A Banner Actor for "The Avengers"

As expected, Marvel Studios' The Avengers has changed my life.

I've been waiting for this weekend for years, ever since Sam Jackson's Nick Fury asked Robert Downey, Jr.'s Tony Stark, "You think you're the only hero in the world?"  Thank God he wasn't!

This six(!)-film franchise has constructed a multidimensional universe so well, even the word "multidimensional" in this context is multidimensional.  But so many bloggers have already analyzed what The Avengers did right; I'd like to briefly discuss what it almost did wrong -- namely, the Hulk.

Surely many fans were disappointed when the Internet confirmed that Ed Norton wasn't going to reprise his role as Bruce Banner in The Avengers.  I guess a movie pulling together this strings couldn't tie them up perfectly, but that loose end left a lot of skepticism.  Frankly, I didn't think Mark Ruffalo was right for the role.  Norton's Banner had the Dale Keown look I grew up with -- chiseled but lanky, perpetually furrowed brow, a man ready to burst out of his own skin (and who occasionally did).  Ruffalo's banner was a bit too square-jawed, stocky, and looked physically formidable in his own right.  I wondered why he was cast as a Norton replacement, when perhaps a step back to Eric Bana would've been a better choice.

(Hey, you can't blame Bana for Ang Lee's mistake -- Bana still made for a good Banner.)



Then I realized: Mark Ruffalo's Banner looks a lot like Bill Bixby's Banner -- and if Superman Returns taught us anything, Hollywood likes to pay homage to Hollywood whenever possible, source material be damned.

Indeed, with over 70 years' worth of Superman stories to tell, spanning thousands of comic books, Superman Returns sought to rehash the cinema's revered, unashamedly dated interpretation, which ultimately didn't refresh the franchise, but ended it in preparation for the latest silver screen adaptation.  With Ruffalo as Banner, I was afraid writer/director Joss Whedon was doing the same thing, pigeon-holing the Hulk to his '70s boob tube roots.  After all, for everything The Incredible Hulk did to clean up Ang Lee's mess, it still clung to the old TV show's origin sequence, leaving classic characters like Rick Jones and Doc Samson to fleeting footnotes.

I was wrong.  I wasn't wrong that Ruffalo is Bixby as Banner.  His folding up the sports coat, rolling up the sleeves, putting on the glasses -- all classic Bixby's Banner.  I was wrong that it wouldn't work in The Avengers -- in fact, it works so well, it reinforces the "old-fashioned" notion Agent Coulson insists is necessary to save the day, even moreso than the true "man out of time," Captain America.  Ruffalo's Banner is man so cornered by his own demon, it makes sense to see him in the '70s frump of Bixby's hard-travelling Banner.  Further, in the end, Ruffalo's Banner presents the cure Bixby's Banner sought for so long -- a secret that so stations a man in one moment of time, he seems to transcend it.

In short, Mark Ruffalo didn't just transform from Bruce Banner to the Hulk -- he transformed from my biggest fear about The Avengers on the silver screen to my favorite part of the whole film.  The Hulk is by far The Avengers' biggest strength -- yes, that's another word made multidimensional, and another reason the movie changed my life.

This Is Heavy!

Blogger's Note: An extended version of this entry appeared in the most recent issue of Restless: An Arts Anthology, published in Mesa, Arizona. If you'd like a copy, drop me a line.

Today, October 25, 2010, marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of when Dr. Emmett Brown unveiled his DeLorean time machine to '80s hipster Marty McFly, so I was ecstatic to catch the Back to the Future trilogy on television recently. My favorite trilogy of all time (pun intended), I vividly remember watching the first installment on HBO when I was five or six years old and feeling absolutely jarred by those final frantic moments, as Doc returns from 2015 and whisks Marty and Jennifer away on a new adventure, only to shove a “To Be Continued” in the audience's collective face. I wasn't an avid comic book reader yet, so I hadn't grasped this concept of “to be continued,” but I'm grateful that Doc introduced it to me. Who better to instill an appreciation for looking forward to the future than the guy that invented the Flux Capacitor?

However, watching Back to the Future II as an adult inspired thoughts that hadn't occurred to me previously, specifically about the nature of time travel. To recap, at the beginning of this second film, Doc takes Marty and Jennifer from 1985 to 2015, where their susceptible son takes the fall for a crime committed by the gruesome Griff Tannen, a singular event that spirals the McFly family into irreversible turmoil. Doc hatches a plan to change “future history” and keep the McFly family intact, a noble gesture of selfless friendship that now strikes me as inherently impossible in the context of the rest of the Back to the Future trilogy.

“Well, of course!” you retort. “Throughout the films, Doc is adamant about the dangers of time travel and messing with the natural course of events, lest one cause a rift in the space/time continuum that could destroy the universe!” To this I say, aw, who cares? What's a little chronological paradox between true friends like Doc and Marty?

What I'm saying is, the 2015 that Doc, Marty, and Jennifer visit simply doesn't exist. Never mind that we live in 2010 and are nowhere near self-tying shoes, hoverboards, and flying cars yet. Rather, I insist that once Doc picked up Marty and Jennifer from 1985, he negated the 2015 he initially experienced with Griff and Marty, Jr., because while Marty and Jennifer travel to the future, time still naturally progresses forward but now without them, or else a 2015 wouldn't be there for them to see at all. So, the McFly family shouldn't exist when they arrive in future Hill Valley! The Fox television show Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles briefly explored this concept in its series finale, when young John Connor landed in the future and discovered a rebellion he didn't lead because he hadn't existed in history forward from the moment he disappeared in that time traveling portal. Ah, pretty heavy, Doc!

In Back to the Future, I'd accept the concept of alternate realities, a domino effect from affecting the natural course of events, but the DeLorean is a time machine, not a Superboy Prime punch. Thus, the oversight must be a thematic one, since screenwriter Bob Gale and director Robert Zemeckis aren't idiots. See, I love these movies despite their inherent hypocrisies because they present genuinely engaging, realistically flawed characters, and their time-spanning journey is as much one of self discovery as it is chronological repair job. Marty is teenage hubris personified in his inability to resist the challenge of being called “chicken,” and Doc's brilliance makes him so socially awkward, he has to create a time machine to get in touch with his fellow man. (Take that, Mark Zuckerberg!) It's a perfect pairing of imperfection, and by maintaining a McFly-infested 2015 despite Marty's absence from time and consequential inability to make that family, Gale and Zemeckis show us that self-improvement must always possible. It's the most timeless pursuit known to man.

Of course, Doc makes this clear at the end of Back to the Future III, when he shows up at Eastwood Ravine to tell Marty, “The future isn't written yet! The future is what you make it, so make it a good one.” When I was a kid watching these movies for the first time, I had no idea my future would be a better one because of the Back to the Future trilogy . . . not to mention that everyday would be a “to be continued” waiting to happen.

Can YOU Find the A-Team?

On Friday, June 11, the '80s returned in a box office brawl of rock 'em, sock 'em proportions, pitting the Karate Kid against my beloved A-Team -- and based on the weekend's ticket sales, America prefers kids beating each other up over fugitive soldiers of fortune. Despite my bias as an A-Team super-fan, I totally understand -- until now, The Karate Kid has been a four film franchise (and that's generously including The Karate Kid 3 and The Next Karate Kid), which entails much less commitment from an audience than The A-Team's five seasons' worth of television. Children of the '80s are more likely to have seen a Karate Kid film than an episode of The A-Team, by proxy of time and availability, so nostalgia for the former will trump any interest in the latter. Plus, The Karate Kid is a family film, which always take the gold. So, like I said, I get it. These trends speak for themselves.

I just don't have to like it. The A-Team is still an awesome franchise, and wholly misunderstood, and the new movie only makes it more so. Here's why.

First of all, the original A-Team series was among the last of the hour long dramedies (comedy + drama) that didn't require fanatically faithful viewership. Fans of Lost know what I'm talking about -- miss one episode, and you'll never know why the smoke monster is a manager at McDonald's in a parallel dimension. Everything you needed to know about the A-Team, you heard in the first twenty seconds of any given episode: "In 1972 a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit . . . Now they survive as soldiers of fortune." Any questions? No? Okay, let's start blowing stuff up.

Sure, this new film falls into the prequel/reboot trap, like Batman Begins, Casino Royale, and Star Trek before it, creating the illusion of contextual substance, but therein also lies the promise of a baggage-free cinematic experience. You already know how it's going to end! Bruce Wayne becomes Batman, Kirk becomes the Captain, and the A-Team, despite 90 minutes' worth of righteous fury, will still be on the run from the government. If they weren't, they wouldn't be the A-Team! So, as is the case for these origin tales, the fun isn't in the destination, but the journey. Since so many films are twist-ending oriented nowadays, predictability is almost as unpredictable, and equally appreciated. I'll call it painless predictability. Sometimes people just need structure.

Unfortunately, the critics expected too much of it. As connoisseurs of the cinema, surely the likes of Roger Ebert understand that The A-Team isn't Shakespeare. It isn't based on a true story, or even inspired by real events. It is, as a movie, inspired by a television show and should be judged accordingly. So, the burning question is, does The A-Team accomplish in 90 minutes what the original series did in 100 episodes? I think so, and since I own all five seasons, I think I trump Ebert and company in this category. This contemporary A-Team could've easily exaggerated its roots in military espionage, making a statement about corruption at all levels of power, but it didn't. It remained a live action cartoon, where tanks can fall out of the sky and drive away, and men can kick attackers clear across a room.

This is the A-Team -- superheroes, sans spandex. No, they have gold chains and flight jackets, instead -- costumes all the same. Sure, their dramatic catchphrase, "I love it when a plan comes together" is much less convicting than, "With great power comes great responsibility," but it's a little less barbaric than, "It's clobberin' time!" They have a specialized vehicle, even, one they drive in the light of day despite their status as government fugitives -- and they never get caught. They made cannons of air conditioner tubing and shot lettuce heads at corrupt land barons. These rules don't apply to films like, say, The Hurt Locker, or Saving Private Ryan, or even McHale's Navy. The A-Team was never meant to be M*A*S*H. Bugs Bunny is more like it, with the army their babbling Elmer Fudd. These "critics" should relate. For all their sophosticated analysis, the A-Team still eludes them.

So more than any crime they didn't commit, what haunts the A-Team now is time. As heady as it seems, perhaps a post-9/11 world can't understand the A-Team, and how the potential corruption of the military offers a backdrop for goofy, violent vigilante justice. Its core audience has aged, too, and with kids in tow would favor the more family-friendly fare of The Karate Kid. As it was, my friends dropped their kids off with a babysitter to catch the midnight premiere with my girlfriend and me. Thankfully, I can rest assured, that the spirit of the A-Team will always be around . . . as long as someone is willing to find them.

200 Posts Later: 100 Awesome Things About Arizornia!

Welcome to my 200th post at The Inner Child Speaketh! Apparently, the inner child has much to say.

I've recently moved from Fullerton, California to Mesa, Arizona, and I couldn't have picked a more controversial time to call both states my home! Arizona's SB 1070 has ignited heated debate bordering (pun intended) on sociopolitical fanaticism, but if California's recent Republican gubernatorial primaries have taught us anything (aside from where your eBay surcharges were going all these years), it's that a fine line in the desert doesn't distinguish the shared responsibility of our nation's integrity. Of course, "our nation's integrity" is a subjective phrase -- for some, it means sanctifying America's borders, and for others, it means an American dream that's accessible to all, no matter what. I've made my opinions public on Facebook, the perfect forum for in-your-face opinions, since that's kind of in its name and all. Here, I've decided to pledge allegiance to both California and Arizona with "100 Awesome Things about Arizornia!"

Yes, "awesome" knows no border, and this is a completely arbitrary list of the places and personalities that make Arizornia such a cool place to live. It's by no means comprehensive, but each entry represents unique experiences I've had by way of the hobbies I most enjoy, like comics, coffee, comedy, etc. A tad autobiographical? Perhaps. A call to arms to experiences these things for yourself? Absolutely. Even if you never visit Arizornia, perhaps my recollection of a person, place, or thing therein will remind you of some similar experience from your personal travels, and we'll at least share that nostalgia -- because whether your America is a well-defined nation of borders or an open ideal for the world to pursue (and I'm not saying one is better than the other!), it's always been a place that tries to remember its roots.

Note: I've distinguished which side of the desert you can find these most awesome of landmarks with red and blue. I think you'll figure out the rest.

1. 24 Hour Wal-Mart, Valleywide: because sometimes you need a pair of tube socks and Drain-o at 4 a.m.
2. A&J’s, Fullerton: a nostalgic walk-up grease pit
3. All About Books & Comics, Phoenix: to the best of my knowledge, the only comic book store accessible from the light rail!
4. ArtSpace, Scottsdale: a gallery in swanky Scottsdale that isn’t afraid to host steampunk exhibits
5. Ash Avenue Comics, Tempe: for their large rack of indie books
6. Atomic Comics, Mesa: Phoenix’s major chain of comic book stores, and fortunately for me the biggest and best location is in Mesa
7. Azteca, Garden Grove: the best collection of Elvis memorabilia at a Mexican restaurant, with karaoke on the weekend!
8. Barney's Boathouse, Tempe: specifically, their $5 burger baskets on Wednesdays and Fridays
9. Beach & Ball, Anaheim: a quaint corner, home to Beachball Comics and three collectible toy stores, including Phat Collectibles, an overpriced collectible toy store – more of a toy museum, really, with action figures in glass cases that I could never afford
10. Beach Blvd. between La Palma and Lincoln, Buena Park: the southbound drive to Knott’s Berry Farm, including Medieval Times and the now-abandoned Wax Museum, is the OC’s answer to Hollywood Blvd.
11. Bee-line Café, Payson: one of the best diners in Arizona, thanks to its rich family history
12. Bill Campana: my favorite local poet/Larry King hater
13. Bill Handel: the best morning radio talk show host, ever
14. Bookmans, Mesa: an excellent source for new and used books and music, and in the same strip mall as Atomic Comics . . . and a 99 Cents Store! Has someone been reading my wish journal?
15. Bragg's Pie Factory, Phoenix: whoever thought to convert an old pie factory into an art exhibit with piñatas – genius. And, is it just me, or does it still smell like pie?
16. Brea Improv, Brea: always emailed me free passes, so they deserve props
17. Canter’s Deli, Hollywood: delicious kosher food – come for the pickles, stay for the bakery!
18. Cheba Hut, Mesa: a cool local sandwich shop with an, uhm, unique theme
19. Cine-Capri, Tempe: though not as historically poignant as the original, this Cine-Capri captures the Valley movie-going experience with the biggest bang around
20. CinemaFusion, Anaheim: with a 21 and over lounge, where you can bring your beer into the theater . . . ‘Nuff said!
21. Coffee Plantation, Scottsdale: What happened to the Arizona-based coffee chain I knew so well?
22. Comedy Store, Hollywood: specifically, its homage to Andy Kaufman
23. Comics, Toons, ‘N Toys, Tustin: my favorite comic book store in life so far
24. Conspire Coffee House, Phoenix: the most daring, eclectic poetry open mic in town
25. CornerStore Comics, Fullerton: a distributor of collectibles, but also a community-minded shop – they frequently donated comics to the Boys & Girls Clubs of Fullerton
26. Date Shack, Newport Beach: now owned and operated by Ruby’s, and home of the my favorite date shack, the Monkey Flip
27. Downtown Fullerton, Fullerton: dubbed “Sunset Blvd. East” by The Los Angeles Times, an antique row turned college town block party
28. Downtown Glendale, Glendale: a time capsule of antique shops, anchored by my favorite, Bo’s Funky Stuff
29. Downtown Los Angeles, Los Angeles: for being like a Monet – beautiful to look at from a distance, but baffling and disoriented up close
30. Downtown Mesa, Mesa: Downtown Mesa has more potential cool than viable cool, but its residents seem to be a patient people
31. Drawn to Comics, Glendale: gets the best customer service award
32. Dunkin' Donuts, Valleywide: California doesn’t have a single Dunkin’ Donuts. I swear; look it up. In Arizona, they’re on every corner. Win.
33. Durty Nelly’s, Costa Mesa: and the best karaoke jockey in Orange County, Kevin
34. El Torito, Cypress: for hosting karaoke on Friday nights, and allowing me to invade so many unsuspecting couples’ romantic dinners with “You Give Love a Bad Name”
35. Evermore Nevermore, Mesa: an oasis of comics and goth punk culture
36. Frank & Sons Collectibles Show, City of Industry: a Mecca of comics and collectibles, and where O.J. Simpson planned to sell the stuff he stole, or that was stolen from him, or whatever
37. Fuzzy Bear’s, Stanton: an enigma I highly recommend
38. Golden Apple Comics, Hollywood: a genuinely famous comic book store
39. Goodwill, Valleywide: every other Saturday is 50% day . . . because $2 for that genuine vintage Tee is about 50% more than I’d be willing to pay!
40. Grand Ave., Phoenix: in the shadow of Phoenix’s rising downtown, a pocket of dive bars and art galleries remain unchanged . . . ironically making them the hippest spot around
41. Greg's Comics, Mesa: when I put $6 worth of back issues on the counter, and the clerk rang me up with, “Ah, let’s say $4,” I knew Greg’s was a cool comics shop
42. Gypsy Den, Santa Ana: delicious coffee, and the home of an amazing open mic – where I first featured!
43. Hollywood Sign, Hollywood: the world’s biggest real estate sign
44. Hollywood Walk of Fame, Hollywood: the only place I can see the Monkees and Mary Tyler Moore all in the same place
45. Jesse James Comics, Glendale: Drawn to Comics gets best customer service, but Jesse James gets most thoughtful; I get there maybe once a month, and he remembers every conversation we had, setting aside recommended comics and offering discounts aplenty
46. June Gloom, overhead: summer’s good morning kiss
47. La Palma Chicken Pie Shop, Anaheim: old school food at old school prices
48. Laugh Factory, Hollywood: a controversial comedy haven
49. Lee Mallory: I daresay the Godfather of Orange County poetry, and a sexy redhead, to boot
50. Light Rail, Valleywide: Phoenix’s bloodstream, and the only way I can get to half the stuff I like around here
51. Linbrook Bowl & the Kopa Room, Anaheim: the best place you will ever karaoke, if you manage to get a turn
52. Long Beach Antique Flea Market, Long Beach: the Antiques Roadshow meets your grandmother’s garage
53. Long Beach’s Antique Row, Long Beach: everything Urban Outfitters wishes it could be – and home of Portfolio Coffee House, the LBC’s best cup of java
54. Los Angeles Comic Book and Science Fiction Convention, the Shrine Auditorium, Los Angeles: the best monthly comic book convention in the worst part of town
55. Macayo’s Depot Cantina, Tempe: right off the light rail, converted from the original train station, and offering a free buffet at the bar Monday through Friday, 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.!
56. Marctini Lounge, Glendale: the West Valley has a karaoke oasis, and it is the vainly named and conversely madly hospitable Marctini Lounge
57. Marjle’s, Phoenix: the best place to watch a Suns game – and if it’s too crowded, Cooperstown is an equally accessible plan B
58. McClains Coffee House, Fullerton: my favorite local coffee shop
59. Meltdown Comics, Hollywood: an excellent source of alt and indie comics in the heart of Hollywood’s mainstream
60. Mesa’s Tiny Poetry Slam, Mesa: a thoughtful, funny group of people keepin’ Slam alive in the East Valley
61. Metro Comics, Santa Barbara: holds a fond place in my heart as the shop that introduced me to Vertigo’s Human Target
62. Mill Ave., Tempe: a nine-month long college block party – and a ghost town during the summertime
63. Monsoon, summertime: when I was a kid, I used to put on my Ghostbusters plastic proton pack and glare up at the red night sky, ready for action – thankfully, I scared the specters off
64. Norm’s, Anaheim: They never close.
65. O’Kelly’s Sports Bar, Tempe: karaoke and Ms. Pac-Man under one roof? Yeah, I’m gonna be here awhile
66. OC Weekly: Orange County’s weekly liberal rag – a great read, even if they dropped “Red Meat” and “This Modern World”
67. OCTA: Orange County’s bloodstream
68. Orange Circle, Orange: a row of antique stores, conveniently positioned in a circle to remind us that everything old can be new again
69. Orpheum, Phoenix: a cool venue for even cooler performances, most notably when I saw Kevin Smith there in April
70. Peoria Café, Peoria: the best greasy spoon in the West Valley
71. Phoenix Comicon, Phoenix: I saw Stan Lee, Wil Wheaton, LeVar Burton, and Jonathan Frakes without having to waiting in San Diego Comic Con-like lines – so I’m looking forward to next year
72. Phoenix New Times: Phoenix’s token liberal rag, with fun regular pieces about the history of Van Buren Blvd. and Fry Girl’s fast food rants
73. Phoenix Skyline: as triumphant as a resurrected bird of flame
74. Pofolks, Buena Park: good old-fashioned eats, and the only Pofolks left in the west!
75. Pop Culture Paradise, Tempe: a comic book store with a tight fit and a nice selection of toys and back issues
76. Queen’s Pizzeria, Mesa: the hospitable host of the Mesa Poetry Slam, not to mention a huge, tasty, affordable Greek salad
77. Robin Hood Motel, Anaheim: for the cool sign
78. Rutabegortz, Fullerton: vegetarian cuisine so good, you’d think it had meat in it!
79. Samurai Comics, Phoenix: like All About Books and Comics, a cool downtown location, with another impressive rack of indies and local talent
80. Sherriff Joe Arpaio: I don’t care for his politics, but few have made local law enforcement more dramatically entertaining
81. Sherwood Inn, Anaheim: this ain’t Robin Hood’s Sherwood . . . Who want drink milk?!
82. Starbucks, 5th St. & Mill Ave.: the best vantage point for a bustling college town
83. Starbucks, Chapman Ave. & Harbor Blvd.: the best vantage point for downtown Fullerton
84. Sunrise Café, Tempe – café cookin’ with Mediterranean flair
85. T.C. Eggington's, Mesa: a tasty breakfast with a surprisingly hilarious mythology on its menu
86. Tempe Improv, Tempe: the first comedy club I ever went to (and saw Jon Stewart pre-Daily Show), and now where I’ve seen the most edgy comedy show ever, with Greg Fitzsimmons
87. The Other Place, Anaheim: the perfect plan B
88. Third Street Promenade, Santa Monica: specifically, the street preachers, the guys that play the buckets, and the picture of the Monkees in the corner Irish pub
89. Tilted Kilt, Tempe: waitresses in kilts . . . I’m just sayin’
90. TomKat Lounge, Anaheim: a dive bar so low, you touch the bottom of the pool – and don’t play the drums onstage during karaoke!
91. Two Idiots Peddling Poetry/Ugly Mug, Orange: Orange County’s best poetry reading at one of its coolest coffee shops, and some of the nicest guys that ever inspired me to keep writing
92. Uncle Monkey's, Mesa: karaoke stumbling distance from my apartment, every night of the week – and with a name like that, who wouldn’t check it out
93. Universal Studios/CityWalk, Hollywood: comics, stand-up comedy, PEZ . . . all in one place? This is where dreams come to dream!
94. Uptown Whittier: the best . . . oh, never mind . . . I’ll never be as punk rock as Uptown Whittier
95. Venice Beach: weirdo central
96. Village Inn, Valleywide: my favorite Denny’s alternative where my mom works
97. Wayne Resnick: the best weekend radio talk show host that deserves a regular weekly time slot
98. Westward Ho, Phoenix: the hotel from the beginning of Psycho stands proud in the heart of Phoenix and looks ready to stab the Chase building in the back
99. Xtreme Bean, Tempe: an old bank converted to Tempe’s best coffeehouse, and the old walk-in safe is a study room!
100. Zia’s, Tempe: one of the last, great record stores

The Man-Crush Hall of Fame: Andy Kaufman

Thirty years ago today, Andy Kaufman made his eleventh appearance on Saturday Night Live. He wrestled women, as he was prone to do at the time. I also wrestled a woman that day. I was being born.

Exactly twenty years later, on my twentieth birthday (go figure), several of my closest friends from high school and I went to see Jim Carrey portray Andy Kaufman in the biopic Man on the Moon, and my life changed. Yes, Jim Carrey's performance was just that good, but he had phenomenal material to work with, namely the life and antics of one of comedy's most influential, cutting edge voices . . . ever. My exposure to Andy Kaufman's work shaped my opinions of (and attempted participation in) entertainment and news media. He was a force to be reckoned with then, and in light of theories that he faked his death as the ultimate put-on, he's a force to be reckoned with now.

According to Bob Zmuda's biography of Kaufman (pictured here on my desk next to fellow man-crush Les Stroud), Andy didn't perform his stand-up comedy and variety acts to entertain others; he simply sought to entertain himself. While his humor seemed to be at others' expense, Bob was often a plant with whom the audience could sympathize, making Andy (or his counterpart Tony Clifton) the villain -- and Andy understood that the bad guy is often the most compelling character of all. His love of this old vaudevillian rapport with the house didn't jive with audiences then, and I don't think audiences would get it now, but knowing just that much about the man behind the curtain only makes his work that much more impressive.

In 2004, I had the chance to attend the 20th anniversary "celebration" of Andy's death at the House of Blues in Hollywood. Comedians like Jim Norton performed, Tony Clifton made an honorable appearance, and afterward hangers-on were treated to a Mexican wrestling show at the Comedy Store across the street. (Actually, true believers that stayed until the wee hours were treated to more than that, but I was foolish enough to go home and miss out.) Just this year, on December 3, I had the chance to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of Andy's death with a special screening of Dear Andy Kaufman, I Hate Your Guts! at the Silent Movie Theater, a montage of rare Kaufman clips hosted by his girlfriend Lynne Margulies. Tony Clifton made a substantially hilarious appearance (you can find it on YouTube), as did Andy Dick and Zmuda, who shared in fans' speculation about Andy's death. Lynne (and Bob) was kind enough to sign my copy of her latest book, a compilation of angry letters Andy received while wrestling women in the '70s. I actually found out about this event when The Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson e-mailed me an offer to see another taping and I sought other events in the area to make the drive to Hollywood worthwhile. Obviously, like when I saw Man on the Moon ten years ago, it was meant to be.



So what makes Andy Kaufman a worthy man-crush, not to mention a place in my man-crush hall of fame? Simply put, Andy developed a conscious philosophy about entertainment and pop culture that fueled his career, and more so than any genre of comedy or performance art, he upheld that philosophy until his controversial dying day -- to the point where some folks don't believe he died! He transcended traditional stand-up, was more than any sitcom or sketch show could bare, and blazed a trail so daring few others have walked it as successfully since.

As much as I love pop culture entertainment, this mentality -- the philosophy turned lifestyle -- applies to all things: for me personally, my life has been an attempt to preserve the sanctity, innocence, and wonder of childhood, firstly by maintaining the same likes and hobbies I had as a kid, and secondly by finding a job that helps me inspire others to this philosophy. Today, on my thirtieth birthday, the first day of the rest of my life, I'm faced with the challenge of finding other ways to do that. Andy Kaufman showed us that the sky's the limit -- you can go beyond the sky, in fact. You can be the man on the moon.

In the meantime, Merry Russmas, and enjoy this gift, which may or may not be related to that fateful day I met Andy.

Reviving Halloween

Since Halloween was on a Saturday this year, some celebrated the hallowed holiday all weekend long. For me, that's not long enough. I celebrated Halloween all October long, planning a haunted house at work and reviewing Halloween-oriented comics over at my funnybook review blog A Comic A Day. This year, my varied observations and experiences about Halloween intertwine and in some cases have implications or undertones that transcend the holiday, as any annual celebration should, so, like a child separating his favorite candies after a successful night of trick-or-treating, permit me this indulgence in organizing these thoughts, lest they linger like Haunted House cobwebs in my brain.


Bloody dancers, Mother, and superfluous terror on the War of the Worlds set.

First of all, at the beginning of October, some friends, my girlfriend, and I went to Universal Studios' Horror Nights. Yes, every year, my favorite holiday and my favorite theme park have a baby, and it's possessed, and we paid to see it puke all over the room. With the rights to some of the world's most memorable monsters, and the addition of the latest icons of dementia like Freddy Kruger and that creepy Saw puppet, the event is a comprehensive tour of terror, especially the backlot tram ride, where every fanboy's dream of walking up to those classic cinematic facades comes true -- at a price, unless you don't mind chainsaw welding freaks getting in your face on the front steps of Norman Bates' house. The War of the Worlds crash site is definitely the highlight of the tour, as if the grim sight of an airplane's carcass isn't enough to make your skin crawl in this post-9/11 age. Afterward, I found myself grateful to have my feet firmly on the ground, and six feet above it, to boot.

A few weeks later, following my experience as a fortune teller, I was in Arizona for the annual Arizona Treasure Hunt and caught a news story about a haunted house in Tempe suffering from neighborhood complaints of traffic and noise, so I just had to see what the commotion was all about. My girlfriend looked up the address and we swung by on Sunday evening to find the gentleman, Richard Stoudt, setting up props in his front yard, and when we told him we'd seen the news story, he chuckled humbly and allowed us to tour what he'd already built. The multi-room haunted house spanned his front yard, backyard, and garage, with years' and thousands of dollars' worth of props creating a feel as authentic as anything I'd seen accomplished on a professional level, and frankly I was both jealous at its scope and thankful that the similar events I've hosted these past several years were comparable, if only on a smaller scale.


From Stoudt's set-up.

Unfortunately, like most good things, local politics have threatened Stoudt's annual event, which has attracted over 2,000 in recent years. Yes, traffic and noise are apparently an issue for his neighbors, undoubtedly keeping them up all hours of the night as any real ghosts and goblins would, but the city as a whole also takes issue with his tip jar. I understand the dilemma, because just the suggestion of collecting funds transforms his obsessive hobby into a small business, but after meeting the man, I find the antagonism tragic, because he is obviously only a man that seeks to share a passion with other appreciative people. I hope he finds the capital to rent space next year and take his haunted house to the next level. The thought that homemade events like his are endangered in this day of age scares me more than anything.

With Universal Studios and Stoudt on the brain, interestingly each on either end of the corporate haunted house spectrum, I prepared my own eerie event at work for the kids in our community. Traditionally, I like to host this event on Halloween night and provide a safe place for kids to come and uniquely experience the holiday in their own proverbial backyard, but weekend events of any caliber are difficult when families are conditioned to utilize us after school only, so my staff and I opted for Halloween Eve, Friday night. One of the keys to a structured haunted house is deciding themed rooms, to focus one's shopping for props when a seemingly endless array of thematic props is available. In past years, I've built dungeons, demented doctors' offices, graveyards, and pirate ships, some of which I've documented before, but this year my staff wanted to try something different: a scary circus room, a freaky fast food room, and a gypsy room. With this in mind, and a Michael Jackson's "Thriller" theme in mind for our outdoor graveyard, we went to work.

My thrilling beauty, the freaky fast food room, and scenes from the scary circus room.

Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans. Our event was scheduled from 7 p.m. to 8:30 p.m., and by 7:20, we had a line of 40 or more people waiting to get in. As the tour guide, I took groups four to six at a time, and the interior rooms took about five minutes to explore. Toward the end of the night, kids started to tour for a second or third time, and feeling more at ease, they started to tear things down. Outside, they were worse, kicking dirt at and taunting our faux Michael Jackson, who just so happened to be my girlfriend. I've never had problems like that, perhaps in part because I opt to host haunted houses on Halloween, when our event is just one stop among many in the neighborhood, and kids' hands are too busy protecting their candy to wreak havoc. As much as everything looked good (and how 'bout that zombie Jacko, eh?!), the lesson is clear -- forget about ghosts, goblins, witches, and monsters. Unattended children are the real terrors.



Halloween is truly the only holiday where bumping into pirates, ninjas, robots, and superheroes is commonplace, and I love to spread the cheer as much as possible. At my favorite local poetry reading Wednesday night, I read this favorite old blog post, and on Thursday, a coworker and I went to karaoke hosted by Alice Cooper (complete with dead babies, pictured above), which was actually a little more creepy than this Halloween karaoke scene sketched by my buddy Brent. On Halloween itself, my girlfriend and I had breakfast in our witch and fortuneteller costumes, respectively, and the wait staff at Norm's were dressed up, too, so we blended right in. That night, Batgirl and I hit another karaoke venue and to honor the resident Karate Kid costume, I sang Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love" from the Karate Kid II soundtrack. To my delight, and perhaps one of the highlights of my karaoke career, when I sang the line, "Like a knight in shining armor from a long time ago," I stood next to a knight in shining armor from a long time ago! What happens on Halloween can only happen on Halloween!


Batgirl never looked so hot, Mr. T never looked so white, and a knight has never had better timing!

I can think of no better way to end the Halloween weekend than by watching the undead haunt the waking world on the big screen. No, I'm not talking about Zombieland (though that's a great flick, too), but Michael Jackson's This Is It. Indeed, watching Michael post-mortem attempt to revive his career through a patchwork of beloved hits has a certain Dr. Frankenstein quality to it, but we enjoyed the film and in spite of our observations couldn't pinpoint evidence of Jacko's drug use. If he was as strung out as they say, I expected my cynical eye to find some lack of lucidity, but at worst This Is It is the story of an eccentric performer, which is what we'd expect from a king of pop anyway. Appropriately, "Thriller" is the film's centerpiece, though the high notes of "Human Nature" were haunting in the context of Michael's life and untimely death. If concert footage can have a subplot, it's these performers' inability to experience this highlight in their careers. Make-up and special effects aside, what This Is It could've been is truly a ghost among us.

Now, like every year, Halloween itself is the ghost, long dead in the shadow of the impending Christmas season, haunting the 50%-90% off shelves at Target and Wal-Mart. As much as I love it, that's just where it should be, because you can't get too much of a good thing. Still, throughout the year, whenever I hear "Thriller" on the radio, or I see something that could easily be bloodied for a haunted house, or I reminisce about my favorite candy, Halloween creeps into the dark corners of my brain, like those persistent cobwebs in the corners of the attic. No blog post can clear those webs away.

Don't Dis District 9!

District 9 exceeded expectations both in the box office and in my imagination this weekend, and as I've browsed the Internet for more information about the movie's development, I'm surprised to discover critics and sci-fi fans alike as divided about it as the aliens were from the humans in this film. Permit me the chance to contribute to the conversation with this succinct list of the top nine things I liked about District 9, in least-to-greatest order of importance, to boot! Spoiler alert! Don't proceed unless you've already seen the movie or don't care about having some of the plot spoiled!

Marketing. Based exclusively on its marketing, District 9 could've easily been mistaken as another alien invasion flick. Prior to the film's release, what did anyone know of the story other than the divisive human versus alien theme? I mean, how often do humans have the upper hand in movies like this?



Setting. Just as commentators explain at the beginning of the film, that these aliens don't descend upon world capitals like Washington D.C., or London, or Hong Kong is truly the most peculiar context of this film's story. In many ways, the director's native Johannesburg, South Africa is as purely human to a mainstream cinematic audience as it is alien, making it the perfect arid setting for this film about being both.

Budget. At $30 million, this film was totally produced at the cost most singular American actors like Brad Pitt or Jim Carrey are paid just to star. At $30 million, this film's crew made a stranded spaceship look as natural as any cloud on the horizon, made an entire extraterrestrial race come desperately alive, made a cache of alien weapons look as realistic and dangerous as any brandished in another more established franchise.

Original Screenplay. At a time when science fiction movies are inspired by comic books or a series of young adult novels, I'm grateful that District 9 is the brainchild of a writer/director willing and able to utilize cinema as an original means of telling a multi-dimensional story. Neill Blomkamp's short film pilot for the concept, Alive in Joberg, is a little sloppy and amateurish in comparison, but his dedication and development for the project is admirable in today's industry of fleeting sensations.

Variety of Perspective. I've already read critics' on-line comparisons of District 9 to Cloverfield, and while this flick certainly exploits the intimacy of the handheld camera perspective, its incorporation of documentary-style expert interviews, helicopter news footage, and traditional character-oriented perspective creates a rich tapestry through which to understand this story's impact on its world at large. For instance, some twenty years along, would an extraterrestrial refugee camp in South Africa really affect the average American's life -- any more so than the similar global crises that affect our society in real life? Only through the media's relentless analysis of such a phenomenon would a hovering spaceship in Johannesburg not become just some fantastic but accepted eighth wonder of the world.

Respect for the Audience. Thankfully, Blomkamp's vision weaves District 9 together; rather than introduce the MNU footage in the beginning as a teaser or visual attention-getter, he uses it as legitimate vehicle for storytelling and assumes that the audience can keep up. Also, one of my favorite aspects of the film was the way humans and aliens could vaguely understand each other, asserting that two decades in each others' company established a familiarity with their respective languages, just as we humans experience enculturalization in reality. The characters didn't break the fourth wall to explain this to the viewer but simply relied on the audience's similar experiences, sans otherworldly aliens, of course.

Allegory. Until the story exploits the more fantastic science fiction aspects of the aliens' culture and technology, its tale of a rounded-up, persecuted race is practically historical. The "prawns" could've just as easily been Jews in 1940s Germany, blacks in 1840s America, the Irish, the Portuguese . . . Interestingly, the arrival of a helpless alien race seems to bind the globe via a peace-keeping Multi-National United effort. As an American viewer, when South Africans were interviewed man-on-the-street style, I hardly noticed his or her thick accent in comparison to the all-too-human feelings of fear and frustration at the aliens' supposed imposition, proving that we earthlings really aren't all that different from each other. In fact, the lead character's horrid metamorphosis, and his relative ease at becoming a sympathizer and revolutionary for the other side, depicts just how similar all us cosmic creatures might be from the inside out -- which was, I imagine, the point.

Cast. Having a cast of first-timers and virtual unknowns is as much a gamble as it is a strength. When I told my mom how great this movie was, her first question was, "Who's in it?" With no mainstream names to tout, her interest in it waned. At the same time, sci-fi fans that take the risk are instantly sucked into this parallel world, sans preconceptions from any of the actors' previous roles or potentially highly publicized private lives. Actor Sharlto Copley's Wikus van de Merwe is a South African Lieutenant Dangle from Reno 911, complete with the false bravado that comes from the pseudo-celebrity of a documentary film camera, yet his Kafka-esque plight ironically dubs him the everyman -- something a Brad Pitt or Will Smith couldn't have accomplished. This cast effectively fenced us into Blomkamp's vision, like a little District 9 in itself.

Lightning Gun. It blew people to bits. That's cool.

Terminating Expectations: A Spoilerish Review of "Terminator: Salvation"

Spoiler alert! Read this review at your own risk!

In my opinion, good science fiction establishes alternative takes on reality through dynamic storytelling and compelling character development. Great science fiction uses this alternative reality to make a socially relevant point about this reality. In both cases, the fantastic elements that make the story truly "science fiction" are merely a backseat driver, so quickly and well established that we the audience are drawn into these worlds through the eyes of its heroes (or villains) without the need for elaborate explanation. By this standard, Terminator: Salvation has condemned itself . . . and has no where to go if it wants to live.

To offer some context, consider my favorite film of last summer's blockbuster cavalcade, Iron Man. In the Marvel universe, a little nuclear reactor can substitute a pacemaker, and heroes and villains alike can seemingly effortlessly build cybernetic interactive suits of armor. Yet, these details take a backseat to Tony Stark's convictions about his industry, and his development from callous billionaire inventor to bleeding heart international hero. The blend of action, special effects, romance, and humor made the flick a great summer event; the social relevance of the story and its character growth made it a great story. This year, Star Trek accomplished the same thing -- which is what creator Gene Roddenberry intended with his proverbial "wagon train to the stars" anyway. Captain Kirk is a fantastical cosmic hero, but this year's reboot reminds us that he's an Iowa farm boy first -- that even an extravagant, special effects-ridden star trek begins with the very grounded, human need to "do better."

So, you might understand my expectations of Terminator: Salvation. First of all, the title implies a spiritual journey, which makes sense considering the franchise's comprehensive themes of destiny and purpose. Indeed, in a world where humanity-hating robots travel back in time to destroy civilization, the potential for spiritual allegory is endless -- and while the whole world hangs in the balance against SkyNet's wrath, Terminator has always been about one kid, John Connor, and his singular ability to embrace his potential and save mankind. This is why I loved Fox's Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and was particularly excited with its last season's finale, when John jumped into the future, skipping over the events of Judgment Day that make him a hero, and could no longer depend on his name to save the day. As the series had promised, we were going to see how John goes from long-haired, flannel-wearing punk-o'-the-'90s to militant, optimistic revolutionary. Then, the show was cancelled. Then, this film's title took on new life. Could it save the Terminator franchise?

Hasta la vista, baby. Terminator as you knew it is over. Remember the introduction to Terminator 2, when the cyborg crushes the human skull against the dark backdrop of a SkyNet-conquered future? So cool, right? In Salvation, the best action sequences take place in the light of day, sans any sign of polluted, machine-driven conquest. Sure, cities are decimated into ghost towns and deserts, but the future John's mother warned us about was one part this Mad Max illusion, one part The Matrix cybernetic sprawl. Of course, all of this sunlight exposes that the science fiction is meant to take center stage, and that the three characters' respective plights -- Connor, his young father Kyle Reese, and newcomer/Cyberdine prototype Marcus Wright -- are so distilled between them that none of them crystallizes to fulfill a true sense of "salvation" for anyone.

When I write reviews like this, I try to keep things conceptual and not stray into the Comic Book Guy tendency to expose plot holes, but Terminator: Salvation has a big one I can't overcome. When the Resistance discovers a frequency that halts machines in their tracks, Connor and Malcom infiltrate SkyNet to rescue its human guinea pigs (Kyle Reese included) and discover the frequency was a red herring planted by the machines to draw them out. Then, Connor finds the nuclear batteries that power the Terminator robots and realizes he could easily blow up the whole compound. Now, didn't John already know about these nuclear power sources? Why doesn't the Resistance simply bomb all of these factories assured that the nuclear power within will decimate everything? "Salvation" can be achieved within days! I don't get it.

Finally, I had a few expectations of the plot itself and was sorely disappointed when they didn't come to pass. I blame X-Men Origins: Wolverine for this optimism; when I saw a young Cyclops in the commercials for Wolverine, I hoped that the two heroes would work together without actually meeting (to maintain the continuity of the franchise), and that Scott would at least get pointed in Professor X's direction in the end. Charles' cameo was a fanboy delight -- so, in Terminator: Salvation, amidst rumors of an appearance by the Governator himself, I'd hoped to see Arnold's character sent back in time for the first film, or perhaps Kyle Reese sent back at John's behest, contributing to his own conception. This would've given Salvation a sense of purpose outside of itself, with a cyclical effect that could've ended the film series or prepared it for a new direction. Yet, while rescuing his father is initially self-serving on John's part, that Kyle's untimely death would change everything about Terminator as we know it was barely explored -- and time travel actually never happened in the film, at all. This is like Iron Man without repulsor rays, or Star Trek without beaming up. It's a critical part of this alternative world we've been forced to accept, and if the infrastructure of this reality is so in our face, why not exploit its every angle?

Interestingly, I think Terminator: Salvation did foretell a dark future, and I'm not looking forward to it. First of all, the Robert Downey, Jr.-fueled Sherlock Holmes trailer that preceded the film promised the demise of another favorite franchise, in this case before it even begins. Also, amidst rumors of more Ghostbusters and He-Man films, I'm afraid the action-first, story-later standard will become the norm for summer blockbusters. Indeed, despite appearing in two movies and two seasons' worth of television, for all of that potential training, John Connor's greatest weapon in this, his ultimate act, was his name. "I'm John Connor." He says it so many times, I wonder who he's trying to convince, and in the same way, upcoming movies like Holmes or He-Man may reflect their heroes by name only. The more these films terminate these contemporary myths into mere special effects resumes for production companies, the more I'll feel compelled to tell my local theater, "I won't be back."

Current Events Round-up: Chasing Harveys

Apparently, anti-gay rights activists protested Sunday's Academy Awards. We only know this because the reporters interviewing Sean Penn after his receiving the Best Actor Award for his portrayal of Harvey Milk told us so. One of the signs even read, "Heath is in Hell," undoubtedly referring to the late actor's role as a homosexual cowboy in Brokeback Mountain, another fact revealed to the world by a clamoring media outlet desperate for a juicy soundbyte to call their own. I have a heads-up for this and every reporter that talked about that protest on the news.

You've just conveyed that group's message better than they ever could.

Take it from a guy that has gone out of his way to be on the news, more than once. Many of those protesters care more about getting an opinion out there than they do about having one in the first place -- they want to be relevant by any means necessary. A few different friends and I attended protests in downtown Los Angeles and Hollywood at the height of the criticism against former President Bush's War on Terror, and we stood on either side of the street just to see and hear what the mob was saying. Sure enough, the point was less on what was yelled, and more on how loud it was yelled. Whoever could attract the news cameras first was the victor. Last night, despite Sean Penn's best intentions (and his answer to the reporter that these opinions are best left unanswered, thus moot), the anti-gay rights crowd won.

Don't get me wrong. I love being on the news, and I love valiant efforts to garner media attention. The war protests were brilliant echoes of the '60s (and I reckon some of the people we encountered still hadn't showered since then), and I even self-published a zine of photographs from a few years' worth of these demonstrations. The difference between this and the Prop 8 controversy is the vitriol hate asserted against an entire group of people. Okay, let's say God really exists and condemns homosexuality. Would Jesus stand in the street with a "Heath is in Hell" sign? His scriptural example actually dictates that those against gay rights dwell among the homosexual community and develop meaningful relationships with individuals, tackling the issue one supposed sinner at a time. It's like playing the football game 500 as opposed to plain old catch; when you throw it out there for a crowd, you're really just throwing it blindly. When you toss it to one person, your aim is more accurate, and someone might actually catch it.

But I digress. These thoughts congealed when I heard Harvey Levin on KROQ this morning, advocating TMZ's release of the now infamous Rihanna post-beating photograph. Harvey has achieved celebrity by exploiting celebrity, plain and simple . . . and brilliant. See, in this new twenty-four hour news cycle world, networks scramble to fill that time with anything juicy or meaningful, and protesters know that. Harvey realized that celebrities love to be in front of the camera anyway, and they often do things off camera that the rest of us would love to see. I'm not advocating ntrusive paparazzi that lay in wait outside of an actor's home; however, if Miley Cyrus is strolling out of Neiman Marcus and can shed some light on that photo of her making stretchy eyes, so be it. Get it on tape. Sign it. Share it with the world. Your name becomes a footnote in the epic celebrity that is Miley, and for some, that's the most we can hope for.

So, Prop 8 protests vs. TMZ. One exploits people that stand out from the common man already. The other attacks people for just wanting to be like everybody else. Both of them are in our collective face every day, and the question is, do we want to be a part of these stories, or do we just want them to have happy endings? The real question is, is there any reason we can't have both?

Razziemataz! -- A Night at the Razzie Awards

Yesterday, when I heard that the annual Golden Raspberry Awards, otherwise known as the Razzies, were being announced to honor the year's worst films, I wondered how and where the "winners" were unveiled. My girlfriend did a little research on-line and found the venue, so we dressed up in the hopes of crashing the party. When we arrived at the theater, we learned that membership was required to enter; I confidently told her that I had received a forwarded e-mail inviting me. We waited twenty minutes (and saw Ross the Intern from The Tonight Show) and walked the short red carpet again, and perhaps to award our polite persistence, she let us in for free! It really wasn't that hard, but any effort would've been worth it to see the year's worst movies celebrated in such a public, shameless way.



The theater was rather modest considering how much press the Razzies receive, both in anticipation and in contrast to the Academy Awards. The ceremony began with a hilarious spoof on Mama Mia's "Dancing Queen," and the awards were presented in a rather formal comedic style, almost in the form of a high school thespian exercise but with the timing of years' worth of experience. Some punchlines were read chorally, which was both funny and distracting, but the beauty of a ceremony like this is how any mistakes or amateurish qualities can be written off as intentionally satirical. Since I'm not a member of the Razzie community, I wonder if I missed any inside jokes between the presenters and the invited audience, something circulated via e-mail or on message boards throughout the year.



Of course, anyone with general knowledge of pop culture couldn't miss the inherent humor in poking fun at box office bombs like The Hottie and the Nottie and The Love Guru. Mike Myers' Guru won the Worst Picture award, and ironically it's the one film we saw in the theater -- Maybe we cursed it. Yes, that's it; all of those terrible poop and penis jokes had nothing to do with it. I wonder if anyone has commented that the worst film and possibly the best, if Slumdog Millionaire wins, both have allusions to India and Bollywood. Leave it to Hollywood to represent the best and worst of any culture it's decided to exploit to meet its own ends.

Following Halle Berry's appearance at the Razzies a few years ago, every year is haunted with the potential and disappointment for another celebrity to show up. While the Razzies' performers were the only stars to grace the stage, I was thoroughly entertained. Then again, who can complain in the face of free entertainment! That's the point -- when seeing a film costs the equivalent to a whole day's worth of meals, we're entitled to spitting it out when it leaves a bad taste in our mouths.




For more pictures about from Razzie experience, click here!