There aren't very many movies out there like Brad Bird's underrated masterpiece The Iron Giant. As a film about childhood and what it means to grow up, it manages to entertain while also allowing the audience to ponder the same philosophical questions that the main characters do. It’s smart, complex, funny, and, quite frankly, a bit ahead of its time. If you were handed a list of “must-see” animated films from the 1990s, there’s no doubt that The Iron Giant would be at the very top.
Many throw around words like "underrated" and "masterpiece" liberally to express their own unique and undying love for a specific movie, song, or show, but rarely do those words seem to carry any true weight behind them. Yet, The Iron Giant might actually take the cake as one of the most immersive and beautifully underappreciated (especially during its time) works of art to be released in theaters. Be it the personal journeys of the young Hogarth Hughes (Eli Marienthal) and his otherworldly Giant (Vin Diesel), the nostalgic small-town Americana aptly named “Rockwell,” Michael Kamen’s riveting score, or the exciting science-fiction premise that initially pulled lots of young boys and girls into the theater, The Iron Giant is one of those movies that has something for everybody. And if you weren't weeping by the time the credits rolled, well, let’s just say you must’ve been watching a completely different movie.
But admittedly, these may also be just the biased words of someone who carries a unique and undying love for a film such as this. Maybe it’s still a bit too personal.
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To put things in perspective, I was 4 years old when The Iron Giant was released. Barely able to comprehend my own existence, I tragically missed the film's initial stint in theaters — something that would be rectified twice in 2016 during the Signature Edition re-release — but that didn't stop me from adoring the film from an early age. Most of our family trips to Blockbuster ended with The Iron Giant VHS (and eventually DVD) in hand, since for some reason we didn't seem to own it at home, and while not my earliest memories, I vividly remember sitting in our old family room watching that movie again and again, sometimes on repeat. My eyes were ever glued to the screen. Whether it was the lovable features of the Giant, the breathtaking visuals, or subconsciously relating to Hogarth’s youthful optimism, The Iron Giant was a very significant part of my childhood that helped shape the way I viewed the world.
There are plenty of solid reasons to love this movie, but for many young boys, the most obvious hook was the fantastical notion that one could befriend their own giant robot. And who wouldn’t want that? To be able to fly through the air or play "superhero" with your very own 50-foot-tall BFF? The thought alone sparks countless possibilities and scenarios that you could imagine for hours on end. Though I wish I could say that I felt a deeper, more spiritual connection with the film from the moment I first saw it, truthfully, I was just enamored by the Giant’s childlike charm and heroics. To be even more transparent, I wanted my own giant robot too.
Of course, a hook isn’t enough to make a film a masterpiece (no matter how exciting it might be), and after watching The Iron Giant for years on end, the film’s message was slowly massaged into my soul. This message, which is a true turning point for young Hogarth, comes about 40 minutes in after he’s brought the Giant to the nearest "all-you-can-eat" scrapyard. To keep the Giant’s existence a secret, Hogarth stalls the junkyard owner (and amateur scrap artist) Dean McCoppin (Harry Connick Jr.) by blabbing on about his troubles with bullies at school. In what initially seems like a throwaway scene to simply re-establish the dynamic between these two characters (and keep the Giant hidden for a few extra minutes), Dean casually reminds Hogarth that it doesn’t matter what others think of him. He tells him that they can’t decide who he is, only he can; “You are who you choose to be.”
This message would be echoed by Hogarth to the Giant in the film’s climax. Believing Hogarth to be dead, the Giant attacks the U.S. Army with excessive force. He even comes close to destroying the entire town of Rockwell. In the height of all of this, a very-much-alive Hogarth makes his way through to the Giant, who has resorted back to his old programming. This is the same programming that sent him to conquer Earth in the first place. Here, Hogarth pleads with the Giant, reminding him that he doesn’t have to be a gun, that, rather, he can choose who he wants to be. This snaps the Giant out of his blind rage, reminding him that who others think he is doesn’t actually matter.
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At first, this idea that “we are who we choose to be” sounded a bit too big. It sounded larger than life, like something that was nice to say in theory but in practice was too good to be true. Yet, the more I watched this film, the more I understood that this ideal could truly be embodied by a real-life person, even one living in less-than-ideal circumstances. If the Giant could learn to be a hero despite his violent outbursts, then maybe anyone could regardless of their own weaknesses, flaws, or tragic past. That’s when the light switch finally flipped, and I saw that person clearly in my own life.
My friend Dan had been a friend of our family for years. His parents were friends with my grandparents, and my mom babysat Dan when he was young. In fact, as far as I’ve been told, Dan was there in the hospital the week I was born. Although he was about 10 years older than I was, we loved all the same things. Comic books, movies, science-fiction, fantasy, and, above all, superheroes. Truthfully, I probably loved all those things because Dan did first, but he certainly wasn't keeping score. We would talk about Batman: The Animated Series plotlines for hours, podcast about shows like Smallville and Young Justice, or plan out how we would write our own Mighty Morphin Power Rangers reboot film long before the 2017 movie had even been announced. Since I didn’t have an older sibling of my own to look up to, Dan was the closest thing that I had, and he was more than enough.
But like the Giant, who had programming that threatened to overtake him, Dan had his own programming that he had to overcome too, namely his battle with muscular dystrophy. With physical disabilities of his own that would only get worse over time, it would’ve been easy for Dan to throw in the towel and become disillusioned with life. And yet, none of his circumstances ever stopped him from being a kind, loving, and genuine human being to every single person that he met (and no, that's not an exaggeration). It didn’t stop him from starting his own podcast network, it didn't stop him from graduating from Columbia's film program, and it didn’t stop him from investing in me (and others like me), no matter the time of day or night. Truthfully, he had the most positive outlook on life, more than anyone I’ve ever known, and because of that, I, and many others, saw him as a real-life Superman.
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The scene where Hogarth and the Giant discuss comic books is incredibly reminiscent of the times that we'd spend together. While the Giant thinks of himself as “Atomo,” a robotic killing machine, Hogarth sees something else inside. He sees someone willing to put his own life on the line for another, he sees Superman. Now, I don’t think that Dan ever once thought he was Superman, or anything even close. I’m also not saying he didn’t struggle with his own life or circumstances or fears; there's no doubt that he did. Even Superman has his own weaknesses, and even Superman can, at times, fail. But regardless, that’s exactly who Dan always chose to be. The most famous line from my all-time favorite film was perfectly embodied in him.
When Dan passed away, it came as a huge shock. Much like Hogarth witnessing the Giant’s own sacrifice, I could hardly say a word when I found out. While Hogarth got to tell his friend how much he loved him before he flew off to save the world, I was left not even remembering our final words to each other. It would’ve been easy for Hogarth to shut down and forsake the world after the Giant “died,” but he didn’t. Instead, he lived on, with the memory of his friend forever on his mind, choosing to live by the same standard the Giant did. While Dan’s death didn’t save an entire town of people, it wasn’t any less heroic. He went down fighting and actively caring for those he loved, and at the end of the day, there’s nothing more heroic than that. He always chose to be that person, no matter how hard his circumstances were, and if he could be that way in his life, then I could certainly find that strength in his death.
To this day, I can’t watch that fateful climactic scene without openly weeping. You know the one. That powerful moment (accompanied by a magnificent score) where the Giant finally decides that he’d rather go out as Superman than live on as Atomo. It's a beautiful snapshot of self-discovery and heroism that has always encouraged me, and surely many others, to choose goodness, mercy, and self-sacrifice over any selfish, harmful, or evil desires. The message is always clear, even if I have a hard time seeing the screen. Plus, losing our favorite giant robot is pretty tragic on its one, making it all the harder to stomach.
But now, whenever I watch this scene, I can only think of Dan. I think of how he chose to live despite his bodily circumstances. I think of the times we had together, and all the late nights. I think about the time he called me when my dad was in the hospital, hoping to keep my mind off the possible tragedy that was occurring. I think of the line from the film, that “souls don’t die,” and that I hope to see him again one day. But mostly, when the Giant utters his final word, “Superman,” I know that Dan was the type of person that I want to be, and as the Giant figures that out for himself, I too am reminded that regardless of the good or bad that comes, we have our own choice to make.
Life is rarely easy. Things get tough, people die, and oftentimes we become disillusioned due to the unstable nature of the world around us. Yet, there’s hope. Each of us can be the change that The Iron Giant knows we can be. Is this film an “underrated masterpiece"? I don’t know. I would say so. But then again, maybe I'm making it all a bit too personal. When I watch the movie, I’m not just watching a story about a young boy and his giant robot, I’m watching a part of myself on the screen. I'm watching a film that has stuck with me for years and has forced its way into just about every crevice of my life. It’s a movie that I can’t wait to show my own children, a masterpiece that will never go underrated in our home. If anything comes of their experience watching The Iron Giant one day, I hope it’s that they learn to believe that they too can step up and be Superman to somebody else.
