The Bendis Board’s “Armored Dildo” - Yes, that’s the name he chose for himself, ladies and gentlemen - identifies Alan Moore’s problem:
Alan Moore’s persecution complex is really excessive now. He’s like the petulant kid who’s discovered people will pay attention to him if he scream his lungs out.
You can’t do right by him. Actually, you can’t do anything and not have it hurt him terribly. He’s the kid at the prom that sulks in the corner, brooding.
Alan Moore: We don’t care. We are adults with functioning brains and we know that a Hollywood adaptation rarely maintains the artistic integrity of the original work. We see those films despitethat fact. Anyone who thinks an adaptation automatically replaces an original is an idiot.
But wait! He’s not done yet:
Oh, I completely agree that he’s been screwed over royally several times.
But how is ceaselessly whining about it help? Does that solve anything in a proactive way? Or for that matter, engender the sympathies of the fans? It’s getting frankly tiresome.
But at the same time I find that the attitude of adopting a violently antagonistic attitude towards one’s employers is deep-seated in the UK. As is constantly “whinging” about every tiny inconvenience in your life to as many people as you can. It’s practically a national pastime.
And frankly, Moore’s tantrums have led him to be coddled several times.
It’s just really disappointing that he’s fallen into the stereotype of the big-name artist that’s impossible to deal with and cannot function outside of the little world he’s created for himself.
But I’m able to separate the artist from his work. And that’s what matters.
It’s true; making sure that a man called Armored Dildo can separate a man from his work is exactly what matters. In related news, Alan Moore is also the man responsible for Lost Girls, which means he is also responsible for this review - and in particular, the section below:
So you start with freeing the psyche and you wind up with a girl jerking off a horse. (“It felt sorta like peach-skin.”) Moore believes in expanding the consciousness, so he believes in consciousness-expanding porn. And in some distant sense a girl jerking off a horse does amount to a freer psyche, because it’s an unthinkable idea slapped down in front of you. But I don’t feel freer after experiencing the idea. I feel like something I care about is being misrepresented. If sex means getting a horse to come, or doing an eight-year-old, or having everybody in the family fuck each other, then all right, I’ll find some other interest.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Lost Girls was like three hardcover books of that scene in The 40 Year Old Virgin where Steve Carrell says that women’s breasts are like bags of sand.
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Oh man, Armored Dildo, your points are valid but stating the obvious. I just can’t take anyone seriously who doesn’t sign their real name to their thoughts. Or maybe that is he/she’s real name? In that case: awesome.
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