I know that normally I’m a pretty verbose guy. But you will excuse me if I am a bit shorter than normal this week. And next week. Maybe even the week after that. It’s not that I have laryngitis of the fingers, and it’s not that I don’t want to spend time dissecting Axel Alonso’s recent verbal smackdown of DC. It’s not that I don’t want to postulate on Marvel Now, and how I think it might effect the industry. It just happens to be Unshaven Comics’ crunch time.
For the record? Axel probably went too far to lay out a sick burn on DC, but I like when people play the heel. Marvel NOW won’t see the spikes at the retail stores like the New 52 did, but it will keep more subscribers coming back for more a little at a time. But I digress.
In just about a month from now, we will be attending the Wizard World Chicago comic convention. This is, for all intents and purposes, our home show. We have touted on our weekly podcast, our Facebook page, and just about anywhere and everywhere people are listening to us that we’ll have a new book on the table. So here I sit, with 17 pages to color and letter, and 18 more to edit. Oh and then there’s the cover. And laying out the pages for print. I’m gonna be a busy guy.
We’ve all been there before. Back up against the wall, with no more time to waste on Angry Birds. No more time to check in on Facebook. Hell, there isn’t even time to write this article. That being said, I couldn’t not write to you all… I love your bitter comments far too much to give them up.
So what does crunch time look like for me? I never thought you’d ask. Well, for starters, my amazing wife tends to our son which, above all else, allows me to get anything done in the first place. I click off the television. I slap on some noise canceling headphones. And then it’s podcast time. Nothing gets me mentally ready more than having a solid block of interesting conversation to get my production juices flowing. While I’m unable to write with any noise what-so-ever… when it comes down to doing all the grunt work of taking a comic from roughs to final pages, I need one part of my brain paying attention, and the other in-the-zone.
I love listening to “This American Life” from NPR, Marc Maron’s “WTF” podcast, and most recently, a few from Too-Fat-To-Fly-No-More, Kevin Smith. I should note Kevin produces about 1300 podcasts a day, so I’m picky. At present moment, in my queue I have a two-part interview with Mark Hamill. Color me interested, fellow ComicMixers.
And when the podcasts run out, there is a final tool in my digital art box that is truly unique to my process. That tool? An audience. I keep Skype open while I work. For just about anyone who knows me, I keep my studio video casting as I work. Why in Rao’s name would I do this? Well, there’s nothing like having another set of curious eyes on your work as you do it. I can say without doubt that having a live audience when I have to finish work keeps me honest. It’s like having a virtual studio night, every night.
Unshaven Comics cut our teeth on the “live studio” atmosphere. Being able to have fresh eyes half a chairs turn away (or prying right there via webcam) ensures the continual feeling that work needs to be done. Left to my own devices, the modern world – with its tireless barrage of aforementioned distractions – shrunk my attention span. I admit it. In the years following high school, when the world stopped watching me work… Everything felt smaller, faster, and more annoying. With a cell phone next to my ear, a DVR box allowing me to tape four shows while I watch three more, compounded with dual monitors and a Netflix account? Well, who needs serenity!
But it’s here, in those times when I need to detach myself from all the extraneous distractions… and just make art? Well, those are the rare and magnificent times where I feel I connected to my fellow comic book creators.
Suffice to say, making comics when you have a day job, a five-month old son, a wife, a mortgage, and a string of needy freelance clients makes for a less-than-stellar work environment. But all of that is put to the side. Now, with Mark Hamill in my ears, and the Samurnauts on my screen… I get to see the collaboration, blood, sweat, and tears of 20 years of friendship come to fruition on my monitor. And in a month? All of that collective DNA will make its way across the table to yearning fans.
And when they come back with a smile for the next book? Well, it makes crunch time the best time.
SUNDAY: John Ostrander Speaks! Well, at least, he types…
While the rest of the pop culture community prepares for Comic-Con International in San Diego, I’m in Las Vegas. Since I don’t gamble, it has been an interesting sociological experience for me. And also, the spa at my hotel is awesome.
I have been to Vegas four times now, and to SDCC about fifteen times. The two share more than one might think. Both are really crowded at all hours. Both mostly take place indoors, but if you need to go outside, you probably won’t get rained on. There’s a lot of noise about every little thing, so that you lose all sense of proportion.
And both count on dazzling you with enough glitz and glamor that you won’t notice how much you’re being hustled.
Still, I’m having a great time on The Strip, and I never need to go to Comic-Con again. What’s the difference?
Although things have improved somewhat in recent years, the city of San Diego doesn’t feel welcoming to me. I went once for a library convention, and that was much more pleasant. As a Comic-Con visitor, I feel like the city regards me as a pig, a beast to tolerate because I spend money. The convention brings in celebrities, whom I’m sure are treated well (if only because they have people on the payroll to guarantee it), but me? I’m the rube paying $4 for a bottle of water.
The water in my Vegas hotel room mini-bar is $8. And I don’t drink it. But you know what? A lovely woman comes by twice a day to ask if I want anything. She is thrilled when I have a request for her, even if it’s just for more free shampoo.
At Comic-Con, I have to stand in line for hours to see a panel, which I may not get to see because thousands of other people want to see the same panel. In Vegas, if the hot new Batman slot machine is being used, there are more around the corner, or down the street.
At Comic-Con, if I don’t make a dinner reservation by five, I can forget about eating anyplace where I can sit down. In Vegas, there are world-class restaurants (many outposts of places I love in New York) stacked up on top of each other.
I was a little afraid to come to Vegas as an older, single woman, afraid I would feel unattractive and unworthy. The hotel at which I’m staying, the Cosmopolitan, goes out of its way to make women feel welcome. Everyone who works there is super-friendly and helpful. In San Diego, there are, instead, lots of jokes about how unsexy geeks can be. True, lots of those jokes come from us geeks. I don’t think that kind of self-hatred would be funny anyplace else.
My friend Pennie used to live here, back in the days when the Mob were the new guys in town. She says that there is a tradition of service here because the populace knows that’s how they keep their jobs. San Diego, on the other hand, is a city with more than just a hospitality industry. I don’t mean to say that San Diego is rude (because, as a New Yorker, how would I know?), but they don’t make me feel like my needs are a priority.
There has been talk for years of moving Comic-Con to Las Vegas. I don’t think it would work. This city is too expensive. It would be a lovely idea, however, to move Las Vegas to Comic-Con.
Maybe you’re not reading this. Maybe you’re one of the thousands of computer users who lost Internet access on the interface between Sunday and Monday – that’d be midnight – because some really evil cyberstinkers infected your machine with the “Doomsday” virus and in the process made themselves rich. They were caught – sometimes the Feds get it right – but apparently nothing could be done about their mischief they caused and so, barring the unforeseen, at midnight on the ninth, some 69,000 U.S. computers until things get sorted out. I hope that yours isn’t one of them.
Maybe I should switch tenses and say that, again, maybe – is there no end to the maybes? – you won’tbe reading this due to malfunctioning machinery. (I’m typing it at a little after five on Sunday. You think I know what will happen in seven hours? You think I know what will happen in two minutes? Please!)
So if you won’t be reading my blather, what will you be doing? Heading toward the annual mind-croggling San Diego Comic Con? If so, well… brace yourself. It’s an intense experience, that con, and I guess it can be an expensive one. Hotel rooms on beachfront San Diego don’t come cheap. Food costs aren’t too bad, but it is a tourist area. And inside the convention itself are hundreds of merchants who, in my experience, are nice people, but they do want to sell you something. And isn’t one of the reasons for con-going to buy stuff you can’t get on your home turf?
But – here it is again – maybe you’ve been bitten by the economy and a trip to southern California is not a current possibility for you. Always next year, but meanwhile… Can you afford a movie ticket? It’s a bit early to see the new Batman flick, which doesn’t open until the twentieth in most places. But the new Spider-Man is all over the place and – here it comes again – maybe you live near a multiplex that reduces admission costs during drive time and, being as financially strapped as you are, you aren’t doing anything else late afternoons, are you? If you have to pay the full freight, skip lunch. And dinner. And don’t even think about popcorn.
Although I haven’t seen the movie myself yet – ahem, maybe Tuesday? – I believe I can calm those who are wondering, What the heck? It’s only been five years since the last Spidey, and only a decade since the first big-screen Spidey and that one did include an origin story, thank you, and now they’re reinventing the whole mythos, including another origin? I mean, what the heck!
Okay, take comfort in remembering that the history of the filmed entertainment’s first cousin, comic books, demonstrates that a little reinvention, from time to time, is not necessarily undesirable. On the contrary. As for the small number of years between origin and originrevisited… There were two filmed adaptations of Dashiell Hammett’s classic crime novel The Maltese Falcon in the ten years before John Huston gave us his version and the existence of the first two did nothing to harm the excellence of Huston’s work.
That’s a factoid you might miss if your computer’s on the fritz and you’re not reading this. Or – wait for it…maybe not.
When I first heard that Marvel was launching a new title each week for five months, I thought “What do you mean five months? They’ve been doing that for years!”
My second thought was… “define new.”
As I’ve stated before, Marvel doesn’t reboot as much as it evolves: they’ll launch the 74th Captain Marvel while still using the first. Sure, they ignore stuff. Nothing wrong with that. It’s a lot easier than explaining why, in a logical continuity, Aunt May didn’t die long before most of the readers were born. So any comparisons between Marvel Now and DC’sNew 52 are strained to say the least. Apples and oranges, as they say in the produce trade.
In looking over the lists of new Marvel Now launches, I see a bunch that seem interesting from a casting standpoint – both in terms of matching creative talent to characters and matching characters to teams. But Marvel’s been up to that for decades. What’s new about it now?
Marvel, and DC and everybody else, has been killing titles and relaunching them with new creative teams and big number ones on the cover ever since the direct sales racket started, so, again, what’s new about it now?
New costumes? This must be Wednesday! Spider-Man hasn’t had a new costume since every fourth page of any recent issue of The Avengers. The Red Skull is back? Damn! It is Wednesday! So, new? (That’s an awesome pun if you know Yiddish.)
No, really. I’m asking. What’s new about Marvel Now, now? What am I missing here? It’s just another huge marketing stunt, but – thankfully – one that doesn’t necessarily involve buying a million different tie-ins, crossovers and sidebar mini-series in order to get a complete road map. I’m sure Marvel’s likely to increase its sales lead over DC a bit. Big deal. Marvel is part of Disney, and increasing its lead over DC in the teensy tiny direct sales market wouldn’t provide sufficient motivation for Disney Chairman Bob Iger to lift his head out of his morning cereal bowl.
Look. I’m fine with all of this. It’s just nothing new. In fact, it’s a big part of why I’ve found the Marvel Universe fun ever since Fantastic Four #26.
No, what bothers me is Newtonian physics. Specifically, the bit about “with every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” Except that in the 21st Century, I’d rewrite this to read “with every action there is a massive and opposite over-reaction.”
Yes, friends. Beware the New 104!
THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil Talks Up San Diego and Sequels
The first time I went into an actual comic book store by myself as an adult, I went in more to browse than with a specific purchasing goal in mind. I was walking by stores, and lo, there was a comic book store, and I’d just started reading comics, and wanted to read more, so I went in, ready to find things to read and buy them.
Having read a few paper comics as a young child and watched a lot of comics-related cartoons and movies while growing up, but not having read comics as an adult until a few months prior, naturally I was familiar with very few of the names’ in comics (i.e. writers, artists, or what-have-you); or with every good book or character. I had no clue who was writing or drawing which book, or what I should try first, which comics were classics, or any of that; only that I was interested in picking up some good stories. I was, in other words, a prime target for a canny salesperson who could have helpfully loaded me up with all the great stories I should read right away. I’d probably have bought them all, and the storeowner could have retired on the spot. But it didn’t happen.
When I entered the store, the (male) sales clerk ignored me completely for about the first twenty-plus minutes, as I stood nearby looking rather overwhelmed at the varied selection, instead helping three different men first (one of whom came in after me). I actually tried to get the clerk’s help with a polite “excuse me” a few times, but his response was a brusque, “Just a minute” before turning to ask Guy Number Three if he needed help. (Note: It was not just a minute.) Finally when there were no other customers in the store he turned his attention to me. I asked him if he had any recommendations for a good trade to pick up. A short conversation ensued. I can’t remember the exact words several years later, but if I had to do a play-by-play of the conversation and what I felt like was happening in its subtext (and I wasn’t imagining this based on some idea of how I’d be treated; it was completely not something I expected to encounter) it would go like this:
He acted like recommending a book to a woman who was unfamiliar with comics was some sort of huge chore and he really had better things to be spending his time on; but when pressed, recommended Watchmen. I asked him what it was about, since it was sealed in plastic and he didn’t want it opened by someone who might not buy it, and he said, oh, it was by Alan Moore (but still did not tell me what it was about). I indicated that I’d never heard of Alan Moore. He indicated that clearly I must be some sort of poser imbecile (‘You’ve never heard of Alan Moore?’), not an actual rare Female Comics Geek, because comics geeks know who Alan Moore is.
I indicated that I’d read a few issues of Runaways that I liked, after a suggestion made by my boyfriend. He indicated that now everything made sense. I was a Girlfriend Who’d Read A Comic Once. Not an actual Geek. Just a Girlfriend who’d accidentally wandered into the store without her Geek Man. He half-heartedly recommended I just look around at a few things and maybe I’d find something I liked – this being made a bit difficult by the trades being in plastic you weren’t allowed to open without permission. Then he walked away. Just left me standing there in an otherwise empty store, still clueless, in the midst of the bewildering selection of Stories I Couldn’t Browse Through Without His Permission, feeling very unwelcome and slightly ashamed to not already know everything about every comic, ever.
Needless to say, I didn’t buy anything that day. The guy made me feel so unwelcome and so much like I was bothering him just by being there that I didn’t even want to go to the check-out line to interact with him again, and I’m not a timid person. At all. Now, you could say, “he was just a rude guy.” Well, he was. But he was rude to me specifically because I was a woman and therefore clearly not a serious geek. I know this because I watched him interacting helpfully and not-rudely with the three male customers who he helped before me, one of whom had also asked for recommendations. I know this because I had a whole conversation with him in which he made me feel, both subtly and not-so-subtly, like I was unwelcome in the store and unworthy of his time because I was a woman and therefore not knowledgeable about comics like his male customers. I know this because I still remember how it felt to be unexpectedly treated like a second-class citizen by someone whose job it was supposed to be to help me.
Why am I talking about this now? Because it wasn’t an isolated incident. Ridiculous as it may seem, even now, when I know much, much more about comics and the industry, when I’m actually known by some people for how big a fan I am of comics and a particular character, I still occasionally encounter the attitude that I’m somehow here in the Comics World by accident or as a Secondary Character in the whole show; not because I love it with as much passion as any guy out there.
For example: a year or so ago, I was attending a con and ran into a male acquaintance of mine who is on the creator side of the industry and who I’ve known for awhile. As we stood near his table at the end of a row in Artist’s Alley chatting and catching up, out of nowhere he said to me “So, where’s the guy?” I had no idea what he meant, and replied with a blank “What?” His response: “Well, you’re always here with one of the guys [in the industry]. I was wondering who you’re here with this time.”
Now it’s true that when we met I was introduced to him by another “one of the guys” who is a friend and happened to be walking the con floor with me. It’s also true that often when I’m at a con, I’ll hang out with some of the industry folks, because I naturally gravitate towards creative people who share my interests, and they tend to be on the creator side of things; and it’s true that most of these people are men. But I’ve actually never gone to a con with a man, and was surprised that this was the impression my acquaintance seemed to have; that I always tagged along with some guy, rather than being excited about and planning a trip to the con all by myself because I love comics and comic cons.
And frankly, this made me a little angry. In response, I asked him to look down his row – a long Artist’s Alley row of artists and writers – and tell me how many women he saw. The answer? Not one. In his row of maybe twenty-plus creators, there wasn’t a single woman. Gee; no wonder so many of my creator friends and people I walk around cons with are male.
Now, this man is a nice person; and he wasn’t intending to be offensive. But he expressed an attitude that I’ve not only experienced myself but seen pop up regularly all over the comics and geek fandoms – that somehow, women who are in geek fandom are the secondary characters in the all male show, there in one way or another because of a guy (or, worse, there just for guys to look at). It ties into the attitude of the comics store clerk, and bothers me for several reasons.
The first one is that I like to hang out with other geek women. I have a number of geek friends who are women, and we have great times together. The more geek women out there, the better, in my book. But attitudes like the above – either actively rude dudes who treat you like you’re unwelcome and an idiot because you are a woman and therefore, at best, a n00b, and at worst, a poser; or nice dudes who blithely assume that you’re at a con with a dude instead of because of your own interests – are not the kind of thing that will encourage women to get into or feel comfortable in geek fandoms. These attitudes propitiate a self-fulfilling prophecy: treating women like this may in fact turn women off to comics or getting more involved in the fandom.
The second reason this bothers me is that these attitudes are examples of a larger problem regarding treatment of both the female characters in comics and female fans. That problem is so large and multifaceted that Gail Simone based a whole website around just part of it, and you see it being discussed, consistently, from multiple angles and spurred by multiple separate incidents, all over the internet. (For a fun time, Google “comics misogyny.” Whee.) It involves objectification. It involves violence. It involves dehumanization. It involves belittlement and aggression towards women and dismissal of female opinion. It involves experiences I myself have had that bordered on harassment and that I don’t even feel comfortable discussing in a public forum. It’s a problem so large that I can’t even fathom a way to encompass it in one column, which is why I’m choosing to focus on just part of it here.
The third reason is that while all this is going on (and trust me, it is ongoing) geek culture seems to think it’s actually super-progressive and feminist in comparison to the rest of the world, and is sometimes obnoxiously self-congratulatory about that fact, while misogyny floats around unchecked in our geek content and culture. (Seriously, read that link for some current examples of the awful stuff that’s happening right now, such as the attacks on Anita Sarkeesian, which actually made me shudder in horror.)
When geeks are called on the existing misogyny, they get super defensive. I’ve seen every excuse or justification under the sun used to try to explain the negative behavior in a way that makes it okay and shows geek culture is still more progressive. Or, alternatively, I’ve seen people try to put it all on women. (One of my favorite excuses for geek misogynistic behavior was some guy saying that, see, the reason geek guys have these attitudes towards women is that so many of them were rejected by women when they were younger, and picked on for being geeks, and blah blah blah they had to walk uphill both ways in geek snowshoes while women taunted them and pelted them with Nintendo controllers from the sidelines or something. To which I say, Shit, son – you think being picked on for being different is something that only happens to geek dudes? You think girls never get rejected by boys for being weird or geeky? Are you seriously that dumb? Put on your big boy pants, get over yourself, and stop blaming girrrrrls for your problems.)
The attitude of self-congratulation or denial that there are problems here makes me angry, especially when held up next to the actual, real-life experiences of myself, my female friends, and people like Sarkeesian. Geek culture may be coming at things from a different angle (which sometimes results in its own, unique brand of negative treatment of women, woo), but it’s not really more progressive, and it’s actually worse a lot of the time because the refusal to acknowledge the problem leads to it becoming more firmly entrenched and accepted.
All this self-congratulation equals no confrontation of the issues that exist. I have no immediate solutions to propose, but the sooner we actually meaningfully acknowledge and confront these issues, the sooner we can truly be the more progressive cultural group that we clearly feel we should be. I hope we get there someday.
So let’s all take a moment to ponder how to make the world of comics more awesome and friendly to us geeky women who love it and, until next time, Servo Lectio!
The title of this article is a variation on the most memorable film quote ever. “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn” spoken by Rhett Butler to Scarlet O’Hara in the immortal film, Gone With The Wind is the number one movie quote of all time, according to The American Film Institute.
After over two hours of actual time and years of movie time Rhett had finally had enough of Scarlet being a bitch and let her know how he felt. When Rhett finally let Scarlet know he was sick of her shit she came to a realization that she did indeed love him.
If Rhett and Scarlet were from the hood that conversation would have went a little something like this:
Scarlet: Rhett, don’t go. I love you!
Rhett: Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn…bitch.
That classic movie in so many ways reminds me of the San Diego Comic Con and Hollywood. How so, you ask?
This so. Every year Hollywood comes to SDCC and every year Hollywood studios, agencies, stars and starlets throw parties. There are as many Hollywood parties as there are reasons to hate Mitt Romney.
That’s a lot of parties.
Every year it seems that little or no comic book people are invited to those Hollywood parties. I know of what I speak as I get invited to a bunch of those parties. I stopped going a few years ago. I got sick and tired of being at a party and the only mofo I knew from the industry was whoever was my plus 1.
Yes, there are exceptions. I’m sure that Len Wein and his creative peers get invited to any studio party that is making one of their characters into a movie or TV show. I’m sure Len gets to bring a few of his peeps but a room full of comic book people you will not see at a Hollywood party.
Except at my parties. Yes, I always have a cool ass celebrity host, this year it’s Jamie Kennedy, and yes I have big name Hollywood types attending but the majority of my guests are good old fashion SDCC and comic book folk.
Yep, good old comic book geeks. Friends of mine, creators I just meet at the con, retailors, mega fans, moms of mega fans and random hot Asian women who I just so happen to find invites for after I have no more invites. Go figure.
Speaking of moms, last year I met this woman who brought her grown ass son to the convention but could not get a pass for her self. We got her a pass to the con and she spent a great deal of my party hanging out with Wayne Brady. That, if I say so myself, was cool.
I’m not knocking Hollywood because that’s just the way they operate. I’m still amazed at the people that got mad at the tiger for mauling Roy. Don’t blame the tiger for being a tiger. I can’t blame Hollywood for being a selfish self-congratulatory entity that sees the comic book industry as an ugly stepchild.
But I’d like all my comic book and SDCC friends and colleagues to remember one thing…
The San Diego Comic Con is our house.
We build it. We own it. We live there.
I do believe that one day soon Hollywood will fully accept us for what we are: an industry without which they would be banking on films like My Left Foot to do 100 million in a weekend.
Yeah, like that shit is ever going to happen.
I hope to see you guys at SDCC and perhaps at my party Friday night.
Oh, and Hollywood, get your shit together, don’t make us go all Rhett Butler on your ass.
TUESDAY AFTERNOON: Emily S. Whitten Speaks Enlightenment
WEDNESDAY MORNING: Mike Gold Marvels Now and Again
Saw my niece Isabel last week. She’s finished The Complete Bone Adventures, Volumes 1 and II and is now reading a collection of Calvin And Hobbes. She also told me that she’s in love with the Percy Jackson And The Olympians series by Rick Riordian; she had already read The Lightning Thief, and was deep into the second book, The Sea Of Monsters. Although by now she’s quite possibly onto the third title, which is The Titan’s Curse. She’s a fast reader. Based on her critiques, I have ordered The Lightning Thief from Amazon, and expect I’ll be ordering the rest of the series, too.
Last I heard Watchmen had not entered the public domain, so I will not be buying any of the Before Watchmen books. I think the whole idea stinks. I don’t understand how other creators who profess to respect creator’s rights could sign on to a rotten deal brokered on a broken promise by DC to Alan Moore. It’s a slap in the face to Alan, Dave Gibbons, and John Higgins. Oh, wait. John Higgins participated in this mockery? Says a lot about your character, doesn’t it, John? If you need money that badly, there are other ways to prostitute yourself. And that goes for the rest of you, too.
John Ostrander’s latest column about “bad things he hates that he loves” caused me to go to my DVD cabinet and pull out a couple of movies that I should despise but actually love:
World Without End (1956), in which a rocket ship returning from Mars breaks through the time barrier and deposits four astronauts on an unidentified planet, which turns out to be Earth in the year 2508, 400 years after a nuclear war. The surviving humans live underground and are dying out because the men are scrawny, weak, and unable to perform their manly duties. In other words, they’re impotent. Which sure sucks for them, because all the women of the year 2508 are curvaceous, beautiful, and very, very horny. The reason the humans don’t live on the surface is because of the “surface beasts” – the descendants of those who did not flee underground during the atomic holocaust – roam the countryside. They look like mutated Neanderthals, and all they want to do – well, the men, anyway – is get their paws on the hot tomatoes living underground. Our brave, resourceful – and, of course, American; this was the 50’s, remember – astronauts reinvent the bazooka (“The good ol’ bazooka!” one of the astronauts says with a backslap to his pal) and defeat the mutated Neanderthals, and help restart human civilization on the surface for the Eloi. Oops. Sorry, wrong story. The horny women get the horny astronauts in the end, so everybody lives happily ever after. Except for the impotent guys, I guess.
Queen Of Outer Space (1958) in which ZsaZsa Gabor plays a Venusian scientist on a planet on which once again all the women are curvaceous, beautiful, and very horny. Except for the Queen, who is curvaceous and very horny, but mysteriously wears a mask. But even though Venus is the planet of love, there’s not a man to be found. The story begins when our brave, resourceful, and yes, once again, American astronauts, on board their rocket ship – which looks exactly like the one in World Without End – and on their way to a space station in orbit above Earth, are hijacked to Venus by a strange red ray, which turns out to be the Beta Disintegrator. The ship crashed into snow-covered mountains that look exactly like the snow-covered mountains into which the ship from World Without End end-crashes. Turns out the Queen hates all men, and she imprisons the astronauts. But she’s got a hard-on for the Captain. “A Queen can be lonely, too,” she tells the Captain. The Captain decides to take her up on her, uh, offer to “get information.” This makes ZsaZsa very jealous: “30 million miles away from the Earth,” says one of the astronauts, “and the little dolls are just the same.” Because she has a hard-on for our Captain, too. (No, his name is not James Tiberius Kirk.) Anyway, just as the Queen goes in for the face-suck, the Captain rips off her mask, and – OMG! Her face is burned and scarred and horribly mutated! “Men did this to me,” the Queen says with hatred in her voice. “Men and their wars.” Then she seductively turns to the Captain. “You said I needed the love of a man,” she whispers as she puts her arms around him. “If you will be that man, I will let you all go.” But the Captain is trying not to vomit. Dumb ass. Put a bag over her head and do it for the flag. So the Queen sends him back and aims the Beta-Disintegrator at Earth. Talk about a woman scorned! You really have to see this movie!
It really sucks when your parents are sick.
Here’s the truth. The only thing I really hate about women’s costumes in the comics is that I’m not buff enough to wear any of them.
Political diatribe for the day: Vote for Romney, and we really will be living in the world of American Flagg! (We’re almost there now.)
I can wait for the Garfield/Stone Amazing Spider-Man to hit DVD. I loved the Maguire/Duns Spider-Mans. Perhaps if TPTB had moved the story forward, merely replacing Maguire/Duns with Garfield/Stone, I would have more interest.
Just finished The Lost Wife, a heartbreaking, “based-on-a-true-story,” and beautifully written story about a husband and wife, both Jewish, separated by World War II. He gets out of Europe, she is first is sent to Theresienstadt and then Auschwitz. Highly recommended!
In the middle of The Hunger Games. Loving it. Have to recommend it to Isabel.
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.
Over at my Unshaven Comics facebook page (shameless plug, shameless plug), I wanted to tip the scales of our “likes” from the paltry 320 to 400 by the end of the summer. So, I begged and pleaded with our fan-base to pull in some like-minded friends to come like us. One of our fans (who I can safely say is in fact at this point just a friend… who happens to like my writing and art) joked with me about what I might do to see those extra 80 or so fans by the end the week. Well, I responded the only way I knew how; Shamelessly.
I told him “get me to 400 fans by the end of the week, and I’ll send you a topless calendar of me and Matt (also of Unshaven infamy). Did I mention this fan is gay? Well, he got the joke. And two days later we were at 407 fans. And I’d stand to guess at least 70 of them were “Bears.”
For those who don’t know, “Bears” are a subgroup of the larger gay community. They identify themselves as being burly dudes with a fondness of facial hair. Ruh-roh. Lucky for me, these new fans weren’t just “liking” our page because of our beards or promise of sad, sad, sad photographs. Turns out they like comics too. And with that we finally reach our topic.
Every six months or so it seems the comic book community gets its rainbow panties in a knot over yet-another gay issue. As always, the media jumps all over it, and certain homophobic fans shake their fists in the sky. “That’s not my Captain Wizz-Bang!” they shout, at absolutely no one. Most recently, Alan Scott (that’s the Golden Age Green Lantern, you know) came out in Earth 2. The idea behind the sexual orientation shift? According to writer James Robinson, it was pretty cut and dry. To paraphrase? He said that since Obsidian, Alan Scott’s gay son (from the now defunct DCU), wasn’t welcomed to the New 52, he decided this was a way to balance that fact. Simply put? That’s the perfect answer. In essence… Why Not?
Last week, I made light of this fact, but perhaps misrepresented my real issue with the “announcement.” Not from Robinson per say… but from the media’s need to jump on the story, and try to squeeze blood from a turnip. The fact that DC responded in tow, rainbow suspenders ablazin’ only fueled my fire worse. Sure, any publicity is good publicity… But when will we stop sensationalizing the sexual preferences of our ink and paper celebrities?
As a fan, I ultimately don’t care one way or another if a character is gay, straight, bi-sexual, trans-gendered, or completely asexual. If it makes for a good story? Then let it happen. If it’s done for shock value? Then we don’t need to talk to one another.
This in and of itself is an issue, though. It’s hard to tell when the choice is made, or mandated from on-high. We’d like to believe that a character’s sexual preferences are decided by writers and artists because it has relevance. At the end of the day though? All comics are tied to their makers by way of a purse string. Sometimes, in the worst times, using the “gay” card is more for shock value and the chance of increased sales. And in those times? I’m as offended as any other fan, gay or straight.
Being gay, be it in real life or a comic, is very much a part of one’s identity. Whether they are out and proud (say like the Teen Titan, Bunker) or more understated (like Xavin from Marvel’s Runaways)… I’m pretty proud to say that comic books today are truly promoting a diverse representation of the real world within their fictional universes.
What gets me in a tizzy is just why the media needs to make a big deal over it. Is it “news” when Anderson Cooper or Jim Parsons comes out of the closet? No. Neither is it “news” when Alan Scott, Hulking, or Wonder Woman decides to lay with they fellow man or woman. Will it be news if Unshaven Comics decides to have a gay character? I doubt it.
Not to beat the dead gay horse on this one folks, but it couldn’t be clearer. Sexual orientation isn’t the issue when it’s written well. Hell, even when it’s written poorly. For those sad individuals who can’t get past a person’s predilection for their same gender, well, I gladly welcome you to sit in the corner and sulk. With each passing generation, we accept more, we tolerate more, and we learn to care about other more important issues. Like reboots. And why they are needed from time to time. But not most of the time. But I digress.
In case you’re curious? Unshaven Comics does have a gay character in our books. But we’re not telling who. Why? Because until it matters in a story… It’s not worth our time or yours making a big deal about it. Flame on.
Pop culture can be a funny thing. I don’t mean “Ha ha” funny, although that is also sometimes true. I mean funny as in a head-shaking “Ain’t that a bitch,” kind of way.
For example, yesterday I went to see Ted. I didn’t want to, but it was the Number One box office hit this weekend and my son, the genius, is doing a blog on the subject, and he was in town for the Del Close Marathon. It’s not a very good movie, in my opinion, but I’m not a huge fan of Seth McFarlane. He’s okay, and I will always support him because his work points out the blistering hypocrisy of our shared alma mater . And I like fart jokes more than the average little old Jewish lady.
Still, I found myself tearing up. Did the film have unexpected emotional depth? No. What it had was a million references to Flash Gordon.Flash Gordon is a terrible movie I saw in 1980 when it was released, with co-columnist Denny O’Neil. It was so deliberately and hilariously bad that I dragged my husband to see it immediately. We own it in at least two different formats. I got him a signed photo of Melody Anderson for an anniversary present. Over the years, we found more opportunities to exclaim “Not the bore worms!” than you would think could credibly arise.
We find each other through shared interests. I met my husband because we both admired Paul Krassner. We laughed at a lot of the same things. He wasn’t into comics, but we found common ground in our appreciation of R. Crumb and Gilbert Shelton’s Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. Our tastes weren’t the same, but I was not surprised when he liked Scott McCloud’s Zot!at least as much as I did.
What really bonded us, however, was seeing Pinocchio together at the Annecy Animation Festival. It was 1979, our first trip to Europe together. Annecy is a lovely little town in the French Alps. We were staying in a room in a charming small hotel that, when we went to take a nap with the window open, filled with cats.
Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnson were guests of the festival, and we got to hang out with them. I hadn’t seen Pinocchio since I was a child, and couldn’t remember the way it ended at all (too frightening). Watching it with John, seeing what a perfect film it was, made me love him even more.
Love is about a lot of things, but if you can’t share pleasure, there’s not much point to it.
Thank you, Seth McFarlane, for reminding me of those fun times. And also, the Ryan Reynolds cameo. That was great.
I know that normally I’m a pretty verbose guy. But you will excuse me if I am a bit shorter than normal this week. And next week. Maybe even the week after that. It’s not that I have laryngitis of the fingers, and it’s not that I don’t want to spend time dissecting Axel Alonso’s recent verbal smackdown of DC. It’s not that I don’t want to postulate on Marvel Now, and how I think it might effect the industry. It just happens to be Unshaven Comics’ crunch time.
