Peter David's Blog, page 94

Movie review: Independence Day

Originally published August 9, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1186

Independence Day is one of those rare beasts. It's a "Yet" film.

It's the kind of movie where people don't ask you if you've seen it, or if you plan to see it. They say, "Have you seen Independence Day yet?" Of if you're simply asked, "Have you seen Independence Day," the inevitable response is, "No, I haven't seen it yet."

But you will see it. It's a given. It's a mandate. It's a fact of life. Death, taxes, and Independence Day.

Have I seen Independence Day yet? My standard response at this point is: Yes. And I saw it on broadcast television thirty years ago when it was called War of the Worlds. And I saw it in the theaters about twelve years ago when it was called Return of the Jedi.

At the San Diego Comic Con, a lot of people asked me if I had seen Independence Day yet, and if I was going to do an article about it. I hadn't planned on it. I didn't see the point. The reason to review films is to (a) express opinions about them in an entertaining way and (b) provide a sort of "consumer" service as to whether a film is worth someone's time.

But Independence Day is a Yet film. Opinions are beside the point; it's not a movie that's seen, it's a movie that's experienced. And consumer service is likewise immaterial. The film's PR juggernaut has created a social atmosphere wherein you are made to feel completely out of the loop if you haven't already plunked down a few bucks and plopped into a cushioned seat so you can watch the White House get blown to smithereens.

I went, though. It's a Yet film and I regret that I am not strong willed enough, individualistic enough, or outright contrary enough to pass up a Yet film.

But seeing it was something of a movie going experience, I've decided it might be entertaining to–at the very least–describe the entire package.

I was part of a foursome which ventured to experience Independence Day at the multiplex in Horton Plaza. We buzzed over there in my rented Chrysler convertible Sebring… a car that I do not hesitate to recommend, because not only was the pick-up great and not only is it fun to ride around in with the top down (for that open road, Thelma and Louise feeling), but apparently it looks like a much flashier car than it is. Several people came up to me at the convention and said, "I heard you were tooling around town in a Mercedes." A fan recommended that I reply to such queries with a disdainful sniff and say, "That's completely ridiculous; don't you people recognize a Rolls Royce when you see it?"

For those who have never experienced Horton Plaza, it's an outdoor mall that seems to have been designed by Escher. At one point we were standing on a level looking up at the movie theater. We took a stairway up to try and get to it and discovered ourselves on an upper level looking down at the movie theater. "You can't get there from here" was likely coined in that mall.

I was accompanying CBG editor, Maggie Thompson, and her Krause co-workers John Miller and Joyce Greenholdt. We had swung by the mall around 7 PM and purchased tickets for the 10:30 PM show. Mania for the film was such that simply walking up and buying a ticket for the next show was a notion only slightly more ludicrous than, say, the thought of spotting Jim Shooter at Buster Brown purchasing a pair of elevator shoes.

Upon returning for the performance, we managed to get in on time only because Maggie boldly spearheaded a subtle "cut on line" maneuver. Even with tacky line jumping, the best we could do for seats was about third row from the front.

As we entered we spotted other convention attendees. Joe Quesada (for whom the Spung Killcruiser "Keh-Zada" on Space Cases was named) and a group of associates were staked out somewhere in the middle, and they called out to me that they were going to be watching for Coca-Cola. This made me mildly nervous. A live, on-the-spot test of the omnipresence of Coke in movies. Never had I hoped that the Real Thing would show up in a flick, because I figured I'd look like a cluck if it didn't. (Not that I don't routinely look like a cluck anyway…)

I needn't have worried. As noted in a previous column, Coca Cola made the first of its multiple appearances ten minutes into the film. I was off the hook.

But I almost didn't see it, because I'd practically gone flash blind by that point. Throughout the first half hour, the film makers chose to have a fairly bizarre means of scene transition which consisted of a blast of white light smashing onto the screen. Presumably it was supposed to make viewers jumpy, startle us, fill us with unease, make us think of the impending possibility of the last thing we'd see before being completely annihilated by nuclear blasts. It was, in short, supposed to put us in the right frame of mind for Armageddon.

My eldest, Shana, saw Independence Day with some friends back in New York and watched it from a balcony. She thought the flashes of light were cool. And they very likely are, if you don't happen to be sitting on top of the screen. Us, we were busy having our retinas and corneas turned into styrofoam packing chips. I warn you now: If you're going to see Independence Day and think that there's any chance you might be close-up to the front, for God's sake bring sunglasses and keep them snug on your face for the first half hour. Sure, you'll look like an ad for stereo equipment, but your eyes will thank you.

The plot to Independence Day doesn't unfold so much as it does unravel, with building speed and greater flamboyance. In most films, the creators strive to sustain the audience's willing suspension of disbelief. Not so with Independence Day. Independence Day heaps one implausibility upon another, ignores plot hole upon plot hole, and dares the audience to walk out, knowing that you can't and won't. It's the filmic equivalent of a jack-knifed tractor trailer. You stay riveted to the sight even though you know that virtually anything else you could be doing around then would be a more constructive use of your time.

John Miller was literally writhing in his seat as a space ship one quarter the size of the moon went into orbit around the earth without having any effect on earthly tides. When we learn that the aliens are attacking because they want our "resources," John was muttering, "What's wrong with Jupiter?" When, in an updating of War of the Worlds in which the aliens succumbed to earthly viruses, computer whiz Jeff Goldblum hits upon the preposterous notion of defeating the aliens with a computer virus, John sagged forward in his chair, covered his face with his hands, and audibly sobbed.

The absurdity of Independence Day's plot is already achieving legendary proportions. On the computer boards, Dean Kanipe of North Carolina listed "40 Things I Learned From Independence Day." Among them:

12. Any bonehead with an RV can get to Area 51 by driving across the Salt Flat to the gate and flashing a captured alien to the guard.

16 Both F-18s and B-2s must close to within 10 km of a target 20 km across before engaging with both air-to-air missiles and aerial launched nuclear cruise missiles.

18. Any bonehead with rudimentary aviation experience can be taught to pilot an F-18 in 5 hours.

19. Any bonehead with F-18 flight experience can learn to pilot an Alien fighter in 5 minutes.

20. Aliens with anatomy that includes tentacles and clawed feet use flight yokes just like ours.

22. Aliens are stupid. When one of their fighters approaches the carrier, they don't bother to communicate with the pilot.

23. Aliens are even more stupid. They pursue their targets into canyons walls and closing blast doors.

24. Aliens are unbelievably stupid. While unarmed and unarmored, they do things to piss off people with hand guns.

25. Aliens are just too stupid for words to express. An alien air traffic controller can look at a fighter that has been human-modified for 20 minutes and is only 50 feet away and not

notice the welded-on missile rack until the missile is fired through his work station.

36. In 10 hours, one man with a Macintosh Laptop can code a virus in C++ that will take down a completely alien computer system.

37. Even though the Mac isn't compatible with most other Earthly operating systems, it can interface with an alien computer.

38. Alien network security is nonexistent.

39. Rather than attacking a planet when they first encounter it (i.e., 1940s), aliens wait until the planet has developed just enough technology to possibly defend itself.

Let's face it, folks. Independence Day makes Santa Claus Conquers the Martians look like a documentary.

And as Independence Day rakes in another million with every passing moment, one realizes that it simply doesn't matter. Plot is irrelevant to Independence Day. Sense is irrelevant. Coherency is irrelevant. It's like a film made by the Borg. You don't go to see it. It comes to be seen by you.

Complaining about Independence Day's plot is incidental because the plot is incidental; a distant consideration compared to the publicity machine and the special effects, both of which were amazing. This film became such a pre-release part of the public consciousness that the makers of A Very Brady Sequel released a trailer a couple months ago that was a parody of Independence Day. Now I ask you: How many films have been recognizably spoofed two months before their release?

It's like Disney World's Space Mountain. One doesn't come out of Space Mountain saying, "So there we were in these little rocket-like rolling things, getting a nice slow tour of what the future would be like. And then, all of a sudden, we're hurtled into blackness at high speed and go twisting all over the place. Why? What's the deal with that? It makes no sense at all!" Of course it doesn't make sense. It doesn't have to. Like the Monty Python litany of rules, including (I think) Rule 5 being that there was no Rule 5, the internal logic of Independence Day is that there is no internal logic.

Make no mistake: The cast members seem like they're having a good time. This film was being touted as the one that would catapult Bill Pullman (Casper, Spaceballs), cast here as the President of the United States, into leading man status. Unfortunately for him, the film is stolen by Will Smith as a cocky fighter pilot who longs to kick E.T.'s butt (a goal which, if the film continues at its current box office clip, will be accomplished in every sense), Goldblum in frazzled scientist mode, and Brent Spiner in a bit part as a wacko scientist who seems to have wandered in from a much more original movie. If they ever make X-Files: The Movie, they've got to sign Spiner up to reprise the character. (Along those lines, that's what Independence Day needed. A cameo of Scully and Mulder, looking up at one of those giant ships with Mulder saying, "Okay, now do you believe me?")

In short, even as you watch it, you know the film is ridiculous. You know the film makes no sense. You know it has plot holes that you could fly one of those giant ships through with room to spare. You know it's derivative. Derivative? Will Smith's being pursued by the alien fighters is almost a shot-for-shot riff on Han Solo keeping one step ahead of the tie-fighters in The Empire Strikes Back.

To say nothing of Independence Day's climactic strategy, involving a small squad of rebels who must gain entrance to the bad guy's base and take out a force field generator so that a much larger squadron of rebels in fighter planes can then attack the newly unshielded giant killer space vessel and blow it up by striking at the vessel's vulnerable point.

This is not to be confused with the climactic strategy of Return of the Jedi, in which a small squad of rebels must gain entrance to the bad guy's base and take out a force field generator so that a much larger squadron of rebels in fighter planes can then attack the newly unshielded giant killer space vessel and blow it up by striking at the vessel's vulnerable point.

Throughout the film there will be sequences so familiar to you that you'll find yourself uttering dialogue from other films… and it'll fit. Hell, they even do it in Independence Day. At one point Jeff Goldblum's escaping alien ship is being pursued by a gigantic wall of flame as the space station he's in is in the process of exploding. Londo outracing the same thing in Return of the Jedi, of course, but–getting confused as to which film he's in–Goldblum mutters, "Go faster, must go faster," as he did when being pursued by a T-Rex in Jurassic Park.

Independence Day doesn't seem as if it was written, but rather fabricated around a campfire by a group of people playing the old game wherein you tell a story to a certain point, and then the guy next to you is supposed to keep it going. And you continue around the circle until you have something resembling an end. Independence Day has that same ragged, fly-by-the-seat, making-this-up-as-we-go feel.

And yet, all of the foregoing boils down to the old gag of, "Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?"

Did I have a good time seeing Independence Day? Did I enjoy myself?

Yes.

But I think it was less for the film itself than for the company in which I was in, and the circumstance in which I saw it. One gets swept up in the entire movie-going experience: The adrenaline rush of images forty foot high, the THX-1138 sound system, the friends you're with, the energy that derives from the audience which gives the theater a life of its own.

I think what I liked was seeing the film, but not the film itself. This may seem like an odd distinction, but I can only point to Aliens, which I saw in the same theater under similar circumstances years ago. There was that same in-the-theater high, that same adrenaline surge that makes the moment entertaining. But the difference was that I loved that film, saw it many times after that, got it on laserdisk, etc. I didn't notice huge holes while I was watching it, and I didn't come out of the theater and say, "What a rush, but nothing about it made sense."

Even the abbreviation for the title makes no sense. Why do they call it "ID4?" A clumsy attempt to combine Independence Day and the 4th of July? Or a gambit to sound like T2?

Oh well. There's already talk of a sequel. Maybe it'll be set in the year 2040 (presuming it takes the aliens another few decades to show up for a return match) and it'll be called War Day. Then they can abbreviate it as WD40.

That's oil, folks.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705… at least, until the aliens show up.)

 

Thank Yous

Originally published August 2, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1185

Thank you:

As is the case, I suspect, with many of the writers presently working in the industry, there is a fanboy within me who's always bubbling away just below the surface. And the point at which he really comes slopping over comes when I have the opportunity to work with artists who drew the comics I read when I was a fan.

That's why fans are always surprised when they ask me what artists I'd like to work with, and I respond with names like Steve Ditko, Kurt Schaffenberger: folks like that.

I still remember the thrill I got when, for instance, I wrote a fill-in issue of Wolverine and I learned that Gene Colan was going to be drawing it. Colan was one of my all-time favorite artists. I ended up working with Gene on two issues of Wolverine. And all I could be was grateful and amazed that I had the opportunity to work with a gentleman whose work had meant so much to me.

Thank you:

We were running behind schedule on Peter Parker, the Spectacular Spider-Man. Editor Jim Owsley (in the days before he became Christopher Priest, not to be confused with Christopher Priest who has yet to become Jim Owsley) said to me, "We need to do an issue where we can have several different artists working on it: three, four pencillers, each doing a few pages all at the same time. That way we can get caught up."

I thought about it a moment and then said, "Well, we could do a Rashomon story, I guess."

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's a Japanese movie about the subjectivity of truth," I said. "Basically, it's a story in which the same incident is told from several different points of view. It's a format that's been used countless times since."

And that's what we wound up doing. I constructed a story in which Peter Parker, Mary Jane, and J. Jonah Jameson each describe to Robbie Robertson a bank robbery which has just occurred at the Rashomon Bank and Trust. (Hey, if you're going to crib a story structure, you should make some effort to acknowledge it.)

It meant that we could use four different artists: one to draw each of the point-of-view stories and one to draw the framing sequence.

Since this was back in my days as Marvel's sales manager, I was in my office when Owsley came in, plopped down, and flashed a large, toothy grin. "Do you know how good I am to you?" he asked.

"Uh, no."

"Guess who's going to draw the framing sequence."

"Who?" I asked.

"John Buscema, pencils; John Romita Sr., inks."

I couldn't believe it.

I know that in later years, submarine crew members in Crimson Tide would come to blows over the bizarre question of who was the definitive artist for The Silver Surfer: Jack Kirby or Moebius. Aside from the fact that I'd never heard fans arguing over it, I had always considered John Buscema to be the greatest Surfer artist, period. With all deference to Kirby and Moebius, it was Buscema's rendition that gave us an alien being with the soul of a humanitarian.

And John Romita—jeez. In the days before he needed the qualifier of "Senior," many was the time when I would haul out his early Amazing Spider-Man work, just so I could gaze at that immortal meeting between Peter Parker and his future wife, Mary Jane, the latter uttering those immortal words of egomaniacal self-assessment: "Face it, tiger, you just hit the jackpot."

I can't really put across for you what it felt like to see the finished Buscema-Romita pages with my dialogue accompanying their artwork. If I were a better writer, I could. You'll just have to take my word for it.

Thank you:

I knew what I wanted to do for Star Trek Annual #3. I wanted to do a romance story, featuring a look at the long-lost, secret love of Mr. Scott's life.

And I wanted to tell the story backward.

"Backward?" asked editor Bob Greenberger.

"Backward," I said. I had just seen a play on Broadway by Harold Pinter: a story in which we see the history of a romantic triangle, except the sequence of events is told in reverse order. The play had, in fact, bored me stiff. During Pinter's trademark lengthy pauses, I kept wanting to scream, "Somebody say something!"

But the format of the play intrigued me, and I wanted to adapt it to the long form of the Star Trek Annual. Although I did insist on putting "Based on a concept by Harold Pinter," in the credit box. For all I knew, Pinter himself had seen someone else do the same thing and got it from that person, but my first exposure had been from Pinter's work, and that's whom I credited. Although it did prompt some befuddled fans to ask, "Harold Pinter is doing work for DC now?"

So Bob called me up and said, "Guess who I got for the annual."

Bob wasn't much for preambles and "Who loves you, baby?" intros.

"Who?"

"Curt Swan."

Curt Swan.

Curt Swan who had been, for me, the best Superman artist. I'd never quite taken to Wayne Boring's rendition. Schaffenberger's work I adored when he was drawing Lois herself, but when it came to drawing The Man himself—no one, for me, could beat Swan.

And I said, "Swan? Me with Swan? Awwww, go on!"

OK, actually, no, I didn't. But I was running our laserdisc of Hans Christian Andersen for Ariel the other day, and "The Ugly Duckling" is fresh in my mind.

Actually, what I said was, "You're kidding!"

"No, really," said Bob.

That Star Trek Annual remains one of my favorite single-issue comics. With a lesser artists or even simply a different one, the story would simply not have worked. I wrote that issue full script, panel-by-panel breakdown, full dialogue for every panel described ahead of time, because that was the way Curt wanted to do it. He was more comfortable with the full-script format, because that was the way all comics were done when he first started in the business. He was a gracious and wonderful individual, highly flattering and praising of the script. His likenesses of the Star Trek actors were meticulous, and he was able to render convincingly the characters at all ages. We showed Scotty as young as 12 years old, and the face was convincingly that of the future Montgomery Scott. And I would later find out that Scotty's lifelong love, Glynn, shared her name with James Doohan's genuine childhood sweetheart, with whom he hooked up (albeit not romantically) in later years.

I wound up buying a couple of pages from that annual at an art auction at the Chicago Comicon a year or two later. I faced virtually no competition for it: Seeking out full-page drawings from the latest hot artists, the audience had zero interest in a two-page, meticulously rendered sequence wherein Mr. Scott informs his wife that he's going to be returning to service on the Enterprise. I later caught up with Curt at a convention and he signed them to me.

I worked with him on a second Star Trek Annual, as well, set in Kirk's first year at the Academy, and it likewise looked wonderful.

But the first one had that romantic air about it that only a Curt Swan could really pull off. Because romance and beauty seem to be in danger of becoming lost arts in mainstream comics, with women the objects of lust rather than love.

And now Curt is gone. John Romita Sr. has retired. John Buscema has pulled out of Marvel. Gene Colan has health problems.

And I've been so damned lucky to have the honor of having worked with these men. I don't think I really fully realized it until recently. And I never really had a chance to say "thank you" to them for gracing my life with their presences, as a fan of their work both from the outside looking in and the inside looking out.

Thank you all.

Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to a Second Age, Inc., P.O. Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705. Independence Day is setting box-office records, on the way to $75 million by next Sunday. And it is obvious that it owes its success to its high mark on the Cokemeter. It registered  not only a 10 (10 minutes in, Jeff Goldblum recycles a can of Coca-Cola) but a 20 (20 minutes in, a can of Diet Coke is in a diner), and a 90 (90 minutes in, a Coke can is shot).

 

Forget the new book "The Obamas." You want the ORIGINAL political tell-all?

Check THIS out.

"The Camelot Papers"

Santorum summarizes gay bigotry in the GOP

GOP candidates insisted that no, no, they had nothing against gays, and were all for gay rights…as long as it didn't entail actually giving them any. Santorum, as you might have surmised, encapsulated the hypocrisy with this nugget in last night's debate:

"But just because you don't agree with someone's desire to change the law doesn't mean you don't like them or you hate them or you want to discriminate against them."

Here's the thing: people in opposition to gay rights are the ones desiring to change the law, and have done so. What else was DOMA (signed into law, to my eternal shame, by a Democrat) except institutionalizing discrimination? You want to defend marriage? Outlaw divorce. Or the Kardashians. But insisting that marriage can only be defined as a man and a woman? I'm sorry, I missed where in the Constitution that that's anyone's goddamn business, much less the government's. I find it interesting that, for instance, defenders of the Second Amendment are quick to say that any infringement on their rights to buy an Uzi opens the door for the government to come in and confiscate all their guns. But nobody seems to wrap their noggins around the concept that allowing the government to dictate that people can't marry someone of the same gender can easily be precedent for the government to dictate who can't marry who based on psychological testing. Or who can't have children, or how many children you can have. In some parts of this country there are still judges declaring that blacks can't marry whites, and yet we're okay with the government creating laws saying men can't marry men and women marry women? Really?

But no, it's the GAYS who want to change the law. No. They don't. They want to have access to the rights that the Constitution already guarantees them and that their opponents are trying to take FROM them. That's not abuse of a process. That's simply justice.

PAD

Wolf 359 convention, part 3

Originally published July 26, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1184 Finishing up stuff from my sojourn to London… * * * I speak to the girls at home. They're going to be bringing the newly found stray cat, Pandora, to the vet within the next day or so. She certainly has no problem with appetite: [...]

If I'm supposed to take the latest threat to the environment seriously…

…environmentalists, seismologists and the media are going to have to stop calling it "fracking." I can't get through a single article that talks about "fracking earthquakes" or "fracking wastewater" without breaking down laughing. Fracking "Battlestar." PAD

Wolf 359 convention, part 2

Originally published July 19, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1183 Continuing thoughts, observations and this 'n that from merry olde England… * * * I'm in the heart of London… a first for me. Standing on a street corner, I look to the left, see no cars coming, and step out into the road. I [...]

If you live in NJ, Please Do Not Vote for Bob Menendez

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Wolf 359 convention, part 1

Originally published July 12, 1996, in Comics Buyer's Guide #1182 Various and miscellaneous goings-on at Wolf 359, a Star Trek/Babylon 5 convention held in Blackpool, England, the weekend of June 10. Although I've attended conventions in both Ireland and Scotland, this is the first time I've spent any more time in England than was required [...]

You know how I'm always ragging on boycotts?

How I call them not a genuine response–which would require actual thought–but instead simply knee-jerk, simplistic punitive thinking? Well, the purest example of that I've seen in a while is currently raging over on Twitter. Seems during a game where Tim Tebow had just thrown his fourth interception, noted comedian and atheist (always a dangerous [...]