The Fault in our Sequels 2: The Sequel Within

By Madeline Perez

Now,in a shocking turn of events, I must argue my opposition in my promise to (dearly departed mentor figure) to always stay faithful to myself. Sequels CAN be good, actually, and at times will surpass the original in both quality and message. There is no greater example of this than Puss in Boots: The Last Wish, which I saw a couple of weeks ago. I know I’m biased, as my extreme love for cats and Hispanic roots leave me absolutely wide-eyed and helpless in the presence of a Hispanic cat, but this was different. This movie taught me things about myself that I didn’t even know. Puss in Boots 2 wiped the slate of my life clean and allowed me to start again, to grow from the very beginning: tabula rasa in front of me and chalk-in-hand. Of course, I will not give you details from this movie because spoilers, duh! (And I expect immediately after this enticing read you will place this copy of The Review in your nearest recycling bin, hitchhike to the closest theater, and buy a ticket and a $70 bag of the most artery-clogging popcorn known to man, diet bepis to match.) Rather, I’m going to reflect on why sequels can be transformative and introspective in ways the original flick can only dream of.

An original movie is saddled with the expository muck of extensive character introduction and world-building. While any good sequel will touch on this too, it normally takes half the time. The biggest difference between the two is that, especially in action movies, originals tend to focus on the main character’s call to action as they are forced up from their gamer chair of normalcy into the grass-touching of heroism. The main conflict is not only with the arising villain, but the fact that the villain (or external threat) is, in a way, forcing a (normally unwilling) hero to step into their role. Think of movies like Shrek and Spider-Man (2002)—with great power comes great responsibility, after all.

Now, that’s all fine and dandy. The movie ends, the main character has been fully established as hero(ine), and the villain is defeated in a way that absolves the main character from the moral weight of actually doing the killing (in the examples above, death by milf dragon and accidental suicide by glider). This all gets flipped on its head in sequels focused on further character-building. In whatever the opposite of layman’s terms is: Transformative sequels aim to be subversive as they take the logical conclusion of the original and present a new internal conflict that forces the main character to readdress their newfound role and/or environment.

In Shrek 2: The Shrekoning, Shrek is forced to readdress his feelings of selfdoubt and internalized ogre-phobia by drinking glitter and becoming human, only to find that his feelings are stupid: Fiona can love someone who’s green, and he should be himself because everyone else is already taken. In Spider-Man

2: Return of the Goo, Tobey–I mean Peter looks inside himself to try and find if he really wants to remain Spider-Man, since he can’t hold down a job (pizza time), take care of Aunt May, or be with MJ, not to mention everyone hates him due to a series of literal ‘fake-news’ targeted attacks. Much like the secret powers of anxiety, these feelings manifest somatically as he literally starts to lose his powers (a sort of ‘projectile dysfunction’), giving him an out to live a ‘normal’ life. By the end of the film, he realizes that though he wants to shirk this ‘great responsibility,’ he has ‘great power’ and, for the sake of the greater good, he should probably remain Spider-Man (besides the fact that it’s incredibly fun to shoot goo and swing from buildings like some teenage mutant urban Tarzan.)

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish is different from these particular sequels in one crucial way—--after confronting his internal conflict, Puss realizes that some of his beliefs and behaviors were harm- ful to him and the people around him, and he actually makes the change. Puss grows as a person (cat) and the defeat of the external conflict was pleasantly directly relevant to the resolution of his internal conflict. In a similar fashion, part of what makes Megamind such a beloved movie is its transformative sequel is already built into the original. Halfway through the film, after defeating the external conflict (Metroman), Megamind now has everything he’s ever wanted and… gets bored. Not before too long, he must face his new internal conflict of wanting to be the good guy and hold hands with pixie-cut Tina Fey, a process which is expedited by the rise of Titan, the new villain. This is an example of really good casting because Jonah Hill terrifies me and sometimes I think I hear him through the heating vent in my room training the mice to steal my hair clips and quarters.

This is not always the case, however, as many sequels can be just as successful or even surpass the original in a simple retelling of the same story. In the Indiana Jones sequel, Indy never has to question his role as an extremely sweaty male heart-throb who treats women questionably. Honestly, introspection is probably not one of his strongest characteristics, as these types of sequels tend to be a more modern trend and children of the ‘80s did not want to watch their infallible heroes admit their flaws or grow as people. Go figure.

Sadly, most sequels do not make the grade. They ARE money grabs, they SUCK BALLS, and they DO NOT RESPECT THE SOURCE MATERIAL. Toy Story 4 has driven me into blind rage more times than I can count, and by just mentioning it I feel another excessively violent fugue state creeping up on me. You should probably leave, but before you go always remember: good sequels are possible, most are failures, and always stay faithful to yourself.

Happy watching!