The Avengers

Much as I love the superhero genre, I almost never like films about superheroes.

No matter how terrific they start out, the third act degenerates into two people diving away from a giant green explosion, and bloated speeches that make me feel sorry for a talented and honorable actor. It becomes clear that at some point the director or screenwriter or studio has lost their faith in the material, and started copying out of the Robert McKee/Joseph Campbell textbook. (The exceptions being, a) “The Incredibles,” which actually knew what story it was telling; b) “Iron Man,” which kept track of its light tone and knew enough to keep its camera aimed at the raw genius of Robert Downey, Jr. c) the movie that I am one day destined to make).

But now we’re going to have an Avengers movie, and that is a make-or-break moment for superheroes on film. It’s being brought on by nothing but commercial logic but make no mistake, it matters. The Avengers are different. Why? Because this is the movie that launches the Marvel Universe as a shared continuity and a communal cosmic drama. As Balzac had his post-Napoleonic Paris, this is Stan Lee’s “La Comedie Humaine.” The Avengers means we are no longer just monetizing latent Marvel IP, it creates a place. Iron Man lives there; Spider-Man lives there; the X-Men live there. Somewhere, Hercules and Moon Knight and MODOK live there.

Frankly the Avengers only exist as a team to make the Marvel Universe a shared place, which is why I love them. Heaven knows they don’t have any other memorable reason for hanging out together (although yes, I know there is one). They don’t share an origin or a purpose or a costume design or even a stable membership roster. But they anchor the world where The Hulk and the Thing can fight on some made-up pretext, because we all know they should. Hulk vs Thing, that’s how high the stakes are.

The Avengers are one of the hardest teams to build a movie around. Maybe you can shoot a bright, comic, gadget-porn adventure film with Iron Man and get the feel right and make it work. Maybe (and it’s not proven) you can shoot a mythological-epic Thor film and make it work, and a Captain America movie, and an Ant-Man. But what happens when they all step into the same frame? What kind of film are you shooting then? How do you light it? Who’s going to believe in it? Who is going to make sense of that tonal conundrum, and forge those disparate alloys into a single unbreakable metal, Marvel-style?

The proposed answer is writer-director Joss Whedon. And although the history of auteur directors and beloved franchises knows both triumph (James Cameron’s “Aliens”) and debacle (Ang Lee’s “Hulk”) there are very good reasons why he should get the job.

Since, provably, no two people share the same Whedon, I will explain who mine is. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” was an ensemble show with vampires, vampire slayers, and ultimately, demons, cyborgs, wizards, ghosts - an inclusive world. It was sprawling and messy and you can hear him working his style out as he goes; it also includes the most wrenching and emotionally bare work he has ever done, proof positive that you can write the human and the supernatural and that they’re the same thing.

Then there was the Buffy-addendum “Angel,” and the space rogues of “Firefly” and “Serenity,” none of which I understood. The self-conscious archness that sounded plausibly like a high school clique’s idiolect felt unnatural and just false in the mouths of supposed grown-ups. It sounded cute, it sounded like a fan culture too in love with a signature style and certain character quirks.

“Firefly” also introduced the odd thematic obsession around prostitution and rescue that took over and imploded in the near-future science fiction show “Dollhouse,” about a brainwashing technology that gives rise to high-tech brothels, and (much more entertainingly) Armageddon. There was something confused and unprocessed there - I felt I was watching an artist working with material he wasn’t yet in control of.

But there is a central truth about superhero films, that Whedon obviously gets. It’s not about banter or bigger explosions or CGI or moral clarity. Superheroes aren’t better or purer than other people, they are interesting because they’re f—ed up. Maybe it’s your body or your mind or your family situation- it’s probably all three. You get to a certain moment and your body starts doing amazing, terrifying things. To the point where your can fly or turn invisible or are unreasonably good at violent behavior. You’re not exactly normal; but it’s not exactly a normal world is it?

The true potential of the superhero film is seldom seen - a chance to bring a depth and detail an actor creates, to a very strange and compelling character. Most of the time it’s the opposite - they decide the word “superhero” means flattening and simplifying the story and personality to the point of deadness (in this matter Zak Penn has much to answer for - the second “Hulk” film, “X-Men 2″ and 3, “Elektra” - although his seldom-seen “Incident at Loch Ness” is evidence of talent).

The Avengers is a weird project but it might be weird in the right ways - the tension between an armored inventor and a Norse god and a World War II supersoldier - and whatever Marvel B-listers round out the roster (Tigra anyone?) is - in the wrong hands just fuel for a few gags but in the right hands it’s a story in itself. I’m neither fanboy nor hater in this matter, but I think in asking Joss, the powers that be are getting it right, and I hope the deal is made.

Austin Grossman is the author of the novel “Soon I Will Be Invincible” (Pantheon)