At exactly the same time Batman was becoming an obsessive , a newfangled breed of enthusiast begin its rise to prominence . For old age they had mill around in the vague corner of pop culture , quietly follow up on their niche interest group among themselves , keeping their heads down to annul the speculative , judgmental gaze of the wider man .
They forebode themselves lover , experts , otaku . Everyone else , of course , called them swot .
dweeb had spend decades make and policing cautiously wrought self - identity around their strictly specialized interests : comic books , computers , skill fable , video games , Dungeons & Dragons . What unfeignedly united them , however , were not the specific objects of their exuberance but the nature of their exuberance itself — the all - consuming degree to which they rejected the reflexive irony their peer prize . Instead , these fans gayly cede themselves to their passion .
Illustration: Adam Clark Estes
The rise of the Internet would fire this mania by connect them to others who shared it . In only a fistful of days , their finical mintage of enthusiasm—“nerding out”—would supplant irony to become the dominant way in which we engage with each other and with the civilization around us .
And it was Batman — Batman the obsessive , Batman the ultimate wonk — who acted as the catalyst for gazillion of normals to embrace the culture they had once sack or freeze off . It is Batman whose cartoon strip , television show , and movies continue to serve as gateway drug to the nerdly life history . Because whether it is treated as idealistic commission statement or driving obsession , his childhood expletive is the matter about this part — far more central than his “ relatability”—that resonates profoundly with us , ardent Bat - fan and casual moviegoer likewise .
Comic-Con as Microcosm
July 2013 . San Diego , California . Comic - Con . I am a forty - five - year - old human standing in line for a toy Batmobile . And I am not alone .
The line in dubiousness begins at the Entertainment Earth kiosk in the 2300 section of the convention story , wrapper double around a dining area where families huddle in coagulum to listlessly masticate terrible pizza pie at one another , double back and extends down over the thick blue carpet to bisect no less than twelve aisles , travel past the Small Press Pavilion ( whose beardy , be - flanneled residents affect us line - standers warily ) , and keep on on through Webcomics , to strive its terminus somewhere beyond the horizon in the mist - shrouded recesses of the 1100 section , where there be dragon . And dungeons . And mages and champion , presumptively , as I recollect the 1100 section is Tabletop Gaming .
I have been standing in this phone line for the past forty - five second . I do n’t know it yet , but I will be standing in it for another time of day . When I at last make it to the front , I will too - happily plunge down sixty bucks for a chunk of extruded plastic in the form of a “ CON - EXCLUSIVE ! ” toy Batmobile — the Graeco-Roman edition from the late - sixties television show . Like most wonk my age , my first photo to Batman did n’t amount in the form of a comic , but from television . In my case , from reruns of the Batman TV show every good afternoon at three thirty on channel 29 .
By age six I had con the agenda of every Philadelphia station , so while other youngster spent their after - school metre sweatily to - ing and fro - ing in the cheerfulness , I ’d lead deep down , kneel before the TV , and spend the time of day until dinner party whirl the UHF dial like a cracksman : Spider - Man on channel 17 . The Space Giants on channel 48 . And always , every solar day , Batman on channel 29 at three thirty sharp-worded .
The show is famous for its bifurcated entreaty : tike fuck its bold colors , its fight scenes , its derring - do , while adults revalue the goofy , po - faced “ Holy Priceless Collection of Etruscan Snoods!”–iness of it all . But that ’s not the whole story . Because something happens to us nerds between puerility and maturity , as the long , greasy night of our teenaged class settles over us . Our vernal ardor for the show decays into a pitched detestation . “ That ’s not Batman , ” we begin to take a firm stand . “ Batman ’s a badass , that show does n’t take Batman seriously . ”
For the last three decades , the American superhero has been trapped in a eonian age of adolescence , with fans and God Almighty peevishly avouch that these spandex - clad illusion characters created to think about children must now be taken in earnest , by which they intend they should be mire in joyless nihilism : badass .
It was Batman and his fans who take this benighted geological era about , and there are hopeful sign that Batman and his fan may shortly be creditworthy for ending it .
For now , however , I am standing in this endless line in hopes of make me some of that sweet-scented , honeyed Batmobile action . I settle to wait in line for it because waiting in line is , on one level , sort of what Comic - Con is all about . But mostly because I feel for the 60 Batman TV series a profound and passionate love .
It ’s not simply nostalgia , though of course nostalgia is the alimental agar upon which all of grind civilization originate . No , I love it because of what it represents , what it indicate against : the simple existence of Adam West ’s Batman breezily yet in effect rejects the notion that the only valid Batman is a grim , spunky badass .
This is why I am so heartened to look around me at Comic - Con and see , for the first fourth dimension , toy and merch based on the 1966 television show , after long decade when it seemed as if DC Comics wish to disavow any ghost of it .
The young men forrader of me in line are waiting not for the Batmobile , but for some robot natural action figure thingy . Yet I hear something intimate in the urgent rush of their voices , and in their procedural choices , like “ superior , ” marked by the telltale overarticulated terminal r to which we nerds default in conversation . I see it lighting up their faces as they tick off the names and fighting eyeglasses of their favorite kaiju - whomping fightin ’ mechs . It ’s what I saw in my friend ’s face at the diner as he rhapsodized about how and why being Batman was an realizable goal . Same rage , just dressed up in a dissimilar courtship . And that ’s all that Comic - Con is : a whole lot of different suits .
From THE CAPED drive by Glen Weldon . Copyright © 2016 by Glen Weldon . Reprinted by license of Simon & Schuster , Inc. All rights appropriate .
anthropologyBatmanComicsMoviesnerds
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