by Don Hall

I’ve been endlessly fascinated by the movie Castaway. The idea of being stranded on a deserted island complete with its soul-crushing loneliness, flights of suicidal thought, and having to practice brutal self dentistry is a bit dreamy. As Sartre wrote, “Hell is other people” and social media has underscored that sentiment with a vengeance. Hell may be other people but knowing how they feel about every fucking thing on the planet is like Hell exponential.

Escaping that specific kind of info-overloaded hell sounds quite nice. Why do you think so many people take breaks from the internet? Those made famous by the cyber-hive don’t really get that opportunity, though.

Fame is its own aphrodisiac. With the internet, fame is much easier to attain which makes its acquisition of far less value. When anyone can become notoriously known by putting up a video of them doing something stupid and perhaps painful, the bar is set for fewer and fewer influencers to have any real influence.

Some people, believe it or not, have little to no interest in fame especially if the cost is humiliation. Some people have no use for the kind of viral fame that a fat kid doing his clumsy version of Jedi moves or a Korean woman who didn’t clean up her dog’s shit received that ultimately destroyed their lives. Some people are just out in the world, being themselves, and get roped into a viral phenomenon that catapults them into the spotlight for an unhealthy dose of attention unasked for. 

At a recent BUGHOUSE!, one of my new Vegas friends and a performer that night was recommending a few films for Dana to watch. He mentioned Winnebago Man (2010) and I instantly remembered loving this little indie documentary about a viral video before there was YouTube and the search for the man showcased in it. We came home and rented it on Amazon.

Jack Rebney, known as the “Winnebago Man,” “The Angriest Man in the World,” and “The Angriest RV Salesman” is both a relic of the days before the internet and a bellwether to the Age of Public Humiliation and Call-Out Shame. 

In 1989, Jack was commissioned by Winnebago to create an industrial film designed to assist RV salesmen. He filmed it in Iowa, in the midst of a terribly hot summer, for two weeks. His frustration with himself and the process (combined with his consistent use of inventive profanity) caused the crew to film his outtakes and cull together a highlight reel of his best outbursts.

Truth be told, this shit is funny.

In the vacuum of the internet, Rebney became a sensation born of copies of copies of VHS tapes sent around the country to become the first bona fide YouTube star. Yet, this avatar of frustration with the mouth of a sailor on leave was anonymous to most who watched and reposted and watched again. The idea that there was actually a human being behind the anger was almost beside the point. No one really cared.

Turns out he cared.

The documentary is its own journey and I found myself fascinated by this man who once was a captain of media turned Cheney-hating hermit. Rebney is each one of us dealing with the remarkable and horrifying depravity of the internet. Our ability to see each other in small slices is not new but the feasibility of millions seeing us in moments perhaps best hidden is something to contend with now.

On some level I identify with Jack. Frustrated with my own inability to make the world a better place (as I see it) and chased out into misanthropy by armies of faceless people who find that frustration either relatable, hysterical, or both. As the digital world becomes more pervasive and the world of the actual becomes reduced, the easier road is to live in a cabin in the woods alone.

The most beautiful moment comes when Rebney is confronted with 300 or so of his fans and he feels, for one night, a connection to others whom he had so harshly dismissed. It is both hopeful and sad. In that moment, you can see on his face the possibility of changing the world on smaller scales, communicating with people one at a time rather than in huge batches of electronic signal.

In that moment, you can see his rage subside and his gratitude expand. It’s a bit like the moment in The Grinch when that fucker’s heart grows.