Grim-and-gritty is officially old and boring

This had started out as a longer, probably much more convoluted post about Mark Millar, the cult of personality that seems to have sprung up around certain comic book writers, and the apparent addiction to gore and ultra-violence that both Marvel and DC have been guilty of, but instead I'll boil it down to a simple question that I put to you, my Internet Pals:

Are people finally getting tired of it all?

I ask because I've been sensing some push-back recently, and I'm not sure if I'm actually detecting a ripple in the Force or if it's just wishful thinking. In either case, here are some things to consider:

Kick-Ass, which was hyped so hard people back in the 1920s have probably heard about it, just kind of petered out this weekend when it opened nationally. Sure, it was No. 1, but by just barely bringing in $19.8 million compared to How to Train Your Dragon's $19.6 mil. (a kid's movie that was already in its fourth week).

No doubt the hardcore Millar fans were lined up, but what about the rest of the geek chorus? Did they reject the movie the way some have been rejecting it and the comic online lately? Or is just a matter of little name-recognition and mainstream audiences being gun-shy (heh) about a movie riding mostly on its more interesting supporting character, an 11-year-old girl who curses a lot and is a ninja?

The other thing that caught my attention was the first few pages of Brightest Day #0, the kick-off to what DC promises is a shiny and new direction spanning the publisher's superhero line. A direction apparently best expressed by showing a baby bird falling from a tree, bloodily cracking itself open on a headstone and then laying crumpled on the ground, dead.

Marvel is also trumpeting the launch of the very similar Heroic Age event, noise that sounds tinny considering Millar, Brian Michael Bendis and Jeph Loeb have spent years upping the body count for the publisher while sealing it in a slick veneer of "coolz." (I feel I have to point out, as so many have before, that Loeb was responsible for the "Blob cannibalizing Wasp, like, RIGHT THERE" scene in his Ultimatum series.)

Both companies say they're paving the way to a lighter tone in their books and moving away from the grim-and-gritty aesthetic that keeps getting grimmer and grittier. And I have to wonder — are the Big Two full of shit?


Because I don't see it. And I'm curious whether other people are missing it, too, and if there is some kind of grit-fatigue setting in, like a comic book readers' version of Seasonal Affective Disorder. It bothers me because it's gotten ... stupid. And distracting. And, worst of all, boring. Bo-ring. Both publishers has created a system and style that encourages big, flashy set pieces tied together with the flimsiest of dialogue and piecemeal plot points at the expense of, y'know, a story.

(I know this isn't true of every single title either company puts out — both produce comics I love, but let's stick to generalities for the sake of this discussion.)

Now that the Big Two are promising to do things differently, how will readers react if they don't? It wouldn't be the first time either one has promised more than they delivered, but I wonder if there's more at stake this time. I kind of doubt it — fanboys have short memories and a limitless ability to gripe-and-forgive. But, man, I'd sure like to believe it.

As corny as it sounds, maybe it's time for Marvel and DC to have a little less shock and awe, and a little more aw, shucks in their comics.

Ms. Marvel as you've never seen her before

The month of February began earlier this week, and with each passing day I've become more and more frustrated. Mostly because I haven't been able to mark the passing of each day.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I've been using a 2010 Marvel calendar that was given away as a free promotional item at comic book stores. It's a pretty neat calendar, with decent art depicting superheroes in their original costumes and a small line noting when the character first appeared.

But man, that Ms. Marvel picture.

I've been using the calendar in my office, and the illustration of Ms. Marvel used for February is just ... just ... well, let's just say it probably wouldn't be appreciated by my co-workers, particularly my female co-workers. But, dammit, I wanted to use my calendar! And every time I looked up to check a date, there was January staring me in the face, mocking me with its Januariness and total lack of February.

There has to be a solution, I thought. If only the character was a little more covered up. And why is she in that pose? She looks like she just woke up; hell, she looks like she just woke up from hibernation and ...

Ding!

And that's when I got an idea: Why don't I make some new clothes for Ms. Marvel? (Little did I know Dom would have the same idea, linking to his own solution in the comments of the original post and beating me by a couple of days.) But it wouldn't be just any clothes; it would be something reflecting her drowsy expression and literally laid-back posture, and possibly her desire for a pick-a-nic basket. With that in mind, I give you:

Ms. Marvel in

bear-suit pajamas

Yeah, I don't know either. But if you've got an idea of what else Carol Danvers could be wearing instead of her painfully awkward original uniform this month, I'd love to see it. Make your own alternate clothing choice, post it on your blog and send the results to me, either in the comments or shoot me an e-mail. Don't have the calendar? Here's a full-size copy of the image you can use as a template:



February's almost as short as Ms. Marvel's pants, so get crackin'! I'll post links to your fashionable suggestions below.

MS. MARVEL IN:

• a poodle skirt (Dom)

Oh, Mr. Banner, you are a delight!

Back in the old days, both of the Big Two used their characters to sell their books and subscription services (and in DC's case, delicious creme-filled snack cakes) pretty regularly. But where the DC ads were generally of the paste-the-hero-in-and-insert-corny-sales-pitch variety — with optional thumbs-up — Marvel often had some fun with their characters.

Like so:

Click to Banner-size

The Hulk's face in that last panel kills me. It's too bad, but neither company really do in-house ads like this anymore. Oh, well, at least they're not blatantly and almost contemptuously undercutting the competition by ... oh.

Why the Marvel calendar's days are numbered

In daily life, my nerdiness is pretty evident.

This is especially true at work. Green Lantern pins are piled up at the feet of a Monitor figure like aluminum tribute. Spider-Man sits on top of Yoda's oversized head beneath my completed Human Fly checklist. And on my wall is the new Marvel calendar, which is really kind of nice for a freebie.

And which will be coming down again in February because I don't want to get written up.

The place where I work is informal for an office setting and I'm certainly not a prude, but the image of Ms. Marvel that is waiting to slide out from between January and March just won't fly. It is, in the language of management-types the world over, “inappropriate for the office.”

And that's a shame, because I like to think of myself as an evangelist for comics. I preach the four-color Word to anyone who'll listen. But how do I justify a Ms. Marvel who looks more like Ms. February? How do I explain that this woman who is floating on her back, arms splayed in welcome and with a sleepy, lips-parted-just-so look on her face, is a superhero? A superhero who apparently fights evil in a thong and half-shirt?

There's a thin line between sensual and sexual, between sexuality and sexualized. When I was flipping through the calendar (given away free last week at comic book stores), I had a sudden urge to apologize to someone, to explain that Ms. Marvel is generally a strong character. That she served as an officer in the Air Force. That this is a depiction of her original costume, with a misguided design reflecting her mid-70s roots.

But mostly I keep thinking, “The women in my office — especially my boss — would have a shit if I put this up.” And rightfully so.

Besides the blatant sexism, I'm also bugged by the apparent pandering of Marvel to the stereotypical, drooling fanboy mentality. The only other female character to make the calendar is March's Marvel Girl, who fares a little better than Ms. Marvel but still looks as if she's re-enacting the subway grate scene from The Seven Year Itch. (By the way, Jean, nice rack.) To be fair, Sub-Mariner is wearing even less than either of the Marvels in September, but I'd argue that his depiction lacks the sense of vulnerability of the other two. Again, there may be sexuality, but Sub-Mariner is not sexualized.

(And for the record, Wolverine's November picture made my wife laugh and laugh. You can come to your own conclusions why.)

There is always talk about how superhero comics need to grow up, or that they already have by upping the body counts and spraying blood across everything in the scene. But that's not growing up; that's what kids think growing up means. Growing up means maturity. And when I can't put a freely distributed superhero calendar up in my office for a month because it comes across as sexist stroke material, that tells me the industry still has some growing up to do.

And knowing is half the battle

Just in case you ever find yourself in Providence, R.I., and you happen to find a place with "Comics" in the actual name of the business — IT'S A LIE. Seriously, it's like a Spenser's, a Hot Topic and an FYE had some sort of bizarre three-way and gave birth to this "comic book" store.

If you're looking for CDs, DVDs, posters, tchotchkes, T-shirts, toys, backpacks or magnets for this guy, you'll be in the right place — otherwise, nose around in a lonely corner of the store and you'll be lucky to find a teeny-tiny selection from the week's comics. But probably not the one you're looking for.

And now you know.


I prove things ... with maths!

Image ganked from here (which I'm sure was ripped from somewhere else).

Ugh

via io9

Wedded miss: Skipping Archie and Veronica's wedding

During an e-mail exchange earlier today, my buddy Kyle asked as an aside, "Incidentally, no thoughts on Archie's proposal to Veronica? I know it's just a publicity stunt that won't actually go anywhere, but still, where's the outrage, Betty-lover?"

Besides pointing out the fact that we've been friends long enough for Kyle to know I'm an avowed Betty man, the question also made me realize that I've completely ignored the whole thing about Archie getting married to Veronica. (The storyline begins in Archie #600, released today.) With that in mind, I thought I'd share my response:

"Well, the thing about the Archie proposal is that it's a lot of hooey. The story takes place 'in the future,' after the kids have graduated college, and once the Archie-marries-Veronica thing is over (three issues, I think?) they're going to do it all over again with Betty. Seriously.

"I guess it's just hard to get worked up about it when you know that in six months the whole thing's going to be wiped out when the curtain's pulled back to reveal Archie's still alive and in the shower with Jughead."

Actually, THAT is a story I'd like to see.

Like 'A Christmas Carol,' but with Hulks

So I get back from my trip and come across this:

"The holiday season is here and what better way to celebrate it than with the Incredible Hulk and Rampaging Rulk? Marvel is proud to unveil both Hulk #9 Santa Hulk Variant covers, illustrated by superstar artist Ed McGuinness, so you can celebrate with the stars of 2008’s hottest ongoing series! Written by Eisner-Winning, Emmy-Winning scribe Jeph Loeb and with art by superstars Frank Cho and Art Adams, including 50/50 variant covers from each artist, you get two incredible stories—one starring Rulk and another starring… WENDIHULK!? (or is it HULKDIGO!?)"

Congratulations, Marvel: I officially want to punch you in the balls. I know you've been calling the Red Hulk "Rulk," but you're actually planning to go with that? Seriously? I don't necessarily expect high literature from my Hulk comics, but "Rulk?!" (I just noticed the stocking — argh!)

And is it just me, or does it seem as if we're reaching a tipping point on the variant covers thing? Have we learned nothing? Am I going to end up on a beach shaking my fist at a giant statue of Ripclaw?!

... Hulkdigo ... eesh ...

In case you missed the debate ...

For what it's worth

I'm not trying to jump on any bandwagon here, but I do want to say that I'm with Kevin on this one.

Originally I had a whole, long-winded post thought out on it, but it's really pretty simple: Telling people not to buy something you're trying to sell — for no reason other than it doesn't match your personal taste — is not good business.

And let's stress that particular point: If you have opened a shop with the intent of selling comics, you've opened a business. And the goal of a business, any business, is to make money. That doesn't mean you deal with your customers dishonestly, it doesn't mean you become a huckster trying to blow sunshine up people's asses, and it doesn't mean you sacrifice customer service for profit. But it also doesn't mean you preemptively discourage sales, either.

But if you just opened a shop to build yourself a clubhouse where you can immerse yourself in your hobby ... well, good luck to you. Hopefully your membership will be large enough to support your business.

For future reference, though; taking a product you eventually want to sell and telling potential customers to "Not Buy" it makes no sense.

Continuity and Kool-Aid: Remembering what matters

You can trace my love of comics to a utility bill.

Back in the stone age of the 70s, it was still a normal thing to go to actual buildings downtown to pay for the water, gas and electricity that was pumped to your house the month before. I don't know if my parents ever noticed, but I loved it when it was time to pay the bills because that meant trips to the city's main library and — more often — my aunt's used bookstore.

Obviously, I was the biggest nerd in my neighborhood.

Rather than drag a restless kid around downtown El Paso, my parents realized I could spend entire afternoons happily squirreled away in a corner of the bookstore. And my aunt realized I could probably spend days in that corner if I was given a stack of comics to read.

Fueled by cookies and Kool-Aid and an overactive imagination, I soon became lost. Suddenly my world was filled with exploding planets and radioactive spiders, lassos made of truth and lonely scientists cursed by their inner rage. And I became enamored of characters and concepts that now seem obscure, or at least throwbacks; I ransacked the House of Mystery and House of Secrets, scaled walls and solved crimes with the Human Fly, explored the depths and dangers of the ocean with Stingray, and learned from Sgt. Rock that nothing is ever easy in Easy Company.

Many of the characters I loved then have found new life in reboots (I was thrilled when The Human Target made a reappearance) and black and white collections like DC's Showcase line and Marvel's Essentials. Thanks to these, I've been able to not only revisit half-remembered titles but to also get more background and depth than I ever did by reading random issues at a card table in a back room.

But I've noticed something — I rarely read those collections with the idea of filling in blanks. Mostly I pick one up and read stories at random, which is easy since they come from a time when the done-in-one was the norm. And continuity? Usually anything that references a past story is taken care of with an editor's note, and if not can easily be ignored. Enjoying the story doesn't depend on knowing that Superman threw Luthor's pimento loaf sandwich into the sun that one time.

I started thinking about this after reading Devon's post over at Second Printing, where he talks about his seven-year-old nephew bouncing along the four-color landscape like an astronaut on the Moon, unburdened by the weight of continuity and What Came Before. Devon is so impressed by this that he's decided to keep as open a mind as his nephew.

There's been a lot of talk about continuity surrounding the Big Two for a while, thanks to continued mucking around and reboots and Crises and One More Days. And if something is radically changed from past iterations, people freak out. If something else leans heavily on stories and characters out of the dollar bin, people freak out.

Yes, it can be frustrating. It can be annoying. It can even be insulting. But sometimes —just sometimes — I think we get in our own way. It's easy to take our comics so seriously we forget to enjoy them. Things don't always make sense in comic books, and I'd argue that it's always been that way. We've just forgotten what little difference it used to make.

Before anyone gets the wrong idea: I don't think comics should suddenly become even more of a hodge-podge of concepts and broken story lines than they already are; readers deserve better than that. But does it really matter if Superman doesn't line up with Action? The big concepts should stay the same, but it's too easy to get bogged down in the details. As long as things don't massively and stupidly contradict each other, I'm willing to gloss over that pimento loaf. I don't even care if Luthor skips lunch altogether.

Does this make me a bad comic book reader? Old-school to the point of being out of touch? I don't know. I'm certainly no apologist for bad storytelling. But I'll freely admit that my opinion is fluid — depending on the story, continuity is extremely important. But sometimes it's not. I think it's worthwhile to recognize (and admit) the difference.

Tastes change, and our palates become more sophisticated with experience; that's essential to the much-needed growth and diversity of comics. It's part of a healthy comic book reader's diet. But we can't forget that at one time, we were in love with cookies and Kool-Aid.

Prediction: The Spirit is gonna blow

Frank Miller's Sin City-fication of The Spirit for the big screen seems to be rolling right along, and in what passes for the usual with Miller, the latest movie poster isn't very subtle about it.

On his production blog, Miller has gone on about how his movie is going to be an updated extension of what he knows was Spirit creator Will Eisner's intent. Well, guess what? I may not have been mentored by the comic book legend, but I'm pretty sure he never intended to portray all women as hard-edged hookers. Or just, y'know, slutty.

Don't get me wrong — I'm all for the beautiful women. Hell, the more, the better. But Eisner's stories were never about the awesome-cool bad-ass from Monochrome City and his loyal army of whores; they were about people being people just like anyone else, for better or worse.

I don't think Frank Miller — or anyone else — should just mindlessly ape Eisner's style, or even sensibility. But don't strip-mine someone else's well-established work just to stroke your own ego (or whatever) and leech it of all the things that made it popular and unique in the first place. Especially if you're going to do it in a way that panders to the worst stereotypes about the comic book community at large.

Hey, you hear that? That's the sound of all the goodwill comics (and their fans) got from Iron Man being flushed down the toilet.

Kirby and The New Yorker's familiar Tale

Plagiarism is nothing new in the world of publishing, and we all know that comic creators not getting their due is an original sin as old as the industry itself. But if you're going to rip someone off at least have the smarts not to ape someone as well-known as JACK FREAKIN' KIRBY!

According to the New York Post, a cartoon published in The New Yorker for its Cartoon Caption Contest wasn't meant to be a rip-off, even though it looks like a straight lift from 1962's Tales to Astonish #34. After contacting artist Harry Bliss, the magazine says the image was supposed to be a "tribute" to the original — and iconic — "Monster at My Window" cover by Jack Kirby and Dick Ayers.

The magazine is trying to fix things by having the Web site credit updated to read, "Drawing by Harry Bliss, after Jack Kirby," and normally this wouldn't bother me all that much — people try their hand at referencing Kirby all the time, with varying degrees of success.

But there are a couple of things that bug me about this episode. First, Bliss' image goes beyond a simple reference or mimicking of style. The monster, the background, practically the same guy in the window — there is nothing original about it. Secondly, this quote from the New Yorker spokesperson jumped out at me:

"Harry did it with all good intentions. He thought it was an overt reference, and not an attempt to plagiarize. He thought it was a tribute," Cassanos said. "To people in the comic world, it's a recognizable image."

Sure, comic book fans and people in the industry would recognize the reference (or at the very least, the style), but what about all the other people who read The New Yorker who aren't comic book fans? The majority of whom, I would guess, are not hardcore comics geeks. It seems a little disingenuous of the magazine to offer up the pretense that the average New Yorker reader would instantly realize the image was based on someone else's original work. Generally speaking, it is an "overt reference," but that doesn't necessarily make it a "recognizable image."

I don't think Bliss composed his cartoon with any malicious intent — but if he's enough of a fan to draw something as an homage to Jack Kirby, he should also have enough respect to give him the credit he deserves.

What do you think?

Panels taken from the New York Post Web site

I (heart) Chris Sims

Yes, that's right — I have total novela-style man-love for Sims today, because over at the Invincible Super-Blog he's got the smartest and funniest response to a racist moron you could hope for — que chistoso!

Justice for Jerry Siegel

If you've followed comics at all, or have ever looked into the issue of creator's rights, you probably know the notorious story of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.

Siegel and Shuster aren't as well known as their creation, but in 1938 the writer and artist saw their character, Superman, hit the streets in the pages of Action Comics #1. And like a lot of artists of the time — whether they were authors, composers or almost any other creative-type at the time — they were screwed. Losing their rights to Superman left the men with $130 bucks and a job working on a character that was no longer theirs. For a long time, they didn't even get credit for coming up with the idea at all.

Finally, that changed a bit recently when a judged ruled that Jerry Siegel's estate should be given half of the copyright to the original 1938 story. It's a little complicated, and Dirk Deppey sums it up much better than I could, but here's what I understood of it:

• The copyright given back to the estate is pretty narrow, and character developments that have happened since will still have to be hashed out, but the basic defining characteristics of the Superman character have been acknowledged as being created by Siegel and Shuster.

• Since Siegel and Shuster created Superman before taking it to Detective Comics, it doesn't come under the work-for-hire rules. In other words, DC doesn't have a right to the original character, the creators do. Whoops!

• The Shuster estate will be able to file for the same reversion rights in 2013, which if I understand this correctly means Siegel and Shuster could have full ownership of the original Superman concept (along with all things "Superman," such as Lois, Jimmy, Perry, Lex and the Daily Planet) sometime after the next five years.

As Dirk mentioned in his column (other items might be NSFW), this won't really change how DC uses Superman in their comics and merchandising. But it does mean the men who created the character — a character so iconic that just his symbol is recognized around the world — will finally get the official credit they deserve, and their estates will get a piece of the financial pie DC has fattened itself on for 70 years.

Think about that — 70 years. That's a long time to wait for what should have been yours in the first place. At the risk of being corny, I just want to say congratulations to Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, wherever they are — and thanks.


Panels from Action Comics #1
Jerry Siegel, writer; Joe Shuster, artist

Pollyanna posting

There's another blog fight making the rounds that seems to be dying out pretty quickly, and I'm grateful for that because, honestly? Sometimes you guys kill some of the joy I have for comics.

I'm not talking about this debate or the people involved in it, in particular. This is something that's been bothering me lately, even thought it's really nothing new. I'm talking about the people who seem to be fueled by nothing but anger, the people who seem to get a juvenile joy out of pushing other people's buttons, and the people who would rather jump to conclusions instead of actually listening to somebody else.

This isn't to devalue anyone's opinion, especially where it concerns an important topic such as race, women's issues or matters of sexuality. These are things that need to be addressed in the comics we read — but I don't think they need to be addressed in every comic we read. I think if we try to include every cause and concern we have into every title, we run the risk of excluding someone else, especially if we get caught up in the heat that flares up in some our cross-blog "discussions." Not all comics are going to satisfy everyone, but we've got choices about what we read, and we've got voices to express our displeasure — and yes, sometimes our anger — when something just flat-out offends us. As readers, these are our tools — not weapons — and it's up to us to use them responsibly.

Are there things that need to be changed? Without a doubt. I'm always excited that Blue Beetle is Hispanic, and a little saddened that the only other Hispanic character that made that kind of impact on me was from comics that are now at least 30 years old. But do I see improvement? Yes, even if it is slow and often hamstrung by the proverbial two steps back.

Gah — that's already more than I meant to say about this, but I hope it will be taken in the spirit in which it's written. Essentially, it's this: We all share a love of comics, and whether it's capes, indies, manga, what have you, we should remember that we have that in common.

EDIT to add:

It's been pointed out to me that this post (originally uploaded Feb. 18) might be a little unclear, so I wanted to make sure there's no misunderstanding. I'm not saying readers or bloggers should be passive consumers who should just be happy they're getting their comics — hell no. If nobody argues, if no one points out the ways readers are being taken for granted, then problems will never be solved.

What I am saying, though, is that arguments should be reasonable and intelligent, not just the garbled screaming of a raw nerve that's been touched. That's counterproductive and, frankly, bullshit. People should be able to debate as much as they want — just don't be an ass about it, whether you're leaving a comment or you're the original poster.

Finally, as I mentioned above, the idiocy of a simple mistake being somehow unnecessarily blown up into a back-and-forth about race wasn't what made me write this post. But, the misguidedness that led to it was a last straw for me. Luckily, a comment from David Brothers seemed to defuse the whole thing, which is a great example of what I'm talking about.

Basically, it's this: Just because we read comics, that doesn't mean we can't act like grown-ups.

Third time still a charm?

If you follow this sort of thing, you probably already know DC's plans to launch yet another weekly series once Countdown wraps up. This time around the series (which will be called Trinity) will focus on the Big Three, namely Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. Shorter backup stories will also be featured.

This is all well and good, and frankly sounds more interesting than Countdown ever did, but I have to ask: Do we really need another weekly series?

Personally speaking, I'm not sure I could afford committing to a weekly, in terms of either money or interest. Plus, Countdown was weaker than 52, which isn't exactly inspiring. What happens when you take a concept and make a copy of a copy of a copy? And will this really stand on its own (as it's being touted), or will it just end up another way to tie in the overblown "events" DC (and Marvel) are so fond of nowadays?

I don't know about you, but for me the idea of another "big" weekly book is a lot less charming the third time around.

A spoiler for Stephanie?

Like most comic readers who hacked their way through the weekly jungle that was DC's 52, I've gotten into the habit of reading what's scribbled on the blackboards planted in Rip Hunter's time lab, which are now now making regular appearances in Booster Gold.

Most of the time they're filled with things that get glossed over — I usually like watching a story unfold instead of trying to map out the details in advance. But sometimes there's something that gets my eyebrow to go all Spocky and makes me mutter a scholarly, "Whuh?" That's what happened when I was reading this week's Booster Gold #5 and squinting at the chalkboards in this panel.


Didja see it? Let's take a closer look:


Dun dun DUNNN!

It'll be interesting to see what some of the feminist comic readers make of this; I know I'm wondering whether this is hinting a long-sought after memorial case might be added to the Batcave, or if this is just a mean-spirited tease.

What the hell, Midtown?

Midtown Comics has changed the way it publishes its weekly online shipping list, and all I can say is, "Bleagh."

Yes, this is an outrageous sense of entitlement coming from someone who mostly uses the Web site to get an idea of what he's going to buy at his own local comic shop. But even so, I don't understand why Midtown would want to go from an aesthetically boring, but completely functional, listing style to something that seems convoluted and annoyingly hungry for bandwidth. Books, DVDs and every other piece of merchandising are thrown in there with the comic titles, with alphabetization being the only nod to order. A list that was a quick and handy reference is now a slog.

Of course, the easy thing to say is, "Well, find another list, you self-important jerk." And I probably will, even though any other listing I look at is nowhere near as complete or as early. Mostly, it's just a drag to lose something so reliable.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who considers Midtown as having the go-to shipping list, so I'm curious to know if anyone else was put off by the new format. Or is it just me?

Still, again — bleagh.

Why I hate The Sentry

As a character, The Sentry just doesn’t work.

First, he’s anchored down by being an obvious knock-off a certain other super-powered ubermensch. That’d be fine on the face of it (it’s not as if it hasn’t been done to death already), but here’s the problem — he's in the Marvel Universe.

Without getting into the whole discussion of the differences between the Marvel and DC universes, lets just stick to the fact that DC is filled with heroes with nearly god-like powers, while Marvel is filled with heroes that are more (for lack of a better word) human.

Which works for DC because it’s all leavened with a healthy helping of silly – the edge is taken off the “real-world” implications of having a bunch of super-powered yahoos tearing ass around the city fighting bad guys when there’s also, y’know, a secret society of talking gorillas or something.

But that’s never been what Marvel’s about. Marvel’s about heroes the reader can relate to, usually through characters who aren’t so powerful they don’t get the crap kicked out of them on a regular basis (seriously, it’s amazing there aren’t a bunch of punch-drunk heroes wandering around Manhattan), and who have some sort of angsty back-story that gives them a reliable Achilles’ Heel to tap into. If DC is a hyper, piñata-smacking kid at a birthday party, Marvel is the two or three emo teens slouching around in the corner.

Don’t get me wrong – I love both universes, despite their flaws. But I think this is part of what is essentially wrong with The Sentry; he’s been shoe-horned into his Universe. He was OK in the original stand-alone story, a kind of What If? that was interesting in its bloated, heavy-handed, self-satisfied kind of way. But then Marvel tried to force the character down the throats of its readers, and not only that, it was seasoned with the idea that The Sentry is in some way essential to the MU.

And he’s not.

Add to that the fact Marvel probably went too far in giving Sentry its patented Feet of Clay brand cement shoes (the better to weigh your character down!), and you’ve got an almost all-powerful schizophrenic agoraphobic, a collection of neuroses with the power of a million exploding suns. A superhero who never. Does. Anything.

And readers, on whatever level, recognize that.

Nobody is invested in The Sentry, no matter how much Marvel wants to pretend otherwise. Nobody cares about his place in the Marvel Universe, because he really doesn’t have one at all. And due to how forced the character is on nearly every level, almost nobody likes The Sentry.

Including me.

So, what do you think of The Sentry?

Panel from World War Hulk #5