The Super Mario Galaxy Movie doesn't care about rehabilitative justice

Cruelty is okay as long as you choose the right targets

(This post contains spoilers for two Mario movies that no one is watching for the plot.)

The Super Mario Galaxy Movie ends with a father and his terrified son trapped behind bars while a gleefully malicious prison guard psychologically torments them:

Lumalee: Hello, maggots. Trying to escape? You’re gonna play by MY rules now!

Bowser: Stay close, son. She won’t break us!

Lumalee: First goes the body, then goes the bones. Hehe. Then all that’s left is dust.

Bowser: You be quiet, right now!

Lumalee: You can’t silence the truth, it only makes it louder! Like the approaching droning…of death! Ha ha ha. Boom, boom, boom!

The film asks us to laugh at this, because of the comedic contrast between the small cute Luma and the big scary Bowser. It can do this because Bowser is an acceptable target: Bowser is a monster, a villain, the kind of person who deserves whatever he gets. And the same goes for his son, Bowser Jr.

Even the most charitable description cannot hide what is happening on screen in the “satisfying ending” of a children’s movie: a prisoner and his son are being threatened by a guard who takes visible pleasure in their fear. The father tries to comfort his son while the guard promises to break them. And we’re expected to be delighted by the antics of the sadistic Luma.

How did we get here?

Mario is a bad ruler

Early in The Super Mario Galaxy Movie, Princess Peach receives a distress call from across the galaxy and decides to answer it on her own. She leaves behind a note: “Dear Moustache, I've gone to the Gateway Galaxy to begin my search for the Luma's Mom. I'm leaving the kingdom in your hands.”

The “Luma” that Peach refers to in her letter is not the blue Luma who we see tormenting the prisoners; Lumas are an entire species, everyone of them exactly as cute and charismatic as all the others.

When Princess Peach embarks on her errand, she does not ask for Mario’s help. She explicitly assigns him the job of governing the Mushroom Kingdom in her absence.

This is perhaps the most important responsibility Mario has ever been given: he has been entrusted with the security of the kingdom, including the ongoing custody of Bowser (now miniaturized following his defeat in the first film).

In rapid montage, we see Mario and Luigi performing the duties of “looking after the kingdom” as they defeat various iconic enemies that routinely disrupt the lives of the Mushroom Kingdom’s toad denizens.

But predictably, a less routine disruption arrives in the form of a rescue attempt by the bad guys. Rather than performing a surgical extraction of the shrunken King Koopa, the baddies (led by Bowser’s son) opt to pick up Peach’s entire castle, and action ensues. One thwarted jailbreak attempt later, Peach’s castle crash-lands on a random planet.

Mario does not respond to this by returning to the Mushroom Kingdom to resume his duties of governance. Instead, Mario (Chris Pratt) delivers the most baffling line of the film: “We gotta find a way off this planet and get to Peach.”

Why would he say that?

There is nothing in the preceding scene suggesting that Peach needs help. Mario doesn’t receive a distress signal. And Mario had his marching orders: protect the Mushroom Kingdom while the Princess is gone.

If anything, the need to protect the Mushroom Kingdom (and ensure Bowser’s custody) is greater than ever. Mario’s assigned post just came under direct attack. Bowser Jr. is on a mission to save his father, so chasing after Princess Peach (and bringing Bowser with them) puts the princess in more danger, not less.

The film’s logic offers no explanation for why Mario would go and try to get to Peach.

But if we look beyond the text, I know why Mario did this, and I think you do, too:

Heroes do hero things

The film gives Peach the language of autonomy by letting her make her own decision to leave on her own, leaving clear instructions behind for Mario and not asking for help, but a scene later, the plot proceeds as though none of that happened, because this is a Mario movie.

Heroes go on quests. That’s what heroes do. Heroes rescue princesses. It doesn’t matter that this princess left clear instructions not to follow her. It doesn’t matter that Mario’s actual job is to stay home and govern.

And it doesn’t matter that his pursuit of this quest will involve leaving Bowser behind on the planet where Bowser Jr. just saw them crash land, effectively delivering Bowser directly into Bowser Jr.’s hands. The hero, by doing “hero things” instead of his actual job, causes the crisis that the third act has to resolve, and the film never for a moment pauses to reflect on this fact.

In a better movie, this misbehavior by Mario could be treated as an opportunity for growth, where the main character initially makes bad decisions, learns about the consequences of his actions, and learns to make better choices.

But in The Super Mario Galaxy Movie, Mario has no character arc: Mario can desert his post, ignore a direct order from his sovereign, and imperil the Mushroom Kingdom by chasing a princess who didn’t ask for help, and the film codes all Mario’s actions as straightforward heroism, because he’s Mario.

When Mario shows up to find Peach very much not in peril, she’s still delighted to see him, rather than to be upset that he abandoned the Mushroom Kingdom. Nary a thought is paid to what might be going on back home. Who is governing? The film never bothers to ask (even though “what’s going on back in the Mushroom Kingdom now that no one’s in charge” could have been a great premise for a recurring cutaway gag).

Mario is an ontological hero. He is not a hero because he commits selfless and heroic acts. In fact, arguably the most selfless act we see in the movie comes from an entirely different character, a Bowser who is on the road to reform.

Bowser and the rehabilitation that couldn’t last

When the film opens, Bowser has been Doing The Work. Following his defeat in the first film, he’s been miniaturized, imprisoned in a dollhouse-sized replica of his own castle inside Peach’s palace.

But he’s not sulking. Bowser has been finding ways to keep his hands and mind occupied. He’s cooking. He’s trimming his bonsai bush. He’s attending a weekly book club. And most recently, he’s been painting.

He shows his latest masterpiece to the Mario brothers. “It’s not just a present,” he says. “It’s a peace offering.” He asks for their assessment.

Luigi offers a nod of approval. “Love the colors!”

Mario is less complimentary: “It stinks.”

Bowser is understandably upset by Mario’s less-than-constructive criticism (“YOU THINK PAINTING IS EASY?”), but he quickly regains his composure (“sorry about that”) and makes his plea: Bowser wants to be released from captivity, to have the freedom to explore a world larger than the perimeter of a dollhouse. “Not for good behavior. For awesome behavior.”

Mario rejects the plea with the same attitude that he rejected the painting:

Mario: She’d never release you. And don’t even ask about making you big again.

Luigi: Mario, he’s really changed! We’re doing a weekly book club together!

Bowser: I bring the soup!

Mario: She doesn’t trust you. And neither do I.

Perhaps the most telling line of the film comes after the Mario brothers (with tiny Bowser in tow) foil Bowser Jr’s attempt to rescue his father. They crash land on a nearby planet, and Bowser suggests that they can work together.

Mario responds: “You expect me to shake the hand of the turtle whose son just attacked me?”

This is an incredible line. Bowser was in prison when Bowser Jr attacked. He had nothing to do with it. He was miniaturized the entire time and did not participate in the ensuing fight. But Mario’s response is to blame the prisoner for his son’s actions.

Mario treats villainy as a family trait: the son’s crime serves as evidence of the father’s nature. It doesn’t matter that Bowser was literally incarcerated and had no contact with Jr. (in fact, the film establishes that Bowser hasn’t seen his son in years).

But despite Mario’s skepticism, Bowser does indeed go on demonstrate “awesome behavior.” When Mario punches Bowser (removing the blue mushroom effect that made him mini, and restoring Bowser to his full power), Bowser is so happy that he kisses Mario, eager to assist Mario on his quest.

Bowser’s most selfless act comes a beat later, when they confront the Honey Queen, who is none too happy with the Mario Brothers: “You’re the aliens who destroyed my flower fields. Imprison them!”

This would be Bowser’s opportune moment to escape. A third party is offering to take care of his captors for him. But how does Bowser respond?

“Release them. I shall serve their sentence in their stead. I can do the work of a hundred men, and at least ten thousand bees. Take me.”

Here, Mario seems to consider that Bowser might actually be rehabilitated. Mario, the guy who called Bowser’s painting “trash” and dismissed even the possibility that Bowser might submit a valid plea for release, briefly softens: “Are you sure about this? …You’re not as horrible as I thought.”

For one moment, someone in this movie actually takes the empiricist’s approach: you can observe someone’s behavior and update your assessment. Mario sees Bowser sacrifice his freedom for the group, and revises his judgment. The system briefly works! Villains can change their ways, and even more impressively, evidence can change people’s minds!

But The Super Mario Galaxy Movie is committed to an ontology in which Mario is a hero, and Bowser is a villain. A heroic act of self-sacrifice cannot make Bowser a hero.

Just as The Super Mario Galaxy Movie cannot allow its main character to have a growth arc, it cannot allow its villain to have a redemption arc.

And yet, internally, The Super Mario Galaxy Movie demonstrates narrative to be the most powerful force in the universe.

The bedtime story

After Mario and Luigi abandon Bowser at a honey prison labor camp, Bowser Jr reunites with and rescues him. (One could also tell a version of this story in which this act of rescue is framed as heroic: after all, Bowser is serving time in a labor camp for a crime he did not commit!)

After their joyful reunion, Little Bowser Jr says, “Remember when I was a baby turtle? …you’d tuck me in and tell me our favorite bedtime story. Those were the best nights of my life.” The story went like this:

Bowser: Back in the days of yore, there was a powerful villain with awesome hair. He loved conquering everything. You see, this villain had a son. The two roamed the universe, desperate for a place to call home, but everywhere they went was just incredibly lame.

Jr: Gross!

Bowser: So, they decided to make their own planet. Behold, Planet Bowser! The sinister sanctuary where they can spend the rest of their days. They built an evil roller coaster, a gorge full of lava.

The night would always ends with a delighted Bowser Jr asking, “will you tell me again tomorrow night?” And Bowser would always answer: “Of course. Good night, my boy.”

Notice the language here. “A powerful villain with awesome hair.” “Sinister sanctuary.” “Evil roller coaster.”

Here, the word “villain” isn't describing unethical behavior. It’s an identity category (and here, Bowser uses it as a compliment.) It functions the way “hero” functions for Mario, like a team jersey that lets you know which side you’re on.

To Bowser, “evil” is an aesthetic sensibility, not a moral judgment. “Sinister” is used as a synonym for “cool.” The “evil roller coaster” is only wicked in the colloquial sense.

Most bedtime stories about the forces of good and evil are concerned with the way that certain outcomes, but that isn’t what Jr learns from this story. He learns that he and his father are a type of person, and that this type of person does villain things.

Villainy is transmitted from father to son, and then again from son to father, through the power of narrative. It’s the most transmissible form of culture: People like us do things like this.

For all the Mushroom Kingdom’s attempts to “rehabilitate” Bowser, they never spent any time engaging with the core mechanism that actually led to him raising a son who identified as a villain. In fact, they reinforced it!

Mario’s self-fulfilling prophecy

For the first half of the film, Mario treats Bowser’s reform attempts with contempt. His painting is “trash.” He’ll never be released. He’ll never be trusted. His sons crimes are his crimes.

Every single one of these statements was a confirmation of the bedtime story narrative: you are a villain. This is what you are. You’ll never be trusted.

The hero and the villain’s son are in complete agreement about Bowser’s ontological status.

Bowser Jr’s line to his dad is incredibly on the nose: “The universe will never forgive you. This is who you are. This is where you belong.” He’s saying exactly what Mario has spent most of the film communicating, just without the disapproval.

The Folk Devil

Mario seems to treat Bowser like what the sociological literature calls a “folk devil”: the outsider deviant who exists to be blamed, whose categorical identity as villain justifies whatever is done to him. His presence unifies the “good” characters into a community defined by their opposition to him.

Not only does the existence of a “folk devil” make your cruelty acceptable; it actually allows you to frame your cruelty as virtuous. “They deserve to be treated with cruelty, so treating them with cruelty actually makes me a Good Person.”

That’s Mario in the painting scene, telling Bowser that his painting is “trash.” Mario isn’t defending the kingdom by insulting Bowser’s painting. He is not protecting anyone. He’s being gratuitously cruel to a prisoner who is doing exactly what his captors ostensibly want him to do.

Mario needs Bowser to be incapable of change. Without the irredeemable villain, Mario risks losing the extremely simple categories that define him as a hero.

The Mushroom Kingdom’s failure to rehabilitate Bowser allows Mario to preserve the existing identity structure without having to actually do the hard work of practicing and cultivating virtue.

Throughout the movie, Luigi has been framed as supportive of Bowser’s efforts at rehabilitation, while Mario has been the skeptic (and pretty unkind about it). Whether you view Luigi as hopelessly naive or Mario as unnecessarily cruel hinges on whether Bowser turns out to be who Mario thought he was.

The moment that Bowser reverts to evil in the third act lets us know that Mario was right all along. It reframes Mario’s cruelty as perceptiveness, and reframes Luigi’s earnest attempts at encouragement as hopelessly naive. See? The villain couldn’t be trusted. Villains will always revert to villainy. The warning signs were always there.

Reversion to mean

What failed? Certainly not Bowser’s willingness to change, which the film demonstrates repeatedly throughout.

When Bowser Jr. rescues his father from the honey labor camp, he brings him to Planet Bowser, a world that Jr. built during his father’s imprisonment, populated by the same sort of koopas and goombas that surrounded Bowser during his original villainous rampage in the first film. It is designed from the ground up as the “sinister sanctuary” from the bedtime story, and every resident expects the conquering Koopa King.

This is what sociologists call “a criminogenic environment”

Notably, Bowser did not ask for any of this during his imprisonment. He didn’t even know Planet Bowser existed.

And notably, this is not what Bowser wanted in the first film, either. In The Super Mario Bros. Movie, Bowser didn’t want to spend all day hanging out in the Dark Lands with koopas and gommbas and spines. His primary goal wasn’t to destroy the Mushroom Kingdom or conquer it through violence. His goal was to marry Princess Peach!

♪ Peach, you’re so cool ♪

♪ And with my star we’re gonna rule ♪

♪ Peach, understand ♪

♪ I’m gonna love you till the very end ♪

Now, we must acknowledge that Bowser did eventually resort to violence and destruction when Peach declined his initial invitation. (His contingency, if Peach said ‘no,’ was to “power up with this star and destroy the Mushroom Kingdom.”) That is, of course, very bad. But I think we should prefer a world where a reformed Bowser wants to integrate into the Mushroom Kingdom, rather than destroy the Mushroom Kingdom. And at the start of The Super Mario Galaxy Movie, we live in that world!

Bowser 2.0 doesn’t want to be a conquerer or a destroyer. He simply wants to be treated as a co-equal member of society: he wants to return to his normal size. When Mario releases him from his miniaturization, the first thing Bowser does is to cooperate in assisting the Mushroom Kingdom’s regent in his stated goals, rather than to return to his minions.

This is the tragedy of The Super Mario Galaxy Movie. Bowser desired integration, but Mario told him it was an impossibility. And when Bowser discovers that his son has built him the ultimate consolation prize, a world that finally accepts him, is it any wonder that he becomes the villain they want him to be?

Who would refuse an encore to a crowd of that size?

Bowser becomes a conquerer in the third act, because that is what Planet Koopa requires him to be in exchange for acceptance. But Bowser was perfectly willing to play whatever role would let him fit into a society that offered him dignity and acceptance.

Listen to what actually motivates the reversion. Bowser’s grievance speech to Mario in the third act is not “I want power” or “I want to conquer.” It is a list of humiliations:

You’ll humiliate me at my wedding? Shrink me to nothing and put me in a jar? Make me join a book club? We had our moment, Mario. But Bowser is back.”

The book club, which was originally framed as a rehabilitative element of his imprisonment, gets listed as punishment alongside the other humiliations. From Bowser’s perspective, they’re indistinguishable, because the Mushroom Kingdom’s regent never actually treated the “rehabilitative” elements as a path to improvement that could lead to release.

Mario didn’t believe in Bowser’s ability to change. His painting was trash. His plea was invalid; his word could never be trusted. The moment of acknowledgment that Mario finally offers at the honey mines couldn’t outweigh the narrative power of a system that, on both sides, spent the entire film telling Bowser who he was: a villain.

Tumblr user Balioc writes:

When people suffer, it often makes them into worse people. It sucks. I know it sucks. It is quite possibly the single most unjust thing about this universe of ours... And yet it’s true, for basically any sane definition of “worse” that can be applied to human beings.

And:

Alleviating the suffering of bad people is a useful tool for making them into better people, or at least for preventing them from becoming even-worse people. This is true even if they don’t deserve it, which as postulated they presumably don’t.

Bowser ends up exactly where he started: back in a prison cell, this time trapped with his son, doing his best to comfort the boy as a sadistic prison guard laughs at their fear.

This kind of gratuitous cruelty isn’t a very effective way to reduce recidivism rates. But if you’re a plumber whose identity as “hero” is premised on the existence of a folk devil (or a film franchise who requires a recurring villain), it will probably deliver the desired results.

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