This past Sunday I was privileged to attend the second horror film festival at the historic Belcourt Theater in Nashville, this year dubbed "12 Hours of Terror". From Noon to Midnight, I was witness to some of the best and oddest horror films ever made. I managed to interview Dr. Gangrene, who acted as 'master of spookamonies' for the event, hosting trivia contests in between shows.
There will be more in depth reviews of the films later, but what films they had; from the two best films to be shot in Louisville, to a MST3K classic, to a mind warped fever to the strangest film to feature killer genitals and mullets, the Belcourt had it all.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
"Shadows of the Apt" Doesn't Redefine Fantasy, It Just Does It Better
by: Jesse Baruffi
In a shocking twist that will surprise absolutely no one, I grew up reading lots of fantasy. While that doesn't exactly make me an expert or anything, it has caused me to spend a lot of time thinking about the genre and what makes it tick, and even try my hand at writing some. At some point, I do intend to do an article on fantasy in general, on what works and what doesn't, but that's a pretty huge topic and one I don't want to go into in a half-baked way. For right now, suffice it to say that a lot of fantasy bugs me, despite my love for the genre. I grow weary when I walk into the fantasy section of the bookstore and come across endless series of impenetrable pseudo-Tolkien stories and retellings of the author's D&D campaigns. Then more recently, I've come across the works of mega-authors like Robert Jordan and George R.R. Martin, both of whom I dislike (as authors, I'm sure they're perfectly nice people). Jordan for his bizarre sexism and unwillingness to finish a story, no matter how many thousands of pages he takes, and Martin because, although he is at least a talented writer, his books are essentially plotless amoral blood porn, which also can't finish a single story in thousands of pages. Given all this, when I do read fantasy, it's either the classics, such as Roger Zelazny and Robert E. Howard, or light-hearted one-shot novels by A. Lee Martinez or well-done parodies like Order of the Stick, and I've generally avoided newer series altogether.
Then my friend Tom tells me about a series he's reading called "Shadows of the Apt" by a fellow named Adrian Tchaikovsky. He says it's a very good fantasy series and I would probably like it. I nod my head, somewhat interested, but given my recent skepticism of fantasy, combined with the fact that I am naturally both lazy and cheap, I didn't jump on buying them. This is how I know Tom is a good friend: he actually bought me all four books on Amazon and mailed them to me. Given the brazen generosity of this act, I had no choice but to read the series, and I am very glad I did.
While the premise of the series is pretty standard, i.e. an evil empire is trying to take over the world, and only a small band of mismatched idealists and miscreants can stop them, the unique execution is where the story shines. For one thing, the races of the world are all attached to totemic insects. Usually in fiction, when insects are portrayed, it's as being icky or evil or at best primordial, but Tchaikovsky is clearly a student of entomology, and treats the underappreciated creatures with a grand sense of reverence and fascination that to my knowledge has not been done elsewhere (funny enough, the series actually made me like insects more). This allows for a fascinating variety of cultures that may be dotted with elements you've seen before, but are extremely distinct and filled with vibrant individuals as well as believable cultural cohesion. For another, most fantasy worlds tend to be suspended in time, as magic by its nature is timeless, and for some reason, technology never moves beyond the medieval level, except for ancient races and bad guys. Tchaikovsky's world has a fair amount of technology to begin with, but much like in real life, the war moves it forward. We see the technological people (as there is a clear divide between who can use magic and who technology) grow more advanced, while the magical races slowly diminish, and all this just in a few short years. This allows the stakes to rise without seeming absurd or artificial, and in fact, it resembles our own war history.
Obviously, a story like this wouldn't work if the characters weren't interesting. What Tchaikovsky does to make them work well is to force them into places where they must make decisions that aren't clearly black and white. As most of the protagonists are youths on the cusp of adulthood or veterans who are past their prime, and the Wasp Empire is such a colossal enemy, they must often choose between doing the moral thing and the practical thing to survive or help others survive. I don't tend to like stories where characters always choose the practical thing in the most amoral way possible (I'm looking at YOU, Battlestar Galactica!), but in a story where the characters make a variety of choices along this spectrum, and the results are just as varied, I am pleased to see how these choices are used as honest-to-goodness character development that also moves the story along. And while the story focuses on a relatively small number of characters at first, the cast grows to be huge without ever feeling overwhelming. Even the villains are very different one to another. Certainly enough agents of the Wasp Empire are ruthless and brutal (the Empire itself being a curious mix of Nazis, Spartans, and Mayans), but many are just people doing their best in an unstoppably evil society. It is also worth noting that people die in these books. While it's not filled with pointless shock-value deaths like Martin, just about no one is safe, and many people you come to care about will die or have horrible things happen to them. As a consequence, when the heroes do succeed at something, it feels like they've earned it.
So far, there are seven of these books, only five of which are currently available in the U.S. (though I cheat and buy them from England), of a planned ten-book series. Considering he is a family man with a demanding day job, the fact that Tchaikovsky releases these 500+ page books every six months or so implies a nigh-superhuman speed and prolificity (is that a word? I'm not sure). Makes an aspiring slacker like me feel incredibly humbled by my own meager turnout.
I also highly recommend checking out his website, Shadows of the Apt, which has all manner of supplemental information, artwork, and short stories, many of which do eventually filter their characters into the books.
In a shocking twist that will surprise absolutely no one, I grew up reading lots of fantasy. While that doesn't exactly make me an expert or anything, it has caused me to spend a lot of time thinking about the genre and what makes it tick, and even try my hand at writing some. At some point, I do intend to do an article on fantasy in general, on what works and what doesn't, but that's a pretty huge topic and one I don't want to go into in a half-baked way. For right now, suffice it to say that a lot of fantasy bugs me, despite my love for the genre. I grow weary when I walk into the fantasy section of the bookstore and come across endless series of impenetrable pseudo-Tolkien stories and retellings of the author's D&D campaigns. Then more recently, I've come across the works of mega-authors like Robert Jordan and George R.R. Martin, both of whom I dislike (as authors, I'm sure they're perfectly nice people). Jordan for his bizarre sexism and unwillingness to finish a story, no matter how many thousands of pages he takes, and Martin because, although he is at least a talented writer, his books are essentially plotless amoral blood porn, which also can't finish a single story in thousands of pages. Given all this, when I do read fantasy, it's either the classics, such as Roger Zelazny and Robert E. Howard, or light-hearted one-shot novels by A. Lee Martinez or well-done parodies like Order of the Stick, and I've generally avoided newer series altogether.
Then my friend Tom tells me about a series he's reading called "Shadows of the Apt" by a fellow named Adrian Tchaikovsky. He says it's a very good fantasy series and I would probably like it. I nod my head, somewhat interested, but given my recent skepticism of fantasy, combined with the fact that I am naturally both lazy and cheap, I didn't jump on buying them. This is how I know Tom is a good friend: he actually bought me all four books on Amazon and mailed them to me. Given the brazen generosity of this act, I had no choice but to read the series, and I am very glad I did.
While the premise of the series is pretty standard, i.e. an evil empire is trying to take over the world, and only a small band of mismatched idealists and miscreants can stop them, the unique execution is where the story shines. For one thing, the races of the world are all attached to totemic insects. Usually in fiction, when insects are portrayed, it's as being icky or evil or at best primordial, but Tchaikovsky is clearly a student of entomology, and treats the underappreciated creatures with a grand sense of reverence and fascination that to my knowledge has not been done elsewhere (funny enough, the series actually made me like insects more). This allows for a fascinating variety of cultures that may be dotted with elements you've seen before, but are extremely distinct and filled with vibrant individuals as well as believable cultural cohesion. For another, most fantasy worlds tend to be suspended in time, as magic by its nature is timeless, and for some reason, technology never moves beyond the medieval level, except for ancient races and bad guys. Tchaikovsky's world has a fair amount of technology to begin with, but much like in real life, the war moves it forward. We see the technological people (as there is a clear divide between who can use magic and who technology) grow more advanced, while the magical races slowly diminish, and all this just in a few short years. This allows the stakes to rise without seeming absurd or artificial, and in fact, it resembles our own war history.
Obviously, a story like this wouldn't work if the characters weren't interesting. What Tchaikovsky does to make them work well is to force them into places where they must make decisions that aren't clearly black and white. As most of the protagonists are youths on the cusp of adulthood or veterans who are past their prime, and the Wasp Empire is such a colossal enemy, they must often choose between doing the moral thing and the practical thing to survive or help others survive. I don't tend to like stories where characters always choose the practical thing in the most amoral way possible (I'm looking at YOU, Battlestar Galactica!), but in a story where the characters make a variety of choices along this spectrum, and the results are just as varied, I am pleased to see how these choices are used as honest-to-goodness character development that also moves the story along. And while the story focuses on a relatively small number of characters at first, the cast grows to be huge without ever feeling overwhelming. Even the villains are very different one to another. Certainly enough agents of the Wasp Empire are ruthless and brutal (the Empire itself being a curious mix of Nazis, Spartans, and Mayans), but many are just people doing their best in an unstoppably evil society. It is also worth noting that people die in these books. While it's not filled with pointless shock-value deaths like Martin, just about no one is safe, and many people you come to care about will die or have horrible things happen to them. As a consequence, when the heroes do succeed at something, it feels like they've earned it.
So far, there are seven of these books, only five of which are currently available in the U.S. (though I cheat and buy them from England), of a planned ten-book series. Considering he is a family man with a demanding day job, the fact that Tchaikovsky releases these 500+ page books every six months or so implies a nigh-superhuman speed and prolificity (is that a word? I'm not sure). Makes an aspiring slacker like me feel incredibly humbled by my own meager turnout.
I also highly recommend checking out his website, Shadows of the Apt, which has all manner of supplemental information, artwork, and short stories, many of which do eventually filter their characters into the books.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Animation Block: Conan the Adventurer
“Conan! The Adventurer!”
“Conan! Warrior without Fear!”
The 1990’s were a strange time for American animation, perhaps more so than the 1980’s. The stalwarts of the previous decade were changing with the times, or at least trying to; G.I. Joe had been taken over by DiC and retooled to focus on the new toys, Transformers first had Transformers: Generation 2 (mostly just old episodes with new CGI openers), then Beast Wars. Sunbow’s fortunes had declined, thanks in part to the disastrous flops of G.I. Joe: the Movie and Transformers: the Movie. The nineties saw an influx of anime and a new cable system primed to change how networks did their shows.
Conan the Adventurer was one of those new shows. Created in a joint effort by Sunbow and Graz Entertainment (for the first season), the series told the saga of Conan and his allies as they fought against the evil wizard Wrath-Amon and his followers of Set. Because when you watch Conan the Barbarian or read the Howard tales, you immediately think of a cartoon.
And that was an odd sticking point for many fans of the Howard character, Conan was not exactly a character that could be put in the confines of a children’s show (what with the wenching, drinking, fighting, etc.) so many of them took a great deal of umbrage at the character being softened.
Granted, Christy Marx and Jean Chalopin did reduce the character by removing the harder aspects of the character, but the overall core was still the same. Conan was very much a barbarian, he distrusted magic, etc. Surely the character is more than being an oversexed pirate?
The series, for those not in the know, told the story of Conan’s quest to free his parents from a spell placed on them by the wizard Wrath-Amon. Along the way he picked up a small group of allies to aide him in his quest. The addition of the new characters actually made some sense, since the show lacked monologues we the audience weren’t privy to Conan’s thoughts. Giving him a cast meant he could explain things to them, or have them explain things to us through him. Using their magic star-metal weapons, Conan and his allies waged a war against the Serpent Men, which actually brought up another complaint by the fans, i.e. the use of violence.
In keeping with the broadcast standards of the day, Conan’s weapons didn’t actually kill or maim the Serpent Men, but rather banish them to another dimension. I know, Conan without decapitations is hardly a Conan at all, especially when compared to other shows that featured death like Mighty Max or E.X.O. Squad, but this was Sunbow. I’m not going to justify it, and I lack the knowledge to explain why they did what they did. Holdover from the 80’s perhaps?
One thing of note about the series was the story. There actually were plot arches and callbacks to earlier episodes. The writing and voice acting was excellent, with even a few Howard stories being adapted. The animation was sometimes less then perfect, with characters moving far too stiffly or sometimes going off model.
By the standards of the era, Conan was trying to be a mature show, but still pulled its punches. The series has just released onto DVD by Shout! Factory. It’s worth a rental at least.Now, Conan and the Young Warriors? Now that show sucked.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Our Time at GMX
by: Jesse Baruffi
This weekend, David and I took at trip to Nashville for GMX, the Geek Media Expo. Though we were only there for Saturday, we managed to enter for free as agents of the press, which was pretty awesome. We also managed to gather four interviews, which such diverse individuals as Patricia Albrecht (the voice of Pizzazz from Jem), Curt Franklin and Chris Haley from the webcomic Let's Be Friends Again, Beau Brown from the web series Sci-Fi Janitors, and Max Kelley, aka Thong Girl. All were lots of fun to talk to, and all the interviews will end up on Non-Productive eventually. During our trek across the con, we ran across a remote-controlled life-size robot, a man wearing a gigantic T-Rex skeleton, and at one point we were accosted by an angry woman while trying to give an interview (you'll hear all about that in the Chris/Curt interview). For any who find their way to this blog as a result of GMX, welcome! We had a blast!
This weekend, David and I took at trip to Nashville for GMX, the Geek Media Expo. Though we were only there for Saturday, we managed to enter for free as agents of the press, which was pretty awesome. We also managed to gather four interviews, which such diverse individuals as Patricia Albrecht (the voice of Pizzazz from Jem), Curt Franklin and Chris Haley from the webcomic Let's Be Friends Again, Beau Brown from the web series Sci-Fi Janitors, and Max Kelley, aka Thong Girl. All were lots of fun to talk to, and all the interviews will end up on Non-Productive eventually. During our trek across the con, we ran across a remote-controlled life-size robot, a man wearing a gigantic T-Rex skeleton, and at one point we were accosted by an angry woman while trying to give an interview (you'll hear all about that in the Chris/Curt interview). For any who find their way to this blog as a result of GMX, welcome! We had a blast!
Friday, October 21, 2011
How Much Should Artists Care About Business?
by: Jesse Baruffi
As a person who is (slowly, painfully) trying to break into a creative field, the idea of what makes a person successful is often on my mind. Despite being a creative person first and foremost myself, I try to ground my dreams in realism. While I don't feel a need to become world famous or obscenely wealthy (though I guess I wouldn't complain if either happened), I would like to make at least some semblance of a living doing what I love. Money makes the world go 'round, for better or worse, and without the support of business and fans, a creative person is at best making their work solely for history or fun, and at worst forced to give up on any semblance of living their dreams and letting those ideas die stillborn.
This leads me to wonder just how much conscious thought towards the business end creators should put into their work. Should it be the driving force behind all decisions, should it not matter at all, or should it simply be something considered? Perhaps that question is best left to individuals, but I find that answering every hard question with "it depends" is a big fat copout that contributes nothing to the conversation, so I'll see if there is actually a reasonable answer, or at least a series of reasonable questions to ask when considering.
Anyone teaching art, whether it's writing, painting, music, or whatever, will tell you to you to know your audience. This seems sensible, but what if someone doesn't have an audience in mind? What if the audience is one's self? I don't really want to weigh something like this down with semantics and endless platitudes of do what feels good, because of course as artists we want to express ourselves. Works often fall into genres, and most genres have fans, though some probably more than others. It is therefore helpful to have some idea what genre or style one's work most closely associates with, even if the fit isn't perfect. If a work fits no genre at all, it tends to be classified as experimental or literary, which also have their fans, usually critics. Knowing this doesn't mean one has to shoehorn a work into said genre, but it is often a way of knowing which rules to follow and which to break, as well as the common language a reader/viewer/listener will understand. It also helps publishers to know how to market one's work.
Marketing is a strange part of the process. My creative nature innately rebels against being mindful of demographics, brand-growing, and the like. One occasionally hears stories of George Lucas and how he creates certain characters to appeal to certain demographics, and while it horrifies me, I can't help but notice that the man is extremely successful, no matter how many people claim that he raped their childhood. I personally don't think about things like that when I write, and I would probably feel dirty if I did. But am I letting my creativity be honest, or am I willfully ignoring information that would allow me to take my work to the next level?
There is also the question of "selling out." What is it to sell out? I've heard a variety of answers on this. Does it simply mean to become a financial success and leave the underground behind? Is it to change who you are for money? Is it to sell ancillary merchandise that might be seen to cheapen your product? Various people have various definitions, and some may not care at all. The whole point is to sell out for some. For myself, I would be perfectly all right with the internet model of making extra money on merchandise so that my actual creative product could remain alive and unblemished. If my comic series Redemption ever gets picked up by a publisher, you can bet that I will sell every t-shirt and action figure I can, but I will never change the story or the characters because it might make the series sell better.
This may not be the answer for everyone, but I think the answer for me is that if a creative person wants to sell their work, they must to some degree be a businessperson. In a world saturated with virtually endless entertainment, where it is absurdly easy to get lost in the crowd, one must find a way to sell one's work. Sadly, quality alone is not enough unless one is very lucky. It is also important to have some level of business savvy because otherwise it is very easy to be taken advantage of by unscrupulous individuals. That said, the business and the artistic should be separate. Unless a person is solely in it for the money, artistic concerns must be primary. If a person cares about artistic integrity, they can't create solely to capture certain markets. It will ultimately fail because they don't have the guts to go completely mercenary and the artificial bits will taint the artistic side. So for me, the answer is to be both artistic and shrewd, just not at the same time.
As a person who is (slowly, painfully) trying to break into a creative field, the idea of what makes a person successful is often on my mind. Despite being a creative person first and foremost myself, I try to ground my dreams in realism. While I don't feel a need to become world famous or obscenely wealthy (though I guess I wouldn't complain if either happened), I would like to make at least some semblance of a living doing what I love. Money makes the world go 'round, for better or worse, and without the support of business and fans, a creative person is at best making their work solely for history or fun, and at worst forced to give up on any semblance of living their dreams and letting those ideas die stillborn.
This leads me to wonder just how much conscious thought towards the business end creators should put into their work. Should it be the driving force behind all decisions, should it not matter at all, or should it simply be something considered? Perhaps that question is best left to individuals, but I find that answering every hard question with "it depends" is a big fat copout that contributes nothing to the conversation, so I'll see if there is actually a reasonable answer, or at least a series of reasonable questions to ask when considering.
Anyone teaching art, whether it's writing, painting, music, or whatever, will tell you to you to know your audience. This seems sensible, but what if someone doesn't have an audience in mind? What if the audience is one's self? I don't really want to weigh something like this down with semantics and endless platitudes of do what feels good, because of course as artists we want to express ourselves. Works often fall into genres, and most genres have fans, though some probably more than others. It is therefore helpful to have some idea what genre or style one's work most closely associates with, even if the fit isn't perfect. If a work fits no genre at all, it tends to be classified as experimental or literary, which also have their fans, usually critics. Knowing this doesn't mean one has to shoehorn a work into said genre, but it is often a way of knowing which rules to follow and which to break, as well as the common language a reader/viewer/listener will understand. It also helps publishers to know how to market one's work.
Marketing is a strange part of the process. My creative nature innately rebels against being mindful of demographics, brand-growing, and the like. One occasionally hears stories of George Lucas and how he creates certain characters to appeal to certain demographics, and while it horrifies me, I can't help but notice that the man is extremely successful, no matter how many people claim that he raped their childhood. I personally don't think about things like that when I write, and I would probably feel dirty if I did. But am I letting my creativity be honest, or am I willfully ignoring information that would allow me to take my work to the next level?
There is also the question of "selling out." What is it to sell out? I've heard a variety of answers on this. Does it simply mean to become a financial success and leave the underground behind? Is it to change who you are for money? Is it to sell ancillary merchandise that might be seen to cheapen your product? Various people have various definitions, and some may not care at all. The whole point is to sell out for some. For myself, I would be perfectly all right with the internet model of making extra money on merchandise so that my actual creative product could remain alive and unblemished. If my comic series Redemption ever gets picked up by a publisher, you can bet that I will sell every t-shirt and action figure I can, but I will never change the story or the characters because it might make the series sell better.
This may not be the answer for everyone, but I think the answer for me is that if a creative person wants to sell their work, they must to some degree be a businessperson. In a world saturated with virtually endless entertainment, where it is absurdly easy to get lost in the crowd, one must find a way to sell one's work. Sadly, quality alone is not enough unless one is very lucky. It is also important to have some level of business savvy because otherwise it is very easy to be taken advantage of by unscrupulous individuals. That said, the business and the artistic should be separate. Unless a person is solely in it for the money, artistic concerns must be primary. If a person cares about artistic integrity, they can't create solely to capture certain markets. It will ultimately fail because they don't have the guts to go completely mercenary and the artificial bits will taint the artistic side. So for me, the answer is to be both artistic and shrewd, just not at the same time.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Things That Need to Go Away: The Amazing Race of Hatred
by: Jesse Baruffi
Trying to deal with the endless tide of things people say on the internet that are wrong is almost certainly impossible, a Quixotic errand that is likely born of arrogance in and of itself. That said, there is one spectre of internet-born ignorance that I feel the need to address. Any piece of entertainment, especially one that has managed to last a long time, will eventually begin to lose steam for one reason or another in the eyes of the fans, whether because of an actually drop in quality, or simply a perceived one. Once this happens, it's only a matter of time before the Amazing Race of Hatred (I just made the term up, so don't bother searching for it) begins. Those who once praised this series for its novelty and quality begin talking about how early they realized it sucked, as if the sooner they realized it, the smarter they are. This is, you guessed it, something that needs to go away.
A great example of this is The Simpsons. At this point The Simpsons has been on the air for over two decades, which is a long time for a show by any reckoning. During that time, a lot has happened. When it first aired, various moral groups were blasting the show for how obscene it was, and how Bart saying "Eat my shorts!" was the most vile blasphemy ever uttered. Now, some of those same groups go so far as to say it's the most upstanding show on television. Even leaving that aside, the shock level is far tamer than, say, South Park or Family Guy or half of Adult Swim's lineup. The show clearly has enough fans to stay on the air, but very few people are talking about it the same way they used to, and a lot has changed and changed again as far as the concept goes. By the natural laws of entropy, some people have lost interest for one reason or another, which is perfectly fine and normal.
The problem arises when people brag about how early they stopped liking the show. The battle, usually inspired by nothing more grandiose than the mentioning of the show's name, goes something like this:
"Simpsons? That show's sucked since season 10!"
"No way, it's sucked since season 9!"
"Guys, I totally hated The Simpsons...since season 7!"
"Gasp! His elitism is superior to ours! Run!"
I am overstating to make a point, but the fact remains that this is sadly normal. Now, again, if a person simply dislikes the show, I don't have a problem with that. No piece of entertainment is innately owed loyalty. My problem comes from people who find a point of pride in disliking something they once liked. The Simpsons themselves got somewhat meta about this very thing in the Poochy episode, where Comic Book Guy declares one episode of Itchy and Scratchy to be the "Worst episode ever," like he was proud of it, obviously a shot by Simpsons writers at fans of their show, who so callously turned on them. Amusingly, internet people now use the phrase without the slightest hint of irony, without realizing that it was designed to mock crass, entitled pseudo-fans.
I can only attribute this to a desire to appear smarter than others. Being the one who points out the emperor has no clothes has always carried with it a certain amount of pride, and having knowledge before others do can make a person feel special. Now, I'm sure that some would argue that they are simply venting frustrations, and I can understand that. I rant and rave like a bloody madman when not writing posts about my D&D characters. Still, I don't understand being proud or happy at learning that someone I like has waned in quality. Even if The Simpsons has gone downhill, and you could probably make a persuasive case that it has, why is that something to be bragged about? Why would something I love getting worse make me happy. It's like saying, "I knew Grandma was dying since she was 56!"
I've said it before and I'll probably say it again. Like what you like, and don't what you don't. But partaking of something to hate it, or racing others to hate it doesn't make you part of the solution. Plenty of people watch bad TV to feel superior to it, but what do they think everyone else is doing? Here's a hint: the same thing. Watching the Kardashians or Jersey Shore or whatever spoiled bride show is on this week because you know they're bad doesn't make you better than people who watch them seriously. It makes you worse in a way, because you know it's bad and you support it. People who read comics crossovers they hate because they have to know what's going on are also wrong. I won't read comics by Bendis because I know I'm going to hate them. I've read a few and the dialogue is like acid in my brain, while the pacing would lose a fixed race against molasses. But I don't go out writing bad reviews of his work over and over and over. I just don't read it. Money is money to publishers, and your angry review of Fear Itself that you paid for isn't making Joe Quesada cry into his pillow stuffed with money.
Don't let stuff you dislike dominate your life or personality. If you must talk about it, try to engage the problem in a constructively critical way. There's enough out there that most people can find something to enjoy without fixating on what they hate, or bragging about it for that matter.
Trying to deal with the endless tide of things people say on the internet that are wrong is almost certainly impossible, a Quixotic errand that is likely born of arrogance in and of itself. That said, there is one spectre of internet-born ignorance that I feel the need to address. Any piece of entertainment, especially one that has managed to last a long time, will eventually begin to lose steam for one reason or another in the eyes of the fans, whether because of an actually drop in quality, or simply a perceived one. Once this happens, it's only a matter of time before the Amazing Race of Hatred (I just made the term up, so don't bother searching for it) begins. Those who once praised this series for its novelty and quality begin talking about how early they realized it sucked, as if the sooner they realized it, the smarter they are. This is, you guessed it, something that needs to go away.
A great example of this is The Simpsons. At this point The Simpsons has been on the air for over two decades, which is a long time for a show by any reckoning. During that time, a lot has happened. When it first aired, various moral groups were blasting the show for how obscene it was, and how Bart saying "Eat my shorts!" was the most vile blasphemy ever uttered. Now, some of those same groups go so far as to say it's the most upstanding show on television. Even leaving that aside, the shock level is far tamer than, say, South Park or Family Guy or half of Adult Swim's lineup. The show clearly has enough fans to stay on the air, but very few people are talking about it the same way they used to, and a lot has changed and changed again as far as the concept goes. By the natural laws of entropy, some people have lost interest for one reason or another, which is perfectly fine and normal.
The problem arises when people brag about how early they stopped liking the show. The battle, usually inspired by nothing more grandiose than the mentioning of the show's name, goes something like this:
"Simpsons? That show's sucked since season 10!"
"No way, it's sucked since season 9!"
"Guys, I totally hated The Simpsons...since season 7!"
"Gasp! His elitism is superior to ours! Run!"
I am overstating to make a point, but the fact remains that this is sadly normal. Now, again, if a person simply dislikes the show, I don't have a problem with that. No piece of entertainment is innately owed loyalty. My problem comes from people who find a point of pride in disliking something they once liked. The Simpsons themselves got somewhat meta about this very thing in the Poochy episode, where Comic Book Guy declares one episode of Itchy and Scratchy to be the "Worst episode ever," like he was proud of it, obviously a shot by Simpsons writers at fans of their show, who so callously turned on them. Amusingly, internet people now use the phrase without the slightest hint of irony, without realizing that it was designed to mock crass, entitled pseudo-fans.
I can only attribute this to a desire to appear smarter than others. Being the one who points out the emperor has no clothes has always carried with it a certain amount of pride, and having knowledge before others do can make a person feel special. Now, I'm sure that some would argue that they are simply venting frustrations, and I can understand that. I rant and rave like a bloody madman when not writing posts about my D&D characters. Still, I don't understand being proud or happy at learning that someone I like has waned in quality. Even if The Simpsons has gone downhill, and you could probably make a persuasive case that it has, why is that something to be bragged about? Why would something I love getting worse make me happy. It's like saying, "I knew Grandma was dying since she was 56!"
I've said it before and I'll probably say it again. Like what you like, and don't what you don't. But partaking of something to hate it, or racing others to hate it doesn't make you part of the solution. Plenty of people watch bad TV to feel superior to it, but what do they think everyone else is doing? Here's a hint: the same thing. Watching the Kardashians or Jersey Shore or whatever spoiled bride show is on this week because you know they're bad doesn't make you better than people who watch them seriously. It makes you worse in a way, because you know it's bad and you support it. People who read comics crossovers they hate because they have to know what's going on are also wrong. I won't read comics by Bendis because I know I'm going to hate them. I've read a few and the dialogue is like acid in my brain, while the pacing would lose a fixed race against molasses. But I don't go out writing bad reviews of his work over and over and over. I just don't read it. Money is money to publishers, and your angry review of Fear Itself that you paid for isn't making Joe Quesada cry into his pillow stuffed with money.
Don't let stuff you dislike dominate your life or personality. If you must talk about it, try to engage the problem in a constructively critical way. There's enough out there that most people can find something to enjoy without fixating on what they hate, or bragging about it for that matter.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Ask Me About My Character: Talen Razorheart
by: Jesse Baruffi
This series will focus on various characters I have played in roleplaying games over the years. While this series may be of no interest to anyone other than myself, designing and playing characters has always been a creative hobby of mine, so drawing upon these characters and telling their stories is enjoyable for me, and hopefully entertaining to others. I actually hope to use this as a form of engagement with the readers, for although my gaming experiences can't be fully chronicled here, perhaps they can give some sense of identification and lead to discussion in the comments and elsewhere.
Name: Talen, eventually Talen Razorheart after his mentor
System: AD&D, second edition
Vital Stats: Human Paladin (rose from 8th to 27th level in the course of character lifespan).
Age: Ranged from 28 to 44 through course of campaign
Height: 6'2
Weight: 220 lbs.
Hair: Black with grey streaks
Eyes: Brown
Gear: Demon Hunter (a magic broadsword that inflicted extra wounds on creatures of the lower planes), Sword, Shield, and Armor of Siegis (a set of magic items bestowed by Talen's god on his true champion, which Talen became), Skyfire, a hippogriff mount.
Alignment: Lawful Good. He is a paladin after all.
History: Talen was a war orphan who fell in with a gang of similar boys to survive. Hotheaded, impulsive, and tough, Talen was the chief enforcer. Despite this, he never truly enjoyed his life of crime, fighting mostly to protect his brothers and out of a misplaced sense of anger at the world. As the gang grew in prominence, largely due to Talen's defeating of the local crime boss in personal combat, he was pushed further to the sidelines by the gang leader, who took credit for himself. As his old friends became more accomplished criminals, Talen drowned himself in drink. One night during a turf battle, Talen, too drunk to fight properly, was knocked unconscious and abandoned by his friends as the city guards arrived. Talen was set to be executed, as the city wanted to make an example of a gang member. Luckily, Titus Razorheart, an elderly paladin, was passing through and saw the execution of a child as a great injustice. He paid the local officials to allow him to take Talen on the condition that the boy be banished from the city. Titus offered Talen a choice, either to go free, or come with him and train as a paladin. Initially Talen refused, but Titus, who saw a noble spirit in the boy, goaded him into agreeing.
Talen spent the next several years resisting everything Titus taught him. Though the old man was patient and easygoing, Talen learned quickly that he was no pushover. Titus's kind laughter as he effortlessly defeated Talen in sparring or forced grueling labor out of him made the boy angrier and angrier until, eventually, the moral and philosophical lessons began to sink in. Within a few years, Titus declared Talen worthy of the rank of paladin, but sadly, his own life was drawing to a close. On his deathbed, Titus granted Talen his own last name, Razorheart, and sent him to join the Order of Siegis. After one final stop in his home city, an event Talen does not speak of, he did as his mentor asked.
Talen's life changed again when, on a routine mission, he came across a mighty necromancer named Slate and a demon called Dondrumesh the Harbinger. Though Talen managed to turn the villainous pair against one another, Dondrumesh escaped, and swore to conquer all in his path. As the demon grew in power, he was opposed by the Heroes of the Libram, a group of the most powerful adventurers in the world. Because Talen had crossed paths with the demon, he was asked to join, and readily became one of the most prominent members. After defeating Dondrumesh, the heroes of the Libram faced down the lich Vecna, the Tarrasque on several occasions, evil gods, a massive world-crushing army of cold-blooded creatures, the gates of Hell, and many other threats. During the course of these world-spanning quests, Talen eventually came into possession of the Sword, Armor, and Shield of Siegis, proof that he had become his god's greatest champion.
After decades of battle and hardship, and having seen many friends, allies, and armies fall, Talen grew weary. He was offered several kingships, but turned them down. As his elder years approached, Talen handed down the Sword, Shield, and Armor of Siegis to the reincarnation of a fallen friend. Then, with only his trusty broadsword, his pet hippogriff, and an unlikely drow friend named Argean, Talen walked away into the mists of history, never to be heard from again.
Personality: Though age and experience have tempered him, Talen never truly lost his daredevil spirit. As situations grow worse, Talen becomes more brazen, throwing himself into the deadliest circumstances against the deadliest enemies. Despite this, he is not reckless, and always formulates a plan. Though many paladins have a reputation for being judgmental, Talen learned well from his mentor that almost everyone has some good in them, and it is better to foster that in others instead of shame them for their failings. In this way, Talen has earned the gratitude and friendship of many unlikely individuals. Off the battlefield, Talen is kind but restless, and rarely stays in one place for long. He grows uncomfortable in positions of power, and even though his fellow Libram Heroes looked to him as their leader, he never considered himself such.
Six Favorite Moments:
6. In the lair of Dondrumesh, the demon's personal army blocked their path. Talen, though he wanted to be the one to defeat the demon, agreed to hold the line against a legion so the others could face him.
5. Withstanding the brutal tortures of Vecna and his vampire bride and refusing to surrender.
4. Defeating the Challenge of Siegis to gain his sword, shield, and armor by facing and destroying four elder elementals single-handedly.
3. During a battle with Artistry, an epic-level martial artist who had transferred his mind into the body of a magically hasted stone golem, Talen threw away his sword and shield and called him out. Artistry, who hated Talen for the slaying of his master, took the bait, not knowing that Talen had used a spell to cut through stone at will, severing the golem's limbs.
2. Slate the Necromancer had unleashed deadly monster assassins on all of the Libram Heroes, and Talen's was among the worst. An ancient shadow dragon, who could steal experience levels as well as eat a person alive. After having to escape during the first encounter, Talen called out the dragon, jumped on his nose and provoked the dragon to fly high into the air. Talen then yanked its head by the horns downward, causing the dragon to spiral head first into the ground, breaking its neck in the process.
1. When the drow armies came to the surface, they sought out their former brethren Argean Ravenshadow, the party wizard and a slightly morally dubious individual himself. They descended on the Libram Heroes, and demanded Argean or they would kill us all. Talen approached their leader, and told her that if they wanted Argean, they would have to go through him, and he would take a good many with him. They informed Talen that Argean was not such a noble person, to which Talen responded that he did not care, and wouldn't abandon a friend to such a fate. The drow backed down, citing bigger problems, and left the party alone. Argean, who had never truly liked anyone, seeing the others as only a means to survival, thanked Talen, and considered him a true friend thereafter.
Final Thoughts: I initially created Talen as a one-shot character, with only the idea of a paladin who had once been a gang member and turned his life around, but whose personality was still colored by that past. Due to the scope of the events put together by the DM, he was put in much more dire situations than I had originally expected. I knew that Talen would not be the stereotypical self-righteous paladin, so what I did instead was to ask myself what the most heroic thing a character can do in a given situation, and then I had Talen do that. To this day, he is probably my favorite character, and I could tell his tales all day if prompted. This aside, playing in the Libram Adventures actually helped me to form close bonds with a group of people I still care a great deal about to this day, even though the game started when I was 18 and I am now 32.
This series will focus on various characters I have played in roleplaying games over the years. While this series may be of no interest to anyone other than myself, designing and playing characters has always been a creative hobby of mine, so drawing upon these characters and telling their stories is enjoyable for me, and hopefully entertaining to others. I actually hope to use this as a form of engagement with the readers, for although my gaming experiences can't be fully chronicled here, perhaps they can give some sense of identification and lead to discussion in the comments and elsewhere.
Name: Talen, eventually Talen Razorheart after his mentor
System: AD&D, second edition
Vital Stats: Human Paladin (rose from 8th to 27th level in the course of character lifespan).
Age: Ranged from 28 to 44 through course of campaign
Height: 6'2
Weight: 220 lbs.
Hair: Black with grey streaks
Eyes: Brown
Gear: Demon Hunter (a magic broadsword that inflicted extra wounds on creatures of the lower planes), Sword, Shield, and Armor of Siegis (a set of magic items bestowed by Talen's god on his true champion, which Talen became), Skyfire, a hippogriff mount.
Alignment: Lawful Good. He is a paladin after all.
History: Talen was a war orphan who fell in with a gang of similar boys to survive. Hotheaded, impulsive, and tough, Talen was the chief enforcer. Despite this, he never truly enjoyed his life of crime, fighting mostly to protect his brothers and out of a misplaced sense of anger at the world. As the gang grew in prominence, largely due to Talen's defeating of the local crime boss in personal combat, he was pushed further to the sidelines by the gang leader, who took credit for himself. As his old friends became more accomplished criminals, Talen drowned himself in drink. One night during a turf battle, Talen, too drunk to fight properly, was knocked unconscious and abandoned by his friends as the city guards arrived. Talen was set to be executed, as the city wanted to make an example of a gang member. Luckily, Titus Razorheart, an elderly paladin, was passing through and saw the execution of a child as a great injustice. He paid the local officials to allow him to take Talen on the condition that the boy be banished from the city. Titus offered Talen a choice, either to go free, or come with him and train as a paladin. Initially Talen refused, but Titus, who saw a noble spirit in the boy, goaded him into agreeing.
Talen spent the next several years resisting everything Titus taught him. Though the old man was patient and easygoing, Talen learned quickly that he was no pushover. Titus's kind laughter as he effortlessly defeated Talen in sparring or forced grueling labor out of him made the boy angrier and angrier until, eventually, the moral and philosophical lessons began to sink in. Within a few years, Titus declared Talen worthy of the rank of paladin, but sadly, his own life was drawing to a close. On his deathbed, Titus granted Talen his own last name, Razorheart, and sent him to join the Order of Siegis. After one final stop in his home city, an event Talen does not speak of, he did as his mentor asked.
Talen's life changed again when, on a routine mission, he came across a mighty necromancer named Slate and a demon called Dondrumesh the Harbinger. Though Talen managed to turn the villainous pair against one another, Dondrumesh escaped, and swore to conquer all in his path. As the demon grew in power, he was opposed by the Heroes of the Libram, a group of the most powerful adventurers in the world. Because Talen had crossed paths with the demon, he was asked to join, and readily became one of the most prominent members. After defeating Dondrumesh, the heroes of the Libram faced down the lich Vecna, the Tarrasque on several occasions, evil gods, a massive world-crushing army of cold-blooded creatures, the gates of Hell, and many other threats. During the course of these world-spanning quests, Talen eventually came into possession of the Sword, Armor, and Shield of Siegis, proof that he had become his god's greatest champion.
After decades of battle and hardship, and having seen many friends, allies, and armies fall, Talen grew weary. He was offered several kingships, but turned them down. As his elder years approached, Talen handed down the Sword, Shield, and Armor of Siegis to the reincarnation of a fallen friend. Then, with only his trusty broadsword, his pet hippogriff, and an unlikely drow friend named Argean, Talen walked away into the mists of history, never to be heard from again.
Personality: Though age and experience have tempered him, Talen never truly lost his daredevil spirit. As situations grow worse, Talen becomes more brazen, throwing himself into the deadliest circumstances against the deadliest enemies. Despite this, he is not reckless, and always formulates a plan. Though many paladins have a reputation for being judgmental, Talen learned well from his mentor that almost everyone has some good in them, and it is better to foster that in others instead of shame them for their failings. In this way, Talen has earned the gratitude and friendship of many unlikely individuals. Off the battlefield, Talen is kind but restless, and rarely stays in one place for long. He grows uncomfortable in positions of power, and even though his fellow Libram Heroes looked to him as their leader, he never considered himself such.
Six Favorite Moments:
6. In the lair of Dondrumesh, the demon's personal army blocked their path. Talen, though he wanted to be the one to defeat the demon, agreed to hold the line against a legion so the others could face him.
5. Withstanding the brutal tortures of Vecna and his vampire bride and refusing to surrender.
4. Defeating the Challenge of Siegis to gain his sword, shield, and armor by facing and destroying four elder elementals single-handedly.
3. During a battle with Artistry, an epic-level martial artist who had transferred his mind into the body of a magically hasted stone golem, Talen threw away his sword and shield and called him out. Artistry, who hated Talen for the slaying of his master, took the bait, not knowing that Talen had used a spell to cut through stone at will, severing the golem's limbs.
2. Slate the Necromancer had unleashed deadly monster assassins on all of the Libram Heroes, and Talen's was among the worst. An ancient shadow dragon, who could steal experience levels as well as eat a person alive. After having to escape during the first encounter, Talen called out the dragon, jumped on his nose and provoked the dragon to fly high into the air. Talen then yanked its head by the horns downward, causing the dragon to spiral head first into the ground, breaking its neck in the process.
1. When the drow armies came to the surface, they sought out their former brethren Argean Ravenshadow, the party wizard and a slightly morally dubious individual himself. They descended on the Libram Heroes, and demanded Argean or they would kill us all. Talen approached their leader, and told her that if they wanted Argean, they would have to go through him, and he would take a good many with him. They informed Talen that Argean was not such a noble person, to which Talen responded that he did not care, and wouldn't abandon a friend to such a fate. The drow backed down, citing bigger problems, and left the party alone. Argean, who had never truly liked anyone, seeing the others as only a means to survival, thanked Talen, and considered him a true friend thereafter.
Final Thoughts: I initially created Talen as a one-shot character, with only the idea of a paladin who had once been a gang member and turned his life around, but whose personality was still colored by that past. Due to the scope of the events put together by the DM, he was put in much more dire situations than I had originally expected. I knew that Talen would not be the stereotypical self-righteous paladin, so what I did instead was to ask myself what the most heroic thing a character can do in a given situation, and then I had Talen do that. To this day, he is probably my favorite character, and I could tell his tales all day if prompted. This aside, playing in the Libram Adventures actually helped me to form close bonds with a group of people I still care a great deal about to this day, even though the game started when I was 18 and I am now 32.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Common Language: Nerd/Geek/Dork
by: Jesse Baruffi
This series will focus on terminology that people throw around, often without clear explanations of what they mean, resulting in a great deal of confusion and pedantic argument. My goal will be to attempt to provide some level of clarity to these words, at least as I use them. Attempting to forge an actual consensus on the internet is probably impossible, but at least I will be understood when using these terms.
During one of our podcasts, Dave and I discussed Patton Oswalt's article, "Wake Up, Geek Culture. Time to Die," in which the comedian discusses his opinions on the idea of geek culture, what it has become, where it's going, and what can or should be done. Obviously, we had varying ideas on whether we agreed or not, though my conclusion was simply that originality of thought and work staves off any problems inherent in the growing prominence of said culture. That said, we throw around words like geek and nerd and dork pretty readily, as if their meaning is apparent. After all, the name of this site uses the term geek freely, and expects our esteemed readers to understand what it means.
But what does it mean? Is it obvious? I hear people talk all the time about what geeks they are, from all social strata, and that's odd to me. I grew up in the late 80's and early 90's, before and during the foundation of the internet, and these terms were shameful. To some degree they still can be, but on the whole, the time when people were embarrassed about their uncool interests is over. People don't merely embrace them, they advertise. However, enough people have different ideas about these words and their meanings and use them differently enough that the meanings are not readily clear, though most people would say they know nerd/geek/dork culture when they see it, and it's easy enough to visit the section of Barnes and Noble filled with graphic novels, sci-fi/fantasy, and roleplaying game books, because those sorts of fans just go together, don't they?
For one thing, nerd, geek, and dork have to some degree or other taken on somewhat distinct meanings in some circles. While hardly agreed upon by all, the most commonly agreed upon uses are that a nerd is someone who excels at and is interested in academics or schoolwork, geek represents individuals who are particularly interested in some aspects of popular culture, while a dork is someone who lacks social skills. Obviously, there's plenty of room for overlap in these, and many people still use them interchangeably.
Even with these baselines in place, and they do serve a purpose, is there really a place for calling people any of these terms? Without a centralized meaning, words are just about useless, especially words that can be used to either insult or represent a subculture, if such a culture exists in a concrete way. Is a nerd someone who gets straight A's, or do they have to spend all their free time studying too? Is a geek someone who programs computers, or can people geek out over anything, from comic books to sport statistics to crochet? Is a dork someone who is merely shy and has unpopular fashion sense, or do they have to make Napoleon Dynamite look charming to qualify? Have these terms become like punk, where there's an endlessly moving goalpost to qualify, or have the floodgates been opened so wide that any dilettante can be let in? Even if they can, do we have reason to stop them?
I suppose the problem comes from the fact that these terms were originally bestowed as derogatory unto people who simply didn't fit in with the mainstream culture, usually in school. Children are experts at picking out those who are different, whether because they are smarter, shyer, or weaker than average, and isolating them. The kids who are so isolated must of course develop defense mechanisms to deal with this, often throwing themselves into areas where they are comfortable, such as their schoolwork, hobbies, and interests. Usually these were based on obscure skills or knowledge that do not lend to popularity in the way interests like sports or fashion do. As such kids banded together, these interests often spread amongst them, and became associated with the individuals primarily labeled as nerds, geeks, and dorks. Essentially, the chicken and egg switched places.
Eventually, the internet came along, and all of a sudden, Bill Gates, a "nerd," is the richest man in the world. Given that many of these outcast individuals understood the technology faster than anyone else, and the fact that they could now communicate outside their own small circles, or in fact leave behind isolation, the individuals labeled nerd/geek/dork for all their varied reasons reclaimed the words and became a culture, and while still met with some stigma, that culture developed a voice that the mainstream could no longer ignore or marginalize. Because the culture had become so vast, and had such varied origins, it began to fragment, as these things do. Soon, these three terms, which were once more or less interchangeable, began to describe different facets of the culture, though again, since the terms were not built to describe what they came to describe, they remain incredibly imprecise.
So for all that, what are the definitions as I use them? Do I cop out and say they're all the same, or all worthless, or do I just go with what's accepted? Self-identification is important, and I will do my best not to label anyone a nerd, geek, or dork who doesn't ask to be addressed as such. The terms can still be used pejoratively, and are even within the culture, since as much as we are loath to admit it, nerds/geeks/dorks have our own social hierarchy. Obviously I am okay being referred to as a geek, since I run this blog and associate myself with its content, but I hope to be more than simply that label. I'm Jesse first, geek somewhere down the line. Honestly, I'd be okay with using the terms as a degree of interest or aptitude (or lack thereof) rather than a personal label. I am a geek for comic books, for example, but not a geek for wrestling. I am a nerd for English, but not a nerd for science. I am a dork when in a dance club, but not dorky at all when working as a tutor. I can't say for sure that's the best answer, but I think it may be the best one there is.
Shit, I should have started off with an easier topic. Thoughts?
This series will focus on terminology that people throw around, often without clear explanations of what they mean, resulting in a great deal of confusion and pedantic argument. My goal will be to attempt to provide some level of clarity to these words, at least as I use them. Attempting to forge an actual consensus on the internet is probably impossible, but at least I will be understood when using these terms.
During one of our podcasts, Dave and I discussed Patton Oswalt's article, "Wake Up, Geek Culture. Time to Die," in which the comedian discusses his opinions on the idea of geek culture, what it has become, where it's going, and what can or should be done. Obviously, we had varying ideas on whether we agreed or not, though my conclusion was simply that originality of thought and work staves off any problems inherent in the growing prominence of said culture. That said, we throw around words like geek and nerd and dork pretty readily, as if their meaning is apparent. After all, the name of this site uses the term geek freely, and expects our esteemed readers to understand what it means.
But what does it mean? Is it obvious? I hear people talk all the time about what geeks they are, from all social strata, and that's odd to me. I grew up in the late 80's and early 90's, before and during the foundation of the internet, and these terms were shameful. To some degree they still can be, but on the whole, the time when people were embarrassed about their uncool interests is over. People don't merely embrace them, they advertise. However, enough people have different ideas about these words and their meanings and use them differently enough that the meanings are not readily clear, though most people would say they know nerd/geek/dork culture when they see it, and it's easy enough to visit the section of Barnes and Noble filled with graphic novels, sci-fi/fantasy, and roleplaying game books, because those sorts of fans just go together, don't they?
For one thing, nerd, geek, and dork have to some degree or other taken on somewhat distinct meanings in some circles. While hardly agreed upon by all, the most commonly agreed upon uses are that a nerd is someone who excels at and is interested in academics or schoolwork, geek represents individuals who are particularly interested in some aspects of popular culture, while a dork is someone who lacks social skills. Obviously, there's plenty of room for overlap in these, and many people still use them interchangeably.
Even with these baselines in place, and they do serve a purpose, is there really a place for calling people any of these terms? Without a centralized meaning, words are just about useless, especially words that can be used to either insult or represent a subculture, if such a culture exists in a concrete way. Is a nerd someone who gets straight A's, or do they have to spend all their free time studying too? Is a geek someone who programs computers, or can people geek out over anything, from comic books to sport statistics to crochet? Is a dork someone who is merely shy and has unpopular fashion sense, or do they have to make Napoleon Dynamite look charming to qualify? Have these terms become like punk, where there's an endlessly moving goalpost to qualify, or have the floodgates been opened so wide that any dilettante can be let in? Even if they can, do we have reason to stop them?
I suppose the problem comes from the fact that these terms were originally bestowed as derogatory unto people who simply didn't fit in with the mainstream culture, usually in school. Children are experts at picking out those who are different, whether because they are smarter, shyer, or weaker than average, and isolating them. The kids who are so isolated must of course develop defense mechanisms to deal with this, often throwing themselves into areas where they are comfortable, such as their schoolwork, hobbies, and interests. Usually these were based on obscure skills or knowledge that do not lend to popularity in the way interests like sports or fashion do. As such kids banded together, these interests often spread amongst them, and became associated with the individuals primarily labeled as nerds, geeks, and dorks. Essentially, the chicken and egg switched places.
Eventually, the internet came along, and all of a sudden, Bill Gates, a "nerd," is the richest man in the world. Given that many of these outcast individuals understood the technology faster than anyone else, and the fact that they could now communicate outside their own small circles, or in fact leave behind isolation, the individuals labeled nerd/geek/dork for all their varied reasons reclaimed the words and became a culture, and while still met with some stigma, that culture developed a voice that the mainstream could no longer ignore or marginalize. Because the culture had become so vast, and had such varied origins, it began to fragment, as these things do. Soon, these three terms, which were once more or less interchangeable, began to describe different facets of the culture, though again, since the terms were not built to describe what they came to describe, they remain incredibly imprecise.
So for all that, what are the definitions as I use them? Do I cop out and say they're all the same, or all worthless, or do I just go with what's accepted? Self-identification is important, and I will do my best not to label anyone a nerd, geek, or dork who doesn't ask to be addressed as such. The terms can still be used pejoratively, and are even within the culture, since as much as we are loath to admit it, nerds/geeks/dorks have our own social hierarchy. Obviously I am okay being referred to as a geek, since I run this blog and associate myself with its content, but I hope to be more than simply that label. I'm Jesse first, geek somewhere down the line. Honestly, I'd be okay with using the terms as a degree of interest or aptitude (or lack thereof) rather than a personal label. I am a geek for comic books, for example, but not a geek for wrestling. I am a nerd for English, but not a nerd for science. I am a dork when in a dance club, but not dorky at all when working as a tutor. I can't say for sure that's the best answer, but I think it may be the best one there is.
Shit, I should have started off with an easier topic. Thoughts?
Animation Block: the Inhumanoids
Animation Block: The Inhumanoids
With Jesse’s permission, I’ll be covering this bizarre bit of animation history.
As previously pointed out, many of the cartoons from the 1980’s and 90’s were designed as a mean of advertising wares. The Inhumanoids was no exception. Produced by Sunbow and Toei, The Inhumanoids never quite reached the same cultural status as its contemporaries like G.I. Joe or even Jem. So why exactly did this show fail to make an impact?
Like all the Sunbow shows, the idea behind the cartoon was selling toys. The Inhumanoids toy line was different than most. Unlike the Joe line, which ranged from 1.99 to 5.99 per figure (and were quite small), the Inhumanoids themselves were massive lumps of plastic, going around 25 to 30 dollars per figure, and in 1986 money, that’s quite a bit for one toy.
Debuting as part of the syndicated Super Sunday line (which saw this show partnered with Jem of all things), creator Flint Dille was tasked to come up with compelling reasons for the characters, much the same as he did on other Sunbow programs.
The Inhumanoids told the story of two forces. The titular Inhumanoids were giant monsters living under the Earth, who plotted to destroy everything that lived. Ruled by Metlar (a large goblin-like creature), the other two were De-Com-Pose (undead creature) and Tendrill (plant monster). Two other monsters would join the cast, but they never made it into toy form.
Opposing them on a weekly basis were the Earth Corps. Lead by Herc Armstrong, the team consisted of Dr. Derek Bright (engineer), Augur (archeologist), and the Liquidator (spelunker, chemist, and occult expert). The series revolved around their efforts to stop the Inhumanoids from destroying the planet.
They also had to deal with the evil Blackthorne Shore
The voice cast was the same as most Sunbow shows, featuring such well known (and heard) voice actors such as Neil Ross, Chris Latta, and Susan Silo, and they gave it their best. The writing, however, was where the show really stood out.
The show featured a tremendous amount of violence for the time period. Where in G.I. Joe, characters always parachuted from crashing planes, the Inhumanoids would feature a character being melted into bones; or being turned into giant zombies, or in the case of one episode, being hacked apart by zombie hordes groin first. There was no blood, although in the hacked apart example, seeing a rock creature die was still strange. The science used in the show was highly dubious, but I doubt the writers were concerned with education.
The villains were the strangest thing about it. Naming the show after them was an odd gesture, plus the plots they had were insane even by the standards of the time. The Inhumanoids were cut from the Cobra Command mold of villainy, given to large and sometimes nonsensical means to destroy the world. Metlar, for example, could bring statues to life. So for one episode, he brought the Statue of Liberty to life so he could marry it and lord over the crushed humans with it by his side.
There was also a great amount of continuity, with actions carrying over from episode to episode. Blackthorne was arrested in one and stayed in jail. When he escaped, it was mentioned and explained. The show only lasted 13 episodes, so there was little effort to develop anyone.
The series has been fully released in Europe, but in America
Friday, October 14, 2011
Horror host flashback: Dr. Shock
Dr. Shock
Real name: Tommy Reynolds
Years active: 1970-1972 East TN
Dr. Shock was again, another horror host that I was too young to watch, and to compound the horror, may never see. It seems during the early 80’s, WTVC-9 (home of Dr. Shock and Shock Theater) decided to clean out some space, so all their archive master tapes were destroyed. Photos have ways of turning up, but sadly it looks like that is the full extent.
Dr. Shock, actually channel 9 program director Tommy Reynolds, hosted and wise-cracked his way with the help of Dingbat (a puppet crafted by Dan East) and Nurse Badbody (an actress I have been unable to identify). The show was, from all accounts, edgy and played almost like Saturday Night Live.
Mr. Reynolds passed away a few years ago, but the name of Dr. Shock lives on.
ETA: I found a tribute of the orginal show on Youtube. It appears to be from about '75
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkuFRWrM58s
ETA: I found a tribute of the orginal show on Youtube. It appears to be from about '75
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkuFRWrM58s
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Horror host flashback: Dr. Gangrene
Dr. Gangrene
Real name: Larry Underwood
Years active: 1999-today, Middle TN
And now we get to the hardest working horror host in Tennessee. A man who needs little introduction, but is going to get one anyway: Dr. Gangrene.
Created by Larry Underwood for public access TV in Hendersonville, Chiller Cinema quickly outgrew its public access roots and was picked up for national syndication. I personally watched it on the UPN affiliate early Saturday morning (about 1 in the morning to be exact)
In 2005 Doc was picked up by the WB and hosted 58 Creature Feature. The format and time slot would change slightly, but the show continued.
Currently Dr. Gangrene is hosting Dr. Gangrene Presents on the CW, airing at 1:00 AM Sundays, when he’s not making public appearances or hosting shows with his band Spookhand.
Speaking of public appearances, for those interested, you can met Dr. Gangrene in person Saturday, Oct. 22 at the Nashville Public Library where he’ll be showing the 80’s classic The ‘Burbs, with Tom Hanks and Henry Gibson.
If you are interested in learning more, feel free to check out his blog, located in our links section to your right
If you are interested in learning more, feel free to check out his blog, located in our links section to your right
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
horror host flashback: Humphrey the Hunchback
Humphrey the Hunchback
Real name: Robert McAllister
Years active: 1994-1996, Middle TN
Ah, now this was a host that I actually remember seeing. I first saw Humphrey on WNAB-58 way back in the mid-90’s. The show originally had no name, but the moniker Frightmare Theater was added later.
Anyone else remember when the WB was the new network? Lord, some of those shows deserve their own pages.
The biggest thing I thing I remember about Humphrey were the movies. A stable of most horror hosts is their reliance on public domains films, such as Night of the Living Dead, Horror Express, etc., but Humphrey showcased bigger budget films like Jason Goes to Hell: the Final Friday as well as the cheap exploitation fare like Screamers.
And I don’t mean the sci-fi one with Peter Weller one, I mean the late 70’s one. It was the type of film you always found at local video stores. I remember the VHS cover vividly. It had a man, skinned to the waist, lurching out of the surf towards the viewer. “This man has been turned inside out, and he’s still alive!” screamed the tagline; pity that was nowhere in the film.
The downside to showing to such films, however, is that commercial copies of the shows are nonexistent.
Like most hosts, Humphrey introduced the show, told jokes, and had the occasional bit of trivia about the film. I remember him having two puppet sidekicks (a rat and spider), but the show was yanked off the air after two years. I remember staying up every Saturday night to catch what wild film Humphrey would have in store. Humphrey was more entertaining than most of the films he showed, but then again you could say that about most horror hosts.
Horror Host flashback: The Count of Five
The Count of Five
Real name: Bob McGehee
Years active: 1976-1979, Middle TN
Again, yet another host that haunted the airwaves before I was born, the Count of Five hosted Suspense Theater on WTVF in the late 70’s. Along with his sidekick Goro (played by Stan Hunter), the Count hosted both horror and suspense films equally.
The Count is still among the living, and recently had a career retrospective in Scary Monster Magazine#79
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Animation Block: Mighty Max
by: Jesse Baruffi
This series will focus on various animated series of the past which are still highly enjoyable even by modern standards. It's my hope to help bring some of them to DVD, as I'll focus heavily on shows that have never been released and are at best cult classics. As someone whose childhood was partially shaped by these series, I feel I owe them that much.
A common and not entirely unfair criticism of American animation in the 80's and 90's is that many shows were designed as cynical, cash-grabbing toy commercials. Several shows that are today still well-thought of because of nostalgia are actually pretty bad to the eyes of an adult looking for actual story and character. Despite this, there is no reason that making a show the advertisement for one's toys is mutually exclusive with a quality series, and one show which proved this better than most was Mighty Max.
Mighty Max was originally the male version of Polly Pocket, with all manner of objects (usually heads or scary creatures) which opened up into realms where Max could fight monsters and have adventures, instead of Polly's makeup kits. From what I can gather, the toy line was not extremely successful, partially due to the small size being a choking hazard for children, and the toys themselves are now quite rare. It would seem that making an animated series to promote such a show would be madness, would it not?
And yet, series developers Mark Zaslove and Rob Hudnut took this simple idea and turned it into a series about destiny, free will, history, mythology, friendship, heroism, and evil in a way that few shows of its era (or since) ever could. For those unaware (and too lazy to skip over to Wikipedia), the series revolves around the adventures of Max, an adolescent boy with a quick wit and love of adventure, who receives a mysterious package in the mail which tells him that he is the Mighty One, and gives him the Cosmic Cap, a piece of headgear that allows him to open portals between various locations around the world. Upon using the Cap, Max meets Virgil, an ancient Lemurian scholar who resembles a humanoid chicken (though he insists he's a fowl), who serves as Max's stuffy, overserious teacher, and Norman, a powerful warrior with a dry sense of humor, who serves as his bodyguard. Virgil tells Max that it is his destiny to destroy Skullmaster, a warrior-sorceror of incredible evil, currently banished to the center of the Earth. During his ongoing struggle with Skullmaster, Max also faces various monsters throughout the world, from ice aliens to werewolves to living Cyclops eyes to unkillable sabretooth tigers. Though Virgil's knowledge and Norman's combat prowess are great, it is usually up to Max to find clever, lateral solutions to the various threats they face.
The writing, voice cast, and characterization took what could have been a rather generic concept and propelled it to greatness. Rob Paulsen portrayed Max as a rare child protagonist who was in no way annoying or cutesy. He was genuinely funny, solved problems on his own rather than getting into trouble and making the adults save him, and had a real conflict at the core of his being over his desire to be a normal kid and knowing first-hand just how bad the world could become if he gave up on his destiny. The late Tony Jay portrayed Virgil's mix of wisdom, pomposity, and guilt with subtle grace, and Richard Moll (who most remember as Bull on Night Court, but I remember as Two-Face from the Batman Animated Series) gave Norman a real laconic charm, and the ability to deliver lines like, "I eat yetis for breakfast," with a straight face. Many veteran voice actors, including Frank Welker and Tress MacNeille, did well creating a rich and fascinating supporting cast. Of course, the character that shined most for me was Tim Curry as Skullmaster, but more on him in a minute.
By the standards of the era, Mighty Max was a rather mature show. Characters were often killed, though no blood or gore were ever shown, and though the series did strive to be educational, as many animated series were mandated to do, rather than saccharine morals about brushing one's teeth or crossing the street after looking both ways, the lessons at the end were often facts about history, science, or myth. The series also referenced literature on several occasions. Virgil in particular noted that destiny was a mix of "chance, free will, and necessity," a direct reference to Moby Dick, and later on, calls on Yeats's Second Coming when he notes that "things fall apart, the center cannot hold, mere anarchy is loose upon the world." Obviously these likely went over the heads of many younger viewers, but as someone who grew up to study literature in school, this only made me enjoy the show all the more.
Perhaps the most fascinating thing about the series is its villain. While I find the protagonists enjoyable and entertaining, Skullmaster is fairly unique among cartoon badguys. A superficial reading of the character might give the impression that he is simply a poor man's Skeletor, as he is indeed a warrior and sorceror who has a skeletal face. Nothing could be further from the truth. In contrast to most villains of his type (and Skeletor in particular), Skullmaster was not incompetent. In fact, he won on more occasions than he lost against Max and company, and even their victories against him were mixed at best. Where most villains of his type threw their enemies in dungeons or put them in easily escapable traps, Skullmaster MURDERED PEOPLE. Just about anyone who came across him or his legions of evil died, and the show states that he not only slew everyone in Atlantis by stealing their souls, but raised their bodies as his personal army of the undead. He was smarter than Virgil (at least most of the time) and stronger than Norman, which led the viewers to truly wonder how Max was ever going to defeat him. Most of all, Skullmaster had style, and is to this day one of my favorite villains.
The show wasn't exactly perfect, as there were small continuity blips here and there, minor inconsistencies of logic and power, and the writers did seem oddly obsessed with skull-based villains (besides Skullmaster himself, there were Cyberskull, Talon, and the cyclops) but on the whole, just about all the episodes were fun, exciting, and edifying. A few, like "The Maxnificent Seven" were actually touching. And the music of Cory Lerios and Jon Dandrea is always original and exciting in a way most shows of the era (or even now) are not.
The series is not available on DVD, as I suppose the ratings were never good enough to justify it, but it is easy to find most of the series on Youtube. Give Mighty Max a chance. You won't be disappointed.
This series will focus on various animated series of the past which are still highly enjoyable even by modern standards. It's my hope to help bring some of them to DVD, as I'll focus heavily on shows that have never been released and are at best cult classics. As someone whose childhood was partially shaped by these series, I feel I owe them that much.
A common and not entirely unfair criticism of American animation in the 80's and 90's is that many shows were designed as cynical, cash-grabbing toy commercials. Several shows that are today still well-thought of because of nostalgia are actually pretty bad to the eyes of an adult looking for actual story and character. Despite this, there is no reason that making a show the advertisement for one's toys is mutually exclusive with a quality series, and one show which proved this better than most was Mighty Max.
Mighty Max was originally the male version of Polly Pocket, with all manner of objects (usually heads or scary creatures) which opened up into realms where Max could fight monsters and have adventures, instead of Polly's makeup kits. From what I can gather, the toy line was not extremely successful, partially due to the small size being a choking hazard for children, and the toys themselves are now quite rare. It would seem that making an animated series to promote such a show would be madness, would it not?
And yet, series developers Mark Zaslove and Rob Hudnut took this simple idea and turned it into a series about destiny, free will, history, mythology, friendship, heroism, and evil in a way that few shows of its era (or since) ever could. For those unaware (and too lazy to skip over to Wikipedia), the series revolves around the adventures of Max, an adolescent boy with a quick wit and love of adventure, who receives a mysterious package in the mail which tells him that he is the Mighty One, and gives him the Cosmic Cap, a piece of headgear that allows him to open portals between various locations around the world. Upon using the Cap, Max meets Virgil, an ancient Lemurian scholar who resembles a humanoid chicken (though he insists he's a fowl), who serves as Max's stuffy, overserious teacher, and Norman, a powerful warrior with a dry sense of humor, who serves as his bodyguard. Virgil tells Max that it is his destiny to destroy Skullmaster, a warrior-sorceror of incredible evil, currently banished to the center of the Earth. During his ongoing struggle with Skullmaster, Max also faces various monsters throughout the world, from ice aliens to werewolves to living Cyclops eyes to unkillable sabretooth tigers. Though Virgil's knowledge and Norman's combat prowess are great, it is usually up to Max to find clever, lateral solutions to the various threats they face.
The writing, voice cast, and characterization took what could have been a rather generic concept and propelled it to greatness. Rob Paulsen portrayed Max as a rare child protagonist who was in no way annoying or cutesy. He was genuinely funny, solved problems on his own rather than getting into trouble and making the adults save him, and had a real conflict at the core of his being over his desire to be a normal kid and knowing first-hand just how bad the world could become if he gave up on his destiny. The late Tony Jay portrayed Virgil's mix of wisdom, pomposity, and guilt with subtle grace, and Richard Moll (who most remember as Bull on Night Court, but I remember as Two-Face from the Batman Animated Series) gave Norman a real laconic charm, and the ability to deliver lines like, "I eat yetis for breakfast," with a straight face. Many veteran voice actors, including Frank Welker and Tress MacNeille, did well creating a rich and fascinating supporting cast. Of course, the character that shined most for me was Tim Curry as Skullmaster, but more on him in a minute.
By the standards of the era, Mighty Max was a rather mature show. Characters were often killed, though no blood or gore were ever shown, and though the series did strive to be educational, as many animated series were mandated to do, rather than saccharine morals about brushing one's teeth or crossing the street after looking both ways, the lessons at the end were often facts about history, science, or myth. The series also referenced literature on several occasions. Virgil in particular noted that destiny was a mix of "chance, free will, and necessity," a direct reference to Moby Dick, and later on, calls on Yeats's Second Coming when he notes that "things fall apart, the center cannot hold, mere anarchy is loose upon the world." Obviously these likely went over the heads of many younger viewers, but as someone who grew up to study literature in school, this only made me enjoy the show all the more.
Perhaps the most fascinating thing about the series is its villain. While I find the protagonists enjoyable and entertaining, Skullmaster is fairly unique among cartoon badguys. A superficial reading of the character might give the impression that he is simply a poor man's Skeletor, as he is indeed a warrior and sorceror who has a skeletal face. Nothing could be further from the truth. In contrast to most villains of his type (and Skeletor in particular), Skullmaster was not incompetent. In fact, he won on more occasions than he lost against Max and company, and even their victories against him were mixed at best. Where most villains of his type threw their enemies in dungeons or put them in easily escapable traps, Skullmaster MURDERED PEOPLE. Just about anyone who came across him or his legions of evil died, and the show states that he not only slew everyone in Atlantis by stealing their souls, but raised their bodies as his personal army of the undead. He was smarter than Virgil (at least most of the time) and stronger than Norman, which led the viewers to truly wonder how Max was ever going to defeat him. Most of all, Skullmaster had style, and is to this day one of my favorite villains.
The show wasn't exactly perfect, as there were small continuity blips here and there, minor inconsistencies of logic and power, and the writers did seem oddly obsessed with skull-based villains (besides Skullmaster himself, there were Cyberskull, Talon, and the cyclops) but on the whole, just about all the episodes were fun, exciting, and edifying. A few, like "The Maxnificent Seven" were actually touching. And the music of Cory Lerios and Jon Dandrea is always original and exciting in a way most shows of the era (or even now) are not.
The series is not available on DVD, as I suppose the ratings were never good enough to justify it, but it is easy to find most of the series on Youtube. Give Mighty Max a chance. You won't be disappointed.
Horror host flashback: Sir Cecil Creape
Sir Cecil Creape/The Phantom of the Opry
Real name: Russ McCown
Years active: 1971-1973/1983-1985, Middle TN
The next horror host to call Middle Tennessee home was Sir Cecil, who hosted Creature Feature on WSMV-TV (and later the nationally syndicated TNN in the mid 80’s). Again, I fear that I was too young for Sir Cecil’s original run, but the man was quite a fixture in the Nashville community, even leading his own Boy Scout troop.
As a funny aside, the announcer for Creature Feature? None other than Ken “Dr. Lucifer” Bramming.
Many thanks to Dr. Gangrene for the above information and the article
Monday, October 10, 2011
Horror Hosts flashback: Dr. Lucifer
I’ll expand on this later, but one of my interests is horror hosts.
When you get right down to it, horror hosts are pure Americana. They arrived with the dawn of television, and despite the changing market, they are still with us. For the month of October, I’m going to be taking a look back at some of these men, women, and miscellaneous who snarked their way on the small screen and into the popular consciousness.
Dr. Lucifer
Real name: Ken Bramming
Years active: 1958-1969, Middle TN area
Dr. Lucifer, the suave eyepatch-wearing man of mystery, was the first horror host in the Middle Tennessee area. First appearing on WSIX-8 (now WKRN), and later WMCV-17, Dr. Lucifer hosted classic (and some not so classic) horror films on Shock Theater.
Dr. Lucifer was before my time, but as the first, I felt he should he should be mentioned. If anyone has any memories of him, feel free to share in the comments.
Many thanks to Dr. Gangrene for the above information
random thoughts 2
I suppose starting off an article with a definition is a bit cliché, but if you are on the Internet, chances are you know what a Mary Sue is.
Why am I discussing this? In the wake of DC’s new launch, there has been much discussion. Some are happy, others sad, some angry. All of this is understandable, of course, but there was one criticism that I found to be baffling.
“I can’t read Birds of Prey. It has a Mary Sue!”
This is more common than you think. It seems nearly every major book coming from the big time press has been accused of hoisting Mary Sues on the public.
Specifically, the Mary Sue in question is the new character Starling. How is she a Mary Sue? Best as I can tell, her back story is as follows:
She is friendly with Black Canary, and was recruited to the team. I'm guessing her origin will be expanded in future issues.
That seems to be it, or least the main gist of it. There have also been some complaints about her hair length, a subject which baffles me. How does hair length factor into anything? No time is spent on it, at least no more than any other character. Most Mary Sues are shown to perfect and/or taking time any from the established characters. How is Starling doing this? From what I read, she uses a gun (not out of character for a Bird of Prey to use a lethal weapon), seems to be speaking terms with Black Canary, and can drive a car.
Perhaps the Black Canary connection was used to try and get her over with the fans? If they just had her show up, no explanation, the readers might be bored, but by saving she knows an established character, perhaps that is just short hand for a proper origin until they get around to doing it. Besides, since this is a new continuity, why bring any of this up anyway? Black Canary is a new character, right? DC’s use of continuity is a post in its own right, and a major headache to boot.
Lacking such analytical insights or clairvoyance, perhaps I’m not seeing what is obvious to so many people. If the next few issues of Birds of Prey just have every single character praising Starling and saying how she’s a better marital artist than Black Canary and a better detective than Batman, ok, she might be a Mary Sue. So far, her only sin seems to be being a new character. I won’t make demands of anyone, but I’ll wait for a few more issues before I decide.
But isn’t that what people want? Comic publishers seem damned no matter what; if they create a new character, why? The readers won’t buy it/demand the return of the old ones (go to any message board and say Jaime Reyes was better than Ted Kord), but if they stick with old characters, then they are told they are stagnant.
I think I'll stop with the comic thoughts for a while. I'll be doing some holiday-themed posts later.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Visions
I was struck by an odd vision recently. I dreamed the cast of Blackadder the 3rd was hosting a cooking show in character when an older John Belushi crashed the set.
Most odd
I've been thinking some thoughts about Mary Sue complaints, but I'll probably have that rant up by Monday
Most odd
I've been thinking some thoughts about Mary Sue complaints, but I'll probably have that rant up by Monday
Friday, October 7, 2011
Things That Need to Go Away: Superhero Analogues
by: Jesse Baruffi
Sometimes in comics it becomes apparent that an author wants to tell stories about a character they're not legally allowed to use. Usually it's Superman, because he is, to use the internet parlance, the ur-example of a superhero. Because they can't use Superman, however, they create a character who resembles but is legally distinct from him. This "character" probably has a lantern jaw, spit-curl hairstyle, the flight, strength, and invulnerability combo of powers, and a clever name like "Mighty-Man" or "Superion." This character is an analogue, and is something that needs to go away.
"But Jesse," you say, in your horrid, nasally internet voice filled with shame and regret, "there have been some great analogues! What about the Squadron Supreme? What about The Guardians of the Globe from Invincible? What about The Plutonian from Irredeemable? What about Apollo and the Midnighter?" To which I am forced to say yes, I have enjoyed some of those, but many of them branched off from their parent characters and became something in their own right. Not to mention, the aspects of those analogue characters that are the weakest are the ones they borrow, because it's all so bloody transparent. People borrow and steal in literature all the time, but literature is so vast and its proponents so snooty and erudite that they can be far more varied in their influences, and can't go for direct copies of characters. You don't see ten novelists a year breaking out, say, a Holden Caulfield analogue (and well that they don't. I would make war upon them to the seventh generation. I hate that little proto-hipster bastard). But in comics, our common language is, again, mainstream superheroes, which is two sets of characters controlled by two companies, several of which are nigh-universally recognized. So yeah, if you make a character who's designed to represent Superman, people are going to notice. As any good writing teacher will tell you, the last thing you want to do is break the narrative dream. You want people to be along for the ride, ignoring the man behind the curtain as much as possible because they care about how it's all going to turn out. The best way to break that is calling attention to what you're doing, and using obvious analogues forces the reader to realize it's all just artifice, instead of believing for the moment in the story itself.
Not to mention, most analogues are handled with about as much subtlety as Godzilla sodomizing the moon. "Ooh, he's Superman, but he's a self-righteous blowhard!" "Ooh, it's Wonder Woman, but she's a lesbian!" "Ooh, it's Batman, but now he's black! See? Because Batman is dark, and black people are...dark? But in a different way? Oh, man, I just got all racist there." Even my example characters are realizing just how silly it all is. I should point out that I'm not saying there's anything wrong with black or lesbian or any variety of diversified heroes; frankly, there should probably be more of them, but there seem to be unfortunate implications about how they get applied in these circumstances, and seriously, they do. It gets even worse when the analogue follows out to the supporting cast. Seriously, are we supposed to be impressed with characterization of a Flois Flane, daring reporter? Or Malfred the Manservant? Or Bex Buthor, criminal mastermind?
I can see people taking issue with what I'm saying here, based on the notion that nothing is original and there are only maybe two or three or ten actual stories in the world, depending on how smug the English professor they heard that idea from was. Again, I must concede that originality is perhaps the most dangerous and elusive game of all, and even in our best and most honest moments as creative individuals, we're probably cribbing from influences we don't even realize we have. If you want me to get all Jungian on your ass, I can break out the notion of archetypes, ideas that are pre-made and recur in various cultures in various forms, and that superheroes are in and of themselves an archetype of our culture. Funny enough, I don't actually have a problem with archetypes or even superhero archetypes. What I do have a problem with is endlessly passing off someone else's character with a different coat of paint as one's own and calling it pastiche or homage or satire. What's the difference? Well, let's look at a couple of characters of the same archetype who are in no way analogues of each other. The Flash and Quicksilver are both what we'd call speedsters, which is to say their sole power is running really really quickly, but that's pretty much where the similarities end. The Flash gained his powers in a lab accident while Quicksilver is a mutant. The Flash is a straight-laced, somewhat bumbling police scientist who manages to be late to everything despite his speed. Quicksilver is a former terrorist who is ridiculously impatient at how slow the world around him moves and as such is rude and nasty to just about everyone, even if there's a somewhat decent person buried in there. It would be hard to accuse those characters of being rip-offs of each other, even if the starting point is basically the same.
Originality is about the details, about taking old ideas and making them new, or taking a new spin on something that has been done before, or hell, actually doing something that no one has done before. While probably rarer than I know, I don't believe this last one is impossible. You may notice that my devil's advocate speaker from the beginning of this piece (man, this thing has more characters than a play by Beckett) left out perhaps the most classic set of analogues in the form of Watchmen. Alan Moore did indeed start with the Charlton characters, but rather than simply give them a palette-swap, he took only the most basic aspects and transformed them into characters in their own right, and rather than simply having them say something about the characters they started as, they had actual lives of their own and different ideas to express. For that reason, to my mind, they are as original as anything else out there.
Now, I realize that an analogue character is not plagiarism and we are supposed to see them as some form of commentary a lot of the time. But seriously, if you're working in superheroes, you don't need to copy what's already there to make your point. It's a genre where anything is possible, which is what a lot of people love about it. Why walk the safe path and use Superman Jr.? Why not blaze a new trail? Why not add to the lexicon instead of spelling someone else's words a little differently?
Sometimes in comics it becomes apparent that an author wants to tell stories about a character they're not legally allowed to use. Usually it's Superman, because he is, to use the internet parlance, the ur-example of a superhero. Because they can't use Superman, however, they create a character who resembles but is legally distinct from him. This "character" probably has a lantern jaw, spit-curl hairstyle, the flight, strength, and invulnerability combo of powers, and a clever name like "Mighty-Man" or "Superion." This character is an analogue, and is something that needs to go away.
"But Jesse," you say, in your horrid, nasally internet voice filled with shame and regret, "there have been some great analogues! What about the Squadron Supreme? What about The Guardians of the Globe from Invincible? What about The Plutonian from Irredeemable? What about Apollo and the Midnighter?" To which I am forced to say yes, I have enjoyed some of those, but many of them branched off from their parent characters and became something in their own right. Not to mention, the aspects of those analogue characters that are the weakest are the ones they borrow, because it's all so bloody transparent. People borrow and steal in literature all the time, but literature is so vast and its proponents so snooty and erudite that they can be far more varied in their influences, and can't go for direct copies of characters. You don't see ten novelists a year breaking out, say, a Holden Caulfield analogue (and well that they don't. I would make war upon them to the seventh generation. I hate that little proto-hipster bastard). But in comics, our common language is, again, mainstream superheroes, which is two sets of characters controlled by two companies, several of which are nigh-universally recognized. So yeah, if you make a character who's designed to represent Superman, people are going to notice. As any good writing teacher will tell you, the last thing you want to do is break the narrative dream. You want people to be along for the ride, ignoring the man behind the curtain as much as possible because they care about how it's all going to turn out. The best way to break that is calling attention to what you're doing, and using obvious analogues forces the reader to realize it's all just artifice, instead of believing for the moment in the story itself.
Not to mention, most analogues are handled with about as much subtlety as Godzilla sodomizing the moon. "Ooh, he's Superman, but he's a self-righteous blowhard!" "Ooh, it's Wonder Woman, but she's a lesbian!" "Ooh, it's Batman, but now he's black! See? Because Batman is dark, and black people are...dark? But in a different way? Oh, man, I just got all racist there." Even my example characters are realizing just how silly it all is. I should point out that I'm not saying there's anything wrong with black or lesbian or any variety of diversified heroes; frankly, there should probably be more of them, but there seem to be unfortunate implications about how they get applied in these circumstances, and seriously, they do. It gets even worse when the analogue follows out to the supporting cast. Seriously, are we supposed to be impressed with characterization of a Flois Flane, daring reporter? Or Malfred the Manservant? Or Bex Buthor, criminal mastermind?
I can see people taking issue with what I'm saying here, based on the notion that nothing is original and there are only maybe two or three or ten actual stories in the world, depending on how smug the English professor they heard that idea from was. Again, I must concede that originality is perhaps the most dangerous and elusive game of all, and even in our best and most honest moments as creative individuals, we're probably cribbing from influences we don't even realize we have. If you want me to get all Jungian on your ass, I can break out the notion of archetypes, ideas that are pre-made and recur in various cultures in various forms, and that superheroes are in and of themselves an archetype of our culture. Funny enough, I don't actually have a problem with archetypes or even superhero archetypes. What I do have a problem with is endlessly passing off someone else's character with a different coat of paint as one's own and calling it pastiche or homage or satire. What's the difference? Well, let's look at a couple of characters of the same archetype who are in no way analogues of each other. The Flash and Quicksilver are both what we'd call speedsters, which is to say their sole power is running really really quickly, but that's pretty much where the similarities end. The Flash gained his powers in a lab accident while Quicksilver is a mutant. The Flash is a straight-laced, somewhat bumbling police scientist who manages to be late to everything despite his speed. Quicksilver is a former terrorist who is ridiculously impatient at how slow the world around him moves and as such is rude and nasty to just about everyone, even if there's a somewhat decent person buried in there. It would be hard to accuse those characters of being rip-offs of each other, even if the starting point is basically the same.
Originality is about the details, about taking old ideas and making them new, or taking a new spin on something that has been done before, or hell, actually doing something that no one has done before. While probably rarer than I know, I don't believe this last one is impossible. You may notice that my devil's advocate speaker from the beginning of this piece (man, this thing has more characters than a play by Beckett) left out perhaps the most classic set of analogues in the form of Watchmen. Alan Moore did indeed start with the Charlton characters, but rather than simply give them a palette-swap, he took only the most basic aspects and transformed them into characters in their own right, and rather than simply having them say something about the characters they started as, they had actual lives of their own and different ideas to express. For that reason, to my mind, they are as original as anything else out there.
Now, I realize that an analogue character is not plagiarism and we are supposed to see them as some form of commentary a lot of the time. But seriously, if you're working in superheroes, you don't need to copy what's already there to make your point. It's a genre where anything is possible, which is what a lot of people love about it. Why walk the safe path and use Superman Jr.? Why not blaze a new trail? Why not add to the lexicon instead of spelling someone else's words a little differently?
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Random thoughts 1: Going back to the well
Thanks to Jesse for inspiring this post
There are many things wrong with the current comic industry, but one thing I am going to talk about ties into the previous post: The idea of definite runs and the constant rehashing of same. Most people would argue that Chris Claremont and John Byrne’s run on X-Men was groundbreaking, but it seems that lately the entire run of X-Men has just been redoing what they did back in the 1970s and retelling the same story arcs.
Sentinels on the rampage? Yes, we’ve seen it before. Mutants being hated and feared because they’re different?
A fine allegory for almost any age, but after nearly forty years, one would think the situation would have changed somewhat. Mutants have seemingly made little if any impact on the world around them. The real reason, of course, is they can’t. The idea, set down decades ago, was they were hated and feared, so all current writers have it written down that mutants are hated and feared, no matter how many times they save the planet, but perhaps I am speaking too soon. The latest X-Men event looks to be a serious departure, and dare I say there might even be some kind of change coming from this event that lasts longer than six months. Of course, this ties into my argument.
Any change a character undergoes that moves them away from how they were first created will in all likelihood be undone by the very next creator that comes along. A great example would be Wonder Woman, who deserves a post all of her own.
Grant Morrison’s run on X-Men, faults included, had a lot of interesting ideas, such as mutants having their own communities, slang, art, etc. The moment he leaves? Massive depowering of all mutants (save the popular ones) so they once again go back to being a hated minority.
Current writers need to come up with their own ideas. So many creators talk of “bringing the character back to his/her roots”, but it almost always ends up being what they want to remember of the character, or else they just end up telling another version of an old story; Spider-Man’s marriage being a good example. Why exactly did they need to remove the marriage from history? Spider-Man the character has been married since 1986. For as long as I’ve been aware of the character, he was married and always has been. I take it my years as a fan don’t count because I wasn’t reading it in the 1970s?
Daredevil, to use another example, is now being touted as going back to his happy go lucky roots. Looking over the late 60’s/early 70’s stories, Daredevil was almost a different character than the grim and endlessly depressing vigilante than Miller unlashed upon the world. I think it's good that they are finally moving away from ruining Matt Murdock’s life and killing his girlfriends, but again, have we stopped rehashing 80’s stories only to see a return of 60’s stories?
Things That Need to Go Away: The Definitive Run
by: Jesse Baruffi
Mainstream comics are tricky beasts. We are well past the point where just about anyone is creating much in the way of new characters, because why would they? It's not as if we're still in the times where people had to sign over their original characters to a guy with a cigar, top hat, and monocle for $43 anymore. If you have an original idea, you can take it to one of the indie publishers, publish it yourself, or release it on the internet, and people have done these things to varying degrees of success.
Still, mainstream is where the big money and security is, for better or worse, and that's where people are going to want to work. A combination of inertia and nostalgia generally guarantees that Marvel and DC are where people are going to want their superhero stories to come from, so people who want to make comics are probably going to gravitate there. Even people who start off indie and have talent are often going to be lured to the mainstream by the promise of a paycheck and a chance to leave their crappy grown-up jobs behind. I don't disparage this, as everyone has to make a living somehow and it's not my place to tell them to keep making their awesome indie book that no one bought instead of writing the latest Wolverine story and being able to live in a house instead of a studio apartment with eight roommates, even if the selfish part of me wishes that's exactly what they'd do.
My point in all this is, upon arriving at the mainstream and being put on a book and given the keys to the kingdom, there is often the temptation for a writer to want to leave their mark on a book. After all, plenty of writers made their bones this way, by changing a franchise book in some major way and being the influence others follow from there on out. Alan Moore transformed Swamp Thing with his run and people have been aping his ideas ever since (well, until all the recent unpleasantness). Walt Simonson's run on Thor is so good, and, frankly, complete that whenever a new writer starts on Thor, they talk about how much like his run their work is going to be. Frank Miller's Daredevil stories were so epic and noir that they've led every writer who followed to try topping each other in just how bad they can shit on Matt Murdock's life. These are often cited as The Definitive Runs on books. They define the characters and their worlds for years to come. It's easy to see why writers, eager to express themselves and build a name in a world where none of the characters are truly theirs, would be tempted to do this. It is, however, something that needs to go away.
So why is a definitive run bad? Well, in and of itself, it's not. Telling the best stories possible is exactly what creative people should do, and if they're lucky enough to have people enjoy these stories and be inspired by them, so much the better. The problem is when people become more interested in leaving the mark and less in telling the story. Obviously ascribing motives to others without knowing their minds isn't completely fair, but if a writer, for instance, retcons a particularly vile deed into the main character's past, kills a beloved supporting character, and leaves the hero with a completely shattered status quo for the next person to pick up, does it seem like they were trying to just tell enjoyable stories with that character, or were they trying to be noticed by doing things to the character that no one had before?
Attempting to create a definitive run or leave a mark is essentially the same as trying to buy fifty copies of The Death of Superman in the hopes that one day you'll be able to sell them and get rich. The reason these things worked in the past is because no one was doing them and no one expected it. Walt Simonson wasn't trying to force everyone after him to follow what he did (if you notice, he generally left Thor's world pretty close to what it was before he started by the end). For me, the most enjoyable mainstream books right now are not those trying to make their runs redefine the characters, but the ones focused on telling stories and ignoring everything else. Grand changes do sometimes happen when a writer just tells a story, but sometimes we just get to see the characters live in their world, and have fun with that. Why is that so terrible to so many people? Why do we need everything to Change Forever? If everything Changes Forever all the time, that change becomes meaningless. It's cynical, and on top of that, it rarely works.
Enough is enough, I say. Stop trying to create definitive runs. Create good runs. Great runs. Fun runs. Sad runs. If you're lucky enough to keep a character a long time, inhabit their world and see where it goes. If things change, great. If they stay the same, what's the harm? Your stories can still be enjoyable. Be the best writer you can and ignore how you'll be perceived. Ironically, it will probably improve your chances of actually creating something worthwhile.
Mainstream comics are tricky beasts. We are well past the point where just about anyone is creating much in the way of new characters, because why would they? It's not as if we're still in the times where people had to sign over their original characters to a guy with a cigar, top hat, and monocle for $43 anymore. If you have an original idea, you can take it to one of the indie publishers, publish it yourself, or release it on the internet, and people have done these things to varying degrees of success.
Still, mainstream is where the big money and security is, for better or worse, and that's where people are going to want to work. A combination of inertia and nostalgia generally guarantees that Marvel and DC are where people are going to want their superhero stories to come from, so people who want to make comics are probably going to gravitate there. Even people who start off indie and have talent are often going to be lured to the mainstream by the promise of a paycheck and a chance to leave their crappy grown-up jobs behind. I don't disparage this, as everyone has to make a living somehow and it's not my place to tell them to keep making their awesome indie book that no one bought instead of writing the latest Wolverine story and being able to live in a house instead of a studio apartment with eight roommates, even if the selfish part of me wishes that's exactly what they'd do.
My point in all this is, upon arriving at the mainstream and being put on a book and given the keys to the kingdom, there is often the temptation for a writer to want to leave their mark on a book. After all, plenty of writers made their bones this way, by changing a franchise book in some major way and being the influence others follow from there on out. Alan Moore transformed Swamp Thing with his run and people have been aping his ideas ever since (well, until all the recent unpleasantness). Walt Simonson's run on Thor is so good, and, frankly, complete that whenever a new writer starts on Thor, they talk about how much like his run their work is going to be. Frank Miller's Daredevil stories were so epic and noir that they've led every writer who followed to try topping each other in just how bad they can shit on Matt Murdock's life. These are often cited as The Definitive Runs on books. They define the characters and their worlds for years to come. It's easy to see why writers, eager to express themselves and build a name in a world where none of the characters are truly theirs, would be tempted to do this. It is, however, something that needs to go away.
So why is a definitive run bad? Well, in and of itself, it's not. Telling the best stories possible is exactly what creative people should do, and if they're lucky enough to have people enjoy these stories and be inspired by them, so much the better. The problem is when people become more interested in leaving the mark and less in telling the story. Obviously ascribing motives to others without knowing their minds isn't completely fair, but if a writer, for instance, retcons a particularly vile deed into the main character's past, kills a beloved supporting character, and leaves the hero with a completely shattered status quo for the next person to pick up, does it seem like they were trying to just tell enjoyable stories with that character, or were they trying to be noticed by doing things to the character that no one had before?
Attempting to create a definitive run or leave a mark is essentially the same as trying to buy fifty copies of The Death of Superman in the hopes that one day you'll be able to sell them and get rich. The reason these things worked in the past is because no one was doing them and no one expected it. Walt Simonson wasn't trying to force everyone after him to follow what he did (if you notice, he generally left Thor's world pretty close to what it was before he started by the end). For me, the most enjoyable mainstream books right now are not those trying to make their runs redefine the characters, but the ones focused on telling stories and ignoring everything else. Grand changes do sometimes happen when a writer just tells a story, but sometimes we just get to see the characters live in their world, and have fun with that. Why is that so terrible to so many people? Why do we need everything to Change Forever? If everything Changes Forever all the time, that change becomes meaningless. It's cynical, and on top of that, it rarely works.
Enough is enough, I say. Stop trying to create definitive runs. Create good runs. Great runs. Fun runs. Sad runs. If you're lucky enough to keep a character a long time, inhabit their world and see where it goes. If things change, great. If they stay the same, what's the harm? Your stories can still be enjoyable. Be the best writer you can and ignore how you'll be perceived. Ironically, it will probably improve your chances of actually creating something worthwhile.
Monday, October 3, 2011
A Mission Statement
by: Jesse Baruffi
Welcome to the Geekademia blog. So far, you've been reading the stylings of our very talented David Lawrence, and he's done a great job of bringing life to the site as we find our feet in these early days when probably no one is reading except our moms. But now that we've recorded two shows, it seems worthwhile for me, the other guy, to stop in and talk about what exactly it is we're going to do with this blog besides just previews of the show, which of course we will do because it's just good business.
Still, why do we need a blog? What are we going to say that people elsewhere on the internet aren't already saying? Are we just doing it because everyone else does and it just seems to be the thing to do? Our goal here is to discuss topics that don't quite make it on the air. Reviews are probably going to be fodder for the blog, though I am not particularly interested in buying stuff I hate for the sole purpose of trashing it. While mean reviews of awful works are often really funny, there's plenty of art out there that needs elevating, and if my words ever gain the power to sway my esteemed readers, I'd rather point them in the direction something good than away from something everyone already knows is bad. We are in the business of helping artists get off the ground, and good publicity is part of that.
That said, criticism is also about keeping artists honest, and sometimes you just have to say something doesn't work. Note the phraseology there. As someone who has taken more than a few creative writing classes in his time, I've learned that to help artists grow, we don't talk about things in terms of what we like or don't like. Taste is fine, but it has no place in constructive criticism. We talk about what works and what doesn't. At the risk of being pedantic, what that means is asking if something serves the story it's trying to tell well, or does it work against the story? For example, I should be able to watch a romantic comedy or a teen drama, genres I am not particularly disposed towards enjoying, and still say if they work or not, regardless of whether I personally want to watch more of them. I also point out that my opinions are not facts and I don't treat them as such. You won't hear me saying that your favorite work is objectively awful, or that mine is objectively perfect, as neither of those is helpful to anyone. At the same time, I'm plenty opinionated, and I have a few open challenges out there to make me understand why anyone likes certain pieces of entertainment, e.g. the recent Transformers movies, or the works of Brian Michael Bendis.
I do plan on having some humor on here as well, but it's my hope that my humor will once again be in furtherance of our twin goals. I have a column planned called "Things That Need to Go Away," which will detail ideas, tropes, story elements, or goals that have been overdone and are quite wrongheaded, and as such, need to go away in favor of greener pastures. One of those will be coming soon. I also plan on defining certain ideas that we in the geek world throw around a bit carelessly, in the hopes of creating a language that at least I can use and be understood by. For example, what does it mean to be a geek? What does it mean for something to be awesome? I'll do my best to address these and others down the road.
Beyond that, I'll do what's best for the blog, best for the readers, and best for me. How that will evolve is anyone's guess, since I have no idea if more than a handful of people will ever read this. Still, it's my hope that even if only a few people ever do, they enjoy the hell out of it, and I do too.
Welcome to the Geekademia blog. So far, you've been reading the stylings of our very talented David Lawrence, and he's done a great job of bringing life to the site as we find our feet in these early days when probably no one is reading except our moms. But now that we've recorded two shows, it seems worthwhile for me, the other guy, to stop in and talk about what exactly it is we're going to do with this blog besides just previews of the show, which of course we will do because it's just good business.
Still, why do we need a blog? What are we going to say that people elsewhere on the internet aren't already saying? Are we just doing it because everyone else does and it just seems to be the thing to do? Our goal here is to discuss topics that don't quite make it on the air. Reviews are probably going to be fodder for the blog, though I am not particularly interested in buying stuff I hate for the sole purpose of trashing it. While mean reviews of awful works are often really funny, there's plenty of art out there that needs elevating, and if my words ever gain the power to sway my esteemed readers, I'd rather point them in the direction something good than away from something everyone already knows is bad. We are in the business of helping artists get off the ground, and good publicity is part of that.
That said, criticism is also about keeping artists honest, and sometimes you just have to say something doesn't work. Note the phraseology there. As someone who has taken more than a few creative writing classes in his time, I've learned that to help artists grow, we don't talk about things in terms of what we like or don't like. Taste is fine, but it has no place in constructive criticism. We talk about what works and what doesn't. At the risk of being pedantic, what that means is asking if something serves the story it's trying to tell well, or does it work against the story? For example, I should be able to watch a romantic comedy or a teen drama, genres I am not particularly disposed towards enjoying, and still say if they work or not, regardless of whether I personally want to watch more of them. I also point out that my opinions are not facts and I don't treat them as such. You won't hear me saying that your favorite work is objectively awful, or that mine is objectively perfect, as neither of those is helpful to anyone. At the same time, I'm plenty opinionated, and I have a few open challenges out there to make me understand why anyone likes certain pieces of entertainment, e.g. the recent Transformers movies, or the works of Brian Michael Bendis.
I do plan on having some humor on here as well, but it's my hope that my humor will once again be in furtherance of our twin goals. I have a column planned called "Things That Need to Go Away," which will detail ideas, tropes, story elements, or goals that have been overdone and are quite wrongheaded, and as such, need to go away in favor of greener pastures. One of those will be coming soon. I also plan on defining certain ideas that we in the geek world throw around a bit carelessly, in the hopes of creating a language that at least I can use and be understood by. For example, what does it mean to be a geek? What does it mean for something to be awesome? I'll do my best to address these and others down the road.
Beyond that, I'll do what's best for the blog, best for the readers, and best for me. How that will evolve is anyone's guess, since I have no idea if more than a handful of people will ever read this. Still, it's my hope that even if only a few people ever do, they enjoy the hell out of it, and I do too.
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