Midweek on The Big ComicMix Broadcast gives you some suggestions to beat summer boredom. We have new games to play and some films to create, we’ll tell you all about the return of Snoopy and fill you in on all the new Heroes stuff. And while we’re at it, we preview a book that would make a great read for your vacation, briefly recap the Eisner Awards and bitch about Jessica Simpson.
Press The Button and take a 11 minute vacation on us!
We’re thrilled to pass on the news that the newest Baker is a girl, born this morning at 7:53 AM. She is 8 lbs 13 oz, 21 inches long. Everyone at ComicMix says congrats to Liz and Kyle, Lillian, Isaac and Jackie.
Artwork copyright Kyle Baker. All Rights Reserved.
"Seems that McFarlane Toys has the license to do toys based on the upcoming Beowulf movie. Y’know, the one co-written by Neil Gaiman. Who’s involved in litigation to get Todd McFarlane to pay the court ordered damages for ripping off his creations and the like (don’t even ask about Miracleman). Which McFarlane avoided by declaring bankruptcy, but still operating various other companies."
Mixing our mythological metaphors for a moment, I have to wonder if this is a Trojan horse so that Neil’s lawyer can get a very close look at McFarlane’s books…
Greg Rucka has some post-Comic-Con thoughts, mostly about how crowded it was. How about this: next year, just rope off the whole city of San Diego, and use the streets for aisles. Brilliant, right!
Publishers Weekly has a whole load of Comic-Con wrap-up today: photos, general news, manga news, movie news, and even more.
The amazing, never-before seen reunion of the seven Image founders at Comic-Con is, like everything else in the world, now up on YouTube.
The Beat reports on the Scribe awards – for the downtrodden refuseniks of literature, the media tie-in writers – which were awarded for the first time at Comic-Con this year.
Chris’s Invincible Super-Blog has found the greatest movie title ever: Yo-Yo Girl Cop. Not only is it about a female cop who wields a battle yo-yo, it’s actually the sequel to something.
Greg Burgas of Comics Should Be Good finally files his San Diego report.
Jog of The Savage Critics brings the love for one of my favorite comics of all time, the first series of Pat Mills and Kevin O’Neill’s Marshal Law.
If you ever wondered where Stepford Wives come from…Alma Alexander discovered the website of a photo retoucher who fixes up kids’ pageant photos – such as this example of turning a perfectly cute baby into a creepy doll-like object.
Well, seeing as last weekend was Spam Diego, I suppose it’s time to do my Convention wrap-up.
Not that I was at SD. Not this year. But I’ve been to quite a few over the years. In fact, I’ve been at any number of comic conventions, both as a fan and as a professional. Actually, always as a fan and, for the past 25 years, as a professional as well. But something can happen and I can turn back into a drooly mouthed fan boy at a moment’s notice. Some cases in point:
During my early years in the biz, my sometimes partner in crime and often evil twin Timothy Truman and I were at a Con together. Will Eisner was in attendance and neither Tim nor I could summon up the nerve to go say hello to him. We finally got on the courtesy bus taking us from the hotel out to the airport as said convention ended and the only other passenger was – Will Eisner. So he strikes up a conversation with us and we had a really great trip out to the airport. Will got off the shuttle first and Tim and I looked at each other and decided we were such idiots because we could have spent the entire weekend with him.
I think I’ve told the story elsewhere how at a Chicago Con I had to get Julie Schwartz (who I already knew and was a legend himself) to get me to introduce me to Jack Kirby because I was completely and utterly incapable of doing it myself because this was the goddam KING of comics, goddamit!
Likewise, at a San Diego Con, I had to get Murphy Anderson (another legend who I already knew) to introduce me to John Broome, the legendary writer. Mr. Broome, on being introduced, gives me the eye, looks me up and down and said, with mock severity, “Ah, the competition, eh?” No, Mr. Broome, I’d have to be in your league first.
Yes, there are others who can make me like that and, no, I’m NOT telling you who they are.
I’ve also met any number of friends at conventions. I think Michael Davis has talked about our first meeting; I know he wound up in the suite with Mike Grell and myself (and a few others) as Iron Mike watched the first episode of the Jon Sable, Freelance TV series that wound up being on for about two minutes one season. The TV show hasn’t lasted but I’m glad to say that my relationship with Michael has.
Another friend met at a Con was Aussie writer, Dave DeVries, who we designated “that mad Australian” as a result of that weekend. We keep in touch still and he’s a good mate. Dave’s also been a pal and a bane to Brother Grell and has one of the best bar stories about him I’ve ever heard. Dave, if you see this, get on the comment line and tell it. Or maybe we can get Grell to do it.
Sometimes you write the article, sometimes the article writes you.
You’ve seen it a million times. The head table, on a dais, faces the audience. The honored guests take the stage to applause. The microphones are adjusted, name cards arranged, the host begins the program.
But when the greatest living science fiction writer is the guest, the gods are aware and send us a message, lest we begin to imagine that we are in charge of the agenda.
Ray Bradbury is in a wheelchair these days. The Comic-Con arranged for a nifty, new-looking wheelchair elevator to be at the end of the stage. Ray’s people wheeled him across the front of the stage to a round of applause. They wheeled him into the elevator, a glass box (waist high, if you’re standing, if you’re sitting, it’s up to your neck) on a lifting platform, glittering, unmarked by fingerprint or key scratch or any marks of human inhabitation. It was also innocent of any rehearsal, the hallmark of every smooth use of any stagecraft more complicated than a hat.
If it was President Roosevelt, two guys would’ve lifted him and his chair the two or three feet from floor to the stage. It might have taken an extra guy, Comic-Con folks not usually bringing Secret Service beef to the table. But we have modern technology—no sweat, no strain.
In 2007, still without our silver jumpsuits, faced with an untried, miniature elevator, Ray sat there a prisoner, his unfailing good nature in no danger from this silly snag, for ten minutes. They fiddled with the lock, they looked concerned, they did their impression of Wile E. Coyote in the moments between realizing the scheme has misfired and feeling the faint breeze that announces the arriving boulder. They moved the platform up an inch, they moved it down three inches. They did these things for ten minutes with no help sought or offered from any authority. Finally, they blundered upon the right sequence of actions and the gleaming glass and steel doorway opened and Ray Bradbury was freed from The Crystal Prison of the Festival of Fans.
SF Diplomat deconstructs Iron Man. I don’t see what all the hubbub is about. So he’s an alcoholic, workaholic, control-freak millionaire military contractor who is his own superpowered bodyguard and often runs his own foreign policy — what’s the big deal? I don’t see anything odd there…
Neil Gaiman was kissed during the Eisner Awards by U.K. TV star (and major comics fan) Jonathan Ross, and has posted the snogging on his blog for all to see.
Forbidden Planet International examines the website for the Watchmen movie. I imagine, if you ask them, they’d also read tea-leaves to see how good the movie is going to be.
Industry News has some documents from Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster’s 1947 lawsuit against National Periodical Publications, part of a larger collection of material from the lawsuit that is now for sale.
I thought Comics Reporter had already done his big Comic-Con wrap-up, but here’s another one.
Again with the Comics goes there to wonder how Ben Grim makes sweet, sweet love. [via Journalista!]
USA Today profiles Neil Gaiman.
DC is getting some impressive press coverage for their new Minx line – why, they even cracked the powerful York Journal today.
Paul Kincaid at Bookslut admits that he likes Philip K. Dick’s mainstream novels as he reviews the last previously-unpublished Dick book, Voices from the Street. Ah – he’s the one!
Now, more than ever, do we need Scott Shaw!’s Oddball Comics.
He has followed his bliss and ours to the last swap meet, the dustiest quarter box of mixed comics to save the comics that no one else would save. We all know about the great comics that everyone’s mom threw out. These are the comics that every self-respecting kid threw out. The ones even our kid siblings wouldn’t save from the trash.
These are the comics that put the funny in funny book, both “ha-ha” and “peculiar.” And fewer are the howlers put out as advertising tools than you’d think. Most of the show are comics put out by entertainment professionals. They’re just wrong. For every genuinely, intentionally funny comic book cover over the years there must be a hundred that are so stupid, so venal, so slapdash as to be the dictionary illustration for “laughingstock.”
Being in the hands of a seasoned performer like Shaw! is a relaxing pleasure. You pick up the rhythm and laugh along as long as the schedule will allow. He is the king of the slideshow side shows, a wonderful reminder of the great heights we attempt and the depths to which we can fall. Here are freaks for geeks.
This is the first, maybe decisive verdict of history on these comics. One look and the specialists in the field, that is, the entire audience, can’t help but laugh out loud. There are fewer professionals in attendance these days, but that’s because they’ve all seen it, some since they’ve been in middle school. (more…)
Dirk Deppy’s ¡Journalista! opens today with the following quote:
San Diego Mayor Jerry Sanders, looking forward to American Idol.
Mr. Sanders is an asshole.
While in San Diego last week, ComicMix podcast producer Mike Raub and I did a quick estimate on the minimum amount of cash the San Diego Comic-Con pumped into the local economy. With 140,000 in attendance, most of whom staying in hotels, using taxis and public transportation, going to parties, using convention facilities, doing a bit of shopping, paying local and state taxes and dining at local restaurants during the four day show, we estimate comics fans spent a minimum of an eighth of a billion dollars in Mr. Sanders’ town – and most likely more than twice that.
What did we get for our money, outside of the Comic-Con itself? Hotel service that was indifferent at best (hotels were sold out; some folks had to commute in from damn near the Mexican border), and lousy restaurant food with incredibly rotten service. I go to over a half-dozen conventions each year, and never was I treated worse than I was in San Diego last week. Mr. Sanders’ city simply sucks.
Then again, if Sanders thinks American Idol candidates have "actual talent," his head’s so far up his ass he probably thinks the food at the Blarney Stone smells good.
"When I first came to your planet and demanded your homes, property and very lives, I didn’t know you were already doing so, willingly, with your own government. I can win no tribute from a bankrupted nation populated by feeble flag-waving plebians. In 2008 I shall restore your dignity and make you servants worthy of my rule. This new government shall become a tool of my oppression. Instead of hidden agendas and waffling policies, I offer you direct candor and brutal certainty. I only ask for your tribute, your lives, and your vote."
Look, it’s not like the Republicans have offered up anybody better for this election so far. Zod in 2008!
Columns / Glenn Hauman / News
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