ESSAY // 5.23.02

THE DEATH OF LOUIS LANE
By Alasdair Stuart

The rumours have been circulating for quite a while now. Stories of script quality dropping off; individual episodes attempting to make a joke out of their own apparent lack of humourous content; even, critically, an actual "Jumping the Shark" moment. However, recently the news reached out from Hollywood and across the Atlantic:

Matt Groening, creator of THE SIMPSONS, has begun to hint very heavily that the show is about to reach its end.

After thirteen years, more than three hundred episodes, and some of the best comedy ever committed to film, the series is ending.

This is a good thing for a number of reasons. First: one of the most important things about a song is to know when it's time to stop singing it. This simple fact has escaped innumerable storytellers, television producers and, of course, Celine Dion. Get on the stage, sing your heart out, and then get the hell off it again. It could be suggested that THE SIMPSONS has reached that crucial point.

Secondly: the series has, for many, been in a flat spin for some time. The plots have become tired, the jokes are falling flat, and even the writers themselves appear to have acknowledged that something is going wrong.

However, there is a third reason why the end of THE SIMPSONS is to be, if not applauded, then certainly acknowledged as a good thing. A reason I believe is far more important than any other:

Louis Lane will be no more.

Louis Lane is, according to Groening, the real name of Comic Book Guy - a figure who, after thirteen years's worth of appearances on the show, has become synonymous not only with the comic industry but with a specific part of that industry: comics retailers.

My part of the industry.

Comic Book Guy has become visual shorthand for comic retailers. In the eyes of the general public we're all overweight, sweaty, social inadequates with no conversational skills, massive body odor problems and little or no desire to actually sell anything to, or interact with, our customers.

I hate him. Always have done. When I started at Travelling Man, I was about forty pounds heavier than I am now, and the comparisons were both instant and inevitable. Suddenly, I'd gone from Al, the graduate student, the nice guy, the HUMAN BEING to someone who was expected to end every sentence with an overemphasized "ever." For the most part, I sucked it up, simply because I'm basically a placid guy. I was bullied a lot at school and, considering I was about three inches taller and two broader across the shoulders than every other kid, retaliation wasn't really an option. I got used to sucking it up, so that's what I did.

Eventually, the comparisons died off. I only actually had to speak to one customer about it and he, in all fairness, apologised profusely and has never mentioned it since. The comments dried up, and the weight loss only sped that process along. I've not actually thought about Louis, short of the occasional good-natured jibe from the other staff, for a couple of months now.

Until this announcement from Groening. My first reaction was regret mixed with a great deal of relief. As I say, the trick to a good song is knowing when to stop, and I'd hate to see a show that was as sharp as THE SIMPSONS go off the boil. Then, the realisation that Louis would be off our screens and out of our lives forever hit, and something else came with it. Something I honestly thought I'd never feel.

I'm going to miss the guy.

Unconsciously, I've been using Louis Lane as a barometer of what not to do for the last five years. In that time, I've gone from being the Saturday help at Travelling Man to the Manager and all the while my decisions have been powered by three basic principles:

1) Get the job done. Do the right thing.
2) Never be afraid to ask for help.
3) Don't be Louis.

No word of a lie: he's been amazingly useful. In the time I've been at Travelling Man, I've been robbed, dealt with corrupt staff, handled near total delivery meltdowns and had one absolute blazing row with my boss. All the while, I've been steered as much by my desire to not be Louis as my desire to do the right thing. My nightmare scenario? Finding myself uttering the words:

"Don't make me get off my stool."

Seriously.

Despite this, I won't be sorry to Louis go. Yeah, I know he worked as a one joke character and more than one person has told me to get over this but: stop and think about it.

Louis has done more to damage the perception of the industry in general, and comics retailers in particular, than any other piece of 20th century popular culture. More damage than the Kirby nerds, the interminable years of Marvel continuity and the endless BATMAN crossovers put together, all for one simple reason:

None of those things exist outside the industry. And Louis does. THE SIMPSONS are everywhere, and Louis is everywhere with them. He's become the global face of the comic retailer AND the comic industry.

The great thing, though, is that stores where Louis might have felt comfortable are dying out, one by one. In my experience, they're disappearing for one simple reason:

Information.

All the good stores I've seen, including the one I like to think I run, trade in information. What titles are out, what titles are cancelled, what new publishers are worth a try - hell, even what creators live in the area. The good stores, the ones whose sales are growing, are the ones where the staff spend as much time finding stuff out as they do serving people.

Of course, in a sense customer service and information are one and the same thing. Countless times a day, I'll answer questions about comic releases, recommend graphic novels, take orders, modify standing order boxes, and above all, talk.to.the.customers.

I don't stare at them with dumb hostility the second they walk in.

I don't gape like a deep sea fish whenever a woman walks through the door.

What I do is smile or nod and not get in their face. If they want something, we chat, I help them out and make them laugh and they leave. They've either found out what they wanted or gotten a verbal guarantee of the same, and I've either made a sale or made someone happy. Everyone wins, everyone goes home happy.

Louis is already dying. If Groening axes the show, it'll be euthanasia rather than murder. Good stores are appearing everywhere, stocking good titles and staffed by intelligent, polite people who know what their customers want and will do everything in their power to get it for them.

There's not enough of these people, and they have to work too hard to get what they want done, but the numbers are growing, and Louis' time is definitely running out. For the first time in years, we're starting to look at the merest possibility that the industry might actually get some kind of respect. When that happens, Louis will finally look like what he's always been: an anachronism who's number is finally up. Or, to put it another way:

Most out of date stereotype EVER.

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