There are a lot of cool fictional villains. In fact, sometimes the villains is even cooler than the hero.
Perhaps the villain is cool because he’s clever and focused and the story is all about him.
Or perhaps the villain is charming and charismatic and much cooler than the boring, wooden hero.
Sometimes the villain is cool precisely because he’s so disturbed and disturbing.
But in real life, there’s nothing cool about being a villain.
In real life, the villain may well be clever and focused and charming and charismatic as well as being disturbed and disturbing. But he’s still not cool. He’s just a villain.
These are just a few of the thoughts that have been running through my head since I found myself staring dumbly at the scrolling #theatreshooting Twitter feed on Friday. I lost focus. My stomach clenched with every new tweet; every new bit of information. My eyes prickles with tears I didn’t want to shed — crying would make it all so much more real.
I felt sad and overwhelmed and helpess and numb at the tragic, pointless loss of life. And then I felt angry.
I felt angry because now, when people think about The Dark Knight Rises, they’re not just going to think about Batman. They’re going to think about the real life villain of Aurora who killed 12 people and injured 58 more.
And that’s not cool.