“I Don’t Care About The Rest Of The Year…”

Bloggers…

I’m off to Denmark.

Pickled herring, cheap pilsener, and Viking ruins all day long.  Nothing cuter than a well-built boat, the girls apparently all look like my Travelling Companion with blonde hair, there are beaches along the Baltic, cheap smokes, essentially it sounds like a paradise with long, looming, languid twilights.  I am staying in a farmhouse far outside of everywhere, with a grand piano and a harp, both of which I plan to bow.

This sort of thing could become a habit.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a real holiday.

Do me a favour and watch the Internet while I’m gone?

You’re the best.

BA BA RA RA KOO KOO DA DA!

If A Room Eats An Elephant…

…Does it still vomit up blind men, even if no one sees them?

Just a quick note, Bloggers:  I am off to see Aida tonight, as you know the most sheerly spectacular of operas…but Aida has already proved me a liar, since I promised my young opera-going companion some papier-mache elephants, and as it turns out there will be none. And I can’t quite understand this.  After all, you can crowdsource papier-mache to elementary schools.  When I was young, our brilliant-yet-imposing music teacher had us all learn to sing The Toreador Song, then arranged for a boxing ring to be built in the school gymnasium, then arranged for two chicken costumes to be made, then put two students in the chicken costumes and then put them in the ring with a whole choreographed boxing routine, and then put all of us around the boxing ring with betting slips in our hands like it was Guys And Dolls or something, and had us all explode into ruinous song.

Parents weren’t even invited.

As far as I know, none of them even knew it was going on.

She would’ve arranged for each elementary school in Vancouver to work on a part of a papier-mache elephant’s body — foot, trunk, tail! — hmm, it’s like an elephant, only missing a trunk!tail!foot! — and then at the end arranged for all the parts to be delivered to the opera company, only wanting a bit of twine to tie them together, in exchange for a bank of cheap seats at each performance…

…Because nothing is more delightful than seeing little kids attend the opera and not hate it…what you do is, at intermission you buy them all five-dollar cookies from the concession…

…But unfortunately, she retired from active subversion before this show ever went on.  And that’s a shame, because…you know, elephants.

It just isn’t the same, when they’re not in the room.

Okay…

…So let’s talk about The Avengers.  It opens this weekend, so this’ll be the last good chance to talk about it.

I’m not seeing it.

You should see it if you want to.

BUT!

I’ve been thinking a lot about the advertising campaign on this one.  It is a BIG advertising campaign, have you noticed?  It’s beyond impressive, it’s…er…well, the only word is, it’s positively TITANIC, you know?  It’s all over the place;  it’s everywhere.  I’m stunned at the total media penetration that’s going on with this one, can’t think of a movie in my lifetime that’s had such a full-court press going on in the ramp-up to the opening weekend.  The energy being expended is fantastic, and so the aim is clear: this movie can’t be permitted to fail.  This movie is receiving the full attention of the parent company, in terms of marketing.  I wonder if even Gone With The Wind was so heavily, ubiquitously promoted.  I mean, it really seems to have become a big deal, somehow.  Everybody’s talking about it, somehow.  In the customary lingo of the old-time record industry, it’s clearly set to debut at Number One.  The fix is in.

And one really has to wonder why such effort has been expended, to make sure that’s the way things go.  Or…does one?  Everybody knows about comics, but no one knows what comics people know about comics, and that’s what has kept — and still keeps — the comics business from scoring massive PR heat from a public at large that is quite prone to look at business practices of the type routinely practised in comics, and give a big ol’ SHIT IS FUCKED UP AND BULLSHIT to it.  I mean, seriously, it’s pretty politically-charged stuff everywhere else it happens that people notice it, right?  But the comics biz has long enjoyed a low enough public profile, that no one with a big CBS eye behind them ever felt moved to opine, Keith-Olbermann-style, that at long last sir have you no sense of decency.

And so, that this lowness of profile is changing is both a good thing and a bad one, for the large corporate superpredators that now control, and wish to make hay from, the irreplaceable and now-irreproducible IP stables of the comics business.  Big blockbuster movies, YES!!  They can be had, out of this.  Merch receipts dropping from the skies.  A glorious nostalgia inspired among an increasingly-jaded populace, for the half-remembered sharing of the things of youth.  You could see a perfect storm in that, if you had half a brain:  a return to the marketability of superhero comics properties that hasn’t been seen in fifty years, and as the businessmen say in their most deleriously-exuberant moments, it’s win-win-win-win…!

…With just one small defect in that colossal heavenly lens, which is:  what the fuck are regular people going to say when they find out how all the creators of said beloved nostalgic properties got fucked, when they were making them?  What are they going to say about how the health insurance couldn’t be found, how the skinniest percent of a percent couldn’t be liberated to help somebody keep a home, or put food on the table?  Real people do care about such things, you know;  there really is a presumption out there that if you made something worth millions (let alone billions!) then you damn well get proportionally-compensated for it.  No one cheers for the guy that screwed the guy who made him his fortune, they really don’t.  Why I do believe they even make movies about how they don’t.  So, it’s a bit of a problem, I’m sure you can see.  But thankfully, there’s already a solution to the problem available, that’s been most thoroughly tested.  On a small scale, to be sure, but in principle the thing is extensible…and actually it’s all real simple, right?

As we all know, don’t we?

What you do, is you make the people who might object to the poor treatment of creators complicit in that poor treatment.  You get them liking the stuff, see?  You get them boosting it.  Then when the truth comes out, they’re implicated:  they’re shamed, they’re guilty.  And this provides a most powerful motivation for them to turn their back on the issues at hand.  If I talked up the Avengers movie, and then found out how Marvel treated Jack Kirby, then my only choices would be a) to walk it back, or b) to push it ahead, and guess which of these is easier?  Out of “I was wrong”, and “I don’t see what the problem is”?  Well…there is always the danger that the whole thing will backfire, that somebody somewhere will find a way to build a more successful soapbox because of the increased visibility of the superhero stuff, the heightened sensitivity to the hypocrisy of the superhero business…but then what are the superpredators supposed to do:  not try to make blockbuster movies and giant merch-showers out of the IP they now control?  And if the worst-case turns out to be the actual case, then of course there will be damage control to be done, but when you consider that what “damage control” means in this case is only making a few retroactive agreements, possibly shaving off just a few tenths-of-percents of profits, then as long as the snowball keeps rolling you can afford to lose a few flakes, right?  And if it ever stops rolling, then people will stop caring so it won’t matter anyway, and in the meantime what you can do to ameliorate this potential equitable-payment disaster is get your public attached to your properties, just as the comics public got so attached, and thus give them a motivation to scuff their feet and drive those guilty consciences under the carpet.  Beat the implications, by getting people implicated first, before they even know what’s going on.

And if worst comes to worst…well, so you pay the people!  And say you’ve fixed it.

And then everybody’s happy!

But then again…

It may never come to that.

And it probably won’t, but you know there is something you can do, and I can do, and we all can do, even if we do want to see the movie…even if the ending of this story is pretty well predetermined…

That is:  we can just skip the opening weekend.

Just the weekend.

That’s not too hard to do, right?

It may not seem like much, sure.  Well, it really isn’t much!  But the small thing that it is, is at least a very definite thing…

…In that it at least the elephant keeps on existing, even when there’s no one there who wants to see it.

Which is, you know…

Not nothing.

So why not just give it a try, Bloggers?  Close your eyes and just visualize that elephant, eh?

That’s what I’ll be doing, tomorrow night.

What fun it’d be, if we could arrange to do it together!

BLISS

How many times do I have to try to change a link?  It can’t be fucking changed.  I’ve spent TWO HOURS trying to change it.  I don’t WANT it changed now!

So if my luck holds true to form, the change will go through as I type this.

But I don’t care.

HERE is the full twenty-minute-long “Siegfried Idyll” I wanted you to hear, and I should’ve done it this way in the first place.  It’s MY FAULT I fucked around with this for so long, knowing what computers do when they do what they do to make you crazy.

Let me use what computers do, now, to soothe my soul and yours.  And yours too.

AAAAAAAAAAAAH, that’s better.

My Blog Saw Something

The LOLs are not what they seem…!

But seriously folks.  It’s a red-letter day, because I haven’t done a link- or booster-post for ages, therefore by now I have actually seen TOO MUCH for me to try condensing it all down into some creme de la creme post and…

Huh.  WordPress is actually letting me type this without autosaving every 500 milliseconds?

Well, that pleases me no end!

Maybe now I can abandon my workarounds!  You know, that is really a very nice thing, because I did actually complain to the WP folks and felt bad about it because I think I sounded like a bit of a ranting troll…but now it’s fixed?

Now it works fine?

See, this is why I stick with WP:  they listen.  And listening covers a multitude of sins.  And listening can be valuable.  For example…

My blog saw something.  Something it can’t keep quiet about, so I thought we should bring it to the attention of the authorities?  And no, it wasn’t this Twitter exchange:

A:  “What even is a horse”

B:  “A sort of tall, hoofed dog”

Although let’s face it, somebody ought to be notified about that…

…But no, instead one of the major things my blog couldn’t keep having nightmares about was this fabulous new Mindless-constituent webcomic, which I was fortunate enough to be asked to read a bit of script for, and which I also QUITE LIKE…to the point where, for the first time ever, I signed on to a Forum.  Oooh, it’s quite intimidating, actually…this is that Thing One Will Start Seeing More And More Of As Time Goes By, the gamer’s webcomic, and so I’m absolutely OUT TO LUNCH about most of the theory they’re discussing over there, having stopped playing video games around about the time I became UNIVERSAL CHAMPION OF ASTEROIDS, which was about a year before they added “Shield” to the game…completely ruining its elegance if you ask me, like adding Dynamite to Rock Scissors Paper…I mean as far as I recall, Han Solo did not get to rely on the Millenium Falcon’s shields when he was flying through the asteroid belt?  Although I guess it’s possible George Lucas has inserted something about asteroid-shields into his many many revisions of Star Wars and honestly it is not about him raping my childhood, it’s just about how Star Wars is only a good movie for about the same length of time that your attention isn’t deliberately called to the many many ways in which it’s actually kind of a shitty movie?  Which it does miraculously turn into, as soon as there’s a guy doing a Stan Laurel pratfall off a CGI Bantha in the street behind where Obi-Wan is telling the Stormtroopers that these aren’t the droids they’re looking for…

…And that’s why after seeing the Special Edition, finally at long last, I followed suit behind Ed and swore off Star Wars forever and ever.  “This goddamn movie is dead to me now,” I swore, after making the INCREDIBLE mistake of having anything to do with something that could get the letters SE tacked onto the end of it…really my own fault, because would I ever read Dante’s Inferno SE?  The one with the extra Tenth Level of Hell that Dante always wanted to put in there, loosely modelled on his mother-in-law’s house, that expends ten volumes on how instead of the Prosecco he’d ordered for his wedding reception there was just a barrel of this crappy homemade white wine, so they had to junk the dessert course altogether and people just got wasted instead and puked on the lawn, and the priest was scandalized and ANYWAY WHERE DID THE MONEY GO?  Because don’t tell me those little wedding favours cost all that much…

Vanity, vanity.  All is vanity.  What I should’ve done is follow my old roommate’s example, from when he went to see the SE in the theatre…

“So how was it?”  I asked him.

“Uh…”

“Did you not see it, or something?”

“No…no, it’s just…I did all these mushrooms beforehand?  So the whole movie, I was so high, I just watched Chewbacca.”

“…What?”

“Seriously, he is in a LOT of scenes.  In the background, flipping switches.  Steering the ship.  Bringing up the rear.”

“…Are you serious?”

He just looked at me.  “Plok, man,” he said.  “I have never been more serious in my LIFE.”

And so the movie got his highest recommendation, but I should’ve known…should’ve known…

But anyway, I never knew anything about video games, after “Shield” came along.  Because it was all just so much Jar-Jar to me after that.  So the learning curve is a bit peculiar when it comes to the Project:  Ballad Forum!  I feel just like Buck Rogers, only thankfully this future doesn’t thoughtlessly mirror the racism and sexism of my own time…and strangely, I did end up watching Star Wars just one more time…

…And I must say it’s nice to see it go out on a high note.

But…

Where was I?

Hold on…let me think

JUXTAPOSITION!

Darn it.  Sorry, that tends to happen sometimes:  wild juxtaposition, grown unruly in the margins of my thought.  Anyway I was talking about Project: Ballad.  I think it’ll be a fun exercise, and it’s got a lot of love in it, and it’s a friend, so this is my recommendation.  But…

I can’t leave you just with P:B, when I haven’t done one of these linkposts in so long!

So let me boost another Mindless thing, the wonderful article on THRILL-POWER that’s every bit as much essential reading as the classic Prismatic Age or Candyfloss Horizons pieces out of the Dark Dimension…though it’s silly, given the Deep Quality of the Mindless site, to try to make anything like a Greatest Hits here…you should just read every post, that’s all…but if you want to know what is OF THE MOMENT in terms of Industry Issues, then this is where you’ve got to go…

I mean:  we’ve all felt that tug, haven’t we?  That’s what a lot of us are doing out here in comics blogland, trying to dissect that insouciance of things of their time, maybe more particularly just hoping to run into the new thing, that feels like it has something in common with those old things…and trying to expand our horizons as we move along.

BUT!

“Home” doesn’t necessarily stay the same, while we’re off on our adventures.  So check out David Brothers, slowly hitting the same wall I’ve been slowly hitting for about five years, only saying much more about it in much straighter language, in exactly the most dangerous position one can be in, to say it:  well what else is a person supposed to possibly do?  It is probably impossible not to hit that wall at some point;  we don’t give up comics because they’re “kid stuff” anymore, but OH LORD WE COULD ALMOST WISH WE DID.  Anyway…

Yeah:  boycott that Avengers movie.  Or if you feel that’s too harsh a position, check out what a reasonable man says about it…

Just had to get that in there, you’ll forgive me I’m sure.

So anyway what else is going on in the world, besides P:B which you should definitely check out?  I won’t shill for record albums right now, just because I’ve been doing enough of that on Twitter…

Hmm…

Well…

Inspired by Michael and Kevin, I guess I could reveal my secret project, because it was supposed to be done last year but wasn’t:  essentially it’s a website that puts up what they call “content”, but in a concert mode rather than a publishing mode.  You use the site on spec, we charge people three bucks to visit it, a dollar goes to site costs with what’s left over after going to honoraria for producers/performers in case their show tanks…and the remaining two dollars are of the 50/50 draw variety.  Additionally, everyone who pays their shot to enter gets to participate in what I’m calling “user-generated advertising”:  having a website means having space to run ads, but we don’t sell that space, we SPEND it…on what attendees think deserves more recognition.

That’s the Hall.  Downstairs is the Lounge, that costs a membership fee to get into, that gives a discount on Hall shows.  See, it’s just like a pub!  And down in the Lounge there’s a yearly resident performer.  For the first year I hope it’ll be my friend Ed, doing his restaging of Jaws, acting out The Decline And Fall Of The Roman Empire in a gorilla suit, airing the classic cliffhanger series Brave New Show…and upstairs in the Hall, for the first year I’ll be putting on three shows just to set the tone for the “neighbourhoodliness” of this place.  The first will be “Poseidon’s People”, a two-day interactive jazz/pop/flamenco opera about the migration of the proto-Hittites (among others) into the Mediterranean Basin…so now you know why posting has slowed down around here, I guess…that one’s not just starring my friend the superb flamenco guitarist and my other friend the award-winning jazz guitarist, but also starring our good friends Andrew Hickey, David Allison, and Gareth Madeley…

So it should be a hoot, once it gets done?

…And the second will be something a lot like a radio play called “Tales Of New Liverpool”;  a murder-mystery with Moorean/Morrisonian overtones and a Twin Peaks vibe, set in my home town of Vancouver in 1898.  Also with people you know from blogland…

And then probably the third will be a thing called “Hinterland” that I once imagined as a nine-part adventure serial sort of lightly in the mode of Blake’s Seven…rather than an America scribbled large across the galaxy, or even an England, this would be a Canada…er, sort of like, Doctor Who visits Planet Canada?  And finds it’s a surprisingly complicated place.  I’m seeing Tom Baker for it:  because if you don’t have a sense of the absurd, this place’ll KILL ya, seriously.

You’ll die of exposure.

Oh God, I feel it’s happening to me right now.  But I have to tell it sometime, and if Michael and Kevin can do their thing all unafraid-because-awesome?

Then I can do mine, too.

Just one problem.

I don’t know how to make the website.  I don’t even know how to start.  I use a rotary phone.  My CD player is an old thing you used to use in a car…you used to just plug it in to the where the cigarette lighter was?  WORKS AWESOME!  But is perhaps a symbol of something, in a couple of different ways.

Though I fear to know what.

Oh well…Michael and Kevin adequately show that making the stuff is primary…and everything after is just everything after.  I’m certain it’ll work out.  You know…

…One way or another.

And you guys deserve more links!  I’ve been so stingy!  I’ll post again soon, but here are a couple to send you out on:

Diane is the name of his tape recorder.

Far better than Bowie and Burroughs.

I kind of want this.

Old Joe Campbell, shoved through a strange karmic process, found himself re-empowered as…CAVE-MAN!

Bit of Dan GoldmanYou should read.

Also…okay, a little shilling-for-record after all.  This one’s self-sold, so no redistributed money from Mick Jagger…every penny, should you deign to throw a penny, would count…

HEY…!

But Project: Ballad doesn’t even cost a penny!

And also three documentaries I love, that I can’t recommend highly enough:  “Between The Folds”, a documentary movie about origami, apparently narrated by a Parker Posey character from a Christopher Guest movie?  But worth it just the same…

From PBS, as is the one whose name I can’t remember about DEAF SLAM POETRY IN NYC…!  Now I have to learn ASL, no foolin’…

And then finally, I don’t know where in hell it’s from but in B.C. it’s shown on Knowledge Network, it’s called “Indian Hill Railways” and it damn well astonishes me, for reasons I can’t even say…

…But if you went and took a look at Project: Ballad, you might be as pleased to see the level of INSANE love these guys have for Homestuck…I mean it is out of order really.

But very entertaining.

Well, we’ve gotta enjoy these things while we’ve got ‘em, don’t we?

Send you out on a song, Bloggers:

Here it is.

Now don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya.

…Uh, even if it was weird?  AW, SCREW IT!

SEND-OFF!

Nice to see you folks.

You all remind me of THIS!

Or…

…Oh no wait, that’s ME that reminds me of!

As you were, then, gentlemen.

Gosh, this went on for a bit though?  One can’t help but wonder a bit about the POINT?

Oh yes the POINT.

Back up top is where it’s located, I think.

How To Read “The Mentalist”

Student of modern TV show writing?

Ex-professional charlatan?

Lover of highly-talented incidental-music creators?

Occasional sporter of vests?

You bet I’m interested in it, Bloggers, and I’ll tell you this much for nothing: it’s a goddamn mess. They build up this villain to the point where he can be no one and nothing, in the Grant Morrison Batman mode where the key can only be in Batman himself, where Batman himself is the biggest clue…(this is how you can tell when you’re in an alternate universe, by the way, if you’re the puzzle-piece that doesn’t fit)…and for all the world it looks like it’s doing that thing I despise, that corrupt movement of my generation where failure of will dominates the production of serial-thriller-entertainment, where the showmaker just loses interest in all the teases he’s put out there, abandons pattern, or plain paints himself into a corner through overambition, if in fact he doesn’t succumb to the temptation of the easy way out…I mean, I’ve noticed it for years, you know? And felt for a long time like it was my special secret! But we live in a post-Lost world, and I can’t tell if that’s a relief or an irritant…because all your big showmakers these days are kinda playing it rather weak, aren’t they? Like they can think of nothing more advanced than “then the most trusted character has his heel turn!” or “then the most beloved character dies!” or “then we earthquake the board…!” Eventually all the choices are sufficiently narrowed that Sherlock must be Moriarty, or the goddamn thing just can’t hold together. Eventually the Doctor must actually be the Master, only amnesiac. Or you could take the (relatively) honest way out, and have Dale Cooper disappear forever into the Black Lodge…

…Though most of my generation isn’t up to that level of commitment to it not making sense, so they shy away from that particular set of artistic demands. Never mind, though: because even if the writer abandons his post, the reader still has some options, even when things look most hopeless of all. And perhaps even especially then. Because…

Deconstruction was made to fix broken texts. No, really, it’s true! That’s the purpose of the stuff. You remove the intention of the author, and by so doing you commit to the idea that every text has its own author-independent logic; which is as much, if you follow me, as saying that every text has its own perfect logic, that the author can’t sully. At the deepest of all levels, God Himself writes each and every text, with perfect foreknowledge of the reader’s reactions, an action which in itself is the only verifiable hallmark of the presence of the almighty Monotheistic Dude…the source of sources, the intention that exists even in absolute Void, alone before the Word is spoken. Love? Cosmic forgiveness? Heat? Lust? Curiosity? Whatever it is, it’s no accident that it sets you on collision courses with the texts it’s put there in your path…no accident that it makes the remedy to every broken text its own magnificent disappearing act.

And so: “The Mentalist”. Let me just give you a quick overview of this thing, in case you’re not familiar with it. A young boy, Patrick Jane (some significant allusion there?) works the carny circuit with his now-estranged father, as a mentalist who pretends to be a medium. He grows rich, flees the circuit with his sweetheart. They have a child, and he has many wealthy private clients…then one day in California a new serial killer appears (as you would fully expect if you ever watched the show Hunter: Jesus, I sometimes expect California Tourism Board commercials to say things like “come see our great serial killers!”), named “Red John”, and when he goes on TV and attempts to cold-read Red John for the amusement of the studio audience, that worthy responds by slaughtering his wife and child. Then Jane regrets the life of lies he’s lived, and signs on with the “CBI” (“California Bureau of Investigation”) as a “consultant” (please do take note of all the scare quotes here; because I assure you I am not acting as an absent authorial deity, to this blog post!) and devotes his empty-husk life to the obsession of catching Red John. Which is of course a problem, given the predilections of my fellow countrymen of Time, because in very short order they throw every person it could possibly be at Patrick Jane, and he unmakes them all, leaving no reflections whatsoever left over to “really” be Red John…no psychiatrists, no doctors, no con artists, no growth-stunted millionaires, no detectives, no psychics (and the show is really strict about there not being any such thing as psychics, yet Jane even meets one, inexplicably)…

…Not even any outwardly-normal people, and no carnies either, and it’s there we come to an end. No one’s left.

Oh, well…maybe just two people, though, as dedicated readers of Grant Morrison’s Doom Patrol will surely have seen. And didn’t you know half the problem with my generation of showrunners is that they were all comics fans first? “Red John”, it’s a rather interesting name if you really look at it closely. Cliff and Jane and Larry have met him. He’s the androgynous deity also known as Nemesis, the Tenth Planet, Rumplestiltskin the Brown Dwarf…well, nowadays we live in a cheerier and more possibilistic universe, so we call her Tyche, but back then…

He was a force much more to be reckoned with. God and the Devil in conflict with the ex-charlatan who’s admitted he doesn’t believe, well who else would Red John be? The secret perfect author of every text, who seeks to predetermine you the reader. Some call him (looks upwards), some call him (looks downwards)…

“And you? What do you call him?”

But because that’s really the only answer left, for this show…there are problems.

Happily for us!

Since you can’t solve a problem that doesn’t exist. So the problem with The Mentalist is that Red John is everywhere in it, and does incredibly impossible things all the time, that we are told would all make sense if only we knew the whole truth about him…but as time goes by, what that “whole truth” must contain gets bigger and bigger, ’til right at the moment the volume of that mystery is actually quite as big as the entire remainder of the show. One more step in the direction of bafflement, and the slender thread holding the suspension bridge of disbelief up may snap…and the show will come crashing down, all the questions rendered eternally unanswerable, all the hidden meanings hidden forever, and all the viewers dispersed to the four corners of the Earth by the winds of betrayal and disgust. If you look at this thing in 2012, you can see the writers and producers know this very well; you can see they are probably wondering if there remains time and space enough to wrap things up without the intervention of Flex Mentallo or Danny The Street. And, although it would be premature to absolutely rule out the possibility that they do, in fact, still have a functioning Master Plan for it all…

Still, it seems as though “deconstruction” may be the surest answer, at this point. What is it, about the things that don’t make sense in The Mentalist, that can be scrutinized for evidence of a higher orderliness? As a time-wasting exercise, and because a friend and I both like that show for slightly-but-not-entirely different reasons, I rolled the thing around in the empty cavern of my head a little bit over these last two months. But I didn’t see what was staring me in the face until I proposed to Harvey Jerkwater that he and I could probably combine to write wicked comic-book adaptations of both The Mentalist, and Criminal Minds

…Which naturally would culminate in a crossover between the two titles (because: comics), and it was then — oh it was then, Bloggers! — that I finally did see the pattern, and saw it all. How does one reconcile the world of the FBI procedural, with the world of the CBI killer-chase? To put them in the same room with one another requires participation in the way they would see one another, in the same oddly delightful way that the crew of the Enterprise-D were put together with the DS-9 staff in a crossover of two shows I actually didn’t like all that much…but to see them meet, and become aware of their own reflections, even I had to call that a revelatory moment. That the cosmically-significant crew of the Enterprise was suddenly shown to be joyless and lugubrious and strange, going crazy out between the stars in their little bubble-world! That the Deep Spacers enjoyed freedom simply because they also enjoyed no significance whatsoever (as far as they knew), and that each formed a perfect little bubble suitable for going crazy in, that each of them had fallen between the stools of starlight! In that moment I realized I really did have some sort of weird affection for the Niners, and an even weirder pity for the Trekkers, that was probably exactly the reverse of the feelings I was supposed to have for them…and that reversal, to be honest, was kind of beautiful.

Uh…you know, except the episode kind of sucked, and then afterwards everything just went back to the same old dumb paint-by-numbers thing it had been before? I’ve said it before, so I won’t go on and on about it here, but I still think the New Trek Generation only wanted better and more consistent nuts-and-bolts writing (and perhaps, though let’s not wish for the moon, a hint of genuine humour? I mean the funny kind) to be something actually rather special: watching TNG, after a while it’s hard not to wish that the Star-Trekkiness of it had either been committed to more sincerely, or done away with altogether, in either case to create a bit more of a freaky horror vibe; watching DS9, as the show’s initial shoutiness about ACTION! turns into shoutiness about ACTING! one senses that wonderful opportunities for the onscreen performers are being thoughtlessly squandered; and of course with Voyager one regrets the curtailment of the sheer lunacy that it seems is always trying to break through — a war in the Q continuum that to Janeway’s “limited perceptions” must appear as the American Civil War, these rifles aren’t really “rifles” it’s just how your mind interprets them! The mantelpiece isn’t a mantelpiece! The uniforms aren’t really uniforms! The paintings on the wall aren’t paintings, and the walls aren’t walls!

It’s war! War among the colours! Red can never be Blue, and Blue can never be Red!

To say nothing of the horribly shortsighted use of Ed Begley, Jr., who I think should not have played the part of “some guy” in the mid-70s who’d gone hiking in the Sierra Nevada and found a downed time-ship whose technology he exploited to rule the world like a Super-Bill-Gates, but who clearly should’ve played ED BEGLEY, JR. who’d gone hiking and found a downed time-ship and become a Super-Bill-Gates…

Because…

I mean say what you want about Ed Begley, Jr. but he’s NO DUMMY, right? So I like to think if he’d found a downed time-ship he would TOTALLY have become a Super-Bill-Gates? Acting is a fine profession, but when a downed time-ship lands in one’s lap one should probably stop and, uh…

Re-evaluate one’s career-path?

And we can probably assume Ed is a big hiking enthusiast, but never mind all that now, because…yes, for just a moment the true long-sublimed nature of the New Trek Franchises poked its head up, when TNG met DS9, and it did have something of beauty to it…

…As did The Mentalist when I hypothetically collided it with Criminal Minds. My God, I mean can you imagine? The very first thing the CM team would do in the CBI environment is say “okay, for starters what in the hell is this ‘CBI’ thing you all keep going on about, secondly what’s the deal with the textbook psychopath you apparently employ as a ‘consultant’ to your massively understaffed and underfunded offices, and who solves all your crimes for you, and thirdly WHO THE FUCK IS IN CHARGE HERE AND WHY ARE THEY NOT DOING THEIR JOB PROPERLY, my God you people have NO training, your so-called Bureau is INSANELY politically-compromised, honestly is this a set-up? Is it April Fool’s? Is it my birthday, or something, are people gonna jump out and yell ‘SURPRISE’…?”

It’s funny because it’s true; in The Mentalist the CBI operatives are constantly announcing themselves as CBI agents, and people are constantly saying “CB…? Is that like a B.J. And The Bear thing, are you Sheriff Lobo, or…?”

So here’s the secret: The Mentalist is set in the near future.

It’s a science fiction show.

…Okay, well it doesn’t have to be set in the future, but for all intents and purposes it might as well be. Heck, the best way to do this show would’ve been as Buck Rogers or even Batman Beyond…or, perhaps, Grendel…a con-man from the early 21st century is resurrected, thawed-out, into a mid-21st-century world that’s forgotten all those skills because digital automation has done away with their usefulness: do we really expect a classic mentalist act to survive into a world where heads-up retinal displays can trivially supply a list of the contents of some old lady’s handbag, with a certainty of 93% give or take 3%? Do we even expect circuses to continue their existence into 2040 or something, when it seems likely even zoos may not?

Okay, and so maybe that’s how The Mentalist really should have been made…as Demolition Man played straight, instead of for laughs. But surely it is time to have another near-future SF TV show that’s actually based on our “current present”? I mean, what was the last one, was it Wild Palms? Tekwar? Total Recall: 2070? ReGenesis?

Okay, it was probably ReGenesis. But anyway, The Mentalist is not that show…however to consider it as a near-future show is not entirely crazy, since maybe it happens next year…and more importantly, whether it’s next year or not, to hold together it still pretty much has to partake of SF.

Because it’s already exhibiting that sort of flavour. Red John kills someone in Mexico, and Jane says “this means Red John is even more powerful than I’d imagined”…an awful line, I’m sure you’ll agree, but let’s make it right: by saying that it doesn’t fit. “The serial killer killed this guy in Mexico instead of California, what power he must have“, no…no, you see, that doesn’t add up. You don’t talk about people that way. Red John may secretly be an androgynous Nemesis masquerading as a Deity, in thematic terms, but this is a cop show so those terms are only thematic…and so the only “power” he can have is magic power, if we’re going to talk about him this way. Because that whole thought depends on the idea of Red John killing at a distance

Unless, that is: Red John isn’t a person.

The possibility was always there; well, no consumer of serial thriller entertainment could ever have watched this show and not considered that Red John was a corporate entity, could they? Red John isn’t a person, he’s a network; Patrick Jane even uncovers serial-killer people who are part of the network, who’ve been “recruited by” Red John, and who say so in so many words. Red John gets into strange places and does impossible things because he’s not acting alone; he has followers, disciples, friends, allies. I’m not saying he’s the Harlequinade! But the show itself says: there are “Red Johns” everywhere. They’re in the CBI itself, as a matter of fact! So they can get to anybody. Go anywhere. Appear and then disappear. The show itself has not actually said so: no character has floated the idea that Red John’s followers aren’t just his followers, but his constituents…

But Patrick Jane knows it already. Or why else would he call Red John “more powerful than I imagined”?

What, he can lift very heavy objects? Fly? He has X-ray vision, or can travel in time?

No: he can kill long-distance. Because his network is powerful.

And, he isn’t really “Red John”. Because that isn’t the name of a person.

Though a person may be behind it, but then if a person is behind it, then what do they want? More specifically, what do they want with Patrick Jane? You don’t need a network to be a serial killer, obviously. However you don’t need a network for nothing, either. And do networks get mad when fake psychics attempt to cold-read them on TV talk shows?

The whole key is what people say all the time. “CBI, freeze!” “CB what?” “It’s the California Bureau of Investigation, it’s a new thing, look let’s just say we’re cops, all right?” Right now, there’s no such thing as a “CBI”, and the Criminal Minds team would probably tell you there’s no need for one, that having a half-assed one would be worse than not having one at all, that it would actually make their jobs harder to do if there was one…

And there, O Bloggers, you have the answer to it all. War among the colours! “Red John” is a ruse. There is no “Red John”. What there is, is a California-grown serial-killer task force with the jurisdictional powers of a mini-FBI, with very good people and very little funding. And the “little funding” is kind of a given, you know? State governments don’t have federal-scale money, and can’t get it, so if ever there were a “CBI” it would perforce be underfunded and understaffed. About all you could do is troll Californian police forces for the best possible gold-plated people. When the Criminal Minds team gets there, they look at the Agent Lisbon character and say “hey, weren’t you at Quantico, getting effusive praise from all your instructors, but then you bailed out?” Yes, she says…as a matter of fact I did, because an old respected cop I owe the world to called me and said he needed me for this new Californian thing. That would be the CBI boss of the first couple of seasons, who leaves the job…as a matter of fact, if you watch this show (only now am I considering the frightening thought that I may be the only one here who watches this show!) you can’t fail to notice that not only is the CBI underfunded and understaffed (and underhoused, for that matter, in a way no FBI agent ever is), but that there is constant turmoil in the upper echelons, since the original Long-Suffering Guy At Desk retired. The CBI itself is under intense scrutiny from higher Californian political powers. The CBI is in constant danger of radical upset and reorganization.

And it’s no accident.

There is a crime network in California, that’s been operating for years. It’s planted a lot of people in a lot of key positions: it’s suborned many organizations that could harm its growth, and turned their power to interfere into a positive for their own subversive intent.

But it’s vulnerable to the FBI. The FBI is big; the FBI is modular; the FBI is extraordinarily well-trained and well-equipped. A California-based crime network can’t suborn the entire FBI no matter what it does: its reach just isn’t long enough. And the FBI is a resource for local law-enforcement, so even if you suborn every sheriff you can find, you’re still only one receptionist’s phone call away from having your operation blown to smithereens. Doesn’t even matter if you have state legislators in your pocket — once the Feds come in, you’re gonna be on the run.

But what if there happened to be a sort of…FBI cockblocker? You know?

So what you do is you “create” an uncatchable but firmly California-based serial killer. Then you get your pet legislators to sponsor the creation of such a bizarre thing as a “CBI”, to better coordinate the efforts to catch him. Then it’s the CBI that’s the organization that decides whether or not to call in the more powerful Federal agency…and so it’s the CBI that’s the prize, because it’s the gate. But you can’t claim it for your own, until you flush all the smart people out of it. At first it will be loaded with the best and the brightest…okay, so you’ve made it, now you’ve got to destabilize it, without actually destroying it. What you have to do is leave it intact as an organization, but complicate things so much for the cream-of-the-crop agents in it that they either leave voluntarily, or get fired.

Hmm…

Well…

You might do worse than arranging for them to be saddled with an outside “consultant”? Who — as the show itself tells us, just as soon as the original Guy At Desk gets gotten rid of — can’t be fired. “Red John” has to kill people anyway; so why not make hay from that?

Someone rich enough to throw his weight around — but not part of the banking/finance system you have plants in. Someone arrogant, smart, dishonest, flawed…unbearable.

Hey, why not this guy?

Maybe try it out? If not him, then somebody else? But he’ll go in there and be all “ooooh, the spirits tell me, ooooh she’s got a bad aura”…putting up with that shit would drive anybody into another line of work…!

And it’s here that “Red John” makes his first mistake, through believing “psychics” don’t actually themselves know they’re full of shit. Believing they’ll stick to the lie after a trauma. But Patrick Jane doesn’t do that at all, turns out to be rather talented and intelligent, oh wait, OOOOHHH what an ASSET he would make! Could it maybe be done? Having him in the CBI has screwed up part of the plan for sure, he keeps solving cases so some of the good people stay, and can’t really be fired…okay, but rather than treat this as a disaster, treat it as a handle: since Patrick Jane doesn’t know there really is no such singular person as “Red John”, his chain could be yanked this way and that with great ease…this isn’t like putting a destabilizing person into the CBI to piss the good cops off, this is like putting a destabilizing person in the CBI to drive crap investigations, why with just a bit of judicious yanking of this guy we could get all the good cops laid off at once…and then feed him something, feed him a clue, turn him loose on whatever, turn him into a manipulable tool…after all he doesn’t know Red John isn’t a person…!

Aha.

Except he does. He’s just not saying.

If the Criminal Minds crowd walked into the CBI they’d make a profile of Red John, and quickly discover it’s inconsistent. No serial killer can fail to be caught, so long as they continue their activity and the profilers are good enough — that’s the foundational philosophy of that show. The serial killer can escape being caught by ceasing activity and disappearing, but they can’t not be caught by keeping up the killing, and if they leave clues then it means they want to be caught, and that’s what Criminal Minds is about, that this kind of killing is the major symptom of a pathology. In two seconds, Scott Summers would say “Wolverine, Nightcrawler…I’ve been thinking: if there’s anything this doesn’t look like, it’s a pathology.” And the jig would be up. The killings are meticulously planned by someone who doesn’t really care about killing. So the Unsub must care about something, but killing isn’t it. So therefore…

It’s a fake-out.

That’s what they’d decide, in about two seconds. But they aren’t there. And so that can’t be an accident either. And the interesting thing about all that — and I’m going to be watching for it! — is that Patrick Jane, knowing there isn’t really a person named “Red John” but knowing there is a person who’s to blame for his wife and child getting murdered who goes by the name “Red John”…would try to keep the FBI out of it as well. Because as soon as they come in, he goes out, and maybe indeed the whole CBI goes out, and he has no standing with the Feds. He’s got a window, and he needs to try to keep it from closing.

At least…that’s what the writers will do if they realize they’ve got a window, that they need to keep from closing!

So it’s all rather interesting, actually. If I was a writer on this show, I would have the idea firmly in mind that “Red John” is not a person but is the creation of a person, who probably is not a full-time resident of California but who has an impenetrable alternate Californian identity, and who slips into California with perfect unnoticed ease…a wealthy person who launders their money in Silicon Valley, and a person who has a certain amount of recognized legal protection from inquiry: a doctor, or a lawyer. If I were the writer, the boss of the “Red John” network would be the one reflection of Patrick Jane (now come on, that must be a literary allusion of some kind, mustn’t it?) that we haven’t seen: the obsessive. The addict.

The owner of an exclusive rehab clinic in Nevada?

(Though to be honest, they have kind of gone there already…PAINTING INTO CORNERS!)

And his second mistake would be using the non-Californian network he’s established, to kill the guy in Mexico. Because this tells Patrick Jane that “Red John is more powerful than I imagined”...

Translation: it tells him that he also operates outside the state of California.

We could easily guess that RJ is a significant, though well-concealed, investor in the Malcolm McDowell cult. Which he uses to recruit second-order operatives. Or that he set up Washburn (again, in a well-concealed way) in his initial high-tech company…well, does anyone think Our Pal never had a Steve Wozniak?

The way he could operate in California and (let’s say) Nevada with equal ease is if he was an adopted child: to have two seperate birth certificates and legal footprints is not impossible, although it is practically easier to actually BE Rumplestiltskin the Brown Dwarf than to be a person who maintains seperate documentation from the time they’re two…

…Which means that the Criminal Minds crowd would have something to contribute to the Red John investigation: i.e. whoever is in charge of the “Red John” identity, the owner of the network…

…Is a person who inherited that position from an older psychopath.

By the way…Jane’s not a psychopath. He’s a basket case.

There’s a difference.

Oh, and also…by the way…

GRACE IS THE RED JOHN PLANT IN LISBON’S UNIT.

Because my generation of storytellers is simply too weak-minded a bunch not to have a significant heel-turn in every tale. Oh, people complain about the goddamn HERO’S JOURNEY!! Let me tell you, the Hero’s Journey is not our biggest problem right now. Our biggest problem is the Sixth Sense Twist…

…Though to be fair, it’s the Crying Game Twist, I think that’s when “twistness” entered the popular dialogue as the thing you have to have in order to produce compelling drama. If it ain’t twisty it’s schisty! OLD MAN STUFF. So okay, as long as I’ve been writing this while drinking (you knew that, right?), I might as well plug in the comment I tried to leave on Colin Smith’s excellent blog, but couldn’t because: you know, COMPUTERS…

<ahem>

<we’re talking about Bendis>

<cough cough>

“For myself, I think Bendis’ flaws were always there, and the Good Bendis and the Bad Bendis are really just…well, Bendis.  I can only make guesses at his work process, but it seems to me that he doesn’t really do research, but instead basically just watches movies and TV shows?  He’s enthusiastic the Mamettish non-naturalistic voice that privileges dramatic effect over character depth, and I think he gets excited about pushing boundaries and bending expectations…but satire’s a matter of context, too, and it seems to me that context is what Bendis can’t quite grasp, which is why (I think) he seems to lack originality.  Because he isn’t really about originality:  Alias was wonderful, but it was all about tone, as the Captain America secret ID shtick was pilfered from somewhere else, the Purple Man as metatextual commenter (not very well executed) was lifted from elsewhere as well…and Bendis doesn’t really hide this weakness, when he’s being Good, but makes it apparent that a plot’s just a plot’s just a plot.  If you think of “What If Jessica Jones Had Become An Avenger”, that’s a deliberate play with the essential “made-up-ness” of the milieu, to the toybox nature of being a writer at Marvel Comics and the arbitrary stock Marvellish turns of story one can find in that toybox — so to my mind, Bendis isn’t concealing that there’s a great deal of the traditional Marvel interest with pseudo-realism that he’s just not very interested in.  He’s interested in tone, but he isn’t interested in colouring inside the lines, isn’t really that interested in neat ideas (though he has had a couple — the variation on the Ult. FF’s origin was elegant, e.g.) and not particularly interested in character either.  Mind you, there’s no law saying you have to be interested in character, if you’re basically a Tone Guy!  And this at least has much to do with Mamet’s typical coolness, almost “anti-Pinteresque” emotional distance — in which the words characters say are always more important than the thoughts they think or the feelings they have, so that as a matter of dramatic philosophy (I take it) in his work “character” is much more a matter for the actor than for the writer.  And I think Bendis is a bit like this as well:  his characters don’t have relationships so much as they have positional arrangements, upon which lines of dialogue can be hung.  And this in itself is not really a bad thing, it’s just another way of approaching story-making…

…But Bendis can’t use it to equal effect in all contexts, and in many ways he isn’t a master of the technique in any case, and he also can’t seem to (or doesn’t seem inclined to) do much else when he goes to work…and so there are many cases in which I expect to seem him flounder, you know?  Whenever he has something he really wants to say, he seems to flounder — the “stand-up” issues of Powers don’t seem very advanced in terms of craft from what Bendis was doing in…I think it was his college newspaper?  Did anyone else see that?  And also when the context demands more from him than mere application of his technique can provide, he seems lost as hell.  I think he likes Norman Osborn so much because he can make Osborn say just about anything without it sounding like “something Norman wouldn’t say” — in this way the Green Goblin’s like his Purple Man v. 2, a better place to lodge authorial commentary of the type that is practically by definition “something a character wouldn’t say”…without actually trying to break the fourth wall.  In fact I think he’s done this since USM, finding Norman a wonderful receptacle for a flight of fancy in voice, and it seems to me it isn’t too much of a stretch to say Bendis’ Green Goblin is his most satisfying protagonistic voice within the Marvel Universe, slightly edging out Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and Ultimate Peter Parker.  So when he’s good at getting their voices right, and bad at everything else, I don’t see it as evidence of degeneration as just more proof that he’s got the same weaknesses he started out with — “everything else” is exactly what he was never any good at, and to be absolutely fair it was never what I read him for anyway.”

Hell, and it’s still not what I read him for! Although I confess once he situated superhuman concentration camps in Canada, I stopped fucking reading that asshole. Sure, it was innocent and he just thought it was funny…of course he doesn’t know about how Canada isn’t a vassal state of the U.S.? Doesn’t know every Canadian has a plan for hiding in the woods with a rifle if it ever does become one. Concentration camps. In Canada. Jesus. Because the U.S. citizenry would rise up if there were ever any in the States, I suppose.

Sorry, that just still bugs me. Bendis, you should go to Poland and tell them all they’re really Germans. Just kidding guys! It’s just comics! Kid stuff! What, is that still a thing?

Gnarr.

But anyway, back to The Mentalist, and how to read it. Yes, if I was writing it, then on the day Patrick Jane (really, it’s gotta mean something? They make such a big deal out of it!) finally puts Red John away, or down, or whatever…then he’d go to a newspaper box and read a front-page story about the collapse of the Red John network, and the date on it would be 2015.

BOOM!

But anyway, a word about Cho and Rigsby. Cho is Canadian, I think? And the guy who plays Rigsby is some kinda good actor, because he’s playing a brawny rough tough guy, yet if you really look he’s a tall skinny contemplative guy. Nice job, actor dude! But why in heck do they bother to have people doing such nuanced and convincing portrayals? Including the chick who plays Lisbon, who I’ve seen in many things and she’s a terrific actor, you know? Really good. So…

Why? All they do is sit around and watch Jane be smarter than them, right? He’s the one who solves every case brilliantly, right?

I think they’re waiting for the TNG crossover. What’s so excellent about Cho? You’ll know when he meets Data. Rigsby? He’ll keep Worf from killing a guy who actually turns out to be innocent. Grace?

“Phasers, full p…”

“CAPTAIN, STOP!”

“What?”

“Attention Ferenghi War Fleet: Law Of Acquisition #11352 “the time to make a deal is when the other guy wants to” has a commentary by the Grand Nagus from last week saying “seriously, I’m only faking the coma; tell the human Captain we’ll let him walk away from this useless battle to go meet the Romulans in Sector 23 in exchange for the improved replicator! And if he refuses, then…uh…”

“Go on, Grace…”

“…Uh, then…open fire. Sir.”

And then Lisbon debriefs Troi. Who sometime in the last week talked to the mind-shielded traitor…?

Oh, but sorry, I fucked that up: the crossover’s supposed to be with CRIMINAL MINDS, right.

My mistake.

But anyway that’s how to read “The Mentalist”.

You read it as a cautionary tale.

Just like all science fiction stories.

Sex And The Single Superhero

I’ll be honest; I’ve been sitting on this one for a while.

Well, there was never any particularly pressing need to get it out, you know? It’s always there, always available, always hyperrelevant…even if there are those among us for whom “talk about comics” seems to be practically synonymous with “find reasons to pretend this is other than it is”. Holly said once, to a visitor on Andrew’s blog who was trollishly insisting on the perfect innocence of the superhero, something like: “man, do you really expect people to politely avert their eyes from the fucked-up sex shit that’s in play here?” Of course that’s just what he did expect, for some reason…

…Which I thought was a bit crazy, because after all, if you take out the sex then what point is there in having all the violence? The special violence of superheroes: tamed and anodyne violence, where nobody gets really hurt and everybody comes back from every beating hale and hearty after two issues…what’s the point to it all, what does it all stand for, if not for sex? All the painless punches, it’s all about an effortlessly joyful physicality, physicality as an ideal without consequences…the sensual thrill of pure bodily expression. Healthy, nourishing stuff, straight out of D.H. Lawrence: Batman and Superman naked to the waist, wrestling on the rug before the fireplace after an invigorating tromp across the moors, good clean brisk manly stuff, hearty laughter and honest exertion, while the stormclouds roil outside in an intimation of mortality that one can still, as long as one is on the rug, ignore for a time. Then afterwards the cigars and the port and the grave, but for the moment of sensual pleasure in physical expression one is freed from time…and thus one is always present in that time-free moment somehow, even after one has left it. And…that’s all pretty gay, I guess I hear some of you saying? But that’s where you’d be wrong. Thor is gay; but this stuff’s too unselfconscious to be gay. Hell, it’s too unselfconscious to be straight! Because this is just how it is, in the human world where all psychology is sourced in meat: sex, though many would deny it for some reason, is such a basic fact of incarnate existence that it seeps into everything. Hey, honestly, you don’t have to be Freud, or even William Moulton Marston, to believe it! I’ve talked before at some length about the typical trials of the superhero, and how the superhero story is in my view primarily about identity and agency, but I guess I haven’t really put those two perspectives together very artfully…

And I won’t promise any art now, either, but at least I can try to slap those two things together, collide them briskly and manfully at any rate, and this is pretty much how that shakes out: the fall from reputation as impotence, the appearance of the super-rival as cuckolding, the introduction of the arch-enemy as gendering, the creation of the evil duplicate as the confrontation with appetite…or kink, if you prefer…and the usurpation of power by the non-entity as rape, of course, but maybe we’ll get back to that in a minute? We’ll get back to it, if hopefully not in the way you think, but in the meantime the point is a simple one: all these different types of physical conflict stories can be read as sexual allegory by the superhero story’s own criteria, and it doesn’t have to be overt, it doesn’t have to be unpleasant or even particularly weighty, it is essentially froth…as everything in the superhero story is froth, really, because these are all stories that remain essentially pubescent in tone, and so the sexual reading of violence in them is also a soothing, decomplexifying reading. A fun reading! An exaggerated and at some level a comical reading, and what’s really wrong with that? There’s plenty of time, and plenty of ways, to examine more…ah, unyielding readings of all this stuff, but honestly if you can’t ever locate delight in them too, then where are you? So it isn’t necessarily immature, even if it’s got an undeniably juvenile bent to it. Sexual identity, in the real world, is a central part of identity in general; the discovery of capability and independence, of strong wants and likes, of a justified selfhood, is in the real world deeply enmeshed with the fever of adolescence and its sexual and quasi-sexual issues. Competition, opposition, the finding of ground upon which to be friends or enemies with others, in the real world is powerfully associated with the growth of sexual desire as a motivator of behaviour. Sometimes the association is causal and sometimes it’s only parallel, but in the story of any real person the one thing it can never be is left out…or even pushed back to a role of minor importance. Oh, it can be deadly serious stuff! But in the comics, being playful with it is exactly the art of it: put the sex stuff out in the open and defeating Lex Luthor doesn’t mean a thing to Superboy. Well, and that’s okay! I mean, what’s wrong with that? It’s not a dishonest form, the superhero story; that’s not what I’m saying. The sex does get talked about…!

It just gets talked about elliptically. If there’s tension in the air as Superman breaks the time barrier to save the world, as Batman ascends to the top of the bridge to save the city, as Green Lantern musters all his willpower to save the Guardians of the Universe, it’s from the same kind of source that makes horses neigh and church bells toll in Lawrence…and behold, in the beginning was the Word, and the word was DUH. And I’m no Wertham; I’m not talking about any kind of squidgy repression that needs even more repressing, nor am I saying that if the Hulk would just get over himself and ejaculate already maybe he wouldn’t have so much to be pissed-off about…although, you know, there’s probably a lot to be said about the Hulk as the most anally-fixated of superheroes, despite his veiny super-erectness…oh no, God, not here! NOT HERE! Banner silently prays, but it’s too late: off he goes ashamed on the mighty THOOM of his uncontrollable bowels, out in the desert hiding and collecting, collecting and hiding, why don’t they just leave Hulk alone…!

No, this is not what I mean, either way, at all. Sex is the bleeding edge of Time and Change, at least as human beings mark such things it is; sex is the most liminal thing we’ve got, it’s everybody’s superhero Secret Origin and Final Crisis all in one, every time it goes down…Kirby dots and Ditko ribbons exploding from the pressing moment, big double-page centerfold splash. SHAZAM…! Nothing like freezing the moment, so people often remark on the superhero as a defender of the status quo, but we hardly ever discuss what kind of status quo he’s a defender of — somehow a strict political analysis of superheroic action always seems just a bit out of place? Amusingly out of place, perhaps? Not without the power to illuminate, but humour in the same jugular vein as Mad Magazine: transgressive, puncturing, illicit, irreverent. That’s actually a fairly deep root, that stuff, as we shall see: the tongue-in-cheek evaluation of the superhero story according to criteria not its own, that probably it’s never even heard of. Lots of people have tapped that root, and no less authentically if it wasn’t straightforwardly: Larry Niven famously asked if Superman’s climax wouldn’t blow the top off Lois Lane’s head, but then again I got quite a good mark on my Shakespeare paper comparing Olivier’s Richard III to Star Trek…oh, it was a fine time to be an Eng. Lit. guy in the late Eighties, let me tell you! Postmodernism may have closed the door on authorial intent, but it opened a window in the same gesture: wanna bring ephemera to the centre of your analysis? Perfectly okay, even encouraged. Want to indulge in a little Miltonic Allusion? Hell, you can’t pass this class without doing that! This won’t be the last time Geoff Klock comes up in this little essay of mine, by the way, so you can look for him lurking in the wings and behind the windows in the sets…I once complained that Geoff’s blog exhibited a level of contemporary bias that I wasn’t comfortable with, in that everyone seemed to speak of the cultural past as a mere adornment to the present aesthetic, but I see now it was my mistake to never ask why that might be…I mean, why would Geoff’s blog be so magnetic to the particular pop-culture crowd that could easily see Jack Kirby as being “like” those he influenced, yet not nearly so easily seeing them as being “like” him? The answer perhaps lies simply in subtleties of tone, communications invisible and untraceable to the conscious apprehension: Miltonic Allusion, after all, is what it’s all about. Wild readings that recontextualize their sources, like magic. Art in the transciption error, felix culpae like faces in the trees, gargoyles on the cathedrals. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have complained so much: I also got rather an impressive mark by doing a feminist reading of Titus Andronicus, didn’t I? So it isn’t like I’m any Galahad as far as the contemporary-bias game goes. Mind you, I still think they were taking it a bit too far…!

But then I am old, I am old. Trousers, peaches, overwhelming questions, etc. You know?

So back to Superboy, defender of the status quo…only this isn’t Mad Magazine, so what exactly is that status quo? It can’t be politics, this isn’t “Carl Barks And Karl Marx”! But rather it’s an argument for the idea that you can do the sexual reading of the superhero material because the sex is in there, even if it’s emblematized exclusively by the physical conflict. Therefore what’s the meaning of it all, when Superboy beats Lex Luthor? Well, the only thing that even makes it difficult for him is that he has to preserve his secret identity while he beats him, you know. This is the real reason why Lex never suspects Clark is Superboy (or, later, Superman), because as long as Superboy’s only job is to beat Lex Luthor then at least Luthor can say he and his enemy are pretty much evenly-matched…but if Superboy’s choosing to foil his schemes only with judicious applications of super-breath and X-ray vision in order to keep pretending that he can’t break out of a pair of handcuffs, all while maintaining his act, then if Luthor knew that he’d also know that he never could rise to the status of “problem” for Superboy, but instead could only be a complication to his real problem…which is, if he gives away his secret identity then he’ll probably have to fuck Lana Lang.

Pardon my language, but I think it’s to the point: for about fifty years, Superman’s never-ending struggle was pretty much against the evilly-particularizing forces of sexual operancy, was it not? Which is no more a bad thing in the Superman stories than it is in Peter Pan…in fact it’s as much a relief for the hero as it is compensatory for the reader, even if for Lex Luthor it’s a frankly hellish state of affairs. Oh, man, imagine being Lex Luthor! Who would probably like to move on every bit as much as Lana and Lois would, but can’t

Because he himself happens to be the particular thumb in that dike. Hell, if Lois and Lana knew, they’d put a bullet in his head! But, well, we’ll come back to that too, sort of. Outside, the stormclouds roil just like the terrifying, uncanny symbols that they are…in Lawrence’s world, as I once claimed in a paper that did not do so well when it came to the marking, the problem with the symbols is that they also disturb the world inside the reading, their dire import is actual within the fictional reality of the book and not just in the association of the reading, and so they really do mean all that stuff they’re about…hah, bet you wondered where Grant Morrison got it all from, didn’t you? NEVER STOPPED TO CONSIDER THE LAWRENTIAN ROOT OF THE SUPERHERO STORY!…outside they roil away in demonstration of the horrid presence of meaning, but here before the fire, on the rug, simplicity and expression are still guiltlessly in charge for the time being. The status quo?

The status quo, and it’s definitely a status quo with compensations…but outside the fictional world, it can’t last forever. It does last a good long while! But eventually the relation between the story and its reader changes. Because the reader, much as Lois and Lana and Lex (if they only really knew it!), desires something new.

Of course, he said darkly, this “something new” can take many forms.

It all comes down to fan fiction, in my opinion. How often do we find ourselves saying that we don’t like the administration of a venerable superhero title because it’s no better than “fan-fic”? Everybody talks about it, yet no one seems to be able to define it, and the nature of the calumny is…problematical, at least for me, because I don’t hate fan-fic; I think it’s got a perfectly good reason to exist, and find it endlessly cheering that people have taken their desire to participate more completely in their fiction into their own hands. So, that’s not really what I mean when I say, derisively, that something “reads like fan-fic”…although the desire to increase participation in the fiction is, I think, a component of what I mean. A bad Avengers story (for example) is routinely, even ostentatiously emptied of character-memory in a way many of your Star Trek or Harry Potter fan-fics are not; where we might expect to find, in a “fan-fic” kind of narrative, characters that are gifted with a sort of institutional memory of their histories and their milieux — and a consequent chattiness about the details of their past that “official” characters in serial entertainment rarely exhibit — clearly in a Brian Bendis or Mark Millar story or something of the like we encounter a sharp disconnection from any established continuity, and sometimes even from consistency with the preceding page. No “hey Spock, remember when we found that big amoeba in space” passages, you know? And yet these are not un-chatty characters, in these comics: far from it. So it makes you wonder what they are spending so much time talking about, and indeed referencing (since superhero dialogue remains the most exposition-oriented in all of literature), if not the histories that confine their plots…!

But we’ll get back to that, too. Well, actually we’ll get there in reasonably short order, as no discussion of fan-fic can be complete without discussion of the ubiquitous “Mary Sue” character, the writer’s stand-in. Even in a story where the characters all possess a comprehensive reader’s knowledge of themselves and their world, the Mary Sue goes them all one better — not only remembering more, but connecting more, and reasoning more openly on those connections. And not only that! But also creating connection where it wouldn’t otherwise exist, by hyper-aggressively writing herself into the plots and histories and relationships of times past. So it’s here, I think, that we encounter fan-fic’s own fine line, as distinct from the fine line between “official” writing and fan-fic itself: the fine line between the writer as greater participant in the fiction, and the writer as entire point of the fiction. What is this Mary Sue character, in her essence? Simplistically, she’s a way to carry affection for the story into the story, an embodied reader/writer, a voice from outside the text. Even to write in a God to your story is not to confront its characters with such an Outer Voice and Outer Purpose, as a Mary Sue! Who truly has no in-story justification, and whose powers of perception cross the ultimate line of the surface of the page itself. Mary Sue knows the hero of the story in a way no other character possibly can, admires and understands them, and can bring harmony to their life, in a way no other character can imagine. Is it love? It may be something like love, and like all love it depends on communication between subject and object…

…And, the critique resulting from such communication. So, to my mind this is very interesting, the subject of the Mary Sue as critique. It explains a lot, about the changing position of reader and identification-object and about the recontextualization of comic-book sex and violence. The astute reader of comics will have noticed it: that there are so many comics these days, where it isn’t that all the violence codes for sex, but that all the sex codes for violence, and that’s the source of the seamy slickness of our current-day nostalgic disease. Superhero comics are different because the sex that lies beneath their surface is different: the violence isn’t anodyne because the sex isn’t harmless. And in the end, that’s what the characters are all so busy talking about: every conversation is imbued with a certain subliminal prurience, a titillating whisper of dirtiness…of uneasiness, of danger. People complain about Alan Moore linking up rape with beloved children’s characters in Lost Girls…well, this is much the same thing, only the goal isn’t Art.

Don’t believe me?

Here comes Geoff Klock again, as promised, with his excellent “How To Read Superhero Comics” and its take on Frank Miller’s Dark Knight Returns. I won’t quote, but I definitely agree (and it’s hard to miss!) the sexualization of the Joker. Wertham got it wrong! Frank seems to scream in DKR…the relationship between Batman and Robin is totally healthy, it’s the relationship between Batman and the JOKER that you should be worried about! Well, or maybe not worried about…maybe, “conscious of”?

Because what it is — to my way of thinking, anyway — is a critique. Mary Sue’s extreme romantic identification with the hero has a predecessor, which is the supervillain: for who else is concerned with watching the hero, studying the hero, bringing the hero to a greater state of harmony and self-understanding through gentle correction? Who else stands there and quotes and quotes the hero’s past to him, explains his universe, expresses his love in pages and pages of monologue? Maybe you can’t see it so well on the surface…it’s a bit twisted, a bit distorted…but Frank, that one-time great comics professional and non-crazy person, got to its heart so you and I wouldn’t have to. As the reading gets more fraught, as the readers get older and the companies don’t really keep up with their interests, the reader identifies less with the hero and more with the villain, and so what the reader desires comes into alignment with what the villain would, if only he had access to the reader’s godlike knowledge. And so the non-entity who steals the hero’s power is a rapist Mary Sue of the writer’s design, you know? The ideal of villainy as warped affection reaches its summit in the non-character, the character who doesn’t have a reason to be there, except to do something to the hero that the laws of superhero comics technically forbid: not just to assault him sexually, but to assault his sexuality — to assault its health.

So…it isn’t all about the wrong lessons being taken from Watchmen, you know? In fact it might be as interesting to compile a list of all the post-DKR mainstream artists who have actually managed to get the thing right, as it would be to compile a list of those that have gotten it wrong…if only to see how many artists fall on both sides of that ledger, and what we can extract from that correlation. Maybe that would explain Wonderdog killing Marvin and eating him?

Maybe as a writer, when the business realities of the status quo repel your assault on the seriality of their properties, you resolve to try again in a different place, with a different plan? Maybe you become obsessed, and lose the thread of what you were doing; maybe it all turns subtly from critique into vandalism. The superhero should not live after his core foundational principle has been demolished — after the hearth and the rug have been lightning-struck, there should be nothing left. Shouldn’t there?

And yet the desire is frustrated just the same.

And that’s when love gets complicated.

Me For Vendetta

Remember this?

For those in positions of power — whatever those positions may be — there is nothing quite so scary as realizing you don’t know why things are happening. So, maybe that’s why it’s so common to find people in those positions turning a staggeringly blind eye to what’s happening. There are all kinds of examples of this, whose commonalities tempt me to try extracting a general rule from them: perhaps just something as simple as “when the margins stop communicating, centralization is all that’s left”? Arguably there is no such thing as a centre until the stuff outside it starts to remove itself: the centre is a conceptual strategy, for dealing with the breakdown of a system. The centre is invented. In star formation, something analogous happens: vast clouds of hydrogen cool down until the only force acting on them is gravity, and then begin to fall inward to a point where (one day) temperature and pressure will get so unstoppably high that nuclear fusion will begin. But the star is never the whole cloud — most of the cloud escapes, or stays where it is, only hollowed-out. Invisible. Unsuspected. A celestial dropout, from the processes that create solar systems.

Or, perhaps more properly, something that must be excluded from a description of those processes. In a way, then: a threat to that description, which only covers the behaviour of a small portion of the original cloud’s extent, and can’t account for the overwhelming majority of its bulk.

But everything’s fine, so long as you don’t have to look at it.

The point of this post is comics — to be specific, this disgusting little tidbit of comics news — but we’ll just take a minute to get there, if you can hang on that long. We’ll go as fast as we can, though: from astronomy we’ll take an immediate big jump down, to Canadian politics, and then jump down even further next time. So…

In my country, one of the things that’s happened over the last quarter-century is that people have gotten harder to poll, and their conversations harder to track. It used to be easy to get someone to respond to a survey on the phone; hell, it used to be easy to get someone on the phone, even if they ended up refusing to participate in the survey! But now all that stuff is flying away, so it’s harder to know what’s going on. And conventional news organizations don’t help with that, either; even if they might’ve raised their investigative game otherwise (and it’s by no means certain that they would’ve), the process of corporate consolidation in the late twentieth century has left them fantastically underprepared to do so. Put that together with the recent avalanche of politicization, the gushing river of spin-doctoring, and the concentration of power in news organizations as they gather more money and guard more gates, defend more turf, and it isn’t hard to see that the free traffic of information in the cold cloud of society is on a runaway track of inhibition. The centre is invented, as the interactional density between an ever-shrinking number particles goes WAY UP, to compensate for the total volume of interaction that’s being steadily lost. Newspeople live in a bubble no less than politicians do, and in fact it’s usually the same bubble: they only talk to one another, not to anybody else. Pollsters can’t get people on the phone, so their crystal balls are getting cloudier. Collapse begins, as the centre invents itself by learning to look on itself. And it learns to look elsewhere less. And in a nutshell, that’s why the loathsome party currently serving as my government is already doomed to go down in flames; because in our last election, something completely unexpected happened, something no one but the people on the ground that the central powers no longer reach ever saw coming…and so the central powers still cannot explain it, a fact perhaps not all that surprising since they’re basically trying everything they can to avoid having to explain it. Narrative, narrative, all is narrative; but this narrative has already fallen completely out of touch with reality, so that “all” is getting kinda tautological. That narrative explains and describes itself, but that’s as far as it goes; it can’t explain and does not describe what happened in the last election. So everybody who thinks they’re mighty clever now, and in the driver’s seat at long last, is doomed because they don’t understand they’re actually in the passenger seat — and that the car has only by coincidence taken them where they wanted to go. Sure, their strategies are all brilliant, inside the narrative they’ve successfully constructed…

But the narrative itself isn’t any good, and works only about as long as the people outside it can be persuaded to keep on humouring the storytellers. Hence the thing I try very hard to hold in my head from the link up above, the realization that nothing changes for me except how good I feel about myself, if I just stop identifying with the powers of government, and start thinking of myself as a member of an unruly mob instead. Because the mob, you see, doesn’t have the responsibility to govern itself. It doesn’t have to make sure the people in power fully understand and approve its motives and methods, before having those motives and adopting those methods. Nothing the mob does has to “make sense” to the people in power; making sense is a tax the government of the central powers isn’t entitled to collect, from the mob. Public reaction: spin it all you like, but in the end it isn’t anything you could call a negotiated settlement. It happens, and it comes without warning, and it won’t go along with you if you can’t go along with it. After all, it isn’t on the mob to calculate its own reactions in advance! That isn’t the mob’s problem to solve.

And the mob doesn’t even have to help.

Albeit slowly, I think I am getting better at remembering that.

So jump down now, all the way from politics to comics…a long drop. Past Wikileaks and the Arab Spring, past student protests and UK riots, past Occupy, past SOPA/PIPA, past indefinite detention even of people not named Bradley Manning, past everything that actually matters in the grand scheme, all the way down to superhero comics, and Gary Friedrich. But of course it isn’t just Gary Friedrich we’re talking about, is it? Up higher, way up higher, the list of the things we just dropped down through is being kept out of all central narratives, is especially resisted as an alter-narrative…but when you live by the narrative and die by the narrative, you think narrative is the one and only Killer App of society when really it isn’t, so you miss something important. Because you and I, we don’t really need to narratize the mob’s resistance to narrative, do we? Heck, we don’t even have to help to narratize it one way or the other…because we don’t need to say that all these things are the same thing to actually be living with the very tenor of the times, and we know you can’t stop shit happening just by leaving no room for it in your storyline, just like you can’t make it happen by including it in your storyline. So, down near the lowly stratum of comics, I am not saying all these things are the same thing, at all…

But shit’s still happening. And it’s still scary for the powerful. And so they keep ignoring that it’s happening, indeed so very hard do they ignore it that they overcorrect absurdly in the other direction, and make it happen even more, and faster. So, how long have corporate comics been abusing their talent, the very talent that keeps their doors open? They’ve been doing that forever. And, how long have comics fans been turning a blind eye to it themselves? Forever, forever. So it’s a pretty sweet deal corporate comics has going there. Apathy works in their favour, so they’re golden, untouchable.

So they just had to push the limits, didn’t they? There are just so many creators in comics that you can push around with impunity, there really are. Even the people like me, who know their names, can’t be stirred to protest very much. It’s a very wide field, for a corporate abuser, and it’s game on all the time, with almost every comics creator. Almost every one!

Just, not the ones they’ve gone right out of their way to screw with, one after the other and coming close on one another’s heels, in this most remarkable year of 2011. Start with trying to ruthlessly beat down the claim of Jerry Siegel to Superman, the claim not merely of justice for once, but of LAW, TOO…and Brother DC, that does not look too good on you. You’ve pulled a lot of shit in your time, but this shit really smells especially like shit, you know? Then we go right over to Marvel, and they do the same thing, to exactly the same sort of immortal creator that they ought to feel some goddamn gratitude to. I’ve told all my non-comics friends, for years, that it was soon going to start to come down…I never imagined anything like this, though. Who could’ve imagined this? That Marvel would’ve put their hand right on the flame this way? Big-budget blockbusters doing boffo box-office, and it is just now that they decide they can risk a scandal, now when one of the most extraordinarily beloved comics creators of all time not only has scads of his work coming again before the eyes of the public, but also great handsome biographical tomes, too, demonstrating his impeccable Good Guy credentials and describing in great detail his battle with the corporate forces of evil…so yes, the little guy who invented all the stuff the Hollywood movies are made from, yes, YES, now is definitely the time to get tough with his legacy. I mean, what better time could there be?

‘Cause…hey, it’s all legal, right?

So what could happen?

Well, the mob could happen, I guess. But, maybe it won’t? I mean, we’ve still got some of that apathy stuff lying around, right?

So obviously what we should do is rush right out and create another great controversy with Alan Moore. Tell you what, let’s do something that pisses people off about Watchmen, that’ll generate lots of press! Hey, there’s no such thing as bad publicity, you know? Oh, and also we should really make sure to demonize him a little, make it plain he’s a fuck-up and a hypocrite and ha! ha! Alan Moore, what a joke he is! And while we’re at it, let’s treat our readership just like they’re sheep. Like, really obnoxiously. Really put the arm on them: “if you’re mad about this, the terrorists win”, something in the general area of that formula. That’s been a really successful formula in the past, so definitely lay that one on thick. Oh, make sure to put Jerry Siegel’s widow through the wringer a bit, as well? And call out the trolls to say Jack Kirby was a big crybaby…maybe a socialist…and if we can somehow contrive to do all this in the year that Gene Colan and Jerry Robinson die, you know…

Hey, it’s a foolproof plan!

And now…Gary Friedrich. Is he one of the most beloved comics creators of all time? Nope. Creator of many beloved characters? Hmm…maybe Ghost Rider. Does he have a good argument, that holds water, about the work-for-hire thing? Well, if you mean “as good as Jerry Siegel’s” or “as good as Jack Kirby’s”, then…yeah, that’s another big “nope”.

But just as the smaller fry in the comics world have a better work environment today because of all the Siegels and Kirbys who went before them, so too has Gary Friedrich’s dispute with Big Two Comics happened to benefit from the general atmosphere of disgust that’s very recently risen from the corporate treatment of those other two men. In other words: the waters are already plenty roiled. The camel’s pretty well overloaded, look at its knees shake. Wow, look at all this wet dynamite in here, is this sketchy or what?

Hey…you know what we should do?

We should drop the fucking HAMMER on that Gary Friedrich guy. Really send a message. After all, what could possibly go wrong? He’s a well-known unsavoury type, no one really cares about him but his friends and family, and we can always say he started with us first

And I think reasonable people will buy that explanation of events, don’t you?

Because obviously it is impossible that anything is happening in the world, that we don’t already know all about.

Oh, you know Bloggers…I really do want to bloody their nose now, eh? I mean they just won’t stop, will they? And now it’s a protest, now it’s a boycott. Before, it was just a gross taste in my mouth, but now it’s a roaring in my ears. And the thing is…

They haven’t accounted for that. To lose me as a reader of their comics, well to be honest they were all for that, they didn’t want my business anyway. They made that quite clear. Though of course they did want me seeing their movies, right? But I’m sure they felt that they could survive the loss of a little ol’ outlier rage-monkey like me. I mean, to lose me, to lose ME…to lose me at all, you know, when I am THE target audience for those movies…that’s a problem even if I don’t really matter, because it’s a problem they didn’t see coming, and so it speaks to them not really being the driver of this car. But, as long as the car keeps generally rolling in the direction they like, they can always wave it all off. Maybe they didn’t see it coming, but it was really a “known unknown” kind of thing, collateral damage…not too worrying, to lose me, even if it was technically counter to the plan. So in a way, this was accounted for: breakage, spillage. People stop caring about comics, sometimes. It happens. It’s expected.

But I think what is probably quite unexpected, and something no one accounted for — not even me! — is that NOW I HATE THEM. Now I want to speak ill of them, now I want the value of all those copyrights they hold to go down. Bloody their noses?

Do you all know just how easy it would be, to bloody their noses?

It’d be ridiculously easy. Just don’t go see the Avengers movie on the opening weekend. If this is easy for you to do, then wait ’til another weekend passes after that. Just that. Only that. That simple little thing. I’m not saying it’ll fix the problem; but I am saying that they won’t know what the fuck just hit them, and man if they deserve nothing else, they at least deserve that. So go ahead, give ‘em a little shot. Just a little one. Just a tiny one. Then, if that feels good…

Do it again. Look for a spot, and then give ‘em a quick jab there. Scare the fuckers a little. “Oh no, what’s going on, this isn’t in the script!” You could also, if you wanted to, talk smack about them: join the anti-comics blogosphere, and be a real mean person, spare no one, hate on the books and hate on the movies and hate on the brand loyalties. And don’t worry about thinking it through too much, if you don’t want to. Don’t worry about providing explanations, to anyone who may wonder just what your problem is. After all, it is not your responsibility to explain to them what your problem is, is it?

Figuring that out is their job.

Make ‘em do it, for once.

And you’ll be surprised how much better that makes you feel.

Anyway I’ll feel better.

Don’t Listen To The Bear, Conan

I guess what bugs me most about Alan Moore these days is how he’s always popping up in some venue or other calling for a mass boycott.  Clearly interested in nothing but laying his hands on money he’s not really entitled to, he seems to have little more to occupy his time with than pushing his uninvited invective into conversations that really have nothing to do with him.  Stomping up and down the Internet and print media urging people not to buy new work based on his books, heedless of the fact that all his books have in turn been based on somebody else’s work, he comes off like the saddest kind of hypocrite:  one who doesn’t even realize his hypocrisy.  And for years, out of respect for his talent, no one has really spoken any truth to him about it, but now…well, I’m as sorry as anyone to see it, but the intervention had to happen eventually, and I’m just glad his peers have phrased it as delicately as possible but even if they hadn’t it’s still more than about time to say:  Alan Moore, your fifteen minutes are up.

…Oh, what?

Oh, yeah.  I forgot.

NONE OF THAT IS TRUE.

So…

How come the intervention’s still happening, then?

It’s a question that’s bugging me quite a bit, today.  David Brothers has the round-up for you, and he’s just about as right as rain about it, but the one thing he doesn’t mention is how the pre-emptive strikes against Alan Moore’s unwillingness to approve DC’s new Watchmen ripoffs aren’t just coming from jumped-up fanboys (sadly, I kind of expect it from them), but also from supposed professionals in the comics field, in a show of disrespect that frankly I find shocking.  Is it that they’re just so used to the stupid boilerplate PR circle-jerks (“from the beginning I said that if I was going to do this, it had to be done right, and it took a long time for INSERT EIC’S NAME HERE to convince me, in HIS/HER typically brilliant way, that the commitment was there…but I think when fans see what I’ve got planned for INSERT COMIC NAME HERE they’ll appreciate the reverence with which INSERT COLLABORATOR’S NAME HERE and I approached INSERT COMICS CREATOR’S NAME HERE’s work, and understand that we really did it to honour COMICS CREATOR’s contribution to the field…”), is all that shit just so standard now that they can’t even focus on it long enough to realize when it’s actually become offensive?  J. Michael Straczynski should really not be at such pains to point out, apropos of nothing if you really think about it, that since Alan Moore wrote Lost Girls he’s not entitled to have negative feelings about Before Watchmen…much less should he drag in the odious hypothetical wherein we would all be much poorer for Jerry Siegel not being booted off Superman, but somehow, some way, he does

And all the while Alan Moore does not really care, you know.  That’s the really unforgivable thing here, that in all likelihood Alan Moore has no idea who Mr. Straczynski is, and doesn’t specifically care if he cashes his paycheque or not.  So what’s it to JMS?  Does he really think Alan Moore is lobbing grenades at him, grenades carefully labelled “how dare you use my characters without my consent”, does he really feel as though he needs to defend himself against Alan Moore?  David B. hits the mark on this one with his usual accuracy:  Alan Moore’s displeasure is useful to DC Comics, and that’s probably the only reason they care about it.  The comics are coming out anyway, and they’ll sell or they won’t sell, and Alan Moore isn’t calling press conferences about the injustice of it all;  they could ignore Alan Moore, if they wanted to.  Well, really they are ignoring him, because what they have to say about him isn’t directed at him, answers nothing that he’s actually said about them, and far from correcting errors of fact only folds factual errors into a plausible-sounding narrative that enables the marketing machine to do its business more efficiently.  Alan Moore wants nothing to do with any of it, but his name is still something that can be traded on….and thus there must be a controversy, even if it does not actually consist of any genuine controversion.  Look, all momentary hipnesses aside, Watchmen is a magnificent piece of allusive clockwork, a great accomplishment of form.  Is it one of the top 100 literary works of the 20th century?  Certainly not;  but it’s a wonderful piece of work, a very valuable piece of work, and it has a great deal of literary merit.  By contrast, Before Watchmen (and what a stunningly mediocre title that is, I mean REALLY!) unless a miracle occurs will just be a bunch of generic comics product not really deserving of much scrutiny.  Because the very idea that the characters can be revivified, updated to “tell us more about ourselves in the modern world” or whatever the overwrought mission statement du jour is, that idea’s pure garbage as a piece of philosophy.  That’s not how stories work, that’s not how characters work:  that’s just more spin.  A good design is an eternally-productive delight, to be sure, but good design isn’t merely eternal, it’s also effective…and characters, as a result, don’t have any intrinsic storytelling virtues.  They can be interesting characters because of the way they’re designed, but they can’t actually themselves “tell us” anything…only writers and artists can do that, and when push comes to shove it doesn’t matter what characters they use to do it, just so long as the characters’ interesting designs are effective at carrying the artists’ messages.  And it’s perfectly possible to have the wrong character at hand for a given job!  Are there really more great Dr. Manhattan stories to be told?  Maybe there are, but merely having Dr. Manhattan in a story doesn’t mean that story’s one of them.  There are also, no doubt, many more bad Dr. Manhattan stories lurking out there in Ideaspace, so what odds?  How now?  What’s the best way this could work out?

Sorry, trick question:  it doesn’t matter to me how it works out.  Well, I’m not gonna be reading the damn things, am I?  If you want to read them, go ahead;  that’s your business, and I’m happy to say it doesn’t affect me any more than you mean it to.  But I must confess, it does matter to me that the grand PR circle-jerk has expanded to the point where creators are happy to paint other creators as hypocritical malcontents for failing to actively support the cynical exploitation of their creations…where creators unthinkingly adopt and promulgate the company line even to the point where they imply no creator’s contribution is as important as the contribution of the characters they made popular, and that making a living off the work of earlier authors is fine so long as no one rocks that boat, but if someone ever does then it’s still fine, only not for them.  You want to see some hypocrisy, well…there it is, you know?  And it’s of the saddest kind, too.  So I’m kind of pissed at J. Michael Straczynski, if you want to know the truth.  And is that fair?

I think it is.  After all, you don’t see me getting pissy about Darwyn Cooke or Len Wein, do you?  Ha, well, then again all Mr. Cooke said was that he thought it was a dumb thing to do, but then he had an idea.  And I’m not a monster:  if the man had an idea, he had an idea.  Who can prevent ideas from coming?  In the privacy of my own thoughts I may judge it or not judge it, but I’m not going to bother you with all that…because as I said, what I think of Watchmen Reloaded is not the subject of this little rant o’ mine.  Likewise Mr. Wein’s contribution, you know it strikes me as quite funny, because though I truly do love Watchmen I also love the story where Len says, as the editor of said book, “hey waitaminute, you mean the big plan is a rip-off of “The Architects Of Fear”, are you kidding me, NOT COOL ALAN…” and something in me laughs and laughs at the notion that Len Wein, creator of Swamp Thing and disgruntled editor of Watchmen, gets another payday out of it all at this late date.  I mean, honestly…I’m not a monster, you know?  And it’s not my place to interfere with some fannish opinion-or-other, when the professionals are cutting weird ironic circles around one another that I can’t interpret.  Okay, okay, I guess it’s pretty obvious that I think Watchmen Begins is an effort that was quite neatly described by Alan Moore as “shameless”…but I’m not Alan Moore, and he doesn’t need me defending him, and so this isn’t a defence.

Rather, this is an explosion of irritation.

What the fuck is any creator doing, taking potshots at Alan Moore?  Alan Moore doesn’t care about you.  And Alan Moore is not your enemy!  Everybody knows — everybody knows — that this NuWatchmen thing is pretty much what I called it above, i.e. cynical and exploitative…that’s not a secret.

It really isn’t!

My God, it so ISN’T…!

And yet you will try to snow me about it.  It’s good, it’s worthy, it’s been carefully-considered, and it would’ve worked too if it weren’t for you meddling kids and that DAMNED ALAN MOORE…!

But oh, man.  Get real.  Wake up.  Alan lives in a magic cave in Northampton, he doesn’t have the Internet, fuck if I’m not surprised he still has a PHONE.  The only reason you’re acting so pissed at him is that you know damn well that this is a shitty and stupid thing to do…well we all know that!…and because you know he doesn’t know, or anyway at least barely knows…and thus is not gonna give you a concrete target to react against…so…

…You’re yelling at shadows.

And now it’s a rescue mission.

You know something, it really is.

The Flu, She Has FLED!

Ah, health! It’s great stuff!

Why I’m feeling better all the time!

Happy First Birthday, Oliver!

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