The simulation we all inhabit has been malfunctioning. A pandemic rages. There are no sports on TV. The streets are clear. Just as people were reaching the end of their Netflix queues, though, a hero emerged.
He has an eyebrow ring that’s barely hanging in there and the voice of a Kentucky-fried angel, and to date, he has had three husbands. This hero is Joe Exotic, a.k.a. Tiger King.
Someday our grandchildren will ask us to reminisce on these strange times. As we are relating the sense of utter isolation and the desperation caused by empty toilet paper aisles, we may burst out laughing. But then we will tell the real culprit of the virus: Carole Baskin.
Jokes aside, the Netflix docuseries “Tiger King” is not the show we wanted, but it was the show we needed. The series premiered at the perfect time for it to have a full cultural impact on the public consciousness.
The series is perfect for our current conditions because it is a pulpy masterpiece. It revolves around a niche underworld of unbelievable, yet real characters who each have their own con: Doc Antle, the zoo sex cult leader; Joe Exotic, the gay, gun-toting, country-music-icon; and Carole Baskin, the political savvy oppostion who is potentially skilled in the art of feeding an ex-husband to her tigers.
The series relies on the pulp, “what the f—” factor until the viewer is totally sucked in. At that point, the series takes a turn into dark and sinister territory. By the end, the viewer realizes there are no heroes.
Without our current conditions, “Tiger King” would’ve just been a trashy docuseries. It would’ve been here and gone. A vast number of Americans, though, are in some form of unemployment right now. While most of us wrap our minds around this unfortunate reality, “Tiger King” shows us the day-to-day workings of an exotic animal farm.
The working conditions are…different. The workers are greatly underpaid and are required to do dangerous tasks. They are allocated rat-infested trailers with broken AC units. Their main source of food is the Walmart trucks, which come in once a week with expired meat. Workers get the first pick, the animals get the rest. Okay, the conditions are horrible and different.
This is all to say that the experience of watching the series, especially for those suddenly unemployed, is pure schadenfreude. Financial strain, online classes and working remotely are all unfortunate realities of our current world. And yet, at least your arm wasn’t ripped off, you didn’t rely on expired meat and you don’t work from 8 a.m. to midnight Monday through Sunday for $100 a week.
The series also works as a form of therapy for our fraught political situation. Americans, in one way or another, are still reeling from the 2016 results. As of late, our country has been more divided than united on most political issues. This series allows viewers, no matter their political standing, to laugh at stand-ins for the 2016 candidates.
Joe Exotic is an emotional manipulator. His whole life has been going from one con to the next. He hates the media but also uses it for his own platform. He runs for political office (for governor and president) for his own egotistical ends.
Carole Baskin frames everything she does with only good intentions involved. She uses the political system to take out her rivals for essentially doing the same thing she does. She has, quite literally, a skeleton in her closet. She puts on a good face, but there’s something untrustworthy and sketchy about her.
Baskin and Exotic feud endlessly—beyond the point of logic and reason. The two fight a war based on a personal vendetta, even though they are both hypocrites. Although one of them wins, everyone loses. The people around them are left in their wake, broken and different versions of themselves.
Though pulpy, unbelievable and over-the-top, this docuseries presents a microcosm of our current times with the pandemic when leaders are more concerned for their own monetary and egotistical ends. The message of “Tiger King” is more prevalent than ever.
True Dabill can be reached at dabi7280@stthomas.edu.