Unhappy is the Land...

[This is not a review of The Avengers, largely because any attempt at such a thing would quickly descend into babbling, but let me simply say that any Marvel fan, of any degree, absolutely must see it, and to anyone else, I can highly recommend it. Better than Iron Man, at least on a par with Serenity – I would even, potentially sacrilegiously, compare it favourably with The Dark Knight, incredibly different films though they are.]

It’s almost a cliché at this point to say that superhero films are in the ascendancy. The two big comics publishers, and Marvel in particular, have been doing extremely well from their film divisions in the last decade or so. The Dark Knight, to name the most obvious example, is one of the highest-grossing films of all time and The Avengers (not Avengers Assemble. Never Avengers Assemble) already looks set to do extraordinarily well too, despite arguably not having anything close to the name (or brand) recognition of Batman. Yet the term “superhero” itself deserves some examination.

The most popular superhero, cinematically speaking, across six (soon to be seven) films (not to mention video games, animated films and series and so forth), is clearly Batman. Yet Batman is simply a man –a genius and billionaire, true, but ultimately he relies on his wits, his self-assembled gadgets and his bare fists. As for his obvious counterpart, Iron Man (who also does extremely well at the box office), he’s also a genius and billionaire, but the suit which makes him so powerful is, to a large extent a function of necessity; the reactor which powers it is also keeping him alive. As for Captain America, his chemically-enhanced martial prowess is emphasised significantly less than his patriotism, his sense of honour and duty and his simple straightforwardness. Meanwhile, who assembles (so to speak) the Marvel superheroes and gives them a sense of purpose? A grizzled, one-eyed agent, somewhere between a military commander and a bureaucrat, whose only superpower is being Samuel L. Jackson (admittedly, not an inconsiderable power).

By contrast, films featuring heroes with actual superpowers have been notably unsuccessful. Green Lantern was largely panned by critics, and failed to set the box office on fire. Superman has been missing in action since the decent and moderately successful Superman Returns back in 2006. Even the power of Joss Whedon failed to get a Wonder Woman film out of development hell (although, admittedly, a post-Avengers Whedon might be a little more successful). Films based on the X-Men and Spider-Man have been successful, certainly, but the focus has always been on the humanity of these characters – the prejudice faced by the X-Men, and Spidey’s adolescent headaches and deadpan wit. It seems that audiences, and producers, want humanity from their heroes, not all-powerful supermen.

Whedon’s Avengers provide a prime example. Of the entire team, only Thor is truly superhuman, and even he displays more human characteristics than the truly godlike character of the original comics. The Hulk is superhuman, true, but Bruce Banner is a victim of his power more than anything, and it’s constantly made clear that he’d be far happier without it. Iron Man and Captain America are enhanced humans, but still recognisably human, while Hawkeye and Black Widow are highly trained SHIELD operatives; their onscreen feats may seem superhuman, but no more so than those of Bruce Willis or Jason Statham in a thousand action films.

Interestingly, the focus of the film is in many ways on group cohesiveness (I’m attempting to avoid spoilers, but some minor points may slip through; be warned). Tony Stark is constantly told that his focus is too much on himself; Cap accuses him of not knowing the concept of sacrifice, but by the end credits, Tony has risked himself for his teammates several times over. Thor and the Hulk are hardly team players, but both of them end up fighting as part of a cohesive unit. Whedon has said that getting the group to work together was the greatest narrative challenge; yet it also forms, in screenwriting terms, a strong narrative engine. This isn’t a situation where one remarkable individual can save the world – it calls for a team.

Having seen the film, one thing that struck me was that, amidst the skilled juggling of characters, more of an impact was quite possibly made by the more human characters. In particular, Black Widow, a character to whom I was shamefully underexposed (I know; I’m a terrible Marvel fan) ended up being probably my favourite Avenger, followed closely by Hawkeye (though I was already a fan of his from the comics. And thank Christ they got rid of that stupid headpiece of his). Both characters were skilfully constructed, and the relationship between them was one of the more nuanced I’ve seen in a blockbuster film, but beyond that I think it was the fact that both managed to fit in in a film about extraordinary individuals while also being ultimately, recognisably human.

Hawkeye's eyeline here proves just how human he is.

So why is this? Why do we seem more drawn to heroes the more human they are? Certainly, it’s been a trend in comics since Watchmen in the mid-80s, and arguably even since Stan Lee in the 60s – heroes have to be relatable, and flawed. Thus, Batman became an uncompromising agent of absolute justice under Frank Miller, Tony Stark became an alcoholic, and the authority of all the leaders of teams was challenged (see Whedon’s Astonishing X-Men for an excellent latter-day example of this). Ultimately, I think it’s that we like to see ourselves mirrored in our heroes. It’s not a new thing; Achilles gets his best friend killed by going off in a huff in The Iliad, the ancient myths of the gods are consumed with jealousy and lust – even the Old Testament God is forever getting angry and smiting people.

There’s more to it than that, though. Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne may be remarkable individuals, but their power is hard-won – one is potentially dying at all times, while the other saw his parents gunned down, and in both cases, this forms the impetus for their heroism. Cap got the easy route to power with his super-soldier serum (incidentally, not an easy phrase to say quickly), but he also ended up frozen, and fundamentally separated by time from everyone he loved. Hawkeye and Black Widow  both trained their entire lives for their power. Here, there are no fortunately-acquired power rings, no alien birth – this is a kind of power that is relatable and, in the case of the latter examples, even potentially attainable.

That we need (or, at least, want) heroes as examples seems unmistakeable – throughout history, leaders have always been elevated to extraordinary standards by imagination, from the pharaohs to Obama (yes, really, I just made that comparison). Yet we don’t like them too perfect – we don’t want them to be Nietzschean supermen, a class above, but recognisable, fallible individuals. This way, their heroism can lie as much in dealing with the demands of their position as in actually filling it. If the audience response to superhero films tells us anything, it’s that the latter part of the compound noun “superhero” matters far more than the former.

Who doesn't relate to that face?