Zorro Turns 100: Fights the Undead!

New Comic, Zorro: Swords of Hell (part I of IV) — Review

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Zorro fights the undead in new comic series. Credit: Roy Allan Martinez & Enrica Eren Angiolini, covert art.

 

Zorro turns 100 years-old in 2019.

The masked man in black is older than Wonder Woman (a spry 78 years-old); older than Batman (he’s 80); Superman (81), and even older than The Shadow (89 years-old). Zorro, the Spanish word for “fox,” has been fighting corrupt governors and politicians in Old Alta California for a century. But Westerns are sorta played out these days, according to Mike Wolfer, writer of an upcoming Zorro storyline:

“Zorro was one the earliest American literary heroes, created during the time when Westerns were enjoying immense popularity, but with each passing decade, we’re farther and farther away from the age when Western themes, and the mystique of the ‘wild west,’ were still within living memory of many readers.”

Many readers, in short, don’t get excited about “The West” anymore. In the 1990s, under writer Don McGregor and artist Mike Mayhew, Zorro’s nemeses took on a more comic-book edge to attract younger readers. There was Moonstalker, a aggrieved Native American bent on revenge; there was Buck Wylde, a friggin’ crazy racist buckskin wearing trapper; and then there was the alluring but, for Zorro, of course, dangerously so, Lady Rawhide — dressed, we might add, as if Annie Oakley shopped at Frederick’s of Hollywood. Zorro even fought the original nighttime skulker himself — Drah-cu-lah — in a two-part series wherein Zorro just can’t understand why the Count has so much game with Zorro’s lady! Luckily, for Zorro, a bit of the real Crown of Thorns was at hand for a makeshift weapon against the bloodsucker par excellence.

It was a real good try, in other words. Zorro was trying to break out of the old, dusty well-worn Western tropes he was born into. But maybe it wasn’t enough.

How do you tell new stories about Zorro, the fox, after 100 years?

Answer: Hordes, like actual hordes, of the undead.

“A century later,” says Mike Wolfer, “modern readers are a bit reluctant to embrace western themes, so basically, we’re appealing to more modern tastes by skewing our tales toward horror, and the fun aside is that we’re introducing the ‘Old West,’ its settings and themes to readers who have never seen it.”

Correction: Herds, like actual herds, of the undead.

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To celebrate the original caped avenger’s 100th birthday, American Mythology Productions has released Zorro: Swords of Hell. It’s a four-part miniseries and the first issue is smartly written and gorgeously drawn and colored. The writer of the new series, David Avallone (Bettie Page, Elvira, Twilight Zone: The Shadow, Doc Savage), gives us a one-page setup and then: the aforesaid hordes of undead crawl out of the La Brea Tar pits looking for slaughter, and to slaughter in particular, Don Diego de la Vega, Zorro’s whimpy, primpy alter-ego.

But that one-page setup is classic. It’s a nod to Zorros of the past, but with a 21st-century gender sensibility. We find Don Diego fencing with his fiancee, Lolita. It’s a scene evocative of the Banderas/Zeta-Jones duel in the 1998 film The Mask of Zorro.

The opening scene in Zorro: Swords of Hell has the fire we expect in Zorro stories. It has the sexual tension mixed with challenge. It has the “You-can’t-bed-me-if-you-can’t-beat-me” sorta vibe. But, under Avallone’s direction — with great framing by Roy Allan Martinez — it’s not clear whom has bested whom. They emerge together, Diego and Lolita, as two badasses who have the steel and metal to face all human foes.

“Your wish,” so says Diego to Lolita while they fence, “was not so foolish that it could not come true. No man is more like Zorro than I.”

“The garb of Zorro,” replies Lolita, “well suited the romantic dreams of a girl…But this WOMAN happily takes Don Diego de la Vega to be her husband…without his mask.”

But, of course, human foes are not what they face.

Man and woman, evenly matched we learn, expect a wedding to shortly take place. (It’s a recurring theme in Zorro stories. Don Diego is always about to marry his love, but then..enter bad guys).

But, then, enter bad guys: the undead horde.

Virtuoso swordplay and derring-do just might not be enough this time, we find out. Not when faced with a unknown evil.

“I had not known,” says writer Avallone, “when I started the series that the great South American novelist Isabel Allende wrote a Zorro novel. When I pitched my story, which involves the deposed alcalde, the mayor of Los Angeles who Zorro defeats in the origin story, making a deal with a warlock, or should I say brujo, to make the dead rise out of the La Brea Tar Pits and conquer LA for him, I thought well what’s Zorro going to fight that with? It’s not the Walking Dead; he’s not going to cut all their heads off. You’ve gotta come up with a challenge that you can’t stab your way out of.”

And that’s the main challenge Zorro faces in Swords of Hell, part I. How do I fight these creatures, who look eerily reminiscent of 16th century Spanish Conquistadors? (They are drawn immaculately, these undead Conquistadors, by Roy Allan Martinez — Son of M, Immortal Iron Fist, She-Hulk. The coloring, by Emmanuel Ordaz Torres, is also spot on, from Lolita’s red dress to the shadowy menace of the creatures).

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Great framing and color, by Roy Allan Martinez and Emmanuel Ordaz Torres


Zorro: Swords of Hell, part I comes with three alternate covers, a common practice these days. There’s the Demon Cover by S.L. Gallant; the Nostalgia Cover by Jon Pinto; even the Toth Ltd. Edition cover by none other than the Zorro-god himself — Alex Toth. There’s even a blank cover edition for the aspiring comic artist out there to add her own take on Swords of Hell.

You’re in for a real treat, in other words.

The reader, at the end of Zorro: Swords of Hell, part I is left without knowing the fate of our heroine, Lolita, nor whether Zorro will be able to figure out how to kill these undead enemies.

Zorro, at 100, is looking pretty good.


A review of Zorro: Swords of Hell, part II is coming soon…

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Flight or Invisibility? Which Superpower Would You Choose?

The Answer Helps Explain the Power of #Metoo, Trump, and the Internet

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Before you make a choice — flight or invisibility — here are the ground rules:

Flight means the power to travel in the air, up to 100,000 feet, at a maximum velocity of 1,000 MPH. You don’t have any other powers. You’re not invincible. You don’t have super strength. Just flying. (And, thus, depending on your natural strength, you probably can’t carry many people with you. Large pets or small children would be key candidates).

Invisibility means the power to make yourself unseen, as well as your clothes. (So, you don’t have to go around naked!). But things you pick up are still visible. Food and drink are visible until digested. (Best Advice: Keep that in mind before sneaking around like a friggin’ pervert…).

You are the only person to have this power, flight or invisibility. You can only choose one. You can’t pick both.

Which one do you choose?

And what would you do with your power?

And, hey, there are no judgments here. Just go with your gut.

Ok, got it? Great! Keep your choice to yourself for now. We’ll get back to it. First we have to talk about the thought experiment itself, this Superpower Dilemma, and what it says about power and ethics in the age of #Metoo, Trump, and the Internet.

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Full disclosure: The Superpower Dilemma is not my creation. It’s been kicking around the Internet for over fifteen years. It’s shown up in Psychology Today as a projective test. Those who choose invisibility, according to PT, are people who, in Jungian fashion, embrace their shadow self in order to transcend it; or, those who choose flight are those who seek self-actualization a la Maslow. They push past basic needs — food, shelter, etc. — and search for true fulfillment. Even Forbes used the Superpower Dilemma in a poll of over 7,000 industry and business leaders. It’s no surprise that over 70% of those polled chose flight — approximately 28% chose invisibility. More men than women picked flight, according to Forbes. And more individuals in Human Resources and Safety chose invisibility! (Imagine invisible HR professionals lurking in the corner of the copy room…).

And then there’s the real starting point to the Superpower Dilemma on the Internet. Comedian John Hodgman did a segment on it in a 2001 episode of This American Life.

It’s hilarious.

Hodgman interviews a number of men and women — anonymously, of course — about which power they would choose and why. He finds that people basically never choose to use their power to fight crime. Far from it. Flight and invisibility are not enough, they protest. They would fly, rather, in order to travel to Paris, according to one man. Or, another woman claims she would steal as many sweaters as she desired. The superpowers are chosen for the self. For one’s own pleasure or curiosity or darker inclinations.

But, as with all episodes of This American Life, the Hodgman piece mixes two parts humor and one part pathos. It goes from good chuckle to fucking poignant really fast. (Ah, the storytelling delights of Ira Glass and Team…). Hodgman finds there’s a mental process involved, wherein a gut choice for invisibility usually ends with a rational acknowledgement that invisibility would lead to some bleak places.

Consider the honest appraisal of Man 7:

“Invisibility leads you — leads me, as an invisible person, down a dark path, because you’re not going to want to miss out, when you’re invisible, on — you know, no matter how many times you’ve seen a woman naked in the shower, you’re going to want to see it again, because there’s always a different woman, right? And there’s like a lifetime of that. And that’s not acceptable behavior, no matter whether you’re invisible or not.”

Or, the deep truth of Woman 1:

“First of all, I think that a lot of people are going to tell you that they would choose flight, and I think they’re lying to you. I think they’re saying that because they’re trying to sound all mythic and heroic, because the better angels of our nature would tell us that the real thing that we should strive for is flight, and that that’s noble and all that kind of stuff.

But I think actually, if everybody were being perfectly honest with you, they would tell you the truth, which is that they all want to be invisible so that they can shoplift, get into movies for free, go to exotic places on airplanes without paying for airline tickets, and watch celebrities have sex.”

Or, the ageless wisdom of Man 8:

“Flying is for people who want to let it all hang out. Invisibility is for fearful, crouching masturbators.”

We all fly and we all fade, Hodgman sums up. And the poignant question the comic leaves us with is this: “Who do you want to be — the person you hope to be, or the person you fear you actually are?”

Ok, so you’ve picked a superpower? Do you want to switch at this point?

At any rate, what conclusions might we draw about flight and invisibility? Flight is heroic. Invisibility is sneaky. Invisibility is a superpower for villains — maybe, even, for the villain inside all of us.

And, of course, there’s the whole thing about sex. Even the Kevin Bacon film Hollow Man (2000) — where Bacon, as scientist, learns how to turn himself invisible, has a requisite naked-woman-showering scene, which then turns into rape. What better metaphor for #Metoo? Women sharing stories of sexual abuse perpetrated by men whose actions have been, for them, vicious trauma, but for the rest of the world, unknown, invisible.

The Superpower Dilemma, in sum, has a clear ethical dimension. And, like many things the Internet hath made, the thought experiment is one humans have been puzzling over for thousands of years. For that, we have to travel to Ancient Greece where we learn of the first Superpower Dilemma — the tale of the ring of Gyges.

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Athens, Greece.

Enter: Plato (c. 424–347 B.C.E.).

Bearded philosopher. Furrowed brow. Toga.

The dude was thinking about the Superpower Dilemma 2,400 years ago, albeit in a slightly different form. There’s no mention of flight in Plato’s telling of it. Just invisibility. The story is told in the Second Book of Plato’s Republic. Plato writes the story as though his brother, Glaucon, is the one telling it. And so Glaucon begins the tale of the ring of Gyges.

It’s a magical ring, Glaucon says, which gives the power of invisibility to the one who wears it. Turn it facing inward on the finger and the wearer is invisible; outward, the wearer reappears. The ring, in Glaucon’s telling, is found in a crack in the earth opened up by an earthquake. Gyges, the guy who finds the ring, quickly realizes the implications. Gyges is a lowly shepherd. But he gets himself sent to the king’s court. He seduces the Queen and conspires to have the king killed. And then Gyges assumes the throne. (If all this sounds familiar, it is. Tolkien used it as a model for the One Ring in the Lord of the Rings).

Glaucon’s point is this: No one will do right when they can get away with doing wrong. If given the power, like in the tale of the ring of Gyges,

“no man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all aspects be like a God among men.”

“A man is just,” Glaucon argues, “not willingly or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but of necessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can be unjust, there he is unjust.” Only fear of a lost reputation or fear of punishment cause people to do justice, according to Glaucon. And, if you have the power, and don’t use it like Gyges did, you’re probably pretty stupid.

“If you could imagine any one obtaining this power of becoming invisible, and never doing any wrong or touching what was another’s, he would be thought by lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they would praise him to one another’s faces, and keep up appearances with one another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice.”

Basically, Glaucon says, we would hate and fear that power in another, but secretly want it for ourselves.

(Side note: H.G. Wells’ novella The Invisible Man (1897) pokes a few holes in the tale of Gyges. The book is all about how friggin’ hard it would be to pull off one’s evil desires, even if you could be invisible. The protagonist, Griffin, is a failed Gyges. He doesn’t manage taking over his town let alone the whole of England. His dark, evil plans come to nothing. And who defeats him? The community! The community comes together and destroys the guy. In essence, Wells simply tells us, through Griffin, why worry about invisibility when you can’t pull off the real soul-fulfilling devious shit anyway! Because, according to Wells, the community is stronger than the individual.)

Does Plato provide an escape from Glaucon’s argument? Is it true that we only do right because we fear losing our reputation and we fear punishment?

Well, that’s beside the point, actually. Plato’s point is political. He’s talking about society. Don’t look for justice in the individual, says Plato, look for it in society. The take away, for Plato and for us, is the cliché of all modern superheroes: With great power comes great responsibility. Plato was interested in making sure that those who have power are also made accountable. Power is a force that, indeed, has dark, bleak implications for human nature. But it’s also an energy for doing good. It just has to be forced in that direction. Justice, in essence, is the product of the terms demanded by society. It’s the desire for who we, as a society, want to be and the acknowledgement of our worst selves. It’s setting up boundaries that keep us from those worst selves.

And, so, this discussion brings us back to our own moment — to #Metoo, Trump, and the Internet.

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What was your choice? Flight or invisibility? We’ve learned so far that flight feels aspirational. It feels heroic. It feels like the choice we should choose. Invisibility, on the other hand, feels somehow icky. Like, as a man, if I pick invisibility, people are probably gonna expect me to be peeping on my neighbor. And, what we’ve learned, from Plato to This American Life, is that it’s probably a right assumption. Even the just individual, who puts on the power of invisibility, will become unjust. We need accountability.

And that fact is the core issue of our current cultural and political moment. #Metoo is asking men to make visible actions that, in the past, have been invisible. To call them inappropriate whether they’re known or unknown. The Internet is awash with male trollers, harassing under an assumed cloak of invisibility. There’s even a syndrome for this: Online disinhibition effect. The supposed anonymity of the internet allows people to do and say whatever they please. Things they wouldn’t (probably) say or do face to face.

And then there’s President Trump, the Invisible Man, par excellence. It’s as if we all are watching a man do and say things as though he were invisible. Like, he thinks he has the power of invisibility, and is acting accordingly — mistresses, payoffs, Russia, ad nauseum — but he’s actually doing all of this in full view. Trump is the tale of the ring of Gyges for our time. A man who has come to power but has no responsibility. He’s the Hollow Man of Hollywood yarns-come-to-life. And he’s leading a generation of Hollow Men.

Power. Men in power. Sex and power. Technology and power. The point of thinking about the Superpower Dilemma is that it forces us to realize that for justice to exist there has to be accountability. In relationships. In politics. In how we relate to one another in an actually very new digital public sphere.

We all fly and we all fade, Hodgman said in his This American Life piece. We can only be the people we hope to be when we acknowledge, and give account for, the people we fear we actually are.

(Originally published on Medium)

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Zorro at the Border

The American Superhero Myth Relies on a Distinction Between Breaking a Law and Criminality.

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What makes a criminal?

The question loops in my mind as we pull up to the U.S.-Mexico border. From the Mexican side, from Nogales, Sonora I can see, through the security checkpoint, Nogales, Arizona. Two cities that share a name and straddle a border. They were birthed together, these two cities, born attached. Siamese twins connected by some vital organ. The operation to separate them is both tremendously complicated and potentially lethal.

“This isn’t a border, it’s a scar,” I remember Mexican novelist Carlos Fuentes has said.

The question of the Siamese Cities quiets and the question of what makes a criminal takes over again. It’s a loop in my head again.

What makes a criminal?…What makes a criminal?…

Before I can pursue the question, the American border agent asks for our passports. For a brief instant, my lunch drops in my stomach as I search frantically in my bag. I realize, with relief, that it’s sitting on my lap. We hand over our passports — bought with money that would be equivalent to the monthly minimum wage in Guatemala. The agent asks where we’ve been and where we’re going. He asks how many people are in the car.

“Two of us,” my friend says.

We’ve pulled up to the border in a large Sprinter Van. The agent’s not exactly incredulous, but he cocks an eyebrow nevertheless. Do two guys need such a large van? he seems to be thinking.

We haven’t been smuggling anything. No undocumented individuals are in the van. My buddy lives in Mexico, in a small surf town on Mexico’s westcoast. I agreed to drive with him back to Oregon. It’s been the better part of four days on the road. I’m here to help him drive, but also to research Zorro. It’s a new project for me. I’m investigating the myth and history surrounding the pop culture icon. We stayed in a Zorro-themed hotel in El Fuerte, Sinaloa. It claims to be the birthplace of the fictional Don Diego de la Vega, Zorro’s alter ego. We also visited the very real birthplace of another individual. Joaquin Murrieta, a Mexican bandit some have said gave inspiration to the 1919 pulp novel The Curse of Capistrano, written by Johnston McCulley. The McCulley novel is where the Zorro character made its debut.

“Swiftly out of the night rode the masked and cloaked Zorro, with flashing sword, ready to right a great wrong!”

I snap out of my Zorro thoughts and the question of What makes a Criminal? comes back to me.

Because I love pop culture, and study it professionally, the answer comes to me from another pop culture source. Not Zorro, immediately, but from a genre that is close to Zorro. The Western. I think of the Coen Brothers’ 2010 adaptation of True Grit. Matt Damon plays LaBoeuf, a buckskin clad dandy and Texas lawman. “You could argue,” LaBoeuf tells Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) and Mattie (Hailee Steinfeld), “ that the shooting of the dog was merely an instance of malum prohibitum, but the shooting of a senator is indubitably an instance of malum in se.”

“Malla-men what?” Cogburn spits back.

Mattie, the smart-as-a-whip protagonist, answers: “Malum in se. The distinction is between an act that is wrong in itself, and an act that is wrong only according to our laws and mores. It is Latin.”

The context doesn’t matter — shooting a dog or a senator — but the distinction hits me like a slap. The looping question, What makes a Criminal? finally stops, and I’m able to make sense of the question.

Isn’t our whole notion of justice in America based on this distinction? I think to myself. We have a love and a devotion, in America, to a species of individual — the avenger, the superhero, the vigilante, even — who operates on a distinction between actions being considered wrong because they are prohibited, and actions that are wrong because they are morally evil. We give room, in popular culture, for the breaking of laws in the pursuit of justiceWe actually believe that justice is sometimes achieved outside the law.

From Zorro, to Batman, to Superman, to the Justice League, and the Avengers — and I should note an early Zorro story called Zorro’s companions the Avengers — all our biggest heroes establish their action of putting the world to rights based on the distinction between malum prohibitum (wrong based on breaking a statute) and malum in se (wrong because it is intrinsically, morally evil.)

I try to close the loop in my head. Zorro…legal distinctions…the border…undocumented immigrants. As we drive north, through a landscape that looks virtually the same as the it did on the Mexican side of the border, what I’ve been wrestling with finally gets pinned down.

We, in America, expect criminality to be judged, ultimately, not on breaking a statute but on whether the action is fundamentally right or wrong. There’s a whole moral aspect, whether one wants to admit it, that’s part of the family separation crisis. I think of the many “choiceless choices” made by migrant parents. Fleeing volcanoes, earthquakes, violence, and poverty — but, still, the decision to remain with their children to seek something better. That seems pretty morally upright, I think. But, at the border, criminality comes in the form of a piece of paper. It’s based on American statutes, American politics. These papers are gained through money (which many migrants don’t have), through power (which many migrants don’t have), and through sheer luck (which many migrants don’t have).

Is there a distinction to be made between crossing the border without papers and the act of separating children from parents at the border? Perhaps LaBoeuf and perhaps Zorro would say, certainly, that this, indeed, is a distinction to be made. The undocumented are not criminals for crossing a border. A family separation policy that the American Academy of Pediatrics has called child abuse, is criminal. Even Laura Bush, no liberal herself, has recently said, “this zero-tolerance policy is cruel. It is immoral. And it breaks my heart.”

As we drive on, I imagine a lone rider, masked and cloaked, silhouetted against the distant hill overlooking the border. Zorro and other heroes, which Americans love and venerate — even the conservative darling Jack Reacher — break the law, but in the pursuit of justice. Many migrant parents are making just such a choice in trying to cross the U.S.-Mexican border with their children.

(Originally posted on Medium)

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Searching for Zorro

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