War of the Worlds

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How do we respond to evil? How should we respond to evil? Those are the main questions raised by War of the Worlds, Steven Spielberg’s take on H. G. Wells’ classic tale of invaders from outer space. And nothing could be more evil than the creatures represented in this film: alien life forms who have plotted the annihilation of the human race for centuries, even going so far as to bury their machines of extermination deep under the earth long before humans ever arrived on the scene. Pre-meditated killing at its finest.

And yet, for all their technology, these aliens seem surprisingly inefficient, choosing to mow down human beings, buildings, and neighborhoods one at a time rather than taking them out in one, big “schebang.� If humans really are bugs in the aliens’ eyes—as the opening narrative of this film suggests—obviously no one on their planet has ever heard of “Raid.� Mere humans have come up with vastly superior means to wipe out bugs, never mind their fellow human beings. Perhaps these extra-terrestrial killers are as sporting as they are vicious. Eventually, however, it is revealed that the aliens have something more in mind than a simple holocaust—even though holocaust imagery is used throughout the film. Don’t worry: I won’t tell you what that ulterior motive is; because, frankly, I don’t think I really understand it myself!

And that, essentially, is where this film breaks down: when it comes to offering explanations. For example, apart from a few comments in the opening narrative about how the aliens have watched our world with envy over the centuries, we have no idea why these aliens attack. Has their home world gone sour? Did they have a bad encounter with humans in the past? No, it appears they are just plain evil. At least that is what we must assume, seeing as virtually no attempt is made to personify the enemy. Add this to the series of increasingly preposterous coincidences that allow the heroes to survive the onslaught, and this film veers dangerously close to a one-way trip to the remainder bin. The porous script is redeemed somewhat by excellent direction, sound design, acting, and special effects. But when the foundation of the structure is bad, it isn’t long before the entire thing comes crashing down—and it doesn’t take a death ray from outer space to do it.

As I reflected on the spiritual aspect of this film, two things struck me: First, as I have already mentioned, is the depiction of the alien invaders. David Bruce points out in his excellent commentary on this film (located elsewhere on this site) that the characterization of the aliens in War of the Worlds is a clear reflection of the times. Back in the 1980s, Stephen Spielberg brought us E.T., a film about an ugly albeit friendly alien who was more bent on exploration than destruction. According to Bruce, this represented our desire to end the Cold War before nuclear proliferation killed us all. What a contrast to the nameless and nearly faceless invaders Spielberg brings us in War of the Worlds. And yet, how appropriate, seeing as that is how our enemies are often portrayed today, especially by propagators of the so-called “War on Terror.� Perhaps Spielberg sees this film as a way to help us expunge some of the fear we experience every time we turn on the evening news.

Unfortunately, rather than serve the film (and the viewer) I think Spielberg’s anonymous depiction of the enemy actually dooms the film instead by essentially confining the action along two dimensions: fight or flight. Both of these responses to evil may be valid under certain circumstances, but they are also instinctive and, therefore, highly uncreative. Even the lowest form of animal—take bugs, for example—will choose one of these two strategies when faced with a threat. But contrary to what the aliens in this film think, we are much more than bugs, aren’t we? If so, doesn’t that demand a more creative, more human response to evil?

Don’t get me wrong: Fleeing from evil may be effective and necessary for a time, but eventually, as this film demonstrates, we will run out of places to hide. And then what? History contains countless examples of the barbarity humans are reduced to under such circumstances. (Read Josephus’ account of the sack of Jerusalem in ad 70 for example.) Taking a vengeful, “eye for an eye� response to evil is also doomed to failure, because it leads inevitably to escalation—either mutually assured destruction or desperate acts of terror in the face of overwhelming force. This fact is also demonstrated in War of the Worlds as well as in our own War on Terror. So the question remains: What would a more human, more three-dimensional response to evil look like? What would it look like in terms of this film? In terms of real life?

War of the Worlds gives us a partial answer when, at a critical juncture, hero Ray Ferrier stops running from the aliens and actually allows them to capture him instead. For perhaps the first time in this film, mere survival is no longer Ray’s primary motive. Finally, he has found something more important than his own life, and he is willing to risk everything to attain it. Not coincidentally, this is the precise moment when the tide begins to turn against the aliens.

So, we can see that part of the answer to our question is self-sacrifice. Taken either physically or literally, a self-sacrificial response to evil goes beyond an instinctive flight or fight response and asks, “How might we ensure that we not only defeat evil but, in defeating it, not become the evil thing we are trying to overcome?�

Beyond self-sacrificial love for those near and dear to us, however, a second factor must be present if we are to take a truly three-dimensional response to evil, and that is this: self-sacrificial love of enemy. I’ll admit: It’s difficult to love—much less be willing to die for—a nameless, faceless enemy, especially one that is trying to wipe you off the face of the planet. But isn’t that exactly what Christ did on the cross? As the Apostle Paul says in Romans 5:8, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.� Elsewhere Paul says, “For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!� (Romans 5:10) Anyone who claims to be a follower of Christ must follow this example. And anyone who is not a follower of Christ should give is serious consideration, because, ultimately, this is the only way evil can be defeated—in others and in ourselves.

War of the Worlds teeters on the brink of such a three-dimensional response to evil, and that is one of the few times this movie threatens to break out of the two-dimensional prison in which it has confined itself. If we want to break out of the same prison—to respond to evil as human beings, not as mere bugs—then we must be willing to fully embrace this third dimension as well. I’m not saying it will be easy. I love my life and the life of my family and friends as much as anyone. But, like the Apostle Paul, I have also glimpsed the greater good. I realize that whether I live or die is not the most important thing. It’s what I live or die for that really matters.

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Prelude to Infinite Crisis

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If you’re like me and have just re-entered the DC Universe after a protracted absence, Prelude to Infinite Crisis may be exactly what the doctor ordered. It’s doubtful this title will ever become a collector’s item, seeing as it is merely a reprint of key moments in the DC Universe over the last few years. But if you are reading Countdown to Infinite Crisis or any of the mini-series it has spawned (Villains United, Day of Vengeance, The OMAC Project, and The Rann-Thanagar War) and don’t know what the heck is going on, this book serves as a welcome guide to the characters and events that have created today’s tenuous situation.

Packed into Prelude’s whopping 96 pages are three full-length stories from pivotal, sold-out issues (Superman Secret Files 2004, Flash #219, and Wonder Woman #214), select pages from over two-dozen other comics, and a running commentary that contextualizes and connects each excerpt. Prelude begins with the disturbance at the heart of the universe that lead the Spectre—generally a force of order—to team up with Eclipso, the universe’s agent of retribution and vengeance. It then recounts key moments in the lives of Donna Troy, Superman, Lex Luthor, Batman, the Flash, Adam Strange, Hawkman, Wonder Woman, Black Adam, and countless other famous and not-so-famous DC heroes and villains. Although readers may not have realized it at the time, every incident recounted in Prelude planted a sinister seed, one that would eventually blossom into a cataclysm of universal proportions. You can trace the development of each seed through Countdown as well as the four spin-off series mentioned above. However, the ultimate outcome of each event will only be answered in full when Infinite Crisis—DC’s premiere publishing event of 2005—is launched this fall.

Thematically, the entire crisis hinges on the issue of choices. As the opening commentary of Prelude states, “Consequences of past actions will forever change the shape of the world.� It turns out some of DC’s heroes have made some bad choices indeed—not least of which was the decision of the “Secret Pact� within the Justice League (Green Arrow, Green Lantern, the Flash, Black Canary, Hawkman, the Atom, and Zatanna) to lobotomize Dr. Light for raping Sue Dibny. Other heroes, such as Superman and Wonder Woman, have acted in good conscience but have nonetheless exacerbated the very forces of antagonism they sought to defeat. Collectively, DC’s heroes are discovering that even though their actions may have silenced the voices of evil for a time, a day of reckoning will come. They are also learning that the fine line separating the good guys from the bad guys is becoming increasingly blurred. Even though they call themselves “super,� the title of “hero� is neither assured nor, in some cases, deserved. This fact has not gone unnoticed by DC’s villains, who have decided enough is enough. It is time to form a strategic alliance, to defeat the “plague� of heroes once and for all.

While the consequences of our choices are not nearly as immediate or pronounced as those of DC’s heroes and villains, the outcomes of our decisions are no less significant or universal. In some cases, we are like the members of the Secret Pact—knowingly committing evil while continuing to masquerade as the “good guys,� as heroes, even. In other cases, we are like Superman: well intentioned but often serving to destabilize the world rather than helping to restore it, all because we have not bothered to consider the full impact of our decisions. Whether we commit wrong intentionally or unintentionally, sooner or later we will all have to face up to the consequences of our choices. And on that day, we won’t be able to hide behind titles like “hero� either. The true heroes will be identified through their deeds, not mere words, and the choice as to which title we receive—hero or villain—will be completely out of our hands.

The good news is, rather than serve as a prelude to crisis, our choices can lead to peace, fulfillment, and transformation instead. Even though the blurry line that separates hero from villain runs straight down the center of our souls, we can all refrain from crossing over to the "Dark Side." Here’s how:

1) Say “No!� to secret sin: We’ve all got them: bad habits, addictions, hateful thoughts, fears, dirty little secrets hiding out in the closets of our lives. We may think we have them under control, but such things are like a cancer silently eating away at our being. If they aren’t stopped, sooner or later they will leap out of the closet and take over completely, unleashing forces of antagonism we never knew existed. In my experience, turning away from such closet-dwellers (which are often so darn appealing) is impossible on my own. Only with the help of Jesus can I find the strength to choose what is good. If it feels like your closet is about to burst, I encourage you to ask Jesus for help as well.

2) Consider the consequences of your actions: On our rapidly shrinking planet, if we are not careful, even our best intentioned choices can have an adverse effect on someone, somewhere in the world. Therefore, it is our responsibility to ensure that the ripple effect of our lives is positive, not negative. When things like pollution or deforestation reach a point where life in a particular region is no longer sustainable, for example, it will do no good to say, “I didn’t know.� I encourage you to reflect on the full consequences of your lifestyle and consider whether you are having a positive impact on the world or if you are unintentionally contributing to a truly global crisis.

3) Never take the title of “hero� for granted: As Rachel Dawes says to Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins, “It’s not who you are underneath but what you do that defines you.� Character is defined by action—by choices—not mere words. Even though we may think of ourselves as one of the good guys (or girls)—and even though we may have taken on a title, such as “Christian,� that affirms our inner belief—ultimately, our character is defined moment by moment, day by day as we slug it out in the trenches of everyday life. Don’t hide behind fancy words and titles. If you truly want to be known as a hero, let your actions do the talking.

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Green Lantern No. 1

Issue One: The Musings of a Grumpy Old Man

“Am I getting old or are things really getting worse?� That’s what I was asking myself as I read through the first issue of the new Green Lantern series last night. Call me crazy, but when I pay $4.75 for a comic book (nearly four times as much as I paid for my last issue of The Green Lantern Corps eighteen years ago), I expect a complete story at the very least, and I don’t think it’s too much to ask that it be a good story as well. Instead, what I got was several pages of backstory, a few pages of mildly intriguing action, a few more pages of melodrama, followed by a conclusion that felt like it was chosen at random from a reject pile of B movie sub-plots.

I’m sorry if I sound like somewhat of a curmudgeon (I know what you’re thinking, “Somewhat?!�), but I’ve worn a hole in my head from scratching it so much. Who the heck is approving these storylines? This is the launch of a major new series for DC, and this is the best they could come up with? Youch! Who's in charge of hiring writers over there? Please sign me up!

My experience reading this issue wasn't completely negative though. In fact, it compelled me to pull out my complete collection of Who’s Who last night and start flipping through it in search of some overlooked DC heroes and villains that I could bring together in an exciting new series or graphic novel. I’m too late for this year’s ComicCon in San Diego, but I can promise you that I’ll be there next year, script in hand, ready to make my pitch.

Perhaps that $4.75 wasn't such a waste after all....

Countdown to Infinite Crisis

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“Underwhelmed� pretty much sums up my response to Countdown to Infinite Crisis, the lead-in to Infinite Crisis, which DC Comics is billing as its biggest publishing event of the year. What a contrast to its precursor, Crisis on Infinite Earths, published exactly 20 years ago, a series that captured my imagination like few others.

Nineteen eighty-five was the year I started reading and collecting comics seriously. One of the first titles I bought was Crisis On Infinite Earths, a twelve-issue “maxi-series� that was essentially a massive housecleaning effort on the part of DC. As writer Marv Wolfman explained in his introduction to the series, over the previous 50 years the DC universe had burgeoned into a sprawling nightmare. During the early days of comics when each title was basically a world unto itself, writers and editors felt no obligation to make their world consistent with anything else going on in the DC universe. Therefore, says Wolfman, “editor A may have created an Atlantis for their comics while editor B may have created a very different Atlantis for theirs.�
This wasn’t really an issue until DC decided to start teaming up various characters, to give their titles “a touch of reality,� as Wolfman puts it. The problem was, even though characters like Superman and Aquaman both lived on Earth, their worlds often bore no resemblance to one another. Thus, writing such a story became somewhat of a dilemma, a “crisis,� if you will. Which world to choose? Earth 1? Earth 2? Earth X? Earth S? Bizarro World? To make matters worse, writers had also developed two versions of Superman, Batman, Flash, Wonder Woman—you name it. Never mind the readers, even DC’s writers were becoming confused about who lived where, when, and why. Obviously, something had to be done. So, over a period of four years, Wolfman, Len Wein, and others concocted a plan to simplify, clarify, change, and improve the DC Universe. The result was Crisis On Infinite Earths.

But Crisis… was much more than a clean-up job. It was also turned out to be an enthralling, epic tale that spanned time, space, and various dimensions. Universes collided and were destroyed. New characters were introduced, and classic characters were killed, reborn or transformed into something totally different. Reverberations from this series were felt for years to come as many of DC’s top line heroes—Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Lantern—were utterly transformed. As a fourteen-year-old just getting into comics, I was absolutely enchanted by the series. I’ve re-read it several times since then, and I can assure you that hormones had nothing to do with my reaction to it. Crisis… really was—and is—that good.

Which brings us back to Countdown… Oddly enough, the very first title I ever bought as a collector was issue no. 1 of Blue Beetle—the second, Blue Beetle, that is, Ted Kord. So imagine my surprise when, after basically not reading DC Comics for the past fifteen years, I see him on the cover of Countdown…—and it doesn’t look like he’s doing very well. I wasn’t ten pages into the 80-page behemoth before I ran into yet another of my early faves, Booster Gold. He is down on his luck as well. But perhaps both he and Blue Beetle would have a chance to redeem themselves.

As it turns out, Kord has discovered that something big is about to go down—something that could threaten every spandex-clad hero in the universe. For starters, someone has stolen a large shipment of Kryptonite from one of Kord’s warehouses. Presumably the same person has also amassed a wealth of data on every superhero in existence, including their secret identities and a detailed analysis of their strengths and weaknesses. This doesn’t look good. But due to past indiscretions, Blue Beetle has a difficult time getting anyone to sound the alarm. Thus, it falls primarily upon him and Booster to get to the bottom of the things. Along the way though, Booster is taken out of commission. And by the time Blue Beetle realizes what is going on and who is behind it, it’s too late for him to warn anyone.

After writing this summary, I have to admit that this is not really a bad set-up for the series to come. One sub-standard hero is eliminated, another one is given a second chance at life, and a plot is revealed that could place Earth and the entire universe in jeopardy. But it definitely isn’t the most innovative comic I’ve read over the past twenty years either. For starters, from the cover onwards, the storyline was almost one hundred percent predictable. We all know what’s going to happen to Blue Beetle. It’s just a matter of how and when. And as for the premise that someone is plotting to wipe out all costumed heroes (or at least the meta-humans), didn’t we already see that in yet another 1980s comic classic, The Watchmen? No, the set-up wasn’t bad; it just wasn’t great. And I’m sorry, but that just doesn’t cut it, especially if this is supposed to be the lead-in to DC’s biggest event of the year—and, more importantly, my first serious foray back into comics in over a decade. Initially, I thought I had chosen exactly the right moment to get back into comic collecting. It looked like all of my old favorites had become new again. But instead, what I see happening is a continuation of the very thing that caused me to give up comic collecting in the first place: the triumph of money over art, the sense that comic book publishers were more interested in peddling product than creating truly great stories.

In case you think I’m just caught in a “they don’t make them like they used to� 1980s time warp, consider this: From this point onward, the storyline kicked off by Countdown… spins off into (count ‘em) four mini-series, all of which build up to the actual Infinite Crisis series (and its various spin-offs and cross-overs), which comes out this fall. (Are you beginning to smell a rat here?) These mini-series are: The OMAC Project, which focuses on the plot to kill earth’s superheroes, Day of Vengeance, which focuses on DC’s magic-based characters, Villains United, which needs no explanation, and the Rann-Thanagar War, in which Adam Strange, Hawkman, and other interplanetary heroes are the primary characters. Prior to reading Countdown…, I was tempted to sample all four mini-series, not wanting to miss any of the epic story to come. Now I feel more like a fish that has nibbled a bit of the bait but decided he isn’t really hungry after all. That said, I probably will check out the first issue of Infinite Crisis when it finally arrives. But my expectations aren’t nearly what they were.

As for spiritual connections in this issue, the pickings are fairly slim. I felt sorry for my old pal Blue Beetle as he sought to overcome his former comrades’ resentment and convince them that he wasn’t just crying wolf. Seeing Booster Gold reduced to stealing three hundred dollars for a plane ticket was also difficult to watch. But it was a good reminder that even though we are heroes today, one wrong choice can bring us crashing down faster than Superman can change his clothes. No matter how talented or powerful we are on the outside, ultimately it is who we are—our character—that will determine how high we fly or how low we fall. The good news is, just because we fall does not mean we can’t get back up again. This is a matter of character as well, of choices. Like Booster Gold and Blue Beetle, even if no one else believes in us, we can retrace our steps back to the path of virtue, and sooner or later it will lead us up and out of the mire. Let’s just hope the folks at DC haven’t lost sight of the path of virtue just yet either. After all, Countdown… doesn’t have to be the beginning of a fall. It could actually be that first step up out of the muck.

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I think I can finally forgive Tim Burton...

Way back in 1989, still high on the fumes from Frank Miller’s groundbreaking comic mini-series The Dark Knight Returns, I waited in line outside the theater in Foam Lake, Saskatchewan anticipating the movie event of the year: Batman. Never mind that Burton had cast Michael Keaton—of all people—in the lead role. Ludicrous as that decision was, I was still faintly confident that Nicholson’s turn as the Joker and Burton’s penchant for spooky set design would lift the film above such absurdity. I realized the movie wasn’t based on Miller’s script. But surely Burton had learned something from the popularity of Miller’s complex, quasi-criminal portrayal of the caped crusader. Surely.

One hundred and twenty-six minutes later, I stumbled out of the theater into a world that suddenly seemed dark and confused. As I peered at the streetlights, strange, multi-colored haloes danced before my eyes. The faces around me melted like wax, dripping down into the gutter below, and my friends’ voices transformed into demonic growls. As I staggered down the street, parents clutched their children, women screamed, and grown men stepped to the side. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a store window and realized that I had indeed become a monster, a pariah. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to care. “They blew it,� was all I managed to mutter as I trudged down the trash-strewn alley. “They had it right there in front of them, and they blew it…�

Sixteen years later, my sojourn into a Burton-inspired hell is finally over. Like Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins, I have emerged from my self-imposed exile and become a fully functioning member of society once again. Wiser, stronger, and more focused, I have regained my confidence that evil truly can be overcome by good. All it takes is a few men and women who are willing to stand up to injustice. Thankfully, director/writer Christopher Nolan, co-writer David S. Goyer, and the rest of their creative team are exactly that kind of people. Their example has inspired me to become such a person as well…

So Tim, you’re off the hook—for the moment. Judging from the previews, I suspect your version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory may bring an end to the détente all too soon. But once again, until that movie comes out, I will continue to give you the benefit of the doubt.



HJ Batman Begins Links
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Batman Begins

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Batman Begins is the first truly great superhero film. While most superhero films tend to emphasize spectacle over story, Batman Begins is more like a character study masquerading as an action movie. Like Bruce Wayne, this film only resorts to superheroics when all other avenues are exhausted. And when writer/director Christopher Nolan does employ such tactics, he mirrors Batman by treating them as necessary evils rather than big set pieces. During most fight or chase scenes, for example, the camera is so close to the action that all we really observe is the suggestion of action rather than the action itself. This is yet another reflection of Batman’s philosophy: Results are what matter, not how pretty you look as you achieve them. That’s not to say this film—or Batman—does no appreciate the value of theatrics. Exactly the opposite. But both Batman and Nolan realize that if you’re going to create a spectacle—a myth, even—you had better be able to back it up with rock-solid substance. So before the climactic, “all hope is lost if the hero doesn’t succeed� chase sequence, Nolan spends most of the movie creating just that: substance.

Beginning with Bruce Wayne’s training in the Himalayas at the hands of the mysterious Ducard, Nolan feeds us a steady stream of questions regarding justice, fear, identity, anger, guilt, and vengeance. While Wayne doesn’t necessarily embrace everything Ducard has to say on these topics, Ducard’s tutelage is crucial in shaping the type of man Wayne will become. Ducard helps him refine his vision, overcome his fears, and find a constructive channel for his rage.

When Wayne returns to Gotham—a city so rife with corruption that Ducard and his nefarious “League of Shadows� sees no other solution than to destroy it—he determines to prove that even Gotham can be redeemed. He is not exactly sure how he will do it. But, little by little, he assembles the equipment, the personnel, the tactics, and, most importantly, the persona that will enable him to pull it off.

Wayne’s first forays as Batman are not exactly graceful. But the more experienced he becomes, the more success he experiences. Soon, his mere presence in the city begins to have the desired effect. Criminals are stricken with terror at the mere mention of his name, and crime begins to wane. It isn’t long before the myth begins to overshadow the reality, and Batman becomes exactly what Ducard promised: More than a man, he has become a legend.

But has Batman—Bruce Wayne—become a hero? That is the question that lurks at the heart of this film. Of all the heroes in the DC Comics universe, Batman skates closest to the fine line that separates superheroes from supervillains, because his quest for justice is so strongly tainted with vengeance, his methodology so riddled with fear and violence. Unlike Superman, for example, Batman isn’t on a self-sacrificial quest to save society from evil. For Batman—for Bruce Wayne—his fight against injustice is personal, a direct response to the murder of his parents. Among other things, this aspect of his ideology frees him to use tactics that his other (arguably) more heroic comrades will not. It also makes him one of the most intriguing heroes around. Like us, he is a complex mixture of good and evil. Even though Batman has learned to channel and control his dark side, at times we wonder if it is really the other way around—that his dark side has learned to channel and control him. This is what keeps us coming back for more, because we often wonder the same thing about ourselves.

In this film at least, Wayne does see a clear line of demarcation between him and his enemies. Namely, Wayne regards himself as compassionate, whereas his enemies are not. Early in the film when Wayne refuses to kill someone at Ducard’s command, Ducard chides him for his hesitancy, saying, “That is a weakness your enemy will not share.�

“Exactly,� Wayne replies. “That’s why it’s so important.� People like Ducard will kill to achieve their goals, even wipe out an entire city of innocent civilians, if necessary. But while Wayne may not always prevent the death of his enemies—even when it is within his power to do so—he will not cause their death by his own hand. And certainly he will not wittingly injure or kill civilians in his quest for justice. This difference, Wayne figures, places him at least one step higher on the moral ladder than his villainous counterparts. Perhaps. But I believe Wayne’s unwillingness to extend compassion to everyone—including his enemies—is his greatest weakness, a flaw in his ideology that will eventually bring Gotham City crashing down around his pointy ears.

To understand why I think this, we need to jump ahead to one of the final scenes in the film when Lieutenant Gordon raises the question of escalation. He notes that the stronger Gotham’s forces of justice become, the more determined their enemies will become in response. “If we use Kevlar, they’ll use armor-piercing rounds.� Batman isn’t too fazed by this, confident that no matter what the villains come up with, he can create something even more powerful to defeat them. This may be true, but it also points to an inevitable clash between ideology and methodology—between goals and means—a problem that plagues not just Batman but all superheroes.

Screenwriting guru Robert McKee hints at this problem in his book Story, where he states that the hero of a story creates the rest of the cast. What he means is, once a writer creates a hero with specific abilities and character qualities, he or she then creates the rest of the characters based on their ability to showcase certain aspects of the hero. If a hero is generous, the writer will ensure the hero encounters characters that elicit this aspect of his or her character. If the hero is clever, the writer will put him or her in conflict with an equally clever antagonist.

As I thought about McKee’s statement, it occurred to me that this principle is particularly true in the world of superheroes. When you create a godlike hero, you must create godlike villains for him or her to overcome. After all, what’s the point of creating a nearly indestructible character like Superman if the only people he ever goes up against are petty thieves? Sooner or later, a character that is capable of saving the world must be pitted against a villain capable of destroying the world. Otherwise, readers/viewers will lose interest.

Let’s set the question of entertainment value aside for a moment though and pretend that the world of Gotham were real. If so, the evolution of supervillains would be a natural response to the presence of superheroes. For instance, in Batman Begins, it isn’t long before the criminals of Gotham realize they need to make some drastic changes to their tactics if they hope to remain in business. It’s a simple market reality: The more powerful Batman becomes, the more powerful they must become. If Batman is stealthy, they must become even stealthier. If he develops technology to help him in his crime-fighting efforts, they must develop even better technology. If he responds to their actions with violence, they must respond with even more violence. If Batman becomes, in effect, super-powered; they must also become super-powerful. Thus, the escalation Gordon predicted will come true.

In this sense, Batman becomes his own worst enemy, because his very presence in Gotham assures that more and stronger villains will continue to arise. Rather than serve to stabilize society then, Batman actually becomes a destabilizing force instead. This is the clash between ideology and methodology I mentioned earlier: Batman thinks he can adopt the criminals’ methodology (except for murder) and yet still remain true to his ideology. But, as Gordon foresees, the best such a schema can do is forestall the inevitable—mutually assured destruction of hero, villain, and society as a whole. Thus, we can finally see how the limit Wayne has placed on compassion truly does become his greatest weakness: By refusing to extend compassion to include his enemies, he doesn’t weaken them; he actually makes them stronger, thus compounding the very social problems he set out to solve.

Just think about the real world implications of this fact: Today, our primary response to something like terrorism is to hunt down and kill the terrorists. And why not? Surely a motley band of insurgents is no match for the technological and military might of the West. And yet, despite a global effort to defeat terrorism, the terrorists still manage to strike ever more frequent and devastating blows. Unthinkable. Or is it? Could it be that, like Batman in Gotham, the mere presence of such an overwhelming military superpower in our world is giving rise to the very thing that superpower was created to stand against? Like Batman, could the willingness of the West to adopt the methodologies of its enemies—war, terror, torture, etc.—actually be forcing our enemies to become more creative, more desperate, more willing to attempt bolder and more terrifying schemes because they see no other way of achieving their goals? If so, is there any way out of this situation? Let’s see if Batman Begins can provide us with an answer.

Imagine for a moment that instead of becoming the Caped Crusader, Bruce Wayne followed in the footsteps of his father and focused on preventing crime through social initiatives rather than trying to beat criminals into submission. I can’t be certain, but I doubt supervillains like Ra’s Ah Ghul or the Scarecrow would ever arise in Gotham, because without a superhero like Batman, there would be no need for them. Admittedly, Wayne’s effect on crime would not be as immediate or dramatic as Batman’s—and it sure wouldn’t make for a very interesting comic book. But in the long run, I believe it would be far more effective. Rather than intensify the resolve and ability of his adversaries, Wayne’s efforts would chip away at their ability to operate by alleviating the social factors that make crime an appealing career alternative.

If you want to get really radical, imagine if, in his efforts to solve the city’s social problems, Wayne actually extended his compassion to include the criminals themselves. What if, rather than coming up with tougher laws and longer sentences, for instance, he focused on rehabilitating them instead? Who knows? He may just discover that even criminals can be redeemed. As it stands though, Wayne is a lot like us. He tends to objectify his enemies, to view them as evil constructs rather than real people. They are evil by nature, he believes, sub-human even. Objectifying criminals like this serves two functions: First, it releases Wayne from feeling anything toward them, making it easier for him to dispatch them. Second, it frees him from asking hard questions like, “What circumstances caused this person to pursue a life of crime? Has my life contributed to those circumstances in any way? If so, how? What can I do to change those circumstances?� Pursue such questions far enough, and I believe they will reveal that none of us are truly innocent, that we all bear at least a tacit responsibility for society’s ills. I suspect such questions will also reveal that perhaps our desire to vanquish our enemies is really an attempt to vanquish the voices of guilt that plague our soul. That’s why Wayne—and the rest of us—are so afraid to ask them.

Bruce Wayne is correct: Compassion does make him different from his enemies, but only marginally so. His ideology may be different from theirs. But as long as his methodology remains the same, Batman will continue to be as much a villain as he is a hero. The question is; would we really want him any other way? Not if this contradiction continues to inspire movies as fascinating as this one. As for us, that’s a different matter altogether…

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—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections

Cinderella Man

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections

If ever there was a classic rendering of the American dream—little guy overcomes incredible odds to make it big—Cinderella Man is it. It has all the requisite components:
1) A virtuous underdog (former heavyweight boxing contender James J. Braddock) who has tasted success but has recently fallen on hard times,
2) a worldly-wise mentor (Braddock’s manager) who offers the hero one more chance for glory,
3) a corrupt system (the boxing commission) that the hero must overcome if he hopes to achieve his dream,
4) a faithful companion (Braddock’s wife) who inspires and supports the hero along the way,
5) a nefarious villain (heavyweight champion Max Baer) who represents everything the hero is not,
6) a community in desperate need of a hero (Depression-era New York), and
7) a final battle (the heavyweight title bout) in which the fate of the hero—and, by extension, the entire community—will be decided.

We’ve all seen this story countless times. Braveheart, Rocky, Gladiator, Jerry McGuire, Unforgiven, First Blood, Hoosiers, A League of Their Own, and Miracle are just a few titles that spring to mind, but there are dozens more. And if you look back even further, you can trace the origins of this “monomyth� through the history of film and literature, all the way back to the first stories ever told around a campfire or on a cave wall. Greek, Roman, Norse, Indian, Jewish—virtually all bodies of mythological literature contain this archetype. Considering this pedigree, I can’t help but wonder why we feel compelled to tell and re-tell this story over and over again. Sure, Cinderella Man is a masterful rendition of this myth. But do we really need to see it again?

Perhaps the best way to answer this question is through my own viewing experience. Cinderella Man is one of those rare films during which I found it extremely difficult to keep my critical faculties engaged. I was so emotionally involved in the story that I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t real. Forget about the technical aspects of the production; I just wanted Braddock to win! Afterwards, I puzzled over why this was so. I could see why it was important for people during the Depression to pin their hopes on an everyman hero like Braddock. But why was it so important to me? Why—even though I knew the outcome—was I on the edge of my seat throughout the final bout? Do I feel repressed in some way? Or am I just that susceptible to suggestion, to nostalgia? I’m not sure. But I can think of several other reasons why Braddock’s journey and stories like it are important to me and everyone else.

First, stories like Braddock’s give us hope that, like him, we can also overcome the obstacles that hold us back. We can gain a measure of dignity and self-determination—if only to the point where we are able to choose the time and place of our ultimate defeat. We don’t have to give up and become victims or give in to the corruption that is all around us. Never mind that the film’s depiction of Braddock borders on hagiography. His journey reminds us that the good don’t always die young, and nice guys sometimes do finish first. When we’re tempted to compromise our morals for gain, we can reflect back on stories like this one and be inspired to continue pursuing the high and narrow path of virtue.

In a similar vein, stories like Cinderella Man remind us of what’s worth fighting for. Getting to the top isn’t all that matters. In fact, it may not matter at all. It’s the person you become along the way that counts. I find it interesting that even while such stories celebrate success, they tend to cast successful people in a negative light. For example, the boxing promoters—save for Braddock’s manager—are portrayed as a pack of money-grubbing opportunists. And the current heavyweight champion of the world, Max Baer, is like an early incarnation of Hugh Hefner—albeit with a lethal right hook. This begs a number of questions: Why the paradox? Does success always breed corruption? If so, how can the hero retain his virtue in the face of all the temptations victory brings? And how about us: Can we resist those same temptations on our own road to glory? If so, how?

What about the price of victory? Each time Braddock defeated an opponent, I couldn’t help thinking he was merely sending yet another man to the same relief line in which he had only recently been standing. We’re supposed to celebrate Braddock’s victory, because he is the hero of this film. But, as Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.� Just because the name of the guy at the top changes, that doesn’t mean the forces of evil that kept him down have been overcome. They just have a new victim to kick around. In boxing, as in any sport, when one person wins, someone else loses. How about in life? What can we do to ensure our own heroics don’t wind up victimizing others? Rather than focusing merely on our own journey, how can we ensure that the pursuit of our liberation also leads to the liberation of others? This is a crucial question made even more compelling by the rapidly shrinking nature of our global village. Today, when a butterfly flaps its wings in Asia, the movement truly is felt around the world. How about when you flap your wings, as it were? What kind of ripple effect are you creating?

Stories like Cinderella Man also teach us the importance of community. The community this film focuses on in particular is Braddock’s family. During a press conference when Braddock is asked what he is fighting for, his reply consists of one word: “milk.� When he was a younger man, a prouder man, Braddock was probably a lot more like Max Baer. He fought for all of the things our culture teaches us are important: money, fame, power, and happiness. But years of struggle have taught Braddock that all of those things are merely fleeting. What really matters are love, honor, faithfulness, perseverance, and the people who live right under his roof. Braddock is willing to sacrifice everything—even his life—to protect them, to set a good example for his kids. Perhaps the years of hardship were God’s way of preparing Braddock to handle the victory to come. Rather than destroy his family, as is so often the case, his quest for the title merely makes them stronger as they band together to support his pursuit.

Of course, Braddock’s effect on the wider community—indeed, the nation as a whole—is also central to this film. He became a hero not only to his family but also to his co-workers and to virtually every other person who felt like he or she had been cheated out of the “good life� by the Depression. Cinderella Man reminds us that we all live our lives on a stage. It doesn’t matter whether thousands of people are watching us or merely a handful. It is always important to strive for greatness, to be people of character. Just as Braddock’s life inspires us, our lives serve as an inspiration to others. Whether that inspiration is positive or negative depends upon the example we set.

Despite what I’ve said above, many critics will deride this film for its sentimental, simplistic version of reality. Many already have. But let’s not forget that the name of this film—Cinderella Man—is derived from a fairy tale. Even though such stories are not lauded for their literal representation of reality, we still love and need them, because they are true in a way that reality can never be.

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections