The Darkest Hour: How Modern Fiction Wrecks People with Depression
A discussion of how tropes influence mental illness stigma.
Modern fiction, whether written or visual, relies on a bunch of commonalities called tropes. Tropes describe a common theme or character type in fiction. For example, in superhero fiction, there are often “boy scout” characters like Superman and “antihero” characters like The Punisher.
While it may sound like it, tropes are not always, or even usually, cliches. They simply represent common or recurring themes in fiction.
One of the most common tropes in modern fiction is what’s called “the darkest hour.” This is generally described as a moment, usually just before the third act, where the protagonists have been defeated or otherwise disheartened by the antagonist. Sometimes, someone close to them is killed.
The darkest hour is usually the point where all of the protagonists feel like they can’t possibly win. Everything looks grim. At least until something sparks a change and inspires them to eventually defeat the antagonist. Then there’s the final confrontation and the protagonists (usually) emerge victoriously.
Emerging from the darkest hour is often a self-starting moment, where the protagonists realize that they had the power all along (or something to that effect). Sometimes, it is spurred on by an event or action by another character. They usually get a second wind, regroup, and emerge from the darkest hour ready for the final showdown.
In many ways, emerging from the darkest hour is a reflection of the American ideal, where you pull yourself up by your bootstraps to succeed despite the obstacles. There is a certain level of self-starting that goes with this.
Unfortunately, this has somewhat dark implications for people with mental illness. The protagonists often feel sad or depressed until they overcome their feelings and lift their spirits. For someone with depression, it just doesn’t work like that.
Depression and other mental illnesses that have depressive symptoms are characterized by a lack of neurotransmitters in the brain that cause level mood or happiness. It is damn near impossible for someone with clinical depression to “pull themselves out of” their funk because they are hard-wired to be depressed.
This tends to get overlooked by people who are unaware of this fact. Many people remember times where they felt sad or depressed or isolated, and they remember what they did to pull themselves out of it. These people look at a person with chronic depression and don’t understand why they can’t do the same.
“Oh, I felt depressed a while ago too, but then I started doing yoga and felt much better!”
“I find going outside and getting fresh air and sunshine helps improve my mood a lot!”
“My vegetarian diet keeps me from getting depressed! Your body is only as good as the fuel you give it!”
These pieces of advice often form a double-edged sword to a person with depression. All of them are good advice for self-care practices and can help mitigate some of the depression. None of them, even in combination, can successfully lift a person with chronic depression out of a depressive streak.
The misunderstanding of chronic depression as “just feeling sad” is compounded by fictional media and the trope of the darkest hour. If the person in the movie could be sad and depressed but then get motivated to pull themselves out of it, why can’t you?
This has two effects. People who do not live with chronic depression don’t understand why people with depression can’t just “pull themselves out of it.” The premise that a chronically-depressed brain is hard-wired to be depressed doesn’t register.
On the other hand, people with chronic depression feel guilty that they aren’t feeling better no matter what they do since it was so easy for the characters in the movies. They look at the Avengers facing discord and loss, pulling together, and defeating the Big Bad, and they wonder why they can’t manage to get out of bed today.
In many ways, all of this contributes to the stigma around mental health. The public looks at a person with chronic depression, and instead of registering a person with an illness, they see someone who “isn’t trying hard enough.” Media is filled with examples of people who overcame worse things than this, why can’t they?
The answer is because it’s fiction. The premise of the hero getting defeated in the second act, getting depressed, and then spending the third act curled up on the couch for months while the villain takes over the world doesn’t make for compelling storytelling.
Unless you’re Avengers: Endgame, I guess.
Perseverance is a highly-valued trait in society. Because of this, we have a hard time relating to someone who is physically incapable of persevering. We don’t see them as having an illness that prevents them from trying. We see them as lazy.
In this way, mental illness is translated from a physical illness that requires medical treatment to a moral failing of the lazy and unmotivated. A person with depression that is physically preventing them from recovering is “just not trying hard enough.”
Let’s go back to Avengers: Endgame and look at Thor. Spoilers ahead.
Thor, after realizing that they were too late to save the day, goes off and spends five years sitting on his butt, playing videogames and drinking to excess. He gains a major beer belly in the process and is portrayed as unkempt and gross.
Oddly, I’m not too upset with this. Depression does cause people to do those things. Drinking to feel better, eating junk food, and playing video games are common coping mechanisms for depression because they cause your brain to feel good for a little while. They trigger something in you that makes you feel a little more human.
It’s not unrealistic that Thor, suffering from the traumas of losing his homeworld, his friends, and half the universe, would fall into a depression like that. Trauma has a way of rewiring your brain chemistry, which is why PTSD is a thing. In this way, Thor’s personal darkest hour is relatively early in the movie, and he spends the rest of the time coming out of it.
I’m upset, however, that the whole thing is played for laughs. Much of Thor’s subplot is a punchline. Look how pathetic the God of Thunder has become. He’s fat and gross now. What a joke.
Although his arc comes to a reasonable conclusion — that he still feels a sense of loss and pain even though he managed to confront his demons, and now he needs some time alone — it’s not serious. He’s still the fat God of Thunder, off to have some alone time.
Even still, there is a certain offhandedness to his arc. He has a confidence boost when his hammer still comes when called, and that’s enough to kickstart the last third of his character arc. He hesitates a bit in the big fight and shows fear when cornered, but ultimately does the hero thing and powers through.
That’s just not possible for a lot of people. Putting on your game face to kick ass and take names isn’t in the cards for some of us.
I suspect that the darkest hour trope has done a lot to add to the stigma of mental illness. Considering that the basis of the trope is hundreds of years old, if not older, it’s had a lot of time to do it. Does it make for good fiction? It wouldn’t be so popular if it didn’t.
However, people — both without and with mental illness — who look at this trope can still be influenced by it. A typical person may think “why can’t my friend just get out of bed? It’s not that hard, even Thor did it.”
More dangerously, a person with depression may think “it’s so easy for other people, why can’t I do it? I must be damaged and worthless.” When you’re depressed, it doesn’t take much to perpetuate the depression.
Stigma won’t be solved overnight, and this trope isn’t going away. Mostly, I just want people to understand the relationship between fiction and reality, and where they do and don’t intersect. By understanding the things that contribute to stigma, we are better equipped to combat them.
And for all of you out there with depression or other mental illness, know that it’s okay to be depressed, and that help is there for you when you’re ready.
