I attended my second Comic-Con and wrote about the winners and losers:
In my favorite moment of the day, a Capcom executive announced an upcoming crossover comic book in which Street Fighter supervillain M. Bison will team up with G.I. Joe's hated Cobra Commander to seize control of the world, an announcement which was lustily booed by an audience that appeared to be on the brink of throwing things. It was an important and necessary reminder on the first day of Comic-Con that brand synergies are fragile, dangerous compounds that can explode on you at any time. Do I have to remind you what happened when Scooby Doo met the Harlem Globetrotters?
The person most negatively affected by the sudden rapture of Star Wars fans from Hall H was likely film director Kevin Smith, who was scheduled to take the podium immediately afterward to flog his new comedy horror movie, Yoga Hosers. Faced with a choice of listening to John Williams under the starlight or watch Smith in the role of a Bratzi — "a foot-tall Canadian Nazi made of sentient Bratwurst" — 100 percent of people made the right choice and left the hall.
As best as we can tell, Batman is ticked off because at the end of Man of Steel, Superman allegedly knocked one of the Wayne Industries buildings down and killed some people inside. But you don't have to be a truther to believe there's likely more to the story. Heat vision can't melt steel beams! While the trailer played to a standing ovation in Hall H, its reception was lukewarm among the non-diehards watching at home. And unfortunately, after the unanimous adoration for Star Wars the day before, lukewarm = a loss, even if we did enjoy Batman setting up quite a selfie — himself brooding on a rooftop, in the rain, pulling a tarp off the Bat-signal so that he could summon ... himself.
Every year San Diego insists that Comic-Con hasn't outgrown its host city. And every year Comic-Con proves it wrong: despite the incremental improvements it makes to line management and bathroom maintenance, the growing mainstream popularity of genre fiction overwhelms it at every turn. An expansion plan now underway feels like too little, too late, and it's a shame. Fans deserve better than 17-hour line waits amongst mice and cockroaches. They deserve larger venues, added hotel capacity, and street vendors selling food and beverages to make all that line-waiting a little more bearable. In other words, fans deserve Los Angeles, and while we can understand why its current host would be sad to let the Con go, San Diego has an increasingly hard time making the case that the city still deserves it.