27th
James Cooper: "Lost" in the American Funhouse: A Brief Commentary on Masculinity in Crisis
In an arena packed with thousands of fervent and passionate supporters in the early days of summer, Senator Barack Obama emerged triumphant, effectively clinching the nomination to become the presumptive leader of the Democratic Party and prepared for a contentious general election against Republican rival, John McCain. Here, in his victory speech, Mr. Obama contextualized his candidacy within the larger mosaic of contemporary American politics before a sizable crowd usually reserved for a rock star, having defeated Hillary Rodham Clinton, the former First Lady of the only recent Democratic president to successfully secure two terms in the oval office since Harry S. Truman. Yet, on this historic evening, Obamamaniacs appear undeterred by the political reality that shaped most of the debate for the laboriously protracted primary season, not so much unaware of the divisive politics of gender and race that dominated political commentary and punditry as they were ready to move beyond the confines of them.
It is interesting then that early twenty-first century politics and popular culture seem especially bound to them, especially the politics of gender. In recent months, political pundits and pollsters focused with clinical precision on the trends in voting preferences of what they considered key demographics for Mr. Obama and Ms. Clinton, namely white working class males. There is no reason to belabor here what dozens of op-ed columns have analyzed ad nauseam. Instead, it is interesting to note that this emphasis on the white working class male transcends the political arena, working its way into the narratives of most recent popular culture offerings. And, with the exception of the recent Sex and the City movie, the films at the top of the American box office seem especially concerned with the white male, socioeconomic status aside. The Incredible Hulk offers Bruce Banner, struggling to subdue his uncontrollable and monstrous id just as the male protagonist in Iron Man seeks redemption for his past as a self-avowed womanizer and weapons manufacturer. The Strangers focuses on a young white protagonist confronting the bitter sting of rejection while Dr. Jones does his best to prove his relevance and vitality in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (Mr. Mccain, take note).
This observation is not meant to be prescriptive and makes no allusions otherwise. Rather, it might be to our benefit as a culture to examine these narratives more closely, questioning our allegiance to this recurrent thematic exploration of the white American male. Call it an existentialist crisis in masculinity, a battle royale in an era of increased economic and cultural uncertainty.
Amidst the conclusion of the primary season hoopla, I found one television show particularly captivating in its treatment of this persistent theme. For nearly four years, fans have poured through the mythology of Lost in their attempts to arrive at answers in a show that resists divulging too much too soon. In fact, the one thing fans and critics seem certain of is its uncertainty and ambiguity. Well, that, and the apparent theme of the show, that of redemption for the characters stranded on a mysterious island after a plane crash. Certainly, the show has established Jack (Matthew Fox) as its determined and flawed hero, a doctor bound by the expectations of his dead father (is he?!?!) and his faith in pragmatism and science. Yet, my fascination remains with John Locke (Terry O Quinn), a man equally bound by his tumultuous relationship with this father and his faith in, well, faith. In many important ways, the show comes down to the quest for answers and redemption for these two men, the man of science and the man of faith.
However, this season provided a brief glimpse into where it may all be heading for Locke and his fellow castaways when the show flashed back to his childhood. Here, a mysterious visitor arrives at the foster home of young Locke, attempting to determine whether the young boy might be a candidate for a school for “extremely special” children. Alpert sits down with Locke, setting out an assortment of various items on the small table in front of them. He tells the young man, “’I want you to look at these things, and think about them,” said Alpert. ”Now, which of these belong to you…already?” On the table, Alpert lays out six items: an old book titled Book of Laws; a corked vial containing something resembling sand, a Mystery Tales comic book, a compass, a baseball mitt, and a knife. As Entertainment Weekly critic, Jeff Jensen notes, “Lost gave us a scene so dense with (potential) subtext it just might take all of the forthcoming eight-month hiatus to unravel it.”
Yet, what intrigues me about this scene is the item this young boy chooses, a knife that he holds in his hands with the interest of a child who has just unwrapped an unexpected and pleasant Christmas gift. Alpert leaves disappointed (“I’m afraid John isn’t ready for our school”). Years later, John Locke arrives on the island as a broken man, a man confined to the doldrums of his tedious middle-management job and his growing sense of frustration with the cards life has dealt him. Locke is not “special” but he is now hunter, a survivalist with extensive knowledge of hunting, weaponry, and faith. In other words, Locke just might be one of the voters that Mr. Obama said cling to their guns and religion out of bitterness towards economic uncertainty (though here, that uncertainty and frustrations also stems from Locke’s abandonment issues). For Locke, the island represents the possibility of redemption in the form of transcendence. After all, somehow, the island seems to have healed his recent paralysis, freeing him from his wheelchair. And, yet, Locke seems destined to destroy the island despite his best intentions, which his childhood fascination with the knife seems to suggest. It is an interesting setup: Locke wants so badly to believe that he has a purpose while Jack refuses such an intricate design that Locke just might do something destructive to prove the validity of his faith.
I am not quite sure what this means for Lost. Moreover, on a show that thrives on mystery and ambiguity, I think it would be presumptuous to attempt to make any grand interpretations regarding Mr. Locke. Nevertheless, here we are American viewers and moviegoers, faced with yet another existentialist crisis in masculinity. Interestingly, while Lost features a diverse cast, the overall upcoming fall television line up only includes one racial minority as its lead character (that would be a Family Guy spinoff featuring Cleveland Brown), much to the chagrin of many critics and groups such as GLAAD and the NAACP. (Though, arguably, the real must-see event of the fall will be the contentious general election campaign between that other lead African American candidate and a former war veteran.)
So, yes, here we are. Apparently, the only story worth telling at this moment in American history is that of the American male as he struggles to position himself in an era of globalization and cultural advancement for groups such as blacks, women, and gays. I suggest we take notes as the outcome of their crisis is likely to affect us all just as John Locke’s decisions promise to do for his fellow castaways.