m review — social commentary & satire — better things to do than die
Better Things to Do Than Die
by Michael Roman
The real world of the 1980's supplied me with no real heroes. I did not look up to the president, or the pope. No champion fought for my rights. No one walked on the moon. George Washington was long dead. John Wayne was on his way there. It was left to fantasy to inspire me. The long traditions of mythology and science fiction had furnished me with a new generation of heroes. I never worshipped gods or cowboys, but instead idolized robots and superheroes. As author Tom Wolfe said in 1968, "glorious place, a glorious age, I tell you! A very neon renaissance — and the myths that actually touched you at that time — not Hercules, Orpheus, Ulysses, and Aeneas — but Superman, Captain Marvel, Batman." This pantheon seemed as immortal as the one it replaced. Yet as I would learn, not even the greatest among them, Optimus Prime, could escape death.
Transformers: The Movie, which would include the last performance of Orson Welles, debuted in 1986 with its hair-metal anthem and exaggerated view of the 21st century. The story took place in the far distant year of 2005, when after decades of war the decisive battle between the forces of good and evil had come to pass. It was time to kill off old characters and to create new ones. New characters meant new merchandizing opportunities for the toy–hungry audiences of which I was a part. Ignorant of the facts of capitalism, I kept my eyes glued to the television, unaware of the seminal moment this film would become.
Everyone I knew had the popular toy version of Optimus Prime. It was a familiar red semi-truck with a tractor trailer and accessories that, with simple movements, became a strapping robot. The figurine would transform in my small child's hands. The cold metal of the red frame withstanding the punishments I inflicted on it. I came to own two of them, one that had a broken leg. He was purchased at a garage sale — already broken. He would become the evil twin who plagued my hero in his many adventures on the porch of my house. In 1986, the originals sold for about thirty dollars each, unopened relics from then now sell on eBay for upwards of $250.
Optimus Prime, the leader of the heroic Autobots, had for years been a champion of cartoon adventures. Unlike other heroes like He-Man or Superman, Prime had no secret identity. He embraced his individuality with no apology for his strength or his courage. To me, a child stretched out on a living room floor with a bowl of cereal, this was worthy of admiration and respect. Prime, unlike so many more realistic heroes, was never portrayed as being plagued with doubt or insecurity. He owned his efficacy and brandished it like a weapon. Despite this self-assuredness, he never once acted with vanity, fear, or hatred. This may present a character that is wholly unreal, one whose virtues exclude him from realism, but that was never the point. Giant robots from outer space are not real to begin with.
Prime, like many heroes, had to be larger than life. He exercised the power to effect real physical change. As with fire fighters and police officers, children look up to this kind of power not because they "save the day," but rather because they change the world in a concrete way that no politician or priest or accountant ever could. He became an ideal that I could aspire to.
More than just a hero, Prime was a leader. Under the orthicon glow of his exploits, I learned a lot about leadership. Like so few leaders, he was fair, firm, and never asked his soldiers to do anything that he would not himself do. He fought selflessly for a noble cause and inspired those he commanded to do the same.
In what has become a heroic cliche, Prime died fighting against his arch–nemesis, the villainous Megatron. Megatron, leader of the terrible Decepticons, desired limitless power over the entire universe. He was your pretty basic science fiction villain. Optimus was a red truck, a symbol of the working class. It was noble and heroic by its own right. Megatron transformed into a gun. Unlike the passionate red of Optimus Prime, Megatron was gunmetal gray. His head was made to look like a Nazi-era helmet, and he had a large canon mounted on his arm.
Their final battle was reminiscent of the death of Sherlock Holmes, who died because it was the only way he could ensure the defeat of his arch-nemesis, Professor Moriarty. Unlike humans, robots can be maimed horribly without inciting the anger of the gods of the Television Standards and Practices committee. Both characters suffered badly, something that surprised me as a kid, because never before had any of the robots shown the least bit of wear from their adventures. Prime's fatal blows came when another character tried to assist him and wound up a hostage. It isn't often that a cartoon character takes gunshots to the chest, with his innards spraying from the wounds.
On his deathbed, Prime passed on parting wisdom to his successor, Ultra Magnus, voiced by the late Robert Stack. To him, he passed the banner of leadership, leaving him with a message of hope for the future. That is what I remember most, that there is always hope, even in the face of tremendous destruction and sadness. As he died, a human boy character wept at the foot of the table, symbolically taking the place of everyone like me. Prime's shining eyes shut, his head fell limp, and his body lost all color — a convention of animation. If someone went grayscale, you knew they were dead. Though I had not yet seen this, as a child, I knew exactly what it meant.
Stray thoughts about Prime's death loitered in my mind for weeks after. It distracted me at school. I was too preoccupied to think of anything else. I had not yet experienced the death of a loved one or pet, and this sort of finality hung over my head like a thick, black cloak. For all his power, Optimus Prime could not prevent his own demise. This planted a fear in my mind. This fear would linger for the rest of my childhood. I worried that other heroes, and by proxy, loved ones, would also die. I was terrified of the notion. No power was enough to stop this force. Surely my parents were not as powerful as Optimus Prime. Perhaps they would befall a similar fate.
Fortunately, they never did, even though they were unable to morph into cars. By the time DC Comics killed, and resurrected, Superman in 1994, I was old enough to know it was a marketing ploy, and that he would be back. More so, the death of Optimus Prime prepared me emotionally and cognitively for the deaths of loved ones. I knew it was a possibility, and I was ready to deal with it when it happened. His death and his example live with me today. They remind me to maintain control of my own destiny, to provide fair and selfless leadership, and to hold a flame of inextinguishable courage through all adversity. These are lessons that I can only hope my children will get from their heroes.
Prime would return again and again in the years to come, in pale Japanese versions whose sleek Anime style never caught the original nobility of the character. In spite of this, no remediation can recapture the feelings that I had sitting on the floor watching television. I have to credit others for instilling me with morals and a sense of right and wrong. Despite that, no other person, real or otherwise, taught me more about leadership, heroism, and self-determination than Optimus Prime. His death marked a change in the way I assimilated ideas and stories. I was forced to challenge myself to confront my own demons. In a way, he died, so that I could grow up.
Michael Roman of Portland, Oregon
The author lives and writes in Portland, Oregon.
