Wooster & Jeeves on Spider-Man, Superheroes and the Next 007

Something had been weighing on my mind since the previous evening. It involved Spider-Man and an alarming number of other superheroes.

The whole business had arisen during one of those animated discussions at the Drones Club which begin with somebody making an innocent observation and end with the constabulary being summoned to untangle the members. On this occasion, passions had run unusually high, probably because the subject of superheroes had brought out a latent one in each member.

I had fled from the field with several questions still buzzing about the old cranium, and had been waiting for breakfast and the arrival of Jeeves to subject them to expert examination.

So when Jeeves entered with the breakfast tray, Bertram lost no time in getting down to business.

“Jeeves,” I said.

“Sir?”

“Spider-Man.”

Jeeves received this without visible surprise. One of the advantages of long service in the Wooster household is that a man presumably becomes accustomed to conversations beginning in the middle.

“The new film, sir?”

“The very one. Catsmeat Potter-Pirbright says the new flick is breaking every box-office record known to civilisation. Freddie Widgeon says the real danger is that every child in England will now want a Spider-Man costume, followed shortly afterwards by half the membership of the Drones.”

“A disturbing possibility, sir.”

“Particularly after what happened at last year’s fancy-dress ball.”

I applied myself briefly to the toast.

“The discussion yesterday became fairly heated, Jeeves. And naturally, with cinema being the subject, the chaps sought my views.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Quite. The fact is, Jeeves, since acquiring my extensive knowledge of The Odyssey, Greek mythology, the Trojan War and what not—with some assistance from you, of course—I seem to have emerged as the Drones’ resident authority on high-brow cinema. Whenever these weightier cultural matters come up, there is now a noticeable tendency for the chaps to turn towards me. Yesterday, Catsmeat actually stopped talking and asked me a question.”

“A considerable tribute, sir.”

“Precisely. What is the point, Jeeves, of acquiring all this knowledge if one cannot spread a little enlightenment among the less fortunate?”

I paused to take a thoughtful bite of toast.

“Anyway, the point is that this Greek production has apparently crossed a billion in revenues, and this swinging costumed super-hero two!”

“An impressive commercial performance, sir.”

“Quite. And I am told the very same husband and wife star in both of them!”

“Mr Tom Holland and Miss Zendaya, sir. They are indeed a legally united couple of considerable popular renown.”

“Exactly! One plus one, Jeeves! It’s the Couple Scheme. It’s everywhere nowadays. Buy one, get one free. Railway tickets, restaurant meals, theatre passes. Hollywood has obviously caught on. There are discounts for twin occupancy at hotels. All you need to do is cast a husband-and-wife team. Same room, same location—and I’m sure there must be a family discount on the costumes too.”

“I hesitate to speculate on the commercial contracts or sleeping arrangements of major Hollywood performers, sir,” Jeeves replied, his face remaining as unruffled as a frozen pond. “The casting process may be somewhat more exacting than a bulk-discount arrangement.”

“That’s what they want you to think, Jeeves. But a penny saved here and another penny saved somewhere else eventually becomes two pennies, and you can’t argue with mathematics. There’s another example, too. That film where nobody speaks at all. Whole family creeping about trying not to make any sound.”

“A Quiet Place, sir. Mr. John Krasinski and Miss Emily Blunt.”

“Another married couple! Most married couples I know would cheerfully pay good money for the privilege of not speaking to each other, and these two somehow arranged matters so that somebody paid them instead! That, Jeeves, is what I call commercial acumen.”

“An interesting interpretation, sir.”

“And they’ve managed this more than once?”

“Three times thus far, sir, with a further instalment in prospect.”

“Three times! You have to admire a couple who discover a sound business model and stick to it.”

“Quite, sir.”

“And the next one?”

“Miss Blunt is appearing, sir. Mr Krasinski is directing.”

“Ah. So the Couple Scheme has been discontinued.”

I thought about this.

“Though twin occupancy still works, Jeeves.”

“One assumes so, sir.”

“Excellent. So the basic economics remain sound. Though I suppose after three films together, a chap is entitled to retreat behind the camera.”

I applied a satisfied hand to the toast.

“Still, between the Greek epics, Spider-Man and married couples being employed by the brace, the cinema business seems to be going through a particularly energetic phase. Is it superhero season, Jeeves? Has the planet gone entirely mad for gentlemen in brightly-coloured long johns?”

“It would certainly appear to be the prevailing appetite, sir. Avengers: Doomsday is also due to appear.”

“Doomsday! They don’t believe in understatement, do they? Whatever happened to simpler pursuits like The Case of the Missing Necklace?”

“The scale of cinematic jeopardy has increased considerably over the years, sir.”

“You can say that again. When I was a stripling, villains had reasonable ambitions. A chap robbed a bank, stole the Crown Jewels, or kidnapped a duke’s daughter. Scotland Yard sent Inspector Something-or-other round, a few footprints were examined, and everybody was home in time for dinner. Nowadays, nobody seems interested in stealing anything smaller than the universe.”

“The criminal imagination has evidently expanded, sir.”

“Expanded? There’s no moderation. Whatever happened to starting small and working one’s way up?”

“A philosophy which the modern supervillain appears reluctant to embrace.”

“And naturally, once every villain wants the universe, you need armies of superheroes to stop him. They’re breeding like rabbits, Jeeves. At the present rate, superheroes will outnumber ordinary citizens before long. A chap will have to wear a cape and long johns just to get a table at the Savoy.”

“A development which might complicate the cloakroom arrangements, sir.”

“Still, if they’re calling the thing Doomsday, I assume everybody reports for duty. All hands to the pump.”

“A considerable assembly of heroes is involved, sir.”

“And what about all these military titles, Jeeves? Captain America, Captain Marvel... Did these chaps actually attend Sandhurst, or did they simply award themselves commission ranks to sound authoritative on the posters?”

“I believe the titles are largely theatrical designations, sir, rather than official military appointments.”

“I suspected as much. And where is Superman?”

“Not present in this production, sir.”

“Batman?”

“No, sir.”

“Good Lord, Jeeves! Are they injured?”

“No, sir. Mr. Wayne and the gentleman from Krypton belong to Detective Comics, designated as DC, whereas the Avengers are the intellectual property of Marvel.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Jeeves, the world is ending! Hardly the moment to start checking employment contracts! You mean to tell me that while the universe is being squashed flat, Superman is sitting at home twiddling his thumbs and citing legalities coming in the way of his joining the troops?”

“In essence, sir. DC characters and Marvel characters do not inhabit the same cinematic world.”

“It sounds like dashed poor sportsmanship, Jeeves!” I scoffed, waving my teacup in disgust. “It’s like the Drones Club refusing to play cricket against the Harlequins because we don’t share the same tailor! If the cosmos is on the verge of annihilation, a chap ought to put aside club rules and rally round!”

“A most equitable sentiment, sir, though the respective ownership rights appear to present an insuperable difficulty.”

“Batman especially disappoints me,” I added, shaking my head. “Chap has everything required. Inherited wealth. Enormous house. Private cave. Expensive sports cars. Gadgets. An elderly gentleman taking care of the practical details... He’s practically me with better upper-body strength!”

“There are certain superficial similarities, sir. Though Mr. Wayne has devoted many years to martial arts, criminology, and forensic science.”

“There’s always a catch, Jeeves. Does he at least belong to a club?”

“The Justice League, sir.”

“There you are! Drones with capes!” I took a sip of tea and sighed with deep nostalgia. “Whatever happened to the good old days, Jeeves? What happened to The Phantom?”

“The Ghost Who Walks, sir?”

“The very chap. Now there was a superhero a fellow could understand. None of this business about galaxies colliding or one lot of superheroes being unable to help another lot because the lawyers haven’t spoken. The Phantom lived in the jungle. He had a cave, a horse, a dog, and a purple suit. A villain appeared, the Phantom socked him on the jaw, and everyone went home satisfied.”

“A considerably less complicated narrative structure, sir.”

“And he had that ring.”

“The Skull Ring.”

“Exactly! Biff the villain on the jaw and leave a skull stamped on his face. Excellent branding, Jeeves. Years before anybody had heard of logos and social media, the Phantom understood brand recall.”

“Ahead of his time, perhaps.”

“Very much so. Fellow wakes up next morning, looks in the mirror and knows immediately who did it. No confusion, no correspondence, no need to send round a card.”

“An admirably efficient system.”

“And you could miss six months of the Phantom and return without suffering any intellectual disadvantage. Jungle still there. Horse still there. Dog still there. Skull Cave still there. Villains still getting punched. Try that with these modern superheroes.”

“The contemporary stories are rather more interconnected sir.”

“Catsmeat told me that. Apparently, before watching one superhero film, I need to watch eleven earlier films, a 16 episode television series, and something called a post-credit scene! Jeeves, I go to the cinema for relaxation Jeeves; I don’t want homework! The Phantom never gave homework. Horse. Dog. Cave. Villain. Punch!”

“A model of narrative economy, sir.”

“Precisely!” I exclaimed. “Instead, we have this modern Multiverse nonsense. Bingo Little was babbling about it in the smoking room yesterday. Said there are infinite parallel worlds where different versions of us are wandering about.”

“That is the premise, sir. It postulates an infinite number of co-existing realities wherein variations of an individual lead disparate lives.”

I froze, the teacup hovering inches from my chin as a horrifying realization hit me like a wet towel.

“You’re telling me, Jeeves,” I whispered, “that somewhere in the cosmos, there is a parallel universe where I am leaping between rooftops in red tights, and Aunt Agatha is the supervillain hunting me down with a lethal ray gun?”

“Such a possibility would certainly be accommodated by the premise, sir. Though in other universes, Mrs. Gregson might equally be engaged in fighting crime.”

“Heaven forbid!” I shuddered. “A heroic Aunt Agatha would be twice as dangerous as a villainous one. She’d mandate compulsory tea parties across five dimensions and outlaw silk pyjamas everywhere!”

I took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to restore my shattered nervous system before continuing.

“Speaking of capes and tights, Jeeves, there’s another thing that’s been bothering me. Why is all the heavy lifting in the universe left to the male of the species? Where are the superheroines?”

“The female contingent is in fact substantial, sir. Wonder Woman, Black Widow, and Captain Marvel are among the better-known examples.”

“Black Widow?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bit rough on the girl, isn’t it? Superman gets Superman. Captain America gets an entire country. She gets a poisonous spider and a deceased husband.”

“The title refers to the species of spider, sir, rather than to the lady’s marital status.”

“I appreciate that, but it doesn’t help the branding. They should have spoken to the Phantom.”

“A consultation which might have proved useful.”

“And the other two?”

“Wonder Woman possesses extraordinary physical strength and has been depicted lifting tanks, sir.

“Golly Jeeves! Tanks?”

“Yes sir. And Captain Marvel possesses enormous cosmic power and can travel through space unaided.”

“So one lifts tanks and the other flies through outer space without even having to check in. Impressive. It seems I’ve done the ladies an injustice, Jeeves. They haven’t merely joined the superhero profession. They’ve gone straight in at the top.”

“One might say so.”

“Quite right, too. With these credentials, it seems rather absurd to make them join the superhero profession at apprentice level and work their way up. Those strike me as senior qualifications, Jeeves.”

“A fair observation, sir.”

“And speaking of women getting some of the action, Jeeves, wasn’t there something in the last Bond picture about a lady becoming 007?”

“Indeed, sir. In No Time to Die, following Commander Bond’s retirement, the number 007 was assigned to another agent, Nomi.”

“That’s the one. And then Daniel Craig comes back.”

“Commander Bond returns to active service, sir, and ultimately loses his life.”

“Pops his boots! Rather permanently too, from what I remember.”

“The conclusion left little room for ambiguity, sir.”

“So what happens now?”

“The producers are considering who should next portray James Bond.”

I stared at him.

“But Jeeves, the chap is dead.”

“Mr. Daniel Craig’s incarnation of the character is dead, sir. James Bond himself will return, portrayed by another actor.”

I allowed this information to make a couple of circuits of the Wooster brain, but it failed to find anywhere comfortable to sit.

“So a chap gets blown to smithereens, another chap turns up looking completely different, announces that he is the same chap, and everybody carries on as though nothing has happened?”

“That is broadly the convention, sir.”

“I owe the Multiverse an apology. At least it attempted an explanation.”

“A fair point, sir.”

“So the search is on?”

“Very much so, sir. Speculation is considerable and a number of names have been mentioned.”

“Any women?”

“That possibility has also been the subject of some speculation, sir.”

“Well, I don’t see why not. You’ve just told me one woman can lift tanks, another can fly through space, and Black Widow is already in the espionage line. Driving an Aston Martin in evening clothes ought to be practically a holiday.”

“The occupations are not entirely comparable, sir.”

“Near enough. Though Black Widow can’t do it, obviously.”

“Sir?”

“She’s with the other lot, isn’t she? And Bond is with a different lot altogether. We’ve been through this.”

“Quite so, sir.”

“Dashed lawyers.”

I considered the matter a little further.

“Well, speaking strictly as a chap who likes a good dash of cinema and a decently shaken martini, I’m all for it, Jeeves. Let the ladies take the wheel of the Aston Martin! Give them the explosive cufflinks and the fountain pens that turn into rocket launchers! I shall be sitting in the front row with a bag of buttered popcorn, eagerly awaiting the announcement.”

“A most progressive and commendable sentiment, sir.”

“Mind you, Jeeves,” I added, pausing as a final, icy thought crossed my mind, “there is one strict condition.”

“Sir?”

“They must give me a sworn guarantee that under no circumstances will they cast Aunt Agatha.”

Jeeves offered a subtle, reassuring incline of the head. “I believe we may rest entirely easy on that score, sir. Her Ladyship’s considerable commitments as Chairwoman of the Woolston Ladies’ Guild would scarcely permit four months of principal photography in Jamaica.”

A profound wave of relief washed over me. I sank back into the plush depths of the armchair.

“Thank heaven for small mercies, Jeeves,” I sighed, extending my cup. “Pass the marmalade.”

“With the utmost pleasure, sir.”

A Note from Rajeev Beotra

Wooster & Jeeves On… is an occasional companion to my regular Chronicles from Mehra World. If you enjoyed this exchange, you may enjoy Arvind Mehra's adventures too.

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