There is a well-documented Internet personality type known as the “keyboard warrior.”
Behind the anonymity of an avatar or the privacy of a phone screen, folks tend to use much stronger language to express displeasure or ridicule than they would if they were face-to-face with other people. Soapboxes are mounted, works of art are confidently dismissed as trash, and human beings are swiftly and mercilessly consigned to the outskirts of polite society, unworthy to be among the rest of us.
It’s also well-documented that media intended for consumption by a large audience, especially videos, are more likely get eyeballs if an extreme opinion is expressed.
I love watching analyses of books, film, and tv. I learn a lot about writing from thoughtful examinations of plot and character, and I also enjoy learning about the creative process. But this interest of mine has a dark side.
If I have a negative perception of a piece of media, even if I haven’t seen it, I enjoy watching people take down that piece of media. The more brutally, the better.
For example, Amazon’s The Rings of Power. I refuse to watch that show because I love J.R.R. Tolkien’s work, and from what I’ve seen, it is not a faithful adaption of the source material.
But I love watching people on YouTube make fun of it. Partly because they articulate flaws in the pacing, characterization, and plot.
But also because it’s funny and it feels good to have my perceptions validated.
I didn’t think this guilty pleasure was affecting me much, until I posted a blog a little while back, listing my favorite and least favorite screen adaptations. But I didn’t use the words “favorite” and “least favorite.” I said “best” and “worst.” And I didn’t think twice about it.
While I expressed highly positive opinions and praised the adaptations I personally enjoyed, I, with equal energy, trashed the adaptations I didn’t care for. And I didn’t think twice about it.
But a day or so later, I began to second-guess my confident pronouncements. Perhaps I was too harsh.
Do I think Ella Enchanted was a good adaptation of the source material? No, I do not. But did I need to say it was stupid and embarrassing? No, I did not.
Is The Personal History of David Copperfield truly among the worst screen adaptations I’ve ever seen? Probably not. I didn’t even really have super strong feelings about it when I saw it, but at that point in the blog, I felt I needed more entries on to the “worst” side of the list.
The truth is, I have allowed myself to be influenced. It has become increasingly difficult for me to have a reasonable, even, fair opinion of something. It has become harder for me to come across a piece of media, dislike it, and move on. It is no longer enough to come to form my own impression. I have to find people who agreed with me, who could validate me.
Why? Because it feels good to strongly denounce something without reservation. I know that it makes no difference if I like or dislike The Rings of Power. It’s going to make money or it won’t, and that alone will determine if it keeps being made and people keep watching it.
But the truth is, in conversations with real people, I’m not nearly as extreme about my opinions as I was in my blog post. I temper my words and worry less about being heard.
There’s something about the anonymity of the internet that makes me want to be louder and get more attention. This is not how I conduct myself among real people.
This is the first time I’ve noticed a difference between my real-life character and my Internet personality. May this never be.
Even if it takes more time and thought to articulate a moderate opinion, integrity demands it. And even if I truly utterly dislike something, it does the world no good for me to roundly denounce it. Instead, I can learn from the most helpful analysts I’ve seen on YouTube, who take the trouble to consider why a piece of media succeeds or fails. And that kind of critique takes time and effort.
I’m not going to delete the offending blog post. Rather, I’m going to abstain from critiquing anything in the future unless I can give a thoughtful, constructive response. To borrow a metaphor from Tolkien, sounding a loud, discordant note into the universe doesn’t create music. It creates noise.
