Ends of Eras

Part of the journey is the end.
—Tony Stark

“The Saga Comes To An End”

We have a lot of extended stories coming to a close this year.  At this writing, eleven years of Marvel Cineverse movies have concluded with Avengers:  Endgame.  It won’t by any means be the last Marvel movie—we’ll see many of these characters again—but the overall story that began with Iron Man in 2008 has reached its end.  The TV series Game of Thrones released its finale on May 19, 2019.  In December, we anticipate the conclusion of the Star Wars trilogy of trilogies (The Rise of Skywalker).

On the book side, David Weber’s Honor Harrington series (she first appeared in 1992) arrived at a conclusion of sorts with Uncompromising Honor (2018).  There are plotlines still unfinished, and Honor herself may reappear in later stories, but it seems clear her personal narrative arc has closed.

Even a blog post by the FCC’s General Counsel, of all things, has given a nod to this convergence of endings.

I’m going to assume it’s coincidence that these sagas of different lengths are finishing up together.  It does seem like a good moment, however, to reflect on what the resolution of these stories says to us.

(Miraculously, this post seems to have managed to avoid any actual spoilers for Endgame.  But please note that the links, if you follow them, are full of spoilers.)

 “A really long story”

The fact that we have all these long-running series, by itself, brings up some topics that are familiar in this blog.  For instance, it confirms that readers and viewers of our own era are not as lacking in attention span as pundits might claim.  An article by Douglas Wolk, the weekend of Endgame’s release, was titled:  “Americans crave complex ideas.  Just look at the Marvel universe.”

Wolk credits Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, back in the 1960s, with bringing extended stories spanning multiple magazines to comic books.  He notes also that such vast tapestries draw us together by giving us shared topics to talk about:  “to be drawn into conversation to understand them better”—to share reactions, insights, theories about stories that “mean more to us together than alone.”  I can testify to this, as a veteran of many an animated office conversation on what was so good about Captain Marvel or whether people were satisfied with the ending of GoT.

A wide-ranging story also satisfies our appetite for visiting a fully-realized world.  This is the value of what Tolkien called “Escape” in his pivotal essay On Fairy-Stories—the refreshing sense of leaving our ordinary world temporarily behind to immerse oneself in a new and different world.  It was Tolkien who (in the Foreword to The Lord of the Rings) gave his primary motive as “the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story”—but who is also one of the great worldbuilders.

The Craving for Epics

But these aspects mostly reflect the sheer size of the saga.  More to the point, perhaps, is that many of us also share an appetite for what we might call the epic:  a mighty struggle in which one side is clearly fighting for something worthwhile, and gains some success, as distinct from a tragedy.

Not everyone has this taste:  some of us prefer more limited stories about individual people’s fates (for example, in the romance genre), or stories that disdain the whole good-versus-evil business as insufficiently gray.  And some massive sagas fit the epic pattern better than others.  Game of Thrones is notorious for its ambivalent characters and refusal to grant unambiguous victories.  Still, from what I hear, the finale did at least bring the Westeros civil war to an end, and (mirabile dictu) many of the more decent characters survived.

Mark Ruffalo (who plays the Hulk), discussing the Avengers movies, said:

You also see the power of storytelling.  One thing I think about these movies that’s really exciting is they’re forward-leaning in the narrative of good versus evil.  We’re able to transcend some of the divisive narratives that are happening now.  (Quoted in Anthony Brezican, “All for One,” Entertainment, April 19/26, 2019, p. 20.)

It’s fascinating to hear a good-versus-evil narrative described as “forward-leaning,” after so many years in which such stories have been derided as passé.  But the remark has further implications.  It matters how things come out in the end—good, bad, or mixed.  And this means there has to be an ending in which some kind of resolution occurs.

Letting a Story End

I can’t really evaluate a story until I’ve seen how it comes out.  I’ve seen stories that were pretty off-putting in the early stages, but managed to redeem themselves at the end.  And I’ve seen some that seemed promising, but ended in a way that ruined everything that had come before.  One is reminded of the ancient adage about a human life:  “Call no man happy before his death, for by how he ends, a man is known” (Sirach 11:28; Aristotle discusses a similar statement by Solon in Nicomachean Ethics I.10).  Since a person’s life is a story, the connection makes sense.

That a story needs an ending might seem a truism if it weren’t that we have lots of stories that don’t end.  For example, comic books and soap operas (“daytime drama”) go on indefinitely, as long as people are willing to read or watch.  The occasional subversion of this pattern is noteworthy for its rarity—for example, the story in Kurt Busiek’s Astro City comic where a costumed hero called Jack-in-the-Box, himself a son who has taken on his father’s hero identity, deliberately trains a successor to take over the role (“Father’s Day,” in Astro City:  Family Album (1999)).

In more conventional literature and movies, we find other timeless, perpetual characters.  The irascible detective Nero Wolfe figured in tales spanning the period from 1934 to 1975, without major changes in his age or situation, despite the major changes in world events and American culture over that time.  The character’s fixity is actually kind of appealing; it seemed odd when a later Wolfe book written by Robert Goldsborough shows Wolfe’s sidekick Archie Goodwin using a computer in place of his trusty typewriter.  Similarly, P.G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster survived innumerable scrapes and confusions from 1923 through 1974, with similarly unsettling chronological consequences (Bertie encounters a protest march in one of the later books).  In the movies, James Bond has eternal life, though actors may come and go.

Dragonflight coverBut barring these iconic perennial characters, a series that goes on indefinitely without an ending—or past its ending—is in danger of becoming humdrum.  When Anne McCaffrey started her Dragonriders of Pern series in 1967, the charcters were fighting the periodically recurring scourge of “Thread,” but aspired to find a way to end it once and for all.  In All the Weyrs of Pern (1991), they actually accomplished that goal.  That wasn’t the end of the stories; almost twenty other Dragonrider books have been published since by McCaffrey and her children.  But I found that I lost a good deal of my interest once the driving force of the original plot ended.  It was always pleasant to visit Pern, but the motivation of an ongoing plot was absent.

This may be a personal predilection; it may account for why I have difficulty staying interested in a TV series for very long.  The exceptions occur where the ongoing character or story arcs are sufficiently compelling to keep me engaged.  The Good Place, for example, achieves this by turning into a quite different kind of story in each of the three seasons so far, but with continuing characters who still seem to be reaching toward an end.  Chuck succeeded in a somewhat similar way, but the original premise was clearly played out by the last half-season; it was a good thing the series ended when it did.  When even a major movie comes across as “just another episode,” that’s a buzz-killer for me.

Closure and Continuation

Theatre critic Ann Hornaday focused on the virtues of conclusion in an excellent article upon the release of Endgame.  One such virtue arises from the very existence of an overall arc, and the associated worldbuilding:  “When contemporary experience seems to be composed of narratively nonsensical shocks to the system, the attraction of coherent, well-constructed alternative realities cannot be underestimated.”  Moreover, a good long story can engender a powerful sense of fulfillment, of achievement, from the closure of an appropriate ending.  It’s worth keeping mind that the word “end” means not just where something stops, but also a goal toward which we strive.  A fitting close is a good thing even if the ending also involves dealing with death—“absence and interior loss,” as Hornaday puts it.

As noted above, the conclusion of an iconic hero’s story is unusual enough that to see such a character retire and reach an end is both somber and refreshing.  We hate to see them go, but if they’ve lived a full life, we feel a kind of elegiac nostalgia.

This works best when the world goes on, but new characters take over—just as in real life.  It won’t surprise anyone that some of the heroes in Endgame do reach their ends; others continue.  Honor Harrington retires, but her successors will carry on while she finally enjoys the fruits of a well-earned victory.  As readers and viewers, we ought to be willing to let a beloved character go.  This reluctant release may be echoed in the story itself.  When one of the characters in Endgame tells another that it’s okay for them to go, it reminded me of what I said to my own mother, at the hospice staff’s suggestion, when she was ready to die.

While we love our heroes, the hero’s journey does have an end (which need not be death; the cited Wikipedia page labels it “The Crossing of the Return Threshold”).  We need that fitting closure to make a good story.

Is it unrealistic to expect neat endings that wind up lives, or at least careers?  Not really.  The wise Sam Gamgee was right to suggest that the great stories never really end (The Two Towers, Book IV, ch. 8); and as Bilbo said, “the Road goes ever on” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, ch. 1).  But the episodes, the substories that make up those grand tales, do have their moments of closure.

We do achieve or complete things, sometimes.  We go through high school or college, and then graduate (mostly).  After a courtship, we marry—which starts a new story.  Elsewhere I’ve quoted Alasdair MacIntyre to the effect that in Jane Austen’s novels, marriage occupies the place of death in real life—an ending we don’t move beyond.  Yet we do move on; and the milestone event is no less an achievement because another phase of the story continues afterward.  “Each happy ending’s a brand new beginning.”  We need both closure and continuation.

This duality is most prominent when one person’s arc winds down and others begin.  It’s not just one story with its phases and milestones, but a vast array of overlapping stories.  Everyone has a story, and they are all woven together.  “In the plan of the Great Dance plans without number interlock, and each movement becomes in its season the breaking into flower of the whole design to which all else had been directed” (Perelandra, ch.17).

So we celebrate the closing of these mighty sagas, and we look forward to the new stories that will follow them.

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Higher, Further, Faster: Captain Marvel

Wild Loyalty

Captain Marvel poster with mottoI saw Captain Marvel twice in the first ten days of its March 8, 2019, U.S. release.  So, yeah, I liked the movie.  We had big hopes for this one—the first Marvel movie with a female lead, trailing DC’s Wonder Woman (2017) by a little less than two years.  I’d say those hopes were borne out.

But my reaction was even stronger than that.

Back in 1977, when I first saw the original Star Wars (A New Hope), I remember sitting around the next day and wishing I were back there again.  Not in the universe of the movie, which is dangerous and in many places rather unpleasant; but in the story.  Something about the overall effect of it, the ambiance, the mood or attitude, fired me with a kind of instant nostalgia for something I’d just seen.  A curious feeling.

Maybe that could be explained by the fact that I was young(er) and (more) impressionable at that time.  But the day after I saw Captain Marvel, here I was again with this goofy fanboy reaction.  It’s a kind of wild loyalty to a new discovery.  You want to tell people about it, you put up the wallpaper on your computer desktop, you hunt up the soundtrack.  And this at my supposedly-mature age.

So I’ve been trying to figure out exactly why I find this movie so engaging.  Since at this writing CM is still in theaters, I’m going to avoid spoilers; this post should be as safe as any current movie review or the trailers.  If you haven’t seen the flick yet, I will say this:  There are two “stinger” scenes, just as you expect from a Marvel movie these days, one in the middle of the credits and one at the very end.  And be sure to pay attention to the Marvel logo that appears just before the movie starts:  it’s an “aww” moment for longtime fans.

New and Improved

Due to their long-running serial nature, and the reluctance of publishers ever to give up on a profitable property, comic-book characters tend to stick around indefinitely and, as a result, are prone to what TV Tropes calls Continuity Snarl.  Their backstory gets more and more complicated, retconned, and re-adapted, until it becomes hopelessly incoherent.  One of the virtues of the movie versions is that the writers have a chance to start from scratch and use only the elements they choose to build a new iteration of the character.

Captain Marvel’s background is even more complex than usual.  There have been five or six different versions of a “Captain Marvel” character (not even counting the Fawcett/DC “Captain Marvel,” now known for copyright reasons as “Shazam,” who has his own movie coming out shortly).  That’s in addition to several iterations of “Ms. Marvel,” sometimes with the same person switching from one title to the other.  A summary of this history can be found at Comics Alliance; and this Wikipedia page has a quick rundown of the various versions.

Captain Marvel (Marvel Super-Heroes) coverMarvel Comics’ original Captain Marvel was a rather boring and angsty agent of the interstellar empire of the Kree (who look exactly like humans) named Mar-Vell, a young white-haired guy in an unimpressive green-and-white uniform.  (Those who’ve seen the movie will note a distant connection here.)  Mar-Vell is sent to Earth to find out what the heck is going on with these humans, after the Fantastic Four trounced a supposedly invincible Kree Sentry and then Ronan the Accuser.

In the early comics, Marvel couldn’t figure out what to do with Mar-Vell.  He engaged in slugfests with a number of established Marvel characters and suffered through a weepy romantic triangle.  After about ten issues (Captain Marvel #11), the writers had an apparently godlike being named Zo give him new powers, after which he continued to do nothing much of interest.  In issue #16, the Kree’s Supreme Intelligence changed his powers yet again and tossed him into an alternate universe called the Negative Zone, where he floats around until he periodically switches bodies with perennial Marvel kid sidekick Rick Jones, in a manner uncannily similar to that of the DC Shazam character (and also Jack Kirby’s Infinity Man, but that’s another story).

Comics scene, Mar-Vell & distressed CarolCarol Danvers—the Captain Marvel of the movie (played perfectly by Brie Larson)—also appeared in this early era, but not yet as a superhero.  She had a responsible position as security head at Cape Canaveral, but frequently she served as a mere damsel in distress, and as one of Mar-Vell’s two romantic interests. Altogether, not much promising material in this original incarnation of Captain Marvel.

Now, I haven’t followed comics closely for many a year (one can’t read everything), so I wasn’t there for the renaissance of this character in the form we see in the movie.  But as I understand it, the movie’s version dates only from 2012, when the character was rebooted by writer Kelly Sue DeConnick.

In other words, this isn’t a cinematic presentation of an iconic character like Spider-Man, Captain America, or Thor.  Here, the screenwriters elected to throw out a lot of the excess baggage of fifty years’ worth of comics.  It was the right choice.

Higher, Further, Faster

In a 2012 interview with Wired, DeConnick said:  “My pitch was Carol Danvers as Chuck Yeager.”  And that begins to explain why I love this character.  She had me at “Chuck Yeager.”

Sam Shepard with Chuck Yeager

Sam Shepard (left), playing Chuck Yeager, with Yeager himself (right)

One of my all-time favorite movies, The Right Stuff (1983), Philip Kaufman’s fact-based history of the NASA Mercury program, spends a lot of time with Yeager.  Tom Wolfe, the author of the book on which the movie was based, considered Yeager the archetype of the test pilots from whose ranks the Mercury astronauts were drawn.  Although Yeager himself never went into space, he exemplified the cool, confident, no-nonsense pilot who could take on any challenge and surmount it through a combination of superb competence and a fearless can-do attitude.  The pilot with the “right stuff” has a certain contempt for the rules, along with all other limitations, and always takes danger lightly, preferably with cool wisecracks.

This version of Carol Danvers starts out as a test pilot, with exactly that intrepid attitude.  The movie isn’t shy about making the comparison.  Carol passes through a Blockbuster Video store (the movie is set in 1995) and pauses to glance at a copy of The Right Stuff.  We get a scene set at Pancho’s, the pilots’ bar that figures largely in that earlier movie.  And we have a cat named Goose—a sly reference to Tom Cruise’s best friend in Top Gun, another movie about hot pilots (fighter pilots rather than test pilots).  Carol embodies this insouciant, reckless competence.  With another pilot, she exchanges a sort of catchphrase or motto—“Higher, further, faster”—from the title of one of DeConnick’s Captain Marvel comic sequences.  It captures the test pilot ideal neatly.

Captain Marvel, Avengers: Endgame trailerThese references put Carol immediately into the category of daredevil pilots—a maverick, like Tom Cruise’s lead character in Top Gun.  It’s a very engaging attitude (and I mean Attitude, with a capital A).  You don’t have to see the movie to get a sense of this.  Check out this Avengers:  Endgame trailer at about 2:10.  That little crooked smile . . . As Thor says:  “I like this one.”

Marvel and Wonder

Comparison with Wonder Woman is inevitable—and, I think, instructive.  These are both great movies with excellent main characters.  But those characters play out differently.

Wonder Woman, vambraces crossedDiana is invincible; she always has been.  She may have taken some knocks being trained by the Amazons, but she’s pretty much untouchable by anything humans have got.  She takes on the Greek god Ares as an equal.  There, to be sure, the contrast I’m trying to make falters a bit, because she’s outmatched by Ares until intense emotional strain—the loss of a loved one—causes her to claim her full power.  And at that point she really is invincible.  It’s glorious to see a woman who needs to fear nothing, splendid in her power, with a heart guiding that power to fight for the right.

When she enters the world of normal humans, Diana brings a kind of intelligent innocence.  She learns difficult lessons about the complications of the human world, but that never really deflects her from her sense of justice (along with love or compassion).  That’s what’s so great about her.

Carol, on the other hand, has to earn her power.  She doesn’t start out as an Amazon.  First she must acquire her supernormal abilities; and then she has to learn how to use them under challenging circumstances (as celebrated in this Tor article).  Carol also comes face to face with the complexities of the world—but not initially from a position of power.  She has more of a character development arc than Diana does.

Both heroes are a joy to see, coming into their power.  But Captain Marvel is more vulnerable, emotionally if not physically.  Despite the cool test-pilot attitude, the emotion that runs beneath is both her challenge and her strength.  It’s easier to sympathize with her.

Distinctive Valor

There’s more in CM to admire.  The star-spanning plot awakens that sense of wonder, of vast scope and open possibilities, that is science fiction’s strong point.  But the real key, I think, remains in the character of the heroine.

Captain Marvel, defiant with glowThe motif of desperate heroism isn’t unique; on the contrary.  Naturally our heroes are always fighting against great odds.  But some stories are better that others at evoking that undaunted resistance to overwhelming opposition.  This is one of them.  In Larson’s brilliant portrayal, we see Carol’s stubborn courage, her indomitable resolve—and always with that particular mischievous touch that comes with the test-pilot package.

To me, specifically feminine valor is especially poignant.  And when you add that devil-may-care “right stuff” attitude, it’s irresistible.  When Eowyn faces down the undead Lord of the Nazgûl at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, I empathize with her defiant stand even more than with Aragorn’s or Frodo’s.  Then add to this the reckless abandon with which Carol takes on her foes.  She fights with flair.  She takes the fight almost lightly in a sense, as if danger and peril hardly matter.  Yet at the same time she never pulls per punches, much less gives up.  It’s this, I think, that excites my wholehearted admiration.

That’s my take on it so far.  There are a lot of other fascinating angles to CM, but they’d involve spoilers.  Maybe another time . . .