creativeconmans

[creativeconmans]

The Batman Rant

It’s always a bit embarrassing to have your first blog post. Especially if it’s a rant. Moreso if you catch yourself trying to be profound in doing so. With this bit of self-observation out of the way, I’d like to talk about something that has happened some time ago: Batman #50.

Now, I shall do something horrible and assume that everyone reading this knows the arc and issue in question – and all the rest of you people don’t care enough to be hurt by any and all spoilers this post may contain.

I have, living in Russia, discovered the whole arc of the Batcat wedding only recently. The stories precluding the wedding were… different, though not too meaningful, soap opera in DC Universe, which is more or less standard, wrapped up in some of the best art I have seen in popular media. Thanks for that trend. And then came the issue of a wedding that has been built up for a year not happening, that began with a series of very, very questionable choices by both characters, which turned out to be a catastrophe instead. That is, by the way, how I found out about the existence of Tom King and that spoke volumes to me about his writing.

But if that was all, I don’t think it would really merit blogging about it. I have studied some threads – what few I could find – where the fans stated their own reactions not to the spoiler (I actually think this could have been damage control from DC – spoil the issue so that people don’t crash too hard), but to the story. Only three points emerged throughout, and that was that

a.       People loved Tom King and his writing (apparently)

b.       People thought that DC considered marriage toxic

c.       People think that breaking the Bat has been done so many times it’s not even remotely funny. Not even in the Joker’s terms. Although, perhaps…

There were a couple of less frequently encountered points – and one of them was that a fulfilled – if not happy – Bruce Wayne would be, in fact, far more effective at stopping shit from happening that a permanently hurt fellow who needed his crusade to keep functioning. I sort of second that - a fulfilled Bat would have systematically empowered Gotham police and call upon his resources – League resources – to ensure specifically that threats were deconstructed on a more or less permanent basis.

But also throughout – and I may severely aggro the larger crowd now – there is, I think, a vast misunderstanding of two things. First is the fact that writers who keep dishing out the ‘No Bat without pain’ mantra severely misunderstand the character of Batman. In fact, in the King’s run, even his closest friends and family misunderstand Batman.

The second – is the fact that the writers aren’t in it to tell good stories. The game of writing has long since been forcibly changed.

At first, stories were made to convey meaning, from deep moral truths to memes to hitting your neighbor on the head with a sword and laminating his women being a good idea.

Then the stories were made to entertain at least, and at most - to force people to actually think before they act – and this is how the stories since circa 200 B.C. were written. Whether it is the classic Chinese epics or the cornerstones of French literature, or the Greeks or the Romans – this is how you normally find your story.

And then come the more recent times, and the invention of the printing press, and the proliferation of both basic literacy and paper. Suddenly there is more and more opportunity for more and more people to write – to tell stories for a living. They write, they draw, they paint, they make moving pictures. And a few of them find themselves in large collectives that are so stable that they can finally create a lasting mythos.

What would you do, if you suddenly found out you could create something that would – quite probably – outlive you and your children? What if it turned out to be so influential, even while being regarded as insignificant, that people would want more and more of it, would pay dearly for it? And what would you do, if suddenly control of such legacy, built well before you were born, fell into your lap?

Regardless of the answer, in our case the ever-winning pragmatism and child-like directness of people in power would dictate they would make money off those who believe in the legacy and want it continued.

That practical, inevitable decision suddenly makes everything else fall into place. One sees the audience not as your followers to be respected, nor a herd to be guided, nor even a crowd to be pleased, but as an opponent to be taken advantage of. And against an opponent you must arm yourself.

And with this opponent that is a renewing, rotating group of people, you have two specific goals in mind. One, to make your opponent pay for your product more than once, and preferably – for all your products. Two, to make sure your opponent is never destroyed, never pays too much, never stops – in short, never, ever hurt your opponent so much he won’t come back for more.

The shortest route to achieving Objective One is – forgive me for belaboring the obvious – to force your opponent to buy your product. Now we all know that under current labor market conditions men with tommy guns are a bit expensive to hire, too troublesome and can be creatively undirected – in the sense that they are as likely to sell your product to yourself as well as the target audience and then pocket the money. So if actual violence is impossible, our weapon of next resort is trickery and lies.

Now, it can – and, I’m sure, has been – successfully argued that people would enjoy being lied to, provided the lies were good and entertaining enough and told with a straight face and never weighed any on their pocket. The whole history of storytellers seems indeed to prove the point. Hence, the people of creative foundry in general seem to have adopted the tactics of lies.

So okay, people are lying to you. Some of them are even telling lies so that you, while listening or reading those, can arrive to a certain truth, perhaps even something deep. Or even profound. Where is the harm in that? Even if, in time, they start lying for the sake of you paying, and nothing else.

But there is a downside to a lie, and that is, once it has served its purpose it can only be discarded. No one will ever believe a lie told twice – or three times. No matter how you dress it up, people who have encountered it twice or more will recognize it, and react accordingly.

And so we come to a dilemma – we either tell different lies and change the legacy until we run out of believable lies, or maybe we stop telling lies, which would put us out of work and out of money.

This is where the nature of the target audience throws storytellers a rope. Storytellers, have easy times dealing with the young and the naïve, people who have not yet been duped many times, who keep having hopes and dreams of getting something out of every deal, every truth, every lie – everything. And their supply is replenishing, what with new people being born daily and all.

But telling old lies to new people only gets you so far – they can be easily inoculated by the older crowd who we have already lied to, successfully or not. Furthermore, the Internet and its propagation makes it harder and harder to peddle the same thing. You suddenly find that your consumer has collectively evolved and simple trick work no longer – they have already been seen and done and examined and analyzed to death.

You therefore must expand your repertoire of tricks and lies, and this is where the con comes into it. The long con.

Modern writing involves playing with your audience – in fact, running a long con on your audience. There is, in writing and drawing and filmmaking – in storytelling in general – an implicit promise. The promise is that a story will take you places, and that the world you heard about would change, and probably you yourself might change with that. It is that promise and hope of its fulfillment that makes one read a new story (barring professional readers, but those aren’t really a large crowd), invest time and emotion into it and its characters, willingly suspend disbelief as it comes. And it is that promise that is, in modern days, routinely and completely broken.

Which is where the long con comes into play.

A modern writer’s job is to make a script that fulfils the following objectives by any and all means:

1.       Make people want to read what’s in their hands

2.       Make people want to read the next one

The first objective is normally achieved with good graphics and composition and a story that is not entirely moronic, but mostly it is helped by the fact that once you buy a book – or a comic book, or whatever – it’s normally a waste not to finish it through (That has happened to me once or twice, though).

But the second one – that one’s a doozy. The term ‘plot hook’ now defines something that has evolved past simple hooking and into something that more resembles ‘plot anchoring drill’. Or whatever it is they anchor floating oil rigs with.

The original plot hooking mechanism worked on two simple mechanics – one, creating a gestalt that, by design, cannot be completed, until and unless the next piece of the story is experienced,  two, promising that it will be completed in the next piece of the story in a satisfactory manner.

The actual execution of the scheme have long been any and all variants of a cliffhanger to a varied degree, but unresolved plot points also work towards the same goal, provided the main story is not concluded (i.e. the narrator isn’t planning to stop talking).

So where is the con?

If you analyze so many stories in the comic books of the Big Two – which is what actually prompted this post – you realize there have been supposedly radical changes throughout the comicbook universe, except they have amounted to nothing much. It is like a soap opera (Santa Barbara, perhaps), where everything keeps happening and nothing ever gets really resolved, because nothing ever really changes. Least of all, the direction.

In that regard, the canonic Batman suffers perhaps the most, both as a comic line and as the character. Every single positive influence that anything can possibly have has been for the recent years disintegrated either by some random villainous plot or by some immature and questionable choice of his own – except it really was the writer’s choice in every occasion.

But you know – you know – it will turn out okay in the end, right? Except it won’t. There is, for comicbook characters, an extremely specific baseline which determines what they are, and they aren’t allowed to be pretty much anything else. One thing that Batman is not allowed to be, for example, is efficient.

Another thing is apparently happy, but I have always – or at least since I started thinking about it – that it betrays either conscious manipulation on the writers’ part, or their complete lack of understanding of Batman as a character and as a man. We have been sold the ‘Happy man cannot be batman’ idea several times by now, but the rationale behind it is very, very questionable.

Let’s set aside for a moment the fact that Batman as a character is a paradox – anyone who has the sheer amount of will and determination to become as prepared for most conceivable situations could not have neglected his own emotional maturity, or lack thereof.

It is unrealistic that the man behind the cowl still has the same things and thoughts driving him fifteen years – and four Robins, and a tragedy, and a son, and several lovers, and countless instances of severe psychological ordeal and heartbreak after he had first started his crusade.

His personal trauma was the driving factor at the start of his career – and it was believable there and then. But after all these events – if the man is a living, sane creature not bent on self-loathing or self-torture (and such a person would have broken right about two world crises earlier) – he would want to be changed.

Which was in part why the idea of the Batman finally marrying Cat of all people (and which guy, exactly, hasn’t had a girlfriend not unlike the Cat in his life?) was sold very well. Depicting the romantic intimacy masterfully helped quite a bit. But the final ingredient, as it were, the core of all cons, was the hope. The hope that this time, this fellow who has survived chaos, murder, trauma to his loved ones, countless assaults on his sanity, couple of deaths in the family, psychological torture and continuous work well past the point of human endurance (mental and physical) deserves some happiness, especially where he had only to make a step to do it. The readers’ hope that finally everything would turn out right in the damn imaginary world that has seen too many wrongs. And it took a very long time and many plot arcs – not all of them particularly good – to settle the plot points and prepare the world for a transition…except the said transition never happened.

The number of gestalts formed throughout the arc numbers in dozens, all of them hitting a very specific group of emotions within the readers. Each and every marriage prelude pointed towards some serious character growth and a fulfilling resolution, despite the fact that Bruce Wayne is no Oliver Queen (but we know from the Arrow series that Ollie wants to face just as many sadistic choices as Bruce). And then it all gets spectacularly destroyed, all the gestalts incomplete.

With each incomplete gestalt the reader has formed comes a need – of varying power and degree – to see that gestalt completed, to see the resolution, and more specifically – the one resolution that has been pointed at and that the reader is hoping for. Some writers go so far as to push the hopes of readers into a specific direction, only to tear the gestalts in two later on.

And they do it consciously. The unfulfilled needs create a certain drive in the reader – or viewer. And the very first place where a frustrated reader will look in hopes of fulfillment and proper gestalt completion is the same place where the gestalt was created. Translated into consumer behavior, it means that #50 has virtually guaranteed a psychological need in its target audience to buy issues #51-#100. You can even see Tom teasing the audience with flashback pictures of Bat/Cat romantic scenes taken out of context, fueling the fire and bolstering future sales of hopeful, young, naïve and emotional consumers.

But the real bitch of it is, the con works if you emotionally invest in the story. In fact, it will work even if you take specific steps to prevent your own emotional investment. An unfinished story means an incomplete gestalt, and it is a micro-trauma for one’s psyche far more often than not (I believe there are times when implied completion of the story – and gestalt – is far more scary and traumatic than incompletion, but you’d have to talk to a practicing psychologist to be certain of that).

And so to the point. After #50 it has become clear that all Batman readers have been conned by Tom King et al into believing there was a chance of change. Especially those who missed his earlier statements about breaking the Bat – because, you know, the Kult didn’t do that (despite the series specifically stating it to be so), and Bane didn’t do that, and the Joker didn’t do that already.

And even as that is apparent, people – me, admittedly and regrettably, included – continue to hope for a better resolution, for Bat/Cat pair to drift back together and at least be no worse off than where they started… forgetting for the moment that the only real thing that could repair feelings on both sides is an actual consummation of marriage, impossible as it sounds. And since it is the only way to really repair the Bat/Cat pair, it probably won’t happen.

Nevertheless, people won’t stop forcing themselves to hope, because to lose the hope in good resolution would, for the hapless reader (also ‘punter’ or ‘sucker’ in this instance), be to lose hope of satisfying his own emotional needs – even if they originated – or became actualized – in an utterly fictional story.

There are worse conmen on the market of creative writing than Tom et al – one could probably write a short book on those – but this is probably the first time since the con has been ran on people with this much deliberation, for this long, using this particular base spectrum of emotions, and with such a long-term sales plan in mind.

 So I postulate here and now, that the creative writing industry has finally become its own dark apex – it has necessitated manipulation and traumatization of readers through proxy of characters and it will, if left unchecked, have very serious and detrimental influence on both the readers and on writers. It will, if left unchecked, become a one-sided war of educated psychologists versus uneducated mass consumers. And, if left unchecked, it will by necessity upgrade the writers from creators of monsters into monsters themselves.

Not all writers are creators of monsters. But it has been something of a trend that so many of them are, and are lauded for it.

All we can do, perhaps, is educate ourselves and our young to fight, to perceive stories as means of manipulation and traps, to search for truths in a more profound way than what the mass industry offers.

Or maybe we can do nothing - but hope.