Tagged: John Ostrander

Marc Alan Fishman: Turtle Power!

Fishman Art 130406As a license, I have the utmost respect for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Since its comic debut in 1984, the property has been spun off into numerous animated incarnations, several movie franchises (both old and yet-to-come), and a bevy of merchandise unheard of unless you count Star Wars. And I have to give props where props are due: the IP as a whole has never been better. That being said? It could all go downhill very quickly. But I’ll get to that in a bit.

Let’s start at the top. Top of what I don’t know exactly. Let’s say comic books! IDW as of late has been deluging the market with TMNT titles. Ongoings, mini-series, epic crossovers, you name it. And while I’m sad to report that in my tenure as a fan I have yet to actually crack open a volume myself, it comes with great authority (a few of my good friends) that they are doing the characters justice. I will no doubt be jumping into the main book myself with issue #21. Per Comic Book Resources interview with Turtles’ Co-Creator Kevin Eastman, I was drawn into his description of bringing a level of reality (seriously) to the book with the titular teens having to learn new skills.

In so many words, Eastman was quick to note that the Turtles have generally been “ninja masters” and his intent is to remind us that the martial arts are an art form and artists never stop learning. It’s that kind of dedication in concept that sounds legitimately cool to me. Certainly cool enough to elicit a purchase once a month for the foreseeable future.

And what about the boob tube? Well, I’m happy to report that the current product being offered is now (thanks in large part to the CW canning Green Lantern TAS and Young Justice, grumble grumble), Nickelodeon’s relaunch of TMNT, is one of the best cartoons being offered today. won me over in less than a handful of episodes. The team behind it should be commended.

For many folks who don’t “get it,” the Turtles on the surface are merely a weapon and general personality trait. But the Bick show is smart to use those bullet points as inspirations. In the season that I’ve watched thus far, I’ve seen numerous attempts to flesh out each Turtle as an individual. Combine this with smart updates to many TMNT mainstays (Leatherhead, the Kraang, Shredder, etc.), and you get a cartoon that deftly plays to me as an adult while obviously targeting a whole new generation of kids. Compared to the hyper-Japanese-terribly-ported crap I’d seen trading spots with Spongebob? It’s a breath of fresh sewer air to me.

Now this of course brings us around the scary bend, that, of course, being the 600 pound explosive elephant in the room, Michael Bay. From the first utterances of news about his desire to create another abomination out of my childhood pleasures, so was I joined by other shellheads in our trepidation. Bay’s Transformers sits in my mind as one of the worst examples of modern merchandise-driven cinema. And let me be clear: I don’t mind for a second that some movies are built for action figures and bedsheets. But Bay’s adaptation was kinetic to the point of nausea, and riddled with near-racist portrayals of shallow predictable characters. And for whatever reason? It had pot-humor, John Tutoro in an increasingly baffling performance, and more military porn than my copy of Stars, Stripes, and Tits 2: Cannons Ho.

It’s these factors that weigh heavy on our minds. Especially given what little news seems to dribble out from the babbling brook of Bay. The Turtles will be from space? Megan Fox will be April O’Neil? And the title will just be Ninja Turtles? Suffice to say, with all that’s being done right with the brand, it might just take one explosion-riddled movie flop to ruin it all. Follow me on this:

The Green Lantern movie sucked and toy departments got stuck with tons of stuff that didn’t sell. Green Lantern The Animated Series was canned, due in large part to the lack of merchandise sales. Now, if Ninja Turtles tanks, it could take with it the whole property. Obviously the current Nickelodeon cartoon and comic are going to be well into their sophomore years when the Bay feature hits. But nothing like a bad day at the matinee to curb a kid’s appetite for their favorite amphibians. How do I know? Because I gave up on the cartoon when TMNT 3 hit the multiplex. And it took 10+ years for me to forgive them.

Until Bay blows up my childhood again, I’ll be happy to enjoy my new found love of Leonardo, my rapture for Raphael, my doe-eyes for Donatello, and my mania over Michaelangelo. With a potent toon on the tube, and a comic in my buy pile… it’s a good day to be a Turtle.

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

Martha Thomases, Don Draper & John Constantine

Thomases Art 130405Mad Men starts its sixth season this weekend. I won’t be able to see it because I’m out of the country, but my cat sitter has strict instructions to set the DVR, so I expect to be up to speed anon.

I am psyched.

The last season ended in 1967. I’m not sure whether this new season will pick up immediately after the last one left off, or if it will jump forward a year or two. In any case, the late 1960s were a time when any average Tuesday had more drama and conflict and human interest than all of the 1980s combined.

The advertising for this new season, at least as seen in the posters in the subway, hint at some of the challenges we can expect to see. Buttoned-up Don Draper versus a chaotic world.

To me, it looks like a Vertigo cover, circa 1998.

Which brings me around to comics, and the points I want to make this week. For as long as I can remember (which doesn’t include the late 1960s, by the way, because that’s what the late 1960s were like for me), comics fans have bemoaned the fact that comics don’t advertise. If only comics reached out to people the way books/movies/television do, we’d have a mainstream medium.

I don’t think it would make any difference. Comic companies don’t know how to advertise.

Let’s look at an ad for an upcoming series I anticipate eagerly, the new Constantine, written by Jeff Lemire, with art by Ray Fawkes and Renato Cuedes. John Constantine is one of my favorite characters.

The ad shows Constantine sitting in a graveyard, slouched against a tombstone with his name on it, smoking a cigarette. There is a vase of red roses at his feet. Zombie hands are reaching for him, and there is a drooling zombie behind him. A skull rises from a grave to his left. There is a logo above his head, and above that is the line, “Playing with magic always comes with a price…”

It’s a terrible ad.

If you didn’t know anything about the character, or the creative team, what would this tell you? It seems to depict a guy who is so lackadaisical about the undead that he can relax with a smoke. Where is the tension? Where is the drama?

What’s in it for me?

The best advertising suggests a benefit for the consumer. It elicits an emotional response (and if you don’t believe me, watch any episode of Mad Men in which Don Draper explains things to the client). Perhaps my dishes will be cleaner, my vacation more glamorous, my beer-drinking nights more fun. Successful advertising for entertainment promises me emotional highs and lows, laughter and/or tears. It promises me that I will experience something I’ve never had before.

Perhaps DC assumes that, since the ad is running in their books, the reader knows who the character is, and what the creative team can do. Perhaps they think this information is enough to motivate someone already familiar with the work.

After all, the Mad Men poster I praised earlier is just a picture of Jon Hamm walking down a city street. In this case, however, the average media consumer knows about the show, and even if that person doesn’t watch it, Jon Hamm is regularly in movies and other television shows, reaching an audience outside the show’s usual demographics. By using a master of advertising illustration from the same era as the show, the ad evokes the time period. The composition implies a tension that is at odds with the soft colors of the background.

My curiosity is piqued. I can’t wait. Anticipation achieved.

The DC ad does none of this. And until our industry learns how advertising works (and, no, this doesn’t count), we don’t deserve nice things.

Saturday: Marc Alan Fishman

Sunday: John Ostrander

 

Marc Alan Fishman: Wrestling Is Fake; Comics Are Too

Fishman Art 130330OK, I admit it: I’m a pro-wrestling fan. I’ll even do you one better. I’m a smart-mark. Yeah, I’m not only a fan, I’m a fan of the business behind the product. I know the difference between an Irish whip, a German suplex, and an inverted front face buster into a crossbar arm-breaker. I’ve tried hard to bury this part of my nerd-quilt for a very long time. Almost six years. But here on the precipice of Wrestlemania, I find myself DVR’ing episodes and instigating debates with fellow fans. There is no denying, kiddos. Pin my shoulders to the mat. I’m not kicking out of this one.

Like most fans of the sport (and yeah, I use the term loosely), I was introduced to it while I was but a wee one. My father, devoid of any other real hobby or vice, would every-so-often bring home a taped pay-per-view from a friend or co-worker. And I would be allowed, even on a school night, to stay up and watch it to the end. It led me to watch the Saturday morning recap shows (as we didn’t have cable back then). It led me when I got the Internet, to seek message boards, news groups, and the like. When I got to college (and got cable), it was a twice a week obsession. The real question of course being simple: after the ‘nostalgia was gone well into my teen years, what kept me a fan? The sport and the business.

Behind the scenes, wrestling is a fascinating machine. Bookers and top-brass give shots to up and coming talent, challenging them to connect with fans. The talent themselves, having spent years on the road honing their craft (both being able to perform the moves, and project a character), are tasked with becoming stars and elevating the company that gave them the chance in the first place. Merchandise is made, and product is eternally analyzed. The art itself isn’t just on a TV screen, or a bingo hall… it’s in a board room, and in the locker rooms; where creative minds meet all for the sake of entertaining the niche-market built specifically around itself. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Look down on it all you want, but for the money, pro-wrestling is a living breathing comic book presented for the masses every week. Hulking super men and woman battle one-another endlessly. They become heroes, turn villainous, unite to stop larger threats, and every couple years things reset. Some stories are played for high drama while others are strictly slapstick. Continuity is cited, forgotten, and brought back into the fold when it serves a higher purpose. Vintage characters come back for cheap applause and shock value. Most people hold the independent presentations to be “better, and closer to what the medium should be.” And my favorite similarity? Every smart fan thinks he knows what’s going to happen; and that he could write it better if someone would just listen.

That sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?

And how about I cite a little topical note to boot! This past week, we all saw DC implode just a little as the curtain drew back and spat out several creators running for the hills due to creative differences. Back in 2011, angered over his own creative differences with his contract and character, CM Punk walked out to the stage and took over the last few minutes of the weekly WWF show Raw. He proceeded to air his grievances about the business, and broke the 4th wall like it was made of paper.

Now, this could all have been a work (fake…) but it was treated just like Gail Simone’s exit off of Batgirl. Of course Gail bowed out gracefully, didn’t complain at all, and was genuinely amazing about the whole ordeal. Punk was a heel (a villain), so why not be a big baby about all of it, right? At the end of the day: Punk got the spotlight like he’d always wanted. Gail Simone is back on Batgirl. And as I type this, I’m betting dollars to maple-glazed bacon donuts… that DC editorial is saving the life of John Stewart.

Suffice to say I’m finding a way to let my freak flag fly again. Wrestling may very well be scripted, but so are my favorite comics. And just like a great moment in comics like Otto Octavious successfully taking over Peter Parker’s body, so too can I enjoy John Cena using a never-seen before hurricanrana in his repertoire in order to defeat his opponent and earn his title shot at the big pay-per-view. It’s serialized story telling, in either form. Replace super powers with inhuman tolerance for pain. Replace indulgent caption boxes and exposition dumps for long-winded promos littered with catch phrases. Don the t-shirts, and attend the conventions. Hell, if you think you can do better… maybe start doing it on your own, and sell your product in your backyard.

Wait, scratch that. Kids: don’t become backyard wrestlers. Or indie comic creators. You’ll end up on your back either way.

And for any of my smart-marks out there: I’m pulling for Punk to beat the streak. It won’t happen of course, but if he can destroy the Undertaker’s Urn after losing the match, he’ll keep all the heat, and it’ll give Taker and Punk one more match next month.

And for any of my comic-insiders out there: I’m personally hoping Otto dials back the megalomania just a skosh, and Slott keeps him under the mask for at least a year. And when it comes time to put Peter back in the drivers seat… Otto either gets a young new body or yields to death’s embrace for the greater good.

Natch.

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

Martha Thomases: Not For Kids Anymore

Thomases Art 130329As Blondie says, “Dreaming is free.”

Which is lucky for me, because I have a rather frantic week, and not a lot of original ideas for a column. Sure, I could write about the John Stewart scandal (or non-scandal, depending on which rumor you believe,), but I am late to that party. I could write about some obscure book that deserves more attention, but I am behind in my reading.

My sub-conscious came through for me.

Last night, I had one of my recurring dreams in which I still work for DC. Sometimes in these dreams I no longer work for DC, but sneak into an office and pretend I do. And sometimes, I even wear clothes. I can’t remember which of these scenarios was at play this time, but I remember getting a memo from Jenette Kahn about some new publishing initiative.

In my dream, I ran to my son, the genius writer, about the opportunity this afforded us. We had two ideas worth pursuing.

The first, and more interesting, was a graphic novel about an upper-middle-class teenage white girl in Georgia in the 1980s who is, unbeknownst to her or anyone else, the reincarnation of Mohammed Ali. I don’t think we should let the fact that Ali is still alive get in the way of the fact that this would be awesome.

However, since my subconscious apparently has no literary taste, in my dream I urged we concentrate our attention on an on-going series, The Legion of Jimmy Olsen. It would be like the Legion of Super-Heroes, but set in the present, not the future, and feature all the different characters Jimmy has morphed into over the years. You would have your Turtle Boy, your giant, your caveman Beatle, even your girl.

All at the same time.

I would buy that series in a heartbeat. Wouldn’t you?

The New 52 doesn’t have a lot of Jimmy in it. There isn’t even much Lois Lane. They show up to take pictures or report on some Superman exploit or another, but that’s about it. Grant Morrison had Jimmy doing a bit more, as a friend to Clark.

Even Grant couldn’t work in any Turtle Boy.

As the comics audience has aged, publishers have tried to respond with more mature offerings. They don’t think their readers need a character like Jimmy with whom to identify. Today’s superhero reader, they think, needs stories where the universe is at stake every single issue.

This is a shame, because we could use somewhat less constant cosmic apocalypse, and a bit more whimsy.

And gorillas.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

 

Marc Alan Fishman: The Small Con Job

Fishman Art 130323A week ago today, Unshaven Comics popped our 2013 con cherry with a bang right in our own backyard. OK, not literally our backyard, but certainly close enough given how far we’ll end up traveling this year in the name of indie comics. Our first con? A return trip to Orland Park (a way-south suburb of Chicago), and the newly minted DanCon: Spring show. It was, as they say, business as usual. Lucky for us? That business was good.

DanCon, founded by the appropriately named Dan Royer, is a testament to old-school comic conventions. Held inside the Orland Park Civic Center, the day saw hundreds of local friends, families, and fun-seekers roaming through the two medium sized rooms that held the nerditry. One room for creators, and one for dealers. Betwixt them were registration lines, homemade concessions, and a photo op area. In short? It was everything a li’l con should be… logistically speaking. But that’s not what this write-up is really about. Logistics are important of course (something WizardCon seemingly can’t get right to save their life), but what sets this show apart is the community created around it.

A smaller show breeds interaction. Between fans and creators and between the creators themselves. It’s rare amidst a large show for people to be as relaxed as they were at DanCon. And while there were no D-list celebrities or obligatory Batmobiles to increase admission (or table) prices… those who came, came to buy and enjoy themselves. Not to knock a larger show experience entirely of course; but here was a single day, a single experience, uniting show goers with the core essence of our little area of pop-culture: comic books.

Having attended dozen of shows over the last five years, it’s become clearer and clearer that we all really share a singular experience. Whether our specific offerings target tweens, kiddies, horror fans, cape-lovers, trekkies, or any of the other scads of specific would-be-nerds… we are all united in our persuit of admiration and celebration. With each successive show, comes a familiarity with fellow creators. And that begets a sense of camaraderie. It was fitting that the first three guys I gave the all-too-familiar “nod of hello” to responded with positive comments on my fatherly ability to capture photos of my son and share on Facebook. “Who cares about those Samurnauts, your son is awesome.”

Aside from being able to share war stories with compatriots like “Dashing” Dirk Manning, “Jesus-Lover” Jon Michael Lennon, “Lusts-For-Me” Leo Perez and Tom “My Last Name Seriously Is” Bacon… the real zeal of the day came from a pair of interactions that have filed themselves away as realizing you might just be making it after all.

The first? A fan came walking down the aisle… in one our shirts. Now, let me preface that in five years of actively selling our wares at shows, our only merch has been books and art. The tees that we sport are made on a website, where we literally let them rot, until we need a new batch. On the rarest of rare occasion, people ask where we get them, and we direct them to the site. Aside from a specific set of fans-turned-friends, we never expect to see ourselves out in the crowd. Suffice to say? Seeing one of our shirts unexpectedly was quite the treat.

And the second? Prior to DanCon, I took it upon myself to message a few friends who lived around the area about the show. One such acquaintance, a great gal I’ve known since junior high school, came out amidst her day with their family. Small talk was exchanged, some introductions to my wife and boy (who made a brief appearance), and then a purchase of our book for her son.

I should note that said son exchanged a few great accounts of his recent Spider-Manning to me via his Xbox, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that’d be my own scion in a few short years. But I digress. Not even an hour later, after my friend had left, she’d snapped the picture attached to this article. I know it’s a trope of so many in our position… but seeing even just one small fry immersed in a book I was a part of? It’s what makes so many lost nights and weekends worth it. Of course if said li’l dude shows up next year looking for more books? All the better!

Ultimately, I could think of no better way to kick off 2013 for Unshaven Comics. In this year, on our quest to raise enough capital to finance our way to San Diego in 2014… DanCon 2013 was a fitting start. Thanks in large part an admirable promoter (and his always nice wife and staff), and a well-thought-out convention built to support the community that seeks the intimate interaction a small con excels in. Little did you know, it’s not just affirming for the fans – it’s even more gratifying for creators!

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

Martha Thomases: Getting The Chair


Thomases Art 130322Although my cable company provides me with hundreds of channels, there are still occasional day parts during which it is impossible to see an episode of Law & Order. Even if I broaden my parameters to include the one with the sex and the one with better writing, there are precious moments when neither Tamara Tunie nor Leslie Hendrix is being a tough-talking, no-nonsense medical examiner.

It’s not that I think it’s a great show, although I do kind of like it. I think Vincent D’Onofrio is brilliant, and not only because he did both this and this. I like the fact that someone who played a murderer in an early episode can be a criminal, or even an assistant district attorney in a later episode. I like seeing almost every working actor in New York get at least a few minutes of screen time… and a paycheck.

But mostly, I like how predictable it is.

The original show (which I’ve heard is referred to as “The Mothership”) was originally formatted quite strictly. At the time, the syndication business favored half-hour programs, so the idea was to run the series on broadcast as an hour-long drama, and syndicate it as two half-hours – Law and Order. I’ve never heard of that happening. All the re-runs I watch last the full hour.

And they all follow a fairly predictable pattern. There’s a murder, and the police first identify a suspect, who turns out to be a false start. Then they find the real killer and arrest him/her. After that, the lawyers take over. In addition to the murder, the suspect probably has another ax to grind. Maybe this person is a rabid environmentalist, or anti-abortion, or can’t get the affection of mommy or daddy. There is angst. Deals are offered. Deals are rejected. The trial takes place. Usually, the prosecution wins. When they don’t, it’s clear the jury was bamboozled.

All is right with the world.

The two spin-offs don’t separate the cops from the lawyers with quite the same egalitarian rigidity. In fact, both concentrate more on the police, to the point that there are hardly any lawyers at all in CI. This is fine by me.

The sexual politics of these shows are terrible. The male lawyers do all the work. With the exception of Kathryn Erbe and Mariska Hargity, the lead cops are men. (Sidenote: Kathryn Erbe’s partnership with D’Onofrio might be the most feminist ideal on all of television.)

I like to have the shows on while I work. It’s a way to tell time without looking at a clock. It’s entertaining if I pay attention, but not so distracting that it interrupts a run of productivity.

It would be a service to freelance writers everywhere is there was a cable station exclusively devoted to the various shows. Combined, they’ve been on the air for about 40 seasons, more than enough to fill a schedule. They could add in tie-ins, like Homicide: Life on the Streets (a much better show) and Oz, which both share a few cast members and a co-creator.

The biggest problem will be that the demographics are probably too old to attract quality advertising, and ads for catheters supplies are disgusting.

Which brings me to comics.

I love the comics I read as a kid. I even love the comics I read in the 1980s. There are comics I enjoy today, but I rarely have that sense of discovery and wonder I had back then. But I don’t really expect to be knocked out in the same way. I’m older. I’ve seen those tricks before. It’s difficult to invent something I haven’t already seen.

Some friends lament the fact that today’s titles aren’t like the older stuff with which we fell in love. And I get it. I’d like to be young again, too. I’d like to be a desirable demographic.

But I can reread the comics of my youth any time I want, and I do.

Please don’t put these ads in my comics.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

 

Marc Alan Fishman: And the Geek Shall Inherit the Earth

The Joy of Tech comic

A few weeks back, an esteemed colleague of mine (oddly enough this time, not Mike Gold…) pitched a debate for my podcast: “Have nerds won? And if they have… is it a good thing?” Well, it was a great idea, and the debate on my show was fairly one sided. Now, after plenty of time to steep on the topic, I can plainly state my opinion; we have, and it is.

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Marc Alan Fishman: Mel Brooks, Jerry Ordway, and Me

Fishman Art 130309Hey kiddos, this intro is a bit of a winding path. I feel it necessary so, please, bear with me. Due largely to it not being football season, my radio has been officially turned off the past month or so. As I trek into and out of my day job some 35-45 minutes away, I have most recently found a love of podcasts. Specifically, I’ve found WTF by Marc Maron to be the best of the bunch.

Within his hour-ish show twice each week, he interviews any number of comedians, musicians, or figures of pop-culture. But unlike your traditional interviewers, Maron always takes to a free-form conversation that usually drills down to the core of his interviewee… when he himself isn’t revealing his own intricately maudlin and beautiful sentiments on his own life. Recently I listened to such a conversation Maron had with Mel Brooks. Amidst the amazing discussion they shared on life, on being Jew-ish (yes… Jew-Ish), and the inherent entropy of life itself, Mel retorted a line that sunk to my own core: The only way to move in life is forward.

Mel Brooks’ career is legend. When I stumbled on my father’s VHS of Blazing Saddles, it absolutely changed my way of thinking when it came to comedy. Further study of the life and times of Mr. Brooks are staggering. But I digress. It’s this concept of “forward” that resonated with me.

Suffice to say, I hear many times in my e-mailing of various mentors and friends how young I am. But at 31, married, with a 1 year old butt-scooting about… I don’t feel young. I’ve changed day jobs so many times, it boarders on the hilarious. I’ve owned more cars in my driving life than either of my parents did in twice the time. And it seems like I’ve been trying to break into comics for over a decade.

To look at man like Brooks, who has worked now my entire life twice over, is a testament to who I’d like to be. My mother, whose Jewish Guilt™ knows no bounds, is never three connected statements away from telling me I work too much. And while yes, I spend upwards of 16-18 hours in front of a computer making stuff, it’s not as if I’m working for naught. Some of that time pays my bills, and fills my son up with pureed foods and waffles. The rest of that time though, is pursuing what Mel himself has for a lifetime; a way to connect to the world in an unforgettable way. Though I know my progeny is my immortality, I’m too much of an ego-centric bastard to be happy with that alone.

There was a time, not very long ago (all things considered) that Unshaven Comics got together – this was actually before we had a name – and made a sparking proclamation: If we didn’t make it by the time we were 30, we’d just go back to being fans. I wonder if Mel Brooks told himself when Sid Caesar hired him to write on Your Show of Shows: “If I don’t have something to hang my hat on by the time I’m 30, I’ll just go back to the garment district.” I sincerely doubt it.

The fact is that the need to create, and the need to be successful are not related. Breaking in is a myth. The fact is. the business itself is not an “in” or “out” industry. It’s “in”… and “not in.” In other words, when there’s work to be had, consider it a blessing. Not unlike acting, singing, or any other art form, making comics should be regarded as a state of being, and a state of notoriety.

Of course, making money sure helps the creative process go a bit further, don’t it? We need only look towards the aging creators in our industry to see how “breaking in” means a pile of bupkis when there are bills to pay and your name isn’t regularly on the racks anymore.

Jerry Ordway recently posted an online plea for work. One would think that by his résumé alone, the man was “in” and could regularly produce work until he deemed it unnecessary.

I could easily take this meandering rant and aim it towards this industry that is built (not unlike Hollyweird) to chew you up and spit you out when you’re no longer a profit machine. But let’s face it. I’ve not personally made it enough to feel that way. As far as I’m considered, the mountaintop is unattainable, and I no longer care to climb it.

The whole crux of this rant banks solely on the ideology of Mr. Brooks. It’s not about having my name next Robert Kirkman or Jeph Loeb anymore. We are living in a time of great change. If I were to be so bold, I’d squarely stand behind my tiny pulpit here and tell Mr. Ordway to choose to bet on himself rather than beg fans to bang down the door of DC on his behalf. Mel Brooks had to take Young Frankenstein to a young production company to see it make the light of day. So too, can we comic creators choose our destinies.

The purpose of life is to always move forward. There’s no time to sit still. The Earth doesn’t stop rotating because you need it to (nor does it reverse if you spin around it the other way a whole bunch). It’s coming to grips with the notion that we all have stories to tell; so long as we have the physical ability to produce them, we should.

And on that note… I have work to do.

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

Martha Thomases: Respect!

Martha Thomases: Respect!

Thomases Art 130308Instead of having a calendar, I have a newspaper (kids: ask your parents). If it’s Tuesday, it’s Science Times. Wednesday it’s Dining. Thursday, my favorite, has Style and Home. Friday is two Arts sections. Saturday is Charles Blow.

And Monday shines a spotlight on the commerce in media in the business section.

This is great for me, because I write this column on Tuesday. This week, there was a discussion of the new Disney film, Oz the Great and Powerful, opening this weekend.  It’s a big gamble for Disney, investing in characters they don’t own, at a time when many expensive fantasy films have not performed to expectations (I’m looking at you, Jack the Giant Slayer).

Hollywood is always looking for the next big thing. At the same time, the people making the financial decisions can be very conservative, especially when we’re talking big-budget special effects. So I guess what I mean is, Hollywood is always looking for the next big sure thing.

The problem is that money people are not always good judges about what the public will like. If it was only a question of appealing to the lowest common denominator, that would be simple, and the multiplex would play all Twilight all the time. That might bring in a steady rate of return, but eventually, the public would get bored and want to see something else. And that something else might cost a lot less than Twilight, and, while that movie not make Twilight money, would make a much more for each dollar invested.

This is why the movie companies look for ideas in other media. This is why they adapt stories from novels, or television shows, or even comic books.

Which brings me to the other story in Monday’s paper. David Carr wrote about The Walking Dead, and how it is more successful on cable’s AMC than many shows on the broadcast networks.

I haven’t been reading the comic, although Robert Kirkman is one of my son’s favorite writers. Still, I’m not surprised the show is so successful. Through dozens of issues, Kirkman wrote characters that appealed to people, that engaged them in a story. Other comics have spawned successful series on television, including Superman (with and without Lois in the title), Superboy, Flash, the Incredible Hulk and Green Arrow.

Comics have been less consistently successful as movies, and I think that’s because the producers do not have to rely as much on character. They seem to think a few good fight scenes will make up for ridiculous plots and people. Look at the difference in the way the Hulk was portrayed on television and on screen right up until The Avengers.

I think the difference is that Joss Whedon understands comics and why they are appealing. He’s actually written them. He has respect for the idea that the action flows from the character, not the other way around. He knows how to tell a character that has proven herself.

Which brings me to this week’s other hot topic. My old pal, Jerry Ordway, wrote a blog post about how difficult it is for comic creators of a certain age to get work. Jerry worked on the death and return of Superman story lines, the bestselling comics of all time. He continues to do work of excellent quality, but because he’s not the flavor of the month, he can’t get any assignments.

Other mass-market entertainment doesn’t play by these rules. Yes, it’s smart to always be scouting hot young talent, because it’s hot and it’s young. Even so, booksellers always want the next Stephen King book, or John Grisham, or J. K. Rowlings, and iTunes pushes Elvis Costello and Judy Collins. Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg still make movies.

The market appreciates proven talent because, well, it’s been proven. It would be great if comic book companies appreciated it too.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

 

Marc Alan Fishman: The Tabernacle of Technobabble

Fishman Art 130302I love psuedo-science. More than anything else, the “how” of super-heroes and science fiction is what initially draws me in. My first real memories of my impending nerd-dom stemmed from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; where I learned that radioactive interplanetary ooze, when liberally applied to animals, created anthropomorphic heroes and villains. And where most of my friends were just happy to have new action figures, I was always perplexed as to how a rhino and warthog, when exposed to said ooze, ended up a mutated state of similar weight and stature. But I digress.

When my attention made way towards comic books, the same curiosity drew me first towards the Marvel universe. Taken against the “crap fell outta the sky, and now you’re super-powered” methodology so many of the DC heroes, Marvel seemed to celebrate the polar opposite. Hulk, Spider-Man, Captain America, Iron Man… all products of science. And let us never forget those pesky mutants. Stan Lee, in the multitude of interviews he’s given over the years always laughed off his choices in the origins of his characters. I’d like to believe though, that there was a bit more to it than he’d let on. The majority of his heroes and villains share science as a passion, and profession. Their powers, results of experiments gone awry. Taken in context of the age in which they were born? It’s fairly easy to see the dots connecting; in the age of the atom, of course scientists would end up mutating themselves and the world at large!

After my recent converting toward Trekdom, I can now say without a shred of sarcasm that I hold Trek above Wars because of the technical bedrock beneath the naked green chicks. At their cores, both universes celebrate journeys. But only Trek dares to boldly go where no man has gone before. Not that Star Wars is without some awesome psuedo-science of its own… but in my mind, it came well after Lucas opened his universe to other collaborators. Men and women who sought to better the mythos with a little less Kurosawa, and a bit more Kelvin.

But what is it that appeals to me so? It’s that shred of plausibility that helps endear me towards creations that embrace it. In contrast, those worlds made of pure fantasy never caught my heart. Where my wife can’t wait for the next Hobbit or Harry Potter, I could honestly care less. Sure, I appreciate the characters themselves, and the plot and structure presented in their various forms. But at their core? They celebrate worlds without reason. Where a kid can ride a broom not because he’s found a way to displace gravity fields, but because his parents loved him a whole ton. Meh.

A cursory look at my bookshelf shows a plethora of writers whose work encompasses these similar feelings. Alan Moore, Grant Morrison, Jonathan Hickman, Warren Ellis, and the like all celebrate the art of technobabble. Their stories, as grand as they may become, still root themselves in panes of logic and reason. Their heroes and villains operate less on threads of sheer will, hope, or love. While their ultimate deus ex machinas may very well encompass those indefinable qualities in order to reach catharsis or conclusion… the worlds built around them all contain some form of believability that allows me to enjoy the work just a bit more than those who simply “wish hard”.

Remember when [[[The Matrix]]] first came about? Long before Neo was wearing his digital crown of thorns, the Wachowski brothers first tried to provide a foundation with which to build upon. And by the end of their first flick, I could enjoy Neo’s triumph over the machines not because of his amazing will to win the day, but because of his understanding of the laws of the program he was an avatar of. His triumph was one of science, not faith.

In Geoff Johns’s expansion of the Green Lantern universe, I celebrated the psuedo-science of the emotional spectrum. Certainly if we could believe that will was somehow a measurable source of energy, so too could be anger, avarice, love, compassion, hope, and fear.

But when Kronos, back with a vengeance, waged war on the Guardians who banished him so very long ago… what defeated him? A big Photoshopped beam from Hal Jordan. Sheer will. Used against a guy who had the weight of the entire emotional spectrum behind him. The scientist inside me screamed with righteous indignation. Based on even small amounts of actual logic, I was left aghast. One emotion, no matter how large (and Photoshoppy), should trump seven. Especially when the shooter of said super beam is merely a mortal man, and his opponent a crazy-assed demi-god. Johns failed to follow the laws of science he himself previously designed (so-to-speak). Simply put? Geoff wrote himself into a corner, and asked for a pass out of it. He flunked the exam. Of course given his captain of the football team status at DC, he slid right past the failing grade. Psuedo-science be damned.

In the universes we fictioneers build, there is an understanding between our words and our audience. To each creation comes a set of laws we play in and around. Those who do it best, gain my attention, respect, and money. Those who disregard it get my furrowed eyebrow and shaking fist. Consider this experiment open-ended. Where there is plausibility, there’s potential. And where there is potential… there’s the possibility of endless wonder. And where there is no need for that? Well, fuck it. Let it fall out of the sky. I mean, why not?

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

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