Peter David's Blog, page 83

Movie review: Men in Black

Originally published August 8, 1997, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1238

Let’s start off today’s symposium with a letter from Jim H. in Durham, N.C. Jim, writing of a recent film he saw, says:

This film I watched was the story of a strange visitor to Earth, who comes to our world as a little baby, is discovered and adopted by an elderly farmer and his wife, and grows up realizing that he is different from the other kids. You see, he has powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men.

At the age of eighteen, on the brink of manhood, he sets into the world to learn the truth about himself. In a vast and mysterious temple (a veritable fortress if you will) he is counseled by the image of his true father that his destiny is to become a great hero. Our hero then journeys to a great and thriving metropolis where he takes up residence as the city’s protector. He also meets and falls in love with a tough-as-nails woman of the world who at first dismisses him because he is too, well, mild mannered.

No, the film I watched recently was not Superman: The Movie (well, okay, I did watch it recently, and it was just as good as when I first saw it when I was nine, but that’s not the point) it was Disney’s Hercules. Now, having said all that let me stress that it was actually pretty darn good! Sure, Disney took a lot of liberties with the source material, but Disney has always done that. (Am I the only one who can’t wait until all the kids who watched Hunchback of Notre Dame grow up to read Victor Hugo’s classic in high school? “Eew! Gross! That wasn’t in the movie!”) After all, Disney, the icon of family wholesomeness can’t have a hero who is the drunken, womanizing, bastard son of a drunken, womanizing god. Also, the movie is no further removed from the myths than the other currently popular version of Hercules running around.

Before people start complaining about continuity (as comic fans are wont to do) it should be pointed out that the myths themselves are not always consistent. As for ripping off Superman, heck, comic books have been doing that for years. Alan Moore’s Supreme is close to the top of my must-read list, and it is a flagrant carbon copy. I guess what comic book fans have to do is enjoy the movie, is appreciate it for what it is. Great animation, good music, hilarious supporting characters (Danny DeVito is great as a satyr named Phil) and a villain you love to hate (James Woods deserves an Oscar nomination for his portrayal of Hades). Is it eye candy? Probably, but there is nothing wrong with candy as long as you don’t replace your regular diet with it.

Believe it or not… the foregoing relates to Men in Black… and the Bible…. and Agent America… and Star Trek. All of which I’ll get to. So let’s talk about Men in Black first.

How many times have you seen a baseball game wherein one of the teams is chalking up no hits whatsoever… and it’s not for lack of connecting? The batters get up there swinging, whack the ball, and the opposing team makes one miraculous play after another, thwarting one endeavor after another. At times such as those, you will hear the announcer say, “This team couldn’t buy a hit!”

Well, that’s what Marvel Comics has managed to do.

Marvel’s history of success with feature films of its properties has never been stellar. There was Howard the Duck (a film that became synonymous with “bad”) and then it sort of went downhill from there. The Punisher was mindless (not that the comic book itself was exactly Moliere). Captain America was ghastly (who can forget the Red Skull, his hand firmly gripped by a trussed up Captain America as a rocket prepares to lift off… who can forget the Skull yanking out a knife and, rather than stab Cap to wrest himself free, instead cuts off his own hand). The Fantastic Four movie was filmed merely to maintain hold on dramatic rights. So imagine my surprise when I saw Men in Black and discovered that it was based on “the Marvel Comic.”

It’s an interesting turn of events. MiB, you see, was created by Lowell Cunningham and released by Malibu. But Malibu was gobbled by Marvel and so Marvel managed to buy a hit.

The first time I saw the characters was back when Cunningham was showing around black and white Xeroxes of a new comic he’d created which, frankly, was crude and unattractive. There was nothing to separate it or distinguish from any of the many other amateurish publications which populate the convention landscape.

Who knew? Who ever knows?

The premise of Men in Black is deceptively simple: There is a secret organization within the government which is the equivalent of the INS…except that it deals with genuine, out-of-this-world aliens. The individuals who constitute the operatives for this group are faceless, anonymous, and designed to fade into the background. They are the “men in black,” part of the American popular mythos. They showed up in an episode of X-Files, and some folks tell me that Dan Aykroyd (whose interest in the paranormal resulted in Ghostbusters) based the Blues Brothers on the urban legend of the men in black.

In this case, the film’s creators have grafted what is essentially your standard-issue savvy veteran/offbeat maverick cop story onto Cunningham’s science fictiony premise. Will Smith in his second July 4th weekend alien-buster in a row is the young turk who is recruited by veteran Tommy Lee Jones, who sees something in the youngster that eludes the agency’s hard-bitten boss, Zed (played with no-nonsense zeal by Rip Torn.) Jones essentially sends up his own portrayal of the unflappable, hardbitten Gerard from The Fugitive, while Smith is the cocky hot-shot who must work overtime to maintain his facade of seen-it-all attitude as he’s confronted with one bizarre revelation after another.

And the core revelation is what makes the film and premise work, namely that aliens are already among, have been among us for some time now–everyone from Newt Gingrich to Sly Stallone, and even Elvis whom Jones informs us “Didn’t die. He just went home,” news that will please the woman from Independence Day who was hoping that the aliens would “bring back Elvis.” Say, here’s a thought: Perhaps Elvis was an advance scout for an invading armada, and all the impersonators we see running around are not merely impersonators, but actually fellow Elvises who are slowly hoping to turn everyone into Elvis clones. Thank you. Thank you very much.

It is the job of the Men in Black, operating in anonymity with simple designations of “K” and “J”, to oversee their presence on earth and make sure that no overly hostile alien individuals show up and make life miserable for we poor earth folk.

As a film, it’s fairly lightweight. Not quite up there with Ghostbusters in terms of milking humor by treating the outrageous as the mundane, MiB nonetheless strikes close to the right balance of humor and gravity. One of the most fully realized moments of this tricky combination occurs as J (Jones) is questioning an alien regarding a potential threat to humanity while, in the background, K (Smith) is getting the snot kicked out of him by an alien mother giving birth. Despite the fact that his partner is ensnared by a tentacle and getting slammed around, J barely affords him a casual glance or word of encouragement. It’s as if he’s trying to convey a message to his young partner: Learn to take this stuff in stride, kid.

Overall, Men in Black works, for the same reason that Hercules works. For that matter, for the same reason that Star Trek worked over a period of thirty years.

Myths. Myths and archetypes, and reinterpretation of same, and trying to make sense of a world that, at its core, makes no sense at all.

And I’ll talk about it more next week.

Either that or I’ll talk about George of the Jungle if I’ve seen it and like it enough.

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

 

Vic Chalker returns

Originally published August 1, 1997, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1237

Vic Chalker: Hello, this is Vic Chalker, on special assignment to But I Digress, and I’m here with Ruth Beder-Batten, the President for the Coalition of Moral Animated Responsibility. Welcome to the column, Ruth.

Ruth Beder-Batten: Happy to be here, Vic.

VC: So, Ruth… it is my understanding that you’re here to announce that your organization is going to be joining the Baptist Church in boycotting Disney.

RBB: That’s correct, Vic. It’s something that I’ve been pushing for for some time now. As you know, our organization has been at the forefront over policing the wretched, godless corporation known as Disney. This company has been on a downward spiral ever since the creation of Touchstone films and the release of Splash. Imagine: A film with nudity, sex outside of the bounds of matrimony, and jokes about men’s private parts… all originating from within the Disney studios, no matter what label they may release it under. We organized prayer meetings at the Disney offices, you know.

VC: That’s…very impressive. And you think it’s been downhill since then.

RBB: Oh, no question. Little Mermaid with its clear degradation of women and destruction of the Anderson story… Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin which featured sorcery and magic as positive elements—both in teaching moral lessons or being incarnated as magical beings—when we know that anything having to do with magic is the devil’s work. And don’t even get me started on that grim, disgusting package called Hunchback of Notre Dame, a film that was an insult not only to Victor Hugo, but to a magnificent college with a proud football heritage. Plus there are the hidden messages as well, the little signs of smut peddling that has become Disney’s stock in trade. You know, for instance, the discovery about looking up Jessica Rabbit’s dress? We noticed that.

VC: That was you?

RBB: Oh my, yes. Went over it frame by frame to find that one. And those billowing clouds of dust that spelled “S-E-X” in The Lion King… we found that one.

VC: You know, Ruth, it could be argued that you’re poring over Disney films just looking for suggestive material. That if you keep looking and keep looking, you’ll find something even though nothing was intended.

RBB: Yes, our various opponents have made that very point. They’d even managed to convince some within our own organization of that possibility, which was why we had held out on the boycott for so long. We even managed to rationalize that what the Disney company does as part of their employee policies for their—what’s the polite term—fag workers—

VC: I don’t think that was the polite term.

RBB: Well, whatever. By and large, however, they’ve managed to keep their perversions of sex and religion out of the marketplace where it could corrupt the true audience for the films, namely youngsters. Now we simply boycotted Hunchback for obvious reasons. But with this newest insult, this latest attack on our sensibilities, why… we had no choice but to join in with the Baptist boycott of the company as a whole.

VC: I’m not following. What’s the latest insult? I mean, granted, 101 Dalmatians was pretty awful, but—

RBB: I’m speaking, of course, of Hercules.

VC: I’m sorry… what? Hercules? The new animated film?

RBB: An insult to god-fearing, morally upright individuals.

VC: You’ve lost me. Hercules, did you say? I’m sorry, but… well, I saw it, and it seems like harmless entertainment to me. Solid animation, semi-catchy songs—particularly “Zero to Hero”—and James Woods practically walks off with the film.

RBB: That simply goes to show you how thoroughly the Disney entertainment engine has managed to brainwash you. It is clear to me, and to the others in my organization, that Hercules is a ghastly production promotion homosexuality and Satanism, and is overall a sacrilegious film.

VC: How do you come to that conclusion?

RBB: All right… first, Vic, it’s set in Greece. Now I’ve been around. I know what that means. I’ve heard the jokes: In Greece, how do you separate the men from the boys?

VC: With a crowbar, yeah, I know. But that’s just a joke. It’s not like every man in Greece is gay.

RBB: True enough, I suppose, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And there’s no dispute about Hercules: He was gay. He had a male lover, Iphitus, whom he killed in a fit of madness. Hercules is Disney’s first openly gay, or at least bisexual, hero. Oh, they tried to clean it up, of course. That’s their way. But you can still tell. Look at him! He’s wearing a miniskirt, for heaven’s sake. A miniskirt and sandals. Is that the most openly gay ensemble one could imagine? It’s amazing that Disney thought such an outfit could possibly not be noticed. Where’s his earring, I wonder?

VC: I… don’t really think that the animators intended to—

RBB: And then there’s the villain. James Woods who “steals the film,” as you say, as Hades. How typically Disney. To take an individual who is supposed to be the incarnation of evil and turn him into the best thing in the movie. How more seductive of our children towards a path of damnation can one possibly get?

VC: Well, Hades-the-place didn’t look all that attractive.

RBB: A minor consideration in comparison. There’s so much entertainment value in the character that he actually makes evil look fun. Entertaining. Certainly more interesting than the homosexual buffoon who is the lead character. And I haven’t even begun to explore the most sacrilegious aspect of the film. Hercules is an insult to every Christian viewer in this country.

VC: Because the movie is about gods?

RBB: Exactly. Exactly right, Vic, I’m glad you understand me. It’s right in the Commandments: Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me. If the Lord had meant us to find entertainment value in old Greek legends, he would never have given us the Ten Commandments. Think of the origin of Hercules as presented in the film.

VC: Well, actually, it kind of reminded me of Superman…

RBB: No, no, not at all. It’s an obvious recasting of the life of Jesus, with Hercules in the role of Jesus. His father is God. He comes down from heaven, tries to make life better for mortals. And then he is presented with the opportunity to return to that heavenly, or Olympian state, to be at the side of his father once more. It’s an insult, I tell you. What a horrible, sacrilegious tone for a movie to pursue. Zeus, Hera, they are all presented as gods. Hercules wishes to become a god as well. There are not gods, Victor. There have not been many gods for centuries. There is one, true god, and there is his son, and that is that.

VC: Well, I think that the Buddhists and the Moslems might have something to say about th—

RBB: To present a film wherein characters and concepts that should have long bee relegated to oblivion are treated as viable subjects for children’s entertainment… to have a story in which the protagonist aspires to godhood… good heavens, Vic, we should be teaching that God is God, the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and Omega. Mortals cannot, should not, aspire to be gods. We should be working for our reward in the afterlife, but that reward is not a heavenly glow and a chance to be a deity ourselves! And how is Hercules supposed to earn this heavenly reward? Through violence! Killing monsters, slaying monsters, kicking monsters halfway across what passed for the “civilized” world.

VC: Well, if you actually watch the film, that’s not exactly how—

RBB: What kind of perverted message are we sending to our children? Kids, get big and strong, pump yourselves up, beat up enough creatures, and your place in heaven is assured!

VC: Well, you know, Ruth, this has been really interesting, but I think it’s about time that we—

RBB: And don’t get me started on the funny satyr! Creatures legendary for their perverse and disgusting obsessions. And that’s his teacher! I can just imagine what he was teaching him. And did you see how jealous the horse became of Hercules and the girl? Just what was going on between Hercules and the horse anyway?

VC: This has been Vic Chalker with another BID exclusive.

RBB: And what was the deal with the singing darkies—?

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705. Remember those Garfield dolls that suck to your car window? I’d like to see a similar toy with plush George of the Jungle dolls. With maybe a really smushed-in face and some vine clutched in one hand. Imagine having one of those plastered against your car window, as if he’d just slammed into it. Watch out.)

 

A pretty quiet 4th this year

Kath and Caroline will be in Italy vacationing with Kath’s folks until Sunday. So basically here’s my line-up for things to do today: The Mets vs. the Phillies. Then at 5 PM they’re running “1776″ on TCM. Then there’s the Capital 4th celebration on PBS. All that time I’ll also be writing. So my day will be productive, entertaining and also sadly quiet.

Happy 4th to everyone else, and nobody blow off any parts of their bodies with firecrackers.

PAD

More detailed comments on “Amazing Spider-Man”

The short version was that I had a great time at the film. Then again, it’s hard NOT to at a Marvel screening. More detailed, spoiler free comments following:

Is it better than “The Avengers?” No. “The Avengers” remains, to me, the new gold standard of Marvel superhero films. Literally years in the making, it’s pretty much unfair to make comparisons.

Is it better than the first “Spider-Man” film? If you’re looking for fealty to the source material, then no. The story, along with Marc Webb’s direction (was any director more aptly named for a project?) provides us a darker, more emotional story…so emotional, in fact, that Uncle Ben’s death almost come across like an afterthought. The main emotional story involves Peter Parker’s feelings of abandonment by his parents. That’s pretty potent stuff: so much so that everything else takes a back seat to it. Peter’s core lesson of “With great power comes great responsibility?” Never spoken, although Ben Parker talks around it. Peter’s wrestling career driven by a need for money? Gone. Peter’s realization that his negligence allowed Ben’s killer to escape? Instantaneous rather than delayed. It’s almost as if the filmmakers are saying, “We know all this; let’s move along.” Even so there’s still a sizable delay until Spidey shows up in his modified (from the original) costume, complete with what look like racing stripes.

On the other hand, what fans feared would be a simple regurgitation of previous stories turns out to be a wholly original endeavor (if you ignore the Spidey annual years ago that actually did explore the fate of the Parkers). In a way, it’s more outer-directed than the previous film. “Spider-Man” was Peter Parker’s exploration of himself: his lessons, the sides he wanted to take, the sacrifices he had to make. “Amazing Spider-Man” is more outward: Peter trying to make sense of the world he’s living in; a world where his parents abandoned him, leaving him in the care of Gidget and Josiah Bartlett.

A mid-closing credits sequence is absolutely essential viewing, because otherwise you’re left sitting there at the end going, “But wait…what about…?” At least the filmmakers acknowledge that issues remain unresolved, presumably to be further explored in subsequent films.

And the Lizard looks kinda silly. Not Gorn-level silly, but silly. But what’cha gonna do? He’s a humanoid lizard. There’s one brief scene where, like the comic book, he’s wearing a lab coat. I can see the story rationale for him ridding himself of it; he’s trying to leave humanity behind. But he looked cool in the coat; made him unique.

The film also suffers from the same thing the first three did: perpetual maskectomy. The need to see how many times Spider-Man can lose his mask, presumably so we can see the actor’s face for the truly emotional bits. Say what you will about “V for Vendetta”–at least they didn’t feel the need to unmask him every twenty minutes so we could see Hugo Weaving emote.

But all of this pales in comparison to the quality of the acting. From top to bottom, the actors take the film squarely on their shoulders and singlehandedly, under Webb’s direction, make the film worth your while.

First there’s Andrew Garfield, with an impeccable American accent and David Tennant hair (especially when he takes the mask off–it all stands straight up.) And just as Tennant’s lifelong love of the Doctor shone through in his portrayal of the time lord, so too does Garfield’s love of Spider-Man shine through on every frame. This is a guy who’s living the dream and it makes his performance literally irresistible.

Then there’s Emma Stone as Gwen Stacy, dressed as if she just stepped out of the 1970s with knee high boots and mid-thigh skirts. The Peter/Gwen relation is underwritten, but the chemistry of the two actors carries it to such a degree that you can readily believe the actors have hooked up in real life. Sally Field and Martin Sheen bring a new vitality to Aunt May and Uncle Ben, who in previous incarnations going all the way back to “Amazing Fantasy #15″ always seemed like they had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.

And then there’s Dennis Leary’s Captain Stacy. This is not the older, avuncular version of George Stacy from the original series, nor even the younger one from “Ultimate.” It becomes quickly apparent why the movie doesn’t require J. Jonah Jameson; Stacy fills the role of authority figure who despises Spider-Man and his vigilante tactics. And what’s interesting is that, whereas with JJJ you just figure it stems from jealousy or a desire to sell newspapers or both, Leary actually manages to sell the audience on his POV. You get where he’s coming from. He has no patience with what he sees as some asshole taking the law into his own hands, and really, after the Martin/Zimmerman case, who can blame him?

And they’re aided and abetted by great special effects. They’ve traveled lightyears since Spidey hit the big screen ten years ago. Not only is the web swinging seamless (long time fans will welcome back the mechanical web shooters. Me, I never had a problem with the organic web spinners, but then again, having done it a decade earlier in Spider-Man 2099…) The filmmakers seem to take pride in seeing just how much they can twist Spidey into a spidery pretzel as he soars through the air.

Do you need to see it in 3D? Well, it’s not a movie that I’d describe as a MUST see in 3D, like “Hugo.” On the other hand, there are plenty of sequences where you’ll find yourself saying, “Man, I wish I was seeing this in 3D,” so I figure you might as well.

Ultimately, (no pun intended), despite the script shortcomings, “Amazing Spider-Man” proves an irresistible endeavor, exploring emotional depths in a fresh, original manner, buoyed by terrific performances and versatile direction. A must-see for Spidey fans.

PAD

Heroine Barbarian

Originally published July 25, 1997, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1236

One of the interesting thing about computer boards is that entertaining stuff can be sent along with greater facility than ever. So I thought I’d pass some of it along to you. For starters, there’s a charming Gilbert & Sullivan spoof sent along to me by long-time net buddy Tom Galloway, and reprinted with permission of the original author, Kevin Wald. It’s entitled:

Heroine Barbarian

by Kevin Wald

[We join our operetta already in progress. The infamous Pirates of Pergamum have just seized a bevy of beautiful Mytilenean maidens, and are attempting to carry them off for matrimonial purposes. Gabrielle intervenes, with a recitative (well, it's better than a pan flute solo):]

Gabrielle:

Hold, scoundrels! Ere ye practice acts of villainy

Upon the peaceful and agrarian,

Just bear in mind, these maidens of My-TIL-ene [1]

Are guarded by a buff barbarian!

 

Pirates:

We’d better all rethink our cunning plan;

They’re guarded by a buff barbarian.

 

Maidens:

Yes, yes, she is a buff barbarian.

 

[Xena leaps in from the wings, with a tremendous war cry, does a mid-air somersault, and lands on her feet on the Pirate King's chest.]

 

Xena:

Yes, yes, I am a buff barbarian!

[The orchestra starts up.]

I am the very model of a heroine barbarian;

Through Herculean efforts, I’ve become humanitarian.

I ride throughout the hinterland—at least that’s what they call it in

Those sissy towns like Athens (I, myself, am Amphipolitan).

I travel with a poet who is perky and parthenian [2]

And scribbles her hexameters in Linear Mycenian [3]

(And many have attempted, by a host of methods mystical,

To tell if our relationship’s sororal or sapphistical).

 

Chorus:

To tell if their relationship’s sororal or sapphistical!

To tell if their relationship’s sororal or sapphistical!

To tell if their relationship’s sororal or sapphisti-phistical!

 

Xena:

My armory is brazen, but my weapons are ironical;

My sword is rather phallic, but my chakram’s rather yonical [4]

(To find out what that means, you’ll have to study Indo-Aryan [5]).

I am the very model of a heroine barbarian!

 

Chorus:

To find out what that means, we’ll have to study Indo-Aryan –

She is the very model of a heroine barbarian!

 

Xena:

I wake up every morning, ere the dawn is rhododactylous [6]

(Who needs to wait for daylight? I just work by sensus tactilis [7].)

And ride into the sunrise to protect some local villagers

From mythologic monsters or from all-too-human pillagers.

I hurtle towards each villain with a recklessness ebullient

And cow him with my swordwork and my alalaes ululient [8];

He’s frightened for his head, because he knows I’m gonna whack it—he’s

Aware that his opponent is the Basileia Makhetes!

[The music crashes to a halt, as the Chorus stares at Xena in utter confusion. She sighs.]

It’s Greek. It means “Warrior Princess”!

[Light dawns on the Chorus, and the music resumes.]

Sheesh . . .

 

Chorus:

He knows that his opponent is the Basileia Makhetes!

He knows that his opponent is the Basileia Makhetes!

He knows that his opponent is the Basileia Makhe-makhetes,

 

Xena:

Because I’ve got my armor, which is really rather silly, on

(It’s cut so low I feel like I’m the topless tow’rs of Ilion,

And isn’t any use against attackers sagittarian [9]).

I am the very model of a heroine barbarian!

 

Chorus:

It isn’t any use against attackers sagittarian–

She is the very model of a heroine barbarian!

 

Xena:

In short, when I can tell you how I break the laws of gravity,

And why my togs expose my intermammary concavity,

And why my comrade changed her dress from one that fit more comfily

To one that shows her omphalos [10] (as cute as that of Omphale [11]),

And why the tale of Spartacus appears in Homer’s versicon [12],

[She holds up a tomato:]

And where we found examples of the genus Lycopersicon [13],

And why this Grecian scenery looks more like the Antipodes,

You’ll say I’m twice the heroine of any in Euripides!

 

Chorus:

We’ll say she’s twice the heroine of any in Euripides!

We’ll say she’s twice the heroine of any in Euripides!

We’ll say she’s twice the heroine of any in Euripi-ripides!

 

Xena:

But though the kinked chronology, confusing and chimerical

(It’s often unhistorical, but rarely unhysterical),

Would give a massive heart attack to any antiquarian,

I am the very model of a heroine barbarian!

 

Chorus:

‘Twould give a massive heart attack to any antiquarian –

She is the very model of a heroine barbarian!

 

[As the orchestra plays the final chords, a wild Xenaesque melee ensues, and the curtain has to be brought down.]

 

Notes:

[1] Actually, “Mytilene” would properly be accented on the third syllable; Gabrielle always did have trouble with rhymes. (Mytilene, incidentally, is a city on the isle of Lesbos — the hometown of the poet Sappho, as a matter of fact. It is not clear what, if anything, Gilbert is trying to imply here.)

[2] parthenian: virginal.

[3] Linear Mycenian: Mycenian is the ancient dialect of Greek which was written in Linear B (a form of Greek writing that predates the adoption of the alphabet). The implication is that Gabrielle does her writing in Linear B; if Xena takes place around the time of the Trojan war, this is chronologically reasonable.

[4] yonical: “Yonic” is the female counterpart to “phallic”.

[5] Indo-Aryan: The language group consisting of Sanskrit and its close relatives. Both “chakram” and “yonic” are of Sanskrit derivation.

[6] rhododactylous: rosy-fingered. (Homer makes frequent reference to rhododaktulos eos—”rosy-fingered dawn”.)

[7] sensus tactilis: Latin for “the sense of touch”.

[8] “Alalaes” are war-cries (the Greeks spelled a Xena-like war cry as alala or alale) and “ululient” is a coined term, apparently meaning “characterized by ululation”.

[9] sagittarian: archer-like.

[10] omphalos: belly-button.

[11] Omphale: Legendary queen of Lydia. From context, we must assume that she had a cute belly-button; however, no known classical source seems to address this vital issue.

[12] versicon: a coined term, apparently meaning “collection of verse”.

[13] Lycopersicon: the biological genus to which tomatoes are assigned. (The tomato is a New World plant, and was entirely unknown in the Old World in pre-Columbian times. Thus, having tomatoes in a Xenaish context is an even greater anachronism than having Homer tell the tale of Spartacus.)

* * *

And then there’s the following sent along by an individual who goes by the name of “Stray Hugs” on AOL.  As the father of three daughters, one of whom is of dating age and the other fast approaching (with the third, bless her, far more interested in “Sailor Moon” than anything else) I thought it rather apt.

 

APPLICATION FOR PERMISSION TO DATE MY DAUGHTER

 

NOTE:  This application will be incomplete and rejected unless accompanied by a complete financial statement, history, lineage, and current medical report from your doctor.

1.   NAME ____________________________  DATE OF BIRTH _________________

2.   HEIGHT: __________ WEIGHT: _________ I.Q. __________ G.P.A. ___________

3.   SOCIAL SECURITY # _______________ DRIVERS LICENSE #: ________________

4.   BOY SCOUT RANK: ________________________________________________

5.   HOME ADDRESS: _________________ CITY/STATE: ____________ ZIP: _______

6.   Do you have one MALE and one FEMALE parent? ____________________________

If NO, explain ______________________________________________

7.   Number of years parents married: _____________________________________

8.   Do you own a van? ______ A truck with oversized tires? ______ A waterbed? _____

9.   In 50 words or less, what does LATE mean to you?  __________________________

10.  In 50 words or less, what does DON’T TOUCH MY DAUGHTER mean to you?

__________________________________________________________________

11.  In 50 words or less, what does ABSTINENCE mean to you? _____________________

__________________________________________________________________

12.  Church you attend: ____________________ How often you attend? ____________

When would be the best time to interview our father, mother and priest / minister /  rabbi? ________________________________________________________

Answer the following by filling in the blank: please answer freely – all answers are confidential (That means I won’t tell anyone – ever – promise)

A. If I were shot, the last place on my body I would want to be wounded is in the __________.

B. If I were beaten, the last bone I would want broken is my _______________________.

C.  A woman’s place is in the _____________________________________________.

D. The one thing I hope this application doesn’t ask me about is _____________________.

E. When I meet a girl, the first thing I notice about her is _________________________.

(NOTE:  If answer E. begins with T or A or even B discontinue and leave premise keeping your head low and running in a serpentine fashion is advised)

F. What do you want to be IF you grow up? ____________________________________.

MY SIGNATURE INDICATES THAT ALL INFORMATION SUPPLIED ABOVE IS CURRENT, TRUE AND CORRECT TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT, NATIVE AMERICAN ANT TORTURE, CRUCIFIXION, ELECTROCUTION, CHINESE WATER TORTURE, RED HOT POKERS, WALK THE HOT COALS AND THE HILLARY CLINTON KISS TORTURE.

__________________________________

SIGNATURE (That means sign your name, moron)

Thank you for your interest.  Please allow four to six years for processing.  You will be contacted in writing if you are approved.  Please do not try to call or write (since you probably can’t and it would cause you injury).  If your application is rejected you will be notified by two gentlemen wearing white ties and carrying violin cases (you might want to watch your back).

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.  He’s pleased when he gets stuff like this because it means that, in this time of running around to various conventions, he can actually get ahead on his column.)

 

Why print news is inherently superior to televison news

When the SCOTUS decision came down, Kath and I were in a car somewhere in Pennsylvania en route to New York. Radio reception was for crap since we were in the mountains. So Kath, using her iPad, went to the website of the New York Times. Here is, from rough memory, what the paper of record had up a couple minutes after ten o’clock:

The Supreme Court has released its decision on health care. We are reading the decision and will provide a detailed report once we are confident in the accuracy of our analysis.

Meanwhile at that exact moment, both CNN and Fox were busy providing reportage about the decision that was 180 degrees wrong.

All reporters love scoops as much as anyone else, but I think television is more interested in getting news first while newspapers–at least the good ones–are more interested in getting news right.

PAD

Movie review: Batman and Robin

Originally published July 18, 1997, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1235

Let us now praise famous butlers…

Just as “But the dinosaurs were great” became my personal mantra for slogging through The Lost World, I very quickly found that a new mantra helped to stabilize me and anchor me through the assault on both my visual senses and reasoning faculties called Batman and Robin, as follows:

Thank God for Michael Gough.

I’ll come back to that.

I saw the film under somewhat unique circumstances: A private screening for DC employees. That meant that the audience was atypical. We, after all, make our living in comic books. It is “serious” to us. So seeing a comic book related movie that takes comics less than seriously–that actually has the villain Mr. Freeze (Arnold Schwazzen… Schwarzne… aw, the heck with it, you know who plays him) declare, “Today, Gotham City… tomorrow, the world!”—is going to prompt guffaws and annoyance. For Batman and Robin (more properly Batman and Robin and Batgirl and Mr. Freeze and Poison Ivy and Bane and the Fluronic Man… or perhaps simply Batman Et Al.) is about as far removed from Tim Burton’s vision of Batman as could possibly be.

Nevertheless, it is difficult to completely hate a film that so thoroughly accomplishes everything that it set out to do. B&R isn’t really about telling a story, any more than a James Bond film is about giving an accurate depiction of the British Secret Service. B&R is, first and foremost, about maintaining and perpetuating the Batman franchise for Warner films. And that it will very likely do.

Back in 1989, Tim Burton produced a film that was, essentially, Batman for the 1990s. So now we’re in 1997 and director Joel Schumacher has given us a Batman for… well… the 1960s.

If we’re going to compare the films, think of Batman as a cat and Batman and Robin as a dog. The former was sleek, dark and mysterious: Incoherent story-wise, as is typical of a Burton film, but with an enigmatic world view that was not what Joe Public expected. Keep in mind that the vast audience knew Batman only from his goofy Adam West incarnation; Burton’s vision challenged audiences to accept it on its own terms. A cat.

Batman and Robin, on the other hand, is a big, goofy dog. Rather than coaxing you into its world, it charges out to you, big and slobbering and jumping all over you, thrilled to see you (and your ticket money), licking you ferociously and barking, “I’m so happy you’re here! Wanna play? Scratch me! Play with me! Love me love me love me!” while shoving its nose into your private parts with nippled armor and crotch-and-butt shots thirty seconds into the film.

It’s Batman back when he was “Batman” rather than “The Batman” (probably because “The” never works when Robin’s aboard; saying “The Batman and Robin” sounds off, and “The Batman” and “The Robin” is just plain silly). See Batman and Robin trade quips during fight scenes. See Batman and Robin just-so-happen to have ice skates in their boots to combat Mr. Freeze’s “hockey team from hell.” See Batman and Robin serving as special guest auctioneers at a charity function. Can you envision the Michael Keaton Batman emerging from the shadows to stand there and say, “How much am I bid?”) Thrill to dialogue that would have to descend 30,000 feet just to be over-the-top, villains who never talk but always declaim, and a visual styling that once again–as Paul Dini said of Batman Forever–looks like it was edited with a salad shooter.

But it’s hard to hate something that, like that slobbering canine mentioned before, so desperately wants to be loved.

To summarize: Batman (George Clooney) and Robin (Chris O’Donnell) confront the ominous Mr. Freeze, clomping around in armor the size of Fresno and freezing everyone and everything via a freeze gun that’s powered by diamonds (yes, you read that right: Diamonds are apparently an energy source. Yes, it’s news to me, too.) Much of Freeze’s backstory is lifted straight from Batman: The Animated Series: Scientist Victor Frieze, attempting to save his nearly dead wife who remains frozen in suspended animation, encounters a mishap that turns him into a walking popsicle. In this instance, we’re told that his wife suffers from “MacGregor’s Disease.” It’s not spelled out, but we assume that the symptoms include speaking with a thick brogue, battling annoying rabbits named Peter, and–in its final stages–writing comic book stories with three times the verbiage required to make your point.

But the animated Freeze was far better realized. In BTAS, Freeze was appropriately devoid of human feeling: Cold, heartless, icy. I would have liked to see the same from Arnold’s Freeze. The flat, detached delivery of the Terminator with an electronic flanging added. But instead we get another cackling, histrionic nut, no different in execution and style than Two-Face, Riddler, or any other villain since Jack Nicholson’s subtle Joker.

Yes, Nicholson was subtle. Go back and watch it. Knowing that the character was visually over-the-top with his purple clothes, white face, green hair and red lips, Nicholson wisely (or at Burton’s direction) reined himself in. By and large, the Joker spoke in soft, understated, quiet tones. His occasional hysterical outbursts of demented laughter were, consequently, far more effective because they had something with which to contrast. But every villain since then has taken their incarnation as a comic book villain to play–well–a comic book villain.

He is joined by Oprah–sorry, Uma–Thurman as Poison Ivy: As conceived here, basically a vegetative redo of Selina Kyle/Catwoman from Batman Returns. She starts out mousy, is done wrong by a man, apparently killed and then embraced by that which will become her symbol (cats for Selina, Mother Earth this time around). Uma is stuck with the same lousy dialogue that Arnold has–demented speeches regarding her plans for obliterating all human life. She handles it a bit better, generating fewer unintentional laughs, but her grasp on the character is in-and-out. Sometimes she’s Michelle Pfeiffer, sometimes she’s Venus from Baron Munchausen (and is even addressed as such by Robin), and during one sequence, inexplicably, she’s doing Mae West. Perhaps unsurprisingly, her best moment comes when she first appears in full costume, sashaying across a crowded dance floor while an instrumental of the song “Poison Ivy” filters through the background. It’s the one sequence in which she doesn’t say a damned thing. We just get to look at her, prompting the realization that if Akiva Goldsman never writes another line of dialogue for any Batman character, we can all die happy.

Oh, and she’s accompanied by Bane, who is reduced to a monosyllabic muscleman. I found myself muttering under my breath, “Bane hates puny Bat people.”

Plot? There’s something about freezing Gotham. And tomorrow the world. But you knew that.

There are visual insanities, such as the sight of Batman rolling along in a car more heavily protected than a Sherman tank, while Robin–and later Batgirl, played relatively cluelessly by Alicia Silverstone–are sitting ducks on motorcycles. It evokes memories of Decoy the Pig Hostage from Tiny Toons (“You draw their fire, Decoy, whilst I hide in the all-concealing shadows”). And then there’s the sequence where, in order to “protect” his partner, Batman shuts off Robin’s cycle while it’s still rolling. Since objects in motion tend to stay in motion, Batman’s safety concerns not only result in Robin skidding out, but also nearly plummeting out-of-control to his death. Robin later voices concerns that Batman doesn’t trust him. Batman doesn’t trust him? Why in God’s name does Robin trust Batman? If I were Robin, I’d be convinced Batman is trying to kill me. And then there’s Poison Ivy holding up a baby man-eating plant, during which half the audience was chorusing, “Feed me, Seeeeymour!” In short, the film has such an “anything goes” feel to it that, when Batman and Robin first set eyes on Poison Ivy, you almost expect to see a shot wherein their codpieces have swollen to several times their normal size.

The theme for the film is “family.” We know this because it’s jackhammered into the audience with more on-point dialogue than you’d see in a hundred beginner creative writing courses. To scriptwriter Goldsman, “subtext” means words written on the side of the Red October, and subtlety means that you say something only twenty times rather than fifty. Understatement is not Goldsman’s strength (unfortunately, neither is characterization, nor dialoguing nor plotting.)

George Clooney is the third Batman in the past decade. Michael Keaton gave us quirky and mysterious: As intended, you could see something akin to the Joker’s thought process going on behind Bruce Wayne’s eyes with Keaton, except that those energies were channeled towards protecting rather than hurting. Val Kilmer never really worked as Wayne: One got a sense of quiet intelligence, as befits a real genius. But with Kilmer, one couldn’t help but get the feeling that this guy would be smart enough not to risk his life in a rubber suit, no matter how guilt ridden he felt. To say nothing of the fact that, as I noted at the time, I had trouble with Dick Grayson having darker beard stubble than Bruce Wayne.

What Clooney brings to the mix is not the helter-skelter eyes of Keaton, or the pure intellect of Kilmer, but rather quiet, rugged authority. He’s comfortable in his role as Batman, a solid parental figure for Chris O’Donnell to rebel against–as opposed to Kilmer, when the two of them seemed more like frat brothers. He’s solid without being stolid, confident without being smug, and sensitive without being overly vulnerable. Although I admit that his ER notoriety did get in the way for me at one point. While making out with his girlfriend, Julie Madison (Elle MacPherson), he’s called on the carpet by Julie when she angrily informs him that he had been saying the name “Ivy.” “Who’s Ivy?” she demands. And I found myself wanting Clooney to cover by saying, “Uhm… no, I was… actually asking for an I.V… sometimes I think I’m a doctor…”

But with all the over-the-top insanity, all the sensory barrage, all the bits tossed in that you have to rub your eyes and ask yourself, “Did I just see that?” (Batman’s credit card comes to mind), there is a core of humanity to the film that raises it a few notches–just a few–above pure eye-candy overload.

And that core is Michael Gough.

Gough, along with Pat Hingle as Commissioner Gordon, are the only constants in the four-film series. But whereas Hingle is usually wasted (this time more than ever) someone came to the realization that–no matter what sort of silliness has gone on around him, no matter how awful the dialogue being tossed about, no matter how implausible the events–Gough’s Alfred has been a source of quiet dignity and humanity. This time out, Alfred is made the target of one of the film’s key subplots as a progressive illness threatens to end his tenure at Stately Wayne Manor (which hardly qualifies as a spoiler: The credits haven’t even ended before Alfred has a pained expression on his face, so you know up front that something’s wrong with him.)

This is, of course, a mixed blessing. Becoming a plot focus in a Batman film means having to deal with more awful dialogue and unlikely happenstances than one did before. But Gough not only rises above it, he brings everyone on screen with him at any given moment to his level, including the insufferably whiny O’Donnell (you just want Batman to slap him or something) and Silverstone, whose character motivations (she’s been risking her life racing motorcycles ever since her parents died in an auto accident) drew the loudest guffaws from the DC crew.

It is the Alfred sequences that underscore the greatest problem with the growth of the Batman movie series. The original film was basically about a broken, emotionally crippled individual who had cloistered himself away in a mansion or in armor, keeping the world at arm’s length, and yet making the first attempts to break through those barriers by reaching out to a woman. There was a wealth of humanity in the pain we saw in Keaton’s eyes. Slowly but surely, the humanity has been leached out of the films, replaced by more villains, more effects, more costumes, more dazzle for the eyes that leaves the mind and heart uninvolved.

But Gough sells the dialogue and restores the emotional balance in a way that Batman Returns (with its grotesqueries and freak-show air) and Batman Forever (with Kilmer’s pouting and O’Donnell’s petulance) never managed. Once we’re past Mr. Freeze’s absurd blustering or Poison Ivy’s preening, we find ourselves back with George Clooney, looking moody in a long black dressing gown, pondering his own psyche with Gough as the patient mentor and sounding board. In a film chockablock with sturm und drang, every one of Gough’s scenes is an oasis of quiet contemplation (although not even Gough can save the “Alfred Headroom” sequence that I won’t even try to explain to you).

When a film has so much going on in it, so much to distract the eye, so many places to look–like a circus with twenty nine rings rather than three–all one has to do is speak softly to gain attention. It’s a lesson well-learned. The thing that always separated Batman from the rest of his “super-brethren” was that he was, basically, just a human. A well-trained, incredibly observant, rich human, but human nonetheless. And is it Alfred–not Clooney’s rugged good looks, not the codpieces, not the plastic nipples (which Batgirl, I should point out, does not possess)–it is Alfred who puts the genuine “man” into “Batman.”

You can bag the rest of the film, but thank God for Michael Gough.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705. My favorite moment involved Mr. Freeze’s freeze ray striking and icing over a dog next to a hydrant, freezing the pooch in mid-piss. Why my favorite moment? Because there was an advisory in the closing credits which said, “All jeopardy to animals was simulated.” Simulated. No kidding. And here I thought they actually built a genuine freeze gun and iced the dog. Glad that got cleared up.

 

 

X-Factor #240 Cover

This is the cover to “Run, Layla, Run.” In this issue, Layla has 23 minutes to get across, on foot, a gridlocked, blacked out NYC, so she can save a teenaged girl’s life. I just LOVE this cover and am sharing it with you.

The Supreme Court Passes Romneycare!

Mitt must be so proud!

Seriously, the GOP was in a much better spin position if SCOTUS had punted health care. If they voted it down, Romney gets to say, “We were right and the Supreme Court said so! Vote for us!” But they supported it, and so the GOP gets to add it to their wish list of things they want to take away, including a woman’s right to choose and gay marriage. If you want things that other people care about to go away, vote Romney!

As opposed to the Democrats who, if it had been voted down, would have been hard-pressed to be heard above Fox leading the GOP “Whoop! Whoop!” chant.

PAD

The slippery slope of believing

I have not yet had the opportunity to see “The Book of Mormon” on Broadway, mostly because I’m incapable of planning an evening of theater a year in advance. Which is what’s required if you don’t want to spend as much for a pair of tickets as you would for a family vacation at Disney.

But the other day on Youtube I was hunting around for the first fifteen minutes of the Tony awards (which I’d missed) and came across a video from the previous year’s Tonys of Andrew Rannells as the show’s “Elder Price” performing “I Believe.”

In that song, the conflicted Price musically recites a litany of his deeply held beliefs, all of them accurate reflections of Mormonism.

It generated many laughs from the tony Tony crowd, but what I found intriguing were the things that the audience did not laugh at. It prompted me to consider the thought process of audience members when faced with Elder Price’s belief system.

“I believe that the Lord God created the universe,” sings Price.

No laughter. Okay, I’m with him so far. I believe the universe was created at the whim of a great unknowable entity.

“I believe that He sent his only Son to die for my sins.”

No laughter. Sure, everyone knows the aforementioned entity impregnated a human woman—just like Zeus did to create Hercules, except that’s just myth—to produce his son, the human sacrifice. That tracks.

“And I believe that ancient Jews built boats and sailed to America.”

Big laugh. That’s ridiculous! I mean, yeah, a small group of people were selected by the entity to build a boat and turn it into a floating zoo during a massive act of God-sponsored near-genocide, but Jews building boats? Hilarious notion!

“I believe that God has a plan for all of us.”

No laugh. Absolutely. The unseen entity has a detailed plan for every single person on earth, including the victims of random violence, and the children who die from cancer, and…

“I believe that plan involves me getting my own planet.”

Huge laugh. How absurd to think that, like the Little Prince, he’d have his own world. I’ll still be chuckling over that idea when I’m sitting in heaven on my own cloud.

“And I believe that in 1978, God changed His mind about black people!”

Big laugh. As a Jew, I found that one particularly hysterical because I still remember in 1965, God’s reps changed their mind about Jewish people. My parents, who had never been invited to a New Years Eve party by any of the neighbors, got three invites that year. They stayed home. Funny stuff.

“And I believe that the Garden of Eden was in Jackson County, Missouri!”

Gargantuan laugh. That’s hysterical! Everyone knows the Garden of Eden, the place where the entity formed modern day man (screw evolution) out of clay and ribs was situated in…okay, I don’t know where. But it wasn’t in Jackson County, and the reason I know this is so because…well…



“A Mormon just believes!”

…a non-Mormon just believes.

It occurred to me, in watching the Tony audience laughing at the beliefs held by upwards of fourteen million people, that if the popular school of thought was Atheism, or perhaps a religion that had no ties to either Old or New Testament, that you could have a real knee-slapper of a song with what most people consider to be common knowledge, if you strip those beliefs (and practices) to their essence and reference them as scandalously as possible.

“I believe that ancient Jews spoke to God through flaming shrubbery!”

“I believe that God doesn’t want you to eat shrimp at Red Lobster!”

“I believe in communing with God’s son through acts of symbolic cannibalism!”

Personally, I don’t care what people believe, as long as it gets them through the day and it doesn’t involve harming others. But that may just be me, because one’s personal beliefs have become part of the political scene in a way that it hasn’t since people feared JFK would be taking his marching orders from the Vatican.

On one side we have people expressing deep concern about Romney because of seemingly laughable Mormon beliefs. A recent Gallup poll shows that eighteen percent of those polled would not consider voting for a Mormon. You ask me, it’s probably higher; it’s just that not everyone wants to admit truths that smack of bias to pollsters. In a poll taken this time last year, it was twenty two percent. On the other hand, that same poll also said that thirty two percent would never vote for someone who was gay, and forty nine percent wouldn’t vote for an atheist. Presumably they figure that a gay President would disgrace the office in a way that a randy heterosexual never would, while only an Atheist could possibly violate his oath to uphold the Constitution because swearing on a Bible wouldn’t mean anything.

On the other side we have people accusing the Christian Obama of being a Muslim. Not that most of them know what the Muslim faith entails, any more than they really understand what Socialism is. It’s just something to be afraid of. Because every other religion makes so much more sense, and we all worship a God who’s benevolent except when he’s killing tens of thousands through such “acts” of his as earthquakes and floods. And Mark Twain said, “If there is a God, he is a malign thug,” and he also said, “If Christ were here now there is one thing he would not be — a Christian.”

I’m just saying that if you’re going to allow a candidate’s personal beliefs to determine your opinion of him, you’re on a slippery slope. No one’s religion is laughter-proof when examined from the outside in. Besides: “Judge not, that ye not be judged.” I read that in the Bible. So it must be true.

PAD