TMI

I've been asking myself whether I want to incorporate more of my personal life into this blog. For the most part so far, I've dealt with STUFF: pop culture, movies, tv, comics, etc. Occasionally I've mentioned a bit of my daily Hickmania: my son, my love for Lea, etc. But even that has been kept on a pretty surface level. Now, some of you folks know of my love for any sort of autobiographical material, and my almost compulsive drive to be self-revelatory, so I'm torn as to, as Mr. Bob Seger would say, "what to leave in, what to leave out." Over there on the right-hand column, I've posted a poll. Let me know what you think.

Nananananana, Today is My Birthday!

Happy Birthday!








I'm not getting older. I'm getting more distinguished. And also older.

What's Big and Furry and Goes On a Rampage? No, Besides Me...

Y'know, when I was a kid, I watched a ton of monster movies, especially on the weekends. Besides my beloved Sammy Terry on Friday nights, there was Baron von Wolfstein a few years later, and the incredibly eerie Creature Features, which somehow was able to scare the bejeesus out of us all with only a picture of Lon Chaney from London After Midnight and Henry Mancini's chilling theme from Experiment in Terror. Moreover, Channel 32 would pepper their Saturday and Sunday line-ups with various movie shows like Screaming Yellow Theater, Sci-Fi Theater, and others. It was during those years that I grew to love Godzilla, Rodan, Mothra and the rest of the Toho crew. It was also during those years that I first saw a little film called Carnival of Souls that stayed with me for the rest of my life (and I'm not the only one).

There were other movies shown at that time that equally affected me and have crept and crawled and slithered around my consciousness since then, too. One of them was a movie that, at the time, was probably called "Invasion of the Animal People," one of the English titles it was given. The name for it I prefer, though, is Terror in the Midnight Sun, and folks, let me tell you the images from that film have branded themselves into my psyche and refused to let go for almost four decades.

Terror in the Midnight Sun (or Rymdinvasion i Lappland, aka "Space Invasion of Lapland," if you prefer) is a Swedish film from 1959 about an alien craft that lands on Earth and releases a huge furry creature that runs amok. That's really pretty much the plot. But that's really all that it needs. The real drawing point of the film is in (A) the beautiful scenery and cinematography of the snowy slopes and tundra, filmed in glorious black and white, and (B) the creature himself.

And let's talk about the creature. What a marvelous creation, especially for the late fifties. I saw a blog where a guy referred to him as "Spitbacca" (I guess like the lesser cousin of Chewbacca), but that really doesn't give this big ol' lug the respect he deserves. The monster here is approximately 12-15 feet tall, and to simulate it, the FX team (such as it probably was at the time) built a number of half-sized dwellings for him to tear up. Because they're to about half-scale, though, they make the whole rampage look much, much more real than your standard giant monster flick.

Beyond that, though, the creature just looks cool with his fur-covered body (this guy could give Cousin It a run for his money), his bizarre clawed hands, his sort of cloven feet, and those cute little boar-like tusks coming out of his mouth. I really dig his close-ups, too, as you can see both the humanity in his eyes and a sort of dog-got-caught-peeing-on-the-rug kind of look.

There's even a cool scene at the end where the villagers chase down the creatures with torches, but since this is Lapland, they're all ON SKIS!

Unfortunately, American distributor Jerry Warren messed with the flick in U.S. distribution, adding inexplicable new scenes, and tossing in John Carradine for star power and not much else. Try to see the "real" version if you can.

Below is a clip from the film, and you can watch the whole thing for free at lycoscinema.com (it's in the public domain). If you're the monster movie nut that I am, you should check it out. Maybe it'll stick with you like it's stuck with me.

Four Poster Bad, Part 3

OK, let's get right into it. Today we look at some truly awful movie posters of the year 1977.

First off, we have Al Pacino in Bobby Deerfield. Y'know how I know that? Because it's all the poster says! Who designed this...Pacino's mother? I have to assume that maybe at the time Pacino was considered something of a hit with the ladies, because I can't see this poster putting asses in seats unless you find Al really, really attractive. It makes no sense, either, as the film features race car driving, terminally ill women, all sorts of stuff that'd just light up a movie poster. And yet they go with Al's big ol' mug instead. But hey, we know that the movie features Al Pacino...as Bobby Deerfield. Yup. Sure does. Al Pacino. Bobby Deerfield.



Next up is The Car, and it's a movie about...well, I think you can figure it out. Anyone notice the problem with the poster though? That's right. Not a car to be seen. Instead what we get is a big, black space right in the middle. Hey, it's the first movie poster designed with Stevie Wonder in mind! It's really kind of a shame, too, as the titular car is actually a very sweet ride: a black 1971 Lincoln Continental Mark III customized by the famous George Barris (who also designed the TV version of the Batmobile). I'm not sure exactly what happened here. Maybe there was supposed to be a car in the shot and something went wrong? Maybe the car IS in the pic, but it's soooooo dark that it's impossible to see? Maybe the poster art was accidentally left in Detroit, and someone stole the car? I dunno. Since James Brolin is the star of the flick, I like to think he turned off the car's headlights to facilitate running down Barbra Streisand...


Now we come to Exorcist II. I'm not going to go into the movie itself, since I think most of us know what a crapfest it is (supposedly Satan paid $75000 to have his name taken off the project). No, let's just stick to the poster, which is equally wretched. Do we get scenes of heads spinning, or pea soup-spitting, or cross violation, or even that creepy silhouette under the streetlight like in the original Exorcist poster? Nope. That would be crazy. What we get is the most logical choice: a big ol' headshot of Linda Blair. Hey, you geniuses in marketing, someone needs to tell you that this poster would only appeal to Rick James, and even he wouldn't take it home to mother. Ooooh, Linda Blair. Scary, huh kids? You know what's REALLY scary? That I sacrificed 103 minutes of my life watching Linda and Jimmy Van Patten in Roller Boogie...


Finally...ahem...You Light Up My Life. First, since I believe in full disclosure, I have to admit when this came out, back when I was all of thirteen, I thought Didi Conn was cute. Shut up. (This is where Lea starts speculating if it was the hair. Private joke) Anyway, where do you start with this poster? Is the image of two people walking barefoot on the beach going to have people rushing to the theaters? No, more likely it'll have them RUSHING TO THE BEACH. Hell, I look at this thing, and I immediately think of Mad TV's "Lowered Expectations" sketches. The worst part, though, is the tremendous graininess of the photo. Who snapped this shot...Abraham Zapruder? Light up my life, hell. Someone needs to light up the photoshoot!

An Adman Actually Got Paid For This One?

Y'know, my son works at a Putt Putt miniature golf course during the summer, so I've become fairly familiar with the franchise. One of the most disturbing aspects of it is the mascot: Buster Ball. Yes, I said Buster Ball. Here he is now:
I think the same guy designed a specific version of Poppin' Fresh to sell Pillsbury's turnovers, and named her Poppin' Cherry...

And The Pursuit Thereof

I'm in a sad mood today, so in an effort to combat it, here are a few of the things that make me, Troy Tiberius Hickman, happy:


Peanut butter and bologna sandwiches. I know a lot of folks find it odd, but there's no better sandwich in the world (I prefer it with crunchy peanut butter, by the way). Especially good with a glass of milk. I was first introduced to this by my Aunt Betty's third (fourth?) husband, Sonny Havens (which sounds more like the name of a retirement home than any other name I've ever heard).

Sci-Fi movies of the 50s/60s. Generally anything with a giant insect or a pulsating brain in it gives me a certain peace of mind. If you get a chance, check out a 1964 film called The Flesh Eaters, which was written and produced by Arnold Drake, writer of my all-time favorite funnybook series, The Doom Patrol. It's a really unusual film, and it's worth your while, trust me. It deals with an evil scientist, and this stuff in the surf that'll eat you all up, yum yum yum, and a square-jawed hero, and a scantily-clad woman, and a giant...uh...something monster, and a beatnik who speaks all that wonderful daddy-o dialogue that Drake seemed obsessed with at times. It's a gasser, man.




And while we're at it...The Doom Patrol. Was there a better comic...ever? Man, I love those old stories. The Chief, Robotman, Elasti-Girl, Negative Man...occasional appearances by Beast Boy and Mento...and the villains...The Brain, General Immortus, Madame Rouge, Monsieur Mallah, Gargaux, and on and on. And even when the book was canceled, they went out with a bang: the DP sacrificed their lives to save 27 people in the tiny village of Codsville, Maine. Without hesitation. They were heroes, my friends, heroes in a way that I wish more current comic book spandex types could be. If I ever write anything that folks enjoy as much as I enjoyed Doom Patrol, I'll be a pretty satisfied fella. And if DC ever wants someone to write a REAL Doom Patrol series again, they know where to find me (or maybe I'll find them).

Holding hands with Lea. There's really no way I can begin to tell you how this makes me feel. We'll be out somewhere, going to the video store, checking out some elephant-headed thing in 10,000 Villages, hell, just looking at big plastic junk at Walmart, and she'll be holding my hand, and I'll feel complete. Y'know, I'll gone most of my life feeling completely and utterly SINGULAR. Even when I've been with a woman, I've inevitably felt like it was still just me, only with a woman-shaped object filling the air next to me (heck, the years I was married were probably the loneliest I have ever experienced). When Lea and I are holding hands, though, I feel like part of a couple, and that's a pretty wondrous thing. Yeah, it's great, and tremendously important, that we all be individuals, but there's also a reason that we've been put on this planet with other folks, and that our brains and hearts get so oogy when we're with our "other half."

Seeing a script I've written turned into an actual comic book story. If you've never experienced this, I would strongly recommend it. For me, that's a large part of the magic of comics, at least from a creator's point of view. You write something, you send it to your editor, and in a relatively short amount of time, you get these pages back with your characters on them...your characters come to life through the efforts of some talented artist. I'm not going to be so pompous as to say it makes you feel like you're God (although the act of writing alone contains elements of that, to be sure), but it's about as close to a miracle for me as it gets. And the thing is, it never gets old. From the first time I saw my pal Doug Lumley delineating Yoyo the Dieting Clown, to the sketches I've seen so far for my upcoming Twilight Guardian comic, it never fails to give me a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I've accomplished something. And when I think of the people I've worked with, people like Mr. George Perez (who became my favorite comic artist when I read HIS first real comics work, Creatures on the Loose #33, back in 1975), it pretty much makes me want to cry. I love creating, I love writing, but most of all, I love making comic books.

Anyway, I'm feeling better now, so I'll call it a day. A happy one.

Villain of the Week

For the most part, I try to avoid going into political diatribes in this blog, since (A) the majority of my readers probably disagree anyway (hey, I forgive ya), and (B) it's rare that anyone changes their opinion based on a blog column.

Today I feel I have to say something, though, or else literally explode from the bile inside me. Are you familiar with David Suzuki? I've known of the guy for quite a while, and learned considerably more when I started my visits to Canada, where he's considered (by some) to be quite the national treasure. I've never particularly liked the guy, though I've always assumed he probably had the best intentions at heart (based on the fact that Lea has said some nice things about him in the past, and I trust her judgment).

Recently, however, the illustrious Dr. Suzuki has gone beyond even his normal utopian socialist underpinnings, and has firmly entered totalitarian territory. Recently he stated that politicians who disagree with the idea of man-made global warming and the policies it entails should be thrown into prison, and encouraged students at McGill University to find a way to do so.

Y'know, in my country, and I believe in yours as well, if we have a problem with politicians, we have a way of dealing with it. It's called democracy. We have regular elections that enable us to vote out the ones we don't want in there. What we don't do is imprison them. That's what they do in places like Cuba, Venezuela, the Soviet Union, China, and at one time, Germany.
Ever heard of those places, Dave?

No, the good doctor would rather ignore such places, and instead refers to his own Canuck homeland , a country that awarded him the Order of Canada, as "international outlaws," because they haven't bent over backwards quite far enough for he and his fellow followers of the Church of Radical Environmentalism.

Canadian writer Terry O'Neill said this of Suzuki: "It's long been abundantly clear from his speeches and books that his position is driven by both a quasi-religious zeal and a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of humanity's relationship with the natural world."

Dr. Suzuki has also suggested that such decisions cannot be made by our elected officials, and instead should be made by a panel of scientists. Hmmm, a panel of scientists, Dave? Oh, I see. You want a scientocracy, run by a bunch of guys much smarter than the general populace and their representatives, right? A bunch of smart guys like...well, like YOU, Dave.

As pissed off as your comments make me, though, Dave, I'm glad you said 'em, because they shed the light on what you, and a lot of folks like you, really think and believe. For all your "open-mindedness," you're just as oppressive and narrow-minded as anyone and anything you've ever railed against.

Doc, according to your Wiki entry, you live in Kitsilano, right? Well, I spend much of my time these days in Vancouver, so I tell you what. Anytime you'd like a micro-demonstration of what free people think of little tin gods like yourself, I'd be glad to come over and plant my carbon footprint firmly on your compost heap...