The Rise of the Superhero Movie

So, recently myself and some friends made a superhero movie - a dark, gritty reboot of Bananaman (yes, really) called Man of Peel, which can be found here.
Even more recently I wrote an article for my uni's student newspaper on the rise in popularity of the superhero film, but someone else beat me to it, so my article didn't make it in. As I'm a crazy online maverick (and because I'm certain my article is better than whatever did make it in!) I thought I'd post it here instead. So here it is.

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Rise of the Superhero

 Whether they’re supermen, dark knights, or teams of colourful Avengers, nothing is drawing in audiences like superheroes right now. Ever since 2008 brought us Iron Man and The Dark Knight, the genre has exploded and you would be hard-pressed to find a single comic book character who has either not been committed to film or who is not making their way there soon. So what is it that audiences find so irresistible about a caped crusader?

 Perhaps part of the appeal is that a new breed of superhero film is emerging and bringing with it a brand new method of storytelling. Or, brand new to cinema at least. For years comic books have been filled with standalone characters living within the same universe and happily crossing-over with one another whenever they pleased. Now, for the first time, Marvel Studios has brought this logic to the big screen with the Avengers, while Warner Brothers are starting to follow suit with 2016’s Batman vs Superman. Audiences are not seeing film series emerging through sequel after sequel, but rather cinematic universes, made up of standalone movies, sequels, spin-offs and crossovers. It feels like the characters and worlds that exist in superhero movies are free of boundaries and have become a part of something much bigger than a single movie.

 The thing is, of course, superheroes are part of something much bigger than a single movie. Or even a series of movies, or an entire cinematic universe for that matter. They’re an integral part of our culture. Superhero movies are perhaps so popular because we feel a connection with these characters that it would be impossible to feel with a character whose existence is limited to the duration of one film. It has been said that Superman’s iconic ‘S’ emblem is the second-most recognised symbol in the world, after the Christian cross. In 1965, a poll of college students conducted by Esquire magazine named Spider-Man one of the most influential revolutionary figures of his time. These characters are fixed in our cultural consciousness to such an extent that you don’t have to read comic books or frequent cinemas to recognise them. This familiarity is almost certainly what draws people to these characters and makes it so easy for audiences to connect with their stories.

 And there really is a very human connection we feel with these superhumans; a connection that is especially strong in the modern day and age. We live in the age of the individual. Thanks to social media, it is an age controlled by individuals. As a result, people are more aware than ever of the flaws in society. Everyone wants to be able to forge their own identity that is somehow separate from the societal machine. At the same time we are more willing – and more capable – than ever to take action against the flaws and injustices we see in the world. The figure of the superhero reflects and informs this mindset more than any other fictional construct. Superheroes tell us we have the capacity to transcend society and still be there to help it. Superheroes are a testament to the power of the individual but also remind us that it’s down to us to use that power to bring about the change we want to see in the world. In short, superheroes resonate so strongly with modern audiences because they teach a lesson that perhaps we all feel society needs to hear – that everyone possesses the power to do great things, but with such great power must come great responsibility.

Something Happened

So, I'm back in Norwich, beginning my second year at university. I had been meaning to write another 'University Chronicles' post about how great it is to be back (because it is) and how amazing it is to be living in a house with some other students (because it really is) but, unfortunately, this is not that post. Because today something happened. In hindsight, it doesn't even seem like that big or important of a thing, but at the time it really shook me up. So now I am writing about the thing, because I need to capture it in words somewhere. I'm a writer and I like to think part of that means living for the experiences that make me think about the world we live in and who we are. I live for the moments where I can see a story. This was definitely one of those (though I really don't want to romanticise or glamorise it).

Okay, so, this is the something that happened.

At lunchtime today (which, for me with my terrible student diet, was some time after four o'clock) I was out in town and so I grabbed a burger and a box of chips and went to sit on a bench in a small square in town, opposite one of Norwich's many churches and by one of Norwich's many bars. Close by, at the squat little wall that runs around the outside of the church, were a couple of scruffy-looking guys, possibly homeless, who I didn't really pay much attention to at first. But I was sat there eating for a while and started 'people-watching' out of habit or boredom or that overwhelming sense of paranoia that leads you to believe everyone is watching you and in some way plotting against you. But most likely, it was out of habit and the habit in question was my 'writer's habit' of looking for a story in the world around me.

It struck me that one of the homeless men (they may not have been homeless, but that was the impression I got) was lying on the ground and he seemed to be asleep. I slowly realised that his friend - a smoker of about fifty, wearing a faded old hoodie with his hood up - was trying to wake him up and talking to a couple of older women on mobility scooters who were sat a little way away. I heard the hoodie guy say the other man wasn't waking up (at which point I did look back at the man on the floor, just to check he was still breathing) and the women he was talking to said someone in the bar had called an ambulance. At this point, I would like to point out how utterly apathetic the man in the hoodie appeared. He didn't show anywhere near as much concern as you might expect from someone who was dealing with an unconscious man. It was like he didn't really care.

I knew what I was looking at. The man on the floor must have overdosed on something. The way he was twitching did not look healthy and for some reason I didn't get the impression it was alcohol that had done this. I wondered if this was a common occurrence. I wondered whether, if they were indeed homeless, it simply wasn't that big a deal in their minds because they used the drugs that did this to block out reality. I suppose really I just wondered why nobody seemed to be making a big deal of the man lying unconscious on the ground out in public.

I kept wanting to help as well. When I left later on, I hated myself for not helping. But the truth is, I didn't know what to do. I have some vague recollection of the recovery position - by which I mean, I know there is a position you should put unconscious people in, but I have no idea what it is - but other than that, I had no idea how to help. An ambulance had apparently been called already. I couldn't do anything to make it arrive faster, however much I wanted to call 999 and yell at them about how there was an emergency here and nobody seemed to care and tell them they should already be here. So I watched.

A waitress from the bar kept looking out at what was happening and speaking into a walkie talkie and I wondered if they were simply worried about what this might mean for their business. Maybe that was just me being pessimistic because of what I'd seen from everyone else, but again, there seemed to be very little concern on anyone's face. I didn't understand how life was still going on as normal here, like there wasn't a man lying unconscious right there in front of everyone's faces. Had they even actually called an ambulance? Why was it taking so long to get here? Did this not qualify as something important in anyone's mind?

After a while, two other 'friends' of the homeless men turned up. And that is 'friends' in inverted commas for a very good reason, because I know from experience, when I have been the one lying on the floor (it was a dislocated kneecap, not a drug overdose - don't worry) my friends showed a good deal more compassion, sense and responsibility than these two cretins did. They turned up smiling and joking about the man on the floor being 'where we left him' and, while humour can sometimes help relax these situations, this was not that. They could not care less about the person lying unconscious in front of them.

The only glimmer of hope I felt came when these two started having what looked like a fairly serious conversation with the man in the hoodie. For a moment I really thought somebody was taking the situation seriously, because so far it had seemed as though the man on the ground - the man in desperate need of some sort of help - had nobody looking out for him. This was where I stopped being a nosy narrator and became a part of the story.

One of the newcomers called me over. I was nervous at first. They didn't seem like the nicest sorts (their attitude so far had left a lot to be desired) but I thought they were probably calling me over to help out with the unconscious man in some way. So I did what I always do when I feel nervous about taking up the opportunity to help someone - I repeated the geeky but utterly important mantra of 'with great power there must also come great responsibility' to myself (meaning if I have the power to do something good for someone, it's not a choice, but my responsibility to do so) and I walked over there. The man who had called me over asked if I had valid ID. I assumed this was something to do with getting into the bar from which the ambulance had been called, so I told him I did. What happened next was what hit me like a sledgehammer.

He asked, if he and his friend gave me the money, if I would go to a shop around the corner and buy a certain product (the name of which I can neither remember, nor would I want to repeat) that he called a 'legal high'. I told him I didn't want to do that. Usually I struggle to say no to strangers asking for some small favour, but in this case there was absolutely no way I was going to oblige them. I couldn't believe what they were asking me to do in these circumstances. We're in the middle of a public place, in the afternoon, with a man twitching uneasily in some horrible drug-induced sleep on the ground and these men are not asking for my help with the man I had assumed was their friend, but are instead asking me to buy them what is effectively a drug. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the same product that had knocked out the man on the ground. How on Earth could they stand there, having seen the condition he was in, and not only utterly refuse to show him any concern, but ask me to buy them something that could leave them in the same state? What the Hell was wrong with these people?

Because that is totally wrong, isn't it? As nobody seemed to care about any of this, I did start to question whether the problem was with my way of looking at things. Is it so wrong to think we should try to help one another out? If a man is lying unconscious from some sort of overdose in the street, should that not be something of a priority? If you see a man in that state, would a sane person not perhaps think about avoiding drugs or anything that acts as one? How could you look at that and not care?

It hurt me. I was actually shaking and I didn't know what to do. I left. I walked away and people were looking at me and maybe they were judging me for doing bugger all, maybe they were just interested by what was going on or maybe I am totally paranoid and nobody was looking at me at all. I don't care. Fuck them. I got out of there, completely lost my appetite, and went to get a glass of ice water and a hot cup of tea, knowing I needed something to calm me down. I had to hold the mug of tea with both hands. They were shaking too much for me to keep it steady with one.

I was upset, I was shaken, I was angry and I was disappointed with myself. I wanted to help. I wanted to make a difference and I didn't, because I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know how to respond to the man's request for a 'legal high' (other than refusing). Shouldn't I have told him to come to his senses and do something to help the guy who was ODing? Or would that have done nothing other than getting him angry at me (though I seriously doubt he could have been any angrier than I was at him)? Should I have spoken to other people or done something to make sure this moron didn't get someone else to go and buy drugs for him? Because as soon as I refused, he started asking someone else and I realised I had done nothing to make any sort of difference whatsoever. Should I have tried to help the man on the floor? Should I now be learning first aid so I can help in future? Should I have called 999 and checked where the ambulance was? I told myself there was nothing I could have done to help or make any sort of difference, but I still wish I had.

Later I went and found a homeless man I had passed before in the street, selling the Big Issue, and bought one from him just because I needed to know I had done something good for someone. That sounds terrible now, but a good deed is a good deed, right? Even if it is motivated by guilt. I went back by the spot where this had all happened too. None of the men were there anymore, so I assume the ambulance had arrived and it had been dealt with.

I suppose the thing that really bothers me is that I did pretty much what anyone else would have done, but I don't know if that makes it okay. Shouldn't we all try to be more proactive in helping others? Shouldn't we act instead of sitting back, feeling like we don't know what to do? Isn't it about time we all accepted that we have a responsibility to help others instead of only ever thinking about keeping ourselves happy and safe? Isn't it time we all started to care?

So that's what happened to me today. That's what made me think. And now I need to go and get rid of a box of cold chips.

The University Chronicles - Chapter Two: Getting Back To Work

Busy. Busy is good. I like busy. When I'm busy, it means my mind's focussed on something happening right here and now, ergo I'm not thinking about how much I miss home/sixth form/the awesome summer holiday that has now well and truly finished. Being busy means that now, when I'm walking back from a seminar or a lecture, I'm thinking about that thing I have to read, or that essay I have to write, or the things I'm writing for fun, or that agonising pain in my leg that WILL NOT STOP from Quidditch (oh yeah, I play Quidditch now... Quidditch is cool). And I like thinking about those things (well, maybe not the Quidditch pain so much) because before I had all this stuff to keep my mind busy, those walks back to the flat were the worst part of any day. Why? Because I was alone and with nothing pressing on my mind, so my mind naturally wandered back to "I miss home" and "Okay, this has been sort of fun, now when does everything go back to how it was this time last year?"

I mean, I am enjoying uni. Like I said, playing Quidditch is brilliant, and I do get on with the people here, the course is great and I'm actually quite enjoying the whole independence thing. But it's so easy to feel cut off from everything. I can't just pop downstairs and speak to my family, or go out on my bike to some familiar place, or meet up with my friends at the weekend. And don't start with all this 'making new friends' nonsense - I have people I get on with here, but my real friends, the ones I will remain friends with for the rest of my life, are the ones I already had from my school days. It's weird - yes, these uni people are friends of a sort, but I still feel like I have to put on the 'sociable Andy' persona for them. With my friends from back home, I'm just myself. Though I can't stand this book, the best way I can think of putting this is to take (roughly) the words of Wuthering Heights - whatever our souls are made of, theirs and mine are the same (and these uni people's are as different as a moonbeam from lightning, if you want me to continue paraphrasing that soppy eighteenth century soap opera). The point is, in that big old group of friends, we're practically a hive mind! Everyone has their different 'areas of expertise' and such, sure, but generally you would have a very difficult time finding the differences between our mindsets. Whereas with this uni lot, I can talk to them and have a laugh, but there is no deep telepathic connection held together by years' worth of in-jokes and mad adventures!

But enough of that. I'm not focussing on that. I'm being busy. I have finally, somehow, found the energy to start writing again! And I'm doing something different this time. I'm trying an experimental new writing style, which is proving both fun and a little bit daunting. And once I'm done with this thing I'm writing now, I have many, many other things to be getting on with. As far as I'm concerned, now is 'go time'! I'm a writer and it's time I got writing and started doing something with said writing. Someone asked me yesterday what I wanted to do if I couldn't become a writer. To which I fumbled my way through some boring answer about getting a proper job, as if that's something I have any intention of doing. Of course, what I should have said was "Well, I AM a writer. It's not just a career choice, it's my entire being. It shapes the very way in which I see the world, in which I understand everything; my whole mind exists on the foundation of writing and fiction and the greater truths that can only be conveyed through the art of imagining stories that transcend the boundaries of reality." But he was Russian and didn't know English that well, so I didn't. Though this is another example of just how close I am with my friends and how much I need them for inspiration/motivation in my writing. This guy from my flat falls into the very large and misguided group of people who will ask me "What if you can't get a job as a writer?". My friends, on the other hand, fall into the smaller but clearly much more well-informed group of people who would say things like "When you're a famous writer working with the BBC, you will need to contact us so that we can work together on a comedy series!". And it doesn't bother me in the slightest that the group of people who don't say "If it doesn't work out..." is a much smaller group - I read a brilliant tweet about such things the other day, which said "Hitler had millions of followers, Jesus had twelve". Not that I'm comparing myself to Jesus, but I am godlike and I did get some very weird/useless gifts when I was born... Just saying! (Myrrh? What were they thinking?)

So, that's that. Writing. Writing is a thing that I am doing once more! And I intend to do as much as possible today and tomorrow, before giving myself a break from all this uni madness when I head home this weekend and get to actually spend time with my family, in my home, with my room and my bed! And in a town that doesn't view the wheel as a recent technological breakthrough...

The University Chronicles Begin!

It was going to take something pretty big to get me blogging again. Leaving home for the first time and moving into uni? Yeah, that should do. I know the point of this blog was once to blog about writing, but from now on I need somewhere I can write about university and how mad this all is, so that's what's happening here from now on! Besides, I'm here to study English Literature with Creative Writing, so the writing stuff will still be here! And I'm still working on a million writing projects, so maybe I will get back to writing about writing as well.
Anyway. It's now Day Two. I was going to write this post yesterday, but everything so far has been pretty hectic and yesterday was filled with setting up everything in my room and meeting new people. There were a few very strange moments, where this all suddenly became very real. The first one I remember was actually back home in Milton Keynes, when we were on the road and we finally left the smaller roads behind for the big main roads. (Not quite motorways, but you know the ones I mean - the roads you're only going to end up on if you're going out of town. You can tell I don't drive.) There was a moment where I realised we were leaving behind the narrower and cosier roads, surrounded by familiar buildings, and heading out into the world. And I wouldn't be coming back that night. To make the moment even more poignant, as soon as we did get onto the open road, 'The Final Countdown' started to play on my MP3 player (yeah, not iPod - suck it, Apple!). You  couldn't plan this stuff better!
I suppose then, the other moment I realised "Oh my gosh, this is actually really happening to me" was when my family left. That was peculiar. I stood outside my new accommodation block and watched them drive away, quite literally, into the sunset. It was strange. It was so strange to see them leaving and not be going with them. To know I was now in this strange new land and I was on my own. Emotionally, that was my lowest point. I went back to my room, tried to pull myself together, went on Facebook and did what I always do when I need strength - I spoke to my friends. And that helped. That genuinely, properly helped, because my friends are the most amazing friends anyone could ever wish for. So I'm missing them a hell of a lot, but I am keeping in contact and I am grateful to have them nearby - even if that's only nearby in internet form!
After talking with them, the time finally came to bite the bullet - I had to meet new people. That was daunting. As I had said to some of my friends before coming to university, I didn't remember how to make friends anymore! I had been in the same amazing friendship group for so long, I only ever met new people through them. I hadn't had to introduce myself to total strangers since before I can remember. So, I took the necessary action in times of crisis - I went to make a cup of tea. And my cunning plan worked - other people were sat around in the kitchen, so I started talking to them. Then more people joined us and soon we were all planning to go down to the icebreaker freshers' event that was on that night. A ridiculously long time later, after we had wasted enough time waiting for other people, we got there and found tickets had sold out. Ah. So we headed to bar, where we had a few (very strong) drinks and played some table football. It was a good night and, as I kept saying, I was just so glad to have actually met people I could get on with. I do miss my friends. In fact, throughout the night, there were moments when I thought "This is going to be what everyday life is like for me now - how am I meant to keep doing this without any of my friends here?". But I managed to stop myself dwelling on that and, as I said, had a genuinely good time.
This morning, then, was a strange one. Waking up in a place that's not my home. In fact, going to sleep in that bed last night felt strange enough! This morning I have been trying to come to terms with the fact I am still here, I am staying here, and this is going to be the norm from now on. Oh, and trying to drag myself out of bed before nine o'clock without throwing up was fun too! Though I'm a bit annoyed the cleaners didn't actually come at nine, as I was told they would. I could have had a lie-in!
Well, once more unto the breach, I suppose. I'd better have something to eat, maybe drink some tea, and then I have to head off to registration.
Goodbye for now, all! Speak soon.