#moviebuzz

Intro/Author’s Note: hiii! this is one of my longer posts so I really hope you stay till the end. I wanted to go way more in depth about what I would love to see in a rated R version or live action remake of The Incredibles, especially when it comes to the plot, visuals, and overall tone, so if you want even more deep dives like that let me know. you can probably tell I got a little too passionate about some of these topics lmao. I was also thinking about writing a similar post about Atlantis: The Lost Empire, so if that’s something you’d be interested in please tell me. I had a lot of fun writing and researching this, so I hope you enjoy it and stick around for the whole thing. and if you liked it, please boost!

Darker Than We Remember

I think one of the biggest tragedies of modern animation is that people treat The Incredibles films like they’re just really good superhero movies.

They’re not.

They’re family dramas. Spy thrillers. Marriage stories. Existential crises with jazz soundtracks.

And yes, I know most people prefer the first movie.

I don’t.

I adore the original and genuinely think it’s one of Pixar’s masterpieces, but Incredibles 2 has always been my favorite. The atmosphere, the retro-futuristic world, Michael Giacchino’s score, the animation, Evelyn Deavor. It all scratches an itch in my brain that no other Pixar movie quite reaches.

But before I defend the sequel with my life, we need to talk about just how insane the first movie actually is.

Everyone talks about Bob’s depression and midlife crisis, and rightfully so. The man is miserable. He’s trapped in a job he hates, he feels purposeless, his marriage is strained, and he’s nostalgic for a past that no longer exists.

But people forget that before any of that, before the insurance office and before Syndrome, the movie literally opens with someone attempting suicide.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Oliver Sansweet throws himself off a building because he feels he has nothing left to live for. Mr. Incredible saves him, only for the man to sue him because he didn’t want to be saved.

That’s not just dark.

That’s unbelievably mature.

Even as a kid, I remember understanding that something about the scene felt uncomfortable, but watching it as an almost-adult, it’s heartbreaking. The movie is immediately asking questions about purpose, despair, and autonomy. That’s heavy stuff for a movie with stretchy moms and super speed.

And somehow, it gets darker.

The Plane Crash

I don’t think enough people talk about how terrifying the plane scene is.

When Helen realizes the missiles are locked onto the aircraft, the movie completely drops the jokes. Suddenly, Elastigirl isn’t Elastigirl anymore. She’s just a mother trying desperately to protect her children.

Dash is screaming.

Violet is panicking.

Helen is trying to keep everyone calm while simultaneously realizing they might all die.

And then she screams:

“THERE ARE CHILDREN ABOARD!”

And Syndrome doesn’t hesitate.

“Too late. Fifteen years too late.”

Then he orders the missiles to fire.

That line still gives me chills.

There’s no evil laugh. No witty one-liner. Just cold bitterness.

And honestly, the scene becomes even crazier when you learn what Brad Bird originally wanted.

Originally, Helen wasn’t supposed to fly to Nomanisan Island alone. She was supposed to be accompanied by a pilot named Snug, a family friend. During the missile attack, Snug would’ve died on screen.

Highkey?

I would’ve loved it.

On paper, he’s just a pilot. A small supporting character meant to get Helen from point A to point B. But narratively, keeping him in that plane sequence would have completely changed the emotional weight of the film. Because the plane scene is already intense, but imagine if Helen wasn’t alone. Imagine if someone she trusted, someone warm and familiar, someone who feels like “help is actually here,” dies right in front of her while trying to protect her and the kids.

That doesn’t just raise the stakes. It breaks something.

And I think that’s why I wish they kept him. Not to make the movie longer or more dramatic for the sake of it, but because Snug’s death would have added this extra layer of hopelessness to a scene that is already suffocating. It turns survival into something more complicated. It’s not just Helen trying to save her children anymore. It’s Helen realizing that even the people who step in to help her don’t make it out.

And what makes it even more powerful is that Snug wouldn’t just be someone Helen trusted. He would be someone the audience trusts too. A familiar face in the chaos. So when he’s gone, it doesn’t feel like background tragedy. It feels personal. It feels like the world of heroes is actually dangerous in a way that can swallow anyone, not just villains and faceless soldiers.

It’s one of those deleted ideas that makes me appreciate how bold the original concept was. Because The Incredibles was never afraid of loss. It just chose exactly how much of it we were allowed to sit with.

The original Incredibles wasn’t afraid of death.

And I wish it had been allowed to go even further.

The Movie Was Almost Even Darker

One of my favorite things about Pixar movies is reading about the concepts that never made it into the final cut.

Originally, Syndrome wasn’t even the main villain.

Brad Bird had created a Bond-esque mastermind named Xerek, with Mirage acting as his subordinate. Syndrome was supposed to die early in the movie, and Xerek would’ve been the one secretly orchestrating the Omnidroid project.

It’s fascinating, but I think Brad Bird made the right decision.

Honestly, I think one of the darkest and most fascinating things about the first movie is that Syndrome wasn’t just killing superheroes. He was bringing them hope first. These were people forced into hiding, stripped of their identities, living ordinary lives after being told the world no longer wanted them. And then this mysterious benefactor shows up, offering them one last chance to be heroes again. One last mission. One last opportunity to matter. And every single time, Syndrome knew exactly how it would end. He wasn’t recruiting them. He was studying them. Using them. The montage where Bob discovers the files still gives me chills. You literally see the names of the heroes, their status, and in some cases how they died. Gazerbeam. Stormicide. Everseer. Gamma Jack. Universal Man. And then you realize each updated Omnidroid wasn’t a new invention. It was a learning machine, evolving from the corpses of its previous victims. Every dead hero made the next robot deadlier. That’s insane. That’s serial killer behavior. That’s supervillain behavior. And the craziest part is that Pixar just throws this information onto a computer screen and trusts the audience to put the pieces together. No dramatic flashback. No monologue. Just the horrifying realization that Syndrome spent years luring retired heroes to a remote island, letting them believe they had purpose again, and then using their deaths to perfect his machine. It’s dark, tragic, and honestly one of the reasons I’m so glad they expanded Syndrome’s role. As cool as Xerek sounds, I don’t think any generic Bond villain could’ve given us something this twisted. The fact that all of this came from a lonely fanboy with unresolved resentment somehow makes it even creepier.

Because Syndrome isn’t scary because he’s powerful.

He’s scary because he’s pathetic.

He’s a child who built his entire identity around rejection.

He’s bitter.

He’s insecure.

He’s petty.

And because of that, he’s human.

Another deleted opening even had Syndrome breaking into the Parr house and accidentally blowing himself up. Which is hilarious, but nowhere near as interesting as what we ended up getting.

The movie we got feels so personal. Underneath the superhero action is a story about aging, jealousy, purpose, marriage, and identity.

Which brings me to my favorite movie.

Why I Prefer Incredibles 2

I know.

I know.

People think I’m insane.

But I absolutely adore Incredibles 2.

And honestly, I think part of that comes from how much I love its aesthetic. This movie feels like a moving piece of retro-futuristic art. Every room, every car, every costume, every piece of technology feels like it came from the future according to someone in 1965.

And Michael Giacchino somehow outdoes himself.

The jazzy brass.

The Bond-inspired themes.

The percussion.

Everything sounds stylish.

Every scene feels cool.

Even a motorcycle chase somehow feels elegant.

And then there’s Evelyn Deavor.

Respectfully.

Good Lord.

Evelyn Deavor Is One of Pixar’s Most Underrated Villains

People say the twist was predictable.

Not for me.

I thought it was Winston.

I was sitting in the theater at ten years old thinking, “Yeah, it’s definitely the brother.”

So when Evelyn turned out to be Screenslaver, I was genuinely surprised.

And honestly, I think she’s a much stronger villain than Nelson Deavor, who was originally supposed to fill that role.

What makes Evelyn so compelling is that she’s right.

Not entirely.

But enough.

Her father put blind faith in superheroes and died because of it. She spent her entire life watching people depend on others to save them instead of taking responsibility for themselves.

Her response was unhealthy and extreme, but her fears weren’t invented.

And that’s what makes her so fascinating.

She’s calm.

She’s elegant.

She’s brilliant.

She’s exhausted.

And Catherine Keener plays her with this quiet bitterness that makes her feel less like a supervillain and more like somebody who’s been arguing with the world for thirty years.

Also, I’m just gonna say it.

The chemistry between her and Helen is insane.

Would Disney ever do anything with that?

Absolutely not.

Would I watch an R-rated live-action version where they leaned into that dynamic?

Immediately.

One thing I don’t think enough people talk about is how fascinating the dynamic between Helen and Evelyn actually is. I know people joke about “the tension,” but genuinely, I think their relationship is one of the most interesting parts of Incredibles 2. They’re both incredibly intelligent women. They’re both elegant, composed, and fiercely capable, but they represent completely opposite philosophies. Helen believes people are inherently good and worth saving, while Evelyn believes people become weaker when they rely on others. What’s so interesting is that neither woman is stupid, and neither woman is entirely wrong. Evelyn isn’t some cackling supervillain sitting in a lair petting a cat. She’s a grieving daughter whose entire worldview was shattered in a single night. She spent decades turning that grief into resentment and convincing herself that dependence itself was dangerous. Meanwhile, Helen is a mother, a wife, and a hero whose entire life revolves around protecting others. Their conflict isn’t just physical. It’s ideological.

But beyond that, I just love the way they’re written together. Helen spends most of the movie trusting Evelyn. She admires her brilliance. Evelyn clearly admires Helen too. There are so many scenes where the two of them feel strangely comfortable together. And maybe I’m reading too much into it, but Catherine Keener plays Evelyn with this quiet fascination toward Helen that I can’t help but find compelling. There’s something about the contrast between Helen’s warmth and Evelyn’s loneliness that makes me wish we had gotten even more scenes between them.

Honestly, if a live-action adaptation ever happened and somehow got an R rating, this is one of the dynamics I’d want explored the most. Not because I want some edgy, violent remake, but because I think these two women deserve the kind of layered relationship you see in neo-noir thrillers. I would lean heavily into the retro-futuristic style, make Evelyn more of a tragic femme fatale, and really explore the loneliness behind both characters. Helen is constantly carrying the weight of everyone around her. Evelyn has spent her life isolated by grief and bitterness. There’s so much emotional material there. I would love to see longer conversations between them, moments where Helen almost understands Evelyn’s worldview, and moments where Evelyn genuinely envies Helen’s family and the life she built. And yes, I will say it. If we’re making an R-rated version anyway, I think there is an alternate universe where the chemistry between them becomes romantic, because honestly, it’s already halfway there. Their dynamic reminds me of those classic noir relationships where attraction, admiration, resentment, and ideological conflict are all tangled together. The hero and the villain understanding each other a little too well has always been one of my favorite tropes, and I think Helen and Evelyn could’ve made for an incredible version of that. Even without the romance, though, I think they’re one of Pixar’s most overlooked pairings, and I wish the movie had spent even more time exploring them.

The Screenslaver Plot Gets Better Every Year

As a kid watching the movie in theaters, I understood the basic message.

Don’t believe everything you see on TV.

Pretty simple.

But watching it now, I appreciate it on a completely different level.

Because Screenslaver isn’t just talking about television.

She’s talking about dependency.

She’s talking about media.

She’s talking about how easy it is for people to let others tell them what to think.

The whole speech about screens becoming our lives felt almost exaggerated in 2018.

Now?

It feels prophetic.

We live in a world where everyone gets their news through algorithms. People curate realities for themselves. Politics have become media spectacles. People trust influencers, commentators, and headlines without questioning them. Everyone is constantly being sold outrage.

And that’s why I think adults appreciated this movie in a way kids couldn’t.

Screenslaver’s argument is terrifying because there’s truth inside it.

She’s wrong.

But she’s wrong in the way the best villains are wrong.

Her ideas are understandable.

And honestly, I’m glad they abandoned the original AI plot.

Apparently early drafts focused heavily on artificial intelligence, smart homes, and rogue technology. Bob was even supposed to battle Edna’s malfunctioning house.

And while that sounds fun, AI stories are everywhere.

We’ve seen them.

Over and over.

The hypnotic screens and media manipulation angle feels much more unique.

Ironically, now that AI is being shoved down our throats every five minutes, I think it would make a fantastic premise for Incredibles 3.

But in 2018?

Screenslaver was the stronger choice.

The Deleted Scenes I Wish We Got

I still mourn the Kari scene.

Justice for that poor babysitter.

After surviving Jack-Jack, she deserved therapy and financial compensation.

And I desperately wish Honey had appeared.

Frozone’s wife is one of the funniest running jokes in Pixar history, but part of me would’ve loved seeing her and Lucius together.

Then again, maybe the mystery is funnier.

Why I Wish Brad Bird Could Make an R-Rated Live Action Version

Not a remake.

Not Disney slapping real people onto the same script.

I want a completely new story.

I want retro-futuristic noir.

I want jazz clubs.

I want deeper explorations of Bob’s depression and Helen’s loneliness.

I want Mirage expanded.

I want the dead supers to matter.

I want Syndrome’s psychology pushed further.

I want Violet’s anxiety and Dash’s frustrations explored.

And I want Evelyn Deavor to become the femme fatale she was born to be.

Not The Boys.

Not cynical.

I think The Incredibles is one of the few animated franchises that could actually justify a darker, R-rated live-action adaptation. Not because I want blood, swearing, or some cynical The Boys knockoff, but because these movies already contain so many mature ideas that are just beneath the surface. Bob’s depression, Helen’s loneliness, the trauma of the murdered supers, Syndrome’s twisted need for validation, Evelyn’s grief and resentment, media manipulation, identity, aging, marriage, and what happens when extraordinary people are forced to become ordinary. The DNA for an incredible adult drama is already there. I’d lean hard into the retro-futuristic aesthetic and make it feel like Skyfall meets Mad Men meets Mission: Impossible, with Michael Giacchino’s jazz score and lots of noir influences. I don’t want realism. I want style.

Not edgy just for being edgy.

Because beneath the animation, that’s what these movies already are.

Honestly?

I think Brad Bird has an R-rated masterpiece inside him.

The Incredibles movies are already mature.

They’re already stylish.

They’re already dark.

I just think they’re one PG-13 or R rating away from becoming one of the greatest film trilogies ever made.

And yes.