The Comics Professor

My thoughts on The Batman

Being online so much finally paid off: I saw the announcement of the IMAX preview of The Batman just it was announced about a month ago, and was able to snag tickets for me and my son before it sold out (apparently within minutes). Last night we saw it, and we both walked out of the theater speechless.

In short: This is the Batman movie I'd been waiting for.

When I write and talk about Batman, I focus almost exclusively on the comics. Don't get me wrong: I love that he's represented in so many types of media, and everyone has their favorite, but mine has always been the version in the comics. Notwithstanding the craft, talent, and hard work put into the films, I have rarely warmed to them. I have always said that in my ideal Batman film, you would rarely see Batman himself—you'd see the shadow, the silhouette, and people reacting to him, but rarely would you see Batman (and never in the light). Batman has such a mystique about him that it's difficult to capture his ethereal nature on film, even for the best directors, actors, writers, costumers, and cinematographers. Less is more, basically, and they should leave the rest to the audience's imagination.

The Batman came much closer to that ideal that any screen adaptation of the Dark Knight to date, and that's just one reason I enjoyed this film so very much.

WARNING: There may be mild spoilers going forward, although I don't discuss any plot points or details.

The Batman was sumptuously photographed, with so many breathtaking shots that I wished I could have lingered on (and surely will when the Blu-ray is released). The subtle score was gorgeous, especially when it took the place of sound effects, giving those dramatic scenes the feel of a silent film accompanied by music. In this movie, Batman is very much a creature of the shadows; most of the film is shot at night or in darkened spaces, and Batman is rarely seen in direct light, maintaining that ethereal quality I prefer to see. But at the same time, when we see his face, he is undeniably human, primarily due to the focus on his eyes, which was surprising effective. (I was also surprised how well the "half cowl" worked in retaining the classic silhouette while preserving mobility, and thankfully avoiding the bulky rubber cowls of films past. Was it inspired by Daredevil's cowl on the Netflix Disney+ show, I wonder?)

There are several aspects of Batman that I particularly appreciate in the comics that were also represented here. This Batman is more detective than superhero, working closely with Detective Jim Gordon on a series of grisly murders accompanied by cryptic messages from the enigmatic Riddler (with occasional input from Alfred). From the beginning, we also see many instances of members of the Gotham City Police Department reacting in different ways to Batman's presence at crime scenes, in the tradition of the Gotham Central comic, combined with the corruption in the police force, well known from Batman: Year One. We can tell that Gordon and Batman already have some history together from the enormous trust Gordon has for the Caped Crusader, whom he repeatedly has to defend to his fellow police. Even when helping to investigate a crime scene or observing a medical examination of a murder victim, this Batman is still and silent, watching and only occasionally contributing an insight, as if he appreciates Gordon's indulgence and doesn't want to overstep and risk this valuable relationship.

In general, Pattinson's Batman—and even his Bruce Wayne, whom we see much less than in other films—is for the most part still and silent, which makes the action scenes all the more striking in contrast (as well as the handful of laughs, mostly from other characters at his expense). There also seemed to be less action than earlier films, which will surely disappoint some viewers (understandably): Most of the movie was a battle of wits between Batman and Riddler, with occasional action scenes and fights primarily between our hero and flunkies or mob toughs, until the final act that ramps up the action quotient very dramatically. This is not a typical superhero film; in pacing and tone, I would compare it more to the Daredevil show, or maybe Logan.

Pattinson's Batman/Bruce Wayne is a tortured soul, which he doesn't even bother to hide when he attends a public function as Wayne. Maybe he will later, but this Bruce Wayne has not yet adopted the millionaire playboy persona to travel among high society; for now he couldn't care less, clearly obsessed (as Alfred notes) with fighting crime or, as he puts it, pursuing vengeance. Thankfully, this concept of vengeance does not involve killing, which he prevents another character from doing, giving the standard explanation of "you don't want to turn into them." (He also makes his dislike of guns clear in another scene.)

Speaking of vengeance, in what was perhaps the most surprising part of the film (in the best way), Batman has an epiphany at the end regarding his mission that is set up marvelously well, using a minor character that shows up only a handful of times throughout the film but plays an integral role in tying the whole thing together. (At nearly three hours of very steady but slightly drawn-out pacing, this was very useful.) Here, this young Batman discovers a positive aspect of what he does that can complement the negative aspect of fighting crime, and could serve to add a different tone to the next installment (although I hope it doesn't change the tone entirely).

Finally, the performances were excellent across the board. Robert Pattinson wisely chose to underplay both Batman and Bruce Wayne, using his face (which we see more of, even as Batman, than before) to show the tragedy that motivates him and the steely resolve that carries him on, despite discouraging odds. Zoë Kravitz was magnificent as Selina Kyle, portraying the self-determination and instinct for survival that allows her to prosper in any situation, both amongst the criminal element and alongside the Dark Knight (with whom she has undeniable playful chemistry, reflecting the best of their relationship in the comics). Gregory Wright was delightfully gruff as Jim Gordon; Andy Serkis's Alfred was not seen enough, but his few scenes were effective and heartfelt (even without the gentle snark often seen in the character); and Paul Dano was a terrifically unhinged Riddler (though he reminded me more of James Gordon Jr.), especially in the later part of the movie when he was not in his, ahem, questionable outfit. (Speaking as a huge Colin Farrell fan, I don't know why he played the Penguin as Robert DeNiro, but the character worked well in a role that sets him up well for future appearances.)

I went into this movie more curious than anything, but I walked out astonished, and I'm very eager to see what Matt Reeves and company do with Batman next (especially if it involves the character teased at the very end, which I hope they continue to tease for a while longer).

Why We Relate to Batman

Batman is celebrating his 80^th anniversary this year, and while he has served admirably as the protector of Gotham City, there is one mystery that the world’s greatest detective has never been able to solve: his own moral inconsistency. Many focus on his all-too-human motivation and lack of superpowers to explain why he’s more relatable than other superheroes, but most of us also share his struggle to reconcile the various elements of his moral code, which serves to make him a different sort of role model from most of his costumed colleagues as well.

Let’s start with Batman’s mission, the guiding principle of his life, sworn over his parents’ graves after their untimely deaths at the hands of a mugger: to save the lives of the people of Gotham, chiefly by fighting the scourge of crime. This is broadly consequentialist in its ethics, striving to do as much good as he can, both as the costumed crimefighter Batman and as wealthy philanthropist Bruce Wayne. At the same time, he breaks many common-sense moral rules in the process—he practices violence, often to the point of inflicting torture, and generally ignores the law when it is inconvenient—all of which would fly in the face of deontological ethics, which focuses on the right and wrong of actions rather than their consequences.

None of these actions, however, is the cause of his moral distress or inconsistency, because Batman justifies them all by how they help him further his mission. To him, the end does justify the means in such cases, which may be disagreeable to some (especially deontologists), but it is not morally inconsistent within Batman’s consequentialist mindset. If he believes that beating a reluctant informant senseless will help him save an innocent life, then he will do it (and he does it a lot).

For Batman, this reasoning justifies a lot of behavior that many others feel is wrong, but even the Caped Crusader draws the line at one wrongful act: killing. Countless times in the comics, Batman has refused to kill even his most homicidal foes, including the Joker, and even risks his own life to save theirs (yes, including the Joker). In other words, Batman will do almost anything to further his mission to save the lives of the citizens of Gotham, but to paraphrase the philosopher Meat Loaf, he won’t do that—he will not take a life, even to save many others.

This is the central moral conflict in Batman’s life: He refuses to perform the one wrongful act that would most significantly advance his mission and further his idea of the good. Here, his deontological convictions about means—perhaps his only one—run into his underlying consequentialist ends.

What accounts for his refusal to kill? Most of Batman’s explanations in the comics focus on the effects that killing would have on his moral character. For example, he worries that crossing that particular line will make him like the people he fights (as if their shared predilection for violence and lawbreaking weren’t enough). This concern is a key feature of virtue ethics, yet another school of moral philosophy, but Batman’s skewed version of it reflects an obsession with maintaining a virtuous self-image at the expense of the mission he has adopted as his version of the good life, and in the end, it furthers neither.

We could debate whether or not Batman should kill the Joker and his other murderous enemies until Bat-cow comes home. (Yes, there is a Bat-cow.) Certainly, comics fans have been doing this since before the first poisoned fish with a Joker grin popped up in Gotham Harbor. More important, however, Batman has long been debating this as well, both to himself and with his friends and fellow heroes, making much the same arguments I outlined above. He is keenly aware of this essential moral conflict, which is much harder to dismiss than using violence or breaking the law to further his mission. In this case, Batman has to explain what makes his concern with his virtue more important than his mission, or what makes the life he would take more important than the lives his foes would take.

Batman’s ongoing struggles with moral inconsistency provide us with a point of reference to consider our own. Most of us have a concept of the good we want to further, whether it’s saving lives as first responders, curing disease as medical researchers, or pursuing justice as policymakers or activists. At the same time, we all have moral lines we refuse to cross, such as those at the borders of lying, cheating, or stealing, and we also have ideas of who we want to be as people that includes but also supersedes all of these considerations.

All of this moral “material” is incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile and make consistent, especially when we have to marshal it in the face of hard choices. As many philosophers acknowledge, a faculty of judgment is necessary to combine, prioritize, and balance all of these moral criteria to make an actual decision. Philosophy professors teach the basic elements of ethics to our students, but as Immanuel Kant wrote in the Critique of Pure Reason, “judgment is a peculiar talent which can be practiced only, and cannot be taught.” Judgment is developed through experience over time (and many mistakes), and it is also be learned through example—and not necessarily by those who exercise it well. It is more important to see the process of judgment than its results, and fiction can be just as valuable to this end as the stories of real people, if the characters portrayed in it are sufficient complex.

Batman is indeed complex. Over his eighty years, he has developed into a fascinating character with a multifaceted ethics, and because of this he can not only entertain us but also inspire us. His struggle to reconcile his conflicted moral code, likely as impossible a task as eradicating crime in Gotham City, is yet one more reason he is considered so relatable to millions of fans around the world. His moral and psychological extremes may not qualify him as a role model similar to Superman or Wonder Woman, but his awareness of his own conflicts, especially regarding trying to be moral in several different ways at the same time, is certainly worthy of admiration and emulation. Among superheroes, no one lives a more thoroughly examined life than Batman.

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See here for more on my book Batman and Ethics, which you can buy at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or IndieBound.

Batman and Ethics — my new book coming next spring!

The news is out! As announced in the "Batman's Brain" panel at San Diego Comic-Con and in an interview with CGTN America, the superhero-and-philosophy book I've been teasing for the last few months is titled Batman and Ethics and will be published by Wiley Blackwell next spring!

Following the same approach I used in The Virtues of Captain America, Batman and Ethics breaks down the Dark Knight's moral code by looking at his actions and words over four decades of comics, from the early 1970s to 2011. By restricting myself to a period of (only) the comics in which I believe the character was portrayed fairly consistently, starting with Denny O'Neil and Neal Adams' legendary work and ending just before the New 52 relaunch, I try to show that Batman's moral behavior shows a deeply conflicted hero, one who tries to save lives and serve justice in several different ways but has trouble finding an acceptable balance between them—or even within any one goal. Instead, his actions and words reflect a mix of utilitarianism and deontology (with just a touch of virtue ethics) that reveals the value of each while demonstrating how difficult it is to pursue them at the same time.

The first half of the book covers the nature of his mission while the second half discusses what he will do—and will not do—to further it. In the process, I talk about issues such as:

1) Why does Batman refuse to kill even his most murderous villains even though that would contribute significantly to his self-professed goal of saving lives? (I discussed this in the first chapter of my 2008 co-edited book Batman and Philosophy, but I go much deeper into it here, including an extended ride on everyone's favorite trolley!)

2) How does Batman reconcile his widespread use of violence and torture with his mission—especially given that he often wields these tools against people who are not even suspected of committing crimes—and how do these actions compare with killing, which he refuses to do?

3) How does Batman choose which crimes to investigate or which criminals to pursue, and why does he give some a pass (such as a certain feline foe of whom he's famously fond)?

4) How can we explain Batman's often tenuous relationship with the Gotham City Police Department and his close friendship with Commissioner James Gordon—and how does all of this affect the pursuit and conduct of criminal justice in Gotham overall?

5) Why does Batman continue to train young boys to be his sidekicks when even he admits it's... problematic?

6) Is being Batman the best way Bruce Wayne can serve his mission of saving Gotham—and even if not, is it within his rights to do so? (And speaking of which, is it OK that he focuses so much on Gotham to the exclusion of the rest of the world?)

7) More generally, is Batman of value—to Gotham, to the world, and to Wayne himself?

Do these tough challenges suggest that Batman is any less of a hero or a good person? Not at all! If anything, it shows that he tries too hard to do too much along too many dimensions, setting himself up for failure to succeed at any one of them. But that's part of what makes Batman a fascinating character: he pushes himself harder than anyone can, holds himself to impossible standards, and beats himself up when he fails to live up to them.

It's also part of what him relatable, because most of us are morally conflicted in the same way. We all want to do what's good and we also want to do what's right, but we don't always have a clear idea what either of those means, much less how to settle conflicts between them. By looking at Batman's moral inconsistency, then, we might get a better picture of our own, and see how we might work on improving it.

Watch this space for more news about Batman and Ethics as the release date approaches!

So who had "Brian Michael Bendis moves to DC Comics" in the pool? Anybody?

Some random thoughts on the jawdropping news — at least for readers of superhero comics — that superstar Marvel Comics writer Brian Michael Bendis has signed an exclusive contract with DC Comics...

Wow. I mean WOW. This is huge.

I count myself as a huge Bendis fan. Daredevil was the first Marvel book I read, and as I followed Ed Brubaker and Michael Lark's run I also went back to read all the Miller and Smith, and then all the Bendis, and loved it. Then came his Avengers in the run-up to Secret Invasion, which is my favorite Bendis event, especially the carefully laid groundwork leading into it and the support stories in the Avengers books that ran alongside the main series. Dark Avengers and Siege were fantastic, especially with his multilayered Norman Osborn, but his Avengers titles began to get tired for me soon after The Heroic Age began. I soon gleaned on to his X-Men books (which I almost never read) and Guardians of the Galaxy. After the Marvel Universe died (but didn't really OK never mind hey look Miles is here everybody yay), his Iron Man work was brilliant, especially in the recent developments with Riri Williams and Victor Von Doom, and of course I love Jessica Jones (in all her Bendis incarnations) and Miles Morales, his two best creations. (Didn't like Civil War II, but oh well.)

In short, he represented a lot of Marvel was to me for the last 10-12 years, and I will miss his voice there (even if it has become less pervasive in the last couple years as his big franchises wound down).

Two obvious questions going forward are:

What happens to his Marvel books? I assume he'll stay on Iron Man until #600 (when Tony Stark will presumably return), after which the book will go to a heavy hitter like Jason Aaron (my first choice). The inevitable Ironheart book will hopefully go in a new, emerging writer, as should happen also with the Miles Morales book. Jessica Jones is too connected with Bendis (and Michael Gaydos), though, so I don't see anyone taking that over, unless she's wrapped into a joint book with Luke Cage. Defenders could go on with someone else, but it never received Legacy renumbering, so I expect it will be cancelled (especially now that the show is a memory) or re-oriented more towards the rotating line-up of the classic book (at which point it will be renumbered). I would also nominate Mr. Aaron for that. (Or anything. That fella's great.)

What will he do at DC? The best guess is Batman, whether one or both of the existing books (in which I would expect Tom King to jump to Marvel full-time) or a newly created book. Bendis has often expressed his desire to write the character (which was his sole DC credit to this point), and it makes sense given his focus on street-level heroes at Marvel, but personally I don't see Bendis' voice fitting the Dark Knight. (But I imagine this was the lure that got him to jump ship.)

The best fit in my opinion would be a restored Legion of Super-Heroes book: huge team (like the Avengers or X-Men), an entire world for him to play in and develop (like X-Men and Guardians of the Galaxy), and so much dialogue to write. (I love his style of dialogue, which would work much better with Legion or Titans than Batman.)

My fantasy pick? Restore Green Arrow to his old, ornery glory and give him to Bendis. Call it Old Man Ollie if you want. (I really want my Ollie back, and I think Bendis would be great. The return of three-alarm chili!)

In general, I do have reservations. I don't think it's particularly novel to say that Bendis is an intrinsically "Marvel" writer, much like writer and penciller Jack Kirby was before he jumped ship to do New Gods and more at DC, and more recently when penciller John Romita Jr. moved to DC to draw Superman. Frankly, I wonder how the patented Bendis voice will fit at DC. (But then again, Kirby didn't do too bad!) Given my poor opinion of the state of DC at the moment, I'm inclined to welcome any shake-up. But I also wonder if the addition of such an "outside" voice, as talented and inventive as he is, would get DC even further off-track at a time when they need to find their center (as promised by Geoff John's Rebirth one-shot). I would prefer that they engage Mr. Johns to devote himself to focusing the line (rather than messing with what should never be touched), and find a corner of the DCU for Bendis to play in where he can indulge himself fully (as they did with Kirby). Again, I think the Legion would be perfect for this, or maybe a new or reimagined parallel Earth. (Earth-B, of course.)

What do you think?

Six reasons why Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is the best superhero movie yet

I saw Batman v Superman last Thursday, and meant to get a post up more quickly, but it took me this long to digest all the Snyder-y goodness packed into those two-and-a-half hours of sheer cinematic bludgeoning.

Let me list some of things I loved about this movie (there may be spoilers):

1. I was very happy when Superman broke the fourth wall and addressed the audience, admitting that he was completely out of character killing Zod at the end of Man of Steel, and apologized for the resulting disillusionment of the next generation of Superman fans. But the following 20-minute discussion with Batman about why heroes don't kill was even better, and validated my faith in Snyder that he never really thought that Superman killing could ever be appropriate. (In general, the in-depth treatment of all the issues raised in the movie was much appreciated; I was so relieved Snyder didn't just gloss over these points to focus on grandiose, emotionally-laden set pieces with little meaningful content or narrative coherence.)
2. Jesse Eisenberg's subtle, delicately nuanced portrayal of Lex Luthor added the gravitas necessary to offset the goofy antics of the title heroes. Most of the film was a bright and giddy celebration of fun-filled adventure and superheroics, and it needed Luthor to lend it solemnity to give it the careful balance between unrestrained joy and emotional depth we've come to expect from Zack Snyder.
3. Speaking of lighthearted fun, I howled at Batman and Superman's impromptu vaudeville-style tap routine to the Beatles' "Martha My Dear." It allowed Affleck and Cavill the opportunity to show off their dance skills, which will come in handy in Justice League (which my sources tell me will be a broad reworking of A Chorus Line, Snyder's favorite Broadway-themed movie other than all the others).
4. Wonder Woman was integrated very well throughout the entire movie. I was so afraid she'd be shoehorned into the end of the movie to clean up after the boys nearly killed each other (silly, right?), or used for gratuitous eye-candy earlier, but I should have known Snyder was better that. (That would have been a real sucker punch indeed.)
5. The dream sequence where Batman turns into the Punisher and then Superman turns into the Punisher and then one Punisher goes all Punisher on the other Punisher but it's even better because it's Batman and Superman and everyone really wants them to be the Punisher because wow the Punisher's just so awesome and... yeah. The seven-year-old in me who really doesn't understand Batman or Superman loved that part.
6. My favorite moment:  before the final throwdown, when Superman shouted "Speedos!" into Bruce Wayne's pool and Aquaman jumped out and said, "hey, I'm in a movie!"

I could go on, but I'll leave something for my review of the R-rated cut, in which I hope Batman and Superman can really cut loose and engage in some more uncharacteristically brutal violence and the rumored epic breakdance battle, which was too intense for PG-13. (Wait until you see Batman pop and lock... and load!)

DC Comics surprised by reaction to "Blue Beetle: Rebirth" teaser, plans line-wide reboot instead

NEW YORK BURBANK – Executives at DC Comics were taken by surprise by the reaction and speculation in response to their image promising a "Rebirth," which many online fans and sites took to mean a line-wide relaunch or reboot.

However, it wasn't the rebirth they had originally planned. "We were going to bring back Ted Kord as Blue Beetle," revealed Geoff Johns, Chief Creative Officer at DC Comics, who killed Kord in the lead-up to his event series Infinite Crisis. "We thought fans would be excited about that. We like to bring back a beloved character from before the New 52 from time to time so there will be someone in the DC Universe for fans to like now."

But now that Johns and DC Comics co-publishers Dan DiDio and Jim Lee have seen the online reaction to the "Rebirth" teaser, they are switching gears and making plans for a total reboot. "We never knew there was such passion for another reboot," said DiDio. "I knew fans appreciated our complete obliteration of 70+ years of continuity with the New 52, but I never imagined they'd be ready for us to do it all over again so soon!"

Expect The All-New All-Different 52 to hit stores this fall. But without Ted Kord. Or joy.

Snyder and Lee give us a complex but heroic Superman in Superman Unchained #2

In Superman Unchained #2, Scott Snyder and Jim Lee show Superman facing insurmountable odds at the hands of an unknown but incredibly powerful foe. Rather than relying on brute force and heat vision to try to save the day, "this a Superman who is all about taking a deliberate, systematic approach to the business of being a superhero," as Forrest Helvie notes in his review at Newsarama. He continues:

There is a certain way that the Man of Steel thinks through every step he will take to save the day. But instead of being an uncomplicated tactician who’s able to think himself out of every situation, which would feel somewhat two-dimensional, Snyder subtly sneaks in a little more nuance to his vision of Superman. There are various plans he could employ to deal with the situation he faces in the beginning of the story with varied outcomes, some of which would necessarily include civilian casualties.

Rich Johnston at Bleeding Cool emphasized the trade-offs in terms of lives saved that we see Superman explicitly considering (thanks to inner dialogue—Superman’s, that is, not Rich’s). He does find a way to save the day—Superman again, not Rich—and as Rich puts it, “Situations avail themselves, and there is an answer to be found. But there might not have been, we see here a Superman willing to sacrifice some to save more.”

Forrest and Rich capture much of what I appreciated about what Snyder and Lee did in this comic:

1. They showed Superman facing what a situation in which he might not be to save everyone and determining which course of action would save the most lives. (I've written about the need for even Superman to use this kind of moral judgment in Superman and Philosophy and elsewhere on this blog.)

2. In the end, Superman saved everybody, even when—especially when—it seemed that he couldn’t. As I wrote in my commentary on the Man of Steel film, that’s what Superman does. Just when you think all is lost, there's no way he can win or save everybody, he does. Because he's Superman.

It’s easy to write Superman into a situation in which there’s no easy solution, a tragic dilemma from which he “cannot escape with clean hands.” It’s much harder—but more gratifying to fans of the classical Superman concept—to write a situation like that, from where there's no way out, and then show Superman figuring a way out anyway.

Call me old-school—I’ve certainly been called worse—but when I read a superhero story, I expect to see the hero faced with unbeatable odds, wonder to myself “how will my hero get out of this one?”, and then when he or she does, think to myself, “wow, I would have never thought of that!” When I was a kid, my first thought may been about the hero and how smart and strong he or she was. But now that I’m older—much, much older—I give more credit to the creators, in this case Snyder and Lee, not just for being clever enough to develop a fresh take on a well-trod comics plot device, but also for retaining the classic sense of heroism that fans like me want from our superheroes.

To me, it seemed like the writers of Man of Steel wanted to show that they could "beat" Superman by writing him into an impossible situation, exclaiming "a-ha, we got 'im!" and pounding another nail in the coffin of fans' "foolish" idealism. Instead, Snyder and Lee are giving us a Superman who acknowledges difficult decisions but rises above them, showing that true heroism rises above defeatism. Luckily for fans like me, Snyder and Lee's "S" does stand for hope after all.

My thoughts on Man of Steel

Hmm. [Opens mouth to speak, nothing comes out.] Hmm.

Before I start, a caveat: I couldn't help but notice the controversy over Man of Steel on Twitter, much of it involving Mark Waid, one of the standard-bearers for a view of Superman I share. Passions are running hot over this one, which is both good and bad—it's good that people are talking this much about a Superman movie (or a DC Comics movie in general), but it's disheartening that they're arguing over the fundamental nature of a character that should be well established by now. Anyway, I've avoided reading any reviews or commentary, so other people may very well have said what I'm about to say, and if so, likely much better.

I'm going to offer some general comments about the movie, and then some discussion about some ethical topics raised by it. I'll keep the spoilers until the second part, and I'll warn you when they're coming.

First, Man of Steel as a movie (not as a Superman movie): I liked it. I loathe long films—90 to 100 minutes is perfect as far as I'm concerned—but even at 143 minutes it didn't feel long, and no parts of it dragged. Henry Cavill impressed me as Clark/Superman, having only seen him in The Tudors, and Amy Adams (whom I've seen in most everything she's done) played an effective Lois, but neither blew me away. The finest perfomances by far were Russell Crowe as Jor-El and Michael Shannon as Zod—both stole every scene they were in, and interactions between them were marvelous to watch. (The filmmakers cleverly found a way for Jor-El to appear throughout the movie despite... well, you know.)

The action scenes were spread throughout the movie nicely, broken up by emotional dialogue or flashback. This was important, because the action scenes themselves were intense—while there was little blood, there was more than enough destruction and explosions to earn the PG-13 rating. (I would not be comfortable taking my kids, 5 and 10, to this movie, and they've seen all the recent Marvel superhero movies.)

Visually, the movie was very stylish. While the Smallville and Metropolis scenes were by necessity reminiscent of past depictions, the designs of Krypton and Kryptonian technology were breathtaking, from their 3-D sculpting technology (for lack of a better term) to the armor the Kryptonians wore on Earth. But the movie was just so dim, like it was all shot through a fine gauze. There were no bright colors at all: Krypton was gray with accents of gray. Smallville was brown. Metropolis was—guess what—gray. And if you thought Superman would bring a ray of sunshine into any of this, you would be wrong. We've all seen the movie costume, all muted red and blue, with just a touch of muted yellow thanks to DC Comics' New 52 redesign. (And don't even get me started on the costume's texture, which reminds me of that rubber thingie you use to open the jar of pasta sauce that's been in your refrigerator since Superman Returns was out.)

But the dull tinge of the movie matched its narrative tone well—this is a dark movie through and through. Not quite Nolan-Batman dark, but more like Webb's Spider-Man but with none of the humor. The team behind The Amazing Spider-Man was able to give us a superhero film starring an upbeat character that fit with the current times but still retained some of the irreverance we expect from Webhead. But Man of Steel, featuring a character whose big red "S" stands for hope, was sorely lacking in hope, optimism, or joy. This is definitely a movie for a generation that is more likely to look in the sky and say "it's a bird, it's a drone—yep, it's a drone" with little hope of seeing a hero.

And nothing illustrates that point better than the ethics-loaded notes in the movie. This is where the SPOILERS start, so read on at your own risk if you have yet to see the movie.

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I have very mixed feelings about how Man of Steel showed Superman's heroism and ethical decision-making. Don't get me wrong, there are several inspiring scenes of heroism in the movie, such as the scene from the trailers in which young Clark pushes the schoolbus out of the river (at the risk of revealing his powers), and the scene near the end of the movie in which he destroys the world engine while it robs him of his powers. Other characters get in on the action too: Lois, Perry White, and Jonathan Kent all get chances to be heroic. These were fantastic moments in an otherwise dour film.

Unfortunately, these moments we expect from a superhero movie are overshadowed by other scenes that we don't. Clark/Superman makes some questionable moral choices in the movie, choices that may be understandable if any other person made them, but not Superman (or even any other cinematic superhero outside of Wolverine).

I've written a bit the last couple years about Superman's need to use moral judgment, rather than his incredible powers, to resolve tragic dilemmas, conflicts in principles or duties from which he cannot excape "with clean hands." In the comics, this usually takes the form of Luthor leaving Lois dangling off the ledge at the top of a skyscraper in Metropolis while a tidal wave threatens to wipe out a town in Indonesia. What will Superman do? If he can't save both, he has to make a choice, and by necessity that choice will involve a foregone option.

But guess what? In the comics, he manages to do both, to save Lois and the Indonesians. Because he's Superman. He does the impossible. He doesn't let the situation (or Lex Luthor) define his options—Superman defines his own options. He finds a way.

This is most relevant to the end of the movie when Superman kills Zod. After Lois helped the government scientists send the other Kryptonians and their battleship back to the Phantom Zone, Superman faced Zod alone. Zod indiscriminately used his heat vision to reap destruction and murder on Metropolis, and even after Supes had him in a chokehold, the deadly rays from Zod's eyes crept closer and closer to a small group of innocent bystanders. At the last moment, Superman snapped Zod's neck; Zod fell to the ground and Superman fell to his knees in tears.

Superman's remorse was obvious—and so was mine. (Not everyone felt this way; many in the theater cheered, which I've heard was not an uncommon reaction across the country.) This resolution to the story doen't work for me in a number of ways.

First, if Superman had the strength and control to twist Zod's head to snap his neck, why couldn't he turn Zod's head just to divert it from the bystanders? I can let this one go: Zod is a more experienced fighter than Superman is, and perhaps Superman had to put the last of his might into twisting Zod's head without being able to moderate his exertion sufficiently to avoid killing him. Also, this is a young Superman, fighting a physical equal for the first time in his short career. I can excuse him for not having the experience and wisdom to consider other options—people were going to die and he had to make a choice. I get that.

But I don't blame Superman for what he did in the story—I blame those who wrote the story and chose to portray Superman killing his opponent, presumably to make an "edgy" Superman for the 21st century. Even if I accept that Superman had no other choice in that situation, the people who made the movie had a choice whether to put him in that situation. They didn't have to show Superman killing someone—they chose to. They didn't even wait until the third movie, after his heroic ideals had been established and then his "necessary" compromise takes on more weight. No, they chose to show Superman killing someone in his first movie, thereby setting up his moral code for the rest of this appearances in this cycle of films. (Watch out, Luthor.)

And I find that choice despicable. I know full well that tough decisions sometimes have to be made, and Superman is not immune to them. And I love stories that show that moral struggle. But I also love to see Superman find a way to rise above the moral struggle, to show us that if you try hard enough, think the situation through, and refuse to compromise, you can find a way out.

This won't always work for normal human beings, but Superman isn't a normal human being. Superman is an ideal. The ideal. He shows us the best of what we can be. As Mark Waid said on Twitter, Superman shouldn't be written to more like us—he should be written so we want to be more like him. But this is not how the Man of Steel was written, and that's why it fails as a Superman movie.

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I saw Man of Steel Friday afternoon, and Saturday morning I went to Barnes & Noble with my son, who loves superheroes. We always look at both the regular graphic novel section and the rack in the kids' section with superhero books. (And we might happen to pass the philosophy shelves in between, just to make sure all my books are facing outwards. I'm a helper.) There's a new book in the kids' section titled Man of Steel: Superman Saves Smallville that tells a simpler version of the story in the movie, including the climactic ending. But it tells the ending a little differently:

So there were other ways to end the story without Superman killing his enemy—whew, and here I thought it was just me. (Ironically, the one reviewer so far at Amazon says even this book is too violent for small children!) Sure, in the storybook the villain got away. But that's one of the ways superhero movies usually end: either the villain is captured, gets away, or dies by his own hand (as the hero tries to save him, of course). More to the point, that's how Superman movies should end.

Of course, we can easily imagine situations in which Superman would have no choice but to kill his enemy, and skilled creators could craft an engaging story around it. (See my chapter from Superman and Philosophy for one example.) But an argument can be made that not only would it be a bad Superman story, but that it would not be a Superman story at all. Superman isn't the guy who usually does the right thing—Superman is the guy who does the right thing by definition. Any less and it just isn't Superman.

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Epilogue: I couldn't find anywhere to mention this, but I was also disturbed by the scene in which Clark lets his father walk into the path of the tornado to save the family dog and help people get to safety. I get that it was supposed to show Clark the folly of hiding his abilities at the cost of innocent lives. But it threatens to introduce an "Uncle Ben" aspect to the Superman mythos in which Clark would forever be plagued by the knowledge that his father died because he stood back. Furthermore, it made no sense in story: Clark could have done exactly what Jonathan did (rescue the dog and help people to safety) without revealing his powers, and in the process protecting his father. As shown, it was a confounding story element that introduces an unnecessary and possibly disturbing element to the Superman backstory—another disappointing choice on the part of the filmmakers.

Grant Morrison tells a story of Nazi Superman—and so does Superman and Philosophy!

As Zap2It reported early this morning, part of Grant Morrison's sprawling DC Comics series Multiversity will tell the story of a stranger from another planet landing in Nazi Germany rather than Smallville, Kansas:

"Imagine you're Superman and for the first 25 [years] of your life you were working for Hitler," Morrison says, "And then you realize, 'Oh my god, it's Hitler!'" Morrison further explains, "Not only is he a Nazi Superman, he's a Nazi Superman that knows his entire society, though it looks utopian, was built on the bones of the dead. Ultimately it's wrong and it must be destroyed." The issue will see the caped hero going up against enemies he knows are right, as he comes to terms with the fact that the principles he was raised with are wrong.

As it happens, Robert Sharp explored this possibility in his chapter "Could Superman Have Joined the Third Reich? The Importance and Shortcomings of Moral Upbringing" in Superman and Philosophy: What Would the Man of Steel Do?. His tale starts like so:

It’s 1926, and on a small farm with a few fields of wheat, a meteorite has just charred its way through a good bit of the crop. The farmer who owns the land is dismayed. His life has been hard since the Great War, even though prices for his food have skyrocketed, at least in terms of the actual bills carried around. In fact, one of his neighbors joked that he needed a wheelbarrow to carry around the cash to buy a loaf of bread, given how worthless the money had become. He and his wife are barely scraping by. Perhaps it is just as well that they had not been able to have children. Where would they find the money? His wife is fond of saying, “God will provide,” but sometimes he has doubts. And now a large part of his best field has been destroyed by a rock from space!

    As the farmer heads toward the damaged area, he calls back to his wife to bring a shovel in case there are any scattered fires to smother. He can see the hot smoke from the house, though the meteor itself is buried. His wife is almost half way to him when he reaches the crater, his eyes widening. “Magda!” he shouts, with a mixture of awe and anxiety, “Magda, bring a blanket! There is … a child!” The words seemed distant from him, as though said by someone else. His wife, believing she has misheard, runs toward him, shovel in hand.

    “Jonas? What is it? What is wrong?” she asks, her hands trembling. As she nears her husband she can see him, just emerging from some sort of space pod—a small boy! A gift from God! Her prayers are finally answered. Here in the German heartland, a miracle occurs, one that will soon have profound consequences for the world at large. The small child that had landed on Jonas and Magda Kuhn’s farm was the Übermensch himself, a “super man.” The Übermensch would vindicate Hitler’s claim that the New World Order would arise in Germany and prove that nation’s superiority.

    Only three years later, young Karl Kuhn, as he was named in the adoption papers, would join the Hitler Youth. Indoctrinated into the cause, his character was formed by the Nazi Party. He never knew any other life, and when the war finally came, Hitler used his young prodigy as the ultimate super-weapon. The war was over before it had begun, as the Allies had no counter to such raw power. A farm boy from the middle of nowhere had helped the Nazis take over the world.

"...Or Not" is the title of the following section, and through the rest of the chapter Sharp explains the different ways this story could go and how moral character and develop influence it. (See also the four other chapters in the book on Superman and Nietzsche for more on the Übermensch—and why the true Übermensch may be named Lex.)

As countless others do, I look forward to seeing Grant Morrison's version of this "what if" story in Multiversity—and in the meantime, be sure to pick up Superman and Philosophy!

On Superman and fascism at The Atlantic

At The Atlantic today, Noah Berlatsky of the Hooded Utilitarian argues that Superman has not wandered far from his historical roots in racist fascism, which is even more reason to be concerned that anti-gay writer Orson Scott Card is writing Adventures of Superman. I won't comment on his spurious links between the Ku Klux Klan and Superman, much less his statement that "even at this late date, it's just not that hard to look at Superman and see the outlines of the KKK." (For a better look at Superman and the Klan, see this piece by Carol Borden at The Cultural Gutter, and for commentary on the links between fascism, Nietzsche, and Superman, see the chapters in part three of Superman and Philosophy.)

Berlatsky's main substantive points seem to be that 1) Superman is a "violent vigilante" and 2) violent vigilantism invariably and inevitably becomes directed towards the powerless in society. The first point is merely asserted but not elaborated on, as if readers would take this for granted. I think both aspects of this characterization of Superman are mistaken: he often uses force, certainly, but never disproportionately, and always to assist law enforcement when he can rather than subvert it. Batman has been known to cross both of these lines and has been criticized for it--see Colin Smith's review of the recent Batman #17, for example--but Superman has always been a clear counterpoint to this.

As for the second point, it is indeed a common storytelling device in comics for heroes to go mad with power, succumbing to the Ring of Gyges and abusing their fantastic abilities. This is an everpresent issue for Superman, the most powerful of heroes while at the same time a visitor to our fair planet. But this is a feature rather than a flaw: it allows the ongoing creators of Superman to depict the human (and Kryptonian) struggle to retain one's ethics against the pull of self-interest, especially as the power to pursue the latter grows. This highlights the importance of Clark Kent's upbringing in Smallville, where the Kents instilled a solid moral code in Clark to counteract the temptation of using his powers later. Of course he may let his resolve slip and use his powers for himself or causes he comes to believe in. But because he's a hero--because he's Superman--he won't.

So yes, a writer such as Orson Scott Card could use Superman's power to further his own agenda. But let's keep the focus of our collective disgust on Mr. Card, not on a superhero that, for 75 years, has shown us consistently how one should use amazing power for the good of others despite every temptation to do the opposite.