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

What Employers Could Learn from MMOs

I met many “lazy” people who play MMO (massive, multiplayer, online) games. They will obediently sit for hours (some for twelve hours or more a day every day) and play their video game.

These games strike me as insufferably repetitive. You perform a mindless task via the press of a few buttons on a keyboard, collect points, rinse, and repeat.

I noticed that I hold something in common with other people who find these games impossible to stomach.

Just as I possess goals in the form of quotas (pages written, pages edited, pages read, hours spent at the gym), other people who cannot seem to find a use for MMOs possess busy schedules that rewards them with a sense of accomplishment, a sense that they earned something.

I find that people who grow addicted to MMOs rarely work a job that grants them this sense of satisfaction. This leads me to believe that human nature demands that we accumulate towards a goal.

MMOs grant that accumulation. Experience points allow a player to level. In-game gold allows a player to purchase new equipment for her avatar.

Even the least social person becomes social in online video games.

Even the least dependable gamer arrives for in-game missions. Their guild mates trust them.

This all provides irrefutable evidence that people want a function in a society, work to perform, and goals to accomplish. We want quests, a sense of purpose. When we cannot find them in real life, we turn to alternative sources of purpose.

If a gamer spends weeks to upgrade a fake skill in a fake world, shouldn't that same gamer work as hard for a real skill in the real world?

Why do so many people who work so seriously and so hard at video games fail to direct that same motivation towards real life?

Perhaps, if I never experienced the poor treatment I received as an employee, I never would’ve wanted so badly to go into business for myself.

I recall bosses who tried to cheat me out of my final paychecks.

A gamer would quit a game the second that their game cheated her or him of their hard earned reward.

Gamers expect to receive everything that the captains of their guilds promise in return for contributions to sieges or dungeon crawls.

I cannot recall how many times employers found some barely legal (if at all) loophole to withhold from me the overtime pay I deserved.

Members within an online guild work together. Everyone performs her or his part. No cap exists as to how many guild members may level. Everyone who works for her or his reward receives it.

Real life coworkers might try to backstab each other while they compete for a raise or promotion that only a limited number of them may acquire.

Employers ought to take a hard look at loyal, hardworking gamers. It seems they could learn much from them about human motivation.

In Defense of Online Socialization

I admit it. I bemoaned the inevitable loss of humanity’s ability to interact with itself in person, face-to-face, when common, social interaction started to take place online.

I feared that in a handful of years, people would forget how to “properly” socialize altogether.

I feel happy to report that my concerns proved needless.

The Internet affects humanity’s ability to socially interact—for the better.

Online Meet-up groups allow us to start clubs instantly. You never need to staple a bunch of fliers on posts and cross your fingers.

Play any game online with anyone, anywhere.

A chat line exists to debate any subject at any time.

I can text entire groups of friends with a few swipes of my finger.

Let’s discuss texting for a moment, because it developed a bad rap due to people such as my former self who instantly and unfairly disliked it.

I cannot, in a conversation performed face-to-face or over the phone, take back what leaves my mouth. Sometimes, I cannot even stand certain of exactly what I said.

I can review what I “said” with text messaging, rethink it, realize, where applicable, that it communicates the wrong message, and rewrite it.

I can proofread what I say in a conversation!

I, with texting and email, keep a written record of every conversation I conduct.

I can recheck facts sent to me. I can correct someone who insists that I never told them a certain something, and I can prove that they promised a certain something.

Once upon a time, if someone called me with an address, I needed to search myself for a pen, paper, and a flat surface on which to write. I afterwards possessed an address, but no idea how to find it.

Nowadays, someone texts me an address, I tap the address within the body of the text, and my phone’s GPS navigates me straight to it.

The Internet opens door. Hell, it burns them down.

A decade or so ago, you needed a publishing house to accept your novel, or it never saw the light of day.

Now, you can publish it straight onto Kindle, or Nook, or Google Books, or iBooks, or any number of other options that allow almost anyone in the world to read it right that second--or a thousand years later.

Want people to watch your standup comedy? Upload it onto YouTube.

People form bands online, practice online, cut albums online, and even sell their recordings online.

Tyrannical governments desperately want to “protect” their people from the Internet for good (well, selfish) reason. A government cannot lie to a population armed with Internet access.

Tell me that a country consists of nothing more than evil, bloodthirsty monsters that hate me for no good reason?

I can chat online with any number of those people. I can see their cities from a bird’s eye view. I can read their newspapers, watch their television programs, and observe whichever rallies take place on their college campuses.

The Internet humanizes us. It could honestly end war. I seriously propose that. The Internet could humanize us to the point that humanity no longer wants to kill itself.

What about those loners who play online MMO (massive, multiplayer, online) games, all by themselves?

They play those games with actual people. In my childhood, those same kids played games by themselves, or read comic books by themselves. They existed by themselves.

MMO games actually bring those loners closer to actual people.

The Internet grants us instantaneous connection with the world. It expands our abilities to socialize, supplies previously undreamed-of options to meet new people, experience new events and settings.

Yes, you might know someone in India better than your own neighbor, but why should you consider that a bad development?

Why should your neighbor matter more to you than your new friend in India? Because he lives closer to you? That seems a weak argument.

The Internet will continue to grow stronger, and, with it, so too will grow our ability to communicate with all of humanity. A world without walls. A world without kilometers to separate its fractions.

I raise my glass.

(I feel pleased to report that the third book in my series, Diaries of Darkwana, will finally arrive on Kindle next month. I apologize for the artwork-related delay.)