I’ve been reading a lot of ’50s and ’60s Superman comics to my son lately, which means I’ve been reading a lot of stories where Superman does inadvertently cruel things to Lois Lane and his other “friends” under the guise of maintaining his secret identity. Again and again, he thinks to himself something like, “I can never tell Lois that I’m really Clark Kent, or else she’d be in danger from all my enemies,” then uses a robot, or Batman in disguise, or some kind of memory-altering device to convince her that he’s not who she thinks he is.
These are old stories from an era when the intended audience was around my son’s age, and when many of the people writing them didn’t put much thought into the meaning and value of a narrative staple like the secret identity. But it’s hard to read any of those stories from a contemporary, adult perspective without A) thinking that Superman comes across as a big jerk, and B) realizing that Superman, and all the people who wrote these kinds of stories, were missing a key piece of logic. Yes, it makes some sense for Superman, Spider-Man, Batman, et al to hide their identities from the world at large so the Lois Lanes and Aunt Mays won’t be constantly threatened by supervillains. But if the heroes actually trust the people in their inner circle, then there’s not only no harm in sharing the secret with them, but arguably less harm than constantly finding ways to keep them out of the loop, which can result in them getting hurt because of how much they don’t know.
It’s a trope that hasn’t aged well, particularly with the proliferation of superhero and superhero-adjacent TV shows where it’s hard to tell who comes off worse: the main characters who aren’t in on the secret identity, and thus frequently endanger themselves and/or the heroes, or the heroes who keep them dangling in that position out of some misguided, easily-disproved belief that it’s keeping them safer. (Think of Iris for most of the first season of The Flash, for instance.) The smartest shows let all the main characters in on the secret quickly (Buffy outed herself as a vampire slayer to Willow and Xander before her first episode was done), and the ones that don’t almost always improve significantly when the secret goes away and everyone gets to be on the same page.
The CW’s iZombie isn’t technically a superhero show, even though it’s (very) loosely based on a DC/Vertigo comic, and even though its heroine Liv Moore (Rose McIver) has superpowers that she uses to fight crime. But it’s upheld plenty of traditions of the genre, including that pesky secret identity, which was arguably the show’s biggest flaw in its mostly very entertaining first two seasons.
When the show began, the only other regular character who knew Liv was a zombie was her boss at the Seattle morgue, Ravi (Rahul Kohli). No one else understood why she looked so different after the incident that transformed her, nor why her personality kept changing so much as she temporarily took on aspects of each new brain she consumed. The show had a bit of fun with her cop partner Clive (Malcolm Goodwin), who thought she was a psychic, being puzzled by her behavior, but for the most part, the secret proved to be a big drag on the show, generating phony conflict and angst each time someone Liv cared about got too close to learning the secret. Scenes with Liv and Ravi, or with Liv and Blaine (David Anders) — the zombie drug dealer who built a business empire on infecting people and supplying them brains at huge expense — had a liveliness to them that her interactions with Clive, ex-fiance Major (Robert Buckley), and best friend Peyton (Aly Michalka) sorely lacked, because they allowed everyone involved to be aware of the show’s wild premise and its many possibilities.
Over time, Major and Peyton learned the truth — Major even got infected, cured, then infected again when the cure threatened to kill him — which left the Liv and Clive murder mysteries as the one significant part of the show where the secret still existed. The Brain of the Week plots are arguably the most important part of the show — they’re the most prominent plot most weeks, they provide a consistent bit of structure to a series with a lot of complicated moving parts (more on that in a bit), and they provide the excuse for Rose McIver to transform Liv into a different kind of character every time out — but the secret identity silliness was turning it into an impediment to everything that was entertaining.