Defining Post-9/11 American Morality in Comic Book Films: A Critical Discourse Analysis.

The morality play of America in the 1950’s and early ‘60’s was the Western. The protagonist of almost every Western was the strong white man, whose apotheosis was found in the person of John Wayne – although Gary Cooper, Alan Ladd, or Jimmy Stewart could create variations on this same character. This man carried a gun, was often a lawman or soldier, spoke directly and to the point, and dispensed justice with very little compunction about the violence inherent in his lifestyle. His enemies were outlaws or Indians, and their intentions were simple: pillage and plunder. This prototypical American hero protected women and the innocent, brooked no aspersions on his honor, and fought the forces of lawlessness for the good of his fledging republic. He was the embodiment of the American hero, and self-doubt weighed seldom upon his conscience.

Of course, Watergate, Vietnam, the Civil Rights movement, and a host of other social turbulences in the late 1960’s changed America’s simplistic post-WWII perspective about morality. The straightforward hero embodied by John Wayne was slowly replaced by the morally ambiguous heroes of the Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns, and the amoral antiheroes of films like The Godfather and Taxi Driver and One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. However, the end of the Cold War, the advent of the computer age, and most significantly the events of 9/11/2001 and the War on Terror have now reshaped American morality once again, refining, re-defining, and complicating our sense of ethics, propriety, Right and Wrong, Good and Evil. And in no other modern or popular art form is the moral dilemma of the American people more resonant than in comic book films.

Comic books, of course, carry with them the stigma of childishness. Since they contain pictures and their text is often simplistic, the keepers of the canon have (wrongly) identified comic books as children’s literature. The nominative adjective “comic” indicates a light-heartedness of spirit which might preclude contemplation of the weightier matters of human existence. Indeed, while the tragedies of earlier literature seemed to examine the fundamental questions of humanity (the nature of mortality, man’s search for meaning, “Alas, poor Yorrick. I knew him, Horatio”) the classical comedies seemed primarily concerned with romance and the eternal hilarity of human relationships. However, when one more closely examines films based upon comic books, we see that the deeper thematic structure is much more closely related to the classical tragedy, rather than comedy. Replacing John Wayne and the cowboy hero, the new apotheoses of Americana are the characters of Spider-Man, Iron Man, Batman, and others. These characters’ films create a vivid and complex tableau which symbolizes the modern American social and political psyche in a post-9/11 world. More so than any other genre in modern American film, it is the comic book blockbuster which most accurately reflects the American embodiment of moral responsibility at the beginning of the 21st century.

(If I may be allowed a small digression, I’d like to address the some of the other films which are currently attempting – unsuccessfully! – to discuss American morality today. There are many weighty and overtly didactic films which have attempted, in recent years, to give an “accurate” depiction of America and its socio-political quandary in the aftermath of 9/11 and the subsequent war on terror. Films such as In the Valley of Elah, Redacted, Rendition, and a host of other lesser known movies have attempted to deal literally with the War on Terror and tend to depict America in a negative light. Andrew Klavan, commenting in the 7-25-2008 Wall Street Journal, skewered these films nicely: "[T]ime after time, left-wing films about the war on terror --films like 'In The Valley of Elah', 'Rendition' and 'Redacted' – which preach moral equivalence and advocate surrender, that disrespect the military and their mission, that seem unable to distinguish the difference between America and Islamo-fascism, have bombed more spectacularly than Operation Shock and Awe" (Klavan, 2008). While Klavan seems to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in the lack of success of these “left-wing” films, he does make an interesting point: Americans are roundly rejecting films which suggest that Americans are on a plane of moral equivalence with the groups of people who identify with Osama Bin Laden. I find it ironic that comic books and comic book films are accused of being overly simplistic; after all, what argument could be more simplistic than “Well, sometimes you do bad things, too!” Unfortunately, that seems to be the sum totality of the arguments presented by films such as Redacted and the others mentioned above. Comic book films actually tend to take a much more nuanced and thoughtful approach to the idea of conflict between persons or nations, as will be discussed later.

Also, I would like to note that I am not going to discuss ALL comic book films. While the films which will be discussed in this essay are thematically complex and act as a sort of mirror on American society, many other comic book films are exactly what they are accused of being: pedestrian, overly-simplistic, special-effects driven melees with two-dimensional villains and one-dimensional heroes. I would hold up The Punisher, Daredevil, The Fantastic Four, and others as examples of this sort of film-making. Hollywood executives, in their rush to capitalize on the popularity of the comic book genre, have neglected the complexity of character and theme which was so compelling in films like Batman Begins or Spider-Man. Interestingly enough, morally over-simplistic films seem to do almost as badly at the box-office as the politically-charged films mentioned by Klavan. Neither sort of film seems to resonate with the American public like those discussed below.)

Part 1: Spider-Man: the second death of Isolationism.

“With great power, comes great responsibility.”


Spider-man is the comic book hero who most clearly mirrors the personality of America. Many people think first of Superman, and his famous line about “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.” The problem is that Superman is nearly invulnerable. He has a single weakness – kryptonite – and it takes a being of nearly supreme power to actually threaten him. However, Superman seldom doubts the rightness of his actions. Superman, therefore, is not the best analogy for America, with its self-critical nature and opposing political factions. However, Superman probably is the best analogy for how the rest of the world views America. This is why so many nations are angered by our actions; they feel if we would simply help them, all would be well.

There are many more clear parallels between America and Spider-man - a character who does his best, but is clearly human, flawed, and limited in his abilities. And as Aunt May famously said to a young Peter Parker: “You’re not Superman, you know.” Like Spidey, America is sometimes selfish and unwilling to help. Other times, again like Spider-man, we are unable to help in spite of our best efforts. And still other times, our best intentions may make matters worse. In Sam Raimi’s 2002 blockbuster Spider-man, we see a young, naïve Peter Parker, who by accident is the recipient of super-powers. While he is a pleasant enough young man, he is at first simply content to use his new strength for his own benefit. He just wants to make some money. However, Peter does nothing to stop a robbery in progress, feeling that it is not “his problem.” In the course of the next scene, that same robber murders Peter’s Uncle Ben. From this traumatic experience, Spider-man is formed. Spidey becomes the embodiment of Uncle Ben’s admonition, that “with great power, comes great responsibility.”

Raimi often visually associates Spider-man with the American flag, and other symbols of this nation. The parallels are easily drawn. By geographic coincidence, America became an industrial – and therefore military – superpower. During both World Wars we learned, through traumatic experience, that isolationism was no guarantee against attack. This lesson led us into fifty years of the Cold War. Of course, with the fall of the Soviet Union, the United States was much like Spider-man without Doctor Octopus or the Green Goblin; we felt that there was no one worthy of fighting. (Sure, America led the first Gulf War, and we intervened in Bosnia, but from the fall of the Berlin Wall until the events of 9/11, the military might of the United States of America was largely stagnant). We didn’t go so far as to relapse into isolationism, but it was beginning to seem more and more attractive. Why should American troops be involved in situations which did not directly threaten America or her interests?

And then came September 11, 2001. Suddenly, once again, isolationism was dead. American military might was mobilized, and a series of conflicts began in the following months, of which we still have not seen the end. But like Spider-man, we suddenly have come to realize that if we do not openly engage the forces bent upon doing ill, they will attack us where we are most vulnerable.

The clearest moral resonance between Spider-man and America is in Spidey’s reluctance and doubt. While Spider-man finds a certain joy in his powerful abilities – like America does in its technological and military might – he does not really want to be a superhero. It harms his relationships. It estranges him from his friends. It forces him into conflict with those who are crueler and more reckless than himself. It sometimes forces him to take lives. It forces him to lie. And as the result of all of this, Spider-man is wracked with self-doubt, and sometimes guilt and remorse. What makes Spider-man such a popular character is not that he can defeat villains like the Green Goblin or the Sandman; rather it is that he retains his essential humanity even though he possesses superhuman power. Some of the most powerful scenes in Raimi’s three Spider-man films are the moments when Peter Parker expresses his own inner turmoil: his confession to Aunt May that he could have saved Uncle Ben’s life; his loss of his power in Spider-man 2, as the result of his desire to lead a normal life; his tortured friendship with Harry Osborne, whose father Spider-man killed.

These internal conflicts of Peter Parker all resonate in the American public psyche. While we as a nation take a certain pride or even joy in our ability to hold our own in a fight with even the most powerful adversary, America also worries about losing those qualities which we most value – and that which we most value is not our power. The current uproar over water-boarding and treatment of prisoners is an apropos example. While it has been confirmed that American intelligence agents have only water-boarded three of the most heinous terrorists currently in custody, still America is convulsed with doubt about our own moral rectitude. While we are fighting a war against terror, we are constantly on guard that we do not become terrorists ourselves. Like Spider-man, while we possess immense power, it is our restraint in using that power which defines us. The same American electorate that twice elected George W. Bush also elected Barack Obama; we possess both aggressiveness and restraint. And perhaps both are equally necessary.

Part 2: Iron Man: Industrialization, Technology, Exploitation, and Conscience.

“I never got to say goodbye to my father. There's questions I would've asked him. I would've asked him how he felt about what his company did, if he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts. Or maybe he was every inch of man we remember from the newsreels. I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability.”

If Spider-man is the superhero equivalent of the 21st century American political and social personality – its Freudian ego – then it is Iron Man who embodies the American hopes and fears regarding capitalism in the new millennia. The fundamental conflict in Jon Favreau’s 2008 Iron Man is not between Tony Stark and terrorists; nor is it between Tony Stark and his ruthless business partner, Obadiah Stane. The true conflict within this story is between Tony Stark, the American who discovers his conscience, and the business practices which create wealth through exploitation and war profiteering.

In the opening scenes of the film, we see Tony Stark before he becomes Iron Man. While his company, Stark Industries, has created weapons which provide battlefield superiority for American troops and has made Stark himself one of the wealthiest men alive, Tony personally lives a life removed from the consequences of his own actions (again, we see the seductiveness of isolationism, especially isolationism of the individual). He spends his time drinking, womanizing, and gambling; he is the stereotypical decadent American who lives his lavish life at the expense of the rest of the world. However, on a trip to Afghanistan to sell his newest weapon, he is kidnapped, held hostage, and seriously wounded.

Tony Stark’s wound, both literal and symbolic, is worth exploring. One of his own weapons explodes, filling his chest with shrapnel. He then designs an “arc reactor” which will keep the shrapnel from penetrating his heart and killing him. This arc reactor also comes to power the Iron Man suit. This idea that Stark’s technology – American technology – is both the source of his wound and his salvation is deeply allegorical. America today lives in fear of a nuclear or biological or chemical attack, which could lead to the destruction of this nation. In order to combat this threat, we continually search for even more technologically advanced defenses. Technology and industrialization are both America’s constant threat and hope of salvation. It is likewise significant that Tony’s heart is wounded. The heart, the symbolic source of emotion, compassion, and empathy, is nearly broken by Tony’s experience in Afghanistan. When he finally returns to America, however, it is not the nature of his physical wound which causes him pain; rather, it is the knowledge that his weapons are being used for evil purposes which causes him heartache. As he states in a press conference, “I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero-accountability.” This experience is the catharsis, the catalyst which transforms Tony Stark into Iron Man. His heart has been damaged, but his intellect remains intact. His creation of the Iron Man technology –and perhaps even more importantly, his decision to trust the technology to no one but himself – stems directly from this emotional wound. Tony Stark decides to take personal responsibility for the ramifications of his work. Hence, Iron Man. Iron Man is the embodiment of the deepest aspiration of the American armed forces: a nearly invulnerable, technology advanced soldier, who is deeply governed by his sense of right and wrong. He is the platonic definition of the “army of one.”

Obadiah Stane, of course, represents the antithesis of Tony Stark. If Stark is a symbol of the sort of empathetic and actively benevolent capitalism to which America aspires, then Stane is our dark fear of cutthroat free enterprise without restraint. Stane sells weapons to the highest bidder; Stane “improves” upon Stark’s designs, making them more deadly; Stane is duplicitous, ruthless, and utterly without remorse. His age is significant, as well: as part of the generation before Tony Stark, we subconsciously associate him with the sorts of cutthroat capitalists who historically supported dictators like Batista or the Shah of Iran. His mission statement is simple: “We’re iron mongers, we make weapons.” His sense of business ethics, like his set of personal morals, is completely absent; when endangering an innocent family during a fight with Iron Man, he simply states “Collateral damage, Tony.” Obadiah Stane is not an accurate depiction of the American businessman, but he is the embodiment of what we fear American businessmen may become, if we practice capitalism without conscience.

Part 3: The Joker, The Batman, and The District Attorney: Id, Ego, and Superego.

“Some men just want to watch the world burn.”

If Spider-man acts as a depiction of America as we are, and Iron Man is a discussion of our socio-economic influence throughout the world, then Christopher Nolan’s masterpiece The Dark Knight is a Freudian psychoanalysis of America’s deepest motivations as we enter the new millennia. The juxtaposition of the three primary characters of the Joker, the Batman, and Harvey Dent - both in accord and in conflict with one another - mirrors the deepest motivations of America as a nation.

The Joker, as imagined in Nolan’s film, is the embodiment of the Freudian id. He is a visceral depiction of impulse without limitation – a voice working not in language, but in symbols. His symbols are seen in the crimes he commits. Throughout the film, the Joker gives dozens of excuses for his actions – but none of them are true. The Joker tells Gambol that he was abused by his father; he tells the Mob he wants money; he tells Rachel Dawes that he was rejected by his wife; he tells Batman that he’s doing it to expose hypocrisy. The truth is simply that the Joker commits robbery, assault, murder, and acts of terrorism for one simple reason: he enjoys it. Throughout The Dark Knight, the only true statement that the Joker speaks is, in the midst of several acts of unspeakable violence, when says “I like this job. I like it. I like it.” This is the horrible truth of the Joker: he enjoys violence. The reasons he gives for his crimes are not reasons, at all; they are excuses.

What is most frightening about the Joker is that his twisted psyche is not all uncommon, and while he is a fictional character, there are unfortunately too many actual psychopaths and sociopaths alive in the world today. America is currently embroiled in a War on Terror with a group of homicidal maniacs who offer similar excuses: they murder women, children, and civilians, offering up the excuses of religion or the occupation of Palestine or the presence of non-Muslim troops in Saudi Arabia. But it is important to remember that these are just that: excuses. They are not reasons. There is no good reason to behead a journalist or a cell phone salesman. There is no good reason to fly a commercial airplane into an office building. There is no good reason to murder a young girl for going to school. As Tony Blair stated three days after the terror attacks on 9-11:
What happened in the United States on Tuesday was an act of wickedness for which there can never be justification. Whatever the cause, whatever the perversion of religious feeling, whatever the political belief, to inflict such terror on the world, to take the lives of so many innocent and defenceless men, women, and children, can never ever be justified.

To most Americans, there is only one proper reaction to such violence: to fight back. Like Peter Parker learns in his transformation to Spider-man, and Tony Stark to Iron Man, NOT fighting back is unacceptable. The most basic tenet of belief in each of these films, and in American moral philosophy, is the adage of Edmund Burke that “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.” This sentiment is echoed by the character of Rachel Dawes in Batman Begins when she asks Bruce Wayne “What chance does Gotham have when the good people do nothing?” So Batman is the conscious effort – the Freudian ego – acting in opposition to the id of the Joker. Not that Batman does not contain elements of violence. He releases his libidinous violent energies in a sublimated and barely controlled manner against the forces he sees as evil. In Nolan’s film, we watch Batman drop a mob boss off a fire escape; we see him mercilessly beat the Joker in an attempt to gain information (as Jim Gordon reassures his men, nervously, that Batman is “under control”); we watch him pummel entire armies of gangsters to a pulp. However, Batman contains elements of both violent impulse and self-control. Unlike the Joker, who “lives without rules”, the Batman has a single rule: he will not commit murder. Andrew Klavan comments that "Batman understands that there is no moral equivalence between a free society -- in which people sometimes make the wrong choices -- and a criminal sect bent on destruction. The former must be cherished even in its moments of folly; the latter must be hounded to the gates of Hell" (Klavan, 2008). Batman forms the central ego of the psychologic triumvirate within The Dark Knight. He is the balance between the id of the Joker, and the superego as represented by Gotham District Attorney Harvey Dent.

At the beginning of The Dark Knight, Harvey Dent is Gotham’s white knight. He is also, however, a cautionary tale. The Joker’s true enemy in The Dark Knight is not Batman; it is Harvey Dent - just as the id is not truly at war with the ego, but rather the superego. Batman, as the ego, is caught in the battle between these two forces. What is most interesting about this film, however, and most telling in its commentary about America, is Harvey Dent’s transformation from upstanding attorney into the villainous Two-Face. If the Joker is the antithesis of American values –death and destruction without compunction or remorse, or even motivation – and Batman is America as we are forced to act out of necessity – violent and brutal, but only when necessary – then Harvey Dent is the character we aspire to be. He lives within the rule of law. He is popular. He is handsome. He is righteous. He is also easily destroyed. As soon as Dent’s loved ones are threatened, it is all too easy for him to toss aside the rules and regulations which he previously upheld. Because Dent has to live within his set of legal rules, he cannot fight the Joker effectively. The moment Harvey Dent breaks the law, each of the criminals he has put behind bars will be free. So Dent sees a simple choice –fight by the rules and lose all he loves, or become just as brutal as his enemy. And this is what America fears, and must constantly face. In a world after 9-11, it is all too easy to set aside morality, to abrogate our deepest mores and convictions in an attempt to save innocent lives. But in doing so, we risk losing the very nobility to which we aspire – we become entirely too much like those we fight and despise.