Comedy
Dead Boy Detectives
Dead Boy Detectives targets teens in style and story. But it comes with very adult, problematic content.
Ever since I was a kid, Batman’s been my favorite superhero. He skulks around in the dark, righting wrongs. He’s super-duper rich, never carries a gun and never, ever kills.
Which, I guess, makes The Punisher the anti-Batman.
Oh, Marvel’s Frank Castle does his share of skulking around in the dark, to be sure. But he doesn’t have the discretionary income to spend on Punisher cars or Punisher planes or Punisher shark repellant: No, he spends it all on guns. And bullets. And bandages. And more guns.
And as for the killing? Let’s just say he spills more blood than an Oscar Mayer meat processing plant.
We first saw Netflix’s version of Castle in the second season of Daredevil. He was man bent on avenging the murder of his wife and children. It’s a pretty tall order, we learn in Netflix’s The Punisher, given that the murders apparently involved motorcycle gangs, high-placed moneymen and an entire drug cartel.
No matter: Castle apparently polishes the remainders off in the first five minutes of the new show. He can officially cross “vengeance” off his to-do list, right?
But killing everyone who had anything to do with his family’s death apparently wasn’t quite the release perhaps Castle imagined it would be. Six months later, he’s still working through his grief and rage. But one can’t mourn forever, and soon he’s being contacted by a mysterious, supposedly dead former NSA analyst who wants Castle’s help in getting to the bottom of a big conspiracy—one that’s also being investigated by another intrepid NSA agent, Dinah Madani.
It will require the Punisher to hone his vengeful skill set. Repeatedly.
The Punisher has long cut a bloody swathe through the Marvel Universe. Originally introduced in 1974, he changed from villain to hero, climbing from second-rate character to becoming one of Marvel’s most popular. And Castle, what with his military background, has long been a favorite among those in the military. Chris Kyle, the sharpshooter immortalized in American Sniper, was a Punisher fan; and American Sniper itself featured the Punisher’s distinctive skull graphic aplenty.
But with all due respect to those who’ve been drawn to him, the Punisher is more bloody revenge fantasy than aspirational hero, one that inherently comes packed with problems—especially in this Netflix rendition.
No question, actor Jon Bernthal’s Punisher is compelling. He has described the character in interviews as “damaged” and “tortured,” traits that Bernthal effectively brings to every episode. And as such, he becomes a walking cautionary story. Curt, a former soldier who now leads a therapy group of other former soldiers, tells him flatly, “The only person you’re punishing is yourself.”
Not precisely true, of course. He punishes the audience, too.
This Netflix show spoon-feeds us incredible brutality, shoving acts of bloody vengeance and horror down our collective throats. It doesn’t spill as much blood as American Horror Story, perhaps, or rack up the body count of The Walking Dead. But because this show can feel so realistically grim and concrete, the emotional impact is arguably greater. And while Netflix’s other superhero shows can get pretty messy, too, The Punisher is unquestionably more bleak. Daredevil, for all his flaws, seeks to follow a higher calling. The only calling the Punisher hears is the screams of his victims.
The brutality we witness would be more than enough to give The Punisher an R rating if it landed in theaters, and a hard R at that. But Netflix wasn’t content to leave well enough alone. The show sometimes includes sexual dalliances that includes lots of exposed skin as well. Language can be pretty brutal as well, with s-words spattering the television speakers with as much alacrity as Castle spatters the walls with blood.
I get why the Punisher character is so popular. He makes people pay for their crimes, and that scratches a certain itch for justice in our psyches. But that itch, I think, is akin to a mosquito bite: The more you scratch, the worse it gets until you dig a bloody hole in your skin.
And yet, Castle just keeps scratching. Down to the bone.
Frank Castle labors as a construction worker, trying to exorcise his demons by smashing concrete walls with a sledgehammer. Meanwhile some of his coworkers—including a new, friendly guy named Danny—get mixed up in a robbery gone wrong. In order to save their own skins, the dirty construction workers prepare to kill Danny—forcing Castle to use his sledgehammer for another, wetter sort of job.
Castle kills three guys with his hammer, breaking arms, legs and heads along the way. He then goes after the guys whom the construction workers robbed—mafia types with a tableful of guns. He turns out the lights, and when they return, the floor is covered in blood and dead bodies. He dispatches the last remaining goon with the goon’s own gun as the camera watches, shooting him in the eye and leaving a spray of blood on the wall.
Castle kills others, too. He runs over two evildoers with his van. He snipes a member of a now-defunct drug cartel, putting a bullet in his head as the victim frolics with a couple of presumed prostitutes. (Blood cakes the wall behind the victim.) He strangles another man in a bathroom stall with the man’s own tie. He also sees what may be a flashback of his wife’s own murder: A masked intruder shoots her point-blank in the head, leaving blood on the wall. Danny gets beaten severely by others. Castle’s hammer-work on the walls leave his hands bloodied and blistered. A guard is punched in the face.
A woman pulls down the straps of her top, revealing bare shoulders. She turns her back to the camera and lowers the top even farther. There’s a verbal reference to oral sex and a topless bar. Several construction workers drink heavily at a bar: Some are obviously inebriated, and the final bill tallies $364. Other characters drink wine. We hear rumors that soldiers were trafficking heroin. Crooks gamble around a table.
A woman talks about the faith of her surgeon husband: “His faith is almost as strong as my lack of it,” she says. A cross hangs on a wall where a therapy meeting is being held. We hear nearly 40 s-words and many other profanities, including “a–,” “b–ch,” “b–tard,” “d–n,” “h—,” “p-ss,” “pr–k,” “p—y” and “t-tty.” God’s name is misused four times, three of them with “d–n.” Jesus’ name is abused twice.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
Dead Boy Detectives targets teens in style and story. But it comes with very adult, problematic content.
An elf mage contemplates on connection and regret as she watches her human friends grow old and pass away.
