The Incredibles

Recently I’ve been thinking about Brad Bird’s first film for Pixar “The Incredibles.” For those unfamiliar, the film follows a family of superhumans as they try to navigate normal suburban living while hiding their abilities. Growing up I loved this movie, and as I’ve gotten older my opinions on several scenes and themes have evolved. I’ve felt a kinship with the superheroes, who are needed in times of distress but become undesirable as soon as the crises are over with.

The movie starts with Buddy, a young admirer of Mr. Incredible, following him around to help only to allow a bank-robbing mime (yes you read that correctly) to escape due to his meddling. I used to think Bob was mean for excluding Buddy from his superheroic adventures. He told him, “Go home, I work alone.” As an adult, though, I recognize Mr. Incredible did the right thing by refusing the teenager’s help. Yes, he was terse and harsh, but a bank robber setting off a bomb is not the time for niceties.  Buddy was arrogant for assuming he was special enough to intervene where an experienced crime fighter was having trouble.

That said, I dislike the fact that the movie uses Buddy’s rejection as proof of the superheroes’ arrogance and that they wanted solely to accomplish amazing feats on their own. Bob (a.k.a. Mr. Incredible) is not a perfect individual. He arrives late to his wedding because he rescued a cat caught in a tree and then rushes through the cat rescue to intervene in a different crisis. We, as an audience, come to learn that saving people is the way Bob finds purpose and meaning in his life. His life feels empty once the superhero program is shut down and the superheroes must go into hiding.

I have often felt like I’m in a constant search for meaning, purpose, and a place where my gifts are truly appreciated. My memory that holds onto useful facts is a desirable trait at work when no one can remember an extension or a certain specialist. When I make a mistake and cross a minor social norm, though, I’m eviscerated because I should’ve known better. I can relate to Bob watching a miscarriage of justice that he knows he’s able to stop but must avoid if he wants to maintain his cover. There are circumstances where I want to point out the correct solution or an answer that, to me, seems obvious. I know if I do so, though, I’m outing myself as not understanding social norms.

An image from the film that has stuck with me after all these years is that of the remains of superheroes past that Bob finds in a cave. One by one they were lured to the island with promises of money, glory, and purpose. I have been manipulated because I wanted to feel normal and wanted in the past. I feel for those superheroes that met their doom because they wanted to feel the glory of days long since passed. Instead, they ended up being used just to improve the murderous capabilities of a robotic bowling ball. Bob managed to survive such a trap, and he wound up finding new meaning in his family once he realized they could carry the secret of their superpowers. Such revelation finally heals him of the loneliness he grappled with through the course of the film. His son, Dash, was able to compete in track meets as long as he didn’t abuse his powers in an overtly obvious manner. At a championship match towards the end of the movie, Dash took second place in the city track championship. 

In my viewing of the film, I saw a metaphor for how the world as a whole is not built for people with greater differences (perhaps one could even say those with disabilities). Everyone should fit one mold; if you don’t then you’re the problem, not the mold. What if society found ways to include everyone? Even those who contribute differently than the majority of its members? Access to employment, healthcare et cetera are things that should be easier for everyone and especially for those with a disability.

Instead of allowing whiny venture capitalists like Buddy to bully their way in with their technology, the government should’ve asked the superheroes in what ways they needed support before forcing them into an unceremonious retirement. It also would’ve been advantageous if the public had accepted some kind of help from the superhero community. A compromise would’ve been ideal and it could’ve been reached easily. Policymakers should be having more conversations with those in the disabled community to see what more they can do, even if they can’t accomplish everything wanted or needed right away. Viewing people as disposable reads as inexcusable in fiction, and it’s even more so in reality.