Canon: basic foundation of a fictional universe or mental prison? I’m beginning to think it’s a little bit of both. It’s been a gradual thing, but as I get older I’m having more of an adversarial relationship with the very idea of canon. At one point I would have been a vehement proponent of canon, and a part of me still is, so this entire article is written with one leg firmly placed in Hypocritelandia. But that’s OK, being a hypocrite is well established in my personal canon.
I have always had a certain respect for canonical aspects of the varied worlds that inform the toys I’ve played with. And even if there were multiple canons, I usually felt free to take what I wanted and ignore what I didn’t, or ignore pretty much everything and create from scratch. For instance, in my [G.I.] Joeverse, there was never a Duke and Scarlett, regardless of what the cartoon would try to tell me. My Joeverse was firmly rooted in the Hama comic, so Scarlett and Snake-Eyes were the ones to be paired. Not that I spent a lot of time having my toys go on dates or anything, but Hama’s comics and file cards were my canon of choice for Joes. And when something becomes embedded in the very fabric of how you see a property, it gets hard to shake it. But then a curious thing happened: I found myself idly trying to think up Joe stories for the new joint venture between Hasbro and Amazon where anybody can write books featuring the Joes. I looked over some of the other books that had been published, and I found a lot of fealty paid to the cartoon and a lot of plots that sounded like they came straight from an old episode of G.I. Joe, complete with broad names for big scientific devices, much like the MASS device or the Weather Dominator. Not that there is anything inherently wrong in that. But still, I will admit that I shook my head at the fact that these guys were stuck in the cartoon world of G.I. Joe.
But then it hit me: when I was thinking of ideas, smug with my own sense of self-satisfaction, I realized that all of my ideas were literally all rooted in and around what Larry Hama had done with the G.I. Joe Universe, up to and including characters that I couldn’t use because they had been killed off.
I was flabbergasted. I realized I was so loyal to the world that had been created by someone else that I was effectively suffocating my own attempts at creativity based on ideas someone else had already thought up decades ago. I was doing the same thing that I was scoffing at, except from a different point of view. I had constructed a prison.
I started to notice just how many of our opinions are ruled by canon. Canon is the basis of all those modern/classic arguments. Canon informs how we arrange our figures on the shelf, or even what toys we buy. How many collectors passed on the Star wars Black Series Greedo — one of the best figures in the line so far — not on the basis of his being a cool toy, but because he was killed in the first half hour and never showed up again? I take it you’ve seen those pegs full of Greedos, so that should answer that question. A fantastic toy and a fun design left behind all because of some random decision a bearded guy made 37 years ago.
Greedo’s not alone, though. Well, he’s kind of lonely, but he’s not alone. People love to hate the prequels and therefore the prequel figures (there’s enough to hate), but who cares about the prequels? The story of Anakin’s fall is wide open. Just because George did it wrong doesn’t mean that the characters created in that fire deserve scorn also. Those prequel figures are all fine building blocks to creating a better prequel. Pop another head on Anakin and erase Hayden completely if you want. I know I am at first opportunity.
Star Wars fans have heard all the complaints about canon, to the point where there have been values assigned to them, I think. It gets deep in there. But I have no desire to let the mistakes of a man whose heart wasn’t into it cripple what, to me, was one of the defining properties of my childhood playtime.
Canon is meaningless. Hayden’s ghost is no more official just because it’s been anointed by the head beard himself. I’ll pick what is, thank you.
Masters of the Universe has suffered even worse under canon’s evil grip. It’s a property with so many contradictory and ill-defined elements that people sometimes grasp at anything to define that little universe. The current Classics figures have attempted an all-consuming canon, but that’s done nothing but build yet more traps for people to fall into, to the point where people lament the deaths of toys before those toys have been released. Remember the Sorceress debacle? Killed in a canonical bio before her toy had been announced, many believed this retroactively rendered her worthless as a toy — because they’d be getting a figure of a corpse.
And let’s not bring up Snake Man-At-Arms. Or the whole Unnamed One, where the Internet was almost shut down over an evil Orko analogue.
Even now, people wage war over whether He-Man was a barbarian from the jungle or the alternate identity of Prince Adam. Two separate interpretations, backed up by two very different canons, both of which with staunch followers.
But here’s the thing: he can be both. Or neither. Or all of them. One thing doesn’t have to die so another can live. Canon is not an immutable concept.
I think of all properties, Transformers seems to be doing the best in the fictional realm. There have been so many continuities and alterations — this from a line built off of cannibalizing other toy lines anyway, so it comes naturally — that it seems to be the model for when ignoring canon can lead to great things. The current Transformers comics are not the familiar Bob Budiansky/Simon Furman comics from the ’80s, nor are they the cartoons, but they are fantastic because they’re the structures of creators who have synthesized the core of the property but have denounced the trappings of continuity and canon that enriched their initial love of that property. It is separate, but equal, and better for it. But fans still think of Transformers as “G1 or get out” because or the concrete canon in their head.
Don’t even get me started on DC and Marvel. DC especially, with their new 52 reboot. More than anything, that may have tipped me over the edge. I’ve spent a lot of time reading fans railing against figures from the DC Universe Classics line because they only showed up a handful of times. D-listers they’re called, because we have to alphabetize importance based on their appearances in a comic. If you have a toy, you’re no longer a D-Lister. You made it, kid. But now none of that exists anymore, and years of history has been shoved aside and may never get toys again. Superman doesn’t wear red trunks now because of… why was that again?
Yeah, mine does. Because canon is meaningless.
Free yourself.
Put your own team together on your shelf, made of characters who have never interacted. Or, even worse, put two of the same character together wearing two different costumes. Side by side. Holding hands, even.
Figure out why a character could be or should be cool, instead of pointing to uninteresting comics as a reason why he isn’t. They can’t do all the work for you.
Put a character who “never wore that costume when he was on that team” with another character who
“wasn’t even a member” and then give that brand new team a neener neener.
Pick up a fun-looking toy from a property you have no interest in, for no reason other than it’s a fun-looking toy. Should I let the fact that I hate the Power Rangers and think it was the stupidest thing on Saturday mornings in the ’90s keep me from getting a full set of them? Based on Pabs’ recent reviews, they do look like cool figures. Maybe a set of Power Rangers could be cool once divorced from their ridiculousness.
OK, I won’t be going that far.
We’re the curators of our own canon, and the word “official” should have no meaning in this museum.
Free yourself.
