Category Archives: super heroes

On Clark Kent

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Being the alter ego of Superman cannot be an easy role to play. Designed to be the outward disguise of a superhero, Clark Kent was, is and always will be much more than that. Klutzy, slow, a little witless, he is supposed to an Everyman who goes to work everyday, does his working man thing, then goes home at the end of the day. One supposes that Clark only wants the things and relationships that we all want so we are not bored or lonely: a roof over our heads and a companion with which he might share his time and emotions. Yet, Clark Kent is really none of those things because he is Kal-El, he is Superman and superman, both the hero and iconic ubermann who is superior in all ways to those around him. His very role as hero with exceptional powers prohibits him from having a normal relationship with others, so his pretend public persona must appear inferior in a variety of ways to other men so that he might fit in. The existence of Clark Kent presents a strange paradox between the ideal man and a real man, with all his failings, faults, and problems. His ineptitude is magnified and enhanced by the strange problem of trying to date a woman who is in love with his “super” self and uninterested in his fallible human alter ego. Lois Lane only has eyes for Superman, but couldn’t be less interested in the bumbling office mate who always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is very un-super of him. In other words, being Superman has no real benefits other than being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, a skill most can do without. Being Superman is, then, a bittersweet situation: you can impress the ladies with your physique, but the tender side of your personality has to stay locked up and caged. Superman is not just Superman, he is also Clark Kent, and vice versa, which means that both characters are facades for a larger character that has seen fit to split his personality, a la Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, in order to function in a larger society. No one wants a tender and caring Superman, but Clark is supposed to be less than graceful, even weak. Eventually, the integrated character Superman/Clark Kent must come to terms with their existential conundrum of who they might really be, a character that is neither Superman nor Clark Kent. The general public craves the presence of Superman with all the ethical and moral burdens implicit in that relationship, making Clark Kent an interesting mask behind which the superhero might hide without being asked to save the world: no one expects Mr. Kent to do anything but bring Lois a fresh cup of coffee and sharpen the pencils–a primitive analogue for keeping the computer booted and running. Clark Kent must even feign a reserved masculinity in order to deflect interest from himself as if his own sexuality inhabited a liminal non-sexual space that is neither male nor female, almost a eunuch as it were, the complete opposite of “the man of steel.” Nevertheless, Kal-El does not permanently go around as a superhero because that persona is more sustainable than Clark Kent. The brooding super-human character of the hero must suffer constantly from an existential anxiety of purpose, ideals, identity, future, ethics, and violence. Perhaps it is that last things that so divides him from his alter ego, a peaceful, non-fighter who eschews violence while seeking non-violent solutions whenever possible. The internal battle between the hero and his non-heroic alter ego is constant, ongoing, and unresolvable, creating an ethos of melancholy and resignation as he tries to integrate into a society that will never either accept him as an equal or even give him a chance to be a whole person.

On Clark Kent

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Being the alter ego of Superman cannot be an easy role to play. Designed to be the outward disguise of a superhero, Clark Kent was, is and always will be much more than that. Klutzy, slow, a little witless, he is supposed to an Everyman who goes to work everyday, does his working man thing, then goes home at the end of the day. One supposes that Clark only wants the things and relationships that we all want so we are not bored or lonely: a roof over our heads and a companion with which he might share his time and emotions. Yet, Clark Kent is really none of those things because he is Kal-El, he is Superman and superman, both the hero and iconic ubermann who is superior in all ways to those around him. His very role as hero with exceptional powers prohibits him from having a normal relationship with others, so his pretend public persona must appear inferior in a variety of ways to other men so that he might fit in. The existence of Clark Kent presents a strange paradox between the ideal man and a real man, with all his failings, faults, and problems. His ineptitude is magnified and enhanced by the strange problem of trying to date a woman who is in love with his “super” self and uninterested in his fallible human alter ego. Lois Lane only has eyes for Superman, but couldn’t be less interested in the bumbling office mate who always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is very un-super of him. In other words, being Superman has no real benefits other than being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, a skill most can do without. Being Superman is, then, a bittersweet situation: you can impress the ladies with your physique, but the tender side of your personality has to stay locked up and caged. Superman is not just Superman, he is also Clark Kent, and vice versa, which means that both characters are facades for a larger character that has seen fit to split his personality, a la Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, in order to function in a larger society. No one wants a tender and caring Superman, but Clark is supposed to be less than graceful, even weak. Eventually, the integrated character Superman/Clark Kent must come to terms with their existential conundrum of who they might really be, a character that is neither Superman nor Clark Kent. The general public craves the presence of Superman with all the ethical and moral burdens implicit in that relationship, making Clark Kent an interesting mask behind which the superhero might hide without being asked to save the world: no one expects Mr. Kent to do anything but bring Lois a fresh cup of coffee and sharpen the pencils–a primitive analogue for keeping the computer booted and running. Clark Kent must even feign a reserved masculinity in order to deflect interest from himself as if his own sexuality inhabited a liminal non-sexual space that is neither male nor female, almost a eunuch as it were, the complete opposite of “the man of steel.” Nevertheless, Kal-El does not permanently go around as a superhero because that persona is more sustainable than Clark Kent. The brooding super-human character of the hero must suffer constantly from an existential anxiety of purpose, ideals, identity, future, ethics, and violence. Perhaps it is that last things that so divides him from his alter ego, a peaceful, non-fighter who eschews violence while seeking non-violent solutions whenever possible. The internal battle between the hero and his non-heroic alter ego is constant, ongoing, and unresolvable, creating an ethos of melancholy and resignation as he tries to integrate into a society that will never either accept him as an equal or even give him a chance to be a whole person.

On the thing that came from another world

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This strange little film came out at a time when the world was wondering if it would have to duck and cover, and the world’s leaders were all caught up in dreams nuclear war, atom bombs, and anti-communist rhetoric. The whole world was Cold War obsessed, and the crazy senator from Wisconsin was carrying around lists of all the communists that worked in the State Department. Unsure of either the science or the ethics surrounding the nuclear age, people lived in fear that today might be their last day on earth if someone got crazy and punched the wrong button, sending nuclear weapons flying, helter-skelter, across the world and obliterating every living thing. So this archetypal ghost story comes with an interesting twist: one of our Cold War outposts in Alaska find a flying saucer in the ice near the North Pole, and they bring back, frozen in ice as if he were some wooly mammoth or something, an alien. This alien, played by Gun Smoke’s James Arness, is a rather blood-thirsty and violent creature who wants to wipe out the men and woman who are temporarily stranded in the Arctic wasteland. In the true spirit of American bootstrap initiatives, they fight back and (spoiler alert!) and defeat said creature. When I first saw this film back in the sixties, I was just a kid and it scared the heebie-jeebies out of me. Now I can listen to characters talk, understand their fear of the unknown, and experience their total blind panic in a very direct fashion. This film gives a strange vicarious thrill, but it is not cathartic, and the ending leaves one feeling both incomplete and nervous. This movie predates Alien by almost thirty years, but the story is there. There is a direct threat to the security and well-being of the people at the outpost, and those in command must do something to resolve the situation. What I found incredibly creepy about this film is this: the difference between life and death is very fine, and it doesn’t take much to move from one to the other. The intensity of the film, the nervous tension among the characters, the fear, and the violent nature of the human response drain the viewer of energy because the emotional response to this film is extreme. The fear of the unknown is strong, overwhelming, intimidating, reckless, chaotic, unpredictable, and powerful. People do crazy things when they must confront their fears, and unsurprisingly, most of the time they turn tale and run. This movie is a Cold War product because it reflected both the Cold War fears of the unknown and American bravery and ingenuity for dealing with an unknown and dangerous power. The movie shows these good intentioned, but violent, soldiers working for their country. They and their reaction to the situation is heroic and exemplary, even in the face of certain death in an isolated and inhospitable location thousands of miles from civilization. There’s even an embedded newspaper man with the troops to shout about the first amendment, free speech, and freedom of the press. Though the film is shot in glorious black and white, it’s really rather red, white, and blue.

On the thing that came from another world

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This strange little film came out at a time when the world was wondering if it would have to duck and cover, and the world’s leaders were all caught up in dreams nuclear war, atom bombs, and anti-communist rhetoric. The whole world was Cold War obsessed, and the crazy senator from Wisconsin was carrying around lists of all the communists that worked in the State Department. Unsure of either the science or the ethics surrounding the nuclear age, people lived in fear that today might be their last day on earth if someone got crazy and punched the wrong button, sending nuclear weapons flying, helter-skelter, across the world and obliterating every living thing. So this archetypal ghost story comes with an interesting twist: one of our Cold War outposts in Alaska find a flying saucer in the ice near the North Pole, and they bring back, frozen in ice as if he were some wooly mammoth or something, an alien. This alien, played by Gun Smoke’s James Arness, is a rather blood-thirsty and violent creature who wants to wipe out the men and woman who are temporarily stranded in the Arctic wasteland. In the true spirit of American bootstrap initiatives, they fight back and (spoiler alert!) and defeat said creature. When I first saw this film back in the sixties, I was just a kid and it scared the heebie-jeebies out of me. Now I can listen to characters talk, understand their fear of the unknown, and experience their total blind panic in a very direct fashion. This film gives a strange vicarious thrill, but it is not cathartic, and the ending leaves one feeling both incomplete and nervous. This movie predates Alien by almost thirty years, but the story is there. There is a direct threat to the security and well-being of the people at the outpost, and those in command must do something to resolve the situation. What I found incredibly creepy about this film is this: the difference between life and death is very fine, and it doesn’t take much to move from one to the other. The intensity of the film, the nervous tension among the characters, the fear, and the violent nature of the human response drain the viewer of energy because the emotional response to this film is extreme. The fear of the unknown is strong, overwhelming, intimidating, reckless, chaotic, unpredictable, and powerful. People do crazy things when they must confront their fears, and unsurprisingly, most of the time they turn tale and run. This movie is a Cold War product because it reflected both the Cold War fears of the unknown and American bravery and ingenuity for dealing with an unknown and dangerous power. The movie shows these good intentioned, but violent, soldiers working for their country. They and their reaction to the situation is heroic and exemplary, even in the face of certain death in an isolated and inhospitable location thousands of miles from civilization. There’s even an embedded newspaper man with the troops to shout about the first amendment, free speech, and freedom of the press. Though the film is shot in glorious black and white, it’s really rather red, white, and blue.

On Gilgamesh

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The epic of Gilgamesh is an old story. Men, writers, thinkers, poets, have tinkered with narrative story-lines for millenia trying to explain the human condition–tragedy, comedy, pain, suffering, desire, love, hunger, solitude, companionship, passion, existential angst, laughter. By constructing a hero, a Gilgamesh or an Enkidu, the storyteller can begin to explore the mystery that is the human person, and the greatest of all these mysteries is death, the trip from which none return, leaving it a mystery by definition. Friendship, companionship, love, these are other mysteries that the Gilgamesh poet explores, but he is a dark poet who not only investigates the joys of friendship, he also shares the pain of loss with his public. There is no joy without pain, no light without darkness, no parties wihout solitude. By giving Gilgamesh things to do, places to go, questions to answer, the poet shares his insights into the human experiment. The poem, then, is a commentary, right or wrong, on what it means to be truly human, to share the grand contraditions of life and death, the pain, the joy, the melancholy, the boredom, the tedium, the excitement, the triumphs, the failures over which man or woman has very little (or no) control. Reading the poem, one is immediately struck by the arbitrary nature of all that happens, seemingly independent of what the charaters desire, want, or work for. The poet ponders the question of how this can be. How is it that the gods have reserved life for themselves and given man over to death? If this is the case then how can anything here on earth mean anything or make any difference? Why bother to do anything if we eventually all end up in the underworld in the hall of the dead? Yet, contrarily, the poet suggests, that in spite the finite nature of life, there is so much to do and think, so many experiences to have, so many hunts, so much investigation, and at one point a character admonishes a depressed Gilgamesh (who has almost given up the will to live as he grieves the loss of his friend, Enkidu) to eat, drink and be merry because that is what he can do, and that bemoaning his outcast state will not bring back his friend. The Gilgamesh poet is parsing his existential angst, sorting out the why’s and the where to for’s in an attempt to explain who we are–people, men, women, teachers, singers, brick-layers, bread-makers, weavers, poets, actors, athletes, soldiers, priests. The poet is, however, skeptical, unsure of his answers, leaving them in front of his public more like suggestions than good theories. The ambiguity inherent in the text suggests that the text is ironic, not romantic, and that the hero is more fallable and more vulnerable than he would like. Culture, civilization, society, cities, conventions are all on trial here, but there is also a certain inevitibility built into the text whose own existence speaks to the organization of culture, poetry and art four millennium after the story was originally carved into those magical tablets.

On Gilgamesh

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The epic of Gilgamesh is an old story. Men, writers, thinkers, poets, have tinkered with narrative story-lines for millenia trying to explain the human condition–tragedy, comedy, pain, suffering, desire, love, hunger, solitude, companionship, passion, existential angst, laughter. By constructing a hero, a Gilgamesh or an Enkidu, the storyteller can begin to explore the mystery that is the human person, and the greatest of all these mysteries is death, the trip from which none return, leaving it a mystery by definition. Friendship, companionship, love, these are other mysteries that the Gilgamesh poet explores, but he is a dark poet who not only investigates the joys of friendship, he also shares the pain of loss with his public. There is no joy without pain, no light without darkness, no parties wihout solitude. By giving Gilgamesh things to do, places to go, questions to answer, the poet shares his insights into the human experiment. The poem, then, is a commentary, right or wrong, on what it means to be truly human, to share the grand contraditions of life and death, the pain, the joy, the melancholy, the boredom, the tedium, the excitement, the triumphs, the failures over which man or woman has very little (or no) control. Reading the poem, one is immediately struck by the arbitrary nature of all that happens, seemingly independent of what the charaters desire, want, or work for. The poet ponders the question of how this can be. How is it that the gods have reserved life for themselves and given man over to death? If this is the case then how can anything here on earth mean anything or make any difference? Why bother to do anything if we eventually all end up in the underworld in the hall of the dead? Yet, contrarily, the poet suggests, that in spite the finite nature of life, there is so much to do and think, so many experiences to have, so many hunts, so much investigation, and at one point a character admonishes a depressed Gilgamesh (who has almost given up the will to live as he grieves the loss of his friend, Enkidu) to eat, drink and be merry because that is what he can do, and that bemoaning his outcast state will not bring back his friend. The Gilgamesh poet is parsing his existential angst, sorting out the why’s and the where to for’s in an attempt to explain who we are–people, men, women, teachers, singers, brick-layers, bread-makers, weavers, poets, actors, athletes, soldiers, priests. The poet is, however, skeptical, unsure of his answers, leaving them in front of his public more like suggestions than good theories. The ambiguity inherent in the text suggests that the text is ironic, not romantic, and that the hero is more fallable and more vulnerable than he would like. Culture, civilization, society, cities, conventions are all on trial here, but there is also a certain inevitibility built into the text whose own existence speaks to the organization of culture, poetry and art four millennium after the story was originally carved into those magical tablets.

On "The Hunger Games" (movie)

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My son is a huge fan of The Hunger Games trilogy, so the family went to the movies last night. Though I wouldn’t say that the film is brilliant, it is very good, and although “subtle” is not the word that most would use to describe the movie, there was a lot of subtle commentary on the culture of television, reality tv specifically, fascism, slavery, personal sacrifice, class conflict and the role of violence in pop culture. Indeed, the movie was very violent and ended up being a riff on itself and the exploitation of violence as a marketing tool to get people to watch something so sponsors can sell their stuff. I took careful note last night as to whom was sponsoring commercials in the movie theater before the movie began. The Hunger Games is about a completely secular society that represses and exploits others so that they may lead a life of leisure and luxury; imagine if Rome had never fallen but had continued to flourish into the 21st century. The “Capital” culture exploits the outlying “districts” so that they may follow a life of wealth, power, hedonism, and luxury. The outlying districts are, more or less, living hand to mouth to do the work that ensures the luxurious lifestyles of the Capital. The movie starts in District 12, the designated coal mining region which supplies all of the coal which keeps the lights on in the capital. The exploitation of the workers is ensured by a faceless army of thugs and brutes which rule through violence and fear. The government is fascist writ large. There is no democratic process to ensure any kind of representation, and there are no checks and balances which might curtail corruption or exploitation. The actual “Hunger Games” is an exercise in ritual murder turned into a reality television show, and the participants–all of whom will be violently murdered–are chosen via lottery (wink and nod to Shirley Jackson)–two from each district. The last man standing is turned into a pop celebrity for “winning” the Hunger Games. Tip of the hat to Woody Harrelson for bringing life to a cynical alcoholic ex-winner of the games from District 12. The main character is a reincarnation of Diana the Huntress, who begins the film by sacrificing herself to save her little sister who has been chosen to participate in the macabre reality show of violent death, mutilation, suffering, and cruelty which is being staged for the entertainment of the Capital, and for the humiliation of the districts. No spoilers here. Watch it, read it, but remember, this is strong stuff–not for the weak of heart.