comic artist Frank MillerFrank Miller can BLOW ME!!!


By Tom 'Brazilian wax' Waters

August 1, 2008
 

Frank Miller can toss my salad and gargle with the creamed corn. Every one of his 'great works' is going downhill at the speed of sound the longer he keeps coming out with new projects. And by projects, I mean the realm of film that he's somehow blown his own way into.

I love Batman, but I'm not touching the new All Star Batman compilation by Miller with a ten foot pole. My comics retailer (Don's Atomic) told me to buy it and that I'd hate it. Why in the fuck would I buy some piece of garbage for thirty dollars knowing full well that it was going to upset me? Apparently, Miller takes his disgust for the franchise that made him the overly-compromised whore he is today and 'turns the series on it's ear' by 'shifting the paradigm'. Those phrases are about as original as anything he's done in the last fifteen years, so they felt warranted.

Frank Miller has lost his motherfucking mind. The Dark Knight Strikes Back had an uninspired title, poor computer generated artwork and a storyline that was more brass balls than character arc. It was a sad, pale imitation of it's predecessor. I've explained these books in full detail many times over, so you're not getting a synopsis here because I'm too fired up.

In his old age, he's become a paranoid delusional maniac with a full tilt delusion of grandeur. Sin City the 'film' may be a wet dream for frat boys and tough guys, but it didn't carry over well onto celluloid. 300 was such an obnoxious case study in slow-motion overuse that I wanted to drive out to Hollywood and smack the director in the face with my dick. After giving him the 'mushroom bruce', I'd walk over to Frank Miller's house, where he could commence to blowing my 'soup can' of a cock.

Sin City (the black and white graphic novel series) wasn't really that hot, either. Take every pathetic dime store novel stereotype you've ever read, suck the ingenuity that a great crime novelist like Chandler or Hammett would infuse the story with, fuck that story in the ass, water it down some more, give it some 'hardcore' balls-out abstract artistic leanings in the panels, take a steaming shot between seven or so perfect bound collections, smear your taint-cheese right at the anti-climactic stupidity of each interconnected 'story' in this city, and you have something that resembles a grade school-serial-killer in training's circle jerk session with a cat he just tortured and drowned in a barrel of lye. Over-rated tripe.

And now, this Christmas, Miller takes the director's chair a second time to torture the world by fucking up the very spirit of Will Eisner's Spirit. How fucking dare you, Frank. Climb a chair, slip through a noose and take your own life. Is that too harsh? Too goddamned bad. You're embarrassing yourself and the rest of the comic enthusiast macrocosm in tinsel town. The last ten years of your artistic life have been a pathetic, flaccid facsimile of your former glory.

You've peaked. Call it day. Hang up your hat, kick off your shoes and go home. I don't like you anymore. My friend doesn't like you either. Rip that line from Star Wars and work it into the next sequel that you whore yourself out for with DC, you little bitch! Ooh, but you make me mad!

Many writers write their best work before they become financially successful. You're obviously on the other end of that spectrum. Trust me, I'm not jealous. I make decent money doing what I do, I have leverage where it matters and at the end of the day I sleep on a bed of residual and commission cash (from bar reviews) with a woman who has (and always will have) the ass of a 16 year old cheerleading captain in Catholic school. Both of these factors give me enough werewithal and gumption to write another twenty books, each one successively better than the next.

Dark Knight Returns is looked upon as one of the most important comic legends in the history of the medium right up there with Alan Moore's The Watchmen. Alan Moore continues to break every mold and genre he's compared to while ever-striving to grow the collective audience for the artistic field. Miller continues to back himself into a corner like an autistic child obsessively slapping his own flimsy prick up against the corner he's being punished in for being so embarrassingly retarded.

Batman: Year One is the template upon which Batman Begins was drawn from, and for good reason. Daredevil: Elektra changed my life and the lives of many others with it's gritty artwork (also drawn by Miller) and it's haunting ruminations on unrequited love and the prospect of one-time resurrection. After that, Miller has been going downhill faster than Barrack Obama in a soap box derby cotton gin on wheels. He's done. Finished. Washed up, whored out and stretched to the point of being worse than a contract soap opera writer. If you could travel back in time and see how inspiring and original and ground-breaking you were, you'd climb a clock tower, install a diving board and then jack-knife onto the concrete fifty feet below.

Listen, Frank. If you can't strive to improve with each literary or cinematic outing, then you're done. Throw in the towel. Drop your pencils, your word processor, your agent, and then I'll drop my pants and stuff all seven and a half inches of my 'babie's arm holding an apple' into the back of your tonsils. What's the smartest thing that ever came out of Frank Miller's mouth? My dick.

-Yeah, I stole that line. Just writing about Miller makes me a derivative hack, too, so I'm stopping now to invest my creative energies into something infinitely more satisfying than meditations on a nobody. You fucked up, Miller. Now wipe the spunk of your chin and go away.

 

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Wil Forbis is a well known international playboy who lives a fast paced life attending chic parties, performing feats of derring-do and making love to the world's most beautiful women. Together with his partner, Scrotum-Boy, he is making the world safe for democracy. Email - acidlogic@hotmail.com

Visit Wil's web log, The Wil Forbis Blog, and receive complete enlightenment.


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