Comics Aren't Just for Fans, Anymore.

Here on the eve of the official American release of The Avengers: Age of Ultron, we'll examine how the film medium has impacted the comic book medium, what truly motivates them, and maybe, time permitting, we'll dig into the 'pataphysics of their eschatological mimesis.

Let's look at motivations first: Gillette has an ad running right now that sums up the condition of the modern superhero's multiversal constant of cash. It depicts a razor cycling through the superpowers of The Avengers, turning the bathroom of a faceless male onlooker into a war-zone.

"Sure! A razor could be built using Avengers-inspired technology," a steely-voiced narrator intones, "but it clearly shouldn't be." At this, the super-razor hulks out and collapses the sink into a pile of rubble.

Sure, cinematic mega-franchises could be built using comic book inspired story-lines, and maybe they shouldn't, but they certainly will.

The primary motivation for the excess to be found in the film's plot and performance, as well as the accrued product placement in and around it is nothing new, and relatively simple.

THERE WILL BE A RETURN ON INVESTMENT.

All individuals involved in this new and terrible future have these words tattooed on their foreheads, in florid script like Leto's Joker, though visible only with They Live sunglasses. As the people funding these films seek a return on investment through megamillions grossing, so to does the individual moviegoer invest their time and money into visiting the temple of theater and losing themselves in an entertaining spectacle, for any number of reasons. But anyone with even a passive stake in the experience should know their place. An ant on the rim of a teacup perched on a giant pile of cash.

Imagine it's a gala fundraiser for fun. James Spader will be there. A small child will make a mess out of their Hulkbuster highchair with noodles shaped like Tony Stark's helmet.  Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver will disavow any ties to their father Magneto, holed up as he is in a revived 20th century Fox camp, while they are trading up for an Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Mickey Mouse Club Hydra tie-in origin.  A tiny Ultron will push a Target shopping basket filled with Subway sandwiches and T-Mobile phones into an Audi. The Fantastic Four comic book will be canceled (for a time), and placed in a tomb designed by Bob Iger, who will then do a jig to celebrate. This will compound the frustration of every fan still being trolled by the awful marketing campaign for the Josh Trank film due out in July.  Corporate synergy meets spite in the name of cash, as fictional families and cities crumble around warring corporate titans like so many Gillette-annihilated bathrooms, eerie echoes of America's own corporate-sponsored perpetual secret and public wars bouncing off the wreckage.

It's worth noting that this fancy robot mayhem is being released roughly in conjunction with the comic crossover rehash rebooting cosmic super-event Secret Wars, wherein the Marvel Comics Universe (Earth 616) collides and fuses with its Ultimate Comics counterpart (Earth 1610).  The timing for this has been carefully calculated, as new readers or prodigal ones are welcome to join in the "starting from a blank slate" offered by the eschaton/apotheosis, which will consume these two universes (and more!) for months to come.  Various titles offer renewed takes on dead or dangling plots from decades gone by, and will, in theory, infuse a renewed enthusiasm into readership.  Marvel even went so far as to provide a Secret Wars spread detailing (with ISBNs!) what books you should read from the past twenty years to keep up with the upcoming amalgam battles.

It may help to go over a bit of the retconning and ham water that led us to this point. The Ultimate Comics line was conceived in the early days of the Bush Administration as a means of proving the Marvel brand was capable of casting off the "immature baggage of the past" for the cultural cachet of the present and future, specifically in a more cinematic manner.

Decades of stagnant backstory on the part of this or that Status Quo superhuman can wear down the interest of that elusive and ever-expanding target audience, The New Arrival. The New Arrival is a more casual creature, chill, with none of the loyalties of a true fan, but also none of the bitterness or cleverness that comes with a critical faculty for the stuff, either. Movies, being more immediate in their presentation and proliferation (and profit margins), are an excellent bait for The New Arrival, with titles finding that unique balance of "blank slate" and Status Quo upheaval/reinforcement as the perfect hook.

Such was the motivating factor behind Marvel's Ultimate Comics, the Baby Daddy of the current Marvel Mega-franchise.

The slick wide screen action movie dialogue and pacing of Mark Millar (Kick Ass, Kingsmen: The Secret Service) and Brian Hitch's movie star appropriation schema made Marvel easier to digest for the simpleton movie executives and new (youth dollar) readers.

It was in this spirit that Nick Fury (1610) "traded up" for the likeness of one Samuel L. Jackson, who is more than willing to provide his talents for the character in as many films as they will pay him to do. In current continuity, the original Nick Fury (616), after killing The Watcher and stealing one of his eyeballs, became a haunt of the Blue Area of the Moon called The Unseen. A while ago, a convenient Nick Fury Jr. (also a Samuel L. Jackson lookalike) manifested in true soap opera/lost son/sad trumpet style within Universe 616, clearly to avoid confusing New Arrivals who didn't know (or can hardly bring themselves to care) about the fella that spent time with the Howling Commandos half a century ago.

As the pool of knowledge for the fictional universes expand, so too is the term "fan" itself watered down.  Two sets of knowledge, one obscure and clumsy, one overly slick and refined, vie for objective validity in a subjective reality. "Fandom" and its antagonistic social media camaraderie comes in many forms, and the bitter nerds of yesterday serve as models for the bitter nerds of tomorrow.

This New Arrival is broader and deeper than the pimply white male nerd specter that has dominated the market's attention for ages.  In an age where Spider-Woman shame-Googles her own butt and Twitter sees a hashtag campaign started to fire a writer started because a trauma victim lacked reading comprehension skills and tact, we find ourselves with a lady Thor who can make Mjölnir dance like a chitauri on a hot tin roof, and a certain Sam Wilson standing in for a powerless Steve Rogers.

The militarization of mainstream comic books has ever been tied to its origins and upbringing, and the devastation once contained to constraints of a paper-based media has been made more real in the expanded cinematic universe, a reflection of the standards set by the consumers voting with their cash and time.  As technology has advanced and the medium along with it, the narrative has adapted to fit the moral climate and political allowance of society at large, which can be seen throughout plots driven through every era of the industry as a whole. As a result, the corporate oligarchy is reinforced or reasonably deconstructed in the narratives, which gives strict rules over suspension of disbelief that fans can react or overreact to accordingly.

Once thought to be the childish arcana of nerds and simpletons, in years past comic books have shown their mettle for progressive storytelling, especially with independent publishers.  Yet the health of the mainstream industry is inextricably tied to that market, with many authors and artists seeking approval or at least a paycheck from the monolith before branching out accordingly with such beauties as Promethea, Saga, or East of West.  Furthermore, any melancholic nay-sayers should remember, the stakes have been raised since the first Avengers film grossed over a billion dollars worldwide, and with that, the ability to help the people funding these PTSD-flashback inducing Inception drum thrumming city-annihilating drama rambles get a major return on their investment.

Mainstream Comics are not just for fans of the comics anymore. They haven't been for a while. Mainstream Comics are for New Arrivals first.  Instant appraisal for the uninitiated is demanded, in all things.  Comics, by virtue of accounting for a lower percentage of sales than cinema, act now as a testing grounds for plots and ploys that may be reproduced digitally later, one way or another, which plays with the overall image society chooses to project unto its masses, in memes or simulacra.  The new mythology has taken root, and whether or not it will reach its saturation point sooner or later is, to some extent, dependent on the quality of the product provided.  No pandering, and no idiotic glad-handing, if you can manage it, Hollywood.  Will the time come that the vaunted Disney-cum-third-act-Tetsuo finally overtakes all major imaginary universes after Star Wars chokes out Star Trek with J.J. Abrams's hands, creating a monopoly over vast swaths of nerd entertainment, as if Pepsi and Coke fused, or DC and Marvel, for that matter?

At times it seems Marvel is capable, with their plot-driven characters, of moving more freely than DC.  While the metahumans of DC Comics shift more subtly due to their greater iconic and cosmic ties, they are to a certain extent incapable of the frailties of folly Marvel Studios has found success with in rehashing, for instance, The Guardians of the Galaxy (the key is always a relatable protagonist).  Common sense has it that competition between companies is positive for the market and the consumer, and it helps the industry at large if they are both successful and strong in their undertakings.

We will see massive adulation and careful criticism of the hooks and MacGuffins produced in this Whedon-soaked romp of robots and responsibility. Those that contributed to this spectacle will find that they will be richly rewarded for doing so.  The strength of mythology found in comic books will find its proving ground once again, as a marketable venture for Hollywood and beyond.

What of the small folk in the two respective universes, hung in stasis between Wednesday shipments? What about the minor nuances of a stable environment wherein characters can grow, change, and adapt in a manner that audiences will respond to?  Are the laws governing the metaphysics of flying men off limits to everyone but Benedict Cumberbatch's rendition of Doctor Strange?

As the abyss stares also, so will the commodification of superheroes continue to gain steam in the world of cinema.  In this brave new age, medias blend into one another as through a semi-permeable membrane, fundamentally altering one another, and the results are given relevance by Vox Populi in the form of cash.  Cash enough to buy a small country.

The future of Mainstream Comics could be presaged in the speculation bubble that arose in the 1990's, or perhaps it can be best summarized by commercials for razors and shopping outlets.  In either event, there is a potential for pleasant growth or vapid regurgitation.  We could see Lazarus or Frankenstein's monster, in the wide-screen mega-events yet to unfold.

Whatever the case, remember, we watch these things to enjoy them.

Watch carefully, see if you can spot the strings.

Cerebral Superhero Movie Undercut by Tragedy and Political Farce

When blowhard weight-watcher Rush Limbaugh made the bold declarative statement a few days back that there was a liberal conspiracy tying Bane, the villain in Batman: The Dark Knight Rises, the final chapter of Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy, to Bain Industries, the company that presumptive Republican candidate Mitt Romney retroactively retired from, those people capable of analytic thought and comic book historians all had a hearty chuckle.  But to postulate such a ludicrous decades-long-in-the-making conspiracy out loud is par for the course where people such as Rush are concerned, speaking without thinking, again and again.  He's since backed off of that assertion and now likens Batman to Romney, while Bane is an Occupy Wall Street villain.  This, again, is a crass distraction tactic grossly misrepresenting the intent of the film's creators, but acutely points out the major thrust of the film's message, nonetheless.  Batman as benevolent billionaire (an image that Romney would prefer to project, minus the Howard Hughes overtones gossiped about in the film's first act) and Bane, a genius terrorist displaying talking points of "power to the people" while holding a city hostage under threat of destruction via neutron bomb (very much a fever dream version of what the Occupy Movement ostensibly stands for in the mind of paranoid delusional neoconservative shills).

Then, on opening night, at a Century 16 theater in Aurora, Colorado, a gas-masked young man named James Holmes allegedly opened fire on a crowd of movie-goers, killing a dozen and injuring dozens.  News reports were murky and details were erratic surrounding this, the death toll and numbers injured rising and falling.  Hints at an MKULTRA or Manchurian Candidate-style implementation of psychotic outsourcing.  Rumors and politicization occurred immediately, mostly by ultraconservatives, raving about values systems without a hint of irony (or perhaps forgetting the automatic weapons they promote decent God-fearing Americans as having a right to bear, even if mentally unstable).  The suspect didn't shoot himself, as so many mass murdering lone gunmen are wont to do.  People say he calls himself The Joker, and his house, a booby-trapped mess of firearms and explosives, will likely be a rich resource of speculation for the weeks and months to come.  Sadly, out of all the confused news reports, attempts at aggrandizing oneself on the shoulders of senseless murder or pointing fingers in tearful anger, only The Onion actually nailed it on the head.  

This tragedy and the embarrassment of the aforementioned Limbaugh Flip-Flop (let's coin that, see if we can get a gif of a whale with Rush's face, beached and flopping, circulating throughout tumblr) unfortunately overshadow a film that stands at this point in time as one of the most cerebral superhero films to grace the silver screen.  

We all had a good time with The Avengers, though perhaps our misgivings about Nick Fury's secret shadow masters (remember, the ones that tried to nuke New York?) might have been directly addressed if the universe there operated as it does in Dark Knight Rises.  Bane's introduction is immediately engaging.  The cast of characters is introduced to us at a sane pace, their stories emerging more organically than many standard billing dramatic films.  The spice peppering the film is a simultaneous resentment and endorsement of entrenched power structures.  

The Dark Knight Rises is "a thinking man's" blockbuster cinema done right.  Bane's "Goatse" mask synths his voice into perfect Vaderesque villainy without immediate cries of shenanigans coming to mind.  "I am a necessary evil," he tells the nefarious industrialist before snuffing out his life.  Tom Hardy sells the role without the aid of facial expressions, getting a chuckle from the audience in the midst of outright carnage. Christian Bale does justice to Bruce Wayne, as was expected, and Michael Caine portrays his textured concern as Alfred Pennyworth with exceptional depth.  In fact, every single actor in this film (with one exception, catch phrase: "hothead") bring their roles to life quite skillfully. 

The movie goes through the checklist of superhero set-up but does not in any way seem rushed or slap-dashed together.  Nolan's choice of scenes inter-cutting throughout the movie make this a film about the subjectivity of each character's reality and the assumptions they make about the nature and circumstances of their reality, being acted upon. These are expressed continuously throughout the film, from Bane's constant nonchalant murders to Selina Kyle's most quotable potable whispered into Bruce Wayne's ear as she picks the valet ticket out of his dinner jacket: "There's a storm coming, Mr. Wayne. … When it hits, you're all going to wonder how you could live so large and leave so little for the rest of us."

The class warfare promised by Bane's scheme is only blinked across the screen at certain intervals.  The idea of icons and symbols are tossed around nimbly, the old themes of fear and the brilliant undermining of realism and fantasy alike play themselves out in grander and more minute scales throughout.  It's a controlled game, with nary a chink in its armor.  Pacing is the watchword of this film. There's no lag or pause that was not well-timed or carefully planned.  What could have been an awkward clustering of special effects and villains (see: Spider-Man 3) instead hits home with a real sense of character and, more importantly for this film, palpable pathos.  

There's a bitter irony surrounding the fact that this movie, hardly an open advocate for gun violence despite the near-constant gun-play (remember, Batman hates guns), became the target of a gun-toting madman's murder spree, and there's an even more bitter irony played out in the doublespeak of the villain Bane being mirrored by pundits, politicians, and philistine pigs to serve their own dubious agenda.  These facts, and the facts surrounding the haul of critical accolades and worthy praise already resting at its feet (and that of the trilogy as a whole) secure this film not just as a fitting portrait for the cultural zeitgeist of America today, but quite possibly the high-water mark of superhero film-making as a whole.