You all know me, Pinky Tourette, as Alfred to the band’s Batman, Watson to their Sherlock, Oddjob to their Goldfinger. What you may not know is that I’m more than a clean-shaven Chewbacca, a taller Mini-Me. Recently I penned a screenplay that I fully expect to spark a bidding war in Hollywood. Ripped from the headlines, it is. Topical and controversial. It’s called Spindemic.
There’s this plague, see, that comes out of nowhere and strikes fear across the globe. It’s highly contagious and seems to pass from person to person almost mystically, despite our best efforts to contain it.
Luckily, we’re able to determine that it affects certain groups far more seriously than others, giving us an opportunity to mount a nationwide defense. It seems the virus feeds voraciously off the stupid, the selfish, and the vain.
Scientists rush to combat the plague, and in record time use cutting edge technology to create a serum that makes people smarter. The world is saved!
Not so fast. The alt-bright, as they choose to call themselves, are devoted followers of the Straw Man, an orange scarecrow who lacks a brain. (This is called literary allusion. It’s how you win an Oscar. Or, in the case of Wicked, multiple Tonys.) The Straw Man is in turn propped up by the mysterious Mr. A, an anonymous figure lurking behind the curtain of the internet, worshipped by legions of little people “because of the wonderful things he does.” Those who follow him are said to have fallen into the A-hole.
With the Straw Man at the helm and Mr. A manipulating behind the scenes, the alt-bright and the A-holers rise up en masse to embrace emptyheadedness and condemn the life-saving serum. Protesting that they have the God-given right to remain stupid, they not only refuse to take the remedy, they stage angry protests and bitterly denounce anyone who chooses to accept it.
Complications ensue as scientists plead with the Straw Man to change his mind (such as it is), leading to an extended flashback of his dark, four-year journey through a shadowy forest, gradually revealing that he lacks not only brains, but a heart and courage as well. His subsequent pride in his own hollowness has emboldened his devoted followers to vociferously celebrate their parallel vapidity and raging intolerance.
As doctors and academics desperately strive to save the world, the alt-bright get angrier and more aggressive in their opposition. Quickly they elevate the very dumbest among their ranks to positions as spokespersons, concocting wacky conspiracy theories and strewing them across social media. Grifters leap onboard to market snake-oil “cures” consisting of everything from household cleaning products to veterinary suppositories to urine popsicles. (Am I getting too ridiculous here? Straining credulity? I wonder.)
Throughout all this, individual stalks of straw have been fraying sporadically off the Straw Man, rendering him increasingly dissolute, weather-beaten, insecure, and paranoid. But each fallen stalk instantly sprouts into a twisted, misshapen simulacrum of the Straw Man, promptly spouting his garbled gospel and singing his praises. Some pretend to be politicians, others media personalities, all of them clandestinely linked and dedicated to taking advantage of the blowback, glomming on to the alt-bright patsies, and milking the masses for all they’re worth. In tandem they adamantly condemn the serum – despite all of them, every last stalk, having greedily scrambled to secure a dose for themselves at the first possible opportunity.
The country splits in two. Marriages dissolve in vicious acrimony. Families shatter into fierce enemies. “Stop the Smart” rallies spring up in major cities and alt-bright acolytes storm restaurants, doing their best to disrupt business as a way of showing their deep respect for business.
And here we arrive at the moral crux of the story (say hello to that Oscar) as the Straw Man seemingly summons up a spark of conscience and opts to do the right thing for once, encouraging his followers to accept smartness and save their own lives. This presents a challenge for them: Do they make a sharp turn and follow their naked emperor’s new path or do they continue to plunge straight ahead toward the cliff like lemmings?
Answer: lemmings. Even as the Straw Man’s actions are lauded by the more enlightened majority, his former followers deem him a traitor and accelerate their march toward wanton self-destruction.
Recognizing they cannot save the alt-bright without making them at least a little smarter, the scientists develop a diluted serum in gaseous form and release it throughout the country. Sadly, the alt-bright hold their breath and stomp their feet, refusing to inhale if that’s what it takes.
Eventually, the plague has its way. The country, indeed the world, is painfully purged of the ignorant, the petty, the hateful. Life resumes a semblance of normality, albeit more open-minded and forward-thinking. Progress is achieved. Science wins.
Did I mention this was a fairy tale?
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