thromulator (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thromulator) wrote,@ 2009-09-22 20:52:00 |
|
Gamer Wankery, Again!
So I've had one really good interview yesterday, and supposedly got another lined up in Corpus Christi sometime before Friday,[1] but that's not what I'm here to talk about.
Here's the thing: Spider-Man ought to be able to get rid of all his legal problems if he just switched to a different costume. Hell, he's done it before. And Iron Man ... well, shit, just look at this:
That's right, today's gamer wankery post is all about super-hero costumes.
Traditionally, costumes and superheroes have gone together like comic books and neckbeards. Even superheroes who don't wear the typical form-fitting tights--your Jenny Sparks, or your Jack Hawksmoor, or your The Question--at least wear the same thing all the time. From a production and marketing standpoint, it makes perfect sense: anything to save the pencillers time and allow the audience to identify the characters. It makes slightly less sense, but sense nonetheless, from a storytelling perspective, too, what with secret identities and all. But not always.
So how did the costume tradition start? And more importantly, how can I turn it inside-out for the superhero game to make myself feel clever? Let's start by looking somewhere else: I really, really like Watchmen's explanation--so much, that I'm just gonna steal it. In my game, costumed crimefighters were originally inspired by costumed criminals: gangs of ordinary thugs who thought they were so clever by dressing up as ghosts and pirates and whatnot to avoid being ID'd. A few frustrated policemen knew who the culprits were, but couldn't prove it to a judge, so they dressed up and beat the tar out of them to make themselves feel better. The newspapers carried the story, the public ate it all up, and pretty soon you had civilian imitators running around. None of these people had any super-powers--none that could be reliably verified, that is--but neither did their nemeses, so it more or less worked all right for them.[2] I'm willing to bet a few of them even got called "super-heroes."
Then we come to World War II. Suddenly, there's genuine super-men with genuine super-powers running around. While many of them might have been perfectly willing to don a pair of tights and punch bad guys in the face during peace-time, most super-men were drafted into the Army, which has an understandable preference for uniforms over colorful outfits. Thus, with the exception of a few oddball outliers, most super-men have stayed pretty far away from the "standard" form-fitting costumes.
Which brings us to now. Well, the "now" of the 1965 of the game. The super-men of Baker's Dozen will wear colorful, recognizeable uniforms when they're on-duty and supposed to look respectable, but they will be uniforms, viz:
Only slightly less taken from Top 10.
But, and there has to be a but, when the PCs aren't supposed to look respectable, or aren't supposed to be recognizeable--that is, when they're doing the very sort of covert, quasi-legal missions Beta Squad was designed for--then we'll see the super-hero costumes coming out. Because contrary to Spider-Man's fears in the very first hyperlink, people tend not to notice if a bunch of people with spider-powers are suddenly running around beating up criminals. Getting punched by one person with super-strength probably feels a lot like getting punched by anyone else with super-strength: it hurts, and just might make you dead-ed.
The great irony is, the PCs' instructions to dress up in disposable outlandish get-ups (or maybe a rotating stable of them) is bound to inspire copy-cats, both of the heroic and villanous persuasions. That's going to make for all kinds of complications later on, especially once the hippies start getting their powers. But that's another story for another day.
Cheers,
--Bob
P.S. Also, possibly against my better judgment, I finally splurged on the main Warhammer book and the Ogre Kingdoms supplement. I haven't gotten 'round to buying and painting armies yet, but I figure hey, ogre armies are (ironically) rather small, so it shouldn't be that big an investment.
[1] I was supposed to call at 8:30 to set up an appointment today, but the woman I was supposed to talk to wasn't in, so there you have it. I just hope I hear from them soon, because I'm either going to have to book a flight down there quick, or I've got a long, long drive ahead of me.
[2] Also, being unabashed vigilantes working outside the law, the Silver Age concept of fair play was conspicuously absent from these costumed crimefighters' aresenal.
So I've had one really good interview yesterday, and supposedly got another lined up in Corpus Christi sometime before Friday,[1] but that's not what I'm here to talk about.
Here's the thing: Spider-Man ought to be able to get rid of all his legal problems if he just switched to a different costume. Hell, he's done it before. And Iron Man ... well, shit, just look at this:
That's right, today's gamer wankery post is all about super-hero costumes.
Traditionally, costumes and superheroes have gone together like comic books and neckbeards. Even superheroes who don't wear the typical form-fitting tights--your Jenny Sparks, or your Jack Hawksmoor, or your The Question--at least wear the same thing all the time. From a production and marketing standpoint, it makes perfect sense: anything to save the pencillers time and allow the audience to identify the characters. It makes slightly less sense, but sense nonetheless, from a storytelling perspective, too, what with secret identities and all. But not always.
So how did the costume tradition start? And more importantly, how can I turn it inside-out for the superhero game to make myself feel clever? Let's start by looking somewhere else: I really, really like Watchmen's explanation--so much, that I'm just gonna steal it. In my game, costumed crimefighters were originally inspired by costumed criminals: gangs of ordinary thugs who thought they were so clever by dressing up as ghosts and pirates and whatnot to avoid being ID'd. A few frustrated policemen knew who the culprits were, but couldn't prove it to a judge, so they dressed up and beat the tar out of them to make themselves feel better. The newspapers carried the story, the public ate it all up, and pretty soon you had civilian imitators running around. None of these people had any super-powers--none that could be reliably verified, that is--but neither did their nemeses, so it more or less worked all right for them.[2] I'm willing to bet a few of them even got called "super-heroes."
Then we come to World War II. Suddenly, there's genuine super-men with genuine super-powers running around. While many of them might have been perfectly willing to don a pair of tights and punch bad guys in the face during peace-time, most super-men were drafted into the Army, which has an understandable preference for uniforms over colorful outfits. Thus, with the exception of a few oddball outliers, most super-men have stayed pretty far away from the "standard" form-fitting costumes.
Which brings us to now. Well, the "now" of the 1965 of the game. The super-men of Baker's Dozen will wear colorful, recognizeable uniforms when they're on-duty and supposed to look respectable, but they will be uniforms, viz:
Only slightly less taken from Top 10.
But, and there has to be a but, when the PCs aren't supposed to look respectable, or aren't supposed to be recognizeable--that is, when they're doing the very sort of covert, quasi-legal missions Beta Squad was designed for--then we'll see the super-hero costumes coming out. Because contrary to Spider-Man's fears in the very first hyperlink, people tend not to notice if a bunch of people with spider-powers are suddenly running around beating up criminals. Getting punched by one person with super-strength probably feels a lot like getting punched by anyone else with super-strength: it hurts, and just might make you dead-ed.
The great irony is, the PCs' instructions to dress up in disposable outlandish get-ups (or maybe a rotating stable of them) is bound to inspire copy-cats, both of the heroic and villanous persuasions. That's going to make for all kinds of complications later on, especially once the hippies start getting their powers. But that's another story for another day.
Cheers,
--Bob
P.S. Also, possibly against my better judgment, I finally splurged on the main Warhammer book and the Ogre Kingdoms supplement. I haven't gotten 'round to buying and painting armies yet, but I figure hey, ogre armies are (ironically) rather small, so it shouldn't be that big an investment.
[1] I was supposed to call at 8:30 to set up an appointment today, but the woman I was supposed to talk to wasn't in, so there you have it. I just hope I hear from them soon, because I'm either going to have to book a flight down there quick, or I've got a long, long drive ahead of me.
[2] Also, being unabashed vigilantes working outside the law, the Silver Age concept of fair play was conspicuously absent from these costumed crimefighters' aresenal.
