The superhero attraction

Why do characters endure?  It's something I've thought about.  Can anyone really explain it?  (I bet Joseph Campbell could.)

Sometimes it's hard to believe that Superman is over 70 years old, and yet he's become a part of American pop culture.  Then again, Romeo and Juliet are hundreds of years older, and the heroes of mythology are thousands of years older, and they're still going strong.

I wonder if somewhere deep in our brains there's a little cell that lights up when we hear stories about beings more powerful than us.  Or smarter than us.  Or braver, or stronger.  Why is that?  Do we want to know that it's possible to be better than we currently are?  Or do we want to know that there are other people out there who are grander than us and can take care of our problems for us?  Are heroes reflections of who we are or visions or who we want to become?  Are they idols to worship, or saviors to deliver us?

Some have considered superheroes (or aliens, or supernatural events) a proxy for the human genetic need to believe in something greater than ourselves.  Dean Hamer called it the "god gene."  Except we don't need to believe that superheroes in order to be attracted to them.  I don't think a Kryptonian is going to fall down to Earth and save us anytime soon, and yet I respond to the idea of "Superman" on a very visceral level.  Maybe heroes tap into a genetic desire for self-preservation and safety.

Or maybe it's one level higher.  Maybe the superhero attraction taps into our hard-wired moral predilictions.  Maybe we don't think there's enough justice in the world, so we like reading stories about justice-seekers who right the wrongs of their fictional universe.  Maybe if these fictional heroes can do good in their world, we can apply the same methods to bring justice to ours.

Maybe it's more vague, more "human."  Maybe we just need to look in a mirror from time to time.  Maybe the attraction just comes from seeing a character who reminds us of ourselves, whose heart is in the right place, whose suffered a few losses, who tries and fails and decides to try again, or who's lost something and moves beyond it, and maybe we need someone like that to look up to as a template of human behavior.

All these thoughts are swirling around in my head.  I see comics as a very primal force that meets some deep-seated needs in my brain.  I think that is why I like some books and not others: the books I don't like fail to meet some hard-wired need in my brain.  That little Greater Than Me cell isn't lighting up in my brain, and I'm not happy.  The story isn't connecting with me on an emotional level, or an idealogical one, or a moral one, or a human one.  When a character doesn't act better than I do, then it's not a story worthy of myth.  Then it's just real life.

And real life kinda sucks.

This post is really long and dreary, so I included a picture of two squirrels kissing to make you all happy again.

Why do *you* read comics?

During my weekly existential crisis I was wondering: what's the main reason people read comics?  I haven't even come to an answers as to why I read them other than they're a fast read, and that can't be a good reason.  I like the pretty pictures, too, but that doesn't seem like a valid reason to like a medium, either.

There's just something inherently cool about comic book characters that I can't quite put my finger on.  Yet at the same time, I really don't think of too many stories or comic book plots as memorable or meaningful.  With a few exceptions, I can't think of any great quotes from comic books that I find particularly memorable like I do from movies (both comic-based and not) and TV shows.  I mean, I sit there and say the lines along with the actors every time I watch Seinfeld, but there aren't too many comics that I'll re-read to that point.

Two comics that pop into my mind when I think about them as an actual story in the "graphic novel" sense are The Long Halloween and Martian Manhunter: American Secrets.  Both made me invest in the plot and left me wanting to find out what happens, and both had characters whom I found had a depth to them and that might stand to lose something.  The other story that pops into my head in terms of character is any Justice League International story.  The plots of those JLI stories were entertaining, but it was the characters and how they related to each that I really enjoy.  And thinking about Silver Age stories, which are often lacking any sort of depth (or sense), they are just so imaginative that they become entertaining.

I'm scratching my head trying to figure out why I buy certain ongoing titles today.  Most stories are lacking meaningful characters whom I can relate to, and the plots are pretty formulaic.  So what's the point of reading them?  I've been reading R.E.B.E.L.S. since last summer for the sheer purpose of hoping to find a panel showing Adam Strange standing in the background.  For me, it's character that interests me and keeps me coming back, even if it's a cameo appearance.  I've since kept R.E.B.E.L.S. in the pull list becuase I find Vril Dox entertaining, and now I'll read it without an Adam Strange appearance.

What are your reasons for reading comics?

Are All Characters Sacred?

The two part "Starro the Conqueror" episode of Batman: the Brave and the Bold which featured B'wana Beast had me thinking deep thoughts the other day about minor characters.

It seems as though that both the comics industry and comics fandom operate under the premise that any character, no matter how small, out-of-fashion, ridiculous, or poorly thought out, is sacred.  For the former, it is because they are intellectual property that might garner profits, for the latter, it is out of emotional attachment and identification.

Is this a valid premise, however, for a creative industry?  Should all characters be above censure, even if hardly anyone likes them?  Is it okay to admit a mistake, forget a character was created, and move on?

I offer this up as an open-ended question, because I have not come to a conclusion myself.  I can offer points on both sides of the argument: there are some characters I just don't like, and at the same time, I applaud the efforts of writers who can take an obscure character and bring him or her to new heights.  That being said, I don't like to see legacy characters trotted out in low-quality stories just for the sake of selling books.

But I teared up a little at the end of a cartoon about B'wana Beast, so that's got to count for something.

Do We Feel This Way About Comics Now?

I recently was pleasantly surprised at work when a student let me read her essay detailing how Batman, being a superhero without powers, inspired her to choose a career in nursing that would let her help others and be a hero to them.  I was pretty moved by reading it, because not only is it inspiring to hear about the dreams of youth, but the fact that a fictional character could have a profound influence on someone makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

And my second thought was this: are adults similarly inspired by comics today?

In today's world, I think not.  Fifty years ago?  You be the judge:

Justice League of America #15, 1962

Could you honestly see anyone over the age of ten writing a letter like this to DC?  This guy is talking about hope, faith, justice, a belief that humanity can improve itself.  Now all I see when I look at the world is snark, cynicism, and complacency.

There was an exhibit of comics books at the Yale Law Library highlighting superheroes in court, lawyers, and the law, in which one of the lawyers interviewed stated that comic books inspired him to become a defense attorney (whose specialty is defending spies, to boot.)

What are modern comics inspiring us to become?  What do superheroes fight against and what do they stand for, if anything?  I don't know if any hero believes in anything besides "stop the bad guy."  Have superheroes ever fought any domestic evils like corruption, organized crime, or just your run-of-the-mill mugger in recent years?  To me, it seems that these crimes are too small for big-time superheroes to be bothered with.  I'm not suggesting another "Hard Traveling Heroes," but a simple change in perspective once in a while to show how regular people are inspired (or not) by their hometown heroes.

And where have all of comics' supporting characters gone?  The lawyers?  The cops?  The city mayors?  The regular citizens who looked up in the sky or out beyond the stars for their heroes?  Why must cops become costumed vigilantes to become "heroes?"  (Or become the Spirit of Vengeance for that matter.)  Renee Montoya was as heroic as any superhero when she was "just" a detective.  And in addition to that, Clark Kent did some heroic things while he was Clark Kent, and so did Bruce Wayne.

I want to believe in something again, DC.

Why I Don't Care About Harvey Dent, and Neither Should You

"Vanity keeps persons in favor with themselves who are out of favor with all others."  --William Shakespeare

[N.B. I can in no way replace or supercede what Scipio of the Absorbascon has written about the character Two-Face.  It is superior to any other analysis of the character I've ever read, and it is what made me think harder about the character.  I had started writing this before the Absorbascon came back to the land of the living, so I was hesitant to post this at first.  However, I think there's something I can add, albeit small, to an analysis of who Two-Face is, is why he became that way.]

Here goes nothing...

What prompted this was a posting on Scans Daily about Batman Annual #14, which many Two-Face fans consider an important story (and which Scans Daily considered the "definitive Two-Face story,") as it revealed his psychosis came about because of an abusive childhood, and that he probably would've become Two-Face without getting acid thrown in his face becuase his mind was already fractured.  To which I cry foul.

Here's why:

That story portrayed Harvey Dent as a victim.  By being "acted upon" rather than acting, Harvey Dent becomes not a villain but simply a man in need of help.  It puts him down to the level of The Ventriloquist, who suffers from a true split personality.  One thing that I've noticed about older comic book stories is that characters actively chose to become who are, be it hero or villain.  Batman swore an oath on his parents' grave to fight crime.  It's an aspect of comics that seems to be eroding today, as more heroes are conscripted into service (like the Jaime Reyes version of the Blue Beetle), rather than having this choice be the product of deliberation and soul-searching, and I believe that current trend has seeped into comic book villainy as well.

Judging by the comments on Scans Daily, it's a lot easier to accept a man becoming a villain after suffering an abusive childhood rather than just being a regular guy who suffered and accident and snapped.

One commenter asked: "what do you think of the idea of Harvey having a sort of vanity to him? That he has this drive in him to look perfect and handsome. This could go along with the abusive father idea that his getting his perfect physique getting ruined was just one first domino that got knocked back and eventually lead to his break down and becoming Two Face."

To which the original poster answered:

"I think it's the sort of thing that has to be handled with a delicate hand, if it's handled at all. People won't feel too bad for Harvey is he's a vain guy who goes crazy because he's no longer pretty.

I like the idea that he, say, uses his good looks and charisma to get ahead politically as a way of actually doing his job better. But no matter what, it's a very tricky attribute to use if you want a Harvey Dent that people will actually care about."  (All emphasis mine.)

To which I say: you're not supposed to care about Harvey Dent.

In a small way, the author proved my point.  You are not supposed to care about Harvey Dent.  You may be able to empathize with his rotten luck, you might still hope for his redemption, but you are not supposed to sympathize with him to the point of losing sight of his evilness.  If you do cross that line, then Harvey Dent isn't a villain any more, but at best a vague and ill-defined anti-hero.  The sad thing is that many readers consider the original version of the character simplistic, and the modern split personality version full of depth.

Let's go back to the Golden Age, to Harvey Dent's first ever story, to see what I mean.

Harvey Dent choose to become Two-Face.  Now, can you care about someone who chose to become a villain?  Perhaps.  But not in the same way as you do a victim of abuse and a psychological condition.

In his origin story, Two-Face choose to become a villain.  He was not a victim.  Not only that, but he likes being Two-Face.  Why?  Because it liberates him.  On the first page of his first story, Harvey Dent (called Harvey "Kent" back then, which was later changed) is seen reading a copy of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and it's obvious to see inspiration was drawn from Robert Louis Stevenson's novella.  By operating under the persona of Two-Face, Harvey Dent is liberated to act on his darker impulses, just like Dr. Jekyll was.  Because he was free to act out his impulses against society, even his "good" side had darkened:

The problem with the current incarnation is this: modern Harvey Dent doesn't like being Two-Face.  By relegating him to multiple personalities, he's trapped inside of the same body as "Two-Face" while the two absolute-good and absolute-evil personalities constantly vie for dominance. It's not liberating.  He has no control, he can't make his own moral code. In the Golden Age incarnation, he was empowered, he was freed by his accident to adopt an arbitrary moral code that put him in a position of power.  Harvey Dent choose to become Two-Face.  Sure, he did it in a roundabout way--by letting the coin decide--but he chose to flip it, knowing full well it could come up bad heads.

So why did Harvey Dent become Two-Face?

Well, first off, Harvey Dent was vain.  He was called "Apollo" by the press.  His girlfriend, Gilda, was a sculptress who sculpted a bust of him on more than one occasion.  Though his girlfriend doted over him in the hospital while he recovered from his acid attack, she didn't react too well when the bandages came off, and neither did he:

Not only that, but Gotham's citizens didn't react too well, either:

Having defined himself by his looks and having a girlfriend who "worshipped beauty" was enough to cut Harvey Dent down to his core.  He feels as though society has completely shunned him.  He was being treated like a criminal, a monster, so why not play the hand Fate dealt him and act like one?  If that's how the world sees me, then that's who I am. That is the very definition of defining one's self by appearance. True Vanity, with a capital V.  (Interestingly enough, he was portrayed as an occasional bit-part actor in the Batman Sunday strips.)

His faith society was so broken down that he believed that without his looks, there is essentially no difference between a good man and a crook, and so arbitrary was Fate and society's rules, that he consigned his future to a simple coin toss.  And why not throw your fate away?  If the world is such a rotten place that all your good deeds and hard work wind up getting you punished in the end, why not just be bad, and enjoy a life of crime and give in to your darker side?

However, not only was he vain, but untrusting and quick to judge. He was so quick to believe that his girlfriend rejected him that he never gave her a chance to explain herself. Harvey Dent is superficial, and you can't argue otherwise. He was a flawed man to begin with, but not in the sense of being abused as a child or developing a psychological condition, but simply just being a superficial, vain, self-centered man. He wasn't a victim. The modern multiple personalities version doesn't work because "good" Harvey isn't flawed at all, and what's the point of having a character be a living example of Jekyll and Hyde if Dr. Jekyll has no dark inner impulses? Having a split personality just victimized Harvey Dent, and "reforming" him would simply take the form of jettisoning "bad" Harvey, not making "good" Harvey realize his mistakes in judgment and shortcomings as a person, as true reform should.

Not only that, but in the modern version, how can good Harvey be absolute good and the Two-Face persona be absolute evil, when he was never "all good" to begin with?  Who among us has that simple a personality that it is drawn in absolutes?  The human mind is complex beyond comprehension.  Harvey Dent is a man battling his own shortcomings, and to say otherwise is simplistic.  If there are no flaws to acknowlege, no weaknesses to overcome in the "good" side of his personality, then true reform is not possible.  How is this characterization of a flawed man considered simplistic?  Or is it a product of our current times, where we are afraid to consider ourselves flawed human beings, but instead have a tendency to relegate our vices to forces beyond our control?

Reform of a psychological condition requires therapy and treatment. Reform of a shallow, vain, selfish, flawed personality takes the ability to admit you were wrong about life, that you chose to do bad things, that your decisions were your fault, and that if you hope to redeem yourself, you better be willing to humble yourself, admit your mistakes, and grow as a person. That's why in every story where Harvey Dent "reforms," the reformation always takes place off-panel, and always takes the form of an instant quasi-magical cure, because otherwise it would take years of soul-searching.  Curing a disease has no redemptive value for a flawed character.  "Two-Face" is not a disease. Two-Face is not a separate being. Two-Face is Harvey Dent; the dark, nasty, weak side of Harvey Dent that he wasn't mature enough to keep in check when his life hit a speedbump.  To victimize him into an object of pity does no justice to the character, takes away all his redemptive value and the ability to empathize with him, all of which I shall explain more in Part 2.

One modern panel did get the vanity aspect right, though:

Batman: Face the Face

It's a shame the rest of the story didn't expand on this, but by having Harvey acknowledge his vanity as the "sin I keep paying for" shows not only that "good" Harvey had his flaws, but that he was willing to confront them.

Out of time...

So I'll just post a link to this...

I didn't even read it myself, but just like The Lord of the Rings, I want to have read it.

Teaching Philosophy with Spider-Man.

Existential Crisis of the Week

I haven't contributed anything since the weekend becuase this time of year is pretty busy, and after the whole Blackest Night thing wrapped up, I haven't found much in comics to be excited about.

Anyway, a friend of mine lent me a copy of Watchmen, so I started reading it.  Considering that it's one of "Time's Greatest 100 Novels" or whatever, I feel obligated to read it.  I mean, not 100 Greatest Graphic Novels.  Novels.  Period.  So I guess it's gotta be good, right?

Way back before Batman Begins, wayy wayyy back before I even considered the notion of picking up a comic or a graphic novel, I happened upon a copy of Watchmen in the then-measly Graphic Novel section of the local Boarders.  (Just one shelf!)  I read the synopsis and it sounded pretty interesting.  If superheroes are in charge of protecting the world, what's to keep them from corrupting?  Or, at least, that's what I thought the book was about at the time.  (Or, at least, that's what the blurb on the back made it seem like it was about.  I'm about three chapters in and I still don't know exactly what it's about.)  The blurb made a huge deal, if I remember correctly, about it being an alternate timeline.  Anyway, I distinctly remember flipping through it and putting it back on the shelf.  Why, I don't know, but for some reason I decided against reading it.  I wish I knew why, because maybe if I had read it, I would've started reading comics a lot sooner.

When the Watchmen movie came out last spring, I finally had the chance to figure out a little more about it.  I'm getting a strong deconstructive vibe from it already, and I'm not exactly crazy about deconstructive-type works.  I'm less crazy about post-modernism, so at least it's something.  So, right off the bat I figured I'd hate it, but that I should read it anyway, kind of like any book that becomes a "classic."  I'm also not a fan of the gritty, realistic, violent, etc., so it's probably not my cup of tea, but every now and then I surprise myself in that regard.  (Case in point: L.A. Confidential.  One of my favorite movies.)

Anyway, literary guilt won out and I decided to read it.  (Plus the curiosity to see how The Question and Blue Beetle and Captain Atom were reimagined tipped the scales.)  Well, so far, I actually think it's pretty good and somewhat enjoyable, even though I don't quote know where it's going yet.  Rorschach I find amusing.  So far I'm just trying to guess the ending, which my friend told me would be impossible to see coming.  Right now it's just reading as a whodunit with a little social commentary thrown in and some mildly unorthodox storytelling techniques, so I'm hoping the ending will blow me away.  If it doesn't, I'll be disappointed.

That, my friends, is the problem with high expectations.

Okay, enough rambling for tonight.

Wait a Second...! (Human Target Shoots the Shark)

I was psyched to learn that Fox started making this show, Human Target, which is based on a comic book. Sign me up.

So I started watching it.  The show has its moments: stuff gets blown up, people fall off of buildings, Chi McBride is sarcastic, what's-his-face shoots stuff.  All the kind of stuff that makes me happy.

And then I read the DC comic based on the show.  (...based on a comic...it's an infinite regress, I know.)  Whatever, it's fun.  Stuff blows up, people get saved, bad guys get shot.  In the head.

Wait a minute.  Something just clicked.

People get shot?  Oh, yeah.  That does happen on the show now that I think about it.

But what did whats-his-face say in the Pilot episode?

"Nobody deserves to die."  Except for bad guys, that is.

It logically follows that bad guys aren't nobody.  Hooray for them!  Syllogisms for the win!

Somewhere, Marlon Brando is smiling.  You are somebody, Marlon.

The Purpose of Comics, or, Why Grant Morrison Doesn't Write Comics Part I

Okay, I just started reading Final Crisis.  I had been putting it off forever because one of my favorite heroes (The Martian Manhunter) gets killed off.  Well, the guy (or gal) that had it before me at the library FINALLY returned it (after months) and now I'm in the midst of reading it.

Now, I've never been a fan of Grant Morrison, or Morrison-esque "stories," but, despite the fact that there are parts of Final Crisis that makes me want to throw the book against the wall, on the whole it's not that bad.  (So far.)  But it only affirmed what I had previously thought: Grant Morrison does not write comics.

Being true to my philosophical roots, I'm going to start my argument at the very beginning, just like Renee Descartes, and build everything back up from there.  And because it's my blog, I'm going to define the premises of the argument how I want so that I can win the argument.  It's an old philosopher's trick.  Hey, I might as well be honest.

Here we go.

Let's define comics first.  Because why bother arguing about anything if we don't know exactly what we're talking about?

I'm going to define comics as visual stories.  That makes them fiction, and that makes them logically equivalent to novels, short stories, movies, sitcoms and TV dramas.

Okay, then.  What's fiction?  A dictionary definition basically says fiction is something made up by someone.  It's a deficient definition, because then we'd have to count daydreams, jokes, and lies as fiction.So, let's say that fiction is something made up intentionally, and for a specific purpose.

So why do we seek out stories?  Or, what's the point of reading comics?

I think the majority of comics readers read for entertainment, and probably the same can be said for novels and movies.  Other reasons for creating fiction might be: to inform, to propose ideas (science fiction does this), to share's one's life experiences, to create a puzzle for the reader to solve (mystery and detective stories), to find meaning, to make money, and so forth.  I'm going to go with entertainment as the main reason.

But that covers all comics, the good, the bad, and the average.  What about the really good ones?  The stories that you really liked?  The ones that made you think, or made you look at a character differently, or awakened some sort of insight in you?  Why do fans rave about certain stories and hate others?  There's an emotional compenent to all this raving: a reader just knows they like a certain story, on a very fundamental and primal level.  Something clicks, and we might not be able to put our finger on it, but we know we like it and move on to the next thing (except nutcases like me who spend hours trying to figure out why).  We also know we don't like something, and because comics is a unique medium which has 70+ years of backstory to build on, there are a lot of variables to consider.

To make this easier, let's look at why a reader doesn't like a story.  Here's a few reasons that spring to mind:

1.  The characters were written "out of character."
2.  The plot was poor: the storyline lead to a weak conclusion, nothing happens, or it was otherwise confusing, derivative, or lazily-written.
3.  The story wasn't about anything, it had no "heart" or premise, or fails to express any good ideas.
4.  The art was poor.
5.  Continuity mistakes were made.

I'm going to knock out 3 and 4, because art isn't the fault of the author, and 4 is just another way to say "plot hole."  So we're down to 1, 2, and 3: Character, Plot, and Story, the foundation of all fiction.  1 and 2 are the technical components of fiction: how the story is told.  3 is the why, and is much more elusive.  To draw an analogy to music, 1 and 2 are like good vocal training, they allow you to express yourself, and 3 is the what that you are singing about, be it love, zombies wanting to eat your brains, or finding out your sailor boyfriend came back from America with a wife after he promised himself to you.  (Flash Fact: that's from Madame Butterfly.  Not the zombie part, that is.)  It is this what, or story content, that makes a story about something and gives it meaning: it is what the author is telling you for whatever reason: humor, enlightenment, intellectualism or whatnot, and this is drawn from an author's personal experiences, imagination, and worldview.

From this standpoint of communicating and expressing something to an audience, we can say that an author is connecting to the reader on some level.  We've already seen that that tether to the reader is an emotional one, and I don't mean emotional as in "this story made me cry," I mean emotion as in, "I don't have to think about whether I this story sucks, I just feel it."

This visceral connection to a story is a primal one.  People have been telling stories to each other for thousands of years, and some of these stories, like Gilgamesh and The Odyessy, are still around.  Fiction tells a universal "Truth," and this is how the author connects with us and how we identify with the author.  How often have you laughed at a funny story and said, "It's funny because it's true!"?  There's a truth behind good stories, and we know when an author gets it right and when an author gets it wrong.  Just like when an author draws a person out of proportion, we know when we're being told a story that doesn't ring true.  We seek out stories which speak this truth about humanity to us: be it humor, tragedy, irony, imagination, mystery/the desire to know, bravery, vengeance, justice, and so on, in an effort to better understand ourselves, to be entertained, to laugh, to find meaning, to expand our minds, and to identify with others and become a part of a collective whole via a shared experience (i.e. Humanity, or, Comic Book Fans).  It's that last one that's the most powerful, I think.

To recap: Comics are stories, which means they're fiction, which are created by an author to satisfy a certain purpose, which communicate meaning via character and plot, and which express a universal Truth about mankind's shared experience.

In Part II, we'll examine why some stories fail and why some don't.

If you've stuck around this far, you get a prize.

Enjoy this video of dancing squirrels: