Seven of the 11 top-grossing films of 2017 were superhero movies, based on characters first introduced in comic books.
The top two grossing films so far this year have been Black Panther and Avengers: Infinity War. Deadpool 2 is in theatres, and Ant-Man and the Wasp opened two weeks back. We are living in Hollywood’s Comic Book Age. A global obsession, superhero movies are seen by hundreds of millions, arguably the most consumed stories in human history.
Films reflect the tastes and values of the period in which they are made. We can trace the changing status of women, evolving ideas about masculinity, war, crime, journalism, the CIA or anything else by Hollywood treatments over the decades. So when historians look back at this glut of superhero flicks, what will they say about us? What are they about?
There is no rule, of course, that says films have to be about anything. One way of looking at comic book movies is to see them simply as mental popcorn, meant to be rapidly consumed and forgotten — this may be precisely why so many people love them. They are harmless. Armies of Hollywood professionals get paid, megamillions enjoy them and nobody gets hurt. Even snooty critics have fun inventing clever ways to slam them.
Most fail to make sense even within the fantastical logic of their own worlds — why, for instance, do superheroes and villains persist in hurling large objects at each other long after it is clear this has no effect? They showcase beautiful bodies in well-choreographed combat augmented by ear-blasting pseudo-Wagnerian music and dazzling special effects. Plot lines are an afterthought, and dialogue is often breezily incoherent (particularly when trying to impart deeper meaning). They are formulaic, completely driven by commercial calculation, largely written by committees under strict studio supervision (which is not to say that committees are incapable of writing great scripts — see the amazing Pixar oeuvre). They are full of sound and fury — imaginatively costumed, star-studded, often well acted, stunningly crafted — signifying nothing, at least on purpose. Jodie Foster recently described current big-budget productions as the cinematic equivalent of fracking, mining box office gold while wrecking the Earth. “It’s ruining the viewing habits of the American population and then ultimately the rest of the world. I don’t want to make $200 million movies about superheroes.”
The cult of self
Even if they are not meant to be taken seriously by anyone older than 12, all stories mean something, even bad ones.
If heroes are idealised humans, then today’s reflect an exaggerated Cult of Self. They are unique, supremely talented beings who transcend laws, even those of nature. Hollywood has always cherished mavericks, but these are, literally, cartoons — computer-generated.
They celebrate exceptionalism and vigilantism. The old American ideal of succeeding through cleverness, virtue and grit is absent, as is the notion of ordinary folk banding together to overcome a threat — think of It’s a Wonderful Life or the original The Magnificent Seven or any of a dozen Second World War-era films. Gone is respect for the rule of law and the importance of tradition and community. Institutions and human knowledge are useless. The superhero is an alien or outcast who possesses unique powers acquired either at birth or through some accident or gift.
Normal humans are mere bystanders, when they are not being crushed or vaporised. The average person is powerless and depends for survival on the goodwill of the superhumanly endowed.
Pseudo-profundity
They labour to seem weighty. Take the opening monologue of Wonder Woman, a critically acclaimed film and one of the biggest box office hits in history. We see the blue planet Earth in space. Over orchestral violins comes the husky voice of Gal Gadot, playing Diana, the movie’s stunningly beautiful superhero, who notes the beauty of Earth, but also the “darkness simmering” beneath its surface, and then intones, portentously:
“What one does, when faced with the truth, is more difficult than you think.”
I get that we are not meant to reflect here — the action moves ahead swiftly — but for argument’s sake, let’s hit pause and consider. What one does faced with the truth would, of course, depend entirely on the truth. I think what the screenwriters were after here is something more like: “The choices one confronts when faced with the truth are harder.” I’m just guessing. I think my version makes more sense, but lacks Kapow!
Thor: Ragnarok, Guardians of the Galaxy and Avengers: Infinity War (which, at roughly two and a half hours, does seem infinite) make the best argument for meaninglessness. They are little more than cosmic mixed martial arts bouts with a handful of clever lines.
The characters of myth illustrate very human appetites, weaknesses and strengths. They represent love and beauty (Aphrodite); fertility and bounty (Demeter); or wine and ecstatic madness (Dionysus). Superheroes just have one or more extraordinary physical traits. In comic book movies, villains just want to conquer and kill. They are not looking to slake their lust, amass great riches, build monuments to themselves, create utopian societies or engage in sadistic torments. They just want to win.
When I was 12, living in Port Washington, New York, my friend Buzzy and I mixed a potion with his chemistry set and sprinkled ourselves with it, hoping to attain superpowers. We then raced around his house, anticipating a magical effect.
Technology to the rescue
We were disappointed. We remained all too normal, and soon set our sights on more viable dreams. Even then, in the ‘60s, I imagined how cool it would be if movies could capture the stories I devoured in comic books. The old Superman TV show was pathetic; poor George Reeves looked more padded than chiselled, and he flew like someone suspended from a crane. Batman was a joke, and Wonder Woman, the TV show, offered little more than a voluptuous woman in a skimpy costume.
The biggest reason for Hollywood’s booming Comic Book Age, of course, is technology. Computer imagery can now bring even the most outlandish images of comic book fantasy to life. They are exactly what I dreamed about as a boy.
I watch now with my discounted senior citizen ticket, ever hopeful of recapturing the thrill I once got from the static printed page. And despite the astonishing cinematic wizardry, I’m always disappointed.
The stories I read as a boy were no better and generally worse than those now on screen, but my dreams have all changed. Even as the utterly fantastic is made real, the superheroes seem silly, the stories fake. Still, the kid in me keeps coming back. I haven’t seen Ant-Man and the Wasp yet. Maybe that will be the one.
— New York Times News Service
Mark Bowden is a noted American writer and author
