<p> It had slipped my mind that last weekend while Anne was out of town, as part of my Festival of Dubious Movies, I also watched <em>Kick-Ass</em>.</p> <p> In its comic-book form, this was the title that finally made me realize that I mostly don&#39;t like Mark Millar&#39;s writing. It&#39;s not sarcasm-over-a-layer-of-caring like Warren Ellis (<em>Transmetropolitan</em>). It&#39;s not dark and compelling like Frank Miller in his heyday (<em>Elektra: Assassin</em>, <em>The Dark Knight Returns</em>). It&#39;s not dense like Alan Moore (<em>The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen</em>), or deep and beautiful like Neil Gaiman (<em>Sandman</em>). It&#39;s not convoluted and mystical and self-referential like Grant Morrison (<em>The Invisibles</em>, <em>Doom Patrol</em>). It&#39;s not clever (even if it never quite delivers) like Brian K. Vaughan (<em>Y: The Last Man</em>, <em>Ex Machina</em>). It&#39;s really just middle-of-the-road superhero comic stuff–the sort of thing that Geoff Johns (<em>Green Lantern</em>) or Brian Bendis (<em>Avengers</em>) do, and do pretty well–but with a big old helping of <strong>super-violence</strong>.</p>