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Just say no: Loneliness, negation and liberation

The world really is full of asshole authorities and idiot co-workers and foolish parents and faithless lovers. Why wouldn't that make you feel alone?

Young male loneliness is in the news again, for the same reason it almost always is — some loser is moaning about it and that loser has enough powerful friends to amplify the whine. Well, not “friends.” Enablers and exploiters, con men seeing uncertainty and offering flattering answers, people who see plenty of money to be made from teen (or post-teen) angst and the anguished debates around it. If the loser had friends, he wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. But young male loneliness is always around, whether the media priests of the big lie are paying attention or not. Why? Iggy Pop had it clocked in 1984: “I was a teenage dinosaur, stoned and obsolete / I didn’t get fucked and I didn’t get kissed / I got so fucking pissed.” All messed up and nowhere to go.

Pop’s pissed-off kiss-off is from the theme song to Repo Man and is an accurate representation of its hero’s mindset. Alex Cox’ film follows Otto, who is a loser, a half-assed white suburban punk who is out of place wherever he turns in 1980s Los Angeles He shoves angry music in his ears and deadening substances in his brain, and while he eventually does get laid it is only after he walks in on his girlfriend banging his best friend and they laugh him out of the room. Otto stalks around perpetually horny and pissed and dimly clever enough to think he’s found opportunity when he falls in with fellow malcontents: repo men who can only fit in at a job where they take from the rest of the world, where they offer up various codes for living one’s life that are justifications for how they’re scraping by in theirs. There’s also a car with radioactive alien corpses in the trunk. It’s the greatest movie ever made.

I first watched Repo Man as part of a bad movie night when I was in high school, 15 years on from its 1984 release. The badness was clear from the VHS box — Emilio Estevez is the fucking wiener coach from The Mighty Ducks, he’s not a punk! At the time I thought Estevez’ barking out of Black Flag’s “TV Party” after Otto gets cucked early in the film was ridiculous (although now it feels like he’s catching something unformed and crude and vital) and in terms of ridiculous, the X-ray effects of those radioactive alien corpses zapping people were eminently scoffable. But as we watched the movie I changed my tune. I think it was around the time that Bud, Otto’s mentor in repossession and in bitterly cruising through life, snorts some cocaine and rails “I don’t want no Commies in my car! No Christians either!” 

While Estevez’ role requires some adjustment, Harry Dean Stanton is as harshly believeable and immovable in his belligerence as a hangover. And there is something almost fearful in the way he adds on to the banishment in the line above, like he couldn’t stand someone mistaking the disdain for the former as a potential endorsement of the latter. But there’s anger too, a refusal to be tied to a role someone else has cast. Bud is furious at the world he is rejecting, and part of Repo Man’s greatness is how it shows that as the lonely misery it is while respecting Bud and Otto’s impulse for rejection and understanding how it’s a way out of a shitty place. “How can YOU say what MY best interest is?,” Mike Muir accuses in Suicidal Tendencies’ “Institutionalized,” another punk classic on Repo Man’s soundtrack. “What are you trying to say? I’M crazy? When I went to YOUR schools? I went to YOUR churches? I went to YOUR institutional learning facilities?” Muir and Otto know the world really is full of asshole authorities and idiot co-workers and foolish parents and faithless lovers, let alone the oppressive church and state Bud won’t have in his ride. Why wouldn’t you get so fucking pissed? Why wouldn’t that make you feel alone?

In Lipstick Traces, Greil Marcus tracks the difference between nihilism, which is an actual belief in nothing, and negationism, which is a rejection of everything. Nihilism looks at emptiness with the same intensity that solipsism looks at the self and there is a lot of overlap in those limited philosophies. But negationism strips everything away and there is possibility in that. At the end of Repo Man, Otto finds himself getting into a car with a stranger, the weirdo junkyard janitor Miller, because that car is leaving the yard and maybe the planet. As he does so, the more aggressive punk of Pop and Black Flag gives way to The Plugz’ wondering and eerie space surf, the sound of a mystery instead of stale and strident answers. Otto rejects the world — his response to his ex-girlfriend’s “What about our relationship?” is a “Fuck that!” that is inspirational if not heroic in its blithe and contemptuous dismissal — but he takes a chance and gains the stars. The certainty of badness I had at the start of the movie was gone, replaced by something new.

***

Rejecting everything means rejecting yourself too. “They want to socialize you,” snarled the voice on the car radio and I thought oh boy, I’ve heard this before. Another tired punk cliché, and Repo Man’s rejection of everything absolutely (and with savage accuracy) included mindless punk rebellion. I was living by myself a year after graduation and more than a bit lonely, and of course post-college I knew everything, which meant I believed in nothing more to learn than what was already in my head. Solipsism and nihilism, that dynamic duo. 

But I kept listening and Corin Tucker’s words and guitar drew me into the song and away from my disdain. “Call The Doctor” is undeniable that way, Sleater-Kinney refusing to let you reckon with anything but their fury at being proscribed, circumscribed. “All your life is written for you,” Tucker bites off in the first chorus, “All my life is right before you,” she bares in the second. And then the bridge hits, with Tucker’s breathless shouting of the title offset by Carrie Brownstein’s own chant building to an obliterating shriek of rage and rejection: YOU! ARE! NOT! ME!

This is beyond loneliness, it’s a nuclear bomb of negation that explodes outward on the people who try to turn you in their direction. The people who want to dignify and analyze and terrorize you, because they know what’s best for you. And it exploded on me. It was coming at me from a perspective that I couldn’t and can’t truly understand — “Your life is good for one thing / You’re messing with what’s sacred / they want to simplify your needs and likes to sterilize you” is something a young dude can hear but not feel on the level of Tucker and her listeners who face a hostility I never have to — and one that didn’t seek or need my understanding. Being confronted with something like that can reinforce your loneliness, but it can also mean recognizing you share the world with something beyond you even if you don’t fully share a perspective. Recognizing there are new ways to not be alone.

“Call The Doctor” and “Institutionalized” and “Repo Man” and Repo Man take different paths but all stare down a bullshit world and find power in the words and noise that jar you loose from that world’s loneliness. Being blasted out of your head is better than being trapped there. Maybe you can bitterly laugh at your frustrations from the outside, or find release in their expression in a way you didn’t know was possible; or maybe you can see more clearly how you’ve been staring down a narrow tunnel, and how there are a lot more possibilities beyond what you think you already knew and what others think they already know about you. After that all-negating bridge, Tucker sees what is left: “All my life is right before me.”