Articles by dennis-oneil
Tue Jul 15, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
The Knows Have It, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer
Right up front this week, let’s publish our (forgive me for shouting) RECOMMENDED READING: Danny Fingeroth’s Write Now Magazine from TwoMorrows.
The issue I’m touting, number 18, dated Summer, 2008, is devoted to Stan Lee on his eighty-fifth birthday and it’s full of tributes and reminiscences about the Smilin’ One, who is without doubt the most influential guy in comics. After dozens of pages by others, writers and artists mostly, there is a special treat, headlined: Stan Lee’s Top Ten Tips For Writers. Well, who among us is going to pass that up?
I won’t presume to reproduce all ten of Stan’s tips, but I will give you a condensed version of the first. Herewith:
Write about things you know. If you don’t know, Google the stuff and start learning. Or else be so vague that no one can pin you down…So, to summarize – be totally factual or else be so vague that you can get away with knowing nothing about your subject.
Okay, we can all accord that an amen. It hearkens back to a subject we explored a few weeks ago, that of the uses of science in science fiction. We agreed, I think, that if a writer is using factual science in a story, said writer should bother to get it right. If the science is not factual, why slow down your pacing by explaining something that doesn’t exist anyway?
Don’t lie – Google! Or hold your peace.
Now, allow me to add a modest postscript to Mr. Lee’s wisdom.
Tue Jul 8, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Education, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer
Over the past few years, I’ve come to believe that not everyone gets the same education, even if schools and transcripts are identical. Some folk mentally compartmentalize: church goes here, family here, school stuff here, life in general there. So when they pass tests on what they’ve heard in classrooms, and at the end of a span of time, usually16 years and some august personage hands them a rectangle full of fancy lettering, they’re done with it. No more schooling, and no learning above what’s needed to live comfortably. Schooling in its compartment yonder, not touching this compartment, which is where we live.
That seems particularly true for liberal arts types, and vastly less true for engineers, doctors, dentists – students who go to the universities to acquire skills.
Although it’s been encouraged and enabled by the current “No Child Left Behind” calamity, which seems to be all about passing prefabricated tests and not at all about learning, this just pass the test attitude is not new. My favorite college professor, from whom I took at least six courses, told us that we’d better join the Book of the Month Club; if we didn’t, we’d probably never read another book after graduation. He was admitting that he wasn’t in the business of encouraging curiosity and a love of books and what’s in them. Rather, his task was just to help us grind through the requirements, pick up the sheepskin and…what? Remember to pay taxes. Don’t raise a fuss. Hang the sheepskin in the foyer, where visitors will see it.
The problem, I think, is this: There might be information over in the school compartment that is relevant to the contents of the living compartment. It might supply answers, or at least stimulate thinking.
Left in the ghetto of the school compartment, denied access to other compartments, and it is useless, and it will die. Worse, its lack might cause you to blunder.
Tue Jul 1, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Dennis O'Neil's Moving Words
The Four-Color Answer
Sunday afternoon. Two hundred and four days left before he gallops on back to Texas and that consarn brush that always seems to need clearing. Listen, I want to make an offer… George and Laura, if you need help moving, just give me a call. I can be at the White House in five or six hours and, sure, I’m not as young as I once was, but I can still lift a box or two, and I’ll be more than happy to buy the pizza.
And now for something completely different…
Last week, we mentioned crossovers – specifically, how Marvel’s movie division seems to be getting ready to emulate the comic book division’s old, old ploy and engage in crossovers. The trick, as I’m sure you know, is simple: take a lead character from one series and put said character into another. Comics have, as mentioned in the earlier column, have been doing crossovers for a long time, probably beginning with Sub-Mariner and The Human Torch hassling in the early 40s. I’m not counting DC’s Justice Society title, which assembled a small herd of super doers, because these guys and gal weren’t moving into each other’s magazines, but into a separate venue. (Does anyone know of any crossing over earlier than that of Subby and The Torch?)
It didn’t stop with the comics, even way back then. About once a year, Batman and Robin took over bad-guy-catching chores from the radio version of Superman for a week or two while the Man of Steel was indisposed and the actor who voiced him, Bud Collyer, took a vacation.
Tue Jun 24, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Marvel Gets Smart, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer
As I begin to type this, on a rainy Sunday afternoon, there are only 211 days left before someone else lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, near the Potomac. I tell you this, not because it has anything to do with what follows, but to perhaps lend a note of cheer to your hour.
I didn’t stay through all of the Iron Man flick’s end credits, but I should have because my friend Ken Pisani told me that Samuel L. Jackson has a brief scene in which, in the persona of Nick Fury, he reveals to Robert Downey’s Tony Stark that he represents an organization called, in acronym-crazed Sixties fashion, S.H.I.E.L.D. Dissected, that meant Supreme Headquarters International Espionage Law Enforcement Division when the organization first appeared in 1965. It was later changed to stand for Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate, which was probably more au courant, but is no less a mouthful.
It is a nifty coincidence, but no more than a coincidence, that S.H.I.E.L.D. makes a big screen appearance at about the time as another espionage-themed entertainment with roots in the spy-mad decade of peace and love, Get Smart, gets into the malls.
It is not a coincidence that the current tv promos for another popcorn movie, The Incredible Hulk, tells us that Marvel has done it again, thus making a solid connection between theaters and comic shops. So, we don’t go to the multiplex to see a superhero movie, we go to see a Marvel superhero movie. This is called “branding” and it means, as I understand it, the identification of a group of products as a single, collective entity. You, fashionista that you are, don’t buy a suit, you buy a Brooks Brothers suit because the Brooks Brothers label guarantees a certain level of quality and a certain approach to the creation of clothing. (And aren’t you a bit young to be dressing so conservatively?)
Tue Jun 17, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Barefoot In The Dark, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer
I don’t know when I first saw an English edition of Barefoot Gen. It was probably sometime in the mid 70s, when I was editing for the modest enterprise that has become the mighty Marvel Entertainment. In those days, a lot of stuff crossed editorial desks and we read most of it, if not all. So: Japanese comics? Sure, I’ll give it a look. It was probably my first experience with manga and I remember feeling a mild taste of cognitive dissonance – a perceived disconnect between subject and form. (I am choosing to ignore, because it’s a bit off-subject, the hybrid of cartooning and illustration that’s most superhero art.)
The subject was grim. Barefoot Gen is the autobiographical tale of a child who witnessed and survived the atomic bombing of Nagasaki. But it was presented in a visual style I would have described as “cartoony.” Like most American pop-cultch consumers, I associated bright, simple, exaggerated drawings – cartoons – with material that was at least supposed to be humorous, and there was nothing remotely funny about Barefoot Gen. It was, and is, a powerful anti-war document and, because it is that, deeply humane.
It’s creator, who did both art and copy, is named Keiji Nakazawa, and Barefoot Gen is his story. He had this to say about it: “People should be told what happened. If you live through something like the A-bomb, you know that war is too horrible not to be avoided at all costs, regardless of the justifications offered for it."
The work first appeared in 1972 as a serial in a mass market Japanese publication, Shukan Shonon Jampu (and perhaps some kind reader will translate that for us). Later, it migrated to smaller magazines, and later still, it was published in English as a paperback book series. The most recent English iteration appeared in 2004, with an introduction by Art Spiegelman.
Tue Jun 10, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Getting Reality Right, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer
Vinnie Bartilucci said it better than I did. Commenting on a couple of columns that asked, sort of, if the science in comics should be real, Vinnie wrote, “… once a writer chooses to mention actual, proper science, he should get it right.”
Yes. Exactly. Well put.
But I wonder if we shouldn’t extend the idea to other real life areas. Social problems, for example. Or such knotty personal problems as addiction. One of the difficulties is, there isn’t the kind of consensus on personal and societal quandaries that there is on the basics of, say, physics. All but the most skeptical – or reactionary – can agree that Newton’s three laws are on the money and Einstein was right about relativity, both general and special, and even Heisenberg’s principle doesn’t seem terribly uncertain these days.
But, to pluck just one example from the ether…addiction? What, exactly, is it? My imperfect understanding is that many, if not most, addictions are caused by environment acting on genetics. In other words, nature and nurture combine to rot out somebody’s life. But, with patience, determination, and rigorous self-honesty, the addict can put his demons in the coal bin, and if he’s able to continue being patient, determined, and honest, they’ll stay there until he dies and they die with him. Addiction is not exactly a disease, in the conventional sense, but it’s more that than character defect.
That was, more or less, the version of addiction I posited in an extended comic book continuity some years ago, and most people who saw the stories seemed to agree with me. But not everyone. A source I trust told me that a person much higher on the corporate food chain than either my editor or me thought that the fictional addict should have just…I don’t know – snap out of it? (In fairness to all concerned, the executive in question never confronted me personally, so I am taking a trusted somebody’s word for what happened.) On another occasion, an excellent artist, a man I respect, refused, politely, to draw a one-page shot of a hero dreaming he was drunk – just dreaming, mind you – because, in the artist’s opinion, heroes don’t behave like louts, even when snoozing.
Tue Jun 3, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Indiana Jones and the Godless Commies, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer
Now we know. That Indiana Jones still swings a mean whip.
I liked the new Indy flick better than the critics I read, all of whom said something like, well, okay, it was all right but not up to the earlier entries in the series. Which makes me wonder: what would they have thought if this had been the first Indy flick, instead of the fourth. It’s like those clichés in Hamlet – they weren’t clichés to the greasy-chinned groundlings at the first (or fourteenth, or eighty-third) performance of Shakespeare’s story of a screwed-up kid with severe mama issues. Way back in 1981, Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and a platoon of talented collaborators took elements from Saturday afternoon serials, silent comedies and maybe a few other sources and combined them in the right proportions to create entertainment that was not only right for the time, but provided a template for a lot of entertainment that followed.
Was the fourth as good as the first (or second, or third?)? That’s me, scratching my head and muttering, I dunno…And, frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.
Years and years ago, a brilliant science fiction writer told me that Goethe’s criterion for judging art was found in two questions. To wit: What was the artist trying to do and did he succeed in doing it? I’ve never found a good reason to argue with Herr Goethe and by his criteria; Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is a success. We entered the multiplex hoping to be amused, hoping to forget Bush’s ongoing follies and the Democrat’s internecine dogfights and – voila! We were amused and we, temporarily, forgot. Value received. Money well spent.
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Tue May 27, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Science Friction, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer
The following will be about a column I didn’t write and it’s Vinnie Bartilucci’s fault. But that’s okay. I forgive him.
What Mr. Batilucci did was beat me to recommending Physics of the Impossible, by Michio Kaku. This Mr. B. did in a comment on last week’s column which, some may remember, described how awkward I felt being a published science fiction writer who was abysmally ignorant of science and how one of my earliest attempts at remedy of this ignorance was reading One…Two…Three…Infinity, by George Gamow.
My plan was to save recommending Dr. Kaku’s much more recent book – it’s on current best-seller lists, in fact – for this week.
Said recommendation would have come at the end of a blather that would have mentioned yet another elderly book, The Two Cultures, by a remarkable man who was both a scientist and novelist named C.P. Snow. According to the endlessly useful Wikipedia, “its thesis was that the breakdown of communication between the “two cultures” of modern society – the sciences and the humanities – was a major hindrance to solving the world’s problems.” I encountered Mr. Snow’s slim volume in college, probably when I should have been reading something some teacher had assigned, and it must have impressed me. (I mean, here we are, all these years later, and I still remember it.) The unwritten column would have culminated in the reiteration of something I mentioned some months ago, advice from my first comic book boss, Stan Lee. Stan said, in effect, that it’s a waste of space to “explain” comic book “science” because readers will accept what we tell them.
Tue May 20, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
The Squires of Science, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer #67
We were the Squires of Science, my friend Mike and I were. He went to public school and I was a sixth- or seventh grader at St. Louise de Marillac, but that didn’t keep us from palling around together, watching Tom Corbett, Space Cadet on his family’s television set and doing chemistry set experiments in his basement. Actually, I don’t remember doing many experiments – we squires weren’t really much into real science – but Mike, who was good with tools, made us a plaque and, well…we believed in science. Maybe not as much as I believed in the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, but still a lot.
I was also reading a lot of science fiction, thanks to the public library, and I guess Mike was, too.
Adolescence disintegrated the Squires of Science. I was off to a Catholic military school – and yes, you may snicker – and Mike went…I don’t know – probably to Beaumont High, which we Catholic kids thought was kind of wicked, in some ill-defined way.
About then, I began to realize, dimly, that science involved mathematics. I had never been really good at arithmetic, which caused me a lot of grief at old St. Louise, and I seemed to be getting worse as I grew older. Then I flunked freshman algebra. Had to go to summer school. It wasn’t exactly a disgrace, but it wasn’t exactly not a disgrace, either.
Tue May 13, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
The Real Hero, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer #65
Deju vu all over again? Why, sure.About 19 years ago, I was being pulled into the summer movie/blockbuster season anticipating two of the myriad entertainments soon to be playing at a theater near me. One was Tim Burton’s second Batman flick, with Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman and Danny Devito as a particularly nasty Penguin. Oh, and Michael Keaton in his final appearance as the Caped Crusader. (Back then, although he was not a barrel of laughs, he may have been just an eensy-bitsy too cheerful to qualify as a Dark Knight.) Batman was soaking up most of my professional life – I was editing the comic books – and I was writing a comics version of the screenplay, and so I had a distant, tenuous but real interest in the movie. And anyone who’s ever been involved with a Major Motion Picture knows that there is an excitement to such projects that ripples outward to touch even us at their distant edges. (Which may be why working in movies seems to be, for many, so addictive.) In sum: yeah, I was awaiting the Batman flick with more than idle curiosity.
But what I was really waiting for was Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Tue May 6, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Wrath, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer #65
Don’t stop me if you’ve heard this one…
Harry is homeless. Once, he was a successful venture capitalist with three lavish homes, a beautiful wife and a charming daughter, but then he lost his money in a bad real estate deal, his wife ran away with a televangelist, and his daughter started living with a crack dealer and not answering her phone. While panhandling near his old office, Harry met an friend who knew of a deal that would restore Harry’s fortune – hundred percent, guaranteed – and with his bank account restored, Harry was sure he could reclaim his family and his lifestyle. The problem was, Harry needed a thousand dollars to get in on the deal and he had no way to get it; his credit was maxed out and no one he knew would lend him another cent. He’s now passing a church, his head bowed in misery, when he sees a thousand dollar bill laying in the gutter. He can’t believe it! He is saved! He bends over to pick up the bill and…he’s hit by a truck. Laying there alone in the filth, Harry knows he’s breathing his last. He looks up at the sky and cries, “Why?” And a voice booms from beyond the clouds, “Because you piss me off.”
One of my favorite jokes and one I’ve been thinking of this weekend because, somehow, I’ve run afoul, again, of my old foe Crankus, the spiteful god of technology. Ol’ Mr. Macintosh in front of me has been acting up and the gentleman, polite but not terribly helpful, at the Mac store wasn’t exactly sure why. Larry and his friend Perri graciously offered to reinstall the Microsoft Word program, because I don’t trust myself with even elementary technological tasks, and so far, so good.
Tue Apr 29, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
Marvel Millie and Me
The Four-Color Answer #63
So the third New York Comic Con is one for the annals and I have stopped twitching.
It was, at its Saturday afternoon height, a cauldron of mad, chaotic energy. (And wasn’t it dangerous? Couldn’t all that energy, confined and concentrated by four walls, affect the hearts of atoms and cause the forces that bind them together to disintegrate us all into quarks that would join the neutrinos in spewing through the universe?) That’s okay, for me, in small doses, and maybe in large doses for you, especially if you’re young and new to the megacon scene.
I won’t bother describing the event for you. If you frequent this site, you probably already have all pertinent information. Instead, a tiny, personal note:
Every one of the panels on which I sat was interesting and, I was happy to see, well-attended, which hasn’t always been the case in huge cons, where it sometimes seems that the exchange of currency is more important than honoring and discussing and learning about an art form. But the absolute, stone, hands-down high point came early, on Friday night, when I shared a stage with Peter Sanderson, who moderated, and Gary Freidrich, Joe Sinnott, and Stan Goldberg. Except for Peter, we were all veterans of Marvel’s early days, before the company became Marvel Entertainment and attached its logo to vastly expensive motion pictures, soon to play at a multiplex near you, back when it just published comic books – all kinds of comic books, not just the superhero kind – and there were no multiplexes in which to show ridiculously costly films, even if such films had existed.
Tue Apr 22, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
The Holy See in NYC, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer #62
Well, the Holy Father has certainly been all over the media this past week, hasn’t he? Just a while ago, I looked, briefly, at Benedict celebrating Mass in no less a venue than Yankee Stadium – lots bigger than the biggest cathedral – and judging from the shots of the stands, it was a sellout crowd; I wonder if the Yankees themselves attract so many spectators, even when they’re against the Red Sox.
Shall we seek meaning here? Dare we posit that a) this pope is super-beloved or b) the church he leads is making a comeback or c) both of the above?
I’m reminded of an evening in Chicago, about 20 years ago, that I shared with a comic book artist and an actor. I don’t remember exactly why we were thrown together, but it probably had something to do with a convention. The actor was featured in a movie I’d recently seen and kind of liked, though I don’t recall having any strong reaction to this particular man’s performance, which probably means that I thought it was all right. As a dinner companion, sitting across he table at a Chinese restaurant, he was nice enough – chatty and just a bit gossipy, without any hint of malice. Not a stupid man, but he didn’t dazzle us with his intellect or wit, either. An okay guy. And, midway through the evening, I found myself trying to make him like me. It seemed important that he like me. Why? The only answer I have is that he was a celebrity. His image was on thousands of screen. Passersby recognized him. He was privy to really big, major-honkin’ celebrities.
Tue Apr 15, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
The Shadow's Web, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer #61
With the kind permission of Anthony Tollin and Mike Gold, this week’s column is an adaptation and condensation of an introduction I’m writing for a forthcoming edition of Mr. Tollin’s repackaging of the original Shadow novels. No formal recommended reading this time, but the volume in which the much longer version of what’s below will appear – Shadow #19 – will be on sale in the latter half of June.
Let us, for just a little while, indulge our wish that the great mythic and fictional heroes did and do exist. We are told – and remember, we’re in believer mode – that a diligent historian named Maxwell Grant was privy to the life and thoughts of a mystery man who, though he was probably born Kent Allard often assumed the identity of Lamont Cranston, one of those gentlemen of wealth and leisure who seemed to proliferate in the 30s, the years of the Great Depression, and become almost extinct after World War Two. We are assured that many years ago, while traveling in the Orient, that he acquired certain extraordinary skills – they might even be termed “powers” – and that these aided him in the activities of another of his personae, the relentless and dreaded nemesis of crime known only as The Shadow.
Now, let us entertain a hypothesis. It’s possible, perhaps even probable, that our eastern sojourner, during his investigations, came across reference to Indra’s Net, perhaps while thumbing through a yellowing old volume he found in a bookshop located in a winding Calcutta alleyway. (Would the book have been written in Hindi? Likely. Would Mr. Allard have mastered enough of that language to read it? Again, likely.) Being the ever-curious investigator he had to have been in his salad days, Mr. Allard would have made further inquiries regarding this “Indra’s Net.”
Here is what he might have learned:
In Svarga, the realm of the god Indra, there is a network of gems arranged in such a manner that if a person looks at one of them he sees all the others reflected in it.
Tue Apr 8, 2008 — by Dennis O'Neil
On Beowulf and Catechism, by Dennis O'Neil
The Four-Color Answer #60
In days of yore, when cowboys and dinosaurs roamed the land and I was an undergraduate in a Jesuit-run university, not knowing exactly what one was supposed to do in a university, much less what the heck I, a butcher’s kid from north St. Louis, was doing at a university, I had what Friedrich Nietzsche might have called a “slave morality.” That is, I felt powerless and I resented and mistrusted every authority figure on the horizon, even the ones who were trying to help me.
Watching the movie version of Beowulf reminded me of one episode in my inglorious academic career.
Somewhere along sophomore year, an English prof assigned a paper to be titled “Beowulf As An Allegory of Redemption.” (I don’t know if that repeats her capitalization. If not, I apologize.) Well. I didn’t think so. Oh, I could, and did, write the paper using some kind of tortured rhetoric/logic/whatever, then, for a creative writing class, I did a paper called “Three Blind Mice As An Allegory of Redemption,” using the same rhetorical devices. The point was, of course, that you can use rhetorical sleight-of-hand to prove anything you want. The subtext was, of course, “They’re bullshitters”– the they being anyone older, more credentialed, better-looking than a butcher’s kid, and maybe anyone who wore a tie. These degree-waving poltroons will twist anything into a Catechism lesson: so my declaration might have gone.
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