Cause and Affect 2: Being a Badass

What do Batman and Penny from “Inspector Gadget” have in common, and why are they inherently different from Superman and Alvy Singer (“Annie Hall”)?

I was thinking for a while about what makes a particular character “badass”. Some characters (like Batman, for instance), are almost always referred to as being badasses (TV Tropes even uses a picture of Batman in their definition of “Badass Normal”), while some characters (like Superman), are not usually put into that category. Meanwhile, some characters are not considered to be badass, but can have moments in a narrative (think Toby Jones' character in “The Mist” or Shaun in “Shaun of the Dead”), that despite any of their previously expressed traits, that would definitely be “badass moments”. So what makes the difference?

By all accounts, Superman should be one of the most badass characters that exists – he can fly, has superspeed, super senses, heat vision, freeze breath, x-ray vision, is invulnerable, and can (apparently) turn back time (and it should be pointed out that one explanation for why no one puts the whole Clark/Supes thing together is that he also has subconcious kryptonian hypnosis – whatever that is). This should be one of the most badass characters ever created anywhere, but he's not. Superman is introspective, moody, and mopey, regardless of whether or not we're talking comics or “Smallville”. By that same token, Woody Allen's Alvy Singer is not badass (no Woody Allen character usually is, they're too nebbish for that), but it is clearly demonstrated that Alvy has the ability to break the metaphysical constraints of his story: he can talk to the audience, he can freeze events to comment on them, even bringing media theorist Marshall McLuhan onto screen to rebuke an insufferable man at a movie theater. Alvy has some control over his own world, as he can bend and even knock over the forth wall at will. (In this way, he his empowered similarly to Zach Morris from “Saved by the Bell”, another character not really considered badass, but who does have a lot of power.)

So having the capability to do amazing things does not make someone a badass (see also: Dr. Manhattan). That's clear from characters like Batman, who obviously has no superpowers, but is very capable, just in a more human way. Now, why Inspector Gadget's niece Penny? Gadget is the bumbling fool in the show – he is superpowered to the point of being able to do basically anything – fly, a Mr. Fantastic-style reach, magnets, additional hands, and a whole slew of other gadget-related abilities – but Gadget is a bumbling character, and Penny does all the real work. Penny, with Brain, her watch and laptop, can hack computers, do research, and just about anything else computer related. Penny is kind of a badass.

But it isn't an inverse rule of 'no powers = badass' (think Nightcrawler's White House attack in the beginning of X2). What I eventually came to realize is that badasses exert whatever capability they have – they are badass by virtue of their ability to affect change. They see what needs to be done, and they do it. Batman and Penny are badass because they use whatever abilities they have to get things done. By that same token, Superman, Alvy, and Zach have the capability to do some really incredible things, but don't – Superman and Alvy are both too introspective, and Zach would prefer to use his powers to make jokes. As a great example, look at the T.V. series “Heroes”, which had Hiro, who could stop time, travel through time, and teleport – his ability is almost too powerful, so the writers have to figure out ways to limit it, and make Hiro decidedly lame. (“Heroes” also suffered from some other people who had powers that were way too powerful and also had to be limited.) This is an interesting corollary to this: “affects change = badass”. If someone is too powerful, they cross over into a god-like territory where they can affect too much change at will. (This is mostly due to a stakes issue – there's no dramatic tension when someone can do anything.)

So, characters are badass because they see what needs to be done, they become steadfast in their convictions, and they figure out a way to do it that makes the most of their abilities. This is worth noting, because it carries over into character/story dynamics; tragic characters have the ability to fix their problems, but are reluctant and ultimately fail to do so, and badasses do whatever is necessary, and when the Call comes, they answer it.

To carry this over to scenes, we as players have no control over whether or not our stimuli will effect change – we merely do, and our worlds respond how they do (not every explosion shatters a mountain). But as fellow players on stage, we can make others powerful by being affected (Batman is badass because villains are thwarted – not because he attempts to thwart them). Be affected – make someone a Badass.

Special Affects

One summer before college (probably 2002), my friends and I got together and hung out, and one of us (I think my friend Harrison) brought along a blue foam paddle. I don't know where he got it, or why he had it, but we discovered a wonderful game, of which the only rule was: hit each other with said paddle. While not a complicated game, it was a whole bunch of fun, and we set about boxing each other around with this thing, smacking each other wherever, with the other goal being to catch someone when they weren't expecting it. Now, I should point out, these paddle hits weren't painful – in actuality, they were little more than mildly irritating, but that didn't stop us from howling in (faux) pain every time we were socked with it. My friend Josh and I were both working at the movie theater, and this being a rare night when neither of us were working, and this also being one of those dog summer days when we actually had all night to do anything, and had planned on doing nothing, we ended up trucking down to the theater anyway to say hi to our fellow employees slaving away. We brought along the blue foam paddle, as this game was nary three hours old, and had nowhere near lost its luster. When we got there, we ran into Genghis (so named because he got a hold of the name tag maker and made himself a name tag that said as much), who seemed interested in our game, but upon being hit once with it, remarked that it didn't hurt. That poor blue paddle went into retirement that instant, and we never played that game again.

Our game had been deflated by someone who poked a hole in our logic – there was simply no point in playing a game that had so summarily had it's effects removed. And this point is a singularly destructive element that can cripple scenes: stimuli must affect change. Hitting each other with that blue paddle, we all now knew, would be fruitless, so what was the point? Similarly, two characters in a scene who are not affecting change are going through the motions (pointless, blue paddle motions). It's been called the “ABC's” by multiple writers and instructors: Always Be Changing. The bottom line though is that a cause has to create an effect – that's how the human brain works; we're always looking for causal relationships in the universe, but in an improv scene, there is actual opportunity for someone to break down a causality by not reacting (or, usually, reacting in a way that actor has deemed as “funny”, which is a hollow choice). For our blue paddle, the hit elicited howls from the target, and once we knew that it was just an act, it no longer seemed interesting – prior to that, with the veil still pulled, we could pretend that the affect was honest.

The so-called modern “existentialist” dilemma can be drawn back to a feeling that we are ineffectual in our worlds. (In “Something Wonderful Right Away”, Del even says that the improviser lives out the existential choices on stage.) In existentialism, we, as the individual, are ultimately responsible for providing our own lives with meaning, and living that life authentically – which is to say, passionately and sincerely, and for expressing ourselves. When we inhabit lives that are ultimately ineffectual, or feel meaningless or pointless, we are encountering those prevailing forces. I think of it this way: when you use a computer, you feel productive. You can type documents, surf the web, or listen to music, and we feel fulfilled in the use of the computer. However, when you click on a button and the computer freezes (I'm talking no hourglass/spinning pinwheel), what do we do? You click the button again a bunch of times. It doesn't make sense to our human brains that the clicking didn't produce an effect (because in all other cases, a click did produce an effect – maybe we missed?). So when you're in a scene and someone drops a bombshell like “I want a divorce” we expect to see some effect. It violates the audience's known existence for it not to.

When I see the dreaded transaction (salesman/customer or teacher/student) scene not working, I see ridiculous offers and ridiculous responses that don't seem to match, and I see two characters not reacting. That's it, bottom line – no mysteries here. Want to have scenes with life? Pick an offer and be changed by it; have a strong reaction to it. The more honest the better, but really any reaction is better than no reaction. When fire touches paper, we'd be bored if it didn't do anything, we're interested when it bursts in to flame and is reduced to ash. (If your a twelve year old boy, you then want to see other things be affected by flame). Our whole universe is built on reactions, A and B meet, and C happens. This is important, and should not be overwritten.