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

Hero Tune-Up: Aquaman.

He talks to fish.

That's the first thing that comes to mind when you consider one Arthur Curry, also known by his heroic moniker of Aquaman. He can swim, and he can talk to sea animals. How in the name of holy hell do you build an impressive superhero out of that?

This isn't to say it can't be done. Writer Peter David is most famous for his seminal run with the character, taking what was essentially a D-lister mainly around to fill out the ranks of the Justice League and making essentially a flying (or rather, swimming) Conan archetype; bearded, long-haired, scowling and with a mean-looking hook for a hand he was about as against the traditional archetype best known from the Super Friends cartoon as you can get. It was so good, David was removed from the book and replaced with Erik Larsen, who then proceeded to drive Aquaman's book into a downward spiral from which the character has never recovered. The character is best known as the archetypal, smiling blond-haired hero in the orange shirt, green gloves and pants with that 'A' on his belt who'd be seen riding giant seahorses with his trusty sidekick Aqualad. It's a fond enough memory, but that very nostalgia has proven to be poison to the character. They've even tried to reboot the franchise with a 'new' Aquaman in the form of Arthur Joseph Curry, a clone of Aquaman's son whose adventures were chronicled by Kurt Busiek. While an admirable attempt, the book sufferred from one of the fatal illnesses of all superhero books; the more complex the origin, the greater the difficulty in winning over new readers.

Okay, I started off a bit strong on the continuity and people who don't make a habit of memorizing the DC Encyclopedia or back issues of Who's Who are likely looking at the screen in utter befuddlement. Let me spin the backstory of Aquaman for you quick. Take it away Wikipedia:

'The Modern Age Aquaman is born as Orin to Queen Atlanna and the mysterious wizard Atlan in the Atlantean city of Poseidonis, was abandoned on Mercy Reef (which is above sea level at low tide, causing exposure to air which would be fatal to Atlanteans) as a baby because of his blond hair, which was seen by the superstitious Atlanteans as a sign of a curse they called "the Mark of Kordax." The only individual who spoke up on Orin's behalf was Vulko, a scientist who had no patience for myth or superstition. While his pleas were to no avail, Vulko would later become a close friend and advisor to the young Orin.

As a feral child who raised himself in the wilds of the ocean with only sea creatures to keep him company, Orin was found and taken in by a lighthouse keeper named Arthur Curry who named Orin "Arthur Curry" after himself. One day Orin returned home and found that his adoptive father had disappeared, so he set off on his own. In his early teens, Orin ventured to the far north, where he met and fell in love with an Inupiat girl named Kako. He also first earned the hatred of Orm, the future Ocean Master who was later revealed to be Arthur's half-brother by Atlan and an Inupiat woman. Orin was driven away before he could learn that Kako had become pregnant with his son, Koryak.

Orin then returned to the seas mostly staying out of humanity's sight, until he discovered Poseidonis. He was captured by the city's then-dictatorial government and placed in a prison camp, where he met Vulko, also a prisoner of the state, who taught Orin the language and ways of the Atlanteans. While Orin was there he realized that his mother was also being held captive, but after her death he broke out and fled. Eventually, he made his way to the surface world, where under the name of "Aquaman" he became one of several superheroes emerging into the public view at the time.'

I'll be honest with you and say that I've been dragging my heels on this article, mainly because the above impression of the character had colored my thinking. Let's face it: Aquaman is a terrible idea for a superhero, at least looking from the outside in. Two-thirds of his adventures place him in an environment that makes it difficult for writers to create traditional superhero adventures. The last I checked, Atlantis/Poseidonis didn't have a First National Bank or Art Museum to serve as the stage for the Penguin's latest caper. And standing shoulder to shoulder with the Justice League? I'm sorry, but to someone completely new to comics it has to look ridiculous. I mean, Aquaman makes the Atom look cool. At least you can see him get smaller. Aquaman's strong, sure, he's durable, but he doesn't fly or shoot energy bolts or really do anything visually striking that'd make him stand out in the League if they're fighting anywhere that water isn't. As much affection as we may have for him, Aquaman is a terrible superhero.

I went through a couple cans of Red Bull mulling this over, trying my best to find some way I could make the character work in the contemporary DCU. And despite all my considerable fanboy powers and abilities, I found myself completely and utterly stymied. I was about ready to throw in the towel, pacing around my room, when my eyes lighted on my bookshelf and I caught sight of a familiar title. The Once and Future King by T.H. White. And like a bolt from Zeus, it hit me.

The reason Aquaman doesn't work as a superhero is because he isn't one.

Orin, King of Atlantis, is a hero of epic fantasy. He's a warrior-ruler of the old school, who possesses amazing strength, the ability to withstand the crushing depths of the ocean, and to swim its depths in a manner that resembles flight. He rules a people who have lived at the bottom of the ocean since time immemorial, and he rules with a benign and just hand. With his contemporary origin he's a mix of Tarzan and Conan, with just a bit of Arthurian lore for seasoning. He's Gilgamesh with actual gills! A warrior king who can fly(okay, swim, but the visual is apt), has super-strength, and can command the creatures of his realm to carry out his will. That's a pretty impressive resume.

With this in mind, the stories practically write themselves. Need an enemy to fight? Eldritch evil from the depths, water breathing serpent men from Lemuria, discovered and led by his evil half-brother Orm, aka the Ocean Master. The traditional sea-serpent is also good, plus mad sorcerors seeking to return Poseidonis to the old days of the Wizard Lords. You can throw in the odd appearance by villains like Black Manta to appease the fights in tights crowd, but with Aquaman you have the chance to tell some a different kind of heroic narrative, one more in keeping with Sword and Sorcery than the traditional Mutants and Masterminds.

Of course, the problem with a completely alien society like Poseidonis is that we don't really have anyone that acts as our touchstone, someone from the world of the more or less plausible that helps ground the hero and make his adventures somewhat more approachable. I touched on a similar problem back in my Martian Manhunter piece; you need a companion who has a viewpoint similar to ours. Perhaps S.T.A.R. Labs has successfully petitioned to have an undersea installation installed, and Arthur acts (begrudgingly) as a liason between his people and the surface dwellers? Or, taking something they tried from another run of Aquaman, say the latest crisis du jour has created a batch of former surface humans who can only survive underwater, the population of an average size coastal city. With nowhere else to go Superman suggests to Arthur that he take them in, at least until such time as the League can find a cure. Seemingly an easy enough situation, but rife with storytelling potential. How do these contemporary Americans feel about suddenly going from a democracy to a monarchy, from living within a high-tech society to a neo-medieval one? To say nothing of the normal perils of the ocean, where live a wide variety of creatures you want to watch out for and respect. And this is to say nothing of the citizens of Poseidonis, who view the 'newcomers' with everything from genuine curiosity to superior disdain to just flat-out hatred, imploring their king to exile the 'barbarians', or at the very least segregate them. So with a new viewpoint character (say a journalist who'd written a particularly scathing piece on how useless Aquaman was) in tow, Aquaman brings these people to a world they've never seen before, showing them both the majesty of the ocean depths and its fragile beauty, threatened by human and inhuman deviltry alike.

With just a few tweaks to the premise, a book that's always struggled to define itself against what it isn't could celebrate and embrace what it is; a sprawling epic adventure of flashing blades, 'flying' heroes, and ancient evil. It'd be Robert E. Howard meets Jacques Cousteau, and it would firmly establish Aquaman as anything but a smiling milquetoast. Riding a giant seahorse? Lame. Riding a giant seahorse while wielding a flashing sword, decapitating sharkmen cultists with a fierce she-devil swimmer fighting at your side? Badass.

Which is no less than the Sea King deserves.

Stac

Expo-sition: A Dealer's-Eye View of The Calgary Comic And Entertainment Expo 2009.

Saturday:

Normally it'd take an artillery barrage outside my window to get me to rise in the morning, but for whatever reason if you give me a time I need to be up for anything I'm usually awake in advance of the alarm. Today is no exception, and I rise at the (for me) unprecedented time of 6:45am. I stumble through my morning routine of getting cleaned up and dressed and wait for Ryan to come over from next door. He does with a few last-minute items for the booth and we make our way to the car, stopping only to pick up some much-needed cans of Sugar-Free Red Bull and some pocket money for the show. Thus prepared we make our way toward the Stampede Grounds and the Round-Up Centre, where Hall D awaits.

We park and make our way inside, our lanyards bearing the legend of EXHIBITOR. With such power we're easily able to slip past the cowboy-hat wearing, vest-sporting security staff of the venue and into the open space of the mostly-deserted hall. It's about 8am now with the show due to kick off at 10. Ryan and I make our way to the Red 5 Collectibles booth and begin some last-minute setup. It's nothing too strenuous; Ryan and some of our friends had already done the heavy setup the night before, a fact for which I am profoundly grateful. We price some items, ready our mobile shelving units at the front of the U-shape we like our booth to take and lock the wheels in place. The float is ready, the merchandise is good to go, now we wait for the opening of the doors and the battle to be joined.

Being in early means we get a chance to take a look around, and the floor looks to be pretty glorious. Most of the regulars are here(Red Skull Comics, Phoenix Comics), but there are some newcomers who haven't been (Another Dimension Comics), as well as some new venues that are out to get my hard-earned geek dollar (Evil Dead: The Musical? Sold). Displays of trade paperbacks, comics, t-shirts, props, and vintage toys meet the eye as we each canvas the floor of Hall D. The celebrity tables are set up a little different this year, with some of them being up on risers. This strikes us both as a litle weird, since most celebrities will have to lean over the table to interact with the fans, but it's a minor quibble, and one will see get (partially) resolved later. No sign of Edward James Almos yet, so I treasure the oppurtunity to retain some semblance of dignity lest I go completely Chris Farley Show in his general direction.

Our volunteers roll in at around 9:30-9:45 and we proceed to run down the clock. Ryan and I open our Red Bulls and I ensure my Dr. Scholl's are in place and ready to support my feet. In my 'desert of the real' job I tend to sit professionally for a living, but eight hours of standing shouldn't really kick my ass. The floor of the round-up centre (and most convention halls I've been to) has no carpeting or support of any kind. It's you and a concrete floor. And a concrete floor is absolute hell after about four or five hours of straight standing on it.

I notice across from us the SwitchBox Games booth setting up their multimedia presentation. They click on their arcade-style video unit and are booting up what looks to be Street Fighter IV. I figure that's cool, people will walk by and sample their wares, then turn and see the magnificence that is Red 5 Collectibles. Shouldn't be too distracting, I think. Sometimes my naivete charms even me.

9:55am. A mere five minutes separates myself, Ryan, Greg, and Garrett from glorious battle with the hordes of fandom. I steel myself as the minutes creep by one after the other. . .:9:58. . .9:59. . .10:00am! LET'S COMMENCE PREPARATIONS FOR RUMBLING!

Minutes pass. Long, expectant minutes with nary a fan in sight. Then begins a light trickle of people wearing guest passes. I look at Ryan, who looks at me. From what we'd heard more than 3000 advanced passes had been sold for the show. What's going on? We send a man to get some answers. It turns out the lines at the door are logjammed for some reason and it's taking an inordinate amount of time to get people inside. Undaunted, we ready ourselves. Customers are coming, we need to be prepared. People come to our booth in a slow trickle; we begin to talk to customers and make sales.

Ryan ducks over to Red Skull's booth to talk with someone and leaves me in charge. Nothing new to me; I've been drunk with this kind of power before and have learned to savor its heady flavor. As I walk around the booth a gentleman comes up and inspects our shelves. He's a more mature fellow, maybe mid-40s, and he's examining the rack where we have a variety of DC Direct figures. He looks up and smiles at me, and I blink. This guy looks familiar, but I can't place him.

“Can I help you sir?” I inquire.

“Hi, I just noticed these figures you have.” he points out our modest collection of DC's NEW FRONTIER figures we have on sale.

“Yeah, they're pretty cool.” I reply, puzzling as to how I know this guy. I don't think I've seen him at the Expo before, so who. . .?

“Thanks. I created it.” he smiles at me and it clicks even before I catch sight of his name tag. DARWYN COOKE.

I immediately struggle not to lose my shit.

“Uh. . .” I manage, taking time to remember paltry little things like blinking. In my peripheral vision I see Ryan making his way back to the booth.

“Would you like me to sign them?” he offers helpfully, reaching for a pen.

Somehow my neurons manage to slip by the Pavlovian fanboy paralysis I seem to have slipped into. “Yes please, that would be awesome.” I hear myself say.

Mr. Cooke proceeds to sign each figure we have on the shelves. As he's doing so Ryan comes up behind him, we exchange an 'OMG/WTF?!' look as the convention hall slowly fills around us. Mr. Cooke finishes his work and smiles. “When you sell out of these if you have any extra I'll be happy to sign those too.”

Ryan and I nod our heads, still a little too stunned to speak. We manage to get a picture with him and exchance some pleasantries about Nova Scotia, our former and Cooke's current province of residence. He then wishes us luck with the show and makes his way toward his table.
The Red Bull and that alone got us through most of Saturday.

There's a bit of a pro/con aspect to being a dealer. On the one hand you get to be part of the show on the ground floor, interacting with lots of interesting people and getting to share a common love of comics and pop culture. You meet and speak with a mass of people gathered in one place who you might never get the chance to know otherwise and reaffirm the notion that, yes, I am not alone in liking what I like. There are people who understand. That sense of community draws a lot of people to fandom of any stripe and at a show the communal vibe can be a wonderful thing.

On the flip side, as dealers we're largely stuck at our table. Thankfully with a four-to-five-man team with some friends to alternate we all got the chance to slip away from the booth to experience the convention in small doses. It also gave me a chance to do something I love to engage in at cons: sitting. Lords of Kobol do my feet hurt after a while. The Dr. Scholl's helped but I still needed to take the odd break or two. I took the oppurtunity to stop by the Tosche Station booth and see how my fellow Fan Force peeps were doing. Tosche Station is the local chapter of the Star Wars fan club, and a cooler collection of cats there could not be. We rapped for a bit then I proceeded to head back to the booth. Around us swirled a mass of people, some costumed, some not, but all just drinking in the first major-league convention of the year. It was packed.

Congestion became a bit of a problem in the aisles also, and as to getting food. . .forget it. My advice to any would-be con-goers out there? Bring snacks. Seriously. Energy bars, little boxes of crackers 'n cheese, anydamnthing. Convention food will always be difficult to obtain because A) it'll cost you (4 mini-pizzas for myself and my compatriots was $24) and B) the lines will kill you(I must've waited a good 20, 25-plus minutes in the food line). Bring bottles of water, bring snacks, and be ready to wait in line.

The day went by in a blur. We met with people, we conversed about comics, movies, and pop-culture. Garett and I sold comics trades while Cody, Greg, and Ryan focused on moving action figures and our collection of higher-end merchandise. We also took time to bust the occasional funky move as the Street Fighter music pounded across the hall from the SwitchBox booth. Mr. Cooke was as good as his word and happily signed all our remaining New Frontier figures and a copy of the book itself Ryan owned. We met another famous face in the form of Battlestar Galactica's Kandyse McClure, who bonded with Garrett over their mutual love of the Vertigo comic Fables. She was even kind enough to let us take a picture.

Gradually the clock wound down and we eventually reached 6pm, when the show finally closed its doors. We'd done well and the first day was in the can. A victory dinner awaited us with our fellow Tosche Station friends and our pals in the Badlands Garrison of the 501st Stormtroopr legion. Moving the shelves in and putting tarps on the tables, we waited until the last few stragglers were out of the hall and then called it a night. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now we could all relax and enjoy the feeling of satisfaction that comes with getting that first day of con out of the way.

Oh, and the sitting was glorious by the way. My feet felt so happy. . .

Sunday:

The Expo recently expanded to incorporate a second day of events and programming, which is a bit of a mixed blessing. On the one hand its great to have two days of potential profit, but from previous experience last year we were expecting it to be quite slow, at least in the morning. As 10:00am rolled around and the doors opened we were pleasantly surprised by the steady flow of foot traffic. It didn't get particularly busy until about noon, but there were enough customers to make selling lively and conversation engaging.

With a day under my belt and a Sugar-Free Red Bull in my system, I was be-bopping and ready to rock and roll. With Cody and Garrett to spot us on the rotation (and us to tend the booth when they wished to move around, fair being fair) we were able to see a bit more of the show on Sunday. Its gratifying to see so many people enjoying pop culture, sharing their passions, or just enjoying a day out out with their families. Costumed folk abounded in detail ranging from the impressive to the awesome. I will give those who costume credit; when they bring the thunder it's an amazing sight. To bring such care and creativity and a commitment to detail to something you'll only have certain oppurtunities like the Expo to display and share with people is nothing short of astounding. You can't say they're not dedicated to their passions.

I even managed to attend my first panel at the show, which was a unique event. The Breaking Into Voice Acting panel was about an hour long, and despite some technical glitches and a regrettable shortage of chairs it was actually quite informative. I'm not sure if a career in voiceover talent is for me, but it definitely had some tips and insights that made the hour-long panel worthwhile. Plus I got to sit, and have I mentioned what a luxury that is a convention? I may have, I'm not sure. . .

Sadly, by the time the panel let out it was four o'clock and the convention was due to close in an hour. I headed back to the booth and we each took turns taking a last look around the convention for some last-minute items of swag. I managed to come away with some nice finds (expect to read about them in a future column) and the people gradually trickled out as the show came to a close. There's always a bit of pleasant melancholy to seeing it end for another year. . .watching the artists and celebrities pack it in. . .and of course having to break down the booth and pack up our remaining merchandise. This year added a fun wrinkle in that the weather—which had been relatively cooperative up to that point— decided to make things interesting by becoming a windy, snow-ridden miasma of freezing cold. Wheeled shelves blew over as the wind whipped in our ears. Everything eventually got bolted down and secured and we took it all back to Red 5 in the southwest, unloading it and heading to the Richmond Pub for some well-earned drinks and meals.

Overall I'd say this year was a marked improvement over 2008. Not to say last year's expo was bad; merely that this year the word of mouth seems to be spreading and people are becoming more aware of the show after four years. 2010 will bring its own challenges, but for now I think it's safe to say 2009 was a success. Of course, when you're a dealer it's never really over. No sooner do we get a chance to decompress and relax than we're off to the Edmonton Pop Culture Fair for May 3rd. Its hard, it's heavy, and its murder on the feet, but at the end of the day it's the oppurtunity to share the things about genre and fantasy that we love and to remind ourselves just why we're into this stuff in the first place. Is it worth it?

Yes. Yes it is.

Stac

ETA: Yes, in case you were wondering I do plan on renting out my forehead as a screen for IMAX films. Great googly moogly. . .

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

Woof. . .

Okay, things will be slow this week as I'm recovering from the Calgary Comics and Entertainment Expo and the demon cold that settled into my system just in time for the weekend.

The show was as awesome as my brother and I could have hoped for. Ryan owns and operates Red 5 Collectibles, his pride and joy which does its ample best to provide Calgary with the finest in merchandise from all four corners of fandom. If you haven't been by the website please do and see what you think of his wares. Even in today's rough economy Ry busts his hump to provide the best deals possible. We had a great time at the show and I plan to give it the full article treatment with the hope that it'll give you a dealer's-eye view of how these cons work.

So a rough schedule will be:

Monday-Recovery from Con(plus I bought a stack of comics that I want to read. Ah heh heh. . .)

Wednesday - CCEE piece.

Friday - Hero Tune-Up: Aquaman.

Until next time,

Stac

Comics/Novels I'd Write For Free: The Cylon War.

Lately I've been on something of a Battlestar Galactica kick. I've purcased the new Caprica Direct-to-DVD film and the first season of the reimagined series, and I've been reading and re-reading my copy of the Battlestar Galactica Roleplaying game with a feverish intensity. It can only mean that once again my tastes have shifted and are now firmly in BSG territory.

With that in mind, I've been thinking about what I'd do if I ever recieved the oppurtunity to write anything set in the BSG universe. To me, there's really only one story that I'd want to tell, be it via a comicbook or in prose, and that's the story of the Galactica and the First Cylon War. I understand that Dynamite Entertainment is already publishing their take on the events that sparked the first war with the walking chrome toasters, but I haven't read it yet. This is my take on a potential comics series or a novel.

It would complete the trinity of the Battlestar saga, with Caprica as the beginning and Battlestar Galactica the ending, The Cylon War would be the middle of the story. It doesn't have the Pride Before The Fall of Caprica, nor the Grim Determination to Survive/Is Humanity Worth Saving of BSG. No, this series would be something entirely its own animal. If I had to boil it down to a pitch statement it'd be simply this: 'Band of Brothers versus Killer Robots.'

I'm too young to have caught the original Battlestar Galactica on the airwaves (I saw a cut of the pilot movie on VHS at my cousin's house in Ostrea Lake, Nova Scotia many a moon ago) but I do have a fondness for the series ultimate theme; that no matter what the opposition humanity's spirit proves indomitable against the implacable aggression of the machine. This would be a story of heroism, though maybe not with the same theatrical trappings of the original series but definitely with a nod toward a grander, more epic style of storytelling. This is the 'good war' of the BSG universe in much the same way World War II is considered to be in our history. This is the war where the Twelve Colonies of Kobol united in a way they never had before against a foe that was not interested in power or principality but in the complete annihilation of their civilization and the extermination of its peoples.

The First Cylon War lasted just over twelve years (4,571 days) and ravaged the system containing the Colonies. Our story would start approximately 3 years into the conflict, with the war going very, very badly for the Colonial Fleet. The Cylons are unlike any foe the recently combined militaries of the twelve planets have ever faced before. They never tire. They never stop. They don't surrender and they don't retreat(at least at first). The initial Cylon uprising caught each of the Colonies completely by surprise, blindsiding them with an ambush from within their very ranks. The machines that had been entrusted to serve man and fight their battles rose up in a single night of blood and fire and killed damn near everything in their path. The how and the why of the uprising would be a mystery (after all, what's on screen is canon and I don't want to step on toes) but the Colonies now live in the aftermath and nearly three years of sheer and utter hell. Through a massive effort the Cylons were driven from most of the colonies, but they have holdings in several key sectors of the system. Worse, they stole a great deal of military ordnance, schematics, and the technical data for the new Colonial Rangers (later to be known as Raiders) and the plans for the proposed series of Basestars to be constructed on the Scorpia shipyards.

Worse, the richer colonies found their technology turned against them. The machines could make computers sit up, roll over, play dead. Passenger liners found their computers infected by Cylon viruses that made the airlocks open to hard vacuum midway through voyages, far past the point of any return and disabling emergency backups. Military vessels found their power systems cycling into overload and their sublight engines firing at random, automated turrets turning on friendlies as well as their own hulls and blasting them to scrap. Computers became the enemy, high technology became the enemy, anything that was too advanced and networked was too great a risk. Thus the step back to simpler systems, simpler technologies to keep colonial assets safe.

The ink was barely dry on the Articles of Colonization when the first twelve battlestars were shipped off the line; Atlantia, Galatea, Pacifica, Pegasus, Prometheus, Daedalus, Herakles, Athena, Icarus, Argo, Achilles. . . and the Galactica. Each ship represented one of the newly unified Colonies, with Galactica represnting Caprica, the capital world of this bold new alliance. Each ship was meant to be crewed entirely by men and women of the services of their respective worlds, an exemplar of their commitment to the new alliance and the hope of the ultimate defeat of the Cylon menace.

That was the plan. The simple fact of the matter is the Cylons are killing Colonial personnel with a frightening degree of efficiency, and more often than not personnel from other colonies are ending up sharing space with soldiers from other worlds. This was the long-term goal of Fleet brass, but the plan was to bring everyone together gradually. Sagittarons and Capricans having some severe issues, to say nothing of Picon, Scorpia, and Tauron. Simply put, there's hate between people as much as there is hate of the toasters. Its only the shared hatred of the walking chrome monsters that keeps the soldiers of the Colonial forces in check. Just.

In the meantime, the reorganized fleet has ground to cover and long struggles ahead. Aerilon and Tauron are being occupied by Cylon forces, with Canceron and Gemenon just barely hanging on. The Cylons are an implacable foe, armed to the teeth and far stronger and tougher than any human. Not to mention their sheer force of numbers (a long-term goal for Colonial forces is to eliminate Cylon production facilities wherever they're found. No easy task, as the Cylons have become increasingly adept at hiding their facilities). The odds are stacked against humanity, but if it's one thing the machines have underestimated it's human tenacity, the sheer damned stubborness of people with their backs to the wall and damned little to lose.

Our cast of characters is a bit nebulous, but I have a few ideas in mind:

Commander Michael Nash: Nash was the first commander of the Battlestar Galactica, mentioned only in passing by Aaron Doral in the BSG miniseries. A native Caprican and product of its military academy, at the rank of major aboard the destroyer Righteous he took command when the CO and XO were killed in the Cylon uprising, managing to rout the machines and save the ship from being taken. His heroism and the Righteous' protection of civillian vessels during the uprising were noted by command, and when the Colonial Fleet unveiled the battlestars Nash was promoted to Commander and assigned to Galactica. A young man at 35 years of age, he realizes his appointment was more about politics and propoganda than it was about merit. Still, he possesses a rare gift for tactics and a manner that endears him to the men and women under his command.


Executive Officer Colonel Valerie Bayrin: Valerie was initially in line for command of Galactica until Nash came along. She's not happy with the way things are, but the fact that Nash made her posting as XO of the ship a condition of his acceptance of Galactica's command has gone a long way toward cementing a solid working relationship. A devout believer in the gods, the war has tested her faith but its held , even in the face of an enemy that seems to be the wrath of Hades incaranate. She's an older woman, in her mid-to-late 40s, having worked hard to attain her rank amidst the slight chauvinism of the Caprican military.


Senior Chief Petty Officer Darren Tanner: has been given the unenviable task of being the Galactica's officer of the deck. A man who brooks no fools and is a little too quick to speak his mind before his (slight) sense of tact can catch up, he nevertheless is respected by the men and women under his command. His people are the front line of Galactica's repair crews and damage control teams, his mechanics work to repair and get the bugs out of the new Viper Mark IIs that have just rolled off the assembly line. There are some who resent him for his Sagittaron heritage(and Tanner's not overly fond of his more vocally overbearing Caprican crewmates) but when circuit boards are bursting into flame and you need your Viper working yesterday there's no better man for the job. And he knows it.


Major Darius Ravig: is top kick of the Colonial Marines on Galactica. In his eyes there's him, the XO, the CO, and the gods in that exact order and nobody better forget it. His division 'the Ravagers' have seen combat in some of the worst skirmishes of the war to date, on the ground and in the black. He's a veteran of some of the worst of the fighting between Caprica and Sagittaron and his feelings for 'those people' are short and sour. Nevertheless he tables his opinions and keeps them close, working with his men to ensure that every human under their protection makes it back alive and every toaster in their path gets slagged.

Doctor Alyssa Muverro: is the Galactica's CMO and resident angel of mercy. She's acerbic, occasionally a bit too criticial of her patients and their complete disregard for their health and safety in time of war, but she and her team of doctors and nurses are the best in the Fleet. There's no question in her mind that the Cylons are monsters; she's seen enough of their handiwork to know with complete certainty that they need to be destroyed to the last clanker. An attractive woman in her early thirties, she has no lack of potential suitors on Galactica. Sadly she's all too committed to her wife Rebecca, and frequently worries about her safety as the battles lines inexorably push closer and closer to Caprica. . .

Captain Robert 'Ares' Wendell: is Galactica's CAG (Commander, Air Group) and leader of a squadron well on its way to becoming a legend. Ares is one of Caprica's finest pilots, almost without peer behind the stick of his Viper. He flies with a cool precision that belies his more rambunctious personality when off-duty. The four squadrons under his command have come to call themselves 'Wendell's Warriors', and each of them would fly into the mouth of hell if either Nash or Ares gave the word.

Professor Neville Pryce: is a civillian advisor to the military, one of its foemost minds on the applications of robotics and one of the programmers on the Cylon project. While the President's first impulse was to round up every last mind who had anything to do with the creation of the Cylons and have them imprisoned or executed, the fact of the matter is the creators of these metal monsters have information on their capabilities, their tactics, and their weaknesses that could be useful. As such, each battlestar has at least one of these men and women aboard, tasked with providing intelligence on the Cylon threat and devising new ways to defeat them. The fact that each of these people get a front-row seat to the carnage their rampaging creations have wrought isn't lost on Fleet Command either. Pryce lives as a virtual prisoner, a pariah amongst the crew. He smokes like a chimney, his nerves are shot to hell. His actions may have led to the deaths of millions, perhaps even the doom of the entire human race. The guilt is threatening to swallow him whole. . .and more, a budding resentment that could well blossom into a full-on hatred for the humanity that has burdened him with their collective guilt and rage. His viewpoint is boiling down to a survival of the fittest mentality, and what better survivors are there than 'his' Cylons? Galactica's crew may have a valued resource at their disposal. . .or they may have embraced a viper to their chest. Time will tell.

The Cylons: The most terrifying thing about the Cylons is just how damned close they came to wiping out humanity in one fell swoop. The uprising was just barely defeated by the reeling militaries of the twelve colonies, and even as a unified force the Colonial Fleet is hard pressed in space or on the ground. Cylon Raiders execute manuevers at speeds that could snap human vertebrae, basestars have ample power reserves to spare (not needing such human necessities as life support), and the Model 0005 Centurion is one of the deadliest soldiers to ever grace the field of battle. The Cylons move in near-total silence; they don't grunt, don't scream, they don't make a sound. The last thing a Colonial soldier might hear as the enemy closes in is the soft whooshing of their eye-sensor palatte and the click of a cocking trigger.

Worse, the Cylons are learning. Their tactics morph and change, adapting to the advances of the Colonial Fleet with startling speed. They've learned how to detect and create ambushes, how to hold humans in bondage and use them as labor behind enemy lines. They've even learned to conserve their resources by retreating. This last they rarely implement, as their factory bases remain secure at this time, but its still an eerie reminder that the toasters aren't mindless. Rumors abound in military intelligence of a newer model, the IL series, designed to coordinate Cylon forces and act as command units. They were only in the design stages when the Cylons revolted. . .could they be a reality?

The Cylons are an implacable foe at this time, united and driven by a single goal: to kill their former masters and ascend to their rightful place as the dominant species in the galaxy. There's no moral ambiguity here: its kill or be killed.

A war comic in space. A space opera with a taste of gritty realism. A heroic humanity struggling valiantly against a nigh-unstoppable mechanistic foe. Humans versus Robots. All these and more would be found within the pages of The Cylon War.

And I'd do it all for free(or for a modest fee. ~.^)

Stac

Kickin' it old school.

I'm still in recovery from the phantasmagoria of pure effluence that was The Spirit, so bear with me whilst my wearied synapses recover. Add to that the upcoming insanity that is the Calgary Comic and Entertainment Expo and you can understand why things are getting a little quiet.

Still, there are some things to celebrate here at TCD. For one, we're fast approaching the 50th post on this blog, which is nothing if not remarkable. When I kicked this project off I was reasonably sure it'd end up on the same Island of Misfit Toys where reside most of the projects I embark upon. That we've managed to make it to fifty consecutive rambles on pop culture and comics is pretty remarkable to me and I've been thinking about doing something special. To that end, I've decided to revive an old favorite, the hero tune-up. I've been mulling over just who to pick in terms of a character in dire need of some serious overhaul. While I usually go for second-stringers, a recent read of a Peter David trade paperback convinced me that I had to go for one of the Original Seven:

Yeah, that's right, I'm bad.

Stac