The events and circumstances that fall under the umbrella of popular culture have the ability to shine light on human opinion and emotion: How we react to certain scenarios we see in a television show, how we respond when particular buttons are pushed by events in a film or song lyrics, what we see of ourselves or others in a work of art. But what happens when feelings that should be kept in the dark are pushed into the light by cultural provocation?
I was recently goaded into seeing the new Lars von Trier film, "Antichrist" (2009), which caused several audience members to faint when it premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in May (and earned a 3.5-star review in the Oct. 29 Tufts Daily). The plot concerns a couple that attempts to cope with the death of their son by retreating to a seemingly idyllic cabin ironically named Eden. There, the wife descends into madness through a twisted interpretation of the thesis she has been writing about the nature of women — namely, that the gender is inherently evil.
It's no spoiler to say that the manner in which she proceeds to torture her husband (and ultimately herself) is utterly shocking and excruciatingly gruesome (one sequence takes the term "torture porn" to horrific new "heights," if that's the right word). It's all gorgeously shot and there's plenty of vague religious subtext to convince the sensible viewer of some sort of redeeming message, but what I saw was misogyny at its despicable nadir. "She" — the character has no name — is convinced that women are fated to carry out iniquity and the film does little to attempt to prove her wrong.
The night before I saw "Antichrist," I watched Rihanna's "20/20" interview about the details of her beating at the hands of Chris Brown. I remembered hearing some bizarre poll results a while ago regarding the violent altercation and, after seeing "Antichrist," I dug up the specifics. A Boston Public Health Commission survey released in March found that nearly half of Boston-area teens polled blamed Rihanna for the assault. I've learned enough in my Data Analysis class to know that you need a representative sample in order to extend the results of a poll to the general population, but a cursory YouTube.com search finds hundreds of videos condemning Rihanna and making excuses for her erstwhile boyfriend's behavior.
"Antichrist" was an outlet for von Trier's own well-documented feelings about women (see "Dogville" (2003) — or, rather, don't — for proof that "Antichrist" was hardly an isolated incident), and one can only hope that simple rationality would suppress any misogynistic impulses evoked by the film. Still, if that Boston Public Health Commission poll is any indication, pop culture can illuminate despicable, illogical notions buried deeply in one's psyche and particularly in the minds of the impressionable.
A television show featuring a loving mother often reminds me to appreciate all that my own does for me and films about genocide or the Holocaust sadden and anger me. If a decent chunk of teenagers think that Rihanna was "asking for it," what will they think of a movie that lays claim to the notion that historical annihilations of women are the implementation of divine will? I understand that "Antichrist" is just a movie and von Trier has a right to his opinion — as do those Boston teenagers who think that there's an excuse for domestic violence. I obviously have no right to make a sweeping statement about the degradation of society and the role of women, but I think that we might be heading down a slippery slope. Pop culture can shine brightly on human nature, but sometimes I wish I could find an "off" switch.
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Derek Schlom is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Derek.Schlom@tufts.edu.
