Introduction
A superhero is meant to be super. There’s something magical about them – even characters who are fully human, like Batman. They transcend our simple human boundaries and rocket into strata where they are capable of the extraordinary. Yet, in a cinematic era dominated by superheroes, it’s astonishing how many filmmakers want to depreciate them, demythologize them, and/or ground them into a reality where they just don’t fit.
Joss Whedon
Marvel began their (cinematic) universe with Ironman (2008). It was the right mix of drama, comedy, character development, and (and this is pivotal) respect. The movie also had some awesome moments, such as Ironman’s superhero debut saving villagers from guerillas. There were no jokes – we get the light-hearted comedy and one-liners elsewhere. Right then, it was a healthy investment in making us believe that this character was a force to be reckoned with.
The following movies were uneven but strove for the same balance. But then something happened. I’ll call that something “Joss Whedon” and The Avengers (2012). Regardless of what you think of Joss Whedon personally or professionally, he’s a good storyteller. His TV series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997–2003), is the perfect cocktail of action, drama, and comedy with likable characters who grow, love, aspire, fail and pick themselves up, learn, and do it all over again.
Whedon has also always been awesome at dialogue – particularly the repartee. His characters are wonderfully eloquent and glib. You see it in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, in Angel (1999 – 2004), Firefly (2002), Dollhouse (2009 – 2010), and even in The Cabin in the Woods (2011). But despite the glibness, despite the rapid-fire banter, Whedon maintains a balance. The glibness never undermines the tension.
There’s always a sense of threat – essential, because for us to be invested, for us to care about characters (and their goal), we need to fear that they may lose. If that fear is nonexistent, then there’s no tension. If there’s no tension, how can we care about a story that’s marching blandly to a predetermined goal?
The Avengers is the first time, I believe, that Whedon overdid the glibness, beginning with Black Widow’s interrogation. At no point does she believe that she’s in any danger. She banters with her captors. If she doesn’t fear for her own safety, why should we? If there’s no fear, there are no stakes.
This is a recurring theme throughout The Avengers, and it has since become the template for the movies from that point on. But then it gets exploited. Then overused. We have gone from glibness to caricature to farce. Forget the grandeur, the danger, or the drama, if there’s an opportunity for a one-liner.
The Birth of the Contemporary Cinematic Superhero
Richard Donner gave birth to the contemporary cinematic superhero with Superman (1978). Donner treated the source material respectfully. While Superman still has a sprinkling of campy moments, Donner knows when to play the drama (e.g. Jonathan Kent’s death, Lois Lane’s death), when to play the dramedy, and, most importantly, when to play the wow moments. These are the scenes when you sit back, marvel in awe, and simply say, “Wow!”
Superman’s debut in Metropolis is stunning: a helicopter on top of the Daily Planet building crashes into the side of the roof and teeters there precariously. The pilot is incapacitated. The only passenger, Lois Lane, struggles to clamber out but falls through the open door, grabs the seatbelt, and dangles there, hundreds of feet above the ground. A concerned crowd gathers to watch. It’s such a beautiful set-up.
Clark Kent assesses the situation, ducks into a revolving door, and changes into Superman. A garish young man regards him in astonishment. “That’s some bad outfit!” the young man exclaims. This is a clever ploy on the movie’s behalf to get on the same page as the audience. Yes, a man in a silly bright costume does look silly, we’ve all acknowledged it, now let’s move on.
Lois falls. Superman soars up. The crowd is stunned. Superman catches Lois and tells her he has her. She exclaims incredulously, “You’ve got me? Who’s got you?” Richard Donner then doubles down. The helicopter falls. The crowd gasps. Superman effortlessly catches the helicopter. The crowd roars. We, in the audience, roar. It’s still a scene that brings a smile to my face over forty years later.
Donner understood that characters like Superman need moments of reverence to build their mystique and elevate them from everything we’ve known. Donner also uses the onlookers in the scene as a cipher for us – we live vicariously through them. They express our anticipation, they voice our surprise, and they espouse our celebration.
In these moments, we all invest in these characters as something special because we see, hear, and feel that they’re special. If we take these moments away from them, then they’re just people in silly costumes.
WOW Moments Through the Superhero Decades
Donner does it again throughout Superman, as well as Superman II (1980, or 2006 if referencing The Richard Donner Cut). The scene when Superman returns to face Zod at the Daily Planet is, again, brilliantly set up. Superman has struggled with his duality and finding a way to fit on Earth.
We’ve spent the bulk of the movie building Zod, Ursa, and Non as threats too powerful for humans to combat. They take over the Daily Planet, planning to use Lois as a hostage to lure Superman out. But then there he is, waiting outside the window. (His challenge to them differs depending on the version.)
Superman’s defeat of Zod at the Fortress of Solitude remains, for me, the single best climax in any superhero movie. Too often nowadays, climaxes are a punching contest. Usually, our superhero is being beaten down but, through sheer force of will, taps into some new (and convenient) reserve of strength so they can overcome adversity. It’s such an easy out.
But, in Superman II, Superman outsmarts Zod, Ursa, and Non. It’s a powerful wow moment. This superhero, arguably the most powerful in the pantheon of superheroes, out-thinks his enemies, rather than out-punches them.
Tim Burton also understood the need for wows when he directed Batman (1989). From Batman’s debut on the roof, revealing himself to two petty hoods, to rising from being shot down, to dangling one hood over the roof and declaring, “I’m Batman”, to his first appearance to Jack Napier (who would become the Joker), Burton mythologizes Batman. This is not just a mere man, but a freak built out of tragedy, rage, and determination.
If Burton hadn’t done this, we’d perceive Batman as just a guy in a stupid suit. Why should we get behind him? Why should we believe he can be Gotham’s protector and an arbiter of justice? These are questions that never come up due to Burton’s wonderful character- and world-building.
It’s especially essential in Batman’s case because he is just a guy in a suit. But scenes like this show us that he’s capable of making the Dark Knight work as an icon. He is capable of not only being much, much more but being regarded as something almost mythical.
Sam Raimi also understood the need for a similar approach when he helmed his Spider-Man trilogy, ranging from Peter Parker’s discovery that he has super abilities when dealing with school bullies, to the highlight being Spider-Man’s train save in Spider-Man 2 (2004).
Spider-Man finds a way to slow, then stop, a rampant train, but then collapses from the over-exertion. People on the train catch him when he begins to fall, carefully lift him into the carriage, then lay him down. They cannot believe that Spider-Man is just a kid who’s sacrificing himself for them.
Even Christopher Nolan, who took a gritty, realistic approach to Batman, still recognized the need for awe in Batman Begins (2005), ranging from Batman’s appearance at the docks where he systematically eliminates heavies, to his smashing the sunroof of a limousine and hauling out Falcone, to his appearance in The Dark Knight (2008) at the Harvey Dent fundraiser.
“You got a little fight in you,” the Joker tells Rachel Dawes after she knees him in the groin. “I like that.” “Then you’re gonna love me,” responds Batman from off-screen. Tell me you didn’t love that moment and feel a sudden swell of pride and awe.
It’s Not Just About Superheroes
These moments can exist in all types of movies. Take the Elton John biopic Rocketman (2019). At one stage early in their careers, Elton John and his lyricist Bernie Taupin, are struggling so bad they’re staying with John’s mother and grandmother. As they’re finishing breakfast, Taupin hands John some lyrics, then goes to shave. John, in just a bathrobe, goes to sit at the piano in the living room.
As he falteringly sings the lyrics, he begins to find the right notes for it. His playing gains fluidity. He grows invested in the song. Up in the bathroom, Taupin is so astonished at the music that’s giving life to his words, he comes down to watch John compose on the spot.
John’s grandmother also emerges from the kitchen to sit on a chair and witness genius unfolding before her eyes. She appreciates that while John seems to be an immature git, while he seems to nurture an impossible dream, he also has the talent to make it possible.
When we’re dealing with content that is about a character doing anything special, then occasionally we need to pause and honor their skillset and lift them up to, effectively, deify them. These are the moments that are magical in storytelling, and scenes we talk about long, long, long after we first see them.
Today’s Superhero
We just don’t get these moments anymore in the slate of superhero movies that are released. There are glimpses of them, e.g. the Avengers assembling in Avengers: Endgame (2019) and Tony Stark’s sacrifice, but they’re generally downplayed, if not detoured around. DC has generated one single wow in their current cinematic universe, and it came on TV: the Justice League’s brief appearance in Peacemaker (2022). That’s it.
There’s half a wow in Man of Steel (2013) when Superman surrenders himself to the military, and they emerge to find him hovering above them. And I’d argue that Joss Whedon infused a couple of semi-wows in his cut of the Justice League (2017) – especially when Superman reveals himself to Steppenwolf. Otherwise, we’ve been given joyless characters questioning their own existence, struggling with their identity, and trying to reconcile how they fit into the world as it stands.
Now they’re perfectly legitimate questions to explore. Richard Donner’s Superman struggles with that duality in Superman II, but it doesn’t come at the cost of who he truly is, what he can do, and what he represents. We see Christopher Nolan’s Batman and Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man, among others, struggle with the same themes. But they don’t override everything else.
Meanwhile, in Man of Steel, Zack Snyder couldn’t find a way to justify the existence of Superman’s red trunks being on the outside of his costume. We’re dealing with an alien who comes to Earth, who has superpowers, who’s fighting other aliens, and the concern is we’d find his red trunks unrealistic?
It might seem a nitpick, but it speaks to the approach to our superheroes nowadays. We’re dealing with magical characters who can do all sorts of extraordinary things, but all the mystique and magic and theater are stripped from who they are because we want to present them as possible, as beings who could fit in our world.
Marvel’s a bigger culprit because they actively seek to subvert our expectations. Take the opening of Thor: Ragnarok (2017), when the fire demon, Surtur, has suspended Thor in chains. Thor, twirling around, banters with Surtur, then calls for Mjolnir. We then hear the hammer speeding toward Thor. This is when Thor will catch his hammer, shatter his chains, and overcome Surtur, you think. Nope. The hammer’s briefly delayed. Thor jokingly apologizes to Surtur.
We’ve already had the banter in this situation (again, de-escalating any sense of threat), but this is exactly when we should revere Thor; this is when we should subvert the expectation that we will be subverted, and just do what’s expected.
This is when the hammer should shoot into his hand, Thor should shatter the chains, and he should leap out and confront Surtur. Pipe in the music. Hit the close-up. Throw in a one-liner if you want to. But this should be Thor’s moment. Let’s make this hero super.
Is It Fan Service?
This too often becomes the defense of why these narrative choices aren’t made. It’s what the audience wants. As Rian Johnson infamously declared, it’s not about giving them what they want. But that is such a tremulous justification.
The reality is that when we go to see any superhero-type movie – and by inserting type in there, I include things like the James Bond franchise, the Harry Potter franchise, Top Gun (1986), etc. – we know our protagonist will eventually overcome a villain. By the logic of this argument, isn’t this also considered fan service?
In a movie that will run somewhere around 100 – 120 minutes (but so many more go so much longer nowadays), there’s plenty of time to play with comedy, plenty of time to subvert expectations, there’s plenty of time to be innovative, there’s plenty of time to shock and execute twists, but every now and again we just need to treat these characters with the majesty they deserve. Also, I’d argue it’s not fan service if there’s a narrative justification.
Top Gun: Maverick (2022) understood this perfectly well. We toy with the current crop of pilots tossing Maverick from a bar. But once he’s in the air, he overcomes each pilot in simulated combat. Later, after all the pilots have struggled with the trench run, Maverick completes it in fifteen seconds less than he’d set them.
The beauty of this scene isn’t just that Maverick manages to do what the other pilots cannot, but that they’re watching, going from incredulous, to being invested, to fully supporting his attempt, to being in awe of him, to then being proud of him.
When Maverick succeeds, it’s not about his personal ego. He has lifted them all up on the same plane as him. They can be better than who they are. He has shown them the way. We, in the audience, for that time, fly and believe we can also achieve the impossible.
Conclusion
It’s hard watching superhero films nowadays. They’ve been rebooted ad nauseam, use multiverses as an escape clause to dump projects that didn’t work or resurrect characters who’ve been killed, and have saturated the market until they’ve become common.
There’s a term in writing: suspension of disbelief. The story sets up the circumstances of its reality, and we accept that these circumstances can exist – we suspend our disbelief. Now while the story functions in that framework, we remain invested. But break out of that framework, and that suspension shatters.
Too often now, these stories become about set action pieces – CGI extravaganzas that are a kaleidoscopic frenzy. It’s impossible to track characters, and often they defy all physics. So much is going on that we don’t know who or what to follow, and it becomes so grotesquely unrealistic that it lacks any relatable context. We disconnect. Worse, the characters themselves have just become so monotonically glib (or, in DC’s case, monotonically bleak). It’s all about the one-liner, it’s all about the subversion, it’s all about everything but what we truly need: the super.
While, obviously, any superhero story shouldn’t just feature wow moments (for fear of making them common), we do need contrasts, because it’s inside those contrasts that we can explore the depth and create nuance. And, ultimately, these characters deserve better.
