Chadwick Boseman and Black Panther

The loss of Chadwick Boseman shocks me, as I’m sure it does you. First of all, 43 is too young to die. I’m old enough to have been his father, and my heart goes out to his family and those who loved him, who now must cope with their loss.

Like many people, I first became aware of Chadwick Boseman upon the release of Captain America: Civil War in 2016 and his subsequent solo film Black Panther in 2018.

I grew up a stone science fiction fan. The SF and fantasy I consumed in my youth was overwhelmingly white. It was written by white (male) writers for white (male) audiences, and usually assumed a future controlled and directed by white men. I never even noticed. I accepted it, unthinkingly, as the way of the world.

I recall that time now, and I am saddened to think of my Black peers who may not have been able to get into SF the way I did and have their minds and perspectives stretched the way mine were, because they were ground down by the weariness of constantly having to pretend to be white as the price of admission into those imaginative realms.

This is not to say that a reader (or filmgoer or TV viewer) can’t identify with a character of a different race. Of course we can, and we all do. But being asked to set aside one’s own identity, over and over again, in order to adopt the same other identity, over and over again, must wear down even the most committed fan, after a while.

No one should be asked to do such a thing all the time. But everyone should do it some of the time. White audiences are not well served either, when they are constantly offered up only comforting reflections of themselves, even in their fantasies, and never challenged to imagine something (or someone) different. This is why we need diversity in our stories and entertainments.

And this is what made Black Panther so groundbreaking. For white people like me, it gave us Black role models to look up to, Black fantasy figures who were wiser, nobler, and more generous than we were. We were left with a powerful and unfamiliar mix of emotions. For many of us, it was a first-time experience and a breath of fresh air. And it wasn’t even our movie.

A whole other rush of emotions then came over us as we watched the reactions of our Black neighbors. I still remember all those smiling faces, Wakanda salutes, and people lining up to take selfies in front of cardboard cutouts of the film’s characters in the movie theater lobbies. You would have to have a heart of stone to see such overflowing joy and not feel moved.

Black Panther was embraced by African Americans, and while they surely played a large role in its success, I am certain it was not Black audiences and Black ticket sales alone that made it the highest-grossing solo superhero film of all time.

It was Ryan Coogler’s vision and a spectacular cast that made Black Panther work so well, but at the center of it all stands the performance of Chadwick Boseman. The dignity and gravity of his performance as T’Challa (along with Michael B. Jordan’s as Killmonger) is the foundation that supports the film and turns a fantasy into a statement.

And now we all feel a whole new rush of emotion upon learning that Chadwick Boseman did all this while privately, secretly, battling stage IV colon cancer. What a generous gift he gave us all, at a time when anyone would have forgiven him for focusing on his own well being.

Rest in power, Chadwick Boseman. We will not forget.

What’s Up, Danger?

Why Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse Is the Most Important Superhero Movie Ever.

Superhero stories are important as a metaphor. To discover what our strengths and gifts are, to learn how to use them, and then to apply these skills to make the world a better place—this is the life’s work of every one of us.

This is also the reason why, for me, the most memorable moments in superhero films are the moments when the superhero inspires ordinary people to heroism. Think Superman II, when the people of Metropolis believe General Zod has killed Superman and they pick up pieces of debris and attack him themselves. Think Spider-Man (2002), when pedestrians start throwing things at the Green Goblin and one of them calls out, “You mess with Spider-Man, you mess with New York!” Think Wonder Woman, when she’s in the trenches and demanding that they do something to save a village. Everyone else tells her not to go over the top, that it’s too dangerous, that she’ll be killed. But she does it anyway. And they follow her!

Yes, Diana is a virtually indestructible demigod. But the soldiers behind her aren’t. They follow her anyway.

I could write multiple blog posts about all the things Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse does well, but what really makes it stand out is that it is the first superhero movie to center this idea of the superhero as an inspirational figure. Miles Morales is a 13-year old African-American Puerto Rican in Brooklyn. He is a bright and likeable kid, saddled with typical 13-year old problems: stress at school, a difficult relationship with his father, awkwardness around girls. He also has a Superman poster in his bedroom.

We learn exactly how Miles sees himself early in the film, when he paints a graffiti mural: a colorful rendition of the word “expectations” with a silhouette of himself in the middle. “I get exactly what you’re doing,” his uncle says. Outside, Miles is surrounded by expectations. Inside is shadow. A black box. Not even Miles knows what’s there.

A moment later, Miles is bitten by a radioactive spider. You know the drill. He develops superhuman abilities, but must learn to master them, a great metaphor for puberty, which the film makes explicit. And he makes a fateful promise. For Miles, a promise is a sacred duty. But he doesn’t know how to fulfill it. He studies Spider-Man comic books for tips, then meets other spider-heroes, learns from them, masters his powers, and earns the title “Spider-Man.” Delightfully, the film announces this by putting a Miles Morales Spider-Man comic book on screen.

Miles does not blindly imitate the ways of the other spider-heroes. When he comes into his own, we see the influences of the others, but his moves are his own, just as his Spider-Man outfit is his own. “Don’t do it like me; do it like you,” Peter Parker advises him. (The line was in the trailer, but was cut from the film. No matter. The point is clear.)

By the end of the film, we have come full circle, as Miles demonstrates his newfound mastery of his spider-skills to a street full of grateful New Yorkers. The boy who once looked up to superheroes is now himself an inspiration. Perhaps the message is that becoming the best you can be is important not only for your personal fulfillment, but as an encouragement to those around you. Or, as Miles puts it at the end of his story, “I never thought I’d be able to do any of this stuff. But I can. Anyone can wear the mask. You can wear the mask. If you didn’t know that before, I hope you do now.”

That is the very best reason to make a superhero film. And the very best reason to go see one.

Did CGI Change Animated Storytelling?

It’s an interesting question. The thesis of this video is that hand-drawn animation, by its nature, wants to tell stories about small numbers of characters in an isolated setting, because that kind of story is easy and less expensive to draw, whereas the nature of CGI and its ability to animate large numbers of objects at once pushes animation in the direction of telling stories in a larger, more cosmopolitan setting, like a big city. As a result, hand-drawn animation works well with traditional fairy tales, in which the old order is corrupted and it is the hero’s task to restore the status quo, whereas CGI pushes storytelling in the direction of a more complex society, one with injustices that the hero is called upon to redress.

It’s worth watching, because the video makes a convincing case, though I would quibble with the use of the words “conservative” and “liberal” to describe these two types of stories, as those two words harbor political implications that have nothing to do with the thesis and therefore muddy the waters. I would have described the two kinds of stories as “restorative” and “transformative.” Still, an insightful video, well worth watching if you’re interested in feature film animation, but try not to get hung up on the conservative/liberal thing.

“This Is Not Going to Go the Way You Think!”

I hope not.

So there’s a new trailer out for Star Wars: The Last Jedi, and it looks pretty cool:

But do I have qualms? Of course I do!

The Force Awakens wasn’t bad—it had much to like, in fact—but it seemed an awful lot like a rehash of the original 1977 Star Wars. Similarly, this trailer suggests a film that rehashes The Empire Strikes Back. It seems a safe bet that Kylo Ren and Rey are related in some way. Siblings? Cousins? This is Star Wars after all. The trailer is hinting at an “I am your brother” moment. The loving shot of a line of classic AT-ATs does nothing to ease my fear. Please, please, please, can you do something new and not keep rehashing the original trilogy? Thanks.

It could be just the way the trailer is edited. If you watch it closely, you can see it’s mashing up moments from different scenes to make you think things are happening that aren’t really happening. So maybe the trailer editor just thought it would be fun to mess with us.

Also, the last time Star Wars did something new, it was Jar-Jar Binks, which is a pretty good argument that rehashing the original trilogy is maybe not the worst idea.

We’ll find out soon enough.