Người đăng: Unknown on Thứ Tư, 28 tháng 7, 2010


Number 780


The long and short of Rackman


Rackman,* who appeared for a short time in Airboy Comics, had a tricky secret. He was a dwarf standing on a rack which he wore under his trouser legs. He could make the rack go up and down, increasing or decreasing his height. No elevator shoes for Rackman. The story doesn't explain that this rack system would be akin to walking on stilts, and trying to look taller while walking around would give one herky-jerky movements, at least. Perhaps Rackman, who shared this secret with his family, all dwarfs, had the trick down pretty well after years of practice.

The artwork is by Bernard Sachs and Carmine Infantino; it's from Airboy Comics Volume 4 Number 4, 1947:









*Yes, I'm aware of modern slang usage of the word "rack" and what a "rackman" would be.

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"Cargo Of Crime Comics From The States ..." Giles & A Prounced Lack Of A Moral Panic , "Sunday Express", October 10, 1954:- Comic Books Where You Least Expect Them No 1

Người đăng: Unknown on Thứ Hai, 26 tháng 7, 2010

I. As I know I've said before, I began my two blogs because I desperately needed to get my mind up and thinking again after a protracted, and now thankfully long-gone, illness. Anybody who's ever found themselves in a such a situation will know how fast the mind can loose its edge, its powers of will, of concentration and application. Deliberately choosing to write about mostly super-heroes has forced me, as I hoped it would, to write in some detail against tight self-imposed deadlines about a comparatively-narrow topic which, as must be obvious, I'm no expert in at all. In short, it meant that my mind had to work, and work was undoubtedly something that it needed to be doing.

Yet even now that I've published, between my two blogs, my 100th piece since February, and put to work some one third of a million words in doing so, I find that I'm still so enjoying learning about the construction of superhero comic books, about how they're produced and of the ways in which their various meanings might be read, that's it's hard to know whether it's time to stop or not. For although I'm very much dogged by the feeling that I ought to be turning my attention to some other more practical application of my time, I do enjoy what I'm doing a great deal. It's a luxury, and an education, and a splendid way to potter away the hours. And, in a strange fashion, it's been somewhat like being back at University, albeit bearing a self-set responsibility to no-one but myself to generate these pieces with the clock ticking and no idea where on Earth I ought to go now, let alone next. I suspect that if there'd ever been a degree for Assistant Editors of comic books, I might have happily sunk a good few years and some many thousands of pounds of student loans into the process. In the absence of such a course, and of any access to funding whatsoever even should one exist, I've ended up learning for myself how little I know anyway.

Yet, as ardent a love as my affection of the superhero comic is, I share my adoration, as I suspect do most of you few good and kind visitors who on occasion visit this blog, with the broadest span of what might for want of a better term be called "cartooning". Modernist transport posters from the Twenties and Thirties? Italy's Divisionist painters? Britain's Power Comics of the mid-to-late Sixties? Andrew Graham-Dixon on Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel? Just as the rest of us are, I'm absolutely entranced and quite utterly in awe of all of it.

Far, far too much to learn, far too little time.

II. Although I can usually resist the temptation to stray beyond my self-set territorial limits where the contents of this blog are concerned, I came across a cartoon in a somewhat-battered collection from 1954 by the English cartoonist Giles this morning in a local charity shop which seems to demand some discussion. It was published in the right-wing "Sunday Express" newspaper on October 10th, 1954, almost 56 years ago, and it's a movingly good-humoured commentary in part on the moral panic concerning the effects upon children of reading American Comics which exploded in the UK as well as the USA in that year. And where the daily sister-paper of the "Sunday Express" had spent the year spitting venom at the supposed perversion and corrupting influence of American "Horror" comics, here Giles shows in his own gentle way how unconcerned he is about this specific challenge to traditional British decency. For the whole cartoon is marked by an affectionate insouciance. With the exception of a couple of young tykes displaying a touch of high spirits to the lower-left-front of the frame, there's no suggestion here that these children are going to hell because of their four-colour hobby, or even headed in the direction of the local magistrates court. In fact, the serious and respectful, if demanding, kids even politely use "Please" as they half beg and half demand that the striking dockers go back to work so they can get their beloved "crime comics". The social problem here, if there's anything as a serious as a "problem" at all given the gentleness of the cartoon, is the strike that's stopping children getting their comics, and not the influence of the supposedly pernicious comics at all. (A series of strikes in the London docks were, however, of national concern at the time.) It's such a remarkably calm, and traditionally British, response to the hysteria of the gatekeepers of morality, and as such it's been making me smile fondly about Giles's benevolent view of the world since I first saw it some hours ago.

III. Giles has come to be seen by many who can recall his work as being something of, at best, a gentle old conservative, and, at worst, a spokesman for the blue-rinsed classes so vital to the pockets of the Fleet Street press barons. Yet you'll notice, to take just this one of literally thousands of examples, that the striking dockers in the cartoon above are portrayed as affable and fundamentally decent blokes. If Giles was no one-dimensional social realist, and if his work never contained a vision of poverty which wasn't yet respectable and comfortable, he also never displayed a contempt for ordinary men and women and the struggles of their lives. A son of the toiling classes of Islington himself, Giles's sympathy was always with the powerless against the powerful, and the very worst that might be said of those who challenge the status quo in his work is that they're the victims of their own immaturity and idleness. Uncommonly, where so much of the media of his time were concerned, there's little in the work of Giles of any finger-pointing disdain for, and demonising of, the working classes, and that's something which can be taken-for-granted when his cartoons are considered today. In its fond qualities of restraint and respect for most if not absolutely all of his fellow citizens, Giles's best work still reflects much that was, and still on occasion is, the best of Britain.

IV. Anybody who tries to explain the brilliance of Giles's cartooning skills in a few sentences is an idiot and should be ignored at all costs. Because, quite frankly, Giles could do just about anything with pencil, pen, ink and white paint that the best of his peers could, and only his reluctance to be biting and aggressive in his work holds back his reputation today. After all, critical history loves the artist of extremes and sudden transitions, the challenger of orthodoxy, the dangerous figure detailing horror and revolution. Giles, however, choose to portray the world that even today most of us live in much of the time; an existence marked by consensus and compromise, tolerance and community. That means that his work can be judged lacking in radicalism, in the furnace-shadows of the politically and socially committed, or indeed it might seem to be, until the reader realises that portraying a mild but convincing anti-authoritarianism and a quiet stoical good humour is in itself a radical political stance.

But those artistic skills of his are so numerous and so complete that any attempt to list them short of an epic biography would be futile. Perhaps its best to just focus, therefore, on this splendidly charming cartoon which his myriad skills so ably created. For his portrait of a long-lost London in "Cargo of Crime Comics ..." feels as if it's spot-on, though of course I hesitate to say that it is. But there's the warehouses, the winding cobbled streets, the ranks and ranks of cranes, the workmen in their characteristic flat caps, all of which I'm sure I can recall in some measure or other from the late Sixties. And, so tellingly in the gentle haze of the distance, across the Thames and from across another snaking bend in the river, there's a blur of pencil to summon up St Pauls. It's in part a social documentary of a laudable sort, of what was believed to exist if not what actually did, and it's never weighed down by an excess of spurious detail or the pretensions of a radical or conservative political gesture. (It's exceptional enough in the kindness of what it's saying.) And re-reading Giles, especially from his heyday between the Fifties and the early Seventies, is to catch glimpses of everyday realities from those times largely unrecorded in any other media except cartoons and comic books; the strange curves of the pavements of suburban British roads, as if nobody had thought a straight line might be more functional; the distinctive semi-rural railway stations marked out by wooden picket fences and oddly broad car parks; the bare wooden interiors of the pubs and dully functional cafes. And always, in every single cartoon, there's the obvious mastery of perspective and the capacity to create complex and crowded single-panel narratives shining out. A Giles cartoon, when he was at his height, was rarely merely a gag to swallow and rush on past, which, given that his jokes were perhaps the weakest element of his work, especially as the long decades passed closer to the Nineties, is all well and to the good.

V. I can't say if this wonderful cartoon has ever been reprinted. so it may be that you'll need to find it as I did in "Giles: Ninth Series", the collection of his work from 1954. Though my copy is extremely well-worn, I am already finding it quite easy to treasure. And in its quiet refusal to cash in on the popular distaste for American comic books which much of the press had so deliberately stirred up in that year, and in its portrayal of comic book reading as an essential part of the lives of young children, the cartoon I've scanned here is already one of my favourite works of, yes, art.


.
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Review: Chew: International Flavor trade paperback (Image Comics)

Người đăng: Unknown

[Guest review by Tom Speelman]

In my review of Chew: Taster’s Choice, I said the series was an intoxicating blend of old-school Marvel and modern-day cop show, with Taster’s Choice favoring the latter -- moving briskly and swiftly and never feeling dull. I suppose it’s hard for a series that has a pitch along the lines of “A cop who sees the thoughts of whatever he eats which occasionally includes corpses and it’s all in a dystopian world where chicken has been banned” to ever feel dull, but I digress ...


The second volume, Chew: International Flavor still follows that original equation, but grabs its inner Classic Marvel and jacks it up to 11. We’ve got cyborgs, we’ve got vampires, we’ve got a fruit that looks like the love child of a pineapple and an octopus and tastes like chicken. That’s just for starters.


[Contains spoilers]


There is a lot of plot advancement here and a lot of questions get answered. The dynamic of the series has also shifted a bit with the treacherous Mason Savoy replaced by John Colby, Tony’s old Philly PD partner. Colby has joined the FDA after having cybernetic implants put in to replace the part of his face that was hacked off last volume. He’s requested not to work with Tony (surprise surprise) but their boss, Applebee -- who’s even more of a hilarious jerk here -- has paired them together anyway.


Tony is upset at first, but we quickly learn that the two do in fact care about one another in a hilarious bit about driving (“You want me to get in a car with an Asian driver behind the wheel? I’d rather take another hatchet to the face, thank you very much.”) and a bit where John prevents Tony from having to eat crap (literally). This brings out a very buddy-cop vibe and I keep thinking of Starsky & Hutch whenever I read these scenes.


The aforementioned scene with the poo leads Tony to discover the gallsaberry, the also aforementioned pineapple-octopus spawn. The thing about it is that when you cook it, it tastes like chicken. This leads Tony to the micro-nation of Yamapulu, where the plant is grown. He’s accompanied by his brother Chow, who’s taken up a job as a resort chef, seeing as how the island is famous for looking the other way when it comes to consuming chicken, which is forbidden in the Chew-verse. Of course that’s all changed now that the gallsaberry has shown up.


By the way, that strange little man in a riverboat hat who showed up with a box asking for Amelia Mintz? His name’s Nomi Haupai and he runs this island. He’s got a big plan and it involves Ameila, the world’s best chefs, and the gallsaberry. He takes the villain role this volume and his efforts are the focus of the book. Mason is hardly mentioned at all here, except for a wanted poster in the background and a phone call another character tries to make to him. It's sort of a letdown that I didn’t get to read his wonderful dialogue again, but hey -- we get to witness a civil war break out on the island over a champion cockfighting rooster, so I guess that evens things out.


Another interesting revelation this time around is that the FDA isn't the only government branch with police powers. The USDA has them too, and they’ve had Agent Lin Sae Woo (and her cyborg rat!) working undercover for months following a string of grisly murders. Lin thinks Tony has been sent to horn in on her case so she corners him in an elevator and beats the crap out of him! Just when you’d thought we’d hit a love triangle ...


Also, this time around we meet “The Vampire,” the guy referenced by the Russian woman last volume, and boy, is he nuts. Seriously, some of the stuff he pulls is downright shocking. Personally, I think he might be the third cibopath mentioned by Mason in Taster’s Choice but with a series like this you can’t be sure -- Mason proved that himself in the last book.


But by far, the biggest surprise in here is just where the gallsaberry really originated, and we get to find out in another one of those brilliant grid drawings that Rob Guillory does so well. Guillory's art is great here, and it's easy to see why he landed a Harvey Award nomination for Best New Talent.

With International Flavor, Chew proves once again it can tell a serious story with a lot of humor thrown in. The only other series I can think of that can pull that off is the belated Cable & Deadpool, which I just started reading, and given that the House of Ideas is ripe with Deadpool-mania these days, I’m surprised they haven’t approached John Layman and the folks at Image about a crossover. Time will tell, I suppose ...
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Người đăng: Unknown



Number 779


The little girl who always laughed


A classic by John Stanley, originally from Little Lulu #21, reprinted in the Dell Giant, Little Lulu and Alvin Storytelling Time, from 1959.

I can't give the deep insight that Frank Young of the Stanley Stories blog gives to John Stanley's stories, but what I've determined from this tale are the debilitating effects of low self-esteem, looksism, and the psychologically healing powers of rhinoplasty. If you're in this situation and need it, I suggest you contact your local medical association for a good plastic surgeon. Do not attempt this at home.




















Today is the fourth anniversary of this blog. Who'da thunk it? Knowing and understanding my own short attention span, when I started this endeavor in 2006 I had no idea I'd still be at it by now.

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J. Michael Straczynski's "Superman": The Hero As Survivor Of Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome

Người đăng: Unknown on Chủ Nhật, 25 tháng 7, 2010


1. "No, The Question Is What Are You Doing Out There"

I. In the chapter on "The Screenplay" in J. Michael Straczynski's "The Complete Book Of Scritpwriting", Mr Straczynski writes that:

"... a screenwriter must develop a highly tuned sense of discipline, a willingness to write and rewrite the same story as often as necessary, to polish it until it is as hard and bright as a diamond. You have to have an almost infinite capacity to look at your own words and the objectivity to restructure and rewrite as necessary, without holding onto something just because it's what you wrote that first day."

And given Mr Straczynski's often-stated love for the art of comic book writing, and for the character of Superman in particular, it would surely be disingenuous to believe that any less an exhausting standard of self-examination and re-drafting would be at work in his scripts for Superman # 700 and 701. Yet, without repeating in detail the many and persistant criticisms of Mr Straczynski's tale of Superman deciding to walk across America, there's no doubt that the character of Clark Kent is shown there-in behaving in ways which we wouldn't expect him to, as the following scan might indicate;


Now, there's no doubt that the dog-walking stranger who accuses Superman in this sequence is at the very least behaving presumptuously, and in fact I'd peg him down as having been plain rude. And yet, faced with a superhero in costume, who's presenting that iconic "S" for "Superman" on his chest, there are some grounds for believing that his outburst is at least partially understandable. After all, it is Clark who choose to wear that the costume and Clark who has permitted the nickname "Superman" to become the title he responds to while in uniform. And he has constantly sold himself to the American public as a standard-model superhero, and consistently lectured his fellow citizens on the common duties they hold to truth and justice and whatever particular "way" is politically correct at the moment of publication. In essence, having played the role of super-hero for so long, Superman at the very least ought to expect to be challenged when he appears to be avoiding his self-proclaimed responsibilities.

Yet, whatever the rights and wrongs of verbally accosting Superman as he wanders past you on a suburban street, the fact is that Superman's response to the imposition is quite out of character. In fact, I can't remember a single time when Superman has met a non-violent challenge with the degree of self-absorption and intellectual snobbery that he manifests here. For Clark Kent is an exceptionally well-educated man, and he's a similarly exceptionally well-brought up man as well; he'll know that Thoreau isn't a household name among most of America's citizens, and that the political-backwoodsman's words are by idiom and content unfamiliar and difficult to engage with for most everyone he meets. And yet Superman doesn't even enquire whether his debating partner has an knowledge of Thoreau. In truth, he behaves exactly like a snobbish, intellectual bully would, lecturing contemptuously a man who hasn't a chance of debating with him, and even sarcastically leaning his head forward and stroking his chin as he closes his strange argument. (Thoreau's quote, after all, was concerned with the business of not paying taxes which would fund politically sanctioned violence. I'm unsure what's relevant and clever about applying those concepts to the radical political sacrifice of, er, walking across America. The "prison" of being a super-man in the eye of the media and the reality of being a prisoner in a small town jail for not paying taxes is one which only a rather confused or supremely arrogant Superman would make. To put it mildly, he doesn't seem to be thinking clearly at all.) And it's hardly in line with the picture we've been given of Jonathan and Martha Kent's son that Clark would then, having delivered his pretentious and inappropriate quote and extrapolation, walk off while his interlocutor is absolutely lost about what Superman has been saying. For that's the behaviour of a deeply condescending and arrogant man, pleased with himself for brow-beating and baffling a perceived opponent; the only metaphorical meaning I could take from such a scene if it were to be taken at face value would be that Superman is learning on his journey to ignore the views of anybody who doesn't know what he knows, and who can't debate in the particular terms that he chooses to.

But I suspect that this scene, and many of those which accompany it, aren't meant to be taken at face value at all.

II. It's not simply the fact that Clark is portrayed as being so out of character, and so deeply unpleasant and dismissive too, that should set our alarm bells ringing in this scene. For the behaviour of Superman in issues # 700 and 701 also seem to bend several of the rules of writing which Mr Straczynski himself repeatedly returns to in the various sections of his primer "The Complete Art Of Scriptwriting", and though he nowhere in the 426 pages of the Titan 1997 version of the book attends directly to the writing of comic books, I hope we might take it as read that certain principles hold to one degree or another across most if not all visual mediums. So, for example, in the chapter on "The Craft Of Telescripting", Mr Straczynski repeatedly counsels would-be writers against verbose speeches, of which there may be held to be several over the course of his two Superman scripts. And yet, tellingly, in the section on "The Screenplay", he recommends that such "long-winded" monologues may however be used to a specific effect;

"If the speaker is long-winded himself, or pompous, you can use the monologue as a device to reinforce this detail."

From which we can assume that if a character of Mr Straczynski's is suddenly rambling on, it's for the purpose of a deliberate effect, and that if he's apparently breaking his own "rules" of writing, it's to a specific purpose. Consequently, if Clark Kent has become transformed from a decent and polite man to a rather cruel and pretentious windbag, we're surely supposed to be asking "why?" rather than simply discrediting the speech as out-of-character.

III. There is a great deal of other advice from "The Complete Book Of Scriptwriting", which could be applied to the craft of writing for comic books, and I suspect that clues might be productively dug out from the text of it to help begin to deduce what's actually going on "Grounded". For in his chapter on writing for Television, for example, Mr Straczynski discusses how important it is to respect the pre-existing nature and boundaries of a character in serial fiction. ("The schematic has already been laid down. Your task is to plug your own ideas into that context, which for some writers is where the process becomes quite difficult. You're required to work with characters created by someone other than yourself .... and set aside your ego when when the producer says, "Our character wouldn't do that" ...) Now, since "Superman" # 701 is constantly providing us with an at-best rather baffled Clark Kent, and an at-worst vindictive and rather vicious Superman, one that nobody has ever seen before, we have to assume that there's a reason for that. (In essence, a writer of Mr Straczynski's stature and experience wouldn't carelessly, or even deliberately, radically reboot Superman in this fashion, because that would involve what he himself has counselled against; violating the "schematic.") And so when in "The Writer, the Language, The Formats", Mr Straczynski recommends that a writer should "End each act on a dramatic high note, a complication that makes the viewer want to stick around after the commercial break", we ought to notice that both Superman # 700 & 701 concludes with what seems to be a pair of rather undramatic notes, with, in the latter tale, the Man Of Steel just walking onwards, hard-faced, ignoring the man he was claiming to be engaging in high-purposed political discourse. Perhaps the "dramatic high note" is that Clark Kent has become - on some occasions if not others - such an apparently self-consumed and pompous man, and, again, perhaps the point of what we're reading is that we're supposed to be asking ourselves, again, why?

2. "What Are You Doing Out There?"

I. I'd suggest, therefore, that no writer of Mr Straczynski's stature and experience would simply ignore more than 70 years of "Superman", as these stories seem to do. There has to be a reason why, for example, Superman is simply ignoring the most fundamental relationships and responsibilities of his private life. It's simply inconceivable that he should walk out on his wife, to take but one beat of the tale, with so few words and so little explanation, particularly after having spent so long and so tragic a time away from her while on New Krypton. Similarly, the fact that he's effectively turning away from his widowed Mother at a time when even Krypto the super-dog has realised that her broken heart needs company can't be accommodated into any take on Superman I've ever seen.

But that doesn't mean that this apparently Superman isn't in some way "our" Superman. It simply means that something has happened to him to change him.


II. If Superman is behaving in such an atypical fashion where his private life is concerned in these stories, then it's worth considering what the consequences of his dealings in the public sphere since beginning his walk have been too. And on reflection, it's easy to see why so many critics have been moved to note a considerable degree of irresponsibility in the walking Superman's behaviour at several key moments in his journey. The least of his sins, and I use that word deliberately, given the strict old school Protestantism that many writers have associated with Superman's upbringing, have involved humiliating and scorning lippy pedestrians that he's past by, as we talked about above. Far more worrying behaviour can be observed in the scene where he aggressively hauls an irritating reporter high into the sky just to establish that Superman still has his flying mojo intact. It's an astonishing moment, for since when did the son of Jonathan and Martha Kent physically terrify fellow law-abiding if unpleasant Americans in such a way? That's the mark of a bully responding with what the courts could well judge violence, and yet Superman has always been portrayed as a man of restraint and reason. Similarly, Superman's short-term and crowing run-in with a drug-gang showed no concept of a reporter's understanding of how the drug-trade works or how lives are affected by it in any fashion whatsoever, and stands as the most ugly example of super-heroics I've seen short of a Red Arrow/Arsenal comic book for a long time. Surely the Clark Kent of "The Daily Planet" knows that the best case scenario for the gang after he's scared them away is that they'll set up shop elsewhere, and that the worse case is that a very violent situation is going to break out when whoever's next up in the chain of supply wants their money for their destroyed merchandise. ("Superman burnt it all up!" "Oh, sure....".) And, in what is perhaps the most despicable scene of all, where Superman recommends that a young boy threaten the gang with the prospect of his return while he wanders off never to be seen again, this portrayal of a Clark Kent to whom something deeply disturbing has occurred is capped and confirmed. After all, no Clark Kent I've ever read would advise a young boy to go threaten an already enraged gang of committed criminals; that would be at the very least a passport to a severe beating, would it not?

And Superman would never do that. He'd help out, assist in managing if not solving the problem, because Superman, like the good Samaritan, doesn't pass by trouble without stopping to properly help.

So what's happened to Superman?


3. "Nothing But The Shell"

The answer to the question of "what's happened to Superman?" might well be found in the walk across America that he's undertaking itself, because his reasons for undertaking the epic journey don't stand up to even the most moderate of scrutiny. For example, Superman is portrayed as being inspired to set out by the memory of his foster father's man-of-the-farm monologue which is recalled as having stated that;

"Anything that stays in the the same soil too long withers and eventually dies. I think that people are the same way. If we stay too long in the same soil, we start to dry up inside .... If we do the same things, in the same way, over and over in time, we fall asleep in our lives."

It's an odd speech to be inspired by, given that Jonathan seems to have spent decades after decades as a farmer in the same place doing the same things "over and over in time". Surely his advice is not intended to be taken quite so literally, or he would have needed to have followed his own words to a far more considerable degree. And it's also an incredibly banal speech, given that, yes, things left too long in the soil wither and die, but that, strangely enough, so do things which don't. It's also telling that when Jonathan's words advise Clark to ".. rotate back to fertile ground...to the soil that nourished you ...", Superman doesn't interpret this as recommending that he spend a great deal of time with Lois, or with his beloved and lonely foster mother, but rather as a homily suggesting that he ups sticks and wanders without specific purpose across America making passing acquaintances with strangers.

The words don't seem to connect rationally to Clark's decision, and this cognitive dissonance is, I suspect, the best clue we have to this mystery of why our Clark is behaving so strangely and so out of character. For I can't help believing that Clark isn't walking across America to find either it or himself, but to avoid finding himself.

Or to put it another way; he isn't walking to anything at all, but rather, he's walking away from something quite fearsome that he doesn't know how to face.


4. "Trust Me /You're Safe"

I. One of the key indicators of the devastating psychological condition known as Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD) is often known as "avoidance and numbing". The individual who has been psychologically traumatised cannot engage with the pain they are feeling, and so they effectively turn away from their suffering and engage in excessive measures of distraction. These avoidance techniques can be as apparently minor as investing massive amounts of time and energy on apparently unimportant routines, from hobbies to work, and can often extend to crippling abuses of alcohol and drugs. Regardless of what path of avoidance is unconsciously chosen, the traumatised mind is desperate to numb itself, to cut off the possibility of communication with others, and to create a world where every minute of the day is spent holding any reminder of their suffering and its causes at arm's length.

What better explanation of Clark's walk across America could there be? For Clark can put one foot in front of another and simply keep going, never truly resting or in truth belonging anywhere, while whatever traumas he bears which might be revealed through intimate contact with wife or mother or friends can be repressed. Could it be, therefore, that Clark isn't seeking America, or humanity, or to save the one and not the many, or any interpretation of Jonathan Kent's parable of the ground where he can avoid withering and dying, but that he's rather running away from civil society? For why else would he turn away from Lois and Martha, and Jimmy and Bruce and Perry and all the rest of his many friends? What possible motivation could he have? For certainly nothing that we've been shown could possibly cause a man such as Clark Kent to simply abandon his life and begin walking the continent, particularly after returning from such a long exile and a war in space.

But then, there is that business of a war in space, and a long exile, and the death of a world, and the genocide of people, and the loss of a dearly beloved father too.

II. The causes of PTSD are now well-understood, even if the diagnostic process is still limited to being able to describe the problem rather than being able to reliably predict who will and who won't develop it. But Superman has suffered so many of those key events which are known to trigger the condition he's recently been in severe military combat, and suffered gruesomely life-threatening physical injuries. (His horrendous near death at Brainiac's hands was followed up with an attack with a Kryptonite knife from one of his own people, and then things got worse!) He's been effectively a prisoner of war, and he's been caught up in man - and superman- made disasters as what what is efefctively a combination of soldier and emergency worker. He's had the most terrible and elongated period of suffering.

And death has followed Clark Kent around as if it had a personal hatred of him. Jonathan Kent, dead, as a consequence of an assault by Brainiac. The great mass of his people, and the planet of New Krypton itself, wiped from existence, again by Brainiac, a figure so inhuman and relentless that it might as well carry a sickle so close is it to a symbol of the inevitable victory of death. And as to the degree of death that has followed Clark, it must be remembered that the end of the great mass of his people was undoubtedly an act of genocide, and that's above all what Superman is now a witness of, and a survivor of too, in so many ways.

Genocide.

The question is not whether Clark Kent has PTSD, I'd suggest. The question is how could any of us believe otherwise?

5. "The Slap..."

I. There is a substantial amount of further evidence in the two issues of Superman so far crafted by Mr Straczynski to support a working hypothesis of PTSD afflicting Superman. "The Snap Heard 'Round The World", for example, begins with a portrayal of an already desperately sad and disconnected Superman facing reporters emphasising how alienated the media feels he's become from his adopted homeworld. (A man returning from a war needs something more than reporters questioning his allegiance, especially when his loyalties are surely obvious and always have been.) But our Clark can't even engage with the reporters, as we'd expect a man so erudite and intelligent to be able to do so. "I .. I don't know." is his woeful response, accompanied by an equally woeful face. This is a Superman who was lost and shattered long before the apparent inciting incident of the slap and the widow's accusation.

In the light of this, Superman's response to the woman who blames him for the death of her husband "Richard" is hardly out-of-character so much as the product of a character under terrible stress and strain. For Superman has, in many ways, if he is suffering from PTSD, no character as such at all; he has a shell which his mind is desperately constructing to hold his pain at bay, and seeing the grief of one woman and the charge of his responsibility for it has surely torn through his defences and opened up all his unresolved feelings of loss and regret and guilt.

Well, of course he's going to walk away, and America is a very safe distance across to walk away over while avoiding everything that so unconsciously frightens him. As an act of "dissociation", it's so brilliantly effective that the reader can only fear for his sanity. Because that's what so many sufferers of PTSD do, they may walk away into an obsessive private life, or into abuse, or from the world entirely, for their very brain structure and chemistry is often being changed by the excesses of appalling emotion which they're bearing under, and escape is the only option they can consider.

And yet such escape is the worst thing that a sufferer of PTSD can do. It is in the re-engagement with the day-t0-day structures of their everyday lives that improvement can be found. PTSD itself cannot be run from. Modern techniques of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, to take but one example, can help the sufferer grasp that what they are feeling is not being caused by their environment, but by their trauma. But the survivor of PTSD has to be in an environment where they and others recognise that the problem exists so that help can be sought. And so, Superman isn't solving anything through his long walk, because he's carrying the trauma with him, and the world he was in was actually a better place for him to be in order to try to recapture the life he had than anything the mythical America before him can offer.

It could almost make me smile, if it weren't so terrible a thought, to realise that what Clark Kent is doing is chapter and verse the opposite of what the advice on PTSD recommends. "Don't go on holiday alone", sagely advises one patient's guide to the condition

II. We have evidence of other symptoms of PTSD too. Superman must surely be thinking of New Krypton and its loss when talking to the soon to be para-suicide on the top of a skyscraper, discussing as he does how he'd once believed that he was going to save the world and now can only truly accept the possibility of the saving of single lives. (We see him crucially having a flashback to the traumatic scene of his own escape from a dying planet, a scene he's seen through records and through time too over and over.) In addition, "hyper-vigilance" might be reflected in the fact that he keeps registering every slight, and not so slight, problem in the lives of the folks he's walking past, even as the scatter-minded problems of mental application lead him to, for example, diagnose an elderly gentlemen with what seems like serious heart disease without grasping that he ought to carry him to medical assistance. (He can't avoid noticing trouble, but he can't grasp how to engage with it either; he has to keep moving on.) He obsesses about the unhappiness he feels, the dislocation from the world he experiences, and yet he's escaped from anybody he has intimate bonds with who might compel him to face up to his feelings.

Similarly, Clark's irritation towards that dog-walking passer-by demanding he return to his super-heroic responsibilities, or his aggressive response to the demanding newspaper-man, all indicate a mind in denial and trying with some considerable force to avoid engaging with anyone that might behave in a challenging or disconcerting way. Irritation, anger and despair are the constant handmaidens of PTSD. And when Superman walks away from the drug-dealers and the community they live within, his PTSD is no doubt driving him to turn away from responsibility, pushing him towards the kind of laissez-faire attitude to law enforcement and community care which Jonathan and Martha, let alone Lois, would be appalled by.


6. "They Said You Were Doing Something Important"

I. A great deal of commentary on the interbloggofannet has focused on a contemptuous reading of the woman who slapped Superman and blamed him for her husband's death. And while that's understandable at first reading, it's surely plain from the evidence that she was herself quite traumatised. As a culture, we're remarkably disengaged with even the most basic psychological truths of our own nature, and in a strange way, life seems easier to bear and less frightening if our perceptions stay that way. But, I'd suggest, there's a strong possibility that neither the grieving widow nor Superman are in any way responsible for the irrational acts they undertake in Mr Straczynski's scripts. These are terribly damaged people desperately trying to make the pain stop.

But walking across America, or slapping a blameless traumatised man, won't help them. And neither will the folks around them, who watch without understanding, or even thinking to help.

II. Am I claiming that the above reading of Mr Straczynski's work is the correct one? Of course not. But I am saying that it would be consistent with the facts that we've been shown, and that all the events which have so puzzled and enraged internet commentators might actually be rooted in a solid narrative structure which has a far more deliberate, rational and moving purpose than is currently evident.

And if Clark Kent does have PTSD, and my belief would be that I can't see how he couldn't, then my fear for him is how he'll cope when he's finally helped to his senses and realises how many people he hasn't helped because he was uselessly walking across the USA. It might be enough to compound his serious condition and result in Complex PTSD, if he isn't already bearing that level of suffering already.

But then, perhaps a scene where he goes back and ensures that certain drug dealers receive both a fair trial and appropriate counselling, and one where he apologises to a vile reporter because that's the right thing to do, and another where he tracks down an inarticulate dog-walker and chats with him in his own language over a coffee or two, might close what has begun as a difficult experience for the reader too.


7. "... But It Must Be Important."

Or, everything's exactly as it seems on the surface of the story, in which I case I both respect the right of Mr Straczynski to tell his own story, and despair because of it too.



Ah, as is obvious, the promised Deadshot piece has had to be delayed due to my UTTERLY losing my copy of "Six Degrees Of Devastation", a desperately stupid act which left me with just a few hours to get a different piece up for today, when the ol'self-set schedule said I ought to. Deadshot will appear when the replacement volume of SDOS arrives from Amazon, to supplement the other Secret Six volumes again, and I hope to see you then, if not before. A splendid day to any and all who have made it down this far! Huzzah!


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Number 778


Americommando and the Little One


Americommando was a character in his third incarnation: He had been Tex Thomson from Action Comics #1 to #33; he was Mr. America until #54, and then none other than President Roosevelt sent him to commando school and he became Americommando.

Created and drawn by Bernard Baily, an artist working in comics since their earliest days, and also co-creator of Hourman and Spectre. His villain in these consecutive stories from 1943, Action Comics #57 and #58, is a grotesque character, half Japanese and half Prussian...and wow, you couldn't get much more villainous than that combination in those dark days of World War II. (As always, these racist caricatures can be painful to look at with modern sensibilities, and all I can say is they were created in a different time.)

Americommando didn't last out the war, losing his position in Action by #74 in 1944. Baily went on to be an editor, writer, artist and publisher, and eventually ended up back at DC Comics. He died at age 80 in 1996.

















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