Superman: Red Son
While I've reviewed this before, I thought I'd revisit this
strange visitor from another planet.
Superman: Red Son.
The what if scenario.
What if I walked out the sliding door onto the platform. What if I stayed in the
train. The trousers of time go two ways. Well, until I do the black widow
costume, then the dress of time will go six ways hanging off a bustle and two
ways off a dress (although, hmm…arms). But I digress.
What if the Superman story went a bit different. What if in the 1930s,
Superman’s space ship had landed in Siberia instead of Kansas. What if instead
of fighting for Truth, Justice and the American way, he fought for Stalin,
Socialism, and the Common Worker.
Red Son is that rare creature where a rich story background and historical
opportunity is used to excellent effect by a writing team. I mean, they shrunk
St. Petersburg…err…Stalingrad…err...Kandor (a bottled Kryptonian city. i.e.,
Superman could go home again, but he’d have to be an inch tall. Hijinks ensue.
And come to think of it, a current Superman comic plot line. Actually, more on
that in a bit.). That’s the thing about a 70ish year old comic, it has a lot of
history. And for that matter history has a lot of history.
President Superman, Kal-el is a rather short list of names for a Russian leader.
Who were that unmasked man and woman who saw the ship crash? What were their
names? What was the name of that little boy who was normal until he was 14? The
boy who loved the little red head next door, somehow I don’t think his name was
Charlie Brownakoff.
Then there’s that very interesting comment that Pyotr (Peter will deny him three
times before the cock crows) makes at the banquet. He says, that Superman must
keep Lana sweet on campaign, because she knows who he was. Superman is
completely known and yet unknown. And in the end, the glasses blue suit wearing
man is just as enigmatic. An on-looker in the stream of history. Not even
knowing his parents.
All the families in the story.
Seemingly childless Lex and Lois and yet, well, they get descendents from
somewhere. Lara with her two children. Diana and her five thousand year old
mother. The references to Hera. Stalin and his unacknowledged son. All Stalin’s
other unacknowledged children that did not made it this far. The boy with his
parents glaring his hatred in the dark. Batman’s clone/children of sorts – the
Batmen.
Contrast the Super hero with the wounded boy in the dark. Batman also has no
name. He dwells in a cave filled with American memorabilia and he is only a boy.
Only a mortal man with a thick skull and a bomb for a heart. A man who lends his
title to an entire organization that survives purges and re-grows like a weed.
This is where discussion is a good thing, because I had always wondered at
Stalin’s characterization. For a man that suspicious, he seems so accepting of
Kal-el. But as a lasting memorial to his own greatness, a million year rule by a
man of steel, ah yes. Of course, to be the father in ever present statuary for
on and on, of course.
Although, I think it’s interesting that the son who kills Stalin is the one that
mourns him, while it is the adopted son that comes within a hair’s breath of
Stalin’s dream.
And I consider the city in a bottle. Really, that’s an interesting metaphor,
since for comic book continuity/background reasons that I’m not going to go
into, there is a Kryptonian city in a bottle. What I find interesting is that in
a recent comic book story line (Godfall), we revisted the bottle city, where
time flowed fast for small lives and the reality of Superman has flowed into a
religion. The subject of that particular story line was that Superman had ceased
to pay attention to the bottle city. What could possibly happen there, tiny
place with tiny lives.
And so too I consider the bug rampaging through Stalingrad’s streets. The
citizen’s reproaching their president for not preventing this catastrophe. The
man who more and more finds “human” conversation dull and withdraws to a winter
palace of solitude, promises to check the city once an hour to ensure…safety.
As Lois’ sister (whose name I forget, ah, well, it’s not like they give it)
angrily tells Lois, how can Lois question Lex, when he has brought safety and
prosperity back to America. Of what possible importance can the Daily Planet or
little statues be in contrast to that?
St. Petersburg. Stalingrad. Lexopolis.
As I look at the image of Mount Rushmore, I’m reminded of a city that Alexander
the Great wanted to build. His own carved image on a mountain, with a city in
the palm of his carved hand.
Great. Super. Yesterday. Tomorrow.
Red sun. Last son of a dead world. Last son. Last sun. The past. The map of
history a scattered palimpsest of written lines and scrapped images. The future
- that undiscovered country. The afterlife – so too undiscovered until
necronaughts push forth to set foot on its shores and then wheel back to return
to the world of the living. As Magellan might say, “It’s not about sailing
forth. It’s about getting there and back again.” Then again, he may still be
humming the Animaniac’s Magellan song. But I digress.
A number of years ago, I saw a documentary on Joseph Stalin – outsider to Russ,
that other kind of Georgian, who renamed himself a man of Steel. One of the more
interesting aspects of the movie was the cult of personality that this leader of
a Red state built around himself. One woman in an interview said something like,
“I hated him and yet I believed that if he wanted to operate on a man’s heart,
he could.” Stalin fostered this concept within the Soviet Union of himself as a
sort of superman. A leader who could be the master of any task.
While individuals who met him and actually were masters within their field (as
when Stalin attempted to give the composer Dmitri Shostakovich advise on how to
compose symphonies) might not be fooled, when the state controls the vertical
and the horizontal perception bends.
Perception. Light. Red light from a dying sun. Yellow light for a young dynamic
world.
“Go back and bring a little light to our lives again.”
Kal-El. El. L. Lara. Lana. Lois. Lex. Luthor. L. Last son.
How then perception when Stalin dies and is succeeded by a red Son rising, an
actual superman with powers beyond those of mortal men. Able to change the
course of mighty rivers with his bare hands to create the North Sea Worker’s
canal. Able to fuel whole economies with more power than a mere locomotive. A
being that actually can read medical text books to ascertain that Stalin has
been poisoned.
A being with the powers of a god seeking to bring about some social leavening. A
being that so desperately wants to be liked. He doesn’t want to take over. He
just wants to help. And yet…there is Lana standing in a food line. Hungry. And
it’s so much easier to just take care of it.
An alien. A last son. Red son.
Each inevitable step. Creating a world where people don’t wear their seatbelts,
because, why bother. Why not put the whole world in a bottle.
It’s a party and everyone is invited.
Kal-el, where Jonathan Kent died before he had to see any of this. A red cape
seen under every bed.
Lex Luthor, who couldn’t care less about people, playing some long elaborate
chess. Holding Kal-el in check. Checked by Kal-el. Check. Checkmate.
Lois Luthor, Lois Lane is just her pen name these days. Pondering the two poles
of her world.
Hal Jordan - Green Lantern a former prisoner of war. Spending his imprisonment
learning to make prisons in the mind. An interesting twist on the looming
specter of Green light.
Wonder Woman leaving her island to fight for socialism and women’s rights. Until
that Trinitarian moment, where Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman face each
other in the red light. Resolving into death and bitter.
Alas, poor Batmankoff. Glaring at his parents killer from a pool of blood and
political dissident papers. Lighting the night sky with his defiant darkness.
The sun rises and the sun sets. The serpent has its own tail in its mouth and
the tale begins again.
The alien ship crashes and the alien is us. Longing for new worlds to conquer.
Longing for the light that makes youth and warmth and strength.
Light. Color. Red light. Yellow light. White light.
And a bit then from this week’s Joan of Arcadia,
(G) Perception depends on how you see, not just what you see. You know white
light contains all the colors of the rainbow, but you’d never know it unless you
change the way you look at it.
(J) They were hugging that’s all I saw. It just hurt so much
(G) And it stopped you from seeing all the colors, so there was no light
(J) It was just, so much coming at me, you know.
(G) I know, just make sure you take it all in. Let yourself be dazzled Joan.
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