Man of Steel: A Superman movie?

(Spoiler free)

Man of Steel is one of those movies that are best described as “polarising”. The source of this, for a large part of it, appears to be conflicting expectations in imagery - or perhaps a conflict between what imagery will be accepted by different people - akin to what Batman faced in 1980. By the decade preceding Tim Burton’s first live action outing with the Dark Knight, Batman’s comic books had already returned him to the film noir, morally ambiguous roots of the character’s 1940s beginnings. A move which worked to completely divorce the title from Adam West, giggling goons, bright 1960s colours and Riddler riddles whose solutions honestly defied all logic; sensical and nonsensical alike.

As hilariously enjoyable as Cesar Romero was on TV and as much fun as people might have had reading 1960s comic books about a hero solving crime with the help of oversized novelty items and the taste of delicious sponsor-provided fruit pies, this depiction didn’t sum up the be-all and end-all of the character. More than that had always been possible and more than that was being explored again. When Tim Burton’s first Batman movie was released in 1980, quite a lot of people were bitter about the shadowy streets, emotional baggage and homicidal villains.

This brings us back to Man of Steel. I’m not for one second trying to dismissively argue that anyone who doesn’t like this movie is stuck in an old fashioned era that doesn’t have a place anymore. 2012s superhero team epic, The Avengers, tossed every spangly-coloured, comedic one-liner spewing, comic-book-science talking, American idealist cliché at the audience that it could lay its hands on.

And it was brilliant.

I’m also not arguing that people who dislike this movie must be people who react negatively in general to movies termed “dark”. However, one reason commonly given by people for why they didn’t like Man of Steel is that “it’s not Superman”. In one respect, I agree with this. But, by using it as a reason for dislike, I think they’re missing the point, for a number of reasons.

Firstly, it may be important to mention that the atmosphere of Richard Donner’s 1978 Superman movie is sourced from a different comic book “age” than Man of Steel is. Donner’s Superman draws from the Silver Age of comic books (usually considered to have lasted from 1956 to around 1970), which is largely famous for its new-powers-as-the-plot-demands approach. Superman flying around the Earth so quickly that its rotation reverses, causing time itself to also reverse, is a good example of this. As is his ability to grab at his chest ‘S’ shield, inexplicably peel off a plastic duplicate of it and throw it at an enemy to trap them inside it for a few moments, shown in that movie’s sequel.

Now, I’m a big fan of Donner’s Superman but if I were to come up with a list of reasons why I enjoy watching it, the list would be two items long: Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder. It probably should count as three, since, with his performances as both Clark Kent and Superman, Reeve is really acting twice and both acts are sublime.

It’s just the rest of it that I end up, for the most part, simply tolerating rather than liking. Lex Luthor pulling accurate information about kryptonite, out of nowhere, from an old book he has sitting on his shelf and surmising (with equal accuracy) that the substance will be lethal to Superman? The round, bumbling, useless henchman whose sole purpose within the movie, his role as comic relief, can only be accepted if we broaden the definition of the word comedy to mean “anything that happens on-screen”? It’s enough to make me want to yell at the TV to tell it to stop being so stupid.

That, however, is just my opinion about elements of the movie. Completely subjective. I’m not about to argue that it’s, in any way, not a true depiction of a Superman movie. Like Batman, Superman isn’t any singular portrayal. Having existed in publication for over 70 years, many different character elements and/or storytelling tones have been explored in his comic books across decades. A reader of this may say, “I don’t read comic books” and that’s perfectly fine. Millions of people don’t. But, then, by what basis can one judge a single depiction as not the “true” one, against all of that history?

Adam West in tights may not be to everybody’s liking but he’s still Batman, equally as much as Michael Keaton or Christian Bale are.

Secondly, I mentioned that I agreed with the “it’s not Superman” claim in one respect. I don’t agree with the argument that it can’t truly be Superman because of blue filter added to the photography or because he’s not wearing his little red undies or because a city faces trillions of dollars worth in collateral damage from super-powered face punching, or for any other consequences of physical confrontations. Many of these details have to do with the fact that Man of Steel sources its tone from the Modern Age of comic books. I’m arguing that the character isn’t quite Superman because that’s intentional on the part of the director.

I know a lot of us frequently moan, “not another origin story!” but we, honestly, really need them. Apart from the fact that any filmmaker, on some level, has to lay down groundwork for how their particular film’s universe works (in relevant rules, history and continuity), there’s also the fact that it’s ultimately unsatisfying to walk in on an already matured and morally cemented character. Additionally, Superman is a character who, among the mainstream, has long been plagued by the belief that he’s too physically capable and personally perfect to be interesting. Man of Steel had to tackle that belief head on.

A man who becomes a paragon of virtue and optimism, despite fighting against atrocities, super-villainy and the isolation that comes with being the only one like himself on the planet, over years, is a compelling story. A man who simply is such a paragon is much less compelling.

Anyone who dislikes this movie is free to dislike it, if that’s their taste. I’ll readily admit that I think it has weaknesses, both technical and storytelling in nature. People can also feel that it’s not their favourite depiction of Superman so far. But if we’re going to judge this version’s characterisation fully, we should arguably wait until more of the life story is fleshed out, rather than judging it solely on, what is clearly, only chapter one.

I do still miss those little red undies though.

A Comeback And Murderous Quests For The Self

I haven't posted here in about five months. I wanted to do more when I started this thing but life isn't a convenient force of nature. A couple of months ago my best friend of more than ten years was killed in a car accident - an event that took up a lot of my time for a while. I may write on it more extensively at another point but I'm just not in the headspace for that kind of personal/linguistic adventure right now. I'm mostly just here to get this place started back up again.

In what's possibly the most inappropriate segueway ever used, I was reading an article at io9.com earlier today about fictional pop culture characters who are on a self-imposed search for their humanity; only to decide it can only be found by murdering people in cold blood. It's an interesting phenomenon that, I'll admit, I doubt I'd ever thought about in any serious, conscious way but I instantly felt amazed by how frequently the archetype is used for characters in (allegedly) heroic struggles. I won't copy the whole thing but here's a small chunk about the recent Wolverine backstory flick ... Which, indidentally, was a film that was an insult to comics, cinema and multi brain-celled humans:

Recently, I was re-watching chunks of X-Men: Origins: Wolverine and thinking about that movie's insane body-count — both before and after Logan starts trying to regain his elusive humanity. In Wolverine, the mutant known as Logan is caught between his bestial nature and his dignity as an individual. For a hundred-odd years, he is a slaughter machine for the military, and then he joins a super-secret mutant taskforce. But in mid-atrocity, he suddenly starts questioning orders, and then he goes… rogue. (No, he doesn't bleach part of his hair and start talking in a Southern-girl voice. He just wanders off the reservation.)

The point is, Wolverine is just as much of a killing machine after he starts asserting that he's not just part of the machine, or not just an animal. He never makes the connection between the sacredness of his own personhood, and the sacredness of human life in general. I get that you have to fight for your freedom sometimes, but the movie makes a big point of showing Wolverine killing when he could just as easily disable his opponents — one of the movie's few great fuck-yeah moments involves cold-blooded murder. (Sure, he's killing scumbags. But he was just as much of a scumbag twenty minutes earlier.)

It's not a long article, so anyone interested should really give it a read. The rest of it can be found just here.

Morality in Casualties of War: Iron Man vs Captain America

It's been a long time since I bought a single issue comic; having spent most of my time collecting trade paperbacks/hardcovers (otherwise referred to as "graphic novels") instead. The last series that I followed issue by issue was Deadpool, in the late 1990's/early 2000's. I recently picked up a copy of the Casualties of War episode within Marvel's Civil War storyline, though, because I was interested in the discussion it contained - and partly because I'm just a big, old Iron Man fan. (And, yes, I know, it's been out for ages.)

.

The series' plot centres around a piece of legislation called the Superhuman Registration Act, which requires anyone with paranormal abilities to reveal their identity to the government and submit to formal training and federal sanctions. The superhero population is now split in two; with one group, led by Tony Stark/Iron Man, who agree with the Act's terms and the other side, led by Steve Rogers/Captain America, who refuse to register. Amidst the civil war that's erupted within the superhero community, the Casualties of War issue consists of a private meeting between Tony and Steve, as they each attempt to debate the issue, as well as argue the personal and ethical reasons behind their support/disapproval of the Act.

Superhero legislation isn't a new plot device (the very similar Keene Act plays an important role in the Watchmen storyline, for example) but that doesn't matter because what's important here is the reactions - and the moral motivations behind them - rather than the law itself. Tragically, the Civil War series is fairly one-sided in perspective; it's clear that the writers intend the audience to align themselves with Captain America's group. Casualties of War, however, is a wonderfully even-handed oasis of debate. The logical arguments and pieces of personal evidence put forward by these men is both engaging and compelling. It's really a shame that the book ends so soon.

Both men believe in the positive social role that superheroes can play, when they act justly and are policed by their peers. Iron man believes that the condition of formal training, as part of the Registration Act, will groom new and inexperienced superhumans into heroes less prone to make mistakes and that formal, legal accountability - beyond the scope of just superhero colleague interventions - is required for any position of such power. Captain America believes in liberty as the fundamental value and that superhero activity being government regulated is a cage around basic, individual freedom. Can there be justice without law?

Tony Stark's desire for a system with real accountability partly stems from his status as a recovering alcoholic, his own admission of the mistakes he's made and his fear of how much worse he could potentially have made things. But, as Steve points out, alongside his self-abusive desire for alcohol, Tony has always made use of powers (super, financial, political, personal) to do or get what he wanted, over every other need, and will always find a way to - consciously or unconsciously - justify those actions. Steve Rogers fights for freedom, with the belief that it's better to die nobly than live ignobly. Steve's psychology and value system, though, is a product of the long-passed wartime mid-twentieth century and, as Tony is quick to explain, his beliefs and methods don't lend themselves to situational complexities. While Captain America applies his few moral values to everything, in a machine-like fashion, people (both individuals and cultures) aren't machines and what Steve fails to understand in his work is that not every problem has a simple, black or white, solution.

Superhero fiction has a long history of posing and/or answering some kind of ethical debate. You have the ethics of intent between heroes and villains and you have the ethics of methodology that distinguish heroes from each other, such as the differences between Batman and Superman. Very few stories, though, have genuinely tackled the question that's at Civil War's heart - can it ever be right for a citizen to act as a vigilante?

I won't describe everything said in this argument but, suffice it to say that this issue is the most well written and enjoyable quick read I've had in a long time. I'm disappointed that a short fight scene, especially under such weak pretext, had to be shoe-horned into the climax. That's a few more pages that could have held stimulating debate. Regardless, I'm very glad I picked this thing up, even though I have pretty much left the rest of the Civil War series well alone. I wish the comics industry released material like this more often.

Notable Joker Stories In Comics: The Rise And Fall of Reinterpretations

It can be said, without hesitation, that I am a huge fan of the Joker. He's easily my favourite fictional villain and it's a bit of a shame that he's such an unpredictable, savage maniac (even if we love him that way) because it makes him less likely as a leading man candidate for any story in any medium. But, thankfully, there are a few writers who have made an effort to focus on him thoroughly - with varying degrees of success, for one reason or another. Below are three well known comic book (or "graphic novel") appearances of the Joker in, essentially, starring roles. So, how are they all?


THE KILLING JOKE:


Synopsis: Batman visits Arkham Asylum to discuss with the Joker the inevitable outcome of one of them destroying the other, if they continue on as they are, only to find that the Joker has already escaped. Kidnapping Commissioner James Gordon - after shooting and severely injuring his daughter, Barbara - the Joker attempts to drive Gordon insane by giving him "one bad day," while Batman struggles to find and capture his enemy before it's too late. Alongside the present day story, a series of flashbacks give insight into the history of the man and the one bad day that drove him into becoming the Joker he is famous for.

It might sound entirely strange if I criticize this work for being unrealistic and having little real human meaning. An obvious response is to say, "The guy's origin story is falling into a vat of fuckin' chemicals and crawling out with skin and hair of a different colour!" And that's very true but, for me, a truly successful Batman comic requres a balance between farce and realism. The method of the Joker's creation (i.e. chemicals) is a pure farce - in a good way. The token victimisation and plea for sympathy of former Joker ("Jack"), however, feels like farce in an element that should have contained more human reality.

I like that Alan Moore tried to take the Joker in a more psychological direction than was popular at the time. The flashbacks here are a nice nod to Bob Kane's original origin story of the simple but enigmatic Red Hood, whose tumble into bizarre chemicals made him an even deadlier criminal. Moore has expanded on the premise and created a full chain of events. What he was doing there, his part in the group and the scene of his first meeting with Batman, pre transformation. An element of the Joker's power in our culture, though, is that he is mysterious. There is no bottom line on this man. He has no beginning, he has no end and he certainly has no limits. The weak explanatory backstory here simply detracts something from the Joker mythos, rather than truly adding to it. It also comes off as something artificial and shallow. Barring the obvious disfigurement, most people who (hypothetically) undergo Moore's tragic explanation might have become chronically depressed, turned to alcoholism - or suicide - and called it a day. Not gone inordinately psychotic and become randomly committed to a life of crime.

It's also counter-intuitive to the emotional dynamics of the book. While Jack's desperation and victimisation is piled on in one half of the story, our fully formed Joker commits some of his most crippling and unashamed crimes in the present day. Any work towards sympathy (or even empathy) towards this character is dashed away instantly. We can't empathise with the Joker - that's one of his main traits! Does suffering earlier in life give pardon to atrocities committed later on? Does a simple loser, who's taken advantage of, really become such an irredeemable force violence and trauma because of one bad day? Who knows. Maybe Alan Moore doesn't even know.

I'll admit that the concept of "One bad day makes people insane, in different ways" is a working Batman theme. Bruce Wayne, for example, has been driven to a kind of madness by the death of his parents, which fuels a quest that will never truly be able to end. The motivation and desire behind the Joker's psychological scheme in this book, though, has the air of an attempt that is more likely to occur early in both men's careers, rather than much later, when they understand the desires and dynamics between them so well after a long rivalry.

Perhaps the worst part of the writing is the portrayal of the Joker's "insanity." Sure, he explains how he went insane. But his explanation of it all is perfectly sane and well reasoned. In fact, everything the Joker does in this book is either sane or simply random - carried out for the sake of acting randomly: as if the Joker is trying to prove his insanity, instead of just living it. This characterisation feels somewhat like Cpl. Klinger from the TV show M*A*S*H; who had a habit of wearing women's clothing, in an attempt to prove some insanity, so that he might be sent home. I'm not trying to completely rag on this story. The art and storytelling structure is really fantastic. This book has interesting details, was innovative at the time of its release and does have its highs. But, ultimately, I don't feel there's anything powerful or compelling enough here for it to deserve the "masterpiece" status that so many readers and Joker fans have given it.


LOVERS AND MADMEN:


Synopsis: Set at the beginning of his famous career, Bruce Wayne feels confident that his war on criminality is progressing smoothly. After years of having privately studied law-breakers, their motivations, sub-cultures and rules, the Batman has begun to make a clean sweep of Gotham's streets. At the same time, Jack, a prodigious career criminal, has become weary of meandering through his work without any challenge or spark to engage him - until he witnesses the costumed Batman. When the crossing of their two paths becomes personal to Bruce, his emotions and professionalism are put to the test, and Batman's greatest enemy is born from the conflict.

This alternate Joker origin is not The Killing Joke, which is fine, for my tastes but, from what I've seen, it's when people start comparing this story to that one that they start quoting problems with it and that's a real shame. This is a younger Batman; one who hasn't become his true self yet - who hasn't adapted to life with dual identities and come to the values that will make him the Batman that he needs to be. Bruce makes mistakes. Upon meeting Jack, a being outside of his comprehension and expectations, his confidence in his crime-fighting abilities almost shatters. As Batman himself says of his experiences: "I expected to run into monstrous men, not monsters." This raging, frustrated, terrified - very human - Batman is still fresh on the job. Opposite him is a calm, fearless sociopath, whose only emotional range seems to be either boredom or amusement. In the words of Dr. Jonathan Crane: "He's not a criminal. This isn't crime. This is evil."

The art in this book fits the characters and story very well. Linework is somewhat layered and sketched; not clean. It's not a style for everyone but there are moments where you just get caught up in the precision of the mess. There's a ragged incompleteness and, yet, an alluring beauty to the Batman and Joker figures - similar to the characters themselves and our emotional reaction to them. For most of the plot, our villain is his plain, human self and it's only at the climax that he becomes the clown we all know and love. The difference is, mostly, cosmetic though - his schtick already incorporates theatrical robberies and murder.

The character's background is still (like The Killing Joke) undeveloped and weak, given that the writer is trying to invent an entire origin story in a little less than 150 pages. There are scenes or elements that are a bit pulpy in here but the energy and connection between Batman and his archenemy is very present. The emotional/psychological shift from mere gifted criminal to the Joker feels much more humanly plausible in this story as well. His growth into the man he becomes isn't as impossibly drastic; it feels closer to a logical progression. This is a book that balances superhero farce and frail humanities in a better way than The Killing Joke does, in my opinion.

Batman and the Joker don't have quite the intimate connection here that might be found in other stories: that one-half-a-bickering-married-couple/other-half-a-knight-battling-a-dragon dynamic. Lovers and Madmen is two emotionally muddy men, still trying to find the right role to play. But this is the spark that begins it all.


JOKER:


Synopsis: Told from the perspective of Jonny Frost, a low level worker in the Gotham criminal network, our main character agrees to pick up the Joker, who is - for reasons unexplained - being released from Arkham Asylum that day. When the Joker sets out to reclaim the respect and control of the city and his gangster underlings, Jonny sees an opportunity to climb the criminal ladder by helping out and gaining the Joker's favour. But, as more villains enter the fray and the Joker's actions become more rabid, Jonny may discover that the lifestyle he yearned for is more than he can handle.

The first thing to be said for this is that the artwork is often mouth-watering. And, given this frequent quality, it's bizarre to see Lee Bermejo switch, seemingly at random, throughout the story, between masterfully painted comic frames into very hum-drum, by comparison, regular outlines and ink work. Regardless of this incomprehensible decision, there are panels in this book that would look godly if mounted on a wall. The Joker has rarely looked as convincingly skin-crawlingly creepy than in these pages. But each one of these books has some arguable flaw or distinct peculiarity. The Killing Joke is far too short. I feel rushed through it, never getting a chance to properly dig into (or be dug into by) the Joker. Lovers and Madmen completely undresses the Joker creation myth and puts it in clothes that are almost the opposite of anything that people had expected to read before. However, both of those books maintain a critical element that this title sorely lacks.

I’m fine with this seedy, realistic tone of Gotham City's underbelly and its inhabitants. Sure, I love gadgets, crazy bullshit and fantasy stories as well but I don’t feel that realism inherently deprives Batman's universe of anything. It’s the writing of the Joker himself that fails here; what sucks is that he has no unique scale. Apart from being more violent than other characters here, he’s no more larger-than-life than anyone else. Sure, he’s psychotic ... But Charles Manson and countless other random weirdos have been psychotic too.

You could pretty much restyle the Joker’s face to a regular person’s and edit his name into Alberto Moscone, or some other cliché street thug name, and this would would, essentially, be exactly the same story. There’s nothing particularly special about him being the Joker here and that’s a huge problem.

The Joker needs to be more than just a criminal, like all the people around him are. The significance of Batman’s major “Rogues Gallery” (Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Scarecrow, etc) is that they’re not regular law-breakers. They’re special - with the Joker, arguably, being the most special of all. This guy needs to be epic and grand; not just in his mannerisms and behaviour but in his psychology and strategies. It fits that he can be hideously violent, beyond the scope of what else we might see from others (and this story certainly is violent) but that can’t be the only thing that differentiates him from the rest of the underworld.

One of the things that made the Joker in Christopher Nolan's film, The Dark Knight, so powerful is that, despite the face make-up, guns and conceptual simplicity, Heath Ledger tapped into the Joker's subtleties so definitely. His manic aggression and hilarious, fatal sense of humour, and - most importantly - his perfect sense of presence and authority. Azzarello's story here isn't in the same league. I’m not saying I hate this work because I don’t. It certainly has its strengths. Realistic, urban interpretations of Batman villains are valid in theory, too, since you can be true to the Joker without needing fantasy. This book just doesn’t deliver him. It only gives us a blend of Scarface and Goodfellas, which is pretty regular.