Friday, September 23, 2005

The End of the Line


As we big a fond goodbye to Birthday FUNdraising week here at the Hurting, I would dearly like to thank those of you who expressed your appreciation for the continued existence of this weblog. All two of you. One of whom was not even a regular reader, or indeed a comics fan at all.

But what have we learned this week? We've learned that declaring a fundraiser is not the same as actually having a fundraiser. We've learned that just randomly asking for money from people does not inspire people to give you money. And we've learned that I'm a money-grubbing bastard, even if I can prove my parents were married when I was conceived and born. Bastard is a state of mind.

But most importantly, we've learned that if I really want to succeed in soliciting money from total strangers, it's best to pretend I have some catastrophic disease.



Next year, I am so totally getting the Ass-Cancer.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Good Riddance


My recent post on the current status of the blogosphere seems to have touched a small nerve, at least among those who never saw the existence of a blogosphere-wide conversation as a necessity in any event. Looking back on my original post it's easy to see how my sentiment could have been misconstrued, because my tone definitely carried a slight note of elegy. But in all seriousness, any nostalgia for the heady days of yesteryear was only half-hearted on my part, because, really, I don't miss it that much.

Let's be frank: the endless reams of back-and-forth conversation got tiresome. There were small moments of interest to be found in any exchange, but there was also self-indulgence, passive-aggressive rancor, obsequiety, oblivious misinformation and downright hostility on all sides, myself included. Sure, there was an open exchange of opinions, but there was also a lot of shouting and condescension. Do I yearn for a return to those days? Er, not really.

Of course, that was never why I wanted to blog to begin with. I know a lot of people who really get into the interactive elements of the format, but I've never been entirely comfortable with it myself. I simply like to have a forum for my thoughts, some of which take the form of silly photochop illustrations or satire pieces or weird pseudo fan-fic, and some of which take the form of reviews and mini-essays which wouldn't fit anywhere else. I don't do a lot of reviews anymore since I've got other outlets for those. I used to do more theoretical critical writing before realizing that it's fucking hard. Basically, I do what I want to do, and I never feel comfortable doing anything else.

One of the main points of my post was that the perception of the blogosphere as this great ongoing conversation was slightly chimerical. There were a few people who tended to lead, and to that end they effectively organized the conversation. The person who, I think, most believed in the potential of the blogosphere as a dialectical tool was Dirk Deppey, and he used Journalista! as a tool to this regard. His tenure at the helm of the Journal is notable for its utilization of bloggers as a serious resource for publication, so it's obvious he still believes in the format.

I don't believe in anything as high-minded as that. Blogging is, for me, a means to an end. Is it addictive? Yes, I'd be a fool to deny that. But I've always kept the subjects covered on this blog to a very narrow spectrum out of the desire to avoid becoming anything but what was intended from the very beginning: a blog about comics. As much as I dearly appreciate each and every person who tunes in to read my words (nearly) every day, I'd much more appreciate if this blog could one day serve as a gateway to actual paying work. Why is it that no one ever asks me to write an issue of Spider-Man? I'd do it, too, I'd write the best God-damned Spider-Man story ever written. All they gotta do is spell my name right and make sure the check clears. Hell, I'd write for Eros if the check didn't bounce. I won't even say which I would enjoy more. Whomever pays gets to be the most handsome man in the world for a whole hour, just leave my money on the dresser.

So, when you get down to it, I'm a greedy motherfucker. At some point, having a blog became a choice thing to have on a writers' resume. I'm down with that. Given the short shelf-life of many blogs and the relative size of the community, I've even become something of an elder-statesman in my chosen field through the process of attrition. Whoop-dee-doo. But really, if someone came along and wanted to pay me to write on the condition that I never blog another word again . . . well, that wouldn't be much of a choice at all, would it?

Which is not to say that I'm a total mercenary. Just that, in terms of anyone's writing, there are two kinds of work. Work that pays and work that doesn't. Everyone, except for the very lucky, do the former to pay for the latter. People who do the latter exclusively obviously have other means of getting by. I do too, but the idea of making a substantial portion of my income through writing, even if it was repetitive work-for-hire, thrills me. That'd be cool.

I think I'd draw the line at erotic fiction for a NAMBLA magazine, but other than that, I'm pretty open.




On that note, don't forget that the Birthday Week FUNraiser is still going strong! What's the use of charity if it doesn't begin at home?

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Buy War Bonds


Remember, the Birthday Week FUNdraiser continues apace... I'd like to take a moment to plead with each and every one with you to part with your hard-earned cash so that little Jimmy here can maybe, one day, read a comic book or two. Yeah, I know some of you are used to going in to the comic book shop and dropping a C-note or two on a weekly basis, but there are those among us who just don't get to buy comics very often, who might still be holding off on that Top Ten hardcover because... >sob< ... money doesn't grow on trees.

Spare some pity for the poor folk who have to beg in the street for the necessities of life, like comic books.

The Hurting's Weekly Out-Of-Context Mark Trail Panel

For the Week of 09/21/05

THE RACCOON WARS CONTINUE SOME MORE!!!

WIll she commit an evil sin of omission? Will the pop shit in the woods?

(Oh my! Of all the people to intercept the radio warning! How woefully ironic!)

For the Week of 09/14/05
For the Week of 09/07/05 For the Week of 08/31/05
For the Week of 08/24/05 For the Week of 08/17/05
For the Week of 08/10/05 For the Week of 08/03/05
For the Week of 07/27/05 For the Week of 07/20/05
For the Week of 07/13/05 For the Week of 07/06/05
For the Week of 06/29/05 For the Week of 06/22/05
For the Week of 06/15/05 For the Week of 06/08/05
For the Week of 06/01/05 For the Week of 05/25/05
For the Week of 05/18/05 For the Week of 05/11/05
For the Week of 05/04/05 For the Week of 04/27/05
For the Week of 04/20/05 For the Week of 04/13/05
For the Week of 04/06/05 For the Week of 03/30/05
For the Week of 03/23/05 For the Week of 03/16/05
For the Week of 03/09/05 For the Week of 03/02/05
For the Week of 02/23/05 For the Week of 02/16/05
For the Week of 02/09/05 For the week of 02/02/05
For the Week of 01/26/05 For the Week of 01/19/05
For the Week of 01/12/05

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

The Week Of Living Dangerously


Remember, folks, the Birthday Week Fundraiser continues apace... show your appreciation for my continued matyrdom in the name of bad comics by popping a coin in the Paypal jar to the left. I can guarantee you any funds received will not be wasted in any miguided oil-for-food scheme. We're strictly food-for-nukes here at The Hurting.




I was at the supermarket today, looking at the magazines on the rack when I came across something that ... I don't really know how to describe it. It was one of the strangest things I've ever seen in my life.

I guess this kind of counts as an unannounced Boob War Crossover - because what I saw qualifies, I think, as Boob War material if ever there was, albeit not in the comics medium.

I don't play video games or pay really any attention to video games at all, other than what I pick up here and there from my game playing friends. Nothing against them, really ,I just have better things to do with my time, I don't need timewasters. The day Blizzard wants to come out with Starcraft 2, then I'll be excited, but until them you can keep your deviant sex Playstation 28 to yourself, thank you very much.

Anyway, this magazine called Play had a cover feature for this game called Magna Carta. Never heard of the magazine or the game. But the cover caught my eye, and not necessarily in a good way:



This is not a good picture, but it is the best I could find online. (The Play magazine site is next to useless.) But in any event, this should give you the gist.

The artist - if not of this piece than the style sheets for the game - is apparently a man named Kim Hyung-tae. Looking at some of his other pieces you see the motif repeated:



I am reminded of Dirk Deppey's greatest ever contribution to world culture, the term "boob sock". These video game femme fatales take existing notions of "boob war" and "boob sock" and turn the dial to eleven. That woman is not wearing a boob sock - getting dressed apparently involves vacuum sealing. They do not occur as such in nature.



I just don't get it... maybe i'm not supposed to. All I know is that in the comic world, stuff like Lady Death and Tarot is sort-of kept off to the sides. I mean, it's there, it's kind of embarrassing, and Lord knows Greg Horn covers aren't exactly doing anyone any aesthetic favors. But video games aren't sold in dingy basements by sweaty men with beards to other sweaty men with beards... aren't the people who play these games embarrassed? Have they no shame?

I guess, when you get down to it, that shame is dead. And we must all now weep bitter tears of anguish.

Monday, September 19, 2005

Hey Folks



Good evening, everyone. I'd like to thank all of you for making The Hurting one of the most successful weblogs in the universe. I'd like to thank all of you for making my dreams come true, and for giving me a platform for all my babbling. But most importantly, I'd like to ask you for money.

Why? Do I need money? In the past I've used this weblog as a way to pay the pity card and get urgently-needed funds in times of crisis. But, you know, that was over a year ago. I've got a job. We're doing fine. So, it's not like we're dying or anything.

But: I put a lot of work into this blog. I don't do it for the cash but the occasional tip is appreciated. I think a lot of people forget or don't know that there is a tip jar on the sidebar. If you like this blog and want to see it continue for the foreseeable future, put a couple pennies in the jar. It's that simple. Like any blogger, I do it merely for the sake of doing it, but reinforcement from a gracious audience is always appreciated.

What, you may ask, is the occasion for this blatant panhandling? Simple: next week's my birthday. If I get a few bucks from this blog I might be able to buy myself a nice birthday present. That is the goal. If I get a few bucks, I'll even tell you what I buy myself. That way, it'll be like vicariously getting something yourself, only not really.
The Chronicles of the Human Fly
Chapter Four




"THE WORLD NEEDS US!





From Wikipedia:

“The Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990 is the short title of United States Public Law 101-336, signed into law on July 26, 1990 by George H. W. Bush. It is a wide-ranging civil rights law that prohibits discrimination based on disability. It affords similar protections against discrimination to Americans with disabilities as the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which made discrimination based on race, religion, sex, national origin, and other characteristics illegal. Certain specific conditions are excluded, including alcoholism and transsexuality.”

The Human Fly premiered in 1977, a full thirteen years before the ADA was signed into law, but sympathy with and equal opportunities for the disabled was a cornerstone of the Fly’s adventures. As we’ve established in past installments, the Fly was himself technically “disabled” - having been horribly injured and had much of his bones replaced with metal. But in the spirit of solidarity with the disabled community for whom the Fly intended to be an example, he surrounded himself with people who, while differently-abled, did not consider themselves handicapped.



Stunt engineer Ted Locke is a double-amputee.


Ted Locke was a promising engineer who lost both of his hands in Vietnam.

Click to enlarge

Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us


Alone in the hospital, wallowing in his own feelings of self-pity, Locke was distraught until one night he was visited by a mysterious stranger.



Could it be . . . Jesus?




Metal bones - in real life, a pain in the ass; but in the Marvel Universe they’re a ticket to superstardom.




Is it me or does Ted look like George Hamilton wit ha bad wig?


Of course, Ted assents, and from that moment on his fate would be forever joined with the Fly’s.

The Fly’s other aide de camp was a pilot named Blaze Kendall, who also spoke jive.



Blaze Kendall’s disability is that she is a woman. Ha ha. I’ll be here all week, folks.






He does not think much of lady pilots! Ha ha!



When a man of his age and apparent fitness suffers a sudden heart attack, chances are it was brought about as a result of cocaine abuse.





Oh no! The plane is about to crash into a mass of squiggly lines!



Blaze Kendall had the habit of falling into a trance at the most inopportune times.

Click to enlarge

Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

The Fly likes sneaking into people’s rooms at night. I wonder what he gets up to when the people at Marvel aren’t looking?




Usually something comes alive inside of you in both romance novels and sci-fi stories. One is bad, the other is good, and I’ll leave you to decide which.



The Human Fly was many things, but most importantly he was a visionary in the field of disability legislation. Although the Americans With Disabilities act was thirteen years in the future, the Fly refused to allow discrimination to blight his hiring practices.







Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Friday, September 16, 2005

A Death In The Family


Here's a question for all the mooks in the Peanut Gallery: does the Comics Blogosphere really exist anymore?

It just doesn't seem like there's much to the concept anymore. Which is not to say that there aren't a pile of bloggers doing fine stuff, but most of the best bloggers are more concerned with their own projects than with any sort of cross-internet debate. I'm not pointing any fingers here because I do it myself. How long has it been since I posted any interesting commentary? It's hard and it takes work to put those things together. It's more fun to spend forty-five minutes photochopping some funny cover than two hours sweating over an accurate exegesis of the latest Diamond charts.

I think there's this Platonic ideal of a comics blogosphere that doesn't really exist anymore. In its place we have a number of interesting voices talking about things like funny comic books and bad comic books but no real sense of cohesion. Perhaps those of us who were "there" at the time read more into it than there actually was, but there was something to it that is now gone. Too many of the best bloggers have simply gone by the wayside, and even those who are still left are in a diminished capacity or stay clear of comics altogether. Of course, it's easy to see that whatever there was was only really clear in hindsight - but that's how life works. Everything becomes clearer in retrospect.

So, it's not like we were co-opted. Most bloggers whose names aren't palindromes have a short shelf-life, because this is a hard hobby to which to chain yourself. I'm not going to try and say that Dirk was the glue that held us all together, but to a large degree he did act as a kind of gravitational center for discussion. And while Spurgeon does perhaps even a better job of providing a daily roundup than Dirk did, he has no interest in fostering the kind of conversation in which Dirk relished. And really - there's not a damn reason why he should have to. Perhaps the whole idea of a blogosphere was just a mutual delusion suffered by those of us who thought yakking back and forth about trivial matters in a hyperventilated manner actually, you know, mattered. Really, it didn't, and as far as media revolutions go blogs at least had a longer shelf like than pogs. Personal blogs are never going to go away as a communications format but the semi-pro info blog seems to have become the new standard, not just in comics but throughout the internet at large - which means, basically, that content filters are still a valuable commodity. You can get as much valuable industry news by tuning into The Comics Reporter and Neilalien once or twice a week than by reading everything else on the update. Most other bloggers just provide flavor commentary and humor, and while that might be interesting to some, the blogosphere as it stands now is rather claustrophobically defined. We've become a constituency, like Millarworld or the Engine, only with more sexually ambiguous superhero drawings.

In case you're wondering, this is not in any way intended to imply that I'm thinking about hanging up the blog any time soon. (Although it is worth noting that those of you who do appreciate the humor content are very stingy about it, if you know what I mean.) But... Heidi's post on the subject got me to thinking along these lines. Makes you wonder just where the days go.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Subtext?

(With apologies to Dorian...)

Click to enlarge

Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

Wow, DC just didn't care that these books read like a three-day acid-binge, did they?

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Oy, Gevalt


New reviews up at Buzzscope:
  • The superlative a e i o u: Any Easy Intimacy by Jeffrey Brown

  • The Cute Manifesto by James Kochalka - This review will tear the internet in half! Or, at least, the part of it that believe James Kochalka can do no wrong...
  • Monday, September 12, 2005

    The Curmudgeon Manifesto



    Cartoon by Alex Gregory from The New Yorker, 09/12/05.





    Man, nothing makes me less excited about reading a new comic than someone else's enthusiasm. Because, Lord knows, comics fans can get enthusiastic. Sure, the stereotype is that all comic nerds are horrible cynics, buying crap they hate to keep their collections complete and complain. But at the opposite end of the spectrum, supposed connoisseurs of "good" comics are almost as bad. How many times have you seen someone or other champion a new OGN or alt-superhero series, proclaiming it to be the Greatest Thing Evar or The New Hotness or some other pithy catchphrase... only to get the book and find it much less numinously gorgeous than expectations would otherwise imply. You feel more cheated than you would from merely a garden-variety mediocre comic book - you feel the spite.

    I won't name any names, but there are a handful of books which get unceasing praise from all corners of the internet... and the unceasing, absolutely glowing praise these books receive pretty much kills any and all interest I may have ever had. I don't know why this is: I think I'm just a contrary motherfucker.

    So what do we need? A return to the values of our forefathers. We need well-meaning hacks and business-like craftsmen dedicated to the act of making a paycheck by producing decent but otherwise unexceptional genre entertainment for small children. Or, self-loathing autodidacts who cut themselves off from the outside world in an attempt to struggle with their ability to never meet self-imposed standards of perfection.

    Any attempts on the part of creators or critics to drum up actual enthusiasm for the process of creating art or entertainment - both of which take an incredible amount of hard work and abnegation - will be seen as an example of Boosterism, which shall be punished by death. It's either sausages or Kierkegaard, people - ritual scouring with the lash of capitalism or presumptuous shame.

    Remember, Kids: Don't Trust Any Artist Who Doesn't
    Regularly Contemplate Suicide.

    Friday, September 09, 2005

    Subtext?

    (With apologies to Dorian...)

    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    Man, you'd have to be a Freudian psychologist to
    concoct something that weird... oh, wait...

    Wednesday, September 07, 2005

    The Hurting's Weekly Out-Of-Context Mark Trail Panel

    For the Week of 09/07/05

    Holy Shit, Elrod Pulled A Fast One On Us Because Once Again
    THE RACCOON WARS ARE ON!!!!


    You're Too Weak, Scott!!!

    (I realize this is bad precedent, considering that we at The Hurting make a point of spotlighting only a singular example of Mark Trail goodness each week . . . but we feel it is necessary to reprint the episode of September 7 in it's entirety in order to convey the massive scope of the Raccoon Wars in full bloom, as Elrod magnificently weaves all these many myriad plot threads into a compelling tapestry of human tragedy and triumph at its finest!)

    For the Week of 08/31/05
    For the Week of 08/24/05 For the Week of 08/17/05
    For the Week of 08/10/05 For the Week of 08/03/05
    For the Week of 07/27/05 For the Week of 07/20/05
    For the Week of 07/13/05 For the Week of 07/06/05
    For the Week of 06/29/05 For the Week of 06/22/05
    For the Week of 06/15/05 For the Week of 06/08/05
    For the Week of 06/01/05 For the Week of 05/25/05
    For the Week of 05/18/05 For the Week of 05/11/05
    For the Week of 05/04/05 For the Week of 04/27/05
    For the Week of 04/20/05 For the Week of 04/13/05
    For the Week of 04/06/05 For the Week of 03/30/05
    For the Week of 03/23/05 For the Week of 03/16/05
    For the Week of 03/09/05 For the Week of 03/02/05
    For the Week of 02/23/05 For the Week of 02/16/05
    For the Week of 02/09/05 For the week of 02/02/05
    For the Week of 01/26/05 For the Week of 01/19/05
    For the Week of 01/12/05

    Tuesday, September 06, 2005

    The Chronicles of the Human Fly
    Chapter Three




    “THE WORLD IS WIND -- AND HE IS . . . THE HUMAN FLY!





    It used to be, back in the Paleolithic era, that every new Marvel title used to feature a guest-appearance by Spider-Man. If you think I’m exaggerating, I’m not really. Considering how long Spidey has been at or near the very top of Marvel’s totem-pole, it only makes sense that they would use their most recognizable character to boost new and sometimes dicey prospects.

    Those who criticize the late 80s and 90s for relying to heavily on the “guest-star” syndrome needs to reexamine their comic book collection, in order to see how many mainstream Marvel superhero titles from about, oh, 1975 on upwards, did not feature a Spider-Man appearance in the first six issues or less. You will find this a surprisingly hard thing to do.

    Anyway, the first issue of The Human Fly also features a Spider-Man appearance, but it is probably one of the least interesting Spider-Man appearances in the history of Spider-Man appearances. He practically sleepwalks through the entire issue - and he wouldn’t guest star in Sleepwalker for another fifteen years.

    As I’ve mentioned before, the structure of the Fly’s adventures did not leave a lot of room to maneuver. He didn’t fight supervillains - a point the editors repeatedly stressed in the letters pages - so he was limited to fighting, um, un-supervillains. Banalvillains. He was also limited to whatever adventures he just happened to come across. Thankfully, the folks who put together the first issue of The Human Fly were not worried about being subtle. They had to get the Fly, Spider-Man and a villain together, and they weren’t squeamish about it.



    Deus, meet ex machina. Sing along if you can guess who’s on that press-plane.


    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    The Fly is a man of action!


    OK, as of this point there are two important facts that any careful reader will have noticed:

  • One: The Mercenary is quite possibly the least imposing villain of all time. His utilitarian name belies a banal worldview. While this commitment to a more . . . naturalistic adventure story (at least by comparison to, say, The Avengers) was admirable, it also made for very boring menaces. Chances are this guy won’t be getting the revamp treatment in Runaways anytime soon.



    The green jumper is sooo Coco Chanel. The Death’s Head racing-helmet reminds me of the kind of headgear you see on special children. The Mercenary is a special man.


  • Two: The man in the green sweater should be very familiar:



    I applaud the editor’s restraint in not including a caption directing us to the identity of the mysterious green-sweatered photographer. It must have taken an almost Herculean force of will to keep the readers in suspense.


    But eventually they had to let the cat out of the bag. As the Human Fly sets his plan into motion, the identity of the mysterious green-sweatered news photographer is finally revealed!

    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    OMG!!! It’s Spider-Man! I did
    not see that one coming!


    You will also note that the Mercenary is blowing a hole in the side of a commercial jet, meaning that the entire cabin should be experiencing explosive decompression.

    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    Apparently explosive decompression does not exist in the Marvel Universe.


    Ah, the dialogue he is classic - and by classic, I mean vintage. They’ve been using these same word balloons since Superman crawled out of the Precambrian muck.
    Goon: Who -- who is this guy?!

    Human Fly: The name boys, is the Human Fly! Remember it -- you’ll be hearing it again!

    The Mercenary: Can’t you idiots stop him? He’s only one man!


    But, as if on cue, the narrative caption puts a rest to the Mercenary’s specious statement:
    But the Mercenary is wrong! The Fly is the embodiment of the hopes of many men! He will not be stopped, lest he let those others down!


    Meanwhile, what’s Peter Parker up to?



    The Human Fly deserves his own intercontinental press junket? The Marvel Universe sure is weird . . . I mean, I just don’t see why the Bugle couldn't have just used the AP or Reuters’ clippings on the Fly. Would have saved a lot of money.


    So, let’s examine the logic here: it’s a bad idea to change into your Spider-suit in front of a planeload of reporters, but as soon as those reporters aren’t looking directly at you, it’s A-OK. Because, of course, given the fact that there were probably only a few dozen people - at most - on the press junket no one will notice that the photographer in the green sweater just happened to disappear around the same time that Spider-Man showed up. Because, of course, the New York-based Spider-Man just happened to be chilling in the cargo hold on a random flight to Houston.

    Will the combined forces of Spider-Man and the Human Fly be able to defeat the villainous Mercenary? Um, you tell me . . .




    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    Authentic 1977 advertisement, undoubtedly the source of much confused fascination on the part of the era’s pubescent male homosexual comic book readers.




    Prologue
    Chapter One
    Chapter Two
  • Friday, September 02, 2005

    Ladies and Gentlemen

    ...I give you the single greatest Superman panel in the history of comics:



    Thank you very much.

    Thursday, September 01, 2005

    The Chronicles of the Human Fly
    Chapter Two




    "FROM THE SHADOW OF THE GRAVE, HE ROSE TO BECOME THE GREATEST DEATH-DEFIER OF THEM ALL!"





    The first issue of The Human Fly carried the unforgettable tagline: "The Wildest Super-Hero Ever -- Because He's Real!" This is the famous idea at the heart of the Fly's appeal, but it would ultimately prove too flimsy a vessel for the continuing adventures of a four-color action hero.

    As we have seen, the Human Fly was indeed a real person. But the real Human Fly was not even slightly a super-hero -- from what evidence we gathered he was a daredevil with a death-wish. The implication that the Human Fly we see in the pages of this Marvel comic book is the same Human Fly who lives and breathes in the real world is patently absurd. This is not a documentary. The only thing that keeps the comics' Human Fly even slightly connected to his real life counterpart is the fact that neither Fly has super-powers. Other than that, this entire comic is nothing more than a flimsy tissue of lies.



    The Human Fly #1, September 1977


    The origin of the fictional Human Fly is fairly simple. The unnamed victim of a massive car crash in which both his wife and children perished, the man who would become the Human Fly is hospitalized with massive injuries. The doctors who attended to the Fly's injuries had a questionable idea of bedside manner, stating to the Fly as soon as he awakened from a coma:
    "You are in a hospital -- in critical condition! We may be able to save your life -- but you will be a cripple for the rest of your days!

    Now, I'm no doctor, but it seems like it might not be the best idea in the world to taunt the patients as soon as they regain consciousness. And then they're surprised when he starts to struggle and tries to scream?

    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    Not exactly a ringing endorsement of the
    North Carolina health care system.


    But apparently the strange North Carolina hospital where the Fly finds himself does not believe in physical therapy. Did physical therapy not exist in the seventies? I'm pretty sure it did. But I guess the Fly must have been in a Christian Scientist hospital or something, where the patients' recoveries were left to the hand of God. Because the Fly's recovery, the gradual renewal of his ability to move his limbs, is done under the cover of darkness. He's not supposed to recover, or something, I guess. The Fly seems to operate in a universe wherein doctors are dedicated to insuring their patients do not get better, and to prevent them from doing so at all costs.

    Which makes his next choice strangely sensical: in order to inspire his fellow handicapped patients, he chooses to become the Human Fly. Instead of simply, I don't know, doing the exact same thing without a mask, he adopts a secret identity and chooses to become an anonymous inspiration. Which makes sense, because I guess if the doctors in the Marvel Universe knew who he was, trying to inspire their patients to get better, they'd try to kill him. Probably with giant robots or something.

    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    It's
    always a good idea to hide
    your true progress from your doctors.


    But the really odd part of the Fly's set-up is that not only is his secret identity a secret to the world, but it's a secret from the readers as well. And, unlike books like Shadowhawk that have tried similar mysterious protagonists, the secret behind the Fly's identity is not supposed to be any sort of mystery to the reader -- rather, it's intended as a metaphor for the Fly's universally inspiring message. He could be anyone, so he could be everyone, is the logic. Which works well, to a point.

    Click to enlarge

    Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

    He just looks so proud.


    Because the fact is that on the face of it the Fly's motivations aren't bad. Actually trying to make the world a better place is something that anyone would have a hard time criticizing. But the problem is that while this is undoubtedly a good idea for a potential masked daredevil, it's a horrible idea for an ongoing superhero comic book. The driving engine behind most modern superhero books is soap-opera stuff. A character who isn't a character so much as an abstract ideal is, in storytelling terms, a cipher. Even back to the Golden Age, when most super characters were portrayed as interchangeable ciphers, there was at least the illusion that the people behind the cowls possessed some kind of rudimentary interiority. But the Fly's goal-oriented existence defies the kind of interiority that Spider-Man and his ilk takes for granted: the Human Fly sees something to do, so he goes and does it. This type of behavior is more in line with the way a super-villain would conceive of the world.



    Like Wolverine, Bullseye and Ulysses S. Archer,
    the Human Fly is a proud member of the Marvel Universe's
    Metal Bones For Men Club. He likes the metal bones so
    much he bought the company.


    Super-villains have concrete goals and ambitions, whereas superheroes cannot be proactive in terms of acting to alter their environments. So, structurally, the Human Fly is less a superhero than a super-villain working on the side of the angels, a being whose interiority is wholly subservient to his exterior accomplishments, and who fights crime only as it may impact his previously established plans. Therefore, in order for the series to have any real dramatic potential, the Fly needs to "accidentally" encounter crime or evil every issue, and the supporting cast will be required to carry the majority of dramatic exposition in the series. Lord knows he's not going to find a love interest while wearing that mask.



    An authentic 1977 advertisment.





    Prologue
    Chapter One