Hiển thị các bài đăng có nhãn Tony Stark. Hiển thị tất cả bài đăng
Hiển thị các bài đăng có nhãn Tony Stark. Hiển thị tất cả bài đăng

Jon Favreau's "Iron Man II":- What Tony Stark Once Suffered To Learn, Tony Stark Soon Forgot: The Superhero Beyond The Comics 2

Người đăng: Unknown on Thứ Năm, 28 tháng 10, 2010


1.

Everyone's at least something of a villain in "Iron Man II", except for some of our superhero's friends and those thoroughly unaccountable Agents Of Shield, and yet one of the very worst of the bad guys is Tony Stark himself.



2.

There's no doubt that one of the antagonists in "Iron Man II" is the American state itself, as represented by her government and her armed forces. The movie portrays Senators and generals as incompetent and self-serving individuals who simply can't grasp that Tony Stark should be permitted to do whatever he wants to because Iron Man is here to save us all. It's a juxtaposition between, on the obviously good side, a roguish and dynamic capitalist billionaire, and, on the clearly bad side, those conceited and short-sighted servants of the state, and it's a contrast that's strangely referred to by Jon Favreau in his director's commentary, where he discusses Stark's appearance before Senator Stern's committee;

"Here he is ... Howard Hughes trial ... where they're trying to nail this guy down, but his personality is too large. And he has public opinion upon his side, because he's doing wonderful things, and there is peace and there is prosperity. And he's more powerful than the Senate, and it's almost like Caesar. It's like a Caesar-like rise ... that we wanted to mirror .. "

It's such an odd thing to say, but it explains a great deal about a movie that sees Tony Stark repeatedly place the security of America and the safety of its citizens at terrible risk, before being counter-intuitively rewarded with a medal for his self-interested actions from the US Government.


Because Mr Favreau doesn't seem to grasp that Caesar destroyed the Roman Republic, and destroyed it because he acted in his own interests rather than that of the state. In doing so, he wiped off the map what little political freedom remained in Ancient Rome, and set the newly minted Roman Empire on course for decades of Civil War, hundreds of thousands of casualties, and centuries of despotic, rather than oligarchic, rule. Caesar isn't the hero of anyone's history but his own, unless you happen to be a fan of tyrants and their tyrannies, and I'm sure that Mr Favreau most certainly isn't that.

And Howard Hughes? Howard Hughes corrupted the American political process for decades with vast sums of illicit cash and huge reserves of political muscle.

Which means that positioning Tony Stark in their likeness, as they scorned the political process in the name of nothing but their own utterly-selfish interests, is either a considerable miscalculation, or the most subtle ironic colouring a director's ever given to a Hollywood blockbuster movie.


3.

"Iron Man II" isn't a film which can watched and enjoyed in isolation from the first movie in the franchise, beginning as it does at the moment that the main action of "Iron Man" closed. But there's a fatal discontinuity between the meaning of the first movie and that of the second, which means that the films don't so much follow smoothly one on after the other as they do stand in direct contradiction to themselves. In essence, the problem is that the Tony Stark of "Iron Man II" has either pathetically regressed from the self-knowledge he acquired from his trials, or that he's not the same person at all in the two films, despite all appearances.


4.

The first movie was a unpretentious masterpiece of concision and precision. The arc of "Iron Man" was, of course, the story of Tony Stark's heroic journey from irresponsible capitalist to humane businessman, and everything that appeared on the screen was subordinate to the simplicity and purpose of his vertiginous learning curve. The charming, charismatic Stark was a symbol of the destructive excesses of privilege; he was the capitalist with a supposed big heart and zero self-awareness, unable to help himself grasp that love was standing before him just as he was damning untold numbers of victims who stood where he could never witness their fate. And if Stark couldn't be said to be as crippled inside as the victims of his weapons were both in mind and body, he certainly wasn't benefiting from a life of such unimaginable wealth and indulgence, given that when trouble came, there was only Pepper Potts that he might truly rely on to help him out.


Tony Stark, in his impossible extremes of advantage and his various substance abuses, in his adrenalin-fuelled faux-narcissism and relentless promiscuity, was everything that the movie "Iron Man" was against. He was an unthinking, uncaring beneficiary of the freedoms of modern American society who had turned away from his responsibilities as an individual citizen and member of the human race.

People had died because Tony Stark hadn't even cared enough to recognise that what supposedly benefited him so greatly had horribly wounded and murdered them, and in the end, his disengagement from his moral self was going to terribly hurt him and then almost kill him.


5.

In retrospect, it's astonishingly how few characters there are in "Iron Man" who're granted even the slightest slither of screen time. There's Tony, of course, who's wounded the world and who now must be wounded himself until he chooses to grow up. There's Pepper, the symbol of the decent and loving life that Stark can't engage with as long as he remains corrupt. There's Rhodey, the mirror who shows us through his courage, strength and loyalty that Stark too has those qualities, or Rhodey couldn't care for him as he does. There's Dr Yinsen, who teaches Tony what it is to care for others at great cost to oneself, and who so tellingly helps to create a dysfunctional artificial heart for Stark which works better in a moral sense that his fully-functioning natural one ever did. There's Odadiah Stane, Tony's surrogate Father who's the symbol of predatory selfishness, the capitalist that cares for nothing so much as he does for more power and money. And there's Raza, if you can call him a character at all, a symbol of all the pain and suffering that inevitably gets kicked up when power without responsibility starts to meddle in other people's lives.


To feature just five characters of any substance and one type in a movie lasting longer than two hours is a remarkable achievement, especially as the film never feels sparse or under-populated. (*1) Instead, the remarkable accomplishment of the script and the production together is that text and sub-text are always pulling together in the same direction with considerable force and meaning. And of course, to do so, everyone's story is subordinated to Tony's, and as Tony learns what it is to be a human being and not a social parasite, so each of the others is either rewarded or punished according to the degree that they've sought and used power and wealth to hurt or help others.

Most importantly, Stark himself suffers grievously for his sins. He quite literally loses his own heart, an irony which was quite lost to Stan Lee when he wrote the initial origin for the character in 1963, and a fact which lay dormant in the strip for years until its metaphorical power became obvious and irresistible. And so, how brilliant is it that even Tony's new heart can't function properly until he rethinks it and then trusts Pepper to help him install it? He trusts her not just because he has to, because he has no-one else, but because he wants to, because it's the last act of his necessary emasculation and one of the first of his rise upwards, a process defined not by his ability to hurt others, but by his capacity to trust them and sacrifice for them.

"Iron Man" isn't just a brilliantly concise script. It's a marvellously constructed morality play. And since the morality and the story coexist and serve each other's interests all the time, the ending of the movie is far, far more satisfying than a typical popcorn movie blow-out.


*1:- I hope you'll agree that Ms Everhart is too slight a role to mention here.


6.

The assumption of "Iron Man II" seems to be that Tony Stark is now a hero and that anything he does will be a reflection of some moral superiority. Quite simply, Stark can do nothing wrong even when he's plainly doing little else but. Even the most terrible and immoral screw-ups by Stark in the film are swiftly papered over and retribution for them never arrives in the process of the narrative or even at its closure. In fact, Stark's failings and conceit are actually purposefully disguised or largely ignored in the story, so that behaviour which should be portrayed as at best immature and at worst profoundly dangerous are either shown as humorous, or worthy of pity, or even admirable.

Consider again Stark's appearance before Senator's Stern's Committee near the beginning of the film. The scene is fixed so that it's Stern who appears to be the dangerously would-be demagogue, and his scientific advisor Hammer is played out as a self-serving idiot. It's an ugly business, actually, because the case the two of them are putting forward is morally and politically correct in pretty much every detail. No nation-state could ever tolerate a private citizen owning such a weapons-system as the Iron Man armour, let alone retaining sole individual control over it. America is a nation where, for all the absence of gun-control puzzling to the European mind, weapons capable of flattening skyscrapers are, shall we say, tightly controlled. The Iron Man armour is capable of destroying any conventionally armed representative of the state that we might imagine, let alone flattening much of any city in the land, and so it's hard not to believe that Stark's possession of it would be, and very much should be, a cause for serious concern. Furthermore, Stark is a citizen of the USA, and it actually is his duty to share, if not indeed cede, the control of that technology. He's a citizen of the polity and it's utterly inappropriate for him to possess control of a super-weapon which could threaten the state. After all, if something happens to Stark without America having the scientific knowledge to prepare a defence against the proliferation of the Iron Man technology, the USA would be at a considerable disadvantage in terms of both conventional warfare and defence against terrorist attack.


Yet the film presents a fiction in which all Government servants, be they scientists, politicians or soldiers, are so utterly incompetent, if not also criminally viperous, that they shouldn't be in control of the technology used to make parking meters, let alone in charge of the nation-state of America and its massive arsenal. It's a fixing of the argument through misdirection and moral carelessness that ends up presenting Stark as a man of the people rather than one behaving in a profoundly anti-democratic sense. And yet, if the weapons system Stark had developed had been a selection of super-smallpox viruses, for example, I doubt he would be being seen by the audience of "Iron Man II" as the hero of the piece, threatening the nations of the world as he would be with a far less visually-inspiring and far more emotionally and intellectually disturbing threat. Indeed, few viewers would believe that any biological weapons Stark might create should be in anything other than a government laboratory if not a furnace.

It's as if we're all so beguiled by the beauty of the armour and the romance of wearing it, as well as the endearing marvel that's Mr Downey's performance, that we forget that Iron Man is a weapon of mass destruction that could create a disaster on the scale of 9-11 in a second, and that it couldn't ever be left in the private hands of even the best of women and men, let alone one prone to bouts of massively irresponsible behaviour.


But although the Iron Man armour is undoubtedly a WOMD, the movie is absolutely determined to portray Stark as the only human being who deserves to wear it, as if Stark's judgement is perfect, and perfectly in harmony with the needs of America's citizens, as if he'll never be too tired, drunk, ill or just plain human to run the risk of making a terrible misjudgment with all that power at his disposal.

As if everyone else in the American state is unworthy to even ask Stark if they can touch the shiny skin of his lovely armour.

But by refusing to share or destroy the Iron Man technology, Stark is, as Caesar did, putting himself above the rule of law. And, despite what the movie would have us believe, if you doubt that Senator Stern was correct in his argument with Tony, just recall the scene where Stark gets drunk, brawls with a similarly bearmoured Rhodey, terrifies his party-guests, puts them all at great risk and then destroys the building they're in. Whether it's his property or not that's been blown up by the childish punch-up, the very fact of the fight should serve as the beginning and end of the evidence needed to prove that Stark simply should not have that tech under his control. For he can't argue that he's trustworthy if he's plainly not, as if one catastrophic lapse of judgement is forgivable if you're Tony Stark, as if one little blow-up between two WOMDs on private property is a quiet petty matter of no social importance.


But then, it isn't just one lapse of judgment, and this movie's take on Stark provides us with an arrogant and ignorant man for whom the lessons of the first movie seem almost to have been quite utterly forgotten. He continually parades a habit of quite terrible decision-making, selfish behaviour and confused thinking in general. He claims, for example, that no-one else in the world can possibly produce weapons-tech similar to the Iron Man armour that might threaten America, as if he knows nothing of history, as if he's never heard of the complacency of the West before the Soviets exploded their own atomic bombs, and as if he doesn't realise that defence systems need to be developed now in case his brilliant mind is wrong. It's an unforgivable arrogance that the film never calls him on despite the appalling consequences of his conceit when Whiplash later uses stolen Stark technology in a vast terrorist atrocity which the movie chooses to portray as a rather thrilling special effects set-piece. And Stark's failure to adequately protect his super-weapon suits from theft, and Rhodey has no problem at all in stealing the "War Machine", is the root cause of the damage all those Hammer weapon suits rain down on Jersey. It's a carelessness on Stark's part that's the equivilant of the US Army permitting the removal of a nuclear weapon and its silo and everything in it, but the film would have us forgive Stark's lapse simply because we love him and trust Rhodey.

In such a manipulative fashion does "Iron Man II" smother us with illogic and sentiment to the point that we can't see Stark for the public and criminal menace that he is, and he undoubtedly is. We watch the film's climax, for example, where a smug Tony is being given that medal for his role in facing down Whiplash's assault upon Flushing Meadows, and we are supposed to have never noticed that it was all Tony's fault. He let the tech fall into Rhodey's hands, just as in his extreme arrogance he failed to focus on preparing a defence against the Iron Man system falling into the wrong hands or being developed independently. And so the responsibility for the firefight which destroyed so much of Queens at the film's climax, and which cannot have done anything but destroy of tens of lives and destroyed billions of dollars of property and vital civic resources, is all on Stark's hands. He really wasn't to be trusted, he really wasn't in control, and he really shouldn't have been permitted to keep those wonderful and ferociously powerful weapons in the garage under his little beach house.

He's not a hero and he doesn't deserve a medal, he really doesn't. "Iron Man II" is a movie that lies to us about what right and wrong are, just as the first movie did exactly the opposite.


7.

If "Iron Man II" is yet another movie that, without intending to, positions the state as an incompetent if not evil organisation somehow existing solely as a body to screw up the lives of otherwise virtuous individuals, it's also a movie that violates its own apparent moral intentions. For if the events of the first "Iron Man" are to mean anything, in sense of the broad ethical brushstrokes that inform Hollywood blockbusters, Tony has to be seen to have absorbed what he's learnt at such cost to himself and so many others in Afghanistan and in Stane's LA. It isn't, after all, a heroes journey if the hero returns from the land of dead and forgets to recall the truths that he learned there.

And yet the Stark we find in "Iron Man II" is plainly still a moral idiot, which might generate time-filling conflict and the audience's pity, but it isn't true to the first film. Unhappily hesitating to go to a party and yet drinking to excess before blowing the building up isn't a sign, for example, that Tony's reformed his ways. It's a sign that after all the trouble in the first movie, he still hasn't learned his lesson. He still can't trust Pepper, he's still an adrenalin junkie at the races, he's still courting the excesses of celebrity life, and he's still thinking of himself before others, even though he's slightly kinder than he was before.


For the first Iron Man movie is rendered a waste of emotional involvement if all that Tony can show in the way of self-knowledge in the second movie is a slight measure of gratitude and sorrow. And if Tony won't share or control his tech, control his behaviour, trust his friends or accept responsibility for his actions, if he permits himself the award of a medal when he should be in a cell somewhere, or being sued into absolute poverty in the law-courts, then he's learnt nothing.

And so, when the second movie ends on Stark being given that obviously worthless piece of metal and a pretty ribbon for his part in suppressing a major terrorist crisis which he through his negligence and arrogance caused, I can only conclude that the pressure of creating "Iron Man II" was so intense that Mr Favreau and his team missed the fact that the Senator should've been waving Tony off to a Federal Prison rather than spitefully sticking a tiny needle into Stark's chest.


8.

And so "Iron Man II" simply doesn't function as a conventional and humane morality play, which is a shame, because superhero movies always seem to work best when they're constructed to clearly reflect moral as well as personal conflicts. And yet, so diffuse is the second movie in its multiplicity of roles and ill-defined and separate plots, that it's hard to make sense of what it means on a symbolic level. Or more truthfully, it's hard to accept what the movie is saying given the excellence of its predecessor and the obvious gifts and hard work of the movies creators. But watching the film time and time again, it seems sadly true that it is indeed a film in praise of Caesar and whatever at all Caesar might choose to do, as if the individual capitalist and man of great power should indeed be granted the status of saviour of the Republic regardless of the fact that he's disobeying the Republic's laws.

It's as if any attempts by that spoilsport state to stop Stark partying with his repulsors, to deny Tony his apparent right to threaten to drop in and blow up foreign powers as well as homebased opponents, is somehow a threat to, rather than a denial of, civil liberties.


It's as if what gets said and shown in movies is irrelevant as long as the audience is having fun, fun, fun.

And the fact of that is a genuine shame. For in the first movie, Tony Stark was our representative in the world of the idle and uncaring super-rich. He was lost there and only became himself when he was locked away with his mortality and his guilt, with the memory of Dr Yinsen's sacrifice and Pepper's love for him. But "Iron Man II" has a quite different take on the super-rich, it seems, or at least, the capitalist class that are brilliant and wildly entertaining if socially irresponsible. Stark is a hero because he's Stark and we love him, regardless of what he does, but the government is unfit to trust, the army are all morons except for rare individuals who stand with our heroes even as they steal from them, democratic oversight is not to be trusted, and only the capitalists like Hammer who're too incompetent to produce good work without putting Russian super-villains to use aren't to be trusted.

It's not what you do that counts, apparently, but who you are, and whether we love you or not.

Worse yet, it's a movie that makes self-pitying excuses for the immorality and incompetence of its own hero. Tony's dying, so of course he can mess around with those WOMDs at parties. Tony wasn't loved by his father, so of course he finds it hard to love, and so on. But whatever the narrative evasions, the hero's journey doesn't permit excuse-clauses to modify whether the heroically-transforming programme takes or not, and so, this Iron Man simply isn't a hero, just as the Stark of the first film most certainly was.


9.

Nothing happened in "Iron Man" that wasn't designed to tell us something about Tony's fall and rise as a mensch. But the connection between events and meaning is so confused in "Iron Man II" that it's no surprise that the film closes with such a soggy and smug ending. The narrative's momentum is constantly slowed and often quite derailed by water-cooler moments and bright ideas that aren't connected to anything other than passing fancy and the need to get a movie into the theatres regardless of whether it makes sense or not. Why, for example, is Stark dying of the "palladium" in his system? If it's further punishment for all his sins as an arms manufacturer, or even for his continued arrogance, then how can we make sense of his release from slow death achieved by the odd and painless penance of learning to love Daddy? Stark hasn't sacrificed anything beyond accepting the evidence of his eyes and ears when faced with his father's dewy-eyed testimony on film. In fact, Stark's freed from his suffering while his appropriated technology is still out there in the world; the hero has been rewarded despite doing nothing of social value at all to deserve it. Nor does he seem to have learned anything of moral value from his experience of being poisoned, except that perhaps he might love himself abit more because daddy loved him. But then, Stark's journey in "Iron Man II" is to consistently screw-up and to then be helped out when he hasn't earned his rescue. Indeed, if he hadn't been given his father's work by Nick Fury, Stark wouldn't even have avoided a painful deathful by macguffin. He's survived through chance, through no specific sacrifice, and with no essential moral knowledge gained.

Well, what was the point of it all then?


It's another example of how any meaning that can be taken from the film is either absurd or disturbing, and that couldn't have been the intention. After all, if the Tony of "Iron Man II" is dying, the logic of the hero who's already faced death is to seek an end that helps others, not to go racing in Monte Carlo. And so even when Stark puts Whiplash's rampage to an end, he's only cleaning up a desperately awful mess that he's largely responsible for in the first place; it doesn't mean anything in terms of behaving heroically, especially given that he emerges unharmed and unreformed himself. He's not protecting the people so much as tidying up his own mistakes.

Tony's not even fully aware of the sins he's committing, because the movie-makers themselves don't seem to have been, or perhaps they didn't care, and so he can't convincingly earn absolution, let alone our respect, at the end of "Iron Man II". That medal stands for nothing of value at all.

Lost in a mass of plot-lines and a melee of barely realised and irrelevant characters, and hiding in plain sight beside moments of genuine pleasure and some extremely wearing camp slapstick, lies a reversal of moral purpose. The first Iron Man movie showed how Tony Stark became part of the human race. The second shows how he's somehow now superior to the rest of us, safe above his fellow citizens and their laws, and, look, he even gets a medal and the hand of Pepper Potts too at the end.


But that new heart of his is now powered by what Jarvis declares to be "a new element", an impossibly rare and expensive substance, the knowledge of which has been passed down from one generation of the inconceivably rich Stark family to another without having been made public knowledge in the meantime. The secret science that might save the world from all its energy problems has been locked away for decades until it might save Tony.

It's a story-fact that provides as coherent a meaning as any other from this confused movie, which seems to be about how the super-rich and the super-bright and the super-fortunate can do what they want in their own interests, and even in defiance of their best interests, even down to the hoarding of ideas that might so positively transform the world and weapons which certainly could destroy it.

But Tony already had a new heart, a heart that worked perfectly well. We saw Pepper help him put it into place, and the last thing he needed was a fancier, more expensive model at all.

10.

Well, of course it's good fun. The creators and performers are clearly often brilliant. But it's confused and ill-thought through, and Caesar never was a hero. He brought down the Republic because he didn't want to do what the state demanded of him, because he felt that he was better, that he was more important, than everyone else. He was the most brilliant general with the most fearsome army in all of the Roman Republic and he wanted to do whatever he thought was best.

It's not a good example. You can't dress a democrat in a demagogue's clothes and not confuse the point, just as you can't have a hero who faces his own mortality in one movie and then forgets all the lessons he's learned when facing his imminent death in the next.


nb: added December 1st, 2010: there's an alternative and far more positive reading of the film offered by one Johnny Sorrow in the comments below. You'll need to scroll down a fair way, but it's a well-written piece and given that it completely disagrees with the above, I would recommend you take a look. It'd be worth your while.

Thanks you for visiting. Coming soon; "Darkest Night" and a 2000 ad-based piece. I hope you might consider dropping in at some time and seeing how those two ideas have developed, and that you'll accept my best wishes for your having a splendid day.



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What Is To Henry Pym As Alcohol Was To Tony Stark? Extreme Dispositional Changes In The Characters Of Superheroes: Part 1 of 2

Người đăng: Unknown on Thứ Sáu, 6 tháng 8, 2010

1. "Oh, God, Tony! Don't!"

I. It might be thought that spicing up the personality of a superhero with a touch of mental illness, and even madness, might be an interesting and game-changing proposition. And indeed, such a strategy has so often been the choice of the writer seeking to place their stamp on a cape'n'costumed character that it's now a commonplace. Sending Hal Jordan mad so that he might wipe out the Green Lantern Corps, and the Guardians, and whatever else the creative team thought might sell more copies, is but one of many examples of such an approach. Give the superhero a serious mental disorder, so the theory seems to read, and anything at all can be done with that character.

II. And yet, where the vast majority of these cases are concerned, creators have in truth given their characters caricatures of mental illnesses which, at second glance, bear no more relation to real-world psychological problems than Spider-Man's leaping athleticism does to the mechanics of the high jump.

Still, what could wrong with that?


2. "What Else Matters?"

We've recently been discussing some of the strategies used by comic book writers to increase the appeal of the characters they're responsible for. In particular, we've abused the dubious technique of "reverse-engineering" some of Gail Simone's "Secret Six" tales in an attempt to grasp something of how she develops the appeal of well-established characters such as Deadshot. And though my methodology may have been rather questionable, the conclusion that Ms Simone tends to focus on changing her more well-known characters situationally rather than dispositionally does seems to hold some water. (A situational change would be one in which the character remained largely the same while the circumstances they were placed within were changed. A dispositional one is where the character themselves is altered.) In essence, the result of such a situational technique is that Deadshot, for example, can be made to change over time in terms of his relations to his fellow mercenaries. However, should the wider DCU need their masked super-villain back in recognisable shape for the general audience, all that would be needed to re-set Floyd Lawton would be to remove him from the Six.

But that kind of careful situational approach to developing, and yet not developing, a character is of course far more rare than might be expected in the world of serial superhero fiction. Many other creative teams prefer revolutionary rather than evolutionary change, feeling that the blowing up of things might generate both more light and more heat where press attention and sales figures are concerned. And of these radical and dramatic new starts in the lives of established properties, a worrying number are achieved through the dispositional method of adding a touch, and often rather more than a touch, of madness to the lead character at hand.

This is very, very rarely a good thing, for readers or for the long-term well-being of the superhero property concerned.


3. "What Happens To Us If You Get Sucked Back Into That Bottle?"

I. I can only think of one attempt to add interest and depth to the character of a superhero through the imposition of a serious psychological problem that's been overwhelmingly successful, both in terms of enriching that character's appeal and in somewhat-accurately portraying the debilitating condition itself, and that's the decision by David Michelinie and Bob Layton to out Tony Stark as an alcoholic.

II. In a sense, afflicting Tony Stark with alcoholism was simply another spin on Stan Lee's tradition of hamstringing his heroes with simple and empathetically-engaging disadvantages. And of all Marvel's leads, Tony Stark was by 1979 in serious need of an Achilles heel to ground him as an endearing character. Whatever sympathy his wounded-in-Vietnam heart could lend him was wearing thin with familiarity and the inability of its fluttering to make his millionaires' life seem anything other than very attractive indeed. (Rich, famous, brilliant, a superhero and a renowned inventor:- what's to pity if his old ticker gives out every now and then since he always sorts the problem out anyway? On a facile level, ruined heart or not, some more callow readers might consider the fates to have reached a fair deal with Anthony there.)

But showing how the man-who-apparently-had-everything had become addicted to alcohol removed a considerable degree of the glamour from Stark's so-very-privileged lifestyle, and lent him a sense of self-denial, of sacrifice and stoical self-control that hadn't ever been so explicit and convincing in the character before. It was in truth a brilliant idea, and remains a corner-stone of the character's appeal today, referenced whenever the property is redeveloped outside the vanilla Marvel Universe with the exception, of course, of children's cartoons.

III. It might be noted, however, that the label "recovering alcoholic" follows Tony Stark where he goes, in whatever medium he's shown, despite the fact the last long-running story largely focused on his addiction was printed more than a quarter of a century ago.

Where psychological problems are concerned, in the real-world and the Marvel Universe alike, labels stick.


4. "I'm Going To Win"

I. What a counter-intuitive idea, to effect an increase in the appeal of both a superhero and its alter-ego by bringing the curse of alcoholism into play. It certainly is, as mentioned above, a rare example of success where the use of psychological problems to spruce up a property is concerned. And it's worth pausing for a moment and considering why it is that Tony Stark became more attractive and involving as a long-term recovering alcoholic than he ever was without that particular monkey on his back.

How can it help the appeal of Iron Man for Tony Stark to be outed as an alcoholic?

II. Firstly, Tony Stark's status as a recovering alcoholic doesn't in any way impinge upon how well Iron Man can function as a superhero. Since Stark's abuse stopped short of causing permanent physiological damage, he can still bash around the Titanium Man without any of his reflexes being impeded or his concentration span collapsing. This is an absolutely key point, for virtue in the superhero narrative is, as we'll return to soon in the case of Henry Pym, largely determined by a character's ability to stand and fight, just as much of the reader's involvement is determined by their willingness to imagine themselves possessing the power-set of the heroic leads they're reading about. If alcoholism had undercut Tony Stark's capacity to take on whatever this month's super-villain is, I doubt it would have worked so well as a component of his character. Yet as it is, it actually boosts Stark's appeal, making him vulnerable as well as heroic, and yet not vulnerable in any way at all where the super-powered punch-ups are concerned. Mento, for example, may collapse in the middle of a fight, but Tony Stark is in control of his problems and we admire him for it. (*1)

*1 - Superhero fans will accept just about any behaviour as long as the hero concerned can still step into a battle-winning costume and punch-out some bad guy or gal, because that's how these stories work. Even the often-wildly intoxicated Tony Stark of the Ultimate Universe retains the reader's support, because no matter how many pain-killing drinks he takes down, he can still flatten those Middle-Eastern invaders in his giant robot suit. He's a drunken tragic hero rather than a drunk. The fact that we'd not accept any professional in the real-world as competent if they were in chronic pain, carrying a brain tumour and drinking constantly to dull their suffering is irrelevant in the symbolic realm of the superhero. We'll return to this point later on.)


III. Secondly, just as being a recovering alcoholic doesn't impede Tony Stark's capacities when in armour, being in armour doesn't stimulate the stressors that might drive him back to the bottle. Whatever the cause or causes of Stark's dependency, it obviously wasn't the pressure associated with being a superhero. Most alcoholics have specific trigger situations which they have to manage their lives to avoid, for fear they'll be driven back to drinking, and these stretch from the obvious ones of avoiding bars and the company of heavy-drinking friends to ensuring that they don't leave allow their stress levels to mount by, for example, leaving their tax returns to the last 12 hours. Yet so substantial has been Stark's recovery that he can do everything that he used to do except drink; he can party with the best of them, he can sweet-talk wine-drinking women with alcohol on their breath, he can hang round with the carousing best of them and remain utterly in control.

Which means that Stark's alcoholism doesn't stop him doing a single thing that he used to do in either his private or his super-heroic identity before, except for the obvious fact that he's off the sauce. It's the psychological disability that in story terms doesn't disturb the normal scheme of things, until a touch of sympathy is required, and then it pays dividends in inspiring respect and empathy.

Brilliant.


IV. The battle against alcoholism is one which has become familiar and, in most of its fictional forms, non-threatening to us in the media-saturated West. We're all well-versed in the symbols of the alcoholics battle against the bottle from literally generations of movies and TV shows. We know what the sweat on the brow means, the narrowing eyes that flicker to and away from the bar, the frowning, the fake laughter, the seductive shimmering of the lights on the cocktail glasses on the silver tray, the laughing crowds of beautiful partying people unaware of the menace that they unwittingly symbolise. And this familiar language of symbols means that alcoholism as portrayed in the media's sanitised light feels to the reader as if it is a really big deal indeed, which it is of course, while avoiding the need to show the far less savoury and far less apparently-ennobling aspects of the process. So, the stink, the vomit, the sodden beds, the shakes, the despair, the unmitigated tedium and desperation of the constantly ruptured relationships, the life structured about what to drink and when and when to do it all again; all of these can be put to one side, meaning that alcoholism is the killer which can be represented in a far more pleasant manner than perhaps it should be without losing the audience's sympathy.(*2)

Yet try to dispositionally alter another character with a different serious psychological problem to alcoholism and it' might be very much harder to represent the awfulness of the matter without pushing audiences into places where they simply don't want to go.

*2 - Of course, some of these more unpleasant aspects were covered in Denny O'Neil's run on Iron Man, where he attended to the fact that Stark's first abandonment of the bottle had occurred in just a page and a third. But that's one slightly-more accurate portrayal of the problem in 25 years.


V.
If the media's shorthand for alcoholism plays very much into the fact that Iron Man can be represented as a recovering alcoholic without the audience getting too disturbed about the facts of dependency, so too is the familiar narrative structure of the alcoholic's battle against the bottle an advantage to how we feel about Stark. For unlike many other psychological problems, alcoholism can be represented as both an affliction beyond an individuals control, meaning that alcoholics are blameless and worthy of our sympathy, while being a condition that can be overcome by an individuals will, meaning that emerging into recovery is a "heroic" act. And of course alcoholism is indeed both worthy of our sympathy while its rejection is certainly a heroic act. But what's key here is that the structure of the alcoholic's career to redemption shadows that of the heroic journey itself. The standard-model superhero adventure involves the lead character being laid low by forces largely beyond their control before a protracted test of their strength and will results in an audience-pleasing victory. In such a way can a struggle with alcohol be incorporated into the superhero comic book without any great dissonance between the topic and the genre itself. And alcohol then strangely and yet effectively operates in the same fashion as the Mandarin and Titanium Man do, as a great enemy to be overcome as all other great enemies are, a fact that Bob Layton himself throws light on in the commentary added to the DVD of the first "Iron Man" movie;

" ... alcoholism was the bad guy. Instead of Doctor Doom or somebody like that, it was the bottle. That was the villain of the month."

And yet many substantial psychological problems can't be so easily shoehorned into the structure of struggle-to-victory that alcoholism can be after all the endless movies-of-the-week and celebrity biographies. Indeed, a great host of psychological problems arrive as a unbearable burden through no blame to the sufferer at all, and in many if not most cases, victory simply cannot be achieved through will and strength, no matter how the individual tries. The battle against depression, schizophrenia, psychosis, and indeed all of the many serious disorders listed in the DSM-IV-TR, isn't often one that can be "won" and then forgotten about at all. Management is the name of the game, not victory and freedom, which places most mental disabilities at variance with the superhero narrative.

But, then, for a substantial number of folks, alcoholism itself is a problem which will and perseverance won't ever conquer. For whatever reasons, the business of recovery is often too difficult for many alcoholics. And though our culture, and its comic books, is often quick to draw an easy line between those who can heroically win and those who unheroically can't, the truth is, as we all know, that the heroic narrative simply distorts how we perceive individuals striving against dependency. Addiction is an infinitely more complex situation than a question of the presence of heroism or not, and so it might be asked whether the whole matter belongs in the superhero comic at all.

But we'll be getting to that.

VI. If "dementia" had been substituted for "alcoholism", none of the advantages we've listed above would have been apparent for the character of Iron Man, and understandably so. For who'd give a superhero a mental disorder, or disorders, which couldn't be believably reversed, which was quite inappropriate to the business of super-heroing, and which would unfairly reflect poorly upon any superhero who attempted to keep battling the bad folks while suffering from it?

Ah, indeed. Who would do that?

And why do they keep doing it?


5. "Somehow, They Affected Me ... Turned Into A Man In Many Ways The Opposite Of Hank Pym..."

I. The first Marvel Universe superhero to be subjected to a serious mental illness was, of course, Henry Pym, who developed, we're told, a "king-sized dose of accident-induced schizophrenia!" in Avengers # 59. (Rarely has the ubiquitous exclamation mark of the Bronze Age been so appropriate. Not just schizophrenia, but "king-sized" schizophrenia!) Of course, the whole process all ended up for the better, and in the next issue too, with Hank being saved from the inconvenience of that king-sized schizophrenia by the two key superhero markers of virtue, namely punching bad people and the love of a good woman. Within 34 pages of rather big and exquisite panels by John Buscema, the status quo was happily restored, with the exception of Pym's married status, for his fiancee Janet van Dyne had taken advantage of his overwhelming "king-sized" problem to trick her deluded intended into wedlock. Indeed, so cold-blooded was this manipulation that the new Mrs Pym admitted to having researched whether a marriage to one personality meant all a body's personalities would be bound in holy matrimony to her.

It was, she acted, they're married!

It's a happy ending!

II. On reflection, one of the strangest aspects of the tale of Henry Pym's complete psychological collapse, and near-immediate mental restoration, is the fact that writer Roy Thomas obviously regarded the human mind as something which could be transformed by comic-book science in the same way as human bodies could be in the MU. And on the surface of things, there's no reason why Pym couldn't have his personality utterly transformed by strange unknown gases. After all, insect bites created Spider-Man, and cosmic rays the wonders of the Fantastic Four, and wasn't Bruce Banner's mind as well as his body transformed by those fiendish Gamma Rays when he became the Hulk?

What's the difference between transforming a superhero's body and their mind?


III. The possible explanations in Mr Thomas's script to explain Hank Pym's "schizophrenia" involve three prospective triggers. The first was that Pym had been working himself to a frazzle. (The Wasp observes at the beginning of the tale that he's "reinventing the 25-hour day".) The second possiblity, we later learn, is that Pym was suffering from the strain of repressing his desire to marry his fiancee, but in some way didn't think himself good enough for her. (This led to his creating a violent, callous, rude and egocentric alternate personality while schizophrenic under the name of "Yellowjacket"; what did he think his wife-to-probably-be wanted from him?) And the third, and most outstanding candidate for a causal variable, is that Pym suffered from the inhalation of "various untested gases" while suffering from carelessness apparently caused by his lack of rest.

So, there we have a set of hypotheses for the causes of "king-sized schizophrenia": (a) excessive weariness combined with excessive ambition, (b) emotional insecurity to the point of emotional repression, and (c) the effects of those many and untested gases.

And strangely enough, the one hypothesis that fits with what we know of real-world psychology, which would disqualify the first 2 options, and Marvel-Earth science, which postulates that just about anything can cause just about anything else, is (c), though that's the least-referred-to explanation whenever the reasons for Pym's various mental problems are discussed.

It's as if suffering from the effects of a massive dose of unknown chemicals isn't tragic enough for some comic book writers, as if they want to be able to play around with the consequences of psychological disorders which can't be explained away with a single physical cause.


IV. 29 years later, Jo Casey tried to put a more convincing spin on these events in the second volume of "Earth's Mightiest Heroes". In this version, Pym is diagnosed by one Agent Carver of S.H.I.E.L.D. as being;

"An individual suffering from such a fully-formed schizophrenic episode that he could be on the brink of a complete psychotic breakdown."

It's an example of psycho-babble well-worth respecting, too. For example, it's clever how Mr Casey tells us that Pym is said to be undergoing an "episode", meaning that it's perfectly understandable that he'll soon get better. But in the end, it's a futile attempt to make something ridiculous appear more feasible, because simply discussing in pseudo-scientific terms that business of "king-size" schizophrenia means that the reader notices even more how daft the whole business is in the first place. Better to have ignored it all, perhaps, to chalk it down as unexplainable and picked another period to re-cast, because comic-book psychology only becomes all the less convincing when an attempt to legitimise it in serious terms is made. (*3)


After all, Agent Carver's forcible recommendation to the Avengers that the schizoid Pym in his violent Yellowjacket identity should be permitted to serve on active duty with them is obviously the stupidest advice anyone has ever given regarding schizophrenia. That's because the advice exists not to describe what supposedly is happening to Pym, but to cover up some massive holes in the plot. And so we're faced with the idea that a trained psychiatrist would issue a complex diagnosis and treatment recommendations without any kind of therapeutic conversation at all, with no study of secondary records in the light of this specific case, and with no specialist care, supervision, administering of drugs or, indeed, anything at all being on the table beyond "Let him wear that costume and kick folks. Oh, and don't tell him you know he's mad either."

And here we start to see several of the problems of embedding psychological problems into the characters of superheroes . For ignoring, or even creatively faking, a knowledge of psychological problems creates ridiculous scenarios that inevitably need clearing up later. And even in the short-term, the lobbing around of "schizophrenia" and "psychosis" can actually undermine the reality of the world that those technical terms are supposed to shore up. (*4) Without the knowledge of what these mental disorders actually are, writers can send characters such as Pym pinwheeling across the Marvel Universe, now a hero, now a villain, now brave, now pathetic, but nearly always eating away at the reader's willingness to care or even believe in him. And since very few writers or editors seem to know what could ever be the problem with Pym, or any other person with a psychological disorder, and since his problems were so poorly defined to begin with, everybody can extrapolate whatever they want and add whatever commonsense or comic-book knowledge they like, and so even initially one-dimensional characters become progressively less convincing and less involving as time passes.

*3 - Or at least it does if it's not grounded in real-world psychology. Gail Simone's "Secret Six" is an example of how to do this properly, or as "properly" as I can discern.
*4 - Pym's "epsiode" rather reminds me of Thigpen and Cleckley's case-study of a -supposed- sufferer of Multiple Personality Disorder, which I taught for about 700 years, though there's some problems with applying MPD / DID to Henry Pym too. Still, it'd make more sense than schizophrenia. If you're going to psycho-babble, start where there's less work to do, I say.


To be continued in a very short amount of time, where we'll be talking about Henry Pym's disgraces, and Dan Slott's "Mighty Avengers", and the role of trauma in the reader's fondness for Superman, Batman and Spider-Man. There'll be chats about when and when-not mental disorders might be used where superheroes are concerned, and a promise about a future piece on super-villains might be issued. Hal Jordan and madness? Quite probably. Matt Murdock too? Conditionally. I hope that you might consider being here.


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