Comics Reviews: Week of 11-07-07

In what I intend to be an ongoing series, here are my comics reviews for titles that shipped on November 7th, 2007, in alphabetical order.

A few notes going in:

A) I only review comics that I either buy or read in their entirety. Since it's coming out of my own pocket, this means that I'm really only reviewing comics that I'm interested in. If I seem to have a general tendency towards positive reviews, then that's why. I'd review a lot more books, good, bad and in between, if I had the money to spend on them.

B) I'm not reviewing every single comic I buy. I'll try to stick to notable titles or issues that I take issue with.

C) I'm also going to try to keep these reviews short. I know, I know, it's going to be an uphill battle. But I swear I'm going to try.


ASTONISHING X-MEN #23 (Marvel)
Writer: Joss Whedon
Penciller: John Cassaday

Whedon's and Cassaday's run on X-Men ranks among Claremont's and Morrison's as my favorite runs on any x-related title, but the sporadic shipping schedule has indeed hurt the book. Joss Whedon - possibly my favorite writer, period - has crafted a series of memorable tales with spot-on characterization and a number of surprises, but his organic pacing suffers a bit when you don't clearly remember what happened last because it's been so long since you read the last issue. I guarantee you, however, that this thing will read like gangbusters in trade.

In this issue, the Breakworld saga continues, Cyclops gets to kick ass (which, let's be honest, he's hardly ever done outside of this series), and Whedon recycles a plot device from Season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Normally that's something that I would complain about, except that it's such a good idea that he actually tricked me with it both times. As always, Cassaday proves that he's probably the best damned artist in the business today, and probably one of the best ever.

B+


THE EXTERMINATORS #23 (DC/Vertigo)
Writer: Simon Oliver
Penciller: Darick Robertson

Some critics make a big deal about whichever comic is at the top of their pile each week - the one book that they just can't wait to read. Me, I make a big deal about what I keep at the bottom of my pile. That's the book that I'm confident will make every other thing in my buy pile look bad if I don't save it for last. And every time it comes out, that book is The Exterminators.

If you haven't been reading it, issue #23 is not the issue to start. Actually, The Exterminators is one of those books that really need to be read from the first issue to be fully appreciated. The manner in which Oliver and his team of artists has taken a seemingly slice-of-disgusting-life series and turned it into an apocalyptic tale of survival is nothing short of a marvel.

In this issue, the battle continues, having officially begun a few issues prior. It's the Bug-Be-Gone boys versus an army of Mayan Hissers (giant cockroaches) and their messianic resurrected human leader. The most action-packed issue of the week is from Vertigo. You don't get to say that very often. Classic stuff.

A

FREDDY VS. JASON VS. ASH #1 of 6 (DC/Wildstorm)
Writers: Jeff Katz and James Anthony Kuhoric
Art: Jason Craig

Based off the unused screenplay for the film everyone on the planet (who counts) wants to see, this mini-series brings us the long-awaited face-off between Ashley J. Williams, Jason Voorhees and Frederick Krueger. It just doesn't bring it to us in the first issue. Sigh...

Playing like a direct sequel to Freddy Vs. Jason, the story opens with the two surviving cast members from that film returning to Crystal Lake because, as Ash himself admits, they're idiots. We're then introduced to the new status quo. Jason continues to haunt Camp Crystal Lake, but he's haunted in turn by the decapitated head of Freddy Krueger who torments him with some pretty horrific visions. Freddy himself posits a solution - Jason needs to acquire a copy of the Necronomicon to free both unstoppable monsters from their torment. On the last page, Ash (who has been narrating this whole time) shows up. Presumably, he's going to have something to say about this Necronomicon business.

I'm cutting this issue a little slack. Normally, decompression is a frustrating storytelling style in comics (I'm looking at you, House of M), but given that this series is supposedly based pretty closely off of a screenplay it makes a certain degree of sense that this is the structure we're getting. Aside from the a-little-overused voice-over, this issue plays like the beginning to what might be a very fun movie. I just hope that they get to actual "versus" part of the title soon.

B


GROO: HELL ON EARTH #1 of 4 (Dark Horse)
Writers: Sergio Aragones and Mark Evanier
Art: Sergio Aragones

Groo is back! This is a good day for people of the world everywhere who know how to A) read, and B) find a comic book store. In this latest mini-series, Groo finds himself in the Kingdom of Uslip, currently suffering from two princes arguing over who deserves to reign. Prince Buco, who has managed to actually become king, spends all of his energy on building weaponry, even though there aren't any wars at the moment. Prince Guco spends his energy bitching about not being king, and warning the people about the effect all of the new factories are having on the environment.

The people listen to Guco enough to be dissatisfied, but not enough to change their lifestyles. Meanwhile, neighboring kingdoms hear that Uslip is building weapons, so they start building weapons too. Everyone is preparing for war, but no one knows why.

If those metaphors are pretty on-the-nose for you, that's because they are. But the delight of Groo is the way Aragones and Evanier manage to tackle topical issues head-on without ever feeling like, oh, I don't know... Crash. It's deft and it's funny, albeit in a smile-to-yourself constantly manner more than a laugh-out-loud one. And Aragones art is pleasantly cartoony whilst at the same time being insanely detailed. The spread on pages 2 and 3 holds up just as well as some of Hitch's crazier issues of The Ultimates, and that's not something that can be said lightly.

Oh yeah, Groo is in this issue too. He hasn't killed too many people yet, but the mini-series is still young.

A


HOWARD THE DUCK #2 of 4 (Marvel)
Writer: Ty Templeton
Penciller: Juan Bobillo

Someone asked me recently why anyone gives a damn about Howard the Duck when the Marvel Universe has Spider-Man, the Avengers and X-Men vying for our attentions too. The reason is simple: In the Marvel Universe, filled with iconic heroes, villains and anti-heroes, gigantic space battles and Civil Wars, the only voice of reason is a anthropomorphized talking duck. That's how insane the Marvel U is these days (and, if you think about it, always has been).

This latest mini-series got off to an entertaining start, but as of the second issue I'm a little concerned. The writing is spot-on and Juan Bobillo cements his position as one of the best unsung artists in the biz, but with all of the craziness going on in the world - both real and fictional - it seems somewhat anti-climactic to use a Howard the Duck book to comment on fame and viral videos. Still, it's not fair to judge the book based on something it's not trying to be, but it does lose points for - at the moment - being more-or-less completely disposable.

B


THE NEW AVENGERS: ILLUMINATI #5 of 5 (Marvel)
Writers: Brian Michael Bendis and Brian Reed
Penciller: Jim Cheung

So after four issues of showing how the Illuminati dealt with previous major Marvel events, we get an issue setting up the next Marvel event. And it's pretty good. After Spider-Woman brings the Skrully corpse of Elektra to Tony Stark (which isn't very well explained in the issue itself, so it helps if you've been reading New Avengers), he gathers the Illuminati to discuss the ramifications, and to determine if Earth is truly at war... and possibly already conquered.

Then *SPOILER* Black Bolt talks without destroying the planet. Apparently, he's been a Skrull since shortly after the Kree/Skrull War. Didn't he use his vocal powers between then? I might need to read Paul Jenkins' Inhumans mini-series and Silent War again, but hasn't he? And speaking of Silent War, does this mean that the Skrulls want Maximus the Mad in control of the Inhumans? How could that possibly help anyone's cause, besides Maximus of course?

Decent questions. Marvel has a history lately of asking decent questions, then failing to give us interesting answers. Civil War and M-Day never satisfactorily dealt with most of the ramifications of their events, at least across the line (a few series did a decent job, but they were exceptions, not the rule). So we'll see where this goes. Still, that's the future. This issue? Bang-up job by everyone involved. Great writing (it's nice to see Tony Stark openly doubting himself for a change, and basically echoing everything Luke Cage has been saying since Civil War ended), excellent pencils. If Secret Invasion fails to impress, this issue of Illuminati might suffer in hindsight, but as it stands:

B+


SUPER-VILLAIN TEAM-UP: MODOK'S ELEVEN #5 of 5 (Marvel)
Writer: Fred Van Lente
Penciller: Francis Portela

One of the shinier gems of the year ends on a high note - full of unexpected twists and turns, yet never hard to follow. Excellent characterization, quality art. If you missed this series, you'd better get the trade. I mean it. I now realize that I don't have much else to say here besides a general praise for everyone involved with this series. As usual, one of Marvel's ancillary titles has again outshined most of their flagship best-sellers.

Series Rating: A


WELCOME TO TRANQUILITY: ARMAGEDDON #1 (of 1) (DC/Wildstorm)
Writer: Christos Gage
Pencillers: Neil Googe & Horacio Domingues

Confession time. Aside from the aborted runs on The Authority and WildC.A.T.S., the only two Wildstorm titles I've been reading are Stormwatch P.H.D. (now passed) and Welcome to Tranquility. So when the writer of Stormwatch pens an issue of Tranquility, I'm in, but skeptical. Original characters are increasingly sacred these days, with only Brian Michael Bendis attempting to tell stories with new characters once their originator is done with them. Frequently, this is because writing characters using their popularized voices if very difficult. Would you want to write a Y: The Last Man issue, knowing that you're just going to be compared to Brian K. Vaughan?

Well, Christos Gage steps up to the plate and knocks Tranquility out of the park. This issue feels almost exactly like an issue of the regular series. It's a bit more dense than usual (that's Gage for you), but the characterizations are spot on and fit comfortably into the word Gail Simone originally created. No easy task, particularly for a writer as talented as Simone.

In this issue, Maximum Man - the elderly hero who turns into a young Greek God at will, and at the start of the issue is enjoying it immensely with all of the young women in town - gets sent to the near future, where a sudden attack from all super-villains past, present, and possibly future has left all of the world, with the exception of Tranquility, in ruins. Maximum Man does what he can to help the world, although an interesting conversation with Acolyte raises some doubt. Isn't the world supposed to end someday? Who are we to prevent it?

The rub comes at the end of the issue, which almost makes it a disposable Elseworlds title (Superman kills Lois Lane? It's okay, it's just Elseworlds!), although given that the issue advertises that we should read Wetworks: Armageddon next, I guess it's an Elseworld destined to pass, although the story we just read might have almost no relevance to it except as a teaser. If this issue does contribute to the story later on, I'll be very pleased, but given the uncertain possibility that it won't...

B


Y: THE LAST MAN #59 (of 60) (DC/Vertigo)
Writer: Brian K. Vaughan
Penciller: Pia Guerra

All good things come to an end. It's been argued, however, that the good things in Y: The Last Man actually came to an end 5 or 6 issues ago. It's true that this series lost a bit of much-needed steam after the revelation of why all the mammals in the world with a Y-chromosome died (an explanation which, as of this issue, is in still in dispute in the comic itself), but there are some surprises to be found. Namely, the ending of the last issue, which managed to shock the hell of out everyone I know who has been reading the book.

The follow-up, however, is a little anti-climactic, making a key character's death seem a little less significant than it probably should have been. Add to that the unexpected revelation of why Alter has been so obsessed with finding Yorick Brown all these years, which I think a lot of people forgot was even in question (if you think about it, it was never really even set up as a mystery... maybe this issue would have been more effective if it was). It was interesting, but lacked the dramatic heft that would really have helped the series truck to its finale. It does make a certain degree of sense, and deftly ties into an earlier (seemingly stand-alone) storyline, but for what looks to be the last big revelation of the series... it lacks "oomph."

Still, Y: The Last Man remains a quality series, even if the last 6-7 issues play more like an extended denouement rather than a climax. Maybe Vaughan can pull this all together in the last issue to really make the ending sing. If anyone can, it's definitely him.

C+

(Note: No DC U books this week. Weird...)

Film Theory 1.02

Cellular phones have killed movies.

Not in the way you think, either. Sure, we all hate those complete assholes who neglect to turn off their phones in the theater, so that halfway through a movie you might very well be enjoying, you have that annoying "DUN-nuh-nuh-nuh-DUN-nuh-nuh-nuh-DUH-nuh-nuh-nuh-NUH" noise coming out of nowhere. (And yes, I have occasionally been that asshole - but it was an accident, I swear.) I'm actually making the argument that the invention of cellular phones has had a massive, and largely negative, impact on the films themselves.

No really, think about it. The popularity of cellular phones in real life makes it outright implausible that any character in a movie wouldn't have one. As a result, they have the instantaneous ability to call anyone for any reason. Trapped by zombies? Call someone. Susan's husband is a murderer? Call her. "Hey Susan, you're husband's the murderer." "Oh, thanks!" Cellular phones would be the answer to practically every suspenseful problem ever created... and so they must be stopped at all costs.

Screenwriters are constantly forced to work around this frustrating device with the following lines of dialogue. Try to remember how many times you've heard them!

"Damn, I can't get a signal!"

"My battery's run out."

"They shot my phone!"

Every single time you hear one of these buzz-phrases, or variations thereof, think about the scene you're watching. If the character's cellular phone worked, would the suspense be dead? Would the movie, in fact, be over? Overwhelming odds point to yes.

I was doing some research on the original series of Star Trek recently, and I discovered an interesting factoid about the Starfleet communicators they invented for the show. Apparently, Gene Roddenberry created them specifically so they could break down or lose their signal, because he knew that otherwise, Kirk could just call for backup at any given time and that would be the end of the episode. Cell phones were a problem for screenwriters before they were even invented! (Another interesting tidbit is that the original Starfleet communicators were flip-phones, exactly like most cellular phones on the market today. Coincidence? Geeks working for Nokia? Or just prescient sci-fi? You decide.)


Very few movies or television shows actually embrace the possibilities of cellular phones to further their plotting, rather than work around them because they're a hindrance. 24 would be a very difficult show to write if Jack couldn't call Chloe at the drop of a hat to relay information, or receive blueprints of whatever abandoned warehouse he's breaking into this week. I'd very much like to see a season of the show in which Jack doesn't have his phone, and is constantly forced to borrow quarters in order to check in with CTU.

Another favorite of mine is the film Cellular, an already forgotten genre film in which Kim Basinger plays a kidnapping victim who calls Chris Evans at random, and needs to keep him on the phone throughout the entire film in order to save her family. Cellular actually uses cellular phones in varied and interesting ways from a storytelling perspective. Signals get crossed, so Chris has to steal someone's phone. His battery is dying, so he needs to steal a charger at gunpoint. He needs to stay silent because the kidnappers are in the room, so someone drives up next to him blaring their car stereo. Clever stuff. The film is basically a one-trick pony, but it's clever enough to keep finding new ways to milk its conceit for the full running time.

One of my screenwriting professors in college used to talk about popular movie cliches. For example, the shot of a character at a bus stop, about to leave town. The bus pulls up between the camera and the character, then pulls away, and he's still there. Yeah, it's a cliche, and yeah, we've seen it a hundred times. But as my professor said, "We keep using it because no one's thought of a better way to do the scene."

I know you writers are on strike, and I support you wholeheartedly. I just want to point out that you now have plenty of time to discover a better way to incorporate cell phones into your narrative, rather than find excuses to pretend like they don't exist. If someone ever figures out a way to ensure that cell phones always have a decent signal, it could mean the end of scripted entertainment as we know it (or they might decide to make every new film a period piece).

(Strange but true: Film actress Hedy Lamarr actually co-developed the wireless communications patent that eventually led to the invention of the cell phone. That's Hedy...)

Hollywood? I'm just going to make this clear: I swear that if I hear the line, "I can't get a signal" one... more... time...

I'm going to know that you got lazy.

(See this? This is you.)

I-Tunes Shuffle

(For some reason, the above image from the remake of Gone in Sixty Seconds came up when I typed "Music Stuff" in a Google image search. Angelina needs to go back to those dreads, don't you think? No, I'm being serious.)

The Onion Audio-Visual Club has a regular feature in which they ask musicians or other random celebrities to put their MP3 players on random, then talk about the first five songs that come up. I don't know why, but I find this strikingly interesting.

I'm not going to check out any albums just because Seth Rogen is listening to them, but it is a nice little insight into the day-to-day lives of people who - like it or not - are part of our cultural identity. They're people too... they're just famous people whose sex lives frequently seem more important than our own.

And since the goal of this blog is to eventually reach more readers than those who already know me personally (stifle that laughter, guys), I thought it would be an amusing way to do the same, as well as a fairly low-intensity means of adding a post today when I don't have terribly much to say about anything else at the moment.

So, a brief insight into who I am begins in 3... 2... 1...

"Artists Only" by The Talking Heads

(Awwwwwwww... Look at how young they were!)

I was introduced to Talking Heads via Stop Making Sense, a film I initially watched only because Jonathan "Silence of the Lambs" Demme directed it. Then I realized how many of the songs I've always loved were all from the same group, and that they were talented and dynamic as hell. It's still my favorite concert film of all time, and during the unfortunately common periods of my life in which I have worked at video stores, it's one of the most common DVD's that I am likely to put on the background. (Dark Star and Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas are probably the two others.)

Like most Talking Heads songs, "Artists Only" is about something other than big messages or that girl the lead singer loved who dumped his ass. I admire any artist or group of artists with something to say that doesn't end up just being whiny. David Byrne did note, however, that he wrote one love song for The Talking Heads, but added pointedly that in Stop Making Sense he sings it to a lamp.

"You Belong to Me," sung by Rose McGowan on the soundtrack to Planet Terror

(I have no idea what to make of this photo. Sexy? Silly? Disconcerting? Probably all three.)

Surprisingly, she has a pretty good singing voice. Soft, raspy, with just enough of a "Marilyn Monroe" lilt to keep it sexy in a song that always comes across a little sad. I didn't buy the soundtrack for this track, actually, and for the life of me can't remember it actually appearing in the film. It might just be there as a love note from Robert Rodriguez to his star (or vice-versa), with whom he started a relationship during the course of the film.

The rest of the soundtrack is a predominantly John Carpenter-esque affair, which is fitting since Carpenter was supposedly supposed to do the soundtrack himself. This didn't pan out, but it's still a solid listen with a number of memorable tracks, particularly "Cherry's Dance of Death," which has an almost record number of listens on my I-Tunes.

"Dropkick Me Jesus" by Bobby Bare

(No, I don't own a signed picture of Bobby Bare, but I did get my albums a signed Eddie & The Cruisers record for Christmas once. Five bucks - I don't even think Rhino Records knew that it was signed. Sweeeeeeeeeeet.)

I don't like country music, but I love Bobby Bare. He's a brilliant lyricist and storyteller. I have a wide variety of memories of listening to Bobby Bare in the back yard or car with my father, who has a wonderful tendencies of repeating the lyrics he finds particularly clever or amusing after he hears them.

This song in particular is a great song about football and Jesus, a pair of subjects I don't spend terribly much time thinking about. Here are some lyrics:

"Dropkick me Jesus, through the goalposts of life.
End over end, neither left nor to right.
Straight through the heart of those righteous uprights.
Dropkick me Jesus through the goalposts of life.

Make me, Oh make Lord more than I am.
Make me a piece in your master game plan.
Free from the earthly tempestion below,
I've got the will, Lord, if you've got the toe."

I don't think "tempestion" is a word, but it should be.

"Heart-Shaped Box" by Nirvana

(No idea. Google image search strikes again. But hey, it's got Christopher Lambert in it. It's gotta be pretty good, right? Right?)

I had literally no idea what most of the words were to this song until I played the vastly inferior cover in Guitar Hero 2. The song doesn't make any more sense to me, but at least I know what's supposedly going on behind Kurt Cobain's scratchy screaming.

Yeah, I love Nirvana. Most people love Nirvana. We romanticize the band because Kurt died so tragically and so young, but even so I'm a little surprised that there hasn't been more of a backlash. It's very rare, in my experience, to hear anyone talk about them being over-rated. That's pretty special in the ever-so-fickle popular culture in which we are currently embroiled.

One final note: My mother did and still does have a huge crush on Kurt Cobain, and genuinely likes his music, which, when I was younger, almost killed the band for me. Your parents aren't supposed to like the music of your generation - that's practically the whole point of rock and roll. I've listened to a great number of stories about my grandparents bitching about the Beatles, but my parents? "Oh, he's just dreamy." Not cool, Mom. Not cool.

"Smack That (Dirty)" by Akon featuring Eminem

(More adventures in Google image search. This one? "Smack That." Link's all about the smack down, so I'll cut this one some slack, but...)

No, I'm not embarrassed. Shut up. I went through a period of a few months earlier this year in which I listened to more Hip-Hop/rap/whatever than I ever had before, and I do in fact like it as a musical style/genre. But I am endlessly amused by how simplistic a lot of subject matter can be. Contrast that with my Talking Heads conversation above, and you can see just how confused I am deep in my brain parts. Apparently, the writers of these songs enjoy sex and dancing... a LOT.

But hey, when I'm having sex or dancing (neither of which happens very often lately - *single manly tear*), this is my soundtrack.

I hope that was illuminating.

Where the hell have I been?

(Self-explanatory, I think.)

Howdy everyone!

I've been on a bit of a sabbatical for the last week. Already? I know, I know. I'm beginning to feel a bit like Bill Watterson. Not that talented, mind you, just in need of more sabbaticals than most deem appropriate. And my apologies.

What have I been doing? Well, besides generally getting my life together (which we will not speak of, since this isn't one of those blogs), the last week has consisted primarily of getting to know The Orange Box better than the last girl I dated and finishing my first feature length horror screenplay.

(Bill Watterson predicts my early 20's with astounding accuracy from the year 1980.)

We'll get to the screenplay in a minute. Right now, I'm wondering if anyone else is encountering a hell of a learning curve on Team Fortress. No tutorials, no single-player, Team Fortress 2 just throws you into the deep end of the pool and expects you to figure out the rules to water polo. No dice, guys. I get the general principle, but my interest is already waning. Luckily, I still have Half-Life 2, Episodes 1 & 2 left. That should keep Valve in my good graces... For now.

As for my screenplay, "Bad Science" is officially a first draft and not some incomplete mass of black space and dialogue taking up small amounts of nevertheless valuable space on my hard drive. I'll be shopping it around shortly, as soon as a few close friends and associates have a look at it. It's either an enormous piece of shit or, in its way, the best thing I've ever done. Probably both.

(Bill Watterson provides a textbook example what will surely be Hollywood's reaction to my latest screenplay.)

A conversation with my roommate got me thinking today about learning how to read. Amazing, isn't it, how we turn large numbers of strung-together abstract symbols and consider it a language? A part of me also finds it hard to remember a time when learning to read was a goal, not a memory. I used to annoy the hell out of my elementary school teachers, begging them to finally teach us how to read, when in fact I'd pretty much figured it out myself. But on what?

(I agree, Bill.)

It chagrins my mother a bit, but the very first things I ever consciously remember reading were a pair of comic books, poured through back-to-back. These issues were a "gift" of sorts from my brother. Specifically, they were books that he no longer wanted or considered disposable. My brother's tastes and mine began to veer in different directions from that very point onward.

(No slight to Sergio Aragones' pencils, but Cheetara - not Chakaal - was my first cartoon crush.)

First, if I remember the order correctly, was issue #51 of Groo the Wanderer, by Sergio Aragones and Mark Evanier. In it (if memory serves), Groo - the stupidest and most deadly man alive - tries to impress brave female warrior Chakaal by helping her rid a village of helpless citizens from two warring factions. Chakaal's plan is to send messengers to both armies, each message ostensibly from the other side, enticing them to engage in battle at a certain location beneath a dam. Once they were in place, Chakaal and the villagers would destroy the dam, killing both armies in the ensuing flood. Easy, right?

Groo, in an attempt to impress Chakaal, intercepts both messengers and is shocked to discover that both armies are giving up the war forever. Infuriated that Chakaal's plan will fail as a result of them declaring peace, he murders each army single-handedly. Realizing that he screwed everything up, Groo explains everything to Chakaal and the villagers, who are already in place beneath the dam. Chakaal marvels at Groo's ability to solve the village's problem single-handed, and starts falling for Groo. Everything ends well... until Groo remembers they forgot to implement the last part of Chakaal's plan. Groo destroys the dam, flooding the valley and killing all of the villagers he was supposed to try to save.

Yeah, a few words slipped by me here and there, but the first thing I ever read dripped with more cleverness and irony than "Go, Spot, Go." I think that's a good thing, don't you?

(20 years later, I still think this cover is bad ass.)

Next came G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero #52. In this issue, the Joes are off on a training seminar when Stormshadow - the king bad ass of my childhood - crashes the party. After breaking crossbow bolts in mid-air and fighting off an entire squad of trained soldiers, he reveals that he has seen the error of his ways and wants to defect from Cobra (or something to that effect). And he would have said as much, had the Joes not attacked him on sight! His rival, Snake-Eyes - the other bad ass, who in this issue cuts a statue in half so skillfully that it stays intact until he stamps the ground - takes pity on Stormshadow and offers him his cabin in the woods to hide and find himself.

Meanwhile, Zartan is looking for new recruits for his gang of mercenaries. Placing all of his candidates in a "last man standing situation," in which the survivor gets to join, a bevy of ultra-violence ensues (well, ultra-violent for the Comics Code era, at least). The victor finally reveals himself to be the guy who stood back, let everyone else kill each other, then blew up the seeming winner. I'm not sure what I learned from this, except maybe to fight dirty should the need ever arise. Thus far, it hasn't come up. But I'm waiting...

(True for almost any art form, I think.)

The above cartoons, aside from the comic book covers, are from Bill Watterson, and were discovered at the following delightful web site: http://ignatz.brinkster.net/cbillart.html

Bill Watterson's work on Calvin & Hobbes was probably the third anything I ever read, and has been massively influential on me both as an artist and a person. When I was extremely little, I sent Bill Watterson a crudely written letter telling him how much I loved his work. I included my phone number, just in case he wanted to call. (He didn't.) I guess my parents must have mailed it somehow, because a few months letter I got what I now realize was basically a form letter from Bill telling him how much appreciated that I loved the strip.

Both the letter and the envelope it came in had drawings of Calvin and Hobbes on them, and were probably printed en masse, but the gesture was nonetheless appreciated and - eventually - both were framed and reside at my parents' house along with the bulk of my comics and the few other important heirlooms of my life. My parents go through a cleaning frenzy about once a year, after which I usually discover that at least a few of my things have been given away to Good Will or some such. And I'm fine with that, but if they ever get rid of this letter, my umbrella (I'll talk about it another time), or my comics, I will have to murder them. My childhood consisted of moments, days, weeks and years that are now largely lost to me (my memory can be hazy at best), but nothing makes them more vivid than the stories I read when I was just getting influenced to become the man I am today (for better or worse).

Sorry for the delay in postings, you three people who actually read this. I'll try to keep up with this self-inflicted workload more often now that my time has been freed by the clutches of my own ridiculous imagination, shooting out of my brain in screenplay format.

Legends Never Die #1

(Urban Legends: Final Cut - The only film directed by famed editor/composer John Ottman. No, I have not seen it.)

Over the course of my studies I have uncovered a large number of amusing and occasionally unbelievable stories and anecdotes from all over the entertainment industry. For years I have shared these stories with my friends and colleagues, and now I have decided to share them with the world (or, at least, anyone who reads this blog).

Some of these tales were originally reported in interviews, books or documentaries, but a lot of them came from the horse's mouth - or at least, one of the horse's friend's mouths - so I have added a meter to the end of each story demonstrating the extent of their credulity.

10 = Proven, or at least from a highly credible source that I can document if necessary.

1 = Total urban legend. No way of proving the story, or heard from a disreputable source.

(Once again, these posts are labelled "Urban Legends" for a reason. Over time, these stories - even if mostly true - take on a life of their own and can occasionally veer from total accuracy. If I have posted something you believe or know to be inaccurate, please let me know and I will gleefully edit the post to reflect the new information.)

All right, I'm coming up so we'd better get this party started!

LEGENDS NEVER DIE #1: Stanley Kubrick won an Academy Award for Spartacus.

Standard film geekery insists that Stanley Kubrick only won a single Academy Award during his lifetime, for the visual effects in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

(2001 is also the only Kubrick film that director preferred be seen on home video in widescreen. Much to the chagrin of cinephiles everywhere, one of the greatest directors in history actually found those black bars distracting.)

If you want to get technical, however, this was the only reward that he received.

(Kirk Douglas also confounded the industry by insisting upon hiring blacklisted writer Dalton Trumbo to write the script, and blacklisted actor Peter Brocco to play "Ramon." Some historians credit Douglas as helping to effectively end the Blacklist Era by doing so.)

After director Anthony Mann was dismissed from directing Spartacus after the start of production, Stanley Kubrick was brought in to replace him at the behest of Kirk Douglas, who both starred in and co-produced the film. Kubrick and Douglas had worked together before, on the incredible anti-war film Paths of Glory, and Douglas felt that Kubrick could do an equally incredible job of finishing the film. The lack of control Kubrick experienced as the result of being completely uninvolved in the pre-production process led the director to insist upon total control over any film he helmed from that point on, as well as to generally disown Spartacus as a film, despite its obvious quality. (Kubrick has actually disowned three of his films - Spartacus and his first two films, Fear and Desire and Killer's Kiss, which he considered "learning experiences.")

(Unlike my father, some photographs do exist of Stanley Kubrick without his trademark beard.)

Still, Kubrick attempted to control as much of the production as possible, not the least of which the cinematography, eventually dictating practically all of D.P. Russell Metty's lighting, framing and lens choices. Metty, himself a formidable cinematographer with Touch of Evil already to his credit, eventually got sick of the director's meddling and asked, "If you're just going to tell me how to do every part of my job, why don't you just do my job?"

Stanley Kubrick responded, reportedly immediately and without thinking about it, that he would. After the first few weeks of production, Metty was officially out, and Kubrick finished shooting the film himself as both director and director of photography. Metty, however, was contractually obligated to be given solo credit for the film. Kubrick's opinion of this is, to me at least, unknown.

(Elizabeth Taylor won the 1961 Best Actress Oscar for Butterfield 8, and not, as some have reported, for this dress.)

Cut to the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, April 17th, 1961. The 33rd Annual Academy Awards are presented outside of their usual venue, the Pantages Theater (due to the theater being reconfigured in order to adequately show - what else? - Spartacus), and Russell Metty wins the Academy Award for Best Color Cinematography.

Apparently, he didn't give it to Stanley Kubrick.

Urban Legend-O-Meter (10=True, 1=WTF?): 10

(Talented Italian director Sergio Corbucci directed Son of Spartacus, the last "sword-and-sandal" film to star Steve "Hercules" Reeves. The film's initial title, Spartacus 2: The Return of Durant never made it past the development stage.)

Film Theory 1.01

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Batman Forever and Batman and Robin, in particular, are just plain bad Batman movies.

(From 3 dev Adam, also known as Captain American and Santo vs. Spider-Man)

Watch the films with a Spanish language track, however, and you will discover that they are, in contrast, amazingly entertaining big-budget Luchadore (Mexican Wrestler) movies.

Santo vs. Bane? I'd watch it. Oh wait, I have.

Discuss.

[My heartfelt thanks go to Telemundo for airing Batman Forever in Spanish last night, and turning these dated misfires in to timeless classics for the all-ages.)

Not Halloween Time... ADVENTURE TIME!

My hat... IS AWESOME!!!

Ditching the Halloween Theme to present the one of the happiest cartoons ever made. Watch all of it - it gets exponentially better with every passing minute.

ESPECIALLY if you're high.

Skeleton Frolic!

(Some of you may remember this short as appearing with The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra.)

Classic cartoon from Ub Iwerks. If the man had ever mastered basic plotting, he could have been as big as Disney.

Inferno

So for the first post with actual content, I thought I'd plug a horror film since it's, like, October or something. I am sure that you're all shocked. Both of you. (And you're both probably my Mom, checking the page twice.)

I did this once before at the Tuesday Night Movie Club, where I briefly worked as a film and TV critic about seven years ago. Man, I feel old, although I think that's probably because I had to review Crossroads while I was there. Head on over to their site. Good guys.

At the time, I pompously assumed that I would be able to post a review of one horror movie a day for all 31 days of the month of October. I'm not even going to check to see how many I actually reviewed. I think it may have been about 9. So I'm not even going to attempt that number here, although that may be because I'm starting on October 11th.

I have learned nothing.

Anyway, we'll start with Dario Argento. For those who don't know, Dario Argento is pretty erroneously called "The Italian Alfred Hitchock," even though they had very little in common, apart from their talent of course. Hitchock made suspense films of all shapes and colors. Dario Argento generally makes gialli - a fairly unique Italian genre that combined elements of mysteries and slashers. Some non-Italian films that sort of qualify, for the uninitiated? Try Wes Craven's Scream, or the criminally underseen Cherry Falls, directed by Geoffrey Wright (who also directed Romper Stomper, the film that got a young whipper-snapper named Russell Crowe noticed for the first time).

Some of Dario Argento's best gialli include The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Deep Red, and my personal favorite, Opera. We are not going to be talking about any of these films.

Instead, we're going to be talking about Inferno, the second in his Three Mothers trilogy that started with the uniformly praised Suspiria and ends, 30 years later, with Mother of Tears, which is slated to come out in the states sometime in 2008. These films are not gialli. They are fucking nightmares with graphic murders in them. And the first two, at least, are wonderful. (I haven't seen Mother of Tears yet, but supposedly it's a return to form for the director, who hasn't directed a truly great film since 1996's The Stendhal Syndrome.)
Inferno is about... something. Hard to say what, exactly. Unlike Suspiria, which for all its fever dream madness did have a plot of sorts revolving around an American girl trapped in a German ballet school run by witches, Inferno's plot is much more complicated, to the point of being inconsequential. It begins with a girl reading a book about "The Three Mothers" - ancient witches who live in three haunted buildings spread throughout the world. The first was the German ballet school in Suspiria. The other two are in New York and Italy. This girl thinks the apartment building she lives in is one of them. Then, horrible things happen and we cut to her brother in Italy.

So, it seems like we have a structure. A guy's sister undergoes some horrible events, and then the rest of the film follows her brother, right? Well, not so much. The film somehow features stream-of-consciousness protagonists, and constantly flits between focusing on one character to another for extended periods at a time. Usually until one of them dies. For true film aficionados, Inferno is a must-watch for no other reason than that it may have the most complicated structure of any film I've seen since Last Year at Marienbad.

(For the record, I'm pretty sure I'm the first person who has ever compared these two films.)

For everyone else, it's a must-watch because it will seriously freak your shit out. My favorite scene? The old antique dealer with no legs, who insists on using crutches instead of a wheelchair, decides he has had it with all the cats coming in from the strange building next door and breaking his valuables, and decides to gather them all up in a large burlap sack. He then proceeds to a large pond in Central Park, where he walks out into the middle of the body of water to drown these poor defenseless cats. Just as he finishes this ghoulish task, he tries walking away, and one of his crutches lands in a too-deep part of the pond, causing him to fall as comically as Buster Keaton could imagine. As if things couldn't get any worse, an army of man-eating rats starts to descend upon his helpless upper body en masse. He's being eaten alive, and starts calling for help to anyone within earshot. A butcher, working for some unknown reason in Central Park, hears him in the distance and runs to his aid. Then...

Just watch for yourself in the link at the top of the page. It's in the first 6 1/2 minutes of the video.

Inferno is a complicated movie. Maybe it's a great film. It's certainly unappreciated. Fans were confused by it, critics were not impressed, and only just recently is it starting to find the true cult following it deserves with special edition DVD releases from Anchor Bay and Blue Underground (hint: it's the same content, different companies). If you ever wondered what would happen if David Lynch decided to make what he would consider a "straight-forward horror movie," this is probably pretty close to what you'd end up with.

Until next time, you stay frosty out there, people.

Inaugural Posting - Buckle Your Seatbelts, It's Going to be a Bumpy Blog

Welcome to Miskatonic Film School.

This blog is the home of William Bibbiani, screenwriter and filmmaker, who hasn't actually sold a script or even completed a short movie in 3 years. So naturally, I know what I'm talking about.

What am I saying? Of course I know what I'm talking about. And so do you. Forget what the pundits say - people are more literate now than ever. They're just literate in film. Think for a moment: Even if you're a casual fan of films and/or television, how many cinematic narratives have you watched in your entire life? If you're counting movies, TV, music videos and even flash cartoons, you're likely to end up in the hundreds if not thousands before you just give up. (Actually, odds are you're going to give up quite a while before that.)

What does watching thousands of movies say about a person? Most would say it means that you have no life. But if you told them that you read thousands of books and short stories, they would be impressed! You'd probably be just as qualified to teach English as whoever your actual English teacher was in high school or college. Since film is an art form, that means you're an expert. You just might not have thought about it a whole lot.

How many times have you watched a movie and recognized a pattern? "Oh, this is the part where the main character is going to do so-and-so." That's you, being smart.

I remember watching Alien vs. Predator for the first time. They get to the disheveled whaling outpost in the middle of Antartica (which we're going to ignore for the moment), and Sanaa Lathan tells everyone to stick together, because it's dangerous out here. So I turn to my best friend, who suffered through the whole sickening experience with me, and said, "Ewan Bremner is going to go off on his own, they're going to build up a lot of suspense, then it's going to turn out to be a penguin or something. Then he's going to turn around and Sanaa Lathan's going to surprise him, and remind him not to go off alone." Within a minute and a half, that's what happened. (He will testify to this.) Okay, in this case that's not as much me being smart as it is the movie sucking, but I think you get my point.

So this blog is for me, and it's for you. It's about film, television, and knowing me, it's probably going to be about comics - the truly maligned art form in Western society. We're all experts, and our opinions do always matter, as long as we're reasonable about how we present them. I just happen to have a blog for them now.

No one is likely to read this, of course. The internet has too many blogs as it is. So I'm just going to use my last sentence to say something stupid because no one will hear it.

Penguins... Damn it, I liked them before they were cool.

William out.