Essays About Movies and Stuff

The Outsider is about an entity that feeds on despair. Throughout the series, we follow several characters and experience the trauma it inflects at their expense.

For the purposes of this discussion, I will split the season into two parts. Part 1 is episodes 1-3 and part 2 is 4-10.

In part 1 and the beginning of part 2, it is unclear what the creature is. We only catch glimpses of an ominous figure looming quietly in the background where tragedy strikes. In this way, the Outsider--as he is called in the series--is not the true monster that plagues these people. It is the thing it represents and feeds on; grief. Part 1 is better than part 2 for this reason. After we have a clearer picture of what the creature is, it loses some of what made the show so visceral and becomes about hunting the monster.

In episode 3 we experience one of the most chilling revelations of the entire show and the reason for this long-winded essay. Episode 3 is an important turning point tonally and thematically.

The first two episodes our protagonists have done nothing more than react to the Outsider. In episode 3 they are still unaware of its presence but nonetheless begin to take a more proactive approach to the case of Terry Maitland. It is here that we are introduced to Holly Gibney. She is the final catalyst that our protagonists will need in order to propel this investigation into the world of the supernatural. She represents a turning point in the show and provides a foil to Det. Ralph Anderson’s non-belief. A non-belief that will become a key conflict throughout the season. Holly provides an alternative route to the theme that part 1 presents; that grief--for some--is inescapable.

Before we explore part 1’s theme in more depth, let’s first dive into part 2.

For me, I got a distinct impression that parts 1 and 2 were different shows. Although they follow a single plotline, there is an indistinguishable feeling of a dichotomy between them. The reason behind this is that although they have similar setups, the conclusion of their themes are polar opposites.

In part 1, we have no clear view of the monster--it is a thing lurking in the shadows. It’s in complete control and we are unable to fight it. Part 2 is much different. We gain a clearer image of what the monster is and how to stop it.

If you were left wondering why the physical confrontation and ultimate defeat of the Outsider left you somewhat unsatisfied I think its because the fight was never one to be fought with fists. It was a war of belief. 

This is illustrated in Ralph. After the Outsider is defeated and our protagonists are leaving the cave, Ralph encounters a vision of his dead son and determines that the Outsider is not yet dead. He returns on his own to finish the beast off once and for all. The reason for this is to show the culmination of Ralph’s character arc. If the Outsider represents grief then by defeating the Outsider, Ralph symbolically defeats grief. Throughout the series, he is struggling with the death of his son, but by the end, he is able to come to terms with it. He is only able to overcome his grief because he accepts that even though he can’t understand why his son died it is something he can still come to terms with and accept.

The series ends on a hopeful note. Grief can be overcome.

Why then is my mind continuously pulled back to episode 3? Was not part 2 an answer to its bleak message? Does not one cancel out the other?

The truth is that for many people it’s not as simple as overcoming depression and grief. It’s about managing it. And for some, it becomes too much to bear on their own. Understanding part 1 is about understanding suicide. This is the chilling revelation I experienced at the end of episode 3.

I did not come to this conclusion immediately after watching it. It wasn’t until the end of the show and subsequently writing this did I begin to gain a clearer view of what it represented. 

Let’s take a closer look at episode three.

Through a series of vignettes within the episode, we are introduced to two nameless prisoners. There is an unmistakable feeling of tension between them as they prepare for some inevitable conflict. Even though it is never outright stated, we begin to piece together why these two men are about to fight. One of the prisoners, who we later learn is named Heath Hofstadter in episode five, is a convicted child killer like Terry Maitland. Because of that connection we are led to believe he is possibly innocent. The second man we are left to infer must be a relative of Heath’s supposed victims and has come seeking revenge. 

At the end of the episode, we wait with Heath in his cell as he clutches a filed piece of glass, waiting for his would-be-killer to approach. We’re left with an overpowering feeling of powerlessness. We want Heath to live and will fight with him to the bitter end. The cell door creaks open. Our hunter approaches. We step out of the shadow with Heath to meet him, shiv extended, heart-pounding but arm steady. 

In an utterly unexpected twist, right at the cusp of when I was about to lunge at the tv to defend Heath as if I was there, he instead turns the blade on himself with the pronouncement, “No. You don’t get to do this.” He drags the blade across his throat, and as his attacker flees with a look of shock mirrored on my own face, the camera lingers over Heath as the light leaves his eyes and he slumps dead in the back of his cell. 

It ends with a voice-over of another character, Jack, repeating desperately, “Whatever you need me to do. Whatever you need me to do.” It cuts to a scene of him shaking alone in a room as he seemingly relinquishes his will to some unknown force we know is the Outisder. He pronounces for a final time in almost relief, “Whatever you need me to do,” and it fades to black.

Heath’s story proves an important component in Holly’s search for answers, but the particular events in episode 3 have nothing to do with that. We aren’t even given his name in the episode. Why then did the writers feel it was important to include Heath’s suicide into the story and so blatantly connect it with what is going on with Jack?

The obvious answer might be to foreshadow Jack’s suicide at the end of the show, and it certainly does that, but if that was the only reason, it could have been done much more succinctly. The writers wanted us to connect with Heath’s story.

Jack’s character arch is imperative to understand what occurred in the cell. Up until this episode Jack has been relegated to the background. All we know about him is that he is a loud belligerent cop who is an alcoholic and whose wife left him.

In this episode, he is attacked by something in an old farmhouse. He escapes with his life but a mark is left on the back of his neck. Later, in obvious pain, he tries to treat the injury but the skin around it has become inflamed and began to bubble up. Unsuccessful in driving the pain away he goes to a strip club to get drunk, but this too fails. He falls to the ground and when someone tries to help him up he screams in agony. He goes on to say as if speaking to some unseen presence, “Please, I will do anything just make it stop. Make it stop.” The scene ends with the pain seemingly abating. Later we learn the Outsider is able to twist Jack to its nefarious purposes through this pain. 

Even though Jack is set up to be a somewhat unlikeable character, we can’t help but sympathize with his plight as he is continually forced to do things he doesn’t want to do. In the end, the only way he is able to stop the pain and free himself from the Outsiders’ control is to take his own life.

This is the connecting thread between Jack and Heath and so many of the other characters who meat similar fates, pain leads them to take drastic measures they otherwise wouldn’t do in their right minds.

The haunting realization I came to was why Heath chose not to fight when I was so geared for it. Everything had already been taken from him. No matter how hard he fought before, it proved outside his control. One thing had yet to be taken from him; his life. When he said, “You don’t get to do this”, he wasn’t so much talking to his would-be-killer as he was talking to his circumstances. He won’t let it take from him the last thing he has, and so chooses to take it for himself. Sure he could have fought, he might have survived, but surviving would only mean fighting more battles and suffering more abuse.

‘The human body is a watch, a large watch, constructed with such skill and ingenuity...’~Julien Offray de La Mettrie

Materialism is the philosophy that consciousness is the direct product of material components interacting. At death, those material components disperse, with consciousness coming to an end.

With the rise of atheism, materialistic ideologies have risen to prominence. Advocates against this increase in popularity claim that this type of ideology leads to a degradation in character through apathy--namely that with no belief in an afterlife or a higher authority, what is to stop humanity from falling into a state of destructive appetite--eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die.

In Hugo a 2011 children’s movie directed by Martin Scorsese based off the book The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznic we are introduced to the setting with the whistle of a train. Indeed, our main protagonist Hugo lives in a train station. The importance of this symbology being that it facilitates transportation between two points. The secondary sound before any image on the screen is that of a clock. This is perhaps an even greater symbol than that of our setting, for time is the vehicle by which we attain our goals. 

And if one believes that life must come to an ultimate end then time is god. This is highlighted as we are introduced to the film with a tracking shot that ends with our first look of Hugo as he peers over the denizens of the station through the view of a clock. 

We come to find that Hugo is forced to keep the clocks running lest he be discovered and sent to an orphanage. The orphanage being a recycler for children who have nowhere they belong. Hugo is trapped in transition, but it can not last. He must find his place. 

We are consistently reminded of this throughout the film in the form of the Station Inspector, having himself been raised in the orphanage. He is quite literally the image of man and machine in one as he uses a brace for his injured leg. Now it is his duty to recycle children the way he once was. His constant prowl through the station heightens the tension and reminds us that Hugo’s time is limited. However, this is not something that is necessarily evil in and of itself.

There is a scene in which Hugo, with Isabelle, is once again looking through a clock. This time over the entirety of the city of Paris, once again striking us with the seeming importance that time plays in the themes of Hugo. In this theme comes one of Hugo’s most prominent quotes: ‘I like to imagine that the world is one big machine. You know, machines never have any extra parts. They have the exact number and type of parts they need. So I figure if the entire world is a big machine, I have to be here for some reason. And that means you have to be here for some reason, too.’

This is the key to Hugo’s thematic doctrine. We are all part of the machine called humanity. Life is about finding your purpose in that machine. It is not interested in exploring any theological theory of the origin of humanity or, for that fact, our ultimate resting place, but in the simple grounded logic that finding purpose not only is our function but also brings us joy--whether you believe in god or not is beside the point.

It can even be flipped on its head. One may argue that belief in an afterlife has a larger negative impact on society. As Julien Offray de La Mettrie wrote in his work, man a machine: ‘If atheism were generally accepted, all the forms of religion would then be destroyed and cut off at the roots. No more theological wars, no more soldiers of religion. Nature infected with a sacred poison, would regain its rights and its purity. Deaf to all other voices, tranquil mortals would follow only the spontaneous dictates of their own being the only commands which can never be despised with impunity and which alone can lead us to happiness through the pleasant paths of virtue.’

I may not agree completely with Julien that it is necessary for atheism to be generally accepted, but I do agree with the reasoning behind it--that all the fights over who is right and wrong about what comes after this life is a poison that causes us to lose sight of why we are here in the first place. For as long as we are conflicted we can not find happiness.

Happiness is believed to be achieved like a metal at the end of a race track, and something you can only obtain if you beat those you're racing against. That is of course idiotic. Happiness is as inherent within us as the ability to breathe.

This is illustrated in a more personal representation by the character of Georges Melies. He is a man that has achieved his dreams but because of extenuating circumstances beyond his control did not receive the notoriety he felt he was deserved and has largely been forgotten. He is now a miserable man who sees in Hugo the cruel passage of time. Time, he views as a thief that robbed him of the reward his labor deserved. 

Unhappiness does not necessarily come from a disparity of aspirations and current standing, but from actions to achieve aspirations. Georges has been blinded to the fact that it wasn't for notoriety or reward that he began creating art. Yet, that viewpoint changed, and so when he lost it his happiness also went with it.

This separation from the knowledge that it is only the achievement of our dream and not also the road that gets us there that brings us happiness is shown in the image of the automaton. From the Greek word automatos meaning acting of itself. In other words Georges is no longer acting of himself. He is not himself. He is a cog in the machine that has stopped turning.

As a side note I think it is interesting that the automaton’s function is to draw. There is an incorrect notion among artists that our work comes from some otherworldly source that somehow separates us from the average worker, but that can’t be further from the truth. Art like construction is done a day at a time through intense labor. The titular identity of the tortured artist comes from a lack of an understanding of this.