Post "AvX," is Cyclops more of an Angel than ever?

For better or worse, the biggest comics event of the year was "Avengers vs. X-Men." It was, frankly, everything dedicated comic fans know they are supposed to hate and yet they buy it anyway, simply because they want to see what will happen.

The premise of "AvX" is pretty straightforward. The Phoenix Force is the "Big Bad" of the series, and it's COMING TO EARTH!!!! The Avengers, Earth's Mightiest Heroes, are panicked. They recognize the Phoenix as a potentially planet-destroying threat and are desperate to keep it away. The X-Men, on the other hand, specifically Cyclops' uber-powerful Extinction Team (the most misunderstood of the misunderstood, and also the most dangerous), see the Phoenix as a chance to reignite the mutant gene that was snuffed out by former Avenger (and Extinction Team member Magneto's daughter) the Scarlet Witch. Plus, Cyclops has it on good authority (Cable, his son from the future) that Extinction Team member Hope is destined to host the Phoenix, and Cable typically knows what he's talking about.

The problem starts when Captain America decides to consult Wolverine about how to approach the Phoenix situation. Wolverine has just recently reopened the Xavier Institute (renamed the Jean Grey Institute) after a violent disagreement with Cyclops. There is a lot of bad blood between the two, and Wolverine is all-too-eager to tell Cap how irrational and militant Cyclops is now. It makes sense for Captain America to ask Wolverine for advice, considering Wolverine is doing double-time as headmaster of the Institute and as an Avenger, but he should have known to take it with a grain of salt. Instead, he decides to storm the X-Men's island headquarters and home, Utopia, and take Hope by force. Because, y'know, all they have to do is hide Hope somewhere where an omniscient being of psychic energy can't find her . . . riiiiiiight. Cyclops tells Cap to get off his lawn and this happens:

"AND STAY OUT OF WOOLWORTH'S!"

Now, thanks to Cyke's slammin'-hot telepathic girlfriend Emma Frost, the X-Men knew going into it that Cap wasn't going to take "no" for an answer, so skipping straight to the fisticuffs actually makes sense. The Avengers, however, see the X-Men as the aggressors and begin a full-scale invasion. Meanwhile, a separate team is sent into space in an attempt to stop the Phoenix from reaching Earth in the first place. Thor even throws his hammer at the massive energy-raptor, which is pretty hilarious, actually (did he really think that was going to work?). It doesn't work, so Tony Stark, in his infinite wisdom, creates a device that will absolutely, positively destroy the Phoenix.

That doesn't work, either.

This happens:

Oops.

Yeah, great job, Tony. You and Wolverine could have just gone out drinking instead and this whole thing could have been avoided. But no. Excellent work, sir; now instead of ONE Phoenix host, who was actually meant to have it, we have five. Four of them, by the way, are dealing with some very serious personal demons that make them very bad choices to possess nigh-unlimited power. And then there's Cyclops, who actually handles it pretty well.

The Phoenix Five, as they're called, actually do great things with their power. They feed the hungry, abolish war, help the helpless, punish the guilty--all kinds of good stuff. But to the Avengers (and President Obama, oddly enough), it just doesn't seem kosher. After all, Wolverine tells them at every possible opportunity that Cyclops is a nutjob, and even though Rachel Grey did a pretty darn good job keeping the Phoenix under control, for some reason everyone assumes it's an uncontrollable force. So the Avengers keep antagonizing the Phoenix Five . . . pushing them, treating them like they're any other super-villains, and one by one, each starts to crack. Namor attacks Wakanda, causing unimaginable damage before the Avengers take him out. Colossus breaks stuff. Magik traps various Avengers in a hell dimension. Emma Frost mindwipes anybody who strikes her as particularly deserving of it. And Cyclops does nothing crazy at all, but he's still the one the Avengers (and many of Wolverine's "X-Men" at this point) see as the root of the problem. Professor Charles Xavier himself, too, is particularly disconcerted by Scott Summers' newfound power, and seems convinced that it will lead to no good. So he joins with the coalition of "X-Men" and Avengers and decides to put his former prize student down like a rabid dog.

The story culminates in the "shocking death" of Professor X at the hands of his first X-Man, Cyclops, who then turns into the Dark Phoenix and causes the excrement to hit the fan. Everybody is shocked. Cyclops is now, irrevocably, the villain fore'ermore. Take a look:

Hardcore, Cyke.

From there, Hope and the Scarlet Witch proceed to beat the Phoenix out of Scott and then declare, "No more Phoenix," dispersing the energy to restart the mutant population. So . . . yay. And yes, this is pretty much exactly what Cyclops' plan had been from the get-go, sooooo . . . instead of admitting he was right, the Avengers lock him away for his many "crimes," even fitting him with a ruby-quartz shock-helmet so he can't use his powers. And he deserves it for killing a defenseless Xavier--after all, it's not like Xavier stood any chance against the Phoenix . . . it was like shooting an unarmed man!

But wait . . . wasn't Xavier trying to completely mindwipe Scott? Hadn't he been goading him, prodding him, deriding him up to that point? He even snarls, "Down, boy!" at one point. Plus, Cyclops is under the corrupting influence of a cosmic entity. How is he entirely responsible for his actions? That "Get Out of Jail Free" card worked like a charm for Hal Jordan, so why shouldn't Scott Summers be similarly absolved? Wolverine has killed and killed again with no remorse whatsoever, and yet he's a staple of just about every team in the Marvel universe (if he joins the Fantastic Four, I'm giving up comics . . . but not really). Wanda Maximoff (the Scarlet Witch) nearly rendered mutants extinct, and killed countless mutants whose lives depended on their powers working (mutants who could fly, mutants who could breathe underwater, etc.). And yet she's a starring member of the new Uncanny Avengers series, which merges the Avengers with Wolverine's team of merry mutants.

The sheer commercialism of this comic would make Linus himself kick a beagle. 

The difference between Cyclops and every other character who has ever been put in such a position is that nobody likes Cyclops. Seriously. Many fans don't like him at all due to his straight-laced, conservative, by-the-books persona and even his fellow comic book characters think he's kind of a dick. Adding to the problem is the fact that Cyclops admitted multiple times that although he regrets killing Xavier, he doesn't regret his actions with the Extinction Team or the Phoenix Five because ultimately, his goal was met: more mutants.

The kicker is that even though Cyclops has been vilified (at least for now), even non-Cyclops fans feel that he was in the right throughout "AvX." He was the only member of the Phoenix Five who never flipped his sh!t, and he retained his humanity even to the point of removing Emma Frost's Phoenix powers when she threatened to destroy the earth on a whim (thank you, Kieron Gillen, for writing that excellent issue of Uncanny X-Men). Plus, his reaction when Beast tells him there are indeed new mutants is priceless.

"Get your filthy paws off me, you darn, dirty Beast!"

This whole "estranged son killing his father" motif seems awfully familiar, though. Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8 ended on pretty much the same note when a possessed Angel (calling himself "Twilight" because . . . ehhhh, why bother) broke Rupert Giles' neck. Does this look familiar?

Actually, Angel's had daddy issues since the 1700s.

This really unnecessary death did have the fortunate side effect of leading to Angel and Faith, which is one of the most enjoyable comics I've read in a while, and certainly the best comic in the Buffy-verse right now.

Angel is almost always penitent about something. He's a character driven by guilt and the hope of redemption. He had issues with his own father and he had issues with Giles (the whole "taking Buffy's virginity, turning evil and killing Giles' girlfriend" thing really lost him some brownie points), but he took that guilt upon his shoulders and he carried it, when he could easily have blamed it all on the demon inside him. And Angel and Faith is all about him redeeming himself in the only way he knows how: trying to resurrect Giles by any means necessary. It's a fool's quest, but Angel's a passionate fool, and passion has a way of making things work.

Passion is also why Angel is in this situation in the first place. Like Cyclops, he embraced the opportunity to take on incredible power in an attempt to make the world a better place, knowing from the start he'd have to make some serious choices and do some questionable things. The power he possessed had to be sacrificed by Buffy just as Hope and the Scarlet Witch sacrificed the Phoenix Force, for better or worse. And while under the influence of that power, he killed a man who was very much a father to him.  

Again, Angel, unlike Cyclops, is a character beloved by most Whedonites and the characters in his universe. This cuts him more slack with fans, but it doesn't make what he did to Giles any less horrifying. In fact, it's worse than what Cyclops did because Giles was not a threat to him. Cyclops acted in self-defense--he overacted, certainly, but his mind was at stake. Nevertheless, although he's playing it cool in his prison setting for the time being, Cyclops is definitely going to take his actions to heart. It's unlikely that he'll be trying to resurrect Xavier anytime soon (the Red Skull having Xavier's brain might be a problem anyway), but Xavier's death will definitely weigh heavily in his mind. And, frankly, it will make him even more fascinating as a hero, just as Giles' death has pushed Angel to new heights and lows alike. Being Cyclops, his outward attitude will likely be, "I don't give a fig--I was right and it all worked out," but that's because he's a lot like Christopher Nolan's version of Batman; he's willing to be seen as the villain if it means accomplishing the greater good. And that's what makes him awesome. 

On the subject of resurrection, if one reads the "AvX" tie-in Uncanny X-Men #18, it is shown that Cyclops very well may have brutally killed and immediately resurrected Beast at one point in the final battle. Sooooo . . . there's a very real chance that, had the Avengers not gone in guns a'blazin' and whatnot, either Xavier would not even have been killed or, alternatively, Cyclops could have resurrected him on the spot. Shoot, Hope could easily have done the same thing, but she didn't. Comic characters are silly, I'm afraid.

My Anti-Playlist

There are some songs I just can't listen to. In some cases, they're songs I hated from the moment they first tarnished my inner ear. Others are songs I used to like until they got overplayed. And overplayed. And overplayed. Some songs I just feel silly listening to. And still others I can't listen to because of the thoughts they stir up. Here's a playlist of six you'll never catch me listening to, with some context as to why:

"Hey There Delilah" by the Plain White T's

I really liked this song the first time I heard it. Though it was a simple song, its simplicity and emotional honesty set it apart from a lot of pop music at the time. Here's the problem: I was in college going for my Associate's degree at the time. I was logging about 100 miles per day. My tape deck did not work. I listened to the radio constantly. This song was played--constantly--sometimes multiple times on the same station within a few hours. It lost its charm VERY quickly, within about two weeks. I don't "hate" it in the strictest sense, but I can't listen to it anymore. Plus, my neighbor at the time, with whom a share a long and legendary rivalry, used to sing it--badly--all the freaking time. Nooooo thank you.
Besides, Delilah is a pretty name, but it has all kinds'a negative Biblical connotations.

"Duuuude! He finally passed out! Hand me the clippers--
he's going to be sooo ticked when he wakes up!"

"Fool in the Rain" by Led Zeppelin

I really hate this one. Like, hate-hate. It's dull, it's repetitive, it gets stuck in your head, and then, just when it can't go any worse, it turns into a very strange, fast-paced samba number with an excruciating traffic whistle sound that just. Won't. Stop. When I bought my mom a Led Zeppelin compilation CD for Christmas, I specifically sought one out that didn't have "Fool in the Rain" but retained all their good songs. Oddly, I found exactly what I was looking for (although it didn't have the wonderful "Houses of the Holy").

Because clinging to a metal pole during a thunderstorm 
seemed like a great idea at the time.

"Jump" by Van Halen

I'm starting to detect a pattern here. I'm not overly fond of upbeat music with a positive vibe. "Jump" is a synth-heavy disaster to my ears, which is perhaps the closest Van Halen has ever come to "bubblegum" aside from their cover of "California Girls." I'm not a huge fan of Van Halen to begin with, but this is just bad. As soon as I hear those opening electronic notes, I'm reaching for the tuner.

Kriss Kross'll make you jump . . . even though they 
have their heads screwed on backward.

"Fred Bear" by Ted Nugent

Have you ever really given this song a listen? The first time you hear it, it sounds pretty effing epic. The music is topnotch power rock, with some great guitar work. In instrumental form, I could listen to it all day. The lyrics, unfortunately, are what kills it.
I initially thought it was literally about a bear, which really killed its credibility when I first heard it. Years later, upon further research, I see that apparently Fred Bear was an outdoorsman, outfitter and media personality, which is very cool. The song, alas, is not cool at all. It is also vaguely homoerotic.

"Was I alone or in a hunter's dream? 
'Cause the moment of truth was here and now 
I felt his touch, I felt his guiding hand 
The buck was mine, forevermore"

Ermm . . . I don't want to know about Fred's guiding hand or what it is touching. Funnier still is the spoken monologue at the end:

"I hear ya Fred, 

Talk to me, 
Yeah, 
It's all right 
Lets go hunting baby 
Say Fred, you go up that ridge 
And I'll go down in the swamp 
We'll get that buck."

Truly, it's a song of undiluted masculinity for the ages. Truly. And Kristin Stewart will win the Academy Award for Best Actress this year. 

Not even picturing this can make the song bad@$$.

"Moves Like Jagger" by Maroon 5

Okay . . . here's where we get into the ones I really can't stand. First off, Adam Levine has always struck me as a specific kind of @$$hat. The kind of smarmy, fiery showbiz liberal who acts big, talks trash and has an ego the size of a small continent. Second, listen to his voice. No man should be able to make that sound, and even if he can, he should keep it to himself (this coming from a guy who likes the Bee Gees . . . but it was the '70s, after all). Third, watch this video.

Aguilera is simultaneously hotter and more masculine. 
Odd how that works.

Now, what makes this song particularly upsetting is the fact that it is extremely catchy. But listen to it. Watch Levine's body language. All shirtless and smirking, he thinks he's evolution's gift to women (see what I did there?) and he's going to let EVERYONE know it. And he's going to get what he wants by invoking the holy name of Mick Jagger.
You know who has moves like Jagger? Mick Jagger. He's 70 years old, but he's untouchable. And this video looks less like a tribute and more like a parody. This song makes me think of all the creepy guys the impressionable young girls all want to be with, the controlling jerks who drain them of all the happiness and fun and dreams and ambitions they might have had otherwise. Now that you've listened to this garbage, pop in "Forty Licks" and hear how a real rock legend does it.
(DISCLAIMER: I will admit to, at times, singing along to "This Love" and occasionally inquiring if anyone is out there, because it really is getting harder and harder to breathe. But that was before the disco-influenced monstrosity that is "Makes Me Wonder.")

"Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)" by Beyonce

This one dates back to 2010, when I attended my very first actual dance. There was one person and only one that I wanted to dance with, someone I had grown very close to although circumstances had kept me from actually expressing my feelings. She was involved in an on again-off again relationship with a guy, and it seemed like every time I got up the nerve to ask her out she'd be back with him again. At this point they were "off again," and I somehow talked her into attending the dance. When I saw her that night . . . she looked incredible. But, like me, she wasn't really sure why she was there or what she was supposed to be doing. We just kind of stood awkwardly by the drink cooler, and although I jokingly suggested that I'd dance if she would, nothing happened. That song--that abominable song by Beyonce--came on, and all her friends got up to dance. I thought that would prompt her to join in. I thought it was my chance. I thought that moment of closeness would give me the courage I needed to tell her how I really felt. And then, as I turned toward her to ask her once more to dance, seriously this time, she said, "Well, Chris, why don't you get out there with all those single ladies and dance?"

I stopped abruptly, stunned, and immediately smiled and said, "Nahhh," or something to that effect. She left. I stayed, in a daze. The moment was gone. 

I eventually decided to just go ahead and dance by myself, since I was there already. I threw caution and dignity to the wind and just made a complete fool of myself. It was caught on camera and posted on Facebook, and I ultimately turned it into a pretty stupid YouTube video. I wouldn't say I had a blast . . . if anything, I was venting my awkward romantic frustration into some pretty terrible gyrations. But it got me through the night. 

The thing is, I didn't want to dance with "all the single ladies"; I wanted to dance with her, and sometimes I think she wanted to dance with me, too. But neither of us knew how to ask, so all I have is speculation. And she's not single anymore.

So, that's why I can't listen to "Single Ladies."

EDIT: As of May 2013, there is a new addition to my Anti-Playlist: "Mirrors" by Justin Timberlake. It's actually a very nice song, but the emotional context surrounding it is still a bit raw. In a year or so, I'll probably come back and add a funny anecdote about it, but for the time being, suffice it to say that I'll be changing the radio station whenever I hear it. 

My favorite comic book films (so far)

Right now it's just a list, but one I fully intend to flesh out over the next week or so.

10: Superman 2
"Kneel before Zod!" Seriously, how much more epic can it get? Although Jack O'Halloran's monstrous portrayal of Non (whose beard was unparalleled up until the NBA days of one Vlade Divac) will always be my favorite, all three Kryptonian creep-os beating the stuffing out of Superman made for an awesome film, indeed. Although Superman finally gettin' it on with Margot Kidder was . . . unsettling.

9: Hellboy
Guillermo del Toro had already proved his comic book film directing chops with Blade II (which was ever so much better than the other installments of the series). Hellboy, however, really let him go nuts with the prosthetics and the visual gags and the strangely steampunk reality he builds around his foam-rubber protagonist. On that note, Ron Perlman is deserving of particular praise because he is able to build such a likable, relatable human connection between Hellboy and the audience. As goofy as he looks, it's so easy to get caught up in his story that his appearance makes no difference. Hellboy 2: The Golden Army is also an excellent (and very, very strange) film, but the first one set the bar really high. Also of note is Jeffrey Tambor, who goes from the hatable heavy to the very, very cool ally.

8: Daredevil 
The Director's Cut is better by a long shot because it eliminates some of the goofier elements and adds more action, but I honestly liked this movie a lot to begin with. Affleck is surprisingly believable as Matt Murdock, but it's the villains that shine in this one. Colin Farrell trades in his usual distant, troubled persona for a manic, snarling turn as Bullseye (brilliant casting), and Michael Clarke Duncan absolutely nails the character of Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime. The first time you see him, standing proudly and coolly in the window of Fisk Tower, you know this guy means business and revels in his magnificent evil. Also, this is the film that introduced a lot of us to the glorious sound of Evanescence.

7: Iron Man
I loved Captain America, Thor and even Hulk (the Ang Lee, Eric Bana one, darn it! Not the one where Ed Norton looked like he wanted to go take a nap in his trailer rather than be on set), but of the past few years of Marvel's non-mutant, non-Spidey films, this is the one that ushered in the Avengers Initiative, and it is a thrill ride. Not only is Iron Man the ultimate symbol of Robert Downey, Jr.'s redemption as an actor and as a man, it brought humor back to superhero films without resorting to cartoonish buffoonery. Plus, look at Jeff Bridges as Obadiah Stane/Iron Monger. When you first see him cruising around innocently on his Segway scooter, your first thought is, "Oh, it's just Obie, the supportive dork." Because that's what Jeff Bridges was typecast--he was never the villain. But for those who mulled over the sound of his name (OBADIAH STANE!!), even those who hadn't read the comics, it became clear that when this guy showed his true colors it would be explosive. And it was. That was a villain--the one you didn't see coming until it was too late.

6: Mystery Men
"Und a diet Pepsi with a little bit of ice." Oh, Casanova Frankenstein, you devil! This is one of the funniest movies I've ever seen, thanks in no small part to the ensemble comedic cast consisting of Ben Stiller, Hank Azaria, William H. Macy, Janeane Garofalo, Kel Mitchell, Wes Studi, Pee-W--er--Paul Reubens, Eddie Izzard and, oh yes, Geoffrey Rush. And Michael Bay, oddly enough. Not the most accurate adaptation of a comic, to be sure (where the heck is the Flaming Carrot?), but it has heart, and that's what puts it on my list. That, and, "We've got a blind date with destiny, and it looks like she's ordered the lobster!"

5: Batman Forever
How? How could I put this squealing, brightly-colored monstrosity on my list and leave out the Dark Knight trilogy? Simple. This one was the most fun, and, frankly, the best portrayal of Batman. First off, this is probably the only movie in which Batman doesn't straight-up tell the girl he's Bruce Wayne. That takes a lot of self-control for the old horndog, who freaking sleeps with Talia al Ghul in The Dark Knight Rises. Val Kilmer, while not the perfect Batman, is the best we've seen so far, in my opinion. He has the big, strong build that Keaton lacked, the naturally deep Batman voice that Bale lacked and the self-respect Clooney lacked. Plus, the camaraderie between Tommy Lee Jones' Two-Face and Jim Carrey's Riddler is screen dynamite. Their jewel heist and "Battleship" match are absolutely delightful, and the film has a dark tone (Riddler's humor is offset by his very chilling obsession with Bruce Wayne) without taking itself too seriously. The only weak casting is Chris O'Donnell as Robin (dare I say Christian Bale would have been better?) and Nicole Kidman as Dr. Chase Meridian, the love interest. The older, smirking, earring-sporting Robin was annoying at times, and Kidman tried too hard to be vampish. Other than that, though, Batman Forever will "forever" (haw-haw) be my favorite screen portrayal of the Dark Knight.

4: Spider-Man 2
"Oops! Butterfingers!" Only Alfred Molina could have pulled off Doc Ock so perfectly. The build, the hair, the attitude . . . perfect. Tobey Maguire stepped up his game as Spider-Man, too, shedding some of the blandness and inserting more humor into his performance ("You threw away my comic books?"). And of course, more J.K. Simmons as J. Jonah Jameson--the best casting decision ever. This is the film in which Peter Parker really examines the consequences of being Spider-Man, most notably the loss of Mary Jane from his life as she finds his emotional distance to be too much to deal with. And again . . . Doctor Octopus!!!!

3: X2: X-Men United
The opening scene wherein Nightcrawler attempts to assassinate the president is creepy as heck, which is what makes his ultimate characterization as a meek, sweet-natured hero all the more enjoyable. Plus, Brian Cox is very, very hatable as the conniving General Stryker, a villain so sinister the Brotherhood must team with the X-Men to take him out. Seeing a controlled Cyclops take on the burgeoning Phoenix also kicked mega butt, and we also got to see both the milder and wilder sides of Wolverine. This movie expanded on an excellent foundation in the first X-Men and proceeded to best it in every way. The only complaint I have is that we didn't get to see a fight between Nightcrawler and Toad, who was no doubt nursing his blistered tongue somewhere.

2: Watchmen (The Ultimate Cut, preferably)
Settle down, irate fanboys and moviegoers. I know what you're thinking, how could this cult film beat out Nolan's entire Dark Knight trilogy as well as all three Spider-Man films AND Iron Man. Well . . . I really liked it. Zack Snyder paid enormous respects to the source material (lack of "alien" squid notwithstanding), directed a spot-on cast (although Matthew Goode's Ozymandias is a bit too easy to peg as the villain early on) and had arguably the most eclectic and wonderful soundtrack of all time (Simon and Garfunkel, Leonard Cohen, Nat King Cole and K.C. and the Sunshine Band all have excellent moments to shine). The script, by the way, is extraordinary in its reverence to the original Alan Moore/Dave Gibbons graphic novel, and is carried out to perfection by its actors. Jackie Earle Haley is Rorschach in the film, and even though the audience doesn't see his face for most of it, he conveys such raw emotion in his performance, and succeeds where Christian Bale failed miserably with the gravelly voice. Patrick Wilson's portrayal of Nite-Owl II is simultaneously pathetic and awe-inspiring. And Jeffrey Dean Morgan perfectly captures the senselessness and sensitivity of the Comedian.

1: The Avengers 
Part of me wonders if this choice is premature, if this pristine rose of comic book swashbucklery will lose some of its luster as time and small-screen, non-HD televisions take their toll and the novelty effect will wear off. But I've seen this movie three times, in 2 and 3-D, and I love it more with each viewing. It may not have been deeply psychological like Nolan's Bat-films, but it hit all the right emotional chords nevertheless. And it was fun.
That's the main thing--it was an exhilarating film that took a good 15 minutes to really get rolling, but once it did there was never a dull moment. Joss Whedon is to be commended for maintaining such a delightful pace of action, thrills and humor, along with the ever-difficult human connection.
The Avengers is one of those films that, statistically speaking, should not have happened (at least not successfully), but it is everything a superhero film should be and more. Plus . . . shawarma.



THE BEST OF THE REST

The Road to Perdition is the one I really wanted to add to the list. It has some of the finest actors of all time (Tom Hanks, Paul Newman, Daniel Craig, Stanley Tucci and even the wonderful character actor Dylan Baker), and they give it everything they've got. Also Thor, Iron Man 2 and Captain America (but not The Incredible Hulk), because they set the stage for The Avengers. The first X-Men was also a winner, thanks in no small part to the script by Solid Snake himself, David Hayter. V for Vendetta, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World are also winners. And of course, the truly grand Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises. They're excellent films, and the final installation was one of the best films I've seen this year, but they're not my favorites of all time. But, for the absolute darkest take on Batman, look no further than Tim Burton's Batman and Batman Returns. Nicholson's Joker, while not as "chaotic" as Ledger's, was ultimately scarier in his giddiness, and Returns had the absolute creepiest versions of the Penguin and Catwoman ever conceived.

The Dark Knight Rises - The Review by Chris Roll

The Dark Knight Rises

Review by Chris Roll

As The Dark Knight Rises begins, Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) is starting to feel his age. He hasn’t ventured out as Batman in eight years, since the Harvey Dent debacle. And, thanks to Dent’s not-entirely-true legacy as a champion of the people, legislation has been passed to keep violent criminals off the streets of Gotham. Batman is no longer needed . . . and yet Batman is always needed. 

The Dark Knight Rises is the conclusion of an epic hero’s tale begun with Batman Begins. And what a beginning it was. The first film brought legitimacy back to Batman’s public image, redeeming it from the blaring, Day-Glo nightmare that was Batman and Robin, and utilized a realistic setting and highly capable actors to tell the tale. Christopher Nolan (Memento, Inception), while a surprising choice to reboot Batman's messy film history, crafted an excellent storyline with a strong beginning and a very fitting ending. 

Well-cast and developed villains aided the trilogy immensely. Batman Begins had Ra's Al Ghul (Liam Neeson) and the cool-as-a-cucumber Scarecrow (Cillian Murphy). As a father figure, Ra’s hit close to home as a nemesis later in the film. The Dark Knight took things to a new level, introducing a nemesis who was very different from Batman, but also disturbingly similar. The Dark Knight also gave us District Attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), who was the other side of Batman’s coin (haw-haw!). He was what Bruce could have been in every respect, both good and bad (Two-Face, yo). None of these villains, not even the perennially-recurring Scarecrow (who cameos in The Dark Knight Rises, too), ever truly brought Batman down, though. Only Bane (Tom Hardy) could break the Bat.

Yes, it really does happen. Brutally. “I wondered what would break first,” Bane chortles as he manhandles the creaky, 37-ish Batman. “Your spirit . . . or your body!” At which point he heaves Batman up and breaks him over his knee. Yowch. Anybody who’s read the comics saw it coming, but even so, yowch. And the torture is only beginning . . .

The overarching theme of the film is legacy. Who will carry on the dreams and aspirations of Gotham’s major players? Batman has taken a shine to the sly cat burglar in town, Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway), and he attempts to take her under his wing (please, stop me now before I make any more puns). Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) seeks out rookie cop John Blake (Joseph Gordon Levitt) as his right-hand man, but Blake, who acts as a Robin of sorts, prefers Batman’s methods over the constraints of law despite never donning a costume. Wayne Enterprises, too, has languished in Wayne’s absence, so Bruce Wayne must choose a successor for his company’s legacy, in the form of the lovely but mysterious Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillard). And we meet the heir to Ra’s Al Ghul’s legacy, too. Hoo-boy. 

We also see what many have called, tongue-in-cheek, “Occupy Gotham.” Bane and his crew cut Gotham off from all outside aid and dumps the social order on its head. Basically, the inmates are running the asylum (well, technically the inmates are running the prison, because Arkham is never shown. Probably so the Joker wouldn’t have to be accounted for), there’s chaos in the streets and the rich and the police and the politicians are getting their “just rewards” at the hands of the 99%. By “just rewards,” of course, they are sentenced to either death or exile. And since exile means walking out over thin ice, exile means death. Anyway, despite the mob rule, life in Gotham really sucks with Bane in charge. So Batman leads the police in a final stand against the Occupiers. And they win. And it’s awesome. And a whooooole lot of angry young liberals watching the film got a whole lot angrier. Delicious! Frank Miller would love it.

Christian Bale’s acting in the trilogy has been a mixed bag. His Bruce Wayne is easily superior to any other live action portrayals thus far, showing us the vulnerabilities as well as the strengths of the man behind the cowl. In this film, his vulnerabilities are amplified by injury, and he is forced to use a cane throughout the first half-hour of the film because of his ravaged knees. Bale’s Batman, however, is painful to watch at times, but always fun to laugh at. The voice is as silly as it ever was (the overdone voice was acceptable in the first film, as Batman was just getting started, but he’s had plenty of time to refine it. And yet he hasn’t!), and Bats gets to splutter, “WHERE ARE THEY?” once more. It’s all in good fun, but Batman is impossible to take seriously. Fortunately, we only see Batman for about ten to fifteen minutes. The rest is pure Bruce, which is preferable. 

In terms of supporting cast, Gary Oldman continues to be a good if slightly goofy Commissioner Gordon. He’s simultaneously very capable and inept, which is, I suppose, the nature of the character. Michael Caine’s Alfred remains Bruce Wayne’s greatest ally, but he departs the film very quickly (due to reasons I will not spoil here), and his absence is felt. It is no wonder that Batman’s darkest hour comes when he does not have Alfred in his corner, because Alfred is so much more than just “the help.” Alfred keeps Bruce’s mind in the game, keeps him alive, allows him some sense of normalcy and keeps him from going crazy in his isolation in the Batcave. Without Alfred, Batman starts to fall apart. Morgan Freeman is back as Lucius Fox, and he is delightful as always. And, of course, Joseph Gordon Levitt is good as Officer (later Detective) Blake. He’s a bit of a “Mary Sue,” but he’s engaging and believable, and every bit as unrelenting as Batman. Christopher Judge (Stargate: SG1) has a nice cameo as one of Bane’s goons, and Matthew Modine plays a cowardly police officer who has a shot at redemption later.

Anne Hathaway’s Catwoman (although she is never referred to as such, nor, alas, is she shown to own a cat) is nine lives better than Halle Berry’s litter box-fodder portrayal. Hathaway is naturally catty, and moves with just the right kind of indignant grace. But she lacks the quirky charm that won Michelle Pfeiffer acclaim in Batman Returns. She goes through the motions well, and is certainly not a bad Catwoman, but she’s not particularly memorable, either. Nobody leaving the theater afterward was talking about Catwoman; they were talking about Bane. 

Tom Hardy’s Bane is surprisingly effective. Although he lacks the bizarre charisma of Heath Ledger’s Joker and the noble badassery of Liam Neeson’s Ra’s Al Ghul, he brings his own brand of menace to the story. Perhaps the most impressive aspect of his performance is that he is never unmasked, save for a pre-injury flashback. Conveying expression with one’s eyes and muscles alone is typically not Oscar material, but Hardy puts forth a good effort. Of note is the 5’9”, 200 pounds soaking wet Hardy actually appearing to tower over other characters in the film. His physical presence is quite imposing thanks to the combination of serious bodybuilding and movie magic, and his first encounter is like Ivan Drago from Rocky IV (the worst film in the franchise, in my opinion) mercilessly pummeling Apollo Creed to death. Perhaps Bane’s only flaw, however, is his voice. Yes, his voice would naturally be muffled through his cumbersome mask, but he sounds absolutely ridiculous. He sounds a bit too British genteel, as though he should be wearing a top hat and monocle instead of a trench coat and combat boots. Indeed, listening to his very odd voice is reminiscent of the scene in Batman Forever wherein Jim Carrey’s Riddler adopts the voice and mannerisms of a blustery Brit: “Batman? Batman, you say? Coming for you?! Ho-ho-ho, HARUMPH!! HARRRRUMPH!!” Perhaps Bane’s voice was specifically designed to distract viewers from Bale’s raspy muttering.

*SPOILER*

The single biggest “Oh, crap!” moment in the movie comes when Batman learns that despite Bane’s dangerous agenda and leadership skills, he is not the mastermind; he is the muscle.

*END SPOILER*

Of course, comparisons will naturally be made to May’s The Avengers, which was the biggest comic book blockbuster of all time. Some may say the two films are impossible to compare, but it can be done objectively.

Both films were years in the making, with earlier installments building toward a specific outcome. But, while The Dark Knight Rises was the end of the tale, The Avengers marks the beginning of a much bigger story (and considering how big The Avengers was, the next few films should prove very interesting). 

Both films are absolutely excellent. Both were made with a clear love of characters and source material. Both are exhilarating, with well-placed humor, great plot twists and dynamic performances. Both prompted lively discussion afterward. But The Avengers has a certain magic about it that The Dark Knight Rises can’t match. The Avengers is a fun-filled, superheroic romp from start to finish that never stops to catch its breath. The Dark Knight Rises is slower, more introspective, and doesn’t hit on the same emotional chords. When Bruce escapes from the pit, it’s awesome, but it doesn’t have the same “HECK YEAH!!” appeal as Iron Man informing Loki, “His name is Phil” before blasting the crap out of him. Batman flying off with the bomb isn’t as heartrending a self-sacrifice moment as Iron Man flying off with the bomb because Batman has an obvious way out (he’s Batman!). Bane getting shot with a f***ing ROCKET is awesome, but not as awesome as Hulk swinging Loki’s carcass around like a ragdoll. 

In closing, I must compare the two movies with yet another Batman Forever reference (for those who don’t know, it’s still my favorite Batman film). During a jewel heist, the Riddler holds up a diamond for inspection. “Here’s a good one,” he says, and he’s quite right. The diamond is flawless, an A+, to be sure. Then Two-Face shoves a diamond the size of a baseball in his face and declares, “No, no, no! There is a good one.” The Dark Knight Rises is a perfect conclusion to its series, and very nearly a perfect film altogether. But The Avengers is on a higher plane altogether. It’s bigger, it’s bolder and it’s more accessible to general audiences. And, for die-hard fans, it has more Easter eggs than the Cadbury factory.

My score: * * * * * 

A Few Observations on Alcohol

I got drunk a few weekends ago. It’s not how I would ordinarily spend a weekend, since I typically don’t drink a drop, but there were friends in town, I was recovering from a horrendous fever, and I had something of a “screw it” attitude at that point. So what if I had to work a double-shift at the calling floor the next day? Somehow or another, I’d make it on time, but “right here and now,” I was going to get good and schnockered.

Now, I have my reasons for not drinking (I’ve probably outlined them in some earlier blog entry, but for those who are just now arriving . . .). Most importantly, I know myself. I have an addictive personality, and if I find something I like, I find it very, very difficult to give it up. That weekend, I found out that I like the taste of whiskey quite a bit. Granted, we already know I likes me some Tennessee Long Island Iced Tea, but now we’re talking Old Crow, straight-out-of-a-plastic-bottle, “thish ish what’sh good fer what ails ya!” whiskey. I took 10 shots of that crap and promptly went downstairs and passed out on the guest bed. Oh, sure, I stumbled around for a bit first, had a scary moment where I thought I wouldn’t be able to change out of my jeans and into some shorts, and then felt compelled to play Sonic and Knuckles and Sonic Spinball whilst drunk as the proverbial skunk (I didn’t do very well, and blamed the alcohol. I tried again sober the next day, and fared just as poorly, so my blame was misplaced). Anyway, which proved to be a great idea. I woke up the next day feeling refreshed and surprisingly glorious, with all traces of my flu, save for the congestion, flushed out of my system on a chariot of flaming whiskey.

Now, as I said, when I got drunk, I fell asleep. It was nice. I didn’t get rowdy or sloppy or horny or any of the other things I was afraid I would become under the influence of alcohol. This leads us to another reason why I always avoided alcohol, which is self control. I have control issues. One of my greatest fears is losing control of myself and doing something violent or just plain stupid. I was afraid that getting drunk would push me over the edge toward becoming something I didn’t want to be, but that didn’t happen; I just got sleepy.

It turns out what my roommates once told me is true: alcohol doesn’t change who you are inside. Apparently what I am inside is lethargic. But even though I learned something new, I realized something else, too. I realized that the reason I had such a good time was that I was in a safe environment. I was among friends. I was in my own house, where I could get drunk and nobody would care or hold it over my head or judge me. I was at ease. So, I pounded back 10 shots of Old Crow and just hung out with my friends. The only thing that even remotely upset me was that one of my roommates was telling people on Twitter about it. He kept trying to take pictures of me being stupid, and I even got a text from his girlfriend saying that she was upset about missing my “shot night.” I know there was no malicious intent, but the whole point of the evening was that I was having a private moment with friends. I didn’t want to broadcast it to the whole world, and it upset me that someone was undermining that. Meh.

When you get drunk, you reenact scenes from The Last Samurai with Tom Cruise.
Don't reenact scenes from The Last Samurai with Tom Cruise.

This brings me to my next point, which is the same as my first point: I know myself. I know that I get angry about little things like that. I know how hard it is to keep myself from knocking certain people right out of their Toms loafers sometimes (don’t strain yourself trying to figure out who—there are plenty of people out there who wear Toms loafers), and that’s when I’m sober. For all my Flanders-esque ways, I’m very easily ticked off, and, therefore, that makes alcohol dangerous for me. True, I may have simply gotten drunk and passed out that weekend, but what if something had happened to legitimately make me mad? Would I have shrugged it off and made a half-hearted funny like I usually do, or would I fly off the handle like I usually want to? Would I hurt someone? The only other time I’ve ever actually been drunk, I got so mad I felt like beating someone senseless, and that was after I had sobered up a bit. What if I’d still had alcohol pumping through my veins?

So yeah, ultimately, I’m not going to make a habit of drinking. Maybe every time I get drunk, it will be a goofy, fun, safe experience, surrounded by friends I love and trust. But it only takes one emotional snap, or one dumb decision made under the influence, to completely ruin everything. Again, I know myself, and probably the worst part of it all is that I could easily use drunkenness as an excuse to do horrible things. Ten shots of Old Crow disoriented me, and it sure as heck made me sleepy, but I was still in the driver’s seat, despite being far from roadworthy. But nobody would ever know that; I had just taken 10 shots, right in front of everyone. For someone who doesn’t normally drink, that should be enough to render anyone senseless. I’m not exactly “normal,” though. If everyone thinks I’m wasted, I can pick fights, flirt with reckless abandon, say and do whatever I want—and they’ll think it’s the alcohol causing it. It’s ingenious, really, and it’s just the kind of thing I could do and get away with. A lot of people do it; they use alcohol to be absolute @$$clowns, and nobody says anything because they’re just drunk. Ha. I see through it, and I think it’s lousy, but at the same time I’m envious.

I really do appreciate the good alcohol can accomplish, don’t get me wrong. It sure cured me of my recent illness, which rocked. It really is a great social tool, which allows even the most uptight of individuals (re: this guy) to loosen up and socialize. I love my friends, and aside from the occasional slip-up in proper housebreaking (I’m talking couches getting peed, Holmes; it’s happened a few times), I’m glad to see they’re able to use alcohol to help build and maintain friendships. But it’s not for me. I don’t want to be sloppy. I don’t want to embarrass myself. I don’t want to drunkenly fall down the stairs and hurt myself. I don’t want to lose control of my temper and hurt someone emotionally or physically. And most of all, I don’t want to be a douchebag. It’s easy enough for me to be a jerk sometimes, and it would be a whole lot easier if I gave myself an excuse.

That’s my ramble. I’ll probably have a bit more alky-hall next time I get sick. I may even have a drink or two this weekend, in the safety and privacy of the house. But as a general rule, I’d rather avoid it if possible; it's just not for me. Look on the bright side: at least I haven’t given you my anti-marijuana rant yet. I promise, if you’re for pot legalization, I will make you mad. 

More introspective BS . . . yeah, one of those posts

I guess I'm human. Sometimes I worry about the way I'm perceived by others, even though I tell myself such matters shouldn't bother me. There are times when I really find myself second-guessing myself, and I hate those times.

This is going to be pretty disjointed, so I'm warning you in advance. I don't keep a diary, so this will have to do, I'm afraid.

So, the problem started with a girl I work with. Granted, I've had problems long before then, but for the sake of the story, it started with her. One thing I learned pretty dang quickly was that, like a lot of girls, apparently, she really eats it up when I tease her about stuff. She's one of the most absolutely adorable people I have ever met, and for that reason, she is loads of fun to tease. Somewhere along the line, though, I don't know where, I managed to cross a line. Suddenly she didn't laugh at my jokes anymore. Suddenly she started getting legitimately perturbed when I would make a crack about her squeaky voice or her childlike enthusiasm. I wasn't really sure what to do, but for some reason, both our personal and working relationships were swishing madly around the porcelain bowl, and every attempt I made at patching things up only added fury to the maelstrom.

Needless to say, I decided to stop teasing her. She showed up to work with a pretty bad cold, and she sounded just like Marge Simpson. I couldn't help myself; I had to bring that up. She wasn't amused, so therefore I decided to quit while I was (nothing resembling) ahead. Three days later, she arrived at work with no voice whatsoever, and was evidently still sick, but she looked absolutely gorgeous nonetheless. I wanted so badly to say the right thing, but since she was arriving at the same time that I was departing, I only had a second or two to do so. I opted for honesty. I said, "You look lovely today," and then I acknowledged that I knew she still wasn't feeling well (her hoarse croak made that obvious). Now, my intention was to say that even though she wasn't feeling well, she looked . . .  well . . . lovely. It was an honest attempt to brighten her spirits during a miserable time. 

She just passed by without acknowledging what I had said. I just kind of frowned and headed out the door. I assumed she hadn't heard me and moved on. It turns out, however, that this was not the case. What had really happened was that she had heard my attempt at a compliment and registered it as me being a sarcastic jerk, i.e. "Well, don't you just look lovely." Apparently it legitimately ticked her off. I was totally oblivious to it, and that really kind of bites. 

Another thing . . . they say that alcohol brings out the truth, and if that is so, I will admit that I prefer the gentler solace of dishonesty. I love my roommates dearly, and I know they care about me just as much, but they're really not good about letting me know when I get under their skin. Unless they've had a few beers, and then it hits like a hammer.

Don't get me wrong here. This isn't one of those cases where I'm being emotionally victimized by brutish winebibbers. Not at all. This is an example of me--cynical, opportunistic, often pretty dang cruel me--pushing good, kind, honest people to the point where they have to bottle up their feelings, and it takes a depressive substance to get them to open up about it. 

How do I react? Of course, I get defensive when they say they have had to make sacrifices, had to practically bend over backward to accommodate my "needs" (or whims). I get defensive when they call "BS" on my attempts to justify my actions. I counter with my usual cynicism when they try to remind me how many people would literally drop everything and do anything for me, and I don't even seem to give a care sometimes. I rely on coldness as a defense mechanism, and as much as I hate admitting it, part of me even starts mapping out clever (re: cruel) ways I can exploit the situation for dramatic effect. I look at these people who have invited me into their lives when they never had any reason at all to do so, and I think of ways I can use that, or ways I can just get under their skin as punishment for making me feel uncomfortable. 

Let me just go ahead and dispel any rumors you may have heard or any notions you might have about me from my more lighthearted postings: I am not as "nice" as you might think I am. I am not as soft or naive or innocent or weak or foolish as even those closest to me keep insisting I am. What I am is a tactician. Obviously, given my track record with people skills, I'm not a very good one, but I am nothing if not opportunistic . . . clever . . . strong-willed. I don't like obstacles, and frankly, I'll do everything in my power to bulldoze any obstacle that falls in my way. I have issues with anger. I resent the idea of owing anyone anything, and as such, I find myself resenting the fact that I owe so many people so much, on so many levels. How awful is that? I resent the fact that I have people in my corner who are willing to do virtually anything for me, simply because I don't want to be beholden to them. 

What's really crazy (or profound) is that one of my roommates likened the way I play beer pong to the way I live my life as a whole. I do not look at the cups when I toss the ball; rather, I glance at them quickly and lock eyes with the guy in front of me. I say it's because I want to train my muscles rather than my eyes. I say I like the showmanship aspect. I say I play basketball the same way, practicing 3-point shots instead of free throws, even though I stink at both. I say I find looking at the cups distracting. I say learning to do things the easy way is boring, and I have more fun with the hard way. I say I'd rather set ridiculous goals for myself than settle for average. I say a lot of things; he says I'm not being honest. I'm not really sure what he means, because I really do believe all these reasons. But maybe on some level there is a reason I don't know about. Maybe there is something to the idea that I don't know how to look ahead in life, and that I don't want to. Maybe I'm scared of looking like an idiot playing beer pong, so I play like a cocky jassack to avoid shame. Maybe I'm just a cocky jassack. What I know for sure is that I feel lower than low when my roommate, a man closer to me than my own brothers ever were, looks at me with this knowing expression, as though he's got me all figured out and nothing I can say or do will convince him otherwise. It's not just the beer pong; this happens a lot, and it drives me up the wall because it makes me second-guess myself. I don't know why he cares how I play beer pong, and yet I do. I attempt to take his measure every day--it's natural. I search out weaknesses in everyone, and just as he thinks he knows where I am most insecure, I think I know the chinks in his armor as well. 

So where does this lead? Do I use what I think I know (which may be only what he wants me to think, just as I only let him know what I want him to think) to my own advantage? Do I pick apart this friend who loves me more than a brother? Do I let him know how jealous I am of him, that I wish I had half his talent and were half as well-adjusted? Why in the world do I even entertain these thoughts?

Because, as I said, I'm not a particularly nice guy. I ticked off one of the most amazing girls I've ever met because I deliberately typecast myself as a snarky creep. I alienated my best friends in this town--indeed, this house--because I didn't like admitting when I had a problem (or, more accurately, when I was a problem). I let cynicism rule my life and turn me into somebody I'm not proud of, and at the same time, I come across as suuuuuch a nice guy in my daily life that I keep attracting more sheep who think I'm just wonderful. Boy, are they in for a surprise.

And yet, deep down I know that I don't have to be the man I've made myself into. I can actually be the good guy if I try, if buckle down and pray to the God I still believe in (but what is belief without obedience; am I, then, a believer if I do not honor the basic law of my Creator, which is, essentially, to be good to my fellow man and be a good representative of Him?) and if I put aside my petty resentments and make amends with the people I take for granted or abuse. 

Maybe, though, I don't really want to be good. Maybe I've put on the show my entire life and now I want to make myself miserable and alone. I know deep down that this is crazy, that nobody wants that, but I can't think of any other reason why I still treat my loved ones like garbage until I need something from them. You know, tonight one of my roommates said with absolute conviction that he would lay down his life for his friends without thinking twice about it. I believe him--I honestly do. He is that kind of selfless friend--he is exactly what he claims I am--but I honestly don't believe I could do the same for anyone. As miserable as I make myself at times, I still love life too much to willingly give it up. I still have a level of arrogance that makes me believe my self-screwed up existence is worth something, and ultimately, I know that every day I stay alive is another day removed from the hungry flames that await my selfish, sinful carcass for choosing to be who I am. Choices . . . you'd think they'd be easy, but sometimes . . . sometimes the easy ones, the ones that lead to salvation and happiness, are the ones you just can't go with. Sometimes you just want to keep lobbing that basketball from across the court, or toss that ping-pong ball with your eyes closed, just because you're scared of actually trying and failing.

But I am trying, am I not? Am I not?

Am I not?

Occupy Metropolis?

So, I took a film studies class this past semester. No particular reason why . . . except I needed to have an upper-level humanities course for my journalism degree, and one of my teachers said film classes are easy. It so happens that he was right . . . plus, I got to watch a bunch of movies for academic purposes—pretty nice, right?

Anyway, the theme of the class is portrayals of utopias and dystopias in film and literature. One of the films we watched was Fritz Lang’s 1927 expressionist film Metropolis. I had heard of the film for years, but the opportunity to view it had never arisen until then (the good news? It was the super-extended cut, chock-full of bizarre German stuff. The bad news? The screening was on Halloween night, which was a killjoy because there were a lot of things I would rather be doing on Halloween). I really enjoyed the movie, more than I expected to. It was visually striking, with visual effects that seemed out of place in such an old film, but what struck me most was the very clear social parallel of the film—a parallel which seems particularly relevant in this, our day of civil unrest and ham-fisted protestery (I may be an English aficionado, but I’m not above making my speech up as I go).

Probably the most intense sequence of the film is when the workers, led astray by the villainous robot who acts as the whore of Babylon, abandon the underground Workers’ City to run amok in the city above. Let’s compare this to the Occupy Wall Street movement (you knew it was coming).

First off, this bunch of iPhone-packing hipsters (a stereotype, I know, but there are still plenty of them to be found amongst the “Occupy” crowd) are not the world-weary workers of Metropolis, who slave away every day to survive. 99% of the “99%” aren’t even sure what they’re protesting, but youthful zeal along with the allure of ambiguously-defined social change are too sweet to resist, even if OWS’ brand of change is perilous at best. In this day and age, revolution and anarchy have become something the youth of our nation aspire to be a part of (I loves me some Alan Moore, but if I see another Guy Fawkes mask at an OWS protest, I may need to toss my copy of V for Vendetta . . . okay, so I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s still irritating), but what is so wrong with “The Establishment” that it needs to be overthrown? Reformed, yes, but not defenestrated entirely. I mean, I’m not exactly on the Ron Paul bandwagon (there’s just something about him I don’t like . . . can’t put my finger on it yet), but I will say this: I respect the man’s dedication to the Constitution. Our Founding Fathers knew what they were doing when they put that together—it wasn’t a half-@$$ed job. Y’know, if we’d just go back to that nearly 250-year-old document and look at what it says and why, I daresay we’d be on the right track (I could say the same thing about the Bible, but that’s a different kettle of fish). The whole point of the American Revolution was to eschew big government and set up a system that was fair to the individual states but promoted an overall sense of order and good. Occupy Wall Street isn’t like the American Revolution . . . if anything, it’s like the Bolshevik revolt, a violent coup which led to the rise of faux-communism in Russia, and we all saw what happened to the Soviet Union. It’s also like the workers’ revolt in Metropolis, which nearly destroyed the entire city in a fit of commie rage. That crap don’t work, kids.

In Metropolis, Grot, the foreman of the Heart Machine, is flabbergasted when the marauding workers come to destroy it, and he makes a valid point: while they’re spreading chaos and destruction (“Occupying,” in layman’s terms), who’s watching the children? Granted, the children of the OWS demonstrators aren’t necessarily drowning . . . unless somebody left them in the bathtub . . . but you get the general idea. Why aren’t they putting all this energy into helping their own communities? Why not actually do something to help someone or make a difference instead of causing destruction and impeding people from doing their jobs?

Look, I get where they’re coming from, for the most part. I get that the system is stacked against the “have nots,” myself included. I get that it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there.  I get that the head and the hands remain, now as ever, in steadfast opposition to each other, because there is no heart to be found between either of them. And yet, what I don’t get is why they think wasting their time pitching tents on Wall Street, Main Street, Broadway or County Road 2900 will make a hill of beans’ difference in the big picture. It’s like I’ve said before, do they expect money to spill forth from the heavens? Do they want B-Rock Obama to proclaim that the status quo shall be turned upside-down or completely leveled, that the CEOs will be pushing brooms and the huddled masses occupying Wall Street will be the ones running things? What do they hope to accomplish? If anything, I fear that their actions will push tensions between the protestors and the police to a breaking point, and that will really help no one.

An even scarier consequence of the OWS movement is this: what if they really do get what they want? What results from Wall Street and the 1% being “held accountable?” The ultimate boogeyman: “Big Government.” We can barely afford to maintain the Welfare state we’ve got—how could we ever hope to start shoveling out money to everyone? Thinking like that has killed nations, and even though communism in its purest form is a good thing, neither it nor its slightly less pipe-dreamish cousin socialism can work in a large group, i.e. a nation. The bigger the group, the easier it is for corruption to sprout up, and socialism will only lead to faster corruption. Capitalism is the only system that keeps everyone on their toes, rewards hard work and individual initiative, and that allows all citizens the chance to succeed.  Capitalism is what made America the land of opportunity, and it is attempts to socialize America that is crippling our economy. I mean, we’ve had economic problems during my entire lifetime, but as I recall, Bill Clinton selling us out to China really didn’t help. America is a debtor nation, and the only hope we have of digging ourselves out of the hole we made for ourselves is by returning to our roots and by restoring our drive to succeed. American ingenuity is gone because it is no longer rewarded; this must be changed or we will not survive.

Gandhi said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” What change does Occupy Wall Street represent? Do you want the world to be made up of quitters, of people who either devalue hard work or just give up hope? Because Occupy Wall Street has no hope, no drive. OWS is made of broken values and bitterness. OWS is not change for the better.

Leading by example does not mean leading others to complain and be counterproductive. Leadership means inspiring others to work toward something good, something that will accomplish desirable ends for humankind. Instead of protesting, why not suggest something constructive? Instead of causing massive property damage, why not build something people can use and enjoy? Instead of raping and pillaging, why not volunteer to help the needy in your community, in whatever ways you can? Seriously, y’all . . . why can’t people do something good for themselves? The mediator between head and hands must be the heart, so follow your hearts, use your heads and then use your hands to be a positive change in the world.