News Ticker

[GUEST POST] Gabriel McKee on Mark Millar’s Kick-Ass…and Why it Stinks

Gabriel Mckee is the author of The Gospel According to Science Fiction and the blog, where he explores religious ideas in science fiction. He lectured on superheroes, myth, and justice at the 2009 Cornerstone Festival, and is currently at work on a project exploring the theology of Superman.

“Preview audiences love Kick-Ass,” says the voice-over in the latest trailer for what is sure to be the biggest superhero movie of the Spring. By all accounts, it’s the most faithful big-screen adaptation of a comic book in recent memory, and fans and new viewers alike seem to appreciate the results. The cover of the comic’s first issue, which loudly proclaims the arrival of “the greatest super hero comic of all-time,” and most comics fans seem to agree: Newsarama called the original comic series by Mark Millar and John Romita, Jr. “a fantastic piece of visceral, satirical storytelling.” describes it as “a Tarantinoesque parable [about]… what it takes to be a hero.” Everyone seems to agree: Kick-Ass was a great comic, and will surely make a great movie.

So how good is Kick-Ass? How effective a satire is it? And what does it have to say about heroism, super and otherwise? Unfortunately Kick-Ass, despite the enthusiasm that has attended it at every turn, is a hollow exercise, a satire of the superhero genre that completely misses the point about what superheroes are. In short, the comic is not something to be excited about, and the movie is unlikely to be much better.

Kick-Ass is narrated throughout by Dave Lizewski, an average, run-of-the-mill geek. He loves comics and video games, has trouble getting a girlfriend, and is basically the definitive social outcast. He’s the type of character that comics fans have been identifying with since Superman first put on Clark Kent’s glasses. But do we want to identify with him? We spend a lot of time reading Dave’s thoughts in the story’s captions, and they’re not the thoughts of a nice person: he’s petty, selfish, arrogant, and, in his personal life at least, passive. Once he puts on a costume and starts attempting to beat up criminals, does he change, gain a new outlook on life, grow? Not at all. Dave Lizewski in Kick-Ass #8 is the same petty, selfish, arrogant, and, yes, passive jerk he was in Kick-Ass #1. He starts out unlikeable, and stays that way. The character has no arc to speak of: the only change he goes through is when he puts on the costume for the first time, and that happens within the first 30 pages of the story.

Some interesting things do happen with other characters. There are a couple legitimately surprising turns involving meta-heroes Big Daddy and the Red Mist, and the prepubescent vigilante Hit-Girl undergoes some extreme changes in the story’s conclusion. But that’s all strictly B-story. It’s problematic for a story’s central character to remain so unchanged in the course of a narrative. If anything, Lizewski is even less likable at the end of issue 8, and as a result the whole story feels inconsequential.

But lack of an arc isn’t the only problem with Dave Lizewski. It’s clear from Kick-Ass‘s opening scenes that Dave Lizewski is supposed to be, if not an everyman, at least an everyfanboy. What does it say, then, that the character with whom the readers are so clearly supposed to identify is such an unlikable jerk? It’s as if Kick-Ass is telling superhero fans and comics readers how sad and miserable its author imagines their lives to be. It’s not as bad, in this regard, as Millar’s earlier series Wanted. That story ends with a direct-to-the-reader sermon about “your level on the pathetic-o-meter,” concluding with a splash page of the protagonist’s sneering face beneath the caption “This is my face when I’m fucking you in the ass.” Reading Kick-Ass is a similarly masochistic exercise. The story seems to be saying: “You’re just like this guy. He’s pathetic. You’re still reading? Wow, you are pathetic!” It encourages a cycle of self-loathing that attempts to support the ugly picture of fanboys that Kick-Ass paints-and the more the readers eat it up, the more correct it becomes.

Moreover, Kick-Ass suggests that the entire kind of fantasy that superhero fans enjoy is foolish, that there’s something inherently perverse about both superheroes as characters and the people who enjoy them. This is ultimately worse than Garth Ennis’s widely-documented dislike of superheroes, culminating in his anti-superhero book The Boys, because Ennis made his name in other genres. But Millar wrote, and continues to write, very mainstream superhero comics, many of them quite good. But stories like Kick-Ass imply that he despises the entire imaginative exchange between superhero readers and superhero stories. What else could be the purpose of tearing down the genre’s mythic idealism and so aggressively establishing so-called “real world” rules in its place?

Of course, we’re talking about the comic book here: something else happens in translating this character to the big screen. While it might be fair to assume that the average comic reader is something of a geek (however that term might be described), the same can’t be said about the average cinemagoer. Movies are mass culture with an audience comic companies can only dream of, and, inevitably, that means the audience for a movie is more “average,” more spread-out, and, yes, less geeky. So the intended identification of a reader of the comic with the “geek” character won’t necessarily happen with a watcher of the film. “Me” will turn into “them,” and thus the film will reinforce broader culture’s ostracization of the geek. Geeky readers of the comic may be entering into a cycle of self-loathing, but at least they can be said, in some sense, to be laughing with themselves; Kick-Ass the movie can only laugh at them.

For the moment, though, let’s give Kick-Ass the benefit of the doubt: it’s commenting on superhero fans, because its goal is to critique the superhero genre. Right? Unfortunately, it misdefines that genre, and thus misses its target completely. Peter Coogan’s book Superhero: The Secret Origin of a Genre explores, in great depth, the defining traits of the superhero. And the first and most central trait he identifies isn’t extraordinary abilities, a secret identity, or a cool costume-it’s a sense of mission. What makes superheroes heroes is their sense of “great responsibility,” a driving need to fight injustice. And it’s precisely this trait that Kick-Ass lacks. He has no “trauma” at his origin; as he states himself, “Our origin is we were bored.” But boredom and a costume do not a superhero make, and Kick-Ass‘s apparent belief that it is a superhero story is its biggest failing.

The problem is that Kick-Ass wants to be a superhero, but his conception of heroism is all wrong. “We only get one life,” he says, “and I wanted mine to be exciting.” He sees the thrills, the violence, but not the underlying sense of moral mission. He says himself that he has no real origin, that “It didn’t take a trauma to make you wear a mask… Just the perfect combination of loneliness and despair.” But Spider-Man or Batman’s trauma isn’t just a throwaway aspect of their stories; it’s the guiding force behind their every action. A hero who begins with nothing but “loneliness and despair,” not an all-consuming moral imperative to improve the world, is by definition a nihilistic figure. Dave Lizewski is really not a superhero at all-in genre classic terms, he’s Peter Parker after the radioactive spider-bite but before the death of Uncle Ben. His actions aren’t altruistic in the least-he continues putting on the costume because he likes to ride the ego wave that comes from his Youtube fame. It would be one thing if Kick-Ass excluded this element to explore what happens to the mythic core of the superhero genre when the sense of mission is removed, but that implies a kind of consciousness that just doesn’t seem to be there. Kick-Ass simply doesn’t feel like a complete story, and it’s largely a result of the character’s lack of any identifiable motivation.

In a recent interview Millar stated that Kick-Ass dons his costume “because it’s the right thing to do. In a weird way, if you push past all the blood and the swearing, it’s quite a moral tale.” But because the character lacks a complete origin, a reason to think that what he’s doing is the right thing, it’s not a moral tale-in fact, it’s a decidedly amoral one. And without the sense of a moral mission, he’s simply not a superhero. Without murdered parents, Batman wouldn’t be a hero; he’d just be a guy who dresses up and punch people-which is basically what Kick-Ass is. In short, the book simply doesn’t understand the genre it purports to be commenting on. Superheroes work in large part because of the heroic myth at their core. In throwing out this central, defining trait of that myth, Kick-Ass loses any resonance it might have otherwise had.

So what happens to a superhero’s sense of justice when that moral mission is removed? Kick-Ass illustrates it pretty well: his first “mission” is an attempt to beat up some graffiti writers. They’re not engaged in a violent crime (until he provokes them, at least). The would-be hero, apparently buying into the widely-debunked “broken windows” theory, enforces white, middle class social order by using violence against the poor and non-white. In short, Kick-Ass‘s first action scene is disturbingly, uncomfortably, and unavoidably a scene in which a white man attempts to beat three black men with a club-while calling them “homos,” no less. That he loses the fight in no way diminishes the inherent problems of racism, classism, and homophobia in the encounter, and, by extension, Kick-Ass’s complete lack of the sense of justice that is the defining trait of the superhero.

Don’t misinterpret me here: I’m not saying Millar is racist, classist, or homophobic. But he does seem to be blind to the undertones of those problems in his narrative. (I do think that Garth Ennis is legitimately homophobic, as exemplified in the anal-sex-joke-obsessed The Boys, but that’s an argument for elsewhere.) And once you’ve noticed the ugly role that race and class play in Kick-Ass, it’s tough to “read around” them. (If you’d like to read more on this point, Erin Polgreen’s detailed exploration of the role in race and gender in Millar’s work goes into far more detail than I do here, and is well worth reading.)

In any event, there’s something very non-heroic about Kick-Ass’s inaugural use of violence. This isn’t Superman righting wrongs and championing the oppressed; it’s strictly authoritarian violence-disproportionate, mistargeted, and utterly unjustifiable. And yet we’re still supposed to think, on some level, that this makes him a hero-and, perhaps worse, that society would view this kind of violence as heroic, since it’s Youtube videos of these first encounters that turn Kick-Ass into a cultural phenomenon. Works like The Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen propose that superhero violence may be a little bit fascistic, but that kind of questioning doesn’t seem to be going on here. We get the authoritarian violence here-but not a considered critique of that violence.

As if the above weren’t enough, Kick-Ass simply isn’t fun. It aggressively dis-enchants the concept of the superhero, showing the myriad reasons that this particular type of fantasy world could not sustain itself in a “realistic” universe. The first issue opens with a would-be hero falling to his death instead of flying-played in a slapstick style entirely without the pathos that Chris Ware brought to the exact same image in Jimmy Corrigan. Kick-Ass demolishes fantasy and thinks doing so is funny, that somehow an ugly “realistic” world is inherently better than an idealized fantasy world.

What makes it particularly confusing is that Mark Millar also done the exact opposite. His miniseries 1985, written at more or less the same time as Kick-Ass, presents a comic book geek whose “real-world” small town is invaded Marvel supervillains, and he has to travel into their fictional universe to bring back heroes who can defeat them. It’s a beautiful story, one that highlights everything that’s good about superheroes, superhero fans, and the idealism of the fantastic-in short, it’s the total opposite of Kick-Ass, to the extent that it’s difficult to believe they came from the same pen. The setting of that story is telling-Millar had to go to 1985, the year before Watchmen and (especially) The Dark Knight Returns, to find that kind of idealism. Is Kick-Ass-nihilistic, ugly, and utterly anti-mythic-the end result of Frank Miller’s authoritarian take on superheroes? And does the movie adaptation’s inevitable success represent the chickens released by the similarly nihilistic film The Dark Knight coming home to roost?

In any event, between its misunderstanding of the superhero genre, its relentless authoritarian violence, and its apparent intention to instill self-loathing in its readers, reading Kick-Ass is anything but a fun experience. It’s draining to inhabit Millar’s ugly conception of a realistic world, and that is ultimately why I consider Kick-Ass such an unpleasant mess.

16 Comments on [GUEST POST] Gabriel McKee on Mark Millar’s Kick-Ass…and Why it Stinks

  1. Wow, I thought April Fool’s Day was a couple of weeks ago.

  2. Actually, I hated it for completely the opposite reason : The film is a bait and switch, it promises you realism and deconstruction and what it ultimately provides is a rather tedious and vanilla super hero film.


    Discussion here :

  3. “Oh! If only I were the last son of Krypton! If only my parents were murdered! THEN my moral purpose would be clear!”

  4. fheywood // April 15, 2010 at 7:27 am //

    Wow. What an outstanding analysis. I expect you’ll get a lot of flack for it, though…

  5. Whoa, excellent analysis. I watched the movie WANTED without ever reading the comic. At the end, I felt the exact same way. “Okay, so the message of this movie is that if you’re not an assassin you’re an idiot.” That’s pretty bizarre.

    I definitely see the issues with this particular view in Millar’s world. It’s interesting to me that it’s so consistent.

    That said, there are sure to be a lot of people who love it, because we do live in a world where there’s a certain amount of post-modern thought that ends with, “Screw the world, I’m gonna be selfish and get what I deserve.” So, maybe this premise will resonate with some, but I’m definitely with you, it doesn’t resonate with me at all. Thanks for the post!

  6. The comic was too violent.  I’ll see the movie for the teacher though.  πŸ™‚


  7. I didn’t like “Wanted,” so I wouldn’t particularly be shocked if I disliked this too. I also think you’ll get some flack for knocking this– not from me though. πŸ™‚

  8. joshua corning // April 16, 2010 at 1:35 am //

    Sure superheros from the beginning fought for a reason and had origins that explained thier inate sense of justice. Spider-man and Batman fit that bill pretty well. Superman not so much but lets not digress.


    There is another less old description of Superheroes which is the anti-hero. Out of spaghetti westerns we get wolverine and even older the hulk. These guys and million others are just as much part of the “superhero” lexicon as spider-man and batman.


    Perhaps Miller’s satire is for a different type of superhero then the one you think is the only kind.

  9. joshua corning // April 16, 2010 at 1:43 am //

    Whoa, excellent analysis. I watched the movie WANTED without ever reading the comic. At the end, I felt the exact same way. “Okay, so the message of this movie is that if you’re not an assassin you’re an idiot.” That’s pretty bizarre.

    The comic book is a bit different then the comic. In fact really differnet. basicly the comic tried to take fight club and mash it in with a pretty novel idea which is “What if the villians took over the world and killed all the heros.” It was a pretty awsome concept and when the comic focuses on that it is great…when it fills in parts with the fight club rip off not so much.


  10. It’s interesting; I haven’t read 1985, but everything else I’ve read of Millar’s has such a depressing nastiness to it.  It’s like he can’t write anything without the suggestion that, deep down, everyone is a complete shithead, and we’d all be happier if we could rape and murder whoever we want.

  11. The movie was so-so. It starts off realistically but ends up a pure fantasy. It’s just been hyped to death.

  12. Just watched Kick Ass. The missus and I loved it. It’s largely a rebuke of superheoes, but there’s some love of costumed vigilantees in here too. The violence evokes Fight Club, the dubious nature of the heroes remind me fondly of Mystery Men, and more than a dash of teen angst a la Juno. That it poops on underwear perverts while gloifying violence is perfectly fine by me.

    This review seems to hinge on the authors utter hatred for the title character, which — in spite of all the resulting text — I just can’t understand.

    @jo – There was no fantasy here, only a bloody collision between everyday thugs and people who — to one degree or other — saw comicbook heroes as possible response to the injustices of the world. A few combat scenes were stylized, but action movies frequently go farther without cries of “fantasy”.

  13. @Drax and Joshua Corning: I actually think that Superman does have exactly the kind of moral mission that Kick-Ass lacks. The difference between him and Spider-Man is that his mission isn’t based as much in “trauma” as in his very identity. I’ll be discussing this more in the forthcoming Superman project alluded to in my bio, but see, for instance, the closing monologue in Byrne’s Man of Steel. As for anti-heroes, Wolverine, the Punisher, etc. still fit Peter Coogan’s definition. I mention the “origin trauma” idea in particular simply because it’s what the comic refers to directly; there are certainly superheroes with other kinds of origins and other sources of mission. I do go too far, perhaps, in saying that Kick-Ass “isn’t a superhero,” he’s clearly supposed to be one. He’s just a badly-conceived one, and his lack of purpose, whatever its cause, is the biggest problem. 

    @J Sherer: The film of WANTED threw out the basic set-up of the comic: they weren’t vaguely-defined “assassins,” but super-villains. The character gets taken under the wing of someone who is basically a cross between the Joker and the Red Skull. So the comic gets a bit of a pass on the nihilism front, because even though it’s directly and deliberately insulting the reader, the character speaking is a supervillain, and you’re not supposed to like supervillains, precisely because they’re the kind of Nietzschean ubermensch jerks that the protagonist ends up as. By making them assassins, the movie takes you out of the superhero milieu and you lose that. 

  14. ” by the similarly nihilistic film The Dark Knight”

    I didn’t think The Dark Knight was nihilistic. It was a rejection of nihilism, actually.

  15. Mike Kugler // May 31, 2010 at 12:45 pm //

    Mr. Mckee argues that any superhero who fails to fit his definition is “badly conceived”.  I think there is room for a more nuanced and informed interpretation than this.  Superhero comics can have two origin stories; the obvious one in the narrative, and the origin of the story for the creators. It’s pretty clear that Siegel and Shuster invented Superman partly to express similar kinds of emotions expressed by the characters of Kick Ass and even Kelly and Niimura’s I Kill Giants.  They were lonely, intelligent Jewish American HS kids whose story starred an alter-ego living out their fantasized hopes for themselves.  Millar may be some kind of racist; he may even be cynical about the superhero comic genre.  But it is anything but clear that his work is simply a platform for such convictions.  Millar does something interesting in Kick Ass; he takes apart the mythology of the superhero, but not in the fashion of Dark Knight Returns or Watchmen.  He displays the brutal and cruel violence of the genre; but not the fascistic implications.  It is one thing to argue that Millar yanks our leashes with these kinds of books and then on the way to the bank cynically laughs at our stupidity.  It is something else for Millar to force us to look at the violence implied but up until fairly recently domesticated in such stories.  Millar seems more likely to be doing the latter.

  16. Manta Oyamada // November 30, 2010 at 1:29 am //

    Jonathan M: This review seems to be about the comic rather than the movie.


    The movie DOES deconstruct to a degree, but it also revels in the mythos as well.

    I.E. Kick-Ass has good intentions but bad things happen because of them, i.e. he lures Big Daddy and Hit Girl into the trap by trusting Red Mist…

    And when he tries to woo Katie with his “Kick-Ass” sneak-in, he gets a face full of pepper spray

    But in the end he gets the girl, because the filmmakers decided that the film can’t be too negative

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: