Author: Mindy Newell

MINDY NEWELL: Who’s Dead As A Doornail?

MINDY NEWELL: Who’s Dead As A Doornail?

Death aims only once, but never misses.

(Maxims: Political, Philosophical, and Moral, by Edward Counsel)

Except in comics.

I was doing a search for quotes about death when I found this one, which is so apropos. I never heard of Edward Counsel; did a Google search, but couldn’t find him?? Found a reproduction of his book on Amazon; the original was published before 1923. All I can gather is that he was an Australian who was born before 1900. Anyone who has more info is welcome to let me know in the comments section.

The reason I was looking for a quote about death – of which there seems to be milllllllllions – is because all us comic fans are buzzing about the YouTube video The Death and Return of Superman, by Max Landis (son of John Landis), who stars in The Chronicle. I was going to post it here, but Martha (Thomases) beat me to it three days ago – which amazingly points out that DC actually thought Tim Drake’s/Robin’s new costume was more of a P.R. event than Supe’s kicking of the bucket – so I won’t do that. All I can say is that, if by any chance you haven’t seen it, do so at once. You have my permission to stop reading this column, go watch it (it’s about 16:00 long) and then come back. It is bitingly hilarious, and exceptionally on the mark!!!! (Major kudos to Landis and his fellow actors btw!)

SPOILER ALERT!: Okay, I’m going to assume that you have either already seen the video or have taken the 16:00 to watch it before returning here, because I’m going to give away the ending here.

Landis concludes his short film by stating that Superman’s death and return opened the floodgates for other comic characters to die and then resurrect. In other words, said resurrection cheapened the dramatic impact of said death, and ended the ability of readers to mourn the loss of the character, because the reader knew the character would eventually return. Cynics like me will always point out that the death of a character in the comic book world is always due to (1) marketing; and (2) the dictates of Hollywood – as Martha ably points out in her column concerning Lois And Clark: The New Adventures of Superman.

As a comics writer, a editor, and a reader, the “make-believe” of death in comics really pisses me off.

I’d like to point out that the ability of fiction (any fiction, from comics to television to movies) to help children understand and cope with finality of death is incredibly important. J. M. Barrie understood this, as he has Peter Pan say “To die will be an awfully big adventure.” And of course, J.K. Rowling did not flinch from the meaning of death in the Harry Potter And The novels; it was one of the themes of her “magnus opus” – beginning with the main character. Need I remind you that Harry was an orphan?

Okay, young readers of comics are scarce these days. We all know that. But they are still out there; my eleven-year old niece Isabel being one of them. And children are curious about death. About six months after my husband left me, the family was out to dinner. Right in the middle of the laughter and the eating, Isabel, six years old at the time, said to me, “Is John dead?” (That was a conversation stopper, let me tell you.) Of course her parents had explained what had happened. But obviously Isabel couldn’t grasp the concept of marital separation and divorce, so all she knew was that John was gone, which in her thoughts equaled death… because, as her mom told me later, she had just seen a movie – I don’t remember which one, it might have been one of the Harry Potter’s – in which one of the characters died. And she was trying to wrap her young mind around “death.”

Which I think is good; our society tends to put death into a dark, dusty corner where it molders and mildews and mutates into something unbearably monstrous. Remember the uproar over Terry Schiavo? How about the Republican bullshit of equating Obama’s healthcare bill with death panels? And as a registered nurse in the operating room, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen terminally ill or extremely aged patients subjected to the stress of unneeded or useless surgery or treatment because the family insists on it because they can’t deal with the impending death of their loved one.

Death can be welcomed as an end to unending pain and torment. Death can be aggressively fought against with all the tools of modern medicine. Death can be sudden, or it can be stretched out into nanoseconds.

But death is real.

I’m still reeling from the death of Kara Zor-El – Supergirl – in Crisis On Infinite Earth.  Don’t talk to me about the reboots.

The Very Short List of Comic Book Superheroes Who Have Died And Returned: Alfred Pennyworth, Aquaman, Aunt May, Big Barda, Bucky, Captain America, The Doctor, Elektra, Fahrenheit, The Flash, Firestorm, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, Hawkgirl, Hawkman, The Human Torch, Jean Grey, Moon Knight, Negative Man, Punisher, Robin, Supergirl, Superman, The Thing, T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents (many if not all), Wonder Man, Wonder Woman, Yellowjacket.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis. Sponsored by the Bacon Council.

MINDY NEWELL: Great Books! And 1 Movie!

So what are you reading?

Fellow ComicMixer Bob Greenberger recently talked about To Kill A Mockingbird a couple days ago as he prepares to teach his class. To Kill A Mockingbird is, as I expect all of you to know, a masterpiece of American literature concerning the racial tensions and bigotries of a small town in Alabama during the Depression – but more important, it is a study of the nature of good and evil, of both the morality and immorality inherent in all of us.

Starring Gregory Peck as the lawyer Atticus Finch who defends the black man accused of raping a white woman, the movie is a landmark picture, and – in my opinion – a touchstone for how to adapt a brilliant novel to the screen. Also my opinion: Peck’s greatest role.

But don’t just watch the movie. Read the book itself. One of the things that just driiivvvess meeee crrrrrazzzzy is when I ask someone, “did you read….” and what I get back in response is, “I saw the movie.”

Aaaaaggghh!

Here’re some books that have been turned into movies. Some good, some bad, some just “eh.” But do yourself a favor – read the book. You might learn something.

Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind: Yes, it’s one of the greatest movies ever made. Yes, adjusted for inflation it’s made more than any other movie. Yes, Vivien Leigh, Olivia DeHavilland, Hattie MacDonald Clark Gable, Leslie Howard, are the living embodiments of Mitchell’s characters. In fact, it’s about the most perfect casting ever, in my opinion. But Scarlett is not just the selfish bitch that the movie portrays.

In fact, as you read Gone With The Wind, you realize that Scarlett Katie O’Hara embodies both the Old and New South, the gentry who will not dirty their hands and the hard-scrabbling immigrant who will. Even her mother and father represent this coming battle, with Ellen O’Hara a symbol of the old landed gentry who live by rituals and rules, and Gerald O’Hara the hard-scrabbling immigrant who will do anything to succeed. And her men are symbols, too, as she clings to Ashley as a representation of an idealized world of chivalry and manners, and of the pampered childhood she has lost, while simultaneously being drawn to Rhett, the realist, the adult, the symbol of the “New South” and the future. Every main character in Gone With The Wind are the embodiments of the Civil War, of the battle between yesterday and today, of what was and what can be. Melanie is not just the selfless and perfect Lady of the antebellum South. Rhett is more than a lusting hedonist who marries Scarlett because he can’t have any other way. Ashley is more than just a beaten Confederate. Mitchell’s characters within the book come alive because they are all, well, alive.

The Mists of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley. Okay, technically this wasn’t a movie; it was a mini-series on TNT starring Julianne Margulies and Angelica Huston. It was promoted as the story of Camelot from the “women’s side.” The mini-series was a disaster. I could understand if no one’s curiosity was piqued enough to read the book. But do it anyway. But it’s so much more.

It’s the story of the introduction of Christianity into Celtic Britain, of how one great religion was usurped and demonized by another. It’s a story, again, of the fall of one civilization and the rise of another. Of choices, of the roles between women and men, of what is good and what is evil and what is in-between. Of what is magic and what is faith, of what is real and what is not. All, as I said, set against the backdrop of one of the most romantic and glorious legend of all, King Arthur, Lancelot, Guinevere, Morgan Le Fay, Mordred, Merlin, and the Round Table.

Giant, by Edna Ferber. Ferber was a brilliant novelist whose historical fictions also criticized the social mores and woes of America. Giant deals with the struggle for power between the great cattle barons and the growing oil industry in Texas from the 1920s to the 1950s. It’s the story of cultures at struggle against themselves and each other: Leslie Lynton Benedict, from the East, against her husband, Jordan “Bick” Benedict, born and bred in the Southwest. It’s about of racism and bigotry, of how both the cattle barons and the oil tycoons built their empires on the back of Mexican-Americans… sadly, still an incredibly relevant story today, as illegal immigration continues to be at the forefront of our politics. (Hello, Arizona!) It’s even about the role of women in a society, as Leslie, raised to think for herself, fights to retain her individuality in a society where women are sidelined and controlled by men. Most of all, it’s a story of generational war, as the old must give way to the young.

Okay, Kelly Clarkson just sang the Star Spangled Banner. I gotta go.

But just in case you think I’m a total book snob, there is one movie that totally exceeds its origins. That’s The Godfather, parts I and II. Read the book. It’s good…but the movies are better.

Kelly’s done. The game is on. Go Big Blue!

TUESDAY: Michael Davis… or Gold writes about hockey. One or the other.

MINDY NEWELL: “Superman? He Must Be Jewish!”

“I am a stranger in a strange land.”

As Superman zooms down into the torrent of Niagara Falls to save that dumb kid who is falling into the torrential waters of Niagara Falls, we hear an off-screen female voice – whom I’ve always imagined as Rob Reiner’s mother – saying:

“He must be Jewish.”

It’s a throw-away line, a bit of Yiddishkeit humor, in a movie (Superman II) about a comic book hero whose underlying themes are – you can say – chock full of Jewish mysticism and Jewish angst and Jewish hope and Jewish dissimilation and Jewish fatalism.

Think about it.

Facing annihilation as their world is torn apart by cataclysmic forces, loving parents rocket their child away in hope of their child finding refuge on an alien planet.

Facing annihilation as their world was torn apart by cataclysmic forces, loving Jewish parents in Hitler’s Europe spirited their children away into the hoped refuge of alien, Christian homes.

The child is raised in the Christian faith of his “foster” parents, Jonathan and Martha Kent of Smallville, Kansas, who do their best to keep the child’s true background a secret for fear that he would be taken away from them by the government and “studied” – or worse.

The Jewish children who survive the Holocaust learn the prayers and rites of the religion of their “foster” parents – Catholic, Protestant, or Muslim. All do whatever they can to keep the children’s true background a secret in fear of brutal, usually fatal, Nazi reprisals.

As an adult, the child uses his Earth name – Clark Kent – and religion as his “secret identity,” though he has learned that his true name is Kal-el, and that he is last survivor of the planet Krypton.

The Kryptonian “Kal-El” is close to the Hebrew קל–אל, which can be interpreted as the “voice of God. The last name “Kent” is an Americanization of the name “Cohen,” and “Cohen” is a transcription of the Hebrew כֹּהֵן, or “kohen,” which means “priest.” Kohens were the priests in the Temple of Solomon in biblical Jerusalem – the last remaining remnant of which is still standing today, known as the Wailing Wall.

He is publicly known as Superman, a hero capable of God-like powers who uses those powers for the good of humanity.

“El” means “of God,” or just plain “God” in Hebrew, and is part of the names of the angels Michael, Gabriel and Ariel, who look human, but are agents of God who are capable of flying and performing great deeds of good through the use of their superhuman powers.

The schlemiel Clark Kent – schlemiel being Yiddish for an inept, clumsy, hopeless bungler – falls for the self-assured, brilliant, famous, respected and beautiful Lois Lane, but she only has eyes for Superman.

Jewish men are traditionally said to yearn for the forbidden shiksa – a non-Jewish woman – who represent the self-assured, respected women who belong to a world that is alien to Jews. These women traditionally ignore them in favor of the Don Drapers of the world.

So did Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster purposely create a Jewish superhero? The traditional answer is, of course, no. Siegel himself said he based the visual aspects of Superman on Douglas Fairbanks and Clark Kent on Harold Lloyd. But did he know that Fairbanks was actually born Douglas Elton Thomas Ullman, and was Jewish? Did he know that Harold Lloyd was the son of a Welshman and not Jewish? I doubt it, on both counts. But the subconscious does its own thing. To coin a phrase:

“Who knows what dreams lurk in the hearts of men?”

Or you can call it Jewish mysticism.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

MINDY NEWELL: Let’s Go To The Movies!

“If I could do it all over again…”

How many times have you thought that, or dreamt it, or talked about it? I think everybody does. It’s in our natures, y’know?

“If I knew then what I know now…”

What would you do?

I wouldn’t be a nurse.

I’d go to film school. UCLA or NYU. I’d aim to be a film editor.

I love movies. So, in keeping with Mike Gold and John Ostrander’s columns about the movies, I thought I would list some of my favorite movies and why I love them.  In no particular order. Because every time I pick one as my “all-time fave,” I remember another and hastily move that one to the top spot.

Casablanca: Two men. The woman they both love. And Nazis. Who doesn’t love this move? Humphrey Bogart. Ingrid Bergman. Claude Raines. Sydney Greenstreet. Paul Henreid. Peter Lorre. Conrad Veidt. And Dooley Wilson. Who doesn’t love this movie?

Strasser: What is your nationality?

Rick: I’m a drunkard.

Who doesn’t love this movie?

Renault: And what in heaven’s name brought you to Casablanca?

Rick: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.

Renault: Waters? What waters? We’re in the desert.

Rick: I was misinformed.

Who doesn’t love this movie?

The Searchers: In the post-Civil War West, two men relentlessly follow the trail of the Indian who killed their family and took the youngest daughter in the post-Civil War West. One wants to save her. One wants to kill her.

“That’ll be the day.”

As John Ostrander said, John Wayne’s greatest role. Also starring Jeffrey Hunter and Natalie Wood. And directed by John Ford.

Bridge On The River Kwai: “Be happy in your work.” In the hell of a Japanese prisoner of war camp in World War II Burma, a British colonel’s ego and pride blind him to his collaboration with the enemy as he leads his regiment in building a bridge that will stand for the ages. Sir Alec Guinness. Sessue Hayakawa. William Holden. Jack Hawkins. Directed by David Lean.

“Madness. Madness.”

The Best Years of Our Lives: Three World War II veterans and their families adjust to life after the war ends. Fredric March. Myrna Loy. Dana Andrews. Virginia Mayo. Teresa Wright. And Harold Russell, who lost both his hands, which were replaced by hooks.  Directed by William Wyler. As significant today as when it first premiered in 1946.

Ben-Hur: The proud scion of an aristocratic Jewish family. The ambitious Roman who was once his best friend. Set against the background of the Roman Occupation of Judea during the time of Christ, it’s a story of love and hate, sin and redemption, blame and forgiveness. Charlton Heston. Stephen Boyd. Jack Hawkins. Haya Hayareet. Sam Jaffee. Finlay Currie.

Quintas Arrius: “Your eyes are full of hate, forty-one. That’s good. Hate keeps a man alive. It gives him strength.”

There’s also The Godfather I and II. Gandhi. Saving Private Ryan. Waterloo Bridge. Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back.  Forbidden Planet. You’ve Got Mail. Alien and Aliens. The Day The Earth Stood Still (the original, not that travesty with Keanu Reeves). Lost Horizon. Bringing Up Baby. Mr. Lucky. The Lion In Winter. Basically, anything with Katherine Hepburn and/or Cary Grant. And more.

Movies based on comics? Spider-Man 1 and 2. Superman 1 and 2. Iron Man. Captain America. Thor. The Road To Perdition. Ghost World.

Watchmen? Not so much.

I’m sure I’m missing quite a lot, but what the hell…

Let’s go the movies!

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

MINDY NEWELL: Meeting Deadlines

First off, to paraphrase John Ostrander:

God Bless Mike Gold.

Okay. Now….

One thing about being a writer.

Deadlines.

If you want to be considered a professional, you need to understand that deadlines are part of the job.

There have been a few times in my writing life where I have missed my deadline. It doesn’t engender good feelings on anyone’s part.

Missing a deadline is like being Aaron Rodgers in yesterday’s Giants/Packers game. It’s throwing one too many turnover. It’s getting sacked one too many times. It’s knowing that you’re letting down your teammates who are depending on you. In the comics world, it’s not just your editor, who will have to answer to his or her boss. It’s letting down the artist, the penciller, the inker, the colorist, the letterer. It’s letting down the production department. The scheduling department. The printers. The distributors.  It’s letting down the comic shop owner is dependent on monthly arrivals of books on a monthly schedule to help meet their monthly budget, including expenses and net profit.

Most importantly, it’s letting down your readers.

Remember 24? Each week the hour ended with a terrific cliffhanger, and the next seven days were murder. You haunted all the spoiler boards. You got into heated discussions on your favorite 24 message board about what could be next, how Jack was going to get out of this one. You twisted your brain trying to outwit the terrorists that are about to set off a nuclear bomb in Port Newark.

It’s the same with comics. Think about the last time you were heavily involved in some storyline that ended each month in a terrific cliffhanger. You can’t wait for the next issue.

And like any good comic geek, you talk about it all day and all night, surf the web looking for information on what’s coming up next, write the next chapter in your imagination.

And then you walk into the your friendly neighborhood comic shop and the proprietor tells you that the issue is delayed.

How many times has that happened?

What was your reaction?

Lots of cursing, I bet. Lots of swearing that you’ll never read an issue of fill-in-your-favorite-book-title-here again. And then you go home and log on to your favorite fan site and let everybody know what a dick the writer is, and not only will you never buy an issue of that comic again, you’ll never read anything by that dick again, you’ll never even buy a comic from that dick company again!!!!!

And then sales go down, and the comic is cancelled. The writer loses his or her job, the artist moves on to the next thing if he or she can, the editor is hauled into his or her boss’s office, and the domino effect continues. All the way down the line.

And just maybe because a deadline was missed once too often, your neighborhood comic book shop closes. And now someone else is out of work.

And most likely the penciller, the inker, the colorist, the letterer will get more work. The production department will move one. So will scheduling, and the printer, and the distributor. Even the editor will move on.

But the writer, the one who came up with the brilliant idea, the one who made the story come alive in the first place?

You’ll have the Mark of Cain on you. Oh, yes, word gets around.

And the only writing you’ll do is the weekly shopping list.

Oh, and writing out the checks.

If you can afford it.

Yeah.

There’s a reason why they’re called DEADlines.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

 


MINDY NEWELL: Mind Games

6 a.m. Sunday morning.

What the hell is that noise?

Oh, yeah. The alarm on my cell phone.

It’s reeeeeally lowwwwwwd.

Shit. Five more minutes. Just five more minutes. One eye open, I grapple for the phone. Shit. Goddamn it. There it is. Flip it open. Hit the snooze button.

Quiet.

I snuggle under the covers.

And I’m wide awake.

The Giants are playing the Falcons today in the first round of the NFL playoffs. Kickoff at 1 p.m. Probably there are people already at the stadium, setting up their tailgating parties, firing up the grills, sipping hot coffee or tea (and, sadly, guzzling the first beer of the day.)

Glenn (my brother) is probably on the road already, driving up from the New Jersey suburbs of Philadelphia. Probably almost all of Philadelphia is rooting for the Falcons to kick the Giants’ collective ass. It’s not easy being a Giants fan down there.

Okay, I’m up. It’s cold. Shit, yesterday it was over 60°. Today, not so much. Good football weather thought. I put on my robe. Go into the kitchen. I squint at the bright light as I flip the switch. Turn on the stove for my cuppa tea. Can’t do anything without my cuppa.

Go into the bedroom. Put my robe on. Shit, it’s really cold. Good football weather, though. ‘Specially for the Giants. The Falcons play indoors. The cold and the crazy winds at Giants Stadium – I refuse to call it Metlife Stadium – will hopefully work against them. I turn on my computer.

The teapot is whistling. I pour my nice cuppa tea. Last night I prepared everything; the steaks are marinating, hot dogs are in aluminum foil, the cooler and the grill are pulled out and ready, utensils, paper plates, everything’s set. Glenn’s bringing the Bloody Marys and the charcoal. Food tastes better without that propane smoke.

Got about an hour, hour-and-a-half ‘till Glenn gets here. All I gotta do is sit down and write my column. Then take a shower and get dressed.

I wonder how Eli is feeling? Where is Victor Cruz right now? Is Justin Tuck already in the locker room? Is Mathias Kiwanuka having tea too? Or coffee?

What’s going through the minds of the Giants? And the Falcons, for that matter?

I wonder about superheroes and their evil doppelgangers. What if their battles were scheduled? What if they watched films of last week’s battle? What if they studied playbooks? Would they be replaying that sack, thinking “if only I’d just stepped to the left?” Would they be thinking about that perfectly thrown right hook that somehow missed? What would they do, what would they think about before going up against each other?

7:30 a.m. The doorbell has rung. This column is now interrupted because Glenn is already at my door and we’re going to the Giants game! Go, big blue!

5:55 p.m. I’m back. Giants won! 24 – 2. (Falcons got a safety due to a bullshit call by the end zone ref who threw a flag 25 seconds after the play was called dead. (I really, really, really hate when the refs do that.) Gotta admit the first quarter sucked (for both teams), and the second quarter wasn’t much either, although the Giants did score a TD to make it 7 – 2 at the half. But the second half rocked!

Okay, where was I?

Right. Got it.

Wouldn’t it be interesting to write a story about the hours before an “epic battle” between the hero and the villain? You never actually see the fight scene – well, maybe the first punch, the way Rocky III ends, y’know? You just build up the tension going on inside the hero, inside the villain. It could start like my morning did, with the alarm clock shattering the deep sleep of Peter Parker and Mary Jane – sorry, but I prefer that “timeline.” And Electro was up all night, couldn’t sleep, thinking about his past battles with Spider-Man and letting his inferiority complex eat at him. Captain America wanders the streets of Washington, D.C., past the Capitol building and the monuments, ending up at Arlington cemetery, while the Red Skull visits Auschwitz, remembering the “glory” of the Third Reich. Doctor Strange spends the night in deep meditation, while the Silver Dagger ponders God and the Catholic Church at the Basilica of St. Peter in Rome.

I could go on – and end up writing a story treatment and then some asshole will read it here, and I’ll get all pissed off, so I’ll stop here.

Before my brain starts playing tricks on me and I get all upset that I’m not actually writing these things anymore because, y’know, Mindy Newell is a has-been and Mindy Newell is a bitch and Mindy Newell never really had any talent, just a great set of gams which she used to get work, and…

You know.

Mind games.

P.S.: Giants Vs. Green Bay Next Week!

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

 

MINDY NEWELL: The Enemy Within

I stink at writing battles between the superhero and the bad guy.

Oh, I’ve always managed to struggle through – and through the years I’ve learned how to choreograph them pretty well, thanks to watching great action movies, anything from Bullitt to the Die Hard series to the Matrix Trilogy and Kill Bill, Vols. I and II. But I was always happier to write a fight scene “Marvel style,” especially if I was working with an artist I trusted. Full script, though? Talk about pulling teeth!

So why the hell do I love writing comics?

That’s a good question. And here’s the answer.

What has always interested me about the superhero is the what makes them tick?, the what’s going on in their lives?, the how does having special abilities affect a person? Questions. Of course I wasn’t the first comic writer to address these issues. There’s one or two columnists here at ComicMix who have done so and continue to do so – yeah, I’m talking ‘bout you two, John Ostrander and Denny O’Neil. But John and Denny are also able to write great battle scenes. I can’t.

Way-back-when I sat down to try my luck at writing an entry for DC’s New Talent Showcase program, I thought about what was lacking in the super-hero biz. Hmm, I thought. There are superheroes who are men, and superheroes who are women. There are superheroes who date or are married to ordinary women, and there are superhero married couples. But I couldn’t think of any super-hero women who were married to “ordinary” guys. “That could be really interesting,” I thought to myself.

Then something clicked in my brain. “What if,” I said to myself, “these two people are just regular young marrieds, very much in love with each other, expecting their first child, and believing they’ve got the world on a string? And then everything goes wrong. She gains super-powers, but the trade-off is: she loses the baby. And he just can’t deal.  What happens to them? What happens to the marriage?”

And that’s the way I’ve always tried to approach the superhero. Treating them like real people, with real personalities and all the positive and negative traits that real people have. Facing real problems with paying the bills and trying to lose weight.

Let’s take Wonder Woman. I don’t remember the issue number, but it was one of the last few issues before the book went on hiatus until George Pérez reintroduced the character. One of my favorite scenes was the one in which Diana tried to make breakfast, only she burned the toast and undercooked the eggs. It was only about two or three panels, but it made sense to me that as an individual who grew up on a magical island on which time had stopped in the Hellenic Age, a toaster and a frying pan would be as strange to her as, well, the appearance of an Amazon princess in the middle of New York City would be to us here on Earth-Prime.

And, although I’m a staunch pro-choicer, I’ve always believed Diana should be a staunch pro-lifer. Why? Well, think about it. An island of immortal women called Themyiscyra, where men are forbidden. For 3,000 years, cut off from the outside world by powerful magiks, babies are unknown…yes, pregnancy, the unborn child, would be ultimate, holy, sacrosanct, untouchable, inviolable object of worship of a woman raised in this environment.

(Of course, when I mentioned this to Karen Berger once, I believe she was intrigued, but what with Jenette Khan, then publisher of DC, being a friend of Gloria Steinem, and Steinem being one of the “ultimate, holy, sacrosanct, untouchable, and inviolable” feminists of the day, along with being editor of Ms. Magazine, she basically told me to “forget it.”)

I’d like to explore the loneliness of the last survivor of an alien civilization. (Superman, J’onn J’onzz.)

What does it do to a person to be able to run “faster than a speeding bullet” and get stuck in traffic? (Flash, Quicksilver).

How do you not go insane when you’re trapped in a body of rock? (Thing, Concrete.)

If you can fly, would you resent having to walk?

If you have x-ray vision, can you resist taking a look the boss’s e-mails? Or your co-worker’s paycheck?

If you can read minds, do you really want to know what people are thinking?

If you have telekinesis, would you ever get up off the couch?

One of my favorite science fiction movies, definitely on my top five list, is Forbidden Planet, in which the monster is a creature risen from the jealousies and fears that lurk within the human mind.

“Creatures from the id.”

Yes.

The enemy within.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

MINDY NEWELL: Blocked!

I’m having a good case of writer’s block today.

You know how a few weeks ago I talked about what it’s like to be a writer? One thing I didn’t mention was the awfulness of staring at a blank screen – or a blank piece of paper for those who still use a typewriter, and yes, they are out there – without a clue in the universe of what you’re going to write about.

That’s when procrastination sets in.

After a half-hour, or maybe even an hour, of sitting at the computer and absolutely nothing is coming, I suddenly realize that the bathroom really needs to be cleaned. I gather up the Comet Bathroom Cleaner and the SOS and go to it, attacking the bathtub and the toilet, the sink and the floor. I Windex the mirror. Then I decide to rearrange the shelves. Then I realize that I need to put some clean towels out.

Okay, done. Bathroom looks and smells great.

Now I’m ready.

And still nothing comes.

I pick up the pile of comics that’s lying on my rocking chair. DC’s Legion: Secret Origin #2. Superman #3. Star Trek #3 from IDW. A bunch of others. Nothing sparks my interest really. I throw them back down and go into the living room. I slept on the couch last night, falling asleep while trying to stay awake and watch The Best Of The Dr. Who Christmas Specials on BBCAmerica. The blanket and pillow are still lying on the sofa.

I fold up the blanket and put it away, throw the pillow back on my bed. I sit down at the computer again.

Fifteen minutes later I’m back in the living room. I’ve been watching Battlestar Galactica repeats on BBCAmerica and all the commercials have been driving me mad – plus it annoys me that they cut out the “Previously on Battlestar Galactica” and I’m sure they’re cutting other scenes out too. I resolve to pull out my DVDs of BSG, watch an episode or two, and then sit down and do the column. It’s only 2 P.M.; lots of time left. I put Disc One of Season Four into the DVD and sit down to watch.

Three hours later it’s 5:30.

Okay, this is bullshit. Mike is going to kill me, and I’m being really, really unprofessional here.

Back at the computer. Maybe I should write about Christmas Eve.

Drove down to my brother and sister-in-law’s with the parents, Alixandra and Jeff. The plan was to be at my brother’s in time for the start of the Giants-Jets game, which started at 1. Alix and Jeff were supposed to pick me up at 10; they got to my house closer to 11. The radio was turned to NPR and Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me (which is one of my favorite shows on NPR) was on, and surprise! surprise! – Neil Gaiman was the guest. Haven’t seen Neil in too many years to count, so it was fun to listen to him play “Not My Job” and answer questions about Will and Kate – he nailed them, and so won Karl Cassel’s voice for some guy from Chicago’s voicemail; no, it wasn’t you, Mike.

Settle down at my brother’s to watch the game. First half – well, let’s not talk about that – except for Victor Cruz!!! What a runback! What a catch! Then the second half – Gaints come alive. And then it’s deep in the fourth quarter, it’s a long game, it’s 4:18 – New York is leading by 6 – the score is 20-14 – and FOX switches to the Eagles-Dallas game because of “NFL rules.” Chaos reigns! I throw a hissy fit, I yell at my brother, “I told you should have gotten the NFL Network!” while he cursed and ran for a radio. Jeff, always a calm in the center of my storms, suggests streaming it on the computer. I think, “what a great idea!,” so I run to my sister-in-law’s computer and hook into ESPN.com. No visual, just real-time audio, so I might as well go back and listen to the radio with the rest of the family. But I stay long enough to hear the Gaints make a safety. And between the time I left the computer and got back to the rest of the family, there was an interception, a touchdown – and I still don’t know who made it – and Tynes hit a field goal. 29 – 14. And Corey Webster intercepted to end the game.

Go Giants!!!!

Still don’t know what the hell to write about.

Oh, I know.

Gave my eleven year-old niece Isabel the original Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld maxi-series by Dan Mishkin, Gary Cohn and Ernie Colon along with the Amethyst mini-series by Keith Giffen and the late Esteban Maroto… oh, yeah, and me! She was delighted and wanted to sit down and start reading right away – but her mom (rightly so) said no, not now. This could get me writing about the continual ignorance of the comic book business when it comes to attracting young female readers; I mean, Amethyst was back in the 80’s, and the honchos are still trying to figure it out? Some things, as the saying goes, never change.

I could tell you about how we all stuffed ourselves on an introductory course of smoked salmon, white fish, and smoked trout on various breads and crackers served with bloody mary’s, followed by a dinner of tender romaine hearts with baby cherry tomatoes in a vinaigrette dressing, braised beef tenderloin in a garlic and horseradish sauce, roasted cauliflower with parmesan, latkes (potato pancakes, as I mentioned last week) and fresh grilled squash with red onions sprinkled with honey; followed by an upside down orange polenta cake served alongside a Carvel “Frosty the Snowman” ice cream cake.

What else could I write about? Don’t feel like saying anything about politics this week. Well, I could talk about the House Republicans trying to block the extension of the payroll tax cut and how they had to cave and how the “orange man” sounded like a fool when he tried to make it a Republican victory, but, nah, just not in the mood.

I give up.

Sometimes the block wins.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

 

MINDY NEWELL: Happy Christmas! Merry Chanukah! And Festivus For The Rest Of Us!

As a nice Jewish girl, I’ve always loved Christmas and Chanukah and Festivus for the rest of us.

We lived on a “not quite” cul-de-sac that had an island in the middle of the street. On that island was a huge old fir tree, and every holiday season all the “cul-de-sac’ers” would decorate it for Christmas. Yep, it was “National Brotherhood Week” on Hodges Place – I always wondered if the street was named for Gil Hodges of the Brooklyn Dodgers. I doubt it – this was on Staten Island, not Brooklyn – but it would make a nice story, wouldn’t it?

Anyway, my brother and I didn’t feel cheated in mid-December – like every snotty, young, selfish Jewish kid, Chanukah meant eight days of presents. And latkes ; potato pancakes for the uninitiated. But truth to tell, we also thought the story of the oil in the Temple miraculously burning for eight days was pretty cool, and the candlelight was so pretty. My brother and I didn’t lose on Christmas either.

Christmas Eve was when my mom took me, my brother, an done friend each into Manhattan for our annual visit to Rockefeller Center and the Christmas Tree, then to skate on the Rockefeller Center ice rink, then to Radio City Music Hall to see the movie and the Christmas show, then to walk down Fifth Avenue to see the fantabulously animated window, and finally to then meet up with our Dad at Macy’s, where we would all bundle into the car for a trip through the tunnel and home.  And once at home, bathed and tucked into bed – with visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads – dad and mom would hang Lord & Taylor’s, or Saks Fifth Avenue, or Bloomindales or B. Altman ‘s (yeah, I’m that old) shopping bags for Santa to fill – I guess jolly ol’ St. Nick was kosher, but real stockings were trafe.

So here’re some suggestions for your shopping bags and/or stockings, trafe or not. Some political – hey, it wouldn’t be my column with at least one political comment, would it? – and some not.

  • The full collection of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, beautifully drawn by various artists such as P. Craig Russell, Mike Dringenberg, Glenn Fabry, Frank Quitely, and Bill Sienkiewicz.
  • 1000 Comic Books You Must Read, by Tony Isabella. A wondrous collection that takes you through 70 years of comics, and if you don’t find something in this chock-full-of-‘mazing stuff that wets your whistle, you ain’t a comic fan!
  • Loading up your stocking with everything you need to enable you to enact your basic right as a citizen of the United States – to vote for the candidate of your choice. Republican governors are attempting to disenfranchise the vote to those they consider “undesirable,” i.e., those they fear will vote for President Obama and/or the Democrats. 34 states have already loaded the registration process with so much debris it makes it nearly impossible for many to do what nearly 40,000 American deaths and casualties gave to the Iraqis and Afghans – please, don’t let those deaths be in total vain. Whether you’re a Democrat, a Republican, an Independent, a Libertarian, a Communist, or something altogether different: VOTE, goddamn it!
  • If you’re a fan of the original Law & Order, and you have roughly $700 dollars to spend, consider the boxed Complete Law & Order DVD Collection. (Hmm, I just checked on Amazon, and it’s selling there for the bargain price of $450.99, a 36% savings.) Check out Michael Moriarty, George Dzunda, Chris Noth before he was Mr. Big and Mr. Julianne Margulies, Dan Florek as Captain Donald Cragen before he moved to the Special Victims precinct and S. Epatha Merkeson as the luminously jaded Lt. Abigail Van Buren. See the fascinatingly different styles of D.A. Steven Hill, Fred Thompson, and Dianne West. Watch Sam Waterson’s hair turn grey. And mourn the premature passing of the one and only Lenny Brisko – Jerry Orbach.
  • And speaking of L & O, for you video-gamers out there, I just read, it was either in Entertainment Weekly, or, believe it or not, TV Guide, keep your eyes out for Law & Order: Legacies, in which you’ll have the choice of being either part of the Law or part of the Order as you hunt down the criminal and aim for justice.
  • Fly to the second star to the right and then straight on to morning. Get tickets to see Cathy Rigby as Peter Pan. You’ll be in Neverland.
  • A donation to your favorite charity, be it a couple of dollars in the Salvation Army red bucket or $1000 to Oxfam.

With our troops “officially” coming home from Iraq – my girlfriend is in the Army and she knows soldiers who have gotten marching orders to Baghdad to help protect the nearly 20,000 “diplomats” who will remain in the Emerald City Otherwise Known As The United States Embassy, it’s time for you to really understand how the fuck we got involved there in the first place.

  • Want to know what made Osama Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda tick? Buy The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 by Lawrence Wright. The best book I’ve read on the rise of the terrorist organization and its megalomaniacal leader.
  • Next read about the fucked-up U.S. politics that led to 9/11 in Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Afghanistan, and Bin Laden, from the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001.
  • Or check out Bob Woodward’s trilogy, Plan of Attack: The Definitive Account of the Decision to Invade Iraq; State of Denial: Bush at War, Part III; and The War Within: A Secret White House History 2006 – 2008. It’s amazing how freely people spoke to Woodward, including President Bush. And you’ll wonder how these people slept at night.

As for me? What do I want for Christmas, Chanukah, and Festivus for the rest of us? Oh, say, it’d be nice to part of the 1%, wouldn’t it? C’mon, you know you’d like it, too. I’m joking. (Or am I?) A guarantee that President Obama will have a second term, this time with a Congress that’ll work with him instead of demonizing everything about one of the smartest men to ever hold the office. Barring that, a Presidency for Hillary – and yes, I know she said she’s done with politics after winding up her term as Secretary of State. To write Wonder Woman again.

Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men.

Yeah. I like that one.

Ho, Ho, Ho!

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

MINDY NEWELL: O, Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum!

The Christmas tree. Big, small, authentic or fake, the object of worship at Rockefeller Center for New Yorkers and tourists, the spindly little tree that Charlie Brown adopts, and always, always, beautiful, I do hope you know that the evergreen tree (fir, spruce, or pine) didn’t grow in the hot, dry, climate of Bethlehem and Nazareth. (But the Egyptians did have a midwinter rite – see below.)

Courtesy of The History Channel and my fascination with pre-Judeo-Christian religions – I’ve delved a little bit into Wicca – here’s a brief history of our favorite symbol of the season, the Christmas tree.

For centuries in Europe and England, before the introduction of Christianity, plants and trees that remained green all year had a special meaning for people. To ward off the ghosts, witches, and evil spirits, they made wreaths of, and hung branches from, the fir trees that were “ever green.” During the winter months, as the days shortened and the world became dark and cold, it was believed that the sun god had turned their face from them. On the winter solstice, the shortest and darkest day of the year, the people would celebrate the return of the sun god, dancing in a sacred circle around a chosen evergreen tree (fir, spruce, pine) and light fires to bring back the light.

By the way, fellow comic geeks, in the Germanic and Scandinavian regions, the tree was called Thor’s Oak. Hey, Marvel, how about a Christmas Special featuring the tree and the Asgaardian?

Another origin has been proposed for our favorite Christmas image, that of the “Tree of Paradise,” which was used in the medieval plays performed on Christmas Eve to tell the story of Adam and Eve. It was decorated with apples – some say pomegranates – to represent the forbidden fruit, and Eucharist wafers to represent God’s deliverance; later on, in the 16th century, the Germans began placing the trees inside their homes, and the apples were replaced by shiny red balls.

So what were they doing at this time of year in the Fertile Crescent of the Mediterranean? Well, the Egyptians prayed to the Sun god, Ra, who would annually come near to death as the winter progressed. On the day of the solstice, when the sun – Ra – began to strengthen, the Egyptians would bring the green leaves of the palm trees into their homes, which symbolized Ra’s victory over death. (Hmm…palm leaves. Eternally green. Symbols of another resurrection one that is central to the Christian faith.)

The Romans celebrated the Saturnalia on the winter solstice, in honor of Saturn, the god of farming and agriculture, because they knew the shortest day also marked the return of spring and summer, when the land would be fertile once again.  The Saturnalia, by the way, was converted to Christmas, to mark the birth of Jesus by the Emperor Constantine, after he experienced a vision and ordered the conversion of all Roman citizens to Christianity. (And did you know that Biblical forensic astronomers believe that Jesus was actually born in the spring, according to the position of the stars at that time?) Anyway, the Romans also marked the Saturnalia by adorning Saturn’s temples and their own homes with branches of the evergreen trees that grew in that region.

The Celts of England, Ireland, and areas of northern Europe also celebrated the winter solstice with evergreen trees, to them also a symbol of eternal life. They would select a tree about which they danced, and lit bonfires to encourage the dark gods to leave.

When did the Christmas tree as we know first appear in America? Well, the Puritans – of Thanksgiving fame – felt that Christian worship had become frivolous and full of pagan rites. They believed that Christmas was a sacred, awesome – not as in “Awesome, bro!” but in its original meaning of “God-fearing and awe-inspiring” – outlawed the celebration of Christmas with trees, and even carols; those who dared were put in the stocks or worse!

The Germans, especially those who settled mostly in Pennsylvania, are credited with bringing the Christmas tree to America in the mid-19th century, but most Americans of the time were still heavily influenced by their Puritan roots, and believed the tree was a pagan symbol and refused to raise one either in their communities or their homes

Then, in 1846, Queen Victoria of Great Britain and her German-born consort, Prince Albert, appeared in the Illustrated London News celebrating Christmas with a tree. Like Anglophiles today who faithfully follow the affairs of the Windsors – and comic fans who believe that only the Brits know how to write comics – anything that came from across the pond was immediately declared fashionable and de rigueur.

O, Tannenbaum, O, Tannebaum!

And now for my weekly political comment:

If you watch either Jon Stewart on The Daily Show or Bill O’Reilly on The Factor, you know those two are at their annual “The War on Christmas” shenanigans, with Stewart poking fun – and getting pissed off – at one of O’Reilly’s favorite topics, as he rages against the ridiculous, “pinheaded” political correctness of the season.

And you know what? I totally agree with O’Reilly on this one. Oh, not on his overblown rhetoric – although that’s O’Reilly’s raison de guerre – but essentially, I believe he’s absolutely dead on regarding this one. The celebration of Christmas is an American rite of passage, which should be holy and sacred to those of the Christian faiths, but more often, these days, a commemoration of that other American religion – buying on credit and going into debt.

War on Christmas? Who’re you kidding, Mr. O’Reilly?

Next week: My Christmas, Chanukah, and Kwanza shopping suggestions.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

Categories

Archives

Everything you need to make great comics!

comicmix-pro-300x69-2

Nucleus X

Bookshop Zaks