I was at the Parkway 14 watching 2012 when an amusing thought entered my mind: what if the world were to come to an end this very moment, as I sit here in this theatre watching the same spectacular events unfold on the big screen? I smiled to myself as I pictured a shifting of tectonic plates tearing apart the floor beneath my feet, uprooting the foundations of the building, making a mirror image of the devastation on the screen.
My grin slackened, however, as it occurred to me that this fantasy contains more than the simple irony it suggests. In fact, this proposition shares in the perverse logic of wish fulfillment that motivates the film. Our apocalyptic imaginings emerge in this desire for life to be eclipsed by the violent intervention of fantasy. This desire, which is surely what brings us to the theater to see 2012, is also shared by the true heroes of the film. These are not the individuals who, through cunning or privilege, manage to escape the great catastrophe. Instead, they are the ones who stand toward it not only with acceptance but with anticipation, sacrificing everything for the fulfillment of the apocalyptic desire.
Some forty minutes into the film, we find ourselves at the rim of a sputtering super volcano. Our guide to this field of impending ruin is an ecstatic A.M. radio host who's instability of temperament suggests a similar propensity to explode. This manic conspiracy theorist, Charlie Frost, - who, incidentally, turns out to be the only one to correctly predict the planetary meltdown - is played by Woody Harrelson with a certain wild-eyed charm.
We join Charlie as he delivers his final broadcast, a beatific homage to the destructive forces of nature for which we in the theatre are the only likely audience. Having already refused an opportunity to escape the approaching blast, Charlie has reaffirmed his commitment to bear witness, both for his own edification and for that of his audience, to the first shot of the apocalypse. And as the hail of rock and ash begins to spew from the lava filled geysers, Charlie's mania reaches its peak. The camera moves in on his eyes which dart frantically trying to capture the full scope of the eruption. His speech is broken by a sudden shortness of breath, betraying an erotic response to the encounter. As he delivers the final line of his tribute, he is struck down by a flaming mass of earth flung from the heaving blast. This is the climax of our and Charlie's scopophilic thrill. Needless to say, it's a thrill for which Charlie is willing to sacrifice his life.
Though Charlie Frost isn't the only sacrificial hero of 2012, he is exemplary. We are invited to watch the global catastrophe unfold through the eyes of other characters in the film; however, none stand toward the apocalypse with the same sublime enthusiasm as Charlie Frost. But what is heroic about Charlie's self-sacrifice? Why do we admire him more than other characters in the film that grapple with questions of ethics and the continuity of the species?
The truth is that Charlie fulfills the obscene and therefore unspoken desire of his audience. He embodies the perverse impulse to see the future brought to a close, to seal off the horizon with one final fantasy. History provides us with a record of thousands of failed speculations on the world's appointed destruction; enough, at least, to suggest that this fascination is not a purely contemporary development. But, what distinguishes Charlie from these other prognosticators of doom is his singular excitement about the catastrophic upheaval of earthly life.
He asks no one to repent, he makes no amends. He isn't in despair over the imminent catastrophe and he isn't angered by the large-scale government cover-up. Like us, Charlie is only interested in the apocalypse for its entertainment value. But "entertainment" alone isn't sufficient to describe the depth of what transpires. Charlie achieves the ecstatic overcoming of all worldly concerns by embracing the destruction of history, the erasure of human life from the planet. As we peer through Charlie's eyes, we too are liberated from the antagonisms of our lives which suddenly appear powerless and inconsequential.
But what are these antagonisms, these traumas which we endeavor to undermine? The obvious referents to the spectacular disasters which animate 2012 are the highly publicized catastrophe's which have come to define our own new century. These events of global terrorism, natural disaster and ecological upheaval have, in fact, done more to tarnish our expectations of the future than our view of the immediate past.As is the nature of trauma, the subsequent anxiety issues not from the traumatic incident itself, but from the perpetual fear that it will happen again.
The global impact of these traumas is assured by the universal reach of our global communications systems. The 24-hour news cycle delivers a compulsive repetition of impressions surrounding these events: images, video sequences, sensational reports of the obscure aftermath. But, if these incidents are responsible for our most profound anxieties, how does witnessing their dramatic reconstruction liberate us from their traumatic effects? In re-presenting these disasters, 2012, in fact, proposes their ultimate fulfillment. Because it is an account of the final disaster to take place on the earth, it delimits the traumatic extension of indefinite anxiety. Perhaps the only thing more terrifying than the advent of a doomsday scenario is the indefinite progress of history toward no conceivable goal and subject to every conceivable catastrophe.
Charlie Frost's enthusiasm is an enthusiasm for the fulfillment of a cosmic order, a plan according to which the universe carries out necessary obligations. The perversity of this enthusiasm comes from a consent to absolute terror in exchange for a relief from anxiety. As we move forward in a century where the greater complexity of technology and greater correlation of our global relations will only increase the probability and scope of further disasters, we have to ask ourselves whether we will, like Charlie, succumb to the allure of the apocalypse or face the unsettling expanse of an indefinite future.
My grin slackened, however, as it occurred to me that this fantasy contains more than the simple irony it suggests. In fact, this proposition shares in the perverse logic of wish fulfillment that motivates the film. Our apocalyptic imaginings emerge in this desire for life to be eclipsed by the violent intervention of fantasy. This desire, which is surely what brings us to the theater to see 2012, is also shared by the true heroes of the film. These are not the individuals who, through cunning or privilege, manage to escape the great catastrophe. Instead, they are the ones who stand toward it not only with acceptance but with anticipation, sacrificing everything for the fulfillment of the apocalyptic desire.
Some forty minutes into the film, we find ourselves at the rim of a sputtering super volcano. Our guide to this field of impending ruin is an ecstatic A.M. radio host who's instability of temperament suggests a similar propensity to explode. This manic conspiracy theorist, Charlie Frost, - who, incidentally, turns out to be the only one to correctly predict the planetary meltdown - is played by Woody Harrelson with a certain wild-eyed charm.
We join Charlie as he delivers his final broadcast, a beatific homage to the destructive forces of nature for which we in the theatre are the only likely audience. Having already refused an opportunity to escape the approaching blast, Charlie has reaffirmed his commitment to bear witness, both for his own edification and for that of his audience, to the first shot of the apocalypse. And as the hail of rock and ash begins to spew from the lava filled geysers, Charlie's mania reaches its peak. The camera moves in on his eyes which dart frantically trying to capture the full scope of the eruption. His speech is broken by a sudden shortness of breath, betraying an erotic response to the encounter. As he delivers the final line of his tribute, he is struck down by a flaming mass of earth flung from the heaving blast. This is the climax of our and Charlie's scopophilic thrill. Needless to say, it's a thrill for which Charlie is willing to sacrifice his life.
Though Charlie Frost isn't the only sacrificial hero of 2012, he is exemplary. We are invited to watch the global catastrophe unfold through the eyes of other characters in the film; however, none stand toward the apocalypse with the same sublime enthusiasm as Charlie Frost. But what is heroic about Charlie's self-sacrifice? Why do we admire him more than other characters in the film that grapple with questions of ethics and the continuity of the species?
The truth is that Charlie fulfills the obscene and therefore unspoken desire of his audience. He embodies the perverse impulse to see the future brought to a close, to seal off the horizon with one final fantasy. History provides us with a record of thousands of failed speculations on the world's appointed destruction; enough, at least, to suggest that this fascination is not a purely contemporary development. But, what distinguishes Charlie from these other prognosticators of doom is his singular excitement about the catastrophic upheaval of earthly life.
He asks no one to repent, he makes no amends. He isn't in despair over the imminent catastrophe and he isn't angered by the large-scale government cover-up. Like us, Charlie is only interested in the apocalypse for its entertainment value. But "entertainment" alone isn't sufficient to describe the depth of what transpires. Charlie achieves the ecstatic overcoming of all worldly concerns by embracing the destruction of history, the erasure of human life from the planet. As we peer through Charlie's eyes, we too are liberated from the antagonisms of our lives which suddenly appear powerless and inconsequential.
But what are these antagonisms, these traumas which we endeavor to undermine? The obvious referents to the spectacular disasters which animate 2012 are the highly publicized catastrophe's which have come to define our own new century. These events of global terrorism, natural disaster and ecological upheaval have, in fact, done more to tarnish our expectations of the future than our view of the immediate past.As is the nature of trauma, the subsequent anxiety issues not from the traumatic incident itself, but from the perpetual fear that it will happen again.
The global impact of these traumas is assured by the universal reach of our global communications systems. The 24-hour news cycle delivers a compulsive repetition of impressions surrounding these events: images, video sequences, sensational reports of the obscure aftermath. But, if these incidents are responsible for our most profound anxieties, how does witnessing their dramatic reconstruction liberate us from their traumatic effects? In re-presenting these disasters, 2012, in fact, proposes their ultimate fulfillment. Because it is an account of the final disaster to take place on the earth, it delimits the traumatic extension of indefinite anxiety. Perhaps the only thing more terrifying than the advent of a doomsday scenario is the indefinite progress of history toward no conceivable goal and subject to every conceivable catastrophe.
Charlie Frost's enthusiasm is an enthusiasm for the fulfillment of a cosmic order, a plan according to which the universe carries out necessary obligations. The perversity of this enthusiasm comes from a consent to absolute terror in exchange for a relief from anxiety. As we move forward in a century where the greater complexity of technology and greater correlation of our global relations will only increase the probability and scope of further disasters, we have to ask ourselves whether we will, like Charlie, succumb to the allure of the apocalypse or face the unsettling expanse of an indefinite future.
I fucking love this: better the annihilation of everything than our anxiety ad infinitum and ad nauseum.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love your distinction b/w the doomsayers of yesteryear who were driven by guilt and these new Hollywood doomsayers who will spectacular nothingness: "put us out of your misery, please," they beg with their bigger and bigger images.
And yet it's not just nothingness per se but nothingness delivered with punch, the odd erotics of nihilism, a snuff films.
I think the same will drives conspiracy theorists: they will a connection between everything rather than the chaos of shit that is their lives. Better an answer than the anxiety of no answer.
Kierkegaard claims that anxiety, and not death, is the "sickness unto death."
Thanks for the the Kierkegaard reference. I'm generally unfamiliar with his work. I did read the variations on the sacrifice of Isaac at the beginning of Fear and Trembling, which I thought was amazing.
ReplyDeleteThe comments on the nature of trauma as being directed toward a future return of the traumatic event rather than an inability to reconcile or a compulsive reflection on a past event come from an interview with Derrida on 9/11. Hard to know how to cite in this type of writing, but I thought I should make that clear.
I think you're right on with your comment about conspiracy theorists. I feel like this point could be developed somehow through Foucault. There's certainly an interesting discursive strategy there which has implications beyond the schema of individual psychology.
I've read here and there that Harold Bloom believes the national religion is some sort of American Gnosticism, with all the Christian terminology essentially being incorporated organically into this herefore-to-him unconscious new spirituality.
ReplyDeleteThe idea was one I found fascinating at the time - your post hints at, I think, a similar rejection of reality.
Yeah, that's a compelling idea. It creates an interesting historical through-line from the ancient Egyptians, whose religion of a life beyond life informed the esotericism of the Orphic cults which, in turn, provided the basis for Plato's theory of ideas. Then, of course, that theory would be employed by Gnosticism in its cosmology of emanating worlds. At least, I think that's how it was strutured. I have to admit, it's been awhile.
ReplyDeleteThis sort of genaeology of apocalyptic thinking is useful, I think, because it ties the modern disaster film to the Bacchic rites praticed by the Orphic cults. As Dionysus was torn apart and eaten by the Titans who thereby gained some mesure of his divine power, the Orphic cults would ritually dismember and eat live animals in order to enter into ecstatic states which they presumed to be divine. There's certainly an echo of this feeling in the erotics of spectacular distruction. In this case, the planet - and its share in and of reality - is torn to pieces with divine ecstasy descending on the witness who wills his/her encounter with the apocalypse.
And maybe there's a further connection to be drawn as the Bacchic rites were considered by many to be a reaction against the disaffection of civilized life. For the more skeptical Ionians, fleeing to hills to get drunk and dismember animals seemed like a crude attempt to recapture the barbarism effectively wrung out in civilized life. Such disaffection would be different today, but perhaps the response holds something of the same.
Amateur genaeology is a dangerous business but I think the paralells are worth considering. Thanks for the comment!