MONDOmagazine

Answering reader mail is so gay, it’s retarded.

By Sam Linton

This week, against my better judgment, I’ll be doing something a little different in Lexipoeia: responding to reader mail. Now as a near omniscient voice of authority in the Lifestyle section (and, frankly, in most aspects of life), I like to believe that I have all the answers. Nevertheless, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I have all the questions. Thus, it sometimes falls to me to have you, the readers, tell me what to weigh in on, as in this little gem of a letter I received recently:

Dear Sam “Lexipoeia” Linton,

What is your position on the use of currently re-popularized terms “retarded” and “gay”? My own position is that using the terms is immature and obnoxious. However, I find the terms far more offensive when they are used to prop up old stereotypes — i.e. “Tommy doesn’t play hockey? That’s totally gay,” or, “Catherine failed physics, what a retard.”

How do you feel about the re-popularization of these terms?

Thanks,

Completely Anonymous Reader

Obviously, my first impulse was to fire back a response along the lines of “Hey there ‘friend,’ do see the words ‘write-in’ anywhere on the masthead of this column? If I wanted reader input, I’d ask for it, okay?” Then maybe I’d have the MONDOgoons teach our anonymous reader a little chin music, just to smarten him or her up. (Yes, I’m not afraid to send goons to beat up dames. I’m hardcore that way!) I mean, really, the audacity! Telling ME what to write in MY column?! And that thing with the name of this column as my nickname in quotations? That’s WAY too overly familiar, Completely Anonymous Reader. Over the line. I don’t let just anyone start dropping nicknames on me, okay?

So anyways, after I’d cooled off, done some tai chi, and punched a hole through my drywall (the UNMITIGATED GALL of this person!), I had to admit, the anonymous bastard had a point. This IS, after all, a legitimate area of lexicographical inquiry. So where do I and, by extension, the MONDO Lifestyle section, stand on it?

Conditionally, and independent of their use in stereotype reinforcement (which is a different kettle of fish, as it involves more the content of what the words are expressing than the words themselves being used to express said content), I am pro-”retarded” and anti-”gay” (but not, you know, “anti-gay.” The Lifestyle section supports ALL lifestyles, just like the Beastie Boys). This is not an arbitrary choice, however. As with every decision I have ever made, it is linguistically sound.

What makes the pejorative use of the term “retarded” more acceptable than the same use of “gay”? On the surface, both uses seem to use the further marginalization of already oft-stigmatized groups as a means of mockery. Why would this be okay? As with all questions linguistic, the answer goes back to the roots of the words; in this case, how each came to be applied to each of these marginalized groups.

For the term “gay,” the way by which the word came to be associated with homosexuality was in terms of self-labelling. Traditionally, “gay” was a term reflecting happiness, and not denying their homosexual urges made these “proto-gays” happier than a life of self-flagellation ever could, ergo they adopted the term “gay” to refer to themselves as a newly liberated group. It was a term of self-congratulation. The term “retarded” though, as used to refer to those of poorer-than-average cognitive abilities, has different origins. Originating as a word to apply to anything that has had its development “held back,” retarded as a term was applied to those with sub-mean IQs in the late 19^th/early 20^th century by proto-eugenicists seeking to isolate the “genetically inferior.” In this sense, one term has been appropriated by a marginalized group to refer to themselves positively (much as the same group would later re-appropriate “queer”), while the other has been imposed on a previously ignored group for the specific purpose of marginalizing it, making each term quite a different kettle of fish.

So why does this make “retarded” the more acceptable term, in a pejorative sense? Simply put, it started out that way. “Retarded” was never used in anything but a negative way, first to label ideas or concepts, then to label those thought deserving of stigmatization by implying that their intellectual development had been hindered, or “retarded,” leaving them in a child-like state. (Linguistic side note: this same process may have helped give the term “cretin” its current negative connotation. Originally, it derived from the French term for “Christian,” implying that, while this person may seem stupid to you, you are both equal in the eyes of the Lord, so watch your mouth, buddy! Later, it got completely turned around.) The term “gay,” on the other hand, is self-applied, and to give it a negative spin is to attempt to completely re-connotate the meaning of the term, to shift the meaning from “something that makes one happy” to “something that effeminizes and/or weakens.” UNACCEPTABLE! To say that an idea or concept (but NOT, as I noted in the intro to this Lexipoeia, a person) is “retarded” is actually to take the term back to its original meaning, which is to say “not fully developed.” And really, is that not the essence of any stupid idea? That it hasn’t been fully thought out? Lots of potentially great ideas are actually stupid, simply because of a neglected detail in the thought process. Is it not right to say that these ideas are “retarded,” in the sense that their development has been impeded by a cruel reality unwilling to acknowledge their potential awesomeness? This is different from pejoratively calling something “gay,” because to do THAT not only completely divorces the word (gay) from its ORIGINAL context, but serves only to stigmatize a group by associating them with a perceivedly negative thing.

To sum up: derogatorily saying something is “retarded” is fine, because it’s actually, in a sense, taking back the original meaning of the term. Derogatorily saying something is “gay” is not fine, as it actively seeks to stigmatize gay culture. Good? Good. Hopefully, this has answered Completely Anonymous Reader’s question, and (s)he will never feel the need to bother me again.

So until next time, remember: it’s a living language, let’s keep it that way.

Just don’t start bothering me about it.

[Do YOU have a linguistic inquiry that needs addressing? Send your letters to "Lexipoeia," c/o Samlinton@MONDOmagazine.net! –ed.]

Hey, pregnant women: lighten up! It’s a birth, not a funeral.

By Shannyn Kornelsen

I am the first person in the world to confess that the sight of a glowing pregnant woman causes my heart to flutter uncontrollably. This response is quadrupled if she happens to be beautiful, healthy-looking, and — particularly — happy.

The happy pregnant woman is a sight to be seen. I hope that if ever aliens contemplate obliterating the human race, the radiant pregnant woman is the first human they ever see. Out of aesthetic appeal alone, they would spare our sorry asses.

I have tried to consider whether my attraction to pregnant women is at all related to my Catholic guilt which has, since childhood, followed me around annoyingly like toilet paper stuck to a shoe. Perhaps I was conditioned to find images of the pregnant Virgin Mary as the very definition of beauty, though her robin’s egg blue robe does nothing for me now. I know I definitely did the Mary head-scarf thing after many a bath as a child, but that was usually for jokes. Usually.

Upon intense consultation with both loved and mostly loved ones, I am pleased to report that an almost painful obsession with beautiful pregnant ladies is, at least as far as I can tell, a rather common affliction.

There is something so humbling about the human frame complete with a perfectly rounded belly. They are so perfect, they almost look unreal, as if pregnant women strap on a manufactured foam belly just for the fun of it and the baby actually grows in their ear. The belly practically begs for attention in all forms, from smiles across the street, to rubbing it as though each and every pregnant woman were a walking Buddha. I have startled myself  (and others) with my involuntary responses to pregnant women. This includes staring to the point of awkwardness, which luckily for me, is usually written off as simply feeling my own “maternal desires.” I have even been given the eyebrow raise/shoulder shrug combo which seems to say “Don’t worry! One day this will be you!” While this can be mildly insulting as my maternal wants are about as strong as my desire to go into law enforcement, it has saved me from embarrassing moments in which have I almost responded, “No, no! I don’t want children, I just think you’re so beautiful I couldn’t walk and look at you at the same time.”

Even though love is blind, I find myself completely on one side of a rather harsh division within the realm of pregnant women. While happy pregnant women give off an aura that is almost intoxicating, unhappy pregnant women cause exactly the opposite response. When I see an unhappy pregnant woman I feel a bit like an apple that has withered in the crisper of a neglected refrigerator.

My first thought is always, of course, to empathize with the woman. Perhaps the child is an unwanted one and she has been forced into pregnancy, and everyone knows that isn’t fun. But the particular woman that stirred me to write this was married, had attended law school and was clearly quite aware of her personal and legal rights. I had the unfortunate experience of sitting next to her and her parents at a little cafe where I was reading alone, attempting, for once, to not listen in on private conversations. However, these people were too enticing to ignore. At the time I didn’t have cable, so cashing in on people’s personal lives was a close second.

The pregnant woman was well dressed, sporting a trendy empire-waisted flowered top with a pair of black capris. No heels. Reasonable. Her hair was neat, blonde, dyed. Her hands manicured but conservative. Her eyes were blue but flat. She seemed half awake, which I can understand as her parents were about as interesting as a broken can opener.

I am, to this day, 60 percent certain that the woman had not awoken that very morning to discover she was seven months pregnant. Although, had this been the case, she would be very much justified in looking as displeased with the whole situation as she did.

I looked up from my book as soon as they were seated at the table over from me. I noticed her pregnant belly and the sirens went off in my head. The first thing about her that I noted however, was that she hadn’t smiled once. Now, normally a pregnant woman is absolutely emanating warmth and love, seeing as how she is carrying actual, physical life around with her. But this woman looked unimpressed with her current status, her current dining buddies (as was I), and her life in general. I thought of the withered apple.

Her mother was trying her hardest to impress her daughter with the menu, assuring her that the quiche was a real French quiche, to ease her fears surrounding the fake French quiche impostors known to roam the city. Her daughter raised an eyebrow and looked off into the wall behind her Mother, spreading her infectious lethargy in my direction like a bad fart. While her Mother seemed to be particularly attached to the pesto pizza I was devouring in between eavesdropping, her daughter ended up ordering the quiche. I can’t remember what the Father ended up ordering, because as far as I can recall, he didn’t say more than 3 words for the duration of their visit.

The pregnant woman talked about law school and her scowl remained. I tried to defend her, I really did. I told myself her continued scowl despite a clear life of privilege must be because law school had been tough for Melanie (Yes, I named her), who had been a member of Greenpeace since she was 10 and a major supporter of ecofeminism, and that law school was just an old boys club. That had to be it, and I waited for the conversation about fighting the good fight, and growing increasingly tired. That is why my pregnant woman wasn’t smiling! She was a warrior in the resistance! I could get behind that. I waited, and it never came.

Turns out Melanie loved law school, has a lot of friends who are working in firms around the continent now. Melanie, of course, is on maternity leave, so perhaps she is depressed that she is no longer working? I almost lean across the table and ask her myself, but her Mother beats me to it. Strike Two. Turns out Melanie is perfectly content to not be working right now. “She doesn’t mind work, but time off is OK too”. Who talks like that? I still had yet to see a smile.

Maybe her parents are awful people and it breaks her spirit to see them? I don’t think that’s it. Sure they’re boring as hell, but they clearly love her and know all the details of her life. Maybe she found out the baby is a boy and she wanted a girl? Maybe her partner wants to name it Zane? Maybe she’s just sugar-lowing, having a bad hair day? That can’t be it. Even on the worst of days I can clumsily fumble through the day’s required niceties (i.e.: Yes, milk please. No thank you, I’m great. Excuse me, thanks! Oh by all means, you first! Funny weather, isn’t it?) with a smile, albeit fake and difficult, but a smile nonetheless. Because that is what you do. You might be the most miserable bugger that ever lived, but you sure want people to think you’re happy. Isn’t that what life is all about? A series of decisions made to convince people you know what the hell you’re doing and that you’re quite happy doing it?

By the time they move on to the prospects of caesarean section and her trouble deciding between five highly-qualified doctors, I am dying of disappointment, and consider putting myself out of my misery with my fork. They discuss the birth with the same passion that one uses to read a DVD Instruction Manual. It was awful. And still no smile.

I thought about spilling my water on their table accidentally. I could apologize profusely, and be so damn sweet that they would have to smile, at least out of basic human politeness. However, I watch their interactions with the server, and I can clearly see that spilling my water on their table will do nothing more than add another 25 years to this woman’s anti-depressant prescription. There is nothing more for me to do here.

Well. I hope she realizes what’s going on in her little belly there. Perhaps her parents, in their awkwardness, neglected to mention that she is in fact, carrying a mini-human under her skin right now and that just like “Baby-eats-what-Mommy-eats”, I am quite certain that “Baby-feels-what-Mommy-feels”. What’s the point in eating only organics, not smoking, drinking, or playing anything but classical music so you’re baby pops out as a healthy, mini-Mozart, if all the while your attitude and energy are guaranteeing mandatory therapy for the first 30 years of her/his life?

If you’re pregnant and you decide to keep it, best to get excited about. Paint the nursery, buy baby clothes, knit some booties, fake a smile, whatever it takes. Because after the legal termination date, unless you’re going the adoption route- you’re in it for the long haul.

Odd Nosdam
Pretty Swell Explode
Anticon, 2008

By Allana Mayer

New album Pretty Swell Explode, of remixes and remakes, has given me the temptation to call Odd Nosdam the indie-rock cousin of Girl Talk. That is, he recombines and warps, but with much more obscure material. I’m not saying it’s a truly valid comparison, but I doubt anyone would fault me for trying. Sure, the world has gone remix-crazy, but not many DJs are quite so mad-scientist about the process.

Odd Nosdam, a.k.a. David Madson, originally paired up with Why? frontman Yoni Wolf and Subtle propmaster Adam “Dose One” Drucker to not only release albums as cLOUDDEAD but found Anticon Records, now a one-stop source for white-boy hip hop, breaks, and rap-pop. While the three no longer collaborate for cLOUDDEAD, they constantly compete for publicity by releasing album after album of innovative, mould-breaking music. Odd Nosdam’s previous creations range from two-instrument experiments, drone opuses, and found sound collages. Getting a remix album out of this dude is somewhere between an admission of guilt (“I can’t help it — I like pop music”) and a patronizing handout (“For once I will obey your sad little conventions of arrangement”). I’ll take it either way.

The intense, post-apocalyptic (or “blasted”) remix of Serena-Maneesh’s “Don’t Come Down Here” caught my attention first: the doomsday beats, pitch-twisted riffs, cello, and stretched-out vocal growls turn the pensive, hypnotic original inside out. He completely rips apart Hood’s oeuvre for the tribute “(Growin’ Up in the Hood) Four Thousand Style” and reassembles it, plus offers slightly less destructive reclamations of tracks from other Anticon labelmates Alias and Thee More Shallows. I’d consider it disrespectful if he hadn’t already won me over.

Several Boards of Canada tracks also make the cut, as does a cover of “Forever Heavy” by Black Moth Super Rainbow (I call it a cover rather than a remix because he actually recreates the song, with help from Jel and Jessica Bailiff). But original track “Hollow Me” is one of the strongest cuts on the album, showing that Odd Nosdam doesn’t really need to look further for sonic fodder than his own twisted imagination.

By Eva Bowering

Ryan North staring into destiny. You are destiny.

Ryan North is the Toronto-based creator of Dinosaur Comics, one of the world’s most popular webcomics. Ryan North also co-writes “Whispered Apologies” and “Happy Dog the Happy Dog,” two other webcomics. As a computer programmer, he has created tools to help other authors of webcomics and is also well-known for his website “Every Topic in the Universe Except Chickens.” The site humourously tried to decrease vandalism on Wikipedia by attempting to focus it all on the article about chickens, because “dudes already know about chickens.” He has been kind enough to answer some of my questions.

MONDO: Who are you?

Ryan North: I am a guy who does an online comic called Dinosaur Comics, which you can read online at qwantz.com and in some papers as well! Mostly online though. It has a visual conceit, and that visual conceit is that the pictures never change. I’ve been adding dialogue to the same six panels over and over for five years now.

MONDO: What made you start Dinosaur Comics, and where did it begin?

RN: It began in Ottawa, when I was doing my undergrad degree. In the last year we got this assignment to “do something interesting with the internet,” and after a month or so my group had done nothing, so I said, “SCREW YOU GUYS,” and put up a comic I’d been working on. I’d actually wanted to do a comic for a while but was severely constrained by the fact that I couldn’t draw. I actually first came up with an idea to do a comic where the STORY never changed but the pictures did, and that would have been a cool project, but it wasn’t the one for me. (Eventually someone did pick up on the idea and put out a book called Exercises in Style exploring that). Anyway, I eventually realized that if I flipped the idea it might work, so I sat down and made eight or so comics to make sure that what I was doing was actually possible. Turns out it was!

MONDO: What inspired you to create an online comic?

RN: Basically I had access to the internet and knew a comic like mine would never find an audience in print. I also found print really constraining in terms of attracting an audience: having to go through an editor just to get the comic in a paper, and then it’s probably just a small school thing with a circulation of 10,000 maximum, compared with putting it online and having an at-least-potential audience of millions. It seemed like a pretty easy choice!

MONDO: What are some of your favorite comics, online or in print?

RN: In print, basically anything First Second has published is fantastic, especially “Robot Dreams.” They are such a good publishing company! Online I really like Kate Beaton’s comics, which are always great, as well as “A Softer World” and “Wonderella.”

GENIUSES, ALL.

MONDO: What are some of your favorite comics by other Canadians?

RN: Wow, I already mentioned A Softer World, which is made by fellow Canadians Emily Horne and Joey Comeau, and Kate Beaton’s Canadian too. I guess I should list some more comics by Americans that I like, which include “Achewood” by Chris Onstad and “Overcompensating” by Jeff Rowland. Quality stuff!

MONDO: Why do you think Dinosaur Comics differs in comparison to many other online comics?

RN: I don’t think it’s that different, actually, at least at the high level: most of us are telling jokes and chuckles in a few panels. It’s visually different since I don’t change the pictures, and I suppose in content I often go off to places that most funny-jokes comics don’t, making jokes about, you know, ethical relativism and solipsism and stuff. But I have my fair share of poo jokes too. If you are looking for poo jokes, the internet will not let you down!

MONDO: You comic is one of the most popular independent comics on the internet. Do you have any advice to those interested in starting their own online comic?

RN: Stick at it, I guess! I’ve been doing my comic for over five years, and it was only two years in where I got any more of an audience beyond, you know, me and my mom. I think if you’ve got a quality strip with regular updates, people will find it sooner or later. As long as you’ve made it free to read (and most online comics are), then all it takes is someone to find your comic, fall in love with it, and start telling their friends. Then: internet fame! It’s like regular fame, except nobody in the real world knows who you are.

The Alpha Review

By Andrew Uys

I’ve heard that trade paperbacks — a run of comic issues collected into a graphic novel — are all the rage today. But which ones are worth your time? This column aims to put the spotlight on the spectacular trades — at least according to this writer. And just for fun, we will start with the letter “A,” and each subsequent review will follow with the next letter of the alphabet. While you might object to my taste or my opinion, I hope that this column will help save you time and money when you are next buying a trade paperback, as well as effort in alphabetizing.

The Justice League stands on an invisible hill for this group portrait. Not pictured, most of the League.

J is for Justice, Vol. 1
Written by Jim Krueger and Alex Ross
Art by Doug Braithwaite and Alex Ross
DC Comics, 2006

Alex Ross doesn’t disappoint as he re-imagines the Justice League of America in this twelve-part series, now collected in three hardcovers. Considering that most of his career has been re-imagining the Justice League, he has to be good at it now.

Set in an unfixed present, this team features all of the legendary members of the JLA, along with their supporting casts, and a bushel full of villains. In Justice, the villains of the world are experiencing prophetic, apocalyptic nightmares and begin to realize that the heroes will be responsible for this foreseen future. Banding together, they seek to do the one thing that all the superheroes have never accomplished — changing the world for the better. Using their various talents and powers, the villains of the DC universe end poverty, hunger, disease, and disabilities. This is but the start of their schemes though, and as the villains become heroes to the world’s populace, they plot to defeat the Justice League. The first book builds towards the heroes’ darkest hour, while the following two volumes reveal the extent of the villains’ machinations, and the dangers that the Justice League will have to overcome to save both their allies and themselves.

This trade effortlessly blends stunning illustrations and stirring dialogue, creating the desperate feeling that builds throughout the first volume. It pushes the Justice League into their best role — defenders of Earth — as they are forced to fight for all our survival. Yet, from the beginning, there is the threat that our heroes will be responsible for the world’s inevitable destruction.

Another poignant element to the story is the villains’ promise that they can do what no hero has tried before: truly offer us a chance at a better life. Their argument is that, while the heroes of the Justice League have saved the planet many times over, they always leave the status quo unchanged. Superman could easily end hunger, or Batman solve the problem of rampant poverty in the world, but neither do —they merely rescue us from the latest crisis, and then leave us to our difficulty-fraught lives. Instead, the villains offer to really shape the world for the better — and they immediately do so. With the world’s populace turning against the Justice League, the heroes become vulnerable to team-up attacks from their foes. Starting with the disappearance of Aquaman, the JLA begins to fall to their enemies, and the first volume ends with Superman calling out for help, as he is overpowered by a hit squad of villains.

The power and fun of this story isn’t about knowing whether or not the Justice League will overcome their enemy’s plans, but rather it is in the details of how they get there and what they will have to sacrifice along the way. This is an amazing story that doesn’t require the reader to be up-to-date with the latest meta-plot twists going on in the DC Universe. Instead, it offers a fantastic take on all the classic heroes and villains that we have enjoyed over the years.

Don't judge this book by the cover. It's seriously awesome.

Drawing Words and Writing Pictures
By Jessica Abel and Matt Madden
First Second, 2008

By Miles Baker

With a month left to go of the summer, it’s not too late to start on that self-improvement project you had planned. I, for one, wanted to lose weight and get started on a new work of fiction. Others, possibly inspired by the wealth of well-done comic book adaptations, might have thought about starting their own comic book. And for the sake of someone who might one day review your work, also known as me, I’d suggest picking up Drawing Words and Writing Pictures to get you started.

There are many how-to-write-and-draw-comics books out there — not quite a dime-a-dozen, but a lot. From the ones I’ve flipped through, this is probably the best resource I’ve seen for anyone looking to create comic narratives. It looks beyond art and also focuses on the basics of good storytelling while encouraging readers to experiment.

The book is designed as if it were the textbook for a 15-week course on creating comic narratives. It begins with terminology, works it’s way through panelling, to penciling and ink brushes, all the way to photoshop and printing. As with any textbook, at the end of every chapter there are exercises to help you practice what you’ve learned. Although they generally aren’t the most imaginative, they are effective, like creating a one-page comic from this short script.

Abel and Madden draw on the finest examples of the craft to illustrate their lessons and to show how different comics can be, while having some basic things in common. The chapters on inking were in many ways some of the most interesting because they really drove home the flexibility that creators have with pen and ink. Also, Jessica Abel, a pretty fucking amazing cartoonist and her expository drawings are a real highlight.

My only real complaint about this book is it’s monstrously ugly and inappropriate cover. Beyond disliking the font choices, I have no idea why they put a superhero on the middle of the cover. This book barely touches on superhero drawing, nor are First Second books known for anything with a cape. It’s placement there seems intended to lure younger readers in with the promise of superhero action, and most of those readers will be disappointed.

However, anyone looking for a beautifully-designed source of inspiration and challenge to lay on their coffee table would do well to get this book.

Ratatat
LP3
XL, 2008

By Bryan Hopton

With Ratatat’s third LP, the cleverly titled LP3, we were told that the music would be a little less reliant on riffing. For a lot of people that was like saying, “We’re not paying attention to the electronic music world right now and feel that we’d probably sell more albums if we sounded like Justice or something.” Thankfully for us, the boys seem to have forgotten about that little misstep. Or, at least, they’ve not yet walked away from the guitars entirely.

LP3 doesn’t use the guitar to the same effect that made songs like “Seventeen Years,” “Desert Eagle,” or “Loud Pipes” instant dance floor rockers. Instead, they employ quick bursts of noodling here and there to augment the music for a few seconds at a time. That isn’t to say that the album is without its fair share of awesome riffage, it’s just that the emphasis on said riffage seems to have been pushed back to make room for a more robust sound palette. This is all well and good, but the actual songs are what make this a good album, not the new sounds they were shooting for. The boys have moved on from their party-starting earlier work and are experimenting with more of their influences.

“Mirando” picks up with a jumpy dancehall beat, a plinking banjo, and ’80s-rooted licks backed by glittery, shimmering synths. The track stands out as one of the strongest on the album, and one of the best from their entire career. “Bird Priest” is classic Ratatat: with its thudding beat and dueling guitars, it’s another of the better songs on the album. “Shempi” is more or less guaranteed to find its way into DJ sets this year. It conjures up disco, French house and the current trends in dance music with its crisp percussion, heavily processed guitar, and glitzy keyboards.

“Flynn” is a short trip into reggae or ska territory that works well within its brief playtime, while the heavily Eastern-tinged “Mi Viejo” ends long before it has a chance to really pick up. There was room for something truly grandiose and epic; instead, they just kill it off.

I’ll stop here, but I could easily detail how good I think each track is. Ratatat has risen above the limitations of their past releases to produce what is easily the best album of their career so far. For those who were fearing that they were a one-trick pony with the release of Classics, here’s your evidence to the contrary. This is easily one of the best albums I’ve heard this year.

Fuck Mask of the Phantasm, this is the real lost treasure.

By James O’Connor, Caesar Martini, and Leo K. Moncel

Snidely commented on by Doug Nayler

Here at MONDO there’s a reality that we all try to ignore. It may surprise the reader to learn, but there are deep-set truths about this webzine that we try very hard to disguise from you. We use elaborate verbiage, complex run-on sentences, and ironic commentary (just count the number of snide comments in ellipses on this site) all the time to keep you off the scent, but the truth is that MONDO is basically an 11-year-old. We may have traded in Spiceworld for the Sun 0))) and Boris In the Fishtank collaboration, or Pee Wee’s Playhouse sober for Pee Wee’s Playhouse on mushrooms, but really, we’re all just little kids wanting to play with our action figures. And I, for one, am sick of the sham. And I present to you what I’ve decided to do about it.

It really wasn’t that hard. All I had to do was ask our noble comics and film staff one simple question: “With the most realistically plausible Batman villains now exhausted between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, who do you want to see if there’s a third one?” And I’ll be damned if everyone didn’t expose themselves for me. So desperate was the response that I even have to split it into two parts, a MONDOfilm first. So, with no further ado I present you with MONDO getting dangerously close to a fan-fic site.

The Case for Tony Zucco

So, let me preface this by saying that part of what makes Nolan’s approach to these movies great is the fact that he treats the characters like actual people, with real, believable motivations. And as a result, I think he could probably bring any villain we could think of to the screen pretty easily.

That said, who would I like to see in the next movie? Tony Zucco. Which is really a way of saying I’d like to see Robin, but hear me out. One of the best parts of The Dark Knight, to me, was Scarecrow’s cameo. It showed how Gotham’s status quo was changing, with the freaks slowly taking over the underworld.

So, in the next flick, the mob’s even worse off than it was in Dark Knight. And as a result of their desperation, they’re hitting places they normally wouldn’t. Enter Tony Zucco, an up-and-comer desperate for cash and cred. It’s almost impossible for a regular mobster to survive in Gotham at this point, so he has to hit something small-time at first. Something no one’s going to notice. And hey, the circus just came into town.

One of the main pluses to this approach is that, with the freaks taking over, there’s no real limit on the villains you could drop into it. You could have a cameo from the Riddler leading a new gang, or Firefly running an arson racket, stuff like that. Not only would this approach please fans, it would move the franchise in an organic, logical direction. Plus, by centering the story on a regular mobster, you keep it grounded in reality.

-James O’Connor

The Case for Bane

The end of The Dark Knight sees Batman’s relationship with the Gotham Police Department more strained than ever, so there’s always the idea of Batman vs the GCPD. But that’s not a very specific threat for Batman to tackle. And with the death of Heath Ledger and the brilliance of his performance, it’s doubtful that they would use the Joker again in the third one, regardless of what happened to his character at the end of The Dark Knight. The idea of using Two Face again is the biggest question mark.

Director Christopher Nolan definitely prefers more realistic Bat-villains in his pictures, so that rules out characters like Clayface or Mr Freeze. Catwoman and Poison Ivy are good characters, but don’t exude a real quality of menace that Nolan seems to like. The Mad Hatter and Victor Szasz are too obscure. The Riddler would be decent, except he shares a few similarities with the Joker but lacks the psychotic terror; so there’s a danger of him being perceived as a Joker-lite.

I think the best choice for the next Batman villain is clearly Bane. Here’s an adversary that can challenge Batman mentally and physically; someone who can outplan him and someone who can definitely out-muscle him. It’s true his strength is mainly fueled by a chemical called “venom” that makes him superhumanly powerful, but that can be dialed down a little, and an exotic steroid cocktail is not so far out of the realm of possibility as to seem out of place in Christopher Nolan’s Bat-universe. [Note: Certainly not any more than Verizon-sponsored sonar... –ed.] Bane is the man who, in the comic books, used strategy to break Batman down mentally and emotionally, and then finally broke him in a very literal, physical sense by snapping his spine. I think this is clearly a character who can pull his own weight and can be an awesome presence on the silver screen.

-Caesar Martini

The Case for the Riddler

The Dark Knight has shown us just how crucial casting is. While role-related burnout has cost Bale his basic human decency and Ledger his life, the general consensus is that it was worth it for those performances. So, it is with great trepidation that I recommend that Sam Rockwell sacrifice his well being, accept the Batman curse, and play The Riddler.

If you don’t know Sam Rockwell, please have a look at Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, one of the most criminally underappreciated movies ever. Rockwell’s dark charisma and showy presence make him a clear choice for a villain. However, it’s the layers in his work that make him worthy of being a Nolan-series Batman villain. Rockwell has the ability to be slippery and nasty, yet simultaneously exude an unsettling wounded quality that’s even evident in this trailer for Choke. Now, if you question whether he’s got the gravitas for a more serious role like this, I direct you back the scene in Confessions where he meets with Hans Keeler (Batman Begins alumnus Rutger Hauer) to talk about their old work.

So, now I’ve argued for Rockwell, why the Riddler? I think Batman is most interesting when challenged by mindfucks. The insinuation with Bruce Wayne/Batman is always that he hasn’t got it all together upstairs, so the more his antagonists can attack him not just physically but psychologically, the more interesting. We need to see Batman pushed to the brink of really losing it.

What would Riddler do? It goes without saying we’re ditching the spandex and donning something a little simpler. Riddler in the new series could be less of a constructor of elaborate puzzles and riddles and more of a liar, a conman, a fraud. I think he could have a public life where he’s worked his way up to Bruce Wayne’s social echelon through charm and deception. Learning Bruce Wayne’s secret (liars always spot their own) would infuriate him as he’d found a man who had contrived the greatest lie imaginable. As we’re going to have Batman as an outcast and fugitive in the next movie, I’d like to see a villain who specializes at villainizing Batman. The Riddler could frame Batman, disgrace Wayne, and run them both through the wringer — all because he couldn’t stand that Wayne was a bigger liar than he was.

-Leo K. Moncel

Well, that’s enough post-Dark Knight Support Group exercises for one update, so tune in Monday and see if anyone actually thinks that they can take a stab at making Mr. Freeze believable. Hey, The Animated Series didn’t do too bad a job if I remember correctly…

In this issue, the crew of the Excalibur becomes an amorphous solid — with shocking results.

By Miles Baker, Isaac Mills and James O’Connor

James’ Book

Star Trek: New Frontier #5
Written by Peter David
Art by Stephen Thompson
IDW Publishing, 2008

Last week, I commented upon the fact that it can be hard to review the last issue of a miniseries. You’re missing the context of everything that’s happening, and since it’s ending, there generally isn’t enough time to re-introduce all the characters and catch you up on the plot. Now imagine that you not only hadn’t read the previous five issues, you also hadn’t read the 17 previous novels. You’d probably be pretty lost.

And it’s not like I’m completely ignorant of Trek. I’m a fan of Next Generation, and I’ve seen episodes from every series. I just had to randomly draw the comic based in the most esoteric section of Federation Space, where the only characters I might remember are still incredibly obscure.

It’s a damn shame, too. Like I said, I’ve been known to enjoy Trek, and I love Peter David. I should enjoy this issue. But I can’t, because none of it makes any sense without the proper context. But, I will say this: the plot seems to involve mirror-universe doubles, and a character the internet tells me is a descendant of Apollo. So it seems pretty awesome.

As for the art, it’s clean and engaging, and it captures the visual atmosphere of Star Trek well. Thompson’s faces actually remind me a bit of Tommy Lee Edwards, which is high praise from me. If I had one complaint, it’s something I have against every IDW book I’ve read: the art looks like a photocopy. Not being a printer, I don’t really know how to fix the problem, but it just doesn’t look professional. And that’s a shame, because a lack of professionalism cam make books like this feel a lot less like canon and a lot more like bad fan fiction.

Not sure why the guy with the glowing fists isn't taking lead on this mission.

Miles’ Book

War Heroes #1
Written by Mark Millar
Art by Tony Harris
Image Comics, 2008

Mark Millar has an eye for big-picture stories. Worlds where he gets to set the course of human history and then have his characters do bad ass things in it. Superman: Red Son was like this, The Ultimates were like this, his new Wolverine run is like this. It’s what he’s best at, and there is nothing wrong with that — I just wish he were better at characterization.

War Heroes is set in a very near/alternate future where the American people are getting sick of the war in Iraq, until a terrorist unleashes a chemical bomb in Washington. In response, the United States invades Iran (which is pretty plausible, if you ask me). Soon after, by the beginning of this book, the American people tire of this war as well, and citizens begin to dodge the new draft until the U.S. government comes up with the great idea of giving G.I.s super powers in pill form. The science behind that is smartly ignored, but now the tides begin to turn as real live drugged-up supermen begin to win the war.

This issue follows a group of young kids who are about to enter boot camp, excited about the possibility of becoming a war hero. And this would all be good, if every one of these characters weren’t such cut-outs from a million other stories. The main protagonist of this story is Calvin Pierce, whose brother is now a Purple Heart vet from his super pills, and who is very excited to give up his football dreams to join the army. I think I remember him from Full Metal Jacket.

There’s also a quick montage of people that I expect will be fleshed out in coming issues: the kid with a disability looking for respect, a tough boxing chick, a tattooed womanizer.

But the world is smartly rendered. I find the political climate to be very present in the story as something that makes you say, “Yeah, that’s how it would be.” But there are some things that bug me: for example, how the terrorists are never given a face, and how Tony Harris intentionally hides the face of the bomber in Washington. I know that may be something to be explored further in this series, but it definitely raised my eyebrows, and I kinda doubt that Millar will go there.

Isaac’s Book

Give Monkey Flash his own series. Now, please.

Super Friends #5
Written by Sholly Fisch
Art by Stewart McKenny
DC Comics, 2008

It’s nice to have a book that’s just fun — that isn’t trying to be the next great thing in the world. The guys writing Super Friends know it’s just a little thing, but they sound like they’re having a lot of fun with this.

The issue has all the humans turning into gorillas and monkeys of all sorts while the Gorillas from Gorilla City (of course) turn human. It’s all a plot of Gorilla Grodd’s to slip through his prison bars and continue to live the kind of non-threatening lifestyle all villains have in the Super Friends universe. Unfortunately he needs the Super Friends’ help when an unfortunate force field keeps Grodd from accessing the device to turn everything back to normal.

Part of me enjoys this book as just a sweet thing for the kid inside, but it does appeal to a more jaded side as well when so much that’s said inside is hilarious when taken with a slightly ironical bent.

For example, up on the Super Friends satellite, when it’s stated that everyone on earth has turned into some kind of ape, John Stewart asks “Then why hasn’t it affected us?”

Superman replies “Probably because we’re NOT on Earth.” When I read that I added the necessary background vocalization of “Stupid!” and suddenly it’s the funniest thing out there.

Bottom of the same page has Superman in a chin stroking thinking pose, while Batman is just standing there pointing up, as though he has something he’d like to share. So the expository world bubble explaining what’s going on could come from either of these two… but the fact that it’s coming from Superman and Batman is just standing there with his hand in the air is so funny.

When the Super Friends land on the planet Aquaman says, “We’re still human! Thank Neptune we didn’t turn into apes” and then proceeds to transform into the goofiest looking proboscis monkey on the planet. Thanks Aquaman.

How did I know he was supposed to be a proboscis monkey, by the way? No, I didn’t do hours of research, but Batman gives an excellent rundown of all these different monkey morphs, and it’s always good to see Batman be the one explaining everything. Maybe even especially when he’s been transformed into a gibbon.

Flash gets to do what he always does; making a whirlwind by moving at super speed — but seeing him just standing there while it’s his tail that whirls around… it’s a great visual all right.

I’m a sucker for good messages in comics (this one has got the classic “being happy with what you are”), and there are some extra activities like “Make a Super Friends Door Hanger” and one about writing as many words as you can think of with the letters in “super-speed” in a minute. It’s a good book for kids, and it’s something a parent could read to their kids for bedtime, which is always a plus.

This is an effective visual metaphor for Jess's point.

..and I have many adjectives to prove my point.

By Jess Skinner

Author’s note: With the unprecedented public approval of The Dark Knight in mind, if you wish to comment on my derision please focus your reply with your own thoughts about the film. I’m not interested in hearing about how you think I can’t write.

Possible spoilers ahead.

The Short: The Dark Knight is ugly, and depressing. It is sadistically violent but shamelessly hides that fact through editing, to milk as much high-school money as possible. It continuously refers to the concept of morality but never talks about the subject in a way that is intelligent or challenging. It’s an hour too long, bloated by endless disposable characters and red herrings.

The Long: There’s a rule in superhero movies (or at least the ones that I have seen) that I like to call “the falling paradox.” It relies heavily on audience expectation and desire. Some explication: we expect our hero to deliver justice, to prevail, and we expect our villain to fall — to inevitably, as a symbol of evil, cease to exist. There are many moments in countless action films where either hero or villain could just shoot the other in the face and be done with it, but that can’t happen. Obviously the hero cannot die, and alas although the villain can, he cannot be directly killed by the hero. So the inevitable conclusion is hand-to-hand combat (always from a great height) until said villain loses his coordination and goes pathetically tumbling to the distant ground. Splat, end of fight, no blood on hands — ours or the hero’s. After all, no one threw him off. He just fell. This was demonstrated in the climax of Batman Begins, when the titular crusader let enemy Ducard (Liam Neeson) ride a monorail car to his pavement doom. As the thing fell from its great height, Batman slyly remarked “I won’t kill you, but I don’t have to save you” and flew away.

On to The Dark Knight, which suffers horribly because it adheres to the falling paradox at all times. In plainer English, it never steps out of a PG-13 sense of morality. Batman is “good” and does exactly what the audience wants and expects of him at all times. At a key moment, he spares a villain from the falling death, apparently because doing otherwise would be immoral. Huh? What about what happened to Ducard? The scenario is pretty much the same at the end of both films, but for the sake of philosophical contrivance, Batman cannot allow himself to do…what he already did.

His new (or, old?) foe The Joker shares this flip-flopping path of logic, alternately motivated by whatever will make the best set-piece. One minute he’s robbing a bank (an admittedly strong opening sequence), the next he’s burning a pile of money. One minute he’s making a speech about how his malevolence is instinctive, anarchic, and unplanned; the next he’s orchestrating an unbelievably contrived scheme to force one boatload of people to blow up another. If he was really as psychopathic as the film sets him up to be, or if he really just wanted to “watch the world burn” as Alfred the butler puts it, why doesn’t he just blow up both fucking boats in the first place? Because he is simultaneously disordered and meticulous. Because the filmmakers are having their cake and eating it too, substituting thematic laziness for complexity. That, my friends, is a textbook definition of pretentiousness.

Everything about The Joker — his appearance, performance, dialogue — suggests that he wandered in from a far more interesting movie. He seems capable of violating our expectations (and does so at least once, to be fair), and overcoming the confines of a summer blockbuster. His interaction with the other characters, his avoidance of clichés while the rest of the film carries on as if they’re in style, makes the performance of good and evil disturbingly lopsided. It’s like an episode of Lois and Clark co-written by Rob Zombie. Heath Ledger creates the only element of The Dark Knight that is unlike all the other Batman movies. But of course, stuffed into a box by people trying to sell Happy Meals, the true potential, the haunting evil, of both character and performance only sporadically come to the surface.

In its heavy-handed plot and dialogue, The Dark Knight continuously presents itself as a morality tale. To study such a lofty topic well would require a challenging of norms and expectations, in terms of superhero mythologies. No challenge here: Batman is always good, The Joker is always bad, and Harvey Dent is good until he gets horribly mutilated (which apparently is a lot less physically painful and inhibiting than I would have guessed) and then he’s bad.

In my consideration, I’m reminded of a proverb: a full stomach likes to preach about fasting. The Dark Knight preaches about denying the appetite for expectation, but feeds it every step of the way.

Some people achieve everlasting stupidity, others have everlasting stupidity thrust upon them!

By Heather Loney

Many people grapple with the theory that there is no afterlife, that human life is finite, and that you don’t live on after you kick it. One thing they struggle with is creating a sense of immortality for themselves. Lots of folks go the good old ‘offspring/mantelpiece’ route: have kids, raise them to have their own kids, and then take a photo of yourself to be placed on the mantelpieces of succeeding generations, so young children can ask, “Who is that?” Our life fulfillment is reached when someone responds “Oh, that is great grandma Heather. She lived x number of years, worked as a _____, and died alone.” My opinion of this option? Boooorrrr-ing. Oooh, how creative we are with our procreation. Why not try doing something that we haven’t been biologically designed to do? Jeez.

In the name of ingenuity, here are some less-traditional options for achieving immortality in a finite world. You could try the “no one will ever forget this” route. In other words, before you die, do something really, really stupid. Case in point: I have a second uncle who died nearly 20 years ago, but my family still talks about him at family reunions. His memory is continually evoked in parental warnings: “Remember uncle Frank’s cat and the toaster? Do you want that to be you? No. You don’t. So quit it.”

You would think it would be better for everyone to just do something so great that no one will ever forget it, but I find that stupidity sticks on the brain longer. I’m related to someone really important, like Banting or Best. For the life of me, I can’t remember which one, or how I’m related, or exactly why they were so great. But I remember Uncle Frank. And his cat, for that matter.

It all depends how you want to be remembered. If you’re hoping for “positive remembrance,” then try to avoid carrying anything around with you that you don’t want people to know about or that could be construed as negative postmortem.

I make a point of never carrying cigarettes in my purse. Picture it: I’m toting around some cigarettes, and bam, I get hit by a car. When my parents arrive at the scene, the police officer in charge gives them my belongings. They mournfully look though my things and to their shock see a pack of cigarettes. Now for the rest of their lives, I will be the daughter who smoked. And lied. And lied about smoking.¹ This is not a good scenario.

So, there are a few options. First, I could fashion a hidden pocket on the inside of my purse that discreetly hides a single cigarette. But that would wreck the lining, so it’s not a good option. Second, I could just quit smoking. Or! I could attach a note to every pack of cigarettes that says, “so-and-so’s cigarettes.” And when I die, and my parents are going through my belongings, they’ll see the note and think, “Wow! What a good daughter, always carrying things around for her friends.” But then at the funeral they may run into so-and-so, tearfully hand him the pack and say, “Here, so-and-so, Heather would have wanted you to have these back.” And so-and-so, not being as quick on his feet as I would have preferred replies, “But I don’t smoke!” and a collective gasp is heard throughout the funeral home. This is not a good option either because I would again be the daughter who smoked. And lied. And elaborately lied about smoking. So, you see my point; just stop carrying around cigarettes in your purse. If your afterlife exists only in the minds of the people still living, it’s best not to piss them off.

¹ Dear Mum [sic] and Dad. I don’t actually smoke. This was just an example I was giving for people who do smoke. Don’t worry!

This week, the column’s title can be interpreted in a fairly literal sense.

By Ben Robinson

Bill Hicks restored my faith in Texas. George W. Bush had just been elected President and my prejudiced notions that Texas was filled with nothing but a bunch of hicks seemed to be confirmed by Bush’s Presidency. King of the Hill was mildly funny, but their main joke was that Texas is an awful place to be. Then, late one night in the summer of 2003, I came upon the website of Shecky Magazine — an internet rag for comedians, by comedians. And reading its sacred pages I found that these comedians had something in common. They were in love with Hicks. I held my nose and downloaded his album Rant in E Minor.

Rant in E Minor was the first comedy album that I listened to on a regular basis. I watched Chris Rock’s Bigger & Blacker a few times, but once you knew the jokes they lost a lot of replay enjoyment. Rant in E Minor was a rock and roll album. Not only did it have guitar riffs in it, but he played from his fucking heart. There were jokes, to be sure, but the main appeal of Rant in E Minor was the philosophy, the character, the attitude. Each listen would soak you deeper into the world of Bill Hicks. Bill Hicks died of cancer in 1994. But the world he lived in was not that different from the world we live in today. A President Bush is about to leave office, ending a long reign of terror. “What about Clinton, you sure hope it’s Clinton? I hope it’s Clinton.” Here’s how Bill Hicks views politics: “I think the puppet on the left chair suits my beliefs. I think the puppet on the right is more to my liking.” Would Bill Hicks be gay for Obama? Doubtful.

I liked Rant in E Minor so much that I got my parents to take me out and buy me a genuine Bill Hicks CD. I hadn’t bought a CD since Radiohead’s Kid A. I was kinda morally opposed to the idea. The CD I bought was Arizona Bay. At first I didn’t really like it. It wasn’t that powerful and it wasn’t that funny. “Curse the RIAA!”, I screamed, as I clawed desperately at my facial features. But the CD had been paid for and I was obliged to listen to it again. It grows on you like that green stuff grows on me when I stop showering. First there’s a small patch on my bicep and I ignore it as just some lint. Eventually my entire body is covered in it and I can’t stop loving Bill Hicks. Arizona Bay is the cranky older brother of Rant in E Minor. It is less funny, and more angry. Hicks describes how he quit smoking. He walked down the street of New York and found a dead body. “Hey look, a dead body! You know if I hadn’t quit smoking I would have just walked right past it!”

Bill Hicks’ earlier albums are Relentless and Revelations. These were made before he found out he had cancer. He talks less about injustice and more about sex. He has a character called Goat Boy, his horny alter ego. He enacts how he gets a woman to put her legs on his horns while he licks her vagina like a feed bag. This “joke” is purely shocking. I hope it got him laid. In the Sane Man video, he says he’s on the flying saucer tour, because like UFOs, he is visiting small towns. These videos and albums are initially funnier than Rant in E Minor and Arizona Bay, but they do not have the same replay value.

Sam Kinison toured with Bill Hicks before Kinison made it big. I was very pleased to hear this; I’ve seen his work on TV and loved it. When I found out he worked with Hicks, I went and downloaded the first full-length Kinison album I could find. I found one of his stadium shows, where 90% of his jokes ended in the punchline, “cocksucker”. Nonetheless, you can hear Kinison’s fury in Bill Hicks. Bill Hicks is Sam Kinision with an English degree. Instead of making the punchline, “YOU COCKSUCKER!” or, “my wife! AAAAAH AAAAAAH!”, which is kinda funny, Bill Hicks shouts something intelligent that you will want to come back and listen to again for the 15^th time.

Still, eventually I got bored of Bill Hicks. Time passed, and someone wrote a biography of him, American Scream. It is not very good. In fact, it is downright boring. All the good parts of the book I had already gleaned from the internet from various articles. The first time someone asked if they could borrow the book, I told them they could keep it.

I wish Bill Hicks was still alive today. The person I see currently holding the Bill Hicks torch is Doug Stanhope. Stanhope is still in the Relentless phase of his career, but you can hear the fire behind his words. Some people say Joe Rogan is the next Bill Hicks. (Bill Hicks is the next Lenny Bruce, by the way.) Joe Rogan is good, but I don’t think he’s quite sharp enough. Don’t get me wrong, I would cream my pants if I met Joe Rogan, but my money is on Doug Stanhope. Die, Doug, Die.