Netflix’s newest original miniseries, 13 Reasons Why, is compelling TV. It’s well-acted and hauntingly written. But while watching it, something bothered me, and it took me a while to figure out what it was. I fear that 13 Reasons Why might be the latest example of how Hollywood hitmakers tend, even unwittingly, to romanticize suicide.
The show is focused on the suicide of high-schooler Hannah. Shaken by her death, her friends and classmates discover that Hannah had recorded 13 audio tapes, discussing various people and incidents that drove her to kill herself. Each episode of the series centers on a the revelations of a particular tape; as the series progresses, secrets of Hannah’s classmates are exposed, and the series ends on a sober note of justice as many classmates and even some school administrators are implicated in Hannah’s death.
Critics have almost universally praised 13 Reasons Why for its intelligent script and mature narrative. It is indeed a well-produced series, and the writers and actors deserve credit for handling such a brutal story with a measure of dignity and hope. But therein lies my concern. While it’s true that teenage bullying, depression and suicide are stories we need to be telling, I fear that 13 Reasons Why may tell a story that, even unwittingly, valorizes a teen’s death.
Hannah is clearly a smart girl. Her quick wit and observational skills clearly outpace most of her peers, especially the boys. The recordings she leaves behind are likewise clever and incisive. Without giving away too much of the plot, let me briefly explain that Hannah’s tapes serve as a crucial instrument of her revenge, a revenge that exposes criminal activity at her school and culminates in a lawsuit. By the end of the series, Hannah, though driven, as we see in flashbacks, to despair by the cruelty of her world, has achieved something very much like a vindication. Her tapes win; her bullies lose.
Poetic justice? Yes. But at what cost? Does Hannah’s posthumous vindication make her decision to kill herself more tragic, or less so?
We need to remind ourselves that art moves us first at a level beyond rational thought, ultimately because art is not about information but about desire. I have no doubt that 13 Reasons Why will be an emotionally compelling experience for many, especially teens. And that is troubles me. It unnerves me to think of a teen, caught in a cycle of abuse and neglect like Hannah, watching this story unfold and desiring the self-sacrificing heroism that they see. While 13 Reasons is engrossing story, it’s also not real life. Suicide is not heroic. Killing oneself is not a strategy for revenge. It is a monumental act of selfishness. Hannah’s friends process her death and her tapes exactly how she expected them to. The empathy that she didn’t feel in life she receives in death.
That’s a fairy tale. And it’s a fairy tale that might have lethal consequences for people struggling to value their life.
Death is not a friend. It’s not a vehicle for your self-actualization. Suicide will not give you a front row seat to watch as your friends and family understand you and love you for the first time. But that’s what happens for Hannah. The filmmakers behind 13 Reasons Why know that Hannah’s death is tragic. They do not rejoice in it. But unfortunately, by giving Hannah a godlike intelligence and an ephemeral sort of control over the unfolding events after her death, the makers of 13 Reasons have told a profoundly wrong and morally confused story. It’s a story that poses a unique threat to audiences who may be considering Hannah’s path, simply to feel the love shown to her.
Because life is immeasurably precious, displaying its worth is immeasurably precarious. The power of stories is their ability to shape our intuitions, our loves, our expectations of the world. Trying to help despairing friends see the value in their life requires more than telling a story of someone like them. It requires sifting through beguiling myths and being honest about our enemy Death. I’m afraid 13 Reasons Why makes this harder, not easier.