Born from the internet, the phrase "TFW NO GF" was originally used online to describe a lack of romantic companionship. Since then, it has evolved to symbolize a greater state of existence defined by isolation, rejection and alienation. The meme's protagonist, "WOJAK," has become the mascot to a vast online community consisting of self-described "hyper-anonymous twenty somethings" and "guys who slipped between the cracks." TFW NO GF asks: How has the zeitgeist come to bear down on a generation alienated by the 'real world'? Meet the lost boys who came of age on the internet- places like 4chan and Twitter, where they find camaraderie in despair. —SXSW Film Fest Official Program (2020

I went into the documentary blind. I was curious enough to gaze into the void. Sadly the void is comprised of unfunny, unsympathetic freaks, with zero ability for critical reflection. This was a truly terrible documentary. Putting a camera in front of a bunch of gangly anxiety ridden, hateful, white men and letting them spew off nonsense is not deep, or interesting. It's taking a dump and calling it art.

A better documentary might have had some clashing of ideas. Interviews with these young men and their families, or experts on their current condition that would explain beyond the surface level, why is their alienation so deep and thorough; what has occurred in society, and what could be done to salvage if not these men, then the many hundreds of thousands like them. Instead the "documentarian" lets them go on rants in which they boohoo about their sad lives, and then promptly admit to enacting emotional violence on others (primarily women and queer people) for their own amusement.

As a dad of two young kids, the more I have to collide with American society and its spectacle, its horror show that passes for kid's entertainment and the free-range parenting on the net - that I myself experienced growing up; the more I appreciate putting hard-coded limits on kid's access to the internet. I don't have to worry about this now, and maybe 4chan will go the way of the dodo by the time my sons can browse the internet on their own - but what I would give for a hard-coded registry preventing anyone below the age of 16 from accessing 4chan, liveleak, social media, etc.

When I say these men are unsympathetic, I am not exaggerating. The individuals featured in the documentary are so bland, I only remember one name. There's nothing genuinely wrong with them other than what must be a really bad case of generalized anxiety. Unfortunately they also buy into the idea that therapy and pharmaceuticals are poison, so they are doomed to a box of their own making.

There was another point I noticed, probably not one the documentary was trying to make, but throughout, social media (twitter more specifically) is highlighted as their means of escape, a source of radicalization (second to 4chan), and their biggest vice. They seem to light up when Twitter comes up; they take pride in how triggering they are to other people and that's when my brain broke. They've done nothing. Slacktivism is truly a mind-disease in this country where people think they can win at posting. They've accomplished nothing. Social media isn't fucking real. You might have triggered someone a few thousands miles away and in the process lobotomized yourself of empathy, and the ability for social interaction. The shittiest faustian bargain ever.

These freaks are not even lumpen, there's not really a criminal undercurrent except for one. One interviewee made reference to Punks, yet while walking through dilapidated buildings or underneath deserted underpasses they never pick up bats, or rocks, or a spray can, they are bound by a lack of will, or drive; there's no creative outlet. Physical exercise is merely a way to go from being a sad skinnyfat man into a sad jacked man. They are uncool, unrebellious, bland, woman-hating, racist alcoholics. One of them moves to Lubbock and wears a confederate ring and drinks colt 45s - it is truly and genuinely unimaginative. You are an alcoholic. You feel like shit, because you drink in the sad little town bar and repel any normal person within a 10 mile radius with your confederate paraphernalia. Walk into the upcoming traffic, there's a dime a dozen confederate good ol' boys in Texas. You won't be missed.

The darkest and lowest point of the documentary is when the guns come out. The darkness is more the threat of the imagination - thinking about what could happen, than what actually does happen. Even here, there's nothing interesting or climatic that takes place. Truly the blandest people to have ever owned guns. They go to a deserted stretch of forest and just empty a couple of magazines. There's no depiction of what they are shooting at. Just like in their social media, they shoot into the void. They fire off at empty space. Bullets don't boomerang back to their owners at least, maybe they should, just like their tweets end up coming back to haunt some of them.

In their continued posting of misogynist "jokes" the increase in lone-wolf attacks like Eliot Rodgers (he is brought up again and again in this film) and the panic around the Joker movie. One of the men finds himself the target of an investigation for posing with guns and posting a tweet "One ticket for the Joker please". What do you think happens next? Are we treated to a dramatic hostage scene, or raid into his home? Are they dragged in handcuffs to the station and faced with draconian terror charges that perhaps make you think this is overkill? Does he go out on a "blaze of glory" in an anti-authoritarian, fuck the system-you'll-never-catch-me-alive last stand? Maybe a come to Jesus moment, where he finally understands the severity of his actions?

He cooperates with police. They confiscate the weapons. He becomes an even bigger neighborhood pariah. Just a bland ending, to a sad little documentary about bland little men, who take their "pain" and use it to hurt others. I would Clockwork Orange them into a chair and force-feed them bell hooks. I beg of them, do a drug other than alcohol, smoke some weed, take a mushroom trip. None of these men are unique, they have more in common with others in their stretch of sadness, than during their highest highs (getting banned from twitter). Truly, a meandering little cry with no catharsis, except rage at having wasted a Kanopy credit on this film.