Who Is The Master Who Makes The Flash Run?

“They say I'm The Flash! If it only were true I could help them! Please make it come true God!”

I've decided to give this blog a bit of a refocus. There's a billion comic book blogs out there, and I feel if I can't contribute some original thoughts beyond "I like this, I hate that; look at some coming attractions," this is a complete waste of my and your time.

I am specifically interested in the way comic books reflect -- and sometimes shape -- culture and politics. I can take an esoteric step beyond that and say that I'm very interested in the way comics reflect, shape, and even seemingly "predict" the elements of our very reality.

I think that last sentence really is the litmus test as to whether you want to keep reading this site.

Obligatory image at this point:

Sometime around the start of the 1990s, comics became Self Aware, due in large part to Grant Morrison's run on "Animal Man." Such a "meta" approach had been teased for many decades -- often though we already had those cute "the creators meet their creations" storylines such as "The Day I Saved The Life Of The Flash" in 1974, where writer Cary Bates appeared as himself to help the Scarlet Speedster out:

"Who is the mystery man that controls every move of the Flash's life?"

That caption makes me think of when Robert Anton Wilson discusses this Buddhist question:

"Who is the master who makes the grass green?"

In both cases, that Master is ourselves (or, in the case of Cary Bates, the person who wrote the cover copy). These stories and heroes are not created, maintained, and presented in a vacuum; we -- and our world -- are always a part of it. And the color of grass is dependent on how our senses and brain interpret it. Everything is dependent on our perception. 

This is why I think some fans get really psychotic over changes to, or "wrong interpretations" of, their beloved characters; because in their perception, Batman or Spider-Man or whomever really is -- in some timeless, objective way -- the way they perceive it to be. And a challenge to their personal experience of this character -- a challenge to their personal reality, which they see as an objective reality -- is taken as an act of "blasphemy" or even war.

One of my theories is that comics=religion to some people, even to those -- and sometimes especially to those -- who consider themselves "free" from religious belief. That's grist for what will do doubt be a lively future post.

Bates really got the ball rolling on the whole "metafiction" idea in comics, but Morrison wove it into the very heart and soul of "Animal Man" -- and, by implication, into the entire DC Comics universe as well, leading to such myriad self-referential elements in their comics such as the DC memorabilia-themed diner in Kingdom Come, the Bat-Mite/Mxyzptlk one-shot "World's Funnest," and a large portion of the animated series "Batman: The Brave and the Bold." 

Welcome to the Cafe Nostalgia; you can check in any time you like, but you can never leave

But whereas Morrison was getting at larger questions regarding the nature of reality and the totemistic qualities of these very familiar heroes, the "meta fad" in comics which started in the late 1990s and sort of slouched through almost every aspect of The Aughts, was obsessed and entranced with Nostalgia. In fact, "ultimate fanboy" Bat-Mite -- whose two appearances on the "Brave and Bold" cartoon pushed the "meta" button almost to unwatchable lengths -- became sort of the patron saint not only of transgressing the Fourth Wall, but of this whole period in comic book history.

Bat-Mite's meta-fart

Constantly fixating on and rehashing your Sacred Cows and favorite "gods" can be quite decadent -- and I see the last decade or so's obsession with nostalgia in both the comics industry and comics fandom as being the direct result of the anticipation of massive change on the horizon. There was a sense like every aspect of the Beloved -- heroes, retro-cool, key scenes, landmark issues, primal moments of adolescent pleasure -- needed to be honored and embalmed in the most elaborate and exclusive of collector's sets of all time. You know, before the impeding cataclysm (bad economy, corporatization, the death-knell of the paper format, steadily dwindling audience as the result of insular marketing strategies) wiped them away from the active stage.

And whereas these meta stories by Bates and Morrison posited the comics creator as the master who made the grass green and The Flash red -- increasingly the Artist's sovereignty was getting pushed to the side, as the Ultra Fanboy (as personified with our dimension-hopping Bat-Mite) duked it out with  what was revealed to be the true Creator (in the Old Testament sense of the word): the Company.

From the ultra-meta "Action Comics" #9 (analysis of the issue here)

In the war between Fan and Company, what is the role of the Artist?

And further: in such an environment, what becomes of the comic book hero itself -- his or her soul, the essence of the character? (It is my belief that they, too, have lives and existences of their own)

These questions -- and their answers -- are key to Understanding Comics in the present period. 

Morrison: "It's only a comic."

Animal Man: "It's not! IT'S NOT ONLY A COMIC! IT'S MY LIFE!"

And as we understand the comics, we can expand our vision and see what it says about our culture, our  reality, and our future.

I expect that only a relative few will take this blog journey with me; but if you do, I assure you it will be worth your while. Or at least give you a few blips until the next series of blips.