It's here! It's here! All the local news headlines you need to know about, delivered straight to your e-mail box and from there to your little grey brain.
Learn more about it here.
Sign up at the handy link below.
CLICK HERE to get on board with your very own MISCmedia MAIL subscription!
…whom we’ve written about several times previous, now brings an astute analysis concerning the slow, steady decline of the comic strip Doonesbury.
Now here are accurate descriptions of some of the Warner Bros. cartoons you’ll never see on TV.
IN HAPPIER TV NEWS, the Viacom media conglomerate might be close to aggreiving an 11-year-old mistake. TV Guide reports one of the company’s cable channels, TNN, is planning to commission new episodes of The Ren & Stimpy Show, the cartoon classic originally made for, and mismanaged into the ground by, Viacom’s Nickelodeon channel. The atonement part is that TNN’s negotiating to rehire R&S creator John Kricfalusi, whom Nickelodeon ceremoniously fired as producer shortly into the original show’s second season.
THE WORLD’S OLDEST humor mag, Britain’s venerable Punch, is folding. For the second time. Sorta. (i.e., the website will still be replenished with new material, but no more print issues for the foreseeable future.)
First came the highly unofficial Star Wars Un-Premiere Party, Thursday at the Rendezvous (which is still open despite a little kitchen fire last Tuesday, thank you). Singer Cheryl Serio was the most elegant hostess, accompanied by our ol’ friends DJ Superjew and DJ EZ-Action.
Among the audiovisual attractions displayed on the video projector: Mark Hamill’s appearance on The Muppet Show (above), the 1978 Star Wars Holiday Special (a truly bizarre spectacle indeed), and something billed as a Turkish language version of the original film but was really a whole different movie (a hilarious sword-and-scandal adventure) that happened to incorporate SW spaceship shots, with the SW producers’ apparent authorization.
ON SATURDAY, the 22nd anniversary of the Mt. St. Helens blowup was celebrated by Cheryl Diane (above) and three other singer-songwriter acts in Diane’s fourth annual Eruptive Revival cabaret. As you may recall, last year’s edition was cut short by that nasty fire at the Speakeasy Cafe (still a charred-out ruin today). No such mishaps marred this year’s show at the Cafe Venus/Mars Bar, thankfully.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, the University District Street Fair was underway again, as tired and worn-out as I’ve always remembered it being. The products displayed at the “crafts” booths were barely distinguishable from those displayed in the smarmiest tourist “fine art” stores of LaConner. The food concessions were no different from the elephant ears and kettle korn sold summer-long from Puyallup to Ellensburg. The assorted musical acts tried to grab passersby’s attention, but (at least the acts I saw) failed to overcome the cloudy-afternoon ennui in full smothering force.
And, of course, the booths only temporarily hid the dozen or more empty storefronts along the half-mile strip known to all as The Ave. The city thinks it knows just what to do about the retail ennui–a construction project. To the City of Seattle bureaucracy, every problem is solvable by a construction project.
But it’s hard to imagine anyone other than a bureaucrat imagining that wider sidewalks and prettier street lights will draw non-student shoppers back from the malls; not while the daily papers continue to smear The Ave as A Problem Place with Those Problem People.
And as long as there’s no money to do the right things for the throwaway teens (often banished by middle-class parents over not fitting a proper upstanding image) but plenty of money to do things against them (police harassment schemes that only make things worse), this situation won’t change.
ON A HAPPIER NOTE, Sunday evening brought two of my all-time fave cartoonists, ex-local Charles Burns and still-local Jim Woodring, to a singing session at Confounded Books/Hypno Video.
You’ve gotta check out Woodring’s newest, Trosper. Painted in bright pastel colors you can eat with a spoon, and printed just like an old Little Golden Book, it’s a wordless, utterly engrossing little tale of a cute little elephant who just wants to have fun, in a world seemingly bent on frustrating him. It even comes with a CD by one of our fave neo-improv artistes, the incomprable Bill Frisell.
ADVENTURES in celebrity name misspellings.
ANOTHER DIGITAL DIVIDE FALLS: More and more women are getting hooked on that onetime geeks-only craze, online gaming.
EXPLORE WILLFULLY-FORGOTTEN MEMORIES of Saturday mornings past at Bad Cartoons of the ’80s.
…Ghost World creator/co-screenwriter Dan Clowes, predictably lost. But that’s OK really. At least that nephew of the guy who wrote the 20th Century-Fox fanfare finally won one.
FOLLOW THE GROWING SNOWBALL of media-biz layoffs at The Dead Zone.
A HIGHLY LITERATE tribute to the Spokane-born master of animation, Chuck Jones (found by Fark).
…89, was a Spokane boy who became the world’s most influential director of cartoon shorts. (And, as everyone knows, it’s really duck season.)
…the Spumco animation studio has produced in years (yes, that includes the new Fox cartoon The Ripping Friends, which I promise to review here soon). Even odder, it’s hosted on the site of the essentially on-hiatus local label C/Z Records. (Found by Captain Rooba’s Riposte.)
You’d expect the company he left behind, which loves nothing more than to stage all-star tributes to itself, would make a big deal about the old guy’s 100th.
We could go on about the ironies of a guy whose name became synonymous with fetishistically squeaky-clean entertainment, who worked and smoked himself to death at age 65. (And no, he’s not frozen somewhere.) But there are more interesting things to ponder about his contributions to world pop-cult, for good and/or ill.
The first thing to remember is Mr. Disney began his career in Kansas City. Anyone who saw last year’s PBS Jazz series knows KC in the ’20s was a rollicking center of official corruption, wide-open nightlife, and the closest thing to race-mixing you’d get in the pre-WWII upper midwest. Disney’s early studio films (many of whose artists came to LA with him) clearly reflect the brash jazz-age aesthetic of old KC.
But his studio style changed, and for specific reasons. His first niche was in animated short subjects, a “block-booked” aspect of the movie biz that offered a steady income (as long as you didn’t spend more than you expected to make) but little or no chance at the big money available on the feature side. To become anything more than a big fish in a tiny pond, Disney embarked on a multi-year strategy.
First, he made sure (after losing the rights to his silent-era star Oswald the Rabbit) that his company would wholly own everything it produced, no matter who financed or distributed it. At first, that allowed him to produce his shorts at a deficit and make the profits from the character merchandising, . Later, that led to today’s Disney company being one of the most aggressive promoters of copyright expansions.
As Disney strove to have the slickest, biggest-budgeted films in the cartoon field, his artists had to phase out the charmingly aggressive behavior and barnyard humor of his earlier shorts. Mickey Mouse was given eyeballs with pupils and ears that had sides and backs. Multi-page memos circulated among the staff, detailing how the studio’s star characters would move and react in different story situations. The studio also made one-shot cartoons without recurring characters but with increasingly elaborate production values.
The latter films were warm-ups for Disney’s big move into animated features, his ticket into Hollywood’s big leagues. Whole books have been written about where and how the Disney features departed from the original stories, toning down the healthy horror aspects of fairy tales in favor of an ultimately scarier “wholesomeness.” That helped make the films marketable around the world forever. Their specific unreality made them placeless and timeless. (The studio’s WWII-themed shorts were pulled from release, even in historical-context presentations, years ago.) And every feature introduced a new cast of merchandisable characters to be endlessly cycled through toys, T-shirts, record albums, lunchboxes, comic books, etc. etc. From the financial backwaters of the cartoon-shorts market, Disney had forged one of entertainment’s greatest profit machines.
But Disney was a lot more than just an aggressive marketer. He put cash, passion, and careful planning into every aspect of his spreading empire. His theme parks (and his unbuilt, original EPCOT model community) were total-immersion experiences, clearly showing the hand of someone used to devising 90-minute movies one frame at a time. He remained a tinkerer, a basement inventor with a whole lab of “Imagineers” to perfect his concepts.
The movie side of the Disney empire has had its ups and downs since Walt’s demise. Currently, its in-house animated features have been overshadowed in commercial and critical acceptance by the computer-drawn films supplied to it by Pixar. While Walt did more for the craft of drawn animation than anybody, he undoubtedly would’ve loved the possibilities of digital characters walking through hyper-realistic, pseudo 3-D spaces. He was a computer geek who lived before computers as we know them existed; so he had to channel his obsessively-detailed mind into other disciplines.
Indeed, perhaps nobody in the entertainment industry was as simultaneously adept at the creative, mechanical, and business sides of his trade. I can think of only one such multi-skilled exec in any industry today.
But somehow, I doubt there will be coffee-table books 60 years from now capitalizing on the public’s continued fascination with MS Windows 3.0.
(This article’s permanent link.)
YR. HUMBLE EDITOR was recently awarded the honor of being one of the 18 jurors who selected the “MetropoList 150,” the Museum of History and Industry/Seattle Times list of the 150 most influential people in the 150-year history of Seattle and King County.
I’m quite satisfied with the final list, available at this link. There’s almost nobody on it I wouldn’t have wanted on it.
Nevertheless, there are several names I wrote in which didn’t make the final selection. In alphabetical order, they include:
IN ADDITION, here are some names nominated by other people (with the descriptions these anonymous nominators wrote) for whom I voted, but who also failed to make the final cut:
…Francis Fukayama still insists we haven’t gone beyond “the end of history.”
As promised a couple weeks back, here is my preliminary list of some of what I love about this nation of ours. Thanks for your emailed suggestions; more are quite welcome.)
The best “new” TV series of 2001 (thus far) is a leftover from 1999 that just happens to completely outdo that overblown A.I. movie in regards to questioning the nature of humanity-vs.-machines.
It’s a cartoon on the Fox Kids schedule, The Big Guy and Rusty.
The show’s origin lies with a graphic novel made in the mid-’90s for Portland comics giant Dark Horse, by Frank Miller and Geof Darrow. Miller (who’s often credited with the “darker” characterization of Batman that inspired that figure’s movies) and Darrow had collaborated since the late ’80s on sullen, violent, and stunningly-drawn titles such as Hard Boiled.
The Big Guy was a slight departure from the established Miller-Darrow formula. It was set in a bright, futuristic urban environment modeled on latter-day Japanese anime films. Its heroes (inspired by those of the early Japanese cartoons Gigantor and Astroboy) were real heroes, not gruff antiheroes (albeit more heavily armed, and more prone to retaliatory vengeance, than their wholesome precursors).
The Sony-owned Columbia Tristar Television bought the animation rights in 1995. During its four-year development period, executive producer Richard Raynis kept Darrow’s character and background designs but tossed most of Miller’s plot. Raynis and his team concocted a new premise for the characters, one that could support a strong central cast while allowing subplots and conflicts to unfold among multiple episodes.
So as the TV version starts, the Big Guy has already been defending Earth from alien invaders for 10 years. He’s an imposingly huge grey robot with an immobile “face,” a booming voice (spouting patriotic cliches), and giant arms filled with, well, giant arms (missiles, bombs, guns). He’s the oldline military-industrial America strutting its might and heft.
But only the Big Guy’s support team knows he’s not a “real” robot but just a big metallic suit, piloted by one Lt. Dwayne Hunter. Dwayne’s a soft-spoken, unassuming pilot who, when he’s out of the suit and walking on his own legs, shares none of his alter ego’s bombast.
Rusty, the show’s real protagonist, is a real robot, something the Big Guy’s original designers (a defense-contractor conglomerate whose tower is the tallest building in New Tronic City) have only now been able to accomplish. Rusty has the personality of an enthusiastic boy adventurer, avid to clobber the bad guys but lacking in experience or wisdom. Rusty represents the “new economy” and the high-tech future that seemed so promising in 1999, when the show was produced–high-flying, free-wheeling, but sometimes almost fatally immature.
Rusty adores the Big Guy as a substitute dad, but only knows Lt. Dwayne as the Big Guy’s “chief mechanic.” Lt. Dwayne initially dismisses Rusty as an unfinished technology, but grows to trust and feel for the “Boy Robot,” both when inside and outside the Big Guy suit.
This central relationship, along with those of a strong human supporting cast, carry the series through 26 installments that unfold as chapters in a novel (like the best anime shows). But Fox, desperate for a quick ratings fix in the Pokemon-dominated 1999 cartoon season, dropped TBG&R after only six installments had aired. The network’s been “burning off” the entire series in a spring-and-summer run this year. Its ratings this time have apparently been OK, but the show’s creative staff has dispersed to other projects and a second season is apparently unlikely.
But the shows that were made work well as a complete “work,” with a beginning and end. In between are some episodes that work as stand-alone adventures with foes (and friends) of assorted alien origin, some episodes that explore the relationship between the real robot and the fake one, and some episodes involving a set of recurring villains, the Legion Ex Machina (evil, real robots out to eradicate the human race).
In the last episode, the Big Guy’s original chief designer is seen for the first time. He claims the Big Guy had been “a failure” because it depended on a human pilot; even though the man-in-a-suit had successfully fought off countless bug-eyed alien monsters and destroyed the Legion.
Similarly, Fox treated TBG&R as a failed show. But it’s really a success. At a time when primetime “reality” shows are pulling the lowest common denominator ever lower (even lower than is possible with scripted fiction shows, which must maintain a minimal story credibility to work on a weekly basis), TBG&R is a highest-common-denominator show.
Its premise is full of holes (if the Big Guy is so important to Earth’s survival, why was only one ever built and why does it have only one trained pilot?).
But the characters (even the bad guys) are fully developed, the storylines fully explore the complexities of these characters, the scripts are smart without succumbing to overt “hip” attitude nonsense, and the artwork (all done in traditional cel animation) is often spectacular.
See it while you still can.