Barrtalk: Empty men of the 'Manosphere' no match for the genius of Louis Theroux

Louis Theroux’s latest Netflix documentary ‘Inside the Manosphere’ is enough to convince anyone that the internet – or more specifically social media – is the worst concept that has ever been inflicted on humanity.

Take a bunch of misogynistic, hateful young men and give them a platform, and this is what you can end up with.

It’s a slow-motion car crash viewed through the calm, curious stare of Britain’s most patient [and ballsy] interviewer.

Theroux exposes the business model of rage bait, and the hollow bravado of the manosphere’s self-proclaimed “alpha males.” Vomit.

These delusional men think your true value lies in how many times a week you visit the gym to lift weights (yawn); they view women as second-class citizens; and they monetise insecurity in other disgruntled men to line their own Revolute accounts.

Many of the right-wingers and conspiracy theorists, including here in Donegal, follow the same Grifters’ Handbook 101.

Theroux’s film takes viewers from Marbella to Miami, offering a guided tour through the world of podcast mics, LED-lit studios, and endless shouting about “high-value men.” It’s the new theatre of modern online masculinity, and it’s nothing short of ugly. Not to mention pathetic.

The saddest part of it all is that the followers of these so-called ‘influencers’, many of them coming from poor backgrounds, are often young and vulnerable, some having lost siblings to violence and self-harm.

Influencers such as Harrison Sullivan (known online as HSTikkyTokky), Myron Gaines and others make it hard to decide which one between them is the most toxic or obnoxious.

They puff their chests on camera, surround themselves with ‘yes’ men filming their every move, and tell others that for just $100 per month, they can be like them too.

The deeper Theroux delves, the more transparent the “business model of misogyny” becomes.

The supposed rules of attraction, money, and dominance are sales hooks for a digital economy that feeds off loneliness and resentment – and these men are at the top of this depressing economy.

These influencers, between them, have millions of followers; their setups feature champagne and cigar smoke curling through luxurious rented villas, flash cars purring in the background and strategically placed girls in bikinis seen as nothing other than ornamental accessories.

Theroux’s trademark quiet genius shows these men up as exactly what they are. Delusional frauds and cheap, horrible hucksters.

The 55-year-old Londoner is easily the best documentary filmmaker in a generation – and he’s handled far bigger and badder boys than these pathetic male YouTubers in his time.

From exposés on the KKK and white supremacists to living with Jimmy Savile, Louis has never made a show that hasn’t had viewers gripped.

He never shouts, never moralises. He doesn’t need to. The influencers in ‘The Manosphere’, in their own nonsensical and delusional words, swollen with ego and emptiness, provide all the evidence necessary.

We can only hope their appeal fades out for the teenage boys who hang on their every word. Otherwise, we’re facing head-on into a problem much bigger than one that can be condensed into a ninety-minute Netflix documentary.

Cantona still has the collar raised after all these years

From the know-nothing ‘macho’ men of YouTube and the new millennium, to one of Barrtalk’s heroes growing up: Eric Cantona. The undisputed king of cool.

I was so obsessed with Eric as a teenager in the 1990s that I went out and got ‘Cantona’ Number 7 printed on the back of my United jersey the morning after his infamous kung fu kick on Crystal Palace ‘supporter’ Matthew Simmons, a thug who deserved all he got.

I remember getting endless grief when I wore my Cantona jersey at the student nightclubs in Cork during that era, but I was undeterred, defiant [as well as young and stupid].

Now, thirty years later, my ten-year-old United-obsessed son idolises Cantona too.

There was always something about the Frenchman, whose upturned collar and confident strides helped United to our first title in 26 years, as Alex Ferguson began to raise the Titanic from the murky depths of Old Trafford.

Ever the artist on or off the pitch, Eric has now released his debut full-length album, the aptly-titled ‘Perfect Imperfection’.

The 11-track record marks a full transition from football icon to introspective musician, with Cantona writing the majority of the material himself.

A bit like a French Leonard Cohen [who was French-Canadian anyway], the album is part poetry recital, part chanson, part late-night jazz experiment, with Eric’s gravelly voice whispering over the music, mostly in French, but in English too.

It won’t win a Grammy, but it’s more than decent.

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Lyrically, the album is as cryptic as the man himself. Cantona has always flirted with the surreal. The title track compares himself to a bird seeking freedom, echoing that same abstract worldview. Themes of love, resistance, and identity run throughout, though rarely in a straightforward way.

Cantona’s style is particularly reminiscent of Cohen’s later work, where atmosphere matters more than melody. There aren’t that many catchy tunes, but Man Utd fans like me will be hooked, just like the seagulls looking for the scraps of fish off the back of the trawler a lifetime ago.

Having listened to Perfect Imperfection all week on the headphones via YouTube, I’m now eagerly awaiting the arrival of the proper vinyl record in the post.

Altogether now . . . Oooh Aaah Cantona, Oooh Aaah Cantona [to the triumphalist tune of La Marseillaise].

Incredibly, Eric will turn 60-years-old this summer too. Do you remember the cheeky Nike billboards from decades ago? “1966 was a great year for English football – Eric Cantona was born”.

Indeed. Now there was a male ‘influencer’ you could love.