History Repeating, But Improved

Late in Gundam Wing, Heero infiltrates the White Fang's space battleship, Libra. I say infiltrate, he crashes a captured White Fang shuttle in a shuttle bay and slips away in the confusion of fire suppression. 

He's partly there to rescue Relena, who went to Libra on her own to try reasoning with her brother. Zechs plans, going by his public statements, to bring about peace by killing everyone on Earth, since it's clearly the source of the problems. As though the people living in space are some different species entirely and it'll all be Lionel Hutz's vision of a world without lawyers if only Earth weren't around. More likely, he plans such an ugly, horrific battle people will be too frightened/disgusted to fight wars again.

Which is actually stupider than the idea it's all the Earth's fault. Clearly the helmet he wore all those years did about as much good preventing cranial trauma as your average NFL player's.

So Heero is also there to assess if Zechs is really committed to this (idiotic) path. They both have suits with the Zero System, and Heero's has shown him Zechs has no future. Is Zechs seeing something different?

He and Relena confront Zechs in some command center*. Zechs gives them a history lesson on how, a couple decades ago, two people worked towards total pacifism. Zechs and Relena's father, King Peacecraft on Earth, and in space, the politician Heero Yuy. They were assassinated, and things continued on the same old path of those with military power dominating those without, making them afraid and desperate enough to do crazy shit like give five 15-year-olds incredibly powerful mobile suits and tells them to kill a bunch of people.

Back when I first watched the series, I didn't think much of that scene. I figured Zechs was making a point about why preaching of pacifism was pointless. You have to fight for peace, crush your enemies, because that's what they'll do to you. That sort of thing. But, he also asks Relena if she agrees, and when she doesn't, praises her for thinking as a member of the Peacecrafts should.

So the parallel finally dawned on me. Zechs talks about a Peacecraft and a Heero Yuy, one from Earth and one from space, working towards peace. He tells this story to a Peacecraft and a Heero Yuy, one from Earth and one from space, both working towards peace. Relena had to grow to understand the gap between ideals and reality, and Heero had to understand what he was actually fighting for, what he was hoping to achieve with all the battles. But they've each retained their resolve, maybe even honed it through their what their experiences taught them.

The critical difference between them and the predecessors Zechs spoke of is, unlike Original Recipe Heero Yuy, Kickin' Buffalo Ranch Heero Yuy is a soldier. He's not easy to kill. Hell, as good a soldier as he is, even he can't manage to successfully kill himself, and not for lack of trying. And he has, at some point along the line, decided he will protect Relena (instead of threatening to kill her.) Which means now Relena is not easy to kill, either. Good luck, would-be assassins.

I thought that was a nifty little piece of the series, certain things repeat, but people can actually learn from the past failures and get it right. Of course, Gundam Wing: Frozen Teardrop might very well have blown that whole notion to hell. I've only read plot summaries off the Gundam wiki, and am not sure I understand them - I can't even follow the way of marking years that tries to manage the difference in the length of Martian years versus Earth years - but it read like a lot of the characters ended up repeating the mistakes of the prior generations, as badly or worse. Sending kids off to war, when they weren't fucking up raising them or outright abandoning them, things of that nature.

Maybe, if you go back far enough before the events of Gundam Wing, there was a point where humanity was actually getting along pretty well, those on Earth and those in the space colonies, and then things went downhill, only to rise again, briefly. Hopefully not, I'd like to think things could trend up against the inexorable pull of entropy, but maybe.

* Actually a hologram of Zechs. Kind of odd, since there hadn't been any sign of similar technology up to that point.

The Frisco Kid (1979)

In 1850, the city of San Francisco needs a rabbi. So Poland sends the 87th-best student (out of 88) of that year's graduating class, Avram Belinski (Gene Wilder.)

Unfortunately, he arrives in Philadelphia, which is a long way from San Francisco. He doesn't make it far before two brothers and their pal, having fed him a sob story about needing to buy back their wagon and horses to get to their sick mother in San Fran, beat him, rob him, strip him to his longjohns and leave him in the middle of a dirt road somewhere in Pennsylvania.

After some brief stints with the Amish and working a railroad, Avram tries riding a horse, alone, to San Francisco. Too bad he can't tell which direction that is, but Tommy (Harrison Ford), a bank robber, takes pity on him and guides him to the Pacific coast.

At times, the movie feels like a series of brief skits. Here's Avram trying to catch some food after raccoons raided his pack, and Tommy shoots some fish for him. Here's Avram and Tommy arguing because there's a posse after them, but Avram still won't ride his horse on the Sabbath. Here they're prisoners of some tribe, but Avram's faith impresses the chief. Late in the movie, Avram gets a chance to confront the men who robbed him (who have also crossed most of the country for some reason), which turns into a gun battle on the beach, and a crisis of faith for Avram that he must confront, along with one of the two brothers, after he reaches San Francisco.

That's the most consistent thread, the fraction between Avram's faith and Tommy's more pragmatic perspective. There's probably something about how what you put in determines what you receive, because Avram is met with kindness. You know, besides the 3 guys who robbed him. Certainly more kindness than I would expect for a lone Jewish man roaming the United States in the middle of the 19th Century to get. The Amish help him, the railroad workers help him, Tommy helps him, that one tribe seems to like him, some monks share their breakfast with he and Tommy. Avram is always grateful, accepting the hospitality, thanking them for their help, apologizing when he commits a faux pas (like talking in a monastery with a vow of silence.)

Meanwhile, Tommy robs people at gunpoint. So he spends a lot of time riding away from people who want to string him up. But he tries to protect Avram, mostly from Avram's own innocence. It becomes a recurring gag of Tommy insisting he's not going to do some foolish thing Avram intends to do - ride in a blizzard, walk with a posse on their heels - only to end up doing said foolish thing with Avram after all. And when Tommy is wounded, Avram cares for him. Tommy treated Avram with kindness - minus the times he was calling him an asshole - and receives kindness in return.

Actually, I expected Tommy's wound to be a bigger deal. The movie glosses over it. Tommy says he'll talk him through it, and the next we see, they're sitting around a fire, Tommy drunk but otherwise fine. I guess because the movie wanted to focus on Avram feeling he wasn't fit to call himself a rabbi which, surprisingly, was not because he killed a man, but because of what he did before that.

But I also thought the movie would do more with Tommy, when he robbed the train, claiming he had a partner guarding all of the passengers from behind with a shotgun. After he departs, Avram steps out of the bathroom (behind the passengers) and takes his seat like nothing happened. I figured he would be accused of being the other robber, which would tie he and Tommy's fates together early on, but no.

Wilder plays Avram as sort of frazzled, initial enthusiasm for America and cowboys fading quickly. He always looks tired, maybe it's the beard, but he seems to move with almost grim determination. I guess he sees the whole thing as a trial from God.

Ford plays Tommy as sort of a loud, cocky idiot. He is good with a gun, and he must be good at robbing banks and trains if he hasn't been caught yet, but he loses his cool easily, and gives way to Avram at every turn. In terms of the competence to bullshit ratio, he probably runs higher on the competence end than Han Solo, but lower than Indiana Jones.

Ultimately though, Tommy's lonely; he makes it seem like a magnanimous gesture on his part to guide Avram, but I think it's an opportunity to have some company. If he makes himself useful, then this guy will spend time with him. Ford looks genuinely embarrassed when Avram calls him friend, and is shocked to be asked to be best man at Avram's wedding. Again, it's probably a matter of input influencing output. You rob people, they aren't going to treat you like a pal. You look after them, they'll look after you and want you to be around for important moments in their lives.

Wedding Meddling

Pre-wedding jitters.

Total coincidence it worked like this, schedule-wise. The 5th volume of Bandette, The Wedding of B.D. Belgique, revolves around Bandette's efforts to engineer a marriage between Inspector Belgique and his lieutenant, Heloise Price.

Ostensibly, this is because there is a ring with a map of the Paris catacombs that will lead to an underground base where there is, in addition to art and other valuables, there is evidence of the true identity of the ruthless underworld figure, The Voice. As you might expect, The Voice doesn't want anyone getting that info. And the ring is passed down to the first daughter of each generation of a particular family to get married. In this cases, it's between Heloise and her sister, Abigail, who sees helping The Voice as her path to a life of riches, not realizing it's a path to a grave.

If you're wondering why Heloise and Belgique don't just have a quick marriage to get the ring, well, you, me and Monsieur are all in the same boat. Unfortunately, it's a boat with several very cross women and an irate Chihuahua, so we better just keep our common sense to ourselves. This is an affair of the heart, or something.

Much of the story is Bandette trying to arrange the marriage, including getting Belgique to recognize his feelings for Heloise so this is not a sham joining of two souls, while The Voice tries to wipe out her circle of confederates. Although in that, he's kind of half-assed. He's goes after a couple of the urchins and a young thief named Femme Felon, rather than Monsieur or even Daniel the delivery boy. He does try to take out Heloise via a bomb, which I guess is going straight for the head of the snake.

Tobin writes Bandette as so unserious most of the time it's hard to tell she really cares about this. She and Daniel travel to the circus, on what she says is a matter of learning how to win another's heart. It seems mostly to be an opportunity for her to eat cotton candy and encourage Pimento to make friends with elephants. Which is adorable, but doesn't exactly convey a sense of urgency to the proceedings.

But Bandette is also simply operating on a different level from everyone else. She's less a human thief and more a trickster god, having fun playing around with mortals who think they've got a chance of competing with her. She can afford to goof off, because she already knows where all paths lead.

Coover uses pages with lots of panels. The absolute fewest panels on a page in this volume is 5, and that only a few times. The most is 11, also rare. Usually it's 9 or 8, either 3 rows of 3, or 2 rows of 3 and a row with just 2. The latter seems to be for when she wants to focus a panel on the faces of two characters, say Belgique and Heloise, and give it a little more space.

But she puts all those panels to good use. Showing off the rooftops, cafes, and museums of Paris, but even more than that, showing off Bandette's nature. She is never still, so a series of panels is an opportunity to show her in a variety of postures or activities. It works for montages, as when she drags Daniel around as she questions a variety of people (and also pigeons) about falling in love.

Also, it highlights how quick and sly she can be. In one panel she's looking at a photo of a bust Monsieur planned to steal, in the next she's about to climb in his car while holding his keys. Or she's talking on the phone with The Voice, while assassins try to kill her, then pauses to grab the phone number on a flyer for someone who makes pies.

Sunday Splash Page #445

"Priorities," in Bandette: The Six Finger Secret #1, by Paul Tobin (writer) and Colleen Coover (artist)

Bandette is not a series that utilizes splash pages. No doubt Bandette, the world's greatest thief, would find such things far too limiting. To be satisfied with a single large space to operate in, rather than many small panels from which she can appear and disappear, with almost Looney Tunes-esque defiance of laws of motion? What an absurd notion!

I am inconsistent with titles that were or are a string of mini-series. I've done a lot of the individual Atomic Robo minis, but one post for all of Dave Stevens' Rocketeer stuff, and one for all of Adventures of Dr. McNinja. But my original Sunday Splash Page on Bandette was rather more abbreviated than I would have liked. 

In my defense, I was out of sorts after the tornado that left me living at my father's house, my comic collection piled atop itself in one of the less-cluttered rooms of his house. Tobin and Coover have released two more volumes of Bandette since that post, so I say we're doing this.

So, Bandette. World's greatest thief. Lover of chocolates and art and cats and her little dog Pimento and harassing chain-smoking police officers. A young woman with, a complicated and scandalous lineage, the details of which I can't keep straight. Most every story makes some reference to her ancestors having posed for a sculpture or having deep alliances with the circus or something of that sort.

She is, as presented by Tobin and Coover, almost a mythological trickster figure. Brightly garbed, dramatic just for the fun of it. Always playing a game with people, carrying on monologues as she casually avoids attempts on her life from a variety of weirdos. Backflipping across car roofs while pursued by ninjas without ever breaking her thread of conversation with the mysterious underworld figure who sent the ninjas, or casually eating chocolate while walking across a wire between two buildings.

Even her friends and allies, and she has several people who drop everything to aid her, are often confused. She disappears from one side of a panel, only to reappear from the opposite side of the next panel. Steals the shoes off her rival's feet without his noticing, while he's driving. Pauses in the middle of explaining the history of some mysterious ring to answer the door for a cookie delivery. Even when she seems cross, it feels feigned, irritation with someone foolish who doesn't see the obvious. Like she's dealing with a child.

When I think about it, she's Bugs Bunny and everyone else is Elmer Fudd. Her opponents think they're competing with her for some specific prize, a painting or a secret. The outcome of that was never in doubt. Bandette was already at the finish line before they even started. No, Bandette's concerned with some more intangible goal. A matter of the heart, usually. The prize everyone else is chasing is just a carrot on a stick she uses to create the outcome she wants.

Which, admittedly, irks me at times. I've mentioned before I'm not a fan of stories where the protagonist or antagonist knew everything a character had planned before they even tried and perfectly countered it. That is very much in effect here, especially by volume 5. Bandette seemingly could have nipped The Voice's entire plan in the bud right from the start, as she had it all mapped out and knew everything he was going to do.

I suppose it doesn't bother as much as it did with, for example, Al Ewing's New Avengers, because Tobin and Coover are using their own characters, not someone else's. Also, Bandette does have some ulterior motive she's driving at that accounts for why she's doing things her way. Double-also, her tales, despite the frequent attempts of murder and blackmail, are generally light-hearted. Even if what The Voice or Absinthe seek could be extremely harmful to innocent people, there's no real risk. Bandette's operating on a different level from them. The stories are more about the fun she has along the way than the MacGuffin.

Coover's Paris is a perfect dramatic backdrop, full of steep roofs with chimneys for people to step dramatically from behind. Wires to use like a trapeze, old buildings full of secret passages and rooms. Seemingly an endless supply of cemeteries for tense meetings and museums with things for her to steal. Narrow alleys for ominous footsteps to echo through and make a person feel trapped, but also enough broad streets to have car chases on. Advantage of a city that's grown and expanded across centuries I suppose. Can be a lot of things.

It's a cute series. Charming, maybe. The things that should irritate me more, don't. It's hard to hold a grudge against someone enjoying life as much as Bandette.

Saturday Splash Page #247

"Dirty Laundry," in Total Suplex of the Heart, by Joanne Starer (writer), Ornella Greco (artist), Nathan Kempf (letterer)

Georgie is a writer for a pop-culture website, when she gets the idea of writing an article about a local hardcore wrestling league. The angle being that she's going to be part of the show, as a valet. She doesn't understand what she's getting into, but finds herself hooked on the experience. Making friends, performing in front of a screaming crowd (though what they're screaming isn't necessarily all that great.) And there's a lot of hot guys for her to make terrible decisions with.

That's a lot of this graphic novel, Georgie making terrible decisions. Sometimes with good intentions, like when she works really hard to support her boyfriend Steve's career by playing homemaker or acting as a one-woman ticket booth and concession stand for one of his shows. She's trying to be a good partner, be supportive and helpful, without noticing she's making all the compromises. She's pushed down any thoughts of her life or her desires in favor of Steve's routine and his dreams. 

And if she finds herself questioning that, she feels bad. Because guilt is another big part of this. She's often very cheerful and friendly, gets along well with guys. People make assumptions about her as a result, and when she draws lines, when she decides she is not, in fact, comfortable climbing up on stage with an exotic dancer and making out with her for the entertainment of her male coworkers, she feels awkward and guilty about drawing that line, or being perceived a certain way The guilt usually drives her into one terrible decision or another - binging on high-fiber snacks, sleeping with complete assholes - and then she feels guilty or embarrassed about that. The cycle begins anew.

Her mother only appears in one scene, via video chat at the very beginning of the book, but we can't underestimate her impact on Georgie. In between criticizing her for not making time to call and not having a real job, she does compliment Georgie for working to stay in shape. She wouldn't want to end up like Aunt Sadie, who Georgie points out is happily married with two kids and millions of dollars. Her mother's rebuttal? 'But she's fat.' Oh well, then Sadie's whole life has been a waste.

Later, there's a scene of Georgie trying on a possible new look for her ring attire, and the first panel is the reality of how she looks, while the second, much less flattering panel, is how Georgie perceives herself. Starer and Greco don't use that more than once, but you can see it in how Georgie acts throughout. Never seeing herself positively, amplifying all her faults and blaming herself for things. 

It isn't all a downer. Georgie does find several people who believe in her and support her idea she can build something herself. (Starer admits in the afterword it took her an additional year to reach the point Georgie does in the story, and longer to start to confront her body image issues.) Her own promotion, her own life, that doesn't require her to throw everything she cares about away for someone else. There are lots of scenes or her sitting around with other wrestlers or promoters, laughing or dishing gossip, and once she finds her footing, Georgie really loves pro wrestling, in spite of all the sexism, racism, homophobia, etc.

Greco doesn't get to draw a ton of action, since so much of the plot happens outside the ring, in homes or bars. When there is action, the art captures the athleticism of the people involved. Someone taking a knee to the nose, or flinging their opponent over their head. The art captures the near-superhuman physiques of several of the wrestlers, plus their sheer size. Georgie barely reaches pec height on some of the guys.

The art captures all the sides of Georgie's personality. The playful, loud part, that'll catcall a guy or joke around with her friends. The quietly happy part that genuinely enjoys cuddling with her boyfriend, where her expressions and emotions are smaller and gentler. The vulnerable part where she opens up to people and shows what's eating her, even if she doesn't intend to. Where she's asking for help, but not really hearing what they're saying. And the times when she shrinks in on herself, hunched up on the couch in a hoodie and draped in a blanket, hating herself.

Here's my original review from February. 

What I Bought 6/17/2026

I've been using the TV to watch Youtube lately. Drawback, it doesn't have an ad blocker and, for some reason, over half the ads are for Iowa political races. I don't in live in Iowa. On the plus side, this means I have no stake, so I don't get depressed about what the candidates represent and what they chose to highlight as their positive qualities!

I only found one of the three books for this week. Which wasn't a surprise, but I could have used a pleasant surprise after a 3-day inspection trip in completely miserable weather. Also, i can't decide if it's a good or bad thing none of the stores around here ever have Chachu. Is it popular and constantly selling out, or did none of them order it? 

Marc Spector: Moon Knight #8, Jed MacKay (writer), Devmalya Pramanik (artist), Rachelle Rosenberg (color artist), Cory Petit (letterer) - Clea looks oddly happy on that cover. Should anyone be that pleased to be hanging out with Daredevil and Blade? She needs to get out more often.

A flashback reveals that during Marc's disastrous solo attempt to rescue his crew, the Mansion made him an offer. Bring it souls, and get his friends back. Hence, the double-cross on Blade, Rider, and DD. The Mansion, predictably, does not honor its terms, claiming it never specified how many souls he needed to deliver. But that's fine, because getting it to accept the three Midnight Sons leaves it vulnerable to the fact that terms refers to a ritual, not a team. Um, is that true? I never read all that '90s supernatural Marvel stuff.

That frees everyone. Marc's crew, the three he betrayed, and - well, we'll get to that. Tigra's very happy to see Marc. While it's not really in keeping with the tone of the rest of the issue, I do love that Pramanik drew Tigra's tail as wrapping around Marc and flicking excitedly.

The other Midnight Sons are somewhat less happy, though Blade puts it together the Mansion would have read their thoughts once they were taken, so it had to be genuine. I noted that when Marc is initially explaining, he's looking at his crew, and not, you know, the people he actually betrayed. Guess he can live with them being pissed - as long as they don't kill him - but not with Reese and the others hating him for doing something like that on their behalf.

The Mansion isn't dead, but Marc's got an army with him, courtesy of all the people the Mansion took, freed along with the costumed types. Clea pulls out some spell that gives everyone magic weapons. Daredevil got an axe, and is immediately testing its sharpness against his finger, what the heck, Matt? Tigra got a chainsaw, though, so Clea clearly knew who Marc would want to have the best toy. And now the Midnight Militia are ready to get to work.

Plus, there's still whoever is Marc's ace in the hole. Clea mentions a last ally who will help them escape. Which makes me a think teleporter, or portal creator. I kind of want it to be The Spot, but I figure magic is probably needed so, Illyana? Guess we'll see next month.

Mars on Earth - Mark Johanson

Johanson starts the book by discussing how NASA uses Chile's Atacama Desert as a testing ground for equipment they send to Mars, as the aridity, soil chemistry and the levels of ultraviolet radiation. But the book isn't really about that.

Johanson does spend a fair amount of time describing what traveling up and down, back and forth, through the Atacama does to him. The way it dries out his lips, the way his skin cracks from the wind and the sun, the way his eyes bulge and sinuses bleed as he travels into the high mountain regions of the desert. But the book isn't about how empty the Atacama is, but how much there is there, and how much a part of Chile's history it is.

In that regard, it was a fascinating read for someone that doesn't know a whole lot about Chile beyond what I picked up in the those books about the (U.S.-orchestrated) fall of the Allende government in the 1970s. Especially in regards to the various Indigenous peoples that lived there long before Europeans ever showed up. The oldest known examples of people mummifying the deceased are from the Chinchorro people in northern Chile, who were doing so at least 7000 years ago. The increased rains brought about by climate change are steadily unearthing new mummies. Some whose faces were preserved as is, others were painted with red clay or blue, while some are adorned with masks showing a variety of expressions.

(Also, the mummification seems to have started during a period when their was high infant mortality because the river they were living near and drinking from was extremely high in arsenic. Now, the people who still live there have an inherited tolerance for arsenic.)

Earlier in the book, and further south, he travels to the eastern border, to a town beneath a mountain called Licancabur, and meets with a married couple who are of the Likan Antai. One of the things they describe is that they have constellations made not just of the stars, but of the darkness between the stars. Like, negative space constellations, each meaning something different, and the intensity of the message depends on how well-defined they are.

There were a lot of passages and experiences he relates like that. Maybe they're old hat to those more versed in the history Latin America, but it was all new to me. And there's also more recent history, like the struggles of the workers of the European-owned mines to unionize in the early 20th Century, or a particular coastal town known for a brutal prison that future dictator Augusto Pinochet commanded earlier in his career, and which he'd later use to disappear dissidents once he rose to power.

Or, on a somewhat lighter note, how the British who came looking to mine nitrate (guano) passed along the concept of elevenses, except Chileans have turned it into a late afternoon meal called "once" (Spanish for thirteen), with regional variations in what sort of foods you have with the tea. The tea may also be spiked with something stronger, as that's apparently what the miners did on the sly back in the day.

The other part of the book, interwoven with Johanson learning about this vast desert in a country he's lived in for 7 years, is him trying to figure out what he's going to do. He settled here with the boyfriend he met in New Zealand, after years of a vagabond, traveling writer lifestyle. But is that what he really wants? Is he doing this desert expedition to better know his partner's home country (and the country Mark is descended from, though he was born in the U.S.), or is it a way to start breaking ties by putting distance between them?

I'm not sure that aspect of the book works as well. Maybe because it's such a personal thing for him, it feels like he struggles to describe what he's figuring out as he goes along. Or maybe it's me, as it doesn't really resonate. I'm a solitary sort, certainly more than Mark, and also not the type to just travel to a country with whatever money I've got and see how long I can stay there. The particular push-and-pull he's feeling doesn't necessarily strike a chord. I can't see how what he's seeing and experiencing in the Atacama is tipping the scales one way or the other for his decision.

Also, because he's trying to set the stage for that theme of the book, it takes a while before he actually gets into the desert. Initially, he's discussing mass protests in the capital where he and Felipe live, started by a student protest over increased metro fares, that help to oust an ineffectual, billionaire friendly president. The hopes of getting a new constitution, one voted on by the actual people of Chile, instead of one created by a handful of economists who thought neoliberalism was the cure-all, are impeded by the strain of enforced isolation and confinement, not to mention the economic pressure, brought on by COVID.

All that's important for establishing Johanson's state of mind. The fear, the stress, the uncertainty about his future, and why he takes the opportunity to flee into what appears from the outside (even within Chile) a forbidding and lifeless desert. A place where you can get out of the house, and not have to worry about social distancing, because there's hardly anyone around. A place well-distant from many of those concerns, because there are more immediate ones. Like if there's going to be water for your well if the aquifers keep getting drained to mine lithium.

But it did leave me wondering, initially, when he was going to start talking about the desert in his book about the desert. FYI, it's 57 pages in, about 20% of the way into the book.

'The horizon broadens as I veer slightly inland near Totoral, offering more sand and less rock, more shrubs and fewer cacti. Where it was once a study in the color brown, now everything is blazingly white. The aridity hits me at full force, and it becomes a stupefying drive. There are no dust balls rolling across the road, as in the American Southwest; rather, it's a raw rugged nothingness with only the sunlight to hold things together.'