Website: still functioning

As of yesterday, my webpage is back online after being down for more than half a year. I hope to have new content added soon - I've prepared more than 200 new entries for the story index since the last update.

Nick Spencer, Comicdom's Answer to Ingmar Bergman, part 4

Iron Man 2.0#12, page 2; This time, Spencer is joined by writer Will Pfeifer; artists listed for this issue were Carmine di Giandomenico, Andy Troy, Ariel Olivetti and Mirco Pierfederci. It's a Choose Your Own Artist Adventure! I can only be certain this page wasn't produced by Olivetti: Yep, another splash page turned over to a single action: the action of War Machine rescuing a falling woman in mid-air. This is rendered with the hero and damsel in distress at the centre of the page at a wide angle, emphasizing depth, I suppose. And yet, the artist has angled this tripod shot so War Machine's back is to the tripod, with the fire from his jetboots so intense it almost completely covers up his figure. Good thing there's a speech balloon saying "gotcha" in a War Machine font, lest we think she was being rescued by, I dunno, Mothman? Fatman, the Human Flying Saucer? If this action required a full page, why couldn't it have zoomed in on the action of War Machine rescuing the woman? So long as the distance between them and the pavement was still established the peril would have been kept clear. How about framing this from the worm's eye viewing, looking up at the characters from the ground level?

I'm not even going to start discussing the standard comic book physics problems of rescuing falling people mid-air; death of Gwen Stacy aside, comics almost always get it wrong. It is a pity, though, to note the damsel in distress here is Suzi Endo, a superhuman woman who doesn't normally require someone else to save her. Happy 2012, strong female characters!

Fu Manchu at Paramount

One thing I've learned from talking to people about Fu Manchu is that people aren't interested in talking about Fu Manchu. Even within the ranks of Fu Manchu enthusiasts, there's a lot to do with the character and property which isn't brought up because there are so many stories and adaptations existing and they almost all require a bit of work to obtain.

In many ways, I'm sure contemporary culture would like to just leave Fu Manchu where he is - in the past. Forget about the Sax Rohmer novels, forget about the film adaptations, keep looking forward and don't bring up the racial issues surrounding the character. I'd be willing to oblige, except that I keep finding nuggets of real value in Rohmer's fiction. Which brings me to the Fu Manchu films.

Of the Devil Doctor's many entries into cinema, he's probably best known for MGM's 1932 picture the Mask of Fu Manchu starring Boris Karloff, which still has a following because Karloff still has a following; the Harry Alan Towers series of pictures starring Christopher Lee still have a following, as does the still-living Lee; even the Republic serial Drums of Fu Manchu is considered one of the better serials.

But what of Fu Manchu's first foray into the talkies? He figured in three Paramount movies from 1929-1931 (one per year), each starring Warner Oland and with a surprising amount of continuity for the time in which they were made. To the best of my knowledge, Paramount hasn't rereleased these pictures for modern audiences. Perhaps it's their old shame.

And it is a shame - because these movies aren't too bad and not quite in the same tone as the later Fu Manchu pictures. Thanks to the wonders of Youtube I've finally seen all three movies; follow along as I guide you through the saga...

The series begins with the Mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu. It's interesting to note how the first two films include "Dr.," just as the titles for the first two US editions of the Fu Manchu novels were the Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu and the Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, while later novels omitted his title (ie, Hand of Fu Manchu, Island of Fu Manchu, President Fu Manchu, Wrath of Fu Manchu, etc.). Our director is Rowland V. Lee and the part of Fu Manchu is played by Warner Oland, who would later come to fame as Charlie Chan. Although Oland claimed to be part-Asian, it seems he would wear a mustache to help him appear "oriental." Thus, by adding a mustache in these films, he permanently branded the character with one, even though he was clean-shaven in the novels.

We open in China during the Boxer Rebellion. Dr. Fu Manchu is a practicing physician and friend to the Caucasians, using his skill with hypnosis to help treat patients. However, in the midst of the fighting, the British/Russian/French/German forces wind up shelling Fu Manchu's home while trying to strike down enemy forces. Fu Manchu's wife and son are slain by the blast and he vows revenge upon the white race - but specifically, he vows revenge on the officers who ordered the attack, determining to one day claim their lives and lives of their male heirs, to balance the scales for the loss of his family.

In the novels, Fu Manchu had no particular origin; it wasn't even clear how many years he'd been active as his life-prolonging Elixir Vitae could have kept him alive for hundreds of years. Fu Manchu of the novels was out to conquer the world, not simply obtain revenge. I think it's interesting to note how the filmmakers believed it was important to give Fu Manchu a motivation for being the figure of evil he was. Up to a point, Fu could have been the hero of his story - exacting revenge on the officers who killed his family is a very sympathetic motivation. It's only when he decides to kill the officers' offspring too that he loses the audience's sympathy.

Even as Fu is vowing his vengeance, his servant Fai Lu presents him with Lia, a tiny white child whose family have just died but wanted Fu raise their daughter. Fu Manchu honours the request, using her to supplant his lost family. And so, nearly 30 years pass in which Fu Manchu evidently spent a lot of time pooling together his servants, perfecting his chemical weapons, raising his foster daughter and obtaining the identities of the men who ordered the attack on his house. I say "evidently" because after nearly 30 years, he's only just finished off his second-last target; as we rejoin the story, Fu is after the last officer, General Petrie, plus his son Sir John Petrie and grandson Dr. Jack Petrie. However, Fu hasn't counted on Scotland Yard's Nayland Smith, who comes to the Petrie family's defense, nor could he have expected Lia would fall in love with young Dr. Petrie.

Here are some more departures from the canon: in the novels, Fu Manchu admired Dr. Petrie and would always try to spare him from death, believing Petrie was an honoured colleague who would be fascinated by his experiments; as for Smith, Fu had nothing but contempt for him as an unintelligent lout. In these movies, Fu expresses regard for Smith's intelligence but has an unreasoning hatred for Petrie due to his vow of vengeance.

For fans of the novels, this depiction of Fu Manchu falls a little short; his instruments of death aren't the terrifically visual sort famously described in the novels such as his wailing Dacoit assassins or horrific insects like the "Zayat Kiss." Instead, Oland's Fu Manchu uses potions, hypnosis and a quicklime pit (the latter off-camera); his servants have nothing more interesting than throwing daggers. This interpretation of Fu lacks the exotic flair of the novels, reducing him to just another "mad scientist" or "man-out-for-revenge" the type of which movies like Doctor X and Mystery of the Wax Museum were based upon.

Fu works his way through the Petrie family, killing General Petrie and his son. Finally, by hypnotizing, he captures Dr. Petrie and prepares to throw him into his quicklime pit. Petrie is certain Smith will come to rescue, prompting a rather dry response from the Devil Doctor, dripping with sarcasm:

"I humbly apologize. I'm afraid my somewhat weird and Oriental methods may have misled your Occidental mind into believing that, uh, this is nothing but a gigantic melodrama in which the detective's arrival at the last moment produces the happy ending. Don't deny it! I can see by your face it is so."

Having said this, Fu reveals he's already captured Smith! Fu Manchu comes within a hair's breadth of winning the day, but Fai Lu betrays him for love of her charge and Fu is seemingly poisoned to death.

Also of note: Smith cooperates with the Chinese government in this picture, reporting to a Chinese official in one scene; it may seem like an obvious gesture to you and I, but the early Sax Rohmer novels had a raging paranoia where any Asian characters were concerned; if this were a Rohmer book, the official would have either been killed or revealed as one of Fu's servants. Further, the paranoia about Asians was often expressed by Smith himself - it's hard to imagine the Nayland Smith of the early novels cooperating with the Chinese government (although eventually Rohmer introduced benevolent and heroic Asians and took some pains to make it clear Fu Manchu was as much an enemy of China as he was the "white race").

Let's move along to the second film, the Return of Dr. Fu Manchu, again directed by Rowland V. Lee and with virtually every actor from the previous film reprising their parts.

We open at Fu Manchu's funeral as the survivors from the previous film hope to carry on with their lives and Lia and Dr. Petrie begin planning their wedding. However, Fu Manchu's poison simply placed him into suspended animation. Rising from his coffin, he kills Fai Lu for betraying him, then prepares for revenge on Petrie, the last of his designated targets.

In a cute moment, Fu explains how the formula which only "temporarily" killed him was inspired by Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet! At one point Fu pilots an airplane which would seems weirdly out-of-character for the novel's version (who would surely have a servant take the controls), yet fits this economy-size Fu well:

Again Fu menaces Petrie, Smith and, again he's halted at the last moment. This time he falls into a river with a bomb which explodes, seemingly killing him... but who'd believe that? We actually saw his dead body last film and it sure didn't stop him!

Sure enough, 1931 saw the grand finale to Paramount's Fu Manchu saga with Daughter of the Dragon, directed by Lloyd Corrigan, who had helped write the screen treatment for the previous two pictures. Oland reprises Fu Manchu again, but only for the first few scenes of the picture. The real star is Anna May Wong, the best-known Asian actress of the 1930s.

Startlingly, the movie opens twenty years after the previous picture! So this is, what, 1950? Dr. Petrie has grown old and raised a son, Ronald Petrie; said son is in love with Ling Moy, a Chinese woman who's been trying to locate her long-lost father.

As misfortune would have it, Ling Moy's father is the nefarious Fu Manchu, back from the dead and still intent on killing Dr. Petrie. And after twenty years, he finally makes his mark, killing Dr. Petrie. Now only Ronald remains, but Scotland Yard officer Sir Basil Courtney renders a fatal wound to Fu Manchu. Slowly dying, Fu is reunited with Ling Moy and tells her the story of how his wife and child died, causing him to vow revenge; Fu laments how without a son to be his heir, his vendetta will never be completed. Ling Moy offers to be like a son to her father, claiming she'll finish his work; Fu accepts this and as the authorities close in on him, he pretends to attack Ling Moy, knowing the police will kill him to save her - and thus she'll remain above suspicion as his heir.

So it is we take our leave of Dr. Fu Manchu... yet his legacy lives on. It soon becomes clear Ling Moy only promised to be his heir so she could bond with the father she never knew in his last moments; she truly loves Ronald and doesn't want to kill him, but her late father's servants keep demanding she fulfill her promise. It's interesting to note how Ling Moy & Ronald's romance keeps from breaking Hollywood's miscegenation rules as their attempted kisses are interrupted.

However, Ronald is also being pursued by white woman Joan Marshall; to complete our romantic rhombus, inspector Ah Kee loves Ling Moy... and boy, is he made to suffer for it! Ah Kee is the one man convinced Fu Manchu has cheated death yet again, but for not realizing Ling Moy is the real criminal mastermind he winds up walking right into her hands and bound up in an attic. When he tries to get the attention of the police on the ground below, he tumbles out of the window and nearly dies! In the chaotic finale, it's Ah Kee who delivers the fatal gunshot which kills our reluctant villain Ling Moy; Ah Kee then succumbs to the wounds from his fall and dies at her side.

Despite having very little Fu Manchu, Daughter of the Dragon is probably the best of the trio - Warner Oland stepped up his game for Fu's final scenes and Anna May Wong was simply a terrific actress; it's also interesting to see an Asian leading man (Sessue Hayakawa as Ah Kee) in 30s cinema. Corrigan had some fine touches as a director, notably in an above shot when Ronald Petrie is trapped in a tiny room, fumbling to find his way out:

If you're a Fu Manchu enthusiast, I definitely recommend seeking out the three films; if you're an Anna May Wong aficionado then the third film is required viewing!

Let's talk about modern comics storytelling again...

Here I am again, criticizing the storytelling decisions creative people make while producing comic books. Those who can't do, teach.

This is Six Guns#4, page 11, by writer Andy Diggle and artist Davide Gianfelice; three characters have just stolen an APC vehicle from a mercenary army and are trying to evade pursuit while traversing a mountainous road:

When I first read this page, I was confused and it took me a moment to realize where my problem lay. It's the third panel where the APC is trying to bring itself to a halt while swerving to its left. Because the artist framed the image with another cliff in the foreground, I couldn't tell that the APC was headed directly to a steep drop; since the vehicle was veering to its left into a piece of scenery which wasn't visible to my eye, my mind didn't process this panel as "vehicle unable to stop driving over cliff" and instead translated "vehicle following a road with a hard left turn."

Elsewhere in the same issue we get a second look at this cliff:

Why the nature of the cliff couldn't be made clear on page 11 is beyond my understanding.

I'm Michael Hoskin and if you learned something from this example... then that's more than I hoped for. Ciao.

Great moments in off-panel storytelling

It's not just contemporary comics which have this problem; check out Don Heck in Tales of Suspense#1 (1959):

Boy, that was a close one! You almost had an action scene on your hands, to say nothing of depicting an world inhabited by mechanical men! I wonder if the scripter (Stan Lee?) was trying to make the pages seem more exciting by hinting at greater perils we hadn't witnessed. Regardless, the writer and artist were clearly living worlds apart.

Comic books of 2011: the good

In the 1990s, I was an avid fan of Siskel & Ebert's television program, watching every broadcast. I'd hoped to open this post with a particular clip, but sadly, I can't locate it on Youtube.

This moment has always stuck with me: the duo were reviewing the film Gamera: Guardian of the Universe; Ebert liked it, Siskel did not. Siskel covered the film first and closed off his review by saying he couldn't recommend the movie and instead suggested viewers seek out the original Godzilla, King of the Monsters from 1956. Ebert was almost livid in his reaction, asking Siskel (words to this effect) "If we're just going to recommend old movies, why don't you and I stay home all year rewatching Citizen Kane?"

In several of my discussions about the current state of comic books over at Colin Smith's blog, he and I have bandied words to the effect of "Kirby knew how to do this," "Toth would have done it right," "Wood forgot more than most artists have ever known," etc. I think all we mean to do is point to ready examples of clean, inventive comic book storytelling. The danger of such statements is you begin to imply comic books of the past are inherantly superior to what's being produced today.

It would be very easy to stop reading new comic books. If I spent the rest of my life just reading old stories by Kirby, Toth, Wood, Colan, Williamson, Krigstein, Maneely, Kurtzmann, Cole, Eisner, Barks, Kelly, Frazetta and Everett, I think I would be reasonably happy (and would have plenty to enjoy, even at the pace I take in comics). However, I'd be allowing my tastes to stagnate, denying myself the pleasures found in contemporary works which communicate how people living today feel about the world around them.

Thus, I've remained with contemporary comic books. I've taken some risks on new material and untested talent which haven't paid off, but I've also happened across new works which are really meaningful to me, entertaining me, bolstering my imagination, encouraging me to open my mind.

Therefore, here are the contemporary comic books of 2011 which I'm pleased to recommend:

Given how I complained about storytelling in comics yesterday, I feel I should begin with a series which wears brilliant storytelling like a glove: Usagi Yojimbo. The advantage Usagi has, of course, is that Stan Sakai is responsible for everything on the page - plot, script, art and letters. I'm very nearly completely caught up with Usagi now and it's a rewarding book, telling stories today which are as solid as those 20 years ago. It's particularly great to see how the cast of characters develop over time, revealing new layers and altering their connections to each other.

On a very similar wavelength is Sergio Aragones Funnies, which is likewise the brainchild of one man, Sergio Aragones. As I've said before, while I enjoy Sergio's gag cartoons and humorous stories (even the occasional dramatic tale), what I most enjoy are his biographical pieces. The most recent issue (#6) recalled an episode from his childhood and even though it's not life-altering or momentous (he and a friend once accidentally boarded a moving freight train), it's easy to see why it's remained etched in his memory; now it's etched on paper. I suppose what I really enjoy in Sergio is his openess and honesty.

Comic Book Comics completed its 6-issue run in 2011, but it could have easily kept going another 6 issues. Or 12. Or 18. It amazes me whenever I find a piece of information on comic book history I was previously unaware of. I wish Comic Book Comics had found the space to cover other turning points like the foundation of Image Comics, the Marvel bankruptcy or the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles saga, but I'll treasure all of what they did deliver. Learning about comics history with Comic Book Comics is like having the stories told to you by a close friend.

Although I'm an all-around Marvel Comics guru, I don't care much for Daredevil. It's a serious blindspot in my mastery of Marvel - there are huge chunks of Daredevil I've never read (not even all of Miller), even though there are five Daredevil comics I'd place on my all-time favourite list. I've never really warmed up to protagonist Matt Murdock and the deeply depressing life he leads, but Mark Waid may yet change my way of thinking. Thanks to his collaborators, Marcos Martin and Paolo Rivera, he's turned in one of the most beautiful super hero comics I've seen in years; the amount of love and craft on every page is invigorating, especially in how Murdock's radar senses are brought to life by sound effects. In most super hero comics, sound effects seem to be workmanlike at best; Daredevil uses sound effects in ways I normally only find in indie comics, such as Matt Murdock dodging bullets represented by sound effects (above). Daredevil is the super hero book I most anticipate - quite a reversal!

Speaking of Daredevil, someone had the bright idea to have the Black Panther take over Daredevil's job as defender of Hell's Kitchen in Black Panther: the Man Without Fear/Most Dangerous Man Alive. I haven't put any real stock into Black Panther since Christopher Priest left the franchise and this series was saddled with depriving the hero of his supporting cast, setting and special weapons while putting him into Daredevil's setting. To top it off, writer David Liss is a newcomer to comic books, being an import from the world of prose. You wouldn't expect Black Panther to work, and yet... it's both true and liberating to the character. Removing the Black Panther's special weapons, army of loyal allies and political power scales him back down to a point where he can actually lose; what's great then is that he gets to display new strengths, relying on his initiative and reflexes to get past problems. To top it off, it's hopeful.

In Black Panther's Fear Itself tie-in, the Hate-Monger uses his emotion-altering powers to inflame locals, fanning racism to turn them against the Black Panther. However, the Hate-Monger's most ardently racist supporter - Chambliss - isn't even under the man's power. When the crisis is averted, Chambliss goes to the Panther asking to make amends; he's then made a janitor in the Panther's diner. So yes, we all get a good laugh at the racist, but at the same time, the Panther is extending a second chance to him; very cool and all too rare. Finally, most of the series has boasted the art of Francesco Francavilla, who's just been exploding on the scene at various titles (Detective Comics, Captain America & Bucky); he's one to watch, for sure.

It probably also helps David Liss that his mini-series Mystery Men was illustrated by Patrick Zircher. It flew under most people's radar, but as a 1930s super hero tale it was well-crafted and told at a breakneck pace. Virtually every character in Mystery Men was created by Liss for the series, but in just five issues he makes his characters come to life, including some of the background characters met along the way. Somehow Liss and Zircher managed to tell an alternate history epic where Ayn Rand helped conspire in the Lindbergh baby kidnapping; that's chutzpah, there.

Xombi lasted a mere six issues; six issues of glorious insanity. Big, bold imaginative ideas by John Rozum with art to match by Frazer Irving. Everyone reading Xombi realized it couldn't last, but I for one was glad they made the effort. Even with no experience of the original 1990s version of the comic and despite the dense text, I accepted Xombi on its terms and its bizarre ideas were as much charming as usettling. More about Xombi here.

Finally, who would have thought Journey into Mystery would work its way into our hearts? It became a darling of comic book fans almost immediately, with its adventures of a child-sized Loki trying to save Asgard and his brother Thor by playing tricks on everyone. Every issue has held so much deft plotting and characterization by Kieron Gillen, it's a joy to behold. Young Loki's desire to good by committing little evils creates an interesting balance in the book, where we readers don't want Loki to fail, but fear his solutions will only increase the misery of others.

Comic books of 2011: the bad

Theodore Sturgeon opined "Ninety percent of everything is crap." Some days I look at the state of contemporary comic books and think, "he needn't have been so optimistic."

As I consider the "bad" side to comic books in 2011, let me assure you now, I'm not going to hold up any particular book as the "worst" of its ilk. I am, however, going to cite two recent examples of poor storytelling which are representative of my problems with present-day comic books. If I held up every example which bothered me, this blog post would take about 72 hours of non-stop composition. The two which I have chosen are not the worst offenders of their kind, they are not even necessarily comic books I dislike; they are simply convenient.

I try to be an optimistic sort; circa 2007, I often told friends I believed the time we lived in was the best possible time for comic books. I felt that way because we'd (seemingly) learned so much from our past and even though Marvel & DC's super hero comics comprised most of the marketplace, there were plenty of alternatives riding on their coattails. Improvements in technology and communication made it easier for average Joes and Josephines to create their comic books from home. Comicdom was practically Leibniz-like.

Have I really become so cynical within four years?

I try to hold back my cynicism and express it in humorous ways, such as my occasional series Nick Spencer, comicdom's answer to Ingmar Bergman. But even behind those posts is my unspoken fear...

I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. $3.99 buys a $0.99 comic book, publishers are going bust, shopkeepers keep variant covers under the counter. Zombie memes are running wild in the web and there's nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there's no end to it. We know Tarot Witch of the Black Rose is unfit to breathe and Hawk and Dove is unfit to eat, and we sit watching the CBR feed while some press release tells us that last month we bought 100,000 event comics and 1,000 art comics, as if that's the way it's supposed to be! We know things are bad - worse than bad, They're crazy! It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. We sit in the house, and slowly the world we are living in is getting smaller, and all we say is, 'Please, at least leave us alone at our laptops. Let me have my Batman and my Justice League and my Fourth World Omnibus and I won't say anything. Just leave us alone!' Well, I'm not gonna leave you alone! I want you to get MAD! I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot - I don't want you to e-mail your local comic shop because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Grand Theft Auto and the digital comics price parity. All I know is that first you've got to get mad! You've got to say, "I'm a human being! My life has value!" So, I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now, and go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell: "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" I want you to get up right now, sit up, go to your windows, open them and stick your head out and yell - 'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!' Things have got to change. But first, you've gotta get mad!... You've got to say, 'I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!' Then we'll figure out what to do about the depression and the inflation and the widescreen proliferation. But first get up out of your chairs, open the window, stick your head out, and yell, and say it: I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!

Where is all of this fear and anger coming from? Strangely enough... storytelling. This is the truth everyone says yet no one wants to believe: quality storytelling wins out in the end. My friend Colin Smith could probably blog about all 12 issues of All Star Superman for 365 days straight and not run out of complimentary things to say (his essays on All Star Superman led to my discovering his blog). But the more Colin challenged me to think, "what could be," the more I felt, "why isn't it so?"

Another major influence upon me is Miguel, whose articles on the diminishing quality of comic book storytelling expressed much of what I had been musing (I had been planning a similar post the very day I first read Miguel's work; read those articles here and here).

I read comic books from across its history and over time I've been putting out feelers to more international and "art" titles. Because I read so many books in the course of a year, I see a lot of a different styles... and then I see a lot of similar styles. It's hard to escape noticing the trends in mainstream publications. As Miguel notes, thought balloons, speed lines and other narrative tools are gone; when this trend began, it seemed as though comic books were becoming movie pitches... now they've simply become movie storyboards. Circa 1999, Dwayne McDuffie opined comic books were like a movie with an infinite special effects budget. Now it seems as though comic books are afraid to spend those infinite dollars because it might scare away film investors!

There, I think that's long-winded enough... now, on to my first example:

In this panel taken from Near Death#4, the protagonist (far right) has just reunited a man with his wife (left), having bargained to release the wife from the clutches of the Triads. This panel is the husband and wife's reunion. What I hope you've noticed is the body language of the couple; they're standing apart from each other, arms at their sides, faces unreadable. How is this couple's reunion supposed to make us feel? Do we like them? Are we glad they're reunited? Do they like each other? Are they glad they're reunited? Why can't there be some passion in this panel, a warm embrace? Why should the dialogue have to carry all of the information?

If I were to be charitable with this panel, I would take it the artist didn't have time for these concerns; he's no doubt trying desperately to make deadlines, provide for himself or his family, there aren't enough hours in the day for artists to contemplate panel composition or body language, they need to stay on autopilot just to survive. That's my charitable view.

However... if this is how it has to be - storytelling sacrificed for expediency - then why show up to play? Comic books are not a charity case; the answer to "how does this story make you feel" should never be: "how sorry I am that the creators couldn't spend more time on it." This is where Colin's Pop Manifesto comes to mind; to some extent, comic books are still a disposable medium, but they shouldn't be knowingly created as such.

On to the second example; Avengers Annual#1 concludes a lengthy Wonder Man versus the Avengers story which had been teased since 2010 with this dust-up between Wonder Man and Iron Man:

A two-page spread of two men throwing punches at each other, with Iron Man catching Wonder Man's swing; this is where you think, "Kirby would've done it in one panel; and he would've had one guy dodge out of the way while the other one smashes something like a brick wall to show us how strong he was." So what happens next in this tussle of the titans?

Ab-so-lutely nothing. Wonder Man is beaten off-panel by the energy doohickey visible on Iron Man's gauntlet in the two-page spread. Evidently, there was enough room in the book for a two-page spread of men swinging their fists at each other (what a paradigm shift! we've never seen that before!), but no space for even a single panel depicting a strange, sci-fi device grabbing a full-grown man and vacuuming him into its sphere (old hat! we see that all the time!). The pay-off to a long-teased fight - and the single most interesting visual in a story which is in an, oh yes, visual medium - didn't make it to the page.

This is what I'm afraid of: comics choose to be this way... and most people think it's swell.

Tomorrow: why I still loved comic books in 2011.