When Steve opens up, admits to feeling misunderstood, outcast, we respond to that. He’s got this look on his face like he’s revealed his deepest, darkest secret, spoken it aloud for the first time. You can even see his fear that he’s saying too much. I’ll be damned if I didn’t respond to that with a little sympathy when I watched. Because that’s when he becomes vulnerable. Not just to Noa’s scheming. But in general. And we are so starved for masculine vulnerability, we can almost forgive fucking cannibalism.

I want construction workers who attend group therapy. I want truck drivers who hide their faces against their buddy’s shoulder during the climax of a horror movie. I want burly, biker-looking dudes who openly cry during Steel Magnolias or when they stub their pinky toe.