Psylocke is Dead, Long Live Psylocke: On Body Swapping and Orientalism

Here we go again. In Marvel's current Wolverine-focused event, Hunt For Wolverine, writer Jim Zub is promising to put X-Men franchise mainstay Psylocke through another round of her perennial body swapping ordeal. From a leaked variant cover to #4 of the Hunt for Wolverine: Mystery in Madripoor mini-series and Zub's own confirmation, fan communities and comics journalists have discovered this plot point some weeks before the reveal. Before we delve into the torrid discussion surrounding the politics of body swapping (particularly in the case of Psylocke), let's first recap some history.

Psylocke, the telepathic, telekinetic mutant with a proclivity towards focused totalities and leather thongs, has had a series of debuts. Her first appearance, from creators Chris Claremont and Herb Trimpe, was in 1976 in Marvel UK's Captain Britain #8. Long before she was identified as a mutant, Psylocke was Elizabeth Braddock, twin sister of Brian Braddock aka Captain Britain. Her US debut was not until 1986, in New Mutants Annual #2, and her debut as Psylocke was in Uncanny X-Men #213. Already, we can see that the character has a more complex history than most iconic superheroes, whose debut most often occurs in only one comic book. But, it only twists more from there, as we reach the crux.

What is the most common visage of Psylocke? I'd wager it is this figure, from the 90s, the hyper-sexualised Asian body.

Yet, the Psylocke who debuted in Captain Britain, and was later seen in Uncanny X-Men, was not Asian. Not just that the character, as sister to Captain Britain himself, hailed from Britain, but that the character was Caucasian. A mild-mannered, upper-class styling of femininity, that belied a hidden strength, comic book creator Alan Davis once compared her to Thunderbirds' Lady Penelope.

So, what exactly happened? As with all things concerning the continuity of superheroes, it's complicated. Put simply, Psylocke, upon anticipating tragedy would befall the X-Men, entered through a magical MacGuffin that transported her to Japan and rendered her amnesiac. A dastardly villain sees this as a chance to groom a new master assassin for his nefarious purposes. Psylocke is brainwashed and is then, due to an incapability to abide outsiders, subjected to bodily transformation. She comes into conflict with some X-Men, she overcomes her conditioning, defeats the villain and gets the happy ending. Only there's no such happy ending, considering her body is no longer her own, but that of a Japanese ninja. This new iteration of the character is confrontationally sexual, alluringly deadly and suddenly an expert of Eastern martial arts. Psylocke is dead; long live Psylocke.

There was also a later incident of retroactive continuity that posited that there was another character who Psylocke had simply transferred minds with. This is a complete logical mess and beyond the scope of this particular piece. Even if I had the space for it, I wouldn't want to delve into that matter because, quite frankly, it makes my brain hurt. Regardless, this transition from British body to Japanese happened under the pen of the character's creator: Chris Claremont. With fairness to Claremont, the questionable ethics surrounding minds and body are a repeatedly explored topic in his X-Men comics (many of a similarly problematic nature, including turning two other White characters into Native Americans) and he would later return to this character and revise the transformation into an Asian woman, returning her to her British body. After a brief period of disuse (she had been killed, but silly things like that don't tend to stick), Psylocke returned in her original body in Uncanny X-Men #455.

For some time it seemed like the British Psylocke was to be a victim of "hypertime", a term borrowed from Grant Morrison's conceptualisation of a DC meta-universe, where canonicity is determined by a readership's almost-democratic decision and doesn't adhere to what is strictly in texts. Whilst Psylocke had returned to her British identity, comic book artists simply refused to stop drawing her as the hyper-sexual Japanese ninja. After spending some time in flux, (textually white, yet aesthetically Asian) Psylocke would experience yet another body swap (courtesy of Matt Fraction) in Uncanny X-Men #508-511, this time reconciling artist measure and definitively situating Psylocke in the Japanese body. So definitively, in fact, that over the course of this story Psylocke's original body was mutilated and destroyed; a bizarre realisation of the idiom, "you can't go home again".

There are actually few enough differences between the renderings of the two ethnicities that you could get away with saying that Psylocke had always been, in some part, Asian. It would not be the most ridiculous moment of retroactive continuity in X-Men franchise history. Certainly, this is one solution posed by those who see both the problematic nature of the character's Asian body and the value of such a popular Asian character. Yet what is abundantly clear is that the moments of sexuality diverge with the change of ethnicity; the Japanese woman is afforded a fetishisation and sexualisation that the White, British woman simply never is. What's even more interesting here is that Psylocke did not merely go through the body swap and come out on the other side a newly sexualised character; she was always objectified, her modelling career backstory serving as an opportunity for male creatives to curate her for male audience consumption. What we then see are two distinct sexualities and femininities- both curated for male consumption, yet disseminated in separate ways.

I think it's fair to say that the femininity associated with the British Psylocke is privileged in the readership's eye. Her objectification can be considered a higher, more sophisticated cultural process than the comparatively crass and base depictions of Japanese Psylocke. You can see this in the distinct costumes the different realisations wear, but also in how the body is posed by artists. The Japanese body is almost always contorted in some unnatural way so as to always deliver some element of sexuality. The White body, meanwhile, is allowed some dignity in its objectification. Whilst still a conservative realisation of beauty standards, the White body is at least allowed to look human.

It is also worth noting that, alongside the new body, Psylocke gained new traits and abilities that had never been realised in her British form- particularly ninjutsu and an affection for all things Japanese, or, at least, all things Japanese by way of America. This is a woman who had been raised in a privileged, upper-class British household, with no feasible connections to the culture she had now become endowed with. The Japanese Psylocke had, for the swathe of the character's popularity, become the preferred reading. It is this version of Psylocke which is realised in cartoon adaptations and even in Olivia Munn's portrayal of the character in X-Men: Apocalypse. Her dated costume was criticised widely, but, to fans of the comic book, this was merely an apt adaptation of the source material. So the Psylocke of the wider consciousness is this crass, dated character of a Japanese superhero, yet therein lies the inherent danger of further meddling with her identity. She is known to be a significant Asian character and to obliterate her is a serious mark against a brand that focuses itself around sympathy towards identity diversity, if not identity diversity itself.

To question Marvel's fetishisation of the East is vital, considering the context of the recent promotion of Akira Yoshida (the alter-ego of white comic book creative C.B. Cebulski) to Editor-In-Chief; white people using Asian identities to promote themselves isn't just a textual phenomenon but a metatextual one also. What, then, does this return to Britishness and whiteness signify? Is it an attempt to remove the criticisms of authorial orientalism, or, perhaps, audience orientalism? Does Jim Zub seek to absolve Marvel of these issues or to simply allow fan communities to overcome this point of contention? After all, the constant re-switching and renegotiation can be attributed to a synoptic fan community, where the many (an audience devoted to multiple realisations of genre and character) interact with the few (the creatives actually involved with the generation of new stories) and all each proclaim themselves as arbiters of true representation. To me, though, I think there is something more profound and zeitgeistic at hand. Despite the surface-level diversification, wherein which a Caucasian character is replaced by an Asian one, we can read the Japanese Psylocke as actually endemic of the homogenising force of the 90s- the superhero comic book's "Dark Age". Where Psylocke had previously been allowed to exist as her own unique entity, complementing the make-up of the X-Men franchise in her own way, the onset of the 90s came with a clear, decisive mission. Everything has to be cool. Everything has to be dark. Everything has to be big. And everything has to be sexy. This new return to Psylocke's original body feels like a condemnation of the "Dark Age" design ethos, in a context where superhero audiences beyond the straight, adolescent male are finally being considered. By abolishing the Asian body, Jim Zub may also be abolishing the dehumanising sexuality associated with that body. Rather than to reconcile the inhuman, orientalist subject with dignity, the subject is to be replaced by the White: dignity present by default.

Then we are finally faced with the impossible question. To return Psylocke to Whiteness is to obliterate one of the franchise's most significant Asian representations, whereas to persist with the Japanese body is to likewise persist with the American fetishisation of Asian identities. With any new property or adaptation, it's an easy decision to just meld these characters together. Reproduce Psylocke as an Anglo-Asian character, from birth, and you side-step a lot of the concerns at hand. This does not, and can not, hold up in the ongoing, serial format of contemporary comic books. The format would resist it, fans of the format would resist it, and soon enough you would see a return to the status quo, proving any noble work done to progress the character moot. Only time will tell if Mystery in Madripoor can finally quell Psylocke's existential questioning for good, but, whatever the answer to this conundrum is, I think that it is clear that it cannot be found in the constant switching, re-switching and re-re-switching of bodies.

In a way, the answer means little. Such a fraught cultural issue benefits more from the question. The fictional Psylocke is no ubiquitous battleground for debates around orientalism in contemporary popular culture, but, rather, is a microcosm from which we can further scrutinise issues of representation at large.

FFXV's Royal Pack: Facing The Dangers Of "Games As A Service"

Released to coincide with the release of Final Fantasy XV’s PC edition in March of 2018, the Royal Pack downloadable content is the apotheosis of XV’s bizarre, and often disjointed, approach to post-launch content for a single-player game. The fifteenth mainline entry of Square-Enix’s storied Final Fantasy franchise was a divisively modern and unconventional JRPG. Despite launching with the intent to appeal to both new players and long-time fans, XV proved so unpopular with those fans who had numerous preconceptions of what a Final Fantasy game should be that each piece of downloadable content has sought to resolve the criticisms held by the core fan-base. This featured everything from extended narrative sequences to a plethora of combat extensions and, as the content plan has progressed, the changes have become more and more profound. The Royal Pack, and particularly the changes to XV’s Chapter 14, is the culmination of this.

The expansion to XV’s final dungeon does not only add optional content (though it has this in spades, featuring vehicular exploration, side-quests and a new super-boss), but makes fundamental changes to the tone, pacing and even story of XV. These changes expose the poorly conceived post-launch content plan, as each instance works individually but, when combined, fail nonetheless. The new “Rulers of Yore” boss fights are some of the games best, featuring some fantastic music and well conceived quick-time events, and it’s hard to shrug off the other gameplay enhancements (the scale of the City of Insomnia is particularly pleasing). The additional character crescendos work similarly, as each party member gets a “Ruler of Yore” boss to defeat of their own, and these prove necessary to cap off their inclusion in the game as main, playable characters. But, the game wasn’t designed with these instances in mind and it shows. Retroactively adding content to the chapter affects its tone and continuity, as characters transition from sombre to melodramatic seamlessly. The Royal Pack content sticks out blindingly and appears to have been implemented with very little care. Adding a new boss fight between the party’s entry of the citadel and exploration further in leads to the party’s odd exclamation that the room is lit up, long after first entering.

The original XV has, what I feel is, one of modern gaming’s finest endings. It’s sombre, regretful and often feels like a counter to the conventional JRPG ending, which requires incomparable action feats and melodramatic character exclamations. That one of XV’s most powerful scenes is a man struggling to express his emotions to his friends around a campfire highlights the uniqueness of vanilla XV. The Royal Pack content runs antithesis to this, with party members who no longer look, talk and act like the genuine people we had previously enjoyed in the rest of the game. Even when the game provided a fantasy setting, just with cars, the party fulfilled the promise of a “fantasy based on reality”. These melodramatic reimagining’s of the characters which we see in the new Chapter 14 are not only at odds with the rest of the chapter, but with their appearance in the game itself.

It’s not only the characters who are more melodramatic and conventionally ‘JRPG’ either, the relentless boss fights and cinematic moments dilute the special moments that were already there. An addition of Lunafreya and the host of Summons (in-game deities) removes the thrill of seeing both Lunafreya again and the debut of Bahamut, most powerful of the Summons, as he had already showed up in this additional sequence. It shows in actual gameplay, also. With the transformation of a generic encounter into the cinematic Cerberus boss, the already present Ifrit boss, three new “Rulers of Yore” encounters (The Fierce, The Rogue and The Mystic) and Ardyn’s final boss, the Chapter 14 pacing is completely transformed. No longer is there a sombre, regretful walk to your final encounter, its place is taken by bombastic action; there’s no anticipation in the Royal Pack Chapter 14, only the next set piece.

It becomes clear that the Chapter 14 expansion became more about the transmedia Final Fantasy XV Universe than the game itself, working primarily to embed Kingsglaive (the CG prequel film) and Comrades (the multiplayer expansion) into the universe some more. Monsters and themes of Kingsglaive are suitably realised in the expanded dungeon, whilst you can also encounter the player’s custom character and others from Comrades. The failure of Comrades was in its fundamentally misunderstanding of the appeal of XV, creating a dark, bitter world, with no exploration or character, for its multiplayer mode and it is this misunderstanding of their own product that has caused such a tumultuous post-launch content plan to take hold.

So, why, months after release, is it critical to imperil XV’s Royal Pack? Simply, the post-launch meddling sets a concerning precedent for live-service single player games. The original Chapter 14, as it stands, may never gain the benefit of hindsight or any future reconsideration. To question the archivist, which goes in the vault: the Day One Edition, the Royal Edition or both? Those who have paid for the Royal Pack content have a perfectly functional game transformed into something new, whether you feel it as a lesser experience or not. Here, the consumer is paying to have a product renovated according to populist whims, with currently no option to experience the vanilla version (particularly on PC). This brings into question the entire notion of video games as a storytelling medium; are they to tell the stories developers want to tell or stories that fans want to experience?

Final Fantasy XV is arguably the biggest “live-service” single player game we’ve so far seen, which is why the post-launch content has often felt so strange. It’s really the first of its kind. The story is now developed according to the whims of service payers, leading new additions to be implemented in an incongruous and unfocused way. This is important to note in the context of live service multiplayer games damaging interest in single player games (or, at least, the belief of developers that this is the case). Already we have seen a transition towards open, sandbox single player game design, foregoing linearity in exchange for potential Twitch popularity. XV is the next step in this development. It may have been a hybrid live/conventional dlc model (XV had no lootboxes or microtransactions, operating its service on sales of a Season Pass), but the Royal Pack content exposes the future of single player games that attempt to emulate it. For future development of “live” single player games, the lessons on this subject are all to be found in the fraught (and on-going) history of Final Fantasy XV.

The Cyclical Cyclops: Re-Examining Uncanny X-Men #201

An in-depth re-examination of "Duel." Uncanny X-Men #201. Chris Claremont (W) and Rick Leonardi (A). 1986.





One of the 80s X-Men's most pivotal issues, "Duel" is one of several watershed moments in the transition from Claremont's first iteration of X-Men into the hardline, rebellious group that would populate the "Outback Era". The eponymous "Duel" refers to a match between a de-powered Storm and new father Cyclops (aka Scott Summers), competing for the leadership of the X-Men. Storm's victory would set the X-Men on a new, era-defining path, which lends the issue itself to be read as a Storm-centric, 'feat' issue. I want to offer up an alternative reading, as this issue isn't actually about Storm at all. Rather it comments, primarily, on two things: Cyclops' character and the unescapable, cyclical nature of superhero genre comic-books.

Despite being a cover star, Storm, in this story, is not her own champion. She isn't really overcoming the masculine incumbent to finally probe herself worthy, as she already has the support of the team (Logan, particularly) and faces no significant obstacle to overcome. Her journey towards leadership, her exam, was the preceding issues. "Duel" is more so her graduation, where she is formally recognised for her previous success, and her ascendance to leadership has a real essence of inevitability. The story then becomes not a story of "Who will lead them?" but how can Cyclops cope with the realisation that he has become obsolete. Storm, instead of operating as her own champion, is the champion for Madelyne Pryor- Cyclops' scorned wife and mother of his child- and, further, a representation of the X-Men's (both team and franchise) ability to survive without Cyclops. Storm is the Claremont-driven future, confronting Cyclops, one of the final handovers from the Lee/Kirby original conception. Cyclops has proven inattentive to his wife and newborn son and Madelyne, as civilian, cannot challenge Cyclops' absence in the way that superheroic Storm can. Storm steps up as a defender of the innocent, because she has gone through her own journey to do so, but this is not a significant action for her character.





Tension comes from all sides, as Storm has been making herself a viable presence, despite her loss of powers, in the preceding issues, and Cyclops' peaceful retirement has been interrupted by repeated super-heroics. Not only does the return of Cyclops create tension for his civilian wife, but with the stories own writer as well. Chris Claremont's plotting here reeks of frustration; editorial mandate ensured that he could not effectively retire Cyclops from the X-Men, as per his original intent and, with the launch of Cyclops-starring X-Factor, logical development for Cyclops' character was jettisoned in favour for a return to the status quo. The problem posed for Cyclops in "Duel" is that he has never learned how to relate to the X-Men outside of a micro-managing, obsessive leadership role, his single eye representing his singular vision for how the X-Men can reach their goals. When this issue challenges that, it should have been a moment of reflection and change, one which the character could grow from. Yet what we saw instead was the instantaneous return of the character to a leadership role; one that would remain mostly unchallenged for twenty-five years. The tone is never sympathetic to Storm, her victory is sombre and focused entirely on her opponent, and I'd argue that this is because Claremont never meant it to read as a cheer-able moment. Storm's silence allows Scott's mind-space and we are given a final opportunity to read Cyclops as the issue's tragic main character.





The Cyclops we see in "Duel" may be a sad figure, but he's not an unsympathetic one. If there is a main character here, it is him. Rather than documenting Storm's thunderous triumph, Claremont walks us through Cyclops' total defeat. And it is a defeat. Retroactive continuity, attempting to make the character a more clear-cut superhero again, transformed his loss in "Duel" to be a product of psychic interference on behalf of Madelyne (who was also retroactively transformed into an unknowing clone of Jean Grey), but even the original shows that he loses because of her. Only, in the original, his defeat comes from distraction, confusion and self-loathing. Cyclops defeat of himself is more prevalent than Madelyne's psychic interference or Storm's competence ever could be. That isn't to detract from Storm's ascension to leadership but, as mentioned previously, she earned that well before this issue took place. This particular story documents not an even match, but a loss.

So, I do think that we are supposed to sympathise with Cyclops in this issue, only we cannot do so from rigid moral perspectives. His conflict is reprehensible, he is prioritising his own identity anxieties over the welfare of his infant son, yet he remains still relatable. He acts selfishly, not inhumanly, and, whilst on the surface level the character can come across as a deadbeat dad, that is not wherein the tragedy lies. Rather the tragedy comes from Claremont's criticism of the cyclical, repetitive superhero comic book, the book which always returns to the status quo.

Storm's victory is telegraphed early on in the issue- she wins by removing his visor, leaving him incapable of controlling his powers, and earlier on we see Cyclops requires focus to manage his visor; a focus he did not have because of his conflicting feelings about Madelyne, his baby and the X-Men. The use of the superhero icon of the costume reiterates thematic qualities in the story, such as Cyclops' inability to comprehend a life outside the X-Men; not once does he remove it in this story. Even when arguing with Madelyne, all he can do is pull back his hood. Even in domestic affairs, Scott Summers can never truly detach himself from his X-Men identity.





And it is here that the tragic reality of Cyclops is exposed. The Cyclops we see here is somewhat of a nowhere man- he has graduated into civilian life, yet, because of the nature of the medium, he finds himself incapable of leaving the X-Men. He can dream of a normal life, but he must also destroy it, lest he truly find happiness and remove himself from the superhero genre altogether.

We see a theme of parenthood and legacy prevalent in this issue, interrogated not only through Cyclops, but Xavier also (Rachel Summers feeds into this theme, also). Cyclops is derided for his lack of commitment to his family, his son particularly, yet his father figure has also recently abandoned him. Claremont makes a point of reminding the audience this, so we can read the Cyclops of "Duel" as a product of Xavier's questionable parenting. Cyclops has never been able to define himself outside of the team, becoming institutionalised, and Maddie herself calls Cyclops out for having no skills to support a family. In his Astonishing X-Men run, Joss Whedon also touches on one of the recurring traits of Cyclops as a character- outside of leading the X-Men, Cyclops has nothing else. As an orphan, groomed and educated for a single purpose by Charles Xavier, Cyclops is totally lost when the structures and rules of his world start to fall apart. Feelings of trepidation in the face of giant monsters or battles in space pale in comparison to his feelings of abandonment.

He had dedicated his life to the X-Men, who now no longer need him the way they once did, and absent father Xavier has no advice to give to Cyclops at this moment. I read this as a demonstration that the key conflict of "Duel" is, not between two superheroes, but between two families- namely Scott's X-Men family and his family with Madelyne.





Claremont has Cyclops act as unwitting commentary on the failings of attempting to tell exciting, emergent stories in a medium and genre that relies on tedious, nostalgic revisiting. Cyclops' refusal to grow up and learn to define himself outside of the X-Men, his core emotional conflict of the issue, reads as commentary on a format that itself refuses to grow up and define itself outside of the trite framework it has found itself embroiled in. Claremont takes an artefact of the medium which he has no control over, the inevitable return of Cyclops to the X-Men, and crafts it in such a way that is has emotional relevance, narrative meaning and contributes to a greater understanding of the character. Before #201, you could see that Cyclops had less of a life outside of the X-Men than his counter-parts, but this is the issue that solidified a Cyclops who didn't know how to exist outside of leading a team. It would define characterisations of Cyclops for decades to come.





I do not feel that "Duel" can be read as a Storm-centric issue, because it just isn't one. It does the story itself so little justice to be relegated to a footnote on a 'Who Could Beat Storm In A Fight?' piece. The issue also shouldn't be used as evidence for some imagined Claremont hatred for Cyclops, for it truly shows Cyclops at his most complex and, in a meta sense, profound. Cyclops is used as a narrative tool to examine the genre and franchise- signifying the forthcoming era change, whilst also reflecting back on the mind-set that insists on constantly bringing him back.

"Duel" is about a Cyclops loss. In fact, it is about many Cyclops losses. This is arguably the character's lowest point, but Claremont's final deconstruction of the character is one of his most meaningful and significant issues for Cyclops characterisation. More than just being about Cyclops though, the issue is apt criticism of the failings of the format itself. It is telling that Claremont's first tenure on the book ended with Cyclops restored to his leadership role, with marriage to Madelyne dissolved and no baby son to look after. The status quo, and sanctity of the genre, will persist, no matter which character stands in the way.





It is worth noting that Claremont utilises Storm specifically to remove Cyclops from the franchise's flagship book, despite having, at one point, intended to push these characters into a relationship together. Such a couple is now unimaginable and, arguably, our incapacity to imagine such a relationship derives from misreading this very issue. The perception that it is Cyclops who stands as a barrier to Storm's leadership and independence has formulated an undeniable antagonism between the two, one which has persisted in how these two have been characterised through Cyclops' (most recent) death. This may also go some way to explain the frothing, vitriolic hatred that dedicated Storm fans and dedicated Cyclops fans seem to have for each other.

Solidarity with the Bug: Starship Troopers and its Anti-Fascist Arachnids

Starship Troopers, Paul Verhoeven's 1997 military satire, has gone through a reappraisal in recent years. Originally, the film's anti-fascist perspective was lost on critics and casual audiences that took the characters, action and nationalist imagery at face value. Now, the film is no longer being read as one-dimensional, derivative science-fiction, perhaps due to the inexplicable rise of contemporary Western nationalistic rhetoric and a disillusionment with news media similar to that which the film depicts. Yet, I personally feel that revisitations of this genre classic have yet to go far enough; the film, misjudged on release, has over 20 years of study to catch up on.

I want to focus on one particular element of the film that stood out to me; its villains. While bathing in the glory of fascistic militarism, the villainous "bugs" are presented as a total, universal evil. Yet, if our characters are not to be trusted, neither can we trust their presentation of the enemy. The arachnids, or often just the bugs, are the malevolent, interstellar force that form the antagonists to the film's interpretation of humanity; an overtly nationalistic, fascistic military society wherein which there is a clear distinction between Civilian and Citizen. Citizenship is socially revered, its benefits promising a better life with better opportunities (such as rights to vote, run for office or even procreate) than the average Civilian, and can be obtained through service with the Armed Services, particularly in the Mobile Infantry. The film's final dictation, that "Service Guarantees Citizenship", is a reminder of the totalitarian ideology Verhoeven is mocking, but also has wider implications when relating to the bugs. It is the enemy, the fear of an (intergalactic) Other, who holds up these everyday workings of totalitarian society. Understanding this, we can highlight the nuances and moral complexity that is imbued within the film's conflict, despite it seeming simplistic on the surface-level.

If the bugs are, then, a manifestation of fascist societies' need for a unifying common enemy, the propaganda shown in the film does not merely misinform with regards to the lives of soldiers, but deliberately misinforms on their enemy also. The film offers rare moments to sympathise with the bugs, yet they are present. A shot of a wounded bugs eye, or the admission that the bugs can feel fear, make momentary subversion to the gratuitous action sequences and anti-bug propaganda films splattered through the rest of the film. The satire has previously been read as the mere depiction of the enemies of fascism in the way fascism itself depicts them- that the enemy is a mindless killing machine, in no way resembling the human form, is a critique of the dehumanising way fascists depict foreign hordes as barbarians, roaches or swarms. The bug is a fantasy, the ultimate enemy for the hawkish fascist, because its lack of any human quality yields no guilt or empathy that could potentially remove the joy of murder and conquest. So, when we are shown unwavering opposition to the bugs in the film's narrative, we think little of it. They are, after all, vicious alien beasts in a sci-fi action movie. One doesn't stop to question if Ripley was right to kill the Xenomorph.

However, the film provides plenty of hints that the bugs may, in fact, be the victims of the story, or at least justified in their retaliatory actions. The humans are strongly suggested to have been the first to encroach on bug territory, with a wayward Mormon sect (why specifically Mormon? Still figuring that one out...) establishing a base on an occupied planet. An inciting incident for the film, the bug attack destroying our protagonist's home city, then, can be one of two things; a justified retaliation against invasion or not an attack by bugs at all. The film's propaganda tells us that the bugs send meteor attacks against Earth and its colonies, with some caveats. For example, the Earth's security defence is clearly stated to be advanced enough to destroy incoming meteors. Is the successful bug attack then signalling that the propaganda was exaggerating the technological capabilities of the Earth's defence system, or was the meteor allowed to hit, for the very reason of justifying further military action? As we have set out, humanity's fascist society sustains itself based on the fear of this inhuman Other. The audience is also asked to believe that bugs can control the trajectory of meteors, whilst at the same time watching "televised" debates over whether the bugs are capable of intelligence. One panellist suggests that he finds the idea of intelligent bugs "offensive", yet it goes unchallenged that the bugs are affecting meteor trajectory from the other side of the galaxy. So, are the bugs unintelligent and therefore incapable of the attacks on humanity, or organising intergalactic attacks on humanity and therefore capable of intelligence?

The ambiguity tells all- the conditions of the destruction of Buenos Aries are unclear, yet decisive action, full-scale invasion of the planet Klendathu, is taken regardless. This action leads to military disaster, mutilation, and death. The gore works in the film's favour, ensuring that this horror, while gratuitous, never feels noble or heroic. Deaths just feel like a waste and that waste of human life is borne out of an enemy construct that may be based entirely off of lies.

As the film develops, we discover that the bugs are capable of intelligence, or at least one "brain bug" is, but more than just intelligence, we learn that it is capable of emotion. The great victory for humanity is the capture of the "brain bug" and discovering that, when faced with human beings, it feels fear. This is a creature that absorbed the brains of its human victims, therefore possessing intimate knowledge of the species; what it understands is that it will face no mercy nor justice and the humans salivate at its fear. The "brain bug", which is physically useless and relies on its drones to sustain it, delivers the final condemnation for fascist humanity. There is no peace to be found between human and bug, no common ground, no need for mutual understanding- there is only the fascist world order and the war that sustains it.

As such, humanity not only sustains itself through manufacturing the enemy but uses that enemy to seek total species-based domination. A government figure early in the film makes this much clear, declaring the intent for human civilisation, not insect, to dominate the galaxy. If that wasn't clear enough, we are shown high-ranking military officials outfitted in pastiche Nazi uniforms. Fascism is unescapable in this film. Perhaps, this goes some way to explaining why this film has been embraced by the nationalist and the anti-imperialist alike; for every audience member laughing at the film's Mobile Infantry, there is another cheering alongside them in the same inebriated furor. Does depicting an enemy of fascism, in the very way that fascism wants their enemies to be, then dilute any satirical, critical point to be made? The nationalists will continue to get their hyper-masculine kicks out of Starship Troopers, would it be the same if those were human limbs, and not insect ones, that were splattered against their screens?

The villain of the piece is clearly fascist ideology over the bugs themselves, but most readings tend to view the vapid, yet human, youths who get caught up in the cyclical conflict as its focal victims. Is it not the bugs though- the bugs who never sought out conflict, never invaded occupied planets, who were considered unfeeling and unintelligent even when the evidence pointed otherwise and who may not have even committed the crimes they are accused of- who suffer most? At the very least, it is clear to me that we cannot read the bugs as merely the one-dimensional villains the film portrays them as, because the film also portrays one-dimensional heroes who are signed up to a fascist regime. The only clear approach to this conflict may be critical support for the revolutionary vanguard that is the anti-imperialist Klendathu arachnids.





The views expressed in this post are, in no small part, influenced by my own exposure to nationalism, war and the media in the years following the film's 1997 release. That I find myself rooting for the "enemy" of the piece may be more of a reflection on the Invasion of Iraq than on the Invasion of Klendathu.

The "Wedding of the Century" Is Stagnation, Disguised As Progress

The torrid relationship between X-Men franchise mainstays Kitty Pryde and Colossus, promises to reach its climax in this Summer's "Wedding of the Century". Thus Marvel responds to DC's marriage of their forefront franchise icons, Batman and Catwoman; and even as a franchise devotee, this is underwhelming. Partially because of character status, as Colossus and Kitty Pryde are not as culturally ingrained as the Bat-Family of comic books have been, but also because of a cold, dispassionate drive towards this much hyped marriage. What we are seeing with the wedding is a microcosm of not merely the X-Men: Gold series' wider problems, but of Marvel Comics' as well; with initiatives such as ResurreXion, Legacy and Fresh Start, stagnation is being sold either as progress, or in place of it.

The Most Beloved Marvel Weddings! *Not Pictured: Kitty Pryde and Colossus.

X-Men: Gold, launched by Marc Guggenheim and Ardian Syaf last year, has promised to push the franchise in new directions, whilst looking back and staying true to its identity; with Guggenheim stating, "...our mission statement for the book, which is going backwards to go forward.". It's a nice sentiment, but upon reading the book, you realise that sentiment is all that it is. This isn't of particular news, the comic book format itself demands this kind of nostalgic, cyclical storytelling, but what we can see when reading Gold is that nostalgic revisitations of status quo don't only have narrative implications, but ideological ones also. That Marc Guggenheim has written this story by looking back on the franchise's history, uncritically, he has represented an inherently flawed relationship with a white-washing perspective. 

Gold has taken rebuilding the Colossus/Kitty Pryde relationship as one of its primary concerns; our last sight of these characters had them as far away from each other as they had ever been. Kitty was in fact engaged to another Peter (Peter Quill, of the Guardians of the Galaxy) and Colossus was engaging in an exciting relationship with Deadpool 2's breakout character Domino. Kitty was in space during the last flagship X-Book and Colossus was possessed by a future-timeline-Apocalypse (it really is best not to ask). The line preceding the launch of Gold (part of the ResurreXion initiative, which relaunched nearly all ongoing X-Books) is widely considered one of the worst times to have been a fan of the franchise, as the build-up to the Inhumans Vs X-Men crossover event was mired with the jettisoning, mischaracterisation and killing of fan-favourite characters. The tone was one of hopelessness, so Gold and ResurreXion aimed to move away from this status quo as swiftly as possible. Kitty Pryde, and her nostalgic return to her relationship with Colossus, is emblematic of a wider shift back to a safer, more audience-friendly status quo. 

The concern with the return is that it has not been a mere revisitation of stories and characters gone by, but it is a rerun of a relationship that was a categoric failure. The heart-rending break-ups and the extremely violent jealousy are mere prelude to the crux of the relationship, first laid out by writer Chris Claremont; the age gap between these two young people. Whilst ages in comic books are rarely specific, we know one thing for certain- Kitty Pryde was underage when she and Colossus first pursued a relationship. Writers following up on the relationship miss out on why the relationship needed to end messily; not only was it two hormonal, young people ill-equipped to navigate interpersonal relationships but there is a pretty clear ethical concern in depicting the flawed, complicated, morally-questionable entanglement of these characters as a generic love story. Writers such as Guggenheim re-characterise incidents with questionable power dynamics (most notably, "Merry Christmas Sexy" from Uncanny X-Men #143) as part of a retroactive, overarching love story by revisiting them. The first iteration of their relationship is innocent enough, it is a 13 year-old with a crush on an 18 year-old who doesn't quite understand how to deal with the situation. It's cute watching a hyper-masculine superhero blush. It's less cute when they are 14 years-old and 19 years-old and a decision is made to see the relationship to more serious stages. The quite predatory nature is not merely looked over, but incidents where it is made apparent are romanticised.

And these problematic, nostalgic returns are seen across the board with Marvel's white-washing brand initiatives. Sam Wilson's Captain America has been cut out in favour of the original in Legacy, with the 14 year-old black MiT student IronHeart pushed away for the original Iron Man and Jane Foster's Thor giving away to Thor Odinson in the lead-up to Fresh Start. Diversity may not be being pushed entirely out of Marvel's books, but it is being again relegated to side-stories and more obscure parts of the Marvel Universe. Gone are the days of non-white, male lead flagship titles.

Yes, it really does matter.

Guggenheim is not the first to revisit the relationship, nor the first to revisit it with a white-washing perspective. Much of the complaints that can be levied towards Gold's interpretation of the relationship can also be levied at Joss Whedon's popular run on Astonishing X-Men, which also brought back the relationship, with an uncritical lens, amidst a plethora of character baggage. Whedon, however, was working through a particularly different context. The status of the Kitty/Colossus relationship before Guggenheim was definitive, they were broken up and it had ended badly. Whilst they reconciled as friends, writers such as Jason Aaron and Brian Michael Bendis had made clear that a relationship between the two would amount to nothing more than repetitive, unfortunate reruns. Arguably, they have yet to be proven wrong. Similarly, the couple were separated before Whedon's run, but with the caveat that Colossus was previously dead for several years (he got better) and Kitty had been in a state of disuse for almost as long as that. Whedon didn't need to naturally foster the re-relationship and any accusation of white-washing could be attributed to the elating effect of having a loved one return from the grave. 

There are then many similarities in the conceptual approaches towards the franchise employed by Whedon and Guggenheim- both desired a return to an iconic, unfulfilled romance of their youth alongside the return of conventional superheroic tropes and icons (notably, the colourful costumes). In Gold though, this nostalgic storytelling is having a more dangerous effect than merely returning a superhero franchise to its glory days, the wedding has become a regressive narrative point. Guised in Guggenheim's performative, lightweight feminism, we have seen the Kitty Pryde approach to both leadership and the marriage.

Below we can see a recent problematic incident from X-Men: Gold #27. It may seem innocuous, but in Guggenheim's desperate attempt to show Kitty off as a strong, modern woman, he obliterates her Jewish heritage and identity. In Jewish weddings it is customary for both parents to accompany their child down the aisle, so this whole interaction is pointless, serving only to imbue Kitty's mother with some internalised sexism for her daughter to dispel.

Walking 15 feet? It's a man's job.

Guggenheim's unsatisfying strand of feminism (which has seen him declare that "reverse sexism isn't the answer") is actually impeding diverse stories, evidenced not only by the removal of Jewishness from the upcoming ceremony but from the fact that a character, so long associated with bisexuality, is being subjected to a hetero-wedding. As every year passes, and another writer adds another Peter to Kitty's romantic history, this important character detail is procedurally whittled away; I think very few people even acknowledge her as a bisexual character anymore, let alone one of the X-Men franchise's most prominent ones. So, in these reminiscent relaunch initiatives characters are not just removing the questionable character contexts of characters, but also removing deviant character identity, a potential plea to conservative audiences who no longer see themselves in works that increasingly represent the diverse, real world. 

Yet, there is at least a surface-level refusal to fully capitulate to the alt-right commentators who want to see Captain America fight ISIS under the orders of President Donald Trump; evidenced by some enduring legacy characters and a commitment to telling stories with female characters at the forefront. It is these focal women who stir up further criticism though and, as we've discussed Guggenheim's lacklustre approach to feminist politics, the development of 'strong Marvel women' tropes may be impeding wider moves towards progressive storytelling.

Similar to her determination to score progressive points by making a show of having her mother escort her at the wedding, Kitty Pryde is shown to be the one proposing to Colossus. This is bold, determined and shows she's a character who takes her personal life into her own hands, unguided by anyone else. In fact, her proposal panel is widely recreated, constituting promotional imagery and the cover to #26. One, tiny gripe. Kitty didn't make this decision. Colossus brings it up, before their relationship has truly reformed, in #9. It is provided as the way to move their relationship forwards, despite neither character seeming to be learning or evolving from their past experiences. Here, we see one of the tropes to these new strong Marvel woman; they possess and present their own agency, after male approval.

Nothing gets the fires of romance stirring quite like the noise of construction work.

This is seen beyond Gold's wedding storyline, in characters such as the revamped Captain Marvel and notable SHIELD figure Maria Hill. Captain Marvel, who has existed previously as Ms Marvel, Binary and Warbird, has been redistributed as the strong, modern woman, by taking the suit, name and qualities of her male predecessor. In a more meta sense, Maria Hill's rise to Director of SHIELD was similarly based on male mentor figures and employing attributes of masculinity. Hill's directorship of SHIELD resembles Captain Marvel's directorship of Alpha Flight which resembles Kitty Pryde's premiership over the X-Men and, at the moments of their transformation into the modern Marvel woman, these three characters all conspicuously exhibit similar pixie cuts.

There is, of course, nothing explicitly offensive about the haircut. Yet, when it perennially appears for Marvel's "strong" women there is a sense that women can only achieve positions of power when taking on masculine qualities. Captain Marvel has been criticised for being depicted as increasingly less feminine, and whilst these comments arise from more lecherous readers who want Captain Marvel to exist primarily as a sex symbol, this criticism does shine a light on this emerging trope. Short-haired, unfeminine, white women in positions of authority are the main thrust of Marvel's 'wokeness', impeding diverse representation and limiting the narrative potential of its female characters. It's worth noting that the first character to take up the Captain Marvel mantle, after the original, was a black woman who is nowhere to be found in current publication. 

A haircut doesn't constitute character progression. From Left to Right: Captain Marvel, Maria Hill and Kitty Pryde.

So, what we seem to have is Guggenheim relying on the trope of marriage for serial narratives. From comic books to soap operas, we see that works which resemble pulp fictions often revert to the same plot points when a shock or signal of development is needed. Murders, a secret affair or a wedding tend to be the most prolific, often with them all converging (perhaps on a Christmas special). The wedding here serves as a cheap way for Guggenheim to leave his mark on the franchise; people won't be able to hand-wave away his work on the franchise as easily as he did the work of those who preceded him. But with Marvel's need to capitalise on a big narrative moment such as this, the inevitable tie-in (X-Men: The Wedding Special) has actually allowed us to see other writers attempt to reconcile this troublesome pairing.

Chris Claremont, Marc Guggenheim and Kelly Thompson each wrote a story for the Wedding Special, but with Claremont and Thompson's stories we see a nuanced character focus that attempts to push Kitty's mind-space forwards- beyond the 'strong female' caricature Gold has portrayed her as. Thompson gives her some pre-commitment anxiety, with nods to her bisexuality, whilst Claremont gives her resolution with the deceased men of her life and a Doctorate. Rather than showing marriage as a prosaic marker of character and relationship progression, these writers utilise the wedding as a point from which to derive further, deeper character drama. Whilst mired by the circumstances surrounding it, the Wedding Special is genuinely enjoyable, with a solid emotional grounding. It is beyond the scope of this post to question why this intelligent writing has not been able to manifest within the main storyline itself, but it is interesting food for thought nonetheless.

Piotr evidently had this suit tailored specifically for his metal form. I just want to know why.

There is a lot of narrative potential to this coupling because of its flawed nature. Whilst this has been glossed over, the potential for the wedding is there. With the upcoming return of Wolverine, he has the perfect chance to make a creepy cameo appearance like when Cyclops and Jean Grey married, for example. More than that though, the virulent relationship could really bubble to the forefront. Confrontations could emerge, finally exposing Colossus for his shameful role in arguably grooming a 14 year-old girl or declaring that childhood crushes are inappropriate places to form long-lasting relationships. There could be conflict between Colossus' over-dominance and Kitty's newfound responsibilities, or the moral journey both have been through in recent years. The wedding itself has a unique opportunity to deconstruct one of Marvel Comic's most beloved yet troublesome relationships.

However, it seems most likely that the "Wedding of the Century" will be yet another point of stagnation for Marvel Comics. We are constantly promised a world that reflects our own, that lives and grows in the way our lives do, but that world remains hopelessly cyclical. Characters retread beats they had moved past, act without the context of their own histories and are forced to lose defining attributes of their identity. Perhaps it is a question of format. Perhaps the cycle can never truly be broken. If this is the case, studies of the comic book medium will have to acknowledge that no matter the counter-cultural influences on superhero storytelling, a conservative mindset is always waiting off-panel for its return.

For the wedding issue itself, there is clearly room for subversion. A bait-and-switch wedding could be the exact kind of twist Gold needs to shake-up its storytelling rut, but even if this becomes the case, the journey has been rife with such nostalgic storytelling that even a collapse of the couple could pave no new path for the franchise.

A Brief Personal Update

So, after taking a writing break to complete my undergraduate degree, I'm finally coming back to this blog. Hopefully posts will be just as frequent as before, but with more variation, more focus and more of a critical edge. It hurt to be away from more personal, enjoyable writing, so hopefully my final grade reflects that sacrifice. Fingers crossed.

I really want to realise my original intentions for this blog, to address culture at large, and not have it be of single interest/single purpose. I will continue to write about comic books (particularly X-Men ones), but I want it to be part of a wider study of the superhero genre, rather than just evaluating my own personal enjoyment. The Hindsight piece is the kind of model I'm looking at for these kinds of posts. Not entirely academic, but not completely casual either.

So, the gates are open. More posts should follow.

Hindsight in Hindsight.

Spoilers for Generation X (2017) follow.


With #87, Christina Strain completed her 12 issue run on Generation X (2017). Within those pages Strain, Amilcar Pinna and Felipe Sobreiro, told a spin-off mutant story of the losers of the Xavier institute. While there were many great moments, featuring both the original Generation X (1994) class and the younger class, I want to focus on one loser in particular.

Nathaniel Carver aka Hindsight.


Hindsight was a completely new addition to the series, a half-Korean mutant with "psychometry", the ability to read minds via touch. In many ways he is a riff on mutant angst that has gone before, the burden of knowing people's every thought, like with characters such as Professor Xavier or Jean Grey, and the isolating pain of a the inability to touch, such as Rogue, but what made this character so successful was how he was created explicitly for this series, and you could feel it.

Hindsight, who doesn't get that name until the finale issue, is used to give quick backstory with his convenient psychometric powers; a touch by him to another character allows the book an excuse to expose character backstory- usually in page spreads that make reference to significant moments in that character's comic book history. This implementation of powers was a smart choice, allowing longtime fans to be spared tenuous explanations of what they already know, whilst allowing a newer reader to quickly get up to speed. It also worked to develop a world outside of what we see in the series. Generation X is a book with limited scope, it is only really interested in one class of mutants in an entire mutant school, but these spreads and references to moments in comic book history serve as a way to bridge the series into the wider works with which it participates.

Perhaps, the most notable use of Hindsight's psychometry is the function he performs in the series finale, being an integral element of how the series' main villain is brought down. Monet St. Croix, who also goes by M, was a member of the original Generation X cast but has been possessed by her power-stealing brother Emplate, one of the original Generation X's most significant villains, since Cullen Bunn's Uncanny X-Men (2016). Monet's struggle with a possessing force is brought to its conclusion with Hindsights powers at the forefront; his psychometry being stolen by Monet allows her friends and old classmates to exorcise said possessing force with some nostalgia-ridden, emotionally rendered flashbacks. It's a humanising scene that reiterates the bonds of these characters and helps ground the new Generation X with the classic series. It is only able to manifest though because of Hindsight, reaffirming how much of a central character in this story he was.

Generation X #87 By Christina Strain, Amilcar Pinna and Felipe Sobreiro.

This charming, well-rounded character is only benefitted by a second reading; we can reflect on his original more stoic, detached behaviour knowing that he opens up later on in the series. He's initially a lot more trepidatious when it comes to viewing other people's memories, mainly doing so by accident, becoming more comfortable with his mutancy as the series goes on. There is clear character growth in his narrative, developing perhaps better than any other member of the cast, as Nathaniel learns not only to embrace his psychometric powers, but also to embrace the trust and affections of classmate Benjamin Deeds.



Generation X #86 By Christina Strain, Amilcar Pinna and Felipe Sobreiro.


His narrative throughout the series is never one of 'coming out', Nathaniel is gay and that's just how the character is. His comfort in sexual identity goes to show the maturity and care put in by his creators that his relationship is simultaneously important to his development and inessential, alongside building the Xavier institute up as an explicitly tolerant space for mutant youth of all backgrounds- a far cry from Weir and Defilippis' scrapped gay suicide plot from New Mutants (2003). Generation X doesn't give us a critical, emotional presentation of what it's like to be young and gay, it just shows us young mutants messily navigating romance (with people of the same gender). This is really where the series shined, mutant angst hasn't been so good in a while and the moment where Hindsight finally lets Benjamin Deeds in we get a kiss sequence unlike anything else in comic books.



Generation X #87 By Christina Strain, Amilcar Pinna and Felipe Sobreiro.

Thinking about the future though, I must admit that I'm concerned for Hindsight. As previously stated, he is a character who explicitly works within the context of Generation X; certainly the character can work outside the book, but will he? He can never join the ranks of a premiere superhero team, he isn't flashy or aggressive enough, and this would leave him relegated to B-Plots and cameos at best, given that a particularly weird book like Generation X doesn't manifest again. In light of this, we get the sense that Hindsight is really a once in a generation kind of character. Even if he never reaches the big leagues or the silver screen, Strain has constructed a timely, emotionally resonant mutant who embodies all the best qualities of Generation X.