Ah, Neil Gaiman's epic comic book series, The Sandman. Today, some twenty years after it first appeared, it still bestrides the comics world like a pasty emo Colossus with Robert Smith's hairdo.
Odds are, if you've got friends who read comics - and I'm talking comics, here, not upmarket, literati-approved graphic novels about war, genocide or narrow-chested indie-music lovers with cheating girlfriends - they've tried to press The Sandman into your hands at some point.
But here's the thing you don't often hear about Gaiman's series, which ran for 75 issues, helped establish and grow the marketplace for comics aimed at adults, and remains one of the most literate, imaginative and intricately plotted accomplishments in long-form comics storytelling out there:
Its barrier-to-entry is remarkably high.
After the jump: The nature of that barrier, and the new book that may just lower it.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson have been around a long time -- has everything about them been said? Well, now it has. (Hulton Archive / Getty Images)
By Glen Weldon
So I'm watching the teevee Sunday night, and it occurs to me about ten minutes in that I'm experiencing the show live -- that I'm suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous car commercials, network self-promotion and big-'splosion movie trailers without availing myself of the protective, time-shifted remove offered by the DVR.
I must say that I felt, in that moment, like the pioneers must have felt, and wished that I could swap the leftover Halloween candy in the bowl by the couch for, I don't know, hardtack.
But my delight in braving the electronic-Laura-Ingalls-Wilderness soon faded under the punishing onslaught of ads. I think it was right around the seventh freaking commercial for Sherlock Holmes, the upcoming Robert Downey Jr.orgy of ordnance, that I got an idea for a post about Holmes as forefather to the modern superhero.
I remembered reading this story as a kid, in which Batman (a.k.a. the World's Greatest Detective), and his super-colleague The Elongated Man (a.k.a the Stretchable Super-Sleuth, a.k.a. the Ductile Detective, a.k.a Yeah, I know it's dumb, let's just move on, shall we?) meet the centenarian Sherlock Holmes himself.
The parallels are all over the place, I thought. Holmes had superpowers, a supervillain, even a costume, after a fashion. Man, this post is gonna write itself.
The thing is: When I awoke the next morning, it pretty much had.
There it sat in my Google reader, the post I would desperately have liked to have written, but a good deal smarter, funnier and more comprehensive than what I had in mind, and with a much more awesome title. Seriously, just go read it.
Well played, Kyle Duvall, of the blog at www.newsarama.com. Bask in your blogospheric triumph. But know this: You have made an enemy this day.
Lately, though, the mere tweaking of familiar conventions doesn't carry the same charge. Not when creators seem so eager to cram disparate genres into the narrative Cuisinart and set it to chop, puree and liquefy.
How else to explain a thing like Vampirates, the young-adult book series whose title stares up at you from the store shelf with an insolent, "Why Didn't YOU Think of This First, Smart Guy?" inevitability?
Or the increasing tendency, in comics, to insert an "and" or a "vs." between two or more genre-staple nouns, thus rendering the walls separating each from each that much more porous?
Two weeks ago, a new book premiered that eschewed the lazy who'd-win-in-a-fight conceit that often passes for storytelling. This book endeavored not to set the genres against one other, but to conflate them, to synthesize their hoary conventions into something new.
Ladies and gentlemen: Cowboy Ninja Viking #1.
After the jump: The Three Faces of Eve-isceration.
Neil Patrick Harris as a singing villain as a red-headed Elvis. We think we've had this exact dream. (Cartoon Network)
By Glen Weldon
We might have, once or twice, sung Neil Patrick Harris' praises on this blog.
Once or twice. Or fifty-three times, whatever, who's counting, lots of those are duplicates, shut up. [Hey, it's not my fault the guy hosted the Tonys and the Emmys in the same year. YOU shut up. -- Ed.]
Fifty-fourth time's the charm:
Last Friday, NPH guest-starred on an episode of the Cartoon Network animated series, Batman: The Brave and the Bold.
At this writing, the full ep is available for streaming on the B:TBATB mini-site. (After a cereal commercial that's a good deal more disquieting than your average.)
Headlines of the "Pow! Zap! Comics Aren't Just For Kids Anymore!" variety, once thick on the ground, have grown mercifully rare. Oh, these articles still crop up, but as we've mentioned before, they now read like relics of a less enlightened age, bearing all the cultural relevancy of the sock garter.
It's become increasingly difficult to argue that the comics form isn't a medium unto itself that can tell compelling human stories with emotional weight. (Some folk still do attempt to argue precisely this, of course, and it can be entertaining to watch them try.)
Last week, David Small's Stitches was nominated for a National Book Award, making it only the second comics work to achieve that distinction. In the publishing world, and the comics world, this news has been received (at least online) with a mixture of enthusiasm and confusion.
The confusion, on the other hand, requires a bit of unpacking.
After the jump: Why the term "graphic novel" is the "Kleenex" of the publishing world; Why you shouldn't leave very young children in the Norton and Co. daycare center, and what the Young Adult category has in common with Celebrity Jeopardy!
Matt Kindt's 3 Story tells the tale of a very large man who does not defy the laws of physics. We've got lots more of the beautiful art below. (Dark Horse Comics)
What the giants of comicdom share, besides a fondness for stretch fabrics and some disappointingly on-the-nose names (Giant-Man! Giganta! Gargantua! Colossal Boy!), is a willful disregard for basic laws of physics.
In telling this tale of an average boy who grows unusually tall (and then just keeps on growing) Kindt loads up the narrative with exactly the kind of details that the spandex set blithely ignores - details that make his hero's plight vividly real. Where, and how, will he live? What does he wear? Eat? Whom does he love, and who could love him back? And what happens to a person who finds himself growing steadily, inexorably beyond the scale at which human lives are lived out?
3 Story is a sad, quiet tale, and Kindt imagines its world so fully that when it begins to go feathery at the edges - when its flatly asserted reality grows surreal - we follow eagerly along. He uses mixed-media (press clippings, blueprints, magazine ads, biography excerpts) to help create the book's singular tone, but it's his art that does the real heavy lifting here. His heavy, scribbly linework, executed with a precise but unfussy care, looks like nothing else out there.
Yes, that's Iron Man. Yes, that's Tim Gunn. We can explain. (Marvel Entertainment)
By Glen Weldon
Oh, sure: On the surface, the comic book conflation of high adventure and high fashion doesn't make a lot of sense, especially if you judge strictly by audience demographics. The readership of superhero comics, far and away the medium's dominant genre, consists largely of straight men.
Close followers of fashion, on the other hand, tend to possess ovaries and/or a killer Heidi Klum (er, Heidi Samuel) impression.
If we're Venn diagramming, any objective assessment of the intersection of those two sets would deem it both teeny and weeny.
Why, then, does fashion figure so largely in many of today's comics, both within and without the superhero genre? Books like Models, Inc., Amazing Spider-Man and Dave Sim's Glamourpuss are lousy with leggy models, imperious fashionistas and quippy sartorial critiques that might as well have been birthed in the Ugly Betty writers' room.
Cheesecake is one obvious answer, even though the kind of women who populate the superhero comic resemble real-world fashion models in much the same way that an overstuffed couch resembles a picnic bench. But it's not the only reason.
The superhero and the supermodel have much in common, after all. Both are cultural icons. Both look good in tights. Both face down tough challenges every day (the hero: natural disasters, fiendish deathtraps; the model: flyaway hair, combination skin). Both can abruptly lose their powers when exposed to certain agents (the hero: kryptonite; the model: Janice Dickinson).
Whatever the reason, the decidedly weird mashup of comics and fashion bears a long and literally colorful history.
After the jump: A brief chronology of superheroes who've proved too sexy for their capes over the years, and done their little turns on the catwalk.
This is the real Darkseid. A fake Darkseid appears on Twitter as a hobo. Let us explain. (DC Comics)
by Glen Weldon
Before we get to the who, let's start with the what: @HOBODARKSEID is the magic that happens when three discrete branches of geekery come together. He exists at the happy confluence of comic book nerddom, comedy nerddom ... and Twitter.
For the six of you still reading, some background: Darkseid (pronounced DARK-side, as in "___of the Moon," "Tales from the__" and, yes, "Turn to the___, Luke") is the Big Bad of the DC Universe. Or he was until very recently, when Superman killed him or something, through, as near as I can make out, karaoke. Not kidding; wish I were.
But never mind that. Comic books are lousy with evil, world-conquering cosmic villains of the "Die, puny humans!" variety, but Darkseid's special. He was created, along with a slew of fellow, equally trippy superhumans, by legendary artist Jack Kirby when Kirby left Marvel at the start of the '70s and went to work for DC.
Darkseid's schtick: The tyrant ruler of the planet Apokolips, he scours the universe for the secret of the Anti-Life Equation, which will subjugate all life to his terrible will. And he certainly cuts a dashing figure, with his gray, rock-like skin, blue helmet, tunic and, um, thigh boots. Has eye-beams that can either kill, or seriously bum out, his victims.
Likes: Evil schemes, standing with his arms behind his back, making pronouncements like, "Darkseid is," "Die for Darkseid" and "Submit."
Dislikes: Hope, free will, rude people.
@HOBODARKSEID, on the other hand, is a fake Twitter celebrity. He's the mighty ruler of Apokolips fallen on hard times, and into a comedy meme popularized by John Hodgman's 2005 book, The Areas of my Expertise.
That's right: hobo jokes.
The alchemical mixture of cosmic villainy and bindle gags, and why it's the best thing on Twitter right now -- oh, and who's behind it all -- after the jump.
As you can see, the issues of Wednesday Comics dwarf some of their regular-sized friends. (Glen Weldon / NPR)
By Glen Weldon
One of the year's most interesting comic book experiments comes to an end today. Turns out? It wasn't particularly experimental.
Flatly awesome and happy-making, yes. But a brave leap forward that stared the uncertain future -- with its looming spectre of digital distribution -- squarely in its downloadable face-app? No.
In fact, it was downright retro, an exercise in nostalgia suffused with a specific yearning for the bygone days of Dick Tracy, Prince Valiant and Terry And The Pirates, a time when tales of two-fisted, four-color adventure smelled like newsprint and came with ink that rubbed off on your fingers.
Over the course of its brief life, each new issue of this particular title got you a seat on the express train to the Sunday mornings of your childhood, when you used to read the funnies by spreading them across the floor of the living room like a gleefully garish throw rug.
That was DC's Wednesday Comics, a 12-issue weekly anthology. Each issue featured 15 different serialized, single-page comic chapters of tales revolving around classic DC characters - some (Superman! Batman! Wonder Woman!) who've achieved international renown, and others (The Metal Men! Adam Strange! Deadman!) who, though beloved by fans, have achieved only "Yyyyeah, who, now?" status in the popular imagination.
The twist - and it's a big one - was the format.
After the jump: Extry! Extry! Read All About It! Alien Invasions, Dirty Nazis and Mutant Apes With Bazookas!
Marvel's Divas are up to something interesting. (Marvel Comics)
by Glen Weldon
In This Corner: Gotham City Sirens #2
Publisher:
DC Comics
Written By: Paul Dini, writer/producer behind several animated series starring DC characters.
Premise:
Three of Gotham's baddest bad girls -- Poison Ivy (plant-controlling seductress), Harley Quinn (ex-Joker moll), and Catwoman (reformed feline felon) -- move in together, proceed to arch their backs a lot.
Plot:
Ivy and Harley, suspecting Catwoman is setting them up, drug her with truth serum, tie her to a chair, and attempt to get her to reveal Batman's secret identity.
Number of Butt Shots:
They are as grains of sand on the beach. Be more specific.
Number of Patently Gratuitous, You-Gotta-Be-Kidding-Me-Here-With-This, Butt Shots:
Ah, okay. Five. Plus all kinds of ...
Boob Shots:
Yes, a bunch. Plus lots of Harley midriff. And thigh.
Percentage Decrease, Compared to Last Issue, in Scenes Depicting Busty Women in Hot Tubs Forcibly Restrained by Creeper Vines:
100.
Percentage Increase, Compared to Last Issue, in Scenes Depicting Busty Women in Leather Catsuits Tied to Chairs:
100.
So, Um, in Other Words:
Pretty much par for the comic book course, yeah.
After the jump: The Divas, and their very different (read: FABulous) Carrie Bradshaw Meets Dorothy Zbornak Meets She-Hulk vibe.
Catwoman is only one of many DC characters who have maybe not been used to their full potential. Could that change? (Courtesy DC Comics)
By Glen Weldon
Well. At this rate, the nation's business desk editors are gonna deplete their vast, underground stockpiles of hacky Pow! Zap! headlines.
Fast on the heels of Disney buying Marvel, another fat-cat megalocorporation (Warner Bros Picture Group, this time) announced yesterday that its lidless Sauron-eye has alighted upon another major comic book company (DC Comics, this time -- publishers of Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman). The difference, and it's a big one, is that Warner didn't need to shell out $4 billion to buy DC - it's owned the company for years now.
And unlike Disney, which went out of its way to reassure Marvel management, shareholders and creators that it had no intention of interfering with (read: didn't particularly care about) the comics, the kind of attention Warner is now suddenly lavishing on DC has taken the form of a top-down corporate restructuring.
After the jump: Who's in, who's out, and how Halle Berry figures in all of this.
Marvel is the golden egg, and Disney is the cake company, and if you keep reading, it will all make sense, really. (Marvel Comics, iStockphoto.com)
By Glen Weldon
On Monday, the news came down. The analyses began. Jokes were joked. Freakouts were well and truly freaked.
The news: Disney acquired Marvel Comics for $4 billion. ("Acquired," which makes it sound like Marvel's a tube of Pink Glitter lip gloss that somehow ended up in Disney's purse as it sauntered out of Hot Topic. "How'd THAT get there?")
If you need a taste of what folks in the comics industry are saying about it, you can't beat The Beat,
or Journalista! The transcript of the Disney/Marvel call to investors is worth checking out, if only to remind yourself that there are people in the world who actually say things like "vertical integration," "the wheelhouse of this distribution channel" and who - willfully! repeatedly! - use "impact" as a verb.
Conventional wisdom soon congealed along these lines: Good for Disney, because Marvel's stable of heroes can help them reach boys age 8-18, a demographic that has thus far proven stoically resistant to the charms of Hannah Montana and High School Musical -- with, um, some exceptions (Hi, Jason! Stay fabulous, kiddo!). Good for Marvel, because Disney's got more distribution channels in their wheelhouse (sigh) than Cruella's got Dalmatian handmuffs.
After the jump: It's not about the comics. And yes, the Tastykake Analogy.
Trying to predict what this deal is going to mean for Marvel, for comics, for superhero movies, or for Disney is pure speculation at this point. But there is an immediate problem, and it's one of perception: Put simply, Marvel has a cool factor and Disney doesn't. People who love Spider-Man do not necessarily see themselves as close cousins of people who love Donald Duck just because there's drawing involved.
There is a streak of the contrarian in comics culture — of devotion untempered by socialization. Even as comics-based movies have made untold fortunes, comics-geekery has retained a splash of oddball cool, which is a bit of a neat trick. What doesn't have any measure of oddball cool? Well, Disney, for one.
But now, Spider-Man will indeed be sitting down at the company picnic with Goofy. Will hanging with Goofy ruin Spider-Man's reputation, or will Spider-Man make Goofy seem cooler?
Lizards, New York, and love all play major roles in Fred Chao's Johnny Hiro. (Adhouse Books)
by Glen Weldon
Fred Chao's Johnny Hiro is a love story.
On its surface, it's about the love its titular hero, a hapless busboy in a Manhattan Japanese restaurant, feels for his girlfriend, Mayumi. But at its (large and generous) heart, Johnny Hiro is about the love Johnny — and the author, clearly — feel for New York City.
Of course, what drives the actual plot of each chapter is the considerably more complicated love that both hero and author harbor for various Japanese pop-cultural touchstones (giant lizards, giant robots, samurai, sushi). It's these things that Johnny finds himself facing off against as he struggles to make a life for himself and his girlfriend.
Chao revels in the mix of the larger-than-life and the precisely life-sized: that giant lizard wrecks the wall of Johnny's apartment, leaving him with a whopping repair bill. That horde of samurai chasing Johnny through the Metropolitan Opera house were just laid off from a Japanese tech firm. His expressive characters are highly stylized, manga-influenced creations set against a realistic cityscape drawn in exacting detail.
After the jump: Dream logic, Gwen Stefani, and a company logo you'll want to live in — as well as a peek at the good stuff (and by "good stuff," we mean: "big lizards").
"Archie is proposing to Veronica! But -- but -- AIIIIEEEEE!" Please don't panic. (Archie Comics)
By Glen Weldon
Stand down, people; return to your homes. Stand down, CNN. Stand down, Associated Press. Stand down, guy who sold your 1942 issue of Archie #1 in a ginned-up protest over the snubbing of Betty. (That $37K you just made? Cold comfort, I know.)
Stand down, internet forum commenters expressing either alarm ("Veronica? WTF????") or arrant creepiness ("BOTH B AND V ARE HOT ARCHIE SHOULD GET EM BOTH IN THE SACK AT THE SAME TIME LOL.") You, especially, need to stand down. Just ... way, way down.
What's got some folks' argyle sweater vests in a bunch is a six-issue storyline that kicks off this week, set in the Riverdale of five-years-hence.
In Archie #600, which hits comic shops today but won't be on regular newsstands until next month (snack on that, Piggly Wiggly!), the post-college Archie Andrews pops the question to Veronica Lodge, she of the raven hair, conceited smirk and ample ... coffers. Next month, the wedding. The month after: It's twins!
(From that issue's press release: "Can Archie get through Lamaze class without causing a commotion?" A question for the ages.)
I realize this is going to sound redundant, as we're talking about a comic book that follows the wacky adventures of a kid with tic-tac-toe hair, but listen: It's just an Imaginary Story. They're not really getting married.
I shouldn't say "just" an Imaginary Story. Because the Imaginary Story has been around a long time - it's practically its own genre. It's as much a comic book staple as a comic book's ... staples.
A world of pure imagination: What Ifs, Elseworlds, and Superman and Batman as surburban dads, after the jump.
It's a little like The Ghost Whisperer. Well, not quite. (Image Comics)
by Glen Weldon
Someday I, your humble Monkey See comics blogger, will discover a comic. Someday I will be the first to fall in love with a new title and start talking it up with a fervor that will gratify many and unsettle more than a few.
Later, after the title in question goes on to win Eisners and Harveys and Oscars (did I mention it'll get optioned for a movie? Because it'll get optioned for a movie), people will credit me with plucking it from obscurity.
That's the phrase the historians will use, by the way: "Plucked from obscurity." My status as a plucker of discerning taste and insight will be acknowledged far and wide.
Yes, one day I shall be kingmaker, supreme arbiter of funnybook taste, bestower of Merit and Legitimacy.
Today is not that day.
Because Chew, the latest title for which I've fallen hard, has already been discovered. We're only three issues into its run, and the book's selling out, getting second and third print runs.
Inasmuch as Chew's immediate, out-of-precisely-nowhere success represents the comics-buying public deciding for itself what's good before critics get a chance to weigh in, let's just note that it HARDLY SEEMS FAIR.
Damn self-plucking comic.
We climb aboard what's already a surprisingly crowded bandwagon, after the jump.
One:
Bradbury refers to the book as "Fahrenheit Four-Five-One," and not, as you probably do, "Fahrenheit Four-Fifty-One." Huh.
Two:
Artist Tim Hamilton struggled with the classic Adapter's Dilemma (What to include? What to exclude?).
Three:
To the surprise of precisely no one, I sound on the radio exactly like the gigantic nerd I know myself to be off the air. ("Many-tendrilled creature?" Seriously?)
Four:
Bradbury's book isn't really about censorship, it's about a creeping societal apathy toward culture in general and literature in particular.
Four Point One:
Bradbury wrote the book in the early 50's, and was way out in front of the TV-rots-your-brain movement.
Four Point Two:
A smart writer like Bradbury could see the threat TV posed to his livelihood, and no doubt wrote the book feeling the hot breath of Uncle Miltie on the back of his neck.
In the piece,I also pontificate about good graphic novels evincing "a tension between text and image." Several people have asked what I meant by that, which is my fault for talking in the abstract (see above, in re: huge nerditude, pontification).
Let me try to put it more concretely: In the best graphic novels/comics/sequential art/whatever, the art doesn't just sit there. It doesn't simply illustrate what the words are describing, because comics are more than just books with pictures.
No, the art takes over a share of the heavy lifting. It does its own, independent narrative work: it characterizes, sets the tone, advances the plot, etc.
The art, in other words, gets off its damn butt.
After the jump: Art that puts in a hard day's work, and how the Watchmen movie is -- literally -- illustrative.
A battle over Marvelman has been resolved. (Marvel Comics)
by Glen Weldon
And so, as the sun sinks slowly into the Weird Western Tales back issue bin, we bid a fond farewell to another Comic-Con.
Last week, the geeks descended on San Diego like a forgotten plague of Egypt ("And lo, there shall come long lines of sweaty chunky dudes whose attitude toward deodorizing balms could best be described as ambivalent").
They came, they saw, they whinged about the influx of Twilight fans screaming over Robert Pattinson. (Which development prompted geek-adjacent comedian Paul F. Tompkins to sagely opine, via Twitter: "Listen, nerds: you are living a graphic novel called GLASS HOUSES.")
And somewhere between all the movie trailers and drinking and television pilots and drinking and video game announcements and drinking, they talked about what's new and noteworthy in comic books.
After the jump: A small sample of the comics news from Comic-Con, and why you should care.
Not much in the way of comics news this week; the industry's gone silent as everyone who's anyone — along with thousands of no-ones dressed as Ewoks — decamps to San Diego for Comic-Con.
So now seems as good a time as any to spend some virtual ink on the webcomic, a relatively new medium that fuses classic comics tropes to the virtual infrastructure of buggy Powerpoint presentations.
After the jump: A webcomics primer, and a sampler of the best and brightest. And weirdest. Let's not forget the weirdest.
Natalie Portman: She's joining the Thor movie. But Thor? Still a jerk. Astrid Stawiarz/Getty Images
by Glen Weldon
On Monday, Marvel Studios announced that Natalie Portman has been added to the cast of the upcoming big-budget Thor flick, scheduled to begin production early next year. She'll play "an updated version" of Jane Foster, a character who served as love interest for both the God of Thunder and his earthly alter-ego, Dr. Don Blake, back in the Thor comic's early years.
Portman joins Chris Hemsworth (who appeared briefly as Kirk's hot dead dad in this summer's Star Trek film) as Thor, and Tom (lots of British TV) Hiddleston, who'll play Loki, God of Lies.
Never been a Thor fan, I confess. And not just because of those little winglet-things on the side of his helmet, which never stop screaming Head Showgirl at Bally's.
No, it's his attitude. The guy's forever yelling at someone or other, and always with a puss on his face.
We review the prospects for a successful movie about the God of Thunder and Snippiness, after the jump.
Rock the Vote: There's a special mayoral race underway, and you can vote in this one. iStockphoto.com
by Glen Weldon
UPDATED WITH ELECTION RESULTS: SEE THE (VERY!) END OF THIS POST
This summer, the DC-based New Organizing Institute, which trains aspiring wonks in the ways of netroot campaigning, has introduced a program that's attracting attention outside the two-fisted, thrill-a-minute world of voter data management. Which, of course, is pretty much the idea.
They've brought 53 college seniors to the nation's capital for a weeklong workshop on online organizing and social media, and given them an exercise: Pick a candidate to run in a simulated campaign for mayor of Washington, DC, complete with website, platform, email solicitations, the whole cyber-electoral schmear.
That's not the bit that's attracting attention. No, what's gotten the geekosphere -- and several DC blogs -- twittering (and Twittering) is the fact that the candidates are superheroes.
But the campaign ends today. This page contains links to the web pages of all eight super-candidates. You can vote for the hero of your choice between 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. Eastern Time.
But you don't have to make that choice alone. Your trusty comics blogger is both a hardcore superhero nerd and a longtime DC resident -- so it's impossible for him to ignore the siren song of this particular exercise in virtual democracy. That's why he's taken a good hard look the platforms of these municipal marvels, these candidates-in-capes, these powered pols.
After the jump: Meet the candidates - strengths, weaknesses, oppo research, and where they come down on DC voting rights.
Supergirl: Doesn't she look happy about the news that she gets to wear pants now? DC Comics
by Glen Weldon
Last week, we learned about a man possessed of a bold and praiseworthy vision. With a single editorial edict, this brave iconoclast dispensed with venerated tradition and blazed a new path, knowing only too well that his decision might unleash a frothing nerdstorm of outrage.
The man in question: DC Comics editor Matt Idelson. The pronouncement he issued was just eight words long, but such is its paradigm-shattering power that it will surely stand one day in the annals of comic book history, alongside "With great power comes great responsibility," "Truth, Justice and the American Way," and "Shazam!"
Thus spake Idelson:
"I never want to see Supergirl's panties again."
And with that, the character of Supergirl — in a stark departure from many years of institutionalized cheesecakery — started wearing red shorts under her skirt.
It's not a big deal, but it's a pretty big deal, and here's why:
1. The decision suggests that superhero comics may at long last stand ready to evolve beyond the adolescent objectification of the female form in which they have so gleefully wallowed for long decades; and
2. Supergirl flies, duh. She hovers over people's heads. In a skirt.
After the jump: Hot pants, headbands, belly-shirts and other petty indignities foisted upon the Maid of Might over her long and storied career.
George Sprott:Seriously, it's really big. Glen Weldon
by Glen Weldon
... Once you're done reading it, that is.
And you really should read it; it's pretty great. Mononimal cartoonist Seth delivers an intriguing, multifaceted meditation on the life and death of a fictional small-time television personality.
It's a thoughtful, quietly compelling read: His omniscient narrator keeps apologizing to us for getting the details wrong, while a parade of Sprott's colleagues and family members offer up eulogies that intersect in oblique, surprising ways.
George Sprott was originally serialized in the New York Times Magazine, but now that it's been bound in a handsome single volume, you can pick up on the momentum of the thing, the intricacy of its structure and the melancholic grace of the writing.
Seth mixes in flashbacks from Sprott's life as an Arctic explorer -- we turn a page, and a coldly beautiful blue-white landscape stretches before our eyes. Turn the page again, and we're back in the sepia-toned routine of television's golden age.
And then there's the sheer size of this great honking slab of a book. At 12 inches wide and 14 inches long, George Sprott is only the latest in a slew of graphic novels that seem to have been proportioned for natives of Brobdingnag. Last year's mammoth comic anthology, Kramer's Ergot 7, clocks in at a massive 16 inches by 21 inches. Seaweed, Ben Balisteri's loopy all-ages seafaring adventure, measures 12 inches by 15 inches; even DC and Marvel's regularly published Absolute and Masterworks collected editions are super-sized.
Captain America: Death be not proud...nor necessarily permanent. Marvel Entertainment
by Glen Weldon
For most of us, Death is the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.
For superheroes, Death is more like Tijuana, and they've got round-trip tickets on the Baja Shuttle.
You may have heard that Captain America is coming back from the dead next month. (Technically true, but for completeness' sake we'll note that the story of his return actually begins in a special issue, Captain America #600, in comic shops now.)
Yep, the cycle of death and rebirth is as much a part of superhero comics as Superman's kicky blue highlights. Often the Death of a Hero is little more than a stunt, but it can be a well-intentioned one -- a chance to let an overused character go fallow for a year or twenty, so that readers' hearts might be made to grow fonder.
Cap, who was struck down by an assassin's bullet just over two years ago now, is only the freshest example in the venerable tradition of spandexhumation.
After the jump: Many other heroes have shuffled off this mortal coil only to shuffle right back. How does Cap's return compare? We rank the dynamic dirtnaps.
Rex Libris: Just another heroic librarian. You probably know many. SLG Publishing
by Glen Weldon
Rex Libris, titular hero of James Turner's smart, stylish and breathlessly paced comic series, is a custodian of great and terrible secrets who must perforce do endless battle 'gainst those who would seek to corrupt, destroy or abscond with the collected lore of the ages.
Which is to say: He's a public librarian.
Rex Libris: Book of Monsters, the second volume chronicling his feats of derring-do among the Dewey decimals, is in stores now.
Why you should check it out (heh) after the jump. (Because..."check it out" ... library .... )
Who is this guy?: We're willing to bet a lot of you will get it wrong. DC Comics
by Glen Weldon
See that smiley red goober over there on the right? For almost a decade, his was the best-selling comic book in the country. During World War II, this guy was outselling Superman back when that really meant something: Millions of Americans thrilled to his monthly adventures.
He's starred in his own movie serial, his own cheesy Saturday morning kids' show, and he helped usher in the modern era of corporations suing one another silly over copyright infringement.
Pop quiz: What's his name?
A. The Flash
B. Shazam
C. Lightning Man
D. Captain Marvel
E. Marvelman
Hint: The rookie mistake is to confuse the guy's name with his catchphrase. Don't worry, though. Lots of folk do that, and it's understandable. I mean, Lord knows I never referred to the "Git R'Done" guy as anything but Git R'Done Guy. Not that it came up much.
But there's a reason this hero's name doesn't spring to mind as easily as that of Superman, Spider-Man and Batman, even though it really should.
After the jump: His real name, his troubled past and why it's taken until now for modern comic book creators to figure out what to do with him.
Long-running fictional characters: Sure, there are a lot of candidates, but who takes the prize? iStockphoto.com
by Glen Weldon
"Longest running" is open to interpretation, so let's define our terms:
In any medium, what character has been consistently featured in continuous new adventures over the longest stretch of time?
Got that? Just the three criteria, here:
Consistent:
Makes regularly scheduled appearances — no yawning gaps between adventures.
Continuous:
The character's adventures form a central narrative that builds on what has gone before. (Read: Katzenjammer Kids, I know you've been around a long time, but you're a gag strip, not an ongoing narrative. Thanks for playing, we have some lovely parting gifts.)
New:
The constant churning out of fresh content, not simply adaptations, retellings or reprints.
So: Guesses?
After the jump: We review the top contenders, provide The Answer, and explain why The Neverending Story should really have been a horror film.
Comic books: Or maybe you'd like to see them called something else? Just not "monthlies," please. iStockphoto.com
by Glen Weldon
Oh, sure: Those of us who read them just call them "comic books." But those who produce, distribute and sell them tend to call them something else.
The industry needs to distinguish the single issues of ongoing titles that come out every Wednesday (i.e., classic comic books) from their heftier cousins: the graphic novels, anthologies and bound collections of single issues that eventually get published in trade paperback format.
The thing is, they can't agree on what to call those single issues. Currently, different publishers and retailers toss around at least five different terms for the classic, three-staple funnybook.
This will not stand.
The time for humoring such higgledy-piggledy laxity in the nomenclature is over. Let's help the comics industry out.
After the jump: The five most commonly used terms, why none of them are any good, and how you can help.
Where once uberfans were content to tromp out into the backyard to videotape themselves lightsabering the snot out of one another, new technologies have rendered the days of rough in-camera edits and hand-puppet dianogas obsolete. And even though any Fett with a Flip camera can turn out a respectable product, many fan films represent sizable investments of time, resources and effort.
Take, for example, the genre of comic book fan film.
Batman: Dead End (above) is perhaps the most famous example of the form. The 8-minute film went live on the Web right around Comic-Con 2003, setting off a nerdsplosion of interest in director Sandy Collora, who's gone on to helm an actual, you know, movie.
To my way of thinking, Dead End is notable for two reasons:
Dispelling the Memory of Adam West's Bat-Belly
Dead End proved that simple, true-to-the-comics circus tights can look great — as long as the guy who's sporting them has 4 percent body fat and biceps the size of your head.
Okay, Did NOT See That Coming
Right around the three minute mark — after Batman and one very aggressively eyebrowed Joker trade blows and bon mots, events take a turn. A silly, silly turn.
After the jump: We scour the tubes for the best and the brightest superhero fan films. Also the weirdest.
Free Comic Book Day: Just what you've been waiting for all your life, if this is the kind of thing you wait for. iStockphoto.com
by Glen Weldon
This Saturday, May 2nd, you can walk into just about any comic shop in the country and get handed a bunch of free comic books.
Now me, I've had dreams like that.
But Free Comic Book Day is not intended for those of my ilk, who've already given ourselves over to the medium.
No, FCBD is the annual rite by which the nation's comics retailers band together to harvest fresh new souls -- people like you, who do not, as a matter of course, set foot inside comic shops.
Understand that you won't be able to just start pawing over the shelves. No, there'll be a passel of books provided by comics publishers, set aside specifically for FCBD giveaways. Some shops will allow you to pick and choose among them; others will simply hand you a pre-selected packet. You can use the FCBD site to locate a participating store near you.
And it will cost you nothing, nada, bupkis, zilch.
You may recognize this as the "your first taste is free" business model, so successfully embraced by the Columbia Record and Tape Club. Also, crack dealers.
Which: yeah, pretty much.
After the jump: A sneak peek at this year's FCBD selections, which do -- I repeat: DO -- include a healthy dose of Shatner.
Secret Identity: Turns out the co-creator of Superman was up to some things you might not know about. Abrams ComicArts
by Glen Weldon
We've previously noted that the creators of some of America's most noble comic book characters got up to some decidedly ignoble stuff themselves. And yet the artist Joe Shuster, co-creator of Superman, is a special case.
I don't refer here to his 1940 arrest in a Miami hotel lobby for "loitering hatless," although God knows that any man who'd indulge in acts of flagrant public hatlessness merits close watching. There's the children to think of.
No, what makes Shuster's case special — and the subject of a new book by comics historian Craig Yoe — is the newly-discovered fact that 16 years after Superman's first appearance, when faced with dire financial straits, Joe Shuster turned his artistic talents has to, well, smut. Dirty, depraved, utterly hatless smut.
After the jump: "Tales of terror and thrilling spiciness that will leave the reader spellbound!"
Now granted, the animation itself is pretty slapdash (Spidey spends an awful lot of time web-swinging across town, passing the same six buildings several times along the way), but there's much to recommend.
First, of course, the theme song: When its brassy, six-note opening blast gives way to the syncopated drum lick, try to keep from butt-dancing; try.
Then the lyrics kick in, and start going all Socratic Method on you:
Is he strong? Listen, bud:
He's got radioactive blood!
Can he swing? From a thread!
Take a look overhead!
Then there's the jazzy, infectious score, complete with surf guitar. Hey, Spider-daddy-O! Hang eight!
Listen -- really listen -- to the sound effect of those wrist web-shooters: so perfect, so difficult to emulate with the human mouth. Millions have tried.
Finally, the voicework. Paul Soles was the very first actor to voice Spider-man (just five years after the character was created), and lent him a sardonic, wisecracking tone that I still hear in my head every time I read a Spidey word balloon. (That's Paul "Hermy the Elf Who Wants to Be a Dentist" Soles, FY proverbial I.)
Still not convinced?
After the jump: Why this show's a cultural touchstone -- to some of us, anyway. Plus the pony thing.
Skelebunnies: You only think you know how not-safe-for-work comics get. SLG Publishing
by Glen Weldon
Okay: This won't take long.
Because the comic up for discussion today lives or dies by its premise. You dig the premise, or you resolutely do not, and I'm not likely to sway anyone from either position.
Don't believe me?
The Premise: Undead bunnies do beastly, unspeakable things for fun and profit. (Mostly fun.)
Still with me? Huh. Okay, here's The Plot:
* Two cute fluffy bunnies get vomited upon by a demon;
* Acidic demon vomit, natch, strips their flesh;
* Satan recruits them to go and do horrid things to the pure and innocent creatures of the world;
* Which they do, until they chafe under his infernal yoke, and then;
* They take their doing-horrid-things business freelance.
Did I mention they have a flying zombie steed named Pretty Pretty Pony Macabre? Because they have a flying zombie steed named Pretty Pretty Pony Macabre.
The final set of facts if you're still undecided, after the jump ...
Comic Book Comics: The history of the comic book is certainly interesting enough to inspire...a comic book. Evil Twin Comics
By Glen Weldon
The American funnybook boasts a long but as-yet-not-particularly-storied history. Only relatively recently have cultural historians and biographers begun to train their gaze on the men and women behind the comics medium.
Which is odd because they're, you know, a colorful bunch.
Take, for instance, the whole gang of cigar-chomping, mobbed-up publishers who decided, in the '30s, to switch from churning out porn to churning out comic books, to avoid getting hassled by the Feds.
Or the celebrity psychiatrist who blamed juvenile delinquency on comic books, and thus ushered in a new era of comic publishers .... getting hassled by the Feds. The guy made some fair points (yes, a decidedly creepy injury-to-the-eye-motif did in fact pervade the comics of the time). But his stubborn tendency to mistake the subtext for the text caused him to make a series of assertions (Batman and Robin = gay lovers, Wonder Woman = lesbian) that would go on to inspire generations of hacky stand-up comics.
After the jump: Comic Book Comics, funnybooks about funnybooks that are actually, you know, pretty funny books.
Most news reports couldn't resist the story's warm 'n' fuzzy aspects, of which admittedly there were a lot, including:
1. The seller purchased the comic in question back when he was nine.
2. At a secondhand shop.
3. In the early 50's.
4. For 35 cents.
But fewer noted this drier, vaguely bookkeeperish detail:
5. Only about 100 copies of the book are known to exist, in any condition.
Now, details 1-4 are potent stuff indeed; I get that. Reading them, you can't help but imagine a barefoot, tow-headed youth proudly sauntering out of the local malt shop with his new purchase, shoving it deep into the back pocket of his overalls -- next to the slingshot -- and joining his friends for a game of, let's say, marbles. Gee (you perhaps think to yourself) whillikers.
That more mundane, only-100-copies-in-existence detail? Well, it just doesn't have any of the same nostalgic, human interest, Dennis the Menace juice. Comparatively speaking, it's pure Mr. Wilson.
But it's really the entire point. It's the fact that so few copies exist that makes a $317K auction price possible. (Note, please, that I said possible, not understandable. Because, really people, $317,200? That noise is B-A-N-A-N-A-S.)
The other thing that makes it possible: The fact that the cohort of comic book collectors is essentially a deep turbid salty ocean of serious OCD.
After the jump: The collector's Sisyphean effort to seal his comics away forever in a safe, protected, unchanging and completely airless environment, which is not, like, symbolic or anything, and you really shouldn't go looking for any larger emotional truth about comics collectors anywhere in that. Because you won't find one. Because it's not there. So just shut up.
Mice Templar: We can only hope this will be one of many mouse epics. Image Comics
by Glen Weldon
It's not all that surprising: I mean, there's certainly a precedent for stirring tales of anthropomorphized medieval warrior members of the genus Peromyscus.
There is. You got your Reepicheep, from the Narnia books. Your Matthias, et al, from Brian Jacques' Redwall series.
You got your .... uh, Reepicheep....
Not .... a long list, granted, but enough to have inspired two contemporaneous comic book epics about noble (and ignoble) rodents:
Mouse Guard by David Petersen, the first six issues of which are now collected in a nifty hardcover ("Fall 1152") from Archaia Studios Press, and
Mice Templar by Bryan J.L. Glass and Michael Avon Oeming, the first six issues of which are now collected in a hardcover of coequal niftiness (The Prophecy) from Image Comics.
It's striking how very different these two books feel, despite the remarkable number of surface similarities they share.
NOTE: That's remarkable as in "inspiring remarks", not remarkable as in "get the lawyers on the phone."
The first issue of Mouse Guard hit stands in February of 2006, and Mice Templar debuted in August of 2007, but both books, we are told, had been in the works for many years. (The backmatter found in the Mice Templar hardcover is understandably emphatic on this point.)
So this isn't a Wife-Swap-and-Trading-Spouses type situation. It's more a The Prestige and ... That-Other-Movie-About-Magicians type situation. [Ed. Note: The Illusionist?]
After the jump: Their similarities, their differences, and an answer to the burning question, "Yeah, but which one brings the Cuteness?"
Option C?: If you're flummoxed by the graphic-novel versus film Watchmen debate, maybe you'll go for a different choice altogether, demonstrated in this trailer for Watchmen: The Motion Comic.
by Glenn McDonald
Sometimes pop-culture reporting can be perilous. For instance, I was preparing for the Watchmen movie last week by re-reading the original graphic novel. Then two new DVDs came across my desk -- a reissued documentary on Watchmen creator Alan Moore, and a 2-disc Watchmen "motion comic" that ports the original pages to digital format.
Foolishly, I attempted to digest all four of these pop-culture artifacts in a single weekend. Bad move. I keep hallucinating about Malin Akerman and I haven't blinked in 72 hours. Don't try this at home, young people. Leave it to the professionals.
Watchmen: The Complete Motion Comic, issued and marketed in conjunction with the theatrical film, is a fascinating specimen that offers a third option for those debating the merits of the film versus the graphic novel. It is an attempt, essentially, to apply film language to the comics format and sell a DVD version that you can watch instead of read.
Watchmen: Does there always have to be a movie? Warner Brothers Pictures
by Marc Hirsh
There's a movie opening today called Watchmen. Perhaps you've heard of it. It's gotten a bit of press lately, most of which has involved some variation of the headline "Who watches Watchmen?," because headline writers are just that clever.
Most of the coverage has also fixated on the long, roadblock-studded path from the original 1986-1987 run of the comic book to the silver screen. To hear the media tell it, those of us who love Watchmen have been waiting for this day eagerly for over 20 years.
The thing is, I don't think we have.
The comic as its own fully realized form, after the jump...
Dracula on the moon: It's really better enjoyed than analyzed for its relationship to archetypal heroic blah blah oh look, we just fell asleep. Marvel Entertainment
by Glen Weldon
It comes with the territory: When you're someone who hits his local shop every Wednesday to pick up the week's new comics, you tend to find yourself hip-deep in one-sided conversations.
I've shrugged my way through my share of Who-Would-Win-a-Fight conversations, for example. I get why they exist. Never saw the appeal.
And you can't spend more than four minutes in a comics shop without hearing from the vocal contingent of Comics Suck Now, Unlike in [Year Speaker Was Twelve Years Old], When All Comics Were Brilliant and Awesome and Shiny and Cured Rickets.
Most troubling/enervating/tiring are those comic book buyers who, for whatever reason, seem incapable of embracing their fondness for funnybooks without first struggling to contextualize that fondness in the language of graduate-level Humanities seminars.
This lot have so thoroughly internalized Joseph Campbell's Hero with a Thousand Faces that they've grown a little too damn comfortable with words like "mythos."
Can we all agree that "mythos" is a not an everyday word, and should not be treated as such? And further, that dropping "mythos" into a conversation when one is sporting a t-shirt upon which Wolverine is engaged in an act of disembowelment tends to leach the word of its power?
To these folk, the Avengers aren't the Avengers, but instead a pantheon of epic archetypes around which mythopoeic narrative tropes have organically accreted.
Superheroes, they assert to all who'll listen and to many who won't, are our contemporary gods and demi-gods, whose adventures embody the modern mythic architecture that we, as a society, collectively construct to house our cultural fears and ambitions.
Thing is: all that heady circumlocution smacks of a desperate thirst for validation.
And some things shouldn't be validated.
Some things don't need to be.
Some things, like, for example, when Dracula launches vampire missiles from the moon.
After the jump: Dracula launches VAMPIRE freaking MISSILES. From the freaking MOON.
Batman: Well, he sure looks dead, doesn't he? DC Comics
by Glen Weldon
In comics, always bet on "or something."
You won't go wrong, particularly when the putative corpse in question is -- as in the case before us -- a multiple-franchise-spawning chunk o' intellectual property whose heavily marketed multimedia presence has infiltrated mass culture to an absurd, and in some cases profoundly unflattering, degree.
In superhero circles, see, death is a chronic condition. It's inconvenient, yes -- but treatable.
Case in point: Last month, DC Comics once again sent one of its most recognizable characters into the Great Beyond ... or somewhere thereabouts.
In the Caped Crusader's absence, DC will launch Battle for the Cowl, a multi-issue series in which Robin, Batgirl and the rest of extended Bat-family... well, battle. For the right to wear the pointy ears.
"Battle for the Cowl." Hey, it beats what they called a very similar plotline back in the 90's, when Bruce Wayne literally broke his back fighting crime.
(He, um, got better. But for a while a Bat-vacuum existed that nature thoroughly abhorred. I wasn't too crazy about it either, frankly, as it allowed this cheesy, "TO THE EXTREME!", quintessentially '90s chump of a character -- your garden-variety brainwashed, gene-spliced, French-Catholic-assassin in fire armor -- to take over the Bat-books for a time.)
Back then, DC editors ushered in the guy's doofy stint as interim-Batman by asking the question: "Who Will Inherit ... the Mantle of the Bat?"
"Mantle of the Bat." Doesn't really sing, does it? Not sure why. Maybe it's the faux-gravitas of it, which just comes off sounding ineluctably dumb. Or maybe it's because the word "mantle" puts you in mind of things that stick to rocks.
After the jump: The facts, such as they are, behind the Dark Knight's Dubious Dirtnap.
It's all there in the url, really. You click, you browse. Forever.
Browse what?
Covers. Hundreds upon thousands of comic book covers, is what. ForEVer.
Oh. Yeah, okay.
Whee!
No, yeah, fine, I guess. But wait, no: What is there to love about a website that simply archives old comic book covers?
Um...I mean...everything? I don't ... I don't understand the question.
Surely it's just a means of cataloging, no? And thus sort of like getting excited about a particularly adroit application of the Dewey Decimal System?
.... What's your point?
And anyway it's not like there aren't severalsites that archive comic book covers, if that's really what warms your particular cockles. And those sites, unlike this one, provide useful, concrete information about the issues in question -- year, featured characters, plot synopses.
Pfft. That stuff just gets in the way of the pure, crystalline adrenaline rush of four-color goodness. The allusive, right-brain, stream-of-consciousness, goose-pimply....
Seems sorta ... squishy, is all. Lacking in rigor. I mean check out that nondescript homepage. Where do you even start? How do you know when you're done?
Alan Moore and Dave Gibbon's 1986 graphic novel? Blah blah postmodern masterpiece, blah blah deconstruction of superhero tropes, blahdee blah changed comics forever?
I know: As a rule, brainy NPR types like y'all prefer to read a given book before seeing the film made from it. That way, when you meet up with other brainy NPR types, you can discuss the sundry alterations that were made to the plot for the sake of budget, running time, narrative cohesion or monumental directorial stupidheadery.
But what about those brainy NPR types who haven't read Watchmen but have seen the trailer, which promises the kind of desultory superhero stuff (slow-mo fight scenes, big 'splosions) that one expects from comics-to-film projects?
They might well think: Why bother? It's just more masked dudes in fetish gear running around beating up on folk, no?
No.
After the jump: Reading Watchmen before watching Watchmen -- the case for.
Don't be a Helo: Tahmoh Penikett was at a loss to explain why the Dollhouse crew was at NY Comic-Con. Fox
By Laurel Maury
I walked something like 200 feet into New York Comic-Con without seeing a single comic book.
Booths for video games, regular books, Dungeons and Dragons, sure. Toys, everywhere. But this year, the four-year-old NY Comic-Con seemed to be about everything but comic books.
What did go on? Well, Joss Whedon's new TV show, Dollhouse, premiered its first episode on Sunday. Japanese pop idol Sho Sakurai turned up to promote a movie; British It Girl Peaches Geldof wandered the convention floor with a film crew, courtesy of Nylon magazine.
The panel for the British sci-fi show Torchwood was mobbed. Booths sold T-shirts, corsets, vinyl dolls, messenger bags (really cool ones from Gamma-Go), even doorbells.
But it was increasingly clear that big "cons," as comic book conventions are called, are no longer the comic book geek's natural habitat -- they're places to see and be seen, where Hollywood and the gaming industry try to get products into the hands of early adopters.
Joss Whedon, Tahmoh Penikett, and The New York Times on pimping it Comic-Con style, after the jump ...
The Obama-Spidey buying frenzy: This has to stop. Marvel
by Glen Weldon
Hi, America. Why don't you sit down? We need to talk to you.
Don't worry about the groceries. We'll put them away. You just sit over there in that empty chair in the center of the room, okay? The one facing us. Right.
Great.
Now, we know you're surprised to see us here. I mean, you come back from the store and here we all are, crowded into your living room like this. (Gary had to go get some extra chairs up from your basement; hope that's okay.)
The reason we're here today, America, is because we love you. We do; all of us in this room care about you very much, and we want you to get help. We're here to tell you that you need to get help.
Bat-Manga!: It's hard to say what's nuttier: these Batman adventures, or what happened when the book containing them was published. Random House
by Glen Weldon
Last week, NPR's Day to Day profiled Chip Kidd's newish book, Bat-Manga! The Secret History of Batman in Japan. Among other things, Kidd's great honkin' slab of a coffee-table book reprints and translates a handful of Japanese comics from 1966, which were themselves originally created to cash in on the success of the US-made Batman TV show.
Thomas Friedman was right: The World is Flat. Also, Geekier Than You Might Imagine.
To understand what makes Kidd's book such a compelling cross-cultural artifact/frickin' hoot, you have to understand what made those Japanese Bat-comics different from other Bat-comics. Very, very different.
And to understand why the comics blogosphere got their collective Captain America underoos in a bunch about Kidd's book, you have to understand ... well, not much really. Except maybe that the intimate apparel of the comic book geek exists in a perpetual state of pre-bunching.
After the jump: The terrifying menace of Lord Death Man, Go Go the Magician, and the comic book blogosphere.
Last man standing: The world has changed a lot, but Archie is still going strong. Archie Comics Publications
by Glen Weldon
Used to be, comics were everywhere. Not so long ago, squeaky spinner racks crammed with four-color whimsy were thick on the ground; you couldn't enter a drugstore, supermarket or bookshop without spotting this here large, friendly sign.
But over the course of the 1980s, the spinner rack, and the comic books it carried, steadily disappeared from the country's Pick n' Saves and Pathmarks. No longer could a kid repair to the newsstand to thumb through the latest issue of Marvel Team-Up while his mother puttered down the condiments aisle.
Even the most popular comics, with the toughest, too legit-to-quit heroes -- your Wolverines, your Hulks, your Supermans -- abandoned newsstands, retreating like frightened woodland creatures to the relative safety (and steady sales) of the comics specialty shop.
The sole survivor? The only comic book character that can still be found in every supermarket in the country, where he merits prominent point-of-purchase placement alongside US Weekly and Fabulous Fruitini Orbit gum? A skinny teenaged redhead in a sweater vest.
The question: what is it about Archie Andrews that has allowed him to bravely weather a sales environment harsh enough to send the X-Men fleeing for cover? Did he get Mr. Lodge to front him some cash? Is that weird tic-tac-toe thing inscribed on the side of his head some kind of eldritch protection sigil?
We explore this mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a letterman jacket, after the jump.
This is not our topic today: We hope you're not too sad. Marvel
So yes, as you have likely heard, the Obama-Meets-Spidey issue of Amazing Spider-Man comes out today.
This has duly occasioned the predictable, but no less puzzling, mainstream media response that such publicity stunts are engineered to bring about. If you're interested, you can read about it here, or here, or here, or here or here.
Not here, though.
No, here we've got bigger, less nakedly exploitative Spider-fish to fry, namely: Marking the one-year anniversary of the Quickie Divorce that Quite Literally Changed the (Marvel) Universe.
After the jump: A disquisition on matters matrimonial and meta-human, or: Why the cosmic annulment of Spidey's marriage to Mary Jane made for a better comic, and why Lois and Clark need couples counseling.
Comic book fans, like most species of geek, treasure our outsider status. The fact that said status is largely self-imposed and self-perpetuated isn't so much important — we're all about the treasuring, over here. And the brooding.
Thus, as a species, we're given to snottily rejecting anything that smacks of the popular, of the cultural mainstream. You can always count on us to find a way to prize even the most ham-fisted tale of four-color adventure over, say, Gossip Girl. And to be kinda jerky about it in the process. It's reflexive and reductive and not remotely fair, but there it is.
So why, you may ask, are we comic book geeks now pulling so hard for The Dark Knight to receive an Oscar nod, of all things?
(Especially when we're the kind of schmucks who ruin your Oscar party by gobbling up the Funyuns while opining to all within earshot that the Academy Awards are an empty exercise in feeding the nation's collective middlebrow sensibility. And that, further, they certainly have nothing whatsoever to say about artistic merit.)
So why do we suddenly care so damn much about a stupid Oscar? Why do we feel we are owed one?
Four words: Legends of the Superheroes.
And, okay, five more: Charlie Callas in a bodystocking.
After the jump: The live-action superhero abomination that still haunts our unquiet dreams. (And no, it's not Elektra) ...
Know this: Among those few, those happy few, those bands of geeky brothers and sisters who dutifully hit their local comic shops every Wednesday to pick up the week's batch of new comics, there exists a host of distinct species and subspecies.
Blue Beetle: What it has to do with my No. 1 Geek Confession of 2008, after the jump. DC Comics
Let's start with the most basic split in the trunk of the comic book fan's taxonomic tree. And it's got nothing to do with DC vs. Marvel.
No, this classification is even more fundamental, and it's bound up in one's essential character. Which is to say: It's not what you read, it's how you read.
After the jump: Reading habits as Rorschach blots, the five ongoing series that consistently end up at the bottom of my pile, and why that's a good thing.
Liquid City: If we were making a list, which we aren't, this would be on it. Image Comics
It's best-of-2008 time in comics land, with smart types of all stripes weighing in with their choices for the year's outstanding achievement in the field of funnybook-making.
I have no list for you, parumpapumpum, mostly because it's taken so long to work my way through all the lists that are already out there. (You can peruse the excellent choices of several professional comic book creatorshere.)
Anyway, I'd pretty much be copy-and-pasting the great list(s) of NPR's own smart type, Laurel Maury. (Go read; I'll wait.)
I really like her picks, with only a few quibbles (it's been a while since I've found much new or interesting in Warren Ellis' particular brand of brutal super-nihilism, but the guy knows how to tell a story. I'd also throw in some love for Image Comics' Liquid City, an out-there anthology of southeast Asian comics that is as bracing as it is baffling, and it's often pretty darn baffling.)
Maury cleaved her list in twain, Best Graphic Novels and Best Superhero Graphic Novels, which puzzled me at first -- isn't a good book a good book, whether or not its characters happen to favor cerulean circus tights? What's up with this separate-but-equal jazz?
But I think what she's up to here -- and I invite her to correct me if I'm wrong -- is reaching out to you, the reader who still hears the phrase "comic books" and thinks "superheroes." (And, more to the point, promptly follows up that thought with, "Yeah, no thanks.")
Here's the thing, though: I'm not entirely convinced that you exist.
After the jump: Why I don't believe in you, and 2008 as comics culture tipping point.
The Far Side lives: Contributors to a Flickr pool act out their favorite cartoons, to sometimes arresting effect. Photo illustration by The Rocketeer, via Flickr.
Gary Larson's The Far Side ran new strips from 1980 to 1994, but the nearly 15 years that have passed since he retired haven't quieted fans, who find their own interesting ways to pay tribute.
Currently circling the internet is the Far Side Reenactments Flickr pool, a collection of photos and illustrations from different contributors acting out their favorite Far Side panels. Above is The Rocketeer's version of this strip, in which the big, bloodshot eyeball is closer than it appears.
Does this man look dangerous?:Breakfast Of The Gods suggests that you exercise caution. Quaker Oats
by Glen Weldon
In no particular order, you will be taken in by:
1. The premise — a dark satire in which the breakfast-cereal mascots of your innocent, tow-headed youth wage a pitched and at times violent battle for their homeland.
2. "Crunchum Eternum."
3. The panel in which Cookie Crook gets referred to as a "skel."
4. The issue titles, which keep getting better and better: Issue One: "The Last Good Morning." Issue Two: "O Cap'n, My Cap'n." Issue Three: "Apocalypse Yum."
5. The author's "Please, Please Don't Sue Me" page at the end of each issue. (On his blog, Jones accurately describes Breakfast of the Gods thusly: "...the series stands as both a pop culture-drenched labor of love and a minefield of serious copyright infringement." Which: yeah, pretty much.)
6. The "Lucky strikes" joke.
7. The identity of the central villain of the piece, which you've probably already guessed, but is still flatly awesome.
8. The Trix Rabbit as Mickey Spillane.
9. I say again: "Apocalypse Yum."
10. "One can do one's damnedest." Sniff. Seriously: Sniff.
11. The way you hear James Mason's voice in your head whenever you read Toucan Sam's word balloons.
The navigation isn't as fluid as it could be -- once you finish the first issue, you'll have to scroll down past the comments to find a way to access Issue Two, etc.
Also, Issue Three (which -- have I mentioned? -- is titled, "Apocalpyse Yum") is still not quite finished.
And finally, fair warning: Dig'Em's dialogue ... gets a little blue.
WISH Factor 5: When surly heroes meet holiday cheer, the geekdom gets a warm-fuzzy feel.
Marvel
by Glen Weldon
This time of year, some of the more evolved members of the preternaturally peevish comic book blogosphere briefly admit the holiday spirit into their hearts — and upload it to their servers.
The gratifying result: Online! Comics-themed! Advent calendars!
Of course, the Internet boasts many flavors of clickableyuletidecountdowns, so why should you -- and let's assume here that your personal interest in comics might be described as less-than-ardent — choose to spend your precious mouse-clicks on funnybook-related calendrical diversions?
A fair question. But rest assured that even if your heart does not thrill, as does mine, to the wildly incongruous mashup of Christmas and comics (Hulk in a Santa Hat! Hee!), this year's batch is a strong one: a potent holiday cocktail of the educational, the adorable and the What the Hell?
Plus, the closer we get to December 25, the better the odds that we might catch a glimpse of — cross your fingers — Caroling Batman.
When sleigh bells meet spandex: We rate your (implausibly plural) comic-book advent-calendar options, after the jump ...
In the popular mindset, he's become a quite literal joke, and a tired one.
And so to all those cut-ups, wags and wacky funsters who have helped to spread the now pervasive "Aquaman is Lame" meme, I say this:
Enough. Basta. Move on.
Credit where it's due, though: Thanks to you, said meme itself — the very act of pointing out that the highly specific nature of Aquaman's power-set would logically circumscribe his effectiveness as a deterrent of crime and administrator of justice (i.e., "The guy talks to FISH!") — is now officially the hoariest, hackiest arrow in the quiver of pop-culture commentary.
Qua humor, it is to our Internet Age what "And what is the deal with airline peanuts?" was to the skinny-necktie 90's.
It is not remotely fresh; it is fresh's antithesis, its polar opposite, its mortal enemy. It's what steps onto the Enterprise wearing a goatee after a transporter malfunction strands Fresh Himself in the anti-matter universe.
Stephen Colbert, bless him, recently managed to put a silly new spin on the Aquaman joke. (It's right around the one-minute mark). It's not bad, actually, as Aquaman gags go -- just dumb enough to crack Colbert up, which is fun.
But that's the exception. The rule itself is pretty grim.
After the jump, a short history of the Aqua-gag, involving Dave Chappelle, Craig Ferguson, Family Guy, Entourage, and the many others who've mistaken the Sea King's orange tunic for Komedy Gold.
Too much turkey? Recover on the sofa — with a nice big book full of easily digestible pictures. iStockphoto.com
by Glen Weldon
And so it begins: Another noisy, stressful, cousin-crammed festival of starchy overconsumption. Tomorrow, you will feast. And drink. And listen helplessly as your great-uncle updates you on the medical status of his bowels.
And then on Friday morning, you'll stumble from bed a bleary, still-bloated mess. In your compromised state, the shopping mall may beckon. Ignore it.
Instead, do yourself a favor: Hie your tired, tryptophan-addled butt to the nearest couch.
And take a book with you. One that:
1. You can polish off in a single lazy afternoon, and yet
2. Is so thick it could drop even a particularly belligerent yak.
After the jump: Five thick-but-quick books made for long gray weekends like this one.
So yeah, as previously noted, there was this article in Britain's Daily Telegraph, entitled "Barack Obama: The 50 Facts You Might Not Know." Here's another fact you might not know: That article created a bit of a stir last week among one specific and defiantly geeky sector of the populace.
Across the vasty funnybook blogosphere, that article's very first item — just eight little words — sent hearts to fluttering, tongues to wagging and computer pixels to ... um, doing whatever it is that computer pixels do. Phosphoring, let's say.
The eight little words? "He collects Spider-Man and Conan the Barbarian comics."
Actually, it wasn't all eight of those words. It was just the second one.
Collects.
That one verb sent a thrill up the leg of many a funnybook fan, and got us parsing away like so many Talmudic scholars. (If Talmudic scholars wore XXL X-Men tees.)
To wit:
Well, let's just start with that verb tense. As in: Present! As in: Continues-to-this-very-day!
To say nothing of the word choice itself. To collect, after all, is a fundamentally different prospect than, say, to read. Because packed neatly inside collect is the notion of cataloging, of alphabetizing by publisher, title or lead character.
The word collect is redolent of the chase, of the perpetual, never-to-be-slaked thirst for completeness that is the very engine of full-on geekery.
So yeah, it's an intriguing prospect, a fanboy POTUS; I get that.
But I hereby caution my geek brethren and sistren to curb the collective enthusiasm until we know more.
After the jump: We coldly examine the evidence ...
Strolling through Rangoon: Guy Delisle's Burma ChroniclesDrawn and Quarterly
by Glen Weldon
Resolved: The best travelogue you'll read this year is a funnybook. About a not particularly funny place.
Writer-artist Guy Delisle has previously documented his stays in Shenzhen, China, and Pyongyang, North Korea, in two well-received graphicnovels.
Both books are marked by Delisle's deceptively simple, cartoony style, by his eye for architectural detail, and by an easy, unforced sense of humor.
And, when you put it all together, some of the most effective and fully realized travel writing out there.
Here's why: Delisle's words and pictures neatly capture the sense of bemused alienation travel bestows. He's alternately fascinated and frustrated by those around him, yes, but he manages to depict them without falling into any of The Three Traps of Travel Writing.
That is to say, he never:
A: Idealizes B: Condescends C: Imagines that millennia-old cultural barriers can be crossed in a matter of months. By him. Because he's soooo much more sensitive and insightful than any stupid tourist.
After the jump: How all that comes together in Myanmar ...
'A Death In the Family': Your trusty comics blogger? He's responsible for this outrage. DC Comics
By Glen Weldon
Now that the last balloons have dropped, we as a nation can take comfort in the knowledge that, one again, millions of us exercised our right to vote and so set in motion the peaceful transfer of power that is the hallmark of this, our American democracy.
And let me note one other thing: That this latest round of quadrennial participation in the Grand Experiment resulted in not even a single masked, pixie-booted young crimefighter getting beaten to a bloody pulp with a crowbar.
And then blown up.
By an evil clown.
Just moments after he'd been reunited with his long-lost mother.
All worth noting, because that's pretty much exactly what happened the first time I ever voted, just over 20 years ago. My vote -- and those of my like-minded fellows -- killed Robin, the Boy Wonder.
And we'd do it again.
After the jump: The day a surprisingly tiny number of geeks (and a 900 number) accomplished what even Gotham's greatest villains never dared to dream.
Garfield Minus Garfield: Without Garfield's retorts about how glad he is the day is over, things look a little more bleak. Ballantine Books
by Laurel Maury
Early in 2008, Irishman Dan Walsh started posting online copies online of Garfield -- with Garfield removed. The goofy, 30-year-old comic strip featuring the lasagna-loving tabby and Jon Arbuckle, his girlfriend-less owner, has been adored since the early '80s. Without the cat, a dark humor emerged that resonated through the growing world of webcomics. Within a few months, www.garfieldminusgarfield.net was receiving 500,000 hits a day.
Garfield creator Jim Davis became a fan and asked Walsh to work on a book. Now accompanying the rather lavish Garfield: 30 Years of Laughs and Lasagna, by Jim Davis is a small green book, Garfield Minus Garfield.
How the project started, how the fan mail looks, and teaming up with Jim Davis, after the jump...
Dead Men 'Walking': There are plenty of graphic-novel zombie chronicles, but The Walking Dead leads the shambling herd. Cover detail, 'The Walking Dead,' Vol. I. Courtesy Image Comics
by Glen Weldon
Since the post-World War II heyday of EC Comics, horror's been a signature comic book genre.
Which is really odd, when you stop and think about it. For a couple of reasons.
Reason One: Comics by their very nature defy what is perhaps the most frequently cited horror tenet, namely: The scariest stuff is the stuff you don't see.
(In funnybooks, you see everything. That, in fact, is more or less the idea.)
Oh, sure, writers and artists can set a mood, using language, line, shading and color. They can even build tension, of a sort, in that millisecond before you turn the next page.
But (Reason Two) what they can't do is make effective use of tension-and-release, the two-stroke engine that drives horror narratives. If you've ever watched a movie through your fingers, you know what I'm talking about: The slow build of sick dread, the sudden shock, the screaming relief.
The funny thing about each of those tropes, see, is that they are largely functions of pacing.
And I'm going to let you in on a dirty secret about comics: Pacing? Doesn't exist.
After the jump: Why horror comics have to settle for unsettling; assorted zombie matters; and the Monster at the End of this Post.
Hero worship: Former Spider-Man writer J. Michael Straczynski is busy talking up his film Changeling this week, but that won't stop our comics guys from talking up his funnybook-world fame. Tony Rivetti Jr./Universal Pictures
by Trey Graham
Today on Morning Edition, NPR's Elizabeth Blair talks about the true story behind the new film Changeling with screenwriter J. Michael Straczynski -- who'll be better known to many Monkey See readers as the creator of TV's Babylon 5 and a longtime writer for Marvel Comics' The Amazing Spider-Man.
Wait, did somebody mention a superhero? Cue Monkey See's funnybook blogger Glen Weldon. Glen came down to the mothership earlier this week for an in-studio chat.
Joining him: fellow Marvel geek Jim Lesher, who works on NPR's Operations Desk. (The Ops crew keeps us plugged into the rest of the world, keeps us from fighting over studio time, handles logistics for remote broadcasts, and much more.)
And you know how it is when you put a couple of, ahem, enthusiasts in front of a microphone. Elizabeth asked two, maybe three questions, and the guys were off to the races.
Among the topics: 9/11 in the Marvel universe, Babylon 5 and what it taught TV about the Internet, and the Spider-Man storyline that drove Straczynski out of his skull. Plus: Comics-specific audio extras -- stuff you won't hear in the Morning Edition story -- taken from Blair's interview with Straczynski.
The result? Click the play button above, and hear for yourself.
Here they come to save the day: McCain, Palin and Obama get bio-comics. And there's a fourth — but it's not about the candidate you'd expect. IDW, Bluewater
by Glen Weldon
How do I love [preferred candidate]? Let me count the swag:
With lawn signs do I love him. With baby tees, and hoodies. And buttons. And with bumper stickers, desktop wallpapers, magnets (refrigerator/car), lapel pins, hats (baseball/ trucker), coffee mugs, water bottles and funnybooks.
Wait: funnybooks?
Funnybooks.
Four different candidates vying for national office are now the subjects of their own comic-book biographies. But they're not necessarily the four candidates you'd imagine — and you'll never guess which one got snubbed.
After the jump: Profiles in four-color courage, and the identity of the mystery snubbee ... REVEALED! ... (Yeah, okay, it's Biden.)
Who's that girl? She lost her gig this week. The answer, after the jump. Silhouette by Trey Graham, NPR. Image: Marvel Comics
by Glen Weldon
So Marvel Comics canceled one of its titles this week. Not a big deal, on the face of it: books get canceled all the time. Out with the old, in with the New Avengers, and all that.
The thing is: The character who's getting her plug pulled is the only female superhero in Marvel's 70-year history who's managed to carry her own book for more than 100 issues. Reaching that milestone is no mean feat; it puts her up there with your Supermans, your Batmans, your Hulks and your Iron Mans.
And I'm willing to bet you've never heard of her.
After the jump: Who she is and how she came to be. Also: creepy manga, the dumbest title of the week, and the theme song that propelled an entire generation into lives of abject geekery ....
Last week we asked you to weigh in on the girls-and-comics question (questions, really) and your thoughts were gratifyingly weighty, indeed.
If I may attempt to sum up:
1). The stubborn predilection for pulchritude (read: chicks with gazongas the size of Pilates balls) that is manifest in mainstream-comic representations of creatures female seems to inspire more eye-rolls than outrage.
2). Some of the things y'all look for in a funnybook include:
• Plotlines that are intricate and satisfying, especially if said plots are driven by:
• Characters who are smart, interesting, strong and relatable. If they happen to be female: Bonus.
Girls power: What do Power Girl and her ever-present "boob window" have to do with the shuttering of Minx? The Monkey has a theory.
DC Comics
Last Thursday, DC Comics announced it was folding Minx, the company's line of graphic novels aimed at teenage girls, just a little over a year after the imprint's much-ballyhooed launch.
Now, the moment that word came down, the vasty comics blogosphere started filling up with words of its own: that familiar blend of opinion, analysis, finger-pointing, and the sentiment expressed so frequently on the Internet it should have its own Blogspot macro: "If-only-they'd-listened-to-me."
One big reason the fall of Minx so intrigues the comics cognoscenti: Minx was a part of DC, and DC is a part of Time-Warner.
So its demise means that even a girl-targeted comics line that gets produced, distributed and marketed under the aegis of mega-gargantua-Brobdignagian corporate overlords — overlords with Scrooge McDuck-size piles of cash at their command — can't find an audience.
Why don't girls read comics?
That, it turns out, is a stupid question.
After the jump: the comics that girls are already reading, the comics they aren't, and what the belly shirt has to do with it all.
Whenever a small child bravely imagines himself a hero to the world, his future in the workaday world of dull adulthood becomes ever more tightly constrained. Have fun, little guy!
iStockphoto.com
Do kids even have favorite superheroes anymore? Although the li'l ones of my acquaintance seem happy enough to pass an idle summer afternoon at the latestsuperheroflick, the exploits of costumed crime-fighters just don't fill them with the kind of manic fervor that long ago seized an 8-year-old me. (And never fully let go.)
If, as I suspect, kids no longer tear across each other's backyards with beach towels around their necks, the world is an emptier place for it. I once asked my nephew, then 8 years old himself, to name his favorite superhero. I still remember the way he looked up slowly from his game of Madden, his small round face a mask of confusion and -- I really don't think I imagined this -- pity.
Might as well have asked him to tell me which Katzenjammer Kid he preferred.
But back when I was a lad, a kid's favorite superhero told you a lot about him. It was a kind of playground shorthand that conveyed to other kids exactly what you thought you were about -- and helped you size them up at the same time. It's what we used before adolescence set in, when taste in music took over the job.
The seven most popular playground choices, and what they really said about the chooser, after the jump ...
Local zero? Not for a minute.
Brian Wood & Ryan Kelly/Oni Press
Megan McKeenan, the young woman at the center of Brian Wood and Ryan Kelly's comic series Local, is a tough character to like. Which is probably why I ended up liking her so damn much.
Simply put, she screws up. Like, a lot. For most of Local's 12-issue run, she screws up both royally and serially, propelled from bad choice to bad choice by a high-octane blend of impulse, selfishness and emotional need.
Or to put that another way: She's in her early 20s.
Addicts, relocations and growing the *#@! up, after the jump ...
Spelling B.:I Kill Giants protagonist Barbara Thorson sees dark magic where her classmates don't.
Image Comics
The second issue of I Kill Giants, a seven-issue mini-series written by Joe Kelly and illustrated by JM Ken Niimura, hits stores today.
Why I'm telling you this: Issue #1 off-handedly accomplished something that, I assert, comics can do better than any other form of entertainment: It set up an intriguing tension between its narrative content and its visual style, and it really lived inside that tension.
Erm. Let's see if I can put that another way, without waxing quite so grad-school insufferable.
More direct language, plus a sneak-peek page, after the jump ...
We feel an odd kinship: Monkey See is beside itself over Marvel Apes.Illustration: Lindsay Mangum, NPR/Marvel Comics
Apes. They are to comic books what guest-appearances by Charo are to television: A once-pervasive element of the form, now fallen into sad disuse. Cheesy? Yep. Nonsensical? Sure. Yet possessed of an essential grooviness that is self-evident.
Back in a more whimsical era, comic pages teemed with gorillas, chimps, monkeys and the bad puns that inevitably follow in their musky wake. The reason was decidedly unwhimsical: Putting a primate on the cover boosted sales.
But this gorilla glut didn't last forever, and today it's a fondlyremembered period in the history of comics publishing that continues to inspire scholarship -- well, musing, anyway.
Here's the bit I really don't get, though: Now that The Dark Knight has become the highest-grossing film of the year, Warner Pictures President Jeff Robinov says he wants his next pack of superhero movies to be bathed in the same brooding tone. He sees exploring the evil side to characters as the key to unlocking some of Warner Bros.' DC properties.
"We're going to try to go dark to the extent that the characters allow it," Robinov says. That goes for the company's Superman franchise as well.
Hoo boy. Hey, moviegoing public? We comic book geeks have something to tell you, because we've been down this road before.
It was called the '90s. And, trust us, it doesn't end well.
Why you should fear the super-mullet, after the jump.
Webcomics: We like 'em. 
Natalie Portman: She's joining the Thor movie. But Thor? Still a jerk. 
Rock the Vote: There's a special mayoral race underway, and you can vote in this one. 
Mr. Stuffins: Let's put it this way: he knows things most teddy bears don't. 
Supergirl: Doesn't she look happy about the news that she gets to wear pants now? 
George Sprott:Seriously, it's really big. 
Rex Libris: Just another heroic librarian. You probably know many. 
Who is this guy?: We're willing to bet a lot of you will get it wrong. 
Long-running fictional characters: Sure, there are a lot of candidates, but who takes the prize? 
Comic books: Or maybe you'd like to see them called something else? Just not "monthlies," please. 
Free Comic Book Day: Just what you've been waiting for all your life, if this is the kind of thing you wait for. 
Skelebunnies: You only think you know how not-safe-for-work comics get. 
Comic Book Comics: The history of the comic book is certainly interesting enough to inspire...a comic book. 
The problem with preservation: This comic book recently brought a pretty penny, but at what cost do collectors court collectible prices? 
Mice Templar: We can only hope this will be one of many mouse epics. 
Watchmen: Does there always have to be a movie? 
Dracula on the moon: It's really better enjoyed than analyzed for its relationship to archetypal heroic blah blah oh look, we just fell asleep. 
Batman: Well, he sure looks dead, doesn't he? 
A world of covers: This online catalog just might bring out your inner undershirt. 
Watchmen: There are plenty of good reasons to read it before you see the movie. 
The Obama-Spidey buying frenzy: This has to stop. 
Bat-Manga!: It's hard to say what's nuttier: these Batman adventures, or what happened when the book containing them was published. 
Last man standing: The world has changed a lot, but Archie is still going strong. 
Blue Beetle: What it has to do with my No. 1 Geek Confession of 2008, after the jump. 
Liquid City: If we were making a list, which we aren't, this would be on it. 
The Far Side lives: Contributors to a Flickr pool act out their favorite cartoons, to sometimes arresting effect. 
Does this man look dangerous?: Breakfast Of The Gods suggests that you exercise caution. 
WISH Factor 5: When surly heroes meet holiday cheer, the geekdom gets a warm-fuzzy feel.
Too much turkey? Recover on the sofa — with a nice big book full of easily digestible pictures. 
Geek in Chief? Comics artist Alex Ross may have been prescient about the President-elect. 
'A Death In the Family': Your trusty comics blogger? He's responsible for this outrage. 
Garfield Minus Garfield: Without Garfield's retorts about how glad he is the day is over, things look a little more bleak. 
Dead Men 'Walking': There are plenty of graphic-novel zombie chronicles, but The Walking Dead leads the shambling herd. 
Hero worship: Former Spider-Man writer J. Michael Straczynski is busy talking up his film Changeling this week, but that won't stop our comics guys from talking up his funnybook-world fame. 
Here they come to save the day: McCain, Palin and Obama get bio-comics. And there's a fourth — but it's not about the candidate you'd expect. 
Who's that girl? She lost her gig this week. The answer, after the jump. 
Chace scenes: SIS operative Tara Chace anchors Greg Rucka's Queen and Country
One big reason the fall of Minx so intrigues the comics cognoscenti: Minx was a part of DC, and DC is a part of 
