Expectations really do lie beneath both pleasure and disappointment. A few weeks ago, I saw X-Men 3, worried that because Bryan Singer was no longer directing, it might suck. Partly because of that worry, I ended up having a pretty good time. This weekend I saw Superman Returns, the project for which Singer left X3, and was very excited to watch his take on the Man Of Steel. Perhaps for that reason (among others), I found Superman Returns a little disappointing.
Tag: reviews Page 6 of 7
This was easily my favorite season yet of Buffy. It’s rather amazing to me that it wasn’t the work of just one writer, given how tightly the whole thing hangs together. Each episode tells a satisfying story on its own, but the season as a whole is an incredible story, with dramatic peaks and valleys, great surprises, and tons of character development for almost everybody. It feels fuller than the last two seasons put together, which is quite an achievement. So many connections, so much depth, such a smooth flow from one episode into the next. Awesome.
So, the short review is: I loved it. The longer review follows:
1) When I saw Ted in Season 2, I wished for a story that would fully explore the consequences of Buffy unleashing her slayer-power on a normal human. Beginning with Bad Girls, I got the next best thing this season, with Faith killing somebody and then flipping out. I wasn’t terribly interested in Faith during the first half of the season, but when she moved from flawed hero to conflicted villain, she turned into an excellent character. Watching the other characters try to trust her even as I believed (but didn’t know for sure) that she was not to be trusted made for wonderful drama. I’m glad that Giles made the point that accidents like Faith’s had happened before — it would be wildly implausible for this to be the first one. However, the idea that the Council makes a judgement about how the culprit should be treated is unsatisfying, I imagine purposefully so. Which leads into point #2.
2) I really enjoyed the way this season explored themes of guardianship and parenthood. There was Gingerbread, obviously — Buffy’s mom getting freaked about her daughter’s work was an inevitable plotline, and blending that with the town actually reacting to one of its many murders was a great choice. Having Buffy and Willow nearly burned at the stake by their mothers and the town was a nicely Buffyesque literalization of parental (and societal) anxiety about adolescents. Then there’s Gwendolyn Post in Revelations, a whole different kind of Bad Mommy. Many of the differences between Buffy and Faith seemed to come down to upbringing, comparing Buffy’s stable (albeit broken) home with a bunch of unspecified bad stuff that apparently constituted Faith’s childhood. So having Gwendolyn come in as the stern-but-loving parent that Faith never had, only to betray her and tell her she was an idiot for being so trusting, set Faith up perfectly for her next substitute parent. The Mayor’s evilness was never in doubt, so there was no question of his using her in the way that Gwendolyn had, and in fact he turned out to be someone who genuinely loved her, in his deranged and demonic way. In addition to this argument for the value of parents, there’s Band Candy, which shows what horrible shape Buffy’s world would be in if it wasn’t full of responsible adults.
Now that Buffy’s mom is hip to the secret identity and more or less at ease (Gingerbread aside) with the whole Slayer thing, we needed a new controlling-parent figure to cramp Buffy’s style, so that she could demonstrate her coming of age by leaving that control behind. Enter Wesley Wyndham-Price, who did an excellent job of portraying the Council Of Watchers as inept and out-of-touch as well as overly authoritarian. However, since Wesley was a mostly sympathetic character who didn’t turn out to be some kind of supernatural evil thingy, his annoying qualities wouldn’t be enough in themselves to push Buffy out of the nest, which is why we had Helpless, one of my favorite episodes of the season, in which Giles is forced by his own parent-figures to go against his better instincts and betray Buffy. The fallout from this represents a sort of coming-of-age for Giles as well as moving his relationship to Buffy away from father-daughter and more toward friends, and the whole thing was brilliantly told. Buffy follows Giles out of the Council’s employ in Graduation Day, Part One, resulting in a bit of dialogue I loved:
Wesley: This is mutiny.
Buffy: I like to think of it as graduation.
I ended up with a lot of questions about the Council Of Watchers after this season. Like, if there’s only one Slayer, why do we need a whole Council? What do the rest of them do? In my imagination, they’re a bit like the secret society whose name I forget in those Anne Rice books, which keeps an eye on everything supernatural in the world, so being Slayer-mentors would be only one of many projects for them. Also, is a Slayer supposed to outgrow her Watcher? If not, I kind of can’t believe this is the first time it’s ever happened. Maybe their mortality rate is so high that few of them ever reach that level of maturity?
Then there’s the rest of the gang, who seem to exist in this weird parent-free zone. I’m pleased that at least this is marginally explained for several of the characters. We see the benign neglect of Willow’s academic mom in Gingerbread, and Amends gives us a glimpse into the alcoholism and dysfunction that explains Xander’s isolation from his parents. Based on what we know of Cordelia’s father’s wealth, we can chalk her independence up to the “CEO too busy for his family” stereotype, though his reversal of fortunes seems to have brought him no further into her life. The only one whose family remains a complete mystery is Oz — the only bit about his family I can remember is when he calls his aunt to confirm that his cousin is a werewolf.
3) Speaking of Oz, I love Oz. Seth Green rules. I was so, so happy to see him listed in the opening credits this season. His understated quality makes his emotional moments very gripping. Also, he’s got so many funny lines, and delivers them so beautifully. Just a random example:
Cordelia: I personally don’t think it’s possible to come up with a crazier plan.
Oz: We attack the Mayor with hummus.
Cordelia: I stand corrected.
Willow is still my favorite character, but Oz is just a hair behind now.
4) Willow remains super-cute, and she had some great moments this season. Her confrontation with Faith in Choices was one of my favorite scenes of hers from this season, and her pencil-staking of the vampire in that same episode was another. However, best of all was her guilty romance with Xander. Something I love about continuity-heavy storytelling is the way that having seen characters through some history can lend a huge amount of emotional wallop to events. Knowing about Willow’s longstanding unrequited desire for Xander beginning in season one lent so much plausibility to her cheating on Oz with him. That whole story, and the way it turned out for all four of the people involved, was emotionally wrenching in the best way.
5) Which brings me to Cordelia, who finally gets her due in this season. She retains enough of the Queen of Mean qualities from earlier seasons that she felt like recognizably the same character, but she finally had enough holes poked in her (um, no pun intended) to give her the humanity and vulnerability that allows me to care about her. Her sweet adoration of Xander early in the season is endearing, and watching him cheat on her put me on her side in their relationship. Then, when her discovery of betrayal is followed up by a sudden and serious injury, I was hooked at last, worried about her and hoping she’d be okay. By the end of the season, she felt like a full-fledged, three-dimensional character to me, just as much as any of the others.
6) David Boreanaz is really starting to bug me, and I’m not terribly sorry to see him go. He spends wayyyyy too much of this season with this kind of hurt-puppy look on his face, angsting so endlessly that it becomes tiresome. Also, he seems like the weakest actor in the bunch. He seems to only have two faces: Worried, and Vampire. And the second one is due more to makeup than acting. He’s reminding me a bit of Patrick Swayze in Ghost, with his overly self-conscious “I’m-in-pain” expression and his faux desirability. This is not a good association. I hope that without Buffy around to moan about, he’s able to become a more interesting character in his own show.
7) The Mayor is such a fantastic villain. His weird Mayberry demeanor was a great hook, and Harry Groener was hilariously good at mixing menace with dorkiness. However, I HATED the mayor-demon saying “Well, gosh!” before the school exploded. That just did not work. Once he Ascended, he should have been pure demon — the dorkiness just seemed silly rather than creepy coming out of an actual monster’s mouth.
8) Another thing that I thought was a weak spot is the way the idea of The First was introduced, then immediately dropped. I was happy to have an explanation for Angel’s (inevitable) return, but the notion of the Biggest Evil In The Freaking World doing this as sort of a halfhearted gesture toward hurting Buffy, then vanishing away without a trace, was lame. I hope they follow up on that.
Favorite episodes: The truth is, I loved the whole thing so much that I don’t think I really could pick out specific favorites. They all felt like favorites. So aside from what I mention above, I’ll just make a few episode-specific notes:
- Homecoming: I realized partway into this one that I’d actually seen the second half of it already. I caught it on TV and was sucked in, I think because I saw Ian Abercrombie and said, “Isn’t that Mr. Pitt from Seinfeld? What’s he doing?”
- Lover’s Walk: I told those kids it would all end in tears, but did they listen? No. So typical of the way people on television never listen to me.
- Enemies: This episode made me so happy, because it totally suckered me. I groaned with disappointment when Angel seemed to lose his soul again, because it seemed like such a boring, retread plot. As soon as he said, “Second-best”, I just got this HUGE grin on my face. What a fun, fun thrill.
Favorite moments:
- Dead Man’s Party: Giles — “Unbelievable. ‘Do you like my mask? Isn’t it pretty? It raises the dead!’ Americans.”
- Band Candy: Cordelia — “I do well on standardized tests. What, I can’t have layers?”
- Lover’s Walk: Cordelia — “I fell.” My reaction to this was similar to when Jenny Calendar died in season two.
- Enemies: Angel — “Second-best.” As I said above.
- Amends: Giles’ reaction to Angel appearing at his door.
- Choices: Oz suddenly smashing the urn. That gave me goosebumps.
- The Prom: Buffy’s “little toy surprise” from the graduating class. I’m realizing that I love to see when the world at large acknowledges all the weirdness in the Buffyverse, and this was such a touching recognition for Buffy.
- The Prom: In the category of “Best Music Cue”, we have The Sundays’ version of “Wild Horses.” Never has the line “Let’s do some living after we die” been so apropos in so many ways.
- Graduation Day, Part One: Buffy — “I like to think of it as graduation.” See point #2 above.
- Graduation Day, Part Two: The Cordelia-Wesley anticlimax. What a hilarious way to resolve the tension that had building between them for half the season. I also loved Charisma Carpenter’s delivery of the line “That’d be neat.”
- Graduation Day, Part Two: Buffy kissing Faith’s forehead. I think this is one of the more beautiful moments I’ve ever seen on television.
Next up: Angel season one and Buffy season four, under the guidance of my friend and Buffyverse Guru Jenny Nelson.
I had a few trepidations going into this movie. I loved the first two X-Men movies, especially X2, but the director of those two movies (Bryan Singer) was gone, replaced (after some turmoil and a late resignation) by the guy who did Rush Hour (Brett Ratner). Also, I’m told Halle Berry was granted more creative control, which I think we can all agree is not a good thing. So sure, I was excited to see the mutant world brought to life on screen again, but I was a little worried that this one might really suck.
Maybe that’s what helped me enjoy it so much.
So I’ve finished watching the Season Two DVDs of Buffy. Overall, I loved them. I thought the shows in this season were a huge leap over season one. There was more emotional depth, wonderfully engaging story arcs with real impact on the characters, great snappy dialogue, and some excellent acting, especially from Sarah Michelle Gellar. Further scattered thoughts below:
1) First off, something I loved in season one but forgot to mention: significant events. TV series can sometimes feel like exercises in departing from and then returning to the status quo. Now, I really don’t have much solid ground to say that from, as I don’t watch a whole lot of TV, but it’s my (possibly flawed) perception that lots of shows don’t really tend to shake things up very much, or if they do, it’s usually in a season finale or something. So I was delighted to see an episode in the middle of the first season where the school principal is killed and eaten. Not that I was happy specifically to see him eaten, mind you, but killing off somebody who was up to that point a fairly significant supporting player felt like a key moment to me. I was put on notice: take nothing for granted. For the same reason, I love that Xander confesses his crush on Buffy during the final episode of season one. A different show might have strung along his unrequitedness for season after season, but not here. In the Buffyverse, things change and develop, and I love that. The trends certainly continue in season two: Willow hooks up with Oz, Xander hooks up with Cordelia, Buffy sleeps with Angel (who then loses his soul), Jenny Calendar dies. None of these events are even in a finale or anything. (And the finale throws twice as many change-ups just to stay big!) This feeling that (almost) anything can happen really helps ratchet up the narrative tension.
2) In the “not so much helping the narrative tension” department: knowing that Angel gets his own show in two seasons. There are plenty of advantages to watching shows on DVD rather than as they are aired — no commercials, no waiting, extras (about which more later.) But knowing that Angel gets his own show deflated a lot of the intensity around his turn to evil halfway into the season. I couldn’t really get invested in worrying about whether Buffy was going to kill him or not, and despite the fact that she finally does, I have a pretty strong feeling he’s probably going to be okay.
3) Speaking of spoilers, I am also officially off DVD extras until I have watched ALL episodes of Buffy and Angel. Stupid spoilery commentaries. That goes for you too, Television Without Pity recaps.
4) Cordelia certainly gets a lot more play this season, and she’s got some nice character moments, but she still seems cartoonier than the other characters. Pretty much everybody else (in the main cast, anyway) feels like a real person, but much of the time she’s still a walking cliche, sometimes gratingly so. For instance: saying that the hospitalized Willow shouldn’t undertake the gypsy ritual because her hair looks really flat? That was just too silly. I just can’t believe that a real person would say that, even a shallow high school girl. It’s as if the writers really relate to Buffy, Xander, Willow, Giles, and the rest, but can’t get a consistent handle on how to write Cordelia as a human being.
5) I’m still loving the riffs on horror tropes — the mummy, werewolf, Frankenstein monster, aliens, creature from the black lagoon, etc. It’s like a little parlor game to think about how each of these mythos might play out in the Buffyverse. I begin to wonder how much is left in this vein, though.
6) Man, what a great cast, both principals and more minor people. Seth Green is hilarious! I think the only things I ever saw him in were a couple of Austin Powers movies — he was fine there, but kind of a one-noter. His portrayal of Oz is making me a fan, though. Also, Alyson Hannigan is still super-cute, and Willow has pretty much emerged as my favorite character. I just read that Nicholas Brendon is my age, and thus probably graduated high school about 10 years prior to playing a high schooler. Apparently I’m willing to suspend a lot of disbelief about who can portray a high school student.
7) Okay, I’m confused about the second vampire slayer thing. I can accept that in the Buffyverse, once a slayer dies, the next one is called. What does “called” mean, though? Kendra says that her parents sent her away as a very young child to go train with her Watcher, but Buffy only died a few months ago in story time. What gives? I think I’m missing some key piece of lore. Are slayers-to-be somehow notified at an early age of their status? Did Buffy’s notice get lost in the mail or something? Also, what if a slayer lives to a ripe old age? Or middle age, even? Are there potential slayers who train and sacrifice but are never called?
Favorite episodes:
- When She Was Bad: Still my favorite episode of the season, and for that matter my favorite Buffy episode of those I’ve seen so far.
- Ted: This was easily my favorite “little bad” episode of the season. Seeing John Ritter play menacing is a lot of fun, for one thing. Also, when it looks as if Buffy has killed a normal human (albeit a nasty one) with her slayer strength, the episode gets extremely compelling. I know it’s not practical, but I almost wish they had been able to play out the murder thing a little further. Everything seemed like it was going in a completely unexpected and rich direction, and while the “bad guy is a robot” ending made everything much simpler, it also made me a little sad.
- Surprise/Innocence: These episodes worked for me in most of the ways they were supposed to work, but I was a little confused by Buffy and Angel’s choice to get it on when they’ve just barely evaded a bunch of vampires and the Judge. Didn’t anybody follow them? Don’t the vamps know where Angel lives?
- Passion: Jenny’s death made me gasp out loud.
- Becoming: After reading Daredevil and other Marvel comics of the past decade or so, I’ve discovered that I’m very interested in realistic treatments of secret identity issues and how they interact with the people you care about and the world at large. So I loved Buffy’s coming out to her mom, though “Have you tried not being a vampire slayer?” rang a little false.
Favorite moments:
- School Hard: I got a huge kick out of seeing Buffy take charge and kick ass, and I appreciated that this behavior won her mom’s respect rather than earning the stereotypical parent disapproval.
- Lie To Me: Buffy and Giles’ exchange at the end.
- Phases: I loved Giles’ glee at getting to research werewolves. “It’s one of the classics!”
- Bewitched, Bothered: Xander — “Do you know what’s a good day to break up with somebody? ANY DAY BESIDES VALENTINE’S DAY!”
- I Only Have Eyes For You: Seeing Buffy and Angel play out the lovers’ conversation we’d heard so many times throughout the episode, with the genders reversed, was a wonderful bit of drama. Also, it pointed out that Sarah Michelle Gellar has five times the intensity of any of the other actors who spoke those lines.
V For Vendetta is the best ever film adaptation of an Alan Moore work, though I concede that this is a dismally easy target to hit. Actually, I shouldn’t be so quick with the categorical statements, because I never saw From Hell. Still, even if it was three times as good as Swamp Thing, or especially the utterly wretched League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, I think I’m on safe ground. I read the graphic novel several years ago, and I’m not terribly gifted with a strong memory for things I’ve read, so I went into the movie with only faint remaining impressions of the plot and characters. I think this circumstance served me well — looking back at the book, I’m reminded that it’s much tougher and edgier than the movie, though I suppose the movie is fairly edgy for a mainstream studio picture. Also, the movie is a radical rearrangement of the book, with characters altered, subplots added and removed. I didn’t remember this when I watched the film — I just recalled pieces of the book as they cropped up in the movie’s plot. I’m glad the graphic novel wasn’t fresh in my mind, because my sketchy memory allowed me to enjoy the movie on its own terms.
There’s lots to enjoy, too. The visuals are as arresting as you might predict from a Wachowski-influenced production, and all the principal actors are excellent. Hugo Weaving is certainly the most technically impressive for delivering an emotional performance with his face entirely obscured throughout the whole movie, but Natalie Portman really sells Evey’s emerging core of strength, and Stephen Rea’s lived-in decency felt spot on for the movie’s version of Finch. Most importantly, though the film smooths out many of the book’s edges and drains some of its ambiguities, delineating heroes and villians much more sharply than Moore does, I think it largely keeps true to the tone of the original comic. In particular, the fact that the film retains V’s elaborate deception and torture of Evey, along with the Valerie story, means to me that the core of the original story is intact. Moreover, some of the changes that the film does make are excellent choices — for instance, trading out the Voice of Fate for an O’Reillyish talk-show demagogue gave the story a fine modern-media sheen. Also, changing “purity” to “unity” in Moore’s dystopian motto (“Strength through purity, purity through faith”) provided a nice echo to the “United We Stand” stickers that are on every third vehicle out here.
In fact, the movie demonstrates a deep consciousness of 9/11 and its implications, which the book obviously couldn’t have, published as it was in the late Eighties. Most blatantly, the screenplay injects a conspiracy-story wherein the British government leapfrogged to tyranny by causing a horrific outbreak of disease and blaming the casualties on terrorists. Riding the resultant wave of fear, and conveniently having in hand the plague’s cure, the film’s main villain acquires both absolute power and immense wealth. The new subplot dovetails ingeniously into the story, as the disease is a direct result of the experiments that created V himself. The message is quite clear that massive catastrophes are terribly fertile ground for exploitation by those who seek to gain power through manipulation of fear, so much so that if such people were extremely unscrupulous, they might seek to cause the catastrophe themselves. In the case of the movie’s plot, the outbreak itself was accidental (though it was the result of horrifically abusive government experimentation on marginalized people such as gays and lesbians), but its exploitation was quite calculated. The parallels to 9/11 and its aftershocks suggest themselves rather insistently. Now, I should make clear that I do not believe the September 11th attacks were instigated by the U.S. government. However, it’s hard to avoid the fact that those attacks were just about the best thing to ever happen to George W. Bush, and that the Republican party in general has gained enormous traction by exploiting the fears those events revealed. V For Vendetta is largely about fear and its relationship to freedom; that analysis is more timely than ever. Despite its dilution for consumption by the masses, its message remains potent and welcome.
One thing did bother me, though, which is that the movie seems far too in love with its own violence. Again, this is a Wachowski trait — the third act of The Matrix is basically straight-up gun porn, in my opinion. I was okay with the big explosions of empty buildings in V For Vendetta, but I could really have done without V’s final stand. In this scene, V suddenly reveals himself as a badass knife fighter, and the points of his whirling blades leave sparkling traces in the air as they arc magnificently towards people’s heads. Blood geysers into the air, lovingly photographed in slow motion as victim after victim falls to a gruesome end. It is repellent, but the film tries very hard to make us feel like it’s cool. I suppose that there’s an argument to be made that the reason this fight scene is so gory is to remind us of the ugly visceral results of the violence that V advocates, but I don’t think so. The knife-trails are too reverent, the close-ups too breathless. No, the film has just fallen into the deep rut of Hollywood-actionese as V wades through minion after minion to get to the level boss, whom he strangles cathartically. After all the time the movie spends making him a complex character, one in love with art and culture, it reduces him to just another action figure superhero at its end.
By the way, the book’s version of that last stand? Finch shoots V four times, and V throws one knife back, hitting his target in the shoulder. Then V bleeds to death as he walks home.
I’m one of those people who never watched an episode of Buffy while it was on. I knew it was supposed to be good, and I had many friends who were fervent fans, but I just didn’t have more time to set aside for TV. Then I saw Serenity, loved it, bought the Firefly DVDs, loved them, read Astonishing X-Men, liked it a lot, and long after all his shows have been cancelled, I am now a disciple in the cult of Whedon. Let’s hear it for the advent of full-season DVD collections, which allow me to systematically catch up on what I’ve missed. I finished watching season one of Buffy, and here are a few offhand observations:
- The plotting etc. got much better as the season went on. However, there are some things I still wish they’d explain. Like, how can a school have all these murders and stuff and not attract the attention of the media? If even one of those deaths happened at a real school it would be big news. I can easily accept the vampires and witches and so forth, but I’d like at least a handwavy explanation for some of the surrounding logic problems. Also, if you have this were-mantis that only kills virgins, but she kills a fortyish science teacher in the beginning of the episode, does that mean the teacher was a virgin? He didn’t seem that nerdy.
- That Alyson Hannigan is super-duper-cute, and it sure makes me feel anxious when she is placed in jeopardy.
- It’s weird to me that Charisma Carpenter shows up in the opening credits. Cordelia seems like such a minor character, really hardly showing up at all except in the pilot and “Out of Mind Out Of Sight.” Yeah, according to Joss in the commentary she gets a bigger role later, but she hardly seemed like a regular this season. Which reminds me…
- I wish the commentaries and biographies would be a bit more spoiler-conscious. Joss tends to say stuff like “…when we blew up the school in Season 3,” which is kind of a letdown for those of us who weren’t along for the initial ride. I started watching the extras on disc 1 and in like the first 10 seconds of the first extra somebody says “Angel is a vampire”, which isn’t revealed until a disc 2 episode. Okay, granted, I pretty much knew this already from the summaries given to me by Buffyphile friends, but still. One of those Buffyphiles, my friend Jenny, refuses to watch any extras on a TV DVD until she’s watched all the season’s episodes, and I totally adopted her method, but this doesn’t help when people are spoiling later seasons. Stop it, people!
- I always read that X-Files (another show I never got around to watching) had its “mythos/continuity” episodes and its “monster-of-the-week” episodes, and it seems like Buffy is structured similarly. According to Jenny, these are known in the Buffyverse as the “Big Bads” and the “Little Bads”, which is a taxonomy I can get behind. I really liked some of the Little Bads that drew the metaphors between adolescent stuff and horror movie stuff, like “The Witch”, “The Pack”, and “Out of Mind Out of Sight”.
On the whole, I enjoyed it a lot. On to season 2!
I never saw the original King Kong, nor the 1976 remake, so all I knew of the big monkey was from parodies and film clips. Still, I liked Peter Jackson’s work on Lord Of The Rings, and I’m a fan of the principal actors involved in his version of King Kong, so I thought I’d give it a try.
Those who know me well know that I’m strongly drawn to systems, randomness, and the interaction between systems and randomness. Little private systems govern many of the decisions I make, and many others are made on some random basis, or perhaps some combination of the two. For instance, I don’t pick out what I’m going to wear each day, because I don’t want to devote mental energy to that. Instead, my clothes get randomized in the laundry process (though that process does clump them into groups according to darkness and lightness.) Then I stack or hang them in the order they come out of the dryer, and rotate through them in that order. Because I’m aware of (though not very bothered by) the concept of color clash, I make a token effort to purchase only black, white, grey, and blue clothes, but there are a lot of exceptions. Regardless of those, I don’t think I’ve ever rejected a random set of clothes out of some concern about clashing.
That’s just one example of many. Randomness is important enough to me that I try to always have a random number generator available. I keep dice in my house, in my car, in my office, and on my person. I even wrote a random number engine for the Palm Pilot that allows me to get an arbitrary number of random digits between an arbitrary set of bounds, with the upper bound either staying fixed or descending by one at each iteration (to represent a set which decreases by one every time an element of it is selected.) I use these numbers (along with some fixed systems) to determine what music I’ll listen to, what food I’ll eat, what movie I’ll see, what task I’ll complete, and so on.
Why do I behave this way? That’s a question with many answers, some of which could probably only be unearthed by a crack psychologist. One answer is that it is my coping mechanism to deal with a world of too much choice. Confronted with a menu, I am usually without preferences — everything appeals to me about equally. Faced with a list of tasks whose priority is roughly equal, I find myself completely at a loss for which one I should begin. Randomizing and systematizing these choices takes them out of my hands, which is a huge relief. This method also carries the side benefit of forcing me to be more adventurous that I might otherwise be, leading me to new tastes and experiences that I wouldn’t choose on my own.
With all this in mind, you’d think that I would love The Dice Man, a novel about living a randomized life. I didn’t, but before I go into that, a little explanation about the book itself. The ad copy on its jacket proclaims it to be a novel, but its text and its author attribution stake out a more autobiographical space — the main character and the author are both called “Luke Rhinehart.” In fact, the truth is somewhere in the middle. The Dice Man is a fictional novel, and Luke Rhinehart is a nom de plume for author George Cockcroft, but Cockcroft himself, like Rhinehart, is a psychology PhD who advocates the use of dice to efface the self and expand the boundaries of life. The book was apparently somewhat of a cult hit in the early ’70s, and has remained on the underground radar since then, at least enough to stay in print.
The story goes like this: Luke Rhinehart, successful New York psychiatrist with a wife and two kids, was bored. Drifting in an ocean of ennui, he briefly clung to different philosophies, like Zen or Freudianism, but found no satisfaction. Then one night, following a whim, he decided to let a diceroll determine whether he’d initiate a drastic, formerly unthinkable action. The die said yes, and from that point forward he began to use random numbers to determine more and more pieces of his life, down to what persona he would adopt in a given moment and what short-range and long-range directions he would allow his life to take. He even developed a kind of psychotherapy based on these tenets, and opened “dice centers” to bring his philosophy to the public. The book ends with him as the ultimate embodiment of chaos, in heroic flight from the oppressive forces of order, i.e. The Man.
The problem with all this is that Rhinehart is a despicable human being, a full-time narcissist and part-time sociopath. The action that he lets the die prompt? Raping his downstairs neighbor. (Those are his words, and though the act isn’t as violent you might imagine, complicated by his victim’s listless attraction to him and her lack of clear boundaries, it is still essentially nonconsensual sex, in my opinion.) Throughout the book, he remains resolutely unwilling to respect or even recognize the effects his behavior has on others, treating them instead as objects or stimuli. His quest is to relieve his boredom, and he executes it as if he were the only human in a world full of automata, or perhaps a world full of NPCs. He allows the dice to take him in reprehensible directions, up to and including murder. He also deploys the random method in ways that would make him so annoying as to be intolerable. For instance, at a party, he elects to adopt a new, dice-chosen personality every ten minutes, with those personalities ranging from “mute moron” to “uninhibited sex maniac.”
The Dice Man reminds me that the random method is a tool, and it’s only as good as the person using it. What makes it work or not work are the choices you give it. It’s one thing to roll the dice in order to decide whether to listen to the radio or play a CD. It’s quite another thing to roll the dice in order to decide whether to listen to the radio or strangle your cat. The inclusion of an insane choice does not implicate the random method itself, but rather its user. The idea of using dice as therapeutic tools for people who are stuck in repetitive, obsessive thought patterns and behaviors is a very interesting one, but invariably Rhinehart would urge that some of the options given to the die be harmful to others, simply for the transgressive nature of such inclusions. This wrinkle more than outweighs any possible benefit that the method might contain.
This is right about the time I should point out that this novel is a satire, and that much of its amorality is seemingly intended as black comedy. I’m a fan of dark humor in general, but I’m not a fan of cruel humor, and I would argue that much of The Dice Man falls into the latter category. The absurd and extreme nature of Rhinehart’s behavior often struck me as horrifying rather than funny; the emotional and physical damage he inflicts on his family and friends isn’t a joke unless we see these targets as ludicrous or deserving in themselves. The book doesn’t successfully portray them that way. There are some very witty sentences and some clever turns of phrase, but the story as a whole just isn’t that funny to me. It also may be that the intended satirical target is the self-help and psychoanalysis culture of the late ’60s and early ’70s, and that I’m just too distanced from that culture to appreciate the lampooning.
The cover copy of The Dice Man boasts that the novel will change my life. It didn’t, but it helped ground me in the life I’m already living. I embrace randomness as a way to help me make decisions and to prod me out of my comfort zone, but I reject Rhinehart’s notion of becoming The Random Man, ostensibly abandoning all concept of self to random options. (I say ostensibly because there is still a self that creates those options, and to consistently value, say, a wide moral variety in the options created is to retain the very self that Rhinehart purports to have dissolved.) We both create options for the dice to choose, but I have no use for options that do violence to myself or others — the dice can select my lunch and my music, but I like my marriage just fine as it is, thanks.
Last year, Marvel released a set of CD-ROMs containing the first 500 issues of Amazing Spider-Man digitized into PDF format, along with the character’s debut in Amazing Fantasy #15. This set differs from previous reprints in that the entire issues were scanned — letter columns, Bullpen Bulletins (I’ll explain in a second), ad pages, and all. I received the set as an Easter gift, and geek that I am, I proceeded to read them all. I finished in September. Here’s some of what I learned from reading 40 years’ worth of comics in the space of a few months:
The Bullpen Bulletins tell a story of their own. For those of you uninitiated into the Marvel mystique, Bullpen Bulletins are a page that appears (or, rather, used to appear) in most every Marvel comic. They’re kind of a combination of company newsletter, editorial page, and shameless hype machine. Part of the charm of Marvel’s approach, at least for the first part of its existence, is the way that it tried to humanize both its creators and itself as a company. This is evident in things like the innovation of displaying credits at the beginning of each comic (as opposed to the anonymity creators suffered in earlier eras), but it shines most clearly in the Bulletins. At least once a year, sometimes much more, the page would detail some editorial reshuffling that had occurred at the company, explaining in painstaking detail who’d changed offices, who’d moved on to freelancing, who’d been promoted, and so on. Why should we care about such internal company activities? Because we’re part of the Marvel family, that’s why! For a long stretch in the ’80s, each bulletin boasted a “Pro File”, wherein a Marvel staffer would answer a questionnaire along the lines of “My greatest ambition in the comics industry is:” and “People who knew me in High School thought I was:”. Frequently, the page would contain a “Stan’s Soapbox” section, where Stan Lee would dispense some of his thoughts about life, answer questions from readers, or (far more often) shill for the company’s latest product.
To read the Bulletins page through the years is to watch the waves of hype swell and recede. In the beginning, the page consisted of rather naive, personal communiques, to be replaced by the hard sell in the ’70s. The ’80s reign of Editor In Chief Jim Shooter meant that the hype got contained to a small section called (appropriately) “The Hype Box”, while the rest of the page contained lame gags, softball scores, and grainy pictures from the company Christmas party. Bullpen Bulletins in the ’90s were mainly slick advertisements for upcoming art and (to a far lesser extent) storylines, reflecting the dominance of the artist during that era. In fact, it wasn’t just one page anymore — Marvel comics suddenly featured huge spreads hawking the latest Big Thing. Finally, in the last few years, the page has disappeared altogether, due in part to the sudden prominence of the Internet as the primary channel for company communications.
Today’s pro is yesterday’s letterhack. Along with the Bullpen Bulletins, these scans offered the pleasure of The Spider’s Web, Amazing‘s longtime letter column. Marvel’s evolution is on display here too. In the early days, they gushingly offer free subscriptions to servicemen, non-Americans, and people who say really nice things. They also give out plenty of “no-prizes”, a clever non-award to acknowledge fan contributions and corrections without actually spending any money. When they admit a mistake, it’s with great self-deprecation, expressing amazement that they only made a dozen errors rather than a thousand. As the years went on, the free subscriptions dried up and the no-prize policy got much stricter, demanding that fans only point out substantive mistakes, and that those who find a mistake also find a way to explain it away. Of course, the tighter policy is understandable in the face of thousands of letters saying things like, “In issue #167, on page 2, panel 4, the I in Spidey’s dialogue balloon really looks more like a T. Please send me a no-prize.” Then again, Marvel rather haplessly encouraged this kind of behavior when it introduced a “credentials” system that allowed no-prize winners to list spiffy-looking initials after their names when they write in.
Probably the most fun aspect of reading the old lettercols was the regular appearance of people who made big names for themselves in comics well after their letters were published. From Steve Gerber to Evan Dorkin, dozens of future comics professionals first poked their heads into view by writing a letter to Spider-Man. You can sometimes even see a hint of what’s to come, as when Gerber shows an early flair for boundary-testing by suggesting that Spidey team up with Millie The Model, from Marvel’s “girly” line. Probably the least fun aspect of the letters are the boneheaded and/or bloodthirsty suggestions people make in them. There’s usually at least one letter demanding that somebody be killed off, and at least one opining that the story should go in some ridiculous direction like Peter joining the Army or Norman Osborn getting resurrected. (Oh, whoops. That last one actually happened. Maybe the bonehead who wrote that letter went on to become a comics pro.)
There’s a coming-of-age story between the lines. The Bulletins and letters pages both tell stories of growth and change, but that story is most apparent when reading these extra materials in conjunction with the stories themselves. The explosion of early creativity at Marvel is legendary — in the space of a few years Lee, Kirby, and Ditko created the Fantastic Four, The Hulk, Spider-Man, Thor, the Avengers, the X-Men, Iron Man, Daredevil, Dr. Strange, and many more heroes, not to mention all the villains and groundbreaking storylines. During this time, Marvel seems constantly amazed at its own success. When a radio DJ somewhere in the country would mention Marvel comics on the air, a Bullpen Bulletins page would proudly announce the fact, marveling at how their sleepy little company was garnering the attention of the “mass media.” When the first t-shirts and merchandise appeared, emblazoned with Spider-Man and the other Marvel heroes, the ad copy almost boggles at the fact, much as I might if people were suddenly buying t-shirts with my picture on them. All in all, it feels innocent and childlike, all wild imagination and gee-whiz enthusiasm. Then, as its prosperity continued, the company settled into a long fertile period of superhero creativity, even as it continually tried (with limited success) to expand its comics into romance, horror, science fiction, and one movie adaptation after another. The first real seeds of trouble in the superhero realms appeared in the ’80s, with a massive crossover event called “Secret Wars.” The story removed every major Marvel hero from their regular storylines, transporting them to a “battle planet” where they fought all the big-time supervillains. It was a one-dimensional action figure fantasy. It lobotomized every character, squashing them into caricatures of themselves. It sold like gangbusters. (I’m as guilty as anybody — I own a complete set of not only Secret Wars but its abysmal sequel.)
From that time, Marvel began an accelerating decline into the sordid life of the gimmick junkie. In just a few years, comic-store shelves overflowed with holograms, inserted trading cards, die-cut covers, endless crossovers, multi-part stories requiring the purchase of separate titles, and on and on. The lovable kid company was suddenly a troubled adolescent who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. What’s worse, the ascendancy of the marketing department had disastrous effects on the actual stories being told, which I’ll discuss a little more in the next item. Meanwhile, Marvel itself was spiraling into bankruptcy, driven by the collapse of a collector’s speculative “bubble” and by the greed and misjudgment of then-owner Ron Perelman. Reading these comics felt like watching a steadily increasing corruption of innocence. There’s a happy ending to this story, though, or at least I think there is. When Joe Quesada became Editor-In-Chief of Marvel, he presided over an increase in quality and a decrease in gimmicky crap. That is not to say that Marvel’s quality is now uniformly high, nor that gimmickry is entirely gone, but things are much, much better than they were ten years ago. The company is now like a college student, its stupid days fewer and farther between as it finds its adult identity.
My dream job has just as much dysfunctional office crap as my real job. Probably more. In my opinion (and there’s a fair amount of consensus on this), the creative nadir of Amazing Spider-Man was the horrendously complicated and unbelievably bloated “Clone Saga.” This story stretched, astonishingly, over two years (1994-1996) and dozens of issues. It was a sequel of sorts to a plotline from 20 years earlier, in which a supervillain called The Jackal clones both Peter Parker and his dead first love, Gwen Stacy, resulting in a number of reader fakeouts before a big “Spidey vs. himself” battle. The clone dies at the end of this battle, and Spider-Man incinerates its remains in an industrial furnace. Or so it would appear. This first story was kind of stupid, but at least it only lasted a few issues. The Clone Saga brought back the Peter Parker clone, revealing that it had never really died after all, but instead had hit the road and established a separate identity as “Ben Reilly,” only returning to New York upon somehow finding out that Aunt May was ailing (as if that were somehow a new state of affairs.) That was the beginning. From there, surprising endings, bizarre revelations, and freak twists piled upon each other in ascending order of absurdity. By the time the whole thing had wrapped up there were at least three different Peter Parker clones and two different Spider-Men; Peter and Mary Jane’s fetal daughter had suffered either a stillbirth, an infanticide, or a kidnapping (it’s never made definitively clear); Aunt May was dead (killed off in an emotional issue whose story was later to be totally overturned); and Norman Osborn was alive (Norman was the original Green Goblin, whose death had occurred in a classic, landmark 1972 issue, an issue whose power was respected for 23 years before being trampled upon by an army of clones.) Most egregious of all, Reilly was revealed to have been the real Peter Parker all along, which meant that the guy we’d been reading about, rooting for, and empathizing with for the last twenty years was suddenly drained of legitimacy. My friend Trish aptly compared this revelation to those TV shows where we suddenly discover that the last three seasons have all been a dream or a drug trip or something.
Reading these issues is an exercise in frustration, not least because so many of them are just story fragments. See, Marvel was publishing four different Spider-Man titles at the time, and marketing figured out that if you published a four-part story with one part in each title, everybody’s sales would go up. Nevermind the fact that scattering a story across multiple writers and artists made for a less-than-satisfying reading experience, or that people who just subscribed to one title could never possibly follow what the heck was going on. Succor came for me in the form of a 35-part series of articles about the Clone Saga, published on the web by Andrew Goletz and Glenn Greenberg. This series, titled “The Life of Reilly”, does an invaluable service by summarizing the action in the many clone issues I don’t own, but the behind-the-scenes information it provides is even better. Goletz is a fan writer, but Greenberg actually worked at Marvel during the clone era, editing and writing several of the involved books. His comments illuminate a wretched tale of editorial turnover, meddling, and mismanagement, paired with increasing corporate greed and rudderlessness. The story was originally intended to span only a few issues, but as those initial issues were published, Marvel’s owners restructured all of its editorial departments, eliminating the position of Editor-In-Chief and replacing it with five different “group editors.” The clone story (not yet a saga) got stretched a bit, the plot treading water during this transition. However, marketing noticed that those first issues had sold like crazy, and issued marching orders to the editorial side: “More clones!” From there, things spiraled horribly out of control as writers, editors, and marketeers all struggled against each other and their predecessors, creating an unfixable, irredeemable garbage heap of a story.
When the whole thing finally petered out (uh, no pun intended), the Reilly revelation was overturned and the original Peter Parker restored in a book emphatically retitled “Peter Parker: Spider-Man.” But the damage was done. New Editor-In-Chief (yeah, the position was reinstated) Bob Harras, who comes off as quite the jackass in “Life Of Reilly”, had finally shoved through a series of catastrophically bad decisions that ended the Clone Saga to the satisfaction of virtually no one. Reading these comics in conjunction with Greenberg’s insider comments was very instructive for me. See, it’s easy to fall into a mental trap about work, the belief that a job that holds particular appeal will also lack everything that’s unappealing about other jobs. Not true. It might be my dream job to write Spider-Man, but at least if I were doing it during the ’90s, it would still be terribly frustrating, rife with just as much bureaucratic chaos and boneheaded management as any other corporate job.
This comicbook is recyclable. When Peter Parker decided to give up being Spider-Man in issue #50, it was a great story and a landmark moment in the comic, one that still gets respect 35 years later (as evidenced by its reverential treatment in the second Spider-Man movie.) Every subsequent time he decides to discard his superheroic identity is progressively sillier and less powerful. The thing is, at this point, we know he’s coming back. Even in the Clone Saga, when the writers really did intend to banish Peter Parker for good, it didn’t happen. It will never happen, at least not as long as Spider-Man is being published. There is really no benefit to pursuing that plotline, and yet it crops up over and over again. Reading 500 issues of Spider-Man all in a row really demonstrates how much idea recycling some writers do. I’m not talking about the simple reappearance of certain villains, or even about thematic elements like the Daily Bugle persecuting an innocent Spidey. That kind of repetition can actually be welcome, since the reappearance of certain characters over a decades-long story can be powerful, as long as there’s some feeling of difference between this appearance and the last one. Similarly, repetition is what makes a theme a theme, though variations on a theme are even more satisfying. Less satisfying are literal plot repetitions. Mary Jane has a stalker at least twice. Aunt May is dead, then alive, multiple times. I’ve lost track of how many Spider-Women there have been. Is it just that there are no new ideas left after all these years? Certainly not — current writer J. Michael Straczynski keeps pushing the series into new and interesting areas. Which brings me to my last point…
For me, it’s all about the writer. Reading comics from the ’80s and ’90s reminds me what a big deal artists are to some people. I’m not wired that way. Sure, the art has an effect on me — sometimes positive, sometimes negative. I can recognize and appreciate the creative contributions of certain artists, like Steve Ditko’s wild designs, John Romita’s polished romanticism, or Todd McFarlane’s very spidery take on Spider-Man’s action poses. On the flip side, bad art can certainly ruin a story for me — if I never see another comicbook woman with breasts the size of her head, it’ll be too soon. Even so, I’m a word person. I come to music for the lyrics. I come to interactive fiction for the writing. And I come to comics for the stories. That means that no matter who the artist is, when I read something by a really good Spidey writer, I’ll probably enjoy it. Conversely, no amount of great art can save a terrible story, which is bad news for people like Howard Mackie. So, in that spirit, here are my top five favorite writers and their major contributions to Amazing, in case you’d like to seek out the best stuff rather than read every single freaking issue:
- Stan Lee: Of course. #1-#118
- Gerry Conway: Death of Gwen Stacy and the Green Goblin, as well as some other seminal stuff. #111-#149
- Roger Stern: The Hobgoblin and some very solid ’80s stories. #206-#252
- J.M. DeMatteis: Kraven’s Last Hunt and some of the only good characterization done during a rather dire era. #293, #294, #389-#406
- J. Michael Straczynski: At last, Spidey is funny and thrilling again. #471-#524, and still going. Note that #471-#499 are numbered as volume 2, #30-#58 for reasons too annoying to explain.
Those are just writers who’ve contributed to Amazing — others deserving honorable mention are Brian Michael Bendis (Ultimate Spider- Man), Chris Claremont (some great mid-period Marvel Team-Ups and others), and Kurt Busiek (Untold Tales of Spider-Man).