Category: Columns

MIKE GOLD On Criticism And Critics

Of all the characters Dan Ackroyd played on Saturday Night Live back when the show was actually funny and clever, my favorite was a guy named Leonard Pinth-Garnell, a tuxedoed teevee critic who hosted segments called, alternatively, Bad Playhouse, Bad Cinema, Bad Ballet, and so on. Whereas the premise was obvious, the ambiance was brilliant. Pinth-Garnell was an über-snob, the kind who pontificate with their noses so high up in the air you’d think they’d drown in a light drizzle.

Needless to say, damn near everybody who ever applied letters to opinions has a bit of Leonard Pinth-Garnell in him, her, or it. Some of us try to keep him locked up in a dark corner of our brainpans, but he keeps on popping up on our shoulder like the devil that torments Donald Duck, or, more to my point, Tom Hulce in Animal House.

Then the Internet came along and freed our inner-Pinth-Garnell. Now we had a forum where we could say anything. Of course, with great power comes great dues and we have to subject ourselves to comments from the masses. As I see from elsewhere on the Wild Wild Web – certainly not here at ComicMix, where I have come to regard our commenters as family – some responses can be quite abusive.

Well, what goes around comes around.

The problem with criticism is that, categorically, it’s like shooting ducks in a barrel. It’s simply too easy to criticize someone for doing something you didn’t like. Of course, when you do you’re pissing off all those people who did like your target. Doubtlessly, you are aware of the famous aphorism known as Sturgeon’s Law: “ninety percent of everything is crap.” This led to my own definition of a cynic: “he who believes Sturgeon was being conservative.”

Here’s something that confirms your suspicion: occasionally, some critics (never me, of course) often are exploiting their target so they can get their audience all riled up and generate a lot more page-site hits, which inure to the benefit of the advertising revenue. My dear friend, author Max Allan Collins, once referred to this technique as “tossing a hand grenade into the audience and then throwing your body on top of it,” and nobody does that with a bigger smile on his face than Mr. Collins, my generation’s version of Richard L. Breen.

Such criticism is among ComicMix’s raisons d’être. Whereas I do not impose these (or hardly any other) standards upon our sundry columnists and commenters, I strive to be informative in this acre of bandwidth. I like turning people on to cool stuff they might not have come across, or, better still, they were considering but hadn’t decided upon. Like all writers I admire a well-turned phrase, particularly my own. The reason why I never got a vanity plate is because back in my First Comics days Rick Oliver and I saw a car license that read “BLIND.” I can’t beat that one.

Occasionally, we all come across an unavoidable target: one so well promoted that commentary is necessary to preserve the greater societal sanity. This is often known as “the Emperor’s New Clothes,” or “What is Frank Miller doing next?”

Yeah, a little Leonard Pinth-Garnell every once in a while sure is good for the soul.

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil and Batwoman

 

MICHAEL DAVIS: The Greatest Story Never Told

I’m convinced that there comes a time in every creator’s career when he or she has that one project that becomes the project. Be they a writer, artist, photographer, director or whatever, there comes a time when said creator realizes without a shadow of a doubt that they have created their baby.

Their triumph. Their masterpiece.

This is the project that they will not compromise on. There will be no quarter given creatively; there will be no major changes to the premise no matter what.

At the many Static Shock pitch meetings at major television networks we were asked if we would consider many changes to the original bible, which I wrote. Some of those changes bothered me, like Static’s mom being killed in a drive-by. How fucking stereotypical was that shit? But as bullshit as I thought that was it wasn’t a deal killer.

At one high level network meeting the question was asked “How about if we make Static…white?”

I said, “How about I bang your wife?”

True story.

OK… almost a true story. I did not actually say the part about his wife. But the network executive did suggest we make Static a white kid, which to me was just as fucked up as me asking to bang his wife. I did think about responding to him with the wife thing but he had a photo of her on his desk and lets just say…ugh.

Many changes were made to the original Static bible. Some I thought were good many I thought sucked. The show was a different story. I thought the show worked on every level regardless of my personal feelings towards the changes to the original bible. Static Shock was handled wonderfully and I have nothing but good things to say about the show.

But Static Shock was not just my baby and I had little to do with the show once it was on the air. But, I do have a baby.

Actually, I have three babies…damn I’ve got the perfect black father joke but I’m going to let it pass… like child support.

My first baby is a project called The Adjuster. I created the Adjuster over ten years ago and twice it came very close to becoming a reality. I refuse to let the Adjuster go just to get it made. Nope. The deal has to be right. The company has to be right.

My second baby is called The Underground. It’s a Dark Horse project and has been for a few years. If by chance Mike Richardson is reading this I will have the book finished this year. It’s a major undertaking and I’m as anal as I am black so it’s been a labor of love and frustration for the last couple of years. But, Mike, to be fair, you took a while approving the story…and I’m still traumatized by the Comic Con incident. You know the one…

Those are my babies and I’m blessed to have the Dark Horse deal and excited about the future of The Adjuster but there is one project which I consider my masterpiece.  I won’t mention the title as it’s currently being considered at a major publisher but I will share with you its journey that is a festinating one. I’ll call it Project X.

In 1998 I had a vision of what I thought was the greatest idea I’ve ever had. The idea was so good it scared me. It scared me because those types of “great ideas” usually suck. It’s never a good idea to think that your idea is a great one.

People lie and the one person people lie to the most are themselves. You may not think it’s lying when you convince yourself that something is a good idea but if you have to convince yourself then to me that’s a lie. But this idea was such a good idea and I was convinced it was great. So, clearly I was lying to myself.

Clearly.

Or was I?

I decided to ask three of the best writers in the industry if they thought it was a good idea. I asked Keith Giffen, Lovern Kindzieski and David Quinn.

They all said it was a great idea. Not a good idea, a great idea. Keith Giffen called it one of the greatest ideas he’s ever heard.

That’s Keith Giffen who said that.

Keith Giffen.

THE Keith Giffen.

After telling those three guys, I ran it past Dwayne McDuffie. He said it was such a good idea he wanted to write it. Not bad eh?

So, with all that love from four of the best in the biz I decided to pitch the idea to DC Comics and I did.  And…I sold the idea.

In 1999 I pitched and sold the idea to DC Comics.

Then things got a bit crazy. Nope, a lot crazy.

End, Part 1!

WEDNESDAY: Mike Gold Outs Critics

 

MINDY NEWELL: Who Pays For The Watchmen?

Before I begin this week’s column, I need to correct an error from last week’s Music to Write By. Daughter Alixandra let me know that it’s Ewan Mcgregror who stars in Moulin Rouge, not Ethan Hawke.

Onward.

Unless you were vacationing in another dimension last week, you know that the Supreme Court heard arguments on the constitutionality of the individual mandate for heath insurance contained within the Affordable Care Act, popularly known – or “unpopularly,” depending on which side of the aisle you sit – as Obamacare.

Which got me to wondering about insurance for the übermenschen.

The cost of cleaning up after the supermen give each other black eyes – something that seems to occur on a daily basis in the various comics universes – must be astronomical for the city, state and federal governments in which these manos a manos take place. Not to mention the individual cost to the poor schlubs who either work or live in these battle zones.

Imagine what it’s like living in a world where the odds of getting caught in one of those battle zones is over 50%. There are all sorts of “pre-existing conditions” or “Acts of Superhero” clauses in insurance company contracts, otherwise they would be either constantly teetering on the brink of bankruptcy – or after just one good fight between Spider-Man and Doctor Octopus, out of business. Add another deduction for SBHI (Super Battle Health Insurance) and your paycheck is a joke. The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) offers “Fight Insurance” for those living in a “Fight Zone” – areas known to periodically sustain damage from the clashes between ultra-powered enemies.

By the way, why does anyone live in the Metropolis of DC or the New York City of Marvel?

What insurance do the superheroes and super villains carry?

I bet Stark Industries has a subsidiary that writes insurance for them in the Marvel Universe. I don’t think it makes money, probably loses money in fact, but accounting creatively writes it off as a business expense, and the rest of Stark Industries makes up for it anyway. And it wouldn’t surprise me that the company does a mean business in insuring the villains, either. After all, if Saudi Arabia can do business with Israel, why can’t Stark insure Magneto? Or perhaps Wilson Fisk has an insurance company among his holdings from which the bad guys can buy policies. With exorbitant premiums, of cause.

Harder to figure out how the übermenschen do it over in the DC universe. Perhaps the Justice League has incorporated itself and has created its own insurance carrier that it offers to the good guys. But I can’t see the JLA offering insurance to their evil doppelgangers – I don’t think they’re quite as business minded as they are over in the neighboring universe. Maybe Superman squeezes some coal now and then to make some diamonds to feed the pot. (But isn’t that illegal? Or is that like the Fed printing money?)

Who pays for the Watchmen?

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

JOHN OSTRANDER: Casablanca At 70 – We’ll Always Have Paris

AS I SAID LAST WEEK  AND THE WEEK BEFORE  – WARNING: I’m assuming that people reading this have seen the movie and thus will be fine with my discussing elements of the plot. If you’re one of those who haven’t watched the movie, do yourself a favor and DON’T READ THIS. See the movie instead and have your own experience with it. Trust me. You’ll be glad you did. If you need a plot synopsis, imdb has a good one here. 

Last time we met we were examining the film Casablanca, looking at it through story structure. I want to continue with that this week, working with the climax and the coda.

The climax of a story is the scene beyond which you can’t imagine any other. It resolves all major conflicts (although some minor ones can be reconciled in the coda, which is the last scene of the story). So… is the climax in Casablanca when Ilsa goes away with her husband? It would seem so, wouldn’t it? That’s the major question that’s been driving the film.

I’d like to offer an alternative answer by first asking a question – whose story is it? Who is the protagonist, the central character by whom and by whose actions the rest of the story is driven? It’s Rick’s, both by his refusal to help earlier in the film and by his actions as we race towards the climax.

For me, the real story isn’t Rick and Ilsa although it is an important, vital element in the story. Rick is emotionally dead at the start of the film; he doesn’t care about anyone or anything. Burned, scarred emotionally, he’s closed off from caring about anyone or any cause again. The most alive we see him is in the Paris flashbacks, in love, knowing the Gestapo will come looking for him when the Germans march into the city.

Paris is the symbol of life, of Rick being fully alive. Ilsa tells Rick about halfway through the film that she can’t explain what happened to him; the Rick she knew in Paris would understand but not the Rick that he has become. Late in the movie, Paris comes up again – Rick tells Ilsa that now, as a result of everything that has happened in the movie, they’ll always have Paris. He didn’t have it – he was dead – until she came to Casablanca but now they both will. He’s alive again.

The climax of Casablanca is when Rick shoots Strasser, knowing what the consequences will be for him and willing to pay the price. It’s the only way he can be sure that Ilsa will escape. He escapes his fate only because Captain Renaud, the corrupt French official who is also his friend, covers for him with “Round up the usual suspects.”

The coda is all about the final image and/or line; it’s what you want the audience to have in their minds as they leave. Casablanca has one of the best I’ve seen in films. Rick and Renaud, walking side by side away from us, through rain puddles, towards a life with the Resistance. The tag line, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship” is simply one of most memorable lines in all of cinema. It’s all the more amazing when you discover that it was added at the last moment, dubbed by Bogart after filming was completed. What an indelible final image!

Serendipity played more than a small part in making Casablanca the classic that it is. We’ll talk more about that next time.

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

 

 

MARC ALAN FISHMAN: Tales from My Art Table – The Soundtrack

Because I no longer profess to have original thoughts, I’ve taken a liking to riffing off a topic suggested by other ComicMix columnists. This week, the lucky Ms. Mindy Newell  inspired my topic du jour. As I discussed last week, I’ve been a serious artist since high school. When I was faced with two years worth of assignments in a single school year, I was chained to the art table basically every night. My art-desk was just a dining room table, so for me the creative process started more with a mindset than a setting. An artist’s area is a second home, a place where creativity blooms and technical proficiency is honed with each successive piece. Nothing gets me into this place quicker than music.

I can point to the soundtrack of my high school days and how it lead me to the canvas… or Bristol board, or god knows what else I was drawing on. Discs in heavy rotation? Tonic’s self-titled debut was a biggie. Reel Big Fish’s Why Do They Rock So Hard was always a quick pick-me-up. Guster’s Lost and Gone Forever carried enough personal anthems that I ended up making a piece of art about it. And of course, my long-standing stalwarts – Barenaked Ladies and They Might Be Giants – were never far behind a studio session. When Matt started dating girls, leaving me wondering what the hell was wrong with me (Answer? No Beard.), I found solace in Marilyn Manson’s Antichrist Superstar and a 10-minute stint as a psuedo-goth. Oddly enough, being sad and angry all the time never worked out for the natural comedian in me. Thank Gordon for Barenaked Ladies.

During this time too, Matt and I (when he wasn’t kanoodling with the ladies) would have an occasional studio night. Generally his house. He’d bring down the boom box, plug it in, and we’d toss in some long running discs, and recreate the atmosphere cultivated in the art room at school. Dave Mathews and Tim Reynold’s Live at Luther College, Rage Against the Machine, a little Guster, and maybe Sting’s Mercury Falling… and the paint, pencils, and bonding of brothers began.

My taste in music was (and still is) pretty kooky to say the least. While I’m by no means a staunch follower of rap, metal, grunge, bluegrass, or soul music… I do have a handful of artists in all those genres that I follow methodically. Trust me, a view of my guilty pleasures list on Spotify is truly vomit-inducing to most. Unlike many of the fine folks writing here… I was right on the cusp of the shuffle generation. And while the first 18 years of my music-loving was dependent on the ‘Album,’ by college, I was picking and choosing tracks to enjoy (unless it was from a band I’d already found a love for). But I digress… This column is supposed to be about the correlation between my music and my art.

In college, I found the first medium to really speak to me – woodcut. A combination of graphic layout and meticulous process led me to an epiphany of sorts. At a piece of plywood, I found a zen-like state where I could just put my hands to a task, let music pour into my ears, and when the haze lifted, art was made. During this time, my CD player had long been ditched for a first generation iPod. All 4 GB were crammed to the brim with tracks gleaned from my own collection, and some acquired from the file-sharing sites that were all-too-popular at the time. My personal policy was to only appropriate music from artists I’d already owned something from… or tracks I liked enough to listen to repeatedly, but not support the band financially. Sorry, Dakota Moon… you’re not worth my buck.

Tunes of the time ranged from Eminem’s B-Sides, BNL’s Maroon, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication and Red Hot Minute… to wuss rock from John Mayer and Ben Folds. All of them piped to my fingers, amidst a mountain of wood shavings. The art attached to this piece shows off the culmination of that work. 16 panels, 10 feet tall, 18 months worth of hard work, completed through 4,000 songs on continuous play.

Nowadays, I jump between online services that pump tunes to me on the cheap (at the trade-off of intermittent commercials), or a shuffling of my iTunes. Occasionally I’ll feel a twinge of nostalgia, and I’ll toss on Sting’s Ten Summoners Tales, and just go to town. Sadly, I’ve not done a woodcut since college… but have found a true love and calling in both graphic design, and comic book making. And nowadays when I’m not buried with freelance work, day job work, or baby and wife tending… I toss on some noise canceling headphones, crank up the shuffle, and start drawing my nights away.

And yeah, Mindy… Sometimes I listen to Glee, too.

SUNDAY: John Ostrander Always Has Paris

 

MARTHA THOMASES: Hunger Games – Black Like Thee?

This column is going to get to its point in a roundabout way. If you want to get right to the incendiary arguing, skip ahead a few paragraphs. However, once you get there, you may find spoilers for The Hunger Games. Be prepared.

For the rest of you, I have a story to tell. When I was a girl of 10, I had a dog, Nancy. Before she died 11 years later, she and I had many heart-to-heart talks, where I would talk and then imagine what she would say to me.

We had a lot in common, in that we were both female and living in the Midwest. However, at some point, I realized that I was assuming we were even more alike. I thought she loved the Smothers Brothers and the Incredible String Band as much as I did. I thought she was against the war in Viet Nam. I thought she spoke English.

And I thought she was white.

I mean, she was white, except for her head, which was red and brown. Still, this was fur, not skin. It took me a while to recognize my assumptions as racist.

Some of this is how the human brain works. When someone says the word mother, I imagine my own mother. If I read a book with a first-person narrator, I assume the narrator is a middle aged New York woman like myself until the author establishes other characteristics.

Which brings me to my real subject. When I read The Hunger Games last month, I paid attention to the descriptions of the various characters. Sometimes the descriptions, all from the perspective of the narrator, Katniss, merely stated a person’s gender, or hair and eye color. Sometimes the descriptions offered more detail.

The character of Rue is one who inspires more detail. She is small and slight, like Katniss’ sister. She is shy, but smart and good at hiding. Her hair and eyes are dark.

So is her skin.

When I read the book, one of the fun things for me was to try to figure out which territories of Panem corresponded to which parts of the United States. Katniss lived in an area full of coal mines, so I figured she lived in Appalachia. Rue lives in a place that is warm and humid, a place where everyone works in agriculture. I imagined Florida, and maybe her ancestry was African-American with maybe some Cuban.

Apparently, some readers did not pay that much attention. After the movie opened last weekend to record-setting crowds, the Twitterverse was inundated with postings by people who were upset by the casting of a dark-skinned actress to play the part of Rue. There were so many complaints that there is a Tumblr site dedicated to recording all of the posts (which I found via this, so thanks!).

Now, I am not always a fan for color-blind casting. I didn’t like it when they talked about Marlon Wayans for Robin in the Tim Burton Batman movies, although I would like to believe that’s because I didn’t think he was right for the part. I thought making Jimmy Olson black, which was under discussion for a time, was kind of arbitrary and therefore a bit condescending. Both one these opinions may represent a layer of racism I haven’t yet exorcised.

But when an author takes the time and effort to specify a character’s ethnicity, I believe her.

I don’t know who these Twitter posters are, or what kind of lives they lead. I don’t know their opinions on other subjected. I haven’t even seen the movie yet.  In any case, Rue is lucky that she doesn’t live in their neighborhoods. Or walk around in a hoodie with Skittles.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman Jumps On Mindy Newell’s Bandwagon 

DENNIS O’NEIL: Ode To John Carter

Let the laments commence; it’s official – John Carter is a flop. Looks like the movie’s makers will take a $200,000,000 bath.

We finally trekked north to the monsterplex and settled ourselves to witness a showing of the flop before anyone was certain of its flophood. We did, and we left the theater and got into Mari’s car and drove south and were home.

We’d seen the film. And felt very little. We’d seen it and there didn’t seem to be a whole lot more to say.

Why?

Leaving the theater, I wasn’t irritated, or insulted. If I wanted to write a quibbly review I probably could – look ye hard and ye can find garbage, brethren; yeah, the writing was flattish and somehow the fabricated world seemed to be just a jot too fabricated. But nothing on the screen was godawful. The shots were in focus. The effects were okay. The acting was serviceable, except for that of Lynn Collins, whose performance was pretty interesting. (What would she do with Lady MacBeth?) The rest of it was what it was and –

Maybe that’s my problem. What it was was a heaping of déjà vu. I wonder how I would have enjoyed the flick if I hadn’t seen Star Wars in all its manifestations. I guess I can no longer be entertained by cinematic spectacle movies merely as spectacle, even when it’s in 3D. I’m sated with exploding spacecraft and after the baddies did in a whole planet in the first Star Wars…well, pretty hard act to follow, no?

Like a kid who’s been taken to one magic show to many, I’m jaded. (Another friggin’ rabbit?)

Here’s a scenario wrapped in a question: What if a temporal glitch moved John Carter back in time…oh, say, 65 years – moved it to the screen of a small neighborhood picture show (and there were a lot of them, back then.) The stuff we take for granted – exploding planets and the like–would have been absolutely astonishing because nobody would have ever seen anything remotely like it. What effect would seeing even a reel or two of a modern sci-fi film have on the minds of those who paid their money to see Dick Tracy’s Dilemma? (And isn’t that Joe O’Neil’s kid in the third row?) Would they immediately start a new religion? Would they go collectively bonkers? Or would they all go into a fugue state from which they would emerge only after Dick Tracy had reclaimed the screen and when they got home remember only Dick, believing that nothing had interrupted the detective’s pursuit of The Claw?

But wait! How do we know that this didn’t happen?

Allow me one more speculation: What if the memory of the time traveling flick wasn’t entirely erased, but survived as a nugget deep deep deep in some subconscious, a nugget that influenced the life of its host and drove him into a degraded life of writing science fiction and comic books? Wouldn’t that be strange? But – wouldn’t it explain an awful lot?

Wouldn’t it? Oh good lord in heaven..wouldn’t it?

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

MIKE GOLD: The Only Thing To Fear Is…

I just read the penultimate issue of Marvel’s Fear Itself miniseries. This means that next month, April, should maybe possibly mark the end of their big 2011 crossover event, also titled Fear Itself. It started a year ago. Longer, if you add the event implants.

The Fear Itself storyline has several epilogues – the Shattered Heroes books, sundry miniseries as well as this particular 12 part miniseries. It ends next month, right in time for the Avengers vs. X-Men event. In total, if you wanted to read the whole thing, you’d be reading something in the neighborhood of 135 separate comic book issues.

All this leaves me with one question: does anybody give a damn?

Like the overwhelming majority of big event crossover series, Fear Itself was pretty lightweight. Yeah, yeah, death, resurrection, worlds shattered, nothing will ever be the same again, and Ben Ulrich updates his résumé. Blah blah blah. If you haven’t read any of this and you are undaunted after considering this task, let me make two suggestions.

One: You do not pile all these books up on your lap. Particularly the hardcover editions. They will crush you, physically and spiritually.

Two: You might want to consider reading the Esperanto edition of James Joyce’s Ulysses instead. You only have so much time in life; go for the gusto.

O.K. I’ve been railing against endless phony dull event stunts for over a decade, but even if Fear Itself was among the best, it went on far too long. We have entered the era of the never-ending event, where one seamlessly segues into the next. Not only are these stories trivial and redundant (Norman Osborn’s back? Really? Next you’ll tell me they didn’t kill off Captain America or the Human Torch!), they no longer deserve the honorific “story.” A story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. A story has at least one climax, and a payoff that justifies your participation. These are qualities that are now lacking in mainstream event comics.

More fool I. As I’ve stated, I’ve been bitching about this for a long time. Yet most of these never-ending tales start off quite well and I get sucked in. Probably the best part of DC’s New 52 is that it wipes out or ignores most of their previous events. Probably the worst part of DC’s New 52 is that, eventually, they’ll do their own big event series – undoubtedly under the pretense of explaining everything that they “decided” not to explain in the individual 52 titles.

If history is any guide, in this they will fail miserably. I’m not knocking the abilities of the writers, artists, editors and editorial directors involved: the odds are overwhelmingly against them. It’s like writing a completely original episode of The Simpsons: after 500+ episodes, good luck with that. However, I am knocking the abilities of the publishers and the marketing executives who take such a short-term view of their bottom line.

I’ve said it before, and unfortunately I’ll have to say it again: What do you say, guys? Let’s try going back to simply producing great stories! You know, it just might work!

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil

 

MICHAEL DAVIS: Game Change

I’ve seen the light.

I’ve seen the future of comics.

I had a meeting yesterday with a company that is going to change the game on the net and can change for comics and creators. I’ve haven’t been this excited since I was 17 and my very first real girlfriend Yvonne Stallworth said, “My parents won’t be home until the morning.”

At 17you know what that means, right fellas?

Poon tang…yeah.

Or in my case spending the night saying; “Please…please…please.”  Before you think I was begging for poon tang; “Please, Please, Please” is the title of a James Brown song I was singing… as I was begging for poon tang.

I can’t talk about the company or what they are doing…no that’s not true, I can talk about it but I’m hedging my bets just in case I’m wrong…which, by the way, I’m not.

That way if they crash and burn I’m protected and if they succeed I’m golden!

All the above said, I’m at a lost as to what was the last game changing moment in comics.

I guess it was the New 52 from DC.

I guess.

I’m not sure because to say something is a game changer is a big deal. Because it’s such a big deal I started thinking, what does it take to be a real game changer?

This is what I came up with. Areal game changer is a person or event that creates a new way of looking at things and years later that way has become the way.

So, with my personal criteria noted what follows are what I consider the most important game change decisions or people who have done so since I’ve been reading comics. You may disagree and if so feel free to amend, add or challenge some or all of my choices.

This list is in NO particular order.

  • Todd McFarlane’s Spider-Man
  • Image Comics
  • Jack Kirby
  • Stan Lee
  • Dwayne McDuffie
  • First Comics
  • Mike Gold
  • Milestone Media
  • Death of Captain Marvel
  • Death of Superman
  • The New 52
  • The iPad
  • The Killing Joke
  • Crisis on Infinite Earths
  • Secret Wars
  • Death of Barry Allen
  • Neil Gaiman’s Sandman
  • Neil Gaiman
  • Kirby’s fourth world
  • Death of Gwen Stacy
  • Dave McKean
  • Bill Sienkiewicz
  • San Diego Comic Con International
  • Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles
  • Alan Speiegal
  • Arkham Asylum
  • Paul Levitz
  • Jenette Kahn
  • Axel Alonzo
  • Howard Chaykin
  • Dark Horse
  • Mike Richardson
  • Len Wein
  • Marv Wolfman
  • The A.P.E convention
  • John Jennings

Like I said the above list is in no particular order. Don’t send me comments about McFarlane being before Stan Lee, the list is in no particular order.

Duh.

Now. Have at it!

WEDNESDAY: Mike Gold

 

MINDY NEWELL: Music To Write By

Every writer has his or her way of settling down to write. Mine is to bring a Diet Pepsi and a pack of Salem cigarettes – yeah, yeah, I know… my bad – to my computer desk. Oh, yeah, and slipping in a CD.

Here’s the dope.

I’m pretty much out of the loop when it comes to music.

On the radio I listen to our local NPR (I love everything about that station); the local CBS sports station (especially during the football season – and during the past two or three weeks, the Peyton Manning-Tim Tebow-Mark Sanchez drama here in New York City has mesmerized me); WRL-1600 AM (the progressive station that took over for Air America here); occasionally WWOR-710 AM (though the station has moved too far to the right for my tastes – at least they got rid of Lou Dobbs!); and CBS’s “oldies” station when I’m commuting.  I also play my CD’s, which are eclectic to say the least – the soundtrack to Buffy The Vampire Slayer’s musical episode, Once More With Feeling; a lot of Sinatra; the soundtracks to Yentl and South Pacific; a lot of Beatles; Michael Jackson’s Thriller; The Greatest Hits Of Diana Ross and The Supremes; and a great mix of punk, alternative rock, jazz, and Ethan Hawke singing Your Song from Moulin Rouge (which is amazing) that my daughter made me that she called Rod Stewart Sucks,because she knows I like him. Here’s the problem – I groove to all the songs on that CD, but except for the aforementioned Your Song by Hawke, and Midnight Train To Georgia, I’m hard pressed to tell you the names of the songs and the groups who perform them. I’m not even sure of the name of the song that Etta James performs on the CD – I think it’s I’d Rather Be Lonely (Than Be With Somebody Else), but I’m not sure – and it’s one of my favorites.

My musical tastes when writing are equally weird. I listen to soundtracks.

Right now I have the soundtrack to Ben-Hur playing at full volume. (It was composed by Miklos Rozsa, whom I had to look up on Google to discover that he won three Academy Awards – for Double Indemity, Spellbound, and Ben-Hur – and also composed the music for The Lost Weekend, The Jungle Book, The Thief Of Baghdad, Ivanhoe and Lust For Life, to name just a few others.) I find the music of Ben-Hur inspiring, poignant, thrilling/ It’s romantic in its classical sense, meaning that the pieces are passionate and expressive.

Other orchestral soundtracks that inspire me, take me into the heart of my characters or my theme – and this isn’t the complete list – are:

  • The Last Of The Mohicans – which, by the way, was also a favorite of “My Friend Kim”
  • Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back
  • Superman
  • ET The Extraterrestrial
  • Amadeus
  • The Godfather (I and II)
  • The Winds Of War and War And Remembrance
  • Angel (the television series).

I also listen to musical soundtracks. I love that the songs are expressions of emotions and perplexities, which is why I write. I especially love Rodgers and Hammerstein. Lerner and Lowe ain’t bad either. And then there’s Sondheim. Some examples:

  • Carousel
  • South Pacific
  • Brigadoon
  • The King and I
  • Oklahoma!
  • West Side Story
  • Moulin Rouge
  • Funny Girl
  • Glee (every season)

Just put on the second CD to Ben-Hur. I gotta write a paper for school.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

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