Comic-Con Episode Four: A Fan's Hope

So don't hate me, but this post isn't a movie review. It's about Joss Whedon and Morgan Spurlock's upcoming documentary "Comic-Con Episode Four: A Fan's Hope." I think the title's pretty self-explanatory. 

They posted several calls to action, asking geeks to write them for a chance to be in the documentary. So I did. And I just got an email from the casting director and we're supposed to have a phone interview this week, so wish me luck!

Below is my little blurb I submitted, explaining my undying love for Comic-Con.

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A little about myself

Name: Ashley Walton

Age: 23

Location: Spanish Fork, Utah

Occupation: Copywriter

Favorite ComicCon Memory: Dancing with Tim and Eric at the 2008 Adult Swim Party

Hobbies: Going to concerts, reading graphic novels, throwing LAN parties, playing Buffy on Xbox, watching Firefly for the fifth time, playing Star Wars monopoly, collecting DVDs, and watching every horror movie I can get my hands on.

Somewhere around April, I begin to feel giddy anticipation for the end of July. My first time at ComicCon, I was fourteen, and the reasons I loved it then are the same reasons I love it now— and it’s not just the super cool merchandise like zombie teddy bears and obscure T-shirts (although I do love my Fruity Oaty Bar tee). It happens to be the camaraderie, that and the sheer absurdity and whimsicalness of it all.

Every year I make the pilgrimage to geek Mecca with my brother. Together we battle lines snaking all the way to the ocean to enjoy panels featuring the pantheon of geek gods and watch 2-minute peeks of movies that will come out a year later. We accumulate geek points by playing our private game “Name That Obscure Cos-Play Character” and I knock his socks off with my vast knowledge of Hoth and Miyazaki. We wake up at unholy hours to beat the crowds and snag a coveted parking space beneath the convention center. We have long conversations about comic book writing and argue over the merit of The Big Bang Theory. We trek all over the gas lamp district of San Diego and find ourselves in sidewalk cafes or grocery stores inhabited by superheroes and steampunk gents. And there’s something really beautiful about the whole thing.

I run around trying to soak up everything I can. I don’t have just one obsession—I love it all. After deciding which day to wear my Beatrix Kiddo track suit and which day to wear my Jayne Cobb hat, I walk the immense distributer floor several times, yes, even completing vendor scavenger hunts to win Emily the Strange souvenirs and running through the crowds to be the first to snatch tickets to exclusive movie screenings, and of course, collecting the daily Warner Brothers' bag to hold all my schwag. I test out the video games, peruse the artist’s corner, get snapshots with actors (and people with awesome costumes), have comics signed by writers, and wait in insanely long lines for the good stuff in Hall H (although braving the Twilight fans is the scariest thing at ComicCon).

I love ComicCon. Comic Con is a gathering of 150 thousand of my peeps. It’s amazing to find yourself in this realm where everyone cares about the same things you do, everyone gets your obscure references and jokes, everyone is comfortable with each other. There’s an unspoken code of acceptance. The guy who spends his nights barricaded in comic book stores playing Magic the Gathering fits in here. The insomniac who’s obsessed with beating Mass Effect 2 while buzzed on seven energy drinks fits in here. The fanatic who insists on always wearing their Star Trek turtle neck under their clothes fits in here. The casual blogger who hasn’t read a single comic book, but loves movies fits in here. Everyone has a neat little space. No one is turned away (well, unless you didn’t grab your ticket far enough in advance—then you’re screwed).

ComicCon is time set apart to bond with my fellow man, including my best friend, my brother. It’s a consecrated time of peace and unity, when everything feels right. It’s a time to put the world aside, and connect with your inner-kid. In my case, it’s a time when my entire family (all of us grown with jobs across the nation) takes a vacation and meets up in San Diego, because no one wants to miss out on the fun.

Kick-Ass: With no power comes no responsibility

Kick-Ass is not your mom’s superhero movie. It’s better.

Based on the comic book by Mark Millar and John Romita Jr., this film is about a kid who decides to dress up like a superhero, fight evils of the world, and get his ass kicked. From the beginning it teems with dialogue to make you chuckle. By the end, you can’t suppress long-winded laughter.

Our main hero, affectionately called Kick-Ass, is played by Aaron Johnson— an actor made tabloid-famous for knocking up the director of his to-be-released follow-up film. But he owns Kick-Ass. Playing the geeky awkward kid, it would’ve been easy for him to slip into faux Michael Cera mode, but he doesn’t. He makes the character his own, and he’s relatable and likable.

As much as I love the title hero, the show-stealer is Hit Girl, played by my official favorite little actress: Chloë Moretz. Previously, she stole scenes in 500 Days of Summer. In Kick-Ass, this girl delivers her lines with such dry wit, you can’t help but adore her. Plus she’s the character who really does kick ass. As she swore like a sailor and brutally killed villains, my friend sitting next to me said, “Awww. She’s so cute.” Now that’s talent.

Putting aside the awesome actors, there’s only one word to describe the plot: fun.

At one point, the plot takes a turn that’s a little too over-the-top for my taste, but it’s a detail near the end that doesn’t hurt the film much.

Catch Kick-Ass in theaters with friends. It’s a blast.

RIP Hollywood

Hollywood Video is slowly dropping off the face of the earth. When I stepped in to rent my weekly dose of TV shows and movies, I was shocked to see that their entire inventory was for sale. Of course, this elicited mixed emotions—I bought some awesome DVDs at killer prices (The Hangover, Away We Go, The Invention of Lying, Zombieland, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and Roger & Me*), but my beloved video rental store was going out of business (and some of the movies I bought, though cheap, were the crappy rental versions that never include supplementary material).

Not only is my neighborhood branch closing, but also the branch a couple towns over and several other branches all over the state and the rest of the country. This leaves me with only one other local video rental store: Blockbuster. When I was younger, I had fuzzy feelings toward Blockbuster for their cutesy sing-songy liners like, “Blockbuster Video! Wow, what a difference!” and “Please be kind, rewind.” But with age and wisdom, I’ve come to abhor it. The dreaded place doesn’t even carry Tales from the Darkside or Let the Right One In. Not to mention, they only recently added Dollhouse Season 1 to their repertoire (their selection is abysmal). What’s more, Blockbuster also censors some of their DVDs without any sort of warning that they’ve been edited for content.

But enough of the Blockbuster bashing. One of the movies I had wanted to pick up from Hollywood Video was Up in the Air, but I was told they weren’t getting it in, as they stopped bringing in new inventory. Dazed and confused, I wandered to a tawdry Red Box down the street, and using it made me feel cheap and dirty. When Up in the Air popped out of the cold machine, it didn’t even have a proper case. I couldn’t look at the cover design or critique the summary on the back or make fun of the quotes from critics. The naked DVD just stared out from a sad, sterile clear case. That’s when I started to panic. I’d been so concerned with bookstores dying out that I’d neglected to worry about video stores dying out, and I like both these stores for the same reason: tangibility.

I’m going to miss my regular chums at Hollywood. I’ll miss the geek shop talk with one clerk, who stares out behind his black horn-rimmed glasses that match mine. And I’ll miss bashing chick flicks with that other clerk, who was surprisingly cool, despite her Bridget Jones t-shirt. I’ll even miss the sociopathic blonde kid who consistently ruined various plot points for countless movies that I rented. More than anything, I’ll miss walking down the black-tiled rows past the unbeatable horror collection, a really respectable TV collection, and a great documentary section. I’ll miss meandering around the store several times and getting lost in the details and memories before making my final selection. I’ll miss the feeling of being in a place and knowing that I’m surrounded by people who love movies as much as I do.

*Note: I also bought 500 Days of Summer, but I’m still coming to terms with my embarrassment and whether I should openly admit this.

The Crazies: "This is really happening."

Before you see this film, the less you know about the plot, the better. I sat down in the theater armed only with the expectation that I would see crazy people, and I walked away from the experience pleased with the structure, pacing, and style in which the film unveiled the plot. So I’m trying to refrain from spoiling anything, in hopes that you’ll see this better-than-expected refreshment.

The Crazies is a remake of George A. Romero’s forgotten 1973 film by the same name. (I’ve never seen the original. In fact, I’d never heard of the original until recently, but George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead is one of my most cherished DVDs.) I sensed some of George A. Romero’s playfulness shining through in The Crazies, but for the most part, the film took itself pretty seriously. Sure, this film fulfills a lot of stereotypes (the far-fetched scenarios, some predictable deaths, the hopeless romantics), but it is also much more sophisticated than most films in its genre.

From the very first scene, I was hooked by the storytelling. Not only did the film waste no time establishing tension, but from the beginning the characters were fleshed out and more multi-dimensional than most horror representations. As the plot progressed, the storytelling only became more refined—clean, intelligent, satisfying. When I wished for a character to do something smart, it was like they heard my thoughts and took heed.

Aside from the writing, this film was shot as a masterpiece in tension-building. My favorite scene starts with people talking in a dark room where they have no escape. Pretty typical horror stuff, right? But the scene sets itself apart as something special when the characters start to hear a peculiar noise—an unsettling scratching of metal. Instead of jumping to the action, the scene allowed just the right amount of time for the audience to sit in the dark and hear the metallic noise come closer and closer, finally culminating in something much more disturbing and awesome than I could have imagined while waiting in the dark. I was on the edge of my seat for the entire movie.

With most true-blue horror movies, I don’t recommend them to people unless they’re actually into horror for its own sake. But this film pushes the plot and writing into the realm of “good,” where most horror films fear to tread. So, fear not.

Jennifer's Body: "Hell is a Teenage Girl"

My vote for the most underrated film of 2009 might shock my readers, but please, hold your rotten tomatoes until you actually see Jennifer’s Body. Like most discriminating movie-goers, I felt the film’s ad campaign worked hard to convince me this was your run-of-the-mill sexy teenage horror romp starring Megan Fox. Let me set a few things straight. First of all, contrary to what the previews imply, there are zero scenes with nudity. Yes, Jennifer uses her skankish charms to lure boys into her professionally-manicured grip, but the movie is much more concerned with exploring strong female characters than it is with teasing horny teenage movie-goers. After I saw the film, I wanted to beat up whoever was the film’s director of marketing. Every time I rave about this film, I have to combat the expectations set by its terrible previews.

Written by Diablo Cody (the writer of Juno), this film teems with crunchy dialogue that’s funny, surprising, witty, and smart. The writing and cinematography strike a nice balance of paying homage to classic horror films and toying with the expectations of the horror audience. Above and beyond most films in its genre, it has some unexpected plot turns, great pacing, delicious irony, and even a satisfying ending.

Another secret that the previews keep from you is that Amanda Seyfried steals the show. Sure, Megan Fox makes a great high school villain, but the story really follows Seyfried’s character, Needy, and it’s her sharp narration and endearing demeanor that pushes this treat into a sophisticated, delectable concoction.

With such empowering female roles, this is not a film targeting puberty-riddled boys looking for a little T&A. If anything, this is a horror film geared toward women— a rare specimen indeed. Don’t get me wrong, the gents will love it, too. But the characters, humor, and restraint in gore have a slight female-minded slant. Like in Juno, the women are strong, witty, relatable characters in a realistic high school environment. In this case, there just happens to be supernatural forces at play.

Now that I’ve let you in on this gem of a secret, it’s time to find some friends and watch this baby, pronto. You have my personal guarantee that it will surprise you, make you laugh, and leave you with feelings of anger toward certain marketing departments.

Inglourious Basterds: "That's a bingo!"

For Christmas I received a fresh special edition, 2-disc copy of Inglourious Basterds, and I have renewed my vows of love for this film. Few films can deliver like this WWII revenge story served Tarantino style. The plot, dialogue, acting, cinematography, and set design all bear the watermark of this master storyteller’s original and refreshing writing and directing. As always, Tarantino’s story wastes no time sinking its teeth deep into the audience. Mr. Tarantino knows how to build tension within scenes and from scene to scene, culminating in one of the most satisfying finales ever put to celluloid.

The audience cannot help but invest in the film’s developed and dimensional characters. I especially love how everyone speaks their own language (the Germans speak German, the French speak French, etc.) and when someone tries to speak another language it isn’t a cakewalk—there are accent anomalies and cultural differences that make it difficult. This fact alone makes the film feel more natural than a lot of WWII films. However, Tarantino’s brilliance in character development goes far beyond linguistic variation. A full chapter of the film is afforded to introduce each of the three principal characters. Each generous introduction offers a glimpse into a fully-realized world in itself, complete with the intricacies and complexities of real people—with a little Tarantino attitude and sharp wit thrown in. Tarantino’s flavorful character development results in villains that the audience hopes to see brutally punished, to the point that when certain baddies are beaten with baseball bats, having swastikas carved into their foreheads, shot until their flesh peels off, and yes, even burned alive while shot with machine guns, asphyxiated, and blown up at the same time, the violence is necessary for the film—even gratifying—instead of vulgar.

Blood and gore aside, this is a gorgeous film. The risks Tarantino takes with 30-minute long scenes, bird’s eye views through cutaway set pieces, and unconventional music choices all succeed in making the film something more meaningful to contemplate as a work of art, separate from the story and characters. You could mute the dialogue, and the images with the accompanying score would remain as something inherently beautiful and daring.

In all honesty, there is one scene I would change in the film: the one with Mike Myers playing Winston Churchill’s right hand man. It feels a little out-of-place and out of pace with the rest of the story, moving slowly and with some redundant plot explanation. I think this scene could have been edited or eliminated, but that is my one small complaint for what is otherwise a perfect film.

Hands down, I rate this film the best of the year. Nothing else comes close to touching it. Since Tarantino’s reputation precedes him, he had a lot of pressure while making this film, and he surpassed all expectations. He created the capstone WWII movie, and I think it will be quite a while before someone returns to the genre. No one can rewrite history more satisfyingly and meaningfully than Quentin Tarantino.

AVATAR: Not the Last Airbender

James Francis Cameron is kind of a geek god. My peers love to remember him for his works The Terminator, Rambo, and Aliens. But I like to remind people that he also made Titanic, one of his most critically-acclaimed films but also one of his most boring— a beautiful display of his inability to edit. I say Titanic is only one of his worst films, because Avatar, while visually appealing, was a three-hour film (that felt like it lasted days) with a predictable plot and the most terrible screenwriting I’ve heard in a while. If the cliché one-liners every three seconds aren’t enough to make you cringe, being beaten over the head with five simultaneous political messages might do the trick.

As I said, the visual effects were the redeeming factor. The world created by Cameron was vibrant, with some delicious textures. And the line between the live-action shooting and the computer generated images was seamless. A lot of the time you forgot you were watching CG characters. At the same time, it was disappointing that this alien world that held so much creative potential was inhabited mostly by creatures similar to that of creatures on Earth (the aliens had their own versions of wild dogs and horses with some alien-esque modifications). These aliens, who had so many possibilities for a unique existence, were a blatant carbon copy of Native Americans. Their religion, speech, clothing, hunting methods, and social structure were unoriginal. Clearly, Cameron was hoping to create his own LOTR-type universe with another world and another language, but he failed to channel the imaginative genius of Tolkein.

My two cents is to skip Avatar in the theaters (unless you’re a visual effects geek or a masochist) and watch it in the comfort of your own home instead. Upon renting it, you can pause it at the mid-point of 1.5 hours, stretch your limbs, and come back to it later if you choose. I could have easily gone another ten years without seeing this movie.