Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Superman: Birthright, Issue #1 – “In the Beginning”!

I was going to bounce back to the New 52 Action Comics reboot, but after a lukewarm first impression…I’ve been hesitant to press forward. The New 52 Supergirl rekindled my interest, but I figured that I needed a critically acclaimed Superman story at this point. After much hemming and hawing over the many supposedly excellent Superman stories, origin-related or otherwise, I finally settled on Mark Waid’s Superman: Birthright for two reasons. 1) it does cover the Superman origin story, which I do have an interest in, and 2) I’m already familiar with Mark Waid and the first story of his 1998 Captain America run! It didn’t go well, but my dude deserves another chance.

Superman: Birthright spanned twelve issues as a self-contained Superman story. It was prompted by the success of Smallville, so just be thankful I’ve never actually watched Smallville. You’d hear a lot of Tom Welling jokes from me otherwise.

Superman: Birthright, Issue #1 [September, 2003]
Written by: Mark Waid
“In the Beginning”

Look out! Superman’s here, and he ain’t got no pupils in his eyeballs!

The story begins with the beginning! That is to say, Superman’s beginning with respect to Earth and whatnot. He’s being launched from Krypton in his little space pod. The computer is going haywire as the pod is pulled off-track by Krypton’s red sun. It looks orange here, though. It should probably be more red.

Turns out that it’s not the real pod at all. On Krypton, Daddy Superman is banging out simulations on a computer. One plunges into the sun. Another bounces off some asteroids. Another runs out of fuel and gets lost in the cosmos. Another gets attacked by space goblins and intergalactic pirates and random hydrogen molecules. No matter how he plans the trajectory, the simulation always ends with destruction. “Hopeless,” he moans, “It’s hopeless.

Jor-El! That’s his name, I remember now. Jor-El and Lara. They had marital relations and pushed out a baby once, which was dumb on a doomed planet. We could learn a lesson here on Earth too: stop procreating, idiots! Myself included! I did it twice! Stupid!

Jor-El wishes his advice was heeded sooner. They could have a fleet large enough to carry the whole planet’s population to safety. Now they only have a measly pod large enough for their son that keeps getting dumped into fiery stars. Not only that, but these whiz-bang Kryptonian computers have been running like clockwork to try to find ANY other intelligent civilization in the universe! Jor-El’s been mining bitcoin with them on the side, so most of the resources were allocated for that, and now the planet is exploding, but at least he has three Bored Apes to show for it!

Lara keeps trying to talk her husband into launching their baby into space, but he’s not so optimistic anymore about anything. JOR-EL NEEDS HIS SERTRALINE!!

Great, Jor-El, perfect opportunity to launch into a story that’s longer than the time the planet will live.

Jor-El starts wasting his precious moments recapping some 10,000-year-old Kryptonian history: War was getting tedious, so they got along instead. Being ignorant was getting scary, so they learned how to science. Suffering was annoying, so they opted to create a luxurious society. Easy shit. Piece of cake. Now it’s all exploding, and no one will ever even know or care.

Lara gives him a glazed-over cross-eyed stare, ignores everything he just said, and asks him to bring over that iPad Pro on the table. It contains the history of Krypton. Throw it on the ship with the kid.

Jor-El thinks it’s a waste of fucking time. Who would even be able to translate it?! Our dumb kid? He’ll barely even be able to understand English! Oh well, fine. Go ahead. What does it matter anyway? So stupid…

Mom and Dad make the preparations to blast their child into outer space even though they’ll probably witness him exploding in a fiery oblivion like the Challenger. “Listen to me,” Lara shrieks, “I am so frightened. I cannot imagine Kal-El not in my arms. But he doesn’t need our science now. He needs our courage.” So, launch that whelp and try not to think too hard about it, mkay?

So they press forward. Lara straps him into the little space bubble. Jor-El scrambles through the computer files looking for one measly planet that could be viable. He comes across dumb old Earth. Yellow sun. Reasonable gravity. Lots of Chipotle restaurants. It’s as good a choice as any. Hell, a young sun’s radiation might even make him stronger! In case he can’t find Ovaltine. Let ‘er rip.

Jor-El begs for forgiveness and he inputs the super secret launch codes. Lara tells him he has nothing to be sorry for except his really tiny, unsatisfying penis!

Hurry up and just get rid of it. I don’t even want to look at that ugly thing anymore!

And off Kal-El goes.

“Life support batteries 89%,” chirps the computer. Not even fully charged upon launch!

“Life support batteries 67%,” as he rockets past a large, red planet. Looks like this thing is draining like a motherfucker. Maybe Kal-El has too many apps open.

“Warning: Life support batteries 29%,” as he zooms past some more colorful planet-like space objects. What’s it been, five minutes?

“Danger: Life support batteries 09%,” as he drifts through a swirling void. Plug it in! Plug it in!

“Danger: Life support batteries 02%,” as the yellow sun, then the Earth and its Moon, comes into view. We’re really pushing our luck here, aren’t we?

The pod prepares for landing. Cloaking activated. A nice patch of boring Kansas land is the target. Can babies survive a blunt force trauma impact of like 200,000 Gs? I guess we’ll see!

Or we won’t. We cut to 25 years later in West Africa. A man who looks like Clark Kent with a tourist camera strapped around his neck pushes another man to the ground. “Get down!” he screams as someone in a speeding car tries to fill these mopes full of bullets.

The man Kent pushed down is named Kobe Asuru, who has a small team of bodyguards pointing their own weapons at this mysterious white boy who just popped out of nowhere. Kent wants to follow the car, but he needs to stay put. How do they know he’s not dangerous either? Kobe Asuru has many enemies, mostly because he keeps cheating at Mario Kart.

“No weapons. Passport under the name of ‘Clark Kent’. Press pass from the Ghana Dispatch – though that could be a cover. You speak our language notably well for an American, Mr. Kent,” says one of Asuru’s more female-y members of his entourage even though they speak English in Ghana. She pulls the Kryptonian iPad out of Kent’s pack, but he implores her to be careful with it. He means Kobe Asuru no harm, he promises. He just wants to…uh…it’s not clear yet. Play hopscotch together?

“I’ve come to talk…and listen…unlike his would-be assassins,” proclaims Kent, and Kobe welcomes this stranger with WARM SMILES! His personal bodyguards are Gyamfi, Yao, and his sister Abena. You can call him Kobe. Like the beef or the dead rapist basketball player!

Tell me what the fuck is going on here or the jig is up. This camera shoots more than just photos, you know.

Uh oh, here’s where Mark Waid, confirmed plump old white man, starts bordering on cringe with the subject of race. Kent and Kobe toast to the Ghuri tribe during a Ghuri party, but not to tribalism. “I didn’t think racial barriers existed here,” says Kent, making a rather punchable looking facial expression. Kobe confirms that racism doesn’t exist here! So, in the absence of racism, the people find other ways to discriminate. In this case, along tribal lines.

Kent asks if that was what all the shooting was about earlier, then. Kobe says “PROBABLY! Hey! Let’s change the subject,” Kobe pulls open a nearby child’s textbook and explains the clash between the Ghuri tribe and the Turaaba tribe. Turaaba holds the wealth of the region, and Ghuri have often relied on them for their employment. SO, the children spend their youth absorbed in Turaaba culture while their own Ghuri culture becomes systematically marginalized. THAT’S the real problem here, Clark Kent, you rugged blue-eyed devil you.

Parallels though! Kobe’s sister tells Kent that the Ghuri tribe ask themselves, at the end of every day, “who are we?”. Clark Kent, sir, who are you? Aha, ah yes. And what the fuck are you doing here? And also get out!

Clark Kent takes it all in stride! He explains to Abena that he’s a freelance reporter, remember? When you turned his backpack inside-out? Hmm? Remember? Uh huh. Kent has worked for newspapers all over the globe, and now he has been hired by “the Ghana paper” to profile Kobe and the attacks.

He reminds them of some broad name Lois who was here not too long ago. Lois Something-Or-Other! Do you know someone named Lois, Clark Kent? Not yet? Ok! Here’s the timeline: Kent graduated from high school in Smallville, Kansas, started studying abroad, strung some credits together from many universities to obtain his bachelor’s in journalism JUST NOW actually, and he turns 25 next month! So his car insurance rates go down to boot. Life is lookin’ good.

Good ol’ American upbringing, eh? Waffle Houses and LTE home internet. Sure, sure, but Kent was adopted. FROM WHENCE, he still doesn’t know, but he knows it’s pretty far from Kansas. After he explains he’s still kinda trying to find a place he can call home, Abena has some advice: You’ve turned away from your birth legacy. Embrace who you are.

In the middle of that advice, Clark does some fancy faster-than-a-speeding-bullet shite, grabbing water in a glass in the middle of someone else’s accidental spill.

Two places at once! I can catch that water faster than you can say “BBBEE”.

Anyhoo, so there’s a Ghuri party going on that they now find themselves at. A celebration of the Ghuri ways! A renewal of identity through custom, music, dance, and dress. Clark is like “oh yeah, that shit’s everywhere, dummies. Philippines, Scotland, Ingideonous America, Afghanistan. Way to maintain your singular identity by being just like everyone else!” *sssiiiiiip*

Just like everyone else except those creepy tribal masks, guys! They give me the heebie-jeebies! Didn’t they lift the mask mandates around here? Ha ha!

Kobe looks offended that Clark is dissing their masks, but he means no disrespect! Honest! Masks are just a symbol of distrust in his own land, y’hear? Before Kent really even has a chance to explain himself, though, bullets rain in through the windows and walls of their little party. Kent holds a dying old woman while yelling for someone to get Kobe out of the building. NOW!

Don’t worry, I’ll save you all! I’m pretty, super, man.

Kent tries to use his laser eyes to cauterize a major wound on the old lady, but it dawns on him that driving Kobe out of the building is exactly what they wanted to happen. Eek! He runs outside and jumps in front of a few bullets aimed for Kobe. He gets a back full of ‘em!

“What the hell? He’s wearing a vest, he must be…!” the terrorists whipser to each other, noticing a torn-up shirt but no scratch to be seen.

Kent and Kobe’s crew jump into a VW bus and they book it! Abena looks horrified at the state of Kent’s $2 Old Navy polo shirt, but he claims he got it all torn up back in the bar.

So, more Turaaba shenanigans going on? I guess you could say that. Kobe is running for senator and the elections are coming up. Nobody’s taking too kindly to Kobe’s views on Ghuri revolution. “We will stand before the men who govern our republic, and we will insist upon representation in their parliament. We deserve to be heard, and if the Turaaba don’t like it…they’ll learn to.”

Kobe’s posse attempts to goad Clark Kent into asking the real question. The question that all the reports ask: “Why him? Why is it Kobe Asuru’s task to shoulder the burden of his people? Doesn’t he know he’s risking his life being a damnfool hero? Is he insane?”

Clark Kent remains stoic. He wasn’t gonna ask any of that stuff! “I believe the tribe Ashanti have a saying: ‘A charge to keep they have, the human race, to glorify–all other neighbors to save, and raising human esteem high.‘” And, according to my Google Docs page, that saying is a grammatical problem. But Kobe is delighted to hear these words come from Clark’s big, dumb, white face.

Basically, you can’t sit back and hope to fit in. You gotta do what you need to do. “The world never changed for a man too timid to play his [game] to the absolute limit.”

Final Thoughts

Mediocre start, Mark Waid! Better step on it before I forever lose interest in all your comic book blitherings!