Friday, January 11, 2008

Isn't It Ironic?

Isn't it ironic? Dressed up as yourself, a risk supremely dumb.

Isn't it ironic?
Superman can write that Brainiac's a dunce.


I see the blade a swaying on the guillotine above
While Batman looks on saying, "This was made for love...".

Bitterly ironic
Being non-super, a normal girl like this.

Isn't it ironic?

Every time he's tried, my foe Lex Luthor's missed.
Green monkey is kryptonite, Does it mean that I will fall and it kill me?
Is it irony?


(instrumental)


Green monkey is kryptonite, Does it mean that I will fall and it kill me? Isn't it ironic?
Is it irony?

Monday, January 07, 2008

Cowardly Big-Headed Purple-Eyed Freak!

Yesterday at the comic book store, some people didn't understand why the writer of the wonderful Teen Titans Year One choose to make Aqualad afraid of fish.

Hilariously so, I might add. By the way, do you think that's Peter? I like to think it's Peter.


Oh, dear. If they didn't know why, perhaps someone else, someone reading this blog, might also not know. This must not stand. All of my readers deserve to join me in understanding that Aqualad, the Goofus of the Sea, is not merely a big-headed purple-eyed freak, but a cowardly big-headed purple-eyed freak.

The writer (Amy Wolfram, by the way) didn't make Aqualad afraid of fish, Jack Miller did ... when he created him in February 1960.

"Whatever this nameless dread is"-- I dunno; let's just call him "Aqualad"!


Aqualad's origin begins with him being expelled from Atlantis in a bubble dish like a spoiled Asian Chicken Salad at Boston Market. He was expelled partly for his own good because he was afraid of fish. But mostly because he was a big-headed purple-eyed freak.

Gotta love the Atlanteans for having a gigantic Orphan Cannon set up just to expel unfit children into the open seas. Apparently, poor Aqualad got thrown out just as the Atlantis World's Fair was ready to open, just like a stray dog in Beijing. Or maybe it's part of the fair's entertainment ("Expel the Freak-Children, Only a Dollar!"). By the way, ppssst, Atlanteans; you are on Earth. Morons.


Naturally, Aquaman is both sympathetic to and diplomatic about the pathetic reject's plight.

Uh-oh. Dr. Curry has determined you're an unfit "rejected specimen". Nurse Topo, dump this one in the biohazard disposal and call the Atlantean orphage for another specimen of sidekick!


Okay, okay; it was actually established in a previous story that purple eyes were a sign that a child would eventually lose its ability to breathe underwater, and that Atlanteans regularly sent such children to the surface to save their lives. C'mon; you didn't really think Elizabeth Taylor was human, did you?

A bird? Really? When you live on the bottom of the ocean?


But since that's not the case with Aqualad, who CAN breath underwater, I say it's an excuse, and he's really expelled because he's intrinsically loathsome and cowardly.

Face it, Aqualad. They're just not that into you. I mean, that fact that they never even bothered to give you a name should have been your first clue, you know? Oh, and if you think you're afraid of fish now, just wait'll you mess up Aquaman's hair by leaping on him like a lamprey!


Some fool writer would later hijack the whole "Atlanteans rejecting those with certain physical characteristics" and apply it absurdly to Aquaman. And his fabulously well-coiffured blond hair, of all things. Yeesh; and they say that the Silver Age was stupid!

Or, at least, someone told you they died. Ordinarily, I'd say "Nobody'll miss me too much" would make a great epitaph for him, but in Aqualad's case it should be on his tee shirt not his tombstone. Of course, I'm sure Nightwing, Donna Troy, and Wally West leapt into action when he disappeared (*snicker*). We just ... never saw them do it.


Anyway, Aquaman eventually cures the fre-- I mean, "Aqualad"-- of his fishophobia, for which task a total command of all sea-life comes in handy. But glorious scenes like this one...


are how I always like to picture Aqualad, particularly since it's consistent with all his later wussiness. Oh, I pick on Aqualad, but, in truth, comics have scores of plucky, unnaturally fearless kid sidekicks, and to have at least one who'd be more at home in a Scooby Doo cartoon is refreshing.
Contemptible, but refreshing.


And saddling poor long-suffering, don't-get-no-respect Aquaman with this underwater albatross is too perfect for words.

By Neptune, his hair looks nice!

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Legion 37

Jim Shooter, welcome back to the Legion of Super-Heroes.

As many of you probably already know (and probably know more about than I!), Jim Shooter was hired sight unseen to write the Legion of Super-Heroes in 1966 at the age of 14. Weird stuff like that used to happen before the internet. He created Ferro Lad (whose sacrifice is one of the Legion's great recurring legends), Princess Projectra (who became the ultra-fabulous Sensor Girl), and Karate Kid (he's okay-kay-kay, but I still don't like him). After high school, he left the Legion, and went on to, er, some other comic book related stuff.

Now, I know that Jim Shooter has his detractors, particularly as regards the other-than-author aspects of his comics career. But I know none of this (or will pretend to). I think, as a whole, all that is irrelevant to what he brings to table with Legion.

Setting aside the particulars of both author and title, it's quite an amazing thing to have someone come back to write a title they help shaped forty years before. It could herald a return to greatness or a giant step backwards.

Shooter's first (new) issue, LSH 37, has me leaning toward thinking it a return to greatness (and apparently others as well). I'm a Legion fan, but not a Legion zombie. I loved the "Archie Legion", but the 5YL Legion made my head hurt, Legion Lost completely lost me, and Mark Waid's recent LSH simply wasn't working for me (except when Supergirl was around).

So what did I like about Shooter's return in LSH 37?

Lingo. Part of the gloriously geeky appeal of the Legion is that they are world all their own, and they have "Interlac lingo" to go with it. This is a common feature in sci fi, and helps put the LSH in its unique spot somewhere between sci-fi and superheroes. The new Shooter Legion has "Glyco" for "soda pop", which is sensible; "yo-d'lay" as a greeting in a skiing colony (from the yodel "yo de lay hee hoo") is cute. The skiiers using phrases like "avalanche her" and "drift her under" is clever. And swear words and "futureuphemisms" are always a delight! Florg; futzwit; noob-head; snoog. Use them daily.

Consistent characterization. But that I don't mean simply within the issue itself. I mean consistent with both what Waid's done and the Legionnaires' "classic" personae. The haughtiness, but vulnerability, of Projectra. The natural leadership of Saturn Girl. The general incompetence of Lightning Lad. Light Lass's devotion to her brother.

Politics, both inside and outside the Legion. This was always an integral part of the Legion's shtick, and Shooter's continuing it in a much less grating way than Waid's rather immaturely and unrealistically anti-authoritarian version of the Legion. Projectra's statelessness, Garth being in over his head as Leader, the suspension of the transmatter accounts, the lack of authority on the skiing colony... and I can't wait to see who the "pre-approved candidates" are. These things inject sociological realism into a scientifically fantastic world, which always helps ground the story for me.

Humor. I don't recall this being a strength of Shooter's original run (really, how could it be, for a teenager?), but it's certainly there now, and rather subtly so. There are no "HERE'S THE BIG JOKE, FOLKS" kind of moments (the kind I find so grating in many Marvel stories). It's the little things, like "okay-kay-kay", "Mr. under-checker", "dressed this time, I see," and Invisible Kid pantsing somebody. Impulse helped me see that humor and pathos are not incompatible in a title, and are particularly important in a title about young people, and I'm happy to see Shooter bring that touch to the Legion.

Tradition. This is like "consistent characterization", but with other elements of the Legion. Specifically, I liked see the "Duty Roster", which is of course just a spruced up version of the old "Monitor Board". Sure, in "the real world" that could just as easily be on a desk-sized monitor rather than appearing in cinemascope. But this is the Legion, and modern Monitor Board, like the old, needs to be a big ass display for everyone to see, dominating the entire command center.

Patina. By this I mean two things: a Legion that takes advantage of its sci-fi settings with wacky worlds and concepts (like the old Mount Rushmore of Outer Space) but still uses them mostly as a patina that colors very basic and recognizable features of our world and experience. That's rather a mouthful, but the essence of it is "people don't change much and higher tech just means a glossier version of the same things we always do". This is another staple of sci-fi (unless you're Gene Roddenberry, in which case you think technology will breed out of people all greed, ambition, and violence [and please do not hijack the comments on this post into a Roddenberry/Star Trek discussion, thank you very much]). In this issue, I point to Cryogeyser City on Triton, which isn't some essential mining facility or military outpost -- it's just a ski resort with nitrogen snow. That's the kind of "Ice Cream Parlor of Nine Worlds" style fun I look for from the Legion.

Creationism. Gulp! No, no, not "creationism" versus "evolution". "Creationism" is what I call a certain approach to writing a long-standing property. Mere "recidivism" makes a writer afraid or unwilling to make any changes or advances to property's existing mythos; they dance safely but unspectacularly within its existing boundaries. Untrammeled "revisionism" spur a writer to the other extreme, to try to re-define the character, overturn his world, in the hope of revitalizing him. But "creationism" respects where a character is and has traditionally been, but uses it as a starting point for the continued evolution of the myth, not as an end point (like recidivism) or an albatross to be shed (like revisionism). In this comic book sense, "creationism" is evolution.

Anyway, that "creationist" attitude is what marks some of DC's best books today (such as Blue Beetle, Wonder Woman, Dini's Batman, Booster Gold, the All-New Atom, Green Lantern). It was the attitude that created such myths as the Legion to begin with, and Shooter hasn't lost a whit of it in 40 years. New people, places, and plots, all right there in his first issue.

Accessibility. The Legion, like a long-running soap opera, can be difficult to crack open for the uninitiate. Shooter could pander directly to longtime Legion fans like me, but he doesn't. Not only does he include necessary exposition (who has what powers, the minimal background necessary to understand the events in the book, terms and limits of technology used, etc.), he does it fairly naturally. Saturn's telepathy, the Legion's relationship with the UP, Projectra's problem, trans-neptunian objects, transmattering, Star Boy's power, etc., are all explained within the course of predominantly natural dialog. This is very important in a potentially daunting property like the Legion, with its deep and broad mythos. Now would be a good "jumping on" point for the Legion, if you have even the slightest interest or curiosity about DC's premier sci-fi title.