Privileged show whales complain about jumping for treats
I was tricked into seeing this movie after a friend told me that it was “troubling” and “painful to watch.” The only thing that I found troubling about Blackfish was the uppity hype surrounding it. SPOILER ALERT: the whales are never even tortured that badly, though they’d have you believe otherwise. Blackfish is all song and dance. If you’d prefer a more genuine night of animalian despair, I recommend ordering some KFC and Googling grainy videos of dog fights.
I first began to suspect that this film was whiny propaganda during the allegedly “heartbreaking” 1983 kidnapping of Tilikum from his pod. I will admit that his mother’s high-pitched screams as the young whale was lifted out of the ocean were satisfying, but the scene would have been much more disturbing if the captors had inflicted pain on him while his family watched helplessly from the sidelines. Instead, Tilikum was treated like a little prince, gently lifted into the air like Glinda the Good Witch.
Several trainers described how the female whales in SeaLand—the deliciously janky and poorly equipped park where Tilikum was taken after his capture—would gang up on Tilikum and rake their teeth across his flesh. I’m no whale psychologist, but this seems to me like an activity that a pubescent, virile male would very much enjoy. “Tragedy,” my ass. To make matters worse, the dolts responsible for Blackfish neglected to include any footage of these events, perhaps because they were much sexier than Tilikum and his supporters were willing to admit. Viewers are asked to assume that the young whale was traumatized from repeated and savage orgies – victimizing Tilikum to maximize sympathy.
When Tilikum is moved to Seaworld, the quality of the footage (and, disappointingly, his care) improves – but the whining doesn’t stop. There are a number of tiresome scenes where Tilikum is petted and spoken to affectionately by a host of enthusiastic Seaworld trainers, and he sure seems to be fine with it. He appears to be smiling when they feed him treats for doing something as banal as waving his fin. He does not seem to be terrified of them in the slightest, and I saw no evidence of punishment devices, shackles, or burn marks on his skin. This is obviously incongruous with Tilikum’s “poor, poor me” narrative. To him I say: If you want a job that treats you better, get an education and learn how to do something else besides waving your fucking fin.
Finally, 42 minutes after that sappy gobblygook, the filmmaker shows some actual blood. The stupid wound, however, is clearly not life threatening. Dramatic music and camerawork try to stir up the viewers’ emotions, but it feels strangely reminiscent of Ferris Bueller’s fake sick routine. We know Tilikum will sack up and be just fine. The audience’s one consolation is the knowledge that tying a bandage to a whale is impossible, so any cuts the animals receive must be fully exposed to the burning, salty water.
Watching a whale’s mind slowly unravel after years of performing repetitive tricks in a confined space several times a day, every day was certainly amusing, but in a way we’re all part of that same capitalist, monotonous machine. Big whoop, Tilikum. Grow up and accept that every day can’t be fanfuckingtastic. You’ve got a job to do, and some people aren’t so lucky. Tilikum’s story would have been more worth my time if, say, the trainers had dumped a truckload of chlorine into the water while all of the orcas writhed in pain.
That isn’t to say I dismiss the whale’s struggle entirely. I do find the concept of psychologically torturing an extremely social mammal by isolating him from all contact alluring – and almost pitiable, if Tilikum wasn’t such an obvious drama queen. He’s so intolerable and dripping with privilege that, released into the wild, it seems unlikely that he would have many friends anyway. If the makers of Blackfish were to film a sequel, I would recommend providing Tilikum with massive hamster feeders filled with alcohol and morphine so that he is able to translate his depression into a physically destructive addiction. After all, Tilikum’s mental illness will only be truly believable when he looks as horrible on the outside as he says he feels on the inside.
Overall, I thought this movie was okay. The sadistic gore I crave is definitely a meat-industry kind of bloodshed (Food, Inc. is still one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen; I cannot recommend it enough). While it’s heart is in the right place, Blackfish wants to be something it’s just not. Seaworld is going to have to step up its animal abuse game if it wants to win back my trust.
“Blackfish” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). That should have been my tip-off. Any decent movie about animal killing would be rated R.
