Oh, Josh, you’re breaking my heart. Just as I find it bewildering that you’ll casually write off the whole comic book movie canon, it is nothing short of flabbergasting – not a word, I don’t think, but work with me – that you thumb your nose at the collected works of the master of suspense, the original Weird Al, one Alfred Hitchcock. You wanna talk about “reality”? That guy got about as real as you can get – tapping in, exploiting, fully flogging our most primal fears… and quite often doing it with a deliciously sick sense of humor. What makes us most human? How about the fight or flight instinct? That’s his bread and butter. The terror of things that go bump in the night, or shriek in the shower? He’s your man. Obsessive love? He cornered the market… especially when icy blondes were on special.

The “rules of reality”?*** What do you even mean by that? First: I think this might be an instance in which our lack of comic book knowledge comes into play. I think in fact that rules of reality do exist – rules according to the worlds created in these comic books. But for us lay people, I think it’s safe to say: Superman abides by a set of fast, immutable rules – à la Kryptonite kills. They’re not making this shit up willy-nilly: The effective comic book movies – just like all other effective films – establish the rules of their universe early and stick to ‘em. Moving on: While I get a kick out of your impressive distillation of X2, what you seem to think is a whole lot of gobbledygook reads – and more importantly plays – like a riproaring actioner to me: a riproaring actioner with very significant detours into source myth, tragic love, government-sanctioned racism, gay allegory, and the unholy – but complex and identifiable – vengeance sought by those powerfully, systemically wronged. You know, if I took the time to similarly detail all the ins and outs and improbabilities of any Indiana Jones flick (“Eat your burning heart!”***), it, too, would sound like so much gobbledygook – which is in no way a diss on Indiana Jones. I loved him just as much as you (or at least the first three outings with him – missed the last one yet, and it’s not on the to-do list), and I’m not sure I see such a clear delineation between Indy and our comic book friends. Where’s the disconnect for you? Is it the tights? The occasional horns sprouted?

Sorry, I didn't notice your 1:51pm entry, Suspense (With a Little Suspension of Disbelief), until just now. This is the price we pay for conducting an online debate, I guess. That and the fact that anyone can jump on his or her computer and see that I only won 15% of yesterday's vote, which, I'd like to say, is yet further proof - along with the recent dust-up in Zimbabwe - that democracy doesn't work. What we need is some kind of Film Fight plutocracy, a voting class I can stack with all my landed friends. Anyway, I wanted to slip in two quick comments before you make your post-work, wine-soaked, Kim-Jones-after-dark entry and I'm left to ruminate on it until 5 in the morning: 1) Alfred Hitchcock is the most overrated director in movie history. 2) Anyone who saw The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull knows that Indiana Jones should have been put out of my misery a long, long time ago.

What I’m saying is why waste your time eating Brussels sprouts when every time you eat Brussels sprouts you’re miserable, and meanwhile there’s a great huge, heaping dish of chocolate over here, just begging to be eaten? (The answer, of course, is that for some reason you’ve agreed to a week-long cyber-argument about the relative merits of Brussels sprouts and there’s no turning back now and it’s your duty to convince anyone reading at home that, not only are Brussels sprouts painful to eat, they are – contrary to everything you may have been told by doctors and nutritionists and parents – actually quite bad for you. Possibly even poisonous. Deadly even. And so Brussels-sprout eating must go on.)

So... suspense. You thought I was trying to dodge that bullet, huh? First of all, curious that THE GUY WHO HATES HITCHCOCK is so hung up on suspense, or rather, his perceived lack of suspense in comic book movies. True, in a lot of these movies – especially the ones you know are destined for endless franchising – there is the assumption that our main guy isn't going to croak. But is that all that suspense boils down to? What about the suspense in how – or if (not always a given) – he'll win the girl (probably not), alienate all his friends, save the girl, or the kitten, or the subway car full of people, and take down the big baddie. There are a lot variables there, and I think, especially with the increasingly dark bent contemporary comic book movies are taking (in, yes, an increasingly bleak American landscape), that c.b. movies are willing to go to some surprising places. Case in point.... Spoilertastic, after the break:

"I know you said that the X-Men movies constitute 'art,' but would you really put them in the ring with All the Real Girls or Rushmore or – God help us! – The Philadelphia Story?" Well, you just named three of my all-time favorite movies (way to exploit my weaknesses!). Have I met a comic-book movie yet that upends me as utterly as any one of those films? No. But neither has 99.9% of every other movie of every other genre I've ever seen. That said, those three movies are apples and oranges in my mind. They each appeal to me in very different ways. But do I think comic book movies ably mine elements from other genres – the weighty drama, screwball comedy, desperate love triangle, Greek tragedy, etc.? Hell yeah. (Spoilers ahead...)

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I'm gonna run with the Brussels sprouts-as-comic-book-movie metaphor. As I understand it, you're saying that while you have never had a good Brussels sprout before, you believe in the potential of a great Brussels sprout... provided that the aforementioned Brussels sprout actually tastes like a sweet delicious chocolate bar.*** I've got a lot more to say about your various arguments... but first I need to, you know, do my real job for a couple of hours. ***By the way, our mutual pal from News, Nora Ankrum, was the one who clued me into your chocolate fiend-dom. Which is to say – I can and will use your friends against you.

3:30am Now we’re getting somewhere. Pleasantries dispensed with, Queensbury Rules tossed out the window, gloves off. First of all, there’s no circularity to an argument condemning comic-book movies for embracing their comic-book elements when one is arguing that comic-book movies aren’t any good. That’s like saying I can’t hate Brussels sprouts because they taste like Brussels sprouts, when, if they just tasted a little less like Brussels sprouts, I might actually like them. (By the way, I had no idea until this moment that “Brussels sprouts” was spelled with an “s” at the end of “Brussels.” Never put that together.) In fact, the very point I’m trying to make is that I don’t like comic-book movies because they’re so damn comic book-y – cartoonish, fantastical, over-the-top, free of the demands of internal consistency and, most importantly, suspense - which is the exact reason you like them. As you say, “There’s a visceral thrill to watching things go boom, and comic book movies allow us to indulge that desire while placing the action in an alternate universe … And no matter what, THEY ARE GOING TO SAVE THE DAY.”