Why Batman Picks And Chooses His Logic

After putting down Batman #650, I had a few thoughts about the current storyline. This is your chance to click away if you're not a Bat-fan.

Still here? Okay, here we go.

When the Red Hood storyline began, I was very excited. The cat and mouse game of DC Comics versus readers regarding whether or not the new vigilante in Gotham--the Red Hood--was really Jason Todd, the Robin the Joker killed waaaaay back in Batman #428--was fun. This teaser had already been around in the Hush storyline, when Batman thought he had met an adult Jason, but in fact it turned out to be shapechanging Clayface. (As to how Clayface can mimic different clothes and voices is never explained. I mean, he's clay.)

But this Red Hood was Jason. So now readers like me were hopping in their seats, wondering how in hell DC Comics were going to explain this one. And the storyline wasn't bad. Like his ex-mentor, Jason was out to put evil out of business--but unlike dear old pseudo-BatDad, Jason did so by putting them on a morgue slab. Or whatever was left after he was finished with them. Whereas Batman will capture a drug pusher, for example, Jason simply shoots them. Or blows them up. Or uses his Kali assassin knife to...well, you get the idea.

What slowly came to light in this storyline for me was Batman's own morality. While he abhors murderers, he seemed to be dragging his feet when it came to bring Jason in. Even when Jason went and beat the living shit out of the current Robin, Batman seemed not to do anything about it. So while Batman will not rest until he brings down a killer, he just seemed paralyzed when it came to Jason.

And then Jason went and kidnapped the Joker.

Now the Joker is without a doubt the DC Universe's most homicidal maniac. He's also Batman's biggest problem. If Batman is meant to protect innocents, then the simple history of the Joker shows that allowing him to live puts those selfsame innocents in mortal danger. Because everytime the Joker escapes from Arkham Aslyum, people die. Sure, Batman will capture him, give him a beating, and throw him back into Arkham. But he always gets out. And when he does, there's a bodycount.

Even Batman's own family isn't immune. The Joker crippled Barbara Gordon. He's tormented James Gordon. And he killed Jason. And yet despite that, despite the hundreds--if not thousands--of innocent people the Joker has murdered, Batman continues to let him live.

Batman #650 confronts this issue head on. Jason, with the Joker tied up nearby, asks Batman why the Joker is still alive. He points out that had the Joker killed Batman, he would have done his best to kill him. When Batman trots out the usual response about crossing lines, Jason throws it back in his face. Jason doesn't want to execute all villians--just the Joker.

"I'm talking about him. Just him," Jason says. "And doing it because...because he took me away from you."

A nice bit of writing--and a very powerful scene. But then Batman just retreats and says he can't. Even though he's thought of torturing the Joker for what he's done, Batman won't kill him.

Then Jason kicks a gun towards Batman, puts the Joker in a headlock and puts a gun against his head. He'll blow the Joker's brains out, and he's positioned himself so that the only way Batman can stop him is by shooting Jason in the face. Jason then begins to count to three.

And Batman makes the only decision he can.

On a commercial level, there' s no way DC Comics would ever lose the Joker. In terms of Batman's mythology, the Joker is essential. Where Batman is all logic (selective as it is) and order, the Joker is his perfect foil because he's all impulse and chaos. To expect the Joker to be taken out in anything other than an 'imaginary' story is just naive. And to be honest, I wouldn't want him to go. He's as necessary to the mythos as the hold up origin, the Batcave, and need for pseudo apprentice children.

But on a pure storytelling level, Batman is once again messing up. In this storyline, he says he's out to save Jason--when it's apparent that Jason is way beyond that. His actions at the end of #650 are probably the farthest thing from protection. And let's not forget that Black Mask--a villian Batman runs up against several times in this story, and even has a conversation with him-killed his last Robin. And he does nothing to him. Black Mask tortured Stephanie Brown to death in the War Games storyline--and Batman has done nothing to bring him to justice.

So what does this say? Well, coupled with all the other mistakes Batman has made over the past two years--letting Stephanie access his private files while led to the War Games, which led to several deaths, and having his Brother I surveillance system hacked and taken over by Maxwell Lord, leading to the OMACs and even more death--it's apparent that he's lost it.

Apparently, anyone can kill a Robin and walk away. Even though there are options to dealing with the Joker outside of execution--putting him into the Phantom Zone, locking him in an spaceship with enough food and water for the duration of his life and shooting him towards the Horsehead Nebula, or whatever fantastical method of containment one can find in a comic book universe where people can run faster than light and a princess with a magic rope can make you tell the truth--Batman just puts him in a cell in an asylum with all the security of Swiss cheese.

Rumours are that in the upcoming 52 mini-series, Batman himself will be locked up in Arkham. To which I say: it's been a helluva long time coming.

Okay, Bat-rant over.

Have Duck and Dog--Will Adventure

I ain't one of those shiny brats who can afford to run to the local gaming store on release day, wiping the snot from their noses with Mummy's money as they clutch the latest game to their Pokemon T-shirted chest. I gots to be frugal. So it's taken me awhile to get to play Kingdom Hearts.

I'd heard a lot about this game, and despite myself, was intrigued. Like most lonely, socially inept men of a certain age, I've wasted weeks of my life running around various Final Fantasy games. The idea of a game that combined Disney characters along with FF characters just seemed so...unexpected and potentially life changing cool that I just had to see it for myself.

Now, it doesn't help that the Interweb is chock to Chocobo with fansites praising Hearts to whatever heaven it is gamers aspire to. These people are passionate, kind of the way I am about the Go-Gos, Werewolf By Night, and early New Wave. But unlike me, they dress up in their passion. So I may have gone into this game with expectations a little too high.

I'm nine hours in, and so far, I'm not really feeling the love. My first question was who exactly was the target audience for this game. If it's little kids who spend entire weekends rewatching Aladdin and The Little Mermaid on VHS, then they're going to be confused and frustrated by the FF style gameplay--which while always a bit tedious, almost borders on RPG scutwork here. If the game was hoping to grab diehard Final Fantasy fans, then the story may come across as a little lightweight. There isn't the usual amount of brooding angst and doomed romance we've come to expect from that beloved series--in fact, Cloud, perhaps the broodiest of them all, just looks a bit glum. Like he really wanted to watch Lost tonight, but found out it was repeat. Not so much with the world weariness.

The combat isn't FF style turn based, which I originally liked. The battles against the Heartless are very colourful, and fun at first. But as the game progresses, it becomes a wee bit tedious. Every time you enter some new area, there's a fight. And a not very challenging fight at that. Hit hit hit, grab Health balls and Munny balls, repeat.

Travelling between the various Disney themed worlds is a real design mistake. I guess on paper it was supposed to be a space based shooter, but it's just irritating. There's a tutorial on how to upgrade and even build new space ships, but it was just migraine inducing. That is perhaps the worst part of Kingdom Hearts, and I hope it doesn't translate to the sequel.

What I do like is the interaction between beloved Disney characters. For instance, I never knew Donald Duck can't take a punch. Rescuing the lost 99 Dalmation puppies--while part of the aforementioned RPG scutwork--did involve a nice cut scene where Poncho and Perdita gave me a gift for rescuing their children. As jaded as I am, I smiled. And coming across a beautiful golden fountain statue of Lady and The Tramp beneath a starlit sky was...well, nice. I actually accessed first person view so I could just look at it.

The voice work is very good. Hearing David Boreanz as Leon from Final Fantasy VII was jarring in a delightful way--the last time Boreanz' voice rang through my living room, he was charging dragons in the final episode of Angel.

I can't deny it's a high quality game, because it is. But it feels more like a pleasant side trip than the sort of high involvement, I-can't-wait-to-get-back-to-it game involvement I experienced with games like Resident Evil 4 or Knights of The Old Republic. Maybe I'm just old and bitter.

But I do like the pretty colours, and I'm curious about meeting up with Jack Skellington, so I'll continue. I mean, only gaming tourists ever truly give up, even with a duck that really should learn to block a punch now and then.

Ben Affleck Free--and Damn Good!

Ed Brubaker has always been one of those writers I've always meant to get around to reading. I was aware of his early crime comics, but didn't start reading his work with regularity until he took over the late, very much lamented Gotham Central. His work on Captain America has also impressed me--bringing back Bucky in a way that didn't reek of fanwank, but was a damn fine story. But this was what I was really looking forward to: Ed Brubaker on Daredevil.

And guess what? He doesn't disappoint. In fact, he exceeds expectations. He sails past them, in fact. The story--Matt Murdock is in prison, still denying that he is in fact Daredevil despite being outed in the tabloids--is gripping. While his best friend Foggy tries to get the legal gears in motion, while someone posing as Daredevil is running around Hell's Kitchen, Matt has to survive in a prison full of villians and scumbags who want a piece of him. Or to leave him in pieces. With sharp things stuck in it.

This is indeed comics for adults. A superb start, making this jaded old comics fan very happy indeed. All comics should be this exciting.

Morrissey 1993-2006

Every pet owner says their pet was the best, and every pet owner is right.

Morrissey passed away this morning after fighting a battle against cancer. She was my constant companion for 13 years, helped me survive six months of post-surgery recuperation, and was my co-pilot on many, many nights of watching movies, playing games, or reading.

She adored peanut butter, by the way. And would demand it at every opportunity.

I'll miss her so very, very much.

Sleep well, baby. See you soon.

Friday Night And No One To Fuck

That would make a great song title. I'll think I'll buy a guitar just for that reason.

Just finished writing Fan Life for the next issue of Enlightenment. It'll be for sale in Los Angeles next month, I think. I'm sure that'll lead to my big break. I think I'll run up the credit cards now.

Been thinking of getting into stand up comedy. I think this because I've never done it, and I think I can. I felt the same way about skydiving using an umbrella once. I don't know. Been in my head lately, as has writing a one act play. I may do these things.

Received emails this week from Blair Butler, a comedian out in Los Angeles who loves comics as much as I do. That made my week. I've been a fan of her writing and reviews for awhile now. She's extremely funny, and knows her comics. She got me reading Shaolin Cowboy, which had me laughing out loud tonight. I mean, a book about a talking donkey fighting a zombie by shitting on him is just too wonderful for words. Only laughter will suffice.

I go to play video games now. Need to wake up before I drink wine.

I Really, Really Hate Snow

Long day. Six hours shovelling snow. I have a body best suited for being a writer, not a manual labourer. I keep telling the world this, and they keep handing me shovels. I should take the hint.

Like I said, a long day. Came home, played a little Urban Dead (I'm John Fusspot, blue haired military type in a faded Duran Duran T-shirt, currently holed up in the Ramsey Museum while the undead wander around outside). Saw the latest Coheed and Cambria video. Was amazed--there were centaurs rescuing mermaids from giant octopuses, while pegasi flew in the skies and giant scorpions fought in the background. In short, it just rocked.

Coheed and Cambria--they're The Darkness without the irony. Which just makes them awesome.

Fighting the Inevitable

I'm starting to wonder if maybe Morrissey is now diabetic. Saw her get up from her bed and drink three times in five minutes, and she has lost a fair amount of weight since coming down with that virus last month. I'm in debt over her last visit to the vet's, and I'm starting to wonder just how much farther I can go.

She's had such a difficult life. When we found her, thirteen years ago, she was alone in a December blizzard. We took her in because the landlord at the apartment we were living in was just going to throw her back outside--and that was inhumane. The next day, I was set to call Animal Control and drop her off there--but when I was on the phone with the centre, I heard a dog howl in misery. And that decided me. I ended the call, and kept the cat.

Her health record is horrid, just as it is a testament to her own strength. She has IBD, which means she's been on steroids for most of her 13 years. Her spine is fused in one area--she was hit by something very hard before we found her, which led to her being paralyzed for six weeks when the spine gave out. She has this heartbreaking habit of picking up anything that is vaguely kitten sized--socks, small toys--and carrying them in her mouth, howling. After Pagan died, she stopped eating and came down with lipodosis. She got through that. She's had calici. And now she's come down with a virus and perhaps diabetes.

It's Friday, the end of a very long week, and I'm too tired to think right now. I don't want to lose her--it'll be my third cat gone in less than a year. But I think Morrissey and I have fought the inevitable for a long time together, and maybe we've gone as far as we can go.