Everything old is new again. . .again.

This should be an easy piece to write. And on most comics-related blogs and webforums I'm sure it is. The recent decision by DC Comics to reboot their entire line in September with brand new 'first' issues and a (mostly) completely clean slate continuity-wise is doubtless meeting with the fan community in the same way a steel-toed boot would be warmly received by a hornet's nest. And I'll admit freely the temptation to give in to the nerd rage is powerful indeed. But if I had to sit down and analyze my feelings over the reboot, and really look at them beyond my nostalgia and my desire for things to be exactly as I would have wanted when I was first reading comics, I come to an uncomfortable conclusion: I actually don't really mind the reboot all that much. In fact, I can even understand the reasoning behind why it's being done.

DC Comics is a business. Businesses require money. Let's say you have a relatively small but loyal base that provide you with a steady (but not overly abundant) source of income. Yet you have the potential in the wake of certain business decisions (i.e. movies in the cinema/direct to DVD, video games, television shows, etc) to bring in new revenue. So you reconfigure your existing product to be as open to new people (and new money) as you possibly can. Will this irk your existing base who've enjoyed the product as-is for years? Ohhh yeah. But without risk, you're playing a steadily losing hand, your audience dwindling as it ages and then shuffles off the mortal coil. From that perspective I can see what DC is trying to do. I may not completely agree with it, but I can understand it. They want to entice the iReader generation, and if they have to shake hands with the devil of Reboot in order to do so then so be it.

Another thing that has me making my (albeit grudging) peace with the new status quo is the simple fact that I'm thirty-five years old. I can't work up the ire and the bile necessary to get up in arms or protest at San Diego comic con in a homemade Batman costume. It doesn't make sense to me. The comics you read and enjoyed aren't going away. Brigades of Bradburyian Firemen aren't going to come to your door to burn your copies of Crisis on Infinite Earths, Legends, The Man of Steel, Birthright, No Man's Land, Blue Devil, or Justice League International. Those stories are as valid in September as they were ten or twenty years ago. They're not 'real' anymore? Who determines what's 'real' and what isn't but the reader?

Much like professional wrestling and soap operas, superhero comics undergo waves of revisionism and experimentation every so often. DC has a new editorial staff and a new head of publishing, so they're naturally going to pop the hood and try to trick out the engine. Will it work? I don't know, but let's not be quick to rush to judgement in the tradition of The Simpsons' Comic Book Guy. Nobody wants to be that guy. That guy doesn't want to be that guy. If you don't like the new direction, there are literally hundreds of back issues and collected editions you can explore set in the previous continuity, or you can even blaze new trails and experiment with titles from Marvel, Image, Dark Horse, or other independent companies.

I'll be trying out a couple of DC's new titles in September (they've got a book featuring the Grant Morrison Frankenstein, so that's some of my money spent right out of the gate), but I don't feel that this change for the future invalidates the experiences I've had in the past. I could choose to wallow in my nerd rage, or I could choose to give something new a chance. It's a stretch outside my comfort zone, but I'm willing to give it a try.

Stac

The Chosen Meh.

I was watching television when an advertisement for Disney's upcoming cinematic abomination The Sorcerer's Apprentice(that high-pitched turbine sound you hear in the middle distance would be Johann Wolfgang von Goethe spinning in his grave at a bastardization of his work created solely as a Harry Potter cash grab) and in those moments as the white-hot haze of contempt and rage worked their magic over me I experienced a moment of sublime clarity: I am rapidly coming to hate the concept of the Chosen One.

It's a staple almost as old as fiction itself: the one boy/girl/man/woman/dog/cat/pineapple who can save the world and defeat the Evil One, thus restoring peace to the land and blah, blather, bleh. The coming of this hero is usually foretold, most likely via a prophecy or an oracle or even an urban legend spread via word of mouth. He'll be meek an unassuming at first, maybe even an outright child, but gradually he levels up in badassery until he finally slays the Big Bad, the music swells and the credits roll and etc, etc, etc. . .Joseph Campbell noted the similarities between myths across various cultures and eventually created a term for this kind of story: The Hero's Journey. Basically, it breaks down as follows:

'A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.'

Within this pattern everything from Beowulf to Braveheart, from Gilgamesh to John McClane can be encapsulated. Which can be a double-edged sword when it comes to attempting to win over an increasingly genre-savvy audience.

Don't get me wrong, in the hands of a master storyteller this formula can be as gripping and engaging as anything you've ever heard but it seems of late that this story is the only one that can be told. As a result what was once a seemingly shock-proof, indestructible example of story is now beginning to show telltale signs of wear.

I've no issue with a hero being the last hope. Hell, it worked out just fine for my favorite non-kryptonian hero Luke Skywalker(and yes, I realize a lot of my bile from the earlier paragraph could easily be applied to Luke. Kinda. Maybe. Shut up) in his rise from whiny farmboy to the first of the Returned Jedi. The whole notion of one chosen throughout the world to battle the demons, the vampires, and the forces of darkness didn't bother me either, as Buffy Summers was part of a continuum of Slayers whose legacy spanned the centuries. These variants on the classic Hero's Journey work for me, as they worked for legions of Star Wars and Buffy fans the world over(and even Star Wars and Buffy took that formula and turned it completely on it's head: Anakin Skywalker may have been the Chosen One, but look how he went about it. Buffy took Destiny by the throat and shook it until the Chosen One became the Chosen Many).

No, it's the repetition of this cycle over and over in the wake of Pottermania that's making my teeth grind together, as Hollywood throws whatever it can up on screen in the hopes of squeezing a tired premise one more time in hopes of wringing blood from a stone. While The Sorcerer's Apprentice might actually be a decent film, and Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief may well have rocked on toast, it's this continued reuse of a tired formula again and again that is a surefire kiss of death to your film, comic, or novel. Simply put, your audience knows the score. Give them some credit, and throw them the occasional twist to keep them amused and entertained(Deep Blue Sea contains my favorite example of this, as the Heroic Leader archetype in the form of Sam Jackson is suddenly and rather graphically cut off mid-sentence. Stone silence in the theatre save for me busting out laughing and thanking the screenwriter mentally for tipping his hat to me so jauntily).

If a story is well-told with passion then whether or not it's structure is familiar won't matter at all. But if it's just in it for the money, we're going to see the emperor's new clothes exactly for what they are. Nothing at all.

Stac

On Star Trek.

Star Trek fandom has become the lazy man's punchline, the ultimate identifying characteristic of being a nerd. While I'll admit the more hardcore Trekkies don't make it easy for the rest of us I have a deep and abiding affection for Gene Roddenberry's vision of the future, one that will never fully leave me. It's been as much a part of the backdrop of my life as Star Wars, comics, and the works of Jim Henson. The optimistic message of Trek shapes my worldview, no matter how jaded and bitter the desert of the real may make me at times.

Star Trek is the last gasp of the notion of a utopian future in contemporary science fiction, at least in my experience. For the most part science fiction has settled into the notion that the future will be either

A) Very much like the present with some differences

or

B) A dystopian nightmare from your bleakest imaginings.

Most SF falls between either of those two poles with very little deviation. Created as it was in the early 1960s, Star Trek embodies all the hopes America had in the post-war boom; that their might would solely be used for right, that their United States (Federation) would be an inclusive, idyllic paradise where people would be judged by who they were and what they could contribute rather than on things like race or class. It was a world where--miracle of miracles-- we didn't blow ourselves up in a pointless struggle for land or resources and instead united as a common humanity and took our place among the stars. It wrapped these hopes and ideals in an (admittedly) clunky space opera wrapper, but scratch the surface of Klingons, tribbles, and the stilted cadences of William Shatner and you'll find something there that far outstrips the phasers beams and warp factors.

Star Trek--at its core--is about friendship and the family you make of your friends. That simple and profound truth is the emotional core that I think has allowed the franchise to endure for over forty years. The adventures of the intrepid crew of the Starship Enterprise have run the gamut from the epic( Star Trek II, Star Trek VI) to the silly (The original series' masterpieces that were 'Shore Leave' or 'Spock's Brain') but beneath all of the done to death quotes and the endless reams of paper, the hours of fanboy discussion dissecting the minutiae of each episode or film is the simple truth that the Enterprise crew are a family of friends bound together by an intense loyalty and devotion. No where is this more profoundly illustrated than in Wrath of Khan as Spock sacrifices himself for the good of the ship and his crew, or in The Search for Spock when Kirk sacrifices everything he's ever held dear on the chance that he can save his friend. I think a lot of Star Trek fans live vicariously through that bond, imagining that the day will come when we have friends who--upon hearing we're in any kind of need--drop everything and come running. That we can stand shoulder to shoulder with good company and be counted one of them. It's a pleasure I know I indulged in for a long time before coming to know the people I do in my life.

All things change, given time, and Trek was no exception. The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Enterprise. . .the concept has morphed and changed and grown over the years. In some cases the original premise was expanded upon (TNG), while in others it was challenged (DS9). . .though for the most part the concept seemed to have run its course and begun to feed off of itself in a weird kind of holding pattern (Voyager, Enterprise). Star Trek: Nemesis seemed to be the final nail in the franchise's cinematic coffin and I found myself to be largely okay with that. Nothing lasts forever, and if Star Trek had had its run I was content with all the cool that had been given admidst the dross.

When word came down the pipeline that J.J. Abrams was planning to do a prequel to the original series, my reaction was conservative at best. I hate to think of myself as falling into the trap of being an old fan that don' cotton t'nun'a that fancy new stuff, but I admit I didn't have much faith that it'd be any good. So when chance (and a good friend) put tickets to an advanced screening of the new film in my hot little hand, my reaction was hopeful but braced for the worst. With an underlying mantra of 'pleasedontsuckpleasedontsuckpleasedontsuck' spinning in my brain, Ryan and I saw it bright and early Saturday morning.

I won't spoil it, save to say that this film charmed the hell out of me and even impressed Ryan, a non-fan of Trek if ever there was one. This is a Star Trek film to drive the point home of why this franchise is fantastic, and it's a film I can't wait to see with my pals. It'll be a great get together with old friends and new. See you at the movies.

Stac

A bold new vision of the past.

My post on the Canadian Calgary Comic and Entertainment Expo will be up later tonight, but for now permit me to get something off my chest that just dawned on me a little while ago.

Like a lot of people, I'm looking forward to J.J. Abrams take on Gene Roddenberry's classic space opera Star Trek. I'm interested to see how the film will look stacked up against fond memories of The Original Series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, etc. Not to mention the ultimate Trek feature film, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. But my buddy Barry Reese brought up a point in a post on his livejournal that kind of made me sit back and take notice of the new Trek film and made me see it in a way that--while not putting me off the film--has dimmed my enthusiasm for the property just a bit.

This film, in the tradition of classic Trek, deals largely with time travel. As a result of this, the Trek timeline proper will essentially skew into two tangents, with one timeline (let's call it Trek-A) being the 'classic' timeline that leads us to TOS, Next Gen, and the rest. The other (let's call it Trek-B) is the universe of the new film and it's (in the works) sequel.

Okay, fine, I can deal with that. And as a means of rebooting the franchise it's a decent idea; it doesn't alienate the hardcore fanbase and allows for a soft reboot that will bring in new fans and new ideas. But there's also a bit of a flaw in that structure, a glaring flaw that once observed is like a frayed piece of string hanging from a sleeve. Sooner or later you're going to want to pull at that sucker, and when you do it'll either snap off or unravel the whole garment.

Any event depicted in Trek-B that seems like something that will flip over the applecart forever and illustrate that it's 'not your dad's Star Trek' is superceded and overwritten by the knowledge that Trek-A is still out there, where X event did not happen and Y remains the case. Now granted this idea of a multiverse of alternate realities is an accepted part of genre fiction in general (see the works of Michael Moorcock for the notion in its most perfect form), but unlike the characters in the film proper, we know of this alternate reality's existence. Everything Trek-B does is effectively in the shadow of Trek-A. Things may happen in Trek-B that change the status quo superficially, but Trek-A is still there in its origjnal state. Thus, Trek-B runs the risk of appearing lesser than Trek A, or at least being seen as not mattering because of the existence of Trek-A.

Woof but alternate realities are confusing. How did Sliders do it?

The film is also a prequel, and no discussion of prequels can be made without mentioning the Star Wars films, in particular Episodes I-III. These three movies are a prime example of what problems can arise with creating an engaging storyline by moving backward instead of forward.

Now before you get the rope and the posse together, let me get my story straight. This isn't me prequel-bashing for it's own sake, and the problem is certainly no fault of the creative team at Lucasfilm or the vision of George Lucas. It is simply for the fact that we as the audience already know how this is going to turn out. Anakin Skywalker becomes Darth Vader. Palpatine becomes absolute ruler of the galaxy as the Republic crumbles and the Empire rises. Luke and Leia are born and Obi-Wan Kenobi lives to pass on the Jedi legacy. The road is mapped out before us: we were given the details from the Original Trilogy. Thus with this knowledge in place from our experience of the previous films the prequels have no jeopardy, at least where the main characters are concerned. This is not to say they aren't enjoyable stories; we all know that Camelot falls and King Arthur dies yet the Arthurian cycle has endured for hundreds of years. But this foreknowledge in an audience can be deadly for writers trying to create a sense of the stakes being high and anything being possible when we as the audience already have foreknowledge of how certain events turn out. We know Kirk becomes Captain of the Enterprise. We know Spock becomes his first officer. We know Scotty's the chief engineer and we know the seven leads will walk away from this adventure unscathed, because previous continuity says so. Even if this was a complete reboot of Star Trek, do you think Abrams and company would actually risk changing the status quo in any way? The Internet would crack in half with fanboy outrage.

This is all based on hearsay, and maybe the new film will turn out to be something wholly new and original. But while I'm expecting to be entertained, I can't really say I'm expecting my view of Star Trek to be shaken to its foundations. But then not every film should have to do that. Sometimes an entertaining afternoon out with friends is its own reward.

Plus the Enterprise looks awesome. Save me an aisle seat.

Stac

A sudden, humbling revelation.

Mark Hamill is 57 today.

Luke Skywalker is a mere 5 years younger than my dad.

To quote Keanu: 'Woah'.

Stac