Entertainment
How A Movie Drove Peaceful Americans To Madness And Violence
screenwashed (adjective) — When something seen on a screen completely changes how someone thinks or feels, as if their old beliefs were erased and replaced by what they just saw.
By Joshua Tyler
| Updated
In 2020, violent protests rocked the United States, devastating major cities. Since then, dozens more have appeared, so many that it almost seems normal.
But it isn’t normal.
Make a list of the most violent protests of the past 20 years, and you’ll find that the majority of them didn’t happen until after 2019. Before that, most protests, even the big ones like Occupy Wall Street or the Tea Party protests of the early 2000s, were just a lot of dudes walking around with signs until it got dark. There were exceptions, like the disastrous riots in Ferguson, Missouri, but those were noteworthy because they were unusual.
Now, violence, particularly from supposedly peaceful protesters themselves, is the norm. A daily occurrence in some cities, a regular seasonal event in others. What changed? In 2019, one movie took theaters by storm and manipulated its most ardent viewers to stop playing nice.
This is the story of how Joker screenwashed Americans into accepting violence as personal expression.
The Story Of Joker
Joker was billed as being about Batman’s arch-nemesis, but it has no true connection to the world of comic books. Instead, it’s a grim character study about Arthur Fleck, a mentally ill, socially invisible man slowly crushed by a city that doesn’t care whether he lives or dies. There are no superheroes, no grand conspiracies, and no redemption arc, just a sad, broken man discovering that the only time the world notices him is when he stops playing by its rules and embraces nihilism.
When Joker arrived in theaters, it was both controversial and a huge box office hit. No movie captured a bigger share of the cultural conversation in 2019 than it did, and theaters were packed with people looking for something edgy, different, and maybe even dangerous.
The Lone Observer
The debate over Joker often centered on whether it might inspire mass shootings or homicides. All of that discussion missed the true danger in the film.
Only one person saw the truth. It wasn’t mass murderers or an increase in individual homicides that we needed to worry about. A few months after Joker’s release, at the start of the George Floyd riots in 2020, master persuader Scott Adams made this observation:
“I’m willing to bet 90% of the protesters have seen Joker. It’s so powerful and well-made that it bounces around in your brain and burrows in, forming a dominant go-to pattern for your thinking.” – Scott Adams
Scott then asked, “Can one movie nudge a young person into violence and anarchy? A bad movie can’t. Even a good movie can’t do that. But Joker can. That movie is next-level, persuasion.”
Joker doesn’t merely depict unrest; it romanticizes it. It does it, using some very specific persuasion tricks.
Catharsis Through Violence
The film presents social collapse as catharsis. Arthur Fleck’s personal breakdown is fused to a citywide explosion of masked demonstrators who burn, riot, and kill. All while the camera treats it like liberation.
That’s what Catharsis is. The release of pent-up emotion through experience or expression leaves the mind clearer by safely discharging feelings that were previously contained or unresolved.
The need for catharsis exists in all of us. It’s an irresistible pull. That can be healthy, prompting reflection, relief, and clarity. But it can also distort judgment, causing people to chase emotional release for its own sake, overreact, or embrace narratives that justify anger, sadness, or guilt just to feel unburdened.
That’s what Joker taps into.
The violence isn’t framed as tragic or cautionary. It’s operatic. The mob becomes the chorus validating Arthur’s transformation. Gotham’s chaos isn’t shown as a failure of civilization, but as a necessary purge.
This matters because culture isn’t created through instruction; it’s learned by association.
Arthur Fleck is introduced as powerless, humiliated, and ignored. By anchoring the audience inside his suffering before any violence occurs, the film ensures viewers emotionally identify with him.
Joker’s Six Screenwashing Tricks
Joker screenwashes its audience by employing six distinct persuasion techniques.
Responsibility for violence is consistently shifted away from the character and onto abstract forces: “the system,” “the rich,” “society.” This trains viewers to see violence as an inevitable consequence, not a moral failure.
- Two, Aestheticization of Chaos
Riots are filmed beautifully. When violence is visually pleasing, the brain associates it with power and release rather than danger or shame.
- Three, Catharsis Substitution
The film substitutes violence for resolution. Destruction itself is the payoff, reinforcing the idea that “burning it down” is a valid emotional endpoint.
Arthur’s transformation is validated not by reasoned argument, but by mass approval. Viewers subconsciously absorb the same validation loop.
- Five, Thinking Past The Sale
The story strongly implies that violent societal collapse is unavoidable. When outcomes feel predetermined, audiences stop asking whether violence is right and start asking only when.
- Six, Meaning Injection Into Rage
Most importantly, the film gives rage a story. Raw anger becomes “truth.” Once anger is framed as insight rather than impulse, acting on it feels justified.
Before Joker, America had a culture in which only truly peaceful protest was acceptable. After Joker, the cultural zeitgeist became one in which violent protest wasn’t just acceptable, it was the only way to be heard.
In the movie, Joker had nothing to say; he just wanted to be heard. And now, being heard is all that matters, not whether or not you have anything worth saying.
The Case Against Joker’s Power Of Persuasion
Those without an understanding of persuasion say audiences are smart enough to separate fiction from reality and can’t be affected by what they see in screen. If culture can be changed by a single movie, then why didn’t the movie V for Vendetta have a similar effect?
A movie like V for Vendetta could never achieve the same effect because it frames violence as symbolic, ideological, and abstract, not emotionally personal. V is not an everyman the audience inhabits; he’s a mythic construct with clarity, planning, and moral certainty. His actions are presented as an allegory, not catharsis. The film creates distance through stylization, speeches, and overt political philosophy. This keeps viewers analyzing rather than identifying.
Joker is a totally unique piece of screenwashing because of the way it collapses that distance, rooting chaos in intimate humiliation and emotional grievance, making mass violent release feel personal, spontaneous, and psychologically relatable rather than theatrical or ideological.
Was Joker’s Impact Intentional?
I think it’s important to say here that it’s not clear if plunging America into endless violent riots was the intent of director Todd Phillips when he made Joker. Little is known about Phillips’ personal political views; he refuses to be categorized.
It’s possible Philips’s goal was something besides the one he achieved. Indeed, the movie’s sequel suggests he wasn’t entirely happy with the effect his first movie had on its viewers. Joker 2 attempts to undo much of what the first movie did, revealing Joker as a fraud and his followers equally so.
Of course, Joker wasn’t solely to blame for a cultural shift towards violence. COVID lockdowns created a powder keg, and irresponsible media coverage lit it. But would things have gone as badly as they did, and continue in that direction for years after, if Joker hadn’t been there, at that exact moment, to condition rioters in advance?
Watch one of the riot scenes from Joker. Then watch any Portland, Oregon protest and ask yourself if what you’re seeing is organic or just Joker cosplay.
Joker didn’t invent violent protest. But it did something arguably more influential: it made violent protest feel understandable, beautiful, and emotionally correct. Once culture grants moral permission, reality tends to follow, no manifesto required.
Congratulations, fiery but mostly peaceful protestors, you’ve been Screenwashed.
Entertainment
Erupcja trailer: Charli XCX stars in explosive sapphic romance
Charli XCX is going from pop star to movie star with a string of films, including the queer fantasy 100 Nights of Hero, the mockumentary The Moment, and the sapphic romantic drama Erupcja.
Charli XCX co-wrote the script for Erupcja with director Pete Ohs and co-star Lena Góra. Set in Warsaw, the film focuses on two women, a local florist named Nel (Góra) and a tourist named Bethany (XCX), who has repeatedly crashed her love life. But this time, Bethany’s brought her current boyfriend Rob (Will Madden), who is looking for the perfect moment to propose.
In my review out of the film’s premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival, which is quoted in the above trailer, I cheered: “Shot with the kinetic yet poised cool of the French New Wave, this Polish production feels timeless. Its scenes play out with enough specificity for audiences to hook in, but enough ambiguity that they can feel like a dream. There’s a touch of fairy tale to that. Ohs keeps his characters curious and fluid, refusing to shove them into easy-to-define roles of hero and villain. Instead, Erupcja embraces the feral nature of love, messy and wondrous…. Erupcja is a thundering rumble of drama and romance, leaving its audience excited and rattled.”
Erupcja opens in theaters April 17.
Entertainment
Samsung finally sets a date: Galaxy Unpacked is coming Feb. 25
Our long national nightmare is over. We finally know when Samsung is going to show off the Galaxy S26 lineup.
The Korean tech giant confirmed that the next Galaxy Unpacked livestream will take place on Wednesday, Feb. 25 at 10 a.m. PT (9 a.m. ET). The event is in San Francisco this year, and it’s widely expected that Samsung will show off three new Galaxy S26 phones.
As per usual, you can watch the event on Samsung’s website or Samsung’s YouTube channel.
Mashable Light Speed
Mashable will be at the event and reporting live on all of the announcements, so keep checking back for the latest updates on Galaxy Unpacked.
Hosting the event this late in February is highly unusual for Samsung, which usually launches its next-gen Galaxy phones in January. It’s not really clear why Samsung took as long as it did to put Unpacked together this year, as it doesn’t seem like the S26 lineup is doing anything too wild to shake up the formula, though production delays and the global memory shortage may be factors.
All reports point to the usual lineup (S26, S26 Plus, and S26 Ultra) returning this year, with typical upgrades like a newer processor and bigger batteries.
It also wouldn’t be surprising to see some camera upgrades or new AI features, and we’ve already reported on a ton of S26-related leaks and rumors. We’ll all find out together in a couple of weeks.
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Samsung
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Entertainment
What I Won’t Tell My Friend About Dementia
“My dad got diagnosed on Tuesday, and I’m scared.” My friend’s text comes in the middle of the night.
I sit on the toilet at 3 a.m., considering how to welcome her to the most awful club.
My own mother was diagnosed with dementia a few weeks into COVID, shortly after my husband and I had asked her and my dad to move nearby and help with the kids, drowning as we were in online kindergarten. My mom had been a little “off” for years, and then forgetful, then increasingly paranoid. But she’d always been in love with the grandkids and our family. It was both a devastating surprise of a diagnosis, and not.
Now, years into this experience, the texts come regularly when friends’ parents are diagnosed. Every time I pause. What can I say that will help? What can I share of my experience that isn’t just the pain, the pain, the pain? There are so many things I want to tell her, and so many that I feel I can’t.
I lie awake feeling the chasm between myself now and myself the moment of my mom’s diagnosis, trying to find rocks to stand on in this river — something solid I can share with my friend, something that might steady her as the current pulls.
I’ll tell her what came before the diagnosis, because I know my friend’s loss has already started. The months or years before a diagnosis are their own kind of hell, not knowing what is happening. Questioning one’s own mother — wondering if she’s aging or sick or just being difficult — is a loss of its own, even before doctors are involved.
I’ll tell her about my mom showing up when my daughter was born, paranoid that our house had bed bugs despite no evidence, no bites. I took my newborn to the library when she was two days old so my husband and dad could inspect everything. I felt angry, abandoned, confused — I’d just given birth, but she was the one acting crazy. Now I know she wasn’t crazy, she was sick.
I’ll tell my friend that I hope now she is less lonely. My mom’s diagnosis at least gave a name to the pain I had been feeling of losing someone I loved, and it allowed me to talk about it more openly with friends. While there was so much grief in her diagnosis, there was also a clearer way to understand what my family had been moving through.
Along with the diagnosis came endless, impossible decisions. We spent a long time terrified of moving my mom into a care facility. She was the matriarch of our family, deeply in love with my dad and her garden, and it felt dehumanizing to take her away from what she knew. But she was wandering alone into the snow, waking up in the middle of the night to unplug every single appliance in the house, convinced the computer was going to catch fire. My dad wasn’t sleeping. My siblings and I became just as worried about his health as our mom’s.
There was a precise pain I felt the last time my mom was in my house — knowing it would be the last time, knowing she didn’t know that. She was joyful. We’d had Christmas with all the grandkids, and she and my dad had worn train conductor hats as the kids collected hot chocolate from them, Polar Express style. But she was also having bizarre mood swings and flashes of anger — at one point she tried to put out the fire with a large butcher knife.
The move to a care facility was clearly the right call. The experience reminded me of my kids starting daycare. It felt like a HUGE deal beforehand, then once she was there it was clear she was so happy. I slept better knowing my dad could rest and my mom was chatting with her new friend Martha over puzzles, and happy singing in the afternoon sessions. I fell in love with the people who cared for her, just as I had with my kids’ daycare teachers.
I’ll also tell my friend some small things that helped. When my mom had first shown signs of dementia, we encouraged her to complete a StoryWorth book. We now read her stories to her, and they calm her. My daughter reads them in her own bed every night. Sometimes that makes me cry. When she was still home and starting to wander, we put an AirTag in her shoe. We try to take care of the staff of her facility with the same care they give her — stocking the staff lounge with snacks, writing thank you cards, offering genuine gratitude.
Lying in bed in the middle of the night, I hold onto these practical steps like a life raft, because the emotional truth is harder. I’ll tell my friend that nothing anyone says will feel good. Things I hear regularly — “this has been so hard for so long” and “it’s happening so fast” — make me want to throw things even though (or, really, because) they are true.
But I’ll tell her what did help: friends who showed up without words. Junk food waiting at my parents’ house before a tough visit. Fancy shower products after I mentioned crying in the shower. Their presence in the hardest moments made me feel less alone.
Mostly, when I talk to my friend, I will tell her I am so sorry.
But I will not tell her everything. I will not tell her what’s coming, because if I had known how painful this was going to be, I would have welcomed the bed bugs, the fire, the knife.
I will not tell her about emergency calls to my therapist; the reports we get from my father’s daily visits; my mom currently being on her thirteenth month of hospice. I will not tell her I now understand the word agony.
Instead, I might tell her this: My mom was a woman who loved to help. A theater director and school librarian, she loved nothing more than telling people what to do. In some ways, helping friends now feels like honoring her — trying to make sense and meaning of her story.
When I’m talking to my friend, I also know I will have the exact same feeling that I still have when sitting by my mom’s bedside — there is so much more to say, so much left unsaid. I will want to say to my friend, as I want to say to my mom, she is doing great. The love won’t go away, it never could. Everything else may go, but as the current pulls us both forward, I can tell her this: the love remains.
And of course, I will tell my friend the one thing I cannot truthfully tell my mom, as much as I want to — she will survive this. She will. Most days, I remember I will too.
Kathleen Donahoe is a writer and poet living in Seattle. She has previously written for Cup of Jo about how she stopped drinking. She is writing her first novel and warmly invites you to follow her free Substack newsletter, A Little Laugh.
P.S. Rebecca Handler’s beautiful essay on loving her father through his final years of Alzheimer’s, and a parenting realization that really moved me.
(Photo by Darina Belonogova/Stocksy.)
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