Every summer we are inundated with a wide variety of new blockbuster films; superhero, action, heist, family, drama, comedy, romance, and the inevitable criticism arises, “such and such film is just a remake, just a knock-off of this or that good film from the past.” And in some ways, this criticism is fair; if one looks at the early summer lineup for this year, there are four different superhero sequel films, a fifth Jurassic Park film, and a reboot of the “Ocean’s 11” franchise. But when one also considers the storytelling quality of a number of these reboots, sequels, and retellings, it calls into question the value of originality and highlights the derivative nature of all fiction. In this post, I want to look at a couple of the films that have premiered over the summer, and talk about story-telling as an art form, and why ultimately, fiction should not be evaluated purely on the basis or “originality.” Unlike many of my film reviews, this analysis is dependent on a viewing of the films, and contains spoilers, so please go see these films before reading further.
Infinity War
One of the first films of the summer season was “Avengers: Infinity War.” As the 20(ish) film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and the third “Avengers” film, the characters, situations, and even much of the story was determined by the previous installments in the series. This did not, however, lessen the emotional impact of the losses experienced by those characters as the anticipated events played out, nor does the reality of a number of planned sequels diminish the sacrifices experienced by the characters in the story. The hardest deaths in the story are those of characters that we know are coming back because we see and experience those losses through the emotions of the characters left behind. Thus, even though the deaths are “meaningless” in the grand scope of the universe, they are given meaning by the immediacy of the grief experienced by the survivors. The look on Captain America’s face when Bucky vanishes, the anguish of Thor as he talks about the loss of his mother, father, and (possibly) his brother, the fear in Rocket Raccoon when he comments “I have a lot to lose,” and the devastation in Tony Stark as Peter Parker gasps, “I don’t want to go” before disappearing in his arms are all wrenching because we know these characters. In this case, the derivative and cyclical nature of MCU superhero films has allowed the audience to develop a relationship of sorts with the characters that allows for greater empathy with them, which heightens the emotional impact of the story.
Deadpool 2
The Deadpool movies both thrived off of their derivative nature. The role of satire is to copy and exaggerate the tropes of a particular genre to make them humorous, and Deadpool does this like nobody else. Because the character is aware that he is a “comic book character,” he is able to comment on the ongoing action of the film and point out its conformity with the genre while simultaneously undercutting its tropes. “Deadpool 2” does this by deliberately paralleling “Logan,” the previous year’s hit X-Men film, by modeling the (dysfunctional) relationship between the older, jaded hero and a younger individual in need of mentoring and training, by emphasizing the “family” element in an R rated celebration of gore and language, and having the hero sacrifice himself to secure the future of the new generation of heroes. Because “Deadpool 2” isn’t “original” it is able to comment on the absurdity of marketing “family” in films designed to alienate the family market. It also more widely mocks the superhero genre, with post credit scenes that emphasize the ephemeral nature of death in superhero films, and their tendency to rely on a Macguffin deus ex machina to “fix” everything so there are no permanent consequences of the film’s action, thus maintaining the status quo of the heroic universe. “Deadpool 2” shows the creative power of derivative fiction to deconstruct classic narratives and ways in which a non-original work can thoughtfully entertain.
Ocean’s 8
Outside of the superhero genre, there is a growing category of non-original films which includes remakes, revivals, and re-interpretations of fan favorites. One such film this summer is “Ocean’s 8,” an all female reinterpretation of fan favorite heist movie “Ocean’s 11.” Following Diane Ocean (Danny Ocean’s sister) as she enlists the help of seven other women to pull off a dramatic heist, “Ocean’s 8” follows the classic heist pattern beat for beat, showing the planning and execution of “the job” before revealing the big twist at the end. The charm of the film lies in the interaction between the quirky members of the team, the thought and preparation that go into the job, and the dramatic reveal which neatly brings together the disparate elements that were sprinkled throughout the film. “Ocean’s 8,” is not original; the job they pull has been done before (if you watched the T.V. show “Leverage,” you will definitely see the final twist coming), however, knowing the twist is coming does not make the film any less enjoyable, the characters any less interesting, or the execution of the plan any less enjoyable.
Fan Fiction
All these derivative works got me thinking about fan fiction, and the role of non-originality in fiction. It is tempting within an academic context to glorify originality as the defining feature in “good” fiction. One sees this with such critical responses as “This highly original masterpiece,” or “in this groundbreaking work,” where “good” is linked to “new” or “different.” Human beings do not exist in a vacuum, however, and a closer examination of even the most groundbreaking work reveals its derivative nature. Yes, genres evolve, style changes, and storytelling morphs with the introduction of new techniques and tropes, however, ultimately, all fiction is fan fiction because human beings are not inspired to tell stories without first having been exposed to stories themselves.
To provide a case study example: I recently began reading a book series called “The Invisible Library.” Upon reading the the story blurb on the back of the book, I was immediately reminded of a T.V. show called “The Librarians,” which has aired on TNT over the last five years. Both feature an inter-dimensional library, with librarians who who use magic and science to collect dangerous artifacts (and books), utilizing an fantasy adventure format. While “The Invisible Library” adapts a large number of fantasy tropes, including the incorporation of the Faerie realm, dragons, and multidimensional travel, its roots in the the show seem very evident. But “The Librarians,” T.V. show is itself derivative, as it is an extended sequel to a series of T.V. movies made in the early 2000s. This movies are themselves derivative from the Indiana Jones films (I often joke that “The Librarian” is Indiana Jones if he was actually an academic). “Indiana Jones,” in turn, is inspired by a number of classic silver age action adventure films, which in turn are derivative of the adventure genre of literature pioneered by H. Rider Haggard in such stories as “She” and “King Solomon’s Mines.” Stories do not exist in a vacuum. They are the constant retelling and regeneration of old stories in different contexts, or with a different style. If one pauses to consider the influences of other literature, it is often easy to trace the influential stories that have merged and collected to become a “new” work of fiction.
So what then is the role of the “original” and of derivation in fiction? Where does one draw the line between copying a story and “regenerating” it into a new work? What is the relationship between “good” fiction and the way in which it incorporates the new and old?
First, originality must always be seen as a tool, not a goal. The purpose of the “new” should be to provide a different perspective on the old. Thus, when James Joyce retells the story of “The Odyssey” in “Ulysses” he used a new stylistic method (stream of consciousness) to create a different insight into the minds and actions of the characters than had previously been seem. Similarly, “House of Leaves,” uses a deconstructive style to transform a traditional horror story into a philosophical examination of the futility of existence and the postmodern battle between nihilism and existentialism. In both these cases, originality of style serves to transform a derivative work into a work that thoughtfully provokes new insights from a more traditional story.
Works that utilize an “original” style tend to receive great critical acclaim, however, it is very difficult to conceive of and utilize an entirely knew style of writing. Most writers will never be able to create a groundbreaking new method of writing fiction. How can these writers, who are eternally consigned to be derivative in the style of their writing still create compelling, “good” fiction? If one cannot be original, one must strive to be regenerative. By taking old stories and altering fundamental elements, by mixing and recombining the best parts of old stories, a storyteller can create a compelling tale that is entertaining, thought provoking, or heart-wrenching in its own right. The films I mentioned at the beginning of this post do just that. “Infinity War” builds an emotional rapport with the audience and then capitalizes on that investment to provoke an empathetic response to its characters. “Deadpool” utilizes a radical style in order to provoke a thoughtful response to the overused tropes of a genre. “Ocean’s 8” re-conceives the tropes of a its genre by flipping the gender of the protagonists and allowing the story to play out differently according to the new qualities of its characters. Each film achieves its goals in entertaining and in telling an interesting or compelling story, despite, or perhaps because of their derivative nature.
Ultimately, creating fiction is re-mixing the stories, styles, elements, and (sometimes) characters of other stories in such a way that new elements can be discovered in the old story or new facets of the story can come to light. All fiction may be fan fiction, but good fan fiction is all about taking a known story and giving the reader more: more to think about, more to feel, more to details; more experience. Because that is what story is; story is about vicariously engaging in experiences, either an experience that we have had before and want to have again, or a new experience that transforms our world in some small way.
Well, back to reality!
