Big FanGregory Hood
It claims to be a black comedy but Big Fan is a horror movie. There are no supernatural creatures or masked serial killers, though there is violence and torture. The violence comes from the savage beating of the white protagonist by a black athlete. The torture is the characters enduring a vision of American life infinitely darker than American Beauty. There is no redemption, no one learns anything from the experience, and worst (or best) of all, you can’t help but laugh.
Comedian Patton Oswalt brilliantly portrays New York Giants superfan Paul Aufiero, an archetypical American in that he is a character without an arc. The baby faced Oswalt suitably captures Aufiero’s child-like existence, an experience common to millions of Americans. Paul lives with his mother in Staten Island and works a dead-end job as a parking attendant. However, he is content because the job allows him to listen to the “Sports Dog” and prepare his nightly monologue in defense of his beloved team. Insofar as he has an enemy, it is “Philadelphia Phil,” his Eagles fan doppelganger.
He also has one friend, Sal (Kevin Corrigan), another failure-to-launch. Sal listens to Paul’s radio speeches while wearing an “Osama Bin Laden dead or alive” t-shirt, accompanies him to Giants Stadium to view the games on a portable TV in the parking lot, and enthusiastically agrees with his football insights.
Paul is harmless, well-meaning, and if not happy, then content, despite the efforts of family members to get him to change his actions. Like Ignatius J. Reilly, Paul is leading a rich inner life, at least within his own mind. Also like Reilly, the only sexual life Paul seems to have is masturbation, though he also faces the indignity of his mother scolding him for leaving the tissues all over the floor.
As you probably predicted, Paul’s life collapses when he takes action, however hesitantly, in the real world. By chance, Sal and Paul encounter star Giants linebacker Quantrell Bishop and decide to follow him, hoping to speak to him. They see him buying drugs (but don’t realize what he’s doing), follow him into a fashionable (and typical) nightclub blaring hip hop, and stare fascinated at their hero holding court with his posse, surrounded by (white) girls. When Sal and Paul awkwardly approach Bishop and let slip they followed him to the club in the hopes of meeting him, a drunken and enraged Bishop savagely beats Paul, almost killing him. Worse, from Paul’s point of view, the action causes Bishop to be suspended and the Giants to lose a game to the Chiefs.
It is important to note that Paul’s faith is never shaken, or even questioned, not even for a moment. Even after his hero has been revealed as a thug, Paul’s only concern is the well being of the team. He never presses charges against Bishop or even asks for an apology, going to far as to plead “amnesia” to the authorities. He calls in to defend Bishop on the radio, claiming “none of us were there.” Paul is determined to return to his life but the world will not leave him in peace. His brother files a $77 million lawsuit on his behalf, which Paul does not know how to stop because there are no instructions for stopping a lawsuit on Wikipedia (which Paul looks up on Sal’s computer).
The more internet savvy “Philadelphia Phil” is able use the media coverage and links on Sports Dog’s website to “out” Paul. Exposing the fiery Giants champion “Paul from Staten Island” as the pathetic loser supposedly suing his hero, strips Paul of the one thing he had — his status as a loyal fan of Big Blue. Paul breaks down.
Paul heads south to confront Phil and the Eagle Nation when the Giants play Philadelphia. Disguised in an Eagles jersey and colors and packing a gun, he successfully identifies Philadelphia Phil at a bar and earns his trust. In a terrifying scene, the camera zooms in on Paul’s painted green and white face as he grins and laughs disturbingly while Phil rants about how he wants to “annihilate” the Giants. Paul seemingly disappears into himself as the entire bar chants “Giants Suck!” and everyone around him rejoices in the defeat of his heroes broadcast on the screen.
After the game, Paul follows Phil into the men’s room and draws his weapon. As Phil throws up his hands in terror, Paul moans, “You didn’t have to be so mean . . . everybody is so mean.” He fires.
Phil clutches his chest and pulls it away covered in red – but his face shows confusion rather than pain. Reloading, Paul blasts away again and it is revealed that he has used a paintball gun to cover Phil in Giants Red and Blue. “Eagles suck,” he gloats. He runs, but his stumpy body doesn’t get far before Philadelphia’s Finest tackle him as he screams apologies in a weak voice.
The film ends with Sal visiting Paul in jail, bearing a precious gift – the Giants schedule for next year. With Paul released before the last game of the year and cheering them from the parking lot, both Paul and Sal conclude the Giants should easily go 13-1. Having learned nothing and gained nothing from the experience, Paul grins from behind bars – “It’s going to be a great year.”
The film leaves you hollow, frustrated, and entertained in a way that makes you hate yourself. The comedy of the film comes from how pathetic Paul is. There are no moments of humor that aren’t motivated by scorn or contempt. We mock this impotent fool who has to borrow his friend’s internet connection, who can’t afford football tickets, and who has a nonexistent sex life. It’s the kind of humor that makes you laugh when you see a stranger trip and fall, even if you feel guilty afterward. At the same time, Oswalt’s performance humanizes this character and makes us feel for him. The sick thing is that Paul may be the most admirable character in the film. Despite a light tone, the film is deeply ugly and grows more disturbing when analyzed.
There are two undercurrents throughout the whole film – rage and race. Paul’s family mocks him for his devotion to the Giants but they do not seem to be much of an alternative. His mother seems to sincerely despise him. Strikingly, there is not a single compassionate exchange between Paul and his mother over the course of the entire film. Their interactions are angry and genuinely hateful.
A bitter, resentful woman obligated to provide for her lazy son, she saves up innumerable packages of sauce from Chinese food deliveries on the grounds that “wasting food is a sin.” Paul’s brother Jeff, a reasonably prosperous lawyer (with embarrassing local television ads) is married to an outrageously cleavaged trophy wife named Gina that resembles one of the Kardashians – the ugly one. She is his secretary, his partner in an affair that lasted several years and resulted in the breakup of his prior marriage. Nonetheless, he has a large house and his mother speaks highly of him, more outraged at Paul for talking about the affair than at his brother for actually doing it.
Though her house is festooned with rosaries and Virgin Marys, faith for Paul’s mother seems more to do with middle-class respectability than moral standards. As for Paul, God has no relevance whatsoever. The result is an empty and meaningless home life with even family affection dependent on income. When his mother screams at him to get a life, which she defines as “family, children” Paul screams, “I don’t want what they’ve got! I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it!” Looking at his mother, who has a family and children and seems miserable, can he really be blamed?
Of course, it’s almost impossible for a real family to form in the midst of such a sick culture. One would have to be openly adversarial to the messages pushed by the mass media and that effort alone imposes huge costs. The Aufieros are not willing to make such a sacrifice.
When Jeff and his former comare of a wife prepare to celebrate their son’s birthday, she says proudly, “The cake, he’s gonna love it” and Jeff replies, “Are you kidding me? He’s going to fucking freak.” The camera pans back to reveal the glowering face of rapper 50 cent on the birthday cake for a child. “I’m so proud of him,” Gina beams.
The child-like Paul is no improvement. A poster of Quantrell Bishop in a similarly thuggish pose hangs over this adult male’s bed as he sleeps. Wearing a Quantrell Bishop jersey to his parking lot pilgrimages at Giants stadium, literally worshipping the man who beat him up, Paul and his nephew are both comically obvious symbols of white dispossession, both carefully taught to worship heavily muscled blacks by television and media.
When Jeff screams at Paul that Bishop is nothing but a “big, black, moulinyan jack-off asshole,” it’s hard not to think back to the birthday cake Jeff proudly presented his son and wonder why he is angry. Millions of white men tromping off to worship black athletes that can’t keep from shooting themselves, let alone each other, are simply following in the footsteps of the Aufieros.
Big Fan was marketed to show football as equivalent to a faith. It would be too easy to connect the message to Patton Oswalt’s oft-expressed by the numbers celebrity atheism, but it goes deeper than that. Absent real ethnic communities that can sustain faith and heritage, family and religion are simply one more option amongst many open to the American consumer. Looking at how his own family has turned out, it’s no wonder that Paul finds such a choice unappealing.
With the New York Giants, Paul is identifying with something that however arbitrary, actually involves concepts like victory and defeat, struggle and sacrifice, and a community dedicated to an ideal. As the global post-American anti-culture sweeps around the world, sports loyalties are one of the only things left that even help you tell one part of the country (or the world) from another, as any quick visit to a bar in Boston or the Bronx will confirm. It’s easy to point to the growth of sports as a symptom of modern decline, but irrational fandom has been with us at least since chariot racing fans almost overthrew Justinian.
Sports are the one place where an average person can experience of feeling of unmitigated triumph over a clearly identified foe. In the modern world, where God is dead, ethnic pride is forbidden, worthless celebrities are role models, and even soldiers are told to avoid being militaristic, sports are practically the last place left where talk of something like “victory” is even allowed.
“Philadelphia Phil’s” crazed ranting about annihilating the Giants illustrates that sports is a way of sublimating the primal desires of men into something nonviolent (soccer hooligans notwithstanding). In a normal society, these kinds of impulses can be utilized to accomplish more meaningful things in times of national crisis, such as war. The quote attributed to the Duke of Wellington that the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton may be historically inaccurate, but captures the truth that sports marries supreme effort, male bonding, and community spirit in a way that only war can surpass.
The problem is that most of the benefits from sports come from actually playing, not just watching. When mingling with other Giants fans in the parking lot, Paul comically bungles a reception attempt. When he playfully cries, “Bishop with the sack” and tries to tackle Sal, the result is so awkward and weak that it’s hard to imagine him actually playing football.
Fandom alone, to be sure, creates a sense of community that’s at least based on locality and common experience, but once subverted, sports are more destructive than any other cultural field. In the South, college football is part of what it means to be a Southerner, which has had predictably catastrophic effects on Southern colleges and Southern identity.
In the Northeast, where professional football holds sway, there is an even greater disconnect. The players often have no connection to the communities they supposedly represent and switch teams frequently, searching for more money. Owners will occasionally move an entire team if there is profit in it. By worshipping millionaire black athletes who don’t care about him or even the franchise, Paul succeeds in subordinating his entire identity to people who hate him.
The genius of the film is that Paul at some level recognizes this but does not care. In the face of Bishop’s beating, his family’s scorn, and pressure from the police, Paul remains true to his faith. To borrow the religious metaphor, his faith is so pure and so unshaken by events that he is some kind of a saint or martyr for an absurd creed.
This has obvious political ramifications for white advocates. We would like to believe that the facts will become so overwhelming when “the crisis” hits that our people will rise en masse in moral indignation and slaughter their oppressors. The truth is that most people will fight, even violently, to maintain their illusions, no matter how idiotic. If you don’t believe me, keep in mind that the Amy Biehl foundation trust (founded by her mother after blacks crushed her daughter’s skull with a brick and stabbed her in the heart) is still ready to accept your tax-deductible contributions.
The more hopeful reading is that Paul’s devotion to the Giants allows him to transcend the horrifying picture of American society painted by Big Fan. Devotion to the minutiae of statistics and strategy of American football is pathetic to an outsider, but mastery of such esoterica seems brilliant when contrasted to the life Paul is offered as an alternative.
The modern white American is a bystander to his own destiny, his economic well being governed by sociopathic financiers, his political leaders actively seeking his dispossession and destruction, and even what should be the comfort of his loving family secondary to the demands of a mass popular culture controlled and directed by hostile alien elites.
Given this reality, serving as a priest of the New York Giants is Paul’s way of Riding the Tiger and scorning what the world holds to be important. This gives him a strange kind of dignity. In the Wasteland, men need something to believe in. If it’s not God, the gods, or The White Republic, it might as well be Quantrell Bishop.
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“The film leaves you hollow, frustrated, and entertained in a way that makes you hate yourself.”
Most “entertainment” is demoralizing shit that portrays whites as pathetic losers.
I haven’t owned a working television for at least a decade.
@ Most “entertainment” is demoralizing shit that portrays whites as pathetic losers.
Sam, you nailed it in a single, compact phrase. Presently I don’t watch even a second of either TV or so-called “films”.
The message as described is lost, if it was ever there, in such a story because the television culture is so awash in such characters, think Jerry Springer or reality TV. Placed before the public the “greatest losers” become a form of self-image therapy for the masses. We could borrow from Tom Sunic’s concept of negative identity here. Americans view their status in this regard, on constant look out for all those below them. The film follows another common theme today; don’t sympathize with the less fortunate (if they are white). His callousness to his mother insured this, but what if this wasn’t the case? No, it must be that he’s a burden. I only come away from the story as an allegory for (white) America as defined by a character immersed in a fictional world, to the point where the main character commits a fictional murder. I think all the movie is saying is that Americans live in a fantasy world.
Those who believe in nothing will end up believing anything. How did we get here is the question. What hellish forces produce fans like Paul? Industrialism and the dehumanization of labor is surely one of the root causes.
Well done review.
Paul is indeed pathetic. It is cringe-inducing to see that he can’t even pull a Travis Bickle and actually hurt his nemesis—as misguided as Paul’s passion is, he should at least be willing to fight over it. But no, he is emasculated enough to think that a paintball attack is the way to go, rather than attacking Phil, whether with fists or a real gun.
The birthday cake scene stuck in my head as well—what kind of father supports his son’s admiration of a homo-thug rapper? Oh, that’s right, the kind of father who also worships at the altar of black “talent.”
The film is depressing, but the racial undertones are surprisingly blatant. The absurdity of deifying black athletes is portrayed not with a winking, hipster irony, but as the disturbingly common phenomenon it is. Nature abhors a vacuum, and Paul’s lack of any alternative belief system is what leaves him adrift.
Along the same lines is the latest commercial for Pizza Hut, which has two white guys (appropriately non-masculine—the only football they play is of the fantasy variety) being humiliated by the negro ball player they apparently idolize. The two whites are left bewildered as to what happened, an all-too-common occurrence when black-adoring whites run into the reality of black behavior. In this case, it’s even worse, as the player they look up to would have no career, no exposure, no millions of dollars without their
rabid fandom. Every jersey, every sticker, every piece of merchandise rewards these thugs—regardless of the filmmaker’s intent, the storyline certainly reflects how these “athletes” neither deserve nor appreciate the support of white fans.
This one was tough to watch—Oswalt’s character reminded me of a family member or two, overgrown children who live vicariously through sports. How many Pauls are out there? Will it take facing the likes of a Quantrell or a Michael Vick on the street for them to realize that their obsequious admiration will win them no points in the undeclared race war?
Hood: “This has obvious political ramifications for white advocates. We would like to believe that the facts will become so overwhelming when “the crisis” hits that our people will rise en masse in moral indignation and slaughter their oppressors. The truth is that most people will fight, even violently, to maintain their illusions, no matter how idiotic.”
There is a lot of truth to this and, as Hood suggests, some serious implications as well. While a mass awakening of whites is possible, it may be that the best we can hope for is that white nationalism will move a subset of our people, not necessarily all or even most, in the direction of a White Republic.
Broad swathes of whites have become so utterly ridiculous and degenerate that it is difficult to see what value many, perhaps even most, would offer in a “fresh start, new nation” scenario. Conversely, it is easy to see how such types would simply harm and dilute the effectiveness of the new nation.
There is often reference to degenerate Weimar, and how the National Socialists were able to redeem the nation. Let’s use just one of our senses to explore this notion – our eyes. Look at pictures of Germans during the Weimar period. I see overwhelmingly well dressed people. I see people who appear to have a proper demeanor. I see standards, right there in black and white. I’m sure someone could cherry pick some awful photos, but simple street shots of random people going about pretty much tells the tale. Look at German films of the period. Same thing. For contrast, step outside and take a stroll around the Kwa. Turn on the TV, if you dare. It’s Clown Nation. It’s ludicrous. It’s obscene. It’s a joke.
Point is, we’re far further gone than the Germans of Weimar ever were. Racially, culturally, socially…in pretty much every realm of our society. While it may have been possible to redeem, at least for a certain period of time, more or less the entire German nation, I’m increasingly convinced that we’re well past that here in the Kwa. We’ve probably been past that point for at least a quarter century, and arguably much longer.
Therefore, it may actually be preferable to start small, build a solid foundation, and proceed from there. Once established, the healthier elements of the white population will tend to find their way to the Republic. The rest – the driftwood, flotsam and jetsam – will tend to diminish and dwindle, as they continue to be winnowed and culled by everything from low birth rates and miscegenation to outright murder at the hands of blacks and browns (not to mention the dysfunctional sort of celibacy practiced by guys like Paul).
Whether the flotsam and jetsam represent an absolute majority or not isn’t all that important. What is important is that they exist, and in large numbers. Huge numbers, really. Not only should we not count on most of them waking up and giving us a hand, we should probably give up on “saving them.”
The White Republic, presumably, will be open to all whites of good character. A guy like Paul would probably gain admission to the White Republic if he “woke up” and desired it. He’s a buffoon, but he is not evil. He is not intentionally harming our people. Can we do more for him than that? If we are able to create a White Republic that gives him such an option, possibly at great cost and sacrifice, I’d say that’s a pretty nice thing we’re doing for Paul.
But if he doesn’t wake up, if he instead prefers jock sniffing and fetishizing Africans as opposed to starting a new life in the White Republic, is that really any great loss? His choice, after all, to the extent that such a creature can even be said to exercise reason.
In essence, establishing the White Republic would enable a gradual evolution of the white population on this continent, and this evolution would be essentially voluntary. The racially healthy elements would tend to expand, the rest will tend to diminish. I doubt it would take very long before most white births in North America would be coming from the Republic, even if it starts off fairly small.
My earlier criticism of this type of secession still stands. There are real questions about feasibility, not to mention other drawbacks of various kinds. But it is increasingly obvious to me that not only may starting small represent the best we are likely to do as a purely practical matter, but also that it may be flat out preferable for our people in the long run. We will most likely be better off with “small” built on a solid foundation, rather than “big” but watered down with scores of millions of buffoons. Over time, as the healthy white population expands, so too will opportunities for territorial expansion. But START small.
Chalk up another point for the White Republic.
Excellent comments, sir – well done.
THEIR GOAL LS GENOCIDE. OURS. WHAT’S YOURS?
An excellent survey, which seems to provide material for a thread of its own.
If Greg Johnson ever decides to open a (moderated!) Open Thread, your comment should certainly be a part of it.
Think of the qualitative elements of spiritual awareness required to start where you are, and prepare for the day you (and worthy Family members) can Take The Gap.
I think of it in almost Randian terms; there are those who chose better because it was best, and there are those who choose “better” because they have run out of choices, and choose it solely out of desperation, because of what they are running FROM, and not from what they are running TOWARDS.
Your comment forces us to develop intergenerational thinking, and that is certainly long overdue.
Above all, it reminds us WE have the power to choose how to define our understanding of situations, and how to transform what the Mind sees as an obstacles, into what the Spirit sees as an opportunity, and act on that Insight.
That is certainly a great leap forward from blaming Others, and trying to change Others. This is the Path to Effectiveness.
Thank you for an excellent post.
What’s In YOUR Future? Focus Northwest!
Trainspotter is right: we should be more concerned with what we can do than with what the White masses think of us. We should not imagine that most White people are on our side. We may hope that they will be one day, but they are not today. We must begin building a future for our people today on our own. We cannot expect support or sympathy from people who are so degraded that they voluntarily spend several hours every day watching television. Such people can think of the future only in individualistic, hedonistic, and passive terms. Such people cannot imagine a White Republic, let alone create it.
We are constrained to start small. We need to think and act in the elitist terms that Maurice Bardèche eloquently described:
“First, the new ideas must be carried at the beginning by the strong: they alone can provoke the rupture of habits and interests, they alone can accomplish the hard work of the pioneers. And this is their first task. But then and everyday, the multitude needs examples. For it is perfectible, but can only be perfected by example. This is why any idea, like any religion, needs exemplary lives which incarnate it. And this is the second task of those who bear the idea. And finally, a strong power, precisely because it is strong, always need reliable, faithful, disinterested agents, who point out to it its errors, its omissions, its ignorance, and who, on the other hand, make its objectives and decisions understood. And this is the properly political task of the elite, which is one of control and of instruction. These three tasks correspond to the three principles of power that the famous theory of Montesquieu separates, but which in reality are united in all complete and healthy states. To the first task corresponds fear, for no state can do without discipline. To the second task corresponds honor, for no state can do without ideals. To the third task corresponds virtue, for no state can do without disinterestedness. And to these three principles correspond also the cardinal virtues of action: courage in the confession of the faith, sacrifice in everyday life, love in the vocation that one gives to one’s life.”
In the above passage, I have translated “crainte” as “fear,” although I think that “vigilance” is more appropriate. To be exercised effectively, power must be exercised resolutely and vigilantly rather than fearfully. It requires a strong will, acute senses, and good judgment. However, “fear” is the translation of “crainte” provided by my French-English dictionary, and I can’t check what terms Montesquieu used in The Spirit of the Laws concerning the principles of power. Similarly, I have translated “confession” as “confession,” although I would prefer “profession.” The word “confession” has an apologetic sound that is clearly out of place here.
All too true, Trainspotter. We are in the midst of a tremendous die off of our Race. We will emerge, if we emerge at all, a profoundly purified race – selected espcecially for the racial loyalty we so obviously now lack; a genetic bottleneck for our race much like what the Mt Toba erruption was for the entire Human Race.
And in terms of culture, the difference must be equally radical. How sad that many Irish Revolutionaries wondered what the whole thing had been about since the Irish just became copies of the English – all their Gaelic becoming just widnow dressing.
I just watched it on Netflix. Quantrell Bishop seems to be based on the ex-New York Giants linebacker Lawrence Taylor who used to play pumped up on cocaine. Taylor who is now pushing 50 years old was recently arrested for having sex with a 16 year old prostitute. Many White men and young White boys still wear Taylor’s jersey, sadly.
The film itself strikes me as staightforward anti-White propaganda, an attempt to make White men, Catholicism and Catholic families look as pathetic and dysfunctional as possible. If the screenwriter wanted to draw parallels between sports fanaticism and religion, why not make the pathetic Paul figure a Jewish man? When is the last time anyone saw a film dwelling on the life of a pathetic Jewish character who jerks off in his mother’s home with the Star of David background? This film is pretty standard in its portrayal of Whites as execrable.
The writer and director of this film, Robert D. Siegel, is in fact a Jew.
His words: “As an East-coast Jew, I think I have a certain amount of ambition in my DNA that maybe the Midwestern Lutherans I was surrounded by lacked.”
Nietzsche’s last man!
@ Whether it’s White Power, rock ‘n’ roll, jazz, or rap “music”, it’s all fixated on sex, sex, SEX! Western music was subverted long before sports.
If sexual mores and music are the main markers of a culture’s spiritual stage, make no mistake: today the West has reached its very nadir. What separates me the most from other nationalists is precisely their tolerance to monkey music: precisely what alarmed Solzhenitsyn when he visited the US. If the West is to die and suffer a phoenix-like rebirth, 99 per cent of its music surely will be gone with the wind…
This was a very good article, with some excellent commentary by all. Our people are obviously deeply afflicted with all sorts of cultural corruption and intellectual toxin. The current national/racial breakdown is an unfortunate historical process that has to run its self-destructive course. The malevolent, kosher anti-race, and its deluded minions, will eventually get their deserved comeuppance. However, it will take a gigantic sea change in the social and political world that we live in, in order for rational White Nationalist thinking to gain traction and effect real and permanent change. If and when that day ever arrives, it will take a massive, decades long re-education effort to de-program the denatured White survivors of the coming racial chaos.
THEIR GOAL IS GENOCIDE. OURS. WHAT’S YOURS?
Junghans makes a very wise, very responsible, statement that calls for more Light on a difficult subject.
We have seen how too many of our Kinfolk are, essentially, lost to us, for the foreseeable future; indeed, they hate us, and would rend us limb from limb, should the worst face us.
I have wasted too much time trying to covert them, so deep has the effect of the media and public indoctrination system been. It’s like you are in the movie, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” They LOOK just like us, but their actions are singularly destructive to us, collectively.
Junghans in blockquote:
This can happen fairly quickly, given the proper circumstances. THAT is what The System fears.
That comment wins First Prize. The good news is, under the only set of circumstances they would see fit to join us, they will quickly see why we are correct, and the only question then will be, “And Then What?”
This really seems to be an exercise in culling the herd. Savitri wrote about this, at least in part.
What’s In YOUR Future? Focus Northwest!
Great article, thank you!
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