Zack Snyder’s adaptation of Alan Moore’s seminal graphic novel Watchmen is a peculiar piece of art. It is visually stunning, filled with iconic images of the unbelievable framed as perfectly as any comic splash page, but as a narrative it is discordant, sluggish, and pretentious. Of course, those very qualities could describe the novel itself. I read Watchmen for the first time about three years ago after twenty-two years of wondering what was behind that blood splattered smiley face. I was nowhere near as impressed as the most ardent comic fans. I understood its brilliance, (it was one of a handful of titles in the ‘80s that brought the tried and true conventions of the superhero genre crashing down.) but that didn’t make me enjoy it any more. I never liked or even remotely cared for the characters. And, while I understood the insane genius of the antagonist’s plot, I always thought there had to be a simpler plan. With that in mind, I did not buy into the hype for Watchmen. I knew exactly what this movie would be: a love letter to the fans and a confusing mess to anybody who wasn’t invested in the original property. After sitting through this nearly three hour behemoth, I found out just how right I was.

Set in an alternate 1985 where Nixon is campaigning for his fifth term and the Cold War is about to go nuclear, Watchmen tells the story of the end of “superheroics.” It follows a group of a “superheroes”–debatable considering only one actually has powers–as they unravel the mystery of a hero killer and discover a devilish plot that threatens the world with total annihilation. Our “heroes” in this piece include the increasingly apathetic and god-like Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), aging, impotent Dan Dreiberg, known ominously as Batman analogue Nite Owl II (Patrick Wilson), frustrated yet sultry scuba-suit-wearing superheroine Sally Jupiter, The Silk Spectre II (Malin Akerman), vicious absolutist vigilante Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley), psychopathic superspy The Comedian (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), and, the comic book version of Alexander the Great, Adrian Veidt, or Ozymandias to his legions (Matthew Goode). Through a jarring narrative structure, we learn about the disturbing faults behind these “heroes,” ranging from fetishism to sadomasochism to nihilism to total apathy for humanity, Snyder mimics the novel’s structure by interweaving flashbacks that traces the history of the group from their predecessors to the outlawing of masked heroes to the present (1985) where nuclear war between the US and USSR is imminent.

With Watchmen, Snyder uses a deft combination of CGI and staging to faithfully recreate the visual aesthetic of Watchmen illustrator Dave Gibbons original artwork. He also meticulously mimics and compresses Moore’s complex narrative structure. What Snyder failed to do was use these elements to craft a story or characters that movie audiences would actually cared about. Yes, technical proficiency and adaptation faithfulness count for something, but if a director fails to engage their audience then for all intents and purposes they have failed. In all fairness, the blame is not solely Snyder’s to bear. The obtuse source material, a collection of shoddy performances, the limits of the film runtime, and the modern audience’s understanding of superhero films all had a hand in crippling the Watchmen.

The difficulty in adapting Watchmen lies in the relative investment of its audience. Moore’s graphic novel is revered because it was targeted at readers who were invested in the concepts and philosophies of superhero comics. Snyder’s Watchmen struggles to connect with audiences that enjoy superhero movies, but, once they leave the theater, still believe that comics are kids stuff. Furthermore, Watchmen pushes superhero conventions so far into adult thematic territory that it becomes uncomfortable and laughable to modern audiences. Take for instance, the scene where Nite Owl and Silk Spectre make love in a flying Owl-mobile after they’ve saved citizens from a burning building, with Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” as the score. Looking over the audience, I noticed some patrons were squirming while others were ready to explode in laughter. It was just as ridiculous as it sounds. And that’s the problem. The concepts that were so powerful in Moore’s novel appear simply insane on film. With superheroes barely taken seriously by mainstream audiences, this film does not help the case by putting people in silly costumes in preposterous situations.

Adding to the ridiculousness of the story were wooden performances,–the most notable being Akerman’s stiff, ineffectual Sally Jupiter–bad makeup,–see Carla Gugino as the aging elder Jupiter and senior citizen Nixon–and unsympathetic characters–fetishist Nite Owl who gets off from doing deeds of daring-do. If not for the electric performances of Jackie Earle Haley and Jeffrey Dean Morgan this film would sink leagues beyond its weight. Haley’s Rorschach is amazing. This tiny firecracker is a moral absolutist who brutally punishes his foes with homemade weaponry and Dirty Harry style quips. Anytime Rorschach is on screen the film comes alive, thanks to his uncompromising nature and penchant for kick-ass brutality. To a lesser degree, Morgan’s Comedian also shoots life into the film with his brash, despicable superhero turned government spook. The Comedian’s disturbing actions cover up a broken man who lives with the weight of terrible truths and sins. In a few scenes, Morgan displays this disturbing duality through masterful control of emotion and delivery.

Haley and Morgan’s performances alone could not save Watchmen from its debilitating disconnect and distance from audiences who barely read comics. Today’s movie-goers absorb superhero films mostly as popcorn entertainment. With the exception of a few masterfully done pieces, (Dark Knight, X-Men 2, American Splendor, Ghost World, etc.,), most movies in the superhero genre are light fare with simple plots for easy consumption by masses that respond more to stunning visuals than complex storytelling. Therein lays the problem with Watchmen. It is an inherently dense and complex story. There is no way even a modicum of the depth and complexity of that 400-page tome could be completely and accurately translated into the brevity of film without alienating mainstream audiences or disappointing core fans. Terry Gilliam, an early contender for the director’s chair when Watchmen was first optioned, was on target when he said Watchmen would be best served as a five-hour miniseries. If Watchmen was filmed as a mini-series it would give viewers time to digest and reflect on the material over time rather than engaging in the futility of parsing the dense narrative in a three hour span. Furthermore, the extended runtime would allow for significant establishment of the Watchmen’s universe with more scenes to better develop the characters and a world that is in dire peril. An extended runtime would also improve viewer investment in characters that are difficult to sympathize with and world that may be too implausible even for the most jaded viewers. In this case, Watchmen was undeserved by a conglomeration of external and internal forces. A work this significant did not need to be adapted into a potential blockbuster. It made the most appropriate impact in the late 80s when it effectively reshapes the superhero genre by attacking its conventions. In the case of the film, its impact is less significant but the result may be the same. Just as Moore’s Watchmen effectively killed the popularity of traditional superhero storytelling, Snyder’s Watchmen may have fired the kill shot on the popularity of the superhero genre. Based on recent statements from Snyder, maybe that’s exactly what he wanted Watchmen to do.

Dir. Paul McGuigan uses Hong Kong as an electric backdrop to this story about people born with psychic abilities and the mysterious government agency, The Division, that chases them. Chris Evans, of Human Torch fame, plays Nick Gant a ‘mover’ who moves things with his mind. Nick escaped from Division’s clutches, specifically master ‘pusher’ (telepaths who manipulate thoughts) Henry Carver (Djimon Honsou), ten years ago. Now trying to lay low in Hong Kong, Nick is pulled into a convoluted web of action by teenaged ‘watcher’ (clairvoyants who see the future) Cassie, played by a quickly maturing Dakota Fanning. The twisty plot involves Nick’s ex-girlfriend Kira (Camilla Belle), another master ‘pusher’ who escaped from division with a syringe that could boost their powers and create the typical army of super soldiers. As Nick Cassie and Kira try to evade Division and a strange gang of Asian mindbenders, they encounter an eclectic cast of psychics who may or may not be on their side.
Push gets credit for being intense and, for the most part, focused.  The intensity only fades near the climax when the plot loses its way thanks to an unnecessarily convoluted and meandering escape plot. Aside from that misstep, Push succeeds on the strength of McGuigan’s vision and the understated performances by the strong cast. McGuigan uses the busy, cluttered, neon streets of Hong Kong to give Push a tough, urban feel that is more in line with Nolan’s Dark Knight than Raimi’s Spider-Man. I appreciate films like Push that, despite their subject matter, use their settings to establish a believable world. Adding to relative believability is McGuigan’s approach to power displays. The powers in Push are subtle and nowhere near as flashy as something you’d see in X-Men.   CGI was thankfully kept to a minimum and it works. The subtle, deceptive or defensive ways the characters use their powers meshes perfectly with the setting and McGuigan’s visuals.

Evans and Fanning carry this movie, despite being saddled with seemingly one-note (one dimensional) characters. Honsou and Belle also turn in satisfactory performances, but their characters are too clichéd to allow for any unique displays of character. The supporting cast, including Maggie Siff, Ming-Na, and Cliff Curtis, provides a blend of eclectic allies and enemies whose cool powers mostly overwhelm their character development. Evans and Fanning both turn in understated performances with more personality than any of the characters in Heroes. Evan’s Nick is a likeable toned down version of Human Torch whose quick wit and aloofness endears more than it than grates. Fanning’s Cassie is the same streetwise teen we’ve seen before, but Fanning performs with the grace of a seasoned performer and makes the character more likeable than it deserves. The characters in Push may be forced into one-dimensionality by the overwhelming plot, which includes a heavy back-story, and about five characters too many for its two-hour runtime, but what little personality they do have shines through phenomenally. The fact that script allows these characters to talk like smartass punks they should be doesn’t hurt either.  As opposed to the super-serious self-effacing characters of most superhero yarns, the characters in Push are outlaw opportunists who’d rather use their powers for personal gain than to save the world. And, really, if you had powers like these, which lend themselves more to scamming (i.e. change plain paper into money) than super powered slugfests, wouldn’t you?

Push may not be the most original story, but, thanks to McGuigan’s cool visual style and strong performances, it’s a fun twist on the X-Men/Heroes/4400 template that’s worth a look to any fan of superhero flicks.

Heroes returned last night after a lengthy winter hiatus. As is tradition, viewers and critics approach the start of this new volume with hope and trepidation. Will it be better than the last? How long before they screw up again? Jaded by the disappointments of previous volumes and the nature of the material, my expectations are low. I don’t expect Heroes to be anything more than light fare that takes itself way too seriously. Not only is the show over-serious, but its fans and critics take it even more seriously than it deserves. That being said, I’m sure the blogosphere is flooded with Tuesday morning quarterbacks bemoaning the missteps from this volume, Fugitives, premiere. After two years on the sidelines, I’ll try to add some balance to discontent by briefly looking at the good and bad from last night’s episode.

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Last night, we caught up with our Heroes, months after the Pinehearst explosion. The Heroes are trying to live “normal” lives (Peter’s back in healthcare as an EMT, Claire’s shopping colleges, Parkman is a bodyguard, Hiro and Ando continue to play amateur superheroes, etc.). All seems well until a “mysterious” black-ops unit starts rounding up people with abilities. As previewed in last volume’s finale, Nathan Petrelli is leading the charge to round up “supers” because they are a danger to society. Once the ever-precocious Claire stumbles on to her estranged father’s plot, which her grandmother, Angela, and adoptive father, Noah, are both in on, she alerts the other Heroes (Character interaction early in the season? Shocking, I know.). Despite Claire’s warning, the Heroes are captured and hauled off to a Spruce Goose bomber, which likely leads to some variation on the early 90’s version of Genosha from the X-Men comics. After a daring rescue by Claire and Peter, in which we learn that Peter can no longer retain all the powers he absorbs, the plane crashes and we’re left with a cliffhanger and a preview of the Heroes actually working together.

Now, let’s get the pain out of the way and look at the premiere’s negatives.

1. Dialogue – Still cringe-worthy, but not nearly as bad as it used to be. The characters, especially Peter, Claire, and Mohinder, still speak in that ultra-serious tone that implies that the world will end tomorrow.
2. Character Motivations – Nathan has, somewhat, understandably turned on his own after dealing with all the crap from volumes 1-3 1/2. While Nathan’s perspective is mildly logical, Angela Petrelli and Noah Bennet’s involvement is more confusing. What does Angela benefit from having supers locked up? And, is there no other job HRG can do besides catch supers? Jeez, man, get a degree or something.
3. Matt and Daphne – Seriously, these two are not compatible in the slightest. Even Daphne seems visibly uncomfortable with their coupling. With only Matt enjoying this it’s almost possible that he’s got Daphne in a mind grip. Either way, writers, stop forcing this paring down everyone’s throat.

Now, the good:

1. Streamlined plot – For once, the plot seems simple. The Heroes become fugitives after their normal lives are interrupted by Nathan’s Mutant Registration Stormtroopers, led by the Vampire Judge from True Blood. If the writers can keep it simple and logical—well, as logical as possible—then I’ll stay on board until season’s end.
2. Character Interaction — Finally, after two seasons of contriving ways to keep the characters apart, the writers decided maybe we should let our characters interact with each other rather than occupy their own personal solar systems. Novel, I know. Hopefully, this will continue and heroes will become Heroes rather than random assortment of powered people save the world from apocalypse variation 6,042.
3. Humor-Carrying over from the last point, character interaction allows the Heroes to act almost human. When Peter gets into Mohinder’s cab halfway through the premiere, they actually exchange a joke, almost like they were human. Keep this up and the viewers will see the characters as more than action figures or chess pieces.
4. Ando’s power — For such a seemingly useless power, it sure looks cool. When Ando’s hands crackle with energy and make that starter sound, I can’t help but think of King of Fighters, with Kyo Kusanagi clenching a fist filled with crackling flames.

With all that said, I wish Heores luck with this volume. It’s likely they’ll let us down, but if we set our expectations low enough then we can only be pleasantly—well, moderately—surprised.

Okay, maybe that’s too absolute. However, I am one of the faithful converted. I am a trade-waiter. My appreciation for monthly pamphlets is waning. After twenty years as faithful, though inconsistent, collector of monthly comics, I am beginning to collect more manga tankobons (graphic novel collections of weekly or monthly manga) and wait for trade collections of comic story arcs. Admittedly, I wanted the cliched “more bang for my buck,” but my decision is as much the result of personal choice as market phenomenon. Here’s my reasons for the switch:

1. Cost-The country’s in a recession and inevitably luxuries get cut first. I’ve always been a thrifty comic shopper, keeping my average monthly comic expense between $20-$25. It’s not bad, but the price of comics is climbing. Two weeks ago, I paid $3.99 for a 22 page comic, and I’m young enough to remember when 22 pages only cost you a buck-fifty. If all the comics I purchased on a monthly basis were $3.99, my monthly expense would creep closer to $50. Conversely, I can trade-wait or purchase manga for between $8-$15. For that amount of money I’ll get six months (six weeks in manga), on average, worth of story as opposed to five minutes of story from a $4 pamphlet. The major publishers could make monthly comics more attractive to us new media users by offering itunes-style downloads for about $.99 (Marvel has already started digital distribution, but most of the newest issues are only availble in print copies.)

2. Content- As an artist and writer who has written an unpublished graphic novel, I appreciate the work that goes into a monthly comic. If only was complete enough to hold my attention for my than five minutes. In the age of writing for trade (structuring comic story arcs for collection in a trade paperback), a monthly comic is only equal to about, on average, 1/6th of a story. Remember when you used to get a complete story every month, I do. I didn’t have a problem trade-wait style story arcs, also known as decompression, until Marvel’s House of M miniseries (awesome art, meh story.) The pacing was plodding and the delays were even worse. By the end of the series, there were roughly two month shipping gaps between issues. The shipping gaps highlighted the pacing problems. One thing I appreciate about manga tankobons is the amount of content in one volume. Most tankobons are about 200 pages, and easily collect a good chunk of the major story. Depending on the series, reading one tankobon is more of an accomplishment than reading a collected story arc from a monthly.

Vince McMahon would have you believe that the greatest drama in the squared circle happens at Wrestlemania. But, Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler proves the most interesting drama in professional wrestling occurs in the hearts of the men behind the tights.

Based on a script by Robert D. Siegel, The Wrestler, starring Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, and Evan Rachel Wood, follows aging pro wrestler Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Rourke) as he faces isolation and strained personal relationships in the waning days of his career. Technically, this is one of the most finely crafted films of the past year. Aronofsky creates a palpable sense of loneliness through deliberate pacing and minimalist staging. The New Jersey in The Wrestler is realistically dirty, but empty. At times, it seems as though Randy is the only one who exists in the world. In creating this isolation, Aronofsky masterfully interprets the theme of the piece through the visuals.  Perhaps the most stunning images are those where Aronofsky films Randy from an over-the-shoulder perspective or alone in various settings. Adding to the power of the visuals is Aronofsky’s use of deliberate pacing. With a tight 95-minute runtime, The Wrestler never seems to drag despite the fact that in many scenes there is very little action.  Aronofsky accomplish this by never letting quiet scenes linger beyond the five-minute mark.

Aronofsky’s wonderful visual direction and pacing enhance Siegel’s already masterful script. With graceful precision, Siegel’s script tells the oft-told story of the aging athlete’s comeback, but he does so against the backdrop of the oft-maligned sport of professional wrestling. Siegel delves into the locker rooms and rings of independent circuit pro wrestling with a positively electric authenticity. Veteran fans of wrestling may not be surprised to learn that matches are 40% staged and 60% real, but they will be mesmerized by the attention to detail and the elegant translation of locker room brotherhood. As a former fan of pro wrestling, I was excited to see the camaraderie of the locker room and the mechanics of staging a match depicted so accurately. Conversely,  it broke my heart to see the physical and psychological pain these warriors put themselves through for our amusement, only to be discarded when the next big thing bumps them to dark matches.

Beyond the mat—to borrow a phrase—the script provides an agonizingly intimate portrait of a broken man doing his damndest to repair his heart. When Randy encounters a life changing event near the film’s opening, it serves as the perfect physical manifestation of a man whose soul was broken by his own design. After this event, Randy embarks on intimate journey to forge new and old connections with the most important people in his increasingly lonely life, stripper, Cassidy (Tomei) and his estranged daughter, Stephanie (Wood). Through these connections, Randy tries desperately to counteract the pain he’s caused himself and those he cares about. The climax to Randy’s journey is easily one of the most compelling and heart-wrenching conclusions to a reconciliatory quest.  The riveting power of this journey is delivered through the understated performances of Rourke, Tomei, and Wood as people who have somehow survived being chewed and spit out by the very things they gave their lives to.

Undoubtedly, Rourke shines in a role that he earned more through life experience than his body of work. Most critics call this the resurrection of Rourke’s career, but perhaps it is better to view this performance as its zenith. Rourke’s fall from the top of the Hollywood food chain gave him intimate insight into portraying a washed up star and it shows. Rourke lends a perfect balance of gravitas, bravado, and introspection in portraying the Randy’s fleeting highs and persistent lows. Rourke makes Randy so likeable that your heart can’t help but break when you watch him struggle. Not to be outdone, Tomei and Wood provide equally nuanced and anguished performance. Tomei’s Cassidy is a pure reflection of Randy as another washed up performer being slowly and dishonorably discharged from their professions. Both cling listlessly to each other as they come to terms with the disparity between their bodies and their work. Tomei performance has a much more acidic quality than Rourke’s because her character is obviously bitter about her situation. Cassidy’s bitterness could be off-putting when held up against the genial Randy, but Tomei handles the role with such grace and maturity that you can truly understand why Cassidy is so bitter. Rounding out the trio, Rachel Evan Wood, who puts enough emotion into her few scenes that you’re amazed she didn’t have more screen time. In playing Stephanie, Wood channels the pain of abandonment into a vulnerable firestorm. As broken as Stephanie is, it is obvious some part of her wants her father in her life. However, the overwhelming pain of being left behind has made Stephanie so fragile that one false move could destroy any attempts at rekindling the father-daughter relationship. Stephanie’s interactions with Randy are subtle and powerfully moving. Even at the most difficult points in their relationship, the performances never go for over the top melodrama, as the actors keep the pain firmly grounded. That grounded pathos is indicative of all the wonderful performances in The Wrestler. This is a story about broken people desperately trying to put themselves back together, and the actors succeed at that exquisitely.

Between the performances, script, and direction, there were few films finer than The Wrestler last year. Aronofsky, the cast, and crew told a disgustingly moving story that moves your heart to joy as easily as it wrenches it. I highly recommend this film for any purveyors of finely crafted character studies. And I especially recommend this film for pro wrestling fans that only pay attention to the drama in the ring.

“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain.”

“He’s running because we have to chase him. …Because he can make the hard choices. He can be the hero we need, even if he’s not the hero we deserve…He’s the dark knight.”

“What would you have me do?

Endure, sir.”

First, the dialogue in TDK is not bad as much as it’s stilted. Besides blatantly diagramming the themes of film, which are already blatantly obvious thanks to the plot and visuals, it makes the characters seem less human and more like mouthpieces. Hearing the characters talk, I wondered, “Do people really talk like this?” If they were Shakespearean characters, perhaps. But, in a film that prides itself on reality, the dialogue makes the characters seem inhuman. Each becoming no more than a mouthpiece for their specific philosophy or role (Joker=Chaos, Batman=Order, Harvey Dent=Tragic Heroism, Alfred=Endurance and Support).Yes, there are tons of instant quotables in TDK, but would it have killed the Nolan brothers to be less acute with their language. I admire their goal of making a respectable, serious superhero flick, but did it have to be at the expense of naturalistic dialogue. Occasionally, there are flashes of wit and humor from Ledger’s Joker, Eckhart’s Dent and Caine’s Alfred and Freeman’s Fox, with Ledger getting the lion’s share (though TDK Joker is more serious than any other interpretation.). But a few lines of observational, gray humor does not make up for two+ hours of Aristotelian profundity. In making each character speak in profound terms every other line, they made them less human and, worse, less relatable. Essentially, the dialogue in TDK serves two purposes: a) move the plot forward (as all dialogue should) and b) reveal the themes of the narrative. While these purposes are noble and correct, for the most part, they deprive the dialogue of character and nuance in favor of purely utilitarian application.

Despite my opinion, I’m not espousing a Whedon-esque approach to dialogue. The subject matter is far too weighty to be supported by the fluffy teenspeak or sharp sarcasm of Buffy and Angel. However, a greater degree of humanity and character is necessary. Yes, the actor’s performances elevated the material and added much needed dimensions of gravitas and humanity, but I believe the writing should be able to stand independent of the performance. This is especially true in superhero films, which are at disadvantage in the eyes mainstream audiences who think comics are “kid stuff.” Using super-serious dialogue in superhero movies robs the characters of their humanity, authenticity, and uniqueness. Soon, with everyone trying to replicate TDK’s success, Spider-Man won’t tell jokes, Superman won’t smile, and Daredevil won’t spew sarcastic self-loathing. Come to think of it, too late for that. As I reflect on superhero films and their source material, the dialogue in both superhero films and comics has done two things to me: alienate me and enhance my vocabulary. But, in some ways, it failed to make me care about the characters beyond an issue, arc, or film. TDK now stands as the paragon of that disconnect. I love the film, love the action, and love the theme. But, after three viewings, I can do nothing but cringe at the dialogue. Maybe TDK could learn a lesson from its biggest rival this year, Iron Man? Ease up on the affected dialogue, the audience will appreciate it. And, lighten up, no need to be so serious.

Batman killed my love for superhero comics. More specifically, the conclusion of Grant Morrison’s epic-arc, Batman R.I.P., stabbed my love in the heart with a rusty nail. What hurt the most? The promise of the potentially interesting death of Batman and the reality of comic creators maintaining status quo through clichéd sleight-of-hand. It’s not Morrison and R.I.P.’s fault alone, I didn’t even bother with this year’s Secret Invasion of The Final Infinite Identity Crisis at the House of M’s Civil War. Based on recaps and reviews, I’m sure both of the big two’s “summer” events would’ve only further drained my wallet and enthusiasm. This year’s event comics and the flood of superheroes in pop culture have crushed my interest in collecting mainstream superhero comics.

Before R.I.P., I had a ritual. I would visit Midtown Comics website every Saturday morning to see what comics would be coming out the following Wednesday. For the past five years, this was my ritual. I would scroll through the byzantine list of mainstream offerings and independent upstarts, searching for any sign of work by my favorite artists. I never followed comic stories and writers as much as I did artists. Consequently, my collecting was sporadic. An issue here, an issue there. A few mini-series and a few runs of the random ongoing series. Occasionally—mostly in the last three or four years—I was swept into the hype of superstar summer event crossovers from the big two. I followed two of those events–House of M and Civil War–all the way through—again, more for the art than story. I knew the events were just Marvel and DC’s attempt to line their pockets and capitalize on the pop-culture superhero frenzy, but they put so much talent behind these stories that I couldn’t resist. At first.

Soon, I stopped recognizing the talent. My favorite artists—Jim Cheung, Olivier Coipel, Chris Bachalo, Pascal Ferry, Joe Maduriera, etc.,–were scattered. I would see their work on the occasional cover or mini-series, but in most cases they faded away. The art left me with the stories, and I was not pleased. Superhero stories are wonderful in short bursts. Two hour bursts, to be more specific. I enjoy superhero movies—though, the recent glut is bound to lead me to write a similar article about them—but superhero comics can be agonizing to read. Imagine paying for a soap opera or a weekly network TV show then only getting a fraction of the ongoing story once a month. In the age, of writing for trade, all we get are fractions of stories each month and the costs are rising. The going rate for the average Marvel comic: $3.99. I’m old enough to remember when comics were less than a dollar, but young enough to recall the advent of free downloads. Imagine paying for any other entertainment medium and only getting a fraction of the product.

Even more aggravating than paying full price for a fraction of the product, mainstream superhero comics continue to be nothing more than paragons of repetitive, gimmicky storytelling and diminishing originality. That statement is specifically directed at mainstream superhero comics because there are creators out there doing amazing, original, innovative work for major and indie publishers. The accomplishments of trailblazing creators like Robert Kirkman, Brian Vaughan, Bill Willingham, and Jason Pearson should never be diminished by the failings of the industry’s flagships. Despite the accomplishments of these creators and others like them, the flagships of industry are still peddling the same old megalomaniac world domination stories with characters who live and die at the will of the publisher and never evolve beyond exactly who the were in issue one. The stagnation and repetition of storytelling is disheartening in an age where TV, films, and video games compete for our attention with finite, impactful, and innovative stories. Why turn to comics for part of the story when you can get all of it? I used to believe it was the art, but what should I believe when the artists come and go like movie stars.

Ten years ago, I started believing in manga. I was biased. Most of my favorite artists were influenced by manga and animation. I also loved the art of Japanese video games and cartoons/anime like Robotech and Voltron. When I began collecting tankobons in the late nineties, I realized how much the American comic industry had cheated me. In Japan, manga readers get weekly comics with gorgeous, clean art—albeit in black and white—and stories that build to a conclusion. On top of that, weekly comics are collected in monthly digest-size paperbacks that cost between $5.00-$9.00. Two-hundred pages, monthly, for as low as $5.00. Compare that to a 22-page pamphlet going for almost the same price. Between manga, TV, movies, video games, self-enrichment, and social interaction, superhero comics have lost their place in my heart.

Despite this rant, I still love the medium. I’m writing my own comic, scripted in the format of an HBO drama, which I plan to illustrate and market as a weekly web comic, to be collected in a manner similar to manage tankobons. I will not give up collecting the new “Thor” series until  Straczynski and Coipel finish their magnificent run. The work of creators like Straczynski and Coipel proves  that comics are a wonderful storytelling medium. I just wish the stories everyone loves would catch up to the rest of the world. Even with my current disenchantment, I know I will continue to check the comic forums and fan sites and I will continue to check Midtown Comics every Saturday. But, I also know that it’s less likely that’ll be going to the comic shop the following Wednesday.

Recently, media outlets from Entertainment Weekly to the New York Times have jumped on the Heroes bashing bandwagon, each offering an opinion on how to save the failing show. While it’s obvious that Heroes was never really as great as everyone thought (save those perceptive individuals who never thought it was good to begin with), are their suggestions or any of our suggestions any better. Heroes is escapist fantasy, a weekly comic book on a $4 million dollar budget. It never has been anything more, and likely never will be. Everything heroes is doing wrong is exactly what the average superhero comic does every month (I say average because there are a lot of talented independent and mainstream creators who actually push the boundaries of the medium.). Any fanboy/girl worth their salt knows that meticulously and viciously criticizing a comic is standard practice on any comic forum. Heroes is no exception to this phenomenon, the only difference is the scope. Heroes, with all its pomp and hype, was built movie-level publicity, which immediately draws the ire of mainstream media. In this age of the post-modern superhero pop culture movement, anything about comics and superheroes draws a horde of attention. And, who better to comment on mainstream superheroics than the comic geeks who love them? But, are the geeks right? Maybe, but probably not.

This isn’t revolutionary, but geeks don’t know it all. First, most geeks are fans who know too much, but miss the obvious. Just because you’re a X-Men fanboy/girl who remembers every arc from Claremont’s historic run in the early 80’s doesn’t mean the average TV viewer in 2008 has any recollection of Days of Future Past or the Phoenix Saga—though, that’s more likely today than it was in the past. To most viewers, the storylines in Heroes seem relatively—not brand spanking, but fairly—new. Also, many casual TV viewers enjoy soap operas. Check the ratings. Aside from procedurals, the most popular shows on TV are all soap operas—albeit in vastly varying degrees of quality. So, complaining about the soapiness of Heroes, it’s revolving door death policy, and ludicrous family tress is to ignore fundamental aspects of serial storytelling. For that matter, most comics are quite soapy with unlikely accelerated romances, pretentious dialogue, tawdry melodrama, revolving door death policy, ludicrous…I don’t need to go on. If Heroes is failing because of any of these reasons, then its only real fault is slavishly adhering to the conventions of serial storytelling.

As far as storytelling goes, no geek—professional writer or otherwise—can write someone else’s story. Perhaps, the creators of Heroes do have a plan—though its likelihood is often challenged by the show’s quality. As the audience we don’t know that plan and it’s not for us to tell the creators where the show should go for one simple reason: if we we’re writing our own original (used loosely in Heroes case) creation we wouldn’t want someone else to tell us how to write it. Criticism and observation is one thing. It’s our right as consumers to comment on what we like and dislike about a piece of consumptive entertainment. But, we shouldn’t try to guide the hand of the creator’s too make something that only appeals to one specific fan or fan base. If you don’t like it, don’t watch. I know there aren’t many options on network for sci-fi/fantasy fans, but really if it’s that plodding, that derivative, that bad then just bust a hustle to your local comic shop or Blockbuster and pick up the latest X-Men comic or movie and you’re set. Trust me, you’ll save yourself a lot of headaches every Monday night. If the creators of Heroes want to go down in flames for sticking to their vision, however flawed it may seem to us, let them. Maybe, it’s their destiny.

]]> http://storytellersjournal.wordpress.com/2008/11/18/leave-those-heroes-alone/feed/ 1 terrifictwilight heroes http://storytellersjournal.wordpress.com/2008/10/01/coincedence/ http://storytellersjournal.wordpress.com/2008/10/01/coincedence/#comments Wed, 01 Oct 2008 14:11:30 +0000 terrifictwilight http://storytellersjournal.wordpress.com/?p=25 ]]>

Vengeance. Angels. A gothic cityscape. As the Crow is my favorite movie, I’m more than intrigued about the upcoming Max Payne adaptation.