Is Iron Man a bold, romantic knight yclad in hardy steel? Or is he a wiggly tapeworm of a smartarse prancing around in the intestines of a dirty robot? Don’t ask me, I’ve never seen the film.
Here is a detailed summary of the plot of Iron Man:
Barnacles on his rusty jib; boreholes in his exhaust unit. The scrapyard hobos used him so roughly that night beneath the Detroit moon. So roughly. “Purdy tailpipe, boy” they said. Must send a memo to Pepper Panza. Not to tell anyone.
Pepper Panza tumbles in a fat forward roll of a walk by his side. That earthy clod of paunch and moustache (played by Gwyneth Paltrow). How many scrapes has he got me out of? Too many.
And meanwhile Windmillosaurus is planning his final assault. His sinister sails glinting beneath the Detroit moon. Conventional weapons hadn’t worked against him. Prod a jousting lance in his stout bod and those swift swift sails snatch it up before it can puncture his navel.
And meanwhile he says nothing. Windmillosaurus! Your day is coming! I will dine on the fat of your jugular and shit on your sails!
Iron Man swashes in the shallows: a sad salty cyborg, humping on the jetsam. A sexy-looking segment of corrugated iron drifts into his net. Score! Why do you do it to yourself, Iron Man? Leave me alone. Even Iron Men have needs. The sea spumes darkly beneath the Detroit moon. Iron Man discharges and is filled with loathing. For God’s sake, pull up your knickers and get out of here, he shouts at the corrugated iron. The corrugated iron says nothing. Forgive me, my darling, I’m a complicated man, he adds. The corrugated iron drifts away.
Iron Man is my favourite Avenger. Which is yours?