A typical feature of the many (recent) blockbuster superhero movies is the concept they all share; they are not simply a continuation or reinterpretation of stories from comic books published decades ago.
But there is more than meets the eye, according to author Ezra Claverie, a writer who for some years has published in Journal of Popular Culture and Journal of American Culture.
As in terms of production, scripts, selection of authors, artists, or actor casting, naturally the comic book publishers have the say. They decide about the plot, the nature of the superhero’s antagonists and most of all how this villain’s plan, should he succeed, – which would bring terror, death, destruction and loss of unprecedented kind – would endanger the entire planet, if not the galaxy.
Unless, of course, the superhero stops him in time, single-handedly or with support from other sources, even the military, not to mention the film’s audiences. As the studios, operated by the publishers’ special production branches, must make clear that they – the publishers and the superheroes on the screen – have every right and the duty to stop the villains or the super villain/super vigilante.
Who is usually a character about to steal or somehow recreate and copy one or more superpowers of the hero, to use them himself or make them available to others, which would terminate the unique role of the original superhero. However, this simplified concept has yet another, even more sinister nature. If we follow Ezra Claverie’s reading of the films, they may stand for another conflict, equal in meaning and size.
“This book argues that the mode of production at America’s two major comic book publishers, DC and Marvel, has shaped the narratives of the superhero films that came to dominate Hollywood’s blockbuster production in the first two decades of the twenty-first century.”
It is his point to uncover this method in the duopoly’s (DC and Marvel) production modes: as the symbolic battle (or alternate battlefield) of the comic book publishers to maintain their absolute power over the works and copyright of all art produced by comic book writers and artists.
“Duopoly superheroes avert apocalypses, but I want to draw attention to the nature of these apocalypses as unintended allegories of the duopoly’s mode of production.” Both publishers today are part of much bigger industry conglomerates: DC belongs to Warner Bros. Discovery Inc., while Marvel Entertainment since 2009 is the property of the Walt Disney Company. With that perspective, the epic fights on cinema screens for Claverie easily can be identified as “battles” of the publishers (the good guys) fighting the comic book artists (the bad guys) and their proper claim of a share of the gross earnings their own creations generate in film. As we can expect, every single story, dialogue and characterization of superheros and antagonists will be very carefully examined by the duopoly before it can become part of the film, to make sure their claims appear altogether “just” and “right.” In hardly any superhero movie does somebody forget to mention that this or that weapon, idea, power source, machine or superpower “must not fall into the wrong hands.”
This most problematic relationship of publisher/intellectual property inventor developed in the 1930s. An “exchange” – intellectual property, i.e. superheroes and their adventures changed hands over very small sums of money for the artists – of that kind was the standard back then, when most comic book artists were paid by panel or page. Only to see their work and copyright being taken away from them, often forever. Then “… the dominant American comics publishers have treated the creations of artists and writers as work for hire, such that stories and characters become company property.” Claverie in the recent blockbusters experiences a very visible “… attempt to break the superhero’s monopoly on their powers as the scheme of terrorists, mad scientists, or space Nazis — assuaging studio anxieties and revealing the fears of those who benefit most from the real-world ownership of superheroes.”
The altogether five chapters enlarge on such ownership issues by citing several blockbusters and their plots. The first one identifies the duopoly’s movies historically, in terms of business practices, film rights and the (ongoing) struggle to exclude artists and creators from participation; this covers the Motion Pictures Association of America’s anti-copying and pro-copyright campaigns.
Chapter Two voices a different reading of Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy; and the hidden references to old-school vigilante Zorro. Wonder Woman and Captain America are the subjects of the next part, mainly their distinct nature and resurrection. Chapter four deals with aging superheroes and different father figures. In addition, the care of elders becomes a topic in Ant-Man, Logan, Hulk, and other titles. Again, this was not an accident, as the studios adopted to movie audiences that had moved on to be parents and become the older generation; however, the studios did so not without adding bits of nostalgia here and there, to keep everybody in theaters happy. The last part is devoted to Blade and Black Panther, two very different black superheroes and movies that are separated by twenty years and featured a DC comics and Marvel superhero respectively.
Even though Claverie here concentrates on roughly the last 20 years of superhero movies, starting in 1998 when Blade hit the cinemas and ending with the films Avengers: Infinity War and Black Panther in 2018, he does a very thorough job. Actually, it is unlikely that another author with such industry insight has ever unfolded the many problematic copyright or copyright claims issues of the blockbuster superhero movie before as most titles on the subject may touch on modes of production here and there, but usually, those titles concentrate on popcultural and philosophical questions.
In a nutshell, this title is unusual, as the allegorical approach of comparing fights of “just” versus “unjust” motivations to straightforward “criminal” behavior of individuals or entire groups of villains (or comic book artists) makes a lot of sense, once you learn the historical background (or in the movies: the respective legend.) “For decades, creators have challenged this regime, demanding either shares of profits or outright ownership of their creations. Now that the duopoly rents, licenses, and adapts superheroes for increasingly expensive franchises, and for growing international audiences, any challenge to intellectual property relations threatens a production regime worth billions of dollars.” Readers may not always agree with his line of thought, as quite a few reflections are heavily influenced by leftist theory and seemingly require a different and altogether peaceful reality to work; in some comic books, this may work.
The author in a very entertaining way shows how many financial, legal and labor arrangements were necessary to make use of intellectual property of the comic book artists that became such a huge and profitable enterprise for the two big players today. And that this same intellectual property still is at the center of video games, movies, comic books (new and reissued), theme parks, and all kinds of merchandise almost worldwide. Copyright Vigilantes is an unusual title, and even though it may cool your anticipation of watching the next superhero blockbuster – now that you know who will not profit from it – it is worth reading. As Claverie’s thoughts on copyright, artist participation and missed paydays are well equipped to sit on your shelf next to other titles on DC and Marvel superheros.
Review by Dr. A. Ebert © 2024
Ezra Claverie. Copyright Vigilantes: Intellectual Property and the Hollywood Superhero. University of Mississippi Press, 2024, 258 p.
