Where pop culture meets geek culture and they make out a little.
Posts tagged First Loves
Looking Up In The Sky With My Mind’s Eye
Sep 20th
A panel from All-Star Superman, with pencils by Frank Quitely and colors by Jamie Grant.
I feel as if I forgot about Superman until I came across Grant Morrison’s interpretation in his All-Star series that debuted in 2005. It crystalized what I loved about this character the first time I saw him racing against a train in Richard Donner’s “Superman: The Movie.” What made the character resonate for me in both was that Morrison and Donner didn’t necessarily reinvent the character. Rather they identified elements that were important about him and explored them. I’m not referring to his powers, which are magnificent of course, but they’re not enough to sustain an emotional journey of a character through a story. It was the character’s humanity. Donner focuses on how Clark Kent grew up and became Superman, while Grant Morrison tells the story of what the Man of Tomorrow does with the last days of his life.
Superman: The Movie (Extended Edition) and Superman II: The Donner Cut
When you watch Superman I and Superman II (The Donner Cut), you may find a superhero comic book movie on the surface, but underneath is the engine of a coming of age story. There’s a moment in the first Superman movie when young Clark Kent is talking with his father after he’s just finished beating a rival schoolmate back to his farm by outrunning a train. He expresses to his father that he’s frustrated because he can do things like kick a football seemingly into orbit. Yet he has to hide his abilities, and stand the ridicule and humiliation of his rival as he drives away with a girl he liked. He’s still that same kid who wants to show off all of the wonderful things he can do when he’s standing before his other father, Jor-El, telling him about the feats he did in his first night as Superman. Jor-El tells him he understands how good it felt to do this, and acknowledges his son’s vanity. He doesn’t judge him for it. Clark doesn’t yet understand consequences, though. When faced with the possibility of a life without Lois Lane after trying to stop two rockets, he turns back time. He can fix anything, that Superman can.
Yet again Clark is still that same kid from Smallville when he’s standing before Jor-El in the Donner Cut of Superman II, complaining about the unfairness of not being able to have what he wants. He doesn’t wish to be alone, another essential human quality Donner focuses on that drives Clark’s choices. A life with the companionship of Lois Lane is possible now, if only he weren’t Superman. Yet he’s warned that there will be consequences if he gives up being Superman.
(SPOILER ALERT, in case you’ve never seen Donner’s Cut)
He discovers those consequences when he returns, powerless, to his fortress to beg his father to restore his powers, which his father does. At a price. If you’ve never seen the Superman movies, you must know that crystals are a key component of his Fortress of Solitude. All of the knowledge of his civilization is stored in these crystals, including the artificial duplicate of Jor-el he speaks with. Jor-el tells his son that restoring his powers will wipe out the remaining energy in the main crystal, rendering it inert. They will never speak again, and Clark will have essentially lost his connection to a second father. There is a poignant scene towards the end, the one in which I feel demonstrates the complete arc of Clark’s growth. He stands looking at the Fortress of Solitude from a distance, with Lois Lane behind him. Without saying a single word he destroys the Fortress of Solitude. It’s a lifeless structure, and he lets go of it. Is it an act of acceptance and letting go, therefore a sign of maturity? I think so.
There is one warning I have to give you about the Donner cut, though. For those who aren’t familiar with the film and its history, a lot of key scenes were never filmed. This included an ending to the movie. When faced with the option of using the ending filmed by Donner’s replacement Richard Lester or simply recycling the ending from the first movie where Superman turns back time again, the latter was chosen. Yes, it does betray the thematic arc of the story. Therefore, I prefer to leave the movie at an earlier scene. It’s one where Superman has brought Lois back to her apartment, and she stands crying because she knows they can’t be together. And she also knows who he is and it will break her heart to see him every day at work but never be able to reach out to him. She asks if she got the man she wanted, and he affirms it. Then they part ways. I say I prefer to leave the movie at this point rather than continue on to the next sequence because what are our heroes and the lessons they learn if they can simply wipe away the lesson as if it never happened?
(End SPOILER)
All-Star Superman
Superman saves the day one more time only to discover that doing so has killed him. What you find in the stories that follow this discovery is an introspective Superman, taking the measure of his life and focusing on what is important to him. There are so many things to settle, decides The Man of Steel. There is his affection for Lois Lane. There is the question that haunts him: what will happen to the human race without a Superman? How can he save the day from beyond the grave? He asks himself what a world without a Superman would be like? (And I might add that it’s an inpspired approach he takes to find out the answer to this in the latter half of the series, made possible by the realms of speculative fiction.)
In trying to find the next Superman he turns to Lex Luthor, telling him in the guise of Clark Kent that Superman and him could have done great things together. In trying to reach out to his greatest enemy, a man who can cure cancer with a cell phone and a safety pin, he finds it’s not Luthor that is his greatest foe. It is Luthor’s ego.
Yet there has to be a way. “There’s always a way,” as he reminds himself numerous times throughout the series. Even when he finds himself powerless and trapped on a planet, slowly being crushed by the heightened gravity around him and trying to find a way to communicate with a race that doesn’t quite speak his language, he still tells himself there’s a way. Even when his final hours are approaching and he reflects on how much he’s accomplished and yet how much more he has to do, there’s still away.
All-Star Superman is essentially Everyman meets Superman. Grant Morrison’s choice to have Superman face his mortality and decide what he values in his life also allows us to have a set of stories that incapsulate why the character has been around for so many decades. I found some of these stories moving, such as the one that explores an episode with his father, Jonathan Kent, from Superman’s days in Smallville when he was Superboy.
After looking up
I think about all of this and come to wonder if perhaps it’s not Superman that is my first love? Perhaps it’s the hero’s quest and coming of age, as I look at other stories I’ve come to love over the years. I think about Huckleberry Finn torn between what he feels is right and what he’s been told is right when it comes to the matter of rescuing the slave Jim and learning to make up his own mind. Or Gilgamesh, seeking out the secrets of immortality after the death of his friend, Ekindu. Perhaps it’s myth? Maybe it’s all of it. Superman was first, though.
This Week in Normality — First Loves
Sep 11th
This is a topic that we’ve touched on, in some way, with other themes but we (read: I) was hard up for a theme and so, in the proverbial late stages of the game, Mustardseed did throw out an idea which read thusly:
Theme Idea for this week: First Loves
I’m thinking something like that first comic or piece of music or whatever that just made you feel something you never forgot. Make sense?
To which I responded…
Hey that sounds good…
Everyone, read Mustardseed’s suggestion below and write like the wind!
I actually did think of one, but I’ll add it in for a later date.
And here we are…isn’t it exciting to look behind the “curtain” and see how the magic works…don’t answer that.
It also occurred to me that I used my best “first love” story last week for Back to School but that’s alright, I will recover.
And, actually, since I have already used that (damn moving, if I do say so myself) story about my wife and I in high school, I realize that this theme does, actually, afford me the opportunity to write about something I’ve been trying to shoe horn in here for several weeks now.
All faithful Normalinauts know that Gilgrim and I are fans of the beautiful sport, also known as football. Not the American version here in the states (well, Gilgrim is a fan of that kind of football, but no one is perfect), but proper football. As it happens, I grew up in a house (and extended family) whose sole sports passion resided in baseball generally, and the Los Angeles Dodgers, specifically. I doubt there ever has, or ever will, be a bigger Dodger fan than my grandmother who, literally less than two days before she died, in intensive care and unable speak, communicated to me that the Dodgers had lost a game and she was upset about how weak the bullpen looked late in the season (that is one of the great memories of my grandmother, in fact). I’m fairly certain, in fact, that in any detailed study of my DNA one would find a “Dodger gene.” We recently took our newest round of family pictures and all four us, wife, three year old daughter, 8 month old son and myself were all wearing Dodger shirts.
But much like you can’t choose your family, my passion for the Dodgers is ingrained. My love of football, however, was something that I fell into.
Jezmon can attest to the fact that, in the early years of grade school, I spent nearly every possible moment playing football (Jezmon and I, by the way, went to kindergarten together…Mrs. Steven’s afternoon class represent!). I’m not exactly sure what it was about playing soccer that was so addicting but it probably had something to do with the constant running the sport affords and the fact that until I got to the first grade I had never even heard the term “soccer.” It had an almost mystical feel to it…you mean, there’s a sport where you don’t use your hands?! To a six year old who could rattle off the Dodgers entire 25 man roster and the batting averages of every starting position player, an introduction into a different sport, one that tons of kids at school were playing all the time (thanks to AYSO), was the first time I was exposed to a bigger world outside my own house. And it was a world that called to me and I desperately wanted to be a part of.
Remember how I said I’ve wanted to bring this topic up for a while? You will, no doubt, notice I forgo no opportunity to disparage American football and so, in this particular instance, I will bow to the greater wisdom of John Cleese in helping to explain my one reason for my inordinate love of football…and, as and added bonus, my dislike of American football.
That clip comes from a documentary that Cleese did called The Art of Football (or, stupidly, the Art of Soccer in this country) which I highly recommend if you’re a football fan, or even remotely interested in the game at all.
Now you can find, in any sport, moments or games that defy explanation. For my money, however, there is no other sport that can match football in the possibility to demonstrate the unexpected. In part, I think, it’s the nature of continued play that Cleese mentions in the above clip. When you stop play as little as possible (unlike all three major sports in this country) the ability of the players to change a game at a moments notice is really hindered.
Also, and this is true hands down, no sport can match football for pure passion from both players and fans. If you’ve never experienced a true soccer match in person (and I’m not talking MLS here) then you’ve never experienced sport at its most emotional.
As a demonstration of both these properties, I’m going to show you a five minute clip from the 2005 European Champions League final. The Champions League is a competition in which all the top clubs of Europe compete for a chance to be crowned best club in Europe. The 2005 final pitted my (underdog) Liverpool squad against (heavily favored) AC Milan and has come to be considered the greatest comeback in Champions League history (and one of the greatest in the history of football).
But, of course, football isn’t the only thing we care about around here, and so in this installment of Normality Restored…
Oedipa movingly considers her first loves, musically and emotionally, and the interplay of both.
Stoker reveals the first comic he ever truly “geeked out” over.
And, eventually, Mustardseed will be posting some article about something or other…I guess, we’ll have to see. But, you know, Cubans….
Spawning Passion
Sep 11th
While it was not the first comic book that I ever purchased or read, “Spawn” was the first book that I ever felt the need to purchase every month. Let’s all face facts; the comic book is a form designed in large part to keep outsiders out. Most books are are absolutely mired in continuity so dense that sometimes even true devotees forget storylines. In 1992 the world of comics was turned on its head with the launch of Image, a comic company founded by some of the day’s hottest artists. I was nine at the time and remember the release well, but did not really have much interest. It wasn’t until three years later, at the age of 12, that I became interested in “Spawn.” I remember walking down the new comics wall of my local shop, seeing the cover to an issue of “Spawn,” and thinking “gee this looks pretty cool maybe I should give it a try.”
At the time that I picked up my first issue, Todd McFarlane was no longer on art duties. Pencils were being done by Greg Capullo and the dark art was all I needed to suck me in. There was something about the world of “Spawn” that was both darkly intimidating and greatly exiting. I read through that first issue several times then went on a quest to collect up all of the back issues. I knew I had stumbled on to something special. Granted, the story was not particularly original or complex. The writing was merely serviceable but, when combined with the art of McFarlane and the creators to follow, it was as though some sort of magic had aligned to create something perfect.
Everything about Spawn speaks to the mind of a twelve year old boy. The violence is extreme. The Monsters are horrific. Many a night Malebolgia would haunt my mind, my dark room full of his sharp teeth and pot belly, waiting to gobble me up and swallow my soul. The women were everything sexual. Wanda was a perfect wife with a drop dead perfect body, a woman worthy of trading your soul for. The Angels were even hotter women who could kick anyone’s ass. Angela alone could take down every nerd hating bully in the world, not break a sweat, and look beautiful doing it.
I collected everything Spawn: action figures, comics, shirts, movies, soundtracks, pins. I have every issue of “Curse of the Spawn,” “Hellspawn,” “Angela,” and “Sam and Twitch.” Over the years, the comic has lost some of its luster. Angela and Malebolgia died in issue 100. Al Simmons is no longer the Spawn of continuity; ex comma patient Jim Downing is the new character readers are following. Somehow, even though I know that it isn’t what it once was, (and, honestly, wasn’t much more than a flash to begin with) I still purchase an issue of Spawn every month and, somehow, I am transported, if only for a matter of minutes, to 1995 and the mind of a twelve year old boy who was looking for some danger.
How I learned to Fall in Love and Inevitably Lose that Love in about 3 minutes: Or Iron & Wine
Sep 11th
Call me a pessimist but when I think of first love I think entirely of a love that was lost. This may, in fact, be because I lost my first love relatively recently. Directly after the break up absolutely everything would devastate me. And I mean everything….I seem to recall a particularly proud moment of mine while at work when checking out someone buying an Animal Collective CD. The mere sight of the record (Feels) had me running teary eyed from the registers, leaving behind a thoroughly confused and abandoned customer. The days of such easy sense memory triggers are over now though. Nowadays it takes just the right cue to get me going; and more times than not that trigger is musical. Furthermore to really hit that especially exquisite feeling of overwhelming love mixed with overwhelming loss I have to listen to Iron and Wine.
Sam Beam’s music is not just deeply immersed in my relationship with my first love (i.e. a first kiss tracked against “Each Coming Night”). For me, it is first love itself. I fall deeply in love with Beam’s voice every time I hear it. Disregarding his poetic lyrics for a moment, his voice alone washes over the listener like warm milk nd honey (to borrow Kerouac’s description of being high atop a mountain in Dharma Bums). Yet, inevitably, one cannot disentangle the beauty of Beam’s voice from his profoundly moving lyrics. “Naked as We Came,” for instance, is able to evoke, in the mind’s eye, a breath taking scene of a couple lying in bed (after making love, of course) covertly discussing how they will be together forever. Beam softly sings, “She says if I leave before you darling don’t you waste me in the ground/ I lay smiling like sleeping children/ One of us will die inside these arms/ Eyes wide open/ Naked as we came/ One will spread our ashes round the yard”. Beam is able to do what countless other musicians and filmmakers fail to do (and continue to fail to do when they attempt to combine Beam’s music with sappy love scenes…I’m looking in your direction Twilight Franchise). He is able to reproduce a moment where true love lies- in the seemingly unimportant moments, in love infused tête-à-têtes.
My ex-boyfriend once said that Beam could write such romantically awe-inspiring music because he must be living in some type of familial bliss. For all my failed relationships, I’d like to believe that Beam lives what he preaches. It would be more appropriate, though, for Beam to be suffering with the rest of us who have loved and lost. The eventuality of loosing love appears to be a reoccurring theme in Beam’s songs. For, as “Naked as we Came” plainly states “one of us will die…” The end of love is inevitable. That appears to be the true and honest beauty of his music. Even in Beam’s ability to evoke the breathtaking and heart swelling beauty of love, he simultaneously presents the inevitable end of that love. Whether the death of that love is of natural causes or of irregular (and devastating) complications, it will, in fact, end. And thus, there lies the essence of the concept of first love- it’s overpoweringly wonderful but unfortunately it must end; for it is merely the first and not the only.
Oedipa Wheeler