Not so bad after all?

LAHORE:

One of the most memorable moments in the film Joker (2019) is when Arthur Fleck, a man beaten down by society, commits an irreversible act of violence on live television. What should be a moment of horror instead sparks a wave of sympathy among certain audiences, who see in him not just a villain, but a man pushed to the edge. This reaction is emblematic of a broader shift in storytelling, one that blurs the lines between hero and villain, challenging our moral intuitions.

In contemporary literature and cinema, a striking trend has emerged: the justification and humanisation of villains. No longer are antagonists mere embodiments of evil; they are increasingly portrayed as complex individuals shaped by circumstances, traumas, and societal injustices. This shift reflects a deeper cultural movement influenced by postmodernism and the post-truth era, wherein traditional moral certainties are eroded, and narratives become more fragmented, subjective, and ambiguous.

Shades of grey

Classic literature and early cinema often depicted villains as one-dimensional figures whose primary role was to serve as a foil to the hero. The likes of Iago in Othello or Sauron in The Lord of the Rings were evil incarnate, their motivations clear and their moral depravity unquestioned.

However, contemporary storytelling tends to blur these rigid moral distinctions. Consider the evolution of characters like the Joker in Joker (2019), Thanos in Avengers: Infinity War (2018), or even Disney's recent live-action reinterpretation of Cruella (2021). These figures, once regarded as purely malevolent, are now given elaborate backstories that invite the audience's empathy.

The Joker, rather than being a chaotic force of destruction, becomes a tragic product of societal neglect and mental illness. Thanos, instead of being a simple genocidal tyrant, is portrayed as a figure driven by a misguided yet rationalised vision of balance. Even Cruella, once a heartless villain obsessed with fur, is reframed as a rebellious outcast shaped by personal loss.

The rise of the sympathetic villain aligns with postmodernism's rejection of grand narratives, overarching and universal explanations that dictate absolute moral distinctions. Thinkers such as Michel Foucault, Jean-François Lyotard, and Jacques Derrida have argued that truth is constructed through discourse and power relations rather than being an objective reality. In the postmodern worldview, truth is fragmented, subjective, and shaped by individual experiences. This perspective has seeped into storytelling, encouraging the deconstruction of black-and-white morality in favour of moral relativity.

In fiction and politics

This trend does not stop at fiction. The erosion of absolute morality in storytelling parallels the shifting justifications for authoritarian measures in global politics. If truth is merely a construct of power, then authoritarianism can be reinterpreted not as repression but as a necessary structure for stability. In a world where objective truth is questioned, oppressive regimes manipulate this ambiguity to justify censorship, mass surveillance, and political control.

The core of this manipulation lies in dissolving the idea of objective truth. If there's no shared, verifiable reality, then any narrative can be presented as equally valid. This creates a fertile ground for authoritarianism. Authoritarian leaders don't just lie; they construct entire alternative realities that cater to their base, validating their fears and grievances. This isn't about isolated falsehoods; it's about a systematic dismantling of trust in traditional sources of information. Emotional appeals replace rational argument. Postmodernism acknowledges the power of emotion, and authoritarian leaders exploit this, bypassing rational debate with emotionally charged rhetoric. Fear, anger, and resentment become powerful tools for manipulating public opinion. "Truth" becomes what feels right, not what is provable.

Postmodernism's scepticism toward universal moral truths enables a relativistic view of governance. In an era where truth is seen as constructed rather than absolute, authoritarian leaders reframe oppression as necessary stability, censorship as curated truth, and force as a tool for national security. Consider how regimes argue that surveillance is a protective measure rather than an infringement on privacy, that censorship ensures social harmony rather than limiting free speech, and that crackdowns on dissent are about preserving order rather than authoritarianism. By adopting postmodern scepticism toward objective reality, authoritarian states claim that competing narratives are equally valid, making it easier to justify control as a matter of perspective rather than repression.

Just as postmodernism deconstructs traditional villains in fiction, it also allows for the rehabilitation of real-world authoritarian figures. Dictatorships often reframe economic success as justification for human rights violations, as seen in China's economic rise under strict control. Security is used as an excuse for mass surveillance, exemplified by post-9/11 measures in the US or China's social credit system. Stability is defended as a reason for crushing opposition, such as Russia's control over media and dissent. This mirrors how fiction now presents villains like Thanos or the Joker as complex rather than outright evil. The postmodern questioning of absolute morality opens the door for authoritarianism to be reframed as a necessary response to chaos.

Morally ambiguous

While postmodern analysis can reveal biases in traditional power structures, it can also be weaponised to justify authoritarian control. If all perspectives are equally valid, then repression may never be truly condemned, propaganda may never be called false, and moral ambiguity may excuse political violence. By eroding fixed moral standards, postmodernism paradoxically empowers authoritarian regimes to justify control, suppression, and violence as just another "perspective."

The shift towards morally ambiguous villains is not merely a storytelling preference; it is a reflection of the philosophical and cultural shifts of our era. In a world where absolute truths are questioned, where perspectives shape reality, and where narratives are deconstructed, it is only natural that fiction mirrors this complexity. However, the same ideological currents that enrich storytelling also risk normalizing authoritarian justifications for control.

The question remains: as we continue to humanise our villains, will we also redefine our heroes? And if we apply this principle universally, would a film about a Nazi soldier struggling with his actions receive the same level of acceptance? Likewise, if we apply postmodern relativism to politics, can any government truly be called authoritarian, or is oppression simply a matter of perspective? While postmodernism challenges the rigidity of moral dogma, it also forces us to confront a critical dilemma: in a world without absolute truths, who decides what is just?

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