The Tyranny of The Spoiler

Dear America,


At this point, all of us of have encountered the dreaded specter of The Spoiler. So frightening is this beast that it forces us to preface numerous articles and comments with the tag "spoiler warning", as though revealing such information will traumatize the reader beyond repair. It seems to have the power to ruin entire television series and movies, books, and even video games. It tempts us with desires to wander over to Wikipedia and peak ahead in a series. It even frames how we conduct ourselves in conversations, making whole chunks of information unmentionable. Well, folks, I'm here to tell you that we don't have to fear being haunted by this vision anymore. The reason for that, quite simply, is because spoilers don't matter.

I've put a lot of thought into why we care so much about spoilers, and I've settled onto a few things. For one, we may worry so much about spoilers concerning a certain character due to our  attachment to said character. Knowing that they die, or that some other unfortunate circumstance finds them, may lead us to not consume said media anymore. Folks, I'm here to say that we're mistaken in doing so. We've put our emphasis on the wrong thing, for when we place all our emphasis on the one character, we neglect to acknowledge the whole of the narrative. This is crucial, for to do so is to neglect the extent of the story being told. We must place that character in the context of the story, for the character is a part of the story. We may then see that the series or movie was quite different than we originally thought.

Another reason we may hold so dearly to spoilers is our elevation of the freshness of our experience with a piece of media. This one, I think, is the easiest to see as misplaced. The truest and deepest sort of spoiler is the first time we consume the media, for all context is gained then. All of the nooks and crannies of the story unfold themselves in the immediate viewing and upon our time looking back at it. We can clearly see character motivations, and the little details of each moment, and we are armed with this knowledge the subsequent times after. The obsession with the sanctity of the First Time holds us back from, again, taking in the whole of the narrative. We focus upon the possibilities of what may happen within the story, and not the story itself.

So, what would it look like to put this greater vision of the narrative into play? The best place to start may be a very well-known film: The Empire Strike Back. One of the most famous moments from this film was the line, "Luke, I am your father." At this point, I hardly think we would consider this to be a spoiler since this line has permeated so much of our culture. Yet, I don't doubt that some of us would feel inclined to offer some sort of protest as to not spoil the moment. Well, I can tell you that we should not worry, and we should not protest this piece of information. For, this piece of information is not the most important part, on its own. Its power is granted by the context gained by observing what came before, and reflecting back upon it by seeing what came after.

Luke, a farm boy on a desert planet, learns that he the latest in a line of intergalactic warriors known as the Jedi. He also learns that one of the leaders of the Empire, the oppressive force dominating the galaxy, is also a Jedi, though an evil one. Luke develops as a warrior over the course of the first film, even going so far as to destroy the Death Star, a massive space station that the Empire uses to destroy planets. The second film, The Empire Strikes Back, finds Luke continuing to assist the Rebel forces in their battle against the Empire. He continues his training with the Jedi Master Yoda on the planet of Dagobah, where he learns to confront his own fears and learns of an element of this dark Jedi, Darth Vader. While training, he learns that Vader has his friends held hostage, so he rushes to Cloud City to rescue them, all the while Yoda tells him he is not prepared.

He arrives, attempts to fight, and is promptly defeated. One of his hands is cut off by Vader's lightsaber, and he is dangling for dear life upon a spire. Vader looks down at him and asks him if he knows of his father. Luke says that he knows enough; that Vader killed his father. Vader then says "I AM YOUR FATHER!" Luke is distraught, crushed, and dumbfounded. He screams out in rage and pain. This man, his actual father, is responsible for the death of millions and the death of Luke's adoptive parents, his uncle and aunt. All of Luke's search for purpose and meaning contained an element of the search for where he came from, and now he knows: he comes from the darkest source of all.

Now, it should be clear that the importance of the moment wasn't in the moment itself, but in what lead up to it. The important part wasn't the iconic line by Vader, but what that line meant for Luke. Knowing that Vader is his father means nothing in the first film since we haven't had the context of both films. The line is a culmination of moments that requires the moments before for meaning.

So, good people, we need not bow to the Sacred Cow any longer. It has chained us down, and held us back. The only reason spoilers have any power is because we give them such. Stories are made of many parts that work in conjunction with each other that lead us to feel something and to say something to us. Disproportionately elevating one part of this Whole only serves to, in the long run, cheapen the experience. Due to the interplay of our consumption of stories and the artists that create them, embracing stories based only on shock or stories based on their ability to trend (the kinds of things that seem to really fuel the idolatry of the spoiler) can suggest to the artist and the patrons of the artists that this is what works. We deserve better. We can have stories that resonate with us, while being tightly plotted, while also being fun. We can learn more about the language of storytelling so that we may be more educated consumers, thus being more open to the whole of a narrative. It may be a hard road, America, but I think that it's possible. I've come to melt down this Golden Calf, Spoilers, and remold it into a throne. Upon this throne, we shall place Elevated Narrative Appreciation. It certainly makes for a much more worthy idol.


          Sincerely,
               Your Baby Boy,
    Fredrick Maxwell