Tag: Batman

Elizabeth Taylor

Did you miss me this morning? I had to take my car in to get it serviced (and was informed of things I’m going to need to get done soon), and then I came home to pack and run some errands. That’s all done now, and I am waiting for a podcast I am appearing on to promote Crime Ink: Iconic with Robyn Gigl, John Copenhaver and Marco Carocari on Alan Warren’s “House of Mystery” show, which should be fun and interesting. I don’t know how long that will take, but afterwards I am loading the car and driving north. I think I remembered to pack everything I need and if I forget anything, well, there are stores and things up there. I don’t have any writing to take with me on this trip, which is very weird–I am always writing something, it seems like–but I’m still decompressing from turning the book in (it needs work, I already know that) and so I am just going to let my mind wander for a while and scribble down ideas and start thinking about things I want to write and do. I am also thinking I probably won’t finish this before I leave, as I am loading the car the minute I sign out of the podcast.

Yesterday was an easy day of literally doing nothing other than picking up the mail and a prescription. I did nothing other than read The Haunting of Hill House and mostly think about how brilliant it is before going down some wormholes on Youtube–reviews of Hill House, some news, and some history documentaries about the Batman comics and their evolution over the years as well as the character changes. I did love comic books when I was a kid through being a teenager, and have occasionally dipped back into that world periodically as an adult (I really wish DC would let me write Nightwing, or revive Will Payton as Starman–or as another hero), so I find it interesting to learn about their history, and how the characters developed–as well as what outside influences impacted the characters. I’m not a comics nerd, but I do appreciate the art form and the creators, and am never averse to learning more about things I enjoy.

Well, it is now Friday afternoon and I am in Alabama, resting. Obviously I didn’t finish this entry before I departed, and am only now getting around to it; and it may not even be finished this time, either, LOL. I drove up here after recording the Housse of Mystery podcast, and that is a very helpfully placed link to the recording, which consists of Al Warren interviewing editor/contributor John Copenhaver, Robyn Gigl, and Marco Carocari. And me, of course. This was about the Crime Ink: Iconic anthology John edited and is freshly available at all your favorites places you select your reading choices. I’ve not had time to read it yet–that whole finishing-the-book thing–but am looking forward to digging into it sooner rather than later. I got here very late (for me)–nearly ten, my bedtime, and yes, I was very tired. As I drove through the dark night of rural Alabama, I kept getting a bit spooked and having deja vu and thinking, when have I ever driven through rural Alabama at night by myself before, which gradually morphed into I should memorize how it looks and feels to do this so I can write about it so I started describing the pines and the hollowed out hillsides the road cut through and when I pulled up to a four-way stop, I started laughing myself because I finally remembered; that was a passage in Bury Me in Shadows, and one of the creepier parts of the whole book!

Glad to confirm that I got that right.

Anyway, I was exhausted when I finally got here, and got up early yesterday to ride with Dad down to south Alabama–a lengthy round trip–to see family and was again exhausted last night–so exhausted I sat down here at the desk to try to check my email and I fell asleep! I woke up at two in the morning with my face down on the desk resting on my folded arms. I’m still tired today, so Dad is visiting friends while I rest here before we go to his old high school’s Homecoming Game–which is going to be strange for me, obviously. Dad and Mom used to come down for reunions fairly regularly until she started getting too sick, so he’s been back for games before. But for me, it’s a new experience. I’ve not been to a high school football game since my youngest nephew graduated high school, which I think was before Hurricane Katrina, and I’ve certainly not been to a rural high school game since I graduated high school myself. So, yes, I need to pay attention and notice things, because a project (one of many) I hope to finish over the next year or so opens at a high school football game. (I’ve also been thinking about some small town y/a horror/mystery novels lately, and thinking about writing another soon.) It doesn’t hurt that I’ve been thinking about slasher movies lately (Halloween Horror Month, remember?) and listening to Adam Cesare’s Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives! in the car (which I am really enjoying) has also put me in mind of writing a slasher novel. I am not working on anything until everything is over with the new one–edits, copy-edits, and proofing–but it never hurts to spend some time in my head thinking about stories and characters and subtexts and intertwining subplots and stories.

I also read about half of Chris Grabenstein’s The Hanging Hill in the car yesterday. It’s a middle grade novel, but engaging and a bit funny, too. It’s easy to see why he’s so popular with kids.

I think I am going to go lie down for a bit. I’ll be back later, I am sure.

Well, I never came back to finish this, did I? Friday night’s Homecoming game ended well for the home team (they won 64-6), and then Saturday Dad and I watched football games. I was delighted LSU won, but wasn’t impressed by how they played. We watched the Alabama game with Missouri first, went to eat during the afternoon games with my uncle, and got back in time for the night games (we had the Auburn-Georgia game on the television while I had the LSU game on my new phone–and the picture quality was amazing). I have never seen such horrific and biased officiating in my life as I witnessed in the Auburn-Georgia game, and that team of officials and the replay idiot in Birmingham all need to be fired and horsewhipped, frankly. They blew so many calls–the so-called Auburn fumble was either a touchdown for Auburn or a touchdown for Georgia, not a touchdown for no one, for one example–that I wouldn’t trust them with a flag football game for children.

Sunday we went to Mom’s grave and put out flowers, and then I drove home…and Sparky was very happy to see me once I did.

So, this post should technically be read before this morning’s, but…so it goes!

It Was Almost Like a Song

Yesterday when I got in my car to leave the office, it was 104 degrees. The “feels like” was 120+; my car’s gauge doesn’t go higher than 120.

So glad climate change is a myth. You could boil an egg in the Gulf, but that’s normal.

I literally feel cooked whenever I am outside. It’s so miserable, and for once I don’t have to question myself the way I do every summer–is it hotter this year or did I just forget how miserable it is here in the summer as a self-protective brain thing?–because I know conclusively this summer is much hotter than any preceding summer of my life. I had slept well on Sunday night and I wasn’t mentally fatigued when I got home from work yesterday but physically? I was very tired and worn out–because this insane heat just sucks the life right out of you. But that’s fine, there’s always an end to it in sight. And it gets closer with every soul-crushing heat advisory day we pass.

Whine whine whine.

I watched a few more episodes of My Adventures with Superman last night (after finishing the laundry and doing another load of dishes; even with Paul gone I still seem to generate an absurd amount of dirty dishes and laundry), and I really like the show a lot. They’ve really captured the optimistic spirit of old with Clark/Superman, Lois always skitters back before she crosses the line into annoying and narcissistic, and I really love that Jimmy Olsen is an integral part of the show. I always liked Jimmy Olsen, and I hated that the character was kind of lost in the various reboots of the comics and the films/television series. Yes, I get that in the pre-Crisis DC Universe he was kind of a goofball and always getting into scrapes and needing rescuing; but in his own series (because yes, Superman’s Best Friend Jimmy Olsen had his own title back then) he was actually pretty intrepid, courageous, and smart. Just as Lois solved crimes and reported stories without help from Superman in her own title, Jimmy was the same in his own–he was the hero, and only sometimes was the story absurdist and played for campy laughs. It’s nice seeing Jimmy so well represented on this show, and finally get his due as part of the primary cast. I guess it was easier for me to identify with Jimmy than Clark, which kind of makes sense–like I always identified more with Dick Grayson than I ever did with Bruce/Batman, which is why the movies never completely resonated with me and why I am still a Nightwing fanboy to this day; I guess I always saw myself more as a sidekick than the primary hero, I suppose.

Okay, now I want to do a gay Jimmy Olsen mini-series for DC. I hope I was able to just speak that into existence. (I have always wanted to write for Nightwing; please please please God if there’s ever an anthology for short stories for DC characters, I want to write a Nightwing story and then I can die a happy man. If speaking things into happening is a thing…)

Yet another reason I need to get an agent.

Among others.

There were was some kerfuffle in publishing social media yesterday, because some (at best, well-meaning but not clever, at worst, a horrific scam artist and plagiarist) person had put up a website that purported to analyze books for some purpose I never quite really understood (still don’t) but if I had to explain…no, I can’t. But whatever the intent, this purpose flagrantly violated copyright and intellectual property rights law…which is something that will always rally a mob of authors carrying pitchforks and torches. And I am right there with them. Piracy is already bad enough without this sort of thing, and I am choosing to not worry about AI–but will always vehemently oppose its use to independently create any kind of art. As a tool–that’s for writers and artists to decide for on their own. I choose not to use it, but I don’t judge anyone who does. Not every writer or artist has someone around who also gets it and they can talk to about what they do. I tend not to talk about writing with people who aren’t writers. I will talk about books with anyone who reads, but if you want me to talk to you about writing or editing, my preference would be that you be at least a peer–and when I say peer, I include those who haven’t published yet but will. I am not a good judge of character by any means, but one thing I can do is instinctively sense who is serious about writing. I also try to remember them and watch as their careers begin to develop and take off. It’s always fun and interesting to watch their careers and their books grow.

I did read one more story in Alfred Hitchcock Presents My Favorites in Suspense, “The Duel” by Joan Vatsek; another author I knew nothing about before reading the story. Joan was an author, had two stories in Alfred Hitchcock Presents anthologies, and was married to Robert Arthur, who worked on a lot of the anthologies and wrote ten of the first eleven Three Investigators novels. The story, a ghost story about a writer and his wife, who had a breakdown of sorts, moving into his remote old family home–and before long, his wife begins communicating with a ghost in the house, who’d fought in the Revolutionary War and was killed at Yorktown…but had fought a number of dues in his life, usually with the husbands of women he’d seduced. It’s quite a nasty little story, actually, and I was most impressed with it.

But I had another good night’s sleep last night and feel very rested this morning. Not sure how the day is going to go, and it’s always hard to predict, but I am alert and don’t feel tired, which is always a plus in the morning. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in on you again later.

Here You Come Again

Monday! Back to the office for the weekly routine! It took me awhile to fall asleep last night, but eventually Morpheus opened his arms and welcomed me into the Dreaming, although I don’t remember anything I dreamt last night. Yesterday was, over all, not bad. I’d slept fairly decently Saturday night, but had some trouble with motivation yesterday. I did write a little bit, but for the most part felt burned out and mostly tired for most of the day. The end of the month is nigh, of course, which is a bit of a trip–can it really be August already–and the year is slipping past. I have a busy rest of the year ahead of me, too–after Bouchercon I am having oral surgery, and I am trying to schedule a consultation so I can get my arm surgery scheduled before the end of the year. I’d prefer to do neither, but I am tired of mouth pain and am not sure how much longer I could last dealing with the pain from my teeth. I am just ready to be done permanently with mouth pain.

It was raining when I went to bed last night, so I imagine the sound of rain helped me fall into a deep sleep; if only we could have a thunderstorm every night when it’s time for bed. Paul is leaving Wednesday, so when I get home from work that night he won’t be here. I am kind of in denial about it, to be completely honest. I’m going to be excessively bored, undoubtedly, but the key is to make sure I utilize the time effectively rather than allowing myself to be bored, you know? I can always read something, there’s a lot of shows for me to catch up on that Paul’s not interested in–Superman and Lois, and I should finish Titans, and My Adventures with Superman–and there are other classic films I’d like to watch as well. I can also watch the television in the bedroom and read in bed every night if I so desire.

We did finish watching Last Call last night, which was terribly sad because of how the killer was able to get away with it–twice!–before they finally linked him to the gruesome murders, and the difficulties prosecutors had in determining jurisdiction. We had a serial killer in the aughts who was preying on gay men down in the bayou parishes of Terrebonne and Lafourche back in those pre-Katrina times; no one’s ever written about him as far as I know, and most of his victims were homeless and/or hustlers, so no one cared much about the victims (similar to what happened with the Jeff Davis Eight in the same time period–women with records for prostitution and drugs murdered and no one ever caught or prosecuted) but at least they did finally catch the Bayou Killer (that’s not what his name was; I’m not even sure they gave him one since no one cared about the victims), but what the primary underlying theme to both true crime stories is that the police, for the most part, didn’t care about the victims so they didn’t try terribly hard to find them justice.

Yet another example of the fraught relationship between my community and the cops.

We also watched the first three episodes of Gotham Knights, which was better than I was expecting. DC’s continuity is something I no longer understand, as there are any number of Batman children and Robins and so forth having accumulated over the years, so I am not really sure about how the cast of this show came together–Batman’s adopted son, who isn’t a Robin, is accused of hiring the Joker’s daughter and some sidekicks to murder Bruce Wayne/Batman for the inheritance. Now they–with the help of a young Black female Robin–have to clear their names and catch the real killers, which involves the Court of Owls. I have no idea what’s going on these days in the comics with the Batman family–but I will always think of them as the originals I grew up with: Batman, Robin, Batgirl, and Nightwing (my favorite).

I also spent some time reading Kelly J. Ford’s The Hunt, which I am enjoying a lot. Kelly really gets the Southern working class voice and setting perfectly, and of course, she’s very literate in the way she writes. The book is layered and textured, and captures that small Southern community feeling more perfectly than most writers I’ve encountered. The queers are doing some really great work in crime fiction these days, which is pretty amazing–with amazing new voices coming along, it seems, fairly regularly over the last few years. Kelly, John Copenhaver, Margot Douaihy, Marco Carocari, Rob Osler and PJ Vernon are all doing amazing work and getting mainstream recognition, which is even cooler. Rob’s Devil’s Chew Toy continues to wrack up award nominations for debut novel; he’s currently up for both the Anthony and Macavity, and was one of the finalists for the first ever Lillian Jackson Braun award. Well done, Rob!

I, of course, didn’t complete my ambitious plans for the weekend, and that was in no small part due to that little voice reminding me in my head repeatedly what are you going to do while Paul’s gone–and of course, it never takes much persuasion for me to procrastinate or to be lazy, so I would give in and go do something besides sit at the computer and write, which is of course terrible. But I also didn’t want to not spend time with Paul while he was awake, either, since he’s leaving on Wednesday. Sigh. It truly never ends.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have as lovely a Monday as possible, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later.

The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts

I have always loved Superman, ever since I accidentally pressed the wrong button on the comic book vending machine at the Jewel Osco on Pulaski Avenue in Chicago as a child and got Action Comics instead of the Betty and Veronica I wanted. I was disappointed, and asked my mom for some more change so I could get what I actually wanted, which was when my mom decided to teach me a valuable life lesson: if you hurry and don’t pay attention you won’t get what you want–and sometimes that’s the end of it. So always, always make sure you’re picking the right thing. (I still do, to this day, and whenever I “forget” and rush–it inevitably ends badly.)

I wasn’t happy about it, but made the best of it. I had a comic book, after all, and while I had never shown any interest in super-heroes and their comics before, I decided to read it when I got home.

Once I did, I was done with the Archie and the world of Riverdale for good. I started reading DC Comics–I already knew about Batman from the television show, which we watched every week with its epic cartoonish campiness–and all the other titles that involved Superman even if only in a peripheral way. Both Jimmy Olson and Lois Lane also had their own titles, there were at least three titles alone devoted to Superman, and of course, Justice League of America. There was a Superboy title, too, and of course we can’t forget Linda Danvers, Supergirl. I read them all, and finally stopped buying them when they reached the (to me then) insane price of a dollar per issue. But I never lost my sentimental attachment to DC Comics and their heroes. I was also terribly bummed when the peripheral titles, like Superboy, Jimmy Olson–Superman’s Pal, and Superman’s Girlfriend, Lois Lane–were cancelled. For the most part, Lois’ adventures that didn’t involve Superman–when she was actually doing her job as an investigative reporter–often involved her in mysteries she had to solve, which were a lot more interesting to me than her schemes to expose Clark as Superman, or to get Superman to marry her. The old television series, with George Reeves, was often shown in reruns on alternative non-network local channels, and while I of course watched, I was kind of disappointed with how bad and cheap the effects looked. Batman’s television show was campy, of course, and highly entertaining–but campy. Wonder Woman was also campy and cheesy, but had Lynda Carter, who personified both the super-hero and her alter-ego, Diana. (When I was watching Superpowered: The DC Story the other night Carter said something I thought was very perceptive and explained thoroughly her role on the show: “I didn’t play them as separate characters–I just played her as Diana, the Amazon Princess, with a strong belief in equality and that there’s a better way than fighting.”)

So, when they Superman movie was announced sometime in the mid-1970’s, I knew I’d go see it, but didn’t have a lot of high hopes. But the tagline was fantastic.

You’ll believe a man can fly.

I think I was at the theater, waiting to watch either The Deer Hunter or Animal House, when they played the preview for the upcoming December release Superman The Movie, starring Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder (among many other major names in supporting roles–from Marlon Brando to Gene Hackman to Ned Beatty to Valerie Perrine). I knew they were making the movie, and I had allowed myself to get a little excited about it as a Superman fan. I’d always found previous Superman adaptations–mostly the television show–to be so inexpensively done that it was almost comical. But special effects had been changed forever by the one-two punch of 1977’s Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and I also knew they were spending a LOT of money on this adaptation, so when the screen and theater went dark, and you just heard a voice saying “You’ll believe a man can fly” and then…there he was, flying. I caught my breath because it looked so real. And when Christopher Reeve turned his face to the camera, smiled, saluted and somehow got his eyes to twinkle, I also knew the movie was perfectly cast. I couldn’t wait for the movie to finally open (I think I also saw the sequel on its opening weekend), and yes, when it finally came to the Petite Twin Theater (apparently still there? No, no movie theater on Commercial Street anymore, alas) I saw it on that first weekend.

I’ve always loved Superman, and Christopher Reeve was fantastic in the part; the bar every actor who puts on the suit has to clear.

Obviously, the recent announcement that David Corenswet has been cast to play Clark/Superman in the new reboot of the film franchise, replacing Henry Cavill, has me thinking about Superman again. I was very pleased, frankly, when Cavill was originally cast; I’d first noted him playing Charles Brandon on The Tudors and thought, “that is one fine-ass man.” I thought he was the perfect choice to play the dual roles of Clark and Superman; he is drop dead gorgeous, for one, and his eyes have the ability to twinkle when he smiles and the dimples? Just take me now, Henry.

Mr. Cavill fills out the suit rather nicely, does he not?

The Henry Cavill version of Superman, which followed on the heels of a failed reboot with Brandon Routh (who returned to the televised DC Universe–the Arrowverse–in Legends of Tomorrow. I always felt bad for Routh, who I didn’t think got a fair break, either), wasn’t the best interpretation of the character but that wasn’t Cavill’s fault; that was the vision of the director and writers and the studio; and while I think I can understand the need to update Superman, the need to darken his story a la The Dark Knight 1980’s Batman reboot was a mistake. Superman is the World’s Biggest Boy Scout; he stands for hope and truth and all those things we used to believe embodied the United States; if anything, Superman was the personification of the idea of American exceptionalism.

David Corenswet certainly has the right look for the part; he’s from the Ryan Murphy stable of dark-haired blue-eyed square jawed hunks who regularly appear on his television series. I first saw Corenswet in The Politician, and then again in Hollywood. I found the following fan art through a Google search, as there are no available official images of him as the Big Blue Boy Scout. James Gunn’s vision for the DC Universe is one I am interested in seeing; while I didn’t enjoy the second and probably won’t watch the third (I’ve come to detest everything about Chris Pratt over the last few years), I did think the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie was pitch-perfect for a popcorn super-hero type movie.

But I do hope they move away from the dark broodiness of the Cavill version. I enjoyed them (and love Henry Cavill for reasons that should be obvious; look at the posted picture above again), but they didn’t feel right for Superman movies. The underlying theme and element of all the Superman stories is his positive energy and determination to protect people from harm and most importantly, lead by example. One of the core elements of the original Superman series (before the first of many DC reboots of their universe) was that Superman’s most sacred vow was that he would never take a life, no matter who or how much they deserved death. That didn’t matter to Superman, whose pursuit of justice was limited to capturing the bad guys and turning them over to the judicial system. It wasn’t his job to determine justice and punishment.

I keep hearing good things about the animated DC movies and series, but have yet to really watch any of them. I don’t know why I have this automatic resistance to animated super-hero shows/movies; I love Disney animation, and there are literally hours of DC animated entertainment available for streaming. I’d been hearing good things about a new DC animated series on MAX called My Adventures with Superman, so while I was waiting for Paul the other night (and was tired of LSU football highlight videos) I decided to give My Adventures with Superman a chance.

Constant Reader, I am so glad I did.

The show is utterly charming. It’s very well animated, for one–Clark/Superman is handsome, which is weird to say about a cartoon–and it’s refreshingly well-written with more emphasis on the characters and who they are, as well as their relationships with each other, over the adventure aspects of it, which makes it all the more likable and enduring. The premise is that Clark, Lois, and Jimmy Olson are all interns at the Daily Planet; Clark and Jimmy are just starting, and Lois is given the job of breaking them in and showing them the ropes. Lois is ambitious and determined to become a star reporter, and her impetuosity and ambition quickly leads them all into trouble–not only with the bad guys, but with Perry White back at the paper. Fortunately, Clark is, well, Superman, so all turns out for the best and Lois gets the scoop of all time: there’s a super-man amongst us! Which gets all three of them hired on staff. Clark is exactly the way he should be: kind, thoughtful, empathetic, a little bit shy–and the cold open of episode 1, which has young Clark suddenly discovering that he can, actually, fly; and his excitement and wonder at discovering this sudden new ability slowly begins to fade–imagine learning at age ten or eleven that you have super-powers–and he begins to wonder not only who he is, but what he is….then after the opening credits it flashes forward to Metropolis and Clark and Jimmy–roommates–getting ready for their first day as interns. The chemistry between the three of them–truly the Holy Trinity of the Superman stories is Clark, Lois and Jimmy (it’s so nice to see Jimmy Olson finally getting something to do and being included as something more than just a bit part, which is a nice nod to Superman history), and I am really looking forward to watching more of it.

And the art is fantastic.

Well done, DC. I hope this series lasts and is a hit–and I hope James Gunn is watching so he can see how to do the Big Blue Boy Scout properly.

Night Fever

I read comic books when I was a kid, and around the age of eight or so moved on from Archie to DC Comics and their pantheon of super-heroes. I did watch the Batman television show when it aired when I was even younger; it was a lot of fun to watch–silly and campy (even though I was too young to even slightly understand what camp was or have any idea that it was even a thing; I just knew I liked it). I’ve dipped my toes back into the world of comics from time to time over the decades as I’ve gotten older. I don’t know a whole lot about comics–enough to know that I don’t know much, but just enough to be able to participate in a conversation about them for a little while before getting lost. I never followed writers or artists, I followed the characters–but have always had an appreciation for the art, both in story, drawing, and colorization–that make the books what they are.

I’ve always loved Nightwing since he was introduced, and that’s an abiding fandom that has flickered, off and on, over the years. (If ever asked who my favorite comics character is, I always unhesitatingly reply “Nightwing.”) It was this fandom that actually led me to the Titans television show, which I enjoy, and recently, a friend on Twitter was recommending a graphic novel that combined the first six issues of a new Nightwing story arc, the issues collected into a book called Nightwing: Leaping into the Light.

I also had to examine, for the first time, the questions why does Nightwing resonate so much with me? Why do I connect so much with this comic book superhero?

Which leads to the character of Dick Grayson.

The great irony of my connection to Nightwing is that I absolutely hated Dick Grayson as Robin. The only time I ever really liked Dick-as-Robin was on the Batman television show, as played by Burt Ward. But the costume, the weird subjugation of his personality as anything other than a pale reflection of Bruce Wayne/Batman never really connected with me, yet at the same time I felt like I should connect with him, as he was closer to me in age than Batman or any of the super-folk I followed. I mean, I liked Jimmy Olsen’s identity as it was established in his own spin-off series, so why didn’t I like Robin? I think it was because of that subjugation, that strong willingness to be just like Bruce without questioning it; there was an unflinching eagerness to please the older male/father figure that probably reminded me, harshly, of my own failures to meet up to the societal and parental expectations for a male child–because I resisted strongly against conforming to those expectations because they weren’t who I was. My childhood, therefore, was a long period of resisting what everyone was trying to turn me into.

Dick Grayson not only didn’t resist, he eagerly embraced the role his father figure expected from him. And so, I couldn’t relate to him.

I didn’t connect with him until he rebelled and became Nightwing; struck out on his own and grew up, determined to find himself and who he actually is rather than trying to fit into the mold his father figure created for him.

And that was when I connected with him–because I could identify with that entire internal struggle between who people expect you to be, and who you really are; as well as how hard it can be to find yourself when you’ve been relentlessly trained and told who you are.

So, in some ways, Nightwing’s hero’s journey emulated that of so many gay men; he had to find himself rather than fit into the mold he was also told he was made from and the fulfill the role that was expected of him.

And maybe it’s not just gay men–it’s any man, really, who have been raised to emulate their father (figure) so much that they try to turn into them, and find out that isn’t who they are.

And Nightwing was also one of the first characters in the DC Universe to actually age.

Nightwing: Leaping into the Light is an exceptional treatment of the character. The artwork is phenomenal; the writing exceptional. I don’t follow comics as closely as I used to–I simply don’t have the time, but maybe when I retire–and I know there have been a lot of changes to the DC comics universe over the last decade or so, and I’ve not been able to follow them all. I know there are a lot of characters now in what’s considered the “bat family”–I would have to look them all up–and I also know the character of Nightwing himself has been through a lot on his recent journey; this book alludes to his troubled recent past–but now he is actually trying to make a difference in the world, to be the “light” the world (or the deeply criminally contaminated city of Blüdhaven that he now calls home) needs. Alfred has died–that was a deep shock–and it also turns out he left young Master Grayson a fortune. Over the course of his story, as Dick/Nightwing recognizes the issues and problems in his new home city, he decides to use that money to try to turn back the darkness and help people, while working at night as his persona to fight crime. It’s done extremely well, and I love the dog he rescues and winds up adopting at the beginning of the book; and Nightwing’s character…who he is…and what he stands for…is very well defined in this story.

And now I want to read more.

Christmas Alphabet

Thursday and working at home today. Huzzah!

I got some very good work done yesterday on the book, as well as an invitation to write a story for a tribute anthology, which meant it was a very good day. Today I am working at home, and am also very excited because finally, at long last, I have found Johnny Tremain on a streaming service! And while it disturbs me to no end to actually have to pay to rent it, but I’ve been wanting to see it again for a very long time, and I think I can cough up the couple of bucks to pay for it.

I’ve long wondered where my interest in history came from, and when I saw Johnny Tremain available to stream at long last on Amazon Prime the other day, it hit me: when I was in the first grade, at Eli Whitney Elementary School in Chicago, one afternoon we all gathered in the auditorium and they screened the movie for us. It was my first time seeing anything to do with American history–at that point, I was aware of the Civil War (I was from the South and lived in Chicago; of course I did) and who Washington and Lincoln were, but it was watching this movie–about a teenager in Boston during the period leading up to the American Revolution, that triggered my interest. This was when I started looking for books on American history at the library instead of ones about dinosaurs, and I was in the fourth grade when I finally got a copy of the book (I didn’t know it was a book first) from the Scholastic Book Fair, and it remained a favorite of mine for the rest of my life. I’ve always, always, remembered watching that movie and wanted to see it again; but it wasn’t until recently that I realized that it was the trigger that led me to my interest in American history, and from there to history in general. I am sure, since it’s a Disney picture made in the 1950’s, that it’s very rah-rah patriotic–there’s a thirty minute clip from it on Disney Plus that I tried to watch out of context, but it was so…hit you over the head with AMERICANA and FREEDOM and LIBERTY that I couldn’t really watch all of it; I am hoping that the entire movie won’t be such blatant propaganda, but then again, it was during the height of the Red Scare and it probably was intended to indoctrinate (white) children with a pro-America mentality; patriotism to the nth degree.

So, we’ll see how that goes, won’t we?

I got some good work on the book done last night, after which I was very tired, so I climbed into the easy chair (with a sleeping purr-kitty in my lap) and finished reading A Caribbean Mystery. (More on that later.) I also started reading Nightwing: Leaping into the Light (based on a recommendation from my friend Alex, who always knows whereof he speaks) and it reminded me (again) of why Nightwing is and always has been my favorite super-hero ever since I was a teenager (since he evolved from Robin into Nightwing); and it also finally hit me last night precisely why that was the case; it should make for an interesting blog entry when I get to it. I have so much writing to do–and fortunately I am in a creative state of mind these days, which needs to be more laser-focused. I am pretty confident I will get the book finished in time now, as well as everything else I need to do. We need to make a Costco run at some point, and of course there’s always mail to pick up, dishes to do, floors to clean, and laundry. I also have condoms to pack, and so much reading to do. I inevitably always have more than enough books on hand so that I will never run out of things to read–and that’s not even taking into consideration the ebooks loaded into all the reading apps on my iPad. I slept really well last night–a lovely side effect to being exhausted yesterday–and my shoulder is starting to feel better–at least I can move my arm without feeling a stab of pain, but I do want to keep resting it for another few days before attempting the gym again. I think tonight I might also walk around the Garden District taking pictures of Christmas decorations, which is always a lovely thing to do; one of the many things I love about this city is how it dresses itself up for any and every holiday, which makes it always seem so festive here.

I also have all my Christmas shopping done, and I actually did my Christmas cards last night as well. Now if only my house weren’t such a mess, I could claim I was winning at life!

Paul and I have decided that 2022 is going to be a year dedicated to living our best lives, and we’re thinking about taking another jaunt to Europe (pandemic permitting); but Amsterdam and Berlin will be our destinations. I’ve always wanted to visit both–there’s really nowhere in Europe I don’t want to visit, really–and the appeal of the art museums in both, plus Amsterdam is primarily a walking city, is a hard pull to resist. I’m thinking we might even take the occasional weekend getaway to a panhandle beach, why not? I have to do some traveling for my career (pandemic willing), and I am sure Paul will want to come to Minneapolis with me for Bouchercon, since we both lived there (he lived there much longer than I did; I only lasted eight months, and only agreed to live there on the guarantee it would be eight months and then we would move to New Orleans–other than the weather I really liked it there) it makes sense for him to come with. He works so hard, and he really does deserve to have down time where he can just relax and have fun.

Yesterday at the office I was walking out of our cubicle area to a testing room because one of my clients had arrived. I had noticed that the Crescent Care shirt I was wearing fit rather nicely; I have three of them in purple (one for every clinic day) and one of them, for some reason, fits better than the others and looks more flattering when I wear it. I actually had just thought about it again when I stood up from my desk (“hey, my pecs looks HUGE in this shirt”) and as I walked out, our nurse (hired in July) was sitting at the front desk and she said, “You know Greg, I can see the potential that you were fine when you were younger.” Fifty year old me would have been offended (“what? I look old and tired now?”) but sixty year old me accepted it in the spirit it was intended–a compliment–so I just laughed and replied, “thank you, I was.” Like I said, ten years ago I would have let that hurt my feelings; now I saw it as a compliment–if worded a bit bluntly–and it amused me. Even thinking about it, I am smiling about it.

I do wish I hadn’t been so insecure and self-conscious when I was younger. I also wish I could transfer this very mentality to my writing. I don’t get Imposter Syndrome as much as I used to–more maturity of age, perhaps?–but I do worry about whether people will get what i am trying to do when I write. I worry about unintentionally offending people more than I ever used to before (trust me, if I am trying to offend you, it’s pretty fucking clear); and I am trying to be kinder, more aware, and to exercise empathy as my default rather than getting offended myself. I don’t know how well I am succeeding, but I certainly don’t have my Julia Sugarbaker tirades are regularly as I used to.

Interesting.

Maturity, or just tired?

And on that note, tis off to the spice mines with me.

Superman

So, on National Coming Out Day this past week, October 11th, the current Superman—Jonathon Kent, son of Lois and Clark—came out as bisexual. When I saw the New York Times piece I literally gasped out loud. This wasn’t some minor character in a team comic; this wasn’t even a second-tier lead of a less-popular title. This was fucking SUPERMAN, the Big Blue Boy Scout, the tentpole character on whom all of DC Comics, and the DC television and film franchises, are built around.

I literally had tears come up in my eyes. This was So. Fucking. HUGE.

I cannot even begin to tell you how much that would have meant to me as a deeply closeted and terrified gay teenager in the Chicago suburbs and later, small town rural Kansas. I really don’t know how best to explain what this meant to me as a sixty-year-old gay man, but here goes.

Oh, Superman. You are the ubiquitous comic book character; since your debut back before the second world war you have become the default; the super-hero every other super-hero is judged against. It’s even right there in your generic name: you are the super man, hence you are Superman.

Superman is kind of the Bill Jones or Joe Smith of comic book heroes: basic, simply named, and the best of them all.

I was a kid when I first started reading comic books about super-heroes. Before I bought my first Action Comics (all I remember is that Lex Luthor was the issue’s villain), I read Archie in all of its iterations; I also read Millie the Model, Dot, Little Lotta, and some others that have faded from memory. The Jewel Osco where my mom used to buy groceries when we lived in Chicago had a comic book vending machine near the entrance, right next to a soda machine dispensing cans of Pepsi and its variants. You put in a dime and two pennies into the appropriate slots, and pushed the appropriate buttons for the comic you wanted; the metal spiral thing holding the comics would spin and drop your comic down, so you could reach in through the door and pick it up. That particular day I wanted a Betty and Veronica, which was A5 but I was in a hurry and accidentally pressed B5 instead; voila, I got an Action Comics instead, much to my bitter disappointment. One of the local independent stations, Channel 32 (which also showed repeats of The Munsters, among other black-and-white classics) aired reruns of the old Superman television show; which I thought, even for my unsophisticated childish palate, was cheesy and silly. I remember grousing about it to my mother—whose response, “Boys read super hero comics anyway” was the kind of thing that usually would guarantee that I would never read a super hero comic book, but I picked it up after we got home and I started reading, certain that I would hate it.

It probably should go without saying that I didn’t hate it.

And it opened an entirely new world for me. Sure, it got a little frustrating from time to time for me (Superman was such a goody two-shoes, but that was kind of his job) and Lois being so desperate (and jealous) to either marry and/or expose his secret identity was annoying; especially because Lois otherwise was such a kick ass woman. There were any number of Superman or Superman-adjacent titles, Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen had their own titles; Superman often appeared in (and was definitely a charter member of) Justice League of America; there was also Superboy (“Superman as a teenager!”) and Supergirl…it was like the comics readers couldn’t get enough of Superman and his world. I eventually moved on to other DC Comics titles, too—everything Batman (Detective Comics was always my favorite, because there was a mystery to solve) and Flash and Green Arrow and Green Lantern and…yes, my dollar allowance every week for a long time went to comic books (Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys were $1.50 and my allowance was $1 per week; and no, I couldn’t wait until I had two dollars to get one; I always needed to spend my money as soon I got it on Thursday—Mom’s payday—at either Jewel Osco or at Woolworth’s…because I could always talk Mom into buying me a book if there were Hardy Boys or Three Investigators to be had). When we moved to the suburbs the Zayre’s didn’t carry comics, nor did the grocery store in town; the 7/11 only carried Marvel (I tried with The Mighty Thor, but the continuing story aspect Marvel used irritated me because I would inevitably miss an issue), and when Zayre’s finally started carrying comics, things had… changed. Wonder Woman was no longer an Amazon, and was just an every day modern woman running a boutique (somehow she’d given up her powers). Supergirl had been poisoned, which meant her powers came and went without warning; one moment she’d be super, the next she wouldn’t. It was an attempt to modernize the books, of course, make them appeal to the newer, more sophisticated modern audience of the 1970’s; some of them started addressing social issues and became a lot more adult in theme. (Green Arrow actually became my favorite book during this time; he was drawn naturally—had curly chest hair AND nipples—and he had no powers other than being an expert archer and skill at hand-to-hand fighting). I eventually moved away from comics because I started spending my money on novels—Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen, etc.—and comics were, I thought, really for kids.

Later on, when we moved to Kansas, I got back into comics again, and things had changed yet again. Some of the Legion of Super-Heroes’ costumes made them look like strippers (male and female); the drawing of the characters had become more natural and realistic (Superman, for example, went from being barrel-shaped to having a narrow little waist and abs showing through his skintight costume), and Wonder Woman was an Amazon again. This was my Howard the Duck period, when I also started delving into Marvel a bit more. Comics always remained of interest to me throughout my life, with me going through periods of collecting and reading in large volumes at different times…before moving on from them again. I am not an expert on comics by any means; I know the names of some artists and some writers, but for the most part, I always paid more attention to story and character (go figure). But I’ve always maintained a love for the characters; and yes, the original Christopher Reeve Superman movie (which I rewatched recently for the Cynical 70’s Film Festival) indeed made me believe a man could fly.

I’ve always had, and always will have, a soft spot for Superman.

To me, Christopher Reeve was Superman–the prior versions of the character, including the popular television show (which I watched religiously) always seemed, to me, to be an actor playing the part; Reeve somehow just was the character. He was so insanely and ridiculously handsome; the body was just right, and he had the right mix of charm and charisma the part demanded. Reeve’s Superman could never be seen as a threat–and he also made it completely believable that no one could tell Clark was him, with different hair, glasses, and street clothes; he physically changed how he stood, his posture, everything about him that was Superman, when he was playing Clark.

Reeve never got enough credit as an actor, frankly.

And while my memories of Margot Kidder as Lois Lane aren’t fond ones–I thought she was a fine actress, but miscast–overall, the first two Reeve films were good ones. They could have stopped there, but didn’t–and the last two weren’t good. I enjoyed Lois and Clark (despite what Dean Cain turned into) and Paul and I eventually succumbed to the simple pleasure that was Smallville…but I wanted to see Superman back up on the big screen, where he belonged. I was very excited when they cast Henry Cavill in the part (I’ve been crushing hard on Cavill since first noticing him on The Tudors)….and then came the movies. I enjoyed them for what they were, and I did think some of the changes made to update and modernize the story (how would Americans today react to the discovery of a super being from another planet?)–and you can never go wrong with Amy Adams, either.

But…they forgot the most important thing about Superman: his kindness and genuine concern for people. In the quest to make the DC Film Universe of all that is dark and angsty like the Batman movies–the direction Batman has gone in since the comic mini-series The Dark Knight Returns–was a bad one. Patty Jenkins got Wonder Woman so fucking right–and it was the same basic formula as Superman. Superman used to be derisively called “the world’s oldest Boy Scout”, but that can work with the character, and with the right actor. I think Cavill has the charisma and the charm–and the extraordinarily gorgeous smile–to pull that off; I just wish they would have let him have the chance.

The new show on CW, Superman and Lois, is also excellent; I absolutely love it, and I do think that Tyler Hoechlin is one of the best Supermans of all time, frankly. (The entire cast is stellar, frankly.)

So, as I said earlier, I was pretty fucking jazzed the other day to see the piece in the New York Times earlier this week about Superman “coming out”–on National Coming Out Day, no less–and even if it turned out to not be Clark Kent, but Lois and Clark’s son Jonathan (in the comics they have the one son; on Superman and Lois they have twin sons, one of whom is named Jonathan), and while I, in my white gay male privilege assumed this meant that he was gay–he’s actually bisexual. But he is attracted to other men, and even has a boyfriend.

There was one particularly noxious piece posted on Medium, which the homophobic piece of trash who wrote it proudly posted on Facebook (I reported his post on Facebook as well as the piece on Medium as hate speech; the Medium piece came down, but the last time I looked, of course Facebook had done nothing about it). I read the whole thing–poorly worded, not grammatical, would have given a C- grade on the construction basics level alone–but the part that I couldn’t get past, the part I can’t forget, was him saying this: But why take one of the few heroes left for the “Straight World” and make him abnormally offensive to us?

Abnormally. Offensive.

I guess I missed the massive closet exodus for the DC and Marvel Universes? Let me see–right off the top of my head, at DC aren’t Batman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Nightwing, Cyborg, Aquaman, the Flash, the Martian Manhunter, the Question, Beast Boy, the Elongated Man, and Shazam, all straight? (And that is just off the top of my head., and only DC.) But you know those people who are so afraid of the queers–you know, like the piece of shit who wrote the Medium piece–they just can’t help themselves or keep their fucking mouths shut. Oh, no, Mr. I’ve Never Brought a Woman to Orgasm just can’t let us have anything without letting us know how much it offends their delicate, needle-dicked sensibilities. You know, the same kind of guy who undoubtedly always complains about “cancel culture” and “social justice warriors” and “wokeness” and I don’t have a problem with gay people but why do you have to exist? Those kinds–sad, bitter little men with so little joy in their lives they have to spend their precious time on this planet letting everyone else in the world know how much they object to our existence.

But he has a right to his opinion and we are oppressing him if we call it out for the hateful trash it is…and him for the piece of shit he is.

As my editor at Kensington wrote on a note he included with a copy of a bad review of one of my books, this just reeks with the stench of failed author.

This guy claims to be a crime writer, and claims to work for a publisher (I’ve never heard of it or him before this moment)…but after reading this piece and another one he published on Medium, the real crime is his actual writing.

Fuck off, dude. And know that bisexual Superman is going to have way better sex than you could ever pay for, no matter how long you live.

God knows I have.

I Drove All Night

Friday and the first day of my four day weekend! Woo-hoo!

And I got my new computer yesterday–and practically wept for joy once I had it set up (which literally took NO time at all). It’s so fast, the picture quality is stunning (I played the 2019 LSU-Alabama game on it thru Youtube while I did the dishes, and the picture quality is better than my television’s. And yes, that game is one of my main happy places, sue me.) It’s been amazing so far; but I also need to remember to enjoy these it’s amazingly functional and fast days for the inevitable day when the spinning wheel starts showing up again, or programs start freezing or locking up, and the whole hellish Mac computer thing starts all over again.

Today is a Gregalicious day; I had already decided earlier this week that would be what today would be for me. I have a spa appointment at twelve thirty (for a waxing, if you want to know, and sorry about the TMI if you didn’t) but it’s all a part of the new attitude towards celebrating being sixty, and part of my personal wellness journey. There was just something about going to the gym the other night for the rebirth of Leg Day into my life that switched my mindset around, or flipped a switch in my head about working out; maybe it was the tiredness of my legs the last two days around here, which means I am aware of the work my body is doing? While I have been going to the gym and working out fairly regularly since we joined the new gym, it’s not like I’ve been enjoying the workouts, or even had much of a goal going forward with it–more of a I am doing this to be healthier and to try to be in better shape. I’ve not wanted much to mess with my eating habits/diet; I’ve never rearranged the way I eat for weight control, choosing the workout path on its own entirely. Maybe I should do something about my eating habits; trying to eat healthier, or something. I want to lose some fat weight–I had gotten down to 200 but am now back up to 211 again, and i’d rather be around 200, possibly even as low as 190. It’s possible and I am going to work my way up (down?) to that goal. Part of the issue with the working out is that I didn’t have a set goal–before, as I have said, I always planned my goals around peaking at the holidays–Decadence, Halloween, and Carnival–and while I have no intentions of ever running around at those events next to naked again under any circumstances, maybe it’s not a bad idea to use those dates as goal dates…my mind is already wired that way.

We started watching the new season of Titans last night on HBO MAX–I’ve always loved the Titans; they were amongst my favorites in the DC Universe, and Nightwing has always been one of my favorite heroes in that universe–and was surprised/not surprised to see the Joker killing off Jason Todd before the opening credits of Episode One. As I explained to Paul, back in the 1980’s as a publicity gimmick, DC ran a contest about killing off Jason Todd/Robin, fully expecting the readers to vote to keep him alive. They didn’t; and I will be the first to admit I voted for him to die daring DC to actually pull the plug on a major character in the Batman universe; DC called the readers’ bluff and killed off Jason in the now famous “A Death in the Family” story, which was also around the time the Batman stories took their turn toward the truly dark and noir.

Today I am going to, as I said, have a spa appointment. I also have to pick up another box of Scooter’s insulin syringes and get the mail. Obviously, I am trying to figure out the most efficient way to do the errands, as always, and think I’ll start with the spa day and go further afield uptown from there before coming home and spending some time with The Other Black GIrl. I also need to head to the gym at some point today, preferably before five (when it starts getting crowded again) and I will probably spend a goodly amount of time playing with my new computer, which is always a fun way to spend time. I’m going to spend the rest of this morning probably cleaning out my email inbox, as well as doing some other neatening/straightening up around my office area; I don’t have to be at my spa appointment until twelve thirty. I would like to get phô today, but with the gym and the protein shake I may have to put off the phô until tomorrow, alas.

I’m also going to possibly–just possibly–do a little bit of writing work today–I know, that’s not a Gregalicious Day Off thing, but I do need to get that short story revision typed up, and I also need to get my notes for the revision of #shedeservedit typed up, and I should probably spend the weekend going over that manuscript and making corrections to be input while I am on vacation in two weeks in order to get it all finished by the end of the month.

So, yes, I have a lot of plans for the rest of this month that really need to get done absolutely; and the first thing in order to be certain it’s all going to get done is to make sure that I have a to-do list in place….and so that’s what I am going to do for the majority of the rest of this morning; getting a bit organized. And yes, that does count as a Gregalicious Day Off activity; because it will relieve my mind and help me relax.

And on that note, tis off to the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday the 13th, everyone!

Working Overtime

FRIDAY! Today I am taking what we can a personal day, or a Mental Health Day, or whatever you want to call a day when you really have a lot to do at home–chores, errands, writing, cleaning, etc.–so you dip into your dwindling supply of paid time off and snag some hours so you can get that shit done. It’s gray again outside this morning, and the sidewalks wet with a fractional amount of standing water in low places, so I am not really sure what the weather is actually like outside. Yesterday the high was 78–insane for late March, which doesn’t bode well for summer when it arrives in a few weeks (yes, summer is usually here by mid-April)–and I haven’t yet checked today’s weather. The gray cloud cover, however, kind of says it all, really.

I finished off a journal last night, filling the final few pages with thoughts about the current book, what I need to get done with it, and how precisely I want to get that done. Time is, of course, slipping through my fingers, as it is wont to do, and the extended deadline expires on Thursday of next week. Of course, it’s also Easter weekend, that is Good Friday and a paid holiday (thank you, deeply Catholic state of Louisiana), so I am debating whether to go ahead and get it turned in on Thursday, taking that nice long weekend to relax and recuperate from the exhaustion of finishing a book, or using that time to painstakingly go over the entire thing one last time….or desperately try to revise the end one last time. (I think we know what I am going to inevitably end up spending next weekend doing, don’t we?) I also need to get to the gym today later this afternoon.

I watched the Snyder cut of Justice League yesterday while I was making condom packs. I hadn’t wanted to for a number of reasons (four hours being the primary, to be fair, and I’m also kind of over “director’s cuts” of movies I’ve already seen; the few times I’ve watched these kind of things they never seemed to improve the original movie that much, or made a significant amount of difference to the film that warranted a rewatch; I’m afraid I’ve been burned that way a few too many times to be much interested in ever viewing a director’s “personal vision” yet again…but then, I realized yesterday, this was different–the movie I watched was patched together, rewritten, and reshot to create an entirely different film; so this Justice League would have some similarities to the movie I’d watched and mostly forgotten, but wouldn’t be the same film), but yesterday I thought well it’s four hours, watching this will save me the chore of having to decide what two movies I want to view while I am doing this, and so, with no small amount of trepidation, I queued the movie up and hit play.

Four hours later, as the end credits rolled, my first thought was wow, Warner Brothers really shit the bed by bringing in Joss Whedon to make that piece of crap instead of just releasing this.

DC Comics was my jam when I was a kid; I move on to DC from Archie Comics and never looked back–although I am very fond of Archie, even watching the first few seasons of Riverdale and absolutely loving The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina–and even though I eventually came around to include Marvel in my super-hero reading, I’ve always had a special place in my heart for DC–how can you go wrong with Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman? DC changed over the years–the transition from the old school heroes in an attempt to modernize them all in the 1970’s had mixed results (I can’t be the only person who remembers that Wonder Woman gave up her powers and became mortal for a while in the early 1970’s?); but the 1970’s also meant a move toward more realism in the way the characters were drawn, and an attempt to make them more three-dimensional and human. (Oliver Queen’s Green Arrow is the first DC hero to be drawn hyper-realistically; I distinctly have a memory of Oliver standing at a mirror with his shirt off–and seeing not only nipples but a navel and some curly body hairs and defined muscles). DC rebooted their entire universe in the 1980’s with Crisis on Infinite Earths, which was an epic undertaking, and kind of brilliant–getting rid of, for example, the Kryptonian super pets like Krypto, Streaky, and there was even a super-horse, if I remember correctly; they also got rid of the myriad rainbow colors and types of Kryptonite and only keeping the deadly green–my favorite was always red, because how red Kryptonite affected Kryptonians on Earth was unpredictable and never the same…which meant it could also always serve as deus ex machina to explain away strange, out of character behavior, like Superman or Supergirl or Superboy–who had his own comic series as well: “oh, I was exposed to red Kryptonite”–the effects only last, I think, for forty-eight hours.

Anyway, I’ve always rooted for DC Comics and its adaptations–loved, for a while, The CW’s series with lesser known heroes, like Green Arrow and the Flash and Batwoman. I even like the Brandon Routh version of Superman in Superman Returns. (Green Lantern starring Ryan Reynolds was enormously disappointing; I loved the Lantern Corps, I also love Reynolds, but the whole thing was just a big mess.) I enjoyed the first rebooted Henry Cavill as Superman movies (questioned the casting of Ben Affleck as Batman, to be honest) but I also agreed with critics who felt those films were missing something at their core; they came very close to getting Superman right but didn’t quite get there. And while this version of Justice League clearly fucks with the continuity of the DC Universe–particularly with Aquaman–I would strongly suggest Warner Brothers use this movie as the template for the Universe moving forward and just ignore those continuity errors. Joss Whedon definitely did both Ray Fisher and Ezra Miller dirty in his revision; the parallel difficult relationships between Flash and his wrongfully imprisoned father played against the antagonistic relationship between Ray and his father are really at the heart of the film, and give it an emotional depth and complexity that the Whedon version truly lacked. The Whedon plot merely served as a device for action scenes and explosions; the Snyder film actually has a plot, fleshes out the characters of the heroes more, and is truly an epic on the grand scale of the Richard Donner Superman films of the late 1970’s/early 1980’s–not an easy feat.

And can we just give the Amazons their own movie already?

I went into it skeptical, and when it was finished, was absolutely delighted to have had such an enjoyable experience that I didn’t even once notice that it was four hours long. And yes, I get that could have been a problem for a theatrical release, but outside of some things at the end–the dream sequence for Batman–I really can’t think of much that could have been cut from the running time. I also liked that the movie ended with the Darkseid cliffhanger, and the permanent establishment of the team. I don’t know what they are going to do from here out–I think both Ray Fisher and Ezra Miller are out, as well as Affleck–I don’t really pay much attention to casting news and things like that, nor do I care enough to go look it up, but it’s a shame. Both were perfectly cast, and while I can also see some issues with Miller anchoring a Flash film, I think he had the charm and charisma to pull it off if he had a great script.

And on that note, my errands and chores and writing aren’t going to do themselves, so I will talk to you tomorrow.

Style

Friday morning, and I had an absolutely lovely night’s sleep, thank you for asking. It’s the final day of the work week, the weekend looms, and as always, I have a million and a half things to get done before Monday. I somehow managed to fall behind on the writing again–by the time I was finished with my work-at-home duties yesterday I was exhausted again–and as such, didn’t write another word. So I need to get my writing going again today, knowing I am at least two chapters behind that need to be caught up, and yes–NO PRESSURE THAT AT ALL, is there?

I have some copy edits for an essay that dropped into my inbox this morning, which shouldn’t be too terrible an issue to deal with over the course of the weekend–then again, I’ve not really looked at them, either, so it could be absolutely horrifying once I open the document–but again, I don’t see that I won’t be able to get caught up on everything that must be done this weekend. What I really need to do is make a to-do list; I’ve been meaning to all week and yet somehow have not managed to get around to it yet. Gah. But that’s the kind of week this has been; 2020, after dragging all fucking year, seems to have now speeded up time now that it’s coming to a close, continuing to prove itself to be a shit-bag of a year.

Given how much optimism we all had for 2020 and what we ended up receiving, I am a bit afraid of 2021, to be completely honest.

I did manage to get some things done yesterday, and I managed to watch Superman whilst making condom packs yesterday; the 1978 version with Christopher Reeve. I hadn’t seen the movie in years–I saw it originally in the theater and then watched again when it was on HBO in the early 1980’s–and wasn’t really prepared for the impact it would still have, many years later, on a rewatch. As I watched, my nimble hands breaking off condoms in groups of four and shoving them into little plastic bags, along with a packet of lube and instructions on how to properly use them, I found myself catapulted backwards in time and remembering the time period. The movie’s slogan was You will believe a man can fly and you also have to remember the late 1970’s was when films–and special effects–were changed forever after Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Superman was the acme of super-heroes; perhaps the most famous, the most loved, and possibly the very first comic-book hero with superpowers, and bringing him to the big screen with a huge budget and special effects to make it look like he actually had powers was a huge deal. It was a huge hit, set the stage for several sequels, and showed Hollywood that comic book heroes were big-ticket items–it can easily be argued that there would be no MCU, no Arrowverse on television, and no Batman movies had there never been Superman first. The first sequel was also a huge hit, but the franchise began to run out of steam with the third, and the fourth was misbegotten from the very beginning.

On this rewatch, Christopher Reeve was even more perfect than I remembered, and Margot Kidder, whom I always believed was miscast, actually fit the role much better than she had in my memories. But what made the movie work–just as how the Patty Jenkins Wonder Woman worked–was how Reeve, at that point a complete unknown whose biggest role had been on the soap Love of Life, fit the role like a hand in a glove. He looked the part, had the right body for the part, and he just was Clark and Superman–and the physical differences between the two different characters–entirely dependent on how Reeve held himself, stood, and his posture–I could see how you wouldn’t see one as the other. Obviously, there were some flaws–how on earth did Lois Lane afford a penthouse with that glorious view and patio deck on a reporter’s salary? How did reversing the Earth’s spinning turn back time so he could save Lois–and didn’t turning the clock back change a lot of other things as well? DC was still in its Golden Age–the Crisis on Infinite Earths reboot was still some years in the future–and so this film fits into that comic book era; they were trying to update the comics and giving their characters more of modern flare and new costumes for the most part at this time, before realizing their universe was so convoluted and confusing they needed to start over. This was the period when Wonder Woman had gotten rid of her powers; when Supergirl was poisoned, which led to her powers becoming unreliable and actually coming and going beyond her control; when two more Green Lanterns turned up on earth in addition to the original; and Green Arrow going more in a Batman-like grim direction.

But it was an uplfiting movie, putting a clear-cut hero on the screen, and it is to Reeve’s credit that he made Superman’s integrity, code of ethics, and kind concern for all humanity from a two-dimensionality to a fully fleshed out, completely believable character that you root for. The John Williams score was excellent, and it really was perfectly cast–I apologize to Margot Kidder for hating her performance for all these years. It was also interesting to see the New York of the 1970’s (passing off as Metropolis), and remembering the way the culture saw the city in that decade (the Cynical 70’s Film Festival has also done a really good job of this); in some ways the perception of New York hasn’t really changed much since then, but it isn’t the same city today that it was back then. It was, I think, in the latter half of the 1970’s that Hollywood began to turn away from the cynicism of the decade and began making movies with happy endings or that were more uplifting in general–Star Wars, Superman, Rocky–the melding of those polarities in film deeply influenced the films of the 1980’s.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader.