Watching the television coverage of the brutal beating of Tyre Nichols is both fascinating and disheartening. Commentators are now telling us that it is not important whether or not the police who murdered him were black or white. This specifically contradicts the message of Black Lives Matter, and indicates the ideological bankruptcy that lies at the heart of wokeness. Simply put: does race matter, or does it not? Can you please make up your mind? I was similarly befuddled and discouraged by the reaction to Florian Zeller’s recent masterpiece The Son, released hot on the tails of The Father — which was both a gripping and terrifying melodrama, starring Anthony Hopkins and Olivia Colman — and which dealt with the horrors of dementia. The Son too, deals with mental illness, and this has proved to be its downfall -- as the woke critics that now constitute the editorial staff of Rotten Tomatoes have officially killed Zeller’s film. It was with bewilderment that I read (before watching it) the film’s 27% rating and the incomprehensible reviews. I couldn’t figure out what critics thought was so wrong. It seemed they might be obsessed with the notion that the parents did not properly deal with their mentally ill child; unfortunately, it was difficult to tell. The Son (like The Father) was written by Christopher Hampton, who is six years older than I am. This should be enough to disqualify any film written by him for woke praise, as he is obviously cripplingly decrepit and ‘past it.’ But as ancient as I am, I can remember the brash queerness of Hampton’s first success (in 1966 — at the ripe old age of 20, no less!) When Did You Last See My Mother? — and the sheer brilliance of his forgotten masterpiece -- one of my favourite plays — The Philanthropist -- at London's Royal Court. Well it turns out that The Son — unlike Zeller’s The Father (which received 98% on Rotten Tomatoes) will be unable to steer clear of the rocky shoals of woke that will send it to a watery and ignominius grave. The primary contribution woke politics has made to the arts (besides destroying it) is to demand that every work of art have an easily discernible and translatable message, and on top of that, a message that pleases the new, intolerant left. On this level The Son is shockingly bereft, as it is nearly impossible to figure out its ‘point of view.' The Son presents the nightmare of mental illness, period. There is no one to blame here; but God (if you still believe in him) and the afflicted parents and their afflicted child must navigate the maelstrom of this psychological nightmare as best they can. Consequentially, the film forces us think a lot about parenting, love and trust, men and women, and the definition of sanity itself. But then there is the whole issue of ‘mental illness.’ And when woke makes something an ‘issue’, there is of course no discussion — only a hard and fast notion of good and evil, right and wrong. Under a relatively recent and particularly punishing woke rubric, ‘mental illness’ has become a sacred cow. I remember a few years ago asking one of my students if Hamlet was ‘mad’ and getting, in response the following reprimand: ‘It’s not right of us to question whether or not a person is mentally ill or not. It’s up to them to self identify.’ My protestation that Hamlet was a fictional character fell on deaf ears; this too is one of the most salient characteristics of wokedom which (like the religious right) cannot tell fact from fiction. At any rate, for wokies, the mentally ill are saints, and as such need to be nothing less than worshipped. They are most likely abused by the medical establishment and the non-woke, as they are always right, and certainly never ‘evil.’ Unfortunately, The Son does not share this rosy picture of mental illness; in fact the family is destroyed by madness's cannibalistic virulence, and ultimately (and this is the film’s unforgivable crime) when the parents take the advice of their mentally ill son this (spoiler alert) leads to their son’s untimely and tragic death. As the son screams at his parents: ‘Don’t listen to them — listen to me!' one is reminded of the tragic persistence of young trans ‘victims’ who demand drugs and surgery, all the while threatening imminent self-immolation. Of course — wokies tell us — parents must listen, always, as children —especially mentally ill ones — are always right, and we — the infirm and uninformed old — must allow the child to rule. I feel sad for the failure of this film; it should be Christopher Hampton’s final masterpiece.Or perhaps he will come up with an ever better script for Florian Zeller’s The Mother (which undoubtedly must be in the works)? Although I am frightened that it, too, may offend the woke by presenting a less than flattering portrait of a human female. And, after all, one of the undebatable woke precepts is that women are always right and men are always wrong. It’s hard to be an artist in these paradoxical times. Most are giving up. I, for one, am not.
