The femme fatale, an idealized woman of legs, pucker and seductive charm, is one of the most recurring players in modern culture. Starring on lofted billboards, magazine covers and silver screens alike, she’s a recognized constant that we as consumers have come to expect.
As recurring as her role is, all of her appearances are coupled with the immediate and imminent ridicule of the promotion of such a supposed feminine “ideal.”
Suggesting a superlative image of imperfect humanity, of course, has grounds for opposition, but there remains the question of why the male ideal (homme fatale?) is hardly ever questioned.
His societal presence is just as constant, most recently appearing in “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice” — or, more simply, a tale of competing male egos, capes and masks included.
The superhero is the very image of a masculine paragon. It was first conceptualized in the 1930s and then popularized with the introduction of Superman in a hand-drawn comic strip.
As super men, they came exactly as advertised: strong, powerful and with the ultimate status symbol — a suit and cape. The costume transformed a man into an ideal and fashion into an unprecedented power tool.
Chronicling that suit’s evolution creates a museum of archetypes. Each version forced increased pressure upon the male expectation. What started as an unassuming comic character who wore his underwear over his tights became the leading man in today’s feature films.
And most evidently, he became the man in “Batman v Superman” wearing a costume oozing with the modern ideal.
His suit was meticulously sculpted, desperately clinging to every inch of skin and carefully tracing the outline of every muscle. Soft flesh was turned to an aggressive metal that was gleaming with pride yet tarnished with grit.
The suit was that of a gladiator who returns from battle but refuses to take off his armor. It was a reminder of his sacrifice, of the duty he was destined to fulfill.
With shoulders protruding, he was a quarterback, a symbol of American status. With chest puffed out, he was an animal intimidating his prey with his pride.
And the suit’s seal, printed straight over the heart, was the monogram of a royal with undeniable omnipotence.
The “Batman v Superman” suit showed today’s expectations for what this man should be: a mixture of power, strength, ability and stature.
With this particular installment, not just one but two of these men met the super standard and were featured characters.
For two hours and 33 minutes, a battle weakly boiled down to: which of these two ideals was the best? Then again, it was less of a battle and more of a pageant, like prized puppies at a dog show or washed up actors on the “Dancing with the Stars” finals.
When the lights came up and the reviews rolled in, complaints over the production’s overuse of special effects, lack of heart or humor, and redundantly somber tone tore it to shreds.
What was never mentioned was the bizarre nature of a franchise that spent decades creating an ideal and that now says the ideal wasn’t good enough.
Since its beginning, the superhero standard has gone unquestioned, but with this film, we’re forced to accept something else could be better.
bsaggese@indiana.edu
