“TO WIN” is the sole predetermined finale for most of the main characters in the stories we consume. A seemingly insurmountable challenge descends upon the protagonist, and after much sacrifice, they finally reach a successful ending. Such a narrative permeates our daily lives as well, often causing us to disregard any considerations of the opposite alternative—to give up—as an equally, or perhaps even more, worthwhile decision. Though increasingly negatively tainted, the act of giving up could render a sense of glory. Several works in cinema and literature have distinctly depicted characters who find honor in surrender. 

The hero’s journey and why its contention is necessary

   Popularly known as the “hero’s journey,” this narrative archetype follows a protagonist who is called for an adventure, faces challenges but overcomes them, and returns home victorious[1]. The hero’s journey has a longstanding history. It first traces back to ancient Greece with Homer’s The Odyssey, where it was known as an “epic,” and written as poetry[2]. Years thereafter, American mythologist Joseph Campbell formalized this story template into the monomyth, or hero’s journey theory[2].   

   This theory states that mythological narratives are composed of three stages. The first stage is the “departure,” in which the protagonist is called to adventure, refuses it, but ultimately acquiesces upon a supernatural intervention. They embark on the adventure and eventually reach the point of no return. The second stage is the “initiation.” The protagonist faces minor challenges that prepare them for the bigger quest, meeting allies along the way. They are then presented with common human temptations, such as lust or greed, which they must actively choose to chase away. These trials leave the hero wondering “why” they must suffer all these sacrifices, and they are forced to confront the fears and doubts overclouding them. Upon synthesizing a personal philosophy to persist, the protagonist becomes invincible, successfully accomplishing their mission. Finally, in the “return” stage, the hero synthesizes an identity from the two worlds—their origin and their victory—allowing them to live a life of freedom[2]. 

   From contemporary films such as those in the Marvel Cinematic Universe to the numerous success stories of college dropout-turned-technology billionaires in the real world, narratives of the hero’s journey abound us. Nevertheless, if stories arise out of the artist’s necessity to articulate—hence gain a better sense of—life’s diversely myriad occurrences, it is not only fair but necessary to consider alternative narratives. Among such are the ones that attempt to answer questions like, “Should heroes always arise triumphant? Or, conversely, could the protagonist arise defeated?” Stories that present surrender as an act apt for a triumphant protagonist can de-stigmatize our culturally negative connotations towards “giving up.” Additionally, they also reveal that our lives need not be limited to a single narrative and that there is always room for not-yet-conceived occurrences. Furthermore, these stories provide novel ways in which to reckon with our own wins, failures, and moments of surrender. 

   The protagonists in the following examples of film and literature not only drastically deviate from the structure of the hero’s journey, but also represent heroism because of their surrender. Such converse narratives remind us of the bounty of possibility outside our conventions and invite us to appreciate the richness of emotion that life’s calamities and festivities alike can “give.” 

The solemn dance for “nothingness” in I’m No Longer Here by Fernando Frías

   Ulises is the protagonist in the 2019 film I’m No Longer Here (Ya No Estoy Aquí, in its original Spanish) by Mexican director Fernando Frías. He is a teenager living in the slums of Monterrey, Mexico. Ulises is the leader of a subgroup, often pejoratively referred to as cholos[3], who call themselves Terkos. This group of youngsters is united by their passion for Colombian-style cumbia[4] music and dancing. Upon a misunderstanding with a local gang, Ulises immigrates to New York City for his safety. Having left everything that, up to that point, made him “him,” Ulises faces insurmountable solitude. His sole purpose to upkeep his Terko identity continuously clashes with his new one as an immigrant in a foreign country, and by the fact that even amongst other Mexicans in the United States, he is still from a minority subgroup—a cholo. 

   I’m No Longer Here deviates from the hero’s journey narrative in the sense that, upon every call to adventure and challenge the main protagonist faces, he surrenders. Ulises is willing to give up everything—even himself—for the sake of feeling like a Terko: he is ridiculed over his distinctive dress and hairstyle, is attacked by strangers while dancing to cumbia in the crowded streets of New York, and even succumbs to inhaling superglue and drinking alone. Furthermore, Ulises goes to the United States—what many people from his community consider a big opportunity to improve one’s life conditions—but refuses to adapt and succeed in life there. Instead, he is adamant about claiming his Terko identity. When he comes back to Mexico, he sees that his cherished group has dissipated. Ultimately, he also gives up on reuniting his friends, and even on his own identity as a Terkos member.   

   The protagonist seemingly gives up at every opportunity or desire he has, as if he just lets life pass before his eyes. However, what makes Ulises’ surrenders distinctive is that in the very process of “giving up,” he becomes a tenacious force in and of itself. Such is best represented by the nomenclature of his group Terkos. The name derives from the Spanish word terco, which means “pertinacious, obstinate, and irreducible[5].” The definition alludes to Ulises’ innate stubbornness which, though it is what makes him give up on numerous opportunities and things he wants, is also what makes him an irreducible existence. Towards the end, when he feels the decay of his Terko identity, as it has been modified and influenced by his new experiences in the United States, Ulises keeps on defending what is not there to be defended anymore. That is, though the Terko group, and hence his identity as a member, has long vanished, he continuously surrenders for nothingness. Most of the time, Ulises himself is unable to point out why he is passing up so many opportunities and desires. What is clear, however, is that his willingness to give everything up to remain in that very state of nothingness is a brave, if not truly commendable, force. 

   Ulises’ stubbornness is best explained through late Mexican author Octavio Paz’s description of the pachuco[6] sub-group, a minority group who, like Ulises, faced challenges to their identity by the United States: “The pachuco throws himself to the outside world, but not to meld into what surrounds him, but to challenge it. A suicidal act, indeed, for the pachuco does not claim anything, does not defend anything, except for his exasperated will of not-being[7].” In other words, Ulises not only remains obstinate to the opportunities to “fit in” in the United States or Mexico but he also firmly challenges the conventional idea that one must present a rational and substantial set of reasons for giving up. The beauty of this character lies in his absurd bravery to stand against the world with only his “exasperated will of not-being” to defend him. Ulises’ incommensurable heroism blooms not in spite of his surrenders, but by way of them.  

   The film’s final scene alludes to the protagonist’s glorious capitulation into nothingness. After losing his sense of identity as a Terko, as well as his group of friends, Ulises dances to the rhythm of cumbia music alone atop a rooftop. A long shot juxtaposes his dancing body with the metropolitan city of Monterrey. The city, loud and imponent with skyscrapers and highways, is too busy to witness Ulises. Yet, lonesome as he is, he moves his body, each step of his thrown with eminent force into nothingness.  

The gifts of surrender in “Family Affair” by Haruki Murakami

   This short story follows the life of a nameless “average” Japanese salaryman in his thirties. The text indicates the protagonist as a rather mediocre member of society. He has no ambitions to succeed in either his personal or professional life and is repelled by any responsibility that would make him go out of his usual way of living. His younger sister, who is recently engaged, reprimands her brother’s lifestyle at each of their encounters. She believes her brother is not leading a responsible and adult lifestyle despite his age. Nevertheless, though his sister’s arguments could be regarded as just and logical, the protagonist is oblivious to considering them. Moreover, he finds his sister’s fiancé, Noboru Watanabe, who on paper is an ideal marriage candidate, deeply dislikeable. In spite of the protagonist’s seeming irresponsibility, towards the end of the story, he becomes a refuge for both his sister’s and her fiancé’s thoughts and insecurities. 

   “Family Affair” entirely deviates from the classical hero’s journey narrative. The protagonist is “called into an adventure” almost daily by his sister, who insists he should become an adult and have a “real” life. Throughout the story, his sister repeatedly reprimands him, “...Why don’t you try harder? Why don’t you look at the good side? Why don’t you at least show some restraint? Why don’t you grow up[8]?” Furthermore, Watanabe represents everything that the main character does not have: a promising career, a moderated and vice-free lifestyle, etc. The protagonist, on the other hand, drinks large quantities of beer throughout the day and often falls prey to the temptations of lust. During a conversation, as the fiancé passionately explains a new computer system he is developing at work, the protagonist thinks to himself, “While [Watanabe] raved on and on, I nodded at appropriate times and thought about women—like who I should take where to drink what on my next day off, including where we would eat and the hotel we’d use... [8]” 

   While even the protagonist himself exposes himself as an irresponsible person who has given up on contributing what his sister describes as “anything that is to the benefit of society,” what makes this character’s surrender particularly compelling is the way in which he experiences it. The character’s appreciation for the absence of sound, for instance, poignantly conveys his distinctive capitulation. The speakers in his television are not working, yet he sits and enjoys watching the silent screen move. A similar situation happens at a bar he is at, where they are playing a baseball match on the television with the sound off. His enjoyment of such silence represents how the narrator navigates the world. By giving up on one of his senses, he is able to observe his surroundings more acutely. Simultaneously, he does not listen to what his environment tells him, thereby giving up on leading what is generally understood as a responsible adult lifestyle. Differently put, he is present in, but does not allow himself to be dictated by, his surroundings. 

   As seen with Ulises in I’m No Longer Here, what makes this protagonist heroic in his own right is his utmost bravery to immerse himself in his surrender. He decadently experiences failure. After a long night out with a girl, the protagonist returns home and comes face to face with his capitulation: “My face in the bathroom was enough to give me chills. I looked like one of those middle-aged men you see on the last trains from downtown, sprawling drunk on the seats and fouling themselves with their own vomit ... Something will work out tomorrow, I thought. And if not, then tomorrow I’ll do some thinking. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on[8].” Such an exchange with his surrender indicates that the protagonist does not rise stronger and hence distance himself from his mistakes, as conventional narratives go, nor does he allow his failures to define his perception of himself. Rather, he formidably gives up by embracing such flaws as a continuously occurring part of who he is.  

   Because he fearlessly dives into the pond of his decay, the protagonist also has a keener understanding that his life is bound to his own choices, unlike the other characters in the story. Such security in his character ends up being the reason why his sister and her fiancé—though both portrayed as the more responsible adults—confide their innermost insecurities to him. “Still, the idea of getting married is kind of frightening, don’t you think[8]?” asks Noboru. “Sometimes, I don’t know, it scares me. The future[8],” confesses his sister on another occasion. The protagonist, who has given up on the many milestones comprising adulthood, knows the power his choices hold in leading him to both decay and satisfaction. Furthermore, these intimate exchanges reveal that while his sister and Noboru let their fears of surrender dictate their decisions, the main character is not afraid to see eye-to-eye with his failure. As such, he views their fears as rather trivial, giving them both the same reply: “You have to make an effort to always look at the good side, always think about the good things. Then you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. If something bad comes up, you do more thinking at that point[8].” Ultimately, the main character’s “giving up” becomes the reason why he can “give” much-needed peace to Noboru and his sister’s doubts. 

*                 *                 *

    Most heroes win. Perhaps, however, the most commendable ones dive into their surrender and swim along its currents. Considering alternatives—where the hero is a hero precisely because he or she gives up—can enrich our imagination and the ways we reckon with our wins and failures. Through the unconventional narrative that the film I’m No Longer Here develops, we learn that tenacious force need not be born out of heroic acts of success, but from the insistence on nothingness. The short story “Family Affair” reveals how giving up is, at times, nothing more than “giving in” to the choice to experience both the beauty and the decay resting within us. 

[1] Time 

[2] Masterclass 

[3] Cholo: A word used to describe somebody who is mestizo, having a white parent and an indigenous parent, whose physique has more prominent indigenous features  

[4] Cumbia: Cumbia is a folkloric genre and dance from Colombia.

[5] Royal Spanish Academy

[6] Pachuco: Pachuco is a group of Mexican-American youth that originated in the early 1940s in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico and El Paso, Texas; This group eventually migrated and settled in Los Angeles, California. 

[7] El Laberinto de la Soledad, Octavio Paz 

[8] “Family Affair,” Haruki Murakami