Every few years or so, a comic, movie or TV show poses the question, “What if superheroes really existed?” It’s a brilliant starting point for any direction you want to take the idea in, not just because the conventions of superhero stories are so ripe for parody, but by thinking out how our existing governments & institutions might behave in a world with one big difference from ours an be an extremely effective way to criticise the way those institutions are behaving in the here and now.
The Boys is the latest show to have a go at this trope and while the idea may be familiar the execution is striking. On the one hand, The Boys is an expert deconstruction of superhero stories, with an appropriately winterish view of institutional power, be it corporate, governmental, religious, or caped. On the other hand, it’s an adaptation of a comic book series that launched in 2006 and is to an extent dated.
The most obvious thing that’s changed between the first issue of The Boys and its television debut is that superheroes have taken over pop culture. It’s hard to remember the before times now, but the Kiss Kiss Bang Bang influenced Iron Man didn’t kick off the Marvel Cinematic Universe until 2008, with the DC Extended Universe not arriving for five years after that. Ennis and Robertson assumed that superheroes would be monetized the second they appeared, but working in the heyday of Blackwater, the natural business model was defense contractors, not movie studios. The first shot is a Marvelesque sequence in which thousands of comic panels dissolve into the logo for the fictional Vought Studios, and the second is a bus advert for a superhero movie. As Madelyn Stillwell, a villainous executive played by Elisabeth Shue, says at a Vought shareholders meeting, it’s a good time to be in the superhero business. And the show’s professional sports-flavored vision of that business assigning crime fighters to cities in exchange for concessions from local governments that is more satisfying and more vicious than in the original Marvel Civil War storyline.
The show’s increased proximity to the entertainment industry lets Amazon’s version of The Boys address the #MeToo movement. In the pilot episode, Annie January (Erin Moriarty), an innocent kid from Des Moines, Iowa, who can shoot beams of blinding light from her hands, gets the full star treatment: She successfully auditions to join Vought’s premier superhero team; she finally pleases her stage mother (Ann Cusack); she gets flown to Manhattan and driven around in a limo; she gets a dedicated handler (Colby Minifie, oozing resentment); she’s promised television appearances, movies, merchandising, and astonishing amounts of money; she gets to meet her delightfully named childhood heroes - a Superman type called Homelander (Antony Starr), a Flash type called A-Train (Jessie T. Usher), a Wonder Woman type called Queen Maeve (Dominique McElligott). Then out of left field she gets blackmailed into performing oral sex on an Aquaman type called the Deep (Chace Crawford). In one of the show’s better throwaway jokes, she pukes afterward in one of Vought’s unisex bathrooms: It’s a proudly progressive company, except for all the sexual assault. That plotline exists in the comics, but it doesn’t cause much trouble between Annie and her employer. Instead, it’s mostly a device to cause tension between Annie and her victim-blaming love interest (played by Jack Quaid on the show). Employees have a few more cards to play now, and the show smartly incorporates that reality.
But when Annie starts playing those cards, the seams created by refitting a 2006 series for 2019 really start to show. Annie is an evangelical Christian, and she chooses to break her silence about being assaulted onstage at the “Believe Expo,” a youth revival where superheroes cheerfully explain that their superpowers mean they were chosen by God. The mood is extremely Bush-era, faith and imperialism and homophobia balled up into a soft-rock, white jeans nightmare. The endless sense of grievance that mysteriously appeared in much white evangelical discourse after 04/11/08 isn’t present. Even same sex marriage - something evangelicals have mostly abandoned fighting - seems like an open issue, judging from the merchandise booth. But the most striking thing is the way Vought endlessly defers to white evangelicals - keeping gay superheroes in the closet, making sure another superhero doesn’t admit she’s had premarital sex, letting one of their stars advocate “praying away the gay” - in a way secular media hasn’t really done since they discovered there was more profit to be made in inclusivity than bigotry.
Which brings us to the biggest challenge in adapting The Boys for television in 2019, one that Amazon’s show never quite overcomes: adjusting for the election wins of Boris Johnson and Donald Trump. There’s a scene in the very first issue of the comic book that illustrates the problem pretty clearly: The director of the CIA, played by Jennifer Esposito on the show, says, with a completely straight face, “The President is a man of total moral integrity.” That statement is no longer operative, to put it mildly, and it’s not just because the living embodiment of gammon is living in the White House. George W. Bush and Maggie Thatcher were not moral paragons but their supporters kept up appearances in a way that now seems quaint and has been proven to be unnecessary. In the comic books it’s the president who’s a ruthless Halliburton stooge and the vice president who’s a moron, but everyone operates under the assumption that if the president’s corruption or the vice president’s stupidity were publicly exposed, it would hurt them. The public simply wouldn’t stand for it.
But the current Premiers Boris Johnson and Donald Trump are the complete package; corruption and stupidity, with racism, misogyny thrown in as a bonus - and he’s headed toward his fourth year in office with a strong chance of at least four more. The main plot of The Boys, like every conspiracy thriller, superhero or no, is built around the idea that someone, somewhere would care if the conspiracy were exposed. Even the show’s subplots - closeted superheroes, performance-enhancing drugs, what really happened aboard a hijacked plane - depend on the idea that if the truth were known, something would happen. But nothing will happen. There’s one superpower that beats heat vision, superstrength, invisibility, and even the ability to communicate with fish: complete and utter shamelessness. Still, if you’d like to spend some time in a world where supervillainy can sometimes be countered by superheroism, you could do a lot worse than The Boys.
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