Is there a greater cultural sin than a good story spoiled? The accepted modern posture is that knowing too much beforehand about the plot of a novel, a play, a movie, even a TV series, ruins the magic of experiencing it for the first time — renders it damaged goods, not worth one’s time or money. The phrase “spoiler alert” (with or without multiple exclamation points) has become a standard warning klaxon in news articles and on online comment boards. Media critics catch hellfire from readers if they reveal too much of what happens to whom and when. And we’ve all been insulted by movie trailers that play like Mini-Me versions of the features they’re supposedly selling.
I still remember idly flipping to the last page of an Agatha Christie novel as a teenager and being confronted by the name of the killer in the very last sentence. (Lesson learned, Dame Agatha; I’ll never peek again.) And as a working film critic, I navigate the shoals of information — how much is too much? how can I tell readers about the movie without saying what happens? — on a daily basis. It’s a given: Everyone hates spoilers.
Spoiler alert!
Except when they don’t.
