with comics. On the one hand, the storylines can be some of the most interesting in fiction. Not all of them, because there’s a lot of crap out there, but there are some innovative ideas in that universe. And on the other hand, I resent having someone else’s vision of characters forced upon me in such detail.
So I read comics haphazardly, more in love with the ideas and the potential of some of the characters, (see: Wolverine), than the actual arc presented by the different writers and artists. I’m a terrible comic fan. Fan boys/girls don’t like me much, for canon is worthless to me. Tell me a good story – or better yet – give me the words and I’ll supply the pictures.
The exception is anything by Mike Mignola. I’ve read every single Hellboy and most of the BPRD series. Red is my favourite everything. The art is so perfect, and the storylines are clean. Red is such a wonderful creature. The love the creator has for his creation is apparent in Mignola’s handling of Red. All the way to the end: love.
With a requisite amount of violence, of course. I want Wolverine to leave body parts and destruction in his wake when he fights, because that’s what he would do. When Batman kills a bad guy, I’m cheering him on. When the Punisher actually punishes without emoting, I’m right there, smile on my face. And when Red kills Satan, I’m in for good. I’m devoted. I’m with him for life.
Life isn’t fair, and sometimes the people who are supposed to fight for you don’t. Life doesn’t wrap up neatly. Sometimes you die in the middle of your story. Shit always falls apart, and sometimes we do too, and a lot of times we end up with anger and baggage and walls and hate. Hate can be motivational, and surrendering that hate can be cathartic. I crave the stories, in any media, that reflect this.
There aren’t a lot out there that get it right. So we’ve got to write our own, don’t we?