
Not bad for a guy who spent the 1990s jumping out of a 40-foot lemon!
As scarce as truth is, the supply has always outweighed the demand.
When Superman died in 1993, it was at the hands of a massive, spiky supervillain named Doomsday, and only after a cataclysmic battle that demolished whole sections of Metropolis.
When Captain America met his apparent end this week, it was at the hands of a sniper who left the venerable superhero ingloriously sprawled on the steps of a courthouse.
Quite a difference -- and one that illustrates a downsizing of the idea of the superhero and a broader change in the world of comic books.
It's a testament to the inherent cinematic depth of Miller's graphic novels that the movies based on them are so vicariously dull. "Sin City" was like watching your buddy get a lap dance. "300" is often like watching that buddy play a video game.
"300" is about a bunch of hot white metrosexuals -- those pecs, those abs, that hair -- against a million freaky nonwhite club kids. In other words, the gays. King Xerxes's hangout is full hookah-puffers, derelicts, and girls making it with girls (let's call them lesbians). According to this outrageously flagrant movie, the Spartans didn't just die for Glory, Duty, and Destiny. They died to keep the Hot Gates from turning into another gay disco.
Mike is dragging me to see it tonight. I'll let you know what I think.