and I agree wholeheartedly.
The esteemed Francis Ford Coppola has joined his peer, Martin Scorsese, in dismissing the oeuvre of Marvel Comics as being a mere “theme park” rather than genuine cinema.
He says that as if that’s a bad thing.
Cinema is something that is scarcely over a century old, whereas the telling of superhero tales is a part of human tradition going back millennia. Marvel movies are, quite simply, modern myths, as legitimate a means of narrative as ancient Vikings telling the tales of Ragnarok.
How can I say this? Because I know the definition of what makes something mythic.
The average person describes the mythic without qualifiers as to its origin, defining it within its own structure.
Allow me to provide an example. If you ask the average person who Don Corleone is, they will say, “He was a character in ‘The Godfather.’” Most will know that Marlon Brando portrayed him. Others may be aware he first appeared in the book written by Mario Puzo.
But if you ask the average person, “Who is Peter Parker?” they will reply, “He’s Spider-Man. As a teen, he was bitten by a radioactive spider and acquired the ability to climb walls.” They will say this with the same conviction that they would tell you that Thor was the God of thunder or that Arthur Pendragon was the King of Camelot. They won’t say, “He was a character created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko who first appeared in Amazing Fantasy #15 in 1963.” They will instead tell you who he is.
Indeed, depending upon the age of the person being questioned, his reality may be even more forceful. In “Avengers: Infinity War”—spoiler alert—Spider-Man died. Turned to dust by the mad Titan Thanos. A month later, at a comic convention, a four year old girl in an Elsa costume from “Frozen” was seated in her stroller when she spied a fan gallivanting down the corridor in a Spider-Man costume. She leaped out of her stroller and ran toward him with her arms wide, shouting, “Spider-Man! You’re okay! YOU’RE OKAY!” The fan played it perfectly, never hinting to the thrilled child that he wasn’t her hero.
Once upon a time, before the advent of print, myths were spread by wandering bards who would travel villages and explain to the residents that when the Earth shook, it was because Loki was writhing under ground in the eternal punishment inflicted upon him by Odin. Or they would tell of the days that Robin Hood wandered Sherwood Forest, and so on. No one decried their activities as being less worthy than other means of storytelling. They were simply part of the human tradition of providing exciting narratives that stretched across generations. Vast tapestries of adventure for young and old alike that enabled our dreams to soar and imagine what, in our wildest notions, we could accomplish if only we had the means or the daring to do it.
If anything, “theme parks” are a better description of the transitory nature of the enjoyment provided by the Coppolas and Scorseses of our world. Yet oddly no one in the comic industry feels the need to try and degrade their accomplishments. We simply acknowledge that they are storytellers in their own limited undertakings, appealing to modern day sensibilities and providing transitory entertainment. But what we do, on the other hand, will last.
In other words, twenty, thirty years from now, the average teenager will have no idea who Don Corleone is, any more than modern teens know who Rhett Butler or Frank Capra was. But they WILL be able to tell you that Superman was the last son of Krypton. So how about Messers. Coppola and Scorsese stick to their theme park cinema and leave the creation of modern legends to the actual mythmakers?