A Whiff of Bat-Wake Should Arouse Her

 

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The 60s Batman TV show is full of gas. Joker gas, Penguin gas; Bat gas — heroes and villains alike are constantly being knocked unconscious with colorful whiffs of floating fragrance. Guns show up occasionally, but they’re largely useless — knocked from hands instantly or (in the memorable Ma Parker episode with Shelly Winters as the bad guy) the villains aim is so bad that firearms are irrelevant. The real danger is from gas — whether its sneezing powder, a black cloud to hide an escape, or that trusty, never failing knockout draft.

So why gas? I think it may serve a similar function to Wonder Woman’s lasso in the original Marston/Peter comics. Marston used bondage as a way to have conflict without violence. Similarly, the gas allows people to be rendered quietly inert without resorting to bullets or any kind of conflict that will leave a mark. There are fights between Batman and the villains, it’s true — complete with goofy bang! kerpow! special effects. But there’s a difference between seeing the superheroes battle the villains in a goofy choreographed slapstick-fest, and watching the Penguin pistol-whip some inoffensive receptionist. Gas is colorful, flamboyant, and (as depicted here, anyway) gentle. It lets the villains be villainous while still being funny.

Wonder Woman, of course, used bondage not just because it was non-violent, but because it was sexy — violence was deliberately replaced by sexuality. Batman’s gas isn’t as directly erotic — but there’s still a whiff of something there, maybe. Batman using the bat-gas to knock out the Bookworm’s moll, for example, and render her helpless, seems to have some overtones — which are both denied and highlighted when Batman insists that Gordon accompany him and the moll ot the Batcave in order to avoid the appearance of impropriety. The gas also seems like it’s a variation on, or related to, the various mind-control potions and nostrums and techniques that float through the series — the Penguin brainwashes Alfred, Tut (thinks he) brainwashes the Batman, Catwoman flips Robin’s moral code. This kind of domination again suggests Marston’s series, with its games of top/bottom and eroticized command. For that matter, Batman and Robin are tied up an awful lot in the show — not as much as Wonder Woman, certainly, but enough to raise those painted-on Bat eyebrows.

The Batman writers weren’t ideologically committed to substituting sex for violence in the way that Marston was. But the combination of a desire to avoid too much bloodshed and the need for conflict pushes them towards some of the same solutions Marston developed — with some of the same results. The TV show looked for ways to pantomime violence — and when violence is turned into a patomime, you end up hinting at BDSM, whether intentionally or otherwise.
 

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The Bookworm’s girl (Francine York) in bondage.

Utilitarian Review 12/6/14

News

I’ve got an actual physical copies of my Wonder Woman book in my hands.
 

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I have a cat; I have a book; I’m a real author.

The official release date is set for January 14. You can preorder now!

On HU

Featured Archive Post: on Matt Marriott, the great Western comic.

Me on the sexiness of the Adam West Batman.

Me on meta-ersatzness in the 60s Batman.

Donovan Grant on Superman and Atticus Finch.

Chris Gavaler on superheroes and pirates.

Tom Syverson on Jason Aaron’s settings.

Qiana Whitted on how comics represent Ferguson.

Me on Kathleen Hale and trolling.
 
Utilitarians Everywhere

At the Atlantic:

—I argued that as a writer finding your voice is overrated.

—I dumped on Star Wars and sci-fi without a future.

At Pacific Standard

—I argued that white people need diverse books too.

—I reviewed Marsha Weissman’s new book about the school to prison pipeline.

At Ravishly.com, I wrote about Outlander and the romance of infidelity.

At Splice Today I talk about the Louis Armstrong fallacy, and the idea that the success of a genius disproves discrimination.

Two of the Shmoop study guide’s I worked on are online.

Here’s one for Salem’s Lot

And here’s one for Solaris.

Other Links

C.T. May on being molested by his acupuncturist.

Jack Shafer on TNR and new media. The comments about Atlantic writers are going to leave a mark.

Max Fisher on the New Republic and the Beltway’s race problem.

Tressie McMillan Cottom on racists getting fired.

The Worst Is Yet to Come

 

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We finished the first season of Batman, and started the second…and holy jumping the shark, Batman. The two initial episodes with the Archer were by far the worst in the series.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what went wrong. There were a number of funny jokes — the Pow! and Bam! were replaced with “Poweth!” and “Bameth!” to reflect the Archer’s pseudo-Shakespearian diction, for example, and there’s a great line where Alfred is imitating Batman and Robin tells him to stick out his chest and be virile. But the episode as a whole just had no snap or joy; the actors seemed lost, wandering from campy bit of dialogue to campy bit of dialogue like tired, underpaid drones.

If I had to identify one thing that really undoes these episodes, I’d point to the villain. Art Carney, as the Archer, is pretty flat — again, the thees and thous are the main joke, but he doesn’t have anything like the manic goofball energy of Frank Gorshin as Riddler or Victor Buono as King Tut, nor Burgess Meredith’s bravado mugging.

More than that, though, the Archer is too effective. He’s got a pack of trick arrows (a la Green Arrow) and they all work really well; the first thing he does is to legit take out Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson from afar and steal their stuff. He goes on to mount a very reasonable plot involving robbing the Wayne foundation with the help of an inside man. Along the way, he turns the citizens of Gotham against Batman and Robin. He just comes across as a real, legitimate threat, with achievable, fairly well-conceived goals.

This throws everything out of whack. Most Bat villains are way more interested in goofiness for its own sake than in criminality; in subsequent episodes, Catwoman steals a catalog for reasons, or King Tut reanimates beatles trapped in amber to create a secret mind control formula and then has Chief O’Hara dance on a flagpole. The plot zigs and zags around the villain’s obsessions and neuroses, rather than around their actual efforts to steal something. That allows Batman and Robin to race from here to there more or less inefficiently and still save the day, because there wasn’t a whole lot of day to be saved anyway.

The show at its best is really a kind of masquerade; it’s a dress-up game, where everyone pretends that they’re good and/or evil; it’s a collaborative pantomime of bat nonsense. In the Archer, episode, though, the Archer doesn’t quite seem to be in on the joke; he actually wants the money. He’s bad according to genre conventions, rather than using the genre conventions to signal “bad” while wandering off to play with beetles or leave riddles scrawled on bat undies or what have you.

There were other problems too — the soundtrack, usually a delight, was weird and off, as just one example; the sets and backgrounds looked fake and clunky in a half-hearted way, rather than winningly, as with Tut’s preposterously ersatz crocodiles. But the show’s real incompetence is in making the Archer competent. Real villains are boring; they take the joy out of life.

Hating the Anonymous Haters

This is one of those posts I wrote for another site, but then it didn’t work out. So here it is; slightly off-brand for HU, but so it goes.
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Anonymity makes the Internet ugly. This is common-sense online wisdom, and there’s research to back it up. A 2014 article by Arthur D. Santana examining newspaper comment threads found that “Non-anonymous commenters were nearly three times as likely to remain civil in their comments as those who were anonymous.” Non-anonymous forums significantly reduced abusive comments, or, as Santana put it, “there is a dramatic improvement in the level of civility in online conversations when anonymity is removed.” Anonymity makes people meaner; it creates less civil, more toxic communities.

This is the context in which Kathleen Hale’s recent article about an anonymous reviewer was published at The Guardian. Hale is a writer and the author of the novel No One Else Can Have You. Her article is about one of the novel’s critics, an anonymous online reviewer who went under the alias of Blythe Harris. Harris, Hale claims, was notorious among authors on the Goodreads book discussion website for her negativity and for abuse. Hale cites one instance in which Harris and her followers targeted a supposedly 14-year old reviewer, swamping her with abuse and profanity (whether the 14-year-old was really 14 is open to question.) Hale’s lengthy essay goes on to describe how Hale tracked Harris down and unmasked her.
 

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Hale acknowledges that her obsession with Harris’ reviews and criticism wasn’t healthy; in the first sentence of the essay she characterizes herself as a “charmless lunatic.” But she also seems proud of her success as a “catfisher.” In online parlance, a “catfish” is someone who creates a fake identity online in order to deceive others, especially potential romantic partners. Harris, here, is the anonymous catfish — she’s a deceptive troll, and Hale reels her in and brings her down. Hale admits to being obsessive and pitiful, but the narrative presents her as a bit heroic too. She’s taking a stand for bullied authors and against the uncivil, anonymous hordes.

The problem is that, reading the essay with just a little bit of skepticism, Hale doesn’t come off as the good guy in this interaction. She presents her “lunatic” behavior as funny, obsessive, quirky, and sad — “Over the course of an admittedly privileged life,” she says, “I consider my visit to [Bythe’s] as a sort of personal rock bottom.”

But what she doesn’t say is that, if you identify with Harris for a moment, the stalking behavior is terrifying. Hale uses her influence as an author to get Harris’ personal information, including her address and work phone. She shows up at her house. She calls her workplace multiple times. And then, she writes an article in an international venue in which she shames and vilifies the woman she has stalked. The Guardian says that some of the names in the piece were changed— but Blythe’s online name is not changed, and her real name appears to have been used as well (at the least, there is no clear statement that the name was changed.) Even just printing the name Blythe uses online is problematic; attacking someone in a mainstream forum can send angry readers swooping down on their social media accounts in droves. The article itself is effectively an extension of a campaign of harassment aimed at someone whose main sin was that she didn’t like Hale’s book and didn’t use her real name online.

Again, there is evidence that anonymity is associated with incivility and bad behavior. But anonymity doesn’t cause incivility, or, at least, it’s not the sole cause. Santana’s report noted that 30% of non-anonymous comments on the news stories they surveyed were uncivil. Anonymous users are responsible for a lot of abuse online, but by no means for all of it. Personally, some of the most memorably unpleasant interactions I’ve had on the Internet have been with people using their real names — in some cases, with established journalists.

More, there are some good reasons why a writer online might want to be anonymous. As Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens wrote, “The decision in favor of anonymity may be motivated by fear of economic or official retaliation, by concern about social ostracism, or merely by a desire to preserve as much of one’s privacy as possible.” To provide just one example, there are incidents of teachers being fired for expressing controversial opinions online; any teacher, therefore, has good reason to hide his or her identity in online forums. For that matter, as author Bree Bridges commented on twitter ,” “Why would a reviewer EVER use a fake name?” implored the author currently stalking the hell out of one. “I can’t think of one reason.”” Hale’s article demonstrates exactly why a reviewer might want to use a pseudonym. If you can avoid it, you don’t want an obsessive stalker like Hale to know who you are or where you live.

Hale’s article raises the disturbing possibility that anonymity may lead to less civility — and that decrying anonymity may also lead to less civility. Some people, clearly, feel empowered by anonymity to hurl abuse and threats, as the ongoing death threats against women in the gaming industry demonstrate. But at the same time, the association of trolling with anonymity, and the use of terms like “catfishing” makes people like Hale (and apparently her editors at the Guardian) feel like they are entitled to stalk and shame people they disagree with online. Decrying anonymous trolling, and the association of anonymity with deception and bad actors, can be used to justify further harassment and abuse aimed at the supposed bullies.

Hale’s essay unleashed a firestorm of criticism from book writers and bloggers (some examples are here and here. A number of blogs organized a blackout on reviews of new releases in an effort to bring attention to the fear many reviewers feel that they might be targeted by authors. Hopefully Guardian Books and other publications are paying attention. Just because a writer is anonymous doesn’t mean that it’s okay to stalk, harass, and humiliate them. Even though anonymity is often used for incivility online, a pseudonym, in itself, doesn’t make you a legitimate target.

Quick, Robin! To the Bat Serial!

The Adam West Batman TV series is always fairly self-referential, but it goes above and beyond in its meta-metaness in the episodes Death in Slow Motion/The Riddler’s False Notion. The episodes are built around the Riddler’s convoluted, incoherent, but nonetheless fiendish plot to film Batman and Robin in a silent movie.
 

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The main motive here is obviously to give the insanely (in various senses) talented Frank Gorshin a chance to do a dead on Charlie Chaplin imitation. But beyond that, the episodes are one long homage to the show’s own constant homages. The height of this is the obligatory Bat cliffhanger, a trope cribbed from the silent melodramas, which here is deliberately parodied with a trope from the silent melodramas, as Robin is strapped to a conveyor belt and threatened with a circular saw as the Riddler (with fake mustache) laughs maniacally. Batman rescues the Boy Wonder — only to discover that it’s not Robin on that belt, but a dummy. The fake imitation of a fake imitation of a fake trope has been faked. Holy curses, holy foiled, holy again.

In part it seems like Batman comic book fans have been wary of the show precisely because it situates superhero comics not in the relatively sober tradition of gritty pulp noir, but in the (often comic) tradition of serial melodrama. Yet, as this episode is well aware, that melodramatic tradition is in some ways actually more high-brow, or more accepted as high-brow, than those supposedly more validating pulp sources. The Riddler’s manic re-enactment of the mechanisms of slapstick — from pies in the face to free-for-all brawls — is a deliberate effort to show the links between venerated old comedy and new Bat-comedy. Our heroes having a giant book dropped on their heads — that’s “art”, and what’s more art than art in quotes? Batman and Robin perform in the last silent film ever made; an ersatz masterpiece of ersatzness, precious for its imitation genius, its great hijacked tradition of lack of verisimilitude.

Handsome, Clean-Cut, and Groovy

“Handsome, clean-cut, and groovy” is how the nefarious villainness Nefertiti (Ziva Rodann) describes Batman when she sees him (significantly) on the television. This sparks the ire of the evil King Tut — but if he’d only watched previous bat-episodes, you’d think he’d be resigned. The henchwomen are always falling for Batman’s brand of paunchy, be-tighted goodness and/or grooviness; there’s just something about a cape that makes the bat-fans swoon.

Batman isn’t only an object of desire on the 60s television show; he’s actually the only object of desire. The show includes gratuitously scantily clad lovelies, especially in the first King Tut episode, with its gleeful harem tropes and Nefertiti herself chewing anachronistically but enthusiastically on a phallic hot dog.
 
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But the lovelies are never identified within the dialogue as objects of erotic interest; Batman and Robin are impervious to their charms, and (in Nefertiti’s case) appear to forget about her altogether after she’s tragically driven insane by pebble torture and engages in a beguiling bat dance. The only clue that anyone notices she’s hot is the voice over of the second episode, which refers to her as a “dish”. This is the case with virtually all the other leading ladies as well; Julie Newmar as Catwoman wears a skin-tight, jaw-dropping outfit, but no one’s jaw drops; the Moth, one of Riddler’s associates, wears a skin-tight, eye-raising outfit, but no one’s eyes are raised. The only sex object which is acknowledged as a sex object is the Batman himself. In this show, it’s women, not men, who visibly lust.

Batman is often described as “camp.” Camp can mean various things, but it’s often connected to queerness, gay themes, or the closet. In this case, the show is certainly reversing, or inverting, the expected economy of desire. You could say that the female concupiscence directed at Batman is a humorous stand-in for the male gaze that viewers are encouraged to cast at Nefertiti and her sisters. But you could just as easily say that the male gaze is the concealed deception which hides the obvious truth — which is that the show presents Adam West, for both male and female viewers, as the central erotic point of interest, from Bat bulge to Orientalized sensuous Bat dance. Superheroes are sexy, Adam West tells you; groove on it, Bat fans, surreptitiously or otherwise.
 

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Utilitarian Review 11/29/14

On HU

Featured Archive Post: Conseula Francis on teaching the Boondocks.

Peter Sattler on Jill Lepore’s Wonder Woman.

Me on how Adam West is the cruellest Batman of them all.

Kim O’Connor on John Porcellino’s Hospital Suite.

Kate Polak on Pride of Baghdad and teaching the invasion of Iraq.

Chris Gavaler on Taylor Swift and the Zombie apocalypse.

A brief thanksgiving post on football, Lucy, and failure.

Me on why mainstream magazines cover game of thrones.
 
Utilitarians Everywhere

At the Chronicle of Higher Ed I wrote about being scooped by Jill Lepore.

At Pacific Standard I wrote about the history of highbrow vs. lowbrow.

On Newstalk I chatted about why we need more spoilers.

At Splice Today I wrote about

— Ursula K. Le Guin and why fantasy isn’t necessarily anti-capitalist.

—the crappy Ferguson New Yorker cover.

At the Chicago Reader I wrote briefly about the blues rock band Trampled Under Foot.
 
Other Links

Jordannah Elizabeth with a liberating love mixtape.

538 on the statistical rarity of not getting a grand jury indictment.
 

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