The Incredible Hulk

The tribulations of the Incredible Hulk — and, by extension, The Incredible Hulk, Universal's latest adaptation of the angry green giant — come from the long-standing challenge of turning something unpleasant into a work of entertainment. A horrific manifestation of meek scientist Bruce Banner's inner demons, the Hulk theoretically belongs in the classic horror genre alongside Mr. Hyde and Frankenstein's monster. As a creature of the comics, however, in the colorful realm of pop art, his fun side remains notoriously elusive. Dating back to the blithely cheesy score for the 1966 animated series ("Ain't he unglamo-rays?"), attempts to encompass the Hulk in a gleeful spirit have been repeatedly ill-informed. The 1977 series with Bill Bixby became a national joke; Ang Lee's generally reviled 2003 treatment, Hulk, went too far in the other direction, and the murky drama that resulted from his intentions left few people satisfied. The studio's do-over, while hardly a masterpiece, at least manages to align the character with the energized tropes of contemporary superhero franchises by making his strength the real star of the show.

By handing the directorial reigns to Louis Leterrier, the Parisian filmmaker responsible for the breathless Transporter films, Universal reveals its desire to emphasize spectacle over story. Banner, played by Edward Norton as a fearful geek with noble ambitions, views his unnatural exposure to gamma radiation as a disease. The Hulk, unleashed when Banner's heart starts pounding, is the main symptom. The government, however, lead by the gruff one-note General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross (William Hurt), sees the power as a tool. Rather than argue, Banner hits the road. The central conflict between these two men gives the movie its thrust (Liv Tyler, as Thaddeus' daughter and Banner's lover, hovers helplessly nearby), and the simplicity of their spat clears the road for the Hulk's emergence in a series of aggressive confrontations. In other words, an action movie.

The Hulk usually oscillates between two dire scenarios: He's either attacked by oppressive humans looking to capture him or used by Banner in carefully calibrated strategies to confront evil. Either way, he's a crazed militant psychopath, but never purposeless. The new version, written by Zak Penn, gets that much right. The Hulk, and his frightful foe (the Abomination, also played by Tim Roth) he battles in the climax, were developed as weapons. The Hulk becomes tolerated, if not fully accepted, when Banner and those around him understand how to fulfill his original destiny. You can forgive the fairly sloppy dialogue and occasional continuity errors if only for the gratification of seeing the Hulk transform into a lopsided hero when he finally teams up with the armed forces (possibly a keen introduction to his role in a developing Avengers movie, but those subtle commercial motives deserve separate analysis).

Watching the Hulk do his duty, it's easy to see how he represents psychological liberation. "You're everything he bottles up," explains Banner's pal Rick Jones to a slightly smarter version of the beast in preeminent Hulk comic book scribe Peter David's series. "Not just anger, but other stuff, too. Like jealousy and passion." Hence, the Hulk of Leterrier's film, tearing apart cars like paper and generating robust gusts of wind with a single hand clap, becomes a seething mass of desperation taking out his frustration on the world and finding catharsis in his defiance of human fragility. "It's beautiful," reflects amoral whackjob scientist Samuel Sterns (Tim Blake Nelson) after witnessing the brute materialize. "God-like." More than that, he's the ultimate flawed American superman.

As such, the Hulk has a definite political dimension, struggling to comprehend the bureaucracy around him. "I hate the government as much as anyone, but you're being a little paranoid," Banner gets told, and he's the first to admit his disillusionment. "It's like somebody poured acid in my brain," he moans. Together with the Hulk — essentially as his sidekick — Banner seeks a middle ground (and so does the franchise). But no amount of control prevents the Hulk from engaging in bouts of vicious destruction. By emphasizing these episodes over Banner's pathos, Leterrier actually lends a thin element of topicality to him. In Mr. Freedom, William Klein's great 1969 spoof of patriotic aggression (recently released on DVD by Criterion), the titular liberal-hating demagogue `embraces the mantra that "Might is right, and right is freedom." The Incredible Hulk reduces that sentiment to a triumphant roar: "Hulk smash!"