The Best of My Free Comic Book Day 2025

15 Free Comic Book Day comics laid side-by-side on our kitchen table.

One-third of this year’s total complimentary offerings, in no particular order.

That time of year has come and gone again! Saturday, May 3rd was the 24nd Free Comic Book Day, that annual celebration when comic shops nationwide offer no-strings-attached goodies as a form of community outreach in honor of that time-honored medium where words and pictures dance in unison on the printed page, whether in the form of super-heroes, monsters, cartoon all-stars, licensed merchandise, or in rare instances real-world protagonists. It’s one of the best holidays ever for hobbyists like me who’ve been comics readers since the days when drugstores sold them for thirty-five cents each and comic book movies were shoddier than actual B-movies.

Each year comic shops lure fans and curious onlookers inside their brick-and-mortar hideaways with a big batch of free new comics from all the major publishers and a bevy of smaller competitors deserving shelf space and consideration. I observe the holiday by getting up early, venturing to one or more comic shops as soon as they open for their occasion, picking up samples, and spending money on a few extra items as my way of thanking each shop for their service in the field of literacy.

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“Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning”…or IS IT?

Ethan Hunt telling the President, "I need you to trust me one last time."

Will Ethan Hunt join James Bond in that great big top-secret spy base in the sky?

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: star/producer Tom Cruise’s Mission: Impossible series reboot of the old TV espionage drama just keeps going and going and going and going and going. We were all assured the eighth entry Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning — delayed multiple times and with an ending price tag rivaling the GNP of most nations — would be the grand finale to end all grand finales and that this was totally it for IMF Agent Ethan Hunt, the stubborn jack-of-all-trades, honorary Olympic athlete, and indefatigable Chosen One whose rotating teams keep saving the world from every former spy turned evil mastermind — all sixteen million of them, whichever ones didn’t go after James Bond first.

Cruise, now 62 and eligible for discount-level Social Security, has prided himself on performing as many of his own stunts as possible, but cannot keep doing this forever, or so we all keep trying to tell him. Whether it’s his unconditional love of making blockbusters or the rewards of heading the Church of Scientology’s most effective outreach program, something’s fueled his deep desire to keep going bigger, faster, louder and jumpier. From the fifth one onward he’s synchronized with writer/director Christopher McQuarrie and all but buried the earlier, wobblier installments. The oft-thrilling conclusion to the saga (supposedly) doesn’t quite take the throne of Best Mission Ever, though it isn’t for lack of effort, ensemble, effects, or eagerness to excite.

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“Final Destination Bloodlines”: Death Returns to Delete Entire Ancestry.com Pages

tony Todd in the final months of his life, playing coroner William John Bludworth one last time, sitting at his desk at police HQ.

William Bludworth! Kurn, son of Mogh! Candyman! Zoom! Adult Jake Sisko! And more, more, more! R.I.P., good sir.

Once upon a time the original Final Destination was my favorite film I saw in theaters in the year 2000, outranking other notable releases such as the Best Picture-winning Gladiator, the higher-budgeted X-Men, and the even more intricate Chicken Run. Created by screenwriter Jeffrey Reddick and flown to the finish line by the X-Files/Millennium writer/producer team of Glen Morgan and James Wong, the supernatural slasher-flick was more than its novelty of teens being hunted by the voiceless, incorporeal force of Death Itself via ludicrous chain-reaction accidents. Sure, those grotesque executions were more unpredictable than your typical arsenal of cutlery and farming tools, and as a comics fan I took some pride in knowing Rube Goldberg’s work before I saw it and name-checking him for comparison’s sake before everyone else was doing it.

Taking a peculiar place in the post-Scream slasher revival, the imaginative precursor to 1000 Ways to Die posed a loftier pretension than psychopathic B-movie slaughter. Death’s unspoken yet swiftly inferred motive for its Most Dangerous Game kill-spree was, arguably in the strictest sense, not motivated by pure or even petty evil. From a higher plane of perspective, the entire cast was “supposed” to die in the first twenty minutes, which would’ve made for a fairly pointless short. As the students who escaped the opening plane disaster soon find themselves perishing one by one, their increasingly frantic debates and rationalizations explore the time-honored thematic conflict of destiny versus free will — the integrity of maintaining The Grand Scheme of Things versus the Terminator series’ philosophy of “There is no fate but what we make”, which in turn was backstabbed by Terminator 3‘s contrarian stance that some catastrophes are a fixed point in time, no matter how hard we push back.

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53rd and 13th

Me with jacket and gray beard, trying to smile while standing in cold winds on a platform four stories up.

This writer two days ago, buffeted by winds on the fourth floor of De Zwaan, the titular centerpiece of Windmill Island Gardens in Holland, Michigan — this year’s birthday outing!

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: we have annual traditions ’round these parts! Two such occasions fall three weeks apart each year, often but not always receiving separate entries of incredulous self-congratulation. In this attention-deficit economy, though, we once again offer two for the bandwidth of one, a pretty sweet deal.

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Here We Go Crazy: Alt-Rock Hero Bob Mould Returns to Indianapolis

Small concert venue in an old beige department store building. Marquee touts shows by Bob Mould and Rod Tuffcurls and the Bench Press.

Hi-Fi Indy in our city’s Fountain Square district.

Dateline Saturday, May 10, 2025 — Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: my wife Anne and I share a lot of important commonalities, but one of our smaller Venn diagrams is “musical preferences”. Nearly everyone I know with similar tastes lives in other states, and even that is a Post-It list. Therefore I can either attend concerts alone, attend only when Anne wants to (which has happened exactly once in twenty years of marriage), make new friends to attend concerts with [sigh], or never experience live music again. Once every several years, I let option A win and commit to a one-man night on the town.

My last concert over six years ago was fun and mentally invigorating, yet physically debilitating and emotionally isolating whenever the bands weren’t playing and I could dwell on my loner-in-a-crowd status. For years I thought it might be My Very Last Concert, especially during the COVID era. Six years later, here I go again for a new episode of “Is This My Very Last Concert?” Our star attraction is one of my all-time favorite musicians: indie rock legend Bob Mould — singer/guitarist with the influential Minneapolis hardcore/punk trio Hüsker Dü and leader of the short-lived power-pop follow-up act Sugar. He’s now touring to promote his fifteenth solo album Here We Go Crazy, which was released this past March and has been in heavy rotation in my car’s CD player on and off ever since. (It’s still so new, as of this writing Wikipedia has yet to bother covering it.)

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Yes, There Are Scenes During and After the “Thunderbolts*” End Credits

Movie poster with the entire cast squirming to fit into the frame at the same time. Florence Pugh is disgusted to be here.

They’re here to save Marvel from themselves.

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: we mention Marvel a lot! It isn’t perfect, but it’s our thing — the movies, the comics and the TV shows, though I generally only compel myself to write about the movies. We enjoy keeping up with all the shows as well, for better or worse, which has been a boon to our viewing comprehension as the Marvel Cinematic Universe (which turns 17 this month!) has accumulated an entire transmedia continuity that sees characters commuting back and forth between small screens and the silver screen with very few footnotes to catch up latecomers. The filmmakers do try to simplify matters in the theatrical releases, recapping in thin brushstrokes and sometimes reducing years-old backstories to loglines buried inside badinage, like a stapler suspended in Jell-O. You can reach in, grab it and deal with the mess; or just stare at it hanging there and go on with your day.

Sometimes strong performances can go a long way toward convincing an audience to just roll with it. Such is the case with Thunderbolts*, the MCU’s 36th feature film and the final film in Phase V, which means nothing anymore. In the same way our last Marvel film Captain America: Brave New World was essentially a sequel to 2008’s underrated Incredible Hulk, Thunderbolts* is a direct follow-up to 2021’s pandemic-hobbled Black Widow, where much of the cast debuted. The events here mean a lot more if you watched that first (among a few other prior works), but director Jake Schreier (Paper Towns, Netflix’s Beef), Widow screenwriter Eric Pearson, and co-writer Joanna Calo (The Bear, BoJack Horseman) do a noteworthy job of tying character arcs together while balancing accessibility for first-timers.

(And really, why not invite more partygoers from outside? Hard as it might be to believe, every MCU film is someone’s first. One of my coworkers never watched a single Marvel movie before sitting down in front of Avengers: Endgame. Yes, she definitely had questions, but my point is it happens. In an era where we keep hearing Theaters Are Dying, the solution is not to imitate comics’ impenetrable continuity and turn them into a geek country club, a market-driven approach that’s arguably contributed to the last three or four Comics Are Dying eras.)

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Yes, There Are Scenes During and After the “Sinners” End Credits

Michael B. Jordan in dual roles as 1932 gangsters, one with a red hat and one with a blue hat.

Thankfully it’s easy to tell which one’s Raphael and which one’s Leonardo.

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: Ryan Coogler rules! The writer/director/producer’s film career began a year after I launched this blog in 2012. I’ve seen them all in theaters and written about them along the way. His devastating indie debut Fruitvale Station was my favorite film that year (back when Coogler was still on Twitter and tossed me a Like for my efforts!). The legacy sequel Creed thoroughly wrecked me at the end. The Academy Award-Winning Black Panther is still one of the MCU’s best entries despite some janky CG in the underground-railroad climax. Its sequel Wakanda Forever is — microscopically splitting hairs — his least-best to date despite that powerful prologue, a worldwide wake for the late Chadwick Boseman. It’s still streets ahead of most Marvel films that followed in its shadow, but it buckled under the weight of the company’s self-perpetuating marketing plans.

With only four films grossing almost a combined $2.5 billion in international box office (well, now he’s passed that mark), the auteur stepped back from work-for-hire and threw some earned clout toward a project of his own, the very first to feature characters of his own creation without shouldering any inherited IP mantles. With that creative control Coogler scores another win in Sinners, once again collaborating with actor Michael B. Jordan, who’s been in all his films to date (erm, light Wakanda Forever spoilers, sorry) and who’s one of this blog’s frequent excuses to name-check The Wire whenever gratuitously possible. (We will never forget Wallace. NEVER.) It defies easy pigeonholing as a vampire survival-horror period-piece musical that demands a 21st-century Black Cinema Renaissance rise up and keep up with him. For anyone who thought the Panther films were still a liiittle bit white at heart, Sinners is here for you.

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Our 2023 Road Trip #6: Far from Hoth

AT-AT sculpture 16 feet tall made of white wires, standing outside in an overgrown yard.

A lone AT-AT patrols the South Carolina wilds, unaware the war is long over.

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover:

Every year since 1999 Anne and I have taken one road trip to a different part of the United States and seen attractions, wonders, and events we didn’t have back home. From 1999 to 2003 we did so as best friends; from 2004 to the present, as husband and wife. After years of contenting ourselves with everyday life in Indianapolis and any nearby places that also had comics and toy shops, we overcame some of our self-imposed limitations and resolved as a team to leave the comforts of home for annual chances to see creative, exciting, breathtaking, outlandish, historical, and/or bewildering new sights in states beyond our own. We’re the Goldens. This is who we are and what we do.

For 2023 it was time at last to venture to the Carolinas, the only southern states we hadn’t yet visited, with a focus on the city of Charleston, South Carolina. Considering how many battlefields we’d toured over the preceding years, the home of Fort Sumter was an inevitable addition to our experiential collection…

Somehow the two-day drive to Charleston felt less like a slog and more like a leisurely jaunt. I suppose it helped that we didn’t brake for as many roadside digressions as usual. After our stopover in Columbia, we enjoyed one quick sight — a modest tribute to a galaxy far, far away — before proceeding to our ultimate destination slightly farther away but not that far away.

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C2E2 2025 Photos, Part 4 of 4: Comics and More!

Six comics on a table: Ain't No Grave, Living Hell, The Schlub, Let's Make Bread!, Mister Miracle, and Peppermint Desert.

Hey, kids! Comics!

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover:

It’s that time again! This weekend my wife Anne and I attended the latest edition of the Chicago Comic and Entertainment Exposition (“C2E2″), a three-day extravaganza of comic books, actors, creators, toys, props, publishers, freebies, plush dolls, variant covers, anime we don’t recognize, and walking and walking and walking and walking. We missed a couple of past installments since their inaugural 2010 gala, but more often than not, whenever they send out the call to convene, we’re happy to answer…

…and one of my favorite aspects of C2E2 is Artists Alley, one of the largest and most diverse of its kind in all the Midwest. Maybe it’s hard to tell by looking at my last several months’ posts, but comics have been my primary hobby since age 6. Sure, jazz hands with famous folks are cool, but graphic storytelling is my bag. This year was no exception, though nigh-impassable aisles posed a serious challenge to getting in, through, and out.

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C2E2 2025 Photos, Part 3 of 4: The Stars in Our Galaxy!

Us doing jazz hands while Emilio Esitevez kinda shrinks away from me and leans behind Anne.

Hi, it’s Emilio Estevez! You might remember him from such films!

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover:

It’s that time again! This weekend my wife Anne and I attended the latest edition of the Chicago Comic and Entertainment Exposition (“C2E2″), a three-day extravaganza of comic books, actors, creators, toys, props, publishers, freebies, plush dolls, variant covers, anime we don’t recognize, and walking and walking and walking and walking. We missed a couple of past installments since their inaugural 2010 gala, but more often than not, whenever they send out the call to convene, we’re happy to answer…

…and call they indeed did! This year the showrunners at ReedPop assembled a dense guest list with cast reunions for quite a few beloved works, which attracted larger autograph crowds to McCormick Place than ever and forced us attendees to weigh a lot of tough choices. Anne and I kept our checklist short and modest, but still ran into scheduling issues that forced us to exercise one of our least favorite comic-con tactics: we had to split the party.

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