Perhaps this innate search for freedom from existence developed in response to the collapse of major societal structures post World War II – suddenly, the world was bared to its bones in a flash of sulfur and uranium. It then fell still in collective horror at the atrocity, and then resumed its mechanisms in an inherently flawed society. Colonialism was bid farewell, and opened the door wide open for industrialism, and through its incessant effort, modern-day capitalism.
With capitalism and the constant strive for profit, we became increasingly individualistic; everything came to revolve around self, and ‘community’ was reduced to old age crooning about “better times.” It was as if the world was watching a tall skyscraper, the epitome of grace and poise, catch fire and slowly come crumbling down until it was nothing but ash and concrete.
Thus rose the question of existence and its futility (or not), in Nietzsche’s work. He took the dying embers of a decaying European tradition that had built its identity on faith and belief. But when all your structures are razed to the ground, so are the beliefs that support those institutions. Now, you have an empty field. That is where most people stop— the futility of existence means man has very little value. Negative nihilism takes all that is essential and dashes it to the ground in a bitter manner; oddly reminiscent of Satan in “Paradise Lost.”
Active nihilism, however, juxtaposes the carcass of the past and says, “This is all you have left now; pick up the pieces of what’s left and build something.” Not only does it reject the idea of fruitless endeavor, it also poses the idea that ruin is a transitional state, not permanent. As Lawrence J. Hatab explains in “Nietzche, Nihilism, Meaning”, all forms of being are temporary and finite, yes, but not meaningless. Existence is a spectrum, rather than a set of parallel lines.
In his “Existentialism is Humanism,” Jean-Paul Sartre says, “existence precedes essence”- it is pertinent that we understand that everything exists before we assign to it a certain value. If we talk about Man, he exists, then chooses to catapult himself into the world where he actively pursues to define his existence. “Human self is not a being, but rather a becoming,” he aptly states. It becomes more jarring when it poses to man the question: you are freedom itself. From the moment of conception, you have liberty to choose your path. You are left alone with your actions without an excuse to defend them.
Descartes declared: “I think therefore, I am.” Existentialism and nihilism take this statement and unravel it to pose the statement: “I choose, therefore I am.” How does this tie in with the current age and the media? We are constantly handed sobering pieces that allow us to wallow in the question of free will.
Ponge best described the idea of liberty by saying: “Man is the future of man.” In the present, however, we are forsaken. This is what the media in the 21st century explores. We see two very contrasting sides– for example, in Paul Dave’s “Visions of England: Class and Culture in Contemporary Cinema,” he points out how the romantic comedies such as “Notting Hill” and “Love Actually” cover London in this blanket of warmth, transforming it into a warm haven. It looks upon a glorious future and the existence of love. It is light, airy, and frankly, morbidly capitalistic.
Films like “Trainspotting” and “The Full Monty,” according to Dave, take economic disparity and lay it bare on the table for the audience to see. It has no preconceived radical agenda because it is rooted in realism. It displays to the audience the strata of society they often ignore and says, “Look carefully.” This in itself is the most radical a film can get.
In other areas of cinema, we are left to question our existence in an urbanized landscape that contrasts an imaginary future. We see nihilism and existentialism amalgamate on the screen to bring forth a new genre of exploring morality and love.
In “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”, and “Mr. Nobody” we are posed with the idea that the past and all memories attached to it are inherently fragmentary, and no two people involved in the same experience will share the same memories. Then where does love go, when no action is definitive? If society is crumbling apart, it poses, then how do we find some semblance of order?
We then see in “Her” and “Blade Runner 2049” the conception of a fragmentary love – it has no physical form, yet it encapsulates every core and crevice of the story. All these narratives ask us one question– in the age of social media that we are currently living in, juxtaposed with late-stage capitalistic hellscape, how easy is it to find solace in these fragmentary words? Are we to find peace in a nebulous existence rather than opening ourselves to someone solid and warm, like we are?
Also on the spectrum of media, we see the helplessness grow as an abyss: “Breaking Bad”, “Better Call Saul”, and “Man Bites Dog” present to us characters that we root for at some level, despite the evil they are imbued in; we also know their ultimate end, as their actions are actively defining their future, but a part of us wants the system to derail for one minute and let the character that started morally righteous and slowly grew into a conniving, remorseless villain to win. Why? Perhaps it grants us some hope for our share of dishonest actions we have taken.
The cinema that we consume in the current age encapsulates morbid longing and nostalgia, with society’s insistent urging to embrace hyper-individualism and the capitalistic grind. Tie that in with how social media has morphed the boundaries between word and action, and how existentialist pieces that arise as critiques of the current system (“American Psycho”) are taken out of context as a defense of the system, we see a culmination of media that is just as fragmentary and broken as we are. Perhaps, we are instead of a constant collision of ideas, morals and thoughts that will conceive a universe brighter and less unsure.