Escaping the Trunk

It didn’t give me the rush of pure awesome that Kick-Ass did, but it fell prey to exactly none of the problems I once imagined it would. Charlie Jane Anders is correct when she says that the greatest villain of the story is Tony Stark himself, but while for her this was a betrayal of the first film’s promise to Tony’s growth as a character, I found it a further development of that character. At an early point in the film, Tony refers to the suit as a “prosthetic,” and what rapidly becomes clear is that he is using it as such in his relationships. This movie is about the consequences of that behaviour.

There was a huge amount to accomplish in this glimpse of the Marvel cinema-verse, and Justin Theroux ticks off every box. The pacing suffers a little as a result, and it can be easy to lose track of what the stakes are, but if you keep in mind that it’s all about Tony, you’ll do fine. While the former film was about the redemption of Stark Industries and the possible future of the military-industrial complex, this one reminds us that changing one’s company does not equate changing oneself. Prosthetics only get us so far.

Oh yeah, and Don Cheadle rocks that suit.

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Nick Simmons, son of Gene Simmons, apparently writes comics. And apparently, those comics flagrantly plagiarize panels, character designs and dialogue from Tite Kubo’s manga Bleach. The parallels are so close, Simmons’ publisher has halted production on his comic, pending an investigation.

Pro-tip: if you plagiarize (jackass), make sure you go after small fry, and not, say, one of the top-selling manga in Japan and North America. And not copy the design of, say, one of the most popular cosplay characters ever. Seriously. I know Bleach is awesome and everything, and we’d all love if we could draw half that well and write characters that compelling and build worlds that complex. We’d all love to have Kenpachi Zoraki — that spiky-haired fellow laughing insanely, in the panels linked above — wandering around inside our heads. After all, he’s an indestructible badass who bears a striking resemblance to Ian McShane, and his best friend is a cute pink-haired girl who rides around on his shoulder, occasionally steering him toward “play dates” that involve obscene amounts of blood and pain. Evidence:

Unfortunately, Nick Simmons didn’t come up with Kenpachi himself. And while there is an argument to be made for the long history of pose grabs and tracing in comics (you can read about it in the comments thread at this Comic Book Resources post), the truth is that if Simmons were half as talented as the manga-ka he lifted those poses from, he’d have come up with something that could stand on its own merit. I’d have no problem if Simmons were at Comikket, selling Zoraki doujins for the cost of printing just like everyone else. Then he’d be a fan artist. Then his position in the creative ecosystem would be perfectly obvious and, strangely, more secure. In fact, he could forge an apprenticeship out of his fan works, and move on to commercial material if and when he was ready. He’s just not ready, yet, and the editor who approved these drawings should have recognized that.

Because really, what self-respecting comics editor doesn’t know at least a little something about manga, these days? What, there’s this whole wave of material out there that’s devouring the youth market and the female market and Simmons’ editor didn’t know about it? Really? Really? Well, maybe. Radical, Simmons’ publisher, is no stranger to copyright suits. Maybe it should come as no surprise that someone waved these drawings through. But it means that if, on the vanishingly small chance that Simmons did this unwittingly, his comics career will have been tarnished from the very beginning by accusations of plagiarism. And not just plagiarism, but stupid plagiarism.

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io9 sez that The Dark Knight sequel may feature Miley Cyrus.

I’ll wait, while you wash the blood from your eyes.

Done? Okay. Moving on.

I think this is a good thing.

I can wait. Again. Try rolling your abs up into your spine; it helps the vomit come a little faster. Now swish!

Okay. Now that’s finished, let me explain. I really love Batman. The character, I mean. I love what he stands for — fucked-up people making the best of their situation, occasionally in costume, for the betterment of others. That’s how I read the guy. I know he’s nuts. I love him anyway. I’m wired that way. (I also have an unhealthy adoration for Rorschach, so there you go.) But I also know that one of the things that keeps the franchise ticking, that keeps it from devolving into soul-crushing ennui and bleakness, is Robin.

Robin — like all progeny — is Batman distilled. All of Batman’s flaws, all of his failures, are made clear in that one figure. His mania is there (Jason Todd), and his inability to let go (Stephanie Brown) and his sheer destructive capability, too (Damien Wayne). But his merits and successes are also reflected in Robin: his detective skills (Tim Drake) and his search for justice rather than vengeance (Dick Grayson). Robin is always both the best and worst of Batman, a living track record of all he was, is, and can be.

This is why The Dark Knight sequel needs Robin.

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This afternoon after picking up my students’ exams (and spending far too much time wandering gourmet food shops in search of the perfect bar of Earl Grey-infused dark chocolate, and then even more time trying on dresses in shops whose soundscapes were punctuated alternately by concrete drilling, poetry slams, and un-medicated raving), I decided to send them a summer reading list. Ironically, I rarely paid attention to such lists as a student. When I wasn’t reading for a project for the next year, I relied on a former teacher for recommendations. He was my teacher in junior high, but steered my reading habits through college, inadvertently assuring that when I started reading SF I did so with a lot of Murakami, Japrisot, Zola, Irving, and others under my belt. Plenty of adults feel (or once felt) the need to “grow out of” their SF readership so they can “move on” to mainstream lit. I have the reverse issue; I grew up reading books about alcoholism and adultery and suicide, and now I really relish my Hugo voter packet.

That little piece of my readerly history rather explains the following list, which is full of things I thought my students might enjoy, and also a few things I thought they might need later on:

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During the holidays, I promised myself that I would write about the books I gave at the end of 2008. They ranged from manga to cookbooks to hard sf to satire. I had no idea I’d get to brag so much about the books I got, too. (Spook Country needs its own post, because it’s just painfully good. It’s rare that I sit and ponder the simple beauty of a given sentence, but Gibson’s latest makes me sit up straight and pay attention like I’m back in catechism.)

Books Given:

Claymore, v.1, by Norihiro Yagi This series can never get enough love, in my opinion. Not only does it refuse to pull its narrative punches, but it’s unafraid of setting genuine limits on the abilities of its central characters. Moreover, the women of Claymore never dissolve into exhausted stereotypes of either bubbly beauty or mousy intelligence. These are hard women who do a tough job for little reward, because they think it’s the right thing to do. As is the case in many professions, their greatest competition comes not from outsiders, but from within their own community. (Also, there’s a lot of truly awesome demon slaying going on.)

Super Natural Cooking, by Heidi Swanson I keep up with Heidi’s latest at 101 Cookbooks, but I’d never given her any funding in exchange for the hours of domestic and gustatory pleasure she’s given me. So when Christmas rolled around, I jumped at the chance to send this book my parents’ way, as they’re interested in learning more about whole ingredients and how to incorporate them into their daily meals. Heidi’s writing has taught me so much, and I’m sure it’ll do the same for them. (Her Thai-spiced Pumpkin Soup is so good that my friend phoned me up after surgery to tell me how much he enjoyed his care package.)

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Henna paste, courtesy of Holly Monster, used in a fit of pique to remind myself to finish what I start:

The end result:

It’s amazing how cathartic this little thing is. I sometimes can’t resist and end up kissing my wrist (I always imagine Walter Kovacs cringing and twisting away, like an embarrassed little boy). The moment the paste hit my skin, I instantly felt better and breathed a sigh of something — relief, or satisfaction, or intention. By now the pigment has sunk in deep, and looks less like a burn than a very concentrated coffee stain. It’ll change over time, the length of its life dependent on my body heat and how often I exfoliate. Weeks from now it will be a ghost of its former self, almost invisible without conscious effort. But weeks from now things will be different — the strike will be over, I’ll see my students, I’ll write more chapters, I’ll read more books and cite more sources, I’ll watch a new president’s inauguration, I’ll watch more snow collect outside my window.

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Tonight a thought blossomed in my head whose seed was planted the Saturday afternoon that I saw The Dark Knight. And if you couldn’t infer it from the title, that thought is this:

This whole election is The Bridge Choice.

The Bridge Choice has a long history in comics. It starts with Spider-Man and Gwen Stacey, but TDK gave it a new spin: participatory justice. The Joker offers two very different sections of Gothamites the opportunity to eliminate one another, thereby saving their own skins. And while this may seem like a very simple (if cruel) game, it’s really about judgment, about who is worthy to live and who is worthy to choose, and how much power anyone should ever have over others. It’s about identity. It’s about belief and trust and hope. It’s about the way we perceive the world and how we think about the future.

This is how it breaks down:

Villains think that things can always get worse, that people are fundamentally selfish and scared, and that we can bank on this fact.

Heroes think that the potential for selflessness and sacrifice lies in all of us, and that when the chips are down we can rely on the ability of our fellow men and women to choose the best, not just for themselves but for their fellow human beings.

Let’s not prove Batman wrong, people.

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I have just come to the startling realization that Mr. Ashby would look spectacular in a Rorschach costume:

He even has a fedora. And a trenchoat. And, you know, I could probably cosplay Sarah Palin (who would be hot for Rorschach anyway, given his leanings). If I had a party to go to.

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Sometimes I stumble upon links which make me absurdly happy. Case in point: Project: Rooftop, which unites both pro and fan artists around the huge drawing board that is the history of superhero costume design. My favourite so far is the tribute to Stephanie Brown, AKA Spoiler, AKA Robin. Stephanie got a raw deal from Detective Comics, which they have recently tried to repay. But whatever you might think about the wisdom (or lack thereof) of DC writers, you can’t argue with the sincere affection expressed by designs like this:

Historically, costume design has little to do with reality. They’re too heavy, stiff, revealing, bright, or just plain unflattering. But this? This I would totally cosplay.

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         Jobnik! is an autobiographical graphic novel by my friend Miriam Libicki. It’s about Miriam’s time as an American girl in the Israeli army. Here’s the summary:

Miriam Libicki, an American-Jewish girl from a religious home, enlists in the Israeli army (IDF) in the summer of 2000, against everyone’s better judgement. Many qualities seem to make her unsuited for IDF life: her Hebrew isn’t great, she is shy and passive, and she has a tendency to fall in love with anything that moves. If that weren’t enough, the Al Aqsa uprising, a.k.a. the second Palestinian Intifada, erupts one month into her tour of duty. Will Miriam survive threats of terrorism, the rough IDF culture, and not least, her horrible taste in men?

Miriam has had no shortage of good press for Jobnik! in its single-issue form. But now, it’s available as a graphic novel with a beautiful cover, and a launch party at RX Comics in Vancouver Sunday, October 19 at 6:00pm.

I met Miriam as an undergrad, and if her obvious artistic talents and personal tenacity hadn’t swayed me into being her friend, her cooking would have. Raised Catholic, I can’t think of a sabbath-affiliated supper that I had truly relished until Miriam prepared me a Friday night kosher dinner. Say what you want about excretions and pheremones: the smell of a slowly roasting chicken, or a rising challah studded with caraway seeds, emanating from a tiny dormitory kitchen on a rainy winter’s afternoon is the scent of love, pure and simple. Miriam kneads her own dough. She rolls her own rugelach. She spends hours on her feet, measuring, massaging, perfecting.

She takes the same approach to her art.

Housed inside the body of an incredibly humble young woman is an encyclopedic knowledge of comics, manga (and especially Katsuhiro Otomo, whose influence pervades her work), kosher cooking, and the subtleties of the Israel/Palestine conflict. Our Friday night meals involved atheists, Catholics, Muslims, Jews: secular mutts who remained respectful while waiting for candles to burn down and prayers to be sang, just so we could dig our hungry little fingers into that tender, lovingly-prepared flesh and talk about the war, about Hebron, about the perils of finding a nice Jewish/Muslim/overachieving/otaku/boy/girl. (Ironically, much of that talk involved discussion of heading to Canada. Of the group crowding that fragrant kitchen, only Miriam and I have made it here. We found nice Canadian boys.)

In short, you should attend the launch. Not least because there’s going to be food. And intelligence. And art.

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