Let's first remember the lesson
Unbreakable taught us: comic book heroes are exaggerations of truth, tarted up for mass consumption. Dash may be fast without having to work for his gift, but his real-life analogue champion collegiate sprinter will be spending months of training time while forsaking enjoyable things that may hurt his chances at the big meet. The philosophy may be illustrated with supers, but they apply to us.
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Regarding the quote.
Intense Interest said:
Lets ignore the fact that the source of the quote is a deranged maniac
pawsplay said:
They used an immature, psychotic loser to voice their moral agenda? Ooookay.
The first time this thought is encountered is with Dash, not Syndrome. He is expressing frustration because he is not allowed to participate in athletic competition, where he would excel, because the establishment desires that his excellence not throw into relief other children's mediocrity. That he can achieve great things doesn't matter to those who govern his life, and he resents that far from being excited for him that he can do well, his governors shackle him from even competing.
Dash represents the victim of a regime that prizes mass mediocrity over individual excellence.
Syndrome seeks to profit from the cult of mediocrity presented in the first act of the movie. That heroes have been driven underground by society gives him the opportunity to find, betray and murder them, weeding out those he believes to be his competition. With his competition out of the way, himself the only Super remaining, he would then profit from the remaining mediocre population by creating a problem that only he can solve.
Syndrome represents the opportunist who uses the cult of mediocrity to hamper rivals while enhancing his own position.
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How does this relate to 4e?
3e had built-in weaknesses to every class. (Yes, some classes had more glaring weakensses than others; I won't argue that Half-elf bards can be as "good" as Dwarven Clerics.) Rogues were up a creek versus undead; with anti-magic Wizards have a hard time; Fighters have a hard time with Will-saves, among other things.
Similarly, each class was best suited to a set of obstacles, where they excelled: Fighters only need HP pit-stops but were otherwise energizer combat bunnies; Bards can sell water to a drowning man; Paladins go to town on evil outsiders.
You can make up for your weaknesses by diverting some resources away from your strengths, but by and large, you were good at what you were good at, and your faults were yours to keep.
Theoretically, adventures are a series of obstacles, each one catering to the varied strengths of the group: a locked door for the Rogue; waves of low-hp baddies for the Sorc; misbehaving wildlife for the Druid. When that moment came around, you were the guy, you got the job done, and you pulled everyone's arse out of the fire. Those were the defining moments and the reason why you gamed, even if you only got one every third session.
(Yes, glory hogs that want session after session of that limelight are disruptive.)
I suspect Syndrome's quote is used so often is for three reasons:
Firstly, the movie is freaking awesome, and deep meaning can be expressed and understood by a few words. (The same way, "To be, or not to be" expresses the turmoil of suicidal thoughts and all its complications in 6 words because the source is so well known and well studied.)
Secondly, Syndrome puts is more succinctly than Dash; when Dash says it, the line is split between his mother (representing the governors) and himself (the talented governed). Quoting Syndrome is simply easier.
Thirdly, they are trying to evoke Dash's feeling: they want to say that they miss the moments where their specialty was in dire need and nobody else could do the job like they could. They are criticizing 4e for both curbing the powers and advantages of particular classes, but also for mitigating the weaknesses of each class. They contend that each class is better able to cope with any particular obstacle put in front of them, and also that no class has as big an advantage when dealing with any particular obstacle. No longer is there that moment when you save the day, because the other three guys could have done the same thing: it just happened to be your turn in the initiative.
How accurate that is in play, I can't say. But I feel that is the design philosophy behind some of the changes that were made to 4e, and to a certain extent, "Everyone special means no one is" fits: without each individual possessing unique and significant strengths and weaknesses, there is no reason why Andy the Fighter couldn't have solved the problem as easily as Bob the Cleric. (Different methods, perhaps, but problem solved as easily.)
I suspect that 4e fans are satisfied by the amount of "I'm a badass" time afforded by the game; I suspect 4e detractors are not. And considering how much discussion can be had on the nuances of the phrase, it's not surprising that people don't elaborate on their feelings: we don't have the time, and in the end this is a hobby: none of us are owed exhaustive explanations for divergent preferences. Unless writing exhaustive explanations is a fun though-experiment, neh?