Sometimes life takes you in funny directions. So it was for me in the fall of 1999. I won’t bore you with specifics, except to say that I was more or less stranded in Nashville, TN. Nothing against the place, which is beautiful, but anyone who knows me could tell you that it’s one of the last spots on Earth you might reasonably expect to find me. Yet there I was, killing a week. Thankfully, there was a 24-screen multiplex on the outskirts of the city, and I spent almost every day there during my time down south. And on one of those days, I wandered in to an 11:00 AM show on the opening day of Fight Club.
Sorry to be a bit crude here, but an hour into the 130-minute film, I had to pee worse than I ever have before. Despite this, I couldn’t bring myself to walk out, even for a minute. I was completely enthralled by David Fincher’s adaptation of the Chuck Palahniuk novel, which tells the story of an office drone (Edward Norton) who enters the world of underground bare-knuckle fighting, courtesy of the enigmatic Tyler Durden (played by Brad Pitt). That fist fighting eventually morphs into outright anarchy, as the two begin committing acts of domestic terrorism in their fight against “the establishment.” When Fight Club was over, I exited the theater in a state of euphoria. If it is possible to become obsessed with something on sight, I’d done exactly that.
Now, if there’s one thing less likely than me spending time in the country music capital of the world, it’s me giving a rip about bare-knuckle fighting (or anarchy, for that matter). I am in no way what you’d call “in fighting shape.” Moreover, I’m a pacifist. I have no interest in boxing, or wrestling, or that cage-fighting thing you see ads for on pay-per-view. This stuff simply ain’t my cup of tea. But damn, did I loves me the Fight Club. Once I blessedly got back home to Pennsylvania, I couldn’t stop talking about it to my friends.
That passion was baffling. What was it that made me so fascinated with this dark, violent tale – one that, on the surface, seems to go against my entire being? At first, I thought I was just caught up in Fincher’s creative visualization of the story. That’s partly true, without accounting for everything. Then media articles started popping up, talking about how the movie portrayed the societal impotence of the modern man, caught in an era where materialism rules and emotions must be repressed. For a while, I thought this might explain it, until I realized that I couldn’t really identify with the sentiment. Multiple viewings of Fight Club over the last decade made me think that perhaps my devotion to it was tied in to the circumstances of the time in which I first saw it. The fall of 1999, as you can perhaps guess, was not the greatest time of my life. I was under an undue amount of stress and attempting to deal with a bunch of things, personal and professional, that simply weren’t panning out anywhere near the way I thought they would. Maybe Fight Club was simply the right film at the wrong time.
None of these explanations ever fully satisfied me. Then, about a month ago, something clicked. I was in an ultra-rare bad mood (I’m usually a cheery guy, really!) when my mind suddenly and inexplicably flashed back to Fight Club. Everything made sense in that moment. I’d finally cracked the reason why I identify so deeply with the movie, in spite of all logic.
You see, Fight Club is an angry film. It’s about people who are pissed off – at their employers, at their significant others, at society, and at themselves. I’m a believer that all of us have a dark side within us. Not a dark side that makes us hurt other people, or act like jerks, or become Sith lords, or anything like that. Simply a reserve of anger toward those who, at some point in our lives, have done us wrong or screwed us over. Maybe it’s a former boss who made you take the fall for his/her own mistake. Maybe it’s an ex who cheated on you or used you. Maybe it’s a family member or close friend who took when they needed something, then refused to give when you were the one in need. Regardless, we’ve all felt that feeling of anger at another person, combined with a self-directed anger that we were stupid enough to get into that situation to begin with, or that we were powerless to stop the situation from getting so bad.
Fight Club understands this. The film is a cry of rage against the rat bastards of our individual worlds. We can’t really haul off and deck one of those rat bastards – without potential repercussions, at least – but it sure does feel good to imagine it. Fight Club imagines it for us, in a way that is both vivid and cathartic.
I once did one of those Facebook surveys where you have to list 25 random things about yourself. Among my innocuous personal trivia was a more intimate tidbit. I wrote: “I get along with almost everyone, but I also have a mental shit list of people whom I detest. There are six names on that list.” I love Fight Club because I’ve had the displeasure of being in the orbit of people like that, no matter how temporarily. The Tyler Durden in me would be proud.
I am Jack’s seething resentment.
Next time: an unfairly ignored gem that was largely seen only by people who were paid to (i.e. critics). I think it deserves to be discovered.
