Defending the Invincible

 

What’s wrong with the superhero film?

 As of this writing, Spiderman: No Way Home is the third highest grossing domestic box office film in history. Of the two positions in front of it in that category, one is occupied by Avengers: Endgame. Superhero movies are staggeringly popular, crossing demographic boundaries in a single bound. Yet they receive little love from some critics and filmmakers, and do not achieve the awards recognition that “serious” films do (except in technical areas – all those nifty special effects!).

 So what is the problem? Listen to what these respected director have to say:

 Denis Villeneuve: “Perhaps the problem is that we are in front of too many Marvel movies that are nothing more than a ‘cut and paste’ of others. Perhaps these types of movies have turned us into zombies a bit . . . “

 Martin Scorcese: “Many of the elements that define cinema as I know it are there in Marvel pictures. What’s not there is revelation, mystery or genuine emotional danger. Nothing is at risk. The pictures are made to satisfy a specific set of demands, and they are designed as variations on a finite number of themes. . . .  The situation, sadly, is that we now have two separate fields: There’s worldwide audiovisual entertainment, and there’s cinema.”

 Ken Loach”: They’re made as commodities . . . like hamburgers . . . It’s about making a commodity which will make profit for a big corporation – they’re a cynical exercise. They’re a market exercise and it has nothing to do with the art of cinema.”

 Ridley Scott: “****ing boring as ****.”

 Francis Ford Coppola: “A Marvel picture is one prototype movie that is made over and over and over and over and over again to look different.”

 David Cronenberg: “A superhero movie, by definition, you know, it’s comic book. It’s for kids. It’s adolescent at its core.”

 Alejandro G. Inarritu: “They have been poison, this cultural genocide, because the audience is so overexposed to plot and explosions and shit that doesn’t mean nothing about the experience of being human.”

 Despite their popularity, superhero movies are consigned to the cultural ghetto – a well-heeled one, to be sure. Public and critical opinion appear poles apart on this subject. Can we take them seriously? It’s difficult to get a grip on something you don’t take seriously. Where do these animosities come from? How valid are these arguments?

 First, take into account the long-standing cultural bias in America against the source material -- comic books. The stereotypical perception has been that comics’ primary appeal is to children and semi-literates. The rise of the ‘graphic novel” movement has budged that critical estimation a bit, but not by much. To art lovers, it must be kid stuff. This is nothing new --

 “Of all the lively arts, the Comic Strip is the most despised, and with the exception of the movies, the most popular.” Gilbert Seldes, The Seven Lively Arts, 1924

 Then there is an understandable envy about the amount of financing and resources that are dedicated to superhero projects, movies that are part of a larger franchise and take hundreds of millions of dollars and the participation of thousands to create. Given the struggles serious directors go through to get what they need to make their films, the ease with which Hollywood industrial cinema constructs its superhero films must be enraging.

 The thing to remember is that, as titanic as the production values are, we are still just talking about genre film. The superhero film is the dominant genre of the day, just as film noir, the screwball comedy, and the Western were in their respective heydays. Superhero films are of a piece: populated by unambiguous, costumed heroes and villains, and featuring conflict resolution through violent action. They are, in other words, melodramas (with explosions and wild, garish visual effects). Melodramas do not reward introspection. Its characters are flat and do not change.

 There is nothing wrong with genre – the bulk of genre films can be quite dull, mired in convention, indistinguishable from the rest. (Scorsese has made his share of genre films, and later ones such as The Departed and The Irishman show signs of creative fatigue. Also he’s made his comic book film – his 2011 Hugo was based on the illustrated novel The Invention of Hugo Cabret.) A few exceptional genre films transcend the category and achieve higher status at a later date. We are too early in the superhero genre boom to make that evaluation. In fact, the wide popularity of the superhero film could peter out at any time. The sheer volume of them will begin to wear out the average moviegoer’s interest, and another as-yet unknown dominating genre will take its place.

 These are commercial films, meant only to entertain. They are franchise films, which maintain iconic characters that are treated as brands, with the attendant issues of creative control. But to dismiss the phenomenon is to miss out on a chance to extract meaning from it, juvenile though its content may be.

 

The NFR Project: 'The Gold Rush'

The Gold Rush

Dir: Charles Chaplin

Scr: Charles Chaplin

Phot: Roland Totheroh

Ed: Charles Chaplin

Premiere: June 26, 1925

88 min.

It’s a comedy on an epic scale, but one that was filmed almost entirely in the studio. The highest-grossing silent comedy of all time, it’s the film Chaplin said he was proudest of, but it’s one that he reissued 17 years later with 20 minutes of cuts. 

Chaplin’s masterpiece is his most perfect film. All of his subsequent films, from The Circus through Limelight,  have an acidic edge to them. The Gold Rush glows with sentimental light; the pathos of the Little Tramp would not be so pronounced in future.

Charles Chaplin’s personification of the Little Tramp makes him the best-known and most sympathetic clown of all time. His clever mixture of cunning and sentimentality, his cocky nonchalance in the face of threat, and his childlike inventiveness all endear him to us.

Chaplin’s greatest film is set against an epic background. It is the Klondike Gold Rush, and his Little Tramp character is cast as the Lone Prospector. He marches blithely across studio-manufactured snowscapes. He fetches up against a cabin in the middle of a blizzard and finds himself thrown together with a couple of tough guys – Black Larsen and Big Jim McKay. (The Tramp’s scramble to avoid the muzzle of the gun Larsen and McKay fight over is impressively athletic.)

The Tramp and Big Jim wind up stuck together in the cabin, starving to death. Their solution? To eat a shoe, of course, one of the Tramp’s, lovingly basted and served with shoelaces on the side, like spaghetti. A hungry Big Jim hallucinates the Tramp is a chicken, and attempts to kill him. The two are spared by the providential arrival of a bear. That Chaplin can make comic hay out of starvation and murder is testament to his powers.

The two comrades part ways, and the Tramp goes to the nearby boom town. There, you see his character in his habitual state – alienated from the general mass. He is forever on the outside of human society, on the margin, peering in. The pathos with which he stands, back turned to us, contemplating the happy, jostling crowd in a dance hall, is almost unendurable.

He falls for a young dance-hall girl, Georgia, who is blithely unaware of his existence. His pathetic devotion to her finally wins her attention, when he is dragged away by Big Jim to find the cabin and Big Jim’s big gold strike. After a long comic sequence involving the cabin breaking loose and fetching up at the edge of a precipice, the two find their mine. A providential fate then brings our hero and his beloved together.

The film is an implicit critique of capitalism – the Little Tramp succeeds, not through skill or hard work, but through sheer luck. His fate is always in the lap of the gods, and he stumbles forward fortuitously.

There are two versions of the film to choose from – the 1925 original, and the 1942 re-release, losing 20 minutes of running time, with a new score and Chapin’s narration instead of dialogue cards. It’s instructive to watch both, as it provides us with a glimpse of how Chaplin’s comic sensibility evolved over time. 

The NFR is one writer’s attempt to review all the films listed in the National Film Registry in chronological order. Next time: ‘Grass’.

 

 

How to Write a Film History Book

 

I remember marching off with my class to our elementary school library for the first time. We were set free in a room full of books, one of which we could select and check out. It was wild. Any book we wanted? I scanned the shelves. I saw a book with my name embedded in it – Ray Bradbury’s S is for Space. I grabbed it. Through this happy act of juvenile self-regard, I was introduced to the legendary writer’s work. I was immediately hooked.

I think, after that, I always intended to write a book. I knew I wanted to see my name on the spine of one, just like my namesake.

Fast-forward through several decades of my work as anything but a writer. I dropped out of college and started doing stand-up. After 15 years of pursuing that dream, I restyled myself as a journalist. From that I evolved into a freelance writer, and finally found the time to work on a book. But what about? There are those who advocate writing to a specific market, and others who counsel following your instincts. Both are correct.

I looked at my writing output to date. It was chockful of discussion of horror film. At the same time, I searched for a book that was a comprehensive guide to horror films, from the beginning to today, something that included all countries’ contribution to the genre. I couldn’t find one. I put two and two together. I figured on writing something I was genuinely enthusiastic about, that could also sell. I wanted to write a book that would serve as a reference in libraries, that could be used as a guide in educational institutions, that the average reader would find entertaining and informing.

Even though I’m offering my experience here, I would say that if you really want to write a book for the first time, just jump right in and start. Ignorance is bliss. If you have no idea of the scope of your project, you can march forward with confidence, unaware of the incredible amount of expansion and rewriting to come. (All right, a few recommended guides are listed below.)

It doesn’t matter how bad you think you are doing, get it down on the page. It will eventually be improved so that it is unrecognizable. If you can’t find the right word, get as close as you can. It will come later to you. Just be kind to yourself and emit words no matter how.

As I was writing a non-fiction narrative, I had to construct a scheme, a plan of attack, a table of contents (all these documents are sought by potential publishers, as it turns out. They want to see if you have any sense whatsoever of being able to produce something that is intelligible, entertaining, and perhaps even popular and/or competitive). I did not start with a completely thought-out outline of the history of the horror film. I had clumps of films, and clumps of dates, and a skeleton filled itself out as my researches progressed. I even added three chapters towards the end of the project to make sure I covered all the bases.

I worked and reworked each chapter, over and over again. At the same time I was reading reams of books and watching tons of films, immersing myself in the subject. Gradually, it took shape. And about four years.

Eventually, I had completed enough of a book (an outline and two sample chapters) to send off to publishers and agents. I worked hard to create a thorough and well-considered package of the material, in the hopes that it would appeal. You will spend a significant amount of time figuring out how to market your book effectively. 

I sold the book myself to an academic publisher. It was my 100^th and final submission.

Speaking of marketing, here's the link to my book, on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lost-Dark-World-History-Horror/dp/149683321X

Some helpful texts:

Of course, the most current Writer’s Market you can get a hold of;

How to Write a Book Proposal, Michael Larsen

The Writer’s Guide to Queries, Pitches & Proposals, Moira Allen

How to Sell, Then Write Your Nonfiction Book, Blythe Camenson