Last week, I finished watching Ironheart, the latest installment of Marvel’s Cinematic Universe. My disappointment is difficult to overstate, but this isn’t intended to be a review of the series. Rather, I observed it solidify a theme that’s become increasingly obvious to me since I recently heard the death of post-modernism proclaimed.
If we rewind into comic book history a bit, Marvel’s take on the heroic narrative has always been different from DC’s. DC came first, with Marvel appearing soon after, and they each have distinctly different perspectives on their characters, but what has remained consistent is that Marvel injects a gritty realism into their characters while DC tends to hold theirs above the fray, as it were.
Each of these mainstream comics lines, as they developed from nascent pulp into a new literary genre, encapsulated a cohesive mythology in their stories, what in today’s pop culture terminology we would refer to as a “universe.” While its noteworthy that antiheroes have always been present in both (DC has always had Catwoman, Marvel has always had Namor the Sub-Mariner), the focus was on the fight of good vs. evil, and that’s what’s compelling about these stories. We are all instinctively aware that there is an evil that we can’t fight, and we desire someone to help, to fight that battle for us and win. The difference, over-simplified, is that DC has historically held these heroes who fight our battles up as larger than life, more than human, an over-arching theology from above approach. Marvel has historically taken more of a theology from below stance, focusing our attention through the eyes of those with the same flaws as ourselves.
While this has morphed over time to adapt to the current moment (something at which this art form is particularly adept), the foundations have proven to be persistent in the DNA of the different universes. I think that’s why, as deconstructionism has been the watchword for a generation, we’ve seen the suspicion that all good must inevitably turn out to be disappointing play out more in Marvel’s narrative than in DC’s.
Let’s think back to what we now know as Marvel’s Phase 1. This was the first legitimate attempt to reproduce the cohesive mythology of comics on film, and it was successful. As such, it began with normal people taking on extraordinary challenges…Tony Stark builds his iron suit, Steve Rogers takes the super-soldier serum…and are rooted in the greatest generation and the purity for which it stood. We’re then introduced to Thor, who holds good above all else, and even Bruce Banner is willing to sacrifice all of his dreams to prevent the monster raging within him from wreaking havoc. As this universe has expanded and unfolded, though, we’ve seen it adapt to the modern age. All heroism has become suspect. The Scarlet Witch became the villain, driven mad by grief. Tony Stark loses sight of morality and creates Ultron. Loki, a villain, saves the day through his self-interest. Steve Rogers gives up his shield to live a life he feels he deserves. Dr. Strange chooses to meddle with dark forces to defeat a threat to humanity, believing that the ends justify the means. The list goes on, culminating in the Thunderbolts, a team of antiheroes held together by a “why not” mentality, replacing the Avengers in a world that needs heroes, but is seen as incapable of producing them. Of the past 3 years’ worth of the deluge of Marvel offerings, only Spider-Man truly embodies the nature of a hero, and he ultimately must suffer from that decision.
In Ironheart, we thought we would see a hero, but instead are presented with a troubled character who occasionally does good, but ultimately holds a similar tragic flaw as Stark. It’s difficult to define Riri Williams, who writers forced into Wakanda Forever. While certainly not a hero, I have difficulty defining her as an antihero, either. Rather, a character who could be intricately and compellingly written becomes a symbol of the collateral damage of what could barely be called an age of heroes, someone who ends her series making a Faustian bargain to resolve her grief.
Having never been an adherent to postmodernism, I’m exhausted, and think many others are, as well. The ultimate end of deconstruction is a void, in which there is nothing to believe, no faith to hold, a cycle of cynicism that destroys from within. In my reading of comics, I think that’s why I’ve gravitated more toward DC in recent years, because in print they have often avoided the emotional morbidity of their films.
What has always drawn me to superhero mythology is good vs. evil, the hope that the good guys win over the bad guys. This collapses in on itself, however, when good and evil are not defined. There has always been space for antihero narratives (the Watchmen being the ultimate example of this), but even in these lie a recognition of good and evil that is lacking in most of these recent films and series.
Comics as an art form have always held a mirror to the current moment. Postmodernism is troubling in its belief that all is relative, that good is often evil and evil is often good. I’m interested in the new Superman film, even with all of the flaws I see in its trailers, because it appears, at least visually, that this could mark a return to true heroism. As we look up in the sky, I’m in hopes that we’ll be reminded of what a hero looks like. If our cultural interest in deconstruction truly is waning, then the art form would be holding its mirror to that, showing that we’re ready for good again, ready for a hero.
How refreshing would that be?
