Ooooh, Warrarush

...As Hawk might have said, had he been Scouse.

It's been a bit of a mixed 4 weeks for me. I was recalled into hospital and had to have another blood transfusion, followed by a week of "observation." I entertained myself by pretending to be a nurse and telling the other inmates (patients; a recurring Freudian slip) they were allowed to smoke and assissting an elderly alcoholic in his zimmer-permitting escape attempts. As a result of my unreliable jalopy of a body, I've had to temporarily suspend my yoga, vegetarianism, sporting activities and... well, walking anywhere further than from one side of campus to the other. I'm also being investigated by the university for my absences.

Saw Kathryn Hunter's Othello at the Playhouse (i.e. with Patrice Naiambana, not Lenny Henry) which was enjoyable, if a bit overzealous and unrevealing. Also managed to catch Gran Torino, probably the funniest and most racist film I've seen in a while. Ah, and the new Watchmen film, about which I have little to add. As usual, Alan Moore is right: it shouldn't have been made.

Speaking of Moore, once again the media spotlight has fallen on him, and once again he's suffered from it somewhat. I've read some quite borderline-libellous stuff about his personal beliefs, alongside the assertion or implication he is insane. See, to me, anyone unwilling to compromise on his artistic integrity for money, or able to see a connection between fiction and mythology that goes beyond the boring rationalist level, is okay in my book. But maybe I, a practicing magician, am crazy in everyone else's book, too.

A while ago here I expressed envy for the polarisation American politics benefits from. I have no such fetishes about the embarrassing nature of them in general. Someone once said to me that pro wrestling was the American version of pantomime: they were right in one respect, but a more direct equivalent would be the ongoing war of ludicrous claims between the US's right-wing and everyone else. Recently Rush Limbaugh, second-grade radio entertainer, has stepped back into the arena as "the de facto leader of the Republican party." This sounds a lot like the death knell of the American conservative.

To give it credit, the Far-Right has done a great job of A) getting everyone to believe 'conservatism' and 'liberalism' are opposites, and B) passing themselves off as conservatives. True conservatives have a noble tradition of defending liberalism from itself, trying to ensure progress has a moral compass. Oppression of women and minority rights? Motions towards theocracy? These are not conservative values. Fortunately, the Tory Party in the UK, for all its faults, has not quite fallen prey to this sickening intrusion rebranding. But something is very rotten in the States of America.

Otherwise, I'm house-hunting, reading a lot, and wasting a fair bit of time on the computer. Same old, same old.

Comics are still best when they're in print...

... Not on the big screen. And recently a lot of that has been down to one man.

Although I have always described myself as a comic book reader (can't stand the term "graphic novel," myself), I've become more of an Alan Moore reader in recent years. But his movements have been harder and harder to follow as he went from the truly shit but readily available Awesome line to America's Best Comics onto more independent publishing in an attempt to escape the ever pervasive mainstream comics limelight that has followed him since his blockbuster turns for DC in the 80s. It's not that I think he has diminished as a writer, but having to wait for the trade paperback of, say, Promethea, (you can fucking forget about getting a copy of Lost Girls for less that £30) at some point took over from the unfettered, instantly attainable jouissance of simply buying the latest X-Men or JLA comic and reading it from cover to cover. So, a few years ago now, I gave my wallet a break and transitioned back into the casual, mainstream comic world.

It wasn't a second honeymoon, largely due to my traditional willingness to give Marvel the benefit of the doubt over DC. I followed the Big M's major events and regretted it: Civil War, for instance, was an excremental excuse for a pile of super-fights, World War Hulk more of the same except even more nonsensical, sort of Greg Pak's childish way of getting back at all those Thor fans who have no doubt pointed out to him over the years that Hulk's warcry of being the Strongest One There Is is hyperbole by having him dick The Sentry. I read back a bit and caught Batman: Hush from the DC side, which helped me truly understand the special hatred resevered for Jeph Loeb (as if I was in any doubt, I did skim through Red Hulk recently. Gracious me). And Jim Lee's bulging torsos and gritted teeth reminded me why I stopped putting myself through this shit in the 90s. Soon, as the cynic inside me had anticipated, I longed for the complex reference structure of a V For Vendetta or the interesting mis en scene of a Watchmen. Or, at the very least, something grown-up but fun enough to keep me entertained, like Chris Claremont-era X-Men/New Mutants/Excalibur. After experiencing Claremont's New Excalibur debacle, I wasn't hopeful. The man should, frankly, be banned from writing comics before all my good childhood memories are erased.

However, it wasn't all doom and gloom. I knew at least I could rely on Grant Morrison. And I wasn't disappointed. His run on New X-Men was cruel and fascinating, siccing Cassandra Nova and an insane, drug-addicted Magneto on Charlie's loveable mutants (with Frank Quietly's artwork complimenting the dark tone perfectly). His Batman had its ups (I enjoyed the "Batgod," the Bruce Wayne with a plan for absolutely everything, he and Mark Waid have seemingly conspired on giving us over the years) and downs (Batman & Son being a tired retread of an Elseworlds story) but in Batman: RIP the series reached its creative zenith, a challenging, multi-faceted and hugely rewarding yarn that got as many people talking about Batman comics as any storyline since Knightfall, or perhaps even The Dark Knight Returns. And I've utterly devoured any issue of Final Crisis I've been able to lay my paws on, it being an event that has improved massively upon its predecessor and more than lived up to Crisis on Infinite Earths.

My point? Simply that it's so reassuring to find a media where craft and hard work brings in the dosh (DC has sold fantastically well this year during Morrison's free reign, but what else would you expect when Arkham Asylum is still the biggest selling Batman trade paperback of all time?), even if it is "only comics." Television has succumbed to cheap "reality-TV," pro-wrestling hasn't placed a real emphasis on quality since Giant Baba passed away, the best films are coming out of places like Thailand and are difficult to acquire, theatre is overly reliant on celebrity and even opera has me agreeing with Jonathan Miller that the establishment needs a kick in the pants. Everywhere, the Western superstructure is so weak you have to filter through so much crap before you find a diamond, except in comics, where Dulness, whilst undeniably present, is battled on an even economic field.

Having Superman's powers, a comic book genius-level
intellect and a snazzy green suit won't stop you
from getting fucking owned if you muck about
with the real deal.

I offer as defining evidence Morrison's All-Star Superman, which surpasses even Moore's Tom Strong and run on Supreme as a non-canonical reconstruction of the original superhero. After years of post-Crisis Superman playing second fiddle in terms of strength to the other JLA powerhouses like Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, The Flash and even his own cousin Supergirl (yes, they'd all trounce Clark these days), it's incredible and heart-warming to see a return to the reverence that hasn't been offered to this character in modern times. Okay, so Supes isn't smashing through the time barrier on pure speed without breaking a sweat or closing a black hole with his bare hands like he did in the, ahem, good old days. But the reason the Richard Donner Superman (1978) is still the best superhero comic book adaptation is that it tempered that apotheosis with humour, and if anything, All-Star Superman plays these two elements in an even more convincing tandem. Whether he's effortlessly bicep-curling 20 quintillion tons or trouncing demigods at arm wrestling, you're in no doubt who is Superman and who is not. And I don't want to give anything away to people who haven't read it, but the true genius of All-Star Superman is in its metafictional revelation that a world without Superman could not exist: he would still have to be invented. That this is told in a way that incorporates directed panspermia and Nietzsche should make it irresistable, at least to anyone who shares my tastes.

So drool over The Dark Knight's Guignol acting, "wow factor" setpieces, political opportunism and blunt directorship only if you're starved for the real deal. End this one-for-me, one-for-the-studio director culture and remember that there's a reason comics are comics and not films: they really can play by different rules. And sometimes, just sometimes, you might get that tickle in your soul you got when Jean Grey died, that little tug that nobody from Ingmar Bergman to David Tennant's Hamlet to Coronation Street has been able to replace. Best attempted with a free Saturday afternoon and a beanbag chair.