The Netflix series Jack Reacher sells any number of fantasies, virtually all of which are aimed at the adolescent male mind, but its main fantasy is one that underlies so much bad drama… and so much bad politics.
It sells the fantasy of physical power, not only with its extensive lingering on Alan Ritchson’s physique (lots of scenes with tight t-shirts, and lots of scenes with no shirts at all), but with the many, many fight scenes. As one person on Twitter noted, the most remarkable thing about the show is the number of people eager to get into fights with this bulging giant of a man. Taking out six (seven? eight?) hardened convicts in a prison bathroom? No problem. A few bruises is all. And after that, we know exactly what will happen when four drunk locals are served up as the next round of fist-fodder. So does Jack. And he tells them so before he does it. Very appealing stuff for the adolescent boy that lurks within all men.
But Jack is no empty-headed jock, and those who assume such are apt to receive an intellectual beating on par with the physical beatings that are the rhythm of the script. So the show also sells the fantasy of competence, where Jack knows about everything and knows how to do anything. Clean the char off the VIN in a burned-out car using only a ketchup packet and some salt? Check. Arrange a hotel room to minimize the chance of being killed by foreign assassins? Check. Make Sherlock-Holmes-esqe inductions about strangers’ pasts based on their clothing and an overheard comment? Check. Engage in witty banter about the short fiction of Eudora Welty? Check.
But lest you think Reacher is some kind of modern man, think again, as the show also sells the fantasy of emotional invulnerability. Indeed, the gimmick of the opening minutes is that we’re not sure Reacher actually can speak, as he stares down person after person in total silence, even after being falsely arrested for murder. And when he finds (SPOILER ALERT) that his brother has been killed? Nothing. No quiet sobs. Not even a lone tear. Heart-rending flashbacks end with closeups of his dry-eyed face, the only hint of turmoil being a slightly wistful look and a few flatly-delivered lines about killing everyone involved in the murder.
Of course, we know there are feelings down there somewhere. And so does the lovely cop Roscoe, played by the wholesome Willa Fitzgerald. So, of course, the show sells the fantasy of the woman irresistibly drawn to this combination of stoicism and violence. But Roscoe is a modern woman, as a guy like Jack would want her to be, versed in violence and eager for some commitment-free sex. Though even in episode four it’s clear she’ll soon be a one-man woman, smitten by Reacher’s crafted physique and the occasional hints of vulnerability he reveals (but only to her).
But the main fantasy—the one that is the foundation of the shows pleasure and its danger—is the myth that we live in a world of absolute moral clarity. Everyone in the story falls neatly into one of four roles. The primary villains are scum, causing everything bad that happens, and murdering their enemies in the most grotesque way. The secondary villains are hardly better. They may not personally kill, they are deceptive and wily and weak, and they enable the pure evil of the active villains. Reacher doesn’t kill these simpering fools, of course, but we can rest assured they will get what’s coming to them. Then there are the victims, pure innocents, weak and helpless. Weeping widows and their children. Innocent Iraqi boys abused by horrific elder men. None are complicit. None are compromised.
And into this comes the hero, whose course is as clear as a runway lit up in the dark of the night. To avenge his brother, to protect the innocent, to restore order to a fallen world, he need only kill the right people. And nothing but killing will do. But fortunately, killing is his specialty. Because he’s a hero. And that’s what heroes do.
The violence of the show is appealing, but it is only appealing because it is situated in a world so devoid of social and moral complexity that it would embarrass even the hackiest of comic-book writers.
Great drama—real drama—may still have heroes and villains, but as in reality, the lines blur. Villains think themselves heroic, and heroes turn out to have feet of clay. And most of all, virtually every problem turns out not to be a result of some villain, but rather of the overall situation itself. And as such, it is so difficult to solve that the word “solution” ceases to apply. Marriages break up not because of a villainous interloper stealing the affection of one person, but because both partners are a bit too selfish. The poor suffer not because a villain is forcing to work on a planet-destroying super-weapon, but because the bus routes are unreliable and they can’t find a better job. People muddle on, making things a bit better, improving situations where they can, and killing someone doesn’t help anything.
The thing is, the tension between these two narratives—between the melodrama of Jack Reacher and the drama of reality—is exactly the conflict between Republicans and (most) Democrats. While Democrats are busily engaging with the messiness of the world, trying to reform the tax code or insurance regulations to produce at least some improvement in people’s lives, Republicans promise a paradise for all… so long as the villains get what’s coming to them. Reagan promises a shining city on a hill… so long as we get rid of the (Black) “Welfare Queens” and nuke the Russians. Bush offers a peaceful future… so long as we take out the (Brown) terrorists. Trump offers greatness… so long as we rid the nation of (Brown) immigrants and (Black) BLM protesters. And now, in what is often seen as a wild fringe, but is clearly the natural culmination of melodramatic politics, the Q-Anon wing of the Republican Party suggests that Democrats themselves are the primary villains, offering the fantasy that the political opposition is a group of Satan-worshiping child-molesters.
It’s a simple story. Wrong and dangerous. But popular… as adolescent boy fantasies always have been.
Rhetoric & Running 