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The thing about adolescence is that it's messy. It's uncomfortable. We do really dumb stuff when we're teenagers, partly because we don't know any better and partly because we're unsure of our place in the world and are willing to try just about anything to figure it out.
That awkward struggle, and its transposition onto the Superman story here, is the most interesting thing about Zack Snyder's Man of Steel. Snyder and his cast, particularly Henry Cavill, do excellent work in the first hour establishing just how hard it is for Clark Kent to find a place where he belongs. And how could he? He's an alien from a destroyed planet who crash-landed in Kansas, which is equally weird in its own Midwestern way. It's hard enough growing up when you don't have X-ray vision. And so soulful-eyed, bearded(!) Clark wanders from place to place, a hard worker, as someone remarks to Lois Lane, but unable to earn respect; he's always going to be the "greenhorn," the newbie who just doesn't quite seem "right." The fact that Clark can also impale a semi onto telephone poles doesn't change the fact that people don't like him, don't trust him, can't understand him. What better metaphor than this for the angst of becoming an adult?
The film's emphasis on patience suggests its interest in the necessary pain of transformation. Jonathan Kent (shockingly well-acted by Kevin Costner) is shown repeatedly cautioning Clark on the necessity of waiting, of learning, of developing. I don't think it's just coincidence that in one childhood flashback a young Clark is shown clutching a copy of Plato's Republic: exactly how does a kid who can lift a schoolbus and crush a steel fencepost become a just man? Does it matter if you're a good person if nobody can see it, or--even worse--everyone thinks you're unjust? And would we really be just to others if we weren't just a bit afraid of them?
The more I think about it, the more I think the film tackles these questions. Not always deftly, but they're there. Plato's answer, and Jonathan Kent's, is that of course justice matters. Hence the necessity of patience. As Jonathan explains at one point, Clark's moral character could very well change the world, for better or for worse. But like the philosopher who climbs out of the cave, he's going to be blind for a little while before he adjusts to the sun. (It's also no coincidence that in the film Superman literally climbs out of a cave into the sun.)
The Republic and this problem of justice also suggest a way to read the wanton destruction of the film's second half. Socrates famously claims in Book 1 of the Republic that a just man would never do harm to another person; this is also a premise on which the Superman mythos has been constructed, and the film's deviation from that in its final showdown between Superman and Zod has outraged many people. But Socrates also goes on to explain that this idea's too simple; justice doesn't work that way in real places. It might not even be possible, not even with a philosopher-king. And if it were, it would mean severe restrictions on life and freedom: limited education, planned breeding, pre-assigned roles in society---the very things that, at least according to Jor-El, harmed and eventually destroyed Krypton.
So, as there is in the Republic, there is in Man of Steel a difficult dilemma: is justice about knowing instinctively what is right for people and imposing that, regardless of consequences? Or is it about allowing the freedom to fail? And how can a philosopher-king rule rightly when he's still blinded by the sun?
Much of the film's destruction is caused by knee-jerk reactions: the US military burns down half of Smallville because they're instinctively reacting to a violent threat with violence. And the threat is in Smallville because Superman saw Zod threaten his mother and, lost in his rage, flies him right downtown. These are hot-headed testosterone-fueled moves, not the patient, cautious, measured action Jonathan Kent tried so hard to encourage in his son. And they have drastic results: I saw people still standing in the IHOP after Superman and Faora fly through, but I'm pretty sure everyone at that Smallville gas station was incinerated. These are not positive consequences, and although the film's focus on action shots often flies right by them, it's hard for me not to see them as the failure -- by the military, by the Kryptonians, by Superman -- of that instantaneous reaction to violence with more violence.
The destruction that isn't the result of knee-jerk violence is still marked by a lack of patience: the reason Zod refuses to share Earth with humans -- other than that Zod is an off-his-rocker asshat -- is because it would take too long for the Kryptonians to adapt to Earth's current atmosphere. And it would hurt. Despite his talk of doing everything for the greater good of his people, Zod is unwilling to sacrifice. Unwilling to be patient.
The problem is that Superman, for a lot of the last half of the movie, is too. The film collapses into a maelstrom of Boys Punching All the Things; no forethought, no caution, just fists. It's upsetting when Superman finally breaks Zod's neck, but it's also kind of his own fault he's in the situation to begin with: if he'd had the patience to think before punching, he might not have dragged Zod into Grand Central Station, full of people -- an action quite similar to his earlier knee-jerk attack leading Zod right into downtown Smallville, which clearly had problematic consequences. Superman will have to think about that action and its ramifications, and if Man of Steel 2 addresses these (as Snyder has hinted in interviews it will), I think it might just work.
And here's where I think the film's initial emphasis on a metaphorical form of adolescence -- of not fitting in, of not knowing what to do, of trying to figure out one's place and role in the world -- and that strange little nod to Plato come in handy in understanding how the film ends up where it does. Growing up is a shitty business. It's hard and messy and feels like it takes forever, and adolescents are notoriously bad at thinking before they act. It's easier to stay in the cave and live with familiar shadows. If you leave the cave, you risk being blinded by the sun, by the force of the new knowledge and power and responsibilities that confront you but you haven't yet assimilated. It takes a long time to attain understanding. And while you're blinded, there's a possibility that even as a good person you will do some really dumb things. Possibly even some really terrible things.
But there is also the possibility that past that there is growth. Plato says that it's the philosopher's burden to re-enter the cave and educate others about his experiences, to encourage the same growth in others that he has fought so hard for himself. To foster the achievement of good, even when it hurts first, even when it takes a long time. To provide hope. And, if you believe Superman, that's what that symbol on his chest represents.
Although it is definitely also an "S."
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| Whatever, Superman. |
