Episode 102: Final Frontiers

POP CULTURE SPIRIT WOW

EPISODE 102: FINAL FRONTIERS

Hello from Comic Con, the five-day pop culture extravagamboree that takes place each July in San Diego. This is my fifth “con”, as we very very (very) hip nerdy nerds say, and between you and me, I wasn’t sure I’d make it. Show me a person who’s excited to be in a convention center in 90+ degree weather with a hundred thousand people, and I will show you a person a) with whom I almost certainly live (Jesuit extroverts, WHAT ARE YOU?) and b) from whom I will almost certainly have to run away.

At this point I have also been here enough times to know that the big panels that everyone HAS GOT TO GO TO – Marvel and DC movies, big TV showmenomenon (I’m apparently doing compound nouns today; let’s see how that plays out) are almost never what you’re expecting. Yes, if you get in, you will be able to see “Outlander”’s Sam Heughan on an enormous screen and imagine that when he is smiling he is smiling not because he is contractually obligated to do so but simply because in the deepest small quiet place in his heart he is thinking right now of you.

Pull yourselves together, Heughans.

But beyond that –- and a hundred thousand “Outlander” fans cry out, Beyond THAT? Why in God’s name would you think there ever has to be a beyond THAT? In fact, what could there possibly BE beyond that? It’s like a writer in the Middle Ages imagining something beyond the point where the world ended. Blasphemy! Heresy!

Now stop it with your crazy talk!

But beyond that, though...(if you will), mostly at one of the "big" panels you're going to spend an hour listening to nervous/almost-crying fans (“YOU ARE JUST SO BEAUTIFUL”) and/or plot-obsessed future conspiracy theorists asking the same basic questions. Like, how could Black Widow possibly end up with Bruce Banner (says the 47 year old man wearing the “Black Widow Is For Me” T-Shirt); or which clone is your favorite; or – last year’s most frequently asked question -- Is Jon Snow really dead?

“I’m sorry, sir, this is the My Pretty Pony panel. We don’t really--”

“Yeah, I know, but seriously though, is he dead? Come on, he’s not. YOU KNOW HE’S NOT. IS HE? TELL ME!!!”

Given that to get into some of those panels you might have waited in line all night (not me, sister), and/or sat in this enormous dark room for many hours waiting for your panel while watching other shows tell inside jokes you know nothing about (I somehow always end up in the “Supernatural” panel; I can tell you, those guys kill with their fans, but they might as well be speaking Urdu), at some point it just doesn’t hold the pull it once did.

Then again, my feelings might have been hurt a little bit....

*makes up and down hand gestures while saying "Deedleeduh Deedlehduh Deedlehduh"*

It's 2013,the fiftieth anniversary of “Doctor Who”, which I have been a fan of for a very very long time. One of my main childhood memories is of sneaking into our family TV room shortly before 11pm on Sunday nights, trying to steal the remote control from my sleeping father so as to switch the channel from the news to WTTW Chicago, where Benny Hill was wrapping up being chased by near-naked women (dream on, Benny) and Tom Baker was soon to enchant and/or destroy the universe with his crazed grin.

I had about a thirty percent success rate; my dad had an uncanny ability to know when the channel was being changed (even with the volume first turned way down), and then to insist that he was not sleeping, but – straight from the dad textbook – “resting his eyes.” Ugh.

If there was ever going to be a panel I HAD to go to, EVER, this was it. Still, I had my limits – Father does not “sleep out”. But he does get up early (when required and/or wracked with knowledge of his almost total insignificance); so I showed up at the line at something like 3:30am. This was for a panel that was around 1 pm.
And the line was already so incredibly long that it didn’t look like I’d get in. Comic Con is incredible that way. The fabled and dreaded...drabled? Hall H holds 6500 people, and I was in the very last group let in at the start of the day. I sat through “Supernatural" -- "ہم خوبصورت نہیں ہو؟ ہم ، ہیں ، ٹھیک؟" -- a bunch of vampire shows I think. As different panels ended and their fanshippers exited I crept closer and closer, ‘til I was on the aisle and able to almost distinguish the features of the people on stage.

Suddenly, a fantastic “Who” montage began on a huge screen. The room went crazy. Then “the Doctor”, Matt Smith (aka Sam Heughan for the rest of us), leapt out of nowhere, his rubber face pulling like taffy in a hundred different wonderful directions at once. And our reaction was like one long thunderclap of sustained gooey joy, but with screaming. Lots of screaming.

Costar Olivia Coleman joined him, some of the show’s staff, and then longtime showrunner (and Scotsman) Steven Moffat.

Moffat’s run of the show has been one of my favorites; he has a wonderful capacity to combine play, delight and the darkest darkness. (If you’re ever interested in even slightly considering what the heck is with this “Doctor Who” phenomenon, start with Moffat’s run with Smith. Their Doctor is basically a big goofy kid who saves the universe while making a somewhat regular fool of himself and being completely unable to talk to women.)

But Moffat’s also known to be a little prickly. (Did I mention he’s a Scotsman?) (Says the Scotch-Irish descent American who flipped out yesterday when the hairdresser asked too many questions – I WANT A ONE ON THE SIDES, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?)

Here are his first words to this almost-crying-because-we-adore-this-show-so-much crowd: (in semi-fury) “If anyone tapes any of what we’re about to show you, we’re never going to bring any footage to Comic Con again.”

Really. That’s his opening. And again, he’s Scottish. “Angry” is our default tone.

I don’t know about anyone else, but for me, the event never recovers. It's like having your birthday dinner after Dad has yelled at your sister for the dent in the car. It’s just hard to enjoy people singing to you.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR HAS A SUDDEN MOMENT OF CLARITY

It strikes me at this point that a post about bad Comic Con experiences is almost certainly not what you bargained for.

Sorry about that. It’s been such a weird week. After writing about “Ghostbusters” I saw the film Saturday. I was really surprised how much I loved it. Really – it has so many great laughs in it, and a great theme about the way society tries to shut us down for having experiences that are outside what it calls the norm. And how we each can save one another from that by just being open-minded.

Then, three days later, this happened to Ghostbusters actress Leslie Jones. And it just makes you just wonder what to make of the world. Like, how are these kinds of ideas even a thing that people are still thinking? Calling a black woman an “ugly ape”, tweeting monkey pictures? Really, I don’t get it. And of course, the more upset Leslie Jones got, the more the trolls gathered. It was really very upsetting.

The Trump nomination did not help my spirits. But you know what, fair enough, that’s who some people want representing their concerns. It strikes me like choosing to follow the loudest otter even though he’s running towards a cliff (in this analogy we’re otters, and I don’t know why otters would be running off cliffs but then I don’t know why we’re all running off cliffs anyway, so there). But I get that people are frustrated, and he speaks to that.

(In my perfect fantasy world the Republican National Convention and Comic Con would take place in the same city at the same time, and the resultant Republican National Comic Con would be AMAZING. Either Sonic the Hedgehog or Conan would be our first animated Vice President, and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog would be the MC.)

There’s this old book “Future Shock”, which I frankly never thought much of growing up because it was on my parents’ bookshelves when I was a kid and therefore it was old and so of course how could it be of any use at all. (It came out in 1970, so actually, it is kinda old.)

But it turns out author Alvin Toffler predicted that in the future people will suffer a growing sense of paralysis and vertigo because of how fast everything will seem to be moving.

And I see that happening. Orlando. Dallas. Nice. Bowie. Prince. Brexit. (God it's been awful year.) This week a French Jesuit wrote me, “Madness becomes universal.” This is the fear...

I don’t want to bury my head in the sand in the midst of all this upheaval. Like on gun control, I’m done with “Hey, let’s all get along!” I want that, of course, but I also believe the debate is over. We have too many guns. There’s no need for them. It needs to change. Gun lovers, I love you big and hard but I will not stop fighting for this no matter what.

But I also don’t know that SPENDING EVERY MINUTE TWEETING ABOUT MELANIA’S SPEECH AND MY STANCE ON WHATEVER is a healthy life choice that is going to lead to good things. It always seems like a good idea, and then I end up feeling both bad and angry. (“Bangry” actually is a term that should be; how often do those two things end up together...)

So I’m trying to be more positive, and (maybe) when I’m feeling like I want to blast someone (maybe) instead I will (maybe) post something positive instead (maybe). Like this. Or this. Or this. (Maybe.)

Just attacking everything, at some point it’s like spitting poison gas. You’re not changing anyone’s minds, but you are making the whole world less habitable.

SPEAKING OF LIVING LONG AND PROSPERING...
The new Star Trek debuts this weekend. I thought I’d be posting some stuff about that. Not so much.

I do have one suggestion, though. In 2013 (everything important happened in 2013), my friend Ashley Rose Sullivan decided to spend a year rewatching all of Star Trek and blog about it. So basically, the geektacular (aka better) version of “My Life with Julia.”

There are recaps and her favorite moments. And then there are moments like this:

Even in an episode where Spock beats up an old lady, McCoy gets all doe-eyed and sucks at doctoring, and Yeoman Rand chats up Sulu in a room full of crazy space plants, the only thing I could really think about was Uhura and how sometimes, I wish I was more like her.

I've always been a lot like Spock, never more alone than when I'm standing in a crowded room. I feel, and have always felt, like an alien. I have a degree in Anthropology because I like to study people, but don't really understand how to be one. Uhura was different. She oozed charisma and she influenced (and continues to influence) generations of girls and women. She was inspiring. Uhura broke through racial and gender barriers when it was not only difficult, but dangerous. She was important.

Nichelle Nichols is still being engaging, inspiring, and important. She came along exactly at the right moment and was talented enough and smart enough and brave enough to weather the culture war that raged around her. And, while Nichelle Nichols is certainly unique, she isn't the last of her kind. Because she paved the way for so many others, she'll never end up like Nancy The Salt Monster. She won't be remembered as the last--but the first.

Tell me that isn't a balm for a bad day.

Here’s the beginning of the series. If you like Star Trek at all, manga (as in with the food, not with the this).

STOP LOOKING AT ME TOO HAPPY GIRL WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR EYES???

ALMOST THERE...

Okay, I’m going to go, because this entry is a nightmare of length and gif and ever weakening compound noun and what was it that I was saying anyway.

But before I do, I opened with Comic Con kvetch. Let me end by telling you why I go.

When you're a kid, there's a lot you feel like you have to hide, or that you're told isn't right somehow. Or at least, that's how it was in the 70s and 80s. (I know we’re deep in the nostalgia phase for that era now, but I gotta say, those decades and I are mostly not friends.) Maybe it is a hundred times better for kids now, like people say. I kind of doubt it, but it'd sure be nice if it were true.

So how does a person deal with that? Mostly we assimilate, because exile is only fun if you live under the stairs. But burying what makes you you is also not generally a good practice.

Stories, be they science fiction or comic books or Dora the Explorer or video games, are a realm where none of those awful pressures apply. They are worlds where we get to explore who we are, and discover that there is so so much more than even that, material for hope and wonder and love and dreaming.

Comic Con is a place where everyone gets to celebrate (and for those of us who are forgetful, recover) our own special stories, and to visit with other really nice people their own secret worlds. The press likes to characterize it all as geek niche -- giche, if you will -- "Consider the nerd in their natural habitat, their strange and unique customs"-- but really the more I go the more I see it’s a place for everyone. Because everyone has stories that spoke to them at some point in their life, that told them they were okay and life could be better than the jerks around them and the world was filled with adventure.

++ LINKS ++

Game of Thrones fans, check out this super cut of all the clues about Jon Snow’s ancestry. Also, let’s just admit it, everything seems a hundred times more sad (wait for it) and and powerful when supercuts are mixed with this song (from TV show "The Leftovers").

Political fans, Liz Meriwether, creator of TV comedy “New Girl”, has been writing as a correspondent this week from the Republican National Convention. And I have to say, it’s been kind of wonderful. (And I think at least some of that’s true whether you’re a Democrat or not. Though not all.)

In moment of SQUEE!, the trailers for Luke Cage, Iron Fist, and the Defenders!

And if you’re not tired of me yet – first of all, that’s insane, be tired of me, this was too long – here’s a piece I did on Ghostbusters. And another I wrote a year ago in a much clearer state of mind about Comic Con. (It's one of my favorite pieces, and almost certainly one of my least read.)

If you like long and crazy newsletters, I invite you to recommend this newsletter to others. It's at tinyurl.com/jimmcd

And if you don't like long and crazy newsletters, well, God knows, who does? I'm very much expecting next week will be shorter, at least. Less crazy is generally out of my hands.

Until then, look after yourself. Take time for a Ginger Ale. Dance it out.

No, really.

And on really bad days...