Tagged: Mindy Newell

John Ostrander: Bad Things

My thanks to Martha Thomases for her column this week. In it she confessed to having a fondness for the 1980 Flash Gordon film that started the immortal Sam Jones and Max Van Sydow. It’s bad film and she knows it but she has legit reasons for her fondness of it. Martha, just so you know, the 2007 SyFy TV series is much worse, not even having space ships, for crying out loud! Flash Gordon without space ships?! Talk about not getting the concept!

I say thank you because I had no idea what I was going to do for my column this week and now I do. There are bad films and one CD that I know are horrible but I felt a compulsion to go out and buy a copy of them. This isn’t the same as the weird films of which I own a copy and that I like – things such as Incident At Loch Ness, Get Crazy and, soon, Troll Hunter. These are all justifiable. Not the ones I’m about to talk about; uh-uh, these are plain bad and they are not recommended for viewing. Just to be clear about that.

First up – Barb Wire starring Pamela Lee Anderson. I may have talked about this one before but I stumbled on it one late night on TV while scanning the cable for something to occupy my sleepless mind.

The movie is based on a comic put out by Dark Horse at one point, part of their Heroes Greatest World series of superheroes. I wrote one of those comics for a while and I knew all the other titles. As I said, Pamela Lee Anderson starred in the movie and I lingered, waiting to see if she would take off her clothes, which is the main reason for any guy to watch a Pamela Lee Anderson movie.

I came in after the film started and then watched in horror as I became aware that the movie was an update of Casablanca into a future setting and featuring Pammie in the Humphrey Bogart part. ‘Nuff said? Nuff said.

And then there’s The Return Of Captain Invincible from 1983, a superhero spoof from Australia starring Adam Arkin in tights as the titular hero and Christopher Lee as his archenemy, Mister Midnight. Lee sings in this, by the way. Did I mention there are some songs sprinkled throughout? Not enough to make it a musical, just enough to not make sense – which fits right in with the rest of the movie. The lyrics to some of them were done by Richard O’Brien who wrote the original musical play of Rocky Horror Show and as an actor he was also in, among other things, Martha’s guilty pleasure, Flash Gordon.

I could run through the plot of Captain Invincible but – why?

Next on my list of very dubious pleasures – Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter. Yes, you read that right. It’s a kung fu movie that has Jesus returning to Earth and winding up fighting as a king fu warrior against hordes of vampires, including lesbian ones, with the aide of a masked Mexican wrestler, Santo Enmascardo de Plata. Hmm. I may need to re-write that sentence; it makes the film sound too interesting.

Oh, and it also has a song in it. One. Right in the middle of the film. Why? Who knows.

Finally, there’s a CD – Pat Boone’s In A Metal Mood: No More Mr. Nice Guy from 1997 in which Pat covers heavy metal and hard rock songs with big band arrangements. Oh, and on the cover he wears black leather pants and matching vest – no shirt. Get that picture out of your mind if you can.

I don’t know if I’ve ever listened to the whole thing.

My friend, Bill Nutt, used to have a weekly radio show and, on occasion, I would be invited in as a guest and allowed to select some of the music. I told My Mary one such time to listen in because I would be dedicating a song to her.

That week I also played one of the cuts from In A Metal Mood and it played before Mary’s song came on. When I got back home, Mary demanded why I made her listen to the Pat Boone cut. In an unwise moment, I admitted neither Bill nor I had actually listened to it; we turned down the studio monitor once it came on.

That did not go down well. She has since forgiven me but I doubt she will ever forget my doing that to her.

What unites all these choices is the fact that I own a copy of each and every one of them. I can’t explain to you why these and not the other very bad CDs and DVDs that are out there. The selection probably says something about me and its probably not good.

And, Martha? Flash Gordon is superior to any of them.

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

John Ostrander: Displaced

One of the brilliant moves that Stan Lee made in the early issues of The Avengers was to bring Captain America from the 40s into what was then the modern day. He had Cap frozen in ice from the end of WWII until he was thawed out. Cap hadn’t aged, Stan didn’t bring a new guy into the costume, this was the same Steve Rogers and he became a man out of time. A hero of one era moved to a time when just about everyone he knew was dead. And the world as he knew it was gone.

They repeated that idea in the Captain America movie and picked up on it in this year’s Avengers movie blockbuster. I think that it’s Nick Fury who notes that, for Cap, World War II was not decades ago – it was just a few weeks. The society, for good and bad, is not the same, the values aren’t the same, so where does Steve Rogers, Captain America, fit in? Does he fit in?

Most of America is celebrating the Fourth of July this weekend, even though the real Fourth isn’t for a few days. We celebrate the birth of our nation that was, as Abraham Lincoln said, “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men were created equal.” That was the United States I believed in when I was young. Now? These days I find myself identifying more and more with that Steve Rogers who came out of hibernation to a whole new nation.

Maybe it’s just creeping old cootism; I’m 63, I grew up in the Fifties and came of age in the 60s. Maybe it’s just this election cycle with its hideous negativism and polarization. Maybe it’s the rise of this new era of Robber Barons. Maybe it’s this continuing recession (depression?) that drags on and on. Maybe it’s just me, where I am and how I feel right now, as I write this.

I remember a country where different political parties and even groups within those parties could argue and disagree, perhaps vehemently, but still could come together and do things for the good of the country and its citizens. The political game wasn’t the be-all and end-all of the process. When the concept of compromise wasn’t “do it my way.” When political dogma wasn’t the rule; when ideology wasn’t engraved on tablets of stone. No one person had the answers; by working together, by compromise, a better answer could be reached.

I remember when corporations were corporate citizens and not multinational conglomerates that were landless nations in their own right. When the CEOs and CFOs operated these companies to the benefit of the stockholders and those who were employed there instead of making sure their executive bonuses increased whether the company prospered or not.

I remember when there wasn’t such a great divide between the wealthy and the poor or even the wealthy and the middle class. Hell, I remember a strong and prosperous middle class. I remember a time when a parent could expect that their children could rise and do better than they did, to graduate from college without the crushing student debt with which these young men and women are now saddled.

I remember when teachers, policemen, and firemen were all respected and not among the first to have their jobs, wages, and pensions cut or their unions attacked and even accused of being among the principle causes of this recession.

I’m a student of history; an imperfect one, I’ll grant, but I’ve read about the robber barons of a century ago. I know how many of those who wrote the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were slaveholders. I know how every minority group has had to fight for basic civil rights, be they the right to vote or the right to marry or the right to be treated as full citizens in this country. I know how we pushed and robbed and committed genocide against Native Americans. I’m not naïve and I don’t simply look backwards with rose-colored glasses.

But I used to have more hope.

Woody Guthrie sang:

“This land is your land, this land is my land

    From California to the New York Island

    From the Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters

    This land was made for you and me.”

He also sang in a later verse that is not always performed with the rest of the song:

“In the squares of the city, In the shadow of a steeple;

    By the relief office, I’d seen my people.

    As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking,

    Is this land made for you and me?”

I don’t know. I used to think this was my land but now I don’t know.

Was it ever?

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

John Ostrander: Legal Fiction

At one company I worked at, I received a contract and, in the boilerplate text, there was a new phrase, something that I didn’t understand. I asked my editor about it; he didn’t understand it either and shrugged and said, “Just sign it so we can get the project going.” I went on to a business manager who didn’t know what the phrase meant either but said, “Oh, John – we’re all friends here. Don’t worry about it.” I continued to pursue it up through a corporate counsel who finally told me what it meant.

The phrase said that the company could do anything they wanted to my scripts, change them as they deemed fit, and publish them under my name without even telling me. Once I understood what the phrase meant, I wanted it taken out (I had more leverage in those days and was able to do that). My reasoning – all I had to trade on was my name. An employer hires me based on my track record and that track record is based on what has appeared under my name. That’s my livelihood and I couldn’t let someone else change my work without the right to remove my name.

In general, I have liked, respected, and gotten along well with the editors for whom I’ve worked. They, however, are not the company. They may represent the company but they are not the company. They may leave, get fired, die or in some other manner not wind up employed at the company. It’s my “hit by a bus” theory. If everyone at a given company I know went out for lunch together and got hit by a bus, all I would have is the contract that I signed.

Despite what some politicians may have told you, companies are not people, too, my friend. They are “people” only as a legal fiction; the law treats them as a “person” in the sense that they can sign binding contracts, sue or get sued, and enter into other legal situations that supposedly can only happen between two “people.”

You do not have a relationship with a corporation; you have a relationship with people who work at a corporation. Corporations are not family. They are not sentient, they are not cognizant, and one could argue they are rarely intelligent. Multinational corporations and conglomerates do not belong to any one nation and their loyalties belong to no one nation but rather to themselves and, in theory, their stockholders, although top executives can make sure they get their bonuses even if the company fails.

Corporations do not believe in equality; corporations are hierarchical, usually male dominated, and white. Management is the top echelon and the workers, who do most of the heavy lifting, are drones. In artistic matters, they will tell you that the people with the money are more vital than the creative types. After all, creative people are a dime a dozen; another will be around in a minute or two. The guys with the money are the ones taking the financial risk and, thus, are more valuable. You can always get another idea to fund. Theirs is the corporate mindset – it’s the money that matters most. Artistic ideas are just widgets as are their creators.

Despite a remarkably boneheaded Supreme Court decision, money does not equal free speech. It enables you to buy the soapbox from which you can exercise your free speech and the more money you have, the bigger soapbox you can buy. The money that corporations have enables them to buy extremely large soapboxes outfitted with loudspeakers that common citizens cannot afford. This electoral cycle we’re seeing unprecedented amount of spending both by corporations and by individuals made rich by their corporate holdings. That creates an imbalance between the legal fictions that are corporations and the humans that are the actual citizens.

I’ll grant that all this sounds like I really hate corporations. I don’t. They are a necessity. I respect them when they act in a manner deserving respect, and I respect their power. I simply don’t think they are more important than the individual and that their rights should supercede those of the average citizen.

The preamble to the United States Constitution refers to “We, the People”, not “We, the Corporations.” When the framers of the Constitution said that its purpose was “to secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity” they weren’t talking about the legal fictions that are corporations.

I don’t expect corporations to be my friends no matter what their corporate spokesmen and animated logos may tell me. I know who my friends are, I know who my family is, and they aren’t legal fictions. Nothing personal; corporations aren’t persons. It’s business for them and that’s how it is for me.

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

John Ostrander: Death and Comics

At a convention I was at some years past I was having dinner with, among others, Howard Chaykin and Joe Rubinstein. Howard is always an interesting dinner companion; whether you agree with him or not on a subject, the conversation is going to be interesting. I didn’t know Joe Rubinstein much before that – except by his talent – but he raised a serious point with me. Joe knew about my late wife, Kim Yale, and her death and what he was interested in seeing coming from me was a story or stories about how you cope with the grief and the mourning that comes with the death of a loved one. It’s an interesting challenge and, while I’ve had some ideas about how to do it, I have yet to answer it.

I don’t think that comics, as a medium, deals well with death. It’s become a plot device, a sales gimmick, since we all know the character who has died is going to be back. I was staggered at the time of the Death of Superman storyline and by the number of people I knew who contacted me and breathlessly asked, “Is he really dead?” I pointed out that DC had too much money to lose from Underoos alone to let Kal-El stay dead.

Sure enough, Superman got better.

I will say that DC dealt well with the aftermath of Superman’s apparent demise in the World Without Superman follow-up storyline. There was real feeling, real emotion, by individuals and by the general population. And life went on without Superman.

That’s what happens. Your world ends; life goes on. The one you loved doesn’t come back. You cope however well or badly. You recover or you don’t.

I’m not saying that killing off a character can’t be effective or shouldn’t be done. When I was doing Suicide Squad over at DC, I was something of a literary mass murderer. I killed off lots of characters – mostly villains. I even killed off my own GrimJack character and brought him back albeit in a different, cloned body. I then reincarnated him somewhere further down his own timeline and, eventually, killed off that incarnation as well. So, how is that different, you ask.

Reincarnation doesn’t give you back the same body; it gives you a different one. The resiliency of the Doctor Who series rests on the title character’s ability to regenerate or reincarnate. Completely different actor, very different personality traits. There is change. That’s the difference and a key one.

Over at Marvel, the Pearly Gates is a revolving door. Captain America dies; oops, he got better. (Okay, it was really a “time bullet” but it was sold as the death of Captain America.) His teen sidekick in WWII, Bucky, dies in action. Oops, no, he gets better decades later. Both “deaths” generated interesting stories but is there anyone who really thought that the original Captain America wasn’t coming back?

Actions have consequences and death does as well. Grief should be shown; tears should flow. One of the major flaws, for me, of the first Star Wars film is that Luke barely sheds a tear at the death of the only parents he’s really ever known but then gets mopey about a mentor he’s known only a few days. Whereas, in the Harry Potter films, especially the later ones, when a character dies we see real grief and sorrow. It matters to the characters and therefore matters to us. And, yes, Harry dies and comes back to life but that doesn’t change my argument. His death grew out of the story and was, in fact, demanded by it; it was the way to resolve the story. That includes his resurrection. My gripe is with deaths that simply are “events” and meant to push sales.

Death in comics is too easy because resurrection is too easy. It doesn’t mean anything most of the time. It’s a cheat. Life – and death – doesn’t work that way. If death doesn’t mean anything, does life?

Monday: Mindy Newell and how she got that way.

Mindy Newell: Success And Failure, Part 3

Picking up the thread…

College a no-go. Work a disaster. Israel a bust.

Spending a lonely night sitting in the terminal at Lod Airport (now David Ben Gurion Airport) waiting for my 5 A.M. flight to New York. Trying to ignore leering men. Struggling to stay awake. Not knowing where to go or what to do. Thinking I didn’t have a friend in the world. Nor a family. Believing they were so disgusted with me that my dad would rather foot the bill to keep me away from home than have me there. Wishing I was brave enough to go to Paris, London, Rome or Madrid. All I had to do was exchange the ticket.

That was the worst part, I think. Some part of me was mocking herself. Even as I checked in, as I was boarding, while I was finding my seat, some part of me was mocking, laughing hideously, scoffing and scorning.

Coward. Loser. Fuck-up.

Poor little lost girl.

I landed at JFK Airport. No one there to meet me.  Three hours later my mom and my Aunt Ida showed up.

Aunt Ida. She had an uncanny ability to show up when I was in trouble or unhappy, no matter where or far away I happened to be.

The first time was when I was staying at my Aunt Augie’s house on Long Island while my parents went on a trip. My aunt had gotten me an absolutely beautiful party dress to wear to a birthday party. Only it had a crinoline undergarment. Crinoline, for those of you too young to remember, was a god-awful material that looked like lace soaked in lacquer. It was as stiff as a board and scratched – no, stabbed – the skin. Well, my aunt put me in this dress and I was in pain. I cried and carried on and basically threw your average terrible childhood tantrum, even throwing ice cream into the face of the birthday girl. (I was really little, which perhaps explains my inability to simply tell my aunt that the dress “wasn’t working for me.”) Even after the dress came off, I continued to sob. After hours of this, the doorbell rang. Aunt Augie went to the door, and there stood her sister (my mom’s sister, too, of course), my Aunt Ida. I ran into her arms, screaming Fairy Godmother! Help me!! In her arms I quieted.  (Poor Aunt Augie. I so hurt her feelings.)

The second time that stands out in my memory is the time I was seven years old, and away at camp. I was climbing a tree. Climbing higher and higher, ignoring everyone far below me to come down. I climbed until I couldn’t climb any higher, and promptly fell off the tree. Whomp! A perfect executed, score ten, belly flop. My face kissed the pavement. Hell, my face tongued the pavement.  I remember voices around me. And lifting my eyes to see… my fairy godmother. Aunt Ida.

And here she was again, my fairy godmother. Come to rescue me from JFK airport.

Come to rescue me from myself.

Next week: “All you can do is open up the throttle all the way and keep your nose up in the air.”

First Lieutenant Meyer C. Newell

P-51 Mustang Fighter Jock

Separated from his squadron, shot up and leaking hydraulic fluid somewhere in the skies over Burma

TUESDAY MORNING: Michael Davis Isn’t Happy Until…

TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Emily S. Whitten Goes Splitsville!

 

John Ostrander: Pop Food

When I was back in college, a girl I was dating teasingly insisted that if I had to choose between her and a double chocolate cake I would have to think hard. “Nonsense, my dear,“ I told her, “You exaggerate. I would always choose you.” After a beat, I added, “With infinite regret for having lost that double chocolate cake.”

The relationship with that young lady did not last but my relationship with chocolate and, indeed, food in general certainly has. I’ve become a pretty good home cook over the past few years and I credit television for a lot of that.

I was not into cooking all that much for most of my life. Oh. I could feed myself and even – on occasion – make a really good meal. Then one day I was reading in the newspaper an article about a new show coming onto the Food Channel (which at that point I not only didn’t watch but disdained). It was Iron Chef (the original Japanese version) that was described as a cross between a cooking show and a sports event. Well, that intrigued me enough to sample it and, in short order, I was hooked. It was complete with play-by-play announcer, a field reporter, an analyst, and guest commentators who also were part of the judging committee.

The Chairman who presided over it all was also over the top – heck, the whole thing was over the top – with florid weekly attire. Weekly challengers would come in to challenge the three (later four) Iron Chefs and, while the whole thing may have been rigged, it was played straight.

It led me into sampling more of the Food Channel which in those days included Sarah Moulton, Mario Batali, as well as Rachel Ray and Bobby Flay until the Food Channel became one of the most frequent stops for me on the dial. I also started checking out some of the food shows on other channels such as PBS where I discovered America’s Test Kitchen and its sister show, Cook’s Country, which are my two favorites. Sarah Moulton eventually migrated over to PBS as well and there’s the indomitable Lidia Bastianich, the Italian cooking grandma who scares the bejabbers out of me. I would never cross Lidia. However, she’s a great cook, good teacher, and excellent communicator.

I’ve learned things from them over the years, especially America’s Test Kitchen, Cook’s Country, and Sarah Moulton. Tips around the kitchen, recipes, ways to prepare food and even how I think about food. I subscribe to some of the magazines and bought some of the cook books and, in general, have become a much better cook as a result.

Things have changed along the way, some not for the better, IMO. The Japanese producer took Iron Chef off the air. An American version followed, with William Shatner as The Chairman but it was (thankfully) aborted after only a few episodes. It was terrible. Food Network launched its own Iron Chef America and it’s been pretty good. A bit tamer than the Japanese version but very watchable.

The problem is that it also ushered in a generation of cooking competitions that now dominate the network. There are battles over cupcakes, you can get Chopped, there are even competitions to decide who will be the next Iron Chef (whose roster has grown from three to a bloated six or seven). To get a cooking show on Food Network you now have to survive a competition called Food Network Star. Only one winner – Guy Fieri – can honestly be said to have gone on to become a real Food Network Star. The others get a show that seems to last a season or two and they’re gone.

The competition shows so dominate Food Network that the parent corporation had to create a new channel, the Cooking Channel, to house the shows that actually are about cooking. Some of the best cooks who were teachers – Mario Batali and Sarah Moulton – left (or perhaps were forced out). I’m watching less of it.

I know on the regular networks they’re even doing a talk/food show called The Chew. It sometimes has Mario Batali or Iron Chef Michael Symon on it, both of whom I enjoy, and I’ve tried watching it sometimes during my daily lunch break but, in general, I find it unwatchable. I know Rachel Ray has also gotten a syndicated talk show on which she also does some cooking but she’s not a great interviewer. If I want that kind of show (and I don’t often) I’ll watch Ellen.

I’ve watched a fair amount of Gordon Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares. It’s formula – Ramsey is asked to come in and help a struggling restaurant, he finds food, décor, and/or sanitary conditions deplorable, hollers and berates everyone in sight, makes things better, and leaves somewhat akin to a surly Scottish Lone Ranger. I mostly enjoy it even though I learn nothing and it’s successful enough to have spawned a rip-off imitation on Food Network and about a bajillion other Ramsey starring shows. You cannot watch all the shows Gordon Ramsey does and have any sort of real life. It would just take up too much of the day. He’ll probably have his own cooking channel shortly – all Gordon Ramsey, all the time. I suspect his ego would like that.

For me, it’s about the food, and can a show make me learn something new or does it make me want to run out and cook. My Mary and I saw one of Julia Child’s later cooking shows when she was in a kitchen with her friend, Jaques Pepin, and they were making hamburgers. They concocted what they considered to be the quintessential hamburger. It got us drooling so much that we ran out to find a place that served good hamburgers. What we got wasn’t on the scale of Julia and Jaques’ but we had to have a burger – any burger. That’s how well Julia communicated and why she was the Master Chef of television. Gawd, just remembering it is making me drool some more.

Excuse me, I’ve gotta go find something to eat.

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

John Ostrander: Great Horny Toads!

Censorship can, sometimes, be a spur to the creative mind. It’s more often a pain in the ass but there are times when a creative mind finds ingenious ways of getting around the bans, whatever they may be.

For example, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, them crazy guys who created South Park (and, even more oddly, the Tony Award winning musical The Book of Mormon) originally wanted to call the South Park movie South Park: All Hell Breaks Loose. That got rejected by the MPAA for having the word “Hell” in the title. Parker and Stone re-named the film “Bigger, Longer, Uncut,” which is more salacious. Evidently, the MPAA were the only ones who didn’t get the penis reference. Creativity trumps censorship.

George Carlin in 1972 famously listed seven words you could never say on television. Not only can I say them here, but I think editor Mike Gold would insist. They are: “shit,” “piss,” “fuck,” “cunt,” “cocksucker,” “motherfucker,” and “tits.’’ These days I think you can get away with “shit,” “piss,” and “tits” on television sometimes) but the other ones are still right out. You definitely can’t say any of them in mainstream comics.

For example, Marvel’s Luke Cage is a streetwise badass motherfucker who swears like your granny. “Sweet Christmas!” is his most common swear word. When I wrote him in Heroes For Hire, I had a villain taunt him about it. Cage, as he beat the shit/poo (take your pick) out of the guy explained it was because his grandma didn’t approve of swearing and “she was tougher than you.”

On Battlestar Galactica, instead of saying “fuck,” the characters said “frak” but we all knew what they meant. The word has gone on to enter the vocabulary of the fans and some other sci/fi works. One of the things I enjoy about it is that the process of raping the earth and poisoning it to get at natural gas is called “frakking.’’ For me, it means they’re fucking us all to get at the natural gas and its profits.

George Carlin also famously noted that when we say “Fuck you” we’re actually wishing something nice on a person. Working from that, in some sci-fi stuff I tried replacing “fuck” with “nuke,” as in “Nuke you and the nuking horse you came in on.” Or calling someone a “mothernuker.’’ “Nuke” has the harsh “uk” sound as “fuck” and hoping that someone gets nuked is not wishing them a good time. However, the substitution seemed a little forced and drew too much attention to itself. It read like the author was trying to be clever, which I guess he was, so I dropped it. Sometimes you just can’t beat the fucking classics.

Worse than that is anything sexual. You can rip a guy’s arm off and beat another guy to death with it, all the while spurting gouts of blood but you show too much skin or a couple getting it on or (Christian Right Forbid!) any sort of same sex naughtiness going on and there will be a hue and cry far greater than any uproar over profanity. See the current Right Wing brouhaha over Alan Scott’s Green Lantern being gay or Northstar over at Marvel marrying his boyfriend.

For a long time, if a movie had a couple in bed together, at least one of them had to have one foot on the floor. On TV, I remember that on The Dick Van Dyke Show, whenever they went to the bedroom of Rob and Laura Petrie, they had separate beds. Who were they fooling? I was young at that time and even I, sheltered Roman Catholic boyo that I was, knew my folks slept in the same bed. I didn’t want to think whatever else they might be doing in that bed (still don’t – shudder!) but I knew sure as hell they didn’t have separate beds.

Still, there is a certain sexuality, a certain sensuality in suggestion rather than in statement. I remember when First Comics was doing Howard Chaykin’s American Flagg! everyone talked about the sex and the nudity and all except … there wasn’t. It was implied. Sexy, yes – and sensual. It was a great, classic series whose rep is dirtier than the book ever was.

Over at DC, on Wasteland, we did all sorts of crap. We tossed a baby out of a window in a story called R.Ab (which stood for retroactive abortion) and we managed to honk off both pro-lifers and pro-choicers (and, if memory serves, our publisher) at the same time. We eviscerated a biology teacher for laughs and tried to get the reader into the mind of a serial killer among other things. Without bad language and without sex. We got accused of bad taste, which we reveled in, but rarely bad language or blatant sex.

I’m not saying that the envelope shouldn’t be pushed or that censorship is a good thing. However, if you try to establish boundaries and tell creative folks not to go there, odds are the creative folks figure out a way around it, if they can. That’s why they’re called creative. They’re never more creative when trying to do something naughty. Or juvenile. Or naughty juvenile.

Whoaaaa! Sounds dirty, that! Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more!

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

John Ostrander: The Last Word On That Movie

So I finally joined the clamoring hordes who have gone to see The Avengers and, yes, I had a really good time. No spoilers but I can define my favorite scene in two words that won’t spoil the show: “Puny god.” ‘Nuff said. Those who have seen it know what I’m talking about. I also really enjoyed the little scene at the end of all the credits.

It’s made a billion dollars worldwide, and its already on its way towards making a bazillion, I’m sure. Marvel has played it very canny, building up to it by way of Iron Man (I and II), Thor and Captain America. You’d almost think that The Avengers success was inevitable and you’d be terribly, terribly wrong.

I got two words for you.

Joss Whedon.

Joss Whedon is the real star of the film, having both written and directed it (having worked up the story along with Zak Penn who, among other things, wrote a bunch of Marvel X-Men movies, created the TV show Alphas and directed and co-wrote – with Werner Herzog – the wonderfully strange and funny film Incident at Loch Ness and, yes, that’s a recommendation). It must be really nice to be Joss Whedon right now. The Avengers is making money hand over fist and breaking all sorts of records. That translates into power out in Hollyweird – the power to get the movies you want to do green-lighted.

Yet, I’m also sure there will be those (especially those on the studio end who will have to negotiate with Mr. Whedon’s agents on his next salary) who will claim that it was all set-up by the other films and that anybody could have directed The Avengers and it would have done just as well. That sort of mind just sees us puny artistic types as widgets – take one out, plug in another. Same result, right?

To minds that think like that, I have two more words for you (and not necessarily the ones you’re thinking):

Michael Bay.

Bay, in case you don’t remember, has directed all three Transformers movies, among other things. In many ways, I’m surprised they didn’t tap him – all three Transformers movies are big, spectacular, lots of special effects, playing with a franchise created elsewhere and made lots of money. In some ways, he’s the more logical choice – he has the experience with doing that kind of film.

Imagine what a Michael Bay version of The Avengers would have been like. This is also the guy who is producing the next Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie, only now its just called Ninja Turtles and they’re not mutant turtles, they’re aliens from space. Go ahead; imagine what he would have done with The Avengers.

Okay, I’m obviously not a big Michael Bay fan. But plug in someone else as well (who I don’t like) such Roland Emmerich who also has experience with big special effects laden money making films like (gawd help me) Independence Day, 2012, The Patriot, Godzilla (the remake) and so much more. What would an Emmerich Avengers film have looked like?

If you subscribe to the artistic widget theory then these guys could have made The Avengers and it would have made money. Would it have made the kind of money, however, that Whedon’s version is making and, more to all of our fannish hearts, would it have been as good? Would it have been such a quintessential Marvel story? I don’t think so. I have relatives and friends who aren’t fan geeks like most of us and they’re going back to the film and seeing it more than once because they just plain enjoyed it so much.

Why? Because whether they know it or not, it’s a Joss Whedon film, a Joss Whedon story. We who know his work can see it all over the place. The respect and power of the female characters in the story. The traditional Marvel tropes (heroes meet heroes, don’t like each other, fight and bicker, and then come together) done RIGHT. The clever dialogue, insightful characterization, playing with theme that Whedon does over and over again. It’s Whedon who made The Avengers the film that we all, fan and novice alike, are really loving worldwide.

I’ll give the suits their due – they chose Whedon instead of the more logical and safer choices. Joss Whedon had never directed a film on this scale before (Serenity is great but it’s not on this scale). However, he brought a passion and respect for the source material that satisfied all of us fans and made it accessible to everyone else. There may have been some questions out in Hollyweird when Whedon was picked but there can’t be any now. He wasn’t the “artistic widget” choice; he was the right choice.

‘Nuff said.

MONDAY: Mindy Newell, R.N., CNOR, C.G.


 

John Ostrander: Maurice Sendak – in passing

He was a curmudgeon who didn’t have children, didn’t especially like children, and yet was probably the most noted children’s book writer and illustrator in the past fifty years, J.K. Rowling notwithstanding. He was Maurice Sendak and he died May 8th at age 83 after a stroke.

Sendak was famous for many books, especially Where The Wild Things Are, a favorite in our house. I got my Mary the full set of the McFarlane figurines and we saw and liked the movie version (many people didn’t but we did, nyah nyah).

He was infamous for books like In The Night Kitchen because its hero is a young boy named Mickey who falls out of his night clothes and runs around naked. As Lewis Black might put it, “Some people see pictures of a little boy’s wee-wee and it makes them want to cry.” It’s gotten the book put on the American Library Association’s “100 Most Frequently Challenged Books of 1990–1999.”

Banning In The Night Kitchen. Some people need to grow up. Still, if you’re not pissing some people off, you’re not doing it right. Sendak did it right.

Maurice Sendak had a diversity of styles. I have a collection of the two-volume set: The Juniper Tree and other tales from the Brother Grimm, translated by Lore Segal and Randall James. The illustrations are incredibly detailed and are often strange and reflect the source material magnificently. In the same style he also did The Light Princess and The Gold Key, both written by George Macdonald and they are beautifully realized as well. The latter is a particular favorite of mine. In the aforementioned In The Night Kitchen, the story proceeds from panel to panel like a comic book or, perhaps more aptly, like a comic strip: specifically, Little Nemo In Slumberland.

Sendak produced films, including the animated special of his work Really Rosie, and did sets for operas including Mozart’s The Magic Flute (Sendak cited Mozart as one of his great influences along with Walt Disney’s Fantasia.) He was part of the National Board of Advisors for Children’s television Workshop during the development of Sesame Street. He had a rich and prolific mind.

As I get older I get crankier, and so I can appreciate Sendak’s curmudgeonly side. He demonstrated it earlier this year in a wonderful two part interview that he did with Stephen Colbert and that you can watch here and here.

To note Sendak’s death, Colbert played a few additional pieces from the interview this week. My favorite was when Colbert compared Mozart to Donald Trump and Sendak instantly replied, “I’m going to have to kill you.” Funny, funny stuff and I think it was one of Colbert’s best interviews.

Sendak had a concept of mortality from an early age with his extended family dying in the Holocaust. I’ve also known about death from an early age with deaths in my extended family, attending wakes and funerals. Maybe there’s something in Sendak’s art and writing where that comes through and it speaks to me.

Sendak claimed that he didn’t write for children; he wrote for himself and that was part of his genius. As with all good children’s literature, the work speaks not only to children but the child in all of us. We see and we respond on a deep instinctive level. Everyone I’ve known has had a child alive inside of them – not always for good effect. In other words, our inner Max. I have several children inside of me and some of them are brats knowing only that they want what they want when they want it. Sendak knew and celebrated them as well.

Sendak may be gone but his work is there and so the best parts of him are as well. We can still meet our Wild Things and have a wild rumpus in the pages of his books. I wouldn’t be so bold as to say that Sendak would be pleased by that; Sendak was too much of a curmudgeon. I think he would nod and then go back to listening to Mozart.

Just don’t compare Mozart to Donald Trump because, then, Maurice Sendak would have to kill you.

MONDAY: Mindy Newell, R.N., CNOR, C.G.

John Ostrander: Narrative Selection

We’re all storytellers. It’s the common currency of our social interactions. We use story to explain, to amuse, to communicate and a host of other tasks in our daily lives. Some of us get to make our living telling stories. Some of us are better at it than others.

The problem with some people who tell stories verbally (and I have been guilty of this from time to time) is that we tend to lose our audience. That’s because we forget to check in with those who are listening. If the eyes of the listener are glazed ever so slightly, you’ve lost them. It’s harder to tell when this happens when you’re writing a story but it can happen there, too, and often does.

A big question is – how much do we need to tell to communicate the story? Actually, I should say how little do we need? What’s the minimum? What is really necessary? What is necessary to know and what is necessary to tell?

I have what I call the iceberg theory. The bulk of an iceberg exists under the waterline; only about ten percent of it shows above it. That other ninety percent is necessary, however, for the top ten percent to show. That’s plenty enough to sink an “unsinkable ship.” The same is true with character and story: you have to know a lot about the characters, the setting, the background of the plot and so on but only a small part of it can or should be used. You’ll sometimes have an author (and, yes, this is another thing of which I have been guilty of from time to time) who, having done all this research, wants to use it. Guaranteed fatal error; the audiences eyes glaze and they’re lost.

Or the author may want a certain scene or bit of dialogue in the story because, you know, it’s so swell and makes them look really clever. Those bits need to be cut out unless they are moving the plot, the characters, or the theme forward. It’s called “kill your darlings.” Elmore Leonard said that when he goes back over a draft he removes anything that sounds like writing. He’s pretty successful and that’s good advice.

A lot of the time, whether in story or in real life, I think we over-explain. We don’t want to be misunderstood and there’s lots of good reasons for that; we see all too many examples of people not only misunderstanding but willfully misunderstanding. Witness the current presidential election season. However, it’s fatal in storytelling.

Some rules I try to follow in my storytelling: 1) Assume the reader’s/listener’s intelligence and goodwill. Assume they want to be told a good joke or read a good story. 2) What is the minimum they need to know to understand the premise? Usually less than you might think. 3) When in doubt, cut it out. If you’re not sure a line/character/scene is really working, try taking it out and see if everything still makes sense. If it does, then delete the junk permanently. 4) Fewer words are better. Leave your audience wanting more instead of wishing you were done already.

What you choose to tell is what makes it your story. Another person might choose different elements to tell the same story. It’s why different people can tell different versions of the same joke.

Remember, glaze is fine on a doughnut; not so much in your audience’s eyes.

Hmmmmm. Doughnuts!

MONDAY: Mindy Newell, R.N., CNOR, C.G.

 

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