The Hero's Journey: The Incredibles

Group: Group Four (Wonji, Seewan, Heegu, Min)

Our Film: The Incredibles

Why we chose it:  Almost everybody our age watched it.

ACT I

1. Ordinary World:
The ordinary world for Mr. Incredible was the world where his family lived, a world in which a lot of superheroes exist and occasionally save the world from burglars. His son Dash and his daughter Violet, who are also superheroes, go to school. His wife is an ordinary housewife. He is an ordinary salary man.

2. Call to Adventure:
Mirage sends Mr. Incredible an electronic device containing a summons to an island to fight a runaway robot.

3. Refusal of the Call:
He worries about his family and is reluctant of going back to his superhero days and putting his family at risk.

4. Meeting the Mentor:
He meets Mirage, who informs him about the robot and its abilities.

5. Crossing the Threshold:
He rides a very modern jet and goes to the island to find the robot.

ACT II 

6. Tests, Allies, Enemies:
His first test comes when he first fights the robot, which can learn while battling. He almost gets drowned and melted in lava but finally finds a way to kill it. His one ally is Edna Mode, the woman who designs superhero clothes. She provides him and his family members each a suit that suits individual abilities. His family members, Elastigirl, Dash, and Violet are also allies. His real enemy is the rich weapons producer Syndrome, who used to be a fan of Mr. Incredible in his youth.

Another test comes when he encounters a new, upgraded robot powered by Syndrome. He is powerless in front of Syndrome.

7. Approach to the Innermost Cave:
He uses a statue and breaks through a fake lava-clad door to approach the central system. He looks up heroes’ and heroines’ names to see if they had been killed or not. He finds out that Syndrome is trying to conquer the world by launching a rocket. He gets caught.

8. Ordeal:
His family (his wife, son, and daughter) come to rescue him and are eventually caught.

9. Reward:
Violet uses her ability of shielding to escape from the electric bounds, and goes to save the world. Mirage tells them the password, and they fly to the city to fight the robot.

ACT III 

10. The Road Back:
They fly back to the city.

11. Resurrection:
While the Incredibles are going home after destroying the robot, they find out that Syndrome has got Jackjack, the little baby. The other four are caught by Syndrome and then the baby is taken away by him. But surprisingly the baby had a great ability, and Syndrome is killed. Basically the baby resurrects the family.

12. Return With the Elixir:
Violet becomes more competent with boys, and Dash enjoys the races. The family becomes happier and more intimate.

Points of contention (ifs/ands/buts):

Perhaps Mirage is not a perfect mentor, because she worked for Syndrome and then changed into a good woman.

A Girl Named Claire

H.G. KANG, 2011

- 1 -

Claire the average high school student shut the door and locked it and checked the lock. As always.

“I’m home, ma!”

“Yes, honey. You didn’t have to shout. Quiet. Ralph’s sleeping. You might wake him.”

“Sorry, mom. Didn’t mean to. Love you.”

“Love you too, Claire. Now inside, will you? You’ll really wake the dog.”

Claire went into her room and shut the door behind her. She checked the lock, out of habit.

It’s another typical day, she thought as she fell onto her bed.

- 2 -

“Another typical day,” said Mr. Paulson as the chalk broke (again) in his hand, “Sorry, everyone.”

Claire yawned. She didn’t like school very much. The droning lectures had never been her thing. It was a relief, therefore, that she had something to look forward to. Her itinerant mind had long since drifted away to the cozy, ramshackle little hideout of them five. Oh . . . she longed for the bell.

Ariel, Claire’s best friend, who above all regarded Claire’s boyishness as charming and almost even angelic, winked at her from the desk next doors. Claire smiled weakly, and yawned pointedly again.

“Claire! Ariel! You troublemakers . . .”

The fresh chalk Mr. Paulson had just picked up shattered on the edge of Claire’s desk. She yawned again. The classroom was immediately drenched with sarcastic jeers. Mr. Paulson had had enough.

“Out! Both of you!”

With true, blazing smiles on their faces, both girls sprung from their chairs and exited the classroom with no hesitance whatsoever. Mr. Paulson stared after them, seething.

- 3 -

“Ariel? Claire? You’re early!” said Greg when Claire entered their small place in the basement.

“Paulson again.” Claire spat as she sank into the sagging chair.

Greg nodded, holding an empty soda can in his left hand and a hamburger wrapper in his right.

Greg was this typical large guy who was into Sci-Fi stuff. He liked the series Battlestar Galactica best, and back in his house had a room full of figurines of famous movie characters such as Han Solo. Claire couldn’t really make herself enjoy Science Fiction, but at least she liked Greg because he never bothered her or lied to her. She hated people who lied.

“Anything new?” Ariel asked lightly, crouching down beside Greg. Greg dropped his soda can. The can bounced away with great clangs that echoed in the hollow basement. Well, frankly, the only things in them five’s hideout were the only chair, the feeble lamp, a few dressers, and a small handgun. This last appliance was there heavily thanks to Oliver’s taste.

“Uh, no.” Greg mumbled, his voice becoming noticeably smaller. He still had trouble with girls. “A typical day.” he said finally.

“That’s what Paulson said.” Claire spat, and Ariel nodded. “No offense, Greg.” she said quickly.

“No, it’s alright. Alright.” said Greg, in a noticeably stabilized voice. Claire had noticed that Greg seemed to find her much more comfortable than Ariel. Well, that was how it was, especially between teenagers. Prettier girls meant harder to deal with for boys. Ariel had been crowned queen in all of last year’s parties and festivals. She, with her impossible scarlet hair, 5 feet 6 inch height, perfect body, and dazzlingly beautiful face, had this irresistible charm for boys. The only reason she had joined this “gang of five” was that she was so tired of sex and so sick of boys tailing her everywhere she went. She had had to become a weirdo.

Claire, on the other hand, was the bit boyish type. She had short black hair with slight curls at the ends. She was of average height and had a bright yet a bit dark voice with a timbre of beauty, a round yet not too round face with balanced eyes, nose, mouth, ears, and eyebrows. She was slim, just to that extent that people would think “Well, okay.” when they saw her for the first time. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but certainly wasn’t ugly. That was a relief for her, for she wasn’t someone who sought a great deal of social attention. She did wear light makeup every day, but that was only due to the pressure her mother gave her. Claire definitely wasn’t that silly type of girl who spent more than an hour every morning ornamenting her face and body.

This great contrast between the two girls had easily made them best friends.

“Three here already!” exclaimed a familiar excited voice from the doorsteps.

Ariel and Greg instantly broke up their awkward conversation, and Claire pulled herself out of the reverie she was about to sink into. It was Tina, the third girl.

“Ooh, Claire! I love your hair!” she shouted enthusiastically.

“Yeah, and you’ve said that for about the thousandth time.” said Claire a bit sourly. She wasn’t that fond of this girl, to be frank. Tina was too normal to gain Claire’s interest. As a matter of fact, being too normal and not good at anything was the reason Tina had joined this club.

“And there’s the pan flute.” said Ariel, “Here comes our leader.”

Next moment the door was thrown dramatically open, and Oliver their head walked down the steps in his normal proud strides. It was summer, but Oliver was coated, masked, and hooded. Everything he was wearing were black except for the exquisitely white pan flute he was holding in both hands. The wind that blew from outside through his long coat made him quite an impressive figure.

“Greetings, comrades.” he said. That was the way he talked—pompous, authoritative, and cold.

Oliver was rich. He didn’t have friends, but he hated nerdy stuff. Nobody had an idea about exactly why he had joined this group of five so-called eccentrics.

“And so begins today.” he said, and banged the door shut with his leg.

Actually, the one and only thing these five had in common was that they all went to Olstone High, an average institution of education located in an average suburb. Well, at least for now.


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This is about two fifths of the entire thing.

Introduction to Claire in "The Claire"

Claire was nineteen and was to go to college next year. She was busy with her GPA and SATs like everybody else, because she was American. She went to Olstone High, an average institution of education located in an average suburb. She the average student had short, sleek black hair with cute little curls at the ends. She was of average height and had a bright yet a bit dark voice with a timbre of beauty, a round yet not too round face with balanced eyes, nose, mouth, ears, and eyebrows. She was slim, just to that extent that people would think “Well, okay.” when they saw her for the first time. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but certainly wasn’t ugly. That was a relief for Claire, for she wasn’t someone who sought a great deal of social attention. She did wear light makeup every day, but that was only due to the pressure her mother gave her. Claire definitely wasn’t that silly type of girl who spent more than an hour every morning ornamenting her face and body. She was a good girl. A good student.

Claire loved drawing. She loved it greatly, so that the walls of her room were covered almost completely with her old and new works. Thanks to that, the white wallpapers were already dirty with strokes of paint that had flowed down from incompletely dried works. A regular girl would have cared about this. A lot, in fact. Even a tiny pencil mark would have counted as a fatal threat. Claire, on the contrary, didn’t give a shit. She had more important matters than that to think about.

For instance, she spent most of the time thinking about her future. What could she do? She was sure she would not be able to make it into a good college. She would definitely go to some school, as she always had, but that wouldn’t be enough in the world of competition she was living in. She had no strong familial background, nor was prominent in anything. She was okay in everything, but was never enough in anything. She wasn’t smart enough, pretty enough, sociable enough, or eloquent enough. She was too average.

Claire was average, but wasn’t normal at all. The way she acted was enough to suggest that. Her not caring about the paint on her walls was just one example. Unlike most nineteen-year-old girls, she didn’t hang out with a bunch of other female humans. Actually, she preferred boys than girls. In her point of view, boys were more mature than girls in many ways. Well, they didn’t giggle for a start. On one hand, she thought girls were easier to approach but harder to become real friends with, for their personas were too thick. On the other hand, she just liked being with boys. Not in that unwholesome sense, though. She didn’t know why, but she felt more comfortable with male humans.

It's not complete, and may change drastically.
I don't think she's interesting enough yet, so I need your ideas!

Something Beautiful

12I-2 Creative Writing

14^th Wave Hee Gu Kang

2011. 04. 05

Something Beautiful

Softly and delicately the spring rain falls. Oaks and beech trees comprise the major portion of this forest, where wild lilies and roses smudged with dirt litters the winding earthy path that vanishes into the overgrowth beyond. Mostly it is plants, but a single pair of rabbits is huddled beneath a rather lone tree in the corner, shivering and licking the weak sunlight. Eddying air shakes the leaves of the trees and the bushes and flowers and grass as the light rain intensifies into a downpour. The rabbits scatter, soaked wet and hairs standing on end. Humid and damp, the earth beneath the animals’ rapidly leaping feet begins to bubble, and many earthworms break the crust and emerge, dancing enthusiastically, into the rain. It is no beautiful sight. Nor it is ugly. Great, it is, for the word can be both positive and negative.

Before I actually encountered it, I thought the picture was a commonplace landscape painting; a rainy forest with lots of trees and a pair of animals couldn’t have looked duller. Expecting a terrible disappointment from myself, I approached it with great caution. Artistic senses sharp, I stared at the work of art by the nameless painter, my eyes narrowing by the minute. Ugly, I thought, Mundane; I knew it. Then, unexpectedly, one of the supposed-to-be-stationary rabbits stirred and ran; the other one did, too, shortly afterward. I stared, paralyzed with wonder, as the rain actually became thicker before my eyes and earthworms emerged from the soil. Furious with myself, I rubbed my eyes fiercely, but nothing changed. Ugly though the painting might be, it was alive. Lively, vivid, and dynamic.

  Yes, I thought blankly, Here’s something beautiful.

The Superstar

12 I-2 Creative Writing

14th Wave Hee Gu Kang

2011. 03. 22

The Superstar

April sidled into the room, looking sour. Her lips were thin, her eyes were cold, and an icy frown was on her face. The manager, Mr. Lee, got up and asked her why she was feeling bad, but April simply pursed her lips and turned to sit down in the large, comfortable red sofa in the corner of the room. Mr. Lee got up from his stiff chair and approached April cautiously.

“Is it your father again?” asked the manager. His tones were awfully careful.

The ten-year old girl nodded. Her dark brown hair was tied fashionably in a special round knot. She had thick makeup on her smooth little face, and had purple-jeweled earrings on her ears. The light green dress she was wearing rippled gracefully around her like soft tides of the sea, her practically non-existent breast was emphasized brutally by a strap around her waist, and a pair of tiny shoes with flamboyant white shoelaces had been squeezed into her feet. She was pretty, but at the same time had a slightly dumb look about her. She was fingering the hem of her dress’s left arm repeatedly as if nervous. Well, she was nervous. It was time.

“I called him yesterday.” said the manager heatedly, “He said yes.”

April scoffed. “He was drunk. He didn’t know what he was saying.” she said scathingly.

Mr. Lee looked up with surprise, again, that such a young kid could speak so roughly of her own father. April’s father, Mr. Kim, was highly conservative and was strictly against what his daughter did in the monthly fashion festivals. Personally, Mr. Lee hated Mr. Kim. He was the sole yet intimidating obstacle to their success. His success.

“Well, then,” said Mr. Lee heavily, “we’ll just have to ignore him, I think.”

April nodded. She hated her father as much as Mr. Lee hated him.

“Prepare. The show’s approaching.”

The Void and the Men

12I-2 Creative Writing

14^th Wave Hee Gu Kang

2011. 03. 14

The Void and the Men

The Japanese swordsman was exchanging courteous bows with the American cowboy.

The Australian hunter was swearing loudly at the Chinese cook, voice rising infinitely.

The Mexican dancer was laughing broadly at a joke the Egyptian architect had just made.

The Indian mathematician, who alone had remained solitary and silent, spoke: “We cannot possibly coexist like this. We need someone to lead us.”

“The seven lost people . . .” breathed the Chinese cook, still seething and glaring at the Australian hunter, “We’ve been stuck here like this for hours now. We need a solution.”

“We need food. We’re hungry.” said the hunter irritably, “Cook for us.”

“There’s nothing to cook with!” the cook snapped, firing up at once.

“We need rules first.” said the Japanese swordsman firmly, “Rules are highly valued in the arts of Kendo.”

“Yes, yes, and for rules, we need a proper leader.” said the American cowboy with dignity, “Leaders are pivotal to all groups, including us cowboys, of course. Proud, brave Americans!”

“But there’s nothing here. We don’t know where this place is, or why we suddenly came to be here. Why us? Why now? Why?”

“Yeah, I was in the middle of an annual performance!” said the Mexican dancer with obvious annoyance and bemusement, “I was having the time of my life back there. The queen was going to award me a prize!”

“Our priority now is to find our way out of here.” said the Egyptian architect, “I need to complete the design of the pyramid I was working on with my coworkers.”

“Wait a moment. Wait a moment.” said the Indian mathematician, “Did you say pyramid? Pyramids were built hundreds and hundreds of years ago! Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Pardon?” said the architect, looking heartily astonished, “We’re building multiple pyramids right now in our country!”

The mathematician looked thunderstruck. The hunter shook his head.

“And a Mexican queen . . .” hissed the Chinese cook, “Mexico has no queen.”

“We do. Monarchy replaced republicanism in the year 2083. Well, there’s no more of those old ideas of democracy or free market in any country now, I heard. People had had enough of freedom when the sixth Nuclear War killed two thirds of the world population.”

“Nuclear?” chorused the cowboy, the swordsman, and the architect, “What’s that?”

“Wait a moment.” said the cook slowly, “You folks don’t know about nuclear weapons?”

The three shook their heads. The hunter shook his head again.

“I’m starting to grab the gist of the situation now.” murmured the mathematician, stroking his chin, “We seven were taken not only from random locations, but also from random time periods. I came from the year 1989.”

“1887.” said the cowboy.

“2014.” said the cook.

“I don’t know what those numbers mean.” said the architect. The swordsman nodded.

“1962, I reckon.” rasped the hunter.

The mathematician looked excited. “Good. What a union! I wonder who did this to us. We’re in . . . a void!”

They all looked around. Yes. They were standing—or floating; they couldn’t tell—in literal nothingness. Their surroundings weren’t merely black, but literally non-existent. There was no sunlight, no mountains, no horizon, no ground, no air, no . . . anything. There was nothing. They couldn’t tell if they were in a small room, on an expansive plain, or in midair. Around them was boundless nothingness, and there was no escaping the cursed predicament.

“It’s hell living without a hero.” said the mathematician abruptly.

“Someone needs to be the hero.” said the cook, nodding to the Indian.

There was a moment’s subdued silence, then—

“Me.” said a voice.

With a flourish, the swordsman drew a dagger from a strap around his waist, and threw it at the cook with surprising agility. It hit him squarely on the forehead. He toppled. The architect, who had been standing right beside the cook, flinched a little, but before he could do anything, the cowboy had discharged his rifles two times, killing the swordsman. The hunter was eying the swordsman with disdain.

“Two down.” breathed the cowboy, “That Chinese bloke was right, though. We don’t have a hero here. A leaderless group is bound to be driven into violence.”

“So it is.”

The Mexican dancer suddenly pounced upon the cowboy, and before the American could defend himself, had smacked him around the head, knocking him down. The dancer snatched the rifle out of the cowboy’s hand, but the hunter killed the dancer with an accomplished shot from an old-fashioned handgun. The cowboy got gingerly up to his feet, and said, “Thanks.”

“Useless idiots,” spat the hunter, and blasted the cowboy’s universe away with another shot from his handgun, “Why kill the cook? Why kill the cook?”

The mathematician and the architect looked puzzled. The hunter directed his gun at the two surviving people. They raised their hands in desperate defense, but the Australian mercilessly shot the architect down. The mathematician cringed ever more.

“Any mathematical discoveries you haven’t yet disclosed?” shouted the hunter, pushing the muzzle of the handgun into the Indian’s chest, “Any mathematical discoveries you haven’t yet disclosed?”

“Err . . .”

“Tell me! Now!”

“No. There’s something I’ve been working on, but I haven’t finished—”

“Farewell, then. Another failure.”

BANG.

*                   *                   *                   *                   *

“Got anything, Mark?”

“Yeah.” said the Australian hunter as he emerged from the lopsided stone gate, “It was a bit unentertaining this time, though. Only one of the selected was from the future.”

“Was it a he or she?”

“He. He was a dancer from 2083 Mexico. Monarchy will return to this world after the sixth Nuclear War, from what he said.”

“Good . . . So, there’ll be another Nuclear War after the fifth.”

“Suppose so.” said the hunter, sitting roughly down onto a stubble, “Your turn this time.”

“Yeah.”

The second hunter got up from his stubble, and dragged his body to the gate.

“When do you think will humans abandon the law of strength?” asked the hunter as his colleague was about to disappear back into the void.

“Never, I think. We’re a bunch of barbarians. The most brutal race ever to walk on Earth.”

With that and a small whoosh, the second hunter disappeared into the gate.

The Storyteller

12I-2 Creative Writing

14^th Wave Hee Gu Kang

2010. 03. 08

The Storyteller

Astelpine is a place where only girls live. There are no men, and no old women. Nobody knows what made the city so, but legend tells that a strange light shone from the sky, and all the people suddenly turned into girls. There are several variations of the story, too: one that tells that a paranoid serial killer killed all the men in one night; another that tells that there are actually no men in the entire world, not only in Astelpine. Astelpine is surrounded half by an infinitely large ocean and half by impossibly alpine mountains. None of the girls know what is beyond those natural barriers. Then, one day, a girl named Jenny decided to go on a journey.

             Jenny was the crazy bitch of the island. She was the only girl who refused to wear her hair long; she preferred it at a much shorter length. She also refused to wear any bright colors. To her, they were just weird. She gained quite a name for herself beating up the other girls. After a few years of this, she was the first person ever to be banished from the island. She built a raft and set sail in the large ocean.

             The sea surrounding Astelpine was fierce. The waves relentlessly attacked the raft, seeking to split it into pieces. The sun was burning over the salty waters, blazing as if to burn the whole world. However, Jenny was tough. She rowed through the watery desert with ease, and her black eyes penetrated the shimmering lights across the horizon, searching for dry land. After what felt like weeks, she finally succeeded.

             Shouting with pride, she stepped down from her raft. Then she realized she was as hungry as she could be. She walked until she found a hog. A trained hunter of Astelpine, Jenny killed the hog in a flash. As Jenny triumphantly cut through the hog’s belly, someone shouted behind her back.

             “Hey, you killed Jacob!”

             Jenny looked back, and saw a bunch of strange people: short-haired but hairy on cheeks, no bosoms, crude clothes. They were the ugliest girls she had ever seen. They didn’t even seem to be girls at all.

             Jenny abhorred them from at first sight. They were ugly, and did not deserve to live. With the knife in her right hand, she slashed open a girl’s throat. Everyone screamed and chaos broke loose. The natives did not seem to know how to fight. With ease, Jenny slaughtered the rest. Jenny sat on a rock and looked quietly at the messy remains of the hideous girls. She was satisfied, and went to sleep.

             “What a piece of rubbish.”

             “I like the name Astelpine, though. It invokes a feeling of secrecy and dignity.”

             “I still don’t know what she was thinking, Mr. Skyside. Killing them all suddenly in the last paragraph? She could’ve drawn many interesting episodes out of this quite interesting setting. But she didn’t.”

             “Yes, that is a little disappointing, sir, but for a twelve-year old—”

             “Exactly. For a twelve-year old, the ending’s too violent and bizarre! Disgusting.”

             “Perhaps, headmaster, but that doesn’t provide any conclusive evidence that this girl has any kind of mental disorder. She has no symptoms for a start!”

             “Symptoms? This piece of crap is itself a symptom! A mentality marred by deceptive illusions and false dreams! Her own glass menagerie! A world without men? Imagine that!”

             “But sir, she prides herself as the school’s storyteller. Many other students do accept that she—”

             “I don’t care what a bunch of weirdoes accept or do not accept!”

             “Discrimination is in your nature, headmaster.”

             “Watch your mouth, Nicholas. You being an old friend of mine doesn’t mean I can’t chuck you out of this place any old day I like.”

             “Really, sir? Can you really? After all you’ve done to this school?”

             “Of course! You conspired, too, didn’t you, Mr. Skyside?”

             “Yes I did, sir, but you’re the boss. You forced us to cooperate with you.”

             “Yes, because I think these boys and girls are useless to the society!”

             CLANG.

             The door opened, and “the storyteller” came in. The two teachers turned. The girl pointed silently at the headmaster, and a swarm of adolescent boys and girls rushed at the two teachers.

             “We’re not useless. We’re not useless. You’re useless. Useless grownups.”