In
one of the initial scenes of "Guardians of the Galaxy," when “Ronan the Accuser”
has a badly tortured Xandarian before him, do we think the audience is in any
way identifying themselves with him? Not at all, of course. If audience
sympathy goes towards the Xandarian culture, it won’t have anything to do with
it first being represented by this guy. And when Yondu Udonta and his
collection of bullies arrives to ask another Xandarian, “the Broker” — the
elderly merchant — about the location of the infinity stone, looking very much
like they’re just going to kill him after throughly confounding and terrifying
him, is the audience in any way just wishing the bullies would leave the poor
guy alone? Again, not likely. In fact, maybe they too would be looking at this
quaking, isolated, precious and mannered man as deserving being confused with
child babble before being dispatched — Who does this pretentious bag of bones
think he is, anyway? And when “the Collector” instructs his slave assistant,
Carina, on her knees scrubbing the walls, to work harder lest she suffer her
sister’s fate — living her life despondent in a cage — does the audience in any
way hope the “Guardians of the Galaxy” will help her revenge herself against
this slaver? Again, not at all. They’re probably hoping the guardians do
nothing in their meeting with him to show they too are possessed of a bullyable side
that might have the Collector thinking they, pretenders to being street-wise bounty-hunters,
co-equals, might actually be managed into becoming specimens — and not when
deceased, as he proposes with Groot, but humiliatingly, tellingly, while
still alive.
The
film is not about bonding together to defend the weak, but about defending
oneself against feeling weak. Indeed, even Peter Quill’s obsession with
his mother’s soundtrack, with his mother — normally something that would make
an adult endlessly shamed by his friends — is ultimately about that.
The
mother in the film — the cancer victim — is a fantasy. Or perhaps more
accurately: camouflage. Boys at adolescence, the age age Peter Quill is
when his mother passes of cancer, often find themselves more or less
permanently removed from their mothers, gone off to a culture "that’ll make a
man out of them" — which basically means instructing them on how to keep a tight
lid on expressing their emotional needs; bullying, aggressively teasing those
who do express them; and showing their many scars as evidence of how much violence they’ve
“manly” been able to sustain through life. They sometimes, however, are
allowed to express their neediness — like when they’re badly sick, for example, and
get to stay at home with mom. Or if something horribly tragic happens to them —
like their mother passing of cancer, which, if it happened early enough, can
actually be tested as permitting one to obsess over her lifelong.
But
being distanced from your mother at adolescence isn’t really the source of
trying to absolve yourself of ever having your experiences as a needy person
claim conscious acknowledgement. The need, the requirement, that you not ever
be reminded that this is who you still are, comes about from associating
feeling vulnerable to becoming easy monster bait, to being viciously murdered,
which arrives pretty much at infancy. Freud of course noted how many children
were concerned with death, and decided that we must all therefore be born with
a death instinct. But his associate, Sandor Ferenczi, as well as other
psychoanalysts like Dorothy Block and Joseph Rheingold, observed that this fear
owed not to “instinct” but to the rational, the acute and accurate
assessment of the child that their caregivers actually had murderous
inclinations towards them. Mothers, still in most families the foremost
“caregivers” of children, revisit the punitive experiences they suffered as
children upon their own children. Historically, they have tended to do the like
of hallucinating their children as adult accusers — as their own parents, who
in their screams once again express disappointment and anger. They have
tended to see them as requiring bullying, threats and realizations of overt
abandonment, so that they actual fulfill what they were born for — in so many
cases, to satisfy their parents’ own unmet needs. To the infant, the absolutely
vital mother, the primary “object,” is also quickly realized as a terrorizing
titan, which s/he later learns to displace onto “monsters” to absolve
her/himself the guilt, the fear, of consciously realizing what s/he suspects
her/his mother would kill it for having an inkling of. All of this applies, by
the way, not just to children who’ve descended from one of the sadder
generational chains, but to many, many genuinely more hopeful ones, where
mothers from generation to generation were progressively given more
resources so to be able to lend more love to their children than they
themselves received … to the children
in playgrounds in more liberal parts of New York, for example.
Expected
to fulfill their parents’ — again, mostly their mother’s — needs for love, and
to serve as poison container and/or as a fetish object — the provisioning
breast, denied to them in their own childhoods — their own development was seen
as a threat, a threat met by maternal distancing and fury: to the child, by
apocalypse! This happens early, so early that the ostensibly inherent superego,
which is actually created by the child’s brain to save the child from
individuating too much and thereby find itself outside maternal favour for
life, can understandably be mistaken as something born out of genes and DNA
rather than defensively out of experience. When the child becomes an
adult, when it realizes the individuation and self-determining freedom
available as an adult, it re-experiences the terror of being abandoned as a
child for its initial attempts at individuation. It expects a revisit of all
the tortures and punishments, something warded off for awhile by pursuing the
trauma itself, initiating it or chasing it down, and thereby showing some confidence-inspiring
control (herein, an explanation for this ice bucket trend?), but which
eventually demands full capitulation and retreat. The adult finds some way to
shorn him/herself of the new freedoms and bond back to some group he fills with
injections of his mother — which is in his own mind becomes essentially her
corporeal self, a home country, a “Mutterland.” He or she experiences and
succumbs to “growth panic.”
A
hero is someone who is suffering from
growth panic. Out of retreat, he has fused with the inner Terrifying Mother
(i.e. the super-ego) that’s been installed in his brain’s right hemisphere,
home of the amygdala, our brain’s alarm system, and distances himself from past
allowances, freedoms, pleasures, that are making him/her feel terribly anxious, so to feel more pure again — forgiven. Our “guardians” in this film, we note,
are prepared to do exactly that: putting their lives at the service of “the
galaxy,” which though it means no longer being freewheeling rascals — i.e.,
individuated pursuers of their own self-determined pleasures — means having all
their sins expunged and counted by even the most selfless as those properly to
count oneself indebted to.
The
group is not infused with properties of the person the film has
delineated to serve as Peter Quill’s mother, however. That bald, ghostly white
young woman looked nearly a child herself, and probably served as a child
representation of Peter Quill at threat of infanticide — all the converging,
insistently demanding grandparents — he could later imagine saving by
hallucinating Gamora — an abandoned, farmed-out child herself — as his lost self perishing in amniotic space. Given the ethos of the film, the
mother had to have been powerful, not evaporating; and part of powerful her is
found in Glenn Close’s “Nova Prime,” the supreme leader of the Xandarians —the
part believed all-provisioning, fair, decent and good. But the rest, with all
the terrifying aspects, which at the moment are most meaningful to the child,
are out into other powerful beings.
So,
yes, “Ronan the Accuser” does at times represent this terrifying, infanticidal
mother. Especially when he’s about to crush innocent victims, like that hapless
Xandarian soldier, who’s blood will quickly be collected into some drain Ronan
is part of; especially when he represents a source from the conservative
past who is furious at all the guilty modernisms being entertained. But when he
is someone feeling furiously betrayed by the titan Thanos, when he means to
rival, strike back and humiliate him, then he represents part of ourselves we
are in urgent need to disown — the part, of course, that has solid
justification for being furious at our mothers for their treatment of us.
Otherwise Thanos, who farmed his children out to a perpetuator, who sits on a
grand maternal throne, casually expecting everyone — in order to do something
about the terrible possibility of him springing a surprise visit upon “us” — to
of course stage our coming to him; who’s visage is twice in the film
represented at a scale that dwarfs even great Ronan into an infant; serves in the
movie as the imperious “object” the Terrible Mother is mostly interjected
into.
But
Ronan possesses the hammer, the stick, used historically by mothers to beat
their children, and when he absorbs the power of the infinity stone and is
about to kill a world of Xandarian innocents, he is just the Terrible Mother
with infanticidal thoughts towards forsaken people. The exultation he
demonstrates just before he is about to annihilate all life on Xander, with his
back bent and arms outstretched in a big body laugh, is like that captured
mother representatives were made to do at periods of growth panic in Aztec
culture, where as Lloyd DeMause says, “female victims first made a prodigious
show of their female power … [before being] laid down on their backs and [having]
their breasts cut open and their bodies torn apart.” And Ronan afterwards too
is slain, by the power of the infinity stone.
The
stone, like the swords used upon subsequent victims, after first being used to
rip apart Aztec mother-representatives, is empowered by the destructive
power of the Terrifying Mother. When Peter Quill absorbs the power into
himself, he is like a Javaro, who after the maternal fusion, who after “sucking
at [his] mother’s breasts, [having taken] n/um, [having drank] n/um, [which
even though it] would [make him] cry, and cry, and cry, [and even though he] was
afraid of the n/um, [though it was] hot and [it] hurt,” experiences something
akin to a “temporal lobe epileptic seizure. [Which] like these seizures,
provides convulsive tremors and feelings of powerful violence, as the master of
[the] n/um continues his energetic dance, [and] the
n/um heats up and rises up the spine, to a point approximately at the base of
the skull, at which time !kia results, [an] explosion [which] throws [one] in
the air … bursting open, like a ripe pod,” as he “then they go[es] out to
kill anyone [he] encounters, believing [he is] superhuman.” As he beams a
climactic red glow, he becomes like the “warriors [who] became the symbolic
equivalent of menstruating women [,] [since] both bloody warriors and menstruating
women were charged with powerful destructive energy.” He is bathed in the
equivalent of “red hematite [as if he’d] expropriated the destructive power of
menstruating women [by] ritual nose bleeding or sub incision [of their
penises].”
So
the infinity stone’s power is the destructive power of the mother to murder
infants because every anthropological tribe — all insanely sacrificial and
war-prone — borrow the power of the menstruating woman so to feel superhuman
before they go off into war? Yes. The infinity stone’s power is the destructive
power of the mother because psychoanalysts who don’t just assume a death
instinct find for children everywhere “the fear of infanticide could already be
their central occupation,” “that [for them] the world ‘abounded in beasts of
terrifying mien, in cruel witches and monsters who pursued their victims with
unrelenting savagery,’” and that “the identities behind these imaginary, terrifying
figures [were] the child’s own parents”? Especially, yes. But also
because the infinity stone is twinned with another object in the film overtly
associated with maternal prowess — Jack Quill’s precious cassette tape.
Rohan
the Accuser exults when he’s in possession of the stone; arriving on Xander, he casually kicks aside vermin — the raccoon, Rocket — accosting him.
But Jack Quill, singing his mother’s favourite tunes, is still brazen enough to
approach and challenge him to a dance-off. He says he’s just distracting him,
still a marginal figure, despite the attention temporarily put to him, but
there’s a strange sense already of appropriate direct rivalry — my
power against yours, dude: the songs he’s singing were those he was listening
to when he broached the lair containing the infinity stone, where he too felt
immune to everything that’d accost him, casually kicking aside all the lizards
that approached to threaten and ostensibly devour him. It’s like with his long
possession of the cassette — a fetish object, coveted, by him at least, as
eagerly as the infinity stone throughout the movie — he’s already in possession
of an aspect of the power of the stone: the good aspect heroes are allowed to
know of the mothers they’ve fused with, one that still knows of some levity,
permitted because all freedom has been sundered to her. Jack has coveted every
song his mother wanted him to at the cost of listening to what others might
have introduced to him, at the cost of developing his own life “soundtrack”; he
has installed her as a saint he would sacrifice his own life to recover; and
for already in this sense being such a good boy before becoming an overt hero, he already feels in possession of some of mommy’s terrible power. He’s like
Bilbo, knowing the ring’s — an object primarily about mass genocide — powers of
invisibility, as well as the jokes and riddles … the good fun, associated with
his use of it, and so actually not so odd a creature to take on directly the
destructive power of a dragon, whom he could not just trick and distract but
obliterate if ever the ring took full control of him.
Peter
Quill is the right possessor of the infinity stone because he’ll use it to
destroy the split-off terrifying aspects of our mothers, while fused completely
with the good. And that it doesn’t destroy him, that he contains it for as long
as he did, is because he’d already been imbibing maternal power, through devout
loyalty, his whole life, not really because of his father’s DNA. (Question: Was
Bilbo able to handle the power of the ring for as long as he did because before
going on adventures, he’d long been someone loyal “to his mother’s doilies,”
rather than to the gallivanting about Gandalf would like rather to have seen him on?
And is this why Gandalf is more or less kept out of the crucial relationship
between the ring and Bilbo — a subtle but substantial humiliation of him —
until “LOTR”?) He’ll use it destroy the part of himself that would dare accuse
a perpetrator for Her past abuse. And he’ll use it to destroy “two” more:
legions of the vulnerable, as well as his now even-fully-mother-loyal own self.
He’ll
use it to kill the vulnerable? Yes. He is fused with his Terrifying Mother
alter, and that mother was seen by the child as fully correct to abuse him, to punish the weak, a
life-saving conclusion, as it keeps the absolutely essential primary caregiver
benign and loving. The child concludes that it must have been “his
worthlessness that made them hate and even want to destroy him. After the child
is convinced he is bad and deserving to be destroyed, every incident in his
life becomes proof of his responsibility for unhappy events: Is there a death
in the family? — he’s a murder. An accident? — he’s the secret perpetrator. His
‘badness’ causes his mother to leave him for a job … and drives his father to
absent himself on business trips … he is the subject of every quarrel and the
author of every disaster [even of] divorce.” I’ve suggested that the exact
person chosen to represent the dying mother doesn’t adequately reflect the type
of maternal influence that infuses every creation within this film world — weak
and dissipating, vs. surreally powerful and scary — but Quill’s feeling guilty
over her death for, by appearances, just showing some sanity in not letting
himself get sucked into his mother’s own extinguishment, does gets the
relationship between mother and child right. He is fundamentally a neglectful,
guilty child, and fused with his Terrifying Mother alter his task is to punish
and destroy the same.
He
and his guardians to some extent are doing this when they start obliterating
Ronan’s forces. Drax mocks them as “paper people,” and Groot takes delight in
dramatizing their weakness, in humiliating them, by thrashing columns of them
about with his two arms, and this — mocking their weakness — is what occurs
when mother-fused soldiers attack their “enemies.” Seeing them primarily
as their own “guilty,” weak childhood selves, they call them the exact names
they were called by their parents as children — Germans in World War Two, for
example, called their captives “shit babies,” and “useless eaters.” And we’ll
find in most films where “good” forces are up against the “bad,” the bad,
whatever their initial scary show, end up seeming strangely, humiliatingly,
impotent … they’ve become, rather, our own weak selves that deserved to be
destroyed and so pile up readily into accumulations of the dead while the
good lose maybe one or two for their (sometimes) several hundred. But as
initially noted, it’s not just soldiers but civilians that are being set up as
deserving death. If you’re adding vitality to the group, as John C. Reilly’s
Corpsman Dey and his glowingly healthy family are made to seem, you’re
cherished. But if you look like you might be contributing weakness, are single,
solitary, or sick, you’ll come to be hated. Bad and despicable, for the crime of weakening the glory of the maternal whole.
Killing
worlds of vulnerable people is what the infinity stone is all about, and it’s
what war is all about too. After people do the initial fusing with their
maternal alters, they enter wars which end up killing far more civilians than
soldiers. This fact is incredibly obvious today, where in Gaza all we seem to
hear about are this group of youth or that one being targeted and slaughtered.
Are we likely to see something along these lines in the sequel to this film,
where not soldiers but evident “evil” civilians and their families are
“justifiably" killed? Not guaranteed: some things our conscious minds will
not permit. No one overtly gloated over the number of civilian deaths in the
Iraq war, for example. But it’s the fact that the Iraq war ended up killing
over 300 000 people, mostly children, that enabled Americans at the time to
feel so good about it (ninety percent approval rates for Bush). At some level
we know the extent of the carnage, who exactly got killed … and when
it’s legions of civilians, we feel empowered, as the vitality of these
extinguished lives get sucked into us … sacrificed Xandarian blood, into Ronan,
and boy doesn’t it feel great!
And
finally, heroes seek to sacrifice themselves. Being shorn of freedoms and
completely fused to their mother alters, the glory of once again being good
boys and girls again still has one better: namely, being permanently fused to
her, through death. The guardians agree to try and take down Ronan, even after
acknowledging it’s sure suicide … and are in this like the Japanese leaders in
World War 2, who when “deciding whether to attack Pearl Harbor and begin their
war with the United States, [realized after several ministers gave their
assessments that] it was obvious that an attack would be suicidal for Japan.
Whereupon Tojo told those present, ‘There are times when we must have the
courage to do extraordinary things — like jumping, with eyes closed, off the
veranda of the Kiyomizu Temple!'” They are like Hitler, who too “spoke in
suicidal, not economic, imagery, promising Germans glorious death on the
battlefield and calling himself a ‘sleepwalker’ as he lead the German people
over the suicidal cliff,” to war against the whole rest of the world.
The
raccoon, Rocket, is the one who offers an alternative — “You know, we could
just make our way to the far ends of the universe and, like, enjoy our lives” —
but of course is ignored because it doesn’t satisfy their need for mommy-and-me
fusion, as they'd lie as blooded corpses on the consoling battlefield, with their
mother imagined as coming down to collect them, or shrouded in white swaddling
cloth in caskets, back permanently home with their mother's sorrow, appreciation and sympathy. And we shouldn’t expect any film about heroes to
allow the dissenter’s — i.e., someone less switched into a suicidal mental
state — opinion any weight. We do see such occasionally, though. Though Peter
Jackson doesn’t lend too much credit to Balin’s —Dwarf prince Thorin’s chief advisor’s —
insistence that there was another way, that “you don’t have to do this [— i.e.,
attempt to destroy a city-destroying dragon without any real plan as to how to
actually defeat him —] [for] you have built a new life for us in the Blue
Mountains,” there is some … Balin’s going to remain sane and good-humoured
throughout, while we know Thorin will lose his sanity. And we remember Jackson
gave enormous credit to Gandalf’s insistence to Faramir, in “Return of the
King,” that he shouldn’t “throw away [his] life so rashly” just to please his
clearly insane father, however sadly little he gave to Saruman’s intriguing
claim that Gandalf himself possessed a suspect tendency “to sacrifice those
closest to him, those he professes to love,” which, well, if we aren’t looking
at him all rose-coloured, maybe we’ll acknowledge he kinda did.
I’ve
heard many people say they found “Guardians of the Galaxy” novel. I couldn’t
relate, because the film felt like I’d entered a child’s rumpus room, a “Chucky
Cheese” full of rides, “swooshes,” and banal melodies you’ll remember your
eight-year-old self was completely lost to. Perhaps the differing experience is
explained because when people don’t get sick of but cherish
listened-to-over-and-over-again songs, it’s because what they want is the
simple, protective, and repetitive — something completely isolated from
anything adult and new that’d threaten by maybe drawing you into
considerations that’d lead to an undiscovered and independent self, as even
superhero movies like “the Avengers” — with its wild, cantankerous,
family-squabble scene, where a lot of valid opinions get thrillingly expressed
in a very compressed few moments — and “Iron Man 3” offer. What they want are
fetishes … objects barnished and handled so many times — each time deposited
with accrued power rather than depleted of interest. What they want is a film
which isn’t so much inspired by a catalog of films we’ve all loved, but which
recalls them in a sense that if they somehow appeared on scene — the originals, the actual creators and creations, on stage, suddenly, before someone merely “covering” — “you’d” shut
yourself down without complaint and just let the original role: weren’t you
just trying to summon, anyway? So this film takes you
into “Star Wars,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “Footloose” … films you’ve seen a
million, bazillion times, because like the creators you want to be back
polishing them like a genie bottle, hoping for a Great Visitation, ever
grateful for your devotion and complicity to the fully-bordered-up
infantile.
The
movie feels like it took pleasure from building itself up from a restricted
“alphabet,” well aware it was gloriously shunning a larger one available.
Watching it, you don’t take in a lot, but take pleasure in how securely it only
offers repetitive, unsurprising things … hammer on the nail (or actually, in
this film, usually over the head), over and over again. Like a politicians’
repetitive, simple-words baby talk, it probably is helping us trance into
agreeing to a future horrible societal direction, by accessing the normally
hidden, less conscious parts of our brains — the parts hypnotists play to. It
helps us anticipate a time when like autistic soldiers, we isolate ourselves
into repetitive motions, march to drums — become more overtly, “infants fearing
death." But also participating in doing something (horrible) about it — becoming guardians, to our “galaxies.”
— finis —
Ápres: all quotes from Lloyd
DeMause’s works, especially “Origins of War in Child Abuse.”
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