As I stared blankly past my blank-canvas-of-a-computer-screen this evening (and yeah, I totally know you’re reading this Saturday morning…), my eyes have rested on my still-mint-in-package Kyle Rayner Action Figure. It’s his post-crab-mask, post-Jim-Lee, pre-New-52 costume. He sits in line with representatives of all the Lantern spectrum – Saint Walker, Atrocitus, Larfleeze, Sinestro, and Indigo. Whoops, never did buy that Star Sapphire figure, did I? Oh well.
There was a time, in what I’d wish was the not-too-distant past (it is, I did the math, ouch), where my toys would not find their final resting place on a half-mantle, still sealed in clamshells. They would be free-air action figures, posed in intricate dioramas, depicting my favorite scenes from books past. And slightly before that time (yes, so, I’m really starting to feel old), these same action figures would sit in a toy chest, ready to do combat on the coffee table, and zip around the basement. No worries, Batman can fly too. He installed rockets in his boots. Which is why there are holes in the heels.
Action figures have come a good long way since the 80s (when I’m personally professing the true boon began). The Transformers – once blocky and spindly in the same breath – are now multiple lines deep, featuring both highly intricate sculpts as well as animated-inspired designs offered in the same shelf-space. And where we comic fans might pray for a chase rogue packed deep in the line of a Batman or Superman series, now we’re getting B, C, and D listers being sold en masse. And where the action figures of yesteryear were either choked with articulation points (G.I. Joe) or confined to four or five (Batman: The Animated Series), now, we have offering from each pole and everything in between. And accessories? What was once a series of mono-color swords or missiles, is now a litany of swapable heads, hands, guns, and pieces of other figures.
And what of those Build-A-Figures? Pure marketing genius. How better to force kids and their grown-up counterparts to part with errant assets for otherwise unwanted figures in a line? Well, pack in that much-needed torso of the Anti-Monitor or Galactus, and suddenly the demand for Batroc the Leaper or G’nort goes through the roof.
If I’m allowed to kvetch for a second though, allow me now to digress. With the mass of plastic übermenches choking the aisles of the local department stores, there still seems to be a few big gaping holes left to plug. As usual, the girls aren’t getting as much attention as the boys. We’ve come a long way from just the pink aisle for the girls – packed tightly with 17 variants of the same white Barbie (sorry, Michael Davis) – but there still seems to be the stigma of corporate focus groups when it comes to complete diversity via toy lines. Look no further than The Avengers movie tie-ins, where Black Widow can’t even seem to negotiate a spot on the damned packaging, let alone get a figure to call her own. Where or how little girls are supposed to get their ass-kicking in, I don’t know. Maybe release a pink Thor and call it a day?
Girl-power aside, I’m also surprised that there’s no push of the ole’ action playset anymore. Back in my day a kid coveted those gargantuan homes for their action figures to pummel one-another on. To be totally fair? I only went over to Kyle’s house (Kyle Gnepper, of Unshaven Comics infamy) because I’d heard he’d had the Technodrome. Bastard never let me see it up close either. Suffice to say, perhaps it’s because of the price point or production woes, but when there’s 19 different Hulkbusters all coming to the collectible shelves near you… why isn’t there a half blown-up Triskelion awaiting the kiddies under the Hanukkah bush? Digression over.
So, what of my titular question? What makes a great action figure? Here’s the truth: imagination. Nothing more. No accessory too detailed, sculpt too perfect, or pitch-perfect point-of-articulation mean a hill of beans without the very life-force of a toy. Toys breed creativity for those willing to cut open their clamshells.
Now, if you’ll excuse me… I need to act out a better ending to Geoff John’s War of Light.
What is it about super heroes and prisons? First Ben (The Thing) Grimm went breaking bad by breaking out of jail. Then the good guys warehoused super villains in less-than-legal lock-ups on the TV shows Arrow and The Flash. The Thing, Green Arrow, and the Flash. These are long-time, venerable, white-hat heroes, not your new-fangled heroes of questionable pedigree and even more questionable morality. These were the types of heroes who stood for something. Something noble.
Another in that long line of long-lived, white hat heroes was Captain Midnight. Captain Midnight started on the radio in the fall of 1938. So he’s older and more venerable than any the comic-book super heroes except Superman and, maybe, the Crimson Avenger. And he was just as white-hat as any of them.
Sure his cowl was a dark blue. But let’s face it, neither Green Arrow nor the Flash sport headgear that’s regulation ivory, either. When you’re talking about white-hat heroes, it isn’t the actual color, it’s the attitude. And in attitude, Jim Albright, genius inventor and secretly the costumed hero Captain Midnight, was as white-hat as they come.
Then, after he was transported through time from 1944 to the present, Captain Midnight went to a twenty-first century prison. And like the other heroes before him, he lost his way.
In Dark Horse’s current Captain Midnight series, the good Captain is fighting the secret super villain the Archon, “the most sinister threat [Captain Midnight has] ever faced.” In Captain Midnight #20, Captain Midnight realized that in order to get information necessary for his fight, he had to steal it from the shadowy government organization Black Sky. (Of course it’s a shadowy government organization. In comic books, all government organizations are shadowy. Except for the ones that are just flat-out evil.)
Steal information from the government? We’re not even to the prison yet and already Midnight’s white hat has become a shade of grey. (Only 49 more to go).
In order to steal the information, Captain Midnight enlisted the aid of Helios, an assassin who used teleportation technology pirated from Albright Industries to port to and from his mercenary pursuits with a minimum of danger. Because Midnight created the teleportation technology that Helios uses, Midnight could hijack it by remote control. Midnight used his remote control to override Helios’s suit and jump him from a hit in Moscow to the secret Midnight base. Then Midnight used his remote control and teleported the two of them into Block 13, a Black Sky prison in New Mexico. Both acts done to Helios and against his will.
Did I say “enlisted?” Let me rephrase that.
Captain Midnight grabbed Helios against Helios’s will in order to accomplish his theft plan. That’s kidnap. And broke into a secret government prison. Would you call that criminal trespass? I wouldn’t. Neither would New Mexico. In New Mexico, it’s aggravated burglary. That’s shades of grey two and three.
Because Black Sky was is a comic-book shadowy government organization, it was something real government organizations aren’t; efficient. Armed Black Sky agents were waiting for Captain Midnight and Helios. Which meant that Captain Midnight and Helios had to fight their way through the Black Sky agents.
There were seven agents, so that would be seven counts of assault upon a peace officer. At first. Lots more Black Sky agents showed up while Midnight was downloading the information he needed from the Black Sky computers. Agents Helios shot said agents with deadly force. How do I know it was deadly force? Because Helios told Captain Midnight he was going to have to use deadly force and Midnight said “Fine.” That gives us a dozen or so counts of aggravated assault upon a peace officer or murder, depending on whether Helios actually killed any of the Black Sky operatives. (And considering the bullets to the heads and chest that several of them took, I’m guessing he did.)
After Captain Midnight finished downloading the information, he activated his escape plan. It was literally an escape plan. Midnight hadn’t just downloaded information from the computers, he had also uploaded a virus into the computers. He used that virus to open up all the cell doors on Block 13. Suddenly, like the dinosaurs on Jurassic Park, all the inmates were running wild. Then, while the Black Sky agents were capturing the escaping prisoners, Midnight and Helios teleported to the base’s hanger and commandeered one of the Black Sky jets to make good their own escape. (Because of a plot contrivance, Helios could teleport a short distance inside the base, couldn’t teleport out of the base. Hence the whole stealing a jet plane gambit.) Meanwhile, an explosion that Captain Midnight triggered created an additional distraction to cover their escape.
And that brings us up to god knows how many counts of aiding and abetting escape from a penitentiary by unlocking all those Block 13 cell doors. Several counts of conspiracy. One count of computer abuse. One count of unlawful assault on a jail. One count of larceny. One count of unlawful taking of a vehicle. One count of criminal damage to property. And, if any of the Black Sky agents were hurt in the explosion – I’m guessing yes – even more counts of aggravated assault upon a peace officer. That’s quite the laundry list of felonies. Even Al Capone was telling Captain Midnight to take it easy.
And that’s just from a quick perusal of New Mexico’s criminal statutes. I’ll bet I could find a lot more offenses, if I really delved into New Mexico’s criminal statutes. But why bother? Captain Midnight has so many more than fifty shades of grey on his white hat, it’s not funny.
Seriously, it’s not funny. We used to call our favored reading material funny books. Not any more. Turning super heroes – especially the super heroes of old who were classic white-hat heroes – into people who are every bit as bad – if not worse – than the villains they fight is many things. But it’s not funny.
Yesterday, in a fit of inertia, I watched five episodes of Bosch on Amazon Prime. The show is based on Hieronymus “Harry” Bosch, a detective in a series of terrific books by Michael Connelly.
It’s a good enough show, at least so far. It moves at its own pace, so I had plenty of time to wonder about weird, related stuff. Would I look like star Titus Welliver if I was a man, since we have the same bags under our eyes and the same beginner jowls? Don’t the female characters in the books have more to do than look at Harry with adoring eyes? Is that a part of Los Angeles I’ve been to, or has it been in a million other movies? Why aren’t there more food trucks in the LA on this show? Why aren’t there more food trucks in my neighborhood right now?
Once I was satisfied with my answers to those questions, I started to compare the phenomenon of binge-watching to reading a collected trade paperback collection of comic book series.
It is most satisfying to binge-watch programs made to be binged. By this, I mean that Orange Is the New Black, House of Cards, Grace and Frankie and, yes, Bosch work better than American network shows like Supernatural (which I’m trying to get into because it’s a popular Internet meme and I should know what’s going on) or even Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Television shows can work when you watch them once a week, when you need to be reminded who the different characters are and what happened. When you watch them all at once, it’s really annoying to be told the same things over and over (and over and over) again.
However, watching, say, the fifth episode of Bosch (or any other show designed for bingeing) would be less satisfying than watching the fifth episode of Buffy because of that lack of repetition. Each episode of a network drama is designed to be self-contained. When you watch any episode, you can tell who the main characters are, what kind of people they are, and what is at stake for them.
When I started to read comic books, each issue was designed to be self-contained. Regular readers might know more about the backgrounds of the characters, but the publishers knew that every issue might be somebody’s first. Every issue had a beginning, a middle and an end.
Even in the 1990s, when comic book sagas were planned to span several issues, each issue still had a complete story. If there was something from a previous issue that the reader needed to know, the creators and editors found a way to work that in, either with a flashback or dialogue. The best-selling collected edition at the time, The Death of Superman, can be maddening to read in one sitting, precisely because the necessary plot points are repeated so often.
The inside-out version of this is also true, at least for me. When I read a series that seems to be designed to be collected, I often forget what’s happening between issues (and I can’t always find my previous issues, but that’s a house-keeping problem of mine, not a general cultural crisis). Most recently, I notice this with Letter 44, a series I really like. And I’d like it much better if I could remember who the good guys and bad guys were from one issue to the next.
Comic book economics are such that it is not always possible to publish a graphic novel all at once. Those monthly pamphlets let the publishers amortize the costs over a longer term, so there is less risk. I get that. I get that so much that I want to support unusual work that needs my money upfront, at the pamphlet stage. I want artists and writers to get paid as often as possible.
There has to be a better way to do this than we’re doing it now. Either we need a better publishing plan, or we need better drugs for my memory.
Summer vacation is a week away and that means plenty of time to read books for enjoyment rather than education. As huge fans of John Green’s books and movies, we think you should read Paper Towns. But, seriously, you need to get on that because the movie is coming out in theaters on July 24th.
If you enjoyed The Fault In Our Stars, you’ll love this book (and it looks like the movie too, because John Green is a co-screenwriter.) As a bonus you won’t have a big ugly cry with this one — though we can’t promise no tears. We did cry. But there are many laughs too.
Paper Towns is a mystery novel about a girl name Margo who runs away and her childhood friend, Q who goes on a road trip with some friends to find her.
If you are stocking up on books for summer, we also suggest the other John Green books. Read them, then let us know which you think would be great movies.
Here’s a brief excerpt from last week’s column that will help you understand why we’re in the gremlin-blaming game:
If you think I’m recommending the course, you’re right, and so you should know its title. Happy to oblige Dr. Armstrong had reached the section of her presentation that deals with the twentieth century Arthur and spoke of Marian Zimmer Bradley’s Arthurian novels –you might know The Mists of Avalon –and then she began to talk about Mike Barr’s comics.
Notice anything missing there? Yep. After “happy to oblige” there should be the name of the course I’m recommending. And there isn’t. Tsk.
Well, let us make haste to right the wrong. I’m happy to oblige you with the following information: “King Arthur: History and Legend.”
The course is offered by The Teaching Company as part of it’s Great Courses catalogue and a quick Google should give you the particulars.
Now about those gremlins. You’ve probably heard the name and a lot of you have no doubt seen one or both of the Gremlins movies. The first is catchily titled Gremlins and the second, even catchier, Gremlins: The New Batch. The eponymous critters portrayed in the films and nasty and mean and ugly and I guess those words would do to describe chimera that inspired them. I’m not as sure as I’d like to be because gremlin data seems kind of scarce, though the ever-useful Funk and Wagnall’s Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology, and Legend gives them a goodly amount of space and tells us that “there is little agreement as to their description.”
It seems that they first appeared during the first world war and had a special affinity for bollixing aircraft. Something isn’t working and there is no earthly reason why? Only one possible answer: gremlins.
This clandestine sabotage persisted on through the second world war and I guess to the present. Now, I’m not a big believer in spookies of any sort, but if gremlins do exist they explain an awful lot about my life. Technology is not my friend. Cars, televisions, video players, global positioning trackers, and especially computers and their spawn…they’ve all had their innings making my existence a frustration. Often.
My deeply skeptical DNA sharer would say “coincidence” and I would riposte “this frigging much coincidence?” DNA sharer is pretty smart, but about this, he’s wrong. No. Unacceptable. It is saner, more logical and reasonable, to posit a malevolent intelligence, omnipresent, sly. resourceful, with infinite access to machinery and gadgets of all sorts. And he, or she, it or they, hate me. Don’t ask why. I have no idea what my offense might have been. Or when I committed it.
Maybe I’m being mistaken for some other Dennis O’Neil.
But that missing reference to the Dorsey Armstrong course? It’s in my draft and it isn’t in the printed column, so kindly draw your own conclusions. Gremlins. Has to be.
I wonder what this column fidelyobscrave trom ostitrove
My wife (now ex) came home to find me wailing like a wounded animal. Seeing this started her crying also, convinced yet another tragedy had taken yet another member of my family.
She was right.
Lots Of Years Earlier…
That was my first day on my first job and I was looking forward to my first paycheck. I’d never had that kind of bank all at once. This was to be a day of firsts, after I’d gotten my scratch; I was going to shop at my first bookstore. The 8th Street Bookstore in New York City to be exact. My visit there would see me purchase my first hard cover book as this was the first time I saw value in one thing as opposed to many things.
My first paycheck, my first visit to a bookstore to buy my first hardcover book and the first time I saw value in one thing as opposed to many things?
You’re thinking I was either:
Really stupid
An illiterate adult
A really stupid illiterate adult
All of the above
It’s E, none of the above. Why is E not listed? Why’d you think it had to be one of those? Yeah, right.
I was 10. I said it was a lot of year’s earlier, sheesh.
This was the first day I was going to work in my cousin’s studio. My cousin, William T. Williams, is one of the 20th and now 21st century finest artists. Don’t take my word for it; Goggle him or check out the Janson History Of Art for the last 20 years or so.
I was going to work every Saturday at my cousin’s studio because I’d shown an interest in art. But the real reason is my mother and cousin had cooked this up to keep my ass off the mean streets of Rockaway Queens during the weekends and summer.
I was told I would get paid at the end of my day, a day I spent learning how to carry a painting. Trust me, it not as easy as you think, especially when some of the paintings were twice as big as me.
My cousin handed me my day’s wages and I made a huge mistake when I took the money. It taught me one of many lessons I’ve learned from him – but that’s another story. The moment I had that $10 bucks in my greedy little hands, visions of dozens of new comic books danced in my head.
That was the most money I’ve ever had at one time and nothing was going to stop me from overdosing on candy which I’m sure would include Black Cows, Now & Laters, Mike & Ike’s, Red Hots and Blow Pops. Yeah, back in the day they knew how to name the stuff that one day we would regret ever eating…not!
My plan was to binge on all that sugar love while reading my 50 or so new comics I was sure I could now afford. My cousin suggested we visit a bookstore with my newfound wealth.
“They got comic books?”
“I’m sure they do.”
That’s all I needed to know. On the way he asked if comics were the only books I buy. Nope, in fact I’d just brought my first paperback, 101 Elephant Jokes, a paperback costing an entire 25 cents, so there.
The 8th Street Bookstore did have comics but they were unlike any I’d ever seen before. The Furry Freak Brothers and Fritz The Cat captured my attention because there were a lot of naked people (and cats) having sex in black and white. For a moment I couldn’t care less that there was no Batman, Avengers, Spider-Man and the like. When I was told I was too young to buy them, all I wanted was to get the hell out of dodge, quick, fast and in a hurry.
Then I saw it!
I saw it and after finding the color section within this hard cover goldmine, I had to buy it, but there was wee bit of a problem. All In Color For A Dime cost $11.95, which was more than the $10 bucks my cousin had paid me for working in his studio. There was another problem, if I somehow managed to get the other $1.95 that left no comic book or Black Cow money. When my cousin handed me the two bucks I completely forgot about the candy and the comics, I can’t explain it but I just had to have that book.
Imagine what kind of impact that must have had on me. 10 years old giving up comics & candy for a book costing all the money I had in the world.
Almost Two Decades Later:
Yet another first, I find my “dad” when Don Thompson comes into my life.
It was also the first time I totally lost it upon meeting someone. I squealed like a little girl when I met Don at the old Chicago Comicon with his wonderful wife Maggie.
Maggie, bless her heart, reassured me it’s all right as I could not stop apologizing for my enthusiasm and downright giddiness. Don, along with Dick Lupoff, were the masterminds behind All In Color For a Dime, so to me, he was a god.
I’d spent countless hours reading All In Color and it became and still is one of my most prized possessions. Somehow, at 10 years of age I knew that book would change my life. When I met Don and Maggie, who at the time were the editors of the weekly The Comics Buyer’s Guide (CBG), I knew they would also. CBG was their baby, they were more than the editors and the face of the publication, they were its the heart and soul.
Those two wonderful people became two of my most cherished friends, valued advisors and are directly responsible for my writing career, which has lead to my own imprint among other things. Picture This was the name of the weekly column I wrote for CBG starting way back in 1989 or 90 (I think) don’t quote me on that but I know I started before Peter David.
Peter’s column, But I Digress, went on to become a must read for the entire industry and is considered the gold standard of weekly comic book opinion columns. Nobody even remembers Picture This (PT) and even I can’t recall what the other column name I wrote under before or after PT at CBG.
Forget This, does seem really close.
But I digress…
Don & Maggie, along with their kids Steven and Valerie became like a family I never knew I had. Every big move I made in comics I’d seek council from Don and Maggie. When they met me I had just began working in comics. Before comics I was a full time illustrator, my comics industry involvement was pretty much hanging around with Denys Cowan at conventions and comic book stores.
Someone must have spiked Mark Nevelow’s Diet Coke or had blackmail photos of him because Mark, the editor and supreme overlord at DC’s groundbreaking new imprint Piranha Press, gave me the assignment to illustrate ETC, the first offering from Piranha.
I had hit the big time and just knew after ETC, the comics’ world would bow at my feet. I would show these ‘artists’ just how to do a painted comic book!
Err, nope. Did not work out that way. The reviews were mixed; when they were good they were great. One reviewer wrote that ETC was ‘”one of few books which deserved the deluxe format and the price.” Like I said, when they were good they were great. When they were bad, ouch. Well, I knew CBG would have a positive review.
Err, nope.
Don Thompson wrote a review handing me my ass.
That broke my heart and he knew it. He spent a couple of hours on the phone with me explaining what was right (very little) and what was wrong (that took the two hours) with the book. After talking to him I was a much better artist.
Maggie on the other hands dismissed ETC entirely. That dismissal was not a grueling review but a personal insight she shared with me. “Michael, there will be other comics, that’s not what’s needed in this industry. What’s needed is your mentor program. What’s needed is what you’re doing there.” Don co-signed soon after, adding to a growing library of wonderful advice I’ll never forget.
If not for those two, my Bad Boys Studio (before Diddy) Mentor program may have ceased to exist. I was looking for more time to do comics and cutting that was looking pretty smart until Maggie and Don set me straight.
Before I accepted the position of President/CEO of Motown Animation & Filmworks I once again sort council from Don and Maggie. I flew to Iola Wisconsin (population 0 black folk) and spent a wonderful day with my “mom & dad.” It would be the last time I’d see my adoptive father.
May 23, 1994.
My wife (still now ex) came home to find me wailing like a wounded animal. Seeing this, started her crying also, convinced yet another tragedy had taken yet another member of my family.
She was right; the news that Don had died destroyed me for a few days. I’ve seen a lot of death in my life and when it happens I cry. Sometimes I sob so uncontrollably I’m amazed it ever stops. There are those who think men crying are a sign of weakness. Where I’m from, any black man crying is branded a little bitch or worse.
Whatever.
I cry for those I love. I cry for those I need but lose or leave. I cry when people I love hurt me. The day I had to leave Milestone 2.0 I cried. Like a little bitch I cried. I have no pride when it comes to pain in my life so I cry. If I didn’t cry I’d be the crazy motherbadsword some people think I am. Don’t get me wrong; I am a crazy motherbadword but only to those who come at me with malice and cruelty.
There was no malice and cruelty intended by M2.0. Yes, I was hurt and I cried over the lost of a dream. A dream I worked towards only to see it realized then fade away then vanish. People all over the industry are still waiting for the war I’m going to bring. News flash: I don’t live a life where I have to avoid something or someone for fear of a lawsuit or fear of losing face.
When things go south in my life I always (after pricing hit men) reach out to those whom I’m having the problem with. Especially if there was once love there. That’s a lesson many in the black entertainment space should learn. Often when I’ve reached out, I’m ignored.
What have I done when ignored? If for whatever reason those at odds with me refuse to even acknowledge me, then I move on, I leave it alone. Those who have squandered their chance to be kind and civil will one-day regret it. That’s not bravado, that’s the truth. The truth is those who create but don’t face the problem are always, always the worse for it.
Karma, my dear friends, Karma can be a real badword.
Don Thompson broke my heart with that review. It really wasn’t even the review, it was my hero, my ‘dad’ crushing me, that is what hurt most of all. I can’t comprehend on any level reaching out to Don after that heartbreak and Don ignoring me. He wouldn’t and neither would Maggie. I was thinking just that about Don on the eve of the 21st anniversary of his death.
March 23, 1994, that’s when I wanted my article on Don to run but couldn’t finish it. Thinking about him with all the badword I’m dealing with brought a new wave of sadness followed by a torrent of tears. Then, I was just angry. Angry at the last two years of my life, angry at Don for leaving but most of all angry with myself.
Indeed, I felt the most anger towards myself. Considering a final solution to my world of pain that I’m sure Don would find deplorable made me angrier and once I had that thought about Don an abundance of fury was undone as I imagined disappointing the rest of my departed family.
I was ashamed and my humiliation fueled my anger and I certainly couldn’t write about my “dad” angry. So I waited and wrote other things where my anger would be better served. I returned to this remembrance in the middle of the night weeks later, hoping I’d be able to finish my tribute and pay my respect to Don’s memory.
And I will. Don is still helping me. His light is still guiding me, his council easing some of my pain and some of my anger. I knew this for sure when Maggie tweeted me at the exact time I’d just written her name.
My regular readers will notice “badwords” instead of my usual bad words. That’s because there’s a pretty good chance Maggie may show this to some people who don’t know me. Like any good son I’d like to make mom proud. The knowledge she has a black son will likely be shock enough profanity would be too much. ;)
I love you, mom, more than any words I can say. I miss Don more than any words I could write.
Last week, I attended Book Expo America here in NYC. BEA is an industry-only event for publishers to highlight what is coming up next for the booksellers, librarians, teachers and press to incorporate into their plans. I’m still shocked they let me in year after year.
Just to paint a picture for you, the expo floor in the Javits Center was filled wall to wall with book nerds. We stood on lines, eagerly awaiting a signed copy of that book we all want. In the bags on our shoulders or by our feet, are at least 15 Advanced Reader copies handed to us on the expo floor. That is just how heaven-like this show can be.
You might remember how much I love standing on lines. And this show tops them all. I made new friends on every single line I waited on. Depending on the line, we talked about the genre, the author’s good and bad habits, another book, TV, movies or just chatted about BEA. The plus of being at an industry event is eventually the cards come out. I connected with authors, publicists, bloggers, librarians, teachers and agents while on line.
I even continued my tradition of yelling at a Tor author. Last year it was John Scalzi for messing with my emotions in his book Redshirts (a story for another time); this year it was Fran Wilde for busting my bag with her book Updraft. I literally squeed out loud while on the Felicia Day autograph line because I met a fellow group on Hufflepuffs. I got to help monitor the Ernest Cline line situation because dammit, we were all going to get copies of Armada, his new book. And, I tripped over myself trying to get a copy of the upcoming Saved By The Bell comic from Lion Forge.
Comics are a part of BEA, albeit not a large part. I did attend the Best in Fall 2015 Graphic Novels, which highlighted indie comics rather than just rehashing the big 2. The creators highlighted are Derf Backderf, Trashed from Abrams; Ben Hatke, Little Robot from First Second; Jeremy Sorese, Curveball from Nobrow; and 00 from Candlewick. I am excited that I got copies or previews of each one! I was also excited to get a chance to chat with Derf, Ben and Maggie for a very short time. Each one of them was amazingly nice and eager to meet fans.
Yes, Book Expo America is all about the books. I have the sore muscles and bruised body to prove it. And while you are lugging those books away, you are only thinking about the amazing people that you met.
Batman’s got The Joker. Spider-Man has Doctor Octopus. The Flash has an entire rogue’s gallery. The Fantastic Four used to have Doctor Doom, but now that Marvel’s banished the Fox-Four from their universe Doom’s annoying everybody, without priority.
Superman has a bald businessman/scientist with a severe ego problem.
I never thought Lex Luthor was much of a villain. In fact, when I was in my teens I was pretty certain I could take him. Evidently, from time to time the folks at DC must have felt the same way. He’s been put into super-power-bestowing armor, he’s been given super-powers and he’s hired or co-opted powered super-villains to do his dirty work.
Lex has been an evil scientist, an evil businessman, an evil president, an outer-world hero, and a domestic hero. He’s been a picker, a grinner, a lover and a sinner.
But Lex Luthor is just a guy. He might be smarter than your average bear, but Lex is a lightweight compared to Michael Holt, Ray Palmer, Will Magnus, Rip Hunter, Ted Kord, Professor Ivo, probably Doctor Sivana… and most likely Bruce Wayne, if Bruce wasn’t burdened with the worst case of OCD in comics history. From time to time we’re told he’s the smartest guy around, but there’s very little evidence to support this claim. If I had to choose my Family Feud team, Lex wouldn’t make it.
At the very least you’d think that if Luthor was so damn smart, he’d have a better reason for hating Superman. Jealousy is not much of a reason. A smart person would realize its limits. But even a stupid person would realize that, after taking on Superman a zillion times and ultimately losing each time, further confrontation would be without purpose. Taking on and losing to the Man of Steel for three-quarters of a century is the very definition of insanity.
Curiously, his sundry movie and television appearances have been more threatening. The one thing that Lex Luthor has in common with Gene Hackman, Michael Rosenbaum, Kevin Spacey, John Shea, and Lyle Talbot is that all of them are human beings (more or less) who, clearly, all love playing evil villains. But the fact is, on the 1950’s Adventures of Superman teevee show, where the budget was lower than a temperature gauge at the South Pole, they never used the character. Superman editor Mort Weisinger was the story editor of the show; he knew all about the guy. Put him in a suit or a lab coat and you’ve got yourself an evildoer that doesn’t stretch the budget. Lex just isn’t worthy.
I have always felt Superman deserved a better arch-enemy. And he has them. Brainiac, Zod, the Parasite, and Darkseid – particularly Darkseid – are quite capable of being worthy of our most famous costumed superhero.
As a villain, Luthor would serve better as a behind-the-scenes manipulator, pulling the strings and making advantageous things happen. It should take Superman years to discover his presence and find him.
Lex Luthor should be the DC Universe’s answer to Sheldon Adelson.
So I just got back from Awesome Con DC 2015, and happily, it lived up to its name once again, because it was pretty darned awesome!
It was also kind of interesting to realize that every year I’ve gone has been a different experience, thanks to what I was doing each year. The first year, which was of course also smaller than the current con, I was reporting for ComicMix but did not have any other responsibilities. That meant I had time to see pretty much all of the floor and meet any guests I’d like, plus doing great, longer-form interviews with the talented Phil LaMarr and Billy West. Last year, I was running programming, so I saw a whole lot of back hallways, the exhibit hall whooshing by at a fast clip several times as I hurried around, many great volunteers, and a few guests for just long enough to introduce myself before they walked out on stage. (I did allow myself one break to see the voice actor Ghostbusters script reading panel, though. And may have possibly told my staff I’d kill them if they bothered me during it. Because hey. That panel was awesome.)
This year, although I was planning to report on the con, I also offered to moderate some panels if needed. I ended up moderating four really cool panels; and that gave me yet another fun perspective to add to my myriad con experiences. Interestingly, despite all being billed as Q & As, each of my panels had a very different feel. The Gerry Duggan and Mike Hawthorne panel, while naturally discussing storylines and characters both had worked on, also contained some really in-depth insights into the working process of both comics writer and artist. I found Gerry’s process for script-writing, which includes editing what was a final Deadpool script to “punch it up” more after seeing the storyboards created by Mike Hawthorne from his draft, to be particularly interesting. And Mike told a great story about working with Harvey Pekar and receiving a “script” to work from that was just two pages with many panels of stick figures – and yet somehow managing to make it work!
Mark Pellegrino’s panel was very energetic, with Mark interacting with each fan who asked a question on a personal level by having them come up and stand next to him in front of the stage while they chatted. This made for a dynamic panel; although it almost became a bit too dynamic when a Castiel cosplayer yelled, “Hey, assbutt!” And tossed a”holy fire Molotov cocktail” at Mark as she came up to ask her question. Fortunately the bottle was plastic and Mark caught it with aplomb – but really, guys – let’s not throw things at our con guests, okay? Even if you think it’s going to be totally awesome, just – don’t. For one thing, you’ll give your friendly neighborhood moderator a heart attack as she pictures a nice, unsuspecting actor getting beaned in the head and/or cut by a glass bottle; and for another, unlike with merchandise, if you break a con guest, you don’t get to buy him or her. Instead, you get big, big trouble, and possibly fandom-wide hatred.
The next panel I moderated was for George Newbern, voice of Superman from Justice League, as well as many other voice and on-screen roles, including Father of the Bride, Friends, and tons more. He’s currently playing a fascinating role as Charlie on Scandal. George was delightfully interesting to listen to given his storied career, which also includes having read over a hundred audio books. It was pretty cool to hear him demonstrating coming up with something like 140 voices for the most recent book series he did. And of course it was awesome to have Superman sitting next to me for a few moments when he did that voice. (George also worked on Switching Channels with Christopher Reeve. How cool is that?)
The last panel I moderated was Adult Swim with C. Martin Croker and Dana Snyder, which was a total trip because with Dana, “moderating” essentially means, “pointing him towards a stage and letting him go.” I did say we shouldn’t throw things at guests. However, those rules don’t go both ways – and if you go to an Adult Swim panel and you’re not paying attention, there is every chance you will get beaned in the head by a water bottle thrown by Master Shake. Fortunately, everyone was paying attention, and thus no attendees were harmed in the making of the panel. There was some fun information shared by both Clay and Dana, including that Clay recalls an episode of Space Ghost, Coast to Coast that was actually too crazy to air, and that Dana landed the role of Master Shake essentially by talking on the phone. Or at least, I think those are things we learned – I don’t know for sure, as my head was spinning from all the comedy going on next to me on stage!
Along with moderating panels, I actually got to go to some panels as well, including a few minutes of the Lord of the Rings panel with Sean Astin and John Rhys-Davies (I wanted to stay for the whole thing but had a schedule conflict), which was really great to listen to, as those two have such presence; the entirety of voice actor Jess Harnell’s panel, which was the most warm, friendly, funny, energetic one-man storytelling hour I’ve been to in some time; and the Twisted Toonz live movie script read, which this year featured all four original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Rob Paulsen, Cam Clarke, Townsend Coleman, and Barry Gordon), as well as Jess Harnell, Jim Cummings, and Phil LaMarr. The Twisted Toonz reading was a blast, as always; and if you haven’t ever seen one of these live reads, you need to check out the link above. I recommend starting with the ECCC Star Wars Trilogy.
The panels were fantastic – but they weren’t the only thing to do at Awesome Con. I also walked as much of the con floor as I had time for, seeing great costumes and buying ridiculously fun merchandise (like my new tiny and giant My Little Ponypools). It was surprising and cool how many friends I ran into just wandering the con floor, which really made it feel like a warm and welcoming con. Not to mention I got to catch up with fun guests I hadn’t seen since last year’s cons, like Alex Simmons, Andrew Aydin, J.K. Woodward, Joe Kelly, Marc Hempel, Noel MacNeal, Phil LaMarr, Rob Paulsen, and Sean Astin; and meet a few neat guests I hadn’t before, like Mark McKenna, Sorah Shibao, and Diana Leto. And don’t worry, for anyone who’s sad they didn’t get to be there and have these fun experiences too – I took pictures for you!
Not only that, but I also got the chance to interview some really fantastic folks. So stay tuned in the next few weeks for some words from Jess Harnell, Jim Cummings, and all four of the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!!
I’ve been dreading San Andreas since the first trailer I saw of it. I don’t like movies where cities get destroyed especially if they’re cities I happen to live in, I think 9/11 ruined that for me forever. I do, however, have a deep, profound, love for Dawyne “The Rock” Johnson going back to the late 90s, long before any buildings fell down around me. San Andreas is a battle between a genre that’s felt stale for as long as I’ve been aware of it, one that offends me personally, and a man who is possibly the greatest American action star in history. Unfortunately, not even The Rock can carry this movie and judging from the size of his arms these days that’s probably the only thing he can’t carry.
San Andreas is the same as Volcano, which is the same as The Day After Tomorrow, which is the same as 2012. It hits all of the same beats and has basically all the same characters. The Rock plays the action hero, in this case a LAFD rescue chopper pilot his family is collapsing around him but nothing that can’t be patched up by saving them from a cataclysmic once-in-a-lifetime disaster. Paul Giamatti’s considerable talent is wasted as the scientist who tries to warn people but is ultimately useless because no warnings he gives could possibly be useful and all of the science is nonsesne anyway. There’s the smug rich guy (played by Ioan Gruffudd) who treats everyone like garbage as soon as things start going wrong and gets his comeuppance in a seemingly random twist of fate. There’s the attractive young woman, in this case Alexandra Daddario playing Johnson’s alarmingly white daughter, who is constantly in peril while wearing impractical clothing. I suppose the twist on the formula is that Daddario’s character is stunningly competent and frequently saves the men around her as opposed to the other way around but I’m not sure it counts for anything when none of these characters have any sort of depth or even narrative arcs. Every character just sort of runs towards or away from things as needed and the movie doesn’t end with any resolution just by the characters all being in the same place.
Johnson tries his best to save this movie and he very nearly pulls it off. He has the same effortless physicality he brings to all his movies; impossible things look more possible when he does them. He gets all the best stunts, approximately 90% of the emotional content of the movie, and he gets to perfectly pilot three different vehicles through every manner of hell imaginable. Everything that works in the movie works because of him but that doesn’t save it from being a bland, predictable film with a script that feels two levels above a Syfy original movie.
I suppose it’s the spectacle of San Andreas that’s supposed to make me fall in love with it but it doesn’t do it for me. The grandness of the destruction is counterbalanced frequently by just how blatantly the film ignores how things would actually happen. Not that I expect this to be some kind of slavishly accurate depiction of a big earthquake but I feel like with all the tsunamis that have caused such devastation in recent years that I’ve been told so many times how they work to just completely ignore that. There are also some particularly pandering shots of things like the American flag being flown in the rubble of the Golden Gate Bridge and fences full of fliers looking for missing persons that are designed to evoke real world tragedies in a way that feels less authentic than exploitative. In a movie with more genuine heart I might give it a pass but everything feels just a bit too slick and phony in San Andreas.
