Why Superheroes Kill their Parents

Superhero comics and movies usually invite their readers and audience members to live vicariously through their heroes. Yet they rarely act as the simple-minded power fantasies that we see in movies like Taken or The Equalizer.

Superman, for all his invincibility and everything-bagel-power-set, remains a story about (among other themes) a person forced to live a lie, to pretend to exist as someone smaller than himself for fear of the public’s reaction to him.

Batman, filthy rich and physically powerful, still lives in the shadows, a photo negative of his merry, colorful villains.

Tony Starks, a.k.a. Ironman, seems the happiest, most Michelangelo of the Avengers, yet we often see that a troubled soul hides beneath all that flash.

(Good) Superhero stories provide not power fantasies, but moral tales of power control.

Superman could easily rule the world.

Batman and Ironman could use their billions to abuse “the system,” influence government, and tilt the rules forever in their favor.

Harry Potter chooses to destroy the God Wand rather than wield the ultimate weapon.

Superheroes prove super not for the deeds they perform but because of the deeds they choose not to perform.

Self-control, self-discipline in spite of the possession of absolute power, seems the greatest, most difficult human challenge.

Superhero stories almost always hold some theme of parent-child, and I consider that well worth investigation.

Peter, in Spiderman, tells his foster father, Uncle Ben, “You’re not my father,” only to see him die shortly thereafter.

Superman’s father in Man of Steel dies almost immediately after Clark tells him the same thing.

The father in Kickass 2 dies shortly after our protagonist tells him he represents a lousy father.

Rogue in X-Men must excommunicate herself from her family before her heroic journey may begin.
Loki tells his foster mother that she's not his real mother, only to soon afterwards learn of her demise.

Literary scholars often argue that superpowers represent our transformation from child- to adulthood.

The fact that many heroes acquire their superpowers at the age of puberty supports this theory (though many get their powers from toxic goo, space exploration, or Satan).

It seems that most good superhero movies support this theory, which means, at a minimum, that this pattern appeals to us on some level.

While we grow older, we collect incredible powers: the ability to operate a machine that can travel at a hundred miles per hour, to consume alcohol, gamble, run for office, and, above all, make our own decisions.

We gain incredible powers while we age, and with them “great responsibility.”

We, at puberty, gain the godlike power to create life.

We typically, when we begin to receive these gifts, discover a deep, encoded need to separate ourselves from our parents, to not simply distance ourselves from them physically, but to identify ourselves separately from them.

Perhaps this explains why every story seems to ultimately ask, “Who am I?”

And perhaps that explains why every good superhero story forces its heroes to answer that question, to decide who they are and for what they stand, in the face of the ultimate villain: unchecked power.

Many superheroes, in a series of movies, spend the first installment digesting their new powers. The second movie typically forces our heroes to decide who they shall become.

Peter Parker, in Spiderman 2, starts to lose his powers. He must decide if he even wants them back. Does he desire the responsibilities of a superhero?

In the second Wolverine movie, The Wolverine, Logan faces the same situation.

The Fantastic Four face this question in both their first and second movie.

Our superheroes must push their parents away and discover themselves without authority to tell them what deeds to perform and what behaviors to mimic. They must begin their journeys of self-discovery.

They can, only under those circumstances, appreciate the power they now possess. Only after they grasp their newfound capabilities may they decide who they must become.

Remember Luke Skywalker?

This rarely works out of order. Our hero’s father dies right off the bat in Green Lantern, before he gains any abilities. While Green Lantern proved flawed for half a billion other reasons, this scrambled hero’s journey didn’t improve the story.

A superhero will often decide between responsibilities and pleasure (safe sex versus unsafe, honesty towards a potential partner versus deceit, serve the citizens who voted you into office or take advantage of them).

Will Smith’s character in Handcock cannot serve as both a superhero and a family man. He must distance himself from the woman he loves in order to possess his powers.

Bruce, in Batman Forever, wants to turn in his cape and marry the woman he loves—but at the cost of leaving Gotham unprotected.

Jon Snow, in Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire), wants desperately to accept an offer to obtain land and start a family, but he cannot accept the offer and protect the Wall.

Spawn cannot obtain the revenge he seeks if he wants redemption.

Peter Parker must choose between the chores of Spiderman and a romantic life with Mary Jane.

The superhero represents the hardest choices made most nobly. That seems a fair definition of a hero.

Exceptions exist. Young readers of comic books sometimes discovered themselves represented not by the hero, but be the hero’s sidekick. This seems to happen in wartime, when many kids discovered themselves without father figures.

My apologies for my lack of posts last week. I faced a busier than usual workload due to the release of my third novel, Destines of Darkwana and negotiating the artwork for the upcoming card game based on my novels.

Movie reviews at moviesmartinwolt.blogspot.com

Short stories at martinwolt.blogspot.com

A look at the politics of the entertainment world at EntertainmentMicroscope.blogspot.com.

An inside look at my novels (such as Daughters of Darkwana, which you can now find on Kindle) at Darkwana.blogspot.com

Tips to improve your fiction at FictionFormula.blogspot.com