YOU SHOULD BE: Watching Umbrella Academy

In the age of superhero media, many have predicted that the end is nigh on the reign of the likes of Marvel and DC. The burnout has been reportedly just over the horizon for years now, but as the Marvel Cinematic Universe continues to dominate the box office (when there isn’t a worldwide pandemic, anyway) and countless superhero related TV shows across all streaming services, it’s hard to take that claim seriously.

Along with the influx of more superheroes comes the influx of superhero deconstruction, a trend that started with Alan Moore’s Watchmen back in 1986 and has been carried on in spirit by the likes of Kick Ass and The Boys. The concept of “what if superheroes were assholes?” is starting to dry out almost faster than the concept of superheroes themselves. How do we find new an inventive ways to tell superhero stories, then? Whatever the solution, Netflix’s Umbrella Academy is doing it already.

Umbrella Academy, originally a Dark Horse comic by writer Gerard Way and artist Gabriel Ba, came out in 2007, just before the superhero renaissance ignited by the release of the movie Iron Man in 2008 (perhaps others would argue there was another starting point, but subjectively, this is when it saw the most uptick in the mainstream consciousness.) At the time, Way was best known as the frontman for the ultra-popular band My Chemical Romance, which drew some ire from comic fans at the time. Unbeknownst to many, though, Way was a graduate of the School of Visual Arts in NYC and a former intern at DC Comics. Arguably, music was Way’s second passion. The rest of the world soon came to realize this as Umbrella Academy went on to win an Eisner Award in 2008. Way is still working in comics, spearheading DC Comics’ current Young Animal series.

The concept of Umbrella Academy can only come from someone with a lifelong love of comics, as expressed in both the comic run and the Netflix adaptation, which began in 2019. The story in both follows a strange phenomenon of 43 women around the world all inexplicably giving birth at the same moment—strange, considering none of them had been pregnant at the start of the day. It is soon discovered that these children all have special abilities, which attract the attention of Reginald Hargreeves, an eccentric billionaire who seeks out to adopt seven of the children and start his own academy of superpowered youngsters.

Rather than stick with the traditional superhero conceit, however, the story asks the question, “What if Professor X was a terrible dad?” and runs with it. At the beginning of the story, Hargreeves is dead, and his wayward children all return from their respective troubled lives to bury him. Luther (named Number One by his father) was seen as the golden child by his father in their youth, but has been stationed on the moon almost as a way to keep him out of his father’s hair. Diego (Number Two) has been masquerading as a vigilante, constantly trying to prove himself as more than second fiddle. Allison (Number Three) is fresh out of a heated divorce and is struggling to keep a relationship with her daughter without using her powers of manipulation. Klaus (Number Four) is a lifelong alcoholic and junkie, as a means to drown out the voices of the dead that haunt him. And Vanya (Number Seven) hasn’t spoken to any of them in years, the sole sibling that turned out to not have powers at all. What happened to Five and Six? Well, Ben (Number Six) is dead before it even begins, and it’s Number Five’s showy appearance at Dad’s funeral that sets the story in motion. He has spent the past forty years in an apocalyptic wasteland, yet returns in a child’s body and the instincts of an assassin. And that apocalypse? They only have a week to prevent it—a quest fit for a band of superheroes, if there ever was one.

What sets Umbrella Academy apart from the other entries in its genre, however, is the fact that is blends the favored tropes and the cynical takedown of those tropes into one package. It’s not often that you see the heroes of the story come to grips with their deep-seated emotional trauma, but the series never strays into dark cynicism. The comic tends to have a darker tone than the show, but also never takes itself too seriously by using whimsical, child-like imagery juxtaposed with gruesome and gory situations. It’s highly colorful, both on the page and on the screen, but also treats their characters with the utmost respect and explores them all to the fullest extent.

The show also has the advantage of having entire seasons to explore the different dynamics between the characters. The comic’s three runs only last six issues each, which lead to these characters often being boiled down to their most basic characteristics for time’s sake, but the Netflix show explores them in ways never imagined on the page. For instance, the Ben (Number Six) makes his own appearance and has his own story throughout the show—despite being pretty, well, dead. The menacing assassins Hazel and Cha-Cha, who only ever hid under cartoonish masks in the comics, both have their own distinct personalities and goals in the show, making for more conflict and all around likeability, even though they are meant to be our antagonists. With the sharp writing of the show, it’s hard not to like these characters, even if they may be working for nefarious people.

The show has also taken some of the issues presented in the comics and rectified them. While most of the characters in the comic were drawn as white, the main cast of characters are Black, Latinx, Asian, you name it. Queer issues are also front and center in many of the storylines of our main characters, and while they may suffer from some tropes (Klaus’ relationship in particular suffers from “Bury Your Gays” syndrome,) the representation is far more than was presented on the page over ten years prior.

All this is presented to the audience in such a clear stylized way that it’s impossible not to fall in love with it. The soundtrack is one of the stars of the whole show, with a mix of classic music from the 1950’s and 60’s to more modern hits. If you need any more proof of how out-of-the-box and rip-roaringly fun this show is, let’s just say the second season—which is all set in the early years of the 1960’s—has a fight scene set to “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” by the Backstreet Boys. By no stretch of the imagination should that sentence work, but for Umbrella Academy, it’s just another entry for the highlight reel.

While some may lean into the gritty realism of superheroism when going against the grain of the average comic book-inspired offerings of today’s modern media, Umbrella Academy stands out in presenting realism and deconstruction with the fun and energetic framework that’s kept things like the Marvel Cinematic Universe alive and well through the years. With characters you can’t help but relate to and feel for, a strong sense of style and tone, and outstanding writing, it’s a superhero trope takedown for the viewer who still loves superheroes. If Netflix (or any other streaming service, for that matter) keeps putting out this kind of superhero content, the critics are certainly wrong. We won’t be getting superhero fatigue for quite a while.