Get This Book: G.I. Joe: Cobra

I love G.I. Joe. My fondest Joe memories always began with "forgetting" my homework at school so I could desperately haul ass home in order to catch the latest G.I. Joe victory over Cobra.

At a fundamental level, G.I. Joe is an epic good vs. evil battle that should, by all accounts be almost unbearably awesome.
However, with this said, crafting a good G.I. Joe story is not an easy task because, let's face it, G.I. Joe, on another fundamental level is, at worst, painfully cheesy and, at best, a half decent gay joke. The $175 million dollar budget, live-action mind-crap G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra proved that even money couldn't save the Joes from this darker facet of their nature. The G.I. Joe movie is not the only example of this creative property being reduced to a heaping pile of doo, and the world of comics is not exempt when it comes to the shitification of the Joes. In fact, my recent breakdown of trends in G.I. Joe storytelling has revealed that only 7% of G.I. Joe stories are worth reading.

This blog entry is about one of these stories.



I picked up the G.I. Joe: Cobra trade at the Montreal Comic Con for a very economical ten bucks. Initially, I figured Cobra would be a nice complement the above-average Chuck Dixon/Robert Atkins (& others) G.I. Joe series I had been collecting, a book (although plodding) I feel does a pretty good job at capturing the broad scope and characters of the G.I. Joe universe, not to mention the interest of my nostalgic self. Cobra proved not just to be a gritty complement but a vastly superior series to Dixon/Atkin's more traditional take on G.I. Joe.

G.I. Joe: Cobra is a four issue mini-series (an additional one-shot rounds out the story) that tells the story of a single Joe's mission to infiltrate a terrorist conglomerate that eventually proves to be Cobra. The series features a scant four, yeah, count 'em, four characters from the Joe-verse: Joe C-listers Chuckles, Jinx, and Cobra mainstays Tomax and Xamot. Other characters make brief appearances, mostly for the sake of driving the plot forward.

My initial reaction to Chuckles as the series protagonist was mostly negative. Many years ago I received the Chuckles figure as a Christmas gift and, based solely the fact that he sports a Hawaiian shirt, was almost always a victim of friendly fire in the massive wars I staged in my bedroom. Fortunately, although he has retained his poor taste in clothes, Cobra's Chuckles is characterized by a controlled recklessness and a taste for the toughest jobs. Tasked with maintaining his cover as a mercenary and gaining admission to Cobra, Chuckles has to deal with isolation in the field and the emotional burden of being a hired gun. His only contact with G.I. Joe headquarters is through Jinx, another covert operative.

What separates Cobra from other Joe stories is that it doesn't rely on all the gimmicky shit that makes G.I. Joe suck. Rather, Cobra relies on all the crazy shit that made The Bourne Identity fucking awesome. Cobra is a hard-boiled G.I. Joe grounded in reality - as Chuckles gets closer to the truth, many innocent people will die and we are never left with the sense that he will emerge unscathed from his venture into the world of terrorism. Moreover, Cobra is entirely character driven and features only a slice of the goofy sci-fi stuff that has come to define G.I. Joe. Interestingly, the brief glimpse we are given of Cobra makes us want more, lots more.

That's all I'm going to leave you with. Currently, Cobra's story is being continued in G.I. Joe: Cobra II, which is now an ongoing series. I plan on waiting for the trade on this one, but, in the meantime, will be reading G.I. Joe: Cobra again because it's that damn good.

Check it out.

Breaking Down the Fist Pump

Back in the day (read: my first post), I wrote a piece where I discussed the subtleties of an iconic comic pose. As promised, thorough dissections of other poses would soon follow. Without further ado, allow me to present, along with its uninspired title, the second instalment of this semi-regular feature- Breaking Down the Fist Pump.

The fist pump is best described as a mostly-stupid, spontaneous, celebratory reaction to things that are amazing. Golfer and STD-petri dish, Tiger Woods popularized the fist pump and is often credited for the revival of this emotive gesture. On its surface, the fist pump presents us with a simple case of causality, or the relationship between a cause (or other agency) and the effect that follows.

However, the world of sports only provides us with a one-dimensional understanding of the fist pump that has been bastardized and used in dance clubs all over the world. In reality, the fist pump is an extremely nuanced behaviour that requires more attention, for exploring the subtleties of the fist pump will not only reveal its limitless versatility but will provide valuable insight into the human psyche. Fortunately, the broad landscape of the comic book medium allows us to explore the depth of this iconic pose as it features many variations of the fist pump.

The "Behold My Power" Fist Pump

This variation of the fist pump differs from the celebratory version of the pose as it has nothing to do with what was accomplished, but, instead, with what will be accomplished. Take Thanos, for example.

The Infinity Gauntlet, seen here, granted Thanos power over everything in the universe. Thanos, being very, very bad, set out to do very, very bad things with the Gauntlet, namely, to impress his girlfriend, Death, by murdering half the universe.

Ok. Back to the picture. At this point Thanos has done nothing with the Gauntlet other than drop a fist pump and make it shoot lasers. Aesthetics aside, this gesture sends an all important message to the heroes of the Marvel U. and would be naysayers - I will kick your ass.

This preliminary demonstration of power often goes well beyond lasers and communicates a more substantial message to observers. In other words, there are limitless variations to this variation of the fist pump. For example, observe Conan. Before moving onto bigger fish (ie. giant snakes, ape-men, dinosaur-ape-men-snakes), Conan warms up by killing anyone dumb enough to cross his path. Not only does this get the blood flowing for the main event but, more importantly, serves as the stage for a bloody and righteous fist pump that says, I can kick your ass and steal your girlfriend.

With this said, it should be noted that good, properly timed fist pumps are not just about posturing and threatening people with cosmic weapons and sharp objects.

The "Happy" Fist Pump

The "Happy" Fist Pump has nothing to do with threats to the universe or anyone else. Not to be confused with the celebratory fist pump we all know and love, the Happy fist pump as nothing to do with causality but, rather, is all about the time and space the fist pumper finds him/herself in. In short, happiness is not an accomplishment but a state of mind. Take Luke Cage, for example. On a fundamental level, Luke Cage is basically Marvel's Shaft, the smooth-talking answer to every urban problem, ever. However, Luke Cage is nowhere near as cool as Shaft, has done very little to stick it to the man, and has never gone to Africa. Further, Luke Cage has lame powers that are only compounded by the fact that he's a pretty lame character. Even recent attempts to update Luke Cage by shedding his blaxploitation image in favour of a more hip demeanour have been, in my opinion, failures. That said, you'd never know how lame Luke Cage is by looking at him. Hell, if I was overused, perpetually cancelled, and sucked I'd probably fade into the obscurity of a menial job and start a blog about comics, or something. However, Luke Cage celebrates his mediocrity by fist pumping because let's face it, the guy's just happy he can pay his phone bill.

The "Three Birds" Fist Pump

Otherwise known as the "Functional" Fist Pump, the Three Birds Fist pump borrows its name from the well-known two birds idiom. However, while killing two birds with one stone is great, smashing three to pieces with a single action (ie. a fist pump) is awesome.

The Three Birds Fist Pump accomplishes the following simultaneously:

1. Ass kicking
2. Celebrating ass kicking
3. Manly bicep flexing

The synchronicity of the Three Birds Fist Pump makes it the manliest of all fist pumps* and a sublime thing to behold.



*The Three Birds Fist Pump is actually not the manliest fist pump. The "Ultra" Fist Pump (seen below) is the manliest fist pump ever. That said, the Three Birds Fist Pump is pretty manly and should always be used in a fight.

The "Ultra" Fist Pump

The "Ultra" Fist Pump is the rarest, most incredible, sexiest fist pump ever. Briefly, the Ultra Fist Pump is a sexy, flaming blend of all other fist-pumps. I'm going to stray from the comic medium here as, to my knowledge, there is only one recorded Ultra Fist Pump and it is worth noting:

Mola Ram's Ultra Fist Pump Checklist:

1. Standard Fist Pump (Look what I did!): Ripping someone's heart out with his bare hands. Check.
2. Behold My Power Fist Pump (I will): Displays heart to Thuggees warning them not to fuck with him. Check.
3. Happy Fist Pump (It's good to be me): It's good to be Molarum (note the smile). Check.
4. Three Birds Fist Pump (Ass kicking; celebrating ass kicking; bicep flexing): Check. Check. Check.
5. Fire: Flaming, beating heart. Check.

Sadly, the secret to pulling off the Ultra Fist Pump died with Mola Ram as he was eaten by crocodiles. If we can look past the fact that he killed a lot of people, stole the Sankara stones, and ran a cult and a sweat shop, Mola Ram was a pretty decent guy and the world would have benefitted from a sequel to the Indy prequel and more Ultra Fist Pumps. Nevertheless, fist pumping, as evidenced by the above, is a subtle art that is not about celebrating putting balls in holes but, like an onion, is layered, mysterious and intense.

Comic Art Critic #1: What makes a man?

In my opinion, the concrete theory behind the critique of art aesthetics is about as real and relevant as the tooth fairy. Sure, Mona Lisa might be smiling at some hidden, clever secret, and said clever secret might even be Biblical in nature, prompting researchers to further explore the mystery behind Da Vinci's most famous work, and authors to write speculative fiction and pass their work off as fact. That, or Mona might be smiling simply because she isn't wearing any pants. My interpretation is as good as anyone else's, including the critics. To me, the enigmatic nature of fine art is what makes it stupid and boring. Let's face it, the coolest thing Van Gogh ever did was cut off his own ear, which, in itself, is a work of art not to mention totally macho.

I digress.

True art is not subtle or thought-provoking. True art should feel like a chainsaw tearing through your mind and leave multiple contusions on your soul. Comic book art is neither enigmatic nor subtle. Like Van Gogh's crazy act of self-mutilation, comic book art is manly, intense, and leaves very little, if anything, to the imagination, which is what makes it great.

I would like to begin a series of honest critiques of amazing works in comic book art by presenting readers with one of the best pictures ever drawn.



The manliness of this picture is beard inducing. Really, I actually grew a beard in, like, three seconds just by looking at this. There is simply nothing more manly or awesome than stabbing a shark while riding it. To explain, the great white shark is the most awesome apex predator of all time. Great white sharks survived the meteor that obliterated the dinosaurs and have opted to evolve very little since then because they present us with a perfect combination of raw-power and big teeth, making them the shark that every man wants to be. Great white sharks are motivated entirely by the primal need to indiscriminately kick ass and eat things. The only known threat to great white sharks is how manly and awesome they are, which can be intimidating to anyone, even great white sharks. That said, great white sharks rarely fall victim to this paradox and continue to impress us with their awe-inspiring power and aerial leaps.

Raw Power & Aerial Leaps
However, as awesome as sharks are, GI. Joe's resident ninja-commando has proven to be greater than nature's most ferocious predator, as he is able to, without much difficulty, tame the mighty great white shark then stab it in the name of democracy and American freedom. While modern soldiers are required to be proficient in unarmed combat, they are rarely required to fight sharks. In fact, the SAS recommendation for encountering a great white shark on the open sea is to "curl up and die". Refusing to be bound to conventional military tactics, Snake-Eyes faces the his opponent head on in a classic man vs. nature battle of wills. Further, rather than kill the shark with a gun or stick of dynamite, Snake-Eyes, opting to "feel the kill", answers the age old question "What makes a man?" with his trusty knife. Further, in examining this piece through a broader lens, this example of comic art conveys a unique Darwinian message to the reader: if you're not Snake-Eyes, you suck and will probably be eaten by a shark.

Deservedly so.

I wish I was Daredevil.

In the 1980's comic readers were blown away by Frank Miller's noir, martial arts spin on Daredevil. Miller's run on Daredevil was so influential that, to this day, writers have tried to emulate Miller's tone in their own runs and, as such, Daredevil has been populated with its fair share of ninjas, femme fatales, and healthy doses of corruption and cynicism. The latter noirish elements are especially important as the modern Daredevil is defined by the misfortune that continuously befalls him and the people closest to him. While Marvel Universe is populated almost entirely with anti-heroes with their own hard luck stories, many comic readers are sympathetic toward Daredevil and find themselves asking "Why can't Daredevil catch a break?"

In my humble opinion, this is a load of shit. Getting sprayed in the eyes with radioactive goo was the best thing to ever happen to Matt Murdock. In fact, I'm actually envious of Murdock's handicap and the calamity that has beleaguered him for the bulk of his adult life. Before losing his eyesight, Matt Murdock was just another Irish Catholic kid trying to carve out an existence for himself on the streets of Hell's Kitchen while coping with the fact that his dad basically failed at life. In other words, Matt Murdock was a nobody, a statistic at best. However, after being on the receiving end of a radioactive money shot, Matt Murdock became Daredevil, and a lawyer, I might add, and, equipped only with four over-developed senses and one sense of justice that borders on excessive, took to the streets to kick some ass. A product of Daredevil's war on crime has been, in many peoples' opinion, a lot of bad luck. I respectfully disagree with this collective sentiment and present you with a piece detailing my envy of the blind guy who can't seem to get ahead.

I wish I was Daredevil and here's why.

Reason #1: Ninjas

Someday, long after the human race has died out, scholars of the bipedal lizard species that replaces us will develop an encyclopedia of humanity. An eminent contributor mandated with researching ninjas will develop the following entry.

Ninja (Shinobi): A metaphysical quality of the human race was that ninjas were considered to be universally cool.

With this fact in mind, it should come as no surprise that every morning, I open my front door hoping, no, praying to encounter a horde of ninjas waiting to kill me. Upon stepping outside, I imagine myself gently ushering my fiancee to a safe vantage point and saying something to the tune of, "We both knew this time would come, baby. I want you to run. Don't worry, I will find you."

Then, with my fiancee safely out of the way, I would proceed to give the ninjas an overdue lesson in sweet justice, for, although I have chosen to abandon my ninja ways and live a peaceful life, I have retained my ninja skills and am therefore deadly. After defeating the ninjas and getting sufficiently bloody, but not permanently damaged, I would reunite with my fiancee at a hidden rendezvous point that would conveniently have a hot-tub, black light, lubed slip-and-slide and king-sized bed, for, though visibly shaken, she would be totally, uncontrollably hot for me because I just killed, like, 100 ninjas with my bare fucking hands.

Lamentably, my life is mostly ninja-free. The only horde I am faced with on a daily basis with is the vast multitude of dog turds I am required to scoop twice, sometimes three times, a day. Aside from the odour, my dog's little "brown butt ninjas" don't put up much of a fight.

Conversely, every morning, Daredevil literally wakes up to this: ninjas literally falling out of the sky in bunches, risking self-impalement, just to take a shot at him.



My jealousy is only compounded by the fact that I am well aware of the impossibility, logistically and financially, of contacting and and hiring a secret clan of ninja assassins to try to kill me every day. After all, who would pick up my dog's shit and pay the bills if I was fighting ninjas all the time? Still...

Reason #2: Daredevil gets a TON of action.

A natural product of a vigilante's war on crime is a raging libido. Let's face it, all men of action have a lot of sex. Daredevil is no exception to this rule as, despite being blind and a lawyer (two big strikes for anyone trying to land a date), Daredevil is always, most often at a morally reprehensible level, knee-deep in hot sweaty love.

As the Marvel Universe's most successful lothario, Daredevil has a great group of enablers to thank for his boundless sex life - the writers. For, as soon as Daredevil grows weary of a love interest, the writers usher her out of the picture in a most unkind way and introduce a new, hotter woman into his life.

Consider the following Daredevil love interests.

a) Karen Page: The sexy and conveniently naive Karen Page was first introduced as a secretary at Matt Murdock's law firm. Karen soon finds herself uncontrollably infatuated with Matt Murdock and his alter ego, Daredevil. Shortly revealing his secret identity to her, Karen and Matt get busy and date on and off. During an off period, Karen moves to California where she gets hooked on smack and becomes a porn star. Matt helps her kick both her drug and sex addictions and they being dating again. However, due to the fact that dating a former drug addict and pornstar can be a drag, the writers eased Matt's stress by getting him to have an affair with Typhoid Mary who, although very, very, evil, is smoking hot. Karen and Matt break up again but reunite after Mysterio tricks Karen into believing she has AIDS. Shortly after, Bullseye kills Karen, ridding Daredevil of her baggage and clearing the way for more hot women.

Karen Page: Baggage...


Typhoid Mary: Booyah!


b) Milla Donovan: After being saved by Daredevil, Milla Donovan would soon find herself married to The Man Without Fear. Aware of Matt's alter and inflated egos, Milla is, albeit unintentionally, emotionally abused by Daredevil who, let's admit, is a crappy husband. During a period where her psychological well-being is at risk, Mr. Fear drives poor Milla to insanity and murder. With his wife locked away in an upstate insane asylum and in no condition for hot sweaty love, Matt finds himself attracted to a subordinate, private investigator Dakota North, who just so happens to be a former super-model. After weighing his options for all of three seconds, Matt seduces Dakota and they engage in hot sweaty love on his hot sweaty dojo floor.

Dojo Sex. Sweet!


So, is the old adage true? Is the bush always greener on the other side? In my opinion, no. My pro-monogamy stance aside, based on the number of partners he's had and the sheer amount of sex he's getting, one can't help but wonder if, in addition to fighting crime, Daredevil is struggling with a more sinister foe - itchy pee.

Still, anyone who gets more tail than James Bond and a sexually mature male rabbit combined, is awesome.

Reason #3: Unendurable Woe = License to do whatever I want.

I can admit that Daredevil's been through a lot. However, before feeling bad for him, I'd like to point out something that is both fairly obvious and really awesome - Daredevil's hard luck serves as an excuse for him to do whatever he wants.



Daredevil doesn't walk the edge, he defines it. If the edge is crippling a man so he never walks again, but no worse, so be it. If the edge is the wholesale slaughter of a ninja clan just to prove a point, it's all good. While not entirely morally bankrupt, the steady deterioration of Daredevil's well-being has put him in a position where his enemies are scared shitless of him and his allies are hesitant to address his questionable approach to doing his job.

I would love this. The real-world benefits of defining your own edge are nearly infinite, for, I don't walk the line, I am the line. Get in line or die, maybe. That, or I might buy you a kitten; it depends on what kind of day I'm having. This unique combination of controlled madness and unending melancholy is not only intimidating but keeps people guessing, and this puts you in a position of power, and power is awesome.

In conclusion, despite living a double life as a lawyer and superhero, and despite his handicap and the fact that everyone wants to kill him and his friends, Matt Murdock has a pretty great life. While most of us are picking up dog turds and going to jobs we hate, Daredevil enjoys a life of ninjas, hot sweaty love and a psyche that is, at best, completely shattered but in a good way. So, when thinking of the normalcy and drudgery of your own life and how awesome Daredevil's life is, ask yourself this, "If everyone loves a good train wreck, why wouldn't I want my own life to be a complete fucking disaster?". With that knowledge, go get yourself a nail gun, some watermelons and a pack of condoms because it's going to be a great day.

Siege: An Event Seven Years in the Making?

Marvel's Siege event was supposed to capstone to seven years worth of stories and overall bad luck for the Heroes of the Marvel U. Briefly, the excellent Civil War mini-series served as the catalyst for some pretty hefty events that rocked the Marvel U. It all went down like this:

Civil War: The divisive Superhero Registration Act is passed. Led by Iron Man and Captain America, two warring factions of heroes and villains settle their differences with their fists - as if there is any other way. End Result: Iron Man's faction wins; heroes must register with government; Captain America dies; Bucky becomes new Cap.

Secret Invasion: Skrulls invade earth. Skrulls are lame. Iron Man fails to prevent/stop the invasion finds himself on the outs with pretty much everyone, especially Thor. Norman Osborn is promoted to head of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Dark Reign: S.H.I.E.L.D. becomes H.A.M.M.E.R. Osborn steals Iron Man's tech and leads a group of Avengers composed almost entirely of not-so-reformed super-villains. In order to protect other heroes' identities, Iron Man turns himself into a retard thus preventing Osborn from hacking his brain but failing to stop Osborn from beating him into a coma on live TV.

Siege: Loki tricks Osborn into attacking Asgard by triggering a disaster not unlike the disaster that kicked off Civil War. Asgard is blamed for the disaster, H.A.M.M.E.R. attacks.

Here's Marvel's promotional trailer for Siege:


My reaction to this trailer: HOT DAMN! There is nothing more boner-inducing than a high stakes brawl between heroes and villains, set on an epic stage. Now, before getting into my critique, overall, Siege was pretty o.k.. Brian Michael Bendis was given the hefty task of delivering the goods in a scant four issues, and did, for the most part, and Olivier Coipel, as usual, was rock-solid on the pencilling end of the story.

Here's my issue with Siege. Except for the bellow image of Ares, the God of War, being reduced to pudding, Siege was both contrived and anti-climactic, which, as you'll read in my conclusion, isn't necessarily a bad thing.



Contrived: Yawn...
While Bendis deserves all the credit in the world for spinning a pretty good yarn, he, like most event writers, was bound to the powers of the editor and the new direction of the Marvel U. - The Heroic Age. In other words, one only had to look as far as The Heroic Age promo material to figure out how Siege was going to end.

Take a look.



From this picture alone we can infer the following:

1. The big three (Captain America, Thor, Iron Man) have resolved their differences;
2. The Avengers are getting back together; and
3. Osborn has been deposed.

Did I need to fork over close to 20 bucks for an action-packed statement of the obvious?

Anti-Climactic

Siege was billed as a huge turning point for the Marvel U. The promotional material for Siege describes it as an event "Seven Years in the Making". Wait a minute... It took seven years to make Norman Osborn go crazy and get the Avengers back together? Really?

Normally, I'd take this opportunity to discuss the fact that, right now, no less than a dozen nerds are writing fan-fiction featuring Norman Osborn and the Avengers. Further, at least three of these scripts will feature a six-page threesome starring Hawkeye, Daken and Ms. Marvel (Carol Danvers). However, I'm going to take the high road and take a moment and discuss the concept of hubris.

Hubris, or excessive, blinding pride is very often the root cause of failure. I'm not saying Marvel failed with Siege, but how could Marvel hope to live up to it's own hype? Let's be honest here, Siege did not take seven years to develop. Hell, it only took a year to tear down the entire Berlin Wall; so, let's call a spade a spade - Siege like all other "event" comics is simply a publisher's regular cross-title cash grab that, although enjoyable, doesn't change the landscape all that much.

Am I right?

Well, without giving too much away, I'm going to say that I'm mostly right, and here's why. First, I'm right in that the conclusion to Siege was fairly predictable and uninspired. Maybe it's me, but, by the mid-point of issue #3, I was no longer invested in Siege, and found myself wishing the battle for Asgard was over and looking forward to the beginning of the Heroic Age. Now, it's worth noting that it remains to be seen how the Heroic Age will pan out, which makes me not completely right. While I will maintain that Siege accomplished little in shaking things up, the end of the series presents readers with a new vision that, at the very least, will be a well-deserved break from the usual tone of doom and gloom that has governed much of the Marvel U. for the past 10 years. That said, who knows, maybe the Heroic Age will change the comic medium as we know it.

Final Thoughts
Despite my criticism, truthfully, I'm on the fence when it comes to Siege. As a whole, Siege didn't rock my world and didn't change much. Rather, Siege presents us with standard comic book fare - a serviceable story and good art, which, to me, is just fine. Really, can we ask for anything more?

At this juncture, I feel it is best to wrap things up. I'd love to continue rambling and dissect my stance on Siege, but, in this case at least, brevity and some insight on the perils of neutrality will serve me, and hopefully you, best. A wise and great man once said, "If you sit on the fence too long, you will get speared in the nuts." So, with these prophetic words in mind, I offer my final verdict on Siege: Wait for the trade.

The Crazy. Part 1 - The Monolith

Laypeople often look at comic nerds as painfully shy, vaguely mutant-like recluses who have spent years carefully building comic-themed lairs in their mother’s basements where they can safely hoard their belongings away from other people, out of sunlight, and close to the fridge.

I'm not going to attempt to dispel this popular myth because, in many cases, it's actually true. However, writing a blog entry about the subterranean virgins that make up a chunk of the comic nerd demographic is an anthropological endeavour that will take some time. Believe me, I will get to this post in due time. However, for the time being, as the first of a series of entires, I am going to focus on a common trait all comic collectors possess - The Crazy.

Collecting comics is a lot like collecting bugs or eyeballs – you have to be a little bit nuts.

I am going volunteer myself as proof of this fact. However, before getting into the crazy, I'm going to briefly list some of the everyday things that make me mostly normal. Outside of comic collecting, I'm a pretty normal guy. I have a good job, take good care of myself, and am engaged to an amazing woman. Regarding the latter, it is important to note that my future wife does not collect or fully understand the appeal of comic books. That said, my bride-to-be has always lovingly supported my hobby and occasional (read: constant) bouts of comic fanaticism.

Okay. Let's get to The Crazy. Despite my apparent normalcy, when it comes to comics, I can admit to being nuts.

This is me on comic books - twitchy and a little paranoid.



That, or I'm oddly morbidly focused on minutiae which leads to incoherent tangents (ie. Why haven't I double bagged my signed comics? Why? Why? WHY!?... I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That's my dream; that's my nightmare...); like this guy.

This condemning, yet accurate portrait is the product of close to 20 years worth of collecting. As normal as I am now, my early high school years were not especially kind to me. A series of bad haircuts, volcanic acne and aviator glasses didn't exactly get me accepted by the cool kids, and my disinterest in school and mediocre grades didn't get me in with the bookworms. Between sports and chronic masturbation, I needed something to pass the time until I got to see my first set of real boobs, let alone kiss a girl, which, in my 13 year old mind, would change my life for the better, forever.

Yeah.

In any case, comic books always intrigued me and, soon enough, I started a small collection that I kept in my mother's basement, out of sunlight. Today, my collection is housed in a stainless steel tower (it's massive and awesome) and three satellite long boxes.

The primary focus of this instalment of "The Crazy" is my comic book tower, otherwise known as The Monolith.

Unlike the monolith from Kubrick's masterpiece, my comic monolith is not made of stone and did not come from the sky. Rather, my monolith is a black stainless steel filing cabinet that was delivered from Staples. However, much like the monolith in Space Odyssey, the flawless black cuboid that resides in my front hallway has amazing mind-altering capabilities. Also, my monolith is filled with comics, so Arthur C. Clarke can go fuck himself; may he rest in peace.

Back to the mind-altering powers of The Monolith.

Once upon a time, I was content to store my beloved collection in long boxes and store these boxes in a safe place (the back room). This year, in a somewhat inspired, but mostly random act, I decided to upgrade my storage facilities by purchasing what amounts to a pretty safe option for my books. Briefly, the new cabinet is not only functional and spacious but it provides me with a mold/fire/water-proof alternative to the ever popular long box.

Here's where the head fuck comes in. After the long and difficult migration to The Monolith, one of my carefully arranged rows of comics tipped over. Now, I'm the type of collector who goes ape-shit over a bent corner or misplaced staple, so you can imagine the meltdown I experienced when I found my books lying face-down at the bottom of the drawer. After some meticulous inspection, a bout of buyer's remorse, and a serious forehead slap, my comics were back in order and damage-free.

No harm, no foul. Right?

Wrong.

That night, in hushed tones, The Monolith ordered me to cut out my tongue with a pizza slicer.

Actually, it didn't.

However, from that point on, I've developed an interesting complex (read: phobia) where any regular household noise is actually the sound of my comic books tipping over or the cause of my comic books tipping.

I'm not kidding. Observe the power of The Monolith.

1. A whistling kettle? Oh shit. My comics just tipped.

2. A knock at the door? Did the minor tremor created by the knock ripple up the wall and tip my comics? Probably. No. Most definitely.

3. The cleaning lady? Did the cleaning lady forget to read my note about mopping the floor around The Monolith and hit it with the mop, thus tipping my comics? Yes. Oh fuck.

4. Sex? Sex creates a bigger tremor than a knock at the door... Dammit! I knew I should have gone with the headache excuse.

Yup, that about sums it. Admittedly, my condition has gotten better over the past few months. I don't check on my comics multiple times a day and have given up on the idea of learning Filipino in order to ensure the cleaning lady has gotten the message.

Will it ever go away? No. Probably not. Similar to "Odyssey's" herbivorous monkey tribe, I'm banking on natural evolution and divine intervention to solve my problem.

The Immortal Iron Fist: 27 Issues of Awesome

Introduced in 1974, Danny Rand, or Iron Fist as he is more commonly known, is a product of the kung-fu boom of the 1970's, and similar to most practitioners of the deadly arts, Iron Fist made a name for himself with his fists and feet, and little else. A few flashes of originality aside, due mostly to the failure to recognize the potential of the character and a series of mediocre reboots and team-ups, mostly with Luke Cage, Iron Fist was relegated to Marvel's C-List along with characters such as Moon Knight and Doctor Strange, who, I might add, have recently enjoyed some critical success.

Fast forward to 2006.

Now, I must admit, while I am a huge Ed Brubaker fan and, at the time, was impressed with this Matt Fraction guy, who is presently kicking all kinds of ass on The Invincible Iron Man (buy this book now) and will kick even more ass when he picks up Thor, I scoffed at the idea of resurrecting Iron Fist. To date, the Iron Fist canon was as paper thin as the character himself. How could these two scribes, as awesome as they are, hope to breath life into Danny Rand and get me to spend my hard earned four bucks? Really, why should I care?

Shame on me.

From the get go, the Immortal Iron Fist rocked me like a cross-kick to the nuts, but in a really good way. Brubaker and Fraction leapt out of the gate with fourteen rock-solid issues that delved deep into Iron Fist lore (more on that later) and breathed new life into the character. Duane Swierczynski and Travel Foreman handled the rest of the series, starting at issue #17 and concluding with #27, and, to me, did an admirable job of picking up where Brubaker and Fraction left off. The cancellation of Iron Fist, which is a fucking tragedy, is what motivated me to write the fairly straight forward piece that follows. Although I am more than happy to plunk down a chunk of my hard earned cash on multiple regular Marvel titles, Iron Fist was a breath of fresh air as it deviated ever so slightly from the regular trappings of the Marvel U., while remaining faithful to the source material and the publisher's established tone. This post is a chance for me to provide my reader with a retrospective of one of my favorite books that just so happened to bite the dust. Without further ado, below is a reader-friendly conspectus of everything that made The Immortal Iron Fist great.

Art

When it comes to discussing comic book art, I really can't offer much in terms of thorough criticism. Simply put, I like comic art or I don't. Sometimes, just sometimes, I think some comic art is ok and can stomach it for as long as I need to. That's really all I have to say about art.

That said, comics are a visual medium, so art needs to be addressed in some capacity, so I will speak briefly of Iron Fist's primary pencilers before moving on to the more essential nuts and bolts of the series.

While The Immortal Iron Fist has played host to more than a few collaborating artists, David Aja and Travel Foreman handled the bulk of the penciling chores for the series and presented readers with two very unique styles. A relative new comer to the comic book business, David Aja took the scene by storm with his simple, expressive style that worked well with the Iron Fist character, who vacillates between kung fu posturing and kung fu kicking ass. Personally, I found Aja's work to be pretty good. While his work does not exactly pop of the page, Aja's pencils are functional and unobtrusive, and remained faithful to Brubaker and Fraction's vision. I never like to conclude with a side note, but it's worth mentioning that Aja's cover work on the series is especially stunning.





Travel Foreman's art, on the other hand, is much harder to get used to, but, in my humble opinion, awesome and perfectly suited for Iron Fist. I'm no critic, but, to me, Foreman's art and panel layout, which I can only describe as abstract and oddly kinetic, resonated more with me as a reader as it successfully conveyed the sometimes frantic pace and weird elements, of which there are plenty, of the series.



Story

Ok. Here's where the book starts getting really cool, for, although Iron Fist is most certainly a superhero, The Immortal Iron Fist is not exactly a superhero book, in the traditional sense, at least. If Bruce Lee and John Carpenter had a bastard love-child that was breast fed from a boob filled with steroids, it would be The Immortal Iron Fist. To explain, The Immortal Iron Fist is a crazy amalgamation of the best parts of the Kung Fu genre and traditional Marvel superhero books. Throw in a dash of horror and the supernatural, and you got yourself a hell of a book that is not bound to any one genre.

Without spoiling anything, below is a breakdown and synopisis of the essential arcs that make up the twenty-seven issues. I recommend purchasing The Immortal Iron Fist Omnibus, a four pound beast of a book that collects issues #1-16 and some additional supplementary pieces, and The Immortal Iron Fist volumes 4 and 5, which, unfortunately, will probably never be collected in a single volume, but I will get to that at the end of this post.

The Last Iron Fist Story (#1-6): Danny Rand meets Orson Randall, his opium addicted predecessor. Danny and Orson find themselves in a race against HYDRA and the Steel Serpent for the the Book of the Iron Fist, a tome that will provide Danny with the martial arts skills he needs to compete in and win the Tournament of the Seven Champions. Somebody actually gets his head punched off in this arc. He does not survive.

The Seven Capital Cities of Heaven (#8-14): Danny Rand is summoned to compete in the Tournament of the Seven Champion, a kung fu tournament that takes place on a mystical plane of existence, but finds himself torn between his duties to K'un Lun and his master Lei Kung (aka Thunderer), and foiling a HYDRA plot to destroy K'un Lun with the biggest missile ever.

The Mortal Iron Fist (#17-20): On the eve of his 33rd birthday, Danny Rand learns that all previous Iron Fists, with the exception of Orson Randall, whose chi was made undetectable by his opium addiction, have died at the age of 33. Danny must battle a seemingly invincible foe and Iron Fist assassin, Zhou Cheng, or die a horrible death. Story-wise, this is the weakest story arc of the series; it's still pretty good, though.

Escape from the Eighth City (#21-27): Danny and the Immortal Weapons embark on a mission to rescue innocent prisoners from the mysterious Eighth City of Heaven, which, for lack of a better description, is hell filled with demons that know kung fu. Danny and the Immortal Weapons are defeated and thrown in prison where Danny meets the first Iron Fist.

Supporting Cast

In spite of all his awesomeness, Iron Fist, like many other characters, is only as good as his supporting cast. While Colleen Wing, Luke Cage and Misty Knight fill in the required, yet quirky, supporting samurai, bad-ass best buddy and cyborg love interest roles, the richness of Iron Fist's supporting cast is in the Immortal Weapons. Like Iron Fist, the Immortal Weapons are both protectors of and champions of their respective City of Heaven. During the Tournament of the Seven Champions, Iron Fist was pitted against the other Weapons in deadly combat but, since then, allied with them, with the exception of Davos, in order to battle HYDRA and a shit ton of demons. Below is a brief description of the Immortal Weapons.



Fat Cobra: A supernaturally agile sumo wrestler. Works hard, plays harder (his wenches lust for him and he happily obliges). Focuses his chi into weather based, namely lightning and wind, attacks. Beats the crap out of Iron Fist without breaking a sweat.

Bride of Nine Spiders: Attacks her opponents with about a million spiders that burst from her chest. Spiders are creepy. Spiders bursting from a woman's chest is fucking rad.

Dog Brother #1: A peerless swordsman who fights with a supernatural dog pack. He is believed to be the protector of the lost, orphaned, and other exiles and unfortunates.

Tiger's Beautiful Daughter: A beautiful and fearless warrior who wields razor sharp fans. Severs Steel Phoenix's hand in the Tournament of the Seven Champions.

Prince of Orphans: The most powerful of the Immortal Weapons. Prince of Orphans has seen many battles and is very wise. More importantly, he can turn into mist and kick your ass.

Steel Phoenix (aka Steel Serpent; aka Davos): Iron Fist's archenemy. Beefs up his chi by drawing power from the evil Crane Mother and her daughters.

Before the cancellation of Iron Fist, the Immortal Weapons were featured in their own mini-series, which, from my understanding, is worth reading.

Legacy

To me, the greatest stroke of genius in the Immortal Iron Fist was perhaps the simplest - backstory. Brubaker and Fraction added near infinite depth to Iron Fist by creating a dynasty of successive heritors of the Iron Fist mantle. Not only did this help flesh out the book with some much needed kung fu mythology, but the Iron Fist history allowed for Brubaker, Fraction and Swierczynski to introduce multiple Iron Fists, most notably Orson Randall, the WWI-era Iron Fist who channels his chi through a pair of Smith & Wesson pistols, and who plays a significant role throughout the series.



Other Iron Fists, though not featured as prominently as Orson Randall, are introduced in the book either in flashbacks or, in some cases, in stand-alone issues. The concept of past and future Iron Fists playing a roll in the series is an interesting one as the Iron Fist mantle passes from person to person, throughout history and leaves writers with a character that has limitless depth and potential. Personally, as much as I like Danny Rand, I was looking forward to seeing more of the past and future Iron Fists.

The winds of change smell like fart

Sadly, for the foreseeable future, there will be no stories featuring Danny Rand or wild west Iron Fist or an Iron Fist who fights robot ninjas as The Immortal Iron Fist wrapped with issue #27 and the Immortal Weapons mini-series. The cancellation of the series coincides with Marvel prepping to usher in a new, universe-changing initiative, The Heroic Age, an age defined by hope and optimism. For me, the jury's still out on Marvel's shift in tone. How can a universe comprised almost entirely of anti-heroes who thrive under adverse conditions flourish in this bright and shiny era? I am cautiously optimistic but, deep down, look forward to the shit hitting the fan again and getting back to the Marvel I love.

The Heroic Age Avengers... Maybe it's just me, but Iron man looks like he's taking a dump; a dump filled with heroic optimism, but, nevertheless, a dump.


In any case, while Luke Cage can lead the Heroic Age Thunderbolts to failure (for the uninitiated, Luke Cage is dumb), and occupies the requisite ethnic roster spot on the New Avengers, there seems to be no room in the Heroic Age for Iron Fist and his sweet kung fu action. Observe the new Avengers line-up:



Ok, so the Avengers can extend a membership offer to Gorilla-Man, who is basically a gun-toting Beast (wait, he's an Avenger too!) but not as strong and supposedly immortal. I love firearm wielding monkeys as much as the next guy but the Avengers, as you see them here, already have plenty of muscle. Ditch the monkey, or even better, Thing, and get Iron Fist on that roster.

Marvel apparently has other plans for Danny Rand.

Presently, internet rumors indicate that Iron Fist will reunite with Luke Cage in a brand spanking new Heroes for Hire book.

Yay...

Heroes for Hire first appeared in 1978 and, over the course of 30 or so years suffered a series of reboots and cancellations that culminated in, well, nothing important. Rebooting a Marvel title that was fairly lame and has a history of failure is, in my opinion, nothing more than a vain attempt to tap into fanboy nostalgia. Despite my previous reticence with regard to the Heroic Age, I feel more than comfortable weighing in on the prospect of seeing a slap-stick, jive-talking, band of merry men re-revival of a character who needs more love - it sucks, and not in a good way.

Will I buy it? Probably. Like any good train wreck, my own morbid curiosity will undoubtedly compel me to purchase this book. Call me a glutton for punishment but my doubt needs some concrete satisfaction.

Should you buy it?

Naw. See how the Heroic Age pans out. Better Iron Fist stories have already been written and await your perusal.