Why You Should Hate Marvel

by Mats Meeurs

I was recently in a toy store to buy a birthday gift for my cousin. While I was looking for the Playmobil section, I noticed a large red spot in the corner of my eye: it was a man in a Spiderman sweatshirt who was stuffing Marvel-themed Funko Pops into his shopping cart.

I never really understood how normal people become Marvel fans. I know a few real aficionados, but I always figured that the algorithm had predestined them to that particular rabbit hole by sheer chance, like how some people end up with K-Pop, astrology or fascism. I’ve since changed my mind: Marvel seems to be a different beast, afflicting young and old alike; a brain-worm uniquely capable of nestling itself into susceptible minds. So how does it happen?

The creative process behind a Marvel movie is quite similar to that behind a new Doritos flavor. Every plot twist has to be focus grouped, every toymaker involved must be consulted, and if the story deals with the military, the Department of Defense will probably have to sign off on the script. Character deaths are weighed shrewdly, not as creative decisions, but as financial risks: will little Timmy still want to buy the Lego Infinity Gauntlet set if Throgororak kills Captain Beefball in the The Avengers III: Super Blood Deathmatch? It is potentially a million dollar question, analyzed by the brightest minds in the business.

Marvel’s extreme success is indicative of a deeper trend in the film industry. Stu- dios have been clobbered by the rise of streaming; they’re no longer just competing among themselves to sell movie tickets; they have to compete with services that can beam unlimited ad-free, mid-tier entertainment directly to users’ TV’s.

Studios know that we’re going to the movies less, and they’ve had to adapt. Eyeballs are never guaranteed, so every new movie has to make a splash, to be an event for which consumers will be willing to pry themselves from their couches; ergo, the marketing budget must be enormous.

One of the few safe bets is the classic Marvel formula: roided-out, recognizable orangutans in neon suits beating each other senseless, animated with a couple million dollars of special effects. These films scratch the itch for entertainment while being truly interesting to no one. You can expect a crossover, a few product placements, some new, expendable characters (complete with limited-edition Funko Pops), a large and expensive fight scene from which the cookie-cutter protagonist emerges victorious, and a sappy resolution with a message that might as well have been lifted straight from My Little Pony.

I am, of course, exaggerating slightly. Liking bad movies is okay. But what does genuinely irk me about Marvel is how its goons respond to criticism. When Martin Scorsese, the director of Taxi Driver and Goodfellas, said in an interview that he didn’t consider Marvel films to be cinema, an internet mob instantly materialized that accused Scorsese of name-dropping Marvel out of cynical self-promotion. They said that he was irrelevant, that he was old-fashioned, and worst of all: that he hated Marvel because it was popular; because it made real movies enjoyed by real people.

The reason this kind of thinking is moronic is simple: it is predicated on the belief that Marvel’s popularity is somehow democratic. The exact opposite is the case. Marvel movies aren’t popular because they have a bold creative vision “the people” decided they liked; they’re popular because they’re written by a committee of psychologists who are experts at dishing out the formulaic slop they know their audience will eat up.

I love lowbrow entertainment. I’m the proud owner of a bound copy of the first fifteen years of Batman comics. But what makes Marvel so awful is how aggressively top-down it is. Marvel movies might credit writers and directors, but in reality they’re conceived by a faceless corporate blob of advertisers, focus group directors and creative consultants. That’s the thing about being a Marvel fan: knowing that every single scene is either trying to sell you something or pulling your primal levers. Being drowned in product placement, and not only tolerating, but relishing it.