I'm not going to underplay it here: The Incredibles is one of my all-time favorite movies. It is a movie I feel is perfect from start to finish, equal parts giddy and contemplative, sleek and uninhibited. But I'll get to those praises later on: I want to talk first about how this movie began from a very, very good idea and what it is that makes it truly one of the greats. In the early 2000s, Brad Bird had a very, very good idea: with the capabilities of CGI animation improving exponentially, the medium could naturally be a perfect fit for the zippiness and bombast of the superhero genre. The Animated Superhero Movie was then in effect. Bird, who had not so long ago made the revered The Iron Giant, pitched the idea to Pixar, who in the early 2000s had made more truly great films than most people make in their entire lives. Planning on maintaining their hot streak, Pixar accepted Bird's pitch. With Pixar's cutting-edge technology and Bird's brilliant story, a very good idea was in effect. But could this very good idea produce a movie on par with the masterpieces Pixar had made before? (The answer is yes. Obviously.) What made the Animated Superhero Movie unique from other superhero vehicles of the past was that, instead of a team of young superheroes or one unwitting Peter Parker, this movie starred a family of superheroes captained by the fearless father. On the surface, Mr. Incredible seems to be the perfect sort of superhero to headline this sort of project— he has super strength! He can lift and throw anything! He's masculine and independent! And the coolest part of it all? He’s Dad! This idea, appealing to starry-eyed, cape-wearing kids and their parents, made way for a surefire hit (or at least some really good marketing: see Approach 1 of how Pixar marketed this movie). But because this is a Pixar movie, it subverts its own formula. Mr. Incredible might actually be one of the more unconventional superhero protagonists in cinematic history. Sure, he's got super strength, but he uses it recklessly. He's masculine and independent (his motto is "I work alone"), but he's stubborn when listening to the concerns of his family, especially those of his wife. Amidst weight gain, depression, and a soul-sucking job at an insurance company, we see Mr. Incredible trying to find purpose through vigilante crime fighting, the only activity that makes him feel any kind of purpose. It's this thirst for purpose that leads him into a twisted plot which ultimately ends up threatening his family. (The midlife crisis plot of The Incredibles was another angle for marketing Pixar used, playing it up as less of a serious mover of the story but as a goofy comic bit: yet another way Pixar played us. See Approach 2 to how Pixar marketed this movie.) This twisted plot is led by Syndrome, a former super-fan of Mr. Incredible who is now intent on surpassing him. Syndrome sees all of Mr. Incredible's flaws, and learns how to play them for his own good. He taunts Mr. Incredible by taking away his strength, by imprisoning him, by keeping him away from the only thing that really matters to him: his family (it should be noted that the scenes between Mr. Incredible and Syndrome in this imprisonment chamber are some of the most psychologically brutal scenes Pixar has offered us).
In this movie starring Super Dad, Mr. Incredible isn't even the hero. He doesn't need to save the world to give this movie a happy ending; he has to fix himself and become a super husband and father, and to do that, he has to let himself rely on his family to provide for him. When you're a member of a family, a family full of reliable people who love you dearly, your motto can never be "I work alone." Mr. Incredible has to learn this the hard way, but at least his learning it is what liberates him. When he finally learns this, he's already made near-fatal missteps for the well-being of his family; but as they move on from it, the Incredibles become stronger than they've ever been. With such a deep and introspective plot line, The Incredibles is still one of the most fun movies I've ever seen, wrapped in a stylish 1960s pop aesthetic, shaped by exhilarating action set pieces, and dictated by one of the tightest, wittiest screenplays you'll ever find for a movie targeted towards children. And when I said that "He's Dad!" was one of the film's strongest marketing tools, I still stand by its truth, but the role it plays in this movie is much different than it could have been. In Mr. Incredible's flaws and insecurities, Mr. Incredible is "Dad," but not the mythological figurehead we make him out to be as children. Mr. Incredible is "Dad," but he is Dad as a real man. We see Dad take on the struggles of protecting his family financially, personally, and even physically. We see Dad deal with some of his most personal demons. But most of all, we see Dad finding a way to temper all of this and end up saving the day. I used to see my own dad as Mr. Incredible, the superhero. Now that I'm older, I realize that there is something about recognizing the man first that makes seeing the superhero so much more incredible.
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