It’s godawful weird that one of the biggest crises facing modern man (and wo-man) is the war on spoilers. We talk about this as much as we talk about:
– the upcoming presidental campaign
– gas prices
– global warming
And more than we talk about:
– how out of shape we all are
– everything else
It can’t just be me that finds this disconcerting. On the one hand, it greatly increases my chances of somehow parlaying this blog into a sweet gig where I write for one hour a day and spend the rest of my time seeing movies, watching TV, listening to music, and indulging my many vices.* On the other hand, uh, what the fuck? Don’t we have anything better to do? Shouldn’t this conversation have been over after about thirty seconds? Here is everything there is to be said about spoilers as far as I’m concerned:
Person 1: I hate spoilers! Don’t tell me how it ends, I don’t want to know.
Person 2: He kills that guy and then commits suicide from the guilt. Powerful stuff.
Person 1: *punch*
Person 2: *fall, cry*
~ The End ~
Let’s face it: the spoiler debate is no debate, because there is no depth to either position. Side 1 wants to be surprised by all art and entertainment, and believes therefore that you should never give away the plot to anything. Side 2 thinks Side 1 cares way too much about something that is pretty trivial. …And I guess there’s also this namby-pamby Side 3, that wants to establish middle ground and put some sort of statute of limitations on spoilers, where anything past a certain age in general release can no longer be spoiled – barring extraordinary circumstances like “the movie was only copied to two videos, both of which were owned by isolationist Eskimoes who never discussed the ending with anyone except each other.” Ultimately there is no winning this war, because all sides consider their positions essentially axiomatic, and also because Side 1 is so damn annoying that everybody else (Sides 2 and 3, and all the people who initially refused to get involved) feel like screaming “VERBAL IS KEYSER SOZE” at them until they cry.
But then again –
But then again, I have been waging my own little war on spoilers lately, and I can feel the dark pull of the anti-spoiler crowd on my soul. I have friends watching all four seasons of “Lost,” and every time I see them lately, there’s a sort of stalemate between my mouth and my brain. My mouth wants to blab about all the interesting revelations of the episodes they haven’t seen yet. My brain is more considerate and thinks my friends would rather be surprised to learn that ________.** And unfortunately for me, and my friends, the stalemate is broken every time by my girlfriend, who can’t seem to describe anything without inserting rather-too-descriptive adjectives that give the game away. e.g. When they were only halfway through season 1:
Friend: The monster is really cool.
Girlfriend: You mean the smoke monster?
Or when they were only a few episodes into season 2:
Friend: The plot has been pretty complicated lately.
Girlfriend: You mean because of how the Others have been kidnapping pregnant women because they all die on the Island, and Michael shot Ana Lucia and Libby, and then Henry Gale turned out to be Ben, the leader of the Others, and then during the finale…+
Me: Good god, woman, what are you doing?
I don’t want to wreck what were all great, jaw-dropping moments for me as I originally watched the show. So I try to keep my (and my girlfriend’s) mouth shut. And I forewarn them regularly: stay off the internet until you’ve seen all the episodes – that place is not your friend right now. I’m trying, Ringo; I’m trying real hard to be the shepherd.
But sometimes I just wanna be the tyranny of evil men.
* Snorting enormous piles of hot ash, fucking my neighbor’s dog, rotoscoping commercials and movies that really don’t need it, etc.
** Ben’s a bad robot!
+ This did not happen. The previous example did, though.