Wilderness and Conservation

 Trophy (2017)

Directed by Christina Clusiau and Shaul Schwarz, Trophy is a horrifyingly accurate portrayal of our capitalist world and the affect this has on conservation, particularly of large mammals that have a history of being hunted and poached. This film never shies from detailing reality, and it forces us to seriously question ourselves and the intersection between hunting and conservation efforts. In this way, Trophy is a perfect glimpse into the social construction of nature. 

On one hand, we have the protestors of hunting in first-world countries, individuals who have likely never been hunting nor seen it done in person; they certainly have no understanding of what it is like to live around large mammals (and oftentimes in fear of them). These individuals only see the endangered status on these animals, and that's enough for them to be against any and all hunting of them. On another hand, we have the (often poor) individuals in their home countries experiencing elephants destroying the crops they need to survive or lions killing their loved ones in the wilderness. Desperate to provide for their families, they also often see the dollar signs behind ivory, and many times, their desperation gets the best of them. 

Beyond this, things become even more complicated. We have hunters on canned hunts, in which the animals are basically dragged to the hunter for them to shoot, others taking trophies for sport, and still others advocating for conservation efforts and spending their money on hunts to make it happen. 

John Hume, with the world's largest rhino-breeding program, has a complex viewpoint, as well, insisting that ivory must be legal to sale if he is going to continue his operations and protect more rhinos. If he can farm ivory from them, he claims, then he can curb poaching and bring profit to his program. Farmed animals, after all, rarely go extinct. 

At every turn, it is clear that capitalism and money are the primary drivers of everyone and everything in this documentary -- including those attempts to carry out conservation efforts. It makes for an interesting and bleak idea: that although each individual's idea of nature and protection varies, they are all bound by the concept of money. In this way, nature is certainly a social construct, but its one that has very limited options for protections no matter the location. 

Trophy (Roger Ebert)

The Documentary 'Trophy'... (LA Times)

Communication and Media

 Nerve (2016)

Nerve is not a film to be taken too seriously, for it is too often flashy and informal in its approach to storytelling; it is clearly a relic of popular media, a film designed to be watched and consumed by the masses with little questioning of the concepts behind it. This is a shame, because Jeanne Ryan's original novel crafted a premise that could've served as a powerful commentary of today's world. Still, when one sifts through the (albeit fun) fluff of Nerve, we can begin to see a world that is horrifyingly feasible in the modern era of the Internet. 

Formed as an underground, live-action game of dares, Nerve allows individuals to use their phones to participate as either "players" or "watchers." Watchers pay to access the live footage, and their phones serve as a type of distributed server for the game to run. They are then able to chat in real-time with each other, and they are the ones giving the players the dares. As players complete these dares, the dares become increasingly more challenging, and the players begin to win money and stardom. If a player bails on a dare (or simply fails it), they forfeit their winnings and their time in the game is over. A more sinister aspect of this is the enforcement of the idea of "snitches get stitches." If a player goes to law enforcement, they lose their earnings and are taken in as "prisoners." 

If this concept had been carried to a darker fruition, the film would be fantastic. But for all its tropes, Nerve uses them as well as one could expect. It is natural that teenagers would find the idea of going viral massively appealing, and many of the early dares play into romance and public embarrassment. It is not illogical to imagine that in a network society like ours, such gamification may become commonplace. The gap between the online world and the physical world is one we are constantly trying to bridge, and concepts such as these would be incredibly effective, even if they are horrifying to some degrees.  

Lastly, Nerve touches on the concept of using one's digital reputation against them, most glaringly in the premise of the game itself, but also in the way in which dares are created. Oftentimes, they are pulled from players' worst fears, as indicated by their digital presence: searches, posts, and more. The watchers are always ensuring that the players do not forget that they in a game online, crafting networks of dares that play off one another and planting references to one's history in the real-world, such as Ian reading To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, which Vee had listed online as her favorite book. 

Nerve (Roger Ebert)

Nerve (Variety)

Geographies of Postmodernism

    Fight Club (1999)

Author Chuck Palahniuk deals almost exclusively in the disorienting world of postmodernism, detailing societal deconstructions in dazzling arrays of simulated reality. Fight Club is no stranger to these ideas; it is no wonder then that director David Fincher and writer Jim Uhls were able to capture and amplify them in the often praised (and often hated) film adaptation. 

As with many postmodern films, Fight Club is a strange beast to nail down into one genre. Even its creators are split, with Fincher calling it a coming-of-age film and Uhls describing it as a romantic comedy. A dark comedy would fit in perfectly with this blending of genres, with the bleak quips from Marla and Tyler. In any case, the film is not afraid to fully realize the dark aspects of human life and behavior, and this disorienting mixing of genres and references is a perfect analogy for what the film sought to do in its story and filmography. Fight Club stands as a commentary on society's indulgence and pitfalls, taking them apart and restructuring them as Fight Club and Project Mayhem; but the film is also a painful evaluation of masculinity and what it means to men who find themselves searching for it (the testicular cancer moments, then, take on a deeper meaning). Roger Ebert described the film as "macho porn," but I think he's missing the point. The film is supposed to feel this way; that's what makes its message -- the antithesis of the so-called "macho porn" -- so effective.

Furthermore, Fight Club delves into the meta, even calling its main character "the Narrator" and allowing him to give exposition. This almost alien choice serves the film well in its reality-bending finale, but it is primarily used to drive a wedge between what is real and what is not. The viewer may find themselves confused at many times, but this is perfectly natural, for the Narrator himself is confused. At any given moment, what is real and what is hallucinatory is almost impossible to decipher. Tyler being a projection of the Narrator's twisted psyche brings some balance to these troublesome quirks, but it is never quite enough clarity to untangle the web of mystery. This inversion of reality allows the filmmakers to showcase the rise of this quasi-fascist system in believable terms, while hammering in the idea that is it a negative reality that the Narrator doesn't truly want. Only that part of him that is impulsive, destructive, desires the blood.

Lastly, Fight Club works in an air of intertextuality. Fincher describes the Narrator as the opposite of the archetype found in films like The Graduate, a man without possibilities for change and hope. In this way, the Narrator is a rejection of the typical tropes, while other characters serve as traditionally masculine archetypes in order to contrast this rejection. 

    Fight Club (Roger Ebert)

    Fight Club (Variety)