As our TV landscape has been dominated by superheroes and action/crime dramas, I've become increasingly interested in those shows featuring vigilantes. More specifically, I'm intrigued by the differing portrayals, the moral ambiguities, of vigilante justice. From CW's Arrowverse to Netflix's Marvel series to the plentiful yet comparably mundane police procedurals, we are given many options as to how to regard vigilante crime-fighters. In particular, there seem to exist dichotomous depictions of vigilante justice on TV: we have the upstanding-vigilante-as-protagonist series (à la Dexter) and the vigilantes-as-dangerous-outliers series (e.g., any given crime procedural).
In the past (and even now), this issue has been written off as a matter of perspective. Because of course, in the classic "history is written by the victors" mindset, by controlling our perspective—by feeding us a viewpoint that paints the show's protagonist(s) as heroes—TV shows prejudice us to identify with their protagonists no matter what type of moral code they maintain. However, I would argue that this oversimplifies the matter when applied to vigilante justice. For unlike the protagonists of shows like Dexter and Breaking Bad (and to some extent, House), newer shows with vigilantes do not portray their protagonists as antiheroes, rather as the real justice-bringers of their societies. We are not meant to like them despite their outlaw tendencies, but for them; they are, after all, going after the bad guys, willing to do whatever it takes to make their city safe from those who would cause it harm. And as the best examples of protagonists whose goal it is to "save their cities," the shows I am going to focus on are those in the CW's Arrowverse: Arrow, The Flash, and now Supergirl. (Legends would count if it didn't already consist of subpar Arrowverse rejects...burn.)
Vigilantes be strugglin'
I'll start with Arrow, since it's the prime example of what I'm trying to discuss. This show is incredibly self-aware of its vigilante justice portrayal—Arrow makes the viewer painfully aware of Oliver's vigilante status and the accompanying angst such a status brings. In fact, I don't think there's a single episode where Oliver doesn't call into question his outside-the-law tactics or bemoan his past crimes. About to enter his sixth season, Oliver is still tortured by his first season's (and five years' preceding) moral code, wherein his alter-ego "the Hood" had no qualms about torturing or killing just to get information, much less for vengeance or justice. Oliver's quest to "save his city" overrode any moral compass, which is why, when Oliver tempered his tactics in later seasons, his alter ego was re-branded to "Arrow" and then "Green Arrow." (Or, as he is so fond of saying, "I must become someone else. I must become something else"). Much like the more famous millionaire-turned-vigilante flying around Gotham, Oliver Queen eventually commits to a "no more killing" code, but continues to berate himself for ever acting outside that code—the vigilante curse.
And of course, his suffering derives from outside forces as well. Most recently, he found season five's big bad, Prometheus, to be the revenge-seeking son of a former murder victim of "the Hood," a revelation that came just after Team Arrow member Artemis betrayed Oliver upon discovering that he was behind "the Hood's" murders. So no, Arrow does not shy away from the dark sides of vigilante justice, what with its consequences, secrets, guilt, shame, regret, and the occasional public witch hunt. Just like in the films of Batman and Spider-Man, Green Arrow must navigate a tenuous alliance with actual law enforcement and an always-fickle public trust. One wrong move, and he could find himself the target of the Star City anti-vigilante police task force (as he did again this season when it was suspected that he killed Detective Billy Malone...which he did...though he was tricked...but I digress...). Point being, Oliver is incredibly conscious of how his choices as a vigilante will reflect on his reputation and his conscience, yet keeps finding himself in morally dubious, kill-or-be-killed situations, wherein he (or Felicity) always manages to justify his actions.
Arrow has yet to come out on one side of this vigilante hero-or-villain debate, instead focusing on the double-edged sword of Oliver's masked moonlighting. The trouble with maintaining such ambiguity is best seen in season five's inability to balance Oliver's mayoral campaign with his continued extracurricular crime-fighting activities; as a result, the season never really commits to an answer to Detective Lance's question, "What this city needs is somebody who can stand out in the light of day, not lurk around in the shadows. You said you were gonna be different this time, huh? How?" And no, Oliver, a new name doesn't count.
Everything's coming up super-vigilante
Then we have shows like Supergirl and The Flash, wherein our heroes are almost always beloved by their cities and even called upon by law enforcement to help catch criminals. (Granted, these heroes must battle aliens and metahumans, respectively, which normal police are not equipped to handle). Nevertheless, these shows also need to grapple with the morality of vigilante justice, which is technically what they depict, given that their eponymous protagonists "take the law into their own hands" whenever they deem it necessary.
Supergirl in particular calls its hero's methods into question in many ways. Most directly, in its late-season two episode "Alex," Kara clashes with Detective Maggie Sawyer over the perceived interference of superheroes with police business. Basically, Supergirl causes extensive (and unnecessary) damage during her resolution of a bank heist/hostage situation, when the police could have dealt with the situation successfully (though more slowly) and with less collateral damage. Maggie even mentions a "Supergirl defense" used by criminals to get lighter court sentences, given the excessive force used against or injury done to them by National City's heroine. While on the surface the episode advocates for letting the police do their job with minimal super-assistance, ultimately, this episode teaches the same lesson to both Maggie and Supergirl (who separately consider illegal actions in order to rescue their common link, Alex)—the best outcome can be achieved by following the law. Though the two seem happy to embrace their personal and professional partnership after this episode, things aren't always so smooth for Supergirl.
Like Green Arrow, Supergirl is hyper aware of her public image, and faces issues with her conscience (in "Truth, Justice, and the American Way" she fails to defend her jail-without-trial treatment of Max, the only person questioning Supergirl's god-like capabilities) and reputation (after recovering from a bout of red kryptonite evilness, Kara only regains public trust by sacrificing herself and absorbing a lightning blast from the villain Livewire). Greg Berlanti & Co. have furthered this examination of vigilante justice by adding James' alter ego Guardian to the streets, with James saying it's his way of making a difference for good (though like Oliver, he discovers that he needs more than a black belt and a mask to win public favor). Overall, Supergirl focuses more on heroism in general than vigilantism in specific; the show puts forth ordinary humans as heroes, like Cat, Alex, or Maggie, intimating that hope, love, and a belief in human goodness will allow us to surmount anything (including alien invasions), and blatantly says and/or shows as much anytime Supergirl loses her powers. So though she has her moments of "going too far," Supergirl sends a much more optimistic (and less angst-ridden) message than Arrow, portraying heroes as people who want to do good, on any level. Police, commuters, aliens, vigilantes—as long as you stand for what's "right" (read: lawful), you can continue on your crime-fighting way.
The Flash deals with this examination of vigilantism much less, since the citizens of Central City are overjoyed to know the scarlet speedster has their backs. The police routinely ask for his help (unaware that Flash's alter ego is already a CCPD crime lab employee) and local shops even name coffee drinks after him (plus, dating a journalist never hurts). The only time Flash's reputation is under attack is when one of the many evil speedsters is impersonating him and purposefully besmirching his good name. (Except, of course, for rule-adhering Julian’s dislike of him in season 3, when he states, “because of [The Flash], the police department has gotten lethargic. I mean, why do anything at all if The Flash is going to save the day every time?” [He later comes to see our hero as a source of hope.]) With The Flash, we are presented with the clearest view of vigilantes as forces of good, a super-addition to law enforcement that ensures they always get the bad guy. Flash's biggest battles aren't with the police or the public—they're usually personal, with him dealing with the death of his parents, his relationship with gf Iris, or the latest self-sacrificial move by himself or one of his teammates. Outside of those hero-complex issues, The Flash is pretty straightforward, highlighting its main cast as benevolent super-vigilantes, the only ones in a city of metas who use their powers to help the greater good, not themselves.
So really, in all three Arrowverse shows, we are meant to cheer for the vigilantes, knowing that legitimate law enforcement is a) ineffective, b) misled in thinking our hero is a criminal, or worse, c) in our hero's way. These shows seem to tell us, "we know that our vigilante heroes will hold themselves accountable for their mistakes, so who are we to judge"? They're just doing the best they can, running/ flying/ motorcycling around their cities all day and night (albeit frequently causing extensive infrastructural damage, collateral damage, or just plain failing to stop crimes). They know what justice is, and since they want to keep their cities safe, how can we criticize them for their goodwill efforts?
Certain police procedurals, as with the police departments in certain Arrowverse shows, seem to agree. Haven't we all heard on cop shows the partners muttering to one another, "sounds like this guy is doing our work for us" or "we shouldn't be hunting him, we should be thanking him"? And when we only look at these vigilante-protagonist examples, such sentiments make sense.
Vigilantes as villains (dun dun duuun)
Then again, what are we to make of this prevailing "friendly neighborhood vigilante" idea when we watch shows where cops are the good guys, telling us that vigilante justice is dangerous? That only the police should have the power to dole out justice, judgment, or punishment? Take last season's "Army of One" episode of Chicago P.D.—strangely the impetus for this post—wherein the suspect, a vigilante, is anything but a hero. Though a killer of pedophiles, what with the classic Dick Wolf twist, it turns out that he is himself a pedophile (and by the end of the episode, a murderer). There is no way for us to take him as a positive element, as a hero, for they make it clear that his killings are nothing more than a way "to cleanse his own sins." His killings are needlessly brutal and violent, focused on making his victims suffer, not so much to wreak vengeance. Though they note his "rigid moral code," since this show has the police as protagonists, we are never meant to question the police going after this vigilante. He's no Dexter. Even if he wasn't a bad guy himself, he is operating outside of the law—and as one of the show's taglines reads, "break the law, we'll break you."
It's really not a stretch to imagine how people operating outside the law, crime-fighting according to their own codes, could end badly. Look at the mess that do-gooders Daredevil, Jessica Jones, and Luke Cage make for their respective NY neighborhoods. Oftentimes we cheer for vigilante justice because it's the type of thing that's denied to us in real life, the eye-for-an-eye comeuppance that on some level, just feels right. It's only when we're faced with those who take things too far, who have a total disregard for collateral damage or a purely self-serving outlook in their quests to make things right, that we see how such "justice" can make the whole world blind (more on this later).
As pretty much any comic book-inspired show or movie can certify, vigilantes become villains when they openly flout the law, to the point of committing murder. Check out this mid-season exchange between Jessica Jones' Sgt. Simpson (a cop with a mysterious past) and Trish (a normal human citizen):
SIMPSON: "Some people need to be removed from this earth, and Kilgrave is one of them."
TRISH: "We don't get to decide that. Killers decide that. That's what makes them killers."
SIMPSON: "That is naïve."
TRISH: "And idealistic, and futile, but I want justice for my friend. For that girl in prison. For you and me. I want Kilgrave to live long and alone and despised until he wants to die, but can't. Because that's justice, and I'll fight like hell for it."
Trish ends this conversation by telling the police officer that "justice" is Kilgrave paying for his crimes in prison, not in a villainous, judge/jury/executioner-style death.
Vigilantes gone legit
And this brings me to the final twist—that operating outside the law, the very thing that defines vigilante behavior, is not exclusive to vigilantes. Sometimes the police themselves go rogue. Chicago P.D., like many crime procedurals, portrays a crossing-the-line-but-it's-okay-because-we're-cops type of justice, usually in the form of escalating suspect interrogations to threats (or acts) of violence. This show in particular is liable to depict an interrogation-turned-beating as an almost noble act, especially when it results in the suspect giving them the desired information and one or more lives are saved. (But vengeance is a viable motive, too. Think of Sgt. Hank Voight "taking a drive" with the man who killed his son). Though certain members of the team fight for by-the-rules policing (we miss you, Antonio), Voight shows no remorse for his outlaw actions, regardless of any punishment he receives, which suggests to the viewer that his type of justice is equally acceptable. Though CPD tries to spin this in its tagline "break the rules, not the law," it is nevertheless condoning the types of behavior that are its characters' job to prevent. This is where cops cross paths with vigilantes, where working outside the law is justified for "the greater good" or where "the ends justify the means." If they catch the crime boss or save the child, who cares how they got it done, right?
In shows like Chicago P.D. or even Bones or Castle, mistreating a suspect or otherwise maneuvering around the law (e.g., a B&E made legitimate through one officer saying "I think I heard something") is more often than not shown in a sympathetic light. The officers are following a "gut feeling," believe that this crime is "personal," or, my personal favorite, they just don't like the suspect's attitude. And kicking in a door without cause or punching a perp in the face is almost always effective. In the latter case, the suspect loses his sarcastic demeanor, his "what are you gonna do about it" attitude, and quickly gets to sharing information. (And besides, he probably had an extremely smug face). We are not supposed to feel bad about these situations—it's more of a thrill, sometimes even portrayed as "going the extra mile" to solve or prevent a crime. Any reprimand or suspension levied against our protagonist police officers—when weighed against a successful arrest—is to be met with the understanding that such illegal behavior was worth it.
Here, as with Arrowverse vigilantes, we are not meant to like policemen despite their outlaw tendencies, but for them. We are meant to understand that the protagonist will lose his/her temper every once in a while, especially when investigating a particularly heinous crime. Law officers have taken the "serve and protect" oath, after all, and are just as dedicated to protecting their cities as superheroes. They intend to back up claims like that in another of CPD's taglines—"don't f*** with my city." The consequences for criminals are unspoken, yet clear.
Vigilantes versus villains
Before I get to the conclusion, I would like to briefly address a harder-hitting issue with this TV vigilante theme. This issue comes in the form of big-picture questions, for all the series hitherto discussed. First and foremost, I have to ask, what message are these shows sending? That our justice system is inept? Weak? Too bogged down with rules? How much should we care about how a crime is stopped, how information is gathered, or how citizens are treated (regardless of their attitudes)?
Don't get me wrong, I understand that much of what is portrayed in these shows is chosen for its dramatic effect, for the tension of having characters walk the line between right and wrong, no matter how unlikely the actual events would be. But with a concurrent wave of true crime series (not to mention real life crimes) that undermine or even discourage our trust of actual law enforcement, such as Netflix's Making a Murderer or the podcasts In the Dark and Serial, it is important to ask these questions.
As for how we are supposed to feel about vigilante justice, given its varying on-screen portrayals? Well, as I've discussed, no show really advocates for a black-and-white interpretation, since vigilantes struggle with their responsibilities and methods, and the police alternately admire, condemn, and re-appropriate vigilante behaviors.
Nevertheless, I think I have an answer. One that I've reached after spending many hours with this post. And part of that answer is to treat both groups—vigilantes and police officers—the same. For regardless of the show's point of view, we are encouraged to sympathize with the protagonists as long as they are good-intentioned, with strong moral codes and high success rates. Simply put, both types of characters are rewarded for following "the moral right" and punished for delving into "the moral wrong." Oliver feels often-overwhelming guilt for the past crimes he's committed, Supergirl is contrite when her unlawful actions are disputed, and Detectives Voight and Lindsay are reprimanded by their superiors when they overstep the law's bounds (i.e., are respectively jailed and fired). Our heroes follow the law (or its close approximation) in order to make sure that others do so, as well. And we are meant to forgive them when they take things too far, because ultimately, their hearts are in the right place. At the end of the day, we know they will be held accountable by the law, the public, and themselves.
And it is this element of accountability, coupled with their good intentions, that maintains their "hero" status.
Without accountability, many a comic book villain could be labeled a vigilante hero. On TV, the line separating good and bad vigilantes often comes in comically hyperbolic, good-intentioned-but-ultimately-evil plans. Think of Damien Darhk, Astra and Non, or Zoom, who respectively attempt to sacrifice a whole city (Arrow), a whole world (Supergirl), or even the multiverse (The Flash) to "save humanity from itself" or otherwise assert control (okay...Zoom was pure evil). Even with the more nuanced villains, like the initially good-intentioned Vulture of Spider-Man: Homecoming, certain lines are crossed and moralities suspended in order to serve increasingly selfish motives, to overcorrect the perceived wrongs.
TV heroes, meanwhile, can't help but stand for what's right. Think of the contrast exhibited in the Jessica Jones episode "AKA WWJD," when Jessica tries to get Kilgrave to use his powers for good—to get him to "do the hero thing." Whereas Jessica—sardonic, recalcitrant, dour Jessica—is repeatedly willing to sacrifice her life to save her friends, Kilgrave's inability to be compassionate, much less selfless, renders him useless in fighting crime; he decides what to do solely based on what he wants, threatens and tortures without remorse, and really doesn't care about the oftentimes fatal consequences of his mind-controlling words. What does he consider justice? Killing his parents (for an admittedly effed up childhood). For villains, it's not that the end justifies the means—it's that the means don't need any justification. They learn (or simply want) to openly defy laws, repudiate any attempted punishment, and often harm innocent lives in the process. That sort of unchecked power and ego is exactly what creates villains like Kilgrave. Their only accountability comes from the select few heroes who stand up to them.
And stand up they do. Whatever the series, we put up with the drama, the will they/won’t they of breaking the law or killing an adversary for the "greater good," because we know a) they won't or b) they'll be held accountable for their actions if they do. This accountability can lead to Arrow-type guilt and repentance, Chicago P.D.-type institutional reprimanding, or, as with villains who can't be stopped in any way but death, Jessica Jones-type grim acceptance and relief (and yeah, maybe a little celebration). Though each show has its own set of rules, its own brand of hero, the foundation is always the same—the protagonists have a desire, a calling, to do good. TV vigilantes may be treated as extreme examples of good Samaritans or even as law enforcement consultants, but we are meant to view them as heroes, flawed and full of self-doubt, but inherently good—and with a devoted team to prove it.
The real world may not be better off with a bunch of rule-breaking, law-defying, masked vigilantes out there, but TV sure is.
*Update: Season 1 of The Punisher naturally deals with this issue as well. It is particularly evident in episode nine, when war-veteran-turned-righteous-bomber Lewis begins his attack against those he believes is harming his country. When a comparison is drawn between Lewis and Frank Castle, Karen jumps to Castle’s defense while being interviewed on a radio show. After protesting that bombing “secretaries and janitors and beat cops—normal people” is “hardly the same thing [as killing murderers and drug dealers, as Castle did],” Karen is asked, “Where’s the line, Karen? Frank Castle decided that he knew better than the law and was tried for killing 37 people.” Though she again protests, “Frank Castle’s not a terrorist” and the radio host chimes in with “Castle was a hero for people who thought he was doing what cops failed to do,” the episode’s final shot shows Castle in front of a TV screen, with the news caption “Vigilante or Terrorist?” in large type across the bottom.
Of course, when Karen learns of Frank’s plan to kill Lewis, she warns him that that action “makes him no different than [the bomber],” and decries that they’re “two guys who don’t like the way the world works so they just do whatever they like.” But the same rules of morality follow this show as the others—Lewis takes things too far by harming innocents [and so dies], whereas Frank only kills corrupt officials and other wrongdoers [and so is rewarded with a clean slate]. So though through Karen, the show acknowledges that Frank’s actions, his violence, aren’t “the right way” to deal with criminals, it goes on to name one of its episodes “Virtue of the Vicious” [a similar title to the first draft of this post] and even has a character say, “sometimes a criminal’s a freedom fighter.”
Though reminiscent of The Hood, of all antiheroes and vigilantes discussed above, The Punisher is the most unrelenting and efficient justice-doler, yet perhaps the least haunted by his brutal attempts at justice (though of course, he has his own past tragedies to haunt him). A great discussion of the Lewis–Castle character comparison, and what viewers should take from it, can be found here.
*Update 2: For those up-to-date with Supergirl, Carolyn Seide mentioned in her review of the mid-season three finale that "In fact, [the new villain] Reign isn’t terrorizing the people of National City. Instead she seems to mostly be targeting bad guys like drug dealers and Morgan Edge. But rather than arrest these criminals, like Kara would do, she simply kills them. She’s an “evil” version of Supergirl not in the sense that she’s hurting innocents, but in the sense that she kills her enemies when she doesn’t need to. Kara’s friendship with Sam is designed to make [Sam's evil alter ego] Reign a more compelling villain (and it does), but Reign’s moral philosophy also makes her an inherently interesting foil too. Having just reviewed all 13 episodes of The Punisher, I’m curious to see how Supergirl tackles questions about superheroes and violence. But for now, the show mostly keeps those ideas on the backburner to explore later." So once again, it is the lack/loss of humanity (i.e., empathy) and accountability that creates a villainous vigilante. Keep your eyes peeled for further developments.
And for any interested parties, her Punisher reviews can be found here.