It happened. After the purchase of 119 issues, 796 artistic changes, a really "ghetto" Sopranos schtick & his rooftop rape, I just could not bring myself to pick up this month's Nightwing #120.
I blame Scip. Never has anyone nailed anything so on the head. I feel as though a fog has been lifted. The problem with Nightwing is "Nightwing."
Leap. Angst. *repeat* Leap. Angst. *repeat*
Sound familar? Dick Grayson, that boy who danced across giant typewriters, has become a joyless bitch of a man. Lately, Nightwing seems to be channeling his inner Spider-Man.
I thought one of the ideas behind Infinite Crisis was to shine some light on Dick Grayson, return him to greatness, let him feel some warmth on his face again. So far, all I've seen him do is lay down with the first woman who flashes him some red & lets Jason Todd piss on his legacy as Robin & Nightwing.
Look, I realize that Dick Grayson is a man but part of being a man is remembering what it is to laugh. That means remembering what it was like to be Robin. We're getting too much of this: Nightwing, fighting a gang of thugs in a shopping mall, reciting inane inner monologue.
What should happen: Nightwing, fighting a gang of thugs in a shopping mall, somersaults in smiling, kicking ass & looking for the biggest prop he can bound from... and well, the comic should write itself from there.
When that guy shows up in a Nightwing comic, someone please, let me know. I know it'll be safe to come out again.