Let’s Over-Analyze a Kids Movie
My Disappointment with Incredibles 2
Incredibles 2 finally made its way into my living room last weekend, six months after its release and fourteen years after the first Incredibles movie. The long break between the two films generated some anticipation for the sequel, but when we rented it from Redbox to watch with our three young daughters, I didn’t think I had high standards for it. I was just happy that, for once, our Saturday evening programming didn’t feature a princess.
But once I started watching, I realized I expected it to be good. I enjoyed the first movie, and trusted some of the hype for the second, so I was ready to be impressed. Instead, I was decidedly underwhelmed. So let’s dig in and over-analyze the failings of this fun family film.
My biggest complaint was the plot line written for Mr. Incredible himself. I found Mr. Incredible almost unrecognizable in the second installment of the franchise — and not just because the animation looked so oddly different, though that was quite distracting. Despite picking up from the very moment where the first movie ended, the sequel presents Mr. Incredible with an abrupt shift in character.
In the first movie, Mr. Incredible was a Super, but a vulnerable one. On Syndrome’s private island, when Mr. Incredible was chasing the villain’s runaway robot, he tweaked his aging spine and stumbled over rocky ledges. In the fight scenes on that island, every move mattered. Mr. Incredible even had to resort to trickery to win — he couldn’t defeat the robot by brute force alone. But more importantly, in the first movie, Mr. Incredible was vulnerable in his need for his family. When he told Helen that he couldn’t lose her again, that he wasn’t strong enough, he was immediately likable, relatable, and real. And in knowing and admitting his weakness, he showed himself to be deeper emotionally than physically.
(I warned you I would over-analyze.)
By contrast, in the sequel, Mr. Incredible is written as physically invincible and emotionally weak. In the opening sequence, he bounces back like rubber after being run over by an enormous drill, eliminating any suspense in the action. We no longer get the sense that individual blows register; his physical strength is infinite. Meanwhile, his emotional strength has regressed. When the Supers decide to send Elastigirl on a mission, leaving Bob at home with the kids, he objects— but not out of fear for her safety. He objects because he’s jealous. A day or two later, she saves a runaway passenger train, and Mr. Incredible is dismayed. He doesn’t even appear conflicted; he shows no relief for the saved lives or pride for his wife. He’s just bitter. The tenderness he felt for Helen on Syndrome’s island has vanished, and yet in the movie’s timeline that was just a few days ago. After all his successes and all his years undercover, why is Mr. Incredible’s ego suddenly so sensitive?
Mr. Incredible’s character arc through movie 2 is such a departure from the first movie that it feels artificial, crudely wedged into the screenplay. That makes me wonder — why force an outdated gender conflict into a modern family movie? The breadwinning husband turned Mr. Mom while his wife takes the spotlight — this hardly feels like the most relevant domestic issue to present to our children today. Maybe fifty years ago, this plot would have made audiences think, and given children some aspiration. Today, it feels retro. We’re past this. Even amidst movements like #metoo, we’ve moved beyond the point of pondering whether women should work outside the home.
As I was scratching my head over this anachronistic feud, I realized the entire movie — the entire franchise — could be set in the past. After all, the movies depict old-fashioned cars, rotary telephones, black-and-white film clips, and no Internet. So I looked it up. And you might be surprised to learn that the Incredibles world is set in precisely 1962. (A newspaper Bob reads in the first movie proves it.)
Back in 1962, fewer women had joined the workforce, and fewer men stayed at home, so that could help explain Mr. Incredible’s sentiments. But the Incredibles franchise isn’t a period piece. It picks and chooses items of nostalgia — the color-block superhero suits and knobby tv sets — while also borrowing plenty from today, like GPS tracking devices, micro-camera-equipped fabrics, and the debate over whether too much screen time is causing us to “replace true experience with simulation” in our ever-more isolated lives, as the Screenslaver villain asserts in her voice-over. I wasn’t alive in 1962, but I seriously doubt this was a relevant social debate at the time.
You know what else they didn’t have in 1962? Screensavers.
The movie claims to be set in the 60’s, but at best it’s ambiguous, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Mixing modern themes and futuristic technology with visual nostalgia creates an intriguing, immersive setting, reminding me of Gattaca, one of my favorite movies. But why retain the sexism? Why saddle Mr. Incredible with petty jealousy over his wife’s success? The movie isn’t historical, so this storyline just makes him seem immature.
Bob Parr wasn’t the only character in Incredibles 2 whose motivations didn’t make sense to me. Yes, I do appreciate that this is a kids movie, despite evidence to the contrary in the form of the mounting word count of this essay, but the Screenslaver villain was full of holes. For starters, did I miss something or did the freezer dome contraption she built to trap Elastigirl exist for the sole purpose of monologuing? I mean, let’s break it down — does Evelyn expect Elastigirl to voluntarily strap herself in and wait for the thermostat to drop? Because if not, then the only way Elastigirl ends up in that chair is if she’s already wearing the mind-control goggles. Which reminds me, why didn’t Elastigirl simply close her eyes at that point, to avoid further exposure to toxic hypnosis? Earlier in the movie, she survived an entire fight sequence with her eyes closed for that exact reason. And don’t get me started on the lazy writing involved with miraculously hypnotic mind-control screens in the first place.
Okay, so fine, there are a few plot holes. Let’s leave those behind and look at the bigger picture, at the fundamental question addressed by the movie: do the Supers do more good than harm? Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, Frozone, and Winston think so, but Evelyn disagrees — she thinks superheroes make people dependent and disengaged.
Especially in the context of a kids movie, this question should be easy to answer in the affirmative — yes, it’s better to fight crime than tolerate it. Yes, we should be good Samaritans, and not assume that victims have purchased adequate insurance policies with low deductibles. Yes, good should oppose evil.
Yet the bad guys in both movies — Syndrome in the first and Screenslaver in the second — are created by the Supers themselves. If all the Supers do is chase the villains they inspire, then did they really make the world a better place? The movies actually manage to leave their own basic question unanswered.
Frozone’s snow drift at the end was great, and baby Jack Jack was phenomenal, but for me these were the only bright spots in the second movie. The rest of the film was angry and tense, with family members shouting and angsty, a dark villain speaking through a masked voice, and weaponized screens turning parents against their own children. Overall, I found the movie inappropriate for young kids.
In the end, justice is not even served, as Violet’s character laments that Evelyn will get off easy, since she’s rich. Immediately following this depressing commentary on our criminal justice system, the movie cuts to a judge ruling in favor of the Supers, dispensing justice from his bench. So are we to trust in our judges, or not? Is it 1962, or 2018? Are we sampling the best parts of these two time periods, or the worst?
Incredibles 2 totally misses the sweet moments of the first movie, like Helen’s advice to Violet (“You have more power than you realize”) or Bob’s plea to Helen (“I can’t lose you again…. I’m not strong enough.”). Let’s hope the next fourteen years produce a better script.
