We cannot fly, but we can lift each other to the stars.
At this point, there’s not many need to be told what the MARVEL Cinematic Universe is. Chances are, if you’re reading this, you already have a fairly firm personal favorite among the various Iron Mans or Captain Americas, and statistically speaking, you’re almost certain to see at least one of the Avengers-adjacent films, either at home or on the big screen, sometime this year. And it would be easy to dismiss them, as fun as they are, as just another pop culture money-making machine. . . because that’s what they boil down to.
But, much like the wacky teams at the center of these films, these movies are more than the sum of their parts. Taken as a thematic whole, they actually comprise one of the most important ongoing stories we have right now.
Donald Trump is the President of the United States of America.
I’m not going to spill an undue amount of digital ink recounting how this racist, sexist, idiotic, lying toad-stain of a man shouldn’t be president of a rotary club, let alone a country, but the fact remains. And while I don’t subscribe to the notion that great adversity always breeds great art (artists like the simple things – like the possibility of affording medicine, and being able to eat, and not being rounded up and shot for their religion), but there’s no denying that art is a reflection of its time, and turbulent times lead to very telling and important art.
And here’s where the colorful superhero movies come in.
(By the way, I’m gonna spoil the crap out of some of these films, including the recent Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, so be warned.)
Now, I’m not here to argue that the films in the MARVEL Cinematic Universe are the best movies ever. Or even the best superhero movies ever. Or even the best movies of any given year (okay, sometimes I argue that, but that’s not the point). I will, however, argue the point that the over-arcing theme of the MCU, conscious/deliberate or not as it may be across the project’s 15 entries and counting, is a huge potential rallying point for those who bother to look. Yes, these are fun blockbusters largely geared toward encouraging as many consumers as possible to buy tickets, then buy comics, then buy toys, then buy home releases, then buy more tickets, lather, rinse, repeat. . . but they’re also selling a very particular theme of unity beyond the simplistic “hey, aren’t friends nice?” parable that is an easy go-to when your entire enterprise revolves around constant team-ups.
To explain, let’s examine Tony Stark (perfected by Robert Downey Jr.) a.k.a. Iron Man, the guy who started this whole thing back in 2008. Examined as a continuing arc, the growth of his character across these films is actually remarkably consistent, starting as an irresponsible war profiteering billionaire. First, Tony learns to take responsibility for the consequences of his actions, and this leads to him choosing to go on a one-man quest for righteous retribution. This obsessive need to be “the guy who fixes it” defines his character, and informs every decision he makes.
And it’s almost always the wrong one for the right reasons.
“Apparently, I’m volatile. Self-obsessed. Don’t play well with others.”
Tony Stark learns that he alone cannot fix it. So he accepts help from others, but when he feels those he cares for threatened, he takes obsessive measures to protect them, first by losing himself in his work in order to escape from his personal trauma (Iron Man Three), then by convincing them to assist him in questionable endeavors against their better judgement (Age of Ultron and Civil War). He’s always taking the wrong lesson from whatever failure he faces, and as a result of this, the MARVEL films have cast him as a central antagonist rather than the righteous hero he strains to be.
The other end of this spectrum is, of course, Steve Rogers’ Captain America (courtesy of Chris Evans, in arguably the best superhero casting since Christopher Reeve), a man who’s spent his entire life knowing that his true strength lies not solely in his own abilities (an obvious lesson from his days as Little Steve), but in the trust and bonds that form between those he works with. Nearly every idealogical difference between Steve and Tony – and there are a lot, even before those differences become the literal plot of Cap’s third film – boil down to one of them thinking of the team and the other thinking of themselves.
“This isn’t freedom, this is fear.”
This is where the MCU lays down its Trump card, for lack of a better term: there is no one person who always has the right answer. Not even Captain Freakin’ America is without his own shortcomings and lapses in judgement. And if even gods and geniuses and literal supermen need each other, then so do we. We are. . . well, stronger together.
And it’s not just the Avengers who bring this point home. In fact, one of the central themes that runs through both of the Guardians of the Galaxy films is the utter dismissal of the concept of someone having more worth or importance or meaning than someone else because of their birth. In the first film, Ronan the Accuser is a being with Celestial blood, an interstellar warlord of immense strength with a magic weapon who gains control of phenomenal cosmic power, and he’s not brought down by someone else who’s got magical destiny chosen blood, but (as visualized both by the barrier of the Nova Corp. and the literal clasping of hands of the Guardians themselves) by a group of misfits and mortals joining together to do the impossible.
“We’re just like Kevin Bacon!”
This is even more firmly driven home in Vol. 2, when Peter Quill’s father (revealed to be a living planet with godlike abilities) gives him the choice to inherit a mantle of ultimate power, which Peter flatly refuses. When his father laments that “…You’ll be just like everyone else!” Peter’s response, without hesitation, is “What’s so wrong with that?”
Bear in mind, this is a film not about a team of princes and living legends, but of space pirates and petty thieves and even former war criminals stumbling their way toward absolution with nothing to hold onto except a flimsy found family of other cooks and criminals. And yet, when the face of toxic masculinity and abusive fatherhood (personified either by Ego the Living Planet or by Thanos, adopted father of Nebula and Gamora) rears its head, the Guardians choose not to inherit this legacy of hatred and destruction, but one of creation and forgiveness — however fragile or temporary.
“No, you move.”
So why does this have anything to do with the fetid, rotting satsuma that sits in the White House? Because he and his selfish, xenophobic, ego-centric dogma are everything that these films rail against. It’s deeply ironic that a comic book movie about a literal civil war between heroes was released only months before a deeply divisive political campaign led to a walking Disney villain being elected (marginally) to the highest seat of political power. But that doesn’t have to be the end of our story. Heroes fail all the time, and I’m not just talking about in comic books. Good people die and bad people succeed every day, but in the ledger of history, the balance is always weighted against the tide of wickedness.
That’s why these movies matter. The MCU is far from perfect – artistically, aspirationally, or representatively. Much like its heroes, this ongoing experiment/mega-franchise can very much have feet of clay. But even as it’s embraced, it’s also called upon to improve, to evolve, and seems to – if only by degrees – be listening. That’s why stories like these matter. It’s important, especially now, that we remind ourselves that no one person has the power to solve the problems that face us. It’s imperative that we remember that, whatever disagreements we’ve had in our past, we cannot allow them to divide us in the face of villainy. We must never forget that, however small or broken or worthless we feel by ourselves, there is literally nothing we cannot accomplish if we join hands with enough other small, broken, worthless people. And even if we cannot win, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight. We may not be able to call down the thunder, but together our voices can drown it out. We cannot fly, but we can lift each other to the stars. We will never be able to bring back our beloved dead, but through us they and their stories will live forever.
It may seem silly and eye-rolling to give a bunch of stupid comic book movies this kind of importance, but these movies are showing no signs of slowing down, and I think there’s a reason for that. We know that this century has given us wonders, but has also revealed terrifying new and resurgent threats, and I think people need this now. We need to be reminded that we – as a species – are always stronger together, even when the world threatens to tear us apart.
We need to be reminded that we are our own heroes.
