Heroes Teach Us How to Process Hurt
Aaron Welty on the curious, sarcastic messaging of "Supergirl"
This is a guest post by Aaron Welty
Truth. Justice. Whatever. Exclamations on a theatrical poster for Supergirl, out in June from DC Studios. It feels different from previous silver-screen and small-screen iterations of the titular character, such as the 1984 film, the Arrowverse show, or various animated versions. In these, the Maiden of Might earnestly upheld Truth, Justice, and the hopeful/heroic way of the House of EL. Instead of those values, the new Supergirl may choose vengeance and violence instead.
The upcoming Supergirl film is rooted in Tom King’s celebrated Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow graphic novel, released in 2021. The story finds Kara Zor-El (played by Milly Alcock in the upcoming film), Superman’s cousin, far from Earth. Instead of her adopted home, she’s celebrating her birthday on another planet. During a drunken bar fight—which feels like Mos Eisley Cantina meets Roadhouse—she meets a local girl, Ruthye (Eve Ridley), bent on avenging her late father’s death. Ruthye needs Kara’s help to find her father’s killer, Krem of the Yellow Hills (Matthias Schoenearts). What follows is the story of an intergalactic road trip in which this young female protagonist embarks on an adventure with the Maiden of Might as they traverse the cosmos to deliver justice for her father’s killer. While likely being pursued by Lobo, an intergalactic bounty hunter (a role Jason Momoa looks born to play).
The graphic novel is a wonderful read, beautifully illustrated, and completely engrossing; like you’re on this cosmic quest with the characters. Not unlike Bastion in The Neverending Story. It puts the protagonists in pressing places where they struggle with their circumstances and the ensuing grief - Ruthye at the loss of her father and what her grief threatens to make her, and Kara at the loss of her native Krypton. Both have lost their families, and as such, their worlds. Kara does what she can to control and contain her heartbreak because she doesn’t want to see her young charge become what they both so easily could: victims who weaponize their wounds to create more victims like themselves.
This is how villainy can happen, when past pain can’t be put in its proper place.
Instead, Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow builds itself up as a journey of formation and realization, of heroic forging. A story of processing and (hopefully) purging painful pasts and moving from groaning to growing. Until it doesn’t. All along, it’s asking the questions in the background: what do we do with our pain? Does our victimization push us towards becoming virtuous victors or vile villains?
Does our hurt propel us towards heroism and healthy coping, thus allowing us to help others heal and pass on to them a hope of brighter days ahead? Or do we weaponize our wounds to create more victims like ourselves?
