For Whom the Bell Tolls

Ask not for whom the bell tolls, John Donne admonishes us.  It tolls for thee. 

‘Kay, now I’ve hit you with that entirely random Elizabethan quote, let me back up and start again.  I’ve been thinking a lot about the upcoming Avengers: Endgame lately, which means I’ve been thinking a lot about tragedy and human mortality.  (I mean, c’mon–have you seen these trailers???  Not for the faint of heart, that’s sure.)  I wanted to talk about my expectations for Endgame, what kind of movie I hope it is, and why.

I don’t have specific predictions.  I don’t have a list of character deaths, or a list of suggestions to defeat Thanos.  But in order for me to consider Endgame a success, two things need to happen:

• Thanos needs to die. 
• The Avengers need to sustain serious, permanent losses.   

Sure, the final scene of Infinity War, where half the Avengers turned to dust in Thanos’ ‘snap,’ was a real shocker.  I was more than shocked.  I was DEVASTATED.  But here’s the thing:  We know at least one of the fallen, our friendly neighborhood Peter Parker, will be resurrected by the end of this film.  So, if the snap is reversed . . . if none [or almost none] of that damage is permanent . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t accept that as sufficient tragedy.  It’s the end of the world, is it?  It’s the apocalypse of the damned, huh?  HUH, MARVEL?  Because you sure ain’t made me feel it yet.

No major MCU character has ever died and stayed dead.

I mean, think about it.  Coulson came back.  Cap came back.  Bucky came back.  Loki came back.  Fury came back.  And now Spider-man’s gonna come back?!?  Okay.  But.

It’s time to raise the stakes, you guys.

It’s time to explore IRREVERSIBLE sacrifice and loss.

“Of course you would say so, Katie,” you mutter.  “You love tragic stories.”  Yes, I do.  I love tragic stories, and I cannot lie.  But this is more than my love of tragedy.  It’s my love of authenticity.  Of honesty.  I want movies with the guts to tell me the truth about life.  I don’t want movies to lie to me.  And if, *squints suspiciously at the Russo brothers* if you tryna’ tell me we can defeat the biggest enemy the galaxy has ever seen, resuscitate half the world’s population, escape with just one or two deaths, tops, and end on a triumphant note . . .

THAT FEELS AN AWFUL LOT LIKE A LIE.  

Death is part of the human condition.  Death sucks, sure, but death is here to stay until the Last Trumpet sounds.  We can’t cheat death, and the best stories don’t pretend we can.  Instead, they embrace death.  If we’ve never experienced it in our own lives, they help us prepare.  If we have experienced it, they help us grieve.  They explore death’s ugliness; and you know what else?  They explore its beauty, too.

Will I sob inconsolably if I have to say goodbye to Steve Rogers?

Yes.  Of course.

Will it KILL me to say goodbye to Steve Rogers?

No.  It won’t.

Instead, I’ll look back on his life–his whole life, now that it’s a closed chapter–and let it be a challenge and an inspiration to me.  All the way backward to “I don’t like bullies,” all the way forward to “We don’t trade lives.”  That skinny kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb to walk away from a fight–yeah.  I’ll follow him forever.  You know I will.  The thing is, I don’t care what side of the grave he’s on.  He’ll always be my leader.  

I leave you with this thought from another sci-fi/fantasy universe, one which (unlike Marvel thus far) has demonstrated a marked willingness to Kill its Darlings:

“Tell her she’ll go to sea and fight pirates.  She’ll fall in love with a man who’ll wait two thousand years to keep her safe.  Tell her she’ll give hope to the greatest painter who ever lived, and save a whale in outer space.

“Tell her this is the story of Amelia Pond, and this is how it ends.“

Some day, somehow, every story comes to an end.  And that’s okay.  Because the people who are left remember the people who are gone.  “Ask not for whom the bell tolls . . . it tolls for thee.”

❤