Tagged: wrong

MIKE GOLD: Truth, Justice, and the American Way

Well, I suppose it was inevitable.

After all, the American Nazis objected to Heimdall being played by a black man in last year’s Thor movie. To swing 180 degrees in the opposite direction, many Asian groups objected to the casting of a European in the role of a Eurasian in the play Miss Saigon. They felt that the part should have gone to an Asian and not to a Eur.

There are numerous examples of this, and some attracted justifiable outrage. I’m not too certain about the Miss Saigon thing: the character is Eurasian but Asians are woefully underrepresented on western stages. The Thor thing is just completely stupid: Heimdall is Asgardian and not Teutonic, and the American Nazis are assholes.

Several thousand white actors have been cast as American Indians in several hundred (at least) motion pictures, and that’s simply wrong. We should have grown out of that, yet for the past several years I’ve been involved in a comics project that stars an American Indian lead but has been “unsellable” to Hollywood because they “can’t find” an acceptable American Indian actor. Besides, there are none who could carry a movie.

So I’m not surprised to see the beginnings of … let’s say discomfort … at the casting of a British actor in the lead role of this summer’s Man of Steel. Truth, Justice, and the American Way, right? Superman lives in Metropolis, which is in or near Kansas, and you can’t get more American than that, right? Hollywood is pushing its internationalist agenda down our throats again, right?

Well, no. That’s not right. Superman is not American, he’s Kryptonian. Clark Kent is American, but he’s not the guy referred to in the title Man of Steel. Clark Kent is a disguise. Kal-El is Superman, and he wasn’t born here.

In fact, he’s an illegal immigrant.

I don’t get bent out of shape over characters not being portrayed by actors of the same nationality or race. It’s called “acting.” Look it up in the dictionary. Should only white people be cast as characters originally conceived as white people? Tell that to Jeffrey Wright. James Bond wasn’t born in Scotland, but Sean Connery was. Johnny Depp is playing Tonto, and that’s just too weird to be right or wrong.

And Kabuki? Hello – men playing all the female roles? Orson Welles cast himself in the lead role in Othello and then he cast black actors in all the other roles in Shakespeare’s ditty, and then they performed Othello in Harlem!

Acting!

The fault of extremist thinking on both sides is that people jump at the symptoms and ignore the issues. The real issue is the underrepresentation of minorities in our media, and that’s an issue that is slowly being addressed. Should we never make a Charlie Chan movie ever again because white actors had played the Hawaiian detective, most notably a performer from Sweden. But nobody complains about the current incarnation of Hawaii 5-O even though the two Hawaiian detectives in that show are played by actors of Korean descent.

Grow up and let actors act. And let’s level the casting stage. Right now.

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil

 

HANCOCK TIPS HIS HAT TO THE CATER STREET HANGMAN!

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  • March 13, 2012

TIPPIN’ HANCOCK’S HAT-Reviews of All Things Pulp by Tommy Hancock

THE CATER STREET HANGMAN
by Anne Perry
Published by Ballantine Books
2008

Tales set in the Victorian Era are odd creatures, particularly when one tries to identify whether or not they are Pulp.  Using the thumbnail description for New Pulp that I do, most Victorian mysteries and even adventures do not contain most of what’s needed to be called Pulp.   Even those intentionally venturing into that era of contradictory morals and inhibitions attempting to craft a New Pulp tale from the rich, though nearly strangling history and knowledge of society of that era often struggle with striking a good balance between what Pulp demands and what the Era signified.

Anne Perry did not write THE CATER STREET HANGMAN with any intentions of it being New Pulp. The reason I read it, however, was that many readers of New Pulp, including some of you reading this review this very minute, have been after me for awhile to check out Perry’s Charlotte and Inspector Pitt series of Victorian era mysteries, telling me that this series featuring a young socialite in Victorian society reluctantly encountering and teaming up with a gruff, rather ruffian Police Inspector most definitely qualified as a success in that wild effort to blend Victorian Era and New Pulp sensibilities.

Well, if her first novel in the apparently extremely popular series is any indication, a lot of you were slightly off.

THE CATER STREET HANGMAN is the story of the first meeting of Charlotte Ellison, a daughter of a moderately well to do well placed family in Victorian society and the gruff, rather ruffian Police Inspector Pitt, injecting himself into the lives of the Ellison family due to the murders of several young women in a serial style near the Ellison home.  As the mystery unfolds with the practiced, plodding diligence of a Victorian matriarch relating all her forgotten loves, Perry also gives a fantastic glance into the inner workings of a family and a neighborhood during this era.   She shows the veritable caste system that existed while simultaneously illustrating how people, particularly young adults, bucked and pulled at the system, trying to sow oats while staying between the rigid lines set for them.  She uses the Ellison girls, Charlotte and her two sisters, to do this throughout the book and does it quite well.

Charlotte by far is the most engaging character in HANGMAN.  Clearly born in the wrong time, she is headstrong, plain spoken, and uncomfortable being restrained by frills and lace.  When faced with Inspector Pitt, however, she relies on the trappings of her society to protect her from strange feelings she has for him, revulsion bordering on attraction.    By the time the mystery is resolved, she still resists the urge, the draw to Pitt, but it’s clear that will not last much longer.

Now, having said all that, notice I barely discuss the mystery (it’s paper thin and lost in the societal machinations and moanings and its solution is telegraphed way early) or any action (almost a total lack thereof, honestly) that the book contains.  The plot is solid enough, but moves at a snail’s pace.  As mentioned previously, the truly interesting character of Charlotte stands out from the other Victorian shades around her, so there’s not a lot to draw a New Pulp reader in via the characters.   Pitt’s likable enough, but the tension between he and Charlotte is pedestrian at best.

A decent read if you’re interested in traditionally written Victorian mysteries? Yes.  New Pulp?  Not for this reader.

THREE OUT OF FIVE TIPS OF HANCOCK’S HAT- Perry’s grasp on the Victorian Era earns it at least that much.

MARC ALAN FISHMAN: Batman Versus Spider-Man

In honor of Marvel’s next big event, I’ve decided to take a week off of thinking hard. Instead I’ll do what they’re doing: Wasting your time by forcing two characters to fight for your entertainment.

Of course I don’t have the resources to produce artwork. Nor do I have the time to create an actual script. Instead, I’ll just take this idea to a few different levels, and ultimately create enough sweeping declarations to get some beautifully angry comments. I love beautifully angry comments.

In this corner: Bruce “The Rich Kid” Wayne and his amazing belt of knickknacks! That’s right, it’s everyone’s favorite powerless pugilist… the billionaire with bats in his belfry, The Batman!

And in this corner wearing skin-tight underwear and a mask without a mouth hole… Marvel’s favorite orphan, Peter “I was a jerk once, and I’m paying for it every day…” Parker! That’s right, it’s the web-slinging, science-spitting, devil-befriending behemoth… The Sensational Spider-Man!

Now there are a few ways to tally the fight. Since I’ve got inches of column to waste, let’s start with the obvious: In a street fight with absolutely no planning, Spider-Man would stomp Batman into a bloody pulp. Bats may have one of the greatest minds in comics, but at the end of the day, no amount of gadgets and Kevlar will out-match a fighter like Spider-Man. Not only is Spidey more agile, he’s also got superior strength and maneuverability. Batman can use all the kung fu in his repertoire, but Spider-Man has the actual super-powers.

I will concede this though: if these two were pitted against one another and had any chance to plan the bout, Batman would knock Parker out like the Orkin Man. Batman’s tactics, gadgets, and ability to use his terrain to his advantage trumps Spider-Man’s physical prowess. And while Spidey is a super-genius… a brilliant fighter he is not. Simply put, with any amount of time to prepare, Brucey’s coming out bruised but boastful.

Fan-service aside, how about we put these two against one another by way of the TeeVee. On the silver screen, Bats takes the trophy. Spider-Man had a few live action cameos on the Electric Company, and a simply too-terrible-to-believe live action show. Batman had Adam West. And you can say what you want about those kooky cavalcades with Burt Ward… but the zeitgeist here nods towards the cape and cowl when it comes to overall quality. Somedays, you just don’t have a place to throw a bomb.

When the battle gets animated, that’s really where Spidey gets killed. Not for lack of trying. The late 60s gave us a decent Spider-Man cartoon. Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends was… a larf. In the 90s Fox Kids gave us a series that started strong, but became hampered by way-too-long season arcs, and an entirely forgettable last season – that saw the trope of guest stars used piss-poorly. In the mid-late-aughts the Sensational Spider-Man was fantastically done, but cut way too short. In contrast, Batman started slow (in the Super Friends, and then helping out Scooby Doo), but finished amazingly. Yeah The Batman in the early aughts was an atrocity, but Bruce Timm’s animated Batman Adventures wrote the bible on quality cartoons. And The Brave and the Bold was a campy trip that started off too-kiddie, but quickly found its footing in the hyper-kitsch fan-service delivery. By my count Bats wins by four Emmys.

OK, so Bat’s wins the battle of the silver screen. How about we take a trip to the movies? Consider my math: Spider-Man 1? A minus. Spider-Man 2? A solid A. Spider-Man 3? … D. Now over at the Batcamp, let’s take stock. The Adam West Bat-Movie? Don’t count. The Burton Bat-Films: B. The Schumaker Schlock? D… if I’m being nice. The Nolan-verse? Well, if there’s a grade above A, I’d give it. At the end of the day, there’s been more guano out there than there’s been Spider-poop. So I tip the hat to the wacky web-shooter in the battle of the big screen. And he can take that win to the sock-hop.

But how about where it really counts? On the page. I guess I’m sad to say I don’t have the proper license to weigh in on that particular bout. As I stated last week, my exposure to Spider-Man in comics-proper is poor at best. Admittedly I have a very extensive Bat-Collection, so I’m more than likely biased. Given my knowledge though of Spider-Man’s bullet-list of plot threads, I might still be inclined to tip the hat back to the Bat. He does have a few decades more history to draw on though, so it may very well be an unfair fight.

I will say this: In the time since my birth, Batman has had his back broken, his mantle stolen, his sidekick murdered, his life unraveled by several secret societies, his bastard son joining his menagerie, and has survived two or ten universal resets.

In that same amount of time, all I’ve really heard about Spider-Man that really stuck was that he nixed his marriage to Mary Jane to save Aunt May. And there was a clone saga people didn’t like. And he had an Iron-Spider suit. And a black suit. And a cosmic suit. And at some point was tied to an ancient race of animal totem warriors or something. In terms of only recognizable milestones (that haven’t been universally hated) … Batman would take the crown. Prove me wrong.

So there you have it. A few hundred words on an amazing battle. So it’s time for you weigh in. Was I too favorable to Time-Warner’s titan? Does Spider-Man have more going for him than a six-pack and a quip dictionary? Who has the better rogues gallery? Who has the better friends? Man, this could be a whole new column next week. I guess it depends on you, the gentle reader of my column.

At the end of the day, in the battle between Batman and Spider-Man? The winner is you.

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

 

REVIEW: Fan Favorites The Honeymooners, Happy Days, Hogan’s Heroes

23891_honeymnrs_fanfav_dvd_3d-289x450-7546098The medium of television is often a reflection of our times and sometimes an overly idealized, unrealistic portrayal of American life. As radio programming became nationally broadcast series, they reflected the rural lifestyles and Depression-era standards of its time. As a result, many of these shows were transferred with little change from radio to television. Similarly, as prosperity brighten America’s fortunes, so did the images of life shown in living rooms around the country.

On Tuesday, CBS Home Entertainment released seven samplers of six situation comedies and one drama with the contents selected by the fans themselves. In part one of our review, we’ll be looking at the earliest offerings and seeing what they tell us. (more…)

Guest Review-SALMON VISITS THE WORLD OF ‘THE BLACK STILETTO’

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  • March 4, 2012

COMPLIMENTS OF THE BLACK STILETTO…

A Review of Raymond Benson’s THE BLACK STILETTO by Andrew Salmon
Raymond Benson’s The Black Stiletto (Oceanview Publishing) has a lot going for it but the sum is not quite equal to the parts that make up the novel.
The set up is an intriguing one. Judy Talbot is an elderly woman stricken with Alzheimer’s disease and slowing dying in a hospital. Her son, Martin, is given access to some of her personal effects as he awaits the inevitable end of the woman who raised him. Going through these papers he learns that his mother was a masked vigilante known as the Black Stiletto in the late 1950s and find diaries – the first of which relating her origin and early adventures.
The novel then branches off into three distinct storylines. We follow Martin as he uncovers his mother’s secret lair and costumes, reads the diary and gets bogged down in losing his job, hassles with his ex-wife and his own daughter who seems to have inherited her grandmother’s independent streak. Interspaced with this are the diary entries themselves as we see thirteen-year-old Judy suffer at the hands of her abusive stepfather, run away to New York and begin training as a fighter – picking up skills which will serve her well when the time comes to fight crime. The last storyline concerns the release of an ex-mobster who spent 50 years in prison courtesy of the Black Stiletto and is looking for a little payback in the modern day.
There’s a lot of material to work with here and most of it is interesting. However Martin’s job loss and trials with his daughter come across as needless padding. Judy’s story is where the book really shines although it is not without its shortcomings. There’s a heavy theme of chauvinism here and it’s a testament to her character that she is able to break down barriers, live and train in a all-male gymnasium and hold her head up in what was then a male-dominated world. She also gets a solid base of fight training which takes years and adds credibility to her decision to hit the streets and fight crime. She’s young and she stumbles out of the gate, falling for and eventually living with a mobster. When he is taken out, Judy is looking for revenge and the Black Stiletto is born. Media sensation, crime fighter hunted by the police, champion of the people… these elements are all present and the first person account of the birth of a costumed vigilante make for some interesting reading. When she tosses off a “courtesy of the Black Stiletto” you know the author is giving a nod to the Domino Lady.
It all sounds like fun stuff and, for the most part, it is, but the scenes from the 1950s rang utterly false to this reader. Aside from tossing in old song titles Judy hears constantly, the flashbacks read like modern day prose. I never felt like I was in the 50s reading these sections and that is a major failing of the book. Coupled with the padding I mentioned above and the novel, although short, begins to bog down. Also, as this is the first of a projected series, not a heck of a lot happens for the first 100 pages. This is no lean and mean pulp gripper but rather 266 meandering pages with occasional highlights.
Judy’s story is a compelling one. Watching the ruthless old ex-con drawing closer to a now helpless Black Stiletto in the modern day keeps you turning the pages. However a lack of pace and the author’s inability to capture the 50s authentically take away from what could have been a captivating take on the classic pulp hero.
I give The Black Stiletto a cautious recommendation as it pushes the New Pulp envelope. Hancock’s Yesteryear does it better but that doesn’t mean than Benson’s book shouldn’t find an audience. This reader found it an interesting read and others may find some of what I though detracted from the story riveting, which is why I recommend giving the novel a try. It’s no classic but it does come at the pulp hero from a different angle and there’s nothing wrong with that.

FORTIER TAKES ON TRASH ‘N’ TREASURES!

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  • March 4, 2012

ALL PULP REVIEWS- by Ron Fortier

ANTIQUES DISPOSAL
A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Mystery
Barbara Allan
Kensington Books
230 pages

Vivian Borne is an eccentric antiques dealer who lives in Serenity, a small Midwestern  town situated on the banks of the Mississippi river.  She lives with her daughters, Peggy Sue and Brandy.  Together Vivian and Brandy solve murders that in one way or another deal with the business of antiquing.  Which is the simplest way to describe this series, of which this book is the sixth and has been described by other reviewers as being a “cozy” series if anyone really knows exactly what that means.
As a fan of hardboiled detective fiction, I’m assuming “cozy” refers to those mysteries wherein the protagonist is a little old lady ala Agatha Christie’s popular Miss Marple books or the old Angela Landsbury TV show, “Murder She Wrote.”  In other words, not my particular brand of tea; I prefer a headier beverage literature.  Still, every now and then one desires to try something different.  I decided I’d take a chance with “Antiques Disposal.”
It is probably one of the smartest things I’ve done in a while.  Why?  Well simply because the book is so damn funny, I honestly couldn’t put it down.  And the characters!  Oh, my God, is there a more dysfunctional group then the Borne girls?  Remember I said Brandy was Vivian’s youngest daughter?  Well she’s actually Peggy Sue’s daughter.  Yup.  Echoes of “Chinatown.”  You see Peggy Sue got herself “in trouble” as a young, unmarried girl and left her baby with her mother to raise figuring it was best for the child.  Did I mention Vivian suffers from a bi-polar disorder and is on medication?  Never mind that Brandy herself has a daughter….oh, forget it.  Its way too complicated for me to keep track of after only one visit with this eclectic bunch.  The thing is the writing is so clean and precise, even though you haven’t read those first five books  (something I hope to one day correct) the reader just goes with the flow.  There is a charm and decency to these characters that immediately grabbed me and had me caring for them from page one. 
Look, here’s what every true mystery fan knows as a fact, series fail or succeed not on how brilliant the crimes are staged and then solved, but on how appealing and original the heroes are.  Don’t believe me, give this some thought.   Early fans of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson came to demand more stories from Arthur Conan Doyle to read more about them and not the mysteries they dealt with, those became incidental.  The same can be said of every solid mystery series from Sam Spade, to Nero Wolfe and Nate Heller.  In fact one of those famous shamus plays a huge part in this book’s climatic dénouement finale in such a hilarious way, I will not spoil it for you.  It’s just too damn funny.
Okay, if you really need to know the plot, here it is.  Vivian and Brandy go to a storage unit auction, wherein the person who owned the unit stopped paying rental fees on it and the manager is legally free to sell its contents to recoup his or her loses.  These auctions have become very common among antique dealers and I believe there is even a reality show based on the practice.  So our two ladies end up winning the bid, begin transporting the boxed contents to their home and cataloguing them; everything perfectly normal and routine.  Until they return to the storage facility for their second trip and find the manager dead in the now empty unit.  The very next night someone breaks into Vivian’s home, attacks Peggy Sue leaving her unconscious and nearly kill’s Brandy’s loveable little blind poodle, Sushi.
From this point forward, both Vivian and Brandy are on the hunt for the killer and how they go about it so entertaining, pages simply fly by.  Sure, I was playing along and looking for clues too, but honestly, it was the ride I was enjoying to the max.  Bottom line, if all of the Trash ‘n’ Treasures Mysteries are as wonderful as “Antiques Disposal,” then sign me up for the long haul.
Hey, even if you end up not liking the book, did I mention there are recipes for chocolate brownies in it?  Now how can you go wrong with that? 

HANCOCK TIPS HIS HAT TO ‘WHAT IT WAS’!

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  • February 14, 2012

TIPPIN’ HANCOCK’S HAT- Reviews of All Things Pulp by Tommy Hancock
WHAT IT WAS
George Pelecanos
Little, Brown and Company
There are a few tricks to building a character that can maintain and entertain the full length of a novel.  Those and a few other skills come into play when developing a lead that will headline a series of books.   That sort of character requires layers, history, motivation, and secrets.   And best of all, handling by an author who knows when to show what cards and plays them with at just the right pace.
“What It Was” is the latest novel by George Pelecanos featuring Derek Strange, his well known former Washington DC cop turned Private Investigator.  With Strange today framing nearly the whole novel as if telling a story, Pelecanos takes the reader back to DC in 1972.  Strange has left the Police department and has recently started his private career.  He takes on a case that on the surface involves retrieving a ring stolen during the murder of a drug addict.   At the same time, Frank Vaughn, Strange’s mentor and former partner in the Department, draws the case of pursuing the murderer of the junkie, a favorite informant of Vaughn’s.  All of this is stirred by Red Fury, a mad villain who essentially starts a killing spree with the addict and has no fear of being killed, no respect for anything except his own needs, and every intent to add buckets to his growing bloody legend.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with this book if you came to it looking for Pelecanos at the top of his game.  This is a fantastic noir pulpy type crime tale, giving equal focus to the work of the men both committing crimes and those tracking them down.  The action unfolds believably and almost cinematically on a canvas that is 1972.  The attention paid to the music, the cars, the clothes, and the way people in that era paid the utmost attention to all the above, weaving them into their lives as much as the food they ate, the hearts they broke, and the people they killed.
Pelecanos wastes no time with cardboard cutouts.  From the three leads of Strange, Fury, and Vaughn, all the way down to bit parts, he fleshes out every single character, bringing flesh and blood to them with wonderfully chosen words and excellently executed turns of phrase.  Also, he stamps this story with real life.  No one gets out unscathed.  The heroes are tarnished, the villains aren’t vanquished at every turn, and yet people go on, live, and grow, wounds, scars and all.
FIVE OUT OF FIVE TIPS OF THE HAT- ‘What IT Was’ is raw, real, and unforgiving.  A fantastic piece of crime fiction.  Down, dirty, and determined.

MICHAEL DAVIS: Tammy Brown

Officially, I’ve worked in comics since 1983. In all that time I think I’ve only met one black woman who was involved in comics in a decision-making capacity. I’ve known black woman receptionists and assistants but I can only think of one who had a job in which she was part of the comic book hierarchy.

Before I set the wrong tone, this is not a piece on how comics have discriminated against women of color. It just may be that African-American women don’t want to work in comic books, for whatever reason. I have no idea why there are not a lot of black women in comics and I’m not about to speculate. There may be dozens of black woman in the industry that I just haven’t met.

I doubt that, because as you know, all black people know each other. At least that’s what more than a few white people have said to me over my lifetime.

The following conversation from a woman I met at a club last week. A real pretty, but short white girl at the bar was having trouble getting the bartenders attention. I caught his eye and asked her what she wanted to drink.

“That’s so nice of you, thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you know Leroy Washington?”

Really? I swear I almost asked her if she knew Bilbo Baggins. She was that short.

The one black woman I know who has worked in comics on the corporate level is Tammy Brown. I met Tammy sometime in the 80s (yes I was working in comics when I was in grade school, Jean) I don’t remember how we met or where we met. Most likely at DC where she worked.

I do remember that Tammy hated me. Tammy did not like me at all. I mean if looks could kill I’d be dead and random members of my family and my pets would be dead also.

It was not just her looks that clued me in to Tammy’s loathing of me. It was also how she spoke to me. Tammy would talk to me in short and to the point sentences like “I hate you Michael Davis.”

I never heard her say those exact words, but no matter what she said that’s what I heard.

She may not have really hated me but it sure felt that way.

I’m sure Tammy thought of me as a loud mouth, in your face, guy and she had no time for loud mouth in your face people. Tammy was all business and ultra professional.

Me?

I was a loud mouth, in your face, guy.

I know that…now.

I’ve mellowed out considerably since my loud mouth, in your face, days. You may not think so from some of the rants I write on my www.MichaelDavisWorld.com or some of my old ComicMix stuff but I’m so much calmer now.

I’ve always been up front with my readers when it comes to my considerable shortcomings, I admit freely I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my career.

A lot.

That said, when it comes to business I’ve learned not to take anything personally. I categorically live by two set of rules the first is: “It’s not personal, it’s business;” the second is “Nothing too good to do for my friends, nothing to bad to do to my enemies.”

It was with that first rule in mine that Tammy’s name came up when I was looking for someone to run the day to day operations at Motown Film & Television where I was President and Chief Executive Officer.

She was on a very short list, and I had my Chief Operating Officer contact her. I thought she would be perfect for the gig and even if she still hated me Tammy was a no-joke professional so she would put any issues with me aside if she were interested in the position. After talking to Tammy my COO, told me she would not be a good fit. I never followed up or even called Tammy.

I realized just the other day that was a mistake.

Motown Records is the most famous record company in the world. Most music superstars are bigger brands than their record company. Motown had (has) some of the biggest superstar artists the world has ever known and they are still identified as Motown artists.

Don’t think so? Without Google tell me what record label Sting is on. Now, without Goggle tell me what record label Stevie Wonder is on.

Hell, name a record label besides Motown.

I’ll wait…

Motown was one of the greatest African-American business success stories. The company has a wonderful history of hiring African-Americans and has (yes, white people have always worked at Motown and still do) become the model for many companies of color even today.

I should have called Tammy.

There may have been something I could have said or found out what my COO’s issue with her was. Maybe there was a way around it. Maybe my COO was threatened by her. That may sound to you like paranoia but I assure you dear reader, paranoia runs wild in Hollywood and I’m not joking.

I’m convinced now; if we could have gotten Tammy to Motown I’m sure she would have been great.

A few days ago Tammy, who is always positive, posted on Facebook that she was having a bad day.

The moment I read that, it hit me like a brick what a terrible mistake I’d made more than a decade ago that I did not call Tammy. Over the last few years Tammy and I have become close. I have not seen her in, I don’t know how many years, but we reconnected on Facebook and I really value her friendship.

I have not thought about Tammy coming to Motown since it happened. Tammy and I have never even spoken about it but for some reason when I read she was having a bad day my mind went right there.

My mind went there and to the realization that there exist very few women of color in the comics industry.

Why I thought about Tammy and Motown now I have no idea. Why that led me to the lack of black women in the industry, again, no idea.

This I do know, having Tammy Brown run anything is a good idea. Having more black women in the industry is a good idea. If I ever get the chance to work with Tammy again I won’t make the same mistake twice.

As far as black women in the industry, I’m working on that. Why I haven’t been working on it before?

No idea.

Like I said, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my career but seldom do I make the same mistake twice.

Tammy, I’m sorry you were having a bad day. I’m sorry someone caused that for you. I leave you with these words of wisdom:

I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.

– Noel Coward

You are the best Tammy. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

WEDNESDAY: Mike Gold Goes Nuts Again

 

MARTHA THOMASES: George Lucas, Black History, and African-American Comics

In the hopes of beating the Black History Month rush, I went to see Red Tails last weekend. George Lucas had been making the interview rounds and he discussed how difficult it was for him to get this film made. He ended up paying for it himself, but then couldn’t find a studio to distribute or market it. Apparently, they felt there was no profitable market for a film with no white actors in the leads.

That is so offensive that I had to prove them wrong. However, I missed opening weekend, and therefore probably contributed to the studio’s bigotry. And, if the truth be known, I don’t particularly like going to movies that draw crowds because I find most audiences unspeakably rude. However, in this case, I would suck it up. And also, I went at one o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday.

There weren’t a lot of people there, with maybe half the seats filled. The audience seemed to be mostly white and mostly male. The trailer that got the best response was for the Farrelly Brothers Three Stooges. Yes, that surprised me, too.

Lucas said he wanted Red Tails to feel like a movie made in 1944 that was just released this year. That’s a good description. To me, it felt like a Blackhawk comic or a Sgt. Rock comic brought to life. It was Shrapnel as a movie. Awesome fight scenes, clear enemies (Nazis! Racists!), noble sacrifice and really entertaining characters. Screenwriters John Ridley and Aaron McGruder wrote an effective and economical (in terms of words, not budget) script. Yes, that’s Aaron McGruder of Boondocks fame.

On what planet would this movie be ghettoized? Oh, right. This one.

Which brings me to the comics portion of this column. I was lucky enough to get a review copy of African-American Classics from Eureka Productions. This anthology, edited by Tom Pomplum and Lance Tooks, takes the works of amazing writers like Langston Hughes, W. E. B. DuBois, Zora Neale Hurston and others and turns them into graphic story with artists that include Kyle Baker, Trevor von Eeden, Lance Tooks and more.

Like most anthologies, this one has stories I like and stories I don’t. In general, the ones I don’t like don’t have much story. They are instead mood pieces. My bias is against the genre, not the specifics here. In fact, if I’m going to read an illustrated mood piece, I’d prefer to read one with the unusual (to me) use of language here, and the vivid artwork.

I suspect this book will stay in print forever, a way to entice reluctant readers to seek out other works by these authors. It’s a great book to have on your shelves all year round, not just February.

SATURDAY: Big Daddy Marc Alan Fishman

DENNIS O’NEIL’s Crystal Ball

Arm back, arm forward, release the ball and…three it goes, down he lane, heading for the pocket and…Kerflunkl –

Strike!

But uh-oh. Look what happened. Somehow, instead of rolling a bowling ball we rolled our magic crystal ball and sure, we knocked down all the pins, but we also smashed the ball to smithereens. Dozens of shards scattered on the polished wood.

Well, we won’t be using that crystal ball to peer into the­­­­­ – or some – future and let the prophecies issuing therefrom provide fodder for this week’s blather. Nope. And there are things we’d like to know about the forthcoming comics world, like will DC be able to continue the success of its reworking of the superhero pantheon (lookin’ good so far, guys!) and just how damn digital will comics get and if they get any digitaler will the comic shops cope? Will their income really be seriously affected?

(I mean, they’re closing the Blockbuster I’ve been patronizing for the past dozen years or so. Nothing is sacred, or certain, and of course we know that, but it can still kick us in the shins.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. Things we’d like to know. On a personal note…will I finish the book I’ve been futzing with for…is it three years now? And will somebody publish it? (And if our crystal ball had a literary critic app, I’d ask just how smelly a garbage heap the book is, anyway.) And back to comics-related matters: Will the Batmovie really knock everyone’s socks off? (And hey, Warners – must I pay for my own ticket or will one of you folks be kind to the ancient, doddering, mostly-retired, septuagenarian funny book hack and put him on a screening list? And not one for a screening in Los Angeles, please. He’s already scheduled to get on more airplanes than he cares to this year.)

Maybe we could pick up a shard and catch a glimpse in it if what the crystal ball would have revealed if we hadn’t stupidly mistaken it for athletic equipment. But what good would that do? Without a context – without the big picture – what we glimpse in a shard wouldn’t provide much information. Come to think of it…the whole and uncompromised crystal ball, pre-bowling fiasco, wasn’t really all that useful, was it? Not for what counts, not for what we really want to know. (Mostly: will I get what I want? How will it all turn out? And oh yeah…will I get what I want?) That ball was always pretty murky, wasn’t it? The images it presented were fuzzy and soft-edged and weirdly distorted, the colors all wrong, the backgrounds bizarre, and when time had passed and we were existing in the reality of those images, they never meant what we thought they’d mean.  There were also smells, which the ball couldn’t show.

Once, when I was interviewing the great Alfred Bester for a magazine piece, he showed me a statuette, a Hugo, the award bequeathed by science fiction fans for outstanding work – the first Hugo ever awarded for best novel of the year. He was using it as a doorstop because, he said, that’s what it’s good for.

Maybe crystal balls make good bowling balls.

RECOMMENDED READING: Alfred Bester received his Hugo for The Demolished Man in 1953. If you’d like to compare your preferences with those of readers of yore, you can probably find a copy of the novel.­­­

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

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