I was flipping through the Iron Man: Armor WarsTPB last night at the shop, and it struck me…
1980s Tony Stark really was modeled on 1980s blue-eyed soul singer John Oates.
So close, yet so far away.
Uncanny, isn’t it?
And yes, this is a placeholder post. Chad’s OK, but he had a minor car accident yesterday and things are still getting back to normal. We did manage to get comics before consigning the Fit to the body shop, though, and we’ve got Punishermax: Butterfly, Girl Comics, Invincible Iron Man, Sweet Tooth, and a handful of others. Chad just made himself a martini and is settling in to write something now. We’ll see you tomorrow.
Since shit was getting real over in Tony Stark’s neck of the woods last post, I thought I’d put up my one consistent observation about Matt Fraction’s Invincible Iron Man run so far:
While I have often read an issue of IIM and said “Tony! You fucking son of a bitch,” I have never once read an issue of IIM and said “Fraction! You fucking son of a bitch.”
Compare and contrast: Fables, where Willingham just cold lost me the minute he went from “sure, there are parallels between the Fabletown situation and that of Jewish ghettos in World War II” to “LOL OMG THEY’RE ALL REALLY JEWS AND NEXT YEAR IN THE HOMELANDS AMIRITE.” Regardless of any personal opinions I may have about Israel one way or the other, I had a great heap of “Willingham! You’ve broken the immersion! Bad game master! Bad!”
I still haven’t managed to catch up on Fables since that issue. Something about it has been essentially soiled for me; the illusion is broken and I know the author’s lecturing me, instead of sharing a parable with me.
It should be about the characters, not about the writer, when it comes down.