Mindless Ones

Trump Taraaaaah!, but no annocommentations from me this time, sorry, but I have sussed out the identity of Dr Hurt. Read on…

Bob: This is not only the best issue of B&R yet, but the best single issue of Morrison’s batman run by some margin, and as dense and full a piece as he’s written since Seven Soldiers #1, with which it shares many links and referents, both deliberate, accidental and incidental.

Zom: Tan’s a nice chap, some of us around here were quite keen on his work, but if you ask me thank God for Cameron Stewart: Batman & Robin is back at long last. This isn’t my favourite issue and I’ll get into some of the reasons why later, but it’s a bloody good one.

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An interesting aspect in the reading and long-term appreciation of superhero-comics, one of few nearly unique to the genre-medium, is the impact that a single image of a single character can have. Few sights are more potent and electric than the basic dramatis-persona mugshot of the steroidal spandexophile (popular in the early Image-era which took the dynamic far beyond the realms of mere absurdity), poised four square to the camera, and his name. Plot, narrative, dialogue even, can all to a greater or lesser degree be shed, and the key meaning of the superhero, the immortal appeal, remains undiminished. All that is required is a strong image and a strong name.

The enduring popularity of the A-Z Handbook of the X?X Universe books are a testament to this – the costume, the name, the paraphernalia, the ‘vital statistics’ (so porno), and the stripped-back plot recaps that the Handbook-style entries offer are the pure flavour, the total hot- drug effect, of the strongman funnybook. The superhero, a figure without a background, exists perfectly well, separate to the superfluous storytelling and other dimensions the comicbook medium affords. After all, if it’s all about wish fulfilment and fantasy-projection, the other stuff just gets in the way – just show me, in crazy colours and moody lighting, the bare (oo-er) image of the proud superthing, standing erect, and let me do the rest of the work myself (stop!) All that you need is a cool, tight image and a few terse syllables of context (of which the name, both descriptive and directive in its ideal form, is the concentrate). and you  can have that uncanny charge the trueborn superhero fanman is always chasing.

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We’ve come a long way since this massively offensive ad….

I used to have a friend who would perform his own peculiar brand of dance: DANCE FIGHTING

Batman & Robin #2 would appear to be the book where the uncommitted became converts, or at least became considerably more interested. People have made the usual gestures towards Quitely’s wonderful art, and highlighted the elegant conceptual economy evident in Morrison’s character work and its meta-textual dimensions. And here we get to the first object of this droplet of criticism – a slice of meta-commentary of surprising value, in that it makes a strong case for shedding our fears and anxieties about this ersatz Batman. By framing Dick’s tenure as a performance, Morrison shows us how both the characters and we, the audience, can engage with the new status quo without feeling that anyone’s toes are being trod on. The real beauty of this idea is that it brings with it the flexibility and permissiveness of adaptation and interpretation (key elements of any performance), and consequently lends the book a lightness and unboundedness (made much of by Amy in his review) that is all too rare in A-list superhero books. Put simply: a lot more can happen because this Batman isn’t Batman. Implicit to this way of approaching the comic is the understanding that theatrical performances are there, largely, to be enjoyed. Morrison is tacitly telling us to allow ourselves to sit back and have fun, to take pleasure in the unfolding of the role, to view it for what it is: entertainment.

Tired? Man up and jump

Quickie number 1

We’re going to take a look at some FUCK YEAH!* moments and see what makes them tick, and, you know, hopefully get all FUCK YEAH! about ’em all over again/for the first time. Needless to say, here be spoilers. Many, many, many spoilers. Sensitive children may wish to avert their gaze.

Now then, let’s have a look at the Morrison penned, Porter pencilled JLA #3, and a seriously bat [sic] dose of arse kicking

*Credit is due to Dave “Longbox/Society of Dave” Campbell for coming up with the concept

More? FUCK YEAH!

Sorry about the delay, Superteam. I would have posted this on Friday if it wasn’t for Zom’s notepad fucking up my shit. I was so angry I couldn’t face redoing the entire deleted file until today – I’m sure you understand.

So… this time round there’s a lot more talking – denser panels and whatnot – there’s more wildlife and a sprinkling of magic. BTW, I’ve been checking loads of comics and people break the 25 to 20 words a panel rule ALL THE TIME so I don’t feel that bad about it any more. Obviously if the action’s supposed to be fast paced you can’t go shoving soliloquies in character’s mouths, but if it’s just talking heads, or even a teensy bit of implied movement, then it doesn’t matter so much. Again, I won’t be coming over all Bendis or Kevin Smith.

I wrote this one under the influence of the mighty Melchior Productions Ltd, Vangelis (obviously, but specifically his Apocalypse Des Animaux stuff), Telepathe and Atlas Sound, so it’s all a little downbeat…. Apart from the parts that take place in the Engine Rooms, which I wrote while drinking and chatting with a mate. We had Stay High and Thunderheist on repeat. That LBG tune’s a corker (thankyou, Wrong Tom!).

STOP!

GET READY!

GO!