If Ben Kenobi didn’t make his noble sacrifice, he’d be sensing an unprecedented disturbance in the Force right now – as though millions of geeks were crying out, only to be silenced.

Word started spreading today that Dan DiDio, Executive Douchebag of DC Comics, is going ahead with plans to publish multiple series and projects based on Watchmen. Apparently Paul Levitz, former Decent Publisher and Respectful Fellow of DC Comics, had repeatedly turned down proposals to create spin-offs based on Watchmen out of a respect for Alan Moore (the kook/genius responsible for writing the series).  Now that Levitz is  out of the picture, DiDio is willing to cash-in on the DC-owned property, with nary a regard for the wishes of its original creators.

I believe that Watchmen is the greatest fictional narrative I have ever experienced, a perfect work of unparalleled excellence. As such, I understand that any attempts to capitalize on its reputation  could never affect the power of the original series itself. But I can’t help get but pissed off when I think of schmohawks using my favorite piece of literature as means to sell bullshit crossover series, coffee mugs, and action figures. (Especially when the series lampoons such flagrant cash-grabs).

I dropped a post over at Warren Ellis’ Whitechapel forum, hoping to elicit response from the rare breed of nerd I call those whose opinions I value. To my delight, Warren offered his two cents:

Finding someone to work on it will be interesting. It’s not as cut and dried a thing as, say, working on an old Stan-and-Jack property.

And this got me thinking — What type of fucking asshole actually signs on to write/pencil/ink/color/letter/edit Watchmen 2? I’ve arrived at  two answers; 1) A greedy fuck who doesn’t care about besmirching the legacy of the seminal work of the comics medium as long he’s paid well. 2) An arrogant prick who (laughably) thinks he’ll be able to live up to the standards of Watchmen.

This is fucked. I understand that the comic book industry is fucking shameless, more of a research & development department for the Movie/Cartoon/Toy Industry than an artistically-minded field. But I guess my inner optimist is deflated to realize that nothing is sacred anymore.

Who’s going to watch the Watchmen? Anyone that wakes up before 9AM on a Saturday.

[source]

[source2]

I understand that OL suffers from a lack of patronage on the Sabbath. But I just want to offer an early reminder to those who are stumbling their way around the site: Rafael Grampá’s Mesmo Delivery is being (re)released this Wednesday.

As a proud owner of an AdHouse Books’ edition, I can attest that Mesmo Delivery is the real fucking deal. In just under fifty pages, Grampá demonstrates a mastery of the comics medium that others spend thousands of pages striving for. As an artist, he tempers the putrid and violent with an appealing cartoon sensibility. Or perhaps he understands that the reader will feel at ease with the spiritually-Nickelodeon images, thus amplifying the effect of decapitations and pants-pissings.

Again, I won’t harp right now. Between my previous feature, the upcoming Variant Covers and my probable feature for this week’s Images & Words, Rafael Grampá is bound to have some solid real estate at OL. Just make sure you buy this book — in addition to the novella, Dark Horse is tossing in some bonus shit as well. Summarily, there’s no reason to not support this rising star.

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

It seems as though a number of my favorite creators enjoy starting projects, getting me super-pumped about them, and then relegating them to the status of indefinite hiatus/who fucking knows?/cancelled. Do I ever expect to see the conclusion to Frank Miller and Jim Lee’s All-Star Batman and Robin? Short answer — no. Does it chap my ass that Warren Ellis’ Doktor Sleepless hasn’t been on a regular schedule for over a year? Let’s just say I’ve been wearing a lot of loose-fitting undies.

Fortunately, one of the guys on whom I can rely to finish his projects also happens to be one of my favorites. While the haters love to hold him in contempt (complaining that all his books are essentially the comics equivalent of popcorn-flicks), I cannot sing enough praises for the mighty Mark Millar. In the last few years, this guy has successfully completed some of the most entertaining miniseries and arcs. An incomplete and poorly arranged list:

Wolverine: Old Man Logan

Marvel 1985

Ultimates

Ultimates 2

Ultimate Avengers

Civil War

Wanted

When it comes to cartoon-magazines about superheroes, Millar’s consistency and excellence is absolutely unrivaled. The guy is a fucking titan of the industry, a writer whose own fandom is translated into passion and energy on the page. He might not be the mind-juggernaut that is Grant Morrison or a creator-of-continuity like Geoff Johns, but Mark Millar is a fucking boss.

So it is with the utmost pleasure that I present this edition of OL’s comic pick-of-week:

Kick-Ass #8

For any of you jerkies who’ve been out of the funny-book game since 2008, Kick-Ass is an exploration of what would happen if a comic book fanboy tried to become a superhero in the real world. Of course, shit goes wacky and all sorts of wannabes & imposters start showing up. Without giving too much away, I’ll tell you this — the first issue ends with protagonist Dave Lizewski getting the shit beat out of him during his first foray into the business of superheroism. Essentially, the combined effort of Millar and legendary artist John Romita Jr., the series is actually marked by its vulgarity, humor, and ultra-violent action scenes. In the best way possible.

Seven issues later and we’ve finally arrived at the end of the first arc. Now complete, I have no reservation in saying that this initial chapter of the Kick-Ass saga unrelentingly fires on all cylinders. Just as the book has done during its entire run, issue eight keeps the reader alternating between a state of jaw-dropping shock and belly-clutchin’ guffawing. We see the climatic showdown between the newly aligned Hit-Girl/Kick-Ass and the mobsters who’ve been hunting them. And what a climax it is.

Again, I really don’t want to spoil this issue but I will offer a look at some of its key ingredients:

Flamethrower. Castration. Cocaine. JRJR splash page. Child endangerment. Ben Grimm reference. Meat cleaver.

Trust me, it’s sick.

If the Kick-Ass movie is even half-faithful to this first arc (and word around the `net is that it’s full-faithful), we’re all in for a treat. Just make sure to read the comic first.

Because Comics is King.

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]  

Not to call my brother out, but on Tuesday he lied to the faithful OL readers. In the last Variant Covers, Caffeine Powered wrote that this week’s Captain America would see both Steve Rogers and Bucky rocking out in the Star-Spangled undies. Trusting his words, I got all sorts of excited and screamed “TWO CAP’N AMERIKURS!? GAW-LEE!~” into the face of my elderly roommate.

But then I actually read Captain America #602 — and I realized that my a brother is fucking liar! Steve Rogers isn’t anywhere in this dang book!

To be fair, I don’t think Caffeine Powered intentionally misled anyone. Given the current state of the 616, the natural conclusion would be to expect two Captain Americas. After all, Marvel has been pretty lax since bringing back Stevie; yet to be revived in Reborn, he’s been seen chilling with Bucky in Who Will Wield the Shield?, Siege and The Invincible Iron Man. Tack on the fact that the cover of this newest issue features a Captain America rocking the classic/dungarees/belt uniform, and one would be inclined to think that a team-up rests within.

Again, not the case. In fact, Steve Rogers is nowhere to be found in this issue. Brubaker writes him out of the plot by having Bucky explain the absence to Nick Fury;

“Steve’s fine…him and Sharon are just off the grid right now…Staying at her family estate in Virginia.”

What a load of caca. I really hope that all this is doublespeak for some sick-ass secret mission, because if Steve Rogers is actually just hanging out in Virginia, we’re going to have words. Maybe even swear words.

“Don’t get me wrong, Stevie, taking a vacation with a lady-friend is a great way to relax. But since you got shot with that time/bullet/same thing as Batman?/consciousness-transplant bullet, shit’s fallen to pieces. So get your ass out of Jamestown and start cracking skulls!”

Anyways, what is this issue about? Well, even with Rogers out of the picture, the reader is treated to two Captain Americas; Bucky (of course) and William Burnside, the fucked-up, mental patient who was rendered into a Steve Rogers facsimile in the 1950’s. Burnside has put on his own pair of Star-Spangled undies and is soiling the image of the shield slinger as he corrals hillbillies into forming an anti-government militia. Naturally, this inspires Bucky and Falcon to go regulate.

Considering how much shit is going on in the Marvel universe, it might be for the best to leave Steve Rogers out of the title book for now. Truthfully, I’m more than pleased with having Bucky wield the shield and don’t want to see him give it up anytime soon. I know it’s only a matter of time, what with the trailer for the Captain America movie having been officially released, so I’m cool with enjoying James Buchanan while I can.

Bucky’s tenure as the sentinel of liberty is bound to end sooner rather than later. So if this depresses you (as it should), make sure to snag Captain America #602.

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

As a fan of the comic book medium, it goes without saying that I have an appreciation for Alan Moore. Yes, these days Moore is recognized just as much for being a snake-worshipping lunatic as he is for being (one of) the most innovative comics writers of all time. And that’s depressing, but certainly a result of his own actions; maybe if the guy actually came out of his Northampton hideaway every now then we wouldn’t just write him off as a nutjob.

But the most important fact to remember is that when he wants to, Alan Moore  can write with the best of `em  Yeah, I’m a Watchmen zealot (file it under Best Fictional Work…Of All-Time) but I also really enjoy his work on Swamp Thing. Moore manages to take a goofy-ass plant-man and turn him into a truly horrifying creature, a green embodiment of the macabre that lives in a bog, contemplates existence, and fucks shit up from time to time.

I have no doubt in my mind that it is my admiration for Alan Moore and his  mad sensibilities that have led me to choose the Neonomicon Hornbook as this week’s pick of the litter. Some background: Neonomicon is planned as a sequel to his 2003 series The Courtyard. Apparently, both of these series are rooted in the mythos of HP Lovecraft, thereby generating instant fan-interest. To be honest, I’ve never read any Lovecraft or The Courtyard but I figured that I’d try to jump into Moore’s newest work anyways.

Luckily, the Neonomicon Hornbook seems to be a great spot to hop aboard; the comic is a preview of the upcoming series, consisting of the first nine finished pages of the series and an excerpt from Moore’s script. With a two-dollar price tag, the issue is a bargain, offering enough finished product to tantalize the reader and supplementing this with a hefty chunk of the author’s script. As per usual, even a single panel of Moore’s directions to the artist reads as an insane, yet superbly detailed, set of instructions. Mayhaps it’s the aspiring writer in me, but I’d suggest that Moore’s writing alone justifies the two-hundred cent investment.

As far as an actual plot is concerned, the Neonomicon Hornbook doesn’t give reveal much at all. What the reader can take away from this first-look is that Lamper and Brears, two federal agents (one a saucy white woman and the other a strong black male), are investigating some sort of copycat serial killer. They feel compelled to interview the original serial killer, former federal agent Aldo Sax — now incarcerated, Sax has a swastika carved into his forehead and only speaks in gibberish.

This seems like the standard crime story/mystery fare, nothing not covered years ago in The Silence of the Lambs. Except, it’s Alan Moore so you know something fucked up is going on. Oh, and I neglected to mention — the first page is a splash of some ethereal, potentially amniotic fluid with the captions;

It’s the end, and the beginning.

He’s beneath the waters now, but soon, in only a few months, he will come forth.

And until then he sleeps.

And dreams.

Kooky.

From what I can tell, artist Jacen Burrows is going to do a fine job. I’m not sure his art will be pulling in Eisners or anything, but is solid through and through. I guess I’d chalk him up as being yet another one of those “standard, reliable Avatar Press artists.” Certainly not a bad thing to be.

It’s cheap. It’s easy. It’s relatively satisfying. And it won’t leave you with a painful cold sore. Snag the Neonomicon Hornbook.

[variant covers is a comic books column every tuesday that breaks down the various titles coming out that week in the world of hyper-exposition and immortality]

Jennifer Love Hewitt’s Music Box #2

Don’t worry guys, the comic book industry is saved from the precipice of doom. You see, Jennifer Love Hewitt’s Music Box comes out this week, and Jesus Christ, I can’t wait. As I scanned across a barren release list – as usual, your recommendations welcome, I’m comic-curious – I saw this gem. Beckoning to me from across the wasteland. Ian it said. Hold me. Buy me. Love me. I am Jennifer Love Hewtti’s Vaginal…er, Music Box, and I’m here to pleasure your geek senses.

Alright fuck that, what the hell is going on?

The Music Box brings us a unique and amazing story every issue, from time-traveling to chicks kissing guys judging from this cover. I read up on some interviews with Love Hewitt regarding the comic, and this is what I distilled from them: Blah blah, yadda yadda, my name is carrying the title while I still go out with David Spade or whoever.

Not only is the most absurd comic book I’ve seen this side of Tyrese’s Mayhem! comic book, but it also features a relic from my comic book past: Scott Lobdell. Nerds like me grew up on a steady diet of X-Men comic books, and the dude manning the helm was Mr. Lobdell. While I did due diligence and gobbled up the glorious years by Claremont, it was Lobdell who was responsible for the new issues coming out every month. And now? Now the dude is writing a comic that was vomited out of the empty shell of Hewitt’s skull.

How my heroes have fallen. Sure, when I went back and looked at Lobdell’s run on X-Men it was filled with hyper-exposition, countless hanging plot lines, and general blah, but I have a nostalgic love for the guy. He gave me Onslaught, the Age of Apocalypse, and is a big part of the reason I even fell in love with the funny book. I love you Scotty, come back to us.

Action Comics #885

I don’t have any clue what is going on with Action Comics at the moment, but reading through the promo, it says that Nightwing is in the title. What the fuck is going on here? Are we going to get to the point where there’s two Bruce Waynes, Nightwing as Batman, and Nightwing as Nightwing? Or something? I have no fucking clue what’s going on. Dil-Hole is stepping into Superman’s shoes while he is being prosecuted for killing someone, Nightwing is running around while Dick Grayson is Batman and uh, stuff?

Brightest Day

Not coming out tomorrow, but worth mentioning in the comic book world is BRIGHTEST DAY. DC is unveiling their next step in Operation: Fuck Your Wallet. Following up Blackest Night is a biweekly, 26-issue title written by Geoff Johns.   With a gag-worthy tagline, “After the Blackest Night, comes the Brightest Day!”, DC seems ready to drag their universe into something decidedly less depressing. I’m down with that. Listen man, we got enough shit going down in the real world – like Jennifer Love Hewitt writing comics and Conan O’Brien getting axed. Let’s get some happy fluffy bullshit going on in the DC universe.

However, anything that comes out weekly, or biweekly really fucks your wallet in the ass. And I haven’t been a fan of all of   DC’s other attempts at an enormous weekly comic, be it Trinity, or 52, or Money Grab or whatever they’re called. Wednesday Comics was decent, but it was more of an experiment than the aforementioned 52 and gang.

Die Hard Year One #4

Friends, your prayers have been answered. How many times during Live Free or Die Hard did you say to yourself, “Fuck, I really wish I could get the story behind the formative years of the American Hero John McClane!” Well, now you can! Straight off the alps of Awesomeness and into your pull list is Die Hard Year One! And this week issue #4 sees the epic conclusion to the first arc! John McClane is stuck on a luxury boat that has been targeted by ecoterrorists! Oh. Snap. Not 1980’s ecoterrorists! I bet they’re dumping a shit load of those old school styrofoam McDonald’s packaging into the ocean! They must be stopped! If there’s one thing that John McClane hates more than having to hop harrier jets, it fascists that don’t respect the environment!

They’re so fucked!

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

Starting this week, the entire Marvel Universe is going to be under Siege (2)!!!

Not to be outdone by the super-mega-wowie event of their distinguished competition, Marvel Comics has launched Siege. In a nutshell, this four-part miniseries follows Norman Osborn’s attempt to  conquer Asgard and maintain his position of power. But since Asgard is Thor’s home (and everyone loves a hunky blonde), ass-kickings are guaranteed to fly off of the panels.

And from nearly every promotion I’ve seen for Siege, the end result promises to be the reuniting of Tony Stark/Steve Rogers/Thor, a trio that (apparently) haven’t been BFFs for seven some-odd years. Although my inner cynic is telling me that such a move is counter-productive to character development and innovative storytelling, I can’t help but fall for it. I’ve seen a lot of different Avengers teams since I starting re-reading comic books back in 2004, but I’ve yet to see the lineup. I’m ready.

Potential outcomes aside, Siege #1 is a  solid start to the limited series. In the current day and age of comic book events that have prerequisite crossovers & tie-ins, the scripting of Brian Marvel Bendis is quite appreciated.  Through the course of seven pages, Bendis introduces the reader to an Asgardian named Volstagg, makes the reader care about him, and then pisses on these sympathies by having Loki and Osborn victimize the poor bastard. Ostensibly, a fan can pick up Siege without having read all of the Dark Reign titles and fully understand what the fuck is going on.

So while this first issue mostly consists of set-up and exposition that I already knew, I have to applaud the execution. Bendis walks the line, both providing context for those just jumping in while also tantalizing the diehards with appetizers of the battles for which we’ve been waiting.  Siege #1 blows up a football stadium, allows Ares to hesitatingly call Osborn’s troops to arms, launches fighter jets at a floating Asgard, beats down Thor, and shows us a certain all-American more pissed than he’s looked in years.

In the art department, Oliver Coipel’s stellar pencils are deftly rounded out by Mark Morales’ inks. Maybe I’m paying too much attention, but I love the way Morales approaches the visages of the more nefarious characters; the eyes of Obsborn, Loki and the Sentry are all shrouded in darkness as they stare right at the reader. Completing the book’s art is colorist Laura Martin, who continues to impress just as she did for all ten years of the glorious Planetary.

Maybe I’m just thinking wishfully, but something tells me that Siege is going to reinstate some sort of status quo in the 616. Therefore, I’d recommend the series not only to regular comics-readers but also to onetime fans hoping to get back in the game.

So in spite of the occasional shit-talking I do about comic events, I stand behind Siege #1.

[PS — Apologies for using the same picture for Images & Words as Caffeine Powered rocked for Variant Covers for the second week in a row. My bad.]

Last week, an early Christmas miracle found its way into the comic book stores and I went home with stack of solid reads. This week — not so much. I came to find out that Diamond Distributors was implementing a “skip week,” and therefore wouldn’t be shipping any products.

What the fuck? Seriously, Diamond, do you need really need to flex your muscles? We all know you are a distribution monopoly, do you have to flaunt it? Oh, what’s that? Oh, I’m sorry — I didn’t realize you needed some time to set up the office party for New Year’s Eve. My bad. Yeah, there’s nothing worse than a New Years Eve celebration that devolves into an ill-prepared mess.

Fortunately, the good folks at DC were kind enough to direct-ship Blackest Night #6. Yes, that’s right — there was literally only one release this week. God damn it. Oh well, I suppose I should just revel in the fact that my wallet momentarily spared a beatdown (at least until the doubling-up of releases next week).

Ok, I’m done bitching and moaning. Blackest Night #6 is pretty rad. Long story short; not only are dead superheroes being transformed into Black Lanterns, but now even those who have been dead at one time or another are susceptible. So basically, every fucking comic book character worth is a damn is in jeopardy of being transformed into a super-undead-mega-villain.

Superman. Barry Allen. Hal Jordan. Superboy. Bart Allen. Wonder Woman. Green Arrow. Et cetera, et cetera, all are now susceptible to the power of the Black Lanterns.

At the same time, we’ve got the spectrum-alliance or whatever the fuck it’s called no longer fighting amongst itself, but trying to figure out how to take down Nekron. Ah yes, I forgot to mention, Nekron is some giant embodiment of Death, and is apparently responsible for the resurrection of deceased DC characters throughout the years. Yeah, I suppose such a villain is necessary.

For an “event-book,” Blackest Night #6 is quite substantial. Writer Geoff Johns, as always, knows how to use catastrophes as a canvas on which to paint the picture of authentic, human relationships. While I definitely enjoy seeing heroes trying to fend off the undead incarnations of former friends, I am more drawn to interactions such as those between Barry Allen and Hal Jordan. Johns has managed to convince me that while the trinity may be DC’s Rock of Gibraltar, its real people of interest are Flashes, Green Lanterns, the JSA, and other such relatable figures.

The book is also quite enjoyable just to look at. I feel like I might even be spoiled, as I’ve almost come to  use Ivan Reis’ pencil-work as a sort of standard for big events. With that being said, a more objective eye would probably describe the art as “truly stunning.” Although arguably cheesy, the final image of this issue is a captivating two-page spread that features six central characters running headfirst into battle. `Tis good shit.

Although still miffed at Diamond’s decision to institute a “skip-week,” Blackest Night #6 helps stave off the overpowering nerd-hunger for paneled pages.

For the past month or so, Caffeine Powered has been presenting Variant Covers, a weekly feature that previews some of the more notable comic releases of the upcoming Wednesday. Starting this week, I am going to begin offering Images & Words, a complementary post that essentially tells you about my favorite comic of the week.

So to clarify:

Variant Covers — Caffeine Powered tells you which comics to look for.

Images & Words — Pepsibones rants about his favorite release of the week.

Get ready for some magic! (“Illusions, Michael, illusions…”)

Just as Caffeine Powered told you on Tuesday, some big titles have dropped this week. Jonathan Hickman continues his excellent run on Fantastic Four by starting a new arc that centers on Franklin Richards; Geoff Johns and Ed Benes remind us that Hal Jordan and Kyle Rayner aren’t the only worthy ring-bearers of the DCU in   Green Lantern #49; and one-shot Captain America — Who Will Wield the Shield is less of a cash-grab and more of a genuine exploration of the new relationship between Steve Rogers and James Buchanan.

While I don’t feel as though I’ve wasted any cash this week (which is a rare thing in the life of a comic nerd), one collection of images and words stands a step all of the aforementioned titles: Detective Comics #860.

For those of you who haven’t been keeping up, Detective Comics has been helmed by Batwoman since Bruce Wayne bit the dust. Long story short — Batwoman is Kate Kane, a Jewish lesbian with special ops training, a father with connections in the military, and an insanely rich stepmother who ostensibly funds the vigilantism without even knowing it. Yeah, I know that the description makes the character simultaneously seem like a bit of a stretch as well as a disingenuous attempt to insert diversity into comic books. To be honest I don’t have any investment in the idea or concept of Batwoman, but the collaboration between Greg Rucka and J.H. Williams III  has kept  me coming back for more.

Story wise, Greg Rucka has been using Detective Comics to present the compelling mysteries and tales of crime for which he has come to be known. This latest issue, the third part of an arc titled Go, features flashbacks in which the reader sees Kate Kane trying to cut her teeth in the crime-fighting biz. In the process, Kate has to deal with ex-girlfriend/DCU fan-favorite Renee Montoya and eventually come to accept the assistance of her father. The narrative then takes us to present day, in which Kate is trying to deal with the fact that her long-lost twin may actually be a villain named Alice.

Again, as I type this shit out, I realize how terrible and played-out it seems. Maybe it is. But even if you find nothing worthwhile about the story itself, you’d have to be a fool to not recognize the beauty that is J.H. Williams III’s paneled page.

At the very least, any comics reader should respect the way in which Williams structures his panels. On some pages, such as during flashbacks, Williams sticks to the familiar, rectangular panel layouts we’ve all come to know and love. However, the artist really shines when he takes a path less traveled; for example, the panels often compose smaller segments of a Bat-symbol that spreads across the entire page. Something so simple as putting the story within subdivisions of a larger visual whole really pays off.

Also, it’s worth mentioning that Dave Stewart is the colorist for Detective Comics. He’s  the man — if you ever get the chance, check out his phenomenal work on Darwyn Cooke’s The New Frontier.

Detective Comics #860 isn’t a classic single issue and a year from now I’ll probably be completely incapable of telling you what it’s about. But as far this week is concerned, it is an exemplary combination of images and words, visual narrative and solid storytelling. If you cash in your Slurpee cup filled with spare change and it totals four bucks, go splurge on Detective Comics.

[plight of…is generally a reflection piece on something on my mind. stream of consciousness and usually asks you guys questions in a formless rant that feels good on my fingers and keyboard]

Tony Stark is a dude who operates on multiple levels. He’s a hilarious showman in the movies. He’s a brilliant scientist. He’s a tortured creator living with the ramifications of what he built; twisted and used for evil. Like he shouldn’t have seen that shit coming. I mean, ask Mr. Nobel how dynamite went for everyone in involved.

I like my characters broken. And I think we all do. As much as we like the slings of shields and the deployment of repulsor cannons, we also like to see the cracks within the psyches of those who are so divine on the outside. Is that why people were so obsessed with the Greek gods? Maybe that’s why they floated for so long. We want to believe in those more powerful than us; we want to believe there’s an afterlife, or maybe just an after party when we shed our mortal coils. But we also love the idea that people so seemingly perfect, from a guy who can zip around the world within mere moments, to the Aryan Poster Child who can repel Nazis and Skrulls alike are maybe, just like us.

We love them for their heroics, but we also love them for their ability to have faults.

And maybe that’s why I love Tony Stark so much lately.

There’s something so very schadenfreude about watching Tony Stark’s spiral into oblivion lately. What happens when a billionaire genius is reduced to a vegitative state? What happens when all of that is on his own hands? Siding with the Pro-Registration side in the Civil War, losing the country to Norman Osborn? Being indirectly responsible for one of the death of Captain America? Allowing his weaponry to fall into the hands of terrorists?

It’s enthralling.

Matt Fraction’s been ripping off pieces of Tony Stark’s mind like layers of Iron Man armor, leaving the idealist underneath is exposed. I love in Fraction’s Iron Man Disassembled storyline we see a Stark who is exposed, reduced to his core essence. And what we see is a guy who genuinely wanted to make a difference, only to have shit collapse underneath itself like a poorly played game of existential Jenga.

I’m a sucker for when shit goes wrong. Whoops, a bit simplistic, I suppose. I enjoy the exploration of the paving of hell. You know, with good intentions and shit. Stark wanted nothing more than solve the world’s problems. But his problems? They fucked up. I’m love the flawed, I revel in the mistakes. It seems so very human, especially for a billionaire genius.

How many times have you laid the best of plans, just to see them crumble under unforeseen circumstances? I’m guessing a million, or a zillion. And then compound them with the concept that you’re trying to save the world. It’s fail on a near biblical scale.

As Stark tumbles from his chariot atop Olympus, he’s reduced to a dude in a hospital bed, ruined amongst friends. And as we see him tripping out in some dreamworld, it’s refreshing to see him realizing that he needs help. Parables atop of awesomeness. It’s childish only in its simplicity, but there’s reasons that such lessons have been for thousands of years. We stray from them, only to be reminded of the weather axioms. You’re a brilliant mind, you’re a visionary, Stark. But you’re only a man. And it appears that everyone needs help.

Fraction calls it a classic Campbellian origin story in reverse, and how! Seeing Stark in an Achillean masterpiece unfolding backwards, his armor being taken off piece by piece in epic, gorgeous unfoldlery. Yes, unfoldlery. I made that word up.

So as I said, I like Stark because he’s flawed. He’s an alcoholic. But he also trounces amongst the Gods. And that’s an important secondary portion of what makes him so interesting to me. I know it’s not an original archetype, I know it’s nothing new. But in some defeatist, post-modern mentality, what hasn’t been done? If Tony Stark is an Achillean tale playing out in rewind, then Fraction is rocking his mimetic skills like woah. It is the way he has arranged the archetypes, those he has chosen to fill the roles, and his ability to execute the storyline that makes it so special.

And let’s be clear, there’s a dude who wears a fucking mech for a living in it. That makes a lot of us geeks moist.

For not only do we want to believe in the epic brilliant, the unrelenting flaw, but we want to believe in the power or redemption. We love superheroes, us comic book nerds. We love them like woah. And to a lot of them, there is the concept of rebirth, of reconciliation attached. Tony Stark is the me that can never be. I want to be a billionaire, I want to have a suit of armor, I want to save the world. Of course I do, I escape from the pratfalls and trials of life through men in capes, through aliens and battles. And even though I can never do so, I can live vicariously through Stark and his rotten mind, and his of course, quintessential redemption. The Gods of Olympus remind us of ourselves, they give comfort to us in their flaws, and yet never fail to inspire us nonetheless.