by Brandie Ashe
When Brad Bird first pitched the idea of adapting Ted Hughes’ 1968 science-fiction children’s novel The Iron Man to Warner Bros., he reportedly did so by posing a simple yet effective question: “What if a gun had a soul?” It’s that intriguing, yet not altogether subtle theme that winds throughout Bird’s 1999 film version of the story, retitled The Iron Giant for its cinematic release.
In developing the story for the big screen, Bird and screenwriter Tim McCanlies excised a large part of Hughes’ novel (essentially eliminating the entire final section, in which the Iron Man battles an intergalactic space dragon) and moved the action from England to the pictaresque, appropriately-named Rockwell, a seaport town in Maine that serves as a perfect microcosm of small-town America in 1957. The resulting film focuses less on outside conflict and more on the loving relationship that develops between Hogarth Hughes (Eli Mariental) and the Iron Giant (Vin Diesel) as Hogarth attempts to protect his new friend from a suspicious government agent, Kent Mansley (Christopher McDonald).
The Iron Giant is steeped in the paranoia of its Cold War-era setting, and its depiction of the time period is rather on-point. From the spot-on parody of that Cold War classroom staple, Duck and Cover (the ridiculousness of the concept of a school desk protecting someone from a nuclear blast is pointed out by several characters), to the fear-driven Mansley’s incredibly stupid and short-sighted call for a nuclear strike on the robot–and the very town in which he himself is standing–Giant captures the almost irrational terror of the unknown that resulted from the nuclear arms race between the United States and the USSR.
Hogarth, with his demonstrated history as a rescuer of orphans (be they animal or human), functions as both savior and teacher for the Giant; he shuts off the electricity when the metal-hungry Giant is almost destroyed while trying to feast on a power station, and he also takes it upon himself to instruct the Giant on what it means to be human. This may seem an odd task for an enormous metal alien creature, but it may not be completely off base: after all, the Giant does appear in humanoid form, with limbs, a head, and even opposable thumbs. Though we never know the Giant’s origin (at least, not in the original theatrical version–the revised “special edition,” forthcoming on Blu-ray, features a cut scene that provides hints to the Giant’s history as a weapon), it is feasible that it was a device created by humans (or humanoid-type creatures) in their own likeness, and in that respect, the very significant power wielded by the Giant serves as a grave warning of the destructive capabilities of such weaponry.
Still, while it’s fun to speculate about the Giant’s origins, that’s not really the point of the film. The true heart of the movie is the lesson that Hogarth teaches the Giant about what it means to be “human” through the most accessible means for a child: comic books and monster movies. He presents the Giant with two particular titles: the ever-popular Superman, and the far-from-heroic Atomo the Metal Menace. The Giant instinctively shies away from Atomo–from the destructiveness that is built into his metallic bones–and becomes fascinated with Superman’s heroics, at one point even fashioning a large “S” to sport across his chest. The Giant’s preoccupation with Superman is threaded through the film–for, ironically enough, this fellow alien creature represents the best of humanity to the Giant, and with Hogarth’s enthusiastic encouragement, he seeks to emulate Superman and, in the end, becomes the hero of his own story.
The movie draws some obvious influence from Steven Spielberg’s 1983 sci-fi classic E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial: the central relationship between boy and alien; the attempts to hide the alien creature in plain sight; the input of a sympathetic government figure–in this film, General Rogard (John Mahoney), who gifts Hogarth with the only recovered piece of the Giant after his sacrifice; even the Giant’s affecting, one-fingered farewell to Hogarth before he seemingly gives his life to be a hero. But where E.T. focuses much of its energy on the act of “being” a child, The Iron Giant focuses on the future, and the act of “becoming” who we are meant to be. As Dean (Harry Connick, Jr.) tells Hogarth, who then passes it along to the Giant, “You are who you choose to be.” When presented with the option of being Superman or Atomo, of hero or destructor, the Giant actively chooses the path to peace and passivity–ironic, perhaps, for the greatest weapon the world had ever seen.
The Iron Giant works primarily as a gentle allegory of sacrifice, one with definitive religious undertones which are heightened by the repeated parallels to the Superman character (which itself could be seen as overt religious allegory–at least, an argument as to such could be made, particularly when examining the two most recent Superman films in the DCU). But even more so, perhaps, it’s a rumination on the natural cycle of life, of what it means to live and what it means to die. When the Giant and Hogarth comes across a deer in the woods, and later witness that deer being felled by hunters, Hogarth struggles at first to explain the significance of what has happened. “Guns kill,” he admits to the Giant, calling back to their earlier discussion of identity. But, as Hogarth continues, “It’s bad to kill. But it’s not bad to die.” Hogarth, seen giving grace over the dinner table with his mother, Annie (Jennifer Aniston), earlier in the film, ascribes to the notion of an eternal life: “You have a soul,” he tells the Giant with conviction, “and souls don’t die.” And with his act of self-sacrifice–flying into a nuclear bomb to save the town, with a smile and the word “Superman”–the Giant secures his legacy, his “eternal life” as the savior of a great many grateful people. That we see him, in the end, resurrecting himself on an Icelandic glacier only adds to the religious undertones of the film, but ultimately does not lessen the impact of the Giant’s noble sacrifice.
“We are what we choose to be.” It’s a lesson that resonates in the context of The Iron Giant, and one that holds especial relevance even today. And the power of that lesson is only one of the many reasons why Brad Bird’s directorial debut remains one of the most beloved animated features of the past twenty-five years.
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Still, while it’s fun to speculate about the Giant’s origins, that’s not really the point of the film. The true heart of the movie is the lesson that Hogarth teaches the Giant about what it means to be “human” through the most accessible means for a child: comic books and monster movies.
Indeed Brandie, that is the prime appeal of this irresitible animated work whose exceedingly popularity has resulted in an upcoming sequel. You pressed all the right buttons here is a splendid assessment and appreciation of a surefire inclusion for this countdown.
Thanks, Sam.
This was my favorite movie from that year. The style and mood make me nostalgic for a time I never actually experienced. The movie is a sadly rare combo of quiet, friendly, and emotionally rich. And funny. Nice write-up!
Thanks, Robert. This movie is definitely in my top ten of that year, let alone the entirety of the 90s.
I very much enjoyed reading your essay, Brandie, although I’ve always had a certain unease about the movie itself. I think it’s probably to do with the mantra that you single out (correctly) as being the underlining message of the movie: “We are what we choose to be.”
I have a similar problem with the message of another of Bird’s movies, The Incredibles (citing from memory): “If everyone’s special, then no one’s special at all.”
Both mantras seem at first sight harmless platitudes at worst, useful life pointers at best. And yet, as soon as I began thinking about them, in both instances I found the messages really quite yucky.
“We are what we choose to be.” Tell that to kids whose lives are crippled by poverty, or who are themselves crippled by disability, malnutrition, deprivation, orphanhood or simply by having someone drop bombs on them. Tell that to people surviving in North Korea or any of the world’s other hellholes. For far, far too many of us, we have no choice about what we make of our lives, so I sort of take offense at Bird’s trite pseudo-proverb.
(Besides, there’s a lot of work being done at the moment suggesting that free will may be an illusion. In that case Bird is really blaming the victims!)
“If everyone’s special, then no one’s special at all.” This I find well nigh fascistic, in its suggestion that there’s a minority of us who’re “special” while all the rest of the human race are, I dunno, filler? And can you imagine a parent tell their children that they’re not special because, after all, not everyone can be? Besides, the sooner we get it into our collective heads that we’re all, each one us, special and at least potentially deserving of treatment as such, then the sooner humanity will get out of its habit of dehumanizing or downgrading whole groups of people as unnecessary “filler.”
So I guess I have fairly hefty philosophical differences with Bird that make it difficult to watch some of his movies (though I loved his Ratatouille!).
Sorry: /rant.
I can definitely see your point (particularly in regards to Incredibles), but I’ve always interpreted the “we are who we choose to be” line in TIG differently, not so much in the context of the opportunities we may or may not have, but internally, on a level of character. Regardless of our individual circumstances, we always have a choice as to how we react to them. We choose to be brave or cowardly. We choose optimism or bitterness. We choose hope or despair. Just as the Giant chooses to ignore his ingrained purpose and chooses to be a hero, we can determine at least certain aspects of our characters, and the type of people we will be. That’s where I always thought Bird was going with this, and I think that is why I find it appealing.
Oh, I certainly know wgere you’re coming from Brandie, and in a way I sort of agree. Yes it’s true that
We choose to be brave or cowardly. We choose optimism or bitterness. We choose hope or despair.
. . . assuming that we’re the privileged (and that free will exists, op cit). But for lots of people it’s not that simple. The person being tortured in Guantanamo Bay doesn’t have much choice about being brave or cowardly: You or I do have, of course, in that we can bravely create hell about this or timidly say nothing, but then we’re the privileged ones. Is the person who has nothing and whose children are starving have much choice about being a prostitute or thief?
As I say, I’m not really arguing with what you’ve said but with Bird’s platitudes. All of these issues (and more!) are ones that he might have considered but, Trump-like, he went for the money-mantra.
It says a lot for your essay that you and I are having this discussion. Many thanks!
I’ve never been a big fan of this movie myself, but I’ll chalk that up to personal tastes in animation rather than anything regarding its overall quality. Bird’s one of those directors I really wish would do something big and adult in terms of animation, partly because I think he’s one of the few who has the clout to pull it off (though after Tomorrowland that is very, very debatable) and largely because even his movies “for kids” are a hell of a lot more mature and intellectually sophisticated than most “adult” animation is in America. I hate to judge a movie sight unseen, but “Sausage Party” looks like all the worst types of juvenile gross-out R movie obsessions grafted onto a mediocre Pixar spoof, the sort of thing that would grow tiresome even if it was only done for about ten minutes on Adult Swim. A far cry from Satoshi Kon, who before his passing was able to deliver anime that was intelligent and adult in real ways that avoided the “mature” genre tropes of his own locale. And even the best of “mature” animation in America doesn’t tend to do much better– Ralph Bashki has a few gems, but mostly lewd and crude experiments under his belt. Those experiments would be great if they actually led to something massive and breakout, like what could’ve happened if “Cool World” hadn’t been micromanaged to death by the studios. Ultimately he’s the sort of guy whose work would come into fantastic relief if we were able to look back from a place of actual maturity in American animation as the stepping stones that got us there, but until we do we have to keep faith that a guy like Bird can step in and deliver the coup de grace after years of playing it safe, but still delivering quality. More likely it’ll be somebody younger still, like Pen Ward or Rebecca Sugar– “Adventure Time” and “Steven Universe” are already a hell of a lot more intelligent and mature than almost anything else when it comes to talking about diversity, gender and sexual identity. I’m praying they get the chance to push boundaries outside of the PG limits they’re riding right now, if for no better reason than, like I suspect of Bird, they wouldn’t feel obligated to take advantage of their new freedom with lazy and sophomoric indulgences.
This film really struck a chord in me and its real strength lies in the relationships between the characters — something that is often overlooked in animated films in favor of flashy visuals and epic musical numbers. This film has the feel of a very intimate, character-driven story with the relationship between Hogarth and his robot friend as the emotional center but with several other relationships (like the ones between Hogarth and his mother and between him and Dean) featured prominently as well. This is no simple Saturday morning cartoon but a strong feature film that actually has something to say.