Comics & the Alt-Right: A Response to "Kill All Normies" Pt. 2

If we're calling the film version of V for Vendetta a founding document for the conservative free speech "movement," it is fair to call the film adaptation of Frank Miller’s 300 the guiding point for almost every other point of their politics. It's reactionary to its bones, and not only features but glorifies the cultural organization that is often described by alt-right leaders as the perfect end-state of society.

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Comics and the Alt-Right: A Response to "Kill All Normies"

Nagle specifically refers to the utilization of the Guy Fawkes mask by Anon as an iconographical referent. There are a few aspects to this, and I suppose it's best to give as much context as possible first. The mask itself is a traditional adornment of the British holiday ironically celebrating the figure's implication in the Gunpowder Plot, a late-feudalism attempt to blow up parliament by Catholics angered that the government had pulled strongly Protestant. This was probably the first act of political dissidence that would have involved destroying a building with an explosive, not to mention that Guy Fawkes almost certainly a patsy utilized by the conspirators as a kind of martyr to show the peasantry you might successfully commit mass execution of the ruling class.

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Movie Review: iT COMES AT NiGHT

It Comes at Night is a dark fucking movie. Its cinematographer, Drew Daniels, should be commended for designing a setting that seamlessly dips into complete darkness without sacrificing tone or visual coherence. Unlike, say, Monsters (2010, Gareth Edwards), whose nearly microscopic budget-to-scale ratio and digital format forced a soupy visual style, It Comes at Night uses darkness as a powerful visual reproduction of the psychological journey its characters move through and gains immensely and loses nothing to the blackened color pallet.

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No Fun in the New World

There was once a man named Oofty Goofty: the Wild Man of Borneo. He was a white man dressed in tar and old hair, put on display while he grunted. This permanently darkened his skin, with some nasty scars to boot. A man stripped of his race by his own oafish ne'er-do-well circumstances, he truly was without a country. Least of all Borneo. He ended up wandering the streets offering to take punches for quarters. One day he let someone hit him with a bat for $10. It caused such trauma that he could never stand to see a hand raised before him again. This was my hope for Richard Spencer: that it would become a badge of pride to punch his soft head and slowly traumatize his perfectly smooth brain until he had the adult equivilant of shaken baby syndrome (I can demonstrate if you have a jar and an egg) and wandered the streets terrified of the next boney fist smashing into his now-softened skull.

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Movie Review: GREEN ROOM

The film follows a broke hardcore band as they attempt to scrape money from stop-to-stop on tour. They end up taking a side show at the aforementioned clubhouse. After witnessing a murder, they face an encroaching onslaught of neo-Nazi self-preservation at the expense of their own lives. Even the most jaded of us (me) should be truly upset at the violence depicted, which the deeply hateful antagonists joyously unleash.

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But see! Amid the mimic route, a crawling shape intrude!

I remember seeing Night of the Living Dead on TV in the late nineties, just before the 2002 zombie film resurgence, and awakening contact memories of the nightmares which spawned from the zombie sequence in The Simpson's Treehouse of Horror III: Dial Z for Zombie. That experience sent me on a decade-long dig into the most unusual zombie movies I could find. My personal favorites remain to be The Return of the Living Dead (Dial Z for Zombie expertly references the brain-craving zombie founded in this film), Children Should Not Play With Dead ThingsUndead, and, my personal favorite, Burial Grounds: Night of Terror. I have dug up the depths of slasher, body horror, Giallo, horrors both material and existential parade in my mind daily. 

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Boringman V Sleeptime: Dawn of Why Bother

As of Thursday morning, I was fully expecting to be writing an inspired follow-up post about the abortion of reliable and rigorous moral tales in popular culture. My thesis was to center on a viewing of Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice. I am not the type to generally pay attention to films I expect to be terrible. Despite my nostalgic predilections, there are probably a dozen superhero movies I haven't bothered to see for the fact that their presumed quality is low and I'd rather spend my time doing almost anything else, but both the alleged scale and political importance of Batman V Superman anoints it to required viewing if you’re interested in the trajectories of these productions.

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The Punisher, Spree Shooters, and Failed Narratives

I recently sat down to watch the entire second season of Marvel's Netflix's Daredevil in one sitting. It reified something that has been boiling in my mind for awhile now, and previously was going to hold off until I got my triumphant hate-watch of Zack Snyder's Batman Vs. Superman: Dawn of (what passes for) Justice, but there's a deeply troubling aspect to the new season of Daredevil that's extremely difficult not to acknowledge.

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