See, Your Tuesday Is Already Better Than You Know...

Hallelujah! We've averted another potential catastrophe!

James Cameron unveiled the coffins, and the world did not end.

I need say no more.

Some of you frequenting this blog may recall

I didn't have much use for Neil LaBute's atrocious remake of The Wicker Man,

and despite the promise of an "alternative ending not seen in theaters!", I've had no desire whatsoever to revisit LaBute's atrocity on DVD. The only way to revisit the film, or sample its hilarity, is to do what CCS student Penina Gal does, and laugh heartily every single day at

this hilarious condensation of The Wicker Man remake highlights, including footage not in the theatrical cut I saw (the ludicrous bees-over-the-head sequence: "Not my eyes!")

The beehive-over-the-head bit is truly ludicrous.

I was still zonked with this cold yesterday, though by about 4 PM I was doing much better. Still in the zone earlier in the day, I caught The Number 23 matinee in Lebanon, and wasn't particularly impressed. Full review to follow as part of the ongoing Cine-Ketchup column, but suffice to say it's essentially a Hollywood

revamp of Lance Weiler's Head Trauma,

with family ties attached for optimum loss/redemption options in the final act.

Having completed prep for Peter Money and my big CCS Wednesday field trip (completing said final prep with Marge's help at our dining room table, studiously avoiding dining), Marge and I also darted out last night at her urgent request (she had a rough day at work yesterday) to see The Snake Pit (1947) at Bruce Posner's Cine-Salon screening series at the Hanover Library, and that was big fun. If nothing else, it put Marge's tough work day in stark relief as being a lot better than having a nervous breakdown over and over and waking up after repeated shock treatments to find months had passed and -- well, you get the idea. Marge claims not to know the function of horror movies, but whenever she needs a weepie like this one, it's clear she does understand fully, she just refuses to engage. Anyhoot, Olivia deHaviland's performance still engages, even if the sanitized view of big-city asylums (the 20th Century Fox madhouse still shocked audiences of its day; Frederick Wiseman's Titicut Follies exposed the real conditions of such institutions two decades later) and streamlined Hollywood take on psychiatry pitch into the risible when seen today.

I awoke this morning not wearing a water balloon filled with A-number-one snot on my neck, so the cold is at last passing.

On to Marge.

No playing hooky today -- full day of work, off I go!

Oh, Christ!

Hang on to your crosses,

producer James Cameron and director Simcha Jacobovici are about to rock the Christian boat, big time.

Cameron is holding a New York press conference today, at which he will reveal three coffins, supposedly those of Jesus of Nazareth, his mother Mary, and none other than Mary Magdalene.This is either going to prompt incredible outrage or simply be dismissed as a publicity stunt -- only time will tell.

Just a heads up, folks, for your Monday morning coffee.

Cine-Ketchup, Monday Installment

Three remarkable documentaries and one long-suffering cat this morning, and I hope it's a good one for you...

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* Euthanasia (2006) - Where's Toonces, the Driving Cat when you need him? This sardonic 17-minute short from writer/director Adrian Grenier (of Entourage) isn't for all tastes, or audiences. Two teenage girls (Hannah Mets, Stella Maeve) dash out for a 15-minute joyride, savoring the freedom one of them having just acquired her driving license brings; distracted by futzing about with plugging in their music, the neophyte driver accidentally runs over the family cat -- and thereby hangs (literally) the tale/tail. Paul Mantel's animatronic cat puppetry manages to be realistic enough to be agonizing, cartoony enough to be funny, but cat-lovers will simply flee the theater, especially as the mayhem escalates. And oh, does it ever escalate.

The ditziness of the teens confronting this situation is sadly believable, but rest assured a couple of guys wouldn't have handled it much better (though they'd have likely just backed over the cat to put it out of its misery). The Official I Hate Cats Book indulged similar sadism for laughs, but thanks to Skip Morrow's cartooning skills there was a comfortable distance kept from the implicit sadism; a similar subject rendered this naturalistically is a tough act for some to stomach. Sick puppy that I am, I laughed, though. Four times. Score, Adrian!

* Iraq in Fragments (2006) - This didn't win the Academy Award it was nominated for (it was Al Gore and An Inconvenient Truth's evening in the documentary field), but don't let that sway you for a moment. James Longley's intimate, three-part portrait of the current situation in Iraq lives up to its title, as we spend time with Sunni, Shiite and Kurd individuals, each in their own corner of their war-torn country. The view, however, is from the ground, sans polemics other than those manifest on the streets, in garages, in the city centers and mosques.

The first and third chapters are from the perspectives of children: a barely-literate Baghdad 11-year-old boy repeating 1st Grade for the fourth year in a row, fatherless (his father was imprisoned under Saddam's regime and disappeared) and under the casually brutal dominion of an employer the boy speaks highly of, but who berates and humiliates the lad; the final chapter focuses on the handsome son of an elder Kurdish shepherd and farmer intent on his studies, but the teenager is soon resigned to working as needed so that his father (who supports the US intervention, as it has improved the Kurds lot) doesn't have to -- and on the boy's best friend, who works in the nearby brick kiln. The second, central chapter presents a disorienting & harrowing snapshot of the southern Shiite region, rallying for elections even as devout Sadr followers enforce repressive Islamic law at gunpoint, seizing, blindfolding and imprisoning 'outlaws.'

Amid the turmoil, Longley captures glimpses of the Iraqi view of America, via street conversations, TV reports overheard in cafes, and the occasional onscreen conversation. "They took out Saddam, but brought in 100 new Saddams!" one man exclaims; the Kurdish farmer content to live out his remaining years praying in mosques notes, in a despairing but accurate parable, that "God is on the side of the winner," whoever or whatever that may be. Longley's meditative, poetic exploration of post-2003 Iraq through the faces, plight and eyes of its people is inherently fragmented, but the often breathtaking collision of an unexpected intimacy with the breadth of its scope cannot be overstated. A quiet intensity builds, rises, and never subsides, despite the relative placidity of the third chapter. The smoke from the brick kiln fires evoking those of the first chapter's burning buildings and ruins: the storm, it seems, will never end. Necessary viewing.

* Manhattan, Kansas (2006) - Filmmaker Tara Wray returns to her hometown of Manhattan, Kansas for a cautious reunion with her mother -- and with a personal agenda. I think this is an excellent film, and emblematic of its current breed of documentary-as-self-therapy, and hence significant.

We're clearly amid a generational shift in documentaries, and thus far this kind of introspective, exploratory work has been reserved for only those with some measure of celebrity on either end of the generational lens: non-celebrity offspring dissecting relations with celebrity parent(s), or vice-versa (most often the former). Tara Wray has neither in her court, only her reckless, fearless determination to reunite and confront the troubled relationship with her estranged mother using the camera as her shield and her sword. Thus, the implicit compact with the audience most documentaries rely upon -- the illusory 'cloak of invisibility' the camera indulges, a voyeuristic window and scalpel -- is inherently denied: Tara makes it clear onscreen, in monologue to the viewer and dialogue with a therapist, what she is doing, why, and what she hopes to accomplish. The resulting intrusive intimacy essential to the whole of Manhattan, Kansas therefore serves a very different function from that usually reserved for documentaries: unlike, say, Ed Pincus's seminal Diaries (arguably, the wellspring of this entire genre), Tara is not so much observing her own life and that of her family as willfully using the camera as mediator, where no human mediation would likely function. Unlike An American Family (the second wellspring, the PBS docu-series about the Loud family that opened this can of worms for the masses), there's no pretense of clinical distance or objectivity; and unlike almost all others of its current breed (e.g., Tarnation, Tell Them Who You Are, Hand of God, 51 Birch Street, etc.), Tara is not trying to uncover or probe any secret aspect of her life or that of her mother. She's seeking to reconcile the visible, remembered life with her mother, seeking some common ground as an adult for the raw, loose ends of a difficult childhood and teenage relationship.

Unexpectedly, the path she sets upon proves to have a cumulative, positive impact for both Tara and her mother -- thus, the creative impetus that fueled this project, and Tara's unflinching decision to act upon that impetus and persevere, resulted in real, visible change in their lives, together and apart. This refutes the illusory passivity of the camera most documentaries are still dependent upon fostering. Could anyone but an amateur, working on her first film, have accomplished this?

The final edit crystallizes this process beautifully, retaining the key moments captured amid the days worth of footage shot (the visit to the geographic center of North America among them, though we don't realize that until the final act). If I had any doubts about the quality of this effort, the introspective passage in which Tara picks her way through the ruins of an abandoned high school gym while sorting out her own intentions put my fears to rest -- but not my ongoing dis-ease with the nature of the film itself. The discomfort this arouses is essential to the process as well as the intent and content of the film, though that unease may be too great for some.

These documentaries continue to revolve around seeing/showing/sharing that which we feel should not be seen/shown/shared, emotional terrain between estranged mother/daughter or son/father that formerly were privileged, private. There's no resolving this conundrum: at its best and its worst (e.g., reality television), the genre thrives upon, and is indeed built upon, transgressive intrusion into, and revelation of, that very real, personal space. If filmmaker and subject/parent invite, permit or tolerate the intrusion, what are we to do as viewers? Indulge, explore or retreat? The choice is as personal as the films.

This is an ideal companion feature to Shot in the Dark and 51 Birch Street, particularly Adrian Grenier's Shot in the Dark (see following review). They are perfect compliments, in terms of gender (mother/daughter, father/son), dynamic (present parent/absent parent), and filmmaker orientation (non-celebrity/celebrity), and both are first features, by young filmmakers based in NYC exploring their roots in mid-America with parents who'd embraced alternative lifestyles in the '70s -- there's much rich material to be explored here.

* Shot in the Dark (2002) - A pleasant surprise, indeed, and a neat piece of work all around. Director & actor Adrian Grenier and his pal Jon Mol construct this documentary around Adrian's search for his absent father, John, who he hasn't seen in 18 years. As they drive closer to the planned birthday reunion, intercut with interviews with Adrian's mother, family and circle of friends, questions over who his biological father might really be emerge, along with exploration of who his 'real' father was (Boris, who raised him with Adrian's mother, aggressively posits himself in that role), and what father/son relations can be, should be, and too often are.

What emerges also functions as concise autobiography, biography and a semi-parody of its genre (given the clever double coda, "Reunion: Scene One" and "Reunion: Scene Two"). It's all compulsively watchable thanks in part to Grenier's onscreen charisma and celebrity. Jon's candid rapport with Adrian keeps subject and context in perspective: when Adrian (and the film) somewhat romantically muses over the possibility of his having been a "love child" of two briefly 'in-love' hippy parents, Jon candidly says, "maybe it was just -- they met and boned." Maybe so. Nevertheless, the emotional and real-world ripples (entanglements, estrangements, self-exile, etc.) were and are quite real, and Grenier is unabashed about keeping himself, as the flesh-and-blood incarnation of that consequence, center stage. He remains in playful but genuine confrontation mode until he can sort out the reality of his birth and his parents's relationship. He laughs openly at the conceit of the film's concept and title ("...that's all I am -- all I am is a shot in the dark..."), but there is much that is sad and touching here, too, sans pretentions.

This is a fascinating companion piece to Tara Wray's Manhattan, Kansas; together, these offer a pretty remarkable portrait of the current culmination of this vein of autobiographical documentary genre. Both are at times too painfully self-introspective, too intimate; what's compelling, though, is how utterly discomforting either the complete presence (in Manhattan, Kansas) or absence (in Shot in the Dark) of the primary parent is to the now-adult child -- and to the audience/viewer. This is undeniably primal stuff Grenier and Wray are tapping at considerable risk and with considerable courage. There is no comfort zone, and that is clearly characteristic of this genre, and perhaps this generation of filmmakers. The contrast between father and son, mother and daughter relations is compelling, as is the contrast between non-celebrity (Tara) and celebrity (Adrian) in this milieu; one cannot help but wonder, for instance, if the on-camera reconciliation with the once-antagonistic stepmother in Shot in the Dark would have occurred sans Adrian's celebrity. In Manhattan, Kansas, that simply isn't a factor.

But the ever-present factor, of course, is the intrusion of the camera, the filmmaking process, in these streams of life and lives now preserved and shared on video -- and that, I dare say, is the meat of an amazing and increasingly necessary discussion.

That's all for today. Have a great Monday, one and all...

Sunday Moaning

I'm feeling under the weather completely today. My online session this AM to post early crashed, but I managed to rescue much of my original attempt to post -- here 'tis, then back to moaning and feeling miserable for this lad. My first real cold of the season -- I'm going to let it soak through.

The final word is in at last on the Mario Bava boxed set from Anchor Bay -- and Tim Lucas has posted it all

here at the Video Watchblog.

Alas, no English/AIP (American International Pictures -- the original US distributor) prints of the key '60s trio of films (Black Sunday, Black Sabbath, The Girl Who Knew Too Much/The Evil Eye) -- so reckon I'm hanging on to those old vhs versions. Still, I'm eagerly anticipating this purchase!

Thanks to Tim, an early birthday gift of the Dark Sky edition of Kill, Baby... Kill!/Operazione Paura joined my collection yesterday morning. Can't wait to screen it! I have stolen a little time to view the bonus documentary by David Gregory, in which Mario's son Lamberto tours the original locations the film was shot in over 35 years ago; astounding, really, though sections of the ancient Italian village are succumbing to decay and finally crumbling into rubble. The transfer of the film itself looks fantastic -- come dark, I'm savoring the experience of this, among my favorite of all Bava films, anew.

And speaking of screening --

CINE-KETCHUP, Part the Later

* Absolute Wilson (2006) -- Katharina Otto-Bernstein's bio-documentary of innovative theatrical director Robert Wilson (The White Raven, Einstein on the Beach, The Black Rider, etc.) is a real treat. To my eye and ear, Wilson's brand of theater makes for lively viewing -- the stark, iconographic imagery and movement; the inventive play with sound & music; the imaginative use of color, costume and body language -- and is, once integrated with the interview/'witness' format and use of archival home movie and film clips, completely cinematic.

The presentation of Wilson's life is deftly communicated in broad strokes, from his childhood in Waco, TX (with a black child, Leroy, his best friend in a segregated community and Wilson's further isolation due to his stuttering) to his early outing of his gay life & escape to New York City and exposure to the work of Merce Cunningham, John Cage, and others. The chronology moves quickly into his university, architecture, film, dance and directing theatrical career, touching on his innovative movement therapy work with brain-damaged children (a mere 15-20 minutes into the running time). The tantalizing, too-fleeting glimpses of Wilson's film The House (1965) is tied to his suicide attempt and hospitalization after his return to Waco, after which Wilson returned to NYC and his blossoming thereafter, from his ongoing non-verbal movement & dance therapy work (with paralyzed patients) to his theatrical work he is now renowned for, emerging from the hotbed of 1960s countercultural experimentation.

The expansive, playful and sculptural (in terms of movement, objects, and use of space) variety of Wilson's theatrical creations showcased throughout the film's running time makes for always engaging viewing, and director Otto-Bernstein's insistence on contextualizing every aspect and phase of Wilson's personal and creative life makes this a very satisfying experience. The onscreen presence of Susan Sontag, Philip Glass, Tom Waites, Trudy Kramer, John Rockwell, David Byrne, Jim Neu, Earl Mack, and many others is integral to the biographical tapestry Otto-Bernstein effectively weaves, further enhancing the viewing experience. A terrific documentary, highly recommended!

* The Grandfather Trilogy (1978-81) -- I'm pretty well versed in underground and experimental film history, but this trilogy from filmmaker Allen Ross was new to me. This is comprised of three short films: Papa (30 min, b&w, 1978), Thanksgiving, 1979 (color, 20 min., 1979), and Burials (color, approx 10 min., 1981). The first and third were shot in South Carolina, the second in Illinois, and these are hardly your typical 'family portrait' films. If anything, Papa isn't so much a portrait of Allen Ross's grandfather as much as it is an obfuscation: the camera is almost always on its side or akimbo, or focusing on Ross's grandfather's feet, or some other person or feature of the room or landscape, peppered with erratic sound (sometimes silent, sometimes ambient) and precious little of his grandfather really emerges. The most extensive passage offering tentative connections for viewers features Ross reading a passage from the Bible at his Grandfather's urging, and a brief exchange of words after: the camera, resting on the tabletop on its side, again captures this askew in the frame. We see a black woman walking with Grandpa, sitting alone in a car -- who is she? What's her relation? We don't know, and Allen doesn't tell or even hint. All this may have had meaning for Ross, but it conveys little but frustration to the most patient or indulgent of viewers.

Thanksgiving, 1979 has a perverse appeal in that it captures, by and large, the utter tedium of family holidays, comprised in part of shots of Grandpa and other family members sleeping (on chairs, couches) in their holiday best clothes. Everyone waves as they drive off to church; the family assembles before an (offscreen) TV, where then-current news of the Ayatollah, the hostages and Iran is heard offscreen. Same as it ever was! Burials presents Grandpa's burial, period, with a deliberately irritating soundtrack of harsh, grinding white noise (the clatter of the camera?). Together, these indeed are a coherent trilogy, but I can't admit to having gleaned much from the whole or parts.

* The Messengers (2007) -- Hard to believe my generation had so few ghost movies as reference points -- The Uninvited (1941), The Haunting and The Innocents (both 1961), and little else of note outside the Topper-like ghost comedies of the '30s and '40s were on TV (along with reruns of Topper, the TV series), and aside from 13 Ghosts, The Ghost and Mr. Chicken and Mario Bava gems like Kill, Baby... Kill!, the big screen was rarely haunted by ghosts. The largest quantity of ghost films my generation experienced were the made-for-TV movie-of-the-week outings, peopled by the likes of Hope Lange or Dennis Weaver, often produced by Aaron Spelling and/or directed by John Moxey, and rarely providing more than 90 minutes of distraction (though there were gems, including Steven Spielberg's Something Evil).

Alas, The Messengers, for all its J-horror flourishes, is the rough equivalent of one of those made-for-TV exercises, right down to its family-in-jeopardy scenario, ominous flocks of crows and remote North Dakota sunflower farm (yep, sunflowers) setting. Since the popular success of The Sixth Sense and the transoceanic import of J-horror and seemingly endless remakes of Japanese and Asian contemporary spins on the venerable genre, we old-timers can barely keep up with the plethora of almost weekly ghost flicks the current generation have been inundated with. This is the latest Ghost House Pictures opus, which I made a point of catching due to the involvement of co-directors Danny and Oxide Pang, whose Bangkok Dangerous (1996), Gin gwai/The Eye (2002) and sequel I quite enjoyed.

The Pang Brothers bring their usual eye and ear for the uncanny to bear here, but the formulaic strait-jackets simultaneously defining and confining this contemporary vein of ectoplasmic antics prevents the film from ever transcending its TV-movie premise or feel. The cast is TV-movie perfect, including Northern Exposure and Sex and the City's John Corbett's turn as the wanderer-turned-handyman so integral to the plot and a red herring appearance by ol' X-Files Cancer Man himself William B. Davis, but I'm happy to report that Kristen Stewart (Panic Room, Cold Creek Manor, Undertow, etc.) almost elevates this up a notch thanks to her sympathetic performance alone as the unhappily displaced teen daughter. The visualizations of the malignant spirits plaguing the remote farm house and grounds will seem like just more Grudge residue to the casual viewer, but the fact is these spidery, spastic wraiths clinging so tenaciously to the ceilings are lifted from William Peter Blatty's underrated The Exorcist III, which was where I first saw this kind of imagery evoking a real chill. Thanks to CGI, the crow massings and attacks are worthy of The Birds; Ub Iwerks would have been proud. The Pangs do all they can with the material they've been given to work with, managing to mount a couple of effective setpieces and maintain an integrity of visual design and pacing worthy of better source material, but it all succumbs to the unfortunate over-familiarity of the narrative, which wouldn't have worked up a sweat back on 1973 ABC-TV's lineup. I wish I'd have made the extra ten minute drive to Blood and Chocolate instead; at least the premise of that flick (werewolves and -- cartoonists!) rings a bell closer to home.

* Music and Lyrics (2007) -- A Marge movie choice, and a painless way to pass the time... though I'm no fan of this kind of sitcom-style romantic comedy fluff, so take whatever I have to say here with a vast vat of salt. Writer/director Marc Lawrence (Life With Mikey, Miss Congeniality, etc.) maintains the light touch of all his work, and the matching of Hugh Grant (as 'washed up' '80s music star Alex Fletcher) and Drew Barrymore (as surprise freelance-plant-caretaker-turned-lyricist Sophie Fisher) seemed to work for the audience we saw it with. I perversely couldn't forget that Grant was in Maurice roughly the same time Drew was in Babes in Toyland (1985/6) -- that kept things in perspective, especially once they were coupling (offscreen) under the piano. The core of this confection revolves around lovely but (intentionally) vacuous Haley Bennett, neatly sending up the 21st Century pop scene playing teen pop sensation Cora Corman, a tidy conflation of every blonde teen pop starlet of the past six years. You see, Cora is a fan of Alex's MTV-era band "Pop" and gives Alex mere days to compose a new tune for her upcoming CD and tour, and ol' Alex sorely needs the career resurrection this might provide. Enter Sophie, filling in for Alex's usual apartment plant-caretaker (someone to water his plants -- I know, I know, it didn't make a lick of sense to this backwoods fella, either. Water your own fucking plants!), thus our two star-crossed lovers-to-be meet "cute," and begin the unlikely lyricist/composer relationship this whole chick flick revolves around. And around. And around.

This inherently coy tease of a genre depends eternally on deferring, delaying and waylaying the inevitable union of its protagonists -- when will they get together? What will seperate them? What will the reconciliatory moment be? -- and Lawrence juggles those requirements and expectations skillfully enough, though it's usually sheer agony to me. The oddest aspect of this film that kept distracting me had to do with how little the New York City locations looked like New York -- is it just me? Thankfully, the clever framing conceit (the film opens with Pop's 1984 music video, "Pop Goes My Heart," and closes with the Pop-Up Video reboot of same) and satiric collision of 1980s pop music conventions with 2006 pop music conventions is neatly maintained stem to stern; it ain't deep, but it is entertaining enough for this one-time music video junkie. I'm not vulnerable to either Grant's patter or Barrymore's perk, but there are a couple of laughs at Grant's expense, passages of clever dialogue and exchange, and all ends happily. A nice evening out -- nothing more, nothing less.

* The Other Way Back: Dancing With Dudley (2006) -- This is an excellent regional VT/NH documentary on Contra Dance populist Dudley Laufman (aka William Dudley Laufman) from local filmmaker/teacher David Millstone, a followup to his first documentary on New England Contra Dancing, Paid to Eat Ice Cream. Made with considerable more polish and skill than Paid to Eat Ice Cream (which was a solid piece of work, nonetheless), Millstone once again brings his passion for the contra dancing tradition to bear, composing an affection and thorough portrait of poet/Quaker/musician/caller Dudley Laufman of Canterbury, NH.

Laufman's career dates back to 1953; he was a Quaker who registered as a conscientious objector, a 'back to the land' poet with roots in Brattleboro, VT, Concord, NH and his home in Canterbury, NH, and he emerged as the keystone of the Contra Dancing revival of the '70s. Laufman's devotion to the tradition, and the passing on of that tradition, is manifest, from his 1965 Newport Folk Festival participation and subsequent workshop to his absolutely vital, pivotal leadership of the 1970s Contra Dance revival, which also had its political and social dimensions, fully articulated herein. Millstone's integration of on-camera interviews with Laufman himself along with Vince O'Donnell, Dillon Bustin, Jack Perron, Randy Miller and many others is compelling, gracefully orchestrated with an abundance of archival concert footage (the earliest dating from 1964, though the most extensive archival material dates from 1974-75), onscreen use of clippings, posters, flyers and other artifacts of Laufman's career, and plenty of contemporary footage. Millstone doesn't shy away from Laufman's reputation as a womanizer (including comments from charmed women), or his 'fade' from the scene as other contra bands blossomed in the wake of his mid-'70s popularization of the dance; this culminated in Laufman's decision to mount family dances and work with local schools, passing the core traditions on to new generations of youth as he saw others (to his mind) modernize and dilute those original traditions of music and dance. It's all here, and we're the richer for it.

Have a great Sunday, what's left of it...

Inkslingers, Assemble!

Compliments of curator Idoline Duke of

the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe, VT

comes this tasty portrait from

this past Wednesday's VT cartoonists gatherum in Burlington.

From left to right, back row: Jeff Danziger, James Kochalka, and yours truly; front row: Harry Bliss, Ed Koren, James Sturm. A fine time was had by all, and the dinner afterworks (at the Pacific Rim eatery) was delish and great fun.
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Zombies Bios

Here's the lineup of fellow American cartoonists I appear alongside in the upcoming Accent UK Zombies anthology. More info & images as May -- and the anthology's publication -- approaches!

Daniel Bissette is a native Vermonter (b 1985) and has been drawing, writing and making music of one kind or another (drums, guitar, etc.) all life. His art appears in an Italian book on Lucio Fulci, onscreen in Lance Weiler's new feature film Head Trauma, on its companion alternative soundtrack CD Cursed, and his first self-published zine was Hot Chicks Take Huge Shits (2006). He lives in Brattleboro, VT, DJs for the local radio station, and he and his dad Steve jammed on a piece for the mini-comic Trees & Hills and Friends before re-teaming for this anthology.

Chuck Forsman currently attends The Center for Cartoon Studies in White River Junction, Vermont where he researches how to sleep less and draw more. Visit

http://mcbuck.wordpress.com.

Jaci June is a student of the Center for Cartoon Studies, and a former resident of southern California. Comix for Jaci are what brains are for zombies: vital sustenance.

Sean Morgan: Born a cowboy, raised a Creole, forever a Yankee. There's no button Mr. Morgan won't push. His artwork (including the monster cover/splash) graces the “Jersey Devil” minicomic packaged with the Heretic DVD release of The Last Broadcast.

Bob Oxman was born in Ohio and raised in New Hampshire where he discovered his three loves: comic books, skateboarding, and beer. Bob started drawing comics in math class using graphing paper. At the University of California Santa Barbara, Bob and Mark Smith cofounded the Comic Book Creator’s Co-op, creating comics published in both campus newspapers and teaching a popular colloquium on graphic novels during their senior year. After college, Bob drifted through a series of uninspiring occupations (temping at a gel implants corporation, working for an insurance company, etc.), eventually moving back home to NH to attend classes at The Center for Cartoon Studies. Bob is currently hard at work on Smuttynose, a macabre retelling of the infamous Smuttynose Island, Maine axe murders of 1873, and he brews several fine beers featuring comic labels, as he works professionally in art crime prevention at the Hood Museum of Art for Dartmouth College.

Against his wishes, Morgan Pielli was born in Connecticut. Here he began creating comics of dubious quality from the tender age of seven. At age twelve his cartoons began appearing in the school newspaper; and the tragic course he had set was clear. But in an unexpected moment of weakness, Morgan decided that a classical art education was needed. After four years of painting pictures of squares bigger than his head, Morgan physically pried a BFA from the cold unfeeling hands of Bard College president Leon Botstein. Dr. Botstein shook his fist and cursed Morgan, vowing to someday have his revenge.Currently Morgan resides in Vermont where he attends the Center for Cartoon Studies. His cartoons “The Dancing Paperclip of Tormented Souls” and “Morgan's Guide to a Fruitful Life” are read by several people world-wide and enjoyed by nearly as many. Morgan's work can be found at

http://morganpielli.rated-arr.net

if you're into that sort of thing.

Jeremiah Piersol is a 2002 graduate of Art Center of College of Design, Pasadena , California (Bachelors of Fine Art). He is currently studying cartooning at The Center for Cartoon Studies, White River Junction, VT. His past endeavors including interning at the The Susquehanna Art Museum, Harrisburg, PA, and volunteer work at The State Museum of Pennsylvania, Harrisburg, PA. and The Water Street Rescue Mission, Lancaster, PA; he was born in Lancaster. Jeremiah’s interests include Art in all forms, comics, quantum physics, paranormal research, post-modern theory, and popular culture.

Denis St. John (b 1981) heralds from most of the United States (California, New Orleans, Washington D.C., the Midwest, etc.). Denis was a local children’s show host in Indiana and co-host for a midnight horror show, often playing the creature for the creature feature, alongside the very real and cranky Dr. Calamari. Denis is currently a student at the Center for Cartoon Studies in Vermont, and is trying to move on with his life after the glamour of children’s show host fame has faded.

B.C. Sterrett was born and raised in Ogden, Utah. His ongoing comic strip "The Sweetest of Dreams" has been published by Young American Comics, in entertainment rags like Melting Music and The Salt Shaker, and various other school papers, zines, and newsletters. He acts as founder and current director of the Lost Media Archive Museum and Library, salvaging and saving forgotten and obsolete media formats. Previous host of the long running "Oddity Rock Radio Show" on KWCR, he and has produced and hosted various broadcasts of rare and unusual music throughout the years (i.e. "Outsider Music" on live365.com). He is currently a student at The Center For Cartoon Studies, in White River Junction, VT. Contact: bcsterrett@gmail.com

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BTW, speaking of Blair and his creative and archival endeavors, the January 13th Lost Media Archive Museum and Library event I noted

in my January 13th post on this blog (scroll down to that day's posting, just below the glowering Varnae art) yielded photos by Blair's friend Janean Parker,

which are posted online here -- check 'em out!

Check it all out, please, and savor the beauty of it all.

Have a Great Saturday, One & All!

A Peek at the New Digs

I'm usually up by 5:30 AM -- but I was so fried from this week, and from the fourth drive up to and back from Burlington in a week, that I conked until almost 10:30 AM this morn. We drove home last night in falling and blowing snow the entire way, and I managed the drive comfortably until we were 40 miles north of White River Junction -- by then, I was just too exhausted to safely continue driving. Fortunately, Marge was wide awake and happy to take over, and we were definitely through the worst of the snow, so she drove the final stretch of I-89 and the 15 minutes of I-91 home. I barely stayed awake that final haul; had I been driving alone, I would have pulled over more than once to rub snow on my face to keep myself wide awake.

So, Marge is safely home from her trip to visit our grandchildren in Texas, and I savored our first night and (today) day together since last week.

Still, got some work done. Just wrapped up part one of the multi-chapter interview with Bryan Talbot (links to be posted here soon!), and finally have some time to post -- sorry I missed my usual AM arrival.

Photos today -- this is the shelving done thus far on our new home by David Gabriel, who (along with his brother Mike) completed this chunk of the renovations needed for my collection and library about a month ago. We're eagerly looking forward to Dave's return, as the construction of the basement library/office begins at last.

Dave and Mike did a stellar job; Dave not only fulfilled my hopes for the viewing room shelving (which, thankfully, houses all my DVDs -- finally, the library in easy reach, and in a single room!), he consistently improved upon and enhanced every aspect of the project.



Walking you around the viewing room, the first evening after Dave and Mike had finished their work on this space, you can see here the door to the room and the first bank of shelves. These extend from floor to ceiling, across the span of the interior wall and around the top of the back window --



-- which is framed on its other side by another bank of shelves.

Standing at the window, this is the view of the shelving that Dave constructed on the interior wall to the right of the window. Note the angled roofline cutting into the room; Dave's shelving perfectly follows that form, wrapping around to the inside area, and continuing alongside the door -- which is across the room from the entryway we began this room tour with.

(This door, BTW, presently opens up to the unfinished room over our garage. This will be, by summer, by writing/mailing/office space, once it's finished.)

The two doors leaning against room door are from the closet (which we'll be getting to soon enough). At this stage, the double-sliding-doors have been removed -- ostensibly for Dave and Mike's easier access to the closet work area, but these hanging doors may remain off. Time will tell.

Note, too, the small rounded corner shelving Dave created for that corner beneath the angled interior wall. This was Dave's idea, and I dig it -- it provides some shelf space for my monster figures and movie collectibles (like my drive-in speaker!), as well as one of the surround-sound speakers for the final viewing room set-up.

We've removed the two detached closet hanging doors from this shot: that's the same interior door (facing the entry door, across the room) you saw in the last photo.

This angle gives you a good view of the bank of shelving to the right of the interior door, which is the first portion I racked as I began unpacking after Dave and Mike's work was done, and I was free to begin setting up the room. All my animation collection neatly fits this space, including my beloved collection of King Kong, Willis O'Brien and Ray Harryhausen films.

Now, this is a little difficult to describe here, but if you continue looking to the right of these shelves, there's another angled wall that cuts down into the room. That angle runs the length of the wall (which is directly opposite the window, which is visible in the first and second photos I've shown you here).

That leaves precious little space for shelving, further compromised by the heating baseboard extending across almost half the length of that end of the room.

However, Dave did make optimum use of what little wall we do have to work with beneath that angled interior wall. This shot doesn't give you as clear an orientation to the layout of the room as the previous shots do, but it's the best we could get at this time.

This floor-to-beginning-of-the-angled-wall bank of shelves on the left leads into the full floor-to-ceiling set on the immediate right, which run up alongside the narrow strip of wall on the left of the wide closet doorway.

As you can see, ample shelving space, all perfectly designed for optimum racking of DVDs, with enough clearance throughout for vhs tapes and many DVD boxed sets.

Dave's efficient use of all available space, including the areas dealing with the angle-cut of the inside wall, provides a space pleasing to the eye and useful for tucking and storing odds and ends -- including remotes, etc. -- that are coming in very handy. The warmth of the wood (which Mike polyurethaned, two coats) contrasts the blue walls perfectly, and the entire room now has an expansive warmth, thanks to the woodwork, that's really comfortable to spend time with. Nice!

I should also mention, before we get to Dave's final completion of the interior closet shelving, that this was the only room of our new home we had to paint. For the original (and only preceding) owners, this was apparently the bedroom of their two little girls. It was a truly hideous patchwork of violet and pale green walls -- perhaps color-coded for the girls? -- and clearly had to go.

Marge chose this eye-soothing hue of blue, which wasn't as oppressive as the dark blue I had chosen for our Marlboro home's basement viewing room (which never, ever provided sufficient space for the sprawl of my equipment and collection, and was hardly usable in our five years there). This worked out well, and Dave began work within two days of my completing the spackling, sanding and repaint job on the walls.

Okay, back to the photo tour of the viewing room:

This is the entryway to the closet, which also showcases the shelving Dave completed for the narrow wall extending out from the right closet doorway frame. So, what you're seeing here is a portion of the interior of the closet (with the hanging doors removed, natch) and the floor-to-ceiling shelving running up along the wall outside the closet doorway -- and on to the entry door we began this photo tour with.


Here's a tighter shot of the shelves to the right of the closet door frame.

The three display shelves to the left of the entry door were Dave's idea, too. Having seen some of my monster models, which I've nowhere to put just yet, Dave asked if I'd like space to display two or three of them in this otherwise unused space by the door frame. Like all Dave's suggestions, this was a good one, and also provides a handy shelf -- directly across the room from the rounded shelves in the opposite bend-of-the-wall, visible in the third photo above -- for another of the surround-sound speakers.

Good call, Dave -- and excellent execution!



Here's the best angle we could manage to photograph the closet interior -- again, floor-to-ceiling shelving. This was a particularly tight area for Dave and Mike to work within, but per usual, they did a fantastic job. It's perfect.

These shelves are sized not for DVDs, but for larger components of the video collection: the floor shelving is designed for laserdiscs (they all fit!), the rest for big-box videos from the early years of the 1980s video market, those glorious oversized color vids from the likes of Gorgon Video, Wizard, and the rest.

Many of the titles released on vhs in the big-box format have never been issued in other any form, and for some -- like the original Herschell Gordon Lewis and Andy Milligan vhs releases, and curios like the Spectreman series -- the boxes themselves are artifacts of a key era of exploitation cinema and video that has long passed. I treasure them as much as my poster and pressbook collection. So, at my request, Dave designed and constructed this interior closet shelving to accommodate as much of this part of the ol' collection as possible.


This was the best we could do, photographing the deep interior of the inner closet shelving. It's almost impossible to get a camera into the confines of this area with enough visibility to capture what it's like inside. It's a wide, deep closet, ideal for my needs -- and it was mighty tough for Marge to give up!

Fortunately, the rest of the house has so much quality closet space, Marge has more than enough. So, this worked out fine for me.

I can't wait to complete the set up of the viewing room, and hopefully savor it for years to come. I'm beginning the setup process this weekend, and hope to watch my first movie here by next weekend.

As you can see from this little photo tour, David Gabriel has done an extraordinary job for us.

There's still much to do, work that will carry on into the summer: an unfinished room over our garage that will become my office, mailing room and writing studio; the entire basement, which is unfinished and will become my sorely-needed library for books, magazine, comics and the collection; and Marge's screened-in back deck porch, which we'll get to once the ground thaws, dries and spring is here.

But that's a long way off just now.

Have a great weekend, one and all, and see you here as time permits...

Road Trip!

Last night's roadtrip with James Sturm to Burlington was a great one. The panel at the Firehouse Gallery wasn't heavily attended, but there were more asses in the seats in the audience than on the panel, which is all that matters sometimes. Those who were there really wanted to be there, and a good time was had by all.

I'll tell ya about it tomorrow, when time is on my side.

Today, though, it ain't -- off to teach my two sessions, road trip (my fourth trip north a-way up VT Interstate 89 this week) with the CCS students to the Helen Day Art Center to savor the VT cartoonists exhibition, dinner on Montpelier for all (on CCS's ticket, thankfully), then I drive north again to pick up Marge at the Burlington Airport after the students head home. She's been away all week, visiting our grandchildren in Texas -- then, barring air flight delays, the long drive home (again) from Burlington to home, sweet home.

So, tomorrow, compadres, I'll write something of substance tomorrow. Today, I'm up, out and running! Have a great Thursday -- or at least an OK one...

No Time! No Time!

Wednesday AM and no time -- so, feeble post today. Sorry.

Today's post title is true, but prompted too by the ongoing interview I'm amid with Bryan Talbot, whose new graphic novel Alice in Sunderland is soon to appear. More on that later -- when this white rabbit has time.

I've been working my way through notes on some of my old Swamp Thing pencils for the upcoming issue of Rough Stuff magazine ("S&M for Comics Pencillers"), prepping today and tomorrow's lectures for CCS, etc., all while making room for two trips north -- one today for

the Vermont cartoonists's panel in Burlington at the Firehouse Center for the Visual Arts -- all the info is here!

-- and for a CCS class trip up to

Stowe to visit the Helen Day Art Center and the "Fine Toon" VT cartooning show.

Whew; don't be surprised if I'm absent from here for a day or two, but I'll try to ensure that doesn't happen.


Followup on an email query from 'anonymous': Alex Toth was indeed vetted by Heavy Metal art director John Workman to do 1941: The Illustrated Story. For more info, check out the TwoMorrow's zine Alter Ego #63, December 2006, edited as ever by Roy Thomas; it's Roy's Toth tribute issue, and John Workman's article "1941 And All That: Why the Graphic Novel Version of Steven Spielberg's 1979 Film Was Not Drawn by Alex Toth" (pp. 47-50) says it all.

John, bless him, says the final published book was "brilliantly done by the young and wildly exuberant team of Rick Veitch and Steve Bissette," and notes the graphic novel did make a profit, which was news to me. FYI, Spielberg loathed what we'd done -- I still have a copy of his extremely negative letter to the HM folks in my files, which I reprinted in the letters page of SpiderBaby Comix -- but hey, maybe it's because we saw the truth about 1941 and laid it all out on the page for all to see!

Have a great Wednesday, one and all --

What Mark Martin Wants,
Mark Martin Gets

(except for Condi)

You want an explanation for this image,

visit Mark Martin's glorious website and go exploring.

I'm just realizing what was apparently his fondest wish one morning -- January 14th, 2007, to be exact. Sorry it took so long, Mark, but I really had to get that Pan's Labyrinth review done first!

But -- What About My Head?

And, a recap (redecap?) of Mark Martin's glorious Blog Opera, which was serialized

at Mark's magnificent blog, "Jabberous," late last year.

All this sturm und drang, then -- nada.

My head, abandoned, in midair, like Tyrant's sibling on Eggsucker's tongue. Forever dangling, dangling.

I am crestfallen (pun intended).

Here's the sequence, in total, depicting my vain effort to save my dear amigo G. Michael Dobbs (aka Mike Dobbs aka Mayo Blot) -- well, his head, anyway. My greatest disappointment: no Brain That Wouldn't Die in-jokes. Read it and weep.

Panel the First

Panel the Second

Panel the Third

Panel the Fourth

...and t-t-t-that's all, folks!

PS: Note Mark's and Mike's ongoing revulsion at

my papers and collections at Henderson State University and the HUIE Library Special Collections.

It's a constant dig (in more ways than one!), but one I know that comes from profound and malingering envy. Mark's papers were to be stored at the Clinton Library in nearby Little Rock, Arkansas, but that fell through -- and with President Bush reclassifying declassified materials, it's likely Mark's highly-sensitive papers will be forever buried, perhaps with him.

Anyhoot, since I've linked to all Mark's online universe, it's only appropo

I do the same for Mike, kicking off with his venerable "Out of the Inkwell" blog,

bopping over to his "That's Thirty" journalism site,

and winding up at his ongoing Fleischer Brothers book-in-progress blog, "Made of Pen and Ink."

Mike's papers are -- well, out weekly. In Massachusetts. Five of 'em. That he edits. Weeklies. Got it?

I'm outta here -- more later!

VT Cartoonists Descend on Burlington, Wednesday Night, 2/21!


As promised, a follow up on this week's activities.

Yo, big time in the big town (Vermont's only city!) this week -- Wednesday, to be exact!

James Sturm and I are off to Burlington on the afternoon of February 21st for the Cartoonist’s Panel and Informal Public Cartoon/Comic Critique Session. The evening event will be moderated by James Sturm, Director of the Center for Cartoon Studies and cartoonist/graphic novelist; panelists will include Harry Bliss, Jeff Danziger, Ed Koren and yours truly.

The panel discussion is during the dinner hour, 5:30 pm – 7 pm, followed by an informal public critique session from 7–7:30pm. All this for just $5 at the door; we'll be in the Lorraine B. Good Room at the Firehouse Center.

This will be a special evening, so be there --

all the particulars are here, at the Firehouse Center for the Visual Arts site,

-- see you up on the second floor at 135 Church Street, next to City Hall in Burlington, VT, 05401.

Contact info:

Phone: 802-865-7166

Contact: Melinda Johns
mjohns@ci.burlington.vt.us

Directions: The Firehouse Center for the Visual Arts is located in downtown Burlington next to City Hall on the Church Street Marketplace,

and here's a map for those of you not familiar with Burlington who are planning to come!

For further information, please contact Idoline Duke, 802-253-8538, Director of Exhibitions, Helen Day Art Center --

for more info, including the poop on the current Fine Toon: The Art of Vermont Cartoonists exhibit at the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe, click here!

Upcoming events linked to the exhibit (including my April 17th lecture at the gallery) are cited here.

More info tomorrow!

Yow! Monday!

Just finished one of two deadline gigs due today, so apologies for the late post -- I'll have more up later today, too, including news about the upcoming VT cartoonists panel in Burlington on Wednesday I'm part of.

Continuing:

Cine-Ketchup, Part 3:
____________

* GHOST RIDER (2007) - In a way, this tops Mars Attacks! and The Garbage Pail Kids -- being the only films based on trading cards that come immediately to mind -- in that technically Ghost Rider is the first film based on a decal.

I think.

Really.

Ya, I know, I know, there's the song "Ghost Riders in the Sky," a venerable fave of mine, too, that's saved for (and mangled) under this new flick's closing credits.

There's the original comic book Ghost Rider (aka Phantom Rider, in his 1960s Marvel resurrection), originally published by Magazine Enterprises until his demise in Red Mask #50 (November, 1955). That Ghost Rider was a western vigilante character with a pseudo-supernatural slant: he was the alter-ego of federal marshal Rex Fury, and he had a coolie -- I mean, Chinese sidekick named Sing Song. He didn't have superpowers, but he was one heck of a rider and shot a mean six-shooter; he was kind of a horror-tinged Lone Ranger or serial western hero, wearing a bone-white luminescent costume and riding a glow-in-the-dark horse (named Spectre) to scare the bejeezus out of his foes and craven criminals (though he did reportedly fight the occasional werewolf or vampire in his Pre-Code incarnation). Think of the original western Ghost Rider as a sort of wild west take on Russell Thorndike's British pirate/preacher/smuggler Doctor Syn (more familiar to my generation via the early '60s film versions, Hammer's Night Creatures aka Captain Clegg and Disney's The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh) -- now, he figures into this new movie, but I can't say more about that without given anything away.

Then there's the Marvel Comics Ghost Rider this film is ostensibly derived from: Johnny Blaze, a motorcycle stunt-rider whose comicbook cycle pretty much sucked wind. I mean, it wasn't a chopper, really, and it was too tame to appeal to bikers or those of us who dug biker movies. But that's neither here nor there. Johnny Blaze dabbled with devilish forces and made a pact with Mephisto, ending up losing his soul to possession by the demon Zarathos, though I thought the creepiest thing he did in the comic was fall for and marry his step-sister Roxanne, but maybe that's just me. In any case, Johnny Blaze gained enough control over his flaming-skull demon powers to fight on the side of right throughout his career, though he never really caught fire in terms of sales. Tuning out of the character's exploits in the late '70s and back in in the '90s, I was surprised to find some brawny teen named Dan Ketch had taken Blaze's place astride the cycle, which thankfully looked much cooler in the '90s than it ever had in the '70s, when it would have really mattered.

But, see, between the evaporation of the western Magazine Enterprises's Ghost Rider in 1955 and the resurrection of the moniker via Marvel's Ghost Rider in 1967, there was this absolutely iconic flaming skull decal every kid had on their bicycle, an image bikers embraced and truckers dug and that seemed to be just about everywhere there were wheels in the '60s.

The flaming skull image, with burning eyes staring out at you with uncanny life, was as omnipresent as those nudie girlie garage calenders with flimsy tops and panties on lift-up plastic sheets -- like, they were everywhere.

So, to my mind, Marvel's Ghost Rider was always derived from that decal -- period. And so is this movie, when you trace its lineage to its real pop culture flash point.

Now, it's the Johnny Blaze incarnation of the Marvel characters we've got on the big screen here, reportedly a pet project of star Nicholas Cage, who's more likable here than he was in The Wicker Man remake (2005), though it's Matt Long as the even-younger Johnny Blaze that seems closest to the Mike Ploog Ghost Rider comic incarnation I have soft spot in my skull for. Mark Steven Johnson, the man behind the so-so 2003 Daredevil movie (OK, it wasn't even so-so, but it was horns-and-tails above Elektra), is the auteur of note, and that says it all, if you know what I mean.

Writer/director Johnson knew that '70s "I've got the hots for my step-sister" shit wouldn't fly for a family Marvel movie, so here Roxanne (played in her younger incarnation by Raquel Alessi, then by more mature but less engaging Eva Mendes, of Hitch, Stuck on You, Out of Time, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, 2 Fast 2 Furious, All About the Benjamins, Training Day and Exit Wounds) is just, like, the girlfriend he stranded and ditched sans explanation after selling his soul to the debbil. That ol' debbil is fun to watch, via Peter Fonda milking his turn as Mephistopheles, though he's not nearly as scary as his ol' pop was in Once Upon a Time in the West (not a fair comparison, I know). Peter does more with less compared to the whippersnappers, except for Long and Alessi: Wes Bentley glares and sneers with abandon as (I kid you not) Blackheart, though truth to tell he looks and acts like he walked off the set for Constantine (in fact, the whole desert-and-demons mix works against the film, evocative as it is of better films like Prophecy and Constantine). Alas, Blackheart's trio of elemental bad-boy cronies are more Elektra (the movie) than, say, Big Trouble in Little China (no surprise, given that writer/director Johnson scripted and produced Elektra). Their tedium is balanced somewhat by Donal Logue's turn as Johnny's trusted sidekick Matt (who deserves far better than the unceremonious disposal he gets).

Best of all, though, is Sam Elliott as 'Caretaker,' though he's really -- no, I can't tell. It's one of the film's few, if utterly predictable, pleasures.

Sam's voice and face alone bring more character to this film than the surrounding 114 minutes of folderol. It's his voice we hear at the outset, but banish The Big Lebowski (1998) from your mind: no such luck here. Sam's The Caretaker, not The Stranger, here, and Johnson isn't even a distant thirtieth cousin of the Coen brothers -- he hasn't the wit or good grace to make the best use of his greatest asset, even as a narrative voice we can hang some tentative faith on.

Mark Steven Johnson is to Marvel movies what Stephen Sommers is to Universal Monsters: Sommers, natch, coined a new gold mine for Universal with his antic The Mummy (1999), thus entrusted with the whole Universal pantheon of monsters, concocting the bombastic and far less fun The Mummy Returns (2001) and the unbelievably abysmal Van Helsing (2004). Johnson, likewise, is the anointed child of the Marvel franchise, though he's rightfully notched beneath the far more capable Sam Raimi; Johnson's Marvel movies are serviceable at best (his earlier Jack Frost, 1998, totally sickened me). He's given cart blanche and ample budgets (Ghost Rider's release was postponed from last year to allow more action sequences to be completed, including the ridiculous chain-roping-of-a-helicoptor that had one guy in my theater roaring and clapping with glee: score, Mark!). I'm glad the money-men have such faith in the fella, and I wish him all the good luck (and no ill will) in the world, personally, but I far prefer his script work on Grumpy Old Men, and I'll leave it at that.

Nicholas Cage's devotion to this venture likely got it made, but his Johnny Blaze is a mere ember onscreen. Blaze comes across as a cipher, rendered more cipher-like once his flesh burns to inexpressive bone. Unlike the Martians of Mars Attacks or even Ray Harryhausen's ambulatory stop-motion battling bones of The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and Jason and the Argonauts, Ghost Rider doesn't register as a character. Pre-flaming-skull, post-Matt Long (whose young Blaze does register: though he has far less screen time than Cage, it counts for much more), Cage's Johnny Blaze is a self-effacing bummer, dependent on deadpan asides (he'd rather watch TV specials about Howler Monkeys than his own PR -- I can relate) and Elvis mannerisms Cage himself codified in David Lynch's Wild at Heart. Sailor Ripley would stomp the shit out of this shell of a man and leave him in the gutter without a backward glance -- but that's as unfair as mentioning Once Upon a Time in the West a few paragraphs ago. Wild at Heart is a real movie, not a franchise entry, and Johnson can't hold a cigarette match to David Lynch or Barry Gifford. I reckoned Cage-as-Blaze would have offered some cinematic measure of the confidence George Hamilton lent Evil Kneivel (1971) -- not much of a yardstick, admittedly -- but Cage is inexplicably a pale shadow in that department, too.

The Marvel movie formula is as shallow and tiresome to me now as the old Marvel Comics formula was to Bissette the comics reader in the '70s. It's all bombast, fire and brimstone with nada behind it or within it.

Yawn.

Still, I can honestly say this is the best film based on a beloved childhood era decal I've ever seen.

Beyond that -- well, it was what my first wife and I used to call a "coke" movie (as in cocaine): it looks and sounds like a lot is happening, when in reality nothing is happening, really (my forever favorite of this ilk is Tobe Hooper's Lifeforce, which embodies the coke movie aesthetic perfectly). Ghost Rider looks and sounds lively, it makes a lot of noise and burns a lot of eyeballs, but it isn't much of a movie. Now, I liked some of the imagery recreating specific 1990s Ghost Rider covers (especially the Kubert ones), and it kept me awake, though that was a struggle at two points. Like I said, this formula is wearing pret-ty thin for this old-timer. Sam Elliott was the only thing on the screen vaguely resembling an identifiable, I-give-a-little-shit-about character, which is all that kept me going at a couple of points.

Anyhoot, who cares what I think? The audience I was with (in Lebanon, NH) seemed to love it, the theater manager raved about it (he sure had a good time), so some folks think it kicks ass and it didn't suck like Elektra or The Punisher or the new Fantastic Four or the old made-for-TV Marvel movies, or Albert Pyun's Captain America.

Now, that was the suck.

But me, I'm with Johnny.

I'd rather watch the howler monkey TV special, too.

____________

* THE HAWK IS DYING (2005) - Thank God, a real movie.

I love films that tap unexpected wells of emotion; The Hawk is Dying does that, in spades. This is the latest incarnation of an affecting but decidedly unusual, undefinable subgenre about loners who deal with grief and loneliness via -- well, birds, in this case, a red-tailed hawk. This is a subgenre in and of itself, though, marked by gems like Ken Loach's Kes (1969), Monte Hellman's Cockfighter (aka Born to Kill, 1974), and Michael Burke's The Mudge Boy (2003), and The Hawk is Dying is just as good (and odd) a film as any of those. Paul Giametti certainly delivers as intensely observed, heartfelt and nuanced a performance as Warren Oates did in Cockfighter, though the film itself is closer to Kes.

Based on the long out-of-print 1973 novel by Harry Crews (A Feast of Snakes, All We Need of Hell, The Knockout Artist, Scar Lover, The Gospel Singer, etc.; see

the Harry Crews site for more info),

writer/director Julian Goldberger and a top-notch cast powerfully inhabit and illuminate this most peculiar slice of Southern drama. A-way down in Gainesville, Florida, eccentric bachelor and successful-enough local businessman George Gattling (Giametti) lives with his abandoned sister Precious (Rusty Schwimmer) and acts as a father to her now-adult autistic son Fred (Michael Pitt), but he himself has only one obsession -- hawks. However, George's self-educated attempts to catch and train his own raptor has thus far resulted only in slow death for the birds, fostering disdain for his obsession among even the most tolerant in his circle. When Fred is found dead under mysterious circumstances, George refutes any expectations to mourn the death of his nephew in a "normal" fashion to focus on breaking a red-tailed hawk he and Fred had captured before the boy's death. George's punitive self-exile (the trainer cannot eat until his hawk does) and increasingly bizarre behavior tests family -- and the audience -- beyond the breaking point, but his agonizing journey toward redemption is (thankfully) rewarding.

Like all Crews's characters, George tests our limits as well as his own. This is a difficult film; Giametti gives an incredible performance and the ensemble cast delivers, too, particularly Michelle Williams as Betty (a character even odder than George), but it's the hawk's discomfort one cannot help but respond to throughout. It frays and plucks one's nerves in every frame: I found myself persistently pulled out of the film, pragmatically fretting for both the bird (supremely uncomfortable and thrashing around in a procession of setpieces that place it in claustrophobic rooms, cars, funeral homes, etc.) and Giametti (whose commitment and fulfillment of this role is worthy of one of the Labors of Hercules). I haven't been this relieved to see the AHA claim that "no animals were harmed in the making of this film" in I-don't-know-how-long. But this, too, is calculated by the director: George's singular obsession drives us crazy, too, manifest in & by the hawk's ordeal. It's not until the 80 minute mark that we're given any insights into the source of his manic devotion to raptors (a moment that also embodies the therapeutic powers of marijuana) -- and that's a long haul, by any measure.

Despite my own mounting unease, Goldberger's measured, relentless focus on character, place and time (and his brilliant score) carried me through, and I found myself completely offguard and overwhelmed with tears when the film -- and George -- arrived at the disarming final grace note.

[Aside #1: The last film to move me this profoundly with a mere gesture was Hilary Birmingham's Tully (2002), which is also highly recommended.]

Sadly, this is a film that will never be seen by most people (Ghost Rider, of course, is everywhere and ever-present). This is a truly remarkable, uncompromising independent film in every sense of the term that still has any meaning; as such, it will alienate as many viewers as it will win, even from the precious few who'll even have a chance at seeing it (anyone who leaves the film before it's over will miss its merits completely). From its uncommercial title to its calculated, cultivated and utterly eccentric intensity, this is a masterpiece that simply defies marketing and boxoffice.

[Aside #2: Note that Crews himself wrote a screenplay adaptation of his novel that remains unproduced; his only produced film work to date remains his (uncredited) script work on Stephen Gyllenhaal (credited story & screenplay) and Sean S. Cunningham's The New Kids (1984), a brutal low-budget guilty pleasure I savored during its one-week-only theatrical run.]

Have a great Monday -- more later, as time permits...

Blocks & Cine-Ketchup (Pt. 2)

So,

For the second time in two weeks,

Republicans senators halted progress on a nonbinding resolution opposing Bush's recent decision to send 21,500 more troops to Iraq.

As the latter link/newsstory notes, "Republicans blasted the Democratic leadership for refusing to allow a vote on an alternative that ruled out any reduction in money for troops in the field." This now comes down to funding a war that the President has kept funding issues diverted from for six years.

Another day to remember, another example of Republican democracy at work -- remember next election, and be sure to vote.

____________

Cine-Ketchup, Part 2:

* 51 Birch Street (2005) - "When it comes to your parents, maybe ignorance is bliss," director Doug Block says at one point amid the revelations of his parent's past in the documentary 51 Birch St. This is, literally, the real-life version of The Bridges of Madison County: Doug and his two sisters, while helping their father clear out the Port Washington, NY suburban family home after his remarrying a mere three months after their mother's death (and over 50 years of marriage between the parents), find their mother's extensive diaries, and therein a doorway to her most personal secrets and the reality of their married life. Cinematically, this works quite well, with the nonintrusive but effective score by Machine Head a real plus (so few documentaries use music well). Block does a solid job with the film, which builds to a conclusion that may or may not work for viewers (I didn't find it dishonest, per se, as some have), arriving at some measure of peace with his dead mother (via a dialogue with her best friend: "What a relief for someone to really know us...") and his father (one on one), but I must say I find Tara Wray's Manhattan, Kansas (2006) the more powerful and memorable recent film of this type (to be reviewed later this week).

* Antares (2005) - This Austrian/German feature is narratively structured like Mystery Train, Go!, Crash, etc. and a bit like Closer: in a single city apartment complex, the lives of three couples intersect in unexpected ways, each linked to one another by various (or a single) 'collision' point -- literally, in the case of the framing moment, punctuated by an unexpected car accident. These lives all cross orbits amid their respective struggles with loneliness, the core theme of the film, and the manner in which director Götz Spielmann orchestrates these narratives is surprisingly engaging and affecting. Eva (Petra Morzé) is a nurse, wife and mother juggling a superficially "happy" home life with a torrid affair with a visiting businessman (their first sexual encounter is very explicit, as it must be to convey her passion and sexual satisfaction from these furtive hotel-room couplings); a restless young woman working as a check-out girl in a local market is consumed by suspicion and jealousy & convinced her fiance Marco (Dennis Cubic) is cheating on her -- and he is, with: a recently divorced woman whose abusive ex refuses to let go, bullying and threatening her (and, eventually, others) as his barely-repressed rage and libido simmers dangerously to a boiling point.

The contrasting behaviors of these couples is the meat of the film: Eva's family listens to Schubert and life seems to revolve around their loving affection for their teenage daughter; the dysfunctional dynamic between Marco and his girlfriend, Marco and his lover -- the former pretending to be pregnant, the latter with a young son relegated to being ignored when Marco shows up for fleeting fuckfests, and a pawn between mother and abusive father when troubled Dad shows up. Spielmann deftly juxtaposes and interlocks these turbulent lives, staging their moments of juncture with convincing versimilitude, culminating in the final act's satisfying (for the audience, not the characters) coda. Eschewing melodrama but not drama, the rhythms of daily lives are succinctly portrayed, as are the sudden eruptions and displacements that shake them. This is a truly adult film, sadly overlooked; note that the explicit sex scenes between Eva and her lover (onscreen fellatio, copulation, cunnilingus) may be problematic for some US viewers.

* Colma: The Musical (2006) - Writer/lyricist/composer H.P. Mendoza's ode to being 18, just out of high school, and negotiating the treacherous limbo between teenager and adult in a multi-ethnic cultural limbo sans coherent roadmaps or rites-of-passage is a bracing and engaging musical. Colma is a real city, with more dead residents than living: it's San Francisco's graveyard suburb, a genuine 'dead end' for some, which is the crux of the film. From its opening number, this is fueled by & focused on its two male characters, Billy (Jake Moreno), a amiable but callow aspiring thespian enjoying an immediate measure of success (in regional theater) that goes to his head, and Rodel (Mendoza), a profoundly unhappy gay poet living with his repressive single father (his brother is in prison) and tied to but feeling imprisoned by friends and place. Their closest mutual friend is Maribel (L.A. Renigen), loyal friend and party girl eager to stretch her wings; she is introduced as an equal player but soon relegated to the sidelines, never becoming a fully-fleshed character in and of herself. This isn't so much a shortcoming of the film as a fact: the bonds and tensions between Rodel and Billy, some articulated/dramatized, others not, are the real meat of the story. Mendoza's Rodel steals the show from his first number: prowling toward the audience singing "Colma Stays," with his body coiled, his face registering all the rage and sorrow he bottles up (and subsequently dispenses only via his caustic digs), Mendoza/Rodel is the most compelling presence on the screen.

Mendoza is the best new musical talent I've seen translated to film since John Cameron Mitchell's Hedwig and Bruce Arntson and Coke Sam's Existo, with a couple of standout (but not showstopping) numbers packing real power -- the quietest numbers, truth to tell (Rodel and Maribel/the dancers in the graveyard and "Crazy Like Me" are memorable). The musical elements are tightly integrated, character driven and/or propel the narrative, and all but a couple (the bar "Cupid" number seemed contrived to me) resonate, moving with naturalistic style and grace. Director Richard Wong used Colma, CA locations throughout and canny but judicious use of split-and-multiple screens reflects a sharp directorial intelligence at work; at one point, understated staging punctuated with a perfectly timed intrusion of split-screen works wonders. Rodel's situation (as a gay teen outed by a vengeful ex, beaten by his father and thereafter shuttling from floor to floor in friend's rooms) is familiar (My So-Called Life, anyone?) and sympathetic but never played for easy melodrama or pathos: Rodel (as a character) and Mendoza (as an actor/singer) see to that.

This music has really stayed with me -- prompting me at last to

visit the Colma: The Musical website and buy the soundtrack CD. Check it out!

And, if you get the chance, check out this film!

Have a great Sunday...

What About Laughing Gravy?

* Quick, get Phil Baruth and Dan Barlow together!

Why?

Well, Dan is moving.

Up.

In the world.


Trees & Hills comic group co-founder

Dan Barlow (here's the man's blog)

just informed me and the world he's moving -- to Montpelier. "After four years of working as a reporter in southern Vermont - covering great things like a 34-year-old nuclear reactor, nude teenagers and pirate radio stations - I'm hitting the big time," Dan sez. "Well, big time for Vermont. Starting Feb. 19th I will be one of the Rutland Herald's two reporters covering the Vermont government. Yeah, the government that Howard Dean used to run before he started doing whatever he's doing now. This means I'll be in charge of writing about things like the Vermont House and Senate, our swell old Republican governor and ... nude teenagers (if they decide to follow me to Montpelier). I may even write things about our wide-eyed freshman Congressman or our socialist Senator. We'll see."

We shall indeed. Congrats, Dan!

But in the meantime -- whither Trees & Hills? What will happen to this adventurous band of New England cartoonists once Dan moves (choke) North?

Will this move mean the group is growing, spreading its roots further over the Green Mountain and Granite State landscapes?

Will the roots be deep and sound, or shallow and spread, like those damned conifers that blow over in wind storms?

Or will Dan still nurture and support the collective, or will he cast it adrift, leaving it shy of one activist co-founder?

Can Colin keep it afloat with his compatriots sans Dan?

And -- What about Laughing Gravy?

Only time -- and Dan -- will tell. Stay tuned.

[Trees & Hills group photos by Mark Martin, from his glorious Jabberous blog, circa May 2006: http://jabberous.blogspot.com/2006/05/comics-club.html -- see that link for ID of those pictured, save ---- Bjork -- who is he, anyway? And is he still drawing? Does he have a site? Did DC Comics approve of one of you wearing a Batman t-shirt? Did you have to pay royalty fees, or was that included in the price of the shirt, and First Sale Doctrine rules uber alle? Colin?]

* Speaking of which -- Damn, I let the Trees & Hills group down yesterday.

Amid all my catch-up posts, I neglected to mention that

the monthly Trees & Hills drawing party is happening, like, today, and I forgot to post the info & link about it yesterday!

Colin writes, "drawing party (always the 3rd Sat. of each month except under extenuating circumstances) will be happening this Saturday 2/17 at Tim Hulsizer's house in Keene, NH; email Tim (escapevelocity at hotmail.com) for directions and other info." BTW, here's the link to

Tim Hulsizer's site,

________________

* Don't know if you read the comments posted to this blog, but my short review of the documentary Jesus Camp prompted a strangely familiar hit-and-run swipe from an outraged Christian fundamentalist, in this case the right Rev. Don Spitz of Hampton Roads, Virginia. The link from his comment yielded this

little one-post blog,

a rant in the wilderness.

In his comment on my review, Rev. Don Spitz said:

"Sounds like you have some real serious hatred issues directed towards Christians. Suffice it to say, most, if not all problems on the planet earth are from people like you who reject Jesus Christ. Our prisons are filled with people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. Most if not all rapes, murders, robberies and thefts are committed by people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. AIDS is mainly spread by people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ and have sex outside of marriage or else like children with AIDS get it from people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. I hope you will turn from your sins and receive Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior and escape the fires of eternal hell. Turning from your sins and giving your life to Jesus Christ is the only way you can escape the fires of hell and receive everlasting life. If you persist in your sins and continue to turn your back on Jesus Christ, you will be lost forever."

Now, I love this shit. Of course, as we all saw during the election season of 2000, we sinners embracing the Lord as our Savior doesn't necessary win the respect of fellow Christians, as then-not-yet-President Bush amply demonstrated by jeering and openly mocking a Born-Again woman on death row the very week of her execution. We're all to take his conversion on faith, but -- well, you get the idea. "By their works ye shall know them."

Rev. Spitz's post is a pip. I'm not mocking the man, whom I don't know any more than he knows me, but I am assessing his words. The wording resonates oddly with past brushes with other angry zealots.

Keeping the context of mere movie reviews and/or articles, I recall how, way back in 1989, I interviewed Alejandro Jodorowsky about his then-new movie Sante Sangre and placed that interview, in different forms, in a number of zines and papers, including our local 'activist' newspaper The Valley Advocate (out of Northampton, MA). My interview/article prompted a short published letter from two area feminists who attacked me for writing about the film -- which was Alejandro's delirious fictionalized account of a serial killer's career and eventual redemption, as only Alejandro could tell it -- who accused me of being a misogynist and of hating women, concluding, "We know who you are and we know what you are doing to women."

My first wife Marlene, to whom I was married still at the time, was absolutely outraged by the letter. She wrote a response, as did I. But the Advocate refused to allow either her and me to respond. The screed stood, and thereafter I made it a point to instantly respond to any such bile when it was directed my way.

Fact: In 99 cases out of 100, the accusers never, ever respond or reply.

Thus was established a pattern that became familiar to me over time, during the Taboo years and especially the Tyrant years. Foolish me -- I thought after the endless customs battles, censorship rows and difficulties finding printers, binders or venues for the calculated confrontational agenda of Taboo, doing a nice little all-ages dinosaur comic would be a piece of cake by comparison. Oh contraire!

No sooner had Tyrant #1 arrived in comic shops than a steady flow of angry letters from Creationists began to trickle into the ol' SpiderBaby Comix mailbox. By comparison with the Taboo era, the Tyrant letters were far more angry and contemptuous: I was judged a sinner for my dinosaur comic, and was a greater threat to humanity than I had been publishing horror comics. I find it hard to believe the publishers or creators of Turok, Son of Stone, Kona, Monarch of Monster Isle, Gorgo or Star-Spangled War Stories (with "The War That Time Forgot!") ever received this kind of hate mail, but those halycon days of the '50s and '60s many evangelicals cling to as "the good old days" of Christian America rule were perhaps more tolerant of that most malignant of all comics genres, the dinosaur comic book.

Of all those who wrote, sometimes vehemently judging me and my family in rhetoric fully of a piece with the good Rev. Spitz's comment, only one -- one! -- responded to my reply letters, striking up an exchange of letters (and comics) that was fun and lively and at the very least a conversation of sorts.

What I found, in all but that one case, was the letter-writers weren't interested in conversation, they were interested only in venting, in blasting me (and my family): an odd, vindictive form of 'witnessing,' to my world view.

I engage, they refuse. A sure path to communication and possible conversion, my friends!

In any case, I replied directly to Rev. Spitz's post on 2/14, which follows in the spirit of possible conversation:

"Wow, Rev. Spitz, you sure pretend to know a lot about me you don't know. Having not caused most of the problems on planet earth (though I think I can honestly say a few of those can now be chalked up to our President, who claims to be a true believer in Christ), having not been in prison, raped, murdered, robbed, or have/had/or spread AIDs, and as I do indeed believe in Jesus Christ (though not as you do), I reckon you just struck out on every single count in your rant against me and my modest post -- which is, after all, a movie review (in that it's the comments on Jesus Camp that seems to have brought you here), nothing more. What sins, precisely, am I persisting in? Not practicing my Christian beliefs in perfect accord with your own? Using the good brain God gave me at birth? Practicing my own faith as I see fit, rather than as you or others demand I do? Isn't this America? I thank God it isn't your fiefdom, yet. Making vile accusations and posting personalized bile and fear isn't in accord with the New Testament Christ I was raised with, or believe in -- nor, for that matter, is much else I can divine from your accusatory screed."

Any word from the Rev, I'll let you know.

I'm not feeling the love, though, as yet.

We used to have this old 45 RPM record in my family's modest collection, and I'll go out with that tune:

"Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition, Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition, Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition And We'll Allllll Beeeeeee Freeeeeeeeeeee!"

Taking Measure on a Friday

"Why, this old comic collection might indeed be bigger than my dick!"
(Photo: Joe Citro)

Catch-up and then outta here -- CCS senior Adam Staffaroni and I are off to St. Albans, VT to speak at the library at BFA UHS #48, thanks to an invite from librarian Peter Jones.

Glad I moved an hour closer to St. Albans!

Anyhoot, gotta be quick this morning, sooooo --

* Rick Veitch and his older son Ezra (younger son Kirby is still in college; "hey!" from here to both of you, Ezra and Kirby!) have a unique jam you can watch and listen to, which you

can download from here,

and I think this post scoops this link!

What is it?

Well, here's how Rick describes it, as "a podcast of me reading the text from Can't Get No, with Ezra providing the ghost soundscape behind me.... If you click on this link it brings you to a list of different podcasts available. Just click on Can't Get No for the 49 meg download."

If your computer system and online access is up to the task, go for it, folks, and enjoy!

* Remember that lovely Mario Bava boxed set I foamed-at-the-mouth about here last week?

Well, Tim Lucas has been getting lots of mixed signals from Anchor Bay about what may or may not ultimately be in that set.

Until Tim posts the final word on this matter, I refer you to his blog, and we're all waiting with bated Bava breath for what we can or can't see, come street-date for that lovely brick of Bava.


* My old crony and amigo Steve Perry is a guest at Megacon in Orlando, FL this coming Saturday, so if you're in the Orlando area, here's your chance to meet the man who co-created many characters, from Marvel's Varnae and the Epic series Timespirits, to many of the villains and supporting characters on the Thundercats (and, dare I forget, Silverhawks) cartoon programs and more.

Steve, along with Mark Whitcomb, Jack Venooker and Tim "Doc Ersatz" Viereck, convinced me back in 1976 (while we were all at Johnson State College) to pursue my dream, via applying to the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art, Inc.'s first-ever year of operation, and it was in fact Steve (with his subscription to The Comic Buyer's Guide and that paper's "Beautiful Balloons" column, announcing the opening of the JK School) who initiated that push.

We had the pleasure of working together on a number of projects, including my first-ever published comics work in Abyss, pro stories for Bizarre Adventures, Epic ("Kultz" in Epic #6, among my personal faves of anything I ever did in comics), Heavy Metal, etc., and have stayed in touch over the years, through thick and thin.

I'm happy to report I just wrote the introduction for the upcoming graphic novel collection of Steve's and fellow XQB and dear friend Tom Yeates's classic 1980s Epic miniseries Timespirits. (Steve's hoping to get Tom to Megacon next year, and emailed me a proposition to join them -- time will tell!)

So, if you're planning on visiting Megacon, look for Steve on Saturday, bring your copies of Timespirits, Bizarre Adventures, Thundercats & Silverhawks for signing, and say hello -- this is his first con in almost 20 years!

* In a followup to my Tuesday post, allow me to note that

the official Brattleboro Reformer obit for Alan Eames, who passed away this past weekend, is here (scroll down to it).

Curiously, it reads like Alan himself wrote it -- I can hear his voice quite clearly in this!

R.I.P., Alan; glad to have met you and known you a bit before your passing. Much love to his family, especially to Sheila, Elena, and most of all to Adrian and Andrew.

[A curious note: the guest book, which both I and my daughter Maia have posted to, is up until -- gulp -- my birthday. Weird, eh?]

* Vermonters have been happily

emailing this to one another all week;

I gotta give credit to actor, fellow ex-First Run Video employee and fellow native Vermonter Michael Dean for sending the link to me. Check it out!

Our representatives in the Federal government have done pretty well by us, and I've been particularly savoring

Philip Baruth reminding me regularly of why I love Senator Patrick Leahy.

Bring on the bottled water, by all means, if only to ensure I hydrate as needed during my daily visit to

The Vermont Daily Briefing.

Check it out, too.
Daily.

Have a great weekend, one and all!

Zombies!,
Digging Out,
& Citro Speaks!

Hey, folks, Bissette horror comics are back!

Well, sort of.

Here's my cover art for the upcoming Accent UK anthology Zombies, just in from editors Dave West and Colin Mathieson. Their designer Andy Bloor took my black-and-white original (after Dave and Colin chose their favorite of the three potential cover images I submitted) and dressed it up with this straightforward bullseye-to-the-cornea use of color, which works beautifully.

Kudos to you, Andy! I love it.

Colin writes to say, "the issue will be released in the UK in May at the Comic Expo event in Bristol 12th/13th May, (with final line up and cover price shortly to be fixed) but we are also looking at possible distribution through Diamond so the book can be widely available to our colonial cousins! More to come on all that later..."

Of the Accent UK contributors from their side of the Atlantic, it's worth noting again that this whole project emerged from a conversation with John Reppion, Leah Moore and Colin and Dave in Denmark, the seed for which was planted in front of the Accent UK booth at the Copenhagen convention Komiks.DK 2006 we all attended in March/April. If I may quote a May 31st email from Colin, he recalls, "It's actually John's fault that we changed the theme on hearing of his zombie fixation and Leah's banter with him about it ("Oh you and your zombies!"), which made us realize that Zombies had that immediacy and fun element which could be interpreted in lots of different ways for an anthology, and would also prove an interesting rematch for the Moore, Reppion and Hitchcock team, so a quick editorial meeting on our return to the UK and we were away!"

So, leading the pack will be a new collaboration from the Leah Moore, John Reppion and Dave Hitchcock team. Colin and Dave first sent out the invitation to contribute to their Accent UK circle (and yours truly) on October 1st, 2006, and the project soon swelled beyond the parameters of their previous anthology Monsters to become Accent UK's first book-format, squarebound anthology. Once Dave and Colin responded positively to my suggestion that I work with Dan and Maia on stories, and extend the invitation to CCS students, I was fully committed and did my best to give Accent UK something memorable from the US. Proud to be part of it!

The other UK contributors include Dave West and Colin Mathieson themselves, cover designer Andy Bloor (solo and working with writer Kieron Gillen); Kieren Brown & Tom Jileson, Jason Cobley & Paul Harrison-Davies, Bridgeen Gillespie, Taboo vets Shane Oakley and Gary Crutchley (solo stories, not collaborating this time around), Laura Howell, David Baillie, Andrew Cheverton (solo and a collaboration with Tim Keable), Garry Brown, Owen Johnson, James Gray, Darren Ellis & Roland Bird, Graeme Neil Reid, Paul Cartwright, Jon Ayre & One Neck, Phil Rigby & Manoel Magalhães, Benjamin Dickson, Tony Hitchman & Leonie O'Moore, Indio, Chris Dingsdale & Dan Denholt, Matt Boyce, Andy Winter & Natalie Sandells, Matt Timson, Chris Doherty and others I don't know about as yet.

Want to see more? Well, Dave will be updating

the Accent UK site this weekend to include all this and more,

so keep that website tabbed on your computer for updates. I'll keep mum about my son Dan's and my own contributions to the anthology until we get closer to publication date. I will, however, offer snapshots of the horrific stories and art contributions from the Center for Cartoon Studies artists/writers: Morgan Pielli, Jeremiah Piersol, B.C. Sterrett, Sean Morgan, Matt Young, Chuck Forsman, Bob Oxman, Denis St. John and Jaci June -- including links to their respective sites -- in the coming weeks.

___________________

That said, in reply to emails I've been receiving since the weekend announcement of this project: No, I'm not out of retirement. My retirement from the US comics industry stands.

I've drawn comics for myself all along, in my sketchbooks and such, and happily open up when it involves CCS, my son Dan, daughter Maia or friends; with Dan's Hot Chicks Take Huge Shits zine, the Trees & Hills anthology of last fall, and this upcoming Zombies collection (for a UK publisher), I'm indeed visible in print again, enjoying playing in the medium again, and glad some of what I'm up to will reach those of you who care. But this doesn't mean you'll be seeing me in the DC, Marvel, Dark Horse or Image plantations again -- far from it (& them). So quell any such anticipation, folks. If I do pursue inroads to future publication, it won't be in the US comics industry proper, such as it remains.

But if you do care, you'll read about whatever the heck it may be, and see samples of the art and/or creative effort, here first. To quote you-know-who, "'Nuff said!"

________________

Just shoveled out before starting this post -- as of 5 AM, we ended up with 20+ inches here in Windsor. I got out early to shovel because once the sun hits this snow, it's gonna get heavy to shovel; no doubt, there's lots of black ice under this snow cover on the roads, too. Luckily, we've got no wind here on Taylor Drive, quite unlike our old Marlboro home, which was always buffeted with winds in these kinds of storms. My stepson Mike told Marge last night that over in Claremont, NH (about a half hour from our Windsor digs) they were getting heavy wind last night, creating massive snowdrifts. We've none of that here, the snow lays where and as it fell.

Shoveled out our front steps and walk, over to the propane fill 'cap' further into the front yard, then stomped on down to the foot of the driveway to see if our morning paper was there. Viola! There it was, atop the snow, just tossed -- had I waited till the plows were out, we would have found it in the spring.

The storm is truly over: the sky is crystal clear, the stars (and a sprinkle of the Milky Way) visible horizon to horizon. I took a little walk around the neighborhood, until my glasses fogged so I could no longer see... by then my beard was crusted with frost and ice, too, so back home I went, scraped out in front of the garage doors, and came back in to hear the phone ring. Marge's school is delayed two hours, so she's able to sleep in again, lucky woman. I can hear her snoozing downstairs.

I've got the TV on: Burlington's WCAX (Channel 3) is reporting 40 inches in Jefferson, NH; here in VT, I caught reports for Bolton Valley, 40 inches; Stowe, 29 inches; 24+ in Burlington (now in top ten biggest snowstorms in that area in recorded history), etc. We're all digging out now, eh?

____________

One of my best friends is Joe Citro, writer/novelist/folklorist extraordinaire, and Joe has

long had a website, graced with his grinning mug and tons of info about the man, his work and his obsessions.

Well, those he cares to share with the public, that is.



But now, Joe's taken his maiden voyage

into the blogosphere, posting all-new research, stories and photos!

Joe has launched the blog with a complete story about the mysterious Bristol "treasure mines," complete with some truly evocative photos Joe snapped himself during a summer visit to this most treacherous of all VT locales -- it's tough to keep your footing amid the rocky debris from a century past, and Joe risked neck and limb (and ankles) to explore this terrain first-hand.

It's quite a story, one that still scars the landscape of the Bristol woods and hillsides...

"Shafts caved in, filled with stifling gas, or flooded with water. As much effort went into reclaiming holes as digging them. But no treasure came to light. After more than twelve years and thousands of dollars, Uncle Sim gave up.

But unlike the rock face of South Mountain, Uncle Sim’s faith was never shattered. About a decade later he returned alone. He had met a new conjurer who assured him that by moving just a few stones he could open a passage leading directly to the treasure...."

This is just the beginning of what will no doubt be an entertaining and at times astounding blog resource, particularly to those of you who are already Citro readers/fans/acolytes and/or folklore and stories "that might not be fiction," as Joe prefers to call 'em. And he always calls 'em as he sees 'em.

Joe and I have dabbled with a number of pet projects over the years. Some have yielded results you can still purchase on Joe's site --


Prominent among our dabblings remains the still-in-print & selling nicely, thank you, paperback book The Vermont Ghost Guide, which sports a full-color cover painting (of Emily on her famed Stowe, VT bridge) by yours truly and a plethora of black-and-white Bissette illustrations inside. This was among the most rewarding of all our ventures (just got a royalty check last week), and it's an ideal guide for driving around VT and seeking out the state's weirdest haunts: the book is designed around the VT map on the back cover, number-coding the locations, town by town, village by village, of the alphabetically-arranged spectral stories inside.

Joe and I also "cooked the book" a bit: there's one, and I do mean one, VT ghost story in the book that we completely made up! It does feature one of my coolest b&w illos, and we milk it for all it's worth. See if you can figure out which ghost is the phoney, folks -- but you'll have to buy a copy to play the game.


I also did the cover art for the University Press of New England paperback edition of Joe's 'stories that might not be fiction' tome Green Mountains, Dark Tales -- which is still available from Joe's site, and well worth picking up.

I also have one color full-page illustration (of the Pig-man) and a photo of my car -- with Marge and I waving from the top window -- poised at Greenfield, MA's 'zero gravity' zone in Joe's most recent book, Weird New England.

We also collaborated on a great full-color cartoon map of our native state marking (and illustrating) many more of our favorite Vermont's Haunts. Alas, that beautiful poster-size map is long out-of-print, and no longer available. Maybe someday we'll find a way to get it back into print... but for now, that's the scoop.

Have a great Thursday -- time to go shovel some more...

Snow Update:
15+ inches and
still snowing...

Just a quick evening update:

Measured the snow fall thus far at 5:30: 14 1/2 inches, and still falling.

Looks like it's already another inch up from where it was.

Glad we have indoor plumbing...

Winter Walk and Flicks I've Seen of Late, Pt. 1

Whoa, first winter storm of the winter! Though I've driven through some slippery and treacherous driving this winter thus far (see 2006 posts), this is the first morning we here in mid-VT have seen real snow.

I went out for a little walk at 5:30 AM, while the day's light was just kicking in, and it's beautiful: about 3 inches on the ground already here, and the snow is picking up from the fine, sand-like snow falling early AM (I took a peek outside around 3 AM).

Managed to rescue our morning paper from the bottom of the driveway before it was rendered invisible: "Ah, that lump in the snow looks like our paper," I thought, and so it was. No plows have been through as yet, no tire tracks on Taylor Drive. Could be be a snow day for everyone? Doubtful, but Marge got the call from the Fall Mountain School District that school's out today, so Marge'll be home (and savoring sleeping in just now). Waiting to hear if CCS is calling off classes -- fellow CCS instructor Peter Money and I were scheduled to take the students on a trip up to St. Johnsbury and the Fairbanks Museum, but we rescheduled that two days ago, after hearing the firm predictions for today's storm. Later, Fairbanks. [8:45 addendum: Michelle Ollie just called: no classes at CCS today.]

Anyhoot, I'm going to take a couple of walks today outside -- we haven't had snow like this hereabouts yet this season, and it's sweet.

_________________

Here's a wedding I'm willing to bet the President or Vice-President didn't attend -- a photo you'll never forget,

via a link provided this early AM by Jean-Marc Lofficier.

_________________

Between Marge and I scooting out to catch a few theatrical movies, and the ongoing home-screenings for WRIF (White River Independent Festival, as in film festival; I'm on the board, and in the selection committee for the April 27-29th event), it's been a lively harvest thus far. Here's Part One of the catch-up on what I've been screening...

* THE AMAZING SCREW-ON HEAD (2006) - Online animation highpoint of the form and venue is at last on DVD, hopefully bringing it to a whole new audience unaware of either Mike Mignola's charms (or work, beyond being the wellspring/creator of Hellboy) or the delicious delirium of this most ephemeral of all Mignola comics creations. Mike essentially lambasted his own approach to horror and emerging formulas herein, complete with the inevitable Lovecraftian interloper from beyond (imprisoned in a turnip), sweetened with a giddy, anachronistic approach to history (it's set in 1862, complete with President Lincoln presiding, but its embrace of impossible gadgetry and supernatural-as-commonplace leaves the wildest Wild, Wild West conceits in the dust). Bryan Fuller managed the mean feat of developing and adapting Mike's one-off Dark Horse comic oddity into one of the most true-to-its-source comics adaptations ever, preserving and transposing, without conflating, the inherent qualities of Mike's one-shot. If it's all new to you, it's best I don't tell you a damned thing: just take the plunge! The most entertaining and amusing 22 minutes I've savored in a long time, with pitch-perfect vocal casting and performances (from the like of Paul Giamatti and David Hyde Pierce) that bring Mike's silliest lines ("Groin is watching out for your backside, Head!") to life without dropping a cue or blowing a joke. Much as one longs for an encore, I'd almost prefer this be the be-all and end-all of Screw-On Head adventures: it's hard to imagine how this could be expanded without ruining it's singular magic. Mike, prove me wrong.

* CINE MANIFEST (2006) - Director Judy Irola doesn't provide a context for her own documentary subject until 15 minutes into the film, at which point we are finally told about the Manifest's two feature films, Over-Under, Sideways-Down (1975) and Northern Lights (1975). This isn't necessarily a weakness, in that Irola fully invests screentime (and the viewer) in the collective's members as people first and foremost, a focus she and the film rigorously adheres to throughout. This ultimately makes Cine Manifest worthwhile in that it mounts a passionate and articulate case history for many creative collectives: the issues this group faced, 1972-75, and the double-edged blade of their simultaneous success and collapse (both features were critically lauded, and Northern Lights won Cannes's Camera D'or Award -- best 1st film by a new director -- and other awards), are typical of many creative cooperatives in all fields of endeavor. Thus, the film does have universal appeal and relevance.

For filmmakers and film buffs, it's absolutely irresistible in its fusion of hard fact, on-camera interviews, 'dirt' (the snapshots of Nicholas Ray's agonizing freeloading are intoxicating and depressing without becoming exploitative) and insider views on a group dynamic so volatile that some members (all of whom do speak on-camera, including director and Manifesto member Irola) still aren't on speaking terms. Though I at first found the distance maintained from the films themselves, the fruit of the Manifest, increasingly frustrating, Irola cannily does provide in the end expansive enough glimpses and sequences from Over-Under, Northern Lights and other films (including the documentary Western Coal and the bizarre Ray project 7 Balls) to satisfy. I'd love to see both Cine Manifest features, which have long been out of any circulation; Over-Under looks like a blueprint for Paul Schrader's Blue Collar (1977) in some aspects, while the clips from Northern Lights are among the most evocative of any 1970s American film I've ever seen -- I'm now aching to see Northern Lights in its entirety.

* JESUS CAMP (2006) - Fascinating, compulsive viewing, whatever one's orientation to the subject (which frankly is pretty scary shit to this viewer). There's no denying the hypnotic power of the film, watching 8-to-14-year-olds going through the rigors of the titular camp experience, worked and/or working themselves into traumatizing emotional states and complete meltdown (weeping, shouting, "speaking in tongues," which sounds even more like gibberish when the adults indulge this behavior) under strict adult supervision condoning and indeed arousing such behavior with calculated intent. Make no mistake, this is bootcamp for Jesus -- or rather, the righteous, militaristic brand of fundamentalist Christianity that deliberately matches zealous indoctrination of "opposing" religious cults with its own amped brand of zealous fanaticism. Directors Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady clearly nurtured trusting and surprisingly intimate relations with those involved with the evangelical camp (based in Devil's Lake, North Dakota, though no one involved expresses any hint of irony, for all their talk of ever-present Satan and temptation). They don't betray that trust, simply providing an account of these lives, these actions, this movement, sans judgment or condescension.

Ewing and Grady provide concise, lucid portraits of all the principles, from the organizers to the parents and attending children, focusing on three of the latter: Levi, Tory and Rachael. It's an intimacy shattered only with the intrusion of evangelist Ted Haggard during his Colorado Springs event (he speaks to the camera/filmmakers, chastising, ridiculing and belittling them). Still, this material is critical to the film in following young Levi's Marjoe-like potential as a 12-year-old stage presence, clearly being groomed for something more beyond the parameters of the film's chosen arenas. Levi and his younger brother's brief exchange with Haggard is indeed crucial to the film, but Haggard's presence carries, in hindsight, a chilling context for delusion and self-delusion, deception and self-deception: Haggard was recently 'outted' for covert homosexual relations, and it's telling in the wake of this film how even alternative media (e.g., the 'leftist' NPR news show Here & Now) allowed Haggard and Haggard-supporters/apologists to evoke possible possession by demons (!!!) without overt criticism of such a lunatic stance (Here & Now actually showcased one apologist proposing demonic possession as being typical of the risks front-runner evangelists like Haggard face as part of their work and calling -- astounding! Is personal responsibility for one's actions forever ignored by these factions?).

Ewing & Grady address this disturbing 21st Century trend via sequences shot in a Midwest radio station, in which an articulate Christian talk-show radio host criticises the evangelical imperative to blur the boundaries between church & state. This provides an essential counterpoint and broader social context for the film's focal point, the uncritical indoctrination of fundamentalist children into a self-proclaimed "Army of God," and makes the film palatable for those unsympathetic to the religious dogma without manipulating or inherently criticizing the actions of the passionate believers themselves, adult and child. It's a pretty astounding tightwire act, really, making this a truly exceptional and timely documentary. Cinematically, the documentary is very well made, and the trio of kids Ewing & Grady chose as their 'stars' are indeed engaging. This film needs to be seen!

[PS: Check out the comments for today's post -- the above review is already prompting discussion.]

* THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND (2006) - Barbet Schroeder's Général Idi Amin Dada: Autoportrait/Idi Amin Dada (1974) and the South African Amin: The Rise and Fall (1981, from Indian director Sharad Patel) were the definitive (and only) films of note on Ugandan dictator Idi Amin until Kevin Macdonald's adaptation of Giles Folden's novel popped up, seemingly out of nowhere. It's stateside release was uncannily timed to the public execution of Saddam Hussein and his confederates -- though no one, including the most passionate critics, seemed to note the timely coincidence (Amin, of course, died peacefully in exile in Saudi Arabia after his acts of genocide, counterpointing what happens to even the most homicidal despots as long as they don't cross the good ol' U.S. of A). Using a couple of clips from Schroeder's documentary, Macdonald mounts a pretty intoxicating crash-course on Amin's dynasty via the deceptively alluring initial path of a callow young Scottish doctor Nicholas Garrigan (James MacAvoy, the real surprise of the film). Fleeing the confines of a proposed family medical practice after graduation, the young Scot randomly chooses Uganda as his destination, immediately sampling the sexual vistas via a 'quickie' with a flirtatous local African woman on his initial bus ride -- a key bit of character exposition for Nick that serves Macdonald's narrative structure well, deftly setting up Nick's character later dallying with one of Amin's many brides that has lethal consequences. By maintaining its focus on the good doctor, we are introduced to Amin (a powerhouse Forest Whitaker performance) and initially exposed more to the dictator's renowned charm than his temper, until it's too late: once the blade turns, it turns hard, and the film spirals into its harrowing third act.

Impressive as the film is -- and it doesn't flinch -- it's hard to shake the screen presence of Amin himself in Schroeder's film, or even Joseph Olita performance as Amin in Sharad Patel's 1981 opus ("You see? You see what happens to bad mommies?"), but Whitaker will no doubt fix himself into the popular American imagination as the definitive Amin. Make no mistake, though: it's MacAvoy who is the lead, and he gives an excellent performance throughout, keeping us attuned to his at-times unsympathetic actions and convincingly remaining the lightning rod for all that we see and experience (SPOILER WARNING -- including A Man Called Horse-like comeuppance for the doctor). It's also great to see Gillian Anderson (Scully!) in a solid supporting role, speaking volumes with her eyes and actions (and, critically, inactions); it's been too long since she graced the screen.

Not for the squeamish, though it never approaches the exploitation extremes of Amin: The Rise and Fall -- there are no heads in the dictator's fridge, for instance: the only reference to cannibalism comes in Amin's second public speech, in which he ridicules such claims as inventions of the foreign press -- nor does it revel in genocidal imagery, which some argue is a shortcoming of the film. Clearly, that card is one the director and writers cannily chose to keep close to the chest, until their narrative (and protagonist) finally opens it eyes to the reality of Uganda, 1971-79, in a most personalized revelation of Amin's actrocities. It's not a case of downplaying or sidestepping the reality, but steeping the viewer in the experience of its protagonist, and the seductive thrall of the dictator himself, until the dam can no longer hold back the horrors. It's called storytelling, and this is a solid story, well told. Recommended; catch it on the big screen, while you can.

New Pop for Pop:
Maia Turns Her Dad On To New Music,
The Devil Makes Three;
RIP Alan Eames

I have to open this morning with the sad news that

Alan Eames passed away this weekend (here's a link to the Brattleboro Reformer announcement; full obit to follow later today at the paper's site).

I was told yesterday by friends at First Run Video, and am spreading the news today. I'm told Alan died quietly, in his sleep, on Saturday; I hope that's true. We should all go so gracefully.

Alan was father to two of my own now-adult children's good friends, Adrian and Andy, which linked us through our beloved kids. I had also worked with Alan on this past fall's first (and likely final) H.P. Lovecraft in Vermont Festival in Dummerston, VT, which I discussed here on this blog repeatedly back in September and October. Alan remains best known throughout the world as

the author of the definitive history of beer, The Secret Life of Beer!: Exposed: Legends, Lore & Little-Known Facts,

and was a renowned speaker internationally.

Here's the best online interview I could find with Alan,

which relates some measure of his character.

I'm glad I got to know him a bit in his last year on Earth, however rocky the path (convention planning is never an exact science, and first-time convention planning is fraught with peril, some of which colored the Lovecraft fest, fore and aft, though I'm told it went well for all who attended as non-guests). I wish the best always and forever to his sons, his wife Sheila, and their circle of family and friends.

R.I.P., Alan.
Tip a beer for the man, would you?

______________

I've been spinning the pictured CD ever since Maia and Danny popped in this past Wednesday, and loving it. As I mentioned yesterday, Maia turned me on to some tunes by bands formed by folks she/we know or have known in and around southern VT, and it was a mind-blowing surprise to find out that our old Lower Dover Road (Marlboro, VT) neighbor Pete Bernhard has joined forces on the west coast with two other southern VT/NH cronies of his -- Lucia Turino and Cooper McBean (Jeez, I think I worked with Lucia at First Run Video back in the day -- there couldn't be two redheads in Marlboro named Lucia, could there? (he said, sounding suspiciously like Lo Pan in Big Trouble in Little China) -- and I sure remember Cooper) -- to form

The Devil Makes Three, a kick-ass band playing kick-ass bluegrass/folk/Americana.

FYI, Pete's father Woody was among Marlboro's most solid citizens, and still is, and his mom Pam used to give astrology chart readings to my first wife Marlene, including comprehensive birth charts for both Maia and Dan. So we've known Pete a loooong time, though as a neighbor. Once Pete hit high school, I crossed paths with him infrequently, though I'd heard he picked a mean guitar. As I mentioned, I think Lucia worked with me at FRV, though maybe I'm confusing her for another Marlboro/Brattleboro Lucia (though I don't think so) -- anyhoot, Pete once slipped a note into First Run Video's rental copy of David Lynch's Blue Velvet ("WARNING: Don't watch this movie! It will fuck your mind completely!..." etc.) that completely cracked me up and that I treasured and posted on my bulletin board in my FRV office for years; I still have it here in my files, as it's the purest gut-level response to one of my all-time fave flicks ever written. And that's not all the embarrassing shit I could post about 'em, but I'll leave it at that.

Anyhoot, Pete and Lucia and Cooper all met in high school in Brattleboro, but it took Pete and Cooper sharing digs in Olympia and relocating to Santa Cruz, CA to galvanize all that life experience and energy into lively tunes and their own band. Funny how that happens sometimes.

Hell, don't take my word for it:

pop on over to their website or MySpace space (linked here)

and check 'em out as close to first-hand as virtual online travel permits. Pete plays slide and "regular old" guitar, tenor banjo, harmonica; Cooper's on guitar, tenor banjo, five-string banjo, musical saw; and Lucia swings on the upright bass, while it sounds like they all sing at one point or another. Thus far, I've only heard what's online and their album Longjohns, Boots, and a Belt, which is terrific -- pick up your own copy

here ('cuz I just did).

While you're at it, do what I did, too: also order their other two CDs, The Devil Makes Three: A Little Bit Faster And A Little Bit Worse and The Devil Makes Three: The Devil Makes Three (wait, no, that makes two -- unless you order all three!), and tell them I sent you. It cost me less than $50 for the three discs, including shipping, and I can't wait to draw to this music in my new studio.

A big congrats and good luck to Pete, Lucia and Cooper, keep making music -- and thanks, Maia, for turning me on to some great new tunes from some youthful ex-neighbors making their own way in this shitass ol' world of ours. It lifts the spirits on the darkest days, and great to see a few folks I knew only as kids making their own music and flying; be good to each other, and happy trails.

__________________

We're supposed to finally get nailed with a winter storm here in VT, after a pretty dry and lean winter.
Not that I'm complaining, mind you, with folks in upper NY state displaced by a reported 12 feet (!) of snow -- but I'm ready for a real blizzard.
Here's hoping --

Have a great Tuesday!

More on My Resurrected Zombies,
Zulli's Turtle Reign Redux!

And a crisp Monday morning it is, too.

As I walked the length of our driveway, towing our garbage can down to the roadside for early morning pickup, I was dazzled by the early morning/night sky: as clear and sharp a sky as we've had this year, every star visible, the quarter moon low on the horizon. Beautiful!

_________

Speaking of 'Roadside' (the abbreviated form of my Johnson State College nickname, 'Roadside Frog'), my old JSC pal and fellow 'Subhuman' (the moniker attached to all of us on the subfloor of Governor's dorm) Dave Booz snail-mailed me terrific color copies of a couple of my hand-drawn promotional 'posters' from my JSC Film Committee days, circa 1974-76. Thanks, Dave!

This makes three old Bissette movie posters that Dave has preserved over the years and provided me scannable color copies of, and once the new computer setup is in place, I'll be posting this ancient art and an account of the JSC film days/daze for your early morning entertainment. Though only one of the three Dave lovingly archived stands the test of time for me (still proud of my ballyhoo and art for the showing of Mario Bava's Hatchet for the Honeymoon, which is better than any of the genuine promo materials ever attached to that film's US theatrical or TV exhibition, if I may say so myself), it's still a hoot to see this stuff after thirty years.

One of the posters is from the second (or third)-most infamous film showing I hosted at JSC, Paul Bartel's Private Parts (not to be confused with the Howard Stern film of that same title); so lurid was my promo, via poster and radio spots on JSC's college FM station, that the non-violence class chained the doors shut to Dibden Theater -- thus endangering those already in the theater!

This bit of activism resulted in a real hubbub on campus, though we did show the film, and to an appreciative and fully-entertained packed house (thanks in part to my shrill ballyhoo, but also to the instantaneous outrage against the Non-Violence class's actions; word spread like wildfire on the campus about the chaining of the doors, bringing people out of the dorms to see what film sparked such a stunt, instantly doubling audience size by the time the chains were down and the film began). My subsequent administration meetings with JSC muckamucks and the teacher and a couple students from the non-violence class was memorable, too, for the revelation that none of them had ever seen or heard of the film: they were reacting to my shameless, over-the-top hucksterism alone! David Friedman, William Castle and K. Gordon Murray would have been proud!

Anyhoot, thank you, Dave, for these blasts from the past. I'll find a way to get them up on this blog in the very near-future -- and a big howdy, too, to Sparky this morning.

___________________

A is for Ambrose...

Pg. 1 of "An Alphabet of Zombies,"

(c) 2007 Daniel and Stephen R. Bissette,
from the Accent UK anthology Zombies (2007)

(If you're just tuning in after the weekend, be sure to read yesterday's lengthy post and reveal on my and my son Dan's part in the upcoming Accent UK Zombies anthology before getting into this part of today's post...)

Here's another preview of what Dan and I cooked up for the Accent UK Zombies anthology, which will be out in May -- Accent UK's biggest anthology yet. It's a treat to be part of this, joining the UK creators (including Leah Moore and John Reppion, whose invite got me into this in the first place) and the many CCS artists who've completed stories: Jeremiah Piersol, Denis St. John, Jaci June, Bob Oxman, Sean Morgan, Blair Sterrett, Morgan Pielli, and more. Kudos to CCSer Chris Warren (aka Radical Warren) for scanning and prepping my work for submission, too.

FYI, Danny and I worked on "An Alphabet of Zombies" throughout the move, but the real fun was in the final week or two; having divvied up the panels equally (26 letters in the alphabet, 13 zombies each), we each cooked up some ideas for rhymes and names, shaking it all up and out in a fun breakfast at the Chelsea Royal in Brattleboro, VT (where our lovely waitress, Rachel Johnson, also pitched in, solving one name-stumper and thus earning a 'thank you' byline on the final page). There, making sure we were juxtaposing my zombies with Dan's to ensure a good mix of art (I inked everything, to pull it all together visually), we made the final attachment of names to portraits and cooked the text for the most amusing final script.

Dan, being far more musical and a sharper ear for this sort of absurdity than his pop, had the better names and rhymes, so he polished the final draft and wrote up the final notes I lettered from. I had to deviate only once from this final post-it-note script, to ensure our two shortest zombies (Gaelen and Yusef) weren't on the same page.


Though we could have overloaded the alphabet with movie zombies, we chose not to go there, save for our second and third portraits, visible on the page one sampled, above. Bub is, well, Bub, and if you don't know who he is, you've never seen a proper zombie movie, have you? Bub is by far Dan's all-time fave cinematic zombie, so he had to stay. More in need of explanation, though, is Carrefour; that entry embodies a pervasive generational gap, since Darby Jones's unforgettable Carrefour in Maurice Tourneur & Val Lewton's I Walked With a Zombie (1943) was the best zombie my generation was exposed to via frequent TV showings of the RKO film library (Darby Jones recreated the role in Zombies on Broadway, too, though that's not a film I'd recommend to any but the heartiest '40s horror movie buffs). So, Dan's fave movie zombie, my fave movie zombie, and we went with all-original stiffs and boneheads thereafter.

(That's one deadline out of the way; now to attend to the encroaching deadline with Bob McLeod and Rough Stuff magazine!)

My daughter Maia and I also be hard at work on a four-page story, "Isola," though that'll be submitted to Accent UK for a future collection or title. Maia is scripting the original story, which unlike Dan's and my collaboration isn't funny: it's a sorrowful portrait of life after the walking dead apocalypse. The premise is Maia's own concept, revamped after a couple of face-to-face plotting sessions, and Maia has started the scripting, which is going well. It'll be interesting to see how we work out the visual collaboration, as our approaches to our art are quite strikingly different; Maia has evolved a couple of drawing styles distinctively her own. It should result in a compelling piece, and may evolve into a more expansive effort in time once this four-pager is done. "Isola" won't be in Zombies, but it was conceived as a result of that invitation to contribute -- in any case, we'll keep you posted via this blog once there's something to show for our collaborative effort.

In the meantime, I'll keep you posted here on progress on Accent UK's Zombies anthology, and post links for purchasing once it's available in the spring.

_______________

TMNT: Soul's Winter

Finally, on this fine Monday morn, I must note the pending graphic novel release of my good friend Michael Zulli's memorable Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles trilogy. It's all under the title Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Soul's Winter, and PaneltoPanel.net has just announced a special edition available only from P2P's online venue.

A little personal background, to explain why I'm plugging Michael's book here: Michael and I met at the Holyoke Mall in Holyoke, MA, at a Dave Sim Moondance Comics signing back in the mid-to-late '80s, when he and compadre Steve Murphy were first negotiating with Dave Sim to publish their serialized environmental sf/fantasy epic Puma Blues.

We became close friends in the trenches of the pretty-much-forgotten distributor wars of the late '80s, primarily amid the ensuing hubbub over Diamond Comics and Puma Blues -- in short (tough to do), Diamond wanted to 'punish' Dave Sim over the first Cerebus 500-pg. volume (which Dave had in fact initially offered to Diamond and all distributors, though they'd declined, saying no one would pay $25 for a graphic novel; this is before The Dark Knight Returns hardcover collected, mind you, as it was Dave who broke the then-extant artificial price barrier/ceiling affixed to book-format graphic novels), and decided to do so by refusing to carry Puma Blues, misconstruing Dave as a traditional 'publisher,' which he was not, thus 'punishing' blameless Steve Murphy and Michael Zulli instead. You got that? Good. If not, rest assured it's not you: Diamond's stance made little-to-no sense then, either.

Friends of Michael, Steve, Dave and Puma Blues rallied, and it was in this weird, almost-inexplicable crossfire, that I'm sure makes almost no sense to 98% of you reading this today, that Michael and I really bonded. We in fact collaborated on not one but two stories for the Puma Blues benefit book, with Michael inking my pencils on a (now long-lost, likely never-to-be-reprinted) Alan Moore story featuring mating flying mantas (the flying manta rays were iconic in Puma Blues's invented universe), and my inking Michael's pencils on the opening story. I initially had a tough time inking his exquisite pencils, laboring through page one, shaken by how difficult it was to work with the stroke of Michael's pencils -- until I discovered a simple solution for inking page two: if I turned the page upside-down, my pen and brush stroke matched Michael's pencil strokes perfectly! He was (is) a lefty! So, I inked the rest of the entire story upside-down -- and it came out quite nicely, if I may say so.

But enough on that. The news isn't Puma Blues or this old hash -- the news is Michael's classic TMNT stories are at last collected in book form, complete beneath a stunning new cover by Michael himself.

PaneltoPanel.net is offering a special edition with a tipped-in bookplate, featuring a portrait of Master Splinter, created exclusively and signed by Zulli; the book is scheduled to ship within the next two weeks, and can be pre-ordered here!

And don't dawdle, if you're a Zulli or TMNT fan (or, best of all worlds, both!); the special bookplate edition of Tales of the TMNT: The Collected Books Volume 1 sold out and is no longer in reach, save for pricey online auctions (though the book itself

sans bookplate, is still available here).

However,

copies with the awesome Jim Lawson bookplate for Tales of the TMNT: The Collected Books Volume 2 are still available here, while supply lasts.

Michael's Soul's Winter is a real highlight of the truly mutant years of TMNT, when many guest artists offered their own unique takes on the Turtles. None were more unique than Michael's, who extrapolated an alternate TMNT universe as if Akira Kurosawa had 'directed' the ultimate TMNT film: turtles that looked like and behaved like reptiles, sheltered by a Master Splinter of true rodent origins, facing not only the mystical powers of an implacable foe (Shredder), but a confrontation with death incarnate on another realm of reality.

Rendered in Michael's exquisite fine-line pen, brush and ink (on duo-shade), and anticipating his future work with Neil Gaiman on Sandman and other projects, Soul's Winter is among the loveliest of all the TMNT Mirage experiments, and the most memorable. This is a book well worth owning and revisiting -- more on the book, and Zulli's work, in future posts... but don't wait for my sorry ass,

visit Michael's own eye-popping website right this minute!

Have a great Monday, one and all...

Ho-Hum

Gotta say, I'm not impressed with this "new blog" system Google rammed down my throat this AM. My marathon morning post isn't posting! Nor, as with the old system, does the post cycle indicate what percentage, if any, of the post is publishing -- Sigh -- here's hoping...

[Note: We left for breakfast at Stub's and Laura's around 9:45, with this post still cycling, unposted -- and now, home at 11:15 AM, it's still cycling! What the -- ?? Google, this 'new blog' system is for the birds!]

More on Shiny Beasts
and the Veitch Universe,
Bissette Zombies,
Back from the Grave!
and My Sunday Bitchfest


While I'm shamelessly huckstering Rick Veitch's upcoming anthology of his (and our) Epic short comics creations, Shiny Beasts, it occurs to me that an explanation for Veitch's book title is in order, especially for those of you who don't know about Don Van Vliet aka Captain Beefheart.

Yep, Rick's latest King Hell book indeed appropriates its title from one of Rick's stories collected therein -- "Shiny Beast," from the Epic magazine procession of tales Rick crafted under the steady helmsmanship of vet writer/editor Archie Goodwin -- but that story itself lifted its moniker from Captain Beefheart's first solo album with the (new) Magic Band after his live album with Frank Zappa, Bongo Fury (1975).

[An aside: Now, dig. When Bongo Fury came out, I was still in Johnson State College in Johnson, VT, dreaming of drawing comics and not knowing Veitch -- whose work I knew only from his underground comix collaboration with his brother Tom, Two-Fisted Zombies -- and it was in my lowly sub-human Governor's dorm sub-floor room, shared with Joe Mangelynx, that I first spun that brand-new Zappa/Beefheart album. I still recall my first listening, looking out of our picture window that overlooked the lower entrance to the dining hall and student post office and lounge, drinking in the new blast of Beefheart. Little did I know then that Rick was still in the belly of Bellow Falls, VT, keeping head above water and likewise dreaming of doing comics, full time and forever.]

By the time Beefheart's Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller) (1978) hit, Veitch and I were best friends and had just graduated from the Kubert School. Shiny Beast was an omen, a godsend, an adjunct to our new life -- as cartoonists, artists, making our way into the new world. Shiny Beast was also a mind-blowing comeback album for Beefheart after a fallow stretch, and it immediately became a staple spin in our lowly shared Dover, NY digs (shared by yours truly, Veitch, John Totleben, Tom Yeates and Tom's girlfriend Sue Balinski). What a record!

Every tune evokes memories for me to this moment. "Apes-Ma" entered our lexicon (and sketchbooks), as did "The Floppy Boot Stomp" (an uncanny bit of occult Beefheart Americana) and all the other tunes on Shiny Beast: "Candle Mambo," "Tropical Hot Dog Night," the blissful "Harry Irene," and my personal fave, "When I See Mommy I Feel Like a Mummy."

It was inevitable that something more refined would emerge from the fusion of Beefheart music and the comic art factory that is Veitch's brainpan.

Now, ya gotta brush up on the Captain's bio and legacy,

and understand how vital Captain Beefheart's music was to Veitch to grok the many links between the man, the music and Veitch's "Shiny Beast" story (and, for that matter, much of Rick's comics work). It was Don Van Vleit's poetry, too, that mattered to Rick, and evidence of that influence marks not only stories like "Shiny Beast" (which is textless, but don't let that fool you) but also his "L'il Tiny Comix" for Heavy Metal (itself a spin-off from Rick's homemade, one-of-a-kind L'il Tiny Comix that were drawn over the years as birthday gifts over the years for many of Rick's friends and family) and other key works, up to and including his most recent graphic novel Can't Get No (DC/Vertigo, 2006). Knowing both Rick's art and writing and Beefheart's music and lyrics as I do, subterranean primal beats mark my every reading of these Veitch creations; I hear the music in my head, heart, and it's as much an echo of Van Vliet as it is Rick's own iconographic visual tone-poems that coax these secret rhythms and unheard melodies from this humble reader.

So, Shiny Beasts owes its name to both Rick's one-shot Epic story (splash page pictured here) and Beefheart's album and legacy -- but there's more. Rick's graphic novel legacy began, of course, with our collaborative effort on the ill-fated Heavy Metal/Simon & Schuster movie adaptation graphic novel 1941, which we completed in a heated couple of months in 1979 for publication at the end of that year (to coincide with the release of Steven Spielberg's feature, which was his first theatrical and critical flop). A lot of Beefheart fueled that work, too, though it isn't self-evident. The rocky relations Creative Burnouts endured throughout that collaboration -- due in large part to my lackadaisical lack of discipline on the project, savoring as I was my return to my Vermont roots, having just fled Dover, New Jersey to live in a brick schoolhouse in Grafton, VT, initially sans electricity or plumbing, driving Rick nuts and making the whole thing even more of an ordeal than it already was, though we came through in the home stretch -- indeed burned us out.

Still, that gig was landed in part due to Heavy Metal art director John Workman's shot at "Monkey See," the story you'll see in its totality in Shiny Beasts; John dug what Rick and I had done with that piece, even if it ended up at Epic, and we were shoed-in-to 1941: The Illustrated Story after John's first choice, Alex Toth, declined the project despite John's best efforts.


Thus, the burnout of Creative Burnouts via 1941: The Illustrated Story led directly into Rick's most fertile creative relationship of the 1980s: his work with editor Archie Goodwin. Archie was already a legend to our generation via his work as a writer in comics, credited (his scripts and editing chops defined the entire Jim Warren horror comics line via the debut issues of Creepy and Eerie, etc.) and uncredited (Secret Agent x-9 scripting for Al Williamson, His Name is Savage script for Gil Kane, etc.), and Rick couldn't have conjured a better editor or mentor in the wake of Rick's tenure working with/under Joe Kubert.

In terms of personality, Archie was quite different from Joe, but he lent as steady (though less paternal) guidance to this phase of Rick's development as Joe had to Rick's years at the Kubert School and just after. Rick's work blossomed under Archie's tutelage, no doubt about it, and one can still see and savor Rick stretching and reaching for new vistas throughout this run of stories. It's Rick's ongoing work with Archie at Epic that really brought Rick's comic work to a whole new level, refining his considerable skills as an artist and storyteller via the procession of tales collected in Shiny Beasts, and

culminating in Rick's first (serialized) solo graphic novel, Abraxas and the Earthman, which I reviewed here (and you can purchase via this link, too, via PaneltoPanel.net).

That Abraxas review includes a bit more 'inside info' on the particulars of Rick's relationship with Archie and with Marvel, and the creative theft that unfortunately cast a bit of a shadow over his triumphant run in Epic with this serialized epic (one of the few works in Epic to deserve that word association). Given Rick's recent first-time collection of that serialized work into a single volume, the leap between Rick's first solo graphic novel Abraxas and his latest,

Can't Get No (my review awaits you here, if you're interested),

isn't as great as it seems, though literally two decades+ lay between their original publication.

There's also the further fruition of Rick's and Archie's creative dynamic evidenced in Rick's Epic miniseries The One, and his Marvel Graphic Novel Heartburst -- next in line in the King Hell reprint series, I believe -- all of which is also worthy of revisiting, or reading for the first time, if all of this is new to you.

It's amazing to contemplate how almost

all of Rick's comics work is currently in print and available (from PaneltoPanel.net, natch),

and what a remarkably consistent and cohesive body of work it is, too.

With the ongoing King Hell reprint series placing all this in easy reach, and Shiny Beasts gathering a previously 'missing link' in Rick's artistic evolution between two covers at last, it's time to access and re-assess Rick's place in comics history and his generation of comics creators. For too long, Rick's work has been seen only in the context of his most visible mainstream comics work -- his tenure on Swamp Thing, initially with the team I was part of (Alan Moore/Bissette/John Totleben/Rick Veitch), then pencilling the series during Alan's final run as writer, then picking up the reins to write and pencil the series until the ill-fated Swamp Thing #88 censorship debacle -- rather than in its true context.

Rick's distinctive chronology is only punctuated, not defined by, his work on Swamp Thing: in fact, impressive as it was and remains, Rick's Swamp Thing work is arguably the least of his accomplishments, given all he did before and has done after.

It's time to tap for many of you to catch up with, and on to, what really makes Rick's comics and comix tick -- and Shiny Beasts provides an ideal entry point.

Reading while spinning the good Captain's Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller), on vinyl or CD, is likewise heartily recommended.

"Apes-ma? Apes-ma? Your cage is getting too dirty, Apes-Ma..."

__________________

Bissette, Back from the Dead??

"Baby Blight" (c) 2007 S.R. Bissette

Yep, I've just turned in my first comic gig of 2007, and it's packed with zombies, amigo.

I mean, lots of zombies. Twenty-nine of them, in fact, one of which will be living on the cover of the upcoming Accent UK anthology Zombies. The rest will be malingering inside, like maggots.

This is all thanks to

Leah Moore and John Reppion, whom Marge and I met and spent some great times with in Copenhagen, Denmark back in April of 2006

(thanks again, Arni, for orchestrating the invite!). It was Leah and John who eased Marge and I over to the Accent UK booth at the Copenhagen comics convention, where we met Dave West and Colin Mathieson, which inevitably led to talk of the planned 2007 Zombies anthology. John in particular is a rabid zombie movie fan, which led to John extending the subsequent invite, via email, to get involved. So, kudos to John, Leah, Colin and Dave for opening the door so generously and pleasantly.

This mini-Bissette-zombie-jamboree you now have to look forward to also owes a huge debt to my son Daniel, who co-created the four-page "An Alphabet of Zombies" with yours truly (Dan pencilled half the zombies and really pulled the whole thing together with his writing and sense of humor, which is a bit sharper than mine in these musical matters -- yep, it's a rhyme). Mind you, it was Dan's invite to draw a comic for his fanzine Hot Chicks Take Huge Shits in 2006 that got my appetite up for even doing anything for publication again.

There's also a huge debt due to everyone at the Center for Cartoon Studies. Dave and Colin were also up for the CCS students contributing to the anthology, and a group of them did just that -- I'll post more info, names, and art on this blog in the coming weeks, offering a snapshot of the CCSers whose work will appear in Accent UK's Zombies and a peek at images from their stories.

The conjunction of these various persons and places has led to the first of the comics work you'll be seeing from me in 2007. What are you waiting for? Time to visit

the good folks at Accent UK, and click on the Zombies link on the left-screen menu after scrolling down a bit.

They'll be updating the site soon, as everything from CCS and yours truly was just turned in, and Dave and Colin will be making their final decisions of what makes the cut in quick order -- well, as soon as Colin gets back from Scotland, I reckon.

More zombie news, art, and tantalizing tidbits to follow -- keep your eyes on this blog!

____________________

As of this morning, it was impossible to post via the usual ("old") blogger dashboard. I was thus forced to sign on to the new blogger service this AM, damn it!

This required reading and agreeing to the following contract, and there's nothing I love less on a very early Sunday morning than being forced to read, and agree to sans negotiation, a contract. I take to Sunday AM contracts like cops to aviators -- hell, I'd even prefer to deal with a ruptured septic tank this early on a Sunday, thank you (and have).

Luddite that I am, though I intellectually grasp all the issues, particularly this new corporate consolidation of the blogger realm (it's been a-comin' since 2005), I resent the transition process, which involved cow-towing to Google's new corporate reality or simply disappearing from this space.

The reading of this contract took some time, given all the active links to additional conditions, terms and definitions one is agreeing to with a click, and it's a brave new world of infuriating contracts that waits for all of us ahead!

Those of you with blogs know the routine first-hand, and likely didn't resist as long as I did, but for you casual readers, here's the new terms. Let this make your Sunday morning, too!:

_________

Blogger Terms of Service

Welcome to Blogger! Before you begin using Blogger, you must read and agree to these Blogger Terms of Service ("Terms of Service") and the following terms and conditions and policies, including any future amendments (collectively, the "Agreement"):

* Google Terms of Service - Google's general terms and conditions (http://www.google.com/terms_of_service.html)
* Google Privacy Policy - How we maintain and protect your personal information in Blogger (http://www.google.com/privacy.html)
* Blogger Content Policy - How we promote free expression and responsible publishing (http://www.blogger.com/content.g)

Although we may attempt to notify you when major changes are made to these Blogger Terms of Service, you should periodically review the most up-to-date version (http://www.blogger.com/terms.g). Google may, in its sole discretion, modify or revise these Terms of Service and policies at any time, and you agree to be bound by such modifications or revisions. If you do not accept and abide by this Agreement, you may not use the Blogger service. In the event of an inconsistency between the Blogger Terms of Service and either Google's general Terms of Service (http://www.google.com/intl/en/terms_of_service.html) or the Google Privacy Policy (http://www.google.com/privacy.html), the Blogger Terms of Service (http://www.blogger.com/terms.g) shall control. Nothing in this Agreement shall be deemed to confer any third-party rights or benefits.

1. Description of Service. Blogger is a web publishing service and optional hosting service (the "Service"). You will be responsible for all activities occurring under your username and for keeping your password secure. You understand and agree that the Service is provided to you on an AS IS and AS AVAILABLE basis. Google disclaims all responsibility and liability for the availability, timeliness, security or reliability of the Service or any other client software. Google also reserves the right to modify, suspend or discontinue the Service with or without notice at any time and without any liability to you.

You must be at least thirteen (13) years of age to use the Service. Google reserves the right to refuse service to anyone at any time without notice for any reason.

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You agree to abide by the Blogger Content Policy (http://www.blogger.com/content.g) and the rules and restrictions therein. Although we may attempt to notify you when major changes are made to the Blogger Content Policy, you should periodically review the most up-to-date version. Google may, in its sole discretion, modify or revise the Blogger Content Policy at any time, and you agree to be bound by such modifications or revisions.

Violation of any of the foregoing, including the Blogger Content Policy (http://www.blogger.com/content.g), may result in immediate termination of this Agreement, and may subject you to state and federal penalties and other legal consequences. Google reserves the right, but shall have no obligation, to investigate your use of the Service in order to (a) determine whether a violation of the Agreement has occurred or (b) comply with any applicable law, regulation, legal process or governmental request.

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15. Choice of Law; Jurisdiction; Forum. These Terms of Service will be governed by and construed in accordance with the laws of the State of California, without giving effect to its conflict of laws provisions or your actual state or country of residence. Any claims, legal proceeding or litigation arising in connection with the Service will be brought solely in Santa Clara County, California, and you consent to the jurisdiction of such courts.

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__________________

Whew! C'mon, admit it, you didn't really read it, did you?

Well, shit howdy, I did. Damn it.

Have a great Sunday...

Bissette & Veitch, aka 'Creative Burnouts,'
"Monkey See," 1978/79, originally published in Epic #2;
yep, that's Leo Kottke driving the sea-monkey-hunting lead ship!

Shiny Beasts and Shub-Lips

Quick post this AM, as I'm off to work:


More art from Rick Veitch's upcoming anthology Shiny Beasts, gathering all his key 1980s Epic magazine stories and art betwixt two glossy covers,

is showcased here, and worth a peek.

I'm eagerly anticipating the release of this latest of Rick's King Hell book projects, not least due to the fact a wee bit of my work is therein; I'll post the link to PaneltoPanel's listing once that's in place, with whatever bonus for buyers Rick and John (Rovnak) work out. It's always worth the wait.

For those unfamiliar with Rick's pre-Swamp Thing era creations, this is the book to let your wallets flop out for. It's a high-octane and eclectic potpourri of inventive and experimental work, all of which culminating in Rick taking the big plunge into graphic novel form with Abraxas and the Earthman.

Keep an eye out here for news and more art!

And speaking of more art --

More art -- and a whole new sketchbook blog! -- from Eric Talbot

malingers here, including step-by-step shots of work in progress, well worth keeping an eye peeled for!

Eric says, "Un rama cthulhu lama ding dong. Sorry - I just had to do it."

Gotta run -- more art, including a peek at my son Dan's and my zombie creations for Accent UK's upcoming Zombie anthology, and more news later!

Bava
in a
Box

As noted earlier this week, the upcoming DVD re-releases of some of Mario Bava's key 1960s features is cause for celebration in the Bissette household, and it's amazing to see competing releases of Kill, Baby, Kill/Operazione Paura (1966) popping up after years of public domain videocassettes and DVDs.

The upcoming Anchor Bay boxed set (pictured here) promises transfers of the original European versions (I can't say Italian, given Black Sunday's packaging of US and UK prints only; see the links noted below) along with their US theatrical versions, the American-International Pictures (AIP) edits we all grew up with. Those brassy Les Baxter musical scores defined my generation's only experience with these classics prior to the video bootleg market and eventual official DVD releases, which were at times revelatory: Black Sabbath in particular is a completely different experience and film, from AIP's reorchestration of the order of the three stories to the Boris Karloff Thriller-like intros to the deletion of all lesbian references essential to "The Telephone" (a story that never made a lick of sense in its AIP cut, and I do mean cut). Most infamous of all was/is AIP's removal of Bava's original unusual coda, a comedic flourish featuring Karloff in his wurdulak makeup and costume astride a horse mockup that playfully reveals the artifice of Bava's filmmaking tricks (which makes this a precursor to the ending of Alejandro Jodorowsky's The Holy Mountain, sans the fusion/faux-religious context). Seeing this at last (it had been mentioned in newsstand monster zines like Castle of Frankenstein and in Karloff bios in the 1960s, but never seen in the US) was the icing on the Bava birthday cake, but there are elements of the AIP version I still love and miss. At last, they'll be together, in one release!


Anchor Bay is also releasing (April 3) Bava's lost film Rabid Dogs/Cani Arrabbiati, which had malingered in post-production limbo and was imprisoned & unreleased for three decades. Only a lucky, attentive and devoted few (including moi) snapped up the limited-edition Lucertola Media DVD release from Germany years ago (1997); Anchor Bay's upcoming DVD represents the film's US debut in any form. Rabid Dogs is a lean-and-mean-spirited gem. It was and is unlike any other of Bava's films, essentially an entry in the ire-fueled Italian crime film cycle of the 1970s caustically fused with a Last House on the Left "anything can and will go bad" intensity unique to the '70s; shot and shelved in 1974 -- the death of one of its key investors in a car accident doomed the raw footage to impoundment, finally 'freed' and edited in 1996 according to Bava's notes! -- this taut, claustrophobic nerve-jangler boasts the tightest script of any Bava film and a volatile, in-your-face ferocity (and morbid final turn of the blade) that razors the edge of Bay of Blood (aka Antefatto, Carnage, Twitch of the Death Nerve, Last House Part II) to a less stylized, more pragmatic & lethal precision. It's a missing link in Bava's body of work, very much of its time and a direct prototype/contemporary of Pasquale Festa Campanile's better-known (and why not? It was completed and released!) Hitch-Hike/Autostop rosso sangue (1977), which starred Franco Nero and Last House on the Left's David Hess. Bava had no such star-power, but Rabid Dogs is the superior film, and it also anticipates more contemporary incarnations of the genre like, well, Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs. Anchor Bay is offering two versions of this resurrected opus, Rabid Dogs and Kidnapped; I've no idea what (other than the one-minute difference in running time) defines the differences between these two versions, but I can't wait to find out.

This generosity extends to Anchor Bay's Bava boxed set (Vol. 1), which finally preserves both the European and US versions of the two films most often referenced as Bava's best (sorry, Bava diehards like yours truly beg to differ, though they are delicious and deserving of their classic stature). Black Sunday and Black Sabbath are packaged with the seminal giallo (the first of the genre!) The Girl Who Knew Too Much (coupled with its AIP version, The Evil Eye, never released legally in any format since 16mm, and strikingly different from the Italian version in many respects), the spectral Kill, Baby, Kill (which surprising fared best of all of Bava's '60s horror films, in that it was intact in its US releases whatever title it was released under) and Bava's muscular remake of Shane as a Cameron Mitchell viking opus, Knives of the Avenger. That may not sound promising, but it's among my favorite Bava films, eschewing the maestro's usual color schemes for an earthier palette amid inventively restagings of the generic western elements (i.e., six-shooters become thrown knives) while infusing the Shane boy/child relationship with a more primal paternal twist (Viking rape and pillaging yields an illegitimate son, the young boy the now-repentant viking loner bonds with) and showcasing an excellent Mitchell performance. Its among the most heartfelt of Bava's films, and a real treat; give it a look.

The 'Volume 1' status is worthy of notice, too: if a Volume 2 is in the works, one can hope at last for a definitive US release of Antefatto/Bay of Blood, my favorite of all Bava's 1970s films. Image's 2000 DVD release of this classic (as part of their mastheaded "The Mario Bava Collection") was visually impeccable but fatally flawed by a botched soundtrack transfer that distorted the terrific Stelvio Cipriana score on every system I played it on, rendering the film almost unwatchable. Despite mono sound, even Simitar's cheapjack 1999 DVD release was preferable, despite its shoddy image, for being at least listenable; this eventually drove me to purchase the Raro Video/Nocturno/Horror Club import DVD, though that, too, had its problems. Here's hoping Anchor Bay's re-releases and restorations includes salvaging this seminal slasher and Bava's best black comedy, and preserving Hallmark Releasing's delirious Carnage trailer, which is still among the oddest of its very-odd drive-in era.

[An aside: Hallmark -- the Boston-based exploitation distributor who made their indelible mark with their release of Last House on the Left and Mark of the Devil -- test-marketed Bay of Blood in Boston markets under the title Carnage and tried to revisit the boxoffice bonanza of Mark of the Devil by promoting Carnage as "The 2nd Film Rated 'V' for Violence," and with a possessive "Mario Bava's" moniker above the title (!). That apparently failed to produce results, so Hallmark trotted the film back out later that summer under the much more successful (and inspired) Twitch of the Death Nerve title, with aggressive new ballyhoo: "The first motion picture to require a face-to-face warning*" -- the ad then referencing with its asterisk follow-through, "* Every Ticket Holder Must Pass Through The Final Warning Station -- We Must Warn You Face-to-Face!" Ah, the '70s. Anchor Bay can't restore The Final Warning Station, but if they can restore the soundtrack, I'll be happy!]

This all bodes well for those of us who've long waited for definitive releases of these classics, and

Tim Lucas's Video Watchblog is hands-down the best place to find info on this boxed set and the rest of the upcoming Bava releases.

It's also worth nothing that

the Latarnia Fantastique International forum is also keeping tabs on this Bava boxed set release.

Sweetening the Bava Year in Fear of 2007 is also the pending release of

Tim's massive Bava bio (1,115+ pages!), which you should pre-order ASAP if you're a fan of the man's work (Mario's and/or Tim's).

Tim and Donna are closing in on their long-awaited printing date, so keep an eye on the Bava book blog for updates. This is one of those essential & expensive film books that will only become more essential and much, much more expensive after it drops out of print.

30 and 40 years ago, it was almost impossible to find anything on Bava outside of the insightful capsule reviews (many by Joe Dante) in Castle of Frankenstein, and seeing a Bava film was a matter of haunting late-night TV broadcasts and local drive-ins, usually rewarded with cut and pan-and-scanned dubbed prints in rough shape.

2007 is shaping up to be quite a year from where I sit...

Have a great weekend, one and all!

Notes from the Gulag

Just home from work, a busy CCS day! Sorry I didn't have time to post this AM, but hey, it's been one of those days.

BTW, last week's guest artist/speaker, New England cartoonist and graphic novelist

Greg Cook,

has posted

this blog coverage of his CCS visit, take a look.

This week, as noted earlier,

Tom Hart

and

Leela Corman

were our guests, spending almost the entire week here -- and they were amazing. Leela conducted an intensive life-drawing session as part of my weekly Drawing Workshop class that had everyone on their feet, standing and drawing from our live model Kristan; it was a terrific, invigorating session which provided breakthrough observational drawing skills for many.

It also yielded my fave student comment of the month thus far (granted, it's only the 8th):
"Steve, your Drawing Workshop is turning into a drawing gulag!"
(- Sean Ford, 2/7/07, 5:10 PM)

Too Pissed to Post

So, the Republicans are dodging debate and the vote on any -- any, including the compromise with Republican Senator John Warner that Democrats hammered out (Warner joined the rest of his party voting to avoid debate on his own resolution) -- resolution, even as the body count of US military escalates further in Iraq.

We can now handily count the obfuscation and its toll in flesh and blood.

From the beginning, anyone within government circles who told the truth about this goddamned -- and I do mean God Damned -- war, including its dollars-and-cents cost, was unceremoniously ditched by President Bush and his Administration. As the trial of 'Scooter' Libby proceeds, we see just how outrageous this President, Vice President (the literal interpretation of this office now more appropo than it has been since Spiro Agnew resigned in disgrace) and his cabinet's behavior truly has been: at one of the most critical junctures of this war they pre-emptively executed, Bush, Cheney et al were too busy attacking another truth-sayer (read "foe"), via treasonous outing of his wife's identity as a covert CIA operative, to pay attention to their dirty little war and its consequences. It's an increasingly fascinating case history, but an absolutely sickening display of the total and abject abuse of power on a mind-boggling scale: they were too busy tarring and feathering one of their own to pay attention to Iraq.

This is horrendous, monstrous, appalling on so many levels, it's truly incomprehensible at this stage of the game.

I don't understand why impeachment is so cavalierly dismissed as simply not an option.

Sigh.

But, of course I do.

And our Senators are demonstrating again, today, why nothing will be done.

They can't even agree to discuss this -- their -- fucking war.

I'm sorry, man, for those of you (especially my friends) who are Republicans, but this, if I am to apply the dualistic rhetoric our current President so loves, is evil, pure and simple. The Republicans, in all their righteous piety, heartfelt convictions and madness, are no longer simply denying reality: they are, by their own definition, doing evil.

Measure the toll of this latest obfuscation in the hard reality of our own military servicemen and women's body count, and tell me otherwise.

Painting With Mike &
The Only Performance
That Counts...

'Good Dog' by Mike Dooney, (c) 2006

There's more exciting Mario Bava DVD news on

Tim Lucas's February 5th post on the Video Watchblog,

which I urge you to pop right over to pronto if you've any interest at all in Bava's rarest of all films. I'll leave it to Tim to tell you about it...

But my mind wanders to something else -- I've unpacked my old LP collection and been spinning many of my favorite vinyls. Prominent among those is Performance, which I was spinning a fair amount before our move, for reasons I can neither articulate nor divine.

For some reason, the film and score have been much on my mind of late, in part due to my own struggling through a comics story I'm working out in my sketchbook that's clearly informed by Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg's approach to Performance (a 'fragmented narrative' orientation that Roeg explored more adventurously than any other filmmaker, to my mind, and which I trace back to a fave film Roeg photographed but did not direct: Richard Lester's Petulia).

I first saw Performance on the expansive screen of Burlington, VT's Strong Theater (sadly, long gone now) with my best high school friend Bill Hunter; we were teenagers, and completely unprepared for the film and its impact on our tender teen psyches. Like the underground films (which we'd begun to sample, thanks to two competing underground film societies that sprang up in Burlington and on the UVM campus at the same time) and comix (thanks to my high school art teacher Bill Cathey, who could have lost his job for turning me on to Zap, which forever changed my life and made me want to draw comics forever) I was just beginning to explore, Performance completely demolished all previous modes of cinema I'd ever experienced. It quite literally blew my mind, as surely as any illegal substance I'd later dabble with ever did or would (I was not a stoner in high school, had never smoked a joint or even been drunk before graduating high school: in terms of body and brain chemistry, straight-arrow Boy Scout, that was me).

It forever altered not only how I experienced movies, but how I saw and experienced life. Bill, I recall, loathed the film, so I drove myself back to the Strong the very next night to see Performance again, both shows, back-to-back. Remember, this was the pre-home-video era, and I feared I might never, ever get to see the film again. I had to experience it anew, plunge into its maze and sort out what I could from its strange multi-tier layering.

Like almost every film I loved from that period in my life, the American critics reviled the film; if memory serves, John Simon scribed the single most scathing review, treating the movie as an infectious viral aberration. That it was, but like so many other films of the time, I was glad to have caught the contagion.

In that pre-video era, too, the only artifact most films offered that one could take home to preserve memories and/or further explore the experience were paltry and few. Some films had paperback adaptations, some had comic book adaptations -- neither a reliable companion to the cinematic experience, though still treasured -- but many had soundtrack LPS, and Performance's was a doozy. Given the limited time I have this morning, I can't come close to the eloquence of

Tim Lucas's shared memories of the impact of the Performance soundtrack album, which I urge you to go and read right now,

but I have to stress my experience was quite different from Tim's, in that I'd seen the film, three times, before bringing the LP home.


Still, Tim's post rings lots of bells for me, as that album has been a key one in my collection since I first picked it up back in '71, days after seeing the movie. Jack Nietsche's score -- and the album -- are among the best ever wed to a film, and that record turned me on to Randy Newman, The Last Poets, Ry Cooder and, natch, Nietsche. Too bad he scored so few films; one of my (and Tim's) favorite cuts on the album, "Harry Flowers," has another association for me: it anticipates the lovely concluding passage of Nietsche's fantastic score for Robert Downey's Greaser's Palace (a score never released on LP or CD, to my knowledge), another of my favorite '70s movies (and a viewing experience which I'll rhapsodize over another time).

I'm glad I caught Performance three times in its original X-rated run at the Strong (no, I wasn't 17; the Strong always accepted my ticket money, whatever the rating of the film showing) because here in the US, the film never, ever unreeled in that complete a state again. I know, I've screened it many times since: the film was re-rated 'R' in every incarnation since (a fact Tim seems to misremember).

I showed it on 16mm at Johnson State College to kick off our Nicolas Roeg retrospective, heartsick at the minor cuts and missing bits of vital tissue; it was among the first videocassettes I ever rented, or purchased, though the video version was even more truncated than the 16mm print I'd projected onto the Dibden Theater screen -- and the cuts were odd: plucked piecemeal hither and thither, like tiles chipped from a fresco with no discernable reasoning (note that Ken Russell's The Devils -- also first seen by this sick puppy at the Strong! -- suffered the identical fate: someone, or someones, at Warner Bros. had it in for their most daring 1971 films). A few years ago, a British fan of my comics work helped me secure a copy of the UK video release, and despite the inevitable degeneration of even the best available transfer (from PAL to vhs), that release was closest to the film I'd seen back in '71.

Thankfully,

Tim's analysis of the new Warner domestic DVD release of the film is heartening,

and I'll be picking up my copy later today when I visit my old day-job digs at First Run Video in Brattleboro, after speaking to two sessions of the Center for Digital Art filmmaking class.

I'm eager to pop Performance into the player and savor the first near-complete (note Tim's picking up one inexplicably dropped line from the opener of the unforgettable "Memo from Turner" sequence), and once again split my skull for love of cinema.

I'll just remember to personally lip-synch Mick's "Here's to Olde England!" toast at the appropriate moment.

______________

And now, for something you'll really like!

Away down in Massachusetts, in the land of Mirage Studios, lives one hell of an artist (among many) named Michael Dooney, who I've now known for some twenty-odd years. Mike's got a great site up posting his "sketchbook paintings," which habitually knock my best paintings in the dirt.
The man's got the touch, as these portraits should demonstrate, and you can see more

on Mike's site, "Sketchpaints!"

Lest you think these exquisite portraits are solely representative of Mike's abilities and vision, pop on over to

Mike's main site and have a peek,

you won't be disappointed!


There's also

Eric Talbot's site to savor, packed with whacked imagery and juicy delights,

and both Mike and Eric have mucho links to other fine cartoonist and artist sites to share. Check 'em out!

OK, I really, really have to run.

See ya later in the week...

(Eric Talbot mummy, but not his mommy: (c) 2006)

Monday Monkey See, Monkey Do:

Creative Burnouts go Fishing,
Reading Tyrant Aloud to Eli,
Panel to Panel Update,
Trees & Hills,
Blair's Music Blaring,
Mario Bava and More!

Why I Love Mario Bava Fig. 1: The Three Faces of Fear, Indeed!
Intergenerational bonding in Black Sabbath (1963)

A lot of ground to cover this AM, so heeeeeeere goes:
__________

Colin Tedford, co-founder (with Dan Barlow) of the Vermont/New Hampshire/Massachusetts/New England comics creative collective the Trees & Hills Group, just sent me their February update:

* Tuesday, 2/6: Creator's Group gathering and Comics Schmooze, one after the other in Northampton, MA.

* Saturday, 2/17: Trees & Hills Drawing Social in Keene, NH.

Plus: * Tim Hulsizer is running a comic art auction for charity.
* Keene Free Comics is reviving in honor of TV Turnoff week and calling for submissions no later than 3/18.
* New comics online!
* Brattleboro Commons seeks local political cartoonist (and others - scroll down a few entries for this one & be sure to read the comments).

All this and more awaits you

here, on their site.

__________

I've been posting a lot of Center for Cartoon Studies student websites of late, but also should keep you abreast of fellow CCSer Blair Sterrett's activities online. Chief among those, archivist of the unusual that Blair is, be his online music posts on WFMU's 365 Days 2007 Project:

His most recent post I know of is 365 Days #27 - General Electric - Go Fly A Kite (mp3s)

365 Days #20 - American Standard - Today We Bought A Home (mp3s)

is, according to Blair, "a mini product musical by American-Standard." It sports artwork by Suzanne Baumann, who Blair met "in person during the small press comic convention last fall. Strangely she recognized me in the crowd from photos of my old radio show... Start off by listening to track 3." BTW, Suzanne's comics website can be found

here; enjoy.

More of Blair's postings as he posts about his posts for us folks.

___________

This just in from James Kochalka, concerning the ongoing

Fine Toon (here's the link)

Vermont Cartoonists exhibition at the Helen Day Art Gallery in Stowe, VT (catch it twixt now and the end of March, it's a terrific showcase!):

"Eva the Deadbeat interviewed me for her awesome video blog (Stuck in Vermont). She cornered me at Fine Toon: The Art of Vermont Cartoonists opening at the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe Vermont, which was a smashing success:

Here's the YouTube clip!

I like the part where me and Eli are reading a page from Steve Bissette's Tyrant.

I provided most of the music too, except for the theme song at the beginning by Burlington band The Smittens."

Thanks, James, and it was great to see you and your family at the opening night gala!

____________

BTW, at that gallery exhibition, you'll not only see Kochalka originals (including paintings by the grand fellow) and Tyrant original art, but also originals from Rick Veitch's and my first full-color jam creation, "Monkey See" (from Epic #2, circa 1979).

The double-page spread that sold the story: Bissette & Veitch, 1978-79

But don't go scrambling for back issues of Epic via online auctions: Rick is reprinting "Monkey See," along with all his solo creations from the late '70s and early '80s for zines like Epic, in his latest trade paperback collection Shiny Beasts, currently listed in the April Diamond catalogue.

Rick and I have a long-standing agreement to allow one another to anthologize our collaborative work -- particularly our 'Creative Burnouts' creations from the '70s and early '80s -- and Rick's first up to the plate via his ongoing King Hell Press collections of Veitch's out-of-print creations. Shiny Beasts will also include his long-sought-after Epic collaboration with Alan Moore, a tale of love, sex and interstellar venereal disease that also features an eye-popping panel Rick called me in for. You want alien VD imagery to die for, just call Bissette!

Shiny Beasts collects, for the first time anywhere, Rick's key post-Kubert School years, pre-graphic novel period of development, much of which was executed under the steady editorial guidance of the late, great Archie Goodwin. Though Marvel's Epic magazine was initiated by editor Rick Marschall, it was Archie who helmed that publishing experiment (Marvel's short-lived retort to Heavy Metal's unexpected newsstand success) to fruition, and Rick was in every issue of Epic from its debut (wherein he colored John Buscema's art for a one-shot Silver Surfer story). It was the color spread I've posted above that landed Rick and I our foot-in-the-door at Epic, on the heels of our offering the piece to Heavy Metal's beloved art director John Workman; John wanted it, but as a stand-alone illustration, whereas Rick and I were hoping to sell a story using the painting as a springboard.

Now, I'd worked for editor Rick Marschall doing two stories for the black-and-white Marvel comics zines (including Bizarre Adventures, a sort-of precursor to Epic). Rick Marschall was still in the editorial chair when I showed up in his and (then) assistant editor Ralph Macchio's office waaaaay back in 1978. Rick M. liked the piece and immediately requested Veitch and I expand it into a story. We made a couple of attempts, first proposing a fantasy coming-of-age story concept (with roughs) Rick M. shot down. Back to the drawing board we went, and Veitch and I then concocted "Monkey See," which we jammed on as we did everything at that time, literally passing the pages (and bowls) back and forth until we had pulled something together we liked well enough to put to the brush. Thus, we shared all tasks: the scripting, pencils, inks, and colors, though it was Rick who was the airbrush maestro, pulling everything together with his painstaking use of that venerable commercial art tool. Rick was among the first wave of cartoonists to embrace the airbrush after Richard Corben's seminal early '70s underground and Warren creations, and it indeed opened many doors for Rick (and me: Rick graced a number of my first pro jobs with his airbrush tones) at the time. Rick Marschall accepted our revamp of "Monkey See," but by the time we delivered the job, Rick M. had been unceremoniously booted from his Marvel editorial position and Archie Goodwin was the man in the hotseat.

Archie graciously honored Rick M.'s commitment to publish "Monkey See," and thus was Rick Veitch's run of impressive Epic stories initiated (I only did one other, "Kultz," with co-writer Steve Perry, for Epic #6). Rick learned much from his subsequent efforts under Archie's steady editorial hand, culminating in

his first serialized graphic novel for Epic, Abrasax and the Earthman (now available, with a stunning signed and limited print by Veitch and Al Williamson, at PaneltoPanel.net!)

It's all those extraordinary Epic self-standing stories (and more!) that comprise Shiny Beasts; not to be missed!

I'll be posting Shiny Beasts preorder info, and more on "Monkey See" (including a peek at a few more pages) here later in February. Given Rick's ongoing solid relations with PaneltoPanel.net, I'd personally recommend waiting to preorder via PaneltoPanel -- there will no doubt be a limited edition print of some kind to savor! -- and I'll post that link here as soon as P2P guru John Rovnak sends me the specs.

______________

And speaking of John Rovnak and

PaneltoPanel.net,

I'm deep in work prepping another batch of online reviews for John's site; I'll post those links once the reviews are in John's hands and up for reading (I had two book introductions to get off my desk first, amid the moving and house buying-and-selling and all; as of this past Friday, those deadlines have been met and intros accepted by their respective publishers).

However, that's not the big news. Dig, for a limited time John is promoting his marvelous online comic retail site with the following "catch it while you can!" February promotion:

Join Panel to Panel.Net's comic book subscription service during the month of February, and receive two titles FREE for one year!

Simply order a copy of a PREVIEWS catalog

here,

and then email us back with your desired titles and books. Now you're buying books with Panel to Panel's excellent subscription service; and if your monthly orders are at a minimum $35.00 each month, you'll receive two titles (of your choice) for an entire year absolutely FREE!!

Titles to choose from include:

USAGI YOJIMBO (Dark Horse Comics)
THE SPIRIT (DC Comics)
ARMY @ LOVE (DC/Vertigo)
[Note: This is Rick Veitch's upcoming series, and it looks fantastic from the pencils Rick has shown me.]
GODLAND (Image Comics)
MIGHTY AVENGERS (Marvel Comics)
RUNAWAYS (Marvel Comics)
ELEPHANTMEN (Image Comics)
TALES OF THE TMNT (Mirage Studios)
BRAVE & THE BOLD (DC Comics)
SHONEN JUMP * (Viz Media)
LOVE & ROCKETS (Fantagraphics)

*counts as two titles

Plus, as a subscriber, you'll also receive 10% off all items ordered; and you'll receive the best customer service around, which has kept our subscribers happy for years.

I'm among John's long-time subscribers and customers -- here's my plug, along with one from compadre and fellow cartoonist Mitch Waxman:

"I've been using Panel To Panel's comics subscription service for over a decade and have been overjoyed with every aspect of it: the service, the attention to my interests and needs, and best of all the occasional bringing to my attention something I otherwise wouldn't have known existed. It's my one-stop comics and graphic novel shopping center!" - Stephen R. Bissette (Swamp Thing, Tyrant, Taboo)

"Panel To Panel knows exactly what kind of comics, artists and writers that I like, and makes great suggestions for new ones. They're knowledgeable, approachable and a great comics resource. Panel To Panel's subscription service is invaluable; I get the comics I want, without being overwhelmed in the comic shop (if I can find one near me). Panel To Panel has been sending me a monthly box of goodies for 8 years, making them king of comics convenience years before Netflix or Fresh Direct delivered their first movie or bread stick." - Mitch Waxman (www.weirdass.net)

Give us a try, and make us your online comics resource; We'd love to earn your business.
More information about subscribing with us is available

here!

February is a short month, so don't dawdle! Take advantage of this invite now. There's nothing in this for me, but plenty in it for you. Give John and PaneltoPanel.net a shot; he'll be a resource for my own past and coming work in the comics field for years and years to come.
__________________

Did I say coming work? Why, yes I did.

2007 will be the year of my return to the medium (not the US industry) of comics, and there's much to share -- as and when the time comes. I've been busy, not only scripting but also working my pencil and slinging the inks, thanks entirely to my son Daniel, the folks at CCS, and a few tempting invites from friends.

Keep your eyes on this blog, the announcements will be forthcoming as winter gives way to spring!
__________________















Why I Love Bava Fig. 2: The spectral Melissa at the window in Operazione Paura/ Kill, Baby, Kill!/Curse of the Living Dead (1966), a drive-in fave of my teenage years under any title.

Other excitement for 2007 that's got me wound up of late is the coming wave of Mario Bava DVD releases and re-releases, which my long-time amigo Tim Lucas (who happens also to be the Bava biographer of choice and the venerable creator/editor/copublisher of Video Watchdog, with his lovely Oz-collecting wife Donna) has been touting of late on blog (links below).

As many of you may know, Mario Bava's films were absolutely central to my own growing up. I savored some long discussion board debates about Bava's films on the old Swamp boards (in The Kingdom; alas, all gone and now longer archived online), but you must understand how vital Bava's films were and are to me. I was traumatized as a Catholic youth by Black Sunday; however, Bava's films were forever elusive, often hiding under retitlings and even sans Bava's name in the credits. I thereafter scoured the pages of Castle of Frankenstein and haunted the TV Guide listings, studied the 16mm rental catalogues (in high school, I ran the student film program and snuck Danger: Diabolik onto the programming, much to the outrage of a particular French teacher at Harwood Union High School; at Johnson State College, I booked a then-complete retrospective of Bava's films for the Sunday afternoon "Bentley B-Flicks" matinees) and (once I had my driver's license) the drive-ins and grindhouses for any and all Bava creations.

As I got into underground comics, I became convinced Bava's films were influencing other cartoonists of that generation and my own: consider, for a moment, Richard Corben's color horror comics, which seemed the first overt eruption of Bava's color aesthetic into the medium. I've never had that particular conversation with Corben, but I'm willing to bet Bava was as formative an influence on his Kansas City upbringing as Bava was on my backwoods Vermont adolescence and teenage years.

It was our mutual obsessive devotion and love for Bava's films that brought Tim Lucas and I together, via a letter I mailed to Fangoria in response to their publication of Tim's first article on Bava, and we've been friends ever since. It's sometimes hard to believe that almost every single film Bava made has been released on DVD, but there's more to come, and soon!

Why I love Bava Fig. 3: Another indelible gothic image from Kill, Baby, Kill!

First up, there's the coming

Dark Sky DVD release of a digitally-remastered and restored edition of Bava's Operazione Paura/Kill, Baby, Kill!

Tim's got my appetite up, and given Dark Sky's track record to date (I have nearly all their genre releases on my shelves, and in my head) and the promise of David Gregory's bonus feature, visiting all the key locations Bava used for his gothic gem, this promises to be the definitive release (at last!) of this minor masterpiece.

But there's more!

In his February 3rd post on the Video Watchblog, Tim reveals what's in store in Anchor Bay's upcoming boxed set Mario Bava Collection Volume 1,

and you'll have to excuse me, but I think I just came in my pants. This boxed set provides the best intro to Bava's work to date, and for the uninitiated among you, this is the investment to go for.

Jeez, I better go change my shorts.

_______________

Have a great week!

I don't know if I'll be able to post daily this week, as it's a busy one for me: I'm speaking to two classes at Brattleboro's Center for Digital Art tomorrow, so I'll be on the road early. My daughter Maia is coming up to visit this week (and work on our comic project together; her bro' Dan has already completed his jam with his Pop, namely yours truly) and we have two guest artists at CCS this week --

Tom Hart

and

Leela Corman

-- which will keep us all preoccupied and happy.

Still, I'll be popping up here, too, as time permits.

Wugga-wugga and the CCS Sites!

Art: Alexis Frederick-Frost, from his glorious site, link below!

Continuing the CCS student site roster, with a little window-dressing.

Once again, in no particular order, the secret windows to those you don't-yet-know, but will one day be beholden to, those who will upset all applecarts and elect far better Presidents than you sorry suckers did:

BUBBLE!

... with delight,
blurbling like some half-frozen brook
all over your own stupid self,
as you allow your retina to dance
and your optic nerve to tangle
and your brain soup to flow
like radiant water over the

the Stone-Dead Stylings of Bryan Stone!

BURBLE!

... and coo like some moronic all-parakeet movie,
dropping your flip-flops and
burning your Birkenstocks
while groping for your credit cards
as you let your wallet flop out
and your pocketbook pop open,
eager to spend that which cannot be spent
and divine the most delicious salad
from the salad days of all mankind amid

the Stripy Green Tomato Veggie-Stand of the Particular Penina Gal (rhymes with 'all')!

GURGLE!

... as you peddle
that last mile
up that final Alp,
rock uselessly in your chair
like an autistic child
as the roller-coaster climbs, climbs, climbs
to the top of the arc
seconds before the plunge,
long for yeasty Parisian loafs of bread
and pine for times that never were
and never will be again,
evocative though they may seem
when rendered by the man
with the brush whose
serving stroke cuts through the air
like a Bruce Lee move,
dropping faint men in their tracks,
if, that is, they haven't already succumbed
to the bedazzlement that marks the

Eye-Popping Peculiarities of Ping-Pong Champ Alexis Frederick-Frost!

STUBBLE!

Hey, YOU!

You think YOU know everything, DON'T YOU?
You think YOU know how to
listen to music, surf the web, eat a taco??
You're soooooooooo fucking WRONG!
You don't know shit! Or how to shit!
You, you need guidance, love,
and the firm, stern hand of
a real man who knows how
to sling the ink,
plink the plink,
and lock the clink
to be your designated turnkey for LIFE!
You need to open your eyes,
stretch your ears
and break down the tight-ass gates of your fetid mind via

the Melodic Musings and Shamanistic Shamblings of Gasping Sam Gaskin!

STUMBLE!

...into the felt-green pleasures of Roosevelt Park,
as rendered and realized
by the Man with the Plan,
the Joe in the Know,
the Mike with his finger in the Dyke,
the Tom with the tom-tom toes,
the Henry all hanker for,
the Elmer Fudd of Spud,
the Dartmouth Grad unafraid to be a Dad
to any in need who can bleed and be freed,
so humble thyself and embrace

the Staff of Life itself, Adam Staffaroni,

and his amazing online CCS mini-comic shop, "I Know Joe Kimpel"! (who the hell is Joe Kimpel?)

C'mon, spend a little dough on some CCS comics, you slackers!

More later, gators, and have a great weekend!

A Revised Pan's Labyrinth review for Mark, Per His Comment...

Pan's Labyrinth:
Me like.
You wrong.

Oh, and Rush is a complete dink.

Mind the Ogre

* El Laberinto del Fauno/Pan's Labyrinth: Guillermo del Toro's latest masterpiece is being ballyhooed in newspaper ads and TV spots as an out-and-out fantasy; my son Dan works at the Latchis Theater in Brattleboro, VT, and reports many disgruntled folks coming out after, having expected a Jim Henson-like Labyrinth opus and endured instead a crash-course in the Spanish Civil War.

Similar responses are detailed in some of this past week's comments posted on this very blog (personally, I've long practiced the "no expectations" rule when entering a theater or popping in a disc or tape; but hey, that's me, I'm weird). Indeed, the poster evokes Tim Burton's universe, with petite Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) standing beneath the arc of the labyrinth entrance and before the iconic, ancient split tree central to the film's ravishing imagery. No doubt the studio has done a stellar job selling the film, and I can understand the expectations raised by the easy-sell procession of key fairy-tale imagery that is indeed central to the film. That's the most sympathy I can mount for the disconnect between expectation and the film itself: it's not the first time, and won't be the last, a film has been arguably mismarketed. But hey, it's gotten Pan's Labyrinth into theaters, and lots of them. All's fair in love and marketing. Getting asses into seats is all that matters to Hollywood, and the justifiable critical praise and accurate-as-far-as-it-goes promotion of the film drawn from del Toro's inspired fantasy sequences is doing its job.

Perversely, I couldn't be happier. It's an eerily precise echo of the 2002-3 selling of this fucking war we're now mired in: the public bought the fantasy, and are now disenchanted with the reality. That's precisely the tenor and feeble substance of the arguments against Pan's Labyrinth I've heard and read, and it's a remarkable microcosm of the American psyche and war. We ache only for the fantasy of conflict, the illusory glory and victory (the most destructive fantasy of all in current US history: the irrational urge for a return to Victory Culture, an impossibility in the 21st Century), we resent the grim realities.

Make no mistake, Pan's Labyrinth explores all that, and more. Like (to cite just three examples), René Clément's Jeux interdits/Forbidden Games (1952), Victor Erice's gem El Espíritu de la colmena/The Spirit of the Beehive (1973) and Bryan Talbot's top-notch graphic novel The Tale of One Bad Rat, Pan's Labyrinth explores and articulates with stunning power the fundamental necessity & function of fantasy as tool for dealing with the harshest aspects of life (in the case of the two films I've cited, war; in the context of Talbot's graphic novel, the repercussions of sexual abuse). It's no coincidence, either, these works all deal with children uprooted, orphaned and/or exiled by dire circumstances beyond their control.

In his latest film, del Toro provides a complete case history of Ofelia's plight, presented with such economy and clarity that we experience its arc with our own adult perceptions intact, even as we vicariously experience Ofelia's child's-point-of-view quite directly (including her fantasy life, sequences which are beautifully conceived and realized). As in del Toro's previous Spanish Civil War-set meditation on war and its horrors, El Espinazo del diablo/The Devil's Backbone (2001; if you haven't seen it yet, do so, immediately!), the motivations of all the adult characters are lucidly delineated without once losing the narrative focus on the child protagonist(s). This, to my mind, is among del Toro's most precious gifts as a storyteller; shame on those adults who resent del Toro's insistence on a fuller grasp of the world.

[Why do we insist on being treated like children? I'm 51 years old; I see films as an adult, I don't resent films that treat me as an adult, despite the rigorous MPAA attempts to regulate all US cinema to the level of 17-year-olds exclusively.]

On del Toro's terms -- in the context of his work to date, and the film's own terms -- Pan's Labyrinth is a masterwork.

Ofelia's odyssey (and personal apocalypse: the film is framed, perfectly, by the darkest moment of Ofelia's young life) begins with the caravan to her new home interrupted by her pregnant mother Carmen (Ariadna Gil) needing to stop amid a bout of 'morning sickness' (or worse; she is in ill health throughout the tale). There, in the verdant depths of the Spanish forest, Ofelia demonstrates a leap of perception that attracts the unusual attention of a most unusual walking stick (a real insect, for any of you who may doubt: these amazing insects also live in VT). This creature follows Ofelia and the car caravan to the farmhouse serving as the current battle station of Capitán Vidal (Sergi López), the man Ofelia's mother has married; she has her reasons, including her maternal dread of her daughter and soon-to-be-born son being orphaned, fears which play perfectly to Vidal's craving for an heir (Vidal carries his father's watch, which becomes a key visual touchstone in the film). Ofelia harbors nothing but loathing for Vidal, and in del Toro's first privileged view to the viewer of events Ofelia will never know of, we see how dead-on Ofelia's reading of El Capitán truly is: his casual nighttime dispatch of two innocent peasants, all to make a point to his second-in-command to not bother El Capitán with trivialities, is among the most harrowing moments in recent cinema.

Those (including comments on this blog) complaining about the lack of onscreen monsters clearly miss the point: Vidal is the monster of this fairy tale. He is del Toro's ogre, not the child-eating Pale Man that Ofelia braves in her efforts to satisfy the Faun's assigned labors. Vidal is this tale's ogre, from the casual brutality of the nighttime encounter with the father-and-son rabbit hunters to the climactic sequence in Vidal's lair. Could their be anything more fairy-tale-like in its context, imagery and strange horror than El Capitán, lit by firelight in the darkness of his headquarters, ignoring the crib in which his newborn son -- the captive infant -- cries as Vidal stitches up his face? We've seen more hamfisted evocations and fusions of fairy tales and real-world horrors (e.g., Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes, The People Under the Stairs, David Lynch's Wild at Heart, Twin Peaks and Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, etc.), but del Toro consistently rises to the challenge with the skill of a Cocteau, never more than here. Vidal is the most monstrous of ogres in Ofelia's world, and hence the universe of Pan's Labyrinth, right to the fateful final confrontation between stepfather and stepdaughter in the heart of the titular labyrinth. In his utterly unnecessary and callous final action directed at his stepdaughter, Vidal proves to indeed be a monster, among the most frightening ever brought to the screen -- because we not only know men like Vidal exist, but we are dependent upon them in our own reality.

Among the film's most profound asides is the fleeting dialogue between Dr. Ferreiro (Álex Angulo) and Vidal at the moment of Vidal's decisive judgment of Ferreiro: the good doctor notes the fundamental difference between military men and the rest of mankind, and Vidal proves this truth with his immediate action. Men like Vidal question nothing, they only follow orders. This is the great, unspoken tragedy at the heart of the Spanish Civil War, the Iraq War, all wars. There's no denying the ferocity of Vidal's unswerving devotion to the cause of his superior, his 'Commander in Chief' General Franco, and this is as perversely admirable as in any soldier's devotion to duty, shading Vidal's characterization (as in all his films, all del Toro's characters are nuanced and dimensional, none more than his monsters). But are these the kind of men we want fighting in our names? Vidal isn't a two-dimensional ogre, but he is a sadistic patriarch and a brute, letting nothing stand between him and his duty (to Franco and his own illusions abouts his own father, hence the import of the shattered watch he carries) -- a 'good soldier,' indeed.

Among the many strengths of Pan's Labyrinth (as in The Devil's Backbone) is the resonant historical context: we know, in fact, men like Vidal indeed triumphed and held sway for decades during Franco's fascist rule, and thus the futility of the resistance embodied here by Mercedes (Maribel Verdú) and the forest-dwelling guerillas led by her brother. But we also know Franco's iron-fisted hold over Spain ended with Franco's death, and the blossoming of Spanish culture after that liberation, vindicating the struggle of the resistance fighters. With his ongoing meditations on what is, to most Americans, a forgotten war, del Toro continues to question primal truths about humanity and war even as he questions our own national commitment to war and the pious hypocrisy of fighting illusory wars to "spread democracy" in the wake of our shameful legacy of abandoning citizens, countries, cultures (as we did Spain in the 1940s) to the reign of fascists -- when it serves our political imperatives.

That said, it is as an original cinematic work that Pan's Labyrinth is most invaluable. In an era of interminable sequels, adaptations and remakes, a true original like this is a rare jewel indeed. The cast -- especially young Ivana Baquero, whose portrayal of Ofelia is touching beyond words -- is pitch-perfect, with special kudos to Maribel Verdú, Álex Angulo and Doug Jones, who plays both the enigmatic Faun and the horrific Pale Man. But it is del Toro's inspired, flawless direction that makes this such an alluring and engaging experience. Consider, for instance, the elegant adoption of that most archaic of sound era movie devices, the 'wipe' -- del Toro stages environment-driven 'wipes' to carry the film along, as a wall or a tree transports us effortlessly in a deeper chamber of the farmhouse, or further along into the woods, propelling us headlong into the depths of the narrative and closer, ever closer to its dark heart. Consider the richness and texture of script and characterization, the way in which even background characters evoke lives beyond the parameters of the screen: lives truly lived. Consider, too, the ease with which del Toro incorporates touches and characters from his earlier works without spoiling the tapestry of this new work: Ofelia's walking stick familiar, the first fairy of the film, is kin to the mutant cockroaches of Mimic (this character also recalled the diminutive humunculus Ray Harryhausen animated for The Golden Voyage of Sinbad), and who should be the long-lost and yearned for father of Ofelia's dreams but Federico Luppi, the beloved grandfather of Cronos and lone sympathetic father figure of the orphans in The Devil's Backbone? These are mere grace notes, but ones devotees like myself can savor.

Finally, it's amazing this film was made at all, much less that it would receive the wide release in the US it's currently enjoying. Guillermo's canny business instincts and ability to play the Hollywood game without losing his own muse has resulted in a remarkable tag-team procession of films, alternating between boxoffice-friendly genre exercises that cater to the market while stretching del Toro's storytelling chops, and those more personal films del Toro makes for himself. Thus, his exquisite debut feature Cronos (1993) spawns his first Hollywood genre exercise Mimic (1997), a badly flawed film spiced with startling moments and compelling characters; for American viewers, The Devil's Backbone was released sandwiched between Blade (2002) and Hellboy (2004), the success of the latter and spinoffs from the former making Pan's Labyrinth a bankable enterprise.

It's a smart game this cinematic fantasist is playing, keeping his balance with uncanny skill every step of the way, and it's the most Henson-like aspect of Pan's Labyrinth (after all, it was Muppet money that bankrolled gambles like The Dark Crystal, Labyrinth and The Witches in Henson's lifetime). This is the game Clive Barker hoped to play with Hollywood, but couldn't manage; no slight to Clive, mind you, that del Toro has learned from the misfortunes and missteps of those who've gone before him. It's del Toro who has played such a critical backstage role in the fusion of the new Mexican cinema and Hollywood, quietly connecting-the-dots and nurturing the crossfertilization of his peers (like Alfonso Cuarón, whose Children of Men is a here-and-now companion to Pan's Labyrinth: in some theaters, you could see both films this week!) without the loss of muses that so plagues similar absorptions into the Hollywood mainstream -- as in the Hong Kong generation, to note an example in recent memory of all readers of this blog. Consider the gulf between the mishandling of John Woo, Jackie Chan and Sammo Hung a decade ago with the quite remarkable facility with which filmmakers like del Toro and Cuarón have thus far handled their careers, and give del Toro and his peers their due.

If you pass up Pan's Labyrinth because of the naysayers, you're denying yourself something extraordinary. Despite the addiction of American audiences to films streamlined to never challenge and always slake (film as narcotic), art and cinema per se aren't meant to satisfy fantasies; fantasy, in and of itself, is a mirror of the world, a means of confrontation as well as escape (can any climax of any movie so perfectly embody that, as Pan's Labyrinth's final moments truly do?).

Pan's Labyrinth explores that essential aspect of fantasy -- our need for it, its primal function, and thus its relation to religion and religious belief -- with unflinching devotion, skill and vision.

I can think of no higher calling, no greater accomplishment, in theaters at this time.

____________

Bum's Rush

Speaking of war fantasies, mismarketing, and delusional thinking, check this out:


February 1, 2007
Professor Ole Danbolt Mjos
Chairman,
Norwegian Nobel Institute
Henrik Ibsens Gate 51
NO-0255
Oslo, Norway

Dear Dr. Mjos:

Landmark Legal Foundation herewith submits the name of Rush Limbaugh as an unsolicited nomination for the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize.

We are offering this nomination for Mr. Limbaugh's nearly two decades of tireless efforts to promote liberty, equality and opportunity for all mankind, regardless of race, creed, economic stratum or national origin. We fervently believe that these are the only real cornerstones of just and lasting peace throughout the world.

Rush Limbaugh is a nationally syndicated radio talk show host in the United States and one of the most popular broadcasters in the world. His daily radio show is heard on more than 600 radio stations in the United States and around the world. For 18 years he has used his show to become the foremost advocate for freedom and democracy in the world today. Everyday he gives voice to the values of democratic governance, individual opportunity and the just, equal application of the rule of law -- and it is fitting the Nobel Committee recognize the power of these ideals to build a truly peaceful world for future generations.

Thank you for your thoughtful and serious consideration of this nomination. Should you require additional information, please don't hesitate to contact me.

Sincerely,



Mark R. Levin
President

[SOURCE: Landmark Legal Foundation]

It's for real: see

this link for evidence of how delusional the self-proclaimed "leading conservative public interest law firm in the United States" really is.

Given only Rush's sensitive approach to the detainee torture revelations, this is a shoe-in, eh?

For 18 years, Rush has been gleefully spreading Lord Ha-Ha-like right-wing propaganda as "fact," including war-mongering, homophobia, hate speech, racism, misogyny, etc., all with his trademark patriarchal bombast. He was during an undisclosed stretch of that time under the malign influence of megadoses of pharmaceuticals (during which he railed against drug abuse and for invasive tactics involving women's medical records to curb abortion -- the latter, coincidentally, paralleled Rush's attornies attempts to bury/shelter Rush's own medical records regarding his pharmaceutical self-abuse and activities). He has been instrumental in the elevation of George W. Bush to the presidency, the initial rushes to (and popularization of) the War in Afghanistan, the War in Iraq, a ceaseless fear fomenter for the nonsensical "War on Terror," and among the most audacious apologists for this Administration's trampling of Constitutional and civil rights (including his justifiably infamous dismissal of torture revelations as our finest simply "letting off some steam") of the past five years.

If you condone

this kind of behavior as stellar examples of contemporary American diplomacy at work, by all means, vote for Rush.

He's helped make it all possible, and palatable, even desirable, to a portion of the American public.

_____________

Have a great weekend. We're having house guests, so I'll likely not be posting -- see you Monday!