The Mix : What are people talking about today?

Mindy Newell: Baby Mine

Baby mine, don’t you cry. / Baby mine, dry your eyes. / Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, / Baby of mine. • From Walt Disney’s “Dumbo”(1941), Words and Lyrics by Frank Churchill and Ned Washington

So Donna Troy is coming back.

Only this isn’t the vibrant, intelligent, powerful, and oh-so-very human – with all the foibles and strengths inherent in homo sapiens – young woman that I came to know and love back in the day when Marv Wolfman and George Pérez created and collaborated on The New Teen Titans.

This is a Donna created through the teamwork of Meredith and David Finch, who has been granted life through the dark arts, through black magic, and as she rises naked from the brewing miasma of a black cauldron, and so we react with fear and horror, our intrinsic fear of human sacrifice, blood ritual, and “unnatural” life causing us to recoil in horror and to whisper a psalm of David, to cross ourselves in supplication to God, to ward off this, this thing with shaking hands making patterns in the air, signs and symbols as ancient and as useless as our dead forefathers who huddled in fear on the plains of Africa as the light left the world and the darkness arose.

This thing is something forged in fire and brimstone. This thing is evil personified. This thing is wickedness beyond redemption.

This thing is sin come to life.

Yet once there was a woman, whose soul was dying from longing. Yet once there was a woman whose arms reached to hold nothing but empty air. Yet once there was a woman whose life was desolate with the silence of her home. And so this woman prayed to her gods for relief from this sorrowful existence, begged them to release her from her solitary misery.

She fasted in repentance; she washed only enough to ward off evil odor; and she put off wearing colors and smooth satins and silk, and dressed herself in haircloth and solemn hues. She ate sparingly, only enough to keep her alive, and took the bounties of her kitchen to the sick and needy among her sisters. And yet, for so long that Queen Hippolyta of Themiscrya lost track of the days, months, and years of her travail, the gods were silent.

And her Amazons whispered behind her back, and some thought that she must be overthrown, for she was mad, they said, and death will come to us all in following her, as surely as it did to the daughters of King Cecrops of Athens, who threw themselves from the Acropolis, or into the sea. But others calmed them, saying that the melancholia in their queen’s heart would find respite in their loyalty.

Then, one night the queen had a dream. Hermes, the messenger of the gods, came to her and whispered instructions into her ear. “Do not speak of this to anyone,” the winged herald said. “For if you do the gods will turn away from you and your life, such as it is, will continue in solitude as you watch your sisters and this paradise come to enmity and fall into entropy and chaos.

That morning the queen bathed once again in the milk of heifers, and had her attendants clothe her in the magnificence that was her due. She perfumed herself with the musk of roses and broke her fast with jellied eels and warm bread, and once again slaked her thirst with the waters of the Pool of Life. Her attendants asked her many questions, but, remembering the words of Hermes, she silenced them and sent them away.

Alone now, Hippolyta made her way to the shores of Paradise Island, where in a hidden cove she stripped herself of her finery. Naked, the queen made absolution to the gods, smearing her face with the mud of the ocean, and also over her womb and breasts. She knelt in the wet sand, and from that same mud formed the figure of a newborn babe.

And she prayed, repeating the words that Hermes had whispered in her dream.

The sky darkened and night fell upon Themiscrya, though it was noon. A cold wind blew and Hippolyta shivered as it battered her naked body. She looked up into the sky and saw that Selene, the goddess of the moon, had eclipsed Helios, the god of the sun, for this was the time of woman.

She looked back down upon the clay figure, and as she did so, she felt her breasts suddenly grow heavy and milk leaked from her nipples. A great pain spasmed through her loins and up into her uterus, and the queen lay down, crying out in a moment of fear as her legs drew up over her stomach and something moved within her body. For what seemed a lifetime Hippolyta lay there on the beach, wracked with pain, unable to stir afraid, sure that she was being punished for her arrogance in not accepting the fate woven for her by the Morai.

“Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, forgive me,” she groaned. “Forgive my presumption. Allow me to live to serve you and my Amazons.”

There was no answer.

And then there was a light, such a bright golden radiance, so that Hippolyta closed her eyes against it. And there were two voices.

“Do not be afraid, daughter,” said Leto, the goddess of motherhood.

“I am with you, as I am with all women at their time,” said Eileithya, the goddess of childhood.

Hippolyta opened her eyes. The goddesses, bathed in a glow that had no earthly source, stood before her.

“We have heard your prayers,” said Leto.

“And they are answered,” said Eilethya.

Suddenly the queen felt as if a great chariot lay at the doorway of her secret place, that place where no man had touched in so long. She felt, rather than saw, the two goddesses kneel on either side of her, then one was behind her and pushing her up into a sitting position, but taking the weight of Hippolyta upon herself. Opening her eyes, Hippolyta saw the other – was it Eilethya? – crouch before her, a blanket of silver cotton in her hands. “You must push now,” said the goddess. “Lean again Leto. She will be your rock.”

Hippolyta felt as though she was falling off a great cliff. From high above her, she heard the goddesses speak. Their brightness was as a pinprick in the darkness starting to envelop her.

“She will be the greatest of the Amazons, a gift not only to yourself, but to the world, for it is to the world she will belong.”

“A great warrior against the darkness, yet her soul and heart will be full of love,” said Eilethya. “All the glories and gifts of all the gods and goddesses of Olympus will be hers.”

“Her name will be Diana,” said Leto.

Warm salt water was in her nose and her mouth, and Hippolyta sat up with a start. The sun was warm on her hair and shoulders; it was noon, judging from the position of the sun; she was still in the cove, with only the sound of the surf and the cry of seagulls for company. Why had she come here? She had a memory of covering her face and parts of her body with mud, but reaching up to her cheek, there was nothing there except for a few wet grains of sand. She lifted her gown, which was soggy with ocean water. Her body was clean except for a few stray pieces of seaweed on her belly.

The queen shuddered. Had there truly been an eclipse? Had she dreamed it all? Or was she, as she knew many whispered, truly mad?

No.

That wasn’t the sound of seagulls.

A baby was crying somewhere.

But there had been no babies born in Themiscrya for millennia, not since the last children were born to those Amazons who had been raped by the men of Greece and Sparta in that terrible final war. A war which had led Queen Hippolyta – she herself raped by Hercules, though no child had resulted – to lead those surviving sisters who were willing to turn their back on what came to be known as “Man’s World” to Paradise. The immortal island.

The baby – if that was what it was–was still crying. Hippolyta followed the sound with her eyes.

There. Just where the surf met the sand. Something was lying there. Shakily, Hippolyta rose to her feet.

As she did so, she felt a warm gush of liquid spurt from her breasts, staining her gown. And a trickle of blood slid down her inner thigh. As if….

She stared down at the baby. It had black hair, black like the waters of the River Styx, and eyes were a strange green-blue, reflecting the color of the Aegean Sea where it met the Mesogeios.

The queen picked up the infant, who was wrapped in a blanket of very fine and very soft silver.

“Diana,” Hippolyta whispered.

The baby found the mother’s nipple, and nursed.

 

Mike Gold: Jack Davis, We Truly Knew Ye

Jack Davis FrankensteinRelax. This isn’t an obituary. It’s bad news, but it’s not an obituary. And that’s the good news.

First, the headline. Legendary cartoonist Jack Davis decided to retire. One of the very last of the EC artists, one of the very best of the Mad Magazine artists and a man whose work graced hundreds of TV Guide and Time Magazine covers and movie posters and record albums and books finally decided that, after 90 years on this planet, it’s time to call it a career.

We kick the word “legendary” around a lot, but here the word is not rich enough to convey the quality and the width and breadth of his work. Jack is best known for his satirical illustrations, but he was equally gifted in storytelling. His comic book work includes most all genres – science fiction, westerns, war stories, horror, sports… and that’s just his stuff for EC Comics.

jack-davis-5823714Second, the personal story. Some time ago, I was sitting at a massive table at New York’s Society of Illustrators with a bunch of other people, folks who were actually talented. We were judging a humor in illustration contest, and we discussed each entry. For me, this was akin to going to college. To the right of me sat Jack Davis. Not to put down any of the other gifted folks at the table, but damnit, I was sitting next to Jack Davis! He turned to me and made a comment that seemed to me like a sound effect from Charlie Brown’s parents. All I could think of was “how the hell did I get to be here?”

Actually, that’s the polite version. I might have been drooling, but if so, Jack could have drawn it better.

Finally, the clever Jack Davis anecdote. It’s one of the more famous, and it deserves to be repeated. Jack Davis was, and may still be, an inveterate golfer. I am told it is an addiction. One day he was teeing up and was reminded by a companion that he was right on deadline. Jack stopped, walked over to the golf cart, whipped out his pen and found something upon which to work and he drew the assignment right there on the cart!

As an editor, I cannot begin to tell you how much I admire that level of professionalism… not to mention his sense of priorities. He didn’t slow the game down at all, as his foursome had yet to complete the hole.

When called for a comment, Jack told Wired Magazine “I’m not satisfied with the work. I can still draw, but I just can’t draw like I used to.” Yeah, well, the rest of us could never draw like you used to, Jack, and I’ll bet my last barbecue brisket sandwich that your work today remains top drawer.

My dear friend Mark Wheatley said we knew this day was going to come, and of course he’s right about that. It happens to us all, probably. But, damn, I’ve spent an entire lifetime enjoying his career and now I can no longer live in denial.

Thanks, Jack. You are a master and your work will live long after the last tree is pulped.

 

The Point Radio: Alicia Witt’s Real Christmas Story

Since the age of nine, actress Alicia Witt has dazzled us with her work in JUSTIFIED, MR HOLLAND’S OPUS and CYBILL. Again this year, she has a holiday project with The Hallmark Channel but also a new Christmas(!) song that might be the most honest one yet. She explains how she really isn’t a Grinch all the time. Plus both Andrea Roth and Tricia Helfer reveal why you should be locked onto ASCENSION on SyFy all this week.

THE POINT covers it 24/7! Take us ANYWHERE on ANY mobile device (Apple or Android). Just  get the free app, iNet Radio in The  iTunes App store – and it’s FREE!  The Point Radio  – 24 hours a day of pop culture fun. GO HERE and LISTEN FREE  – and follow us on Twitter @ThePointRadio.

Emily S. Whitten: ‘Tis the Season…

…For the Winter Blargh, that is. I don’t know why, but it seems inevitable that at least once a winter I get struck down by the Blargh. Sometimes it’s just for a couple of days. This year’s has been particularly harsh, as it’s been over a week and symptoms are still lingering.

So, alas, my energy levels are a bit low, and my wit is not sparkling or even really sparking right now, and when Neuron 1 in my brain says to Neuron 2, “It is time to think of exciting things to write about,” Neuron 2 says, “What? I’m sorry, I can’t think about anything at all except maybe my primary occupation of Staring Blankly At Things While Considering All The Stuff I’m Not Getting Done As The Holidays Rush Towards Me.” And then I cough.

However, just because I’m a little blah doesn’t mean you need to be! So in lieu of my usual writing, here is my version of Season’s Greetings From DC, a.k.a. a link to the <a href=”

Band’s Holiday Flash Mob 2014 at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum. I’ve never gotten to see it in person (yet!) but it’s pretty cool. So enjoy!

And until next time, Servo Lectio!

Box Office Democracy: “Exodus: Gods and Kings”

Exodus: Gods and Kings is a throwback to another era of filmmaking, a time when Hollywood was obsessed with sweeping epics and the infamous “cast of thousands” drawing people to the theater to see the sheer spectacle of it all. While there’s certainly no shortage of spectacle at the multiplexes these days Exodus feels less like a loving throwback and more like a lumbering dinosaur, it’s feels like a movie from a different era for sure but I would much prefer it felt like something I’d never seen than something that bored my in middle school. It wastes a talented cast and some stunning visuals but just ultimately feels pointless.

The problems in Exodus all come back to problems with the protagonist. Moses does not resemble the character I remember from Sunday school; he’s a brilliant general and a peerless swordsman to name two new characteristics. None of this newfound character badassery is of any use at all to the story though as all of the work of liberating the Hebrew slaves from their bondage is done by God. God even specifically calls out Moses’ ineptitude when his plan of guerilla warfare will take too long. The main character has nothing to do with any of the successes or failures in the main plot past the very first section of the movie and so there’s very little investment in the outcome especially when you consider that literally everyone in the audience knows how this story ends.

Ridley Scott is a fantastic director and he has made a beautiful movie. He makes the ten plagues feel so big and so horrible the mini-montages are practically worth the price of admission themselves. They show a level of craft and an eye for cinema that comes from a superb director, I have no doubt that most other people would have made worse choices and produced something that felt either overdone or campy. Unfortunately outside of the plague scenes the movie looks just a little too much like Gladiator for my taste. These old suits of armor and the massive armies don’t feel fresh to me; they feel like Scott is trying to use an old shorthand to connect to his audience. It feels just a touch too lazy and lazy is never a word I would have used about Ridley Scott before.

I feel it’s important to touch upon the race issues in the film because if anything I think they’re being underreported. Yes, all of the principle characters in the film are played by white people and that’s horrible but it’s really telling where they decided where it was ok to case people of color: the wives of Moses and Ramses. In these roles they cast an Iranian and a Spanish woman and exoticized them as much as they possibly could. These women have the darkest skin of almost anyone in the movie and with that comes an elevated level of sexualization. Nefertari is only seen in bed and Zipporah does this repeated bit of weird sexual gatekeeping. It’s the worst racial choice in a movie full where dozens of white people wear makeup to appear browner. It’s profoundly disappointing.

REVIEW: The Maze Runner

maze-runner-blu-ray-cover-53The migration of young adult dystopias from bookshelf to silver screen has been a mixed bag, some being incredibly faithful, some less so. However, we have reached a point where these depressing, unrealistic worlds have saturated the screen category to the point where they seem cut from the same pattern. Now, I admit, far too many films adhere to the predictable three act structure but in this sub-genre, the seams are far more obvious with a lot less variety. As a result, it befalls to the producer and director to find a way to be interesting.

Maze Runner 1This fall we welcomed the latest contestant in this competition and The Maze Runner, based on the novel trilogy by James Dashner, wins points for atmosphere. After that, it is stunningly dull. In this near-future world, some great solar flames have laid waste to most of the world. As a result, a disease known as the Flare has continued to thin humanity and a dedicated group has taken it upon themselves to spend countless billions designing and building a maze to test selected teenagers to see who is a good candidate for the cure. Or something like that.

Maze Runner 2We don’t learn a lot of this until the final minutes of the movie and the majority of the time is devoted to the teens trapped within the maze. A new one arrives once a month, coming laden with fresh supplies to sustain the group. The massive door to the maze opens on a schedule and over the years, they have tried to map the ever-changing configuration in order to get free. Of course, it’s not that simple with huge, mechanical beasties chasing them.

Enter Thomas (Dylan O’Brien), the latest arrival, who at first lacks his immediate memories, including his own name, part of the process of transition it appears. The largely anonymous gang shows him the ropes and before you know it; his very presence seems to have upended the “natural” order of things. And before too much longer, the one and only girl Teresa (Kaya Scodelario) arrives with a note saying she is the last.

the-maze-runner-still-01The screenplay from Noah Oppenheim, Grant Pierce Myers, and T.S. Nowlin spends far too little time on developing the characters or their Lord of the Flies existence. What do they do between maze runnings? There’s no sense of sports, arts, warfare….anything. There are rules and there appear to be factions but only when they need to serve the story. We’re left following Thomas as he navigates the gang and the maze, accompanied by Teresa. A girl surrounded by a bunch of teenagers who haven’t seen a female in years and no one tries to befriend, touch, kiss, or romance her? Absurd. The flat emotional tone, except for utter terror, robs the film of energy and blame goes to director Wes Ball who, in his debut, seemed more interested in the atmosphere and effects than the characters.

The film has been released as a digital download from 20th Century Home Entertainment and will be out on disc Tuesday. The digital picture is swell along with the sound and it comes with the full array of special features to be found on the Blu-ray disc. (I still dislike watching movies at my desk but maybe I’m just behind the times.)

These include Deleted Scenes (with optional Audio Commentary by Ball), none of which address my issues with the story. There’s a worthy five-part Navigating The Maze: The Making of The Maze Runner, with some interesting behind-the-scenes tidbits; The “Chuck Diaries”; Gag Reel; Visual Effects Reels and Ball’s short film Ruin. The Audio Commentary by Ball and Nowlin is pretty straight-forward. There are two nicely produced Digital Comics that build out the world just a bit.

John Ostrander: TV Midterm Report Card

Well, we’re now in the Christmas doldrums for TV. The regular series are on hiatus until January or later. A couple of columns ago I discussed which shows I was anticipating or not (So How Was It For You?) and this seems a good time to revisit them and give my evaluations.

Warning: there may be spoilers sprinkled here and there. You have been warned.

The Flash – my favorite in this group. Grant Gustin is doing good work as Barry Allen/The Flash and the supporting cast is good. The writing is also first rate and they keep adding little nods to DC continuity that pleases the Old Fan in me.

Grade: A

The Blacklist – The show has kept my attention and James Spader as main character/anti-hero Red Reddington is worth watching all by himself. I thought the premise would get old fast but I find it holding up.

Grade: A-

Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. – The show has gotten a lot more complicated and more imbedded in Marvel continuity. Is that a good thing? Depends on your own taste. More characters have been added but a few were killed off in the finale. They’re taking a hiatus until March and, in its place they’re bringing in Agent Carter. It’ll pick up Captain America’s “best girl,” Peggy Carter, played by Hayley Atwell in a series about the founding of S.H.I.E.L.D. It takes place after the events of the first Captain America film. The two series appear to have ties to one another and I think it’s an interesting experiment.

Grade: B+

Arrow – There’s some interesting stuff going on here and they’re capable of taking twists and turns and surprising me. They also take a lot of characters and ideas from DC continuity. My problem with it is that it wants to be Batman and I don’t think that’s who Green Arrow ever was. Still, it’s worth watching and, every so often, Amanda Waller shows up. A skinny Waller, true, but she still puts change in my pocket.

Grade: B

Gotham – This may be my most controversial judgment. Lots of people love the show but I’m not one of them. I don’t hate it but it’s not must see for me. I’m not really interested in any of the characters. Frankly, it needs Batman but Bruce Wayne is a kid at this point and Bats won’t show up for ten years and I doubt the show will go that long.

Grade: C

Constantine – The show is creepy enough at times but it isn’t really setting me afire. I like it okay (although some folks – and critics – hate it) but it, too, is not must see viewing for me. The title character just isn’t snarky enough to suit me. He needs to borrow some of James Spader’s attitude from The Blacklist. Matt Ryan is okay as Constantine but they’ve made the character a little more haunted by his past. They want us to like him. Spader doesn’t give a damn if you like Red Reddington or not and thus is a more compelling character. Charles Halford is good as Chas and I’d like to see more of him but Angélica Celaya is vapid as Zed.

There’s a lot pf questions as to whether or not the series will be back for a second season. NBC isn’t commissioning anything beyond the first 13 episodes so it’s doesn’t look great although everyone connected with the show keep making positive noises. I guess we’ll find out in January.

Grade: C-

Castle – sadly, once my favorite show is now running on fumes. The characters don’t have the same life and sparkle that they once did and some of the plots have just stunk. If ABC announced the show’s cancellation, I wouldn’t be too sad. Or surprised.

Grade: D

So that’s my scorecard at half time for the season. Your mileage may vary.

 

Marc Alan Fishman: WWE, Marvel & Fairness

cm-punk-thor-4452569Fans of this column (minus my mom, that leaves what, ten of you?) will no doubt recall my dirty love of professional wrestling. Oy, that came out wrong. That’s what she said! Sorry. Over Thanksgiving weekend, C.M. Punk – the Chicago-Made indie wrestling darling turned WWE Superstar turned turncoat whiny quitter (if Twitter is meant to be believed) – took to the airwaves of his friend’s podcast to pontificate over the sordid details of his departure from under the hooks and claws of Vince McMahon.

It broke the Internet (for smark marks like myself), and did exactly what it was meant to do: give an honest recounting of the multiple reasons why Punk made the bold choice to walk away from the only game in town. Amongst the cadre of reasons presented, they all boiled down to fairness.

Punk was hurt physically, burnt out mentally, and denied creativity by the powers-that-be at the WWE. Ultimately, it sounded like Vinnie Mac’s corporate brainchild was operating like… a corporation. Punk was merely a cog in the wheel, and for whatever reasons those above his pay-grade felt, he wasn’t given the opportunities he sought out professionally. With nothing left in his tank, he took his ball and went home.

In the year since his walkout, Punk healed his body and mind. Local Chicagoans saw him at Blackhawks games. Geeks nationwide saw him on the Talking Dead. And Jason Aaron and Marvel Comics saw him when he inked a quick deal to co-write an upcoming Thor annual as well as “some other books in 2015.” Anyone who was on the Internet at any point last week no doubt saw Punk everywhere, as he announced that he’s also now signed a deal with Dana White and the Ultimate Fighting Championship. Punk fans like myself were elated over all of these sightings and announcements. But there’s also been a groundswell of haters assembling as well. Why? Because to throw back in his face what he himself complained about… all of these opportunities come across as being unfair.

OK, take away the good seats at Blackhawks games. Punk is no doubt well-off enough that he was able to purchase his tickets like anyone else. And if you listened the podcast, you’d also note he paid United Center prices for hotdogs and beer. This means he’s friggen’ rich. Nothing unfair there. And let’s even dismiss any whining over his Talking Dead appearances. Punk is a friend of Chris Hardwick, and I’m 99% certain that the casting of the panels for that show aren’t earned over merit. That leaves the UFC and Marvel Comics.

C.M. Punk is a great at many things. But professional writer… well, I didn’t see it on his LinkedIn profile. It’s not a secret that he’s an avid reader of comics, and has even dabbled in writing scripts and promos and storylines for himself when he was wrestling. But never over those years did I see bylines in the dirt-sheets declaring “Punk submits new ideas in to Dan DiDio” or “C.M. Punk taking meetings with Axel Alonso”. But to paraphrase the man himself, Punk was clear to denote in one documentary (“The Best in the World” as put out by the WWE, in case you’re interested) that he would “bother the guys in the Marvel booth at every chance” in an effort to score a deal, when he would do signings at Wizard World conventions. Well, consider the perseverance (and the litany of fans outside of mainstream comic book aficionados) noted and accepted. Put a pin in that.

The UFC is by it’s own definition the “world’s leading MMA promoter,” offering bouts “where hybrid athletes are required to know various disciplines in order to compete at an elite level.” C.M. Punk has some experience with Brazilian jiu-jitsu and kenpo karate. And while I’d never wish to befoul him in a darkened alleyway… to the best of my googling abilities, Punk isn’t exactly cited anywhere as being elite in either of those forms of combat. Suffice to say, much like his deal to write comics, Punk’s biggest talent (by way solely of available data) is his passion, his commitment, and his fan-base.

This all converges on the point of fairness. Is it fair that a man be given opportunities others are competing for by leveraging popularity over proven talent? Is it fair without a comic book credit to his name otherwise, Punk be given a shingle with one of the most powerful publishers in the industry –while guys like me, and the hundreds (if not thousands) of independent creators who would break our thumbs for the chance – simply because he asked perpetually? Is it fair that he also be given a deal to fight for a promotion that has hundreds of other known fighters with professional experience, when he himself hasn’t even a single bout to his name? Well, no. It’s not fair.

But really, this was never about fairness. Punk’s contract with Marvel and the UFC is about business.

Marvel Comics and Dana White provided C.M. Punk with the writing and fighting gigs because he is a known draw. Jason Aaron is an acclaimed writer on his own, no doubt, but slap Punky Brewster on that Thor annual and you might just move more copies. And the UFC is the premier fight promotion with 181 pay-per-views under it’s belt to date. Adding Punk to a card probably means Dana White and company will be able to fund 181 more of them based on the increase in buys. Haters will purchase it to see Punk turned into an ink stain. Punkateers and first-time MMA fans will too, to see their darling beat the odds. For all parties concerned? It’s win-win.

And for those that will call Punk out for the hypocrisy that he’d complain he was treated unfairly at the WWE where part-time stars were given preferential treatment only to do the same thing now in two new industries? Well, you can cash that check at the bank anytime you’d like. C.M. Punk isn’t a babyface hero, here to live by a honor-bound code of justice. He’s an entrepreneur, a passionate fan, and lucky son-of-a-bitch. It’s not fair…

… and it never had to be.

The Law Is A Ass

Bob Ingersoll: The Law Is A Ass #336: The Practice Makes Imperfect

Lara-Flynn-Boyle-image-lara-flynn-boyle-36103463-1466-2000I don’t care what the old saying says, in this case The Practice  makes imperfect.

David E. Kelly, the creator, producer and head writer of such shows as Picket Fences, Ally McBeal, and one – mercifully – unsold Wonder Woman  pilot was a practicing attorney in Boston, before he moved to Hollywood to become the creator, producer and head writer of such shows as Picket Fences and Ally McBeal. An interesting choice leaving the law for Hollywood producer. It’s one of the few career moves that wouldn’t be regarded as a step up.

One of Kelly’s biggest TV successes was The Practice, a show about a struggling criminal-defense and plaintiff’s personal injury law firm in Boston It was a show firmly rooted in Kelly’s own past, and a show which won both the Emmy and the Golden Globes award for best drama. By all accounts, it was a high-quality show.

I couldn’t watch it.

I tried, but I just couldn’t. Kelly seemed to forget his lawyer past in The Practice, and, as a result, we were condemned because he couldn’t repeat it. The show frequently opted for the highly dramatic in its situations and portrayals of the law, instead of the legally accurate. The Practice got the law so wrong, that, for me, it was more infuriating than entertaining.

Case in point: the January 5, 1998 episode “Line of Duty.” Bobby Donnell, the lead lawyer of the series played by Dylan McDermott, was sleeping with the enemy, in this case in the case in point, said enemy was prosecuting attorney Helen Gamble played by Laura Flynn Boyle. One night, while sleeping at Helen’s, Bobby learned the police were about to raid the drug house of a major drug dealer and arrest him. Problem for Bobby was said drug dealer was Bobby’s client. Bobby called his client to warn him of the impending raid and told the client to clear out and not be arrested. Then the problem for Bobby became the client decided to fight it out instead of clearing out and in the ensuing gun battle between drug dealers and police, a cop was killed.

So, ultimately the problem for Bobby was he found himself being prosecuted for aiding and abetting the murder of a cop. Surprisingly enough, we in the legal profession actually have a term for when this sort of thing happens; it’s, “Oh, this is not good.”

Aiding and abetting is a crime legislatures enact to keep people from helping criminals. It says that if you help a criminal commit a crime, you’re as guilty as the criminal who actually committed the act, even if you didn’t commit it yourself. In Massachusetts General Law Chapter 274 § 3, they call it being an accessory before the fact, but it’s the same thing. In Bobby’s case, the prosecution claimed that by warning his client of the impending arrest, Bobby helped him resist arrest so was equally responsible for the murders which occurred during the arrest.

Bobby had a normal defense he could have used. The law specifically says, “Whoever counsels, hires or otherwise procures a felony to be committed.” Bobby did none of these. He didn’t want his client to resist arrest or kill any police officers. All he wanted his client to do was clear out of his house so that he wouldn’t be arrested. Had he argued to the jury that he didn’t counsel his client to resist arrest or kill cops, a perfectly appropriate and legal defense, he probably would have been acquitted.

But Bobby didn’t argue the appropriate, even legal, defense to his case. That wouldn’t have be dramatic. Instead Bobby argued that under the Code of Professional Responsibility he had a duty to represent his client zealously, so he had an ethical obligation to inform his client of the impending raid. Bobby argued what he did wasn’t illegal but sanctioned by the law.

Guess what? It ain’t.

Oh, it’s true that Canon 7 of the Code of Professional Responsibility says, “A lawyer should represent a client zealously within the bounds of the law.” It is also true that zealous representation would include informing a client of things that could be injurious to the client. But there’s a catch in this legal obligation. It’s those pesky words, “within the bounds of the law.”

What that means is simple, a lawyer can’t break the law under normal circumstances and also can’t do it while representing a client. Indeed, the Code of Professional Responsibility specifically says a lawyer cannot knowingly engage in illegal conduct while representing a client. So, if warning his client about the impending arrest was be illegal, then Bobby had no ethical obligation to warn the client, because the Rules of Professional Responsibility require that a lawyer act within the boundaries of the law.

Would warning a client of an impending arrest be against the law? Do orcas poop penguins?

Every jurisdiction I know of has some sort of obstruction of justice law on its books. As I know of the jurisdiction of Massachusetts, it safe to assume Massachusetts has such a law. However, it’s even safer to check the Massachusetts General Laws to be sure. So I did. Chapter 274 § 4 of the Massachusetts General Laws, the accessories after the fact law, makes it a crime for someone to assist a person who has committed a felony, “with the intent that he shall avoid or escape … arrest.” Which brings us back to our problem child, Bobby.

He warned a client, not just a client but a felon, that said client was about to be arrested so that the felon could escape arrest. That’s a violation of the accessory after the fact law. So, under the Code of Professional Responsibility dictate that a lawyer act within the boundaries of the law, the fact that warning his client of an impending arrest would break the law obviated any duty Bobby thought he had to warn his client.

Still, Bobby made his argument that he had an ethical obligation to tell his client he was about to be busted. Worse the judge presiding over the case bought the argument and dismissed the charges against Bobby. Not surprising from a dramatic point of view, had Bobby been convicted, the show about his struggles to be a successful personal injury attorney would have ended. It’s kind of hard to chase ambulances within the confines of a 6 by 8 prison cell. But it was totally inaccurate from a legal point of view.

The outcome of Bobby’s case brings up another question. If Bobby didn’t know he had no ethical obligation to warn his client and the judge didn’t know Bobby’s argument was flawed, then what’s the deal with the Massachusetts legal system? Are Bostonian lawyers and judges participating in a totally different kind of Boston tea party? Maybe. That could be the reason judges and lawyers are always so high and mighty.

Author’s Note: Because of the Thanksgiving work week, which significantly shortened my work week this week, I took a column I once wrote as part of an introduction to a “The Law Is a Ass” book I was pitching back in the late 90s, edited it to bring it up to date and made it a stand alone column. But that’s why you’re suddenly getting a column about a 1998 TV show.

Martha Thomases: Party Time!

I’m having a hard time focusing this week. See, Sunday is my annual Hanukkah party, and I’m in a tizzy making sure that I have enough food for my guests. My parents taught me that if I don’t have leftovers, I didn’t get enough. I don’t know how many people are coming.

Which is complicated even after the food is ordered. There’s the entertainment.

There was a time when I had a day job and most of my friends had day jobs, and we’d see each other at the various office parties we attended. In my time, I’ve attended holiday parties at DC and at Marvel. Both were fun. Maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough, but I never saw any of the shenanigans associated with office parties. No one was photocopying his naked butt. No one was having sex in a closet, or in a desk piled with coats. Nobody even vomited in a public place. Everyone was aware that while this was a party, it was a party on the job, and no one was going to be too embarrassed to come back to work in the morning. At least not that I saw.

Those days are gone. People don’t have permanent jobs so much anymore, and those that do either don’t have parties or have tougher security so I can’t get in.

Which is fine. I mean, my favorite thing about my party is the mix of people. There are my friends from high school, from the neighborhood, and from knitting. There are people I know from the peace movement and from freelance journalism and from comics. Sometimes some of my son’s friends show up, which makes me feel like the cool mom.

It is the mix that entertains me. I like to see who clicks and who doesn’t. Naturally, because I honor my inner eight-year-old, I then wonder what it would be like if superheroes had holiday parties.

When Clark and Lois (I like to think they’re still married) host a tree-decorating party, does Bruce Wayne come? Does Guy Gardner? I like to think so. If they do, how are they introduced?

For that matter, when Tony Stark has a party, does he invite Bruce Wayne? They would seem to travel in the same circles. Holiday parties are the perfect place to plan new corporate strategies. Lex Luthor would probably have to be there, and I’m sure Stark Industries does enough business with the federal government to have a relationship with various embassies. Wonder Woman would certainly have to be invited.

A lot of superheroes know intergalactic aliens. Does this make catering more difficult? I don’t think there is any reason to believe that a Kree or a Dryad or Martian can eat, much less digest food from Earth. And what does that do to the plumbing? Is that covered by home-owners insurance?

I would bet the Guardians of Oa (not the Galaxy) have an etiquette book that answers these questions.

Any party is improved with a touch of the unexpected. Certain characters, not born in comics but occasional residents, should be welcomed. Bugs Bunny, Yogi Bear, Dobie Gillis, Jerry Lewis – these are folks who add spice to the mix. And they would be someone for the Angel and the Ape to talk to.

Would any of these parties be as much fun as mine? I doubt it.

Have a wonderful Hanukkah party, folks. I wish you the most landings on gimmel.

 

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