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In these pandemic times, many of us are perhaps more motivated than usual to seek out TV shows and movies to transport us beyond our current stress and circumstances, if only temporarily. However, the narratives and characters that capture our attention may vary depending on our psychological tendencies and moods, among other factors like our viewing context (with children?) and options (time? streaming service?). We may also be swayed by what others are watching—the power of “social proof” is strong—we may use popularity ratings (or “Trending now”) as cues for what to watch next.
For example, the first show currently featured under Netflix’s “bingeworthy dramas” is Breaking Bad, one of the most critically acclaimed antihero programs in the last decade, whose protagonist (Walter White) is a hapless high school teacher and family man (incrementally) turned vicious meth king, ostensibly to financially support his family after his expected death from cancer.
Breaking Bad was lauded for its immensely talented lead actor (Bryan Cranston) as well as its sharp writing and cinematography. But Walter White was also an unlikely target of audience affinity; as Vince Gillegan, the show’s creator once said, “I assumed that people would lose sympathy and lose patience with Walt along the way, the more greedy and selfish he became. But lo and behold, it seemed to be the opposite was in fact the case.”
Why did the show and its antiheroic lead have such mass appeal? Media psychologists have noted the “moral disengagement cues” that may be endemic to such programs, allowing viewers to maintain liking for a character in spite of criminal or violent behavior (i.e., he’s just doing it for his family; he’s getting sucked into something larger than himself). We may also enjoy the transgressive pleasure of being along for the unethical ride sans real-world consequences.
However, a related question we might ask is: Why do certain people find antiheroes particularly appealing? This was the question my former student Angelique Ribieras (Vassar ’17) wanted to investigate for her senior thesis project—which psychological tendencies might correspond with increased antihero affinity? Would those whose personalities mirrored antiheroic ones be the most likely to consume and enjoy them? [Thanks to Scott MgGreal for his thoughtful post on our paper!]
Defined loosely by academics as morally ambiguous protagonists whose actions are neither purely heroic nor villainous, antiheroes comprise a diverse group, ranging from the guilt-ridden, therapy-seeking mobster Tony Soprano, to the caustic and brilliant Dr. House, to the sardonic and violent Deadpool in the eponymously named movie franchise.
Female characters remain dramatically under-represented in this genre, whose characters are often defined by stereotypically hypermasculine characteristics of aggression and callousness, even or especially if the ends justify the means (think: James Bond). However, women have increasingly joined the ranks (e.g., Olivia Pope in Scandal, and more recently, Harley Quinn). Worth noting is that representations of female antiheroes may be qualitatively different from their male counterparts; Some work suggests they feel more guilty about their unethical behavior or are less liked by viewers.
In addition to asking undergraduate survey participants to rate the frequency and enjoyment of viewing antihero narratives, and their interpersonal engagement with a favorite or familiar antihero character (did they feel similar to the character? Did they wish they could be more like them? Did they feel as though the character was an old friend?), we asked them to rate themselves on specific antisocial tendencies that some scholars argue typify the modern antihero: The Dark Triad traits.
The triad is comprised of narcissism (e.g., “I insist on getting the respect I deserve”), Machiavellianism (e.g., “I like to use clever manipulation to get my way”), and psychopathy (e.g., “People who mess with me always regret it”). Finally, we asked participants to rate themselves on moral disengagement tendencies (e.g., “People who get mistreated have usually done something to bring it on themselves”) as well as aggression (e.g., "Given enough provocation, I may hit another person”).
Our recent paper (in collaboration with my esteemed colleague Allan Clifton) showed that the most commonly identified antiheroes were Walter White of Breaking Bad and Deadpool from Deadpool. Female antiheroes constituted only 11% of the total sample identified (women were more likely to choose a female than men were, although women were just as likely to show an affinity for the genre or characters as men were).
Self-reported aggressive tendencies predicted increased frequency of viewing antihero programs, increased enjoyment of revenge motivations, and increased perceived similarity to a favorite antihero character. Machiavellianism and psychopathy predicted similar if less robust patterns of affinity. Moral disengagement tendencies were correlated with the character-specific affinities, and narcissism showed only one significant association with perceived similarity to a favorite antihero. In sum, a small but significant percent of antihero affinity was captured by viewers’ own “darker” tendencies.
So what? On the one hand, perhaps the findings merely reflect our tendency to attune to similar others. But the adaptive reason we are motivated to notice self-relevant models is that they may give us new information about how we might behave in a similar situation, and provide useful opportunities for social comparison (are we doing better or worse than they are?).
Thus, the possible impact of such character connections is important to contemplate as well; indeed, research shows that in both the short and long term, consumption of violent media may activate aggressive thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. Research has also shown that chronic exposure to media violence can desensitize us to the brutality of violence — much as repeated exposure to any initially arousing stimulus can reduce its perceived intensity (as my own mother has said of Breaking Bad, “the violence is just so over the top, it becomes less and less interesting…seems less and less like violence”). Most of us have many protective factors in place to keep us from enacting the kinds of extreme behaviors we see in the media, but for those whose regulatory capacities and motivations are already considered high risk for aggressive behavior, media content may provide a small but critical addition to the mix (See Gentile & Bushman, 2012 for a useful “risk and resilience framework” analysis of media violence).
Our data also show that the story of antiheroes’ appeal is as complex as the characters themselves. For example, greater perceived heroism and lower levels of violence/gore (as indicated by IMDB parental advisories) were associated with increased wishful identification with antihero characters. Further, one person’s hero may be another person’s villain—while most participants considered Walter White to be a villain, one participant placed him on the hero end of the spectrum. Conversely, although most considered Deadpool or Dr. House to be heroic, a few participants rated them much closer to the villain end of the spectrum.
Clearly, these characters and narratives elicit myriad social judgments that may be central to their appeal. Indeed, when asked to provide open-ended adjectives, the most commonly used words were: complex, unconventional, relatable, and realistic. Like so many of us? It remains to be tested whether we can keep the good and leave the bad; that is, can we encode the prosocial dimensions of antiheroes (e.g., family loyalty, confidence) and discard the antisocial ones (violence, narcissism).
As someone who has managed pandemic under-stimulation by bingeing her way through the (arguably) feminist fantasy The Queens Gambit, followed by the lush and melodramatic whodunit The Undoing, and more recently, the fast-paced and far-fetched The Flight Attendant (full of fabulous female characters, I might add, one of which could be classified as an antihero), I would probably do well to take a bit more careful stock of my own recent media choices and motivations. As this holiday season brings an exponentially greater wintry mix of anxiety, isolation, or grief, we might aim to be more mindful of the fictional company we keep. Perhaps ask ourselves which aspects of a show or character we are enjoying. If the answer is their “dark side,” it might be time to bake some cookies.
