It’s not often that I take a moment to express my love for a piece of plastic, but allow me the indulgence of declaring that I Adore Hasbro’s Star Wars Vintage Original Trilogy Collection Greedo!

The Vintage Original Trilogy Collection–or as the way we Star Wars geeks refer to it, the VOTC–is Hasbro’s way of getting us to buy more expensive versions of action figures we already own. They figure that if they take familiar characters, give them spiffy new sculpts, cloth accessories and loads of articulation, then stick them on reproductions of original ’70s/’80s Kenner backing cards, that we’ll happily fork over ten bucks a pop. And they’re right!

Greedo is a character that even a lot of non geeks would probably recall, even if they didn’t remember his name. He’s the green, bug-eyed, snout-nosed bounty hunter who tried to collect on Han Solo’s debt to Jabba the Hutt in the original Star Wars film. For his trouble, he got blasted underneath the table by a sneaky Solo.

Although it may not seem so special in the days of summer movies with monstrous budgets and cutting-edge CGI, in 1977, the “Cantina” sequence was a show-stopper. Never before had we seen more than a couple of different alien races in a single room, but here were perhaps 40 of them, slugging down drinks and getting in fights. Who cared that a couple of them were wearing off-the-shelf Halloween masks?

And Greedo was arguably the most memorable of the bunch. It helped that he had the most screen time, but his articulated snout, subtitled Huttese dialogue and sticky end cemented his prominence in Star Wars fandom.

While Greedo wasn’t one of the original 12 action figures from the film, he was featured in the second wave, along with a few more Cantina denizens. Unfortunately, his depiction wasn’t even close to what was seen on screen. He had some funky, all-green jumpsuit and thigh-high boots. Still, it was good enough for the time.

Over the years, there have been several attempts at a Greedo for Generation Y, but none have fully captured Greedo’s suave goodness until now…

On the left, Greedo circa 1979. On the right–and pointing a gun at not-quite-Greedo’s head–is the bad mofo Greedo 2006! Check out his stylin’ duds, including a cloth vest!

Finally, after 29 years, I have a Greedo worthy of the name. A Greedo built for action! A Greedo who will most definitely not shoot at Han Solo first and miss from a distance of two feet!

Granted, he’s probably still the same Greedo who got plugged under the table. But in my world, Greedo lives, and he will KICK. YOUR. ASS.

Dave Toys

Because I’m just not sure.

Okay, that’s as much snark as I’ll allow myself on this topic. I realize that one person’s incessant drumbeat of media hype is another’s eagerly awaited summer movie blockbuster. I’m sure that plenty of non-Star Wars geeks did not share my enthusiasm last spring during the build-up to Revenge of the Sith.

I am perhaps one of the five people in America who have not read The Da Vinci Code. I don’t say that in an “I’m better than you” way. Truth is, I don’t read many novels these days, and I’m not especially proud of that. I find that I have the attention span of a fruit fly, and that it’s difficult for me to devote the time necessary to consume a lengthy narrative.

From what little I know about the book, I don’t understand the fuss. Apparently it revolves around some standard-issue religious conspiracy hoo-hah involving the secret life of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. Okay, I can understand that this is stepping on the hooves of some sacred cows, so to speak. For some reason, it seems to have inspired serious discussion of the topic among church groups, which just strikes me as odd, something akin to the American Bar Association debating the merits of the latest John Grisham legal potboiler.

My own personal peeve about the book–which again, I haven’t read and clearly don’t know enough about to have an informed opinion–is that it’s one of those shaggy dog stories in which seemingly innocuous details are really deliberately planted pieces of an insanely complex puzzle leading to a dark secret and/or great treasure. In this case, it turns out that Leonardo Da Vinci was leaving coded messages in his great works of art, which is, of course, something that artists do all the time. (It’s a well-known fact that in Renoir’s 1876 painting, A Girl with a Watering Can, the phrase “I loves me some cheese” can be seen spelled out in flower petals.)

It’s similar to that Bible Code craze from a few years back, in which it was declared that hidden, prophetic words can be found in the King James Version by picking out every twelfth letter or somesuch. Why? Because it’s likely that people writing a religious text would want to hide their prophecies. Never mind that you can find seemingly significant words in any large hunk of text if you try hard enough. (For example, I’m sure that you can find the word “moonbat” in the above paragraph with the right algorithmic sequence. Go ahead, keep trying. Let me know what you come up with.)

[The movie National Treasure, which is not, not I tell you, an attempt to rip off The Da Vinci Code, also deals with coded messages concealed within well-known items: here, the Declaration of Independence and the dollar bill. Trivia: Every time a commercial for National Treasure comes on our TV, my wife shouts, "Will you please be quiet?! The dollar bill is trying to talk!" I don't think that they actually said that in the film, but it's still funny.]

Stories like The Da Vinci Code turn the entire world into one big John Edward “cold reading” session: if you really, really want, you can score enough “hits” off random bits of information to convince yourself that you really are receiving messages that no one but you–and possibly Dan Brown–can understand. There’s a word for that, and it ain’t Mona Lisa.

Dave Movies

This isn’t the sort of thing I typically blog about, but I thought that it was amusing enough to share.

This is Kimberly Williamson Butler. She is running for Mayor of New Orleans. She is doing this despite being a clerk in the office which supervises the mayoral election. As you can see from the banner of her campaign website, she has “the right experience” for the job. After all, look how clean New Orleans looks in that photo.

Except that, as Jim Hill Media reports–and I can confirm–that’s Disneyland’s New Orleans Square. From where she’s shown to be “standing,” she’s about 100 feet from the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean.

I should point out that for many years it’s been a fantasy of mine that if I had the money to do so, I would live in a second-floor apartment on this very street.

Updated: The web site banner in question has been updated at least twice since I last commented on it. First, the telltale Disneyland trash can was Photoshopped out of the otherwise unchanged photo. As of today, the photo has been removed entirely, replaced by a general graphic proclaiming “The End of Politics as Usual.”

Dave Weird

Updated: It was pointed out to me that I had inadvertantly left out a very important member of the JLD.

In my previous post, I mulled over the ideal membership of the Justice League of America. After further thought, I decided that sticking to DC Comics characters was too limiting. “What,” I pondered, “would be the ultimate superhero team?” And so, I bring to you…

Superman! Doctor Who! Buffy the Vampire Slayer! R2-D2! Godzilla! They are…The Justice League of Dave!

Criminals, beware!

Dave Comics

Recently, for no purpose outside of exercising my geek muscles, I found myself contemplating the following: “What would be the ideal membership of the Justice League of America?” I know what you’re thinking, but honestly, it gets boring driving around town, and my mind tends to wander.

The JLA is DC Comics’ premiere superhero team. Not always its most popular, but certainly the one with the longest continuous publishing schedule. In various forms, it’s been around since 1960.

The League was itself a reworking of the original superhero alliance, 1940′s Justice Society of America, which was created as a marketing ploy to bolster the World War II era heroes published by DC and its affiliated company, All-American Comics. At the time, its ever-changing roster usually featured heroes which did not have their own title. For that reason, Superman and Batman remained honorary members, and Flash and Green Lantern left the group once they got their own books.

When DC revived the concept for the Space Age, they initially made it more straightforward. The JLA were “The World’s Greatest Superheroes,” and the roster was made up of the company’s heavy hitters: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman and the Martian Manhunter. Green Arrow, the Atom and Hawkman were added soon after. That lineup remained fairly consistent for years, though later they were joined by the Elongated Man (think Plastic Man with a stupid name), Black Canary (herself a former member of the Justice Society), the Red Tornado (an android whirlwind named after a ’40s superhero spoof), Firestorm the Nuclear Man, Zatanna (a leggy sorceress who casts spells by speaking reverse English) and Hawkgirl (because one hawkperson is not enough).

That was the “classic” lineup for the first couple of decades, until a boneheaded editorial decision replaced many of the iconic characters with fresh, young heroes. The book was cancelled soon afterward, but since has been brought back under a variety of titles, with perhaps a hundred different members over time.

All of this serves as an introduction to the central question that kept me occupied in the car: Who deserves to be in the Justice League?

First off, the absolute essentials have to be the three core DC characters: Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. Some have argued that their prominence elsewhere limits their effectiveness in a team book. I say bullshit. These are the big names, and no assemblage of “The World’s Greatest Superheroes” could be without them.

Next, I would include Green Lantern and the Flash, for their prominence, longevity (at least in concept, even though various characters have carried those names) and power. Though Silver Age test pilot Hal Jordan was the Green Lantern of my youth, I would follow the lead of the producers of the Justice League cartoon and go with John Stewart. Stewart is one of DC’s few prominent black superheroes–hell, he’s one of the few non-whites–and while it might smell of tokenism, I’d like my League to have at least a bit of diversity.

My first exclusion would be Aquaman. Yes, it seems wrong. The man was one of the “Super Friends,” for goodness’ sake. But the old criticisms of Aquaman still (erm) hold water; swimming and talking to fish aren’t that useful on dry land. Sure, put him on speed dial, but otherwise send him back to his finny friends.

Next to go would be Hawkman. Don’t misunderstand. I like Hawkman, but his superpowers are flying and swinging a mace. Most of the League members can fly, even Batman if you count his Batplane, Batgyro and Batwhathaveyou. Being able to fly is almost a requirement of membership. And a mace might make a decent weapon against the Tattooed Man, but not against the sort of world conquerers the League typically faces. See you later, Hawkdude, and take your girlfriend with you!

Then there’s Green Arrow. Yes, he has almost as long a history as Hawkman, but he’s been accurately described as “Batman with a bow.” There’s really nothing that Green Arrow can accomplish that Batman can’t, so long as Bats has a fully-stocked utility belt and an assload of Batarangs. You might say, “But what if the JLA needs to win an archery contest?” Well, as a trained Amazon warrior, Wonder Woman surely could fill in. Back to your Arrowcave, Green Arrow!

I have mixed feelings about the Atom. The JLA doesn’t always need someone who can shrink to microscopic size, but when it does, no one else will do. I’d cast him as the team’s scientific advisor. Keep him in the satellite until some really tiny aliens need a good punching.

The Martian Manhunter is even more of a question. He’s one of the original seven Leagures, and he’s got powers–lots of them. In fact, between his super-strength, flight, nigh-invulnerability, Martian vision, super-breath, telepathy, shapeshifting, invisibility and intangibility, you barely need anyone else. Which is why I have a problem with him as part of a team. Still, he seems too good to not have around.

I’d definitely ditch Black Canary and Red Tornado. Canary is “Batman with better legs.” Her sonic scream is a plus, but again, Superman and the Martian have that covered. And poor Red Tornado never gets a break; what’s the point of being a robotic vortex of wind when the Flash can create his own twisters just by spinning in place?

The League needs someone to deal with magical threats, and while my head says Doctor Fate, the gold-helmeted adventurer with power to spare and one of the all-time cool costumes, my heart belongs to Zatanna, if only to add a second woman to the team and to fill the fishnet stocking void vacated by Black Canary.

For the sake of versatility, I think it’s important for one of the Leaguers to be able to absorb and redirect energy. It’s a good skill to have, for example, when a Russian nuclear reactor goes into overload. Here I’m torn between Firestorm the Nuclear Man and Captain Atom. Atom, for my money, is clearly the more powerful of the two, plus he has military connections that might prove useful. However, from my perspective, he’s not really a DC character; he was purchased from the defunct Charlton Comics in the early ’80s. Firestorm was part of the original League, plus he’s a DC creation. Verdict: Firestorm, come on down!

I also think it would be good to have a technology-based hero, ala Marvel Comics’ Iron Man. The best thing about this is that both of my top contenders are black. Cyborg is one of the founding members of the New Teen Titans, and has also made TV appearances in the waning days of the “Super Friends,” as well as a recent turn on Smallville. My main concern is that he’s too closely associated with the Titans, and thus I turn to Steel, the armor-wearing, hammer-wielding John Henry Irons, who built his own super-suit to replace the temporarily-deceased Superman. Sure, his reputation was besmirched by a crappy feature film starring Shaquille O’Neal, but I won’t hold it against him.

Finally, every team needs a wisecracking stretchy dude. The old League had the Elongated Man, whose ability to extend himself was matched only by the crappiness of his super-name. The ’90s JLA hired Plastic Man as comic relief, and while that’s certainly a step in the right direction, my money’s on Metamorpho, who can match EM and PM in terms of elasticity and turn into a cloud of nitrous oxide, an iron wall, or an oozing glob of bromine. Ironically, Metamorpho was offered membership in the JLA back in the ’60s, but turned it down, citing his desire to become a normal human again.

So, there you have it: the ultimate Justice League, at least according to me. Superman! Batman! Wonder Woman! The Flash! Green Lantern! The Martian Manhunter! Zatanna! Firestorm! Steel! Metamorpho! Co-starring the Atom as scientific advisor, and Aquaman on speed dial!

Hmm…what would be the ideal membership of the Legion of Doom?

Dave Comics

Doctor Who returns to British TV screens–and file-sharing programs around the world–in four days!

This is the way-cool cover of the Radio Times special issue (used without permission) celebrating the start of season two.

Is it wrong to think that Sarah Jane Smith (real-life age: 58) still looks hot?

Dave Doctor Who

Over the past few weeks, my lunchtime reading material has been Showcase Presents Metamorpho, another in DC Comics’ recent series of black-and-white “phonebook” compilations. Its 500 pages of loopy goodness include the entire 17-issue run of the title character’s comic, as well as a half dozen of his most significant 1960s appearances.

Metamorpho is in many ways an oddity. Despite a 40-year career, he remains a peripheral figure in DC’s pantheon, little known outside of geek circles. At the time of his creation, he was very much a product of his era, yet simultaneously a bizarre reflection of then-current trends in the superhero biz.

Throughout the ’50s and ’60s, DC was revitalized by editor Julius Schwartz, who recast many defunct World War II-era characters in the mold of square-jawed, pulp science-fiction heroes. The Flash, Green Lantern, the Atom and Hawkman were among those Schwartz brought back from oblivion, giving them new, science-based powers and sending them on adventures into other worlds. In addition, DC created new heroes such as spaceman Adam Strange and the globe-hopping Challengers of the Unknown.

In some ways, Metamorpho fit right in. As a shape-changing Element Man, he was a walking science lesson. Schwartz and crew worked a lot of science into their stories and sidebar features, even though a lot of it was dubious speculation at best, and often laughably wrong.

Yet, Metamorpho was also an anomaly in the DC line, a reaction to the alarming popularity of rival company Marvel’s misfit heroes such as the Fantastic Four and the Hulk. (Ironically, Marvel’s success was inspired by the groundwork laid by Schwartz.) Metamorpho himself was anything but square-jawed: he was a pasty freak who desperately wanted to rid himself of his superpowers and return to human form. And like Spider-Man and the Thing, he was a wiseacre who happily made meta-commentary on the very notion of superheroes.

Metamorpho was originally Rex Mason, a daredevil adventurer in the employ of billionaire genius Simon Stagg. We first meet Rex as he parachutes into the speeding sportscar of his bombshell girlfriend, Sapphire. Sapph is Stagg’s daughter, and hence the beginning of Rex’s problems. Simon is a disreputable businessman with a private army and an unhealthy protectiveness of his offspring. When he finds out about Rex’s relationship with Sapphire, he leads Mason into a trap.

Rex is sent to bring back the Orb of Ra from an Egyptian pyramid, accompanied by Stagg’s personal assistant, Java the caveman. (Yes, Stagg defrosted a caveman and dressed him in a suit and tie–but no shoes–which should give you a clue that things are odd in this book.) Naturally, Java is obsessed with getting Sapphire for himself, and locks Mason inside the pyramid, exposed to the radioactive rays of a mysterious meteorite. That’s right, there’s a meteorite in the pyramid.

The meteorite alters Mason’s body, turning him into a multicolored freak with the ability to transform into any of the elements found within the human body, as well as their compounds. He’s like Plastic Man, only much more versatile, becoming an invisible gas as easily as a copper spring.

Mason is horrified by his condition, and spends most of his time trying to convince Stagg to find a cure for him. Simon, however, is an unrepentant prick with no intention of losing his new asset.

For her part, the vain and self-centered Sapphire adjusts surprisingly well to her boyfriend’s new appearance, and remains faithfully in love. Besides, Metamorpho often has a lifelike Rex Mason mask on hand when the two hit the town.

For most of the original book’s run, Metamorpho becomes a somewhat reluctant hero, going on missions for Stagg in between dates with Sapphire, with the ever-scheming Java dogging his track.

Created by Bob Haney, Metamorpho is solid, ’60s fun, with a jokey sensibility that rarely veers into outright camp. His initial stories were illustrated by Ramona Fradon, an artist with a unique, cartoony style that I usually didn’t care for, but which comes off very well here.

Unfortunately, Fradon left the book after the first few issues, and you can see the beginnings of a rapid decline soon after. By issue #10, Haney has introduced Element Girl, a sidekick/romantic rival that hints at the desperation to come as sales begin to fall. By the end of the run, the book takes a weirdly serious turn as Metamorpho ditches Sapph at the altar (for Element Girl, of course), then is put on trial for the apparent murder of Sapph’s subsequent husband. A conspiratorial element and a shadowy villain are introduced, and then…the book ends.

Metamorpho has continued to make appearances over the years, at various times a member of teams such as the Outsiders and the Justice League. Several years ago, he finally made it into animated form on the TV series Justice League Unlimited. While he never received quite the notoriety he deserved, for a time he was one of the most unusual, enjoyable superheroes on the page.

Dave Comics

At the beginning of 2006, I wrote that Vicky and I were going to turn our habit of looking for loose change while shopping into a full-fledged game, with the intention of keeping a running total throughout the year. Our first quarter ended last Friday, and as of that date, we’d collected $3.79 in wayward coins, mostly pennies with a surprising number of dimes. (I presume that’s because dimes, while worth more, are smaller and thus less likely to be noticed than nickles.) That’s quite a bit more than I expected, though that’s almost certainly in part because we’re being more vigilant in our efforts.

We found another 14 cents this weekend, and I personally picked up 12 cents today. At this rate, we’ll have made a five spot by mid-April!

Dave General

Last week, I took off from work for a couple of “sanity days,” and had a nice, long–and occasionally strange–four-day weekend.

Sunday kept us on our toes, with a line of storms coming through Central Illinois only two weeks after a tornado caused major damage in Springfield. This time, the twister(s) came closer to Champaign, and while our own home was spared any damage, a car wash near my workplace was partially demolished and the siding was torn from the my favorite bar and grill. I’d expected to find huge branches all over the place, but aside from a couple of reports of downed trees, driving to work I saw very little evidence that we’d even had bad weather. Still, it was enough to knock WILL-TV off the air and temporarily cut the power to our home, leaving us cowering in a pitch-black basement with only the Teeny Flashlight of Disaster Ill-Preparedness to protect us.

Sunday was also odd in that I got more wrong number calls in one day than I had in the past month. One caller wanted to buy my barstool, but that was perfectly normal compared to the rather threatening voice that rang later that day to insist that I had stolen its phone.

I spent the long weekend catching up on movies both at home and at the multiplex. First up was V For Vendetta, a near-future tale of revolution based on a comic book series by Alan Moore. Moore is a strange creation: he looks like Charles Manson and comes off downright misanthropic in interviews, yet writes incredible prose, including the most affectionate, touching Superman story I’ve ever read.

Moore hates what has been done with his work, especially when it comes to Hollywood adaptations. (These include From Hell and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.) This time, angered by publicity suggesting that he approved of the movie version of V, he removed his name entirely from the credits and gave away all money he earned from the project.

That’s odd, because V For Vendetta is actually quite good. While I haven’t read the original, I certainly felt that I could hear Moore’s authorial voice coming through, especially in his use of flashbacks and parallel storylines. Stopping by the bookstore on the way home from the theater to confirm a plot point I’d missed when I went to the restroom, I found that while there were changes between the graphic novel and the film, entire scenes appeared to have been lifted verbatim and, unlike The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (a film I enjoyed despite its butchering of Moore’s complex work), appeared to get the gist of the overall work.

V is the name of a masked revolutionary who sees himself as the catalyst in the toppling of a totalitarian, right-wing society that has risen up in Britain. Hugo Weaving gives a surprisingly strong performance given that he is never once allowed to remove his mask, and Natalie Portman, free from George Lucas’ dialogue, finally seems capable of…well, acting.

The film got somewhat mixed (though overall positive) reviews, but I suspect that the negative notices had more to do with politics than the film’s merits. Some folks were uncomfortable with the idea of a terrorist as a heroic figure.

Another strong film currently playing at a theater near you is Slither, written and directed by the guy who penned the excellent remake of Dawn of the Dead. It’s an old-fashioned monster movie that mixes in humor and self-awareness, much like Tremors. However, its more obvious predecessor is the little-known Night of the Creeps, another horror fest in which alien slugs turn townspeople into zombies.

Nathan Fillion as a South Carolinian sheriff brings the same style of deadpan humor he demonstrated in the short-run sci-fi TV series Firefly. Also notable is Michael Rooker as the alien’s first victim, a hulking guy named Grant Grant (not a typo) who is only slightly less scary before he turns into a tentacled, slithering mass of goo. (Make no mistake, this is a very gory film, even if it is usually so far over the top that the grossness is comical.)

Ironically, Slither bombed at the box office this weekend (there were a grand total of nine people in the Saturday afternoon screening I attended) despite overwhelmingly positive reviews, while a plethora of dead teenager movies that were so bad that they avoided press screenings–including the most recent, Stay Alive–have all performed moderately well.

I also caught up with some home videos, including Space Amoeba, a Japanese giant monster flick that played drive-ins in the ’70s as Yog, Monster from Space. As with Slither, the invader is another alien force which inhabits the bodies of Earth creatures, but because this is a Toho Studios production, it turns them into titanic versions of a cuttlefish, crab and turtle. I bought it mostly for the sake of completism–I’ve been collecting Toho’s monster flicks–and as you might expect, most of the scenes not involving colossal cuttlefish were kinda dull.

Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit was last year’s Oscar-winning Best Animated Feature, and deservedly so. It’s another one which underperformed at the box office, but hopefully should find a long life on home video. As with the previous W&G short subjects, it’s enormously charming and sweet, impeccably timed, and loaded with terrible puns.

Finally, I saw Cigarette Burns, directed by John Carpenter. This is actually an episode from Showtime’s Masters of Horror anthology series, but given its pedigree, it comes off more as a mini-movie. The plot involves a lost horror film (“La Fin Absolute Du Monde,” or “The Absolute End of the World”) which is said to have such terrible power that its only public screening resulting in a homicidal riot. Carpenter has previously toyed with the notion of a creative fiction with the ability to reshape reality in In the Mouth of Madness, but I didn’t enjoy this one as much.

For one, when we learn early on that watching (or even getting close to) the movie causes people to go murderously nuts, it’s little surprise when precisely that happens by story’s end. The screenplay tips its hand by giving up its most interesting revelations too soon: for example, we learn that the collector obsessed with obtaining a copy of “La Fin Absolute Du Monde” has one of its “props,” an angelic being whose wings were cruelly hacked off during the filming, chained in his basement. Finally, because it would be impossible to show us anything that would live up to the legend of the film-within-a-film, we mostly hear about how awful it is. Outside of some especially disgusting gore–a character literally runs his own intestines through a film projector–there’s not much to disintguish it.

Dave Movies