So many unmasking clichés…
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Comic
2374 comics.
I remember hearing, years ago, that it was difficult to keep skillful writers on comic books that had large groups in them- Avengers, X-Men, that kind of thing. Something to do with keeping the different voices true and making sure everyone was involved and heroics were showcased in a balanced manner. Easy to mess up.
I know what they mean.
It pretty much ruins any enjoyment (if there’s any to be had) of ‘reality TV’ shows- remembering that there’s a camera involved. My wife and I watch Survivor, and have been known to watch those funny video clip shows.
But take just one moment to realize that, while the Survivors are doing sneaky things, hoping that they’re not being observed by the others in camp, not four feet away are a gaggle of people- cameraman, sound engineer, gaffer, tech, and the occasional director, medical staff, lighting expert, and whatever chump they get to lug around all the equipment and the cases they come in. It suddenly takes away the sense that there’s a game being played.
Likewise, when watching some of the more hilarious video clip shows, it was fun to say, just as the clip began, “Hey, why was this being video’d?” And then you’d realize that no one in their right minds rushes out to take video of a guy pulling a nail out of a barn wall. NObody. So when the entire barn wall collapses as the nail is pulled, you’re free- if you’ve taken your moment to think and ask the question- to realize that the whole thing is a total set up.
Which is why comic strips are better. You can show everyone when the cameraman gets it in the neck, and there’s NO camera there to take the participants’ attention away from the catastrophe.
“Happy April Fool’s Day.”
Hey! Guess what one of my favorite movies is?
I think I’m in danger of repeatedly repeating myself. After the horrible revelation that Hannabelle Lechter was a name I’d already bestowed on a Roller Derby Girl, I christened another character Cthula Hanna Belle-Lechter. What a thing.
Now, I’m recycling (or, if you’ll be generous, ‘Creating a running gag out of’) the phrase “He cut the power.” I love that line. Or rather, I love the original movie line “They cut the power.” I like to toss it in occasionally. I used it a while back, and here it is again.
For anyone who hasn’t placed the movie yet, here are more clues. The following line is, I believe, “How could they cut the power? They’re just animals, man!” And the fun doesn’t stop there. Surely you remember the line “You ever been mistaken for a man, Vasquez?” and the retort, “No. Have you?” Or how about, “Is this gonna be a stand up fight, sir, or a bug hunt?”
I worry. You know?
Have comic books and comic book movies quit being “Kids’ stuff” because we now refuse to give up being kids?
Not that long ago (but after the creation of the Comics Code Authority), comic books were filled with ridiculous romps suitable for all ages, meaning young ages. Batman would find himself upside down in absurd death traps, wearing his bright blue and light gray outfit, with Robin next to him, also in wildly over-produced peril, and wearing garish colors. Likewise Superman, who’d chuckle indulgently as he rescued Lois from some Lucille Ball-esque tangle, him wearing his trapeze-artist costume and shiny blue spit-curl. And whatever goofy thing happened in the comic didn’t matter because next month would see them back at ‘go’ at the beginning of the issue, ready for another goofy romp.
And people wanted to grow up and be adults. They left behind comic books, and graduated up to literature, and wore suits and nice shoes because to do otherwise meant that you had no respect for yourself or those who had to spend time around you.
Now? Grown men running around in matched basketball uniforms modeled after their favorite players. It’s like some kid in the fifties who so desperately wants to wear his superman pajamas to school that he disobeys his mother and wears them under his school clothes. Except we can’t look at these grown men and make fun of them like we did Kevin on the playground, him suddenly yelling “Up, up and awaaaaay” and charging headlong across the playground in his red socks, away from the pile of his street clothes under the monkey bars. We don’t make fun of grown men wearing their color-coded shorts sets, or their sagging britches, or their Tshirts that say ungentlemanly things because if we say anything about it, they might have a complete and utter Hissy Fit and shoot somebody, meaning me.
…Or they’ll have some other similarly very adult sort of reaction.
Plus, if we make fun of them for wearing the kiddie clothes THEY like, then who’s going to restrain themselves from giving us an earful when we wear our official Walking Dead embroidered baseball cap, Sons of Anarchy distressed denim jacket and matching leather chaps, or our favorite Crocs with the worn out heel straps and dog’s teeth marks all over the left heel when we go to the doctor’s office?
Excuse me, please. I’ve gotten myself into such a tizzy, that I’ve dribbled my beer down the front of my best Flash underoos.
If there’s a guy with a camera, he’s not gonna want to aim it at somebody handing him the truth, he’s gonna want to point it at someone who’s gonna SAY some stuff!
I turned down the job of Cubmaster when my oldest kid was in his second or third year of scouts. So did a guy named Scott. So the outgoing Cubmaster announced that Scott and I would be Co-Cubmasters together. And we were. I think I stayed Scoutmaster for, like seven years, covering ground for my two sons. I was never good at it, but I think the kids enjoyed their time and most of them went on to be Boy Scouts after being Cubs.
And, of course, when it was WAY past time for me to step down as Cubmaster, I had to strong-arm the situation to get someone else to take over. A couple of folks stepped in and took up the reins at the last minute. I think they probably did a better job than I did. But I bet their cub scouts never got to make a big ol’ indian drum with real rawhide drumhead that was big enough for four or five scouts to play at once, like my scouts did.
Yow.
When I was a cub scout leader, we made a rule. The rule was made after a few long, rambling, directionless campfire stories.
The rule saved our sanities.
The rule was this:
“When you say, “And Then…”, the story is over.”
It was in important rule, as it taught the boys not to volunteer to tell a story they didn’t have. The rule was created after a story much like this one:
“There was this guy. And he was walking down a dark road. He was next to a graveyard. …And then, a dragon rose up out of the graveyard, and then… the guy fought the dragon, and then… there was a huge fire, and then… everything in the world caught fire and everyone died. And then…uh… there were these people…”
It wasn’t the first story of its kind. But the ‘And Then’ rule was hailed as a life-saving stroke of genius, not only because kids thought up the ends of the stories before they started trying to tell them, but it was HILARIOUS listening to young storytellers working very very hard NOT to say, “And Then…”
