Month: October 2002

I know that executives can run their businesses any way they want as long as they stay within confines of the law. I have no problem with that.

So it’s very simple, really: A law must be passed that forbids Fox from handling science fiction series. Lobby your congressmen. Write your senators. This whole Iraq business must take second chair to the far more pressing problem of Fox’s inability to broadcast, handle or support SF.

This is nothing new. It goes all the way back to their first SF series, “Alien Nation.” Innovative, brilliantly handled, transcending the patchy film on which it was based…and prematurely cut down by–if memory serves–the same TV exec who fingered the original “Star Trek” for cancellation when he was at NBC. Then there’s “Futurama,” a show pre-empted so routinely that there’s enough unshown episodes stockpiled for an entire season…most of which will likely be pre-empted if history is any judge. They could start releasing it on DVD and likely have all the episodes into the marketplace before they’ve ever aired.

Now there’s “Firefly.” Two whole episodes aired (the second of which I thought was quite good), and suddenly double-preempted: First out of its Friday slot by the baseball playoffs, and then stared twenty minutes late on Sunday (frustrating anyone who set their VCR for 4 to 5) because of football. Yes, I understand that football is more popular with Fox viewers than SF. But the consistent targeting of SF as sacrificial gridiron or diamond lamb is bordering on the pathological. Or they simply give it no time to build its audience whatsoever. Even tangentally related shows, such as “The Tick,” get short shrift. “Hey, let’s take this quirky, different kind of series and put it up against Must See TV. That’ll work!”

I now comprehend why Chris Carter steadfastly maintained that “X-Files” wasn’t SF when it so obviously was. He knew the moment it was labeled as such, Fox would say, “Oh my God…kill it. Slot it for Sunday at 1 AM. Pre-empt it until January. Do *something* to it.”

Am I the only one sick of execs who claim that a show never found its audience when the audience was never able to find the show?

PAD

Spent the weekend up in Boston visiting with my two elder daughters, Shana and Gwen, who are both living there now. Saturday evening we saw “Spirited Away,” the brilliant Japanese import brought here through the courtesy of Disney (who, perhaps, has gotten fed up with people pointing out similarities between their feature films and various manga and anime, and has decided to go straight to the unvarnished source.)

The film centers around the endeavors of a young girl to free her parents, transformed into pigs, from the clutches of an evil witch who runs a bath house for wayward spirits. Its episodic nature causes the narrative to bog down for a while in the middle, but the strength of the sheer visualization means the film will be with you long after the latest Hollywood drek has been flushed away into the furthest recesses of your memory. We saw the dubbed version; the subtitled version was running a bit too late at night considering we had young Ariel with us, and besides, who wants to tear their eyes away from the staggering array of visuals in order to read the subtitles?

While in the area, we also stopped by New England Comics where Gwen, currently looking for work, filled out a job application. Under “special skills” she wrote, “Can talk Peter David into doing store signing.” Which is true enough, and considering I’m cutting waaaaay back on store signings, that’s no mean feat. So if I wind up signing comics at NEC, you’ll know why.

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Peter gets interviewed here. Man, he really doesn’t like tooting his own horn, does he?

The problem with the story of the hideous shooting spree in Maryland hitting around the same time as “Red Dragon” is that I read the news story and start looking at it with Hannibal Lecter analysis. Five shootings within a fourteen hour period. “Doesn’t that seem desperately random, Clarice?” echoes in my head.

And I find myself looking at the time involved. James D. Martin, shot in the parking lot of a grocery store at 6:04 PM, followed twelve hours later by four shootings between 7:41 am and 9:58 am in various random locations.

Why twelve hours? Why such a long wait?

There’s various explanations. An assortment of possibilities.

But me…if I’m the police…I’m treating it like one homicide. I’m focusing all my attention on the murder of Martin. Follow: Someone wants to kill him. I don’t know who, but it’s someone who knew Martin and tailed him from his government job when he left for the day. The shooter waited outside the grocery store when Martin went it to pick up some groceries. When Martin emerged, he shot him. He left the scene. He figures he got away with it. But then he starts to worry, to get nervous. He spends the whole night sleepless, convinced a trail will lead directly to him. So he gets an idea. First thing next morning, he drives around and shoots four innocent, unconnected people. Now it’s not a single murder. Now it’s a pattern. A deranged serial killer. Maybe even terrorism. Now his tracks are covered because the police aren’t looking for one murderer who had it out for James Martin. They’re looking for a random serial killer.

Desperately random.

Food for thought.

PAD

Well, now *this* is interesting. Mere hours after I express concern that Todd would glide past another one, a Wisconsin all-female jury stuck their collective foot out and tripped him up. Details can be found on icv2.com, but the bottom line is that the jury found in Neil Gaiman’s favor on all nine counts. Among other things, they affirmed Neil’s copyright interest in the characters he created (and you’d think that creator-loving Todd wouldn’t need a group of women in Wisconsin to tell him that, wouldn’t you), that Todd broke assorted contracts, and that Image had no right to use Gaiman’s name and bio without his permission in the Angela trade reprint (Hey! Instant collector’s item!)

The most amusing bit was McFarlane’s attorney stating that the verdict was a “nightmare” since it simultaneously held at Neil had copyright interest in Cagliostro and Spawn, but that there was also a contract in 1997 in which Neil had agreed to transfer the rights in exchange for Todd’s interest in Miracleman. Amazingly, the attorney didn’t seem to realize that both were true because his client had violated the 1997 agreement. It’s like saying, “How can you claim my client saw a stop sign AND broke a traffic law?” Obviously, because the client then ignored the stop sign.

Now…if Todd’s people have *any* brains at all, they settle. Fast. Before the penalty phase. Advantage to Neil? It puts an end to the inevitable appeals that McFarlane will try to run the case through. Advantage to Todd? It means he has some control over how much money he has to pay out. Juries can be weird. Remember how much money they demanded he pay Tony Twist, and that was in a case far more ludicrous than this one.

On the other hand, the creator of Spawn may count on being Todd McTeflon and figure he’ll win on appeal. At the very least, he can try to drag it out. And drag it out. And drag it out. Not every judge is the speed demon that Judge Shabaz is. But it seems to me (and I could be wrong) that if Image is found guilty of wrong doing, then the whole company is on the hook. Todd’s partners may be putting a metaphorical gun to Todd’s head at the moment and saying, “Make this go away, NOW, before you bankrupt the whole company.”

Am I happy about this?

God, no. I’m really, really not.

Law suits are grueling, ugly, time consuming, soul-killing affairs. I hate that Neil had to go through it. And I hate that Todd has such weakness of spirit that he gets himself into these things. What a waste of material. What a friggin’ waste.

PAD

Ah, but to find out you’ll have to go here.

The Neil Gaiman/Todd McFarlane trial is currently under way in Wisconsin. Detailed coverage is being provided in such venues as comicon.com, http://www.newsarama.com, and http://www.icv2.com.

In short, McFarlane painted himself as the champion of creative rights, and was since revealed to be–predictably–the champion of his creative rights, but that’s pretty much it. Todd has made no secret of the pride he takes in burning bridges, and that apparently includes bridges constructed with the aid of (in this case) Neil Gaiman. Neil’s contributions to SPAWN not only gave Todd such characters as “Angela,” but it also gave him something even more important: Creative cred. The feeling in the comic industry was that if Neil was, metaphorically speaking, getting in bed with McFarlane, then McFarlane really had something to offer. Turns out he did: What he had to offer was further proof that power tends to corrupt.

Frankly, the current situation worries me. The jury consists of six people who know nothing about comics, McFarlane, Gaiman, or copyright law. I know that’s how our judicial system works, but really–would you want your next coronary bypass to be performed by half a dozen check out clerks at the local Shop ‘N Bag? Six strangers can’t understand that McFarlane lies. That he’s proud of lying. That he boasts about lying (saying he creates “ghost Todds” for interviews.) That he lied on the stand about Tony Twist…and got away with it. Not since John Gotti has anyone been so cloaked in teflon; it’s impressive and amazing to watch in a way. It’s like watching a factory fire…except the factory is magically holding up fine and the rest of the neighborhood is going up.

Neil is in the right and Todd is in the wrong. I’m worried, though, that a jury will be taken in by Todd McFarlane. Why wouldn’t they be? Neil Gaiman was.

PAD