No revenge for these nerds: A fable for these fucking stupid times

 

It's 1986, I'm 11 years old, and even though we are in the peak era of home video, broadcast television is the biggest medium in the land. There are only two TV stations around here, so everybody is watching the same thing. We're all watching the A-Team, we're all talking about it the next day. It's either that or Coronation Street and fuck that noise. 

Even the biggest films didn't achieve total cultural saturation until they played for free on your home television. So when Revenge of the Nerds plays on the Saturday night movie slot, me and literally everybody I know is watching it. 

And while it's rightly judged for its many problematic elements, it's still a well-made movie with some genuinely funny characters and moments, and ends on a blatant plea for a little bit of empathy.

Holy shit, I thought as I wiped away my adolescent tears. Maybe people will be nicer to nerds after this. I actually believed this, and obviously could not have been more wrong.

On the geek-jock spectrum, I was definitely down the nerd end. Mainly because I refused to give up childish things like comic books and action figures and Doctor Who, and doubled down on all the obsessions instead. This was also the year I got glasses, and only absolute dorks wore glasses, everybody knew that.

I didn't really get bullied for being a nerd, because I was a big kid, even at that age, and I also hung out with a decent group of similar dork hulks. And whenever somebody tried to mess with me I'd just go full feral on them, and bullies can not be fucked dealing with the crazy kids, and that was easy to fake, although I do believe there are still people in this world who think I once used toilet water to brush my hair.

But I still remember that Monday morning after the Nerds screening, and the way the meatheads in every classroom replicated the boorish acts of the jocks in the first 90 percent of film, and were hanging out the window to scream 'NEEEERRRRDDDD' at any poor speccy kid that walked past. They had watched the whole movie, listened to the big climactic speech and did not learn a fucking thing.

They just picked up on the bits they liked, and missed the entire point of the whole goddamn enterprise, perpetuating the brutal ignorance and dumb malice of the fucking bad guys, rather than modifying their behaviour because they had been shown how hurtful and destructive that behaviour is.

This has happened to me several times since, when I thought a piece of pop culture might actually make things better, only for morons to completely misinterpret it for their own purposes and make it worse. I'll probably fall for it again, because I remain, as always, hopelessly naïve, and I'm still hoping for the best.

Nobody gave a shit when Revenge of the Nerds 2 came out, that joke was good for one movie and one movie only. Although it does still have a bitchin' musical number.

Fighting with Frank (part 10 of 13): Response. Acceptable.

- All-Star Superman #3 

Art by Frank Quitely 

Written by Grant Morrison

Digitally inked and colored by Jamie Grant 

Lettered by Phil Balsman

Losing sleep at 3am eternal

I still firmly believe there are exactly two kinds of people in the world. There are those who hear about that time the KLF burned a million quid in a thoroughly modern ritual, and think it was a bloody waste of money and they could have done a lot of good with that kind of cash instead of wasting it in a pointless exercise. 

And there are those that think who it was pretty fucking cool.

I know what side I'm on. How about you?

Finding some divine deposits in the Bank of Dave

You always know what you're getting with the cuddly and cozy British comedy-drama - a bunch of brilliant aged actors, some hot young thing in tweed, the tiniest touch of dark humour and lots of lovely life lessons.

They are the intellectual marshmallows of films, often obvious, and always easy to watch. I never expect much from them, but even the most average film can have some personally profound impacts.

Take the Bank of Dave film, which I couldn't help watching when it sprouted up on my feed. Based on a true story - I haven't had the bollocks to see how much of it actually happened - it's about a businessman who actually cares about the community he lives in and tries to help people who have been less fortunate than he has, something rare enough to merit an entire movie of its own, apparently

It was standard Sunday afternoon film fluff, with Rory Kinnear turning on the charm in the title role and Def Leppard showing up for a rousing finale. It's the kind of film that you expect to go in one ear and out the other, and I couldn't stop thinking about the mild philosophical questions about community and empathy that were raised by the film.

I've been dwelling on the idea a lot lately - that in an age where our global leaders are a bunch of intellectual and moral fuckheads, that you only really have the power to change things in your own local community, and hope that all goodness will flow from there. And this movie was full of people like that, just doing the right thing because it's the right thing, and that's all they need.

And I can't stop thinking - why aren't I doing more? I've got my own family to raise, and I think I'm taking care of them pretty well, but I could do more. I should do more, even on the smallest levels, and I'm looking at doing some volunteer work this year, and just helping who I can.

It was meant to be a bit of light entertainment, another twee comedy-drama to pad out the afternoon, but how inconsequential can it be if it changes my life, in the tiniest of ways?

When did Moira break bad?

Now that the Krakoa era is done, and that vegetable utopia is rapidly receding into the history of x-continuity, I can now look back and realise that I missed a tonne of the big beats that dropped during the sprawling storylines. 

I never read the story that explained why I should give a damn about a whole bunch of bloody swords, I never really understood any of the deal with Arakkro, and I totally missed Moira's heel turn.

I always liked Moira MacTaggert - in a world of mutant mayhem, she was always just trying to help. She was often dealt a rough hand, with an obviously abusive husband, some history with the eternally unobtainable Charles Xavier and a son who couldn't control his mutant powers enough to stop killing people. But Moira was always there to help out with the science, and inject some more basic compassion

When it was revealed that her big mutant power was the ability to live her life over and over, it was the most major role she ever had, but also diminished the character somewhat. Because she wasn't just there to help because it was the right thing, she was there because it was her ultimate destiny, a fate built up over lifetimes of manipulation.

And then something happened, and suddenly Moira was a cackling villain prepared to murder Mary Jane Watson because she was an inconvenient witness. The next time I saw her, she was a full on murder robot who seemed very passionate about genocide.

It probably happened in one of the big crossovers that I skipped over, but it still seemed so jarring to see the generally reliable Dr MacTaggert start to froth at the mouth. At least all that cybernetic shenanigans give an easy out for future comic creators who miss the old and kind Moira as much as I do.

The last Stray Bullet

I've been re-reading Stray Bullets lately, and it's still a great crime comic, with wild twists and turns, some startling characterisation and David Lapham's slick, moody artwork.

It's been an absolute pleasure to read the whole series again, or almost the whole series, because my local comic shop never got the final issue of Sunshine and Roses, and I've never been able to find a copy anywhere since, so I still have no fucking idea what is going down in that hospital.

As a reading experience, it's thematically mirroring the first big Stray Bullets series, where the last issue of that volume wasn't even published for years and years, leaving things similarly unresolved. We got there in the end, and I'm sure I'll get that last elusive issue #42, one day. I just have to be as patient as a heist crew waiting for their moment to strike. 

Back to comics by the kilo

We had to give up some of the finer things in life when we went back to live in my old home town last year - big concerts, great foods and the always excellent kilo sale at Arkham Comics in Auckland.

Jeremy and his crew at Arkham put on the kilo sale two or three times a year, and you get to go through a tonne of comic boxes and pay for your choices by weight. It roughly works out at about a dollar an issue.

And there is always a good mix of crazy stuff, not just the obvious trash found in most discount bins. Rare treasures, and surprisingly obscure titles. Lots of big titles from the big publishers (although never any Batman).

The main thing is that these are not for investment, because they are 100 percent all reader copies. Those rare treasures aren't going to put your kids through college, not with the cover only just hanging on. 

So I can pick up are some early 80s Green Lantern comics with some sweet Dave Gibbons and Keith Pollard artwork, and the official condition is shot to hell. But I don't care, because that's a lot of green-slinging I have never even seen before.

After being away from the kilo glory for the year, I've noticed some trends coming through, and there were definitely a lot more New 52, Rebirth and Young Animal comics from DC in the boxes. It's still a little stunning just how many comics DC put out in the past couple of decades, and there are entire runs of Animal Man and Doom Patrol comics that I never tasted, and now have the opportunity to indulge in. 

I also picked up a couple more of the DC 1M comics that I am currently mildly obsessed with collecting; and some John Byrne Fantastic Four, because I always think I've read all of Big John's FF comics, but there always seem to be more; and a handful of Superman comics from the sweet spot between the Crisis and the Death. Assorted other one-offs and annuals and various oddities.

Almost all of them will be sold on for cost price, and will be in my grubby mitts for a few months at most, but that's the circle of life, right? You can only hold onto this kind of four colour fun for so long, especially when you paid for it by weight. 

Three hot takes I gotta get off my chest

Everybody has their own hot takes on the relative merits of their entertainments. Your appreciation of various film, TV and music will always be utterly subjective, and while I tend to follow along with the herd like the big dumb animal that I am, I do have a few scorchers of my own. 

1. Voyager is better Star Trek than Deep Space Nine

A couple of years ago I went through the whole TNG/DS9/Voyager era of Star Trek at the pulsating rate of one episode a day, and discovered that the Next Gen crew will always be my favourite, because they were my crew when I was 12. This was no surprise, but it was the first time I watched all of Voyager, and it turned out to be much easier to dive into their world for an hour every night, than it was to take a trip to Bajor.

Deep Space Nine is brilliant space opera and says some gently disturbing things about the human condition in a way that none of its contemporary Treks managed, with an outstandingly charismatic cast. But It could also be an overall slog, especially when it all became more serialised, and the grand tapestry of the Cardassians and the blob people and the bloody prophets of Bajor could sometimes choke the life out of the series.

There is no doubt that Voyager had tonnes of clunky episodes, but it didn't matter, because something different was coming along in the next installment. The general cast of characters were exceedingly annoying, but that just made their small moments of emotional connection really hit. And occasionally you'd get an episode about the doctor or Chakotay that would be really striking. 

It helps that every acclaimed modern series is all about the long-form storytelling these days, so indulging in that antiquated episode of the week format feels weirdly refreshing. But on an episode to episode basis, I'd always rather be in the Delta Quadrant.

2. The best Faith No More album was the last one

Angel Dust will always be the purest Faith No More, it was an album on extremely high rotation when I got my first fulltime job, rocking around the factory to Be Aggressive and Land Of Sunshine (the sub-banner for this blog is usually the quote from that song), and swaying between the cookers on the factory floor to their full-blooded version of Midnight Cowboy. 

But if you asked me what the second best FNM album is, I'd go for the relatively recent Sol Invictus. Returning to the recording studio after years and years, the group produced a top-notch blast of funk metal, giving me everything I want in a more mature Faith No More album

Cone of Shame alone has all I could need - a ridiculously chunky riff, some throat-lacerating screaming and some top notch wailing in four minutes and forty seconds. But you also get the throbbing pulsations of the title track, and the straight and hilarious Motherfucker is never getting out of my skull. 

The earliest phases of the band are totally the sound of my youth, but their epic crankiness in the most recent album also makes them the sound of my current withered age.

3. Inherent Vice is greatest Paul Thomas Anderson film

It's doesn't make any kind of fucking sense, and that's what I like most about it, even among the stifling mood and extraordinary cast. It's the kind of thing I find deeply inspiring - I've been working on a three-novel series sparked by a single scene in Inherent Vice for the past 10 years.

And I could only go through the glorious mind games of The Master and There Will Be Blood so many times, but I could watch Joaquin Phoenix's stoned ramblings over and over again, and I have no idea what Martin Short, Jena Malone and Joshn Brolin are up to, but I am all the way into it. Also Reece Witherspoon has never been better.

Fuck yeah, I'm looking forward to his new one. It looks like all I want in my PTA.

Fighting with Frank (part 9 of 13): You must tell them!

- We3 #3

Art by Frank Quitely 

Story by Grant Morrison 

Coloring and digital inking by Jamie Grant 

Lettering by Todd Klein