"We always see the innocent victims in the stories, and I am a little bored with that. I am much more interested in the price paid by the people who can fly"
About this Quote
There is a quiet provocation baked into Bill Williams's complaint: we keep centering the story on the wounded and the wronged because it flatters the audience. Innocent victims offer clean moral geometry - someone to pity, someone to blame, a catharsis that costs us nothing. Williams is swerving away from that comfort and toward the messier, less marketable question: what does power do to the person holding it?
"People who can fly" is a pop-culture shorthand for the gifted, the famous, the untouchable. It evokes superheroes, sure, but also anyone insulated by money, charisma, institutional protection, or sheer narrative gravity. In celebrity terms, it's the A-lister who gets second chances, the star athlete whose "mistake" becomes a redemption arc, the public figure who lives above consequences until the bill arrives. Williams isn't excusing harm; he's saying the more interesting drama is internal: the erosion of empathy, the paranoia of being adored, the moral shortcuts that start to feel like oxygen.
The subtext is also a critique of storytelling itself. Victim-focused narratives can become a kind of emotional tourism: viewers get to feel righteous without interrogating the systems that manufacture both victims and flyers. By asking about "the price paid", Williams flips the usual hierarchy. He frames privilege as corrosive, not enviable - a force that demands payment in relationships, reality-testing, and eventually, identity. It's a challenge to our favorite myth: that rising above everyone else is a happy ending.
"People who can fly" is a pop-culture shorthand for the gifted, the famous, the untouchable. It evokes superheroes, sure, but also anyone insulated by money, charisma, institutional protection, or sheer narrative gravity. In celebrity terms, it's the A-lister who gets second chances, the star athlete whose "mistake" becomes a redemption arc, the public figure who lives above consequences until the bill arrives. Williams isn't excusing harm; he's saying the more interesting drama is internal: the erosion of empathy, the paranoia of being adored, the moral shortcuts that start to feel like oxygen.
The subtext is also a critique of storytelling itself. Victim-focused narratives can become a kind of emotional tourism: viewers get to feel righteous without interrogating the systems that manufacture both victims and flyers. By asking about "the price paid", Williams flips the usual hierarchy. He frames privilege as corrosive, not enviable - a force that demands payment in relationships, reality-testing, and eventually, identity. It's a challenge to our favorite myth: that rising above everyone else is a happy ending.
Quote Details
| Topic | Deep |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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