A Semi-Rant About the Secret Identity

I've been thinking a lot about secret identities lately for some reason. I know I'm not the only one, because double lives have been the subject of a lot of thought-provoking works of fiction, both in and out of comics (but mostly in).

During the Golden Age and particularly in the Silver Age, the secret identity was more of a gimmick or storytelling tool than something that drove real drama. It was a way to keep the heroes out of (presumably) dull committed relationships (the classic Superman-Lois Lane-Clark Kent love triangle model) and also provide goofy gags as mysterious absences needed to be explained in "hilarious" fashion. Rather than facilitate any interesting conflict, it seems like the early secret identities sidestepped that as heroes never needed to face the consequences of their actions.

This all changed with the advent of the Fantastic Four and then Spider-Man. With the FF, you had to the best of my knowledge the first high profile super heroes whose identities were public (and please correct me in the comments if I'm wrong on that score). Spider-Man took the Clark Kent idea to the next level with Peter Parker, who was every bit the wallflower, and a guy the average comic reader was supposed to be able to relate to better than a larger-than-life dude in tights. Clark Kent was mild-mannered and all, so he was relatable to a degree, but he was also an alien and a grown man; Peter Parker was close to the median age of readers and, spider powers aside, a normal dude.

I wasn't exactly raised on Spider-Man comics, but I've always recognized the historical significane of the character as far as being a trendsetter, and his secret identity was no exception there. Peter Parker didn't smile and wink at the end of a story because he had fooled Betty Brant into thinking he wasn't Spider-Man, he agonized because he had an alter ego where he was powerful, bold and charismatic--and he couldn't tell anybody about it. He had to pretend to keep being a dweeb when he knew there was a special person inside.

That's why secret identities are so powerful in comics (and elsewhere): We've all got something inside us we want the world to know about, but for whatever reason, we don't get to share it. I think in a most cases people imagine themselves as somebody else, be it somebody more famous, stronger, smarter, or whatever; in our dreams, these are the secret identities we can't reveal to the world. Folks who like to escape in the world of fiction are especially indicative of these feelings, so it's no wonder these double lives so fascinate and captivate us.

Like I said, I didn't read much Spider-Man as a kid, and by the time I did, Peter Parker was married with a wife with whom he could confide how special he really was. Infact, in a lot of the comics I grew up reading, the secret identity was de-emphasized to a large degree because a lot of the characters who traditionally kept secret lives had married or at least were in committed relationships where their significant others knew what they did (Superman had married Lois Lane, after all). A lot of other characters like Wally West had gone the public identity route. And then there were the X-Men who never really seemed to need secret IDs.

It was actually the third Robin, Tim Drake, who I read the best secret identity stories about. Chuck Dixon did some really interesting stuff with Tim being unable to have a healthy relationship with either his girlfriend or his father because of the secrets he was keeping. It created great drama that was only enhanced by the fact that Batman just didn't seem to get it. It's often said with Batman that he is the true identity and Bruce Wayne is the mask, so it was (and still is) interesting to see the smartest guy in the DC Universe unable to puzzle out something like why a teenage kid would want to tell the hot chick he's dating that he doesn't get all those black eyes from getting his ass kicked, he's actually out fighting crime every night.

I guess I've always found the secret identities that suck to be more interesting than the ones that are actually pretty sweet (not to keep harping on poor Superman, but outside of the brilliant movies by Richard Donner, I never bought that Clark Kent's schlubby existence was that bad). I'm not saying I've had a terrible life by any means, but I could certainly relate to wanting girls to know how secretly cool I was and feeling sometimes like I was trapped by an insecurity I knew I could release if only I had a snug pair of red and green tights.

Uh, belay that last part.

It also made the super heroes who were able to share their identities with other seem that much cooler. Superboy got to be Superboy 24/7 and his life rocked. Nova had to keep his secret from the general public, but his family knew, he had rad friends with similar issues in the New Warriors, and he had a hot super hero girlfriend in Namorita. Years later when Geoff Johns puts the genie of Wally West's life as the Flash back in the bottle, his connection to Linda only seemed that much more impressive because she shared his burden.

Given that those were the characters I really dug growing up, I never really took much stock in the secret identity. I didn't think it was a big deal. Sure there were those great Robin stories that I mentioned, but in the 90's they were more th exception than the rule.

Ironically enough, it was the Spider-Man movies that taught me the value of the secret identity in dramatic storytelling. I got to see in digestible two-hour drops all those classic, tragic Spidey stories where he went through so much agony by shouldering the pain of his struggles alone. When he told Mary Jane the truth at the end of the second flick, I got it. All the crap he went through sweetened the payoff. Of course it also eliminated all that great tension, but you always have to find that next story...

Ultimately, I think there's room for characters with secret identities, with public identities, with identities only their loved ones know, and for the X-Men too. It's all part of that beautiful tapestry that is comics. On some level, I like being able to relate to the struggles of Spider-Man and Robin as they have to let romance fall by the wayside to do their duty. I also want to escape with Superboy and Nova into a world where being rad is a way of life and all your friends come along for the ride. It's all good.

I'm not sure how much I really said in the course of writing a lot, but like I said, I've been thinking a lot about secret identities lately for some reason, so there you go.

A Semi-Rant About Getting Older as Society Gets Younger

I know we usually don't get too introspective here at the CKT, but indulge me if you will, because I'm curious to hear what other people think on this.

A few days ago, I did my standard Paragraph Movie Review for the movie Adventureland and it ended up getting more personal than those usually get for me. What hit me was how much the character of James Brennan, played by Jesse Eisenberg, reminded me of elements of myself in my younger years, and also how much the character of Em Lewin, played by Kristen Stewart, reminded me of an amalgam of girls I knew and had feelings for during that period. The movie made me very nostalgic, which at first added to my enjoyment of it (as I mentioned in that initial post), but in the subsequent days has led to a surprising amount of self-examination, most of it interesting, but some of it downright stressful.

First off, I can't deny the elephant in the room that is my brain: this movie made me feel kinda old. I'm only 27, but these characters reminded me of a time when I was about 10 years younger, and that's an odd and kinda uncomfortable situation. The thing I observed was how nostalgic I found myself for a period in my life that, to be honest, isn't generally one I look back fondly on. Today I've got a job I find great enjoyment in and a girl who I love more than anything--and we're getting married! So why would I be nostalgic for the days when I had no idea what I was going to do with my life and girls were a major source of anguish for me? It's a strange sensation, but polling my friends the last couple days, apparentl I'm not the only one who has gone through it.

The other big thing I took away from Adventureland was that it's weird to realize you've reached the point in your life where the actors in a coming of age movie are no longer older than you or even the same age, they're far younger. I remember being in high school, seeing movies like Dazed and Confused of Varsity Blues and even though ostensibly the characters were supposed to be the same age as my friends and I, they were clearly played by actors who were a few years older; there's a strange sort of comfort in that, in thinking "I will grow up to be that cool." On the flip side, the characters in Adventureland were only supposed to be five years younger than me, and in some cases, so were the actors, but in others (particularly in the case of Stewart), they were far younger. Not only does that have the danger of leaving you with the very different thought of, "Well, I guess I used to be that cool," but it also brings me to my next point...

As I mentioned, the character of Em reminds me of several girls who I felt strongly about at one time or another. Also worth noting: more than one person has pointed out that Kristen Stewart and my fiancee are not twins or anything, but they do share some resemblance. So I guess it's only natural that I'd be attracted to/fascinated by the character of Em...and that kinda creeps me out. Why? Because the character was supposed to be 22 and further because Kristen Stewart is only 19 years old.

Obviously it's not uncommon when you're watching a movie to develop a bit of a crush on a character featured therein even when you don't feel a particular personal connecttion to the story being told. My big example has always been that when I saw Almost Famous back in 2000, I was totally captivated by Penny Lane, played by Kate Hudson. I had a huge, embarassing crush on her (and on a related note was devastated when she didn't win the Oscar).

Now it has always weirded me out to be attracted in any way to a character in a movie or TV show or whatever, because I picture how the actress (or actor) in question probably would feel about it and imagine either bemusement or discomfort on their part. Yes, I overthink things sometimes. But with the Penny Lane thing (and most subsequent similar circumstances), I didn't feel that uncomfortable, because she was 20, only two years older than me, and also seemed much older. That seemed normal enough.

But crushing on a girl eight years younger than you? I'm not condemning it, but it feels weird to me, and it definitely makes me feel like I've passed some sort of weird landmark on my life's road I wasn't aware of. It maybe wouldn't bug me as much if even the character were a bit older (because again, it's the characters, not the actress), but I've got at least five years on Em too.

This got me thinking about the larger issue of how society in general today is different in regards to how quick people, and in particular, celebrities grow up. I'm not going to preach, because honestly I'm not so much disturbed by this development as I am fascinated. But it was interesting to talk to my old man and note that as he was approaching his late 20's, he wasn't bombarded by a society in which teenage celebrities (guys and girls alike) are promoted as sex symbols. It's an interesting generational thing. Certainly Shirley Temple (bad example because my dad isn't that old, but let's roll with it) never wore outfits like Miley Cyrus does. And hey, I'll go ahead and say it: Miley Cyrus is pretty hot, dude! And she is 16! And just to show I'm being equally opportunistic here, I'm sure there are plenty of chicks my age who think 21-year old Zac Efron is a piece of ass--and in my hetero opinion, they ain't wrong!

Anyways, it's undeniable that celebrities are being sexed up at a far younger age, and that makes it a strange time to be in your mid-to-late 20's, because we're a big chunk of the target demographic for movies like Superbad or TV shows like Gossip Girl and part of that means we're being asked to accept that kids a decade younger than us are sexually desirable. It's a weird place to be.

In the end, I still think Adventureland was a rad movie, but I'm honestly not sure I could see it again in the near future. The amount of soul-searching it has led me to do in regards to my feelings on both society and my place in it has been both exhausting and at times a bit depressing. I'm not gonna lie: the next time I'm flipping through Entertainment Weekly and see a picture of Kristen Stewart, I'm probably gonn feel a weird sort of shame-type deal, and it sucks that a work of fiction should have that sort of power over you. It speaks to the quality of said work, but it still kinda sucks. I'll also feel a bit dumb when I see an interview with her and remember she's still a kid.

The solace I have found is that many folks feel the same way I do. Oh, that and the fact that once I stop being retarded and pining for the days when I was getting drunk in my friends' backyard and awkwardly hoping a certain girl would notice me and instead remember that my life fucking rocks now, I feel a whole lot better.

And besides, the best-looking person male or female in Adventureland was still Ryan Reynolds, and m'man's 32.

Kidding aside though, writing this all out was actually pretty decent therapy. And I'm genuinely curious to hear what the rest of you think.

Back to talking comics after this, promise.

A Semi-Rant About "Good" Comics & Aristotle

There is the school of thought that says "If you make a good comic, it will be successful." But what is "good" in this case? I've found, more often than not, "good" is just what the person who makes that statement happens to like.

The subjective nature of quality makes me fidgety. I've stated pretty strongly on this blog before that I don't feel comfortable telling people what they should and shouldn't like. I have no problem telling you what I like, which is why I do Five Comics Worth Reading, but whether or not you choose to agree with me is your call. I've had too many people outright or indirectly tell me what I like is not "good." That's obviously a load of crap. Your "good" is different than my "good" is different than that guy's "good." It's all completely arbitrary based on who is judging. I respect people who can write critiques and reviews I find myself wanting to read (I try, but I'm not very good at it), but at the end of the day, I read those because I enjoy them, not because I'm looking to be handed an opinion.

So getting back to the "If you make a good comic, it will be successful" statement, how can you know what is a "good" comic? The only thing you can know is what you like and what is "good" to you. It's a pet peeve of mine when writers and editors put out what they want to see with no consideration of the audience simply because they can. I feel that the above statement more often than not justifies this behavior. If we have an industry of people working in a vacuum where they produce what they think are "good" comics based on their own tastes as opposed to what people want to read, we're going nowhere fast.

However, on the flipside, ignoring your own feelings and simply giving people what they've traditionally showed they will buy may be a safe proposition, but as a buddy of mine today persuasively demonstrated to me, this is also a road to a place I don't particularly want to be. This path is creatively stifling and ultimately leads to a lack of new and exciting directions for comics to go in. If you don't take chances and give people something new even if there's a chance they may reject it, in the end you'll lose them anyways.

So it seems like you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. If you write to please only yourself, you're not only creating a product only a limited audience will enjoy, you'll also probably fail commercially. But if you write to please only your audience, your product will stagnate and ultimately die.

As always, the solution lies with Aristotle.

Aristotle's most famous teachings revolved around finding the mean, that perfect balance between excess and deficiency. This philosophy is one I've often embraced in life and find applies just as well to comics as anything else.

My model of success: You have to create a product that personally excites and interests you, but you also have to be willing to shape your creative vision to make it accesible to others.

An example I could use here would be my favorite comic from when I was a kid, Fabian Nicieza's New Warriors. Obviously I'd love to become the editor or writer of a new volume of New Warriors that featured characters and themes from that original volume. However, since I found those original comics to be "good," if I were following the model of simply writing for myself, I'd likely just replicate them in an attempt to entertain myself.

Conversely, if I were writing just for the perceived audience, I likely wouldn't resurrect that series at all because there is real clamoring for it beyond me and the other dudes I know who liked New Warriors.

In my opinion, the right way to do the project would be to feature the spirit of what I liked, but make allowances for those who don't share my opinion in order to win them over. If that means only getting to use some of the original cast as opposed to all because more people are likely to read the book if I mix in some bigger name characters, so be it. By finding a way to make things the audience like work as things I want, I get the tradeoff of them checking out the stuff I thought was "good" to begin with.

Some may think this approach means I'm sacrificing the purity of creative vision for the sake of commercial success. I disagree. I don't think pragmatism is equal to selling out and I also don't think it's fair to dictate the way to make "good" comics. We all have our own approach.

As my friend today astutely pointed out, the "write just for yourself" approach is one that's easier to make work at smaller companies or in self-publishing, because your goals are different. Your whole mission statement is to showcase your own vision, your own work. This is admirable. I say more power to indy and underground creators who create for themselves and fuck what other people think. They're cool in my book.

However, they don't get to tell me how to do my thing.

I truly believe that creating comics that will sell well and comics that are good don't have to be mutually exclusive. There is proof of that in our marketplace. And I am not the type who is going to be writing or editing or whatever solely for myself and my own creative fulfillment anytime soon. I like creating for an audience. I relish the challenge of figuring out what they like and then finding a way I can provide that but make it good (not "good") for them and for me.

There's nothing wrong with liking what everybody else likes. There's nothing wrong with liking something that nobody else likes. Don't let anybody else dictate to you what is "good" when you know what is good. If people tell you that you're too mainstream and that you should be exploring things you normally wouldn't try...well, you should consider it. I'm reading stuff now I would never have thought to read five years ago and it has opened up whole new worlds for me. However, remember to consider the irony of the people telling you to open those new worlds trying to close you off from the ones you already enjoy.

I don't apologize for what I like; neither should you. We all make good comics together.