Hulk

The current state of the Hulk is, for me, a lesson in humility.

As we've all watched the franchise shifts at Marvel, with the mantle of many of their marquee heroes getting passed on to different characters, I've shaken my head not at Marvel, but at each inevitable fandom storm of butt-hurt. I was sure I couldn't be as childish as the angry fans crying foul against Sam Wilson as Captain America, Steve Rogers as a Hydra plant, or Jane Foster as Thor.

After all, I was fine with Amadeus Cho as the new Hulk. Probably if we were talking about a different writer, I would've been more skeptical, but Greg Pak has earned some hefty benefit-of-the-doubt. And it wasn't like it would be forever. The Marvel PR machine can say what it wants. We all know Bruce will be back eventually.

But, then they killed him. Which, of course, doesn't change anything about the conclusion that he'll be back. He will. And we all know it.

But then the preview cover of U.S.Avengers #1 showed up, with good ol' Thunderbolt Ross back as the Red Hulk, even though all of Gerry Duggan's Hulk run had been about trimming the excess Hulks out of the Marvel universe, concluding in a wonderful bloody battle that ended with Ross getting the fake Hulk cured out of him.

And then there was this.

This is powerful.

When Doc Ock and Peter Parker switched minds, they didn't call the series that followed Spider-Man. They called it Superior Spider-Man, signalling not only that this was something new, but that it wouldn't last. With the shifts in the world of Captain America, Marvel signaled its temporary nature with differing titles: Captain America: Sam Wilson and Captain America: Steve Rogers. Even Thor added the adjective "mighty" to its title, which had been there before, but strangely had often not been considered part of the official title like Incredible Hulk and Amazing Spider-Man.

But this is just Hulk. No Rampaging or Incredible or Savage. Just Hulk.

That says something.

I feel, to say the least, mixed about this thing. I applaud Marvel's continued dedication to diversity, and I generally don't even bother humoring the arguments against the stronger focus on women and minorities in the comics.

But at the same time, I do not CARE that Jennifer Walters is a woman. Just as I don't care that Amadeus Cho is of Korean descent.

I just care that it isn't Bruce Banner.

And that's okay. In my noggin, I know that's okay. It was, in part, the similarities between my life and the fictional life of Bruce Banner that helped me relate to the Hulk and that continues to draw me to the character and makes it feel more relevant as the years pass. And I am not the only one in the world who deserves a character with whom I can relate.

By the time this article is posted, we will know who the next American president will be. But as I write it, it is Saturday morning, October 15th and a lying maniac who seeks executive office is bragging about sexual assault on every TV screen and every inch of Facebook. In light of this, it is not absurd to think that women and girls deserve a hero who knows anger.

I know that in my head. I know it.

But it's not Bruce Banner.

I am intrigued. I will be picking up Hulk when it comes out. I will probably do what I can to check out some of Hulk writer Mariko Tamaki's other work before the first issue comes out.

I guess it is not a bad thing that I now have more sympathy for the fans who cried, and continue to cry, foul at the dramatic shifts in their favorite heroes.

But, you know.

Those guys didn't get shot in the face.

I hate Hawkeye.

Need More Hulk

Happy Halloween, Nineteen eighty...something...

So, the Hulk is dead. For now.

I tried very much to be the silent, mature, stoic comic book reader rather than the angry fanboy. Circumstance conspired against me.

I will say, I was relatively chill about the whole thing. Considering. Made one little angry post about Brian Michael Bendis that he'll likely never see and certainly never care about. That's it. I considered doing much more. I considered burning all my comics; all my single issues and all my trade paperbacks. Then, when I calmed down enough to see the undeniable Stupid of that scenario, I considered burning all the comics I owned written by Brian Michael Bendis (the first tpb for Powers and the first two trades for his run on Uncanny X-Men) as well as my Hawkeye trades. Oh yeah, that's right I forgot. I considered burning all the Hawkeye cards in my Legendary deck-building game.

In the end, the most drastic action I took was selling my three-star Hawkeye fighter off my Marvel Contest of Champions app.

That's right. I am Mick. Hear me roar.

The biggest reason was not one of the nerdier, fanboyish reasons you would understandably expect. It wasn't just because they'd killed Bruce Banner. It wasn't because they'd killed him so abruptly, with no glory; no futile but powerful last stand like Human Torch, no politically charged assassination like Captain America, no mutual fisticuffs of destruction like Superman and Doomsday. Shot in the face. With an arrow. It wasn't because I thought he would be dead forever, because I know he'll be back eventually. It wasn't because I knew that with the presence of the "Totally Awesome" Hulk and the impending return of the Red Hulk in this horribly named and likely short lived U.S.Avengers along, now, with Hulk's cousin taking over his name for her own series, that while he was assured to return, that all of this would just delay that return.

It was mainly because his "death" came a week before I was going in for surgery to have cancerous tumors removed from my kidney.

And no, the fictional death of a fictional character had nothing to do with the surgery to correct my very real medical condition.

But, and I somehow doubt my experience is unique here, cancer made death huge in my life. In spite of the fact that every doctor, every medical professional, every person with a right to know anything about the subject was telling me that there was almost no chance that either the cancer or the surgery to uninstall it would kill me, death was huge in my life. I mean, it's cancer. A word most people are afraid to even whisper. Like effing "Voldemort." I am still surprised some times, now that the surgery is over, that I saw the other side of it. And when that's where your mind is, it is difficult for the abrupt and violent death of a beloved character, a character who has meant so much to you he has practically become a totem, to seem like anything but an omen. "You're going to die, Mick." That's what the universe was telling me. That's what I thought.

Well, no, that's what I thought. That's what I felt. I knew it was BS, but there's knowing and then there's knowing, and it was tough for me to get to the latter.

But the worst didn't happen. I'm still here.

So the Hulk is dead. The Hulk is ridiculous. The Hulk is practically naked. Many people will tell you the Hulk is no fun. Just a few weeks ago a colleague at the group blog where I contribute, Trouble With Comics, wrote about how he never understood the Hulk's appeal and I don't blame him for that. I totally get why a lot of people don't enjoy his comics.

The truth is the quality, or lack thereof, of the Hulk's comics mean very little to me. I want his comics to be good. I want his appearances in other media to be good. But nothing changes what he means to me, what he meant to me as a child, or the ways in which my connection with the character have evolved. Laugh at me all you want, but the experiences I've gathered in my 42 years find me in a place where the figure of the Hulk is just as relevant to me as he ever was, if not moreso.

So let Hulkbuster Iron Man sucker punch his way to victory in Avengers: Age of Ultron (as I am fully expecting Thor to do in Thor: Ragnarok since it's his movie), or kill him, or put him on a ridiculous cartoon with the Agents of S.M.A.S.H. and yeah, you'll get a passive aggressive text or two from me, but in the end.

The Hulk is dead. Just means the title of this blog is more accurate than it ever was.