What do we want Superhero Films to be?

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With the unparalleled success of The Avengers at the box office, superheroes are back in the spotlight. Most comic book aficionados are delighted with the recognition. But believe it or not, there are those such as myself who are dismayed at how superhero films, though more popular than ever, seem to be losing their luster.

When I was in grade school, nothing seemed more interesting than comic books, with their amazing feats, super powers, hyper masculine (sexist) images and monumental battles. Their visual flair and storytelling style proved more vivid and effective than any textbook. But they also engrossed me in their attempts to personify concepts both political and abstract. I learned about discrimination from the X-Men, about eternity and death from the Secret Wars, about the trauma of war from Sgt. Rock. If anything, comic book heroes complemented my school education more than I could have imagined.

When I had finished the Secret Wars II series, there was nothing I wanted more than to see it as a film. I first imagined it in animation with Jim Lee (my favorite illustrator at the time) illustrating it to the minutest detail. Later I would envision it in live action, with Arnold Schwarzenegger playing Colossus, Jack Nicholson playing Wolverine, and Jean-Claude Van Damme playing Gambit.

The last decade or so was a phenomenal time for the superhero movie genre, both thematically and financially. It wasn’t uncommon to have four such films a year, grossing over a billion dollars annually. This period saw some of the most profitable film franchises of all time, as well as a few of the most ambitious and creative takes on our most memorable costumed crime fighters.

But as the decade came to a close, the genre started to have less lofty goals. Since 2008, when the great pairing of Iron Man and The Dark Knight bookended that year’s Summer Blockbuster season, there hasn’t been a single worthy successor mentioned in the same breath. Some might argue that Watchmen fits that bill, but depending on who you speak to, no superhero movie has captured the same kind of critical and commercial acceptance comic book fans have been searching for (that includes The Avengers, which I’ll get to in a minute).

This sentiment was encapsulated by A.O. Scott in his essay “How Many Superheroes Does It Take to Tire a Genre?” In it, Scott surmised that 2008 may have been the peak of the genre’s powers, noting the rules by which its films have to live by.

“The climax must be a fight with the villain, during which the symbiosis of good guy and bad guy, implicit throughout, must be articulated. The end must point forward to a sequel, and an aura of moral consequence must be sustained even as the killings, explosions and chases multiply. The allegorical stakes in a superhero are raised — it’s not just good guys fighting bad guys, but Righteousness against Evil, Order against Chaos — precisely to authorize a more intense level of violence.”

It’s these predictable conventions in Scott’s claims that ultimately restrict the genre. The over-reliance on elaborate special effects. The insistence on spelling things out.

The problem I see is not so much in the genre’s conventions, as they harken back to youthful and more innocent notions in all of us. My issue lies, especially with most superhero films of the last few years, in the lack of resonance and ambition. This ultimately leads to a question we fans have to ask ourselves: what do we want superhero films to be?

The Birth of the Genre

Such films entered the collective consciousness, as Saturday Movie Serials in the 1940s. Some of their earliest protagonists were Captain Marvel, Batman, The Phantom, Captain America, and Superman. Find these films on YouTube and you’ll discover how the heroes look anything but super in retrospect. Yet in their time, these movies provided an escape for millions of children during World War 2. They served their purpose well.

Politics, in the form of the Comics Code Authority, momentarily torpedoed the comic book industry, and with it went the serials that were inspired by them. Superheroes were only to be found on TV, most notably in Adam West’s Batman, which remained securely in the corners of camp comedy and children’s entertainment. But by the 70s, the children watching these shows had all grown up, and so did special effects. Richard Donner surely must have seen what Steven Spielberg and George Lucas did with summer blockbusters in Jaws and Star Wars. Thus arrived the Godfather of all superhero films, Superman.

What made Superman so great, aside from casting Christopher Reeve and utilizing John Williams’s immortal score, was that it evoked the almost mythological reverie young fans hold for their heroes. The first shot of a young hand turning a comic book page, while a child’s voice narrates the exploits of the Daily Planet, is arduous and perfect. The film’s ambitions were so grand that they couldn’t be contained, eventually spilling over to its equally majestic sequel (Richard Donner’s version).

It was also a product of great creativity, utilizing shots and techniques that maximized the capabilities of special effects despite the limitations of their time. So much so that no other contemporary of its genre in the following decade came close to it. That is until Tim Burton revolutionized the feel of the superhero film with his gothic vision of Batman (1989). Until then, superheroes had to live up to Kal-El’s sunlit glory. But Burton upended this notion with his dedication to darkness and shadow, reveling in the caped crusader’s menacing intimidation.

Both of these heroes set the bar well into the 80s and 90s, becoming the genre’s Yin and Yang, determining the stylistic paths their heirs would take. Superman’s children would be Condorman, Supergirl, Captain America (1990) and The Phantom. Batman’s would be The Punisher, Darkman, The Crow, The Shadow, Spawn, and Blade.

Post 9/11: The Cinematic Golden Age

Just as World War 2 ushered in the age of the comic book superhero, 9/11 ushered in the genre’s cinematic golden age. From then on, it wasn’t enough to herald a great champion or premise. The conflicts had to involve soul-searching. The stakes had to be grave.

Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins (2005) revealed the true nature of Batman’s dark notion of justice, digging deep behind Bruce Wayne’s trauma and patiently building the legend. Miraculously, The Dark Knight (2008) raised the stakes by presenting an equally determined anarchist who embodied our all-too grounded anxiety of complete chaos.

Ang Lee’s introspective Hulk (2003) contemplated immeasurable power as more of a curse than a blessing. It is also the most daring and artistic interpretation of any superhero adaptation, choosing very human conflicts (Bruce and Betty with their unreliable fathers) at the heart of the story, as well as depicting the green goliath not simply as a monstrous beast, but as a child.

Brad Bird’s The Incredibles (2004) never felt as grave as others from this era, yet it presented itself as a lighthearted ode to the fading ideal of the nuclear family. It was also the best “Superhero Team” movie ever made, with the ultimate team: mommy, daddy, brother and sister. The real fantastic four.

The X-Men films have always focused on discrimination, with their demigod cast-outs; Brett Ratner’s The Last Stand (2006) and Matthew Vaughn’s First Class (2011) also juxtapose the political and historical (respectively) more intimately than any other in the genre.

Many saw Jon Favreau’s Iron Man (2008) as a showcase of Robert Downey Jr.’s immense gifts, but it was also (unintentionally or not) a surprising and satisfying ode to America’s wish to finally use its unmatched corporate, technological and military might to do actual good.

Guillermo Del Toro’s Hellboy (2004) was amazing in its portrayal of a demon’s touching desire to do well by man. Of all the superheroes in film, this horned red-hided monstrosity is the most fun, relatable and humane. He wisecracks without malice, and has a soft spot for kittens. Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008) continued this sentiment, and added to it by ruminating on man’s distancing from myth, in a manner reminiscent of Hayao Miyazaki’s films.

Of all superhero films, Spider-Man 2 (2004) is the genre’s conscience. Though Peter Parker wasn’t ordinary, his not so extraordinary abilities made him a more empathetic character compared to someone who can fly. Sam Raimi used a hero who wasn’t super-intelligent, wealthy or powerful to somehow convey the awesome responsibility and sacrifice of doing the right thing.

The Throwaways Return

As with any celebrated era, there is always an inevitable decline. Just as in the 90s, throwaways are coming back. Let’s face it, would anyone consider the personal dilemmas of The Green Hornet (spoiled brat), Thor (big dumb alcoholic blonde) and Green Lantern (a pilot afraid of admitting fear) worthy of heroism? Captain America (2011) might have brought back fuzzy nostalgia for the good ole’ days, but did it have to be fuzzy in hindsight, overlooking something like racism? Not only were these examples devoid of aspiration, they were also utterly predictable.

The same can be said about The Avengers, whose main claim to satisfaction is catering to known comic book lore. There is nothing interesting about Cap’s boring nobility, Thor’s one-dimensionality, or Loki’s whining theatricality. The film wants to meet our expectations, but not surpass them. It hits its targets, but aims low.

Yes, superheroes by their very nature are fantasies, originally conceived to make us feel good and have us suspend logic for the short time we have with them. But even we fanboys want our genre to be taken seriously too, don’t we? At what point do we stop sacrificing the aesthetics of interpretation, storytelling and characterization, at the altar of our often inflexible passion for youthful folklore? If fairy tales can be re-imagined, why not comic book characters?

And for those of us seeking that Superman or Batman moment, of seeing an awesome sight for the first time, those moments are going the way of the dodo. CGI has made the incredible familiar. The time has come for the genre to tantalize us not just with outlandish imagery, but new ideas.

Fertile ground is there for the taking. Look where James Bond went in Casino Royale (2006) exploring how he came to be and the roots behind his sexism. Take a look at Chronicle, which explored how teenagers deal with superhuman abilities with all their angst and insecurity. Recent Westerns grew out of their predictability, as they were able, “to find ambiguities and tensions buried in their own rigid paradigms,” as A.O. Scott noted.

Superhero films have grown and must continue to grow rather than simply being about simple themes or fanciful images. It wouldn’t hurt if they actually had something to say. In Superman Returns (2006), Kal-El flies into the highest reaches of the stratosphere, listening in on how to help mankind. It’s an inspiring scene followed by madness. Does he help resolve Middle Eastern conflicts? Help stop ethnic cleansing in Sudan? Rid North Korea of nukes? No. He stops a bank robbery.

Do we want the familiar? Or the new?

Camp Ebert

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Usually at this time of year, I am at the University of Illinois, taking in the sights, scents and sounds of Champaign Urbana. At this moment, I’d be waking up in the Illini Union, taking in the abundance of youth walking through its halls. Inspired by the vigor and hope I see in the students that I would see walk past me.

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I would walk out of the back entrance and be in awe at the Quadrangle, overcome by even more campus denizens walking through the grounds. I’d walk along with them, looking at the history in the green and mahogany around me. The architecture, the trees, the sheer space and Spring is intoxicating, if only for the short time that I would have it at UIUC.

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But I’m not there this year, not there to share in Ebertfest, where wondrous films will be seen in a secluded place far away from the world’s worries and concerns. I won’t be able to see dear friends I’ve made in the past two years, people who I’ve come to care for deeply because we care about the same things. These silly little treasures called movies, the kind that stay with you, grab you, and don’t let go. My heart aches.

The Far Flung Correspondents

The first time was the best. Speaking at panels, illuminating my world of film with foreigners curious about what lies beyond their borders. I share strange perspectives with fellow strangers from strange lands, but without the alienation. Just love and enthusiasm. We don’t speak in an auditorium down to an audience. We share in a room just paces away from those facing us. We see each other closely. We listen.

The Virginia Theater

Then come the movies in the Virginia Theatre. An actual Movie Theatre! Not one of those fancy multiplexes with cushy seats. It’s got history in it. Donald O’Connor of “Singin’ In The Rain” danced up on its stage in the age of Vaudeville. Would that be something you’d want to tear down just for a comfortable derriere?

The theatre is lush, with hues of rouge surrounding you. Taking my seat, I stepped back in time, recalling those old saturday matinees of my youth. The screen is majestic, wide in its breath, larger than most theaters without the overpowering feel of an IMAX screen.

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There is a balcony. An honest to goodness balcony that seems to have gone the way of the dodo everywhere else. There’s popcorn and snacks, but how I miss the sandwiches being cooked right outside the theatre. You can see the sausages smoking. You know it’s cooked.

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There’s the audience. That Midwestern small town feel that you never want to leave. Before and after screenings, people chalked up random conversations with me. “What do you think it will be like?” “What did you think?” The most common question I would always hear was, “Wasn’t that great?”

I’ve also been scolded for chatting during a screening. I welcomed it. These movie lovers don’t mess around.

These people around me weren’t merely an audience. For those five days, they were my neighbors, a concept that seems to be sadly disappearing. I would see many folks in the same seats day after day, coming to see overlooked films because they knew they weren’t going to be disrespected, and loved the communal moviegoing experience that might go extinct. They stay long afterwards to ask moviemakers questions, and the moviemakers are moved that we are moved.

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There are no movies that are being marketed or sold. No paparazzi chasing down stars for sound bytes. There is a trust that exists here that you can find nowhere else. It exists because Roger Ebert reaffirms that trust by what he selects and how he maintains this festival landscape.

As a film critic, I miss Ebertfest dearly for these reasons and more. I miss knowing that a major critic gets to ride in the trunk of a 4×4, just as I did. I miss finding out Chaz Ebert’s favorite karaoke song is Rapper’s Delight, and seeing her tearing up the mic. I miss the BBQ at Black Dog, the double guacamole steak burgers at Steak N’ Shake, chatting with David Bordwell (with him doing most of the chatting), hearing people in the know dishing out the dirt, and meeting some of my heroes, whether they write about films, or help make them.

I miss it because I learn something every time I set foot on its grounds. I miss meeting fellow movie lovers I’ve met online and off, who have gone on this pilgrimage with me. I miss disagreeing with my critic friends after a bad film, and smiling with them in quiet unison during a good one.

Most of all, I miss spending quiet moments with Roger, a friend and teacher who gave me so much. Who gave all of us so much. This is one of the very few things I can do for him in return. I think we should all call Ebertfest what it really is to all those who love him and film.

Camp Ebert.

The Avengers (**)

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There are two kinds of superhero film fans. The first are those who have outgrown the familiarities of the genre and eager to see something new, be it a wonder and awe not seen or felt before, or an idea/theme that is ripe for the taking. The second are those who are content with supremely safe entertainment, with imagery reinforcing what they already know, wishing to see their special comic book lore acknowledged.

Joss Whedon’s “The Avengers” falls squarely for those in the second category, pleased with itself and proud of it. Marvel fans who have wanted to see these heroes in the flesh will get their fill, but for those of us hoping for something more, such spirit is definitely weak.

We all saw it coming, beginning with “Iron Man,” which gamely reinvigorated Marvel’s line of heroes. With its post-credits teasing, it began a multi-threaded plot involving “The Incredible Hulk,” “Thor,” “Captain America” and their sidekicks. Comic strip founding fathers resurrected for a whole new generation of kids to sell toys to.

But in the process of their assembly, there were only so many working parts they could reuse. They had Robert Downey Jr’s invaluable charm as Tony Stark, really the most valuable human presence of the film, whose intense eyes and irresistible snark draws us in every time we get a look inside his armor. But gone is the youthful energy infused by John Favreau’s direction. And the chemistry sparked by Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow) is in much too short supply.

Gone too is the serious aura of Edward Norton, which wasn’t needed for this Jekyll-esque incarnation of Dr. Banner. Now played by the great Mark Ruffalo, he exists mainly to provide science-speak with Stark. His CGI alter-id in the Hulk, upstages him with the movie’s best moments, punctuating its third act with immensely satisfying comic geek-out sequences and the biggest LOLs. Too bad it all comes way too late.

The Chris-es, Evans (Captain America) and Hemsworth (Thor), are two gifted young actors in a film that does them no favors. The former is a noble bore, while the latter is pretty much a big dumb blonde with a drinking problem (thankfully on hold here). They both deserve better roles and opportunities as none of their gifts, aside from their physical ones, are worth a damn here.

Two extras brought along for the ride do what they can. Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow is smart, fearsome, and insidious. But I wish she could have been cast as another character. You know, one that actually has super powers other than her skin-tight costume. She’s more than what I expected, but undeniably mostly a tease. And Jeremy Renner as Hawkeye shows once more that he’s the American version of Daniel Craig, capable of holding a masculine gravitas regardless of silly second billing. He’s another talent much too valuable for the part.

Even Samuel L. Jackson is under-utilized as he gets out of everyone’s way. His out-of-sight machinations only emphasizes his absence. And Tom Hiddleston, the Super-baddie Loki, is about as intimidating as Thor is interesting. What is it about Marvel’s film-adapted demigods that make them so… boring (save for Idris Elba’s Heimdall).

What the film does do very well is its climax, with Manhattan laid under siege by otherworldly invaders and beasts. It’s here where we finally see this titanic team fulfill visions of hero-loving boys and girls around the world. It isn’t as creative as that of Hellboy’s inter-dimensional account of hell, or the monumentally epic finale of “Dark City” (the gold standard of what a superhuman conflict would look like), but it does the job competently and skillfully.

But really, what took it so long? Its first act is one long predictable slog of trope after trope. Its second is a mixed bag of visual goodies waiting to burst forth (like the rise of the Hellcarrier) and confusing motives clashing against each other. “X-Men: First Class” handled multiple themes and characters with grace and heft that it feels like King Lear compared to this mishmash.

And the third act, though entertaining, is entirely on autopilot. Not once do we feel anything at stake. Not once do we feel the overwhelming odds. The one-liners and sight-gags are fantastic, but I don’t want to remember my superhero movies solely for the jokes. The many colossal monsters which they face fail to raise the kind of awesome thrill of a single gigantic serpent in “How To Train Your Dragon.”

Gone are the times when superhero films dared to take a risk, especially with directors of great imagination. It gives production companies mixed results. With the financial successes of Guillermo Del Toro (the “Hellboy” movies), we have the box office letdown of Ang Lee (“Hulk”), despite both being remarkably creative narratively and visually. Disney is in charge now. And unless Pixar is at the helm (Hey! There’s an idea!), they’ll be pitching safe profit over craftsmanship more often than not.

So there you have it. If you’re a longtime comic book fan who is happy to be reassured with the familiar, or a child who has never heard or seen of these heroes, you’re in for a treat. But if your imagination is waiting to stirred, “The Avengers” is an all too familiar disappointment.

Do I really need to tell you to stay after the credits?