At the beginning of Avengers: Endgame we find Thor having given up on himself, grown fat on beer and hamburgers. He must learn to embrace his godhood again. Tony Stark has retreated into family life, he must rediscover what it means to be a hero again, eventually giving his life for the cause. Hawkeye has descended into a violent quest for revenge, he must relearn to value his friends who still care for him.
At the beginning of Avengers: Infinity War we find Thor humbled after losing a fight to Thanos. He must journey to the far edge of the universe to forge an axe and learn to embrace his godhood again.
At the beginning of Thor: Ragnarok we find Thor overconfident, believing he has prevented Ragnorok and saved Asgard. He is soon humbled by a new, more powerful enemy, has his hammer destroyed, and winds up in a hellish, insane world where he is reduced to a gladiator slave. He must learn to embrace his godhood in order to escape and save his people.
At the beginning of Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 2 we find Peter Quill cocky and reckless, happy to dismiss his adoptive father and to ignore his friends when he is united with his natural father. He must learn to take himself seriously and value his friends.
At the beginning of Guardians of the Galaxy we find Peter Quill cocky and reckless, a thief and a self centred opportunist. He must learn to take himself seriously and value his friends.
At the beginning of ... well, you get the idea.
I have only picked films I liked for the above list, and only ones I can remember well, and yet I could go on. In particular I did not work my way back far-enough to hit an origin story, where an ordinary person finds they have superpowers and must, inevitably, learn what it means to be a hero. Thor (my personal favourite of the bunch) is a particularly egregious example; in five different movies he seems to need to rediscover what it truly means to be a god. Tony Stark, too forever seems to be learning how to balance a life between being Tony and being Iron Man. Peter Quill twice learned to be more serious and less self-centred, yet last we saw, on the fight on Titan, he costs the Avengers victory over Thanos in a moment of impetuous anger.
These personal journeys are nothing surprising, they are part of the well understood formula for storytelling, but over multiple films the endless character reset becomes jarring. Yet there have been multiple movies following the same superhero before without this niggle. It is new.
In the Richard Donner films, Superman never has a character ark beyond advancing his relationship with Lois Lane. He ends the movies no more committed to truth and justice and the American way than he began them. In the Tim Burton and Joel Schumaker Batman movies, Batman achieves no personal growth beyond his initial origin story. Stretching the definition of superhero, James Bond (his superpower is not falling over after three martinis) never learned anything about himself or confronted his own failings. Jet Li's marvellous Wong Fei Hung never discovered what it really means to be a Kung-Fu master.
Moving beyond the medium of film; the endless tea-time TV superheroes of my youth: Lou Ferrigno's Hulk, Spiderman, Wonder Woman, Manimal, The A-Team, Sam Beckett in Quantum Leap, the protagonists of Knight Rider and Airwolf, all ended each episode exactly the same person they began.
Comics are too wide a medium to make sweeping pronouncements on, but the dime-store periodicals where these characters began are famous for simply producing adventure after adventure after adventure. Superman might start an episode weakened by Kryptonite, but he never starts it with character flaws to overcome.
In novels too; Conan, Tarzan, Alan Quatermain, the myriad 'knight of the plains' cowboys modelled on Owen Wister's The Virginian, James Bond again. None of them are known for learning how to be heroes over the course of a book.
So has something has changed in the way we tell ourselves superhero stories?
Yes. Something simple. Something obvious. They're very popular now.
There are not enough superheros with the cultural cachet of Superman or Spiderman to populate a cinematic universe. Those two might get some buy-in from audiences before the curtains have risen, but Iron Man? If you want an audience of millions to watch an Iron Man movie, if you want to make a good film about Iron Man, you're going to have to introduce him to them properly, and make them like him, and make them care. You do this through good writing and acting, by creating a character who goes on a journey and grows as a person. It is what makes these characters attractive and the movies fun.
It is perhaps important to say that I think the Marvel movies are good movies. I'm not a huge fan (I like the funny ones best), but viewed as a single body of work the consistent quality is impressive; they are not always great but they are always fun. They are kind, and witty, and human. They have an admirable commitment to embracing all the camp visuals and wild lore of the comics while simultaneously bringing the characters down to earth, giving them real problems and real preoccupation. They try to embrace broader, more complex themes than just good versus evil while also eschewing the easy nihilism of Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy. They take place in the real world (even when they take place in space) where actions have consequences.
So the character reset is a property of good writing, not bad. The only problem is that superhero stories -hero stories if you prefer- impose one strict limitation that means it must be repeated every single time; the focus of each story is on the hero, it is about them. It is always the hero who must go on a journey and grow as a character, no matter how many times they have done so before.
It might, theoretically, be possible to have a hero -like Ellen Ripley- find reserves of steely strength in one film and learn to be a mother again in another, but his is hard (see Ripley learning to, err... appreciate the Alien's point of view? in cubed and Resurrection), it requires radically different circumstances for each story that you cannot just impose on pre-existing canon worlds.
So, instead, back we go each time to enjoy the ride again. Reset. Reset. Reset.
Monday 25 November 2019
Monday 6 May 2019
Servants of the People, All Out War, and Fall Out
Servants of the People is Andrew Rawnsley's account of the first term of Tony Blair's government. All Out War and Fall Out are Tim Shipman's accounts of the Brexit campaign and it's aftermath up to the end of 2017. Both authors are journalists experienced at wringing narrative from messy real world situations and all three books are excellent reads. Tim Shipman's two books in particular read like thrillers.
Rawnsley constructs his book as a series of anecdotes, mostly morality tales where New Labour's belief that it can spin it's way out of trouble winds up dumping it in more, or (at least twice) Peter Mandleson's failure to come clean to his friends means they cannot help him, or (often) Gordon and Tony's failure to communicate exacerbates a situation beyond all reasonable bounds. His overriding narrative is of Tony Blair's fear of ending up yet another single term Labour prime minister, thus all the individual battles add up into one story culminating in the 2001 election victory.
If there is a problem with this technique it is that, by focusing on the problems of New Labour, there is no explanation as to why they deserve a second term. Rawnsley occasionally has to point out that, however much an amusing basket-case Labour were, the Tories at the time were even worse.
Shipman on the other hand is much more focused on the overall arc of first the campaign and then the lead up to and play out of the 2017 election.
In the first book he has two stories to balance, one for each side. The Leave side is a tale of insurgency: the underdog with a lot of guile and a lot of luck unseating the favourite. The Remain side is a tale of hubris: Cameron and team's failure to ever really believe they might lose meant they were fighting with their eyes not on victory but on what happens after. Consequently they refused to risk either Britain's diplomatic relations or the future harmony of the conservative party by, for example, making a pronouncement on Turkey or making personal attacks on Boris Johnson.
The hubris continues in Fall Out as, similarly, failure to realise that the election might result in less than a landslide ends up in failure to fight it properly. In this book the mechanics of disfunction are dissected across a large cast of characters from cabinet ministers to political aids, and in particular Nick Timothy and Fiona Hill, the chief villains of the piece. With no conclusion available Shipman ends on the final agreement of 'Sufficient Progress' in December 2017, which May somehow achieves despite trouble from within her cabinet and from the DUP. It gives, at least, a sense of things moving on.
What I find really interesting though, is how both narratives have changed in the context of subsequent events.
Things did not move on, and now, almost over a year later, what looked then like an untenable situation has largely remained unchanged. "Parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus". The Tim Shipman books read, in this context, less an account of great events than of ridiculous accidents and dumb incompetence. All the heat and noise and manoeuvring leading to absolutely nothing. The UK still in the EU and Theresa May still Prime Minister. However events resolve themselves from now on it seems very unlikely that this will ever feel (even to sympathetic readers) like the account of a great step in the journey of a nation.
The further back we go the more context corrupts the narrative. Boris Johnson's hopeless leadership campaign now looks like it might be just a blip in his inevitable idiotic rise. A tactical victory for the Remain side during the campaign, bouncing the Leave side into admitting the UK would leave the Single Market, now looks like a strategical blunder for remainers. David Cameron's attempt to renegotiate the UK's membership now looks less like a half-arsed PR exercise and more like a fundamental misunderstanding of what the EU is.
In servants of the People the elephant in the room, Iraq, can be felt on every page; in every bumbling PR disaster, in every spat between ministers, in every bad news story, it all feels so small compared to what was to come. Worse though is the lead up to the invasion of Kosovo, which Rawnsley uses as something of a key character event and heart of the book. The reader is invited to admire Blair's tenacity and zeal when faced with a true moral choice, his certainty, his belief in doing the right thing. But the reader cannot. The reader can only remember the bloodshed to come and shudder.
Rawnsley constructs his book as a series of anecdotes, mostly morality tales where New Labour's belief that it can spin it's way out of trouble winds up dumping it in more, or (at least twice) Peter Mandleson's failure to come clean to his friends means they cannot help him, or (often) Gordon and Tony's failure to communicate exacerbates a situation beyond all reasonable bounds. His overriding narrative is of Tony Blair's fear of ending up yet another single term Labour prime minister, thus all the individual battles add up into one story culminating in the 2001 election victory.
If there is a problem with this technique it is that, by focusing on the problems of New Labour, there is no explanation as to why they deserve a second term. Rawnsley occasionally has to point out that, however much an amusing basket-case Labour were, the Tories at the time were even worse.
Shipman on the other hand is much more focused on the overall arc of first the campaign and then the lead up to and play out of the 2017 election.
In the first book he has two stories to balance, one for each side. The Leave side is a tale of insurgency: the underdog with a lot of guile and a lot of luck unseating the favourite. The Remain side is a tale of hubris: Cameron and team's failure to ever really believe they might lose meant they were fighting with their eyes not on victory but on what happens after. Consequently they refused to risk either Britain's diplomatic relations or the future harmony of the conservative party by, for example, making a pronouncement on Turkey or making personal attacks on Boris Johnson.
The hubris continues in Fall Out as, similarly, failure to realise that the election might result in less than a landslide ends up in failure to fight it properly. In this book the mechanics of disfunction are dissected across a large cast of characters from cabinet ministers to political aids, and in particular Nick Timothy and Fiona Hill, the chief villains of the piece. With no conclusion available Shipman ends on the final agreement of 'Sufficient Progress' in December 2017, which May somehow achieves despite trouble from within her cabinet and from the DUP. It gives, at least, a sense of things moving on.
What I find really interesting though, is how both narratives have changed in the context of subsequent events.
Things did not move on, and now, almost over a year later, what looked then like an untenable situation has largely remained unchanged. "Parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus". The Tim Shipman books read, in this context, less an account of great events than of ridiculous accidents and dumb incompetence. All the heat and noise and manoeuvring leading to absolutely nothing. The UK still in the EU and Theresa May still Prime Minister. However events resolve themselves from now on it seems very unlikely that this will ever feel (even to sympathetic readers) like the account of a great step in the journey of a nation.
The further back we go the more context corrupts the narrative. Boris Johnson's hopeless leadership campaign now looks like it might be just a blip in his inevitable idiotic rise. A tactical victory for the Remain side during the campaign, bouncing the Leave side into admitting the UK would leave the Single Market, now looks like a strategical blunder for remainers. David Cameron's attempt to renegotiate the UK's membership now looks less like a half-arsed PR exercise and more like a fundamental misunderstanding of what the EU is.
In servants of the People the elephant in the room, Iraq, can be felt on every page; in every bumbling PR disaster, in every spat between ministers, in every bad news story, it all feels so small compared to what was to come. Worse though is the lead up to the invasion of Kosovo, which Rawnsley uses as something of a key character event and heart of the book. The reader is invited to admire Blair's tenacity and zeal when faced with a true moral choice, his certainty, his belief in doing the right thing. But the reader cannot. The reader can only remember the bloodshed to come and shudder.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)