Astro City #20

It’s an old story: the women like the nice guys, but they love the bad boys. It’s not just in the movies; once you reach a certain age, you’ll meet plenty of people who get dumped for no greater sin than being “nice, but…” If you’re really unlucky, you’ll be one of those poor, good souls yourself. If you are, you might be inclined to consider it one of life’s great mysteries, proof of the fickleness of the human heart and the irrationality of the human mind. It’s a comforting story, but the truth is far more complicated.

Certainly Jess balks at the suggestion that she’s just another gal who prefers someone dangerous over someone safe, as Mike (a.k.a. M.P.H.) accuses. To her, the problem isn’t so much Mike’s niceness, which she enjoys, but her inability to reciprocate. “I’m a jerk, Mike,” she tells him wearily. “I meant that. Jack’s a jerk, too, for the same reasons. He’s not nice. He’s not supportive. So with him, I don’t have to be either. And that’s what lets us do what we do at the level we have to do it to survive.”

I say she’s unable to return Mike’s sort of affection, but actually it sounds more like she’s not willing to do so. The fact that she places so much focus on her training, to the point that she has nothing left to spare on niceties like remembering birthdays, attending dinner dates, or making apologies, tells you that love takes second place to work in her life. And that’s fair, though she could’ve spared Mike a lot of undeserved grief if she had admitted that harsh truth to herself earlier.

But Jess also admits what she told Mike “maybe wasn’t all of it,” though she doesn’t clarify what else is there. Even from us, she keeps certain parts of herself private, which may lie at the heart of her romantic problems. It’s a little demeaning to say that she has daddy issues, but she kind of does, though not in the traditional sense of abandonment we usually see. With her dad out of the picture and her mom virtually in the same spot, Jess set aside love to support her family. Significantly, she does so not as a nurturer (read: mother), but as a worker (read: father). Not that she has much choice, but you sense she’s more comfortable sending home the money while leaving the actual child-rearing to someone else. So it’s not surprising she prefers the endless workout regimen to coddling her boyfriend.

That works while there’s a purpose to the regimen, but her age is inevitably wearing that purpose away. She knows this: “And me and Jack—it’s worked for us for a long time. I just don’t know how long it can keep working.” Their particular bond has always centered on their mutual drive, but drive won’t be enough anymore. Once it’s gone, what’s left for her? Love is the only crop that can outlast age, but she’s spent almost her whole life cultivating something else.

Still, at least she’s kind of interested in finding new avenues for her changed energy levels. Jack refuses to even entertain the idea of change, despite increasingly painful evidence that it’s happening whether he likes it or not. You know where this is going, right? There’s a reason this arc started with Black Rapier’s retirement party and comments about his miraculous serum. In Jack’s obsession with maintaining his pride, he winds up losing his dignity. He may as well have gotten plastic surgery; it couldn’t lose worse on him than how his appearance at the end of the issue.

Anderson still can’t draw a truly excellent action sequence to save his life—Alex Ross’ photographic covers have more convincing motion than Anderson’s interiors do—and this time, his dramatic scenes suffer a bit as well. The characters still look human and real, but their expressions and body language frequently look either overdone or stiff, like actors in the advanced class who still overthink the scene. I also can’t help noticing that the beer bottles in Jess and Jack’s hands look more realistic than the hands holding them, although that’s just as much a quirk of Sinclair’s coloring as Anderson’s awkward way with drawing limbs.

Some Musings:

– Cinnamon on a pizza? Jess, you nasty!