The Mix : What are people talking about today?
The Point Radio: IF I STAY Gives Chloe Mortez Another Tough Role
IF I STAY is the latest best selling fiction to hit the big screen, and it stars 17 years old Chloe Moretz who talks to us about why she chooses roles like this, CARRIE and even Hit Girl. Plus IDIOTEST is a new competition show on the Game Show Network and host Ben Gleib proves to me that it isn’t all that easy to win there.
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Box Office Democracy: Life After Beth
Horror movies need to have a metaphor. Slasher movies are historically about our attitudes about sex, Nightmare on Elm Street is about the fear we have of not being able to protect our children, even Shaun of the Dead was about the dangers of complacency. I bring this up because Life After Beth has a terrible time conveying its metaphor. Sometimes it seems to want to be about dealing with grief, other times it seems to be about moving on after a break up, it sometimes even feels like it’s trying to draw an equivocation between those two feelings. Unfortunately, it never picks exactly what its about and it makes the film feel directionless and kind of boring.
Aubrey Plaza is a delight to watch in this movie. Overlaying a kind of flighty 21 year-old girl with a person slowly turning into a zombie is a stellar idea and Plaza delivers a performance with stunning depth. The slow build with that character as she pushes her extremes incrementally until she becomes first an erratic lunatic and, finally, a flesh-eating beast. She shares the screen most often with Dane DeHaan who seems to be a little out of his depth and gets through the film just by doing different variations on sad and surprised. Not even a clean surprised though it’s a sad frowny surprised.
Much like having better action scenes could have saved The Expendables 3, being funnier could have saved Life After Beth. Life After Beth is one of those indie comedy movies that often feels like it’s too good to have jokes in it. There are a couple of laughs early and a few more later on but the middle section of this film is only funny when Matthew Gray Gubler is on screen and those moments are few and far between. Even the sublime John C. Reilly is left in the unfortunate position of alternating between delivering flat pieces of exposition and being very serious. It’s a waste of talent and it’s a shame to see. Even Molly Shannon, who I am not comfortable with seeing move to mom roles, gets more laugh lines. It’s a shame with all this talent they couldn’t make me laugh more.
Emily S. Whitten’s Grand SDCC Adventure: Supernatural Edition
If you don’t know what the CW’s Supernatural is by now (as it rolls into its tenth season on October 7 this fall) then I’m not sure we can be friends. Sure, the show is on The Pretty People Network (and hey, no objections to that!), and sure, there have been a few iffy episodes (the racist ghost truck? Yes, I’m looking at you, racist ghost truck), but overall, it’s a really solid show, and definitely more than just a backdrop for pretty faces.
Over the years it’s grown from a fun, monster-of-the-week quest show to an epic battle between the forces of good and evil – which keep on switching sides, because hey, why make things simple? And most of it is founded in urban legend, folklore, mythology, and religious texts. It’s a show that’s mashed up every weird or faith-based thing that people may not have seen with their own eyes but still believe into one universal lore and plopped the whole thing into the laps of two brothers driving all over America in a classic car trying to save the world – and somehow, it totally works. Not only does it work, but it also acknowledges that a show like that can totally jump the shark, and then avoids doing so by straight-up referencing its fans and doing episodes called “Jump the Shark” with a great tongue-in-cheek sense of humor. I love it. Seriously, I love this show.
So I’m stoked that it’s made it through nine seasons and is still going strong; and even more stoked that I got to sit down with the cast and crew while at SDCC and chat about season ten! And now you can be stoked, too, because you can check out the interviews below!
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here to hear Executive Producer Jeremy Carver talk about new characters and old favorites we might see again, what the hell (haha) is going on in Heaven, where Dean and Sam’s characters’ journeys are taking them, and the question the show will be examining this season, of “Who’s the real monster, here?”
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here to watch Jared Padalecki chat about his stylin’ haberdashery, how he feels about what Sam is up to now, how he gets into the emotions of a scene, and pranking each other on set.
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here to see Jensen Ackles talk about the challenges of acting versus directing, and how he’s approaching the current version of Dean.
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here to hear Misha Collins discuss what the many-faceted Castiel is going to do next, what it’s like to film with special effects, his preferred theme song for Castiel, and his interactions with fans, including GISHWHES (Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen).
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here to view how Mark Sheppard feels about the San Diego Comic-Con, how he thinks Crowley feels towards Dean now, and what it was like to give The Big Speech as Crowley.
And then click here and go watch yourself some Supernatural. Because it’s awesome.
And until next time, stay away from the monsters under the bed, and Servo Lectio!
Box Office Democracy: “The Expendables 3”
The first two Expendables films worked for me in the same way old-timers days work for me in baseball. They take a career that scarcely has any use for people over the hill and gave them a place to look relevant in a limited space. My biggest problem with The Expendables 3 is that it deviates too much from that idea by introducing a crop of young guns that expose the existing cast as being largely too old for this line of work while the presence of the established stars steals all the gravitas from the scenes shared with the newer actors. There are great individual performances and a couple of surprising ones. Excellent choices, but ultimately the Expendables franchise seems to be on a downward trajectory and I don’t know how it will right itself.
REVIEW: The Yeti Files
The Yeti Files: Meet the Bigfeet
By Kevin Sherry
Scholastic Press, 122 pages, $8.99
Yetis are one of the most persistent legends around the globe and we covered more than our fair share of such stories at Weekly World News. They are also perfect material for a children’s book. Kevin Sherry, a veteran storyteller, explores the nature of Yeti life in The Yeti Files.
Apparently, Yeti are secretive on purpose so when a Yeti named Brian is glimpsed, he goes into hiding. This prompts his cousin Blizz Richards to go in search of him, propelling a story about family and acceptance among other species. We meet a variety of cyptids all drawn in a style making them non-threatening to the young readers this volume is aimed at.
Blizz’s narration gives us the inside scoop on crypitds, large and small, while being amusing. What’s odd is that cryptids apparently do everything humans do: eat too much, use the Internet, and have family reunions. There’s little unique here about their culture other than their desire to remain hidden from view. Hoping to change that is George Vanquist, self-proclaimed cyptozoologist, but as Buzz describes him, is actually clueless. He’s in search of Brian or his family and threatens to find the family reunion, requiring some ingenuity from the Yeti collective.
As threats go, Vanquist is more a bumbling one, there to provide comic relief but is actually so inept and dumb it detracts from a stronger story.
Sherry’s writing and artwork is appealing and this should be a gentle way to introduce young readers into the larger worlds of creatures sand fantasy.
Mindy Newell: Hey, Mindy, Where’s Mork?
“People call those imperfections, but no, that’s the good stuff” – Robin Williams as Sean Maguire, Good Will Hunting (1997)
The first few times it was cute. But the joke got really tired, really fast.
By now, almost exactly 36 years later, I can’t count the number of times I’ve been greeted by those words since Mork & Mindy debuted on September 14, 1978. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to smile and do a make-believe laugh in answer to that query.
I can’t count the number of times when what I really wanted to say to the person who thought he was Mr. Originality was “Shezbat!”
I was watching Hardball With Chris Matthews on MSNBC when the news broke last Monday. When the “Breaking News” banner interrupted the show, I thought the announcement was going to be something awful about ISIS, like the terrorist group had just exploded an atomic bomb in Baghdad or something.
Well, the news was awful. And like everybody else, I was floored.
And a memory clicked.
It was Memorial Day weekend, May 1986. I had flown out to California to spend the weekend with my then-beau, Norman Spinrad (the Hugo and Nebula award-winning science fiction writer), whom I had met while doing the convention circuit after the publication of my Lois Lane mini-series. He took me to a “chi-chi” party at a beach house in Malibu.
I was in the midst of “Hollywood.” There were all these industry people there, all of whom I’m sure didn’t have bank accounts with less than $1,000,000 in them, all of whom I’m sure were wearing Prada and Armani t-shirts with Halston jeans or sundresses by Chanel. Everyone had Louis Vuitton sunglasses and the women all had Vuitton handbags – it was a Vuitton convention! Then Johnny Carson and his wife came up the lanai steps – they were just walking by on the beach and wanted to say hello. There were a bunch of other stars there, plus producers and directors and cinematographers. Timothy “Tune In, Turn On, Drop Out” Leary was there.
I have to tell you, I felt like the proverbial duck out of water. I found an empty chaise lounge on the lanai, put on my sunglasses (Ray-Bans) and parked myself, just watching and listening to the talk. Barbara Streisand was the hot item of the day because she was charging a minimum of $5,000 a ticket for her concert, which she was going to give in the “backyard” of her estate with all proceeds going to charity. Everyone was outraged that she dare charge so much; everyone was going. I laughed to myself – just a bunch of Hadassah yentas after all – and started to relax.
The capper came when Norman brought me a drink, sat down and said, “You’re the hit of the party, did you know that?” I laughed and said, “You’re kidding me, right?” “This is Hollywood, Min,” he said. “An unknown woman walks into a party, puts on her sunglasses, sits down, and pulls a Greta Garbo, well, kid, everyone wants to know you are.”
I just shook my head. I suddenly didn’t give a shit anymore. “I’m going in for a swim,” I said to Norman. He said, “You don’t have swimsuit.” I said, “Greta Garbo is going to swim in her underwear. What the hell, it’s Hollywood, right?” He laughed and said, “Be careful. It’s not the Atlantic. There’s a really strong undertow that can grab you.”
So I borrowed a towel from my hostess, walked down to the beach, stripped down, and dived into the Pacific, which did have an incredibly strong undertow. After a while, feeling incredibly refreshed and at home, I came out, took off my wet underwear, put my clothes back on, and wrapped the towel around my head. I walked back up to the house. If any of the yentas had noticed my moment of nakedness on the sand, I didn’t care.
Norman brought me another drink. I took a sip, put it down, and bent over with the towel over my head, wringing my hair out. Then Norman said, “Mindy, I want you to meet someone.”
I swooped up, flinging my hair and towel back, and faced the most amazing blue eyes I have ever seen in my life. They were sapphires in a tanned face. I was mesmerized. And I felt an absolute physical blow of charisma and pure sexuality; it was like the last time I had gone waterskiing, and had lost control, and hit the water at the equivalent of 70 miles an hour, a speed at which hitting the water feels like hitting cement after taking a dive off a twenty foot building – if you survived it, that is. All I wanted to do was curl my hands in that thick brown, incredibly manly chest hair that was escaping from the top of this person’s unbuttoned shirt.
It was Robin Williams.
“Mindy, this is Robin. Robin, this is Mindy.”
“Hi,” I said. But what I was thinking – if I was consciously thinking at this point, my thoughts were whirling like a dervish and I was trying to get my purely corporeal reaction under control and praying it didn’t show on my face – was something like: Robin? Robin Williams? Funny, absolutely. Sexy beyond words, huh? And also, Don’t act like an asshole.
“Hi,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
I’m not sure exactly what Norman said – I was still trying to calm down my desire to just jump his bones, still so shocked by what I had just experienced – but it had something to do with Alixandra, who was 6 ½ in 1986, and Robin said he had a young son, too, then asked me if my daughter was here in California with me.
“No, she’s home, with Grandma and Grandpa.”
And suddenly Robin Williams and I were talking about kids and babysitters and the anxiety young parents always feel when the kids are left with someone else – even Grandmas and Grandpas.
“Speaking of which,” he said, “Zach’s in the car out front and I told him I’d only be a minute, so I gotta book.”
And he left.
So this week, reading all the articles and listening to all the newscasters and pundits talking about what a nice guy Robin Williams was… I got it. I knew.
And I’ve wondered all week, I’m wondering now, right this very minute: if Robin and I had had a chance to sit down and really talk, would I have told him about my depression and would he have told me about his, and would we have connected on another level besides being young parents at the same time?
And I’ve been wondering, am wondering right now, this very minute: why didn’t I commit suicide during those dark times in the abyss, when I wanted to so badly but couldn’t, and why did Robin do it?
What, or where, was the difference?
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.
On Thursday this past week I went to work. A co-worker saw me and said, “Hi, Mindy, where’s – sorry, that’s not funny anymore, is it?”
“No,” I said. “It never was.”
Nanu, nanu, Mork.
John Ostrander: In Passing
This last week saw the passing of two luminaries in entertainment – Lauren Bacall and Robin Williams. Ms. Bacall died just short of 90 and had a rich and full life. Robin Williams died at 63, evidently a suicide.
We are told Mr. Williams was battling severe depression and was in the early stages of Parkinson’s.
My first reaction was shock and then denial. It couldn’t be true because I didn’t want it to be true. And then came the questions – how? Why? The how was soon told but the why may never be known. Robin Williams was talented, successful, had family that loved him. Why would he kill himself?
I never met Robin Williams but, like many others, I thought I knew him. That happens with many artists and for many people; we know them from their work. Since the best artists put a lot themselves into their work, we do know something about them but far from all. The artist reveals and conceals at the same time.
There was a very dark side to Robin Williams and ultimately it consumed him. Was it there to be seen? You look at some pictures of him now and think maybe you see it. Will I ever watch his comedy again or his movie roles and not spot it or at least think I do?
His mind was incredible to experience. The speed of his invention was dazzling and I don’t know of anyone who made me laugh as hard or as often. He was also an actor of great depth; he could do a straight part with no clowning around.
There have been many tributes in the media for Robin but, of course, there have also been the assholes. Rush Limbaugh said “He had it all but he had nothing. Made everybody else laugh but was miserable inside. I mean, it fits a certain picture or a certain image that the left has. Talk about low expectations and general unhappiness and so forth.” Limbaugh later said he was misquoted and misrepresented by the general media. That trick never works, especially when we have what he said on tape and in print. I wonder what it feels like to have bile running through your veins instead of blood.
And then there are the so-called Christians (some, not all) who claim that Williams was a coward and that he is now in hell because suicide is an “unredeemable sin” since the person can’t ask forgiveness. I’m an agnostic in general and an atheist in particular. I don’t believe in any religion’s version of a deity.
But I was raised Roman Catholic and I was taught never to presume a suicide went to hell. You couldn’t know if, at the last moment, the person killing themselves repented. To think, to say otherwise was a Sin itself, a sin of Presumption. These assholes making their pronouncements should make sure about their own souls before judging anybody else’s. Assuming that souls exist. I like to think they do but, as with everything else spiritual, I’m not sure.
Most people, however, are sorry that he is gone. Perhaps his humor wasn’t to everyone’s taste but everyone can appreciate his loss. Tragedy is defined as the ruin of someone, usually sympathetic, who suffers from a fatal flaw. In that sense, Robin Williams’ death certainly is a tragedy.
I doubt we’ll ever see his like again.
Marc Alan Fishman: Con Shopping Extravaganza!
While I am buried deep under a pile of production – completing “The Samurnauts: Curse of the Dreadnuts #3” in time for Wizard World Chicago later this month – Editor Mike reached out to inspire me. In other words, he didn’t want me to bore ya’ll one more time with my annual bitching session regarding the passion of the indie creator. Instead, he suggested I suggest to you, my adoring public, a few books that I’m reading and loving right now… that do not come from the big two publishers. There was only one problem with this prompt.
Since I’ve been knee-deep in digital art-ing, lettering, editing, coloring, and laying out(ing?) a comic for the last month or so… I’ve basically all but stopped reading comics.
Of course I could fall back on my staple suggestions: Touching Evil by Dan Dougherty, Solution Squad by Jim and Rose McClain, Product of Society by Cheeselord Comics, and Monkey Fist by Sun Bros. Studios. But then it dawned on me, I could kill two birds with one stone! I could excite the masses about the passion of indie comics without suggesting any particular book at all. Indeed kiddos, I could be that good.
When the book is off to the printers and my life is freed up once more to consume amazing comics, I’ll find myself at Wizard World Chicago. And where better than the annual comic con to take a chance to immerse myself in sequential fiction not otherwise touched by Mickey Mouse or Brother Warner. My plan is simple:
Seek books within Artist Alley, and Artist Alley alone.
Across dozens of tables will sit books built first and foremost out of passion. While it’s likely true that Scott Snyder is symbiotically betrothed to Batman, at the end of the day the caped crusader is not Mr. Snyder’s own creation. Not to get all Robert Kirkmanny here, but there’s something to be said when a book is wholly the idea of a given writer (and/or artist). Without the constraint of an editorial office, calendar, or marketing strategy, an indie title has the least weight on its shoulders to succeed. Of course the alley cat who peddles the pulp sure wants due-payment and fortune. Suffice to say though, there are far fewer hands in the cookie jar wanting their rightful crumbs. Because of that, I’ve found that the independent book tends to push the edge harder conceptually speaking. And because of that, the books may not be as polished on the page, but they read incredibly in the mind.
Set a budget, and buy a breadth of material – not pour a fortune down one well.
As a creator I want nothing more than passersby to be so enamored with The Samurnauts that they feel compelled to purchase every last ounce of material available at the table. But turn that table around and I’m often a misanthropic cheapskate. In a case of “Fool me once, shame on me…” a few times I got snookered into less-than-stellar indie titles in my early twenties. Because this was well before the near-affordable print-on-demand days, these indie rags went for double the price of a typical DC or Marvel book. And they weren’t in color. And they were poorly written, drawn schizophrenically, and sold to me under false pretense.
Well, a decade later, and I’ve crawled out from the behind the rock. My tactic is simple: Get the pitch, agree with the pitch, look over the product, ensure the product is priced appropriately, and make the damned purchase. But I digress.
The key to making the most out of exploring the Artist Alley is as I’ve noted above: it’s all about trying out a ton, not committing to an entire series without first enjoying only a taste. If an artist is worth their salt, they’ll make their line of work available to me after the show is over, or at very least offer up to me the next shows they’ll do. In the day and age in which we live, social media is the great uniter. And any artist in the alley not taking advantage of the free services that open their art and products to the world simply do not deserve my continued business.
In essence, my trip through the convention will be amassing an unencumbered anthology specific to the genres, art styles, and creators I find most akin to my wants and desires. And with an open mind (and an empty stomach…), I’m going to make it a mission to be social. To look every creator in the eye, and proudly ask them to tell me about their comic.
And in a few weeks, I’m going to let all of you know exactly how it went. Excelsior.
The Point Radio: LEGENDS Sean Bean Lives On
The marketing campaign said “DON’T KILL SEAN BEAN” but producer Howard Gordon (24, HOMELAND) assured us there was little chance of that happening on LEGENDS. Howard, and series star Ali Larter, fill us in on the new TNT drama, plus meet the REDWOOD KINGS who are cutting up every week on their new Animal Planet show.
THE POINT covers it 24/7! Take us ANYWHERE on ANY mobile device (Apple or Android). Just get the free app, iNet Radio in The iTunes App store – and it’s FREE! The Point Radio – 24 hours a day of pop culture fun. GO HERE and LISTEN FREE – and follow us on Twitter @ThePointRadio.
