Letter from the editor

OCTOBER 2005

I have to admit that I've always had a certain resistance to things that smack of superherodom, including comics, books, and films based on the subject. Maybe my ambivalence stems from my suspicion of notions of impossible perfection that are innate to the idea of superheroes. Or maybe I've always been wary because of what happens when those concepts run amok, as with the Nazis' pursuit of a super-race--a fascist idea that wanted to eliminate all those that didn't fit the Aryan ideal and that tried to destroy all that stood in its way. So, while I have certainly gotten a kick out of certain classics, such as Spider-Man, which puts a different, more humane spin on the idea of superheroics, by and large I have held this genre at a distance.

Then last winter I saw The Incredibles, and like so many others, both young and not, I fell in love with Mr. Incredible, his wife Elastigirl, and their kids, Violet, Dash, and Jack Jack. Because their humanity is so vibrant, it doesn't matter that all the film's protagonists are cartoons. In fact, this profound humanity underlies all the extraordinary feats they pull off, and it's this, as well as a sense of irony and a postmodern consciousness about the whole idea of superheroes, that separates The Incredibles from what has been done before. It's a real product of the zeitgeist, an artifact that represents our collective hungers and dreams. All of which makes it a perfect metaphor for our times, so much so that, as you'll note, we play with the movie's title as a way to sum up this special October issue.

While this issue isn't literally about superheroes, there is a connection between that film and what we're doing here. For instance, many of the main features involve people who are trying to do extraordinary things; they're also determined to keep their humanity, and their consciousness of others, intact in the process. You'll note that just before the feature section begins--where you'll find interviews of Anne Hathaway by Angelina Jolie, Jon Bon Jovi by Jay-Z, Ziyi Zhang by Natalie Portman, Kanye West by Fiona Apple, Lou Pucci by Selma Blair, George Clooney by Norman Lear, Mary-Louise Parker by Justin Theroux, Kehinde Wiley by Thelma Golden, and Sheryl Crow by JT Leroy--there's a regular Interview column that appears under the rubric ViewWoman. October's ViewWoman is Dr. Mathilde Krim, and it's impossible to think of anyone more appropriate as a prelude to a special section titled "The Incredibles" than Dr. Krim. Her clear-eyed view of AIDS since the first patients became sick, combined with her fearless, unwavering commitment to speaking out about what needed to be done, made hers a pivotal voice from the start. That voice remains fundamental. Then there's her brilliance as a thinker, activist, and fundraiser--all things that are still needed urgently today as AIDS continues its sweep through the world.

It's telling that when one calls Dr. Krim an inspiration, she doesn't like it. As far as she's concerned, she is simply doing what a human being does. And it's not just humans who recognize that there's something special about Dr. Krim. When I was at her apartment conducting the interview for this issue, and after we'd been talking for awhile, I began to notice some tiny noises that could best be described as clicking sounds; stranger still, they seemed to be coming from Dr. Krim herself. She noticed my surprise and offered, "I have a little friend." Frankly I had no idea what she meant but not wanting to pry I simply carried on with our interview.

We soon after moved on to lunch, continuing our conversation all the while. Then, somewhere between the soup and the souffle, out from Dr. Krim's blouse popped Pepito, a small yellow lovebird with a red forehead and throat and a beautiful striped tail in red, yellow, and white. We both laughed--and finally I understood who her "little friend" was. Then, for quite a while, he hung around her neck and collarbone, occasionally letting out little screeches and grinding noises. After that Pepito went back undercover into the safe confines of her blouse. Dr. Krim explained that Pepito had originally belonged to her sister, but that when her sister had adopted a dog, Pepito became anxious and developed a habit of compulsively biting himself and pulling out his feathers. Over time the condition grew worse so he'd moved in with Dr. Krim. Literally. In fact, she'd gotten so used to him living in her blouse that she confessed to me that she sometimes forgot to take him out when she left the apartment, and this had made for some hilarious goings-on.

Months later when we were going to press with this "Incredibles" issue, I decided to check in on Pepito and Dr. Krim. So I called to ask how they were doing, and she reported, "Right now he's back in my blouse." And his habit of picking at himself? "The loving care has improved the situation," she told me. "He does it less." It follows that her little bird had begun to heal. Pepito, I agree with you. Dr. Krim's love is the best thing that could happen to a lovebird, and ditto the world. Her gift to it has been truly incredible. By example she has shown that there is no "us" and "them." In the fight against AIDS, hope comes when we understand that we're all in it together. As Emily Dickinson said, "Hope is the thing with feathers/that perches in the soul/and sings the tunes without the words/and never stops at all." Incredible.