Low-tech, real-life crimefighters aim to be Superheroes in fascinating documentary

Superheroes the movieOriginally posted: http://houston.culturemap.com/newsdetail/10-28-11-a-look-at-low-tech-real-life-crimefighters-at-14-pews/
By Joe Leydon
They don’t have the super powers of Spider-Man, or even the firepower of The Punisher. But that doesn’t stop the real-life Superheroes of Michael Barnett’s fascinating documentary – which has its H-Town premiere Friday and Saturday at 14 Pews – from donning home-made costumes, strapping on gadget-stuffed utility belts and patrolling the meanest streets across America.
Among those doing derring-do:

  • Mr. Xtreme, a San Diego security guard who moonlights as a crimefighter decked out in green helmet and dark goggles;
  • Zimmer, a proudly uncloseted avenger who prowls Brooklyn in the hope of attracting gay-bashers for his allies to dispatch;
  • Zetaman and Apocalypse Meow, a colorful married couple who dispense necessities to the homeless in downtown Portland, Ore.; and
  • Mister Legend, who drives his beat-up van through the moonlit streets of Orlando and offers aid to the downtrodden when not grabbing beers from his well-stocked ice chest.

Why do they do it? Many of them – including Lucid, a member of Zimmer’s backup team – simply believe the police and other professional law-enforcers are “completely unreliable.” But director Barnett, who spoke with CultureMap this week, thinks the motivations of these caped crusaders may be a bit more complex than that.
CultureMap: Were you surprised to find something that happened way back in 1964 – the infamous murder of Kitty Genovese, who was stabbed while her neighbors reportedly failed to intervene – motivated so many of the superheroes you interviewed?
Michael Barnett: Well, if you think about it, the case became bigger than the case. So, somewhere along the origin of this community [of superheroes], they began to rally around this case of Kitty Geonvese. And it became the defining case of modern apathy in America. They rallied around what the case meant as much as the specific case itself. Because apathy is their villain. So it’s a unifying thread among the community at large.

With these guys, there is no rulebook, there is no manifesto. They go out and be whoever they want and try to help the community in any way they see fit. It’s a real grassroots movement that may not galvanize, that may never get too organized, because the reason they do it is to make up their own rules.

CM: Were you ever worried while making Superheroes that one of these well-intentioned folks might get seriously hurt?

Barnett: Yeah, certainly. I mean, they’d do this anyway without the presence of a camera. But it’s always a concern that you might be creating a moment that wouldn’t exist if you weren’t there with the camera. And that moment may turn tragic.
The interesting thing with these guys is, it’s such a growing population that, inevitably, one of them is going to get hurt, whether there’s someone there with a camera or not. So, hopefully, the people who get into this understand the risk they are taking by choosing to become part of this community and putting themselves in these situations.
But, yeah, occasionally, we did get into some pretty hairy situations. Because, basically, we were shooting in America’s Skid Rows, across the country. Sometimes at 2 o’clock in the morning. It was unpredictable, to say the least.
CM: How did you find out about this amazing subculture?
Barnett: I just sort of stumbled across it on line. And, actually, I didn’t think it was true at first. I thought I’d just found maybe a couple of people who were doing this. But then we started doing a little research, and we quickly discovered that all you had to do is Google “superhero” to come up with a webpage with names of people doing this all over the country, along with news clips and magazine articles. I spent days perusing through it all, and ultimately became fascinated.
CM: How many of these guys do you think have been traumatized by some violence in their past?
Barnett: Actually, that’s one of the few commonalities that I found within the community. I usually don’t generalize, but I did find very quickly that most of these guys had some level of trauma or tragedy in their lives. And this is how that trauma or tragedy has manifested itself. They’re doing this, and getting over that – and possibly over-compensating by going in the opposite direction, and trying to find light in the darkness, if you will.
CM: Maybe they view becoming a “superhero” – even one without super powers – as a way of regaining control of their lives?  
Barnett: Possibly. We found some pretty dark souls out there. And to find them wanting to better themselves, to almost find therapy in doing this – it was fascinating.
CM: Were you ever tempted to tell any of these guys that, hey, maybe you’re not really cut out for this sort of thing?
Barnett: Well, some of these guys that we worked with are untrained, while others are very trained. I’m certainly concerned. I wish they all had a real-life superhero school that they could all go to. So that they could at least know how to handle a situation. So that, rather than inflame it, they could defuse it. Because that takes training – that’s not instinctive. If you don’t have training, then your adrenaline kicks in. And when that happens – people tend to make situations worse. That’s just human nature, you know?
CM: Just to make sure potential audiences understand – these guys aren’t like the Guardian Angels, right?
Barnett: They are and they aren’t. You could say [the superhero community] is an evolution of the Guardian Angels. I mean, the Guardian Angels started out small, and grew to something like 500 chapters. And it’s a really politicized movement now, with a lot of bureaucracy.
Some of these guys used to be part of the Guardian Angels, and they decided they wanted something with less bureaucracy, less rules. They wanted to be able to do it their own eccentric way. The Guardian Angels have a uniform method, and a rulebook, and politics and presidents and leaders. With these guys, there is no rulebook, there is no manifesto. They go out and be whoever they want and try to help the community in any way they see fit. It’s a real grassroots movement that may not galvanize, that may never get too organized, because the reason they do it is to make up their own rules.
CM: During filming, did you find yourself tempted to try some superheroics of your own?
Barnett: I have to say, I get asked that question a lot. And my answer always is: I’m a filmmaker. I want to tell stories. And I thought this was a fascinating story. It’s changed my life in profound ways to see these people – often times with no resources – put everything on the line in order to help other people. So I think I learned a lot from these real-life superheroes. But I’m not going to join them anytime soon.
CM: OK, we’ve talked about the possible dangers facing superheroes. But turn the question around: Ever worry one of these guys might get too carried away with their derring-do?
Barnett: Well, Phoenix Jones was arrested just last week in Seattle for pepper-spraying people.  He thought he was breaking up a fight, and he started pepper-spraying the crowd – and now he has assault charges against him. So, yeah, that’s overstepping the line. Once again, it goes back to, there’s no rulebook for these guys. They don’t have a set of guidelines. So you’re putting yourself in situations where you’re acting instinctively.
And in the case of Phoenix Jones – it was probably not the right protocol. He pepper-sprayed some girls. That’s not good. That’s not a good result. That’s not heroic. I hope the activities of a few superheroes won’t undermine the whole cause.

Superheroes – BFI London Film Festival Preview

Originally posted: http://geekoverture.com/2011/10/06/superheroes-bfi-london-film-festival-preview/

Photo by Theodore James

Photo by Theodore James


Some things are just too surprising to be believed and too cool not to share. Visiting the BFI London Film Festival on October 18th, 19th and 21st is Michael Barnett’s documentary Superheroes, an insightful and, by all appearances, even-handed exploration of the expanding world of real-life superheroes in the United States.
In a style that raises fond memories of the pro-wrestling documentary Beyond the Mat, Barnett devotes to screen some pretty intriguing characters, all of whom are driven by some desire to do what they see as being right, some of whom are more convincing than others. The New York Initiative is a group based in Brooklyn who set out with some pretty admirable, if vague, goals: Lucid, a heavily-built, distinctively-tattooed hero described as being “from all over”, wants “to do something, to do anything […] I’m sick of the corruption I see everywhere I look, whether it is the boss at your work or the dude you know from next door who’s been beating his wife for twenty years.”
On the other hand, there’s Master Justice and Super Hero. You decide.
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7I1p3mKnD08
What connects them is a kind of thinking that comes straight out of comic book rhetoric, using words like ‘deeds’ and ‘vigilante’, and there’s an impression that a major motivation is self-centred. They’re trying to become the hero of their own stories by emulating a stock character: the lone good man in a corrupt world, all couched in the terms used by Batman, Wolverine and the rest. But does that make them crazy, misguided or even wrong to do so? The documentary enlists psychologists, members of the police force and even the man himself Stan Lee to dig into the question.
Superheroes have saturated popular culture in the past decade, and with this and comic/movies like Kick-Ass and Super emerging in recent years, it seems the phenomenon has only tightened its grip on our imagination.Update: The first showing of Superheroes has already sold out. Get your tickets while you can!

The world could use a few more real-life superheroes

Originally posted: http://www.phillyburbs.com/blogs/reality/the-world-could-use-a-few-more-real-life-superheroes/article_5f96cf0a-ed8c-5cdc-89a6-34d33f5d2296.html
By Olivia Wright
Ben Franklin Freshman Academy

Photo by Peter Tangen

Photo by Peter Tangen


The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.”
There’s an Einstein quote for you. Maybe something you’d find on a daily calendar, or during any basic late-night boredom Google exploration. It’s also how the HBO documentary “Superheroes” starts out.
For those of you out there who know me on any level, you’re probably thinking something along the lines of “dear mother of God, here she goes with that comic book stuff again.” I promise you, this time, there’s more to it than that.
I’m not a huge documentary fan, only when the subject interests me, or if it presses that little “I read psychology journals for fun” button in my head. “Superheroes” manages to tickle both of those fancies, but I’m not writing this article, suddenly inspired at precisely 1:44 in the morning (Wait! It’s a weekend!), to talk about me. Shocking, I know.
Getting to the point, the film’s about real-life superheroes.
And just like any comic-verse, these guys vary in just about every sense imaginable. Some look like they’d be taken pretty seriously. They’ve got their gear, they’ve got the masks that could make you flinch if you ran into them in a dark alley, not to mention seriously legit training and strategy. Their reasons for fighting the good fight tend toward a chance to redeem their past criminal lifestyles, or as an outlet for rage and violence. Coincidentally, most of those types happen to operate in New York City.
Mixed in are those whose appearance happens to be, to put it kindly, less than intimidating. Not much threat goin’ on. Motivation ranges from comic-hero inspiration to being wronged themselves. Most of the time, these “novelty heroes” seem to be more of a photo op for passersby than a scourge to crime.
Please, do not get me wrong here.
All of the superheroes featured in this documentary, every single one of them, could teach us a little something about society.
They aren’t sitting by and letting, for lack of a better term, evil get the best of us all. Refusing to ignore the injustice in the world is a common theme across the board, be it kicking some drug dealer/mugger/rapist butt and getting them locked up, or simply helping out those who need it with a donation of food, maybe just being someone to talk to.
Further research shows that Harrisburg even has its own super-team, the Keystone Crusaders, who at one point had lived with next to nothing and still found the will to help out the city.
That’s selflessness at its best.
It kind of makes you wonder how much of a pit humanity has dug itself into that we need to actually have people wearing masks and worrying about getting attacked themselves in order to do what any decent person should.
This is what the Justice League does, guys. In comics. Fiction. But nowadays, people seem to find it necessary to translate it to reality.
That’s sad.
That’s sad that, to some members of planet Earth, that’s what things have come to.
I commend these guys. They’re doing what quite a few of us ignore, and that’s something I like a lot.
No, I’m not saying you need to toss on your Six Flags Batman cape and go out to destroy neighborhood crime. There’s serious personal risk to that, and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to an extent, unless you’re in law enforcement (again, I commend you).
Real-life superheroes are trained in self-defense, but just as that. Defense. It’s a matter of being aware of the law, abiding by it, and helping to deter crime, not being the criminal in the first place.
But don’t turn the other way when you see something that could end badly if let go. I’m a girl who would say that’s something Superman would frown upon.
Speaking of the guy . . . is this a job for Superman? I don’t think so. Sadly, he’s not real. But the rest of us . . . we could stand to let ourselves have a superhero moment every now and then. Really, we could. No need for patrols. Or alter egos.
Just what society seems to dangerously lack anymore.
Simple human decency.
Currently, an organized group of these heroes is helping deliver clean water to Liberia. If you’d like to find out how to donate, or just get more information on these men and women themselves, go to
www.reallifesuperheroes.com.

LA Photog’s ‘Real Life Super Hero Project’ Garners Another Media Shout-Out

Originally posted: http://www.mediabistro.com/fishbowlla/real-life-super-hero-project-peter-tangen-hbo_b39626
By Richard Horgan on September 21, 2011 2:00 PM
If you have not yet acquainted yourself with the website “The Real Life Super Hero Project,” be sure to do so now or bookmark it for perusal later.
Thanks to the fact that site founder Peter Tangen, a local photographer, is also a consulting producer on the current in-kind HBO documentary Superheroes, his efforts are generating a lot of extra publicity these days. The latest outlet to catch up with Tangen, who has snapped and documented more than 200 citizen do-gooders, is Tampa Tribune reporter Ray Reyes. Per the article:

“There are millions of people who do good in this world but the media doesn’t pay attention to them. This is the marketing of good deeds,” said Tangen…
According to Tangen’s website, [San Diego’s] Mr. Xtreme was attacked by gang members and bullied as a boy. He donned a costume to “protest against indifference in society. People are being victimized and I feel that someone has to take a stand.”
Mr. Xtreme, who has not revealed his real name to anyone, has since formed his own group, the Xtreme Justice League, which gives food and supplies to the homeless.

At press time, Tangen’s latest blog post was about another equally fascinating character, LA “paranormal investigator and masked adventurer extraordinaire” Ragensi (pictured).

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's…Some Dude?!

Originally posted: http://www.gq.com/news-politics/newsmakers/201108/real-life-superheroes-phoenix-jones

They are ordinary men in extraordinary costumes, and they have risen from the ashes of our troubled republic to ensure the safety of their fellow citizens. Jon Ronson goes on patrol with Urban Avenger, Mr. Xtreme, Pitch Black, Knight Owl, Ghost, and the baddest-ass “real-life superhero” of them all, Phoenix Jones

August 2011

I am rushing to the emergency room to meet a real-life superhero called Phoenix Jones, who has fought one crime too many and is currently peeing a lot of blood. Five nights a week, Phoenix dresses in a superhero outfit of his own invention and chases car thieves and breaks up bar fights and changes the tires of stranded strangers. I’ve flown to Seattle to join him on patrol. I landed only a few minutes ago, at midnight on a Friday in early March, and in the arrivals lounge I phoned his friend and spokesman, Peter Tangen, who told me the news.
Hospital?” I said. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” said Peter. He sounded worried. “The thing you have to remember about Phoenix is that he’s not impervious to pain.” He paused. “You should get a taxi straight from the airport to there.”
At 1 a.m. I arrive at the ER and am led into Phoenix’s room. And there he is: a young and extremely muscular black man lying in bed in a hospital smock, strapped to an IV, tubes attached to his body. Most disconcertingly, he’s wearing a full-face black-and-gold rubber superhero mask.
“Good to meet you!” he hollers enthusiastically through the mouth hole. He gives me the thumbs-up, which makes the IV needle tear his skin slightly. “Ow,” he says.
His 2-year-old son and 4-year-old stepson run fractiously around the room. “Daddy was out fighting bad guys in his super suit, and now he has to wait here,” he tells them. Then he makes me promise to identify neither them nor his girlfriend, to protect his secret identity.
He looks frustrated, hemmed in, fizzing with restless energy. “We break up two or three acts of violence a night,” he says. “Two or three people are being hurt right now, and I’m stuck here. It bothers me.”
By “we” he means his ten-strong Seattle crew, the Rain City Superheroes. A few hours ago, they were patrolling when they saw a guy swinging a baseball bat at another guy outside a bar. “I ran across the street, and he jabbed me in the stomach,” he says, pointing at a spot just below his belly button. “Right under my armor.”
Unfortunately the head of the bat landed exactly where he’d been punched a week earlier by another bar brawler holding a car key in his fist. That attack had burst a hole right through Phoenix’s skin.
“A few hours ago I went to use the bathroom and I started peeing blood,” he says. “A lot of it.”
I glance over at Phoenix’s girlfriend. “There’s no point worrying about it,” she says with a shrug.
Finally the doctor arrives with the test results. “The good news is there’s no serious damage,” he says. “You’re bruised. Rest. It’s very important that you go home and rest. By the way, why do you name a pediatrician as your doctor?” “You’re allowed to stay with your pediatrician until you’re 22,” Phoenix explains.
We both look surprised: This big masked man, six feet one and 205 pounds, is barely out of boyhood.
“Go home and rest,” says the doctor, leaving the room.
Phoenix watches him go. There’s a short silence. “Let’s hit the streets!” he hollers. “My crew is out there somewhere. I’ll get suited up!”
···

Phoenix didn’t know this when he first donned the suit about a year ago, but he’s one of around 200 real-life superheroes currently patrolling America’s streets, looking for wrongs to right. There’s DC’s Guardian, in Washington, who wears a full-body stars-and-stripes outfit and wanders the troubled areas behind the Capitol building. There’s RazorHawk, from Minneapolis, who was a pro wrestler for fifteen years before joining the RLSH movement. There’s New York City’s Dark Guardian, who specializes in chasing pot dealers out of Washington Square Park by creeping up to them, shining a light in their eyes, and yelling, “This is a drug-free park!” And there are dozens and dozens more. Few, if any, are as daring as Phoenix. Most undertake basically safe community work: helping the homeless, telling kids to stay off drugs, etc. They’re regular men with jobs and families and responsibilities who somehow have enough energy at the end of the day to journey into America’s neediest neighborhoods to do what they can.Every superhero has his origin story, and as we drive from the hospital to his apartment, Phoenix tells me his. His life, he says, hasn’t been a breeze. He lived for a time in a Texas orphanage, was adopted by a Seattle family around age 9, and now spends his days working with autistic kids. One night last summer, someone broke into his car. There was shattered glass on the floor, and his stepson gashed his knee on it.
“I got tired of people doing things that are morally questionable,” he says. “Everyone’s afraid. It just takes one person to say, ‘I’m not afraid.’ And I guess I’m that guy.”
The robber had left his mask in the car, so Phoenix picked it up and made his own mask from it. “He used the mask to conceal his identity,” he says. “I used the mask to become an identity.”
He called himself Phoenix Jones because the Phoenix rises from the ashes and Jones is one of America’s most common surnames: He was the common man rising from society’s ashes.
It’s 2:30 a.m. by the time we reach his very messy apartment, where he quickly changes into his full superhero costume: a black-and-gold rubber suit complete with stab plates and a pouch for his Taser and Mace. “It’s bulletproof,” he tells me.
We head downtown and park in the business district, a bunch of empty office buildings in a nice part of Seattle. Other than some junkies and drunks wandering around like zombies, the place is deserted. We see neither his crew nor any crime.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I’m in a lot of pain,” he says. “The cut’s still bleeding, internally and externally. A couple of my old injuries are flaring up, like some broken ribs. I’m having a rough night.”
“Maybe you’re going too hard,” I say.
“Crime doesn’t care how I feel,” he replies.
Just then a young man approaches us. He’s sweating, looking distressed. “I’ve been crying, dude!” he yells.
He’s here on vacation, he explains. His parents live a two-hour bus ride away, in central Washington, and he’s only $9.40 short for the fare home. “I’ve asked sixty people,” he pleads. “Will you touch my heart, save my life, and give me $9.40?”
Phoenix turns to me. “You down for a car-ride adventure?” he says excitedly. “We’re going to drive the guy back to his parents!
The young man looks panicked. “Honestly, $9.40 is fine…,” he says, backing away slightly.
“No, no!” says Phoenix. “We’re going to drive you home! Where’s your luggage?”
“Um, in storage at the train station…,” he says.
“We’ll meet you there in ten minutes!” says Phoenix.
Thirty minutes later: the train station. The man hasn’t showed up. Phoenix narrows his eyes. “I think he was trying to scam us,” he says, looking genuinely surprised.
Does this guilelessness make him delightfully naive, I wonder, or disturbingly naive? He is, after all, planning to lead me into some hazardous situations this weekend.
At 4 a.m. we finally locate his crew on a corner near the station. Tonight there’s Pitch Black, Ghost, and Red Dragon. They’re all costumed and masked and, although in good shape, smaller and stockier than Phoenix. He stands tall among them and does most of the talking, too. They’re monosyllabic, as if deferring to their leader.

They have a visitor—a superhero from Oregon named Knight Owl. He’s been fighting crime since January 2008 and is in town for a comic-book convention. He’s tall, masked, and muscular, in his late twenties, and dressed in a black-and-yellow costume. It is similar to, but less awesome than, Phoenix’s sculpted and buffed one. The crew briefs Phoenix on a group of crack addicts and dealers loitering at a nearby bus stop. A plan is formed. They’ll just walk slowly past them to show who’s boss. No confrontation. Just an intimidating walk-by.We spot them right away. There are ten of them, clustered in a tight group, looking old and wired, talking animatedly. When they see us, they fall silent and shoot us wary glances, probably wondering what the superheroes are talking about.
This is what the superheroes are talking about:

Knight Owl: I’ve discovered a maskmaker who does these really awesome owl masks. They’re made out of old gas masks.
Phoenix: Like what Urban Avenger’s got?
Knight Owl: Sort of, but owl-themed. I’m going to ask her if she’ll put my logo on it in brass.
Phoenix: That’s awesome. By the way, I really like your color scheme.
Knight Owl: Thank you. I think the yellow really pops.

We’re ten feet away now. The superhero chatter ceases, and the only sound is the squeak of my luggage wheels as I roll them down the street. Up close, these dealers and addicts look exhausted, burnt-out.
Leave them alone, I think. Haven’t they got enough to deal with? They’ll be gone by the time any daytime people wake up. Why can’t they have their hour at the bus stop? Plus, aren’t we prodding a hornet’s nest? Couldn’t this be like the Taco Incident times a thousand?
The Taco Incident. Ever since Phoenix appeared on CNN in January in a short segment extolling his acts of derring-do, the superhero community has been rife with grumbling. Many of them, evidently jealous of Phoenix’s stunning rise, have been spreading rumors. The chief gossips have been N.Y.C.’s Dark Guardian and Seattle’s Mr. Raven Blade. They say Phoenix is not as brave as he likes people to believe, that he’s in it for personal gain, and that his presence on the streets only serves to escalate matters. To support this last criticism, they cite the Taco Incident.
Phoenix sighs. “It was a drunk driver. He was getting into his car, so I tried to give him a taco and some water to sober him up. He didn’t want it. Eventually he got kind of violent. He tried to shove me. So I pulled out my Taser, and I fired some warning shots. Then the police showed up….”
“I didn’t realize he was a drunk driver,” I said. “The other superheroes implied it was just a regular random guy you were trying to force a taco onto. But still—” I gesture at the nearby crack dealers—”the Taco Incident surely demonstrates how things can inadvertently spiral.”
“They’re in my house,” he resolutely replies. “Any corner where people go, that’s my corner. And I’m going to defend it.”
We walk slowly past the bus stop. Nothing happens. Everyone just mutters angrily at one another.
It is now 5 a.m. Our first night’s patrolling together ends. I’m glad, as I found that last part a little frightening. I am not a naturally confrontational person, and I’d really like to check into my hotel and go to bed.
···The real-life-superhero movement began, the folklore goes, back in 1980, when someone by the name of the Night Rider published a book called How to Be a Superhero. But the phenomenon really took hold a few years later when a young man from New Orleans (whose true identity is still a closely guarded secret) built a silver suit, called himself Master Legend, and stepped out onto the streets. He was an influential if erratic inspiration to those that followed.
“Ninety percent of us think Master Legend is crazy,” Phoenix told me. “He’s always drinking. He believes he was born wearing a purple veil and has died three times. But he does great deeds of heroism. He once saw someone try to rape a girl, and he beat the guy so severely he ended up in a hospital for almost a month. He’s an enigma.”
So what happened next? How did the RLSH movement grow from one visionary in Louisiana to 200 crusaders and counting? Well, the rise of the mega-comic conventions has certainly helped. I remember a friend, the film director Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World), returning from his first San Diego Comic Con saucer-eyed with tales of hitherto reclusive geeks wandering around in elaborate homemade costumes, their heads held high. “It was like Geek Pride,” he said.
The community continued to blossom post-September 11 and especially during the recession of the past few years. Inspired by real-life-superhero comic books like Watchmen and Kick-Ass, both of which became movies, RLSHs have been cropping up all over the place. There’s no national convention or gathering, but Peter Tangen is doing all he can to make them a cohesive community with a robust online presence.

Tangen’s origin story is as remarkable as any of the RLSHs’. By day he’s a Hollywood studio photographer, responsible for a great many movie posters—Spider-Man, Batman Begins, Thor, Hellboy, Fantastic Four. But he’s always felt like a cog in the machine. “I’m one of those guys who toils in obscurity,” he says. “Nobody knows my name, because you don’t get credit on a movie poster.”When he learned there were people doing in real life what the likes of Tobey Maguire and Christian Bale pretend to do on a film set, it inspired him. So he approached the RLSHs, offering to photograph them in heroic, unironic poses. His hope is to make them seem valiant and worthy of respect, not just the goofy story about the crazy nerd at the end of the local newscast. His portraits are all displayed on his website, The Real Life Super Hero Project. The site has become Peter’s calling in life—his attempt to be, like the men he celebrates, exceptional.
···The morning after my first night with Phoenix, I have coffee at a downtown Seattle café with Knight Owl, a former graphic designer who joined the movement because “I wanted something more with my life.” He tells me about common rookie mistakes, such as adopting a superhero name that’s already in use. “It’s a general faux pas—anything with the words night, shadow, phantom… Those dark-vigilante-type-sounding names tend to get snapped up pretty fast.”
“Have there been any other Knight Owls?” I ask.
“There was an Owl,” he says. “The Owl. But he ended up changing his name to Scar Heart, since he’d had a heart transplant.”
He says he chose his name before he knew there was a Nite Owl in the Watchmen comic, so when people online tell him, “You’re a fucking pussy, and by the way, Knight Owl’s taken—haven’t you seen Watchmen?” they don’t know what they’re talking about.
The second rookie mistake is to “get caught up in the paraphernalia. People should think more about the functionality.”
“I assume capes aren’t functional,” I say, “because they can get snagged on things.”
“If you’re going to do some serious crime fighting, there’d better be a good reason for a cape,” he nods. “And grappling hooks—no, no, no, no, no! What? You think you’re going to scale a building? What are you going to do when you get up there? Swoop down? Parachute down? You’re not going to have enough distance for the parachute to even open.”
Knight Owl seems to regard Phoenix as the real thing in a community rife with wannabes. That’s how Phoenix sees himself, too. When I asked him why he seems to be capturing the public’s imagination in a way that the other RLSHs haven’t, he attributes it to his bravery. Others, he says, talk the talk but in reality just hand out food to the homeless and would probably run shrieking from danger if they ever chanced upon it.
“When you wake up one day and decide to put on spandex and give out sandwiches, something’s a little off,” Phoenix says. “I call them real-life sandwich handlers.”

I want to see another superhero operation to compare to Phoenix, so I fly to San Diego to meet Mr. Xtreme. He’s been patrolling since 2006, the past eight months with his protégé, Urban Avenger. They pick me up at 9 p.m. outside my hotel. Both are heavily costumed. Mr. Xtreme is a thickset man—a security guard by day—wearing a green-and-black cape, a bulletproof vest, a green helmet, and a visor upon which fake eyes have been eerily painted. His outfit is covered with stickers of a woman’s face: Kitty Genovese. In March 1964, in an infamous incident that shamed New York City, Genovese was stabbed near her apartment in Kew Gardens, Queens. Her attacker ran away. During the next half hour, several of her neighbors saw her or heard her screaming and did nothing. Then her attacker returned and killed her. She has become a talisman for the RLSH movement.

You cannot see an inch of Urban Avenger’s body. He’s wearing a weird customized gas mask, green-tinted sunglasses, a red full-length hoodie, and long black leather gloves. Underneath it all he looks quite small and skinny. He says he’s in his late twenties, has children, and works “in the food-service industry.” That’s all he’ll reveal to me.He says he loves being covered from head to toe. “When I wear this, I don’t have to react to you in any way. Nobody knows what I’m thinking or feeling. It’s great. I can be in my own little world in here.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say. “I was once at a Halloween party and I didn’t take off my mask all night. It completely eliminated all social anxiety.” “Sometimes I wish I never had to take the mask off,” says Urban Avenger.
We begin our patrol through the clean, well-to-do streets of downtown San Diego. We pass bars and clubs filled with polite-looking young drinkers. A few take pictures of the superheroes on their phones. Others yell, “It isn’t Halloween anymore!” from car windows. Urban Avenger says he doesn’t understand how Phoenix is forever chancing upon crimes being committed. He’s just lucky.
“What are the odds?” he sighs. “I almost never see anything.” He pauses. “Last October we got involved in breaking up some street fights.”
“Five months ago?”
“It’s been really quiet around here ever since.”
He says Phoenix is fortunate to have the scary district of Belltown on his doorstep. “Google ‘gunshots in Belltown’ and you’ll come up with a hundred stories of gunshots being fired in, like, the last year,” he says wistfully.
Some boys pass us. “Want some reefer? Ganga? Weed?” they say, sotto voce.
“No,” says Urban Avenger, walking quickly on. The boys shrug and continue on their way.
“Good thing I got all that on video,” Urban Avenger eventually calls after them, indicating a small camera attached to his shoulder.
“Crack? Heroin? PCP?” the boys call back.
“Did you really film it?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
“I noticed you didn’t attempt a citizen’s arrest,” I say.
“We didn’t have probable cause,” explains Mr. Xtreme. “All they did is say something. If they’d shown us crack rocks or marijuana, it might have been a different story.”
“You could have said you wanted to buy some, and then they’d have produced the drugs and you could have arrested them,” I say.
There’s a short silence. “That’s true,” says Urban Avenger.
···Back in Seattle, we start our second patrol at 1 a.m. on Saturday night. Phoenix is in a bad way. He’s still ailing from the key-punching and the baseball-bat incidents and has now developed a fever of 102.5.
“I found out this morning I have tetanus,” he tells me.
“You have to sleep,” I say.
“No sleeping for us,” says Phoenix.
I’m starting to like Phoenix a lot. For all his naïveté, there’s something infectiously upbeat about him. He’s forever cheerful and positive and energetic. I ask him if he’s addicted to crime fighting, and he says, “I guess you could put it in the addiction category. It’s the highlight of my day. Addictions are normally detrimental to health. This is detrimental to my health.”
He puts his positive spirit down to a stable home life: “I’ve been with my girlfriend since I was 16. I make my own money. To be a successful superhero, you’ve got to have your life in line.”
We begin in Pioneer Square. We’re a small team tonight; Pitch Black and Ghost are Phoenix’s only companions. The bars are closing, and drunk kids are piling onto the streets, but there’s still a frustrating absence of crime. But then, from somewhere up the street, we hear a shout: “I’m going to fuck you, bitch.”

“Let’s go!” yells Phoenix. He, Ghost, Pitch Black, and I start to run frantically toward the mystery commotion.”It’s the YouTube guy!” a nearby teenager shouts delightedly. “Can I get a picture?”
Phoenix screeches to a halt. “I’ll be right with you guys!” he calls to us. He poses for the girl.
“Phoenix!” I sigh.
The real-life superheroes like to portray their motives as wholly benevolent, but if they were driven purely by altruism, they’d have become police officers or firefighters or charity volunteers. Something else is evidently propelling them—a touch of narcissism. It’s an odd sort of narcissism, of course, when the narcissist disguises his face, but the lust for fame and glory is unmistakable. By the time Phoenix has had his picture taken, the potential criminal and victim are nowhere to be seen.
Two uneventful hours pass. By 3 a.m. we are losing hope. Phoenix is reduced to suggesting we rent a hotel room, phone some prostitutes, and ask them on their arrival if they need help escaping the web of prostitution.
“I think the problem with the plan,” I say, “is if a prostitute turns up at a hotel room and sees three men in masks, she’s not going to immediately think ‘superhero.’ Plus, she may have to travel all the way across Seattle. It’ll be an hour out of her night.” They agree to abandon the idea.
Suddenly we notice a man across the street drop a small, clear bag on the ground at the feet of another man.
“Yahtzee!” yells Phoenix. He rushes across the road. “What did you just drop?”
“Pretzels,” says the man, picking the bag up and showing it to us.
There’s a silence. “Good,” says Phoenix.
···Our very last hope is Belltown. When we turn the corner into the district, everything changes. By day this place is nice: art galleries, bars, restaurants. It’s just down the road from the famous Pike Place Market. But now, at 4 a.m., the two or three blocks in front of me look as menacing and desperate as the projects from The Wire. The dealers staring at us look nothing like the exhausted old crackheads from the bus stop. These are large gangs of wiry young men. They stand on every block. The police are nowhere to be seen. I take in the scene and instinctively take a small step backward.
“There’s a possibility we could get into a fight,” whispers Pitch Black. “If that happens, back off, okay?”
“What are you doing?” a man calls from across the street, outside a shuttered-up liquor store.
“Patrolling,” Phoenix calls back. “What are you doing?”
He, Pitch Black, and Ghost walk toward him. He’s with eight other men.
“You’ve got to respect people’s block, man,” the guy is saying. “You don’t come down here with your ski masks on. What are you doing, getting yourselves entwined in people’s lives? You guys are going to get hurt. You understand? You want to see our burners?”
“I don’t care,” says Phoenix.
“You don’t care?”
“Not really. I’ve already been shot once.”
“I’ve been shot three times!” another guy says, looking weirdly proud. “One motherfucker round here got shot in the nighttime. Innocent bystanders get shot here. Think about the bigger picture. You’re putting your lives on the line. If you guys are in a casket, your mamas are going to be like, ‘For what?‘ ”
“Don’t be a hero,” a third man adds. “That superhero shit? You’re going to get hurt, fucking around. How you feed your family is not how we feed our family. We’re not out here for the fun and the show-and-tell. This is real life.”
I am finding myself ostentatiously nodding at everything the crack dealers are saying, I suppose in the hope that if the shooting starts, they’ll remember my nods and make an effort to shoot around me.
“I appreciate the info,” says Phoenix.
Suddenly the first guy takes a step forward and peers at Phoenix through his mask.
“You’re a brother?” he says. “You’re a BROTHER and you’re out here looking like THIS? You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind, man.”
And then it all changes. “I feel threatened right now,” the guy says. “You’ve got ski masks on. I don’t know if you’re trying to rob me. A guy got shot last Friday in Belltown by somebody with a mask on. Is that you?”
“You don’t have to be here,” says Phoenix. “You’ve got choices.”
“I’ve been in the system since I was 10 years old!” he yells. “I haven’t got no choices! When your kids get older, this is going to be the same shit.”
“I disagree,” says Phoenix.
“It can’t be better!” the man yells. “This is it!”
The dealers withdraw up the block to decide what to do next.
“Have a good night,” calls Phoenix. “Good meeting you.”
···They’re watching us, murmuring to one another. Their problem is that nobody wants to buy crack in front of three men dressed as superheroes. While Phoenix and his crew stand here, they’re losing all their business.
Phoenix points to two packs of cigarettes under the windshield wiper of a nearby car.
“Those are indications that you can buy here,” he says. “So I’m going to take them off and annoy the crap out of them.”
He scrunches the packets up and throws them onto the sidewalk.
At this, one of the gang heads toward us. If you were watching from across the road, it would seem as if he just wanders past, but in fact he whispers something as he does: “You keep staying on our block, we gonna have to show you what the burner do.”
“Thank you, it’s great meeting you,” says Phoenix.
The man loops and rejoins the others.
The streets are deserted, and it’s starting to feel exceedingly dangerous. It’s just the dealers and their guns and us. But then, miraculously, a taxi passes. I flag it. The superheroes all have (supposedly) bulletproof vests. I have a cardigan. “I’ll give you $20 to just stay here,” I say to the driver.
He looks around. “No,” he says.
“Thirty dollars?”
And then, suddenly, the whole gang, all nine of them, some with their hands down their trousers as if they’re holding guns just under their waistlines, walk toward us. I can’t see much of Phoenix under the suit, but I can see by the way his hands are shaking that he is terrified.
“My shift is over,” calls the taxi driver. “I need to go home now.”
“Forty dollars!” I yell. “Just stay there!
“I don’t care about the money!” the driver yells. But he doesn’t move.
The men get closer.
“Are we leaving or are we standing?” says Phoenix.
“We’re standing,” says Ghost.
“We’re standing,” says Pitch Black.
“You’re willing to die for this shit?” the first guy, who seems to be the leader, is yelling. “You’re willing to DIE for this shit? You guys are dumb motherfuckers. I don’t even know what to say. You guys are fucking stupid.” He stares at Phoenix. A moment passes. This is what I imagine a standoff feels like the instant before the shooting starts. But then his voice softens. “If you guys are going to stand here and die for it, I guess we’re going to have to walk home. We should shoot your ass, but I guess we’ve got to go home.”
And they do. They disperse. They go home.
Stunned, I look at Phoenix. He suddenly seems smaller than six feet one, lighter than 205 pounds, younger than twentysomething. “You won!” I tell him.
“They had the weapons, the numbers, but they backed down to the image of Phoenix Jones,” he says.
I feel an impulse to celebrate with him, but suddenly the full weight of the evening comes crashing down on me.
“I’m going to bed,” I say.
“We’ll stand here for ten minutes and solidify the corner,” he replies. “You don’t want to stand with us?”
“Definitely not,” I say.
I jump into the taxi. And when I arrive back at the hotel, my legs buckle and I almost fall onto the floor.
···Five a.m. My phone rings. It’s Phoenix, shrieking with laughter, babbling, hyperventilating, releasing all the adrenaline.
“That was ridiculously intense! In a few hours, I’ve got to be a day-care worker!
···It’s the next afternoon. There’s a comic convention in town, at the Washington State Convention Center in the business district. There are something like 30,000 people here, families and costumed comic fans, packing the modern glass building. I spot Knight Owl and another Seattle superhero named Skyman. He is only semicostumed. He’s unmasked and goateed, and he’s wearing a white T-shirt with a Skyman logo of his own design.

“Ooh, look, the Rocketeer!” he says at a passing costumed attendee. “You never see Rocketeer costumes! That is priceless! I gotta get me a photo of that! Ooh! Lady Riddler! Nice!”Skyman approaches a Batman. “Is that a real bulletproof outfit?” he asks him. “No,” Batman replies a little apologetically.
“This place,” I tell Knight Owl, “is full of costumed people who would never confront drug dealers in the middle of the night. You and Phoenix and Skyman exist in some shadow world between fantasy and reality.”
“Yeah,” Knight Owl replies. “What we do is hyperreality!”
And then there are cheers and gasps and applause: Phoenix Jones has arrived. He is a superstar here. He sees me and we hug—two brave warriors who have been through a great adventure together.
“Thank you for making our city safe!” a woman in the crowd calls out to him.
“You’re a very cool man!” someone else shouts.
I tell Phoenix it is time for me to leave.
“When you write this, be sure to tell everyone that what we do is dangerous,” he says.
“I think you’re great,” I say. “But I’m worried you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Well, don’t make it seem like I’d be dying for a choice,” he replies. “I couldn’t quit if I wanted. You know how many people in this city look up to me? I haven’t paid for my own coffee in six months.”
And I suddenly realize I feel about Phoenix the same way everyone here does. I think he is an awesome superhero.
As I walk out, I hear a father whisper to his young son, “That’s a real superhero.”
“Are you a real superhero?” the little boy asks Phoenix.
Phoenix looks down at him and smiles.
“I’m as real as you can get.”

HBO’s real-life ‘Superheroes’ are gallant yet unsettlingly goofy

Originally posted: http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/hbos-real-life-superheroes-are-gallant-yet-unsettlingly-goofy/2011/08/05/gIQAnjyz0I_story.html

By , Published: August 7

Here they come to save the .?.?. well, that’s the problem with adopting the secret lifestyle and ethical codes of a “real-life superhero”: Nobody requires your services nearly as much as you’re hoping to provide them.Ultimately, as we learn in Michael Barnett’s compelling yet conflicted HBO documentary “Superheroes,” today’s supermen (and the occasional wonder woman) wind up handing out rolls of toilet paper to homeless people.
In “Superheroes,” which airs Monday night, Barnett travels the country to profile a handful of the 300 or so self-styled characters who are attempting to live a comic-book ideal. These are not the people you’ve seen at amusement parks and Comic-Con and along Hollywood Boulevard, who are simply playing dress-up for photo-ops. Something in the comics lore has spoken to real-life superheroes on a personal level, and they are serious — if perhaps a touch delusional. They see society as troubled, and they are especially disenchanted with law enforcement. “The N.Y.P.D., even the government is completely unreliable,” says Lucid, a Brooklyn-based superhero.Mr. Xtreme, a lonely San Diego bach­elor and frustrated jujitsu student, works by day as a security guard and spends his evenings wearing padded green-and-yellow regalia (including a limp polyester cape and a bug-eyed helmet), prowling the streets, searching for a sexual predator the TV news stations have dubbed “the Chula Vista Groper.”Meanwhile, in Orlando, the eccentric Master Legend drives around in a beat-up van and offers his services to the downtrodden, stopping frequently to treat himself to a can of beer from the ice chest he keeps in the back.Back in Brooklyn, Lucid and his more edgy clutch of masked avengers — they go by Z, Zimmer and a heroine named T.S.A.F. (which she says stands for “The Silenced and Forgotten”) — like to skateboard the city’s streets in the wee hours, hoping to attract muggers.Barnett employs an appealing style of comic-book panel animation to enliven the narrative transitions and give viewers a heightened sense of the ad­ven­ture that the heroes imagine themselves having — even if none of their adventures necessarily pan out.
Zimmer, a gay man who chooses not to wear a mask or use a hero name because it reminds him of being in the closet, glams himself up in hopes of luring nighttime gay-bashers. Lucid and the others wait in the shadows to come to his aid. When that doesn’t work, T.S.A.F. dons a miniskirt and lipstick and tries her luck at baiting rapists.
This tendency toward entrapment is where things get creepy, despite the tender care “Superheroes” takes to understand its subjects without mocking them. Many superheroes exhibit depressingly sour feelings about the larger world. They like to keep photos of Kitty Genovese on their walls and refrigerators for inspiration. She was the New York woman stabbed to death 47 years ago as dozens of witnesses overheard (and ignored) her screams. Genovese’s murder set off a popular and lasting notion of an uncaring, indifferent society.
What the superheroes in “Super­heroes” seem to willfully ignore is the remarkable drop in violent crime statistics over the past two decades — to say nothing of the post-Sept. 11 Homeland Security era that lit up our nights with security cameras and deputized every smartphone owner with the ability to upload crimes in progress to YouTube, which has helped catch miscreants of all kinds.
Yet things get darker (and dorkier) during a montage scene in which super­heroes proudly show Barnett the assorted weapons they’ve incorporated into their spandex ensemble: knives, nunchucks, sharp spikes, Tasers, retractable batons, maces, pepper sprays, blinding spotlights and lasers.
They’re all dying for some action, which has a way of making them seem more marginal, and embittered. A San Diego police lieutenant worries that these self-anointed vigilantes are going to hurt themselves (or hurt someone else); a psychologist wonders about their depend­ence on an alter ego.
Although the movie ends on a somewhat brighter note — following the heroes as they look after the homeless in their communities — even Stan Lee, the father of the Marvel Comics universe, expresses bafflement at these wannabes. If Stan Lee thinks you’re extreme, you might want to chill.
Superheroes
(83 minutes) airs Monday at 9 p.m. on HBO.

10 Real Life Superheroes Committing Crimes Against Fashion

Originally posted: http://fashionindie.com/10-real-life-superheroes-committing-crimes-against-fashion/5/
Styled by on Wednesday 07.20.11 7:31 PM
And speaking of Voguetron, there are actual superheroes among us. They’ve leapt off the pages of comic books, into the minds of fearless nerds that have re-envisioned their own crime fighting alter-egos. And they’re actually fighting crime. I know it’s true because I read about it yesterday in the August issue of GQ. In fact, there more than 200 costumed (and tweeting) vigilantes protecting average citizens from this cruel, cruel world. Meet some of the bravest, and most eccentric, here while they’re all gathered at Comic-Con in a most serious manner.
Phoenix Jones is a badass motherfucker. As the main focus of GQ’s story, it starts off with him in the hospital after being hit with a baseball bat in the same spot beneath his armor that he got punched with a key earlier that week. He was peeing blood. He went out that night again to right more wrongs. The story concludes with him and two sidekicks staring down a pack of armed crack dealers, guns pointed at them ready to shoot. The crack dealers walked away in defeat. Yes. This man is for real. And he protects Seattle. @ThePhoenixJones
Superhero is a trained policeman turned pro-wrestler turned, well, superhero. He once saved a girl from drowning in her car. When the people of Clearwater, FL ask him what they can do in return, he simply responds, “You don’t owe me anything. I’m a superhero!”
Mr. Xtreme has been a volunteer crime-fighter for more than a decade. Coming from a history rife with bullying and gang attacks against him, he decided he must take a stand and protect the innocent. Now, with spiked cuffs, x-game equipment, a bulletproof vest and crazy eyes, he protects the streets of San Diego.
Urban Avenger is Mr. Xtreme’s sidekick. He patrols San Diego covered head to toe, bespectacled green behind a gas mask. He’s bummed that his city doesn’t see as much action as Phoenix Jones, but that leaves him more time to tweet @urban_avenger.
Knight Owl admittedly went a little overboard with the costume, at one point donning a cape. He is a paramedic student by day and a real life superhero by night. @iamknightowl
Samaritan is our very own superhero here in NYC. He is a skilled martial artists and wears military fatigues to accomodate. He is a self-proclaimed peacekeeper and humanitarian that paroles the streets preventing and putting a stop to violent crimes.
Super Gay does exactly what is sounds like he does. He seduces gay-straight men and calls them out on it. Sounds like entrapment Us Weekly. But he does fight tirelessly against homophobia. We should introduce him to Unicorn Man, his new (un)faithful sidekick.
Phantom Zerois more of the bureaucratic type of superhero from North Jersey (typical). He helps people who have been screwed by circumstance by directing them to the proper lawful paper-filing way to solve their problems.
Lunar Veil and her partner Dark Wolf fight crime in Portland, but mostly work to protect animals. They’re trying to shut down a puppy mill now. But then where would we get miniature chiuauamaltipoodinese from? But I will say, steppin’ it up ladies.
Terrifica, though allegedly retired, patrolled the streets of New York City to prevent little drunk ladies from actin’ a ho. She’s been called the anti-cupid for putting a halt to the One Night Stand. Just trying to get these girls a hot meal the next week after a proper phone call is all.
See more real life superheroes in the August issue of GQ.

Superheroes, HBO documentary, profiles real-life superheroes, but not Denver's Wall Creeper

Originally posted: http://blogs.westword.com/latestword/2011/07/superheroes_hbo_document_denver_wall_creeper.php
Superheroes the movieBy Joel Warner
Real-life superheroes, those brave (and some would say foolhardy) folks who strap on costumes and battle evil wherever they can find it, are reaching media saturation. They’ve become a staple of nightly news stations, scored a lengthy shout-out in Rolling Stone, and one of them, a lone soul who goes by the Wall Creeper, was profiled in these very pages. Next up? Superheroes, a new documentary film by Michael Barnett, to premiere on HBO on August 8.
Barnett, part of the Denver- and San Francisco-based production company Rehab, spent a year traveling around the country filming masked vigilantes — in particular Thanatos in Vancouver, Mr. Xtreme in San Diego, Dark Guardian and Life in New York, and Zetaman in Portland. The resulting film, which was a favorite at this year’s Slamdance Film Festival in Park City Utah, goes above and beyond the typical tongue-in-cheek fluff pieces on the matter. As Barnett told the Seattle Weekly:

Our first approach was to try and make people realize that each person is sort of eccentric in their own way, and they have their own reasons for doing what they do. It’s not a rational thing to do, to put on a costume and walk around a dangerous neighborhood…The other thing is showing their situation in life. Quite a few of them don’t have the resources to do what they do. But they want to help their community. Some of them were sad — financially, personally, and just in general. But it’s showing that out of that darkness they could rise above and try to do something good. It’s not all cookies and rainbows, though, it’s profoundly sad and tragic on a certain level.

Unfortunately, those hoping to catch a glimpse of Denver’s own superhero, the Wall Creeper, are bound to be disappointed. Rumor has it that the Wall Creeper has been inactive for some time now. Still, maybe sooner or later the Wall Creeper or some other local legend will soon step out from the shadows, ready to confront evil and score some face time on premium cable.

Real Life Superheroes

Originally posted: http://www.actoslitigation.net/real-life-superheroes/
Donning capes and masks these grown adults appeared as if they were getting ready to go trick or treating. Calling themselves “real life superheroes”, they seemed a little dorky at first.  The individuals featured in this documentary (written and directed by Michael Barnett) believe it is their duty to patrol the streets, fighting crime and picking up the slack that the police and other government institutions leave behind. As we follow the lives of several “real life superheroes” however, it becomes apparent that the work they are doing is not only beneficial to society, but vital to their communities.
The tone at the begging of the film seems to mock these cape and spandex wearing crime fighters. In the first few minutes of the film we take a tour of one man’s extensive action figure collection and watch as he sings along to  the Power Ranger opening sequence on his small television. He is known on the streets as the helmet and amor wearing Mr. Xtreme,  and he is the founder and  sole member of Xtreme Justice League, a citizen’s crime fighting organization in San Diego. His apartment is shabby and his social life is inactive to put it nicely. With a pot belly and no girlfriend, Mr. Xtreme  spends the free time he has between multiple day  jobs patrolling the streets hoping to prevent violent crime. We join him on a nightly escapade to patrol a part of campus where a sexual assault had been reported earlier. Although Mr. Xtreme runs into more hostility than appreciation from the community, (a guy threatens to call the police on Mr.Xtreme if he doesn’t leave his lawn), he is confident his presence, costume and all, is a deterrent to prospective offenders.
Next we meet Master Legend. He’s a long haired, middle-aged vigilante  who likes his beer and makes his own weapons out of cardboard and other household items. After cracking open a cold one he opens up about how his father was a member of the Klu Klux Klan and used to beat him. It was his loving and supportive grandmother, he says, who taught him that he had the potential to be a great force of good.  Turning past traumatic experiences into positive outreach turns out to be a reoccurring theme in many of hero’s lives we meet along the way. The commitment these ordinary citizens have to altruistic service is inspiring.  Every night  you’ll find Master Legend like many superheroes around the world (yes, it’s a global online community) handing out food and blankets to his cities homeless. A hero husband and wife duo hands out care packages every week to those living on the streets-the cost of which all comes out of their own pocket. Many of these heros have limited means themselves and it is astonishing the sacrifices they make in order to do what they do in their communities. When finances get tight Mr. Xtreme moves into his van rather than cease operation of Xtreme Justice League. You’ll come to really admire these quirky yet concerned citizens, as even director Michael Barnett admits he did in the midst of shooting this movie. What begins as a mockumentary becomes something very heartfelt as one grows  immense respect for these selfless individuals. Overall, this movie kills apathy and kicks evil villain butt!

Mr. Xtreme