The Art Of Underhanded Satire

by Keshav N.

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Ever since societies existed, so have outcasts. Ever since The Church existed, so

has blasphemy. Ever since conventions existed, so has a mockery of it. Across cultures and

centuries, satires have served as a means of personal expression – often strongly

opinionated.

Borrowing from the words of writer Philip Roth, “satire is moral outrage

transformed into comic art”.

Despite setting out as a harbinger of social critique, satires have evolved as time

itself has - branching out into more personal and versatile forms. Over time, we saw the

artist’s personality take prominence over the underlying message. Writers bent the rules of

conventional moral outrage, masking satire beneath covert propaganda. When said outrage

gets overwhelmed by layers of cynical subtext, it is inevitable that we ask: what does the

satirist actually want to say? Or is it – at all – a satire in the first place?

Do you remember the first time you watched Fight Club and you went: wow, what a

satirization of toxic masculinity! Because I don’t. What I do particularly recollect as we

harken back to my first time watching Tyler Durden (a sexy, macho man in Brad Pitt) make

up his eight rules is how unequivocally cool it was to discuss them later. All while making

sure we never break the first rule of F**** C*** (oh pardon me, it’s already been broken

above).

It’s been 25 years, and we still couldn’t get enough of it. I mean, how could we? How

could we afford to break the first rule of Fight Club (did it again)? Is it not cool to abide by the

bossman, the torchbearer, and the ultimate bringer of supreme awareness – our

hyper-masculine Tyler Durden? He gives us comfort, he assures us that the world is going to

shit, and the only way out of it seems to be destruction - on a personal and a communal

level.

It is funny how we subconsciously submit to him like we could never do anything that

offsets his moral high ground; like we almost represent his cult of angry young men. It is

certainly funny how we might quite be ready to beat each other up and blow up buildings on

his command. Or, is it?

Someday – much like Chinese Whisper – a benign running gag could evolve into a

moral ideal. Maybe, just maybe, we can already see it happening. I considered questioning

myself and the people around me; considered stopping myself for introspection. But that

doesn’t sound cool or in keeping with what Tyler would do in my position. Then, I’d surely

risk losing my status as a man of culture.

After all, as Tyler Durden had once edified: “The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not

talk about Fight Club”.

With the growth of modern satire, artists have developed an eventual love for

misdirecting the audience. Writers of today (I, included) seek validation from the film-loving

intelligentsia by employing a myriad of subtext and red herrings. As great as it feels to fool

the audience in a whodunit, satires are a different breed. Flaunting your inner genius should

never be the intention of a true-blue satire.

Quoting the film enthusiasts of today, films like Natural Born Killers and A Clockwork

Orange encourage the larger masses to go the extra mile in uncovering the movie’s true

moral grounds. Yet, the superfluous layers of behavior-affirming violence and obscenity beg

the question: How many among the audience end up unpacking these complex themes?

While, how many had to succumb to the visceral allure of blood, sweat, and tears - thereby

giving themselves away to the process? In such cases, the satisfaction reaped by one target

group cannot be prioritized over the other’s inappropriate window of reinforcement. As how,

the satirist’s artistic decisions can never be divorced from their unintended ramifications.

But, as things stand, I should perhaps go easy on the criticism. These aren’t the best

of times to further curtail an artist’s creativity. Especially as an artist myself.

Over the years, creative professionals have been pushed into a corner, bogged down

by the carping eyes of the urban elite. We have come to live in a society that actively

discourages art and culture that strays away from the norm – challenging popular societal

constructs. It still shouldn’t mean we must let society throw us off our course. Thus comes to

our rescue, the art of underhanded satire.

With ulterior motives hidden away, underhanded satires play with the art form,

particularly in today's times, to evade censorship from the media, the government, and at

times, the people themselves. But, in doing so, don’t we play a game too risky? For the sake

of finding your true voice, do you dare mar the voice of your audience?

Reverting to the previously discussed example, the uber-zeitgeist 1999 movie Fight

Club is a textbook example of unintended (I hope) propaganda in the name of satire. At the

time of its release, the film was notoriously known for its incessant portrayal of graphic

violence and mass destruction. Although never properly held accountable, Fight Club’s cult

following came up with excuses quoting back to the source material and its rich social

commentary.

Written originally with supposedly satirical intentions, the 1996 novel, by Chuck

Palahniuk, follows two desperate young men channeling their primal male aggression into

violent fistfights. While primarily satirizing the consumer culture, Chuck Palahniuk’s verbiage

also intended to evoke pity and a fear-mongering sympathy for this lowly and sleep-deprived

pack of disillusioned young men - popularly known as the space monkeys. Rather than

crafting characters with a soul, Palahniuk chose to paint them as caricatures of certain parts

of the society: so much so that the overarching throughline could well be deemed a satire

on toxic masculinity. But David Fincher, director extraordinaire and influencer par

excellence, had other plans.

His narrative centered around Brad Pitt in the role of Tyler Durden, a part-time soap

salesman and a full-time leader of a group of men who liked to kick each other for the heck

of it. Watching them seek catharsis in bloodshed and broken bones should render your skin

crawling. Watching them go to extreme lengths to feel more “alive” should look so ridiculous

to the viewers that the apparent critique of consumerism and the scathing satire on

hypermasculinity rears its ugly head out in the open, pushing viewers to psychoanalyze their

own perspectives about life and death. But does that happen?

I’m afraid not. Admittedly, having full control over what goes into your film and what

does not should partly relieve a filmmaker of the question of inauthenticity. Aren’t we all

waiting for the day we’ll get to create and consume art pure and untethered by otherly

perceptions? As much as I hate to put someone under the microscope for every one of his

filmmaking choices, it is very difficult to overlook the influence Fight Club had on an entire

generation of young boys.

I have grown up with peers who have since been conditioned to internalize a nihilistic

perspective of freedom and masculinity. Speaking from firsthand experience: For all the boys

I’ve seen admire Jordan Belfort (Wolf of Wall Street) or Patrick Bateman (American Psycho),

at the focal point of it all was always The Narrator and his alter-ego Tyler Durden. Perhaps,

they were the most accessible of all outlaws.

While I can sit here and critique Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange on its irresponsible

use of romanticized violence, it is also essential to draw parallels between the former and

another one of his masterpieces, Dr.Strangelove: a comedic satire on war sentiments and

nuclear madness. Apart from censorship attempts from the government for its anti-military

ideals, the film deeply resonated with the audience, capturing the absurdity of the war scene.

But then, I cannot help but wonder, does it only happen with burlesques that employ

irony and sarcasm above all else? Can satires with darker themes never work as effectively

as the ones with on-the-face commentary? At least when it comes to Fight Club, such was

the case.

From the pulsating trip-hop tracks to the charismatic expositions, from the dominant

camera angles to the slick action sequences, every filmmaking choice further bolstered the

ostensible idea of resorting to habitual violence. Caricatures with no soul grew to be

characters with power and unthinkable influence. What should have been a pitiable portrayal

of a lost young man all out of sorts ended up being a revolutionarily idealistic template of

what wisdom and control should stand for. Many thanks to Fincher and Pitt, Tyler Durden

looked anything but gullible on-screen.

I remember the first time I watched Fight Club. With no prior context, I was much

more susceptible to losing myself in the superficial layers of romanticized violence and

debauchery than ever minding to look past it all at the deep message it held within. As

Project Mayhem reached its crescendo, the film ended with an explosion of epic proportions.

Alongside The Narrator and Marla Singer, I found myself sitting open-mouthed, awestruck by

mass destruction. The feeling was new. Cathartic. Should I hate myself for it?

The film was so well made that it, by itself, turned out to be its underlying problem. I

could never – in a million years – tell Fight Club was made with a satirical intent if I hadn’t

come across such widely held opinions. Simply put, it was style over substance. Said style

was packaged with such precision that it could latch onto you like a leech, forever blinding

your ability to appreciate the substance beneath.

With one too many options to misdirect yourself into newer and newer ways of

experimenting with the monotony that life has become, Fight Club never quite succeeds in

making us stop and think about the satirist’s original vision. Unfortunately, Fight Club is

merely one of the many examples that are yet to be held accountable.

Even so, I cannot bring myself to end the conversation on a bitter note. It would be a

rabid oversimplification to classify all Menippean satires, i.e., satires with serious themes, as

ineffective creative pieces that could only go as far as riling up the consumers in the wrong

ways. Many movies have set examples in subtle satirical treatment, effectively critiquing

redundant life practices – such as the 1985-released Brazil by Terry Gilliam.

While it is imperative that we recognise and applaud good satire, it is high time that

we – both as creators and consumers – become self-aware about the content we produce

and consume. As important as it is to think freely, when done without the audience in mind,

the art of underhanded satire risks alienating the audience, or even worse, con them onto

dangerous paths of life.