Batman = Playdough Boy

Wow, I caught the Dark Knight yesterday. I don't claim to be an expert on movies, but it was astounding. Blew what's left of my mind. It was a relentless greek tragedy chock full of archetypes who become morally twisted by choices taken or forced upon them. Nolan has set the bar even higher for the post-millennial hero. Heath Ledger is a parasite that burrows under the skin, erupting the senses and collapsing one's ethical foundation. His character is not simply a psychopath, but an agent of anarchy. His portrayal shook me, I left the theatre dazed. And I'm not saying this because he's dead. I only speak the truth.

One of the previews I saw was for another highly anticipated movie, the Watchmen, a DC comic written by Alan Moore in the mid-eighties. After I got home, it occurred to me that all the major movies in the last 5 years are based on comics.

It's bizzare to me, because I knew of these comics well before they were a twinkle in a movie producer's eye. Fart sac and I were talking about it on the phone a few weeks ago. I said, "What do you think about all these comics turning into movies?" His response, "Fucken amazing, the technology is finally here to make them." And he's right, remember the very first Fantastic Four?

Oh yes, one was made ages ago, probably when Jessica Alba was still in thong diapers. That movie was remarkably bad, yet the filmmakers intended to release it, believing they had a gem of a flick. Luckily the sleazy production company only intended to make the film to retain the rights. Still, no sane movie studio touched comics unless it was Batman or Superman. Even those franchises suffered from shitty scripts and bad directing. Now look at us!

In analyzing the anti-hero, even this has altered to some degree. In the 70's the anti-hero was a citizen with a gun, usually large, and ready to aim at muggers.

The 80's was about the shunned Vietnam Vet, an unearthing of a shameful war, and how it could warp a man to resist the military machine. You made me what I am, now you're gonna pay.

I honestly can't recall what the heck happened in the 90's. I might have smoked too much weed back then.

Right now it's the comic book superhero (or heroine). But instead of blasting someone with a machine gun, today's anti-hero can disintegrate someone with a look or thought. Bye, bye mugger.

Let's be clear on my definition of an anti-hero. It's a person who strictly operates outside the traditional institutions of law, policing, or government. If you were to pluck any of these new anti-heroes, none of them are classified as part of the system. Let's list them: Spiderman, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, X-Men. All of these characters are mutant to some degree. Some are filthy rich and can afford to be freakish, the others are genetically freakish. Either way, they have chosen to fight crime without sanction by the hierarchy. In comic terms: wayy cool.

Since everything comes down to sex, let's go there now. While watching the emotional torture that Bruce Wayne puts himself through, or gasping at Batman taking out a scumbag, I can't help but think how searing hot he is.

At home again, I got to more thinking. It's becoming clear I should not sit at home alone, my thoughts are evilness. Most people that don't know comics only see the glossed version of what's on screen. In reality, there's a wide chasm between who actually reads the comics and what images are generated from them.

Take Batman (see left) in all his hotness, then take the typical comic reader (see below, right). The typical comic book reader is a pale, doughy guy who excels at Settlers of Catan and light saber workshops. But, the joke is on us people. These dough boys now run the world! Not only do they dominate in the technological field, but now they have us by the entertainment balls. We are indebted to them for reintroducing the anti-hero in new packaging. I find it hilarious that the guys who worship such ripe fantasy wouldn't get a second look on the street by Jessica.

What's even funnier is the scribes who create the muscular hero or voluptuous heroine are sorta dorky themselves. I can name a small number of comic writers who are tres cool: Alan Moore, Warren Ellis, Grant Morrison, Neil Gaiman, Garth Ennis. Other than that, dorkville. I'm sure you're all dying to know how I could possibly be aware of From Hell, V for Vendetta, Sandman or Transmetropolitan. Indeed, I must be just like Morag. If you aren't reading my blog, then you don't know who Morag is. Get on it then, watch the clip from the July 19th post. I have to be fughly to no end. As I tried to suggest on Panglossian Daymares, perhaps my love of comics is unusual. My normality is questionable for sure. Unless you know exactly what I look like then too bad, so sad. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

Fart sac (F.S.) and I do have an old connection. My ex and F.S. were avid comic book readers. So yes, by exposure and through my own fangirl leanings, I got hooked myself. I'm pretty bad at wielding a light saber though. It's all about fantasy, tapping into characters that can do things mere earthlings cannot do. The industry itself has gone through an evolution, gaining respect in the cool hunting biz. Personally, I always thought of comics as literature set to pictures. Even as a writer, I think more visually than not.

Ah, here he is again. What fortitude that my little essay on fanboys also relates to a recent sociological discovery. After several observational sessions through close contact or distant viewings, I have compiled a portrait sketch of the typical Canadian man:
* Sickly pale - he frightens small dogs and children.
* Dry sense of humour; so dry that it's a famine rather than a funny.
* Sunken shoulders, soft belly, and bread stick arms. That's white bread.
* Really, really nice. Innocuous to the point of lulling me into a deep sleep.
* Neutered opinions, skittish, dispassionate, and kind of whiny.
* Overall personality is equivalent to a block of wood.

Seriously, I was at the beach two weekends ago, and tons of guys wouldn't take their shirts off. It had to be 30 degrees that day. They sat there sweating, all pale and clenched under the baking sun. Guess that explains the pale bit. Before you hit the switch marked "burn her at the stake", just remember this: the joke is on me. Since I live in Canada, I'm privileged to be victim to this romantic potential. Jesus, KILL--ME--NOW...