To Foil A Genre

13 hours ago

5 min read

Why Modern Fantasy Reeks... Except When It Doesn't

I've done it. I solved modern fantasy.

Let me back up. Not too long ago, in the middle of re-watching Disney/Pixar's The Incredibles 2, I had an epiphany. It's a fun movie, I enjoy it, but I'll be clear: I watch it for the comedic timing and the family dynamic, not for the story. And for the longest time, I couldn't put a finger on why.

Until now.

Messy narrative aside, I finally figured out what bothered me so much about the second installment of a superhero family's escapades. Somewhere in the disjointed plot and half-formed themes, something was missing. Something that got lost in those years between films one and two. Something the first one had -- and that is also present in, of all things, Walt Disney's Robin Hood (1973).

Hero or Hoodlum?

Allow me to explain.

My parents were a bit wary when it came to what my brother and I were and weren't allowed to watch as kids. I am grateful for this, but it did give them a dilemma when it came to Robin Hood. How can you teach your children that stealing is wrong when dear Robyn of the Hode does it for a living, and ends up getting the girl and living happily ever after?

But that was never the point. Real or not, human or fox, Robin wasn't there to give us a neat little list of Dos and Don'ts wrapped up in a box. The story of Robin Hood isn't neat or simple, and it's not about money at all. It's about hope.

As the animated film tells it, the people of Nottingham are in dire straits, and have been for some time. The people in power are corrupt. Parents wonder how they're going to feed their children. The church is being thwarted in their efforts to bring comfort. And into this dark, cold, bare situation strolls Robin, humming his own theme song and giving away his every possession down to the clothes on his back. He has no home, little food, and few allies -- and yet he's the most generous person in England. Not that he would admit to it without cracking a joke and scampering off again.

This version of Robin seems to be aware that leading a revolution won't help anyone; it'll just get him, and others, killed, and he can't help the people around him if he's dead. So instead of going on a grand quest to demand reform, Robin does what he can to provide relief, trusting that justice and virtue will rule again one day. Sending a message to the 'phony king of England' is just the cherry on top.

That's why this film works. That's why, when other girls wanted to learn archery because of some chick named Katniss, I wanted to learn archery because of Robin. And that's why my parents allowed this film to be part of my childhood: because yes, stealing is wrong, but so is letting innocent people suffer when you know you can help. In a time and place when the government is something that good people fear, Robin operates on a higher moral code. His conscience doesn't end with the law.

And that's what The Incredibles 2 missed.

The Kitchen Scene

Toward the beginning of TI2, the Parr family eats a rather glum meal around a folding table in a motel room. Earlier that day, they were briefly arrested for using their powers to fight a self-proclaimed supervillain.

In the Incredibles universe, superheroes are illegal. Things get messy when supers are involved. They're the wrench in the system when it comes to legal justice and insurance. And, as one character puts it, 'Politicians don't understand people who do good just because it's right.'

The Parrs were doing their best to save lives in a bad situation. And, in fact, they did save some lives. But in all the chaos, a few of the decisions they made also resulted in greater damage to buildings and other structures. The government and media use examples like this as leverage to keep the ban on superheroes active and force such exceptional individuals to sit down, stay quiet, and do nothing.

This targeted suppression creates a rift in this particular family. Helen, the mother, takes the stance that their arrest was perfectly justified because they were, in fact, breaking the law. Bob, on the other hand, argues that that particular law should be null because it's unfair and because it's only caused more trouble. The kids are caught in the middle, completely confused, wondering if they're criminals just for being born. The argument escalates until Bob blurts:

"The law should be fair! What are we teaching our kids?"

"To respect the law!"

"Even if the law is wrong?"

"If the laws are unfair, there are laws to change them!" Helen shouts. "Otherwise, it's chaos!"

"Which is exactly what we have!!!"

At which point the kids quickly ask to be excused and proceed to turn on the TV.

Ironically, Bob is correct: chaos is exactly what we're left with. The film attempts to further address the question of whether superheroes should be legal, but it falls flat, and now I know why: because the Incredibles are no longer operating with a higher moral code. The film acts as if the standard for humanity is the law (which is fallible and can be changed).

But . . . isn't that higher code kind of the point of superheroes?

Ultimatums & The Lack Thereof

And now we come to the real reason why modern fantasy reeks like bilgewater . . . except when it doesn't. It's not that we crack more jokes than eggs or spend inordinate amounts of energy trying to flip or subvert common tropes. You can have the jokes or not, you can subvert the tropes or not, you can have a happy ending or not -- but none of it matters if you forget why we have these stories in the first place.

Not all modern fantasy is bad, just like not all superhero movies are bad. There are some examples of both that I like quite a lot. The ones I don't like are the ones that have fallen into the trap of dragging the genre down to the audience's level, when really, fantasy should be a challenge for the audience to live in hope, virtuousness, and heroism.

I don't mind characters who are aware of the ridiculousness of their situation or their own humanity, and I also don't mind characters who embody the very essence of their genre with a straight face. I do mind when the people writing these characters don't take their subject and its origins seriously. We may no longer sit around our fires to hear of Robin Hood, Coyote, or King Arthur, but like it or not, folklore is still what teaches us right from wrong.

The Incredibles 2 may have inadvertently shot itself in the foot, but that doesn't mean it's totally useless. I deeply appreciate its continued emphasis on the importance of family and the unique way it portrays the genius and courage children are capable of. But it makes me sad to see a franchise that helped shape a genre in its infancy collapse into the folds of a half-baked, lazy narrative. It may be a fun time, but it's also a warning for those of us in charge of our age's folklore.

Don't drag your story to a lost audience's level; call on your audience to rise and meet it.

- Lydia