Hand of God is a perfectly enjoyable TV show that has fallen in to the same trap that dozens of other shows in the last decade have fallen in to: it isn’t the high art it thinks it is. This isn’t The Sopranos or Breaking Bad or The Wire. It doesn’t reach the depths of John from Cincinnati or The Leftovers because it has a dynamite cast and a clever premise but it isn’t quite as clever as it thinks it is. It wants to be a spellbinding mystery but it just isn’t that well crafted. Hand of God is a marvelous show to get lost in but if you look to closely you’ll see how poorly tended the forest is.
There’s a lot of top-notch acting on Hand of God and I’m not entirely sure if I mean from series lead Ron Perlman. Perlman chews the scenery as is his wont and it works, he’s a very convincing man having a psychotic break but it’s the rest of the cast that does most of the heavy lifting, perhaps because they have to ground this insanity. Dana Delany is the standout; she gives a tour de force performance where seemingly every episode has her pushing at some new corner of her character but in a way where the myriad personality revelations feel organic and not contrived, and this is a show that knows its way around contrived. Andre Royo is a delight as always, but I’m not sure it was the perfect directorial note to tell him to play the mayor of a small city the same way he played Bubbles. Camryn Manheim has a two-episode arc as a psychiatrist that is just so perfect and the exact energy the show needed and I sincerely hope she’s brought back if the series continues.
The thematic content in Hand of God all worked for me. Pernell Harris (Perlman) is a judge in a small town who starts to get what he believes are divine hallucinations after the attempted suicide of his son and he believes he has to use these to solve the sexual assault of his daughter-in-law. Pernell gets drawn in to an evangelical born-again church that has cropped up in his town and all of the ways they tie the various plot lines in to these religious narratives was effective for me. It’s not a groundbreaking piece of theological discourse or anything but it’s fun to watch and to talk about with other people watching, especially when the alternatives are some of the grislier aspects of the show. “Do you think those were really divine visions?” is a fun question to ask, “what do you think happened with that parking lot murder?” is not.
Where Hand of God falls apart is the story. It’s clear that the show wants to be a sweeping mystery that people discuss how clever it is; it wants to be Scandal at a confessional but is missing the complexity. Unless I miscounted, all but one of the series regulars has a big secret related to the central mystery and most of them are pretty obvious. There are no red herrings, everything just leads linearly to the next thing and the only way to not be ahead of the plot is to just not be paying enough attention. It’s an awkward feeling when the show thinks it’s making a big revelation and the audience watching look at each other and shrug. I’m interested in some of the loose threads they left for a potential season two so it’s not as if this is a total loss, but every thread that wasn’t loose was tied in to a too perfect bow for my taste.
When I was a kid in Ohio, the school year would start the Wednesday after Labor Day. I can tell it’s Back to Schooltime because I want to buy pens.
Originally, I thought about writing a column that was a curriculum guide for classes comic book characters might take. Interlac 101, Latvarian History, that kind of thing. Or perhaps I would suggest a class in California History for the newly-arrived DC crew.
That might have been funny. I reserve the right to use those ideas at a time and place to be negotiated.
Instead, I want to talk about graphic storytelling and its role in modern education. For real. When I was a kid (when we took class notes on papyrus), the conventional wisdom held that comics books were for stupid kids. Bringing one to school (and getting caught) meant a public humiliation and confiscation.
And there’s good reason for this. For one thing, it’s fun to read even the most pessimistic graphic novel. To quote the link: “Comics and graphic novels are a great source of entertainment, and that is, without a doubt, this medium’s most utilitarian strength. Modern education system thrives on selling grades, and completely ignores the love of learning.”
“The Love of Learning.” That’s what school should be about. Unfortunately, in these United States, it is not.
Nothing is simple anymore, and that includes treating graphic story as something worth reading. The politic divide that encourages textbooks like this encourages a fear of conflicting ideas that, in my opinion, is antithetical to a true education.
When the texts are comics, the battles look like this and like this, or like the protests at Duke over Fun Home. It’s interesting to note that, in the second link, the book was banned over the protests of the people who objected to it.
Education has become such a battlefield that the threat of possible controversy is enough to shut down any exchange of ideas at all. We aren’t talking about students hurling insults at each other, or teachers who flunk students for expressing a difference of opinion. We’re talking about books. In many cases, we’re talking about award-winning books that have been lauded in the public marketplace for decades.
I know there is a faction of people out there who would like it if children never questioned authority, who want kids to learn the lessons necessary to be good little workers who obey the bosses, the religious leaders, the cops and the president. Kids who can read enough to understand ads for products they don’t need, who are happy with watching a screen all day and drinking Budweiser.
To me, that’s a form of child abuse.
No one can read everything, of course. We all pick and choose. Even at Duke, Fun Home was on a suggested summer reading list, and not required. The fundamentalist Christians who felt it was an assault on their beliefs remain free to go through life wrapped in their sanctimonious ignorance.
I hope their parents think that’s worth the tuition money. They’re certainly shelling out a lot of dough to make the rest of us to suffer.
You might ask yourself, “What’s the big deal? A bunch of kids in an academic ivory tower are acting like spoiled brats. That’s what college is for. They’ll find out soon enough that the real world doesn’t have time for that kind of self-indulgence.” And I would agree that a lot of us (well, me anyway) who were self-righteously full of ourselves in college eventually found out that our ideals didn’t always translate into reality. I’d even argue that lessons learned that way stay with us longer than if we had gotten it right the first time. One of my favorite things that I learned in school was that life is more interesting and fulfilling when we know people who are different from ourselves and who will challenge our assumptions.
The alternative is to turn out people who all think and act the same way, who think that majority rule is more important than defending the rights of the minority. And if you think I’m exaggerating, check this out.
Seriously, is there a cooler job than toy maker? In an effort to find out just how awesome it is to make geek toys, we talk to Bif Bang Pow Co-Founder, Jason Lenzi, and Entertainment Earth toy designer Griffin Maghari.
Oh, Dragon Con, how I adore you! Let me count the ways…
They include:
1. The fact that even the airline losing my luggage until 3 a.m. on arrival Thursday feels like something I can roll with, since, after all, the minute I walk in I find old friends (and new) to greet me and take my mind off of things – and to commiserate, and hope with me that all of my toiletries and hand-made costume items are not lost forever in the bowels of Reagan National. Thankfully they weren’t.
The parade of Deadpools, which deserves its own number because it was epic. It included everything from Chef Deadpool to Wolverine Deadpool, and delighted my Deadpool-loving soul. And I managed to get a couple of segments on video (there was more, oh, so much more).
Meeting the amazingly talented and nice Randy Rogel, who is clearly a kindred spirit as well as the man responsible for many of my favorite Animaniacs songs, and getting a copy of his original music charts for my sister the musician & teacher of children’s music classes.
Getting to see and hear Randy Rogel and voice actor Rob Paulsen (Yakko, Pinky, Doctor Scratchansniff, and more) perform a slew of great Animaniacs songs live (seriously a huge highlight of my weekend, possibly my overall favorite thing). I’m Mad was a special favorite, and they received twostanding ovations for the panel. They do a show that travels around, and I really hope to see it come to Washington DC someday. If they come your way, don’t miss them!
Watching the Voice Acting with the Pros panel with wise and funny voice actors Bill Farmer, William Salyers, Carey S. Means, Sam Marin, and Rob Paulsen, with excellent moderator Brian Prince. (And seeing a life-sized Dot Warner in the audience.)
Going to the Hannibal Fannibal Panel, in which my roommate Cleolinda and friend Damien participated (and seeing all of the flower crowns).
Attending the Friday Hannibal Q & A panel with guests (and informal comedy duo) Aaron Abrams and Scott Thompson, who were so hilarious that I went back to see the Sunday panel as well (although, alas, I missed the Saturday panel where the intrepid guests chased a squadron of Stormtroopers out of the room). Highlights of the panels included Scott Thompson narrating his interminable trips to the water pitcher at the far end of the table; Aaron Abrams “borrowing” a black drape from the stage to wrap up in because he was cold and then discovering that it smelled and was all wet (which resulted in him retaining a wet spot in a fairly unfortunate location); Scott being completely inappropriate all the time; Aaron constantly talking with his hands; Scott and Aaron doing their best Will and Hannibal impressions; and, of course, the actual answering of questions. (The Friday panel was also notable as the first time I’ve ever cosplayed three fandoms at once, thanks to wearing a Hannibal-fandom flower crown on top of my Harley Quinn and Jake the Dog!)
Gifting Aaron Abrams with my hand-made flower crown (last worn atDragon Con 2014 by J. August Richards, who is also a fan of Hannibal), which resulted in this fantastic picture. (Well, he did say in the panel that he’d like to get a flower crown. So, y’know.)
Catching up with great Walk of Fame guests like Bill Farmer; Rob Paulsen; Bill Corbett; and Clay Croker, and meeting delightful guests like the aforementioned Randy Rogel (and the awesome Pat Brady); Aaron Abrams; Scott Thompson; Aaron Douglas; Vanessa Marshall; Carey S. Means, and William Salyers.
Having a laugh at a Startled Cat picture waiting to stare in an alarmed manner at me when I entered the Hilton elevator (thanks, Dragon Con attendees with meme-friendly senses of humor).
Delicious dinners and fun parties and chilling at the bars and lounges with friends I don’t get to see nearly often enough, and meeting Twitter friends who I’ve only known via computer or cell phone screen until now, or brand-new friends who may one day be old friends.
Playing a completely inappropriate and hilarious game of Cards Against Humanity (the only kind of CAH game possible!) in the lounge late at night with a bottle of wine and good friends.
Robots! Droids! Woohoo! A.k.a. the big interactive talking robot that was outside of the Walk of Fame for some time (my favorite interaction was when it made fun of a Headless Horseman cosplayer walking by), and the tiny Star Wars BB-8 Droid that just went on sale and was being demonstrated at a party by one of the fellas working with Peter Mayhew (it’s so cool).
The calm Monday of the con, just chillin’ with friends and watching the thinning crowd and the bubbles drift by from the Marriott Loft (although our chill Monday was interrupted by an almost-fistfight (a dramatic one!) as we were going down an elevator). Hey, it’s not Dragon Con without a few stories about crazy people, right? (I guess? Seriously – elevators are for everybody, guys.)
The Aftermath of Con (not to be confused with the Wrath of Khan), where everyone sits around together staring companionably at nothing and wondering if they’ve actually ever slept before or if that was just an imagined state.
The Even Later Than Aftermath of Con, when most people have left and it’s time to wrap up with dessert and cocktails with your roomie (because otherwise, you just aren’t doing it right).
So many other things I’m probably forgetting because conventions are crazy and no one sleeps much at Dragon Con; but they may be on my Instagram or my roomie Cleolinda’s Twitter or LiveJournal recap.
And finally, arriving home after a really great Dragon Con (with all of my luggage intact!) to the sweetest l’il hamsterlet in the world, Wee Mini Squish. Ahh, home and tiny cute creatures.
So there you have it! It was an amazing Dragon Con, and I hope you enjoyed the recap as much as I enjoyed the trip. Stay tuned for next week, when I will have my Dragon Con interview with Randy Rogel up for everyone to see!
Outside my window summer is melting away and when it’s finally gone, what will be uncovered? Well, cold weather for one thing – I think we’re on pretty firm ground there – and if the weather pundits are right, it’ll be damn cold weather. Which will make it a match for that melting summer, a brute of a season with the hottest July ever recorded.
Is something going on?
So here’s what might happen: I might go to the park and meet a guy who’ll tell me that the sky is pink with big yellow polka dots and I’ll say no, the sky is blue. And he’ll say that he’s no scientist, but the third cousin of a fella he knows says that the sky is pink with yellow polka dots and that, by golly, is plenty good enough for him.
Let us forge ahead.
The end of summer brings the new television season. The big news is The Return of Colbert, less than two days in my future and already in your past. So you may know if Colbert’s debut at 11:35 has satisfied all the expectations and justified all the publicity. (If you don’t know, you probably don’t care and that’s okay.) I watched his previous show on Comedy Central whenever I wasn’t traveling and I’m rooting for him. He’s one of one of our valuable jesters, one just a handful of entertainers who speak the truth to power.
The week’s other big TV news is big news to me, but may not be big news to you. On Thursday (the day you’re reading this blather?) Longmire returns. The weekly show was cancelled after three seasons but good ol’ Netflix has rescued it and we get to enjoy more of Walt Longmire’s travails. This is the one best cop shows ever, though if we’re being picky I guess we should call it a “sheriff show.” Mari and just finished watching all the previous episodes and are eager for more.
What am I forgetting?
Oh yeah: Superheroes! They’ll be well-represented, with all last year’s crop not only returning, but being augmented by new actors playing superdoers. Watching these programs has become one of those unacknowledged rituals that help form a marriage and, that aside, we generally like them.
The newcomer is Supergirl, who first appeared in the comics in 1959 as Superman’s cousin, another survivor of the Krypton community. (Where do they find a stadium big enough for their reunions?)
Judging from the infinitesimally tiny bit I know about the show, the title character will be played as a wholesome, girl-next-door, kind of like what she was (is?) on the printed page. Okay, no problem. We’ve seen plenty of the superhero-as-tormented-vigilante. Now let’s see what you television guys can do with wholesome.
When he first came to LA from New York, I was the one who drove him around for weeks. He didn’t drive. Who does in New York? I took him shopping to the barbershop, comic book stores, wherever. If he needed to go somewhere, I was his ride.
His first Christmas in California, Dwayne was my date for director Bill Duke’s Christmas party. He and Bill became the center of the evening engaging in a conversation so riveting everyone – everyone – who went into Bill’s huge ass kitchen stayed and listened. In the African American community the kitchen is always the center of a holiday dinner, regardless if you live in a small apartment or a mansion.
This was something else beyond the holiday tradition. Dwayne and Bill were engaged in conversation that made black Hollywood stop put down the chicken and listen.
Black Hollywood giving that kind of attention to some guy they never met? Rare.
Putting down the chicken? If I didn’t see it for myself…
Dwayne McDuffie and I were not just friends. We partnered on projects after Milestone. We had projects at Dark Horse and DC. Here’s a kicker. I created those projects, and I brought Dwayne on to write them.
I sold DC President Jenette Kahn a limited series Keith Giffen called the greatest idea since Watchmen. Keith wanted to write it and I wanted Keith to do it but the more I talked to Jenette about the project it became clear to us both this was a Dwayne project if ever there was one.
I told Jenette I was going to ask Dwayne, she was overjoyed, as was I when he said it was a great idea and would write it.
All was good in the hood until the DC editor assigned to the project said “Love this… just not with Michael Davis.” Yeah, I get that a lot. The editor suggested DC buy me out. Dwayne told the editor it was my project and he was not doing it without me.
I took it to Dark Horse and sold it there. Mike Richardson and Dwayne went back and forth as to what the direction the series should take until Mike realized the historical backstory was the story he wanted told. Dwayne didn’t want to tell that story, although I did.
The beauty of Mike Richardson’s insight was the original superhero story was still a doable project. A few years later Dwayne took it back to DC and for a while it was a go, until it wasn’t. This was the when Dwayne was retooling the Milestone and DC relationship and there was real talk and excitement of Milestone entering the DCU.
The project was at one point considered the initial starting point of the combined universes. That Milestone reboot didn’t happen and although there was some movement on the project even after Dwayne passed, the New 52 prevented any further talks. DC was all about the New 52 and this did not fit.
It’s important to me to get these events into the public record because of the narrative forming that erases my contribution from Milestone’s history and left unchallenged that narrative will become truth to most. It’s only a matter of time before Dwayne McDuffie’s problem with Michael Davis bullshit makes its way to a black comics forum. All it takes is someone pointing out I didn’t attend his funeral for a senseless rumor to become a certainty to the sheep who live for such trivialness. After a million sheep blog it so, it becomes so.
I didn’t not attend his funeral, not because there was an issue between Dwayne and I but because I decided to stay with a friend who was asked not to attend. I stood by my friend, I always did.
Those who spread poison about me should understand by now I can prove each and everything I say and just as easily disprove what they say. I see things clearly beforehand because I’m smarter than they are.
They will simply look at this preempted strike as just another stroke of luck on my part.
I’ve been betrayed, stabbed in the back, lied to and about, I’m depressed, alone and if not for the kindness and love of some friends most likely I would be dead. Thinking I’m lucky makes “stupid” too polite a word to use on them.
The truth can be bought. The truth can be killed. The truth can be jailed, silenced, controlled, and changed.
However, I can not be brought, I’ve been jailed, I won’t be silenced nor controlled. Unless you kill me the truth can be proven. I keep everything, forget nothing, and fear nobody.
The day before he died, Dwayne emailed me. He wanted me to see the prototype of the adult Static action figure. Keeping in touch with an enemy especially from your hospital bed isn’t something people do. They do that for friends.
Yesterday was the 49th anniversary of Star Trek’s television premiere. In case you are a first time reader, you should know that I #Star Trek. Serious love of the Trek here. But as we reach this momentous occasion, I do have one serious complaint about the franchise. And it isn’t J.J. Abrams.
49 years ago, Star Trek promised a future filled with exciting technology. Over the years we have seen a lot of it come into existence. Want a communicator? Buy a cell phone. Want a hypospray? They actually existed before the show! Basic tractor beams have been invented, as well as a basic phaser. Federation Starships have inspired engine designs and the Prius was inspired by a shuttlecraft. But through all of this, the technology I want still hasn’t made an appearance. The future is here, 49 years later. Where is my damn replicator?!
That’s right, I want a replicator. In fact, I go on this rant every time I have to stop something interesting to cook a meal because I am so hungry. (My roommate is really tired of hearing about it.) Actually, this post was even paused to cook dinner. After a lifetime of watching Star Trek, I am just disappointed that I still have to cook rather than enter a disk or speak my current craving and poof! There’s my meal, all hot and steamy.
Yes, I realize that TV isn’t reality but Star Trek has broken that barrier through its impact on the science and technological development of the world. My one hope is at least some people are trying. There is a company in Israel that has something you could refer to as the world’s first replicator. It sounds more like a Keurig for food than what I’m looking for but baby steps. Maybe in my lifetime, I could order my dinner instead of having to cook it, not to mention the added benefit of feeding the planet.
Many of today’s engineers and scientists were inspired by watching Star Trek growing up. While I didn’t take on a career in the sciences, you can tell it obviously made an impression on my world. Maybe we will see a breakthrough for the 50th anniversary. If not, then we need to get Star Trek back on TV to inspire a new generation of thinkers. You know, for the benefit of science, the future… and my stomach.
Last week, Rich Johnston over at Bleeding Cool wrote one of his typically brilliant pieces about how Marvel Studios’ Kevin Feige aced out Marvel CEO Isaac Perlmutter and put to death the Marvel Creative Committee – Alan Fine, Brian Michael Bendis, Dan Buckley, Joe Quesada and others from time to time such as Jeph Loeb and Axel Alonso.
That last bit makes my head hurt. Consciously turning your back on such a gifted, knowledgeable and successful group of people because you think you know how to do it better is not the act of a good businessperson, it’s the act of a megalomaniac.
Rich asks the question “how did Feige manage to strong-arm Disney into this decision?” That’s a fascinating question, as historical inquiries go. I’d like to toss out some comments about the future of Feige Island (Rich’s term; I only steal from the best). To paraphrase the most over-paraphrased phrase in comics, “with great power comes great exposure.”
This is not a prediction, it’s an analysis. Lots of shit will come down the pike. However, this is one of those rare occasions where logic is useful. Sooner or later, Marvel Studios is going to drop a turd. No slight against Marvel; it’s the second law of thermodynamics, although I phrased it somewhat differently. It’s going to happen sooner or later.
The highest dictum of business is “cover your ass.” Once again I shall quote the great Mel Brooks in Blazing Saddles, where he played Governor William J. Le Petomane at his conference table. “We’ve got to protect our phony baloney jobs, gentlemen!”
This is the principle by which business, government, and Hollywood lives and is bound to live. So, when Marvel Studios finally lays that egg, who is going to get the blame? If the buck stops at Kevin Feige’s wallet, who else is there to blame? Ike Perlmutter? Nope; he’s been banished from Feige Island. If Kevin doesn’t get himself a fall guy… then he is the fall guy.
Why the hell would a creative manager void himself of input from the likes of Bendis, Buckley, Quesada, Loeb, Fine and Alonso? Did Feige actually see any of the Marvel Studios product?
How about the balance sheets?
(For a swell time, Google Mel Brooks’ muse Le Pétomane, the stage name of the French flatulist Joseph Pujol. Seriously. You’ll be amazed and delighted… and, probably, a bit disgusted.)
Labor Day. It sounds like a day when we all should be out there laboring our asses off – or, if you’re an expectant mom, the day you give birth. (Now that’s labor!) Instead, it’s a national holiday on which we all un-labor.
The United States Department of Labor defines the holiday as “Labor Day, the first Monday in September, is a creation of the labor movement and is dedicated to the social and economic achievements of American workers. It constitutes a yearly national tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country.”
There’s no mention of the bloody Chicago Haymarket Square Riot on May 4, 1886, or of the Pullman strike in that same city almost exactly eight years later, or of the appalling conditions in which ordinary workers, i.e., laborers, had to struggle to make a living wage. Three-day weekends? Are you kidding me? As the Dowager Countess (Maggie Smith) of Downton Abbey asked, “What’s a weekend?” Not only were there no weekends, there were no 40-hour weeks, no overtime, and no benefits. The unionization of industries was looked upon as a plot of anarchists, communists, socialists, and “foreigners” intent on destroying the fabric of American society.
It wasn’t until 1935 and the National Labor Relations Act that the right to organize and bargain collectively, i.e., to unionize, for better wages, hours, and working conditions, especially the safety of employees, had the bulwark of the U.S. government behind it. But immediately corporations en masse fought against the Act – which was progressively weakened until, in 2009, the corporate community used modern media tools and millions upon millions of dollars to create new lobbies, with “New Speak” names like the Workplace Fairness Institute and the Coalition for a Democratic Workplace. The bottom line is that these national lobbies and individual state “right-to-work” laws have effectively killed unions in this country–which claimed that any legislation protecting the right of unions to exist would take away workers’ right to vote for or against unionization in a secret ballot.
And then there’s outsourcing…a product of President Bill Clinton’s North American Free Trade Act (NAFTA). Everybody knows that the manufacturing industry has fled the United States. Basically, the corporations said, “if you can’t join them, fuck ‘em,” and moved their operations to countries where:
The minimum wage is $3.00/hr;
There are no child labor laws;
The work week is expanded to whatever the corporation decides;
Health and safety laws are non-existent;
Unions are banned; and
Environmental protection laws do not exist.
So. What does all of this have to do with comics? Well, there was an effort to unionize, back in 1978.
In that year, a group of then A-list writers and artists banded together as the Comics Creators Guild – which is sort of like a union, but for freelancers who are given work but not on an on-going basis. Led by Neal Adams, the group included Cary Bates, Howard Chaykin, Chris Claremont, Steve Ditko (which I admit is surprising to me since he was a follower of Ayn Rand’s Objectivism), Michael Golden, Archie Goodwin, Paul Levitz, Bob McLeod, Frank Miller, Carl Potts, Marshall Rogers, Jim Shooter, Walt Simonson, Jim Starlin, Len Wein, and Marv Wolfman.
Janelle Asselin of Comics Alliance wrote on May 11, 2015, “One of the things the group did was put together a list of recommended rates for publishers.” These rates were (and thanks to Janelle and Comic Book News for this):
Fees for First North American Publication Rights
Art Work, per page: $300.00
Script, per page: $100.00
Lettering, per page: $40.00
Coloring, per page: $70.00
Fees for foreign first publication rights were to equal 25% of the first North American publication rights, and fees for reprints would be 50% of the first North American publication rights. In addition, any work used in licensing agreements would result in payment to the “talent” equal to the first North American publication rights.
Janelle wrote, (and thanks for doing the math, Janelle!) that adjusted for inflation, these rates would be $1080.00 for artists, $360.00 for writers, $144.00 for letterers, and $252.00 for colorists. I am assuming that these are “entry-level” rates, by the way.
I remember talking about the Comics Creators Guild with Paul Levitz and Marv Wolfman when I worked at DC in the 80s; I never really understood why it failed, except that perhaps it is because that, on the whole, creative types are ornery loners. And that there are – despite the growth of other markets and web comics and independent press – still hosts of eager-beaver young talents willing to accept pittance and give up any rights to their work in order to write, draw, letter and color Marvel and DC’s four-color heroes. Still, Hollywood, that bastion of creativity in America (say that with a smirk on your face) is a union town. In fact, you cannot work in the television and movie industry without a union card, and that includes extras, or a guild membership.
Which led me to this thought:
Now that Marvel and DC are firmly in the land of La-La, perhaps the fact that Hollywood is a union town will influence and lead to today’s (and future) comics creators to form a union that lasts. Or perhaps one of the unions and guilds already established will take them under their wing, such as the Writers’ Guild of America – West.
We’ll see. Because, for at least right now, Hollywood is just about the only place in America where unions still have real power.
It’s back to school time and even though it comes around every year, it always surprises me at how quickly it sneaks up after a fun summer. This year, we’re sending our last child off to college, and that’s made me think of a classic Batman story. Face with an empty nest, I’m seeing a familiar story in a totally new light.
Today we’d call the October 1969 issue of Batman, #217, a reboot. It’s hard to conceive of it now, but in this story, they stripped the character down to his very basic elements. No more Wayne Manor, no more Robin, no more Batcave and no more outlandish villains. Of course, they all came back eventually.
The time was right for a change. The Batmania of the sixties, fueled by the TV show’s camp craze, was over and done with. By 1969, the TV show was like an embarrassing memory from a party where you had too much to drink. Oh sure, it was fun at the time, but then you need to sober up and leave that tomfoolery behind you. And back then, no one ever dreamed that one day in the future Batman would be bigger than ever and there’d be a whole new wave of Batman ’66 merchandise. And to even say that you could actually own every episode, and watch them whenever you wanted, seemed crazy.
Back in 1969, comics in general, and Batman in particular, were taking big steps to position themselves as more than juvenile kiddie fare. Denny O’Neil and Neal Adams led the brigade of creatives who took a more serious, more grown-up approach to Batman. He’d no longer be a silly buffoon in tongue-and-cheek adventures.
“One Bullet too Many” by Frank Robbins, Irv Novick and Dick Giordano, was first published in ’69, and later reprinted in the classic collection: Batman from the 30s to the 70s. This tale was a part of a long re-energizing of the Batman mythology.
In this story, Dick Grayson (a.k.a. Robin the Boy Wonder) is preparing to leave for his freshman year at Hudson University. Dick gently teases the saddened Bruce (Batman) Wayne and their butler, Alfred about his imminent departure for college. He then brings his two (!) suitcases to the front door. I guess Alfred didn’t need Bed, Bath and Beyond’s College Registry/Pack and Hold in those days.
Astoundingly, Bruce and Alfred don’t arrange to drop young Dick Grayson off at school. Instead, Dick casually hops in a taxi as the adults glumly watch from the front doorway. Can you imagine a parent hailing a cab to take their child to the first day of college today?
Long before I started my freshman year of college, I read this Batman story and thought of how I’d be like Dick Grayson one day: bra
vely leaving for college with equal parts of excitement/hope and homesickness/apprehension.
(Of course, Animal House and my father’s fraternity stories painted an entirely different picture of college, but that’s another story.)
So while I identified with college freshman Dick Grayson so long ago, now I find myself looking at this story in an entirely different way. As we venture to drop our daughter off at a college majestically overlooking the Hudson River, it sure seems like the fictional “Hudson U” to me. So I now find myself identifying with the crestfallen sadness of Batman and Alfred. And I now see this tale as the quintessential empty nest story.
As soon as young Dick’s taxi drives off, Bruce tells Alfred to pack it up, and that they’re getting outta town. “Take a long, possibly last look, Alfred,” says the Caped Crusader. “We’re moving out of this suburban sanctuary.” I guess there wasn’t a need to stay in the Gotham school system with Dick in college. He’s decided they’re moving to the city and he’s going to start a new business. The venture was called V.I.P. (Victims Incorporated Program), but it was essentially a “second act” start-up, by today’s standards.
Kudos to Bruce Wayne for his courage. Good for him, and Alfred, for closing down dusty old Wayne Manor and the Batcave to bravely start the next chapter of their lives. I’m overly sentimental, and, I’ll admit I am having trouble making the transition that decisively. Packing up our Wayne Manor and starting a new business isn’t quite as easy for me, but I get the idea. It’s good advice. Leave it to Batman to show me the way. Again.
Hand of God
