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What’s cooler than a pedophilic, child-sperm swilling Michael Jackson!

A pedophilic, child-sperm swilling ZOMBIE Michael Jackson that commands an army of Black Lanterns! That’s right, Michael Jackson is the head bad guy behind DC’s Blackest Night! I don’t know how I missed this before, I mean, it’s pretty obvious. The guy died so close to the release of Dc’s hit mini-series, it couldn’t have been coincidental, right? I mean, this is cross-marketing genius!

I have to apologize for ruining any potential spoilers. I mean, this isn’t confirmed yet. I’ve just been doing some detective work myself, and well…I mean, come on, it’s obvious. The dude has looked like a zombie for years, anyone who has read anything about him knows he’s pure fucking evil, it’s just so obvious. I mean, I pride myself on my degree in Literature, I should have been able to see the foreshadowing sooner.

But now that I’ve figured it out? Pure genius. Bravo, Dan Didio. I take back all those mean things I said. You win this round.

Would it shock you to the point that you shit your pants to know that Bruce Wayne isn’t going to stay dead forever? It would? Then steal some huggies from your Nana, and get ready to read the rest of this post. YEP, Bruce Wayne is evidently coming back. It was posted over at Bleeding Cool today:

The Search For Bruce Wayne. The Return of Batman. Two series by Grant Morrison kicking off from Summer 2010.

The article also goes on to go on to state that Bleeding Cool doesn’t have the details, and the titles of the comics may have changed:

DC will be bringing their world’s greatest detective in rubber back in a series of series, the details of which are completely unknown (to me, I mean) save for their working titles (which may be old) and that it’s all part of the Big Grant Morrison Batplan for 2010.

So maybe this is all hogshit. I have feeling it isn’t though.

This is a surprise to only that fat kid at the comicon wearing the Highlander t-shirt. He’s going to be absolutely devastated. What I find surprising is that news is leaking of his return so quickly. I figured they’d have to resurrect Wayne’s ass prior to The Dark Knight Returns to Strike Back or whatever the third movie will be called. It would confuse the fuck out of the three people who actually are inspired by the movie to start reading comic books if Wayne was alive in the movies and then some Dick was wearing the cowl in the comics. But this news is what, like three months after the beginning of Dick Grayson’s reign?

As per usual, I’m just going to try and enjoy the ride. The first Batman and Robin arc was tersely written Grant Morrison brilliance. Odd, retro-future artwork, and a storyline featuring a guy named Pyg who dances to, in his words, “sexy hot disco.” All of that is overlaid on top of a storyline I read as a commentary on conformity, viral personality, trend infectiousness, and impossible TV bodies. You probably just saw rockets and toads that talked. That’s cool too. So enjoy your Dick as long as you can, because Mr. Wayne is returning. Sooner than you fucking thought.

I have found myself continuously confused while playing Batman: Arkham Asylum. It had to do with that annoying twat Harley Quinn. I know that there’s a lot of dudegeeks out there who absolutely fawn over Joker’s spermbank. But I don’t get it. Won’t get it. Refuse to try. Normally Quinn is   just an annoying rascally bitch. But in Arkham Asylum, she enters a whole new world of suck.You see, in Arkham she’s an annoying bitch who looks like she’s going to an Insane Clown Posse concert. No, seriously:

Quinn’s new outfit for Arkham must have been redesigned by a fucking Juggalo. Holy shit. I just know dorks are beating off at her “totally hawt” cleavage “and super sploogey” nurse outfit.

Thankfully, the lords at Eidos gave us something unexpected. They made Poison Ivy gorgeous. Somehow, they did it. Even while she’s all like, chlorophyll infested and green and shit. It’s been a good year for green-skinned babes. First there was that weird green chick that Captain Kirk was boning in Star Trek, and now Poison Ivy. Behold! Viva la Green Babes.

With the news trickling out that Warner Brothers is losing the rights to key ingredients of the Superman formula, I began contemplating what exactly comprises Superman. I was taking this into consideration alongside the recent developments where protégés began donning the mantle of their fallen Jedi Masters and shit. You have Dick Grayson traipsing about as Batman. And at least for a new months, you got Bucky running around as Captain America.

So I got to thinking. It was bothering me. On the toilet. In bed. In the shower. I asked myself, what is the essence of Superman? Does he exist outside of the tenants of his history? Is the soul of Superman tied into Krypton, into the Lois Lane/Clark/Superman love triangle? Can you have a Superman that isn’t from Krypton? What defines Superman as Superman, and furthermore, does it even matter? Can the term stand for multiple things, for different creators?

I don’t have any answers, but I think it’s a worthy examination.

Let’s kick it by taking on Dick Grayson and Bucky Barnes. When DC was contemplating killing off Batman, the general shtick was this: Batman was more than a man, he was a symbol. Even if an Uber Alien Bullet vaporized Bruce Wayne, Grayson could continue to carry on what he stood for. Same thing goes for Bucky. Maybe Captain America got his ass seriously capped on some court steps. But he had someone else to pick up the job. Albeit with a sweet metallic arm, but still, there was someone else to pick up the job.

However, both instances were circumstances different than what is currently going on with good ole’ Clark Kent. How so? Well for starters, we’re talking about a world without Clark Kent. Warner Brothers, if I am understanding correctly, is losing the rights to that very name.

Let’s call Bucky and Dick “The Replacements” throughout the rest of this article for ease of statement.

When The Replacements stepped into the costumes, they were inheriting mantles. Bucky wasn’t redefining a symbol. Rather, he was reinterpreting it.   The Replacements ran parallel to the fallen dudes they were replacing. All of their experiences in assuming the roles were predicated on the conscious fact that they were replacing someone, and what their predecessor stood for.

How many times did something along the lines of this came up:

Oh well Bruce/Steve wouldn’t have wanted me to do this, blah blah.

The idea that Captain America is a symbol, at least currently in the Marvel universe, stems from the fact that there was someone to define this symbol prior to Bucky.

There was these two parallel constructions: What Batman/Captain America stood for, and what The Replacements did by assuming this symbol. Not by defining it.

So I began to ask, what if you removed the initial construction, the defining of the symbol prior to the assumption of the mantle?

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Looking ahead to the next few weeks’ comic releases, I realized that September 2^nd brings the first issue of Strange Tales Max. This three-issue miniseries is composed of short stories by some of the most acclaimed creators in underground comics, many of whom have seized the opportunity to run amok with Marvel’s more recognizable characters.

On the one hand, I think this series could be great for all involved parties; the creators gain exposure that their usual work does not afford them, Marvel gets to tout a badge of artistic merit, and the readers get their filthy paws on some unique work. If all goes to plan, Strange Tales Max could be responsible for quite a few Eisner-nominations.

However, such an endeavor also runs the risk of choking on the vomit of its own novelty. Comic book fans are, on the whole, not a group who like their mothers’ apple pie recipes fucked with. If Marvel runs a story about Peter Parker giving up the superheroics in favor of free-form dance, then they might just shoot themselves in the foot.

Quirky or novel are not always synonymous with successful. Just ask DC’s Wednesday Comics — despite heavy promotion, its first issue was only the thirty-sixth best selling comic of July (with subsequent issues faring worse). And even though I think it contains some of the best story-telling I’ve read lately (Kerschl/Fletcher’s The Flash/Iris West, Pope’s Strange Adventures, & Busiek/Quinones’ Green Lantern comes to mind) even I can’t get over the shitty newsprint material. In my opinion, such beautiful art shouldn’t be folded over and printed on gray toilet paper.

Perhaps Wednesday Comics may work better once it’s collected into an absolute edition. Maybe Strange Tales Max will be unappreciated until collected into a full anthology. Either way, both should be commended for the ways in which they strive for something else.

Strange Tales #2's cover is from Peter Bagge's "The Incorrigible Hulk"

It was brought to my attention by Pepsibones about a month ago that Warner Bros. was scrambling to get a Superman movie off the ground. This is because the rights to a bunch of Superman’s background, powers, and storylines are reverting back to the families of Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel. I had forgotten about it until today, when Bleeding Cool posted a link to this article. Here’s the Sparknotes from the aforementioned and credited article:

In 2008, it was ruled that the Siegels had recaptured (as of 1999) copyright in Action Comics No1, giving them control of the Superman character, including his costume, his alter-ego as reporter Clark Kent, the feisty reporter Lois Lane, their jobs at the Daily Planet working for a gruff editor, and the love triangle among Clark/Superman and Lois.

—

In the latest twist, as reported by Variety, Judge Stephen Larson has now ruled on August 12 that Siegel’s heirs also had rights to additional works, including the first two weeks of the daily Superman newspaper comic-strips, as well as portions of early Action Comics and Superman comic books.

This means the Siegels now also control depictions of Superman’s origins from the planet Krypton, his parents Jor-El and Lara, Superman as the infant Kal-El, the launching of the infant Superman into space by his parents as Krypton explodes and his landing on Earth in a fiery crash.

The sound you hearing is Warner Bros. shitting their pants. While WB still owns Superman’s ability to fly, his powers, as well as Lex Luthor and Jimmy Olsen, jesus sweet christ.

Let’s just think about this. Unless WB can negotiate to use the rights, they’re going to have to tell a Superman movie that doesn’t include Clark Kent. Or Lois Lane. Good luck with that one.

Personally, I’d be intrigued by the idea of telling this storyline. Who knows what they could do with it. But in the eye of the general public? The WWE-watching, Nascar-loving yokels who text into American Idol. Holy sweet Christ, there will be confusion and anger. They better film it as a fucking Focus Features film if they hope to recoup their money on this one. Either that, or swallow their pride, and realize if they want to turn a profit they’re going to need to work something out with the family of the creators.

Good luck with that one, boys.

In addition to the twist conclusion of Ed Brubaker’s entire run, Daredevil #500 features an addendum that happens to bring with it a hope for tomorrow. More precisely, the pin-up section includes a piece by Rafael Grampa that can only be described as fucking amazing.

Grampa’s Daredevil (pictured above) is both refreshing and reverent — the old yellow/red costume has never looked more vibrant or alive, full of that indefinable essence that readers perceive as artistic enthusiasm.

Staring at the pin-up for quite some time, I became enamored with its realistic depiction of Matthew Murdock. Although much more impressive than my scrawny frame, the physique of this Daredevil appears to be no greater than that of any modern mixed-martial artist. Furthermore, the bootlaces, shirt, leather straps and boxing gloves summon the same spirit Paul Pope conjured for Batman Year 100, the notion that maybe, just maybe, superheroes could exist.

Having never heard of Rafael Grampa, I decided to find out for myself whether he was just a rip-off artist of Paul Pope (of whom I have invested much of my fanboy stock) or a legitimate talent. After making my way to his blog, I am now ruling in favor of the latter.

Rafael Grampa, which (according to my nonexistent understanding of Portuguese) roughly translates to Raphael Grandfather, is apparently quite the sensation in Brazil. He is a well-known graphic artist, designing not only comics but t-shirts, animations, toys, and even concepts for ESPN ads. The man even has a column at the website for MTV Brasil, which I would check out if English weren’t my only language.

So once I understood Grampa to be a respected (rising) star of sequential art, I made the egregious mistake of wondering, “What other superheroes can he draw?!?!” It didn’t take me long to find this:

In my estimation, that is a sick Batman and an even better Robin. I really love the over-sized mask and the band-aid on Robin, adding an element of youthful inexperience which is generally overlooked. Again, this style does have a tinge of Pulphope in it, but not to the point that accusations should be flung.

With my urges to see men in tights and capes subsided, I was able to look into the Grampa’s more substantial work. As I discovered shortly thereafter, Rafael Grampa created 2008’s Mesmo Delivery, which tells the tale of an ex-boxer turned transporter and is tinged with a Twilight Zone otherworldliness. The one-shot has received crazy critical acclaim and is actually sold out. This puts me in a shitty situation, as I can either wait until Dark Horse reprints it next year or shell out some serious cash. I’ll probably suck it up and spend the money now, as I can’t stop looking at whatever previews/teasers I can find:

Deep down, I really hope that Rafael Grampa does whatever it is that he finds artistically fulfilling. But I’d be hard-pressed to deny the appeal of that Daredevil pin-up. In my ideal world, he’ll do what a lot of artists find themselves doing — both the artsy stuff and the commercial properties (which pay the bills). It is my belief that when genuinely talented creators put fresh spins on the dependable franchises, the readers finally get to see their favorite characters elevated (if only for a brief period) to higher strata.

Here’s to hoping Rafael Grampa sticks around to help us get to those upper echelons.

Apparently in my hometown stomping grounds of Boston, Allston to be exact, there’s a giant mural featuring a Sentinel. The fact that this is out there and I haven’t seen it yet makes me want to bust my ass to its location and check it out. And I gotta fucking hurry. Why? While a Boston property owner allowed a young graffiti artist J.R. Mathews, to use the wall she owned (according to the reports, would-be lawyers) to create what is to me some pretty awesome graffiti, some locales have a stick up their ass.

Why am I not surprised?

Apparently, the Mathews will never get a chance to finish it, either. According to an article at Boston.com, difficulty with obtaining a sidewalk permit has stalled the project, and it has been decided to simply cover the rest up with paint and forget it occured. Bummer. Check it out while you can.

Brought to my attention by: Bleeding Cool

Pics courtesy of: Brad Searles’ Flickr

There was a time when Superman and Batman were good ‘ole chums. I’m sure they’d play racket ball and discuss how their weeks were going. They would sit beer in hand, and stare out at the sunset talking about how it was a shame that Superman would outlive anyone he ever loved. Clark shedding those Super-tears. Bruce patting him gently on the head and telling him it’d be okay.

All that changed in 1986. A lot of things were going on in 1986. I was happily pooping my pants and playing Super Mario brothers. (It’s a tradition I carry on to this day.) The Red Sox were losing big games as usual, prompting diehards to scream “We AH CURSED!” But the most important thing for the comic book world was the release of The Dark Knight Returns.

The Dark Knight Returns, a four issue mini-series, was written by Frank Miller, one of the fathers of the modern comic book landscape. In four issues, The Dark Knight Returns took the characters of Superman and Batman, deconstructed them, and replaced them with the characters we know today.

Batman as a semi-crazed fascist, hell-bent on cleaning up the world? That’s Miller’s work. Superman as the ultimate boy scout? You can chalk that up to Miller as well. In four-issues Miller rewrote the psychic mythos of both characters. Miller saw Batman as the maniac who crosses every line but murder to clean up the streets. He became a fascist who does everything but murder. And it makes sense that this sort of character would need a foil. And that’s how you get Superman — the good farm boy with a heart of sugary mush. Miller just couldn’t see the two of them getting along.

Setting up Batman and Superman are the most epic of foils has given rise to one of the debates of my generation. In between “Yankees or Red Sox?” “Pepsi or Coke?”, and “Atheism or Divinity” comes “Are you a Superman fan, or a Batman fan?” It’s a deal-breaker. I’ve seen married couples come to physical blows over this disagreement.

Shouting “I would never raise my child a Kent sympathizer!” women have dragged their belongings out of the house as their confused children hugged their legs. I’ve seen this scene unfold a thousand times, each one as painful as the last.

There is no middle-ground in this war.

Until you get to me.

I don’t know why I have appointed myself the defense attorney for a fictional character’s reputation. It’s just a calling for me. Like those who go off to live in a monastery.

Let’s be real with each other: any guy who drives a tank and knows Kung-Fu is a unanimous inductee into the Bad Ass Hall of Fame. The problem for me starts when jazzed-up Batman fanatics spit their hurtful rhetoric about Superman, “Fuck Superman, man! He can’t be hurt! He’s invincible man! I just can’t relate to that shit!”

I heard it all over the place this past summer. It was a steamy July night when the midnight showing of The Dark Knight went down. And after the masses poured out of the building and into the damp night, the masturbating began.

“Oh man, Batman! It was sick!”
“Yeah dude, the Joker man! Amazing!”
“Holy shit when the Batmobile turns into the Batpod!!!!”

If exclamation points at the ends of sentences were actual physical objects, people would have been falling over in that parking lot from missing eyes. I stood there with my friends and I joined in with the orgy of praise. I loved the movie. But then I made the mistake of lobbing a criticism.

“The dude needs a psychiatrist.”

At once they were on me.

“What do you mean?”

And I retorted.

“I’m just saying a lot of people have their parents killed. And most of them are able to move on. He needs to see a psychiatrist, not don latex and beat people up.”

I knew I was trying to be pain in the ass. In a group of friends that love playfully pissing one another off, my behavior wasn’t out of the norm. My friends scoffed at me, and we went back to doing everything short of starting a cult dedicated to Christopher Nolan and Christian Bale.

But however much I was joking, my point was genuine. Batman zealots often make the argument that Superman is a character you can’t relate to. “I can’t relate to an alien who can’t get hurt.” And yet, somehow people can relate to Batman.

Maybe I’m missing something here. Let me recap my understanding of Batman.

Batman is billionaire Bruce Wayne. When he was young, his parents were murdered. He seems to know every single form of martial arts ever. He is a genius detective. He bangs roughly fourteen trillion women a year. And he his psyche has scars so deep they make Manson look sane. And to work all of this out he wields tanks and swords and Batarangs and hangs out secret laboratories.

Actually, never mind. He’s relatable. I always forget that all the Batman fans out there are billionaires with murdered parents who seek justice by donning garbs. And then there’s Superman. I’m going to piss off all you Batman fanatics and tell you a secret. I relate much more to Superman than I do to Batman. Why? Let me break it down for you.

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