The Amateur Scientist: Across the Comic-Con Dimension Part 3 – Warner Bros., Gaiman, and a Go-Go

During Comic-Con week, the prices at the Marriott and the Hyatt, the convention center’s two closest hotels, are higher than Carrie Fisher in ‘79, but some might say it’s worth the expense. After all, it’s in those rooms that the late-night, alcohol-fueled partying goes on. Where else can one expect to walk the halls and overhear Mark Waid fist-fighting with Geoff Johns or Alex Ross making love to an 18-year-old communications major dressed as Stargirl?

For those with weak stomachs and a tight budget, however, the Escondido Motel 6 offers its own brand of fun and excitement. I pulled into the parking lot Thursday night to find a group of gentlemen enjoying a tailgate fiesta in my designated spot. I would have been angry if the conversation weren’t so fascinating and the tequila bottle so bottomless. Miguel’s shrimp and Cheeto quesadillas looked delicious as well. Unfortunately, I was already full from Jack in the Box.

Suffice it to say, semi-legal Mexican spirits and mayonnaise-soaked sourdough burgers do not make for an appetizing mix in the morning. I was too queasy to risk cutting in line for the Warner Bros. panel in Hall H. One jab to the gut, and I feared my liver might rupture, so I hiked it to the back of the line, which stretched into the mountains outside Tijuana and was accessible only on mule-back. Fortunately, since all laws of time and space are nonexistent within the San Diego Convention Center, I got in anyway.

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The first presentation of the panel was for the new Get Smart movie, and we were treated to personal appearances by Peter Segal (the director), that nerdy Asian guy from TV’s Heroes, the fat naked guy from Borat, Steve Carell, and Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson. Personally, I’ve never understood the appeal of men in Speedos and Halloween costumes pretending to hurt each other, so I can’t say I’m a fan of Johnson’s. However, two pasty teenagers sitting behind me (who I shall call Statler and Waldorf) seemed intensely interested in him. I felt the spit from their hollering and the wind from their flailing arms when Johnson walked across the stage. When he cracked an off-the-cuff joke about not wearing pants on the set, Statler squealed, “Oh my God, he’s so funny!” When a man in a Devil’s Rejects t-shirt took the microphone and asked how much Johnson benched, Waldorf nearly lost his mind screaming.

Statler and Waldorf actually provided most of my entertainment throughout this mostly lackluster panel. The Get Smart presentation was by far the highlight, with a slick trailer that made the movie seem surprising and funny and not at all extraneous as an update of the original TV show. By comparison, Nicole Kidman’s taped introduction to the Invasion trailer was downright unwelcome. When producer Joel Silver (who, by the way, looked like a bearded and basted Thanksgiving turkey in a yellow blazer) informed us that Kidman had sent a little something all the way from Australia, Statler and Waldorf yelled in unison, “send it back!” I knew what they meant. Watching the former Mrs. Tom Cruise shilling for an unnecessary Invasion of the Body Snatchers remake, I couldn’t help but notice how much she and Meg Ryan’s cosmetic surgeries are making them look like shiny, lumpy versions of each other. If that seems like a shallow comment, I apologize, but blame the Invasion trailer for not holding my attention.

Afterward, Ed Burns and Shannyn Sossaman, stars of the upcoming Japanese horror remake One Missed Call showed up to try and convince the crowd to remember who they are. For those in the dark, Ed Burns is the handsome, witless Woody Allen, and Shannyn Sossaman plays with her hair a lot. Asked by a fan of Chakushin Ari, the movie upon which this one was based, how the remake adds or detracts from the original, Sossaman buried her face in her hands, stared into her water glass, and mumbled, “I still haven’t seen the original. It isn’t – maybe – popular – in our country.” Honestly, Burns came off as simply bored, and Sossaman seemed to have the vocabulary of a See ‘n Say. As a last-ditch bribe, Burns announced that everyone who asked a question would receive a free iPhone. As Sossaman chunked the little black boxes at surprised and frightened conventioneers, Waldorf exclaimed, “Dude, you can’t throw an iPhone! That shit’s fragile!”

Next came the “world premiere” trailer for Roland Emmerich’s 10,000 B.C., which wasn’t technically a world premiere, seeing as how I saw it a week before in front of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Still, the trailer looked interesting. A spear-and-skins epic set in the age of the wooly mammoths is a fine idea for a film. Too bad it’s been made by the creator of Independence Day, The Patriot, and Taco Bell Presents: Godzilla ‘98.

The presentation for Whiteout, the adaptation of Greg Rucka’s excellent comic book, featured the director, Dominic Sena, and Rucka himself. Both men killed time while we waited for an appearance by the film’s star, Kate Beckinsale, who was apparently stuck behind a train somewhere outside. Rucka chose to use this opportunity to discuss the improvements made upon his original story for the movie, while Cena responded to a six-year-old’s questions about pranks on the set with a story involving dildos. As if on cue, Beckinsale finally arrived, and my life has been a little dimmer since she left the stage. I liked her in Much Ado About Nothing and The Last Days of Disco, but I must admit I’d never felt much love for the rest of her work. Pearl Harbor, Underworld, Van Helsing, Click – these aren’t so much movies as anti-movies. Instead of drawing us in, they repulse us with their crapiness and serve as a necessary counterbalance to films of actual effort and quality. But the minute Kate (I call her Kate) walked on stage, I knew she was the one for me. When someone asked about the lack of ethnic diversity in Hollywood, Kate deadpanned, “I’m actually Asian.” I’ve never met someone more stunningly beautiful and stunningly funny. Maybe it was the tequila from the night before, but I felt my stomach leap. If my girlfriend allows it, I shall make Kate my wife.

Oh, and Whiteout looks like it might be okay.

Yes, the panel ended with a Watchmen presentation. No, I won’t discuss it much further. Judging by his cast and his comments on stage, Zack Snyder may very well make a great film here. But what’s the point, really, when Watchmen is already perfect? As Brian K. Vaughn put it, just like the Beatles will always be the greatest band, Watchmen will always be the greatest comic book.

I took a stroll through the exhibit hall on my way to the Neil Gaiman panel. Some cast members from Star Trek: The Next Generation were doing a signing, and it warmed my heart to see Marina Sirtis wearing a low-cut, skintight white tank top. She’s 52, and she knows she can still send a fanboy’s loins into a twitter. Hell, she sent mine into a twitter, and I’m a cool, scientific journalist. Kudos, Counselor Troi.

In Room 6, I sat through the end of the panel on the new Kids WB Spider-Man cartoon, waiting for Gaiman and contemplating the distinguished yet retro goatee John de Lancie sported down at the Star Trek booth. Spider-Man looks promising, if a little weighted on the kiddie side. It was a little hard to pay attention what with the streaming-in of lace and vinyl-clad Neil Gaiman fans. Although he is arguably the second greatest comic book writer of all time (behind Alan Moore, who, even if he isn’t the greatest, can make himself appear so through his skills in magick), Gaiman tends to attract a certain type of fan. Look beyond his raven-haired acolytes hanging out at the public library all day and cutting themselves with Lady Bics, and you’ll find not only a great comic book writer, but a great writer period. That being said, I had to switch seats after a jerkin-clad behemoth with a stuffed dragon around his neck sat in front of me.

There wasn’t much to report from the Neil Gaiman panel. He let slip a few nuggets of info on upcoming projects and engaged in a lengthy denouncement of the existence of writer’s block. Gaiman’s analysis (and the correct one): There’s no such thing as writer’s block – only writers getting stuck. In the end, Gaiman is worth seeing simply because he is a charming, witty storyteller, and he knows how to keep an audience’s interest. His anecdote about being dubbed “scary trousers” by a testy and morbid Alan Moore was worth waiting in any line to hear. If Jane Goldman and Kate Beckinsale hadn’t already stolen my heart, I would have gladly given it to Neil.

And my heart would be stolen one last time Friday night by Jane Wiedlin, the perky rhythm guitarist for the Go-Go’s, who worked as the trophy presenter at this year’s Eisner Awards. The Eisners are the Oscars of comics, and they’re presented every year at Comic-Con at a gala event in Ballroom 20. Gala, that is, for the presenters, nominees, and distinguished press who get to sit at the front of the ballroom. Commoners like myself are velvet-roped into the rear – forced to watch helplessly as the movers and shakers of the comic book world schmooze and booze just a few tantalizing yards away. The smell of roast chicken wafted back from the VIP tables and mingled with the body odor of the Fables super-fan sitting next to me. How do I know he was a Fables super-fan? Because any time that particular comic book won an award (which was often), he would whoop and clap loud enough that I’m now suffering the early stages of tennitus.

Like the Oscars, the Eisners tend to run long. Unlike the Oscars, there is no orchestra to indicate when an acceptance speech has worn out its welcome. Between the mumbly mugging of artist Paul Pope (who seemed to be wearing the underwear from David Bowie’s Labyrinth costume) and the endless, nostalgic ranting of the hall of fame inductees (I get it, forgotten Silver Age comic book artists were the greatest and most interesting people who ever lived), the ceremony stretched well into the night. Poor Jane Wiedlin had to stand behind the trophy table for hours on end, just waiting for her cue to hand a little statue to Grant Morrison or Bill Willingham or Neil Gaiman or all three at once. I would have stuck around and invited her back to the Motel 6, but I had to cut out if I was going to make it back before Pedro finished the last bottle of tequila and Juan slapped the last Cheeto on the grill.

Stay tuned for part 4, wherein chaos magick takes hold of the comic book industry, Lucy Lawless steals me away from Kate Beckinsale (and Jane Goldman, and Marina Sirtis), and Joss Whedon rules my soul.

About The Amateur Scientist: Brian Thompson is a professor of amateur science at a major imaginary university. He has been able to read and write for over seventeen years.