker has now become his own offering, with standalone Joker characters and films that have no relation to Batman. Tolkien writes well about the phenomenon. I may try to dig up some quotes. — Leontiskos
Yes, but I think the Joker, Tyler Durden of Fight Club, and other similar characters play to a slightly different ethos. The Joker burns all the money he receives in the Dark Knight. He isn't pursuing meglothymia through a sort of "capitalism by other means," but is turning against society itself (often to point out its own fraudulence). He is beyond the need for recognition. There is a bit of "divine madness" there ("holy fools" also shunned custom to engage in social commentary, although obviously in a very different way). I think these sorts of characters are extremely relevant to the appeal of "trolling" mentioned in the other thread on that topic.
For instance, when the Joker gives two boats, one full of regular citizens, one full of prisoners, the power to blow each other up in the Dark Knight, and then threatens to kill everyone if one side won't murder the other, the whole point is that he is exposing the "real" human being that lies beneath the niceties of the "old morality" (or something like that).
Hannibal Lecter is also a good example here because his total shedding of custom and ability to endure suffering turn him into a superhuman of sorts.
Unfortunately, R. Scott Bakker's work isn't that popular (which I sort of get, he isn't for everyone) and I think only
@180Proof has read him here, but he is (perhaps unintentionally) a great example here. He is an eliminativist who has a fairly negative view of humanity, and he engages in a trope across his books where there will be a sort of anti-hero/villain character who becomes superhuman through recognizing and accepting the truth of eliminativism and mechanism, and then using this insight to manipulate others (and to manipulate himself through technology and technique). The idea is that, if one realizes that custom is ultimately groundless, it can become just another tool for mastery. Likewise, the body and soul become tools. Everything can be instrumentalized and bent towards the achievement of one's goals; and wed to a potent enough intellect, this combination is unbeatable.
But Bakker is very interesting because, despite this seeming voluntarism (a voluntarism that emerges from his prizing of intellect, but an intellect reduced to a tool), he has in some ways a more ancient, and thick, notion of freedom as involving self-mastery, self-government, and self-knowledge. I suppose Hannibal partially embodies these traits too, although in a way that isn't as fully thought out.
The problem though is that, as these notions are taken to their limit, and you get characters that are ever more superhuman in intellect, cunning, self-control, etc., and ever more beyond/above all custom and morality, they actually start to become incoherent, because there is no reason why someone, so liberated, should want to do one thing instead of any other. Realistically, they might as well decide to sit down until they expire from exposure. This can happen with the Joker in some forms too, which is why he needs his insanity to keep him moving.
Nussbaum talks about something somewhat similar re the ways in which athletic competition would cease to be meaningful, rewarding, or interesting if man transcended his physical limitations to a large enough degree. It's a keen diagnosis, although I am not sure if the solution quite hits its mark. It does not seem necessarily problematic for man to transcend
some elements of his being, such that his past desires seem trivial; this is only problematic if there is not a parallel deeping of higher desires (which is exactly what the Platonists and Christians say there is, and attest to this experience, so the criticism fails to be decisive even in its own terms).