Season 3 of Steve Blackman and Jeremy Slater’s adaptation of Gerard Way’s cult hit comic book series The Umbrella Academy is out on Netflix now. The chaotic time-hopping adventure does what it’s always done best: cleverly blending superhero action with dysfunctional family drama to create something moving and exciting. One of the interesting side effects of those two central ideas is that the superpowers of the series are often portrayed as symptoms, effects, or even causes of dysfunction.
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Seven siblings each possess their unique superhuman gifts, all of which are rendered tragically broken by an abusive and neglectful father figure. Much like their superpowers, every member of the Hargreeves family has a radically different way of dealing with their trauma. Unlike a lot of superpowered teams, very little effort is spent making each member seem like an equal participant in the act of heroics. Some members of the Academy are so powerful that they need to hold back to be fair to the competition. The same is true of each member’s psychological health. To differing degrees, each member of the group’s powers reflects and influences their trauma response and resulting neurodivergence.
The most obvious example of this storytelling element belongs to Klaus. Number four’s powers got a pretty substantial rewrite between the comic and the series, leaving him easily the weakest of the team in the first two seasons. In combat, he’s utterly useless, largely because using his powers is a nightmare. Klaus using his power to commune with spirits in season one is portrayed with the same nightmarish visuals a work might use to portray horrific hallucinations. Klaus’s drug abuse problem is catalyzed by his powers, which only quiet down when he’s under the influence. Like many neurodivergent people, the unique qualities of his mind make it impossible for him to sleep, focus, or live a normal life. Lacking the emotional intelligence to seek help, he turns to self-medication. Klaus, especially in the first season, is the clearest example of the show communicating superhuman gifts through the language of neurodivergence.
Allison’s arc is similarly full of symbolism. The Rumor’s power is straight-up broken, leaving much of the narrative dedicated to finding ways of disabling her gift. Allison appears to be the most well-adjusted of the siblings, but her inner life gives her away. Allison suffers from a well-earned case of imposter syndrome. Her powers have made her life easy, and that came with downsides. By the third season, she fully leans into her trauma and the harm her powers can do. Her powers are both the source of and the weapon behind her breakdown. Her unforgivable actions can be explained, though not justified, by the complex interplay between her godlike powers and her immense trauma.
Five is perhaps the least traumatized by his father, but gets his own unique flavor of misery from his life as a time-traveling assassin. Five’s capabilities are among the most significant of the group, largely due to his diligent training to improve them. As the oldest and most experienced, Five is an easy ringer, but this also makes him a nightmare. Five seems to suffer from something akin to Marvel’s Quicksilver: he moves too fast for the world around him, so he perceives everything as too slow. Easily distracted, constantly pulled in a thousand different directions, and able to move faster than he can think, Five is often portrayed as a man with ADHD. His constant frustrations with his siblings’ meandering mirror the annoyance that some neurodivergent people feel when the world doesn’t catch up with them. One might argue that he’s one of the most focused members of the group, but hyperfixation is common to those with ADHD, and his violent drive often leads him to ignore the world around him.
Luther’s deformed body grants him enhanced strength, at the cost of a great deal of bodily dysphoria. Diego’s power, like his one-track mind, is only good for physical violence. Not every sibling is a full-fledged allegory, but the show loves to tie its characters’ emotional well-being in with their superhuman capabilities. Viktor Hargreeves is the ultimate example, a character whose quest for self-actualization and use of superhuman gifts are one and the same. This concept isn’t new to superhero media; there are plenty of comics, the source material included, which play with the idea. Instead, The Umbrella Academy refines the idea into a fascinating plot hook and a brilliantly unique aesthetic.
From Klaus’s hallucinations to Diego’s toxic masculinity, Allison’s imposter syndrome to Luther’s deformed body, Five’s hyperactive mind to Viktor’s explosive response to abuse, this is one of the most interesting aspects of The Umbrella Academy. Even for those burnt out on superhero stories, the series is worth a watch for the unique way it portrays its characters’ powers.
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