Play Pinball

A friend who teaches animation and character design at a local university blackmailed me into serving as a panelist as his students presented their equivalent of a thesis last week.  Granted  a law school dropout with a dubious degree in political science may not be the ideal judge for someone’s creative work, I like to assume I have more right than most people (…in the area).  Well my teacher friend does, at  least.  Quinton Hoover plagiarism and complimentary donuts aside, it’s definitely weird being called “sir.”  Where did this respect come from, you weirdos?

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There’s been a bit of a lull in the art posting here on the journal.  I’ve been pretty swamped with the pitches I’m handling and making sure PLUCK comes out on time.  I should be able to post some really neat stuff momentarily though.  More than anything, it’s just a matter of permission.  Soon though.

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I got caught up on Hickman/Eaglesham’s Fantastic Four this week, and recent reviews on the podcast have made me see more and more the Pinball Nature of mainstream comics.  I mean think about it — If you start reading a book at its five hundred and seventieth installment, there’s no logical reason why you should understand what the fuck is going on.  But I did.

What does that mean?

Two things.

First off, every time a new writer gets onto a book, it’s a soft reset.  Hickman may be following up on some of Millar’s Nu-World stuff, but really, everything else can be latched onto quite easily by any new comic reader or fanboy who has just come back to the medium after an extended absence.  The FF is still a family of explorers.  Ben’s still ugly, Johnny’s still a dick.

Second (and this is really just an expansion of the first point), nothing really changes in mainstream comics.  You can take away Wolverine’s adamantium; You can turn Superman into an electric gimp; You can kill the goddamn Batman.  But it all goes back to normal eventually.  Give it a coupla months, give it a decade (hey Bendis), but things will reset.  Now raising these two points may sound suspiciously jaded or cynical, but there’s something about this cyclical nature that’s comforting.

And this is why comics are like a pinball machine.  It’s not a question of how many pinballs you have left, or of how long you kept one ball live.  No.  What matters is where that pinball went.  What did it hit?  Where did you think you were gonna lose it?  And most importantly, How did you save it?

The answer to that last bit, of course, is that it saved itself; but you were along for a great ride.