… a man who moves so fast that his life is an endless gallery of statues
— Saga of the Swamp Thing, 24 May 1984, Roots, Alan Moore, Stephen Bissette, John Totleben
Alan Moore‘s description of the Flash has always stuck with me, capturing both the speed at which the character lived as well as the loneliness that his powers burdened him with.
The current television show approaches those notions very differently and I really enjoy what the writers are doing.
It’s not my typical small screen fare — it’s got men with six-pack abs and women with stick figures — but it has an infectious charm and a lightness of touch that makes me look forward to each episode. I can obviously suspend disbelief with the whole fastest-man-alive, sharing the screen with super-heroes and -villains aplenty, in a world where everyone is under thirty (unless they’re a victim) and the maximum permissible body size for women is 8.
But my suspension goes only so far when:
See all those moments of time when he’s gawping when he could be rescuing? Really? Aren’t you the fastest goddamned man alive?