The Boys Review
CONTENT WARNING: mentions of racial violence
We open on superheroes high on drugs, physically running through citizens at sonic speeds, their bodies splattering onto the road. It’s a world all too similar to our own, with towering skyscrapers and faded, cracked bricks in every storefront. The only difference, of course, is that this is a world of imperfect superheroes.
In the not-so-unlikely present of America, seven superheroes (cleverly called “The Seven”) are the celebrities of the nation. Among the many “supes” in the nation, these are the ones branded most talented, and most willing to save the country. Their reputation is heavily monitored by the super-corporation, called Vought, and like many such corporations today, the sexual misconduct and sexism apparent in and between the Seven are rampant.
By the early episodes of the series, The Boys distinguishes itself from other shows in its ability to address the issues that plague our nation today: racism, sexism, and the growing gap between the civilians and those in power. Yet, one of the biggest questions hanging over this show, which so boldly toes the line, is whether it has crossed the line completely.
One scene that has continually resurfaced in my mind is the one where I can see myself. The camera is angled to show Stormfront, a nazi-loving, racist member of the Seven. Between her hands, she clutches the face of an Asian man, and before snapping his neck, she repeatedly demands, “Open your eyes, open your eyes.” Then, in his final moment, she spits, “f*cking yellow bastard.” In another scene of the same episode, we see Stormfront killing a Black man in front of his sister. She utters similarly nasty words: “I am a hero. For killing a black piece of sh*t like you.”
These scenes shocked me more than I expected they would. Perhaps this is a narrative on representation, and how or why people of color are portrayed in the media. I am conflicted on whether or not these scenes were justified: the shock and pain I felt from watching them are unmatched with any other fictional media I have seen. At the same time, they were realistic in ways that were very prevalent in our own society. Ultimately, this show has always been a narrative on our world: the writers aim to provide entertainment, but also to evoke the same pain that BIPoC feel every day as they watch their lives become another passing story on the news. (This, of course, disregards the perspectives of the BIPoC who live through this every day.) Thus, though the show toes the line, I find it just because it works to garner empathy between the viewers and the victims, providing a steep black and white between racists (who, like in our society, hold the most power) and minorities.
Beyond the scenes on racism, the writers also instill comedically male-driven stereotypes into their female characters. Kimiko, the Asian female sidekick to the team looking to take down the Seven, is mute. But she’s oh-so-violent, in the same way that Western media seems to fetishize the silent-but-deadly Asian female. Or alternatively, take note of the scene where the female “supes” defeat Stormfront, to which one of the white males to the side notes, “Girls really do get it done.” As if it really is a surprise for the male sidekick to see female superheroes create damage.
Many of the characters and plotlines in The Boys are built on the tropes that we see in the media, and as much as I might dislike them, The Boys employs them so facetiously that it’s hard to assign blame on them. Whether or not the viewers recognize the tropes or not is another issue. In reading reviews for this, I saw numerous praise for the show’s ability to toe the line on violence, profanity, and sexual topics, but little on the overly-done and underappreciated role of women.
A similarly impressive aspect of The Boys is its adept social commentary: something that many viewers pick up on immediately. Right from the start, we come to hate Homelander, the Captain-America-look-alike that leads the Seven. We witness him leave a plane about to crash, refusing to save even the children, for fear of having them tell the world that he was unable to save everyone. In his public remarks, he expertly lays blame on everyone but himself, always pushing an agenda to gain more power. He twists his own actions and manipulates American patriotism to turn against foreign nations. (“Chinese virus,” anyone?) One of his most ardent critics is a Congresswoman, a “wunderkind” who riles up protestors and is unafraid to demand immediate change, not dissimilar to Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. In every instance, we see marked similarities to American society through what the superheroes are presented as, why they say what they say, and how their supporters react to them.
The Boys snatches up the fragmented, ugly parts of our society and welds them into a jagged weapon before shoving it in our face. Initially, my response was a disgusted curiosity: I hated what I was seeing—the racist, sexist acts—but the many parallels to what I saw in American society drew me in further. In superhero movies, we find ourselves satisfied in knowing that miracles, and the best of humanity, can save anything. In The Boys, we find that the worst of humanity can do far more damage, especially when they have the power and monetary means to frame themselves as the superheroes of our dreams.
by JOCELYN HSIEH