Frank Miller Is Overrated

I write this with full knowledge and understanding that it will and may call down the wrath of every bloodthirsty fanboy (or girl) who may wander past this vastly unread blog. But then again these things are for expressing one's opinion without concern to censorship or public opinion, so here goes.

I fully understand that when Frank Miller "burst" on the scene with Daredevil #158 his style and storytelling seemed different and "new" to people when the big name comic companies forced artistic and writing formulas on their employees, forcing them to churn out Xeroxed imagery from one title to the next. Hell, Marvel even wrote a book about it, "Hot to Draw Comics The MARVEL Way," so that you could do it too. I disagree with the common interpretation of Miller's early Daredevil style as 'noir' though. It was definitely more 'hard boiled' in the fact that it was wrought it he over-the-top violence that has become a signifier of Miller's work, but there wasn't anything particularly shadowy about it.

I've read the entire Miller run of the Daredevil revival in which the infamous Elektra death scene takes place. I found the storytelling to be actually quite boring. The entire thing hinges on Daredevil's relationship with Elektra, her his one-time girlfriend and he not quite over her. The Kingpin is involved of course. He sets up political stooges, hires assassins (namely Bullseye) and basically wants Daredevil killed. The story itself seems confusing and very slowly told. I realize good things take time but I literally got bored with the title at this point. Finally the big "pay off", Bullseye gets a brain tumor and goes insane, and Elektra gets killed. Then it turns out she isn't dead. Big surprise.

Sin-City of course is Miller's opus of sorts. Considered to be his "finest". I'm not saying Miller is a bad writer, or a bad artist. But there certainly seems to be a difference in what Miller considers good storytelling and what others consider good storytelling. Many knee-jerk liberals will see a Michael Moore documentary which is all relentless evidence (however skewed its presentation is) against the Bush administration and consider that good storytelling because it helps back-up their already self-supported views. Perhaps a different person will see the movie "V: For Vendetta" and consider that the better of the two, when it comes to political discourse, because it presents political matters in a more even light and openly questions both sides of the argument. Each have their critics.

When Miller's idol Will Eisner penned "The Spirit" he made one thing clear: The Spirit aka Denny Colt was not going to triumph over evil with a smile and a flick of the wrist. The Spirit pounded his way through mobsters, bookies, cops and killers and often wound up in near critical condition himself. He took as many beatings as his enemies and sometimes he didn't win.

Miller obviously drew a lot of inspiration from Eisner for Sin City. The difference? The Spirit wouldn't take a hacksaw to somebody or graphically remove their limbs. This is all a penny in the well of course. Who cares what Eisner would have done, it's Miller's title, right? But all of Miller's storytelling seems to wander the same path. Sketchily drawn characters in over-the-top blood filled situations. Hell he had Batman take out the Joker's eye. He's like the Tarantino of comics. But where in lies the value? You can only see Miller's name on a cover before you assume that the characters within end up eviscerated and lying in a pool of blood, with the protagonist in not much better condition. It gets trite after a while. It's like reading, well I don't know if one can actually "read" a Todd McFarlane 'story' but if you could you'd get the same thing. Entrails, blood, tits and cursing.

How about some exposition? Try a story that is original, creative and doesn't rely on someone punching though someone's skull like an overripe watermelon or rehashing Kubrick's "The Killing" as a framing device. It's tired. It's the over-machismo frat boy way of doing things.

The newest Miller creation to hit the limelight is the film adaptation of his graphic novel 300, which in itself is an "adaptation" of the event that took place in 480 BC when Leonidas led 300 Spartans (as well as Thesbians and Thebans) against the advancing army of Persia at the Pass of Thermopylae and lost. Yes they lost. They fought for freedom from slavery and the Thebans and Thesbians joined them in battle (though according to Herodotus' book The History, the Thebans never actually wanted to be there and surrendered as soon as Leonidas was killed).

There are actually people debating whether or not this film is historically accurate! COME ON! First of all there are no definite first hand accounts of the war so NO ONE can be truly historically accurate. Secondly, whatever happened, it probably didn't look like a bondage fetish video with weird Hellraiser monsters populating the Persian army (which are clearly visible in the trailer). This is a worthy story to tell, but it's also another excuse for over the top gore, jingoistic storytelling and slow-motion blood splatter. He might as well just create a graphic novel called "People getting Killed" in which each panel consists of a different person being forced to meet their demise in a bloody graphic manner. No need for story, character or exposition.

It looks like an episode of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (bad, loud acting included) with the props man from Dawn of the Dead (by the way the director is Zack Snyder, the DOTD remake director.)

So that aside, I think that Miller brought some fresh blood (pun intended) to the genre. He stirred things up when they definitely needed to be. But at the same time it seems that something different was labeled something genius just because it was different, with out any real dissection of the attributes. I enjoyed Sin City somewhat; the Daredevil run was a tad boring, but still entertaining. But you won't find me in line to watch 300 or championing the return of the floppy-haired girl Robin.

The Indwelling

I find it a tad hard to look at myself in the mirror these days. I'm only 28 and yet can see the decay of age steadily working its eroding influence upon my fading, fragile youth. Stress is carving lines across my face as the hair of my scalp thins to a barren field. The shadows are gathering 'round my eyes, only a dim spark remaining of a once proud flame. My soul is weary, tired, waiting to sleep, soothed by the slowing lullaby of my heart.

But I do not allow myself to sink into the darkness. Not just yet. There is still something, some destiny I have yet to complete.

I ponder what awaits after the final curtain of my eye lids do fall. Will I dwell in golden Elysian Fields or haunt the catacombs of Hades, wandering through the bones of Terra?

Yes, I am brooding. Oh, how entertaining I can be! Luckily I am sober. If I'd written this last night you would have gotten drunken, depressed me and that would not have been as "peppy" as the above.

So, as always, I am doubting the path I find myself wandering along. I never have followed the well worn, paved thoroughfare of my forebears and present peers. I always find myself veering off on the side roads, seeing sights and experiencing adventures normal people believe only happen in books and movies. True, I have experienced life. I have also learned the value of said existence. What I have gathered from these many kernels scattered along my hidden trails is the belief of not endowing anything with too great a price. Things come and go, ebb and flow. You must be willing to let go of things. The physical as well as spiritual memory can only weigh one down. You can't allow yourself to become fixated. Obesession is nothing more than an addiction which rots away possibility.

I've been thinking about once more trying to sell a comic book idea I have. I'm not quite sure whether or not the various publishers will be more open to my work than before. Why do they not recognize a true artist I ask you. It is a fun little tale with so many adventures involving an unwitting protagonist drawn into a universal state of affairs. To describe it is difficult. None of my tales ever fit neatly into a single category. But hey, I can always try:

My comic book revolves around a sci-fi/fantasy/superhero premise. It is 1930. The world is suffering through the beginning of the Depression. The Midwest is turning to dust, once flourishing farmland rendered desert as the world teeters on the brink of collapse. There is a young man, uncertain of his future. His father is dying of cancer. The farm his family owns is facing foreclosure. He is near losing everything.

Across the stars travels two races: one explorers, the others conquerors. The one race, an ethereal breed who seek out only life and the discovery of new worlds. But they are old, their civilization fading. Once protectors they slowly face extinction, yet they seek to prevent their conquering counterparts from crushing humanity and adding them to their empire. These explorers, the Etheria, see a vibrant planet being threatened by the encroaching darkness of the savage Shaka Ri, a Serpentine race united under a single despot whose grip crushes thousands of star systems.

The Etheria are too small in number and weak in forces to stop the initial invasion fleet so they use the Shaka Ri's own law to forestall humanity's fall. Proud warriors, the Shaka Ri are convinced to postpone the invasion of Earth in an old custom involving war by proxy. The Etheria claim Earth for their own having reached it first. Rather than battle starship to starship, the Etheria offer to do battle according to the ancient laws. The Etheria will choose a champion to face a champion of the Shaka Ri.

And so that farmboy finds himself drawn into the initial battle between Etheria and Shaka Ri which will draw him towards a destiny which will span light years from Earth.

It is a deep, complex story with multiple arcs. I wish I could write them all down. That, though, would take far too long. Trust me. I have the equivalent of maybe eight to ten years worth of material for a comic book or eight to ten books worth. I would much rather see this in comic book form though. The imagery in my head. Astounding.

So here I am hoping that at least something I've written will capture the attention of the powers that be. I just keep hammering away with this keyboard, hoping one of my blows will finally bring the walls down...and not upon my head. Who knows. Maybe one day you guys will actually be proud to have known me.