As with any genre, gay romance has its duds (looking at you, Happiest Season), its all rights (Boy Erased), and its overhypes (Call Me by Your Name). But many of its films are immensely powerful. After all, the most compelling romance writing involves forbidden, secret love and associated dangers, and — tragically for the real human beings who experienced and experience this — these elements are inherent to many gay stories. The following is a selection of movies that you will not soon forget.

Supernova — Love in the time of dementia. Stars Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci.

Disobedience — Rachel McAdams and Rachel Weisz find love in an orthodox Jewish community.

The World to Come — Farmers’ wives fall for each other on the American frontier. With Vanessa Kirby, Katherine Waterston, and Casey Affleck.

Carol — Cate Blanchett’s character meets a younger woman (Rooney Mara) in 1950s New York.

Ammonite — Searching for fossils and companionship in the early 1800s. Stars Kate Winslet and Saoirse Ronan.

Brokeback Mountain — The undisputed classic. With Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Anne Hathaway.

Moonlight — The Best Picture winner, a journey from black boyhood to manhood. With Mahershala Ali, Ashton Sanders, and Naomie Harris.

The Power of the Dog — Benedict Cumberbatch’s character abuses his brother’s wife and son (Kirsten Dunst, Kodi Smit-McPhee) while struggling with his feelings for the latter.

Professor Marston and the Wonder Women — A throuple in the 1940s evades discovery, while inspiring the creation of Wonder Woman. With Luke Evans, Rebecca Hall, and Bella Heathcote.

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The third Guardians of the Galaxy film fits neatly into the post-Endgame tradition of mediocre Marvel products. A 6/10 is not a bad movie in my rating system (that’s fives and below), but it is decidedly meh. It’s fairly surprising that the IMDb average — usually a reliable metric of quality — currently stands at 8/10. That’s what I would give the original Guardians (perhaps even higher), the best Marvel film there is. Guardians 2 was about a 7, a good, solid movie (though it always irked me that Peter and Gamora switched positions, abruptly, on whether Peter should get to know his father, just to manufacture some cheap tension). Many viewers have praised the third installment, but I was not impressed — despite its lovable characters, good humor, and some genuinely emotional moments, something just felt off.

The first thing I noticed was that a couple characters had lost their edge. Nebula seemed far less hostile and brooding than normal. Rocket was of course a child (in flashbacks) for most of the film, so he wasn’t sarcastic, nasty, or argumentative either, but didn’t return to form in his adult scenes. I tried to let this slide, as the Guardians have become friends over time and in finding such a family have been able to let go of some bitterness. It makes some sense, they’ve grown. Still, part of what made the characters memorable and interesting was that they had dark sides, would bicker to the point of dysfunction, and so on. The happy family vibe takes some protagonists out of (original) character and is a bit dull. Thank goodness alternate-timeline Gamora was there to add back in some selfishness, conflict, spice.

It should be noted also that Groot felt somewhat absent. Sure, he was there, got his line in, but left no real impression in the way that Drax, Peter, Rocket, and others did. You’ll never forget Baby Groot dancing in Guardians 2, nor Groot sacrificing himself with a “We are Groot” at the end of the original film. Here he’s in the background, forgettable, forgotten. Was there even an emotional scene between him and Rocket, who’s on his deathbed? Aren’t they best friends and the OG pair?

To me, everything in this movie feels unnatural or forced. What would actually make sense is ignored in favor of achieving certain goals, whether plot or style goals (this mistake often turns sequels into ridiculous caricatures of original ideas). Consider, for instance:

• Why are Peter’s mask and rocket boots erased from this tale? So he can be saved in space at the end?
• Why are we jamming as many pop songs as humanly possible into this thing, even when it ruins emotional, dark moments? Because that’s what a GOTG movie must have, like a factory quota must be met? I kept thinking to myself that I was witnessing a formerly fresh, exciting world gone pure parody — Hey, earlier outings had tunes, jokes, bizarre creatures, let’s multiply all that by ten thousand, trust me, it’ll be ten thousand times better.
• Why does Peter go home, Mantis go find herself, and Nebula want to lead a new society, all coming nearly out of nowhere at the end? Because the Guardians need to break up, it’s the last movie?
• Why do we go to the goo planet? To not find what we need, so we can go to the next location, the Arthur planet. Gotta get the code, then the man who took the code. It’s a bit Mandalorian / Rise of Skywalker side questy, only not nearly as protracted. It’s as if we’re going to these places just to fill runtime or to simply see weird GOTG designs one by one like a parade or zoo. The meandering video game quest just isn’t compelling storytelling to me. There’s a way to take characters on adventures through many different worlds that feels natural (think of the original Star Wars or Lord of the Rings trilogies), where you’re not going from spot to spot because each one is a dead end or has a tiny clue that leads to the next destination. Real life involves such things at times, and it’s not as if all this should be off-limits for entertainment, but it often does feel contrived — forced and unnatural, the audience being jerked around and dragged along for two and a half hours, childish writing, location porn.
• Why does Warlock feel so shoehorned into this film? He shows up briefly in the beginning, gets to do a little something at the end, and is mostly pointless and forgotten about in the middle, the majority of the story. He has so little purpose it almost feels like inserting him was a mere obligation after the tease at the end of Guardians 2, rather than an excited, thoughtful addition to the lore.
• And of course you have the Bad Guy who’s a complete empty suit. A cackling, cartoonish Disney villain without any depth or room for us to sympathize — the things that made Thanos, Killmonger, and so on good antagonists. Here what’s forced is simply a bad guy in general. It’s part of the old, tired formula. How can you have a superhero movie without a baddie? I think this prescription, this dull necessity, leads to a lack of effort. The goodies have to have someone to fight, that’s all that really matters — why bother fleshing out a villain? The box is checked, move on.

And so forth. There is more that makes little sense (why is the final scene the Guardians charging off to kill wildlife when the climax of the film saw them valiantly saving wildlife?), but one gets the idea.

As a final, unrelated gripe, as creative as this world has been in many ways, this particular production felt like a strange mix of too-familiar IPs to me — a Power Rangers villain, Arthur, The Rats of NIMH, Willy Wonka, the monsters from Maze Runner, and GOTG / Marvel all put in a box and shaken as hard as you can.

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The whacky, awful characters of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia will never be forgotten — Dennis the absolute psychopath, Charlie the stalker, Mac the Catholic determined not to be gay, Dee the bird who thinks she is funny, and Frank the, well, very short. The show was hilarious and bitingly clever for many years; even the astonishing sound of the gang screaming in argument was endearing, always delightfully punctuated and contrasted with that cheerful, chiming music. Unfortunately, the series’ later seasons grew a bit forgettable. When is the right time to jump ship before Always Sunny overstays its welcome?

I would suggest watching through season 10 and then stopping. (Although the second-to-last episode of the season sees Frank planning to retire and the others fighting for control of the bar, which could make for a nice series finale.) The group dating, Family Feud, and “Mac and Charlie Join a Cult” shenanigans of season 10 are all good fun, but there’s a scene in episode three that is unmissable. Stopping before this moment would be a crime.

Dennis: Dee? I swear you would be of more use to me if I skinned you and turned your skin into a lampshade. Or fashioned you into a piece of high-end luggage. I can even add you to my collection.

Dee: Are you saying that you have a collection of skin luggage?

Dennis: Of course I’m not, Dee. Don’t be ridiculous. Think of the smell. You haven’t thought of the smell, you bitch! Now you say another word and I swear to God I will dice you into a million little pieces. And put those pieces in a box, a glass box, that I will display on my mantel.

On the other side of the desk, a psychiatrist slowly reaches for his pen and notebook.

Seasons 11 and 12 are not bad by any means, but some of the issues that had been only stirring earlier on come into maturity. Things begin to feel, here and there, repetitive. Season 11’s first two episodes hit hard in this regard, with another episode of the gang playing their “Chardee MacDennis” game followed by a sort-of time travel episode back to season 1. A later episode tackles a trial over events that happened in an earlier season — and this is not the first courtroom appearance for the gang, either. The gimmicks ramp up, too — attempts to keep things fresh that often characterize a show running out of steam. “Being Frank” is a whole episode from Frank’s point-of-view. The gang magically turns black in season 12 (it’s also a musical). Then there’s the classic sitcom-esque episode, the documentary-like episode, the one where Frank and Mac get to be soldiers in (virtual reality) Iraq (Always Sunny essentially begins to morph into Community), and the outing devoted entirely to the side character of Cricket, the former priest who has been ruined and mutilated by the gang’s antics. Cricket is somewhat emblematic here, beyond him looking worse and worse in a show that may be getting worse over time: he seems to show up more, as if the writers have less to say about and through the main characters, and each time you see him he’s less interesting, he’s gotten old, like the project as a whole.

And, in the literal sense, so had the cast. Danny DeVito (Frank) was always older, of course, but suddenly, after twelve years, the other stars hit their forties, and perhaps the gang’s insanity and hijinks began to feel slightly less believable as their appearances matured. Further, old age can make you look tired, making a series feel the same way.

In any case, at this point even Glenn Howerton (Dennis) was burned out. The finale of season 12 set him up to leave the show to do new things, though he was, reportedly, in most of the episodes of season 13 and stayed on after that. I stopped watching after his pseudo-goodbye. If a star, writer, and producer of a show is checking out, it’s often best to do the same. Even wiser to do so earlier, in this instance. Again, this is not to say that anything after the tenth season isn’t entertaining. I might pop back into Always Sunny every once in a while and watch a later episode for a laugh. But if you’re looking to bail before the inevitable downhill slide of a long-running series, you now know when to do so.

Season 16 of Always Sunny has just premiered on FX and Hulu.

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This article must address two aspects of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, ideology and quality. Each will produce a different answer to the titular question, and we will begin with the first, being the most important.

SVU can evoke mixed emotions these days. On the one hand, it is addictively cathartic to see rapists and domestic abusers experience the harsh hand of justice (or Elliot Stabler) over and over again. On the other, the show glorifies the police and offers a distorted view of the criminal justice system. John Oliver had a good exposé on this recently, highlighting studies that show consumers of crime dramas have rosier views of the police. Others have drawn attention to the literature as well, criticizing the erasure of racism, miserable clearance rates, apathy or neglect, and other real-world problems. The research on SVU alone is growing quite sizable. At the same time, it has been found viewers of SVU better understand, on average, the meaning of consent, sexual assault, and more. In Oliver’s piece, actress Mariska Hargitay speaks of fans being inspired by the show to report, to take rape kits, and so on. She writes elsewhere: “Normally, I’d get letters saying ‘Hi, can I please have an autographed picture,’ but now it was different: ‘I’m fifteen and my dad has been raping me since I was eleven and I’ve never told anyone.’ I remember my breath going out of me when the first letter came, and I’ve gotten thousands like it since then. That these individuals would reveal something so intensely personal—often for the very first time—to someone they knew only as a character on television demonstrated to me how desperate they were to be heard, believed, supported, and healed.” Hargitay started a foundation to educate the public on sex crimes and push police departments to actually test their rape kits (yes, at times meaning advocating more funding). All this is to say that the impact of SVU is complex, therefore the discussion must be nuanced.

Of course, Oliver’s conclusion was a bit confused: “Honestly, I am not even telling you not to watch it. It’s completely fine to enjoy it.” This holds only if one determines the show’s negative real-world effects are rather unserious. Obviously, it is views that keep a series going. Millions of regular viewers are why Olivia Benson remains the longest-running live-action character in primetime television history, why SVU is the lengthiest live-action show in primetime history. Others have called for Hargitay to blow up the show by quitting or for all police shows to be cancelled. This is the moral question for us Leftists and our favorite copaganda. Is the series doing enough damage to public perception for me to stop watching? Enough to warrant cancellation? This is not so easy to answer, the extent of the harm. Cop shows may attract people who already have a rosier view of the police, impacting various studies, in addition to creating such views (in the same way, SVU may attract those with pre-existing higher understandings of sexual assault, alongside having an effect on others). These differences can be difficult to parse out. Yet even where correlational direction is clearly established, finding the show guilty of perspective creation far more than facilitation or reinforcement (admittedly, a problem in itself, to a lesser degree), then the real challenge arises. Answering the question that matters most. Is the series doing enough damage to actually delay or prevent crucial police reforms? Or abolition, if that is your philosophy. The instinctive answer is yes. How could more favorable views of law enforcement not hinder reform efforts? But, like demonstrating the extent that copaganda is increasing popular devotion to the police, the extent that this devotion would actually prevent the sweeping changes to policing necessary for a more decent society remains unclear. One needs sufficient evidence, serious research that this writer is unsure exists. At this stage, we have a vague understanding that these shows spread positive, unrealistic views of the criminal justice system, which theoretically could make public policy changes harder to pass — but it could turn out that the effects, regarding both points, are too minimal to warrant much concern. We might cancel cop shows and have virtually no impact, longterm or otherwise, on conservative ideology, which emerges from and is maintained by many sources. We do not know.

This means that each person must choose for herself. We need more nuance than Oliver provided, though the solution is about as ambiguous. If you imagine the show is meaningfully stalling social change, the answer to the headline is obvious: stop watching immediately. It is not “completely fine” to continue. But if you suspect that reforms (or abolition) will be about as difficult to win with or without the existence of SVU, or change behavior based only on sufficient evidence, keeping Detective Benson as a guilty pleasure is not such a big deal. Either path could be correct, given our limited knowledge at this time. Personally, as may be obvious, I somewhat question the efficacy of cop shows delaying social change, but acknowledge this serves nostalgia and bias (freeing me to continue watching without guilt) and may not be the most moral position (why risk a delay of any kind, with black folk being murdered in the streets for no reason?), which pushes me in the other direction. I wrestle with this, but my doubts have not yet allowed for a goodbye. No serious advice can be offered here — no “stop watching” or “enjoy.” Whether you earnestly think all this is doing serious societal harm will determine your answer.

This will help answer other questions, too, such as Is it hypocritical to be a leftwing critic of the police while enjoying copaganda? Or Does a negative impact on viewers affect whether Mariska Hargitay can be called one of the greatest, if not the greatest, female leads in television history? And, perhaps naively, Could these fictions be reframed in the public mind as aspirational? In other words, real-world policing is dreadful, what reforms can we pass to make it more like a televised ideal? (No, SVU is not actually ideal or the best model in any fashion, simply a tiny step up in a few ways, with officers who care, justice that’s done, racism under control, bad cops intolerable and locked away, etc.) One’s answers to these things depend on how powerful the medium is judged to be.

For those who are still watching, in more than one sense, we can turn to quality (more like my piece When to Stop Watching ‘The Walking Dead’), a much shorter discussion that includes a couple spoilers.

In my view, SVU was a well-made show for an exceptionally long time. Even after Stabler vanished after season 12, the Amaro, Barba, and Carisi era was not to be missed. The writing, of both story and dialogue, remained compelling, as did the acting. The viewer’s cycle of tears, rage, and satisfaction was as powerful as ever. Of course, the show’s attempts to tackle race in 2013, around the beginning of Black Lives Matter, were predictably disastrous (Reverend Curtis Scott is the new black pastor character who represents both fictional and real-world hyperbolic protesters foolishly questioning police decisions), about as painfully cringe-inducing as the Brooklyn Nine-Nine try at blending comedy, lovable goofball cops, and serious criticism of racial injustice in its final season. Beyond this, and the fact that practically everyone Olivia Benson knows is revealed to be a rapist, seasons 14 through 17 remain highly watchable. Season 18 offers new opportunities to relive trauma, running in 2016-2017 and copy-pasting horrific events from the Trump era, of course without saying his name, such as the wave of hate crimes that occurred after his election. I wish I had stopped watching after season 17. In the finale a character dies and there is a gut-wrenching funeral scene; let the show be buried there. I did not care to experience various Trump headlines again. Season 18 does maintain its quality, however, so it might be worth it to some. But go no further!

In season 19, everything begins to go wrong. The dialogue and acting feel slightly off, as if they took a 5% hit in quality. It’s not huge, but it gnaws at you. The story writing really starts to slide. Benson’s son is nearly taken away from her due to a custodial fight, nearly taken away from her due to a bruise on his arm, and then finally is taken away from her in a kidnapping, all in the space of some 10 episodes! It all has a more melodramatic, soap opera vibe. The rest of the outings begin to feel a bit repetitive, too, despite a slight shift to the personal lives of the main characters — after nearly two decades of episodes, that happens. Barba leaves, which is almost as sad as his entirely unconvincing, lifeless near-relationship with Benson (the idea that Barba isn’t gay is absurd). I quit before the season was over, wishing I had earlier. From what I hear, the situation has only gotten worse.

SVU has just been renewed for a 25th season.

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What misery has befallen iconic franchises these days! From Star Wars to The Walking Dead, it’s an era of mediocrity. Creative bankruptcy, bad writing, and just plain bizarre decisions are characteristic, and will persist — fanbases will apparently continue paying for content no matter how dreadful, offering little incentive for studios to alter course. Marvel, for instance, appears completely out of gas. While a Spiderman film occasionally offers hope, I felt rather dead inside watching Thor: Love and Thunder, Dr. Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, and Wakanda Forever. Admittedly, I have not bothered with She-Hulk, Quantumania, Hawkeye, Ms. Marvel, Eternals, Black Widow, Loki, Shang-Chi, WandaVision, or Falcon and the Winter Soldier, and probably never will, but reviews from those I trust often don’t rise above “meh.” Of course, I do not glorify Marvel’s 2008-2019 (Iron Man to End Game) period as quite the Golden Age some observers do; there were certainly better movies produced then, but also some of the OKest or most forgettable: Incredible Hulk, Iron Man 2, Thor: The Dark World, Age of Ultron, Captain Marvel, Civil War, and the first 30 minutes of Iron Man 3 (I turned it off).

DC, as is commonly noted, has been a special kind of disaster. While Joker, Wonder Woman, The Batman, and Zack Snyder’s Justice League were pretty good, Justice League, Batman v. Superman, Suicide Squad, and Wonder Woman 1984, among others I’m sure, were atrocious. Two of these were so bad they were simply remade — try to imagine Marvel doing that, it’s difficult to do. Man of Steel, kicking off the series in 2013, was rather average. I liked the choice of a darker, grittier superhero universe, to stand in contrast to Marvel. But it wasn’t well executed. Remember Nolan’s The Dark Knight from 2008? That’s darkness done right. Joker and the others did it decently, too. But most did not. The DCEU is now being rebooted entirely, under the leadership of the director of the best Marvel film, Guardians of the Galaxy.

But Star Trek, it seems, has crashed and burned unlike any other franchise. Star Trek used to be about interesting, “what if” civilizations and celestial phenomena. It placed an emphasis on philosophy and moral questions, forcing characters to navigate difficult or impossible choices. It was adventurous, visually and narratively bright, and optimistic about the future of the human race, which finally unites and celebrates its infinite diversity and tries to do the same with other species it encounters. These things defined the series I watched growing up: The Next Generation, Voyager, Deep Space Nine, and Enterprise. The 2009 reboot Star Trek was more a dumb action movie (the sequels were worse), but at least it was a pretty fun ride. By most accounts the new television series since 2017 are fairly miserable: they’re dark, violent, gritty, stupid, with about as much heart as a Transformers movie (which is what Alex Kurtzman, the helmsman of New Trek, did prior). I have only seen clips of these shows and watched many long reviews from commentators I trust, save for one or two full episodes I stumbled upon which confirmed the nightmare. Those who have actually seen the shows start to finish may have a more accurate perspective. Regardless, when I speak of Star Trek being able to teach Marvel and DC anything, I mean Old Trek.

Batman v. Superman and Captain America: Civil War were flawed films (one more so) that got heroes beating each other up. A fun concept that I’m sure the comics do a million times better than these duds. The methods of getting good guys to fight, in my view, were painfully ham-fisted and unconvincing. The public is upset in both movies about collateral damage that the heroes caused when saving the entire world? Grow the fuck up, you all would have died. Batman wants to kill Superman because he might turn evil one day? Why not just work on systems of containment, with kryptonite, and use them if that happens? Aren’t you a good guy? Superman fights Batman because Lex Luthor will kill his mother if he doesn’t, when trying to enlist Batman’s help might be more productive? (Note that Batman finds Martha right away when their fight ends and they do talk; not sure how, but it happens.) Talking to Batman, explaining the situation, and working through the problem together may sound lame or impossible, but recall that these are both good guys. That’s probably what they would do. Superman actually tries to do this, right before the battle starts. The screenwriters make a small attempt to hold together this ridiculous house of cards, while still making sure the movie happens. Superman is interrupted by Batman’s attack. Then he’s too mad to just blurt it out at any point. “I need your help! We’re being manipulated! My mother’s in danger!” When your conflict hinges completely on two justice-minded people not having a short conversation, it’s not terribly convincing.

Civil War has the same problems: there’s a grand manipulator behind the scenes and our heroes won’t say obvious things that would prevent the conflict. They must be dumbed down. Zemo, the antagonist, wants the Avengers to fall apart, so he frames the Winter Soldier for murder. Tony Stark and allies want to bring the Winter Soldier in dead or alive, while Captain America and allies want to protect him and show that he was framed. If Cap had set up a Zoom call, he could have calmly explained the reasons why he believed Bucky was innocent; he could have informed Tony and the authorities that someone was clearly out to get the Winter Soldier, even brainwashing him after the framing to commit other violent acts. Steve Rogers’ dear friends and fellow moral beings probably would have listened. Instead, all the good guys have a big brawl at the airport (of course, no one dies in this weak-ass “Civil War”). Then Zemo reveals that the Winter Soldier murdered Tony Stark’s parents decades ago. This time Cap does try to explain. “It wasn’t him, Hydra had control of his mind!” He could have kept yelling it, but common sense must be sacrificed on the altar of the screenplay. Iron Man is now an idiot, anyway, a blind rage machine incapable of rational thought. Just like Superman. Who cares if Bucky wasn’t in control of his actions? Time to kill! So the good guy ignores the sincere words of the other good guy — his longtime friend — and they have another pointless fight.

Of course, these movies do other small things to create animosity between heroes, which is beneficial. Superman has a festering dislike of Batman’s rough justice, such as the branding of criminals. Batman is affected by the collateral damage of Superman saving the day in Man of Steel (how Lex Luthor knows Batman hates Superman, or manipulates him into hating the Kryptonian, is not explained). Tony Stark wants the government to determine when and how the Avengers act, while Steve Rogers wants to maintain independence. (The first position is a stretch for any character, as “If we can’t accept limitations we’re no different than the bad guys” is obviously untrue, given motivations, and limitations will almost certainly prevent these heroes from saving the entire world. Remember how close it came a few times? Imagine if you had to wait for the committee vote; imagine if the vote was “sit this one out.” It’s fairly absurd. But it would make a tiny bit more sense to have Captain America — the Boy Scout, the soldier — be the bootlicker following orders, not the rebellious billionaire playboy.) Still, the fisticuffs only come about because protagonists go stupid.

There are better ways to get heroes battling. If you want an evil manipulator and good guys incapable of communicating, just have one hero be mind controlled. Or, if you want to maintain agency, do what Star Trek used to do so well and create a true moral conundrum. Not “should we be regulated” or some such nonsense. A “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” scenario, with protagonists placed on either side. In the Deep Space Nine episode “Children of Time,” the crew lands on a planet that has a strange energy barrier. They discover a city of 8,000 people — their own descendants! They are in a time paradox. When the crew attempts to leave the planet, the descendants say, the energy barrier throws them 200 years into the past and their ship is damaged beyond repair in the ensuing crash. They have no choice but to settle there — leaving behind loved ones off-world and in another time, mourning their friends who died in the crash, and, most importantly, unable to return to the war that threatens the survival of Earth. The crew tries to figure out a way to escape the paradox. But they have a terrible moral choice to make. If they escape the energy barrier, they will end the existence of 8,000 people to save their own skins — the crash will never have occurred, thus no descendants. If they decide not to escape, not to avoid the crash, they will never see their loved ones again, friends will die, and the Federation may lose the war. This is a dilemma in the original sense of the word: there are no good options. Characters fall on different sides of the decision. No, Deep Space Nine isn’t dumb enough for everyone to begin punching each other in the face, but you see a fine foundation for such a thing to occur in a superhero film. You see the perspectives of both sides, and they actually make sense. You can see how, after enough time and argument and tension, good people might be willing to use violence against other good people, their comrades, to either save a civilization or win a war.

As a similar example, there’s the Voyager episode “Tuvix,” in which two members of another crew are involved in a transporter accident. The beaming combines them into a single, new individual. He has personality traits and memories of the two crewmen, but is a distinct, unique person. The shocked crew must come to terms with this event and learn to accept Tuvix. A month or two later comes the ethical dilemma: a way to reverse the fusion is developed. The two original crewmen can be restored, but Tuvix will cease to exist. Tears in his eyes, he begs for his life. What do you do? Kill one to save two? Kill a stranger to save a friend? Can’t you see Captain America standing up for the rights of a new being, while Iron Man insists that the two originals have an overriding right to life? Give good people good reason to come to blows. Such ideas and crises can be explored in the superhero realm just as easily as in Star Trek.

This is much more powerful and convincing than disagreements over — yawn — treaties and whether arm boy should die for events he had no control over.

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