Nate Intolubbe

For November, I am looking at the satire genre and the parts of it that make it work. I have also picked a handful of examples that I will use in each post.

For the purpose of this, I will be using the definition of satire from dictionary.com: “a literary composition, in verse or prose, in which human vice or folly are held up to scorn, derision, and ridicule.”

In other words, it is like horror in that it exposes people’s flaws, yet does so using our sense of humor as opposed to primal fear.

This also includes parody: “a humorous or satirical imitation of a serious piece of literature or writing” (dictionary.com).

The first major aspect of satire is the subject matter: WHAT or WHO is being ridiculed. Events, ideas, people, and stories are the most common targets.

For instance, Mel Brooks’s Spaceballs parodies the sci-fi genre (Star Wars, Star Trek, Alien), while Voltaire’s Candide lampoons Leibniz’s philosophy of optimism. Douglas Adams uses The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to satirize wider human society, akin to Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s South Park mocking anything that gives them an opening. And then there is Monty Python and the Holy Grail, creating a humorous reimagining of Arthurian legend.

Already, we see a variety of targets and methods of making fun of them.

Comparing Spaceballs and Holy Grail, both satirize genres and stories in silly ways, yet go separate angles with them. The former imitates specific movies, with a plot and characters that are overt copies of the originals. Lone Star being like Han Solo, Dark Helmet as Darth Vader, blowing up the big space station, and so on. The latter takes the King Arthur legend, but uses it to create its own story and character interpretation. The intent is not to mock specific plot devices within the original, but to be its own comedic version of it.

However, these stories are more well known in modern culture, and thus jokes about them are more funny. If one is not familiar with Leibniz’s philosophy and/or European history, a novel like Candide is significantly less impactful. At the time, Voltaire mocking foolish optimism and religious wars was incredibly scathing and risky to pull off. But without that context, Candide is little more than a naïve man Forrest Gumping his way through a wartorn world, the true humor lost.

And all of these instances of specific subjects satirized are stark differences to Hitchhiker’s Guide and South Park, which have more broad views. The former mocks society as a whole, with chapters and passages mocking certain things in less depth (ex bureaucracy, poor leadership, nihilism). The latter, as a TV show with over twenty seasons, can dedicate an entire episode to a particular point, while the series in total makes fun of whatever it can. And since human folly and current events are ever present and changing, it would be hard pressed to run out of source material.

Relevance is key to a satire’s success, and the more specific the subject matter, the more difficult it is to stay relevant as time passes.

One does not have to be a major King Arthur reader to understand and appreciate Holy Grail, yet if one has not seen Star Wars, then Spaceballs will make a lot less sense. Someone may not watch all of South Park, but still like certain episodes. And even though Candide and Hitchhiker’s Guide are equally clever and astute in mocking their respective time periods, the latter is far more accessible to modern audiences.

Satire is nothing without something to make fun of, and a strong foundation plays as critical a role here as any other genre. But here, being the premise should not go to one’s head, nor inspire the heart; for in this style, it means one is the butt of the joke.

What are your favorite satires? What subject matters do you believe are mocked too much, or not given enough attention?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

In the past two weeks, I have gone over certain types of menaces/fears portrayed in the horror genre, and gone into what makes these stories scary, appealing, and/or unpalatable to some. Those posts have covered monsters and the mysterious, examples of external threats; one that is frightening because what we know what it is and what it can do, the other because we do not know what it is or can do.

This third week in October, I will discuss the final type of horror, different from the previous. An internal threat, one that is too familiar and yet hard to understand: other humans.

You are home alone at night, relaxing, maybe snagging a late evening snack. Outside your window, you had heard joggers, dog walkers, and families pass by on the sidewalk, yet it is quiet out now. The still night air hangs around you. You reach for another bite, when the lights go out. Your heart freezes, scrambling for your cellphone, as a breaking window jars you. You switch the phone’s flashlight on, picking up a large kitchen knife. You call out, but no one answers. You dial 911, looking up into a mirror as the operator speaks. And in the reflection, you see a masked person behind you, who swings a bat at your head. All goes dark, as you hear laughing.

Some humans like to believe we are separate from other animals not only through our intelligence and the strength of our weapons, but also by a sense of moral high ground. Our social bonds and restraint keeps us above the savage beasts, or so is commonly thought.

Even if one ignores the millions killed in wars and genocides, crimes like stalking, sexual predation, abduction, and murder still exist. Sciencealert.com has made a list of the Top 15 Deadliest Animals (to people), using multiple sources for the raw body count. Humans were #2, beaten only by mosquitoes.

The only animal that people can claim moral superiority over is the tiny plague-spreading vampire bug. Not a good sign. Most animals kill out of necessity of survival–hunting to avoid starvation, or protecting territory, resources, mates, offspring, and self. People can kill for any or no reason, motives that baffle psychologists to this day.

Horror with human villains combines elements from the previous ones. It puts people in the position of prey, as with monsters; and it makes it difficult for the characters and viewers to know who to trust, similar to how the unknown often tricks victims into not knowing what is real. However, in other types, the victims can take solace and refuge in each other, playing on the primal instinct of strength in numbers.

The reason why humans make frightening horror villains is because it reduces the character’s access to social protection, leaving a particular remoteness beyond regular isolation. Rather than not having your species support system at all, one of your own kind is actively trying to kill you. A complete inversion.

To say nothing of the psychological aspect, how close people actually are to throwing out social cohesion and tearing each other apart. What humans are capable of doing, as serial killers, torturers, and predators.

Many examples exist; Scream, Saw, Psycho, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Halloween, and A Clockwork Orange are all recognizable. Slasher flicks compose a great number of these, often fueled by a rather unhealthy obsession some people have with serial killers.

Given the raw number of unsolved homicides, or even inconclusive missing persons cases, this presents a scary reality. Some people likely do not want to face that, and that could turn them off from horror, whereas others may enjoy seeing the ways that writers can test the human psyche. How far can someone go, what motivates this fragment of the mind that leads to this, how credible the villain is, how the victim is tormented, or creative ways to express the dark side of humanity; all of these could be part of the appeal.

Alternately, these could be the factors that people do not want to scare themselves with, thereby killing their interest in the genre. Not naiveté per se, rather not wanting to always stay in a state of worry and pessimism. While many may not like the stress from jump scares or freaky imagery, others may not want the lingering dread such stories leave behind.

Horror, at its core, reminds people of our place in the universe. And it carries a cynical view, at that. We are helpless pickings without our technology, our intelligence is not as profound and strong-minded as we believe, our morals and social cohesion are on a precarious slope. It demonstrates that we are only human, and lays out why that is not a good thing, all the while tapping into our fight-or-flight response to hammer the lesson in.

Good horror raises questions like this, that could frighten more than in-the-moment scares ever could. Which is why I like it, in the right hands.

What are some of your favorite works of this sort? Out of the three subgenres discussed (monsters, the unknown, and humans), which do you like/dislike the most?

Tune in next week, where I will pick my favorite movies from each category and review them side-by-side.

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

Last week, I introduced the October series on why horror has become a popular genre, and why people may strongly love or hate it. I described how monster movies subvert our perceived physical superiority by taking away our weapons and security, putting us in the position of prey, and demonstrating how weak we really are.

This week, I will delve into a different threat in horror that plays on another dread: fear of the unknown, and the limits of the mind.

Alone, your footsteps scrape against the carpet floor. Wind whistles through the abandoned hallway, eliciting a rusty creak from a door. But as you move further down the corridor, pulling out cobwebs as they stick to your hair, the breeze sharpens in tone. Like speaking, a wispy language you cannot understand; but your body feels it beckoning to you. Afraid, you turn to bolt down the hall, only to find metal bars behind you. Looking around, you are no longer in the corridor, but a cage. The voice echoes louder, surrounding and piercing you, until your mind burns and loses consciousness.

Humans are the most advanced known species on the planet, and our knowledge has increased exponentially with modern science and the Internet. Intelligence is our most valuable asset, without which weapons cannot be, and our problem solving abilities cease.  What we do not know, research and experimentation works to fill the gap.

However, doing a simple browser search for “Florida Man” demonstrates that intelligence has its limits, and that people are not as smart as we would care to believe. Our lack of knowledge about our own planet, from the jungles to the oceans, shows how far we have to go.

So, when we are confronted with something we cannot understand, it places pressure on us to find out. Realizing how little we actually know can be humbling and even harrowing, intensified by the presence of a threat tied to the ignorance.

Ghost stories play on this fear, as do those of demonic possession, H. P. Lovecraft, cursed objects, and madness. Something outside or even beyond our comprehesion adds a level of hopelessness.

Ghosts and other spirits play off our speculation of the afterlife; fear not only of dying, but of a miserable and stagnant existence after passing, and not knowing our fate. Demonic possession (and similar themed) provides situations where our mind is subverted and no longer our own, where our intelligence is of no help against an otherworldly force. The same applies to the godlike beings from Lovecraftian works.

Examples include The Shining, Haunting of Hill House, Bedeviled, Paranormal Activity, The Exorcist, and countless others.

Horror stories that distort the victim’s perception, where it is difficult to determine reality, serve the same purpose. They render our willpower and mental ability useless, and explore the effects of madness. Oculus and Edgar Allen Poe’s works are other excellent examples.

This type of horror shows how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of the universe, and/or how little we really know about the world. It knocks us off our pedestal by pitting us against forces greater than we are, beings we cannot fully understand. So much so, that confronting them or attempting to comprehend them induce insanity

More than mere jump scares, films of this variety play on our smallness and powerlessness. Thereby, some people may be offput by such jarring themes, detracting the genre by not wanting a reminder of our limits. Existential dread can linger in ways that immediate terror do not, as it opens the door to how easily the mind can be outdone and crushed.

Meanwhile, connoisseurs can appreciate the creative ways artists create and portray these themes and forces. A fascination with death or what lies beyond our knowledge can intrigue viewers in ways that monsters cannot. People may enjoy the reversal, as understanding the limits of the mind is the first step in improving it.

Regardless, this type of horror raises philosophical questions about our place in the world – and rarely in a positive light.

What are some of your favorite movies about the unknown? Do you like or dislike horror, and why?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

It is officially October, and in the spirit of Halloween/Samhain/Día de los Muertos, this month will be analyzing a certain genre.

You guessed it: soap operas!

I jest, of course. This month, I will discuss the horror genre, and why it has become so popular.

This type of story typically brings out stronger preferences than others. Those who like it, really like. Those who hate it, really hate it. Those who are indifferent, really do not care.

But multiple aspects of the genre bring out these responses – three main methods of horror, tapping into a certain primal fear.

This week, I will examine the stories about humans and “monsters”.

Imagine it. You’re in a confined space. Something is lurking outside, claws ready to rend flesh, fangs hungry to bite down on your throat. It’s night, you can barely see the creature’s shadow in the moonlight, yet it traverses the dark with ease. You suppress your whimpers and tremors of fear, hoping it doesn’t hear you and attack.

Now, am I talking about horror characters hiding from a monster…

Or cavemen hiding from a sabertooth?

Humans are the ultimate apex predator. We are so high on the food chain, that there are people who hunt other apex predators (bears, sharks, lions, gators) for sport. Structures give us defense against beasts that can kill us with a single blow, and weapons give us offense – claws of steel, and swift fangs of lead.

However, it wasn’t always like that. Without our technology, we are a fairly pathetic and weak type of mammal. There was a time where we were prey, our frail and helpless bodies making easy pickings for a variety of fanged creatures. With our overall success as a species, many people in our society have less to fear from wild animals, and the animals have more to fear from us.

Consider horror movies such as The Ritual, IT, Alien, Jaws, Predator, and any zombie/werewolf film. It flips the script, where humans are the prey, and the predatory entities are not afraid of us. Typical tropes are when ordinary attacks cannot kill the enemy (such as needing special bullets, or only killing it with a hit to the head or heart), making the weapons that give us security less effective.

This carries over to the setting of these movies, from isolated forests and mountains to the ocean and space. And sometimes, in the character’s own home. However it is sliced, it sends a similar message: your buildings cannot help you now.

This is an aspect of horror in general, such as with human enemies, but the key to monsters specifically is that they represent how early humans would have perceived wild animals. An unarmed modern human against an alien might as well be a caveman against a leopard.

This could explain why people who dislike horror really do not enjoy it. Being reminded about how easily something can kill us may not be a welcome thought. Putting oneself in the mentality of the hunted, experiencing the primal fear of prey, would not appeal to certain people.

Which brings me to the main theme of this month, and what horror boils down to: it is a reminder of human limitation, informing us of how weak, unknowledgeable, and vicious people can be. It confronts us with the meager extent of our abilities, and endless array of physical, mental, and moral shortcomings.

Monster flicks, as opposed to the other types of horror I will delve into, show us what happens when our technology fails us. An eerie signal that our status at the top is precarious, and how easily we can lose it.

What are some of your favorite monster movies? Do you like or dislike horror, and why?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

It is our final week of Tragic Flaw September, delving into character shortcomings in modern literature and media. As previously, this post will observe one that is not often considered a weakness, but nevertheless leads to downfall.

And, as usual: I will speak about tragic flaws in stories that are neither Classical works, Shakespearean theatre, nor epics before the 1900s. All examples will come from more contemporary authors and playwrights.

This week, I will discuss the tragic flaw of love.

One of the most powerful emotions ever, developing from our need to belong and reproduce, it becomes many people’s reason for existing. Whereas community is centered on reliance towards a group, this post will instead focus on feelings for an individual.

Common archetypes are the Star-crossed Lovers, the Self-Sacrificer, and the Protective S.O.

However, the sheer intensity that love affects people can have disastrous consequences on their psyche when things go wrong. Obsession, self-destruction, and controlling abound, fueled from the deep passion.

Enough to destroy the person, and/or the subject of their affection.

F. Scott Fitzgerald exemplifies this with The Great Gatsby. The eponymous figure goes to great lengths to win over his former sweetheart, a form of Star-crossed Lovers divided by years apart and one them being married. Consumed with the delusion that things can be like they were, Gatsby’s wooing fails at the expense of himself.

Hundreds of guests as his parties, but a sparse crowd at his funeral, from keeping shallow interactions with others. Trying to charm Daisy with fine clothes and luxury boats, yet hiding the true self that impressed her all those years prior. Appeasing her will, even when it puts her in the driver’s seat on the fateful night that changes everything.

Rather than letting go or being the man she had loved, he stays obsessed with her and the past, and lies bereft of a future.

🎵A little party left some cold dead bodies…🎶

While Gatsby withers away from indirectly neglecting himself, the Self-Sacrificer actively chooses to lose parts of oneself for another (especially a loved one), demonstrated through Davy Jones from Jerry Bruckheimer’s Pirates of the Caribbean films. I mean, he literally cut out his own heart and stuck an octopus to his face to show his dedication to Calypso.

Binding himself to eternal servitude in a depressing environment, Cthulhu Jr. provides a more gritty idea of a common theme. Of people devoted to another, continuously giving up parts of themselves and warping into a wicked version of themselves. As Jones spends years chauffeuring the dead across the sea, he and his crew become monstrous, showing the humanity they lose.

Soon, he becomes greedy for souls, dragging others into the same service he despises, reflecting the lack of love he ultimately started out with.

The Protective S.O. (significant other) is a different case, defending the one they love from the outside. The negative form of this achetype comes in the form of Anakin Skywalker from George Lucas’s Star Wars prequels. Assuming they know what is best for the other’s safety, a character with this flaw makes decisions for them, even if they go against their best interest.

And what better demonstrates this, than Anakin betraying what he stands for, destroying democracy, and even harming his wife in the process? His love and anxiety about losing it leaves the young Jedi wide open to manipulation. So dedicated to preventing the prophecy of losing his family, that he destroys them, as tragic flaws lead people to betray their purpose.

All of this, to accomplish goals that Padme would have avoided at all costs, and at the expense of the entire galaxy. Driven to desparation, the vulnerable Anakin acts on what he believes to be right for the affection he ultimately destroys.

Often considered the noblest reason for characters to fall to villainy, love can produce the best and worst in others. And the raw emotional ardor it leaves people with only serves to amplify the horror when it goes bad.

Few shortcomings can cap off Tragic Flaw September so fittingly.

What are some of your favorite uses of the themes and archetypes listed here?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

Hello readers, I am continuing this month’s theme of tragic flaws.

As mentioned previously, each post will have the following criteria: I will speak about tragic flaws in stories that are neither Classical works, Shakespearean theatre, nor epics before the 1900s. All examples will come from more contemporary authors and playwrights.

This week, I will delve into the tragic flaw of community.

As a social species, humans rely on each other to survive and arrange resources. Our relationships express that in the form of kin, friends, municipality, and nation. When used correctly, these attributes enrich our physical and mental well-being, rooted in improving what is within there rather than attacking what is without.

Common archetypes are the Tight-Knit Family, the City-State, and the Zealot.

However, tribalism is the negative expression of this. Assuming the “in group” as superior, and the “out group” as lesser, inverts the ultimate goal of helping others. Unlike obedience, loyalty to a command, tragically flawed community refers to the collective.

A fantastic example of the negative Tight-Knit family comes from A Song of Ice and Fire (and the respective TV show Game of Thrones) by George R. R. Martin. The premise of the series involves multiple noble houses pitted against each other for supremacy of the kingdom — and one has more reason to fear one’s allies than enemies. Each faction treats the others with brutal hostility, embroiling the land in a war that leaves misery and turmoil in its wake.

Most infamous is House Lannister, whose dedication to maintaining and advancing their family’s status drives several of the conflicts. However, they are merely more direct about their selfish ambition than the others. In reality, most of the factions prioritize the needs of their own kin above the needs of the kingdom at large. The Starks, putting their desire for independence over their duty to guard the north; the Iron Islands, giving into plunder to bolster their pockets rather than protect the seas; the Tyrells in Clash of Kings, choosing glamour and decadence instead of responsible leadership; and so on. Meanwhile, bandits raid and pillage while the houses focus on battling each other.

Here, the small-scale community of family threatens the larger picture. Their unity in the short run and reckless self-improvement lead to long run disunity and the detriment of all around them. Like many tragic flaws, their failed methods betray their ultimate goals.

Children’s literature can make similar points in more eccentric ways, like in The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster. Dictionopolis and Digitopolis, the respective cities of letters and numbers, embody the City-State archetype in its adverse form: rival municipalities. Obsessed with proving the superiority of their domains over the other’s, the brother kings of each place banish the Princesses Rhyme and Reason when the girls say they are equally valuable.

The symbolism is much more literal than Martin’s work, adjusted for its target audience, but what Juster does is break it down to its rudimentary level. The outlandish effort King Azaz and the Mathemagician go to show whose part of the kingdom is better only fractures it, making it weaker and devaluing what either community can accomplish.

As foolish as cutting one’s own arm off to show how strong it is.

The Zealot archetype goes even further, its negative form one of the most dangerous. At its worst, the fierce enthusiasm of a Zealot corrupts into utter malevolence for anything outside itself, to the point of actively harming others. A prime example would be Voldemort, from J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series.

Convinced that wizards are superior and Muggles are lesser people, the Dark Lord strives to subjugate and slaughter any who do not fit into his ideal community. However, he and his followers are the number one killer of witches and wizards in the entire series. He claims that he is saving magical society from Muggles, while actively murdering the people he believes to be protecting.

Spells and snake-nose aside, a figure like Voldemort is a little too realistic. Considering Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot, Mao, Pinochet, Leopold II, and countless others, he bears a stark resemblance to these abhorrent stains of history.

When a person views everyone outside their community as their foe, they soon become their own worst enemy.

What are some of your favorite examples of this flaw, or the archetypes listed above?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

I am starting weekly posts, and every month has a different theme.

September is the start of autumn, a period of decline as the Northern Hemisphere approaches winter. To honor this point of the year, my theme for this month is tragic flaws. And since autumn is a season many enjoy, I will use character shortcomings that one would not initially view as a weakness.

However, each post will have the following criteria: I will speak about tragic flaws in stories that are neither Classical works, Shakespearean theatre, nor epics before the 1900s. All examples will come from more contemporary authors and playwrights.

This week, I will delve into the tragic flaw of obedience.

Duty and diligence are considered high virtues in organized societies. Putting some of our own needs aside to tend to the needs of others. Maintaining order to keep safe in a world of endless threats. Following our responsibilities, even if it brings difficulties and requires sacrifice.

Common archetypes are the Good Soldier, the Traditionalist, the Second in Command, and the Ideal Operative. People who believe that everyone has a place, and should strive to be the best they can to fit their purpose.

This mentality is not inherently wrong, with proper flexibility to the needs of the people and self-reflection to the effects of one’s actions.

This does become a pitfall, however, when one’s sense of duty consumes their desires and those around them. Obedience to the letter of the law, especially an unjust order, rather than what is right.

In The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien, the brothers Boromir and Faramir espouse the Good Soldier idea. Their loyalty to the Kingdom of Gondor pushes them to do whatever it takes to protect their home — even if it leads them to betray their allies, abandon reason, and risk Gondor’s safety in the long run.

Granted, the One Ring had its evil influence on them; yet it merely played off the flaw that was already there. Attempting to kill Frodo and take the Ring split up the Fellowship, and cost Boromir his life. Faramir’s drive to “show his quality” by taking the Ring for himself delayed the quest and nearly returned it into the hands of the enemy.

Their reckless sense of duty jeopardized the safety of Gondor and the world at large. They endangered their goal with their methods of pursuing it.

The novel Watership Down by Douglas Adams has a strong negative iteration of the Traditionalist, with General Woundwort. The rabbit warren of Efrafa follows strict regimentation, with the General limiting his subjects’ time on the surface. This is under the guise of avoiding predators, yet rabbits who flout the system are torn to pieces by their leaders.

Woundwort’s authority stands unquestioned, until the main characters arrive the challenge him. Few would think a war between rabbits could be as tense as the one in Watership Down, yet the novel pulls it off with the General’s totalitarian influence. With his brutal executions and attempts to murder the heroes, this bad bunny becomes more of a predator than the beasts he claims to protect Efrafa from.

Similar ideas are Orwellian novels, like Animal Farm and 1984, alongside other dystopian stories.

Disney movies are full of Second in Command antagonist characters, whose blind loyalty to the villain prevents them from acknowledging or stopping the harm they cause. Mr. Smee from Peter Pan, LeFou from Beauty and the Beast, Kronk from The Emperor’s New Groove, and many others fulfill this purpose.

Characters like these teach children from an early age that you do not have to do what someone tells you if that order is questionable, or if your superior is only looking out for themselves. It encourages young minds to consider who they are working for — and if that person has their best interests in consideration.

One my favorite examples is the Ideal Operative, the perfect agent to carry out tasks, to the point of disregarding all else. Few demonstrate this better than the Hal 9000, the computer from 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke.

As artificial intelligence, Hal is designed to do what it takes to finish the mission. So much so, he is willing to murder the crew he is assigned to protect and help. Indeed, like many of the above examples, his dedication to upholding the letter of the law leads him to betray the purpose of the law.

It could be easy to write Hal off as a mindless machine, but considering some of the listed characters, he simply shows the bare-bones of the tragic flaw of obedience. People who abandon their critical thinking and sense of what is right, following orders in a way that sabotages what they strive to achieve.

It is frightening to think of human beings acting on command like machines, an idea too close to reality than we care to admit. The Milgram Experiment at Yale University demonstrated how willing people are to put their conscience on the back burner for the sake of compliance.

It is a flaw not only within a person, but in an organization of people. The downfall of fiction and history alike, blind obedience is part of what makes tragedies occur in and out of literature.

What are some of your favorite examples of this flaw, or the archetypes listed above?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.