Whether you like it or not, we live in a cultural climate dominated by the anti-hero. Not to be confused with a full-blown villain, an anti-hero by definition lacks the upright moral character and endearing qualities of the traditional heroes we’ve come to know so well in mainstream culture. This quite often takes the form of questionable means to an end, an unpredictable narrative trajectory and unsavory moral flaws.
Realistically, that textbook definition was unnecessary, and a host of characters came to mind immediately after you read that first sentence. Whether it was Don Draper, Cersei Lannister, Nucky Thompson, Dexter Morgan, Walter White, Frank Underwood or some other troubled protagonist, it’s obvious these characters have a hold over us that traditional heroes simply can’t match.
It’s precisely this fascination that results in a television market saturated with morally ambiguous characters, so where does the obsession come from?
Psychologists, journalists and television lovers alike have come up with countless theories to explain this culturally relevant phenomenon. If you want to take the Freudian approach with Travis Langley of Wired, it could be interpreted as a form of wish fulfillment in which we experience pleasure through the visualization of morally abhorrent behavior we secretly wish to engage in.
I find this to be the least convincing explanation, but that’s mostly due to my general distaste toward psychoanalysis as a whole.
Another theory points to our culturally-induced mass-desensitization as the main culprit. This argument hinges on the premise that as society becomes increasingly anesthetized to depictions of violence, we are simultaneously drawn to darker characters and plot lines.
This perspective also seems to fall flat, as the most captivating element of the anti-hero story isn’t the carnage but the characters’ humanistic nuances.
Child and adolescent psychiatrist H. Eric Bender taps into this fascination with moral complexity and argues the rise of the anti-hero can be largely attributed to our own flawed behavior. We’re unsurprisingly drawn to characters that reflect our own uncertainty and imperfection, as this casts them in a much more authentic light.
Growing up forces us to confront an increasing amount of ethical ambiguity as we realize life is anything but black and white. As a result, the characters that embody moral perfectionism begin to ring untrue. Brokenness becomes synonymous with authenticity.
Often, the anti-hero becomes incompatible with societal expectations and regulations, resulting in the compelling suspense that fuels our incessant binge sessions.
Yet at the heart of our fascination is the anti-hero’s ability to endear him or herself through displays of humanity in shared circumstances. Walter White is faced with his wavering financial stability and deteriorating health. Cersei Lannister’s children are taken from her through murder and arranged marriages. Often these characters must be broken and brought to their lowest points in order to gain our sympathy, yet this isn’t a matter of redemptive justice. It’s about the glimpse of virtue that fosters a connection between viewer and character.
Overall, anti-heroes serve as a reflection of our own realities. They’re complex. They’re constantly evolving. They’re simultaneously monstrous and human. Their unpredictable journeys fuel our disappointment, fear and empathy.
Anti-heroes dominate modern culture not because of our suppressed wishes or numb psyches, but our desire for truth. Absolutist parables have no place in our fragmented world.
It’s time to embrace the ambiguous and authentic.
Marisa Papenfuss is a UF English junior. Her column appears on Tuesdays.
