Sometimes the heroes of our youth remind us we’re never too old to grow up.

Read the previous post here: “The Adolescent Franchise” (Aug 2024).

Four Ways to Revisit a Hero

There’s nothing wrong with revisiting our childhood heroes. These characters often bridge the gap between youthful adventure and adult responsibility. As the demands of life go on, many of us lose the orienting ideals offered by these heroes and feel our lives become scattered and aimless. But how a studio presents our heroes back to us can change how we interact with them.

1. Retell the Story

In most retellings, some new actor takes on a legendary mantle to incarnate an old hero in our own time. We see this in DC’s revolving door of Batmans, Supermans, and Jokers; each lends his own inflection to a character with a relatively stable story. Often, creative advances in cinematography, music, or design allow us to experience a familiar story with a new aesthetic. In some cases, this gives us brilliant fever dreams like The Green Knight, and other times it gives us Disney’s unsuccessful translations of classics like The Little Mermaid and Snow White from charming cartoons to prosaic live-action.

2. Rehash the Story

Here, things become less variations on a theme and more a series of lateral moves. Plot arcs stall out. Sequels and prequels multiply like rabbits. The hero shuffles episodically around to different parts of the same world, doing the same thing he always does. Audiences never expect anything more from their heroes, and studios never expect anything more from their audiences. These franchises have all the languishing of a limbo without the progress of a purgatory. This is the tragic fate for most of Marvel’s heroes.

3. Untell the Story

This is where the bitter and resentful Unwriters get their moment. Take a beloved hero and strip away their accolades until they’re just another flawed human being. Better yet, point out how generations were wrong to ever admire someone like him. (Let’s be honest, it’s always a “him.”) Unfortunately, Star Wars has chosen this path at almost every opportunity. Characters like Luke Skywalker and Han Solo are reduced to narrative rubble, allowing insignificant new characters like Rey and Kylo Ren to stand out by contrast. Like a Jedi mind trick, the Unwriters at Star Wars seem to wave their hand in front of our faces, saying: “These aren’t the heroes you’re looking for.”

4. Mature the Franchise

Finally, there’s a fourth method that’s rarely used, yet sorely needed: Expect your heroes—and your audience—to grow up. Rather than retelling old stories, our heroes must again become heroes in a new story. Rather than rehashing an old characters, we expect them to learn new lessons and become new people. Rather than untelling the stories of our admirable heroes, we expect them to transcend their own weaknesses and limitations anew. In a mature franchise, we force beloved characters to grapple with the moral ambiguity left in the wake of their previous adventures and let them emerge as heroes once again.

Here are two franchises that pulled off this transformation:

Cobra Kai: Rivalry & Reconciliation

At the climax of The Karate Kid, our hero Daniel LaRusso crane-kicked his nemesis Johnny Lawrence to win the All-Valley Karate tournament. It turns out that iconic moment defined both of them long after that day. Thirty years later, LaRusso is still a winner, with a happy family and a successful business. Meanwhile, Lawrence has a dirty bachelor pad full of Coors Banquet stubby bottles and a strained relationship with his estranged son—he’s had thirty years of being a loser. The genius of Cobra Kai is pointing out that sometimes the loss means more to the loser than the win did to the winner.

In lesser hands, Cobra Kai could have been a pitiful, bitter story. LaRusso’s heroism could have been exposed as a façade and easily torn down. Lawrence might have been recast as a misunderstood, broken victim who must be forgiven for everything.

But that’s not what we got. We find both men deeply flawed: LaRusso rests on his laurels, while Lawrence wallows in self-pity. Both of them need to quit defining themselves by the roles forged during their childhood rivalry. This new story calls out both of them and invites them to become heroes: Lawrence must become one for the first time, and LaRusso must become one again.

They must grow, not just for themselves, but for the generation entrusted to them. Both men are fathers who are disconnected from their children; they both must take responsibility not only for raising them but also for training them in karate. Along with repairing his relationship with his own son, Lawrence also has a dojo full of his own students. Being their sensei means pushing them and teaching them what he learned—while sparing them the corrupting ideas he received under his reckless and deranged sensei, John Kreese.

Mentorship demands that these two men put their past behind them so they can guide a new generation into the future. These teachers and fathers must mature so they can help their students and children mature.

Top Gun: Maverick – Lead by Example

When we meet Pete “Maverick” Mitchell at the beginning of Top Gun: Maverick, he’s not that much different from where we left him thirty years ago. As cocky as he is skilled, our hotshot hero is still pushing the limits of his aircraft and the patience of his superiors, disregarding and surpassing both of them. He’s a bachelor who never settled down, and it seems none of these years has aged him. Forever young and forever flying around—he’s not Pete Mitchell, he’s Peter Pan.

But when he’s called in for a secret mission, he’s surprised to find that he will not be the one who will be flying. Rather than flying to the target, he will be the teacher to a younger generation of pilots who will handle this mission.

In lesser hands, this could’ve been a “those who can’t do, teach” kind of narrative. Resentful Unwriters would love to take someone as proud and competent as Maverick and hollow out his legacy. They would make him an old and washed-up pilot, unable to fly like he used to. “But maybe he was never all that good,” they’d slyly suggest. To this point, they’d haunt him with the death of his friend and copilot Goose, who died in an accident that Maverick survived. Once he was brought low from these two afflictions, they’d bring a new crop of puckish students to teach him a lesson.

Instead, Maverick excels in his new role and demonstrates what a mentor truly is. Throughout the movie, he earns the respect of his students by being better than them and pushing them. Dogfight after dogfight, he keeps them on their toes and shows that he still has his chops—and they have much to learn from him. When the students give up believing they can fly the mission, Maverick hops in a plane and shows them how it’s done, completing it perfectly. He leads by example.

But Maverick’s greatest challenge comes with his student Rooster, the son of Goose. Not only does Rooster force Maverick to confront grief and guilt over Goose’s death, but he also makes Maverick take responsibility for holding him back from becoming a pilot like his father. Chickens have, quite literally, come home to roost.

The beauty of Top Gun: Maverick is that everyone matures. Maverick ceases to just be a maverick. Instead, he becomes the one who brings together a successful intergenerational team. Both he and Rooster overcome the past and are willing to sacrifice themselves to save each other. Even Ice Man—who once was Maverick’s greatest rival—has transformed into Maverick’s confidant; his advice is heeded and memory is venerated. Everyone ends better than we found them.

The Crisis of Mature Leadership

As we shift our gaze from the heroes of these mature stories to the world stage, a stark contrast emerges. Most of our global leaders—entrenched in power for longer than most can remember—are well past retirement age, clinging to their positions with no intention of stepping aside. They’ve become broken records, rehashing the same tired talking points and worn-out stories, with their words falling on ears too numb to care. Despite their longevity, they’ve failed to improve the world for the next generation and they’ve failed to prepare successors to shoulder future responsibilities. To put it bluntly: they’re not mature—they’re just old.

We find ourselves trapped between a geriatric leadership and an adolescent populace, with precious few models of genuine maturity in fiction or reality. Our aged leaders shrivel up into weak and wicked people, while the rest of us seek refuge in juvenile escapism—unhealthy food, mindless entertainment, and endless distractions.

Thankfully, we may have hit rock bottom. Our leaders can’t get any older, and we can’t get any more childish. The only way forward is up. Regardless of your age or station, the opportunity to mature is always imperative. For some, this means stepping up and shouldering responsibility, while others must mentor and empower a new generation of leaders. Both are heroes. We need to find more heroes who remind us that we’re never too old to grow up. After all, what else does a hero do but inspire us to grow up?