Analysis of ‘Dark Star’

Dark Star is a 1974 sci-fi comedy produced, scored, and directed by John Carpenter, his feature directorial debut. It was written by him and Dan O’Bannon, who also acts in the film, does the voices for Bombs #19 and #20, edited the film, and created many of the special effects.

Other actors in the film are Brian Narelle, Cal Kuniholm, Andreijah “Dre” Pahich, and Joe Saunders. Carpenter did the voices of Talby (Pahich) and Commander Powell (Saunders). Barbara “Cookie” Knapp, the only female in the cast, did the voice of the computer. Miles Watkins is Mission Control, and Nick Castle is the alien.

Dark Star started out as a student film while Carpenter and O’Bannon were at the University of Southern California. It was originally a 45-minute film with a budget of $6000. The first version of the film was completed in 1972. With $10,000 in financial support from Jonathan Kaplan, Carpenter and O’Bannon were able to shoot an extra fifty minutes in 1973, thus making Dark Star feature-length.

The film was well-received at Filmex, but not on its initial theatrical release, with nearly empty theatres and little reaction to the intended humour. O’Bannon would later lament that they had “what would have been the world’s most impressive student film and it became the world’s least impressive professional film.”

Nonetheless, by the early 1980s, Dark Star became a cult film among sci-fi fans, and Quentin Tarantino called it a “masterpiece.” O’Bannon reworked the ‘beachball alien’ section of the film into 1979’s Alien. He reasoned, “If I can’t make them laugh, then maybe I can make them scream.” George Lucas was impressed with O’Bannon’s special effects, remarkable for such a low-budget film, such as the spaceship jumping into hyperspace and the computer screen effects, so he hired O’Bannon to apply these effects to Star Wars (1977).

The humor of Dark Star was meant to parody 2001: a Space Odyssey. While 2001 is an epic film with profound meditations on the progress of man and his place in the universe, Dark Star is a short, absurdist look at how not only insignificant and bumbling we are, but also how potentially harmful we are to the universe and to ourselves. Instead of such powerful, grandiose music as Richard Strauss‘s Thus Spoke Zarathustra, in Dark Star we hear a trite country song (“Benson, Arizona”) during the opening and ending credits, as well as “Largo al factotum,” from Rossini‘s Barber of Seville, and Carpenter’s use of a modular synthesizer.

Here is a link to quotes from the film, and here are links to the full movie.

The film begins with a video message sent from Earth to the spaceship named Dark Star, manned by a crew of four men–Lt. Doolittle (Narelle), Sgt. Pinback (O’Bannon), Boiler (Kuniholm), and Talby (Pahich), while a fifth man, Commander Powell (Saunders), has been cryogenically suspended after a fatal electrocution from his malfunctioning chair–whose mission is to seek out and destroy unstable planets that will threaten Earth’s hopes to colonize space.

The video message is sent from Mission Control, from McMurdo Sound, Antarctica. The man from Earth (Watkins, having the same surname as the actor) expresses condolences over the death of Powell, and informs the crew that their request for radiation shielding has been denied. Cutbacks in Congress have made it impossible to help the crew with the ship’s increasing technical issues: malfunctions, radiation leaks, failing life support and communication systems, the loss of the crew’s entire supply of toilet paper, etc. In spite of this refusal to help, Watkins puts on an encouraging smile and speaks of having every confidence in the crew to solve their problems themselves…as if that were sufficient compensation for having left them all in the lurch.

I see this sci-fi story as an allegory for late imperialism, in which the continuing drive to colonize, extract natural resources, wage endless wars to maintain global dominance, and maximize profit are not only increasing suffering worldwide, but are also harming the imperial core in such forms as rising neofascism, worsening economic crises, and destruction of the environment. The worsening breakdowns and malfunctions of the spaceship, which is used to destroy unstable planets for the sake of facilitating the colonization of space, can be seen to symbolize our end-of-times predicament today.

In this sense, as absurd as the story of Dark Star may be, it can also be seen as prophetic of our growing problems in the twenty-first century, and therefore it’s a warning to us all.

We next see shots of the spaceship approaching a planet the crew is about to blow up. Carpenter’s synthesizer is providing some dark, eerie music, which is fitting (in spite of how this film is supposed to be a comedy), given the settler-colonialist/imperialist allegory I’ve discussed.

Doolittle at first is having difficulty contacting Talby, who’s up at the top of the ship looking out at the stars, and there are technical problems with the communications system; the intercom won’t send Talby a clear transmission from Doolittle. As well as further establishing the extent of the technical issues of the spaceship, this problem also represents the sense of mutual alienation of the crew.

Once communication with Talby is established, him needing to give the other three a diameter approximation of the planet, they get ready to blow it up. Bomb #19 (which, like the ship’s other bombs, has AI, allowing it to think and speak, as well as making the bombs a parody of HAL 9000) is lowered out of the bomb bay. Pinback does a countdown, then drops the bomb, and the crew gets ready to put the ship into hyperdrive to clear away from the explosion.

It is here where, not only do we get a bit of a parody of 2001‘s “Stargate” sequence, but also a taste of O’Bannon’s special effect for seeing the stars fly at us, as they more famously do before the Millennium Falcon when it goes into hyperspace. Now Dark Star never directly inspired the Death Star, which as we know is also meant to destroy planets for the Galactic Empire, but a comparison of the spaceship here with the battle station of Star Wars makes it extremely tempting to imagine Lucas, who as I said above hired O’Bannon, being at least unconsciously inspired by Dark Star to create the Death Star. Certainly some have noted the shape of the ship as similar to the, however much larger, Star Destroyers. In any case, inspired or not, these comparisons reinforce my settler-colonialist/imperialist allegory of Dark Star.

Connected with my allegory is a discussion among the crew of where to go next to find an unstable planet to blow up, now that the current one has been successfully destroyed. Boiler mentions a 95% probability of intelligent life in the Horsehead Nebula sector, but Doolittle has no interest in that “bull” at all since the last time they found intelligent life, it was the reddish ‘beachball’ with two clawed feet that Pinback has taken onboard.

Doolittle’s dismissive contempt of alien life, as well as Pinback’s–let’s face it–abduction and kidnapping of the alien, demonstrates the crew’s racist and imperialist mindset. Remember–they’re space colonizers. Doolittle calls the alien “a damn mindless vegetable…looked like a limp balloon.” This attitude is allegorical of that of British colonizers taking the land away from indigenous people around the world. In spite of the comical spectacle of the film, Dark Star has a dark message.

Doolittle doesn’t care about intelligent life: he just wants to blow planets up. This mentality, in principle, is no different from colonizers like Columbus, who took over land and killed the aboriginals. Doolittle is similarly contemptuous towards Pinback, demonstrating again the mutual alienation among the crew, and also how imperialist/colonialist disregard for aboriginals can spill over into disregard for those of one’s own nation or ethnic group. Alienation is catching.

Boiler finds an 85% probability of an unstable planet in the Veil Nebula; it will probably go off its orbit and hit a star, so the Veil Nebula is the next destination for Dark Star. As they begin their journey there, Boiler puts on some music, “Benson, Arizona,” the country music theme song heard during the credits.

The song’s lyric essentially expresses the homesickness felt by the crew as they sail across the stars. The film’s setting is the mid-twenty-second century, and while the crew have aged only three years, they’ve been out in space for twenty Earth years. One issue the crew has to deal with, therefore, is how being cramped in this small spaceship for so long has been driving them crazy. Their mutual alienation, as well as the continuing deterioration of the ship, is only the tip of the iceberg.

The long, shaggy hair and beards of the crew made Tarantino think of hippies back when he first saw (and initially hated) Dark Star as a kid. That shaggy hairiness, combined with the crew’s indulging in various forms of tomfoolery to relieve their boredom (i.e., Pinback’s practical jokes, Boiler playing the knife game with a switchblade and firing a laser rifle, etc.), reminds me of the Swampmen in MASH. Hippies are supposed to be antiwar liberals, as were Hawkeye et al in the TV show; as we’ve learned over the past fifty years, though, the vicissitudes of time can make liberals bang the war drums as much as conservatives do.

After Doolittle does a video recording for the ship’s log, discussing such things as the deterioration of the ship and the ETA in the Veil Nebula, we see Dark Star going through space while the crew is rocking out to some 1960s blues-based guitar music. Then the ship’s computer, with the female voice, interrupts the men’s fun to warn them of a collision course they are on with an asteroid storm, which once they have gone through it, the technical problems of the ship will of course be even worse.

It’s interesting at this point to compare this film with another of Carpenter’s–The Thing. Both have an all-male cast who are isolated and have an alien among them that is hostile in intent. And just as Dark Star has a computer with a female voice, so does The Thing, the chess computer voiced by Adrienne Barbeau, which plays a game with RJ MacReady (played by Kurt Russell) at the beginning of the movie.

As I said in my analysis of The Thing, we can see a paradoxical merging of negative attitudes towards both women and men in Dark Star. Note how, on the one hand, there’s the lack of women on the ship (a computer’s voice is the only ‘female’ reality for the crew–it’s just an abstraction for the men) as well as the nudie centrefolds on the walls (the exposure of their anatomy removed for the sake of getting a more marketable G rating); yet on the other hand, the bumbling incompetence of the male crew, as well as their lack of mutual empathy, makes them hardly any superior to women.

The asteroid storm seems to be bound by an electromagnetic energy vortex, like one the crew encountered two years before. Presumably, the damage that that one caused to the ship hasn’t been adequately dealt with (i.e., the computer’s defensive circuits, which were destroyed in that other storm).

As the ship is going through the asteroid storm, we see a pinkish glow around it, representing some kind of defensive shield. Still, this isn’t good enough to prevent any damage, for the electromagnetic energy zaps the back of the ship, causing the bomb bay system to be activated. Bomb #20 is let out, programmed and ready to blow up. Carpenter’s synthesizer plays triplets of a chromatic ascension of two minor seconds over a tonic note, going up and changing key each time by a half step and adding to the tension of the moment.

Next, the computer tells Bomb #20 to return to the bomb bay. The AI system in the bombs all have a male voice, in contrast to the female voice of the computer. What’s interesting to note in this contrast also is the rationality of the computer as against the irrational stubbornness of the bomb, which insists that it ought to blow up simply because such is its programming, in spite of the fact that it received no command from the crew and left the bomb bay only because of a malfunction caused by the asteroid storm. Only after repeated arguing with the computer does the bomb return, saying, “Very well” in a slightly petulant tone.

The ship finally gets out of the asteroid storm. After Boiler’s and Pinback’s engaging, in their sleeping area, in a bit of the tomfoolery I described above, Doolittle leaves and goes into a dark room in which he has an odd keyboard instrument constructed of such things as glass water bottles and cans to produce tones. He plays it, though out of tempo. The music is presumably from Carpenter’s synthesizer, but it sounds a bit like a prepared piano.

All of these goings-on have to do with the crew trying to alleviate the boredom they feel between tense moments like the asteroid storms, as I mentioned above. After finishing his keyboard practice, Doolittle goes up to the top of the ship to give Talby some breakfast and to chat with him. The top has a transparent dome through which Talby likes to look out at the stars. Doolittle discusses his old surfing days back in Malibu, and how he wishes he had his surfboard with him so he could wax it.

Talby has isolated himself up in this domed area ever since Powell died. Doolittle worries that Talby spends too much time up here, and not enough time with the others. Talby thinks of encountering the Phoenix asteroids when the ship reaches the Veil Nebula; these circle the universe once every 12.3 trillion years, and Talby understands that they “glow with all the colours of the rainbow.” He’d love to see them.

We’ll come back to a fulfillment…of sorts…of these two men’s wishes by the end of the film.

Meanwhile, down below, Boiler wants to do a little target practice with the laser rifle by firing it at a metal square he’s placed in front of a door. Pinback tries to stop him.

Then, the computer tells Pinback that he has to feed the alien. He’s annoyed at having to do so…well, maybe he shouldn’t have taken it on board, then.

The following sequence was meant to be funny in a slapstick sort of way. Instead, I see an allegorical commentary on how settler-colonialists treat the indigenous people of the places they conquer.

The absurd physical appearance of this low-budget alien–a reddish, spotted beachball with two red, clawed feet–can be seen to represent how the racist colonialist regards the aboriginals as clownish-looking in their–in the opinion of the colonialist–odd attire and darker skin. The alien whimpers in a high-pitched voice, which can also be seen to represent the ‘strange’ language of the native.

Pinback originally thought the alien was “cute”; now, he just finds it annoying. This is not quite so unlike the white racist who imagines blacks to be all just a bunch of entertaining song-and-dance men; then, when they show their wish to be more than that, he is annoyed with them.

Pinback complains about having to do all the work and getting no appreciation–I can hear echoes of “the white man’s burden” here–then the alien jumps on his back. As I said above, this intended slapstick comedy would eventually become the terror of the stowaway xenomorph in 1979’s Alien. Thematic connections between Dark Star and Alien can be seen in how a ship’s crew–alienated from each other and from their own species-essences–are taking aboard an alien to exploit it in some way (as the Weyland-Yutani Corporation would use the xenomorph as a weapon), rather than let it go to live its own life.

Pinback would use the alien as Dark Star‘s ‘mascot,’ but it has other ideas…naturally. Since the comedy of this sequence doesn’t exactly work, I find it more useful to allegorize it as an instance of the native attempting an insurrection against the colonizer.

The crew of Dark Star are space colonizers, who as I’ve said are allegorical of colonizers here on Earth. Space is thus allegorical of the oceans of the world, the spaceship is the colonizer’s sea vessel, the planets are the islands or other lands of the natives, and of course the ‘beachball’ alien is a native. Now, unstable planets, which are a threat to the space colonizers, can be seen as allegorical of unstable, restive, or rebellious societies that are prone to revolution when colonizers try to control them…hence the need to crush them, or in the case of Dark Star, to blow them up. It is in this context that we should understand the actions of the alien on the ship.

Not only does the alien jump on Pinback and disobey him when he wants it to go back into the dark storage room it was initially in, but it also fights back when Pinback tries disciplining it by hitting it with a broom. Later, it lures him into the ship’s elevator shaft…right when the elevator’s to be activated randomly due to more malfunctions, thus putting Pinback in danger. The alien jumps him there, too, putting him in greater danger, since the elevator is about to descend while he’s still hanging there.

He manages to survive and get out of there, but by that time, the alien has activated the bomb’s circuits, which will cause Bomb #20 to emerge from the bomb bay again when not wanted to do so. All of these acts of the alien should not be trivialized as being merely “mischievous,” as the Wikipedia article on the movie characterizes them; they are an attempted rebellion against colonizers.

Once again, the computer has to convince the headstrong bomb to return to the bomb bay, as the crew has not ordered the destruction of an unstable planet yet; after all, they haven’t yet reached the Veil Nebula. Bomb #20 complies again, yet it’s even more petulant and reluctant about it, since blowing up is its whole raison d’être.

It says that this will be the last time it complies, ominously. This AI system is clearly insistent on having its own way, which is not only indicative of how irrational it is, but also how dangerous it is to everyone impacted by it…rather like HAL in 2001, or any misused technology, for that matter.

Now that Pinback is safe, he’s pissed at the alien. He strides through a hall and gets a tranquilizer gun, and as he does so, we hear a military beat played on a snare drum. This music is fitting, given he’s one of the space colonists about to show the, as it were, indigenous alien who’s boss, like a true imperialist. His intention is to discipline the alien with a tranquilizing, not to kill it…though the shot from the gun does kill it, making it deflate and fly about the place like an actual beachball; Pinback surmises it was full of gas.

The almost comical way that the alien dies is tragically apt, given the slight regard colonizers have always had for their victimized natives. Keep in mind how the IDF have joked about and celebrated, in cruelly ghoulish fashion, their brutal killing of the dehumanized Palestinians. Note, in this connection, Pinback’s words on shooting the alien: “Now it’s time to go sleepy-pie, you worthless piece of garbage.”

Doolittle, in his incompetence, couldn’t care about the increasing technical issues of the ship any more than he does about Pinback’s traumatizing incident with the alien in the elevator shaft, or whether or not there’s any intelligent life in the Veil Nebula. These three forms of apathy are interrelated, as far as my allegory of late imperialism and colonialism are concerned.

Doolittle personifies the oligarchs, neocons, and neoliberals today who know of all the dangers we face today on our dying planet, yet do nothing substantive about it; he also personifies the lack of empathy for others’ suffering that is so endemic today; and since intelligent, alien life corresponds with indigenous people in my allegory, then Doolittle in his lack of caring about such life represents the slight regard colonialists have towards natives.

Talby, on the other hand, does care about the new damage the ship has sustained, so he goes to take a look and see if he can repair it. It’s significant that the door to the Computer Room, which Talby is headed to, is shaped like a coffin. In this room, he is going to find out how fatal the damage will be if it isn’t properly repaired. There’s a break in the communications laser down by the emergency airlock.

Meanwhile Pinback wants to tell Dolittle and Boiler the story of how he came to be one of the crew on Dark Star, but the other two, having heard it before a few years ago, don’t want to hear it again. Pinback tells the story anyway, which includes his name not really being Pinback, but Bill Froug (after William Froug, an American TV writer and producer). He replaced the real Pinback after he took off his uniform, ran naked into a fuel tank, and killed himself; Froug then put on the uniform and was rushed onto the ship, which was just about to go off on its mission.

This switching of identities represents Pinback’s alienation from his species-essence; such an alienation can be tied to his alienation from his fellow crew members. Accordingly, he complains in video recordings of how unfairly he’s treated by the rest of the crew. Alienation can also explain why the real Pinback would rather kill himself than go on the ship.

With the help of the computer, Talby has found the source of the malfunction: communication laser 17 has been damaged, which happened during the asteroid storm. This laser monitors the jettison primer on the bomb drop mechanism. Not fixing this will lead to Dark Star not destroying the unstable planet in Veil Nebula, but destroying itself. According to my allegory, this fatal negligence represents late imperialism destroying itself.

The laser is located in the emergency airlock, so Talby will put on a spacesuit and go in there to try to repair the malfunction. While he’s doing this, the ship is approaching the unstable planet to be destroyed. Talby wants to tell Doolittle about the damage, but the latter doesn’t want to hear about it, since he, Boiler, and Pinback are about to have Bomb #20 come out and blow up the planet.

The communications laser has been damaged. The commander of the ship doesn’t want to listen to Talby’s warning of the damage. Bomb #20, with its petulant, stubborn male voice, doesn’t want to listen to the computer’s command to return to the bomb bay and abort its aim to blow up. All these men are going to die…because of a lack of communication.

Talby attempts to repair the laser, but he is temporarily blinded by a sudden flash of light, he staggers, and walks into the path of the laser beam, causing far more serious damage to the ship’s computer. The bomb’s release mechanism is disabled, causing Bomb #20 to be stuck in the bomb bay, just when the crew is doing a countdown to detonation.

Here we see the contradictions of colonialism and imperialism as the seeds to their own destruction. The destruction of unstable planets represents the colonizer’s taking over and destroying the worlds of the natives, not caring about the life there, if there even is life there. The excess of this destruction eventually falls back onto oneself, especially when there’s little regard for the safety and proper functioning of one’s own equipment. Imperialism leads to alienation and apathy towards one’s fellow man, which in turn leads to one’s own destruction.

When the crew realizes they can’t get Bomb #20, counting down to its detonation, to be released so they can get away from the explosion, they of course panic. Doolittle commands the bomb to stand down, but the AI in it refuses to. The damaged computer can’t do anything to save the crew.

Doolittle’s only course of action, bizarrely, is to go and revive a dead man–Commander Powell–and ask him how to stop the bomb. Powell, recall, is in a state of cryogenic suspension…a kind of life in death. This idea is a manifestation of a theme that now comes into prominence in Dark Star: the dialectical relationship between existence and non-existence, between life and death.

Powell is strangely alive and dead at the same time. He’s being held in a freezer compartment. When he speaks to Doolittle, it’s in a weak voice, like someone tripping out on drugs.

Powell tells Doolittle to teach the bomb about phenomenology, an objective investigation of the nature of subjective, conscious experience. Doolittle gets in a spacesuit, does an EVA, and begins to have a philosophical discussion with Bomb #20. We can see in this the absurdist comedy of trying to find meaning among self-aware beings about to die, anyway.

The bomb is made aware of Cartesian doubt, that is, how does it know that it exists, and how can it be sure that everything around it exists? The bomb doubts, so it thinks and therefore exists. But if the existence of all other things around it is in doubt, how does the bomb know it has truly received an order to detonate? It pauses its countdown to detonation to ponder these matters further, just in the nick of time, causing Doolittle practically to swoon in relief.

In this Cartesian doubt, we once again see the theme of dialectical unity between existence and non-existence. The theme also exists in how the bomb’s whole reason for existing is to blow up and cause non-existence…what will cause the bomb to blow up, anyway, in spite of the doubtfulness of its externally-derived orders to do so. After all, the safe and stable existence of the space colonizers is dependent on the destruction and, therefore, non-existence of unstable planets that threaten colonization…rather like white colonizers’ ethnic cleansing of natives.

Meanwhile, Boiler thinks he can break the bomb free of the ship by taking that laser rifle he was using before for target practice and shoot the support pins out. Pinback knows Boiler’s idea is crazy, as he’s a bad shot. The two fight. Here, we see, not just a lack of communication leading to late imperialism’s self-destruction (allegorically speaking), but also how fighting and a lack of cooperation or mutual aid lead to it. Boiler wants to use violence to solve the problem; both he and Pinback are throwing punches at each other.

Once the bomb has stood down to ponder its Cartesian doubt, Boiler and Pinback realize they no longer need to fight, so they leave the area where the gun is and return to their stations.

The bomb, however, has decided to go off after all, since as I said above, blowing up is its whole raison d’être. Non-existence is the reason for its existence. Understanding that only itself is provably existent, while absolutely nothing else can be provably so, Bomb #20 goes into a state of solipsism: it’s like Descartes proving his own existence, yet not proceeding to prove the existence of anything else.

This solipsism is thus like the bomb’s rationalization for narcissistic self-absorption. Only it exists, so only it matters; and if its only reason to exist is to destroy itself and become non-existent, then so…be…it. Narcissism leads to the destruction of all of us.

In a horrifying irony, it prefaces its act of annihilation by alluding to the first few verses of chapter one of Genesis, speaking narcissistically as if it were God, bringing about the Creation of the universe. It says, “Let there be light,” and blows up. Yahweh has thus become Shiva, who in destruction allows a new cycle of birth, life, and death to begin. Existence in non-existence.

Just before the ship has been blown up, Doolittle asked Boiler and Pinback to let him back into the ship. They opened the emergency hatch, but Talby was just by it, so he’s been thrown out into space, and Doolittle has to go off to fetch him. With the ship blown up, and Boiler and Pinback dead, Doolittle and Talby see the pieces of the ship floating by in space. The best that the damaged computer could do to mitigate the severity of the blast was to reduce its diameter to a mile around the ship; hence, the unstable planet hasn’t been blown up, and Doolittle and Talby have only been thrown clear, floating in opposite directions.

Though they’re both soon to die, Doolittle and Talby will, in a way, have their earlier wishes fulfilled. The latter will not only get to see the Phoenix asteroids, but he’ll also be carried away with them…to circle the universe forever. He’s thus a kind of Phoenix rising from the ashes of his world’s whole destruction. He’s found heaven in hell, existence in non-existence.

Doolittle sees Powell spinning away in a block of ice. He, too, is experiencing life in death, existence in non-existence. Finally, Doolittle gets his hands on a ladder from the floating debris of the ship. He’ll use this as a kind of makeshift surfboard, and he’ll surf his way to the planet as a falling star and die there, a genuinely funny visual to end the movie, during which we’ll also hear “Benson, Arizona” again during the end credits.

Now, I’m not saying that the comic book superhero had any direct influence on the movie, but I find it irresistible to make an association between the two here. Doolittle, in his silver spacesuit and on the silver ladder-as-surfboard, looks like the Silver Surfer going through space. I find this comparison apt when we consider Dark Star‘s Galactus-like mission, the destruction/consumption of worlds. Doolittle was the herald, as it were, of the mission, and since he’d do little to repair the malfunctioning ship, his destruction of others heralded his own destruction as a falling star.

His fate is rather like how our own short-sighted imperialists, colonialists, and other oligarchs are heralding our and their own destruction, the falling stars of the West.

The Tanah–The Laws, Book 1, Chapter 4

[The following is the twentieth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, here is the seventeenth, here is the eighteenth, and here is the nineteenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

While it is perfectly good and wise to use magic to aid and benefit others, and wicked and foolish to use it for selfish or malignant ends, the very best use of magic is to gain knowledge and enlightenment. As far as enemies of the community are concerned, magic should be used for defence–never for attack.

Use magic as an aid in meditation, for contemplation of the foundations of all being in the world: the Three Unities of Space, Time, and Action; the Echo Effect, and how to make it return good to oneself, and not evil; the Crims of air, Weleb, fire, Nevil, earth, Drofurb, and water, Priff–not to use them for personal gain at the expense of others, but for how they interact with and parallel the Unity of Action and the Echo Effect; and the most foundational of everything, Cao and the Pluries.

One should use magic to help in studying all of these, to know the world better, to understand its rhythms, and thus to become wiser. This wisdom will aid in making decisions that will benefit the community, deliver them, we hope, from their current slavery under the Zoyans, and protect them from the temptations that do only harm.

In this, we can see the wisdom of combining magic with the old teachings. If used well, magic can give concrete examples of exactly why the old teachings are wise and correct; if used foolishly, to replace the old teachings, magic will be only a curse to the community, if not now or soon after, surely at some point in the distant future, and it will be only a harsher curse the later it comes.

If one wishes to contemplate the Three Unities of Space, Time, and Action, while also contemplating the four Crims of the elements, one can sit in a bath of water up to the neck, with the smell of mud surrounding it, a breeze blowing around one’s head, and a fire burning nearby. With one’s eyes closed and breathing in and out slowly and deeply, one relaxes, goes into a trance, and can feel not only a closeness to Priff, Drofurb, Weleb, and Nevil, but also the waves of Cao with Weleb’s breeze blowing on the water.

In feeling the unity of all things in this way–the unity of the complementing Crims, the wavelike Unity of Space in Cao, and also staying mindful of the ever-present now–the Unity of Time–one can feel how the Echo Effect moves to bring weal or woe to us all. While sitting thus in the bath, one can chant, “Cao, Pluries, make me know you,” over and over again. The bath is best had outside, so that after the chant has been said enough times, the rain should fall, soaking one’s head in the Pluries to achieve even greater illumination. It is good that the rain will quench the nearby flames; the spell will thus help to calm the fires of desire, malice, and selfish craving.

Doing this meditation and spell often enough will help one feel a oneness between oneself and all others, even with animal and plant life, thus strengthening love, compassion, and goodwill to all others, even to those outside the community. If enough of the community does this meditation and spell regularly, it may even cause the Echo Effect to free us all from slavery to the Zoyans.

[The text breaks off here.]

Analysis of ‘MASH’

I: Introduction

MASH: A Novel about Three Army Doctors was written by Richard Hooker (with the help of WC Heinz) and published in 1968. It was adapted into the 1970 feature film by Robert Altman (with a screenplay by Ring Lardner, Jr.), which starred Donald Sutherland, Elliott Gould, and Tom Skerritt, with Robert Duvall, Sally Kellerman, René Auberjonois, Roger Bowen, Fred Williamson, and Gary Burghoff.

From these came the long-running hit TV series (1972-1983) whose original cast included Alan Alda, Wayne Rogers, McLean Stevenson, Larry Linville, Loretta Swit, William Christopher (except for the pilot episode, which had George Morgan as Father Mulcahy), Timothy Brown, and Burghoff. Both the film and TV series use the story’s setting, a US Mobile Army Surgical Hospital in the Korean War, as an allegory for the Vietnam War.

Neither Hooker nor Altman liked the TV series, feeling it took the story in the opposite direction of its original purpose. In contrast to the liberal, anti-war stance of the series, with its tendency to advocate progressive causes (e.g., opposition to discrimination against blacks, tolerance of gays, equality of the sexes), Hooker was politically conservative. In fact, the novel uses a number of racial slurs (particularly against Asians, as opposed to Alda’s Hawkeye calling out US troops for referring to Koreans as “gooks”; only bigotry against blacks is judged by Hawkeye as wrong), and its protagonists tend to refer to women as “broads.” In the film, the MASH unit’s dentist wants to commit suicide because a moment of erectile dysfunction has made him worry he’s become a “fairy.”

Here‘s a link to a PDF of the novel, a link to an audiobook of it, and a link to quotes from the film.

II: Political Background

As for the contrast between the liberal TV series and the conservative/apolitical novel and film, though, I’d place these contrasting stances at the centre-left and right of a continuum. For as noble as it may be to talk about ending war, as is often wished for on the TV show (as opposed to the novel’s doctors’ indifference to the issue, and instead just wanting to finish their time in the army and return home), the real left-wing stance, the one that is truly to be contrasted with the general stance of the entire MASH franchise, is that the US Army should never have meddled in Korea in the first place, as was the case with Vietnam, too, the aforementioned allegory of the story.

Conventional wisdom would have us believe that, during the Cold War, the capitalist ‘free world’ had to contain and stop the spread of communism, therefore both North Korea and North Vietnam had to be stopped by American military intervention. Actually, as had been revealed years later, the Gulf of Tonkin incident that was used to justify greater American involvement in Vietnam was a lie. Similarly, the conventional narrative that a North Korean invasion of South Korea, which would involve Soviet and Maoist Chinese involvement, started the war was also based on dishonest accounts from hawks like MacArthur, as is related in IF Stone‘s Hidden History of the Korean War, 1950-1951. These wars were just exercises in, and excuses for, US imperialism.

It is further assumed that South Korea is the free, liberal democracy, and that North Korea is the brutal, totalitarian dictatorship. Actually, South Korea has been occupied by the US ever since just after the end of WWII, hardly giving the people a breather after the Japanese occupation of the land, with its exploitation of Korean ‘comfort women.’ US troops soon would also use Korean women as prostitutes to satisfy the men’s lust.

As for the ‘totalitarian DPRK,’ while it’s surely difficult living there because of Western economic sanctions placed on the country, living in a place that provides (or at least strives to provide…sanctions notwithstanding) free or affordable housing, healthcare, education, and other basic needs is far better than living in a country of cutthroat capitalism, the kind that causes the poverty dramatized in films like Parasite. People in the West might also want to reconsider how ‘free’ they are in a world drowning in neoliberal capitalism.

So when we contrast the TV series of MASH, on the one side, against the novel and film, what we’re really dealing with is a culture war of liberal vs conservative, not left vs right. Everyone knows that conservatives are on the right, of course. Liberals, though, are properly understood to be swaying whichever way the political wind happens to be blowing at the time. During the decade that the TV series was on the air, that political wind blew in a relatively leftward direction. Anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear should be able to understand which direction liberals have been blowing under leaders like Clinton, Obama, Biden, Tony Blair, Justin Trudeau, etc.

Seen in a broader political context, conservatism vs liberalism is just moderate-to-extreme right-wing infighting. This context will help us understand the MASH franchise as a whole.

III: Foreword, Chapters One and Two

After a brief foreword–in which Hooker explains how the paradoxical combination of stress from overwork and nothing-to-do boredom, from living and working in a MASH unit during the Korean War, made some of the staff into insubordinate, scruffy, badly-behaved alcoholics (i.e., the Swampmen)–the book goes into a description of Corporal “Radar” O’Reilly (Burghoff), and where he is from–Ottumwa, Iowa. He’s called “Radar” because he has ESP: he can “receive messages and monitor conversations far beyond the usual range of human hearing.”

Radar, sitting at a poker game in the Painless Polish Poker and Dental Clinic of the 4077th MASH, can hear the commanding officer of the unit, Lt. Col. Henry Blake (Bowen; Stevenson), shouting into his phone in his office that he needs two surgeons. In the film, Radar demonstrates his ESP by saying Blake’s words just as Blake is saying them, standing outside, by a chopper with wounded.

The two doctors that the 4077th will get are Captains Benjamin Franklin Pierce, or “Hawkeye” (Sutherland; Alda), and Augustus Bedford Forrest, or “Duke” (Skerritt). Hawkeye got his nickname from his father, who read The Last of the Mohicans; he’s from Crabapple Cove, Maine. Duke is from Georgia; the character never appears in the TV series, though in a season 3 episode, when asked what happened to “that surgeon you had from Georgia”, the answer given is, “He got sent stateside!”

From the physical description given Hawkeye in the novel, Sutherland looked a lot more like him than Alda. He and Duke steal a jeep and drink a bottle of alcohol on their way from Transient Officers’ Quarters at the 325th Evacuation Hospital in Yong-Dong-Po to the 4077th. Both men are married and with kids; but that won’t stop them from fooling around.

They come into Ouijongbu, where they drive past The Famous Club Service Whorehouse, which has contributed much to the venereal disease problem faced by the US Army Medical Corps. An American flag is seeing flying from its central edifice. Such signs as these, in combination with the irreverent attitude of Hawkeye, Duke, and the other Swampmen to be introduced later, illustrate the imperialist encroachments on Korea.

Hawkeye’s plan on arriving at the 4077th is for him and Duke to work so hard as surgeons that they outclass the other talent there. They’ll thus be able to get away with their insubordination and other acts of naughtiness.

Arriving at the 4077th, Hawkeye and Duke go into the mess hall and meet Blake, who already thinks they’re “a pair of weirdos.” He tells them they’ll be living with Major Hobson in his tent; Blake would have Radar told of the order, but Radar’s already there to take them, thanks to his ESP.

The film takes Hobson and merges him with Frank Burns (Duvall; Linville), who is a captain in the novel, but because of this merging, becomes a major in the film and TV series. Hobson’s/Burns’s praying for everybody is comical and annoying to the non-religious Hawkeye and Duke, who insist that Blake get him out of their tent; the two also insist that Blake get a chest surgeon. This will result in the arrival of Captain “Trapper” John McIntyre (Gould; Rogers).

IV: Chapter Three

McIntyre is from Winchester High Medical School, in Boston. His face is hiding inside a parka hood when he meets everybody, and at first he seems aloof, laconic, and introverted. Hawkeye finds him familiar, though.

It’s when Hawkeye offers McIntyre a martini that he finally comes out of his shell, happily accepting the martini but insisting on olives for his, Hawkeye’s, and Duke’s drinks. He has a bottle of olives in his parka pocket, so all three can have one.

Hawkeye is still trying to remember where he’s seen McIntyre before. One day, the latter picks up a football that’s just landed at his feet. He throws a perfect pass to Hawkeye, who’s now racking his brain trying to remember who McIntyre is. Finally, he realizes that McIntyre is “Trapper” John, an old football player from the Boston/Maine area.

He got his nickname after being caught fooling around with a woman in the ladies’ room at the Boston and Maine train. She said to the conductor, who found her with McIntyre, “He trapped me!”

It’s interesting how, when Hawkeye finally remembers, he says, “Jesus to Jesus and eight hands around, Duke!” Trapper is replacing a major who prays to Jesus. Trapper, in Chapter Seven, will dress up as Jesus in a scheme to raise money to help a Korean houseboy, Ho-Jon (played by Kim Atwood in the film, and by Patrick Adiarte on the TV show), go to the US to study in a university there. There’s a lot of Christian imagery in the novel and film, though it’s usually presented in an irreverent way. Chaplin Father Mulcahy (Auberjonois; Christopher) is well-liked, but derogatorily nicknamed “Dago Red” for his mixed Irish-Italian descent and his red hair.

V: Chapter Four

In this chapter, we learn that the tent that Hawkeye, Duke, and Trapper are sleeping in will be called The Swamp, hence the three are known as the Swampmen. A sign, in big capital letters saying THE SWAMP, is painted in red on the door of the tent.

It’s called The Swamp in part because the tent resembles “the kind of haunt one might come across in a bog”…in other words, the place is a mess. It’s also the centre of social activity in the 4077th, where the three doctors do their boozing.

When one combines the Dionysian messiness of The Swamp with the sloppiness of the three doctors–that is, their often being unshaved and without the short haircuts one would expect of not just army men, but men of pre-Beatles Western society–we see in their sloppy appearance, as well as in the (often mean) pranks they pull on others and their general contempt for authority, a personification of the kind of mess the US army left Korea in by the end of the war.

A certain group of people are mostly marginalized in the novel, film, and TV series–the Koreans, played mostly by Japanese-American and Chinese-American actors. (The situation with Ho-Jon, to be dealt with below, is one of the few exceptions to the rule of marginalization.) As I said above, racial slurs against Asians are used a number of times in the novel, including by our presumably sympathetic Swampmen. As I’ve also mentioned, Ho-Jon is one of many Korean houseboys, there to do menial chores for the American army hospital staff–in other words, their servants. Finally, I’ve mentioned the reality of Korean prostitution for American GIs, something acknowledged in the novel, but never judged.

This marginalization and racism should form the backdrop of what is the biggest issue of the Korean War, but one rarely given scrutiny in the West: how the US military bombed and destroyed pretty much everything in North Korea. 20% of the total population was killed. The US made a messy swamp, if you will, of North Korea. This reality might help Westerners to understand why the DPRK now has nuclear weapons–not to attack other nations, but to defend themselves. The collective trauma the surviving North Koreans suffered from those bombings meant they were determined never to let it happen again.

Audiences are charmed and amused by the Swampmen’s wisecracking, pranks, and general defiance of US military authority. While I am in principle sympathetic to such defiance, one must take into consideration the fact that one shouldn’t just defy authority for its own sake; one should instead look into the evils caused by that authority and direct one’s defiance against it with an aim to stop those evils.

The Swampmen in the novel and film aren’t interested in directing their defiance with such aims. They just want their fun and games (golf, football, drinking, poker, chasing women, etc.) to be uninterrupted by the officious military. Unlike the more progressively-minded Hawkeye and Trapper of the TV show, the novel’s and film’s Swampmen are just self-absorbed hedonists. As such, they fit in well, ironically, with the US empire’s depredations in East Asia.

One example of a victim of the Swampmen’s depredations is a Protestant chaplain named Shaking Sammy. In Chapter Four, we learn that this chaplain has a bad habit of writing overly optimistic letters to the families of wounded soldiers without inquiring into whether or not these soldiers’ wounds could have resulted in lethalities. Shaking Sammy will tell the soldiers’ families that all is well, and the soldiers will be home soon, for example…yet the soldiers in question could be dead, thus cruelly getting the families’ hopes up, only to be crushed when the truth is known to them.

He’s been warned repeatedly not to send such misguidedly optimistic messages, yet he still does it. Furious with Shaking Sammy, Duke and Hawkeye have him see them use their .45s to shoot all four tires of his jeep. Justice has been done, it seems.

Soon after dealing with a particularly difficult patient who, it seems at first, isn’t going to live, yet with the help of Father Mulcahy’s “remarkably effective Cross Action,” the doctors are able to save the wounded soldier after all. Hawkeye and Duke, very drunk, decide to show their gratitude to Mulcahy for his prayers.

They do so in the form of what Hawkeye calls “a human sacrifice”, and for their sacrificial victim, they choose Shaking Sammy, imagining in their total inebriation that Mulcahy will appreciate this ‘gift.’ Tying Sammy to a cross and surrounding him with a pile of hay and assorted inflammable junk on the ground, Hawkeye, Duke, and Trapper are lying on mattresses by him. Duke has a Molotov cocktail in his hand, and it looks as if Sammy’s about to be immolated.

Indeed, the contents of a gasoline can are poured on the debris surrounding Sammy as well as on him. Mulcahy watches the scene in horror, hoping to stop the Swampmen. Duke lights the Molotov cocktail and throws it at Sammy, who screams. It turns out, though, that it wasn’t gasoline that’s been poured on him and his “funeral pyre.” The Molotov just sizzles and goes out.

So no, they didn’t kill Sammy, but they gave him one hell of a scare. This is an example of how mean and excessive the Swampmen’s pranks can be. Another example, from the film, is the famous dropping of the shower tent, exposing the nakedness of the beautiful but disliked head nurse before the entire camp, publicly humiliating her.

The Swampmen know they can get away with this kind of scurrilous behaviour because of their skill as surgeons, and because of how needed they are when the wounded come into the 4077th, as will be the case soon after the prank pulled on Shaking Sammy. Three companies of Canadians will be coming in, flooding the 4077th with casualties, as Hawkeye is aware. The surgeons can’t operate while under arrest.

Tying Sammy to a cross and making him into a “human sacrifice,” a chaplain made into a kind of lamb of God to take away the sin of the world, is an example of the novel’s use of Christian imagery to ridicule religion. As I said above, the Swampmen stick their tongues out at authority, including the authority of the Church, not to right any wrongs inflicted by the powers-that-be, but simply to be enfants terribles for the sheer fun of it. However ill-conceived the optimism may be of Sammy’s letters, he has been cruelly and unusually punished for them.

VI: Chapter Five

Captain Walter Koskiusko Waldowski (played by John Schuck) is the dentist of the 4077th. He’s known as “The Painless Pole” because of his amazing skill at doing dentistry without it hurting his patients. His dental clinic is also where poker games are played, so he is the most popular man in the outfit. Apart from poker and dentistry, his greatest hobby is women.

He’s well-endowed, too…so much so that whenever he takes a shower, other men stop by to see his equipment with awe and admiration. I suspect he’s bipolar, though, since according to the novel, he suffers monthly bouts of depression, each one lasting anywhere from twenty-four hours to about three days. On one particular occasion, he tells the Swampmen he wants to commit suicide because of one moment of impotence.

Hence the song, “Suicide Is Painless,” as the MASH theme music, heard in instrumental form on the TV show, and for the film, with a lyric by Mike Altman, the then 14-year-old son of Robert Altman (music by Johnny Mandel). The song is sung twice in the film, first by “The Mash” (John and Tom Bahler, Ron Hicklin, and Ian Freebairn-Smith) during the opening credits, then by Ken Prymus (playing Private Seidman) during the scene of Painless’s suicide attempt.

Duke and Hawkeye suggest that Painless use a “black capsule” to kill himself with. The Swampmen et al have no intention, of course, of letting Painless kill himself; their plan instead is to cure him of his suicide ideation by, ironically, indulging him in it. This plan, along with their helping Ho-Jon to go to an American university, is one of the few genuinely charitable acts of the Swampmen in the novel or film, which in turn makes them even remotely likable.

They plan to put amytal, a barbiturate derivative with sedative-hypnotic properties, into Painless’s “black capsule.” They figure he’ll take it after getting him drunk, then when he wakes up, he’ll be OK.

On the night of the supposed suicide, everyone will have a party for Painless in his dental clinic/poker hangout. The party is called “The Last Supper”; in the film, there’s even a shot of all the men seated at a pair of long tables as a parody of Leonardo da Vinci’s painting.

Painless is more or less at the centre, where Christ is in the painting. So this scene is another example of MASH using Christian imagery and concepts irreverently. Christ, after His Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, accepted His impending death on the Cross; Painless is about to die (or so he thinks). Christ was raised from the dead; Painless will rise from…well…a death-like state, anyway.

The irony here is that Painless’s salvation will come by a suicide attempt, the ultimate loss of faith, whereas we are saved by Christ through faith. In wanting to save one’s life, one will lose it; but in losing one’s life for Christ, one saves it (Luke 9:24). His yoke is easy, and His burden is light (Matthew 11:30). Suicide is painless. ‘Tis a consummation/Devoutly to be wished (Hamlet, Act III, Scene i). Fittingly, Mike Altman’s lyric quotes “to be or not to be.”

Suicide is painless because, of course, life is painful. Part of the ostensible purpose of religion is to provide solace for that pain. One ‘loses’ one’s life, for the sake of Christ, or to attain nirvana, to achieve painlessness…hence the Painless Pole is a kind of Christ figure, if comically so.

Koreans were historically Buddhist and/or Confucian, and such thinking is still quite influential there today, but it has waned somewhat in the modern world, with today’s influence of secular thinking and Christianity. We’ll learn that Ho-Jon is Christian, and with his trip to the US to study there, he’ll be further inculcated with such Western ideas.

The point is that Western imperialism’s encroachment on Korea has its cultural as well as military aspects, so the Christian imagery in MASH is apt, even if presented irreverently. The irreverence is just part of the theme of defiance of authority for its own sake: it never rights wrongs. As long as liberals can enjoy imperialist privileges in the countries the West occupies, they’ll give the finger to authority all they like, and it won’t make a real difference to the occupied.

Anyway, to get back to Painless, in the novel, while he’s sedated from the amytal in the black capsule, a blue ribbon has been tied to his cock (implying the return of his sexual prowess), he’s been hooked to a harness and dropped from a helicopter (Is this to imply that he’s supposed to believe that he died, harrowed heaven, then had a resurrection back on Earth?); all of this has apparently ended his depression and suicide ideation. As for the film, during his sedation, the gorgeous nurse, Lt. “Dish” Schneider (played by Jo Ann Pflug in the film and by Karen Philipp on the TV series), has been asked by Hawkeye to sleep with Painless and thus allay his fear that he’s becoming a “fairy.” She does so, and his depression is cured.

VII: Chapter Six

This chapter deals essentially with Frank Burns (Duvall; Linville), a captain before the film and TV series promoted him to major. Hawkeye hates him more than anyone else. Burns will never admit his faults as a surgeon, blaming any problems or deaths on someone else, or they’re held to be acts of God. He also has a $35,000 home and two cars back in the States; he has no formal training in surgery, having learned from his father.

On one occasion, a patient in Burns’s care dies after a rather simple hospital staff worker, Private Lorenzo Boone (played by Bud Cort) tries to use a non-functioning suction machine on the patient. Burns claims Boone killed the patient. Not being very bright, Boone assumes Burns’s opinion, as a doctor, is of infallible authority, and he is overwhelmed with guilt and weeps over the death.

Duke sees this exchange, and he hits Burns. In the film, it’s Trapper who sees it and hits him; in the novel, Trapper hits him on a later occasion.

Burns will develop a mutual admiration for and romantic interest in the new Chief Nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan (Kellerman; Swit). While in the book and the film, Burns will be kicked out of the 4077th and sent stateside after he physically attacks Hawkeye for taunting him about his (in the novel, only rumoured) sexual relationship with her, in the TV series, both Burns and Houlihan will stay at the MASH and personify the hated army authoritarianism that the Swampmen rebel against. But again, it’s a self-absorbed, American antagonism between the two sides that has little, if anything, to do with leaving the Koreans alone.

VIII: Chapter Seven

This is the chapter in which the Swampmen raise money to help their Korean houseboy, Ho-Jon, go to the US to study in university there. As I said above, this is one of their few charitable acts in the novel. Even with this one, though, there are some qualifying factors to consider.

As I’ve tried to argue from the beginning, the Americans shouldn’t have been in Korea in the first place. A few scruffy American doctors sticking their tongues out at military authoritarians does nothing to compensate for the damage caused to the Koreans by occupying, bombing, prostituting, and forcing capitalism on them.

If the Koreans had wanted to pursue socialism after the end of the Japanese occupation, then that was their prerogative. Imposing starvation sanctions on the DPRK, and then claiming disingenuously that their problems are all because ‘socialism doesn’t work,’ has been a tried-and-true tactic that Western imperialism had used on a number of occasions, including Cuba and Venezuela. If ‘socialism doesn’t work,’ then just let the countries attempting to build it fail on their own, and after a few months, they should be running back crying to the capitalist West for salvation. Instead, consider what Cuba, burdened with an economic embargo from the 1960s, has been able to achieve.

Ho-Jon would be properly described as an Asian Uncle Tom. He thinks his Swampmen masters are “the three greatest people in the world.” Sure, the three doctors are good to him: they allow him to spend time with them in The Swamp when he isn’t shining their shoes, doing their laundry, etc.; they help him with his English. All of this can be seen as simple rewards for the boy’s loyalty to them. Accordingly, they like him as much as he likes them.

Ho-Jon still has to fight in the war, though, despite the attempts of Blake and the Swampmen to intercede with the Korean government…he’s seventeen at the time, and he gets wounded, with a mortar fragment in his chest. He thus returns to the 4077th to be operated on by Hawkeye and Trapper.

After the surgery and Ho-Jon is getting better, the Swampmen are debating which college would be the best one for him to study in. After briefly considering Dartmouth and Georgia (the latter being a place where the KKK won’t take kindly to an Asian being there), the Swampmen agree on Androscoggin College. Hawkeye writes to the dean, who replies, saying Ho-Jon will need a thousand dollars a year. To raise the money, which will probably add up to five or six thousand, including travel and expenses other than the aforementioned tuition, the Swampmen decide to have Trapper, as hairy as he is, dress up like Jesus, and sell photos of ‘Him.’

Mulcahy doesn’t like the idea of religion for money, but the Swampmen know “there are a lot of screwballs in the army” who will buy the photos for laughs and souvenirs, and there doesn’t seem to be any other way to raise money for Ho-Jon. Once again, MASH uses Christianity irreverently, and we see in it more of Western culture imposed on Korea.

By “more of Western culture impose on Korea,” I mean that Trapper’s clowning around in a Jesus outfit in South Korea and making money from the photos is a symbolic presentation of Christian missionary work and capitalism nosing their way around Asia to spread their influence among the locals. Ho-Jon is already a Christian–that is, he’s been indoctrinated with Western values and ethics–and he’s about to be educated in an American university. The Swampmen are content to work to raise money to send their friend there and be further indoctrinated. Consider in this connection how much money the American government has given to South Korea to keep the country under its spell.

IX: Chapters Eight and Nine

A soldier whose father is a US Congressman has been wounded, and the Congressman wants Trapper to fly to Japan with an assistant doctor, Hawkeye, and do emergency surgery on the boy. The doctors’ major motivation in going to Japan, though, is to play golf there. They even bring their golf clubs with them.

When they get there, Hawkeye reconnects with an old friend, “Me Lay” Marston, who is an anesthesiologist and helps a Japanese doctor run a pediatric hospital that doubles as a whorehouse. In fact, the place unabashedly calls itself “Dr. Yamamoto’s Finest Kind Pediatric Hospital and Whorehouse,” or FKPH&W, for short. This openness shouldn’t be all that surprising, for of course, the US military has been known for frequenting such places in East Asia, as I’ve mentioned above.

When the doctors are going to the operating area, an army nurse tries to stop them. During the operation, a colonel shows his disapproval of their barging in to the place. Neither of these people deter the doctors, obviously. Examples of their usual defiance of military authority can be seen in the film. Again, though, this defiance of authority is just about two men who want to get the surgery out of the way as soon as possible so they can play as much golf as they can get in. They don’t want to wait around for the right people to arrive so they can be authorized to operate. They’re not even dressed as doctors: they’re all scruffy and have their golf clubs with them. Military authority isn’t an oppression to be overthrown–it’s just an inconvenience.

Later, while Trapper and Hawkeye are playing golf, some women caddies there get the impression that Trapper is Jesus when Hawkeye says the Lord’s name in vain after Trapper has hit a good shot. Hawkeye still has some old Jesus photos of Trapper on him, so he gives them to the “bimboes…[who] are on a real Christian kick.”

Though it looks as if Trapper and Hawkeye are planning to get laid, and they even hope to hang out in FKPH&W, speaking of which place, Me Lay wants the two doctors to take care of a half-white, half-Japanese baby, the result of an American john and a careless prostitute there. The doctors deal with the baby’s medical problems and talk Me Lay into adopting the orphan.

That officious colonel, who doesn’t approve of the Swampmen’s dealings with the baby, is blackmailed with photos of himself in bed with a prostitute, so the doctors won’t get in trouble. After all of these adventures, though, the doctors must rush back to the 4077th to deal with a huge, seemingly endless deluge of wounded, which is what Chapter Nine is all about.

X: Chapter Ten

This chapter starts with a description of Captain “Ugly John” Black (played by Carl Gottlieb in the film, and by John Orchard in the TV series), the 4077th’s anesthesiologist, how important he is to the hospital, and how his work is never done. He’s called Ugly John in the novel as an ironic joke: he’s actually “the handsomest man in the outfit.” He also hates everyone in the Commonwealth Division: Brits, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, etc.

Later on in the chapter, a new doctor arrives who is christened by Trapper with the nickname of “Jeeter.” He shares some martinis with the Swampmen, and as he’s getting tipsier and tipsier with each drink, Jeeter reveals how horny he is for the women there. He gets advice from Hawkeye on how he can get his hands on a nurse; while Hawkeye offers a few suggestions, he’s not sure which one is the best, so Trapper suggests that Jeeter announce his availability to all the nurses in the mess hall.

By now so drunk that he’s staggering, Jeeter goes to the mess hall with the help of the Swampmen, and standing at the doorway, he announces his availability in the crudest and most aggressive terms possible, shocking everyone there. Trapper can’t resist inspiring him to say he’ll start by screwing “Hot Lips” Houlihan.

Now, “Hot Lips” has been Major Houlihan’s official nickname, much to her chagrin, ever since her sexual relationship with Frank Burns. Trapper is the one who has christened her with the nickname, though in the film, it’s inspired by her telling Burns to “kiss [her] hot lips,” not knowing that a microphone has been surreptitiously placed by her in her tent where she and Burns have been making love.

Another surgeon, Roger the Dodger, arrives at the 4077th, and he’s inspired to shout out “Hot Lips Houlihan,” which will provoke her all the more.

In the novel, she races into Col. Blake’s tent, fresh from the showers and wildly irate. There’s no reference to a prank involving the shower tent dropping and exposing her nakedness to the whole 4077th, as in the movie, but it’s easy to see how the filmmakers took the idea of the prank as implied in the novel.

When she goes into Blake’s tent, the ends of her hair are still wet, and the strap of her shower cap is hanging from an end of her towel. She obviously ran out of the shower tent before she was finished in there, because the Swampmen, “those beasts, those THINGS,” have upset her so severely. She threatens she’ll resign her commission if Blake won’t do anything about them.

Blake couldn’t care less if she does. He never properly disciplines any of the Swampmen. As she says, the 4077th “isn’t a hospital…It’s an insane asylum,” and Blake is to blame for not using his authority to stop men like McIntyre from calling her “Hot Lips.”

This incident, especially as it’s represented in the film, underlines another unsavoury aspect of the original MASH that makes nonsense of the more progressive aspects of the TV series: its sexist attitude towards women. Houlihan may be a major, but she’s given no respect. In the TV series, especially the later seasons, much is made of her as a spokeswoman for sexual equality in the army.

Not so in the novel or film, where women are called “broads,” chased by the men for sex, objectified and exposed as described above, had orders barked at them by the Swampmen to do such things as cook for them, etc. All of this fits in line with the imperialist project of trying to control the entire Korean Peninsula, as well as Japan, where in both US-controlled places, there is prostitution provided for the GIs. A huge part of world domination is in controlling its women, as of the 2020s, just under 50% of the global population.

I never found the film’s shower scene with Houlihan amusing. It always came across to me as a mean, humiliating, demeaning prank devised by the immature Swampmen, all just to find out whether or not she’s a natural blonde. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: as charmless as army authoritarianism may be, cheap pranks like these are not the way to deal with it; they’re often not even funny.

Houlihan will try to get Blake in trouble by informing General Hammond (played by G. Wood) of how out of control the staff of the 4077th are. Ultimately, nothing will be done about it. Indeed, the general goes so far as to say, “Screw her.”

XI: Chapter Eleven

Blake has been sent to Japan for temporary duty at the Tokyo Army Hospital. He’s been replaced by Col. Horace DeLong for the three weeks that Blake is gone. DeLong, another regular army guy, will be quite dismayed with the erratic behaviour of the scruffy Swampmen, though he will come to respect Hawkeye for his skills as a surgeon.

Bored during a spell of no wounded, and suffering in the heat, the Swampmen get some amusement by pretending they’ve gone insane. They speak of mermaids as if they were real, and they tell DeLong that when they catch a mermaid, they’ll “screw the ass off her.” They figure that if they can convince DeLong that they’re nuts, they’ll be sent to some psychiatrists in Seoul for a while, then get sent back to the 4077th in time for when more wounded come.

To add to the craziness about mermaids, Hawkeye says he’ll agree to DeLong’s plan–to have the Swampmen go to the 325th Evac for psychiatric observation–if he can get “a shot at the epileptic whore,” an idea inspired by a psychiatrist Hawkeye once knew who had a female epileptic patient; she’d go crazy every time her husband tried to have sex with her. Hawkeye hopes to find such a prostitute in Seoul during the Swampmen’s rest and ‘therapy.’

They go to the 325th Evac, meet a psychiatrist named Maj. Haskell, and do their crazy routine with him. They act as though Hawkeye is the worst case. When Haskell meets Hawkeye, the latter makes a number of incoherent remarks to seem crazy.

The Swampmen also find a place where they can get at the “epileptic whore”–Mrs. Lee’s, whose brothel’s girls are “velly clean.” They visit the place, but don’t end up trying the prostitute with “hysterical convulsion[s].”

XII: Chapter Twelve

Hawkeye gets the idea to have the 4077th set up a football team. He considers certain men in the unit, including one named Vollmer, to be a centre, then Jeeter as a second string halfback, among others, all of whom have had football playing experience, according to Hawkeye. Their new team can play against that of the 325th Evac, a team coached by General Hammond.

Since Hammond’s team is really good, Hawkeye knows someone who can be a ringer to ensure that the 4077th can beat the 325th Evac: Captain Oliver Wendell Jones–“Spearchucker,” (Williams; Timothy Brown in the TV series) an excellent football player who’s become a neurosurgeon. When Duke hears the man’s name, he (correctly) assumes that Jones is black, flaring up Duke’s racial prejudice.

Hawkeye gives Duke a slight chiding for calling Jones a “nigra,” and when Duke meets Jones and taunts him a bit, Jones puts him properly in his place. This is the first time in Hooker’s novel that someone is called out for using racial slurs or otherwise demonstrating racial bigotry. Since the novel was published in 1968, it is safe to assume that, because of the Civil Rights movement, conservative Hooker knew he couldn’t get away with racism against blacks the way he could racism against Asians at the time. Still, calling Jones “Spearchucker,” a nickname he accepts because he “used to throw the javelin,” is plenty racist as it is.

The Swampmen go to Blake to make a twin request that is really one: they need a neurosurgeon, Jones specifically, and they need him also for the 4077th’s new football team. Blake remembers that Hammond coaches the 325th Evac team, and that Hammond’s sense of how to coach a football team is years out of date; Blake also knows that with Jones playing for the 4077th, they can beat Hammond’s team and make a lot of money. After all, people bet on these football games, and so a profit can be made on them.

When Blake agrees to set up the new 4077th football team, insisting that he be their coach, Hawkeye is pleased and tells the other Swampmen, “Henry believes in free enterprise, too.” Note here the combination of capitalism with the liberal concession of having a black man on the football team. Of course, the far more progressive stance of the TV series includes far greater respect for blacks…the dealing with “Spearchucker” early on notwithstanding.

The character had been written out of the TV series by the end of season one because it had been understood that there were no black surgeons in MASH units during the Korean War, and so the sitcom’s creator was concerned, apparently, with maintaining historical accuracy (about something most people probably wouldn’t have known, anyway; and actually, there had been several black surgeons at the time). Hmm: a TV series–one that ran for just over a decade about a war that had lasted for only a little over three years, that was meant as an allegory about the Vietnam War, and which had men in the early 1950s with shaggy 1970s hair instead of short, army haircuts–fired a black actor because of concern about historical accuracy? Speaking of racism…

Then again, continuing to call a black man “Spearchucker” over and over again would have been problematic in itself for a TV show that was to be more politically progressive, anyway. In all of this, we can see how the contrast between the show, the film, and the novel is not a conservative/liberal dichotomy, but rather a continuum between the two supposedly opposing political stances.

XIII: Chapter Thirteen

When the players of the new 4077th football team are practicing, they’re awful, but not hopeless. When the game happens, it turns out that Hammond has a few pro footballers of his own for his team, so the 4077th will have to find ways around such obstacles…including cheating. One of the pros, for example, is surreptitiously given a sedative during a pileup in order to incapacitate him.

One way to think about this football game is to allegorize it as a war, except that instead of it being a war between the capitalist West and the ‘dirty commie’ North Koreans and Chinese, it’s a war between the scruffy anti-authoritarians and the military authority, as personified by Hammond’s team. Such an interpretation seems fitting, since throughout the novel and the film, we get very little of the actual Korean War, apart from all the wounded needing surgery.

This war-allegory ties in with what I’ve been saying on and off throughout this analysis: there’s very little concern with the actual war and the damage that was done to the Koreans at the hands of US imperialism. All the MASH staff care about is themselves. They deal with the horrors of war not by demanding a stop to it or by making fun of anti-communist hysteria (as happens from time to time in the TV series), but instead by indulging in pleasure: boozing, sex, golf, and now, football. They oppose the military not because of its imperialism, but because it gets in the way of their fun.

The football players are profiteering from bets on the game, just as there are profiteers in war. The team opposing that of the 4077th are called, significantly, “the enemy” in the novel. The game is a war, a comically self-absorbed one between Americans and Americans, with the Koreans so marginalized this time that they’re not even present.

One of the major reasons for divergences from the film and the novel (and even Lardner’s script, for that matter) is Altman’s encouragement of his actors to improvise, to allow more creative freedom for them and to have more spontaneous interactions between them, adding more realism. One result of this indulgence in MASH is, during the football game, Schuck as Painless saying, “Alright, bud, your fucking head is coming right off,” making this the first time in a mainstream Hollywood movie that that word was ever said…and allowed.

Another example of the 4077th team cheating is when Radar uses his ESP to listen in on the upcoming plays Hammond’s team is planning. They also use a trick involving Vollmer hiding the football and walking it over to the enemy’s side while everyone else is kept busy and distracted. As a result, the 4077th wins the game 28-24, and they make a huge profit.

This blatant disregard for the rules, as well as the contempt shown for authority, can be seen to represent the real political stance, if there even is one, of the Swampmen–they’re anarchists. Yet their penchant for making profits makes them a most dubious kind of anarchist…’anarcho’-capitalists! I told you this novel/film was far from left-wing or progressive.

XIV: Chapters Fourteen and Fifteen, and Conclusion

The days of the deployment of Hawkeye and Duke in South Korea are numbered, so between now and when they get sent home, Blake is having them teach two new doctors how to do “meatball surgery,” which is a set of surgical short-cuts, since saving the lives of the wounded is the priority, and not daintiness, which can be left to the doctors in, say, Tokyo.

In the final chapter, Hawkeye and Duke finally leave the 4077th and go back to the States. They do a lot of drinking on the way, and they engage in a lot of their usual naughtiness, including at one point shirking certain medical duties by pretending to be chaplains. Finally at home, they rejoin their wives and kids in Maine and Georgia.

In the TV series, though, of course, Hawkeye (as well as Frank Burns) have not gone home, and Hawkeye (played by the ever-so-charismatic Alan Alda) is a bachelor. The show truly was an allegory of the Vietnam War, the last years of which overlapped with the film and the first few seasons of the series. As a result, the TV show, with its eleven seasons, ended up turning a three-year-war into an eleven-year quagmire, if you will, in ironic imitation, it seems, of Nam.

The more progressive liberal stance of the TV show, as I said above, should be seen as on a continuum with the more conservative vision of Hooker and Altman, since the one progressive stance of consequence–that the US army should never have been in Korea in the first place–is never even considered, not in the novel, the film, or the TV show.

The Tanah–The Laws, Book 1, Chapter 3

[The following is the nineteenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, here is the seventeenth, and here is the eighteenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

Part of maintaining the unity of opposites, and finding a balance between them is to respect the unity between oneself and all other people, as well as animals and plants–the Unity of Space. All life must be respected when using magic, as so it must be used for good, used selflessly.

Magic spells must be conjured with thoughts to help those in need, not to harm others. Are there many poor among you? Use magic to lift them out of poverty, not to immiserate them further.

Conjure up food for the hungry to eat with your spells. Give them water to drink: if the rivers and lakes have dried up from a drought, use magic to make the rain fall again–call on Priff, the Crim of water, for aid. If the plants have all died, your spells should make the plants grow again, to fertilize the soil–call on Drofurb, the Crim of the earth, for aid.

Are there any sick among you? Use magic to heal them and restore them, in body and mind. If you use your spells to cause sickness or death on those you hate, the Echo Effect, the law of sow and reap, will bring such sickness and death back upon you!

Are there any without learning, without the ability to read and write, or who are lacking the knowledge and skills needed for a livelihood to earn one’s daily bread? Use your magic skills to give the ignorant this learning, these abilities, this knowledge, these skills. In helping others to learn and grow, you will be helping yourself, for their knowledge and abilities will come back to you one day, to help you through the Echo Effect.

Are there many among you without homes? Use your magic to build homes for them. Are there any naked and cold among you? Do spells to clothe them and keep them warm–call on Nevil, the Crim of fire, for aid.

When you use your magic to do good for others, do not ask for anything in return from those people: ask not for gold, servitude, nor for the pleasure of a woman in bed. Wait instead for the Echo Effect to give you your reward–waiting without impatient expectation!

Any use of magic for the benefit of oneself must be done with the greatest of care. Is this benefit to oneself justified? Is it reasonable, or is it in excess? Is it a waste of power? Is it indulgent? Is it truly needed, as those uses of magic to help others are, as noted above? Or is the benefit at the expense of other people?

Is the pleasure you receive from the spell harmful to others, or eventually to yourself? Do you use it to violate a woman? Do you use it for a temporary euphoria that will become poisonous to you? Do you use magic to gain by taking from others? Do you use it to rise in power by making others fall from it? Do your spells increase your wealth by making others poor?

If you do any of these evils, the Echo Effect will ensure that you will be harmed, violated, poisoned, losing by theft, falling from power, being made poor. In using magic, use the greatest of care. Consider how the Echo Effect may turn your spell around. Will it be turned around in a way that will do you good, or will it do you the evil that you yourself have caused?

Analysis of ‘Super Dark Times’

Super Dark Times is a 2017 coming-of-age psychological thriller directed by Kevin Phillips (his directorial debut) and written by Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski. It stars Owen Campbell, Charlie Tahan, Elizabeth Cappuccino, Max Talisman, and Amy Hargreaves.

The film has an 89% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes. It won the best feature film award at the 17th Neuchâtel International Fantastic Film Festival. It also won Best Sound Design in a Feature Film at the 2017 Music+Sound Awards. It also got nominations for the Saturn Award for Best Independent Film at the 44th Saturn Awards, and for the Someone to Watch Award at the 33rd Independent Spirit Awards.

Here is a link to quotes from the film, and here are links to the full movie.

What’s particularly intriguing about Super Dark Times is how there is so much that is subtly, vaguely hinted at beneath the surface, but is never explicitly demonstrated. The viewer is truly left in the…super…dark, leaving the film widely open to interpretation.

That title, for example. Why “SuperDark Times? Why not just Dark Times, or Very Dark Times, or Dangerously Dark Times, for example? Super Dark sounds rather inappropriately inarticulate and colloquial as an intensifier…unless another word is being implied here, like Supernatural Dark Times. I’ll build on this idea later.

The film certainly begins with the natural in darkness, for the opening shots show scenes of nature in 1996 Upstate New York, just as the sun is starting to rise. We see the trees of a forest as the sun continues to rise. Opening shots of a movie should be understood as setting the tone and establishing its central themes. This scenery isn’t there just to be pretty: there is meaning to it, or else it wouldn’t have been shot.

The natural will invade a local high school in the form of a deer having inexplicably crashed through a window and gone into a classroom. Wounded and bloody, it has managed to go out the classroom door, through a hall, and end up in the cafeteria, where it’s found bleeding to death on the floor.

Two policemen at the scene have decided to put the animal out of its misery by stomping on its head. Allison Bannister (Cappuccino) watches the killing with a troubled face, yet she’s fascinated with it, while everyone else leaves. Why does the violence interest, rather than repel, her? Why did a deer crash through the window in the first place? More importantly, how will this scene link up with the rest of the story?

So much of this film, as I said above, is about what we don’t know, rather than what we do. It’s all so…super dark. Natural imagery permeates the backgrounds of this small, lonely town, with trees and grass all over the place, as well as all of the darkness. Super natural dark times.

The setting is, more specifically, late autumn in 1996, with Christmas around the corner, and so all the decorations and Christmas trees are being put up. One thing to remember about the holiday season is that its pagan origins are in the celebration of the winter solstice, when the sun is furthest away from those living in the northern hemisphere. In pagan language, this means that the sun god (before he’d be seen as the Son of God) is to be born, when the supernaturally dark times are at their darkest.

These elements form the background behind which to place our story, about two rather dorky high school boys, Zach Taylor (Campbell) and Josh Templeton (Tahan), who are introduced in Zach’s house looking through a yearbook, and after laughing at some guys they consider ugly, they drool over a few beauties, a young teacher named Mrs. Barron (played by Anni Krueger), and more significantly, Allison. Both boys clearly want this girl, and there’s potential already set up for their mutual jealousy and competition over her.

The geekiness of the two boys is further developed not only in their interest in comic book superheroes like the Silver Surfer and the Punisher, but also in their, however reluctant, association with a universally-disliked, annoying, foul-mouthed, and socially awkward boy named Daryl Harper (Talisman). There are also examples of them being bullied, including even this deleted scene.

In a convenience store, these three are with a fourth boy from middle school, Charlie Barth (played by Sawyer Barth), who asks about a black fan on the ceiling. Josh simply says it’s always been there. This spinning black circle will become something of a recurring motif, with a number of variations on it, throughout the film. It’s full of symbolic meaning.

The winter solstice is part of the cycle of the seasons, the darkest of times before the returning light. The darkness comes and goes in cycles: day, dusk, night, and dawn, this last being seen significantly at the beginning of the film. The winter solstice is the dawn of the year. Recurring images of a spinning black circle, having always been there, are part of that cyclical symbolism.

After the convenience store scene, the four boys go to a bridge, on their way to which we see, again, a lot of natural scenery in the background: trees, grass, water, etc. On the bridge, as the boys are chatting, Josh at one point gets up and stands on the edge of it, looking out glumly at the water. During their chat, the boys have discussed how it would be if someone fell off. All of this foreshadows what will later happen to John Whitcomb (played by Ethan Botwick).

John is a stoner who’s dyed his hair blue. Just after the bridge scene, and Daryl and Charlie have separated from Zach and Josh, the latter two–after discussing how unlikeable Daryl is–run into a group of bullies Josh particularly hates, one of them being John. Another of these bullies gives Josh a hard time, and when Josh gets mad at him, the bully shoves him to the ground and has his foot on Josh’s head. Josh and Zach leave with Josh even more upset, of course. The scene not only fully establishes how the two boys are unpopular and targets of bullying, it also shows us Josh’s potential to be violent…if only he had a weapon.

Zach and Josh go up to where Allison’s house is in the neighbourhood. Again, the discussion is about how much they like her, with Josh mentioning a moment when he was with her in art class, and she accidentally splashed jizz-like glue, from a phallic glue bottle, onto her hands, then giggled. Josh’s eyes widened, and he tells Zach this was “the most erotic moment of [his] life,” demonstrating what an obvious geek and virgin he is.

Just after Zach shouts out “penis!” to describe the glue bottle, they see the light in the window where, presumably, Allison’s bedroom is, and the embarrassed boys immediately run off with their bikes. What’s interesting about this scene is how we’ll later learn that Allison not only heard the shout, but she also knew it was Zach who shouted it.

It’s quite a distance from her window to where the boys are outside, making it not so easy for her to have seen who they were clearly. Also, assuming she hadn’t known they were out there until the “penis!” shout, she’d turned on her bedroom light (if that even was her, as opposed to her gruff older brother or anyone else in her family) and gone to the window to look, she’d have had very little time to determine if it really was Zach and Josh who were there. Still, she knew…

If she had, say, been watching them from the beginning from her living room window, one would wonder why she’d do that, and what about them would have caught her attention when they were chatting too quietly for her to have noticed. Now, Allison is a pretty girl, who presumably could get herself a big, popular boyfriend, one far more desirable than Zach or Josh. Surely, she knows the two boys are considered geeks at school, boys who are bullied, and who often hang out with that loser Daryl. Why would she be interested in either of them? Even if she thinks Zach is cute and a nice guy, as a typical teenager who’s insecure about her identity and her reputation, she’d fear being associated with a crowd of ‘losers.’

Still, she later phones Zach and invites him and Josh to her birthday party. Not long after that, at a particularly tense moment I’ll get into in a minute, she shows up in Zach’s house! Does she really like these two geeks…or does she have a secret use for them? Again, I’ll come back to this idea in a little while.

The shot of Allison’s bedroom window from the outside, with the light turned on, switches to an interior shot of the kitchen window of Zach’s house, where instead of seeing Allison, we see his mother (Hargreaves) by the kitchen sink. This kind of subverted expectation-thinking we’ll see Allison at the window, looking out at the boys, instead of Zach’s mother there, being startled by him and Josh–will be seen later in the film. The subverted expectation also implies a connection between Allison and Zach’s mother.

Speaking of that connection, after Josh leaves the house, Zach’s mother tells him that Allison has called him (How does Allison know his number?); his mother seems more than usually interested in this girl coming into her son’s life, in a manner that seems beyond the usual hope that her boy will get a girlfriend.

Zach calls Allison back and gets the invite (along with Josh) to her birthday party, a call that is abruptly ended by her nasty older brother demanding that she get off the phone. Again, I must ask why she, a pretty girl who could get any popular guy–presumably one with a car instead of a mere bicycle!–would be interested in geeky Zach and Josh associating with her. How did she know it was them in front of her house just a while ago, and why was she so determined to contact Zach, all of a sudden, that she got his phone number? What purpose do these two geeks have for her? The next major event in the story may contribute to an answer to these questions.

The next–and last–time these four boys will hang out together is, first, in Josh’s house. He, Zach, Daryl, and Charlie go up to the bedroom of Josh’s older brother, who’s away in the marines. Daryl is in love with the brother’s waterbed, his bag of weed, and the pornographic photos on the ceiling.

Josh next reveals his brother’s katana, an obvious phallic symbol as well as an instrument of death. That the katana represents both of these things, Freud‘s Eros and Thanatos, is one example of many, recurring throughout the film, of a link between sexuality and death. Note in this connection how that black circular fan is also a yonic symbol.

Josh refuses to let Daryl have any of his brother’s weed (not that socially-inept, selfish Daryl will ever respect Josh’s wishes, tragically), but he will borrow the samurai sword so the boys can have fun slashing milk cartons in two with it. They’ve emptied the cartons of milk and replaced it with water from a hose. Milk implies mammalian femininity, water splashing out of the bisected cartons implies vaginal fluids (with broken hymens), and so the hacking of the cartons with a phallic sword is a combination of violence and sexual symbolism. Josh is relishing the experience in a way that foreshadows the tragedy soon to come.

Daryl is caught smoking the weed he’s secretly stolen, and Josh is furious. A fight between the two boys escalates, and Josh (accidentally?) stabs Daryl in the neck with the katana, killing him.

Before he dies, though, Daryl runs into a forest for a bit and falls into a bed of fallen leaves (significantly, this has all happened in a secluded park area…out in the middle of nature). His having been mortally wounded and running in a natural setting reminds us of that deer at the beginning, in the high school that three of the boys attend. These two scenes are a pair of a number of recurring motifs indicating cyclical events in the movie…like that spinning black fan.

Josh sobs, “He’s dead. We’re fucked […] FUCK!!!” This juxtaposition of words reinforces the film’s link of death and sexuality, along with the phallic sword cutting a yonic wound. Zach throws up, he and Josh cover Daryl’s body with the surrounding fallen leaves of the area, and they and Charlie decide to hide the katana in a large hole in the ground. Again, this is sexual symbolism, with the phallic sword put in a yonic hole…a super dark place.

Zach shares some of Josh’s guilt, because the former foolishly pulled the blade out of Daryl’s neck, cutting it a second time. In his guilt and rage, Zach later punches his fist against a wall at the entrance of a tunnel for a train track, injuring himself and thus needing a cast. This self-injury is a symbolic castration: in spite of Allison’s later advances on Zach, he’ll be unresponsive even though he likes her so much. Josh, on the other hand, will find the phallic katana most empowering, so he’ll get it back and, so it seems, use it to impress her.

Still, she seems to like Zach more, and when he gets home that evening, he is surprised to find her there, in his house! How fortuitous it is that she would be there right on the very day that the killing happened, so soon after it! What’s more, his mom was happy to let her in, a girl neither Zach nor his mom know all that well…or so we assume.

His mom is also OK with Allison going into Zach’s room with him alone. In his room with him, Allison indicates that she knows it was he who shouted “penis!” outside her house. She can see the troubled look on his face, but he never tells her what happened at the park. Still, there’s some sense, in the sympathetic look on her face as she hugs and comforts him and they almost kiss, that she…somehow…knows what happened out there. Maybe his mom…somehow…also knows. She certainly likes how “cute” Allison likes him.

At school, the teacher takes attendance and we learn that while Zach is at school, Josh isn’t. We see a brief shot of that spinning fan, then Zach rides his bike to Charlie’s school; but Charlie refuses to have anything to do with what happened to Daryl.

Josh has been staying at home the whole time, spending much, if not most or all, of his time in his bedroom, brooding. He’s rather been like Jonah in the belly of the great fish (Jonah 1:17), or like Christ harrowing hell; only instead of returning to the world a better man, or in some sense apotheosized, Josh has become worse. As Virgil says in True Romance, “Now, the first time you kill somebody, that’s the hardest.”

That Josh is going to find it easier to kill people brings us to an issue that is being alluded to in Super Dark Times, whose setting in 1996–made clear not just with the conspicuous absence of smartphones, social media, etc., but also with a brief moment of Zach seeing a speech by then-President Clinton–is anticipating something horrible to come several years after: the Columbine High School massacre.

While the motives speculated for the massacre–bullying, goth culture, video games, etc.–have been considered dubious, they have been alluded to in the film, enough to make the connection between the fictional and factual violence clear. I’ve already mentioned the bullying; references are also made to video games, as when Zach asks Josh, during a visit to his home, what game is on his TV screen, as well as Josh’s reference later to Zelda II: The Adventure of Link; finally, at one point we see a shot of Zach sitting next to a girl wearing fashions making us think of goths.

One connection that can be made between Columbine–one of the deadliest mass shootings in US history and one that has inspired more than 70 copycat attacks as of June 2025–and seeing Bill Clinton on the TV is how his administration in a big way helped push the post-Soviet, neoliberal capitalist agenda–gutting welfare, allowing mergers and acquisitions in the media, keeping that unpopular drunk Yeltsin at the head of Russia, etc (all three of which happened, incidentally, in 1996, the year the film is set!). The link between Clinton and Columbine is how unfettered capitalism can exacerbate alienation, the kind that pushes some people to go crazy, get their hands on weapons, and kill people. Times have been super dark, and increasingly so, since the 1990s.

While the TV is still showing the Clinton speech, Zach falls asleep on the sofa and has a nightmare of Daryl in his home, first lurking in the dark, then getting violent revenge on Zach. Before the attack, Zach sees in his dream a hole in the ceiling with the spinning black fan there. In the room, a Christmas tree is in the background. Note the juxtaposition of all of these elements and what they represent: violent killing, eternal seasonal cycles, yonic symbolism, and nature. These elements, I insist, are interrelated in ways, and for reasons, that I’ll get into soon enough.

Back at school, after hearing the whispered gossip about missing Daryl, we’re in one of Zach’s classes, during which the teacher (Mrs. Barron?) is discussing–of all things–the male sexual organs, and the principal brings up, on the PA, the disappearance of Daryl. Once again, sex and death are thrown together. This juxtaposition is heightened when, during the principal’s announcement, a girl sitting behind Zach is moaning and playing with her pen, as if to simulate the sex act…or, perhaps, a stabbing.

There’s something almost ritualistic about what she’s doing. In fact, it seems like an act of sympathetic magic. That all of these elements–Daryl’s violent death and disappearance, the coming of the winter solstice, Allison’s uncanny knowledge of what she’s unlikely to know about, as well as her odd interest in, unpopular, bullied Zach and Josh, and the girl right behind Josh playing a sex game with her pen–are so interrelated that I feel I must come up with a theory.

I believe there’s a pagan coven in this town.

There are some theories floating around on the internet that Allison is the secret villain of the film, that she’s manipulating Josh and Zach into being violent, and she’s taking advantage of their crush on her. Admittedly, this theory is extremely thin on the ground, lacking any real hard evidence; it’s also been condemned as misogynistic, incel rubbish.

We’re meant, instead, to believe that her being tied up by Josh during the climax is real and not staged, as the theories would have it, and that the peaceful look on her face at the film’s end simply means that she’s gotten over the traumatic experience of the climax. I don’t buy that she’s gotten over anything as extreme as a threat to her life and watching a friend, Meghan (played by Adea Lennox), get sliced to death with the katana, especially not after only three to four months’ time to get over it.

Yes, there’s very little, if anything, to prove her involvement in the murders; but the subtle suggestions of it are fascinating to contemplate nonetheless. If Super Dark Times were just a film about a kid going crazy after an accidental killing, doing some deliberate murders, then getting arrested, it would be, quite frankly, a rather dull film. The idea that invisible forces are quietly pushing the violent events along, however, makes the film’s sense of paranoia and tension more intense, and therefore more interesting.

And it’s not misogynistic to have a female villain, especially when most villains are male, anyway. Actually, having Allison as a psychopath makes her intriguing and powerful, rather than just a dull, innocent teenage girl who’s had the bad luck of getting mixed up with a psycho like Josh, who, just because he may have been goaded along by her doesn’t excuse him for his scurrilous actions.

Besides, my expansion of the villain Allison theory to include her in a coven, if anything, reduces the perception of misogyny, since male witches can be in a coven with female ones, in spite of the stereotype of female witches. Though the other members of the coven, as I interpret it, are all seen as female in the film, this far from precludes the possibility of male ones as well. Allison’s birthday party, I suspect, is full of members from the coven, including a number of guys.

My point about the pagan coven is their closeness to nature, not what sex most or all of the members are. The coven is preoccupied, as pagans, with the cycle of the seasons. Some pagan traditions in the past practiced human sacrifice around the winter solstice in the hopes of ensuring good luck (e.g., a good harvest) in the following year. I believe the killings (even an animal sacrifice in the case of the deer) are part of promoting good luck, hence Allison’s smile in the spring sunshine at the film’s end.

The sacrificial victims (John and Meghan in particular) may or may not have known they’d be killed. As members of the coven, they may have been so fully accepting of their imminent deaths (because of a spell put on them?) that they show no signs of fear. In any case, the linking of nature with the winter solstice, marijuana (a natural high that puts you under a ‘spell,’ of sorts!), sex and death can all tie in with the cycles of life and death that are a major feature of pagan beliefs.

Zach’s dream of having sex with Allison in that yonic hole in the forest, with the phallic katana in there as a sword of Damocles hanging over his head, and with Josh watching over them threateningly, fits in symbolically with what I’ve been saying.

Zach is woken up from his dream in, significantly, the class taught by attractive Mrs. Barron, and Allison is sitting by, watching him with concerned eyes. He asks to go to the washroom, and a classmate jokes “Boner!” as Zach walks out. Again, we see now sex is linked with the death connection in the dream.

Contrasted with the dream of Zach and Allison having sex at the scene of the killing is what seems to be the reality of Josh taking Allison there, retrieving the sword from the hole, and mutilating Daryl’s corpse further. (It’s also interesting how the cops still haven’t found the body.) So much of this film is about Zach’s and Josh’s jealous rivalry over Allison. We also see, in this idea of both Zach being with her and Josh being with her in the forest, a blurring of the boundary between the two boys, an idea I’ll develop later.

Later, in the school library, where we hear a boy say, “I’m sure I’m about to try to give us a curse” [!], Zach learns that Josh is back in school, because he’s been sent to the office for calling a teacher a “cunt.” Zach rushes over there to see his friend; there he sits next to the girl in the quasi-goth fashions (who I believe is also in the office for cussing at a teacher or librarian). He looks down at her Sony Walkman, and we see a close-up shot of the spinning cassette inside, reminding us of that black fan on the ceiling of the convenience store.

The eternal cycles of nature have “been there forever.”

Next, we’re taken to Allison’s birthday party, which is being held in Meghan’s house. Zach is surprised to see Josh there: he told Josh about the invite, but Josh never said he’d come. In fact, Josh gives Allison, as a birthday gift, a bag of weed (presumably the very bag of weed, his marine brother’s, that he was so insistent on never taking away). Both Allison and John Whitcomb, clearly present at the party with his blue hair and stoned face, are impressed with Josh, the latter hoping to score weed from Josh. Straight, nice-boy Zach, is not impressed.

What I find interesting is the choice of a paper to roll some of the weed in: of all things to use, it’s a page from the Bible. It may be only a page from the Introduction, but it’s close enough to be ‘holy,’ to have a magical, spiritual connection. A joint, long and thin, is also phallic, like the katana, and so it can be connected via sympathetic magic to the ritualistic murders soon to come.

This film makes a number of subtle allusions to other famous and violent films. Marijuana is linked to violence and death in a way reminiscent of oranges in The Godfather trilogy. At the climax of Super Dark Times, in Meghan’s house, Josh DeLarge, if you will, drinks a glass of milk as if to sharpen him up for a bit of the old ultraviolence with that katana. Also, Zach’s final confrontation with Josh in her house, using a fireplace scooper as a weapon, then going upstairs and finding our Billy-like psycho in the bedroom with his two female victims, reminds us of Black Christmas, fittingly with all the Christmas decorations. Then there’s the boys’ brief ‘swordfight,’ ending with Zach saying he loves Josh, who is fuming with Anakin-like rage, reminding us of Revenge of the Sith.

To get back to Allison’s party, I suspect that it’s Zach’s repeated rejection of her advances on him that ultimately saves his life. He’s not as much under the spell of the coven as Josh is, and while he gets badly injured during the climax with the katana (a wound in the balls?), I think he’ll survive.

His mom’s encouragement of him hanging out with both Allison and Josh suggest that she might be in the coven, too, willing to sacrifice or at least allow her son to be hurt for the sake of good luck in the next year. Now, I know that such an unmotherly thing to do to one’s son would make my speculation seem unlikely in the extreme, but one major issue that’s been observed in this film is how the teens’ pathologies are allowed to grow because of parental non-involvement in their lives. Zach’s mom, of course, seems like the one exception to this rule, but her involvement in the coven’s planned human sacrifices would thus make her, in a special way, very much a part of the issue.

Another speculation I’d like to make, if you’ll indulge me further, Dear Reader, is how “Allison” can mean “little Alice.” This name can make us think of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and how Zach is going down the rabbit hole, deep into a strange and scary place, such as where that katana was hidden. “Alice” can also suggest shock-rocker Alice Cooper, Vincent Furnier’s stage name, the however apocryphal story of his having gotten the name via Ouija Board, learning of his former life as a 17th century witch (Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll, Third Edition, page 209). The singer denies this story, insisting that the name is meant ironically to suggest the contrast of a sweet, innocent girl, as against the violent stage acts of his concerts.

Rather like the contrast between Allison’s sweet, innocent exterior and…her inner witchery.

After an anxiety-inducing dream of him jogging at school with police cars in the background, Zach wakes up in class, with the student sitting behind him telling him about the death of John. Remembering Josh telling him of how much he’s hated John, Zach is fearing the worst about his friend.

Zach talks with Allison about John’s death, among other things. She writes her new number on his cast. She assumes John just fell off the bridge in an accident, while Zach suspects Josh pushed him. When she wonders why Zach cares so much about how John died, we suspect that her lack of empathy could be linked to psychopathy. When she wonders if it’s all been her fault–that is, how both Josh and Zach have a thing for her, and that it’s affecting the boys’ friendship–we further suspect her involvement in the violence.

Zach’s fear growing, he grabs a flashlight at home and rides his bike back to the forest to see Daryl’s body, which as I said before is with new stabbings, the wind having blown away many of the leaves that had been covering it (and again, I must wonder why the cops still haven’t found it). Using the flashlight to look in the hole and discovering the katana is gone, Zach rightfully suspects that Josh took it and gave the body the new wounds.

It doesn’t occur to Zach, though, that Allison could have been with Josh and watched him stab the body to impress her and titillate her fascination with violence. Such an interpretation works because it dovetails with the opening scene of her watching in fascination as the cop stomped on the deer in the classroom. Daryl (his name almost a pun on deer) is the deer here, as little endearing as he’s been, having run in the woods with a mortal wound, and then finished off with further mutilation. The deer and Daryl scenes exemplify the motif of cycles in the film, recurring events paralleling the seasons and reflecting pagan preoccupations with cycles, as a witches’ coven would have.

Zach hurries back to his house, gets the number for Charlie’s home from Allison [!], and calls him to tell him that he suspects Josh has killed John. Charlie, of course, still wants to stay out of all of this bloody business, and he wants Zach to stop bothering him about it.

Later, Zach’s mom returns home with…Josh! She’s as content to have her son around Josh as she is to have him around Allison. I know it doesn’t prove anything about her, but I’d say it raises suspicions. As the argument the two boys have outside indicates, their friendship is dying. No sooner does Zach mention John’s name than Josh flips out about it, further raising suspicions against him.

After Josh leaves and Zach goes back in his house, his mother expresses a deep worry about the safety of the teens of their neighbourhood in general, with the knowledge of what’s happened to Daryl and John. She speaks of empathizing with the boys’ mothers, which may be real, or it may be reaction formation, hiding her own coven participation in the crimes. Remember that in Super Dark Times, things aren’t always what they seem.

The next day, Zach goes to Josh’s house to talk to him. Josh isn’t there, but Zach discovers Allison’s new number on the phone in Josh’s house. In his growing panic and paranoia, he’s too addled to realize that it isn’t Josh who’s called Allison, but she’s called him. The phone number we see displayed on our phone is there to tell us of any possible incoming calls we’ve missed; we know who we’ve called, so we don’t need our phones to tell us who we’ve called!

Since she’s been calling Josh, that means she’s as interested in him as she is in Zach. Both are unpopular, bullied, geeky kids–especially Josh. I must ask again: why would such a pretty girl be interested in such losers…unless she has a use for them? Zach-attack, and the–so to speak–deer hunter.

Zach rushes on his bike over to Allison’s house–we see a shot of her Mona Lisa smile from back when she was at his house on the day of Daryl’s killing, which should tell you something about who is seeking whom here–and he’s frantically ringing the doorbell and banging on the door. When it opens, we expect to see her, or someone else from her family; instead, the film subverts our expectations again, and we see Josh at the door of Meghan’s house, with her and Allison there to greet him.

As with the previously subverted expectation of seeing Zach’s mom at her kitchen window, rather than Allison at her bedroom window, there is the identification of a character with another here, as well as more cyclical repetition. I identified Allison with Zach’s mother before; now, I identify Zach with Josh, and Allison with her aggressive brother.

The identification of the two boys with each other is about the violence between the two, as part of the coven’s planned human sacrifices: the more people killed, or at least badly hurt, the better the good luck of the following year. The linking of sex and death is a part of this: the deaths ending the cycle of this year will lead to the life of the beginning of the next year, the spring’s brighter light after this winter’s darkness. First, Thanatos, then Eros, a resurrection of life after death. So, the two boys’ competitive sexual infatuation with Allison and their resulting violence results in their mutual identification.

Recall that Allison seems disappointed that Zach won’t show up at Meghan’s house, meaning she’s expected him to come with Josh, or soon after, at least. That allusion I made previously to Revenge of the Sith, with Josh as Anakin and Zach as Obi-Wan…but with ‘Anakin’ winning the sword fight and ‘Obi-Wan’ losing…fits in with this identification idea, since the boys are exchanging roles and thus the boundary between the two is blurred.

Zach has been told by Allison’s surly older brother that she is at the house of that ‘bitch’ (almost sounds like ‘witch,’ doesn’t it?) Meghan, so Zach rushes over there, where Josh is drinking his, if you will, Korova ‘milk-plus.’ The drug element, of course, will be introduced in the form of a bag of weed, and he’ll be sharpened up for a bit of the old ultra-violence, in which the stabbing of Meghan with the katana can be seen as a kind of symbolic, droog-like rape–more linking of sex with death. Allison is eerily calm the whole time.

Josh, on the other hand, is his usual awkward self, even a bit jittery in comparison to her, though by now, this third time he’s to kill someone should be, as Virgil noted in that scene in True Romance (link above), easy. As he is chatting with Meghan and Allison, he and the latter exchange glances, her giving him what seem to be knowing looks, as if he and she know something Meghan might not.

The three go up to Meghan’s bedroom to smoke the weed (the bedroom, with a boy and two girls in it, implies another link of sexuality and death, since Meghan will be lying on her bed all bloody and dead). Zach, oddly, is running from Allison’s house to Meghan’s instead of riding his bike, as if the spell I imagine everyone involved to be on is meant to slow him down so he’ll be too late to save Meghan, one of the main sacrificial victims in my conception of what’s secretly happening. Josh’s examination of one of Meghan’s pretty pink brassieres is yet another link of sex and (her) death.

Allison is aware of previous surprises from Josh, which could include her having seen Daryl’s body and the sword, since she’s not at all surprised to see it when Josh unsheathes it in Meghan’s bedroom. One would think that both girls would be scared, or at least worried, to see it, especially in the hands of this awkward, possibly disturbed (from his looks) geek, and just after knowing about the disappearance/deaths of Daryl and John. Getting high on pot should also intensify feelings of paranoia in the girls with the sight of jittery Josh brandishing the sword, but both girls are oddly cool about it. Meghan is even fascinated with the phallic thing, wanting to play with it [!].

It’s as if all three know, or at least two of them know, what’s about to happen.

As Meghan is having fun with the katana, Allison is grinning and enjoying the feeling of the sunlight on her face. Not only does she not fear the sword, even when Meghan swings it close to her face, but in enjoying the sunlight, it’s as though she’s anticipating the coming light and good luck of next year’s spring; note her enjoyment of the sunlight at the end of the film, too, in the spring.

If she’s really been traumatized by Josh’s killing of Meghan and threatening of her with the sword, which is right after that well-noted feeling of the sunlight, wouldn’t the springtime sunlight trigger a painful memory of the killing and threat to her life, rather than be something she enjoys? This is part of why some of us have doubts about Allison’s innocence.

When Josh asks for a puff of the joint, it’s significant that Meghan thinks he’s asking for the sword instead. Both are phallic symbols, the enjoyment of the joint immediately precedes the killing with the katana, and I imagine the getting high is part of the ritual–getting one’s head in a ‘sacred space,’ since marijuana has sometimes been used in religious contexts–leading up to the human sacrifice.

As Josh is puffing on the joint, he and Allison are sharing what look like knowing glances, as if they’ve planned what’s soon to come. Just before Josh says, “Alright, my turn,” meaning he wants to have the katana now, he has a slightly nervous look on his face as he looks at Allison. She, on the other hand, looks back at him calmly, giving him another of those knowing looks.

Zach knows, too, of course, and he’s running like crazy to Meghan’s house. Again, his entrance–without getting permission to come in, ascending the stairs using the fireplace shovel as a weapon, then leaving and climbing up on the van to get in through Meghan’s bedroom window–remind us of, in Black Christmas, not only Jess’s ascent up the stairs with the fireplace poker, but also killer Billy’s going up into the attic at the beginning of that film. Zach is thus identified with both the final girl and the killer, which, as I said above, blurs the distinction between himself and Josh, since both boys are meant to be involved in the human sacrifice.

I really do feel that Allison’s fear and being tied up are staged. Josh, in spite of his growing mental instability, would not want to hurt her. He likes her! He’s always been motivated to win her love, with the marijuana and, I believe, having her know of the killings of Daryl, John, and Meghan–not to scare her, but to impress her. Also, Allison doesn’t really do any crying before or after Zach arrives at the bedroom.

As we know, Josh fights with Zach and wounds him, first in the arm and then, outside, in the groin. As Josh is twisting the katana blade in Zach’s…balls?…a teen girl is watching from across the street. She is perfectly calm…why? Shouldn’t she be shocked? And why add this shot if it doesn’t have any meaning? Like the girl playing with her pen in class, I believe this one is another member of the town’s coven, content to see the bloody sacrifices that will lead to a bright spring of good luck the next year.

The boys continue fighting on the lawn in front of Meghan’s house, in the rain as the sun is going down, until a man runs over and pulls Josh off of Zach, who hits him in the face. Police cars some, and Josh is arrested.

Zach asks a female medic if ‘they’ll be OK,’ and she says she’ll put a pad on them; I find it safe to assume that ‘they’ are his balls, not the two girls up in that bedroom. Allison is taken out on a stretcher, and her brother shows surprising concern for her. Josh is sitting all glum in the back of a police car, looking rather like Detective Mills at the end of Se7en, which is fitting, because wrath was Mills’s, and Josh’s, deadly sin.

The following spring, we see Allison taking a shower, some cleansing water to contrast how the rain had added to the harshness of the previous scene. At first, her face seems to express some bad feelings about what happened several months before; but then she looks up with a slight smile, seeing a bird outside near some leafy trees. She seems quite well.

Then we see her in a car, presumably on her way to school the same day, and again she seems quite at peace, enjoying the sunshine on her face, as she had just before seeing Meghan butchered before her very eyes. People do not heal that quickly after a trauma like the one that, supposedly, she’s so recently endured.

That enigmatic smile she has here reminds me of the one on the Mona Lisa’s face. To understand why the Gioconda’s smile is so “unnervingly placid,” as Camille Paglia once described it, consider the natural background of the portrait for context: it’s “deceptive and incoherent. The mismatched horizon lines…are subliminally disorienting…without law or justice…What is Mona Lisa thinking? Nothing, of course. Her blankness is her menace and our fear.” (Paglia, page 154)

The exact same things can be said about that look on Allison’s face, especially when we consider the natural background we constantly see in Super Dark Times. Allison and the coven are powerful forces of nature. They sit back (yin) and let others do the evil (yang) in the world, in spite of their quiet engineering of the whole thing. This idea ties in with how we all allowed Democrats and other liberals like Clinton become clones of the GOP and other conservatives back in the 1990s, leading to the aggravated evils we now see in the 21st century. It’s often said that the passivity of ‘good’ people is crucial to bringing out and encouraging evil in others. We’ve all been put under the spell of neoliberalism.

The movie ends with Allison in class, and a boy sitting behind her seems to be admiring her beauty just as Zach has been seen doing earlier in the film–another example of cyclical recurrence. I see in this also a subtle allusion to Spellbinder, in which a beautiful witch seduces a young man and lures him to his death, then at the end of the film, she begins a new seduction of her next male victim. That boy sitting behind Allison: is he going to be among the next of the coven’s victims?

I’m not concerned with those scratches on the back of Allison’s neck; whether she got them from the katana or somewhere else is neither here nor there to me. What I find more significant is how she’s about to answer a teacher’s question: What was women’s contribution to the Industrial Revolution? We can consider Allison’s contribution to nature’s cyclical revolutions in this connection.

Super Dark Times is, as I noted above, always dropping only hints of things that are suggestive of many possible interpretations. The coven theory is my interpretation: make of it what you will.

The Tanah–The Laws, Book 1, Chapter 2

[The following is the eighteenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, and here is the seventeenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

The basic principle that must always be remembered and respected whenever using magic is that all opposites are unified: one never has one idea without its opposite. So many times did the Luminosians try to achieve one thing while being oblivious of its opposite when practicing magic, and this negligence led to so many evils for them.

This principle, the Unity of Action, is something that Rawmios tried to teach the people many years before this writing. The Luminosians were taught this idea, too, though many chose not to listen, and so they were taken into slavery not long after having liberated themselves from it.

In their attempts to free themselves from the Tenebrosians, the Luminosians used magic most carelessly: they would wildly aim their magic at the oppressors, but end up harming so many of their own in the process. This error resulted from a failure to keep in mind the Unity of Space–how all of us are unified, including even slave and master.

In their final attempt to free themselves from the Tenebrosians, the successful attempt, the Luminosians traveled and found a land they chose to settle in–Zaga, a place already inhabited by a people whom the Luminosians chose to treat with no less contempt than the Tenebrosians had shown them. This disregard demonstrated how the Luminosians had failed to understand both the Unity of Action and the Unity of Space. In oppressing the Zagans, the Luminosians failed to see their own unity with the Zagans, that of their both being oppressed peoples.

The Luminosians’ disregard of the Unity of Action resulted also in a disregard of the Echo Effect, how actions are unified in the form of sow and reap. Whatever good or evil one does to others will echo back to oneself. As we know, not too long after the beginning of the Luminosians’ oppression of the Zagans, the Zoyans invaded the settlement and made slaves of the Luminosians.

These are the bitter lessons one learns when one doesn’t heed the warnings of magic rashly used. Thus, the following laws have been devised with the hope that the practitioners of the future will not suffer the same dire consequences that the Luminosians suffered.

Magic must be practiced with a disciplined and restrained mind, ever mindful of the union of contraries. Whenever any one particular goal is sought, its opposite must be considered. To gain the love of another through magic, for instance, the practitioner must allow for the possibility that the object of his love has no regard for him or even hates him. Love must not be forced, as many Luminosian men tried to do on the women they raped and killed with their spells.

One must never practice magic with an indulgent, impulsive, or reckless attitude. That which comes quickly to the user of magic can just as quickly be taken away from him. The freedom the Luminosians enjoyed from the Tenebrosians, quickly gained, was then quickly taken away from them by the Zoyans. A lasting freedom would have been enjoyed by the Luminosians had they been patient with their magic, carefully crafting their spells to avoid killing their own as well as the Tenebrosians, and waiting to find a fertile but unused patch of land, instead of stealing land from the Zagans.

Achieving what one wants for oneself must be balanced with respecting the wants of others, for such is the essence of the Unity of Space, to see a unity in the self and the other.

The heat of the fiery passion of Nevil must be tempered with the cool calm of watery Priff. The impulsive, volatile floating and fluttering about of airy Weleb must be balanced with the stability, consistency, and surety of stony, earthy Drofurb. As mighty as the four Crims are, the misuse of their power can be deadly.

So one must be always aware of the dangers of the disregard of the Ten Errors and the Echo Effect. Never deny or forget the fundamental unity of all things. If one sees only one side of a matter, while being blind to the other, one is engaging in mad thinking, the first of the Ten Errors, which will lead to the evil use of magic.

If one is dazed by beautiful images while ignoring the unpleasant, the second of the Ten Errors, attachment to the former when using magic will lead to evil, which in turn will cause the Echo Effect to bring the evil back upon oneself.

Never use scurrilous language (the third Error) when doing incantations! Never use magic to drive others to work only, and never rest (the fourth Error)! Never use magic to provoke family fighting, murder, adultery, theft, lying, or greed (the rest of the Ten Errors)! The Echo Effect will bring all of these sins back on the sinful user!

Analysis of ‘Le Petit Prince’

I: Introduction

Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince) is a 1943 novella by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It was first published in English and French in the US that year, and published posthumously in France following liberation, as the Vichy Regime had banned it.

The novella was Saint-Exupéry’s most successful work, selling about 140 million copies worldwide, and thus being one of the best-selling books in history. It’s been translated into over 505 different languages and dialects worldwide, second only to the Bible among the most-translated works. Le Petit Prince has been adapted into many art forms and media, including audio recordings, radio plays, live stage, film, TV, ballet, and opera.

Here is a link to quotes from the novella in French and in English translation, and here is a link to a PDF of an English translation of the story.

II: Chapter One

Saint-Exupéry begins his tale by discussing a time, when he was six years old, that he was fascinated with how a boa constrictor eats its prey, swallowing it whole without chewing it, and needing six months to digest it. The boy decided to draw a boa constrictor having swallowed an elephant, but on showing the picture to some adults and asking if it scared them, they saw nothing scary about it, since it looked as if he’d simply drawn a hat!

In this moment, we see the beginning of a recurring theme in Le Petit Prince: the folly of adults when compared to the wisdom of a child. The boy tried a second drawing, this time showing the inside of the boa constrictor so the elephant could be clearly seen. Now, the adults advised him to forget about boa constrictors and what they eat, and instead focus on learning geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. The folly of adults is the reversing of what’s important and what’s unimportant, so Saint-Exupéry gave up on the dream of being an artist at the age of six and would eventually become a pilot instead.

In meeting more adults over the years, he never changed his low opinion of them, since as a test, he’d show them his first picture, and they always saw only a hat.

III: Chapter Two

Here is where the story really begins, a fanciful rather than a logical one. Adult Saint-Exupéry had been living alone, with no one to talk to (loneliness is another major theme of the novella), until six years before his telling of his story, when he was flying his plane over the Sahara Desert and it crashed with a broken engine. Again, he found himself alone, with no passengers or mechanics to help him.

He had to fix his plane alone, he was miles away from civilization, and he hadn’t enough drinking water to last a week. This was a life-and-death situation. You can imagine the stress he was going through.

This predicament really happened to Saint-Exupéry and his copilot-navigator, André Prévot, in 1935. Though they’d survived the crash, they faced rapid dehydration in the intense desert heat, with limited food and drink. They both began to have vivid hallucinations. By the fourth day of their ordeal, a Bedouin on a camel found the two and saved them. Saint-Exupéry described their ordeal in his 1939 memoir, Wind, Sand and Stars (Terre des hommes).

The notion of having hallucinations while suffering in the desert heat can explain Saint-Exupéry seeing the little prince. While the boy is, on the one hand, a projection of the pilot having regressed to a childhood state (to ease his stress), the prince can also be seen as a Christ figure, a sinless child coming to Saint-Exupéry’s rescue, just in time.

One idea that you can glean from all of my posts involving my interpretation of the symbolism of the ouroboros (i.e., the dialectical relationship between opposites) is that at the moment of the most hellish despair, salvation can come. The prospect of certain death in the desert (hell, the bitten tail of the ouroboros) leads to Saint-Exupéry’s delivery from it (heaven, the biting head of the serpent). This delivery, this salvation, comes to the beleaguered pilot in the Christ-like form of the little prince.

If adult Christ was King of the Jews, then as a child he was a prince, the Prince of Peace, the little prince. We are instructed that we can attain the kingdom of heaven only as a child (Matthew 18:3), and so Saint-Exupéry must get back in touch with his original, naïve childlike nature. This is the purpose of the little prince entering the pilot’s life right at this moment…saving him in the most unlikely way.

On the morning of the second day of Saint-Exupéry’s ordeal, he wakes up to the voice of the boy asking him, of all things, to draw a sheep for him. The importance of this seemingly trivial, frivolous request, interrupting the man from his urgent work, exists on several levels. First, there’s the dialectic of prioritizing the trivial over the urgent, a child’s wisdom versus an adult’s. Second, the sheep makes us think of a lamb, the Lamb of God. Third, the man is being brought back to his childhood love of drawing…but drawing a peaceful, rather than a threatening, animal.

What makes the pilot’s ordeal in the story even worse than that of Saint-Exupéry and his copilot, Prévot, in the real-life ordeal is precisely the absence of a copilot, or anyone else, for that matter. The man is alone in the hot desert, far away from civilization, with a plane needing repairs, and he’s running out of drinking water. He could die, and he has nobody with him. This is the hell of death and loneliness.

Being alone only intensifies annihilation anxieties, leading one all the closer to psychotic panic, or what Wilfred Bion would have called a nameless dread. The pilot is sweltering in oppressive heat; this heat is an example of unpleasant stimuli that Bion would have called beta elements, stimuli that have to be processed, via alpha function, into alpha elements, or processed stimuli that one can cope with. (Read more about Bion’s and other psychoanalytic concepts here).

As I said above, the extremity of the pilot’s ordeal has forced him to regress to a childlike state, to a simpler frame of mind that doesn’t have to cope with complexity. Still, though, that complexity has to be coped with, and in his regressed, childlike state, the pilot needs someone to help him process the physical irritants (beta elements, the dehydrating heat) that he can’t deal with all alone. It’s out of the question, of course, that his mother could be there for him, the one who normally does the vicarious processing of her baby’s unpleasant stimuli via maternal reverie. The pilot must resort to something else.

As a result of his helplessness, loneliness, and urgent need to save his life, the pilot projects his inner child out into the external world in the form of the little prince, who is for the pilot what Bion would have called a bizarre object, a projected hallucination from his inner psychic world, sent out of him to keep him company in a desperate attempt to save his life.

With the bizarre object of the little prince come all the other bizarre objects: the tiny planets of the boy and the men the boy visits, the talking rose, the talking fox, and the talking serpent. This childlike fantasy world is the pilot’s escape from his desperation, his ordeal.

Getting him to draw a sheep several times, criticizing each drawing for this or that flaw, and finally accepting a drawing of a sheep ironically obscured in a box, are ways of helping the pilot process his childhood trauma of his original artwork having been rejected by adults. Had he only been encouraged to be an artist as a child and thus to express his emotions freely, he might have pursued that ambition, instead of becoming a pilot (symbolic of trying to fly away and escape everything), and thus finding himself in his current, life-threatening predicament. On a symbolic level, his danger in the desert represents his psychological crisis resulting from having abandoned and betrayed the true self (in Winnicott‘s sense) of his childhood. In this sense, the little prince has truly saved the pilot.

IV: Chapter Three

We get a sense of how small the planet is that the little prince comes from when he tells the pilot that the sheep he’s given him won’t need a rope to restrain it, since if it strays, it won’t be able to wander very far.

The smallness of the little prince’s planet–like that of the planets of the king, the vain man, the drunk, the businessman, the lamplighter, and the geographer–has different levels of meaning. On the one hand, it means the planets are like small islands in a universal ocean, isolated places of loneliness and alienation. Thus, they represent projections of the pilot’s loneliness as well as the loneliness of all of us. The small planets also represent a wish-fulfillment for a man stranded on a stretch of land far too large for his comfort. If only he, like the little prince, could fly away from his world to explore others and escape his danger, taken away with the help of a flight of migratory birds (Chapter Nine), instead of being stuck in a desert with his broken-down plane.

V: Chapter Four

Indeed, the little prince’s planet is as small as a house!

The pilot believes the boy’s planet is an asteroid known as B-612, discovered by a Turkish astronomer in 1909, whose discovery was ignored by the International Astronomical Congress because the Turk wore the traditional clothing of his country rather than European clothes. When the Turk was in European clothes, though, and he presented his discovery to the Congress again in 1920, the Westerners acknowledged him. We see in this an example of both Western prejudice as well as the addled adult mindset.

The pilot notes more examples of this mindset, in how adults seem to think that numbers and figures pertaining to anything are more important than, say, its beauty. These numbers and figures, of course, often represent monetary values for the adults: ‘Does his father make much money?’ or ‘I saw a house worth a million dollars […] What a pretty house!’ Such a mindset is a reflection of the capitalistic values we’ve all been taught, and so Saint-Exupéry’s critique of such values must have been among the reasons that the pro-Nazi Vichy government wouldn’t allow Le Petit Prince to be published. Fascism is hyper-capitalism: it exists to thwart the growth of socialism–more on that later.

Now that the little prince is out of the pilot’s life (it’s been six years, as of the telling of this story, that the little prince has returned to his planet), and so not only does the man miss the little boy, but he has revived his childhood interest in art, having bought a box of paints and some pencils, and not wanting to be interested in only numbers. He is getting older physically, but the return of the little prince to his planet really means, paradoxically, that the projection of the pilot’s inner child has returned to his heart.

VI: Chapter Five

In this chapter is a discussion of the issue of baobab trees. As soon as the little prince is aware of the growing of a bad plant like a baobab on his little planet, he must destroy it at once. For if he allows any baobabs to grow freely, they will take over his entire planet and the roots will burrow their way down. And on a small planet like his, the baobabs will wreck it entirely.

Researchers have contended that the baobabs represent Nazism’s attempt to dominate and destroy our Earth. Small wonder the Vichy government wouldn’t let Saint-Exupéry’s novella be published, and only upon France’s liberation from Nazi occupation would the story be published there.

Note that it isn’t enough to uproot this or that baobab, and then be content that one’s work is all done. The little prince tells the pilot that one must regularly go to work, every day after washing and cleaning, spotting the baobabs and distinguishing them from the similar-looking rosebushes, and pull the baobabs out as soon as they’re spotted as such.

The same vigilance must be applied to fascism…though few have heeded the warning since the end of WWII. The defeat of Nazi Germany, more the sacrifice of the Soviets than of Western Europe and North America by a long shot, was merely a setback for fascism. The far-right soon regrouped and acted clandestinely, seeming no different from the rosebush-liberals of the postwar world.

Ex-Nazis found lucrative employment in the US via Operation Paperclip, for no one was more effective at fighting ‘those lousy commie Reds’ than fanatically anti-socialist fascists during the height of the Cold War. These ex-Nazis worked in NASA, NATO, and West Germany, causing tensions in East Germany that necessitated the building of the Berlin Wall in 1961, also known as the Anti-fascist Protection Wall, to keep Nazi espionage out, as well as to prevent brain-drain, or the loss of skillful engineers, scientists, etc. to the capitalist West through tempting salary offers.

Then there were Operations Aerodynamic and Gladio.

After all of that fascist terrorizing of the European left came the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the use of Ukrainian fascists by the US and NATO to provoke Russia into a needless and dangerous war, and the rise of Trump via Zionists like Biden. This is why we can never stop being mindful of baobab fascism.

But I digress.

Saint-Exupéry may have been born to an aristocratic family, but that doesn’t necessitate elitist, let alone fascist, sympathies. Peter Kropotkin was a Russian prince; he was also an anarcho-commmunist. Friedrich Engels was a bourgeois; he was also Karl Marx’s trusted friend and colleague.

But I digress again.

VII: Chapter Six

The little prince loves to watch sunsets, which on his tiny planet come forty-four times a day! Here on Earth, though, the boy will have to wait and wait.

The frequent sight of sunsets (and therefore also of sunrises) implies that the little prince has a far more conscious sense of how cyclical life is than we do. He watches sunsets when he is sad, implying that they have a therapeutic value for him. Seeing the coming darkness will bring to mind that the light will soon return.

We on Earth, on the other hand, must wait much longer for both the light and the dark, giving us the illusory feeling that both the good and the bad are closer to being permanent states of existence. The boy knows better, though.

VIII: Chapter Seven

The little prince wants to talk to the pilot about flowers, and if the sheep will eat flowers, but the pilot is terribly busy and stressed trying to repair his plane. The boy’s incessant questioning feels so annoying in its triviality.

When the boy asks what a flower’s thorns are for, the man snaps at him that it’s because flowers are cruel, which the prince can’t believe. The pilot’s words seem to imply that the little prince is being a cruel flower himself for pestering him in his life-or-death situation.

The boy is shocked that the man doesn’t think flowers are important, and that he is being just like any other adult, bereft of understanding. Recall that the little prince, as a Christ-figure, is trying to get the pilot to understand that, in order to save himself, the pilot must be as a child, to be an imitator of Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1), and therefore in agreeing that flowers are important the man is imitating the prince and being like a child.

The little prince speaks of a man on a planet he’s visited who thinks that doing sums is the only important thing in the world; this man has never smelled a flower or looked upon a star. He’s swollen with pride, like a balloon. He sounds like the businessman we’ll learn about in Chapter Thirteen, he who imagines all the stars out in space are his possessions, his accumulated wealth. If so, he counts the stars, but never looks on them. In other words, he has all the inverted values of a capitalist. He doesn’t care about beauty; he only cares about numbers as money-values.

The pilot feels ashamed to seem like a man similar to this businessman.

IX: Chapter Eight

The little prince tells the pilot about a special seed that was blown onto his planet from some other place. It gave birth to a new kind of shoot, making the prince look it over very closely. Was it a new kind of baobab? No.

It grew into a beautiful flower that captivated the boy’s heart. She was a speaking flower, and one that is rather vain, her words annoying him. She wanted him to attend to her needs–watering her, and putting a screen around her to protect her from gales. He feels that one shouldn’t listen to flowers, but rather just look at and smell them, and admire their beauty.

Apparently, the flower, a rose, was inspired by the author’s wife, Consuelo de Saint-Exupéry, who was from El Salvador, the country that inspired the little prince’s planet, with three volcanoes like those in her country, too (including the Santa Ana Volcano). I suppose we’re meant to assume by all of this that his wife was kind, yet petulant and vain as well.

The little prince’s leaving his planet and the rose behind, later to encounter the vast field of roses on Earth, is meant to represent Saint-Exupéry’s infidelity to Consuela, presumably during his travels by plane. In all of this, we can see again how the little prince is a projection of the pilot’s idealized version of himself, and is therefore also in turn a projection of Saint-Exupéry.

X: Chapter Nine

The little prince has left his planet, apparently, with the help of a flight of migratory birds, obviously symbolic of a plane for Exupéry to fly, and therefore a wish-fulfillment for the man stranded in the desert. The leaving can also represent the loss of innocence upon having grown up and having to face the adult world.

Before leaving, though, the boy’s had to be responsible and make sure his planet has been left in the best condition possible, which meant cleaning his three volcanoes, two active and one extinct, as well as pulling out the last of the baobab shoots and making sure his rose was safe from harm.

She says she won’t need the glass dome he’s used to put on her to protect her. She’ll enjoy the cool night air, and her thorns will protect her from any wild animals. Just as he is maturing and getting more responsible and self-reliant, so is she.

XI: Chapter Ten

In his travels in space, the little prince visits a number of asteroids not unlike his own in essence. The first of these has a king on it, and every other asteroid also has a solitary man living on it, each man in his own way demonstrating the foolishness of the adult mindset.

This adult absurdity is put into full effect here with a king who, all alone on his asteroid, rules over nobody. We see what a bad thing authoritarianism is when it’s presented in an absurd way. The king’s commands are pointless, illogical, and unenforceable. Quite an ironic position to get from an author who was born into an aristocratic family.

If the king can’t forbid the little prince to yawn, then he’ll command the boy to yawn. If the prince is too shy to yawn, then the king will command him sometimes to yawn, sometimes not to.

The king wants respect for his authority, and hates to be disobeyed, yet he is consummately ineffectual, thus demonstrating all by himself just how invalid regal authority is.

If the boy asks the king if he may do something, such as to sit down or ask a question, then the king commands him to do these things instead of simply permitting him to do them. The king is alone on his asteroid, yet he insists he rules over everything, even the stars, which he imagines must obey him in everything. In a while, we’ll be introduced to the businessman, who imagines the stars are his property.

The king says that authority rests on reason, and that he demands obedience because his orders are reasonable…yet the examples given above demonstrate how his orders are anything but reasonable.

The little prince wishes to leave the king’s little planet, yet the king forbids him to, offering to make the boy his minister. There being no one else on the asteroid, though, means that he as “minister” will have no one to judge. The king says the boy then can judge himself. The insists on leaving, yet the king offers to make him his ambassador. The prince leaves.

XII: Chapter Eleven

The second planet the little prince visits is inhabited by a vain man, who imagines the approaching boy to be an admirer. The prince considers the vain man’s hat to be an odd one, yet its owner says he raises it to anyone who praises hm…yet no one ever comes to his planet.

The vain man asks the little prince to clap his hands, which the boy does, causing the vain man to raise his hat “in a modest salute,” as if he were receiving applause for having put on an impressive performance.

The vain man, like the king, is demonstrating the absurdity of adults’ narcissistic affectations of greatness, when no such greatness is at all in evidence. He asks the boy if he thinks him “the handsomest, smartest, richest, and wisest man on the planet”…yet he is the only man on the planet, just as the king is alone on his planet, ruling over nobody.

Adult narcissism seems to stem from loneliness.

The prince leaves the planet.

XIII: Chapter Twelve

He arrives on a planet where a drunk lives. The little prince learns that this man drinks to help him forget how ashamed he feels…because he drinks!

The sadness of the drunk drives home the idea that it’s the loneliness of all of these adults that drives them to do the absurd things that they do. Hence, each man lives alone on his planet. The boy was alone on his, too, yet at least he had the sense to leave and look around, to find people.

Accordingly, he leaves the drunk’s planet, too.

XIV: Chapter Thirteen

The little prince arrives on the planet of the businessman, who is in the middle of doing sums. We see here especially how numbers are meant to represent monetary values, as I mentioned above, since the businessman is counting the stars.

He imagines he owns them simply because he was the first to think about owning them. He sees a difference between his owning them and a king ruling over them; we could see in this ‘difference’ a satirizing of the difference between capitalism and feudalism.

The businessman imagines that his ‘owning’ of the stars will make him rich…so he can ‘buy’ more stars! The little prince notes that the businessman’s avarice is based on the same kind of circular reasoning as the drunk’s shame is based on. One gropes for things only for the sake of groping for them.

The notion of justifying one’s ownership of a thing on the basis of having ‘discovered’ it is extended by the businessman into the realm of imperialism and settler-colonialism. He says, “When you discover an island that belongs to nobody, it is yours.” We all know what happened when Christopher Columbus discovered land that “belongs to nobody.”

The businessman’s ‘discovery’ of the stars, those islands in the sea of space, and his subsequent ‘owning’ of them, amassing his wealth through them, is the author satirizing capitalism by demonstrating the absurdity of accumulating capital for its own sake, claiming ownership of things that don’t belong to you.

He justifies his ownership of the stars further by calculating their totals, writing the totals on a little piece of paper, and putting the paper in a drawer to lock them in. This locking-away of the paper is his “bank.”

Like the king, the vain man, and the drunk, the businessman is all alone on his planet, engaging in his absurdity to compensate for his loneliness. The alienation caused by capitalism, fittingly, is felt most keenly by him. He pays little attention to anybody or anything other than his calculating.

The little prince observes that his own ownership of volcanoes and a flower are far more meaningful because he actually tends to their needs. The businessman, on the other hand, does nothing of use for the stars, just as any capitalist does little more than accumulating profits and overseeing those he overworks and underpays, his workers, who are the ones who are actually making the products and who thus should manage themselves and earn the full fruits of their labour.

The little prince leaves the businessman’s planet.

XV: Chapter Fourteen

The next planet the little prince comes to is one inhabited by a lamplighter. This planet is the smallest of them all, with only enough room for the lamplighter and his street lamp.

This man doesn’t seem to be engaging in absurd acts on first inspection, though, as has been the case with the previous four men, for lighting a street lamp does in itself have meaning. Still, his work is discovered to have plenty of absurdity in it.

The lamplighter’s planet is so small, and it has been rotating faster and faster over time, that morning and evening fall almost immediately the one after the other, so he must light up and put out the street light with hardly any rest in between.

And why? Because these are his orders.

Still, the boy sees good in the lamplighter, for “he cares for something besides himself.” The lonely little prince could also see a friend in the lamplighter, yet sadly, his planet is too small for both of them to live on, so the little prince leaves.

XVI: Chapter Fifteen

The next planet he lands on is one with a geographer, an elderly man who writes long books and imagines the approaching boy to be an explorer. Recall that geography has been one of the pilot’s studies, so when we discover the geographer’s absurdities, we will see another example of our narrator poking vicarious fun at himself.

One would think that this geographer would have an encyclopedic knowledge of every nook and cranny of his little planet, but he knows of no oceans on it, nor of any mountains, cities, rivers, or deserts. The reason for his ignorance, he says, is that he has no explorers to discover all of these things for him. He is only supposed to receive the explorers’ information, ask them questions about it, and write it all down.

Considering the little prince to be an explorer, the geographer is eager to hear the boy describe his planet. The prince tells of his volcanoes and his flower, though the geographer is not concerned with the latter, since it is “ephemeral.” Geography books are concerned only with what lasts forever on a planet, the geographer insists.

Similarly, he is not concerned with whether a volcano is extinct or if it lives. What matters to him is the mountain itself, which does not change. If the geographer records changing things in his books, then they’ll be out of date, sooner or later, and he can’t have that.

The little prince is saddened to learn that that which is ephemeral is “that which will die.” Since his flower is ephemeral, he fears for her death. In his heart, the boy knows better than the man: that which will die is far superior to that which is “everlasting,” since the ephemeral’s value is its rarity in the brevity of its life.

The geographer recommends that the little prince go next to the Earth, since good things have been said about the planet. So Earth is where the boy goes.

XVII: Chapter Sixteen

Ours is no ordinary planet, for instead of having only one king, one vain man, one drunk, one businessman, one lamplighter, and one geographer, there are many hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands, and/or millions of each of these kinds of men on Earth. So many adult fools, all occupying one planet.

The narrator discusses the many lamplighters of the world before the invention of electricity.

XVIII: Chapter Seventeen

The narrator notes, yet again, another absurd thing that people often do: they lie to sound smart. While he acknowledges that people occupy very little space on Earth, grownups will think he’s lying about that, since they in their pride would prefer to believe that they take up a great deal of space here. “They think they are as large as baobabs.” As I discussed above, we should all know what that kind of poisonous pride can lead to.

When the little prince arrives on Earth, he’s surprised to find no people at all. Well, he is in the middle of a desert, after all. On a planet with so many people, the boy is still lonely.

He soon finds himself in a conversation with a snake. Since as a Christ-figure, the little prince could thus be a kind of second Adam (1 Corinthians 15:47, for example), then it is fitting that he have a conversation with a ‘second serpent’–not one that will tempt him (via Eve) into sin and death, but one that will give him genuine knowledge and wisdom.

The boy learns from the serpent that, while it is surely lonely to be in the desert, “It is also lonely among men.” One could be surrounded in a sea of people, yet still feel lonely if one doesn’t have any friends. Many people here on Earth have that experience. The boy’s encounter of many, each living alone on his own tiny little planet, is symbolic of that loneliness, isolation, and alienation we all feel, at least from time to time. The absurd behaviour of those men on their asteroids can be seen as at least representative of trauma responses to their loneliness.

The serpent says other things to suggest his links with the Biblical one. He says he’s “more powerful than the finger of a king”, suggesting he’s in a way like Satan, the god of this world (2 Corinthians 4:4). He also says, “Whoever I touch I send back to the dust that created them” (Genesis 3:19). This is a good serpent, though, and he won’t hurt the little prince, for he is pure and comes from a star. He is concerned about the boy, and he can help him.

XIX: Chapter Eighteen

The little prince walks across the desert and finds a flower with whom he has a conversation.

He asks the flower where the people are, but the flower has once seen a caravan go by, and it believes there are only six or seven people, all blown about by the winds, so who knows where they are. The people’s lack of roots “causes them many problems.”

That’s what we need: roots to hold us in place!

XX: Chapter Nineteen

The boy goes up to the top of a high mountain. Before, he knew only his three tiny volcanoes, going up just to his knees. He imagines he’ll be able to see the entire planet from this tall mountain, but he can see only “sharp, craggy peaks.”

He calls out, and hears only an echo for his answer. To hear only himself is like meeting the pilot, a lonely mirror of himself.

XXI: Chapter Twenty

This is the chapter in which the little prince, as I mentioned above, encounters a garden of roses. These roses look just like his flower, the one he left on his little planet. He’s saddened by how their likeness to his rose, his true love, makes her no longer unique, but common. He sees five thousand roses here!

Recall how I mentioned above that his flower represents the author’s wife, Consuela, and that these many flowers represent his extramarital affairs. Consuela, incidentally, had affairs of her own, which I suspect Saint-Exupéry knew of, or at least suspected, hence she, like the many roses here, must have seemed disappointingly “common” to him.

Since the little prince is an idealized version of Saint-Exupéry, then the replacement of the women in his life with flowers is an attempt to smooth over and mitigate his sins, as well as those of Consuela. We see, in the weeping of the little prince over his “common rose,” a touching moment revealing how, in spite of Saint-Exupéry’s naughtiness (and Consuela’s), he still loved her.

XXII: Chapter Twenty-one

As the little prince has been weeping, a fox appears. The two have a conversation, and the boy, feeling lonely, wishes to play with the fox.

The fox insists, however, that the prince tame it first. By “tame,” it means that the boy must “make a connection” with it, thus they would need each other, and be unique to each other. The boy thinks of his rose, and he tells the fox he thinks she’s tamed him. In this taming, it is apparent that his rose became “unique” to him…unlike now.

The fox doesn’t like its dull life because all it does is hunt chickens and is hunted by men, each of both types being all identical, lacking uniqueness, and thus their lives are boring; but if the little prince could tame the fox, then its life would be so much better. The boy’s and the fox’s lives would have meaning, because taming would make them connect with each other, and give each other uniqueness.

The little prince says, however, that he hasn’t the time to tame the fox, for he must look for friends and try to understand the ways of the Earth. The fox says it would be better to tame and be friends with it, for people, having no time for understanding, would rather buy things in shops. One cannot buy friendships, so people don’t have friends anymore…what a trenchant comment on how modern capitalism causes alienation.

To tame the fox, the boy will have to be very patient. Since ‘taming’ in this story essentially means making friends with others–calming down their wildness and making them civil with you–we see how important patience is in building relationships…a skill we have been losing more and more as we fetishize commodities in the shops mentioned above. It’s easier to have things than it is to have people, and to have people have us.

“Words can cause misunderstandings,” says the fox, which is part of why having patience in relationships is so hard.

And so in taming the fox, appearing for it at regular times and thus making it happy, the little prince has made friends with it and made it unique, not like a hundred thousand other foxes. Similarly, his rose is unique because of its taming, so it isn’t like all those other roses that seem so common. Because of this understanding, he can feel good about his rose again. One imagines that, in real life, this understanding must have helped Saint-Exupéry to reconcile himself to his wife, in spite of their troubled marriage.

We see most clearly through our hearts, the fox tells the little prince. Seeing through the heart must be the basis of a child’s wisdom, while seeing through the eyes seems to be the basis of an adult’s folly. What’s more, the boy’s rose is important because of the time he’s spent with her, the taming process.

The fox is believed to have been inspired by Saint-Exupéry’s intimate New York City friend, Silvia Hamilton Reinhardt, and she is the one who apparently gave the author the wisdom of seeing clearly with one’s heart. It’s ironic that the source of some of the novella’s wisdom, if it’s the true source, came from a paramour.

XXIII: Chapter Twenty-two

Next, the little prince meets a railway signalman. As the trains race past from one side to the other, the boy wonders why they’re in such a great hurry, to which the man answers that even the passengers don’t know why. The prince asks if the passengers were unhappy where they were before they took the train, and the signalman tells him, trenchantly, that one is never happy wherever one is; in other words, traveling anywhere will never bring happiness–one cannot find it by merely going out there…one must be content where one already is first. The little prince might well have just stayed on his planet with his rose. Oh, the folly of the pilot’s many flights!

One interesting point that the railway signalman makes is that the adult passengers are following nothing, just sleeping during the train rides, while it’s their children who have their faces pressed against the windows. The boy notes that only children know what they are looking for, implying the folly of the sleeping adults, who have let their sense of curiosity wane.

XXIV: Chapter Twenty-three

The little prince meets a merchant who sells small smart pills that can quench one’s thirst. If only the pilot were here! The little prince would use the time saved by taking the pills to go to a water fountain.

XXV: Chapter Twenty-four

As of this point in the boy’s telling of his story to the pilot, the latter has used up all of his drinking water. He is desperate, in his stress, to get water and repair his plane, so he has no use of the boy’s stories!

Since the little prince mentioned going to a water fountain, fortuitously just in time, rather than indulge in the hallucinatory wish-fulfillment of taking one of the merchant’s water-pills (whose saving of time is a further wish-fulfillment, alleviating the pilot’s anxiety about urgently finding water), he simply takes the pilot to look for such a fountain. They search until night falls, and thirst is making the man a little feverish.

At one point, the little prince remarks about how beautiful the desert is, and the pilot must agree. Then the boy says that the beauty of the desert comes from how a well is hiding within it.

The pilot has an epiphany on hearing this second observation. He realizes that what makes anything beautiful–a house, the stars, a desert–is something that stays invisible, hidden.

The boy falls asleep, and the man carries him. He realizes how valuable the little prince is. He looks at the boy and understands that what he sees is just a shell, but that what’s important about the little prince is invisible, hidden.

We see with our hearts, not with our eyes.

The little prince has tamed the pilot, who is no longer frantic about fixing his plane, and is patient in his growing thirst. Instead of being lonely, the pilot has a friend…if only a hallucinated projection of himself. He and the boy are unique to each other. The pilot understands that relationships are more important than things.

And it is at this point, at daybreak, when he has discovered, at last, a well.

XXVI: Chapter Twenty-five

The little prince seems to be recalling his conversation with the railway signalman when he says that people go on trains without knowing where they really want to go. They go in circles and get frustrated. It isn’t worth it. As I said above in my comment on Chapter Twenty-two, it doesn’t matter where one travels if one doesn’t have happiness. Was it worth the trouble for the boy to leave his planet? Have any of the pilot’s plane trips been worth it, if he’s been so lonely?

When they operate the well to draw water from it, the boy says, “The well is now awake, and it is singing.” He wishes to drink, too, but he’s always aware of beauty before his material needs.

As the boy drinks, the pilot comes to understand what the prince has been looking for: not just the nourishment of the water, but also forming bonds with people while seeking such material needs, and appreciating beauty along the way.

The little prince gets a picture of a muzzle for his sheep, drawn by the man so the boy’s flower will be safe from being eaten when he returns to his planet. Then the pilot must return to his plane and finish repairing it; after that, he must go back to the boy, as he in turn had to do to the fox, for this is part of being tamed: remembering your relationships with others.

XXVII: Chapter Twenty-six

The pilot returns to see the little prince, who is sitting on the top of a dilapidated old stone wall, with his feet dangling from it. The pilot notices that there is a yellow snake at the foot of the wall, one that could bite and thus kill the boy in less than thirty seconds. The prince tells it to go away, so he can get off of the wall. The pilot is getting his pistol out to shoot the snake, but it slithers away quickly.

He wonders about the boy speaking with snakes, but instead he learns that the little prince knows he has repaired his plane. So he can go home…and so can the boy.

The pilot knows already that he’ll miss the little prince when he is gone. He longs to hear the boy’s laugh. The prince has given the man so much wisdom; the boy has reawakened the child in the pilot.

Because of the child, the man has a way of valuing the stars that other adults haven’t. For scientists, the stars are trouble; for the businessman, they are wealth. For the pilot, because he knows the little prince is among them, the stars laugh for him.

The boy has given him the gift of happiness, of friendship, and of the end of loneliness. He doesn’t want to leave the prince.

XXVIII: Chapter Twenty-seven

Six years have gone by since the little prince left Earth.

Since he forgot to draw a leather strap for the muzzle for the sheep, the pilot wonders if the sheep has eaten the rose. Perhaps it’s safe, protected under its glass dome…or maybe there’s been an occasion when the boy has forgotten to put it on the rose, and the sheep has eaten it!

Whether the sheep has or hasn’t eaten the flower, everything changes if the answer to this question is yes, and this is important in a way no adult will ever understand, for it’s about caring deeply about a child’s happiness.

Saint-Exupéry ends his tale by twice drawing the spot in the desert where he met the little prince, and also where the boy left him. Thus, it is both the happiest and the saddest place in the world for the pilot.

Recall what I said in my commentary on Chapter Two, about the ouroboros, and that the head biting the tail represents where extreme opposites meet in a dialectical sense. In this instance, I mentioned heaven and hell: back in that chapter, hell led to heaven, the stress of facing certain death in the desert led to the pilot’s encounter with the Christ-like little prince; by the story’s end, though, happiness has led to sadness, in how the pilot has experienced a kind of enlightenment through the boy, and yet now he deeply misses the boy’s company.

After Buddhist-like enlightenment, the pilot feels himself thrown back into the samsara of attachment, wanting his little prince back. He thus asks his readers, if they should see the boy there in the desert, to let him know of the boy’s return, to comfort him.

XXIX: Conclusion

The complexities of life, the songs of innocence and of experience, make us adults forget the simple truths we knew as children: be kind to people, help those in need, appreciate friendships, weed out the bad things before they get worse, and prioritize what is beautiful over material gain. Don’t let pride turn you into a fool.

Thus it makes perfect sense that Saint-Exupéry wrote a novella, to remind adults of the above values, in the form of a children’s story.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince, France, Editions Gallimard, 1946