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All these questions and more may or may not be indirectly discussed in the newest installment of the internet's longest-running Chad and Tim discussion column: The Splash Page.
So go forth. Read our commentary. Click here.
WARREN ELLIS: I've been given to understand that when you and Morrison were turned down in your bid to take over SUPERMAN, you were informed that, in fact, you would NEVER be allowed to write the Superman books. What did that mean to you personally? What is the condition of your relationship with DC and Paul Levitz following it?MARK WAID: What did that mean to me personally? You cannot IMAGINE the frustration. No, I mean it. You think you can, but you can't. The one job I'd been working towards my entire life--and I'd just been told point-blank that not only could I never have it, but I couldn't have it for any reasons that were just or made any logical sense--at least in part because someone at DC had point-blank asked me for a proposal and then failed to speak up when another someone decided I was simply crusading for a job that wasn't available, violating the freelance code, and acting in bad (and punishable) faith. Doesn't matter that that wasn't true; since when do truth and politics go hand in hand? Welcome to the real world.
The key to the initial concept lies in a radical but organic reversal of the currently accepted logic of the Superman/Clark dynamic.
In our interpretation, Clark Kent isn’t what Superman really IS, Clark is what Superman WAS--until he reached his teenage years and began to realize what all those years of soaking up the Kansas sun had done to his alien cells. Superman’s story here is seen as the tale of a Midwest farmer’s son who BECAME AN ALIEN shortly after puberty. Suddenly young Clark doesn’t just know his Ma and Pa through sight, touch, sound--he knows the exact timbre of their pulse rates, he can look at their DNA and recognize their distinctive electrical fields and hear the neural crackle and release of chemicals which tell him they’ve changed their minds about something.
And he can do all this, he can scan the entire environment in an INSTANT, with levels of perception we can only imagine.
That’s gonna turn anyone’s head around a little.
This is someone who by any stretch of the imagination is no longer just human--except for the part of him, the ethical, humanitarian base nurtured by the Kents, which forms the unshakable foundation for everything Superman is BUT WHO IS WHAT SUPERMAN CAN NO LONGER BE. Or, in other words not our own, "...who, DISGUISED as Clark Kent, fights a never-ending battle..."
As originally conceived by Siegel and Shuster, Clark becomes a cherished, poignant masquerade: mild-mannered, thoughtful, humane Clark. When Superman is being human, Clark is his template but this is a being no longer confined by gravity or pain or mortality and his experiences as Superman are experiences on a level of existence we can only hope to imagine.
So, in order to accomplish the transition to this new take on Superman more easily, our rationale is this: it’s been established that Superman’s powers are a result of solar energy saturating his cellular batteries. It’s even been suggested that his powers will increase through time as he absorbs more of our sun’s radiation.
And that’s just what happens.
As part of his alien maturation process, Superman crosses a second, critical threshold of solar radiation absorption and suddenly wakes up three times more powerful and three times smarter.
This changes everything.
Morrison: The scripts are very detailed, as are the descriptions. But things go wrong. Like in the first issue of Batman RIP, the Joker wasn't supposed to have any blood on him at the end, because he's in an asylum cell having just had a fantasy that he projected on a Rorschach blot card. And the colorist didn't quite get it, so there's blood all over the place, [laughs] and a lot of people didn't understand that scene. Which is quite a simple scene, but a scene that people went online trying to explain in some of the most outlandish ways. But it was a coloring error. There shouldn't have been blood. It should have just been the Joker having a fantasy. The doctor shows the card to Joker, the Joker's sitting in his cell and he suddenly realizes that something interesting is up.That coloring error completely changes the meaning of the scene, obviously. I interpreted it to mean that Joker killed the doctor (because what else could have possibly caused the blood), but apparently not. This color mistake points out the problems with authorial intent. When the writer is not the artist, the meaning of a work changes, and which is the "correct" meaning: the intended one never printed or the interpretation of the printed story?
There's a kind of pyramid of influence. At the bottom you have the Club of Villains who are working with the Black Glove. Then you have the Black Glove organization, which is a group of very wealthy people who we meet in the upcoming issue. And then above that you have the identity of the Black Glove, who is a person.That explains the confusion about whether or not the Black Glove is an organization. Pretty much matches what I suspected.
Oh God – you've got to look at a few of them. I think you should definitely look at the three-parter where Batman is in the chamber, the torture story. That one's got some major stuff in it. The Club of Heroes has a lot of stuff in it. Pretty much everything. [laughs] I want everyone to go back and buy all of them. It all ties in. The difficult thing has been to try and lay red herrings, because to me the answer is so obvious that hiding it has been the real challenge.If the answer--and by answer, I assume he means the identity of the Black Glove--is obvious, maybe it is Alfred or Bruce Wayne himself. Or maybe not.
Why did Grant Morrison's Animal Man get the #1 spot on my top runs list?
As a teenager, I enjoyed the off-beat (if Alan Moore-derived) first issue of Morrison's Animal Man so much that I wrote a fan letter to the editor. That letter, published in the magnificent "Coyote Gospel" issue, remains one of my more embarrassing moments in print (though not my last), and it will always have a place in my heart next to other awkward teenage decisions like "stone-washed jeans" and "pastel shirts."
But in Animal Man, Grant Morrison introduced me to a new way of telling comic book stories, and I can't distinguish between my love for metafictional playfulness and my appreciation for Morrison's attempt to bring it to mainstream comics. Was I predisposed to enjoy such narrative conceits, or did Animal Man teach me to enjoy them? I read the series at such a formative age, I'll never know the answer to that question.
Ultimately, Morrison's Animal Man remains my favorite run because it still resonates when I read it today. Buddy Baker's family is one of the most clearly-defined supporting casts in contemporary comics, and when they die, I feel a sense of loss, even though I know they will be magically restored at the whim of the creator. And when the Psycho-Pirate laments the loss of Silver Age wonder, I feel that too, even though I wasn't old enough to appreciate the Silver Age when it was alive.
I think it's Morrison's most perfect combination of heart and mind, and nothing has bumped it from the top spot in all the years since the final issue hit the stands.