Sarah Connor Chronicles Review

by: Richard "Rikalonius" Jefferies

I have just finished watching the second hour of the pilot episode of The Sarah Connor Chronicles, and begrudgingly enough, I liked it. Despite its requirement of not only suspending disbelief, but kidnapping disbelief and putting the offending noun in a rocket and launching it into outer space, it was a likable show with flashes of dramatic excellence. Actress Lena Headey is a competent and believable Sarah Connor. Glau, whom I had serious reservations about, impressed the heck out of me as John's latest protagonist terminator protector. In all actuality there is nothing to suggest that this new model; I like to call her "mini-terminator" was ever programmed for infiltration like her predecessors. It is my earliest analysis of the story arc (for the record), that future John sent this latest model to the past to intercept his childhood self when he would benefit from female companionship. She would be his protector and the stable partner his fugitive status could never afford him. After all, future John believes that his past self is going to succeed in breaking the vicious time loop that had developed, and when he did, the apocalypse wouldn't happen. Sarah would die of cancer, and present John, forever on the run from those who will never know the truth, would probably otherwise commit suicide a lonely and broken man. If the human resistance was as successful as Kyle Reese had informed Dr. Silberman, then future John would have the rest of his life to engineer a perfect robotic life-partner, knowing he could use the time displacement equipment at any time in the future to direct her to a point where Skynet had peppered the time-steam with terminators. Maybe future John didn't realize when he sent Kyle, the extent of Skynet's use of the time displacement equipment. So, as he uncovered it, he used the equipment accordingly to set the world right, or at least not set it on a course of nuclear annihilation. There, I should get a no prize* from the SCC creators.

One big problem of course, if you think all this through, is, if you are going to send a second terminator, why not send it to the same coordinates that you sent Reese, why not send two T800 units, making doubly sure that Sarah Connor survives. Additionally, to one up Skynet in this temporal chess match, the secondary programming of one Terminator would be to ensure that Skynet never becomes operational. Why send an engineer back to 1963 to build a time displacement device, and phase plasma rifle in 40 watt range (referring to amplitude not distance) and not at least drop Kyle Reese a Wester Union to let him know that there exists a weapon that can stop the terminator with a single blast. Eventually the time loop was going end one way or another. A miss step by Reese, bad luck, and BLAM Sarah Connor is no more. The terminator can as much as walk over to the Cyberdine factory, burn his fleshy layers off and shutdown at their doorstep. Or Sarah and Kyle could destroy the Terminator in a way that doesn't leave his mechanical parts littered about to be found and reverse engineered. But inevitability works both ways, and if Judgment Day is inevitable no matter what Sarah Connor does, then it's logical to conclude that it is inevitable that a human will rise up to lead the resistance, whether he be called John Connor, Kyle Reese, or Farles Wickens with four M's and a silent Q is irrelevant. Sure Skynet had discovered time travel, but it was not quite up on it's Philosophy.

What didn't I like about this show? Because the show is well done overall, I can, like most Americans, go ahead and place my head in the sand when it comes to continuity. There simply is none, so let's nitpick shall we?

1. Why the hell would Sarah and John, probably numeral uno on the FBI's most wanted list, stay in the United States as opposed to say a country void of an extradition treaty?

2. Why would John go to school, not much need for fancy learn'n in a post apocalyptic world? Although, I digress a bit and say that it would add to his charisma to be a learned man in a post apocalyptic world. It would endear others to him.

3. Why wouldn't Cameron disable the terminator after electrocuting him? I'm sure she had the know how.

4. Why would a S.W.A.T team stand around an watch a man, half his scalp missing or no, walk into the bank that was locked down without opening fire?

5. After having this entire bank event caught on security video, how in hell would the pieces of the T800 that Sarah blew apart end up in a junk yard 10 years later. Dumb!! If anything, the remains would have accelerated Skynet's development, and it would have pretty hard to remain in denial after cleaning up the pieces. The FBI agent has yet to play a significant role, but if he continues in his skepticism, it would be weak character development on the part of the writers. He'll get the Dana Sculley award for sustained skepticism in light of empirical evidence.

6. How does a machine dependent on it's CPU reassemble it's body and come find it's head in some scrap yard worker's house? DUMB!!! Frankly the existence of these "other" terminators are the weakest link in the plot. The show would do just as well with them being on the run from the Law without the special effects gags that the antagonist terminator has been relegated too.

In summary. Sara and Cameron's dialog and chemistry is good. John Connor is somewhat likable, and thankfully, far removed from Edward Furlong's whiny teen-angst portrayal. Which was still light years ahead of Jake Lloyd's young Anakin Skywalker, which was like listening to a rusty circular saw chew away at sheet metal. The antagonist HK (Hunter Killer) unit(s) are not used well, and frankly detract from drama. I would say the cancer bit is contrived, but it was established in the last movie, where it was definitely contrived, but is now considered canon. The creators are baiting their lure in attempt to draw in a large female audience. Fortunately their pandering has not resulted in an unwatchable show, unlike that barf-bag bomb Battlestar Galactica.

Rik

* No Prize: An award given by the editors of GI Joe comics for finding inaccuracies in the story, then creatively explaining why it was not inaccurate.

I have a love/hate relationship with the company that is Disney which can best be broken down as follows: I love the theme parks and hate most of the movies. I do enjoy some of the older Disney films however. You can see the difference between Walt’s Disney and the modern beast it has become. As a young child I first saw Disney World’s Magic Kingdom during its 10^th anniversary year and two rides stuck in my mind and heart forevermore: The Haunted Mansion and The Pirates of the Caribbean.

Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean (PotC) is one of the greatest dark rides of all time with legions of fans in Disney parks across the world. However, in 1997 a far too PC California brought an unforgivable and heinous change to the Spanish Main. Please draw your attention to this cutting from the wikipedia article on the ride PotC (I’m aware that wiki is not the best source for correct information, but in this case they are correct, I’ve checked my facts it was just easier to present it in this format):

In its original form, the Disneyland attraction had a subdued, yet interpretively racy scene in which pirates were shown chasing attractive females in circles (achieved by simply animated figures on turntables hidden below guests' view), along with a comical reversal in which an overweight woman was seen chasing a pirate. Some were offended by this depiction and in response, Disney initially changed the woman chasing the pirate by having her try to hit him with a rolling pin. Then, in 1997, this sequence was changed so that the pirates now are pursuing women holding pies, and the large woman is chasing a pirate with a stolen ham.

Originally, one pirate was shown exhausted from his pursuit of an unwilling female, brandishing a petticoat as guests floated past, and uttering suggestive dialogue including "It's sore I be to hoist me colors upon the likes of that shy little wench," and "I be willing to share I be." Behind him, the woman would pop her head out from her hiding place inside a barrel. This scene was altered in the American parks, but it is still the same in the versions at Tokyo Disneyland and Disneyland Paris.

The "Pooped Pirate," as he was called, was dubbed the Gluttonous Pirate and was recast in the 1997 refurbishment as a rogue in search of food. His dialogue included lines such as "Me belly be feeling like galleon with a load of treasure," and "I be looking for a fine pork loin I be." The woman hiding in the barrel was replaced by a cat.

At the Magic Kingdom, the chase scene was altered to show the pirates making off with various treasure as the formerly "chased" ladies attempt to thwart them. The "Pooped Pirate" here is holding a treasure map in his lap and a magnifying glass in one hand. His lines here include "This map says X marks the spot, but I be seein' no X's afore me." The woman in the barrel remains, though this time she is hiding a small treasure chest inside the barrel with her.

The modifications garnered criticism from longtime fans and some of the original Imagineers of the Attraction. In Jason Surrell's book Pirates of the Caribbean: From The Magic Kingdom to the Movies, showwriter Francis Xavier "X" Atencio refers to the "softening" touches as "Boy Scouts of the Caribbean."

What madness was that? Would that have been Walt’s decision? Would he have caved to the pressure of PC groups that want the entire history of the world retconned and softened to meet their agenda? And do not think for even a minute that those dykes don’t have an agenda. As can be seen from the clipping, even original Imagineer and writer X Atencio was unhappy with the changes.

But what exactly was the purpose of softening the ride? It was already soft enough. It was not history, it was amusing fantasy. The pirates of PotC are eternally locked in a routine that belies the true horror of a pirate raid upon a 17^th century Spanish town. The pirates chased the women eternally but never caught them. The city burns for all time and no matter how long those pirates call to that dog he’s never going to move. It was a rollicking, jolly version of history. It was never claimed to be real. But this was not good enough for some people who claimed offense at this humorous pastiche of legend, history and literature, and thus is was changed. Many long time fans were offended by what was removed and what was then put in its place, but that carried no weight it seems. This is the result of the weakness and stupidity that is PC thought and action. Suppose we endeavored to teach as well as entertain; would the modified PotC suit? I think not. Those offended people that cause such a fuss as to have an attraction that was decades old changed to suit there sensitive natures would no doubt faint dead away were the ride to depict the true scenes of a pirate raid upon a town: the murder, the bloodshed, the raping, and wantonness. These comic scenes were safe, for as a child I did not know why the pirates were chasing the women only that it was funny and as an adult I laughed again, only for a different reason. That original edition was fine for a generation of children and their parents who were made of sterner stuff. Sadly now it has all become a nightmare of marketing and pabulum designed to appeal to everyone equally so that no one can truly enjoy it. No unique flavors allowed.

That is my love/hate relationship with Disney. I respect the late Walt Disney for what he created and what he saw that could be, and I hate the Disney corporation for what they have become. They have become faint: indistinct on the Media Landscape and lacking of courage. Walt once said that they must never forget that it was all started by a mouse. No, Walt, it was started by a man; it was destroyed by a mouse.

And I killed a giant badger.....

As a nerd I have a long history of nerd things that I remember and sometimes relate around bonfires, while drinking, or just to play the great American game "Who had it worse". One such tale has to do with my days playing Dungeons and Dragons.Dungeons and Dragons, the venerable grandfather of RPGs. Like a venerable grandfather DnD often got many things wrong, but you accepted it as a form of truth due to the source. And after all, at one time DnD was the only game in town. I began my personal role playing experience with gamebooks (or more properly by playing 'pretend' as a small child, for what is role-playing if not 'pretend' with a codified rules set and some dice) but eventually moved into the world of tabletop RPGs with the second edition of AD&D. I had seen the first edition rulebooks and perused them, imagining the fun that could be had in a world of monsters and knights, wizards and demons, and all manner of mythological beasties roaming about making life hard for the intrepid heroes of which I could be a part, but it was not until the launch of the second edition and my first "group" that I became a part of the great nerd tradition known as role-playing.Within a few years I had mastered the 2nd edition rules and knew how to manipulate a first level character for maximum survivability given the playing styles of my fellow groupmates and our DM. I was not a min/maxer per se, but I knew how to make the character creation rules work for me. I was not a true rules lawyer, but rather a rules paralegal.One time I decided to abandon my standard group, with whom I had become disenchanted, always thinking that somewhere out there was a group that "did it the right way", as though there was one true, pure way to role-play and I simply hadn't found the group yet. I had a friend that lived a few blocks away from me in my subdivision who, despite living in my school district, attended a different school entirely (a wise move on his parent's part, I might add). I had become acquainted with some of his school chums over time and was invited to join them in a regular Sunday AD&D game. I had heard great things about this group. In particular I had been told stories that made me think that this was THE group. That elusive group who "did it the right way", so different did they seem from my own group based upon the stories I had heard.Thus I resolved that I would join this Sunday afternoon game and ventured forth with my friend to his group's meeting place where I rolled up a character and settled in for what I thought would be an exciting afternoon of adventure.Whether you believe in evolution, intelligent design, G-d, or Brahmen, the simple fact is that at our core, we are animals. As such we are blessed with a primal sense when something is not right and our instinct is to flee from it and if cornered to fight for our own existence. You sometimes feel this primal urge when on a blind date. Shortly after meeting your date and setting out to the restaurant you get a niggling feeling at the back of your head, that is your reflexes priming to run; know that. After a little more time and conversation you begin to realize that this date is not going as you had hoped, or worse, that this person with whom you are spending the evening, as though some arranged marriage has taken place, is not only not "your type" but they are the antithesis of everything that is "your type" and they may be fatal to boot. Around that time you start to realize that the niggling feeling you had shortly after meeting this crazy waste of space was in fact your Spider-Sense tingling and you should have cut and run when you first got the warning. But now you are nothing but a trapped, cornered animal and it is time to fight.Tangential, but it sets the stage for what I am about to say. Shortly after arrival, while I was rolling up my character, I got that niggling Spidey-Sense tingling, but I ignored it.My friend, with whom I had come to this game session in the first place, a young man named Doug, was asking that the DM and players agree to advance the timeline of the game so that his gnome could have the components to build a flamethrower. He only needed it advanced by about 100 years. When I helpfully suggested that if he could not get everyone to agree (as he was having a hard time winning them over to the prospect) he could have just come to the past through a magical mishap, he guffawed and said that, "This isn't a Scott game". Scott was my usual DM and was known for time spanning adventures where you might meet Capt Picard and his crew along with Dinosaurs all in one night. Admittedly Doug had a point, but something about the way that he said it, perhaps his strange logic that in a world of dragons and magic time travel COULD NOT happen, simply rubbed me the wrong way.What did I care? There was always one in every group. One guy who needed the whole thing shifted to suit his special character concept rather than creating a character that fit in with the world itself. And had that been the only problem I might have been happy with the group and contented with the whole adventure. In fact, myself and one other player were the only 'normal' characters in this too large group. One guy was a Drow outcast (because that Drizzt Do'urden fag was all the rage back then) and another guy was an Albino Drow outcast. Yay. I simply wanted to play a swashbuckler (2nd edition, Complete Fighter's Handbook, Swashbuckler Kit) and wanted to make use of the full advantages offered by the CFH. This I was denied. Yes, we can have a gnome that builds a flamethrower and TWO Drow outcasts (one an albino) but I can't use the alternate proficiency rules in the CFH. I was at least allowed to play a swashbuckler, so that's something. I was told that my swashbuckler would fit right in, as the adventure would be mostly urban. About 12 minutes into the game it became all woodlands. I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I do know that the word Urban carries with it NO connotations of woodland life.My next chime went off when I realized that the DM was also playing a character. A PC character, not an NPC. Obviously he was playing the NPCs, just not very well. I was familiar with the concept of the "pet NPC". Briefly, a pet NPC is an NPC that the DM more or less plays as HIS character even though this is expressly forbidden by both the DM's guide and the concept of the game. Daniel, for twas the DM's name, was actually playing a character in the group. Not a pet NPC who he could at least pretend was not a PC and pay us lip service about impartiality, no no. This was a bloody PC being played by the DM. My Bastard-Sense was tingling to beat the band, but I persevered, after all, I came to play.After the awkward group intros and getting the party together and heading toward a common goal we found ourselves in the woods, which is of course the most Urbane of all places and fighting a giant badger. I don't even remember why we were fighting a giant badger. Did we muck about in his giant badger den? Did we accost a Giant Rat, a Giant Mole and a Giant Toad in a waistcoat? I don't recall. I think it was most likely the result of one of those Random Encounter Tables that lackwit DMs use to generate interest. I do not know if this particular Giant Badger had a rich Scottish brogue or not as we had no Druid and the only Ranger in the group seemed to gleefully join in with this badger bashing sport that had been thrown into our laps by divine providence (or a bad die roll, you be the judge).A note about me and RPGs. I have always felt that the R in RPG means Role. Most of my gaming acquaintances seemed to think it meant Roll, as in dice. Thus I have always striven to pick weapons, armour, equipment and actions that reflect my "character concept" and I had rather hoped that this would be THE group. The one group that respected such dedication to the art form. (You know what would be brilliant? If James Lipton hosted a show entitled Inside the Gamer's Studio, and he interviewed gamers and asked them the kinds of questions he asks Dustin Hoffman and Al Pacino about their 'craft'.) Sadly, it was not. No points or respect for Role Playing. So I jumped in and started to abuse the poor omnivore with the lot. This badger had taken a beating, but he was still alive. He had 1 hit point. 1. ONE. One Sodding Hit Point was all he had when the DM's character finally, FINALLY, FINE-A-LEY, managed to score a hit.Obviously the badger died and we could rest easy knowing that Giant gardens of root vegetables across the land were now safe to grow in peace.We continued on for a bit and most of us got shot by wood elves. We didn't die, but took damage all the same. I think that was supposed to lead to the plot hook, but thankfully as we had lost much time early on rolling up characters, the time to end the Sunday session arrived. I had long since stopped paying attention and had started reading back issues of Dragon magazine.With the session at a close, it was time for Daniel to award experience. Ah, that most coveted of awards, you strive for every little bonus point you can get. Now it is common knowledge among all role players I had met up to that point that the DM's guide stated that in regard to experience it was to be divided evenly among the all party members that had made a contribution and thus could benefit from the experience, with extra awards given to those who demonstrated particular cleverness, merit, bought pizza, etc. Further, the DM's guide stated that taking part in the encounter included all manner of things, including guarding the rear against attack, the mage prepping spells for when the fighters get in a tight spot even if he doesn't cast them or just being there and doing something useful was worth your fair cut of the XP. Now you remember, of course, the Badger. Ach, we all took a swing at that badger, I personally took off about 6 of his hit points by bashing him with the hilt of my rapier. One of the Drow twins managed to do a substantial amount of damage, whittling that stripey Scottish bastard down to one hit point when Daniel's character finally managed to land a hit, taking off the last Hit Point.So as the squeaky voiced little twat is laying out the experience awards to the party, detailing what they did to earn them, he finishes up by saying, "And I killed a badger, so I get 130 XP."Pardon me?Pardon the hell out of me. HE KILLED THE BADGER? What was I doing all that time when I was actually hitting it and doing damage instead of wiffing past it with my faggoty Dwarven battle axe?So the Sunday session ended and I received bupkiss.
Zero.
Zilch.
No XP.
No gold.
Not even a howzyurfather.
Sweet Fuck All.
I could have handled that lack of reward if only he hadn't spoken those ill-conceived words...."I killed a badger..."That was too much. The proverbial straw, if you will. I never went back for another session. I also informed Doug that although I valued his friendship, I felt that his group was, if anything, worse than my own when it came to rules and character abuse. It was a bit strong and I admit not entirely true; my steady group abused the character concept and the rules in different but equal ways. I chose to return to my own team. Sure they were bastards and tended to piss me off, but as me father always says, "Better pissed off than pissed on."

SUPPLEMENTARY PUNCTUATION MARKS

I am writing this to address what I feel is a very real problem with Blogs, and in fact all writing in general. We are tied to a language that makes up in obscurity what it lacks in style. Further, when speaking to another we can use inflection and body language to get our meaning across. Sadly the written word hampers our efforts at communication. Reading may be fundamental, but to communication it is an impediment. Jesus taught in parables. Would he have been so successful if he had written pamphlets? I think not.
Thus, I have taken it upon myself to work out a series of special punctuation characters for our usage that will clarify our writings and thus aid communication and act to prevent misunderstandings.

(w)- This is the symbol for sarcasm. Use this symbol at the end of a sentence or immediately following a word as appropriate to demonstrate that you are making a sarcastic comment. (w) was chosen because there is a saying, often attributed to Oscar Wilde, but for which we have no proof that he said, however it sounds like the sort of thing he would say and that should be good enough, which goes “Sarcasm is the lowest form of humour and the highest form of wit.” Since wit begins with a “w”, the symbol for sarcasm shall be (w).

(Fe)- This is the symbol for irony. Use this symbol when the statement you are making is intentionally ironic. Since Alanis Morrisett wrote that song saying ‘isn’t it ironic’ when none of those things were, in fact, ironic, it has come to my attention that the bulk of America has no concept of irony. Let’s take steps to correct that.

(T)- This is the symbol to employ when something you have said was in jest. Such as a humourous comment that could be misconstrued as insulting, but that you meant it in jest. Since many a truth is spoken in jest and Truth begins with “T”, this is the proper symbol.

(oIo)- This is the symbol for satire. As you can clearly see it is a shaft and a set of balls. Use it when what you are employing is satire. Since the satirist relies upon his audience’s knowledge of the topic at hand and the hopes that his audience is quick enough on the uptake to realize the work is satirical and must not be taken at face value, this mark is essential in the modern world.

(*)- This is used to label what is clearly an opinion and not a solid fact. Many people get the two confused, so this should be most helpful. If you look at it right and squint you will see it bears a resemblance to the Ol Brown Eye. Since opinions are like arseholes…you get the idea.

(BS)- This mark is used when you are attempting to pass off what is apocryphal as a solid fact, especially if you are not going to cite sources.

Allow me to provide some examples.

1. Friends, Romans, countrymen lend me your ears. I come not to praise Caesar but to bury him. (Fe)

2. Spider-Man is the greatest hero ever. (*)

3. Wicca is an ancient nature religion with pre-Christian roots. It was started by the Celts long before the evil Romans ever came to the Emerald Isle. (BS)

4. Jinrikisha is hung like a baby carrot and a couple of English peas. (T)

5. Another Kevin Costner vehicle? I can’t wait to see that. (w)

6. In order to protect the struggling minority classes, it is clear to me, as it should be to any right thinking, feeling person, that the oppressive white male culture MUST be disenfranchised. (oIo)

I hope this helps. If we all pull together on this we might be able to make it a nationwide phenomenon and improve everyone’s understanding of the written word.

Thank you and G-d bless.

Once upon a time there was a land called Europe. It was full of people of diverse cultures and languages, but they shared a common trait in that they had an oral culture. Being primarily farmers, these people would pass long dark winter evenings by telling tales that were meant for adults and children alike. These tales were meant to both entertain and frighten and they had meaning. Within each tale was a lesson to be learned, sometimes multiple lessons. These tales rarely ended happily.

Then one fine day the oral culture was supplanted by a literary culture and many of the people were no longer farmers. This was okay because the tales continued to be told, and although the various people lived in different lands and spoke in different tongues, the tales were all very much alike in all the important points. And one by one the tales were written down by different authors and some of the authors changed the tales, or perhaps they simply heard different versions. No one can really say to this day.

One fine day a new, magical land was discovered and they called it America. And America never had an oral culture to speak of, but that was okay because people from all over Europe came to America and brought the tales with them either in memory or in print. And time passed and the green land of America blossomed until one day it was determined that the tales and their lessons were no longer proper and so the tales were changed and new versions of the tales were printed. And the children of America grew up happy in their ignorance and they too had children and their children had children. And like their fathers and mothers before them, they too thought the tales were a bit too much for the youth and decidedly unmarketable given the globalized community that the green land had become, and so the tales were changed again. And eventually the children grew up and never knew that their tales had been changed to make them safer for developing minds and more marketable for media conglomerates run by anthropomorphic rodents in short pants. And first Le Petit Chaperon Rouge and then Rotkappchen disappeared until all the children had left was a syrupy happy ending. And thus did childhood extend ever until death and adulthood was hidden away for ever. And they all found out one day that there was no happily ever after. Too bad they weren’t prepared for it.

WORLD'S FINEST part II

We’re all friends here but in order to have a meeting of the minds sometimes things have to be said that offend others. I don’t mean any disrespect to Jinrikisha, as I know he is quite the fan of Superman, but just the other day I had a go at Batman and now I feel it is only fair to give Superman his due.

Let me establish a few things first. When I lambasted Batman that was unexpected; I’ve never had a thing against Batman before. Superman, on the other hand, I’ve despised for most of my life. I just don’t like the character. I don’t like his concept, I don’t like his execution, and I don’t understand the mentality that makes a person a Superman fan. Yet there are plenty of fans out there, so if someone can explain it to me, please do.

From a psychological perspective, our heroes are either reflections of who we wish we were or who we believe we are. In order to have a hero it must represent something to you or about you. I find that different heroes represent different archetypes and thus do their fans adhere to them for differing reasons. Superman is functionally omnipotent. Not only is he invulnerable, super strong and can fly, but he also seems to have a slew of powers and abilities that are not purely physical. A character like the Hulk is defined by his super strength. Hulk is all about strength and yet he is weaker than Superman. On his worst day, Superman can pick up an aircraft carrier and on his best day he can apparently turn a black hole into a square or some shite. He has no discernable weaknesses aside from kryptonite and magic. Thus, I put it to you that the ability to derive enjoyment from reading the adventures of such a hero, who simply cannot be challenged, is the worst type of mental masturbation/wish fulfillment fantasy.

Anything I write runs the risk of seeming as though I cribbed someone’s act, and I don’t want that, so understand that this is coming from the heart. I don’t understand the DC universe’s concept of superheroes and power levels. There are only two types: Supermen and Batmen. You are either all powerful (like Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman) or you have no powers to speak of by comparison. Thus why does any superhero team need a Batman, a Flash, an Aquaman or any other second stringers like Green Arrow when they allow Superman on the roster? Is it in case a wizard made out of kryptonite shows up and starts kicking arse?

If Batman wears a Swiss Army Belt full of gadgets for every occasion, then Superman is the Swiss Army Man of Steel. He has a power for everything; full spectrum analysis vision, super photographic memory, super computer fast reasoning skills, and the strength to impose his will upon the world. Where is the drama? Where is the challenge? Where is the compelling storytelling?

DC finally went too far when they killed him. They created a superbeing specifically to kill Superman and then had the Man of Steel sacrifice his own life to save us. Then we were treated to all the soppy “World Without a Superman” baloney and the four different Supermen. Blah, Blah. We did fine before he came to this planet, we could do fine without him. I think the guy with the magic power ring that does anything except effect the colour yellow can cover for Superman. And for those yellow emergencies we have Martian Manhunter. Then they brought him back. How touching. How crap. It ruined the heroic nature of his sacrifice.

Finally, this whole Superman, flag waving, All American Boy bullshite is unfounded. This is supposed to be the land of the free; the land where every man can become more than his birth would dictate through perseverance, hard work and connections. But what message is Superman sending? He is better than us because he was BORN better. He is an alien, and perhaps there is a message there, sure, but the fact is his powers have more in common with the old European notion of noble blood and divine right of kings than they do with America. Superman is the Ubermensch, better by breeding, better by DNA, better by everything. He has no flaws that we as humans do not also have. We can’t just grab a chunk of kryptonite either; it is highly radioactive and causes cancer. We can’t cast magic spells willy nilly, and if we could we would be superheroes and thus measured on a different scale. Thus his flaws are not so dramatic after all. A simple Achilles Heel. Funny thing about Achilles, his one weakness was no weaker than the next Greek’s heel. So I cannot abide Superman. I cannot abide the message he puts forth. I cannot understand the mentality that enjoys the exploits of Can’t Fail At Anything Man. But I’m willing to listen because I want to know.

WHY HOLLYWOOD CANNOT MAKE A DECENT BATMAN FILM:

Crap source material. Plain and simple. The source material is not that good. To make matters worse, Hollywood, the home of left wing liberal communist thought, seems to have no grasp on the character to begin with. How can they be expected to make a decent film when they don't understand the nature of the Dark Knight Detective?
Since Tim Burton's little opus the Hollywood movie machine has tried to work the dual identity theme, the humour theme, and the "all my villians are psychos" theme and failed at every turn. Why is this, you ask. Because this is not the essence of WHO Batman is. Nay, WHAT Batman is. Batman is, to put it frankly, a Co-Dependent Faggot.
The proof: Batman could prevent future crime by putting his enemies in a facility with a proven track record for keeping them locked up. Like OZ. Rather, he makes sure they go to Arkham Asylum. If they weren't crazy before their incarceration, they certainly will be afterwards. I imagine that a typical hearing in a Gotham court of law goes something like this:
Judge: Counselor, the defendant seems rational, reasonable, and to have a full grasp of right and wrong. Prosecution has demonstrated that the defendant was motivated by greed and a callous disregard for the sanctity of the law. While this behaviour is reprehensible, it hardly qualifies as insane.
Counselor for the Defense: Ahh, your honour, you see my client was apprehended by The Batman!
Judge: I see. I rule criminal insanity. I see no other alternative but a lengthy stay at Club Arkham.
Thus Batman creates a subculture of villians that define their existence around him. They seek revenge against Batman. They blame Batman for their failures. They attempt escape in order to commit crimes, not for gain but soley to thwart (and thereby draw the attention of) Batman. To the average Gothamite there are far more important day to day issues than the Joker, the Riddler and whether or not some homo running around in tights and a swiss army belt exists. They have bills to pay. By making himself a thing of the night and the shadows, Batman needs something to justify his existence. That thing is a set of "villians" that are utterly devoted to his existence, or the ending of it, as the case may be. Thus Batman is co-dependent. QED.

He is also a fag. Batman avoids relationships with women. So does James Bond, but at least Bond exercises his misogyny by dominating the women he meets. Bond is not a homosexual. Batman avoids sexual tension like the plague. Like most self-respecting homosexuals, he will not have sex with women, and thus knows that his line ends with his death. How to avoid this problem? Like all biological organisms he seeks immortality through replication, but since he cannot, or rather will not, have sex with a woman, how does he achieve immortality of his genetic code? The answer is simple: Robins.
Batman seeks out youths that have had a tragic life of some kind, all the better when they have lost their parents as he lost his own. But rather than rehabilitate the young men and help them cope, becoming useful members of society, he fuels their childish desires for revenge and fantasy by training them, equipping them, and giving them skin-tight gay bondage fetish gear. The young men remain with him until they either grow up and realize how creepy the old queen really is, or die. Batman sets up a sick incestous father/lover figure relationship with his young wards. One can only assume that Bruce Wayne was educated classically, if you get my meaning and I think you do.

Batman's homosexual repression does not extend only to Robin. Batman wants only men around him. Commissioner Gordon and Alfred being his two closest companions. He is obviously in a number of repressed homosexual relationships with some of his oldest and most implacable foes. Reading the dialogue exchange between Batman and the Joker whenever Joker escapes from Arkham (yet again) is like seeing two old lovers who've long since stopped being intimate but still smolder with their old passions and are forced to run into one another in awkward social situations. The old queens are catty, petty, insulting, but it is obvious that their verbal and mental games are reminiscent of the passion they once shared when their love was new and full of promise. There is less of the nature of antagonism to their banter and more of the nature of foreplay. As though Batman is saying to the Clown Princess of Crime, "We've been through it all before, ducky, you know how it must end. Ah, our time together is always so brief."
Sure, on the surface Batman is saying, "Once and for all Joker, this has to stop. I will put you away again. And don't think for a minute that if you escape I won't be there to put you back."
But his subtext is saying, "I've never forgiven you. You know that. I'll never forgive you for making me love you so."
It's obvious that the Joker could kill Batman easily, but he doesn't because he only wants Batman to know that in his way, despite all they've been through, he still cares deeply and truly.

And that is why Hollywood cannot make a decent Batman picture. They have it all wrong. The Dark Knight, his boy wonder, the crazy villains; it is all just a big faggot opera about men in spandex with their packages crammed into tight fitting rubber underpants.
Next Time: Superman-What sort of crazy Nazi wet dream is he?

Mark your calendar:

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Death of a Hero
Monday morning I learned that one of my personal heroes had passed away in a freak accident. Steve Irwin, better known as the crocodile Hunter, was killed in a pedestrian dive off the Queensland coast by a small ray that unexpectedly struck him directly in the heart. I've only heard rumors, as I don't wish to watch the video footage of his death, that he was pulling the barb from his chest when he lost consciousness and slipped into cardiac arrest. If this is true, it only heightens the awe I have of this courageous individual.

But Steve Irwin, for me, exceeded his bravado with his compassion, intelligence, and his unique attunement with nature. He risked life and limb to bring the viewer into nature, rather than preach at you from a comfortable pulpit like his detractors, and you know who you are. Steve Irwin was a champion of animal husbandry. While his body was covered with the scars of encounters gone wrong, one only needed to see this six foot powerhouse of endurance fall to one knee and weep like a child at the death of one his crocs to understand what these animals meant to him. He pioneered the most humane ways to trap animals so they could be returned to the wild having suffered the least amount of anguish possible. Even when bitten, or scratched, or poisoned he never expressed one ounce of ill will toward the animal, always jokingly chastising it as bad girl or boy. Most of us curse volumes if we are stung by a bee.

Steve Irwin not only put his body on the line, but put his money were his mouth was also. Steve purchased large tracks of land in Australia, Fiji, and the United States to use as wildlife preserves. He epitomized what it means to practice what you preach, and he reached millions with his very resonating message of wildlife conservation. In short, Steve Irwin did more in his thirty minute show than all the naked, paint lobbing, Peta bimbos have ever done to change public opinion, and that’s why they hated him. As much as I would like to express my disdain for some of the worthless organizations who impugned Steve’s work because he didn’t properly kiss their oh so sophisticated feet, I will refrain, because this post is for me to eulogize his passing. For as much as I was entertained by Steve Irwin, I was also educated by him, and for that I am grateful. I was also insanely jealous of the opportunities he had to be so close to these creatures, though for him it was the richly deserved reward of a life of hard work, dedication, and service to them. I hope when all this passes, and the world is made new again, I can enjoy a taste of what Steve Irwin enjoyed. That would be heaven. My thoughts and prayers go out to Steve’s lovely wife Terri, and their two beautiful children. We’ll all miss him greatly.