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In the past couple of years, some variation on a meme that goes, “The older I get, the more I understand why the Grinch wanted to live alone with his dog” has cropped up every Christmas. This sudden “empathy” for the green creature is not only an about-face from perceptions past, but a clear sign that humanity has become so insufferable that there’s finally some vindication for misanthropes and why they might be “that way.” Which is to say, contemptuous of all human contact. Of course, the Whos aren’t human, but, for the Grinch’s purposes of hiding in a “cozy” (or heinous, as the Grinch calls it) lair on Mount Crumpit, they’re equivalent enough for inspiring his hikikomori existence.
Although it used to be the case that the Grinch was a prime example of how not to be, he has become something of a hero to the masses. Particularly the post-Covid masses who, of late, might be missing the excuse that lockdowns gave to avoid all social contact (oh, how quickly people can romanticize something they hated once it’s in the past). Despite the Grinch not being anything remotely human, he has, before this recent meme, typically been held up as an exemplar of what humans should avoid “aspiring to” at all costs. In fact, his trusty dog, Max, is the one whose heart seems big enough for the both of them, what with the Grinch’s heart being “two sizes too small.” And, besides, how could it not be when he was simply reflecting back the love he received. Or rather, did not. At least according to the 2000 version of the film, directed by Ron Howard.
In contrast to the original (and classic) animated film (you know, the one Kevin McCallister [Macaulay Culkin] watches in Home Alone 2: Lost in New York), the live action edition presents the (formerly) villainous (turned heroic) Grinch with a backstory that “explains” his current state of curmudgeonliness. In effect, it set the precedent for the later ongoing trend of giving villains “origin stories” that (supposedly) shed light on how/why they became “evil” (e.g., Maleficent and the Joker). Except that the Grinch was never really evil, per se—or “rotten,” as the famed song about him likes to tout. He was simply a misanthrope. And, in 1957, when Dr. Seuss’ original publication, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, was released, there was nothing more menacing or “dangerous” to American society. By 2000, when Ron Howard’s adaptation (written by Jeffrey Price and Peter S. Seaman), it seemed that was destined to remain true, as Bush conservatism took hold of the nation again. Taking even more hold after the 9/11 attacks of 2001. And so, to be a “grinch” a.k.a. people-hater was not exactly chic; instead, considered “unpatriotic.” A sign of being “off.” Worse still, one of the “enemies.”
But the Grinch suddenly falling into fashion at a time when misanthropy has arguably been more accepted and embraced than ever (largely thanks to the driving force that is the internet), well, that’s no coincidence. His moment to shine, as it were, has arrived in an era of extreme dissatisfaction with and mistrust in humanity as a whole. Hence, the resonance to more and more humans when they hear the Grinch utter, from the cold comfort of his cave, “I’ll tell ya Max, I don’t know why I ever leave this place. I’ve got all the company I’ll ever need right here.” He points to himself, and then proceeds to engage in a “conversation” wherein his words echo back to him from the walls.
The Grinch’s resentment of more “socially acceptable” misanthropes posing as jolly “givers” prompts him to seethe, “Talk about a recluse! [Santa] only comes out once a year and he never catches any flak for it! Probably lives up there to avoid the taxes.” And yet, in the end, the message of How the Grinch Stole Christmas! is that you, too, can become a socially acceptable misanthrope. Soften yourself around the edges to become more palatable. Conform more willingly to the warm-and-fuzziness expected of you despite inhabiting a world so unapologetically cruel. Founded on a system that’s designed to harden you and make you immune to anything resembling empathy. And yet, that very system can continue to create docile soldiers by releasing content that has the type of self-awareness of How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, which acknowledges that misanthropy is to be expected, to some degree, but that, in the end, we should all go back to loving our fellow man who fucks us over on a daily basis.
Even from the outset of Howard’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, there is an immediate foreshadowing of the Grinch’s eventual surrender to being “one with humanity.” Or “Whomanity,” if you prefer. That glimmer arrives when he says, with menace and malice in his voice, “I guess I could use a little…social interaction” just before going out to wreak undercover havoc on Whoville. But that line is ultimately designed to emphasize the idea that, yes, humans are social creatures who will wither and die on the vine of existence without enough socialization. And, in the Grinch’s case, he was really only made to feel so isolated because of the early ostracism he experienced as an “othered” child. Which is why, while on that undercover outing to wreak havoc, of course, even then, his “teddy bear stylings” flicker in and out, as he ends up “saving” Cindy Lou Who (Taylor Momsen, before she was Jenny Humphrey) after placing her in the mail sorter himself. It is only the Grinch’s true conscience, Max, who stops him by pulling violently on his cloak to keep him from leaving the mail room without rescuing her. So it is that the Grinch unwittingly stumbles upon someone who “believes in” him. Someone who, for the narrative’s sake, has to be a child…because they’re the only ones with a shred of enough innocence not to be so jaded.
Thus, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, like another beloved Christmas story, A Christmas Carol, wants to reinforce the trope that misanthropes aren’t all “bad,” they just need the right person (or scenario) to “draw them out.” The ultimate fallacy in that statement being that it’s bad to despise humans in the first place. But it’s become less and less taboo to do so in an open manner. Case in point, the recent adaptation of Leave the World Behind, during which Julia Roberts as Amanda Sandford declares from the outset of the film, “I fucking hate people.” By the end, however, she experiences her own kind of “Grinch transformation” when she tells Ruth (Myha’la), the girl she’s been “saddled with” for the end of the world, “I know I say I hate people, but I’d do anything to have them back.”
Thrust into her own extreme circumstances that force her heart to become “three sizes bigger” after it’s already too late for such revelations, Ruth is the one to inform her, “As awful as people might be, nothing’s gonna change the fact that we are all we’ve got.” But that’s really not true if you have a dog like the Grinch’s. As time goes on, and the meme about finally understanding the Grinch continues to hold water with more and more people (in short, as misanthropy becomes more “mainstream”), it bears remarking that the reason for such comprehension is that the “collective veil” regarding so-called humanity seems to keep being pulled further and further back to the point that, indeed, why wouldn’t we all want to hide in a cave by ourselves with a dog who loves and understands unconditionally? No matter how inherently rotten his owner might be.
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Genna Rivieccio
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