Peter David's Blog, page 92

See, THIS is why there's supposed to be a separation between church and state

Obama is reportedly backing off on the declaration that insurance coverage will be provided for birth control. Boehner does some sabre-rattling and Obama folds like a cheap card table. Because of course the desires of the church trump the desires of American women.

You know what Obama should have said? "Fine. The church gets to decide who gets compensated for birth control as soon as they give up their non-profit status."

People can like Obama or hate Obama, but you know what they love?

Guts.

PAD

Gruenycon

Originally published October 4, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1194

So there was Tom DeFalco, on his way back from a convention, passing through the security check at the airport and thinking—no doubt—about a nice, peaceful trip home.

But the security personnel stopped, did a double take as the x-ray of his bag passed through, looked at Tom, looked back at the bag. With a forced smile, one of them said, "Sir, do you have anything in your bag that resembles a gun?"

DeFalco, quick on the uptake, promptly responded, "Wha—?"

They promptly escorted Tom to one side, retrieved his suitcase, and emptied out the entire contents. And there, nestled in with the rather innocuous things in the bag, was a piece of cardboard cut into the shape of a gun—with aluminum foil wrapped around it.

And while a flustered DeFalco was grilled, a wide-eyed, innocent-faced Mark Gruenwald stood off to one side, looking shocked and appalled over the incident.

Mark was, of course, responsible for the incriminating prop finding its way into DeFalco's bag. And he and DeFalco never spoke of it. Nor did they speak of the many other jokes they would pull on each other. It was an unwritten rule that they adhered to.

But Tom spoke of it at the gathering I can only refer to as Gruenycon 1.

It was the comic industry equivalent of a New Orleans-style funeral. There wasn't a Dixieland band, but there were reasonable facsimiles of the Three Stooges, Dr. Forrester of Mystery Science Theater 3000, Captain America, assorted superheroines, and mourners. I say "facsimiles" of mourners because, although the ostensible reason for the gathering at the New York Film Center on Thursday, September 12 was to mourn the passing of Mark Gruenwald, it was hardly an affair chockablock with grieving, lamentation, and a metaphorical rending of garments.

Rather than a mourning of death, Gruenycon was a celebration of life. A time to dwell not on the future without him, but the past with him.

The event was organized by Catherine Gruenwald as a tribute to her late husband. Catherine would later unabashedly admit to wielding her status as new widow to get help from various sources—such as, for example, professional film editors who spent nearly 20 hours hammering together some of the video presentations.

The announced start time was 6 p.m., and by the time I showed up fashionably late at 6:02, there had to be at least a hundred people chatting at curbside and in the main lobby, with more upstairs. I was quickly able to spot other Jewish males in the crowd, since, for the most part, we were the only ones in jackets and ties. This exacerbated the sweating problem with so many people clustered into the various rooms, but we Jews embrace discomfort as our birthright, so it was okay.

One woman took the opportunity to walk up to me and inform me with a smile that she couldn't stand me as a writer because everything I wrote sucked. I don't know about you, but I always make it a point to go to memorial services in hopes of encountering random acts of rudeness.

On the third floor of Gruenycon, a gallery of Mark Gruenwald memorabilia adorned a center rack and the walls. As I've mentioned in a past column, the Gruenwald/Carlin editorial office was a sort of nexus for weirdness during the five or so years that Mark Gruenwald and Mike Carlin spent as an editorial team. The door and windows of the office were often festooned with bizarre renderings, caption contests, drawing contests, snide commentary on the ins and outs of life at Marvel (at a time before, as DeFalco drily put it, "Marvel became the warm and fun place it is today"). Being a compulsive saver and archivist, Gruenwald stockpiled it all, and some of the more memorable and prominent pieces were on display. Although I admit I could have done without the polaroid, taken in June of 1995, of Mark lying in a coffin. It may have, as the caption noted, "Sure seemed funny at the time," but it was hardly a chuckler now.

Most conspicuous was the Michelle Marsh wall. An entire wall of the room was decorated with cut-out images of Michelle Marsh.

Marsh is a local news anchor in New York City on CBS. At one time, Marsh was highly touted as the greatest thing to happen to network news since the invention of the teleprompter. A poster with her face on it was produced by the network and plastered all over the city.

The poster caught Gruenwald's attention. Not Marsh herself, per se. Just the poster. And Mark offered a buck to anyone who was brave enough to scarf one of the posters from the subways. In no time flat, he and Carlin were hip-deep in posters.

Questionable from a legal standpoint? Perhaps. But I submit that this was art and, therefore, transcends minor infractions for the sake of a statement. Performance art that was a year in the making. Yes, for a solid year, the office was covered, floor to ceiling, with posters. They were on the walls, on the desk, surrounding the garbage can, in the overhead fluorescent light fixtures… everywhere. And then, on a day that was advertised as M-M Day—clad in white construction-worker outfits—they took down all the posters. Then they cut the faces out of the posters, fashioning masks from them. Women in the office building across the street watched in mystification as those lunatics from Marvel engaged in a bizarre and apparently pointless exercise.

They then crammed more than 40 people into the small office, donned the Marsh Masks and looked eerily into the video camera that recorded the whole thing. It is one of the single most bizarre images that I have ever seen.

And what was the purpose, you may ask? What was the artistic statement Gruenwald was trying to put forward?

Umm…

Damned if I know.

Perhaps it was carpe diem. Or perhaps it was a commentary on the dangers of obsession. Or perhaps it was a wry observation on society's worshipping image over substance. Or perhaps it was just an exercise to see how pointless a project one editorial office could carry off and still not ship so much as a single book late (a challenge in organizational skill that many editors would be hard pressed to match nowadays).

Whatever the hell it was, M-M Day was one of the center pieces and focal points of Gruenycon, since the groundbreaking video recording of that offbeat day was one of the most memorable parts of the video presentation.

The memorial service began appropriately enough, with Catherine Gruenwald's opening remarks interrupted by a technical glitch that could only be rectified by the Three Stooges (in a burst of restraint, none of them bore the names of anyone working in the comic industry). In conjunction with Catherine, there was a song that Mark had written some years ago called "Niagara Falls"—a haunting tune about loss which seemed to take on double meanings, considering the circumstances.

Speakers included Mike Carlin, Tom DeFalco, Paul Levitz, Denny O'Neil, and Walt Simonson. The genuine affection was palpable, and many times talks were stopped for laughter or applause.

DeFalco recounted, as noted, the running practical joke war that raged between Gruenwald and himself. Jokes such as the time that DeFalco stepped onto an elevator at a convention, only to discover a sign there advertising his room number and informing fans that they should feel free to come up and chat with Tom anytime, 24 hours a day.

And just in the event that anyone missed the sign, Mark had lined the hallway leading to Tom's room with signs informing passersby, "This way to Tom DeFalco's room!"

Then there was the time Mark gained access somehow to Tom's room and rearranged all Tom's underwear—by taping it to the outside of the window.

Walt Simonson spoke of the time that he had produced a cover for an issue of Thor in which Thor had clearly been in a fight, his costume torn, his face battered and cut up. Editor in Chief Jim Shooter, according to Simonson, had ordered the face redrawn to make it look more handsome. Gruenwald obediently sent it down to John Romita, Sr., who redrew it so that Thor looked like his normal, attractive self—except he was "fashion challenged," as Walt put it. Gruenwald looked at the redrawn cover, kind of went "hmmm," and then sat on it until the next day when Jim was out of the office. At which point Gruenwald brought the original cover to DeFalco, who—all unknowingly—signed off on it. Off went the original cover to the printer. The kicker being that Jim is alleged to have brought the final printed book to Mark's office, pointed to the unretouched artwork, and said, "See? Isn't this much better?"

Two of the three main points of the evening kept coming back to Gruenwald's love of comics as a pure form of enjoyment and expression, and his love of life for pure, get-it-while-it's-hot entertainment value. No gag was too insane, no joke too juvenile, for Gruenwald to undertake it. Because everything provoked reactions, and reactions are what let you know you're alive.

This is nowhere more evident than in the video presentation of Cheap Laffs, the minus-zero-budget cable access show that Gruenwald put together with Mike Carlin and Elliot Brown. At one point, Gruenwald opines (while eerily lit with a skull next to him) that we laugh at jokes because, during that brief moment that we're laughing, it helps take our minds off the fact that eventually we're all going to die. To underscore the point, Gruenwald switches to a man-in-the-street remote, as a succession of people echo Gruenwald's sentiments and then—one by one—get mowed down by the same passing vehicle (eventually seen cruising past with all of them strapped to the hood like prized deer.)

There was also footage of Gruenwald's interactions with fans. With no effort whatsoever he was able to get people to undertake the most outlandish stunts, all in the name of Mighty Marvel. He was the consummate Master of Ceremonies. Marvel's presence at conventions has diminished over time, and in a perverse way that's fortunate, because for sheer audacity and enthusiasm, Gruenwald is simply irreplaceable.

But by far the most moving sentiment of the evening was that—of late—Mark had felt troubled. He felt that he had not accomplished everything there was to accomplish as a writer. That he had not "gone to the mountain," as it were. That his output was limited, and perhaps was not even worthwhile. But it was pointed out, quite correctly, that Mark had done more than that. That rather than go to the mountain, he had helped build a mountain. Built upon the legends that already existed and helped create new ones upon which other writers could stake claims as well.

And that is a terrific sentiment—but still, I can understand Mark's concerns. It's the mark of a quality writer that he constantly demands more of himself. That he is never satisfied, that he is always looking to his next work, to improving himself. Beware the writer—indeed, any creator—who is satisfied with the level of work he is producing, for that may be a creator who has said everything he has to say, and is never going to grow and learn. Mark was not one of those, and we can only wonder what projects he might have embarked upon. (Catherine had said he was working on manuscripts for children's books. I hope they get published.)

The closing ceremonies of Greunycon included a video montage of photos—his life flashing before our eyes, as a red-eyed Bobbie Chase noted—followed by a tribute that Mark would have appreciated. Twenty one of his co-workers coming up on stage, armed with whoopee cushions, to perform a 21 Bun Salute—a Flotilla of Flatulence, all on behalf of Mark Gruenwald. Questionable taste? Absolutely. Stupid? Beyond doubt. Appropriate? If you think not, then you didn't know Mark Gruenwald. And more's the pity for you.

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

 

Santorum? Really?

I mean, I've said jokingly that it's going to be Santorum's turn soon, but I didn't really mean it. The "Oh look, something shiny!" attention span of GOP voters is now bordering on the pathological. For the first time that I can recall, the GOP is starting to come across as unfocused and disorganized as, well, the Democrats. It's like herding cats, except with nuclear launch codes instead of tuna fish as the reward.

You know what I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to see? They get to the convention with no nominee, no clear consensus, and Chris Christie walks in and says, "You know what? You're all idiots. I've decided I'm in." And he walks out as the nominee.

PAD

Mystery Sandman Theater: Captain America

Originally published September 27, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1193

I'll tell you, I'm sick of people complaining about the level of writing in comics. Stop complaining, folks: Instead, go out and do something about it. Blow off some steam. How? By writing some yourself.

Better still, do it with art that other people are also complaining about. This way you can find value in art you were previously brushing off as worthless.

It's easy, it's fun, and you can do it at parties. Just grab a hot comic book off the stand, slap stickers over the word balloons, and write your own dialogue. You don't have to know what's going on. In fact, it's better if you don't.

I cheated slightly. For convenience's sake, I got an ashcan edition of Rob Liefeld's Captain America. It's black and white with no word balloons at all. The ashcan artwork you see here are the genuine pencilled and inked pages; some changes and/or fixes may have been made by the time it sees print, although I'll bet there won't be enough. But, hey, all the better if they weren't made. More fun for you.

 

The Annual Superbowl Commercial Liveblogging

Will begin at this space at 6 PM.

See you then.

PAD

6:01–Okay, here we go. A woman in silver pants is singing. I suppose I should know her. Then again, I should know who the teams are, too, I guess. So at least I'm being consistent.



6:02 Shots in the locker room. "Do these tight gray pants make my ass look big?"

6:03: Is it just me, or do the two announcers look like Bob Hope and Bing Crosby?

6:04: ELANTRA. Kind of sedate. Needs someone like Goofy honking the horn. GE Commercial featuring cancer patients; can't really make fun of that. KRAFT Mac & Cheese–the little girl is a stitch. Unsure if these are new commercials. Been speeding past commercials with my DVR that it's not always clear.

6:11: HULU. Opinion varies depending how much you are into Will Arnett. GEICO: Okay, I want those middle school girls to get their own TV show. FUSION PRO GLIDE STYLER: Well, I have the Fusion already and I still don't look like any of those guys, so I'm dubious. PIZZA HUT: Didn't actually show the product; smart move.

6:19: THE DICTATOR. Hadn't heard anything about it. Doubt I'll see it; I've liked Baron Cohen in supporting roles, but never as a lead. CELL PHONE AD: Not the Droid I'm looking for. MCDONALDS. More cancer patients. Uh boy. OLYMPICS: WOMEN'S VOLLEYBALL! YES! I just hope they don't get breast cancer…DAMMIT. It's in my head now. Now I'm starting to get nervous about this mole on my arm.

6:25: Willie Roaf. I wonder if his nickname is "Meat."

6:25: The Patriots won the coin toss. Is the game over?

6:28: HYUNDAI: I dunno. Amusing enough, but a little rocky.

6:38: BUD LIGHT: Don't drink,don't care. AUDI: Now THAT'S funny! Audi headlights blow away a vampire party. My only question is how the vamp driving the car was able to check his reflection in rearview.

6:40: PEPSI: Elton John as a king. Must resist jokes about how he should be a queen. HYUNDAI: Cheetahs never prosper.

6:52: BUD LIGHT: Y'know, the beer commercials are usually a lot more fun. The Platinum is just a snorer. M&M: So the new flavor of M&M is…chocolate. Okay. BEST BUY: Eh. CELEBRITY APPRENTICE: Goddammit, George Takei is in this. And Penn. I'm going to have to watch it. Damnation.

6:58: COKE: Okay, I admit it; I'm a sucker for the Coke polar bears. Sue me. CHEVY: Man, the car companies are BRINGING it this year! A boy and his dog and his truck survive Armageddon because he wasn't driving a Ford. Best use of "Look like we made it" is perfect. Best commercial so far, with vampires a close second.

7:01: BRIDGESTONE: Okay commercial. Only so many ways you can promote tires. GO DADDY: Same titillation schtick. Still haven't checked out their site. LEXUS: It would've been cooler if the Hulk had broken out. BATTLESHIP: God, please let it be good. I wrote the novelization, so I want it to succeed. Script's really good; it'll all come down to the direction.

7:05: BUDWEISER: Okay, that was better for a beer commercial. It was like a beer commercial directed by Scorsese. DORITOS: Finally a dog that's as sneaky as a cat. CHEVY: The car companies are still the ones to beat.

7:09: GE: Impressive, making an electricity commercial to appeal to beer drinkers. JOHN CARTER: Way too biased to speak dispassionate. TAX ACT: Great. Now I have to go pee.

7:12: THE LORAX: Could be okay. Couldn't get a feel for "Horton" from the commercials either, ad that turned out pretty great. VW: Power of German engineering always makes me nervous. VW again–STAR WARS. Nicely done. NBC Promo–America's Got Talent is my secret vice (especially since I stopped watching Dancing with the Stars two years ago.) But I'm not that big a Stern fan, so I'm not sure how I feel about it.

7:19: DAVID BECKHAM BODYWEAR: How can there be an ad for men's underwear and yet I don't feel like I'm the target audience for the commercial? It's like, "Ladies, buy this underwear for your guy and he'll look like David Beckham. Kath, honey: if you're reading this, trust me–ain't gonna work. COKE: Still loving the bears.

7:23: No idea when the Avengers commercial is coming. If I had to guess, either right before or right after that thing they do halfway through…I forget what it's called.

7:24: A Giants player is out of the game with an injury. I was in Australia and I saw Rugby and watched those guys take hits that would cripple normal mortals, with no padding and a t-shirt and shorts for a uniform, and those SOBs would just bounce right back to their feet and shake it off. You get the feeling American football players wouldn't last twenty minutes.

7:29: Good lord, that Patriot guy #75 is built like Manu Manu the Slender from "Necessary Roughness."

7:30: SONIC: What an athletic car. STAR WARS: Well, the impending new release caught Caroline's attention and she insisted she wanted to see it. And that's how I got her to see the "real" movies, something she'd initially dismissed because she said, "I saw it on 'Family Guy.'"

7:35: Avengers, kids. AVENGERS. Seriously, if you're not excited about this, you have no inner child. TELEFLORA: Interesting. A commercial for flowers that's filmed like a commercial for a sex phone line. KINECT: It's actually a pretty good product. We have it. CARS.COM: Okay, I am never using that because I really don't want a little version of me popping out of my shoulder.

7:42: You know, I have to admit, it amazes me the refs can see ANYTHING considering everything moves so fast.

7:43: DORITOS. You can't go wrong with a baby being slingshot. ETRADE: More babies. GI JOE: We needed a second one? Sheesh. On the other hand, if Bruce Willis is there in more than just a cameo, I might actually Go Joe.

7:51: NFL: No. You're not going to win a million bucks. FORD: Yeah, they just got their asses handed to them by the vampire commercial, and that's their best shot? Eesh. PRUDENTIAL. Well, at least it wasn't about cancer. NORWEGIAN: Yes, the sea is calling, but apparently it's calling collect considering what happened recently.

And now my own halftime commercial. "DARKNESS OF THE LIGHT: The Hidden Earth Chronicles, book 1″ is now available as an ebook through Amazon (having been on B&N for a month already). It's right here with the paperback available within a week or so. The long awaited sequel, HEIGHTS OF THE DEPTHS, will be out on the Nook shortly and through Amazon a month later. Please check it out. Thanks.

7:59: TOYOTA CAMRY: I would have liked it if someone had actually been conceived inane. HULU: These commercials would be much better with Alec Baldwin. BUDLIGHT: A little better, but not much. JAY LENO: Okay, that was funny.

8:01: Apparently Madonna is endeavoring to remind everyone who was doing this schtick before Lady Gaga.

8:03: Here's something depressing to ponder: Out of a hundred average teenagers, how many are going to know even half of the names of actors and performers that Madonna rattles off in "Vogue." "Ginger Rogers, dance on air." "Ginger who?"

8:07: At one point with the lighting, it looked like she was dancing on the landing pad at the X-Mansion.

8:14: If Betty White were on THE VOICE, I'd watch.

8:17: I think Clint Eastwood is about to announce he's running for president.

8:18: Oh. It's a Jeep ad. That's way less interesting than what I thought it was going to be.

8:28: SMASH. It's about a Broadway musical. Is anyone outside of NY or LA going to care? Plus it's against both Hawaii 5-O and Castle. Could be brutal. CHASE: Didn't think it was possible for a bank to have a football themed commercial, but I guess so, and it was pretty funny. FORD: Okay, as long as you keep having it pushed by a Yankee, I ain't buying it no matter how many times you show it.

8:38: FIAT: Yeah, uh…no. I'm pretty sure I could distinguish between a gorgeous woman and a dorky looking car. PEPSI MAX: When you need to stick in Reej at the end of your commercial, that shows a fundamental lack of faith in the rest of the ad.

8:41: TOYOTA: I love the reinvented DMV. The reinvented rain is intriguing, but I'm concerned that if I'm in a downpour I'll accidentally slip through a storm drain. CENTURY 21: Not sure what the Olympics has to do with a realtor, but okay.

8:44: ACURA: Okay, that just jumped to my third favorite commercial, behind the Armageddon one and the vampire one. The car companies are definitely steamrolling over the competition. The beer commercials just don't have much head this year.

8:48: BUDWEISER: Following up on the prohibition one. A lot of energy. Still not up there with the car commercials, but entertaining. BRIDGESTONE: If they'd bounced the sleeping baby, I'd really be impressed.

8:59: NFL: I think if you're watching this, you're pretty much already a football fan. TOYOTA: If Eli Manning in his Toyota collided with Jeter's Ford, I would laugh. TIME WARNER: Ricky Gervais must have felt right at home having people trying to kill him.

9:05: HONDA: If it's good enough for Ferris, I want a Honda C-RV. This was the commercial I was waiting for. He's still got the Ferris smile. My new favorite, pushing the Chevy Armageddon ad to number 2. I want next year's halftime show to be Matthew Broderick lip synching to "Twist and Shout" while everyone sings along. METLIFE: easily wins the competition for commercial you most want to Freeze Frame.

9:11: HYUNDAI: Never thought of using a car to bring someone back to life. Wonder if that'll work. BUD LIGHT: At some point it's just animal cruelty. Go get your own damned beer. Liked the message about help rescue dogs, though.

9:19: OPTIMA: Anybody want to see Morpheus standing over this "Sandman" just saying, "Really? Really?"

For those who came in late: "DARKNESS OF THE LIGHT: The Hidden Earth Chronicles, book 1″ is now available as an ebook through Amazon (having been on B&N for a month already). It's right here with the paperback available within a week or so. The long awaited sequel, HEIGHTS OF THE DEPTHS, will be out on the Nook shortly and through Amazon a month later. Please check it out. Thanks.

9:25: SAMSUNG: Yeah, whatever. We're sticking with the iPad.

9:36: Has anyone noticed there's a really good game going on between the commercials?

9:38: CADILLAC: Least interesting car ad so far. GO DADDY: Still haven't looked. AWAKE: Or as we called it in its previous two incarnations, LIFE ON MARS.

9:54: THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! OH MY GOD, THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! Or…something.

And that's it for the commercial coverage this year. My top three: Bueller; Armageddon; the vampires;

Caroline Made an Interesting Comment about "Return of the Jedi"

We just completed a long-overdue aspect of nine-year-old Caroline's education by finishing up showing her the only three "Star Wars" films that really matter: Eps 4, 5 and 6. She actually sobbed copiously when Vader died. You know, we spend so much time bitching about Lucas doing this, that and the other think that sometimes we forget the power these films can pack, especially for younger viewers.

Then we asked her the obvious question. Which of the three was her favorite?



Without hesitation she said, "Return of the Jedi." I said, "Because of the Ewoks?" She said, "No, because of Leia. This is the first movie she kicked ass." And I thought about that and realized she was right.

In "A New Hope," Leia is captured, tortured, waits for rescue. Yes, granted, she immediately takes charge while castigating the guys, shooting Stormtroopers, and leading them into the dumpster. But once they escape the Death Star, she basically allows the Millennium Falcon to lead the bad guys right to the rebel HQ (remember, she says the Empire let them escape; it should have been obvious why) and then stands there silently hoping they don't get blown up while a slew of men take care of business; she doesn't have a word of dialogue for the last fifteen minutes except to welcome Luke and Han back.

In "Empire," generally lauded as the best of the films, she fights with Han, sucks face with her brother, tells the rebels it's time to run away, gets hauled around the galaxy like so much baggage by Han, bickers, bickers some more, screams when she sees a harmless flying sucking animal, falls in love with Han, gets captured, hides behind a Wookie, tells Han she loves him and gets a non-committal response in front of Vader, Boba Fett and the Stormtroopers, all of whom were probably snickering under their helmets. Han winds up frigid, hermetically sealed on Funk and Wagnall's porch, she's helpless to escape until Lando springs her, and she's she's too late to save her ingrate boyfriend. The only pro-active thing she does the whole film is pick up Luke's mental email and go back to pick him up before he destroys the entire cloud city's TV reception.

But in "Return," well, first she manages to strong-arm her way into Jabba's hut and frees Han. Then for the next ten minutes she's stuck in the outfit that launched a million fanboy fantasies. But after that, as if spurred on by the humiliating ensemble, she goes on an absolute tear of payback. Anyone and everyone who screws with her gets his head handed to him. She strangles Jabba and helps blow up the barge; joins a raiding party on the moon of Endor, eludes stormtroopers in a high speed chase, and even after she gets knocked off the bike, the trooper who did it gets blown up. She forges an immediate alliance with the Ewoks (while her boyfriend and brother wind up getting hogtied by midget teddy bears). She joins in another raiding party, gets captured for maybe thirty seconds (the shortest capture stint of the three films), gets in a firefight, gets blasted but in no time not only shoots down her assailants (with a wound in her shoulder, no less, which never even gets bandaged–her arm isn't even in a sling–because she's just that bad ass) and tosses Han's snark from "Empire" right back at him.

I just find it interesting that the film that fans consider the strongest is when Leia is the weakest, and when women dress as Leia from "Jedi," they invariably favor the costume that's the most degrading. It takes a modern nine year old to zero in on what she appreciates most: a film where the lead female kicks ass.

PAD

X-Factor #32 Comments Thread

Part 3 of the 4 part "They Keep Killing Madrox."

PAD

Grueny

Originally published September 20, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1192

There are those inside, and outside, of the industry, who view every superhero story as some sort of passionless, bloodless corporate creation. The convention wisdom spouted is that those who involve themselves in such endeavors are mindless hacks: Heartless, soulless automotons who don't care about anything except satisfying the monetary cravings of upper management's insatiable need for making money.

How could anyone (it is often asked) actually like the day-to-day involvement with spandex clad fantasy figures? It's a circular, self-contained argument: No one working in comics could really want to be working on corporate-owned superheroes; therefore, anyone working in that atmosphere must be working there against his will and is either to be pitied or held in contempt.

This is bull. It's the convention wisdom, but it's bull nonetheless.

And, unfortunately, we have just lost one of the individuals who was the epitome of the joy that comic book superheroes brings to the fans.

Mark Gruenwald–Grueny–as you all know by now, died with absolutely no warning one Monday morning, falling prey to a statistic I seem to recall about mornings being the most likely time for a heart attack. His passing–hideously and appropriately–was every Marvel cover blurb about mortality, all rolled into one. "Shock follows shock!" "Don't tell anyone the stunning events in this issue!" "Not a hoax, not a dream! This issue… the most unexpected death of all!"

I've just reread the previous paragraph, and I hope it doesn't come across as flippant, or sarcastic, or as if I'm trying to find humor in the situation. Far from it. Upon learning of Mark's passing from Bobbie Chase, I was as astounded as were any of you, I'm sure. As has happened in the past in the industry when someone too young is taken too unexpectedly and too soon, all subsequent phone calls I had over the next couple of days took on a sort of hushed, dazed tone. Everyone had heard, like a psychic blast of pain spreading through the industry.

I'd met Mark's wife and daughter only in passing. I didn't really know him as a family man. What I knew him from was his work persona, and in that incarnation, I can think of no one who cherished the heroes he shepherded quite like Mark. Mark loved comics. He loved superheroes. He loved his job. His involvement with the heroes and villains of our little comic book mythos traces back to his days as a fan. He came up "through the ranks," as it were.

Appropriately, the first time I met Grueny was when I was still a fan. It was at a Phil Seuling New York convention. Mark and several other Marvel editors were up on stage, doing a "Marvel Plotting" panel, in which fans were invited to come up on stage and describe a proposed plot to the editors. The editors would then critique it. Mark was the MC, as he often was for these sorts of things.

I lined up with the other fans as people pitched potential ideas. I don't recall most of them, except that they weren't greeted with too much enthusiasm (although, truth to tell, one wonders how much fervor the prospect of spider-clones and Professor X going berserk would have aroused in the panel).

And then Grueny got to me, asked my name, and then told me to describe my plot.

I'd love to tell you that a brilliant story sprung fully formed from my brow, knocking their socks off and prompting them to hire me on the spot. But, to be honest, I don't remember what I came up with. And my start with Marvel was still a year or so in the future. But what I do remember is that Mark looked at me appraisingly after I'd pitched the notion and said, "That's not bad. That's not a bad start at all. Keep working on it."

In later years I collaborated with Mark when we were working on the New Universe, the vastly underrated line of comics which featured–I think–some of Mark's best work. His love for the genre of superheroes was never more evident than when he was crafting the reality-based, thoughtful adventures of D.P. 7, the adventures of seven displaced paranormals. It was a series that was literally ahead of its time.

My other favorite work of his was Squadron Supreme. With the popularity of Kingdom Come, why Marvel hasn't re-released this stellar miniseries in trade paperback form is a mystery to me. As well-crafted as KC was, quite a few fans have commented that Grueny covered some of the same ground in Squadron, and did it extremely well.

And every time I had the opportunity to work with Grueny on some project or another, I was always struck by his enthusiasm, his total commitment, and his unwavering dedication to making the work as high-quality as he possibly could.

He found his perfect editorial soul mate in Mike Carlin, his assistant. The Gruenwald/Carlin office was the Marvel equivalent of "Anything Can Happen" day. You'd walk in one time and discover that you were arm deep in wadded up paper. Or the door would be closed for a day and all you'd hear was hammering and sawing. Come in the following day and you'd discover that–for no discernable reason–Mark and Mike had built platforms for their desks. Addressing them now required craning your neck as if aiming supplications at Olympian gods (hmm. Perhaps the reason wasn't so undiscernible at that.)

That enthusiasm and comraderie carried over even when Mike moved to DC. It was never more pronounced than when Mike, Mark, Ron Marz and I teamed up for the Marvel vs. DC limited series.

Some of my fondest comic-related memories involve sitting in Mark's apartment, hatching and planning the series. It was a task that Mark and Mike took on with unfettered glee. Again, there is the cynical fan contingent who brushed off the limited series as some heartless corporate ploy. All I can tell you is: Not in that room. There, it was just a roomful of fans and their fictitious cape-and-cowled pals (Fanboyz and the Hood, as it were). There we were with Mark the ringleader, gleefully rubbing our hands together as we assembled all sorts of match-ups that we wanted to see when we were kids. We'd say, "Oh, let's not forget–!" or "Do you think we can squeeze in–!" or "Let's just have one panel showing–!"

It was as if Marvel vs. DC was a culmination of all our careers. Everyone in that room–Mark especially, I think–had come into comics not simply because it was a convenient career path, but because of love for and enthusiasm about the genre. And here we were being presented with the opportunity to produce a series that had a "Cool!" rating of about a thousand on a scale of one to ten. Every so often we'd stop and look at each other with a sort of giddy disbelief. We were grown-ups, for crying out loud, indulging in fannish fantasies. And we were being paid for it, too? Too much.

The last opportunity I had to work with Grueny, I am now so glad I took, because he kind of had to talk me into it.

He called me and said, "We're going to be doing a Hulk vs. Hercules one shot. I'm editing it, and I'd love it if you could write it."

I wasn't sure if I had the time or inclination to get involved. But it was clear that Marvel really wanted to do the project, to boost interest in Hercules (making him the Marvel universe equivalent of Thor while Thor was off in the Leefeld Universe). I'd always liked Herc, although I felt his character had been treated somewhat erratically. Plus I felt somewhat possessive about the Hulk, and was pleased that they'd come to me first (or at least said they'd come to me first.)

Mark promised me carte blanche on the plot. So I agreed to take it on. I ran late turning the plot in. Mark cut me a ton of slack. When I finished the plot, I knew I had a problem. It was supposed to be a 38 page book, but the plot ran 44 pages. I told Mark the situation. "Send it in before you cut it; let me read it," he said.

I did so, and Mark called me the next day and said, with quiet conviction, "This is the best Marvel comic I've read in years." I can't recall being more flattered. He promptly went to his higher-ups and talked them into yanking advertising for the book to accommodate the longer story, while keeping the price down.

Here's the irony of that particular story: The theme of the Hulk vs. Hercules story is mortality vs. immortality. That the limits set on one's own existence are what make the accomplishments during one's lifetime so worthwhile.

That phone call I had with Mark, where he spoke so highly of the story, was the last communication I had with him. And the subject matter of the comic has a depressing resonance to it now. You look over your own life, and you see what you're faced with. The stress, the aggravation. The misunderstandings, the miscommunications, the hassles that drag us down from where we want to be. You make the sacrifices here and the cuts there, just trying to keep your head above water. And every so often you just look heavenward and find yourself saying, "God, why am I doing this to myself? Life is too short."

It is. It's too damned short.

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

Sock Puppets in the Hands of an Angry God

Kathleen has been much more diligent in cleaning out sock puppet commenters than I have been; and she usually gets to them first. This is, on the whole, a good thing as she is much nicer than I am. But rest assured, if I find sock puppets commenting before any other admin does, woe be unto them, the day of wrath is come and their foot shall slip in due time.

"There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment out of hell, but the mere pleasure of God."

Now go see if that groundhog sees his shadow or not. Won't affect what I do, of course.

OK I am asking politely

Hello,

This is Kathleen on Peter's web log. As many of you know I am an administrator here on Peter's site.

Among my any duties are dealing with things in the filter. I try to get to it about once a day and clear it out. Approving those things that just got stuck for some reason and getting rid of comments that don't have anything to do with anything (Insert a chorus of Spam Spam Spam) here.

Now I have been noticing something that has been going on recently and I am watching it. Peter allows just about everyone to comment on things and allows for differing points of view to express their opinions. However, creating sock puppets to bolster your point/comments is not cricket here. You know who you are and I am asking in my most polite indoor voice to knock it off.

Thank you

Kath the Wife David

And to make this more palatable, I am going to open this thread to Ask the Wife and Ask Caroline questions if you have any. Caroline is excited about this so keep it polite and if your question doesn't get answered, please understand that either she didn't really have an answer or it is something I don't want her to answer for whatever reason.