The Superheroic Journey, Part 7 of 8: The Final Sacrifice

Some final battles cannot be won without the superhero giving the greatest of sacrifices: their life in exchange for the well-being of those they protect.

Even though, of course, most superheroes won’t die or disappear permanently after a final sacrifice. It’s probably better that we call it a “final“ sacrifice, since the superhero world is full of superheroes (and villains) consistently reborn or mysteriously returned from death.

This season’s Arrow midseason finale is one such event: Oliver Queen/The Arrow (Stephen Amell) was pretty obviously killed by Ra’s al Ghul (Matt Nable), yet the second half of season 3 has found Oliver recovering and returned to Starling City to rejoin his team.

At the end of the Battle of New York in The Avengers (2012), Iron Man chooses to fly an incoming nuclear bomb into the Tesseract portal, nearly sacrificing himself, rather than allow it to explode in Manhattan. Film still from The Avengers. Image source: http://www.rellimzone.com/images/movies/the-avengers-2012-10.jpg

But what’s the point of a final sacrifice if it isn’t actually…final? Doesn’t returning from death undermine the nobility and significance of the superhero giving their life in the first place? I’ve wondered a lot about this conundrum, so I’ll refer you to a post I wrote last September: “They’re alive! (Again!)”: Superheroes, Sci-fi, and Death as Plot Device.

The easy answer to spoiled final sacrifices is commercial – superhero story producers don’t want to eliminate the source of their story (and income), so they find a way (however implausible) to return the superhero to life.

A neat side effect is the development of a body of “magical theory” of sorts: a grab bag of commonly used tricks and explanations for the superhero’s survival of a supposedly final sacrifice. While these facets of superhero stories are heavily on the supernatural end of the spectrum, they do add a magical flavor to crime and action-driven plots.

Furthermore, the ability to return from death – regardless of its being commercial, narrative, or a combination of reasons – connects superheroes to their roots as Greek demi-gods and other semi-divine, super-human beings. If you peek into the history of where the first superhero characters came from (namely ancient myths), maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising that final sacrifices are rarely final.

We can still keep the term “final sacrifice,” though, as it connects an instance of supreme self-sacrifice to the Final Battle that requires it.

Next post on Friday 2/27/15. “The Superheroic Journey, Part 8 of 8.” This is it – the Return to Glory, the final stage of our journey through the life of a modern-day film superhero. I’ll also offer some concluding comments on how the various stages of the journey are used together in contemporary film and TV.

Read the previous post, “Part 6: The Final Battle,” or go on to “Part 8: The Return to Glory.”

Review of Kingsman: The Secret Service

Kingsman was not exactly what I had expected, and it was also so incredibly, unexpectedly good! This film is absolutely a treat for those knowledgeable about superheroes and super-spy stories. (I don’t want to give away too much, so I’ll keep my comments rather general on this one.) It’s a very smart film in how it addresses the shared qualities of both superhero and super-spy traditions, as well as the differences between the two.

Eggsy (Taron Egerton) and his Kingsman mentor Harry Hart/Galahad (Colin Firth) explore the Kingsman spy-tech closet. Image source: http://imageserver.moviepilot.com/kingsman-secret-service-trailer-6-things-i-learned-from-kingsman-the-secret-service.jpeg?width=660&height=330

Though it plays heavily off of James Bond and other spy story conventions, Kingsman actually has a protagonist who better embodies the comic book superhero character type, which makes for an interesting split between what defines a superhero versus a spy hero. Eggsy Unwin (Taron Egerton) demonstrates the concern for human (and animal) life, justice, and freedom that defines the superhero – while it is fellow Kingsman recruit Roxy (Sophie Cookson) who better embodies the trained-as-a-lethal-weapon, emotionally cool super-spy (along with female villain Gazelle, played by Sofia Boutella). Eggsy is a true superhero dedicated to humanity’s well-being; Roxy is a sharp instrument focused on completing a mission. (The choice of which of these two recruits is officially selected as a Kingsman says a lot about the competing heroic traditions, and their context within the plot.)

The clarity with which Kingsman distinguishes and demonstrates the differences between the two character types is a great achievement within the superhero genre and only one of the film’s many awesome qualities.

The story is a complex mix of sci-fi-ish environmental-apocalypse scenario, a meta-blend of classic Bond/super-spy tropes, and unexpected twists that deliberately defy established genre traditions. Add to that a classy visual design and well-planned action sequences, plus the requisite closet of spy technology, and Kingsman is undoubtedly a winner for comics and spy fans. Director Matthew Vaughn (also director of Kick-Ass and X-Men: First Class) certainly knows his comics films, and the result with Kingsman is a rather unique and innovative expression of the genre’s best elements.

Kingsman is rated “R,” though, and for good reason. Not quite as rough and bloody as Dredd (2012), but it’s close. Also, there have apparently been some objections to the ending of the film. Check out this piece from Cinema Blend about Matthew Vaughn’s response to the objections.

Everything considered, Kingsman points to an ongoing, bright future for more intense, adult-rated comics-based films. It’s also one among an emerging class of superhero films that are very aware of their roots and therefore break the rules to create a new set of superheroic conventions.

Next post on Friday 2/20. “The Superheroic Journey, Part 7 of 8: The Final Sacrifice.”

An Overview of Critical Issues in Superhero Studies

It always makes me laugh (usually politely and quietly inside my head) when someone dismisses the superhero genre as “just entertainment,” “low” pop culture meant to make people flock to the movies for cheap thrills, or anything along those lines. People are entitled to their opinions, absolutely. But as someone who has spent over two years now consistently studying superhero media, I’ve found that the genre has so much more to offer than cheap thrills. Even people who do know superhero stories well may not find that much to cheer about from a critical standpoint. I spent most of my senior thesis research this past spring coming to terms with the many scholars who know the genre incredibly well, yet condemn it for being socially backwards, exclusionary, or merely full of cheap thrills.

Everyday Feminism – I love their work, really, I do – posted an article earlier this week about the problematic qualities of the superhero genre. The points covered in this article are absolutely valid; superheroes as a cultural product bring with them the problems of the society/societies that created them. However, the article seems to imply that the superhero and sci-fi genres are worse than others (or maybe the worst?) when it comes to gender/race/class/etc. representations. And, as I scrolled through the comments people had left for this article on EF’s Facebook page, a lot of them sounded very familiar.

Some EF readers pointed out that, despite their flaws, superheroes and sci-fi have made many cultural steps forward during the past several decades – at times ahead of other genres, I might add – and that it’s unfair to single out this one genre for causing ALL the problems we see in popular media concerning representational issues. Everyday Feminism, a blog that does great and important work in advocating online for social equality and equity, is usually more even-handed than in this article. I’m not blaming EF or the writer of their article for anything, but I wish they had recognized the advancements that superheroes and sci-fi have made, not just the genre’s faults.

Again, it’s not that superheroes and sci-fi are better or worse than any other genre: ALL genres and forms of pop culture need to be held responsible for the social inequalities and inequities they normalize and perpetuate.

So, on to today’s topic – which is apparently fortuitously timed: what are the critical issues most commonly investigated in the superhero and sci-fi genres? Where do they come from, and what’s the general consensus on them (if there is one)? Also, what topics aren’t often addressed, though perhaps they should be?

Who can’t wait for Agent Carter to start in January?

1. THE SUPERHEROIC MONOMYTH

First of all, you have to know your super-history. Based on the critical tradition established through the work of Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell, monomyth analysis examines the mythical and folkloric roots of superhero stories. The “monomyth” refers to the heroic tradition of tales found in cultures all over the world. All of these tales feature a superhuman protagonist who endures great trials and emerges victorious as defender of humanity and/or a source of benefits to the hero’s community.

Monomyth criticism often deals in Jungian archetypes, focusing on the archetypal nature of hero stories and the insight they provide into human existence and cultural experience. Some good sources to consult on this topic include:

– Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949)
– M. Gregory Kendrick’s The Heroic Ideal (2010)
– Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette’s King Warrior Magician Lover (1991)

Also, if this topic interests you, you’re in luck! Starting in January I’ll be writing an 8-part blog post series on the monomythic conventions of modern superhero stories.

2. GENRE CONVENTIONS

Some superhero narrative and character conventions we’re stuck with, since the genre needs them in order to be identifiable as a genre: heroes versus villains; superpowers; supernatural, catastrophic, and otherworldly threats to humanity (which necessitate the presence of a superhuman hero). Other conventions, however, are up for dispute as to whether and how they appear in any given superhero story. These may include the superhero’s struggles with a parent/mentor figure, a secret identity (or lack thereof), a hero’s temporary or permanent turn to the dark side, a leave of absence from or rejection of superheroic duties, and other repeated elements. These tropes will probably show up at some point in most superhero works, but they aren’t necessary in order for the story to be superheroic.

“Optional” conventions also include the representative aspects shared by all media and cultural products; these are the conventions most commonly critiqued by feminist and other scholarly/critical writing on superheroes. (See issue #4 below.) I say that these are “optional” conventions because there is no singular way of treating representational issues in all superhero works. Superhero stories will have to address these issues in some way, of course, but how they choose to negotiate representation may differ from one superhero work to the next. In other words, some individual superhero stories are more equalitarian than others. Gender, race, class, and (dis)ability are just a few of the common analytical angles that appear in this form of criticism. (And by “criticism” I mean professional, critical analysis, not negative commentary.)

When examining superhero genre conventions, critics generally note which conventions appear, how the story/characters behave and respond to convention, and what the narrative/analytical outcome is of using a certain convention. They critique the use of different conventions concerning the effect on the individual story AND in the superhero genre as a whole. For example:

In The Dark Knight (2008), Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) fulfills the conventional role of female love interest; Rachel dies when Batman (Christian Bale) cannot save her. The death of a female love interest is a common occurrence in superhero media, one which objectifies the female character as motivation for the male hero’s plotline. This also occurs in Daredevil (2003), James Bond films (over and over), Star Wars, Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), and countless other films and series. In contrast, Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) in Iron Man 3 (2013) fulfills an identical female love interest role, but instead of dying to further Tony Stark’s (Robert Downey, Jr.) plotline, Pepper acquires her own superpowers and defeats the primary supervillain without assistance from other characters. This is perhaps the first event of its kind for a female love interest in 21st-century superhero films and is, therefore, a significant challenge to and critique of dominant female character tropes in the superhero genre.

3. GENRE MASH-UPS / MULTI-GENRE FILMS

One of the best things about the superhero genre (at least in my opinion) is that it’s a hybrid genre: it draws influence from several older genres including the Western, science fiction, film noir and detective fiction, and action/adventure stories. (Even though heroes and superheroes have been around for centuries, the “official” beginning of the superhero genre is usually located in the mid-twentieth century with the rise of the comic book industry.)

The character of the Hulk, for instance, was inspired by both Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, two well-known works of nineteenth-century Gothic fiction. Thor comes from Norse mythic tradition: Asgard, Yggdrasil, Loki, and all. Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) is a sci-fi Western; its plot reflects the conventions of the Western but, obviously, the film’s setting is a bit more galactic. On the flipside, Cowboys & Aliens (2010) is a superhero-Western that draws on the sci-fi elements of aliens and extraterrestrial technology (specifically the trope, “aliens are going to invade Earth and kidnap us!”). Doctor Who, Star Trek, and Supernatural are all known for their delightful way of playing with the multiple genres relevant to their place in superheroic adventure. (Star Trek: The Next Generation has several awesome Western episodes, if you’re looking for a place to start.)

A side effect of the superhero genre’s hybridity is that it tends to be very “meta” (metatextual). Metatextual stories “talk back” to themselves and to other stories, appearing to be self-aware of themselves as participating in a given set of conventions or a certain genre. Supernatural episodes “The French Mistake” (#615) and the recent “Fan Fiction” (#1005-their 200th episode, by the way) are awesome examples of meta work. Guardians of the Galaxy is also meta in its deliberate messing around with superhero, and specifically Marvel, conventions – you know, Star Lord (Chris Pratt) challenging Ronan (Lee Pace) to a dance-off right in the middle of the final battle scene. (Right where a dance-off is NOT supposed to be; the film is very self-aware of this break with convention in Ronan’s response: “What are you doing?!?!” Yeah, that’s what everyone in the audience was asking on opening weekend!) References to other well-known works in the genre make a work meta, too – making Marvel perhaps the most meta superhero creation ever. (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. fans, you know this is true! All AOS does is talk about the rest of the MCU.)

4. FEMINISM, GENDER STUDIES, QUEER THEORY, AND MEDIA STUDIES

As mentioned above, feminist, gender, and queer analysis of superhero stories focus on representational issues in film itself and in the media industry at large. (This includes behind-the-scenes, production issues as well as what we actually see on-screen at the movies or on TV.) Feminist criticism is responsible for recognizing and spreading awareness of gender, racial, and other forms of social prejudice in superhero stories. Gail Simone and others’ critique of “women in refrigerators,” a pattern of female characters being brutally treated and killed as plot devices in superhero media, brought attention to the genre’s gender inequalities. While female characters have made notable advancements in recent years, the problems represented by “women in refrigerators” are still far from resolved.

Another aspect of feminist criticism is its emphasis on intersectionality: the study and analysis of multiple identity and representation categories simultaneously. Intersectional feminism argues that gender, race, class, ability, etc. do not function as independent categories but rather work together to determine how a person experiences the world, as well as how a person is treated by others in society. To use a classic example, someone who identifies as black and female will experience and be treated differently by society compared to someone who identifies as white and male, especially in a society (like ours) that perpetuates racial, gender, and other inequalities. Unfortunately, in our society certain identity categories are privileged above others, and this privilege is reflected in popular media and entertainment, including but not limited to superhero stories.

January 12, 2015: Click here to read a great post from Everyday Feminism about the importance of making feminism intersectional.

The critical stance on these issues in superhero media is mixed nowadays, although the overwhelmingly negative attitude toward the genre persists. Ideally, good criticism of this sort will recognize both the faults and the advancements of the superhero genre, which requires knowing the history of superheroes, comic books, and films. Some of the best critical works I’ve found in this category are:

– Jennifer Stuller’s Ink-Stained Amazons and Cinematic Warriors (2010)
– Jeffrey A. Brown’s Dangerous Curves: Action Heroines, Gender, Fetishism, and Popular Culture (2011)
– Adilifu Nama’s Super Black: American Pop Culture and Black Superheroes (2011)
– Danny Fingeroth’s Superman on the Couch: What Superheroes Really Tell Us about Ourselves and Our Society (2004)

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These four categories are just the most common approaches to superhero stories; there are obviously many, many other angles one could take when examining a genre that has become so popular and so big in recent years. As an art history student, I would like to see more analysis of the iconography and symbolic storytelling aspects of superhero works. (I’ve done a little work on this topic myself, in posts such as “The Mirror Effect” and “The Iconography of Westeros.”)

Additionally, especially nowadays with the enormous numbers of superhero films being made – not to mention the already lengthy, detailed history of superheroes in comic books – there is a definite need for more superhero historians. People interested in studying the history of the superhero genre will find no shortage of material, though they might find themselves drastically short on the time needed to process all of it!

What issues would you like to see addressed concerning the superhero genre?

Next blog post will be on Friday 12/26. “Girl Power: Sucker Punch (2011) and Pop Feminism.” Just how far does Zack Snyder’s awesome (I find it awesome) female action hero film go towards pushing back against stereotypical representations of women in the media? How does Sucker Punch tie in to female superhero traditions? Should the film be considered “feminist” or not? This is a tricky one…

December 7, 2014: Speaking of critical perspectives on the quality of superhero movies, here’s an interesting CinemaBlend piece on the difference between Christopher Nolan’s movies and Marvel. Not sure I can agree…I think if Marvel movies are only “action-based entertainment” to you, you might want to revisit them and pay closer attention.

Big Hero 6 reminds us what superheroes are really about

Animated superhero material isn’t my usual area of study, but every now and then it’s fun – and worthwhile – to leave all of the live action and check out what’s going on in children’s and animated superhero media (those two categories aren’t necessarily the same, incidentally). I certainly won’t regret seeing Big Hero 6, which is fun, an all around good film, and a welcome break from all of the intense stuff going on in the MCU and other live-action superhero works right now. (Civil War…followed by Infinity War? Aaaah! Ra’s al Ghul in Starling City? Aaaah! More HYDRA? Aa-you get the point.)

I actually want to talk a little about the previews I saw, before discussing Big Hero 6 itself. Because, when you see previews for a SpongeBob superhero movie – yes, that’s actually happening – and a superhero/secret agents Madagascar penguins movie, you know that superheroes have truly become Hollywood’s defining genre. (For the moment or the decade, anyway.)

Previews for The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies and Into the Woods also played, which I know are supposed to appeal to families and the adults who brought their kids to Big Hero 6, but it’s interesting to me because these films happen to sit on the edges of the superhero genre, too. So, basically, superhero films continue to pour out of Hollywood like Chitauri out of the Tesseract portal. It’s starting to look like superheroes may have found a permanent home at the box office – it’s an easy argument now to label superheroes as their own separate genre, rather than a subgenre of action or sci-fi. And with Disney/Marvel leading the way, it’s hard not to imagine a movie future without at least a few yearly superhero flicks.

Now on to Big Hero 6 itself: I’m not familiar with the Big Hero 6 comics, but it was easy enough to fall in love with Baymax, who makes me think of Star Trek‘s Bones, if he were a big cuddly marshmallow with some of Spock’s hyper-rational approach to life. Baymax’s purpose as a medical and health care provider says a lot about who superheroes really are: they exist to protect, despite all of the heavy action and intense fight sequences that Baymax’s live-action counterparts are known for. The familiar superhero theme of human compassion versus misuse of technology managed to be refreshing and fun. Perhaps it was the relative simplicity of the film’s plot, which, being geared toward kids and families, was free from a lot of the convoluted political angles in live action films. (Project Insight, anyone?)

Also, since I don’t often watch films with an audience that is 50% under the age of about 12, it was fun just to listen to the reactions throughout the film. I was a rather serious kid growing up, and I don’t spend time around children nowadays, so being a grown-up, soon-to-be-college-graduate, I forget that the things I’m interested in with superhero films are not what those films mean to a younger audience. Let’s face it, as much as we grown-ups and semi-grown-ups love superheroes, kids are still a huge part of that fan base, too. And I like to think that kids, not having encountered things like post-colonial theory and academic criticism, are able to hold onto a more direct, perhaps even more truthful, conception of the superhero.

Beware a few SPOILERS ahead…

Several times throughout the film, I heard children comment quietly to their parents or guardians about things that I and other academic-minded superhero investigators would so readily take for granted. After Hiro (voiced by Ryan Potter) loses his brother, Tadashi (v. Daniel Henney), in an explosion – like a true hero, Tadashi ran into the burning building to help people trapped inside – Hiro is depressed and doesn’t want to so much as leave his room. “He misses his brother,” a girl nearby said to her mother…and it hit me that such a simple (to me, at least) observation sounded so astute and meaningful coming from such a young viewer.

Later, when the supervillain was revealed to be a father whose daughter had been lost in a teleportation portal accident, children in the theater also – quite expertly, I think – observed that the supervillain wanted revenge for his daughter, whom he loved and missed. He found it unjust (as any of us would, I think) that a profit and fame-hungry business tycoon made a poor decision to go ahead with a project test knowing that the portal was malfunctioning. His decision cost the supervillain’s daughter her life. (Or so we think: she turns out to still be alive in hyperspace, a nice twist that pushes back a little against the trope of a lost, typically female, loved one being the cause for revenge.)

There are a lot of intense, theoretical discussions that could come out of Big Hero 6, but I really was struck by the underage part of the audience’s ability to simply appreciate the film for its human aspects. Not to mention that they know their superhero genre – from just those scattered comments I overheard, they understood the conventions at work between heroes and villains, generic character motivations, and the use of superpowers.

As I already mentioned, we adults and hard-core theory fans tend to lose sight of the storytelling at the heart of all great superhero stories: they’re about love and loss, compassion, courage, endurance, human darkness and our capacity for evil, friendship and family. They also just happen to do cool things with theoretical topics like anti-normative gender and such. Children don’t have a voice in the adult world of scholarly criticism, where the “simple truths” of superhero stories are taken for granted. You won’t find comments of a simple appreciation for the accuracy and meaning of superheroes’ humanity in most “serious” academic and critical works, because such views are seen as simplistic, even naive, or are lost in the heated debates over what kind of influence superhero stories have on our culture.

It’s kind of a pity, because, at the end of a well-argued article, densely theoretical book, or highly analytical blog post, any critical perspective on superheroes is just one intricate, hopefully well-formed and evidence-supported, lens on a story that has a separate life of its own in the popular culture and imagination. Meanwhile, the children who appreciate these stories and characters for their (what we adults would call “obvious”) insights into human nature might just have a better grasp on what superheroes are all about.

It’s possible for adults, and even academic theorists, to hang on to this more direct appreciation, of course. I doubt scholars of superhero media would get much done if they couldn’t rediscover that sense of wonder for superheroes. I certainly wouldn’t have written my senior thesis, or this blog post, or allowed the Avengers films to commandeer the prime shelf space in my bookcase if I didn’t have an abiding love for superheroes. If adults couldn’t share in the childlike love of superheroes, the parent sitting next to me in the theater wouldn’t have turned to me at the end of Big Hero 6 and said, “That was a good film.” Not, “Oh my goodness, did you see those anti-normative gender representations? Is San Fransokyo really consistent with a post-colonial viewpoint?” or anything like that.

So thank you, Big Hero 6, for reminding me that, in the end, superheroes are really a whole lot of fun and one big adventure that keeps on going. Theory just happens to tag along for the ride.

On Friday: Missing all of that super-theoretical analysis? Well, good! I’ve always wanted to write something here on Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), so let the theoretical fun begin!

Why So Super? (Part 2): Superheroes, Gender, & Female Masculinity

Sorry for the late post – life got a little hectic last week, but here’s the second part to our previous discussion.
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Since my senior English thesis was on female superheroes and their bending/blending of binary gender codes and representations, the topic of female masculinity in superhero films is one that I’m both deeply curious about and invested in as a working theory. Scholars including Jennifer Stuller and Jeffrey A. Brown have analyzed this phenomenon at length – their work was a crucial starting point for my own investigations – so I encourage you to check out their work if this topic interests you, too.

WHAT IS FEMALE MASCULINITY?

If you haven’t studied much in the way of gender codes, roles, representations, etc., the concept of “female masculinity” may sound confusing and contradictory. Contradictory because, in the gender binary system that still dominates our society, femininity and masculinity are viewed as (some might say polar) opposites. Femininity is “not masculine,” and masculinity is “not feminine.” Furthermore, binary gender conventions equate femininity with being biologically female and masculinity with being biologically male. This system is totally untrue to the diversity of sexual and gender expressions/representations/identities that exist in reality, so one of the strategies found in gender critiques, building off of queer theory, is to break down the gender binary. We can do this by analyzing and revealing how binary gender codes are not as stable or exclusive as the binary system would have us believe.

Judith Halberstam’s book Female Masculinity (1998) explores how people who are biologically female and/or identify as women can express masculinity through appearance, behavior, etc. – despite being biologically female, these people are perfectly capable of expressing a viable sense of being masculine. Their being biologically female does not negate their identification as masculine individuals.

Halberstam and other critics such as Judith Butler belong to a group of gender theorists whose work emphasizes the “performative” nature of gender. Understanding gender as performative means that we do not see gender as an essential aspect of being biologically male or female. In other words, being biologically female does not require one to express feminine traits, and being biologically masculine does not require one to express masculine traits. Rather, gender is “performed,” or expressed, in a way that may or may not equate with a person’s biological sex. Thus, masculine women exist, as do feminine men, feminine women, masculine men, and many other combinations of biological/sexual identity and gender identity. The binary describes only a very limited, and not very true to life, number of sex/gender identities. “Queer” genders are those, such as female masculinity, that fall outside of the strict, essentialist dichotomy of female/feminine, male/masculine that is the gender binary system.

More importantly, Butler and related theorists recognize that gender, not being an essential aspect of maleness or femaleness, only exists as an identity category because of the social repetition of gendered behaviors and traits. For instance, our society codes things like having long hair, painting one’s nails, and wearing high heels as “feminine.” Likewise, having strong and prominent muscles, being really into sports, and acting assertively/aggressively are all traits that are coded as “masculine.” BUT, there is actually nothing inherently feminine or masculine about any of these behaviors and traits. We only view these things as feminine/masculine because they are enacted over and over and over in society, therefore seeming to be “normal” expressions of gender. Thus, gender theorists describe gender as a social construction: a set of rules/codes created through mass repetition and social consensus/approval that determines how one is viewed in and treated by society. Straying from socially constructed roles can cause one to be “punished” by society, especially if said society does not tolerate and feels threatened by individuals who stray from the norm.

Put much more simply, we might say that gender is, in a word, fake. It’s just a social performance, a social myth of what femininity/femaleness and masculinity/maleness are “supposed to” look like.

In reality, it’s completely unjust to expect everyone to conform to these limited standards of behavior and self-expression. After all, you really can’t express yourself properly in any sort of system that dictates so severely what is expected, what is “normal” and acceptable. Many, perhaps most, people in some way don’t fit neatly or comfortably into the strict boxes of gender that the binary lays out as socially appropriate. This is as true of fictional characters such as superheroes as it is of real people.

PERFORMING GENDER IN HOLLYWOOD

Attempting to break the gender binary using Hollywood superhero films is a tricky endeavor for several reasons. One, in a lot of the criticism that I’ve encountered on superheroes (both scholarly and popular criticism), superhero films have a reputation for reinforcing binary gender codes; another way of saying this (at least for some critics) is that superhero films are “guy films.” (But really, please don’t say that – it’s so untrue and politically incorrect!) Such arguments emphasize the macho hero role of the superhero, claiming that superheroes are one big pile of hero-savior-complex that satisfies viewers’ needs to feel vicariously powerful or to be reassured that a big, strong hero will come save them from their problems. These pieces of criticism often accuse superhero stories of perpetuating binary gender codes, of being sexist and highly conservative in terms of gender politics, even of being “regressive” (versus “progressive”) in their gender representations.

It’s totally cool if this is the opinion you hold of some, or even all, superhero films – because, hey, Hollywood ain’t perfect. Far from it. And it is important to recognize that any good elements of gender politics in superhero films do not make up for the bad ones that still exist in the genre. So to all of you superhero skeptics out there, thanks for keeping us superhero enthusiasts grounded.

The second reason why it’s challenging to analyze non-binary genders in superhero films is that there are so many superhero works, just since 2000, therefore a) the amount of material you have to deal with is outrageously huge (and I believe you have to be familiar with all, or at least most, of it if your critical arguments are going to be accurate); and b) you’re going to find a wide range of approaches to gender politics in the genre. Or, as I like to call it, the good (Dredd, Avengers, Arrow), the bad (The Dark Knight, Aeon Flux), and the downright ugly (Gotham, Daredevil) of superhero gender politics.

Third, so much of gender analysis regarding popular media depends heavily on interpretation and theoretical background. A second-wave feminist approach looks different and has different goals from a post-feminist one. A queer theory analysis might go about analysis differently compared to a feminist or deconstructionist one. An intersectional analysis (dealing with race, class, and other categories in addition to gender) will have different concerns from an analysis focusing solely on gender. Any act of interpretation of anything requires no small amount of faith (as well as evidence), but interpretations of gender in the media can be especially daunting because gender is such a pressing issue in our culture right now. People of all genders will become heavily invested in these interpretations, and saying something like “I think the Dark Knight trilogy is sexist” or “Black Widow is a really progressive female superhero” will elicit passionate feedback, most likely whether you were asking for feedback or not. (I am asking for feedback, so please do feel free to throw in your two cents in the comments section, by the way.)

Take into account the extraordinary presence and popularity of superheroes in today’s media, and the conversation about superheroes and gender has the potential to spiral out of control (and politeness) rather quickly.

We shouldn’t be afraid, though, to have these often heated and difficult (yet hopefully respectful, no mud-slinging) conversations about superheroes and gender. On the contrary, the continuing controversy over superheroes, especially female superheroes, and gender indicates that we should encourage these conversations. Although we may not reach a resolution or arrive at common ground, by sharing our perspectives on this matter we can at least better understand the problems and the merits of how superheroes represent different aspects of gender in popular media.

FEMALE SUPERHEROES & MASCULINITY

If we think of masculinity as being strong, tough, capable, and ready for a good fight, well, female superheroes fit right in to that description, don’t they? Think Black Widow in Iron Man 2, Cassandra Anderson’s tough yet compassionate demeanor, Black Canary’s exquisite training and combat skills, Maria Hill’s cool composure and Melinda May’s stoicism during crisis, and Lady Sif’s epic jump onto the Destroyer’s back to protect her friends in Thor.

In terms of behavior, these superwomen are as masculine as any male character. In terms of appearance, however, they are clearly coded as feminine, which has led many to criticize the skimpy costumes and sexualized depictions of female superheroes. Overall, the movies haven’t been as bad as the comics images in this regard – a subtle way of proving just how unrealistic those comics costumes are for action and combat – but the sexualized depictions of female superheroes are still a valid concern, as is their unequal representation and treatment in superhero storylines. (Ever heard of women in refrigerators syndrome?)

The cool thing about female superheroes, though, is that this combination of feminine appearance and masculine behavior suggests the gender fluidity of these characters. Returning to the concept of gender being performative, we can see female superheroes performing both halves of the gender binary simultaneously: they perform femininity through their physical appearance – although one could argue that physical elements such as muscles give female superheroes a masculinized appearance as well – and, at the same time, they perform masculinity in their active roles, disciplined attitudes, and combative physicality. (Though, again, not every aspect of a female superhero’s behavior falls into the masculine category. Reducing female superheroes purely to feminine appearance plus masculine behavior is overwhelmingly simplistic, and not what I have in mind here by describing them as gender-fluid.)

If binary gender conventions insist on an individual being either masculine or feminine – never both, and preferably not switching back and forth between the two – then female superheroes can be interpreted as queer figures. (“Queer” being anything that falls between, outside of, or simply does not conform to the gender binary’s standards.) By combining a range of gendered expressions and behaviors from both halves of the gender binary, female superheroes reveal the binary’s constructed nature and its inherent instability: Try as it might to insist on the essential differences between female/feminine and male/masculine, the binary cannot hold up in cases where figures, fictional or real, refuse to abide by the binary’s rules.

WHY DOES IT MATTER?

Male superheroes also break the binary; they appear intensely masculine but exhibit traits such as compassion and deep concern/care for family that are generally coded as feminine. However, I think that the gender fluidity of female superheroes is much easier to see and to believe, if only because male superheroes have such a long history of being equated with ideal maleness. Also, nowadays, it does seem a little more acceptable for women to break out of conventional femininity, e.g. it’s easier for a woman to wear pants and not suffer social disapproval than for a man to wear a skirt or dress. I think that equates with female superheroes’ gender fluidity being easier to accept than male superheroes’. Female superheroes are always unconventional women because as active characters they defy the passive roles equated with conventional femininity.

A couple weeks ago, drush76 posed the question:

Why does a female character have to act like a man or assume a male-dominated role to matter?

In response, I wouldn’t say that acting like a man is what makes a female superhero important. Perhaps it’s what enables her to engage in superheroic action alongside her male counterparts, but it’s not the only factor giving meaning to her character. Assuming that superheroes really are gender-fluid, any superhero’s “feminine” qualities are just as important as their “masculine” ones – so masculine behavior isn’t the key indicator of any superhero’s worth. In the analysis I’ve conducted during the past two years, I’ve found that the most successful or worthy superheroes are actually the ones that best balance masculine and feminine qualities within themselves. To put it differently, the most successful superheroes (the ones who are best at their jobs in the fictional narrative) are the most gender-fluid ones.

For example, Steve Rogers is so fascinating to me as a superhero because he is defined largely by his “feminine” traits: compassion, care for others, a gentle nature, etc., yet he is an iconic male character. On the flip side, Black Widow, a female character, is largely defined by her “masculine” traits.

By offering the possibilities of female masculinity and gender fluidity as a means of understanding female superheroes, I’m not saying that they are only important because they are masculine. More like the opposite: Because they are simultaneously masculine and feminine, female superheroes become key figures both in understanding gender representations in the media, and in figuring out how to use interpretations of popular media to break down the restrictive gender binary.

Next Friday: There’s been quite a lot of new-season surprise in superhero shows during the past few weeks. Time to check in and see where all of these twists will leave us. (And, by the way, Marvelverse, what’s up with your rumor machine? Calm down over there.)

Reflection on “Love & Romance in Hollywood Superhero Films”

During summer 2013, I participated in Willamette University’s LARC (Liberal Arts Research Collaborative) program, which offers undergraduates the chance to conduct paid research with faculty who have shared research interests. Students propose a research idea to a participating faculty member whose work is on a similar topic; approved student-faculty teams are then paired as research “communities” to encourage broader cooperation and discussion across topics/areas and methods of study. My 2013 community, “Heroic Love & Laughter,” included two faculty and four student projects focusing on different aspects of heroism and heroic identity.

As anyone who has read my blog bio will know, my project was on love and romance in 21st-century Hollywood superhero films and TV shows. Being just slightly over-ambitious, I undertook to watch and evaluate as many 21st-century superhero films and shows as I could find. (Luckily, I was already familiar with a good many of them. Otherwise I would have quickly drowned in shields, masks, capes, and various other superheroic paraphernalia.) The results were surprising and a bit staggering: Not only did I discover that roughly 100 live-action films and shows – that’s not even attempting to touch animated superhero film material – had been produced since 2000, I also found that almost ALL of them addressed in a significant way topics such as love, romance, and related emotions and relationships.

Well, duh! you might be thinking. Superhero stories have to have meaningful emotional relationships in them – they’re about humankind, after all. True, and I certainly was aware of the significance of love relationships in the genre when I was developing the project; otherwise, no research proposal! What I didn’t expect, however, was how deeply what my research led me to call a love ethic is ingrained into superhero stories. I’ll explain that more in a little while, but for now, here are some of the percentages I found that might surprise you. They’re based on my final project count of 80 films and 12 TV shows.

– Central superhero character is in a romantic relationship of some sort: 9 TV (75%) and 65 film (81%)

– The work includes 2 or more romantic relationships: 11 TV (92%) and 37 film (46%)

– There is no romantic relationship, or the relationship status is ambiguous: 0 TV (0%) and 18 film (23%)

– 2 superheroes are in a romantic relationship: 8 TV (67%) and 37 film (46%)

– The superhero is defined by the ability to love unconditionally* (see the discussion below): 8 TV (67%) and 28 film (35%)

This list of films became the “master list” I keep updated on this blog (see the sidebar map). The percentages will no longer be the same due to ongoing additions, but if you’re curious about the shows and films that produced these statistics, check out the master list and ignore everything released after August 2013. That should give you (approximately) the list I was working from by the end of LARC.

My final paper was fifty pages long, so in an attempt to avoid writing a post of similar length, I decided to reflect on some of the findings I either still had questions about at the end of LARC or those that I might feel differently about now. First of all, what didn’t end up in my LARC project that I would want to do more research on? Well, as you gender-studies-savvy ones might be able to guess, the relationships I ended up analyzing were overwhelmingly heteronormative, at least as far as romance elements. Especially given my senior thesis work (which was several months after LARC) on superheroes and gender roles/representations, if I were to conduct more research on love and romance, I’d definitely want to take a stronger queer theoretical focus this time around. I’m not entirely sure what I’d find through this approach, but many of the films I’m familiar with at least have a fair amount of potential for a queer reading.

Second, I’d want to return to the topic of “romantic myths” that I used as a foundation for part of the project. Developed by media scholar Dr. Mary Lou Galician, the twelve myths of romance in the mass media (along with twelve matching “prescriptions” for more realistic relationships) critique the romance tropes and stereotypes produced in and reinforced by decades of Hollywood production. One myth (#9) concerning the importance of common values in relationships was of particular importance to me. In general, Hollywood romances and rom-coms especially reinforce a belief that love is all that matters, that two people (ahem, a man and a woman) can make a romantic relationship work even if they hold conflicting values. “Opposites attract,” right? Wrong, Galician argues. Conflicting values lead to conflict period, which makes Hollywood’s “opposites attract” rule a dangerous model for people to try to emulate in real-life relationships.

I was particularly fascinated by Myth #9 because I just didn’t see it happening in most of the superhero works I looked at. Superheroes had to be on the same page value-wise not only with their colleagues and fellow superheroes, but also with their love interests or romantic partners. Because of the emphasis on Good vs. Evil in superhero stories, an overwhelmingly binary approach to relationships and values occurs: strong lines must be drawn regarding who is “with” the superhero (on the side of Good) and who is “against” (on the side of Evil). If a loved one is revealed to have sided with Evil, their relationship with the superhero generally falters or ends: think of Oliver Queen’s mother Moira in Arrow season 2; Peter Parker’s friendship with Harry Osborne, which ends when Harry becomes the new Green Goblin; the similar strained dynamic between Thor and Loki; the failed romance between Bruce Wayne and Miranda Tate in The Dark Knight Rises. A loved one doesn’t even have to side with Evil to demonstrate a lack of common values with the superhero: Rachel Dawes in The Dark Knight chooses Harvey Dent over Bruce Wayne because Harvey’s values are more similar to her own – she knows that Bruce/Batman will never give her what she wants, and she (refreshingly, in terms of Hollywood conventions) acts against convention by not following Myth #9, by not subscribing to the belief that her love for Bruce is all that matters.

The fact that the common values dichotomy extends to romantic scenarios and pairings basically means that superhero films as a genre do NOT conform to Galician’s Myth #9. (As it turns out, these films also don’t conform, at least not easily, to several other of the twelve myths.)

A year later, thinking about superhero films now and the new ones that have appeared since LARC 2013, I’m not sure that the refusal to follow Myth #9 is as straightforward as I originally concluded. In both Captain America: The Winter Soldier and season 2 of Arrow, superhero pairings occurred between characters who did not share common values. One pairing was romantic (Arrow and Black Canary), while the other was playfully treated as a semi-parody of romantic tropes (Cap and Black Widow). Also, remember that great moment at the end of Winter Soldier when Steve refuses to fight Bucky, despite his, let’s call it “appropriation,” by the enemy? (Common values, where exactly are you in this scene? Out the helicarrier window, apparently!) Meanwhile, on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Ward’s defection to HYDRA absolutely derailed the possibility of a romantic relationship between Ward and Skye (and caused Ward to receive a serious, well-deserved butt-kicking from Agent May). That makes me think that Myth #9 is still being denied in superhero stories, but some more complex things are happening concerning superheroes and common values than I originally concluded.

Moving on to my third point of reflection, one of my ideas that I absolutely loved – and still do – is that certain superheroes belong to a category of characters defined by their ability to love unconditionally. As I wrote in my LARC paper:

More important than romantic love – more important, actually, than anything else – is the superhero’s compassionate love: an unconditional love for humanity, expressed as identification with others’ suffering, deep empathy, and a desire for the well being of people everywhere facing evil and villainy. Compassionate love is the defining attribute of the superhero, as it is the only quality really separating superheroes from supervillains. These two groups of characters possess similar traits but are ultimately distinguished from one another by the superhero’s ability to love deeply, to put others first, and to forfeit personal gain. Defining the superheroic mission as one of unconditional love for the sake of humanity’s defense and well being, one sees the superhero’s actions in an unconventional way (35-36).

This led me to define unconditional love itself as a superpower for certain superheroes strongly connected to this theme:

Although love can be treated as a weakness that the superhero [in general] may at times be unable to afford, for these love-oriented characters [those for whom love is a superpower], it is something they cannot afford to lose because it is so deeply a part of their ability to carry out their superheroic missions…While supervillains mock the superhero’s loving nature, labeling it a pitiful weakness, love enables the superhero to triumph over these supervillains that cannot love or appreciate love’s power. The emphasis on love in these storylines treats it as a superpower itself, because the ability to love unconditionally is in fact rare even among superheroes (37-38).

I still believe in these ideas absolutely. Characters such as Steve Rogers/Captain America, Professor X, Peter Petrelli (Heroes), and Snow White (in both Once Upon a Time and Snow White & the Huntsman) fight evil and villainy primarily because villains threaten the well being of people and ideas – free will, freedom, liberty, etc. – that these superheroes are highly invested in emotionally and morally. One thing that surprised me about the “love as superpower” theme was how many male superheroes are so obviously associated with it. Taking the viewpoint that I would have to deal with normative conceptions of male/masculinity and female/femininity in Hollywood media, I assumed going into LARC that “love” would be represented as a highly feminine endeavor and concern. Guess what? The two superheroes I found to be most representative of “love as superpower” are Captain America and Professor Charles Xavier (X-Men). (In case you needed yet another reason to adore Steve Rogers, here it is! Steve is basically the perfect superhero.)

So, that was LARC 2013. I think the project would look slightly different if I were to do it all over again now, but my original findings still seem pretty valid and reasonable to me. I guess that’s a good thing! Also, returning to Galician’s myths made me wonder whether a film exists that can break all twelve myths of romance in the media…Winter Soldier, is that you I hear? When I get around to watching TWS again, I’m going to have a checklist of the twelve myths (plus a few other conventions and stereotypes) to see whether TWS actually can break all of them. That’s a post for the future…

Another thing we could use more of in Hollywood media: men and women treating one another like actual human beings should. Thank you, Steve!

On Monday: “Costume and Gender in Snow White & the Huntsman.” What exactly does costume/clothing have to do with gender roles and gender representation? What’s the difference between Snow White in a floor-length medieval-style gown and Snow White in Joan-of-Arc battle armor? GENDER CODES, that’s the difference! (And where does cross-dressing fall in all this?)

Elektra’s Journey of Redemption as Female Hero

It always makes me a little sad to remember that Elektra (2005) was not well received by viewers or critics and that, in some critical comments, it’s described as one of the worst or most unpopular superhero films ever made. Jennifer Stuller refers to the film as a good example of the female superhero film but one that was “poorly, shamefully, and embarrassingly produced” (Stuller 2). (As big a fan as I am of Stuller’s scholarly work on female superheroes, after conducting my thesis I can’t quite agree with her analysis of Elektra.)

Elektra was one of my three senior English thesis films, along with Dredd (2012) and The Avengers (2012). Elektra, in fact, was the film that inspired my initial thesis proposal, which Dredd then followed/expanded, and Black Widow/Avengers fell into place later on. Elektra holds a special place in my experience with 21st-century superhero films not only because I spent so much time working with it but also – primarily – because I consider it to currently be the best and most unconventional female superhero film, alongside the more recent Maleficent (2014). (Those two qualities, “female” and “unconventional,” likely being the very things that led to the film’s lack of success. Also, Elektra appeared before Marvel Studios and the Dark Knight trilogy moved the superhero film from a cult genre and cult audience base to a dominant, mainstream position in Hollywood. But I digress.)

Watch the trailer for Elektra here.

And here’s a fascinating (I say that partly in irony) video by FanboyFlicks that ranks Elektra as #4 on “Worst Superhero Movies Ever!”. Sorry to pull out the stereotypical feminist argument, but note how the videomakers are two young white men? Note that they refer to Elektra as a “bitch” and don’t actually give you Abby’s name. (She’s the “thirteen-year-old girl.”) If you’ve seen Elektra, note that their attempts at “humor” cause them to misrepresent several facts about the film’s storyline and progression. Also note that the “hours-long” sequences they’re complaining about, like Elektra’s first encounter with Abby, are actually some of the shortest in the film.

My advice? Don’t believe these reviewers. They might think they’re saving you from “suffering” through Elektra, but what they’re really doing is sounding idiotic (not funny), expressing sexist stereotypes and attitudes about female characters and heroes (they say at the end of the video that Jennifer Garner was “totally mannish” in this film-WHAT?? Did you really?), and proving that they don’t understand the magical and mythical roots of ALL superhero characters. This film is not a “jumbled mess of magic and ninjas.” It’s one of only two 21st-century superhero films to successfully, centrally feature the mystical roots shared by superheroes around the world. Go read The Hero with a Thousand Faces, guys…

And now, on to the real reason why you visited TLSHBNW today.

Tying in to Monday’s post on Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-Long Blog and Dr. Horrible’s conflicted morality, which fails to bring about the journey of redemption conventionally associated with heroes/protagonists in superhero stories (just a reminder: this failure is the point of DHSAB, not a fault), Elektra is just such a story of redemption.

Following her flight from New York City at the end of Daredevil (2003), Elektra Natchios (Jennifer Garner) becomes an elite assassin-for-hire; her film opens with her latest mission, a dark and stormy sequence that is one of the most stunningly crafted opening sequences among 21st-century superhero films. Following this mission, however, Elektra is hired to carry out a double assassination on a sleepy island, where she befriends her new neighbors Abby (Kirsten Prout) and her father Mark Miller (Goran Visnjic). When Elektra finds out that Abby and Mark are her targets, she refuses to complete the mission and instead becomes Abby and Mark’s protector as they flee from the mysterious, dangerous organization known as The Hand.

The background for this plot is the ancient war between Good and Evil, with the attendant prophecy that a legendary hero, a “motherless daughter” identified as “The Treasure,” will one day appear to tip the balance between Good and Evil and start the process of ending the timeless war. Elektra and Abby both fit the description of the Treasure, and the film is ultimately ambiguous about the real identity of the Treasure: Abby is explicitly named as this prophesied hero, but the images of the woman warrior in the prologue sequence can only be of Elektra. My personal conclusion has always been that the prophecy actually refers to Elektra and Abby as a unit; together they are the Treasure that initiates the process of Good finally defeating Evil.

Elektra’s journey of redemption occurs in two parts: an internal process of reflection triggered by her external encounter with Abby. Echoing Elektra’s own past, Abby’s mother was assassinated by The Hand, and the strong-willed and rebellious Abby is left in her father’s care with unresolved feelings and questions about her mother, and a gap where a female mentor should be. Elektra sees herself in Abby – in one scene, Elektra actually sees Abby as her own younger self – and becomes determined to save Abby from the dark and dangerous life Elektra herself fell into. It is through reflecting on the similarities between herself and Abby that Elektra stops herself from carrying out the assassination. She can’t bring herself to do to Abby what The Hand did to her in the past.

The most beautiful and most interesting part of the film is Elektra and Abby’s growing relationship, which type-wise is somewhere between that of sisters and mother/daughter. Again, this is probably one of the major things that turned critics and viewers away from Elektra in 2005 – for many years, no other 21st-century superhero film produced in Hollywood would devote its major characters and plot line to telling the story of a deep emotional bond between two women. Elektra’s semi-romance with Mark (Abby’s father, in case you’d forgotten him…I sometimes do) is a marginal storyline, occurring as a scattered series of flirtatious moments. And, importantly, Elektra walks away from Mark and the life he offers at the end of the film, choosing to maintain her independent, superheroic existence. Elektra is satisfied knowing that Abby is safe and free, that she has given Abby the second chance at life that she herself never found.

Thus, Elektra’s journey of redemption is created through and produces that nearly non-existent thing in mainstream Hollywood: a story of deep emotional connection and mutual care between two women, two women who are not even genetically related but simply understand one another and care about the other’s fate in life. Only with this year’s Maleficent would another mainstream film in the superhero category devote a significant portion of its major storyline to the bond between non-related female characters.

One could argue that Aeon Flux (2005-same year as Elektra) includes Aeon’s (Charlize Theron) search for her missing sister, Una…but if you watch Aeon Flux, you’ll see that the story is quickly and permanently diverted to the relationship between Aeon and Trevor Goodchild (Martin Csokas). The search for Una is just a filmic tool to get Aeon to the place where she encounters Trevor. Aeon’s friendship with the female character Sithandra (Sophie Okonedo) dies out of the plot, too (literally, as Sithandra is killed before the film’s end). Aeon Flux is ultimately about Aeon and Trevor; Una does not reappear in a significant manner, leaving the sister relationship behind in favor of the romantic relationship with Trevor.

Even the girl-powered Red Riding Hood (2011) and Snow White & the Huntsman (2012) focus more on their female protagonists’ relationships with various male characters rather than those with other women in the stories. Zack Snyder’s Sucker Punch (2011) is a fair contender, but its female protagonists are plagued by the dark, sadistic, and misogynistic premise of the film. (More on Sucker Punch in a few weeks…)

I often find myself thinking that Hollywood films about truly strong women and relationships between women – especially when these appear in conventionally “male” genres like action and superhero stories – face a double bind not dissimilar from the infamous double standard women face in real life. Generally, critics in favor of gender equality in film will lament the lack of Hollywood films featuring unconventional, strong female characters. Yet, when the rare film that fits this description finally does turn up, in the past it seemed as though the film was always somehow sub-par or “not enough.” I therefore propose the double standard of female superhero characters in Hollywood: You’re either absent or, when you do appear, useless. (Just kidding! What would we do without you few but awesome women to give us hope? Oh, and I DARE you to tell Lady Sif that she’s useless! If you do, it’s been nice knowing you…)

Maleficent‘s strong reception among both viewers and critics was surprising to some – precisely because, perhaps, of the history of poor reactions to such films as Elektra. Maleficent may benefit from some advances in digital technology and the foundation of a more widely known base story, but to me there’s no difference in terms of overall “quality” – that elusive and troublesome term I loathe with a passion (more on that in a few weeks, too) – between Elektra and her new film buddy Maleficent.

Granted, criticism as a practice is meant to challenge and investigate cultural products and systems, which tends to focus critical discussion on what a work doesn’t do in relation to whatever standard or cultural agenda the critic holds. Often, when I come across a critical/scholarly piece that takes an overwhelmingly positive approach to the work it analyzes, the criticism itself is labeled as an “apology” for the original work – as if the writer or other critics feel a need to apologize for not focusing on the “flaws” of the work in question.

That was something heavily on my mind when Jennie, Courtney, and I discussed making this blog. I don’t do “pessimistic criticism,” as I call it (in private and never in class! Well, maybe I called it that in senior thesis, among friends). I believe firmly that positive criticism – pointing out what cultural products do well in at least equal (hopefully slightly greater) proportion to what they do poorly – is crucial to making progress toward a more enlightened and equally representative popular culture. I might say something like, “Praise the good, discard the bad.” (Ever the optimist, me.) Especially when you consider that the Hollywood system functions in positive audience (i.e. box office) response to plan its future output, doesn’t it make sense to tell Hollywood what we want rather than what we don’t? Doesn’t that offer those who make the decisions a better guide?

Case in point: Marvel Studios. (Darth Vader theme music plays…DC cringes.) We as the viewing public have effectively given Marvel free rein to make more superhero films, as many as they want and as fast as they can make them. Why? Well, check out these numbers from Box Office Mojo: the highest-grossing films in terms of U.S. opening weekends and the highest-grossing films of
2014. Who’s at the top? Marvel. (Note that Maleficent is at the astonishing position of #5 on highest-grossing films of 2014. No one saw that coming…)

Maybe we female viewers just got lucky that Marvel seems motivated and willing to increase the role of female characters in their films. But, that’s actually not so surprising, since huge numbers of Marvel fans are women, a demographic that is becoming increasingly important at the box office, as online discussion and box office results this summer demonstrated.

So, Hollywood, please do give us more Elektras, more Maleficents, more female Thors, more Peggy Carters. Give us more relationships like Elektra and Abby, Jane and Darcy, Patience Phillips and Ophelia Powers (that would be from 2004’s Catwoman, another great female superhero film with a bad rep). Elektra may remain in the shadows at present, but who knows? Her personal journey of redemption is complete, but another awaits the film, when it will hopefully be rediscovered and recognized as the brave film that appeared alone back when Hollywood was unwilling to believe in the power of stories about strong female characters.

On Monday: “From Crab Key to Skyfall: Technology & Action in James Bond from 1962-2012.” Everyone’s favorite British superhero-spy has gone through a lot of changes since the first Bond film, Dr. No, was released in 1962. Six actors, fifty years, and countless gadgets and action sequences later, Bond is still going strong as an international hero and icon. I’m particularly interested in how the sci-fi elements of gadgets and gizmos have changed over the years, specifically in the new Bond films that are significantly less tech-heavy than those made through 2002’s Die Another Day (which was itself gizmo-heaven). I’ll look at all three of the Daniel Craig films: Casino Royale (2006), Quantum of Solace (2008), and Skyfall (2012). Bond marathon at Natalie’s house this weekend!

I just realized: Do you see the irony here? I just spent a few hours writing about awesome female characters, and then here I go planning to discuss James Bond, of all characters. When do we get a female Bond?

Some thoughts on critical reactions to superhero films

Whenever the next big superhero film is due out in theaters, my mom usually sends me any related newspaper articles and reviews she’s found. It’s sort of a tradition: I tell her which films are coming up, she finds the newspaper articles and sends them to me, I go see the film, and then I let her know whether the reviews were “right” or not. We also have agreed on this rule: If the critics really hated a movie, we’ll probably love it. If the critics really loved a movie, we’ll probably find it really boring and a waste of time. At least 90% of the time, our rule proves to be accurate.

Maybe that’s just us and our taste in movies, but, regardless of why our rule actually works, I’ve always been intrigued by critics’ reactions to popular films and what I find to be an often elitist pattern in critical pop culture reviews. (“Elitist”: The movie isn’t good because it subscribes to pop culture conventions and tastes, whereas “good” films exhibit greater artistic sensibility and more developed content…whatever that means!) Now, I haven’t done any in-depth research into how the average film critic reviews a movie, what criteria may be used, or whether particular critics have specialties or biases toward or against certain kinds of films based on their professional backgrounds. Today I’m just sorting through some thoughts that always run through my mind whenever I’m reading critical reviews (or any reviews) of new superhero and sci-fi films.

Essentially, I’m carrying out what we English majors call a “close reading” of a few superhero film reviews, examining the language and content of the review – keeping in mind as well the film these reviews address – to try to figure out why the different reviewers may have drawn the conclusions they did. I’m not pointing fingers or dismissing any critic’s reviews, saying “Oh, look how silly Critic X’s opinion of Film A is,” or anything like that. The three articles I’ll mention appeared in the Los Angeles Times this past April regarding Captain America: The Winter Soldier, but I mention these articles rather than others only because they are the inspiration for today’s post. (And, yes, I really like The Winter Soldier. That, too.) These articles also provide two different perspectives on the film – one positive, one not so positive – so that they serve as a good representation of what usually happens when superhero movies are reviewed.

So, here goes!

The first article, written by Gina McIntyre, appeared in the LA Times Calendar section on March 30, 2014 as the cover story. You can read the article itself here. Some things that stood out to me during my close reading (thank you, past and present English teachers/professors!):

“The movie…has received near universal praise in advance of its opening, with critics responding to its mix of intrigue, action and emotional performances.”

“Early reviews of ‘Winter Soldier’ certainly suggest that the stars – and Marvel’s team of filmmakers – have raised the bar for the comic book genre. The movie has been widely hailed as one of the best from the powerhouse studio (which has a flawless record of hit films stretching back to 2008’s ‘Iron Man’), earning praise for its mix of serious action and contemporary resonance.”

So far, so good, right? McIntyre’s response to Winter Soldier is very similar to my own. I consider Winter Soldier to be not only the best Marvel Studios film so far, but also the best superhero film of the 21st century. (If you’re interested, I consider The Avengers to be at #2.) As McIntyre notes, Winter Soldier has raised the bar for superhero films, so that it’s currently the standard to beat for all upcoming films.

What’s interesting to me about McIntyre’s article is the mention of “near universal praise” for Winter Soldier – the phrase stands out to me (more like jumps out, really) because it suggests not only Winter Soldier‘s worth as a film in more than a popular sense: it also singles Winter Soldier out from other superhero films, which rarely (if ever) in the past could expect to receive “near universal praise.” The fact that McIntyre notes Marvel Studios’ perfect box office record is important, too, as it justifies, in a sense, Winter Soldier‘s success by pointing to its origins in a highly successful studio. This film isn’t the product of a bunch of kids goofing around with their hand-held video camera; it’s the latest investment from a well organized and highly skilled professional team. So, why wouldn’t the film be a success, coming from this production background?

Obviously, since my own views on the film are so similar, I don’t have any problems accepting McIntyre’s review, either here or in the shorter article that appeared in April 3, 2014’s Calendar. (You can read a similar online article here. This isn’t the actual article that appeared in the April 3 LAT; it’s an expanded interview that matches the content but not the exact wording of the article.) If you don’t agree with McIntyre, however, the article has already offered some good reasons why her view is valid.

But what about that other Calendar review from April 3, the “not so positive” one I mentioned earlier?

Written by Kenneth Turan, this review (read it here) takes a more distanced approach, questioning the “near universal praise” bestowed on Winter Soldier and challenging whether the film really does represent the innovation in the superhero genre that a lot of people claim. Turan refers to Marvel’s “formulaic” approach to making films, introducing himself in the article as someone “suffering from Marvel fatigue.” He also describes Winter Soldier as being “saddled with the defects of its virtues.” (I admit that here, a friend and I, reading the review aloud together the week after Winter Soldier opened in theaters, burst out laughing simply because we had no idea what in the world this phrase was supposed to mean. We figured it out eventually.)

I do understand the direction Turan and like-minded critics are coming from, not that I agree with them. It’s quite common to see reviews (and scholarly books and articles, too!) of superhero and other popular genre films accusing these films of being formulaic, redundant, not creative or original enough, etc. The phrase “Marvel fatigue” by itself says a lot about Turan’s reservations about Winter Soldier and its siblings. Since 2008, Marvel Studios has produced 10 films (including Guardians of the Galaxy, due out August 1) and has about as many more in the works. (Plus, they’ve expanded the Marvel Cinematic Universe into television with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the upcoming Agent Carter.) As McIntyre notes in her March 30 article, the studio – which was newly formed when it went to work on 2008’s Iron Man – has never suffered a box office loss. Quite the opposite, in fact! Marvel has repeatedly “suffered” box office glory.

Turan’s critique is that this success comes out of Marvel’s film formula for production and creative aspects that, though hugely successful, is damaging (at least in Turan’s view) to the films’ potential for innovation and originality:

“These films are such well-oiled machines it doesn’t matter all that much who is in charge.”

“That cinematic blueprint is religiously enforced in everything, from the required cameo by comic creator Stan Lee to the involvement of Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) and the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. to the requisite waves of action and surprise plot twists that don’t feel that surprising anymore.”

“What the rulers of the Marvel Cinematic Universe have done is discover and exploit a foolproof formula, one that mints money even in these uncertain times, and on one level, when you think about superhero fiascoes like ‘The Green Hornet,’ it’s hard to begrudge them that.”

This is where the “saddled with the defects of its virtues” line comes in: Turan is saying that by establishing such a successful “formula” (the “virtues”) and sticking to it, Marvel films are limiting their creative potential (the “defects” of said virtues). The films might be perfect, but they’re all the same to Turan, which counts as a point against them.

I actually don’t find any of the Marvel films produced so far to be “formulaic,” though I can guess why Turan repeatedly uses this word. Yes, the films have all the things Turan mentions: Stan Lee (isn’t “find Stan Lee” every Marvel fan’s favorite game?), Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. (admittedly, this is kind of a big part of the Winter Soldier storyline, what with HYDRA resurfacing and everything), and lots of action (welcome to the superhero genre!). As for those unsurprising surprise plot twists, I’m not sure to what Turan is referring, and he himself doesn’t explain. If it’s the identity of the Winter Soldier, well, if you’re a Marvel fan, you already knew that going into the theater. (Or if you’re on certain parts of the Internet for any length of time, you’ll probably have found out before as well.) Personally, I was more surprised by Dr. Zola hiding in that huge underground computer (“Oh, that’s just great!” I said to myself, wanting Dr. Erskine back more than ever), and the reemergence of HYDRA – I guess I was paying so much attention to the Winter Soldier (and, yes, crying over what happened to Bucky) that I didn’t see HYDRA coming. Which was the point, right? HYDRA sends the Winter Soldier out to keep Cap busy, so they’re free to carry out their evil plans.

But all of these things that Turan mentions, perhaps aside from Stan Lee, are what I would call elements of the superhero genre, not the “Marvel formula” – action, dramatic plot twists and reversals (whether you know they’re coming or not), superheroes and supervillains (duh!), end-of-the-world scenarios, big fight scenes (don’t you dare leave out that FINAL BATTLE sequence!), etc. You’ll find all of this in pretty much any superhero film that knows what’s it doing and to which genre it belongs.

If I had to describe some set of traits as a “Marvel formula,” I’d go for Marvel’s unique sense of humor (which really can’t be formulized), their films’ way of mixing dark and light plot and emotional elements, their amazing casts and crews/creative team, and their reputation as a zero-losses studio. But none of this is really what most people would call a “formula”: put A + B in, and you get C out. There’s always a little something new and different going into each new Marvel film. This is why I never worry about whether I’ll enjoy a Marvel Studios film when I go to the theater – I know they’ll deliver on the expectations, including adding something new compared to last time, and I simply can’t wait to see what they’ve done this time.

In fact, what Marvel has done by establishing a Phase One/Phase Two/Phase Three, etc., film plan seems to be avoiding a fall into formulaic rigidity. They’re not simply churning out film after film, not thinking about what comes next. They have a plan (“Attack!” – sorry, couldn’t help myself!), and by setting up different “phases” of films, they’re setting the bar higher for themselves with each film and each phase, so they know what’s coming down the road and can figure out how to prepare for and meet viewers’ expectations.

I find it especially ironic that Turan accuses Winter Soldier, of all films, of being formulaic, since I sat through that film thinking, “Wow, this is so new for Marvel!” I wasn’t thinking about the film’s political aspects – contrary to Turan’s claims, all Marvel films have strong political aspects – but rather the creative use of the 70s spy thriller structure. (See McIntyre’s second article, the extended interview, for more about this.) That was new ground for Marvel in Winter Soldier, and right now it remains unique among 21st century superhero films.

While I obviously don’t know exactly why Turan saw a tired formula where I saw big-time originality, his remarks are not, and never were, surprising to me. (An unsurprising surprise plot twist?) From my academic experiences with film and literary criticism as well as popular reviews, not to mention that Hollywood superhero film thesis I wrote this past spring, I’ve found that being “formulaic” is a common critique leveled against a work that skeptical or cynical viewers/readers may make if they feel the work is merely another in a long line of similar, A is equivalent to B is equivalent to C items. (Or if they feel a work is simply trying to capitalize on a popular trend – remember all those vampire novels that appeared following Twilight‘s success?)

It’s a valid concern, as we certainly don’t want Hollywood or other cultural producers to think they can spew out simple-minded, semi-plagiarized products and the public will enthusiastically and unquestioningly gobble them up. I, too, get suspicious when films like No Strings Attached and Friends with Benefits, or Leap Year and Letters to Juliet, come out within six months of each other. And, yes, DC (along with many other movie studios) is still trying to set up their equivalent of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but I see no Justice League on the horizon yet! (Hurry up, DC, or it will be too late!)

Superhero films are no exception to this concern over pop culture’s potential for repetitiveness, but I do think Turan ends up being a little too hasty in his dismissal of Winter Soldier. Having done my own in-depth studies of superheroes in film and having seen almost every superhero entry Hollywood has offered since 2000, I still don’t see a definite formula underlying Marvel Studios films. They stand out from others, indeed, but not for their redundancy – rather, more than any other set of superhero films, Marvel’s has done the most to further the genre and challenge the boundaries of what superhero films can do. (Not to mention they have the most impressive set of female characters in superhero films – try finding that in the Dark Knight trilogy! Yes, I know, there are all of 3 women in the trilogy, and 2 of them are dead before the end.) I see superhero genre structure in Marvel, I see an extraordinarily developed and well planned franchise. But no “formula.” (Again, except for Stan Lee.)

I do find it interesting that one of the films Turan credits with being original and non-formulaic happens to be The Avengers, itself a Marvel Studios film. (Though Turin clearly credits Joss Whedon with that film’s success.) The other is the Dark Knight trilogy, which is extremely good – yet nowhere as ambitious as Marvel’s creation of the MCU. The trilogy also falls behind Marvel in several ways, including the presence (or lack of) and use of strong female characters.

Is Winter Soldier or any Marvel Studios film too formulaic or repetitive? At the end of the day, I truly believe that’s something each viewer must decide for themselves, since we all have different tastes and preferences. I love Marvel (LOVE Marvel!), but not everyone does. (Batman fans, I recognize your existence.) And that’s okay, but, as Turan himself concludes, “It is Marvel that really wants to control the world, and the way things are going, they have a good shot at it.” Formula or no formula, they’re doing something right!

And since I’ve basically deprived you of pretty pictures in today’s post, here you go. (My apologies for the asterisked profanity, if it offends you.)

Oh, and happy Comic Con weekend! (Hollywood has temporarily relocated itself to San Diego.)

On Monday: Netflix added season 4 of Lost Girl yesterday, so I thought, “Hey, it’s time to do a post on Bo and Kenzi!” Something delightful and full of fae is on its way…

January 17, 2015: Heroes, heroes everywhere! Here are a couple opposing opinions of superhero films and their place in 21st-century culture: first, an interview from acclaimed director Paul Thomas Anderson via CinemaBlend, and second, an interview from Birdman director Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu via Comics Alliance.