Colorado Wildfires Threaten Lives, Destroy City Blocks, Ruin Vacation Plans

My family’s thoughts and prayers are with those in and around the countless areas still being ravaged by wildfires nationwide, who will be coping with the aftermath for what I pray is a much, much shorter time frame than it feels. I can’t begin to imagine the gravity of living face-to-face with such a situation. The online reports and footage have been heartbreaking to hear and see in every area that’s reported them.

In the case of Colorado Springs, our humanitarian interest contains the slightest tinge of selfishness.

Every year we devote our family vacations to embarking on a road trip to a different location, then posting summaries photos and travelogues for our online friends. One nice advantage to living in Indianapolis is its four outbound interstates that provide convenient access to any number of states within twelve to sixteen hours of driving. Last year we dared to make our first foray into astonishing New York City; the year before that, Philadelphia and other places along the way; two years ago, our longest road trip thus far, out to Rapid City, South Dakota; and so on back to 1999, when we started small with an out-of-town comic book convention.

This year we’re planning on taking our very first steps into Kansas and Colorado. In all our vacation history, this may be the first time a natural disaster requires us to rethink our plans.

Our original itinerary began with a straight shot across I-70 from Indy to Topeka to Denver. After spending sufficient time there, the next step would be a left turn on I-25 to visit the wonders of Colorado Springs, then heading down and to the left for CaƱon City, doubling back to the Pueblo vicinity, then heading home by daring to venture east through the southern half of Kansas without benefit of interstates and hopefully without a surprise stopover in Children of the Corn Town.

Now that some of my MapQuest routes are on fire, some detours may be in order. The official website for the Colorado Springs hotel where we have reservations says they’re closed for the time being. Google Crisis Response (yet another previously unheard-of extension of the sprawling empire of ConGoogleCo Dynamic) has a convenient map tracking wildfire progress. I’m not sure if its 8-bit graphics are advanced enough to incorporate real-time updating. All I know is, where Colorado Springs should be, the ostensible halfway point of our road trip now looks like a Missile Command base that someone failed to protect from enemy bombing. CNN.com reported as of 9:47 p.m. Friday night EDT that the wildfire was 25% contained, but I’m not convinced that a 75%-contained fire the size of a ZIP code qualifies as a supervised fireworks display.

We have a week until takeoff. We have limited time to decide how to go forward, how much of the area to circumnavigate in advance, how much of our vacation to improvise as we go, and whether or not it’s appropriate to approach a scene of chaos and destruction while wearing a Hawaiian shirt and wondering in obnoxious, stentorian tones where to find all the kookiest roadside attractions.

At the absolute very least, I resolve to stop whining about our local weather this week, which has only been figuratively combustible rather than literally so. I plan to be extremely grateful we didn’t schedule our vacation two weeks earlier. Some charitable effort might also not be out of the question. Whether that’s on location or from afar remains to be decided.

Threat Level Milquetoast: Visiting Indiana Beach Without Kids

Indiana has no Kings Island, no Six Flags, and no Disney theme park, but we have two independent amusement parks to call our own. Holiday World, located in southern Indiana in a town called Santa Claus, is a clean, calendar-themed entertainment machine whose most impressive feature to us Hoosiers is not their steel coasters or their massive water park; it’s the unlimited free soft drinks for all patrons. Yes, free. Drink stations are positioned all around the park with several varieties of Coke products and plenty of twelve-ounce cups. The stations are so plentiful that long drink lines are rarely a problem.

Their competition in the opposite half of the state, just north of Purdue University, is longtime family destination Indiana Beach, located in a town called Monticello — pronounced “monti-SELL-o”, not “monti-CHELL-o” like President Jefferson’s crib. The “beach” part is attached to Lake Shafer, a pretty body of water now surrounded on most sides by tourist havens and summer getaways. After decades of settling for being a mere beach, Indiana Beach began to build up an empire of machinery as the management has added rides one by one over the decades, slowly bringing more action to the area while leaving a little less beachfront.

I’d only been once before because beaches turn me crispy, swimsuits fail to flatter me, and the thought of trying it actually never occurred to me until a few years ago, when my wife floated the idea as a one-tank road trip. My second visit was made possible when my employer scheduled this year’s company picnic there. An excuse and discounted tickets were all the motivation I needed. My son, age 17, was permitted to opt out, leaving us adults to do whatever we wanted. As it turns out, we weren’t really in the mood for wild and crazy. In fact, nearly everything we rode was rated “Mild”, devices fit for AARP members and easily jostled agoraphobes.

The ride nearest the Indiana Beach entrance is the Steel Hawg, a wild ‘n’ twisty steel coaster that inverts and induces nausea. This is a prime example of what we fuddy-duddies merely gaze upon rather than experience for ourselves.

Steel Hawg @ Indiana Beach

The Ferris wheel is more our sad, sorry speed. The ambience at the top was breezy on a hot day and included a comprehensive vantage point above the modest park. The Hoosier Hurricane, their standard-issue wooden coaster, consumes most of the view.

Indiana Beach overhead shot

To our right: bucolic Lake Shafer.

Lake Shafer

You can view Lake Shafer from afar, snuggle up close to it in the water-park section, or — if you jog over to the Honey Creek Bay section — you can now zip-line across it. When Indianapolis hosted Super Bowl XLVI last winter, one of the most prominent and coveted features of its downtown Super Bowl Village was a zip-line along several blocks of Capitol Avenue. Tickets were sold out days in advance. Now every event organizer in Indiana wants one installed, whether temporary or permanent. They’re in danger of becoming this decade’s answer to bungee-jumping.

Zipline @ Indiana Beach

For an even better view, you can ride the two-way Skylift across the park, peering down at the other rides, treetops, and roofs. But don’t forget, unlike these former occupants: the safety bars are there for a reason.

Skylift @ Indiana Beach

This enormous water slide wrapped around a steel coaster is no doubt a consequence of overcrowding, but would be the greatest ride of all time if you could somehow combine the two. That inventor shall be anointed as Emperor Genius of Amusementia.

Water Slide Around Coaster @ Indiana Beach

Or there’s the polar opposite of rollercoasters: the Wabash Cannonball kiddie train, which provides a tortoise-level mass-transit connection between the kiddie rides in the middle of the park and what used to be a miniature golf course on the far end. Sometime after my previous visit that mini-golf course was dismantled and replaced with a couple of benches and a fountain. This substitution doesn’t sound like an exchange that would result from consumer demand.

Wabash Cannonball @ Indiana Beach

If the ironically named Cannonball seems too breakneck, the antique-auto track travels at speeds up to almost 1 MPH, and has the advantage of allowing riders to steer the vehicle themselves and determine their own destiny within the narrow confines of the strict, uncool guide-rail. In case this sounds too exciting for the faintest of heart, an auto with a flat tire is stationed nearby as a demotivational reminder to cocky braggarts that accidents can happen even at 1 MPH.

Antique autos @ Indiana Beach

Our company-picnic passes allowed us dual admission to either the normal Boardwalk rides or the water-park rides. One unexplained exception: the Carousel. When we tried to board, we were rebuked and denied by a ringer for Old Man Witherby who insisted our all-access armbands weren’t all-access enough for the Carousel. I’m not sure what makes the Carousel such a hoity-toity upper-crust dreamlike experience that an additional charge for kiddie-ride passes is required. Maybe it only looks normal from the outside, but on the inside turns into an evil whirlwind like the one from Something Wicked This Way Comes. That would be worth an extra buck or two.

Carousel @ Indiana Beach

We declined to stage a protest, mostly because this random white tiger wouldn’t stop giving us such a piercing, vulturous glare. I imagine spooky kiddie-ride totems are more cost-effective than paid security guards.

White Tiger guards rides @ Indiana Beach

Also on guard: a faux Moai fountain. Because of the similarities between Indiana and Easter Island.

Moai Fountain @ Indiana Beach

When the time came to report to our assigned picnic shelter to commence with the company picnicking, we found our hosts running behind schedule and still carting our foodstuffs out from an unseen kitchen. Despite the unceremonious containers and the “Shelter Chicken” label that makes it sound like an imported shipment from the Wheeler Mission, the fried chicken was surprisingly fresh, warm, and delectable.

Food arrives!

As my son has aged beyond theme parks and our nieces and nephews have their own agendas and parents, I fear my time for this kind of experience is drawing to a close. I still enjoy the food, the company, and the occasional arcade game, but the physical stress and motion sickness aren’t as endurable as they used to be, nor am I enamored anymore of walking long distances through water parks barefoot, topless, and nearly blind without my glasses.

Despite our limitations (some admittedly self-imposed), the good parts of Indiana Beach still kept us going for quite a few hours before we departed around 5-ish when the remains of our energy evaporated. Options still abound under those circumstances, such as a few video arcades that offer old-school coin-op fun, especially a long row of those great Data East licensed-character pinball machines that I could keep playing forever if I were insensitive about how that would bore my wife to sleep standing up. If you don’t mind paying extra, the Shafer Queen ferry can spirit you across the waters and allow you to see vacationing jet-skiers and well-heeled boaters up close in their natural habitat.

In addition to the company-picnic meal, their concession-stand food is also top-notch for its category. Three scoops of vanilla ice cream atop a large elephant ear certainly made my day, and helped me let go of my bitterness at Old Man Witherby and the Forbidden Carousel, which would make a great title for a Scooby-Doo episode.

Comic Book Company Resurrection Scorecard, Part 2 of 2: First Things First for First

Presenting the conclusion of my 2012 C2E2 panel experience. This would be longer, but attending Saturday only left me little time for all the possible indulgences. Many events were scheduled against each other. Tough choices were required. When the dust settled, the two panels that won my attention shared a theme: two former publishers staging a reversal of their fortunes, hoping to reach a new generation of fans and avoid the mistakes that doomed their previous incarnations.

Of the two panels, First Comics drew the smaller attendance. I blame the Kids These Days. When I first discovered the joy and wonder of dedicated comic book shops in 1985, I was overwhelmed to learn that Marvel, DC, Archie, and Harvey weren’t the only options for my hobby dollars. I first learned of their existence from the comics fanzine Amazing Heroes, which reached the racks of my local Waldenbooks for a short time and opened my eyes to a whole new part of my formerly small world. My favorite of those publishers was First Comics, some of whose titles would become must-buys for me for the next several years — Mike Baron’s Nexus and Badger, John Ostrander’s Grimjack, Jim Starlin’s Dreadstar (which moved there from Marvel’s creator-owned Epic imprint), and the shorter-lived, anime-inspired Dynamo Joe (years before anime truly took off in America). Without writing a full essay about each one, for now suffice it to say they weren’t ordinary average four-color fare.

Alas, the company took a turn for the worse after they acquired the Classics Illustrated license and refocused their efforts on hiring talented creators to adapt famous public-domain novels to comics. It was such an initial success that they soon scuttled their entire publishing line except the new CI, a once-magic goose that ultimately didn’t take long to stop producing golden eggs. I was bitter for ages. When I heard First was risen from the grave and holding court at C2E2, it was pinned to the top of my itinerary.

C2E2 First Comics panelPresenting the panel in a poorly lit room were (left to right) original co-founder/editor Mike Gold, who would later move to DC Comics for a memorable time; other co-founder/publisher Ken Levin; and original art director Alex Wald. Not pictured but also on hand was Bill Willingham, more of a household name among comics fans as the creator of Fables, who transitioned from illustrator of RPG materials for TSR to comics artist via First’s first series, the sci-fi anthology Warp (a little before my time). Willingham was double-booked for another panel, but hung out for the first fifteen minutes as a nod to the thirty years passed since First’s startup, and in acknowledgment of their value as an important career stepping stone.

First brought a few books to sell and show off at their Exhibit Hall booth. I was sorely tempted by a collection reprinting Nicola Cuti and Joe Staton’s E-Man, who began life as a Charlton Comics hero but later to First for a two-year run. If only Cuti and Staton had waited or otherwise declined the deal, E-Man might have ended up in the hands of DC Comics along with the other Charlton heroes, starring in a New 52 title and having a twisted analog paraded around in Before Watchmen. Ah, what might have been.

Necessary "Necessary Monsters" creators

Instead of furthering my E-Man collection (which today stands at a paltry three issues, two of those from the Charlton run), I chose to sample an original graphic novel called Necessary Monsters, written and drawn by panel guests Daniel Merlin Goodbrey and Sean Azzopardi (pictured above). Lurking in the pop-culture-supergroup subgenre as League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and Monsters vs. Aliens, the book imagines a covert-ops team comprised entirely of movie-maniac homages. I’ve ceased being a horror fan in recent years, but I’m sometimes a sucker for stories of evil versus eviller (see also: Gail Simone’s Secret Six). Our curious, dysfunctional viewpoint character is a serial killer’s daughter who inherited his power to murder in dreams, but acts less like Daddy and more like the Punisher until the American government conscripts her into service for humanity’s greater good. The art is a little cruder than I’d prefer (faces in particular), but in general the protagonist’s emotional conflict and a plethora of demented ideas (a chicken-headed chainsaw murderer? You saw it here first!) might merit further viewing by fans of the genre. For a value-added bonus, the introduction is by the Kieron Gillen. Completists who love Phonogram and Journey into Mystery now suffer the heartbreak of Gillen incompleteness without this tome on their shelves.

Fillbach Brothers @ C2E2

Also at the panel were the Fillbach Brothers, artists of Dark Horse Comics’ Clone Wars Adventures original faux-manga. As the new First plans to be a haven for creator-owned works, the Fillbachs hope to launch their own title, Frickin’ Butt-Kickin’ Zombie Ants. I can’t possibly add anything else to a paragraph that contains a title like that.

I failed to take a decent photo or write down his name, but the last guest was the artist of an in-the-works relaunch of Zen, Intergalactic Ninja, a title that’s bounced from publisher to publisher for decades. Creator Steve Stern was unable to attend due to a serious car accident. Zen was never my thing, but I believe it has its fans.

To be honest, not much of this sounded at all like the First I knew and loved. This seemed like an idiosyncratic slate of launch titles, which doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Levin spoke of talks with Mike Baron about the possibility of a Badger revival in 2013, but had nothing firm to announce otherwise about old titles, except that the chances for Nexus returning to First from Dark Horse were zero.

My mild concern turned into eyebrows-raised skepticism when Levin announced that the new First plan for reaching comic shops nationwide involved avoiding Diamond Comic Distributors altogether and selling their books directly to retailers. I can’t say I’m an avid fan of the near-monopolistic system that the hobby seems to require today, in which any publisher wanting to sell more than a hundred copies must work chiefly through Diamond, if not exclusively. Granted, yes, Diamond can be circumnavigated. Books that do so are often referred to as “small press” and are fortunate if they can sell copies beyond their immediate geographic region, unless they’re based on a popular webcomic.

Today, two months after that panel, I’m at a loss to find encouraging results online. Necessary Monsters has a dedicated website, but no direct means to purchase it, and no updates since the week before C2E2. One formerly official First website malfunctions if you try visiting directly; if you Google “fillbach zombie ants”, you can backdoor into it, try adding ten million copies of #1 to your cart, and watch as nothing else happens. Another official First website promises to see us soon in San Diego, but I’m not sure if that’s this year’s San Diego con or last year’s.

I’m hoping I’ve merely caught them at a bad time, and that they haven’t already finished before they’d even begun. I do plan to keep an eye to the future and a few dollars set aside, just in case the outlook improves. One tangible upside to this: we couple dozen who showed up for the panel were graciously allowed a free First Comics T-shirt. As it hangs proudly in my closet, I prefer to think of it not as a reminder of what might have been and right now fails to be, but as a memento of what it used to be and what it meant to me.

Yes, There’s a Scene After the “Brave” End Credits

My wife and I are stubborn about receiving our money’s worth for our movie tickets. We really don’t mind sitting through the end credits, skimming for names we recognize, trying to spot buried gags, and waiting for the occasional Easter egg to be hatched. I like seeing if any of the storyboard artists are names I recognize from their previous career in comic books (this is extremely common), or if any bands I like contributed music (not so common). If our patience is rewarded with an extra scene, it’s a super-special bonus.

My son and I attended a showing of Brave this evening in a theater packed with several dozen other patrons, most of whom seemed to know each other, probably a group outing. (Frankly, I can’t remember the last time I was surrounded by so many teenage girls.) And yet, by the time the final minute of the final reel arrived, we two were the last ones around to smile at the capper.

For those who deserted early and missed out because you were dying for a bathroom or you have an intense fear of scrolling words, you can rest assured that, for better or for worse, it did not include any of the following:

* A middle-aged Merida and her husband playing with their children, Hamish and Lamish

* Several outtakes in which Merida keeps slipping into a Valley Girl accent

* An ad for a proposed Disneyland Glasgow resort

* Eight more versions of the Monsters University trailer, including one badly aged Sammy Davis Jr. impression

* 17-minute bagpipe solo

* Merida and Katniss Everdeen gabbing over tea and mocking Hawkeye’s alleged archery training

* A new “Sam and Max, Freelance Police” short by Brave co-director Steve Purcell (Man, if only. *sigh*)

* A cartoon Mel Gibson yelling about freedom, right before being beheaded

* A word from John Ratzenberger about the Will Rogers Institute

* A single male character who’s not a boor, a dolt, a wild animal, or a ringer for Huey, Dewey, and Louie

* A round of applause for How to Train Your Dragon, a better, more epic fantasy about ye olde Scotland

If you haven’t seen the film, a description of the epilogue will make no sense to you. For those who fled and really want to know without seeing it a second time…

[insert space for courtesy mild spoiler alert in case anyone needs to abandon ship]

…suffice it to say that goods previously purchased near the film’s halfway point are finally delivered in one overflowing wagon. It’s nice to know a deal’s a deal, no matter how monkey’s-pawed it was.

Comic Book Company Resurrection Scorecard, Part 1 of 2: the Valiant Return of Valiant

Two months ago at the third annual C2E2 comics/entertainment convention in Chicago, I had the pleasure of attending separate panels celebrating the return of two different comic book publishers that collapsed in previous decades. Each company had a comeback plan, an experienced staff, and creators ready and willing to create. I didn’t write about my experience at the time for a few weird reasons, even when I shared my C2E2 photos with friends, but I’ve kept it in mind as I’ve followed up on their respective results.

Of the two panels, Valiant Comics drew the better attendance. Back in the ’90s, while Image Comics stole the spotlight with superstar artists and characters made of action lines, Valiant offered a more writer-driven approach and built a large following over time through rock-solid storytelling fundamentals and consistent new material every month. That was my understanding, anyway. I avoided Valiant during its prime because every book I flipped through looked pedestrian. (As opposed to Image, where so much looked exciting but read pedestrian.) In its later years I jumped aboard for the Kurt Busiek/Neil Vokes revamp of Ninjak, Fabian Nicieza’s Troublemakers, and the ultimate buddy-hero odd-couple series, Christopher Priest and Mark Bright’s funny-cerebral Quantum and Woody. Naturally, as soon as I became a fan of Valiant, Acclaim Entertainment bought the company and dragged it into the grave when it filed for bankruptcy.

Valiant has shed the Acclaim label and returned to the living with the intent to reboot and make up for lost time. Left to right at the panel were: our humble moderator; Chief Creative Officer Dinesh Shamdasani; X-O Manowar writer Robert Venditti (co-creator of comic-turned-Bruce Willis flick The Surrogates, who was very gracious at their exhibit booth — he came out from behind the table and offered to autograph my Valiant Sampler before I realized who he even was); Executive Editor Warren Simons (formerly of Marvel); and Publisher Fred Pierce (a previous Valiant VP). Also present but out of camera range was Assistant Editor Josh Johns.

C2E2 2012 Valiant Panel

Much of the panel was devoted to projection-screen previews of their first four titles, all of which looked fantastic on screen but will understandably be printed at less grandiose comic-book size in the final product. I’m not the intended audience for some of their plans, such as smartphone interactivity, variant covers and eventual crossovers, but I did understand their decision to set their titles at an initial price point of $3.99 per issue. I wasn’t the other guy in the audience booing them about it. I figured booing the inevitable crossovers wouldn’t change their minds, so I kept it to myself. If they’re too pervasive or catch me in the wrong mood, I reserve the right to abandon ship immediately.

Their launch title, the new X-O Manowar, began in May. For the sake of comparison and for a great price, at C2E2 I also found a bargain-bin copy of an old trade paperback reprinting the first four issues of the original version. Venditti’s new version is paced more deliberately — by the end of issue #2, our hero Aric has just now donned the alien exoskeleton that will allow him to become the one true protagonist. In the original version’s first issue alone, Aric had already been kidnapped from his backwater point of origin, acquired the suit, escaped his alien captors, relocated to the strange new world of present-day Earth, and befriended his first supporting character. His grasp of English was’t up to kindergarten level yet, but he was working on it. The written-for-the-trade approach to today’s version does allow artist Cary Nord more room to show off, with grand visions of attacking armies and alien ship environments and such. (By comparison, maybe it’s cruel hindsight or poor printing to blame, but the original X-O art appears to be Barry Windsor-Smith on rushed, cramped autopilot.) I did, though, have to raise at an eyebrow at a scene where our powerless, atrophied, crippled hero somehow dodged a healthily wielded point-blank laser despite years of incarceration. This still has a way to go, but I’m curious enough to keep tabs on it for the time being.

Their second title, Harbinger, began this month with a disturbing sort of cat-and-mouse game between Toyo Harada, evil businessman with abnormal history, and an amoral runaway teen with mind-control powers and a deadbeat best friend who’ll doubtlessly make everything worse. It’s more engaging than I can make it sound. Writer Joshua Dysart last impressed on the DC/Vertigo title Unknown Soldier (setting aside the revenge-fantasy aspect that grew too disturbing for me after a while) and builds up a great start with artist Khari Evans (from Image’s Carbon Grey), portraying what it’s like for a telepath whose powers are constantly on, and who finds it hard to resist the temptation to abuse his talents for selfish, young-stupid-male gain. So far I’m on board, albeit without knowing how this stacks up against the original Harbinger, whatever it was about. I assume there were super-powers.

Two more titles arrive later this summer: July will bring the revamped mercenary Bloodshot, which Warren Simons described as being “like a house on fire, and the house is rolling down a hill, and it’s filled with dynamite.” Count on explosions, then. And I have to wait until August for the new Archer & Armstrong from Fred van Lente, co-creator of the wondrous Action Philosophers! and former co-writer of the once-divine Incredible Hercules. Van Lente’s name alone was enough to guarantee my purchase, even though the first issue promises to have at least four different covers by series artist Clayton Henry, David Aja, Mico Suayan, and The Neal Adams. A preview of the first five pages is now online, but I dislike reading previews of comics I already know I’ll be buying.

The promo art at C2E2 also teased the return of other old characters like Rai and the Eternal Warrior, but Valiant is taking their time with their world-building instead of releasing fifty-two new series at once and waiting to count the casualties. June figures are obviously not in yet, but the May sales for X-O Manowar #1 estimate a healthy 42,700 copies, which in these days of our waning hobby is positively gargantuan for anything not Marvel, DC, or The Walking Dead.

I look forward to seeing future results, unless Valiant becomes all about crossovers, crossovers, crossovers. I might even forgive that if a cataclysmic in-story event can serve somehow to bring back Quantum and Woody, and their little goat, too. I’d pay at least a good $4.99 for that.

Pixar to Spend Billions Making 350 Versions of “Monsters U”, One for Each Billy Crystal Ad-Lib

Prefacing Pixar’s Brave this weekend in theaters were four different versions of a new teaser for their next adventure, Monsters University. Moviegoers had the chance to witness one of four versions, each with Billy Crystal voicing a different non sequitur as our hero Mike Wazowski is awakened in the middle of the night so that his roommate Sully can prank him, because of the high hilarity to be found in college-dorm bullying.

The most frequently viewed version according to YouTube stats involves a line about a pony, but this one’s my favorite of the four:

Monsters University is rumored to be a prequel to Pixar’s classic monster movie Monsters Inc. While not confirming that rumor directly with any real detail, Pixar reps insist, “Monsters Inc. fans will be very pleased, especially with the last eight minutes.” Speculation abounds as to whether or not this film will at long last answer the important questions that have lingered over the last eleven years: How was the Monsters’ universe created? Which of the million-plus bedroom doors in the original had a preschool-age Space Jockey standing behind it? Did Boo’s parents freak out while she was missing all those days? Did Mike Wazowski’s race evolve from expired olives?

Monsters University is scheduled for American theatrical release on June 21, 2013. In addition to Crystal, returning voices include John Goodman, Steve Buscemi, former Muppeteer Frank Oz, and Mandatory John Ratzenberger. Newcomers will include Senor Chang from Community, Freddy Rumsen from Mad Men, and animation veteran Robert Underdunk Terwilliger.

Thor and Bella Team Up Against Meredith Vickers in “Lord of the Apples: Return of the White”

In the 2012 Snow White theatrical-reboot cage match, I declare Show White and the Huntsman the winner. Largely that’s because I plan to avoid Mirror, Mirror for the rest of my life, based on the unfunny trailers and my track record for refusing to watch every Julia Roberts film since Ocean’s Eleven. I confess the cage match was fixed. I’m fine with unbalancing the scales intentionally and will lose no sleep over it.

I can’t say I liked Show White and the Huntsman as a whole, but I wouldn’t give it an F-minus, as have other Internet participants who reject it on the principle of starring Kristen Stewart. I’m not a Twilight fan, but my apathy for the series isn’t borne of defensive rage about how Real Vampires should be portrayed, nor do I condemn any of the actors for their mere participation. A quick IMDB check confirms the last two Stewart films I saw were Jumper (my dislike of which can be pinned on another cast member, not her) and Zathura (in which her big-sister character was supposed to be irritating). That’s not nearly enough grounds for me to jump on the anti-Bella bandwagon.

That said: to be honest, Show White and the Huntsman doesn’t provide her with much in the way of superstar material to prove herself. Her dialogue in the first half of the film is minimal. When she speaks in the second half, it’s largely either shouting while on the run or grunting while taking damage. She does have two (2) opportunities for quiet, smiling moments, as well as one troop-rallying speech which seemed to go over well. That’s a start, but she’s largely overprotected or out-bellowed by all the other characters. That’s not too prominent a place for a main character to act very main. Perhaps it wouldn’t help to mention a few scenes where Snow is so beloved by Mother Nature and so essential to the very fabric of her kingdom that she’s actually followed and celebrated by assorted happy woodland creatures. One can only imagine the Internet’s own Kristen Stewart Revenge Squad going into convulsions at the very sight.

Her general character arc also doesn’t help. Her entrance in the film is after years of dungeon imprisonment, which should have left her a drained, emaciated mess. She escapes from Point A Prison with some pluck and a single-minded goal to reach Castle Point B, because then and only upon the arrival of their exiled figurehead will the people of the kingdom unite, grow a collective spine, and stage a coup against their all-powerful oppressor. Fortunately for Ms. White, days of fleeing, watching others die because of her, fleeing some more, and being saved by the grace of others all somehow provide her with enough exercise and fresh air to overcome her years of imprisonment, reach a semblance of physical competence, and assume the role of Eowyn for the film’s climactic, chaotic assault on Poor Man’s Minas Tirith.

As the Evil Queen who is her opponent, longtime captor, and Evil Stepmother, Charlize Theron nearly makes her own head explode as she goes over the top, pauses for a tea break while her servants construct a new top thousands of feet above the previous top, then sails over that top with feet to spare. She’s allowed a few moments of vulnerability as it’s suggested that she was cursed by her mother with beauty to use as a dangerous weapon against a misogynist world (so it’s Man’s fault she has to be beautiful! And, um, not her wicked mother’s…), but moments later she returns to her previous state of apoplectic fury. I’m willing to bet her on-set line-shouting was so vehement, it made the film crew cry. Those scenes alone are worth seeing if your constitution isn’t too delicate.

As Snow’s trusty sidekick, Chris Hemsworth is allowed to inflict more damage and use pointier weapons than in his previous films. Like Snow, he also has one good speech-ifying scene, in which he laments the needless passing of so many lives that have touched his. The rest of his scenes alternate between barking at Snow and pounding on her assailants. We don’t even know he’s approaching his own private Inigo Montoya moment until seconds before it’s upon us. It’s over in a heartbeat, with nary a whit of closure, an ounce of emotional satisfaction, or even a great kiss-off line.

In case those three stars aren’t enough to hold out attention, there are dwarves. Singing the complete opposite of “Hi-Ho” are a troupe of known quantities as varied as Ian McShane, Bob Hoskins, Ray Winstone, Toby Jones, and Nick Frost. Dwarven CG technology has come a long way since the days of Gimli and company, but here it’s more of an eyebrow-raiser than a triumph of art. I just couldn’t get past them. I found myself staring at them in every scene as if they were hideously deformed. The jocular Frost very nearly fit, but I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the image of scary, glowering Ian McShane trapped and required to act melancholy while his re-proportioned head is attached to the body of Billy Barty.

I was so distracted, I hardly paid attention to the unnecessary love triangle that remained buried, bordering on subtextual, throughout the film’s second half, with neither closure nor even much resulting conflict. I also ignored several scenes of men in armor swinging their weapons through demons made of glass shards. Ground wars between anonymous participants don’t thrill me like they used to, even if magical CG is involved. Yes, it’s pretty. How encouraging it must be to aim for the low bar of “pretty”, all the better to celebrate when it’s quickly met.

It goes without saying that the sum of SWatH’s parts don’t hold a candle to the vastly different Once Upon a Time, though I do think Kristen Stewart could take li’l Mary Margaret in a fair fight, either in Storybrooke or in her original homeland. And yet, despite the flaws it evinces as it attempts to dazzle with medieval warfare and to rely upon the power of its stars without arming them sufficiently, I’m convinced it’s still better than Mirror, Mirror, sight unseen.

(I’d love to step out further and compare all of them unfavorably to Bill Willingham’s Fables, but I’m at least five volumes behind the present, having dramatically paused months ago at volume thirteen, The Great Fables Crossover. Eventually I’ll attempt to move forward on that.)

Indianapolis Food Trucks Topple Tyrants, Establish Benign Well-Fed Regimes (Part 4 of 3)

Previously I shared my impressions of sixteen different competitors in the burgeoning field of Indianapolis food truckery, still available in parts one, two, and three. These wondrous, infrequently convenient providers still enliven many a humdrum rat-race weekday…and they won’t stop multiplying.

In the month that’s passed since the conclusion of the trilogy, I’ve had the pleasure of doing business with four more trucks, all worth hunting down.

Hoosier Fat Daddy’s Food Bus — Some trucks too closely resemble delivery trucks and repair services. I’m embarrassed how many times I’ve looked out the window and convinced myself I’ve spotted a new truck, only to realize it’s just a crew of linemen from Indianapolis Power and Light. The HFD distinctive purple bus doesn’t share that problem. Their meat loaf sliders were right up my alley, mostly because I’m the only member of my household who’ll eat meat loaf, a rare treat in my eyes because of meat loaf deprivation. The Barney-colored purveyor of cuisine Americana also offer rib tips and turkey legs, for those seeking traditional fare in non-slider formats.

Chuck Wagon Deli — As one of the few people on Earth who winces whenever he sees a Subway sign (long story), I had low expectations when approaching the very nicely painted truck that offers deli sandwiches, something I rarely crave because I’ve eaten cold turkey sandwiches for lunch three days a week for over a decade. Then I found out that a six-inch extra-wide jam-packed fully flavorful Philly cheesesteak and a bag of chips would only set me back $4.50. I was also impressed at their selection of nearly a dozen different sandwiches. Most food trucks are lucky to have half that much variety. For the space of one meal, I recanted my anti-sub hate and mentally awarded them five stars out of four.

Circle City Spuds — Also not normally exciting to me: baked potatoes. My wife can’t get enough of them. I can. I gave Circle City Spuds a shot nonetheless, and found myself the proud, temporary owner of a fresh, hot potato topped with BBQ pulled pork and macaroni-‘n’-cheese. As toppings. Yes, it wasn’t pretty. I didn’t care. If it helps, some of their varieties contain healthy vegetables, including but not limited to broccoli. You can enjoy those while I go back to reminiscing about my amazing mac-‘n’-pork potato of death.

Some of This, Some of That — At last, after several timing failures, SOTSOT finally stopped by on a day when I could avail myself of their Cajun fare. I take it as a good sign that they’ve upgraded to a larger truck and ditched their original illegible logo in favor of bright red boldness that fairly glows from across the street. I grumbled as I waited one-third of my half-hour lunch break for them to whip up a sausage po’boy, but it was so generous and pretty, I forgave them as I carried it back to work amidst stares from jealous passersby. It was one of the sloppiest food-truck dishes I’ve had to date, but I can live with that.

With those, my personal food-truck sampling total now stands at twenty. I know more trucks are out there somewhere, plying their wares in the wrong parts of the city and intentionally avoiding my money. FINE. Suit yourselves. I’ll just be over here lamenting what might have been and still avoiding Subway as much as possible.

The Only Four Titles That Still Connect Me to DC’s New-52 Universe

I was fourteen when DC revamped its entire universe in the wake of Crisis on Infinite Earths. I was impressed that a major comic book company would be willing to toss out decades of continuity and start anew for younger readers like me who had no use for the imaginary stories of the Silver Age and thought that the doldrums of pre-Crisis DC paled compared to Marvel’s output at the time. John Byrne’s Superman and Action Comics, Frank Miller’s “Batman: Year One”, George Perez’ Greek-myth-infused Wonder Woman, and Mike Baron’s Flash were all right up my alley and frequently atop my reading pile.

Twenty-six years later, DC has cycled back around, but now I’m on the other end of the demographic scale. Other than lingering, festering, unwholesome bitterness at the unnecessary cancellations of Secret Six and Xombi, I don’t begrudge them their willingness to indulge in the tremendous gamble of reinventing the wheel for whatever generation replaces me, if one is duly willing to do so. In the spirit of renewal and multiple second chances, in September 2011 I generously ignored my monthly comics budget and tried eighteen of the New 52 series, all while holding fast to other companies’ output as well. Needless to say, that was an expensive month for me, even after rejecting DC’s other thirty-four new titles outright for myriad reasons.

Ten months later, I’m now following just four DC titles.

The winners are:

1. Demon Knights. I miss Paul Cornell’s lively Captain Britain and MI-13. This isn’t too distant a cousin — both are teams of disparate British super-personalities united for one cause, resulting in strange bedfellows, encountering explosive action, and inclusively allowing one Muslim member. Instead of present-day Marvel, our setting is DC of the Middle Ages, home of old characters Madame Xanadu, the Demon Etrigan, Grant Morrison’s Seven Soldiers version of the Shining Knight, and Vandal Savage. Tagging along are new characters Exoristos (an Amazon in exile), the Horsewoman (great with a bow, but cursed to remain forever seated atop her trusty steed), and Al Jabr (the afore-mentioned Muslim, fighter and hoarder of the more whimsical dialogue). Besides Cornell at the helm, its other distinguishing quality is that its time period makes it virtually crossover-proof. For me, this is key.

2. Dial H. The best of the New 52’s second wave that launched in the spring after eight underperformers were escorted off the premises after eight issues. The original Robby Reed version of “Dial H for Hero” was years before my birth, but as a kid I was a huge fan of the Chris King/Vicki Grant incarnation that ran in Adventure Comics (and was later relegated to ignominous backup status in The New Adventures of Superboy). As promised by the ad tagline, “The Hero Who Could Be YOU!” Robby’s successor dial-bearers turned into heroes created by Us, the Readers at Home, without benefit of complicated work-for-hire contracts. I didn’t care for the later New Teen Titans story that turned Vicki evil, but I was largely pleased with Will Pfeifer’s 2003 H.E.R.O. reboot, even if it was underrated and bypassed both Chris and Vicki. Alas, the closest thing for today’s consumers for some time has been Ben 10, whose own Omnitrix and resulting army of do-gooders owes a massive creative debit to the H-dials.

When DC announced the return of the concept at the hands of acclaimed author China Mieville, I was on board immediately. Admittedly, I haven’t read any of his novels in full yet (two of them are on my enormous reading pile), but the samples I’ve read were convincing enough. So far it’s spooky and very much off-the-wall, but I’m hoping the constraints of the dial’s current form as an archaic phone booth are only temporary. If dumpy protagonist Nelson Jent has to take a cab to the same magical phone booth’s deserted alley location at the beginning of every single issue, this may grow repetitive quickly, despite the outlandish single-use heroes popping out of every issue. (I’m sure I would pay good money for a Rancid Ninja one-shot.)

3. The Shade. Not strictly a New 52 title, this twelve-issue maxiseries began in the New 52’s second month, but could very easily be set in the previous timeline for all we know. I’m following along as a former big fan of James Robinson’s classic 1990s Starman series, hoping for glimmers of that old Jack Knight magic, but not yet 100% reveling in it, as the ex-Starman is still in permanent retirement and Robinson isn’t the same writer he was a decade ago. He arguably shouldn’t be, but I’m not in the same place I was, either. Somehow reader and writer aren’t quite as in synch as before. It doesn’t help that the capriciousness with which the Shade has changed alignment over the years as needs and continuity dictated hasn’t endeared him to me as a main character, largely because I can’t remember in which eras he was evil, and in which eras he eased down on the murdering. The guest-starring new heroes from other countries have been creative, so there’s that.

4. Batman Inc. Also a second-wave title; also not really in the New 52 timeline. Clearly these criteria really spoke to me.

I only sporadically followed Grant Morrison’s lengthy Batman run, so I’m ignorant of half the details of his long-running Leviathan storyline, and forgotten most of the other half. Throwing nuance and Easter eggs entirely to the wind, all I know is I enjoy seeing Batman’s exotic analogs in action, I find Damien to be irritating and entertaining at the same time, and I like watching artist Chris Burnham as he tries to keep up with Morrison’s scripts, with overall impressive results.

* * * * *

Setting aside other imprints, that’s my entire monthly DC list for the moment. My capsule reviews of my first round of New 52 sampling are buried elsewhere online, but ten months into the relaunch, I’ve allowed all other contenders to fall by the wayside as a result of the following misdemeanors:

The reboot paled before a previous incarnation that I truly, vastly preferred: Blue Beetle; Fury of Firestorm, the Nuclear Men; Static Shock; Stormwatch.

Unlikable main characters: Batwoman; Frankenstein, Agent of S.H.A.D.E.; Red Hood and the Outlaws.

Heroes weren’t quite awesome enough to overcome how much I actively disliked their villains: Resurrection Man, Swamp Thing.

Artwork went to the dogs: All-Star Western.

I didn’t quit; DC canceled it out from under me: OMAC.

Quit because of crossovers, regardless of quality: Animal Man, Batgirl, Batman, Justice League Dark, Nightwing, Superboy. (Seriously: not in the mood. At all.)

Again: in general I’m not as bitter as the average over-40 message-board troll. DC desires an audience that doesn’t necessarily want what I want. I wish them well with that. I’m not out of comics to read yet. And I’m perfectly willing to revisit the New 52 as creative teams change in the future, such as when possible rising star Matt Kindt takes over Frankenstein. I may also check out Christy Marx’s new take on Amethyst (sometimes I do love odd choices) that will be one of several third-wave titles to emerge from the September Zero Hour rehash event.

For now, though, this is where I’m at. Also, I have one question I don’t think they’ve seriously considered:

How does the Horsewoman go to the bathroom?

2nd Teaser for PT Anderson’s “The Master” Stars Philip Seymour Hoffman as Bell Bon Bubbard

In the first teaser trailer for Paul Thomas Anderson’s next film, The Master, we saw Joaquin Phoenix as an uneasy rapscallion on the verge of doing something different with his life. In the new teaser, Philip Seymour Hoffman is a jack of several trades probing Phoenix with questions and strange reassurances. While the Internet is firmly convinced The Master chronicles the secret origin of Scientology with all the names changed, let it be known Hoffman here distances himself from the late L. Ron Hubbard in a very concrete way: he disguises himself with a mustache.

Not only do we finally see and hear costar Amy Adams, we also hear her hint at Hoffman’s character working on his most important text, a revolutionary self-help tome possibly to be titled Ianetics-Day.

Meanwhile at home, the most optimistic Scientologists hope this film will be, best-case scenario, their version of The Last Temptation of Christ. If it’s not, Anderson may look forward to being banned from working in their half of Hollywood in the future, and resigned to working in the Jewish half instead. If all else fails, there’s always work to be done in the malnourished field of Christian direct-to-DVD.

Who Will Strike More Fear into the Hearts of The 1%: Bane or the “Step Up” Dancers?

The American upper class has now replaced other races and nations as Hollywood’s go-to nemesis du jour. We’ve already seen them criminalized in Tower Heist and countless other films whose titles I don’t feel like brainstorming right now. Trailers for two upcoming films show no sign of anyone giving that beleaguered minority a break this summer.

In the case of The Dark Knight Rises, the conflict will be a twisted case of evil-vs.-evil, if we infer correctly from previous trailers that Bane and his henchmen mean to bring the pain to the lives of the few remaining upper-crust Gothamites that didn’t already wisely evacuate to the suburbs after the city-wide calamities of the last two films. A new, sponsored trailer was released Monday that shows more of Bane and his plainclothes lackeys without revealing more details about how destroying a football field will in any way inconvenience the billionaires of Gotham, all sitting in their skyboxes above the tumult with easy access to their escape pods.

Other sites are busy scouring that video for clues to the true nature of Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s enigmatic character. All I know is, if the success of TDKR means he’ll never have to return to the role of Cobra Commander, so much the better.

For those who would prefer to see stands taken through nonviolent means — stands that includes more women, non-whites, and colorful costumes — Step Up Revolution offers a viable, funky alternative:

The new girl in town shows off her moves, learns a very important lesson about performance art, then inspires her new flashmob friends to bust a move for social justice. I look forward to learning how this flagrant disruption of dull real estate negotiations will result in tense cinematic drama. Also, I’d love to see Bane try performing a one-handed Centipede.

You’ll note in both trailers the police are completely ineffective against the threats of grass-roots disobedience. If anything, it appears the Step Up cops will be persuaded to join the Occupy Solid Gold movement, unless we’re to believe that they’ve implemented krumping as a new form of riot control. I’d love to see Denis Leary as Arthur Stacy from the most recent Amazing Spider-Man trailer pay them a visit and compare notes.

Next Week’s “Bunheads” to End With Funeral Pyre Stoked with Unsold “Private Practice” DVDs

Despite ratings for a basic-cable premiere that were okay but not grounds for instant Fox-style cancellation, ABC Family’s Bunheads made a few headlines anyway last week thanks to a gift from Grey’s Anatomy creator Shonda Rhimes, who thought the show needed publicity. Rhimes tweeted to her 190,000 followers about the failure of creator Amy Sherman-Palladino to establish and enforce strict racial quotas during the twenty-minutes-long casting phase of the low-budget show’s compacted pre-production schedule.

On Monday Entertainment Weekly passed along interview excerpts in which Sherman-Palladino expressed disappointment in Rhimes’ flagrant disregard for the Woman Showrunners’ Code, and implied her preference instead for a one-step-at-a-time approach to show creation. (Step 1: get the show on the air in the first place, compromised or otherwise. Step 2: entertain the masses enough to survive past four episodes. Step 3: make changes as needed after you know you’ve earned the privilege to continue working.)

Anyone who tuned in Monday night for the second episode would have noticed a few non-white characters in the tiny town of Paradise, including one of Fanny’s close circle of friends. The representative even had lines, but had quite the unenviable challenge of sharing scenes with the uniquely animated Ellen Greene. Asking her to steal a scene from Pushing Daisies‘ Aunt Viv, here playing an oddball found-object nude sculptress, is a taller-than-tall order regardless of minority classification.

Personally, I thought episode 2 was even more electric than episode 1, with plenty of quotable dialogue (“At last, a chance to use my high school Tibetan!”) and a few tear-jerking scenes as everyone struggled to cope with the fallout of episode 1’s devastating cliffhanger. In addition to Ellen Greene, I was also overjoyed to see the episode end with another guest star from an old, swiftly canceled, Barry Sonnenfeld-related TV show — David Burke from the live-action version of The Tick. (All we need now is a walk-on from a veteran of Maximum Bob and we can declare June 2012 as Sonnenfeldmania Month on Bunheads. Might I suggest Beau Bridges as the Mayor of Paradise?)

Discussion questions for those who caught episode 2 tonight:

1. I thought someone somewhere manufactured party tents in black. Am I, too, imagining this?

2. Is any Mark Wahlberg film really worth skipping school on false pretenses? Even if he’s making things in France explode?

3. If you ran a party supply shop, how much would you charge for Dalai Lama cocktail napkins?

4. Capes? Seriously?

5. Which Paradise resident do you think we’ll meet first, the Republican or the Liza Minnelli impersonator?

6. The USS Intrepid‘s official site offers no coupons, but does sell gift cards. Close enough?

7. Am I or am I not alone in thinking that Fanny had the funniest and saddest line of the night, as she scoffed at the notion of being prayed for from afar: “I take my spirituality very seriously. If I don’t see it, I don’t believe it!” It’s just me, right?

8. Is it really true that no one eats carbs anymore? If so, do I have to keep living in that world?

9. If the Shonda Rhimes “Save Bunheads So It Can Have Time to Replace Half Its White Cast” publicity campaign works and the show survives past this summer, which fad do you think the show will inspire first: funeral dancing or sitar players at parties?

10. Would anyone else like an encore of Tom Waits’ “Picture in a Frame”?

I’d also like to address what was, for me, the most incendiary portion of the show: the scene in which Michelle and Rico the mellow bartender knock the concept of brunch and raise their glasses “to time-specific eating habits.” Hey, Bunheads: really? You couldn’t show even one scene of an adult male celebrating the magical rarity that is breakfast-for-dinner, so I as a breakfast-food fan could feel good about watching this show? Not one?

Two Panels to Show Why “Journey into Mystery” is My Favorite Marvel Series

The Marvel’s The Avengers film series may have turned Thor’s half-brother Loki into a sinister household name (beyond those households who knew a thing or two about preexisting Norse myths, anyway), but in my book the eminently watchable Tom Hiddleston takes a back seat to my favorite Loki of the moment, the young reincarnated star of Marvel’s Journey into Mystery.

After the events of the 2010 major crossover event Siege, Loki was dead and gone after one final, uncharacteristically heroic act. As one would expect from Norse gods and their closest family, this condition was temporary. Through machinations of his own, Loki was quickly reincarnated. Through machinations not of his own, his new form is a younger, more naive version of himself with no magic power and no memory of the pain and suffering that his past self’s countless treacheries have inflicted upon others over the years. Kid Loki has spent his new life in a series of misadventures, saving lives, worlds, and entire Marvel crossovers through his uncanny knack for duplicity and shrewd deal-brokering for the greater good, despite the fact that no one trusts him and too many would love an excuse to kill him again.

In the current status quo, Kid Loki is now in the service of the triumvirate of All-Mothers who rule earthbound Asgard while Odin is occupied elsewhere. Along with him for his escapades is Leah, servant of Hela, who’s close to li’l Loki’s age, has magic power a-plenty, and pretends to hate his guts even while she reluctantly ensures his continued survival. Watching over his shoulder is an Asgardian blackbird named Ikol, who acts as an enigmatic, disturbing sort of Jiminy Cricket. Occasionally there’s also Loki’s li’l puppy Thori, a mixed-breed hellhound/Hel Wolf who breathes fire, speaks entirely in Grand Guignol death threats, and is as cute as a button.

The latest arc, which just began this month, tasks Loki with a trip to England to assist its current pantheon against an invasion from a new would-be pantheon called the Manchester Gods, who exist as enormous walking cities (think Howl’s Moving Castle) that draw believers to them and away from their previous beliefs. What seems by my crude American understanding to be a fun riff on intense soccer fandom begins with Loki and Leah journeying at the All-Mothers’ request as a godly covert-ops team to assist the elder British powers behind the scenes while Asgard’s public rulers pretend to follow the Prime Directive and abstain from direct meddling.

Their arrival is England happens like so:

Herne the Hunter waits patiently for his prey. I mean, passenger.

I’m a big fan of Kid Loki’s merry sense of adventure and unbridled optimism, staples of the series under the guidance of writer Kieron Gillen (whose creator-owned Phonogram was epic and whose first Marvel series S.W.O.R.D. was unfairly kneecapped) and artist Rich Elson (with the occasional guest artist). With mythic grandeur undercut by frequent bouts of sharp wit, Loki’s crew traipses across dimensions, infiltrates the realms of dreams in a respectable homage to Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, and even makes Marvel events like 2011’s Fear Itself more enjoyable by filling in their much-appreciated backstory. (If you wanted to know why Odin’s brother the Serpent was subjugating superhumans and laying waste to Earth, nowhere but in Journey into Mystery were we offered keen insight as to just why.)

For certifiable proof of how attached I am to this series, I can add only this: “Exiled”, the recently completed multi-part crossover that JiM shared with New Mutants, will be the only crossover I read in full this year. I bought and enjoyed every chapter even though I’ve avoided X-Men titles for years. I’ve dropped some Big Two titles as a result of crossovers, and intentionally skipped chapters of other crossovers on similar fussbudget principle. Only “Exiled” earned a pass from me as I grow weary of such needless marketing complications, because I suspected it would raise the bar. When it instilled new relevance into the lost myth of Sigurd and wrapped up the tragic arc of the man-hating undead Disir, I loved seeing my hunch pay off.

In the wake of Siege, all throughout Fear Itself, and on into “Exiled”, Journey into Mystery proved itself so exceptional at what it does, its magic touch makes any other comic next to it even better.

“Falling Skies” Fans Count Down to Season 2 Premiere, Desperately Try to Remember Character Names

After an extended absence from Earth’s airwaves, the post-invasion saga Falling Skies returns to TNT with a two-hour season premiere Sunday, June 17th, at 9 p.m. EDT. Viewers like me were pleasantly surprised to watch a series containing the phrase “Executive Producer Steven Spielberg” that wasn’t canceled at the end of season one. Yes, I’m still bitter about the others, but I’m grateful that one made the grade with the Nielsen commoners.

Ten months have now passed since I saw the season 1 finale as it aired. I didn’t buy the DVD set and rarely watch reruns of any show, well-liked or not. Obviously I’ve slept since August 2011 and have had plenty of other shows, movies, and comics to preoccupy me in the meantime. I have less than 24 hours to remember where we left off without resorting to cheating, by which I mean paying any attention to the current marketing onslaught or reviewing its WikiPedia pages.

So far I recall the following cast of characters:

Noah Wyle as not exactly Dr. John Carter, M.D.: Our intrepid main character is a former Massachusetts history teacher who role-models bravely for his three sons while downplaying a modest drive for vengeance for the death of his wife. When last we saw him, he had agreed under duress to fly off into space with our alien overlords. I’d like to think the first scene in the premiere will be an intricately choreographed wire-fu sequence aboard the mothership that ends with him defenestrating all the aliens and piloting their craft back to Earth with their speakers blaring a classic-rawk station cranked up to 11.

Son 1, Son 2, and Son 3: Like their dad, whatever his real first name is, all their names, whatever they are, are short. Main characters never have lengthy names like Mortimer, Cordwainer, or Buckminster. I think the middle son, the implant survivor whose symbio-ectomy left him imbued with useful super-powers, was named Ben. The oldest son knew how to use guns and ride a motorcycle, and was well on his way to being treated by his dad as an official, independent, adult male. He was much more mature and less disappointing than the oldest child on Executive Producer Steven Spielberg’s Terra Nova. The littlest son was very little and may grow up to be a tech whiz if he’s not endangered too often. Repeated exposure to such nightmarish situations is likely to turn him into Carl from The Walking Dead. No one wants that.

Lourdes, the overtly devoutly religious helper girl: At last, a character who can believe in God, openly display that she does, exude actual signs of hope and faith, and even pray (*gasp!*) without being secretly evil, mocked by the other characters, mocked by the showrunners, taught a very special lesson about Tolerance, or murdered as a cheap plot stunt. Yet. If the showrunners ever leave, odds are she’ll be the first character thrown under the bus. I’m trying not to mourn her loss in advance, but the track record for this sort of character has been exasperatingly dismal ever since Little House on the Prairie ended. I’d buy posters and any ancillary merchandise of her if I thought it would improve her chances of remaining on the show till the very end, and if it wouldn’t make me seem like a creepy old man.

Doctor Moon Bloodgood: You don’t forget a name like that, even when you forget a name like her character’s. Since chances of a sequel to Terminator Salvation are nil, she’ll have to accept her destiny to become Mrs. John Carter someday. For now, she’s a doctor with more resources and spine than some of her male associates, but without being hatefully offputting. Kudos!

Will Patton as Commander Gruff McPonytail: He barked orders, he disagreed with Noah Wyle every ten minutes, he struggled with his faith, he lost his marbles for a while, and then he was back in the saddle, still barking and wounding the enemy with his permanent stubbble.

Silent Dai, the only Asian around for miles: I was disappointed when he missed out on several important maneuvers due to combat injuries. Then again, there was no reason to expect him to defeat his opponents with the brutal beatdown techniques of an amazing ninja warrior. That’s racist. A missed opportunity, but still racist.

Commander Dale Dye: My eyes nearly popped out of my head when the famous TV/movie military technical advisor guest-starred last season. My heart sank when we were told he died. Offscreen, no less. I can only hope this intel was flawed and we’ll see Dye return with an alien harness and a really big gun.

Nina Sharp of Massive Dynamic: It’s hard to forget the episode where Blair Brown played a kindly old lady with lovely tea service and a penchant for selling out to the aliens. When Fringe concludes next season, Falling Skies would do well to invite her back.

Long-hair biker gangster who evolved from evil to just really, really selfish: He’s least likely to do the right thing and gets all the funniest lines. He’s the Jonathan Harris of a new generation. His saving grace is his mad cooking skills, an Iron Chef by way of MacGyver, making the most of his limited ingredients in an impoverished world where the overlords bombed all the really good restaurants out of business. I’m sure several thousand impervious Subway franchises still thrive, but who cares.

Maggie, forced biker moll no more: Understandably edgy and voted Most Likely to Put a Bullet in Chef Biker’s Head if he keeps misbehaving.

Another blond teen: I do recall there was one. She distracted Son #1 from Lourdes. Then something bad happened to her. That’ll teach her.

Young, goofy, trigger-shy Jimmy: How many more allies must be jeopardized or gravely injured before he catches up with the other quickly maturing teens and finally holds his own without crying and hiding? My guess is 72.

Ben’s black friend who loved being a slave: I couldn’t help thinking there was something very wrong about that. Proof positive that the enemy is evil.

The skitters: I can’t wait for one of them to have a personality or a name. Just one would go such a long way. Hopefully their newly revealed supervisors have surprises and identities in store.

I can only imagine how many memory holes I haven’t uncovered yet, but I trust sufficient expository reminders and recaps are forthcoming. If they fail, I’ll make up my own names for everybody and enjoy the show anyway. In this scenario the three sons will be named Morty, Cordy, and Bucky.

Help Fund “The Garlicks” on Kickstarter, and Famous Comics Writer Will Eat Bug

Not a joke headline! Not a hoax! Not a dream! Not an imaginary story! Fans of entomophagy, lend me your ears!

The Garlicks: Pandora Orange, Fail Vampire promises to be yet another fun romp of a graphic novel/webcomic from writer/artist Lea Hernandez, previously seen on such past projects as Killer Princesses (with Gail Simone) and Clockwork Angels. The official Kickstarter campaign page describes the all-ages story much more lucidly than I could hope to, but it centers around a young girl named Pandora Orange who fails at vampirism and decides to create comics instead. Imagine the fame and fortune to be had if only she could learn to juggle both, but suffice it to say hijinks will ensue with a colorful cast of characters and none of the doom or gloom that permeate 90% of what’s on comic shop shelves today.

With only five frantic days until the Dreaded Deadline Doom, the campaign has amassed a little over 25% of its funding goal. To sweeten the pot above and beyond the generous rewards Hernandez has already offered, one of my longtime favorite comics writers, Kurt Busiek (creator of things I’ve really truly liked such as Astro City, Thunderbolts, and The Liberty Project, in addition to splendid Marvel works such as Marvels and Untold Tales of Spider-Man) has now stated for the record that if the reading public makes The Garlicks a reality, he will personally ingest one (1) bug. No details have been forthcoming regarding species, condiments, or broadcast rights to this once-in-a-lifetime event.

Here’s that link one more time if you’d love to see Kurt Busiek, co-creator of Marvel’s Triathlon and one-time writer of Night Thrasher, to ingest an insect for art’s sake. Better yet, if you have a friend of a friend who happens to be a trust-fund-raised one-percenter with a million dollars just lying around, do the medium a favor and persuade them to help bring Pandora Orange to life and give current Kickstarter comics-projects record-holder Rich Burlew a run for his title!

(Please be warned: if this project is unsuccessful, I hear Sarah McLachlan will record a depressing, doe-eyed new TV commercial in support of bug adoption charities. No one wants to see that, now do they?)

* * * * *

Department of Full Disclosure:

1. I’ve been an official Supporter of The Garlicks since before the threat of bug-eating made it cool. I’ve become a modest Kickstarter junkie over the past several months, donating here and there to several different projects varying in quality from very-promising to obviously-awesome-even-before-completion. I could quit the habit anytime I wanted if talented people would stop using it.

2. I still cherish the warm memory of a 1999 Usenet incident in which Hernandez and I wound up on the same side in a heated debate over whether or not strollers should be permitted at conventions. Good times.

US Postal Service Rewards Old Snail-Mail Diehards with Classic Film Directors’ Stamps

I’m no stamp collector, but even in this modernized world, my wife and I remain regular USPS customers for a variety of purposes, and not just for receiving grocery circulars or avalanches of unread political ads during every election season. When it’s time to restock our stamps, I prefer not to settle for buying the commonest sets available because I’m enamored of the notion of stamps as a decorative flourish, even if they’re affixed to envelopes that no human will ever directly see or handle. I appreciate that the clerks at our regular post office are patient with me whenever I ask to see all the available varieties on hand. I especially appreciated their tolerance the year my wife and I exercised a random whim and mailed some of our Christmas cards using a sheet of Hanukkah stamps. They certainly had plenty of sheets available.

The USPS previously captured my attention and fandom with stamp series devoted to super-heroes and Pixar. Now they’re blatantly baiting me again with their new Great Film Directors sheet, which celebrates four legendary men and one each of their celebrated films: Frank Capra and It Happened One Night; John Ford and The Searchers; John Huston and The Maltese Falcon; and Billy Wilder and Some Like It Hot. I refuse to believe it’s coincidental that they chose four films I’ve actually watched and liked. Someone in the Postmaster General’s Office is clearly angling for me.

The stamps are available online now, but I’m resisting the urge as of this moment. If I do yield to temptation and buy a sheet, the hard part will be letting go of them when their time comes. Like it or not, I’ve already come to terms with knowing deep down that I don’t have the predilection for full-time philately. I accepted this after coveting the Pixar stamps for months, letting them stay in my greedy possession and gather dust in an out-of-sight drawer, until I finally relented and set them free to serve their intended purpose. I try to kid myself that if just one mailroom intern at just one of our utility companies glanced at our monthly payment and felt a frisson of delight at the sight of Sheriff Woody’s twinkly smile in the middle of their humdrum workday, then setting those stamps free was worth it, I guess.

Either way, I appreciate the efforts of the USPS to atone on behalf of the AMPAS for The Searchers‘ complete shutout at the 29th Academy Awards. How ’bout them apples, whoever made Around the World in 80 Days for me to snooze through? Have fun waiting for Cantinflas ever to grace the corner of my mortgage payments.

“Men in Black 3”: the Casual, Relaxed Viewer’s “Prometheus”

I realize this summer’s careful studio negotiations of their blockbuster release schedule intended MIB3 to be the opening act for Prometheus, but I defied their release-order mandate and saw them in reverse order, four days apart. I’m a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

I was a little surprised at the superficial similarities. Behold the flimsy case for their separated-at-birth pedigree:

* Hurray for sci-fi guns, vehicles, aliens, and slime! All given, of course. Getting the easy points out of the way first.

* Directors with impeccable art decoration and set design. Barry Sonnenfeld doesn’t have nearly the resumĆ© that Ridley Scott has, but his settings likewise have nary a drab space. Always a treat, even when the characters inhabiting them are less than captivating.

* Farewell to former series regulars. Setting aside the Alien vs. Predator apocrypha, Prometheus marks the first Alien invasion without Sigourney Weaver — no unbilled surprise cameo, not even an Easter-egg hint of a Grandpa Ripley (unless I missed it, though I’m sure the Internet would’ve trumpeted it by now). Meanwhile in MIB3, we rejoin our old friends Jay and Kay as they attend the funeral of their former commanding officer Zee. Rip Torn is present only as a single large photo, thankfully not a souvenir mugshot from the various legal scuffles cited on his WikiPedia page. Also MIA from MIB, sadly, is our old pal Frank the Pug, except in two wall-sized tributes impossible to overlook. That’s just not good enough.

* Don’t call it a prequel. The past prologue of MIB3 is simple, simplified time travel as Jay absconds to July 1969 to save Kay’s life from retroactive elimination, but the movie keeps the Mad Men and hippies in the back seat. Since we’re back in time anyway, the movie graciously offers insight into Kay’s early days on the job, the tools and methods of the golden age of ET management, and Kay’s very different, much more gregarious relationships with his coworkers. Much insight is provided as to what turned Kay into a gruff old coot, and even the returning but underused Emma Thompson has a ’60s counterpart who’ll be most fortunate if she grows up to be anything like her. It’s not a direct prequel per se, but it’s a strong argument for the superiority of contained flashbacks over feature-length prequels as a secret-origin device.

Prometheus, on the other hand, avoided using the P-word in its publicity as much as possible, though they didn’t exactly sue the media or fans who refused to judge it as anything but. It’s obviously a predecessor in the same Alien timeline, no doubt, but any hardcore fans insisting on the complete origin of Alien‘s mysterious dead Space Jockey despite Scott’s modest pre-release protestations should’ve seen their own expectations deflate in the first reel. Alien took place on a heavenly body designated LV-426. Prometheus takes place on LV-223. BAM. DONE. End of Internet arguments. At best, Prometheus is now Alien Episode One: the Menacing Phantom. Moviegoers will have to wait with bated breath and years of message-board debates until they reveal how the xenomorph forefathers migrated from LV-223 to LV-426 in Alien Episode Two: Clone of the Attacks and Alien Episode Three: the Last Dangerous Visions. (Look, I couldn’t think of my own catchy title, and no one else was using it.)

* Haggard old man played by younger famous actor. Guy Pearce in several pounds of artificial wrinkles versus Josh Brolin as Tommy Lee Jones. Different angles, different results, both with accents not their own.

* The nonchalant black guy is only the second-most magnetic character. Michael Fassbender’s complicated android stole the Prometheus show, but Idris Elba’s just-a-pilot provided the only other relief from a cast of sourpusses. MIB3 isn’t nearly as grim, but Will Smith’s natural charm takes a back seat in several scenes to the hyper-verbal Michael Stuhlbarg (whom I last noticed and enjoyed in the Coen brothers’ Oscar-nominated A Serious Man) as a fifth-dimensional tourist who views multiple timelines simultaneously and hopes to see Earth live into the correct one. (The worst part of living with such a talent must be perceiving all of Schrƶdinger’s cats at once, then watching helplessly while half of them die.) Stuhlbarg’s jittery nattering upends the film and then grounds it solidly with one ecstatic monologue about synchronous miracles, delivered in a fever pitch rivaling Jim Dale’s narrator from the Sonnenfeld-produced Pushing Daisies. And I’m a big fan of anything that reminds me of Pushing Daisies.

* A spaceship takeoff is a major plot point. And another victory for subwoofers nationwide.

* There will be sacrifice. In each film, at least one person dies so that others might live. That’s a little deeper than anything I recall the first two MIBs attempting. For its achievements in the areas of depth and narrative competence, I’d go so far as to say that MIB3 is the series’ best entry to date.

Then again, with a decade between this and the first two, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve forgotten more about those than I think. I remember Lara Flynn Boyle not doing much, the giant subway worm thing, the Unisphere, Vincent D’Onofrio as a demented farmer bug alien, and our old pal Frank the Pug. Alas, poor Frank. What are the odds we’ll see you again in MIB4? Better or worse than the odds of seeing you in Alien Episode 2?

Madonna, Catwoman, Roger Sterling Headline Naughty-Old-Folks’ Week

Usually I skip past any news article whose title contains the words “to Pose Nude”, “Flashes Nipple”, “Sex Scandal”, or “Brokeback Pose”. I get testy whenever the media tries using sex or nudity to compete with my wife for my attention. Anyone signing up for that competition is gonna lose.

It’s downright aggravating when the incidents flock together, regardless of whether or not it’s the kind of nekkidness-based stunt that would actually do anything for me if I were single and in need of sinful stimulation. Oddly, this week’s early contestants are nowhere near the under-30 demographic that readers and viewers usually prefer in their eye candy. To wit:

* Madonna, age 53: Entertainment Weekly cheerfully posted footage of an apparent reprise of her “Justify My Love” post-glory days. I have no plans to watch or post the video (I feel conflicted enough merely linking to the article linking to the clip), but I’m prepared to take a tremendous leap of grossly unfounded assumption and just induce/deduce/whicheverduce that the clip features Madonna singing some old song no one wants to sing along to, rolling her eyes as the audience’s attention wanes, doffing the right article of clothing, yelling “Artistic relevance!”, and then tearing a photo of Janet Jackson in half, all while the audience brandish their earbuds and Google “lady gaga videos” on their smartphones.

* Catwoman, age 72: DC Comics announced their September 2012 initiative of revisiting their 1994 zero-issue stunt with their entire 52-series lineup (plus a few special guests). Standing out among the sample covers is Catwoman #0, striking one of the most improbable poses of her decades-long career, displaying a kind of extreme yoga that would have snapped all of Julie Newmar’s ligaments and rent several muscle groups asunder even in her prime. DC loves its male-majority audience, presumably doesn’t care if women read Catwoman or not, and will no doubt argue that her impression of Stretch Armstrong is somehow empowering. The fact that her face is in the picture at all is, I’m guessing, a concession to appease the licensed-merchandise division that has action figures to sell based on her entire body, not just the artist’s favorite parts.

* Roger Sterling, age 49. Last Sunday’s Mad Men season finale had its share of memorable moments. For me, the most indelible was the haunting tongue-lashing of Megan’s mom, intended to crush her daughter’s enviable ambition. For too many others, it was the sight of Roger Sterling dropping a second hit of LSD while gazing at his window reflection in his birthday suit. I don’t think this actually garnered any mainstream headlines; I’m just using this space to plead for some magical way to unsee this. I suppose I should be grateful that Sterling’s gold was mercifully facing away from the camera. One could debate it’s a telling sign of Roger’s deteriorating emotional state, but having him inexplicably don Howdy Doody boxers or maybe a Bo Peep costume in his stupor could’ve also accomplished that, albeit with a differently scarring effect.

“Prometheus” IMAX 3-D: Panoramas, Subwoofers, and Questions Begetting Questions

From an audiovisual standpoint, the IMAX 3-D version of Prometheus was one of the most overwhelming, immersive experiences I’ve ever encountered. Beyond that, results varied. Possible spoilers abound, but nothing intense enough to require the services of my usual spoiler guardian.

I’ve only seen one full episode of Lost, but I got the impression from its viewers (haters who refused to stop watching as well as genuine fans) that they had to answer all the deepest questions themselves. Much of Prometheus was like that for my son and me. We liked its approach to the spiritual questions it raises, as well as the additional questions engendered by those questions in turn. In my experience that’s par for the course in any serious reexamination of What It All Means. Even if the movie’s answers and suggestions don’t remotely match mine, it’s intriguing to watch other people’s thought processes at work through the constructs built from their own set of evidence.

If we’d seen it on a smaller screen, I might’ve been more disappointed. Luckily for Prometheus, I have a hard time concentrating on aesthetics when my field of vision and my limited hearing range are in maximum sensory overload. Whenever vehicles crashed, it was like a full body massage as the whole theater vibrated with malevolence, and a special treat for my ears that cause such despair when they miss little sounds and entire conversations in everyday life.

As far as people go: Lisbeth Salander Prime was in top form as our main character. It’s refreshing to see a film where a character can wear a cross, stand their ground, and espouse non-Jewish religious views without being a source of intense comedic ridicule or die a grisly death. Granted, she’s the subject of mild comedic ridicule, but then there’s occasionally satisfying retribution in the form of grisly deaths. I also approve of her enduring the most excruciating of hardships while armed only with canned space epidural.

I was enthralled by Michael Fassbender as the android David, who combined Data’s existential aspirations with Wall-E’s cinephilia and Crow T. Robot’s amoral curiosity. Idris Elba seemed an odd choice for the role of the cantankerous, nebulous pilot, but the Stephen Stills squeezebox went a long way. I was mollified by the one or two human moments that Charlize Theron was allowed to experience in modes other than hard-as-nails. The Tom Hardy lookalike met the minimum requirements of the standard skeptical-significant-other role. I barely recognized Guy Pearce disguised in gallons of elderly makeup as Professor Farnsworth and wish he hadn’t been irrelevant to the entire third act.

In general I wish more had been done with the supporting cast. I wouldn’t’ve minded an extra half-hour of character moments, which were the hallmark of some of the previous films. When characters are pondering deep subjects and waxing philosophical, it means a lot more if I’m given reasons to care about their opinions, regardless of whether they’re informed or shallow. Without that emotional foundation, the inevitable kill-spree meant no more to me than one from an average horror film, which is all the more disappointing if you consider that the majority of the film was more sci-fi than horror.

About that kill-spree: although the creature effects achieved their goals, the simplistic drives for some beings and unexpressed motivations for others each failed to coalesce into an effective bad-guy presence. Yes, they were big and strong and physically menacing, but I’ll be really surprised if I can remember any of them fondly three years from now. Prometheus achieved the rare reaction of creating backgrounds and settings that were more vibrant eye-candy than the beings gallivanting in front of them and blocking my view. When you find yourself wishing that movie characters would move aside so you can see what cool things they’re blocking, the movie has gone wrong somewhere.

Perhaps my opinion would’ve improved if I’d consumed any of the pre-release viral-video supplements. I ignored all of them for two reasons: avoidance of spoilers, and preference for experiencing the movie as a work of art unto itself. I grow impatient with any movie that requires homework before I’m supposed to see it. I’m fine with viewing such material months after the fact in the form of DVD extras, but I’m of a mindset that doesn’t yet appreciate movies as the climax of an interactive cross-platform viewing game. If character moments in the movie were minimized with the expectation that the viral videos would pick up the slack in that area, then this isn’t my kind of filmmaking.

It’s possibly my kind of DVD-making. But I’m gonna need a bigger TV.

Metropolis Superman Celebration 2012 Photo Gallery

My wife and I attended our fourth Superman Celebration in scenic Metropolis this weekend, about which I previously wrote. Photos were taken, weather was outstanding, fun was had by all. The results of that fun were as follows:

This year’s special guests: Smallville‘s John Glover and Cassidy Freeman! The usually sinister Lionel Luthor was one of the many best things about the first seven seasons, while the ambiguously antagonistic Tess Mercer was a delight in the other three.

Their Q&A was informative, hilarious, and only frequently naughty. Highlights:

* Tess Mercer was Lionel’s only known illegitimate daughter, compared to a plethora of illegitimate sons that came and went, none possessed of her staying power. (Says Glover, “Things would…disappear a lot.”)

* Unless Tess was being thrown through something large and breakable, Freeman did her own stunts.

* Freeman was still touched that a fan earlier in the day had brought her a hand-crocheted necklace. Glover displayed overt signs of jealousy. It was proposed that a knitting event be added to the Celebration for Glover’s benefit and possible participation (Joked Freeman, “He loves knitting.”)

* Freeman now costars in A&E’s new hit series Longmire, which I find weird because I have family under that name.

* Glover recently finished a Broadway run on Death of a Salesman alongside Phillip Seymour Hoffman and rising superstar Andrew Garfield.

* Glover was all about candor. In the episode where Lionel and Clark swap bodies because, Tom Welling nailed Glover’s Lionel tics, but Glover himself struggled to imitate Clark because “He doesn’t really do anything.” In discussing Lionel’s weird relationship with Lex, Glover drolly described his motivation for subjecting his son to repeated torture and malfeasance as “tests to strengthen his character…which is why I gave him shock treatments.” Questions about the Lionel of Earth-2 who appeared in season 10 revealed Glover’s acting motivation in playing an alt-version of his now-dead character: “Confusion.”

* Before Christopher Reeve’s guest appearances on Smallville, Glover had previously worked with him pre-Superman on stage in the 1970s in Williamstown.

* Glover’s favorite scene in Gremlins 2: the New Batch was him stuffing a gremlin into a paper shredder.

* Glover praised his Scrooged costar Bill Murray as “generous”, and plugged the upcoming film Hyde Park on Hudson, in which Murray will play FDR. Also appearing in the film is a good friend of Glover’s named Elizabeth Wilson, age 91.

The dastardly duo weren’t the only actors on hand. Behold an encore presentation of Gerard Christopher, gentleman and star of The New Adventures of Superboy. Of that show’s two different stars, my wife insists he was the superior Superboy.

Legendary comics artist George Perez had the longest line of any Artists Alley guest, and understandably so. Also on hand were official models of DC Comics’ New 52 costume reboots. You could tell they were present in some official capacity because they were the only New 52 designs visible anywhere in town. Perez revealed that Power Girl’s model, Heather Kelley, was the honorable namesake for a character in his recent Superman run.

The other Artists Alley guest of note: Terry Beatty, who with longtime collaborator Max Allan Collins co-created the hard-boiled detective Ms. Tree and DC’s own one-time Iowan vigilante Wild Dog. He was gracious in autographing my copy of Wild Dog #1 (yes, I’m a fan), and I was happy to pick up a copy of their most recent work, the Road to Perdition sequel Return to Perdition.

How cool is the Superman Celebration? Here’s a sentence I could never utter in my life till now:

The mayor cooked me breakfast.

Before he was elected mayor of Metropolis, Billy McDaniel was the owner of local restaurant Bill’s BBQ for thirty years. Saturday morning he put his culinary skills to work as part of a fundraiser on behalf of the Massac Theater, the only screen in town, which has been closed for several years. Locals were working hard to collect donations to restore it and hopefully reopen in time for the premiere of Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel in 2013. McDaniel’s mad, brilliant contribution was to show up Saturday morning at 6 a.m. and serve breakfast sandwiches and drinks to those of us waiting in line for autograph tickets. Let it be stated for the record that His Honor’s personally grilled sandwiches didn’t skimp on either the sausage or the awesomeness. This, for me, sets a new standard for hours-long convention lines that Wizard World and ReedPOP would do well to imitate.

About the Massac Theatre: this is its current state. Hence the fundraiser. Last known donation details can be found here.

The Superman statue is no longer the only three-dimensional art in town. This was our first chance to see the new Lois Lane statue at the corner of 8th and Market, a loving tribute to Adventures of Superman costar Noel Neill, a gues of multiple Celebrations who recently picked up stakes and moved to Metropolis to enjoy retirement among friends and fans alike.

On the side of the Superman Museum is a mural saluting five generations of Superman actors: Kirk Alyn, Brandon Routh, Christopher Reeve, Dean Cain, and George Reeves. Time will tell if Henry Cavill’s performance in Man of Steel will inspire the town to slosh buckets of turpentine on one of them so he can be inserted into the lineup.

Also next to the museum: Kryptonian soft drinks that explode with flavor.

If only other towns were this candid about their mysterious store closings, so many unsightly rumors would never be born.

Brainiac represents for the villains. Curiously, I didn’t spot a single Lex Luthor anywhere.

Right to left: Supergirl, Mary Marvel of the classic SHAZAM! Family, and the Golden Age Green Lantern, presented with zero interest in sociopolitical commentary.

The Justice Society of America was out in full force, courtesy of Stargirl, Dr. Fate, and Black Canary.

JSA part 2: Hawkman, Hawkwoman, and recent addition Cyclone, with special guests Isis and Hawkman’s old partner the Atom.

JSA part 3: Wildcat! Complete with boxing gloves.

Live reenactment of “Flash of Two Worlds” with Jay Garrick and Barry Allen minus the falling girder.

The best Classic X-Men gathering I’ve ever seen in person. I like that li’l Beast is even barefoot. I approve of the accuracy. If only a grandparent could’ve tagged along as Professor X, but navigating the streets with two wheeled vehicles might’ve proved too difficult an imposition.

Mrs. and Mrs. Green Hornet and Kato. If only their DVD rights weren’t in limbo like some other famous 1960s super-hero TV shows we could mention.

Classic Robin, variant Superman I can’t place, and mystery costume that’s driven me nuts. I know I’ve seen it before, but I’m totally drawing a blank. This is why old age sucks.

Magog, one of the more recent DC characters on hand. If you haven’t already read Mark Waid and Alex Ross’ Kingdom Come, don’t ask me to explain him to you. Let’s just confirm he’s with DC and not a true harbinger of endtimes.

Miss Captain America with Wonder Woman boots. Improvisation is acceptable.

One of the few costumes from neither Marvel nor DC was Neo from The Matrix, bullet-time pose and all. When the temperatures rose in the afternoon, he shifted gears and switched to a more traditional Jedi outfit. I don’t blame him.

Neo also posed with Dark Clark.

My favorite costume of the day: Otis himself, straight outta Otisburg.

In closing, please enjoy these bonus photos of the Luthor father/daughter team, who conspired to make this one of the liveliest Celebrations yet.