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The Incredibles, directed by Brad Bird. Pixar
Studios, 2004, 121 minutes.
Truth, Justice, and the Aristocratic
Way by A.J. Ferguson
Superheroes have taken a beating at the hands of
democracy. The same costumed characters who constantly save the world from
arch-villains and giant meteors have been humbled by the whims and envy of the
common man — and why not? Our minds can summon imaginary champions to banish
imaginary evils, but what good are they against gulags, gas chambers, and mass
starvation?
| | A.J.
Ferguson is an assistant editor of Liberty. |
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Hell, they can't even handle their personal lives. Each time a comic breaks
away from cataclysmic battle scenes, it's to show a masked hero's alter ego
botching some routine social interaction. Since the mid-80s, every caped crusader
has been outed as a social deviant of some sort: Superman's a fascist stooge who
jilts Lois Lane for Wonder Woman; Batman's an obsessive monkey-wrencher with a
penchant for young sidekicks; Spiderman's a pimply teen whose most formidable
enemies are awkwardness and angst. They may think themselves selfless and
altruistic, but their exploits serve only to gild their indiscretions and
perversions; underneath the Spandex, they're the same as — no, worse than
— everyone else.
Alan Moore's seminal comic "Watchmen" features the amoral Comedian, so called
because he gets the joke: keep saving people, and they'll turn on you. The only
way to avoid the mob is to lead it, and the only way to escape the firing squad
is to be the guy with his finger on the trigger. Since democratism refuses to
acknowledge the possibility that any man can be better than any other, the public
gets a kick out of seeing someone truly excellent brought low. We'll forgive
anyone who proves himself grossly incompetent; failure is always the system's
fault. But for those arrogant and hubristic enough to achieve, there can be no
pardon. Of course, once they've been purged, inequality will remain, so we'll
lift up and dash down a new straw-man elite. Repeat until reaching utopia; envy
is nothing if not industrious.
In a country which exports democracy, the appearance of "The Incredibles" is
thus even more astonishing. In Pixar's newest film, a small percentage of the
population have superhuman powers, gained through a mechanism never explained
(though likely as an inherited trait). The government pays these heroes a stipend
to thwart evil as they see fit — until rising costs from property damage and
lawsuits turn public sentiment against them, and they're shoved into a too-small
world that, as ex-hero Mr. Incredible remarks to his superpowered family,
continually devises new ways to celebrate mediocrity. |
| With their secret
identities, the Incredibles at least have a respite from noblesse oblige:
they don't have to be super all the time. |
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Of course, in a world where everyone is special, no one is, and "special"
becomes a euphemism for "retarded." So the heroes settle into their secret
identities, gaining families and paunches, with only magazine covers and outmoded
uniforms to remind them of the old days. But some of them have difficulty
adjusting to lives surrounded by deaths and disasters they could have prevented
had society let them. One by one, they're lured to a remote island by the
prospect of a new assignment: subduing a secret government robot gone rogue. One
by one, they're killed off by the robot's real creator: Syndrome, a deranged
genius who has nursed a grudge against superheroes ever since Mr. Incredible
refused to accept him as a sidekick.
Most would-be despots have to demonize hated minorities before carrying out
their purges; with superheroes already exiled, Syndrome instead plays off the
fear of the masses by turning his "unstoppable" killer robot loose on a major
city, figuring that the man who knew how to defeat it would be hailed as a god.
By eliminating the heroes with true powers beforehand, he plans to rid himself of
any potential competitors for the mob's adoration. He's the quintessential
demogogic dictator, callously sacrificing individual lives to feed his classless
society, while hoarding the best technology to preserve his status as first among
equals.
Thus does egalitarianism foster tyranny — and ghoulish humor: Syndrome's
plan, if successful, would be like Hitler finishing off the Final Solution in
time to rush down to Jerusalem, rebuild Solomon's Temple, and install himself in
the Holy of Holies as the new high priest. Fortunately, costumed villains are
prone to blunders, and the Incredible family exploits a classic gaffe to free
themselves from Syndrome's clutches and save the day. For Pixar's world still has
heroes, individuals willing to use their extraordinary skills towards the
betterment of humanity, once freed from faddish public perceptions of an abstract
common good. The moral? Some people are inherently better than others. If we get
out of their way, society will benefit.
| Syndrome is much closer
to Rand's ideal: a brilliant self-made man who revolutionizes industries and
prefers to form his own society on the margins rather than compromise his
principles. A pity he's insane. |
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This is hard for Americans (and in fits and starts, Europeans) to swallow. The
thought of a natural aristocracy, or worse, hereditary nobility, calls up images
of periwigged syphilitic fops, alienating the little folk through tiny acts of
cruelty and contempt. But with privilege comes responsibility (something
nouveau-riche Hollywood starlets fail to grasp); an aristocrat's life is
constantly on display, subject to the attention and expectations of the public.
With their secret identities, the Incredibles at least have a respite from
noblesse oblige: they don't have to be super all the time. Those without
alter egos can't become "normal" in times of revolutionary fervor. They either
abdicate, abandoning society for hermitic exile, or they fight and in time submit
to the guillotine. Either way, they won't be around to lead when naturally
gifted, thoroughly trained leaders are most needed — leaving history in the
hands of the rabble-rousers and butchers.
Obviously, a major motion picture condemning democracy couldn't escape the
notice of egalitarian culture critics. Reliably hyperbolic columnist Ted Rall
even claimed the movie had "fascist overtones." But those who treated "The
Incredibles" as more than a kid's film were usually content to stamp it as
Objectivist and move on, as if any critique of institutionalized mediocrity in a
fictional context would automatically be cribbing from Rand. Granted, the need
for a PG rating could explain the absence of the obligatory rape scene, but it's
still a tough case to make. Mr. Incredible is not a ruggedly individualistic
hero: he admits his weakness to his wife, saying that if she were killed, he
wouldn't be strong enough to carry on. And he's not the type to pause in the
middle of a fight to set forth the reasons for his ethical superiority; the movie
lampoons "monologuing" as something villains indulge in to explain all the
niceties of their diabolical plots. Syndrome is much closer to Rand's ideal: a
brilliant self-made man who revolutionizes industries and prefers to form his own
society on the margins rather than compromise his principles. A pity he's
insane.
Still, those who skipped past the political message might have had the right
idea: the joy of this film is that it can be enjoyed by anyone. With this film,
Pixar confirms that they have overtaken Disney as the gold standard for animated
films. "The Incredibles" will become a classic; like "Toy Story" before it, kids
will continue to watch it as they grow, and continue to find new things in it to
enjoy. The animation sparkles, intruding only in rare moments when it's
too perfect. The sight gags, often playful twists on timeworn Tex Avery
and Warner Bros. jokes, draw laughs without resorting to gross-out humor. The
backgrounds are filled with all manner of homages and minutiae that invite later
exploration with a DVD and a quick thumb on the pause button. Even the ending
credit sequence is worth sitting through — though lacking the fake outtakes
that have been a Pixar trademark — both for the Mancini-like soundtrack, and
the boxy, vivid animation recalling Cartoon Network's "Samurai Jack" series.
Skip the stultifying "Polar Express" and the formulaic Christmas films, and
take the kids to see "The Incredibles." They'll laugh so much they won't even
realize they're learning a lesson.
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