Girls Gone Geek

Dear Brightest Day:

From the beginning, this was a marriage of convenience. You were the next big thing in event comics; I wanted to remain in the DC loop. I’d already dropped some middling books from my pull list (See ya, Green Lantern!), so I figured there was room for you in my life. Surely, we could work through my event fatigue issues together — especially with Peter Tomasi and Ivan Reis in the mix.

Just make out already.

Unfortunately, there was trouble early on, starting with that frickin’ white lantern in issue #0. I knew you came with some Blackest Night baggage, but I underestimated just how damned sick I was of that whole white light business and the various candy-colored corps. “Hal Jordan again?!” I fumed, prompting my oldest kid to ask what my problem was. And why I was talking to myself.

But then, you quickly appealed to my weakness for doomed lovers Hawkman and Hawkgirl, and Martian Manhunter. You also had that muscular, swaggering art from Reis, who draws a bicep like no one’s business. For a brief, shining moment, I truly believed we were gonna go the distance. I told V. that you were making an effort, but like someone who has heard one too many excuses for a friend’s sketchy lover, she was dubious: “If you say so, girl. I’m dropping it.”

By issue #4, I began to suspect that we just weren’t that into one another. For one thing, Firestorm made himself (themselves?) a little too comfortable, and I couldn’t hear the rest of the book over the sound of Jason and Ronnie’s incessant, tedious bickering. (For the record, Jason’s kind of a dick. I know Ronnie is inadvertently responsible for his girlfriend’s death, but still.) Mera and Aquaman’s issues, which seemed rich with promise, took a turn for the boring. Don’t even get me started on Deadman.

I’m not opposed to a little well-placed gore — I love Secret Six, after all. But when you gleefully began ripping off innocent bystanders’ heads (and limbs), it came across as desperate, and a little cheap. There was just too much going on, and it felt like a pileup of empty sturm and drang that was headed nowhere fast. It’s never a good sign on Wednesday nights when you hear yourself muttering, “I don’t have time for this.”

BD, I’m under no illusion that you need me. Heck, you can have almost any DC reader you want, you handsome, shallow devil. I just think it would be best for me to move on — y’know, see what else is out there before I start to resent the fact that you’re costing me $2.99 every other week. That’s a lot of tall Starbucks café Americanos. I’m sure you understand.

Best regards,
E. Peterman

Love and Capes: Do You Want to Know a Secret? Vol. 1
Writer/Artist: Thomas F. Zahler

Superheroes aren’t having much fun these days. While there’s some great work being done in the capes-and-cowls genre, it’s often so relentlessly grim that fans seeking lighthearted reading might as well head straight to the kids’ section of the comics shop (and I often do).

You should be reading this.

Thank goodness for Thomas F. Zahler’s Love and Capes, a funny, smartly written — and, yes, lighthearted — series about the intersection of heroics and romance. Bookstore owner Abby learns that her mild-mannered accountant boyfriend, Mark, is also a superhero known to Deco City as The Crusader. After he reveals his true identity, Abby experiences the perks (15-minute flights to Maui) and perils (picnics interrupted by crises) of dating a member of the cape community.

It’s appropriate that Love and Capes is billed as a “heroically super situation comedy,” because the quick banter and likable cast give it the feel of an especially good TV show. Zahler makes good use of the familiar: The Crusader is clearly a Superman analog, and his best friend, Paul, aka Darkblade, stands in for a certain serious billionaire who fights crime at night. Most of the derring-do takes place off of the page, so even when we see these two at work, they’re rarely talking shop. In one of the book’s many funny panels, Darkblade — while dangling a bad guy over a rooftop — tells Mark that his ill-timed request for relationship advice is “seriously killing my creature-of-the night vibe.”

Amazonia: Trouble in high heels.

Like all newly smitten, cute couples, Mark and Abby are just this side of annoying. (In this first volume, Mark’s only noticeable flaw is that he’s a tad jealous of Arachnerd, a web-slinger who is at the center of a blockbuster film franchise.) Zahler spices things up considerably by introducing Amazonia, an Angelina Jolie/Wonder Woman hybrid who happens to be The Crusader’s ex-girlfriend. How intimidating is she? In one of the book’s many funny panels, Abby’s sister, Charlotte puts it this way: “Amazonia? Whoa. I’d do her.”

Speaking of Charlotte, her tart asides and single-gal perspective bring a lot of wit to Love & Capes. She’s an utterly charming second banana — a Rhoda Morgenstern to Abby’s Mary Tyler Moore (Cue readers born after 1980 saying, “Who?” in unison).

This book has such genuine, across-the-board appeal, and I was bummed to hear two LCS owners — both fans of the series — say they couldn’t interest enough readers to justify stocking the single issues. People, where is the love? The next time I hear a fellow comic lover complaining about the Big Two offerings on his or her pull list, I’m going to ask (in a slightly judgmental tone) why that person isn’t reading Love and Capes, among other things.

Do yourself a favor and check out the first two trade volumes, or head over to the Love and Capes website for a taste of the series. It’s mighty good.

Superman #701
Writer: J. Michael Straczynski
Artists: Eddy Barrows, Rod Reis (colors) and J.P. Mayer (ink)
Cover: John Cassaday and David Baron
Letters: John J. Hill

There’s nothing new about the similarities between Superman and a certain carpenter from Nazareth, but in some stories, the parallels are neon-sign obvious. Shortly after watching Superman Returns — in which Kal-El even rises from his hospital deathbed after a few days (three?) — my brother asked, “Are we sure this isn’t a movie about Jesus?”

Writer J. Michael Straczynski is an atheist, but he has spoken of Superman in biblical (or, depending on your point of view, mythological) terms. In JMS’ highly anticipated Superman debut, the Man of Steel comes across the way I’ve often imagined Jesus might: captivating, earnest, the tiniest bit smug. He doesn’t carry much in the way of cash or material possessions, and he walks a lot. Wherever he goes, people pepper him with questions, try his patience and practically dare him to use his powers. Sound familiar?

Literally down to Earth, Superman is on a sort of fact-finding stroll through America, telling one journalist, “I’m not flying because I’m walking.” (As a former newspaper reporter, I thought the pack of hero-chasing journalists seemed gratuitously dim, especially considering Clark Kent’s line of work. But maybe they were TMZ types.)

The best moments in this issue are the smallest, like when Superman checks the funds in his cape pocket before ordering a cheese steak sandwich, or when star-struck residents react as if a caped Zac Efron were in their presence. It’s not every day that you see a metahuman celebrity in Philly, and I was charmed by Eddy Barrows’ scenes of grinning, gobsmacked citizens.

Unfortunately, the effort to make Superman “relevant” is all too obvious at times, and the book begins to strain under the weight of its own message. There’s a deeply goofy segment involving some drug dealers who appear to have stepped right out of New Jack City, and Supes has one too many Preachy McPreachypants moments. By the end, I found myself wishing Original Batman were around to bust the guy’s chops. However, despite these stumbles and my lack of any deep investment in Superman (the character or the comic), JMS has laid out an interesting premise — one that makes me want to stick around for at least one more stop on Kal-El’s tour.

There are plenty of reasons to be evangelical about Brian K. Vaughan’s Y: The Last Man — a haunting storyline in which almost every male on Earth drops dead, pages of nail-biting drama, sharp humor … and a monkey. It’s like a groundbreaking HBO show in print, with great illustrations (Pia Guerra). But of all the reasons I love this story, it’s the character of secret Agent 355 who tops the list. (Spoilers are ahead.)

Comics have come a long way in the diversity department, but even now, Agent 355  represents something uncommon in the genre: a smart, formidable black female character who is much more than a sidekick, and whose ethnicity informs who she is without defining her. Plus, she can knock you the %$@* out without breaking a sweat. If the world is coming to an end, this is a woman you want on your side.

A member of the Culper Ring, a covert operations group, Agent 355 winds up as the guardian of slacker Yorick Brown — presumably the world’s only living man. She’s a bit of a mystery throughout, and we never even learn her real name. But as time passes, we see a complex and even vulnerable young woman — at least, when she doesn’t have to kill folks, something she takes no joy in doing. Early on, Yorick is surprised to see Agent 355 doing mundane things like … knitting.  When her backstory finally emerges, it packs one hell of a punch.

It’s no small thing that Vaughn avoids the traps of ignoring race completely or beating readers over the head with it. It’s certainly present in the dynamic among Yorick, Agent 355 and geneticist Dr. Allison Mann, an Asian woman who changed her last name (as in Mann’s Chinese Theatre) to piss off her scientist parents. For example, when Yorick asks 355 why she insists on maneuvering at night while they’re in Boston, she points out that (duh) they happen to be in the Southie neighborhood, and she’s not white.

Yorick: “You seriously think that’s still an issue?”

Agent 355: “Why, because this is the twenty-first century … or because all of the men are dead? Either way, my answer is yes.“

A whole lot of crazy stuff goes down in Y: The Last Man, but its heart and soul is the bond between Agent 355 and Yorick. As we’ve stated previously, this book contains one of the most romantic (and ultimately heart-wrenching) moments in comics, ever. And thanks to Vaughn and Guerra’s excellent teamwork, Yorick isn’t the only one who fell hard for this beautiful, badass and thoroughly awesome secret agent.

V. and I feel like proud parents with the posting of today’s guest essay from our fellow fangirl, Jenn. She’s the brains behind Dirty Blonde & Nerdy, where she writes about her adventures in geek. Jenn was also one of our earliest readers, and it warmed our jaded little hearts to learn that Girls Gone Geek had helped guide her as a newbie in the often overwhelming world of comic-book reading. Seriously; we had a moment. (Me to V: “Dude, she’s like our Padawan!”) Anyway, we enjoyed the heck out of her essay on DC’s throwback strategy, and we think you will, too. Take it away, Jenn!

WHYYYYYY!!???? Oh. Right. Darkseid.

There have been quite a few shake-ups in the DC comicverse in recent years. It’s been a pretty intimidating time for anyone to follow, especially for someone just diving into the fun. We had the Crisis siblings: Identity, Infinite, and Final; Bruce Wayne is now sleuthing up to his inevitable return after his supposed death, the Justice League has a new Big Three, if one at all, with a table full of new faces, and the big to-do with Blackest Night led directly to Brightest Day. And, of course, there is the new Wonder Woman run/temporary costume. DC has had its hands buried deep in the cradle of its characters and titles, and the editorial powers have been stirring things around for a while.

Let me make it clear that I have absolutely no problem with that. At all. I love nothing more than when someone takes the plunge and dares to do something different, outside the box, and makes people mad or excited about the idea. It garners plenty of attention, a necessity in any entertainment business. But an “A” for effort doesn’t really count. Success doesn’t ride on the back of good intentions and certainly not on the shoulders of half-assed executions.

Before anyone gets fired up about their own concern (or thinks I’m here to spit fire on everything) let me narrow the playing field to one development in particular that has me wondering what exactly is going through the heads of the officials: DC’s regression to older heroes, the step backwards from the supposed legacy appeal. I don’t get it. A legacy doesn’t work backwards; it’s a namesake passed down to the one who earned the title. For example: Wally West became The Flash after Barry Allen. Bart Allen became Kid Flash after he grew up a bit and left the name Impulse behind. The names became mantels. Now they don’t mean anything because they’ve been revoked, rearranged, removed, whatever.

This problem doesn’t touch just The Flash’s so-called legacy, and it doesn’t stop merely with old guys coming back and retaking their titles. For some, the bigger issue is that a bunch of old white guys are coming back to retake their titles.

Ryan Choi, we hardly knew ye.

The Atom. Ok, Ray Palmer is back, so they discard the replacement Ryan Choi by killing him off, which apparently is the quick and easy way to write off a character (which is also very lame). But, oh crap, that means they killed the guy with a different ethnicity to make room for a white guy.

Boom. Now you’ve got racial issues.

I think that’s ridiculous. If DC wants to revert back to the older heroes, then yeah, it’s gonna look like a whitewash because those characters were created in a long-ago age. Was it an intentional slam against the racially diverse characters added over the past few years? I don’t think so. I hope not. Maybe I’m being far too optimistic in my pessimism, but that result only sprang from the decision they made.

Adding to the confusion, we have Dick Grayson under the cowl when we know Bruce is due back in a few months. I know, I know. Someone needs to be Batman while Bruce was gone. Gotham still needs Batman. Bruce couldn’t ever really be dead because no one else is really Batman. Here the legacy doesn’t work. It can’t work, and it never will work no matter how many times someone else temporarily has their face behind that mask. Those boots — among others like Wonder Woman and Superman — are just too big to be properly filled permanently.

I suppose “half-assed executions” is a little harsh, but this is a nice hole that the folks at DC wrote themselves into. How can one character have a legacy when others who have interacted with that character never age? Retcon the Failsafe? (I think that could be a comic itself.) Change who worked with whom back in the good ol’ days to make sure the aging problem doesn’t interfere? That’s great. They’re probably going to do it sooner or later anyway.

You just can’t please everyone. This fact has proven itself tenfold since I’ve been in the DC fandom. Not everyone is going to approach a new direction with grace and a sensible sense of judgment rather than instantaneous maniacal fan-frothing. But it’s kind of strange that the new faces of DC Universe are taking us backwards instead of moving forwards.

Messing with a classic is ballsy, but doing so successfully requires finesse. Do it right, and you get something like the “Star Trek” movie reboot. Misstep, and you’ve got New Coke. It is not for the faint of heart —or the clumsy.

This brings us to Wonder Woman’s new costume, which you can see today in its full glory with the debut of issue #600. As this is being written, V. and I have yet to read new Wondy writer J. Michael Stracynzski’s first issue, so we can’t comment on the story. The outfit, redesigned by none other than Jim Lee, is another story.

Here’s what we like: The old-school top is fine, and the gloves are hot in an I-will-beat-you-down-in-an-alley kind of way.

What don’t we like? Let’s start with the boots, which pissed us off mightily. If you’re going to put Diana in black leggings, why not let her keep some version of her iconic, red kicks? As V. put it, it’s all about the fucking boots, and the mall footwear with golden frippery isn’t going to cut it. And we like biker chick chic as much as anyone, but the star-spangled blue jacket looks like a Black Canary ripoff. And a choker? No. Seriously, no.

Wonder Woman’s new clothes aren’t terrible or offensive; but they are disappointingly generic and dated. As one person wrote on the DCU blog: “Looks like she’s just changed for happy hour after work. In 1996.”

JMS outlines the ideas behind the costume redesign in an extensive interview with Comic Book Resources, but I’m not sure I buy them. For starters, why does a superhero costume have to be practical? In all my years of reading “Wonder Woman” comics — the good and the bad — I’ve never wondered how she fights “without all her parts popping out” or where she keeps her keys. It’s a suspension of disbelief thing. Couldn’t she just keep some recognizable version of her costume underneath contemporary street clothes, like Spider-Man?

It’s not that we’re anti-change, but we think an amazing heroine ought to have an amazing costume. Reboot or no, Wonder Woman is a classic who should be distinguishable from, say, Donna Troy. Paging Christian Siriano!

When the final obituary of the printed newspaper is written, I’d like to see the analysis go beyond the usual suspects of greedy stockholders, Internet competition and shrinking ad revenue. I want some enterprising pundit to blame the rotting dinosaur carcass that is the newspaper comics page.

WAY funnier than "Hagar the Horrible."

Some papers do a better job than others, but even those that print good strips like Zits or Get Fuzzy continue to prop up dreck like Garfield and Hagar the Horrible. Does anyone find these even mildly entertaining? At least The Family Circus is so unfunny that it has taken on a kind of screw-you punk rock aura, but the daily comics page — at least in my hometown paper — is essentially a wasteland.

Friends have turned me on to a number of worthwhile web-only comics, but I found Bernie Hou’s frequently hilarious Alien Loves Predator the old-fashioned way — by mindlessly surfing the Internets. The premise: Alien (Abe) and Predator (Preston) are roommates in New York, where they try speed dating, argue on the subway, apartment hunt among crack dealers, and occasionally hang out with Jesus. The weekly strip, which Hou posts on Wednesdays, is truly inspired, and you don’t have to be a NYC dweller to appreciate it.

It bugs me that a genuinely funny, clever strip like Alien Loves Predator would never make it in a mainstream newspaper. For starters, cranky 89-year-olds — the ones who call managing editors to complain — wouldn’t get it. The use of a Jesus action figure alone would light up switchboards like the Fourth of July. (Personally, I think a recurring Jesus cameo in Shoe would rule.) And since no one under 35 reads dead-tree newspapers anymore (so we are told), it wouldn’t connect with the readers most likely to appreciate it.

That’s unfortunate, but Hou appears to have built a loyal, appreciative readership since launching the comic in 2004. Any strip that name-checks Abe Vigoda and crosses Starbucks with M.C. Escher deserves some love, so do yourself a favor and check it out.

Don't act like you didn't own a flannel shirt.

Few things in pop culture withstand the passage of time unscathed, and comic books are no exception. Like gauchos, Jheri curls or LFO’s brief musical career, things that seem perfectly reasonable in their moment look entirely different a decade or two later.

In terms of sheer wackiness, nothing will ever top Spire’s 1970s series of Christian-themed Archie comics, which must be seen to be believed. But Hip Hop Heaven, a comic that I collected briefly in the early ’90s, is somewhere in the top five. I had forgotten all about it until I unearthed issue #2 during a recent housecleaning fit. I’m glad I held onto it, because as with Archie’s One Way, people wouldn’t believe Hip Hop Heaven (Boomtown Productions) existed without hard evidence.

In its defense, Hip Hop Heaven used issue #2 to make the case for safe sex in the post-AIDS era — a worthy goal. Milestone Comics launched around 1993, so at the time, it wasn’t exactly common to see several black characters playing pivotal roles in a single comic book. I bought it for that reason, and I was excited to see something different and indie on the shelves.

Almost 20 years later, Hip Hop Heaven reads as a comic very much of its era, one working awfully hard for the credibility. (No love without a glove? Really?) I graduated from a predominantly black university around the time it was published, and I don’t remember conducting conversations with quite as much … flair as female protagonists Coco and Feather:

There’s a preachy message about Korean-made sneakers, complete with a “What Would Martin/Malcolm Do?” splash panel, and an oh-so-’90s discussion about hairstyles and heritage:

Still, creator Craig Rex Perry’s art had a fun, vibrant style — and as much as I’d like to, I can’t deny that he captured the fashion and hairdos of the time. I’ve given away/recycled/donated a lot of comics over the years, but there must be a reason I haven’t parted with Hip Hop Heaven. It’s certainly easier to explain than Archie’s Sonshine.

Despite the fact that they all run around in silly costumes, some caped characters get more respect than others. If you say you’re a Batman fan, even his harshest geek critics won’t make fun of you, at least to your face. But saying that Robin is one of your favorites leads to snickering and the occasional joke about inappropriate pixie boot fetishes.

Um, ew. And whatever. Tim Drake Wayne  —Robin III and the current Red Robin — is my ace, and I’m totally OK with that.

Boy-band hair!

As far as I’m concerned, Tim is one of the coolest teen heroes this side of Ultimate Universe Peter Parker. Unlike his predecessors, or even his successor, Damian, Tim wanted the Robin job, and he earned it through sheer tenacity and top-notch detective work. Even Batman had to give the boy his props, which is not exactly easy for him. Until his real father was killed in Identity Crisis, Tim had a somewhat normal home life, something all but nonexistent in the Bat Universe. I’m still upset about that plot development, but I don’t have Brad Meltzer’s telephone number.

Anyway, it was Geoff Johns’ Teen Titans run that really made me a Tim Drake fan. Guarded but thoroughly badass, Tim emerged as a natural leader in a group of occasionally whiny, me-so-angsty teens. He stood out by simply not being annoying, but he also put to those pixie boot jokes to rest. Tim went toe-to-toe with Deathstroke (Slade Wilson), sliced him with a custom “R” shuriken, and then talked a little smack:

Slade: “Vicious.”
Tim: “When I have to be.”

While sneaking out of Titans Tower against Starfire’s orders, he put that whole sidekick thing in perspective.

Cassie Sandsmark (Wonder Girl): “Wait a second. You just lied to Starfire?”
Tim: “I lie to Batman.”

But my favorite Tim moment was in an exchange with his best friend, Superboy (Conner Kent). Sensitive about being a Superman/Lex Luthor mashup, Conner accused Tim of being “just like Batman” when he secretly took a piece of his hair for lab testing. Eventually, Conner had to eat those words, admitting, “I was wrong. You’re nothing like Batman.”

Tim: “I’m nothing like anybody.”

Damn straight. My friend Shag teases me about being the only person on Earth who’s reading Red Robin, but the naysayers are missing a truly interesting story about a likable hero — one who has been trained by the best, but gets things done his way. My daughter pointed out that Tim resembles Joe Jonas, which, from her point of view, is awesome.

Even in a ridiculous story (I’m looking at you, Battle for the Cowl), no one on the corner has swagger like Tim. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

The Return of Bruce Wayne #2 (of 6)
Writer: Grant Morrison
Artist: Frazier Irving
Covers: Andy Kubert and Frazier Irving

Is there any reason DC can’t reboot the Dark Knight as a swashbuckling time-traveler with a case of amnesia? In this second installment of Grant Morrison’s series, Bruce Wayne is edgier, sexier and more mysterious in a 17th Century Puritan getup than in his modern-day cowl. The caveman-themed first issue was fine, but all of Morrison’s Weird Epic flourishes are finally in full effect here. Casting Bruce as a detective in witch trials-era Gotham City is a brilliant move, and from the very first panel, Frazier Irving’s gorgeous art gives the whole thing an appropriately cinematic feel. (Spoilers ahead.)

Known to the pre-colonial Gotham dwellers as Brother Mordecai, Bruce rankles the local witch-hunters by using logic to solve crimes instead of superstition. After a widow blames her husband’s demise on the devil, Bruce quickly concludes that the woman dispatched her spouse with a iron soup ladle. He also later blasts the locals for labeling the woman a witch, and using that as an excuse for water torture. It’s a powerful sequence, one that ends with Bruce going off on his chief critic, Brother Malleus: “I save my fire for foes who’ve earned it. Not widow-women who were most likely beaten by their good Christian husbands until they could bear no more.”

This does not go over well. It doesn’t help that Bruce is involved with Annie, a ferret-loving free spirit who is suspected of practicing witchcraft. Meanwhile, Superman, Booster Gold (feat. Skeets), Green Lantern and Rip Hunter are trying to follow Bruce’s trail through time. I’m not going to pretend that I understand anything that happens in this part of the comic, which involves an encounter with a 64th-Century “biorganic archivist” with a heck of a secret identity. He’s all “anti-entropy aegis” this and “cosmic loom” that. Whatever. I love the way Irving illustrates the four heroes, particularly his vaguely emo take on Superman. Thumbs way up, gentlemen.

Justice League: The Rise of Arsenal #3
Writer: J.T. Krul
Pencils: Geraldo Borges, Kevin Sharpe and Sergio Arino
Inks: Mario Alquiza and John Dell
Cover: Greg Horn

So much for the "rise" of Arsenal!

How do you know a book is bad? When your LCS owner — the dude who makes a living selling people comics — says, “After you read this, go ahead and send me an e-mail and tell me you’re canceling it.”

Three issues in, The Rise of Arsenal has gone from being bad in a somewhat amusing way to bad in an “I’m pissed that I spent $3.99 on this shit” way. It has taken a potentially poignant story — hero loses a child, a limb and his purpose — and turned it into a series of mind-numbing cliches. First, we see Red Arrow and Cheshire working through their anger over their daughter’s death by body-slamming each other. Despite being armed with only a stapler(!) and an extension cord, Roy manages to best his former squeeze, who is only a freaking trained assassin. No sooner than you can say, “Surely, this won’t lead to grief sex,” they’re up against a wall. Yes, for real. Only Roy can’t perform because he’s, you know, grieving.

Our hero ends up in rehab after a reunion with heroin, but I defy you to care after the onslaught of nonsense and unappealing art. Greg Horn’s cover sure is nice, but that’s all I’ve got.

Roy, I think we’re done here.

Variant cover art by Cliff Chiang

The best friendships are the ones where, even after long stretches of little communication, everyone picks up right where they left off. There are no awkward pauses or, worse, internal monologues about how it’s just not the same.

For fans of Gail Simone’s Birds of Prey run, reading issue #1 of the revived series is like that great reunion with an old friend. Simone stepped away from the book three years ago, and it was canceled in 2009. However, she and original collaborator Ed Benes have wasted no time in returning the Birds to classic, crime-busting form — and we missed them terribly. (Spoilers await.)

The four-part “Endgame” story opens in Iceland, where Black Canary has arrived to rescue a diplomat’s 5-year-old daughter from a terrorist/kidnapper. The beauty of this sequence is that it firmly re-establishes Dinah Lance as one of the world’s most skilled combatants, obliterating the sad-sack wife nonsense other writers saddled her with. Let’s just say there’s a lot of blood on the snow in Reykjavik, and it’s not Dinah’s. Or the 5-year-old’s.

"Where my girls at?"

Shortly, Oracle begins reassembling the team to deal with an anonymous mofo who has a frightening amount of information about the Birds and all their friends/associates. Zinda is dispatched to recruit Hawk and Dove, one of whom has some serious anger management issues. (I wouldn’t have held it against Hawk if he’d tossed that silly, bank-robbing cheerleader off the roof, but that’s just me.) The addition of these newbies to a well-established group is potentially rich with drama, and I’m looking forward to seeing how everyone adjusts, or doesn’t.

This is the REAL DC Trinity

Simone’s affection for these characters comes through on every page, especially in the funny, familiar banter that flies between Canary, Zinda, Huntress and Oracle. The Birds also look fabulous, thanks to Benes’ gourmet cheesecake illustrations and colorist Nei Ruffino’s glowing, moody palette, which really suits poured-on leather under moonlight. Those panels of Huntress cracking skulls while talking to Oracle via cell phone could launch 1,000 gym memberships alone.

As if that weren’t enough, the Big Villain Reveal on the final page is a total surprise, and still a bit of a mystery. I figured it would be Lady Shiva, or even a tween Sin, but the ending suggests that our heroines are in for even bigger trouble. It is totally on — and I couldn’t be happier.

Maybe I was feeling a tad sensitive last week, but there were several comic book moments that left me all verklempt. It was also one of those rare weeks when my pull list produced nothing but hits, with two (Batman and Robin and Secret Six) in a dead heat for first place. There will be spoilers.

Batman and Robin #12: Damian Wayne has haters for days, but the more Grant Morrison delves into his character and unfortunate lineage, the more he grows on me. As the book opens, Damian’s mother, Talia al-Ghul, has literally turned him into a puppet whose movements are being remotely controlled by Deathstroke to kill Dick Grayson. But Talia has (again) underestimated Dick’s Batman-certified skills, as well as her son’s ability to resist manipulation. Once Dick and Alfred shut down the puppet show, Damian decides to confront his mother, who offers an ultimatum: Come back home, or consider yourself my enemy. No one will ever accuse the littlest Wayne of being cuddly, but when Damian asks her, “Can’t you just love me for who I am? Not what you want me to be?” we’re reminded that he is, after all, just a 10-year-old boy. As expected, Talia’s response is not the stuff of greeting cards — and it is thoroughly on. A moving story, plus the no-they-didn’t ending revealing creepy Oberon Sexton’s identity, adds up to one awesome issue. Dick wins the Best Line Award for his response to Damian’s concern that Talia will have him killed: “She can try.”

Secret Six #21: Am I the only one who hears Young Joc’s “It’s Going Down” while reading Secret Six? Because every time I think Gail Simone’s scripts can’t get any more gangster, she finds a bigger machine gun. This book almost never fails to deliver a satisfying blend of poignancy, spit-out-your-Coke-Zero humor and medieval conflict. Tom’s (Catman) early memories, dominated by his repugnant father, are gut-wrenching, thanks to J. Caliafore’s all-too-vivid illustrations. Back in the present day, the anti-hero is on a mission to punish the crew that kidnapped (and possibly killed) his infant son, and his former teammates are following the trail of corpses. The Sixers have seen just about everything, so you know it’s bad when they’re taken aback. After observing the sliced-and-diced remains of one of Catman’s victims, the usually unflappable Deadshot says, “All right. I don’t know what normal people think. This is &^%$ed up, right?” Yeah, but it’s a tea party compared to what Tom has in store for the sadist, metahuman thug, Loki. It involves back trouble, and very big cats.

Red Robin #12: I’d say any comic that shows Ra’s al-Ghul stammering in disbelief is worth $2.99, but in this issue, Tim Drake cracks Mr. al-Ghul’s face — at least metaphorically — with flair. With a little help from his super friends, my favorite Robin thwarts an elaborate plot to kill Bruce Wayne’s associates and bilk Wayne Enterprises. Ra’s throws Tim’s battered body through a skyscraper window, but Dick Grayson (in Batman mode) grabs him right on time. Call me a sap, but I really dug the moment when Dick asks Tim how he knew he’d be there to save him. “You’re my brother, Dick. You’ll always be there for me.” Sniffle! The Best Line Award goes to Damian Wayne, who goes off on his grandpa via walkie-talkie for sending rank amateurs to take him down: “Really, Grandfather? Ninja? I’m insulted.” Writer Chris Yost is moving on after this issue, but he’s ended his Red Robin run on a high note.

Brightest Day #1: Now this is more like it. Following the #0 issue that left about as much of an impression as zero suggests, Brightest Day #1 (or at least part of it) finally feels like an epic adventure with some surprises up its sleeve. I certainly appreciated the moment when Aquaman and Mera put a hurting on some child kidnappers at sea, and a pedophile’s death-by-undead-shark was a particularly awesome touch. However, the subplots are breaking down neatly into care/don’t care categories: Filed under “care” are the Aqua posse (including) scary Black Manta, Martian Manhunter, Hawkman and Hawkgirl. In my “don’t care” category are Firestorm (sorry, Shag), Boston Brand and Hal Jordan/Carol Ferris/Sinestro. I’m just a tiny bit burned out on these three lanterns in general. Nothing personal, guys.

What did you like last week?

You got served!

I got caught up on a bunch of comics this week. Here’s the lowdown:

Brave and the Bold #33 (Yeah, I know this came out last week, but whatever.): DC’s Brave and the Bold hasn’t been on my pull list since the “Book of Destiny” arc closed out a few years ago, but I approached issue #33 with cautious optimism. Jesus Saiz’s cover image of Zatanna, Wonder Woman and original Batgirl Barbara Gordon walking over the bodies of felled bad guys was irresistible. And since current B&B writer J. Michael Straczynski begins writing Wonder Woman in July, I wanted to get a sense of his vision for my favorite comic book character of all time. No pressure.

This comic not only exceeded my expectations, but also reassured me that Diana is in good hands. (Spoilers ahead) Straczynski’s Wonder Woman is a certified badass. Early on, she takes down a terrorist by snatching him out of his bomb-rigged clothes, pinning his nude body under her heel and daring old boy to try something. When Zatanna compliments her crime-busting flair, Diana’s response is sassy and genuinely funny.

Zatanna, who’s been plagued lately by unsettling visions, decides a girls-only night out with Diana and Barbara is in order. It’s a blast to see these three out on the town, complete with killer nightclub attire (I swear Diana is wearing a Gucci heel.) Artist Cliff Chiang’s pencil work is lovely, and a panel of the trio doing a karaoke performance of “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)” put a big smile on my face.

It isn’t immediately apparent where Straczynski’s story is going, which is why the ending packs such an emotional wallop. I may have shed a tear, but you can’t prove anything.

Justice Society of America #38: Am I the only one who thinks the last two issues of JSA have been more powerful than any event comic this past year? Bill Willingham is not playing with this “Fatherland” storyline, which takes place in a future, Nazi-ruled America. Sapped of their powers and imprisoned, heroes like Mr. Terrific, Batman, Superman and Blue Beetle are relying on good, old-fashioned teamwork — and spilling a lot of their own blood — to take down the Fourth Reich. Kid Karnevil is now “The Fuhrer,” and he’s as much of a sociopathic asshole as that title suggests. What I love about this story how it defines heroism as something beyond winning and breaking villains’ faces — though I dearly wish someone would go all Sopranos on Kid Karnevil. Willingham and artist Jesus Merino are bringing their A-game to this book, and I’m glad my pal Chocotaco put me on notice.

Green Lantern Corps #47: I can’t decide what I liked most about Peter Tomasi’s Blackest Night epilogue. Arisia clocking a Guardian Laila Ali-style? Guy Gardner’s trademark sarcasm? Penciller Pat Gleason’s panel of Mogo releasing thousands of emerald rings into the universe to find new bearers? There are plenty of solidly nifty moments in this issue, though I still hate Kyle’s mask.

Wonder Woman #43: Writer Gail Simone is closing out her run on this title with a bang. Part 2 of  “Wrath of the Silver Serpent” reveals the backstory of Wonder Woman’s mass-murdering aunt, and it’s pretty jacked up. Meanwhile, I officially have a crush on Nicola Scott’s version of Diana, who has an elegant athleticism and truly gorgeous hair. I still don’t care about Steve or Etta as supporting characters, but I am looking forward to the showdown between Diana and her first cousin, Theana, who appears to be a sort of Bizarro Wonder Woman. Um, she’s scary.

Ultimate Spider-Man #9: Peter’s current girlfriend, Gwen, and his two exes, Mary Jane and Kitty, gang up on him to give him a haircut, and Johnny Storm falls hard for the mysterious Spider-Woman. As usual, this book crackles like a good TV episode, and there’s a heck of a cliffhanger as Kitty stares down anti-mutant feds who’ve barged into her classroom. I’m gonna put my money on Kitty.

Justice League: The Rise of Arsenal #2: I’ve enjoyed some of writer J.T. Krul’s previous work, but everything about this series so far feels clichéd and silly, despite the fact that Roy Harper is facing overwhelming tragedy: the death of his daughter, Lian, the loss of his arm and the very real possibility of drug relapse. The best thing about this issue is the opening sequence (illustrated by Mike Mayhew and Andy Troy), which is right out of every parent’s nightmares. Unfortunately, the rest amounts to awkwardly drawn panels of Roy being angry, throwing things and generally going off on everybody. (Is there any particular reason heroes always come to funerals in full costume? Anyone ever hear of a private ceremony?) I get that Roy is grieving and in physical agony, but I’m not sure I want to keep paying $2.99 to see him knock over furniture and brandish an oozing arm stump. Plus, isn’t it just cruel to keep putting Cheshire’s kids in danger and/or killing them off? Have a heart, DC.

What did you like this week?

While V. and I celebrated the news that J.H. Williams III will write and illustrate a regular Batwoman comic, it occurred to me that reading comics is a bit like dating. The sheer variety is exciting, but once you really connect with a title (or five), it’s like magic. You’re positively giddy on the Wednesdays that it ships, and you can’t wait to curl up and spend time with it.

Then, inevitably, things get all weird. Maybe the creative team changes and there’s a steep decline in quality, or a larger event gums up the works. Pissed off and confused, you start talking about breaking up and seeing other titles — maybe even other publishers. Call me a sucker, but the Williams announcement is the equivalent of a beautiful flower arrangement or a Tiffany charm bracelet sent just in the nick of time. Maybe it doesn’t completely atone for Rucka’s departure and the Power Girl craziness and the iffy Wonder Woman announcement, but it’s still pretty wonderful.

Together, Rucka and Williams created a stunning series of Batwoman stories in Detective Comics, and Williams’ illustrations were so beautifully and thoughtfully executed that they set a new standard for the comics medium. With Rucka out of the picture, it’s a huge relief to know that Williams will stay on as Kate Kane’s caretaker, so to speak. He struck all the right notes in an interview with Comic Book Resources, showing appreciation for Rucka’s vision while making the case for his own. Plus, his enthusiasm for Batwoman and her supporting cast members, including cousin Bette Kane (Flamebird), is palpable. As Williams himself put it, “I just kind of felt like, ‘OK, if anyone can do the character any justice, it would be me.’ ” It’s a bonus that current Madame Xanadu artist Amy Reeder will provide her considerable talents on the second arc.

DC, consider your telephone number unblocked. For now.

Justice Society of America had been so dull for so long that not even writer Bill Willingham’s arrival a while back could persuade me to keep on my pull list a month longer. So faster than you could say, “Screw you, JSA All-Stars!” I ended that marriage of obligation and began confronting people who were still trying to make it work: “Just end it, man. Magog is never going to change.”

Of course, that’s precisely when the flagship book got really good.

I checked out issue #36 based on a friend’s recommendation, and it was such fine work that I didn’t even have my usual “Nazis again?” reaction to the villains. Issue #37 drops today, so here’s my admittedly late assessment of its predecessor (Spoilers ahead):

The story opens 20 years in the future, and it’s a downer. For starters, Mr. Terrific is in prison, where he’s explaining the particulars of Alan Scott’s demise to an eerily detached secretary with a Vidal Sassoon haircut. Aged, weary and thin, Mr. Terrific has been stripped of his powers and fully expects to be executed after his story is recorded.

The action switches to the present, and we begin to see just when — and how everything — ran off the rails. From inside his holding cell at JSA headquarters, evil-ass Kid Karnevil talks major smack about his escape plans, gleefully race-baits Mr. Terrific (“the JSA’s token Negro”) and announces OG Green Lantern’s death while it’s happening. Killing Scott turns out to be a surprisingly simple task, but it’s still a shocking development. Once the Nazis of the Fourth Reich show up, it is officially on.

Willingham’s script steals the show, but I thoroughly enjoyed Jesus Merino’s clean, elegant pencil work. While the story is plenty dark, Merino’s sunny, domestic scenes of Liberty Belle and Hourman stand out, and there’s an especially lovely image of LB in full stride as she (literally) runs to work. This is the first time I’ve taken note of Merino’s illustration, but I hope his JSA partnership with Willingham is a long-term gig.

I also hope that issue #37 includes a lavish splash page of Kid Karnevil receiving the old-school beatdown he so richly deserves.

Mo powers, mo problems

Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?
Writer: Alan Moore
Pencils: Curt Swan
Inkers: George Perez and Kurt Schaffenberger
DC Comics

Though I accept that Alan Moore is an exceptional and groundbreaking writer, I’ve often found his work difficult to love. However, when Moore’s “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?” stories were reissued in trade form, I went directly to the comics shop and bought the book. This volume is delightful, and it’s a great read whether you’re a hardcore comics lover or a casual reader with only basic knowledge of Superman.

Written in the 1980s as the final chapter for the Silver Age Superman, “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?” is touching, haunting and playful in all the right places — and in a way, it highlights the problem with the lack of an expiration date on iconic comic book characters. No one stays dead (or missing) in comic books anymore, and it is harder to care when you know that a the story of a character’s life has no real end. As wonderful as Neil Gaiman’s “Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?” story was — and it was plenty wonderful — it was undermined a little by the knowledge that Bruce Wayne wasn’t really gone for good. Dude is already on his way back.

Of course, this makes perfect sense from a business standpoint, and new readers keep discovering (and rediscovering) these titles. My point is that the level of poignancy that Moore achieved here is rare because the medium doesn’t often allow for it. A character like Superman is so much more compelling when he is ultimately defeated by something, whether it’s mortality or a changing world. Superman was rebooted in 1986 with “The Man of Steel” arc, but Moore’s story represents the end of a long and storied era. You should read it.

Cover art by Greg Horn

Blackest Night: Wonder Woman #3
Writer: Greg Rucka
Pencils: Nicola Scott
Inks: Jonathan Glapion
Colors: Nei Ruffino
DC Comics
February 3, 2010

Nicola Scott’s rendering of Wonder Woman makes me want to go to the gym in the worst way. I mean that as a compliment, because Scott manages to make heroines’ bodies womanly, strong and distinctive without ever slipping into G-cup exaggeration. Her art is the best thing about this third and final chapter of Blackest Night: Wonder Woman, which is a bit of a letdown after the action-packed, emotionally charged second issue. Frankly, I started to feel a little sorry for Mera, who, as a Red Lantern, was reduced to incoherent rage and red goo-spewing. Not a good look.
(Spoilers ahead)

But if this issue lacked the surprise factor of its predecessor, it’s still a perfectly good read. There are some great panels of Wonder Woman continuing to lay the smack down on Maxwell Lord’s trash-talking corpse. (Note to villains: Bondage jokes are always a bad idea.) And BatWondy ’10 crusaders were rewarded, however modestly, with another acknowledgment of Diana’s feelings for Bruce. As Wonder Woman attempts to calm Mera’s rage, she binds her with her lasso, giving both women access to the other’s dreams and disappointments. The splash page of that moment conveys plenty about the sacrifices Diana and Mera have made in the fulfillment of their royal/heroic duty. Wonder Woman’s explanation of her silence about Bruce is appropriately dignified and poignant: “There was nothing that ever needed saying.” Swoon!

I know it’s corny, but when Hal shows up in the final panel with the Rainbow Rodeo and declares, “We’re going to kick this night’s ass,” I was all, “Hell, yeah!” Overall, Blackest Night: Wonder Woman  has been one of the more enjoyable event tie-ins, and this issue offered a solid return on my $2.99.

By the way, is it just me, or does Greg Horn’s cover make Diana a dead ringer for Jennifer Lopez?

Non-geeks like to make jokes about what an unsexy hobby comic-book reading is, but have these people read a comic lately? Last year, I flipped through a Justice League of America issue and stumbled across a scene of Hawk Girl and Red Arrow engaged in one hell of a team-up. Some of those panels will send the unsuspecting reader scrambling for a bucket of cold water.

Which brings me to that dream sequence scene of my favorite Amazon making out with the original Batman in Wonder Woman Blackest Night #2. Yes, I know it was all in Diana’s mind as she fought the influence of the Black Lantern ring, and that Bruce Wayne is currently “dead.” But these two have long been my comic fantasy couple, which made that panel of them smooching, at least for me, the equivalent of geek-girl soft porn. The Thursday morning-after analysis with V. went thusly:

V: “Did you see how they were standing with his leg between hers? Girl, it was kinda dirty.”

Me: “Oh, it would be dirty. With Batman? Definitely.”

It went downhill from there with inappropriate comments about utility belts. Anyway, the moment wouldn’t have been nearly as thrilling if Diana had been dreaming of, say, Hal Jordan. There’s a reason that writers — including those behind the excellent “Justice League” and “Justice League Unlimited” cartoons — have played with the idea of a romantic spark between Batman and Wonder Woman over the years.

They’ve got a couple of important things in common: While Wonder Woman is motivated by her love of humanity, ultimately, she’s all about getting the job done. In her own way, she’s every bit as tenacious and mission-driven as Batman is. (Maybe moreso. Wonder Woman put the drop on Maxwell Lord, something Batman has never been able to do with all-too-deserving villains like the Joker.) Then there’s the privilege factor. They’re not exactly equals — Diana is blessed by deities, after all — but the two share the experience of having extraordinary backgrounds. Diana is a princess, and as the billionaire prince of Gotham City, Bruce certainly qualifies as American royalty. For obvious reasons, neither would expect the other to be home by 5 p.m. with dinner waiting.

The theory that Batman is incapable of having a decent relationship is valid, but I’m not sure I buy it. He may be a brooding asshole with intimacy issues, but he’s still a man. Somehow, I doubt he’d turn down an opportunity to be with someone as formidable, wise and drop-dead beautiful as Wonder Woman. Given Bruce’s sketchy romantic track record — Catwoman, Talia al-Ghul, Jezebel Jet — it’s way past time for him to go legit in the dating department. And really, who better than Wonder Woman to try breaking through all those layers of Kevlar and mistrust? If she couldn’t do it, no one could.

So let’s bring the teasing to an end once and for all, DC. When Mr. Wayne returns from the great beyond, he and Diana are overdue for a little trip to Paradise Island, if you know what I’m saying.

The very first Girls Gone Geek guest essay comes courtesy of our pal Chocotaco, who is a great lunch companion and a formidable debater on geek-related topics. We’re as confused as anyone about the fate of Wonder Woman’s relationship with Tom Tresser/Nemesis, who basically broke up with her several issues ago. But is it really over? Who knows? It seemed like a rather abrupt end to their Amazonian (and controversial) courtship, but in this essay, Chocotaco explains why he thinks it was doomed from the giddy-up:

There are certain qualities that I think need to be in place in order to have a healthy relationship. Enjoying each other’s company is pretty high up there, along with having similar moral values, common interests, and respect for each other. Physical attraction plays a minor part, too, but I think that without that foundation of things that actually matter, you’re basically asking for trouble, either now or at some point down the road.

So, why the hell was Wonder Woman dating Nemesis?!? Seriously, what did they see in each other?

Nemesis, I can get some of what’s going on in your head. Wonder Woman is probably the most beautiful woman in the DC Universe. That’s pretty cool, but beyond that, is there really anything that you have in common?

Wonder Woman was formed out of clay, given superhuman abilities by various Greek deities as birthday presents, and raised on an island of warrior women who specialize in kicking butt and being awesome on a daily basis. She’s a founding member of the Justice League of America and is probably the most fearsome warrior in existence (at least, in the DC Universe). She’s also one of the few members of an exclusive club named People Who Can Kill Superman in a Fight.

Let’s take a look at your personal history, bruh. You’ve been a member of the Suicide Squad and the Department of Metahuman Affairs and are, evidently, a master of disguise. I’m not sure of the entirety of your track record on secret missions and stuff, but from what I do know, your M.O. seems to be “guy who tends to be the sole survivor of missions that have failed spectacularly.”

What do you think the logical conclusion of this relationship would be? When Diana comes home from a long day of smashing in Titans’ faces or saving the solar system from a Controller-created biological weapon that treats the sun like a Taco Bell Beefy 5-Layer Burrito, what are you going to talk about? You aren’t equals at all. You’re not even within a quintillion light-years of “equal.” Doesn’t she deserve to be with someone who is an actual peer?

Now, dude, I’m not saying this out of jealousy or anything like that. I live on Earth Prime, so Wonder Woman is just a fictional character to me. Even if she weren’t, I would have even less in common with her than you do. Just sayin’, dog, I never saw this going anywhere. You were only wasting your time, and hers.