An Addiction to Misery

“Misery porn?” …That’s how I describe some of my favorite stories. Some people love happy endings, but me? I tend to favor the gut punches. Those moments where characters fail, those times when everything’s lost, or those points of outright despair—that’s my weakness. Why? Why would I do this to myself?

Well, because it’s great storytelling, and some of my absolute favorites are like walking on broken glass.

Consider Annie Hall. The film’s about a broken relationship, one that never comes back together, even at the end (spoiler alert for a 40-year-old movie). It’s the antithesis of the traditional romantic comedy. We watch a romance blossom—laughter, love—and then, we watch it wilt—fights, heartbreak. The most powerful moment comes when Woody Allen’s Alvy tries desperately to recreate a happy moment with a new girlfriend, one who isn’t having it; it’s desperate and depressing. The ending’s ambivalent at best, with Alvy and Annie bumping into each other…both with new significant others. They don’t reunite, there’s no dramatic kiss in the rain, and there’s just an awkward meeting with a tinge of pining.

I absolutely love it.

Synecdoche, New York is one of my favorite movies, and it is depressing as all get out. (Whether it’s a pretentious mess or an underrated masterpiece is an argument for a different time.) Small time theater director Caden Cotard (Philip Seymour Hoffman) receives a MacArthur grant, which lets him stage his magnum opus—a massive, living play that will never truly begin or end. In the process, he loses everything: his health, his family, and even control of his own production. There is no moment of triumph, there’s no return with the elixir, and there’s no resurrection—even the final line is a dirge.

Am I just some a morose asshole? Probably, but I’m not alone. Suffering’s always been hot. A Requiem for a Dream posters are a dorm room staple. Teen girls across the nation have cradled dog-eared copies of The Lovely Bones in their arms at some point. Hell, the Oscars are built on despair: Schindler’s List, 12 Years a Slave, The Godfather—the list is endless. Here’s a chart breaking down just what kinds of violence, terror, and sorrow voters love….Misery is mainstream.

Now, maybe you think you can escape to TV? You poor, deluded fool. Succession, one of the year’s best shows, continually runs its cast through the wringer and rips any semblance of victory away with zero remorse. Furthermore, Atlanta is all about struggle. Think about literally anything in The Handmaid’s Tale.

Also, the news.

Maybe…maybe cartoons? Why, BoJack Horseman is back…to sandwich sadness between animal puns. Rick & Morty—oh, it’s an absolute blast, and even Homer Simpson tried to off himself!

Here. Enjoy this fun montage of classic cartoon suicide!

Even superheroes can’t get away from it. (Look at the Byline. You think I’d go a single article without capes coming up?) No, here are some examples: Zack Snyder had Superman snap someone’s neck; Christopher Nolan went whole hog on tearing down Batman; and being sad about failure is literally Spider-Man’s origin story. The best superhero comic running right now, Mister Miracle, opens its first issue with the hero on the bathroom floor with his wrists slit—in costume, accompanied by the bombastic prose of Jack Kirby’s original stories. Hell, Avengers: Infinity War, the biggest and most bombastic blockbuster of the year, ends with all your favorites dying: “Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good.”

However, if you want definitive proof that audiences are on board with suffering? Look no further than This is Us. It’s sentimental, saccharine, and utterly masochistic. It’s emotional torture disguised as an Upworthy post, and people fucking eat it up. It’s a show specifically designed to make you ugly cry, yet it’s one of NBC’s flagship titles and a ratings gold mine. This is Us almost taunts its viewers; nearly every piece of news or promotion promises heartbreak. It’s cruel, it’s unusual, and it’s the biggest show on television.

What’s the appeal? These are not particularly happy times. Real people are, well, miserable. You’d think they’d want an escape, some sort of respite, but no. If anything, seeing other people deal with the same shit they do—the loss, the failure, and the oppression—it can be a relief.

I’m not denying that happy endings are satisfying. Disney’s got an entire library built on it. Even Rent, the musical about AIDS, ends upbeat. However, after a while, it gets patronizing. Stories are built on conflict, and conflict is built on misfortune. There isn’t anything for an audience when everything goes according to plan. A cliché hero wins. A real person loses.

—Jackson Sutliff