😋😍Structure and Semiotics in The Avengers😎😊

S

tructuralism can help explain why the 2012 movie The Avengers was so successful. In its striking similarity to professional wrestling matches, observers find a theme that has been perpetuated since the ancient Greek era.

            First of all, to establish the film’s noteworthy achievement level. Critic review website Rotten Tomatoes has it ranked at a favorable 92 percent enjoyment score for analysts, and a close 91 percent for audiences (https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/marvels_the_avengers/). Unsurprisingly, then, upon its release, it earned $1,518,812,988 worldwide, despite utilizing a comparatively small production budget of only $220 million (http://collider.com/marvel-movies-box-office/). Clearly, people really liked what this feature offered.
            Answers to the widespread appreciation that the hero-heavy accomplishment generated can be derived from structuralism, a root-cause approach to literary study. As student resource Shmoop explains, “Structuralist theorists are interested in identifying and analyzing the structures that underlie all cultural phenomena—and not just literature” (https://www.shmoop.com/structuralism/). To them, the outpouring of support that The Avengers received would be indicative of its adherence to a previously established pattern historically guiding celebrated entertainment. And they would probably zero in on modern wrestlers to prove their point.
            Semiotics—the examination of the ways that linguistic and nonlinguistic objects and behaviors operate symbolically to communicate a message—is a component of structuralism that the method’s scholars would be excited to use to illustrate the nature of the spectator sweep that The Avengers snagged (Lois Tyson; Critical Theory Today, Third Edition: A User-Friendly Guide; 205). Within semiotics, a wrestler’s occupation is a sign system—a thing, an action, or a collection of things or actions capable of being assessed as a specialized language (Tyson 205). When a competitor gets ready to rumble, he or she relies on the sign system of wrestling—a language meant to provide onlookers with the cathartic pleasure of watching justice triumph in a clear-cut, good-versus-evil situation (Tyson 205).

The fancy picture shown here emphasizes the excellent teamwork that the Avengers display and, more importantly, the professionalism characterizing the post that it appears in.

            Without a doubt, the two opposing sides are blatantly defined in director Joss Whedon’s superhero party, and the protagonists’ win is indisputable. As in the high-class and intricately complex world of the revered ring-rocker, each champion is an easily identifiable type (Tyson 205). The imposing lineup consists of Iron Man, the self-made tech genius and sardonic comedian; Captain America, the patriotic super-soldier and moral paragon; Hawkeye and the Black Widow, the undercover international agents and allegiance-switchers; Thor, the haughty prince and hammer-thrower; and the Hulk, the Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde scientist and monster nightmare. Likewise, these leading personalities reinforce the idiosyncratic images of heroism that they project via consistent interactions in the same manner that World Wrestling Entertainment stars do (Tyson 205). For example, to discover the truths that another character is hiding, Iron Man implements covert devices to hack his air carrier. In response to Iron Man’s brazen distrust and deception, Captain America, after chastising him, does his own antithetical—contrastingly open and honest—research by physically breaking into a locked section of the airborne vehicle and locating definitive tangible evidence. And, of course, the talent-stacked team defeats their enemy, the devious demigod Loki, at the end of the story.
            In the course of the involved narrative—which includes an abundance of tense fight scenes, humorous jokes, and emotional backstory—twenty-first-century viewers are playing the part of their counterparts in the theaters of a long-lost Greece. There, gladiators and staged productions served as outlets for celebrities to exaggeratedly demonstrate their pain, despair, or triumph and enable fans to vicariously release their individual feelings (Tyson 206). Iron Man’s self-explanatory name; his up-to-date style choices and expensive attributes; his sleek metal suit; his aggressive outlook; and his derisive smirks make him as straightforwardly categorized as he is predictable and, therefore, reliable. Captain America’s eponymous title; his muscular physique; his bright, bold costume; his confident attitude; and his focused facial expression allow him to be a foil who is also plainly defined and understandable. Whether a moviegoer prefers the snarky Tony Stark or the ethical Steve Rogers, there is—depending on the perspective applied—a hotshot gladiator, actor, or wrestler in The Avengers to whom he or she can relate, an obvious good guy, a trustworthy good guy, emerging victorious from a battle against evil.
            Given the evident parallel between The Avengers and WWE, both of which are reminiscent of archaic Greek spectacle—incorporating either slaves and grotesque bloodiness or performers and casual relaxation—it is not a shock that the feat earned as much as it did at the box office. Structurally, the semiotics undergirding the sign system, the readable content, of the superheroes’ antics are those responsible for knockout rounds and historic Grecian revelry alike: personalized main characters behaving consistently and conquering a cowardly villain once and for all.