Like you, I've noted this apparent phenomenon myself. It exercised me to no end because what I observed was anger being displayed when the individual was "called out" in a more or less public way. What I finally realized about it was that it wasn't shame, it was anger because the individual was in the process of creating a "persona," an "ambience" for the sake of stalking prey and I had spoiled it. It was purely and simply anger at me and the person pretended that it was "shame" or that I was "embarrassing" them.
What Laura said above brought to mind an incident that I’ve posted about elsewhere but this thread puts it into sharper relief.
To recap, I worked off and on for a figure who ran a significant theatre who after many years of observation and direct experience I concluded was/is most likely a psychopath. Symptoms were many and much remarked on as he wielded immense power and influence over a whole industry for a number of decades – ruthless, cold, self obsessed to the nth degree (it was always all about him), sexually predatory and abusive, everything all about power, predictable and unpredictable in equal measure, absolutely zero sense of loyalty or fair play, showed boredom in an instant, dictatorial, renowned for a kind of chilling magnetism combined with a repulsive otherness that led everyone ‘normal’ to be perpetually fascinated by him (‘he’s such a monster isn’t he but so, so fascinating’, being the basic line) etc. So many negative, obviously destructive traits yet somehow in the goldfish bowl of his sector he maintained his position for years, essentially undiscovered or challenged. So a very high functioning individual despite the above (mainly i think because he had risen to the top his pile and his identity was entirely bound up in maintaining this victorious reality).
Anyhow, one day, towards the end of our dysfunctional working relationship I delivered an immensely successful show for ‘him’ (it was always about him) that earned the theatre, and - through his self-regulated management of the finances - himself a considerable financial bonanza. For the first time in the 14 odd years we’d worked together, he asked me out to lunch by way of an apparent thank you (it was breadcrumbs stuff at his least important and cheapest haunt – I immediately noted that). As always there was a tension around our being alone together… or rather no doubt tension on my side, (for although I had by then learned certain rules on how to be around him I knew it would be costly to ever let my guard down), whilst on his part a barely concealed indifference… or perhaps that watchfulness that brought with it the threat of conflict and casual dismissal.
Anyhow I felt on relatively safe ground and accepted his fake bon ami. As always he did 90% of the talking, mostly about how he had known for sure the work would succeed once he had engineered the writer and I to work together, etc etc. So I dared a little cut and thrust with him which was just about fine until I rashly suggested that the real reason the show had been such a success was because it was about genuine people sharing genuine feelings of care and love for each other and how by doing so they miraculously won through in the end – and the audience had responded in kind. The light hearted tone immediately vanished. He lent forward, finger jabbing mechanically, and without a trace of irony, in the absolutist tone of a great teacher, he declared, ‘You know what your real problem is don’t you? You have an empathy issue.” Well all I could do was laugh – and laugh quite freely. For once I couldn't help myself. It seemed such an absurd and pointed response and I was, foolishly, over sure of my ground as I retorted by saying that ‘after 30 years in the business if he didn’t know that was what the core of it was all about, then I couldn’t really help him’. The funny thing was his reaction to my laughter; I remember as I laughed his face contorting almost in a spasm, his eyes narrowing his body language shutting down. At the time I thought I’d struck home, embarrassed, even shamed him. But in retrospect, and reading this thread, I now realize it was nothing of the kind. There was no embarrassment or hint of shame, there was merely anger… anger that his ‘game’ of pretend had been questioned, that his control on reality had been confronted.
He quickly ended the meal and we parted with hardly another word shared. Despite the success of the show I didn’t get another call to work for him for nearly three years – the longest it had ever been and since he knew I depended on his largess for my professional and personal upkeep. He gave me a clear message; the power was all his and he exercised it, only turning back to me when it finally suited him. I won’t go into what happened next when he played out his revenge but looking back it was as if he saved up all that anger, got me where he wanted me, then set about pulling me apart bit by bit. Here endeth the lesson; it was only then that I really faced up to the likely nature of the white collar psychopathy he epitomized.
On a final note I remember years before directing a play for him by one of the world’s most famous living writers (he won the Nobel Prize for literature the week the show opened). This theatre manager and writer were inextricably linked and the show was part of a birthday festival for the great man. The play in question was complex, multi-layered and deliberately disguised to seem to be one thing when in fact it was really another; an astonishingly rewarding piece of writing in truth. On day one of rehearsals the ‘boss’ came up to me and said ‘now remember this play is meaningless; it’s just (the writer) messing around, doodling and playing with words. Don’t take it seriously it means nothing, nothing at all, so just make it funny. Do you hear me! Make it funny.’
I was still very naive at that stage and I was nonplussed. I knew the play was quite the opposite; it was deadly serious in intent. I’d previously talked privately in person with the writer and shared what I thought it was about and he had concurred. And here I was ordered to turn it into a throw away comedy. I didn’t of course; I was nearly fired as a result when he saw what I had done and but for the great man turning up and proclaiming it to be the best it had been realized, he would have. Remembering him express complete ignorance of the subtly of work that should have defined whether he was or wasn’t suitable to hold the office he lorded over; experiencing the psychotic malevolence when I delivered something else; watching him turn on a sixpence before my eyes when the great man endowed his personal benediction on the show, was at the time, bewildering but now makes total sense. Especially his absolute failure, under all his surface acumen and intellectual pride, to grasp complexity in language. It bored him. He couldn’t fathom it. It was beyond his mind.
For decades he held this position. Everyone knew he was a monster. When he was finally forced out last year (as he guard began to slip and his behavior become more and more overtly outrageous and destructive to the organisation) he was eulogized in the national press. Despite a regiment of victims, no one spoke out. I suspect if it had been his funeral they would all be there – in their 100s – marveling at his outlandish, larger than live exploits. There’s nothing stranger than Stockholm syndrome people.