When I was a wee lad, a youngster, I was tremendously fond of comic books. I'm not sure they still exist, except perhaps as collectors' items. They were in paper form, you see. I suspect that if they do still exist as something not treasured by collectors, they're referred to by the more dignified name "graphic novels."
Superheroes abounded in comic books. They were good for the most part, and did good works, unless they were induced to be evil by some ingenious villian or cosmic event. Most of the comic book heroes are with us still, but now appear on movie or television screens or computer monitors, etc. However, they're revealed sometimes to be, or are joined by, anti-heroes who are just as super but less good, or are tormented or sad or depressed, times being what they are.
The comic books of my younger days were read by kids; children and perhaps teenagers. Few if any adults could be found perusing them. Normally, one "grew out of them." Now, though, adults flock to movies featuring a variety of superheroes or watch them on streaming services or otherwise.
There's something peculiar about adults indulging in juvenile fantasies of possessing super strength or other super powers, performing heroic acts while demolishing buildings or cities, vanquishing evildoers or enemies. Something disturbing, in fact. Imagine adults eagerly reading comic books about the exploits of Superman, Batman, Flash, Thor, Ironman, etc. Then imagine they're your friends, coworkers, neighbors, police officers, doctors, soldiers...anyone.
It doesn't inspire confidence in them. It's understandable to seek entertainment and escapism is a form of it. But I think it's a cause for concern when our entertainment drastically departs from reality. The more it does so, the more it reflects a dissatisfaction with the world and frustration at being unable to change it.
It's also a cause for concern that the entertainment we cherish is essentially childish. We won't become superheroes and they won't come to save us. We know this, but it pleases us to pretend. We even have regular gatherings where we dress up as our heroes, and those who pretend to be them professionally appear to be admired. It's a kind of moveable Halloween party.
Harmless fun, perhaps. But dreaming of them is a kind of admission of our inability to cope without the benefit of dreams. It's an implied acceptance of our place. We seem to, and probably wish to, prolong our childhood.
In past years of war and economic depression we enjoyed fantasies of being rich or heroic played out in movie theaters or on TV, but we didn't dress up as the characters in those fantasies and attend conventions at which they're celebrated.
Perhaps we've always been inclined to fantasy and masquerade, and now merely have more opportunity to indulge that inclination. But there may be something dangerously inherent in our society or nation that causes us to be particularly eager to live in an imagined world and ignore the all-too-real one that we encounter on a daily basis.
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