“My name is Joe. I pick locks. I pick my nose.”So goes the Cat Master, the leading character in
He does well with not only the dialogue between characters but also Joe’s frequent monologues. My favorite is when he considers his long-lost love, who Joe remembers while looking into the mirror:
We never get a good long glimpse of the giant something tearing up Producer J.J. Abrams (Lost, Alias) and director Matt Reeves appear to understand we do not need exploding eyeballs and full-frontal decapitations to feel fear. We can be afraid and go ‘ooh!’ in our theater seats, held rigid in suspense, through a movie that is only rated PG-13.
NPR's All Things Considered broadcast a nice piece this afternoon on the history of the Lone Ranger, and you can read about it, and listen to it, here...
1) Grip Like A Vice*Go! Team (from Proof of Youth)
1) Radio Nowhere*Bruce Springsteen (from Magic)
Things are beginning to look up...especially from the belly of the new "Enchanted Caves" at the City Museum.
Critic Wilfrid Sheed’s latest book, “The House That George Built,” carries us through the golden years of Tin Pan Alley, with each chapter concentrating (more or less) on an individual composer like However, it’s not for the music that I put these words down. In his chapter “Jimmy Van Heusen: On the Radio with Bing and Frank” Sheed describes how tunesmith Van Heusen ("Swinging on a Star," "Moonlight Becomes You," "All the Way," "Call Me Irresponsible" to name a few) spent his war years:
"Four days in a row, up at four A.M. to test-fly new Lockheed warplanes until noon, under the name of Chester Babcock; then off to Paramount to write songs for the rest of the day as his other self, Jimmy Van Heusen; then a two-and-a-half-day break, during which he only had to get up whenever the studio did, to write songs all day this time. Then back to Go, and you can sleep as long as you like when the war is over, buddy."
"What twenty-first-century sensibilities might find harder to grasp is not the deed but the cover-up. Imagine the glory at the Lockheed base if he ever so much as let one colleague know that he had recently written that song they were all humming, "Sunday, Monday, or Always"; and imagine the megaglory of tipping off Louella Parsons, the gossip queen, that you were not just another Hollywood draft dodger, the kind people hooted and whistled at in the street, but a hero on two fronts, the entertainment one as well as the real one, in which he was entrusting his life again and again to the skills of Rosie the Riveter between songs. Ronald Reagan would have told Ms. Parsons even if he hadn't done it, as an inspirational story. But the hell with it. Jimmy was not the inspirational type, and besides, he was only a great songwriter, not a minor movie star, so he mightn't even have inspired anyone that much. And finally, of course, there was his job at
"In retrospect, the myriad changes of sensibility that occur in this country seem like earthquakes that no one notices at the moment they occur. In the 1920s, a writer could genuinely think of himself, and be thought of, as a star. In the thirties and forties, he was just a working stiff to all concerned. From the 1990s until today, a guy with Van Heusen's war record would undoubtedly have sold the book and movie rights and established his own website as the Singing Test Pilot or the FlyingTroubador.com In the 1940s the worst thing that you could be was a hotshot or a big deal. "What are you?" as the kids used to say. "A wise guy or Boy Scout?" To this, there was no correct answer except to put up our dukes and pray."
Sheed occasionally falls prey to generalities and self-contradictions -- you can see a couple of them in the above-example. What all this brings up to my mind, to the background swing of Dean Martin leering "Ain't That A Kick In the Head" (another Van Heusen tune): Are there still those out there doing good because it is the right thing to do? Are there still those who do the right thing, not because the deed means some reward -- and by 'reward' I mean not just money, but also glory and an improved self-esteem -- for the do-gooder?
The Lone Ranger would ride off into the sunset without waiting for thanks; Superman would say no thanks were necessary because "it's what I'm here for." The more-common cliché for a mask these days, though is "if gangland crooks knew my real identity they would try for revenge against me through my friends and family." I like the more noble idea: if no one knows who you are when you do the good deed then it's a strictly-anonymous affair, without reward of any kind. Only good for goodness' sake.
"All the monkeys aren't at the zoo," goes Van Heusen's Swinging On A Star, "every day you meet quite a few..." Like the monkeys, perhaps there are heroes met every day as well -- subtly working their good through the world -- and we're just too slow or cynical to notice them until our thanks are too late to matter...
From the diary of a nicotine fiend on the first day of his last attempt at quitting cigarettes, circa October 2007:
The awful awful diseases, killing me by degrees. Back out of my shell with posting again shortly -- by this weekend.
With steady hands and balanced mind, you too can take pleasure in another Dr. Toy award winner, this one from the “10 Best Toys of 2006”: Kapla Blocks.It is not possible to describe Kapla Blocks in any particularly exciting way: they are blocks. Wooden blocks. They do not light-up; they do not erupt with loud noises. They are just blocks. Wooden blocks... More precisely, they are wooden planks (made of “pine from renewable French forests”) measuring 1” by 4 ½” by ¼”. Each exactly alike, though you can choose from seven different colors.
They act as blocks because what you do with them is… stack them. It is how you stack them that counts, as you can use the plans included with the kit, or use your imagination to create countless oddities.
Think of them as a creative-form of Jenga.
At top is a picture of my first creation, made from the basic barrel-set of 200 planks. Though they did not have a systematic plan for it, there was a picture of a completed one, which I used as a guide. I am not sure how many I used for it, as there were quite a few left over. What I am sure about is that I need to get more of these things.
When you squeeze and squint your eyes to focus, is it something in your mind trying to make your eyes smaller? Is it because when you had tiny eyes, when you were a child, you could see much more?
Playing the Nintendo WII game “Marvel Ultimate Alliance” in co-op mode, with younger people:
The game allows you to play as a character from the Marvel Comics’ “universe” – you can be Spider-Man, Daredevil, Wolverine, or one of the Fantastic Four, and your mission is to battle an army of monsters and villains through the levels of cityscapes and underworlds and places-that-have-never-been.
Because it’s co-op mode, everyone must move together. If one person lingers on one side of the screen, the other players are unable to move further down whatever path lies ahead. This can be frustrating if you are the adult in the group. Your mind automatically steers toward the future, to the goal needed to continue the game.
Generally when playing with the younger set, however, you often find yourself stuck, unable to move on because one of the children remains on his side of the screen. “Could there be some secret treasure or insight I missed where he lags?” I wonder. Looking to where his character remains on the screen to discover what my group member has found, I see nothing but joy. “Look at me, I’m Spider-Man!” he shouts gleefully, pressing buttons and moving the controls – exhilarated by his ability to skillfully manipulate the hero into shooting webs and bouncing off walls.
He does not care where he's going -- what he's able to do now is what's most important.
Trying to see as a child can help you appreciate more the work of certain artists, as well. Look past the uncomfortable sights and sounds of David Lynch films, for example – forget about goals and fulfilling resolutions before “The End.”
Lynch’s eyes also see as a child. He marvels at not only what his story-telling technology can do with lights, movement, and sounds, but also how they can change the original meaning and mood into something even more marvelous.
His most recent work, “
In the extra feature, called “Quinoa” Lynch prepares one of his favorite meals for us: a grain and broccoli delight that cannot possibly taste as good as Lynch’s pleasure in preparing it. Every detail and step is slow and precise.
Patiently observe the director tapping out a small amount of vegetable bouillon cubes. “I’m gonna set this right here – prepare it for later. I’m going to open that drawer, right here, and get a little knife. Then I’m gonna just bust this up, like so, into little pieces. Then I’m gonna let it wait there. It’ll be happy waiting right here.”
He continues: “Then I’m going to go over here and get these paper towels. And I’m going to get a paper towel and fold it for later ‘cause that handle gets so hot you can’t believe it!”
Later as he waits for the dish to complete its cooking, he talks more about the making of the film:
“It was a phenomenal world that appeared in this regular warehouse that became a magical world. So many magical things came out of that, and it grew and grew and no one will ever know how it grew that way ‘cause nothing was planned. It was partly planned but the final thing, you couldn’t have planned it like that. No one could have ever planned that.
“When you do something you don’t know where it will end up and how it will marry to something -- how it could marry to something in the future. So no matter what you do – some things you do and maybe they don’t feel so correct -- when you do it feels finished or kind of finished. Or something’s not quite right, it isn’t finished – for whatever reason you sort of walk away from it and later unbelievable things can come out of that."
"It’s just like the perfect thing you’ve been looking for.”
ALPHAVILLE (1965):
ALL ABOUT EVE (1950):An awards ceremony opens the film with the top prize about to be announced and we are told how important the proceedings, how famous the attendees. A cultured snide voice speaks almost-rudely over the presenter's dialogue, letting us know, "It is not important that you hear what he says." The characters in the story had better heed the wisdom in that, and so too should the audience.
For the characters, it is more important to see the actions, not hear the words. For the audience, "All About Eve" is all about words – deriving momentum only by its terrific ability to sustain witticisms in powerful steady streams of dialogue, in what is essentially a backstage drama about a conniving up-and-comer stealing the thunder from the old blood of the theater.
The cast is responsible for the words retaining their power after all these years -- especially George Sanders as the cultured snide critic, and most especially Bette Davis in one of the last great roles of her career.
AFTER THE THIN MAN (1936):
My two-year-old niece played pleasantly, happily with her toys in front of the television while waiting for her parents to take her to school.
On the television, the Today show presented a panel discussing the Larry Craig situation. A clip of Craig would run, then the panel would discuss. Another clip of Craig would play, followed by more discussion. And so on.
Every time Craig’s clip ran, my niece would frown up at the screen, pigtails shaking, and shout, “Be quiet!”
She returned to playtime during the moderator's discussion, but when Craig came up again, she repeated her request: “Be quiet!”
"Be quiet!"
Though she was a friend to all children, she carried nothing but claws for all but two adults. She liked to steal corn chips and sips of cranberry juice. She was 23 years old. Now she is gone. Rest in Peace, Bernice…
It must have been early 1966 when I first encountered the work of comic book creator Jack Kirby, who would have turned 90 today. I did not then get to read a story he drew – I merely glimpsed the work in question, in passing, from a few respectful feet away, held by boys a year or two older than I was. The gang huddled together, backed up against the lockers waiting to enter the classroom, and they turned each page slowly only when each member was ready to find out what happened next. They chuckled in pleasure, in anticipation, to themselves, one of them exclaiming “Oh, yeah!” as another page turned.
It was several years before I actually read the story myself. I had no desire at first sight to find out what was hidden beneath that horrifying ugly cover of a devil-horned giant, with a bald, naked silver guy (on what might have been a surfboard) chasing three normal looking blue-suited humans and one orange rock man.
It was probably disturbing to me as well that the rock man had no shoes. Batman was on TV that night though, and I had questions about the show to ask of classmates my own age. The cover left my sight, but I did not realize then it was still in my mind.
Later months and years went by: my hipper younger-brother occasionally purchased some other comics by that “Marvel” company. I immediately recognized the characters as the ones I had glimpsed before. Kirby’s artwork was not to my taste but like all comics then we read them indiscriminately out of some sort of unspoken childhood obligation.
The artwork on the insides was as disturbing as the covers, but without looking them up again, I can still remember my first sight of the character called the Black Panther – like a living black shadow, ready to pounce upon the creations of another guy called Psycho-Man.
Then there were the Inhumans: Gorgon with the hoofed feet,
There was also a story of the bald, naked silver guy on the surfboard fighting a really ugly robot. I remember the end of the story where the robot -- called, of course, Quasimodo – defeated by the Surfer’s “Power Cosmic” showed his loss with a face in anguish greater than I had ever seen before.
These were not the homey, safe DC Comics of Batman, Superman and the Flash. These were the powerful forms of the Marvel Comics Group, and their stories seemed to me always drawn by Kirby. His story telling between the covers thumped my head the hardest. Perhaps my disturbance came from a combination of the power of Kirby’s story telling, along with how gritty and urban they appeared alongside the seemingly more sedate and conservative DC Comics.
Artists of the time tell how Kirby created a style of story telling barely constrained by the limits of the page. What Scott McCloud called "The Invisible Art" of Comics, was how the best comics drew the reader's eye from panel to panel, from page to page. Kirby drew instinctively this way and reading his work, following the frames of what his mind said was the best way to tell this story, can become addicting. My mind became educated to the unfamiliar style and I began to keep my eyes out for more.
I later found that Kirby had been creating comics since the beginning of the industry, most notably his first hit: co-creating Captain
Eventually Kirby wanted more money, more credit from the company he’d led to greener pastures, so his children would not have to worry about insurance or college. Unable to come to an agreeable contract with Marvel he moved to DC Comics and came up with the so-called Fourth World series of books: “New Gods,” “The Forever People,” and “Mister Miracle - Super Escape Artist.”
Words and pictures both by Kirby, they were his most-personal effort to-date. The “New Gods” stories somberly carried a serious weight of the past, with super-beings of two opposite worlds caught in an eternal planet-shattering battle, while “The Forever People” showed the cost of that war on the young but, dressed-up in the fashion of the late 60s youth movement, it also told the tale of hope for the future. “Mr. Miracle” was about another cost of war – individuality – and to me it represented Kirby himself the most. He had escaped the slums of
Of course, the
The later years of his life, while not as productive – his work no longer seen as hip or cool he did not get the jobs from the major publishers – found him in a controversial bid for creator’s rights, as he used the legal system in an attempt to get his original artwork back from Marvel.
While younger artists without half his creativity got big deals and solid contracts, Kirby went without. He never saw his creations become multi-million dollar motion pictures, or his works become hard-bound collector’s editions.
For those of you not impressed by the comic book, you can also view Kirby’s influence outside the four-color printed page:
You could crawl out from under a rock and check Star Wars (Lucas has admitted being “influenced” by Kirby’s “New Gods” series as much as by Kurosawa’s “Hidden Fortress”). Michael Chabon’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay” based in large part on his research into the life of Kirby.
Kirby worked harder than most. When I was first getting into comics, it seemed at least two or three books a month on the stands carried his stories. Right now, it seems that DC, Marvel, and newer publishers like Image Comics have more Kirby in reprint form the first few months of this year than any time while he was alive. You can find these in your local comic book shop. If you ask for a Kirby comic in a shop and they do not know who Kirby is, then you should find another shop.
In order of importance, I would recommend “The Fourth World Omnibus” and “Fantastic Four” – after that, you could try others like Kamandi, The Eternals, and Captain America. If you become extremely fanatical after that, you might even enjoy the more-quirky Devil Dinosaur.
The New York Times ran a great piece on Kirby over the weekend, and Kirby’s friend and historian Mark Evanier (his great blog you’ll also find linked to the right) will finally get his long-awaited Kirby biography on the bookshelves this October.
There is also a virtual visit and more information in store at the Kirby Museum and a very good Kirby documentary included on the ‘deluxe’ edition of the first Fantastic Four movie.
Happy Birthday, Jack Kirby! As a schoolmate of mine said a long time ago: “Oh, yeah!”
