A little as in Jojo Rabbit, I don't understand how every other character being a cartoon jibes with the far more real ones in between. Even so, I have just purchased 200 cans of chickpeas and agree that humans have evolved too far.
I've seldom felt like the mutilation in the QT revenge sagas was ever worth much more than curdling catharsis. There's always been plenty to die for in his movies; how about staying alive (though never without its own casualties) for a record collection, or a teetering day job, or one last six-pack, or sex dreams about Brad Pitt?
Can't say I had high hopes for "Cuck" the movie, and it is both exactly the one-to-one dramatization of an Atlantic feature you'd think and a whirlpooling saga that discovers its best/worst elements by acknowledging that weird people beget weird lives.
I do infer we're sliding into some moment in which artists seem to assume our monsters are afflicted with great personal shame that must be publicly impaled, to ostensibly humanize and embarrass the monsters at the same time. It's pop psychology that's meant to be prosecutorial but can't hide the fact it's largely wishful.