I grew up loving Green Lantern, which is why I’ve been trying to decide whether I even want to watch HBO’s Lanterns. And the more I hear about the show, the more I think I already have my answer. I keep hearing about a miserable, surly Hal Jordan, superheroes burdened by their own power, racial and social commentary woven into John Stewart’s story, and a generally dark, psychologically tortured examination of what it means to be a superhero. Maybe it’s brilliantly made. Maybe the acting is terrific. Maybe the mystery is compelling. The early streaming numbers certainly suggest that plenty of people are watching it. But I keep coming back to one very simple thought: Green Lantern isn’t Watchmen. Green Lantern isn’t The Boys. It’s fucking Green Lantern.
And I think somewhere along the way, a lot of people making superhero entertainment forgot that distinction. There is absolutely nothing wrong with deconstructing superheroes. Watchmen is one of the greatest comic stories ever written precisely because Alan Moore asked uncomfortable questions about what kind of people would actually put on costumes and appoint themselves protectors of society. The Boys takes that concept in an even more cynical direction: what if superheroes were celebrities, corporations controlled them, enormous power corrupted them, and many of the people we worshipped as heroes were actually monsters? Fine. That’s the premise. Those universes were specifically constructed to interrogate the superhero fantasy.
But why does every superhero eventually have to undergo the same treatment?
Green Lantern is one of the most wonderfully ridiculous, imaginative and optimistic concepts in comic books. Hal Jordan is a test pilot who is handed a ring by a dying alien and suddenly discovers that the universe is infinitely larger than he ever imagined. The ring can create virtually anything his mind can conceive. He can fly through space. There are thousands of other Green Lanterns protecting different sectors of the universe. There’s Oa, the Guardians, Sinestro, bizarre alien civilizations, cosmic wars and an entire mythology built around fear, courage and willpower. If you look at all of that and your first creative instinct is, “You know what this really needs? A deeply unhappy Hal Jordan wrestling with the psychological burden of being Green Lantern,” I’m just not sure we love the same thing about Green Lantern.
That doesn’t mean I want Hal Jordan to be some smiling cardboard cutout without flaws. Quite the opposite. Hal has always had flaws. He can be arrogant, impulsive, reckless and stubborn. He can make terrible decisions. He can fail. He can be frightened. He can lose people. He can question himself. Some of the greatest superhero stories ever told put their heroes through absolute hell. But the struggle is supposed to serve the heroism. The flaws make the moment when the hero rises above them more powerful. They shouldn’t become the entire reason the character exists.
That distinction matters to me. There’s a huge difference between “this heroic man is flawed” and “the interesting thing about this supposedly heroic man is how damaged, miserable and unpleasant he actually is.” I’ve already got The Boys when I want the second one. I don’t need every superhero franchise slowly migrating toward the same cynical destination.
The racial and social commentary I’m hearing about in Lanterns is another reason I’m hesitant. Apparently some of the online descriptions have exaggerated it; from what I can tell, the show doesn’t simply declare Hal Jordan a racist or say that he received his ring because he was white. That distinction is worth making. But the series does deliberately incorporate contemporary racial themes into John Stewart’s story and asks questions about whether different experiences with fear—including experiences shaped by racism—complicate the Green Lantern mythology. There are people who will find that interesting and worthwhile. I’m simply not one of the people looking for that from Green Lantern. When I sit down to watch this particular show, I want to be entertained. I want adventure, imagination, heroism and wonder. I don't want to feel like the writers have invited me into a seminar.
And before somebody reduces that to “you just don't want politics in your entertainment,” that's not really my argument either. Comic books have contained political and social ideas forever. Superman, Captain America, the X-Men, Green Arrow and countless others have reflected the eras in which they were written. Sometimes that's produced terrific storytelling. What wears me out is when I can feel the machinery operating—when characters stop feeling like characters and begin feeling like delivery systems for whatever contemporary conversation the writers want to have. At that point I stop disappearing into the story and start noticing the writer standing behind it.
More than anything, though, it's the apparent misery that turns me off. Superheroes can be dark. They can suffer. Batman's parents were murdered in front of him. Peter Parker's defining lesson comes from the death of his uncle. Superman loses an entire planet before he's old enough to remember it. Tragedy is practically baked into the genre. But those stories work because darkness creates something for the hero to push against. Batman still saves Gotham. Spider-Man still swings through Manhattan. Superman still flies toward the person who needs him. The darkness makes the light matter.
And Green Lantern may embody that idea more literally than almost anybody. The entire mythology revolves around overcoming fear through will. That's the fantasy. Not the absence of fear—the ability to confront it. Hal Jordan isn't interesting because nothing hurts him or because he never doubts himself. He's interesting because eventually, after everything goes wrong, Hal Jordan squares his shoulders, raises that ridiculous glowing ring and goes back into the fight.
That's what I want.
Give me the oath. Give me Oa. Give me Sinestro. Give me alien Lanterns that look like somebody emptied a six-year-old's toy box onto the page. Give me constructs exploding out of a ring because somebody's imagination is almost as powerful as his will. Give me Hal Jordan flying through space at impossible speeds because somewhere, twenty light-years away, somebody needs a Green Lantern. Let the guy occasionally enjoy the fact that he's a freaking Green Lantern.
There is room in modern entertainment for cynical superheroes. There is room for deconstruction. There is room for Watchmen. There is room for The Boys. I like some of those stories very much. But there also has to be room for the thing they're deconstructing. Otherwise eventually we're left with nothing but deconstructions of something nobody is actually allowed to make anymore.
Maybe Lanterns ultimately gets there. Maybe the misery and conflict are setting up a payoff where Hal and John rediscover what being Green Lantern actually means. If that happens, I'll happily reconsider it. But right now, what I'm hearing doesn't make me excited to watch it. It makes me miss the character I loved.
Because sometimes Superman should love being Superman. Sometimes Spider-Man should swing through New York because swinging through New York looks like the greatest thing any human being could possibly do. And sometimes Hal Jordan should point that ring toward the stars, leave Earth behind and go have a completely insane adventure on the other side of the universe.
Not every superhero needs to be deconstructed.
Sometimes I just want the superhero.
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