Disney’s “Wreck-It Ralph” Has First Trailer Ever to be Made Entirely of Easter Eggs

This week saw the release of the first trailer for the next Walt Disney Animated Classic, Wreck-It Ralph, which promises to do for video game characters what Who Framed Roger Rabbit? did for cartoon characters — namely, see how many entertainment companies are willing to stuff theirs into the same clown car as their competitors’.

Casual gamers should obviously recognize King Bowser from the Super Mario Bros empire. Anyone who doesn’t know Clyde from Pac-Man won’t be using the Internet to see this trailer or watching movies made after 1980 anyway. I like to think I made it to level 3 by recognizing a King Malboro from Final Fantasy X-up.

After watching the trailer a second time, I suspect all the pieces and clues of this clever how-many-can-you-name trivia game have also been used to construct a sort of movie to connect the various stages of the game. The difficult part to perceiving this value-added extra is ignoring the game and paying attention to the dialogue instead. That’s harder than it sounds, considering this may be the first recorded instance of a modern game whose cutscene graphics are of equal quality to the in-game graphics. (Sorry, Agni’s Philosophy — you were so close. If only graphics processor technology had progressed at a more supernatural rate for your sake.)

The Wreck-It Ralph Theatrical Trivia Game stars Academy Award Nominee John C. Reilly (Chicago, Step Brothers), Jack McBrayer (30 Rock), Jane Lynch (Glee), Brandon T. Jackson (cruelly underrated in Tropic Thunder), and hopefully hundreds of video game voice actors. If Steve Blum isn’t somewhere in this film, then there’s no point to its existence.

James Bond vs. Not-Jason Bourne: Who Will Be America’s Next Jason Bourne?

Last weekend I finally watched Daniel Craig’s second James Bond film, Quantum of Solace after years of stalling due to unenthusiastic reviews. I’ve never been a big James Bond fan and, to be honest, have seen less than half the films — one Connery, a few Roger Moore, all the Brosnan ones except Goldeneye, and both Daniel Craig joints. So far, Casino Royale is the only one that I would rate above a B. That may be because Craig is less suave and sophisticated, more pragmatic, and definitely more bruised and bloodied. Not that I crave movie blood, but his Bond sweats and struggles more on the job than his pampered alternate-Earth predecessors did in my limited experience. Heroes spoiled rotten don’t appeal much to me. Batman may be rich, but you can tell he still has to put effort into what he does.

Perhaps it helps that Craig’s Bond seems less like traditional Bond and more like Jason Bourne — an unlikely hero who saves the day through determination, intense fist-fighting, handheld cameras, and smash-cuts into smash-cuts. Quantum of Solace seems brazen about its co-opting of the Bourne method. I didn’t mind at all until the action paused for character moments, few of which stacked up to the quiet moments and tense complications (exception: any and all uses of Dame Judi Dench). With half the movie sturdy and half of it wanting, Quantum didn’t quite find the same balance that director Paul Greengrass did in the second and third Bournes.

It remains to be seen, then, which of the upcoming spy films will rise above and bear the crown of the Bourne heir apparent. In this corner: Craig’s next Bond film, Skyfall:

This first teaser doesn’t offer nearly enough fluid fight samples for my taste, though that shadowy figure near the end is rumored to be special guest villain Javier Bardem. If anyone can grace us with a far more memorable presence than either of Craig’s last two opponents, Bardem is a safe bet.

In the other corner: The Bourne Legacy, starring Jeremy Renner as a spiritual doppelgänger of Matt Damon.

Stars a-plenty in that one. Edward Norton! Rachel Weisz! Joan Allen! Albert Finney! Rhys Ifans! David Strathairn! And is that Zelkjo Ivanek? (Well, I thought it was him.) And I probably missed even more. The Alley-Swoop-Cam shot at the end shows promise, though it’s a wee derivative of the window-jump shot from The Bourne Ultimatum.

Despite the months separating their release dates, I look forward to the cage match.

Chairs: the Silent, Comfy Killer (and other scandalous forms of filler)

My wife and I are still old-school enough that we still have the newspaper delivered twice a week. The Sunday edition of the Indianapolis Star has grocery coupons, occasionally meaty stories of local interest, and Bill Amend’s FoxTrot. The Thursday edition has a weekly section with a few pages focusing on our side of Indianapolis, a thorough list of indie films opening Friday in large cities that will never see the light of day in Indy, and the wicked insight of the current bearer of the proud Miss Manners mantle.

The Sunday paper is still the heaviest newspaper of the week, but once I’ve finished perusing the worthwhile parts, the bulk of it doesn’t take long to plow through. I don’t shop through the classifieds. I don’t like sports. Their home decorating tips are for nicer houses and neighborhoods than ours. Letters from readers are partisan overreactions of gut feeling without the burden of spending five minutes researching their topic first. And the Procter & Gamble coupons always offer chintzy discounts on the same dozen overpriced products our household never uses.

Most quickly skipped are the two or three pages buried in the back of the lead section that cover recent college science studies. Usually they’re finds and results along the lines of “Study Concludes Too Much Coffee Ruins Sleep” or “Scientists Declare Coffee Drinkers Live Longer” or “Purdue Team Says Coffee Causes Tusk Cancer in Narwhals” or “Statistics Prove Coffee Improves Navel Lint Production” or “Survey Shows Coffee Causes Unnecessary Medical Surveys”. Those add little to my life and consequently receive not even the courtesy of a five-second skimming.

I always figured such pieces were a subtle form of space-filler between back-section ads. However, I was surprised to run across an online article of the same variety. Apparently, employees who sit down a lot are more likely to be sedentary and die more quickly that average:

“All-cause mortality increased as BMI increased from normal weight to overweight to obese (5.0, 6.8, and 9.4 deaths/1000 person-years, respectively). The trend was similar for CV/metabolic disease mortality (1.8, 2.8, and 4.4 deaths/1000 person-years, respectively). After adjusting for BMI and other variables (light and hard exercise, education, sex, general health, smoking status, and cardiac disease), sedentary work was associated with higher all-cause mortality and cardiac/metabolic disease mortality compared with occupations with significant walking, significant walking or lifting, or heavy physical labor.”

The conclusion reached through the miracle of science: somehow, non-exercise doesn’t give us the exercise we need to live.

Even more stunning: the article egregiously fails to warn me that I’m killing myself slowly through the mere act of sitting here, reading that article, and then typing about it. I don’t even have to be at work to place myself at risk. (And YOU, the Viewers at Home: unless you’re jogging and reading this on your cell phone at the same time, I’m enabling your own descent into the abyss. Dreadful sorry about that.) Sure, my fingers will stay healthy, but mere digits cannot support an entire arterial network on their own. Alas, if only they could. Perhaps college science should find a way to make that happen. Until that transcendent day, the lives of millions of cubicle dwellers and Internet denizens hang in the balance.

Really, though, I’m not sure how this merited posting online. Most websites don’t have space to fill, do they? At least I have an excuse: I’m distracted by the need to prepare for our road trip this weekend and should be doing other things right now. I doubt the purveyors of that special report on can say the same. If they can, awesome. I look forward to swapping Superman Celebration memories with them in person. Perhaps we should make a point of jogging in place while we share.

America Salutes Time Traveler Who Killed Wrong Butterfly, Extended Ray Bradbury’s Life 50 Extra Years

The Internet already paid all the best tributes to legendary fantasy/sci-fi author Ray Bradbury, who passed away June 5th at age 91. All I can add are my votes for favorite Bradbury moments:

Favorite movie adaptation: Something Wicked This Way Comes. Sinister carnival comes to small town; ringmaster tries to lure local kids into the exotic carny life…of eeeeevil. I first read about it in Muppet Magazine in a silly movie review section “written” by Statler and Waldorf. Even their crotchety descriptions made it sounds appealing. I caught it on cable TV as a preteen and loved every uneasy minute of it. Young, creepy Jonathan Pryce is all promises and temptations, lording his slithery nefariousness all over Jason Robards and a couple of meddling kids. To this day I’m still a little edgy around merry-go-rounds because of this flick.

Favorite audio adaptation: “A Sound of Thunder”, as part of “Bradbury 13”, a one-time BYU/NPR co-production of radio-drama performances of classic Bradbury shorts. I own six of them on audiocassette, including such suspenseful tales as “Kaleidoscope” (think Cast Away in the vacuum of space, minus hope) and “The Wind” (panicky man terrified by alleged killer weather), but “Thunder” was my favorite of the sextet for introducing me to the now-famous “butterfly effect” concept, and for fun foley-artist dinosaur sounds. Not too long ago the same story was adapted into a full-length made-for-cable movie that I’m afraid to watch because I don’t want to know how much they padded it.

Favorite short story:The Pedestrian“. In a future where no one takes a walk for pleasure, a man decides to take a walk for pleasure and is branded an unfathomable lunatic. For anyone who’s ever engaged in a simple pastime that no one else gets (collecting Hummel figurines, paint-by-numbers, unicycling, solitaire with real playing cards, blogging), Bradbury knew your discomfort long before you did.

If only the rest of us could live so long, and with even a fraction of his imagination.

Comics I’m Not Reading: “Before Watchmen”, the Most-Debated Prequels Since “The Phantom Menace”

I’d like to think it’s possible to hold and express an opinion on this subject without hyperbolic vitriol. The situation, as I understand it, is superficially summarized as follows:

For a quarter of a century, DC has refrained from cranking out excess Watchmen merchandise because Paul Levitz, Action Publisher, allegedly nixed any and all such ideas. Levitz is now retired. Coincidentally, DC just so happens to be cranking out excess Watchmen merchandise, including but not limited to 35 issues’ worth of prequels labeled Before Watchmen, each written and drawn by talented people with whom DC has favorable business relationships. Co-creator Alan Moore has voiced his helpless displeasure publicly, as is de rigueur for him whenever anyone so much as flips through a used copy of one of his past projects, let alone threatens to adapt, reboot, or synthesize new works directly from one. Co-creator Dave Gibbons has given the project a boilerplate blessing, but is neither writing nor drawing any of the 35 issues.

Watchmen was a milestone publication, a seminal work in a medium that’s produced very few positively seminal works in the last ten years. It was a self-contained, self-sufficient work with a beginning, a middle, an end, and all the necessary parts to connect those three sections in a functional, entertaining, thought-provoking, sophisticated, even literary fashion. It neither promised nor required any serialized continuation, any additional volumes in a planned trilogy, or any superfluous world-building for fans who don’t know the meaning of the word “enough”. As with many non-comic books, you didn’t have to read dozens of other books first in order to understand it. In that quality alone it’s become retroactively unique in comparison to today’s average DC comic. Some would prefer the story be allowed to stand as-is, no extensions or rehashes needed.

(Even though last DC’s New 52 relaunch last year was ostensibly in the name of simplifying its shared universe, over half the 52 have now undergone, or are in the middle of, advertised crossover events with each other. The novelty of a self-contained story seems to displease the marketing department and is therefore being left to creator-owned comics that don’t have as much ancillary merchandise to move, or to mass-market novels that outsell comics by a wide margin. For value-added scorecard consternation, their old multiple-Earth concept, previously junked for a new generation when it was determined to be too confusing, is now being unearthed from its mothballed storage and trotted out for an even newer generation, to reuse and reset the stage for new forms of market complication and saturation. “Simple” and “unique” are watchwords no more, if in fact they every sincerely were.)

Others are upset on Alan Moore’s behalf and shun DC for perpetuating his creations without his permission. Setting aside the Charlton Heroes that were the initial, baseline impetus for each of the Watchmen characters (who, once fully realized, became clearly distinguished unto themselves), I’ve found it a curious reaction nonetheless. Of all Marvel’s and DC’s respective dozens of ongoing series of the moment, I’d be surprised if even 1% were written and drawn by any of the characters’ original creators. This has failed to bother the majority of the comics-buying public for decades, unless all those millions of former readers really were that upset when they realized Jack Kirby was never returning to Marvel. Watchmen had a good run when it came to retaining an artistic purity in lieu of being passed on to other hired hands. It kept that status much longer than other intellectual properties generally do.

(Frankly, I won’t be surprised if the Before Watchmen event is followed up with an ongoing Watchmen series that reinterprets the entire milieu as an new alternate Earth in the DC multiverse. I can imagine a DC corporate sect that would really, truly love to replace the iconicity of Watchmen with the interchangeability of any other super-hero comic. Somewhere out there is a fan base that would hand over fistfuls of dough to see pointless fistfights between Batman and Ozymandias, Dr. Manhattan and the Spectre, or the original Silk Spectre and Ma Hunkel. And elsewhere out there is a DC exec who’d love to give it to them. Well, maybe not that last match. I’m sure they’d substitute Wonder Woman and Silk Spectre, and probably add a kiddie pool filled with Jell-O Pudding.)

Still others have rolled their eyes simply at the overwhelming publicity that DC has whipped up to justify the occasion. We have tons of in-house ads, more merchandise coming down the pipeline than ever before, and even a TV commercial. Worst of all, I think, are the discomfiting interviews, such as those cited in Tuesday’s USA Today puff piece. Memorable quotes include:

“The strength of what comics are is building on other people’s legacies and enhancing them and making them even stronger properties in their own right…”

Read: “Sooner or later, everyone has to give up the toys they built and let someone else play with them.” This reminds me of when my cousins would come over to my house, play with my Legos when I wasn’t home, and wreck my hard-constructed houses and vehicles so they could use the pieces to make something much crappier. This situation did not somehow make Legos better, nor would it have helped if someone else had broken their crappy constructs and helped perpetuate a never-ending cycle of toy abuse.

“I’ve written Superman and Batman and the Fantastic Four and the Hulk. Where do I get off saying, ‘You can’t use my characters!’ when I made much of my career using other people’s characters?”

Read: “I’ve broken plenty of other people’s toys before. Why stop now?” If one draws the line here, then one is a hypocrite. No one wants to be called a hypocrite. That’s worse than being called a conservative. Therefore, helping Before Watchmen succeed is a moral imperative! Brilliant!

“Watchmen’s probably the most brilliant mainstream comic-book script ever written, but I think Dave gets way less credit and his voice doesn’t seem to matter in this argument…The artist is the guy whose vision puts that book in your hands. Without the artist, it’s just the script.”

This is similar to the argument used to devalue the contributions of Hollywood screenwriters. I recall an article in the fanzine Amazing Heroes from back in the day that stated Moore’s script for Watchmen #1 was over 100 pages. That’s a little large to be minimized as “just” a script. Gibbons drew it exceptionally well and obviously has a say, but it seems odd that his opinion should weigh more than Moore’s just because he’s avoided any signs of overt negativity about it. Just think, if he had shown the slightest reservation, we’d instead be seeing twice as many interviews with the original colorist and editor, who incidentally are participating in this. If all of them had both bowed out acrimoniously, I imagine DC would’ve hunted down anyone who did art corrections or handled color plates, until sooner or later Before Watchmen would receive a public thumbs-up and some street cred from any live creature they could legally proclaim as “one of the original creators”. As opposed to batty ol’ whatshisname across the pond who just did some light typing and thought the Question should have a different mask.

“While Watchmen has made a bunch of ‘best of’ lists in the mainstream, the book itself is mostly iconic only in comic-book circles…I don’t believe these characters mean much to the ‘normal’ people who recognize Spider-Man or Batman or the Hulk. But the 30-somethings who have left the hobby behind? They’ll be intrigued enough to possibly hit the local comic store.”

If they still have a comic shop in their area. And if today’s cover prices don’t induce sticker shock compared to Watchmen‘s original $1.50 per issue. And if no one tells them that their former hero Alan Moore (“Ohhh, yeah, the Swamp Thing and Miracleman guy! Dude, he was GREAT!”) had nothing to do with this.

“There are some people who are drawing a line in the sand saying, ‘I’m not going to buy any sort of Watchmen prequel, especially since Alan Moore is disapproving of it…But it will be very difficult for some of these hard-line purists to ignore a new Darwyn Cooke book on the shelf they don’t have. While they’re saying one thing, these books are going to be going home with people.”

I don’t hate Darwyn Cooke, but I’m not a hardcore fan, either. The New Frontier didn’t do much for me as a non-fan of DC’s Silver Age, and I found his take on Will Eisner’s The Spirit irritating in its reliance on PG profanities that the original stories never needed. Regardless of my minority opinion, if those prodigal thirtysomethings have been AWOL for that long, then they probably have no idea who he is and won’t care about his name on the covers.

In general, I’m not furious that Before Watchmen exists. I’m just not in a position to care for it.

The writers and artists involved each range from pretty talented to extremely talented, but none of them are on my ever-dwindling buy-on-sight mental list. I’m no longer the kind of reader who follows favorite characters regardless of whether they’re in the hands of geniuses or hacks. And despite whatever unanswered questions Watchmen might have held or inspired, none of them pique my curiosity. But for me, Watchmen is over and done.

Even more importantly, even if I wanted to succumb to the temptation of Lee Bermejo drawing a mean Rorschach, at this point in my life a 35-comic event is beyond my budget and interest level. I’m not exactly running out of comics to collect right now. My new-comics list this week is eight strong. Of those, two are Marvel, one is DC, and five are neither. That’s how my tastes are running these days. With one exception, I’m not reading any crossovers this year, indulging in any line-wide events, or actively acquiring any new encyclopedic knowledge about what passes for continuity in the Marvel or DC universes. I stopped following all the X-books and most Avengers titles years ago, and in recent months I’ve dropped many New 52 titles as a result of unwanted crossovers. I still have plenty of smaller, self-contained monthly works from Image and other publishers to keep me going (in addition to a scant handful of Big Two), to say nothing of the shameful backlog of unread books and graphic novels I keep amassing and slowly whittling down as free time permits. I’m not interested in cutting other titles or ignoring other purchases to make room for something as mammoth as Before Watchmen. Partial participation is no good, either — every issue will contain part of a serial that only makes sense if you buy into the whole shebang. Those pages will be wasted on me, as will whatever other sneaky connections the books will have between them to ensure their readers are overcome with the urge for completism. Such is the DC way.

It’s not like I’m renouncing Watchmen forever. My Absolute Watchmen oversized hardcover super-special edition remains on the shelf for the occasional revisit. If someone wants to play in that same playground, that’s up to them, but I’m not required by law to watch.

My “Mad Men” Season 5 Finale Predictions, 100% Accurate on Some Alternate Earth

Mad Men has already thrown a plethora of unexpected twists and pivots at us this year, but has one more hour at its disposal to see if it can top itself even more outlandishly. One can only hope the season 5 finale, “The Phantom”, will join the ranks of “The Wheel” and “Shut the Door. Have a Seat” as another finale to end all finales.

I’m terrible at guessing what happens next in any given show. Like all other failed prognosticators, that never stops me from trying. I may look weird keeping a book by my side while I watch, for something to occupy my time during commercials or sex scenes, but rest assured I’m otherwise paying attention, keeping mental tabs as best I can with my aging memory, and harboring my own half-baked theories about what ought to happen next. Fortunately, whatever happens is usually much more stunning.

Momentary pause here for courtesy spoiler alert before I proceed. If you’re not caught up through the June 3rd episode “Commissions and Fees”, or if you just don’t care, your exit strategy should be executed right about now. Please allow me to have you escorted to safety by this authentic 1960s artifact, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

The Ghost of DC Movies Past, Present, and Yet to Come.

And now, on with my false prophecies about “The Phantom”:

* With Mrs. Pryce left behind in surprise financial dire straits, Pete offers to buy her green Jaguar as a gesture of charity, albeit for a song. For some reason the car starts just fine for him. Pete spends his long drive back to the suburbs with all the windows down, the radio cranked up, and imagining himself a Real Man. Halfway home he’s pulled over for doing 80 in a 25 MPH zone. The Jaguar is impounded. Pete is not happy.

* The funeral is a somber yet extravagant affair. With Lane’s overseas colleagues all declining to attend and Mrs. Pryce unable to speak, Don steps to the podium and delivers a eulogy that was written by Megan in about six minutes on the back of a funeral program. It is the Greatest Eulogy of All Time. Pete fumes with envy.

* A suddenly lucid and desperate Roger proposes to six different women: the twin models who witnessed his heart attack, Peggy’s brash friend Joyce, Don’s receptionist Dawn, his ex-wife Mona, and li’l Sally. We have to wait until next season to find out which one said yes. Pete overhears Roger’s end of the phone conversation, then stomps away muttering like an angry child about how he wishes he could go out and remarry every two years.

* Two months into her new job, Peggy is flourishing as a creative force at Cutler, Gleason & Chaough. Shockingly, Ted Chaough has proven not to be a lech. She later attends a business mixer with one of CGC’s major clients, the life insurance company that employs Pete’s commuter buddy. She has a chance encounter with Pete’s one-time fling, Mrs. Commuter Buddy, who’s attending the party dutifully with her husband. Casual small talk escalates into a tearful confession. Peggy somehow puts two and two together from the scant clues, makes a beeline for her old offices, kicks Pete right in his Campbell Soup Cans, and exchanges strained pleasantries with Don on her way out. Pete cannot breathe for the rest of the day.

* Don rehires previously laid-off copywriter Danny Siegel (Danny Strong) to handle the Jaguar account for him while he himself, emboldened by the Dow deal, decides go after a bigger fish than Jaguar: the great and powerful Rolls Royce. Don is convinced that their Phantom series (we have episode title!) is Where It’s At. By episode’s end, Don can’t close the deal without Megan’s help, but she refuses because of auditions and ambitions and such. The chase proves to be just another Dulcinea that teaches us the real “phantom” is the fleeting nature of happiness or business success or absolute manhood or whatever. Pete’s only moment of joy in the episode occurs when he realizes Danny is the first adult male he’s ever met who’s punier than he is.

* Betty and Henry have a mild argument or something. No one cares.

* Ed “the Devil from Reaper” Baxter calls Don, tells him he has some nerve!, and awards him with Dow’s business. All of it. After a series of fake meetings and fake intense arguments, Roger formally announces Ken will be handling the account under extreme duress, but totally solo due to fictional client mandates. Pete’s blood boils.

* The bigwigs at Heinz announce they’re so in love with the work that Michael Ginsberg and Stan Rizzo have done for their baked bean ads, they’re moving all of Heinz’ other accounts to the firm, including Big Catsup. Pete finds an excuse to leave the meeting abruptly with his face red and hot steam whistling out his ears, even though this subplot has virtually nothing to do with him.

* Trudy puts on the frumpiest dress she owns and announces she’s pregnant again. She wonders if perhaps they’ll need to move into a larger house even farther away from Manhattan, possibly as far as western New Jersey. Pete responds by climbing to the top of a water tower, wielding the trusty rifle that he obtained years ago in exchange for a duplicate chip-‘n’-dip set, and begins firing indiscriminately at innocent passersby. He doesn’t hit a single live target, but shatters the window of a beauty shop, where the bullet destroys a Clearasil display. Pete’s father-in-law is not happy. After he runs out of ammo, Pete throws his emptied gun at Trudy (missing by a wide margin), slips off his perch and onto the ground. The authorities toss him into a paddy wagon and wave him off. Our last sight of Pete is him clawing at the windows and frothing at the mouth. Trudy is later consoled by her new neighbors, Troy and Abed.

* The firm name is changed to Draper Sterling Cooper Harris. Pete’s head explodes.

Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Indirectly Saluted with Viewing of “The King’s Speech”

My wife is a much greater fan of British royalty than I’ll ever be. She’s studied and retained much of their history and knows the order of succession to a fair magnitude. As far as my superficial interest is concerned, if they’re not frequently mentioned in entertainment headlines, they’re not in line for the throne. Whenever we see Oscar-nominated movies about British kings and queens, she explains their history and context anew every time with the patience of a saint. Of all the responsibilities and skills we’ve divided between the two of us in our blissful marriage, Knowledge of European History is firmly in her bailiwick, just as Slightly Advanced Math is in mine.

I knew nothing about Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee until I learned how it would interfere with this week’s release schedule for British comic shops. As usual, my shoddy post-school method of learning about history brings me new awareness of my surroundings from unexpected sources. I knew she’s been queen longer than I’ve been alive, but I had no idea her reign is about to enter its seventh smash decade.

Today we had company over for a few hours, with tentative plans to watch a movie. I thought to pop in something vaguely on-topic, but we don’t have The Queen. I went with the closest possible film on hand — The King’s Speech, the story of how her father Colin Firth learns about leadership and friendship from Captain Barbossa after Dumbledore passes away and Firth’s older brother Memento Guy abdicates the throne for the sake of true lust. Or something like that.

Elizabeth and her sister appear in just a few key scenes. From ages eight to thirteen, Elizabeth and her sister Margaret, who I’m told was also eventually well-known, are among those few subjects who demonstrate patience with their king, fully understand his impediment, and respond to him with love and encouragement anyway. This positive reinforcement is in direct contrast to the hundreds of other characters and extras, whose expressions of awkwardness and discomfort would fit right into a typical episode of The Office (either version). Having never been under the Queen’s rule, I’m not in a position to draw any parallels, whether genuine or ironic, between that portrayal and her reign to date. I tend to think the filmmakers were aiming for utmost respect.

As tributes to HRH go, I could’ve gone with much worse. I also have the entire Naked Gun trilogy on hand. Those cameos by her convincing, put-upon stand-in may not have sent the right message this weekend.

So, happy Diamond Jubilee, then!

Lemony Snicket Prequels to be Less Series, More Unfortunate, Similarly Eventful

The thirteenth and final book in Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, aptly entitled The End, ended exactly as he promised from the outset. The finale was as depressing and disappointing as Snicket repeatedly warned readers it would be. What we followers once idealistically shrugged off as his false modesty proved to be truth in dark advertising. I found it difficult (though not impossible) to complain about my crushed expectations when I knew deep down that the author had reserved the privilege to respond, “I told you so.”

Later this year, Snicket’s clever woe returns to the new-release section of our few remaining bookstores with the first in a four-book prequel series under the umbrella title All the Wrong Questions. The first installment, Who Could That Be at This Hour?, appears to star Snicket himself at age 12 and may or may not relate to us the secret history of his initiation into the V.F.D., which may or may not stand for “Vilified Federation of Downers”. Illustrations will be provided by Seth, a much-lauded graphic novelist who prefers to remain mononymous, a word which here means, “distinguished enough to require only a single name.”

Skeptical fans are encouraged to go read the entire first chapter, which is now officially available online. The reader can infer from the opening paragraph alone that, once again, future side effects of partaking in this experience may or may not include unhappiness, heartbreak, and complaints about so many unseemly tragedies.

Entertainment Weekly indicates the release date has been moved from the original December 2012 plan up to October 23rd, all the sooner for us to get it over with — which may be desirous, if this tantalizing sample is an accurate indicator of the surprises and double-takes in store. Lord willing, perhaps the Questions tetralogy won’t also be adapted into a Jim Carrey movie that ends up as neither a series nor an event.

Adventurous “Snarked!” Deftly Reboots Walrus, Carpenter Despite Objections from Bitter, Bedraggled Lewis Carroll

Without mentioning either Wonderland or that pesky Alice, Roger Langridge’s Snarked! breathes new personality into peripheral characters from Lewis Carroll’s famous works, including but not limited to the two that have been most adapted to death. For once, the spotlight shines away from li’l blond whatshername and her complaints about nonsensical hallucinations.

Wilberforce J. Walrus is a schemer always on the prowl for free food and fortune. His old pal the Carpenter, now named Clyde McDunk in this post-Crisis continuity, is his partner in mischief because he doesn’t know any better. Imagine the mismatched duo of J. Wellington Wimpy and Lennie Small, if you will. The two hapless friends find themselves in over their heads when adventure comes a-calling in the form of the Red King’s young children, plucky Queen Scarlett and toddler Prince Rusty. The royal advisors are staging a coup, and Walrus and McDunk are the only ones who can help the royal kids find their lost father, who’s been spirited away to *gasp!* treacherous Snark Island.

Our recurring cast includes the Bellman from “The Hunting of the Snark” (now a ship’s captain missing some of his marbles), the annoying and unhelpful Cheshire Cat (worse than any given Watcher or Observer), and Our Heroes’ most relentless arch-nemesis the Gryphon, an intimidating mercenary employed by the bad guys but failing at every turn to recapture those meddling kids. Previous issues also refit the White Knight as a kindly puppeteer, the mad Tea Party attendees as pretty lousy pirates, and treacle as something worth eating.

Published under the BOOM! Studios kiddie imprint called kaBOOM, Snarked! is by no means watered down for preliterate wee ones. This frequently disadvantaged duo engage monsters and henchmen alike in the rollicking spirit of Floyd Gottfredson’s Mickey Mouse adventure strips, with the zeal of Carl Barks and the best rhyming narration since Sergio Aragonés’ Groo the Wanderer. Roger Langridge already proved with his twelve issues of BOOM!’s erstwhile Muppet Show series that he can alternate between slapstick and arcane literary references with enviable ease, so I had no reservations giving this a try, even if some of the references are flying over my head uncaught. (I like how one ostensibly young reader put it in the lettercolumn to #7: “Every time I read Snarked!, I need to have a dictionary handy. Sadly, all I have is one for Scrabble players.”)

I appreciate that my local comic shop has gone above and beyond in ordering a copy of each new issue for me every month even though I’m not strictly a pull-list customer. #8 is new in stores this week and pits Our Heroes against the enormous Bandersnatch, whom you can be sure is more frumious than ever. Individual issues are available directly from the publisher’s site, including the issue-zero intro that’s only a buck. The first trade collection is available from Amazon now; volume 2 is scheduled for October. If you’re looking for an all-ages action yarn to share with your younger relatives, or to hoard all to yourself while you decode its Easter eggs, Snarked! fills the bill most indubitably.