Peter David's Blog, page 50

Frank Miller vs. Wizard magazine

Originally published June 8, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1438

Well, well… Wizard’s got itself some attention, hasn’t it.

The comic computer boards lit up when Frank Miller torn up an issue of Wizard in the course of his speech at the Harvey awards. The same refrain was heard repeatedly: Wizard had it coming. Wizard’s a piece of garbage. Every axe anyone had to grind with the magazine, every bone that had already been picked over, was resharpened and dusted off and brought out again. Because, y’know, “Frank Miller is a legend in the comics industry” (as Wizard president Fred Pierce told us) and when Frank Miller takes aim at you, you know you’ve been shot at.

Did Wizard deserve it? Well, in terms of editorial styling, I’ve had serious problems with the magazine of late. There’s this tendency to diss the readership, the concept being that since the Wizard staff considers itself overgrown fan geeks, it’s therefore permissible and acceptable to treat fans of the magazine with comparable contempt. “We make fun of ourselves, therefore it’s okay to make fun of you.” Except it’s not. It’s tacky and rude and, if nothing else, bad business, because sooner or later your audience will realize you’re sneering at them and take a hike.

And then there was the time that I took Wizard to task in these very pages, citing a myopia in a “Top Twenty Greatest Moments in Comics” article which didn’t go much past 1980, as if Lee/Kirby (for instance) never produced anything truly memorable. Within six months from publication of that column, I’d vanished from Wizard’s “top ten writer’s list” and the magazine ran in quick succession wildly slanted negative reviews of both Young Justice and Supergirl that had fans of both titles asking me, “Geez, why does Wizard hate you all of a sudden?” Three guesses, kids.

Are there other problems with the publication? Yeah. I’ve got problems with it.

But you know what? I have problems with Frank’s visual aid stunt, too. And since I hold Frank Miller to a far higher standard than I do Wizard, that makes those problems greater.

Frank had some quality things to say, some valuable points to be made. But as if he didn’t trust any of them to be memorable—as if he didn’t have faith in the ideas he was expressing—he tossed in an inflammatory stunt which absolutely demanded that people attend his words. What was the headline in CBG? “Frank Miller rips Wizard—literally.” Right on page 6. Would the speech have made any headlines at all, sparked any discussion, without the stunt? Maybe. Maybe not. By tearing apart the magazine, however, Frank eliminated any possibility that the speech would be overlooked. As a result, his other points got attention paid to them where they might not have before.

Here’s my problem with it:

I don’t like seeing the printed word get ripped up in public.

I don’t like seeing publications—whether I like them or not, agree with them or not, think they should be landfill or not—I don’t like seeing them being destroyed. To respond to ideas with more ideas, to respond to free speech with more free speech… that’s the way this democracy we live in is supposed to work.

Except it doesn’t, and we’ve seen it all too often. We’ve seen the book burnings, with masses of people gathered ’round a bonfire, hooting and hollering and tossing Huck Finn and Catcher in the Rye on the flames. We see these actions and we, as supporters of a much maligned, often-attacked art form, shake our heads or shout into the wind that to physically destroy printed matter is the first, best refuge of the morally bankrupt; of those who are so intolerant that the mere existence of a particular kind of publication is an affront to them.

Is Wizard on a par with Huck Finn? God no, of course not. And hey, it’s only Wizard, right? A soulless publication put out by a soulless publisher, aimed at nine- to fourteen-year-olds, trite and facile, right? Why it’s… it’s stylish to bash it, trash it.

But consider for a moment: If Joe Lieberman stood up on the Senate floor tomorrow, held up a copy of Sin City, declared it to be a book “written by Satan” and ripped it to shreds, and the Senate applauded the action… why, we’d be up in arms. We’d be flipping out. “Written by Satan?” we’d demand. “Is he nuts? Where the hell does he get off?” And we would say that because Sin City is art and Wizard isn’t, and Frank Miller is a legend, and Wizard isn’t.

And we would be as full of crap as Lieberman.

I don’t question Frank’s passion, or his sincerity, or his fervent belief that the future of comics—if there is to be one—lies in the hands of creators with a greatness of vision and the determination to see it through. That the salvation of the industry is going to come through them rather than movie versions of mainstream superhero comics. (Although on the other hand, I would venture to guess that CBG’s most popular writer, Alan Moore, didn’t refuse to cash the check for the From Hell movie, nor did James O’Barr for The Crow.) I don’t question Frank’s integrity.

No, I question the methods by which he chose to get his message across, because I think it was beneath him, and it also left him on a very slippery slope.

“Even though this monthly vulgarity reinforces all the prejudice people hold about comics—they cry to all the world that we’re as cheap and stupid and trashy as they think we are—we sponsor this assault,” said Frank.

What does that mean, “sponsor this assault?” That we cooperate with it? Let ourselves be seen in it? So if Wizard, slammed for concentrating solely on mass market superhero material, called Chris Ware about doing a Jimmy Corrigan article, should Chris hang up on them, because to do the interview would be “sponsoring” them? Kind of a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation, wouldn’t you say?

And what “people,” precisely, are being referred to? Since Frank’s talking about “prejudice,” and prejudice is only formed by those who haven’t truly been exposed to something (hence “pre-judge”) one can only conclude that he means people who don’t read comics.

Except I haven’t seen any issues of Wizard being held up on the nightly news and indicted as wildly inappropriate or stupid or trashy. There might have been; I don’t pretend to monitor all TV news and newspapers everywhere. I just haven’t seen it or heard about it.

I have, however, seen such words as cheap, trashy, stupid—and worse—applied in news items to the collectible talking toy of Sin City’s Marv being electrocuted. Yes, I know, it may seem unfair to mention it, since it’s not actually a comic book. Then again, neither is Wizard.

And hey, mom and dad, pull the lever and make Marv light up! Watch him fry! Listen to him sneer contempt at his executioners! Watch every prejudice of every parent who considers such a device cheap and stupid and trashy be inflamed when seeing this bizarre little apparatus in action on the 6 o’clock news, available for sale at the local comic shop where their little Bobby can ogle it or play with the one on display. And… oh my God… it came from a comic book? You can fairly hear the parents say, “But, but little Bobby’s Wizard magazines made comic books sound so… so… so… fun.”

Because ultimately, in the words of the late, great Douglas Adams… Wizard magazine is mostly harmless. And Sin City mostly isn’t. And of those two publications, if either is going to prompt “all the world” to get upset about comics and reinforce prejudices, it’s the latter.

Frank Miller is a leader of this industry, and we expect our leaders to lead by example. The question is: Should that example be one that’s acceptable when indulged in by someone we like with a publication we don’t… but unacceptable when done by someone we don’t like with a publication we do? If we follow that example, embrace that belief… we’re all on that slippery slope together, and speaking for myself, I can’t say I like the footing.

Let he who is without Sin…

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY, 11705.)

 

Happy Birthday, Kathleen

Today is Kathleen’s birthday and I am reminded once more of how incredibly fortunate I am that she is in my life.

First of all, there’s the obvious: if she were not here, I’d be dead. The only reason I went to the hospital when I was stroking out was because she insisted I go. If it had happened at home, with me on my own, I’d have died on the living room couch certain that I was simply feeling tired.

Second, she takes care of me on a daily basis, doing everything from preparing meals to making sure I have my barrage of pills.

Third, she is a wonderful mom to our daughter.

Fourth, and most important, she is my best friend, my best advisor, my best everything. If she were not in my life, I wouldn’t have one.

Thank you for being with me.

PAD

Marvel’s Neener Factor

Originally published June 1, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1437

I have to admit that, in the old days in Marvel direct sales, our best friends were the fine folks at DC Comics. Why? Because the programs, the approaches to sales, all the stuff that Carol Kalish (then-head of direct sales) came up with, was not only great in and of itself, but it always made DC look anemic in comparison. Most of the retailer programs had their origins at Marvel. Carol made them relatively easy to use, made the terms understandable. There was co-op advertising, rack programs, cash register programs, book programs (making books on improving business available at heavily discounted prices). In short, she made it a policy to go out of her way to make the retailers and distributors understand that Marvel was, and would always be, their friend.

And sure, the distributors used to get antsy, certain that at some point Marvel would try to shove aside the middle man by self-distributing, but those concerns would always be brushed aside. We didn’t have the manpower, we didn’t have the national set-up, and what it ultimately came down to is that Marvel simply wouldn’t be that stupid. Why go out of our way to shoot ourselves in the foot, when instead we could go out of our way to make our customers happy… our customers being the distributors, and by extension, the retailers (making the readers happy was editorial’s job.) When distributors would be angry about something, we went out of our way to placate them. When they were annoyed by a Marvel policy, we went out of our way to explain—to as many people as necessary, in as many ways as possible—why this particular policy had been developed. What need it filled. They may not have always agreed, but usually they understood, and I think on some level they appreciated that we had taken the time to go (say it with me) out of our way to address their concerns.

Now, y’know, we were just dumb sales folks back then, working for a company that was making money hand over fist, increasing sales, expanding the venues in which comics could be found, spreading good will. We lacked the foresight, the commercial acumen, the sheer business savvy of those who would come after us, all of whom were so much better, brighter, and cognizant of what was required to take a decades-old, thriving force in the industry and plunge it into bankruptcy.

We didn’t realize that all one had to do was go out of one’s way—not to make people happy—but to hack them off.

What simpletons we were! Just imagine! If we’d had that sort of vision, we could have sent Marvel into the toilet years earlier! But no! We were dumb enough to care about the customers, to be interested in genuine give-and-takes of ideas. We were dumb enough not to insult them. What the hell were we thinking?

Besides, we had DC to make the gaffes for us. It was great. From the dull-as-dishwater sales presentations to their playing catch-up in assorted retailer-benefiting programs, DC made us look good just from their sheer existence. It wasn’t that they were doing a bad job. It’s just that Carol was so far ahead of them that they occasionally had trouble keeping pace with her. No shame in that.

I’m not saying Marvel never made mistakes, God knows. The entire Kirby artwork return debacle alone was enough to make the company practically persona non grata at any number of conventions. There were missteps, miscues, miscommunications.

But even in our most majestic of screw ups, we never hit upon the remarkably clever approach currently being used by the Marvel Powers-That-Be, which I can only refer to as the Neener Factor.

DC execs must be groovin’ on this stuff, kids. Granted, yes, absolutely, Marvel books are selling well. But the current relations between DC and its retailers borders on a lovefest. DC Retailer Representative Program (in Dallas this year), DC’s co-op program, its reprint and reorder programs, etc., etc… all of that would be sufficient to garner much happiness between DC and the retailers. Added to that, however, the Marvel Neener Factor, and the DC Powers That Be must be eagerly awaiting every new Marvel public utterance in the exact same way that, a few years ago, Republicans anticipated each and every new Ken Starr subpoena.

To comprehend the Neener Factor, one need go no further than distilling—to their respective essences—the response that retailers received to running short of Green Arrow as opposed to running short of Ultimate Spider-Man, as follows:

Retailers to DC: We’re out of Green Arrow.

DC Response: Great! Here’s more.

Retailers to Marvel: We’re out of Ultimate Spider-Man.

Marvel Response: You should have ordered more; now you can’t have any. Neener neener neener.

Retailers to Marvel: But… what kind of publisher ignores demand, and doesn’t care if he comes up looking bad in comparison to his competition, which is handily filling our reorder needs?

Marvel Response: You’re dumb. Neener neener neener.

Marvel’s stated intention to “re-establish ourselves as an important mainstream publisher” glosses over the fact that the reason Marvel was able to establish itself as an important mainstream publisher in the first place was because the books were made available, and if Marvel hadn’t stopped making the books available, it might not have to re-establish anything. And here’s another news flash: Mainstream publishers, when they run out of something incredibly popular, reprint the damned thing.

How did Marvel hit upon the Neener Factor? Well, perhaps it was out of desperation or necessity or necessity born of desperation. After all, any new initiative that Marvel announced, editorial or otherwise, was immediately jumped on from every quarter, ripped apart, analyzed, shredded, and—more often than not—found wanting. This was a pretty hostile environment Marvel was faced with… a hostility spurred in no small part from fear, because no one really wants Marvel to go belly-up. Because if it does, a ton of retailers will go, too, which sure won’t be good for Diamond, and if Diamond goes, we’re done. The problem with fear is that it leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the Dark Side—or, as some retailers call it, 387 Park Avenue South.

Ah, if we’d only had the modern Marvel vision back in the old days! The vision to cheese off retailers by stating that the no-overprint policy was “sort of an IQ test for comics retailers.” Silly us: We overprinted. We overshipped. We overstocked. And we sold a lot more than Marvel’s selling now, dumb old us. And when we had overages, we bagged them and sold them to K-Mart, or sent them as giveaways to conventions, or bagged them for Halloween, or donated them to charities, and yes, sometimes we pulped them, but that was a necessary cost of doing business. Clueless were we not to realize that questioning the intelligence of our customers, getting them worked up, and making our competition look better than us was the true necessary cost of doing business. Not having the IQ’s of those would follow us—a succession of amazingly brilliant and rich men (always men. Hmmm…)—who excelled at doing interviews in important magazines, talking about how they knew best because, y’know, they were rich and successful and it was just comics, for crying out loud, how tough can it be… we didn’t have that kind of brain power, you see. All we had was high sales and a company not in receivership. Old low-IQ us, not knowing that the way of the future was going around and saying that those retailers who disagreed with us represented “the other end of the spectrum” (i.e., dumb people) “and they speak for themselves pretty constantly…”

Yes. Yes, they do. And the way they tend to speak is with their orders, and with their wallets, and with supporting those publishers whose books they can actually stock in their stores. DC’s management team has been in place for years, whereas Marvel’s steering committees in the past decade has left a pile of broken bodies in the dust that would rival the casualty count of the Flying Wallendas, which might imply that maybe, just maybe, the people at DC have some clue of what they’re doing. And what they’re doing is making the books available, and what they’re not doing is issuing IQ tests to retailers. Because they know that if they anger retailers sufficiently, IQ is going to stand for I Quit… as in, I Quit going out of my way to support Marvel Comics.

Neener neener neener.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

My clearest Joan Rivers memory

Many, many years ago, I was in Las Vegas with my then-wife Myra, and we went to see a double bill of Joan Rivers and Robert Goulet. Rivers came on first. Most comics in Vegas did a normal set of about twenty minutes. Not Rivers. She was on for well over an hour. She was hysterical every minute, but part of me wondered why she was doing such an abnormally long time on stage.

We figured it out when Goulet came on.

He was drunk. Rivers had been out on stage for so long because backstage they must have been trying to sober Goulet up. Didn’t work. He staggered his way through three songs, forgot the lyrics to “If Ever I Would Leave You,” and picked a fight with a guy in the audience before finally staggering off stage. So he was a disaster. But Rivers was amazing.

PAD

On writing DC vs. Marvel

Originally published May 25, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1436

The phone rang on my desk in the direct sales department at Marvel Comics. I’d been working there less than a week, but I’d quickly learned that whenever the switchboard got a phone call that they didn’t know what to do with, and they didn’t want to bother editorial with it, they invariably kicked it over to direct sales. More specifically, since I was the new guy, they kicked it over to me. “Direct sales,” I answered.

A kid’s voice on the other end said, with no preamble, “I was wondering, if Superman raced the Silver Surfer, who would win?”

“The Silver Surfer,” I said without hesitation.

“Okay, thanks,” he said, and hung up.

Of course I said the Surfer. I worked at Marvel. If I’d been working at DC, I would’ve said Superman. What else would you expect?

There’s a story—perhaps true, perhaps not—that Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson were in the midst of filming the climactic, major Batman/Joker confrontation in the first Batman film. As the anecdote goes, up there in the bell tower, Batman had just grabbed the Joker by the front of his shirt and drawn him in close, almost nose to nose. But instead of saying their dialogue, the actors were suddenly struck by the sheer ludicrousness of the situation: A guy in a rubber bat suit and make-up rings around his eyes, going mano a mano with another guy wearing clown white-face, a prosthetic smile, and a purple suit that would give Mr. Blackwell cerebral hemorrhage. Whereupon Keaton is alleged to have said, “My God…we’re grown men!” and the two actors dissolved into helpless peals of laughter. As one might surmise, the take was not used in the final print.

To a certain degree, I think that’s how Mark Gruenwald, Mike Carlin, Ron Marz and I felt when we were working on the megacompany crossover event, DC vs. Marvel, back in 1995. There was a giddy sense of We’re grown men! We couldn’t believe that we were actually being paid serious, grown-up money to actualize the kind of fanboy fantasies we’d been engaging in since our earliest comic book reading days.

This isn’t intended to take anything away from the achievement that was Superman vs. Spider-Man. That tabloid-sized publication was one of the comics that brought me back into the comic-reading fold after a lengthy absence. How could I pass it up, after all? The first meeting between a Marvel and a DC character: How cool was that?

The thing was, as a kid I never wondered about Superman slugging it out with Spider-Man for the simple reason that any kid will tell you that Superman could break Spidey in half. No, the tendency was to pair like-to-like. My sketchbook from when I was 12 years old has impressively bad drawings in which I have the Flash battling Quicksilver, Aquaman fighting Sub-Mariner, Captain America deflecting a batarang with his shield. So imagine what it was like for me when Mark Gruenwald called me up and asked me if I wanted to participate in what was intended to be the ultimate fan boy kind of dream that they won’t let me say in a family publication.

I’ve never given so little thought to an offer in my life. At the time I had a major workload I was dealing with, and I had sworn to myself that I wasn’t taking on any other projects. But my God, how could I pass it up? The thinking behind the team-up was that they wanted two writers who had chops with both companies, and Ron and I were apparently on the short list of writers with that criteria. I snapped it up in a heartbeat, with a sense that I was going to be contributing to history.

To me, another of the big attractions was the reteaming of Gruenwald and Carlin. The Grueny/Carlin office was the happening place back in the day. Any truly demented scheme, any nutso activity that wound up affecting the entire Bullpen, usually had its origins in the demented recesses of that particular lair. So the thought of seeing them hatching the ultimate crossover, of being a part of it, was absolutely irresistible.

The basics of DC vs. Marvel came out of a marathon plotting session which started in Gruenwald’s Manhattan apartment, migrated to a nearby restaurant, and back to his place. We were all extremely aware of the weight of fan expectations upon us. On the one hand we wanted to do everything we could to play to them; on the other, we also wanted to confound them, to pull rabbits out of our hats that no one would see coming. That was the concept behind the Amalgam books: Grueny and Carlin figured, correctly, that fans would be so focused on the long-awaited battles, that they would be utterly blindsided by the unexpected development at the end of issue #3. I had dibs on writing an Amalgam title if I so desired, but I passed on it, feeling overwhelmed enough time-wise by my involvement with the main series. Besides, the only Amalgam character I’d ever want to write is Snapper Jones, Sidekick-For-Hire.

The first thing we did was produce a lengthy list of confrontations we wanted to see. This was the aspect that catapulted us most squarely into the fan wish-list mentality. Our collective inner children were bouncing around Gruenwald’s living room, coming up with every team-up and battle scenario we could muster. Some of them wouldn’t make the cut at all, others would take no more than a panel, others a page or two. Some of the bouts would constitute what we called the “Undercards” or “Prelims.” These were the superhero slugouts that the fans wouldn’t be voting on, the ones that we controlled the outcomes for. Why did we do it that way? One word: Politics. We had no idea how the fan voting would turn out on the major confrontations, but we were keenly aware of the fact that neither company wanted to be utterly humiliated. So we arranged the undercard battles to be fairly even-Steven in terms of which company’s heroes won. That way, even if the fan voting went utterly down one company line or the other, at least both sides would have some measure of dignity in the outcome because of the preliminary bouts.

Anyone who’s ever been in a plotting session such as this will tell you that ideas get thrown about fast and furious, modified, restructured, etc. But in terms of specifics, this is what I recall:

I think I came up with the basic notion of two warring cosmic entities as the impetus for the confrontation. The reason I believe those were mine was because I essentially cribbed them both from book three of the Photon series which I’d written some years before (loosely basing the concept on Zoroastrianism) and which I was reasonably certain—based on the royalty statements—that no one had read. I know for sure I came up with the sky-is-bleeding visual, also taken from the Photon book. Remember, kids, if you’re going to steal, steal from yourself or from ancient religions.

I’m pretty sure Carlin came up with the inspired gag of pitting Superman against the legions of the Mole Man. It was a brilliant homage to the original movie short, Superman and the Mole Men, the 1951 flick that featured the debut of George Reeves as Superman. The original was gloriously cheesy and is especially memorable for the sequence where the subterranean creatures open fire on the Man of Steel with a huge ray gun, unintentionally hilarious since it looked suspiciously like a tricked-up vacuum cleaner. We recreated the scene for issue 4, right down to the vacuum cleaner gun lovingly reproduced by Dan Jurgens and Joe Rubinstein.

I definitely know I came up with the idea that a battle could be won by simply “immobilizing” one’s opponent… the equivalent of winning a wrestling match by pinning the other guy for a few seconds. That way we didn’t necessarily have to end each fight by having one hero pummeled into unconsciousness; it also meant that a weaker opponent could theoretically defeat a stronger one if he was crafty enough and/or lucky enough.

The defeat of Sub-Mariner at the hands (well, hand) of Aquaman caused some fan controversy. Mea culpa. When working out the undercards, I issued a plea: I said, “Look, guys, I’m busy trying to earn Aquaman respect in his ongoing series, and he’s got an ongoing title while Namor doesn’t right now. I need to have Aquaman win this bout.” Gruenwald and Carlin said, “How the hell can Aquaman reasonably defeat Namor, who’s clearly so much stronger?” “I don’t know… maybe he can drop a whale on him or something,” I said. Which is what wound up happening.

We didn’t do Thanos vs. Darkseid the way I wanted. My notion was to have Thanos and Darkseid confront each other, simply say, “So,” to each other, and stand there, staring. This would start toward the beginning of issue #1. Every so often we’d cut back to them, still standing, still staring. And toward the end of issue #4, without a word, Thanos would fall over. End of battle. My notion was that they were battling on a plane of reality/existence that we couldn’t even begin to conceive. But it wasn’t visual enough, didn’t jibe with the plot, and we didn’t have room for it anyway. But it would have been cool.

The other mandate we had from Gruenwald and Carlin was that, however the thing was resolved, Batman and Captain America had to be the key players in making that happen. The concept was that, in the midst of all the universe-shaking cosmic proportions of the story, it was the actions of the two most mortal of heroes which would serve to settle the dispute between the cosmic entities (who really evolved into metaphors for Marvel and DC, or even Carlin and Gruenwald themselves.)

The initial thought was that Ron and I would tag-team the writing: He’d write 8 pages, then I’d write the next, and so on. After the initial brainstorming session, we tried mapping a detailed outline for the first issue in that manner, and it totally tanked. Bottom line, our styles were too different. Mike and Mark felt the story didn’t flow, and they were right. So Ron and I decided we would simply each write two issues entirely (with input from the other as needed), making each one of a piece. To Ron’s utter astonishment, I volunteered to take issues 2 and 4. As far as he was concerned, 1 and 3 were the issues, because #1 was… well… #1. The historic first encounters. The most hyped, the one everyone was waiting for. And issue #3 was going to have all the “big” bouts. In terms of pure attention and fan anticipation, 1 and 3 were the must-have issues, and I was willingly handing them off.

Me, I saw them as laden with creative pitfalls. The premiere issue had to be largely thirty-two pages of exposition and confused heroes running around saying, “Who the hell are you?” As for the much-heralded issue #3… I gladly gave it a pass. First off, there was going to be lots of extra work, because all the main bouts had to be plotted and scripted twice, so that the voted-upon ending could be dropped into place. Second, I didn’t feel I could do creative justice to mega-bouts like Superman vs. Hulk in three pages. And third, I hated the notion of having the outcome bound by fan preferences (for instance: I’m sorry, kids, but Lobo can tussle with Superman for an entire book, demolish ten square miles of buildings, and not break sweat. Fine, Wolverine is the best he is at what he does, but what he doesn’t do is beat Lobo… not in three pages, not in thirty three.) And besides, the “big, big” match-ups were not the duos from my childhood. Storm, Wolverine, Lobo, and Superboy (as such) weren’t around when I was a kid, nor in my youth was I a fan of Captain America or the Hulk (ironic, all things considered.)

But Namor vs. Aquaman, Quicksilver vs. Flash… as noted above, those were the match-ups I’d always wanted to see, even as a kid. So the temptation to do the “official” versions was irresistible, and they were going to be in #2 (plus for some fights I would have as many as six pages to play with: A positively leisurely pace compared to three pages.) And issue #4 appealed to me as a creative challenge because somehow, in some still-undetermined way, that issue had to tie everything together into a satisfying conclusion.

So Ron and I worked out that rarest of compromises: One in which both participants felt they got the better end of the deal. And Ron certainly did as good a job with the inherent pitfalls of the two issues I steered clear of.

How was fan reaction when the series finally hit? Mixed, as is always going to happen with any such project. Many fans both crabbed about it and also complained it wasn’t long enough, which reminded me of the old joke about two Jewish women, Sadie and Ethel, who run into each other in a hotel in the Catskills. Sadie says, “So, nu, Ethel? What do you think of the food here?” Ethel says, “Oy! The food is terrible!” Sadie replies, “You’re right, the food’s terrible! And such small portions!”

As for me, DC vs. Marvel was easily the most exciting project I ever had the opportunity to work. There’s been a handful of times that I’ve lived the dreams of my youthful comic reading days. Getting Jerry Siegel’s autograph at San Diego. Writing a Spider-Man story penciled by John Buscema and inked by John Romita, Sr. But DC vs. Marvel was definitely a pinnacle in that regard, and I’ll always be grateful to Mark and Mike for making me part of it.

That’s it. Sorry. No sarcastic or smart-alecky conclusion. I had a blast. Period.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

THAT was a long twelve days

Finally back home after being on the road for a week and a half.

We set off a week ago Friday and first drove to West Virginia, where we attended the WV Pop Con. A relatively small convention that had about 2000 attendees, the Pop convention is a labor of love for the organizers held in the college town of Morgantown, WV. We stayed in a perfectly nice hotel that was surrounded by half a dozen restaurants, so finding somewhere to eat was no problem, and the fans seemed to have a good time.

Then we drove down to Knoxville where Caroline got to spend a few days with big sister Ariel. We then drove the way of the way down to Dragon*Con. Got off to an exciting beginning when they informed us that we were supposed to have arrived on Wednesday and had given away our hotel room. A trip over to Dragon*Con central promptly changed their minds and we got our room, thank God.

I then spent four days doing two things: sitting at my table at Artist’s Alley and attending something like eight panels during the course of the time. Autographs ranged from people apologizing for bringing me two things to sign (because they thought they were being pushy) to people bringing me my entire run on X-Factor or the original Spidey 2099.

The unquestioned high point of the convention was Saturday night at the banquet where we wound up sitting with our favorite filmmaker, Terry Gilliam. He and Kathleen wound up talking incredibly intently the entire time they were together, and since I’m aware of how much his films have meant to her, I knew what a quintessential fan girl moment that was for her.

I’m not going to list all the people I saw because I’ll forget someone and thus piss them off, so I’ll just say it was great seeing you all, but ultimately it’s nice to be home.

PAD

BID Mailbag: DVD coding

Originally published May 18, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1435

I’m heading out of town shortly and am pressed for time this week, so a couple of quick observations…

In honor of his recent drug-related bust, I invite you all to play the Aaron Sorkin drinking game.

Sorkin’s writing, in both The West Wing and Sportsnight (the latter in reruns at 10 PM Thursdays on Comedy Central… and it’s amazing what a good show it is when you can actually find it) has certain visual tics to it. Sure, sure, we’re used to the Ben Hecht-era rat-a-tat-tat school of dialogue, but I’m referring to Sorkin’s favorite phrase:

“I’m just saying…”

There are acceptable variations, such as “What I’m saying is,” “I’m saying,” and “Here’s what I’m saying.” Considering the velocity with which the characters speak, it’s probably fortunate that they’re constantly clarifying themselves. The thing is, everybody says it at some point or other.

So every time someone says, “I’m just saying” or one of the variants, toss back a shot. Now me, I don’t actually drink, so I always drink a pretend shot. You hard drinkers can, of course, do what you want. Let’s just hope that they never move the two series onto the same night, or viewers could get well and truly plastered.

*  *  *

I received the following letter from W. Smith at Warner Bros.:

In your most recently published POV, a letter you quoted asserts that CSS, the encryption scheme used in DVDs, does not prevent the DVDs from being copied. The writer could not be more wrong. “CSS” stands for “content scrambling system.” It is an encryption system, the sole purpose of which is to prevent the copying of DVDs. CSS-protected motion pictures on DVDs may be viewed only on players and computer drives equipped with licensed technology that permits the devices to decrypt and play–but not to copy–the films.

As is well known, the MPAA companies (one of which I work for) recently brought suit against Eric Corley, aka Emmanuel Goldstein (the name of the leader of the underground in Orwell’s 1984) for posting on his hacker website (www.2600.com) a CSS decryption program known as DeCSS.

DeCSS is referred to as a “DVD-hack.” Using DeCSS, the CSS encryption software in a DVD can be bypassed thereby allowing copying of the DVD. In August 2000, a federal judge found that the posting of DeCSS on the www.2600.com site violated the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”) because DeCSS was “primarily designed or produced for the purpose of circumventing a technological measure that effectively controls access to a work protected under [the Copyright Act].” The opinion in the case can be found on the 2600 website at http://www.2600.com/dvd/docs/2000/081..., and the case is now on appeal before the U.S. Court of Appeal for the Second Circuit. You might want to read the conclusion. Even if you disagree with the opinion (and as a content provider I can’t imagine you would) you have to respect the judge’s philosophical view of the matter.

Regional coding, on the other hand, is a scheme that is intended to prevent DVDs from being played outside whatever region they are coded to play in. One of the reasons for such coding is that motion pictures are not usually theatrically released at the same time throughout the world, and regional coding would permit the release of a DVD version of a film in, for example, the United States prior to the theatrical release of the same film in a foreign market.

Regional coding is implemented in hardware, meaning that a chip in your DVD player is encoded for one of the 6 regions of the world. This coding cannot be changed without physically modifying the DVD player, which is extremely difficult and expensive. If you buy a DVD player in the U.S., it will be hard-wired for Region 1 coding, and will only play Region 1 encoded DVDs which are usually only sold in Region 1. If, for example, you want to play a DVD purchased in Region 4 (South America), then you need a Region 4 player (which presumably you would buy there). As might be expected, there are companies that have sprung up and are in the business of selling “all region” players, which are DVD players that they have physically modified. You can also “defeat” regional coding by purchasing DVD players from all six regions.

Regional coding has nothing to do with copying DVDs, and perhaps the writer you quoted imported that fact into his discussion regarding CSS. Whatever the case, by publishing his letter I am certain that you have unwittingly added to the confusion regarding this matter.

At this point, all I know for sure is two things:

First, I bought a foreign DVD of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon off eBay under the impression that—like foreign-edition laserdiscs—I’d be able to play it over here. I was wrong. And I’m really torqued about it.

Second… with no offense intended, Mr. Smith… I’m sorry I ever brought up DVDs to begin with. The whole point of the column was Harlan Ellison’s battle against copyright infringement. Suddenly we’ve gone off on a lengthy tangent about DVDs, featuring scary phrases like “scrambling” and “coding.” DVDs are ultimately beside the point, and I don’t understand most of the stuff that’s being said anyway, and frankly, the discussion’s boring the crap out of me. In the meantime, I’ve just received word that someone posted the entirety of my Trek novel The Captain’s Daughter over on Usenet, ripping off another of my books. So yours will be the last word on these fricking coding things, and Regions and what-have-you, and let’s remember that everybody should support Ellison in his cause so writers don’t get cheated… I’m just saying.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

 

Dave Sim on a “Tangent”

Originally published May 11, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1434

According to Bob Zmuda, long-time confidant and co-conspirator of Andy Kaufman (a performance artist before anyone knew what a performance artist was), Kaufman told him how he had always aspired to be a wrestling villain. He wanted to be one of those guys who swayed arrogantly around the ring while everyone booed. Zmuda pointed out the obvious drawback to this aspiration: Kaufman, from a physical point of view, would make as credible a wrestling cad as Don Knotts. Even those who nursed the belief that wrestling wasn’t scripted wouldn’t buy the notion of scrawny Kaufman lasting more than five seconds with the monsters of the mat. To Kaufman, however, that was merely a stumbling block, an obstacle to be overcome. He wanted the publicity; he wanted to be noticed; he wanted to be booed. And as we all know, he found a way: He started wrestling women. No one could comprehend why he was doing it, and he pissed off a lot of people, and it wasn’t especially funny, and it damned near killed his career—probably would have if he hadn’t died (or… did he?)—but you know what? While it was all going on, he put on a hell of a show.

Keep that in your mind for a minute…

Comic journalist Augie De Blieck, writing online for Comic Book Resources, echoed the sentiments in this column which stated that Leonard Kirk continues to go woefully unnoticed month in, month out for his pencils in Supergirl. “(I)t is insane,” wrote De Blieck. “Kirk is a great artist.” He went on to make, however, a point that I hadn’t touched on and which I think is quite valid:

“What does staying on a book for a long time get you? Nothing. Yes, it engenders the loyalty of the small fan base that sticks with that one book for the long haul. But does it get you any new fans? Not likely. What gets your attention these days? That’s simple—comics news. Change books. Do something new every three months. Be so insanely late with something that everyone starts asking about you. Get Wizard to hype you up, but they’ll only do that after you make some big news move somewhere.”

And he concluded by saying that Kirk is “out of the public eye and tucked neatly into the Supergirl corner, where he can be left alone. He draws well, does it month in and month out, and never offers up excuses. For all his hard work, he’s forgotten over on the side. It’s a damn shame, but that’s how it works.”

As noted, De Blieck was talking about Leonard Kirk. I just want to emphasize that so that I’m not perceived as hijacking the intent of his column, when I say that De Blieck could just as easily have been talking about Dave Sim.

We’re coming up on a quarter of a century of Cerebus, and any way you slice it—endurance record by a creator, achievement by an indy publisher, whatever—it’s a remarkable achievement. The series has had its ups and downs, lurching from brilliant to practically unreadable. But because it’s “marginal,” as it were, it can easily be left forgotten over on the side, because “that’s how it works.”

The issue that just hit, #265, the conclusion of Sim’s lengthy (and somewhat interminable) “Going Home” arc, kicks over to the brilliant side of the scale, as a frantic Cerebus finally arrives home after a mere thirty-plus issues, only to discover with mounting horror that his homecoming is not coming off at all as he imagined it would. The final sequences with Jaka, his long-time lover (if “love” is a word that Cerebus truly comprehends) are shattering.

Now…

Go stick that in a Diamond Preview. Go get retailers worked up about it. Cerebus? Yeah, we order two, three copies for regular customers. That’s what you’ll hear, I guarantee it. Which means that no one except regular Cerebus readers are going to see it, and people who should really be exposed to Sim’s work will pass it up, or more likely not even hear about it.

Except, by startling (lack of?) coincidence, the story is followed by a twenty page… I don’t know what to call it. Essay? Screed? Rant? Titled “Tangent,” it is on the subject of gender and goes on at length attacking women in general, feminism in particular, and any man who is dumb enough not to share Sim’s insight into that tragic thing called the female psyche.

And ooooh, is there shrieking from the comic reading public, and ooooh, is there shouting, and ooooh, are there accusations and finger pointing and thread after thread of discussion on computer boards, and ooooh, is the comic flying off the shelves.

The question is whether that last aspect—the sudden increase of interest in Cerebus—had anything to do with the timing of the essay, or the reasons behind writing it. Sim would probably say it’s all irrelevant (“It is irrelevant whether I hate women. It is irrelevant whether I love women… All That Is Relevant… is the intellectual foundation—or lack of same—upon which feminism rests,” he writes in part.)

All sorts of people who have had all sorts of encounters with Dave Sim are weighing in on the subject. Some swear that Dave is nuts, and has always been so. Some say that Dave is a misogynist. Some say he’s a misanthrope. Some say he’s at war with inner sexual confusion. Some say, to paraphrase Robin Williams in Good Morning, Vietnam, that he’s more desperately in need of sexual congress than any white man in history. No one’s saying he’s right. No one would dare. And with an essay of such extreme measures, it would be hard to do so. It certainly wouldn’t be stylish.

The problem is, what makes “Tangent” so hard to take is that he really does have some valid points scattered around. No one gets as angry as someone being forced to think by someone they believe they despise, especially when it’s stuff they’d rather not think about.

For instance, Dave observes the lunacy of a philosophy that dictates, “Only in a society which maintains a level of 95% of alimony and child support being paid by men to women can men and women be considered as equals.” I don’t know for sure that his percentages are accurate, but in principle, he’s right. The judicial system lopsidedly favors mothers in divorce situations, right down the line, from alimony to child support to custody. In a society where equality seems to be the ideal, parity between the sexes in divorce cases is only changing—if at all—with glacial speed.

Dave also observes, “If, prior to our life on this earth, we were presented the option of being male or female, a short description of the functions of the male versus the female genitalia (with emphasis on menstruation, menstrual cramps, PMS, labour pains, yeast infections, et al) would most certainly result in so vast a number of us choosing the male ‘equipment’… that it is difficult, if not impossible, to envision any woman being born into this world at all.”

This may sound like a hideously awful mindset for anyone to hold, but the germ of truth is there. Particularly when one considers that Jewish men of Orthodox and conservative leanings having been starting their day for thousands of years with prayers that say, in essence, “Thank you, God, for not making me a woman.” So are we looking at five thousand years of Judaic misogyny? Not at all. The prayer relates to exactly what Dave points out: All the physical hardships and inconvenience of womanhood. Jewish men thank their maker each and every day for sparing them all that (and in case you’re wondering, the only prayer I ever say in the morning is, “Please, God, don’t let it be time to get up already…”)

The problem is that Dave, who repeatedly excoriates women for being “emotion-based beings,” depends on emotion rather than logic for his conclusions. One cannot logically jump from a litany of female plumbing inconveniences to the conclusion “No one wants to be a woman.” Just because men are grateful for not having to deal with it, it is impossible to determine—except on the very emotional basis which Dave disdains—that women are filled with self-loathing because of their physicality, any more than we can conclude that men hate themselves because they have to be concerned with impotence and prostate cancer.

And these emotional leaps Dave makes throughout… I keep thinking, How can he not know that what he’s saying doesn’t logically track? Is he stupid? I don’t think so. Is he nuts? I dunno. Certifiable? Couldn’t say.

But is he the wrestling villain of comics? Unquestionably. Hey, look, someone had to step in. It used to be McFarlane, but he became dull as dirt when he’s not being sued, and Quesada’s kinda trying, but he’s limited by his corporate responsibilities.

Me, I keep thinking back to the party I once wrote about in this column… the party I, in my sales days, hosted at a convention on behalf of Marvel Comics, and where Dave was in attendance. And two hours into the party, Dave was staggering around, convincingly drunk on the rum and Cokes he’d been steadily downing… except only the bartender and I knew that Dave had been tossing back straight Coca-Cola for the preceding hour. But the inebriation performance clearly fit the hard-drinking Dave Sim reputation far better than the truth.

Does Dave really believe all the stuff he wrote (up to and including that feminists hijacked the civil rights movement from under the nose of Martin Luther King)? Some will say definitely yes, others definitely no. Me, I confess I’ve no clue. But this much, I do know:

Like Andy Kaufman, Dave Sim sure knows how to put on a hell of a show.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

 

The “Rules” of Superheroes

Originally published May 4, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1433

There are certain rules that govern readers of superhero comics and the comics themselves. Certain things that are simply “understood” as not being something one discusses in polite company. A sort of “Extraordinary Gentlemen’s Agreement,” if you will. However, I do not now, nor have I ever claimed, to be a gentleman, so I figured I’d mention the top ten topics which we generally gloss over when reading comics:

1) The Invisible Woman is blind. Here is a character who, according to the Marvel Universe Handbook, bends light waves around herself, thus rendering her invisible to the naked eye. Here’s the problem: If light waves are being bent around her, then that means light isn’t reaching her eyes. But that’s how people see: Light reaches the eye and the images are processed by the brain. If Sue Richards is—through benefit of the cosmic rays—causing light to veer away from her, then there’s no way that she could possibly perceive the world around her. Naturally, Sue can just start shouting, “Helloooo! Where is everybody?! Where’d you all go?!” That would, unfortunately, undercut the whole “no one can see her” thing, because, y’know, if she’s hollering like that, the Super Skrull or Doc Doom or whomever will be able to take her out pretty easily.

2) Superman has a lousy sex life. This was something John Byrne touched on with an invulnerable character in the late, lamented NeXt Men, but it bears repeating. Here’s a guy who is not bothered by bullets bouncing off him. It’s not like when you wear a bulletproof vest, and the impact of bullets can knock you on your butt and even break ribs, but at least you’re alive. This is a man who doesn’t feel a thing. It causes about as much sensation as being pelted with cotton balls. So how much fun can he possibly be having with Lois? He’s the man of steel. If she kisses him, he won’t feel the warmth of her lips against him… anywhere. Foreplay? Forget it. He shouldn’t be able to detect her hands running along his skin, because he can’t even feel pellets of lead traveling at high speed. As for the actual act? Well, friction is certainly a big plus when you’re engaged in it. You think a standard issue Trojan can dull pleasure? Superman is a Trojan horse. With the amount of sensation he’s able to withstand without it tripping any sort of switches in his mind, it’d be like wearing six or seven prophylactics at one time. How worked up can one possibly get under the circumstances? He’s not feeling anything. He wouldn’t know whether he’s coming or going, so to speak. For that matter, I doubt that Kara Zor-El was anything other than frigid. Considering she’s dead, maybe she’s the lucky one.

3) The only couple in comics history with a lousier sex life than Superman and Lois were Ben Grimm and Alicia Masters. I don’t really have to spell this one out, do I?

4) Reed Richard could have just about any woman he wanted. Same with Elongated Man. Their body parts stretch, as long as they wish. I don’t think this one requires spelling out, either, except to note that—of the three main elastic guys in comics—two of them got married very early in their careers, indicating that even in the world of comics, women know a good thing when they see it and are very quick to grab it all for themselves. Plastic Man remains eligible, ladies, probably because he’s just too damned weird, but I bet even he could see plenty of action if he were so inclined.

5) Gotham City should be crime free. Metropolis, too. For that matter, so should New York City. One of the great unanswered mysteries of comics is why in God’s name any villain anywhere would ever commit any crime in a city where superheroes make their homes. Yes, of course, there are certain guys for whom it’s a given: The Joker, for example, would never think of relocating to Dayton, Ohio. He needs the Batman to give his own crimes validity. And the Flash’s rogue’s gallery made it their collective life’s ambition, not to commit crimes, but to beat the Scarlet Speedster. I’m fine with that. But why is there any such thing as petty theft? Why would anyone want to engage in any crime, from pickpocketing to bank robbery, when at any given moment they could be nailed by a spider web from overhead, or a Batarang, or Captain America’s shield? At least a cop car you can see a mile off, whereas superheroes tend to leap out at you from the shadows. What’s the point? What’s the purpose? There’s thousands of cities in this country, in the world. Why should anyone try to conduct illicit business in the heart of superhero central? When was the last time you saw petty criminals going out of their way to break into houses next door to a police station? Criminals are concerned about two things: Robbing people, and getting away with it. If they’re in a town where paranormal individuals are threatening the latter priority, then they’ll go where the crime is easier, just as they’ll bypass a car with the Club or visible alarm systems in favor of something less protected. When Spidey swings around the city looking for crimes to photograph, he should be coming up empty. The amount of work these guys have to do should be shrinking exponentially the longer they’re in action.

6) Superman’s X-Ray Vision Should be Outlawed. Here’s a guy with a power that presents a threat on several levels. Number one, he’s a walking privacy issue. Who wants a guy around who can see through your clothes? Superman should be a walking target for sexual harassment suits, just from women saying, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at me!” Number two, there are people who cannot and should not be exposed to X-Rays. What if Superman is scanning a building looking for criminals and his x-rays imperil the fetus of a pregnant woman? What if they interfere with a pacemaker? I’m surprised that, at the very least, a court order hasn’t been issued against him.

7) The Flash is Unbeatable. Think about all the times you’ve heard about people being killed on railroad tracks. You would think that it’s a method of death that would the easiest thing in the world to avoid. You don’t want to be hit by a train? Easy: Stay off the tracks when the train is coming. The problem is, more often than not, people think they can get across the track before the train gets to the crossing. They see it coming, think, “Oh, it’s not coming that fast,” and try to beat it. Except the train’s actually moving a lot faster than it looks at first glance, and it gets there sooner than expected. And the train’s only moving… what? Forty, fifty miles per hour? Sixty, maybe? Now think about the Flash: Last I heard, he can motor at over two thousand miles per hour. Two thousand. Miles. Per hour. And that’s Wally West, who’s slower than Barry Allen was. Now think about all the times a villain has said, “It’s the Flash!” and gone for a weapon. It’s absurd. Even if you’re lucky enough to see him coming (i.e., you Just So Happen to be looking in the right direction), the moment you spot him, it’s all over. For argument’s sake, let’s say he’s a mile off when you notice a red blur heading your way. The Flash is moving at thirty three miles per minute. That’s about… what? Half a mile a second? That’s twice the speed of sound (admittedly, the crook could be alerted to the Flash’s presence by the sonic boom his cruising speed would cause, but that’s not going to help him much.) From the moment the crook sees him coming to the point where he gets out the sentence, “It’s the Flash!,” that’s gotta be about two, maybe three seconds at the very least. By that point the word “It’s—” is out of the guy’s mouth, the Flash is already there. By the time he manages to say “—the—”, the Flash has already flattened him with a dozen punches. He simply can’t be beaten, because the moment a bad guy spies him, he’s finished before his brain can fully process the information. This is one of the reasons why speedster characters drive me nuts; because if you play them to their logical limit, no one can stand against them. The one exception to that is Impulse, because he’s so easily distracted, which is why I don’t mind having him in Young Justice. Other than him, though, forget it.

8 ) The Inhumans never get a good night’s sleep. If you knew that there was a guy slumbering down the hallway who could annihilate the place if he happened to talk in his sleep, would you get much shut-eye?

9) You’ll believe a man can fly. No. He can’t.

10) Dressing up like a bat just isn’t that scary. I’m sorry, it’s not. It’s just kinda weird. Criminals aren’t that superstitious or cowardly, especially when they’ve got guns in their hands. And if you’ve got a bolt of cloth hanging on your back slowing your mobility, the odds of you dodging bullets from those non-cowardly crooks are pretty darned slim.

Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., P.O. Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.

 

The CBLDF: Perception vs. reality

Originally published April 27, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1432

So we’re talking about the CBLDF this week.

Now of course, it’s not as if I’ve never discussed it before. Indeed, the last time I did, it prompted J. Lyle of North Carolina to wonder in “Oh, So,” in part:

I’m very glad that someone brought up this particular point about CBLDF. It certainly seems to me that CBLDF mostly defends the right of retailers to carry pornographic comics. I know that is not always the case, but it is a strong impression that CBLDF gives to the public.

That’s too bad. I feel that this is part of the reason that our industry is in decline. Whenever comics are given any publicity in the popular press, it seems to focus on “adult-oriented” comics. Imagine the poor parents who, remembering the comics of their youth, take their child into the local comics shop to pick up a copy of Scooby Doo, only to find that same shop catering to an entirely different type of client: the pornography buyer. So retailers have the right under the law to sell pornographic comics, but is it a good idea?

And he goes on to ask:

Why does CBLDF seem to cater to the pornographic comics publisher? Does the CBLDF have any interest in the publishers of “family-friendly” comics? If so, why would it choose Cherry Poptart as “spokesmodel” for fund-raising efforts? And why is the CBLDF table at conventions littered with pornographic comics? (I realize that they carry a wide range of comics for fund-raising purposes, but pornography is at their tables in abundance.)

I find that I’m forced to acknowledge that Lyle has a point: It must seem to the average fan that the CBLDF does indeed “cater to the pornographic comics publisher.” As a result, it must give the average fan a rather unsavory feeling. Make him or her feel—well—yucky defending the cause, because it takes a hell of a lot of character for people to really, truly, believe in the First Amendment. To support that which they themselves find unpalatable, based purely on that most ephemeral of human motivations: Principle.

The short answer to Lyle’s question is to say that the CBLDF caters to porn publishers in the same way that firemen generally tend to cater to people whose houses are aflame. If Lyle is at home, minding his own business, he’s not thinking much about the fire department. But just imagine if Lyle’s neighbor’s house was on fire. Suddenly the presence of the fire department would be highly desired, because he’d want that blaze extinguished before the wind carried the flames over onto his house.

That’s what the CBLDF is. We’re the firemen. We’re the ones who hop onto our shiny red firetrucks and dash to the scene of the conflagration in hopes of smothering the flames with water before it gets a lot worse.

Now Lyle may think his house his fireproof. As for the neighbors, well—they’re noisy and disgusting and do lewd things day and night. If their house goes up, secretly that’s just fine with him. And it could never spread to his house because his house is impervious to it.

This is the sort of thinking that underscores the great divide between adult material and kiddie material. Booksellers have the right to sell pornography… “but is it a good idea?” Lyle asks. In order to make his point, he describes a comic book store that matches up with none I’ve ever been into. Every comic store I know of, if some parents walk in wanting to buy Scooby Doo comics, old Scooby’s right there, in the kid rack or the dollar rack or alphabetically nearby old standbys like Spider-Man and Superman, if they’re racked alphabetically. And if the store does indeed carry adult material, you’re no more likely to find it next to kiddie fare than you are to find the works of Anais Nin next to those of J.K. Rowling in your local Borders, or The Red Shoes shelved next to The Red Shoe Diaries in Suncoast video.

Unfortunately, there’s a common mistake made by many critics of anti-censorship organizations such as the CBLDF. They think that censors come after material because it’s pornographic. Wrong. Censors come after material because they don’t like it. That’s the only reason. The only reason.

What are the most censored works of literature in American history? Huckleberry Finn. Catcher in the Rye. The classification that one would ascribe to the subject matter is secondary. It’s the handy excuse, it’s the buzzword, it’s the means by which censors get people riled up so that the censors can accomplish their aim, namely to decide on your behalf what you should and should not be allowed to read.

The major problem the CBLDF faces is that the format of comics—despite Maus, despite Jimmy Corrigan, despite Sandman, all of which get copious mainstream publicity and are not remotely “pornographic”—is still regarded as the province of the child. As Neil Gaiman has pointed out, words by themselves remain adult fare, and pictures by themselves are art. But the moment you combine words and pictures, the result is considered kiddy fodder. Which means that the bar for our little venue is lowered even further than it would be for novels. Anything, anything above the level of a Scooby-Doo, runs the risk of posing a danger to the only acceptable audience that the general public will ascribe to comics: Kids.

Is there a public perception that CBLDF equates with porn? Lyle says yes. He may be right. Does that indicate that there’s something wrong with the cause or the organization? No. It just indicates that the public wasn’t paying attention. Wow. There’s a shock.

In this column alone, I’ve discussed instances where such “pornographic” fare as Elfquest, Spawn, and Spider-Man were targeted by individuals with axes to grind, who tried to make life difficult for various retailers. I’ve also discussed Legend of the Overfiend, material that is considered art by scholars and probably most of Japan. But a wink and a nudge from a prosecutor and a reminder that “comics are just for kids” got the retailer found guilty of selling obscene material… not to minors, but adults.

Lyle only makes mention of Cherry Poptart. Curious. With an array of “spokesmodels” including Evan Dorkin’s Milk & Cheese, Dave Sims’ Cerebus the Aardvark, not to mention t-shirts with graphics by Terry Moore, Mike Kaluta, Chester Brown and Frank Miller, why is it that Larry Welz’s Cherry is singled out? I don’t know. I do know that we can’t be held responsible for the public’s misguided perceptions. All we can do is correct it, over and over and over again.

Perhaps the CBLDF might be more palatable if Scooby-Doo were our symbol. But hey, what about that Scooby Doo, huh? What an unwholesome bunch. The dog talks; probably the work of the devil. He gets high on some sort of snack, which is an obvious endorsement of drug use. And the relationships of the humans! Look at the way Fred dresses, and the fact that he hasn’t hit on Daphne. Gotta be gay. For that matter, Daphne and Velma are probably a couple, and we don’t even want to know what’s going on between Shaggy and Scooby. Drug-addled dogs and perverts. It’s enough to make you sick. Out, out damned Spot, or Rover, or Scooby, or whatever the hell your name is. You’re almost as bad as that Harry Potter, encouraging our children to worship Satan.

Bottom line: The CBLDF doesn’t defend pornography. The CBLDF defends what needs defending. Because someone, somewhere, is capable of being offended by absolutely anything. Now you can either contribute to the volunteer fire department… or you can wait around until the fire gets to your home, and wonder why no one is coming when the alarm bell sounds.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)