by Brendan James
A reader makes an interesting point about our attraction to antiheroes:
All the antiheroes that have been mentioned so far have a single thing in common: competence. We are invested in a character if they are shown to be competent at what they do. It gives them dimension. We don’t care about those truly rotten, no-good, one-dimensional thugs and ne’er-do-wells who serve as their subordinates, simply because they get caught easily, or are shown in some other way not to be very good at it, the ‘it’ here being evil. But we care about their bosses, the Tony Sopranos and the Walter Whites, because their bosses have been demonstrated to be good, very good, at being terrible.
Is that really all it takes for us to forgive, or at least look past, murder, treachery, deceit, betrayal, and manipulation, of which both Tony Soprano and Walter White are most certainly guilty? That you’re good at it? That’s what it takes in real life, too. We have a secret respect for sociopaths whom we find to be talented, even if what they do is abhorrent to us. That’s why we elect them to higher office.
Shouldn’t we change that? Doesn’t that say more about us than them?
Another supports the view that Breaking Bad is a critique, not an example, of the antihero ethos:
Your reader wrote, “Walter White … is the show, and we very much care what happens to him.”
Um, sorry. No.
Anyone who cares what happens to Walter White shares at least some of his extensive laundry list of pathologies. Except for the obvious hiccup it would cause in the show’s dramatic arc, Walter White should have been put down like a rabid dog a long time ago and I wouldn’t care who did it – Jesse, Skyler, Gus, Mike, Jane, Tio or any of the thugs who drift in and out of the show, apparently unable to figure out how depraved Walter White is because of his mad chemistry skillz.
The only reason I’ve watched this long is to see Walter White take his licks and hope that someone takes off that stupid hat of his…with his head still in it. I’ve never wanted any character in film or TV – including the villains – to meet his or her demise more than I want it for Walter White. Not an iota of redemptive value in the man. (Yes, I suppose hating on Walter White is one of my pathologies.)
Another can’t accept viewers are still feeling for Walter, despite his role as the protagonist:
That reader has written himself or herself out of the moral universe. If there is to be sympathy for Walter White, it is only of the most limited kind: grief for what he was and what he has become.
But even that’s a stretch. At this point, if you still hope that Walter somehow makes it out of this alive, you truly are fraternizing with the devil, and a devil that has systematically dismantled the chances for wholeness of all the people around him. Hoping the best for him is wicked.
The Dish 