I was reading Secret Six #9, today.  In it three members of the six stop a kidnapping.  The kid in question is female, blonde, and in a pink dress, and who should end up holding her and taking her to her parents?  Bane.  Yes, the gigantic, awkward, spine-snapping collossus of the Secret Six ends up singing to the little girl and calming her down.  Looking at the issue made me think of all the other Big Gruff Guy, Cute Little Kid pair ups there are.  There’s Bane, in this comic, and to some extent Bane with Scandal Savage.  Cable got a baby girl a little while back.  Wolverine can’t pass a teenage girl without becoming a mentor to her for a little while.

And then there are countless movies, tv shows, and books that play off the same concept.  It’s cheap, obvious emotional manipulation.

I love it.

Of course I know that people are pandering to me.  So what?  What exactly is wrong with a story that is flat-out written for reader enjoyment?  Isn’t that what we pay for?  I realize that graphic novels can make subtle points and speak to our minds instead of our brain-stems, but at the same time, I think there’s an art to skillfully pushing people’s buttons and molding their emotions.  I also think there’s a certain integrity in deliberately giving readers the kind of stories that they enjoy most.  I don’t know if it’s customers service or consideration for one’s audience, but I like it.

The only real problem I have with accepting this kind of obvious maneuvering is it rips the self-righteousness right out from under me.  When certain authors set up one character as an incompetent, hateful buffoon so that their pet character can look cool by taking out an easy target, someone reading The Complete Works of Proust may be able to raise a scornful eyebrow and talk about cheap storytelling technique.  But I, gripping my copy of that Batman Adventures comic in which Batman has to spend a whole night crime-fighting while also taking care of a baby with nuclear codes imbedded in its DNA, don’t have a leg to stand on.

But at least I don’t have to spend my time reading The Complete Works of Proust.

The new teaser image for the next Batgirl comic is out.  I have several thoughts, which I shall put in no particular order.

• Is the mask, like, stitched to her face or something?  I want to read Batgirl, not Hellraiser.
• I want that utility belt.  I would rock that thing.
• I do kind of miss the blue and gold, though.
• But that only works on Babs.
• Oh, God, do I want it to be Babs.
• Or Cass again.
• Please not someone new.  Don’t have her cure Calculator’s daughter and train the daughter to be the new Batgirl.  I hate new people.  It takes me forever to get warmed up to them and by the time I finally do their book is cancelled.  So come on, DC.  Babs.  Or Cassandra.  Or Stephanie.  Not someone new.

I had a post all set to go for today.  You’ll see it tomorrow.  Today I would like to take a moment to discuss a very serious illness that I was recently diagnosed with.

It’s called Tie Up The Goddamn Villain Syndrome, and eighty percent of Americans experience it at one time or another.  Sadly, mine is an extreme case.

For example, when people around me discuss Pan’s Labyrinth, and how it’s such a breathtaking visual achievement paired with a dark, fairytale-like story, all I can think about is how I wished the murderous bastard of a captain had won, because when that idiot maid incapacitated him temporarily she didn’t Tie Up The Goddamn Villain.  For that alone, he deserved to win, and I don’t even care that he knocked a guy’s teeth out with a whiskey bottle.

I have to bite my fist to keep from shouting at screen in every Die Hard movie except the first, because John McClane won’t just Tie Up The Goddamn Villain.

And Dollhouse?  The series I started watching out of loyalty to Joss Whedon, and continued watching because it got pretty good, and then got excited about because it got really, really good, just completely tanked in my eyes, because oh my good god, just when the heroine knocked out the villain, and all was won, she wandered off to take care of something else and then acted shocked, shocked!, when it turned out that unconsciousness was a temporary state.  And so, I leave you with my final reaction to the series. Read the rest of this entry �

The Battle for the Cowl so far is comprised of three main books, numerous associated mini-series, and a few scattered one-shot tie-ins.  I’m not strongly affected either way by most of these, but this week two of those one-shots loom large in my mind.

The first is an example of the perfect tie-in.  It shows us something we never would have seen if we were following a conventional narrative, and offers us something truly different from the norm while still maintaining the tone of the world for which it was created.  That one was Battle for the Cowl: Arkham Asylum.  Written by David Hine, it takes us on a tour of Arkham Asylum, and for once focuses on the less gruesome aspects of the institution.  Jeremiah Arkham narrates the story, not in the usual hard-boiled tone taken by the Gotham crowd, but with sincere sadness that he hasn’t been able to help the inmates. 

While we sense that he is somewhat unhinged himself, he’s an eccentric and an idealist, not the usual film-noir lunatic.  He finds picks a few inmates who pose no threat, and leads them out of the ruined structure.  In the end, before the final, worrying sting, he expresses the hope that he can rebuild the asylum so that it lives up to its name – so that it can be a true asylum for those who are unable to survive in the conventional world.  It’s refreshing, it’s sobering, and it’s creative.

Sadly, I only really got to thinking about how excellent it was while reading Battle for the Cowl: The Network.  Well, now I know something about myself, at least.  Pissiness is a bigger motivator than honest admiration.

So let’s get to it! 

Well, first thing’s first.  Huntress’s costume has been changed back to a glorified bikini.  And why?  Because the promotional poster for the event, drawn by Tony Daniel, has her back in her Jim Lee costume.  I don’t see why this would necessitate a costume change in the actual book any more than the ‘The Real Power In The DCU’ poster would necessitate putting every woman in the DCU in a white evening dress, but I guess that’s how they’re going to play it.

Honestly?  I didn’t even notice the costume change.  A girl fighting crime in a bikini doesn’t catch my eye anymore.  What made me notice was the characters in the story can’t stop picking at the new outfit.  Batgirl, still with a perfect command of the English language, mentions it once.  Oracle mentions it later.  Both talk about how impractical it is.

I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s a jab by writer at a mandated costume change.  Maybe he’s was trying to have his cake and eat it, too, by putting Huntress in a two-piece bathing suit and still snarking about it.  I’m not sure who made the decisions to regress Huntress sartorially. 

I just know that the decision was also made to regress her personally.  When the villain announces that he will start murdering two hostages if the heroes don’t murder one, Huntress pulls her crossbow and is about to take a hostage out when Batgirl knocks her aside.  This is the deal-breaker for me.  Cass is back on the moral high ground, but she had to knock Helena off it to get there.  Never mind that in continuity we haven’t seen Huntress kill in years.  Never mind that we’ve never seen her kill that casually.  In the end, the plot of this book involves the worst mistake a team book can make: cutting off one character at the knees to make another character look good.  That’s never the way to go.

In short: Buy Battle for the Cowl:Arkham Asylum.  Leave Battle for the Cowl: The Network on the shelf.  And stop making women fight in swimwear.

The other day I was in a comics forum and saw a certain creator roasted in absentia.  Par for the course, so far.  We’re comics geeks.  We eat our own.  Most of the people in the forum joined in the, how shall I put this, unholy orgy of hate.  Again, that’s pretty normal for the internet, and I have, in the past, not been above joining a group that took pleasure in tearing into an innocent human being who has done nothing more than write a comic in a way I don’t approve of. 

This time, however, it surprised me.  A single apoplectic comics fan can happen anywhere.  And, of course, there are pockets of fan-worship and deep hatred depending on which section of the internet you stumble into.  On one site Frank Miller is a misunderstood genius.  On another he’s Satan incarnate.  But this creator would have been popular anywhere a couple of years ago.

I haven’t been a comics fan for all that long, but even in a few years, I’ve noticed that there can be a complete reversal of popular opinion about one creator or another.  Sometimes it can be as simple as having a huge build up to a disappointing run.  Sometimes it’s an unpopular decision about what to do with one character or another (although that usually is what gets editors in trouble).  Sometimes it’s an unfortunate public statement.

Sometimes, however, there doesn’t seem to be any reason for it at all.  One year, the creator is the best thing happening, and then the tide turns.  Fans go from clamoring for more to screaming about how that’s enough already.

I wonder how comics professionals feel about this.  I suppose anyone in charge of a  comics company has resigned themselves to hatred, but what about those who depend on popularity for a living?  Do they live in dread that one day their name on a website will mean an avalanche of scorn and criticism?  I certainly would.

Fortunately, critics are immune.  Right?

Barry’s back, Bart’s back, Ice is back, and now, in the Legion of 3 WorldsConner Kent is back.  I am just waiting for Thomas and Martha Wayne to pop back to life.  (Ever notice there seems to be a theme to which of the Wayne’s appears?  Martha always seems to show up in fever dreams and near-death states, and Thomas always seems to appear in flashbacks doing things that influence the physical present.  He’s hung out with Jor-El, joined a Secret Society that, against his wishes, drugged the Gotham water supply, and healed the hell out of tons of mobsters.)  And we haven’t even gotten to Blackest Night with the Black Lanterns yet.

The reaction to all of these resurrections has been mixed, but I am all for it.  Bring them all back, I say.  Why?  Because I like characters to be alive, that’s why.  A dead character makes for some pretty angst from the survivors, and a few Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahn!-type moments whenever the survivors meet up with the person who killed off their loved ones.  Other than that, they’ve been neutralized.  All the potential for more stories and unique character moments is lost for one big, dramatic moment, and a few echoes down the line. 

Some people say that bringing all these characters back to life lessens the impact of a character’s death.  Although I can see their point, I disagree.  I think death itself lessens the impact of death.  Recently, every big event had to come complete with a dead character.  Some one’s head was on the block, or it couldn’t really be called an event.  Something had to ‘change forever.’  Not only was death a guarantee in event books, more often than not it was announced.  It was hinted at half-a-year before the issue came out, solicits for the months after were littered with references to some big loss.  We all saw it coming.  Death stopped being a shock, and because one more required dramatic beat. 

Not that most resurrections aren’t hinted at as well.  Perhaps I just welcome these hints because they mean new potential and not grim inevitability.  I like them.  I look forward to them.  Why?  More characters, more stories.  Less deaths, more happy stories.  The combination: a big universe overfilled with happy stories.  That’s my kind of place.

For fun:  Which comic-book character’s death would you reverse?  (For me it has to be The Question.)

Is it me or is Jason Todd acting like the main killer/monster from scary movies? 

Let’s review the narrative of most of the Battle For The Cowl themed issues he’s appeared in.

A character is isolated from the main group.

The character feels fine, and is going through a routine activity when . . . they get tense.

Oh no!  Crisis!  What will happen to this character? 

Wait, wait, no.  We thought that was the main scare, but the crisis is quickly averted.  Things are okay again – until . . .

OMG!  LOOK BEHIND YOU, CHARACTER!

Jason Todd suddenly lurches out of the darkness and kills the hell out of the character!  The other characters obviously are troubled and scared by this, but that doesn’t stop them from breaking off from the main group in their turn.

I’m hoping they change Gotham’s name to Camp Crystal Lake.  Also, get Jason a hockey mask.

Like most groups, comics professionals have their own animosities, scandals, and fights.  Although I do enjoy gossip and I do scan for the occasional juicy interview, I try to steer clear of most of it, at least in comics.

Often a story is entirely made up by a fan on a message board.  When it isn’t, reading about who hates who and why rarely leaves me feeling good.   The old saying goes, ‘If you love a book, never meet the author.’

There are several reasons for that.  One is, more often than not, you look like a big dork.  (Not that I would know anything about that.  I definitely didn’t approach Gail Simone once at a Con and forget all words over one syllable.  Seriously.  “I was . . .  glad . . . that you said . . . that . . . that time . . . to that guy . . . ’cause he made me feel . . . . . . . . . . bad.”  Oh, kill me now, comics gods, kill me now.)

More permanently scarring (If that’s possible.) are the things that you can find out about creators you love.  This can lead to you spending hours in the store thinking things like, “I like this book, but I disagree with the writer’s views on the war in Iraq, and he was kind of snarky about that artist I like.  Also, I heard the penciller bought a humvee, and that’s bad for the planet.  Should I support this?”

Yes, I am exaggerating.  For instance, what comics artist can afford a humvee?  (Okay, maybe Loeb.)  But it’s so much easier just to enjoy the story on the shelf, and remain blissfully ignorant about the sometimes problematic stories that go on behind the scenes.

Do you read gossip?  Trade it?  If so, has any particular piece (You don’t have to mention what.) turned you off a creator (Or who.  You don’t have to mention who.)?

Some people say that the comics industry runs on legacy characters.  Kyle replaced Hal as Green Lantern, and was re-replaced.  Connor Hawke had a long run as Green Arrow before DC resurrected his father and nudged him out of the title.  Now even Barry is back.

I’m wondering if there is much of a chance for new characters these days, especially new characters in old roles.  They already have to battle fan backlash.  The people most invested in any particular character are going to be the most critical of the guy who pushes their beloved hero aside.  There is also the difficulty of a shrinking industry.  How do we keep comics going at all, let alone make room for more characters?

Mostly, though, I think the structure of comics has changed.  Way back when, comics used to deliver tales that were somewhat predictable.  That’s not to say that the individual stories were lacking in imagination or ingenuity.  It just means that the characters operated in a stable universe.  They were always heroes, they always had a certain code of ethics, and their battles were episodic instead of part of ongoing revelatory stories.

Now thing have changed.  Event books are in.  Big dramatic upsets are what sell.  Whether you think this change is good or bad depends entirely on your tastes, but it means things are less predictable.

The big heroes, and to some extent their first sidekicks, built up a decades-long base of stability.  We had time to get used to them, and to get to know them.  They made their mark on the universe they lived in.  Amid the constant upheaval of the modern comics universe, it’s easy for new characters to get lost in the shuffle.

I was watching Scrubs today (don’t you judge me), and the two main male characters (Turk and JD) each decided to reaffirm their love (not like that) with their respective significant others (see?).  The plotline for the lovers was pretty standard; a mention of a certain hang-up, a big fight that had something to do with said hang-up, one person changes their mind, and bam, happy ending with renewed declarations of love.

The thing is, the two male friends weren’t fighting.  They were doing wacky things and having fun, and then the whole relationship plot kicked in for both of them and made them miserable.  Kind of like it did in the episode before.  And the episode before.  And the season before that.  And the one before that.

Just like it does in most romantic comedies, wherein the two leads start out by hating each other, snipe at each other all the way through, and then declare their love at the end.

Just like it does in comics.  Ollie and Dinah are fighting.  Bruce can’t keep a girl alive, in love with him, and non-evil to, heh, save his life.  I don’t even want to talk about Tim’s relationships.   Even Lois and Clark seem to be cranking the miserometer up these days.

 I realize that this happens in every genre, that story comes from conflict, and that it’s realistic to have couples fight now and again.  But if a couple actually gets married it is important to show that they at least like each other.

I would like, very much, if there were a few couples in fiction who behaved as if they were friends.  You know, enjoying each other’s company, thinking of fun stuff to do, and doing it.  Being nice to each other.  Having the bulk of the drama come from outside circumstances instead of obvious incompatibility.  Anyone know of a few?