Confessions of a Superhero
Directed by Mathew Ogens
Darkon
Directed by Andrew Noel & Luke Meyer
An outsider’s plight often involves the shield of fantasy. In Confessions of a Superhero, a lovely documentary opening this week at Pioneer, the sanctuary of pop culture obsession helps a handful of unemployed actors evade their pervasive lonesomeness. The movie, directed by Matthew Ogens as a hybrid of expressive interviews and fly-on-the-wall observations, gives context to a strange subset of men and women wandering around Hollywood Boulevard dressed as their favorite comic book characters. Their livelihood rests on charitable pedestrians willing to drop generous tips after posing with the masked performers for photographs. They’re self-made tourist traps with major identity issues.
The secret identity metaphor has never been more apt. Each character in Confessions has a detailed backstory that seems to explain their chosen street persona: Wonder Woman has relationship issues, Superman is a spacey klutz, the Hulk is a not-so-angry black man, and Batman is batshit insane. Since all of these people harbor dreams of stardom, they’re natural performers for the camera, but the details of their lives that they inadvertently reveal give the film its depth. The most intriguing of the bunch, Superman (whose real name is Christopher Denis), has a houseful of Man of Steel memorabilia and a background involving drug abuse. Many of the layers of his psychological disarray that lead him to wear tights and dream about invincibility seem readily apparent. Also, he looks a helluva lot like Christopher Reeves.
Confessions doesn’t condescend or mock its subjects because they’re such natural entertainers that no audience pandering is necessary: Superman, for example, lectures Ghostrider on his smoking addiction, insisting the character would never indulge in the habit. Batman eerily shadows tourists if they refuse to hand him a tip. Each performer inadvertently synchs up with the mythology of their chosen disguise. Occasionally, this gimmick lags, as the filmmakers operate under the presumption that anything these people do will hold our interest. Actually, the major revelation is how ordinary they appear to be once the masks come off. A sense of tragedy arises from their unwillingness to shed their shells despite being verily aware of their own timidity: Even comic book guru Stan Lee tells the camera that he “wouldn’t want to look like some idiot in a costume.” But these costumed characters aren’t idiots, just scaredy cats; they’re fighting the cold sting of reality.
An ideal companion piece to Confessions premieres on IFC November 12. Darkon, a startlingly insightful look at Baltimore natives involved in the excessive hobby of dressing up as fantasy characters of the Dungeons & Dragons variety and living out alternative lives on an imagined battlefield. The titular game is actually a brilliantly complicated social experiment that allows players to create their own characters and manipulate the fictional civilization during their regular meetings at local parks. Aping classic sword and sorcerer narratives, the teams have leaders adorned in battle armor delivering rousing speeches akin to the ones peppered throughout 300. They’re even less ironic in Darkon, as the players heartily throw themselves into this alternative reality so that none of it is fair game for mockery.
The same thematic core of Confessions is operative here: These people engage in fairy tale worship to escape the mundanity of their day-to-day routines. An overweight college student says he’s only comfortable with social interactions when in character, and one couple refuses to let their real life relationship unfold in the game world. Directors Andrew Neel and Luke Meyer play it straight with fantastic production values (the movie looks better than many blockbuster action films). Using crane shots, slo-mo and other devices, the filmmakers capture the make-believe fight sequences that form the centerpiece of the Darkon reality. But just when your impulse is to laugh at the absurd picture, the actual story grows dark. Two founders of the Darkon assembly begin a deeply contextualized feud about the implementation of power, and it quickly becomes clear that their tension exists beyond the game. Unable to work things out without slipping into character, they resolve their issues in an imagined duel. Their incessant immersion in the affair gives the drama an incredible immediacy.
Hero worship and swordplay: Distinct patterns of psychological fragility emerge in both eccentric activities. Everyone has fantasies, but these movies teach us that the boundary between escapism and authenticity is hardly objective. For further evidence, see a third documentary opening this week: Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten. What is punk rock if not a fantasy with ongoing resonance?
Directed by Mathew Ogens
Darkon
Directed by Andrew Noel & Luke Meyer
An outsider’s plight often involves the shield of fantasy. In Confessions of a Superhero, a lovely documentary opening this week at Pioneer, the sanctuary of pop culture obsession helps a handful of unemployed actors evade their pervasive lonesomeness. The movie, directed by Matthew Ogens as a hybrid of expressive interviews and fly-on-the-wall observations, gives context to a strange subset of men and women wandering around Hollywood Boulevard dressed as their favorite comic book characters. Their livelihood rests on charitable pedestrians willing to drop generous tips after posing with the masked performers for photographs. They’re self-made tourist traps with major identity issues.
The secret identity metaphor has never been more apt. Each character in Confessions has a detailed backstory that seems to explain their chosen street persona: Wonder Woman has relationship issues, Superman is a spacey klutz, the Hulk is a not-so-angry black man, and Batman is batshit insane. Since all of these people harbor dreams of stardom, they’re natural performers for the camera, but the details of their lives that they inadvertently reveal give the film its depth. The most intriguing of the bunch, Superman (whose real name is Christopher Denis), has a houseful of Man of Steel memorabilia and a background involving drug abuse. Many of the layers of his psychological disarray that lead him to wear tights and dream about invincibility seem readily apparent. Also, he looks a helluva lot like Christopher Reeves.
Confessions doesn’t condescend or mock its subjects because they’re such natural entertainers that no audience pandering is necessary: Superman, for example, lectures Ghostrider on his smoking addiction, insisting the character would never indulge in the habit. Batman eerily shadows tourists if they refuse to hand him a tip. Each performer inadvertently synchs up with the mythology of their chosen disguise. Occasionally, this gimmick lags, as the filmmakers operate under the presumption that anything these people do will hold our interest. Actually, the major revelation is how ordinary they appear to be once the masks come off. A sense of tragedy arises from their unwillingness to shed their shells despite being verily aware of their own timidity: Even comic book guru Stan Lee tells the camera that he “wouldn’t want to look like some idiot in a costume.” But these costumed characters aren’t idiots, just scaredy cats; they’re fighting the cold sting of reality.
An ideal companion piece to Confessions premieres on IFC November 12. Darkon, a startlingly insightful look at Baltimore natives involved in the excessive hobby of dressing up as fantasy characters of the Dungeons & Dragons variety and living out alternative lives on an imagined battlefield. The titular game is actually a brilliantly complicated social experiment that allows players to create their own characters and manipulate the fictional civilization during their regular meetings at local parks. Aping classic sword and sorcerer narratives, the teams have leaders adorned in battle armor delivering rousing speeches akin to the ones peppered throughout 300. They’re even less ironic in Darkon, as the players heartily throw themselves into this alternative reality so that none of it is fair game for mockery.
The same thematic core of Confessions is operative here: These people engage in fairy tale worship to escape the mundanity of their day-to-day routines. An overweight college student says he’s only comfortable with social interactions when in character, and one couple refuses to let their real life relationship unfold in the game world. Directors Andrew Neel and Luke Meyer play it straight with fantastic production values (the movie looks better than many blockbuster action films). Using crane shots, slo-mo and other devices, the filmmakers capture the make-believe fight sequences that form the centerpiece of the Darkon reality. But just when your impulse is to laugh at the absurd picture, the actual story grows dark. Two founders of the Darkon assembly begin a deeply contextualized feud about the implementation of power, and it quickly becomes clear that their tension exists beyond the game. Unable to work things out without slipping into character, they resolve their issues in an imagined duel. Their incessant immersion in the affair gives the drama an incredible immediacy.
Hero worship and swordplay: Distinct patterns of psychological fragility emerge in both eccentric activities. Everyone has fantasies, but these movies teach us that the boundary between escapism and authenticity is hardly objective. For further evidence, see a third documentary opening this week: Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten. What is punk rock if not a fantasy with ongoing resonance?
