Secret Genre Identities

I written before about how genres are built up of conventions and expectations.  But times change and sometimes genres have to adapt to keep up.

The obvious example would be the old cowboy movies that inspired a generation of children to play Cowboys and Indians.  Westerns today acknowledge the cultural complexity and diversity of Native Americans.  Besides, they were here first.

And the role of women, in just about any genre, has changed a good deal since the 1950’s.  And the spy genre is still adapting to the end of the cold war.

But it isn’t always the sledge hammer of political correctness.  Sometimes the changes are a little more subtle.  Sometimes the tropes just get tweaked a little, here and there.  In the current super-hero space, for example, the secret identity has been devalued.  It’s still there – it’s too central to the concept to toss aside, but it’s not the same. 

You rarely see a story these days that centers around a hero’s close friend almost stumbling on the big secret.  Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne no longer pretend to be bumbling idiots just to contrast their super lives.  And where it used to be only one or maybe two at most knew a hero’s identity, now the secret is commonly shared.  Heroes call each other by their personal names.  Clark married Lois.  Heck, even Aunt May knows who Spider-Man is.

There are a number of reasons for the change – we’re not really a culture that values humility and anonymity.  No one gets a promotion by being just another office drone.  And we live in an information age where personal privacy has become something that needs actively defending.  I think the heroes have adapted fairly well, considering such a central genre trope is no longer a good fit for the times and customs.

Genre and Convention

There is a notion about genre that it exists mostly for the convenience of bookstores.  The idea is that they can sell books by grouping them – if you liked that last book, you’ll probably look for more like it.

The underlying premise to this notion is that authors should not feel constrained to fit their stories into tiny boxes that exist merely as a shelving aid.

There is also the problem of defining genres (and the endless sub-genres they seem to spawn). Once, at a convention, I watc hed two intelligent people have a frustrating discussion because neither seemed to realize that they each defined Magical Realism differently.

While I certainly agree that stories should be free to be whatever they need to be, I think genre conventions can be a useful tool to the writer. They create expectations in the audience that the author can fulfill or playful deny.

I recently saw a pair of interesting genre movies. One was a superhero film and one was a gritty, mean streets detective story (probably film noir, but I don’t want to argue about exactly what that term means). Each had a twist – the superhero movie (Silver Hawk, starring Michelle Yeoh) was also a kung fu movie. The detective movie (Brick) was set in a high school with all the major parts being teenagers.

The thing is, neither of these movies was a parody. There were some humorous moments in both films derived from the whole odd mix-and-match, but ultimately each film succeeded by meeting the conventions of its chosen genre.

Secret identities, evil villain with henchmen and a lair, a dastardly plot involving orbital mind control lasers? Check.  A hard and lonely man with a shady past, doing the best he can in a cruel world? Check.

I think maybe genres have been built up because something they are doing works. Like any other author’s tool, they can be used, and used well, when it suits the story.

A Certain Antagonism

Heroes tend to have villains. And the more the villain is thematically or stylistically linked to the hero, the stronger the story is.

One classic trick is to have the villain be just like the hero, only evil. Whatever advantages the hero has, whatever makes him or her special – this villain has them too. Holmes has his Moriarty, someone smart enough to challenge even the great detective. The Doctor has the Master, another Time Lord with a TARDIS and a screwdriver of his own. The trick is older than the popular examples I’m using, of course. MacBeth has his MacDuff, after all.

And then there is the archenemy who goes the opposite route, literally. The Joker is the classic example, here. Everything Batman is not: colorful instead of somber, crazy and unpredictable instead of rational and methodical, and, of course, murderous.

Both these villain types serve a double function in the story. They not only provide a high level of challenge even to their competent protagonists, but they also serve as foils – characters that the illustrate something about the nature of the protagonists.

While I tend to favor adventure fiction, these techniques are hardly exclusive to genre. A romantic rival could just as easily tell us something by being everything the romance protagonist is not. In the classic French Harlequinade, Columbine’s rivals, Harlequin and Pierrot have been described as sunlight and moonlight, laughter and sorrow.

The Movie Serial Aside

I have, through some quirk of random shopping, acquired a 1943 movie serial featuring Batman.

I’ve watched about half of it so far. As I expected, it requires a mind shift to get around the 1940’s production values and limitations. What caught me more by surprise was the propaganda – the fighting American, wartime, unapologetically anti-Japanese jingoism.

But what really threw me was the realization that the hero wasn’t really quite Batman yet. Sure, he has the cave and the costume and the faithful butler, but he comes across like a generic masked avenger. He could just as easily be the Green Hornet or the Grey Ghost.

He doesn’t have the brooding, driven personality. He isn’t haunted by the death of his parents. He isn’t overly brilliant or competent. He's just a rich playboy with an odd hobby.

The audience (presumably) follows him for the adventure and the sly nods when someone talks to Bruce about the mysterious Batman. They don’t need the backstory because they know his type. Everyone is the serial so far is a type rather than a character (although Alfred, played for comedy relief, comes close).

Not really sure what my point is, except maybe this: It’s odd to watch a serviceable story with no real character depth. The story has thugs and a mastermind and a damsel-in-distress, along with a notable hero and sidekick, all dutifully playing their roles.

But it would be better if it had Batman in it.