Hysterical Historicals: Napoleon vs. The Bunnies


France was one of the most powerful countries in the world between 1805 and 1812, largely thanks to a military leader who many historians rank among the greatest of all time: Napoleon Bonaparte. Some historians still place him alongside Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and Genghis Khan in that regard. In 1806, Napoleon Bonaparte led a mighty French military, back when no one dared laugh at putting those two words in the same sentence. What happened? Some cite war fatigue among the soldiers and citizenry, some suggest coalitions against French rule, economic problems, the Battle at Waterloo, and various other reasons, but no esteemed historian cites The Battle of the Bunnies.  

In his on-again, off-again leadership of France from 1799 to 1815 under various titles, Napoleon fought roughly eighty battles, and he won nearly all of them. France encountered most of their defeats in the final years (1812–1815) of Napoleon’s rule when French forces experienced battle fatigue.

Among the greatest conquests of French history, was Napoleon’s defeat of Prussia and Russia between (October 1806 – July 1807), that occurred over the course of roughly nine months. By all historical accounts, Bonaparte crushed Prussia and Russia. He brought them to the negotiating table at what was called the Treaty of Tilsit to discuss the terms of their surrender. Those treaties left Napoleon in control of most of western and central Europe and temporarily turned Russia into an ally.  

Napoleon considered the Prussian and Russian victories the greatest of his tenure, and he considered the territory gained by the Treaty of Tilsit such a huge victory for France and his regime that he wanted to celebrate it. He probably said something like, “Victories like these don’t come around but once in a lifetime, and I want a party that commemorates them!” The problem for this military mastermind was hew couldn’t figure out a perfect celebration.

After discussing this with his administration, reports state that Napoleon’s chief of staff, Marshal Louis-Alexandre Berthier, came up with an idea, “How about we put together a huge hunting expedition on my estate?” Napoleon loved the idea. Buoyed by Napoleon’s approval, Berthier invited Napoleon’s most loyal and members of his imperial entourage, plus local beaters. 

After securing the R.S.V.P.s, necessary for this gathering, Berthier put together a lavish outdoor banquet for all involved. He wanted everyone to celebrate and have fun, but his primary goal was to impress Napoleon with a gala befitting his victories. We might assume that such a party would involve alcohol, but Napoleon was not a big fan of adult beverages. The lone source of these events, the memoirs from a General named Paul Thiébault’s state that Berthier’s goal was to conduct a huge formal, imperial outing as opposed to a wild, drunken celebration.    

To complete this celebration, Berthier ordered his subordinate to find a bunch of rabbits for the hunting expedition that was to follow the outdoor banquet. We don’t know how much time his subordinate had to find and trap these rabbits, but he chose to purchase these rabbits from local farmers. Thus, the rabbits the subordinate purchased rabbit for this celebratory hunt that were largely domesticated “hutch” rabbits that the subordinate found to forego all the time and effort required to trap wild ones. We can also speculate that the subordinate who was put in charge of securing enough rabbits for a celebratory hunting expedition wanted to impress Berthier with the number of rabbits he was able to find in the limited time frame he was given. We also don’t have any firsthand accounts of this from General Thiébault’s memoir or any other sources, but we can speculate that the subordinate worried that these domesticated rabbits might be too tame, and they might not provide much in the way of a sporting hunt. To remedy this, he probably instructed the local farmers to deprive the rabbits of food in the days leading up to the hunting expedition. The subordinate’s hope was that this might lead the rabbits to be extra lively, crazy, and eager. 

The problem with that order was the 2,000 (a rough estimate by General Thiébault’s account) domesticated, tame rabbits that arrived on chief of staff, Marshal Louis-Alexandre Berthier’s property arrived incredibly hungry, and they associated humans they met there with food. Much to Berthier and his subordinate’s chagrin, when all of the carriages carrying Napoleon, his best soldiers, and the most loyal members of his administration arrived, the 2,000 rabbits began swarming them. The rabbits were so hungry and pursuing the prospect of food so aggressively that Napoleon and his entourage were overwhelmed by them.

As the rabbits began clamoring all over one another around the soldiers’ legs, and they even began aggressively climbing up on their legs, the first thing that went out the window was the idea of a sporting hunt. The rabbits obviously weren’t running away. They were running to, and onto the men. They were clamoring all over one another to be closer to the nearest human, to be first in line for food. 

The whole scene was embarrassing of course, but Berthier had to be mortified when the rabbits did the same to Napoleon. The hunting party and Napoleon began trying to fight the rabbits off with sticks, rifle butts, and riding crops, but they could not deter these rabbits. There were just too many of them, and they were so hungry and aggressive. These mighty soldiers eventually had to do something no Napoleonic force had to at that point in his reign. They had to retreat and basically surrender to an overwhelming force. They ran back to their carriages, but the rabbits continued pursuing them. The rabbits even, according to Thiébault’s memoir, began breaking into groups and flanking the fleeing party. A few even managed to scramble aboard Napoleon’s Imperial Carriage before he could get away. 

Anytime I read a crazy story like this, my sense of creativity goes to the beginning, the ending and everything in between to what we’re not told. Who was the first member of the hunting expedition retreat, and did the other members of the party in attendance laugh at him, before they eventually realized that was the only course of action? With the rabbits clamoring all over one another so aggressively, my bet is one of the rabbits’ nails scratched one of the soldiers. “OW!” Martin screamed mistaking that scratch for a bite. “He bit me. One of these blasted things bit me!” Was there an incident of this nature that led the others to say, “One of those things bit Martin. I’ve survived countless battles with humans. There’s no way I’m going down over some disease these things probably carry on them. I’m outta here!” What did they say to another, in their carriages, in retreat? I’m sure Bonaparte ranted and raved about what a disaster this expedition was to Berthier, if Berthier rode away in the carriage with him. If Berthier rode with his subordinate, we can guess that some physical admonishment followed the Q&A regarding the details of what the subordinate did to set this day up. “All right,” Berthier probably said before striking the man, “but did you have to get 2,000 of them?” Those strike me as more typical reactions. What intrigues me more are the conversations that probably occurred on the carriages that carried the soldiers. In the immediate aftermath of the incident, they were embarrassed, and they needed to talk it out to get it out of their minds. 

“What was that?” First Officer Dubois asked Officer Petit, as the two of them ride away from the field of bunnies. 

“I don’t know,” Petit responded. “There were so many of them. I’ve never seen so many rabbits in one place before. There had to be thousands of them. After Martin got bit, it was a little scary out there.” 

“We’re the most powerful military in the world,” Dubois said. “If word gets out about this-” 

“The lesser said the better,” Petit interjected before Dubois could complete that sentence. 

“But people will talk.” 

“Why would they?” Petit asked. “Why would anyone say anything about this to anyone? Even if they’re drunk, trying to be funny, and trying to tell the wildest tale at the bar, why would they admit to any of this?” 

“You’re right,” Dubois said.  

“You watch, we’ll have some unofficial decree that comes down about how we’re not to say a word about this to anyone.” 

“Agree.” 

 “I’m talking wives, daughters, and drinking buddies,” Petit said. “I’m talking about burying this so deep we won’t even talk about this in our sleep.” 

“Agreed.” 

We don’t know what happened before, after, or any of the other details that happened between, but one of the greatest military minds of his generation, a man many still rank among the greatest military leaders of all time, and the conqueror of conquerors was forced into an undignified retreat —not by a coalition of kings, but by a few thousand hungry domestic rabbits that mistook him for their feeder. These bunnies didn’t require a grand strategy, a coalition, and they didn’t need Allied and Prussian support. They just needed to be bunnies that don’t act according to plan. This loss in the Battle with the Bunnies was considered so embarrassing that those involved decided the only course of action was to “expect” everyone involved to avoid talking about this day. There is no record of an official decree of silence on this topic, and we know of no unofficial decrees either. This expectation was obviously successful, because no one did talk about this incident, until a General named Paul Thiébault mentioned it in his memoirs that were published after his death in the 1890s, roughly 50 years after it happened.

Teenage Rebellion: Stage I


“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” Soren Kierkegaard 

I thought my teenage rebellion was so intense that it might give me some insight into the subject. I might not be not an expert on much, but I could probably give seminars on teenage rebellion. Now that teenage rebellion has done an about face, and it’s in my face, I’ve realized tis’ better to give than receive, and as with just about everything involving the complex human mind, teenage rebellion is so situational that we can only learn from it going forward. 

The circumstances that defined my teen years are so different than my rebellious teenager’s that I cannot use my model to understand his better. I was an angry young man, due to situations beyond anyone’s control. Those circumstances deprived me of a normal maturation process, and I was righteously indignant about it. Give me something to be righteously indignant about, back then, and I righteously indignanted it. It made me angry, and I didn’t care what it was. My son is not near as angry, because he does not have as much to be as angry about, so his rebellion isn’t as intense, but he does need to define himself, and I am his opposing force.  

“I actually worry about boys who don’t rebel,” I used to say to fathers who complained about their rebellious sons. “Rebellion is a boy’s way to develop his own distinct and individual personality, and they do so in direct contrast to their dad’s. Most men, I know now, who didn’t rebel against their dads when they were teenagers turned out to be relatively uninteresting adults.” I still think that observation holds, but my theoretical arguments recently met reality with my own kid. I realized that it doesn’t matter how we look at it, teen rebellion always hurts a little. I’m learning that I’m no longer his idol, his reason for being, or his joy in life. I knew this was coming, we all do, as some form of rebellion is almost an inevitability. Yet, it still hurts a little to learn that we’re now playing the bad guy in their production, and one of their goals in life is to find a way to destroy our Death Star. 

Rebellious Stages 

“I hate you!” they say, to kick off the first stage of their rebellion. I’ve heard other parents who were genuinely damaged by this coming-of-age comment, because their kid said it with such a mean face, like they actually meant it. “They’re sending a flare up to see how you react to it. I’m not saying they don’t mean it. They mean it, like we meant it, but they’re dumb kids, like we were. We didn’t know what we were talking about back then, and they’re as dumb and immature as we were.” 

In their ever-maturing mind that isn’t mature yet, they’ve discovered that we aren’t the greatest thing since sliced bread. “You’re dumb!” he says with and without using those words. It’s part of the process.

If we die before they hit their teen years, they’ll have our legacy preserved in amber, and they will spend their whole lives trying to live up to whatever idealized image they dreamed up about us. If we’re lucky enough to survive long enough to see them mature to their teen years, we’ll learn how many faults we have. They view their existence as that of a prisoner in a jail cell whose only mission in life is to escape. They’ll examine our fortress for the smallest chink, and they’ll use it once they find it. If we’re lucky enough to survive into their thirties and forties, we might eventually see them circle back to the idea that we’re not as dumb as they thought we were. If these progressions aren’t universal truths, they are close.  

“I have free will” he told me at the store to kick off the next stage of his rebellion. He said this after I questioned the item that he wanted me to purchase for him. I suggested he purchase another item, and he stubbornly refused. He considered this ‘free will’ line, a line he learned while studying The Constitution in class, the perfect comeback. I could see it on his face. 

“You do have free will,” I said, “but the force of your free will will be offset by another force, a fiduciary one that will arrive when we enter the checkout aisle. When fiduciary requirements limit your free will, that constraint will be met by a different and opposing force, mine.” 

His definition of rebellion has changed, progressed, and evolved, and my responses to it require an equal measure of progression. He, like most boys his age, is a robot. He doesn’t view the world emotionally. He doesn’t care if his statements hurt my feelings, as far as he’s concerned I’m as automated as he is, and it doesn’t do either of us any good if we become animated about it. His brain hasn’t matured enough to embrace empathy or sympathy yet. He requires logic, rational thinking, and a psychologically sound rationale from me. In these moments, he doesn’t like me, but he doesn’t dislike me as much as I disliked my father. Even if his revelations on the limitations of my intelligence and my horrible characteristics progress, I know I can’t let my desire to get him to like me get in the way of doing what I think is best for him.  

It’s all about the small stuff at this point, I don’t like the shirt he’s wearing, I don’t like his hairdo, and I don’t like the way he overreacts to silly, stupid things, but we’re just entering the first act of our production. He’s starting to make his own conscientious choices, and in that tiny arena, I know nothing, but I’ve heard genuine non-sarcastic admissions to his friends that they should go to me for answers, “Because he always seems to know things.”  

My dad was a serious man, introverted unless he was drinking, religious on Sundays, and a narcissist. I tried, in every way I could think up, to be the exact opposite of all that. He wanted me to get good grades, because he didn’t want to get in trouble with the in-laws. I like to think I’m more concerned with his well-being, his happiness, and his ultimate successes in life. I celebrate his momentary successes, and I criticize him for his failings, but I’m not so old, or so far removed from the situations he faces, to know how hard it is to succeed academically and athletically. I tell him that I can advise him and steer him in the right direction, but at some point, he’s going to be on the field or behind a desk by himself. One of the biggest differences between my dad and me is that I’m in the stands, literally and figuratively, cheering him on. I tell him this when he rebels. I tell him that we’re on the same team, but it doesn’t make a dent, literally or figuratively.  

My advice to anyone experiencing such a dilemma is that if your son is between the ages of thirteen and twenty-six, he is not fully formed yet. As painful as their rebellion can be, at times, they’re trying to discover their individuality, and that definition will be formed at our expense. No matter how unlikable, unreliable I am as an intellectual, or how inconsistent I can be, by his definition, I will continue to try to be a strong, consistent beacon in the darkness for him when matters become too complicated and chaotic for him. I also know that as we travel down this road together, I should probably grab onto something for stability, as this is only stage one.

Those of us who have never been the Death Star before wonder if they’ll ever appreciate what we’re doing for them? I know I didn’t appreciate what my dad did for me for a long, LONG time. As I raise my son, I reflect on one of the mistakes/lessons my dad taught me. My dad made the mistake of expecting praise, appreciation, and/or personal rewards for everything he did for me. It’s human nature to expect that, right? As my dad learned the hard way, they might arrive, but we’ll have to eat right, exercise regularly, and be one of the lucky ones who lives long enough to hear it.  

Trope-a-Lanche II: The Serial Killer Movie


How do we know when we’ve watched too many movies? Do you know who dun it, before they dun tol’ you? Have you spotted tropes (recognizable storytelling patterns, familiar devices, themes, character types, or plot moves that audiences instantly understand because they’ve seen it many times before) in movies so often that you now scream “trope-a-lanche!” when the tropes begin to avalanche. Have you disabled the suspension of disbelief for others, because you dissected the filmmakers intent behind plot devices, characterizations, etc, and you accidentally ruined the movie for them. If you’ve done any of the above, you’ve probably watched too many movies.

I initially mistook the ability to track patterns and tropes for intelligence, until I learned that even the sharpest cinematic observation is in service of absolutely nothing. It was a mark I thought should’ve informed my audience that I was so observant, but all it really did was tell them that I’ve watched too many movies. In some social situations, it pays off to watch a ton of movies. When someone asks you if you’ve seen some obscure movie, and you say yes, it can lead to some conversations. “What was your favorite part?” “What did you think of the actor, the twist, or that one scene.” That gratification is fleeting and rare. I used to be quite proud of the totality of the library of movies I’ve watched, and I used to be quite competitive in that regard. If you try to compete with me over most movies watched now, I’m probably going to let you have that crown, because I consider it an odd brag to say I’ve wasted a bigger chunk of my life watching movies than you have. 

A friend successfully bested me once saying: “I’ll bet I’ve watched more movies than you.”  

“Okay,” I said. “I don’t know why you’d brag about that, but I’m going to guess you haven’t.” 

“Do you watch porn?” he asked. 

“No.” 

“I win.” 

I try to apply the “Everything in moderation” recommendation to every thing in life, and I’ve found some success when it comes to nutrition, but I haven’t found near as much success with popcorn consumption or watching football and movies. The problem with watching too many movies, and obsessing over a subgenre like serial killer movies, is that at some point we’ll reach a tipping point where we’ll be able to characterize every character before they’re fully characterized, know the feng shui of the serial killer’s living room, the state of the abandoned warehouse where they’ll finally locate him, and pretty much how the final showdown will play out. Again, we don’t say this as a brag, as one of the consequences of watching too many movies is that we’ve damaged the joys of suspense and discovery.

The Serial Killer/Profiler Movie 

Unless you’re counting Sherlock Holmes as a profiler, as opposed to a consulting detective, the first cinematic profiler was a character named Will Graham in Michael Mann’s Manhunter (1986), based on Thomas Harris’ Red Dragon. This wasn’t the first serial killer movie ever made, but it was the first one I saw. It was also the first movie to use the art of psychological profiling to catch a serial killer, as pioneered for the FBI by Mindhunter author and Silence of the Lambs consultant John Douglas and author of Whoever Fights Monsters, Robert Ressler. I loved Douglas’ Mindhunter so much that if there was a stock or ETF (Exchange Traded Fund) in 1995 that focused on serial killer vs. profiler movies and books, I probably would’ve bought a couple shares. I’d probably would be a rich man now too, because I now get a new profiler-chasing-serial killer movie listed on my streaming services so often that I won’t watch them anymore, because I know the template they use, the one laid out by Manhunter, Silence of the Lambs, and Mindhunter, so well that I know it too well.

“I need to get inside the head of the killer,” our archetypal Special Agent of the Behavioral Analysis Unit Rhonda Gunderson says. This rhetoric is one of the numerous tropes of the typical serial killer movie, and the process inherent in doing so will come at great personal and/or professional expense. When our archetypal profiler, Special Agent of the Behavioral Unit Rhonda Gunderson, finds the killer’s Rosetta Stone, she uses it to correctly point out who the killer’s next victim will be. Her fellow Law Enforcement Officials (LEOs) won’t believe Gunderson, until her premonitions turn out to be correct so often that they can no longer question her mindmeld.  

1) The serial killer, with a media-style nickname or moniker, is unusually brilliant, erudite, articulate, cultured, charming, and attractive. (The idea that an unattractive piece of trash who didn’t graduate from high school might impulsively slaughter a bunch of people just isn’t as interesting to us anymore.) We want the horror conducted by our serial killer familiar, so filmmakers make them as clean, neat, and organized as we are. We also love the idea that the serial killer could be that quiet neighbor who seemed so nice and neighborly.  

2) The killer will develop an intricate pattern, theme, or a highly sophisticated puzzle that calls upon the investigators to know their arcane and erudite literary or religious references well enough to compete with his unusually brilliant mind. The investigators must decode his message, puzzle, or worldview to prevent another killing, and one of the LEOs, usually our profiler, will have intimate knowledge of the arcane and erudite reference. At some point, in this period of discovery, one of the LEOs will characterize this as, “A race against time.” 

3) The killer will introduce a philosophical concept regarding the blurring of lines that detail a hypocrisy in society, that Special Agent Gunderson has a flaw he characterizes as similar to the killer’s, or the killer will pound home a vulnerability that speaks to society’s moral relativism. “Well, he’s right about that,” someone in the audience will say.   

4) The cat-and-mouse structure will involve a psychological duel as opposed to a physical one. At some point, Special Agent Gunderson will state that she is maddeningly close to “getting inside the head” of the killer, but she will not be able to tap into that level of evil. She will need to find another unusually brilliant genius serial killer who is still bloodthirsty but incarcerated, to give her insight into the mind of the active killer.  

The Final Showdown

A) When they finally track the killer down, he won’t be home, but Gunderson and the LEOs around her will enter his home. The serial killer’s home will be a meticulously curated horror show of his warped, damaged, and “unusually brilliant” psyche.

B) The lighting inside the home will contain insufficient natural light, and it will be so dark that it will require one of the LEOs to flip a light bulb on, but no one will. They will use flashlights to scour the walls completely covered in newspaper clippings of the murders, Polaroids or stolen photos of the victims (alive and dead). The killer will then label each picture with a sharpie to allow the LEOs to know which body part belongs to which victim.  

C) To further incriminate himself, the killer will provide an enlarged, elaborate map of the city with multicolored pins and red yarn connecting crime scenes, timelines, and obsessive diagrams. (There was one serial killer movie that used yellow yarn as opposed to red. I was like “What the heck? How does yellow illustrate an obsessive need for blood?” My guess is either the filmmakers couldn’t find red yarn, or they didn’t think anyone would notice.) The configuration of the red yarn hooked around the multicolored pins will form a pentagram, or some image the audience will associate with evil. 

D) The killer will have a trophy collection on the dresser filled with personal souvenirs—locks of hair, jewelry, driver’s licenses, underwear, lipstick, or they will have extreme keepsakes in jars in a freezer that contain fingers, teeth, or body parts carefully preserved.

E) When the LEOs and Gunderson leave the serial killer’s living room, they will find a torture cellar or hidden room that real estate agents sell as a “must have” for all prospective serial killers. (How many of us have multi-room, cavernous areas carved out of our basement?) Inside his torture room, the law enforcement officials find various restraints in their workshop, knives, surgical tools, “how-to” books regarding surgery, a bloodstained table and a captive/victim who is barely clinging to life. 

F) In his bedroom, Gunderson and the LEOs find an incredibly incriminating journal with stacks of handwritten notebooks or a single massive ledger filled with detailed accounts of the crimes, philosophical justifications based on literary or religious references, lists of future targets, or pure delusional stream-of-consciousness, Unabomber-style writings. As busy as this room will appear to the naked eye, it be unusually clean, and extraordinary in its tidy, organized manner. One movie even went so far to suggest that its serial killer went to the trouble of developing an almost aseptic quality of sterility. “Why would an impulsive killer worry that much about spreading germs?” we ask. Depending on the over-the-top quality of the production, the serial killer might adorn his room with mannequins posed in victims’ clothes, taxidermy, religious icons mixed with occult symbols, or a bedroom that looks like a shrine. The answer to our previous question will arrive here, as Gunderson suggests that the tidy, organized manner of this man’s rooms illustrate a love/hate relationship the killer has with his domineering mother.

G) The LEOs will also note a chemical smell, usually bleach or formaldehyde mixed with the smell of human decay. To illustrate the smell those of us in the audience cannot smell, one of the LEOs will leave the house to vomit.  

H) Finally, one of the LEOs will say, “You’ll want to see this” to Special Agent Gunderson. The LEOs will all be standing around a board, and they will make room for Special Agent Gunderson. On this board, she will see amateurish photos taken from an amateurish camera. These pictures will be purposefully amateurish with odd angles. After she methodically walks past them, she will finger the last one and whisper, “He’s been watching us all along.”  

As noted, the house will empty, save for a victim clinging to life. The killer will either be on the run, hunting his next victim, or about to return at the worst possible moment, but the house overflowing with proof that the profile the incredibly brilliant and talented Special Agent Gunderson created was right all along. 

I) An eye-witness account suggests that the serial killer is in an abandoned warehouse. When Gunderson and the LEOs approach, it’s dark out, and there is heavy rain that soaks everything but actors’ hair. When Gunderson and the members of the LEO team she trusts approach the warehouse, black SUVs and SWAT vans roll up quietly. Guns are drawn. Flashlights cut through the darkness. Someone whispers over the radio: “We’ve confirmed his presence. He’s in there. Proceed with extreme caution. We’re on high alert for the possibility of booby traps.” Gunderson will shut off her radio, and she’ll encourage her team to go to radio silence, as they approach the entrance of the warehouse.

The warehouse is entirely empty when they enter, and the natural light shining from the abandoned warehouse roof is broken by the shadows of beams and the occasional bird flying from beam to beam. To break up the spooky silence, a bird will fly too close to Gunderson to provide a jump scare as she walks through the warehouse with her gun poised. At some point in her walk through the warehouse, Special Agent Gunderson becomes separated from her team, as the LEOs begin clearing the various rooms in the warehouse. She will enter the most incriminating room that has evidence in the form of more wall clippings, trophies, and that same lingering chemical smell. She will put the back of her hand to her nose and scrunch her face to illustrate for us how bad this smell is.  

J) The killer appears in the dark corner of this room. He is sitting in a walnut brown Baxton studio Billie side chair. He is not surprised when Gunderson enters. He’s been waiting for her. (I would love to see a scene where one of the LEOs locates him first, and he says, “What, wait a second, who are you? Go get Special Agent Gunderson, and tell her to be taken aback by my calm yet authoritative stance.”) The media monikered serial killer is in a dark room, lit only by limited natural light and occasional flashes of lightning. (In some movies, his face remains in shadow for another beat.) He congratulates Gunderson for displaying her incredible and unprecedented talent and intelligence by finding him, and he further compliments her by saying that only she could understand him well enough to develop the profile she did. He also states that as incredibly brilliant and intelligent and talented as she is, Special Agent Gunderson couldn’t have arrived at such knowledge of him if she didn’t have intimate or familiar knowledge. “No one else can understand us,” he says, explaining how elements of her past leads her to understand his methodology better.

“I’m nothing like you,” the incredibly brilliant and incredibly talented Special Agent Gunderson says. 

“We’re more alike than you know,” he says with a smile. 

K) The media monikered serial killer will then drop a lengthy exposition regarding his methodology, and once that’s complete, we will hear the sounds of boots stomping on the stairs and radios crackling as the LEOs join Gunderson in the abandoned warehouse room. “Hands where I can see them!” they will shout with weapons drawn behind her. The lighting will become more dramatic, as all of the flashlights light the room (or the lightning flashes become more frequent), as the serial killer and Gunderson begin exchanging words (Sometimes they shout, sometimes they whisper. This is one of the few points in the typical serial killer movie where the filmmaker has some discretion.) When Special Agent Gunderson finally reaches her “nothing to lose here” point, she will seek to take action, but the serial killer will stop her in her tracks by revealing the final victim (Either the initial victim that caught Gunderson’s attention, her daughter, or some young girl to whom she’s developed some form of affection) to raise the stakes.  

L) A struggle breaks out: a brief, brutal fight in a confined space, knives flashing, a gun sliding across the floor, and Gunderson will begin look around the abandoned warehouse to use something in the warehouse against him. When she finds something elaborate that triggers an elaborate something else that won’t harm the female victim, the killer becomes separated from the victim, and the serial killer is tackled, slammed against a wall or the floor, and cuffed by one of the LEOs. He will smirk an evil little smirk while they’re apprehending him, and he’ll whisper one final line to Gunderson while being taken away, something like, “Society will never truly understand us.” 

M) The scene ends with the killer being led away in the rain under harsh floodlights. Gunderson will remain in the room of the abandoned warehouse for a beat, staring at the wall of evidence or the trophies, looking hollowed-out rather than triumphant. Rainwater drips from the ceiling, and one of the LEOs will congratulate her on doing what he considered impossible. “You are an incredibly brilliant, intelligent, and talented woman,” one of her subtly yet unmistakably misogynist detractors will say. “And I can’t believe you did it, but you did. It’s over, it’s finally over.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Special Agent Gunderson whispers, glaring at something poignant in the serial killer’s display. “I wish I could believe that,” she says fingering it. The camera zeroes in on that poignant artifact that foreshadows the future horror this episode could portend, which everyone who watches too many movies knows is the sequel(s).

Long before I learned about “movie tropes”, my friends and I talked about movie tropes all the time without using a term we had never heard before. We watched so many movies that we could spot the tropes before the movies delivered them. We never turned it into a drinking game. If we had, our brains would be more damaged than they already are, because each genre, and subgenre has an algorithm that one movie maker created to set a precedent. Once that precedent was set, the filmmakers, the studio execs, the investors, and all of the players involved demanded that the creatives involved in the movie follow the same blueprint that the precedent setter set to prevent confusion for the audience. 

Based on the ubiquity of current profiler-chases-serial killer movies, we can guess that they make a lot of money now, but they also cost a lot of money to make. There are low-budget, independent movies of course, but most movies cost a lot to make. Those movies require big budgets, and big budgets require approval from the hierarchy or the greenlight authority to get through the chain of gatekeepers that wield different kinds of power. The director and screenwriter have to answer to all of them if they want to make it to the next stage, and from what I hear these gatekeepers are very generous with notes on how the directors and screenwriters can make their project less confusing for the audience. Filmmakers have been subjected to this process long before I was born, and it will continue to work this way long after I’m gone. Some screenwriters and directors refuse to concede to these notes, and we call them two things: auteurs and unemployed screenwriters and directors. The auteur is an artist whose personal creative vision is strong and distinctive that he might be able to tell the gatekeepers what they can do with their notes. Most auteurs are not welcome in most genre movies, because genre film fans grow accustomed to certain rhythms, rhetoric, and patterns, or what we now call tropes. When one of the auteurs is so talented and brilliant that they find a way to make a decently budgeted movie without conceding to “the notes” those I know and love say, “I just found it confusing. I don’t know why, but it confused me, and I didn’t like it.” Those of us who watched too many movies strive to find movies from auteurs who break the system by refusing to kowtow to notes from production studios and investors. Yet, we know that most movies are so expensive to make that the artistic vision screenwriters and directors prize often gets so diluted by those who know far more than I do about how to appeal to audiences and make a lot of money in the process, but it does tend to make movies very similar to those of us who watch too many of them.