SpecFaith staff explorers E. Stephen Burnett and Austin Gunderson share their month-long conversation about Man of Steel and how the film flies over many critics’ heads.

See part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, or read the the whole Badfan v Superman series so far.

E. Stephen Burnett: Given: Superman kills General Zod in Superman II, by calmly de-powering the villain in private, feigning to surrender, then crushing his hand and tossing him off an ice cliff;

Given: Superman also kills Zod in Man of Steel, by barely strong-arming the villain in public, wrestling to keep him from killing innocent people, then snapping his neck;

Then: Why do people complain about the Man of Steel death and not the Superman II death?

Austin Gunderson: … My only explanation is that people must be pretending the film never existed. Because otherwise their outrage over Supes’ supposed alteration at the bloody hands of Zack Snyder makes absolutely zero sense.

Stephen: It turns out I’m more familiar with Superman II (both versions), so I’ll take a chance to answer my own question from before. Here is my refresher: In both these films, Superman kills General Zod — directly. My question was this: Why do people complain about the Man of Steel death and not the Superman II death?

My answer is this: People object to the Man of Steel death but not the Superman II death because Superman II treats Zod’s death very, very lightly!

In the Superman II scene, Superman has fled Metropolis¹ and three evil Kryptonian supercriminals have followed. General Zod leads the villains to the Fortress of Solitude. And, after some hijinks ensue (including the original Richard Lester version’s made-up “superpowers” such as astral projections and some kind of giant plastic S-symbol trap), Superman outwits the Kryptonians. He pretends to surrender to Zod, then crunches the villain’s fingers, lifts him over his head, and drops him into the icy abyss.

How does this scene play? Zod is outraged and screaming, for sure, but Superman is calmly securing the victory while victorious music plays. Zod drops away to his doom and moments later the battle is quietly and comically won. Yay Superman!

By now I can tell I’ve not persuaded you to see Superman II (even the better Richard Donner Cut) at all. Clearly you, Austin, dislike this kind of “take death less seriously” perspective in storytelling. I won’t comment on that (yet), but it does help explain why people reacted so strongly to Zod’s death in Man of Steel: the director, the script, and the story wanted them to react more strongly. Death is a terrible, terrible thing, and when Superman was forced into that impossible choice, the results were necessary but also horrible.

Some fans reacted to Man of Steel with “Superman doesn’t kill!”, which makes sense.²

But here’s where they were wrong: They are utterly, completely wrong to blame the story itself for somehow failing to take death and destruction seriously.

In fact it is Man of Steel that takes Zod’s death (and the deaths of people in Metropolis) far more seriously than do the previous Superman films. Call it “grimdark” or mock it for being more “realistic” if you wish. But the fact is that it’s the more-idyllic Superman films that treat death more lightly and Man of Steel that gets closer to showing death for what it is.

And if you recall the last Superman movies being less violent, it’s actually you who should check to be sure you’re paying attention to the media!

Just because a story downplays consequences and tragedy and plays a victory march at the victory, doesn’t mean a character hasn’t died and likely even died horribly.

Now, that being said, here’s where we are different. I’m perfectly fine with a lighter, more-”idyllic” and even less-realistic approach to a superhero or fantastical story. In a sense, a mature story participant need not “mind” so much when a story decides to go this way. Complaining about that, to me, is a complaint that the story got made at all, not that it was made well or poorly — and that means it’s solely a matter of personal taste. You might as well watch a Warner Bros. Coyote-vs.-Roadrunner cartoon and complain about the lack of respectable physics. For that reason, I can appreciate both Superman (1978) and Superman II (especially the better Richard Donner Cut) for what they were trying to be. I also respect and appreciate Man of Steel.

Which leads to what may be my concluding point in this section: People keep trying to force me to take a side between the “DC and Marvel” war, between more-serious superhero films and more-fun superhero films. I refuse to participate in that faux “fight.” In that, i’m a conscientious objector. And/or: I want all sides to win. I just want great storytelling about heroes who fight for what’s right, despite their flaws, and occasionally Save the World. You can make it lighter if you like, or more realistic if you like. But know the difference.

If you’re watching an animated episode of Justice League, don’t expect an epic studied-consequences major motion picture.

If you’re watching Man of Steel, don’t expect a cartoon.

Austin: Indeed. In my dismissal of the 1978 film, I speak as one who yearns for stories with “studied consequences,” as you so aptly put it.

And until I saw MoS there was little love lost between Superman and myself — unless it were in light of what I saw as the character’s true purpose via infrequent gems such as Waid & Ross’ “Kingdom Come” — precisely because his exploits unfolded in the realm of the cartoon.

Where the average viewer merely saw entertaining escapism, I saw untapped potential. But to each his own. I too enjoy cartoons from time to time.

Regarding the amazing ability of audiences to make light of certain types of death … yeah. Audiences have an amazing ability to make light of certain types of death.

Why do you think Disney villains keep plummeting into mist from tall cliffs? Because somehow, a death that occurs out of frame is so much less serious than one we’re forced to watch, just like a death that can be attributed to the force of gravity is easier to ignore than one we must engineer with blunt force trauma.

Like Batman says at the end of Batman Begins: “I won’t kill you, but I don’t have to save you.” Yeah, but … in the end, the result is the same.

And so we’ve reached the point now in our society where people applaud the “I won’t save you” and boo the “I’ll kill you” even though they achieve the exact same thing.

And this, I believe, is why: because emotion trumps thought. When death occurs offscreen, it’s an abstract concept to which we can assent without guilt. But it’s only when we’re forced to go beyond the role of judge and pick up the executioner’s axe that the full emotional brunt of our armchair moral quarterbacking slams us into the hard field of reality.

And so, like someone decrying the slaughter of animals through mouthfuls of hamburger, we blame the storyteller for allowing reality to disrupt our delusion that it can be had both ways. We want happiness without suffering, courage without peril, victory without sacrifice, reward without risk, peace without war.

We want Superman to come and save us without even bloodying his hands.

But it’s Man of Steel’s refusal to step outside reality that makes the film so moving and so very moral.

Read Badfan v Superman 7: A Hero’s Consequences. Or see the entire Badfan v Superman series.

A couple weeks ago I read Leaf by Niggle, which is not as silly as it sounds. Leaf by Niggle is one of the short works that comprise The Tolkien Reader, a collection of Tolkien works I have owned for years and only just read. It gives me real satisfaction to have read it; it makes me feel that there is some point to all those books that I bought on the cheap and that are now getting dusty in boxes, shelves, underneath my bed. My family has said I’ll never read them, as if anybody asked them.

But back to Niggle, which is, as I recall, the subject of this essay. I assumed, judging purely by the title, that it would be one of Tolkien’s light fairy tales, played with humor – like The Hobbit, or Farmer Giles of Ham. And it did have some humor, and a fairy tale mien, but it didn’t remind me of The Hobbit, or Lord of the Rings.

It reminded me of The Great Divorce, by C.S. Lewis.

Leaf by Niggle and The Great Divorce are very different works, and in the ways that these two great authors diverge from each other. Perhaps their most significant difference, in matters of substance, is that Lewis is much more direct in tackling things – hence Aslan as Christ (or perhaps Christ as Aslan), and Lewis’ wholly undisguised (but humorous!) needling of progressive people.

Stylistically, Tolkien’s works are more timeless, making few references to modern times and certainly never anchored in them. The Screwtape Letters and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe – Lewis’ most famous fictional works – are plainly set in the milieu of World War II. Tolkien, by contrast, stays in the lost past.

These differences hold in Leaf by Niggle and The Great Divorce. In Niggle you won’t find frank discussions of purgatory and predestination, or any use of Napoleon, bus stops, or sirens. Yet Niggle, with its trains and hospital and bicycle, does have more modern trappings than any other Tolkien story I have read, and this aids the resemblance to Divorce.

But what really creates the similarity is two things: One, both stories use death by another name to send their hero on a journey that ends in their enlightenment; and two, both stories are to be read in much the same way. Lewis called The Great Divorce a fantasy, and Leaf by Niggle is written like a fairy tale. Neither should be interpreted too literally.

It would be disturbing if either Tolkien or Lewis were trying to describe, or even guess, exactly what happens after death; it’d be hard to take Leaf by Niggle and The Great Divorce if they were a fictionalized 90 Minutes in Heaven, trying to tell us what it’s really like. But of course Lewis doesn’t believe that ghosts in hell take bus rides to heaven, and no one can think that Tolkien thinks that death is taking a train ride to a hospital, where if you’re good they’ll let you take a train ride to the country. The fantastic events of these stories aren’t like photographs, showing facts, but prisms through which to see the truth.

The truth Lewis was after was the great divorce between heaven and hell. Leaf by Niggle, a shorter and gentler book, was about only heaven. That was what surprised me, and made the story more than I had expected – and, from the pen of J.R.R. Tolkien, I hadn’t been expecting anything too shabby.

Far from trying to describe the indescribable, Leaf by Niggle suggests in broad, imaginative strokes that glimpses and tokens of heaven are around us, that there is an ultimate fulfillment and reconciliation of things lost and unfinished, that though we and this world have gone awry, we may yet become what we always should have been.

There is one sense in which Leaf by Niggle hardly touches heaven, and this, too, it shares with The Great Divorce. In both stories, mountains loom in the distance, and the characters must journey on to them, for truth and for joy. But the mountains remain distant, and neither Tolkien nor Lewis tries to tell the real glory of heaven.

Because a skilled artist, like a wise man, knows his limitations. What no eye has seen, or ear has heard, or mind has conceived, no author can tell. But the hope of it is enough, and it is the unexpected power of Leaf by Niggle.

SpecFaith staff explorers E. Stephen Burnett and Austin Gunderson share their month-long conversation about Man of Steel and how the film flies over many critics’ heads. See part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, or read the the whole Badfan v Superman series so far.

E. Stephen Burnett: Some folks will scowl when I say that Superman in Man of Steel isn’t grimdark. They’ll instantly say that Superman killed General Zod and that’s bad. Superman doesn’t do that. … So let’s talk about that …

Austin Gunderson:

Snyder has certainly managed to carve out a unique visual style over the course of his filmography. Beginning with 300 (of which I’ve only seen parts), continuing through his other comic-book movies, and extending even to fare intended for children (Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole is an underrated masterpiece), his films revel in stylistic violence, precise composition, and prolific speed-ramping of overcranked footage.

But not Man of Steel. Weirdly, the one movie that most begs for the “Snyder treatment” of grandiose visual flair instead gets approached like a non-drunk Bourne film: the palate’s somber, the camera’s handheld, and the action’s nearly too fast to follow. It’s so fast, in fact, that the filmmakers had to invent new methods of capture and compositing.¹

It’s obviously intentional. But why?

That question was answered by my wild grin the first time I saw the film in theaters. What I was watching was something I’d not seen before: a superhero movie actually giving its subject a realistic portrayal. Here, superhuman speed gets fully integrated into the action. Here, there are no Hollywood moments of “Oh-now-that-I’ve-pummeled-you-into-submission-let-me-wax-eloquent-about-your-inferiority-until-you-recover-the-strength-to-finish-me-off.” Here, when a character threatens to destroy someone, he actually wants to do it. Here, someone like Superman is actually necessary.

So when I say that Man of Steel made me fall in love with Superman, I mean for the first time ever. While I recognize that people adore the 1978 film, and while I admit that its first third looks very pretty, and that the music is iconic, in the final analysis that film is the Ur-example of everything about the Superman mythos for which I feel contempt.

Why would I say such a thing, you ask? Well, how is the story’s conflict ultimately resolved? By the most bald-faced deus ex machina in blockbuster history: Superman makes a tough decision, Superman doesn’t like the consequences of said decision, Superman flies around the earth fast enough to reverse its rotation (which makes no sense) and thus reverse time (which makes even less sense),² and finally Superman, now with special insight into the future, makes a perfect decision that has no negative consequences. The end.

The affront presented by such a scene to basic physical laws is surpassed only by the affront it presents to narrative laws. Supes’ solution to his dilemma comes completely out of the blue and effectively divorces him from the entirety of human experience by granting him a blank waiver from regret and a blank check to alter reality at his whim. Not only is Superman physically invulnerable, he’s emotionally invulnerable as well, because he always gets his way.

So while it was nifty that the first film made us believe a man could fly, it was absolutely crucial for Man of Steel to make us believe a man could die. Snyder knew this; he knew that Superman’s invulnerability, narratively speaking, was his greatest weakness. But how do you scrape off that glossy sheen without sullying the character underneath? No one — least of all me — wanted to see another morally-rudderless Supes a la Superman Returns. No, to be worthy of admiration Supes has to be a bulwark. But if he’s gonna be interesting to watch, we need to see him struggle and legitimately fear for the outcome. And that’s a matter of tone.

And that’s why Man of Steel looks dark and moody, and it’s why Superman isn’t allowed to just pull a Kryptonian Prisoner Nonviolent Stasis Incarceration Module, or some such nonsense, out of his hat at the last possible second. No, this is a world where Superman, because of his moral strength, is physically and emotionally vulnerable.

Because sometimes, the consequences of the right decision don’t come with an easy fix.

E. Stephen Burnett: Given: Superman kills General Zod in Superman II, by calmly de-powering the villain in private, feigning to surrender, then crushing his hand and tossing him off an ice cliff;

Given: Superman also kills Zod in Man of Steel, by barely strong-arming the villain in public, wrestling to keep him from killing innocent people, then snapping his neck;

Then: Why do people complain about the Man of Steel death and not the Superman II death?

Regarding Superman II (which I haven’t seen), my only explanation is that people must be pretending the film never existed. Because otherwise their outrage over Supes’ supposed alteration at the bloody hands of Zack Snyder makes absolutely zero sense.

Read Badfan v Superman 6: Game of Tones. Or see the entire Badfan v Superman series.

Last week Fantasy Faction published an article entitled “Slavery in Fantasy.” As the title indicates, the article looks at the issue of the existence of slavery in fantasy worlds—as opposed to ignoring it or treating it with modern day attitudes.

On one hand, the author wishes to be true to his story’s fantasy world, often modeled after periods of history in which the practice of slavery was common. On the other, he wishes to be true to what he believes—that slavery is a heinous practice to be exposed and opposed. But would people in his world hold those same sentiments?

I think this conundrum is one Christian authors should wrestle with regarding the tenets of our faith. For instance, how likely would a character in a novel set in a world in which relativism rules, be to hold to the authority of a supreme God or His representative or His written word?

Of course, the question assumes that someone is creating a world in which the prevailing worldview is relativism. This point, I think, may be critical for the Christian writer. Are we creating worlds that hold beliefs contradictory to Christianity?

One way to present a fantasy or science fiction world is as one originally good but spoiled. Narnia takes this approach as does Lewis’s space trilogy. Tolkien’s world is not as clearly good, but definitely the great need is to defeat the spoilers.

But think about the world in which Christianity developed. There was no good that had been spoiled. Rather, there were processes and systems and beliefs in place to which Christianity acted as a revolutionary contradiction. Further, it did not seek to overthrow the societies in which it sprang into being, but it did, in fact, subvert them.

What are some of those Christian beliefs that would subvert our culture today? In the discussion regarding “Culture Shifts And The Christian Writer,” WriterOfMinds suggested three assumptions our culture holds that could be confronted in stories:

*It’s okay to do whatever you want if your actions don’t have an obvious victim.

*Love for another person justifies anything.

*Love for someone can only be fully culminated in a romantic and/or sexual relationship.

I think those are particularly prevalent as foundations upon which same-sex marriage has been built. The idea is, instead of addressing the definition of marriage in a story, a writer can instead challenge the beliefs upon which the change in definition is built.

When applied to slavery, the idea would be to write a story confronting the idea that people are to be used . . . ever, in any capacity. Or that one person is more important than another. Or that people are fundamentally different from animals.

I’d suggest this approach also works in regard to other tenets of Christianity. Some of those include God creating the world, humankind’s sin and need of a savior, Jesus Christ coming as that Savior, God revealing His plan through His authoritative word. But it also includes things like the value of life, following Christ’s example of humility, loving our neighbors and our enemies, believing that God can do the impossible, and that truth is absolute.

Many of these ideas are countercultural. They are revolutionary, but it seems to me, many of our stories show a world in which people need to be restored to believing these truths as opposed to discovering them for the first time.

What would a story look like if it were set in a world in which the culture believes a betrayer is a hero? That the highest good is to double-cross someone who trusts you? How would Christianity or the principles of Christianity penetrate such a worldview? How would the contradictory ideas be introduced into such a culture?

If fiction, and specifically speculative fiction, is to speak meaningfully to our culture, I believe we writers need to think beyond the obvious, beyond the sentiments of our culture, and examine what beliefs our society holds that bring about ways of living that are contradictory to Christianity. And the fundamentals behind Christianity that contradict the culture—discipline is loving, self-discipline can have greater positives than physical exercise—things we don’t often address but which can make a difference in the way people who aren’t Christians perceive life.

SpecFaith staff explorers E. Stephen Burnett and Austin Gunderson share their conversation about Man of Steel and how the film flies over many critics’ heads. See part 1, part 2, part 3, or read the the whole Badfan v Superman series so far.

Austin Gunderson: I find it astonishing that anyone would find [Man of Steel’s darker-toned] approach somehow forced, as though [Man of Steel director Zach] Snyder’s only interested in riding The Dark Knight trilogy’s coattails to the box office. To assume that humanity would respond appropriately to someone as fundamentally good — whether by nature or nurture — as Superman would be to ignore human nature itself.

Stephen Burnett: It sounds like we’re honing in on two key themes:

1. The complaint that “Man of Steel isn’t colorful” is really a complaint about the story and themes themselves not being a certain way, with color as symbol of that.
2. The assumption is the Superman “should” be a certain way — which we’re arguing is like saying Sherlock Holmes is “supposed” to say “Elementary” all the time. It’s a popular-culture myth about the character based on only one incarnation of it.

More on both these themes:

Austin, you’ve stated that you believe Synder did things intentionally, not only with color grading but “theme grading”—“a serious take on Superman.”

I agree with this, though not because I’m a huge Synder fan. (None of his other films interest me and I’ve only seen his Man of Steel.) Instead it’s because I read interviews in which he very thoughtfully, and off-script, discussed what he wanted the story to do. This is contradictory to thoughtless criticism of big-budget directors to the effect that they only follow visual trends, chase the money, and so on. It’s more complex than that. Really skilled directors are able to do all these things and find room for artistic originality and creativity.

To a large extent I walked into Man of Steel expecting what Synder promised: an attempt at a more-realistic take on Superman that would still do justice (or truth, justice, and the American way) to our hero. I got basically what I expected.

To those who expected otherwise I would ask, “What did you expect?” Some might say, “Something more like the Christopher Reeve Superman.”

And first I would remind them that they got that in Superman Returns (2006). That film basically operated in continuity with the first two films — right down to having Superman deal with the consequences of his affair with Lois Lane.

Oh wait … maybe we’re not supposed to address more-realistic consequences?

Because Superman is supposed to be only fluffy and colorful?

(I myself think Superman Returns is underrated, but I understand the motives for some fans’ criticism.)

Second, I would remind them that there’s plenty of room for different tones and story types in the superhero story genres. Some stories can be “lighter” and less challenging. Others can be more challenging, as Austin mentioned. Why exclude Superman? Because he’s old? Because he’s not cool? That’s chronological snobbery. Or is it because we’re simply all supposed to be Marvel fans now and make fun of “dark, brooding” stories? This is both ridiculous and inconsistent, because:

1. Man of Steel and its hero aren’t dark and brooding, only challenging.
2. Marvel recently kicked off its own “grimdark” offering with “Daredevil” on Netflix.

Some folks will scowl when I say that Superman in Man of Steel isn’t grimdark. They’ll instantly say that Superman killed General Zod and that’s bad. Superman doesn’t do that. But I’ve already mentioned that yes, he does. As we discussed in part 2, spoiler alert: In Superman II, either version, Superman kills Zod. (Yes, I’m ignoring the famous outtake that shows the criminals being led away by magically appearing and cheesy Arctic police!)

So let’s talk about that, perhaps starting with these questions:

Given: Superman kills General Zod in Superman II, by calmly de-powering the villain in private, feigning to surrender, then crushing his hand and tossing him off an ice cliff;

Given: Superman also kills Zod in Man of Steel, by barely strong-arming the villain in public, wrestling to keep him from killing innocent people, then snapping his neck;

Then: Why do people complain about the Man of Steel death and not the Superman II death?

(Hint: Once again we’re back to the “color” palette. Story styles can lull us!)

Read Badfan v Superman 5: You’ll Believe A Man Can Die. Or see the entire Badfan v Superman series.

Evangelicals like to have “content warnings” against things such as certain words, sexual dialogue, or violent moments. They believe these things will harm or tempt weaker people.

Progressivists¹ like to have “content warning” against things such as certain words, sexual dialogue, violent moments, or in more recent cases also certain symbols in popular culture. They believe these will also harm or tempt weaker people.²

As I pointed out in my first article in this miniseries, I see little difference between the two approaches to content warnings—although members of both sides often accuse the other of exclusively practicing censorship and moralism.

But as I’m about to say in this article, Christians have good reasons to reevaluate a default posture of plastering warnings on all or most offensive content. Do we think that by giving all the warnings, we are the mature ones who protect “the weaker” who may or may not be actually weak? Do we act like even mild censorship is the best way of guarding against sin?

Content warnings do serve some good

Let’s recall first that either set of content warnings—either those used by evangelicals or by progressives—may be well-intentioned and may help people. I would never suggest that small children should be able to handle exposure to sexual dialogue. I also never suggest victims of real violence, with real “triggers,” should be thrust before, say, a violent scene.

That’s my problem with some of the pushback I’ve seen against all content warnings.

If a Christian movie reviewer says a movie includes 14 and a half F-words and therefore is unsuitable for children, is it cool to mock the reviewer?

If an article about date rape is prefaced with a warning that rape victims might find challenging and hurtful content in the article, should we imply that this is unnecessary?

Let’s not suggest that in every case, if someone is “triggered” or offended, well, that’s their problem and they should grow up or toughen up. That’s a kind of Darwinianism. It’s not how the Bible recommends we respond to those who are suffering the consequences of others people’s evil, or struggling against their own temptations to sin.

But let’s challenge our motivations

That being said, I think I’ve discerned a pattern of behavior and statements that give away one problem. The problem is that some people are putting content warnings on pretty much anything potentially controversial, not out of legitimate care but because they kinda want to fancy themselves the “smartest” or “most discerning” or “most caring” guardians.

I’m not saying this practice is motivated by self-righteousness. But it certainly can be.

By all accounts, the 2005 movie version should be banned for other reasons.

Recently I engaged in a discussion with an internet friend about a similar issue. He thought more highly of the intentions of most people behind “content warnings” and even bans, such as pulling the old TV show “Dukes of Hazzard” because the car shows a Confederate flag. But based on biblical suspicion of human nature, I must view such attempts more negatively—as at best a mixture of good intentions but also savior-complex impulses.

For evangelical content-warners, maybe we also like to fancy ourselves the mature grown-ups. We are the special saviors who can see a violent movie or listen to a fornication-praising song “on behalf” of the simple, naïve, or weak people, especially children.

Then of course, as a Ministry we can inform people what’s wrong with the story or song, assuming all or most other Christians are immature and can’t handle stuff like we can.

A subtle form of this approach is behind the practice of doing this to a bad word: “d***,” and then acting like I am the big tough ranger Christian who is protecting helpless hobbits. “I heard a bad word and I can stand it, but I Censored it so you need not see it and be hurt!”

Undoubtedly too, in the progressivist/secularist world, columnists and pundits and writers are doing the same thing. In one recent example a student newspaper flagged even the word “crazy” (though they did not add the badness-obscuring asterisks or hyphens) so that weaker people would know that a bad word was there and could avoid it if necessary.

And let’s ask: Where does the constant content-warning end?

I also see few ultimate first-principles behind many content-warning advocates. They seem to minimize not only free-speech rights but the rights of artists to explain their intentions. Instead content-warners cite anecdotal statistics (“that idea will hurt the most people”) and often subjectively excuse certain people (“well, this trusted artist didn’t mean that”).

Without higher first principles, there is logically no end to content-warning gone amok.

If you warn about a Content that does not actually hurt people, few are reluctant to point this out. The only limitations stopping you are how many others you can get to listen to you, and whether you’re at the right moment to hit or start a cultural condemnation trend.

Let’s say a pundit has a large audience of people who trust him, and he decides “Gilligan’s Island” ought to be banned or content-warned. He suggests the show is both racist (which it probably is in places) and filled with sexual innuendoes (which it also is in places). And let’s say other people, who are informed, respond with irritation at the would-be censor.

But what about uninformed people who hear the controversy only casually? The choice is:

1. Support banning or content-warning an old TV show and thus enable censorship.
2. Support efforts to criticize the content-warners and end up enabling a worse sin.

Honestly, given a choice between those sins, I would also choose the lesser of two evils.

But the choice is a false one. It does not actually fight actual sin or help people mature.

Let’s explore this next time.

I have to confess something, and it will probably rub some people the wrong way, but I have to say it anyway. I don’t get cosplay. I don’t understand how someone can spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars, and perhaps as many hours, dressing up like a cartoon character or superhero to go take a bunch of pictures. Since I follow several people that are inclined to the geekier side of things, my social media feeds have been packed full of Comic-Con snapshots. Some are pretty impressive, some are darn near perfect, and some make me think, “That person shouldn’t be wearing that outfit…”

I’m not bashing cosplay; I just don’t understand the appeal. And I know many people would say the same about things that I love (spending months and years writing books that only a handful of people have read, for instance). Many people would also consider my appearance to be a bit dramatic, especially for a writer. With my preferred after-work outfit of a sleeveless tee and cargo shorts, I would fit right in at a gangbanger/prison convict cosplay convention. In my defense, I was going more for a rock and roll vibe, but like most cosplays, reality rarely lines up with our imagination.

Everyone loves to dress up, often starting as soon as we can walk. We wear different costumes throughout our day – some by choice, others by command. But if you asked anyone if they could change the way they looked, I would be surprised if a single person said “no.” I’m not talking about body image; I’m talking about what Morpheus alluded to in The Matrix: “the mental projection of your digital self.” In that movie, the tired, hungry, burlap sack-wearing crew of the Nebuchadnezzar became ultra-spiffy Goth models when they enter the Matrix. And in real life, who wouldn’t want to jazz up their image if they had the time, money, and social permission? Humans across cultures are innately drawn to masks, costumes, and jewelry, and the same excitement that blazed through the masquerades of Venetian carnivals in centuries past continues today with cosplay and customizable avatars in MMORPGs and other games like The Sims and Second Life.

Yet no matter how real it looks, no matter how perfect the outfit, no matter how dramatic the pose, it is just a costume. It is displayed for a few hours, then it is taken off when the wearer goes home. But there is one outfit mentioned in the Bible that we should wear at all times, and it is described with dramatic flair.

I’m talking of course about the armor of God in Ephesians 6. Paul exhorts believers to don the full protection of God and His word to defend against and attack the devil. He could have used more straightforward language, but he chose to use vivid imagery that appeals to our imaginations. It is not only an external metaphor but an internal one as well. Some of the pieces of armor, such as the belt of truth and the breastplate of righteousness, come from God Himself, since He is the author of truth and the source of our righteousness through Jesus Christ. But others, such as the shield of faith, and having our feet shod with the readiness of the gospel of peace, are forged by our own convictions and the strength of our will.

The armor of God is not a costume. It should be as much a part of us as our own skin. If we take it off or let it fall into disrepair, we will be defenseless. And unlike the world of costumes and imagination, the enemies we face – the powers, the principalities, the rulers of the darkness – are very real.

Click for the complete conversation so far.

On Saturday for San Diego Comic Con, Warner Bros. released trailer-style footage for the 2016 film Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. This is a sequel to 2013’s Man of Steel and no. 2 of a new film series that will include DC heroes such as Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Green Lantern Corps, Aquaman, and The Flash.

Many fans misunderstand or issue flawed criticisms of Man of Steel, or of the very concept of superhero stories that tackle more-serious themes. Austin Gunderson and E. Stephen Burnett challenge this criticism in the Badfan v Superman series.

Read part 1, Dawn of Rebuttal Justice, or part 2, Super-Nostalgia Knockdown. Or see the entire Badfan v Superman series.

Stephen Burnett (from part 1): As I’m writing this the internet is all a-flutter about a video someone put together titled, “What if Man of Steel was IN COLOR?” That video release, after the release of the first Batman vs. Superman trailer and quite a lot of fan hubbub, convinces me that some fans are:

1. Unconsciously going along with negative media narratives about Man of Steel (2013).
2. Being a bit naive about how media narratives in general can co-opt our response to a popular story or song.
3. Accepting some myths about “what Superman (or superhero stories in general) are Supposed to Be …”

Austin Gunderson:

As a professional video editor I can assure you that every Hollywood film undergoes an extensive and very intentional color-grading process. Color influences the viewer on a subliminal level. There’s a reason most war films are severely desaturated, most happy flashbacks have a golden tint, and most comedies and TV sitcoms look super vibrant: it elicits a specific emotional response. So the fact that Zack Snyder opted for gritty grays in Man of Steel should tell us something about how he wanted the film to be approached.

What MoS gave us was a serious take on Superman. The fact that, as you’ve recounted, previous incarnations of the character were cheesy at best (well, you didn’t categorize the first film as such, but I certainly do) means that, in order to strike a deeply sober tone, Snyder had to leave no emotional wiggle-room in the look and feel of his product.

I mean, the narrator in that “What If MoS Was IN COLOR?“ video says it best: bright, saturated tones “feel like a Superman movie.” And what he really means when he says that is, “A Superman movie is supposed to feel bright, happy, optimistic, and triumphant.”

Ah, and therein lay the chief obstacle Snyder had to overcome in order to tell a story worth watching: the assumption that everything’s gonna be okay because hey — it’s Superman!

Yeah, that kind of assumption just obliterates the potential of Superman to actually challenge the viewer. It transforms a scenario ripe with tension and philosophical fiber into a kind of safe, self-reinforcing mush: easily consumed, easily ignored.

But Snyder didn’t want viewers checking out with the comfortable assumption that Superman’s magic would once again win the day, even if it meant breaking all the rules of physics, reality, life, the universe, and everything. No, instead Snyder wanted the viewer to nervously slip on those big red boots, put himself in Supes’ position, and find to his disquiet that it doesn’t feel all that different. The scale may be grander and the blocks and punches faster, but the same moral dilemmas apply. Do you stand in the gap though you know others won’t like it? Do you choose to turn the other cheek even though you could break the other guy with your bare hands? And, if you do, at what point does restraint become complicity? How far do you go to protect those under immediate threat? How far is too far?

A magical Superman who always gets his way can answer none of those questions. Indeed, he can’t even understand them. He can neither bear our griefs nor sympathize with our weaknesses. He’s a false fantasy, a figment of wishful thinking.

Snyder’s Superman is different. As a child he must learn to master his unruly senses and restrain his righteous fury at senseless bullying. As a young man he must grapple with the legacy of an adoptive father who was willing to lay down his own life to keep Clark’s gifts a fear-shrouded secret. And as the Last Son of Krypton, Superman must defeat an ideologically-driven foe of equal strength and greater experience. Nothing comes easy for him. Nothing is a given.

And that’s precisely the sense in which he can give the people of earth an ideal to strive toward. Because he too has been through the fire and the darkness, same as us.

Doesn’t mean we’ll know what’s good for us, though, as the Batman v Superman trailer demonstrates. I find it astonishing that anyone would find this approach somehow forced, as though Snyder’s only interested in riding The Dark Knight trilogy’s coattails to the box office. To assume that humanity would respond appropriately to someone as fundamentally good — whether by nature or nurture — as Superman would be to ignore human nature itself. I mean, it’s not like we don’t know what happened the last time we saw perfection: “The light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.”¹

Read Badfan v Superman 4: Able to Leap Expectations. Or see the entire Badfan v Superman series.

Of necessity, this post will include SPOILERS of the movie Jurassic World, a popular movie this summer. I think its high box-office rating was well earned because it did a lot of things right.