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Sorry for the lack of entries lately. It’s been a perfect storm of nice weather keeping me outside, new job keep me busy, and general comfort in life keeping me unstressed (which means I don’t have to get out my stress via blogging). Anyway, I’m about 75% done with an entry on Kick-Ass, but this matter takes precedent. Oh, as for the title, it's a poem by Richard Lovelace from the 17th century about how he digs fat chicks. You'll see why I used it.

People magazine named Gabourey Sidibe one of the Most Beautiful People of 2010.

What.
The.
Fuck.

Now, let me preface this statement (and this very preface, while necessary, sadly plays into a point I will later make) that I do believe that Sidibe is talented and did an excellent job in Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire. But talent does not equal beauty. In fact, people seem all too willing to acknowledge the opposite. Elisha Cuthbert and Meghan Fox may get movie and television roles, but no one is ever going to proclaim that they deserve Oscar nominatiosn. Well, no one aside from the very ironic and some hormone-addled boys. But, paradoxically, if a woman is talented, suddenly she’s beautiful as well.

No, that is not the case. This situation reminds me a lot of the term “athletic intelligence.” If someone can play basketball well, they are “athletically intelligent.” No, they are athletic. The term is as ridiculous as “mathlete,” except one is universally recognized as ludicrous, while the other is taught is education courses. While albeit selective (and not just to one group, since Gabby is more of a mathlete than an athletically intelligent girl), there’s a growing trend in our culture that if someone is very good at one thing, they must be very good at everything. Someone who is athletic also is as intelligent in their own way as the valedictorian. The best actress nominee is a page away from Miley Cyrus. My dog Vito is adorable and charismatic. That being said, he sucks at long division. My ability to do close readings of Renaissance Drama has not aided me in learning to drive stick shift.

Furthermore, there is something almost disturbing in the idea that anyone who is successful is also beautiful. Instead of "depowering" beauty to make it an available, accessible commodity to whomever has enough clout, we are elevating it to a status that makes it tantamount to success. If you are successful/smart/talented etc., then you are beautiful. Therefore, whoever we do not consider beautiful is clearly none of those other things. The so-called "inner beauty" is only reflected in some form of outer beauty.

But, of course, inner beauty is not beauty. It’s a fallacious term for character. In fact, it is downright synaesthesia. A personality cannot be any more beautiful than it can be salty, aromatic, or fluffy. Is a compelling personality better than beauty? Yes. But it’s not beauty. Just as a fine bottle of wine is not a McDonald’s hamburger. And don’t try to say “It’s a different type of beauty.” Because if you wouldn’t A) bed that person or B) all things being equal, trade looks with that person*, then I have a hard time believing you. Furthermore, even Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire implicitly acknowledges how ugly Sidibe is. Actually, such unfortunate looks make her daydreams of being a beautiful starlet even sadder and more pathetic. Were Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire a complete Cinderella-tale with a beautiful girl in rags, the revelry would be more prophetic or even haughty. No, they needed a repugnant face. And they got one.

[*What I mean is, I wouldn’t swap looks with Meryl Streep (even though she is beautiful), because she’s a 55-year-old woman. Were I a woman of 55, I would very likely love to look like Meryl Streep.]

But, of course, there is the cult of Gabby Sidibe. The cult, as one of my friends has pointed out, is similar to the one of Susan Boyle. Susan Boyle is a great singer. Of course, had the voice been put into a 35-year-old who was reasonably attractive (or at least average looking), she might’ve been voted as having talent, but no one would've cared. People rally around her because, well, who ever would have thought that an ugly fat old woman had any talent? In fact, the very support is insulting.

The situation is similar with Gabby. Because she’s so fat and hideous but somehow has managed to break into Hollywood, everyone is falling over themselves praising her and to speak ill against her is akin to declaring God is dead in the middle of 1690s Salem. Hence, my preface. Ken Tucker of Entertainment Weekly essentially has a weekly job of tearing apart the latest SNL episode. While, granted, the show is not in its heyday, he attacks each one as vehemently as if it were an aberration in an otherwise immaculate season. Except while Sidibe hosted last week. Then, he praised the show like it was the star-jock/mathlete and he was a pubescent girl who just thought it was the bee’s knees. Or, actually, more like Gabby was the bee’s knees. In actuality, the show was as uneven and awkward as ever. He praised “Crazy Lady Yelling From Window” as refreshing. In actuality, the sketch was a half-funny idea that went on far too long and had the requisite SNL failing of having a character who points out the obvious disconnect between what one character is saying and reality. Furthermore, when posters disagreed, he immediately fired back, which I’ve never seen an Entertainment Weekly recapper do before, and I go on that site far too much.

In short, Gabby is every Hollywood reporter’s token friend. I would say she’s the token dark-black friend, but I think that’s just the delicious chocolately glaze on the very fattening doughnut of guilt appeasement. She’s not even the token fat friend. She’s the token morbidly obese and just plain unattractive friend with a side of ethnic. As long as they apotheosize her on a semi-regular basis and let her play with the pretty kids and share in their prizes, they can feel good about spending the rest of their time focusing on the Kate Gosselins and Best/Worst Dressed and everyone else who is getting by on their looks. Because they’re not shallow or callow or cruel. They support Gabourey Sidibe. They daren’t meet any misstep with the slightest bit of chastisement. They’ll even call her “beautiful.” That deserves a merit badge.

EDIT:

Upon getting some reactions from people on this piece (many in personal conversation), I am even more certain that our culture privileges physical attractiveness over almost any other trait. I can call a woman an incompetent painter or accuse her of having an atrocious voice without much abhorrence or argument from my readers. I hardly doubt anyone would rise to defend a mockery of Fran Drescher's voice. To say to a roomful of women, "Very few, if any of you, are beautiful" is unthinkable. Yet to say to them, "Very few, if any of you, are great cellists," would almost certainly be met with agreement.

But what makes one beautiful? I retort, what makes one a great cellist? We only value certain attributes of cellists as great, but they are as intrinsically linked or unlinked to greatness as a certain skin complexion or body type is linked to beauty. The merits of aesthetic production and which sounds are pleasing/unpleasing are just as relative and mercurial to the whims of time and society as physical attractiveness, yet people would not bring those up as often. If my drawings are overly two-dimension, no one is going to bring up how that used to be the standard in the medieval ages. But people will bring up the waxing and waning of corpulence in physical attractiveness over time. I can proclaim Inglourious Basterds to be the best film of the past decade, and people will calmly agree or disagree and point out the flaws of the film or attributes of another. I doubt many, if any, would retort that the rules of cinematic appreciation are so malleable that why should we even try to denote films as great or not.

Beauty is not an attribute; it's a right in our culture. To deny someone of beauty is to deny them of an aspect of their humanity. We're not all beautiful. Nor are we all great writers. Let's take this trait down from the complete evaluation of a person's character (and our thoughts on a person) and bring it back to what it is supposed to be: a trait. I can write an entry on whether or not Gabourey Sidibe is beautiful or not so. Similarly, I can bash Maggie Gyllenhall's acting from here to eternity. Sure, Maggie got a paragraph and Gabourey technically got an entry. But there's only about a paragraph or two actually talking about her unattractiveness. The rest is expanding on the larger ramifications. Were Maggie Gyllenhall's nomination was anything beyond spillover Jeff Bridges Love, it too may've gotten the exact same treatment.

Citizen Kane is quite an anomaly when you think about it. Or at least its reputation is. Can anyone agree on the best novel ever written? If asked, someone might throw out Joyce’s Ulysses, but another might immediately counter with Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu or Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Even if you limited the question to novels written in the English language, you’d be faced with devotees of Dickens, Eliot, and Melville, as well as those of Nabokov and Twain, but to name a few. Hamlet is the classic example of great play, but not the universal answer for "greatest play." Putting aside those who would campaign against Shakespeare, you could still find Bard enthusiasts who would argue that the man’s (yes, one man) greatest work is King Lear or The Tempest. Subjects as seemingly limited as “the epic poem” find a clash between the mouth of Homer and the pen of Milton.

Yet, Citizen Kane is “the greatest movie ever made.” It tops every big critical list and anyone who makes a case against it is not simply making an argument for the greatest movie ever made, but distinctly marking themselves out as challenging an accepted truth.



And oddly, so many people who have seen Citizen Kane do not like it or even understand what makes it great. Furthermore, the strangest part of that situation is that, unlike a person’s reaction to disliking almost any other great movie, in this case, they actually accept the blame. I have heard countless people challenge everything from The Godfather to Vertigo to Sunrise to 8 ½ to Star Wars. I myself will piss on most Kurosawa films like they were freshly laid snow and I had an uncontrollable desire to see my name. But the standard reaction for Citizen Kane is, “I probably don’t know enough about film to fully appreciate it.” The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in the film, but in ourselves.

So the film sits upon its throne, loved by a few critics and film buffs, unappreciated yet revered by many and unwatched by even more. It is a treasure the masses can never comprehend.



As one of those masses, I was not content. I could not figure out what was worse: being denied a marvelous piece of art or being denied the ability to bash a treasure with all the iconoclastic fury I could muster. But reading a book on Citizen Kane would not be enough. I wanted to see, not simply hear, what a marvel it is.

Thus, the great mission was born. The original plan was this: create a list of essential movies to watch made which were made before Citizen Kane and, for a month or two, only watch those movies. Anything that could possibly use post-Kane techniques was to be avoided like electricity on the sabbath. Naturally, this task was not one I could or should tackle single-handedly. I needed a partner, someone with whom I could share thoughts, reflect, and, most importantly, turn to for impetus after a particularly boring film. I immediately turned to Nick, my oldest friend and another budding film geek. I say “film geek” since neither Nick nor I consider ourselves “film buffs.” There are two types of “film buffs.” The first group is those who think that seeing a few foreign films and renting movies made before 1980 on a decently regular basis makes one a film buff. The second are the real film buffs: those who really just know their shit. Nick and I lie somewhere in between the two; we know just enough about film to know we are not buffs.

Upon reflection, perhaps this mission would have made a great Julie and Julia-esque blog. Too bad Julie and Julia came out after we were two months into it. And I console myself with the fact that, knowing me, only the blog or the mission itself could be of true importance. Were I to keep the blog, the mission would be a reason for the blog and, thus, lose its true purpose and my true understanding. I would be watching movies, taking notes on them for quips to make and so forth, instead of allowing them to envelope me. Though, I admit, I would love Amy Adams to play me in a movie. Meryl Streep could play Roger Ebert or Žižek. Is anyone in Hollywood reading this? You're sitting on a gold mine!

But I digress.

We quickly ruled out the isolation approach. After all, Nick was off for the summer and needed to do something to fill his long days; not watching post-1941 films would be an issue. Also, we both needed to catch up on Mad Men. Of course, with this rule eliminated, the list was able to grow, unconstrained by the necessity of a month or two lifespan. What was once 50 films burgeoned to 120 or so. Soon, we were not only getting the best of the best, but a fuller sense of films at the time. We knew not only the high points of aesthetic value, but the cultural points such as the gangster film or talkie-powered musical.

And, in these “extra” films was where the true value of this mission lay. Sure, it was great in finally getting us to watch such classics as It Happened One Night, Rules of the Game, Battleship Potemkin, and Gone With the Wind. We certainly had a better appreciation for them by watching them in the context of their time (very few people nowadays probably have our absolute thrill at Sunrise’s camera movement). But, ultimately, as fledgling film geeks, we probably would have encountered these greats at some point or another in life. However, there are other films that, while we knew enough about them to put them on the list and therefore might have seen them eventually, might not as certainly made their way to our DVD players in life. They could have languished in our Netflix queue for years, always hanging around spot 73 as newer or more important films took precedent. Man with the Movie Camera, I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, My Man Godfrey, Scarlett Empress, Le Jour Se Leve, Strike!: I’m looking at you. Hell, even films like Greed (i.e. those that are deemed among the top, but just seem too long or boring to wallow through) make me more indebted to this list.

Naturally, we also learned a lot about film. Such as the fact that camera movement is really exciting. And that, if a silent film is boring, the benefit is that you can talk through it. And “What’s the idea?” is akin to “What the hell?” whereas “What’s the big idea?” is more like “What the fuck?” And most silent Russian films are exactly the same, many of them being excruciatingly dull. And, over fifteen years later, Pinocchio is still as horrible as when I first saw it. And, while most famous for Intolerance and Birth of a Nation, Griffith’s true achievement is Broken Blossoms. Oh yeah.

We also learned a lot about camera and things like that, but you really don't want to hear that.

As time passed and the months went on (this whole trek started on June 8 of last year), a slight worry began to emerge: what if Citizen Kane was a letdown? While we consoled ourselves with the aphorism of a journey exceeding a destination (and, with over 100 films and 10 months of movie watching, there was no way it could not), we still wanted a big finish. After all, what is a great movie without a great ending, be it a line or a shot? Casablanca, Psycho, and every Wilder film seem to know this to be the case.



This past Friday was judgment day. Film Forum was screening Citizen Kane as part of their Newspaper Picture festival and we knew that nothing could rival a 35mm print on a big screen with an audience.

I can gush about Kane for pages now. But what’s the point? I’m now on the other side and either you’re on my side of the line and already know what I mean or you would just take my word for it. All I will say is this: mission accomplished. Sure, I could have read essays about Citizen Kane beforehand or listened to a film professor, but ultimately, I experienced it. From the opening shots, I saw Welles tearing up the rules of cinema and joyously creating a whole new vocabulary (or at least turning Middle English into early modern English). The whole movie was thrilling; I had goosebumps and a grin with every shot, every technique that seemed new because it surpassed and undid every expectation I had.

So this marks the end of a mission and an abnormal entry. I’m not pessimistic, not even all that thoughtful, but I thought I should share it all with you (and not just to end my two week hiatus). What’s the moral of this tale? Create assignments for yourself. Give yourself homework. And do it with a class or at least a buddy…because that’s the only way you’ll get it done.



Er, no, that’s not the best moral. Um, realize that to watch movies in the context of your time, you should create really long lists and –

No.

There is no moral. I don’t know if anyone would or could replicate this experience. For starters, you need a Nick to your Devin or Devin to your Nick, someone willing to sit through all those movies with you and set time aside for double features and marathons. Someone who can get high just off of a transcendent film experience and who is willing to laugh at Eisenstein’s October. Someone to whom you can comment on how crisp* a movie is or isn’t and note that the inevitable “everyone running” scene has come at the end of a silent movie.

One film we watched was Murnau’s Tabu. We hated it (except for an awesome dance scene). Watching it was the most fun I had that week and one of my favorite memories from last fall. Why? Because it was silent, and I already said what you can do during boring silent movies. Even my mom, who was in the other room, remarked that she was jealous of how much we were enjoying that dull film. A companion like that is hard to come by. I could continue rambling about how this story is less a story about a film or even one about a list of movies, but about a friendship, but this blog is called “Pop Culture Gone Bad,” not “Mass Bromantic.”

But if you want to try, let me know and I’ll post the list. But yeah, aside from that, just another day in the life of a movie geek.

*Have you ever watched an old movie (particularly a really old silent one) and found it almost impossible to believe that at one point, the action on screen was real life people in front of a camera, who looked and sounded just like real-life people? Our blanket term for the level of believability was crispness. A modern movie, such as The Hurt Locker, would be about a 10 on the crispness scale. It loses a point or so with 40s or 50s Technicolor or really, well, crisp black and white. Typical black and white loses another point or so. But, most cases, you can still imagine. As you watch though films from the early 30s or earlier, they tend to get more and more uncrisp (particularly when a silent film is tinted) and you find yourself less and less able to believe that 80 or 90 years ago, all these people looked quite crisp. There is a sound counterpart to “crisp;” we call it “crackly.” Though, whereas crisp increases with modernity, crackly decreases.

Another month, another holiday, another list of ten. In honor of Easter, I have decided to take this time to celebrate my ten favorite methods of resurrection in fiction! Originally, I was going to do my ten favorite resurrected characters, but there are just too many of them. And, for those of you offended, just think: I could have done worse. I couldn't think of too many freed slaves I love to honor Passover. Only really Mammy from Gone with the Wind. Yes, Dobby counts as one, but who actually liked him? I know; no one! And then people cried all sadly when he died! But I assure you, no one would like to see him employ any of these methods.

Fakin’ It

Offenders: Laura Fairlie (The Woman in White), Madeleine Elster (Vertigo), Sinestro (Green Lantern), Laura Bristow (Alias), Aunt May (Spider-Man)

This method of resurrection is a cohort of either very strong plotting or very lazy retconning. In novels and movies, it often serves a larger purpose than simply allowing the writer the shock and dramatics of killing off a character only to use him or her later in the story. The results of the death and the discovery of the deception are the source of narrative tension and therefore the story would be weaker with an actual shuffling loose the mortal coil.

However, this method is also famous in comic books and many television shows as a way for writers to bring back characters that they were annoyed at their predecessors for eradicating. A death certificate sometimes is less valuable than a Blockbuster gift certificate (the worst of all gift certificates). The person in question could have been secretly carried away from the plane wreck or had a secret compartment in the building just as the bomb went off. The writer could be particularly creative (read: ludicrous) and fabricate reasons like “Ah! But you killed a hard-light construction of me I engineered in order to drive you further to the brink of madness!” Yes, that is a real reason used.

In short, Fakin’ It is rife with dichotomies. The recently-resurrected could have instrumented the plan or been a victim of it. It is almost certainly the case if there is no corpse but cannot be ruled out even if there is one. And, most oddly, it has simultaneously been behind some of the greatest films and biggest eyerolls of all time.

Army of Me

Offenders: Ayanami Rei (Neon Genesis Evangelion), Hank and Dean Venture (The Venture Bros.)

You get to have your corpse and eat it too. Or something like that. I suppose you could eat the corpse. The beauty of this convention is that it proffers all the joy of the bloody death (no escape hatch or faked allergy to honey) without requiring some hokey way to have a character drive Charon’s ferry in reverse. The character does die and does not come back from the dead…but you still get to enjoy their company. Why? Because some lovely figure (be it the writer or head of a government agency or both) had the foresight to store a few spare copies of this person just in case. This method also then invites all fun introspections on “What is a self?,” which intro to philosophy college students can gush over for hours!

Messiah Complex

Offenders: Neo (The Matrix), Aslan (The Chronicles of Narnia), Sailor Moon (Sailor Moon)

Word to the wise: if you find yourself in a world with superpowers (oh, let’s say the guy you’re with can leap over skyscrapers or you have a piece of enchanted lipstick that turns you into a pyrokinetic superheroine), you really should not be all that cautious when approaching the subject of your mortality. Honestly, you should just assume that shuffling loose this mortal coil is a pretty much akin to landing in jail in the early stages of Monopoly. It will be an inconvenience, but it’s not the end of the world (neither, for that matter, is the end of the world). This point is particularly salient if you were to find yourself dying because you were nobly sacrificing your life for the greater good. That’s a “get out of jail free” card right there. There’s no way you’re going to stay dead. None. You pretty much hit the jackpot in Pascal’s Wager and won not only the glory for being such a noble, good being, but also that precious little thing called life.

Only Mostly Dead

Offenders: Westley (The Princess Bride), Norman Osborn (Spider-Man), Morph (X-Men: The Animated Series)

They say that if there’s no body, there is no death. Well, sometimes, if there is a body, there’s still no death. As Miracle Max explains, there’s dead and there’s mostly dead. Mostly dead allows for the shock of the death and perhaps even the loss of a heart-beat/heart, but without the irritating finality of death. Mostly dead is very similar to “Fakin’ It” (in fact Norman does a little of both), but more often than not lacks the possibility of preplanning by the writer (with the exception of Westley) and is a frequent enough device that it deserves its own category.



I’m a Dark Lord. ‘Nuff said.

Offenders: Sauron (Lord of the Rings), Voldemort (Harry Potter), Dr. Doom (Fantastic Four), Megatron (Transformers)

Word to the wise part deux: beings of unimaginable evil and power always come back after their first death, even more evil and more powerful. If you and your friends have just defeated the Great Terror Lord of Gonthrax, you should not be celebrating. If anything, you should be even more worried! All you have accomplished is chaperoning your calamitous caterpillar into the pernicious pupa stage of his metamorphosis of malevolence (where he will then reemerge as a bloodthirsty butterfly)! Granted, I do not know what the implications of this fact are when applied to the best-selling novel, The New Testament, considering we have the death of a powerful being with multiple supporters, only to reemerge a few days later even more awe-inspiring. Maybe Jesus was actually the first Sauron. And all poor Judas wanted to do was pull a Peter Pettigrew and atone for his alliance with wickedness.



I know, I know…I just committed a mortal sin; I confused Harry Potter with Lord of the Rings.

We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Explanations!

Offenders: Daffy Duck (Looney Tunes), the crew of Sealab (Sealab 2021), Action League Now! (Kablam!)

How does Daffy survive a gun-shot to the face (or a visit to Hell at the end of some episodes)? How does the Flesh reconstruct himself after being blended, run over by an SUV, exploded, crush by a block of concrete, etc.? How do the denizens of Sealab continuously survive the undersea holocaust and rebuild their home (and don’t say there is no continuity, because they reference past episodes)? WHO CARES?! Look at all the stupid explanations there are for characters coming back to life: Horcruxes, clones, lookalike twins, magical flowers, bullets that send people through time, cocoons at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean – sometimes the best explanation is no explanation. You know what they say: if you don’t have anything half-credible to say, don’t say anything at all.

Hell-bent on Slaughter

Offenders: Michael Myers (Halloween), Jason (Friday the 13th), Freddy Kreuger (Nightmare on Elm Street)

This category is almost a subsection of Daffy’s category. Personally, I am not as well-versed on slasher movies as I should be; I’ve only seen the first one of each series. Of course, I have never really surmised that all that much energy is devoted to concocting reasons as to why that axe didn’t fully sever Michael’s head or how Jason survived the room of a thousand dynamites. All that matters is that these creatures have one reason to live: to exenterate the insides of every horny teenager on the planet. And, clearly, there are still horny teenagers out there. In fact, they’re multiplying in numbers! And sometimes this very increase in numbers is due to, you guessed it, horny teenagers! These guys can’t give up on their duty! They have a varsity-level commitment that I only wish I had back when I did track. Death to them is like a few broken bones to an Olympic gold medalist: enough of a reason to pause for a moment, but that’s it. Afterwards, they slap on some duct tape, grit their teeth, and continue the chase. And good for them!

(I can express such sentiments since, as a horny 23-year old, I’m pretty sure I’m exempt from their eviscerations)

I Had an Extra Guy!

Offenders: Pac-Man (Pac-Man), Mario (Super Mario Bros), Sonic the Hedgehog (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Man, wouldn’t the world be an interesting place if you had multiple deaths before you truly died? I know that The Onion did an investigation on the personal psychological implications of such a reality…but there is so much more. Would people sell their extra guys (or green mushrooms, etc.) in times of economic distress, leading the rich to become nigh-immortals? Or, in fact, would people be born with different amounts of extra lives, which in turn would decide their level in society?

Oh, the possibilities for anti-utopian novels are endless!

Lazy Writing/The Fans Demanded It/Cocoon in Ocean

Offenders: Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), Barry Allen (Flash), Bucky (Captain America)

Okay, so usually the writer will ultimately fall back on one of the aforementioned categories or a particularly special case of “cocoon in ocean” (yes, I already mentioned that, but it’s SO freakin’ stupid!). But some cases of resurrection are far more transparent than others. While I can half-buy into certain cases of averted death, there are points where the movie or telev – oh who am I kidding, comic book writer should just devote a few panels to his hand reaching into the grave and picking the dead character out of it before imbuing life back into him or her. Because, no, Barry Allen isn’t alive because of the Speed Force…that is unless Speed Force is “Geoff Johns wants it to be the Silver Age” in another language. What? Grant Morrison wrote that story? No, not believing it. Because, to be fair, Morrison is probably the only one who executed my suggestion. Seriously. Read Animal Man sometime.

It’s My Other Mutant Power

Offenders: Pretty much everyone who has every graced the pages of X-Men

I could pretty much populate this entire list with mutants. Fakin’ It? Yup, Magneto has done that so many times he should probably meet with Dr. Ruth. Clones? Uh-huh. Even if you’re an X-Men and aren’t Multiple Man, a cosmic, nigh-omnipotent deity will provide a few clones of you just to ensure you can die tragically and still come back to grace the shiny variant covers of issue 300. And don’t even get me started on the last category I just discussed.

I’m relatively certain by this point that one of the prerequisites for joining the X-Men is that the potential member in question has to have died at least once. That must be what X-Force, X-Factor, Generation X (oh, am I dating myself?), and all those other teams are force: acquainting the next class of mutants with the concept of their own mortality and their mortality’s mortality. The X-Men are the most elite group of mutants out there; they cannot be wasting their time dealing with death-virgins who actually get worried when a Sentinel beam fries Cyclops. Come on!





Did I miss any of your favorites?