Paul Dunne
Paul Dunne
Peacemaker and the Paradox of Modern Masculinity
Peacemaker and the Paradox of Modern Masculinity
What makes "Peacemaker" so captivating o watch is that it does not simply poke fun at superhero logic, but provides characterization that takes aim at the contradictions of white masculinity recurring in the genre.
Christopher Smith, a generic white male name, takes on the alias of Peacemaker and spends the first season torn between two desires: desperately wanting to be respected as a hero by the public, and craving approval from a father who measures masculinity by the ability to impose violence.
Peacemaker’s inner conflict mirrors how many white men today feel trapped between societal pressures. Caught between having their masculinity called into question by society for being “soft” and making the mistake of trying too hard. Performing masculinity too severely, and being met with condemnation of his toxic masculinity by the same society who originally influenced the performance. The brilliance of "Peacemaker’s" writing comes from its ability to explore the perspective of a white man in privilege through its use of satire, metacinema and sharp character work.
Dialogue makes clear that Chris’ logic is meant to serve as a joke, showcasing his lack of intellect, but ultimately a larger critique of the superhero justice the audience sees on screen. In the opening seconds, viewers are greeted with Peacemaker’s catchphrase, “I cherish peace with all my heart,” which is immediately undercut when he adds, “I don’t care how many men, women or children I have to kill to get it.”
A montage of his kills grows bloodier with each cut. This choice of visual in editing underscores the irony in how superheroes’ claims of superior morality are undercut by the violence of their methods. Furthermore, the show’s auditory repetition of Rick Flag Jr. 's dying words, “Peacemaker, what a joke,” makes it clear that even within his own universe, the philosophy imbued onto Chris by his dad is absurd. These choices signal to the audience that they are being asked to celebrate Chris’s heroism we’re being prompted to critique his logic.
Even the musical elements of "Peacemaker" offer subtle critique of genre.The ‘80s rock ballad, stiff choreography and visible winch cables hoisting cast members into the air to pull them off screen. Every character, rival, stranger, alien moves simultaneously, like action figures flipping through stop motion. Being controlled by an unseen hand the audience cannot see but nonetheless are intensely aware of. Immediately, these directorial choices separate the show from genre cliches and establish a uniquely self-aware tone.
Characterization through exposition further builds on the metacinema and satire of genre which the opening credits establish. In one early scene, a janitor compares Peacemaker’s fame unfavorably to Aquaman’s, a way of showing that Chris is a Z-list hero in his own world. Another gag comes when the janitor only remembers Chris as, “that racist superhero who only kills minorities,” to which Chris defensively insists he has killed “a fair number of white people too.”
The exchange not only delivers exposition, but it satirizes how people deflect against accusations of racism in real life. Chris’s weak defense shows that, like many white men, he is offended by the charge but not self-aware enough to understand why it sticks.
Subtler details, like a Twitter handle “@PepetheFrog89,” serve to signal Chris’s cultural environment. Pepe the Frog and the number 88 are common self identifiers of white supremacists online, thus linking Chris and his father to the darker corners of conservative Twitter.
Perhaps the sharpest critique of superhero media comes through Chris’ relationship with his father, Auggie Smith. Their dynamic is drenched in toxicity and open racism. Auggie greets his son with contempt, mocks him for being hospitalized. He says “You let someone shoot you?” and derides him as a “nancy boy.”
He laughs at stories of torture and suggests his son should focus on killing “commies, Blacks, papists or kikes.” The upside-down American flag flying outside Auggie’s house represents his warped sense of patriotism. In these moments at his father’s house, we see the standards Chris is failing to meet. To his father, Chris will always be too soft, too weak and too unwilling to be openly racist.
This double bind defines Chris’ character from boy to man. His father tells him he is not hateful or macho enough. The public mocks him as too racist. His own team ridicules his costume and use of violence. No matter where he turns, Chris is told he is failing. This emotion is exactly what makes his character not only compelling, but relatable to a young social media bound audience.
Smith echoes the disillusionment felt by many young men today. Entire industries including pickup artists, steroid-pumping influencers and “manosphere” podcasters profit by barking conflicting orders about how to be a “real man.” Somehow, "Peacemaker" condenses all that noise and contradiction into one musclebound man, and his pet eagle.
What makes "Peacemaker" so captivating o watch is that it does not simply poke fun at superhero logic, but provides characterization that takes aim at the contradictions of white masculinity recurring in the genre.
Christopher Smith, a generic white male name, takes on the alias of Peacemaker and spends the first season torn between two desires: desperately wanting to be respected as a hero by the public, and craving approval from a father who measures masculinity by the ability to impose violence.
Peacemaker’s inner conflict mirrors how many white men today feel trapped between societal pressures. Caught between having their masculinity called into question by society for being “soft” and making the mistake of trying too hard. Performing masculinity too severely, and being met with condemnation of his toxic masculinity by the same society who originally influenced the performance. The brilliance of "Peacemaker’s" writing comes from its ability to explore the perspective of a white man in privilege through its use of satire, metacinema and sharp character work.
Dialogue makes clear that Chris’ logic is meant to serve as a joke, showcasing his lack of intellect, but ultimately a larger critique of the superhero justice the audience sees on screen. In the opening seconds, viewers are greeted with Peacemaker’s catchphrase, “I cherish peace with all my heart,” which is immediately undercut when he adds, “I don’t care how many men, women or children I have to kill to get it.”
A montage of his kills grows bloodier with each cut. This choice of visual in editing underscores the irony in how superheroes’ claims of superior morality are undercut by the violence of their methods. Furthermore, the show’s auditory repetition of Rick Flag Jr. 's dying words, “Peacemaker, what a joke,” makes it clear that even within his own universe, the philosophy imbued onto Chris by his dad is absurd. These choices signal to the audience that they are being asked to celebrate Chris’s heroism we’re being prompted to critique his logic.
Even the musical elements of "Peacemaker" offer subtle critique of genre.The ‘80s rock ballad, stiff choreography and visible winch cables hoisting cast members into the air to pull them off screen. Every character, rival, stranger, alien moves simultaneously, like action figures flipping through stop motion. Being controlled by an unseen hand the audience cannot see but nonetheless are intensely aware of. Immediately, these directorial choices separate the show from genre cliches and establish a uniquely self-aware tone.
Characterization through exposition further builds on the metacinema and satire of genre which the opening credits establish. In one early scene, a janitor compares Peacemaker’s fame unfavorably to Aquaman’s, a way of showing that Chris is a Z-list hero in his own world. Another gag comes when the janitor only remembers Chris as, “that racist superhero who only kills minorities,” to which Chris defensively insists he has killed “a fair number of white people too.”
The exchange not only delivers exposition, but it satirizes how people deflect against accusations of racism in real life. Chris’s weak defense shows that, like many white men, he is offended by the charge but not self-aware enough to understand why it sticks.
Subtler details, like a Twitter handle “@PepetheFrog89,” serve to signal Chris’s cultural environment. Pepe the Frog and the number 88 are common self identifiers of white supremacists online, thus linking Chris and his father to the darker corners of conservative Twitter.
Perhaps the sharpest critique of superhero media comes through Chris’ relationship with his father, Auggie Smith. Their dynamic is drenched in toxicity and open racism. Auggie greets his son with contempt, mocks him for being hospitalized. He says “You let someone shoot you?” and derides him as a “nancy boy.”
He laughs at stories of torture and suggests his son should focus on killing “commies, Blacks, papists or kikes.” The upside-down American flag flying outside Auggie’s house represents his warped sense of patriotism. In these moments at his father’s house, we see the standards Chris is failing to meet. To his father, Chris will always be too soft, too weak and too unwilling to be openly racist.
This double bind defines Chris’ character from boy to man. His father tells him he is not hateful or macho enough. The public mocks him as too racist. His own team ridicules his costume and use of violence. No matter where he turns, Chris is told he is failing. This emotion is exactly what makes his character not only compelling, but relatable to a young social media bound audience.
Smith echoes the disillusionment felt by many young men today. Entire industries including pickup artists, steroid-pumping influencers and “manosphere” podcasters profit by barking conflicting orders about how to be a “real man.” Somehow, "Peacemaker" condenses all that noise and contradiction into one musclebound man, and his pet eagle.