Sunday, September 25, 2016

Wonder Woman #6

I can't think of anything sexist to say about this cover so I just won't say anything at all.

The Commentary!
The only things I really want to write are angry, venomous things. I want to poke people with word sticks. I want to tell them that they aren't as wise and kind as they think they are. I want to drown them in vile, bitter, crass statements about their parentage. I want to compare them to things they really wouldn't like being compared to! But what would be the point? Everybody is terrible in their own way but the worst people are the ones who tell others how terrible they are. And why would I want to be one of them? I mean, I am one of them! Just ask Cullen Bunn! But that's a special case. I'm usually not like that! And I'm still not like that but he did post a picture of a guy flipping the bird and directed it at me, so fuck him. He gets to be my punching bag. I mean, not really. It's more of an idealized Cullen Bunn who is my punching bag! I don't really care what the real one is up to. I just like having this effigy to kick around every now and then.

Aside from having these angry feelings that I don't really know what to do with, I suppose I have a Wonder Woman comic book to read. Boy, I sure hope Greg Rucka pisses me off somehow!

This issue is about a bunch of birds spying on Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor as they get checked out by the US Government after landing an invisible plane on a crowded beach. Wonder Woman winds up in a jail cell not kicking everybody in the face because she seems to have something called patience. Steve is too busy telling his dead friend's wife that her husband is dead to get Wonder Woman out of prison. The wife, Maya, responds by talking nonsense.

Ugh. In other words, throw more corpses on the pile as you chase some elusive "meaning" to make every new death count for...whatever. How about giving him some dignity by letting his death have meaning in that he died doing what he thought was right? How is that not enough? Why ask Steve and countless others to risk their lives simply so you can have the satisfaction of meaning?

Barbara Ann Minerva comes to visit Wonder Woman because a comic book where nobody understands the main character will quickly grow tiresome. The last thing I need is for this comic book to go the Doctor Fate route where it spends twelve issues with the main character struggling with the whole concept of who he is. I can't read a Wonder Woman comic book where she and Steve just say their names to each other over and over again. So Barbara knows the language of the Amazons and she's able to converse with Wonder Woman. She discovers that Diana was visited by a the Greek Gods the night before and they gave her super powers. She only believes Diana when Diana tears the cell's bars from the floor and ceiling. I guess the next chapter will be twenty pages of Diana taking English classes.

This issue not only proved that Diana is patient and kind, it proved that I am neither of those things. I was bored and angry while reading this. This is the kind of comic book where fans will gush about a few scenes of Nicola's fantastic art which are so super adorable that you can't say a bad word about them. Like when Diana is getting her picture taken with the police officer. Or Diana's face when the god's visit her in the cell. Hell, this entire issue could have just been Nicola's art and Greg Rucka could have fucked the hell off for all I cared. This thing is beautiful. But the story? Totally boring. Unless you love bureaucracy and placing soldiers on pedestals.

+0. Look, I know I'm probably in the minority. I'm sure everybody is jerking themselves off all over Greg Rucka's fantastic run of Wonder Woman. But am I not allowed to be completely wrong about at least one comic book? Can I not have this one to fucking hate no matter how good it might be? It's also possible my mood these days isn't great for my judgment. I think I would have enjoyed this more if Wonder Woman had punched every fucking cop in the face and shit in their hats.

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