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Ethics of Storytelling: Jason Rothenberg and Fan Interaction



I would be underselling it if I said a lot has happened in The 100 fandom since Lexa’s problematic death several weeks ago. Not only have we seen two more people of color die—Lincoln and Hannah Green—and witnessed the first wisps of Bellarke rising from the barely cold ashes of Lexa and Clarke’s relationship, other TV shows have had their share of problematic character deaths. Abby Mills was sidelined and killed off from her own story, and the death tolls for lesbian and bisexual female characters is growing higher and higher every week. The Bury your Gays trope, it seems, is not only still around, but just as prevalent as ever, though Kylie makes a compelling case for how its use can be less problematic in some cases.

There is a prevalence of writers using problematic tropes with Unfortunate Implications™ on television, not least of which is due to the influence that a certain show has on storytelling methods (having received several Emmys last year). I’ve discussed the use of grimdark and its effect on audiences while also touching on what I think of as ‘narrative sadism,’ or when storytellers delight in punishing their audience for emotional investment. But now it’s time to discuss the ethics of fan interaction: how writers/producers interact with fans and how fans communicate with writers/producers.

Listening: JRoth vs. D&D vs. JGM/The Cast

Ethical communication is a two-way street that begins and ends with listening. Immediately following Lexa’s death, Jason Rothenberg took to the airwaves in a series of tone-deaf interviews that can be summarized as “I didn’t do anything wrong, and you shouldn’t be offended.” When asked point blank about Lexa being a lesbian character who was killed off and whether or not he paid attention to the Bury Your Gays trope, he denied that he thought about it at all, acting offended that anyone dare question his motives or process. For almost three weeks, his tone was one of hurt (that people were upset with him), dismissal (of their concerns/frustration/anger), and mild condescension (that anyone would find this narrative offensive).

Then, on March 24th, he issued a public apology. He admitted that the show perpetuated the Bury Your Gays trope, though unintentionally. He apologizes for hurting fans unintentionally, but stands by his decision to kill off Lexa. He only admits her death would have “played out differently” if he could have predicted the fan response. Embracing the “anyone can die excuse,” the overall tone of the piece comes off more as ‘I’m sorry you’re offended by my legitimate, authentic, completely understandable choices’ than ‘I am deeply, truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused.’ It was also, shall we say, rather timely.

It came on the heels of a rather disastrous interview where he defended his choices vehemently, insisting that despite the fan reactions, he would not change anything about the way Lexa’s death was scripted (and for those who don’t want to give the TV Insider website hits, the interview has been transcribed here). Three days later he would be saying the opposite.

The apology was posted on the internet mere days before Wondercon and immediately picked up and circulated by other sites. The conversation entering the conference was therefore about Jason’s apology rather than the aftermath of his storytelling choices, which had been the focus of discussion the past several weeks leading up to the con. It worked. Instead of questioning him further, sites posting the apology rallied around him.

“But even if this is an attempt at damage control (and why would any sane person not attempt damage control at this point?), it can also be genuine. Just because he waited three weeks doesn’t make it disingenuous. In fact, when confronted with such a sea change in the discourse, it’s only natural that it would take time to absorb and react. It shows thoughtfulness. Not rash reactionary defense. I’ll be attending The 100 WonderCon panel and I’m very interested to see how the discourse continues when the fans and creators are face to face.”

—Haleigh Foutch (source)

I disagree, wholeheartedly. To me, the convenience factor looms too large for there to be much genuine sorrow in his words. Mere days before WonderCon where a large panel discussion is planned for The 100? A week before the second half of the season starts? Only three days after he’d vehemently defended his storytelling choices in another interview and plainly stated he would not have changed the story one bit? I don’t buy it. His apology effectively shifted the conversation from his choices to his ‘heartfelt’ apology. Anyone still upset over Lexa’s death could now be painted as overblown and reactionary; he’s already apologized, move on, get over it.

Yet Ms. Foutch is correct to point out that damage control need not mean the discussion is over. You would think that the apology would have allow for more open discussion of Lexa’s death at the con. You would be wrong. Not that he was particularly offensive. He repeated the same things he mentioned in his apology about not being fully aware of Bury Your Gays, about how Lexa had to die for the plot, about how no one is safe and her seemingly random death highlighted the fragility of life, that he regrets his comments on social media led to people thinking Lexa would not die.

He also undersold Clarke’s reaction to Lexa’s death, focusing on her ability to compartmentalize (read: move on) and need to focus on her people rather than her pain. One of the writers had a video on Periscope up three days after “Thirteen” aired that mentioned Clarke being Lexa’s soulmate, but not the other way around, a sentiment that was apparently repeated at WonderCon (this Periscope has since been removed).

More to the point, he blacklisted questions about Lexa during the audience Q&A session, and he did so after he had his TV Insider interview, where he said,

“I’m looking forward to getting in front of the fans and talking to them and having a real dialogue about this, if that’s something that the fans want. It’s an honor and a privilege, it’s really the greatest privilege of my life—other than being the father of my kids and the husband of my wife—to be the creator of this show and I really love the opportunity to get to talk about it as much as possible.”

—Jason Rothenberg, (source)

This is not how you have a respectful dialogue with fans.

Granted, he could be worse. At least he showed up to the WonderCon panel, even if he blacklisted Lexa in Q&A. Showrunners of Game of Thrones, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss have neglected to even attend panels in the past, leaving their young female actors to deal with the aftermath of their poor writing choices. At least Rothenberg apologized for killing off Lexa, even if it was far from heartfelt, obviously damage control, and reeked of “I’m sorry you’re offended.” D&D have never, not once, apologized for how their decisions affected their fans. Rather, they continue to defend their horrible choices, tell people “it was a year ago, get over it” if they don’t like it, and claim “not one word” of Season 6 has changed despite audience outcry. While Rothenberg sounded suspiciously like D&D up until WonderCon, I can at least take some satisfaction in the fact that he had to issue an apology. Distressed GoT fans haven’t gotten that.

Lexcru fans can also be grateful Rothenberg didn’t treat Lexa’s death and Alycia Debnam-Carey leaving the show with the same casual dismissiveness that he treated Ricky Whittle’s departure and Lincoln’s death. Granted the situations are slightly different in that Whittle had previously thrown shade at Rothenberg for on-set bullying. Unlike Lexa, Lincoln’s character had been sidelined from the narrative this season, this despite the fact that he had been a main character since the pilot. Whereas Rothenberg had purposefully hinted that Lexa would survive to the end of the season and then killed her off in Ep 7, Lincoln was originally meant to survive until the end of this season, and with a major plot arc.

Instead, Whittle watched as his plot arc and lines were cut down to barely more than a few seconds an episode, culminating in the death of an unlawfully imprisoned black man shot execution style by another black man while he kneeled in the mud. I have one word for that scene: humiliation. His only response to Whittle’s scathing interview after being written off the show:

“Ricky Whittle is a talented actor; I appreciate his work on The 100 and wish him all the best moving forward on American Gods.” (source)

Rothenberg has yet to say anything (that I can find) about Hannah Green’s death last week.

But back to the things we can appreciate about Rothenberg, because I ought to give credit where it is due. Unlike D&D, Rothenberg is not hiding behind his cast to justify his behavior. Where Sophie Turner, Emilia Clarke, Natalie Dormer, Iwan Rheon, and now even Peter Dinklage defend D&D’s choices to the point that they seem to be attacking fans, Rothenberg has a cast that is actively against him. Bob Morley (Bellamy Blake) has made his distaste for a romantic relationship between Clarke and Bellamy well known. Eliza Taylor (Clarke Griffin) has made no secret of her opinions on Lexa’s death and the Clexa relationship, even saying the exact opposite of Rothenberg at the very same WonderCon panel.

So yes, on the one hand, Rothenberg’s far better than the tone-deaf producers of one of the most popular show on television (the very producers he admires and wishes to emulate, might I add). On the other hand, he could be so much more.

Javier Grillo-Marxauch, one of the staff writers this season, called the entire situation a clusterfuck. While he is currently on vacation and actually left the show after “Thirteen” due to paternity leave, his Tumblr account in the weeks following Lexa’s death are eye-opening. He sympathizes with hurt fans and shows genuine empathy for their psychological and physiological trauma following Lexa’s death. He admits that he, Rothenberg, and the other staff writers were well aware of the Bury Your Gays trope but believed they had built up enough trust from the audience to get away with it.

He listens. He actively admits wrongdoing and apologizes. Not three weeks later and not because it was convenient to apologize. Not for PR. Just for himself; for the fans. He promises to do better, but warns fans not to trust screenwriters implicitly. He tells fans to make writers earn their trust. Second to the massive donations to the Trevor Project from Lexcru fans, JGM is the best thing to come out of this, as he puts it, “clusterfuck.” He shows us all a better way for a screenwriter/producer to engage with fans.

I’d put the cast at a close third or even a tie. As I mentioned above, Rothenberg does not have as tight a leash on his cast as D&D do theirs. Lindsey Morgan (Raven Reyes), Alycia Debnam-Carey (Lexa), and Eliza Taylor have all gone out of their way to empathize with fans. They’ve tweeted their disgust and frustration with Lexa’s death. Taylor refuses to downplay Lexa’s importance for Clarke, even when Rothenberg is doing the opposite. Despite the show’s recent seeding of a romantic relationship between Clarke and Bellamy, or perhaps because of it, Eliza played up Clarke’s bisexuality in an interview with After Dark this past weekend. I choose to believe that she’s doing this on purpose, to fight the seeming erasure of her bisexuality in the push for Bellarke to happen onscreen* (please see note and below for a full discussion of what I mean by this).

As with JGM, this is a cast that does what it can to empathize with and even voice the same frustrations as its audience. Yes, they are contractually obligated to promote the show. But that doesn’t mean they have to parrot Rothenberg’s bullshit. The eyerolls, posturing, and word choices all point to this being a cast that is not only fed up with its showrunner but are also willing do to what they can to communicate that to their fans.

Ethics in Internet Marketing: the Elephant in the Room

“At least he’s not D&D.” If that’s all I can say about Rothenberg, that’s…not high praise. Yes, we can critique timing, intention, and content. We can discuss how JGM provides a helpful counter-example for how to engage with fans when you and your creative team have made a problematic choice in storytelling that you believed you could get away with. The answer there is listen and empathize. And don’t make it all about you.

But I also want to discuss the ethics of internet marketing. We live in an age where fandoms have a larger platform and louder voice than they used to. Gone are the days of maybe once yearly cons and snail mail or AOL fanfic writing. Gone are the days of coffee shop conversations quickly forgotten. With the internet, fans can engage with each other instantaneously and rally around Twitter hashtags in the blink of an eye. Fans can be choreographed within minutes of an upsetting event and conversations heat up to vitriolic levels in a matter of hours rather than months.

Showrunners understandably want to capitalize on viral fandom. Having a strong presence online is almost a must these days, but where it goes wrong is when social media is used to blatantly mislead fans to avoid losing viewers.

During S2 and the hiatus following its airing, Rothenberg and staff writer Kim Shumway sought out and engaged with LGBT fans on social media. They promoted Lexa as a shining example of media representation of lesbianism. When they discovered their fans were scared that she might die, both emphasized her status as very much still alive on the show. Rothenberg even commented that the Clexa ship was “seaworthy.” When S3 was still filming, Rothenberg recruited fans to come to the season 3 finale shooting in Vancouver, a highly visible Lexa on set the obvious target of his marketing campaign.

More blatantly, another staff writer Shawna Benson starting posting anonymously on a popular lesbian forum, ostensibly there for “rumor control.” A poster had surfaced, signed by Alycia Debnam-Carey with “Thanks for the opportunity,” and fans started speculating that she was going to die. At this point, “Thirteen” had definitely already been scripted and Lexa’s fate sealed, so when “Your Friendly Neighborhood Lurker” (aka, Shawna Benson), popped up to assure fans that no ‘goodbye’ was intended by the note, she clearly knew otherwise. The full discussion up on We Deserved Better also makes it clear that she hung around the forum for a very long time, long enough to reference in-jokes and specific names from threads when she said her goodbyes.

That might not sound like a big deal to some, but it is. The production staff, including Kim Shumway, Shawna Benson, and Jason Rothenberg himself, went out of their way to deny rumors of Lexa’s death. When fans pointed to the Bury Your Gays trope prior to the airing of S3, they responded with reassurance that, although vague enough to not be outright lies, still purposefully mislead their audience. Elizabeth Bridges, a professor at Rhodes College in Memphis states,

“It was all to keep viewership and keep the core LGBT audience guessing, but hopeful.” (source)

This is not how you do internet marketing. Safe spaces are safe spaces for a reason even on the internet. An admittedly straight woman infiltrating a lesbian forum for “rumor control” that amounts to misleading fans may be legal, but it is unethical. This is classic bait and switch marketing: lead your audience to assume X character, the reason they are watching this show, is alive and well only to kill them off later for shock value.

If you read Rothenberg’s full apology, you will see that he misses the main thrust of LGBT fan’s frustration: her death was not handled correctly. He is fixated on the fact that she died rather than 1) how, namely the Stray Bullet of Plot Convenience, 2) its meaninglessness in Lexa’s arc/characterization, 3) it wasn’t entirely necessary, 4) it’s context as right after sex, 5) it’s context in the Bury Your Gays discussion. Yes he mentions these things, but he focuses on justifying her death in terms of the narrative he wants to write.

The shooting in Vancouver and its misleading conclusions about Lexa still being alive is mentioned, and he apologizes for other people misinterpreting it. He does not mention Kim Shumway’s hiatus interactions with fans about Lexa. He does not mention his “seaworthy” comment or the blatant infiltration of lesbian spaces by staff writer Shawna Benson who urged Kim Shumway to “sell it hard.” He tries to paint it as “we were so excited for Clexa we got carried away” but when you see exactly what was done, it’s blatant audience manipulation of the worst kind.

“I promise you burying, baiting or hurting anyone was never our intention. It’s not who I am.” —Jason Rothenberg, (source)

Really? How are we to believe that, Rothenberg, when you actively mislead your audience? How are we to accept this apology when it is a bald-faced lie? Actively engaging with and recruiting LGBT fans, even going so far as to interact with them in their own spaces, all the while calling the f/f relationship “seaworthy” and reassuring fans that Lexa was safe in your hands, that you would treat her and us with respect. You do all this and then do the one thing fans repeatedly said would break their trust. You call the pain you caused “delicious.” Rothenberg, this is the definition of baiting. Hurting people was your intention, just not in exactly this way. It is who you are because it is what you did. This is what you ought to have apologized for.

Interaction is one thing, infiltration and purposeful misleading another. Ethical storytelling is more than just telling a good, compelling, or even challenging story because it isn’t just about the story itself—though it is about that, too. Some stories are poor quality, poorly executed, or downright destructive. Such stories deserve criticism. Being an ethical storyteller also includes how you tell the story and how you interact with the audience.

If you are bullying your actors or writing them out of their own stories because they shine a light on a negative production environment (see also Game of Thrones and Sleepy Hollow). If you are purposefully engaging fans and misleading them in order to avoid losing viewers. If you issue an apology immediately followed by a silencing tactic to draw negative attention away from your creative choices. If you use the excuse “everyone can die” but only (or predominately) kill off minority characters. If you remove yourself from social media and refuse to engage with fans after making a controversial choice (Rothenberg hasn’t tweeted since his apology). If you refuse to discuss blatant audience manipulation tactics and instead focus on how personally hurt you are that fans don’t like your decisions. All these and more may not be illegal or immoral, but they are unethical.

Audiences won’t always get the story they want, that much is true. Characters we love will die, stories will take turns we neither expect nor want. This is a part of life. However, audiences do deserve to be treated with respect, care, and empathy. We deserve stories that make sense and deaths that make sense. We deserve stories and storytellers that neither exploit nor harmfully manipulate us, that may explore but do not actively advance damaging stereotypes.

While we cannot control the narrative, we deserve storytellers who are aware of the history and context of problematic tropes, who are willing to listen to how their stories have impacted their audience and perhaps even make adjustments based on what their audience says. We deserve real apologies and storytellers who own their mistakes rather than whitewash or dismiss them. We deserve ethical storytelling, not perfect.

What next?

So what do we do? As storytellers, I have already hinted at the solution. Above all, listen. When you think you’ve heard enough, listen more and harder. Do what JGM and the cast of The 100 are doing in not only listening to, but empathizing with their audience. Don’t talk about how hurt you are that the audience is frustrated. This isn’t about you or your artistic vision right now. Show up to your panels and don’t blacklist questions about complex issues. Don’t make your actors do the leg work for you (I’m looking at you D&D). In sum: Listen to your audience, and tell better stories.

As the audience, don’t give up. Continue to voice your frustration about unethical storytelling. Don’t let it die down just because the network, producers, and certain media outlets might want you to. Continue to ask pointed, but respectful questions. Don’t use slurs or become vitriolic in public or to an actor or producer’s face. Be the better conversationalist without giving up your frustration or passion.

To move forward with The 100 specifically, it’s helpful to think about what we want. Rothenberg can’t “unkill” Lexa or Lincoln or Hannah Green (well, they could, but that wouldn’t fix anything and might even make the story worse). We’ve made our frustration heard, now its time to think further down the road. Ultimately what we want is better, more ethical stories. Stories that represent minorities as interesting, compelling, well-rounded characters who are more than just sidekicks or throw-aways. We as Clexacru and Team Lincoln/Linctavia, as POC and LGBT+ viewers, we want what every other viewer wants, good and ethical stories.

“While fans don’t have a right to dictate what a storyteller writes, they can demand that what they write is done in good faith and an understanding of harmful representation in the past. They can demand that our representation be fair. They can demand that our on screen lives, and happiness, matters as much as any other character. They can demand when being wooed by showrunners to watch, that they keep their promises.” (source)

So what do we do? Continue to demand better storytelling.

*NOTE: In light of negative reactions to my use of the phrase “seeming erasure of her bisexuality,” I am compelled to clarify my intentions.

I am a bisexual woman (currently in a committed relationship with a man), so I do not believe that in real life a bi woman in a relationship with man erases her bisexuality at all. However, Clarke Griffin is not a real life woman, she is a fictional character. Her relationships do not exist in a vacuum nor can they be equivalent to a real life human being with agency. In short, Clarke is a fictional character whose depiction on screen has consequences and implications for the audience in a way that my personal expression of my bisexuality does not.

Knowing what we know now about Rothenberg’s intentions, i.e., that he always considered Bellamy to be endgame and Lexa no more than a phase, the implications for Clarke’s identity and depiction as a bisexual female character fit into the disturbingly common pattern of prioritizing m/f relationships over f/f ones for bi female characters. Lexa is a “phase”. Clarke might be bi, but all she needs is the right man (Bellamy) in the end. It fits in with society’s messaging that bi women aren’t really bi at all, they’re just confused, experimenting, faking it, or just haven’t found the right guy yet. That bi women are all secretly straight. This kind of messaging is erasure.

To the degree that Clarke’s journey from Finn to Lexa to Bellamy prioritizes her m/f relationships (she’s given more time to mourn them, for example) and pairs her off with a male as endgame, it fits into this societal pattern. It reinforces very real biphobic messaging and bi-erasure that is prevalent in real life. Her character is still bisexual, but the messaging surrounding her sexuality on the show fits in with damaging tropes about female bisexuality that are erasure. That is what I meant by “seeming erasure of her bisexuality”.

I did not expect such a strong reaction to what is a minor point in my overall argument, hence why I did not elaborate on this phrase in the article itself. Please forgive my lack of clarity and I hope this explains my intentions more fully.*

Bi, she/her. Gretchen is a Managing Editor for the Fandomentals. An unabashed nerdy fangirl and aspiring sci/fi and fantasy author, she has opinions about things like media, representation, and ethics in storytelling.



Crazy Ex Girlfriend through a Sondheim Lens





Full spoilers for all 3 seasons of Crazy Ex Girlfriend.

I don’t make my love for Crazy Ex Girlfriend a secret. It’s essentially media wish-fulfillment for me: a musical dramedy with an loudly jewish female protagonist that seeks to deconstruct tropes and storytelling conventions about how women are typically written, served alongside mental health positivity and an optimistic take on humanity. It’s clever, it’s meaningful, it’s unapologetic, and I cannot express how relieved I am that it’s renewed for a 4th and final season—the season that was always planned as its end-point.

So it’s with great chagrin that I’ve got a bit of a “but” to add here. Because while all this is true, I struggled a little with Season 3. It’s not that I found it any less pointed or intelligent, but I did feel that structurally there were issues. Something seemed like it was missing…just some kind of absent je ne sais quoi that the first two seasons possessed. Then there were also some story beats that suddenly appeared, rather than the usual meticulous seeding and build-up to which I grew accustomed.

This isn’t to say I disliked Season 3, because I found a ton of value in it. But I did feel that there was a little bit of prioritization of themes at the cost of a cohesive story. Paula suddenly being the “office bitch”, Heather impulsively agreeing to be Darryl’s surrogate after criticizing Rebecca for the exact same thing… The best example is probably in the finale, where Rebecca pleads “guilty.” In all these cases it’s clear what the writers are going for; Rebecca is being very literally haunted by her past, since you can’t just skate with no repercussions, even you personally take a step towards healing. She wants to atone for all the messed up stuff she’s done, hence her pleading “responsible” initially.

Except she’s an amazing lawyer who surely understands that she isn’t actually guilty of attempted second-degree murder, which is what the charge was. Sure, it’s important to not plead “insanity,” but “innocent” was a perfectly viable option! Pleading guilty, while thematically satisfying and good in a character arc, pushes the scene out of the realm of believability. Even Paula, who was obviously moved by that, probably would have known that there’s a way to repair their relationship that doesn’t involve admitting to a literal murder charge. And yes, the writers seem to know this wasn’t a rational decision on Rebecca part, but it still stretches characterization further than seems advisable.

I guess I’m lucky that all this was only a mild disappointment, but it’s for that reason that I haven’t really written anything on Season 3 as a whole yet. I think my solution was to wait and see the 4th season, because I do still have incredible faith in showrunners Rachel Bloom and Aline Brosh McKenna to close out this narrative in a satisfying and meaningful way. I simply contented myself to let a vaguely outlined piece on the structural issues of Season 3 sit in a Google Doc, where I never touched it. The one time I tried, I ended up writing about how Crazy Ex Girlfriend’s command of diegesis is the model modern musicals should take, because it marries our gritty media realism trend to the dreamlike qualities of musical theater.

And now I realize that was my mistake all along: I shouldn’t have been analyzing Crazy Ex Girlfriend through the lens I use for most TV and movies…I need a musical lens. Specifically, I needed to view Season 3 through the eyes of Stephen Sondheim musicals.

Entering the world of the hat

Before you accuse me of it, yes, picking Sondheim specifically is mostly self-serving. But I have also spent a fair amount of time tracking down interviews and podcasts with Rachel Bloom (she never gives the same exact answer twice—it’s kind of incredible), and can confirm her love of the man too. She’s said her ideal Broadway role would be Dot from Sunday in the Park with George or Squeaky Fromme from Assassins, the latter of which happens to be her favorite musical, too. So I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Crazy Ex Girlfriend as an art form may have been influenced to some degree by the works of Stephen Sondheim.

Let’s talk about those works briefly, though. Sondheim’s musicals are diverse in subject matter, takeaways, and central themes. However, that’s not to say there aren’t commonalities, or that his style is malleable. While what he’s ‘known for’ often gets boiled down to lyrical cleverness by critics, a stronger feature of his music is that he writes with actors in mind. Emotional queues are almost embedded into his songs. It doesn’t matter what poor sap is singing “Franklin Shephard, Inc.”…the strength of the phrasing and flow lends itself to the breakdown in a way that is always going to be convincing.

Then, I can’t state this any better than Elaine Stritch and Bernadette Peters, but Sondheim consistently has lyrical depth. His songs are gut-punches usually, but layered gut-punches at that.

His melodies are a bit unconventional, in that you’re unlikely to be able to sing his songs the first go-around. Contrast that to Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber, who can generally write tunes you’re able to pick up by the final verse. Of course there’s exceptions, but if you want an at-home experiment, see how well you follow the melody of this versus this.

You can tell just from interviews that Sondheim is a perfectionist, a horrible overthinker, and permanently never fully satisfied with the end result. If you’ve had the pleasure of reading Finishing the Hat and Look, I Made a Hat, he spells it out on the page in a way that bridges aspirational and concerning.

His neuroses are not incredibly dissimilar to Rebecca Bunch as a protagonist. It’s perhaps for that reason that the themes he tends to like exploring are shockingly relevant to the show. I don’t think it’s constructive to give you a laundry list of all of them, but typical features of Sondheim musicals include family strife, ambivalent views on love and relationships, obsession (of self, others, or ways obsessive behavior unfolds), and disillusionment.

Otherwise known as Crazy Ex Girlfriend Season 3.

Reaching through the world of the hat like a window

When I first began thinking about the last season through a Sondheimian lens, it was thanks to a song added to Merrily We Roll Along after its unsuccessful first broadway outing:

So, old friends, now it’s time to start growing up. Taking charge, seeing things as they are. Facing facts, not escaping them; still with dreams, just reshaping them. Growing up.

It often annoys me when stories are described as “coming-of-age” tales for adult characters. For instance, the dialogue surrounding Kylo Ren complete with The Last Jedi writer/director Rian Johnson saying he was transitioning from “adolescence to adulthood” was particularly grating, since it felt a little like robbing him of his agency as a fully grown man who is also a fascist and makes these messed up choices on his own accord.

At the same time, Crazy Ex Girlfriend is very much about Rebecca Bunch coming into her own as an adult—coming to understand her identity specifically by shedding her childish idealization of romance and fairy tales. Hell, she takes responsibility for herself for really the first time at the end of Season 3. But the thing is, as Sondheim eloquently puts it, “Growing up, understanding that growing never ends.”

This is something hammered again and again by the show. We need look no further than Darryl or Paula to see that they’ve more than delivered on definitive adults who still are pushed towards betterment and maturity. Darryl is impulsive and too lead by his feelings, and he learns not to go to the extreme with his ideas while still acting on his wants. Paula meets Rebecca when she’s in a complete rut, discovers the absence in her life due to her lack of risk taking, and pursues her law degree. Rebecca herself is never treated like an adolescent free of agency; any infantilization that occurs is of her own doing (see: the introductory song in Season 2), and ultimately to her detriment.

It’s for this reason I thought about how Crazy Ex Girlfriend perfectly meshes with Merrily We Roll Along, at least in its second act (which happens first chronologically). Rebecca is the Joe, with her idealized dreams that come crashing down. However “Growing Up” reaches a drastically conclusion for her; where Joe allows himself to be swayed/seduced by Gussie that leads him towards an empty path—one where he shirks responsibility and commitment to his friends—Rebecca rejects Nathaniel and prioritizes absolution from Paula instead. The choice offered was nearly the same, yet the choosing leads to wildly different, and more uplifting outcomes (ironically as she’s facing years in prison).

Where this analogy falls apart is that the tragedy of Merrily We Roll Along is in the backwards timeline of the play; we see our main cast get happier, and freer, and full of hope knowing that things end up with the bitter end of their friendship. Crazy Ex Girlfriend is the would-be the opposite experience, where we see our central character in a healthier place, even if it may be a bit more of a serious and adult place. Rebecca was never *happy* to begin with, so much as she’d delude herself. In fact, part of the reason she’s so drawn to Josh is that he’s happy to get to that level with her.

Disillusionment itself, along with the theme of taking responsibility, is something straight out of Assassins. The entire musical serves as a deconstruction and break-down of the American dream through the eyes of history’s presidential assassins (would-be and successful). However in each of their cases, there’s a reason they did it…something blame. They did it to make their friends listen, or because they were told they’d be ambassador to France. Obviously Rebecca is a far more stable person than a murderer, but we do see a similar determination to rationalize her behavior, particularly in Season 1. If she does bad things (like literal stalking) in the name of love, it’s okay, right?

Of course, she’s a good guy whereas the assassins are, you know…assassins, which is why she rejects the mutual conclusion that they come to in “Another National Anthem.” She wasn’t just screwed by the system, or romantic rivals, or even her mental illness. She is fully responsible for what she does, and those actions have influence on others.

It’s actually a collective responsibility, as she’s been aided over the years, mostly by Paula. Rebecca taking the out Nathaniel offered would have impacted Paula most of all, sending the strong message that there’s no need to ever own up to your shit if you can justify it well enough. Nothing is ever anyone’s fault, right? I mean, she was given those beans; they persuaded her to trade away her cow for beans. And without those beans there’d have been no stalk to get up to the giants in the first place!

Except like in Into the Woods, placing the blame and passing the buck gets rejected. No one is alone in the sense that responsibility is never individualistic. Rebecca owning up to her past is the first step in healing the circle around her. “Fight for their mistakes, everybody makes…one another’s terrible mistakes.”

In some ways, that’s the note I expected Crazy Ex Girlfriend to end on. Yet there’s a Season 4, and more story to be told. If Into the Woods is the direction, then I suppose it ends with a group number to the same effect. Yet we have other Sondheim options into which we can delve.

I should quickly point out that while A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum is parodic in a way Crazy Ex Girlfriend is, the comparison for that particular musical ends there. And Rebecca had her Sweeney Todd revenge story as a Scary Scary Sexy Lady, so we can probably rule those out. And unless she becomes the Mayor of West Covina or spends the entirety of Season 4 bemoaning the loss of spoken Yiddish among jewish populations in the US, I’m quite certain we can rule out Anyone Can Whistle and Pacific Overtures too.

What does that leave us with? Well, there’s Follies, where Sondheim holds neurotic self-indulgence under a lens. There’s also a love trapezoid of doom, which was carefully picked apart in Season 2. Oh and the musical numbers within the show are pastiches. The influence this had on Crazy Ex Girlfriend almost slams you over the head, particularly when it boils down to two couples discovering unpleasant truths about their pasts and presents. The collapse of innocence isn’t something that’s going to be hand-waved by this show, though I have to imagine the ending may be slightly more uplifting. There is a self-consciousness to the show that mirrors the attitude of Sunday in the Park with George, but given how wildly different the demons are that Sondheim was working out to the type of bubbly, expressive character Rebecca is, it’s hard to draw many parallels. And I have to assume time-travel is off the table.

Which leaves us with the two incredibly relationship-focused musicals: A Little Night Music and Company. Where the former is concerned, the ending isn’t incredibly. In fact, the musical itself isn’t incredibly deep, though the score certainly is. Sondheim originally didn’t even want to write it after reading Hugh Wheeler’s book he was to use (a friend talked him into it since he was given free rein on the music). Basically, a bunch of people realize who they’re actually in love with and commit to each other in the end.

This…could happen. But I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t find it odd. It’s not that I don’t understand shipping Rebecca and Josh or Nathaniel, but it would just seem so uncharacteristically cliched if the end spot was “ho hum we’re all happy now because love.” Rebecca is certainly deserving of love, and her very visceral fear of intimacy is distressing; I’m hoping she comes to a healthy place with that. And that could necessitate her ending up with someone. But the tone of that would, I’m guessing, be worlds different from say, the tone of Henrik and Anne running off.

However, it’s Company that I believe offers the best solution. This is a concept musical of Sondheim’s that loosely follows a commitment-phobic man in his 30s struggling to understand relationships. Bobby learns a lot from his married friends, and ultimately comes to a place where he realizes he’s open to love and all the messiness it entails…as much of a pain as it is. He goes from bemoaning convincing a woman to stay longer than just a night, to being okay with a very safe and deluded idea of marriage, to being willing to have emotionally vulnerability in a relationship.

Rebecca Bunch is almost the exact opposite of Bobby. She comes in willing to crowd someone with love (and wanting to be crowded herself) to the point where she romanticizes her not-so-bright former crush and West Covina, California. It’s her obsession in the way it’s Bobby’s phobia. Yet I think there’s a way for those two character arcs to converge. In fact, Bobby’s “Marry Me a Little” ambivalent fantasy is not dissimilar to the idealized outcomes Rebecca imagined in a marriage with Josh.

“And then, in a wonderful way Everything in the past will just fall away My daddy will love me And my mommy will love me And Josh will love me and then I’ll never have problems again.”

In both cases, neither of them had the concept of a sustainable relationship really understood…just what they’d get out of it. Then they both kept growing.

Rebecca obviously doesn’t need a “Being Alive” moment in that she’s never needed convincing to open herself to love. But she does need to open herself to vulnerability. If she finds someone, it’s someone she has to recognize is as frightened as she is of being alive, and that’s okay. Because it’s not about love curing everything, but about healthy relationships that allow you to grow individually.

“Somebody make me come through, I’ll always be there.”

This is the spot that Rebecca seems destined to reach. She’s a good person, right? Well there’s nothing more to that point than taking healthy approaches towards relationships, romantic and platonic alike. She deserves both and shouldn’t fear either, but instead must learn to trust in herself to be okay getting there.

Which is exactly what Season 3 set up.

Images courtesy of The CW

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The Antagonists Are Back in Sorceress of Darshiva




Image Courtesy of Penguin Random House Books

In my last article I said that there weren’t concrete antagonists in Demon Lord of Karanda. Well, this book solves that problem, providing antagonists in spades. Sorceress of Darshiva, published in 1989, is the penultimate book of the Mallorean. It also brings a sense of danger and threat from our actual antagonists rather than secondary ones. Yes, Zandramas actually shows up in this novel. And as more than just a shadow at that, and it’s everything the series needed. Eddings also does some fascinating stuff with un-rooting the Angarak people from the systems introduced by Torak. Overall, Sorceress of Darshiva is one of my favorite novels in the whole series, and for good reason.

Spoilers for all of Sorceress of Darshiva, and all of David Eddings’s previous books.

What Happened?

Sorceress of Darshiva starts with our protagonists following Zandramas to Melcene. Melcene is a series of islands that house the commercial trading center of the east, and Silk is very at home there. Belgarath, Garion, and Beldin meet Senji, a clubfoot alchemist. He accidentally discovered sorcery in an attempt to turn lead to gold. Senji has one of the three original copies of the Ashabine Oracles. It’s a McGuffin that they’ve been chasing for two books now, and the payoff is excellent, and will be discussed in depth below. Senji also tells them that Cthrag Sardius was kept at the University for a number of decades.

After the meeting with Senji, the company finds out that Zandramas brought Baron Otrath with her when she left Melcena. He’s a cousin of Zakath’s, and Zandramas plans to use him as the Angarak king for the prophecy. We also see several POV changes in this period. Queen Porenn calls a meeting of the Alorn council upon receiving news of what happened in Mallorea. The Council decides to fake an alliance with Urgit to bring some of Zakath’s attention off of Darshiva and his attempt to location Garion and company.

Eventually, Zakath recaptures Garion and company traveling through Darshiva, on their way to Kell. Cyradis persuades him to join them, and they continue on their way to Kell. Zandramas fights with the ghost of Poledra, Belgarath’s wife. Durnik smashes two demon lords and is officially a disciple of Aldur. At the very end of the book, Garion picks up she-wolf and her cub. Belgarath and Beldin remember that Grolim’s can’t enter Kell and that the location of the Place Which Is No More is in Kell. They deduce that they are finally ahead of Zandramas, and the book ends.

Three Antagonists

Torak, the Dragon God of Angarak

The novel begins with a prologue from a Melcene history book. It details the foundation of the Melcene nation and how it fused with the Mallorean Empire. Considering that it provides a summary of those nations since the beginning of the world, it obviously mentions the now dead god. It’s been discussed before about how it’s the systems that Torak set up that are evil, not the people in those systems. This prologue shows that in effect. The historians describe Mallorea and Melcena as almost a utopia before Torak shows up before Vo Mimbre.

“A reign of terror descended upon Mallorea. … In one stroke, Torak’s disciples overturned millennia of military and bureaucratic rule and returned absolute dominion to the Grolims.” (p. 6).

This moment shows most clearly how it’s the systems that Torak set up that Garion and company despise. The forced conversion, which parallels a Western view of the totalitarian communism of the USSR. Generational indoctrination is a powerful thing, and it happened at Torak’s behest. The god who wears a mask made of iron and cracked the world.

But Torak also shows up outside ancient history. When Garion finally finds a copy of the Ashabine Oracles, he discovers that Torak directly addresses him. Belgarath calls it Torak’s one moment of sanity. It tells Garion that “what is foretold in these pages is an abomination. Do not let it come to pass.” (p. 95). Torak admits that his side winning is an abomination and tells his would-be killer to stop it. Then, later, he destroys it. It’s the willful self delusion that forms the central critique of the Soviet Union. That it broadcast the idea of the communist ideal while being otherwise.

Zandramas, the Child of Dark

In addition to the dead Child of Dark, we see the current Child of Dark as well. They’re both antagonists, and they both have the same place in the prophecy, but this book makes them distinct. It does this by exploring Zandramas’s history and by actually giving us two glimpses into her point of view.

In Zandramas’s point of view, we see constellations rise beneath her skin. Zandramas attributes this to the Dark Prophecy exerting more of it’s power over her. We can see that she’s terrified. These moments also allow us to see Geran, the emotional center of this, for the first time since the first book. We see that Zandramas makes sure he’s taken care of, but doesn’t want him inconveniencing her. She leaves his care to Naradas and another priestess.

Zandramas’s terror and her overall plan, as discovered by her history, make her distinct from Torak. She began life as a priestess of Torak, working under Naradas. Then, after Torak died, the Dark Spirit took control of her, and she ran wild for years. When she returned to the temple, she charmed everyone into working for her. She preached that a New God would come and she would be his bride.

Torak always wanted to be the center of everything. Kal Torak literally means king and god. He dominated Angarak and demanded human sacrifice, but he wasn’t ever loved. Garion won because of that. Zandramas learned from the Dark Prophecy’s mistakes. She doesn’t want to be a god, she just wants to be the power behind the throne, both secular and spiritual. This corresponds to the transitional period of communism, where the USSR traded with capitalist countries before it collapsed.

Cthrag Sardius, the Sardion

Juxtaposed against the human motivations of our other antagonists, we see the Sardion. This book solidifies what the Sardion is. In essence, it’s the evil counterpart of the Orb of Aldur. The two stones were originally one stone, but they were divided and now they war against each other.

But, unlike the Orb of Aldur, a band of ‘savages’ found the Sardion and their generations polished it, like Aldur polished the Orb. Eventually the Melcene Empire collected it for their library, and it stayed there for millennia. Then, when the Battle of Vo Mimbre happened on the other side of the world, a historian stole it. His ship sank, and the Sardion with it. Cyradis told everyone that the Sardion is in the Place Which Is No More, where the final meeting will take place.

But the real horror of Cthrag Sardius lies in what it will do to Geran. One of the requirements for the final meeting is a sacrifice. In this case, it’s a person who will hold both the Orb of Aldur and the Sardion in their hands. With the both of them they’ll have unlimited power to reshape the world. The new god of Angarak will either heal the world, or destroy it utterly. Zandramas wants Geran to destroy the world and make it in the image of the Dark Prophecy.

It is that image, Geran with both stones in his hands, that so terrified Torak. That is why Garion might have to kill his only son. The idea of the world falling to communism routinely terrified people during the Cold War. They taught their children to glorify America, as the anti-communist utopia instead. Geran’s eventual fate takes that and twists it in a way that horrifies the characters and the readers.

The Final Un-Rooting of Systemic Evil


One of the subplots in Sorceress of Darshiva is how Urgit manages to finally reject and exile Agachak. He lays down the law, and Cthol Murgos transitions to one where the church’s, and Torak’s, lingering influence diminishes. Previously, Urgit’s advisors, including Agachak and his father’s generals, ruled his behavior. Now, after some advice from Garion, he’s managed to root them out. Agachak goes to the absolutely stupid Gethel of Thull, and convinces him to join him in Mallorea. But it’s still a victory for Urgit and for the light. It’s the proactive nature of someone who won’t be controlled again, and who won’t allow his country to be controlled either.

Urgit also has a victory in his pseudo-alliance with the Alorns. While on the Alorn side, it is purely a diversion for Zakath, on Urgit’s side it’s something more genuine. He wants peace with his ancestral enemies, and he’s taking steps to secure it and to step further away from the dark.

Zakath’s transition to the light also takes place in this book as well. Once he recaptures Garion and the rest, Zakath originally wants to send them to Mal Zeth. With Cyradis’s command, that changes. Cyradis reveals that Zakath is the Empty One, another figure of prophecy on the side of the light. After a few moments of internal conflict, Zakath agrees to go with them. Immediately afterwards, it’s like a personality transplant. Zakath, Emperor of Mallorea, had been grim and shied away from doing violence himself. Zakath, friend of Garion, can only be described as Arendish. Laughing at everything, getting into every possible fight, and with some other indefinable Arendish quality to him. He’s acting like someone from the ‘civilized West’ rather than someone from Angarak, and that speaks to this unrooting.


The un-rooting of Torak’s influence also plays out on sacred grounds as well. While Garion and company travel through Peldane and Darshiva, they see many different temples. All the masks above the temples, that once showed Torak’s face, are now blank. Urvon and Zandramas fight all through Peldane and Darshiva over who the new god will be, but this change says more than that. It’s a preparation for a new god, either Urvon, Geran, or whoever Garion chooses.

It’s not only the people preparing for a new god, the possibility of the new gods are also preparing. Before their capture by Zakath, the company winds up in an abandoned farmhouse for shelter. An old Grolim comes to them, and offers them food and hospitality. He talks about how he heard the voice of the new god, and now he decorates the altar with flowers and repents everything he did for Torak. He believes that the Light god prepared him to be its first disciple. A Grolim, someone inside the power structure determined as evil, repenting and being a driving force for good is new, and excellent for the philosophy of the work.

The current existing Prophecy makes an appearance shortly after the Grolim disappears and says all of this. He then goes on to say, “when Destiny is reunited, there should be a new voice. … Millions of years of enmity between us have warped our perceptions a bit … I’m not suited to deal with a united universe. I’ve got too many old grudges. The new voice can start out fresh without any preconceptions.” (p. 146). Those grudges and preconceptions are exactly why Eddings is being so careful to change the perception of the Angaraks by characters and readers alike. To accept the fictional and actual antagonists as people.

In Conclusion

In 1989, Eddings published Sorceress of Darshiva and the Berlin Wall fell. That symbolic fall prophesied the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. There’s no mistake in the fact that he combines the final moments of un-rooting with preparations for a future afterwards. This book focuses heavily on the antagonists, yes, but it also finalizes that change in the people previously stigmatized by their association with them. That Torak’s moment of sanity, Zandramas’s fear, Zakath’s acceptance, and Agachak’s banishment all occur in the same book is important.

It signals all of that preparation for the future. By showing the quasi-human nature of our antagonists, except the Sardion, it makes the readers more likely to accept their followers as people with hearts and souls. By un-rooting the enemies turned allies from the systems that made them enemies, it does the same thing. That this all happens the year the Berlin Wall fell is hyper significant. It’s a symbolic gesture, yes, but symbols and stories mean things. Who better to know that than an English teacher with a predisposition for archetypes? Eddings may not have realized that he was writing a metaphor for the Cold War, but it’s there in his symbols and his philosophy nonetheless, especially here, and especially now.

Image Courtesy of Del Rey Books

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Dr. Strange May Be A Truly Cult Movie




dr strange cult

Watching Dr Strange was a truly strange experience for me. I sat before the screen expecting two hours of mindless fun as I watch a self-absorbed jerk become something like a decent guy. You know, this ever-present and ever-satisfying “break the haughty” narrative. A safe bet, not too harsh on the haughty (it’s MCU, after all), but harsh enough we cheer him getting his comeuppance. What it turned into, was two hours of flashbacks as I watched a haughty jerk being broken and brainwashed into a cult.

Probably I wouldn’t react that badly if this experience was not something from my personal past. Things I saw at the screen were excruciatingly familiar. I couldn’t help rooting for the jerk, because I knew all too well what it is, feeling that you are nobody, that the world is crumbling around you—and then being handed something like a power over it.

And while I am sure that it was nowhere near authorial intent, I couldn’t help wondering how many people—impressionable, vulnerable people—would buy into the narrative and turn to some secret knowledge to cope with their illnesses or insecurities. After all, Kamar Taj, both in appearance and in teaching, is very far from fantasyland. You can find dozens of wannabe Ancient Ones just around the corner, waiting for easy prey.

Yeah, sounds very purple, but let me show you why am I so agitated.

What Is a Cult?

A cult—also a totalitarian cult, toxic cult or destructive cult—is a religious or posing as a religious organisation which teachings and practice are designed to achieve and execute total control over its members’ life and death. Not quite a lucid definition, and that’s why the thin line between a cult and a new religious movement is so thin. The subject is controversial, the “cult” word is thrown around as a slur and generally only time we can safely use the definition is, while talking fiction or the cults that 100% exposed themselves as such via some drastic action. Mass suicide or terrorist attack, usually, and sometimes both.

But still there is a list (several lists, but they mostly talk the same things in different wording) of traits that may alarm you that the group is most probably toxic. Let me show how astonishingly well Kamar Taj fits the criteria. Then I’ll try to demonstrate how typical dr Strange’s situation actually is and what usual manipulative tactics were employed to guarantee his loyalty. I’ll use the list provided by M. Kuzmin in his thesis.

1. A Teaching that Rationalises and Encourages Control and Manipulation

They don’t just brainwash—they do it for the greater good and to prevent lesser ones from slipping on the path to salvation. Or something like that. It is prime trait of a toxic cult; a pity it is not easy to see it through, as the real teaching is not revealed until a person is considered “ready” (read: is totally broken).

Through the movie we hear Mordu describing his own path into Kamar Taj. He tells how he went there to get weapons and training sufficient to fight his foes and was promised to get those. Then he was made to go through usual training routine until he understood that his past—name included—was nothing and Kamar Taj was everything and he is destined to be its adherent. Though he recognises manipulation, he not only completely justifies it, but also expresses hope such would be dr Strange’s fate, too.

dr strange cult

I have some questions why non-White people comprise the blindly devoted part of Kamar Taj, but that’s a different matter

And indeed, no one in the Kamar Taj is anywhere near ashamed of stringing along a desperate disabled person with promises of healing all the while basically training him as a cannon fodder for future battles.

2. The Leader, Regarded as an Absolute Unquestionable Authority

While there are some cults that have group leadership, this figure is almost inevitable when we talk about the cult, as they are built around them. The guru may proclaim themselves a literal god (or God), as Shoko Asahara or Maria Devi Christ did, or a prophet, as Jim Jones. They can even settle for indefinite “possessor of the knowledge”, as Marshall Applewhite. No matter what they chose, entire existence of the cult depends on their very person and something only they know or can do.

Does Kamar Taj have such a person? Oh, certainly. The Ancient One is just that; an absolute, infallible guru who is right even when she is actually wrong, and whose actions are not for the lesser minds to judge. She wields absolute authority over her acolytes and can make them fight using real weapons or even leave for dead on a whim. All the while the very idea that she may be wrong is a heresy for the loyal Kamar Taj members, and a sign something is “unwell” with the person in question.

3. The Teaching Changes When Situation Changes, But It Is Never Acknowledged

They promised us the world’s end and it didn’t come? Oh, you see, it was not the real end. It was never about something like that. Or better: yesterday they taught absolute monogamy, but now the guru is caught cheating. So, as the guru is never wrong…

Well, we have an entire plot point, no less, dedicated to this exact rule of cult. So, the entire Kamar Taj had existed for ages on a premise that Dark Energy is bad and corrupting and everything Dark Dimension is vile. But lo! The guru used dark energy to sustain her all those innumerable years! She must be a crank, then? A liar, who forbid her loyal acolytes the thing she had been doing all along?

Nah. No way, You see, the rules exist to break them and cheat, and if you think the rules that you were manipulated to accept as a final truth matter, you are our next bad guy.

Or was it an instance of the next cult rule?

4. Each Subsequent Hierarchical Level Is Granted a Different Version of “Truth”

Basically this is the most glaring distinction between a religion, whatever new, and a cult. You join a religion, and you know what does it teach and what do you subscribe to. If it was one god, three goddesses and a ritual cup of tea every three hours when not asleep, that’s it all along. With a cult, you join for a god, three goddesses and a cup of tea, but then learn that it’s not tea but actually vodka, and when you progress in the ranks you may learn that there is one goddess and no god at all, and then – that gods are nothing, only guru matters. And then something.

The teaching of Kamar Taj does change from rank to rank, too. You come to them because they are healers and martial artists. If you are fit for them, you learn about astral and the source code of the Universe. Next level, and you learn the purpose of Kamar Taj is to protect Earth from a certain other dimension and you have to obey strict rules unless you would harm our world. Even next level, and the rules matter nothing and result is all. And then something.

And Others

To save time and space let me not delve into other very fitting criteria—like having a teaching that combines syncretic religion with pseudo-science, that justifies and even encourages violence towards critics and ex-members of the cult, that encourages active service in “do whatever you are told” way… Kamar Taj is already cult-like enough.

But nothing proves it as well as main character’s story. Just look for yourself.

Cult Brainwashing 101

So, we have a man in his late thirties/mid-forties, the age of crisis. This man suffers an accident and is now disabled. As his only profession requires the very ability he’s lost, he searches for rehabilitation and encounters a rumour of miraculous healer. Desperate, he goes for it and gradually becomes an active member of a group that presents itself as Earth’s only hope and secret guardians. He never heals and is never able to go back to work. Also, he leaves the world forever, going on to live on the group’s premises.

Huh, sounds familiar, doesn’t it? But it can get worse.

dr strange cult

A visual metaphor for severing all ties with your past life—a “must do” for any cultist

Our hero roams the world in search of the healer, until he encounters a group of thugs. Those thugs beat him violently and destroy the last memento of his previous life: his wristwatch. Only then a member of the group intervenes and quickly saves the day. He waits, because he was told to wait. Because apparently our hero needs…something. Do you know what? He needs to lose everything and to be on his utmost vulnerable when presented with the cult teaching—and to be thankful for help. While not too common, the tactic is widely employed irl. It ensures bigger susceptibility of the adherent-to-be through combination of humiliation and gratitude.

Also, the very exhaustion he suffers because Kamar Taj remains hidden from him is quite helpful, too. Exhausted people are not quite able to think critically, as analysis and logic require much energy and all energy they have goes to sustaining them alive and upright.

And Then Some

dr strange cult

The least acid moment

Moving on, our hero is presented with some mumbo-jumbo and then graced with a very, VERY acid vision. While here it’s magical in nature, it would be literal acid irl. Secretly feeding newcomers with hallucinogens is a very, very common tactic of those cults that emphasise and promise secret knowledge and spiritual experience. Bright, wild hallucinations make people believe that they were granted visions and have some supernatural power in them.

So, our hero’s weakened mind is bombarded with mumbo-jumbo, followed by acid visions “proving” the mumbo-jumbo is actually true. Nice. But not perfect. To add a final touch, our hero is cast away and left on the street with nothing but his clothes, broken watch and a promise of miraculous healing. He has nowhere to go but to the c… Kamar Taj. But the Ancient One knows her manipulation 101 and makes him yell, beg, despair. He has to wish for acceptance with all his heart, to see no other way. He must beg, because nothing is as effective as humiliation.

Except for a death threat, of course. Being humiliated AND left in a mortal peril is much better. Do I need to remind our hero is subjected to it?

Conclusion (Or Lack Thereof)

My goal was not to imply the authors of the movie did all that on purpose. Never would I even dream of such a thing.

What I actually think is, that the authors used the same tropes the real-life cults use in recruiting new members and promoting their teaching. Those tropes are widely popular in popular culture—which is actually the very reason the cults use them. Familiarity is quite important when encountering something new. Things already at least seemingly familiar attract much more trust and attention than completely new ones.

Combined with several instances of what I consider authorial tone-deafness, this lead to a load of unfortunate implications. As with Thanos, the end result is horrifying idea no author would’ve supported as it is, but accidentally promoted.

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