Author: Mindy Newell

Mindy Newell: Wonder Bitch

wonder-woman-9092202“I’d love to kiss you, but I just washed my hair.” – Bette Davis

Over at GeekMom.com , founding editor and columnist Corinna Lawson wrote a review of both Wonder Woman #36 (featuring the new team of Meredith and David Finch) and Superman/Wonder Woman #13 entitled “Memo to DC: Wonder Woman Likes People. Honest.”

Corinna is not happy.

Neither am I.

Now it’s true that my opinion of the Amazon’s most recent adventures are tainted a bit by my experience in working on the title with two of the best people in comics, George Pérez and Karen Berger, in that I think we did the definitive version of Diana, incorporating and being true to the Greek mythology from which the character sprung. It’s also true that the tinge of envy I feel whenever I hear that a new writer has come on board the tile – Hey, DC!! What am I, chopped liver? – may color my reception of said new writer. And it’s also true that, if ever given the chance to write the character again, my take could be considered fairly radical – a feminist icon who is not pro-choice? Is, in fact very much anti-abortion. For reasons, good, logical reasons, I have gone into in previous columns.

But what bothers me most about Wonder Woman today is evident in the dialogue and scene descriptions that Corinna mentions in her review and that I read for myself. For instance, there is a scene in which two Amazons argue about helping their Amazon brothers….

Hold it right there!

Amazon men?

Can you say oxymoron? Emphasis on the moron.

And there’s a lot of complaining – uh, bitching – on her part.

“…how will you ever grow stronger if you need us every waking moment?” she grumpily says as she rescues some human civilians.

And she bitches while waiting for Clark to finish writing up an article, “Why does

this take so long? Do you need to learn more words? And why are you using this ancient relic of your laptop?”

And she bitches when Clark gives up the fourth taxi to someone else during a rainstorm even though it means they will be late to the theater, never mind that they are both soaked to the bone.

Because, you know, Clark is such a “super” gentleman, while Diana is an Amazon bitch.

Although there is no such scene, something tells me that this Diana certainly lets Clark have it when he leaves the toilet seat up.

Bitch, bitch, moan, moan.

•     •     •     •     •

“Remember…the Force will be with you, always.” – Obi-wan Kenobi

Have you seen the trailer for Star Wars: The Force Awakens? It’s only 88 seconds long, but that was all it took for me to swoon and drool like Pavlov’s dog in anticipation of a return to that galaxy so far, far away.

13 months to go?

AAARGH!

 

Mindy Newell: Sephora Kicks Super-Ass!

“Beauty, to me, is about being comfortable in your own skin. That, or a kick-ass red lipstick.” – Gwyneth Paltrow

“I fought a killer and didn’t even smudge my makeup.” – Rose Pressey, Flip that Haunted House

After a fun time with my grandson – soon to be 14 months old! What’s that saying about time flying? – on Friday at Gymboree, I drove over to Sephora to buy some concealer for my 61 year-old under-eye bags and of course ended up spending too much money on other shit that I probably didn’t need and which I justified by telling myself that I hadn’t splurged on said self in a year so stop worrying and learn to love the bomb, as Kubrick so aptly put it.

Anyway, driving home I got to wondering about what kind of skin care and make-up the superheroes use.

There are dozens – hundreds? – of mascaras that claim to be waterproof (though I’ve never used one that stands up to the pool or the ocean) and that will stand up to the most exhausting and sweat-inducing workouts and ultra-triathlons. There are dozens – hundreds? – of foundations and blushes and lipsticks and eye shadows made by companies, from deluxe department store brands to those found on a drugstore carousel rack, that claim to “lasts all day!,” withstanding everything from a walk in a tropical monsoon in Mumbai to a passionate, epic 24 hour tumble between the sheets. And there dozens – hundreds? – of skin care products promising to turn back the clock and/or replace more invasive products like Botox or Juvaderm or – going all the way – cosmetic surgery.

So what does a superwoman wear while she’s pummeling – and being pummeled by – her equally meta-powered enemy? Surely Superman needs a little styling gel to keep those oh-so-sexy Kryptonian curls and waves mussed in just the right places?

After all, no super hero wants to be seen with puffy, dark-circled eyes and a turkey neck. Doesn’t inspire much confidence in the civilians to be seen looking “tired and drab” when you set out to stop the latest threat to Earth.

WHOOSH! The Flash needs help. Yeah, that – ahem – flashy red suit of his is designed to withstand the friction and wind he creates as he rushes to help, sometimes hitting velocities beyond the sound barrier. But what does he use to prevent the certain skin damage to his wind burned and chapped cheeks, chin, and lips?

Speaking of skin care, here’s some other meta-human types that could some help with their epidermis:

  • The Thing. ‘Nuff said!
  • Iron Man. “What?” you say. “Tony Stark is enclosed in technological armor. He doesn’t have to worry about sun exposure!” Yes, but it gets hot inside that face plate. After a hard day at the office, there’s nothing the man needs more than a really good skin care regimen to cleanse out those pores and remove the layer of dead cells. May I suggest a little exfoliation two to three days a week with an at-home peel?
  • Power Girl: You do a good job covering up, Kara, but you’re forgetting that delicate skin in your décolletage area. I recommend a moisturizer with an anti-antioxidant ingredient (vitamins C and E, for instance) and a SPF factor of at least 25. But stay away from moisturizers containing retinoid or alpha hydroxy acids, because they can make your skin more sensitive to the sun and its photo aging properties, especially in the summer or in equatorial climates where the sun is always strong.
  • Starfire: Lady, I know you’re an alien, and that orange skin indicates the presence of melanin which helps protect the skin from sun damage, but really! With that costume exposing more skin to photo aging than Bettie Page on a beach shoot, you are risking looking like a prune before you’re 30! Hey, I’m the first one to say flaunt it if you’ve got it, but – never mind the moisturizer, you must cover up if you don’t want to develop a raging case of melanoma!

If looking delectable and gorgeous is part of the “brand” of taking on super villains, do ultra-women deliberately choose to look their best as they beat the crap out of some megalomaniac with phasers and lasers or even “old-fashioned” dirty bombs and plans for world domination as a subtle means to throw their villains off their games? Think about it. Wouldn’t, say, Arcade, so taken with Storm’s exotic beauty, deliberately lower the level of “play” in his Murderworld so as the woman wouldn’t be too bruised or battered?

Or, on the other hand, would Diana’s Amazonian beauty, enhanced with the understated mineral powder foundation and bronzer, the finest kohl eyeliner, the warmest clay lipstick offered by the cosmeticians of Themiscrya, only work to throw Barbara Minerva, aka the Cheetah, into a jealous frenzy of the nth degree, giving her even more of an excuse to rip her talons into Wonder Woman’s face?

Maybe the Grecian powerhouse should rethink her look when she’s up against women who hate her.

Yeah, if I lived in the alternate realities of Marvel and DC and Image, et. al., and I was a smart marketing or R&D executive at Lancôme or MAC or Estee Lauder or Maybelline or Revlon or Urban Decay, et.al., I’d convince my bosses to develop a line of skin care products and make-up specifically tailored to the super set.

And if it’s good for them, just think of what it would do for us working slobs.

Talk about product placement!

 

Mindy Newell: Depression Really Sucks

“…Depression… is a storm indeed, but a storm of murk… slowed-down responses, near paralysis, psychic energy throttled back close to zero…the body…feels sapped, drained.” Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness, William Styron 

Sorry for the skip last week, everyone, but I wasn’t up to it – I was down. As in my depression said “Hello, again!” last weekend. No, I didn’t lie in bed for 48 hours, I’ve never given in to that, even back in the day before I was properly diagnosed with this goddamn thing. So on Saturday, though I could feel it banging on the door of my psyche’s house, I did get dressed and made the usual weekend runs to the supermarket and to the laundromat…but by Sunday Elvis was in the house, and even though I got up and put on my workout gear, I blew off my free personal training session that my gym offers to all members for their birthday, decided that I didn’t want to expose my grandson to his fucked-up grandma Mindy, and so just sat around in my workout gear, surfing the web and eating waaaaay too many potato chips. And I kept watching the clock tick away the hours thinking that I had to write my column, but I just couldn’t get the energy up and finally I let Editor Mike know I was sick, though I didn’t specify with what in my e-mail to him.

See, the thing about depression is that it drains the battery and warps the mirror. When it hits me I feel old and ugly and fat and powerless and oh! so! damn! alone! and my thoughts are all about the mistakes I’ve made and the lover(s) I’ve lost and the roads not taken and the…well, it gets pretty nasty and self-destructive, folks. And, for me, at least, it’s embarrassing, because…well, you know that old saw about how when animals are sick they hide away from the herd or crawl under the bed? I don’t know if it’s entirely true, but I always think that if it is, it’s because the animals feel shamed. And I get that, I really do, because, even though I know it’s completely illogical, I feel ashamed and embarrassed.

Which is why, I think, I try to be so open about my depression. It’s my way of fighting it. It makes me so! God-damned! angry! that I have had to deal with this shit for 25 years… anyway, it’s another old saw about how shadows disappear in the light, and I just wanted to let you guys know where I was last weekend.

But that was last weekend. It passed, as all things do….

Everybody stand up and cheer that our friend and fellow columnist John Ostrander came through his cabbage with flying colors! Yeah!!! And yes, we medical folk really do pronounce the acronym CABG that way. I do owe you an apology, though, John. I forgot to let you know about the shave job. Just be glad it wasn’t a body wax!

I’ve been binging on Star Trek: Voyager this week. Totally forgot how absolutely marvelous Kate Mulgrew (currently playing “den mother” Galina “Red” Reznikov on Netflix’s Orange Is The New Black) was as Captain Katherine Janeway. The lady had a lot hanging on her performance as the first woman to head a Star Trek series, though technically she wasn’t the first woman we saw command a starship – I believe that honor goes to Tricia O’Neill as Captain Rachel Garret of the U.S.S. Enterprise-C in “Yesterday’s Enterprise,” which aired on Star Trek: The Next Generation in 1990. But it’s clear in her execution that Ms. Mulgrew embraced and cherished the opportunity and the role.

All the actors were superb, but one thing I’ve always questioned is why Voyager creators Rick Berman, Michael Piller, and Jeri Taylor chose not to have Robert Duncan McNeill replay his “fallen Starfleet cadet” Nicholas Locarno in TNG’s 1992 episode “The First Duty,” instead of “bad boy” Tom Paris. It may have been just synchronicity that McNeill read for the part and won it; it may also have been that it would have been very expensive to resurrect the Locarno character, as the writers of “First Duty” would have had to receive royalties every time Locarno appeared on the screen, which would have been every episode of Voyager.

Can’t say I’m happy about the results of the midterm elections last week. I don’t understand why the Democratic candidates ran away from President Obama. Hello, Allison Grimes, did you not learn your lesson when Al Gore distanced himself from Bill Clinton? Jesus, woman, you were a delegate for Obama at the Democratic convention! Who the hell did you think you were fooling? I don’t understand any woman who votes the Republican ticket. No one’s forcing anyone to have an abortion, lady. And what business is it of yours, anyway, if another woman chooses to do so? I don’t understand why someone who is against the minimum wage, denies global warming and climate change and wants to eliminate the Environmental Protection Agency (created by Republican President Richard Nixon, by the way), gets into office. Oh, I know. She can slaughter hogs.

SPOILER ALERT! STOP HERE IF YOU MISSED THE DOCTOR WHO FINALE! “Bowties are cool.” But Osgood is dead. Or is she?

Danny Pink is dead. Worse, he’s a Cyberman. Or is he?

The coordinates for Gallifrey are wrong, a lie told to the Doctor by the Master – uh, the Mistress. Or are they?

Clara and the Doctor have ended their relationship – or did they?

Is that really Santa Claus?

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Hey, at least I’m not depressed anymore.

 

Mindy Newell: B Is For Bondage

wonder-woman-bondage-6450011Wonder Woman is psychological propaganda for the new type of woman who should, I believe, rule the world. There isn’t love enough in the male organism to run this planet peacefully. Woman’s body contains twice as many love generating organs and endocrine mechanisms as the male. – William Marston Moulton

When I saw Wonder Woman being constantly put in positions where she’d get tied up with her own rope, or held hostage, even as a kid, my reaction was ‘C’mon, she’s too smart for that. – J. Michael Straczynski

Last week both Entertainment Weekly and the New York Times reviewed The Secret History Of Wonder Woman, written by Jill Lepore, a professor of American history at Harvard and a staff writer for The New Yorker. Lepore’s Book Of Ages, about Benjamin Franklin’s sister, came out last year.

I vaguely knew some of what Lepore writes about, so the reviews weren’t entirely an eye-opening “holy shit!” read for me, but I am confident that the book will surely engender that reaction for those fans of Diana who think of her as the comic book version of Betty Friedan and Bella Abzug and Gloria Steinem, as well as (unfortunately) eager browsing of the more libidinous pages by those who get off on thinking of the Themiscryan as a “Score!” on Superman’s yellow belt. And yes, that is a reference to that infamous t-shirt. See my column on ComicMix, along with that of Martha Thomases, of a few weeks ago for enlightenment, if needed.)

Here’s a short course on William Mouton Marston:

  • Harvard graduate
  • Psychologist
  • Inventor of the polygraph, i.e., the lie detector.
  • Creator of Wonder Woman.
  • Married to one woman, but his mistress lived with them fulltime. Both women (Elizabeth Holloway Marston and Olivia Byrne) served as templates for the Amazon princess.)
  • Serial liar.
  • Sadomasochist in love with bondage.
  • Hypothesized that the masculine concept of “freedom” is violent lawlessness, while its feminine counterpart is based on what he called “love allure,” which leads to idyllic submission and a love of authority.

Bondage, i.e., “idyllic submission,” is a common theme in early Wonder Woman stories; in nearly every one she is tied to a chair, or forced into a strait jacket, or manacled and fettered, or chained, or gagged, or caged, while her fellow Amazons, when they appear, engage in wrestling and bondage play. And while we all know about Diana’s “golden lasso of truth,” which she was not above using as an instrument of bondage against her enemies, did you know that her belt is actually the “Venus girdle,”    Marston’s allegory for his theory of “sex love” training, i.e., embracing submission through eroticism?

Marston believed in female submission, calling it a “noble practice,” and was not shy about its sexual implications: “The only hope for peace is to teach people who are full of pep and unbound force to enjoy being bound…only when the control of self by others is more pleasant than the unbound assertion of self in human relationships can we hope for a stable, peaceful human society…giving to others, being controlled by them, submitting to other people cannot possibly be enjoyable without a strong erotic element.”

Oh, by the way, I left out this out:

  • A feminist. (?)

 

Mindy Newell: Ho-Hum Heroics

Im-not-so-ho, the best thing about The Flash is Jesse L. Martin as Detective Joe West and John Wesley Shipp as Barry’s father. Im-not-so-ho, the best things about Gotham are Donal Logue as Harvey Bullock, Sean Pertwee as Alfred Pennyworth, and Robin Lord Taylor as Oswald “Penguin” Cobblepot. Im-not-so-ho, the best things about Marvel’s Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D. are Clark Gregg as Phil Coulson and Ming Na-Wen as Melinda May.

What does that say about me?

Am I getting old? Am I no longer able to appreciate a pretty-boy face or a hot young thang? Am I just being nostalgic in my appreciation of Martin, who originated the part of Tony in Rent on Broadway and played Detective Ed Green (opposite the brilliant and missed Jerry Orbach as Detective Lennie Brisco) on Law & Order, which I still regularly watch in reruns, and Ming Na-Wen, who played Dr. Jing-Mei “Deb” Chen on E.R., one of my favorite television shows ever, and not just because of George Clooney or because it also introduced me to British actress Alex Kingston, best known to Whovians as Melanie Pond, a.k.a. River Song.

Or is it that the only real acting chops being demonstrated, the only “this is how real people talk” dialogue is coming out of the mouths of the afore-mentioned actors?

Yeah, I’m finding all the rest of them pretty boring, cogs spit out of the Hollywood machine, cardboard cut-outs, paper dolls. I haven’t seen any one of them (Grant Gustin’s Barry Allen, Ben McKenzie as James Gordon, Chloe Bennet’s Skye, et.al.) display more to me than some experience at acting class. Okay, I do like Iain de Caestecker as poor, fucked-up Leo Fitz, but only as long as he continues to play a warped, hallucinating, schizo – if, as seems evident from the last televised episode, Fitz is going to be suddenly cured and become one of the cardboard cut-outs, then, well…so long, Fitz.

Is the fault in the writing? Take Selena Kyle for instance. The girl is supposed to be living on the streets, for cryin’ out loud! What streets? Rodeo Drive? Fifth Avenue? Place Vendome? And she talks like a spoiled brat from Grosse Point or Upper Saddle River, not a hardened kid dealing with junkies and pimps and the other “underworld denizens” of the inner city. I mean, at least young Bruce Wayne is burning himself with the flames from candlesticks. That kid is seriously disturbed. What’s Selena doing? Giving milk to stray kitties. Awww, isn’t that cute?

Yeah, so for me, it is the fault of the writers on these collective shows. I feel like they’re writing from one of those computer programs for aspiring writers that offer plots and characters from a menu that looks like it was cooked up in a Chinese restaurant’s wok, not from their life experience, not from their love of the characters or the comics…not from their hearts.

As Van Buren, the manager of the hard-luck Washington Senators in Damn Yankees sings, you gotta care, you gotta believe, “You gotta have heart, all you really need is heart…”

So, yeah, writers of The Flash, of Gotham, of Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D., have heart. Don’t worry about pleasing your corporate suits. Take chances. Push the envelope of television standards and practices. You’ll win, because you’ll get the audiences. And audiences mean ratings. And ratings mean renewals. And renewals mean you all keep your jobs.

So have some guts, writers! You’ve got genies in magic bottles just waitin’ to come out. Rub those bottles and make it happen.

As for me, I’m crossing my fingers for Constantine.

 

Mindy Newell: A Dear John Letter

Dr. Hibbert: Homer, I’m afraid you’ll have to undergo a coronary bypass operation.

Homer: Say it in English, Doc.

Dr. Hibbert: You’re going to need open heart surgery.

Homer: Spare me your medical mumbo jumbo.

Dr. Hibbert: We’re going to cut you open, and tinker with your ticker.

Homer: Could you dumb it down a shade?

– Homer’s Triple Bypass, The Simpsons, December 17, 1992

Well, John, you described the medical procedures you’ve had very well. In fact, I couldn’t have done better myself! I especially loved your description of the catheter bag; if you don’t mind, I’m gonna start calling it a “Gucci” at work – although maybe my women patients will prefer “Louis” for Louis Vuitton.

I do know why urologists just pull the stents out without anesthesia; because it is so quick – the five minutes or so that it has taken me to write the column is more than the procedure itself takes – (1) it’s felt that the exposure time to anesthetic agents isn’t worth the risk. Yes, there is a risk factor in anesthesia, even local anesthesia; (2) the time it would take to recover you in the Post Anesthesia Unit (PACU, or simply, Recovery Room) is longer than the time it takes to remove a stent; (3) if you have anesthesia you’d have to go either to the hospital or an ambulatory surgery center – probably the later; (4) the MD is actually saving you some money, as your bill would then include the anesthesiologist’s fee and the hospital/surgery center’s fee; and (5) it saves not only dollars, but time – a relatively short time in the MD’s office could become a whole morning spent in the hospital or surgical center.

Despite that, me personally? I would still opt for the anesthesia. Why? Because I’ve been in on those procedures and, believe me, I wince every time. Yeah, give me a couple a whiffs of nitrous oxide or a syringe full of pentothal (the stuff that I call “Jackson Juice” because…well, you can figure it out) every time, baby. No pain, so much gain!

So when I say I felt for you as I read your column, I really did.

As for your upcoming entry into the “Zipper Club”…

You know that my brother also had a “surprise” coronary bypass. Only he’s got you beat, John. All five of his arteries were blocked – to such a degree that the doctors didn’t know how he was alive. Yeah, basically Glenn was a “dead man walking.” But these days he’s playing tennis, working out and doing his biking thing. (I mean bicycles, not motorcycles.) Yep, he’s out there pedaling away, doing 70 miles easy. His latest trip with his cycling buds was in Virginia this weekend on the Blue Ridge (as in Mountains) Parkway, with elevations of 600 to 6,000 feet, and which winds it way for 469 miles through Virginia and northern North Carolina. And the weather is always changing, despite the season, which means that Glenn and his pals got caught in some serious rainstorms. Which just added to the fun.

So maybe one of these days Mary will buy you a bicycle and pretty soon you’ll be travelling the roads of Michigan and cursing out the cars that are passing you at 100 miles per hour and throwing mud and dust and pebbles into your face.

So hang tough, John.

And know that we’re all with you.

 

Mindy Newell: Message In A Bottle – Or On A DC T-Shirt

Over the past three decades, there has been a steady rise in the share of women, especially mothers, in the workforce. [Collected data shows that] the majority of women and mothers work, and many work full time and full year. This dramatic increase in women’s working hours has had a substantial impact both on household earnings and the economy more generally. Our analysis finds that middle-class households would have substantially lower earnings today if women’s employment patterns had remained unchanged. Had that been the case, gross domestic product, or GDP, would have been roughly 11 percent lower in 2012 if women had not increased their working hours as they did. In today’s dollars, this translates to more than $1.7 trillion less in output – roughly equivalent to combined U.S. spending on Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid in 2012. • The Economic Importance of Women’s Rising Hours of Work, A paper presented at the 75 Years of the Fair Labor Standards Act Conference at the Department of Labor, November 15, 2013.

The number of working-age women with a full-time job has surged from 28.6% in 1979 to 40.7% today, and the increase in working mothers in that time is even more remarkable – from 27.3% to 44.1 percent. So why the fuck do corporations go out of their way to alienate women, when all economic indicators point to the power of the dollar in women’s hands? Yep, those crazy people – “Corporations are people, too!” said Mitt Romney during the 2012 Presidential campaign – seem to do it all the time.

Last month it was that cover from Marvel. This month it’s DC Entertainment’s turn, with those t-shirts.

If you don’t know what t-shirts I’m talking about, take a moment to click here and read Martha’s column from Friday. Be sure to clink on the “stupid” link, which will bring you to The Mary Sue website, and the column which inspired Martha’s piece (and inspired this one) and includes handy-dandy pictures of said t-shirts.

Yeah. They piss me off, too.

You might think it’s weird that the woman who didn’t get upset about Spider-Woman’s butt is all pissy about t-shirts that proclaim maxims that belong in the 1950s and not in the second decade of the 21st century. But I grew up in the era of Bella Abzug and Gloria Steinem and bra-burnings. Okay, so I never actually burned my bra, but I sure as hell got the message, and I was all of 15.

And the message was: I belong to myself.

That was 45 years ago. Almost 46, since my birthday is in 19 days. And 45 years later, there is definitely a concerted effort happening. An effort to put women back in their place, back in the kitchen, just back.

On Thursday the United States Court of Appeals (Fifth Circuit, New Orleans) gave Texas “permission to require all abortion clinics in the state to meet the same building, equipment and staffing standards as hospital-style surgical centers,” which forced thirteen Texas abortion clinics to immediately close and leaving the state – “with 5.4 million women of reproductive age, ranking second in the country” – with only eight open clinics.

Listen up, people. Texas is full of crap. This is a total bullshit ruling. The way it reads makes it sound as if these clinics are nothing more than the dirty, dark, “back room” holes-in-the-walls of crumbling tenements in the worst part of the worst neighborhoods and ghettos in Texas, like the one that Natalie Wood goes to in Love with a Proper Stranger. I am here to tell you, truth to power, that abortion clinics must meet the same standards as any “hospital-style surgical center.” They are not staffed by fairy-tale witches holding out poisoned apples to Snow Whites or by cackling crones who haven’t washed their hands or seen a dentist in a hundred years. These clinics are non-profit centers run by caring health professionals whose only aim is to insure the well being of the women who are their patients

Yeah, I know, I went off the rails a bit, but not really. It’s all the same thing, really. Closing abortion clinics, DC Comics t-shirts, it’s all about fear of loss.

The loss of control.

Control of the message.

And the message is:

You belong to me.

Don’t you dare believe them.

 

Mindy Newell: Much Ado About Nothing

saturn-girl-3582808I really hate it when I’ve got nothing. Writing the column becomes a war between the empty page and my keyboard, with my brain as no-man’s land. It’s been like this since Friday.

At times like this, when I’m feeling unengaged and disinherited from the comics industry and generally just plain discombobulated, I just want to give it up and throw in the towel, like that weather woman from Alaska who said, “Fuck it, I quit” in the middle of her segment.

Ha. Weather Woman. Here’s how I imagine her open audition for the Legion of Super-Heroes would go:

She walks on stage. She can’t really see into the seats because of the bright lights shining on her, but she knows her judges are out there.

“Hi, I’m Weather Woman. I have control over the –

A voice comes out of the abyss in front of her.

“Woman? How old are you?”

“What business of that is yours?”

“Sorry, club rules specifically state that members must be in their teens.”

“You look on the far side of 25 to me.” That’s a literal stab in the dark. She can’t see a thing. Damn lights.

“Excuse us for a moment.”

“I’ll wait.”

She hears whispers.

“I apologize. I should have said members must be in their teens when they join.”

“There was nothing in the ad that specified age.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’m, but – “

“Ma’m ! I’m not your grandmother.”

“At any rate we’ve already got a Lightning Lad and Lightning Lass. A Sun Boy. A Polar Boy.

Another voice. “We had a Nightwind, but she died.”

First voice. “She doesn’t need to know that.”

Weather Woman’s not going down without a fight. “But you don’t have any one member who can control all the vagaries of weather, the entire climate. Let me demonstrate.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Listen, your ad specifically stated that you are an equal employment opportunity employer.”

“We are.”

“But I’m not being given an equal opportunity.”

“We’ll get back to you.”

“My lawyer will get back to you.”

Boy, that’s weak. This is what happens when you’ve got nothing.

Did you read Mike’s column about the Joker, a Jewess, Jihadists and a “just joking” Joseph Goebbels-like propaganda video? Did you watch it? Let’s all nominate it for an Oscar.

In related news…

Do you know that the State Department has created its own video as an anti-propaganda propaganda tool to discourage Muslims from joining ISIL? It’s called “Welcome to ISIL-LAND.” It’s a “parody” recruitment video. I’m not making this up. Go watch it. You won’t believe it. I’ll wait.

Okay, you saw it. Does that seem like a parody recruitment video to you? As John Oliver of HBO’s “Last Week Tonight” put it, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Which is what you all might be saying right now as you read this.

Well, I told you I got nothing this week.

 

 

Mindy Newell Is Jus’ Ramblin’ On

didio-300x181-6001984Just a bunch of random thoughts this week, gang…

As I mentioned two weeks ago, Martha Thomases and I go waaaay back to the days when she was DC’s go-to woman for marketing and promotions and I was a naive, newbie freelance writer for the company who always stuck my head in her doorway (“hey, Martha”) whenever I was in the office. We have always been kindred spirits in political thought and our taste in literature, television, and moves have always coincided more than they have diverged, and now Martha’s latest column extends that coincidence to some critics.

Martha, you have more patience than I do; I couldn’t even finish the piece because I got so annoyed. So, yeah, I’m not an A.O. Scott fan, either, although I do think he writes beautifully. In my not-so-humble opinion, Mr. Scott is a bit of a snob and a critic in the Rex Reed mold – meaning that he seems to actually enjoy tearing down anything that smells of popular culture because in Mr. Scott’s world “popular” is a euphemism for a four-letter word.

Martha’s column made me wonder if Mr. Scott would have decried Mark Twain’s Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876) and his Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884) or Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island (1883) and Kidnapped and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (both in 1886) or James Fenimore Cooper’s The Leatherstocking Tales (of which The Last of the Mohicans (1826) is the second book in the series) or Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and its sequel, Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found (1871) as “the death of adult American culture” if he had been employed as a critic in the eras in which these classics of American literature were published.

Writer Chuck Dixon posted the photo posted above on his Facebook page, courtesy of Iconic Superman’s own FB page. I thought it tied in nicely with Marc Alan Fishman’s column this week about the trials and tribulations of a mother and her Batman-obsessed four year-old. I do agree with Marc that it is not generally the fault of the media but the fault of the parents when children are exposed to things that are “rated M for mature.” Parents should – make that must – be aware of the contents of a book, a television show, or a movie and they must be responsible for the interactions of that child with said media. However, I also feel sad that our comics icons (Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman) are, for the most part, reflecting the grayness of the adult world, the ugliness that is present in the world.

Yes, I know about the comics and cartoons (excuse me, animation shows) geared towards children, but overall, our four-colored heroes are reflections of us, the adults, and are not the standard bearers of positive ideals they should be – and, yeah, I sound like an old fogey, and not the same person who wrote a column about how she wasn’t bothered by that ass-in-the-air Spider-Woman cover. So am I a hypocrite? After all, as an adult, yes, I love writing and reading stories hewing towards the darker side of heroism and life; hell, one of the best stories I ever wrote was about a young girl who runs away with the “bad boy,” has a baby, and ultimately leaves both the kid and the father because she just can’t stand it any more (“Found and Lost,” New Talent Showcase #13, January 1985).

But as a mother, I once told Alixandra that I didn’t care what she watched or read or listened to, except I didn’t want to hear gangsta rap in the house because I didn’t want to hear songs about how the singer was going to cut up and/or kill his bitch (I also told her that I knew she would listen to it outside the house or at her friends’ houses, but in “this house you are not going to play it.”) And as a grandmother, I once tied an apron around my neck, and ran around “singing” the theme to Superman: The Movie in front of the baby (who just stared at me like I was an idiot – he was probably thinking: “this is a grandmother?”

Outlander (on STARZ) has drawn me into its spell. Much less a “bodice ripper” (see my column from a couple weeks ago) than a really, really excellent time-travel story, I told you before that I originally tuned in because Ronald D. Moore was producing it. I have not been disappointed. The dialogue continues to seem realistic and natural, the history of the period has been well researched, and English actress Caitriona Balfre does a wonderful job portraying the time-displaced heroine, Claire Randall, who, while becoming entwined in the life of the MacKenzie Clan and the Jacobite movement, which aimed to place Bonnie Prince Charles on the throne of England, still aches for her husband and life in 1945.

This past Saturday’s episode, which focused on the wedding night between Claire and Jamie, was not only incredibly sensual and sexy – I mean H-O-T, people! – it also was one of the most mature depictions of two people, basically strangers, thrown into an intimate partnership I have ever seen on the screen, big or little. This coming Saturday is the “mid-season finale” – like many shows on television these days, especially on cable, STARZ has chosen to follow the British style of short seasons – the “leave them wanting more” approach. I get it. And I know that STARZ has already renewed the show for a second season. But just how long am I going to have to wait? (If anybody knows, please leave a comment below.)

Like the rest of us, I sometimes wish there were real superheroes (men and women) so us ordinary people wouldn’t have to worry about things like global climate change and terrorists and war. As if fucking ISIL isn’t scary enough, yesterday I read an article in the New York Times about a Syrian terrorist group, led by a member of Bin Laden’s inner circle who was in on the planning of 9/11, whom the nation’s intelligence agencies deem more of a direct and more imminent threat to the U.S. than ISIL. (By the way, don’t ever use the phrase “protecting the Homeland” around me. There was a political leader in mid-20th century Germany who looked like Charlie Chaplin’s “little tramp” who liked to use that phrase.) And of course with President Obama’s plan to “train and arm rebel groups in Syria” having passed Congress, I’m betting that some our arms and training falls into the hands of these guys.

I have been a big supporter of President Barak Obama, but I gotta tell ya, I don’t know what the fuck President Obama is thinking, getting in bed with groups and nations who either don’t particularly like us or outright hate us. I keep thinking about Franklin Roosevelt and how he knew that we needed to get into the war in Europe to stop the Nazis, but with an isolationist Congress and America the best he could do was the Lend-Lease Act, by which he could supply Britain, the Free French, the Republic of China, and eventually the Soviet Union with arms and other war supplies. Perhaps Obama is trying a 21st century version of Lend-Lease, but the lines aren’t so clear-cut, and the “Allies” aren’t really allies at all.

Yeah, we could use a rollicking cry of Avengers Assemble! right about now.

 

Mindy Newell: I Owe It All To Television

“When television is good, nothing – not the theater, not the magazines or newspapers – nothing is better. But when television is bad, nothing is worse. I invite each of you to sit down in front of your own television set when your station goes on the air and stay there, for a day, without a book, without a magazine, without a newspaper, without a profit and loss sheet or a rating book to distract you. Keep your eyes glued to that set until the station signs off. I can assure you that what you will observe is a vast wasteland. You will see a procession of game shows, formula comedies about totally unbelievable families, blood and thunder, mayhem, violence, sadism, murder, western bad men, western good men, private eyes, gangsters, more violence, and cartoons. And endlessly commercials – many screaming, cajoling, and offending. And most of all, boredom. True, you’ll see a few things you will enjoy. But they will be very, very few. And if you think I exaggerate, I only ask you to try it.” – Newton N. Minow, Chairman, Federal Communications Commission, Speech at the National Broadcasters Association Convention, May 9, 1961

This week both Entertainment Weekly and TV Guide published their fall TV preview issues. Among the many new shows vying for an audience and a pick-up for next season are The Flash, a spin-off of the CW’s Arrow, and Gotham, a “crime serial” (as described by EW) which takes place in DC’s mythic city a decade or more before Bruce Wayne first dons the cowl of the Batman. Constantine, based on Vertigo’s occult anti-hero, aims to make us all forget Keanu Reeve’s frankly horrid movie – um, we don’t need any help in erasing that mistake from our memory – and, at least from what I’ve seen in trailers on the web – will not miss its mark. Returning genre-oriented shows (meaning including elements of fantasy and science fiction as well as directly linked to comic books) are the afore-mentioned Arrow, Grimm, Under The Dome, Marvel’s Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D., Vampire Diaries, Once Upon A Time, American Horror Story, Supernatural, The Originals, The Walking Dead, Resurrection, and Sleepy Hollow.

Whew! Did I miss any?

It seems to be a golden age for genre television, which I think is partly due to The Big Bang Theory, the success of which has helped out the millions of geeks in this country and around the world; it’s now cool to be a geek, and while the networks, including cable, may have been a little slow in noticing, they’ve got their eyes wide-open now.

…but there’s been plenty of science fiction, fantasy, and comic-based shows for as long as I can remember. In fact, I sometimes think that if it weren’t for television, my imagination might have been dimmed, that I might have not picked up that copy of Stranger In A Strange Land in the bookstore, that I wouldn’t have taken “Introduction to Science Fiction” as my English requirement in my first year of college, that I wouldn’t have been led to discover the magic words…

“What if?”

I was born in 1953, which means that I was lucky enough to catch the tail end of the television’s Golden Age. In the late 50s and early 60s, the medium was still experimenting with this new entertainment and took a lot of chances. Which meant that, though I was frequently scared out of my mind, I watched The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits.

A few years later, thanks to the old Channel 9 in New York City and the national Million Dollar Movie franchise, I watched Godzilla trampling Tokyo and The Giant Behemoth not only trampling, but also irradiating London, while Rodan flew at supersonic speeds overhead. And years later in Psych 101 I totally got the Freudian concept of the id because of Forbidden Planet.

Yes, it was all there on the tube: Invaders From Mars. Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers. Them! Queen Of Outer Space. The Day The Earth Stood Still. The Fly. War Of The Worlds. The Blob. Mysterious Island. World Without End. The Time Machine. King Kong. When Worlds Collide. The Thing From Another World.

Though fifty years ago these were throwaway movies – probably bought for very little dollars and broadcast to fill what otherwise would be dead airtime, many are now lauded masterpieces – King Kong and The Day The Earth Stood Still, for example – while others still get their due as classics of the B-move genre: Forbidden Planet, The Fly, The Blob, Invaders From Mars, for example.

Well, okay maybe not so much Queen Of Outer Space or World Without End, though they are still two of my favorite “B-movies” of the genre, so much so that my cousin Ken Landgraff, a noted comics artist who worked with Wally Wood and Neal Adams in their studios before striking out on his own to help pioneer the independent comics movement in the 70s and 80s, made copies of them for me, which I cherish.

Yes, there were many if not classic, fondly remembered genre shows back in the day: My Favorite Martian, which starred Bill Bixby – my first “screen idol” crush – and Ray Walston. Bewitched with the gorgeous Elizabeth Montgomery (go, Team Dick York!). I Dream Of Jeannie, on which network censors forbade Barbara Eden to show her belly button and whose male star played an inept, befuddled astronaut – and didn’t he turn that around a few years later on a show about a Texas oil family. There were the first, black-and-white episodes of Lost In Space and the colorful Wonder Woman, which I think is not so much remembered for the show itself but for Lynda Carter, the Amazonian beauty who seemed to step right out of the pages of the eponymous comic. Bill Bixby returned to genre TV with his, yes, incredible performance as the lonely and cursed genetic scientist Bruce Banner in The Incredible Hulk. There was The Six Million Dollar Man and its spin-off, The Bionic Woman.

And then there was Star Trek. Which begat Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and Star Trek: Voyager. (“Uncle Martin” Ray Walston became a favorite recurring guest star on Next Gen and Voyager as Boothby, the Star Fleet Academy gardener – by the way, the character is first mentioned in the  fourth season episode “Final Mission,” in which Wesley Crusher leaves the Enterprise to attend Star Fleet Academy; Captain Picard tells him to look up “Boothby, one of the wisest men I have ever known.”

There were also shows like Farscape and the rebooted Battlestar: Galactica. There were Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel and Charmed. There was Stargate SG-1 and its descendents, Stargate Command and Stargate: Atlantis. Shows that never built a huge audience by network standards, but like Star Trek and its sequels, had devoted fans that built franchises that couldn’t be contained on television alone but led to self-contained universes that spawned conventions and books and websites.

And there were shows that tried but weren’t as successful: Shows like The Man From Atlantis and Sliders and Time Tunnel and Space: 1999. Some completely sucked. Some started out strong and got sidetracked. Some just never built the audience needed to stay on the air.

And there was Smallville. Which led to Arrow. Which is now leading to The Flash.

I’m wondering how long this bonanza of science-fiction, fantasy and “adapted from the four-color page!” on the small screen will go on. Will it flourish for a short time and then die in its season, only to be reborn ten or twenty or even thirty years from now? Will someday another columnist write a piece about how, when he or she was growing up, back then in the early 2000s, there was a cornucopia of television shows about super-heroes and monsters and fairies and princes and princesses and aliens and vampires, and how, because of television, he or she learned how to embrace those magic words…

“What if?”

 

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