Incredibles 2 (2018)

These are tough times for people who care about truth and justice. Unrelenting bad news is taking a toll on us.

I think we can assume that some of the writers at work on superhero movies — perhaps most of them — share our concerns. Can't you sense it in the storylines of recent franchise movies? DC films have a reputation for being dark and grim, but recent Marvel movies—which are more inclined towards wit and whimsy—are taking a harder turn. Villains are becoming more dangerously persuasive, even sympathetic, in their justifications of violence (Black Panther's Killmonger, for example). Heroes are finding that things are just too complicated for clean solutions of KAPOW! ZAP! and BANG! In fact, superheroes seem increasingly willing to compromise citizens' privacy, to consider the benefits of cultural isolationism, to let dissension fester in their own ranks.

What's more — heroes are losing and dying at alarming rates as supervillains gain more power and find their weaknesses. (See Avengers: Infinity War).

It's as if artists and audiences alike are finding the very idea of the American hero — or any hero at all — difficult to believe in anymore. How many superheroes have served as symbols of our dreams of "liberty and justice for all"? What happens if nationalists and white supremacists persuade the public that these values are nothing more than a "Deep State" conspiracy?

In view of this, I've been both excited about and anxious about the long-awaited return of the Incredibles.

Sorry, Spider-man. Deal with it, Batman. The Incredibles are my favorite superheroes.

Bob, Helen, Violet, Dash — they made it clear in 2004's The Incredibles, Pixar's first and (until now) only superhero movie, that they fight for truth, justice, liberty, and excellence. And they do so as a family, caring for one another and learning from each other. Brad Bird's blockbuster Pixar movie, which I first reviewed for Christianity Today on its opening day, remains the most enjoyably satisfying superhero film I've ever seen. I stand by what I wrote back then:

As a comedy, a family film, a social commentary, a superhero movie, and as an animated feature, this movie excels. Just as Mr. Incredible and his nuclear family prove they're equipped to save the world from evil, the "dream team" of Brad Bird, the brain behind the overlooked masterpiece called The Iron Giant, and John Lasseter, director of both Toy Story movies, looks poised to defend family entertainment against mediocrity through what we can only hope will be a long-running franchise. The joy they find in working together is obvious, and it brings radiance and vitality to every frame of this film.

I did not, however, highlight then what I've come to appreciate as one of the film's greatest strengths: The artists are as invested in the little, everyday, human moments between characters as they are in the big ones, making the Parrs fundamentally engaging as humans rather than just as superfreaks.

That the animators placed this family in a context so ebulliently retro saves The Incredibles from seeming like a frantic attempt to be "timely and relevant." In matters of design, music, and even gender politics, the movie recalls 1950s America. But it isn't the 1950s: It's a style, an ethos, a mode — an Edna Mode, to be exact. It's a wonderland that works, like the New York of Mark Helprin's Winter's Tale, by being every big American city at every stage of its history... all at once. The Incredibles established that these characters can do something better than directly comment on our breaking-news realities the way Spider-man: Homecoming, Black Panther, and Avengers have recently done. They exist in a kind of timeless, imaginary America, reminding us of the ideals that have brought out the best in Americans, making us us laugh about the narrow definitions we've outgrown, and inspiring us to long for and salvage the ideals we are losing (like the freedom of lives untethered from screens, for example).

As a result, our interpretations of what the Incredibles' adventures might mean can be a little more... elastic.

And, yes, if I had to pick a favorite Incredible, I'd choose Helen Parr—aka "Elastigirl."

I'm weary of macho superheroes, their rivalries, their burdens, and their furrowed brows. I'm weary of the women of various superhero franchises who seem required to be superheroes and supermodels... while audiences wonder which superman they'll end up loving.

Elastigirl's strengths lie in her versatility: she's a superhero wrestling the challenges of crime-fighting, a wife wrestling the challenges of marriage, a mother wrestling the challenges of parenthood. She's the most spectacularly realized superhero I've seen, not just in her character and personality but in the ways in which her powers are portrayed by visual artists. Her action scenes are more inventive and surprising than any other comic-book hero's onscreen exploits.

What's more: She makes the best use of Holly Hunter's voice since Raising Arizona.

So, yes — since Incredibles 2 gives Elastigirl more attention than any other character, I love it. It's all kinds of fun to watch writer/director Brad Bird turn Helen Parr loose on a solo adventure for almost half of the movie, during which she demonstrates the full, flexible range of her superpowers. Her Stretch-Armstrong pliability brings out the best in Bird, who routinely elevates action-comedy sequences in ways that seem, well, superhuman.

And within its first hour, Incredibles 2 delivers the most glorious big-screen action we've seen in years.