Wednesday, May 30, 2012

The Heart of The Superhero Part I: Superman

There is a degree to which superheroes can (and should) be enjoyed on a completely aesthetic, visceral level.  We like to watch them break things, accomplish impossible feats, and beat the bad guy and save the world.  That's what I loved about them as a kid and that is still a major reason why they are compelling.  But there is so much more to them than that simple appeal.  That I would make an argument that Superheroes are not just the stuff of children and men in a state of suspended adolescence should be easily taken for granted by anyone who has seen me proudly wear any one of my four Incredible Hulk shirts.  Because of that I'd prefer to take the argument a step further and put forth my (controversial?) thesis that superheroes and existentialism are
inextricably links.  Further, to truly appreciate any individual superhero one must do
so in light of that individual character's humanity (even if they're an alien).

There is more to superheroes than their powers or gadgets.  Often movies and comics only hint at these compelling character traits, if they don't miss them entirely.  So I will be working at proving my thesis one hero at a time, analyzing what makes each hero unique and compelling beyond the obvious surface factors.  To get the ball rolling lets start with the first American Superhero, Superman.

For a lot of reasons Superman is a tough sell to a mass market: in a cynical age he's supposedly too boy scout-esque to be identifiable, he's nearly invincible, and "really?  All he has to do is take off his glasses and no one recognizes him?"  Some intriguing arguments that are easily trumped by the ultimate counter argument: Superman is crazy awesome!  Is he my favorite superhero character?  The most compelling? The coolest?  Definitely not.  But the potential to make an interesting Superman story is there, it just hasn't been mined like it should.

Yes, Superman is faster than a speeding bullet, able to jump a skyscraper in a single bound, can lift cars, fly through space, and shoot heat lasers from his eyes.  Correction: those are things he does, those aren't who he is.  Who he is is a man with nearly limitless ability who is trying to do right by the world in which he finds himself.  It is important to note that his abilities are only nearly limitless, and not entirely limitless.  It is in his one limitation that we can find Superman most compelling: he can't be in more than one place at one time.  Here is where we find his humanity, in the recognition that he can never be omnipresent.  To feel the burden of knowing (with super-hearing, even hearing) people are in pain, knowing you have the ability to stop that pain, and knowing also that you can't simply because something else has called your attention.  Superman is forced continually to chose who lives and who dies, who suffers and who is saved. The original Superman film cheated its way out of this crisis for Superman by allowing him to turn back time by flying really fast around the earth so he could save the world and Louis Lane (for which I say "shame on you Richard Donner!").  This was a disservice to the fans.  Superman shouldn't get a quick out.  He needs to come to terms with his limitations, but he first must wrestle with them.  There is a whole world of people in pain, what would hearing that and being aware that he could not stop all of it do to a person? 

How about on a more personal level, Louis Lane seems to love getting herself in trouble and Superman is always there to save her.  She counts on this, she has her own personal superhero.  Sometimes we even find her putting herself in harms way in order to be saved by him.  But what if, at the same time as Louis find herself driving off a bridge into a lake, a bus full of kids finds themselves in crisis?  What does he do?  How does he live with the results?  And what does all that say about him as a person? 

Falling deeper into this existential line of thinking, Superman selflessly gives of himself to save others without any monetary gain.  He does it because he is a kind hearted person and because he feels compelled to make use of the powers he has for good.  Ever tried to do good just for goodness' sake?  It certainly feels good, but (being honest) it comes back on you.  There's always more you can give, more people will expect or demand from you. How would someone handle that?  The endless feeling that even with his best effort there is always more to do and he will never be truly appreciated for what he has accomplished would be debilitating at times.  This has been dealt with more in the comics, Superman as the "angry god," disappointed with the people who he has selflessly served but not in the movies.  I want to see a Superman tired with humanity, he has tirelessly gave and they have tirelessly demanded more.  How does a man overcome such a thing.  That's a great movie right there!

Superman is the ultimate "hero of destiny," a trope that has been all but played out in recent history.  He is a hero because events conspired to make him one.  The great thing about him though is he is not a hero because of some tragic event that inspired him or forced him to reevaluate how he was living his life, he is a hero because that is who he is.  He is a hero of destiny, but also one of compulsion.  He didn't chose this life, but he's responding to it the best way he knows how (that sentence drips with existentialism, drink it up!).  But that doesn't mean he always enjoys it.  Being a hero is a burden, one that even the strongest man in the world can't hold easily.  The temptations to be a normal person must be incredibly intense and justifiable.  It is the burden of the ordinary to long to be exceptional and the burden of the exceptional to long to be ordinary.  That's what makes Superman so great: he can throw in the towel at any time, and he has definitely wanted to, but even with that longing he continues to do what is right; he perseveres.

You see?  Superman isn't a great superhero because of his powers or costume; he is a great superhero because as he wrestles with the limits of his humanity we are able to wrestle with our own.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Post Modernity, David Foster Wallace, Paradoxes, and Melting Brains

David Foster Wallace was, and there is no debating this, the greatest writer of the last quarter of the 20th century and, more than likely, one of the top ten writers in American literature.  As a journalist, social critic, and fiction writer he communicated in ways that no one would have even dreamed of before him.  He wrote a 100 page essay about being on a cruise that is more insightful and fun than anything any other modern writer could commit to paper, and one gets the impression he did that with minimal effort.  More impressive still (at least to me) he was talking about and analyzing post modernity ten years before it even entered popular culture.  In fact one of his comments on post modernity is the hypothetical hamster wheel I find myself running in when sleep eludes me.  Now you can join me!

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Justifying a Title Change

Here's the problem with blogs... OK, there are a lot of problems with blogs, but here is the one that concerns me right now: every blog name is silly, unforgivably and ridiculously silly.  I guess you can name the blog after yourself but unless you're name is Chuck Klosterman or Donald Miller who are you to think that anyone is going to be drawn in by name recognition?  So you go with some abstraction, some concept that tries to define what the blog is about for readers, usually going with some hopeful book title or something like that. 

A book title can be highly conceptual without coming across as pretentious because the title speaks to the concept of the book, not the writer.  But a blog always speaks about the writer, because its not some self-contained thing with a beginning and an end but a potentially endless string of thoughts built over years.  So attaching a title to the blog is in essence an attempt to define one's self.  And there is no way to do that without being pretentious.