Author: HongConnerChe

Behind everything that we take for granted there are two stories. The story that we know, and choose to see every day, is the obvious one; and the other story is the hidden truth. We all choose to believe that Bob Kane created Batman, end of story. The hidden truth is that everything that we love about Batman: the origin, the joker, Gotham City, was actually recreated by Bill Finger – Bob Kane just came up with the design. We know Lead Zeppelin wrote Stairway to Heaven, a song that, by law, must be learned by anyone who picks up a guitar within a month. The hidden truth is that Lead Zeppelin stole the main guitar line from a song titled “Taurus” by an obscure psychedelic band named Spirit (yup, it’s true). Even a universal icon like Superman has an unknown history. Today we take a look at Superman: Portrait of a Jewish immigrant.

Superman is the ideal American patriot. He grew up on a farm in a small midwestern town outside of Metropolis, Kansas, and was used to seeing walking, squawking, animals as food. He’s a muscular slice of 100% USDA approved beef that would make Charles Atlas feel like he could get sand kicked in his face. He also believed in America so much that when he became an adult he put on a uniform to protect its shores and its values. But just like every white picket fence — behind it there is a different truth to be told.  Superman’s origin story of being rocketed from his homeland and the destruction of his people, arrival on earth, and being raised by adoptive parents mirrors that of Moses. The Pharaoh ordered all Hebrew man-children to be killed at birth in order to commit genocide. Parents of a newborn boy build a small ark and sent their child – and possibly the future of their kind- down a river. The boy was found by the Princess of the Pharaoh, who named him Moses and raised him as her own. The two stories share more than a few similarities, they are both about a man from two worlds who is isolated from everyone else because of it. Moses himself did not get the final honor of leading his people to the Promised Land and Superman fights to save humanity until the end of time – his mission in life never to be fore filled.

 

 

Moses and the Red Sea	Superman and his Red Cape.

 

When Superman arrived on Earth, his Jewish sounding name, Kal-El, was replaced with the more Anglo-American name, Clark Kent. He actually spent the majority of his early life assimilating into American culture and in fear of the rest of the world knowing his secret of being an Alien. In 1938, when Siegel and Shuster created Superman, the Jewish people were not really welcomed immigrants in American society. Many Jews had to change their names in hopes of passing as regular Americans in order to survive. The name Kal-El itself is more than Jewish sounding; it has Jewish meaning. “El”, Superman’s family name, means “might, strength, power” in Hebrew. It is also the name for God such as “El Emet”, the “God of Truth”, and “El Olam”, “God Everlasting.”

What about Kryptonite? Okay, Kryptonite wasn’t created by Siegal and Shuster. It was created for The Adventures of Superman, radio show. (The Daily Planet, Perry White and Jimmy Olsen were also created by the radio program.) It was a show that was also written by Jewish Americans. This reinforces the idea that the story of Superman is the story of Jewish Immigration. For a Jew in hiding during the depression, a reminder of  his true origins getting out to the public wasn’t just an embarrassing little secret, it could mean their death. Kryptonite is an actual fragment of his home world. A painful, and potentially deadly, reminder that regardless of how he looked, who raised him, or how much he helped humanity, he is and always will be an alien.

So were Siegel and Shuster consciously creating a secret Jewish icon to infiltrate the gentrified, non-Jewish society? Well, of course, no. They were two poor Jewish kids that lived in the slums of Cleveland. They were nerdy kids that loved comic books and wanted to create something fun. They did, however, use Jewish culture and their own history when they went about creating Superman’s. Little did they know they would change the history of comic books when they did so.

As an immigrant myself, the story of Superman has a special meaning. I just don’t see it as a Jewish story, I see it as the ultimate immigrant story. I am 100% American and also 100% Chinese. I live it two worlds and experience a sense of isolation, as well, because of it. Superman shows me how to not forget where I come from, yet to also not deny myself of the culture I live in. Superman also shows me that because of the two worlds I exist in, I draw strength from them, the strength to go on and do something great, even super.

Anime is a polarizing genre. If you are a fourteen year-old girl nerd, (or guy who wants to sleep with that fourteen year-old girl nerd) you love anime with a radical, religious fervor. You love the cuteness, the little furry animals, characters that yell everything they say, and most of all, you like dressing up as these characters at conventions. If you are anything like me, (and half of everyone that catches an anime movie or show) anime confuses you to such a frustrating boiling point that you want to make a personal quest to find the people who created it and spit on them. You are confounded by the stories, the fact that Japanese girls are drawn like white girls, the fact that Japanese guys are drawn like white girls, and most of all you hate it when people say you don’t get it because you “just don’t understand the Japanese culture” (GOD I HATE THAT!) It wasn’t always like that, though. Anime, once upon a time, was comprised of entertaining stories that not only made sense, but were also very clever. Also they didn’t feel like they were written by sex obsessed, furry fetishists that were way too into under aged teens. So today we return to a time when Anime was new to America and challenged the banality of our children’s cartoons. It was the start of the Anime invasion.

The Birth of Anime

In the beginning, there was darkness. Then when Dr. Osamu Tezuka drew, there was light. There was cartooning and comic books in Japan before Dr. Osamu Tezuka, but he was the man that created the first of what we would call Manga and Anime, earning the nick name “Father of Anime” or “God of Anime”. Inspired by American cartoons such as Betty Boop, Fleicher Toons, and Walt Disney, he would draw his characters with big eyes that would become the signature style of Japanese cartooning. So the real reason why Japanese characters always look white is because they were actually ripping off the honkeys. Dr. Osamu Tezuka’s most famous creation was Tetsuwan Atom, better known as Astro Boy. Tetsuwan Atom was the first animated TV show in Japan. It premiered in 1963 and lasted four seasons, an astonishing 193 episode run. The adventures of a half-naked robot boy were so popular that it caught the attention of the American television channel, NBC.

In 1964, NBC aired the program after much debate about the title. Tetsuwan Atom translated to “Mighty Atom” and producer Fred Ladd and NBC representatives thought it just wasn’t catchy or American enough of a title for a children’s program. They plunged the depths of their imaginations and came up with Astro Boy. This was an easy American fix. After all, there was a Superboy, a Boy Wonder and The Leather Boys. (Seriously, it was a 1964 British film drama about a biker gang that had a gay member. I’m not joking. Really.) So, why not an Astro Boy? 104 episodes were aired in syndication and became the highest rated show in syndication regardless of it being animated, children’s programming or Japanese. The success of Astro Boy paved the way for other Japanese shows to cross the Pacific Ocean and bomb American TV sets.

Another Osamu Tezuka show was brought over in 1966 named Janguru Taitei (Jungle Emperor) retitled Kimba The White Lion for the United States. Kimba was a story about a young lion prince whose father was murdered. After the murder he was exiled to a place far away from his ancestral home. He one day returned to his homeland to retake his place as emperor of the jungle. Sounds familiar? It should. In 1994, Disney was inspired by Kimba
The White Lion and made The Lion King. (By saying “inspired” I just mean they stole the idea.) They even named the main character Simba, which might as well be Kimba. Apparently Simba was originally also supposed to have white fur. This continued until one of the Disney animators spoke up and said “Not even our lawyers are that good!”

 

8 Man was renamed, slightly, as 8th Man and brought over in 1965. Tetsujin 28-go was released in 1966 in the U.S. as Gigantor. Mach GoGoGo aired in the United States under the less awesome title Speed Racer in 1967.

While these shows were hungrily lapped up by American networks, they never achieved the same success as Astro Boy. Anime fever died down a bit in the seventies where only two shows were brought over to American screens: Kagaku Ninja-Tai Gatchaman or Science Ninja Team Gatchaman, renamed Battle of the Planets in 1978, (Later renamed G-Force in 1986 and renamed again in 1996. I eagerly wait for the next renaming of the show the next time it airs) and then Space Battleship Yamato came in as Star Blazers, also in 1978. Both of these shows outside of Anime enthusiasts and Alex Ross are largely forgotten (because they kinda sucked). The golden age of Anime would have to wait until the 80’s, just like everything else that was geeky.

  

The Golden Age of Anime

In the 80’s, television producers realized the full potential for Japanese animated shows. They realized it was a lot cheaper to bring over shows from Japan than making them themselves. 21 anime shows were aired in America during the 80s. Sure, people have fond memories of Fist of the North Star, Gundam and Voltron, but the cartoon that made more Americans Anime obsessed more than any other was Robotech. Robotech, as we know it, never really existed in Japan because it was originally three different shows. Carl Macek originally wanted to bring the show, The Super Dimension Fortress Macross, over to the states for Harmony Gold USA, a television production and distribution company, but ran into a major problem. That problem was that, in 1984, for a show to be aired in American weekday syndication, television networks required a minimum of 65 episodes. Macross only had 36 episodes in total. Carl Macek decided to interweave three separate shows, The Super Dimension Fortress Macross, Super Dimension Cavalry, and Genesis Climber Mospeada into one massive science fiction saga. Each one of the shows would be one chapter of the saga. Each show represented a separate war between Earth and various aliens. At the heart of the entire series would be the fictitious fuel source called, “protoculture”. Each series on their own was fine, as far as stories go, but the weaving of the different generations of stories gave the series a richness that was never before seen in both Japanese and American television shows — animated or not.

Anime in the New Age

Anime now is a force to be reckoned with. Anime use to be a genre with one shelf in a dark corner of an even darker comic shop, and now takes up its own section at Borders. By the year 2000, companies such as Pioneer, Bandai, ADVision, and manga publisher Viz Communications grew the industry to over $100 million dollars. Anime movies and programs generated and distributed by American companies like Walt Disney and the Fox TV Network are worth an additional $2 billion. Anime is the fastest growing segment in the video and DVD rental market. Also, half of ComiCon International, the world’s largest convention for geeks and nerds, is dedicated to anime fans. Today, it seems that in order for an animated show or movie be successful it needs to be made by Pixar or by the
Japanese, or at least look like it was made by the Japanese (Avatar: The Last Air Bender, anyone?).

Anime is also enjoying a ride of critical praise wether the movie or show deserves it or not. Kind of like French films in the 60’s or 70’s, critics are afraid to criticize Anime productions for fear of being marked as someone not possessing the mental capacity to understand deep art. For every Cowboy Beebop (which is great) there is a Dragon Ball Z (which is terrible). (I am sorry but the show is nothing but screaming and fisticuffs. There isn’t any story or characterization, and why is it that when they turn into super-sayans they turn into blond-haired, blue eyed Nazis?)

I hope as Anime rises in popularity that we will receive great animated movies and shows like Akira, Macross, and Battle Angel Alita. I hope we get shows and movies that tell great stories and present great characters. Most of all, I hope we get shows and movies that don’t star characters that just yell into a moving vaccuum of neon lights when they’re exicted, confusing the viewer into believing that the show is “good”.

On Tuesday, January 20, 2009, I sat and watched the presidential inauguration parade in hopes of feeling some swell of emotion. I waited and waited and nothing happened. I voted for Barack Obama. Maybe I already had my tearful emotional moment on Election Day. I sat in a bar half-drunk and cried out all of my emotions as I witnessed history pass before my very eyes. Maybe it was that the parade was soul crushingly boring (that was most likely the real reason why I couldn’t give a damn). Maybe I was too worried about the massive job our new president has to work through and that he might possibly fail. The economy is spiraling down and it feels like we are heading towards another depression. Also in the modern world we can’t just pick up, move west and “Grapes of Wrath” ourselves into new orange picking jobs. Foreign affairs don’t look great either. Between the Israelis and Al Queda, the Middle East is starting to look like the beginning of “Akira” where Tokyo is destroyed in a giant nuclear explosion. So with all these thoughts swarming in my head, I sat and watched CNN and I worried out of my mind.

I just wished that we lived in a world where the president’s biggest problems would be…vampires. You heard me, vampires. There was one president whose problems were vampires, robotic chess pieces, a living smiley face, and a musket-toting band of white trash radicals called the Minute Men. That president was the comic book character Prez Rickard, the first teenage president of the United States.

Prez was created by veteran comics creator, Joe Simon, in 1973 with art by Jerry Grandenett. This was the very Joe Simon that collaborated with Jack “The King” Kirby in the 1940’s and gave us Captain America. By 1973, Joe Simon was already pushing 60 years of age. It was unknown if he simply lost his mind when he created Prez, but I guess you just don’t write comics for that long without eventually coming up with something that is bat-shit insane.

The story of the first teen president started in the sleepy small town of Steadfast. A baby was born and proclaimed to be the president one day, so his mother named him Prez. He was born a blond-haired, middle class white kid, so his chances were pretty good, actually. As Prez grew up he became interested in three things: drag racing, clocks, and, oh yeah, politics. He became the head of his town’s local drag racing club, and tooled around in his pussy wagon, The Lollipop. Even though he was a teenager with a badass convertible he was concerned with the looming problems of his hometown. The town of Steadfast was blessed and cursed by its clocks. Every building had its own clock; each one unique and different from the last. The only problem was that no two clocks gave the same time and apparently everybody in Steadfast had a very low IQ and had no idea how to fix it – everybody except Prez. He wanted to fix the clocks because if all the clocks are wrong how will anyone know it was Election Day? While Prez got to work figuring out why the rest of the world functioned on Greenwich Mean Time (GMT), Congress passed a law that made it legal for 18-year olds to vote and allowing 21-year olds to hold all public office. Apparently, they just couldn’t justify that 18-year olds could be drafted to war but were not given rights as adults. Teenagers everywhere hoped they would be allowed to drink at 18, but instead, they got the right to vote.

Prez would soon shoot to notoriety as he rode a wave of fame from fixing all those F’n clocks. This caught the attention of Mayor of Central City, Boss Smiley. I’m sure this wasn’t the same Central City of the famous Crimson Speedster because that would actually be cool. Boss Smiley (who looked like a deformed happy face on a regular human body) was a politician who was unpopular with the youth vote and hungered for more power. He needed a young, hip candidate that he could manipulate – he needed Prez. Prez went along with it because of his own desire to hold office – he wanted to be a Senator. Of what state, you say? Joe Simon didn’t have time for such a tiny detail; he was focused on the big picture – the big picture of getting another paycheck from DC.

Boss Smiley had the dream of placing Prez in the White House and decided that the best thing to do was to knock down an entire mid-western forest to build a highway to Steadfast. People would want to visit the town that the next president came from, after all. Boss Smiley and Prez oversaw the construction until it was halted by a band of wild animals. Wild animals like elephants, gorillas, and zebras that, apparently, schlepped their way from Africa at the behest of a Native American stereotype of a character named, Eagle Free. What could be more hip in 1973 than Indians – how about Indians that could talk to animals?

Eagle Free kidnapped Prez with the aid of a gorilla and told him that he once studied at a university but now prefers to live with the animals – “as my ancestors lived… with nature!” He insisted that Boss Smiley was corrupt and offered to prove it. Free lived in a cave (a cave with books and a science lab), but Prez still called him a “savage” because, I assume, he’s more than a little racist. In spite of having been verbally insulted by a bigoted politician that was about to plow down the forest home of his woodland friends, he befriended Prez and trained him in the ways of the forest.

With the aid of Eagle Free, Prez turned on Boss Smiley and won the Senate and then ran for the Presidency on the New Flower Party ticket and won. Eagle Free has been made FBI Chief and stood in the Oval Office, still dressed like a member of the Village People, and a shadowy figure who had been made the Vice President. At this point Joe Simon decided to go meta and Eagle Free turned to Prez and told him that they were in a comic book. Prez then looked the reader in the face and said, “Just Call me Prez…” I guess that the reader is then supposed lose his/her shit, but there was most likely a lot of head scratching going on. The most amazing thing was that it was all one issue. If it were written now, by say, Brain Michael Bendis, this would have been a twelve-issue arch.

In the second issue, Prez would take a world tour and then fight off costumed chess players from the Soviet Union who deploy robot chess-pieces to destroy various landmarks around Washington DC. In issue three he would be attacked by musket welding white trash mercenaries lead by the great-great-great-great-great-grand-nephew of George Washington. In another issue, after opening diplomatic relations with a country bordering Transylvania, Prez was stalked by a legless vampire on wheels through the halls of the White House (which is just fuckinbrilliant!). Even though Prez came through in all of these adventures in office he only lasted four issues and was sacked for years until a fifth issue was eventually published in DC’s Cancelled Comics Cavalcade #2, a title that features material originally intended for series that were abruptly cancelled during the DC downsizing – often referred to as the DC Implosion. Prez would have disappeared into comic book obscurity if it weren’t for a critically acclaimed British guy.

In issue #54 of the Sandman, Neil Gaiman brought back Prez and retold his origin in a story titled The Golden Boy. All the segments were there, the clocks, Boss Smiley and even Eagle Free appears in a panel, but the tone was different. The story took on a mythic stance with sweeping tones of melancholy and infinite sadness. This was how I found out about Prez; while reading Sandman. It became my favorite story of the entire series for some strange reason. Proving that there aren’t any bad characters, only bad writers (Except the knock off Captain Marvel put out by M.F. Enterprises. That was a shitty character.). It was a story of an America we could all be proud of. Of a leader we all wished we had. Of a leader we all hope Obama could be.

Obama is now our president (for reals now) and with the state the nation is in, I believe that all Americans want him to succeed; whether they voted for him or not. I think he just might save the country, but I still think he would benefit from being able to speak to animals and fend off vampires.

The beginning of the “End Times” will be marked by the boiling of the seas and the raining of blood from the sky. Could it happen this Year? Maybe. It almost happened to me this past “New Year’s Eve” due to how much I had to drink. Apocalypse or not, though, I know that Geekscape will live on; and somehow because of that fact, everything doesn’t seem as bad – regardless of any horrible, apocalyptic outcome. In this History of the Nerd I want to celebrate the true inspiration behind Geekscape, the rock which all else revolves around. Jonathan London? Nope. Ben Dunny? Keep trying. Brian Gilmore? Please, get fuckin’ serious. The person I am speaking of is none other than Jean-Claude Van Damme.

 

 

Child Hood – From Flower Shops to Karate Chops.

On October 1960, Eliana Van Vaerenbergh’s water broke and a hero arrived into world – a hero destined to change the face of action entertainment. He was born Jean Claude Camille François Van Vaerenberg. Young Jean Claude’s lived a rather simple life in Berchem-Sainte-Agathe, a small municipality just outside of Brussels Belgium. His father, Eugène Van Vaerenbergh, was an accountant and the owner of a flower shop. Strangely enough growing up in a flower shop didn’t make him very manly.

Van Damme stated that he “grew up sadly as a skinny kid. Wearing big, thick, glasses and was very much a nerd.” A timid, shy and scared little kid that loved Beethoven way too much, Jean Claude couldn’t kick a ball, let alone someone’s balls. Eugène feared his son was too weak and that he might grow up “funny”, so he enrolled Jean Claude into Shotokan Karate at the age of 10 in 1971. Jean-Claude’s evolution from nerdy, crying, sad sack to an iron fist that could crush a skull in the palm of its hand should be an inspiration to us all. Hope is not lost for you out there, so stop all the book-wormy shit and take some karate and one day you too could get some ass, and also (if you want to) kick some ass as well.

At the age of 12, Jean Claude studied under the famed pioneer of European karate – Master Claude Goetz. Goetz trained Jean Claude for four years before he was allowed into a tournament. Four years of blood and sweat. Four years of honing his body into a fine instrument of physical mayhem. Four years and then…he almost got his shit handed to him.

Fighting Career – Everybody was Kung Fu fighting.

Jean-Claude’s fight debut was in 1976, Jean Claude was 16. The entire thing was a near failure. During an event sanctioned by the European Karate Union (EKU) in Brussels, Jean was badly stunned at the beginning of the match. Fellow countryman Toon Van Oostrum threw a crushing round-house kick and sent Jean Claude staggering about the ring. Jean Claude, the White Tiger of the West, came back to finish off Oostrum in less than 46 seconds. Maybe he even did that comeback scream he does in all his movies. Knockouts were not allowed for the match, so Oostrum eventually couldn’t take Van Damme’s heat and ended up quitting. The result was listed as “stoppage 0:46”. Even though Jean Claude won, his teacher and coach, Claude Goetz, thought he needed more training before allowing him to re-enter the ring – so Jean-Claude was forced to take ballet.

He would go on to study ballet for five years. He became so proficient in prancing, that he would be dubbed “The Balloon” for his high jumps. He was invited to join the Paris Opera as a dancer but he declined, favoring bashing people’s noses in with his bare fist. Male ballet dancers do, however, get a bad rap. I know men in tights look a little silly, but have you really looked at those dudes? They have legs like medieval cudgels and bodies toned to peak human conditions. They look like they could shatter every bone in a man’s body without even trying. Also just look at their sack! Try and tell me that bulge doesn’t look a little intimidating…but I digress.

Two years later, Jean Claude returned to the world of European Full-Contact Fighting. At this point, nobody was talking shit about his long-ass name or his ballet dancing. In Antwerp, Belgium he entered in his first EKU tournament in the Beginner’s Division. The two years of training gained the now 18 year old Jean Claude more confidence and skill, (also, all that ballet taught him how to do those awesome splits he’s always doing) allowing him to lay waste to his victims. That night he had 3 victories, an 18 second knockout over German-born, Eric “Basel” Strauss, a 39 second stoppage over Michel Juvillier, and a 12 second stoppage of Orlando Lang. These are 3 names nobody knows anything about and will never hear of again. They are just happy to have had their asses Van Dammed, so they can now be a footnote in history.

Over the course of his fighting career he would only be beaten once. In November, 1979 Master Goetz took his prize pupil to the United States to compete in the WAKO (World All-Styles Kickboxing Organization) World Full-Contact Championships in Tampa, Florida. Jean Claude was doing well. He defeated ‘Sherman ‘Big Train’ Bergman’ with a perfectly timed ax-kick and knocked Big Train out cold within 59 seconds of the first round. With a spinning back-fist he knocked out South American Gilberto Diaz in 13 seconds. Then, in the semi-finals, a fellow Belgian, Patrick Teugels, defeated Jean Claude in a 2-round decision. Perhaps it was over-confidence on Jean Claude’s part, perhaps he choked in the face of success; but even though he lost this match, Jean-Claude would go on to redeem himself.

In 1980 he was offered a minor role in a French film, Rue Barbare (Barbarian Streets). He played a police officer. This taste of fame and fortune without being pummeled by a steroid injected 300lb gorilla was too tempting to pass up. Jean Claude Camille François Van Varenberg re-focused his interest from karate to acting. In an October 1991 interview with Philippe Graton, author of Van Damme: An Anatomy of Determination, Jean-Claude was quoted as saying, “I wanted to be a star, making people dream…whereas competition is taking hits all your life, getting your brain crushed, and often ending in misery.” But before he would try to make people dream, he wanted another stab at Patrick Teugels.

A rematch was scheduled and “The Muscles From Brussels” would have his vengeance. The bell rang and Varenberg came out attacking like a wild animal. His aggressive flurry of punches and kicks overwhelmed Teugels and ended the match in just under 2 minutes. Right after the victory, Jean Claude retired from competition with an overall record of 18 wins to 1 loss.

 

 

Acting Career – Making People Dream…of DEATH!!!

Van Varenberg decided to use the stage name Van Damme and set off on his journey to Hollywood. His first stop on the “Hollywood or Bust” bus was Hong Kong. I guess he didn’t realize there were already tons of Chinese people there who could do a jump kick. He worked briefly as a model without any real success. In 1981, his next stop would actually be Hollywood, but not the “lights, camera, action” one, more like the “30 minutes or it’s free” one. Jean Claude got his start as pizza delivery guy, carpet layer, and limo driver. Getting into Hollywood was, and is, harder that most people think. Even if you are physically toned, handsome, and able to do a 360-degree round-house kick – you still have to speak English. Van Damme learned this crucial skill set by studying a beloved children’s show. No, not Sesame Street (like everyone else) but The Flintstones (which actually kind of explains a few things).

Jean Claude landed a non-speaking role in the seminal movie Breakin as a passerby who stops to watch a dance sequence. Too bad he couldn’t bring back his nickname “The Balloon” in that sequence by doing some dance moves – but one can dream. His first actual role that involved him doing shit was a small part in the movie Monaco Forever. In the credits his role was titled, “Gay Karate Man” so you know where this story is going to go. “Gay Karate Man” drove a Jaguar and picked up some hitchhikers. He, being gay and incapable of not hitting on any and every person who has a penis, makes a pass at the hitchhikers. The hitchhikers got offended and challenged the “Gay Karate Man” to a fight because hate crimes are ok if the victim is gay. They get out of the car and “Gay Karate Man” did an amazing array of high kicks and scared off the hitchhikers. The audience then laughs and laughs at the absurdity of the situation. Gay guys doing man-things are so funny.

His earlier trip to Hong Kong wasn’t a total wash. He made some contacts there that later paid off. Hong Kong director Corey Yuen Kwai came to America to do the 1985 film No Retreat, No Surrender; a movie so bad it goes back to awesome. In the movie, he played the “Bad Guy” that cheats and ultimately loses the final battle. Sorry, spoiler warning!

 

 

Jean Claude even got to play the alien bounty hunter in the 1987 Arnold Shwarzenegger movie, Predator, – until he got fired. Jean-Claude could leap and kick but he is actually kind of short. He was replaced by Kevin P. Hall, who towered at 7 feet and 2 1/2 inches.

Jean Claude spotted a producer for Cannon Pictures one day while he was out walking. He accosted the producer and showed of some martial arts moves. If he did this today he would have been arrested, but instead this lead to a starring role in the badass movie Bloodsport. The movie portrayed the possibly, maybe, almost true story of Frank Dux. Supposedly the only American to win an underground fighting tournament called, “Kumite.” The film, when completed, was so bad that the studio shelved it for almost two years. Van Damme begged and pleaded for the producers to release the film, he even recut the movie himself. They finally released the movie first in Malaysia and France and then to the U.S. Considering that the movie was shot with only a 1.5 million dollar budget and it made 30 million world wide, it was actually a relatively profitable little film – even though it didn’t break the box office. More importantly, it became a cult classic, loved by kung fu nerds, geeks who want to be manlier, and douchey assholes.

 

 

Bloodsport was the launching point for Jean Claude Van Damme to do ever larger and bigger-budgeted roles. He starred in Cyborg in 1989, Lionheart in 1990, Double Impact in 1991, Universal Solider in 1992 (my personal favorite guilty pleasure), and Timecop in 1994. Timecop made over 100 million dollars worldwide even though it is completely unwatchable. He was dancing on the top of the world and stated, “I am the Fred Astaire of karate.” Proving that even though people may have questioned his fighting ability, nobody ever questioned the size of his ego.

 

Hero to Zero –Real Stars Do Cocaine.

After his 1995 movie Sudden Death, Van Damme plummeted at the box-office. Every one of his movies after 1995 did progressively worse. From Maximum Risk to Double Team (I know that title sounds a little porny) they all served to shoot his career right down the commode. So naturally he turned to cocaine. Rumors of infidelity and drug abuse served to at least keep him in the news. It was during this period of his life that he nearly kicked Steven Seagal’s ass.

Jean Claude and Steven Segal were both attending a party thrown by Sylvester Stallone. It was at Stallone’s Miami home and the date was 1997. Steven Seagal was also an action star of many three-syllable titled movies such as Hard to Kill, Marked for Death, and Under Siege. He was also notoriously known as a casting couch predator, braggart, and all-around dick. Seagal repeatedly remarked that he could kick Van Damme’s ass. Stallone was quoted by Contactmusic as saying, “At a party in my home in Miami in 1997, Van Damme was tired of Seagal claiming he could kick his ass so he offered Seagal outside into my back yard,”

“Seagal made his excuses and left. But Van Damme, who was berserk, tracked him down at a nightclub and offered him out again,” he added. A fight never occurred, but Stallone thought that if such a fight had a happened Seagal would have gotten F’d in the A.

“Van Damme was too strong. Seagal wanted none of it,” Stallone said.

 

 

Rebirt of Van Dammage – The White Tiger Rises Again

In 1998, Van Damme realized that it was time to stop the drugs and get control over his life once again. With the help his family he finally stopped chasing the dragon and returned as the White Tiger to film the movie, Knock Off. It tanked at the theaters. He would spend the rest of the 90’s relegated to the straight-to-video ghetto.

 

By 2003, something changed and Jean Claude tried to steer his career back on track, or at least turn it into something less embarrassing. He began to get better roles that pushed and challenged his acting abilities while still delivering the fast-paced action that made him famous in the first place. The films he did became grittier and more compelling – such as In Hell, Wake of Death and Until Death. Even though they did not do very well, they at least had the critical praise of not being as bad as Street Fighter.

 

 

Now, in 2008 with the release of JCVD, Van Damme is enjoying not only a return to his previous status, but getting real universal critical success. JCVD is a surprisingly emotional drama, comedy, and biopic in which Jean Claude plays himself – sort of. The less said about the film the better, but one of the stand out moments of the film is a unflinching 6 minute sequence in which Van Damme displays a side never seen before. The scene is a close up on Van Damme as he confesses to all his sins as an actor and a person. The camera never cuts. “It’s not my fault if I was cut out to be a star. I asked for it. I asked for it, really believed in it, when you’re 13 you believe in your dream. Well, it came true for me. But I still ask myself today what have I done on this earth?” Tears run down his face, as he yells, “Nothing. I’ve done nothing.”

 

 

Jean-Claude Van Damme had been a karate champion and an action star. Now it seems, after nearly 28 years, he finally became what he set out to do when he was only a child – Jean Claude Van Damme became an actor, making people dream.

 

 

Hong S. Che is a round-faced Asian guy who has the tendency to say offensive jokes – especially when he is drunk.

 

Christmas time had come and gone again; a time where we should all put aside all of our grudges and remind ourselves how lame Chanukah is. I mean if Chanukah is a real holiday, then why are no Chanukah holiday specials done in awesome seventies stop-motion? That’s because Rankin/Bass productions never did a special about Chanukah and if Rankin/Bass doesn’t do a special, then your holiday just doesn’t count (sorry “rest of the world”!). For the sake of the little baby Jesus they even did a Halloween special and that’s not even an internationally recognized holiday. For those of you who are too young to remember Rankin/Bass you should go into a Hot Topic or comic book shop and take a good look at those ironic action figures of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Those action figures came from holiday specials that were made in the land before time, in the long, long ago, in the 1960’s. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town, they were all created by Rankin/Bass; the production company that did more holiday specials than anyone else. In fact if there weren’t a Rankin/Bass (and maybe Jesus) there wouldn’t be a Christmas or at least it would be lamer. (Note: To any body of Jewish faith, I only said the above comments about Chanukah in jest. In no way do I believe Chanukah is not a real holiday in fact I love most things about Judaism. I love the history, I love the food, I love your women, I love your comedians, and I especially love you.)

Arthur Rankin, Jr. was born in to a family of actors that never achieved any real fame. They would get close enough to get an aphrodisiacal whiff of success and then turn around and call it a day. His grandfather was Harry Davenport who played Dr. Mead in Gone With The Wind and his father performed in a large number of films in roles such as “Photographer”, “Reporter”, and “Loco, the Halfwit “. Arthur Ranking, Jr. would break the curse in his family by becoming a graphic designer in 1948 for the fledgling television studio, ABC. He pulled himself up by the bootstraps and worked his way up to Art Director. Eventually he got bored with being creative and just wanted to make a shit load of money so he gradually broke into advertising. Rankin left ABC in 1952 to start his own company. Through the hazy fog of his cigar smoke he noticed a young mail clerk that delivered materials to his studio. This young, supple, bendable, and possibly body-hairless boy would later become his partner, Jules Bass. (I’m sure their partnership wasn’t a gay as I’m implying but it’s nice to think that behind every boardroom there are gay shenanigans going on.) Rankin says, “Our intention was to combine his advertising know-how with my television and artistic know-how.” They formed their union, and know-how, in 1960 by starting Videocraft International.

 

 

Videocraft’s first project was an independent series based on the public domain character Pinocchio. This was done using a fairly new idea for television cartoons called stop motion. Of course, stop motion was used for many years in movies as a special effect to bring creatures like King Kong to life, but Rankin/Bass needed to spruce it up for television, so they called it “Animagic”. In 1964 they would produce their major crowning achievement that could finally make Christmas something special to people who lived their lives watching television. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer aired on December 6, 1964 on NBC and was sponsored by General Electric. The Rudolph song by Johnny Marks was expanded to include characters, actual stories and my personal favorite, the Island of Misfit Toys. The Island of Misfit Toys is an island concentration camp where unwanted toys that are born with defects, or maybe Down syndrome, are sent to spend their lives in miserable isolation. All of these wonderful family lessons are the reason that it’s still shown today, making it the longest running Christmas TV special today.

 

 

Videocraft would go on to produce many Christmas-themed specials such as Frosty the Snowman and The Little Drummer Boy. By 1971 they dropped the Videocraft name in favor of their byline proving that you don’t need a decent name if you have a gigantic ego. I mean Rankin/Bass sounds like either a reggae funk band or an award winning fish. The team of Rankin and Bass would continue for thirty-five years. They even produced the popular Saturday cartoon, Thundercats in 1985. This was a show that combined the outright ripping off of Star Wars and Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats.

 

 

Well, all good things must come to an end (just like this article), and so did the partnership of Rankin/Bass. Maybe there was an argument about the lack of sex or flirting outside of the relationship (I’m really holding onto this concept, don’t judge me!), but after 1999 Rankin/Bass was dissolved. Jules Bass would go on to write a best selling children’s book, Herb, the Vegetarian Dragon. This was the first children’s book to actively explore the moral issues of vegetarianism and made children who liked hamburgers feel overly guilty about eating them. Arthur Rankin Jr. split his time between doing that and being in New York City, where the company still has its offices, and where he sits hoping for something to magically happen – just like one of their holiday specials.

 

There are a lot of Nazi movies this year. Valkyrie, Dead Snow, The Reader, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, Defiance, Miracle at St. Anna – this list goes on and on. I have to wonder, what do the Germans feel about this? I wonder if it’s somewhere along the lines of, “Hey, we gave you more than the holocaust. We make great beer, cars, and industrial music so could you just drop the, ‘we killed 6 million Jews thing?’ We get it, we were assholes once, lets move on.” We Americans just can’t seem to drop it. In fact, we always find a ways to tell the Germans that they were assholes. Take the videogame industry for example. It seems that almost every first person shooter has your sights locked on a pointy-helmeted, red-arm-banded, kraut eater. Normally Germany just assumes the position and “takes it,” but there have been occasions where Germany gets pissed off. And there is nothing scarier than a pissed off Germany (Well, except pissed off Muslims). This was the case with the game Wolfenstein 3D.

The original Castle Wolfenstein was created in 1982 and published by Muse Software. It had the eye-popping visuals like blocks and people that looked like…blocks. But it was the first game to incorporate the WWII theme and adult oriented content. Since then, the video game industry continues to return to the well repeatedly as if they were crazy bitches at a wedding dress sale.

Castle Wolfenstein inspired id Software to create their own Nazi themed video game in 1992, and by inspired I mean steal. Id Software’s game was to be called Wolfenstien 3D.

Ok, they didn’t really steal because Muse Software went under in 1987 and they went and obtained permission to use the Wolfenstein name. It just would have been more fun if they did steal. What they did do was create a game that was high octane, heart pumping action because the actually figured out how to make it play fast. Before Wolfenstein 3D, games like Ultima Underworld needed fairly high-end hardware to play at a decent render rate. What programmer John Carmack would do was to sacrifice some of the graphical elements, like ceilings or floor height changes and lighting for performance. This allowed lower end systems to run the game allowing and even larger audience to leave a German youth in a pool of digital blood. Where John and id Software would run into trouble in Germany was the use of the Swastika and the use of the Nazi Party anthem, Horst-Wessel-Lied, as the theme music.

The use of Nazi imagery and music was, and still is, strictly regulated in Germany. To violate these regulations is a federal offense. In 1994 the PC version of the game was confiscated following a verdict by the Amtsgericht München on January 25, 1994. Just imagine German police officers coming into a person’s business or home and talking away property seems like history repeating itself. I wonder if they asked for “papers” when they did it. The Atari Jaguar release was the next to be confiscated following a verdict by the Amtsgericht Berlin Tiergarten on December 7, 1994. This was less of a blow than the court thought it would be because there were only two people in the whole of Germany that actually bought an Atari Jaguar. Nintendo smelling what was blowing downwind decided to modify the SNES version to not include any Swastikas or Nazi references. They didn’t stop there, then went in and neutered the game as much as they possibly could so that no one would ever be offended or have any fun. Blood was replaced with sweat (which is actually more disturbing to me.) to make it less violent and mutant rats replaced all the attack dogs. There was a complaint by animal-rights activist so the dogs had to go. They said it was immoral for a game to require a player to kill dogs, never mind that you are gunning down people and that mutant rats have feelings too.

Needless to say the SNES versions did not sell as well as the PC version.

Of course all the controversy did nothing to stop the fire that is “violence and offensiveness in videogames” – it fueled it. Kids are always going to want to play the game or listen to the music or wear the clothes that their parents don’t want them to. In fact id Software’s next game was Doom, a game where the player is sent to Hell. I’m sure Germany and Germans would like the world to get over WWII already, but for us Americans it was the last “good” war. America today seems less like a “city on a hill” – a beacon of freedom and democracy – and more like a spoiled child with too much money and power. The rest of the world hates us and we know it. So why wouldn’t we want to return to a time where things were simple: Americans were heroes and Nazis were villains.

 

The architects of our pop culture universe are leaving us behind. They are dying off, and it is something that truly saddens me. There is a myth of sorts called “The Rule of Three”. No, not the comedic Rule of Three that’s a principle in English writing that states that things that are listed in threes are inherently funnier. This ones not so funny. Well, sometimes it can be .No, this Rule of Three dictates celebrities must always die in groups of three. Last week was Forest J. Ackerman; this week was sadly the pin up goddess, Bettie Page. Who’s going to be the next? It better not be Stan Lee. Now Spike Lee I could live with. (I didn’t like Summer of Sam very much; and I didn’t even see Bamboozled) I looked up Wikipedia to see what they had for Bettie and it said this: “Bettie Page (April 22, 1923) was a former American model who became famous in the 1950s for her fetish modeling and pin-up photos. She was also one of the earliest Playmates of the Month for Playboy magazine. While she faded into obscurity in the 1960s after converting to Christianity and serving as a Baptist missionary in Angola, she experienced a resurgence of popularity in the 1980s and had a significant cult following. Her look, including her jet black hair and trademark bangs, has influenced many artists.” It sounded so sterile; I even read it out loud. It’s such a bland piece of text for someone who so alerted my sexual awakening and preference. Before I discovered Bettie Page there was no one. To this day I could fall for an overly tattooed, rockabilly girl with emotional problems quiet easily. And those girls owe everything to Bettie.

Bettie Page died on December 11, 2008. She was a model, but more importantly she defined the modern idea of a pinup. A friend’s father who came of age in the 50s said that back then every guy knew who she was, and no woman knew anything about her. Back then it was virtually unheard of for someone who looked like her to do bondage and striptease stag films, which then would have been considered pornography. Today she  is much more than a model or Playboy Playmate or some hot girl with a riding crop (Name five Playboy Playmates from the last ten years – yeah, that’s what I thought); she is the very symbol of 1950s sex appeal. Then she faded from the spotlight for 30 years. Rumors spread about her disappearance. She took off with a rich sheik. She was murdered by the mob. She’s fighting crime while traveling across the country with her sidekicks, Elvis and Howard Hughes. In truth she tried her hand the domesticated married life which was a miserable failure. She would try it four times before calling it quits.

 

Truth is, Bettie was scared away from modeling, particularly the bondage style modelling, due to being called to testify in the the Kefauver Hearings of the Senate Subcommittee on Juvenile Delinquency, after a young man apparently died during a session of bondage which was rumored to be inspired by Page. (These same hearing would also nearly destroy the comic book industry) Aftert this Bettie became born again Christian, not knowing she had helped begin the sexual revolution of the 60’s (and idea Bettie scoffed at, saying she had less sex than ever during her modeling days) Two movies have been made about her glory days, The Notorious Bettie Page and Dark Angel. Not bad for someone whose last modeling session was nearly 50 years ago. Both movies steered clear of some of the more scandalous aspects of her life, like the fact that Bettie had once gone insane once and tried to kill her landlady because “God told her too.” Because of this, she was insitutionlized for 8 years and totally missed out on the whole Bettie Page revival. 

The funny thing was that she almost never knew that she was a cultural icon if it wasn’t for two comic book artist. She was living a simple, quite life in a group home in Los Angeles in her late 50s completely oblivious to her cult status for the photos she took when she was younger. Greg Theakston, inker of choice to Jack Kirby, started a fanzine called, The Betty Pages. The publication recounted Bettie’s life, especially the camera club days. The magazine stoked the media fire-storm and made Bettie Page a cult figure. Dave Stevens created the comic book The Rocketeer and based the female love interest on Bettie. He discovered that she was still alive and tracked her down. Dave met up with Bettie and took her over to a Tower Records (That’s gone too, damn!) and showed her what the legacy that her photos began. Her image glossed the covers of magazines, lunch boxes and t-shirts. Women wanted to be her and men still wanted to do her. The most important thing that came to her mind was, why the fuck was she not getting paid for all of this? Dave, who became her friend, assisted her personally and helped her gain financial compensation from her work. In her final years, Bettie finally started to see some money from all the merch with her face and body on it. If only she could get a dollar for every woman who sports a Bettie Page hairdo. She’d have more mony than Bill Gates.

On December 6, 2008 Bettie Page was struck down by a massive heart attack. She was hospitalized and slipped into a coma. She was on continuous life support until she died five days later. Bettie has left this world but she will forever be remembered with a riding crop in hand, winking at the camera, and she will continue to break young hearts until the end of time.

 

The first geek ever died last week on December 4, 2008 at the age of 92. His name was Forest J. Ackerman, and he started geek culture as we know it. People may be shocked to find that there was actually a beginning to modern geekdom, but it’s true that there was. There will also be an end, by the way, because we just aren’t fucking and producing children at the same rates as those jock assholes. Time never stops for anyone; Ackerman’s death is a reminder of that. Time will march on and one day, you’ll be talking to someone who had never heard of Boris Karlof or Thundercats or Forest J. Ackerman, and you will want to choke the shit out of that person. Time always leads to forgetfulness and oblivion. Today we look back at the life that had been an inspiration to such creators as Ray Bradbury, Ray Harryhousen, Stephen King, and unfortunately L. Ron Hubbard. Today we fight the passage of time by remembering Forest.

Forest was born on November 24, 1916. But he was truly born (no, not by allowing Jesus into his heart) but when he saw his first “imagi-movie” in 1922, One Glorious Day. Everybody reading this remembers their first time experiencing Star Wars – and wasn’t that really the day you were first truly alive? One Glorious Day was his Star Wars. Okay, if Star Wars was around in 1922, Star Wars would be his Star Wars, but you get the point.

A still from One Glorious Day. The actual plot is just as exciting as this photo, meaning not very.	The premiere issue of Amazing Stories.

The other moment of his young life that pushed him over the edge and into the geek abyss was the moment he bought his first science fiction magazine, Amazing Stories, in 1926. Three years later, in 1929 he had his first letter published in Science Wonder Quarterly. That same year he entered into a contest held by the San Francisco Chronicle and won with his story about a voyage to Mars. People apparently were only allowed to write science fiction stories about Mars back then. Also, in 1929, he founded The Boys’ Scientifiction Club; which sounds like the geeky Little Rascals. He even mastered the made up language of Esperanto (Nerd Fact: In 1965 William Shatner stared in the Movie Incubus, the second movie to be performed entirely in Esperanto) – he was that nerdy.

Ackerman joined up with a few friends and started the first fan magazine to be solely dedicated to science fiction, the Time Traveler, and a chapter of the Science Fiction Society in 1932. They would meet at Clifton’s Cafeteria in downtown L.A., though they couldn’t afford to eat there. Just like teenagers hanging out at coffee shops today, some things never change. This would become the now legendary Clifton’s Cafeteria Science Fiction Club. Forest placed a flyer for his science fiction club in an L.A. bookstore. The person who would show up because of that flyer was a teenage Ray Bradbury. Ackerman would be the first to publish Bradbury in their group’s fan publication, Imagination! in 1938. He even loaned Bradbury the $90 to start his own publication Futuria Fantasia, in 1939. This would be a running fixture of their relationship where Bradbury would need money and Forest would gladly let Ray mooch off of him. We’ve all had friends like that, but maybe one day they will become a sci-fi God and one day pay you back, if only we hope hard enough.

Ray Bradbury, Ray Harryhausen and Forest J. Ackerman.

In conjunction with the New York World’s Fair, the first ever World Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon) was held in the Caravan Hall in New York from July 2 to July 4, 1939. Nerds and Geeks from all over the country converged on the Big Apple like they do on San Diego today. The theme of the convention was “The World Of Tomorrow” a phrase everyone had to yell out in an overly dramatic tone. Forest would show up in costume. His girlfriend at the time, Myrtle R. Douglas, designed and sewed the costumes, one for Forest and one for herself. This was the first time anyone did such a thing. From all those Klingons and Trekkies, to the underage hotties in anime gear, right down to the guy who made his unwilling girlfriend dress up like Emma Frost just so he could wear his Cyclops costume and accidentally pop a boner in it owes it all to this one moment.

The first cosplayer. You would totally do him.	At the first Worldcon fans took time away from “The World Of Tomorrow” to visit Coney Island: Front: Mark Reinsberg, Jack Agnew, Ross Rocklynne Top: V. Kidwell, Robert A. Madle, Erle Korshak, Ray Bradbury.

He walked the streets of New York and young boys would point and yell, “Buck Rodgers!” or “Flash Gordon!” or “Loser!” (That last one was just a joke, this was actually cool back then). In a 1996 interview with Ed Grant of the New York City cable access show Media Funhouse, he recounted a moment with a nearby Esperanto convention, “”They had an Esperanto convention, the artificial language, which I know…So I was in this futuristic costume and I went up and explained in Esperanto that I was a time traveler from the future.” Even in those early days of conventions there are some traditions that existed then as they do today – namely how fuckin’ expensive food was and is. In a convention of 165 attendees Ackerman recalled, “We had a banquet so expensive that only 29 of us could afford it… I couldn’t even afford to lend the money to Ray Bradbury, ‘cause it was one dollar a plate. Of course no food, you understand, just a dollar for a plate.”

Some things never change. The $11.00 pizza at Comic-Con, at least the box is free with purchase

He coined the term “sci-fi” in 1954 while listening to the radio, “My wife and I were listening to the radio, and when someone said ‘hi-fi’ the word ‘sci-fi’ suddenly hit me,” Ackerman said in a Times interview in 1982. “If my interest had been soap operas, I guess it would have been ‘cry-fi,’ or James Bond, ‘spy-fi.”

Throughout the course of his career, he: published over 50 stories, became a literary agent to Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, A.E. Van Vogt, H.L. Gold, Ray Cummings, Hugo Gernsback and (again, unfortunately) fuckin’ L. Ron Hubbard (no offense to any Scientologists out there, his books just sucked), created Vampirella. After all this, he would forever be remembered for his magazine, Famous Monsters of Filmland. The magazine used photos from his own collection and featured the behind-the-scenes special effects creators and stop motion geniuses of the time. In his magazine he was nick named “Uncle Forry,” Famous Monsters of Filmland, though riddled with silly puns like “The Printed Weird” and “Fang Mail”, inspired a whole generation of film creators the likes of Peter Jackson, Steven Spielberg, Tim Burton, Stephen King, and countless other writers, directors, artists and craftsmen.

Through the 1980’s up until about 2002 he opened the doors to the “Ackermansion”. The “Ackermansion” was a museum of his own personal collection of sci-fi and horror memorabilia. It contained over 50,000 books, thousands of science-fiction magazines, and most notably Bela Lugosi’s cape from the 1931 film “Dracula.” Uncle Forry opened his doors every Saturday and gave a tour for anyone who wanted one. An exuberant man, even at his old age, he would retell stories about the golden age of science fiction history. “My wife used to say, ‘How can you let strangers into our home?’ But what’s the point of having a collection like this if you can’t let people enjoy it?” he said to the Associated Press as he did an enthusastic tour of his home.

 

As I stated before, Uncle Forry, Mr. Science Fiction, Dr. Acula, died December 4, 2008. He died surrounded by friends and spent his last few days tying the loose ends of his life. The following is a quote from www.time.com: “It would be nice to look forward to going to a Great Sci-Fi Convention in the Sky when I expire,” he wrote. “I am vaguely contemplating opting for a cryogenic comeback, but in case I don’t become a human people-cicle, I, like Isaac Asimov and other thinkers I admire, don’t expect to wake up in some spirit realm of an afterlife. I’ve been a secular humanist since I was 15, long before the term was invented, and nothing since has changed my mind.” I wouldn’t sully his beliefs by saying that he is in a better place because he didn’t believe in such a thing; he will, however, live on in our hearts well into the world of tomorrow.

She is an ambassador to the world of men. She is a hero to all and a representative of her entire gender. She is often seen giving grain to poor African children. No, she is not Angelina Jolie. She is Wonder Woman. Angelina only thinks she’s Wonder Woman. With all the talk about Beyonce wanting to lasso the role of the Amazon goddess, (which will happen over my cold, dead, and sexually-violated body and it’s not because she’s black, it’s cause she sucks) I thought it would be the prefect time to look back at the smut-coated past of the character’s origin. Hint, hint, there is a lot of kinky sex involved.

In 1941, Elmer’s Pet Rabbit was released marking the second appearance of Bugs Bunny, aviator Charles Lindberg testified before the U.S. Congress and recommended that the United States negotiate a neutrality pact with Adolf Hitler, and Dr. William Moulton Marston, under the pseudonym Charles Moulton, began writing comics. William Moulton Marston was, even by the standards of today, a renaissance man of the highest degree. He was a psychologist that possessed a law degree, a Ph.D, and even later became the inventor of the Polygraph or “Lie Detector”. Why was someone of his stature interested in writing funny books, a medium that was considered to be suited only for children and people of low mental capacity? Well, he believed that if children read comic books, then why not use comics as a delivery system for something constructive. The constructive message he wanted to preach, however, was women’s superiority. Oh, and how to properly tie a girl up and spank her ass. Some would call him a pervert. Christians of today want to take his personal right to marry away. I would call him a hero and an inspiration.

Marston was into some pretty kinky sex. He was married to Elizabeth Holloway and had a live-in lover and assistant, Olive Byrne – and he wasn’t even Mormon. They cohabitated in a polyamorous relationship that, I believe, must have led to some pretty sick-awesome orgies. To spice it up even more they were also into domination and submissive role-play. In Marston’s first book, Emotions of Normal People, he reported on a study he conducted with Olive Byrne in a chapter titled “Love”. There was a sorority ritual at Jackson College called the “Baby Party” where freshmen girls were forced to dress in baby costumes and were tied up, blindfolded and “prodded” with sticks. When the girls resisted they would be wrestled with. This, of course, would be forever known as “The Hottest Scientific Study Ever!”

All of the odd parts of Marston’s life would come together to form the actual foundation of Wonder Woman’s character. Marston’s view of women being angels without faults sent down from on high (and that men are violent, antisocial, murdering beasts) would convince him to make Diana Prince an Amazon. His invention, the Polygraph, would become her golden lasso. His relationship with Elizabeth and Olive would cause him to cobble their respective personalities together to make Diana’s. Oh and his obsession with bondage would have Wonder Woman bent over and paddled over and over and over again. Not to put too fine a point on it, but in those early days her ass was as red and swollen as a Washington Apple and continued to be so for the better part of the 40s.

The bondage issue did not go over the heads of the people of the 1940s. If anyone took a glance into some of those early issues, they

What do comics fans think about first when they think about Captain Marvel? I think they fall into one of two camps. The first thinks about Billy Batson, a child radio reporter and chosen champion for the forces of good by the Wizard Shazam. When Billy yells the magic word “Shazam” he turns into a superhero in a red unitard and has a giant bulging man sack. This basically turns him into a gayer version of Superman (lets face it, he is.) The other camp thinks of Marvel Comic’s alien military officer, Captain Mar-Vell of the Kree Imperial Militia, who chills in deep space banging the hot and lusciously stacked Una. I would like to introduce a third option today, a third option that will be forever locked in the consciousness of everyone’s thoughts, much like a retired veteran’s mind is forever haunted by the spectre of unspeakable horrors. Yes, this Captain Marvel is that lame. The Captain Marvel I am talking about is an alien android that has the amazing and nauseating ability to fling his flailing limbs at his enemies, and then forget shit. Most of his story lines consist of him blacking out and losing his memory.

The original Captain Marvel was created by Fawcett Comics in 1940 and first appeared in Wiz Comics #2. This was the one with the bulge and out right ripped off Superman. Captain Marvel, the Big Red Cheese, even outsold Superman and became the most popular superhero in the 1940s. This pissed off the publishers of Superman, National Comics (which would later become the DC Comics we know today). National filed suit against Fawcett in 1941. Even though Fawcett would win the suit, the cost of fighting National led to their eventual demise in 1952. This proved to the rest of the world that it sometimes didn’t matter if you win or lose, as long and you were richer than the other asshole. For a while, the world had to live without a Captain Marvel until 1966.

Enter Myron Fass of M.F. Enterprises. Myron Fass was originally a publisher of sleazy pulp and nudie magazines. His formula for success was gore, cheesecake, horror, shock, and opportunism, printed on whatever was the cheapest newsprint he could find. He eventually wanted to get in on the superhero fad. Myron thought that enough time had passed that no one would care if he decided to cash in on the Captain Marvel name. He even tapped the great golden age creator, Carl Burgos, to do the heavy thinking.

Carl Burgos was best known for the creation of the original Human Torch for Timely Comics (which would later become Marvel Comics). The original Human Torch was an Android in a bright red jump suit that could control and surround himself in fire. Carl had also previously created the Iron Skull, who was also an Android, for Centaur Publishing. So for the bold new direction of this improved Captain Marvel he decided to make him an Android in a red suit that was rocketed from an exploding planet. He also had a young ward named Billy Baxton (holy shit what a rip!).

Carl’s creative method always started with an Android, a red skin-tight suit and by blatantly ripping off something more famous and “good”. To give him credit, though, Captain Marvel’s powers are so creative that they go off the map and land right on insane.

Captain Marvel yells the magic word “Split” and his arms and legs fall off of his torso. When he yells out the word “Xam” all of his body parts magically reattach. Hmmm… “Split”… “Xam”… “Split/Xam”… “Shazam?” In addition to his abilities to make people throw up at the sight of him, he could also shoot lasers from his eyes, deflect bullets, discharge electric shocks from his body, and had some kind of ill-defined telepathy. These powers come from a medallion made out of a magical element called simply “X”. So, naturally, it has an “M” on it.

The most remarkable thing about M.F. Enterprises was the ballsy lack of fear of getting sued. Not only was Captain Marvel a total illegal rip off, but he may have been more original than some of the other characters that graced the pages of his book. In issues number three and four the Cap fights a villain called The Bat. The Bat looked like someone bought a bootleg Batman costume somewhere in Tijuana. DC Comics threatened to sue and they eventually changed the name to The Ray (because that made sense). He also fought Plasticman. Not the Quality Comics Plasticman, but yet another blatant rip off. The lack of imagination didn’t stop there. There was also a Dr. Fate, Elongated Man (Plasticman renamed), Atom Jaw (who rips off Iron Jaw from James Bond), Tinyman (who rips off The Atom), Dr. Doom, and the Destroyer. M.F. Enterprises even ripped off Archie Comics with their Hendry Comics line.

M.F. Enterprises would publish five issues of Captain Marvel before canceling the title and lasting only a year from 1966 to 1967. Maybe they were getting sued three ways till Sunday. Maybe they realized they were terrible at producing comics kids wanted to read. Or maybe, just maybe, they finally grew a heart and realized that stealing was wrong.

Nah. On second thought, it was probably because of all the legal action. By 1967 Timely Comics had been renamed Marvel Comics. Martian Goodman thought to himself, “hey, maybe we should have a Captain Marvel since we’re named Marvel…hmm.” Goodman ordered Stan “The Man” Lee to create one and the Kree warrior was born, putting the final nail in the lamest Captain Marvel’s coffin for good.

The first time for everything is always the best: the first time you eat a hot cinnamon roll from Cinnabon, the first time you have sex with someone you definitely, maybe actually like a little, and then there is the first time you watch Dexter. I already knew about the show before I popped my Dexter cherry, but I wasn’t really excited about the premise. A forensic scientist that is secretly a serial killer just sounded too damn gimmicky. Then someone told me, “No, no, you have it all wrong see, he’s a killer of other killers.” I then wanted to see it even less. Of course I finally got around to seeing it on DVD and immediately got hooked – just like everyone else. I was like a drug addict sucking at a cow’s teat in the hopes that actual blow would squirt out. I devoured the first season, and when I got to the final climax I thought, “How the hell are they going to top that?” And then in season two they did. For season two, the format of the show was deconstructed and reassembled. Season two felt like being in a box that got slowly smaller and smaller until before you knew it all the oxygen was depleted. It was claustrophobic and intense. And now after what seems like a long hiatus, America’s favorite serial killer is back for season three. I just sat through a marathon of third season episodes, and I was pretty much left with that “It’s Okay…” kind of feeling. I was underwhelmed. What happened, Dexter?

Season one allowed you to get to know the characters, and also gave television audiences a familiar format of singular episodic stories per episode, but still with an overall season arc. Who is Dexter going to kill this week and will the Miami police department ever catch the notorious Ice Truck Killer? This gave it a digestible feeling and the overriding sensation that the story was headed in some sort of a direction. Season two blew all of that out of the water by placing Dexter himself as the role of the mouse instead of the cat. A new serial killer is found with an even larger body count, and that killer is Dexter himself. Each episode ended with an increasingly bigger “oh shit” moment. Season three, however, started with the “oh shit” moment – that of Dexter getting his longtime girlfriend Rita pregnant. This of course isn’t very “oh shit” it’s more “gosh damn.” You heard me. It’s as if the writing staff just watched Superman Returns and said “Oh, that’s fuckin’ brilliant. Let’s give Dexter a kid! If it works for Superman it will work for Dexter!” – Sadly, it didn’t work for Superman

This third season seems to have Dexter wrestling with the idea of growing as a man and settling down with a family and making new friends, which is about as exciting as it sounds. I’m not saying it’s bad, it just not as fun as the show was before. If you are a fan of the Star Wars prequels, (someone’s gotta be, who else bought all those DVD’s?) you may be happy to know that Jimmy Smits is a recurring guest star this season. Unfortunately, he’s not playing Senator Bail Organa, but he gets about the same amount of stuff to do. Which is to say “not a hell of a lot”. He mostly sits on the beach with Dexter as they try to get to know each other and talk about their feelings. I’m sure by the end of the season Dexter will either get to know Jimmy Smits very, very well, either by bending him over and taking him down to brown town, or he’ll just kill him. I’m going to vote for the latter. I guess that’s the problem with this season; you know exactly where it’s going.

For the first two seasons, Dexter was a really great show that you just surrendered to as it took you by the hair and ran. This season feels like visiting the same neighborhood again. It’s still fun and better than most shows on right now but it was a step lower that the rush of last season. Many great TV shows do go through their awkward period, much like Lost did in Season three. And I hope that, like Lost, season four will blow my head off. Of course the season isn’t over yet, and they may still have some surprises in the end. I guess.

Still, there is certainly a lot to admire about this show, and I’ll continue to check it out and recommend others to check it out as well. But it’s sadly possible that the days of needing to know exactly what happens before the next episode is even out, wanting to talk to your friends about what you think the next outcome will be, and then betting on what conflict is going to get resolved (and in which way) are gone. With this really solid, but relatively underwhelming, story this season, are Dexter’s best days behind it? When we all thought “how can they possibly top this?!” after season two, it seems that, so far this season, the answer is “they can’t”. The writers of Dexter might just be human after all.

There has always been a place in my heart for the massive book emporium in Long Beach, CA known as Acres of Books. Ray Bradbury (author of The Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451 among countles others) loved the place, and spent much of his boyhood here. Acres of Books was immortalized in his essay I Sing The Bookstore Electric. Yes, It’s a bad word play on his own work, I Sing The Body Electric, but what are you going to do? The man is old. In his essay he said about Acres that “it is a watering hole, a grand place to prowl on rainy days to open books never seen before and probably never to be seen again, as the rain chatters on the high tin roofs, and you get that old wondrous time-spell feeling of hoping that when you turn the next stack, you’ll meet a lion with a pride of hunters soon behind… I go to Acres of Books, as I go to Paris, or Rome, or London, or to New York, to be lost.” Acres had served many famous clientele over the seventy-four years of its life, namely Jack Vance, Upton Sinclair, Stan Freberg, Gary Owens, James Hilton, Greg Bear, Tim Powers, Thurston Moore, Mike Watt, Paul Schrader, Fran Lebowitz, Robert Easton Ellis, Eli Wallach, and Diane Keaton. But It was always Ray Bradbury that was in love with the place more than anyone else .

My birthday had just passed, and in my alcohol induced gray-out coma I had the sudden urge to buy some used books. Was it Ray whispering to me in my dreams? Who knows? Mainly I wanted to find a cheap copy of Richard Bachman’s AKA Stephen King’s The Long Walk and Vincent King’s Candyman. If you grew up near Long Beach, CA and were more than a little bit nerdy like I was (am), then there really was only one destination to satisfy that literary hunger, and that was Acres of Books. I’ve read in an article in the Los Angeles Times that described the store as such: “Acres of Books is not so much a store but a barn, shoved to the rafters with books” and this is very much the truth. The place is old, dusty and completely without air-conditioning. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like you could stumble upon that book from The Never Ending Story. It’s that magical.

Acres of Books closed its doors for the last time Saturday, October 18th 2008. I know that all good things must come to an end, but why did it have to be this good thing? I write this feeling like someone just broke up with me, which is silly, I know. But what I should feel is like someone died.

Why is Acres of Books so important to the likes of Bradbury and to myself? Maybe because the very walls of the place were radiating with the pulsing energy of history. Bertrand Smith, founder and all-around book-lover, actually started Acres in 1927 in Cincinnati, Ohio. He moved the operation to Long Beach, CA in 1934 with a storefront on Pacific Ave (I suppose if I’d lived in Ohio I would have moved as well). Acres of Books found its final resting place in 1960 on Long Beach Blvd. In 1990, it was designated a cultural heritage landmark by the City of Long Beach. The same City of Long Beach that then bought the place and had since then murdered it to eventually put up a shitty strip mall. The Smith family owned the legendary store up until its final death rattle. They made a valiant effort fighting off developers for years, but times were changing and you just can’t fight off The Man forever. Many bookstores that were actual chains had already fallen in the wake of today’s current temperament of internet boutique and mega-bookstores/coffee shops. Walden Books? Dead. Crown Books? Dead. B. Dalton? Dead, dead, dead. Pretty soon, the only way to find bound text is going to be to print the pages and tan the leather your own damn self. The City plans to build a retail mall, student housing and a public art center. Knowing how Long Beach city government half-asses everything, they are probably just going to stop at “retail mall”, simply because they suck. The Smith family finally sold the 12,500 square foot piece of land for 2.8 million dollars. I can hardly blame them; it’s hard in today’s climate for the little guy.

 

I showed up last Saturday to pay my respects, buy some books and say goodbye. I thought all the bargain seekers would already have picked the carcass down to the bone and left days before. I was very wrong and had to park three blocks away due to the amount of last day traffic. Upon entering I was struck with the pleasant aroma of yellowing paper that permeates every atom in the store. I had always made the joke that Acres of Books’ demise would probably be a lit match. The entire place is comprised of paper and wood. Wood desk to wood shelves stacked to the ceiling. I have no Idea how they passed the fire codes for all these years. People of all walks of life, from old to young, from hot to not so hot, they all wandered through the store, zombie-like, with eyes squinted as they scanned the shelves for hidden treasure. The walls breathed with warmth and sweat, as the collective body heat from everyone in the store elevated the air temperature to near sauna-like levels. I had hoped to get a word in with the workers and owners, but they were busy doing what they had always done; taking care of the customers. I wanted my last experience here to allow me to savor the memories I had, so I did what I always did when I came here – I jumped in on the treasure hunt.

Even though half of their expansive inventory was already sold to the previous months of vultures, there was still much to go through. I headed to the sci-fi section first, of course. As I scanned the shelves, I noticed that an entire collection of L. Ron Hubbard’s science fiction novels were sitting on the shelf, as still and untouched as the ashed ruins of Pompeii. I muttered out loud to no one in particular, “I guess they just couldn’t move the L. Rons”. A kind looking old lady turned to me and got so close that I could see the pores in her wrinkled face, “I got them all at home. They are so great and he’s so controversial.”

She picked up one of the books. The cover had an airbrushed painting of a really attractive, red-headed, female space pilot that wore her skin-tight suit in a way that suggested that she would perform coitis with just about anyone (maybe me?). “Oh, I don’t have this one. I wouldn’t have this one; she’s too attractive to me!” she said with a giggle. I looked at her and thought, “funny, you don’t really look insane”. I told her that I am not a fan because I just can’t believe that people get depressed because spaceships that look like Golden DC10’s dropped aliens into our primordial volcanoes, and then the spirits of those aliens inhabit our bodies (Google L. Ron Hubbard + Scientology if you don’t know what I’m talking about, or live in a cave). She gives me a look and a shrug that said “what can you do?” and left. It’s these encounters with the kooky old book-loving eccentrics that Amazon.com can never give you.

During the two hour-long book hunt I saw people ripping apart the shelves with hammers. That was when I realized that some of the shelves were actually made of antique fruit crates that were stacked and hammered together. They looked rather old, with those forties-style labels that made the bold statement that eating this particular brand of orange was the way to a better life. Little toe-headed children ran up and down the aisles collecting rusted nails.

I collected a few books that day. And on my way out I saw the whole reason I showed up in the first place; It was an “if you build it, they will come” moment. There, stapled to one of the shelves, was an old yellowing photograph of Kentucky Fried Chicken’s Colonel Sanders. I knew I had to get it at any cost. I inquired about the photo and they told me to take it down and go to the register. Anything they wanted to charge me was okay by me I went to the register and bought my books and they gave me the photo for free. I expressed how sad I was about the store being shut down, and the guys said at least I’d have the Colonel as a keepsake. I left the store. The day was already getting darker and I felt a deep pang in my heart. This was the last time I would ever enter Acres of Books and with that, I said goodbye.

As for Ray Bradbury, he got to visit the old bookstore one last time. This quote is from a video of his last visit:

“Right now there are no bookstores in downtown L.A. That’s terrible. That’s stupid isn’t it?…There’s no really big bookstore. Pickwick used to be there. It was a very important bookstore…bookstores should be the center of our life. There’s no bookstores in Venice, California right now. There’s no bookstore in Ocean Park. There’s no bookstores in Beverly Hills! All those stupid people wandering around, looking for ideas. That is such a dumb place. That is why I’m here…This is my home. There are ten million books here and other bookstores have a couple of thousand, and they don’t smell the same. An old book smells like Egyptian incense. It’s great and it’s wonderful.”

 

See Ray Bradbury’s last visit to Acres of Books http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kD3IeBqRc0w

 

When I got the assignment to review The Rebel, the new import action movie by distributors Dragon Dynasty, I admit I slightly winced at the distributor’s name. I thought to myself, “What… is Panda Express Films already taken?” The Rebel is another movie that certainly has Asian people jump kicking one another, but this time, they’re Vietnamese.

I, myself of Chinese/Vietnamese descent, decided it would be nice to watch the movie with my family. After all, they speak Vietnamese and they also enjoy watching a guy jump kicking another guy, as all of us Asians must, by law. During the course of this exercise, I would realize that everyone involved in this production has an American first name, I’d learn the answer to “what ever happened to Dustin Tri Nguyen?” (from TV’s 21 Jump Street ) and also that an extended member of my family once owned slaves.

The Rebel is set in 1922 during the French Colonial ruling of Vietnam. This may come at a surprise to most people that the French had anything to do with Vietnam at all, but it is historically accurate, and it is also the reason why baguettes from Vietnamese sandwich shops are so damn good. The film begins with a group of Vietnamese elite agents charged with quelling the rebel terrorists, laying down the exposition as I just did. This is all important to the story, but I can’t say that I wasn’t ticking off the time until we could see some ass kicking. I didn’t need to worry because in a matter of moments, everybody was kung fu fighting, and those cats were fast as lightning.

Le Van Cuong (Johnny Tri Nguyen) is an agent with a perfect track record, who during an asassination attempt on a French official, had to kill a young boy. This of course leads him to rethink his life of violence that he is oh so good at. During the attack, Le and his partner Sy (Dustin Tri Nguyen) captures Vo Thanh Thuy (pop star Veronica Ngo) who is the daughter of the rebel leaders. The killing of the young boy haunts Le and he decided to help free Vo ( or maybe he only did it for the poon tang ) Her patriotic spirt of fighting for their people’s freedom from his former employers inspires him to become a freedom fighter, and causes him to have deep feelings for her as well. This is mostly because she is pretty hot. If she wasn’t they problably would have just remained good friends. They become fugitives, all the while being tracked by his former friend Sy who knows they will lead him to her father and leader of the resistance.

This plot sounds familier to you? It should, I think this movie is made every three minutes all over Asia. There is a scene where Le and Vo are trapped in an iron mine that is manned by slave workers. The workers starving, dehydraded and dressed in nothing but rags, fall over only to be whipped by the cruel foreman. This is when my mom piped up and said a distant Aunt of mine was married to a Frenchman who owned an iron mine. I paused the DVD turned to my mother and asked in horror, “Did she owned slaves?” My mother replied, “Oh yes, people would kidnap children and sell them to the mines. The movie got the suffering right.” I did find out that our family hates her at least and this made me feel better.

The Rebel is a fun action movie and it does try at having some substance. There were a few leaps in logic left even my mom going, “Huh?” ( and mind you, this is a lady that belives monkey gods are real ) The action is heart pounding and as thrilling as you would want in a martial arts film, though by the end it does get a bit repeditive. I haven’t heard that Vietnam was a hot bed of artisic cinema, so I expected the film to look like my family home movies ( and not just because there are lots of asian people in it ) but to my surprise and delight the film was really quite beautiful. There are some really painterly composed shots that you rarely see in these action movies.

Director Charlie Nguyen did an astounding job keeping the camera interesting by using light and color (gotta wonder if Charlie knows that his first name is a racial slur for Vietnamese people ).  In the final analysis, If you like these kinds of martial arts movies, then The Rebel is worth trying out.

The Rebel is available now on DVD from Dragon Dynasty

If you were anything like me and spent most of your high school years all gothy, cloaked in black velvet and generally depressed all the time, then you need no introduction to Lou Reed. But for those of you who spent your high school years happy and getting laid instead of getting high and not getting laid, then here’s what you need to know: Lou Reed was the first of what you would call indie rock today. He sang the songs that made you feel like he really understood just how shitty your life was.

Lou Reed started his career as the singer-song writer of the legendary band The Velvet Underground. The Velvet Underground had very little success in their day, but their songs of bondage, transvestites and open obsession with drugs made them one of the most influential in later years. The are the type of band that current loser bands you hate pretend to like so they could cite them as a inspiration to get some indie rock cred. Lou Reed started a solo career in 1971 and he had his biggest hit with Walk On The Wild Side, which was a song about transsexuals, male prostitutes and blowjobs. All of this is to say that Lou Reed is a bad ass. Berlin is the new concert documentary by director Julian Schnabel who recently directed The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. It’s also the title of Lou Reed’s third solo album.

When Berlin was originally released it was a commercial and critical failure. The critics and fans alike were expecting something more like his last album Transformer, which was an upbeat glam-rock classic. What they got was Berlin, a rock opera about a woman named Caroline and her lover, who were addicted to drugs and spiraled down to the depths of depression. Lou shelved Berlin, and for over thirty-three years he never performed it live. Apparently, staging Berlin was talked about for thirty or so years until it finally became a reality in December 2006.

The story within Berlin is almost a tragic play unfolding through a sea of music and honestly crafted words. In the movie they bring the emotions through as simply as possible. Lou Reed is on stage with his guitar in hand; he sways and croons into a mic as the Brooklyn Youth Chorus elevate the audio beauty to a higher consciousness. Julian Schnabel inter-cuts the concert footage with footage of Caroline played by Emmanuelle Seigner; and the effect is spectral and haunting. Lou Reed, unlike many aging rock stars, still manages to sound like he did when he was young. Which is not say too much, because he always sang like an old man speaking open word poetry during bingo night at the church. The familiarity of it though takes me back to a younger version of myself.

Lou sings Caroline Says I and I’m back, listening to it again for the first time, while laying my head on my first girlfriend’s lap. It was a moment of perfection for only the duration of the song. You see the old man he is now on stage, but what comes out is still the musician you knew. He perhaps even sounds better, as the rearrangement of some of the songs just breath new life into something heard over and over before. If you feel the same way as I do about Lou Reed, then Berlin is something to be enjoyed by yourself in the dark, in your room, when you need to feel something. If you don’t know Lou Reed, you may appreciate the music but I fear that you just won’t feel the earth move beneath your feet.