Even for a grouchy misanthrope like myself, this came as quite a devastating blow. I've considered myself a genre connoisseur in the past; hell, maybe even a lower-level geek. Meeting Nathan Fillion gave me a thrill; I once squawked with delight when I glimpsed Hurley from Lost at a memorabilia fair. And don't get me started on the ever-expanding array of Street Fighter merchandise that's slowly taking over my house.
Yet all of this pales in comparison to the rabid bleatings of what nowadays constitutes entry into fan-dom. In this day and age, you've got to be willing to change your entire species just to be considered worthy of carrying out a little adulation.
Take this whole crazy-as-a-shithouse-rat phenomenon currently surrounding Avatar. Film Drunk ran a piece last week about the film's fan forums, where people are laying claim to experiencing post-Pandora depression, and are wistfully bemoaning that it's a total bummer the planet doesn't really exist. One of them - as referenced in FD's article - even suggests inducing a coma, so they can continue to live on in a dream world populated with big blue Catsmurfs.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. WHAT? Run that by me again? A coma, you say? You're telling me that no matter how poxy your current existence is, you'd prefer a vegetative state in the off-chance your cortex decides to conjour some shit-hot 3D IMAX visuals? That your rapid eye movement might just rustle up a Na'vi for you to poke your tail in until the end of time - and by the end of time, I mean the moment when someone in full possession of reason decides you're wasting our oxygen and yoinks the fucking plug on you.
This kind of talk scares me. And it's not fear born out of lack of understanding - it's fear born out of pity for the increasing decline of mankind, and its burgeoning need to retreat into some lame-ass fantasy world because out here "shit," as Martin Lawrence would so succinctly put it, "just got real."
Think I'm being overly-harsh, and wrecking people's fun? Let me point you to a past example of this nonsense spiraling out of control: in 1950, a pulp sci-fi writer published a vaguely new-age self-help manual, that suggested other worldly influences were the key to maintaining a righteous lifestyle. Skip ahead half a decade, and countless poor bastards have had to sit through Battlefield: Earth. Oh, and there was some other dodgy stuff going on as a result, too. Sure, maybe it's a churlish analogy, but it still frightens me all the same. If this shit keeps up, then expect a Holy War to ensue within the remit of this century. I can see it now - the Avatards versus the Twi-hards. It'll all be a blur of blue body-paint and those plastic fangs you get from Poundland at Halloween.
I can name countless movies where I felt a coma might have been the soft alternative, but none of those desires were from outright love. Fact is, there is nothing in this world - certainly not in the medium of entertainment - that is ever going to inspire that level of churlish devotion. Hell, I'd even commend it if it wasn't so damn knee-jerky - the fucking thing hasn't even been out for a month yet. Come back in six months, and if you still feel the same way, I have a tyre iron that'll be more than willing to help grant your wish.
With thanks to Film Drunk and the posters of those stupid Avatar forums for fuelling my indignation.
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