Pete's Expert Summary
So, the Human has brought another plastic effigy into my domain. This one, from a brand called McFarlane Toys, is a grim, muscle-bound fellow in a gray and black suit, clearly meant to be admired from afar rather than properly played with. It's an "action figure," which is human-speak for "a doll you're not supposed to call a doll." They’ve given him a ridiculous number of joints, a fabric cape with a wire in it—which, I admit, sparks a flicker of interest—and a little cardboard picture to stand in front of, as if he's too important to be seen with our actual walls. Ultimately, he seems destined to gather dust on a shelf, a silent, frowning monument to the Human's questionable spending habits, though his little Batarang-on-a-rope might provide a fleeting moment of entertainment before it's lost under the couch.
Key Features
- McFarlane Cover Recreations are inspired by the most iconic comic book artists. Recreate famous covers with the included action figure and deluxe base with backdrop
- BATMAN as featured on the cover of BATMAN: THE DARK KNIGHT RETURNS #1
- Incredibly detailed 7” scale figure based on the DC MULTIVERSE
- Designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing and play
- Accessories include 4 extra hands, Batarang with rope, wired soft goods cape, and deluxe display base with cover reprint backdrop
- Includes collectible art card with character art on the front, and character biography on the back
- Collect all McFARLANE TOYS DC MULTIVERSE figures
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with the tell-tale scent of industry: bleached cardboard and that specific, sterile plastic smell that signals an object with no nutritional value. The Human handled it with a reverence usually reserved for the sacred can of wet food, which immediately put me on high alert. He called this new thing "The Dark Knight," a rather theatrical title for a seven-inch man. From my observation post atop the bookshelf, I watched him extract the figure, a study in gray and shadow, not unlike my own superior coat. But this creature was stiff, grim, and utterly devoid of the relaxed elegance I embody. Once freed, the Human began to contort the figure's limbs, a grotesque ballet of clicks and snaps. He was marveling at its "Ultra Articulation." I was unimpressed. I can articulate my own form into a perfect, liquid loaf without making a single sound. The most curious element was the cape. It wasn't the flimsy, static-charged polyester of lesser toys. This was a "wired soft goods" cape. The Human bent it, and it *held* its shape, creating a dramatic, windswept look in the still, climate-controlled air of the living room. It was a lie, but it was an interesting lie. The Human, satisfied with a pose of what I can only describe as "heroic constipation," placed the figure on its special display stand before a printed backdrop of a lightning storm. Then, as fate would have it, the kettle shrieked from the kitchen, a summons he could not ignore. He left the little man standing sentinel on the coffee table. My moment had come. I descended from my perch with the silence of a falling shadow and approached the intruder. A perfunctory sniff confirmed its lifelessness. I gave its head a gentle *boop* with my nose. Nothing. It was a rock with delusions of grandeur. My interest shifted. I extended a single, perfect claw, honed by countless hours on the sisal scratching post, and hooked the very edge of the cape. I pulled, not with destructive force, but with the gentle curiosity of a connoisseur. The wire inside gave a faint, metallic groan and the fabric billowed into a new, artful shape of my own design. Ah, yes. The figure itself was a bore, a stoic piece of shelf-clutter. But its cape... its cape was a canvas. This little plastic man wasn't a toy. He was the stand for a far more engaging sculpture project. He could stay. For now.
