Heroes is Not Good

Keeping in line with today and my seething cauldron of hatred over every bit of entertainment I’ve been subject to, I’d like to talk about the television show “Heroes.” While not technically a comic book, or even based on one, I think we can all see the connection between the two mediums. I suppose I could tell you what channel the show’s on, and at what time, but, if you haven’t seen over six hundred different advertisements for this program, you’re either lying or dead. If you’re telling the truth, please let me know your secret.

Here’s the thing. I’ve read my fair share of comic books in my day. I’ve seen my fair share of TV shows, too. I know that in order to make a relevant comic book/TV show based on the idea of a group of heroes finding out that they have super powers, you need it to be either entirely unique (which probably can’t be done), or you need it to be able to transcend the super hero archetypes. A guy who can fly will be compared to Superman no matter what you do. You need to address this in an intelligent manner, or else your show will lack importance. Without addressing these things, it cheapens the concept and makes you seem like a derivative hack.

That’s what “Heroes” is. It’s a show about regular chaps and chumps discovering that they have super powers, but it almost flagrantly acts as if that’s a unique idea. Without acknowledging the comics and movies that’ve come before it, the show comes off as self-important and purposefully ignorant. The only way this show could work, with that caveat in place, would be if the show were written by an incredibly smart writer, or if the show had a group of characters (and actors/actresses to play them) that were incredibly unique/interesting/entertaining/engaging. This show has neither of those things. Jeph Loeb is working on it, but it almost seems as if he’s just sitting in a corner of the boardroom, locked away in a cage, while the rest of the room dissects market analysis spreadsheets and test audience reactions. This show is so sterilized and watered down that it makes me sick in a very unpleasant way. It’s written like a 3rd-rate, no edge comic book hacked to death by an ad hoc shopping mall closet focus group.

Let’s put that aside for one second, though. Think about what sort of process went into making this work. Let’s assume that somebody, somewhere had a brilliant idea of making a weekly television show about a group of heroes from around the world that were all tied together somehow, with the show focusing on each of them discovering their powers and realizing their purpose in the grand scheme of saving planet earth. Let’s assume that person brought this grand idea into the network, and they greenlit it. We can safely assume that at this point in the creative process, everything unique or original or inspired was entirely derailed by the giant dollar signs in the network executives’ eyes. Imagine the meeting where they were talking about this show and what sorts of characters would be in it. It probably went down something like this:

Network Executive A: Well, what kinds of characters should we put in this million dollar baby?

Network Executive B: Well, Lost has the main hero, the outlaw hot chick, the fat guy, the Arab, the bubbly little blonde girl, the heroin addict, the Asian guy, and the, uh, the mystery bad guys. So, let’s just use those.

Network Executive A: But, won’t people realize they’re being duped?

Network Executive B: I can’t hear you over the sound of my own orgasm at the thought of making so much money!

I gave this show three weeks to impress me, and, so far, it’s not even come close. The only thing that’s interesting about it is the idea that the indestructible cheerleader can regenerate anything after it gets broken. You know what that means? Regenerating hymen! Ever-lasting virginity!

The blatant disregard for creativity in this show is astounding, and I hope that America wakes up and stops drinking the corporate Kool-Aid that’s being forced down their throats. Oh, but, wait, we still have the eclipse and the nuke and the revelation of Syrus and all that stuff to look forward to! No, no, we don’t. That’s the point. There’s nothing interesting about a solar eclipse unless it’s happening outside your window. There’s nothing interesting about a nuclear explosion in a television show, because no network anywhere would have the courage to blow up part of New York City in this post-9/11 world. There’s nothing interesting about a bad guy who is hunting down heroes to lop their heads off. This is the fundamental problem with the show. It’s a hype-driven money machine that’s making its bread and butter off faux mysteries and boring plot points. If you stop buying into it, we’ll all be better off, I promise.