"It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero" (Anti-hero, Republic Records, 2022).
Indeed. There is potential merit there. An anti-hero is "a protagonist or notable figure who is conspicuously lacking in heroic qualities," according to Merriam-Webster. Excellent contemporary examples include the title characters in Deadpool and Wolverine (20th Century, 2024), as noted recently by the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).
That BBC article points the reader to an assortment of anti-heroes in various other stories. They point out there is some attraction to the anti-hero and in "recent years" those characters have "won over fans," despite their "typically morally ambiguous" natures. Amibguous, meaning that these characters are not 100% virtue and auspicity like your Superman, Captain America, etc.
That got me thinking of our indiviual humanity and fallability. There is some tendency for us all to view ourselves as the star in our own story. There is a disinclination, perhaps, to accepting it is possible we are merely the supporting cast in someone else's story. We certainly hope we are not the character with no name ("man on street corner"). But, either is possible. And that is likely we are all more comfortable with, familiar with, our first-person narrative.
Thus, might we consider whether we are cast as the hero or the antihero? If it is our own first-person narrative, then perhaps that question is up to us? Are the hero (or heroine) roles really attainable? Are those ideals beyond the potential for fallable and fragile human beings?
The BBC notes that one of the appeal of the anti-hero is that "they are simply 'more human,'” "more realistic." Those anti-hero characters are relatable because "they make mistakes, they have regrets, bad habits and quirks of character.” And, in truth, so do we all. To some, that may be perceived as an understatement as regards some such characters. Certainly, everyone has run into a character or personality with which they want no further contact.
Conversely, there is something potentilly alienating in “The idea of a hero who makes no mistakes." There is a certain narcisissm in those who are never wrong, never misstep, and never fail. Self love is one thing, but there are perhaps limits to what us mortals can tollerate.
In any event, there is some belief that audiences are drawn to certain characters in the narrative, hero or anti-hero. There is some tendency for the observer to like or dislike a character based on various characteristics, actions, inactions, words, or more. One of the sources quoted by the BBC, a psychology professor, describes that we in the audience engage in an association or identification with characters.
They label this "the affective disposition theory," and explain that this describes an audience reaction - "that entertainment is enjoyed more when a character that audiences like succeeds and a disliked character fails." And, in that, there is suggestion that it is the audience affinity for or identification with the character that is most important, not whether that character is or is not a hero.
The professor expounds on this, describing conclusions as to our audience reactions to humor and inclusion. Can we see at least some of ourselves in the character. Or, perhaps we as, can the audience see some of themselves in our character (if, in fact, we are the star of this narrative)?
A defining part of the Deadpool character is his humour. He is known for his ability “to drop mad one-liner science,” as he calls it, wisecracks and innuendos - usually at the most inappropriate times. They are funny in many instances, and yet often sophmoric, brash, and insulting. There are many points in the narrative of this character that can be off-putting, rude, and offensive. And yet, there is some draw to towards this character and the "anti-hero" charisma.
Prof Greenwood says that when paired with humour, violence can come across as playful instead of toxic, which “desensitises us” to its brutality. That is noteworthy in such expositions because we are exposed to increasing volumes and intensity of violence. In our evaluation of the character, is there detriment to violence (spoken or physical)? Is rooting for the anti-hero, and identifying, leading us to excuse behaviour or language we might be better advised to rebuke or at least reject?
In fact, this is no movie you are playing in. This is the "real world," not the "reel world." Despite that, Billy Shakespeare once noted:
All the world’s a stage,And all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances;And one man in his time plays many parts,
The Seven Ages of Man (1623). Metaphorically, at least, we are all on some stage. How do you play the role? Are you the Hero/Heroine of unwaivering virtue and aplomb (Wonderwoman), the caustic and extreme Deadpool, or somewhere in the middle? Does it matter what day it is? In the end, have you ever even thought about which you would like to be, or how your audience perceives you?
Taylor perhaps got it half right. It is likely just as exhausting rooting for either one.
