Apocalypse Always: Decentering Apocalypse through the Lens of the Leftovers

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Apocalypse Always

Decentering Apocalypse through the Lens of the Leftovers

Lilian Kok 10013413

Supervisor: Dr. C.H.C.M vander Stichele Second reader: Dr. J.W Kooijman

Master Thesis: Religious Studies | Religion and Identity in the Modern World University of Amsterdam

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Preface

The first time I had seen the post-apocalyptic television series the Leftovers (White Rabbit

Productions) when it came out in 2014, it hit a snare. There was something uncomfortable about it, about the way it seems to put a finger right on the sore spots of our time. For as long as I can remember, I have felt a gnawing need to understand the world and my own place in it. This need to understand has taken me along many different paths, of which one has been an academic journey into Media & Culture. My eyes were opened to the ways in which our society and our perception of reality as a whole is structured and shaped continually by an immense amount of information, images, and narratives that reach us via media. But also, that by turning the focus around, it is possible to use almost any media object as a mirror of ourselves – a reflective surface which can tell much about what we think and how we perceive the world at a certain time in history. In 2012, I had written my bachelor thesis on the depiction of the (Muslim) Other in the subgenre of

Anglophone science fiction alien invasion films in the post 9/11 world. Undoubtedly, the shocking video images of the New York attacks on September 11th_{, 2001 had made a big impression on most}

people. For me personally, at twelve years old, the event marked the beginning of an awareness of - and interest in, (geo) politics, media, religion and what I would later understand as the realm of 'cultural studies'. Although the specific subject of 9/11 has kept my attention over the course of my studies, I came to realize that it was not so much the attacks themselves which had me fascinated, but more what the public response and political- and media circuses following such a crisis could tell about the constructs and shaping of collective (national) identity and the nation-state. I read a sociological academic article by Mark J. Landau et al.; ''Deliver Us from Evil'' (2004), in which the authors neatly analyze how, post 9/11, the particular religious and apocalyptic rhetoric of President George W. Bush worked to dramatically increase his popularity as president. The article made me realize what tremendous psychological force (collective) narratives can have. These often

absolutist, dualistic and somewhat simplistic stories, narratives and myths that demarcate between heroes and villains, good and evil, punishment and salvation, are perhaps as old as humanity itself

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– and still prove to be central to the ways in which (national) identity, society, and history are constructed and remembered. Many of these narratives have in common that they tell of our origins, progress, and purpose; be it told in the book of Genesis, through the American frontier myth, or within the ideas of the Enlightenment. After finishing my bachelor's, I further pursued my interest in all of the above during the master Religion and Identity in the Modern World, with a specific interest to learn and understand more about the ways in which religion is able to saturate the lives of so many people with a sense of meaning and purpose, as well as the significant part religious narratives and myths have in constructing collective, national and individual identities. During the course of this master, a cross-over between the disciplines of mediastudies and religious studies has always kept my attention; I got particularly interested in the religious narrative of 'apocalypse' and representations of apocalypse in media, and film specifically. Perhaps this is why I was so struck by the Leftovers; I experienced the series as a philosophical exploration of the same sentient questions on the meaning and purpose of life that had concerned myself. Even more so,

the Leftovers is a contemplation on the ways in which we innately create and cling to myths and

narratives to situate ourselves and the cosmos; to help us cope with the difficult and absurdist aspects of life and death, and to connect with one another through the beauty of storytelling. The series traces the connections between our experiences of the greatest catastrophes and our most intimate losses. The Leftovers reminds us of the splendor and significance of narratives, but also of the suffering and division they can cause when taken rigidly or dogmatic. Analysing the Leftovers, to me, was like diving into a rabbit hole. I've watched the series many times, and every time I found new references, layers, and subtexts, providing the series with a quite complex hypertext I was eager to sift through and understand. Admittingly, in following the 'breadcrumb trail' of subtexts and references the Leftovers leaves behind for whoever is interested in finding them (and I believe many more, different of these breadcrumb trails could be found, telling different stories) - I often found more than anticipated. I found myself deeply embedded in the works of Camus and Sartre, Freud and Lacan, the Book of Job and Don Quixote, and many more old religious, pagan and secular myths. At least two notebooks with scribbles and thoughts on the series must have been filled, alongside which this thesis developed accordingly. I found it mind-boggling at times how

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through all of its layers of meta- and subtexts, the idea of narrative is always present in this series -

the Leftovers is a story about storytelling, and invites the viewer to immerse too in all the stories

and myths we have created throughout history, which in turn, the series employed to create its own. This thesis can be seen as the result of a very modest exploration of our time and age, and the importance of (collective) myths and narratives - through the lens of the Leftovers. Many 'aha moments' have led to small or bigger shifts in the focus of this essay - as my own understanding of all that is discussed below expanded, this thesis has evolved organically with it to the following result. My dear mother and partner, who both patiently endured my rambles and doubts during the process of writing this thesis, and who continue to inspire me with stories and narratives of their own – thank you for that, and for believing in my capacity to create my own. I owe much gratitude also to my supervisor Dr. Caroline vander Stichele, for her great support, thoughtful comments and suggestions - and for being understanding always.

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Chapter 1: Beginnings & Endings

Every story ends in apocalypse, Frank Kermode writes in The Sense of an Ending (1967), one of

the leading literary works on apocalypse. Indeed, apocalypse has often been associated with marginal (millennial) groups, but this fails to acknowledge the immense influence the myth of apocalypse has always had on the human imagination. The end has inspired the oldest religious myths and has been impressively represented in god-fearing works of art. Apocalypse has been the subject of many dystopian novels and cinematic spectacles of doom. Although end-time thinking reaches back thousands of years, and perhaps would be expected to have withered in this modern age, different scholars have noted that apocalyptic thinking now in fact flourishes like never before. The twentieth century had brought great technological progress - but with it came the possibility of complete annihilation into the hands of man. What the end could look like was made visual for the world by the bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima.

Much can be said, like David Domke and Kevin Coe have engagingly done in the God

Strategy (2008), on how apocalyptic thought has become increasingly intertwined with especially

American politics and culture since the twentieth century (12-13). Especially the growing influence of evangelical groups on American media as well as politics deserves serious attention, as this, at least in part, helps to contextualize the particular apocalyptic sensitivity of contemporary America. As a staggering 61% of American adults believe the world will soon be brought to an end (3), as noted by Daniel Wojcick (1999) – apocalypse does definitively not reside at the margins of society anymore. Although different scholars have noted this particular American sensitivity, in

Millennium, Messiahs and Mayhem (1997) Palmer and Robbins argue that this heightening of

apocalyptic expectation may indeed represent a global phenomenon (4). With all the unrest in the world - reaching all corners of the earth more easily than ever in this global information age - this is quite understandable. One only has to turn on the television or computer and glance at the news headlines to get an idea of all the possible ways our world might end soon. This is a time of

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continual (perceived) crises; climate change, renewed (nuclear) tensions between the East and the West, the 2008 economic collapse, increasingly polarized societies and an unprecedented amount of people worldwide being displaced under the destructive impact of seemingly never-ending wars. Perhaps then, it is not despite of, but because of the ever fast-changing world that the need for apocalyptic narratives has remained so strong.

1.1: Theoretical framework & methodology

The basis of the theoretical framework employed in this essay can be found in an overlap between the field of cultural studies and the field of religious studies. Writing this essay has again

underscored how tightly interwoven the fields of religion and (popular) culture are – in fact, especially in today's world, separating the two seems to be neither sensible nor practically achievable. The main issue addressed in this thesis evolves around the idea of 'apocalypse' – a deceptively simple term. The more precise one attempts to pinpoint its meaning, the more elusive it tends to become. For the purpose of this essay, the term apocalypse will be used in several senses which often overlap each other. Apocalypse; stemming from Ancient Greek, literally means 'an uncovering'; 'disclosure' or 'revelation'. Over the course of history apocalypse has become identified dominantly with the Christian eschaton; the actual imagined end of times as presented in the New Testament Apocalypse of John. In this same sense apocalypse has also become a chiffre for all kinds of (both religious and secular) actual imagined endings, such as in visions of nuclear - or environmental apocalypses.

A second understanding of apocalypse will be exemplified in chapter 2, where the 9/11 attacks will be discussed as an apocalyptisized event. Following James Berger in After the End (1999), such a catastrophe resembles the imagined final ending and can, as such, be interpreted as definitive historical divide, a rupture, and an end to a way of life or thinking (5). Such apocalyptic interpretations of the world have always been abundant, and are still very much so today. ''Our daily lives are ingrained with the textures of apocalyptic belief '' (1), Lee Quinby observes in

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this thesis as part of our social consciousness, or in other words; '' a deeply etched cultural and epistemic condition immanent in the evolution of human civilization'' (ix) , as Jeff Lewis states in

Global Media Apocalypse (2013).

Depending on the text, I have seen this understanding of apocalypse indicated as either; the apocalyptic 'story', 'myth', 'narrative' or 'paradigm'. Somewhat confusing, these definitions usually mean to describe the same thing: apocalypse as a great, meaning-making myth, always hovering in our historical and cultural backgrounds as an organizing principle imposed on an otherwise overwhelming and seemingly chaotic cosmos. Apocalypse is then, in the words of Elizabeth Rosen in Apocalyptic Transformation (2008), ''a means by which to understand the world and one's place in it'' (4). For the remainder of this essay, I find the term myth the most clarifying to indicate this overarching function of apocalypse. Myth should be understood here as it was proposed by scholars as Claude Lévi-Strauss and discussed in Cultural Theory and Popular

Culture (2009) by John Storey: as a widely held ancient idea, belief and story, functioning to

explain and contextualize the origins, purpose and cosmic meaning of humankind and the world (114-116). Myth is thus as an important tool to arrange the world and our lives, and follows, as such, specific narrative structures. When I use the term 'apocalyptic myth', I thus refer to the narrative structure of apocalypse, which is always comprised of: a beginning (Genesis) – a middle – an end (Apocalypse). Here the revelatory element of apocalypse is crucial, as the revelation serves to saturate 'the middle' with meaning and purpose, as well as a promise to a new, pure world. As such, the apocalyptic myth has also always served as a significant vehicle for social criticism, as it offers the possibility of representing the purifying destruction of all the world's illnesses, with a redemptive closure (for those who deserve it). Apocalypse is then, a comforting myth which provides a simple chronicity to an otherwise seemingly chaotic universe. It achieves, in the words of Kermode (1967); ''temporal integration'' (192) – it charges the ungraspable with meaning. Thus, when I use the term apocalypse in regard to the way in which events can be narrativised along the template of the apocalyptic myth, I refer to this specific narrative structure of apocalypse. Hence, the myth of apocalypse can be read through the specific narrativization of 9/11, but we can also read the same myth through, for example, a specific narrativization of World War II, the poetry of

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W.B Yeats or through the song 4 Minute Warning by Radiohead.

1.2: Apocalyptic representations as a barometer of society

It is especially during times of (perceived) crises that cultural apocalyptic sensitivity heightens and particularly comes to the foreground in varied cultural representations as both a meaning-making myth and vehicle for social criticism. Apocalyptic imagination can then take on many forms, defined by the particular social, economic and political anxieties belonging to that time. In this sense, apocalyptic representations can be said to serve as a 'barometer of society'. Media and film in particular can function as excellent tools to gain more insight in the zeitgeist; the particular desires, terrors, hopes, and visions that live within a society. Since its inception, cinema has established a quite spectacular relationship with apocalypse. As the remainder of this chapter shows, apocalyptic anxieties and destructive doom have been acted out endlessly on the big screen for decades, especially from the 1980's on. Mary K. Bloodsworth-Lugo (2015) observes that

especially in times of crisis a peak in apocalyptic cinema can be observed (159). This observation is neatly crystallized in the extensive statistical analysis done by Jerry Määttä (2015) on the

historiography, canonization and historical fluctuations of Anglophone (post)-apocalyptic

narratives. Määttä observes a general heightening in apocalyptic interest from the 19th_{century on,}

increasing significantly during the 20th_{century (420). During the Depression years of the 1930's a}

first noteworthy peak in apocalyptic representations can be observed which then almost doubled between 1950 and 1989 when the Cold War and Vietnam war tensions were at its highest (420). Nuclear trauma and anxieties bubbled under through the 1950's, when the all-encompassing fear of nuclear annihilation took the shape of the Cold War. It was then that science fiction film entered its 'golden age'. Nuclear anxieties dominated many of these films (Day the World Ended, Corman 1955; On the Beach, Kramer 1959; Dr. Strangelove, Kubrick 1964) and paranoia was displaced in a number of alien invasion disaster films (the War of the Worlds, Haskin 1953; Invasion of the Body

Snatchers, Siegel 1958).

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as source of inspiration for novels and films, Lee Quinby and John Wallis (2010) observe a clear change in the second half of the century. Directors and writers now increasingly tap for inspiration from the New Testament and especially the Book of Revelation, which offered a more fitting framework for a world confronted with the possibilities of man-made (nuclear) annihilation (1). In the following decades, collective paranoia was further fed by the Watergate scandal and the

Vietnam war (acted out in the aptly named Apocalypse Now, Coppola 1979). As technological progression made film increasingly affordable, especially from the 1980's forward, film became an increasingly popular mode of expression for apocalyptic narratives (Määttä 2015, 422). During this time (nuclear) anxieties around the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan were reflected in movies such as

WarGames (Badham, 1983); The Day After (Meyer, 1983) and Threads (Jackson, 1984) (422). The

1978 zombie apocalypse Dawn of the Dead by George Romero reflected a new kind of anxiety taking hold around this time as increasing globalization and the (capitalist) consumerist society gained weight. The following decades saw further crystallization of these thematics, and climate anxiety was put firmly on the map of apocalyptic imagining with films such as Waterworld (Reynolds, 1995).

It was not until the early 1990's that a notable decline in apocalyptic representations set in. The fall of the Berlin Wall, the disintegration of the Soviet Union and nuclear disarmament treaties probably initiated this (short) period of 'apocalyptic relaxation'. It should be noted however, that meanwhile in America under mainly evangelical influence conservatism increased and a return to fundamentalist religion took hold. Thompson (2007) argues that this 'New Awakening' has had a significant potency on the apocalyptic obsession which has taken hold of America (7-8).

Conservative religious power added to the eventual election of president George W. Bush in 2001, who engaged in unprecedented religious and apocalyptic rhetoric, unabashedly serving his

Christian conservative voters. Thompson notes how during this time, the evangelical foothold began to reflect in mainstream theaters too. By targeting general audiences using high production value, evangelical film broke out of its niche with movies such as The Omega Code (Marcarelli, 1999). The growing commercial success of evangelical media stretched out over various media, like the successful book series Left Behind (1995-2007); which has sold over 65 million copies and was

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adapted into multiple movies (10-11). Meanwhile, in what Thompson calls a 'religious turn', Hollywood adopted the conservatives religious rhetoric and style - showing in films overloaded with religious symbolism such as End of Days (Hyams, 1999) and the controversial The Passion of

the Christ (Gibson, 1999). Thompson notes how technological progress and bigger budgets again

saw a new explosion of apocalyptic spectacles from the second half of the 1990's onwards – often loosely fiddling with millennial fears of the upcoming year 2000 (12). This time also saw the rise of fears of artificial intelligence, with films as the Matrix (Wachowski, 1999) and Artificial

Intelligence (Spielberg, 2001). Finally then, the 2001 September 11th_{attacks marked the definite}

end to the more cheerful and escapist '90's mood – and heralded a 'new wave' of post-apocalyptic narratives (Määttä 2015, 427).

1.3: From optimism to pessimism, from cinema to television

As chapter 2 will discuss in relation to the 9/11 events, these, especially Hollywood films, have in turn come to serve as a frame of reference in itself to understand and situate such crises. Cinema can thus be seen to work as a kind of mirror or soundboard of ourselves, always reflecting and magnifying the undercurrent of our collective mind. But, from the 1980's a change in these cinematic stories of apocalypse can be observed. Where the apocalyptic genre dominantly used to follow the 'original' optimistic narrative structure - ending with either revelation, or with no end at all; a so called 'almost apocalypse' – now a shift towards gloomy, solely destructive apocalypses has taken hold. Chapter 2 will discuss this turn towards 'neo-apocalypticism', as termed by Rosen (2008, 5). Taking the upswing of postmodernism as a starting point of this apocalyptic pessimism, I will move to 9/11 to discuss how a 'new wave' of both conservative and neo-apocalyptic narratives was heralded by this catastrophe, which would continue to stay dominant in the first decade of the twenty-first century. In his 2013 book Behind Apocalypse, Matthew Leggatt argues that this is now changing:

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there have been hints that this cycle of films is coming to an end, as we have seen the beginnings of a recycling back towards escapist movies seen in the 90's'' (29).

I would posit that while Legatt's observation might be correct in regard to Hollywood cinema, an opposite trend has in fact been taking place on television.

While cinema continues to struggle with declining visitor numbers, television might well be experiencing a 'new Golden Age'. On demand video streaming services like Hulu, Amazon Prime and Netflix are booming worldwide. As these companies have invested heavily in creating original content, this in turn motivated cable networks to invest more in high quality scripted shows as well. Research conducted by the American FX Networks points out that the production of scripted television series in America has roughly doubled between 2010 and 2015 (FXnetworks.com). This trend, dubbed 'peak TV', has had a significant impact on the (post) apocalyptic genre as well. Around forty (post)apocalyptic television series have been released since the beginning of the decade, but all of them after 2005. Although not all of these have been equally commercially or critically successful, significant differences within the genre in previous decades can be observed. Gerry Canavan (2010) remarks how the sub-genre of the zombie apocalypse is, for the first time, no longer living at the fringes of the mainstream and sees an unprecedented revival – most notably on television (431-432). Indeed, the Walking Dead (Idiot Box Productions, 2010) has since its start continuously been one of the most popular series in both America and Europe. Along the spectrum of the (post)-apocalyptic genre commercially and critically acclaimed television series are now created. In contrast to the majority of films made within this genre earlier this decade, I would pose that now especially the (post)-apocalyptic television genre is employed to engage in critical

discourse on themes as 9/11, the construct of (American) identity, (neo)-apocalypticism, and (capitalist) consumerism.

Although other recent television series might deserve to be included here, the Leftovers (2014), the Handmaid's Tale (Daniel Wilson Productions, 2017) - created after the acclaimed 1985 novel, and the genre-blending series Black Mirror (Zappotron, 2011) and Westworld (Warner Bros., 2016) specifically deserve attention for dealing with themes of (9/11) collective trauma,

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politics, (construction of) identity, sociocultural anxieties and living in the age of postmodernity - both critically and self-consciously. In chapter 2 I will discuss how this shift stands in straight opposition to much of the post 9/11 apocalyptic film genre as it was during the first half of the decade of this century. The ways in which these series display a particularly self-conscious attitude towards the (post)-apocalyptic genre they themselves are part of, especially strikes me as both a novel and significant change within apocalyptic storytelling.

This raises the question of whether this substantive shift is connected to the move from cinema to television. The episodical television format does offer different and new possibilities for filmmakers and writers, as well as a different viewing experience for the audience. Not the least difference is time – these series are often able to spread out their story over the course of many hours. This means more room to deepen and expand on the different subjects, narratives and thematics. This presents a more immersive and in depth experience for viewers as well.

Furthermore, between seasons there is often a reasonable time gap which allows the makers to adjust their storylines to current topicalities, the general 'mood' in society as well as input from viewers and critics. The notable commercial and critical acclaim these recent (post)-apocalyptic series have received (based on the average combined ratings of leading online film-rating platform Rotten Tomatoes, these series are rated as follows; the Leftovers: 91 percent, the Handmaid's

Tale: 94 percent, Black Mirror: 97 percent and Westworld: 89 percent) indicates that during the

last decade the mood has been shifting. Children of Men (Cuarón 2006), which was a commercial flop at its time of release, has recently seen a remarkable popular resurgence. The film is now hailed, in retrospect, for its highly critical sociopolitical stance as well as the open-ended, no-frills artistic representation of a near future post-apocalyptic earth. The current wave of

(post)-apocalyptic television too is mostly characterized by toned-down atmospheres in which lengthy dialogue or uncomfortable silence are preferred to bombastic action and special effects.

Rosen (2008) has made a similar observation on this substantive shift within the genre, although the body of work she considers spans (roughly) the last decade of the twentieth century, and as such does not include television series (instead, she focuses on (graphic) novels, with the addition of two films: 12 Monkeys (Gilliam, 1995) and the Matrix. Rosen has termed this shift

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within the genre ''constructive postmodern apocalyptic storytelling'' (xi). In these stories,

apocalypse is still an important instrument for criticism, but is characterized by a rejection of both the neo-apocalyptic and traditional sense-making narrative structure of apocalypse. Again,

particularly interesting is the way in which these storytellings take their criticism to the apocalyptic myth itself (xii). Rosen observes that these artists tap into a growing psychological need in society for sense-making narratives and moral certitudes – even if these postmodernists resist the

absolutes and certainties of traditional (modern) sense-making narratives (3). In doing so, the apocalyptic myth is acknowledged and used as the powerful cultural vehicle it is; while at the same time challenging and subverting the absolutes and systems of morality that underlie it. These postmodernists are interested in negotiating hope and optimism as it was found in the original apocalyptic narrative, even though ''their own lack of religious conviction or their postmodern style have obliged them to refigure that hope in other terms'', Rosen observes (2). For her analysis, Rosen addresses a modest body of constructive postmodern works with a specific interest to:

''question whether and how the use of this constructive postmodern apocalyptic paradigm might be reflecting other concerns of this period, [..] and tell us something about the experience of 'being-in-the-world' at the end of the twentieth century'' (4).

1.4: Research proposal & course of action

For the remainder of this thesis, I will take Rosen's observation and questions on the shift towards constructive postmodern apocalyptic storytelling as a starting point, to discuss how the current emerging wave of (post)-apocalyptic television is moving towards this self-conscious, constructive postmodern paradigm. As television series are usually comprised of many more hours and thus content as opposed to film, an in-depth analysis of multiple series lies outside the intended scope of this essay. Therefore, I have chosen to limit my examination to one particular television series only, as this allows for a more substantive in-depth reading. Of the above mentioned series, the

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deeply culturally etched mode of consciousness in the West and America in particular. It should be noted that although the notion of apocalypse lies at the core of the series, the Leftovers allows, in line with its firmly postmodern roots, for many different focal points and readings. For instance, one could focus on the way in which the series subversively deals with race, gender and sexuality (particularly male masculinity and the 'male-gaze'). The Leftovers also contains a mind-boggling amount of mythic, religious/Biblical, philosophical, literary, historical and otherwise intertextual references. Although some of these could count as postmodern pastiche, I would argue that most of these references are actually part of the substantive points the series attempts to convey,

particularly on the notion of '(meaning-making) narratives'. In my view, many of the series characters can be read as allegories of other literary figures, from Don Quixote to the Biblical Job and Camus' surrealist stranger Meursault – a dissertation could easily be written on basis of this angle of approach. Even within the focal point 0f this thesis; apocalypse, many more things could be said. For example on the recurrent recitations of apocalyptic poetry written by Yeats, or on the many references to the Biblical book of Revelation as well as ancient apocalyptic narratives preceding Christianity. The series also makes many implicit references to the notion of religious 'cults', particularly the Branch Davidians and the 'Waco siege' in Texas, 1993. Although I would argue that most, if not all of the references and focal points are interconnected and serve to convey the same arguments, the scope of this paper does not allow for such an intricate and fairly massive analysis. For the purpose of this thesis, my research is focused upon examining how:

a. the Leftovers employs the apocalyptic myth to make some sharp observations on ''our experience of being-in-the-world'', at the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century – especially the experience of living in a transitional time, moving from modernity into postmodernity.

b. how the Leftovers takes these observations and criticism to the apocalyptic myth itself. I will argue that the series problematizes the apocalyptic myth as dominant cultural meaning-making narrative structure and subsequently succeeds in decentralising apocalypse. Furthermore, I argue the series moves towards a constructive postmodern storytelling in attempting to find new ways of

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creating meaningful narrative(s).

For my analysis and arguments, I will use two overarching theoretical frameworks: trauma and trauma theory, and the (postmodern) concept of the sign-system, within the framework of

semiotics. These frameworks are used in respectively chapter 3 and chapter 4. Chapter 3 serves to discuss the psychoanalytic concept of trauma theory in relation to the Leftovers and the apocalyptic myth. Here, the concept of discontinuity/continuity and (American) exceptionality is placed in relation to the apocalyptic myth. In chapter 4 the concept of the sign-system is used to argue that according to the Leftovers a 'collapse of meaningful narrative(s)' is at the core of our current existential crisis. Furthermore, I argue that the apocalyptic myth can offer no motivated foundation for meaning-making and is as such decentralised in the series. Finally, chapter 4 also discusses how

the Leftovers moves towards constructive postmodern storytelling by exemplifying the possibility

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2. Apocalypse: beyond the New Millennium

Before the September 11th_{, 2001 events sparked an increase in apocalyptic fever in the West, some}

expected a different kind of catastrophe. As the year 2000 approached, not just the beginning of a new millennium, but the inception of the Millenium – as Quinby emphasizes (1999, 18) –

the change of the millennium worked to trigger a broad range of both old and new apocalyptic narratives. In Media and the Apocalypse (2009), Terry Patkin observes how an increase in globalization and fragmentation of society made sure that the coming year 2000 was met with a wide range of interpretations and expectations (4-5). Premillennialists prophesied the new millenium to be the beginning of the end – chaos and disaster would plague the Earth, with only the righteous taken up to Heaven at the moment of final Judgment. While some secular

apocalypticists anticipated an all-destroying asteroid impact, again others had been stockpiling food and weapons in preparation for an expected ultimate battle with the government. Under the influence of crescendoing media reports, worldwide concerns about the Y2K bug (also called the 'Millenium bug') had reached frenzied heights as the end of the year came near. Worldwide, wild speculations circulated on the supposed catastrophic effects the bug would have –

a staggering one-third of Americans felt worried enough to be stockpiling food and other supplies in preparation (6). Patkin notes how the global nature of the hype was unprecedented (8); the resulting confused flurry of apocalyptic interpretations exemplified a worldwide deeply embedded apocalyptic sensitivity and a blending of interpretations so characteristic of the postmodern age.

Although we know now that nothing cataclysmic happened at the onset of the new

millennium, an unexpected catastrophe resonated throughout the world on September 11th_{, 2001.}

Drawing upon James Berger's (1999) discussion on the portrayal of historical events as apocalyptic, chapter 2 will take the 9/11 events as the prime example hereof and draws attention to the way the events were dominantly interpreted as apocalyptic by the general public, the media and the

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thinking.

Continuing the discussion on the reciprocity between (perceived) crises and cinema, chapter 2.1 focuses on the post 9/11 wave of apocalyptic film. I will discuss how, in the first decade after 9/11, especially apocalyptic cinema recycled Cold War thematics characterized by a simplistic and patriotic representation of the events. This changed with the turn of the decade as the public opinion on the Iraq War and the Bush administration started to shift. In chapter 2.2 and 2.3 I will discuss how under the upswing of postmodernism a subsequent collective pessimism took hold, which was in turn reflected by a new cinematic appetite for destruction; but this time without the salvation, heroes and happy endings which characterized the genre in the first half of the decade.

2.1: American apocalypses

As we know now, nothing cataclysmic happened at the onset of the new millennium. The skies did not tear open and the impact of Y2k turned out to be minimal. A palpable sense of anti-climax was hanging in the air for some time - but as the year proceeded, that too faded away. How different this anti-climax was from the shock wave send across the world less than two years later, when the September 11th, 2001 attacks in the America took place. It would be an event which would

determine much of the political course of the West for years to come. Much can be said (and has already been said) about the implications of 9/11 on the apocalyptic imagining of the West,

stretched out across the realms of politics, economics, and popular culture. A complexity of layered 'apocalypticisms' can be unraveled when the events, aftermath, and context are all taken into consideration. Newspapers on September 12th_{from around the globe could not have given a more}

clear example of James Berger's (1999) 'historical events being portrayed as apocalyptic (see fig. 1), while the Bush administration further strengthened and further amplified this apocalyptic rhetoric during the days and weeks following the attacks. Of course, one might argue that the attacks also had the intent of invoking apocalyptic imagery; the stage was very carefully choreographed – the attacks were part of a 'theater of terror' (Weimann 2008, 70): television screens in millions of homes made sure there was a global stage on which to perform - Jenkins underscores: “Terrorism

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is aimed at the people watching, not at the actual victims” (1975, 4).

Fig. 1: front pages of three Anglophone newspapers of Sept. 12, 2001. Source: abc.net.au

Images of the Twin Towers covered in sky-high flames and people fleeing amongst thick clouds of ashes did indeed conjure up Biblical connotations for many. But perhaps even more so, many interpreted the events on the basis of perhaps the most spectacular frame of reference; Hollywood and its endless cycle of apocalyptic movies seen in the previous decades ('it looked just like a movie!'). Multiple scholars have noticed this blending between spectacle/ the image and reality (also called 'hyperreality'). In turn, the narrative as it was formed by the Bush administration, media and public in the aftermath of 9/11, was shaped not unlike a classical 1950's Hollywood apocalyptic movie. Strict binaries of demarcating hero(es) vs. Other(s), victim vs. aggressor, good vs. evil and the threat of annihilation vs. the promise of salvation dominated the public discourse until well into the Iraq War when the public opinion started to shift.

The intention here is not so much to debate the range of consequences, outcomes, intends and history preceding the 2001 September 11th events, but to draw attention to the way narratives were formed around the event – specifically the ones using the template of the apocalyptic myth. This paradigm can be, very simply put, read as an intricate culmination and entanglement of long-standing Western apocalyptic traditions. The 9/11 attacks made abundantly clear that, as Rosen (2008) poses:

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'' The story of apocalypse has become part of our social consciousness, part of our mythology about endings that hovers in the cultural background and is just as real and influential as our myths of origins'' (1).

In writing about the cultural implications and effects of 9/11, some difficulties arise when

describing the 'Western' collective experience of the events. While the actual attacks took place in the United States only, and the proportion of Americans who directly experienced the attacks is even smaller, the events were also a global television spectacle like never seen before. Surveys indicated that television news ratings following the attacks reached all-time highs not just in America, but Europe as well (Jenkins 1975, 72). The attacks, as well as the following War on Terror, felt like it hit close to home for many Westerners and non-Westerners outside of America. In the minds of Europeans too, Hollywood imagery of a destroyed New York immediately popped up, and many Europeans too felt deeply affected following the horrors they'd followed minutely on the television.

Over the course of the last century, American cultural, economic and political dominance on the world stage has grown so strong to the point that the line between the 'Dutch' 'European' or 'Western' identity and the 'American identity' has become increasingly opaque. Thus, especially in an essay like this, which addresses 9/11, collective trauma and the (Western) transition from modernity into postmodernity, it is fairly complicated to differentiate between the 'American' society/identity and the more broader 'Western' society/identity. Not in the least because the corpus of both academic and popular material used in an analysis like this, is dominantly American too. Thus, writing about the 'Western identity' becomes a complicated semantic issue of defining what 'we' and 'our society' exactly means. This is an issue that needs to be addressed more often, especially when the focus of the text is on collective identity, collective trauma and collective crises in the West. Of course, this issue becomes already visible in the obsessive and singular (both academic and popular) focus on 9/11 itself – as if that event actually caused America to 'lose its innocence'. 9/11 was, of course, neither the first nor the worst horror the world has experienced,

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and yet it is often defined in such manners. At the same time, American dominance in most realms of society in the West is a reality, and as such, American identity, trauma and crises arguably become (partly) 'ours' too. The scope of this essay does not allow for a more refined and defined examination of this (semantic) issue. For now, it should suffice to say that for the remainder of this essay, terms as 'we' and 'our society' mean to encompass both the American and the broader Western experience of this time in history. In chapter 3 an analysis of the recent American post-apocalyptic series the Leftovers will discuss how this series attempts to negotiate between its own inherently American-centered point of view, while simultaneously creating an awareness of the need to decenter this same point of view.

2.2: Post- 9/11 apocalyptic cinema

The 9/11 events were narrativised then, according to the culture of 'apocalyptic dread' - as Kirsten Thompson (2007) describes the continual Western anxiety, fear, and ambivalence about global catastrophe and obsession with end-time stories (1). Thompson argues this dread became apparent first during the Cold War and reached new hysterical heights after 9/11 (2). In turn, the post-9/11 heightened apocalyptic anxiety was reflected in the creation of even more destructive stories; Charles Derry (2009) remarks how the 9/11 attacks not only 'reinvigorated' the subgenre, but also firmly pulled it out of its niche (235). In an apparent repetition of Cold War anxieties, the hysteria and paranoia which characterized much of the 1950's sci-fi film genre now again dominated. Cornea (2007) observes how, after 2001, the genre saw a splurge of apocalyptic invasion movies in which paranoia, fear of – and aggression towards, the unknown Other and black/white binaries are often at the center of the story (33). In the first decade after 9/11 a small revival of 1950's invasion classics has indeed been noticeable: both The War of the Worlds and Invasion of the Body

Snatchers were re-made as War of the Worlds, (Spielberg, 2005) and the Invasion, (Hirschbiegel,

2007). The commercially successful Cloverfield (Reeves, 2008) presented an apocalyptic monster-invasion scenario as well, essentially replaying the chaos and trauma of 9/11 using the same found

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also filmed.

All of the above films have been criticized for painting an unequivocally simplistic picture of the events. In his essay ''Enjoying 9/11'' James Stone (2011) comments:

''If these films dwelled on the ideological complexities of 9/11, our experience might be completely ruined. And so, instead of Al Qaeda, we are offered a monster. Unlike terrorists, monsters are not driven by ideology. We do not have to think about why the monster wreaks destruction, it just does. [..] These movies present us with an us-and-it scenario, the enemy reduced to an individual

monster that is easily definable and visible'' (173).

In addition, Kirk Combe (2011) notes the strong patriotic nature of many of these films, in which we can see an abundance of American flags on display, close-knit suburban communities (which Combe remarks to be ''conspicuously multi-racial''), a focus on the 'union man'; the hard-working all-American firefighter, and an air of solidarity, of; “we're all in this together” (938). Richard Gray (2011) criticizes the striking focus on familial relationships (especially a fetishizing of parent/child relationships), thereby avoiding the politics, history and generally 'bigger picture' of 9/11 (25). In

the 9/11 Novel (2014) Arin Keeble agrees and observes that many of these films ultimately

''reinforce the rhetoric of American heroism, American exceptionalism and the clash of civilizations theory which all had alarming currency after 9/11'' (96). To this might be added that during this period a minority of (post)-apocalyptic films did venture outside of these trends, like the critically acclaimed Children of Men which did not shun away from dealing with explicit post-9/11 socio-political thematics. As said though; the film was a commercial flop, not even earning back its budget – perhaps this validates the sense that the audience at that time was not ready for a less simplistic and more politically motivated perspective on this time in history. For much of the first decade of the twenty-first century then, the apocalyptic film genre mostly served to ruminate and act out on 9/11 trauma and apocalyptic dread in a simplistic manner, Stone argues as well:

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''TV channels could bring us the excitement of 9/11 by calling it news. Hollywood [..] could not easily revisit the famous images of destruction without facing accusations of exploitation.[..] By reconfiguring the event as a science-fiction monster movie, it allows us to experience the terrorist attacks as an exciting spectacle without any attendant feelings of guilt'' (170).

In the book What Changed When Everything Changed, John Markert (2011) notes that nearing the end of the decade, the patriotic mood in Hollywood starts to fade parallel to the public opinion; only 36 percent of Americans supported the Iraq war in 2010, as opposed to 85 percent in 2003 (57-59). No weapons of mass destruction were found in Iraq, while many innocent lives were lost. Atrocities in the Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay prisons came to light, and ideas of 'American innocence' and bringing 'democracy' to the Middle-East were seriously questioned. As justifications of the wars waged in Iraq and Afghanistan were growing weaker, critique on both domestic and international post-9/11 policies was getting louder. A certain sense of disillusionment with the government took hold and the idea of America as 'land of the brave and home of the free' came under pressure. Jeff Birkenstein (2010) observes:

''[..] The simple story of Us versus Them had become muddled. [..] The narrative that Americans constructed to help make sense of 9/11 no longer seems as straightforward and uncomplicated as it so often does in the movies'' (xii).

The clear-cut role America had cast for itself to play in the post-9/11 world, could no longer hold the complexities and gray areas which had surfaced.

Multiple scholars have observed a reflection of this shift in public opinion in Hollywood cinema during the same period. On the sci-fi genre specifically, Will Brooker (2011) argues more films now place their viewers in a gray moral area where right and wrong, good and evil are not so clear-cut and show multiple perspectives on truth and history (147). The repetitive focus on trauma and dread is still dominant in these films, described by Brooker as ''being caught between past terror and a fear of greater terrors yet to come'' (147-148). This turn towards ambiguity and

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pessimism is also noted by John Wallis and James Aston (2013). They argue that the apocalyptic genre shifted from the more playful representations in the 1990's – which often showed 'almost-apocalypses', including blockbusters such as Independence Day (Emmerich, 1996) and

Armageddon (Bay, 1998), in which the End is ultimately averted, to a much bleaker, often

explicitly post-apocalyptic realm focusing on survivors rather than saviors and resignation rather than salvation (53 -64).

Rosen (2008) elaborates too on this pessimistic turn in apocalyptic storytelling. She observes that in this, what she describes as a 'neo-apocalyptic vision', a vital feature of the traditional apocalyptic narrative is missing. In this narrative, after the Great Tribulation, the Second Coming of Christ, Armageddon and The Last Judgment, the New Jerusalem would descend from the sky – the New Heaven on Earth in which the saved will live eternally with God. Rosen emphasizes that this inheritance of the New Jerusalem is a crucial part of the story; the 'raison d'etrê' of the traditional apocalyptic narrative (135). Yet in these neo-apocalyptic representations this vital feature is absent; no New Jerusalem is offered or anticipated as these grim eschatological tales: ''[..] assume that mankind is beyond renovation. There is nothing beyond this ending, no hope of a New Heaven or Earth, precisely because there is nothing worth saving '' (7). These neo-apocalyptic narratives have the original message of hope mostly subsumed by an emphasis on destruction and an indifferent and chaotic universe– a bleak alteration from an ultimately optimistic narrative into a decisively pessimistic one. Rosen argues that the promise of a New Jerusalem and the faith and hope it is supposed to bolster has always been such an integral part of the traditional apocalyptic model, that the radical and persistent alteration into the neo-apocalyptic paradigm has resulted in a ''complete new genus of eschatological tales'' (6). Furthermore, Rosen adds to this that: ''[..] this change in apocalyptic storytelling may be the response of a culture that is caught up by a crisis that challenges the very undergirdings of its make up'' (8).

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Many scholars have made similar remarks on this idea of the contemporary Western society experiencing a deep state of crisis. Wheeler Dixon describes it as a ''global cultural meltdown'' (2003, 2), it is called a ''revolution of belief'' by Walter Anderson (1995, 2), and James Aho speaks of an ''apocalypse of modernity'' (1997, 12). All mean to describe the paradigmatic transition from modernity into postmodernity, which started to gain purchase during the 1980's. As early

postmodern writing arose in the 1970's as a result from deep abhorrence of the atrocities of World War II, the failure of Marxism and 1960's radicalism, postmodern thinkers like Foucault,

Baudrillard, and Derrida radically turned away from discourses of modernity and went on to deconstruct concepts as universality, truth, essence, revolution, the system and an overarching rejection of all grand narratives (Kellner & Best 1997, 6). The movement as such has not been without heavy criticism. With its tendency to extreme relativism, bordering on nihilism and a complete loss of belief in an objective world, postmodernism has successfully beaten away many of modernities' old meaning systems without offering a new foundation to put back in its place, leaving behind what Rollo May calls a 'mythless society'. There has been much debate on the different schools and movements that encompass the whole of what is described as

'postmodernism', and the term is therefore somewhat elusive and difficult to pinpoint – this constitutes part of the critique as well. But, as Anderson (1995) sharply remarks, it is especially because of this controversy that it is important to make a clear distinction here between

postmodernism (the various associated schools and movements) and postmodernity – the time (or

condition) in which we find ourselves (6). Postmodernisms ''may come and go'', its theories being endlessly debated or refused. But postmodernity - the 'postmodern condition' - will stay:

''It is a major transition in human history, a time of rebuilding of all the foundations of civilization, and the world is going to be occupied by it for a long time to come. [..] Surrounded by so many truths, we can't help but revise our concept of truth itself: our beliefs about belief'' (7-8).

The world is indeed growing smaller rapidly; with television and the internet now available to billions of people, all kinds of different realities are brought home in an instant while traveling to

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the outskirts of the world is becoming easier every day. This means a constant commuting in and out of different ideas, perspectives and beliefs, making it harder and harder to live out a confined life within the traditional pre-modern or even modern conditions of society. One could say this is a time where more and more information is becoming available - while deciding on the meaning and

value of it all is becoming increasingly difficult. Deconstructive postmodernism, with its tendency

to extreme relativism bordering on nihilism and a complete loss of belief in an objective world, in combination with rapid globalization and the inception of the 'information age' through which we are bombarded with a plethora of new realities and truths – paved the way for a collective

existential crisis. Notably, this time frame corresponds with the inception of the neo-apocalyptic paradigm Rosen indicates (2008, 4). The two share some significant similarities; both

postmodernism and the neo-apocalyptic paradigm are preoccupied with envisioning the definitive end, and as such both inherently convey a total critique on the system and society as a whole. Therefore, Rosen argues, the apocalyptic genre is a natural one to take up for postmodernists (8) – although this flirtation of postmodernism with the apocalyptic has been an important point of critique on the movement.

Especially problematic is the way in which an apocalyptic sensibility can work as a means to 'withdraw' from history. After all, apocalypse is the ultimate singular event; both predetermined and unique. Therefore Berger (1999) notes: ''Regardless of whether it imagines a wasteland or paradise as its aftermath, the apocalypse ushers in a condition of permanent ecstasy outside of history and time'' (35). This makes the historically detached apocalyptic paradigm escapist – and as such it can bring with it a certain apathy and loss of agency. Reliance on divine intervention to bring justice and set things right in the end can effectively take away any sense of personal

responsibility towards the world. Real and possibly catastrophic (for example environmental) risks may then be passively approached by a fatalistic withdrawal from the world in the face of

impending doom. Radical postmodernist Jean Baudrillard has extensively commented on this 'apocalypse-apathy', which he has interpreted not to be apathy, but the ultimate retaliation against the system. In his 1983 essay 'In the Shadow of the Silent Majorities' Baudrillard has termed this ''fatal strategy'' or ''hyper conformism'' (39); the unavoidable impending disaster brought upon by

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the system is accepted and even welcomed by the masses through complete indifference, the only residual form of resistance that is left as all other narratives of resistance (such as protesting) have lost their meaning in this age of postmodernity. Furthermore, for Baudrillard the endless (re) producibility of the apocalypse signals that the world has already ended. From the Last Judgment to the Holocaust – the apocalypse has already played itself out endlessly and has as such become ''emptied of meaning'' and just a ''spectacle' in reruns'' (36-37). Thus, Baudrillard argues, we now inhabit a future that has no future; we are already beyond history and at the end of difference. Because this radical postmodern envisioning of the end offers no alternatives, the movement is often accused of being apocalyptic in tone as well as making way for the dominant system to stay in place. As Lee Quinby (1994) argues:

''Despite his [Baudrillard's] critique of contemporary apocalypse as anachronistic, Baudrillard himself is a quintessentially apocalyptic thinker. [..] His already-too-late theme reinforces the antiactivist, apathetic stance of all ironic apocalypticians (xxii)''.

In Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (1991), Frederic Jameson also critiques postmodern apocalypticism which he describes as: '' an inverted millenarianism in which premonitions of the future [..] have been replaced by a sense of the end of this or that'' (36).

The radical postmodernism that argues that this age is one of disintegration, exhaustion, meaninglessness and societal chaos shows many similarities to the neo–apocalyptic paradigm Rosen outlines. It does not seem improbable that the upswing of radical postmodernism during the 1980's, combined with an already present apocalyptic dread, has come to be reflected in this neo-apocalyptic paradigm. As Frank Kermode (1967) already noted: 'Deconstructors write no gospels' (102-103).

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Thompson (2007) argues that ''apocalyptic dread'' has taken on explicit narrative form in cinema since the late 1990's and the beginning of the new century (1). The way in which the subsequent 9/11 events where immediately narrativised according to an explicitly apocalyptic paradigm, definitively demonstrated how this dread extends to, and is deeply rooted in, American and Western culture as a whole. The events also demonstrated clearly how in this media-saturated era the 'spectacle image' has become so tightly entangled with 'reality' to the extent that they essentially merge. Multiple scholars have noted the spectacular and cinematic elements that shaped the planning and stage of the attacks as well as the subsequent War on Terror. In ''The Unspeakable and Unimaginable'', Thomas Mitchell (2005) argues how terror works on the collective

imagination to project or ''clone'' collective images of horror, with the goal of sowing collective (lasting) dread and anxiety (300). He adds that many of these collective horror images and archetypes were already anticipated and acted out endlessly in Hollywood disaster movies (301). This is a significant realization; a profound understanding of 9/11 and the War on Terror and the ways in which these events came to be narrativised, indeed also requires an understanding of the way our collective imagination continually shapes our (visual) media, our fictions, our reality – and vice versa. What seems clear is that over a long period of time the paradigm of apocalypse has developed to such a great extent in our collective imagination and consciousness that it has

already become in this sense reality, manifested and acted out again and again within the cultural,

political and economic realms of society.

Thompson (2007) notes how cinematic representations of apocalyptic dread move cyclically; Cold War paranoia and anxiety re-emerged in Hollywood films of the seventies, rose again to

prominence under Reagan's conservatism and reached new heights after September 11th, _{2001 (2).}

It seems then, that our sense of crisis is as persuasive as unremitting. The nature of these crises is subject to change, shifting along with specific pressing issues and fears belonging to that time and constantly re-imagining what the conclusive end will look like. Asserting moral certitudes,

providing structure and ascribing cosmic meaning to a seemingly disordered world have always been important components of these apocalyptic re-tellings. During and right after acute periods of

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crisis, such as roughly the first decade after 9/11, these certitudes become more polarized and lined with strong patriotic tendencies. While our collective apocalyptic anxiety has grown more acute from the mid-twentieth century onwards, our interpretive structures have grown more unsteady. Accompanied by rapid globalization, postmodern deconstructivism has been successful at breaking out of many of modernists' dogma's and restrictions – but it also induced a collapse of many Western meaning-making and stabilizing structures. Under the influence of these rapid changes, apocalyptic imagination started to shift as well. Kermode (1967) notes that while belief in the actual or imminent end of the world receded with the rise of modernity, the ''paradigms of apocalypse'' still

lie under our ways to make sense of the world (26). In

Post-Apocalyptic Culture (2008),

Teresa Heffernan exemplifies this point and notes that the Enlightenment narratives of ''History, the Nation and Man'' are still secured by the spirit of apocalypse; a narrative that posits an origin and moves progressively through a series of coherent and concordant events towards an end that will make sense of all that has come before it (4). The secular apocalyptic narratives that comprise the modern world still promise ''purpose, perfection and permanence'' (4).

As the stabilizing structures of the modern world are rapidly receding, so is the secular-traditional apocalyptic narrative on which this structure has been built. Postmodernism too is still saturated with apocalypticism, but without the elements of ''purpose, perfection, and permanence'', the world presented within this neo-apocalyptic paradigm is exhausted, senseless and utterly without hope. 'The power of the end to conjure up meaning, is spent', Heffernan writes (8). The paradigmatic transition from modernity into postmodernity therefore carries a somewhat

worrisome sense of having reached an impasse. Backtracking into a more structured, simpler past is obviously not possible (and arguably not desirable either) but postmodernism has been

preoccupied with breaking down, rather than building up. It is the loop of apocalyptic dread -the lack of a depiction of an alternative future- that is the greatest concern, and postmodern criticism seems to undercut any possibility for creating a foundation on which a new framework could be constructed. The first decade of the new century Hollywood has been dominated by patriotic 'almost-apocalypse' movies such as War of the Worlds, in which the world is ultimately saved, and neo-apocalyptic narratives such as Cloverfield which focuses solely on total annihilation. The bulk

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of these films demonstrated a simplistic perspective on the time in history that these films reflect; the 9/11 events and the appurtenant apocalyptic dread which motivated the making of these films. In other words, most of these films display little self-reflexiveness on both the subjects they (implicitly) treat (post 9/11 trauma, anxiety, politics, identity and the loss of collective structures) and their own position in -and contribution to - the obsessive cycle of apocalyptic representations of which these films themselves are part. Yet, as discussed in chapter 1, I would pose that again a shift has taken place in Hollywood around the end of the first decade of the new millennium. Again, this is not to argue that in earlier works these themes were absent – on the contrary. As discussed, the apocalyptic genre lends itself particularly well to act out on themes like these. But, during the first decade of the twenty-first century, the majority of these themes is approached conservatively and (mainly) through Hollywood cinema (blockbusters). Now a shift towards the apocalyptic television genre is dominated by a much more progressive, critical and self-conscious approach. Indeed, the conservatism that characterized much of the post 9/11 apocalyptic film genre is now subversively turned on its head, most notably on television.

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3. Decentering the Apocalypse

in the Leftovers

''So we're all gonna have a nice walk through town, have a good cry, and then move on. It's time. Everyone is ready to feel better'.

'You're wrong. Nobody's ready to feel better. They're ready to fucking explode''.

- the Leftovers (S01E01)

The Leftovers is not a straightforward series and is not easy to pinpoint in terms of its premise and the message the series conveys. Over the course of its three seasons, critics have described the series premise in notably different terms. In its concluding review of the series, the Guardian described the show as a ''post-Rapture drama'' (Guardian.com), while Time (Time.com) has written that its ''post-apocalyptic plot [..] sounds like the Christian Rapture, but is in fact utterly random''. The Atlantic (theatlantic.com) has called the series' ''metaphysically minded'' and ''a genuine and profound work of modern surrealism''. Vulture (vulture.com) discusses whether the

Leftovers is an interesting series to watch for atheïsts, yet the Christian Post (christianpost.com)

wonders if the series is worth viewing for Christians. This disagreement on what exactly constitutes the plot, premise, and message of the Leftovers, might very well confirm that the series' intend has hit exactly its mark. Although some criticized the series for being opaque or maybe unsatisfyingly open-ended, providing answers has never been the intention of this series – on the contrary. I would argue that the complete lack of clarity and definitive answers in practically every plotline of this series is exactly the point. It is tempting to assume that the Leftovers' plot revolves around the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of two percent of the world's population (dubbed 'the Sudden Departure') – and about the different ways in which a group of grief-stricken characters

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tries to cope with this apocalyptic event. It is true that the Leftovers focuses deeply on the

experience of grief, despair and loss, which has earned it descriptions of being the ''saddest show on television'', and a series that ''hurts deeply''. It should be mentioned that the television series is created after a book of the same title (Perrotta, 2011). The book was written with a television adaptation already in mind, and Perrotta subsequently worked closely with Damon Lindelof in creating the television series.

In the following chapter I will argue that while the Sudden Departure is the initial starting point of the story the Leftovers tells, the event serves mostly as a tool to start a much more ambitious exploration of our time in history, contemporary sociocultural anxieties, the rise of extremist ideologies/philosophies, the experience of trauma, and the transition into an age of postmodernity. Most importantly, the series problematizes the concept of apocalypse and the worrisome influence of apocalyptic dread on American culture and history. Furthermore, I argue that the series makes an effort to decentralise apocalypse in a distinctly constructive postmodern manner. For my analysis, I use two overarching frameworks, namely; trauma and trauma theory, and the postmodern concept of (meta) narratives. These two frameworks will be discussed in relation to the Leftovers in respectively chapter 3 and chapter 4. In chapter 3.1 and 3.2 I will discuss the psychoanalytic concept of trauma theory, based on the work of Sigmund Freud, Jacques Lacan and Slavoj Žižek. More specifically, the psychoanalytic concept of discontinuity/continuity is placed in relation to the concept of apocalypse and (American) exceptionality. 9/11 occasionally serves as a clarifying example of how history can be apocalyptisized, and why this is problematic. Furthermore, again employing the Leftovers, I discuss how 9/11 serves to expose the constructs of American identity, propelling a (already pre-existent) collective existential crisis.

3.1: Decentering Trauma: Discontinuity

A central focal point in the Leftovers is the experience of trauma, both on the collective and the individual level. Undoubtedly, this is what prompted some critics to describe the show to be the saddest on television. The narrative of the series is propelled by the earth- encompassing, collective

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trauma of the Sudden Departure. Surely, such an event is indeed traumatic enough to fill the entire remaining ninety-eight percent of the population with a severe experience of loss, grief, and

confusion. Even those who did not directly lose a friend, family member or colleague, are still deeply affected; if only because of the mere unfathomably strangeness and suddenness of the event. Yet, the Sudden Departure is not the only trauma to befall the series' characters. In fact, trauma can be said to pervade the series in an array of different 'shapes and sizes'.

Before discussing trauma in connection to the Leftovers more deeply, an introduction into the relationship between trauma theory and apocalypse is needed. James Berger (1999) especially offers an insightful contribution to the subject. Using the psychoanalytic understanding of trauma, Berger draws on the work of Sigmund Freud, Jacques Lacan and the contemporary psychoanalysis of Slavoj Žižek to argue that trauma and apocalypse:

''[..] both refer to shatterings of existing structures of identity and language, and both effect their own erasures from memory and must be reconstructed by means of their traces: remains,

survivors, and ghosts: their symptoms'. [..] Therefore, every (post)-apocalyptic representation is simultaneously a symptom of historical trauma as well as an attempt to work through them'' (19). Thus, trauma can be seen as the psychoanalytic form of apocalypse, ''its temporal inversion'' (20).

Additionally, Berger argues:

''Trauma produces symptoms in its wake, after the event, and we reconstruct trauma by interpreting its symptoms, obsessively reading back in time. Apocalypse on the other hand is preceded by signs and portents whose interpretation defines the event in the future. The apocalyptic sign is the mirror image of the traumatic symptom'' (20-21).

Keeble (2014) adds to this argument:

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that it is unknowable and therefore un-representable'' (19).

In other words, the experience of trauma is inherently so overwhelming, that it is, as Berger puts it; ''fundamentally unreadable'' (21). In an effort to situate and 'anchor' the traumatic event, it will be interpreted ''through the portents and symptoms that precede and follow it'' (21). Trauma then reflects its mirror image of apocalypse, and becomes connected to notions of inevitability, determination and 'foreshadowing'. As a result, the traumatic event is given a central, singular position in history, now divided into a clear before and after, radically restructuring all events on either side. This means that trauma and its mirror image apocalypse are also highly paradoxical – for how can there be something after the end (or before the beginning, for that matter)? Although the oxymoron 'after-the-end' is just a figure of speech, this conflict within the discourse of

trauma/apocalypse is of significance, Keeble explains. The conflict is ''central to the dialectic of trauma'', and might be defined as the paradigm of continuity/ discontinuity (27): a discontinuous, violent, definitive rupture occurred, the world has changed fundamentally – Yet, something also continues, remains - the end is never really the end. Berger notes how trauma theory has struggled with the paradigm of continuity/discontinuity since Freud, who elaborated on the concept of 'latency'; how memory of a trauma can be lost (or repressed) over time but regained in some symptomatic form when triggered by a different traumatic event (23). In this way, each (collective) catastrophe invokes and transforms memories of other catastrophes, ''so that history becomes a complex entanglement of crimes inflicted and suffered, with each catastrophe (mis)understood in the context of repressed memories of previous ones'' (23). In other words, at the moment trauma is inflicted, it is inherently experienced as shattering, discontinuous. At the same time though, the 'traces' or 'symptoms' of this trauma will continually shape and effect both individual and collective discourse, identity and history. As such, every trauma is continually in dialogue with – and is filtered through another. Thus, although discontinuity and continuity are experienced as conflicting, this dialectic is an inherent part of trauma. When trauma/catastrophe is

apocalyptisized, continuity/latency is overshadowed to such an extent that it becomes problematic. The event then, per definition, gains a status of singularity and exceptionality. By severing the

Apocalypse Always: Decentering Apocalypse through the Lens of the Leftovers