Author: Marc Alan Fishman

Marc Alan Fishman: The Art of the Con

This past weekend saw the eighth annual Chicago Comic and Entertainment Exposition. You likely know it as its Star Wars designate, C2E2. Unshaven Comics, my li’l studio, has never missed this show. It’s always been profitable for us. To get to the nittiest of grits, it fell to the middle of the pack in terms of the serious sales numbers. We’ll get into that minutiae in a bit.

This year marked a very special metric for my wee company: it was the second time in a row where we saw falling book sales and fewer potential customers. This comes in spite of ReedPop – the owners of the con – boasting continually increasing attendance. In the nine-years Unshaven Comics has attended comic conventions, we’ve never seen a disappointment such as this.

So, what gives?

My first fear was that our series, The Samurnauts, was no longer appealing to the glut of pulpy purveyors in attendance. But data shall always set us free. Our closing ratio – the rate at which our cold pitches to new fans turns into a sale – has remained steady. Our lifetime average sits at 40%. C2E2 2017 clocked in at 37%. All in all, that’s well within reason to figure that our book is still of interest to all within earshot. Consider that fear squelched.

The next fear: Attendees are being more frugal. A cursory conversation held with numerous cohorts located in the Artist Alley and/or the vendor area disagreed with that concern. While some said the show remained on par with previous year metrics, just as many boasted increases in their sales. C2E2 usually hits shortly after tax time, so plenty of people walk in with money to burn. Fear two, forgone.

This leaves me in a lurch, as the culprit seems dutifully apparent. It if wasn’t our pitch, nor the pesos in pockets that left us plinking for purchasers… then the blame falls squarely on the specific location from which we tried to cultivate sales.

The layout of a comic con floor could be debated ad nauseam by any number of qualified debaters. ReedPop slices their floor into simple(ish) sections: Exhibitors, Vendors, Small Press, Celebrity Autographs, Artists, and Crafts-folk (“The Block”). To be fair and clear, Wizard World, the only comparably sized menagerie of conventioneering, fields mostly the same sections – save only for smashing together the craftspeople and artists into a single alley.

At this particular show, ReedPop placed the small press folks at the very foot of the con floor. When you entered the show you walked right past us as you made your way into the exhibitor area. Many cohorts in the Artist Alley were instantly jealous of the prime real estate. “You’re right at the front. Everyone will see you!” they exclaimed to us in yellow-bellied jealousy.

Oh, but, the Mephistos in the details, kiddos.

At the beginning of each day, con attendees enter the show floor with the bloodlust and fervor akin to nothing else on this mortal coil. When the torches were lit to allow entrance, a wave of humanity gushed into the hall racing towards the four corners of the massive McCormick Place. Large swaths of nerds sprinted toward the autograph area to queue up. Other groups walked in and immediately bee-lined towards Artist Alley, to secure those autographs. Whoever was left – the groups without Orange Lantern avarice in their immediate milieu – strolled briskly by our row.

“Folks! Can I tell you about our comic book?” Unshaven Kyle would beckon.

“Sorry, we just got here. We really need to see the whole show first!” the masses would reply (mostly kindly, I would note).

By the time we’d see those folks again, it’d be after they’d done exactly as they said. But having taken in the entirety of the show – including all the other areas opposite the exhibitors who sold goods – were simply on their way out, with their arms already full of the days’ haul.

Now, I could write a screed seven articles long as to why Unshaven Comics was… coerced to capitulate toward Small Press instead of our preferred Artist Alley. I could divulge dirty details that would paint ReedPop in a light far less-than-desirable. I could even continue to lay blame on anyone or anything save for Unshaven Comics itself. But, that simply isn’t necessary. As the WWE VP of Talent and Creative might say, it’s not what’s best for business.

The truth of the matter is that Unshaven Comics was not alone in having a less-than-perfect show. Whether it was the specificity of our booth location, or any number of other factors not yet discovered, reality is what it is. We left the show having sold enough product to pay for the print run of books brought. When we tally the cost of parking, food, and the table itself, it’s more than likely the show placed us severely in the red.

What happens from here? Well, we lick our wounds. We crunch the numbers and we match our passion for making comics to the logic of how to best profit in the long run. There’s no pithy conclusion to reach this week, my friends. Just sober numbers, and sober planning going forward.

Stay tuned. The best is yet to con.

Marc Alan Fishman: Epic Barriers to Entry

That thought of a 9-year old girl being intimidated by her local comic shop has not left my mind, kiddos.

I said what I could on the subject just a few weeks ago. Beyond the local comic shop being the culprit for the stagnation we as fans feel for the specific love of the pulp and paper side of comic bookery, there’s a plethora of other barriers to entry. Little mountains that stand in the way for people of all ages, shapes, sizes, and level of declared geekery that make the journey to our shores feel not unlike the one those halflings took from their little town, to that live volcano. And much like that epic, the damned eagles were there all along if anyone would have thought to ask for a quicker trip.

Epic Back Catalogs    

“I like Captain America!” the little tyke exclaims. He’s taken to his local comic shop, allowance in tow. Where, oh where does he begin? If he gets the current issue, he might be wondering why Steve Rogers is an agent of Hydra. Or why Sam Wilson isn’t Falcon. And just how many issues does he need to go back and buy to catch up? Of which volume? And what about trades vs. floppies? Or what if, by chance, the book falls in the middle of an epic crossover?

Touched on lightly in my aforementioned article, the advent of the epic crossover has been a thoroughly exhausting trend weaved into the modern comic book production schedule. It seems once to twice a year now, the big boys of comics (who are the specific targets I’m aiming at here) are hellbent to change the status quo. Grand schemes crawl and sprawl across special mini-series, and dump into the pages of dozens of titles – all in the effort to tell a larger story.

When it was done with years in-between, it was great! Crisis on Infinite Earths, Civil War, or The Infinity Gauntlet each stood as massive touchstones for years to come. Their larger-than-normal villains had massive plans, which required the multi-tentacled reach of an editorial Cthulu in order to come to the final catharsis. And in their wakes? New rules, new books, and time to let what transpired breathe.

Now?  Not so much. Every book becomes mandatory reading, and before you blink, new series are given birth, fail to catch on, and are chucked into the ethereal pit from whence they came. How could a muggle traipse into their local comic shop, cash and enthusiasm in hand, be told in order to jump on board they’ll need to drop serious coin, and spend the remainder of their afternoon reading Wikipedia to make sense of it all? This, of course, leads me to…

Epic Pricing

A standard comic, all-in-all, isn’t that expensive… until you compare it to similar media. A weeks’ worth of books for me (back when I bought books weekly) ran me $15-20 for a small haul. Left on the back of my toilet for easy-reading and metering out, I was done just in time for a whole new set the following week. For roughly the same amount of money I can have both the WWE Network and Netflix… which combined provide me thousands of hours of entertainment I don’t even need to read to enjoy. Apples to oranges you say? Correct, padawan. But tell that to an 8-year old.

Make no bones about it: kids do love comics. The static art being produced in any number of styles, slaved over by teams of passionate creators should be beloved, cherished, and sought after. For Rao’s sake, that is why I toil nightly to produce my own books! But I’d be lying if I didn’t feel like it can be a bit of a hard sell when the average comic can be absorbed in 15 minutes. The economics of it are depressing.

And, to my knowledge, publishers-at-large haven’t exactly solved how to compete. While Amazon, Hulu, Netflix, and their next-of-kin pony up money for solid, respectable original content in addition to their bread-and-butter second-hand material… they have all found the panacea to their pricier counterpoints (cable TV, and the movie theater). Simply put, they found a price so low that people can barely argue about their subscription. For roughly ten bucks a month, their consumers have more content available then they can consume.

So, why haven’t the publishers figured this out?

Epic Conclusions on Infinite Earths

As it stands, there are no easy answers. Netflix and the like all started in different places – Netflix as a mail-order rent-a-DVD catalog, Hulu as pricey YouTube – but would up in the same business. DC, Marvel, and the other major publishers each offer a maddening number of ways to consume their comic content. Floppies or trades? Printed or Digital? Direct market, subscriptions, ComiXology, Comix Blitz, or any other number of other ways I don’t know? Because the original content is printed (but doesn’t necessarily need to be), it simply stands to ask the biggest question of all:

In the land of plenty, is the niche market of comic books too splintered to be as profitable as it needs to be… to sustain real growth? Are there simply too many choices out there for a truly casual fan to make a choice they can feel confident in, when it comes to their consumption? And is the looming specter of a digital device being so ubiquitous, how far off are we truly to even needing paper books? It’s why vinyl records made a comeback, and CDs are nearly non-existent. It’s why DVDs and Blu-Rays are slowly being discount-binned into-oblivion. And why we all have at very least… free Spotify or something similar on our smartphones.

In my estimation, the only way comics can truly save the day, is to match what their brethren in other industries have done. There needs to be a singular wave of content accessible, available, and bingeable… offered at a price so low it can’t be argued with. Weekly comics need to still create an eco-system in the direct market… but come packaged in such a way that it allows new readers to have their cake and eat it too. The ocean of content that exists in long boxes needs to be set free, where all publishers can coexist. The eagles are soaring over our heads. We need only ask for a ride into the mouth of the volcano.

Marc Alan Fishman: Defendit Numerus!

Of the many treasures I’ve collected since making comics, the friendships gained are the most valuable. One such friendship, with writer and artist Jim McClain, stands above and beyond nearly any other – save perhaps only for my frenemy Dan Dougherty (a.k.a. “Beardo”). For those who aren’t in the know, Jim represents literally the best kind person: a selfless, intelligent, driven man whose comic book career comes in between his time as a school teacher, husband, and father. This week, I’m proud to hang up my snark and snarl. Instead, I get to put on my hat of friendship and sharing. Solution Squad by Jim McClain is a gem of a series you’d be smart to jump on.

I’ll spare you the dynamic origin story. Jim wrote it already.

Are you back? Good.

Ask a younger Marc – pre-being-a-dad – how often he might stop at a table promoting a comic book series with math in it, and you’d be met with a litany of chortles and guffaws. For those familiar enough with my Unshaven history, will no doubt recall our first book was edutainment. Our experience selling it was akin to madness. A lot of polite grins. A few high fives. Mike Gold’s approval. But not much else. Suffice it to say, whenever I hear math, I’m quick to denote that I went to art school. That’s usually worth a laugh.

The first-time Jim McClain described his book to me, my snark subsided. Because Jim – an imposing man if you didn’t know him otherwise – exudes the kind of passion I didn’t find myself having until we started selling The Samurnauts. More than just proof-of-concept, Solution Squad is Jim’s professional id made real. The excitement and joy he has in making it bounces off the page.

In 2014, Unshaven Comics and Jim sat close-by in the artist alley at Indy Pop Con in (of course) Indianapolis. Jim politely needed a break from his table to moderate his own panel (as I recall) and asked one of we Unshaven Lads to staff it in his absence. Not wanting to ruin our own chance at sales, I left Kyle and Matt to our table and took up shop at Jim’s li’l corner. I recall the floor being sparse at the time. Guiltily uneducated in his wares, I snuck his first issue into my sweaty palms… and devoured it fully.

Solution Squad is a silver-aged superhero yarn through and through. The dialogue is clear and concise. The illustrations are colorful. The action starts up nearly instantly, and carries scene to scene. But I belie the bigger point; the book slyly teaches math concepts that I – a college graduate who in spite of his jests is actually not half dumb – actually had never learned before. When I put that first issue down, I remember feverishly the first couple who walked past Jim’s table (now manned by moi). I shot out of the chair and waved them down. I hit them with the trademark Unshaven Charm (“Can I tell you about my, err, this…. comic book?”). A polite and sheepish “sure?” later, and I started falling over myself to pitch them. Here’s a brief but accurate paraphrasing of my rambling:

(Please read this at double-speed for effect) “OK, this is Jim McClain’s Solution Squad. I’m not Jim. I’m his friend. He’s teaching, err, talking at a panel right now. OK! Anyways… This is Solution Squad. It’s a team action-adventure where all of the heroes have math-based super powers! (They don’t.) And this book actually teaches you math, but it’s deep in between just a great adventure! Like X-Men or something similar. And I have to tell you folks… like… I am a college graduate… and I learned math from this comic not ten seconds ago!”

I likely didn’t even breathe during the exchange. The couple, eyes glazed, declined to take one home. I was unfazed. I’d wind up pitching like an insane carnie for the next quarter hour until I spotted a middle schooler and her parents coming up the aisle. I’d refined the pitch down to the core concepts, put the book in her hand, and watched her light up. Money was exchanged, and no sooner than she was skipping down the aisle, Jim had returned.

Solution Squad read to me as a book fueled by passion, penned with wit and charm, and delivered the educational backbone without ever feeling like a tacked-on gimmick. Much like my own book, Jim writes material that doesn’t talk down to a single reader. Instead, it tells a solid story, then just happens to tie in middle-school math concepts that carry weight to people of all ages. That it does all of this while remaining an action comic at the forefront is a tightrope walk backwards on a unicycle. Jim confidently rides that unicycle backwards while juggling chainsaws.

Ever since that convention, I’ve held my friendship with Jim in reverence. The journey Jim took to making comics is a harrowing tale I beg you to ask him about when you see him. He is, as we Jews might say, a mensch of the highest order. Over the years he and I have swapped stories, toasted to our successes, and commiserated in our failures. In him, I see an older brother… never far away from razzing me, but not without a knowing smirk. His successes have become my successes – in that seeing Solution Squad grow and become a hard-cover graphic novel has only fueled my continued drive to finish Samurnauts in hopes of being even half as good (and completely devoid of actual learning, I suppose, natch).

Consider my gauntlet thrown to your feet. The Solution Squad need your help. Back the Kickstarter today, and tell Jim I sent you. Money where my mouth is: do it, and I’ll send you a digital copy of Samurnauts: Genesis.

I’d say that adds up to something special. Wouldn’t you? Defendit Numerus!

Marc Alan Fishman: Are Comics Shops Intimidating?

How do we earn new fans of comic books? Not comics characters, mind you. Long before he could recognize them immediately on a page, my son learned about the Avengers via movies, Batman via cartoon shows, and Spider-Man via his pajamas. As he and my younger son grow up, they will no doubt be immersed in comics culture. It helps when daddy is chained to his desktop computer and/or iPad Pro every day making his own comics, but I can easily imagine how their generation — with more content in more available mediums that I would have in my own childhood (which in itself was fairly diverse all things considered) — could lose comics in the shuffle so easily.

While he was joking, my good friend and comic retailer Shawn Hilton (of Comics Cubed in Kokomo, Indiana), was quick to make his request to save the industry at large. “Destroy all devices with “I” in the title, get rid of cell phones, and destroy the internet. Minecraft and YouTube have to be wiped out as well.”

He makes a point. The ubiquitous market of video games and streaming video compete with pulp and paper in the most unfair of fights. Find me a kid who chooses prose to pixels, and I’ll show you a diamond in the rough. I’m not here to pat myself on the back. I personally didn’t find a love of comics specifically until I was in middle school, and even then my initial liking of them was tied specifically in with wanting to have more in common with my-soon-to-be brother-from-another-mother, Unshaven Comics’ own Matt Wright.

Another friend of mine, mother to an bright and amazing nine-year old girl, was quick to denote the barrier to entry in the subculture. When I asked her if she ever took her child to the local comic shop, her reply broke my heart.

“We have. She always grabs a few at Free Comic Book Day, and she purchased a Donald Duck comic once. The store intimidates her though, even though she knows on of the staff (our next-door neighbor and friend works there one night a week to pay for his books). Dan Mishkin belongs to our synagogue as well, and she enjoyed a comic book workshop he taught recently, and she’s “writing” her own book now too, but she doesn’t like the comic shop. She feels more comfortable at a traditional bookstore. Comic shops are not generally welcoming places for nine-year old girls.”

Let’s dissect that a bit. Her daughter is one of the good eggs, the kind we strive to hold amongst our ranks. The lure of Free Comic Book Day clearly has worked a bit. The local community hosting a comic book workshop helped too. But twice in her response my friend is clear: “the store intimidates her.”

In the war to win the hearts and minds of the next generation of comic book fans, I am of the opinion that it will begin and end with the local comic shop. While Shawn may do battle with smartphones, tablets, and YouTube, I am apt to defend those distractions to the death. It can never be us vs. them. There is room for both electronic and paper entertainment. Marvel, DC, and the industry writ-large is holding up their end of the bargain — saturating the market with high quality adapted works for TV, movies, and video games. They’re introducing the next generation to their characters and storylines right where that next generation is looking. The local comic shops must find the way to build the bridge from those screens to their doors.

I should note that the publishers bear the burden of offering comics that keeps kids coming back. I freely admit I got event-comic’ed to death. The continual need to collect books I didn’t want to ensure I got the whole story felt (and was) a cheap ploy to ply my money from my hands. The tail wagged the dog too much, and I was forced out of weekly books — opting instead to seek more backing of Kickstarters and artist alleys at comic conventions to satiate my need for sequential art. The devil is always in the details.

I know that without my own hometown always have a comic shop nearby, I would have never found myself rifling through a long box for a back issue. Without a (mostly) friendly staff there to hold my books weekly, make excellent suggestions and jabber with me when I wanted to vent, I’d never have become a subscriber. To save printed comics, we must save small businesses in our communities. In turn, those businesses must do what they can to attract all manners of customers and serve them. I don’t profess to know that specific secret mind you; it’s why Matt and I turned down the chance to own our own comic shop about a year ago.

Inevitably, I’ve ended up as a snake eating its own tail here. The comic shops must be all-inclusive. The publishers must produce meaningful work at an affordable price. Kids have to see the value in the printed comic being physically in their possession over dropping bitcoins into Candy Crush. Inevitably many comic shops wind up catering to the older generations with more disposable income and they don’t care about kids coming in for some all-ages books. The publishers produce the cash-grab-friendly crossover event comics because time-and-again it lands them predictable revenue in an ever-growing marketplace with hot competition.  And the kids are lured away by Minecraft. Ce la vie.

But I remain a vigilant optimist. The next generation of comic book fans are out there. The only way we’ll earn their fandom is to do the work to earn it.

So… what have you done to keep our medium alive today?

Marc Alan Fishman: A Tale of Two Trailers

This week, the gods of the interwebs granted us a look at two dichotomous trailers for a pair of blockbuster comic book films soon to be hitting the mega-multi-plexes. Spider-Man: Homecoming and Justice League gave us somewhere around four-minutes total of titillating three-dimensional text, brief respites of prose, and the best action snippets CG could render. But beyond those stark generalities comes two massive worlds apart.

This should come as no surprise to any of us. Spider-Man is packed with wit, charm, and street-level action amidst the hints at bigger set pieces. Justice League is a dark and sordid affair – not without its own charm and wit, but punctuated with the Synder-trademarked sepia-hued gravitas and angst. At this point, would it be enough to say I was ear-to-ear smiles at one trailer… and terribly nervous about the other?

Two guesses which is which. Then again, if I give you two guesses you’d guess right no matter what.

Spider-Man presents a balanced picture that has me in giddy anticipation. Tom Holland’s Peter Parker is presented as we saw him in Civil War. He is as close to the original source as we may ever get in an adapted character from comic to screen. He’s young, funny, nerdy, and oozes those immortal words of his late Uncle Ben between his not-quite-adult pores.

The story we’re presented seems rote. Following Civil War, Peter returns home to Queens to be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man as per the direction of his would-be father-figure, Tony Stark. But, in the 616 Cinematic Universe, we already know what evil lurks in the shadows. Enter Birdman. Err, Batman. Err, Michael Keaton. Before the trailer ends we’re given what appears to be the entire plot of the movie. Destruction, loss, redemption, snark. It’s almost too easy; I anticipate several key turns before we resolve to whatever happily-ever-sequel there is to come.

Meanwhile in the DCU, Justice League leaves us with a much murkier picture – not counting the actual cinematography. From what we’ve been given, we can safely assert that Batman is assembling a team (let’s go ahead and call them a league) of super-powered individuals to fight some unseen threat. Diana of Themyscira, Barry Allen, Vic Stone, and Arthur Curry appear to be on board to fight said threat. That aside, we really get nothing else specific. Of the snippets we are given though, a few streams of light pierce the typically dark DCU movieverse. From the sneer-grin of Aquaman as he rides on the exterior of the Batmobile, to Bruce Wayne revealing his super power (“I’m rich”), Justice League seems to at least made some minor commitment to be a slightly more mirthful affair than Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Sadness.

Unlike Spider-Man, Justice League’s trailer leaves me more guarded than enthusiastic. League’s teaser is simply too short to get a feeling if we’re taking a step forward or laterally. While BvS was quite profitable, the fan consensus was one of great disdain. What should have been billed as an Avengers level tour-de-force was more or less a maudlin, middling meh-fest. And far be it from me to throw a stone here, but Suicide Squad was a solid popcorn flick – but not one that moved the needle of fan-appreciation that DC desperately needs. Wonder Woman … you are our only hope.

So here we are. Four minutes of film, and we’re right back to where we started. While Marvel revels in whatever phase they’re in at present, DC seems to still be stuck at the starting block trying to impress everyone with how badass they are. And therein lies the truest sentiment of all.

While Marvel leaned into their inner nerd and gave us straight-faced superb tertiary titles like Ant-Man, and Guardians of the Galaxy, DC can’t get out of its own shadow. Spider-Man already feels like a homerun two minutes and several posters in. Justice League is somewhere between an intentional walk… and a beaned batter.

Marc Alan Fishman: What DC Could Learn from Logan

Having finally caught and absorbed James Mangold’s Logan, the finale to the OG X-films, I find myself hoping that the execs behind the soon-to-be-released Wonder Woman and Justice League movies were taking notes. A caveat: I’m going to attempt to keep my lens wide this week. While I don’t believe I’ll be spoiling anything more than people on your Facebook feed have blathered about, be nonetheless forewarned.

Before I get into my listicle (they’re what make articles click-baity, don’t-cha-know), let me quickly pontificate. Logan was one of the most powerful superhero films I’ve ever seen. Perhaps second only to The Dark Knight. It was a straight-forward small-scale road picture that kept a handle on a single-thread story, presented as an homage to the westerns it evoked throughout the picture. In spite of a heavy-handed two-hour run-time, the film itself moves at a steady pace. The performances are top-notch, with Patrick Stewart and Hugh Jackman taking astounding leaps above their initial performances of Charles Xavier and Wolverine circa 2000. Sweet Rao I feel old just typing that. But I digress. On with the listercizing!

  1. Things get dark, but never for the sake of needless angst.

The first thing DC should take note on… and perhaps highlight, circle, underline and install neon lights around… is that it’s perfectly acceptable to be maudlin if it’s earned. X-Men, X2, and to a much-much-much-much lesser extent any of the other X-films did much to pile on the action and gravitas towards the mutant life en masse. But Logan abstains from needless retreading. Instead, it delivers us heroes who are hurt inside and out. It gives them needs, wants, and desires that don’t coincide with some greater plot or McGuffin. And when a McGuffin lands in their lap, they pleasantly drape it in subtext (Charles Xavier, through his delusional state, would seek to mentally communicate with any over living mutants, wouldn’t he?) that earns the gravitas the film requires. And when a character screams to the heavens in a shrill cry of anger and sadness, it comes by way of two-hours of earned malaise and not because it looks cool.

  1. Show. Don’t tell.

During a lull between brutal set pieces, Professor X waxes poetic about the final days of his former academy. He doesn’t speak in pure exposition. He drifts in and out, dancing around nuanced and painful memories, and ultimately evokes the feeling of tragedy and regret deeply rooted in his psyche. We never hear the full details of what occurs. We never see some spiffy CG recreation. And we never need to.

In addition to Charles’ admission of guilt and shame and the slow reveal of X-23’s backstory, Logan elicits the show-don’t-tell ethos that DC needs to heed. While yes, we get the obligatory backstory tacked to her early on, it’s delivered without hanging a lampshade on it time-and-again. Laura is feral and untrusting. She’s lethal and raw. While we see her drop her guard eventually, it comes over the course of many scenes and instances where Dafne Keen shows us how powerful a performer she is. Logan never once feels the need to montage our way toward understanding a new norm.

  1. Keep the violence real, believable, and still other-worldly.

The biggest issues I’ve had with Batman v. Superman and Suicide Squad came solely in their fetish for destruction. Logan certainly was built for violence. But when it occurs, it’s not only earned by the stakes in the story, it comes layered with emotional and physical fallout. As Logan and others are forced to fight a youthful Wolverine clone (my one spoilery thing, I apologize…), suddenly fighting a savage killer with a healing factor feels like a true threat. It also stands to note that even in the climax of the film — with multiple combatants, gunfire, and viscera — there’s no death for the sake of spectacle. War is waged for hope, humanity, and vengeance. All that, and there’s nary a single beam-being-blasted-towards-the-sky. Natch.

  1. The story is fearless in the face of predictability

If nothing else could be counted on by DC after seeing Logan, it should be the safe admission that sometimes it’s OK to tee-up a predictable story. There’s nary a single twist to the picture if you pay clear attention. But, due to the patience of director Mangold, we get a film that never needed to rely on ham-fisted trickery to earn the 92% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. The potency lies in the characterizations and believable escalation of antagonism. Villainy in Logan is no less super-villainous that Lex Luthor creating Doomsday, or Darkseid declaring war on Earth. But it’s the reactions of our heroes that carry us through to the end credits. Jokes occur naturally and not at the behest of breaking a tense and necessary silent moment for the sake of relieving the stress on the audience. Mangold lets the story unfold through deliberate character-driven motivations. We never see the puppet-strings of action-figure-merchandisers creating moments for future marketing. Honesty and artistry over bottom-dollar-profits. And because of it, the fans have carried a hard R-rated film to over 500 million dollars in ticket sales.

I know Justice League and Wonder Woman are being built to pitch out to a larger PG-13 audience. But the sincere hope remains that DC paid attention. Logan was amazing not because it used the word fuck a few hundred times, but because the story delivered earned every last fuck delivered.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: A Loss Without Warning

Last week, I teased a trilogy of convention-specific posts that would take you, my loyal readers (let’s assume it’s up to eight or nine now), on a journey for my li’l indie company to our personal Wrestlemania. But as with all things in life, the unexpected occurs and shakes our world down to the foundation.

A week ago Tuesday, my friend from college, Brandon McDonald, suddenly passed away.

Brandon was one of a trio of friends I would quickly make at the Herron School of Art when I stumbled into the aging halls of the now-historically-preserved original building where classes resided. Brandon himself was as most friends were in my life at the time: a suburban punk, with a wide breadth of talents, a quick wit, and a crappy car. It wasn’t long after befriending him he happily called me Jerkface. It became a term of endearment then shared by nearly all who ran in our little circle. Brandon was opinionated, gangly, and driven — if not specifically towards any major, as much as just a widely-chased desire for artistic creation.

The Herron School of Art, when I attended it, was a small art school clinging to the bottom of a major university hull like an unwanted barnacle. If there were a hundred kids roaming the halls in total, it’d be considered a busy day. Because of this, my entering freshman class become a loosely piecemealed family. We didn’t all know one another specifically, but we each splintered and jaunted into one another’s bubbles long enough to feel an indescribable bond to one another.

Here, as off-campus pariahs, we — the class at large — were the Lost Boys of Indiana University (or, for a more formal tie-in: Indiana University / Purdue University at Indianapolis). Brandon existed in several of my circles, none more personally relevant than someone I ate lunch with daily, shared several classes with, and made time with socially outside of class. It never even bothered me that he chain-smoked like a chimney and I was deathly allergic to cigarette smoke. He was, as I was, a Jerkface after all.

I attended my first truly indie concert when his band, Naked Thursday, played a show in a barely-passible-as-a-venue warehouse. I watched in glee when he presented his homemade zombie movie, Oh No! Zombies! I attended my first and last party with Brandon, wherein I learned quickly how drunk people make me uncomfortable. Brandon was one of a few who made me uncomfortable. But in accordance with who he was beneath the veneer of alcohol, was quick to enjoy my company the next Monday at class without even as much as a passing conversation as to my own proclivities.

Over time, as the basic narrative of aging, Brandon and my tighter-knit group found our individual callings. One of us drifted towards ceramics. Another towards painting. Others towards illustration, photography, or in my case general malaise. To be fair and honest to you all, I don’t even know specifically what Brandon felt was his calling at Herron. I simply saw him daily, and maintained the friendship as we both took classes and built portfolios. The specifics of it all are a distant blur — sad, considering that I’m barely a decade and change away from the memories— but Brandon as a person, as my friend, remains in focus.

We graduated, and I stayed in Indianapolis long enough to build a résumé. On January 1st, 2007, I moved back to Chicago. Brandon and I were always close, but never close enough that it warranted any extended goodbye. In all likelihood? I sent him a message on MySpace that resembled something like “Hey Jerkface. I’m leaving your crappy city. Good luck. LOL.” And with it, closeness waned into acquaintanceship.

Brandon and I did play catch up often as life continued. I was invited to his small wedding — to our Herron classmate Candice — and truly cherished seeing him find love. I was touched to follow his journey, if only digitally, as he became a father. Two years or so before I would myself, I saw Brandon truly embrace becoming a dad. I freely admit now how settling it truly was to see this punk-turned-proud-pop as he built tribute websites to the calamity his kids caused. A few times a year, Brandon and I would trade notes on our comings and goings. As it were, we both wound up graphic designers. We both wound up with a pair of kids. In between the usual bitches and moans of our daily lives, we sought solace in the sameness. The gangly punker and fat-suburban Jew had grown up enough to be men. Any lingering desire to refer to one another as Jerkface slowly dissipated.

Brandon called me some time ago to tell me things ended with Candice. He was distraught, but still positive. The love of his kids fueled him. He’d taken to more development and coder roles in his freelance business. He sounded down, but driven. Our conversations grew further apart. I wish I could say “life got in the way,” but frankly, I dodged a few of his late-night calls to me, out of selfish desire for “me” time. But, inevitably, we connected again, maybe a month or so ago.

He was distraught and confused. Everything to him had seemingly become a struggle. Literally every offering I made of a brighter side was met with sorrow and disagreement. When I mentioned his children, he lit up. “They’re so bright, and curious, man. Like, it’s so amazing to me…” he said, mind drifting. I reminded him that as with everything, putting the work in everyday would see him eventually turn a corner on all that seemingly was dragging him down. He murmured about a few dates he’d been on. How a few friends were trying to keep him afloat — from reminding him to eat, to bringing him to church. He waxed and waned. Before we parted in what would be our final conversation, he thanked me, soberly. “Hey, though, for real? Thank you. It’s good you know, just to have, like… a little human interaction. Thanks, Marc.”

Unlike tributes I’d penned to lost mentors and family over the years, I’m left uncertain of a proper ending. There’s no greater good to celebrate here. When we last spoke, Brandon could not see the light left in his grey world. I’d be remiss if I didn’t plainly admit to feeling guilty myself of not making my way out personally to see him, or even connect with our old group of friends to see if people might check in on him more. I left it all up to faith, and had that faith trounced with a bitter reality. Two bright and curious children left without their father. His story an incomplete chapter in their own narratives to come. My heart aches for them with a listless energy I’ve not felt before. I’ve felt loss in my life. But never before has it come on so unexpectedly.

There’s no witty pop culture reference to end on. No perfectly chosen lyric to leave. Only the pain of regret, and the waning celebration of a life not lived to the fullest. Take heed of it all, my friends; every life is simply too short to be truly enjoyed.

Marc Alan Fishman: How To Plan A Successful Con(vention)

As Unshaven Comics prepares for the annual C2E2 mega-Midwestern-super-pop-culture-show in late April, it dawned on me this might be still another one of those rare opportunities to share the creative process – or in this case business process.

It’s widely known (to our seven fans) that Unshaven Comics runs a tight table. We have well-manicured wares, a quippy answer to every response to our pitch, and an approach to conventioneering that even the mighty Gene Ha was in awe of. But here and now, prior to hitting the show floor, we’re introspective.

This show will be a very big one for us. Perhaps the biggest in our careers. Why? Because we’ll finally have a finished series to pitch. The Samurnauts: Curse of the Dreadnuts is set to be completed by the skin of our chins (underneath the beards, natch) and debut at C2E2. Four issues of Samurai-Astronauts, led by an immortal kung fu monkey, defending humanity from zombie-cyborg space pirates. And now we have means to see the whole kit and caboodle, and even top off the package with their secret origin issue #0 if we need a double upsell. But with that book finally hitting our wire rack, there’s much to consider.

First and foremost, tabling at a con is a business venture. With a set price that includes the table itself, and the materials to sell at said table, there’s a distinct need to profit. Meaning we not only need to cover those costs, we need to have money in the till when the last fan leaves the hall on Sunday. This money then allows us to attend the next con. With that in mind, there’s a conundrum to cover.

Posters.

As I’ve ranted here before selling poster-prints is the single easiest way to make scads of dirty dollars on the con floor. A great poster could take a decent artist 10-20 hours to complete. It costs less than a dollar to print (unless you are somehow convinced fans care about archival paper and environmentally safe inks). They are then sold for ten bucks or more (on average), typically without a single haggle. In contrast, The Samurnauts will have taken 1000 hours of work split between three guys, costs us $2.85 to print, and sells for $5. We’re in the wrong business. But it’s the business we choose to remain in.

So, it circles back around: How do we do our voodoo at our table? Simply: we offer a large variety of products… but we sell just one at a time. Notorious as it may be, our schtick remains intact: A simple, laminated 8.5” x 11” sheet of paper asking “Can I tell you about my comic book?” held up. It stops people long enough to laugh, and before they can really think of a solid excuse… we’re pitching them!

While they flip through our issues and gab with Kyle (The Sell-o-Tron 5000 of Unshaven Comics), Matt Wright and I draw live at the table to attract other looky-loos. Our own small set of poster prints hang over our heads. With a handful of fun parody prints, mashups, and a few politically zingy pieces… we will grab a fair share of passerby purchasers. With cheap posters (we only charge $5, or 3 for $10), we bank good money while Kyle closes on great purchasers – readers who will (if we’ve done well in our books) will return to us year-in-year-out.

So what will differ Unshaven’s table this year versus last? Perhaps not much on the surface. Our pitch will remain the same; it’s really about closing the sale on issue #1. But when they linger, we’ll mention that the whole series is available then and there. We’ll juice the sale with a sticker or poster. If there’s a taker to the upsell, we may even take it a step further, adding in that aforementioned issue #0 and tossing in all our stickers and a poster. $25 for 200+ pages of comics and a bag of swag? Sounds like a deal to me. And if it does to this penny-pinching tribe member, perhaps, maybe, it will to game comic con crowds.

Next week, we’ll dive into the physical space we occupy. Oh, that’s right kiddos. We’re going trilogy here!

Unshaven Conventions: The Beards Strike Back in one week!

Marc Alan Fishman: Is Lego Batman The Best Batman Ever?

This past weekend my wife and I tried to be adults, but Fandango’s inexplicable UI rendered my better/prettier/sexier/amazinger half confuzzled. The tickets we purchased to see “Split” by M. Night Shamalamadingdong were for the wrong date (as in three days prior to when we were currently out). D’oh! Mistakes happen, no biggie. But with a sitter on the clock, and time dwindling, we opted instead to catch “Get Out” by Jordan Peele. Until we noticed that the entire theater was sold out — save for two seats not together. And boy, it’d be a hindrance to a date night to not sit together.

So we saw “Lego Batman.” It would be the second time I’d seen it in as many weeks.

I won’t bury the lede: “Lego Batman” is amazing. It’s a visual and auditory roller coaster that nearly never comes up for air. In fact, I can honestly think back to only two sequences in the over two hours of show time where there are actual silent, simple pauses of reflection. All other times it was non-stop jokes, fights, and fun-fun-fun.

One of the more interesting debates I’ve seen creep up lately in my social network posits that “Lego Batman” is indeed the best filmed adventure of the caped crusader. Through the mixture of camp, thoroughly deep comic references, and a balanced story that actually deals with the emotional baggage of Bruce Wayne in a thoughtful non-emo-broody-whiny-baby way… most nerds are finding a hard time placing any other Bat-film above the Danish brick-based flick.

Are they wrong?

By way of Gene Ha sharing it, Ty Templeton says so. Ty places “Lego Batman” at honorable mention status… falling fourth to “The Dark Knight,” “Mask of the Phantasm,” and “Batman: The Movie”.

If I’m being bold myself, I agree that “Lego Batman” isn’t the best Bat-movie. “The Dark Knight” still is. It won’t be topped in my lifetime. I’m nearly certain on that. But I’d proudly put the Lego flick in a comfortable second place. The two films are truly polar opposites, and nearly incomparable given their intended target audiences. But the devil is in the details, and as Templeton himself denotes: Zach Galifinakas doesn’t do the Joker any justice. Whether it’s the script itself or the delivery of the lines, it’s odd that the yin to Batman’s yang truly is the yoke that holds “Lego Batman” down just enough to place it solidly as the best all-ages Bat-flick… but nowhere near the best overall film in the franchise.

This week’s article is a celebration though, not a nit-picky snark fest. Minor voice foibles aside, “Lego Batman” has a cup that runneth over in fan-service. By building on Will Arnet’s id-cum-Batman take on the character — equal parts Frank Miller’s “God-Damned Batman” and Adam West’s “Gosh-Darned Batman” — we finally get a Batman that changes from act one to final curtain. Look long and hard at every other film; I dare you to see true growth. Letting the villain fall off a church, or out of the back of a train doth not a hero make.

Bats aside, “Lego” also features the first true collaboration between Bat-family members that stays nearly believable. Taking orphan endangerment with a grain of salt and you’re left with the most complex female character in a Bat-movie, period. Babs Gordon in “Lego Batman” leaves little girls as proud as the boys exiting the theater. Suck on those bricks, Dr. Chase Meridian.

And did I mention the movie gives frames of film to Crazy Quilt, Zodiac, Calendar Man, Orca, Clayface-as-voiced-by-Allison-Brie, and still manages to tie in Lord Voldemort, King Kong, Sauron, and the flying monkeys of Wizard of Oz into the final battle? On that merit alone, “Lego Batman” boggled and baffles the mind with pure joy.

In the annals of Bat-films “Lego Batman” is a tough act to follow. Especially when Ben Affleck is already souring to the character. While it may never go down as the best, it will clearly hold sway in nerdy debates to come over the next millennia which flicks are really any more fun.

“All great articles end with amazingly relevant quotes. And Marc Alan Fishman is the best quoter of all time.” – Batman

Marc Alan Fishman: Retail Me Not!

Once again, I have been sought by my good friend and comic retailer Shawn Hilton (of Comics Cubed in Kokomo, IN, don’t-cha-know) to cover a comic cash calamity. Per his post to me:

Amazing Spider-Man #25 from Marvel was originally solicited for $3.99, but now has been changed to a $9.99 price tag.

In the past Marvel has had a few Deadpool comics weighing in at $9.99 for a normal numbered issue. Is this price gauging?

As a retailer who directly benefits from these sales I’m always excited about the potential to bring in more cash to the register, but as a fan I don’t think fondly of these more than double priced issues in the middle of a normal run.

A normal comic buyer may forgo a stand-alone one shot or an annual that has a hefty price tag, but for someone collecting Amazing Spider-Man passing on a normal issue like #25 means missing out on a major part of the story.

I’d also be interested in seeing if this issue has a higher digital theft rate. I don’t know if digital theft is a thing or not, but I bet several people look for a way to read it online instead of forking out $10.00 for a book.

Plenty to cover there, Shawn. Let me preface my opinion with a fact: I am not a comic retailer. I am merely a fan. A fan with a strong opinion muscle, a very short attention span, and a tight wallet. With that in mind, here’s my take:

Is the jump from a four-dollar book to a ten-dollar book price gauging? I don’t think so. If the team on the book is solid, the story benefits from the added pages (assuming the hefty price tag comes with additional content), and the issue itself is significant in the numerology (#25 would assume the book itself is now entering its third year in publication per this volume). If Marvel – or any publisher – doesn’t make it a habit of supersizing their issues without distinct cause, I personally don’t see it as price gouging.

But you better believe that if I were to be a normal subscriber, the week a book more than doubles in price means a week I choose to leave a few books in my box. As was often the case when I regularly subscribed to various series, some weeks would be heavier than others. What I oftentimes would do is simply profess to spend the same amount weekly on my books (say 12-15 bucks, if I recall when I was in the thick of it). If I was subscribing to several Marvel titles, the week they drop a double-sized issue on me is the week I’m dropping something else from my take home bag.

The larger question would be why Marvel, or any publisher for that matter, would make the jump in size. My guess is they only do these supersized treatments on high selling pulp. It makes little sense to deliver a ten-dollar experience on Great Lakes Avengers unless it’s consistently being scooped up in the top twenty monthly titles. Again, this is merely my opinion. As a fan I’m always willing to give the benefit of doubt to the creators. Assuming editorial assigns their creative team a mega-issue, they do so knowing that the writers and artists behind the book can fill the pages with meaningful and worthwhile content.

Should the bigger issue not add to the current storyline ­­– and be peppered with clear filler like interviews, essays, pin-ups, and the like ­– then you’d better believe I’d be an unhappy camper. The Mephisto is in the details, so they say.

What of digital theft? Well, only now do I personally own an iPad that sees regular use. With that in mind, you bet your sweet bippy I’ve downloaded ComicBlitz as well as ComiXology to eventually load up on comics during my lengthy day-job jaunts around the country. Because of the ubiquity of these apps, combined with my being an adult with disposable income, digital theft seems somehow below my purview.

But if I were to put myself back in the more Bohemian mindset of CollegeMarc, the idea that content could be procured sans-capital most certainly would be tempting. I hardly believe if I were otherwise subscribing to a paper title, I would specifically lift a single issue due to a heftier price tag. Simply put, if the book is enjoyable, as a fan, I’m in for a penny and therefore in for the pound.

Ultimately it’s quality of product that determines the bristling of my brow. If a comic book makes me dig deeper into my pocketbook, but delivers a satisfactory punch of prose? Then, drain my bank account. As my long-standing rule over comics continues to apply: when the book goes south, seek refuse in a better book. Should a book more than double its price but not deliver a worthy experience? Consider that strikes one and two in this subscriber’s book.

I, as always, open the floor to discussion. Who amongst my readers has a dissenting opinion? Voice it here, loud and proud.

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