The Good In Us, The Bad In Us: A Close Look at Superhero Lore and How It Has Changed Over the Last Century…

Like the ancient myths they were modeled after, superhero tales provide a lens into human values. Since the inception of Superman and the prototypes before him, superheroes have emerged as the finest representations of humanity, those who protect our lives as well as model the behaviors, manners, and attitudes we all should exhibit. 

Superman was necessary during WWII, when the “Golden Age” of superheroes appeared. We all needed a hero, not just young Americans. We needed someone to look up to at a time when the world was in turmoil. Other heroes, certainly Captain America, served as symbols of American patriotism and the nemesis of fascism. 

The Cold War (1947-1991) ushered in superheroes like Iron Man, the shining symbol of the arms race between the United States and the Soviet Union. Marvel’s The Winter Guard are all former Soviet super soldiers. Dr. Manhattan, a character from Alan Moore’s Watchmen, represents the perils associated with nuclear energy, particularly the ominous threat of mutually assured destruction.  

Today, the idea of the superhero–especially the super-villain–not so much fills us with but makes us wonder. Villains have become anti-villains in comic book lore. Take Magneto of the X-Men. His radical and frequently violent mission to safeguard mutant-kind from oppression, deeply rooted in the trauma he suffered from the Holocaust, renders his motives profoundly comprehensible, even when his actions overstep moral boundaries. Mr. Freeze from DC Comics is driven solely by finding a cure for his terminally ill wife. Thanos, the villain of the Avengers, is motivated by the desire to save the universe from resource depletion. Poison Ivy is the ultimate eco-activist, so much so that she is literally an eco-terrorist.  

It appears that sympathy has risen for the bad guy. Does this come from our growing sense of humanity as a society? Do we all need a villain’s backstory before we pass judgment? Perhaps. 

But then there are comic book universes symbolizing the polar opposite of what superheroes were originally conceived to be. Superheroes at first symbolized the best of us, the pinnacle of humanity. Nowadays, in series like The Boys and Invincible, they can and do symbolize the worst in us. Homelander, a Supe clearly modeled after Superman, is anything but. While Starlight, a young, idealistic Supe–the moral compass of the series’ band of heroes–progresses, after questionable moral choices, to become a jaded, world-weary but still hopeful adult. 

I recall watching an episode of the final season of this series, and becoming disgusted at another example of an element that was there from the very beginning. Extreme body humor deliberately pushes the boundaries of taste and physical capability. It relies on visceral reactions, gross-out moments, and absurd or exaggerated portrayals of the human body to elicit both shock and humor. I knew this from the beginning. So what caused me to react so intensely?

After discussing this with my friend and fellow writer Brian McKinley, I realized that The Boys, like Invincible, symbolized the worst in us, the worst that humanity can behave, the worst that we can become. In that same episode, in one scene at a retirement home for elderly Supes, members of the “hero team” face off against some of the residents. One in particular has the superpower of weighted testicles that he can swing around à la a martial arts weapon and throw at his enemies. His scrotum is also elastic. In another scene, She-line and Dogknott are on their knees circling each other while sniffing each other’s butts and relaying what the other had for lunch. Then, of course, it is hinted at that they have sex. 

Again, the worst of us. But think about it. If you gain Nightcrawler’s ability to teleport, wouldn’t your imagination lead you to a place where, perhaps, your new ability can lead to material gain, especially if financial pressures begin to become untenable? Would your moral compass forbid you to commit such a crime, no matter what? Or, if physics allowed it, would you teleport behind the counter at a bank, snatch a few stacks, then immediately blink away, counting and grinning? 

And if you did this once, would that be it? Or would a sort of addiction kick in, the dependence on the adrenaline rush, this singular satisfaction of getting away with it? And the prize would only be secondary, or the real reason why you do what you do? 

There is a noticeable progression here. Is it a natural evolution that superheroes who used to embody our best now signify our worst? That villains evolved from single-minded wrongdoers to actors laden with conscience? Has behaving become boring? Do the vicarious thrills of being a supervillain remain just that? Or do we want more? 

Still, a question remains. Where will this go next? Will it be cyclical like the seasons? Will the next generation of fanfolk yearn for the days of yore when superheroes were simply good people, and villains were not? Or will a new dimension of superhero lore emerge? I admit, I can’t imagine what else could be next. But I’m eager to see it emerge. 

***Most of the above information was provided by Google Gemini, your friendly neighborhood AI.