06/26/03’s illustrious band:

The Incredibly Victorian Hulk

Brought to you by my viewing last night of The Hulk, the latest comic strip hero to hit the big screen. Warning: If you don’t want to slog through a comparison of this movie to Victorian literature, exit now!

The basic story is this (and here’s where you can thank me for saving you the price of a matinee): Scientist David Banner performed experiments on himself to see if he could create a stronger, more resilient human being capable of healing very quickly. He passed these genetic mutations on to his son Bruce, who also became a scientist.

Bruce didn’t know he was special until a freak accident in the lab exposed him to high doses of gamma radiation. The radiation apparently triggered changes in his DNA, and after that, every time he got mad, he turned green and grew to several times his natural size. Incredibly strong and resilient, the big green Hulk is the embodiment of rage. He smashes everything in sight until the sight of his girlfriend’s face soothes his savage breast, whereupon he shrinks back into regular Bruce.

For all its high-tech animation and avant garde cinematography, this movie reminded me very much of the Victorian novels I read in school. The Victorian era (generally defined as occurring during the reign of Queen Victoria, 1837-1901) was characterized by great advancements in science, and by the populace’s fear that too much science would rob people of their humanity. (See Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.)

Bruce Banner confronts this same problem: His life revolves around science, but he is considered slightly less than human by his colleagues because he’s not very emotionally expressive.

Not, that is, until somebody pushes his Hulk button. Then the buttoned-down Bruce transforms into that thing civilized people fear most: an emotional stormfront on the move. Sure, we all swallow some rage, but the repressed Victorians stored up more than their share. And when they finally snapped, they did so in style. This is the era that gave us, for instance, the first recognized serial killer, Jack the Ripper.

The theme that stood out most for me, though, was the role of the woman in The Hulk. Victorian women were expected to be weak, helpless, delicate flowers whose lives revolved around the home, where they were expected to stay. They were also expected to be a calming, civilizing influence on men, whose raging passions were beyond of their own control.

Dr. Betty Ross is the Victorian woman (and essentially the only woman) in this movie. Her powerful father (grittily portrayed by Sam Elliot’s inestimable mustache) continually sends her home or shoves her behind him, protecting her for her own good — even though, as a scientist herself, she is best equipped to solve the Hulk problem. Her ex-boyfriend Glen expects her to turn her research over to him, and even her more recent love Bruce would prefer that she buzz off and let the men take care of everything.

But boys will be boys, and the next thing you know, Bruce has gone all green and postal. He’s not responsible for wrecking the lab, the military installation or half of San Francisco; his inner child made him do it. And no one expects him to chill out on his own; it’s Betty’s job to calm him down and turn him back into a productive member of society. She’s not valued for her scientific expertise, only for her ability to stroke the big guy’s hair.

According to The Hulk, we haven’t come very far in the last 100 or so years. We still fear science, we still haven’t mastered anger management, and we still want women to stay in the background looking pretty until men need their mommies. Then it’s all up to them to restore order.

Personally, I don’t think this attitude shows much respect for either men, portrayed as hyper-aggressive oafs, or women, shown as their sad-eyed angelic sidekicks. I also don’t think it entirely reflects the climate of today’s society, but it does shine some lights into our dark corners.

Overall, I found the movie thought-provoking, for which I enjoyed it. But due to a clunky plot, it was not very good cinema. Next time out, I’d recommend more comic book fun and less MTV-style editing.

And that’s our deconstructionist rant for today.

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