"If This Was Dinner...I Can't Wait For The Cabaret!" MOVIES! Sometimes...The Year Must Die!

So, I didn't get near any comics this Holiday but I am always writing nevertheless. In my head mostly. So, although I haven't got anything about comics I have got a head full of dumb words about some Peter Cushing films I watched this year. Usually I just dump this head written stuff into the ether but I felt like posting something and this was all I had. So I dumped it on you. Attractive, non? Anway; an old man, some old movies and a spatter of tired old jokes. What better way to see the New Year in. Have a drink, it'll read better that way. Everything's better when you're insensate with drink. That's what it's for. Oh yeah, Happy New Year everybody!

Oh yeah, none of these are Oscar(C) winners in waiting but they are all fun so they are all GOOD!

All images taken from Wikipedia.

TWINS OF EVIL Directed by John Hough Screenplay by Tudor Gates (Based on characters created by Sheridan Le Fanu(?!?)) Music by Harry Robertson (Hammer, 1971)

Yes, there is a joke there isn’t there? One about breasts; but I won’t be making it. Knock yourselves out though by all means. Then try and look your mother in the eyes, pal. In this movie, the quality of which is indicated early by the choice of Hot Electric Pink for the titles, Peter Cushing plays Gustav Veil whose surname is not only an anagram of “evil” but is pronounced “vile” and that’s about as restrained as this one gets. Seriously, there’s a bit where a lady is enjoying the physical attentions of a gentleman and the camera zooms in to show her hand lightly gliding up and down the shaft of a candle. Y’know, like a penis. Keep up. Anyway, Peter Cushing, equipped with a buckled hat, blithely classes this silly exercise up in his role as a Puritan who roams about at night with his Puritan pals burning single young women as witches. Cush & Co. average one a night which suggests that there is a preternaturally large population of single young women in and around his village or someone is bussing them in so Cush’n’chums can have their fiery fun. It’s testament to Cushing’s performance that when someone says Vile “means well” despite there being nothing in the script which indicates he is anything other than a murderous misogynist you do actually think, oh, maybe he’s just a tad, a smidgen perhaps, overzealous. So anyway, his twin nieces, or what have you, come to stay and one’s a bit of a scamp and is lured into depravity by the sleazy Lord of the manor who has been en-vamped. Unfortunately he’s played in a way that’s about as threatening as a doily. After a few creepy scenes of young women leading old men on (“What would your Uncle say?” Urrrggghhhh. No thanks, 1970s.) and flashes of flesh it’s all boiled down to The Cush vs the fanged doily man for the souls of his flock! There’s some mileage in that; the bloke who was seeing Evil everywhere where there was none now has to deal with real Evil right in his own home. But, basically, this movie prefers to find excuses to chuck some knockers up on the screen.

THE BEAST MUST DIE Directed by Paul Annett Screenplay by Michael Winder (From the short story by James Blish) Music by Douglas Gamley (Amicus,1974)

This mangy but loveable cur of a movie has a spectacularly inappropriate theme tune. Oh, It’s really good, don’t get me wrong but it’s the kind of swinging up-tempo floor shaker more suited to a title sequence in which Oliver Reed checks out ‘birds’ from his Union Jack mini as he tootles down Carnaby Street. Here it sits oddly atop a movie about a bunch of weird people lured to an island retreat by a big game hunter who believes one of them to be a werewolf. The most dangerous game of all just got dangerouserererer! I can’t lie; it’s a bit dull beyond the campiness but it does perk up whenever Peter Cushing uses his fantastic accent, someone dies or when everyone has to fondle a silver bullet in a game of Pass The Death Sentence. Oh, and there’s an exciting bit where our superfly hero hounds the werewolf in his helicopter and tries to machine gun it. Mind you, that last bit now looks like nothing more than a man shooting at a very large German Shepherd and inadvertently ruining someone’s potting shed in the process; I can assure you that was very thrilling when you were 10. But then so is hopscotch. Near the end a ticking clock fills the screen and you have to guess who the werewolf is. I don’t know how the movie knows what you’ve guessed but every time I watch it it’s (SPOILER!). I’m not saying the movie struggles to fill its screen time but it will find a favourable reaction amongst people fond of watching Michael Gambon driving about in a jeep.

AND FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN Directed by Terence Fisher Screenplay by John Elder (Anthony Hinds) Music by James Bernard (Hammer, 1967)

In which Frankenstein doesn’t but what he does do is trap the soul of a wrongly executed man in the body of the guy’s disfigured girlfriend; she having drowned herself on seeing his execution. Together with Thorley Walters (played by Eddie Izzard) Peter “The Cush” Cushing as Baron Frankenstein fixes her face (and her hair; Blonde Contretemps by Boots) and everything turns out just dandy, thanks. No, no it doesn’t, you fool! See, the soul of her boyfriend makes her hunt down the three fops who not only teased her about her face but , worse even, murdered her father and left her beau to take the rap. Some people probably say that the scenes where a man in a woman’s body seduces then murders his/her victims are ripe with trans gender subtext. Well, they might if they weren’t distracted by the fact that the victims are all dressed like Willly fucking Wonka. Anyway, if The Baron had fixed her face in the first place all that unpleasantness could have been avoided. So, basically, it’s a movie about getting your priorities right.

FRANKENSTEIN AND THE MONSTER FROM HELL Directed by Terence Fisher Screenplay by John Elder Music by James Bernard (Hammer, 1974)

This is the one in which Peter Cushing plays Baron Frankenstein one final time. It isn’t the best send-off but Peter Cushing doesn’t flag and nor does he falter. So, The Baron is now covertly running an asylum he’s supposed to be banged up in because he’s got the goods on the pervy dude in charge. He’s landed on his feet but his hands are giving him grief. His burned mitts are hampering his quest to stitch together the mentally unhygienic into a perfect man. Good thing then that Shane Briant (played by Twiggy) gets locked up in his gaff. And it is lucky because not only is Shane a surgeon in training he is also The Baron’s biggest fan. What are the odds? They are good, my friend. Anyway these two knock up a makeshift man who looks like a shaved ape and has a penchant for sticking broken glass in people’s faces. Shane Briant is also feeling moral pangs about The Baron passive aggressively badgering the inmates into committing suicide so he can play pick’n’mix with their parts. Oh, Madeline Smith wafts about the place as well giving the place a woman’s touch and some pathos; a bit anyway. Anyway, everything goes tits up pretty quickly. It’s possible to read the film as an indictment of the parlous state of the care of the vulnerable and how, without regulation, the gaolers become worse than the gaoled; but, basically, it’s a movie about how if you’ve got Peter Cushing in a top hat you’re sorted for 80 minutes and change. Cush Fact: the feathery wig sported by the great man himself is the exact same toupee which adorned his magnificent bonce in And Now The Screaming Starts… which, ah, here it is now…

AND NOW THE SCREAMING STARTS..! Directed by Roy Ward Baker Screenplay by Roger Marshall (David Case) Music by Douglas Gamley (Amicus,1973)

For about 40 minutes this enjoyable but not exactly good period set horror film consists of scenes of Ian "The Saint" Ogilvy and Stephanie “Powders” Beacham reacting badly to odd events in a stately home. A severed hand, a slashed portrait, something going bump in Stephanie Beacham’s night, a Richard Harris impersonator and hushed references to something terrible bad in the past combined to leave me clawing for clarity and wondering if I was suffering another dry drunk or what. Thankfully at that point Peter Cushing sauntered into the movie and delivered a performance which managed to make the whole thing watchable at least, and this is despite his sporting the aforementioned alarmingly feathery wig. Actually I spent a lot of time looking at this unsettling hairpiece so I could have missed some nuance or subtlety in what followed. It’s doubtful though as what followed not only had Patrick Magee pretending to be strangled by an invisible severed hand but also featured Herbert Lom as a not entirely convincing example of the landed English gentry who lets things get out of hand; sparking all the unpleasantness off with a poorly considered decision to reinstall the droit de seigneur tradition. From then on Cushing attempts to combat superstition and supernatural vengeance with the new-fangled Science Of The Mind! It ends badly for everyone involved. Where is your science now, Peter Cushing!?!

THE BLOOD BEAST TERROR Directed by Vernon Sewell Screenplay by Peter Bryan (Trigon, 1968)

This is the one with the lady who seduces men, turns into a big moth and kills ‘em. I see no subtext. Probably because there isn’t one; the script has it all on trying to make sense. Which it doesn’t but when did that ever matter; just entertain me, you mad fools! Peter Cushing is on record as claiming this is the worst film he ever made. Steady on, old boy; that’s a bit harsh. I mean even I haven’t seen every film Peter Cushing ever made but I think maybe the proximity of filming to his wife’s death coloured his judgement. Don’t get me wrong it’s quite, quite terrible but it is not without its charms. There’s Roy Hudd popping up to give the 1970s version of an amusing cameo(i.e. it isn’t; amusing that is); Cushing’s fellow plod is played by Dave the barman from Minder; some good performances convincingly delivered in spite of everything; an electrifyingly perfunctory climax in which Peter Cushing and Dave from Minder set fire to some piled up leaves, which the moth cannot resist and so meets its fiery end. And then the credits whizz up the screen. One of the things I never noticed about these movies until this re-watch is how tight they all are with film. No sooner has the final line slipped into silence than BANG! THE END! CREDITS ROLL! They might as well have someone shout "That’s yer lot! Ain’t ya got homes to go to! Fawk off home! G’wan! Whaddya want, Jam on it? Home! Now! Go!"

Speaking of which…THE END.

Happy New Year!

Mainstream Comics, Ellen Burstyn & Jim Broadbent star in “The Momentum of Things”

 

That's 30 issues, fella.  That's over $120 of cascading plot.  That's probably over 70,000 words of dialogue. (Eyes boggle)

To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Shakespeare – Hamlet 1:1

According to the work in the public domain there are about 32,000 words in Hamlet, FFS.

Given my druthers, I'd rather have a blast of something like this:

Follow me!  Into the maw of insanity!

So, gang, here's your problem.

Tragedy at the Walgreen's  "Out of eye shadow?!?!"

Of course, not JEM specifically but rather this meandering blech that is now mainstream comics.  Don't believe me?  Listen to Vince Gilligan!

It’s helpful to have an end date. Most shows are designed to go on into perpetuity – to go on indefinitely. You don’t want it to end, but, actually, desiring an end date from early on held us in good stead.

Vince Gilligan – Creator – Breaking Bad

 Our desire to apparently complicate the uncomplicated is a real thing.  A real big problem.  It's strangling something we love.  To be honest, it's ripping it to pieces.  You pick up something in the middle of that 30 issue diagram and your brain is going to turn into oatmeal.  PORRIDGE, I SAY!

What is needed, for both thee, me, and the royal WE is a little bit of a format redefinition.

And that realization left me gasping.  How, where, to what degree?  And then, a bolt from the blue.  Combing my rapidly dwindling longboxes this week I came across a massive stack of What If… from the volume II era (late 80’s).

WHAT IF… The Avengers Lost the Evolutionary War? WHAT IF… Steve Rogers had Refused to Give Up Being Captain America? WHAT IF… Iron Man Lost the Armor Wars? WHAT IF… The Fantastic Four all had the Same Power? WHAT IF… The Vision had Conquered the World? WHAT IF… Phoenix Rose Again? WHAT IF… The X-Men had Stayed in Asgard? WHAT IF… The Avengers Lost Operation Galactic Storm?

In the strictest sense, a lot of this was CRAP comics. Tryout art. HACKneyed dialogue.

Uuuuuuurgh

But on further inspection, and I say this with some level of seriousness, this is (or, rather, was) the last vestige of verve and piss in mainstream comics.

I challenge any individual to the patented“What if…” F You set-up. Can anyone find a comic that goes from the equivalent of the panel above to the panels below in less than two pages?

What you can’t really debate or put down about it was the amount of single issue ambition here. Sure, they’re imaginary stories. But as we famously know, “Aren’t they all?” What I was absorbed by in these stories was the sheer amount of FINISH on display. Things get done here. Wrapped up and put down all the way through. Whether that be Cannonball marrying a dwarf princess or the Fantastic Four all getting Human Torch powers – burning down a slum irresponsibly – and killing an adorable street urchin through their reckless hubris.

Things get done.

What I really found myself asking – as retailers and publishers struggle to identify the best delivery method for comics - Is whether or not long form serialized storytelling is rewarding or merely masturbatory?  When something so deliriously underproduced, rushed, and throwaway could give me such a jolt I was left wondering  why the "brightest minds" in the comics biz spend years telling stories that go nowhere and do - largely - nothing of lasting consequence.

Many (in internet terms) weeks ago I stumbled into a volley of barbs between the unanimously loved DEAR LEADER Brian "SAVAGE" Hibbs and one Jennifer de Guzman. Jennifer is, according to twitter bio and I have no reason to doubt it, PR and Marketing Director at Image comics.

This person, dear reader, is the tip of the spear when it comes to how the most bleeding edge – for all intents and purposes mainstream – comics company chooses to represent itself to the world. She must be very good indeed. So, in one corner the world-weary retail mastermind. In the other, the probing, challenging new method seeking distribution executive. Should be smooth sailing, yeah?

Well…

The crux of the “AHEM” discussion seemed to be the legitimate viability of short term “mini-series” versus ongoing titles in the current marketplace.

Now, fair being fair, these two fine folks must work together to simultaneously sustain and reinvigorate comics. This was all one night’s worth of twitter spit balling. I was a few cups in reading it so I can only assume they were a few cups in writing it. Logical, right? So, anywho, get these two together in a room and legitimately good ideas will come of it because they are both dedicated and passionate individuals who believe comics are worth a great deal of their waking hours and unlike us have committed their professional lives to that (slightly more than) 4 color gambit.

The problem is – neither of them can wave a magic wand to get the books selling like early 90’s Aunt May wheat cakes again. The question that arises from that problem is – where do they BEGIN to get books selling like the aforementioned wheat cakes?

Side Note - Yes, that is Uncle Ben as Silver Surfer.

 I think it’s fair to say that at this point anything is worth a shot.  I don't want to speak for Brian.  He knows via hard earned experience what sells in his location.  As a fellow small business owner I can say for myself that I tend to look at “tried and true” methods.  Publishing companies seem to feel a bit more comfortable working on different delivery vehicles. It’s the thing they can control – format of content – via their solicitation or publishing choices. Whether it’s a mini, maxi, annual, prestige, jumbo, or even the most elusive prey of all – THE DOUBLE SIZED ISSUE – publishers have long been tweaking the delivery system.

How – How – HOW?!?! How to get the people back?

Is it like this?

Look on my DIAGRAMS ye mighty and despair! - Jonathan Hickman (Allegedly)

A Traumatizing Apologia for New Avengers

Nuanced. Oo, yes. Swaive and De-Boner as the old man used to put it. But lemme ask you this:

Does it put butts in seats?

The simple answer is no. Now, this kind of thing does bring some proverbial milkshake to the yard. Established readers, with a deep investment, a subtle appreciation of nuanced characterization, a willingness to follow the Byzantine pathways of a critical and calculating mind dedicated to telling what is - for all intents and purposes – a multi-year story….Ah, ah, ah. Navel Gazing. YOU ARE NAVEL GAZING.

Now, listen, until Watchmen and its 80’s brethren made it passé to have clunky in-issue recaps of what had immediately come before (try reading a couple hundred issues of Amazing Spider-Man digitally and tell me it’s a seamless story) we had what were largely anthology comics.

In an anthology any comic basically makes use of the archetypal nature of the protagonist and tells a story that can fit with what any schmoe can understand from that single issue. It can be picked up by anybody and they can be sucked in by art, wit, word play and technical skill. “Hero, got it.” “Villain, check.” “Cool fight scene at Rockefeller ice rink.” “Oh, he called him a canucklehead!”  "What a neat twist - his glasses broke on the steps of the library!"

Somewhere along the line - and wiser comic heads than me will know the date - some bright bulb figured out if you made an issue only PART of the overall story then the hapless chump buying the thing (That's US, by the way) would need to buy the next one to get the story.  But then, why bother with two parts when you can have three?  Or Twelve?  Or THIRTY?

The problem is, Writers can totally play it safe with a meandering 12 issue story. You can break it into two six issue chunks, plod around for the first four issues of both chunks, deliver a lightweight resolution or, GASP, CONTINUATION

…and then hurry home in the last two issues to the status quo. “Look, everybody, they didn’t kill the Human Torch after all!”

That’s what diagrams get you. That’s what laziness and a navel gazing market conspire to get you. That’s what serialized fiction in comics has mutated into.

Marc Maron recently sat down with Sam Simon, (He of Simpsons greatness and glory) talked about his terminal cancer, and the shitness of serialized fiction vis a vis the new Charlie Sheen piece of garbage he’s working on half a day a week as a favor to a friend.

Sam Simon's WTF episode

“It’s called a 10 / 90 show…ugh, it’s death. It’s just the end of anything being good. You do 10 and then they pick up 90. What? Like if it’s no good after 40 episodes what do they do with it?”

He burns people in this thing – why not, right? And it’s breathtaking.

The takeaway for comics and writers - REGARDLESS of delivery method – is that there is a real need to break out of the cycle wherein they commit to these long form pointless wank explorations of nothing that ouroboros-like wind up back at the start and return to the status quo.  That's why readers bleed from titles if you ask me.  If you're telling me facets of the same story for 30 friggin issues with a whole lot of...

...then no wonder people are falling off left and right?  Who has the freaking endurance?  Not everybody was put on Earth to run marathons, comics!  Some of us just don't have the wind!

Look, it's simple.  If you want status quo then develop characters and story arcs that fit into anthology style universes. Bart Simpson is 10 years old forever for a freaking reason and it's a GOOD ONE.  Interesting, funny, weird shit happens to 10 year olds.  If you want serial fiction then you must NOT spend years of issues going nowhere! It’s fundamental! It’s elemental!  Sliding timeline be DAMNED!

I'm going to leave you with a big, important quote.  This quote explains why it's awesome when Cap gets shot in the head and the book ends.  Why it's great when The Vision conquers and becomes benign dictator of Earth.  Why it's possibly the greatest comic thing ever when Superman flies into the Sun to save us all.

Dread is an underutilized emotion on TV. This is most likely due to the shackles of serialized storytelling that, impossibly, demand both constant forward momentum and deeply settled consistency. Most shows, even the very best of them, traffic in the illusion of change, not the thing itself: The Sopranos was never really going to whack Tony, and Nicholas Brody isn't going to be martyring himself on Homeland as long as Damian Lewis is winning Emmys. It's hard to feel like something terrible is going to happen when the multiseason model of television remains too invested in nothing happening at all. Because Game of Thrones began its life, like Samwell Tarly's insider knowledge of castles, as a series of marks on paper, it's not bound to this risk-averse small-mindedness. I give the show a lot of grief for all the ways its fealty to pre-existing source material hampers the dramatic burst and bloom of a typical television season, but it's in episodes like last night's that the advantages are made abundantly clear. Only Game of Thrones can blow up the present like this, because only Game of Thrones already knows its future.

-Andy Greenwald Game of Thrones, Season 3, Episode 9: It's Like 'Rains' on Your Red Wedding Day

Over 5 million people watch this show.  And it's growing.

 No more TO BE CONTINUED.  COMICS.  I BEG YOU.