Alex Bledsoe's Blog, page 2

Retrieving Zeder from the K-Zone

This is a story of a cinema treasure hunt, and as such, may be a bit tedious to those outside the rather narrow confines of “Lost Italian horror films of the 1980s” fandom. But I suspect everyone loves a mystery, and I’ll do my best to make this one interesting.

Right around the turn of the last century, I recall reading—I don’t know where—about a 1982 Italian film called Zeder. It was described as an atmospheric, understated masterpiece that depended more on building a sense of dread than displaying splatter effects. Its plot kicks off with an ingenious device: a struggling writer acquires a new typewriter, and discovers, thanks to the words typed on the old one-use ribbon, that the previous owner believed there were places around the earth called “K zones” that could bring the dead back to life. Intrigued, our hero investigates, growing closer to the truth, and to danger.

The movie’s initial US release, direct to VHS, was cut down by nine minutes, retitled Revenge of the Dead, and christened with a new cover that has been called one of the biggest bait-and-switch moves in horror history (right up there with the poster for the 1979 Screamers). And it’s true: there are no zombies at all, much less ones bursting from the sewers. I can’t recall if I saw this one myself in the VHS era, but if I had, I doubt I thought much of it.

Now, to fans, this sort of thing isn’t news. Italian horror films of that era, much like their spaghetti western counterparts a generation before, were cranked out quickly, cheaply, and often sold as unofficial sequels to American films. Thus Lucio Fulci’s Zombi 2 was presented as a sequel to Zombi, the Italian title of George Romero’s classic Dawn of the Dead.

What was a surprise is how unlike its brethren Zeder apparently was. The article (and I believe it was in a print magazine, which was still a thing then; Video Watchdog, maybe?) stressed that the uncut film was a triumph of mood and atmosphere, so I added it to my mental list of things to watch for when I prowled used-media stores (a hobby I maintain to this day).

And wouldn’t you know it? I finally ran across the VHS under its original title, running the full 98 minutes, and saw Zeder for myself.

Well . . . sort of.

The print used as the VHS source was speckled, grainy, and with such high contrast that many night scenes were simply indecipherable. Worse (although this was standard for VHS), it presented the dreaded “full screen” version, which cuts off the ends of the widescreen image. So again, it required a great deal of effort to mentally look past these flaws and see the allegedly good movie buried beneath them.

I did respond to it, though, despite its best efforts to put me at bay. The hero Stefano is an unpublished novelist, something I could definitely relate to at the time, and I could easily imagine being drawn into such a mystery. He’s an actual grown man as well, something you seldom see in American horror, now or then. He’s married, and his wife is reasonably supportive of his increasingly nutso quest. In other words, these were fully-thought-out characters, not just zombie fodder.

It also features a trope I still enjoy, the convergence of science and superstition. The K-zones are investigated by a mysterious group whose exact origin and purpose is never quite explained, and they use state-of-the-then-art gear such as video cameras that peer into coffins. They’re dangerous, but not crazy.

I put the VHS on the shelf, then in a box, and then forgot about it…until just last month. I was going through that box of VHS tapes I’d held onto because, at the time, it was the only way these films were available. But now, for the most part, that was no longer the case. But I was unsure about Zeder. So I checked online, found it, and ordered the DVD. I spent the next week eagerly watching the shipping progress online.

You’ll notice is has the exact same cover as the VHS. What you can’t tell until you watch it, is that it’s the exact same copy as the VHS. They (Image Entertainment) literally copied the VHS onto DVD, to the point that in places tracking patterns (remember those?) are visible. Worse, the volume was so poor that the dialogue was all but inaudible; I had to crank the volume to 90(!) and sit on the coffee table two feet from the screen just to follow the story. And still worse, there were no subtitles. I was seriously disappointed, and even more determined to find a good copy of this obscure film.

Luckily, one existed, produced (though out of print now) by the specialty label Code Red. I ordered it from eBay, and again watched its progress to my door. It was a blu-ray, containing both the English and Italian audio, as well as subtitles. More importantly, the film was gloriously clear: few speckles, the contrast was perfect, and you could make out everything happening in the widescreen image. I was finally able to see Zeder in all its glory.

So, was it worth it?

For me, you bet. Here’s what blogger Ryan Marshall has to say:

“Favoring petrifying ambiance over surface-level schlock, though impartial to entertaining the latter when apt, [director] Pupi Avati’s horror films are characteristically infused with a kind of sinister, otherworldly energy; as if the man responsible for them always has one foot in reality and the other in the spirit world. In this sense, ZEDER (aka REVENGE OF THE DEAD) is straight from the heart of its maker, being (among other things) a film that deals directly with those disconcerting voices from beyond and why they are necessary to a superior understanding of our surroundings.”

The other online reviews follow suit, with most of them also mentioning the similarity (particularly in the climax) to Stephen King’s Pet Sematary. Avati’s film was released in Italy on August 25, 1983 and King’s novel on November 14 of the same year, so they would’ve been “in production,” so to speak, simultaneously in different parts of the world. Did one influence the other? It seems unlikely. Sometimes concepts are just in the air.

Of course, not everyone cared for it. Corey Higdon at House by the Video Store was, to put it mildly, not impressed:

“Upon finishing this crap, I searched for other reviews of this film to see if anyone else shared the same opinion. To my surprise, I found a reasonably larger amount of people defending the film than expected. Some people seemed very offended that viewers would even dare call it a bad film. They even went as far as saying that it was an ‘amazing masterpiece’ that ‘deserves respect’. Well then, I must be as blind as Stevie Wonder and as dumb as Snooki. I watch movies to be entertained, plain and simple. I’m sure that to some people thought that this was a great piece of suspenseful slow burn art, but to me this is about as stale as it gets. I mean, the directors name is even Pupi. Seems to be a way more fitting name for this film.”

For me, Zeder was well worth the hunt, but if you track it down, understand what you’ll be getting. If you’re expecting an Italian gorefest similar to the works of Lucio Fulci or Dario Argento, this is not the movie for you. If you enjoy horror films that rely of atmosphere more than shocks, or that make you think more than jump, I’d recommend it. If you’ve seen it, let me know what you think in the comments.

And if you’ve gone through similar travails to track down a favorite movie or book, also tell me about it in the comments.

What’s in a Name? Well…

A lot of times, my novels will be catch-alls for everything I find interesting about a particular topic. Burn Me Deadly, for example, deals with dragons, and Blood Groove with both vampires and 1970s culture. Usually by the time I finish, I’ve burned out my intense interest in a sort of positive exorcism that gets the obsession out of me for good.

[image error]Dark Jenny cover

But not always. For example, my 2011 novel Dark Jenny is a pastiche of Arthurian legends, yet it hasn’t killed my interest in them. I still pick up books on the topic that look interesting (for example, the 1982 novel The Idylls of the Queen by Phyllis Ann Karr, which uses the same bit of Arthurian folklore as its starting point, but goes off in very different directions [and which I wrote about here]). I’ll also gladly watch any documentary about Arthur, Merlin, or the Round Table, no matter how suffused with stock footage and incorrect information it might be. But I’ve come across nothing that I wish I’d known at the time I wrote Dark Jenny.

That is, until now.

[image error]

In episode 3 of the 2001 documentary series The Legends of King Arthur (now available on BritBox), writer Susanna Shadrake says (via the very Patrick Macnee-ish narrator Robert Whelan) that Merlin came very close to having a significantly less dignified name.

“In the process of translation, Geoffrey turned the name ‘Myrddin’ into ‘Merlinus,’ known to us as ‘Merlin.’ He could have substituted a single ‘d’ for the Welsh ‘dd,’ and added the Latin suffix ‘-us.’ ‘Myrddin’ would then have become, ‘Merdinus,’ and the prophet, as well as Geoffrey, would’ve been a laughing stock. ‘Merda’ is the Latin for ‘excrement,’ to put it politely. ‘Merdinus’ would have been immortalized as, ‘the Shitty One’.…Geoffrey was far too astute an author to burden such a compelling figure as Merlin with a comedy name.”

Now, I’ll admit that Merlin isn’t my favorite Arthurian character, but nowhere in my reading before or since have I come across this little tidbit. I’ve poked about a little to confirm it, with no success, so I can’t vouch for its veracity or accuracy. But ultimately, to a writer of fiction like me, it doesn’t matter if it’s true. Because it’s hilarious.

[image error]“Oh, God, that is what it means.”

In Dark Jenny, my Merlin figure was named Cameron Kern and modeled vaguely on Jerry Garcia, so a strict use of the joke wouldn’t have worked. But had I known there was even a possibility that the actual Merlin came this close to being known as “the Shitty One,” you better believe I’d have found a way to work it in. That’s the kind of detail that you can’t get away with inventing, but that you’d be super-foolish to ignore.

The Importance of the Right Feel

There’s an element of storytelling that’s seldom discussed, even more seldom taught or mentioned in reviews, because for the most part it’s objectively unquantifiable. It’s a story’s feel. And it’s become for me the barometer of pop culture properties that pass through many hands before reaching the public.

I first became aware of it thanks to Batman. In 1989, we got the first Tim Burton film, and like a lot of longtime fans, I was pretty damn skeptical. We might not have had the internet to splash spoilers and details all over, but they still leaked out, and they didn’t bode well. Of course things have to be changed to move from one medium to another, but among the changes were:

—the costume. Instead of the traditional blue-and-gray from the comics, the batsuit was now all black, except for the insignia and utility belt.

—the casting. Bruce Wayne/Batman had to be a large, muscular, square-jawed hero, and we were presented with slight, chinless Michael Keaton. Worse, at the time he was known mainly as a comedy performer, which took us into the campy realms of the Batman TV show from the Sixties.

—the director. At that point in his career Tim Burton had made two films, both comedies. Who was he to get a shot at Batman?

And then the first trailer arrived, and we realized how baseless our worries had been. Because although it had problems (who killed Bruce Wayne’s parents??) the movie got the feel exactly right.

Another superhero franchise, Superman, went through two fairly recent incarnations. In 2006’s Superman Returns, the Man of Steel has to face interpersonal crises that no superpowers can fix. And seven years later in Man of Steel, the beacon of truth, justice, and the American way is rebooted into a morose alien misfit who allows his adopted father to die and murders a villain in cold blood.

[image error]

And yet, to me, despite its flaws, Superman Returns still felt like Superman, while Man of Steel had the vibe of something made by people who lacked a basic understanding of the property. To put it mildly.

And speaking of insults to fans…

In 2009 the Star Trek franchise passed into the hands of JJ Abrams, a director more skilled at marketing than actual filmmaking. Using the screenwriters from Michael Bay’s Transformers series, he rebooted Trek with no comprehension of what kept the original franchise going for so long. Gone was the idealism, the thoughtful approach to interstellar exploration, the idea that mankind could both teach and learn from alien encounters. In its place, and backed by another of his stellar marketing plans, we got a standard chosen-one SF narrative with a story built on absurd coincidence, explosions, and lens flares. And then, when it was time for a sequel, all this brain trust could think to do was remake the best Trek film, totally missing the point of why it was the best.

[image error]

But all this might have worked if they’d gotten the feel of Star Trek right. But they never did, and never even seemed to be concerned with it. Their contempt for long-time Trek fans dripped from every frame, and was the tentpole of their marketing.

Recently I finally caught up with the first season of Star Trek: Discovery, the latest Trek TV series. Set ten years before the original series, it (at least in season one) gleefully raids the Trek canon for concepts and characters, and tells a fast-paced serial story that packs surprises into every episode.

And, to my delight and relief, it actually feels like Star Trek.

[image error]

Of course I disagree with some of the changes, including the need to drop Trek’s first onscreen “f-bomb.” Also, the Klingon makeup has grown more and more complex with each incarnation, to the point that the appliance work renders them practically unintelligible. Clearly many of the plot threads and characters will meet unhappy ends, since they’re never mentioned in any subsequent Trek series. And any show that lists twenty producers in the opening credits seems destined to suffer from the curse of too many cooks.

And yet, in spite of all that, it gets the feel right.

What does the feel consist of, then? Who can say? Perhaps it’s different for each fan. But I suspect that each fan also knows when it’s not there.

Do you know of any property where they got the feel right or wrong? Let me know in the comments.

Only Cowards Blame the Music

When I was a teenager, my parents banned from me listening to KISS.

So of course I listened to KISS every chance I got.

Their rationale: someone with religious authority warned them that the band’s name stood for “Knights in Satan’s Service.” The fact that they were men who wore makeup didn’t help. And in the deep south of the 1970s, religious parents didn’t doubt their leaders. If Reverend Buddy or Brother Hypocrisy said something was bad, then it most certainly was. No, they didn’t want to actually *hear the music; that might lead to them thinking for themselves. KISS made kids into Satan worshippers, and that was that.

I listened to a lot of KISS. I never worshipped Satan.

In the Nineties, heavy metal music was again blamed for leading kids astray, in this case the “West Memphis Three.” Luckless teens who fell afoul of empowered redneckery, they were convicted of child murder based largely on the fact that they wore black and listened to heavy metal. You can find out more about this miscarriage of justice and the unrepentant Baptist thugs behind it in the Paradise Lost documentaries.

And now we have a young man, the 21-year-old son of a Louisiana deputy sheriff, burning down black churches. Church-burning is one of the most hateful acts a terrorist can commit, striking at the very heart of communities often already marginalized (certainly in rural Louisiana, it’s a safe bet). And almost from the first announcement of his arrest, the blame has been put (at least in part) on the music he liked, in this case black metal.

[image error]The heavy metal band Mayhem.

For example, that paragon of journalism the New York Post claims in an April 11 headline that, “Deputy’s son accused in church fires may have been influenced by ‘black metal’.” Of course, all their examples are prefaced by, “purportedly” and “reportedly,” which in the Post essentially means, “clickbait.” Rolling Stone, grabbing desperately at any relevance, headlined their article, “Did a Norwegian Black Metal Band Inspire the Louisiana Church Burnings?” They begin their third paragraph with the disclaimer, “To be clear, Matthews’ musical taste in and of itself does not necessarily indicate what his political leanings were.” But the entire rest of the article says exactly that.

Music doesn’t make anyone do anything. Not even dance. Anything done as a response to music is a choice by the listener. Are some black metal bands linked to Satanism and white supremacy? Sure. Do those bands create white supremacists? No.

Blaming the music is the coward’s way out. It lets the parents, the schools, the churches, society as a whole off the hook. 

This young man is the son of a white deputy sheriff, in the deep south. If he was exposed to white supremacy, you might have to look no further than the schoolroom (Louisiana is #44 out of 50 in K-12 education), the pulpit, or the dinner table. Remember that Louisiana elected David Duke to the state house of representatives after he’d spent five years as Grand Dragon of the KKK. But how much more convenient to blame music, especially music produced in far-off places like Europe? Could it be that he liked the music because he’d already been indoctrinated?

Only cowards blame music for crimes. Or racism.

[image error]

The toughest girl in the Valley of the Dinosaurs

Since my daughter, age 7, is obsessed with dinosaurs, we’ve gone through every permutation of them we can, from the spectacle of Jurassic Park to the kaiju pummeling of Godzilla to the head-scratching WTF of Land of the Lost. And from my own long-ago childhood, I dredged up the Hanna-Barbara one-season wonder Valley of the Dinosaurs.

[image error]Sight unseen, she’s delighted because it has the word “dinosaurs” in it.

In my memory, I’d filed this under “Land of the Lost Rip Off,” but it turns out that both shows premiered on the same date (September 7, 1974), which means they were created and produced independently in one of those strange creative coincidences that often inspire words like “synchronicity” and “gestalt.” And the similarities are striking: in both, a family is rafting through a canyon, they’re sucked into some kind of watery gateway, and emerge in a strange world populated by dinosaurs and primitive humans.

[image error]

Valley of the Dinosaurs, though, is far more traditional than Land of the Lost. Both the Butlers and their cave-dwelling friends are families of four, each with a tween (Greg Butler [voiced by a very young Jackie Earle Haley] and Tana), a teen (Katie Butler and Lok, see image below), a mother (Kim Butler and Gara), and a father (John Butler and Gorok). This gives kid viewers characters to identify with (Greg and Tana), aspire to be (Katie and Lok), and be protected by (the two sets of parents). It ran only 16 episodes, and with no overall arc; the episodes could essentially run in any order.

[image error]

But watching anything with my daughter makes me pay extra attention to the female characters, and that’s when I realized how kick-ass teenage Katie Butler (voiced by Kathy Gori) really is. She never once screams in fear, or even surprise; no matter what happens, she’s ready with a snappy comment or observation. She’s never concerned with her appearance or whether hunky Lok likes her (a real rarity for a 70s teen girl on TV, animated or otherwise). She’s up to any task, and she’s often the instigator of the action. Her greatest moment might be when she trips running away from stampeding dinosaurs, and Lok throws her over his shoulder: she protests with dripping sarcasm, “Well, you’re certainly a gallant escort.”

[image error]

It’s difficult to find out who created and/or wrote what on the show, but the IMDB lists eight writers, all male. So Katie wasn’t a subversive statement of feminism by a woman working on the show. Was her kick-assedness simply a way to keep the show from being too frightening? Or a deliberate choice, possibly by someone with a daughter who wanted to give her someone to look up to, someone who never panicked, cried for help, or screamed? Or was it simply an accident, dreamt up by writers who were working so hard and fast, they simply had no time to think of ulterior motives or ramifications?

Kathy Gori, who voiced Katie as well as other Hanna-Hanna-Barbara characters, told me, “Katie’s lines were all scripted, but I was pretty young and I’d been doing voices for HB since I was an older teenager and they knew me well. I was a pretty feisty, snarky kid on my own, so I think they sort of based her on my personality. I never met any of the writers, but the character seemed pretty natural to me so I’m figuring they [got the ‘teenage girl’ part right].

“My favorite character was Rosemary the cop in Hong Kong Phooey. I loved doing her. The thing about Valley was that the cast sort of formed a family and we all just really got along. We socialized outside of the show, which didn’t happen in other shows I did there….except I did date Inch High Private Eye for a while. So Katie would be number 2 for all the stuff I did there.”

Even now, nearly 50 years later, Katie Butler remains a great character for little girls—and boys—who wonder how they’d react in a crisis or emergency. And you can do a lot worse than look a dinosaur up and down and say, “Anything that ugly must be becoming extinct.”

Special thanks to Kathy Gori for talking to me about her voice acting.

“Don’t you think I’m taking this really well?”

Recently filmmaker Lexi Alexander tweeted:

“The ‘nagging wife of cop who‘s trying to catch serial killer’ trope has to die. Look…there’s no woman who prefers a serial killer roaming around if it means a few hours more with the husband. Doesn’t happen. Male fantasy.”

I first encountered this trope at age 14, in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Roy (Richard Dreyfuss) encounters UFOs, and his life spirals out of control as he tries to make sense of the images in his head. His wife Ronnie (Teri Garr) has exactly zero patience for this: she’s embarrassed, unhelpful, and unsympathetic. She never suggests getting professional help (this was the 70s, but still) or even talking to clergy or friends about it (not that he seems to have any friends). In fact, she’s proud of her own patience: she tells him, “Don’t you think I’m taking this really well?” Of course, the audience knows she’s wrong, and only Garr’s skillful performance keeps her from being a shrill, nagging harpy.

Flash forward thirty years, to exactly the sort of thing Lexi described. In David Fincher’s Zodiac, the wife (Chloe Webb) of protagonist Robert Graysmith (Jake Gyllenhall) similarly has little patience for her husband’s obsession. Granted he’s a newspaper cartoonist, not a reporter or cop, but it’s also not like this was a surprise; he was obsessed by the Zodiac when they met. Again, only the actor’s skill masks the cliche.

And thinking about that took me back to Casablanca.

[image error]

Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman) may not be a literal “nagging wife” in that movie, but Rick (Humphrey Bogart) still famously tells her, “Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.” In other words, you’d be in the way. You’d keep me from being the hero. Better you stay and support your Frenchman. But, of course, don’t get in his way, either.

As a response to that, see Howard Hawks’ To Have and Have Not. Essentially a revision and critique of Casablanca, set in Martinique instead of North Africa, in this one Bogart is a charter boat captain instead of a bar owner. His credo, though, is the same: the war is none of his business. He meets refugee Marie (Lauren Bacall), and his romance with her rouses his long-dormant conscience. At the end, he’s off to fight for the good guys.

[image error]

But the important difference is, Marie is right there beside him. He doesn’t see her as an obstacle, or a hindrance; he’s gladly bringing her along. And that’s because he recognizes that her courage, resourcefulness and wit are the equal of his own. Because if they weren’t, she wouldn’t be worthy of his love in the first place.

So what does that tell us about writers who fall back on the shrewish wife trope as a way to show their male hero’s determination? Speaking broadly, they’re cowards who are too terrified of women to ever see them as anything other than an inconvenience or an obstacle; it’s another form of objectification.

It’s fair to have your guy lose everything on his heroic way to the story’s climax. But to matter, those losses have to have value both to him, and to the reader/viewer. Face it: Ronnie Neary in Close Encounters is no loss. Her departure, in fact, makes Neary stronger: he’s free to pursue his quest full-time. She’s an obstacle to be overcome, just like the military. And Roy barely looks back when the aliens take him on board the mothership.

What if Ronnie was supportive? What if she said, “Okay, we’ll drop the kids off at my mom’s and we’ll go track down this Devil’s Tower together”? Roy could still choose to go off on his own, but it wouldn’t demean either of them. Instead we’d be impressed that Roy found such a strong woman to marry him, and sympathetic with his desire to keep her out of trouble. It would make his departure on the mothership bittersweet instead of triumphant, because by then we’d know that Ronnie, if she had the chance, would’ve been right there beside him.

And to me, those are the stories we need now. We’ve outgrown the others.

[image error]

Chatting at the Bottom of the Lake

[image error]From a production of the play version of The Bottom of the Lake.
Courtesy Theatrefolk

Steven Stack is an internationally-produced playwright for teens and middle-schoolers, and a full-time acting teacher for kids. He’s also one of my best friends, and he’s just published his first novel, The Bottom of the Lake. Here we discuss the fairly unique project of turning a play into a novel.

Me: You’ve written many plays, so why did you decide to turn this particular play into a novel?

Steven: I’ve always wanted to write a book, but my playwrighting took precedence because, as a theatre teacher who wrote for his students, there was always a new scene or play to create. Then one morning, when I had a break in my writing assignments, I mentioned to a particular writer friend over coffee (is name is Alex Bledsoe, not sure if you know him) that I wanted a new challenge. He suggested writing a book based on one of my plays and I thought about it and decided . . . “Cool.” I picked The Bottom of the Lake because it was my most popular play and I’ve always felt that the story and characters deserved more exploration then the stage allowed. So I got in the creative sandbox with the goal of  expanding and evolving a world that I had enjoyed creating so much the first time. The funny thing is, that even though they share the same title, the novel and the play became vastly different as the writing moved along. The book began book taking a darker and more personal tone than I had imagined it would. I suppose writing a book at a time of immense change and struggle in my life and those around me, including my students, would demand that the story serve not only as a vehicle for the character’s quests but those in the real world that matter to me as well. 

[image error]Playwright Steven Stack, where we can keep an eye on him.

You’re an experienced playwright; how different was writing prose?

Really different. When you write a play, you have to know a great amount about the characters and the world around them, but you focus more creating a roadmap instead of specific details about the world they live in, because that is often formed by whoever is directing and performing the play. When I wrote the play, it was geared for a younger audience, but when I wrote the book, I focused on telling a story that was more geared towards older teens and adults. Doing this allowed me to take off the restraints and let the characters and their stories go where they wanted to, instead of having to consider how it would look on stage. Plus, writing dialogue is something that I’ve done for years but creating an in-depth narrative? Not so much. It was a truly fantastic and exhausting experience as I wrote draft after draft and watched the book read less like a play and more like, you know, a book.

[image error]My son Jake as “Spatula Hand,” from the play version of The Bottom of the Lake.

The novel has some pretty sharp changes in tone; how concerned were you that readers couldn’t follow that?

I really didn’t give it much thought for two reasons. One is because . . . I didn’t think of that. Perhaps I should have. Who knows. Another reason, a personal one, is because that’s just the way my brain has always worked since I was a wee child. The way I interacted with myself, others, and the world around me tended to feature sharp changes because . . . I really don’t know why. Perhaps I get bored easily and I like to imagine my life as a sitcom? I don’t know. Anyway, this way of being had choice but to show up in my writing.

That being said, that wasn’t the main reason sharp tone changes show up in my plays. See, I’ve always assumed that you had to work hard to make the audience care because they’ve seen most things and a good majority of them are there to watch their kids and then go back to the lives. With that in mind, I thought the best way to come at writing was to give the audience what they didn’t expect and keep them guessing, make them go “What is going on?” thus making them want to pay attention. The tone changes and twists, however, have to be earned, and make sense in the world of the play.

With the book, I didn’t do it for either of those reasons, oddly enough. What a weird answer this turning out to be. I thought about my experiences as a teenager and my years working with teens, and how a teenage life is a constant change of tones daily and observing their struggle and, at times, enjoyment, of the ridiculousness is of their existence. Now that I think about it, it’s just not teenage lives, it’s all our lives. Our day can go from the most epically hilarious happy day to the angriest or most heartbreaking day in moments. So I guess, in a way, the sharp changes in tones reflect the way I view daily life and the world that my characters exist in.

What would you like readers to take away from the book?

I would like the readers, first to connect with the characters and enjoy the journey of the story feeling whatever emotions that they feel at a given time. In terms of what I would like to them to take from it, would be the understanding that, although we often feel alone, misunderstood, and wear masks that we feel are force upon us by a world that wouldn’t embrace us if they knew our truths, the truth is different. But only if we allow others to see our truths, including our scars, which would allow others to see that they were never alone as well. Doing this would provide a connection that we are crave but are often too fearful to admit too.

Thanks to Steven for taking the time to talk with me. You can get The Bottom of the Lake at all the usual suspects (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc.), but if you have a local independent bookseller, have them order it. And then when you’re done, leave an honest review somewhere like Goodreads.

The Unexpected Return of Dakota North, part 2

In an earlier post, I talked about the Marvel comic Dakota North, which ran for five issues in the mid-80s and is now the subject of a brand new collection, Dakota North: Design for Dying.

[image error]

Martha Thomases

Now Dakota’s creator and writer, Martha Thomases, has been kind enough to talk to me a bit about Dakota’s origins.

You wrote about the fashion scene as a journalist, so how much input did you have in the choice of fashions in the original run, such as what Dakota wore in a given situation?

For the most part, Dakota’s wardrobe was up to Tony [Salmons], as the artist. He was the person who knew what would look right in an action scene. Having said that, I flooded him with fashion magazines and newspaper articles. When I could, I urged him to look at department store windows. Since he lived in Connecticut and didn’t get into the city that often, I couldn’t literally lead him around.

If that sounds bossy or condescending, I’m not explaining right. The entire editorial process involved each of us sharing our areas of expertise. I know way more about gun recoil than your usual hippie girl from Ohio because Larry Hama insisted.

In the introduction to the new collection, you mention that Dakota’s appearance was based on your friend, the late model and author Norris Church. What was it about her look that you liked for the character? How did she feel about being the inspiration?

Have you read Norris’ book, A Ticket to the Circus? If you have, you will have noticed that, other than her looks, she is nothing like Dakota. She was the only model I knew, however, and seeing her portfolio, and her work on All My Children and Ragtime, gave me a sense of what models actually did. It’s not enough to have the right body-type and be beautiful. You have to control every part of your body, every muscle in your face.

[image error]

Norris Church, the visual inspiration for Dakota North.

I think she was amused that I used her look. When I had the first photocopied pages from Tony, I showed them to her and to Norman [Mailer, her husband]. Norman looked at Dakota and said, “I’d like to see her naked.” I told him that he already had. Then I begged him to let me use that as a quote on the cover, and he refused. It would be another decade before I got another quote from him about a comic, for Neil Gaiman and Sandman.

Over the years, there have been some thoughtful retrospectives written about the series. Have you read them? Do you think readers are now more open to what you were doing?

I’ve read some of them. In a few cases, I was flattered, in others, not so much. Quite often, people seemed to assume I had some grand plan about how the story was going to go. I did not.

Are people more open to what I was doing? I don’t know. There are certainly more women writing and drawing comics, and more women reading them. That’s a good thing. More different kinds of books for more different kinds of readers mean more writers and artists can make a living.

Did you have first-hand experience of the various locations, i.e., Paris, or did you rely on research? (I’m old enough to remember how hard that was pre-Google Street View.)

I had been to Paris, Milan, Amsterdam and Barcelona at that point. And I lived in Manhattan and, before I had my son, my husband and I would go to CBGBs, the Mudd Club and the like.

How did you feel about Dakota popping up in other series after her own was cancelled? If you read them, did any one author strike you as getting closest to your original intent?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no. [Christopher] Priest called me up to get my insights when he used the character [in Black Panther issues #18-35], and he ran everything by me to make sure he had the right tone.

If she was brought back, would you want to be involved? And if so, what would be different?

I would love to be involved. Whether or not I could meet a monthly schedule, I’m not so sure. I tend to really like my characters and don’t enjoy putting them in dangerous situations that make exciting stories. Also, I don’t think Dakota would let her father push her around in the same ways now as she did in the 1980s. So that dynamic would have to be updated.

And finally…how did you come up with the name?

I’m terrible at coming up with character names! But I had heard about an artist with the first name, Dakota, and thought it was really cool. “North” naturally followed.

By the way, I was contacted by a woman who was actually named Dakota North. She was excited to see the book. Now we are Facebook friends.

Immense thanks to Martha Thomases for taking the time to answer my fanboy questions. Dakota North: Design for Dying is available now, from all the usual suspects, but try your local comic shop first.

The Original Story about Mount Horeb’s Psychic Boy

When I wrote about this in an earlier post, I offered to post my transcription of the original newspaper articles, if anyone was interested. Thanks to all who said they were. Here you go.

Wisconsin State Journal, Madison, Wis, Thursday afternoon, April 1, 1909

Headline: MT. HOREB MYSTERY STILL BAFFLING ALL EFFORTS TO SOLVE IT

Sub-headline: Residents Divided on Question of Possession of Occult Powers by Henry James Brophy, Former Madison Boy

by Staff Correspondent

Mt. Horeb, Wis, April 1–Is Henry James Brophy, the Mt. Horeb boy of mystery, really possessed of occult powers, or are the remarkable manifestations which are alleged to have taken place at the home of his grandparents nothing but cleverly carried out deceptions intended for some purpose not known?

Whatever the fact, the nine-day wonder of the town has already outlived its proverbial span and the end is not yet. The town is divided on the proposition; families are being set against families and if the excitement continues it may even develop into a political issue. The noise is all about strange doings that center around an 11-year-old boy, who, if you would believe the exaggerated stories, is possessed of psychic powers quite out of the ordinary.

The case is attracting the attention of scientists, societies of psychic research, clairvoyants, and newspapers from far and near. As to the boy himself, he is a combination of Irish and Norwegian, a good mixture to produce fanciful results. He is the son of Mrs. Patrick L. Trainor, 133 West Main Street, Madison, by a former marriage. She is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Knute Lunde of Mt. Horeb, who are among the pioneer Norwegian settlers of the town of Springdale, where they lived for fifty years before their removal to Mt. Horeb last year. The home is on Main Street, one of the finest in town. The boy is a strikingly beautiful child, with fine brown hair, inclined to curl, brown eyes, and an oval face suggesting sensitive intellectuality. His features are delicate, almost girlish looking, and the complexion pale, due doubtless to poor health. It is a child that would be noticed in a crowd because of a certain flower-like beauty and shyness.

ONCE INJURED

He has lived with his grandparents since he was two years old, and when brought to them had been crippled by having a wagon wheel pass over his body at the hips. He finally recovered from this accident but has always been delicate and sickly. An aunt of the boy also lives in the same house.

He is a pupil in the grade school, is normally mischievous and but an ordinary student. Perhaps if he were not sickly he might be a stronger student.

The first manifestations of the occurrences that have set the town by the ears were noticed March 9. As the boy was entering the house at the side door at noon he was struck in the back by a snowball which broke and scattered all over the floor, so the story goes. Inspection revealed no one outside who could have thrown the snowball. The same thing occurred the following day at the same hour. This was on Wednesday. While things appeared somewhat unsteady in the house that evening it was not until the next evening that things occurred that put the household in a panic. Cups would fly from the table and break, lamp chimneys be shattered, spools of thread would unreel, and bars of soap go flying wildly about.

Mr. Lunde, the boy’s grandfather, became nearly distracted with terror, and the news of the strange happenings spread rapidly.

A WILD NIGHT

The next day there was a funeral in the family, which was attended by the boy’s mother, who spent the night at the home of her parents. It was a night of turbulence and terror, and things about the house were particularly nimble. Finally word was sent to the neighbors asking that someone come to try to comfort and compose the grandfather, who seemed on the verge of collapse. Rev. Mostrum was appealed to, and Sam Thompson, a highly respected citizen, went to the house. As soon as they entered a hymn book, which had been reposing on a window sill near the door, fell to the floor. The old man and the women pointed to it and said wildly, “There, you see it.”

The minister heard the story and tried to make light of it, and explained things rationally. They remarked that things were particularly bad if anyone played the organ, whereupon to compose them the minister sat down and played. Mr. Thompson was walking about the room with the boy at his side when in passing a table the boy remarked “look out,” and immediately a big butcher knife which had been seen on the table came flying through the air and fell on the floor in front of them. The boy could not have touched it, said Mr. Thompson. The same phenomenon occurred with a hat pin. While inclined to be skeptical Mr. Thompson and the minister confessed afterwards that they could not sleep for hours that night. It recalls some of the old witchcraft tales that used to end “all that night there was heavy thunder.”

For some days panic reigned in the household. Things were continually flying about the room, screws would come out of the hinges in the doors, covers would fly off the stoves, and lamp chimneys would be shattered as fast as they were put up. Pieces of soap seemed particularly sensitive to the diabolic influence and when the family retired showers of coal would follow them to bed. The news spreading, the people of the village and surrounding country began going to the house out of morbid curiosity to see “what there was to see.” The family was literally overridden, and night, it is said, 200 people streamed through the rooms with muddy feet and open mouthed expectation. They saw no manifestations but saw the wreckage that had been wrought.

BOY NOT SUSPECTED

For some days the strange occurrences were not associated with the boy. The house had been equipped with electric lights and telephones and it was thought perhaps the house had become “electrified,” causing the disturbances. Accordingly two prominent citizens went to the house one evening during the height of the excitement and insisted, in the face of the protestations of the distracted family, who did not want to be left in darkness, that the electric wires should be cut and thus put an end to the “spell.” They failed of their purpose, however. When the boy finally came to be suspected of unusual powers it was proposed to remove him from the house. This would prove if electricity had anything to do with it. Accordingly he was taken to the homes of his uncles, Andrew and Hans Lunde, in the Town of Springdale.

As soon as they entered the house there a pail half filled with water went spinning over the floor, upsetting its contents. A spooky night followed. All sorts of articles and utensils apparently went on a spree, outdoing those of the Mt. Horeb home. This proved that the boy was the cause, willingly or unwillingly.

“You better take down that looking glass,” said the boy to his uncle, pointing to a mirror on the wall. The uncle laughed but soon afterward the mirror fell to the floor with a crash. As had been the case in Mt. Horeb the country people now came in droves to see the wonderful boy. Many tales are told of his few days in Springdale. At the suggestion of the boy’s grandmother, it is said, a bag of salt was placed in his pocket, this on the suggestion of a cheesemaker who said this means had been found effective in the old country in exorcising evil spirits and breaking fairy spells. A neighbor boy came next day to play with little Henry but was taken back when the sack left Henry’s pocket and struck the visitor in the back. The boys later engaged in a game of marbles, and Henry proved, as the story goes, that he is not entirely a blind and helpless medium, but has divining powers as well. Hidden marbles were found with ease, even when tucked deep into beds. The uncle declared he placed the boy in a chair in front of him, holding a cigar box containing some marbles, and three marbles jumped out of the box without the boy touching it. When the boy went to bed that night a great racket was heard, apparently in the wall next to his bed. Investigation revealed nothing outside. “You better look out or the plaster will fall on you,” said the lad. His uncle then took him out of bed and placed him on a couch on the other side of the room and a neighbor woman sat down on it, but could not remain there because of the dancing motion of the couch. Investigation showed the next day a big hole in the plastering next to the bed.

TAKEN TO A SPECIALIST

Finally it was decided to take the boy to a specialist for an examination, and he was sent to Dr. George Kingsley of Madison, a clairvoyant physician, being accompanied by Otto Dahle, who was on his way to Milwaukee.

Since his return from Madison the boy has apparently been more normal, and there have been fewer disturbances at the house. The family is greatly exercised over the notoriety it has attained, and has practically closed its doors to callers. They admit that things are still occasionally unstable, but the opinion is that they will hereafter minimize any occurrence unless something of a remarkable nature should occur.

The manifestations never appear when the boy is asleep, nor when a crowd is present. It is explained by clairvoyants that the spirit influences are overborne, so to speak, by a crowd. Hence nothing happens while the boy is at school or when any number of people come to the house to see things. The boy has no magnetic power, apparently. Clairvoyants say that three spirits, those of two women and one man, hover about the boy, though why three is not explained.

The occurrences have recalled all manner of stories of trolls among the older Norwegian settlers, and has led to the interesting information that a grandfather of one of Mt. Horeb’s oldest citizens saw the last of the hill folk before that interesting people disappeared from Norway—saw him sitting on a green [word unclear] and heard him playing on his fairy oboe. Memories of “Vise-Knut” (Wise Knut), the hero of Bjørnson’s story of that name are also recalled. He could foretell future events, locate hidden and lost things, etc.

HARD-HEADED DOUBTERS

The more hard-headed citizens of the place, some of whom have been eye-witnesses of the so called manifestations, scouts the idea that there is anything occult about the occurrences. Dr. N.C. Evans and former sheriff G.E. Michaelson are in this class of doubters. They visited the house one evening at the height of the excitement. They say they were seated with their backs to the kitchen door, with the boy in the kitchen, it being explained that he was shy of visitors. While they were there two pieces of sausage, a piece of soap and a couple of chunks of coal came flying from the kitchen. Dr. Evans whirled around and asked the boy, who stood in the doorway, if he threw them, and says the boy did not deny doing it. “I am satisfied that the articles were thrown by someone,” said one of them, “for the people of the house guessed what the articles were as soon as they were picked up and before they had seen them.”

The writer of this article was shown a broken mirror which it is said was struck by a piece of broken cup which left its place on the table and flew into the glass. On careful inquiry he learned that at the time the boy’s grandfather was putting an armful of wood in the woodbox and had his back to the mirror. The boy was either in the kitchen or just outside. No one else was in the kitchen. One story difficult to explain is that an egg once flew out of a basket striking the boy in the face.

Dr. Kingsley who examined the boy believes the lad is destined to become famous as a spiritualist. He says that at present he has not the spirits under control but will have in time, and that at his age he is a wonderful medium. The boy was at Dr. Kingsley’s home only a few minutes but during that time a pronounced manifestation occurred.

The boy appears frank and open and said to the writer, “I can’t help these things. I want to stay here with grandpa and not go away.”

The family have been wrought in a great pitch of nervous excitement and frequently all have been found in tears. The boy is becoming shy of visitors and sometimes cries when they come. Strange stories have been set in circulation having to do with wills and ulterior motives but if there is any dissembling done by anyone it appears remarkably clever.

The case certainly has put Mt. Horeb on the map as effectively as the Ridgway ghost of nearby did its town. To spiritualists it may all appear simple enough but unless the supposed manifestations continue and no one succeeds in exploding them, the affair will remain a mystery and become a permanent tradition of the neighborhood.

###

Wisconsin State Journal, Madison, Wisconsin, Friday, April 2, 1909

Headline: MOUNT HOREB MYSTERY IS SCOUTED

Sub-headlines: Scientific men agreed some delusion is being practiced in case.

Family seeks protection.

Advertises that unscrupulous equivocators will be dealt with according to law.

[No writer credited]

Medical and other scientific men seem united in the view that the alleged mysterious occurrences that center around Henry James Brophy, the 11-year-old Mt. Horeb boy, are all delusions or fakes and can be explained on natural grounds. In fact they are emphatic on that point and laugh at any other suggestions.

Dr. Joseph Jastrow, professor of psychology at the University of Wisconsin, when asked for his opinion on the case laughingly remarked that he had to hurry to catch a train for Milwaukee, but added, “such things have been pretty generally exploded.”

Prof. B.W. Snow of the physics department said he knew nothing of this case or anything like it and apparently also took it lightly.

Dr. N.C. Evans of Mt. Horeb scouts the idea of there being anything mysterious or supernatural about it. He says:

“I went to the house one evening and while there a ball of yarn came flying out of the kitchen into the sitting room where we were. The boy was in the kitchen behind me, but the women folks were in the room with me. Nothing else out of the ordinary happened while I was there. I am satisfied the ball of yarn was thrown by someone from the kitchen. Whatever may be the cause of the doings reported I am satisfied they can be explained on natural grounds. The whole thing is a fake of some sort; there can be nothing supernatural about it.”

Dr. Clarke [Gapent?] said: “It is nonsense to waste any time on such cases unless it be to explode them or expose them. They can always be explained away and have been time and again exposed. In New York City there is a school which teaches boys tricks of this character, advertises for them and makes money out of their mystification of credulous people. This Mt. Horeb boy must be playing tricks by design or under delusions, or else he is being made a tool of by others for some purpose.”

BOY’S UNCLE TALKS

Relatives of the boy adhere stoutly to their original statements, that they are completely “up in the air” so far as understanding the cause or reason for the queer occurrences. Hans Lunde of Springdale, an uncle of the boy, when called up by telephone today said:

“Henry was at my house one day, at my brother Andrew’s for two days and spent some time at a neighbor’s, Alfred Thorson. I didn’t see much of the boy at my house, but saw a few small things fly around the house, but at my brother’s house it was much worse. Cups were broken, marbles, spools of thread and soap were flying around everywhere. I’ll tell you what I did see though very plainly. When I took Henry back to Mt. Horeb I took a basket of eggs along and set them on a chair in the house. While we were standing there one egg flew out of the basket and struck Henry in the face. I saw it leave the basket with my own eyes and there was no one anywhere near the basket. Two more eggs jumped out of the basket on the floor and one jumped off the table. Henry has been quieter since he came back from Madison. He says he is not afraid of these things and that he feels nothing when they happen.

FAMILY SEEKS PROTECTION

The more serious and rational people of the town are pondering the motives that might inspire such occurrences and various stories and explanations are set on foot. In the meantime the family has issued a public warning for its protection; the following notice appearing in the Mt. Horeb Times:

“A Notice to Mt. Horeb and Vicinity.”

“We acknowledge we have been the victims of a number of mysterious happenings. But we are not accountable for the same. We have been doing our best to solve the mystery but are unable to do so. However, we hoped that we have friends enough here to endeavor to stop the scandalous stories that are going broadcast through the country. We wish to remain friends with all and have nothing but the kindliest feelings toward all; and we hope that the public will have the same feelings toward us. But we also wish to state for the benefit of those that do not take matters in the right light, that all unscrupulous equivocators will be dealt with according to law. Very respectfully,

“Knute K. Lunde and Family.”

The Unexpected Return of Dakota North, part 1

Addendum:

R.I.P. Stan Lee. 

The mid-1980s, when I was a serious comic book fan, was a great time for taking risks: it gave us Alan Moore’s Swamp Thing, Watchmen, and Miracleman; Neil Gaiman’s Sandman; Frank Miller’s Daredevil and The Dark Knight Returns; and significant runs in all the major series, many of which have turned up as the plots of current superhero movies. There were also the singular, non-superhero titles like Maus, Love and Rockets, and DC’s terrific run of Peter David’s Star Trek. And it was in this bubble of possibility that Marvel took a flyer on Dakota North.

[image error]

The ad announcing Dakota North, seen in comics trade journals.

Dakota North was (is?) a former fashion model who quit the runway and took over the family business, high-tech security. She operates in the Marvel universe, but has no super powers, and—in her original run—crossed paths with none of its costumed heroes. Her series was action-packed, alternately campy and satirical, and yet with serious undertones that even a clueless guy like me could pick up on back then: issues of gender roles, feminism, and self-determination. In other words, it was unique then, and pretty much remains so. I was first attracted by the implied Modesty Blaise/Ms. Tree vibe of the cover, but quickly realized this was no mere copycat. Dakota might operate in an established genre, but she fit into it in a whole new way.

Dakota was created, at the behest of Marvel’s Larry Hama, by writer Martha Thomases and artist Tony Salmons. Thomases, who has since written about comics but to my knowledge has done no more comic writing, was an experienced journalist familiar with the NY fashion scene, who also edited the satirical magazine, Comedy. In her introduction to the recent collection Dakota North: Design for Dying, Thomases says:

“Dakota…was a modern single woman trying to make her way professionally at a time when that was still a relatively new thing in popular culture. […] I wanted to show how Dakota would react to street harassment, creepy clients and finding a good public school. She was in the fashion world, so she would know far too many people affected by AIDS, cocaine, and crack.”

This complex ambition is probably why it lasted only five issues, ending in the middle of a story arc with the disclaimer, “This is where we usually put the blurb for the next issue, if there was a next issue, but there isn’t.”

(You can find a more detailed history of the comic’s creation in the Comics Journal here.)

[image error]But oddly, this wasn’t the end. Dakota popped in up Web of Spider-man #37 in 1988, protecting Mary Jane Watson-Parker, a model, from a serial killer. Since then she’s shown up in all sorts of Marvel series; I recently ran across her in Kelly Sue DeConnick’s run of Captain Marvel from 2012. It sparked my memories of the series, of which I may have been one of the few enthusiastic fans (I even had a letter published in one of the last issues). There were even some thoughtful retrospectives (see here, and here).

But still, I was startled to see that a collection of the original 5 issues, plus a sampling of her later appearances, had been published earlier this year. Why, after all this time, was she experiencing a renaissance? Possibly the success of the similar-but-different Jessica Jones series on Netflix reminded the folks at Marvel that they had another character in the same genre, created fifteen years earlier.

The collected five issues of Dakota North don’t interact with the larger Marvel universe, but all her later appearances do. It’s interesting to see this at work; subsequent writers do a great job of showing how her entirely mundane skills are still valuable in a world of superheroes. But there’s a purity to Thomases’ work that, to me, demands belated acknowledgment. It’s a cliche to blame something’s failure on being “ahead of its time,” but in this case, I think it applies. Dakota North would probably fit right into the modern media landscape, and—perhaps—that’s a reason for her sudden reappearance.

Next post: an interview with writer/creator Martha Thomases.