Hello YOU
Didn’t think you’d get out of this one, did you?
Buckle up; it’s time to be psychoanalysed.
**contains spoilers for Season Five of YOU on Netflix**
We have a thrill for violence. Whether it be in our fictional media or in the news, we constantly come back to and are drawn in by terrible things. Our horror genre is born from this, and the burgeoning Goliath that is “True Crime” has thrived off of it. The feelings of disgust and fear associated with these categories brings audiences a thrill in the safety of their home, removing the very real danger that would otherwise inflict us. We love to hear about violence, but we do not want to face it.
It is a paradox.
A typical character type is the “lovable rogue”. Usually male, this archetype in film is made to be desirable, relating the positive emotion of wishing to the negative of apprehension for danger or heartbreak. The risk associated with such characters brings us closer into their sphere, and their complexity is more realistic than the “pure good” portrayals of a genuinely nice guy.
Rarely are we let into the inner workings of the mind of a serial killer, particularly one so conflicted in his morals. By being immersed in the inner monologue of Joe Goldberg, we are automatically biased to his side, seeing his reasoning and even growing to like him. We root for him, his plans work, and he faces no consequences.
When I saw that Season Five of YOU had come out one month previously (during my White Lotus tirade), I instantly found my next TV adventure. I’ve seen the other four seasons, being pulled back by some unforeseen force (or the Netflix algorithm and the basic need for escapism and contained tension). Since starting, I’ve taken every opportunity to watch the next instalment. So, is it the tension, is it the story, or is it the allure of Joe Goldberg?
Statement one: I’m not on the “crush” train. Rather, as a hopeless lover of books, I appreciate this part of Joe’s character [oh my god — “Joe”, it’s like he’s my friend]. I also enjoy his sarcastic tone of voice and the quips — they’re great, let’s all be honest now. It is humour that draws us in, the light that we see in him that we use to convince ourselves of his righteousness. I am pulled back by Joe’s tone, and end up staying for his murders.
As the seasons have passed, I’ve noticed that we see less of Joe’s most sinister side. Whether a reactionary choice against the “serial killer fantasy” crush, or a character development choice, I am uncertain. One thing I can say is that YOU holds an intriguing mirror up to our love of crime and violence, especially in the serial killer field. From the sensationalised tales on Jack the Ripper, the media has shaped our perceptions of these figures as something to be excited by and followed, much like a celebrity or a podcast. They become icons in culture rather than paragons, and the victims are so often forgotten.
Indeed, by default, we do not see the complexities of Joe’s victims. In the constant turnover of women he becomes obsessed with, Joe’s actions are very much akin to the Jack the Ripper tale, as well as speaking on his disregard for women under a “nice guy”, sensitive, pro-feminist guise. This speaks to the dangers in our everyday lives, particularly for those of us perceived as female. We cannot know what others are thinking behind what they wish to present.
A common talking point regarding YOU is whether it reinforces or even condones this violent behaviour through how Joe is portrayed and centralised. Personally (and I hope you would agree), I don’t think that any of Joe’s actions are condonable — murder is murder is murder. Indeed, he is a danger to people at large, and while he is free, there is great risk.
The glamorisation of violence is all about us, and this reinforces, consciously or not, the normalcy of seeing such aggressive or harmful actions. Because we are so immersed in it, when events occur in real life they become akin to the horror in film, stimulating the same reactions and thus drawing us in. Sensationalised news stories still exist, and the rush that we feel when reading them is something to be truly appalled by, even if it comes to us uncontrollably.
It is perhaps impossible to unpick any of this. Having grown up in a media world centralised on shock-value, the need for the next big thrill is built into us, whether that be through fiction or non-fiction. Nevertheless, it does not mean that we cannot challenge these things, and while YOU pulls us in with its promise of aggression and tension, the redeeming feature of the series in this light is the deeper study of the mind behind the action. While Joe’s monologues increase our familiarity of him, they also offer us a window into the thoughts of a killer. His reasoning is often twisted, convincing himself of his righteousness in order to maintain a self-sense of morality. It is in the characters about him that we see the truth.
One thing that has stuck out to me in season five is how Joe demonises others to make himself seem comparably better. He takes his own and Kate’s dislike of her sisters to the extreme, and when Kate tells him that she does not like his behaviour, his relish, he reels at a lack of acceptance. Throughout, this is what Joe has been seeking, stemming from his earliest years. Knowing the back story gives us a little empathy for him, and perhaps we may feel we know him better than any of the women throughout the seasons. One has to ask themselves; is he playing us too?
Even so, there are glimmers of push back throughout, such as when Bronte calls out toxic traits, with Joe responding along the lines of “lining people up and taking them out”. He laughs this off, and as a mindless comment it may be considered a Freudian slip, an insight into the real Joe, but we also know how plotting he is — did he play up to this image for a reason? Is he testing Bronte’s reactions to the “real” him?
And then there’s the twist, which I watched after writing most of this essay. I pride myself on being able to suss things out in TV shows, but this was not expected at all. In reality, Bronte has secretly been working with a group of people to “catfish” Joe, exposing him as Guinevere Beck’s (and subsequent others’) murderer. This was a clever plot point, as it explores the relationship between killers and those who idolise or (to the extreme) “worship” them. We see Bronte’s cunning when the charade begins, but as time progresses we see how she is pulled in by Joe’s charm, which is the very device he has used against his other victims. This mimics the parasocial relationships that may develop between real-life serial killers and “fans”, whether stimulated by the news cycle or documentaries. A similar theme is explored in Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile, in which Zac Efron plays Ted Bundy, where the pull of good looks and charms are challenged against who the man actually is, spelt out quite distinctly in the title. While I have not yet completed the series, Bronte’s claim of ‘self-defence’ in the case of Clayton’s death demonstrates how she has come to believe Joe’s version of his story. This is the danger in many circumstances; from the outside, one may see things how they really are, whereas the inside becomes murky and closeted. If we consider the situation in isolation, it is true that it could be seen as self-defence, so this also raises the question of morality in justice. Should we tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, or bend it to put away a murderer?
Of course, one could say that I am searching for good or redeem-ability in Joe simply because I like the series. You wouldn’t be wrong; I like YOU, I keep coming back, and I too am addicted to the train of thrill-seeking much like the next sublime romantic. But it is our ability to question why that leads to conversations and — possibly — an element of change.