Inconsequential Change

DC Comics’ Rebirth event, other than a marketing tag, really should be about the exploration of themes. A look at what makes the character appealing and an examination of those personal, internal forces while dealing with the colorfully-ludicrous external. Unfortunately, with the Rebirth collections DC Comics and NetGalley have graciously sent my way, there has not been a sense of regrouping, of growth, or internalization. The stories are an onslaught of constant motion opening with panel one and nary a chance for an asterisked footnote to a Wikipedia article let alone time for introductions, and no more so than Blue Beetle Vol. 1: The More Things Change.

Blue Beetle tries, sincerely, and sometimes achieves partial success, to be clever with the pairing of Jaime Reyes, the Blue Beetle, and his mentor/Alfred Pennyworth surrogate Ted Kord, the former, and formerly deceased, Blue Beetle. Their relationship is ripe with all the elements of great buddy-cop entertainment, but man, that fruit just ain’t ready to pick. Blue Beetle Vol. 1, again like other Rebirth titles, are full of these sudden starts, fits of action, with explosions of rat-a-tat dialogue, that don’t go anywhere and have no signs of resolution, which is extremely detrimental to, what should be, a contained graphic novel and an invitation to go further.

Keith Giffen, who created the Jaime Reyes character following the massive Infinite Crisis storyline, which began with the surprising murder of Ted Kord, presents dialogue-heavy issues and truly does wish to make Jaime as likeable and as important as his blue alter ego. After all, one of main reasons Spider-Man is immensely popular is due to the relational aspect of Peter Parker, as opposed, for instance, to the Hulk, where the very-human Banner can indeed come off as, well, puny. Alas, Giffen never gives that reader, and presumably a first-time reader at that, the chance to truly enjoy the character because the opportunity is never provided. The shark-like, always-moving-forward motion does not allow that pause for reflection.

Giffen and co-plotter/artist Scott Kolins present the Blue Beetle scarab as a threat to Jaime’s well-being, a plot element that will no doubt continue to grow as the series continues. Giffen allows Doctor Fate a co-starring gig in the title, and I, for one, always enjoy Giffen’s Fate. Kolins gives the character an updated makeover, but even the character’s inclusion is sparse and seemingly inconsequential as the mystery for his inclusion, and what should be a build up to this threat, is nearly trivialized away in an is-it-or-is-it-not dream sequence.

Comic books have a grand tradition of excelling at the slow burn. How many decades did Superman and Lois Lane flirt? Even Ted Kord’s own Blue Beetle title from the post-Crisis eighties had an over twelve-issue long b-plot that simmered, at varying levels, every issue. The problem with Blue Beetle Vol. 1: The More Things Change is there are too many simmering pots and not enough pasta. The old adage about waiting for that water to boil could very well result in no one bothering to pay attention when supper is ready.

As Always,

theJOE

Heroes of the Frontier

Magnificent.

Dave Eggers presents a grand, heroic look at the threatening frontier of Alaska that is ironically both frozen and constantly fraught with forest fires. Simultaneously, he presents within Josie, a single-mother perpetually on edge of either a nervous breakdown or looking to succumb to rampant alcoholism, the heroic, and all-too human, qualities of running away while running towards. All throughout Heroes Of The Frontier, Josie, along with her two young children, Paul and Ana, completely, and even triumphantly, does both.

Eggers manifests within the novel a philosophy of life, marriage, the tediousness of parenting, and, most importantly, the need to grab hold of that golden ring. Through Josie, we get quirky, and often times hysterical, looks at the insanity of a grade school event schedule, the requisite stupidity of musicals, the glaring monotony of dentistry - perhaps the daily professional grind we all must endure - and the absolute joy of singing, dancing, and communing with live music. Josie embarks on her hero’s quest, destination unknown, hoping to find herself while going off the grid, discovering unabashed kindness and typical American anger. She loves her children, but maybe isn’t the best of parents. She wishes to remove herself from society, but seeks out companionship. She drinks, too much and too easily, but she also laughs, and smiles, and, eventually, does her best to forgive.

Like all great stories, the finale comes sooner than expected. However, the ultimate ending escapes complete fulfillment as earlier steps in the journey might have been more resolute in the closing of the circle. Then again, maybe I did not want this tale to finish. I wanted the fierce mystery of Alaska to unwrap and unveil as Josie continues her eternal quest for resolution and her well-deserved happy ending, as do we all; all of us heroes in this unending frontier.

As Always,

theJOE

Hellblazer-lite

As a long, longtime fan of John Constantine, the Hellblazer, whose last contact I had with the character, outside of Arrow, was Hellblazer #300, I was both anxious and guarded when the advance preview of his Vertigo-less Rebirth series from DC Comics and NetGalley arrived. Overall, this first collection of Rebirth issues is fairly entertaining, albeit straightforward, gluten-free with no additives, essentially, Hellblazer-lite.

For this first volume of The Hellblazer, entitled “The Poison Truth”, writer Simon Oliver, who once visited John in the surface-level-enjoyable Chas: The Knowledge, brings John back to London (Living NYC, presumably, due to the New 52? Ah, DC) where he immediately gets mixed up in conning his way out of a demon’s curse that, similar to the story in Chas, ends abruptly and simply. Again, Hellblazer-lite.

Oliver’s script then splits off into two paths. John and a telepathic girl named Mercury go looking for an ancient Djinn that has been lurking in the shadows of history laid out in a tale that seems to have been gleaned from Helene Wecker’s fun novel, The Golem and the Jinni, while the always-welcome guest-star Swamp Thing, who is actually presented more like a co-star bringing about a fun if accidental update to The Brave And The Bold, goes on a quest for his wife, Abbey, who is now also an elemental (see again: New 52? Then again, perhaps not). Unfortunately, this first collection comes to it culmination just as both streams head deeper into their trajectories. Let’s hear it for the modern-day cliffhanger. Although, having John and Mercury arrive in Paris doesn’t quite have the same punch as, say, Rey presenting Luke with his lightsaber, but admittedly, I am curious to see what happens next.

The artwork is also split in twain between Moritat, who provides a cartoony, almost European design, and Pia Guerra, formerly of Y The Last Man, whose crisp, clean work is always a delight to see.  John Cassady provides covers that, although not as strong as Hellblazer classic artists Glenn Fabry and Tim Bradstreet, are right in line for this Hellblazer-lite.

Six issues and Oliver’s work is fun but a better pacing needs to be developed for upcoming issues as too much time is spent within on characters not named John Constantine. A lot world building, or revisiting, going on that, hopefully, will lead to a big payoff that might even have the potential of Paul Jenkins’ finale run.

Hey, at least John hasn’t been neutered from his Silk Cut habit.

As Always,

theJOE

A Halloween Scare… for the Movie of the Week

The Halloween Children moves with the grace of a zombie crawl. Like a found-footage horror movie from the 70s the book is a slow, tiresome read of nothing more than enlightened transcripts where the big boo doesn’t shock ya until deep in the third act. And that shock? Well, nothing long-time genre aficionados would need to check on their blood pressure meds over.

Co-authors Brian James Freeman and Norman Prentiss set the stage in a prime place for a haunting: a high-turnover apartment complex. Yet aside from a few groans and whispers and things going bump in the night, the primary focus of the tale is on the fantastically bad relationship of hellbound-parents-of-the-year Harris and Lynn. The couple so incredibly dysfunctional they are presented as cliché caricatures, whose lives are boring, miserable, and uneventful – until the event that occurs within the apartment complex that is supposed to bring the family together and rise up against the demonic invaders in great Spielberg-ian fashion. Except that never happens. Perhaps to groove to a modern audience, the authors present the third-hand details of the account by way of interviews and (prepare for a shock) emails.

Terrifying. Even more disturbing? No Twitter feed.

Interestingly, there is almost no development with the titular characters – the children themselves.

Freeman and Prentiss truly attempt to make a creepy Halloween tale. The slow pace and an unsatisfying build up make this one all tricks and no treat.

Fun-sized chocolate bars a go-go to both NetGalley and Hydra for the ghoulish opportunity of the advance copy.

As Always,

theJOE

Liner Notes

Unstrung Heroes is author/musician Pete Braidis’ love letter to guitar players and guitar playing. In doing so, he interviews 50 guitar greats whose work is familiar regardless if their names are not. Case in point: Vic Flick. Who? Well, that’s his iconic riff in the James Bond Theme first heard in Dr. No. Braidis possesses enough knowledge of these players and their works to, well, fill a book.

Calling Unstrung Heroes a dense read is akin to calling Andy LaRocque (King Diamond’s guitarist, and interviewed within) metal. Braidis, however, wants to give these players a well-deserved spotlight and does so by saying hell to any editing, which is truly this book’s only downfall. Featured within are such greats as Davey Johnstone, David Rhodes, Eric Bazilian, and Martin Barre, from Elton John, Peter Gabriel, the Hooters, and Jethro Tull respectively. Certain interviews were the result of email exchanges and play out with all the enthusiasm of a message board. Those in which a true conversation occurs makes for a more lively read allowing Braidis to mix in natural humor as he professionally plucks at those strings of those being interviewed in order to achieve a desired tune.

Paul Hammond, of the Zeppelin-tribute band Get The Led Out, and Steve Rothery, of the Scottish Prog vets Marillion, stand out as highlights of such conversation providing breadth, scope, and passion in their craft. Ironically, one of the book’s most recognizable names, Steve Hackett, of Genesis fame, comes across subdued. Fortunately, there are plenty of others’ who have an abundance of energy; looking at you, George Thorogood.

Unstrung Heroes makes for a great coffee table book and one that is accessible enough to pick up and jump through several interviews at a time.  Mind, this is also a book about musicians for musicians, where guitar types, chord progressions, and timing signatures are all discussed, occasionally in great lengths. But there are also just as many cat jokes for the lay person to, well, lay their claws into when they want to shred.

As Always,

theJOE

A Graphically Novel Approach to a World of Decay

Yet another entry to the ravaged world of the zombie apocalypse, Zombies: A Brief History Of Decay is a dense read that fully embraces its entrance as both graphic and novel.

Writer Olivier Peru and artist Sophian Cholet present their entertaining take on that post-apocalyptical struggle that is now oh-so familiar. In this world, zombies can be both slow and fast, based on the rate of their decay, but even more surprising is the fact that humanity abandons the every-man-for-himself thieving personae most commonly seen and wants to work together to rid themselves of the plague. Well, except for a band of white trash wanna-be survivalists held up in, naturally, a Wal-Mart. 

Peru has the remains of civilization residing in floating armadas on both the Mississippi and the coast off Seattle, and scripts the main characters as a worthy nation looking to survive and rebuild, with a few personal quests added for spice.  Unfortunately, and perhaps this is a by-product of the collected edition, there is limited consistency between the several separate plots. Breaks don’t come naturally forcing the reader to back-up and regroup. In this regard, Cholet’s incredible layouts and design lapse into a droning sense of sameness, particularly with the representation of the main male leads who are all white with dark hair and beards. Removing any familiarity with the characters reduces that emotional connection.

Zombies shamelessly captures the worlds of Romero and Kirkman and makes an entertaining quest out of the venture with plenty of subtle zingers that can be followed up on in a sequel.  Peru and Cholet show both the decay of humanity and civilization, but tease the reader with something everyone universally wants, hope and a future.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Insight Comics for this decaying advance read.

As Always,

theJOE

A Paranoid Hawkeye

Veteran writer Christopher Priest returns to comics for the DC Comics Rebirth event in  Deathstroke, Volume 1: The Professional. Priest, ever the professional himself, utilizes all the standard tools that has made his arsenal familiar: quippy dialogue, chapter headings, sometimes-confusing flashbacks, and, oh yes, planting the seeds for a long play.  For the most part, his devious tactics are all on point, but with this collected edition falling under the Rebirth project, the mighty Priest may have failed in one main regard: this series was not all accessible for the new reader that DC was obviously attempting to recruit, especially, perhaps, after the character’s long-run on CW’s Arrow.

The Professional does not get into an origin, or at least, not linearly, which is as fine as it is stylish. Priest has the reader immediately jump into action as Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, politically, if not violently, acts with an African government in order to rescue a friend. And then Wilson’s family arrives. Using the term “dysfunctional” as a description for this family is akin to calling President Trump “loud”. The dynamics are fun as the mystery begins. Again, Priest is no doubt looking into the long play. Wilson kinda-sorta teams up with his illegitimate daughter, Rose, the would-be assassin called the Ravager, in order to find out who put a price on her head. The two go on a road trip to Gotham City as their dynamic plays out like a paranoid version of Clint Barton and Kate Bishop from Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye run.

For those coming in fresh, again, which one assumes is one of DC’s main sticking points, almost none of this would make sense. Rose’s genealogy, the lives-and-deaths of Grant and Joe, Slade and Adeline’s marriage, all falls back onto the heavy pre-52 continuity that old-time fanboys such as myself enjoy, but could be a huge question mark emoji for younger millennials.

Carlo Pagulayan, and especially Joe Bennett, provide thick, beautifully laid-out pencils, but at times the similarity between characters without the surname of Wilson, lends to some of the confusing narrative. Speaking of returning vets, much appreciation to seeing Larry Hama’s name grace the credit box for breakdowns on issue one.

Priest has laid the groundwork for what can be fun run, especially now that the obligatory Batman guest spot is out of the way. Maybe this will also give Priest the chance to clarify his narrative and make Deathstroke more Leon and less Walter Sobchak.

Thanks to both NetGalley and DC Comics for the advance preview of the new Deathstroke title. Reminds me of my letterhacking days and receiving similar advance copies for solicitation. I’m glad to be able to contribute such reviews again.

As Always,

theJOE

Suicide Squad: Heavy on Explosions, Light on Intrigue

A new, albeit familiar, Suicide Squad is formed as part of DC’s Rebirth project and easily falls in line to capitalize on the familiarity that the recent film provided. And like the movie before it, the comic is generic, played safe, and features a linear, if head-scratching, plot.

The premise is tried-and-true and even a bit cliché at this point. The baddest of the bad are recruited by the government to be the ultimate of shadow ops and installed with missions that no one in their right mind would take on. All of the usual personalities are in place for the role call: the assassin Deadshot, the Joker’s protégé Harley Quinn, the merc-with-a-gimmick Captain Boomerang, the cannibalistic-mutant Killer Croc, and so on. The basis for the organization is an easy one, and the formula is ripe with success. However, the plot for this graphic novel, much like the feature-length film, is as lackluster as it is frustrating. 

For this particular starting point, the team is hastily put together in order to invade a secret Russian vault and abscond with a Phantom Zone generator. Yeah, like that Phantom Zone. Superman and General Zod and all that. Instead of a mirror floating endlessly in space, this portal is represented as a back orb. Yet never in this story, and perhaps this why the “Volume 1” designation appears, does writer Rob Williams bestow any answers for the whys. Why does Russia have this? Why does America want it? And why send a squad that is almost entirely comprised of typical human agents who simply wield guns, swords, or, well, boomerangs, to go against a potential Kryptonian menace? Hello, yellow sun. And finally, with all that has happened before with this series, even looking back to the John Ostrander and Luke McDonnell’s conception back in the eighties, why isn’t this introduction more exciting? Jim Lee’s artwork, which is merely serviceable in this outing, does not provide any further answers.

Fortunately, Suicide Squad, Volume 1: The Black Vault contains some entertaining back stories on key characters. One to note of features the gorgeously illustrative work of Gary Frank spotlighting Harley Quinn. Another focuses on Captain Boomerang and his amusing fantasy of being an Australian super-spy. Both of these tales were written by Williams, proving he can break out the imagination when needed and crafts the back-ups with more attention and appeal than that of the main plot. Maybe that imaginative force is behind bars at Belle Reve and is only allowed to work on certain missions? Yet another question that requires an answer.

Thanks to both Netgalley and DC Comics for the advance preview of the new Suicide Squad title. Reminds me of my letterhacking days and receiving similar advance copies for solicitation. I’m glad to be able to contribute such reviews again.

As Always,
theJOE

Ready, player one? Perhaps not...

Ready, player one? Then get ready for Armada, the latest in sci-fi shoot ‘em ups where, and get ready for your mind to be blown, you are not playing a video game, but instead are helping the Earth Defense Alliance in repelling an alien invasion. Waitaminute, you might say, that sounds exactly like The Last Starfighter, or Ender’s Game. Unfortunately, you are correct. Nothing else to see here. Game over, man.

Ernest Cline’s follow-up novel sadly does not live up to the hype and excitement that was abundant in Ready Player One.  The characters within are as cliché as they are one-dimensional with bulky-dialogue soaked in Gen-X nostalgia that goes way outside the realm of being believable. If it wasn’t for the R-rated language, one might think Cline could have presented this as a stellar YA novel and built a unique story on top of what has come before. Instead, he takes a shortcut and interlaces the tried and true with inundated references to the Stars, Trek and Wars, among many others.

Ready Player One was fun and new with characters that were developed and continued to develop. Armada was a fountain of clichés; an arcade experience that becomes mostly forgotten once your quarter disappears into that slot.

As Always,

theJOE

Trying to recapture a little of the glory of

Bruce captures his glory days – and ignites them – in his autobiography Born To Run. Ever the craftsman, the lyricist, the poet, the storyteller, the everyman, Bruce Springsteen pens in his memoirs in an enlightening, entertaining way that anyone from the hardcore fan who knows every song by heart to the casual listener who thinks “Born In The U.S.A” is a patriotic foot-tapper will find enjoyable and, believe it or not, relatable.

I waited until this book was available on Audible for the sole purpose of getting the chance to listen to Bruce, to the Boss, to have him tell his story directly to me. His book is not only full of tales from his life, but his philosophy on rock music; his responsibilities to his fans, his band, and his family; how weakness can make one stronger; and how to be an inspiration. 

For over 18 hours, I got to listen to one of my heroes talk to me. I heard intimate stories, rowdy bar tales, rock’n roll hobnobbing, and the fears that most every father has. Bruce talked - to me - about all these and more for over eighteen hours. And I cannot wait to listen to it all again.

As Always

theJOE

Academy Awards - 2017

No rant this year; just a quick rundown of my guesses on how Sunday’s Academy Awards show will go. And with La La Land set to win it all – or most anyway – why bother with analysis. Right?

But, this is my digital stage and would like to point out one observation. I don’t think the rolling number of Best Picture selections is working as it was intended to do, at least for this year. The idea behind the concept was to allow more mainstream, if not, gasp and shock, critically-achieved blockbusters, into the mix allowing a more open and fun debate. This year, all nine films, with the exception of Hacksaw Ridge – and maybe Arrival – are essentially the same: art-house awards fodder or select genre niches (one western, one musical). This year lacks that Mad Max: Fury Road or Martian or American Sniper. That one dark horse contender people smile about. Then again, maybe 2016 didn’t have the chance to present such a film. Except for seeing Captain America and Iron Man go all fisticuffs on each other and a CG Princess Leia, perhaps smiles were at a minimum this past year, meaning the movie-making business on a whole is failing at its one cultural responsibility.

My entries below are who I think will win, along with a very few comments. Before that, some quick analytics based on those choices. I have La La Land set to win 9 of its 14 noms. Fences gets two, both acting. Disney family films = 3. Films set in space (Star Trek Beyond) and Iran (The Salesman) will each get one. But, alas, no Oscar gold for The Lobster, regardless how original the story.

As Always,

theJOE

PICTURE / ACTING CATEGORIES

Best Picture: La La Land

Best Director: Damien Chazelle, La La Land

Best Actor: Denzel Washington, Fences

Best Actress: Emma Stone, La La Land

Best Supporting Actor: Jeff Bridges, Hell Or High Water (Mahershala Ali, from Luke Cage, I mean, Moonlight, is the favorite to win, and very well could, but Bridges is Hollywood royalty and with La La Land set to win, I think the Academy will maintain that “awarding Hollywood” sensability)

Best Supporting Actress: Viola Davis, Fences

SCRIPTING / MUSIC CATEGORIES

Best Adapted Screenplay: Moonlight (but really, Arrival should win)

Best Original Screenplay: Manchester By The Sea

Best Original Score: La La Land

Best Original Song: “City of Stars,” from La La Land

OTHER RACES

Best Cinematography: La La Land

Best Film Editing: La La Land

Best Animated Feature: Zootopia

Best Costume Design: Jackie

Best Documentary: O.J.: Made In America

Best Foreign Film: The Salesman

Best Makeup: Star Trek Beyond

Best Production Design: La La Land

Best Sound Editing: Arrival (although La La Land could win this one)

Best Sound Mixing: La La Land (although Hacksaw Ridge could win)

Best Visual Effects: Jungle Book

Best Documentary Short Subject: Joe’s Violin

Best Animated Short: Piper

Best Live Action Short: Sing

Far Out Cosmic Fun –or– A Surfboard is way cooler than a Police Call Box

Fun.

Pure, undiluted, make-you-smile fun. How’s that for a review on Dan Slott and Mike Allred’s Silver Surfer: New Dawn graphic novel?

The Surfer has always been a personal favorite. Be it Stan “The Man” Lee and Big John Buscema’s angst-ridden late sixties run, or the Jim Starlin-Ron Marz-Ron Lim galaxy-crushing saga from the eighties/nineties. But many times, the Surfer’s stories can be heavy, both emotionally and thematically, with deep ties to back-story and cosmic ramifications involving the greater Marvel Universe. Not so here. Seen through the wide-and-accepting eyes of Dawn Greenwood, Slott’s clever scripting has the reader jump into the action with catch-up-as-you-go dialogue as Allred’s visuals hearken back to a Kirby-infused style yet retain his trademark pop-culture feel. The result is a lighthearted, fast-and-fun romp that ends much too soon.

Although Slott unabashedly steals the concept and motif for these stories from Doctor Who, the format works. The Silver Surfer, as a former herald of the world-devourer Galactus and now wielder of the power cosmic, makes for a great master with Dawn as a completely-likable and understanding companion. Yeah, his surfboard is not bigger on the inside, but it does respond to vocal commands. And Dawn? She actually makes the Surfer laugh. Which then makes me laugh.

So yeah, fun. Cosmic style.

As Always,

theJOE 

Thor: The Dark World, perhaps?

Marvel Comics in the early- to mid-eighties was undergoing a transformative time of progressive change. Frank Miller was redefining Daredevil and placing the blind hero up against ninjas. Denny O’Neil catapulted Tony Stark into the ravings of serious alcoholism forcing James Rhodes to wear the suit in Iron Man. Chris Claremont and John Byrne were deep into making the all-new, all-different X-Men become counter-culture saviors. And in Thor, Walt Simonson did away with the Donald Blake identity, replaced the title character entirely with a horse-faced alien and even briefly made the Thunder God a frog. And it was cool.

Walt Simonson’s four-year run on Marvel’s Thor is not only one of the title’s most acclaimed runs, but also one of Simonson’s most known works where not only his art and designs, but his skill as a writer, worked in exemplary union. Simonson has since written and drawn scores of projects, but Thor had always been a highlight. Having Walt Simonson return to Thor? A fanboy dream.

Ragnarok, from IDW, not Marvel, provides such a dream in a certain manner. Simonson writes and draws a different, perhaps more in line with the mythos, Thor adventure taking place in a time of a fallen Asgard, in the post-apocalyptic twilight of the Norse gods. And Simonson’s artwork is amazing. Every panel, every splash page, every call to attention, proves that he is still a master on this or on any of the Nine Realms. And for all of the effort on the art, the writing is merely pedestrian.

Within the pages of Ragnarok, which should have been titled After-Ragnarok, or Ragnarok Aftermath, or The Walking Asgardian, Thor, once presumed dead but really is just missing a lower jaw, has been awoken and begins to take account of the world around him.  For the remaining time, in what is assumed the first of a series of graphic novel collections, he doesn’t do much than get into fights. And c’mon. This is Walt Simonson drawing Thor getting into fights with spectacular, over-the-top action. But there is no intrigue. The action, and the character, simply moves from place to place, from fight to fight. Who knew Ragnarok would be so tedious?

Simonson has a proven his writing chops on multiple occasions. His short, and sometimes overlooked, run on Fantastic Four was as fresh a take on Marvel’s first family as was his time in Asgard. In Ragnarok, the plot goes no deeper than providing an incredible showcase for Simonson’s art. If this series does indeed continue, let’s all pray that reality soon fulfills our dreams.


As always,
theJOE 

The Setting Sun of High Noon

The weight of Glenn Frankel’s second book in looking at the historical Hollywood is truly outlined in High Noon’s sub-title:  The Hollywood Blacklist and the Making of an American Classic. Frankel does provide a deep-dive directorial-style narration into the making of the Gary Cooper/Grace Kelly Western classic High Noon, but this account’s true showdown occurs as Congress and HUAC play the men in black with the artist as the white hat, fading hero pressed into one more battle.

And the weight this book carries is impressive. Frankel intensely presents meticulous research into the time and era of the Red scare, its affect on the Hollywood engine, and the turmoil brought on by the ensuing witch hunts. However, such intensity often comes off with the academia stylings of a research paper that pulls away from the historical narrative of the film’s origin. For a quicker, compelling view into the times of the notorious Hollywood blacklist, one needs only to view the well-done 2015 film Trumbo.

When the eponymous film is in focus, Frankel creates compelling, compassionate characters out of writer Carl Foreman, producer Stanley Kramer, director Fred Zinnemann, editor Elmo Williams, and star Gary Cooper. Each of these men’s desires, and especially fears, are triumphantly captured and endowed with a humanizing  sense of wanting no less than to be free and create. Their stories are strong and wonderful and flawed and real with the end result, the film High Noon, becoming an enduring classic. Frankel’s read, High Noon, unfortunately, becomes so enraptured with the history, that the magic of Hollywood is forgotten for long, dry spells.

Historian purists will certain applaud Frankel’s research. Fans of film might find this book cumbersome. The lawman might finally get his hand at justice, but the sun has already set.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Bloomsbury for the chance at this advance read.

As Always,

theJOE

Video-Game Action; Direct-Release Scripting

Let’s play nice and call Spectral an homage to a heap of sci-fi films and not a mash-up of clichés from all that has come before. A mash-up, yes, but certainly a nice-looking one at that.

 

James Badge Dale, proving he had leading-man chops, as evident from HBO’s The Pacific, stars in first-time director Nic Mathieu’s sci-fi muscle film that provides more hardcore military meat than a Michael Bay Transformers film. Dale plays a scientist invested in designing protective tech for the US Army of the very-near future when he is assigned to accompany a Delta Force unit on the field in Moldova who have encountered, well, ghosts. Ghosts that can fly through walls and humans, the latter of which immediately perishes upon contact.

Mathieu’s constantly-moving camerawork and in-your-face visuals are slick and surprisingly high-quality, thanks to the use of Weta for the F/X work. The story, however, is nothing more than an outline for the big-bang shoot ‘em-ups and creepy apparitions. The Delta Force team members are mostly faceless fodder smacking of, but lacking the charisma of, the marines from Aliens; they even rescue a blonde girl who has been scavenging and hiding out safe from the ghosts in the inner workings of an old factory. Later, when Delta has the chance to regroup and restock, they are luckily holed up with enough provisions and workable gear that would make B.A. Baracus smile with glee, welding torch in hand.

The overall premise of Spectral makes for fun viewing. The film’s a fast-paced video game where the viewer doesn’t mind playing the third person role. And while the story briefly describes the HOW of the ghosts, the WHY is untouched resulting in an unfulfilled feeling as the convenient failsafe stopping the threat is thrown allowing the credits roll. The quick wrap-up makes you think that if there were a couple more available quarters to feed into the slot, the story could continue with a more satisfying ending.

As Always,

theJOE

Douglas Preston and the Raiders of the Lost City

Douglas Preston’s historical/journalistic approach recounting two successful expeditions deep into the Honduras rainforest discovering and mapping the fabled White City aka, and to promote the title, The Lost City Of The Monkey God, unfortunately comes across as a dry, step-by-step account with an added historical element providing the obligatory back story. Discoveries notwithstanding, what was missing was something as wet as the jungle itself, and the narrative suffered as a result.

Not to discount these jungle adventures, as Preston and the teams invading the Central American landscape in search of archaeological destiny face many an obstacle; bugs, parasites, infectious diseases, six-foot-long snakes, a completely hostile environment, threatening narco cartels - not top ingredients for a must-do vacation. The end result cannot be discounted either. Mapping and exploring the White City is an incredible archaeological achievement and Preston writes out every step.

However, it is that literary bite of a fer-de-lance that eludes The Lost City Of The Monkey God. The journalistic report lacks the narrative punch, which is what made David Grann’s The Lost City of Z from 2009 so excitingly successful. Preston’s listing of debates within the archaeological academia and interviews with the infectious diseases team at NIH would certainly make for compelling research papers, but not so much for those jonesing on New World exploration.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Grand Central Publishing for the advance read. A tighter, more focused narrative would have certainly upped the excitement factor for this one.

As Always,

theJOE

Not Dead Yet… and Thank God for that

As an impressionable young boy in the summer of 1985, fully discovering my personal musical tastes, I distinctly remember purchasing Genesis’ self-titled release, on cassette of course, and probably due to the fact that local-Philadelphia radio station WMMR was, as it was quite known for doing, playing the album to death. But more than the familiarity of certain songs, the opening track of “Mama” was magical. The drums’ rhythm, the hard guitar, the spooky synths. And that evil laugh. Captivating. Thirty-plus years later, I still find that laugh, and the man responsible for it, just as captivating.

Phil Collins presents in his memoir Not Dead Yet plenty of tales. Some known, such has when he became the frontman for Genesis as well as his own successful solo career, to the unknown. Three divorces and rampant alcoholism? News to me. Through it all, Phil never comes across as preaching, or bragging, or self-indulgent. Instead, he’s telling you telling tales. Maybe from across the bar at the pub. Maybe at an AA meeting. But great tales.

Yes, personally, I would have liked the addition of more Genesis details, but Phil does spend a large portion of his novel to his time with the band, as they were a large part of his life, but he has obviously done plenty outside of the band. I very much remember him flying between stadiums for Live Aid, but completely forgot, as I’m sure Phil would be thankful for, that he played second drummer in the Led Zeppelin “reunion”.

Hey. Phil was, and still is, a huge, driving force in music. His book definitely has major fan appeal, but contains enough of the personal, the human, element, that even the casual fan, who might only be familiar with Tarzan or “In The Air Tonight” to be completely accessible and enjoyable. Not Dead Yet makes Phil relatable. And you want to meet him all the more.

And for that merely casual fan, I highly recommend Genesis by Genesis. If just for that laugh.

As Always,

theJOE

A “G0d” Not Worthy of Praise

The premise – Islamic jihadists take to cyber-terrorism via an invasive worm program – is clever and, admittedly if Lynn Lipinski’s descriptions on America’s internet infrastructure is correct, scary. Unfortunately the execution in God Of The Internet is weak, and comes across more as a TV movie of the week starring Kirk Cameron and Helen Hunt as opposed to a high-end thriller.

 

For a read that is targeted as a cyber-thriller, there is a significant lack of actual hacking and computer time going on. Instead, Lipinski focuses much, arguably way too much, of the novel on the soap-opera life of Juliana Al-Dossari – abused wife and mother of two teens, one who is semi-critically ill. And Juliana? Not a hacker. In fact, she is barely Twitter-literate. She is the “everyperson” of the story whose life becomes more and more complicated as she is drawn into the worm that is slowly corrupting America’s public works and financial systems. But unlike the “everyperson” role that inhabits a good Spielberg film, Juliana, and her children, are quite boring and possess no charm worth investing in. Ken, the de facto heroic white hat hacker who is by far the most compelling of characters within, uncharacteristically takes a backseat when the action kicks. Why? Choppy narration.

God Of The Internet starts fast with a killer hook. A quick 21^st Century disaster story that derails as the humbler, personal story takes the centerpiece instead of the horror at hand with an ending that is slapdash, unfulfilling, and even unbelievable.

Just imagine what Nelson DeMille could do with this core idea.

Thanks to NetGalley and Majestic Content for the advance read.

As always,

theJOE