Eric: Exploring the Monster Within Us All

I recently binge-watched Eric, a 6-episode series on Netflix starring Benedict Cumberbatch who plays a puppeteer in New York City in the mid-1980s. Cumberbatch's character, Vincent, is one of the leading creators of a Sesame Street-esque show called Good Day Sunshine. He's smart, talented, creative -- and an alcoholic. He and his wife frequently have arguments that send their 9-year-old son Edgar to his room, where he escapes through drawing, a talent he inherited from his dad. Edgar creates a lovable character named Eric, who is kind and welcoming and even a little scared, despite well, being a big, tall, imposing-looking monster. 

One morning after a particularly nasty argument, Vincent's wife asks Vincent to walk Edgar to school. It's a short distance away, but he's only 9, and she doesn't want him going alone. Vincent is too hung up on his own agenda that morning (smoothing things over with his wife, making it to work on time, that sort of thing), and Edgar winds up walking alone. 

And Edgar winds up going missing. 

Not surprisingly, the disappearance of their son tries their already strained marriage, and Vincent's dependency on alcohol increases. Eventually, Vincent becomes obsessed with bringing Eric, Edgar's monster friend, to life on the screen. There are lots of details I won't share, because you need to watch this show for yourself (I feel like I've said that before . . .). 

But, aside from the thrilling plotline and the superb acting of Benedict Cumberbatch, Eric has me thinking about the symbolism of the monster and the universal application to us all. 

(Tell me you are an English major without telling me you are an English major, right?)

Vincent is plagued with guilt over his son's disappearance -- not only did he not walk him to school, he's been kind of an asshole lately. He's hard on his kid and hard on the bottle. Not exactly up for a Father of the Year Award, ya know? He completely missed that his own kid has incredible artistic talent, all while encouraging the viewers of his own show to be kind and different. 

In a display of beautiful and masterful storytelling, Eric becomes alive -- to Vincent, at least. He's a little like a modern-day Virgil, guiding Vincent through the dark wood of error and into the inferno. Except that Virgil was nicer to Dante. Oh, and except that people tend to think you are a wee bit psycho when you talk to imaginary monsters. Inconvenient, right?

So perhaps a better comparison than Virgil is to say that Eric is like our self-talk, that constant stream of consciousness in our minds. He calls Vincent out on his nonsense, and not always in a kind way. He's there, reminding Vincent of his failings every step of the way. He becomes the monster in all of us, the ego that tells us stories of our short-comings and victimhood. Everyone is out to get us, no one likes us. The entire universe is basically conspiring against us because we are such losers, right?

But, deep down, Eric is actually really nice. He's just scared and vulnerable, like the rest of us. When we scrape beneath the surface of the negative shit we tend to shove down our own throats, what remains is fear. Fear that we aren't good enough, that we aren't worthy of love, that we don't deserve happiness. 

Cumberbatch said of Eric, "This is a story about people finding their home. Whether it's a child, a homeless person, a gay Black cop, a wife in an unhappy marriage, or even Eric on the show, it's all about finding a place." What lies beneath the negative talk in our heads is no different -- we all want to find a place where we matter, where we have a purpose, where we are loved. 

Do yourself a huge favor and add Eric to your Netflix queue.