Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in shaxper's LiveJournal:

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Saturday, June 16th, 2007
9:59 am	Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer Saw Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer last night and was tremendously disappointed.  I really enjoyed the original, aside from the fact that they completely screwed with Doctor Doom.  I honestly thought that this one, in which the director had promised to make Doom far more like the comic character, and in which my favorite Fantastic Four storyline of all time was being told, had the opportunity to deliver. It didn't. There were a lot of problems with the film, many of them stemming from poor character conflict/development, but the largest problems of all for me were Galactus and Silver Surfer.  Galactus was, for all intents and purposes, a natural phenomenon, and The Surfer probably spoke six lines in the entire film.  Clearly, the writers and director don't read my blog, or else they might have caught a glimpse of the heart of this story, which is completely absent in the film.  Instead, this film played it safe and held back on the cosmic drama while attempting to tell the riskiest, most out there story ever to appear in the pages of a Marvel comic book.  I'm begining to think Roger Corman could have done a better job. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, June 24th, 2006
8:22 pm	Happy Day Finally...got a full time teaching position. A blanket of serenity has fallen over me like a long-lost best friend. In all of my adult life, there's always been a crisis brewing in the background: lack of direction, unsupporting family, lack of money, dying father, intense internship, full year of unemployment and desperate job searching. It's finally over. So no, I'm not going to write a lengthy blog about it. I'm not even going to ponder it. I'm just going to do and think NOTHING for once (and hope it's everything I dreamed it would be). Just wanted to keep everyone in the know. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 25th, 2006
2:47 pm	It's True... I've completely lost interest in maintaining a blog as of late. I'm sorry. It's not you. It's me. It was the drugs. It was the booze. It was the swedish dwarves under my desk. But, until I can learn how to be a better poster again, you guys will have to settle for this. I'm not in the habit of posting links, but I just about died when I saw this. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, March 18th, 2006
12:43 pm	The past was so bright, they had to wear shades (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, March 13th, 2006
10:39 pm	Attended the preview screening of V for Vendetta tonight No spoilers here. I'll keep it vague. The story is very different from that of the comic and, with the exception of Finch, I think they got all of the characters wrong in some significant way. That being said, this was a damn fine film. What it completely missed in plot (even the ending is different) and characterization, it made up for in spirit. This film is really about that last inch within us all and inspires us to stand up for it. It's easily the most controversial mainstream action film ever made. I honestly can't believe no one's prevented them from releasing it yet. My one major regret with this film is that it advocates revolution (and, specifically, terrorism) but gives no suggestion as to what should come after. Okay, so fascist governments must be taken down, but what should take their place? There's no suggestion of how to build a better world once you destroy the current one, and I'm almost as afraid of misguided souls getting the wrong terrorism message from this film as I am of no one getting a message from it at all. Those are my thoughts. See the film. It's very well done and is, no doubt, of great cultural and cinematic importance. If this film doesn't cause waves of controversy, nothing will. Edit: A great discussion about the comic and the film are taking place at http://forums.comicbookresources.com/showthread.php?p=2800856#post2800856 (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 12th, 2006
10:39 pm	The Final Show Everything comes to an end sooner or later. Today, I put my comic book legacy to rest. Three years ago, I met a guy named Doug. We had found a common interest in faith and, though very different from one another, enjoyed exploring the things that made us the same. Then we found out that we both grew up on comic books. I had recently pulled my collection out from the dark recesses of my mother’s closet in NY, and Doug was fascinated. I was considering completing my X-Men collection. Doug immediately began to reminisce about his Spider-Man issues. Before long, we were waging weekly adventures to the local comic book stores, spending as much as forty dollars a week to build upon the fledgling remains of our common past. Before long, it was less about reminiscing and more about a true and sincere fascination with our newfound hobby. Our weekly outings became eclipsed with quarterly trips to the local comic book shows, where we might spend up to $150 on sacred acquisitions. So much of it was about the freedom of bringing a sum of money and saying “This will be gone by the time I leave today, and I will enjoy every second of my parting with it.” As we both endured some of the scariest financial periods of our lives, we still made a religious practice of liberating $50 a week for our passion. It kept us sane. Over time, we completed all of the (relatively) inexpensive collections we’d been looking to complete. We turned to each other and thought “is this all there is?” In time, we began to realize that the amount of money we’d been dropping on large quantities of books could also buy us the individual choice issues we’d always salivated over but never dreamed we could own. They were in our grasp! As our financial situations changed and our pockets became substantially fatter, it became easier to consider dropping $20 for an individual comic book. New Worlds of vintage adventure that we’d previously thought were always locked away from us were now wide open for the taking. In time, we stopped making our weekly comic book runs all together. Instead, we saved for the BIG issues. Eventually, we ended up laying claim to priceless issues with which we could probably open our own museum: the first appearances of Captain Marvel, Magnus Robot Fighter, Punisher, Green Goblin, Green Lantern, Usagi Yojimbo, Spider-Man and the X-Men, to name a few. Each acquisition meant the world to us, and we savored (and savor) them with sincere elation. But, as said earlier, everything comes to an end sooner or later. Doug is moving to California next month in pursuit of an ambitious career in film. If he succeeds, he’ll never be living in Ohio again. I love him too much to consider an alternative that would bring him back here. As a result, today marked the last comic book show we would be able to attend together in Ohio. And, somehow, the thought of going to a show without Doug just doesn’t make any sense to me. Our deep and enduring friendship was founded in comics. Our love of comics was founded in our friendship. Comics won’t be the same without him. So today was our last show. It was bittersweet in ways that defy the normal cliché. I swore to myself that this would be one for the history books, and it was. Never before has a convention felt as thrilling or satisfying. Never have I savored every moment the way I did today. Doug and I both walked away with amazing deals (and I spent the most I’ve ever spent at a single show today), but that wasn’t even the real point. While I’m amazed at what I walked away with, I’m equally amazed at what I’m now walking away from. Doug and I had a real lasting place at these shows. We’d become the high rollers, the big spenders, and everyone knew us as a result. We gave great business to the nice vendors that we loved, and never gave a dollar to the creeps (even when their prices were lower). We traded in karma, making some real friends over major transactions, and while we were all ultimately there for the comics, I will truly miss buying from some of those guys. Here were a few of my favorite moments from my final show: John is the biggest seller at these shows. His reputation for buying and selling is national, and all the biggest dealers in the country know him. That’s why we get such a kick out of the fact that he loves us so much. We spend most of the time at each show hanging around his booth, shooting the breeze, watching his booth for him (yes, watching his hundreds of thousands of dollars collection) so that he can go shop around, and (of course) making most of our major purchases from him. Last time, John made me sit down and read a classic Donald Duck comic just because he thought I would appreciate the complexity of the story. Strangely enough, I did. This time, he gave me a lesson in the most kinky, overtly sexual and blatantly inappropriate things they’ve ever put on Archie comic book covers. I was suitably amused. Tom’s progress as a seller mirrors my own as a buyer. I began by scrounging around in the bargain bins. He began by selling them. The first time I met him, he was still new and unsure of himself, and so was I. I was astounded by his selection, bought $60 worth of $1 comic books, and then e-mailed him a list and did $60 more worth of business with him between conventions. I was his first big customer. Over time, I moved into middle range issues and he did too. Now I’m one of the three biggest buyers at the local comic show circuit, and he’s amazed that I still remember him. I always take the time to look through his entire collection for issues I need, chatting with his amazing wife all the while and arguing for why Eeyore is a superior character to Tigger (she loves Winnie the Pooh). Tom gets nervous around me. He whispers to his son “that’s a very important customer” and I try to put him at ease. We started this thing in the same boat, after all. Today, he was proudly displaying his first major acquisition: the first appearance of Doctor Doom, a hot book at anyone’s table. Having little success finding much else that I wanted from him (other than a cute $5 action figure), I asked if I could see it. I had been wanting that issue for a very long time. It wasn’t in the condition I wanted, but he was asking $300, which was nearly half of what it was worth. I stood there, thinking about it for a moment. I wanted to help him and he so badly wanted to help me. He dropped the price to $250. It was too much of a steal to ignore. I bought it. He was delighted. It was such a great buy that every vendor and buyer I saw after demanded that I introduce them to the guy that sold it to me. That purchase made me the envy of the show. That purchase bought Tom a new reputation and a mob of interested buyers. Everyone wins. There’s this really mean guy that does all of the shows. The very first time Doug and I did a show, I was nervous, and attempted to make small talk with him while deciding on an issue. He assumed I was trying to haggle and yelled at me, snatching the book from my hands in the most unnecessary of ways. I was so upset that I almost cried. I was almost ready to leave. I swore then that I’d never give him my business, and that oath became even more important as I became a big buyer. No matter how appealing the issue or how good the deal, I would never compromise that oath. It led me to buy only from the dealers I liked and respected, never the rude, business-like dealers that simply offered the best prices. I’d never gone back to his stall until today. I was carrying an enormous box of my acquisitions, literally filled with hundreds of premium issues. The box screamed “BIG SPENDER” and even the sellers I didn’t know were tripping over themselves to wait on me when they saw it. I was moving from stall to stall, barely able to see over the box, when I realized that I’d stopped at his. I had his attention. I began the way I do at any stranger’s stall: “How’s it going?” I asked cheerfully. He replied a bit too quickly “Fine! How are you?” walking right to me with an eager look behind his never smiling face. “Great,” I said, and walked away. George means more to me than any other vendor there. Back when I was a comic book bottom feeder, kneeling beneath the tables of prestigious vendors to rummage through their forgotten discount boxes, never saying hello because I knew the vendors could care less about me, George found me fascinating. He absolutely had to know why in the world I needed Dazzler #21 or Ms. Marvel #17. I loved telling him, and he’d chuckle with a big old smile. People would interrupt to inquire about $200 issues. He’d oblige and then quickly return to me. He loved talking to me. I got to know him better and soon learned, amongst other things, that he was a retired teacher. I was training to be a teacher. We talked and talked about it. He later told me that his dream had been to retire, play golf, and do the comic book circuit; not to make money, but just to meet other fans and talk to them. I sometimes honestly believe I was his favorite. I also later found out that George was also an unusually eclectic collector, holding on to some of the most obscure old comics I’d ever seen. No wonder he found my adventures in his bargain bin amusing. Today, I intended to find George’s booth first. He’d been so kind to me through all of those $6 purchases. I just had to give him a big transaction now that I was a bigger player. I had to show him my thanks. I looked and looked for him, doing laps around the convention center, and could not find him. It wasn’t the first time he’d missed a show, but I was sincerely disappointed. Later in the show, I had broke the bank and spent all my money. I was carrying my enormous box of comics, walking with Doug, when I commented on how disappointed I was that I hadn’t seen George. On a beat, Doug pointed to roughly six feet in front of us: “There he is”. I was so relieved to see George that I threw down the books and started chatting away. I casually looked through his issues as we talked, disappointed that he’d already sold his interesting big issues, but still able to find a few keepers that I would like to buy. After about forty minutes of talking and talking, I reached into my wallet. I’d completely forgotten that I had only $12 left. I looked at the books I had picked up, and none were labeled for less than $8. I bought a crumpled, folded Iron Fist #14 from him. “Why this one?” he asked. I told him it was the first appearance of Sabertooth. He chuckled with a big old smile. In hindsight, I don’t think I would have had it any other way. Not bad for a last show. Not bad at all. This isn’t the end of my comic book collecting hobby, but it is the close of its greatest chapter. The legacy ends here, and I’m happy to say that it ended damn well. Thanks for reading this absurdly long post. Writing it meant a lot to me. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, December 5th, 2005
4:55 am	Morally, Educationally, and Theologically Incorrect The history of the Spectre, my favorite misunderstood superhero          There’s a certain instinctual appeal to golden age superheroes. In many ways, the early incarnations of these characters were simplistic extensions of our own primal yearnings for power and domination through violence. Each month, Batman, Superman, Hawkman and others would use their special abilities to take down well-deserving bad guys with savage justice, often using excessive violence and occasionally even killing the offender (yes, even Superman did this!). The stories were rarely too elaborate, and there was never any doubt who would win. Each story served as more of a showcase for the character than an enveloping story; almost a “wouldn’t it be great to have superpowers and beat the crap out of people?” fantasy. Of course, the bad guys always deserved it. They were bad guys.        The Spectre was one of these golden age avengers. In a time before other superheroes even had origin stories (no, not even Batman and Superman), we first met the Spectre as a young detective being savagely murdered by ruthless criminals. With the simplest of explanations, a higher power returned him from the dead, instilled with powers to fight against his murderers, and the Spectre went all out. Charged with nearly infinite superpowers, the Spectre stared into one murderer’s eyes and literally scared him to death, then made a second murder decompose into a talking skeleton and then drained the life right out of him. His ghoulish appearance and nearly infinite powers (including the ability to grow hundreds of stories tall), enabled the Spectre to be the very best at roughing up criminals, always concocting morbid new ways to punish them for their crimes. Unfortunately, as the public began to grow tired of these repetitive vengeance fantasies and the demand for superhero comics began to wane, the Spectre became one of many superhero characters to be discarded, while only a few crowd-pleasing favorites remained.        Of course, superheroes returned with a bang in the 1960s, allowing DC to reintroduce many of its discarded favorites. Unfortunately for the Spectre, the American Comic Code Authority had been introduced only a few years earlier, designed to moralize comics and make sure they were delivering wholesome messages to young readers. Every individual comic book had to be approved by the comic code before hitting the press. Sure, writers could have toned down the Spectre in much the same way that they’d toned down Batman into a smiling figurehead with his “Holy Hannah!” boy sidekick, or Superman into a righteous upholder of “Truth, Justice, and the American Way,” but the Spectre had one distinct disadvantage. The comic code had specifically banned ghouls, monsters, and general references to the undead. Oops.        Fortunately, the comic code grew to relax its standards as time went on, and it eventually lifted the ban on ghouls and undead characters, so long as such characters were handled with taste. Thus, the smiling Spectre of the late 1960s was born. He was happy, corny, campy, and always delivered his rarely-deceased victims to the police. Unfortunately, one more obstacle lay in the path of this formerly thrilling character. The 1960s had brought about a new interest in superheroes, but the public was no longer looking for the same, tired old stories about beating up random bad-guys. They were looking for more struggles and obstacles to grab their attention. They wanted to see their heroes face convincing perils and come out victorious. As a result, the Silver Age was also a time of super villain arch enemies. Each hero had either a weakness or at least one nemesis that was just as powerful as they were.        Problem: The Spectre had near-limitless power. How the heck do you put him in peril each month?        Answer: Find a way to give near-infinite powers to some campy villain each month. Not only did this premise get ridiculous very quickly, but the actual fighting got even worse. The Spectre’s battles were akin to watching two second-graders play “Superhero” on the front lawn:         “I shot you with my energy blasts”         “No, I had my magic deflector shield up”         “Oh yeah? Well I had my anti-magic deflector power bands on”         “No. I used my magnetic abilities to strip you of all metal before you shot me”         “Oh? Well they’re not made of metal”         “Fine then. Before you shoot me, I use my magic powers to summon a dragon to eat you”         “But you’re dead!”         “I did it right before you shot me” Monthly battles were reconciled through new and elaborate explanations of how astral combat worked, no doubt written by the same kind of illogically imaginative people that emulate Jedi/ Sith battles in the halls of most comic conventions.        Well it’s no surprise that the Spectre didn’t win over too many readers in this way. After eight try-out appearances in various titles over the course of two years, the publishers were ready to abandon the character. Finally, a full year later, they decided to make a go at one last serious attempt to resurrect this character: they had him fight a time-traveling pirate.        The comic was cancelled soon after.        This is not to say that the smiling Spectre was a complete waste. There were genuine moments in his earlier Silver Age appearances where the writers attempted to get around the comic code in presenting the Spectre’s vengeful side. In one issue, he drops two villains from hundreds of feet up in the air, deciding to scare them with a fall and then grab them before they hit bottom. Unfortunately, something else comes up and the Spectre is forced to leave. So what exactly happened to those bad guys? In another such adventure, the Spectre turns a criminal into a candle and then lights it. The candle lets out a scream before melting away into nothing. Tricking censors is fun! Inevitably though, the censors seem to have wised up, and the Spectre’s later appearances held no such clandestine acts of morbidity as a result.        Fast forward four years to 1974, and we’re now in the bronze age, where superhero titles have grown a bit darker, a new horror genre has emerged, and the Comic Code Authority has faded into little more than a figurehead presence, watching vigilantly for protruding nipples in comic book pages. The stage is finally set for the triumphant return of our ghoulish avenger! Once again, the new incarnation managed to end almost before it began, but this time the Spectre’s downfall was due to an entirely different factor. I would even argue that the bronze age Spectre’s commercial failure was caused by its artistic success.        The bronze age was a period in which superheroes were getting more “real.” Batman became haunted by the memory of his parents’ murder, Spider-Man failed to save a friend from drugs and a romantic interest from death, Green Lantern learned that he was powerless against the evils of racism and greed, the X-Men constantly dealt with failure, the death of teammates, and the issue of discrimination, and Ant Man succumbed to depression, alcoholism, and spousal abuse. It wasn’t enough to watch our superheroes struggle against exterior threats anymore. Readers were beginning to understand that complex abstracts, solution-less obstacles, and self-doubt were the most deadly enemies of all.        This was fascinating new territory for previously overdone, two-dimensional tired old dinosaurs from the Silver Age, and it might have applied well to the Spectre too. After all, he was an undead man that had been denied entrance into heaven, but who could never truly live amongst mortals. He’d even turned away his romantic interest in the golden age, deciding that he could never truly love a woman as a ghost (very mature territory for the golden age!). But the Spectre was no tired old standard that had been fighting crime for the past ten years. He was still under-used, his innate potential so unfulfilled.        For this reason, writer Michael Fleisher took The Spectre in the complete opposite direction. He went back to The Spectre’s roots, took the original golden age premise of the overzealous avenger, and brought it back to life, aided with a stunning quality of art that had never been imagined in the golden age. Through vivid artistic detail, we saw the Spectre employ his power to terrorize, traumatize, and (yes) kill really really bad guys with cruel imagination and a sincere lack of remorse. Each issue began by showing us just how evil The Spectre’s prey was. These weren’t just guys who knocked off a bank. These were villains who killed needlessly for money and delight; villains worthy of the Spectre’s revenge. The Spectre used some of his favorite old standards, decomposing one criminal into a screaming corpse begging for mercy, melting another one into a fleshy pulp (this time without turning him into a candle first), and turning a third villain into glass and then shattering him. In one instance, a barber used a hairdryer to beat a man to death, so the Spectre enlarged his cutting sheers and cut him in half. In another, he leaves his retribtution for a female murderer (who also models) until the end, leaving us to wonder what kind of mercy he’ll show to a woman. In an almost gleeful response to this unspoken question, the Spectre shows no such mercy, aging her before the audience’s eyes until she collapses to the ground, a fleshy, rotting corpse.        Though each issue conveys a basic plot, it avoids complexity, delighting only in the deliverance of unadulterated “justice”. It’s morbid, brief, and exemplifies the best qualities of the golden age, realized with a far more mature execution. Unfortunately, this unflinchingly savage, yet simple character of righteousness couldn’t find an audience with readers of the day that wanted haunted heroes making complex decisions under the weight of lofty morality. The Spectre was the antithesis of this, which might be why I find his bronze age adventures to be such a welcome, guilty escape from my other favorite titles. When comic books remind you too much of your own convoluted world, filled with complex problems that require patience and self-restraint, the Spectre harkens back to a time of simplistic fantasy escapism where all evil in the world can be easily vanquished and pathologically tormented for the pain it's caused. The bronze age Spectre appeared in Adventure Comics 431-440 (Jan/Feb 1974- Jul/Aug 1975). He has since been replaced with several heavily revised versions of the character. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, October 27th, 2005
12:06 pm	The Nightmare on Elm Street Series (A Review) Since it's almost Halloween...   The “A Nightmare on Elm Street” series has earned a lasting presence in our cultural memory, balancing our worst fears of vulnerability (we all need to let down our guard in order to sleep) with an almost comfortingly jovial murderer. While Fred Krueger is a being of absolute malevolence in the first film, he gradually becomes the charismatic core of the series, placing his emphasis on flamboyance rather than the act of killing, itself. Strange as it seems, the Nightmare series becomes a very safe kind of horror story, in which the killer doesn’t seem like such a bad guy. Sure, you have to worry about dying, but at least the rest of it (death scenarios in which an RPG fanatic gets to fight Freddy as a Wizard, or a martial arts fan faces off against Freddy in a Bruce Lee inspired death match) can almost be fun. Though the later films are seriously lacking in credibility, parts 1, 3, and 4 feature some excellent characters and stories. A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) B+ The first and darkest of the Nightmare films is seen from the point of view of Nancy, a sweet, suburban teenage girl that represents our innocence and vulnerabilities, and grows to represent our capacity for inner strength and bravery, as well. Nancy (Heather Langenkamp) and Krueger (Robert Englund), bring amazing presence to their limited, two-dimensional characters and are supported by fantastic direction and special effects, but much of the supporting cast proves to be a drain on this otherwise stellar film. Johnny Depp debuts as Nancy’s boyfriend, and proves to be completely unreadable in the role. Nancy’s best friend is no better, but at least does a good job of chanting “Nancy” as a ghost. Nancy’s parents are intended to be unlikable, but succeed perhaps a little too well. In general, I find myself wishing most of the character-developing scenes will end quickly so that we can get back to the scenes that really make the film tick; the confrontations between an undead serial killer and his self-confident young prey. Langenkamp and Englund play off of each other amazingly well, particularly in their final dramatic interaction, where Nancy retracts all the power that she has leant to her walking nightmare. This dramatic rivalry is echoed well by the script, which has the two characters subtly develop in parallel, both discovering the extent of their abilities at the same time. Indeed, it isn’t until the end of the film that Krueger seems to realize his complete ability to warp and manipulate the line between dream and reality, an ability he discovers only in response to Nancy achieving the apex of her inner strength. While Freddy has been an unstoppable opponent throughout the film, it is only in the final scene that we see him evolve beyond the part of a serial killer that chases you in your dreams. He becomes a god of the nightmare world, controlling everything within it. It is during this time that we also get our first hint of Freddy’s creative, flamboyant flare, having the roof of a demonic convertible painted red and brown to resemble his trademark shirt. As the film closes, we’re terrified, but somewhat in awe of Krueger’s final achievement. We start to like the enemy we’ve tried so hard to thwart. A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985) D Freddy’s Revenge attempts to take the symbolic meaning of fear to a new level, literally internalizing the predatory Krueger persona within the main character, a teenage boy named Jesse Walsh. In this film, Freddy uses Jesse’s body to commit murders, first when Jesse is sleeping and later even when he is awake. The psychological aspect of the premise is remarkable: A teen boy struggling with his inner demon who fantasizes about rape and murder. In many ways, Freddy has always represented a form of forbidden sexuality and violence, from the bathtub scene with Nancy in the first film to the overtly sexual needle fingers scene in part 3. Perhaps that’s why the fact that Freddy is using and preying upon a male main character for the first and only time leaves an uncomfortable homosexual undertone. As a male, Jesse also seems less innocent and vulnerable (perhaps the very point of the film), making it harder to identify with him, even if his dark side makes him a more honest portrayal of humanity than Nancy was in the first film. Jesse is no more flat and unoriginal a character than most of the other Elm Street protagonists, but he doesn’t leave us much to like about him either. There’s nothing innately appealing about a teen with issues, even to a teen with issues. It’s interesting how this film both does and doesn’t respect the one that came before it. On the one hand, Freddy has attached himself to the house from the first film (this is probably the only long-term contribution that part 2 makes to the larger series). On the other hand, Krueger’s primary objective in the first film was to kill the children of the Elm Street residents who killed him. Yet, in this film, he focuses on a teen who’s new to the town and completely outside of the Elm Street drama, all because he has moved into Nancy’s old house. The fact that Freddy is so interested in using Jesse to target other people (kids and gym teachers alike) might suggest that he has already succeeded in killing all of the remaining Elm Street kids (after all, this film does take place five years in the future). However, this interpretation is contradictory to the premise of part 3, in which all the remaining Elm Street kids make their stand together. More importantly, this change in Freddy’s objectives during part 2 goes mostly unexplained. In terms of the story, this film is neither as exciting as the other films, nor as consistent in its keeping with the Freddy traditions. The conflict is very different (issues of self-control rather than issues of survival from a homicidal external force) and is far more discomforting than it is thrilling, as a result. The conclusion, in particular, in which Freddy is conquered by the power of love, is highly disappointing. No epic battle ensues, just a lot of hugging. This is a very psychological film, trying to borrow the earlier premise in order to tell a very different story, but it is not a Freddy film. It works in a sense, but does not deliver on its obligations to the franchise, in general. Freddy’s Revenge is the most forgettable of the Elm Street installments. The remaining four films in the series (prior to New Nightmare, which stands on its own) all remain consistent with each other and with the first film, but conveniently choose to ignore this uncharacteristic installment, never again referring to any of the events that occur within it. As a result, you won’t miss anything by skipping the film entirely. A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987) B+ Dream Warriors is both a return to the traditions of the first Elm Street film and a major evolution of the tradition as well. The film works hard to align itself with the first one, bringing Nancy back as a central character, and creating another “Freddy’s just a bad dream” scenerio as friends start dropping left and right. Yet, at the same time, Dream Warriors establishes itself as a team film, with many central characters all working together to take down a common foe. The difference is striking. Whereas the first film was largely terrifying because no one believed (or was strong enough to support) our main character, this film balances its terror with a feel-good sensation that comes from all of these misunderstood victims joining together to confront their antagonist. This is further aided by the fact that they are “crazy” together in a psychiatric ward, and that they have two adults who believe them, even while the rest of the adults in their world are cruel and dismissive. Finally, the most unique “feel-good” contribution to this film is the discovery that each of these surviving Elm Street teens has a super power that they can harness and control within their dreams. Suddenly, our heroes have a fighting chance against the all-powerful unknown. On the flip side, this film marks the beginning of the more playful, humorous Freddy, who seems to delight in concocting elaborate dream scenarios tailored to the individual’s tastes, far more than he delights in the actual kill. At this point, the scenarios are still terrifying, but far more fantastic than the practically universal fear of a maniac with claws running after you. Freddy’s face is more visible and well lit in this film, and he has far more dialogue, with a less gritty voice and a newfound, horribly corny sense of humor. Freddy is still bad, but his cloak of dark mystery is shed, and his particular brand of fear has become more distanced and flamboyant. This time, it’s hard not to find him endearing while he slays our protagonists, one by one. Elm Street 3 establishes a thrilling, adventurous center for the series that each successive film tries its best to replicate. Here, the Nightmare Series moves out of the pure horror genre and into something far more escapist and fun. There’s still a lot of genuine fear in this film, but there’s a strong sense of hope, camaraderie, and fantastic empowerment as well. We might respect the first film for teaching us that there is fantastic courage within us all, but we like Dream Warriors for teaching us that we can fly if we dream hard enough. A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988) B Elm Street 4 is the first film in the series that generally smells like a sequel. Its events continue directly from those of the third film, with our heroes reunified just long enough to die. Our complete shock and outrage at watching these cherished characters get bumped off so easily is soon replaced with a new fear: Freddy has finished off the Elm Street children and found a (very clever) way to move on to a fresh batch of teen victims. As a sequel to Dream Warriors, The Dream Master can only be seen as a disappointment. Two of the three major characters that return (Kristin and Joey) do not resemble the characters we cared for in the previous film. A single year of safe living has irrevocably changed them into boring, normal, and somewhat unlikable teens. After all, it was their haunted, vulnerable quality that drew us in and made us care about these otherwise personality-dead protagonists. Of course, that doesn’t make us happy about the fact that Freddy kills them so quickly. It’s hard to look at the band of teens that replaces them and not measure them against our cherished Dream Warriors. Yet, at the same time, this new team offers their own particular brand of charm. They are tight knit, diverse, and each possessing of at least one two-dimensional trademark that sets each apart from the other. Most likeable of the bunch is Kristin’s boyfriend, Rick, who uses his own particular brand of boyish charm to counteract the gravity of their morbid predicament. Ultimately, and not altogether surprisingly, the spotlight of this film moves from Kristin (a central character in Dream Warriors) to Alice, Kristin’s soft-spoken friend. Alice is a highly compelling protagonist, if for no other reason than the fact that she lacks self-confidence. We, as an audience, realize that she will need to find that sense of self-confidence and empowerment in order to defeat Freddy. Whereas Dream Warriors showed a group of friends banding together to defeat their enemy, The Dream Master makes the interesting choice of having a single timid figure learn to draw her strength and powers from the love and memory of her (dead) friends. In the process, she defeats Freddy and finds herself. Though Alice is no more complex than any of the other Elm Street kids (in any of the films), her particular predicament gives us no choice but to take an active interest in her persona. Alice’s development gives us a sense of reward and triumph in the face of a semi-dark antagonist. As Alice gains the confidence to confront Freddy one-on-one, it becomes tempting to draw parallels with Alice’s home life, in which she lacks the courage to stand up to her alcoholic father. It’s no surprise that daddy is off the booze and attending AA meetings in the next film, following Alice’s victory in this one. The only truly regrettable aspect of The Dream Master is its method of “off-ing” Freddy. Dream Warriors gave us a solution that truly seemed convincing and permanent. It’s troubling enough that Freddy finds no difficulty in returning to his favorite hobby after that, but even more disturbing that we’re supposed to exchange it with the hack solution that Alice discovers at the end of this film. Elm Street 4 is an all around good film, with a higher caliber of acting and production value than any of the films before it. In many ways, it is incapable of measuring up to Dream Warriors as a sequel, but in other ways, it finds a strength and success that are all its own. A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child (1989) D In many ways, The Dream Child seeks only to repeat the formula that worked well enough for the previous film. We begin with two survivors from the previous film, one of which dies early on, leaving the other survivor (Alice) to try to convince her newfound group of tight-knit friends that Freddy exists and is killing again. Naturally, no one believes her until enough friends start dropping dead. The general concept works, except that these friends lack the personalities and group dynamic of the friends in the previous film. They are all introduced in a gratuitous “meet the new friends” scene, in which each personality and individual conflict is introduced systematically. Friend A has an overbearing mother that pushes her daughter to become a beauty queen (watching over her shoulders to the extent that she loses all believability as a real character). Friend B is the clown who loves comic books. Friend C likes to swim and doesn’t believe in superstition. All in all, these characters feel strained, lacking even the rich one dimension that the previous film lent to its supporting characters. Only the comic book fanatic expresses any personality at all when he finds himself unable to handle the death of his romantic interest. It’s nice to see this contrast when compared to the numerous other Elm Street teens that stopped to cry when a friend died and then moved on as if nothing had happened. The general plot of this film is quite interesting, even when its execution feels labored and repetitive. Freddy’s new method of interacting with the real world is clever and not immediately obvious to the audience. Unfortunately, it depends upon our innocent Alice from the last film becoming pregnant after having careless, unprotected sex with her boyfriend (which we’re forced to watch in the opening credits). It’s a bit of a leap for the audience, which is still adjusting to the fact that Alice no longer whispers when she talks and has stopped wearing ankle-length skirts. Alice’s pregnancy is a genuine effort by the filmmaker to send a responsible, pro-life message to the teens of the audience, but the message feels too conscious and labored. It’s a nice try, but perhaps too serious of a point to be making in a brain-candy slasher flick. There are several aspects of the plot in this film that are bothersome. First of all, a major point is made early on that the comic book lover can’t stand the sight of blood. One would think this is an obvious foreshadow of things to come, yet his issues with blood never return. In fact, he ends up receiving the most bloodless death of any of Freddy’s victims (at least until after he’s dead). A second plot point that’s introduced and then forgotten emerges part way through the film, when Alice's dead boyfriend’s parents want to take her baby from her, threatening legal action if necessary. The absurdity of such a threat aside (everyone knows no court in hell would back their claim), this conflict is abandoned immediately after it’s introduced. Alice laments that she’ll have to devote a significant part of her energy to this new problem, yet we never hear of it again. A third, larger problem comes with the intervention of Freddy’s mother, a dead nun that promises to be the ultimate means of stopping Krueger once and for all. Alice spends a significant part of the film seeking her out, and Freddy seems terrified that she will return to stop him. Yet, when Amanda Krueger finally intervenes in the end, she is clearly no match for Freddy, seeming even more terrified and helpless to stop him than Alice ever was. Not only does this play against the expectations that the script has established, but it creates a disturbing theological problem, as well. The Elm Street series clearly exists in a world in which the presence of a higher power is felt. Crucifixes and holy water have some effect against Freddy, and his mother seems able to return from the grave only because she is a holy nun (her holiness is played up with brilliant white color and flocks of doves around her). Amanda Krueger’s presence in the third film offered a sense of comfort, as well as a belief that a higher power was involved and would ultimately make things right. It was one thing to forget about Amanda in the fourth film, but another to render her helpless even after attaining her full power in the fifth one. The series acknowledges the presence of a God and then leaves him suspiciously absent, his agent impotent, as Krueger continues to prey. It’s highly disturbing that the god who appears to exist in this film is less powerful than an undead serial killer, or at least doesn’t seem particularly concerned with stopping him. Add to this the final means of stopping Freddy (if you can call it final), in which Alice’s unborn son tells Freddy that “school’s out” and then uses his powers against him, and you have some major problematic turns and credibility gaps in the story. Oh, and just how the heck did Freddy manage to come back from the dead at the beginning of the film? No, that explanation didn’t make any sense. Finally, this film lacks the feel-good sense of self-empowerment that parts one, three, and four succeeded in evoking so well. Freddy is finally defeated (though quickly returns) due to the intervention of Amanda Krueger and Alice’s unborn son. Alice and our other central characters do nothing to stop him on their own, instead relying on greater powers that ultimately fail. Our main characters are helpless, their saviors are helpless, and (let’s not forget) God is helpless. The unspoken moral of this story isn’t just depressing. It’s downright stupid. In general, the fifth installment of the Elm Street saga feels labored, generic, and half-thought out, but it does offer an interesting concept at the core of its plot. The Dream Child is definitely not one of the better Elm Street films, but it’s not unwatchable either. Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare (1991) C- Presumably aware of the waning quality in the Elm Street stories, the creative team behind the series took some time off to regroup and then produce The Final Nightmare two years later (the longest gap between Elm Street films at this time). This final attempt to resurrect Freddy in the regular continuity seems to have made careful consideration of fan input, attempting to borrow shamelessly from the franchise’s most popular installments. It steals elements from Dream Warriors (a band of reject kids from a psychiatric ward) and the original Elm Street film (strong female protagonist, same general method of killing Freddy at the end). It’s even interesting to note that, when Freddy recaps the ways in which people have tried to kill him thus far, he only mentions the methods of elimination used in Dream Warriors and the original film. Freddy’s Dead attempts to say “let’s just forget the less popular Elm Street installments,” yet ends up becoming one of those less popular Elm Street installments faster than you can say “Welcome to prime time, bitch.” There’s a lot wrong with this film, beginning at the start of the film, when an unintentionally corny introduction informs us that ten years have passed, Freddy has killed every teen in Springwood, and that the grownups are suffering from some form of mass delusion as a result. Can I get a big “HUH?” on that last part? How does an entire town experience mass delusion? Furthermore, how has Freddy managed to remain a myth that no one outside of Springwood has heard about after killing every single teen in a small suburban town? The story becomes more problematic as we encounter our emotionally distant main character (whoever thought it’d be a good idea to feature a stuffy adult as the protagonist in a teen horror flick?) and a supporting cast that fails miserably in attempting to replicate the charm of the Dream Warriors. Even worse, self-indulgent, star-studded cameos are made by Tom and Roseanne Arnold and Alice Cooper, all of which detract further from any seriousness or credibility we might have otherwise lent to this film, making it feel more like an episode of Hollywood Squares than a half-decent horror story. Scenes in the deluded town of Springwood are similarly absurd to the point that I begin smacking my head, hoping to dull my brain enough to make the film seem intelligent. Brecken Meyer’s death scene is the moment in which the film sheds any remaining dignity that it might have previously possessed. What begins as a drug-inspired death scenerio (this makes sense considering that he’s the pothead of the group), randomly transitions into a Freddy version of Super Mario Brothers (well, I guess we saw the kid playing a video game once in the film…), in which the victim bounces and spins around as if in a reject dollar-bin Nintendo adventure. The effects, direction, dialogue, and general concept of this scene are all out embarrassing, forcing you to make the “L” sign at your television screen for five whole minutes in which you should have been feeling scared. In fact, this leads me to another major problem in Freddy’s Dead. With the possible exception of a scene featuring a creepy looking hearing aid with legs, there isn’t a single scary moment in this film. The film doesn’t accelerate your heartbeat even once. The plot of this film is its final awful ingredient, relying upon conveniences such as the main character working in a psychiatric clinic with a doctor that just happens to be making breakthrough discoveries in dream therapy. It also contains mile-wide plot holes, like Freddy suddenly having the ability (and desire) to erase his victims from existence (but then how do their friends remember them?). Lots and lots of other, smaller questions arise, such as why John was carrying a specific newspaper article in his pocket (which ends up becoming a large clue to solving the film’s mystery). We’re also left wondering why John doesn’t seem to have any parents/family that recognize him when he returns to Springwood. After all, he just ran away from there. The Elm Street films have always forced us to ask ourselves how long we could stay awake without closing our eyes, but Freddy’s Dead brings immediacy to that question, literally putting us to sleep with it’s hole-filled plot (actually, more of a plot-filled hole). There are some saving graces to this film, and they’re barely enough to make it worth watching. The film makes a decent attempt to reveal more of Fred Krueger’s origin, but leaves us with a few questions as well (how could Krueger have killed the neighbors’ children in response to their taking his daughter away if they took his daughter away because he was killing their children?). In addition, John Doe, our amnesiac red-herring at the start of the film (but really, were any of us fooled?) is possibly the most likable protagonist in the Elm Street series, successfully balancing dark desperation with strong leadership and a quirky, stress-relieving style of humor. It’s disappointing to see him replaced, mid-film, with a far less likable main character. Ultimately, this film delivers exactly what it promises: the death of Freddy Krueger (with little else to justify its feature-length running time). The death sequence is unnecessarily filmed in 3D (corny to the max), and marks the abrupt end of the film (no conclusion, because undeveloped characters have nothing to conclude), but at least the method of death makes sense. Freddy’s dead, and so is any remaining integrity in the original continuity. (Comment on this)
Saturday, July 23rd, 2005
4:26 pm	Stupid? You bet! My wife and I opened a new savings account and CD at the local bank today.  As we stopped at Home Depot on the way home, words such as "responsibility" and "security" were still ringing in my ears.  I ended up buying a safe for my comic books. Now, this might seem absolutely logical at first.  I have some very valuable comic books, and I should do everything I can to protect them from theft and fire, but let's take a moment to really consider this (as I didn't while at the store).  If someone is actually in my house, about to steal my comic books, I (first of all) need a better alarm system, and (second of all) have much bigger things to worry about (like the safety of my wife, future children, and numerous cats.  Well, maybe not the cats).  I'd rather give the dude the comics than have him threaten me for the combination (and why does a house burglar want my comics, anyway?).  Of course, theft wasn't my real concern.  I was far more worried about damage that might occur during a fire.  Now this is my crowning moment of brilliance.  After all, if a fire is threatening my comics, this means that my HOUSE is on fire.  If my HOUSE is on fire, then I have much bigger things to worry about.  This is like cryogenically freezing your right hand so that it never dies.  Somehow, you've managed to miss the point.  The worst part of it all is that this safe isn't making me feel secure at all.  Of course, the initial idea was to put my most valuable comics inside it in order to protect them.  Good, I've managed to protect roughly $3,000 worth of comic books.  Of course, now all I can think of is the fact that the other $17,000 worth of comics I have is UN-protected.  I feel an obsessive panic attack coming on. The last time I went to a comic convention, I befriended a very successful collector that owns all the comics that everyone wishes they could touch just once.  His collection is worth more than most of our lives...combined.  I asked him how he takes care of them.  "I keep them locked away in three seperate locations," he said defensively.  That didn't sound like any way to enjoy a collection.  I then asked him if he ever worried about anything happening to a collection of such value.  He told me that he doesn't sleep much at night. This was supposed to be a hobby! Well, I've at least managed to find some source of amusement in this situation.  In addition to laughing at myself, I've had a lot of fun choosing which comics I consider to be most important and most worth saving.  It's like Survivor meets my comic collection.  If there's a fire, who gets voted off? Here are the ones I've chosen to save: Showcase #22 - The first appearance of Green Lantern (my favorite sucky character of all!)  Batman #9 - Really, really old (1942).  Long before Batman even had an origin!  The Batmobile had first been introduced in the previous issue!  Best of all, he fights The Joker in this one :) Giant Size X-Men #1 - Rebooted the X-Men into sudden, lasting success after they'd fallen into obscurity.  It's also the first appearance of Colossus, Nightcrawler and Storm, and the issue in which Wolverine joins. Brave & the Bold #54 and 60 - The first appearances of the Teen Titans, as well as Wonder Girl. Teen Titans #1 (1966) Incredible Hulk #180 - The first appearance of Wolverine Fantastic Four #48-50 - The first appearances of Galactus and Silver Surfer Silver Surfer #1-3 (1968) - #3 is the first appearance of Mephisto Detective Comics #359 - The first appearance of Batgirl Batman #181 - The first appearance of Poison Ivy Batman #200 - Neil Adams (famous artist)'s first work on Batman Marvel Superheroes #12-13 - First appearances of Captain Marvel and Ms. Marvel Captain Marvel #1-3 X-Men #129 - First appearance of Kitty Pryde and The White Queen X-Men #266 - First appearance of Gambit Everything else goes up in a blaze of glory.  I guess, sooner or later, I'll need to buy a house-sized safe so that I can obsess even more and enjoy myself even less. How did I ever manage to confuse fun with responsibility?  Somebody smack me. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, June 25th, 2005
4:13 pm	Chrome Martyrdom and Cosmic Irony The Silver Surfer in the Silver Age   Silver Surfer.  The name is ridiculous.  His appearance is no better.  A silver man that surfs through space on a cosmic board; Frankie and Annette meet Star Wars.  It’s for these reasons that the Silver Surfer is rarely taken seriously as a character.  Yet, when you really think about it, is a chrome man on a cosmic surfboard any more silly looking than a Spider-Man in bright blue and red pajamas, or the myriad of DC heroes clad in capes, spandex, boots, and underwear?  The truth of the matter is, there’s a lot more to the Silver Age Surfer than what appears at first glance, and it all begins with Galactus. In my opinion, Galactus is still one of the most impressive comic book antagonists of all time.  Imagine an immense cosmic being, nearly on the scale of a god in both power and knowledge, but constantly restrained by its own mortality.  Galactus is such a being; so far beyond mankind that people are mere ants to him.  His powers are vast and unimaginable, yet Galactus is mortal.  He is constantly cursed with hunger.  The problem is that Galactus can only consume nutrients found in/on a small number of planets.  He devotes all of his immense power to searching the galaxy for these planets, consuming them, and then looking for more.  Galactus is neither good nor evil.  He is motivated by nothing more than the primitive need to continue his own existence.  He is amoral, dispassionate, and just as unstoppable as his hunger. Silver Surfer was his servant. He roamed throughout the universe, searching for consumable planets so that Galactus wouldn’t have to.  Galactus gave the Surfer the freedom to travel the cosmos, and the Surfer gave Galactus the freedom to live without constantly searching for nourishment.  Through this exchange, the two became more than master and servant.  They depended upon each other, traversing the cosmos alone, but together.  In essence, they were soul mates.  Writer Stan Lee never did anything with much subtlety, yet this relationship somehow managed to remain implied without either character declaring it every five seconds.  There was something beautiful about this master/servant relationship.  It was functional, liberating, and intimate.  Of course, we only saw this relationship briefly, as the two characters made their first appearances in Fantastic Four #48 and #49 (1966).  Once the Surfer discovered that the newest planet he had found for Galactus (Earth) was inhabited, everything changed.  As Galactus, the most powerful villain ever depicted in a comic book at this point, began his preparations to consume the Earth, both the Fantastic Four and their readers, alike, desperately began to wonder how he could be stopped.  The only logical answer seemed to lie in his morally bothered servant who, while only possessing a fraction of Galactus’s power, was still the next-most powerful being on Earth.  Inevitably, the Surfer rose to the occasion, defying his long-time companion.  A heart-wrenching battle ensued in which both characters made it clear that they did not wish to fight.  Each implored the other to stop resisting.  Yet, they finally reached a point of impass.  The Surfer realized that Galactus would always put his own life first, and Galactus realized that the Surfer would never stand aside to let him do so. Then, after this terrible moment, the real tragedy occurred.  Galactus was made to stop, but not by the Surfer.  As the events of this story wound down, and Galactus made a solemn vow never to attack the Earth again, the canyon of difference between Galactus and the Surfer had grown too deep.  They couldn’t simply let things be.  Instead, Galactus was forced to punish the Surfer for his insubordination.  He banished the Surfer to Earth, the world he worked so hard to protect, creating an invisible barrier around the planet that would prevent the Surfer from ever escaping.  Confined to one alien world after traveling the cosmos, having betrayed his soul mate with the best of intentions but the worst of rewards, the Surfer was left to wonder if his sacrifice had been for nothing. For a few years after, The Silver Surfer would remain on Earth, each issue beginning with him hurling himself against the barrier, hoping against hope that he would somehow get through this time.  These depressing scenes would always be followed by an attempt by the Surfer to interact with humanity, whether to say “hello” or to save a person in danger.  In each case, mankind always misunderstood the Surfer’s intentions, perceiving him as an evil alien and attempting to kill him, capture him, or drive him away.  In these moments, The Surfer would be left to wonder, more than ever, why he had sacrificed himself for these people; attempting to find some comfort in his actions, but only finding pain instead.  In several issues, The Surfer would discover a way to get through the barrier only once, yet, each time sacrificed his opportunity and returned to Earth because it was somehow in danger.  Though the Surfer could never reconcile his martyrdom, he reenacted it over and over again.  Meanwhile, Galactus went on to face many other heroes in the Marvel Universe, but he and Lee’s Surfer would not meet again.  Several years later, the Silver Surfer title was discontinued.  Fans weren’t relating to this deeper, darker, intentionally Christ-like character.  He was shelved.  Stan Lee, now promoted to editor, requested that The Surfer, his favorite creation, remain shelved.  He didn’t want anyone else polluting his misunderstood vision.  Of course, the Surfer did go on to receive several more incarnations, none of which were written by Lee, and none of which respected his original vision.  The Surfer was a very different character in each incarnation: sometimes a whiny cosmic wimp with a holier than thou attitude, and sometimes devoid of any descernable personality whatsoever. Fortunately, Lee came back to give the Surfer a final farewell in the early 1980s.  The Silver Surfer mini-series, though hurt by the poor art and over-the-top dialogue, was a masterpiece of an idea; capable of having been a groundbreaking graphic novel had it been treated differently.  In this story, set in the future, The Surfer has become a total recluse, disguised as a derelict and living in alleyways.  Meanwhile, Galactus, ravaged by hunger, returns to Earth, reasoning that, though he agreed not to attack the Earth, he never agreed not to lead it to its own destruction.  Galactus presents himself as God to the people of Earth, commanding them to live free and do whatever they want.  As the world descends into chaos, and a powerful cult minister manipulates the words of Galactus to serve his own purpose, the Surfer is forced to step into the public eye and confront Galactus one last time.  What ensues is a beautiful struggle, fought more with the mind, heart and soul, than with the fist.  It’s a very suitable farewell to these characters, a bookend to Lee’s greatest work to date. Lee’s work on the Surfer was profound.  His ideas were often too forced, his dialogue too campy, and his plots too formulaic, but what lay at the heart of this character was pure genius.  Lee’s days as a writer are over.  He’s far too occupied with other aspects of the Marvel empire to ever return to his most cherished work.  But it pains me to think that this idea is dead.  Perhaps, one day, a new writer or filmmaker will finally recognize this vision within the Surfer and bring it to life in a way that Lee never could.  Maybe then fans will truly come to respect the bitter relationship between The Surfer and Galactus; between The Surfer and his own destiny.  Maybe then the Surfer will rise off the pages with new life: a sensational sentinel of the spaceways rather than a freaky chrome-covered guy in silver underwear.    *side-note: My exploration of The Silver Surfer was inspired by theferrett's blog on frequently re-published comic book titles. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, June 23rd, 2005
6:49 pm	The Anger and the Anguish "Batman Begins" is undoubtedly the best cinematic translation of Batman to date, but does that make it a good cinematic translation?   There is no doubt that the writers of Batman Begins knew their subject matter well.  Only true fans of Batman would spend time asking themselves how Batman obtained his costume and equipment ("they must have been funnelled through Wayne Enterprises, but how?"), would take such an interest in how Bruce Wayne became Batman, and would know semi-obscure Batman characters like Ra's Al Ghul, Lucius Fox, and even Joe Chill.  In many ways, Batman Begins is a labor of love, bringing so much of the comic book character to cinematic life for the first time.  Yet Batman Begins has no desire to be a perfect translation of comic book to film.  Conscious efforts are made by a very knowledgable writing team to change minor, yet significant portions of the Batman mythos, from what show the Wayne family went to see just prior to their murder ("The Mark of Zorro," a later inspiration to Batman) to the person holding the position of District Attorney when Batman arrives on the scene (Harvey Dent, who later becomes Two-Face).  Batman Begins unapologetically introduces a childhood friend/love interest that never appeared in the comics, changes Lieutenant Gordon from a tough cop fighting a corrupt system to a bumbling coward, and even has Bruce Wayne recieve his training from Ra's Al Ghul.  All of this clearly contradicts the comic, yet serves a greater purpose. In the comic book world, a writer will occasionally come along and say "I really want to explore this underepresented facet of this well known character.  I'd like to create a story that centers around this facet, without the constraints of having to tie it in to the regular story continuity".  Writers are given the freedom to conduct such explorations in Graphic Novels: sophisticated, often psychological explorations of favorite characters in which writers are free to change and violate a character's continuity in order to fully experiment with him or her.  In a sense then, Batman Begins is the first cinematic graphic novel; a psychological exploration of Batman's relationship to fear, in which the writers are free to change and violate Batman's world in order to bring this aspect of Batman to the surface.  But it's not Batman.  It's an aspect of Batman; one large part of our beloved character, but not the whole.  In 1981, Batman was given the opportunity to visit an alternate reality in which he could still rescue Thomas and Martha Wayne from being murdered.  While watching a young, happy Bruce Wayne play with his toy trains, Batman was finally given the opportunity to explore what he had since become.  He described "...a boy who'll see his family die before his eyes.  He'll never forget that...Never lose the anger or the anguish" ("To Kill A Legend," Detective Comics #500).  In Batman Begins, our hero sees a natural relationship between fear and anger that is never fully explained.  He first uses anger to supress his feelings of loss and later to terrify villains, but this Batman is devoid of the anguish.  As a practical superhero, Batman is an avenger that strikes fear into the heart of the criminal element as revenge for his parents' deaths.  But, as a modern mythological figure, Batman is the ultimate mourner: a dark, menacing figure that is more comfortable in caves or dramatically positioned amongst dark, gothic rooftops because he is enveloped in internal darkness.  Not only is Batman unable to forget about the murder of his parents but, in becoming this dark, cloaked embodiment of loneliness, he is unwilling to allow himself to forget them as well.  His nightly chore of donning the cape and cowl is as much a symbol of pennance as it is an act of vengeance. In Batman Begins, we see this dark pennance in the movie poster, but nowhere in the actual film.  Early in his training, Ra's Al Ghul tells Bruce Wayne that he must remove the anger so that he can get to the heart of his pain, but this never seems to actually happen.  The fact that Batman has angry eyebrows carved into his cowl is a good indicator that Batsy still has a lot of anger to work through.  In contrast, my favorite Batman film to date is still "Batman: Mask of the Phantasm".  It's often overlooked because it was a full length animated feature from the creators of Batman: The Animated Series.  But, in spite of Batman's enormous chin and mildly homoerotic intonations, this film is the only one that really attempts to understand the "anguish" aspect of Batman.  In MotP, we see Bruce Wayne commit himself to avenging his parents' deaths, but then fall in love, discover happiness, and plead to the memory of his parents for them to release him from his oath.  This surprisingly dark film shows a man trapped by his past; struggling to move forward as the memories of the things he's left behind him slowly devour his soul.  That's Batman.  This cinematic graphic novel was a fantastic trip, and it worked to make Batman more real than he's ever been before, but his pain wasn't real.  His character wasn't truly present.  This wasn't the tortured soul that I've mourned with upon so many comic book rooftops over the years.  This wasn't Batman. 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Sunday, April 3rd, 2005
6:04 pm	Sorry, but your hero sucks Re-examining The Green Lantern in retrospect   As a boy who was raised on superheroes, I’ve always kept a select few deep in my heart: the ones that really spoke to me as a child; that participated in shaping my imagination and identity almost as much as a real family. So, while my adolescent years and later adult life have brought me in contact with some far more fascinating, better-written comic book titles, I’ve always had a soft spot and an idealistic perspective toward the DC superheroes of my early years. I’ll readily confess that one of my all time childhood favorites had been The Green Lantern. For a time, I think I actually began to like him BETTER than Batman. Looking back now, I’m convinced that my inexplicable love for a character I knew next to nothing about came from my Super Friends action figure collection. Though Batman had been my favorite character, his action figure was disproportioned and silly looking. It was the Superman figure’s body with a different paint job and head, so the chest was almost as large as the rest of the body combined. This didn’t sync well with the images I’d seen of Batman; a slender, stealthy figure that often hid his entire form beneath a cape. On the other hand, Green Lantern was definitely my coolest looking figure. He was well proportioned and had a cool costume, which was neither as silly looking nor as pastel as Batman’s. Yet, somehow, he had an aspect of Batman about him. Maybe it was the mask and the serious expression, but I think Green Lantern somehow struck me as a cooler version of Batman. So, years later, this Twenty Six year old man with, a collection of nearly three thousand comic books, decides it might actually be time to (gasp!) READ a Green Lantern comic book. It actually amazes me that I somehow avoided doing that until now. Looking back, I realize that, as I was getting old enough to read comics, the Green Lantern I thought I knew and loved had been replaced by a new guy that didn’t even wear the mask. I distinctly remember picking up an issue and tossing it aside. That wasn’t MY Green Lantern, so why bother? In later years, Green Lantern was replaced by two OTHER new Green Lanterns, neither of which looked like the guy I remembered. So now, only twenty one years after my fascination with this character began, have I began looking back at the old Green Lantern issues, hoping to savor the grandeur of this amazing character. What I’ve since learned, after perusing many such issues and forcing myself to reconsider what I actually know about the character, is that Green Lantern, a hero of my youth, completely, totally, and irrevocably SUCKED. Let’s take a quick tour of our hero: Exhibit A: His name sucked Green Lantern had once been the name of a Golden Age character that somehow drew his powers from an actual green lantern. The name made sense. However, the character didn’t last very long. In an effort to maintain their copyright ("our character sucks, but what if someone else could actually write him better?") DC created a new Green Lantern in the 1960s (much like they did for Flash). This might have been a nifty idea, except for the fact that the name doesn’t really apply to the Silver Age Green Lantern. His special ring draws its powers from a battery charger that, for some odd reason, looks like an old lantern, but it’s not. It’s a battery charger. It doesn’t produce light of any kind (unless you count a dramatic glow of power). This battery charger, in turn, draws its powers from an even larger green thing that looks a lot like a lantern, but it’s not. It’s a battery charger charger. I suppose its possible that this thing then draws power from a larger battery charger charger charger that also doubles as a light-producing lantern, but I find this theory unlikely.   Lastly, there’s the whole “green” thing. Green Lantern’s costume is mostly green, his ring is green, his battery charger (and its battery charger charger) are green, and even the things that his ring creates are green, but WHY? Where does this random fascination with green come from? The Guardians that created the battery charger charger are blue skinned and wear red. Clearly, they aren’t suffering from any kind of green fettish. If I were a Green Lantern, I might try putting some colored paper over my ring, just to vary things up a bit. “There you go, random bad guys. Have a PINK elephant!” “PINK? But you’re GREEN Lantern!” “Hahaha. Just kidding, boys. That would be a job for the PINK Lantern!” Exhibit B: His powers sucked Well, this is not entirely true. In fact, Green Lantern’s powers were potentially pretty impressive. GL had the ability to create things with his power ring (in addition to being able to fly and survive in space) so, naturally, even a four year old might imagine creating green swords, green guns, green disguises, green clones of himself, ferocious green animals, or even green methods of transportation. Unfortunately, our hero wasn’t quite as clever, though. More than anything, Green Lantern’s creations tended to be silly. He was most famous for creating giant cartoon fists to hit bad guys and giant baseball gloves to catch falling people. Corniness over practicality: it was often the Green Lantern way. Exhibit C: His weakness sucked GL could create anything he wanted with his ring, as well as fly and survive the ravages of space. With all this power, the trade-off was one small weakness. Superman had kryptonite. Green Lantern had yellow. No, “yellow” was not some super secret substance, nor even a special form of the color yellow. It was just yellow. So GL could take down super villains and save worlds, but some irritable dude in a yellow polo shirt sure could teach him a lesson. Some guy with blonde hair could make for a harrowing experience. Some inebriated drunkard in an alley with a jaundiced complexion could become his worst nightmare. Even worse than the sheer lousiness of this idea was the faulty logic. How did Green Lantern operate on a planet where all light came from a yellow sun? How did he survive those rough mornings when he woke up to brush his teeth and found a bad case of plaque? And, perhaps most importantly, how were the readers supposed to reconcile this lame weakness with the fact that green is not a primary color? Green is made up of blue and (you guessed it) YELLOW. So there’s my wondrous childhood hero in a nutshell. In all fairness, it’s worth mentioning that nearly all of the Silver Age DC heroes were pretty stupid (I feel a blog on Aquaman, Flash, and Hawkman coming), and there were aspects of the Green Lantern story that were worthy of note. Of all the 1960s DC titles, Green Lantern’s was the one that did the most to incorporate fascinating sci-fi elements like time travel and alternate realities, and the very premise of The Green Lantern Corps (which established Green Lanterns across the galaxy as planetary defenders), while borrowed from other sci-fi media, was totally original in superhero comic books. I’m still fascinated by the early Green Lantern comics for these reasons, and would like to read more of them, but the very idea that I once considered Green Lantern superior to Batman makes me laugh. At least Batman could drink lemonade.                                  Phallic anxiety at its worst (2 Comments |Comment on this)
2:40 pm	It was inevitable... Like a gateway drug, signing up for a Livejournal account was only going to lead to more temptation. I'm thinking of double posting my Xanga blogs to this journal too, just to feel out the community. I think I'll start by copying over some of my older Xanga entries. Let's see if this backdate function is up to the challenge. (Comment on this)
Saturday, April 2nd, 2005
6:03 pm	The shadow of The Bat For almost as long as I can remember, Batman and Robin have been the most important cultural icons / myths in the world to me. Yet, strangely enough, I actually can remember the very moment that they took on this larger than life significance in my young mind. I couldn’t have been older than three on the fateful afternoon that my mother and I spent the afternoon coloring in my room. It was a beautiful day, with the sun pouring in through the windows, and my mother had put the entire afternoon aside just to spend time with me. She had bought me a new Batman and Robin coloring book, and I clearly remember that we were coloring in a picture of the two of them swinging in to a circus tent, triumphant and glorious, a happy, unified team of man and boy. Perhaps most children would have simply cherished the time spent with their mother, and I did, but somewhere in my rich emotional identity, a seed was planted. I remember the feeling like it was yesterday, though I’ve only been able to understand it in more recent years, looking back. Somewhere inside my head, I was looking at the happy man and boy, wondering where the man belonging to my boyhood had gone. My father did live with us and, though it’s taken a long time for me to fully understand this, he loved me very much. He was also largely absent in my childhood, working long hours for his business, coming home right before my bed time on most nights, and leaving before I awoke in the morning. At the time, I was too young to intellectually associate the caped hero of my youth with my absent father, but emotionally, that was exactly what I wanted from Batman. If he could be good to his Robin, then I could somehow, in some way, believe that I was loved by my father too. I didn’t want to be Batman. Most children spend long childhood hours thrusting their arms forward and pretending to fly like Superman, or swing over large buildings like Batman. My mother had even bought me the elaborate, caped pajamas for both heroes (and I wore them proudly), but no, I didn’t want to be them. I wanted to be loved by them. I wanted to be Robin. In a way, I always have. As I got older, and began to actually read and understand the comics from which these modern day mythological Gods were derived, I became even more fascinated by The Bat. He ceased to be nothing more than an idyllic fantasy. In addition to being the loving mentor that took in a young boy and kept him closer to himself than anyone else, the Batman was complex, flawed, and deeply mysterious. He was moody, elusive, and obsessed with his work, committing every ounce of his life energy to an oath he once made to his parents. In my own life, I lived in the shadow of a man who could occasionally take a deep interest in me and let me in to his life more than anyone else, but he was also complex, flawed, and deeply mysterious. He was moody, elusive, and obsessed with his work, committing every ounce of his life energy to the career his parents had expected him to take. Most of my childhood memories of him were of waiting for him to emerge from our underground garage late at night, and of hearing him come in to my room to shave and watch over me early in the morning, but leaving before I could open my eyes and catch a glance of him. He was almost as unreal as the Batman in my early life: just as elusive, just as mysterious. It was only when I got older, and got to see more of him (he started spending Sundays with me after my parents divorced), that I began to take a serious interest in Robin again. To Robin, Batman became the one opportunity for a role model and for parental approval in his life. I had the advantage over Robin in possessing a mother but, in many ways, I was far more confused and fascinated by the man that took me out on Sundays; the man that I might one day grow up to be. Surely, as I spent more time with my father, and got to see how much he disapproved of my flaws and shortcomings, I began to see the same struggle in Robin. The natural assumption to most had always been that Robin would one day take Batman’s place. One day, an aging Batman would proudly hand the cape and cowl over to his young ward, saying “I trust you to take over my life’s work; my dream and very identity.” But Robin never did. As he aged, Robin grew his own mind. He and Batman began to see things very differently. Eventually, Robin found himself working solo or with others more often than he was working with Batman. Finally and inevitably, Robin carved out his own identity. He became a hero called Nightwing; never as driven or as respected as Batman, but every bit his own man. I could never forgive Robin for this change. How could he break up my childhood ideal? How could he pull out on my dream? ---------- Ten years later, my father is gone. His business is sold because I wasn’t willing to take it over. My father died wondering if I’d ever get it together the way he’d hoped. I have my own life now, my own identity. I’m married, I’m working toward a career, and I’m neither as successful nor as sure of my place in the world as he was. I look around and wonder what I’m doing with my life. Many people who know me wonder the same thing. I have become Nightwing; my own identity, for better or worse. Some days I wonder if I’m nothing more than an entity apart from the shadow of my father, defined only by my unwillingness to become him. There’s a hero in me somewhere. There must be. Yet, so like Nightwing, all I can see is myself in relation to the shadow of The Batman. (Comment on this)
Friday, April 1st, 2005
6:03 pm	When smiling celebrity endorsements go terribly wrong My own work.  Please upload to your own hosting site before reposting this image. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 30th, 2005
6:01 pm	Finding the most important messages in the most unlikely of places Not bad for what I surely thought would end as a commercial for Hostess Snack Cakes.  Of course, I feel bad for the kid that needs Super Boy to tell him he doesn't need to be good at making belts. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 29th, 2005
6:00 pm	Who is Wonder Girl? Like a Phoenix from the ashes, the Teen Titans have once again returned from forgotten obscurity and become popular and well loved by the masses.  The Teen Titans began in 1965, when comic writers, looking for a new teamup adventure, decided to throw together DC's overpopulated demographic of child sidekicks.  Young tag alongs like Robin, Kid Flash and Aqualad were united to fight crimes when their older mentors weren't around to lend a hand.  Though an initial success, the team eventually faded into obscurity.  It was then resurrected with tremendous success as The New Teen Titans two decades later.  Of course, that title eventually fell by the wayside, as well.  Now, another two decades later, The Titans are back, and probably bigger than ever.  Inevitably, these resurrections include weeding out the less desirable characters (does anyone remember Mal The Guardian?  I thought not), and emphasizing the stronger ones.  Unfortunately, this time around, someone of consequence got left behind. Wonder Girl was never a character that stood out in the crowd.  In the early days of the Titans, she was the girl of the group, and therefore wasn't able to do much for the team.  As time (and the times) progressed, Wonder Girl was able to take a more active and integral part in the team's exploits.  By the early 1970s, she was getting a lot more solo attention.  Unfortunately, The Titans' comic was not.  Most readers never got to see this side of Wonder Girl, featured in the forgotten comic on the lower shelf. When the Titans experienced their first reincarnation, times had definately changed for female characters and, as one of only three carry overs from the original Titans team, Wonder Girl looked like she'd get her chance to rise to the front of the line.  Unfortunately, times had changed so much for female heroes that two new women were added to the team.  Raven was far more mysterious than our fair heroine, and Starfire was scantily clad and shot energy beams.  Wonder Girl was definitely faced with some serious competition. As the years progressed, Wonder Girl found herself constantly thrown into the background, rarely ever taking the lead in a story, and often just serving as another body in the background during large battles.  Even emotional battles left her in the rear.  While Robin struggled with his identity without Batman, Cyborg struggled with his humanity and his desire to help troubled youths, Raven struggled with her dark, demonic side, Starfire struggled with her murderous sister and her experiences as a slave, Beast Boy / Changeling struggled with the loss of his former team and family, and Kid Flash struggled with his feelings for Raven and his desire to lead an ordinary life, we only saw Wonder Girl happily dating a nice college professor.  You could cut the tension with a golden lasso. And yet, hiding in the shadows, Wonder Girl was doing something far more worthwhile than bitching about her problems.  Wonder Girl had amazing strength and agility, the ability to fly, and amazing presence in a tight body costume, but her greatest power was her ability to surruptitiously turn the Titans team into a family when no one was looking. Though few realized it, Wonder Girl was the strong backbone of emotional support and stability while the other Titans faced their crises.  Wonder Girl was compassionate, funny, and usually the one that a Titan in trouble sought the help of first.  Her stable, loving, and (above all else) ordinary relationship with a kind and gentle ordinary man was the pinnacle of stability for a team that couldn't even get their superhero relationships right.  Above all else, I noticed these features in Wonder Girl when Robin decided to resign in order to rethink his identity and purpose.  In making his announcement to the team, while his lover seemed confused and clueless, and others joked or looked shocked, we saw Robin clearly talking to Wonder Girl more than the others, and we saw her looking back with love, understanding, and pride.  Truthfully, it's the first time I ever really noticed that she'd been there.  I wouldn't be surprised if the rest of the team had felt the same way. Donna Troy's story doesn't end there, though.  At around this time, Marv Wolfman, the writer of The New Teen Titans, had begun to notice these qualities about Wonder Girl too.  In fact, in the very next issue after Robin quit (#39), Wonder Girl finally got the spotlight. This issue works to affirm the things we'd always suspected about Donna, as Robin (now Robin-less) reflects upon how much she's always meant to him, as well as how much her engagement to her fiance serves as an anchor to him and the others.  But, perhaps realizing that he owed more than that to Wonder Girl for ignoring her for so long, Wolfman decided to finally give our heroine the intrigue, drama, and content that she deserved. In regard to Wonder Girl's history, there had always been one small problem that had long been overlooked.  The original Titans team was formed when writers scanned the pages of familiar DC superhero comic books, looking for kid sidekicks (after all, didn't everyone have one?)  Some, like Robin and Aqualad, were no-brainers that had spent a lot of time in the forefront and on covers.  Others, like Kid Flash and Speedy, required a little more searching.  But, in the process of this lengthy search, the writers managed to accidentally pick up a character that didn't actually exist. You see, Wonder Girl never existed until the moment she met the other Teen Titans.  What the writers of that issue had found and misidentified had been a flashback to Wonder Woman's youth; Wonder Woman as a young girl.  The big WW had never worked with a sidekick. Nevertheless, Wonder Girl continued with the Titans for years before anyone realized this error.  Marv Wolfman, recognizing this error and wanting to fix it, finally decided to write Wonder Girl a new origin, somehow accounting for this discrepancy and building new complexities for the long overlooked character, as well. As it turned out, Wonder Girl hadn't been born an Amazon, and hadn't spent her entire early life on Paradise Island.  She'd been an orphan, found in a burning apartment building with the bodies of a man and woman beside her, and no other clues as to her true identity.  Wonder Woman had rescued Donna from the building, taken her back to Paradise Island, and raised her as an Amazon, as a result.  In this deeply moving episode, Robin finally decided to use his detective skills to help Donna uncover the truth about her past.  This emotionally complex and all too brief episode finally gave Donna a chance to take the emotional spotlight, as well as to have some sort of inner struggle/goal to orient her and keep her interesting.  Donna's relationship with the memory of her deceased biological mother, as well as with her early adoptive parents, became anchors for this otherwise blank character.  One year later, she went on to marry her fiance, further building her as a character with emotional depth.  Of course, later editors, uncomfortable with the emotionally rich character that didn't spend a whole lot of time kicking butt and agonizing over emotional dilemmas, decided to completely change Wonder Girl's origin and identity.  Now her origin involved space aliens that implanted false memories in her mind, and the new costume and persona she was given didn't fit at all.  Greedy editors ruin great characters.  It was clear that some people couldn't appreciate the complexity of Donna Troy back then.  And, apparently, that's still true today.  It amazes me that this new version of Teen Titans completely erases the existence of one of its most precious members.  Back in the day, while virtually every other character felt like a forced, two-dimensional facade of a being, each reiterating his/her one or two identifying personal dilemma(s) each issue, Wonder Girl was the rich, genuine character hanging out on the back.  People seem to have forgotten this.  Of course, I haven't.  Now you won't either.      (Comment on this)
Sunday, March 27th, 2005
5:58 pm	Aged to Perfection? For those of you that have ever spent a moment wondering whether a purchased comic would ever become a collectible, you've probably considered the following logic proof: Old comics = $$$$$$ New comics + stored away for a while = Old comics Therefore New comics + stored for a while = $$$$$$ Makes sense, doesn't it?  Yet people that have had collections stored away for twenty years are discovering that their issues still haven't made significant leaps in value. It's not really a scarcity issue, since print runs consistantly declined from the 1940s to the 1980s (then rose dramatically in the 90s), and its definitely not that these comics are in any way inferior to their predecessors.  In fact, the artwork and storytelling is usually greatly improved.  So, then what's the problem? The fact is that, with the exception of a small number of exceptionally important individual issues, all comic book prices are strongly influenced by the "Age" system.  Essentially, the general evolution of comic book superhero storytelling is conveniently broken down into stages rooted in particular time periods.  There's the Platinum Age, Golden Age, The Silver Age, The Bronze Age, and The Modern Age.  Generally speaking, a comic book's value is largely based upon its condition and the age to which it belongs.  Platinum Age = Very big money (though targets a very limited, non-superhero audience), Golden Age = serious money, Silver Age = nice money, Bronze Age = not much money, Modern Age = very little money, and anything published within the past seventeen years (still considered Modern Age) is practically worthless.  It's important to keep in mind that, twenty years ago, comics published twenty years earlier were getting much more money than twenty year old comics are getting now.  That's because the Silver Age (40 years ago, twenty years ago in the 1980s) is still considered very valuable, and The Modern Age (starting twenty years ago) is still considered new and worthless.  The "Age" system is static and unchanging; unwilling to admit that comic book history is still happening. Here's a basic breakdown of the comic book "ages," as well as a few suggested ages that I have added, myself: The Platinum Age (Pre-1938) The first and most ambiguous age, in that it includes everything that happened before Superheroes.  Technically, victorian comic strips could even be considered part of The Platinum Age, though it usually refers more to comics published in the 1920s and 1930s.  The Platinum Age largely consists of daily newspaper cartoon strips, republished and bound in comic book format.  Most of these are severely outdated funnies, though some early costumed heroes did make their mark toward the end of the age.  Most were ordinary people attempting to fight crime or solve mysteries.  A few were Flash Gordon type science fiction characters.  To the best of my knowledge though, the idea of super powers was still foreign at this point. The Golden Age (1938-1955) Superman kicks off the Golden Age of superheros as possibly the first hero with special powers, and certainly the first one to have special powers within the setting of modern day Earth.  Supe's costume was also particularly elaborate for the modern day setting (capes, bright colors, and chest logos were usually reserved for tacky science fiction).  As a result, Superman became the first comic book Superhero, and quickly inspired many competitors and immitations, including Captain Marvel (who's powers were more similar to the Superman we all know and love than even the Golden Age Superman's were).  Countless publishing companies and heroes emerged, and print runs were enormous.  Superman's print run was actually estimated to have been in the millions at this point.  Consider how much smaller the USA's population was back then, as well as the fact that most comics have print runs of about 100,000 to 300,000 these days.  The Silver Age (1956-1969) The Silver Age is where rich comic book legends and traditions begin to take place.  Within two years, DC managed to create most of its more legendary characters (Green Lantern, Flash, Aquaman, etc) and launch them in their own comic book titles.  Though Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and several less memorable characters (including earlier, failed versions of The Flash and Green Lantern) had existed prior to this, the real core of the DC Superhero universe was established here.  Only a few years later, Marvel Comics would launch its second attempt at superhero comics (superheros had been out of vogue for a while), and The Fantastic Four, Spiderman, The X-Men, Thor, The Incredible Hulk, Iron-Man, and the Avengers were all launched very quickly.  Even Captain America was reincarnated, having formerly been discarded after World War II ended.  Though much of the Silver Age was filled with camp and silly writing, this is where the core of our super hero mythology is established.  The Silver Age also establishes Marvel and DC as two of the largest comic book contenders, while many less succesful comic book publishers caved or faded into obscurity. The Bronze Age (1970-approximately 1985) I'll admit that, after collecting comics for sixteen years, I'm still not entirely sure what the chief characteristic of The Bronze Age is supposed to be, nor why it starts when it does.  It may very well have been out of stubbornness, in that the Golden age lasted approximately fifteen years, so the Silver Age should too.  That creates the need for a new age come 1970.  Of course, this is not to say that The Bronze Age is without distinguishable characteristics.  For me, The Bronze Age is about maturity.  This is where we see kiddie comics begin to age with their audiences, becoming more mature, darker, and less safe and stagnant.  The Bronze Age brings Amazing Spider-Man #121, where Spider-Man attempts to save his girlfriend from The Green Goblin and fails.  It's not only the death of a major character; it's also the death of unfailing superheroes.  Suddenly, they can be too late, too slow, or simply make a bad judgement call, and they can be haunted by the reprecussions of their actions long after the matter is closed. The Bronze Age also brings us X-Men #96, where one of the All New, All Different X-Men dies after only three issues, and dies a meaningless death too.  This is also the time period in which The Green Lantern is confronted as being a racist, The Ant-Man physically beats his wife in a moment of rage, and darker, cold-blooded heroes like The Punisher and The Wolverine make their debuts.  In many ways, The Bronze Age was the age of the anti-hero; an age where ideals were desconstructed and gritty reality began to take over. The Modern Age (approximately 1985-now) The age that never should have started, and just won't end.  The Modern age is an erronious and highly biased concept in that it centers entirely arround a DC promotional campaign.  Sometime around 1984/5, DC realized that it had a problem.  While Marvel had spent the last twenty years weaving relatively careful continuities, in which events often had reprecussions that lasted beyond an issue, and past events were generally well-recorded and accurately remembered, DC had been living month by month, writing stories to sell issues without ever considering long-term consequences.  As a result, DC had a billion and one continuity errors.  Now fans were looking for more serious, consequence-filled stories, and DC was not in a position to deliver.  The solution: explain every old continuity glitch as being part of one of six (?) alternate realities, destroy all of them in a big mini-series, and re-establish each major character with a new origin, thus resetting the continuity.  Thus, DC launched Crisis on Infinite Earths, in which inconsistancies dating all the way back to the Golden Age were destroyed with the blink of an eye.  Major characters like Batman and Superman recieved new, revamped origin stories shortly thereafter.  Ultimately, though, the idea didn't work too well.  In some ways, "Crisis" only created more questions, and the new stories in DC couldn't help but fall back on past history.  Major villains that hadn't appeared since The Bronze Age were still familiar to our revamped continuity heroes, and certain aspects of pre-Modern age history simply couldn't be ignored.  For example, by the time "Crisis" hit, the first and most famous Robin had gone off on his own and become Nightwing, a totally different hero.  To pretend that Nightwing had never been Robin seemed silly, as did the idea that the most memorable Robin had never existed.  So, of course, Nightwing was able to retain his memories and continuity, which meant that his entire superhero team, The New Teen Titans, had to be allowed to do the same.  Inevitably, when Nighwing ran into Batman, they had to share old memories too.  Past history spread back into the DC Universe like an infection.  The revamped continuity idea never did hold too well, yet we still have an entire age marked off because of it.  In fact, stubborn comic book historians (most of which grew up with and favor The Silver Age) refuse to ever let The Modern Age end.  As far as they're concerned, nothing worth noting has ever happened since then and, as a consequence, no issue published after the mid-1980s should ever amount to much in value. Of course, there are then the Ages that should have been (which I've therefore chosen to label myself): The Boom Age (1991-1999) The next dramatic event in comic books occured around 1992.  Starting with the over-hyped death of Robin (the second Robin, though few people realized this) in 1988 and the Batman film in 1989, a new awareness of comic books began invading mainstream culture.  More and more young adults and adults began taking an interest in comics, and even investors looking for a good turn around on their cash began entering the market.  Soon everyone was looking for that next landmark investment issue, so comic books began delivering collectible after collectible.  While this general era is remembered largely for collectible gimmicks like polybags, foil and hologram covers, and collectible trading cards, many landmark events were engineered in comic book stories in order to sell multiple copies as collector's items.  1991 brought the complete restructuring of every X-Men related team and title, including the record breaking sales of two new titles: X-Force and X-Men (vol. 2).  We also saw Daredevil get a new costume, Iron Man get a new set of armor, and saw a new Thor take the old one's place.  Back on the DC side, we saw the new Robin get three over-hyped mini-series, a new Green Lantern, a new look for Flash, a new Doctor Fate, and an epic magnitude of death, betrayal, and team restructuring occur in The New Titans.  On both sides, we saw a whole slew of new titles launch (each guarenteed to be a collector's item), including additional titles for Batman and Superman (both of which already had three monthly titles).  We also saw virtually every succesful hero or team do crossovers with just about every other comic book out there in order to boost sales.  To add to all of this hype and speculation in a market that was over-crowded with investors looking for collectibles, Image and Valiant comics both emerged as new, alternative publishers, selling #1 issues and first appearances in record numbers to collectors and investors who believed these characters would be the next Supermans, Batmans, and Spider-Mans.  The final turning point in The Boom era occured with the Death of Superman.  This deception, engineered to sell comics, left most collectors feeling a little silly when they stood in line to purchase the collectible, polybagged return of Superman, less than a year later.  The end of Bruce Wayne as Batman, orchestrated a very short time later, also proved to be a deception.  The comic book buying community had been had (twice in a row), and there was nowhere to go once you'd killed or paralyzed the greatest heroes of them all.  DC had played the comic book industry's trump cards, and had not played them well.  In terms of landmarks and collectibles, nothing was ever going to be bigger than these events.  The Boom era had nowhere left to go but downhill. The Boom era was characterized with an over-abundance of collectors, each purchasing multiple copies of issues and storing them away as collector's items.  As a result, nearly every issue published during this time period is now common and worthless.  More importantly, once everyone began to realize this, people left the comic book market faster and in larger numbers than they entered it.  Comic book sales and fan bases took a dramatic plunge and still haven't fully recovered. The Reset Age (2000-present) Desperate for sales, Marvel Comics (under new and controversial leadership) attempted a bold move to bring readers and collectors back.  It launched the "Ultimate" line of comics, in which favorite characters began anew, with new continuities, much like DC had tried to do in 1985.  The difference was that these Ultimate titles remained seperate from the rest of the Marvel Universe.  It was a nice way for new fans to approach these stories without being overwhelmed by playing catchup with forty years worth of history.  This idea worked so well that Marvel then attempted to "Ultimate-ize" most of the rest of its universe too, taking legendary, long-running series, ending them, and resetting them to #1 with new continuities.  Not only would this attract new readers.  It would also make nice collector's items.  However, this idea proved more controversial, and fans even demanded (and had Marvel agree) that Amazing Spider-Man return to its old numbering system. But the general principal of the reset remained.  Wherever possible, old heroes and teams could be rejuvinated with new continuities.  Many of these comics, designed to target younger audiences, didn't even intersect with other titles, just so that they remained easily accessible.  Both DC and Marvel took to the reset idea, relaunching titles like Teen Titans and New Mutants, telling a simple and updated story without concern for past events or things occuring in other titles.  The reset is still going strong, as of this blog entry, and seems to be attracting many new readers to comics. So, to return to my original point (from WAAAAY back at the begining of this post), comics have clearly come a long way from The Modern Age, but a bias on the part of the collectors who set the rules keeps this from being recognized, which, in turn, keeps comics published after The Silver Age from behaving like true collectables. Now to end this blog and see how many people actually bother to read the whole, lengthy mess :) (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 12th, 2005
5:54 pm	Believe it or not... Nearly every Superman story worth reading was published within one six month period.   Back in 1990, the world's most cherished hero was in serious trouble.  The danger wasn't Lex Luthor, Braniac, Bizarro, or Red Kyrptonite this time.  Instead, The Big S's deadliest villain turned out to be comic book sales.  The mid-1980s had brought a dramatic shift to comic book stories and characterization, where heroes were now expected to be dark, gritty, and flawed.  Mostly gone were the eight year olds saving pennies to buy their favorite comic.  Instead, the audience was made up of young adults, looking to find a darker, more dramatic take on their protagonists. This was a serious problem for DC, a company that had earned its success with two-dimensional cultural icons of justice like Aquaman, Flash, and Wonder Woman.  DC's Batman, a man who strikes terror into the heart of the criminal element as a result of watching his parents' murder when he was only a child, naturally adapted to this darker, grittier tone very well (and, in fact, was partially responsible for pioneering it), but most of DC's other major titles suffered terribly.  Some were dropped entirely.  But Superman was the most controversial problem of them all.  Superman was the single most two-dimensional superhero out there.  He stood for all that was good and just, and didn't have a controversial bone in his impervious body.  You couldn't mess with Superman and make him edgy.  He was too deeply embedded in our cultural blood.  At the same time, you couldn't cancel his comic book titles either.  He was Superman, after all!  Sure, no one was buying his three monthly titles, but everyone who wasn't buying them would have been up in arms if the issues were no longer being made. By 1990, Superman's were the only DC titles still being sold at seventy five cents per issue (25% less than the cheapest comics any major publisher was producing at the time), and still, no one was buying.  The guy was invincible, morally perfect, emotionally dull, and didn't have a single villain that could give him a true run for his money.  Something new had to be done. DC's first major attempt to draw new attention to Superman came with Superman (2nd series) #42, a much anticipated and heavily promoted issue in which Superman changed up his name and costume to simply become "Kal-El."  The new costume didn't even come with a cape!  Of course, the whole thing was a ruse, and Supes was back to the same old same old in a matter of months. Superman's titles remained in content limbo for the three months that followed but, suddenly, in Superman #46 (August 1990), things began to heat up.  An otherwise uninteresting Superman story (behind a very uninspired cover), ended with a page devoted entirely to Clark Kent and Lois Lane kissing on a hill during 4th of July fireworks.  The romantic tension between these two had been building since 1938 and here, in an issue that recieved no fanfare, publicity, nor other form of media build-up, the two were finally united.  A caption beneath the final panel promised that, starting in the next issue, "everything in the superman line really starts to go to heck!"  I remember reading this issue, having stuck with the Superman title throughout its dry spell (hey, it was only seventy five cents!), and was dumbfounded to have discovered this page at the end.  One week later, Adventures of Superman #469 made it very clear that this moment hadn't just been a fluke that would easily be forgotten in the following months.  Sure enough, with no further publicity nor indication of what had happened on its cover, AoS #469 began with another full page of the couple kissing on that same hill with the same fireworks exploding behind.  The rest of the issue seemed rather uneventful until the last page (once again), where Jimmy Olson and Jerry White (Perry White's son) get gunned down by drug dealers.  Okay, I was mildly interested. In the issues that followed ("Soul Search" p.1-3), we discover that Perry White is actually Lex Luthor's illegitamite son, watch Superman go to Hell to battle for Jimmy and Jerry's souls and, at the conclusion, see Jerry die.  Granted, Jerry White's the kind of character that makes readers go "Who?", but characters simply didn't die in Superman comics before this.  The idea that there was anyone Superman couldn't save seemed astonishing, let alone someone of mild importance.  The reactions of both Perry White and Lex Luthor at the end were amazinly well done; another indication that things were really starting to change. Superman hit a couple of dry spell issues after this, including the three part story of Davood, an inner city arab(?) teen with powers that rivalled Superman's.  The story was ridiculous, badly done, and a blatant(ly bad) attept to tune in to the urban multi-cultural youth of the day.  Fortunately, the story that followed Davood's made the wait worth while. Krisis of the Krimson Kryptonite was a story that you couldn't miss.  Once again, there didn't seem to be much buzz surrounding the issue before it hit stands, but a dramatic cover with Lex Luthor hitting Superman across the face with a chunk of red kryptonite was bound to get someone's attention.  In the story, we see Luthor slowly losing his mind in response to his would-be son's death, we see Superman lose his powers, and we see Clark's relationship with Lois continue to progress.  The final part of the story, in Superman #50, had a cover that proclaimed (in small, easy to miss letters): "You will not believe the last page!" and no one did.  Clark proposed to Lois.  She said "yes." Superman didn't move to the center of the comic book scene after this, but those who had been reading (or had heard about the issue) were certainly paying attention now, and boy were they glad they did.  Two issues later, without any major publicity or buzz (once again), we saw Lex Luthor die.  He wasn't even defeated by Superman.  He purposely crashed his plane to escape cancer.  Though Superman went looking for a body, one was never found.  Still, Lex managed to stay dead for several years after this issue.  Once again, I was amazed at the issue's close: the highly dramatic, mercilessly realistic death of Superman's greatest enemy.  Who could have seen this coming? But the folks at DC had one last surprise in store for us.  A month went by without anything Earth shattering happening, and most of us seemed to be in agreement that there wasn't much left to do; that the Superman titles would soon be returning to normal.  Surely Luthor would come back from the dead, something would happen to cancel Lois and Clark's engagement, and everyone would quickly forget who Jerry White was ("who?"), but Action Comics #662 was the final and greatest event of them all.  On the verge of matrimony, Clark decided that it was time to finally reveal his greatest secret to Lois Lane.  In a dramatic, unforgettable final page, he did just that, and no super kiss was going to erase her memory (like we saw in the Superman movies).  The 51 year old dynamic between Superman and Lois Lane had changed, and changed for good.  To this day, I still believe this is one of the most underrated comics in all of comic book history. Some great Superman stories followed and, of course, in an effort to make bigger bucks and draw bigger crowds, they finally decided to get even more dramatic and kill the big guy off.  I've praised The Death of Superman in this blog before.  It's one of my favorite comic book stories of all time but, aside from that one isolated issue two years later, this stretch of Superman stories, from August 1990 to February 1991, were the ones where a previously lifeless set of titles came alive with a new energy, new characterization, and a continuity that progressed dramatically and at a furious pace.  These are the issues where we see what the characters  that generations were raised upon are made of, and what they're capable of, as well.  This is the world of Superman at its best. (Comment on this)
Sunday, March 6th, 2005
5:53 pm	Reads Saturday is the one day of the week where I allow myself to do nothing but seek pleasure and happiness.  I've decided to devote this particular Saturday to reviviving the comic book geek within.  I've read volumes and volumes of good stuff, and I just want to keep reading more!  Too bad Sundays are always work days.... What I'm reading these days: CEREBUS Cerebus is one of the great pioneers of the independent comic book craze of the 1980s.  Self-published by emotionally unstable author Dave Sim, it follows the adventures of a magical anthropomorphic aardvark in a feudal farsical spoof of our own world.  Cerebus begins as an amoral barbarian warrior: clever, unbeatable in combat, and always prepared with an unbeatable plan.  Cerebus is to feudal adventures what Sherlock Holmes was to Victorian mysteries.  There's never any doubt that he'll pull through in the end.  The entertainment lies in seeing how he'll do it. Shortly into the series, though, Cerebus's fortunes take a turn, and he finds himself plunged into the center of a more civil world of politics and economics, where everything works in shades of gray, Cerebus is always the last to know what's going on, and things never ever work out for him in the end.  An amazing balance of intrigue, subtle comedy, strong pathos, probing existentialism, and unrestrained base humor, masterfully shifted to and fro and reflected in diverse formats of presentation (both in art and in writing), make this an amazingly unpredictable and thoroughly enjoyable masterpiece of entertainment.  Sim's amazing attention to facts and details also weaves an exceptionally complex continuing story arc, in which each and every one of Cerebus's adventures comes back to haunt him in the long run.  I've read that the later issues of Cerebus get very weird and offensive (supposedly the result of the author's own unstable personality), but little sign of this appears circa issue #35 (where I am right now).  USAGI YOJIMBO In many ways, Usagi Yojimbo is the anti-Cerebus (though never intended as such).  Where Cerebus is a complex, ever-shifting, sustained continuity of events featuring an amoral barbarian looking for a good fight, Usagi is a simple, consistant, one-issue-at-a-time title featuring a highly moral samurai that never fights unless forced to (of course, this happens every issue).  Usagi is less about story and character than it is about a frame of mind.  The better issues all reflect a serene, balanced world, reflected both in their art and in their main character: a highly disciplined samurai that is comfortable with silence and solitude.  Usagi's strict moral code is inspiring and unfailing.  Usagi's battles are all physical tests of morality.  The pure character always wins, and Usagi is always pure.  It's not a comic that throws much surprise or complexity at its reader, but each issue is a serene meditation within itself, broken up by fantastic, exhilierating battles, and ultimately concluded with a happy return to serenity and an affirmation of the samurai code.  Usagi (both the title and character) is both serious and silly; beautiful and cute.  It's an affirmation of all that can be good and uplifting within oneself, as well as an accurate, informative, and utterly fascinating glimpse of Feudal Japan (one in which anthropomorphic mamels populate the countryside).  X-MEN X-Men has been the center of my comic book collecting for many years now.  It's a superhero comic with real depth and character development, made possible by a mostly carefully adhered to continuity.  Events that occured in issues in the 1960s will still be remembered and relevent in issues published in the 1990s and beyond.  Sure, the comic has its fantastic superhero conveniences, including far too many characters that return from the dead for no good reason whatsoever, but the character development over the years continues to fascinate me and draw me in.  You can really grow along with these characters.  As a result, I've collected virtually every X-Men related story from 1965 (first issue) to 1995, and have gone back to the begining, reading each issue in order and logging them here.  The site is confused and far from finished at this point (I haven't had much time for reading lately), but you get the basic idea. BATMAN (early issues) The very first issues of Batman were very different from the rest; darker and grittier than even the newer, more "mature" issues that have been published in the last twenty years.  The Batman of 1939 was entirely unmerciful in his war on crime, killing murderers without a thought.  He even lynches a bad guy from his bat plane in one particularly violent issue.  The most astonishing part is just how menacing his early villains could be.  The Joker of these early issues is no one to laugh about: sinister and evil from the very first glance.  His are the face and mind to give a reader nightmares.  There's a power in this unflinching darkness that's lost in later issues that worry too much about morality and ethics.  This was a comic that was intended to look within the darkness of mankind without reservation,  and I'm continually fascinated by that. SUPERMAN (early issues) I haven't actually started reading these yet, but I'm fascinated to see what the earliest adventures of the world's first superhero were like.  I've read Superman's first appearance before, and was not impressed by it, but I expect the issues following it to develop the character and his mission more carefully.  If this is anywhere near the quality of early Batman, than I will be very satisfied with my reading. I'm also considering reading The Return of Superman (his comeback from the dead), much in the way that drivers feel compelled to stare at the scene of a gruesome accident.  I just have to know what happened and see how bad it is. MAGNUS: ROBOT FIGHTER 4000 AD A very early sci-fi comic in which a self-made man must help a world that has become a slave to its own technology.  Magnus is inspiring in his perserverence and perspective, if not in his two-dimensional self-righteousness.  The futuristic city of North AM, with all of it's mid-1960s visions of the future, is also quite captivating.  I have to take Magnus in doses.  It gets tedious after a while, but it's a great premise to return to from time to time.  I also read Mighty Samson, another comic published by the same company (Gold Key) around the same time, in which a ruggedly individualistic man with superb powers in a post-apocalyptic future protects the innocent, with the same self-rightiousness as Magnus, surrounded by a similarly fascinating sci-fi world.  Well, that concludes my little geek-fest.  Time to go to bed and pretend I get to do more of this tomorrow. (4 Comments |Comment on this)