“Hi, My Name Is Mary Sue, and I’m a Vampire.”

There’s really no good way for me to ease into this, so I’m just going to come out and say it: Vampires, at least many modern interpretations of vampires, are little more than Mary Sues.

Until recently, I wasn’t familiar with the concept of the Mary Sue, even though  it’s fairly common in the world of fanfiction, a corner of fandom that I have never really had any interest in visiting. Anyway, in brief, a Mary Sue is an overly idealized, hackneyed character who functions as a kind of wish-fulfillment for the author or the reader. A Mary Sue can be either male or female and, despite originating in the realm of fanfiction, several canonical characters can be considered Mary Sues (Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: The Next Generation and The X-Men’s Kitty Pryde have both been classified as Mary Sues in the past). There’s a pretty good explanation of the Mary Sue phenomenon here.

So, where do I get off calling vampires the Mary Sues of film, TV, and literature? Well, I think the prevailing depiction of vampires in fiction leans heavily on the “overly idealized” and “wish-fulfillment”parts of the definition. When I was growing up, vampires were monsters. They were evil, bad. They hung out in castles and abandoned crypts, killing and feeding on people. Then, somewhere along the line, an author by the name of Anne Rice showed up (perhaps you’ve heard of her?), and vampires experienced a thematic shift. (Disclaimer: I’m not saying Rice was the one who created the new, Mary Sue-ish vampires–in fact, I’m pretty sure she isn’t–but, she’s probably the writer who is most associated with the Sue-pires.) No longer were they monsters to be feared, hunted, and killed in the name of humanity. No. Now, they were to be pitied. And, in most cases, fucked. This is where the Mary Sue bit comes in. These new vampires were bad boys…but, bad boys who felt soooooo tortured by what they’ve done, that all they need is the love of the right mortal woman to put them on the path to righteousness and redemption. In the real world–y’know, the place we all live; the place we keep our stuff–guys who spend their time killing people probably don’t give a shit about redemption. No, they’re more likely to beat the crap out of you or throw you down a flight of stairs.

Now, I’m not knocking the whole “bad boy” thing. I get it. Bad boys can be wicked cool. Clint Eastwood, Charles Bronson, Lee Marvin, John Wayne: they all played a variation of the bad boy. Wolverine? Jayne Cobb? Logan Echolls? Yeah…they’re all awesome. I also understand because I suffer from the male version of the Bad Boy Fixation–the Crazy Girl Dilemma. River? Parker? Kara? Faith? Yes, please. I understand the draw, the excitement of never knowing what’s going to happen next. The truth is, in real life, both the bad boy and the crazy girl would fuck your shit up as soon as look at you. However, in the world of Mary Sue-pires, the tortured, immortal bad boy is easily tamed by the mortal woman, thereby providing the reader (and, possibly, the writer) with the best of both worlds: they get their bad boy who is dark, mysterious, and brooding, but all of the danger that would come with a real bad boy has been safely removed: “He may be a vampire, but he’ll never hurt me. He feels bad about all the killing and will never do it again.”

In closing, while I may not like the current crop of emo, metrosexual vampires plaguing modern fiction (don’t even get me started on the sparkly ones), that doesn’t mean I think you shouldn’t. In fact, I insist. If you like something, by all means enjoy it…drink from the well of entertainment ’til your thirst is slaked. But, I think you should realize (and accept) that the tortured vampire bad boy is complete and total wish-fulfillment. In reality, this guy would be the abusive boyfriend, the rapist, or the wife beater.

“It’s Not My Fault…”

I haven’t posted in a while, and with good reason(s).

First of all, my computer apparently caught the swine flu.  I blame all of the spam I get on a daily basis.  (Get it?  Spam –> Ham –> Pig –> Swine)  After spending a good week trying to repair the silly thing–which left me feeling a little bit like this:

–I finally had to break down and shell out the cash for a new machine.

Secondly, I was out of town for a few days on business.

But, now I’m back, have a shiny new laptop, and a bunch of posts just itching to be written.

My “Scott & Jean”: You Can’t Spell “Dark Knight Detective” Without “Dark” and “Detective”

Yeah, so this is it, cats and kittens: The Big Secret Final Invasion War of the Clone Crisis Saga Blog Crossover Event.  Or, as we like to call it, “What’s Your ‘Scott & Jean’?”  For those new to the party (where the hell have you been, anyway?), your “Scott & Jean” is your geek sacred cow–the one thing that you are so passionate about that you just can not discuss it rationally.

I was trying to think of a logical introduction for this extravaganza, when one of my fellow Crossover bloggers pointed out that the very notion of a “Scott & Jean” eschews logic and, therefore, I should just feel free to rant.  So, here goes:

I love Batman.

There’s really no other way to put it.  I don’t mean I want to have Batman’s babies…well, mostly (but, let’s be honest: Batman’s one true love is Justice, so what chance do I really have?  Unless Talia has some spare Wayne-gravy laying around).  When I was a little kid, I had Batman action figures, Batman Matchbox cars, a Batman cape–please note: I did not say a “superhero cape”, this was a Batman cape…this sumbitch was scalloped.  One of the first superhero comics I ever bought was Detective Comics #603.

Anyway, my point is this: I.  Love.  Batman.

But, y’see, it’s really not that simple, especially when you’re dealing with a character who’s about to hit his 70th anniversary.  In the past seven decades, there have been numerous interpretations of the character.  Some good.  Some bad.  But only one correct one.

That’s right.  You heard what I said: for me, there is only one correct way to portray Batman.  (Hey, I warned you this was going to be a logic-free zone.)

First of all, Batman is dark and broody.  He watched his parents get gunned down when he was a little kid, for Christ’s sake…you’d be a bit cranky, too.  This is the point when “my Batman” kinda snapped.  He’s driven by this event.  He devotes his entire life to both avenging his parents’ murder and making sure that no one in Gotham City ever has to suffer the same kind of tragedy.  He figures this out on his own.  He doesn’t need Joey-effing-Potter to clue him in.  So, when you take into account that he’s a guy who watched his folks get gunned down in an alley, you can understand why these are just wrong:

This, however, is more like it:

I’ll get to all those non-Batman people hanging around Ol’ Bats in a second.

Now, we’ve established that the right tone for Batman is dark and broody.  His costume is to be dark to reflect this: black or dark grey bodysuit with either uber-dark blue or black boots, gloves, cape and cowl.  Accept no substitutes.  This guy runs around at night, why the hell would he wear bright blue anything?  He doesn’t smile.  He rarely jokes.  If he ever utters the word “chum”, he better be talking about shark fishing.

You’re probably asking yourself, why the hell would someone like that go out of their way to surround themselves with friends and associates?  Now you’re catching on, Eugene: my Batman does not have friends and associates.  With the exception of loyal Alfred (who’s been on thin-ice a few times, himself), my Batman is too practical and paranoid to worry about something as useless as friends.  Friends don’t keep the criminal scum off the streets.  No.  But, tools do.  If Batman spends more than five seconds in your company, he clearly needs you for something and, when that task has been accomplished, you better get the hell outta Gotham, because Bats doesn’t take kindly to interlopers in “his city.”  Oh, and you better not expect a “Good job” or a “Thanks, pal”…Batman doesn’t have time for that, crime’s afoot.  Oh, and did I mention he’s a paranoid freak?  Odds are, if you can run faster than the speed of light or bend steel in your bare hands, he has a file on how to take you out should you ever “go bad.”  What’s that you say?  What about Robin and Batgirl?  Please.  The second they mouth off or show the slightest bit of independent thought, my Batman brooms his sidekick and gets another pliable young mind to warp.

My Batman is also a freakin’ genius.  He’s called the “Dark Knight Detective” for a reason.  Hello, he premiered in a book called DETECTIVE Comics.  Did Bruce Wayne study martial arts?  Sure.  But, he also studied criminology, psychology, forensic science.  He’s been trained as an escape artist and a master of disguise.  Christopher Nolan will have us believe that Batman is just some thug in a cape who beats the snot out of gangsters and needs Morgan Freeman’s help to come up with an antidote for Scarecrow’s fear gas.  Um, no.  Sorry, Mr. Nolan, but you are wrong.  Batman does not need anyone’s help coming up with an antidote.  He can come up with an antidote in his sleep, while he does the crossword puzzle and designs a new Batmobile.  Why?  Because Batman is a freakin’ genius!  That’s it.  End of story.  And do you know what else Batman can do?  He can break into a skyscraper all by his lonesome, as well, thank you very much.  I don’t care if it’s in Hong Kong.  I don’t care if it’s on the Moon.  He’ll get there, he’ll break in, and he’ll do it without your help.

Finally, if it hasn’t been made clear by this point, only Bruce Wayne can be Batman.  I don’t care what hack writer DC throws at us…what dumb-ass “event” sends Bruce Wayne back in time or to Never-Never Land or wherever the bloody hell we’re expected to believe Batman’s been sent…Tim?  Dick?  Jason?  They are not, nor ever will be, Batman.  Only Bruce Wayne can be Batman, because Batman is Bruce Wayne.  The Wayne persona is the mask that Batman wears to conceal his identity, not vice versa.

That’s who Batman is.  It’s who he’s always been.  It’s who he’ll always be.  If a writer or an artist portrays Batman in any other way, they’re wrong.  End of story.  Thanks for playing.

Here endeth the rant.

In a World…

Coming to this blog on Monday, March 30 is an event so huge, so life-changing, so unbelievably awesome, so legen-wait for it-dary that it could only have been born on Twitter.

On this day, a number of like-minded individuals will post a blog that answers this burning question: What’s your Scott and Jean?  Now, I know you’re thinking “Scott and Jean…yeah-buh-whaa?”  Essentially, a “Scott and Jean” is sort of your personal geek sacred cow–that one topic that, no matter how rationally it’s presented to you, you can not discuss without starting to twitch and foam at the mouth within seconds.

Most of us have a “Scott and Jean”, and come March 30 you’ll get to read about mine, as well as those of my friends over at Alert Nerd, Fantastic Fangirls, and Geeked.

“Even a Man Who is Pure in Heart…”

According to this story in the New York Daily News, 2009 is going to be “The Year of the Werewolf.”  A week or so back, Entertainment Weekly made a similar pronouncement.

I love werewolves.  They are, hands down, my favorite monster.  Need proof?  Well, some of my favorite movies are The Howling, An American Werewolf in London, and Ginger Snaps (bet most of you have no idea what that last one even is).  I’ll even go so far as saying that, as bad as Van Helsing is, it had a pretty sweet looking werewolf:

So, while I’m happy that 2009 may be “The Year of the Werewolf”–yes, I’m pretty psyched about Benicio Del Toro’s remake of The Wolf Man and hold out hope that 2009 might see Ginger Snaps 4–I’m a little annoyed that most of the projects mentioned in these articles are actually vampire series.  Twilight.  True Blood.  Underworld.  All vampire series.  So, even if it is going to be “The Year of the Werewolf”, Hollywood is still forcing our furry brothers to ride the foppish coattails of those pasty-faced bloodsuckers.

And, in this Era of Change, that’s just wrong.

Ed…just Ed

This worked really well the last time–when I bitched and moaned about the lack of DVD collections of Tiny Toons, Freakazoid, and The Invisible Man (all three now exist)–so, I thought “What the hell?”, I’ll try it one more time and see if it works.

This time around, I want to know what the hell is up with the lack of Ed on DVD.  Ed was such a cute, harmless little show about a lawyer who also owned a bowling alley.  It was a lot like Northern Exposure, except it was set in Ohio.

So, that’s that.  I demand Ed on DVD.  See what you can do for me, internet.

One More Rant Before the Year’s Out

Apparently, people are under the impression that guys aren’t reading.  Now, I’m sure that there is a warehouse full of marketing data somewhere–possibly an aisle or two down from the Ark of the Covenant–to back up this claim.  However, I think the truth is a bit closer to what Chris Goldberg states over at The Huffington Post:

“Where are the badass young male writers of today? Would Hunter S. Thompson or Kurt Vonnegut or Brett Easton Ellis or Jay McInerney or Alex Garland or Chuck Palahniuk even get book deals if their debut novels were written today? How can we make reading novels — and writing them — cool again for guys under thirty?”

The problem isn’t that there are no books for guys on the market.  The problem is there aren’t a lot of pretentious, over-blown novels that you’ll look cool reading on the train or sitting at a Starbucks.  It’s a biased statement based upon one group’s concept of what’s considered worthwhile literature.  This is similar to the problem that’s been discussed regarding YA novels, particularly by Jen and Diana.

I certainly have no problem finding books to read, and probably won’t any time soon, as long as James Rollins, Steven Berry, Jim Butcher, and Neil Gaiman keep writing–not to mention the offerings from Hard Case Crime.  Also, there doesn’t seem to be a lack of guys reading on my commute each morning.  I see names like James Patterson, Robert B. Parker, Vince Flynn, and Tom Clancy each and every day (admittedly, Mr. Goldberg does mention Patterson, alongside Stephen King and John Grisham).

See, I don’t think the problem stems from the authors or the publishers.  I think the problem comes from the public.  A public that is more concerned with appearance than with entertainment.  A public that “wouldn’t be caught dead reading (insert author or title here).”  A public that looks down on people who read for entertainment, thrills, and escape (which doesn’t mean you can’t find a deeper meaning in a book just because it’s also fun).  A public that, as a friend of mine once said, is clearly afraid of awesome.

I admit that the above is more than a little knee-jerk and ranty, but this is one of the topics that really raises my hackles.

I’m a Man of My Word

About a month ago, I wrote that I was fully prepared to ditch DC Comics depending on the outcome of their Batman R.I.P. storyline.  Well, the last issue’s come out, it’s been read, debated, and deconstructed by folks with way more patience than I.  But, in the final analysis, Grant Morrison and DC win.  I’m out.

I have a reputation for being someone who hates change.  This is, more or less, a well-earned truism.  I don’t.  I have a comfort zone, and I like it there…it’s warm and it’s where I keep all of my stuff.  I get twitchy when plans change at the last minute.  I don’t always react well when friends or relatives radically alter their appearance.  I’d probably eat the same thing for dinner every night.  But, my issues with Morrison and DC have little to do with change.  I know that nothing is set in stone in the comic world.  I know that dead doesn’t mean dead, especially if the potential corpse in question is the star of a hugely successful summer blockbuster.  So, if Bruce Wayne died, I’d be annoyed, but I’d know it was only temporary.

Unfortunately, the problem with Morrison’s R.I.P. is a tad murkier.  I honestly have no idea how it ended.  In fact, I’ve referred to it as a “non-ending.”  There was all this build-up and then…nada.  Is Bruce Wayne dead?  Is he alive?  Is he insane?  I have no fucking clue.  Who is Dr. Hurt?  Well, Morrison keeps changing his mind.  The Black Glove was supposed to be some uber-badass who would topple the Dark Knight once and for all.  Who is the Black Glove?  Just five asshats who symbolize the five fingers of a glove.  Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ.  The least Morrison could have done was come up with a conclusion that pissed me off.  Then I would have respected him.  Instead, he gave me one of the most convoluted story arcs in recent memory.  I can’t remember the last time an issue of Batman made a lick of sense to me…which seems to go against the spirit of a comic about a character fueled by logic and deductive reasoning.  No, there was no anger.  There was confusion and a resounding “Meh.”

I’ve been arguing with DC for a while.  I want to keep giving them money, they don’t seem to want it.  They cancel books.  Kill–or possibly kill–characters for no good reason.  Create elaborate, world-changing events that fail to come close to living up to all of the hype.  Well, you win, DC Comics.  I’ll stop trying to give you my money (with the exception of Green Lantern and Green Lantern Corps., those continue to be pretty rad…at least for now).

Please Don’t Ruin This for the Rest of Us

Dear American Moviegoers:

I felt the need to reach out to all of you fine folks across this great purple-mountained nation with a request.  I think it’s a pretty simple request, really, and one that all of you should be quite capable of fulfilling.

Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Moviegoing America, the rumors are true: the genius behind the dazzling Pan’s Labyrinth  has, indeed, made another movie (I don’t know about you, but I see movies or pictures…not films, and, if anyone suggested that I go to the cinema…well, they’d better be able to outrun me, or at least have a pretty high tolerance for physical pain).  I know you all really dug Pan, so you’re probably pretty curious to check out Hellboy II: The Golden Army.  I say go for it.  You deserve it, Ma and Pa Multiplex.  You work hard, you provide for the little Multiplexes, so why not splurge on a $12 movie ticket (that’s 12 beans a piece, guys, so you’re looking at a grand total of $24).  I’m just begging you, one and all, do not ruin this for the rest of us.

What exactly do I mean by that?  Well, you need to know that Hellboy II: The Golden Army is based on a comic book.  Hellboy (and all related characters) has had a 14-year existence at Dark Horse Comics, under the careful eye of creator Mike Mignola, and a cadre of equally talented writers and artists.  He is, in no uncertain terms, a comic book character (with a little Lovecraftian and pulp influences thrown in for good measure).  Now, based on the trailers, this one does look like del Toro had a little more say in the over-all look and feel of the movie than he did with the original–the first Hellboy flick was clearly inspired by Mignola’s comics, while the sequel has a certain Pan’s Labyrinth-ian flavor to it–but, make no mistake, this will be a comic book movie.  There will be the trappings of comic books, I’m sure: wisecracks, huge battles, seemingly all-powerful villains, massive collateral damage, characters who get thrown clear across the room and get up unscathed.  Del Toro knows what he’s doing.  He knows that you can not approach a movie like this the same way you would approach a movie like Pan’s Labyrinth.  He understands what people want in a Hellboy movie, and he’s going to deliver (shit, he nearly quit the first one when the studio tried to force him to cast Vin Diesel as HB instead of the supremely awesome Ron Perlman, that shows del Toro’s dedication to the Mignola-verse). 

So, I guess all I’m asking is that you walk into the theater fully aware that you’re walking into a comic book movie and not some artfully crafted allegory (although I’m sure del Toro crafted the shit out of this one, just like he does with all of his movies).  When you see the fish-man or the fire-girl, don’t snicker and start muttering to the person next to you how “ridiculous” and “stupid” this movie is.  Don’t call the big red dude with the stone hand “a joke.”  And, when the giant monster shows up (and this is a Hellboy flick, so you know there will be a giant monster), please do not grumble that it is “totally unrealistic.”  Of course it’s unrealistic, it’s a movie about a demon who fights ghosts.  If you wanted realism, you should have stayed home and watched the History Channel.

So…please, just be aware of what you’re getting yourself into.  You wouldn’t go to a baseball game and expect them to play hockey, would you?

 

What The Frak Was That!?!

I have somewhat mixed emotions about this being the final season of Battlestar Galactica. I don’t want it to go on and on, slowly decreasing in quality like some shows (I’m lookin’ at you, X-Files). Nor do I want the creators to give us a really good wind-up only to have the show canceled by Sci-Fi before we get the resolution (oh Farscape…how they done you wrong [yes, yes...they tried to make it up to us with the made-for-TV movie, but some wounds do not heal so easily]).

However, if they’re going to start killing off my favorite characters, I’m glad to see the show coming to end. I’m not really complaining…I mean, I survived the slaughter of Wash, Doyle, the Lone Gunmen, and Jadzia Dax, so I’ll get over this.

Edward James Olmos said this final season was going to be depressing, and I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right.