Showing posts with label Stereotypes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stereotypes. Show all posts
Thursday, August 15, 2024
Cletus Yokel Buys Some Dynamite
Friday, September 18, 2015
Oranges & Iron
In a conversation with Jeff about the intrinsic hilarity of throwing up (don't ask), I was distracted by a turn in the discussion and came up with a cool new adventure story for Paranoid Productions:
In Oranges & Iron, ambitious industrialists are on the verge to completing the fabled Cape to Cairo railway. As part of the festivities, a massive shipment of Capetown Oranges will travel via the new railway to the citrus-starved denizens of Cairo.
But not everyone is sanguine about the new line, a product of European imperialism, an iron scar carved into the spine of Africa against the wishes of that continent's people! Fierce Bantu tribesmen and scurvy Indian Ocean pirates plan to sabotage the shipment for reasons both noble and nefarious. Against this backdrop of colonial conflict, our heroes struggle to survive the nearly 6,800 km journey!
Characters would include the dashing but villainous robber baron, the fiendish orange grove owner, an Egyptian merchant prince, a young Bantu warrior, the plucky railroad engineer (a woman), a British debutante on her first train journey, her fretting governess, a German spy, the conflicted pirate first mate and his cruel captain (and assorted scurvy dogs), the stalwart but harsh sailors of the British frigate HMS Recalcitrant, an 8 year old stowaway rascal, and Tarzan.
There would be a crate of hand grenades fashioned to look like oranges; the pin would be disguised as a pair of leaves growing from the "navel" of each "orange." At one point, the stowaway rascal will toss a faux orange into the confused hands of a pirate attacking the train. After the orange/grenade blows up in the villain's face, the boy will exclaim "Orange you glad you experienced that explosion of flavour?"
I think it could be a winner.
O R A N G E S & I R O N
In Oranges & Iron, ambitious industrialists are on the verge to completing the fabled Cape to Cairo railway. As part of the festivities, a massive shipment of Capetown Oranges will travel via the new railway to the citrus-starved denizens of Cairo.
But not everyone is sanguine about the new line, a product of European imperialism, an iron scar carved into the spine of Africa against the wishes of that continent's people! Fierce Bantu tribesmen and scurvy Indian Ocean pirates plan to sabotage the shipment for reasons both noble and nefarious. Against this backdrop of colonial conflict, our heroes struggle to survive the nearly 6,800 km journey!
Characters would include the dashing but villainous robber baron, the fiendish orange grove owner, an Egyptian merchant prince, a young Bantu warrior, the plucky railroad engineer (a woman), a British debutante on her first train journey, her fretting governess, a German spy, the conflicted pirate first mate and his cruel captain (and assorted scurvy dogs), the stalwart but harsh sailors of the British frigate HMS Recalcitrant, an 8 year old stowaway rascal, and Tarzan.
There would be a crate of hand grenades fashioned to look like oranges; the pin would be disguised as a pair of leaves growing from the "navel" of each "orange." At one point, the stowaway rascal will toss a faux orange into the confused hands of a pirate attacking the train. After the orange/grenade blows up in the villain's face, the boy will exclaim "Orange you glad you experienced that explosion of flavour?"
I think it could be a winner.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Rescue on 81st Avenue
Summer, 1992. I pulled into the parking lot on 81st avenue and 105th street, just a couple of blocks away from Warp One. I had my day planned out: pick up some comic books, walk across the back alley to Greenwoods' to browse for novels, cross Whyte Avenue to spend a couple of hours at the Wee Book Inn, and then break for lunch somewhere along the avenue. It was going to be a good day, I thought as I shut the car off and then swung myself out into the summer heat, making sure to push the lock down and hold the handle up as I when I closed the door; otherwise, the lock wouldn't engage.
I shut the door firmly, released the handle. And then through the window I saw my keys, still dangling innocently from the ignition. I'd locked myself out of my little silver Corolla station wagon.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stared at the keys for a minute, as if I could step backwards in time and get myself out of this through sheer force of will. There were no cell phones back then, and I had no change for payphones; I was on my own.
Or so I thought. For down the sidewalk came two imposing figures, rough-looking bearded men in jeans and leather jackets.
"You lock yourself out?" asked the burlier one.
"Uh huh," I said shamefaced.
"No problem," he said, and reached into his jacket, unfurling an unwound coat hanger. With balletic grace, he stepped past me and wormed the long, stiff wire inside the door frame, wriggling it around until a catch popped and the lock popped up. The entire process took only a second.
"Thanks!" I exclaimed, opening the door to retrieve my keys. But my benefactors were already halfway down the block, their hands raised briefly in offhand acknowledgement of my gratitude.
With my keys safely tucked away in my pocket, my thumb hovered over the lock once more...and then retreated without pushing it down. I casually flipped the door shut and headed east down the sidewalk. On that day, at least, locks had caused nothing but trouble. Why encourage them?
I shut the door firmly, released the handle. And then through the window I saw my keys, still dangling innocently from the ignition. I'd locked myself out of my little silver Corolla station wagon.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stared at the keys for a minute, as if I could step backwards in time and get myself out of this through sheer force of will. There were no cell phones back then, and I had no change for payphones; I was on my own.
Or so I thought. For down the sidewalk came two imposing figures, rough-looking bearded men in jeans and leather jackets.
"You lock yourself out?" asked the burlier one.
"Uh huh," I said shamefaced.
"No problem," he said, and reached into his jacket, unfurling an unwound coat hanger. With balletic grace, he stepped past me and wormed the long, stiff wire inside the door frame, wriggling it around until a catch popped and the lock popped up. The entire process took only a second.
"Thanks!" I exclaimed, opening the door to retrieve my keys. But my benefactors were already halfway down the block, their hands raised briefly in offhand acknowledgement of my gratitude.
With my keys safely tucked away in my pocket, my thumb hovered over the lock once more...and then retreated without pushing it down. I casually flipped the door shut and headed east down the sidewalk. On that day, at least, locks had caused nothing but trouble. Why encourage them?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
If I Had a Billion Dollars
While commuting the other day, Sylvia and I heard a news story about Alberta's latest lotto winners. As many people do, I started to think about what I'd do were I presented with a huge windfall.
For the record, I'm not a big fan of lotteries. While they're a useful source of government revenue, I think the false dreams and dashed hopes they propagate are pretty damaging in the long run - not to mention the countless stories of winning players whose lives are made worse by their "lucky" day! Far better to balance a reasonable, progressive tax burden with prudent government spending, rather than levying what amounts to another tax on the poor and desperate. Why should essential services like public health care and community infrastructure have to depend upon lotteries? Madness.
Anyway, the larger political issues don't prevent a little harmless fantasizing. Let's pretend that Sylvia and I find a two-ton meteorite made of pure platinum and that we're sufficiently wise enough to stake a legal claim and sell the wealth bits at a time to prevent a platinum glut. (All pretty crazy assumptions with about as much likelihood of success as...winning the lottery.)
So we wind up with a billion dollars. What would I do with my half?
Naturally I'd take care of the essentials first - some money for mom and dad and my brother, some generous donations to UNICEF, Doctors Without Borders, and so on.
But on to the fun stuff. In all honesty, if I had more money than I knew what to do with and I gave millions to every charity on my list...I'd spend the rest of the cash being as eccentric as possible - but, I hope, in a fun and progressive way.
So. First order of business: Earl Acres, i.e., our new home. I'd have an architect build a haunting Gothic mansion, something out of Frankenstein. There would be a pipe organ in the main hallway, so that when guests arrive I would be ready, hunched over the keys, wearing a black cloak, playing that scary "DAH NA NA...DA NA NA NA NA NAAAAAAAAA..." music.
There would be a USS Enterprise bridge simulator room, built to scale, with all the stations intact and functional - well, functional in a simulator sense - this room would be used to play a custom-designed Star Trek combat/exploration game of epic scope. Naturally, this would double as a home theatre, with the stations folding out comfy home theatre seats, for those reluctant to sit for hours on those tiny retro chairs the crew had to endure.
Of course we'd need a staff to handle our estate and business affairs. I would hire each staff member based not only on their qualifications, but how well they fit Hollywood stereotypes for their roles. To wit, I would require:
One British butler, tall and gaunt and perpetually 60-ish, with a rapier deadpan wit.
One irritable French chef, a master of his art, but completely intolerant of his employers' lack of culinary refinement.
One beefy, handsome, macho, silent German chauffeur for Sylvia. He'd also be a crack bodyguard.
One gorgeous Brazilian housekeeper with an affinity for fishnets.
One inscrutable Japanese gardener, replete with Asian wisdom.
One officious, perpetually worried Canadian financial advisor, preferably balding with glasses.
One Indian secret agent woman, or at least an actress pretending to be an Indian secret agent, reporting all kinds of international intruigue and (fake) threats against Woods Foundation interests.
One African American martial arts instructor of the sweet sweetback badassss school.
One Ukrainian "mad"/absent-minded scientist - preferably a theoretical physicist. Must wear a lab coat constantly and play the Frankenstein role with glee.
I would pay all these folks extremely well, and provide them with state-of-the-art facilities for their daily routines. I think we could have a lot of fun running my little lunatic asylum, and in the process we might collectively make a point about cultural and sexual stereotypes. And perhaps make some scientific breakthroughs!
I wonder what Sylvia would do with her $500 million?
For the record, I'm not a big fan of lotteries. While they're a useful source of government revenue, I think the false dreams and dashed hopes they propagate are pretty damaging in the long run - not to mention the countless stories of winning players whose lives are made worse by their "lucky" day! Far better to balance a reasonable, progressive tax burden with prudent government spending, rather than levying what amounts to another tax on the poor and desperate. Why should essential services like public health care and community infrastructure have to depend upon lotteries? Madness.
Anyway, the larger political issues don't prevent a little harmless fantasizing. Let's pretend that Sylvia and I find a two-ton meteorite made of pure platinum and that we're sufficiently wise enough to stake a legal claim and sell the wealth bits at a time to prevent a platinum glut. (All pretty crazy assumptions with about as much likelihood of success as...winning the lottery.)
So we wind up with a billion dollars. What would I do with my half?
Naturally I'd take care of the essentials first - some money for mom and dad and my brother, some generous donations to UNICEF, Doctors Without Borders, and so on.
But on to the fun stuff. In all honesty, if I had more money than I knew what to do with and I gave millions to every charity on my list...I'd spend the rest of the cash being as eccentric as possible - but, I hope, in a fun and progressive way.
So. First order of business: Earl Acres, i.e., our new home. I'd have an architect build a haunting Gothic mansion, something out of Frankenstein. There would be a pipe organ in the main hallway, so that when guests arrive I would be ready, hunched over the keys, wearing a black cloak, playing that scary "DAH NA NA...DA NA NA NA NA NAAAAAAAAA..." music.
There would be a USS Enterprise bridge simulator room, built to scale, with all the stations intact and functional - well, functional in a simulator sense - this room would be used to play a custom-designed Star Trek combat/exploration game of epic scope. Naturally, this would double as a home theatre, with the stations folding out comfy home theatre seats, for those reluctant to sit for hours on those tiny retro chairs the crew had to endure.
Of course we'd need a staff to handle our estate and business affairs. I would hire each staff member based not only on their qualifications, but how well they fit Hollywood stereotypes for their roles. To wit, I would require:
One British butler, tall and gaunt and perpetually 60-ish, with a rapier deadpan wit.
One irritable French chef, a master of his art, but completely intolerant of his employers' lack of culinary refinement.
One beefy, handsome, macho, silent German chauffeur for Sylvia. He'd also be a crack bodyguard.
One gorgeous Brazilian housekeeper with an affinity for fishnets.
One inscrutable Japanese gardener, replete with Asian wisdom.
One officious, perpetually worried Canadian financial advisor, preferably balding with glasses.
One Indian secret agent woman, or at least an actress pretending to be an Indian secret agent, reporting all kinds of international intruigue and (fake) threats against Woods Foundation interests.
One African American martial arts instructor of the sweet sweetback badassss school.
One Ukrainian "mad"/absent-minded scientist - preferably a theoretical physicist. Must wear a lab coat constantly and play the Frankenstein role with glee.
I would pay all these folks extremely well, and provide them with state-of-the-art facilities for their daily routines. I think we could have a lot of fun running my little lunatic asylum, and in the process we might collectively make a point about cultural and sexual stereotypes. And perhaps make some scientific breakthroughs!
I wonder what Sylvia would do with her $500 million?
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Super Fashion Disaster
I didn't know that Diana (Wonder Woman) Prince owned a "mod boutique" until reading this 1969 issue of Lois Lane. Groovy.
Superman claims that the wig isn't his bag because it'll increase his wind resistance when he flies. Uh...you're Superman. You can fly through the sun, and you're worried about the drag from a wig? I guess he was desperate for any excuse to get out of Diana's little game of dress-up.
Needless to say, this issue's plot revolves around Lois' perennial jealousy over Wonder Woman. At this stage in comic book history, Wonder Woman was operating sans super-powers, using martial arts mojo and feminist determination to demolish her foes, so for once Lois thought she wasn't a threat...until this little scene. Why Lois keeps on pining after Superman I'll never know.
Especially when Lana Lang is single. You're young, Lois - experiment a little.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Super-Sexist
Superman remains my favourite fictional character, but like any imaginary person he is vulnerable to editorial corruption. Witness this panel from a 1968 issue of Superman's Girl Friend Lois Lane:
"It's a miracle you got out of that missle range with your 36-24-36 still intact!"
Gee, Superman - it's a good thing that Lois, as the hip 60s broad she is, doesn't mind being completely objectified. I've been as guilty of objectifying women as the next guy, but come on - you're Superman. You should hold yourself to a higher standard.
And in the very next instant, after delivering a line like that, you propose? In the most offensive manner possible? Lois doesn't seem fazed, though.
"He's proposing, just as the time-scope said he would!" Apparently, the time-scope said Superman would propose as a thuggish lout.
Those of you familiar with the comics may wonder if this was one of the infamous "imaginary stories," or if Superman is under the influence of a magic spell, alien mind ray, or the like. Nope. This story happened in the prime continuity of the Earth-1 years, and Superman was in his right mind. In other words, there's no excuse for his behaviour.
Well, except maybe one. Stories in Lois Lane, as one might expect, bore a lot more resemblance to the romance comics of the day than other superhero books, and extremes of male and female behaviour were often portrayed in all their histrionic glory. Lois and her female supporting characters were obsessed with marriage and romance; male characters were just as stereotyped. Plus, as the viewpoint character, one might wonder if Lois is a reliable narrator or not.
Ah, I'm just making excuses.
"It's a miracle you got out of that missle range with your 36-24-36 still intact!"
Gee, Superman - it's a good thing that Lois, as the hip 60s broad she is, doesn't mind being completely objectified. I've been as guilty of objectifying women as the next guy, but come on - you're Superman. You should hold yourself to a higher standard.
And in the very next instant, after delivering a line like that, you propose? In the most offensive manner possible? Lois doesn't seem fazed, though.
"He's proposing, just as the time-scope said he would!" Apparently, the time-scope said Superman would propose as a thuggish lout.
Those of you familiar with the comics may wonder if this was one of the infamous "imaginary stories," or if Superman is under the influence of a magic spell, alien mind ray, or the like. Nope. This story happened in the prime continuity of the Earth-1 years, and Superman was in his right mind. In other words, there's no excuse for his behaviour.
Well, except maybe one. Stories in Lois Lane, as one might expect, bore a lot more resemblance to the romance comics of the day than other superhero books, and extremes of male and female behaviour were often portrayed in all their histrionic glory. Lois and her female supporting characters were obsessed with marriage and romance; male characters were just as stereotyped. Plus, as the viewpoint character, one might wonder if Lois is a reliable narrator or not.
Ah, I'm just making excuses.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
I Axe You
Like me, you've probably seen commercials for those "body sprays" for men, Axe and Tag and Zap and Moo and whatever. In the ads, a good-looking guy tries out the product in a store or sprays it on before going out, and suddenly gorgeous, often scantily-clad women leap upon him, sexually enraged, hormones throbbing, too warm for his form to control themselves.
So it occurred to me: what happens if you spray a female with one of these sprays? Do buxom, scantily-clad, sex-crazed vixens suddenly pop out of the woodwork for some impromptu, unrestrained Sapphic action?
If so, I'm buying a can or two.
So it occurred to me: what happens if you spray a female with one of these sprays? Do buxom, scantily-clad, sex-crazed vixens suddenly pop out of the woodwork for some impromptu, unrestrained Sapphic action?
If so, I'm buying a can or two.
Friday, December 24, 2004
I'm So Meshuggeneh I Could Plotz
On wednesday, I was taking a little tour of the garden centre at Hole's when Anne, one of my coworkers, asked me if I knew what a dremel was.
"Um, I know it's something Jewish," I said.
"You're thinking of a dreidel," she said, after a brief pause.
"Whoops," I said.
Maybe it's the season - dremels have something to do with carpentry, Jesus was a Jewish carpenter...
Happy KwansChrisHannuSolsticeHumanLight!
"Um, I know it's something Jewish," I said.
"You're thinking of a dreidel," she said, after a brief pause.
"Whoops," I said.
Maybe it's the season - dremels have something to do with carpentry, Jesus was a Jewish carpenter...
Happy KwansChrisHannuSolsticeHumanLight!
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Black, White, & Shades of Grey
Time for more useless superhero trivia, I think. Let's look at characters of colour - that is, comic book heroes with "Black" or "White" in their names. How many are truly black, and how many white? And what does it mean? Let's explore...
First, an experiment: think of a black superhero. First one that comes to mind. I'll wait.
...okay. Who did you think of? I'll bet the character was male, and had "Black" in his superhero name. Furthermore, I'll bet you chose the Black Panther or Black Lightning. Maybe the Black Vulcan, if you watched Saturday morning cartoons.
But how many black characters use "Black" in their sobriquet? Let's find out...
"Black" Characters
Black Canary: Heroine. Wears a black (well, maybe dark blue, depending on the colourist) costume; white as Karen Carpenter.
Black Cat: Heroine. Wears a black costume; white skin, red hair.
Black Cat (II): Another heroine. Also wears a black costume; white skin, white hair.
Blackhawk: Hero. (Collectively: Blackhawks.) A whole bunch of white guys, except for a token Asian. Wore black costumes, flew black airplanes.
Black Goliath: Hero. Grew big. An actual black guy. If he were white, would he be called "White Goliath?"
The Black Hood: Hero. White guy in...a black hood.
Black Jack: Hero. Was not black. Wore black hood.
The Black Knight: Hero. White guy in black suit of armour.
The Black Knight (II): Hero. Ditto. Descendant of the first guy; joined the Avengers.
Black Lightning: Hero. Wears a black costume, and is in fact black. Angry, dedicated schoolteacher by day, ass-busting crimefighter by night. If he were white, would he be called "White Lightning?" Hmmm...that would give a different impression.
Black Manta: Villain. Wears a black deep-sea diving suit, and is in fact black, though this wasn't revealed for many years. (I remember being surprised myself when I read the revelation in the 70s.)
The Black Musketeers: Heroes/Heroines. No, I'm not kidding. They're black, and they're musketeers. They help out the Black Panther.
The Black Panther: Hero. Wears a black costume, and is in fact black. Leader of a fierce, technologically-advanced warrior tribe in Africa.
The Black Pirate: Hero. Wears a black costume, has a black beard. (No relation to Blackbeard the pirate.) White guy.
Black Racer: Force of nature. One of the New Gods; wears a goofy skiiing outfit, acts as the angel of death for the DC universe. Has black skin.
The Black Talon: Villain. An actual black guy, formerly known as The Black Rooster. Again, I'm not kidding.
The Black Terror: Hero. Wears a black costume with a skull and bones motif. Not a pirate. White guy.
Black Vulcan: Hero. One of the Super Friends. Actually black. Cheap Black Lightning knockoff for the cartoon series; the creators didn't want to spend the money to actually purchase the rights to the Black Lightning character.
The Black Widow: Heroine. Wears a black costume. Redheaded spy; white.
Black Bolt: Hero. Black costume, white guy.
Vykin the Black: Hero. One of the New Gods. Yeah, he was black, literally. The token black.
"White" Characters
White Witch. Heroine. A white witch in a white costume. Member of the Legion of Super-Heroes.
Black Characters who don't have the word "black" in their codename:
Amazing Man (II): Hero. As far as I can remember, the only black member of the Justice Society of America. And only retroactively, at that.
Blade: Hero. Maybe you've seen the movies, where he's played by Wesley Snipes. Black guy who hunts vampires.
Brother Voodoo: Hero. May as well be called the black something-or-other, since this name doesn't afford much more dignity.
Cottonmouth: Villain. Has "bionically enhanced jaws." A black character named "Cottonmouth?" This just isn't right.
The Falcon: Hero. Sidekick to Captain America. Has a falcon.
The Human Top: Hero. Spins around. Maybe "The Black Tornado" would have been a better name, at that.
Icon: Hero. Superman analogue; a shapeshifting alien who took the form of a black man, since this was the first example of a human he'd seen.
Moses Magnum: Villain. Holy cow, what a cool name. Too bad his costume is so lame.
Power Fist: Hero. Jive-talkin' hero, in fact. Costume has a disturbing chain motif, though perhaps this is a subtle statement of taking back the chains...or something.
Rocket: Heroine. Sidekick of Icon.
Static: Hero. Has a pretty good cartoon at the moment.
Steel: Hero. Wears a suit of armour. Played by Shaq in a terrible film that really did an injustice to a great character.
The Super Harlem Globetrotters: Heroes. Remember the cartoon? The Harlem Globetrotters received super-powers and fought crime around the world, living up to their name, I guess.
Tyroc: Hero. Sonic scream powers. Wears a white costume; member of the Legion of Super-Heroes.
Whitewash: Hero. Well, more like a comic sidekick. Terribly stereotypical; thankfully hasn't been seen much since his creation in the 40s.
Green Lantern (III): Hero. John Stewart was once the "emergency backup" for Earth's Green Lantern, Hal Jordan. Later on, he became a fully-fledged, full-time Green Lantern in his own right, and in fact it is the John Stewart Green Lantern who is currently being used in the popular Justice League cartoon.
XS: Heroine. Super-speedster. Member of the Legion of Super-Heroes.
Summary
Okay, there are lots of characters who use the word "black" in their codename, most of them white. But there are very few characters who use "white" as an adjective - only one that I could even remember.
What if writers felt the need to apply the "white" descriptor to white characters? How do these names grab you?
White Superman (YEESH! Don't even go there)
White Batman (Doesn't make sense)
White Wonder Woman (Uh...now it sounds like a porn star name)
White Flash (Hmm. Sounds kind of cool, I guess...)
White Spider-Man (uh-huh)
White Canary (Might actually work, I suppose; makes as much sense as Black Canary)
White Dr. Doom ("White Doom" might be cool, not to mention politically astute)
White Shadow (Hey, wasn't that a TV series?)
Well, no surprises here: comics, at least in their early years, were clearly as racist (if mostly unconsciously) as any other medium of the day. Fortunately, there are many more black comics heroes these days - great examples like Icon and Steel, positive role models with non-stereotypical day jobs. (Publisher and architect, respectively.)
Still, as one minority gains footing, others lag behind; there are still relatively few Asian or (openly) gay superheroes, and even fewer Native Americans. But, one by one, they do appear. Whether they will take hold of the public consciousness like Superman, Batman, or Spider-Man...time will tell.
First, an experiment: think of a black superhero. First one that comes to mind. I'll wait.
...okay. Who did you think of? I'll bet the character was male, and had "Black" in his superhero name. Furthermore, I'll bet you chose the Black Panther or Black Lightning. Maybe the Black Vulcan, if you watched Saturday morning cartoons.
But how many black characters use "Black" in their sobriquet? Let's find out...
"Black" Characters
Black Canary: Heroine. Wears a black (well, maybe dark blue, depending on the colourist) costume; white as Karen Carpenter.
Black Cat: Heroine. Wears a black costume; white skin, red hair.
Black Cat (II): Another heroine. Also wears a black costume; white skin, white hair.
Blackhawk: Hero. (Collectively: Blackhawks.) A whole bunch of white guys, except for a token Asian. Wore black costumes, flew black airplanes.
Black Goliath: Hero. Grew big. An actual black guy. If he were white, would he be called "White Goliath?"
The Black Hood: Hero. White guy in...a black hood.
Black Jack: Hero. Was not black. Wore black hood.
The Black Knight: Hero. White guy in black suit of armour.
The Black Knight (II): Hero. Ditto. Descendant of the first guy; joined the Avengers.
Black Lightning: Hero. Wears a black costume, and is in fact black. Angry, dedicated schoolteacher by day, ass-busting crimefighter by night. If he were white, would he be called "White Lightning?" Hmmm...that would give a different impression.
Black Manta: Villain. Wears a black deep-sea diving suit, and is in fact black, though this wasn't revealed for many years. (I remember being surprised myself when I read the revelation in the 70s.)
The Black Musketeers: Heroes/Heroines. No, I'm not kidding. They're black, and they're musketeers. They help out the Black Panther.
The Black Panther: Hero. Wears a black costume, and is in fact black. Leader of a fierce, technologically-advanced warrior tribe in Africa.
The Black Pirate: Hero. Wears a black costume, has a black beard. (No relation to Blackbeard the pirate.) White guy.
Black Racer: Force of nature. One of the New Gods; wears a goofy skiiing outfit, acts as the angel of death for the DC universe. Has black skin.
The Black Talon: Villain. An actual black guy, formerly known as The Black Rooster. Again, I'm not kidding.
The Black Terror: Hero. Wears a black costume with a skull and bones motif. Not a pirate. White guy.
Black Vulcan: Hero. One of the Super Friends. Actually black. Cheap Black Lightning knockoff for the cartoon series; the creators didn't want to spend the money to actually purchase the rights to the Black Lightning character.
The Black Widow: Heroine. Wears a black costume. Redheaded spy; white.
Black Bolt: Hero. Black costume, white guy.
Vykin the Black: Hero. One of the New Gods. Yeah, he was black, literally. The token black.
"White" Characters
White Witch. Heroine. A white witch in a white costume. Member of the Legion of Super-Heroes.
Black Characters who don't have the word "black" in their codename:
Amazing Man (II): Hero. As far as I can remember, the only black member of the Justice Society of America. And only retroactively, at that.
Blade: Hero. Maybe you've seen the movies, where he's played by Wesley Snipes. Black guy who hunts vampires.
Brother Voodoo: Hero. May as well be called the black something-or-other, since this name doesn't afford much more dignity.
Cottonmouth: Villain. Has "bionically enhanced jaws." A black character named "Cottonmouth?" This just isn't right.
The Falcon: Hero. Sidekick to Captain America. Has a falcon.
The Human Top: Hero. Spins around. Maybe "The Black Tornado" would have been a better name, at that.
Icon: Hero. Superman analogue; a shapeshifting alien who took the form of a black man, since this was the first example of a human he'd seen.
Moses Magnum: Villain. Holy cow, what a cool name. Too bad his costume is so lame.
Power Fist: Hero. Jive-talkin' hero, in fact. Costume has a disturbing chain motif, though perhaps this is a subtle statement of taking back the chains...or something.
Rocket: Heroine. Sidekick of Icon.
Static: Hero. Has a pretty good cartoon at the moment.
Steel: Hero. Wears a suit of armour. Played by Shaq in a terrible film that really did an injustice to a great character.
The Super Harlem Globetrotters: Heroes. Remember the cartoon? The Harlem Globetrotters received super-powers and fought crime around the world, living up to their name, I guess.
Tyroc: Hero. Sonic scream powers. Wears a white costume; member of the Legion of Super-Heroes.
Whitewash: Hero. Well, more like a comic sidekick. Terribly stereotypical; thankfully hasn't been seen much since his creation in the 40s.
Green Lantern (III): Hero. John Stewart was once the "emergency backup" for Earth's Green Lantern, Hal Jordan. Later on, he became a fully-fledged, full-time Green Lantern in his own right, and in fact it is the John Stewart Green Lantern who is currently being used in the popular Justice League cartoon.
XS: Heroine. Super-speedster. Member of the Legion of Super-Heroes.
Summary
Okay, there are lots of characters who use the word "black" in their codename, most of them white. But there are very few characters who use "white" as an adjective - only one that I could even remember.
What if writers felt the need to apply the "white" descriptor to white characters? How do these names grab you?
White Superman (YEESH! Don't even go there)
White Batman (Doesn't make sense)
White Wonder Woman (Uh...now it sounds like a porn star name)
White Flash (Hmm. Sounds kind of cool, I guess...)
White Spider-Man (uh-huh)
White Canary (Might actually work, I suppose; makes as much sense as Black Canary)
White Dr. Doom ("White Doom" might be cool, not to mention politically astute)
White Shadow (Hey, wasn't that a TV series?)
Well, no surprises here: comics, at least in their early years, were clearly as racist (if mostly unconsciously) as any other medium of the day. Fortunately, there are many more black comics heroes these days - great examples like Icon and Steel, positive role models with non-stereotypical day jobs. (Publisher and architect, respectively.)
Still, as one minority gains footing, others lag behind; there are still relatively few Asian or (openly) gay superheroes, and even fewer Native Americans. But, one by one, they do appear. Whether they will take hold of the public consciousness like Superman, Batman, or Spider-Man...time will tell.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
Thought for the Day
As men and women are wont to do, Sylvia and I were discussing male/female stereotypes today, one of them being the supposed unwillingness of men to display their emotions. I tossed off a line I quite like:
"Just because you feel love for someone doesn't mean you have to express it!"
I got a pretty good dirty look for that one. Hee hee.
"Just because you feel love for someone doesn't mean you have to express it!"
I got a pretty good dirty look for that one. Hee hee.
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