Always one to pursue useless knowledge wherever he can find it in a seemingly never-ending quest to achieve the improbable and downright unlikely status of modern-day Renaissance man, Mark Bittmann has indulged his desire to never be lost in any conversation, by developing an arcane understanding of things of little consequence or import while maintaining his alleged status as a small fish in a small pond.
As long as his self-indulgent whim is catered to, he manages to sustain the facade of someone under the misperception that others care about what he thinks. With a ubiquity normally reserved for greenhouse gasses, he chases his random and inconsequential thoughts with all the tenacity of a banana peel. This is his life, his curse, and his twisted and maniacal way of impressing the ladies.
Did you know that said "revolution" promises to turn the comic book industry "on its ear" and that "the reactions will be immediate and severe and the industry will change its course for the better?"
Neither did I.
Were you aware that "everyone has traditionally waited for the 'other guy' to make a risky move or to go in a different direction" and that Mr. Lightbox himself, Rob Liefeld has "for better or worse" been that other guy "several times" during his career, according to an interview with Rich Johnston at the Dynamic Forces website, an interview that took all the sport out of finding a topic for this week's column?
Maybe someone can refresh my memory. Just when was it that Rob Liefeld was "that other guy"?
Was it when he decided to solicit titles that never saw the light of day, or when he decided that one should credit writers with full scripts when the writer has submitted little more than a plot outline? Or could have been when he went about blaming everyone but himself for his downfall from Image? He's certainly not implying that he was the first to trace the work of others and pass it off as his own (not an original offense in comics), only to find himself explaining it away as the "tributing" of comic book professionals who actually know how to draw.
I've got it! He must be referring to all of the revolutionary #1 issues published for no other reason than to capitalize on the rampant speculator market composed of those who treat comics as a commodity to be sealed in Mylar when it is first and foremost an art form? Is that what he imagines is so revolutionary about his legacy thus far?
Is it his confessions that he's "responsible for shipping either late products or no products and losing money for retailers and faith with fans" that is revolutionary because we are all supposed to just up and forget his transgressions? Is his actually grasping the concept of shipping something solicited in a timely manner what he believes will help the industry to change course?
Or maybe it's the fallacy that his success "came from the radical departure, both conceptually and artistically, from what had come before" that he seems bent on shoving down fandom's collective throat, a bigger crock of revisionist history parading as an excuse for bad form I personally have rarely encountered in print outside of National Review? Just what is it about second-market sales of his splash pages drawn in lieu of sequential storytelling and the sheer deadline-inspired laziness of their conception and execution that makes him such a revolutionary in comics?
I certainly hate to be the one to break it to him, but the only revolutionary thing he has ever contributed to the comic book storytelling medium is the notion of hiring kids with little or no artistic talent to tra…er, draw…comic books and cover up the fact that they haven't a clue as to how to convincingly render the human figure in motion, much less apply it in a series of compelling, sequential, coherent drawings that assist in telling a solid funnybook tale.
It just never ends with this guy, does it? Are there no parameters to his ego? What makes him think that he's "young, sexy and opinionated?" One can only assume his delusions of sexiness are meant to be interpreted in the same context that marketing executives use the term to describe a product's desirability. In that case, he needs a wake up call because in case he hasn't noticed, Youngblood: Bloodsport was ordered in the low 5 figures, essentially negating Mr. Sexy's view of his product's desirability. As for him being opinionated…so what? There are opinions and there are educated opinions and both bespeak of the underlying sensibilities of the person wielding them. In light of the fact that he has never produced a memorable comic book work, does his opinion of things having to do with the medium he has cheapened through the garbage he's published amount to a hill of beans? Hardly. Frankly, I'll take the opinion of someone who has actually contributed something tangibly and artistically positive to the art form, someone like Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Grant Morrison, Steve Rude (and the list of people with actual talent goes on without Mr. Liefeld) over that of someone who actually expects me not to laugh my proverbial ass off when confronted with this following quote: "I have not aspired to have created a brilliant work up to this point."
Can you hear me guffaw at the top of my lungs? Can you picture my eyes rolling and stomach turning? Just whom does he think he's kidding? Evidently he believes himself capable of creating something compelling, relevant and worthy of occupying shelf space with Watchmen, Sandman, Akira, Marvels and Maus? If he's just been warming up, what has he aspired to thus far? Crap? Bound, colored paper to replace that old Sears catalog in the outhouse of one's summer getaway? If so, may I be the first to congratulate him on succeeding handsomely.
And what, pray tell, is holding him back from creating a "brilliant work"? The answer, I'm afraid, is not a thing, because thus far he has more than proven that he lacks the vision, talent and knowledge of the craft to do so. That much is clearly obvious to anyone who knows a good superhero comic and solid sequential storytelling when they see it (I'd say "when they read it", but as we all know, Liefeld-written comics are marginally literate at best). And just when is it he is going to be gracing us with something brilliant? When he's done toying with us? When his popularity entices sales in the four-digit range? I mean, why capitalize on youthful hunger for artistic success and fading name recognition when the notion of rehashing yesterday's news plays so well with the kids who have never heard of him. Hollywood may love a comeback, but comics ain't Hollywood. Time and fast-changing trends in comic book artistry have rendered ('scuse the pun) Liefeld's alleged artistic style passé, as pencilers of the twenty-first century seem to actually be concerned with little things like light sourcing and more than one facial expression occasionally featuring non-gritted teeth. It is far more likely that any attempt at a brilliant work would have already been published, so I'm convinced that we've seen his best work. Yep, I'm afraid he peaked with Cable and the Six-Pack (can you say "lame"?).
As I have pointed out in this column before, Rob Liefeld has done nothing either original, memorable or of any importance in the medium of comic books, yet for some bizarre reason he is allowed a voice in the industry because he took advantage of the speculator market in its heyday and made a truckload of cash publishing fodder. He hasn't created a single original concept (and for those of you under the impression that Youngblood were the first superheroes looked upon as media stars within their universe, you might want to read Watchmen again, as well as the last 40 freaking years of Marvel comics. There are original ideas and ideas of extrapolated from other sources and some of us are masters of the latter). Nor has he played a creative role in the publication of anything to date that will go down in comic book history and yet he still has some (and their numbers are dwindling with time) under the impression that anything he contributes is of any import.
Revolution? I think not. I'd prefer a resolution, a resolution to the farce that is the cult of Rob Liefeld.
