17052--Sometimes You Just Have to Sing

You ever get a song in your head you can only seem to get off your mind by singing it?  Yeah, me neither.  What I did do was go to the theater recently to see Man of Steel.

Let's get a few things clear:

1. I don't really set out to do movie reviews here.  You have your opinions.  I have mine.
2. I only go to see very few movies at the theater for a few socio-economic reasons that I'll be happy to detail if you like.
3. I think I had a third thing, but I don't remember what it was.

Anyway, Superman movies are usually going to get me into the theater because...well, my first flight efforts had me airborne off the dining room table at age three.  The launch platforms escalated from there till my parents (though they deny it to this day) made the cape my grandmother made me disappear.  My first comics were kid comics (literal funny books) and Superman.  When I was able, lots of old comics, kid comics, etc were sold or traded for more "Superman" comics...and "Superboy" and "Adventure" (starring either Superboy or Superboy and the Legion of Super-heroes).  I love superheroes, but I still haven't seen Iron Man 3 or Amazing Spiderman yet.  The point is, you make a Superman movie, go ahead and get a ticket ready for me.

This one really must've made an impact on me because I want to talk about it.  I don't want to tie-up Twitter and Facebook timelines with my blather.  This is where I'm supposed to blather.  If you've come here, you were looking for my blather.  So, here it is and don't blame me.  You came looking for it, after all.

I've been saying for a while that Superman needed a movie that wasn't putting him on a pedestal and showcasing his majesty, instead giving us a display of the power embodied in the world's greatest superhero.  I wanted to see him square off against some villain who wasn't Lex Luthor in bone-jarring fight scenes rather than ballet choreographies.  You don't rocket him at an opponent at mach five only to slow down for a jaw tap or a toe kick.  Man of Steel covered all that.  All the fighting that wasn't in Superman the Movie, Superman II, and Superman Returns (Bryan Singer's sequel/tribute to the other two) found its way into Man of Steel.  Superman gets to break a few sweats this time out, having multiple skirmishes against multiple Kryptonians and Kryptonian tech.  He gets to dig deep to bring out his hero.  It's the sort of challenge he needed.  Even Jor-El managed to get in a little action.  And he was a badass.  I've always considered him to be Krypton's non-artistic DaVinci.  This time, they also made him a little bit of a hippie, not too far from John Byrne's post-Crisis conception (Lara moreso), breaking the rules to have a kid the way he and Lara wanted, and then get him off-planet.  Plus, Jor-El got to put Born-to-be-a-general Zod on his ass, something Zod pretty much deserves whenever possible.  I suppose that means what we used to say at IBM was true: you can do anything you want on your last day.

Lara Lor-Van also came off as a bit of a hippie, which is something of a stretch for her.  Jor-El's always been an out-of-the-box thinker known to disagree with the Science Council on occasion, but Lara?  She was an astronaut and a rocket scientist, so her opening scene really seemed odd till Jor-El explained their anti-establishment ways.  I was watching and wondering why they didn't have a way to make her more comfortable till they explained that the couple was trying something that hadn't been done in centuries.

Anyway, great fights.  They were gritty, visceral and full of inertia.  You can feel the punches all the way in the cheap seats.  If Kryptonian biology possesses a super hormone equivalent to testosterone, Metropolis and Smallville (besides looking worse than the City of Townsville after a busy day for the Powerpuff Girls) are going to be thick with the scent of tough guys.  Better than putting him on a pedestal, he was shown as being able to earn the trust of the suspicious and paranoid and to inspire hope in the most desperate hearts.  These are qualities that make him our greatest hero, best of the best, willing to sacrifice himself for the people as well as fight for them.

WWSD?
He also has that big heart.  He's compassionate and self-sacrificing, making the hard choices rather than the easy ones.  What Would Superman Do?  The right thing.  I always trust that.  It also informs me to keep an eye on anyone who doesn't like Superman or says they can't relate to him because he's "too good".  If you feel like he's too good, then you know you can be better than you are.  He's inspiration, the ultimate role model.  I wish Zack Snyder could've understood that.

KRYPTONIAN TOYS
The Kryptonian technology and Krypton itself were distinctively stylish, sort of a melding of Byrne's post-Crisis Krypton and Gallifrey, shaped by the nanotech and ultra-physics of an ancient people who were squeezing all they could from their world but forgot to use their mastery of fundamental forces to renew and recycle.  Oh, it was so sad.  Krypton was dying and there was just no talking her leaders back from the precipice.  There's a Klingon adage that says "Only a fool fights in a burning house," but heeding advice was a low priority on doomsday.  Jor-El and Lara, were you the last of Krypton's abandoned wisdom?  I guess I'll look to sequels to see if our favorite farm boy is able to harness his lost world's technologies or pull any special surprises out of his nanotech fabricated super suit.

SO MANY KRYPTONIANS 
Like the fights, more Kryptonian survivors than in all the other films combined.  I wish I hadn't had to wait for the credits for all the names because you only put the characters they did in a film like this to thrill fans who know them.  If you're going to do that, find a way to name them in the film so I know who you're trying to show me.  Remembering that Faora Hu-Ul is a dangerous badass (second longest sentence in the phantom zone, folks) was something I was glad wasn't overlooked.  In the comics, she was a solo act.  People who grow to be serial killers usually are.  Faora was a man-hating sexual predator, practitioner of klurkor (Kryptonian unarmed combat) with mastery of horo-kanu (a martial style focusing on pressure point manipulation) and kept a freezer that would've put a scare into Jeffrey Dahmer.  On top of all that, her oft-forgotten psychic pain induction power doesn't contribute to her tolerating men who think themselves her equal or more, either.  Putting her in the military or teaming her with Zod, which has become popular, holds her back.  She's given Superman (and the other phantom zone felons) plenty of trouble on her own and is proud of it.

About the villains, let me also say this: Zod's head.  General Dru Zod (portrayed by Michael Shannon) has got a positively striking head.  I don't know how else to say it.  I just love it.  It's a great villain head.  In fact, it may be one of the best villain heads ever.  It looks like an angry block of stone sitting atop his mass of armored warrior.  He was also well-played.  Both he and Superman are going to pull emotion from an audience.

It's not perfect.  It's far from perfect.  I was a little disappointed that there was no one speaking Kryptonian.  Let's just say that it's overdue.  As arrogant as most of Zod's pack was, it would've made more sense than learning to gibber like a bunch of primitives they were planning to kill in a few minutes anyway.  Oh, that's right, the surviving Kryptonians intend to restore their lost civilization on Earth, but without the annoying part about sharing the world.  As if the genocide weren't bad enough, I don't know how they intended to succeed.  They made mention of Krypton's many colony attempts on other worlds that had all failed dismally without Krypton's support.  That 100% failure rate didn't seem to bother them, though, they were ready to make another stab at it here.  They were devoted to the party line instilled by genetic engineering and nurture, but practicing on Venus or Mars would've made more sense.

I wasn't thrilled with whatever they thought they were doing with the phantom zone, making Jor-El's cheap and easy system of incarceration into a complicated quantum mechanics ordeal that probably shouldn't have been experimented with near any home worlds.  It seems an interesting Kryptonian hobbyist project, but it just doesn't sit well with me as a "phantom zone".  Even when it was a flying crystal cage or mobile dimensional inversion (also wrong), it resulted in Zod holding Jor-El responsible for his banishment.  With Jor-El the developer of the projector (comics) and a member of the Science Council, he was directly connected with the extradimensional exile of every one of Krypton's worst.  Later, his son would draw their enmity by either continuing to keep them imprisoned or thwarting their escape attempts.  Worse still, Jor-El didn't find a realm of sunny beaches and lollipops.  Time in the zone isn't going to make anyone less crazy.  Regretful maybe, but not less crazy.

I could certainly have done without Superman failing to live up to his full heroic stature.  He has it for a bit, but then loses his grip on it.  By that, I mean that the most painful parts for me to watch came in his failure to protect so very many lives and then killing Zod.  He's Superman.  People may die, but not because he didn't try to save them and he certainly doesn't kill.  He makes the hard choices and uses the options his powers and intellect afford him to find another way.  The bad guys try to kill.  Superman opposes them.  Hollywood seems to get that on TV (good guys are falling all over themselves to not kill on TV), but not in the movies.  Stop taking shortcuts, especially with the superheroes.  Being a hero means something special and that's one thing that defines Superman.  He doesn't just go crazy and stop being Superman, especially not just because the director of the week can relate better to a character who kills than to a hero who doesn't.  There are reasons he's the outstanding, shining example.  Killing is not among these.

Speaking of crazy, I'm not crazy about all the monkeying with Superman's suit that's been going on for the last couple of decades.  I love the classic suit, but not having it here didn't hurt the film.  No one seems to know what to do with a secret ID anymore, though.  This film included, but it plays on both sides of the fence.  Clark seems to care a bit about it in regard to the world-at-large, but I also get the feeling that it became the worst-kept secret in Smallville.  For a minute, I was reminded of watching the TV series with people pressing for full disclosure of secrets that were none of their damned business.  Tediously cheap attempt at drama.  Learn to say "Thank you" and leave the guy alone; stop trying to kill the golden goose.  And do something about the teeth.  There are some folks, including some of the "perfect" Kryptonians, who have some...distracting teeth.  Either cast better, stop doing close-ups, fit them with prosthetics or CGI the damned things, but WOW.  I'm also pretty sure that it wasn't a political statement (Superman doesn't do those), but he takes a hilariously clear position on the domestic use of surveillance drones.  HA! 

Hollywood will make me happier if they stop making reboots.  I find them lazy and as annoying as the comic companies glutting their market with #1 issues.  We know our superheroes.  I probably won't see this one in the theater again, but I will get a home version eventually and I'm sure I'll watch it at least as much as Superman Returns (which isn't often, but every now and again).  If you've read this far, you should check it out, too.

16912--Child of Fire and Blood (Ch. 4)

The trouble starts over on the Theobroma page. I've decided to continue it out here with a few chapters for your perusal.  Enjoy a taste of Tarakk prior to indulging in the whole novel. Feedback or questions on the world, its people, their gods or whatever are equally welcome.

CHILD OF FIRE AND BLOOD

FOUR

All of the Charis’colia was represented, when not by the ultimate leadership of each noble faction, at least by those close to it through blood or rank. Likewise, there were several representatives present from foreign governments who had been in Crown City conducting business. Though presented as a palace gala, there was far more afoot than merely the return of Alban’s prince or even the bounty of desperately needed foods he had brought to save the people from starvation. Even with hearts made light by the abatement of the food crisis, there still remained an oppressive weight on the minds of the people of Alban.

“Mak Tares, there you are,” Duchess Cella of the Fifth Tribe greeted the Ling Mountain clan’s High Lord. “I’ve just been talking with the trade envoy from Zadiasam, that Kent Haleen person.”

“Pleasant enough fellow,” Mak Tares said, “but was he able to give you a better answer to when we would receive full food shipments than he gave me?”

“Sadly, no. His government complains of terrorist bombings on land and pirates at sea. I continue to hear rumors that insist little is being done in Zadiasam to rectify the loss of our promised shipments and some to suggest their government is the actual cause of our problems. Meanwhile, Alban starves and you and I are overdue for this year’s contract negotiation,” she told him, a glass of stout dark wine in one hand and a small plate of meats and fruits in the other. “Our commerce secretaries need to confer.”

“I would think you’d be more concerned about this plague that’s killing people off,” Mak Tares responded grimly. “I would think that that would hold a far higher priority than routine business issues, your grace.”

“The prices you charge for your transit routes may be routine to you, but--”

“What’s important to me right now is the safety of my loved ones,” Mak Tares insisted with no attempt to conceal his annoyance. “Holiday or no, there’s no need for my family to be here!”

“Stay calm, Mak,” Cella urged him as she gently drew his attention to the event recording team spread throughout the room. “You don’t want to get too loud and become noticed.”

Cella drew his attention to a small fire opal in her hand, prompting his silence. No matter what contentions existed between the two, his respect for her wisdom remained paramount. Truly, on a larger scale, as leader of Fifth Tribe, the only body of the Colia considered mighty enough to independently challenge the Crimson Throne, Cella typically drew a quiet reverence at state gatherings. Even among the Charis'colia, her status was that of a celebrity. Though it was not in her nature to trade upon the esteem in which others held her, Cella’s presence alone commonly instilled hope in those around her. Holstered at her side, rather than a revered family sword that was typical in the warrior culture, she wore the metallic crystalline scepter Adamantine, symbol of her position and focus of her formidable discipline. As Cella closed the gem in her fist, she concentrated and whispered a short incantation too low for Mak Tares to understand. The stone began to glow a bright red.

“Alright,” she said, looking him in the eyes intently, “people will ignore us for a few seconds. Go ahead.”

“We’ve had absolutely no trace of this mystery illness in the Ling Mountains,” Mak Tares continued, drawing nearer to her, “yet it was for some reason deemed mandatory that my family and everyone else’s be trotted into the most densely populated part of the country for the Crimson Throne’s glorification of the Lost Prince.”

“We’re celebrating our hero,” Cella clarified. “He has saved us from piracy and famine and survived years away to return taller and more handsome than ever. A little tribute is a small price to pay, especially for one’s future king.”

“Seven hells, look at the empty space by her majesty’s side. Princess Treutelaar isn’t present for this circus and she lives here.”

“You know siblings,” Cella said. “At least pretend to look at the monitors occasionally.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“I appreciate your concerns, but try to calm yourself,” Cella said in her most soothing tones. “I don’t pretend to know much, but we haven’t had any solid indication that the disease is spread through contact or even proximity. It has resisted the efforts of both magic and medicine. That’s why the King’s Pale Pox is still a mystery and why it’ll probably be months before anyone can get another piece of amber through the Shadow Market at any price. King Tural has assured me personally that the situation will be one of tonight’s chief topics--sometime after the prince has finished yet another retelling of his pirate battles, I would assume. The rumors making the rounds say that the prince himself may have brought a solution to rid us of it.”

“Well, I suppose that’s slightly comforting…in its own way,” he said as her gemstone fell dark and crumbled into a scorched silica dust that she let fall to the floor.

“Good. Now, I don’t relish having my family endure these functions any more than you,” Cella assured Mak Tares, “but we can at least use the opportunity to introduce them to each other. You have little ones?”

“Yes, I do,” he smiled finally, “each one with a personal guard to keep them under control.”

“Clever,” Cella said. “I’ll have to assign some of those for my own hellions. What was their impression of the Nine?”

At their mention, both Duchess Cella and High Lord Tares looked upward at the vast throne room’s unique ceiling. Roughly thirty feet above the Crimson Throne, the stone ceiling sported a circular opening so wide as to take up two-thirds of the width and half the length of the great room. The large circle was ringed with polished onyx and gold, a gilded opening to the chamber above. There, they could see into the Celestial Temple where the mysterious Circle of Nine reposed in various meditative states. Beneath the Celestial Temple’s vaulted dome, sparkles and swirls of light played about glowing clouds and detached wizards, some sitting, some standing, others floating aimlessly.

“I haven’t visited here in months,” Cella said, still gazing upward, “but I must admit that the view is always astonishing.”

“Indeed,” Mak Tares said with a sigh, “though it might’ve been nice if those two had put some clothes on…at least, for the party.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, the two chuckling uncomfortably as they looked each other in the eyes once more. “Well, you know wizards.”

“A little better now than I would’ve preferred,” he said.

“They may not even know we’re all down here,” she said. “Now, you came in on that beautiful skyship, didn’t you?”

“The Emerald Star,” Mak Tares smiled, beaming at the thought of his gleaming, magically guided dirigible that proudly served as the flagship of his clan’s fleet. “Yes.”

“Your little ones must enjoy it immensely,” she said.

“Oh, they take great delight in every voyage,” he confirmed, “but not nearly so much as their father, I must confess.”

“Well, don’t keep them waiting,” Cella told him, urging him to continue on to his family. “I’ll find my brood and we’ll catch up with you directly. Perhaps, aboard your ship, we can speak more openly of…matters of concern to the Colia.”

Unnoticed by either noble, or by most anyone who was not supposed to notice them, agents of Clan Isharien moved smoothly among the scores of brightly garbed guests filling the palace’s sprawling throne room. Though some posed as servers, other Isharien agents played their roles as guests, subtly eavesdropping on virtually every conversation in the room for their masters. Mixing with the sounds of gentle music and chattering voices and their somber undertones were the scents of full-bodied wines, stout ales, fresh meats, succulent fruits and crisp vegetables which all helped to soften the moods and loosen the tongues of the assemblage.

Still, to any who had a sense of such things, the whole affair was obviously as much political as celebratory. The more adept navigators of the perilous waters of the royal court, like High Lord Tallas Vey of Ice-wolf Clan, never strayed too far from the vicinity of the royal family and the Crimson Throne. Rather than the king, though, it was the long-absent Lar Kwa who was the radiant star of the evening. Recounting tales of his celebrated travels, the heroically returned prince easily drew one enthralled listener after another into his orbit.

“Any great surprises you found awaiting you upon your return, my prince?” minor Lord Els Bardinn asked between sips of wine. “Or have the eastern pirates made you their king now that you have mastered them?”

“To be honest, one of my great surprises came at learning the profound affinity my tongue had retained for the tastes of home,” the prince proclaimed, hoisting his own glass to sniff at the rim before savoring another sip. “Foreign alcohols tend to be needlessly sweet.”

“To Alban,” one of the nobles raised her glass, prompting a wave of like murmurs and mimicked motions by others rushing to show their patriotism.

“What I do find nearly as eye-opening,” the prince continued, “is that a minor Second Tribe landlord would find within the purview of nobility the audacity to suggest that a prince of Alban would dare pretend cloak himself in some hollow mantle of foreign kingship.”

“I…my prince, I…”

“And within steps of the Crimson Throne, no less,” Lar Kwa added, draining his glass and shoving it into Bardinn’s trembling hand. “Bad form, Bardinn. Bad form. Perhaps it is time you withdrew to seek out your favorite tea. A happier tongue is less likely to betray you to treason and enable you to see another dawn.”

“Th-Th-Thank you, highness,” Bardinn stammered as he stumbled off through the crowd.

“Generous of you, my prince,” Lord Entouff said, offering the royal a fresh drink. “Refreshing.”

“Thank you,” Lar Kwa said, taking the glass from the corpulent noble. “You are Grand Otter of the Weasel Clan, so I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that a rude guest is better met with instruction and only by a rude response as a finality.”

“Clearly,” the black-and-red-draped noble said, “you’ve taken some time for study while roaming the world.”

“One way or another, minds and souls must be nourished,” the prince replied as the court listened on. “I took particular delight in the tales of Varen and Pokieri. They made many a night pass more easily.”

“Warriors of yours, Entouff?” Tallas Vey asked.

“The ancient founder of our clan and his companion, the symbol of our clan,” Entouff said.

“That six-legged beast?” Tallas Vey asked. “That’s supposed to be something real? Your founder’s pet?”

“Pokieri became the sacred symbol of Weasel Clan as the boon companion of Varen,” Entouff confirmed. “Where he came from we do not know. Some have guessed at sorcery, others at the work of the gods. The legends tell that Pokieri was a great grey wolverine that roamed the mountain forests of Charis. It was the size of a bear with claws that could rend stone. Its teeth and jaws could crush even the hardest gems. It ate rapaciously, a terror to those who dwelled in the valleys below its frigid home. Varen was the only man bold enough to seek it alone. He tracked the beast for months before he even laid eyes upon it. It was too clever for most traps and too strong for those that could catch it to hold.”

“He could not kill the creature?” Tallas Vey asked, his eyes darting between the smiling prince and the large storyteller.

“It’s fur was too thick,” Entouff said. “No spear or blade could pierce it any better than the bite of Arrecol’s winds. It wasn’t until Varen made camp and managed to build a fire where none should burn that he was able to draw Pokieri to him. The hunters solidified their mutual respect over cooked meat and survival.”

“Heartwarming,” Tallas Vey said.

“Isn’t it?” Lar Kwa responded. “I have a feeling you would enjoy reading those with your children. How old are they now?”

“Too old to sit still for story time anymore,” the Ice-wolf Clan’s high lord chuckled. “If I hadn’t brought them here, they’d have been likely to host a party of their own to rival this one. Thank you for sharing, nonetheless, Lord Entouff.”

“My pleasure, of course,” Entouff said, looking about for a server, “trading tales over such fine repast is no trouble at all.”

“Of course not,” Lar Kwa said. “We should revel in our traditions and celebrate our history. Come, we will refill our cups and plates as we talk of Alban’s glories.”

Stepping through a set of heavy cloth curtains to steal a respite from royal influence, a lone young woman carried her wine through an arch and out to an enclosed balcony, overlooking the frosted city through thick glass. There she found Tilo Isharien brooding in the dim light. 

“Artaria,” he said, acknowledging her arrival. “Wine?” he offered, picking up the bottle of wine from the small table beside him. “This one is a ten-year-old red from northern Bentrci and I also have a seventeen-year-old Zadiasam vitarae that I haven’t even opened yet.”

“Oh, how strong and manly it must be. I certainly won’t envy you your head in the morning. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to mix your alcohols like that?”

“A vicious lie,” he protested, “spread by people trying to stop others from enjoying themselves.”

“Just the same,” she said, holding up her own glass and wine bottle for him to see, “I’m having the gold.”

“I should’ve known,” he said, refilling his glass before setting the bottle down again. “Sorry, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen you.”

“No, it was last year,” Artaria corrected him, “at the hot springs. I wouldn’t expect you to recall my favorite drink after so long.”

“That was the last time you saw me, yes.”

“Oh, of course,” she smiled playfully, “the eyes of the Isharien are everywhere. I suppose I should be flattered that I’m of such interest.”

Artaria performed a subtle hair flip and giggled as she smiled. Tilo pretended not to notice, then let his gaze drift over the untouched plate of food for which he was sadly finding little appetite.

“You worry your father,” Tilo told her distantly, pausing to sip his wine, “disappearing as frequently as you do.”

“Clan Isharien spies for my father?” she asked. “I thought Isharien pledged loyalty to the exalted Crimson Throne.”

“Don’t be so naive, girl,” Tilo admonished, waving a piece of cheese from his plate at her. “Clan interests are its own.”

“All others pay in advance,” Artaria mocked.

“Not so naive after all, eh?”

“If you’ve been watching me,” Artaria said, refilling her own glass, “then you shouldn’t need to ask.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Anyway, no point in letting potentially useful information sit idle when it can find its way into the right hands for the right price.”

“Well, if you need to report in to him tonight,” she said with disdain, “Lord Daddy’s back in the main room with the cluster of other drones, hanging on every word of Prince Perfect.”

“Perfect,” Tilo scoffed. “There’s an adjective I never would’ve attached to that one. He really has come a long way, though. Why aren’t you in there with the others? Don’t you want to hear again about the masterful taking of Varga?”

“The less visible I am, the less chance my father tries to marry me off. Besides, I saw King Tural departing even before I did,” she told him.

“Sovereigns do as they will,” Tilo warned. “They aren’t held to the rules of their subjects.”

“I’ll settle for the standard of the princess, then,” Artaria said. “Even the king’s own daughter, pure Light of the People, is conspicuously absent, which is stirring up quite a few rumors around the room, by the way.”

“Must be tonight’s secret party theme: worried fathers and absent daughters. You’d think Lar Kwa’s exploits of adventure on the seas and in the realm of sunshine and rainbows would be entertainment enough.”

“And the video recordings. You can’t forget the video recordings,” she added. “They expect us to be happy and eat and drink while twenty-foot wall screens play recordings of his highness fighting pirates and feeding starving children and tending to the sick and preaching for peace. He may be our guide to the future, but it’s disrespectful to every warrior ever to stain our snows with blood. I mean, this is Father’s Day. Our fathers fought to provide all that we have. I do respect that no matter how much he aggravates me. So, though the idea of this party for the prince sickens me, I certainly didn’t want to end up onscreen trying not to vomit.”

“Oh, right, Mischa,” Tilo said, remembering the slight man directing the recording team that was weaving through the party while avoiding actual interaction with any guest, “the odd little man always hovering in the background near Lar Kwa. He produces all the prince’s promotional materials. He’s got cameras all over.”

“I couldn’t take any more. You could teach them how to be much less conspicuous.”

“Oh, certainly,” Tilo agreed. “Inconspicuous is what Isharien do best. Well, aside from my cousins--Kylo, who is likely hovering near the throne amidst a swarm of swooning girls, and Jono, who I’m sure is giving the palace guard all the adventure they care to handle with his imagination and his wooden sword. Beyond those two, even I don’t know how many agents we have in the palace tonight.”

“I’m imagining hundreds, mingling unseen.”

“Such imaginings are a powerful resource for us,” Tilo confessed. “In fact, it would violate clan law for me to confirm or deny your suspicions even if I could.”

“What a blessing for you that must be,” Artaria said. “People can say they didn’t see you at all manner of pivotal social events and you can take it as a compliment while building your mystique.”

“With the benefit of getting me out of some of the most tedious crowds you never wanted to see assembled, I assure you.”

“Plus, I heard all the really interesting people were getting together out here.”

“So they are,” Tilo agreed, managing a smile as he held his glass out to her. “A salute to full bellies.”

“It’s good to eat fresh food again,” Artaria said, holding her glass up to him in kind before taking another drink.

“Yes, long overdue, considering…”

“Considering what?” she asked from under a raised eyebrow. “What aren’t you saying?”

“Just…that there’s deeper truth regarding our food supplies than our prince has told,” Tilo told her even as he considered how much to reveal.

“Great Keemu!” she exclaimed, eyeing her plate with sudden suspicion. “You’re not going to tell me this is all…made from people or something gross like that, are you?”

“No,” he laughed, “of course not. Let’s just go as far as to say that while the prince’s bounty may be connected to piracy, it has little involvement with pirates.”

“You are full of secrets, aren’t you? As long as we’ve the city and the night and the stars, tell me…what the Hell are you doing out here getting drunk?”

“Just…pondering weighty decisions and their consequences.”

“Well, that told me…virtually nothing,” Artaria said. “Care to try that again?”

He sighed and after a thoughtful silence said, “I have the ability to affect the future of our peoples…perhaps all of Alban…perhaps even more. What may be worse, I can decide not to be a part of it, too. My shoulders labor under the great weight of choice.”

“No more wine for you,” she told him. “You’re starting to spout crazy talk.”

“Have you ever really watched the results of any of your father’s decisions? Does he discuss with you what it means to be among the Charis’colia?” Tilo asked his comely companion. “Alban’s clans and tribes are interconnected, you know, surviving because of their influences upon each other.”

“My father doesn’t consult with me anymore than he listens to…well, anyone he doesn’t feel he has to. Has High Lord Aolo begun to hand you responsibility? Is that what this is about? Has he begun to trust you with more responsibility and his most secret magics and you don’t know what to do with such precious treasures?”

“High Lor--My father…,” Tilo said, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the bridge of his nose, “is a cold-hearted son of a bitch, raised by the same. If he weren’t home sick, you’d have a chance to see him in action.”

“I think I did once,” Artaria said. “It was just briefly, but he seemed pretty grim.”

“Having the fate of others in your hands is burdensome,” Tilo said. “My family teaches that the way to live with that is to truly commit only to self-interests, planning ahead and being willing to do whatever must be done to achieve your goals.”

“Ummm…I see…I think.”

“Drink up,“ Tilo said, refilling his own glass. “Hearing this is easier with more alcohol.”

“That part I’ve got covered,” she assured him. “Go.”

“A few generations ago, before the northern kings descended upon us with their wizard-priests, Suiala was--”

“Oh, what a pretty name.”

“Yes, delightful. I think it means ‘noble birth’, but it’s no longer spoken in polite company.”

“What?” she asked. “Why?”

“Getting to that. Anyway, she was a daughter of High Lord Tolis. She was, of course, a young beauty and her myriad charms made her an obvious selection to serve as a courtier maiden to Emperor Tophe.

“The imperial court was, of course, fraught with the usual dangers born of competition for the emperor’s favor. As such, and as is attendant to the power of the throne, the emperor was afforded the luxury of indulging his whims. Suiala wisely looked to the future, though, knowing that even her own considerable virtues could not ensure her position with the aging emperor.

“After a time, opportunity presented the patient and cunning Suiala with her chance to seduce the emperor’s son Konos, heir apparent. As a result, when the emperor finally died and Konos succeeded him, Suiala met with neither exile nor execution. Kept on at court, she remained secret counsel to the new emperor and even close companion to his new empress. Younger and less familiar with palace life, Konos’ spoiled bride became known for her fits of rage. Suiala however fawned affections on the empress, who came to welcome an experienced ally at court.

“Within two years, it was Suiala who gave birth to Konos’ first child. Soon after the birth, the empress visited Suiala and the new heir to the throne. Whatever went on during the visit, as soon as the empress departed, Suiala smothered the newborn.”

“What? Her own…?” Artaria stammered. “But the child would secure her position. Why…? I…I’m confused.”

“After the discovery of the murder, suspicion fell upon the empress, who was known to have been on the scene and to possess a jealous heart. Charged with the murder, the young empress was imprisoned, tried and executed with unprecedented speed. Almost as quickly, Suiala was crowned empress and handed the reins of power by a husband who had grown to adulthood more accustomed to debauchery than responsibility.

“From a position of greater power than she had ever known, Empress Suiala was well-positioned to watch enemy after enemy fall away. When in her forties, Suiala received a visit from her beautiful niece bearing tributes of their Isharien kinsmen. The enchanting visitor caught the eye of not only the emperor but the new heir apparent, Suiala’s second son, at that evening’s feast. By morning, both Suiala’s niece and son were dead, apparently having succumbed to food poisoning. After a swift investigation, her majesty had the entire kitchen staff put to death. The next-eldest heir, the emperor’s son by another courtier maiden, was killed soon after in a hunting accident. Suiala had the next of the emperor’s sons exiled on false charges of treason. Emperor Konos himself was next to die. With practiced ruthlessness, Suiala had her third son declared unfit to take the throne and thereby ensured that the empress, then one hundred and two years old, would continue to rule.”

“Impressive,” Artaria said, “but she’s still making me ill.”

“Over the next several decades, she met the challenge of numerous coup attempts with merciless executions for every fool conspirator who dared plot against her. She held the throne until the coming of the northerners and their magics, the mage kings with their Circle of Nine. Even then, one hundred and sixty-five years old when she finally surrendered the throne, Suiala was able to negotiate a return to Clan Isharien with land, title and bonded servants. She died at two hundred and eight, full of energy and dangerously intelligent to the end.”

“Oh, she did finally die?” Artaria asked. “So, a happy ending after all.”

“Lots of people who knew her attended the funeral to make sure she was put to rest properly,” Tilo went on. “There were persistent rumors of her involvement with…very subtle, potent magics and…service to dark and deadly powers.”

“With over a hundred years on the throne and such a body count, it’s no wonder,” Artaria told him. “Yet she was finally brought down.”

“After a time, when things seemed settled, the Crimson Throne swooped down upon her with magic and military might in concert. A theory exists that her third son, the one she had declared unfit for the throne, may have aided the northerners in moving against her--”

“Can we find a way to go back in time and help, too?”

“--but it was never known as a certainty for she surely would have seen him precede her to the afterlife in a bloody, bloody end if the rumor had ever been confirmed.”

“Well, of course,” Artaria said. “She sounds like a cunning woman, but lacking honor.”

“Still, leadership of Clan Isharien did fall to her son under the new king and to High Lord Aolo after that.”

“So, that…horrible woman was your great-grandmother?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That was one of my bedtime stories. Bloody Ala we called her. Hurry, scurry, get to bed. Bloody Ala wants your head…”

“I take it back,” Artaria said with a chilled shudder. “You haven’t had too much. You need another bottle.”

“Thanks for the support,” he said, emptying his glass again, “but I’m not sure that’ll help me in my decision.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” she said. “Your family’s relationships obviously need work, but…”

“My choice of damnations remains,” he lamented. “Is it greater loyalty to my blood to cleave to a family of monsters or to betray them for my own benefit?”

“Whatever you decide,” she said, refilling his glass, “keep the memory of this night, these moments--”

“--the importance of searching my soul as I wrestle over the course of my destiny,” he concluded.

“No, “ she said, poking him in the forehead, “remember who you chose to trust and open up to, fool. Ar-tar-ia. You picked me to be your best friend. That means you can never have me killed.”

“Well, technically, should it ever come up,” he said, “I wouldn’t be having you killed. I’d have been commissioned--”

“Never ever.”

He sighed and said, “I’ll still be spying on you.”

“That’s alright,” she winked. “It’s different when someone who cares is watching over you. It’s nice.”

“For money.”

“Just a nice bonus,” she said, raising her glass.

16875--Irreconcilable Differences

Once again, finding myself pondering the crossing paths of good and evil, often manifesting themselves through the antagonists and protagonists of our entertainment.  Some are more treasured than others, the characters' relationships resonating within us in their own special ways.

A truly challenging villain whose complex character forces the hero to rise with the best of his inner strength will always be appreciated and can easily steal the show.  The best of the worst can go so far as to carry a story all their own, becoming anti-heroes in some cases.  How many of James Bond's villains make great conversational fodder outside the context of being one of James Bond's villains?

Heroes so tortured they have to overcome their personal conflicts as well as whatever dastardly fiend has dared to threaten his world will undoubtedly earn our respect.

Throwing these two into the mix together will almost guarantee the creation of a dance as memorable as it is iconic.  Usually one of these two can find the other staring back from the mirror.  Superheroes make the best subjects to study for this sort of thing because the best ones will have an array of colorful villains, each a twisted reflection of the hero in his own way.  They're easy to spot because they're the most memorable.  They make an impact on the psyche and you get an automatic set, protagonist and antagonist, in one stroke.  On the downside, many of them lose a lot of their mojo without their opposite to contest.  Reverse-Flash?  Venom?  Red Skull?  OK, Red Skull is pretty bad even without Captain America, but you get the idea.

Bizarro is a blatantly flawed attempt at copying Superman here on Earth, resulting in tragic and often dangerous consequences.  Self-made orphan Lex Luthor uses his intellect and cunning to seize all the power and glory he feels that Superman has stolen from him, but seeks the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.  Daunting as they are, as reflections of the hero, they are incomplete characters without him.

Joker embodies irrationality and madness.  Scarecrow demonstrates the negative application of fear as a weapon.  Mr. Freeze has become cold and detached after the tragic loss of a loved one.  The Penguin is a shunned socialite who falls prey to his own obsessiveness.  To prove his intellect, Riddler is pathologically driven to create puzzles.  Catwoman craves the thrills she finds while in costume.  They all reflect facets of Batman, but show a twisted path he managed to avoid.

What dark twists of the heroic soul have stood out in your mind?

16815--Zen and the Art of TV Archery

Taking another shot at adapting an A-list superhero from comic books to TV, executive producer Marc Guggenheim has launched a new visioning of Green Arrow at audiences. Some might debate my assignation of A-list status to a low-tech hero with no superhuman abilities, but I’ll argue that he’s carried his own title, been a long-time member of the Justice League and has a name that the average citizen-at-large won’t respond to with “Who?”. Even without a version of him appearing on the now-defunct “Smallville” for several seasons, he’s a well-known quantity who has never been shy about working in the ranks of the comic universe’s heavyweights. Like his fellow mere mortal Batman, that similar list of credentials is more than enough to qualify his Tough Guy status.

Like others of his costumed stalwarts, the details of his backstory have been tweaked as much as any urban legend. This time around, he’s been presented with a live mother and a dead father, the circumstances behind that being only a part of making him into the heroic figure he has had to become. Still a part of the Gilligan’s Island travel plan, wealthy young socialite Oliver Queen was stranded on a remote island that would serve as the crucible in which he would be tempered. Marooned as the result of sabotage to his yacht this time around, the playboy-reborn-as-Tough-Guy has come back to civilization with an attitude and a secret agenda worthy of the Count of Monte Cristo. Add in the fitful sleep of a troubled soul and they are clearly making the effort of presenting a nuanced protagonist intriguing enough to hold everyone’s attention. Certainly, that’s something the Green Arrow who first appeared in More Fun Comics back in 1941 could not have done in the modern era.

While the hero of “Arrow” may take on gangs of thugs, loose arrows with skill enough to make an Olympic archer go slack-jawed and Parkour like a monkey on Red Bull, executive producer Guggenheim is nothing less than adamant that superpowered heroes like Superman and Green Lantern won't have a place on the show. Wow. What happened to helping your buddies share in the wealth? Courtney Cox may have had plenty of her old co-stars show their faces on “Cougartown”, but it looks like Guggenheim has other ideas about how “Arrow” will play out. Conversely, he also says the show will try to utilize as much of the DC Comics universe as humanly possible:



Sorry, pal, they said...uh...our greens would clash.



"We've got a lot of different characters and then there are characters you may not recognize unless you're a diehard comic book fan. One of the things we've done, mainly because we're fans, is we've thrown in a lot of Easter eggs for the hardcore fans. If you're a big fan of the DC Comics universe, you'll see a lot of familiar names and places: Big Belly Burger, which is a hamburger chain from the Superman comic books, makes a regular appearance on our show and we have a Big Belly Burger franchise as one of our standing sets. You'll still hear about characters from those worlds and from those cities. We're imagining a DC universe without super-powered characters, but that doesn't mean that in our parallel universe that there isn't a Metropolis or a Gotham City. There are references to places like Corto Maltese (a war-torn island) and Markovia. I would listen and watch carefully if you're a comic book fan because some of the references are really subtle and will go past a lot of people."

Now my opinion on this is if they're imagining a DCU without super-powered characters, they‘re not imagining the DCU.  If you’re going to piss away the unique infrastructure that goes along with Green Arrow, why bother building a show around that character?  It seems ridiculous to waste elements of story that others can't offer in the midst of such a competitive market.  The audience may as well go watch “Nikita”, “Revenge” or “Person of Interest”.  Or the evening news.  Why spend time on a another new series when we already have proven products who've passed their first season hurdles?  Oh, it's Green Arrow, you say?  Hey, there's a quantity with some potential!  Oh, just Green Arrow?  You know, we already have plenty of non-super action and drama.  We live in it. 

Green Arrow lives in a different reality and has the opportunity to explore themes using levels of depth denied to mundane genres.  Ignoring that reality sounds like the same error “Smallville” started with when the ultimately ousted producers insisted that “no tights, no flights” was the only cool way to present Superman to the 21^st century and a generation that had outgrown such heroes.  In time, the people making the show got over themselves and “Smallville“ improved. One of the notable additions to the show, ironically, was Green Arrow (though I hear they really wanted a young Bruce Wayne, but were denied such lofty access). After all these years of adaptations, you would think TV producers would’ve learned by now that acknowledging the integrated universe of such characters works far better than yanking a single thread from a tapestry and pretending that their chosen hero is the only one. I’m waiting for the day someone brings us an adaptation of some popular vampire story, but without all the silliness of biting and fangs and supernatural stuff.

Meanwhile, “Arrow” doesn't have to show people leaping tall buildings, but could slip in references to superhuman activities in newscasts and the odd urban legend mention without letting the idea overrun the show. That sort of thing would certainly put a bigger smile on my mug than a trip through Big Belly’s “drive-thru” lane. I trust “Arrow” and Oliver Queen will prove tough enough to endure creator egos and the rigors of TV ratings to become even better than the better than average showing it has already given us.

16805--Settling Differences Between Good and Evil

Phantom Limb: "We're not so different, you and I."

Brock Samson: "Yeah, I don't need another 'We're not so different' speech.  I get those a lot."

Phantom Limb: "Yes, I'm sure you do."

There's a strange intimacy that exists between antagonists and protagonists.  The dynamic interplay of their differences creates both attraction and friction in a dance of interconnectedness.  Despite their enmity, they are drawn into each other's orbits, each one's movements influencing the other.  One is driven to create Chaos while the other's passion is to preserve Order.  One is driven to commit the crimes that the other is dedicated to stop.

They are Lex Luthor and Superman, one striving to freely exploit as much of the world as he can while the other champions life and freedom for all.

They are Moriarty and Holmes, linked by the crafting of criminal intrigues versus the drive to unravel challenging puzzles.

They are any politician's image and the image of the politician's opposition, each contesting to propagate the best lie.

In characters, the simplest form of the dynamic may exist between one character seeking a goal and the other blocking the attainment of that goal.  Very often, at least one of the two will hate the other.  In the more complex dynamics, the two may have begun as friends and, though their choices have put them at odds, there could still exist a measure of respect between them--if not mutual, at least one for the other. 

Their backgrounds often serve to highlight the friction between them, whether they perceive themselves as having come from a loving family environment or one fraught with tension.  Do they consider their formative years to have been easy or difficult?  A protagonist will usually see their life experiences as the foundation for positive growth.  Some of the most bitter antagonists can go through the same experiences as the protagonist they oppose yet find excuses not to grow at all.  The  most complex antagonists will find justification to respond to their struggles in such an extreme fashion that while the hero might consider their paths to differ greatly, the hero can still understand the choice of his opponent.  Perhaps more importantly, readers can accept it as a viable choice that they themselves might have made.

Professor Xavier and Magneto are prime examples of opponents locked in a dynamic where two friends came to be at odds by choosing differing paths to achieve similar goals.  Both characters want to see the world grow into an environment where mutants can live safely.  Xavier believes this can be achieved through peaceful coexistence between mutant and non-mutantkind.  Magneto believes this is only possible if mutants rule over society.  He respects Xavier's efforts, even supports them, but his own suffering at the hands of Nazis has soured his faith in the potential of humanity's goodness and a special intolerance for racism.

In a relationship of such complexity, hero and villain might ultimately come to a point where, even though they continue at cross purposes, they recognize a validity in each other's mission.  By that, meaning that while they don't kiss and make up, they don't go out of their way to oppose each other directly either.

Is there a hero-villain pairing that resonates with you as being particularly profound?

16689--From the Heart of Darkness Comes the Neverending Battle

Long ago, in the midst of rampant crime and economic depression, July of 1930 heard the eerie voice of The Shadow brought to life in radio broadcasts as the announcer of Street and Smith's Detective Story Hour.  That was only the beginning, though.  Once The Shadow started chilling spines, he moved from merely announcing stories to starring in his own adventures.  Inspired by his example, scores of other heroes followed on his heels to be presented to a public hungry for uplifting tales of heroic salvation.  Most of those following in the dark vigilante's wake were pale copies, lacking the appeal that would give a few the staying power that would maintain their popularity for decades to come.

But why?  Why did some persist and others fail?  Why was anyone writing stories of heroic fiction at all?  I mean, besides "for the money."

The time of ancient myths and legends was long since gone.  Humans had grown beyond the point where they tried to explain the wonders of the universe through the supernatural workings of divine beings.  For good or ill, the people of the world were fending for themselves, firmly entrenched in a grim reality of their own making.  Under the crushing weight of the Great Depression, crime, unemployment and fascism were all flourishing.  People felt unsafe in their homes or lost their homes entirely, some moving to other countries entirely to escape the impending threat of global war they felt powerless to stop.

The need had arisen not only to escape the dark truths of life but to foster hope for better times.  A void had been carved in the hearts of the common men by increasing feelings of ineffectualness in their own world and they were desperate for a way to fill it.  These needs called forth the creation of the pulp heroes with an impetus never before seen in the modern world.  Pulp heroes would grow into super-heroes, like the legends of ancient myth, all working beyond the hindrance of confining laws to banish the fears of ordinary men.  Nietzsche warned us to "Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster," but we crafted our heroes specifically to become the composite avengers of society's collective soul.  Heroes overcame whatever fears were embodied by their opposition, fighting ceaselessly for truth, justice and freedom that readers felt themselves denied in their daily lives.  Defying Nietzsche, here were champions serving as inspirations to all--no matter how poor, downtrodden or oppressed--as they dared gaze into the abyss of all the world's dark places.

Whether they fought darkness while draped in the color of night in the manner of The Shadow and Batman or sought to dispel it with the guiding light of hope for the future like Doc Savage and Superman, we have never truly lost our need for iconic heroes.  In recent years, with increasing amounts of cynicism afoot, we've seen the rise of anti-heroes and the darkening of heroic figures, perhaps finally succumbing to the weight of fighting so much evil for so long.  They say that tarnishing these icons humanizes them, making them seem more real and relatable to audiences.  In its own way, this trend toward favoring a flawed hero may be part of a collective self-awareness as to just how close to home the hero's true foe dwells.


A common lament in heroic fiction is the hero's claim that he works to create a world in which he will no longer be needed.  No matter how far we travel, how much we strive or learn, until we overcome our own darkness--the fears that lurk in the hearts of man--we'll never run short of evils to fight or the need for champions to face them.  In truth, even though our heroes seem to be caught in nothing less than neverending battles, what they truly represent is our collective desire to better ourselves and our world.  Should we as a people reach a point where we cynically banish our heroes it would mean that we have chosen to do away with our role models, ceased projecting the better and more hopeful parts of our natures and, sadly, stopped imagining a brighter world in which to live.

16655--Motivation is for Method Actors

Remember "Romancing the Stone"?  When I first watched it years ago, I remember another writer friend of mine saying that he wished Michael Douglas' character (Jack Colton) could've had some heroic theme music.  I thought about that for a moment and pointed out that he didn't need it because he wasn't really a hero.  Kathleen Turner's character (Joan Wilder) wanted him to be, but what she got was the realistic version of an adventurous man who was nowhere near the romanticized hero she wanted.  He was self-centered and money-motivated.  That was the point of the situation.  They both had to be shaken up a bit.  He had to polish his act and rise to challenges that weren't in his selfish "best interest".  She had to get her head out of the clouds and learn to not measure a real man by an idealized standard.

In realms of adventure, fantasy, thrillers and certainly superheroes, heroes and heroines are often cast as "larger than life" figures.  As such, their motivations are best not subjected to overanalysis by mortal kind.

In basic terms, the hero is a fool saddled with self-destructive impulses who's managed to channel them in a socially acceptable manner.  Don't get me wrong, I love a hero and I know lots of us do.  We respect and revere heroes.  We crave them so much that we seek them out.  Still, the actions of heroes run contrary to the instinct for survival and genetic preservation that we're supposed come with as factory-standard equipment.  To run into a burning building while others are running out isn't considered the hallmark of sanity.  Likewise, neither is facing down a hail of bullets or standing ground against overwhelming opposition.  Putting one's own life at risk for the sake of a single other life is not a logical trade (especially one who is weaker and of less obvious worth to the community gene pool), but try telling that to a hero.  As far as an audience goes, individuals will usually feel that heroes belong somewhere on a spectrum between being celebrated or being medicated.

To look at heroic exploits through the lens of realism distorts the remarkable into appearing ridiculous in the eyes of the mundane observer.  Without the suspension of disbelief, heroism is readily mocked.  A man dressed as a bat becomes a misguided socialite with psychological issues in need of therapy.  An altruistic alien superhuman is reduced to an overzealous, boy scout in silly tights.  James Bond would just seem like an overdressed maverick mysoginist making his colleagues feel inadequate even while sitting in the waiting room for the therapy session following Bruce Wayne's.  Peel away at too many layers of your superman, dig too deep beneath the surface, and you'll leave yourself with just a man.  Who really wants a naked Santa standing in the living room explaining himself?  Nobody, that's who.  (Now, let's all try to purge that particular image.) 

Readers aren't seeking pure realism now anymore than they did in the days when the "tall tale" reigned.  Scrutiny of the motivation behind great deeds reduces them to forms of mere human behavior.  Audiences are already faced with realism and its trappings every waking moment.  It surrounds them.  When they seek out the extraordinary, giving them less is a disappointment.  If they could live the deeds of heroes on their own, they wouldn't be immersing themselves in movies, comics and novels.  Don't berate them for seeking the fantastic.  Give them something fantastic.

What's your favorite form of escapist, fantastic entertainment?

16613--You Don't Give Someone a Gun Unless You Know Which Way They're Going to Point It

I used to revel in the exploits of superheroes.  There were neverending thrills to be found in champions of all things good and right fighting to stem the tide of relentless evil.  The willingness of individuals to push themselves beyond the limits of the average, struggling to hew order from chaos in realms where weaker beings dared not, simply felt right.

Time marched on like it's supposed to and...the audience changed.  We learned things that made us ask more questions.  "Why?" started coming up with increasing frequency and we sought answers in places that made us look for other parties to hold responsible than whoever happened to be drawing our attention.  We wanted to know not only who was behind them, but why our superheroes weren't doing something about them.

This is to say that heroic figures as powerful as some of those presented in popular adventure fiction should also be running about like Fox Mulder, shining lights in dark corners where a lot of folks don't want those lights shining.  If these icons were going to truly uphold their ideals, Superman and Wonder Woman would be fighting corrupted governments to protect the oppressed masses, Batman would be more wanted than Rorschach for having exposed the secrets of the Kennedy assassinations and a litany of other shadowy operations far more disturbing than a midnight mugging (though fighting street crime obviously holds a special interest for him, considering...) and Thor would have been labeled an eco-terrorist years ago for his hard stance against pollution.  A wise Professor Xavier would use his resources to lead his civil rights activists discreetly lest they draw armed opposition.  These and other powerhouses would be targets of The Man.

These sorts of scenarios don't seem to be much focused upon in our fiction.  In fact, the Comics Code Authority placed a specific ban upon any creative avenues that would cast authority figures in a bad light.  Modern heroic tales go further in that direction from time-to-time since they set the CCA aside, but the protagonists still work largely within the confines of the established order and political powers don't spend their time figuring out how to track them down and kill them in their sleep.  In that regard, The Man (in his many guises) probably appreciates the distraction afforded by supervillains, natural disasters, alien invasions and random street crime.    Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?  The Shadow Government says it does.  Still, there remains the issue of our heroes not being who they appear to be.

The mystery men and women we call superheroes are much more than their colorful public personas, just as our parents had lives of their own before they started raising children.  Many of our iconic heroes are truly nothing like the champions they pretend at being.  Behind their costumes, they are royalty (Thor, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Black Panther, Sub-Mariner), they are the wealthy upper-class (Batman, Zorro, Green Hornet, Iron Man, The Wasp), they are doctors and scientists and government agents.  Some are even mild-mannered members of the respected news media (Superman, Captain Marvel).  If we want to push the issue of how much the government really knows and covers up, a few of those capes belong to aliens and alien-human hybrids.  Can you fight The Man when you are The Man?

Because of the very magnitude of our biggest heroes, they couldn't honestly be allowed to build careers on being rebels against governmental administrations because as loose cannons they couldn't be trusted.  They'd quickly be painted as selfish individualists possessed of dangerous abilities that needed to be put in check ASAP.  If anything, it looks as though we've been conditioned to celebrate extra-legal champions of the common man while being slipped a simultaneous message to blindly trust the wealthiest and most prestigious among society's power structure as figures of authority.  Conversely, it means we can't trust them to stand against the most pervasive forces in our lives.  Does that count as sneaky when it's been done right in front of us for decades?  Does conditioning us from childhood count as sneaky?

Even when they operate outside the strict letter of law, these heroes remain figures of order and justice, poster children of The Conspiracy that makes itself invisible through immensity.  As long as they're to secretly remain integral parts of traditional, institutional society and not be branded enemies of the state, bucking the system and rebelling against The Man will have to remain practices of the common man.  The common man created society and has to bear the responsibility of policing it while our heroes use their superior attributes to grab headlines for transitory accomplishments of lesser significance.  I still enjoy their adventures in the right context, but I know they can't save us from ourselves or the monsters we've unleashed.  Only we have the power to do that.

16517--Quick as a Flash

Oh, the dreams we have, imaginings of being smarter, stronger and faster.  These have likely been with mankind since about the time we managed to wrangle fire.  Personally, I've been partial to Superman for almost as far back as I can remember, but the first nickname I was tagged with as a child that came close was "Flash".  Now, in my case, this had everything to do with my being considered a bright child and nothing to do with the fleet-footed fastest man alive.  Still, many are the times I would have loved to be able to move at superhuman speed.

"The Flash" is a name shared by four (yes, four) DC comic book superhero characters, so it would certainly be tough to challenge his popularity.  The original Flash made his first blurry appearance in Flash Comics #1 way back in January 1940, the creation of writer Gardner Fox and and artist Harry Lampert.  The second incarnation of the Flash, Barry Allen, is generally considered the first hero of the Silver Age of comic books, starting his running about in 1956, and the superhero has remained one of DC's most popular ever since.

I'll simultaneously acknowledge and bypass the fact that, for many years, Superman's nigh-infinite powers easily made him a rival for the title of The Fastest Man Alive, but DC finally reined the Man of Steel in sufficiently to let The Flash have that to himself (Supes has so much else going for him, why not throw the guy a bone?)  Nicknamed the Scarlet Speedster, each the Flash is the Flash because they all possess the power of super speed which includes the ability to run and move extremely fast for extended periods of time, use superhuman reflexes and seemingly make particular laws of physics their bitch.  If you ever thought the Road Runner was impressive as he confounded the Coyote, you haven't lived.  Sonic who?  These guys turn time and space, and sometimes their own bodies, inside out.

Now, while it must be extremely fulfilling to be of super-fast service to their fellow man, I can't help but think that it would also be quite the joy to be able to get my Chinese food from Beijing on a whim, run across water or up and down the sides of buildings, outrace bullets, clean my house in the time of a few heartbeats or, perhaps best of the bunch, write novels faster than Mickey Spillane on crack. 

I think the worst part of the powers would be waiting for things that couldn't be forced into a super-fast time frame.  The Flash can vibrate the molecules of his body to pass through solid matter.  He can also share the energy that fuels his power to provide speed to other things or people.  So what happens when, instead of running through a wall, he decides to use a door at mach 4?  I think there'd be a tremendous wind in a room and that's assuming the structure of the door could even hold up without the whole thing flying apart.  That's fine when you want to storm the mafia hideout, but not for visiting your mom.

Imagine the tedium waiting in a long line at the store.  There are only two cashiers open and one of them is waiting on a supervisor to clear up a problem.  The people ahead of you are writing checks, but don't start until everything's done being bagged and some of them have items that need price checks.  Meanwhile, your mind is in an accelerated time frame, thinking of thousands of different things that you need to get to doing if only you could ever get out of this line.  You're an accelerated metabolism in a crock-pot world.  Your every human interaction involves waiting for people to reach one of a dozen variant conclusions you reached before the first sentence of the conversation was finished.

AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGH!!!  Unless you can develop the patience of a monk, running and writing and other solitary activities might be the only joys left to you.

No wonder the comic speedsters spend so much time, relativisitcally speaking, hanging out with each other.  They're really the only ones who can relate to the experience of racing lightning while living in a slow-motion world.  Being The Flash isn't just a heroic triumph over time and speed, but apparently over tedium-fueled insanity as well.

Beep-beep!  ZING!

16510--Down from On High

 When I was informed that we had calculated that the course of a big, nasty asteroid (Apophis) would bring it into our back yard in 2029 and possibly hitting us in 2036, I was...well, on the fence about whether or not we should be concerned.  I mean, we're in the 21st century and I still can't even get weather information I can count on for the same day.  Now they're trying to sell me on a prediction two decades out?  I checked a mirror.  I do not have "SUCKER" on my forehead.

The way they're telling it, our best case scenario has the rock passing between Earth and the moon (which is pretty close for that sort of thing); worst case says we're looking at quakes, tidal waves, floods, plague, famine, death, destruction...you see where this is going.  Be concerned if you want to be or don't (but so you know, we're looking at 99.9993% chance of a miss).  Either way, I'm not betting on the government to handle things.  The government really only seems to handle disasters well in fiction and even then the track record is shaky.

As that sort of thing goes, we'd be better off with Superman.  I know, a lot of people love to put all their stock in Batman and I don't want to take anything away from the Dark Knight's street cred, but playing head-kicker with serial killers is vastly different from changing the course of mighty rivers.  I've loved both these guys since childhood, but I've always considered Superman to be the superior role model and never had any question that when planes and giant rocks started falling from above, the Bat-signal wasn't going to get the needed help to the right place.  That's not a shortcoming on Batman's part (I won't even make a dig about searching the utility belt for a Bat-asteroid deflector).  Superman just brings a strong game to the playing field.

When problems pop-up, Superman is the superhero to go to.  I'm not talking about a Superman who falls back on some lame time-travel "solution", creating a paradox where he can just pretend bad things aren't happening.  I'm talking about a super man, who oozes noblesse oblige without even knowing it, gets hands-on and gets things done.  Superman came to us with not only compassion, but a passionate desire to help us find the best part of ourselves.

That has probably always been one of the most essential virtues of the heroic Kryptonian immigrant: he unselfishly wants to help everyone.  It's really sad to me that so many people have expressed some inability to relate to him.  I think it saddens me because it displays an inability to acknowledge the brighter virtues within ourselves.  If anything, Superman shouldn't seem unreal and alien, but an inspiration.  He should represent a standard to which we should aspire.  WWSD?  The right thing, of course.

 Superman has always been the champion of the people.  He's not from around here, so we all look alike to him.  He never plays favorites, he just helps people live their lives without interference from others.  He's a freedom fighter.  Even more than that, he wants everyone to have a chance to just get through their day.  When it struck him that a great many of Earth's people couldn't even count on having food every day, he made an effort to change that.  Unlike any other single person, his herculean effort to provide food for the hungry for a single day drew such attention that it inspired a tremendous outpouring of supplementary aid from other people.  He remains mindful of a hero's function as a role model, a status he holds probably beyond any other iconic figure.

Like many heroes before and after him, he's an orphan.  Still, he has always allowed the circumstances of his origin to add to his strength and his strength of character.  After the better part of a century, he has continued to spark the minds and souls of young and old alike.  We should expect nothing less from someone who has descended from a world of wonders to live and walk among us.  Even the appeal of innocent Billy Batson's transformation to the purehearted Captain Marvel takes a back seat to Superman's, whose virtuousness is that of an uncorrupted adult.  He is not a naive child in the guise of a man.  Superman has walked the Earth and seen what it has to offer.  He has made informed choices and refused to be led astray.

 Many believe that Superman's appeal lies in his power.  Some even feel that he wouldn't be a hero without his superhuman powers.  That's short-sighted, I say.  Predecessors to Superman such as Hugo Danner in Philip Wylie's Gladiator and pulp hero Doc Savage would certainly indicate otherwise.  Danner was born with powers similar to Superman's, but lived a miserable life in which he felt himself a misfit among humanity, never found a purpose for his special abilities and died alone, miserable and unfulfilled.  Doc Savage, closer to Batman than Superman, possessed wealth and drive, honed his body and mind to such extremes as to seem nearly superhuman and found his way in the world fighting the forces of evil.  He had no special powers, but he had a drive to be the best he could make of himself and to help others unselfishly.

Superpowers or not, I'd rather be in a world with people with the heart portrayed in these people of conscience, these people who seek only to help and ask nothing in return.  No matter who they are--Wonder Woman, Batman, Spider-Man, Doc Savage--or how many they come to number, Superman will ever stand steadfast at their forefront.  He is recognized around the world and knowledge of his mission has spread with him.  Superman fights for freedom and justice, possesses both power and humility of incalculable measure, all the while setting examples for us to emulate.  Like us, he's not perfect, but he also teaches us to never stop striving to become the very best of ourselves.


 

Bringing out the best in...*ahem* Moving along!