What's the matter with Kansas?, part 2: Superman Inc.

I got the idea to blog about this 1999 Elseworlds while in the middle of reading Red Son, and the reason should be pretty obvious: here, the focus isn't on communism, but unapologetic capitalism.

Superman Inc. was written by Steve Vance, pencilled by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez, and inked by Mark Farmer. It's an unusual Elseworlds in that it's not about superheroics. Instead, Dale "Superman" Suderman (the erstwhile Kal-El of Krypton) is the greatest athlete the Earth has ever known -- a star in the NBA, NFL, and Major League Baseball, a multiple-medal-winning Olympian, and an unstoppable marketing force. His chief rival is still Lex Luthor (now a team owner), but this time Dale/Supes earns Luthor's wrath by screwing Luthor out of a new stadium.

See, Dale isn't exactly a paragon of virtue, which the book demonstrates in a pointed parody of the regular Superman's boy-scout reputation. After Dale's grinned and glad-handed his way through a lobby full of adoring kids ("Have this [jacket] fumigated," he later tells his assistant), he tears into his staff for their concept-art failures. "Can't you morons get anything right? How many times do I have to tell you?! I'm Superman! I'm everybody's friend! I don't grimace -- I smile!" This last sentence accompanies the scary picture of an intensely beady-eyed Superman poking the ends of his mouth upwards in a look that would give the Joker chills.

What brought Dale to this state was a succession of foster homes and juvenile facilities, necessitated by the death of Dale's foster mother. Dale's powers contributed to her death, because his flying startled her into falling down the stairs and breaking her neck. This caused Dale to draw into himself (and also repress the use of his flashier powers), until years later when a chance involvement in pickup basketball awakened his "athletic abilities." It's certainly not an unrealistic alternative to Superman's origin, and it gives Dale's story a poignancy that a straight-up "Clark chose football over virtue" choice might have lacked. (Dale isn't without some scruples, though, thanks to his mentor, ex-NBAer Marcus Clark.)

Nevertheless, Dale can't quite let go of his powers, and as another marketing tool creates a "Superman" cartoon which uses the familiar costume and abilities. Thus, in this reality superstar athlete Dale Suderman invented the super-hero, which seems a little precious but pretty much works in context. Meanwhile, though, Luthor and his investigators (including reporter Lois Lane, naturally) have pieced together Dale's extraterrestrial origins, and use their findings to "out" Dale. Being a nigh-omnipotent alien is apparently worse than using human growth hormone, so Dale's career threatens to start circling the drain.

An enraged Dale makes matters worse when he storms Luthor's penthouse offices, is defenestrated thanks in part to a shard of Kryptonite, and flies back up to administer beatings in front of many witnesses. Furthermore, during an attempt at talk-show rehabilitation, Dale gets shot with a Kryptonite bullet and winds up in the hospital. Shortly thereafter, Lois shows up, having quit Luthor's employ once she figured out he was behind the shooting. She's withdrawing herself: "I may do some teaching," she says as she leaves.

At this point Superman Inc. starts to steer Dale in a more traditional direction, with a visit from a familiar generically-named police detective. Yes, J'Onn J'Onzz tells Dale that there are many aliens living on Earth who could benefit from a more positive role model, so why doesn't he shape up? Thus, Dale heads back to where it all began, in Kansas, to clear his head and figure out what to do with his life. Along the way, he's knocked out by a lightning strike. No points for guessing which kindly couple takes him in!

Actually, that too is handled pretty smoothly. The Kents don't know Dale Suderman from Adam, so he's able to hide out with them without much effort. On the farm he learns the value of hard work, etc., and eventually tells the world (via taped message) he's headed into space to find the remains of his home planet. However, on the last page of the book, it's "Clark Kent" who registers for Lois' Journalism 101 class....

Superman Inc. looks like a pretty slight story, but I think it has a lot going on beneath the surface. The "I don't grimace" scene is actually a nice encapsulation of the book's message about image management. Dale's mother dies because she thinks her flying child is a demon, and Dale turns this into introversion and self-loathing. Once Dale has started playing basketball, though, that gets completely inverted, and his face becomes ubiquitous. (The "S" symbol shows up too, but as the logo for Dale's new basketball franchise, the Metropolis Spartans.) In this way "Superman" allows Dale to use his powers, after a fashion.

However, as in Red Son, Dale has no "secret identity" which might offer another perspective. Therefore, this book's "Superman goes nuts" scene also forces him into hiding as a bespectacled nobody. In Red Son Superman's disguise is just that; but here, it's implied pretty strongly that "Clark" is the real deal -- a kinder, gentler iteration of the boy who grew up to be an oversaturating sensation. The traditional Superman was Clark before he was famous, so Dale needed to learn how "Clark" could help him cope.

There is a hint, too, that Dale could re-emerge as Superman the superhero, fighting evil and injustice in the mode of his animated alter ego. After all, if Dale can't use his powers for sports anymore, he'll need some other outlet. The logistical gymnastics that would require seem well-suited for a sequel. Too bad DC has gotten out of the Elseworlds business....

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What's the matter with Kansas?, part 1: Red Son

This post is the first installment in a short series about various Superman Elseworlds. Nudged by the news that DC is releasing a hardcover edition, I re-read Superman: Red Son over the weekend. That got my brain going, and I wanted then to re-read other stories. Look for posts on Superman & Wonder Woman: Whom Gods Destroy, Superman: The Dark Side, Superman Inc., and probably at least one other, in the near future.

Right from the start, Red Son (written by Mark Millar, pencilled by Dave Johnson and Killian Plunkett) creates an all-encompassing sense of horrifying inevitability, like there is absolutely no way it will end well. At the same time, though, that inevitability almost makes it read like dull, state-sanctioned propaganda. Accordingly, I found Red Son to be rather a frustrating comic -- not in the reading, which was fairly engaging, but in the message (or lack thereof).

SPOILERS FOLLOW...

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First, a bit of personal perspective on Red Son. Lefty though I may be, I did grow up during the last two decades of the Cold War, and lived under the shadow of mutually-assured destruction. We didn't have "duck and cover" drills in the '70s and '80s, but we did have The Day After, Red Dawn, and "Amerika." While a lot of that turned out to be right-wing nightmare fuel, I wasn't particularly eager to have the United States turned into the Workers' Paradise.

It seems to me that Red Son plays on those kinds of fears and expectations. The big surprise, apparently, is not that Superman is a Commie; it's that he's a compassionate Commie, eschewing outright conquest in favor of winning the world's hearts and minds. Even so, I found it hard to root for Superman, simply because of what he represented in this story; and I'm sure that's just the way Millar wanted it.

See, Red Son argues that as a Soviet operative (and later as Soviet leader), Superman gets to examine how the apparatus of the state could be used for the benefit of all. In the capitalist United States, Superman/Clark can be just another guy, doing what he can to help out. However, if the state is charged with taking care of everyone, and Superman is the state (for all practical purposes), then he has an obligation to give the people food, shelter, etc.

Nevertheless, these are background and motivational details. Millar doesn't really make a case for communism (Soviet-style or otherwise) -- or, more accurately, he doesn't use Superman to "rehabilitate" communism -- as much as he implies that a communist viewpoint enables Superman's actions in the pursuit of social justice. Thus, Red Son is another in a long line of "Superman takes over the world" stories, and like those, it ends with the realization that Superman can't impose his personal morality on humanity as a whole.

"But that would mean," my straw-man says, "that if the world got too corrupt, evil, depraved, etc., for Superman, he wouldn't do anything about it!" I agree -- and remember, that's exactly what turns the Kingdom Come Superman into a bearded, pony-tailed hermit, living on a holo-farm in the Fortress of Solitude. Both the KC and RS Supermen have one last red-eyed rampage which ends in the above-described come-to-Jesus moment.

And as much as I shudder at the thought of a Soviet Superman leading the Red Army triumphantly down Main Street USA, I think Red Son would have been better had it not given into that familiar character bit. Admittedly, Millar sets up RS's come-to-Jesus moment pretty well, equating Superman's global victory with his one unquestioned failure, but its first two chapters are so chilling that it's almost a cop-out for Millar to bring in conventional Superman morality.

I want to stress here that I am not trying to connect said morality with uniquely American values. Instead, I just think it would have been more interesting for RS-Supes to have embraced fully the benign totalitarianism he'd been practicing for most of the story.

That's the unspoken point of Elseworlds generally, though, isn't it? Superman is Superman, whether he's in the Middle Ages or the Civil War or raised by the Waynes. At some point, however, it makes these stories exercises in rearranging the details. In the end that's what I didn't like about Red Son: all of its radical visions -- Wonder Woman traumatized by the loss of her lasso, JFK an aging buffoon, Hal Jordan waterboarded -- seem only skin-deep. Indeed, the critical moment in the third part comes when President Luthor pretty much only has to snap his fingers in order to reinvigorate the United States' moribund, third-world economy. There's your communist-vs.-capitalist showdown in a nutshell: Superman spends decades shaping the USSR into the world's only superpower, and Luthor reawakens the US practically overnight.

Like I said, frustrating. Is Red Son shaggy and padded with high-concept "moments," or is it all necessary in order to get to Luthor's "checkmate?" Is it shrewd satire, not just of Superman but Bush-era foreign policy; or is that undercut by the eventual redemptive moment? Did Superman deserve some comeuppance beyond the loss of his identity and prestige? Certainly Red Son is thought-provoking, but I'm not sure the answers justify the effort.

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Kids -- they'll age you!

[I should really preface this post with a disclaimer: anyone looking for an extremely well-thought-out DC timeline owes Chris Miller's site a look. The following won't necessarily match up with Chris's work, but that's probably because I'm making more assumptions than he is.]

It's been a while since I've tried to work out a rough Batman timeline. However, Grant Morrison says that Damian Wayne is ten years old, and that's got me thinking. A ten-year-old Damian tends to explode the notion that DC's current timeline is perpetually only 12-13 years old (that is, DC's "Year One" was somewhere around 1996-97). Batman/Bruce didn't even meet Talia until Dick was off at college -- well into Dick's Robin career, at least a year or two before he became Nightwing. Assuming that Bruce and Talia didn't make the sign of the double-humped camel until 1987's Son of the Demon graphic novel -- which appeared a few real-time years after Dick gave up the short pants in early 1984 -- that means Dick has been Nightwing for at least ten years. Accordingly, that gives Tim Drake a pretty substantial Robin career, and it probably has implications for Jason Todd's tenure as well.

Memorable milestones make the Batman timeline is relatively easy to figure. Bruce Wayne was 25 during "Batman: Year One," Dick Grayson became Robin somewhere in Year Three and turned 20 not long after becoming Nightwing, and Tim Drake was 13 when he became Robin. (By the way, has "Batman: Year Three" been lost in a continuity fog? For some reason I think it has, even though it pretty much sets up Tim's origin in "A Lonely Place Of Dying.") Furthermore, back in late 1986/early 1987, when "Year One" was originally serialized, Bat-editor Denny O'Neil theorized that the then-current Batman stories were taking place in Year Seven.

I don't agree with Denny's thinking there, primarily because it gives Dick Grayson too short a Robin career. If he turned 20 as Nightwing, but he spent a year in college as Robin (say, age 18), then the transition probably happened while he was 19. Even if that changeover occurred in Year Seven (and it probably didn't), then Dick was only Robin for around four years, and was in his mid-to-late teens when he started.

Besides, Damian's age lets us work backwards. If he's ten now, he was conceived some eleven years ago (1998) -- probably as chronicled in Son of the Demon.

(Brief digression: Batman #666 has a one-panel flashback to the night Damian was conceived, showing the original/"Year One"-style Bat-suit, as opposed to the "New Look"/yellow-oval model still in use in SotD. No doubt this gives DC some wiggle room to claim that Damian was conceived many years earlier than SotD, and thus that Talia and Bruce "knew" each other before they were properly introduced, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Well, I say phooey on that. It would mean that either Ra's al Ghul or Talia knew pretty early on that Batman needed to join the family; and as impressive as Batman's early career might have been, it surely wasn't that impressive.)

Therefore, with Son of the Demon as our eleven-years-ago milepost, we can start estimating other events. Dick (age 20-21) was Nightwing, and Jason was a teenaged Robin. Dick turned 20 pretty soon after Crisis On Infinite Earths ended, so by the time of SotD he was probably around 21. Thus, Crisis took place twelve years ago. Moreover, if Dick became Nightwing at age 19, that takes us back thirteen years; with Dick's year at Hudson University being fourteen years ago. In other words, Dick was 18 in 1995, making him 32 today.

However, there is some disagreement over Dick's age in Year Three. Marv Wolfman, who wrote "Year Three" (and, of course, all those New Teen Titans issues; and who was writing Batman when NTT launched), stated often in dialogue that Dick had been Robin since age eight. This would give Dick a pretty substantial Robin career of at least eleven years (ages 8-19) -- but how old would that make Bruce? If Dick was eight in Year Three, that would make 2009 Year Twenty-Seven, and Bruce would be 53 -- which, by the way, is Dark Knight "retired for ten years" territory.

We can try to figure Dick's age by using Tim's; and we can figure Tim's in relation to Jason Todd's career. Jason was killed (in real time) in 1988, about a year after Son of the Demon was published. 13-year-old Tim met Batman and Nightwing some months after that, which probably places the event in the DC-year following SotD. It would make Tim 13 when Damian was 1.

Here, though, we run into another problem: as far as I know, DC refuses to let Tim turn 20; and it surely won't cop to Tim being 22. This ceiling makes Tim at most 9 years older than Damian and 13 years younger than Dick. It also affects Bruce's age, since Tim was old enough to remember the Flying Graysons' routines on the night Dick's parents were killed. For some reason I want to say Tim was 2 years old when this happened in Year Three. That would make Bruce 25 years older than Tim, and 44 today -- which would make this Year 20.

In summary, then, Bruce is 44, Dick 32, and Tim 19. Dick's Robin career lasted from ages 15-19, Jason Todd's spanned (all or parts of) Years 7-14, and Tim's is in its seventh year (his brief "retirement" notwithstanding). The lingering problem with this timeline is that it may give Jason a longer Robin career than he had in real time (around 4 years, 1984-88), so I may have to revisit my assumptions to correct that.

Still, the point remains that Damian's age necessarily extends everyone else's timeline, and I hope DC acknowledges that.

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Not quite a debriefing on The X Files

Well, I've finished nine seasons, one movie, and thirteen "Lone Gunmen" episodes, and overall I was pleasantly surprised at how well The X Files held together.

When the show was in the thick of its conspiracy plot -- say, in 1998 and '99 -- I watched and re-watched it obsessively, looking for hidden connections and other clues. However, after the Syndicate was wiped out, there didn't seem much point; and I could never connect the subsequent "super-soldier" plotline to the black oil, bees, etc. Accordingly, I have been watching those later episodes for the first time since they aired, over seven years ago. (In fact, the final episode aired on May 19, 2002.)

The show became famous, or perhaps infamous, for its complex mythology. As I remember, a lot of fans felt cheated that Chris Carter and company were apparently making stuff up as they went along. Personally, with "The Truth" fairly fresh in my memory, I'm glad the show turned out as coherent as it did. Still, "The Truth" left a few significant cliffhangers on the table, including the fates of Skinner, Kersh, Doggett, Reyes, and the X Files themselves. (I still haven't seen the second movie, so if it offers any clues, please don't spoil 'em.)

Finishing up the final season has also affected my perspective on the shift in Scully's character. With Mulder definitely out of the picture (teases notwithstanding), Scully is free to become the "senior partner" with regard to Doggett and Reyes. Apparently Season Nine was also going to be Gillian Anderson's last, regardless of what happened to the show, so it shifted focus to the new pair. (It also played up the possibility of romance between D & R, which I found rather forced -- but more about that later.) Season Nine did have its share of funny Scully moments ("Lord of the Flies," "Improbable," "Scary Monsters"), as well as the heart-wrenching "William" (where events compel her to give up her son for adoption). Indeed, Scully's roles in "Lord of the Flies" and "Scary Monsters" elevated episodes which I would otherwise have dismissed as remakes of better installments.

While I didn't actively dislike Annabeth Gish as Monica Reyes, I thought the character suffered from an excess of backstory contrivance. She wasn't a Mary Sue, but she did seem to be in the right place at the right time, dramatically speaking, a little too often. Whereas Doggett's skepticism was tempered by acceptance of the phenomena he'd actually experienced, Reyes was more of a "token" believer. She was filling a slot which the show needed, but not in a particularly organic way. It's ironic, considering that she was introduced gradually into the show in order to establish her relationships with Doggett, Scully, and Mulder. I don't even remember her having any practical connection with the X Files unit (like Mulder investigating his sister's abduction, Scully's "debunking" assignment, or Doggett's search for Mulder) prior to her assignment. What's worse, arguably, is that we are told it's her dream job -- which is a very tricky thing to assert if you're trying to endear the audience to your new co-star. Reyes' history with Doggett (and also with Cary Elwes' AD Brad Follmer) also runs counter to the other characters' relationships, since Mulder, Scully, and Doggett had no such prior connections. The implication that she and Doggett would eventually fall in lurve seemed similarly convenient. In short, it was hard for me to like Reyes, because she just popped up and happened to hang around. Maybe, given time, she could have grown into the part, but she had a few years' worth of development forced on her almost from her introduction.

Anyway, over the life of the show, I found myself enjoying the standalone "monster" episodes more than the mythology. Sure, the mythology was fun, but the exceptional episodes tended to be standalones: "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose," "War of the Coporophages," "Musings of a Cigarette-Smoking Man," the two-parters "Dreamland" and "Tempus Fugit"/"Max", "Post-Modern Prometheus," etc. Writer Vince Gilligan turned out quality episodes like clockwork, especially the hicks-gone-wrong "Small Potatoes" and "Bad Blood."

As the series drew to its close, it tended to dwell on its characters' isolation (and attempts to avoid same). At first, in "William" and "Release," our heroes said goodbye to their sons -- Scully to her infant, and Doggett to the murdered Luke. However, "Sunshine Days" and "The Truth" were about reunions -- a lonely man with his father-figure, and Scully with Mulder. In both cases the reunion comes at a cost (Oliver loses his powers, our heroes go on the run), but in light of the bonds renewed, they are costs worth bearing. (Again, please no spoilers about Movie #2.)

Thus, the series isn't so much about "the truth," or belief therein, as it is the connections and commitments which come with those beliefs. Over the course of the series, Scully becomes less of a skeptic, but for his part Mulder learns lessons of faith from Scully. Don't know when I'll embark on this journey again, but I found it worth taking.

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It's the post I just had to call ... "Face Front!"

So there I was, barely having started this week's Tales Of Asgard #1, when I learned that the Aesir squared off originally against "the totally evil FRONT GIANTS!"

Naturally, I checked the (earlier) reprint in Essential Thor Vol. 1, and saw that somewhere along the line, the text had been edited to read "FROST GIANTS" -- which, of course, makes more sense, since the rest of the story features those kinds of giants.

Indeed, it seems to me based on the lettering styles that the mistake was in the original, and that Marvel's quality-control people were more concerned with the new computer coloring than with Smilin' Stan's natty narration. I presume the new reprints worked from a different copy of the original art. Still, you'd think a single issue would be easier to check than a thick Essential volume.

Anyway, no big deal. At least it's faithful to the original (well, except for the new coloring). I even learned a valuable gymnastics term!

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A dubious anniversary

Unfortunately the day is almost over, but I couldn't let it pass without mentioning this.

Ten years ago today, on Wednesday, May 12, 1999, I got up earlier than sane people should (actually, around 4 a.m.) to (gasp) stand in line for tickets to Star Wars, Episode I: The Phantom Menace. This was at Lexington, Kentucky's Woodhill Movies 10 (represent!), then the nicest cinema in town, but which I understand has been supplanted by newer movie palaces further out in the 'burbs. It probably goes without saying that I had taken off from work to do this. (The day of the movie was pretty calm until the afternoon, when I got seriously worried that I'd have to work late, and by all that is holy I was not doing that.)

Anyway, I got there at 4:30 a.m. and was 147th in line, which by that point snaked around to the back of the building. It was a festive atmosphere, like tailgating for nerds. One band of ticket-seekers had brought a video projector (VHS, I presume, but it could have been laser) and was showing the Holy Trilogy on the side of the building. I got there for the last 15 minutes or so of Return of the Jedi.

As for me, I traveled light, with just a paperback. Seems like it was The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, but it could have been another Tom Wolfe or maybe a Hunter Thompson. Eventually I made some small talk with the guys around me in line, but none of us really bonded for life. After a while, though, this was not a particularly thrilling event, no matter what the "nerd tailgating" nickname suggests. The local new-rock radio station did a live broadcast from near the head of the line, and people were pretty cool about saving each other's places. I was almost interviewed by one of the TV stations, but then I remembered I hadn't exactly told the office why I was taking off that day. I even got a break to get lunch and new comics (it was Wednesday, remember). It was sunny too, so that was a plus. I got a good tan -- fight the pasty stereotype! -- without getting burned.

It seems strange now to think that standing in line for movie tickets was a big deal just ten years ago. I remember The Onion did a story about it and there were editorial cartoons contrasting the lines with the exodus of refugees from the Balkans. However, I didn't know when the box office would open (it opened early, at 3:30 p.m., so I was in line for some 11 hours), and it only took cash (I was getting 10 tickets at $6.25 apiece).

I did the same thing for Episode II three years later, except I got to the theater at about 7 a.m., it rained a little, and I was only there until the b.o. opened at a little after 11:00 a.m. Also, I was about 20th in line.

So yeah, while it was a bit dull and not exactly the kind of thing I'd want (or need) to do again, it was still kind of fun to see all those years of fan expectations personified in this pre-dawn exercise. Naturally the atmosphere for the actual movie (a week later, on May 19) was pretty charged, although I'm sure one's feelings about the movie itself probably overwhelmed whatever goodwill that nerd camaraderie generated. Good times, good times.

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Repositioning Scully

I'm pretty far into The X Files' penultimate season. Specifically, I've just watched "Three Words," where Mulder tries to reclaim his old job only to run afoul of Doggett (because Doggett is being set up by still-mysterious forces). These are fairly decent episodes, although they show pretty clearly that Mulder and Scully have gobs more chemistry than Scully and Doggett.

Between Mulder's absence and Doggett's struggle to prove himself (to the viewers, that is), Scully is Season 8's constant. Accordingly, Scully steps into Mulder's shoes as the agent "open to extreme possibilities." However, Scully also takes on Mulder's quest for a lost loved one. Mulder was searching for his sister, and for the first part of S8, Scully searches for Mulder.

Naturally, Scully's quest plays into her not-quite-romance with Mulder. She has given up a normal life to stay with the X Files -- not exactly to stay with him, because she has her own reasons for wanting to uncover the truth -- and he is therefore her touchstone. She can't abandon him, even if she weren't carrying their child. All her eggs, as it were, are in his basket. The show has told us more than once that, in a very real sense, she has no other life to go to. (I haven't seen the second movie yet, but I think that statement is still true as of Season 8.)

I suppose my question is this: does all of that make Scully so dependent on Mulder that it hurts her as a character? Certainly Scully isn't a bad character without Mulder -- the "Roadrunners" episode finds her stranded in a sinister little town, and she handles herself well for the most part -- but so far through Season 8, Mulder has been the elephant in the room. The reverse was not necessarily true for Mulder, who got more than a few episodes where Scully was either out of the picture or reduced to a supporting role. To be fair, the show tried to balance its solo stories, with M & S each getting an episode opposite the Lone Gunmen, and each having to play phone-tag while the other was in the field.

Regardless, there's only five episodes left in the season before Mulder leaves for all but the last two hours of the show; and I am left feeling like Scully isn't quite playing off Doggett or Skinner as much as she's still paired with Mulder's ghost. When all is said and done I think this is unfair to her; but the show seems to have been pointing her in this direction for a while, so it's not unexpected either. I don't know if it's sexist, but that aspect of it nags me too: Scully needs to find Mulder because she loves him, in a way quite different from Mulder's need to find his sister.

So, is Scully diminished for standing by her man? Thoughts?

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Two new comics, 3/11/09

Longtime readers may remember that I used to post weekly new-comics roundups (I hesitated to call them "reviews") about a particular set of purchases. Between annotating Trinity and looking after a new baby, I got out of the habit of doing those.

However, this week I read two comics which, if not exactly polar opposites in terms of quality, were at least headed in different directions as far as merit was concerned. I was surprised at how much I liked one, and how much I disliked the other. Therefore, let's talk about Titans #12 and Batman: Battle For The Cowl #1.

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First, though, just to be complete, I'll run down briefly the rest of Wednesday's haul. I covered Trinity #41 over at Robot 6. Batman Confidential #27 was Part 2 of the "hey, it's King Tut! In the comics!" story. It brings one of the '60s TV show's more ridiculous villains (and that's saying something) into the serious Batman comics after forty-odd years, but the story is neither goofy nor overly grim. Instead, Tut is creepy and mysterious, so much so that Batman is forced to turn to the Riddler for help. The result is an engaging mystery with snappy writing and great art.

I'll have to read back issues of Booster Gold and the Superman books to get a better idea for this week's developments (in Booster Gold #18 and Action Comics #875). I liked both fine, but each depended on the culmination of long-running plot threads. Same is true to a certain extent for Green Lantern Corps #34, although that issue was more setup than anything else.

Finally, I'm not sure how I feel about Green Arrow/Black Canary #18. It's three issues into the new writer's first arc, but he doesn't seem to have the best handle on the characters, and the "Green Arrow has a stalker" plot feels very familiar.

0n to the main event....

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It's no exaggeration to say that the relaunched Titans has had its problems. In the first eleven issues and the Titans East special, the book has had a handful of different artists (and wildly divergent artistic styles). Although the writer, Judd Winick, has stayed the same, he's been criticized for failures of characterization and plotting. Next month begins "Deathtrap," a crossover with Teen Titans and Vigilante, two books I don't read. Accordingly, it would be easy for me to drop Titans, but something keeps me going.

Titans #12, guest-written by Sean McKeever, penciled by Howard Porter, inked by Wayne Faucher, and colored by Edgar Delgado, was a good example of what the title could be. Titans is essentially a revival of New Teen Titans, so it treads the dangerous ground of, say, a sequel called "fortysomething" (or, to my mind, a "Friends" reunion). At its core it must make the argument that this particular combination of characters -- Cyborg, Starfire, Raven, Beast Boy, Wonder Girl/Troia, Speedy/Red Arrow, and Kid Flash/Flash -- still works, and is still worth watching. So far Titans had been coasting on the assumption that its existence didn't need justifying.

However, this issue finds two members debating just that. Ex-member Jericho has turned evil, and since he can inhabit anyone's body and control anyone's actions, everyone else is on edge. As a result, when Donna and Roy meet for coffee, neither of them is particularly thrilled to go on like they have been. When Raven rebuffs Beast Boy's attempts at romance, he exclaims desperately that Jericho must be inside her, toying with him.

The other characters don't have quite as much to do with the Jericho plot, but they were more recognizable to me than they had been. Starfire, whose powers come from solar energy, gets a few pages to worship the sunrise in a way which is reverential, not prurient. Later in the issue, she and Donna meet at dusk for a photography lesson. Roy's conversation with Donna is sandwiched between leaving one lover (after busting up a mugging outside her window) and almost reluctantly picking up another. In a sign that he too might be leaving the team, Wally "Flash" West's only scenes are with his family, and by itself the scene doesn't really go anywhere. Finally, Cyborg's work in Titans Compound bookends the issue and sets up "Deathtrap."

I became increasingly dissatisfied with Sean McKeever's work on Teen Titans because I felt myself caring less about the characters, not more. Maybe I'm bringing too much of my own knowledge of these characters to this issue, but I found McKeever's writing here to be subtle and almost elegant in its efficiency. When Roy returns to his one-night-stand's apartment after fighting the muggers, she's eager for breakfast (and more), but the only thing he says to her is that he just came back to get his wallet. McKeever lets the art (and especially the coloring) speak for itself with regard to Starfire's sunrise-worship. Similarly, Starfire's conversation with Donna consists of the simple, direct sentences which old friends use as shorthand. Probably the clunkiest bits of dialogue are the ones with the most romantic tension, between ex-lovers Donna and Roy and would-be lovers Raven and Beast Boy.

On the whole I enjoyed the art of Howard Porter and Wayne Faucher, augmented by Edgar Delgado's colors. Porter can't quite settle on Roy's hairstyle, which makes him look like Wally; and his layouts of Raven's head over the "montage" of the last few pages doesn't quite work. Still, Porter and Faucher produce clean, readable work. It's stylized somewhat, but not to the point of distraction; and except for Wally and Roy it allows the characters to have distinct personalities.

Overall I was quite happy with Titans #12. It's the kind of issue which highlights this sort of book's soap-opera elements without swamping the reader in them. I thought all of the subplots touched on here were explained adequately, so as not to mystify a new reader. I'm curious about the next issue, and that's the kind of feeling a serialized comic book should produce.

* * *

Naturally, Batman: Battle for the Cowl #1, which was written and penciled by Tony Daniel, inked by Sandu Florea, and colored by Ian Hannin, is something else entirely. BFTC #1 drops the reader into the middle of a Gotham City gone insane. Because Batman is Teh Dedd, all the gangs and super-criminals are battling for turf. Trying to hold everything together is a motley crew of Bat-sociates, organized by Nightwing and Batgirl (but mostly by Nightwing, as Batgirl gets maybe one panel in this issue).

But soft! Whither goest yon red-eyed wraith with the Wayne-issue Batarangs? 'Tis a new Batman, taking out a trio of thugs wearing clown masks left over from The Dark Knight before Robin and the Squire (the British version of Robin) can get to them. This Batman knows enough about How Not To Be Seen to slip past experienced crimefighters, but they know he's Batman because, along with those Batarangs, he leaves helpful notes which say "I Am Batman."

And that, in a nutshell, is BFTC #1's main problem: its apocalyptic setting is based on there being No Batman, but in the first few pages it introduces I-Am-Batman. What's more, even though the streets are full of bad guys battling SWAT teams, Gotham is apparently safe enough for ordinary people to gather into mobs, just to drive home the point that society is breaking down. Granted, I've never been part of a city in turmoil, but it seems to me that if the streets aren't safe, is it really such a good idea to go out into the streets in large groups to highlight this lack of safety?

Still, as always, Gotham gets the local bureaucracy it deserves; because wouldn't you know it, everyone in Arkham Asylum -- the Joker, Poison Ivy, the Scarecrow, that guy with the shark-teeth -- is currently in low-security buses (buses!) while the Asylum is being fumigated. (Actually, narration explains that the Asylum is being decontaminated after the Black Glove's shenanigans.) This sets up the dramatic return of Black Mask, who hijacks the convoy and blows up Arkham Asylum.

That's about it for setup: new Batman, mayhem in the streets, super-crooks on the loose. In other hands it might be pretty exciting. However, under Tony Daniel, BFTC #1 is overwritten, uninspired, crowded, and generally just a lot of sound and fury. From the very first panel, when Daniel started with an establishing "Gotham City" caption and then had Robin narrate four sentences later that yes, they were in Gotham City, I knew it would be tough going. (I was willing to overlook Robin saying "Squire and I" when it should have been "and me.") I've mentioned some of the nonsensical plot elements already, but they're worth repeating. Instead of a city filled with protesters, gangs, cops, and supervillains, why not a ghost town of empty streets, distant fires, and a general air of hopelessness? Instead of Black Mask co-opting the Arkham residents by hijacking their bus convoy, why not show how these master criminals each attempting to escape? BFTC #1 is so concerned with getting all its ducks in a row that it never thinks about the ducks themselves.

Moreover, BFTC saves its worst element for last, in the form of Bruce Wayne's and Talia al Ghul's son Damian. Grant Morrison gave Damian -- who, if memory serves, grew up alongside the League of Assassins -- a bratty bad attitude and a mean sense of entitlement. Here, though, he's a posturing little kid whose facade crumbles, and literally screams for Mommy, when faced with Killer Croc and Poison Ivy. Morrison's Damian wouldn't just take this kid's lunch money, he'd make him eat it.

Daniel doesn't explain who Damian is, though, similarly failing to give a hypothetical new reader any information on the Knight, the Squire, or any of the several other superheroes -- some, like Black Canary, the Birds of Prey, and Wildcat, only tangentially related to Batman -- who flit through this issue's panels. I can live with assuming that everyone knows Nightwing's relation to Batman, but Robin's reference to "my father's costume" seemed to come out of left field, even knowing that Bruce adopted Tim three years ago.

All in all, Battle for the Cowl #1 is a story outline in comic-book form, filling a spot on DC's production schedule until everything settles down in June. I realize that the two main Batman books have had their own scheduling problems lately, and Robin, Nightwing, and Birds Of Prey were canceled to make room for the post-BFTC lineup, but considering the events of this issue makes me wish even more that the storyline had been serialized at least across Batman and Detective. Not only could it have built suspense (the Arkham inmates have to be moved! The police might strike!) over a few weeks, it could have pulled all of these elements into a more coherent narrative. Instead, BFTC looks like an exercise in Here's What Happened, a process-oriented miniseries in danger of being ignored.

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From bad to ... actually, not so bad?

This may be the week which gets me back into weekly-comics-roundup mode.

This week I bought both Battle For The Cowl #1 and Titans #12.

One of those was really pretty decent.

More later.

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The shadow of Manhattan

Over the weekend I did my civic duty and re-read Watchmen. It took me two sittings: one for the first eight issues, and one for the back four. I did skim the Veidt text-pieces (the merchandising and the Nova Express interview), because by that point I didn’t think they added that much. Besides, even though he is fictional, Doug Roth is a massive tool.

Monday would have been the last day to do Twelve Days Of Watchmen, and I had planned to do one issue per day. This would have committed me to reading the whole thing, because I tend to get bogged down in the early issues. However, that didn’t happen this time since, you know, eight issues in the first sitting. I even found new meaning in the “Ride of the Valkyries” story at the end of issue #1, and I have never really gotten a lot out of that little moment.

Obviously, though, I'm not doing an in-depth, multi-part post. Since so many others have written so much about Watchmen in the past twenty-three years, I figure my humble notes wouldn’t add a whole lot.

Therefore, instead here are just some memories about What Watchmen Means To Me, along with observations on what I got out of it this time.

* * *

Watchmen came out in the spring of 1986, toward the end of my junior year of high school. As I remember, issue #1 actually came out the same day as the first issue of John Byrne’s The Man Of Steel. Not quite the same as Lincoln and Darwin sharing a birthday, but a big day in DC fandom nonetheless.

At the time, I thought Watchmen was unique because it dared to imagine -- and not to sugar-coat -- what superheroics would “really be like.” Alan Moore told Amazing Heroes that costumed superheroes would look about as dignified as Adam West; thus, schlumpy Dan Dreiberg. It was a significant contrast with DC’s other bravura projects, including Frank Miller’s Dark Knight, Howard Chaykin’s Shadow, and (yes) Byrne’s Man of Steel. Each of those brought its own “realistic” sensibility to its subject, but each retained a certain amount of unreality. Watchmen wasn’t like that. Watchmen pulled no punches.

I’m not sure I can overstate the power of Watchmen’s surface message. It seemed to annihilate completely any fantasy that doing anything in a cape and tights (well, almost anything; but that would involve taking off the tights at some point) would make any sense at all. You couldn’t have enough super-powered characters to field even a Fantastic Four, let alone a Justice League; because the only plausible number was one. (And oh, the problems he’d cause!) If you were going to skulk around the urban jungle after dark, you’d end up about as far from a billionaire playboy as you could get. Moreover, the billionaire himself would have much better things to do than said skulking. Watchmen was the superhero story which put the nail in the superheroes’ coffin. (That sounds like I’m ripping off an Alan Moore quote, but I can’t remember the quote exactly.)

There is, I think, a significant part of superhero fandom which wants to believe that these fantastic, impossible things can actually work. “Realism” goes a long way towards maintaining this notion. In the old days, it was expressed in things like Peter Parker’s various troubles, Dick Grayson going to college, or Bucky Barnes’ death. However, Watchmen pretty much said that you don’t want superheroes, because just one will destroy the world.

Naturally, the vast majority of superhero comics soldiered on, making slight changes in deference to Watchmen’s heightened standard of realism. Batman’s utility belt had pouches instead of the little vials. Superman’s cape was no longer indestructible. The Flash had an appetite like a Sumo wrestler with a tapeworm. What else could they do? Trying to go too realistic produced stories like Legends, where Ronald Reagan was being manipulated by Darkseid's flunky; or the “New Universe,” which eventually destroyed Pittsburgh in its attempts to be taken seriously. Moore wasn’t done yet, either. In Miracleman #15, he destroyed London as part of the super-fight to end all super-fights. This is how it would be, Moore seemed to be saying. These are your options: namely, the dystopian Watchmen or the almost-as-frightening road to the utopia of Miracleman.

And yet, the thing about Watchmen is that it’s not nearly as cynical as it looks. All the drama, violence, and sex only matter to the extent that we can’t get past them. The thermodynamic miracle isn’t just the uniqueness of each human life, it’s the spark of individuality, of creativity, which powers each work of art. If all we see is one way to go, we limit ourselves to that path. We forget that we each have, as a certain starship captain once said, a “capacity to leap beyond logic” which helps slice through our own Gordian knots. Watchmen trades pretty heavily in structure and form, but it ends up saying you don’t have to do it this way.

* * *

That gets back, after a fashion, to literally the first thing I noticed about Watchmen, ‘way back at the end of May, 1986: its start date, October 12, 1985. I had just spent most of 1985 living with Crisis On Infinite Earths, which very specifically took place during the months of July and August. It was therefore impossible for Watchmen to be part of main line DC, whether pre- or post-Crisis, because Watchmen started well after the infinite Earths had been consolidated.

Again, this was no small thing. Coming from an environment where anything could be explained away with its own parallel Earth, Watchmen stated right up front that it would have no part of that. Accordingly, no matter how DC tried to dress up its Earth-Charltons, Watchmen would never be incorporated into, and therefore subordinated to, the regular DC superhero line. Nor would there be ironic comparisons to familiar superheroes, because Watchmen even killed off the infant superhero comics.

Setting the miniseries over six months in the past also lent it an air of inevitability, even in panel one of page one. (“I did it thirty-five minutes ago.”) By the way, this is why I didn’t want to do an issue-by-issue examination, because virtually every panel contains multiple layers of meaning, and it would have been either redundant or overwrought, or both.

Still, analysis itself is an important part of the story. I hadn’t noticed before this reading how much Bernie-the-newsvendor parodies Ozymandias and his Wall Of TV. There’s Bernie, ever-present on the streetcorner, imagining himself an information broker as Veidt imagines himself a visionary. Bernie tries desperately to draw his customers into his world, but they just want their periodical of choice – especially Young Bernie with his Black Freighter comic, who just wants to be left alone so he can read.

Indeed, that’s a nice metaphor for one aspect of the Watchmen experience. One of the book’s many ironies is the notion that its “realistic,” cynical approach to superheroes makes it an excellent gateway comic; when really Watchmen works best the more you know about comic books, superheroes, and criticisms of both. For many would-be readers, Watchmen may have “too many words” the way that Mozart’s emperor patron heard “too many notes.”

Nevertheless, with all those words and details and Easter eggs (I’m sure Nova Express refers to the William Burroughs novel, but I wonder if it’s also a reference to Adventure Comics #247) fleshing out Watchmen’s world, it’s easy to forget that we, like Dr. Manhattan, exist outside of it. Watchmen can often appear so taken with its own structure that it only exists as a rigid exercise in storytelling (obey the grid!). Thus, the thermodynamic miracle reminds us that without the unique spark we each provide, it is all merely academic. “Who makes the world?” We do, each according to our own perceptions and what we bring to the interpretation of a work.

Again, I’m not convinced that Watchmen is especially reader-friendly, even on the most basic of levels. Starting with page 2, it employs flashbacks and non-linear narrative that might put off readers who, let’s be honest, expect comic books to be simple and straightforward. It is not an especially quick read, although its pace picks up as it goes along. (Less-complicated text pieces help as well.) You almost have to make an investment in Watchmen merely to get through it.

And not to belabor the point, but Watchmen isn’t simply concerned with plot. It’s not just “what happened,” it’s how. Of course, this is the essence of Watchmen-movie criticism: any adaptation necessarily destroys a good bit of the comic’s appeal, because it changes fundamentally how the work is perceived. Even the addition of music and sound effects is an intrusion into the book’s relatively sparse aural landscape. (Actually, I was disappointed not to hear Archie’s “screamers” when I watched a prison-break clip online.) Watchmen plays not only with chronology, but with the passage of time itself, and that’s something which the movie must necessarily homogenize.

Man, no wonder we Watchmen fans have become so protective of the book. It is vast, it contains multitudes. In a way it’s like 2001: superficially simple, even provoking “what’s so great about this?” responses; but with rewards for those who dig deeper. Either way, just reading it is an initiation into a special club in a corner of comics fandom. That club’s been getting bigger all the time, and it may be about to explode.

* * *

One of the other big ironies about Watchmen is the idea that Veidt’s triumph is only temporary. After all, Nixon (who, presumably, has not mellowed with age) is still President, and Rorschach’s journal still has the potential to expose Veidt’s plan. While the United States’ negotiating position has been weakened considerably by Dr. Manhattan’s departure, apparently it’s a bigger deal that the Soviets (under Gorbachev, the revelation of which always surprises me) are sufficiently moved by the New York tragedy to pull back their troops. The point is, Veidt did a lot, but the world doesn’t seem out of the woods just yet. Naturally, Dr. Manhattan warns Veidt that “nothing ever ends.” Of course, as he says that, Watchmen is about to end, leaving behind a world that might not be “fixed,” but at least is stronger.

Even that reinforces Watchmen’s message. From the beginning, the book repeatedly makes, and then takes apart, the case that one figure can be solely responsible for the fate of the world. This is not to say that the book argues for two figures, namely Dr. Manhattan and Ozymandias. Instead, any time one person is set up as a singular transformative force, the world rebels. For most of the book’s recent history, Dr. Manhattan has bolstered U.S. aggression and provoked Soviet adventurism. However, his removal doesn’t produce a more benign equilibrium … and neither, apparently, will the “Alexandrian” solution imposed by Ozymandias.

Ozymandias’ plan and Watchmen’s scope both look all-encompassing, but again, I think that misreads both. The point of Watchmen seems not to be that it’s the last word on superheroes, or the genre’s only logical examination, but that the genre is still capable of many interpretations. Again, Watchmen has no central figure. The world doesn’t stop even in the absence of Dr. Manhattan, the would-be watchmaker himself. I mentioned Nixon above, but thanks to Dan and Laurie the superheroes are still around as well; and they may even become a “family business.”

* * *

See, that all sounds fairly obvious, doesn’t it? In hindsight I’m amazed that so many people interpreted Watchmen so darkly all these years. It’s not the love letter to superheroes that a Grant Morrison, Mark Waid, or Kurt Busiek would have written, but it’s not dancing on the genre’s grave either.

Ah well. Now I just have to get used to the idea that Dan and Laurie can fight in gratuitous slow motion….

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Thoughts on Donna Troy and "Dollhouse"; or, If You Wait Long Enough, It Gets Better

Last night I was taking care of a couple of nerd obligations -- watching "Dollhouse," because clearly someone has to; and trying to come up with my fifth list item for Tom Spurgeon's "Five For Friday" feature -- and found myself flipping through the Who Is Donna Troy? paperback collection.

WIDT? features the eponymous story from The New Teen Titans vol. 1 #38 (January 1984) in which Robin helps Wonder Girl reconnect with her past. It follows that one with Tales of the Teen Titans #50 (January 1985), the double-sized issue chronicling Donna's wedding. After a five-issue Titans storyline involving Donna's secret outer-space origin, it concludes with a short piece about Donna's memorial service (she was killed in a story not reprinted here).

It's no stretch to say that Donna -- or, perhaps more specifically, Wonder Girl -- has had a strange and complicated history. "Wonder Girl," like "Superboy," started out as the teenage version of an adult hero. Thus, Wonder Girl was the younger Wonder Woman. However, as the Wonder Woman comics got increasingly crazy in the 1950s and early '60s, the adult Wonder Woman found herself teaming up not only with Wonder Girl, but with the toddler Wonder Tot. The story goes that, when the time came to create a super-team for the teen sidekicks of adult heroes, the editor noticed only that there was a Wonder Girl, and put her on the roster without checking to see where she came from. Consequently, the "Wonder Girl" who first appeared with the Teen Titans in 1965 didn't get a separate origin, or even a real name, for four years. The first mention of the name "Donna Troy" came in Teen Titans vol. 1 #22 (July-August 1969), courtesy of writer Marv Wolfman.

Of course, Wolfman and artist George Perez would go on to produce most of the stories reprinted in the aforementioned paperback, and that's really where I want to start. Unlike her colleagues, Donna didn't have that much of a history from which character traits could be derived. Robin was struggling with independence from Batman, Kid Flash was already in semi-retirement, and Speedy had that unfortunate junkie phase. Therefore, it wasn't hard for Wolfman and Perez (and especially Wolfman) to flesh out Donna as everyone's friend, and sort of the wholesome girl-next-door. Since she had no real history, pros and fans alike could see whatever they wanted in her.

Naturally, that kind of approach can produce a creepy slippery slope, where Donna stays popular and loved because we said so. In 2003, Donna was killed (for all intents and purposes) in a fairly ignominious way at the climax of a miniseries designed to reshuffle DC's teen-hero and former-teen-hero team books. It was done mostly for shock value, since the reactions of various characters would cause said reshuffling. However, those were the characters: the book in which Donna appeared, Titans, never got as much attention as DC had hoped, and certainly not as much as the other team being broken up, Young Justice. Thus, on one level, Donna's death was an opportunity for the characters to voice what DC presumed would be the fans' reaction -- except that by 2003, Donna's popular days were at least about ten (and probably closer to 15) years behind her. Younger fans wouldn't have connected with Donna the way the older fans had; and we older fans had, I suspect, become jaded and bitter about superhero death anyway.

Still, Donna's death led to the last story in the Who Is Donna Troy? collection, writer/artist Phil Jiminez' account of Donna's wake. Jiminez is a huge fan of all things Wonder Woman and Teen Titans, and had drawn the JLA/Titans miniseries which led into the Titans ongoing which was cancelled as a part of Donna's death. This made Jiminez an especially appropriate choice to eulogize Donna. His story is rife with the kind of references and in-jokes which we enlightened superhero fans are supposed to condemn as "inaccessible."

Regardless, if like me you recognize the references (notwithstanding the fact that they refer to earlier stories in the WIDT? book), or if you know the significance of the "HELLO MY NAME IS DONNA" doll, odds are you'll find the story moving, as I did. The pivotal moments in Donna's life -- finding her real family, getting married, dying in battle -- resonate with those who "knew" her, because they are built on the readers' own hopes and dreams. I'm convinced that the fans who like Donna Troy actively want to like her in a way that other characters with more established histories don't facilitate.

What's this have to do with "Dollhouse?" Well, it's not that Donna is a blank slate on the order of Echo, or that people who like Eliza Dushku really like Eliza Dushku in some preternatural way. Instead, it's the notion that a series can be actively challenging to its viewers for a while, almost daring them to watch; and then turn a corner, change things up, and become all-of-a-sudden "good."

By now we all know the criticisms of the show's premise. Last week's episode reinforced those criticisms: why go through a shadowy criminal enterprise when you could hire a real person, etc. Last night's episode helped justify the Dollhouse's business plan, even if it raised still more questions (as pillock observes, what kind of infrastructure must it have?). However, it was a step in the right direction. Apparently the back half of this batch of episodes really reveals the point of the series, and these we're seeing now (including that debut episode, which I gather was reworked heavily) are just standalone warmups.

Question is, though, how much of the bad stuff must we wade through before that corner to Qualityville is turned? I have watched the first episodes of both "Farscape" and "Babylon 5" and wasn't sufficiently intrigued to continue with either; but I stuck with any number of shows which started out fair-to-middling and only hit their stride after a year or two. Whether I became more receptive to their individual charms, or they each simply got better, is something of a moot point; because in the end, the result is the same. You sit through a lot of fair-to-middling stuff so that the payoffs will matter more. "All Good Things..." was a reward for watching "Encounter At Farpoint." DS9's "What You Leave Behind" even included a montage. I know I'll be paying special attention to the Final Five's early scenes whenever I watch "Galactica 2.0" all the way through. "Lost" seems to be composed exclusively of buried details. Accordingly, if "Dollhouse" lasts long enough to build up its own macro-story, I'm sure I'll look back on these early episodes with a more practiced eye. That doesn't mean they were necessarily good ... just that they were, I don't know, tolerable. I'm not real comfortable spending my time just on the tolerable, but obviously I do believe in giving a show a chance to prove itself.

Going back to Donna, I do think that "Who Is Donna Troy?" and "We Are Gathered Here Today" (the wedding issue) were, by themselves, good comics. By that I mean that they were crafted well enough so that the emotional moments were built on elements from the stories themselves, and not merely on the reader's pre-existing awareness of the character. Sure, it helped if you knew Dick and Donna's relationship, and especially Donna and Terry's, but I read each of those for the first time when I had been away from comics for a couple of years. In this respect I think Perez's layouts and character direction help greatly, especially with the wedding. Talking about these stories in the context of the overall series, I thought they succeeded

almost despite the fact that there's not much more to Donna beyond being pretty and nice. However, the peculiar alchemy Wolfman and Perez were able to use on her has turned that around into a kind of unequivocal goodwill -- that because she's so nice, we don't want anything bad to happen to her, and we even actively wish her well.

To be clear, that kind of success is in addition to whatever enjoyment a reader new to the whole Donna thing gets out of those stories. Donna went through a lot of mediocre stories before Wolfman and Perez came along, and the duo didn't make her a star overnight either.

That's the appeal of serial superhero comics, though, isn't it? Even the bad stuff gets repurposed eventually ... except the really quite extraordinarily bad stuff (like the "Teen Tony" Iron Man or the Team Titans book), which is annihilated in the metaphorial incinerator. Still, if even the bad stuff has some potential value, aren't we just lowering standards with each bad element?

More than likely, I suppose ... but regardless, it sounds like I've been suckered into "Dollhouse" for a while....

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Numbers are fun!

I notice that May's issue of Fantastic Four will be number 567.

Get it? "4 5 6 7?" Huh? Huh?

Okay, it's not a big deal, but as long as people mention things like 8/8/08, I figure somebody finds it at least a little intriguing.

Too bad the Calculator is a DC villain....

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"Aieee! El Hombre Murcielago!"

Glad to hear that Mark Waid is writing a Batman story set in Barcelona, not just for the potential "Fawlty Towers" jokes, but because I always liked the globetrotting Batman. Batman has always gotten around, of course; but Denny O'Neil and Neal Adams seemed especially fond of sending the Darknight Detective all over the world. Indeed, their first Batman collaboration, "The Secret Of The Waiting Graves" from Detective Comics #395 (January 1970), took Batman to Mexico.

Batman went to Spain for October 1970's Enemy Ace homage, "Ghost Of The Killer Skies" from 'Tec #404. The only appropriate line of Spanish dialogue I know is the title of this post, which comes from that story.

In the Newsarama story, Waid observes that

Batman's big Achilles heel -- Batman's big problem -- is he's used to working in Gotham where people know who he is to some degree. Or at least the police. He works at least in some concert with the police. When he goes to Barcelona, they treat him the same way they treat Killer Croc. He's a winged freak prowling the streets.

To a certain extent, this was true in the O'Neil/Adams stories: whenever Batman left Gotham, nobody seemed to know exactly how to deal with him, and more often than not, the locals would simply freak the heck out (e.g., "Aieee!"). Therefore, not that I want to see the rest of the world portrayed as provincial and timid, but I hope Waid and artist Diego Olmos are able to do that kind of "outside" perspective convincingly.

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Fate Accompli, Part One

Today I want to look at the first part of DC's Dr. Fate series, which ran for 24 issues (and an Annual) from 1998-90. It's the kind of series which doesn't seem all that relevant today (there have been, what, four Fates since then?); but I remember it as well-crafted and I just completed my collection. Join me, won't you?

* * *

The late 1980s were a pretty good period for DC's superheroes. Crisis On Infinite Earths gave DC plenty of opportunities to experiment, especially with characters who had previously been only visitors to the main-line Earth. The new Justice League (soon to be Justice League International) was a representative sample of the merged Earth; and it included Doctor Fate, late of Earth-2. Therefore, I wasn't surprised to see, not too long into the new Justice League's run, a Dr. Fate miniseries by JL's braintrust, Keith Giffen and J.M. DeMatteis.

This four-issue miniseries (cover dated July-October 1987) bid farewell to Kent Nelson, the old Doctor Fate. Nelson started out as a costumed sorceror who used mystic artifacts (a helmet and amulet) to wield powerful magical forces. Over the years, the Doctor Fate stories revealed that while Kent himself had learned some basic magic, the real power came not simply from the helmet and amulet, but from the omnipotent being inside them: Nabu, the Lord of Order. Indeed, Nabu was only one Lord of Order among many, and they collectively opposed the Lords of Chaos. It all broke down along pretty clear good vs. evil lines, with the Lords of Chaos being creepy, green, scaly things with lots of sharp teeth, and the Lords of Order being soothing blobs of light, like bubbles in a cosmic lava-lamp. You wouldn't think a being like Nabu would settle for mere backseat superheroics, and eventually, he didn't. In time, Nabu completely controlled Doctor Fate whenever Kent put on the helmet.

At the end of the miniseries, however, the status quo had changed radically. Doctor Fate still looked the same -- blue-and-yellow costume, yellow cape, featureless golden helmet and matching amulet -- but inside "he" was the union of two people, Eric and Linda Strauss. Until Nabu magically aged him to adulthood, Eric had been a ten-year-old boy, and Linda was his stepmother. Kent Nelson, who himself had been aged similarly by Nabu, and who had subsequently been fighting the forces of evil since the 1940s, was allowed to die. For his part, though, Nabu assumed human form, using Kent's body to do so.

Again, on the outside nothing had changed about Dr. Fate. In fact, he went on to appear in a number of different superhero titles in 1987 and '88, including the Millennium crossover and the Cosmic Odyssey miniseries. None of it had anything to do with the Strausses or Nabu/Kent. Heck, I didn't know it wasn't the original until I saw the chronology on DCUGuide.com.

And then, towards the end of the year, DeMatteis and artist Shawn McManus launched an ongoing Dr. Fate series. Initially it read like a variation on the superhero sitcoms DeMatteis was writing concurrently in Justice League International and Mister Miracle. Indeed, DeMatteis added a hapless straight-man neighbor (lawyer Jack Small, who was tall, ha ha) and a cute demon with a funny accent (Petey, who disguised himself as the ugliest dog in the world). Schtick was plentiful, as were running gags, and really, the comedy -- especially the bit about Nabu wanting to be called "Kent" -- got old after a while.

Still, the first arc made it clear that the yuks were just the enticement; and the real message of Dr. Fate was ecumenical. Over the course of twenty-four issues (and an Annual), DeMatteis and McManus (and occasional guest artists like Tom Sutton, Jim Fern, and Joe Staton) were telling the larger story of Fate's struggle between the extremes of Order and Chaos.

But I'm getting ahead of myself....

* * *

The first year or so of Dr. Fate contained basically three arcs. Issues #1-6 saw our heroes team up with Typhon, Lord of Chaos (inhabiting Jack's body, naturally) and trying to stop Andrew "I ... Vampire!" Bennett from bringing on the Mahapralaya, where all creation is washed away and returns to its source. Andrew just wanted to die, but kept being reborn, and the Lords of Order told him the end of creation would be pretty final. (Thus, Typhon's involvement: the LOOs wanted the current age of Chaos to come to an end, and the LOCs didn't.) It all went down at a temple in India, where Bennett and Fate realized that no matter what happened to the material world, the eternal forces behind creation remained constant and benevolent. In other words, no Mahapralaya yet, because you can't hurry a supreme being.

A couple of shorter stories followed: issue #7 spotlighted Petey; and issues #8-9 told the story of amateur sorcerer Joachim Hesse, who was trying to replace the god Indra and just ended up ticking Indra off. In the latter issues we learned that Linda could become Dr. Fate (in female form, obviously) on her own, which she had to do because Eric had fallen sick.

The book then took an unexpected turn. In issues #10-13, Eric and Linda each became their own Dr. Fate, and together they fought Darkseid; but at the end of issue #12, Eric died-- taking with him the possibility that Fate will be a new form of humanity -- and issue #13 was all about Linda letting go.

* * *

Now, a brief interlude: at that point, all those years ago, I dropped the book.

It's hard to remember why -- maybe I was bored with it, maybe I had budget issues (this would have been my junior year of college), or maybe I just wanted to free up a spot for the new Legion of Super-Heroes.

In any event, I look back now and wonder what was going through the minds of DeMatteis and editor Art Young. Was it poor sales? DeMatteis and McManus (and Young) would stay with the book through #24, almost another year; and their successors would produce seventeen more issues. My experience notwithstanding, Dr. Fate never had the aura of a title no one wanted to read. You certainly couldn't say it "limped along" for forty-one issues. In today's environment, after #13, I'm inclined to think that DeMatteis would have left the title, and DC would have brought in another creative team for a few issues of closure.

Looking back, though, it seems like DeMatteis really did have just twenty-four issues' (and an Annual) worth of Dr. Fate in him, and Eric's death was just part of the story. I'll have more to say about the practical aspects of DeMatteis' story (seen, of course, from the outside perspective of a reader who's too smart for his own good) -- but for now, let's get back to the plot.

* * *

Issues #14-15 guest-starred Justice League International (including some of the new JL Europe), as old Fate foe Wotan tried to gain ultimate power from, oddly enough, that temple in India where issue #6 concluded. Instead, Wotan was blinded by said power, and went off to be rehabilitated by the temple's residents.

After a standalone issue (a flashback to E & L's early days as Fate), DeMatteis' last act began. Issues #17-24 involved the Phantom Stranger, the creation of an Anti-Fate who served the Lords of Chaos, and the introduction of a pleasant couple with a special little girl. Meanwhile, Linda gradually lost her ability to turn into Fate, Nabu stopped wanting to be called "Kent" (a nice payoff for that particular gag), and Jack and Petey explored the world within Fate's amulet.

It may be too glib to say that everyone lived happily ever after, but that's what happened. (In fact, that's exactly how the Phantom Stranger -- who at one point became extremely happy, smiling a big toothy smile which was actually kinda creepy -- put it in issue #24.) Eric and Linda were reunited, stepping into the bodies of the recently-deceased nice young couple so that they could take care of the little girl, who was revealed as the new hope for a new form of humanity. Nabu left Kent's body, choosing to be reborn as Linda's unborn child; and Kent and his wife Inza returned to life, ready to take over Doctor Fate with #25.

* * *

As a singular body of work, I found DeMatteis' and McManus' Dr. Fate fairly satisfying. The ending is a little too perfect, although I'm sure that's the point; and the same goes for the lessons learned whenever someone tries to use that Indian temple for his own selfish purpose. There is a lot of repetition in these issues, and a good bit of symmetry, but it is the kind of thing which inspires multiple readings.

As an ongoing prospect for a comic-book series, however, Dr. Fate is fascinating for the frustrations I imagine it would provoke in today's environment. There's nothing wrong with the basic premise -- in fact, it's the deliberate explosion of that premise (i.e., Eric's death) which is the source of my fascination. Today, Eric's death would signal either that the series was being retooled (presumably to improve sales) or that it was going through a '90s-esque cycle of death, replacement character, and rebirth. The notion that this version of Dr. Fate was finite hardly seems commercially viable to me these days. Indeed, if (as #24 suggests) Kent Nelson was returning to the role , it would make Eric & Linda placeholders, if not the "bait" in a bait-and-switch. Now, Dr. Fate was a very sweet series, and I don't mean to treat it so cynically; but I'm sure you'll understand that I've been conditioned towards cynicism over the past several years.

Thankfully, I take away from Dr. Fate a message of hope and renewal. DeMatteis argues that although we never really die, each life we live is still worth living. How appropriate, then, that he used a quirky take on a self-perpetuating corporately-owned superhero -- one of the most durable of fictional creations -- to make his point.

And now I'm off to read Doctor Fate issues #25-41, so watch out for Part Two....

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Which Essential Next?

As you all know, I am always interested in Marvel comics from the '60s and '70s. So far I have read all the Essential volumes for Captain America, Howard the Duck, Tomb of Dracula, Godzilla, Killraven, Super-Villain Team-Up, and The Defenders.

Furthermore, I have read the first volume only of Essential Thor, Essential Avengers, Essential Doctor Strange, and Essential Spider-Woman (yes, I know).

Therefore, I have two questions:

1. Which new series should I start? Contenders include Iron Man, Hulk, and Marvel Two-In-One, but I welcome all suggestions. (It will, however, take a lot to get me to buy Essential Dazzler Vol. 1; and keep in mind I bought the Spider-Woman book without hesitation.)

2. Which of the series listed above (Thor, Avengers, Doctor Strange, or Spider-Woman) should I pick up next? Again, I'm leaning towards Doctor Strange, but I could be swayed.

Note that Fantastic Four and Amazing Spider-Man (and probably Peter Parker by extension) are not part of the discussion because I am reading the Masterworks (and I have the FF reprints on DVD).

For your convenience, here is Wikipedia's chart of Essential reprints.

Thanks!

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In which I nitpick a harmless piece of Inaugural ephemera

Generally, I thought the Spider-Man Meets Barack Obama story was fine. However, I was disappointed that a couple of fairly obvious bits were left out.

SPOILERS FOLLOW, I suppose...

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First of all, in case you haven't read it, it was pretty short -- five pages. (If you have read it, feel free to skip to the next paragraph.) When a second Barack Obama shows up on the way to the inauguration, this attracts the attention of a certain news photographer. Peter puts on his Spider-Man costume and swings in to help, suggesting that the two Obamas answer a question that only the real one would know. Said question is "what was BHO's basketball-player nickname," which isn't exactly classified information, but it does the job. Fake Obama turns out to be Spidey's old foe the Chameleon. That would have been OK, except the plot hinged on the Chameleon knowing absolutely nothing -- like "you need a helmet" nothing -- about basketball. I can't remember who on the Internet compared it to Spidey Super Stories, but I think that's a pretty accurate estimate of the story's tone.

Anyway, Spidey excuses himself, but before he can go, the Prez-Elect tells Spidey he's "been a big fan of yours for a long time." They share a fist-bump, the inauguration proceeds without a hitch (even the oath!), and we all live happily ever after.

I'm disappointed, though, because even with only five pages, I think we could have seen:

-- Jonah Jameson ranting "how much do we really know about Obama" and how he can't decide who's worse, Obama or Spider-Man;*

-- Obama and Spidey comparing notes on their treatment in certain sectors of the media (terrorist sympathizer! threat or menace?); and

-- the new POTUS acknowledging that With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility.

These are all fairly cheesy moments, I know; and what's worse, I am criticizing what is basically a five-page opportunity for Marvel to cash in on Obamania. Still, there it is, so if we can have the fist-bump, why not make the most of it?


*[The story has Peter working for "Frontline," not the Daily Bugle, but I think Jonah could have appeared regardless, via Peter's imagination.]

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The "Hey, You Look Familiar" Meme

Kalinara mentioned a couple of variations on a meme (ha!) and I thought I'd try 'em both.

Version One:

[C]reate a team of four heroes, a.la the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, only the catch is that each hero must be a character portrayed by the same actor.

Thus, the League of Extraordinary Patrick Stewarts:

1. Ahab, monomaniacal commander of the whaling ship Pequod;
2. Ebenezer Scrooge, newly-reformed uber-capitalist (and the group's financier);
3. Professor Charles Xavier, mutant telepath and educator; and of course
4. Jean-Luc Picard, starship captain.

One could also have the League of Extraordinary Sean Connerys:

1. Allan Quartermain;
2. Robin Hood (from the film Robin & Marian);
3. James Bond; and
4. Draco the dragon (from Dragonheart).

Finally, the League of Extraordinary Johnny Depps:

1. Jack Sparrow;
2. Ichabod Crane;
3. Willy Wonka; and
4. Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.

Then there's Version Two:

[C]reate a team of four to eight members, which comprise of sets of doubles as played by the same actor.

Here goes...

1a. Dr. Sam Beckett, time-traveler (Scott Bakula),
1b. Jonathan Archer, starship captain (Scott Bakula),
2a. Dennis/Denise Bryson, DEA agent (David Duchovny),
2b. Fox Mulder, FBI agent (David Duchovny),
3a. Ra's al Ghul (Liam Neeson),
3b. Qui-Gon Jinn (Liam Neeson),
4a. Brisco County Jr. (Bruce Campbell), and
4b. Ash (Bruce Campbell).

How's that?

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If it's Tuesday, it must be ...

In case you haven't heard, we few, we happy few who used to write for Blog@Newsarama have found a new home under the CBR umbrella. We call ourselves Robot 6 now, and we're better than ever.

Of course, I say "we" collectively. "I" am still doing the same kinds of things, except I'm doing them two days earlier.

Therefore, look for the newest Grumpy Old fan at high noon tomorrow, Tuesday, January 6, right behind this link.

See you there!

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Crossovers, conclusions, and Cooper

Just finished watching the last episode of "Twin Peaks" (but not Fire Walk With Me ... not yet, at least). Naturally, I've got some ideas about how to revisit the series, but -- can your mind handle it? -- with a different set of FBI agents. It's a fanfic crossover, sure; but appropriately enough I think we'll be speaking more about the metatextual implications.

SPOILERS FOLLOW, if by chance you don't know how "Twin Peaks" ended.

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I am surely not the first person to think that Mulder and Scully should help free Cooper from the Black Lodge. It just seems like a good fit, especially considering the connections between the shows. Mysticism and magic in the Pacific Northwest, with a Project Blue Book connection thrown in for good measure, seems like an "X Files" episode already. Plus, Mulder would naturally be mistaken for the cross-dressing DEA agent Duchovny played on "Peaks." (However, tempting as it might be, connecting Major Briggs directly to Scully's dad seems a bit much.)

Looking closer, though, I see more tension. "Twin Peaks" played a particular game with its mysteries: its characters took them very seriously, but the show itself did not. In hindsight the show -- which at the time I took very seriously, don't get me wrong -- was a parody of soap operas, if not movies and TV in general. Knowing that Laura Palmer's murder was never meant to be solved, all the hoopla surrounding the mystery now seems like a grand game of misdirection. Even after her killer is revealed to the audience, he gets in on the act, feeding the cops clues he's making up on the spot. "X Files" got twisted around its own continuity as well, but that was more a function of the show's longevity; and it may offer some insight into its predecessor's hypothetical fate.

But I digress. "X Files" was a lot more skeptical about its paranormal elements. I picture Scully rolling her eyes at the town of Twin Peaks pretty much from the moment her rental car crosses the county line. Moreover, "XF's" mysteries were the kinds of legends one might have found in 1970s-era explorations like "In Search Of" and Chariots of the Gods. Whether an episode was a standalone "monster show" or a "mythology show" which contributed to the overarching plotline, "The X Files" reassured viewers that there were answers.

All this is to say that the final fate of Dale Cooper would be just another week in the woods for Mulder and Scully ... so we must then ask ourselves whether the character of Cooper, and by extension the "Twin Peaks" mythology, benefits from an intervention by "The X Files." The latter show wrapped up plotlines for two of its cousins, "Millennium" and "The Lone Gunmen," but in both cases I daresay that the guests played by the home team's rules.

I suspect the same would be true for "Twin Peaks," unless our hypothetical fanfic writer elects to change the rules subtly as the story progresses. Actually, that wouldn't be too much of a stretch for a "Peaks" storyline; and it would give Cooper the chance to save the day, after first being rescued himself.

See, if I were to write such a fanfic, I'd want it to be more than creative onanism. Sure, it'd be fun to watch Scully giggle at her partner's mistaken identity; or to give Mulder pause over the thought of entering the circle of sycamores. There are more logistical concerns too, like the fact that "Peaks" takes place in 1989, two years before Mulder and Diana Fawley stumbled upon the X Files. However, these things are like equations (I almost said "solving for X," ha ha): plug values into variables and see what comes out. What is missing, inevitably, from any fanfic is the unique element of creativity which only a David Lynch or Chris Carter can provide. In a very real sense, Lynch substituted Cooper's fate for Laura's killer. There are clues throughout (including in Fire Walk With Me), but putting them together ourselves yields only the sum of those parts. Involving "The X Files" would help acknowledge the deconstruction any outsider would have to perform in order to avoid something Mary Sue-ish and insubstantial. I'd have to think pretty hard about even the bare bones of such a story (which, naturally, I'd share with you-all).

Aw, who'm I kidding? Alan Moore could do it....

See you in 2009!

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Christmas on the go

Every Christmas I try to post something profound, or at least something obvious said in a somewhat clever way. Not so much this year, however. This year we have been scrambling simply to keep ahead of Christmas. Let's put it this way: tomorrow morning the LCS opens at 8 a.m. and I still won't have time to go there.

Among other things, Christmas emphasizes how the divine was visited upon the mundane, so all this clamor and confusion may seem a little perverse. Indeed, I am more than ready for just settling down to a long winter's nap. (I was ready for it at about 3:00 this afternoon, in fact.)

Nevertheless, in the spirit of the holiday, I am sure everything will work itself out in the end. I am looking forward to reconnecting with old friends and sharing the season with my family. I do feel another Santa-as-superhero post coming on, but that will probably have to wait until next year.

Meanwhile, feel free to click on the "Christmas" tag to see my previous holiday offerings, and I'll talk to you next week. Until then, Happy Holidays to one and all!

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Attempting a "cold dissection" of Final Crisis' woes

Tom Spurgeon observes that discussions about Final Crisis' failure to perform have descended into

angry jeremiads about the utter stupidity and ineptness of the current DC brain trust vs. self-styled realists lecturing in acidic tones to why none of this matters in the long run unless you're a big nerd that cares about stupid things. What's missing is a cold dissection as to the why and how of this happening.

Someday, possibly decades in the future, someone is going to ask Dan DiDio, Geoff Johns, Grant Morrison, and the rest of the DC brain-trust about what was really going on in the years 2004-2009. Until then, I will have to make do with my own perspective.

To me, Final Crisis’ problems began with the success of 52 and the failure of “One Year Later.” Together, they were presented as a victory lap for Infinite Crisis, which advertised them via that trusty old device of the two-page characters-rushing-towards-the-reader spread. However, after 52's relatively good reception, I think DC’s high sheriffs figured that the marketplace was still more friendly to an event than to the regular books’ attempts to reconnect.

Furthermore, DC probably knew at the time that it had two big Grant Morrison projects in the pipeline, namely Final Crisis and “Batman R.I.P.” The seeds of each had already been planted in “Seven Soldiers,” Batman, and 52. However, I don’t think that DC had any blockbuster events planned between the end of 52 in May 2007 and the beginning of Final Crisis in May '08; and in light of 52's success, I think DC wanted to gin up something to keep the momentum going. FC and “R.I.P.” might still have been big sellers on their own, but why take that chance? Give the public more 52 ... or, more accurately, give it a “better” 52: a weekly series that helped out the regular titles and built momentum for FC.

Thus, DC created Countdown, apparently without a lot of help from Morrison. (Remember all the plans for the last issue of Countdown? Morrison was going to write it, and then it was Morrison and Geoff Johns, and then it wasn’t the last issue of Countdown but a standalone issue which led into FC.) Whether Morrison’s involvement would have helped is probably moot by now, though. Countdown sold in decent numbers, despite receiving regular critical and fan drubbings.

And I think that dichotomy helps explain Final Crisis’ big problem: it is an esoteric, creator-driven project which must fit into the every-Wednesday model of big-event series. I have nothing to back up either of the following assertions, but I suspect that for a good bit of the people who followed Countdown, FC doesn’t mesh with orthodox continuity strongly enough; or otherwise doesn’t feel enough like a big-event crossover. (Conversely, for many non-regular DC readers, FC may feel too heavily connected to Dan DiDio’s “culture of continuity.”) FC’s shipping schedule, and lack of connection to the regular titles, has also made it easy for every-Wednesday readers like me to forget it’s there. At this point FC might even feel perfunctory.

Final Crisis might also have arrived “too late” in another way. In the wake of Countdown and “Sinestro Corps,” DC has settled on an array of mini-events emulating the latter, each focused on a different high-profile character. Indeed, six of the seven DC franchises I consider “foundational” -- the Big Three, plus the Flash, Green Lantern, and the Legion -- are either in the middle of an event or preparing for one; and Geoff Johns is involved in four of the six. (Justice League has just started relaunching the Milestone characters, but I don’t think that’s the same thing.) More importantly, though, none of these events ties directly into Final Crisis. That may be good in terms of continuity tangles, but it doesn’t help remind readers that FC is still out there, waiting to be resolved.

I say all of this not sure myself of my feelings about Final Crisis’ merits. Each issue so far has left me with a feeling of creeping dread, which is probably the minimal, baseline reaction for which Morrison et al. were hoping. However, using a collection of moments to illustrate the end of the world, instead of a more traditional approach, takes some getting used to. I loved Morrison’s JLA, and I still think his DC One Million (which admittedly, at its core, was an extension of JLA) is a model for line-wide crossovers. FC’s storytelling style is a couple of steps removed from both of those, and again that might explain a reader’s ambivalence towards it. I don't dislike FC, but neither is it as thrilling as certain other Morrison works.

(It is sorely tempting to speculate that Final Crisis might be doing better if Geoff Johns were at the helm. Johns is involved more directly with the regular titles, and is in a better position to do “subliminal advertising” in the pages of Green Lantern or Action. We’ll see, I suppose, next summer with Blackest Night, which will have been hawked for some two years with little promoting it except the two Green Lantern titles and endless, almost self-parodic mentions on convention panels.)

To sum up, then, I don’t think DC had much choice but to hype FC. It was the next big event after 52, but its ostensible lead-in may well have created an environment (at least among DC fans) more suited to smaller-scale “nothing will be the same” storylines.

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Making the world safe for Justice Society

"There will always be a Justice Society of America book in the DC Universe," according to its lame-duck writer, Geoff Johns.

Let’s start there.

On one level, it's somewhat sad to think that National/DC went years, even decades, without a steady source for new adventures of its original superhero team. But for the Justice Society of America, there might not have been a Justice League; but for the Justice League, there might not have been a Fantastic Four; and so on. No Marvel, no Image, no Charlton or First or Dark Horse, Jack Kirby stuck doing monster stories and romance comics -- the mind cannot conceive it!

However, the bittersweet fact is that the Justice League, like the rest of the Silver Age reinventions, supplanted the Justice Society so completely that the Golden Agers had to reposition themselves in relation to their successors. Today the JSA serves an "inspirational" function, which seems like a more important thematic justification for the group (and, by extension, the series) than the jurisdictional niche which has been carved out for it. The older folks are teaching the up-and-comers how to be good successors.

Here is as good a place as any for the obligatory disclosure that I stopped reading JSA back in 2005, at the end of the Per Degaton/1950s storyline. Apart from a few issues here and there, I haven't read it regularly since then. Honestly, I think you have to share Geoff Johns' particular DC tastes in order to get the most out of his Justice Society work; and mine must be just different enough.

Johns' first issue of JSA was #6 (January 2000), appropriately enough featuring Black Adam. (Johns' run will end with a story called "Black Adam Ruined My Birthday," which by itself sounds pretty fun.) For the first four years or so, his co-writer was David Goyer, who left after issue #51 (October 2003). Accordingly, I suppose we can only call the book “Geoff Johns’ JSA” from that point forward. To my mind its creation belongs in no small part to James Robinson’s Starman work, because Robinson had been exploring the original Justice Socialites through Jack Knight. Furthermore, JSA’s “reunion of names” seemed at the time to borrow heavily from Grant Morrison’s high-concept for JLA; which of course had been running for a few years to great success. (Indeed, anyone looking at the two books’ logos would surely notice the similarities.)

Regardless, from the late summer of 2003, give or take some co-contributors (Alex Ross, Dale Eaglesham, Brad Meltzer, arguably the 52 crew), it’s been Johns’ show -- much like Birds Of Prey had become associated strongly with Gail Simone. I am inclined to argue that because Johns has become so identified with Justice Society, and because the JSA isn’t an indispensable part of DC’s dramatic infrastructure, the book could stand to be cancelled upon his departure.

(Gasp!)

I mean, why not? Neil Gaiman and James Robinson got to bring Sandman and Starman to respectable closes (although certain supporting characters continued to live on, even in unrelated series like Trinity). When Johns left The Flash, it was all but over; although clearly Infinite Crisis had something to do with that book’s eventual cancellation (... and here comes Johns again, arguably causing Wally’s book to go away again...). Likewise, when Johns leaves Green Lantern, the book will remain. Flash and GL are two of DC’s “foundational” titles -- but Justice Society is not. Despite Johns’ declarations, I suspect that it never will be.

That said, though, DC has published monthly adventures of the Justice Society in some form or another for the better part of the past thirty-odd years. Starting with the revived All Star Comics in late 1975, the JSA later jumped to a feature in the bimonthly Adventure Comics. That lasted about a year (1978-79), after which the characters were title-less until the debut of All-Star Squadron in the summer of 1981. ASSq lasted about five years, and was succeeded by Young All-Stars, which lasted about another two. This period also saw the launch (1984) and cancellation (1988) of Infinity Inc.. The Justice Society itself had been “banished to limbo” in 1986, but returned in 1992, headlined its own series (Justice Society of America vol. 1) for ten issues, and then had most of its original members killed in 1994's Zero Hour. Aside from a 1940s-oriented miniseries and a similar fifth-week event, the JSA didn’t see much else in the way of significant action before 1999's “Crisis Times Five” arc in JLA. That led to the new JSA series, and here we are.

Obviously the turning point was Crisis On Infinite Earths, which took away the JSA’s status as its world’s No. 1 super-team. (Ironically, as I’ve said many times before, in Crisis the JSA pretty much assumed the traditional leadership role of the JLA, which was in its “Detroit phase.”) Since then, DC has shown, both in 1986 and 1994, its willingness to close the book on the team and (some of) its members. That’s something DC hasn’t done with, say, the Teen Titans or the Legion of Super-Heroes. It has relaunched, revamped, and outright rebooted the latter teams, but it hasn’t outright ended them as it has the JSA.

Therefore, I agree that Johns (and his creative collaborators, including previously-unmentioned artists Stephen Sadowski, Michael Bair, Leonard Kirk, Don Kramer, and Jerry Ordway) have successfully repositioned Justice Society in a world in which it was no longer required. Nevertheless, the question then becomes whether Johns has contributed so much to Justice Society that it should not continue without him.

Of course, this argument is largely academic. DC would be nuts to cancel Justice Society ... wouldn’t it? Johns has made the book a consistently reliable source of income, both as a monthly periodical and in collected form. Surely Sean McKeever, Tony Bedard, or whoever DC pulls off the bench to write and/or draw the title will be able to do just as well.

... Yeah, I don’t know. It’s hard to say. The new writer will undoubtedly proclaim his or her love for Johns’ run while at the same time making it clear that this will not be a mere retread of Johns’ work. Geoff laid a great foundation, and we’re going to build on that to take the JSA to new and exciting places! It’s an excellent place for new readers to climb aboard -- you won’t want to miss this!

What, too cynical? Maybe I’ve just been reading too many puff-piece interviews. It just seems to me that if this is truly “Geoff Johns’ JSA,” then it should end with Johns’ departure. The Justice Society itself doesn’t have to disband -- it can show up all over the DC map, as needed -- but maybe the next writer (and artist) would be served better if there were at least an hiatus between them and the Johns Era. The upcoming creative team will be compared to Johns and his collaborators anyway; why invite those comparisons the month after Johns et al. leave?

Again, to me it’s not like Johns is leaving a “foundational” title like Flash or Green Lantern. It’s more like Gail Simone leaving Birds Of Prey, or even Johns’ own departure from Teen Titans. I submit that DC needs to publish its foundational titles in order to maintain the identity of its superhero line. However, DC only needs to publish Justice Society as long as it can bring in an acceptable number of sales. DC clearly doesn’t want Justice Society to go through a succession of ill-fitting writers like the post-Johns Teen Titans did.

In other words, Johns hasn’t turned Justice Society into a “foundational” title. Instead, he’s established that Justice Society’s revised premise can be sustained over the long term. This accomplishment is not insignificant. It takes a special kind of hair-splitting axe to clear a space for what is, to children of the Silver and Bronze Ages, another version of the Justice League. If DC has found the right person to carry on what has evidently become something very personal to Geoff Johns, that’s fine. I can’t help but think, though, that Johns’ work should be followed by a break. It would both honor Johns’ departure and allow the next Justice Society creative team some time to figure out its own approach.

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Watching the detectives

Fan reactions to the fast-approaching Spirit movie seem pretty uniform to me: it's more Sin City than Will Eisner.

It makes me wonder: isn't Frank Miller's style really better-suited to Dick Tracy? Likewise, what if Warren Beatty had made a Spirit movie instead of Tracy? (A commenter on this YouTube version of the Tracy trailer wants a crossover.)

Granted, Beatty's Dick Tracy was only about "bringing a comic strip to life" as far as it involved garish art direction and broad acting. Beatty would have had to appreciate the way Eisner used a comics page, and somehow translated that to a static frame for moving pictures. In a way, I suppose the Sin City movie, with its uber-faithful recreation of Miller's work, tried to do just that.

And you know, I ask "what if Warren Beatty...?," but really, a Warren Beatty Spirit isn't my first choice, because I wasn't that thrilled with Dick Tracy and I doubt his comics sensibilities have been tuned any finer in the past eighteen years. I guess I'm asking why Frank Miller has apparently abandoned The Spirit's nominally graceful, light attitude -- and that may be asking why Frank didn't just adapt Sugar & Spike; or why no director has staged a Batman-movie fight around a giant typewriter. The medium has limitations, and the audience has expectations.

I still think Miller's a better fit for Dick Tracy, though....

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Looks like I'm a Good Critic; plus Joe Kubert and Sgt. Rock

We got back last night from five days and four nights in Lexington, for a two-day seminar and an afternoon party so that our old Kentucky friends could see Olivia. Without going too much into it, I was technologically limited, so I spent those five days with a pretty minimal connection to the Internet. I also didn't have an opportunity to see Thursday's new comics until this morning, which meant that I couldn't check about 80% of my Bloglines subscriptions until then (no spoilers!). That left me with some 400-odd comics-related posts to skim, read, or just check off.

Probably the nicest surprise -- and I was surprised to be in such excellent company -- was being included on plok/pillock's "Critic's Canon" list. That's a pretty high standard of criticism, me excluded. It makes me think plok hasn't read my Bottomless Belly Button review, which was hardly a model of the form.

Then again, I have never been good at accepting compliments. Thus, before I forget, thank you plok, thanks to the commenters who approved of my inclusion, and thanks to whatever silent majority/minority/plurality has similar feelings. If you like this stuff, who am I to argue?

* * *

In other news, I found Man Of Rock, Bill Schelly's biography of Joe Kubert, to be a quick and entertaining read. There's not much in the way of controversy. Kubert didn't lead a "Behind The Music"-esque life of triumph, tragedy, and redemption; and neither, apparently, was his work exploited egregiously. For example, he was able to move his prehistoric hero Tor from one publisher to another without too many problems. Kubert's disappointments, as MoR sees them, include such things as being replaced on Hawkman by Murphy Anderson, and failing to sustain newspaper strips for Tor and Tales of the Green Berets.

More numerous, naturally, are Kubert's successes: Tor, Enemy Ace, Sgt. Rock, Tarzan, Fax From Sarajevo, and of course the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art. Man Of Rock argues, fairly successfully, that Joe Kubert was indispensable to the growth and development of modern mainstream comics; perhaps even on a par with Will Eisner or Jack Kirby. I don't mean this to be quite as obtuse as it sounds; but I approached MoR from the perspective of Kubert as the consummate craftsman, and came away with an even greater appreciation of the man's place in comics history.

* * *

Then, of course, I read Showcase Presents Sgt. Rock Volume 2, written entirely by Bob Kanigher with only a few non-Kubert stories. (It reprints Our Army At War nos. 118-148, May 1962-November 1964.) Last year, discussing Volume 1, the stories were, by and large, about object lessons taught by Rock to the men under his command. While this book contains several of those as well, after a while Kanigher and Kubert start telling stories about Rock himself, as well as building up a regular supporting cast (the by-now-familiar Bulldozer, Ice Cream Soldier, Wild Man, Sunny, and Little Sure Shot). There's even a story narrated by our heroes' weapons, which for me recalled the Spirit story of Rat-Tat, The Little Machine Gun.

It's not all fun and games, to be sure: death seemed to come more readily to Easy's men, and even a regular is both blinded and deafened (temporarily) by an exploding shell. Men of Rock mentioned that Kanigher and Kubert had to be careful about what they showed, but the sight of a makeshift tombstone -- fashioned from a rifle and an empty helmet -- is unmistakable. With regard to Volume 1, I thought that the stories were meant for grade-school kids, but lead-out captions for many of the stories in Volume 2 talk about Easy's exploits being "aimed at your heart." Apparently, readers of Our Army At War wouldn't have been blamed for shedding manly tears (or "actin' like we had cinders in our eyes," in Rock-speak) at the end of an issue. Indeed, with this volume, Kanigher and Kubert seem to be settling into a nice groove.

The book ends on a two-part story from OAAW #s 147-48, which involves a deskbound general whose lack of combat glory has disappointed his two sons. Naturally, Rock ends up impersonating the general, and you can guess the rest. Although the story is driven by their sentiments, the general's sons come across as unsympathetic (one's eager for reflected glory; the other is passive-aggressive). The plot also has to contort itself in order to avoid a court-martial for Rock. Nevertheless, "Generals Don't Die" is effective on its own terms, thanks mostly to Kanigher and Kubert's concise,direct storytelling. The whole book is like that; and like its predecessor it's highly recommended.

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Would You Like Less Pulp In Your JLA?

I have argued previously that the Justice League is a "clash of genres."

That phrase might not be perfectly accurate, but it's a good soundbite. Batman has some pulp roots (Zorro, the Shadow). The Flash and the Atom are science-heroes, powered by vaguely plausible experiments/accidents. Green Lantern and Hawkman are space-opera characters. Zatanna straddles the Vertigo line. The Elongated Man and the Martian Manhunter are different types of detectives; and at one point Booster Gold and Captain Atom were different kinds of "men out of time." The ones I would call "pure" superheroes -- for purposes of this post, "fantasy" characters -- include Aquaman, Superman, and Wonder Woman.

Therefore, I think it would be instructive to examine which Leaguers tend to fare the best over the years. If the Justice League is a sampler of DC as a whole, seeing which "genre" dominates its adventures might give us a clue as to the company's overall tone.

Regardless, I suspect that, despite J'Onn J'Onzz's presence in virtually every era of the team, Batman would be the go-to guy. Batman always has a plan; Batman always wins. Grant Morrison had Batman unmask the Hyperclan (and beat up three of them), outlast DeSaad, and outsmart Lex Luthor. When he wanted to show that Prometheus meant business, he had the new villain (who was an "evil Batman") first defeat the Darknight Detective.

It goes back farther. One could argue that Batman leaving the League and founding the Outsiders was the beginning of the "Satellite Era's" end. Likewise, Batman's return to the team (now based in Detroit) was an attempt to lend that League some credibility. Batman was a dominant force in the early Giffen/DeMatteis years, and showed up a few times in the Dan Jurgens/Gerard Jones/Ron Randall relaunches of the early '90s.

And why do people like Batman? Because he has no powers but he's real smart. (Also, the years of martial-arts training and discipline don't hurt.) So what does it say that, on a team composed of characters from different genres, that the most visible heir of the pulp heroes routinely gets the most deference?

Clearly the implication is that Batman represents the "need for realism" which has driven superhero comics for the past twenty-plus years (probably going back to his takedown of Superman in The Dark Knight Falls). Yes, those who look to Batman for "realism" are probably frustrated with his very involvement in the Justice League, but I don't see too many people claiming that Black Canary and Green Arrow are any more realistic. Indeed (despite GA's appearance in the Dark Knight Superman fight), conventional fan wisdom seems to hold that a bow and trick arrows are no way to stop, say, the Demons Three, or even a moderately well-armed super-criminal like Captain Cold.

Actually, now that I think about it, Kingdom Come also gave Batman's "talented-humans" team something of an advantage, in that they didn't have the drama of Superman's and Wonder Woman's Justice League. With that nuclear strike, the "regular" humans also end up settling much of the superheroes' infighting.

So what are we to make of this trend? Is it an anti-superpower bias? (Ozymandias even beats Doctor Manhattan, at least for a minute or so.) Or is it simply more interesting to have the non-powered, real-smart humans outsmarting the powerhouses?

I don't know that it goes that far -- and really, if it gets much farther, it wanders into the old "superpowered fascists vs. wild-eyed vigilantes" territory. Anyway, the Dark Knight, Watchmen, and Kingdom Come examples are all "good guys" fighting among themselves, which is ostensibly "more dramatic" than a run-of-the-mill super-fight. Talking about something like the Justice League, on balance it is probably more interesting to have someone with a lower power level save the day. (There was Steve Englehart's Willow/Mantis storyline, where the Atom was the hero; not to mention 1978's JLA/JSA team-up, where the Elongated Man defeated the Lord of Time.)

Still, what's the point of having a Justice League if you're not going to use the Supermen and Wonder Women? Well, in fact, the JLI teams got along pretty well with only a few powerhouses at a time (Martian Manhunter, Doctor Fate, Captain Atom, Captain Marvel). Guy Gardner was never really a world-beater as a Green Lantern, Wally West was stuck at the speed of sound for much of his JLI tenure, and Power Girl was de-powered as well. Even when the Morrison League brought together the "big guns" (for the first time in that continuity), Morrison tended to place the powerhouses in set pieces: Superman wrestling the angel, Big Barda fighting the future Wonder Woman, Green Lantern containing an exploding Sun. Morrison's Flash and Green Lantern were especially creatures of the Id; whereas the lower-powered characters (Huntress, Steel, Green Arrow II, and of course Batman) got to be smart.

I dunno. Again, maybe I'm making too much out of it. However, I can't help but think that the treatment of Batman over the past twenty years has rippled out not only through the Justice League, but into the wider DC line. It's created an attitude of cynicism that eats at the more fantastic titles (how great is Superman if Batman can beat him?). After all, Hal Jordan decks Batman in Green Lantern: Rebirth -- probably to help his street cred -- and then goes on to greater things via "The Sinestro Corps War."

This could be why I like Trinity so much. I got a huge kick out of Morrison's "JLA/James Bond Batman," and I even gave the fist-pumping moments of last week's
"R.I.P." conclusion a pass. Batman should be a world-beater, you know? However, there are times when he should also be surrounded by world-beaters, even taking a back seat to them once in a while. If these are superhero stories, pulp's most famous heir shouldn't be hogging the stage.

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Get well soon, Carla and Lance

You've probably heard by now that my friend and colleague Carla Hoffman was badly burned, as was her husband Lance, while trying to escape the Southern California wildfires. They'll probably be in the hospital for a while, and are expected to recover, but they've lost their house. Goodness knows I can't imagine what they've been through.

I "met" Carla (in the online/email sense) when she joined Blog@Newsarama in the summer of 2006, but I didn't meet her in person until the 2007 San Diego Comic-Con. (Unfortunately, I haven't met Lance.) If you think her blogging is energetic and passionate about comics, she moves about ten times as fast in real life. She is a real dynamo, and I can't imagine her not in perpetual motion, let alone laid up for days or weeks.

Please help them out. I know I will. Donations may be made to

The Lance and Carla Burn Fund
Santa Barbara Bank and Trust
1483 East Valley Road
Montecito, CA 93108-1248

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Thoughts on Star Trek '09 (Trailer Edition)



After spending an unhealthy amount of time following our thrilling Presidential election, I had been wondering whether I’d find a new obsession...

... but then the new Star Trek trailer appeared. I am (in a word) stoked, and can’t wait the (barely!) six months which tick away just to your right.

Of course, other fans -- who appear to be a small but insistent faction -- are not so sanguine. For them the trailer, like the pictures which have been trickling out over the past several weeks, confirms their collective fear. The long-dreaded reboot (gasp!) of Star Trek must necessarily explode four decades of canon (or “cannon,” if you’re not particular). To this point the history of the Trekverse had been assembled out of plot points and throwaway references into a workable structure, albeit rickety and creaking in parts, upon which had nevertheless been hung hundreds of hours’ worth of stories and characters. Without canon, Star Trek is merely a collection of stories. With it, though, Trek is a vast centuries-spanning galactic tapestry. I understand why it’s maintained so intricately, and I’ve enjoyed the interconnections (intentional and otherwise) myself.

Star Trek ‘09 aims to reveal finally a new wing of the structure -- the “origins” of the famous Five-Year Mission -- while looking back into Kirk’s and Spock’s childhoods. With so much background material available, the participants in this story seem obvious: all those trivial (in the strictest sense) names and events relevant to this period which had already been mentioned on-screen. The story itself seems like a mere matter of connecting the dots, from “The Cage” to “Where No Man Has Gone Before.” Thus, the subplots would be Pike to Kirk, Number One to Spock, Boyce to Piper to McCoy, etc. For good measure, throw in all the people from Kirk’s Academy days and early career: Mallory, Finnegan, Ruth, Carol Marcus, Captain Garrovick, Ben Finney. Perhaps most importantly, there’s Gary Mitchell, Kirk’s best friend, who may even have been his first officer when he died as part of “WNMHGB’s” climax. A “Year Zero” story would need to address the doomed Kirk/Mitchell friendship ... wouldn’t it?

In a word, no. Star Trek ‘09 appears to answer those kinds of issues in the resounding negative -- or perhaps worse, with resounding indifference. Pike is in it (the trailer casts him as a father-figure to Kirk), but the other “Cagers” are nowhere to be found. Neither is Mitchell or Number One. Furthermore, the sets are pristine, the Bridge is spacious, and the bulkheads are concave. It all looks familiar, but obviously it’s been changed -- and for some, those changes are dealbreakers.

Now, I can speak only as a second-generation fan who grew up on the movies and ‘70s syndication, but the original Star Trek may be the last major bit of pop culture associated indelibly with unsocialized geeks. Not surprisingly, many fans have turned this perceived stigma on its head, charging that any attempt to update or “make cool” the Original Series is actually “dumbing it down.” Thus, like any other so-called cult phenomenon, Star Trek is too good for the unwashed, who must prove themselves worthy of it, and not it of them. Having spent most of my life trudging up such steep learning curves, I have some sympathy for this perspective. It’s only natural that, with our efforts rewarded, we want others to be rewarded similarly only after similar efforts.

However, when think about re-registering at the TrekBBS ... well, it’s literally asking for trouble, isn’t it? The memories of debates gone by, and the spectacle of today’s polarized fanbase, are huge obstacles. Writing about comic books is much easier by comparison. For example, the Legion of Super-Heroes boasts a vocal fanbase doggedly supportive of, say, the Adventure Comics days and/or Levitz/Giffen, but to my knowledge they don’t go around making dark pronouncements like The Legion died in 1989.

No, these bitter, angry Trek fans are people who feel betrayed, and again I am sympathetic -- but I have to ask, by what have they been betrayed? By the foreseeable effects of advances in time, age, and technology? By the business aspects of movie production, which necessarily demand stories with wide appeal? By the thought -- and here I freely admit I’m speculating -- that accepting a new version of Star Trek somehow betrays one’s fidelity to the original?

Look, I know what it’s like. Because there are fewer and fewer old-school fans out there, you think that if you don’t stand up for the good old days, pretty soon no one will. Although you came in late, you were converted just the same; and therefore others can be converted similarly. There’s nothing wrong with the basic ideas, just their execution. Above all, you don’t want the thing you love to sell out, because you don’t want it to lose that unquantifiable spark that makes it special.

Nevertheless, I am now officially stoked about ST09 because I can see Pine and Quinto as Kirk and Spock, even in the fewer-than-two-minutes they’re on the screen. The differences in the Enterprise, the bridge, etc., aren’t big enough to be distracting.

Besides, when you get down to it, Star Trek is about the boldly going. So what if the Enterprise doesn’t line up exactly with the original? It is still recognizable as the Enterprise NCC-1701, and these folks are recognizable as her crew. I’ve said before that the key to making Star Trek viable for new generations lies not so much in creating yet another new crew, which will be compared inevitably to the five previous -- but in finding ways to re-acquaint the general public with the original. As much as I enjoyed having eighteen years’ (!) worth of TV sequels and spinoffs, at their core those shows could only riff on the original. For Star Trek to start over it had to do something like this ...

... and for something like this to work, it can’t be hamstrung with minutiae. The Star Wars prequels had to hew to a certain structure, because they were parts of a single large story. Conversely, Star Trek takes an almost entirely opposite approach. It’s set up to tell individual stories, not one big one. ST09 may be concerned with the two biggest individuals in all of the series, but it’s not the final piece of any narrative puzzle.

Indeed, the earlier movies helped frame the exploits of Kirk and Spock in recognizable character arcs. The Motion Picture showed Spock reconciling the inner conflicts between logic and emotion; and The Wrath of Khan featured Kirk’s midlife crisis. Naturally, both movies built on the original series, but had less to do with character moments in individual episodes (“Space Seed” notwithstanding, of course) than a general sense of who the characters were. By that I mean that I can recall nothing in either movie which is a specific callback to, say, “The Naked Time,” but obviously Spock’s struggles in “Naked” (and “This Side Of Paradise,” “Amok Time,” “All Our Yesterdays,” etc.) inform his growth in TMP.

It bears repeating too that the Kirk and Spock of ST09 are not quite the characters who appear in those episodes, or for that matter in “Where No Man Has Gone Before.” Instead, by coming to know each other they are in the process of becoming those characters. While it might be informative to see how Gary Mitchell or Number One affected that process, it’s not necessary, and in fact those characters might be more of a distraction to the casual moviegoer than a redesigned Bridge will be to a hardcore fan.

So, with all due respect to my fellow Trekkies and Trekkers, I say engage! to this version of Star Trek. As a certain velvet-voiced officer once said, “any chance to go aboard the Enterprise...!”

[P.S. I know that the trailer shows a familiar-looking starship being constructed out in an open field -- but are we sure that this ship is the Enterprise, and not one of her sisters?]

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Friday Night Fights

You know, if I'm up too far past my bedtime, I get a little cranky.


Sleepwalk, though, gets violent.


So, let me think ... do you have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat her, or are you better off waiting until later in the day, when she's more likely to be awake...?

It's a puzzler, that's for sure --

-- but no one snoozes on Bahlactus!

[From "Labyrinth," Doom Patrol vol. 2 #28 (December 1989). Written by Grant Morrison, pencilled by Richard Case, inked by John Nyberg, lettered by John Workman, colored by Daniel Vozzo.]

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Friday Night Fights

Wonder Woman is a born warrior, trained in unarmed combat and the use of a wide range of weapons, and given powers by the gods and goddesses themselves -- but even so, she never stops learning.


Kind of puts the lie to any thoughts of towel-snapping locker-room scenes on Themyscira too, I suppose....

Don't tug on Bahlactus' cape!

[From "Bird Of Paradise/Bird Of Prey!" in Wonder Woman vol. 2 #16 (May 1988). Written by George Perez and Len Wein, pencilled by Perez, inked by Bob Smith, colored by Carl Gafford, and lettered by John Costanza.]

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Better late than never: Bottomless Belly Button

It is a truism in comics that the writer(s) and artist(s) involved put on the page what they deem to be necessary for the reader's understanding. I read a lot of superhero comics, so I see a lot of detailed muscles and intricate cityscapes.

Therefore, the unique style of cartoonist Dash Shaw, on display in his massive graphic novel Bottomless Belly Button (published by Fantagraphics) took some getting used to. Caped-crimefighting aficionado that I am, I would call Shaw's work "minimalist" in the sense that it uses distinctive storytelling shortcuts. For example, one almost-caption, accompanying a swirl of floating points, reads "sunlight makes dust in air visible." In this black-and-white book, morning is noted with "orange dawn." To me it was an unusual approach, but not an unwelcome one; and it serves Shaw well by allowing the reader some interpretive freedom.

As for the subject matter, Bottomless Belly Button concerns the Loony family, all gathered at the Loony beach house for the announcement that the elder Loonys are getting divorced. Naturally, their various reactions (or lack thereof) make up the bulk of the book, which spans the limited amount of time the Loonys are "on vacation." Son Dennis plunges into denial. Daughter Claire meditates on her own divorce and attempts to bond with Jill, her own teenage daughter. Son Peter mopes about his lack of a social life. It's not unfamiliar, and it kept reminding me of the independent films I used to watch more of (unfortunately, none comes to mind but Little Miss Sunshine, and that's probably too commercial a comparison).

However, BBB needs to be told through sequential art, because it takes good advantage of the medium. Not unlike an old-school superhero story, it pauses for cataloguing: here are the Loonys in happier times, arranged in designated spots in their house, their station wagon, the dinner table, etc., like a starship crew manning posts or the Justice League in personalized meeting-room chairs. BBB also includes print-favoring excerpts from the Loonys' archives, such as an encoded letter which contains the book's title. It all has the desired effect: in their own ways, and from their own perspectives, the Loonys are an institution, not just some random group of characters.

Shaw uses another comics-specific device: Peter looks like an anthropomorphic frog. At times this bit of characterization, combined with Peter's general malaise, can get a little too precious; but when Shaw shifts gears unexpectedly, it's startling, and it adds another layer to the character.

Ultimately, the success of Bottomless Belly Button comes from Shaw's ability to make the Loonys three-dimensional. His characters aren't perfect, or perfectly formed; but none of their arcs is entirely predictable (not even Peter's, which is probably the most by-the-numbers). Shaw's unique style gives the reader just enough information to suggest the rest, and that helps bring the characters alive.

I read BBB as its author directed, taking breaks between each of its three parts over the course of a couple of days. That was a few weeks ago, and it has stayed with me. There's a lot of symbolism and minutiae to absorb in this work, so I suspect it will reward multiple readings. Maybe I'll take it with me on our next trip to the beach.

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Olivia Vs. Super-Babies

Now that I have finished the Essential Defenders books, I've moved on to a different set of black-and-white reprints for Olivia's story time. I'll get back to the Marvel stuff eventually, but for now we've been reading Showcase Presents Legion Of Super-Heroes Vol. 2 ... and guess which story came up to bat last night?

That's right, "The Menace Of The Sinister Super-Babies!" from Adventure Comics #338 (November 1965). This particular story was a revelation to me, and not just because of how the dialogue sounded when read aloud. If you're unfamiliar with it (as I was), basically the plot involves the Time Trapper's attempt to destroy the Legionnaires by, appropriately enough, de-aging them from teenagers to infants and eventually into the "protoplasmic slime" from which all life comes. Because the point of the story is to show the Legionnaires as infants, though, there must be complications.

See, the Time Trapper is an omnipotent villain who lives in a post-apocalyptic dinosaur-shaped building on a devastated planet at the end of time. His "Iron Curtain of time" prevents the Legionnaires (who live in the 30th Century*) from attacking him directly. His plan, however, involves sending a henchwoman (Glorith) back to the 30th C. with a device which, when touched by anyone not properly protected, will de-age them ultimately to the aforementioned primordial goo. Thus, Glorith tricks the Legionnaires into touching the device -- but unfortunately for her, they are only de-aged to infancy, thanks to the interfering spray from a nearby "Fountain of 1,000 Chemicals." I failed to mention that Glorith and the Legion are at a theme park, where the fountain is one of the attractions, next to the merry-go-round.

Anyway, hilarity ensues, and the Time Trapper (who eventually enters the story as a sinister "Uncle," tricking the Legion Babies into stealing for him) ends up so annoyed with his "Infant-ry" (the story uses that term repeatedly) that he gives the few unaffected Legionnaires the cure for their colleagues' condition, in exchange for them replacing the spaceship the super-babies trashed.

This story was written by Jerry Siegel, Superman's co-creator, and drawn by regular Legion artist John Forte; but it reads like the result of a three-day ether binge. Still, because it introduced the character of Glorith, who later became one of the main Legion villains 'round about the time I started reading the title regularly (the "TMK"/Five Years Later era), I suppose it has become an important milepost in Legion history.

An aside: I keep forgetting how far into the 1960s these stories were advancing. It's easier for me to see the march of time reflected in more serialized books, namely the Marvel titles. Therefore, by way of unfair comparison, the November '65 issue of Fantastic Four had them battling the Inhumans and Dragon Man.

For a more informed view of this story, I recommend H's recap here (scroll down). You can read all of "Menace of the Sinister Super-Babies" here.

By the way, I haven't been doing distinct voices for the Legion stories like I was for the Defenders issues. I tried to do a deep, booming Time Trapper, but this story's dialogue suggested more of a cranky Uncle Leo. Besides, these characters speak pretty much in paragraphs (that is, when they're not laughing at someone), so it's hard to concentrate on a voice while getting all the words out.

Anyway, we'll stick with the Legion for a while, but probably back to '70s Marvel before too long.

* [I know most of you know this, so it's primarily for my family members who aren't so into the superheroes.]

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