One of the central conceits of the Spider-Man movies is Spider-Man’s mask. It covers his whole face. No one can see who he is…
We all now that Spider-Man is Peter Parker, but not all the people Spider-Man meets know that. Bruce Wayne hides behind a mask, and no one knows that he moonlights as Batman. Superman is Superman, and only one or two of his close friends know him as Clark. And just about every one of the X-Men parades in public in their costumes under a codename (although few of them bother to cover their faces).
And yet, if you are to look at the films in the Avengers series (or, to use the marketing department’s name, “The Marvel Cinematic Universe”) you will find that none of them has a secret identity. Captain America wears a mask, but people call him Steve. Thor is Thor is Thor. At the end of 2008’s Iron Man, Tony Stark announced to the public that he was Iron Man, and I don’t think anyone would ever think to call Hawkeye “Hawkeye.” These people don’t have alter egos or secret lives. They are superheroes 24 hours a day.
The notion of the alter ego is a conceit going back as far as comic books. Most costumed crimefighters – in the early days, at least – were regular humans by day, and crimefighters by night, capably juggling two lives unbeknownst to both the people they live amongst in the daylight and the bad guys they punch after hours.
And I understand why it’s such a common trope. The alter ego fantasy serves two basic storytelling functions: For one, it can make the hero seem more romantic. We can all look at a dashing, handsome, millionaire playboy, and wonder about their entire lives. What if, we begin to think, they were not merely a millionaire, but also a secret police officer looking out for the public’s best interests? It make thes rich guy seem more alluring, more capable, more amazing. Indeed, if anyone around you could secretly be a Superman or a Batman, it makes the ideas of those beings seem more real. More titillating. More subversive.
The other function they serve is to deepen the escapism that most superheroes represent. If Batman can live two lives, maybe the reader can too. They can escape the humdrum world of Jr. High School and flee into the night as an entirely new person. This may be a controversial viewpoint, but it seems to me that the primary appeal of most superheroes is not that they are intriguing or complex people, but that they are secretly avatars for ourselves. We want to be the superhero. We may deconstruct superhero myths with angst and real-life problems (which has been the Marvel approach for many decades), but we’d secretly take on all that angst in a heartbeat. Not only would the torture make us more “interesting,” but we’d also have the superpowers, adventures, and exhilaration that Spider-Man goes through.
But as superhero mythologies have become more and more complex (there are just so damned many of them these days, and they all have multiple stories apiece), that the romance of hiding your identity has become increasingly passé. Newer heroes no longer hide their faces. Indeed, a 2006 Marvel Comics event called Civil War dealt directly with the idea of secret identities. In that series, superheroes began “coming out,” revealing their identities, and seeking paid jobs as government-sponsored peacekeepers. To date, superheroes have actually been a chaotic gaggle of costumed free agent vigilantes. For the first time, the comics addressed the necessity of having an alter ego. Some heroes felt they were necessary, others not so much, and they came to blows; most of the gigantic superhero crossover events (in comics and in movies) are little more than an excuse to watch the hero characters fight one another rather than the Bad Guys. Or just team up. It’s that simple.
I put the question to you, dear readers: Are alter egos a necessary part of being a superhero? Or are they only necessary to certain characters? What makes them necessary? Well let’s look at a few cases. Spider-Man keeps his identity secret from the world so that no one will bother his regular life and/or threaten those closest to him. Spider-Man is a street-level, friendly neighborhood hero. He is part of New York City. His local hero status would be interrupted by the celebrity that would come from being a 24-hour hero.
Batman has a secret identity too, because the mystique of the superhero is more effective if no one knows who he really is; Batman uses his mask to scare bad guys. If a mugger saw Batman and thought “Oh look! It’s Bruce!” his job would be a lot tougher.
But let’s look at the movie version of Iron Man, who was eager to share his identity with the world. Why doesn’t he hide? Wouldn’t it make his life easier? It perhaps displays his cockiness and self-assurance. Indeed, in Iron Man Three, Tony Stark gives his address to the bad guys on national TV. But in that film, his confidence backfired; the bad guys managed to blow up his house within a few hours. Iron Man’s mask has a hatch in the front allowing him to display his face whenever he wants. The notion of a secret identity is far away from this man.
Indeed, with all the Avengers, they should at least know one another secret identities, as to make conversations easier. To combat this plot point the movie just dispensed with it altogether, and had the heroes act as open agents in a world alien-fighting force.
In short: The alter ego appeals to our desire to hide, to be anonymous, to do good without having to confront people about it, to be a hero and then vanish into the night. Hiding behind the mask gives one more confidence to be free. The hero can invent themselves, and the selves they choose to invent are usually moral, noble, helpful people. They can erase the iniquities of their pasts with a mask, and just be a hero. Peter Parker is no longer an awkward nerd when he puts on the mask. He is Spider-Man. Escape and self-reinvention.
The lack of an alter ego, then, must appeal to our desire for fame. Our need to be recognized, to be loved, to do good and be given credit for it. Although there is a theatricality to all superheroes (why wear costumes otherwise?), those with no masks wish to be seen. To be given attention. To be able to take a bow. Those without masks are rock stars who compete on a world stage. Recognition, a dismissal of the world’s judgment, and social reward.
Which approach makes for a better hero? I’ll let you decide. But if a reader prefers one over the other, does it reflect on anything about them? That’s something to ponder…
Witney Seibold is the head film critic for Nerdist, and a contributor on the CraveOnline Film Channel, and co-host of The B-Movies Podcast. You can read his weekly articles Trolling here on Crave, and follow him on “Twitter” at @WitneySeibold, where he is slowly losing his mind.
