When did comics go from good-time, fantastical escapism to altruistic studies of the human condition through contrived four-colored mythology? When did the nerds who loved the exploits of wholly ridiculous heroes become the embittered dorks that have to nitpick every single nuance of any character that crosses their path?

And with IRON MAN now out, perhaps the more pointed question is this: If you are just going to hate every comic-book movie that comes out, why do you even bother going anymore? You might as well stay in your mother’s basement, surrounded by your eggshell-long boxes, your Mylar-encased, graded first editions of THE INCREDIBLE HULK #181 (the first appearance of Wolverine!) and your multiple, stained copies of Wizard’s “Guide to the 100 Hottest Chick Superheroes” double-sized issue. You’re safe down there. No one will hurt you. I’m sure if you yell loud enough, Mom will even bring you a sandwich.

I am a proudly admitted fiend for comics. I spend around a hundred dollars a month on comics – single issues, muthafuckas! I wear a wide variety of clothes featuring their characters. Sometimes, when I’m walking home at night, I even carry a bazooka and like to pretend I’m The Punisher (well, a chubby Punisher, at the least). So, because I am part of the community, I feel like I can say this with a little authority …

Ahem.

Comic-book nerds, you need to settle to the fuck down. Seriously.

It’s time for you guys to catch a breath, have a cookie and take two steps back. You need to quit taking every little bit of comic-book minutiae so seriously. You need to remember a time when your love of comics was purely for the fun they brought you, before all this collecting became an insatiable mania instead of a nerdy fandom. You need to slow your role.

Over the past few years – from Internet message boards that I frequent to discussions with friends in local comic shops – geeks have turned their attention to how much they can’t stand cinematic adaptations of comic books. I’m sure you’ve heard it: the constant bitching and moaning about the fact that Spidey’s symbiote costume was not directly written as a spin-off of the SECRET WARS storyline or the way that Venom never referred to himself as “us” in SPIDER-MAN 3. It’s all little, nitpicky BS that is all rather inconsequential, yet seems to foster this belief – among themselves, I’m sure – that these gripes give them some sort of identity, as sad as it is.

But what’s even sadder is that, because they are so wrapped up in hating the film for quite microscopic reasons, they completely miss the point of the movie, missing out on what is actually a highly entertaining flick.

Around this time last year, it has seemed to reach an annoyingly nasal fever pitch as FANTASTIC FOUR: RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER – one of the big cinematic comic-book offerings of that summer – premiered, much to the derision of comic readers everywhere. What are some of the gripes? Well, I’ve heard that the film is “too goofy” and “family-friendly.” It’s been said that it relies too much on “slapstick” and “lame jokes.” But, the ultimate hostility against the film lies in the way the main villain, Galactus, is treated. More on that in a minute. First, I want to address the “goofy” concerns.

Hey, idiots: FANTASTIC FOUR is an extremely goofy comic. No matter how you slice it, it’s probably the silliest mainstream comic Marvel has ever put out. Look at the heroes: a smart guy who can stretch, a chick who can turn invisible and throw out force-fields, a hotshot who can burst into flames and a big dumb pilot made of orange rocks. Orange rocks, people! This isn’t exactly the highest order of lit here.

It was never realistic or relatable like SPIDER-MAN or had the persecution complexes of X-MEN. Hell, it never even had the social relevance of a CAPTAIN AMERICA. No, the FF pretty much flew around space, fighting aliens, bickering and trying to keep Dr. Doom and his army of Doom-Bots at constant bay. Let’s face it: FANTASTIC FOUR was a spectacularly lame comic, but in a very kitschy, cool way. And besides, no one made the goofy awesome better than when artist Joe Kirby was illustrating it.

In this respect, the FANTASTIC FOUR movies are completely true to the dumb spirit of the comics, just the way the SPIDER-MAN films captured the essence of Peter Parker’s alienative heroism. FANTASTIC FOUR: RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER is pretty much everything a film of its ilk should be: a big, fun, wacky adventure about a group of freaks taking on a chrome man who flies around on a shiny surfboard. Examine at what exactly it is you’re watching before you feel like you can whine about it.

I don’t now about you, but I go to comic-book movies to have a good time. Even some of what are considered the worst ones of all time – BATMAN & ROBIN, THE PUNISHER and the other THE PUNISHER – are, when all pretentious searches for meaning are removed, three fun ways to spend a Sunday afternoon. And in the end, that’s what it should be all about.

As for the Galactus issue, in the comics, Galactus is an approximately one-million-foot-tall cosmic humanoid in a giant purple costume with a multi-horned, oversized helmet. It looks ridiculous on paper, so I can only imagine how dumb it would have looked on screen. It’s a cinematic decision that’s the equivalent of the one where Wolverine was given black leather instead of his regular yellow-and-blue tights in X-MEN. What might work on the page, stylistically, doesn’t always work on the screen. So I am probably alone in this, but for that, I give director Tim Story kudos. It was a smart move. And besides, as long as the film is entertaining, who cares? FANTASTIC FOUR: RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER is most definitely entertaining.

So, comic-book nerds, as we stand (or slouch) in line for IRON MAN – which is also, in the purest sense, based on a pretty lame comic), let’s all collectively dial it down. Let’s start reading comics again for fun. Let’s suspend our disbelief for two hours when we see a comic-book movie. Let’s erase years of irony and bitterness and, as the poster for the original SUPERMAN said, once again “believe that a man can fly.”

Otherwise, just stay at home. Or, as you call it, “the Batcave.” –Louis Fowler