Category Archives: Comic Books

“Sometimes not giving up is the most heroic thing you can do.” Aquaman and The Lost Kingdom AND Wonka

3 January 2024

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“Sometimes not giving up is the most heroic thing you can do.” – Aquaman’s dad Tom Curry (Temuera Morrison)

“Every good thing in this world started with a dream.” – Willy Wonka’s unnamed mother (Sally Hawkins)

Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, contrary to popular reports, is not a bad movie. It’s not a very good movie either. But it is fun and good-hearted in the spirit of big dumb blockbusters from the mid-80s. Director James Wan continues the day-glo world-building from its predecessor.

Wonka, contrary to popular reports, is not a great movie. It’s not a bad movie either. But it is fun and good-hearted in the spirit of big dumb musicals from the late 60s and mid-70s. Director Paul King continues the day-glo world-building from its predecessor.

(Sensing a theme here?)

What both films do really well is explore the ideas of legacy and familial love, both the family you are born into and your “found” family. I would say Wonka does a better job of that than the Aquaman sequel, but taken together (as I did in a post-New Year’s double feature), the films send a loving message about leaning on (and lifting up) friends and family to make the best of a tricky situation … be it preventing a glowy-eyed supervillain from destroying the earth through global warming or a chocolate cartel fixing the prices of yummy confections and driving all competitors out of business. (You can guess which challenge goes with which movie!)

Interestingly, if I had my druthers, I would have suggested some choose-your-own-adventure mashup of the two respective casts. Jason Momoa with his wild child ways actually would have made a far more effective Willy Wonka than the slight, safe Timothée Chalamet. Chalamet is perfectly serviceable as a reedy-voiced song and dance man (Wonka is a musical … Aquaman not so much), but he’s missing the malevolent, unpredictable glee of, say, Gene Wilder who so notably originated the role of Willy Wonka waaaaay back in 1971. Chalamet looks the part and has a (pun-intended) goopy sweetness, but he never delivers that electric charge of creative madness the character requires. Momoa on the other hand nails creative madness on a routine trip to the grocery store.

And then I might swap Patrick Wilson, who plays Aquaman’s ne’er-do-well brother Orm, in for Aquaman himself. Wilson is far more interesting than he’s ever given credit. He looks like he’s carved out of cream cheese (to quote Steel Magnolias) but he has the comic timing and gravitas of someone trained for the Broadway stage (twice Tony-nominated no less!) that would bring some classic zing to the King of the Seas IMHO.

Both films benefit from strong ensemble work, and, like some zany repertory road show, I’d mix and match any and all performers across the films: Sally Hawkins vs. Nicole Kidman as fretting but steely matriarchs in Wonka and Aquaman respectively; Yahya Abdul-Mateen II vs. Paterson Joseph as smoldering but surly baddies Black Manta and Slugworth; Olivia Colman vs. Randall Park for lightly malevolent comic relief; Martin Short vs. Hugh Grant for the “wait, why are THEY in this?” stunt casting (one’s an Oompa Loompa and the other a … fish-man mafia don?). You get the gist.

Oh, and ironically, Aquaman’s totally tubular, synth-rich score by Rupert Gregson-Williams is a smidge more compelling than the songs for Wonka, an actual musical, as composed by The Divine Comedy’s Neil Hannon. That said, I wouldn’t mind seeing/hearing Wonka’s catchy “Scrub, Scrub” being performed by Aquaman’s CGI deep ocean denizens Topo, the crabby scene stealing cephalopod, and Storm, the majestic bioluminescent seahorse. And Wonka director Paul King does wring a new heartbreaking context from classic Leslie Bricusse/Anthony Newley cut “Pure Imagination” toward the conclusion of the prequel. (I’m not crying. You’re crying.)

At this point, anyone reading this “review” has likely given up making head nor (fish) tails of it all. And that’s rather how I feel after having watched both Warner Brothers Discovery flicks. They are fine, fun, decent holiday diversions with enough good in each for you to roll out of bed in your sweatpants and spend an afternoon escaping January’s grey malaise. Both will play far better on a big screen as each film seems to be set-designed by Salvador Dali after raiding a Toys R Us while hopped up on Pixie Stix.

Before we begin our annual slog through Oscar-bait films that *may* be lurking in a theatre near you or are now more likely hidden on some streaming by-way that requires a pricey subscription and/or password you’ve forgotten, go have some big dumb fun at the movies. That’s why we all really love cinema, if we’re truly being honest, Scorsese be damned.

“We’re invisible to people like that. It’s our superpower.” Blue Beetle

27 August 2023

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I still haven’t seen Oppenheimer. But I did just see Blue Beetle. And it’s a delight. I’m not one bit ashamed!

Representation matters. It is especially impactful when done with such love and with detailed cultural inclusion. It’s a shame the film isn’t doing better than it is at the box office – whether due to the impact of actors’ strikes, weather weirdness, and just late summer doldrums. We can simply hope it finds an expanded audience on streaming and cable and gathers good-hearted steam the way the equally charming Encanto did. 

In fact, both films, albeit showcasing different cultures (Blue Beetle the Mexican-American experience, Encanto set in Colombia), center themselves on the ties that bind: mi familia. This theme gives both films their superpowers, highlighting the magic, both tangible and ephemeral, in a close-knit clan.

Director Angel Manuel Soto slows the pace, not often a luxury in superhero spectacles, to shape our understanding of the Reyes family, who are hitting hard times in the fictional Palmera City but never losing their love for each other, their hopefulness, nor their senses of humor. Much of the rest of the film is a paint-by-numbers superhero origin tale, but it works because of the moments we spend early in the film, investing in this beautiful family dynamic.

Karate Kid’s Xolo Maridueña is well-cast as the Peter Parker-esque Jaime, recently graduated from college and quickly realizing that the “American Dream” is not all its cracked up to be. Maridueña acquits himself nicely in the film with an easy charm as he finds himself in possession of a mystical alien scarab that affixes itself to his back (and soul) and imbues him with seemingly limitless superpowers (much to the chagrin of the furnishings and structure of his family’s home). Maridueña deftly makes the leap from small to large screen and carries the film without breaking a sweat.

But his family, oh, his family. I deeply wish DC Studios’ head James Gunn posthaste would turn this film into a streaming series, following the Reyes’ misadventures. Soulful Damián Alcázar as gentle patriarch Alberto, compelling Elpidia Carrillo as deep-feeling mama Rocio, sparkling Belissa Escobedo as quick-witted sister Milagro, zany George López as conspiracy-theorist/tech-aficionado uncle Rudy, and, most notably, beguiling Adriana Barraza as flinty/sassy Nana are a collective, well, marvel. Their ensemble scenes crackle with a world-weary merriment and a canny resilience that give the film its corazón.

There are so many intentional, thoughtful touches throughout, highlighting the socioeconomic and cultural challenges endemic in this country, without ever devolving into moralizing. The film doesn’t pull its punches, though – particularly where fictional global conglomerate Kord Enterprises is concerned. Kord is the chief source of all disparity in Palmera City, a creeping corporate fungus reshaping anything down-to-earth (like the Reyes’ neighborhood) into a Blade Runner-esque high rise megalopolis. At one point, Milagro observes (with a healthy hint of justifiable anger), “We’re invisible to people like that. It’s our superpower.”

Kord is run by Victoria Kord, portrayed in an understated way by Susan Sarandon, who, quite honestly looks a bit lost amidst the summer blockbuster bombast, but holds her own. Blessedly, Sarandon, as the film’s primary villain, plays the role like the misanthropic captain of industry Victoria is, not like Cruella de Vil. A trap lesser actors would fall into, chewing every bit of scenery in their path. It’s just that Sarandon’s believability – refreshing as it is – can’t quite keep pace with a kid who gets glowing blue superpowers from alien tech. Ah well.

Victoria is after the scarab – natch – to develop an army of tech-infused killing machine warriors … and, more importantly to her, to make a lot of moolah by selling to the highest bidding nation state. Eventually the film does devolve into the wham/bam/CGI-fest that one would expect. There are refreshing differences, however.

The film is not afraid to offer overt critique of the evils the military industrial complex wreaks upon the world, nor to question the corrosive impact rampant capitalism can have on authentic community. In a final act twist, Victoria’s henchman Carapax (an occasionally haunting Raoul Max Trujillo) is revealed to have been tragically shaped by the very real-world human collateral damage such warmongering causes. It’s a bit of a stunning reveal for a popcorn kids’ movie, unfortunately a bit rushed, but nonetheless impactful. Kudos to the production team for including.

Structurally, the film feels like a modern-spin on 80s blockbusters that championed the underdog, cracked more than a few ill-timed (but funny) jokes, used moments of tragedy to impel their heroes onward (sometimes defying logic TBH), and gifted us a joyous ending (with one spectacularly prurient one-liner). Ah, memories. Hell, Blue Beetle’s evocative, synth-soaked score by Bobby Krlic sounds like something Tangerine Dream would have knocked out in an afternoon.

Blue Beetle is a charmer. Great cinema? Nah. But a lovely and loving exploration of the Mexican-American experience (the warm, the heartbreaking, the inspiring) in the guise of a superhero yarn. I can only hope that the sociocultural critique subtly woven throughout will impact positively the young people who find this gem on streaming – much like I used to discover cult classics like Buckaroo Banzai and Flash Gordon and Time Bandits and The NeverEnding Story on HBO in the 80s, eating sugary cereal and staying in my pajamas all day but nonetheless … thinking.

“You should seek the help of a mental health professional. The Justice League isn’t very good on that part yet. Trust me.” The Flash (2023)

3 July 2023

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Early on in DC’s latest cinematic effort The Flash, the titular hero (a manically charming Ezra Miller) averts a literal “baby shower” (i.e. babies and a cute rescue dog falling from the sky) when a Gotham City maternity ward starts crumbling after some criminal attack. (Honestly, I’m not sure what caused the near catastrophe … the opening sequence which also features Ben Affleck’s pitch perfect Batman is that chaotic, though nonetheless entertaining.)

After said rescue (yes, all CGI babies and pup end up … unscathed?), The Flash AKA Barry Allen tells an (also rescued) nurse, “You should seek the help of a mental health professional. The Justice League isn’t very good on that part yet. Trust me.” Honestly, it’s a line that is a bit unnerving given Miller’s real-life troubles. (Google him.) Yet also forms a kind of meta thesis for the whole enterprise, an epic existential meditation on regret and healing, wrapped in the wobbly cinematic logic of time travel and parallel universes. Everything Everywhere All at Once. In Spandex.

You see, Barry’s father (shaggy Ron Livingston … at his shaggiest) has been imprisoned (wrongfully Barry believes) for the murder of Barry’s mother. Barry realizes his ability to travel at light speed (he’s the fastest man alive, you might recall) and beyond light speed will allow him to step back in time and avert this family tragedy from ever befalling. And a carefully placed can of crushed tomatoes is the key. (You’ll have to watch the movie to understand.)

Even though Bruce Wayne (Affleck) cautions Barry not to go back in time because of some space/time continuum risk mumbo jumbo (not dissimilar to Willy Wonka intoning exhaustedly “no, don’t do that” to any number of the ill-fated Chocolate Factory brats), Barry does it anyway. And mumbo jumbo ensues.

It all works better than it should but is probably more enjoyable to nerds like me who have subsisted on a steady diet of DC Comics and tv shows and movies since birth. Fan service at its self-indulgently finest. 

Michael Keaton returns to form as another Batman (that would be the mumbo jumbo), and is a welcome reminder to how a grounded yet winking performance sells these summer blockbuster shenanigans. Sasha Calle is a lovely, wounded Supergirl with not nearly enough to do amongst the overstuffed spectacle. Michael Shannon, always a presence, pops up again as General Zod, who seems as beleaguered by superhero cinema as the rest of us at this point.

Oh, and Ezra Miller does double (triple?) duty as another version of himself from earlier in the timeline. It’s a shame his offscreen antics have overshadowed his talent. He really does excellent, nuanced work differentiating the performances, effectively capturing the angst and poignancy of interacting with one’s younger, more impulsive, less world-weary self.

Director Andy Muschietti, working from a screenplay by Christina Hodson, strives overtime to offer haunting and witty character moments throughout. The film is most effective when it’s quiet. That’s not often. But the stellar cast gives it their all, as if they are performing a reflective tragicomic piece by Thornton Wilder or Arthur Miller … but with a lot more kabooms, capes, and poorly rendered CGI. (Truly, the time travel nexus or whatever it is which appears repeatedly is astoundingly bad. Like all the SFX crew had to work with was an old Sega game console.)

But here’s the thing. I actually liked the film. A lot. Maybe in spite of itself. As a musing on what any one of us might do to turn back the clock and prevent life-altering experiences that weigh on our hearts, it’s quite astounding. And refreshing. It may be the most human-centric superhero flight of fancy to ever grace the silver screen. And a timely one as so many of us read the daily headlines and wonder how our world has become so cruel and unkind and callous. 

Or maybe the world has always been that way. And no amount of running back through time could change where we are now. And that’s ok?

That’s the ultimate lesson of The Flash. And it’s a sobering one. No wonder it’s not making any money.

“There are the hands that made us. And then the hands that guide the hands.” Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3

8 June 2023

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There are but a few movies in my life that so deftly balance abject horror and empathetic peril and heart-tugging poignancy that they reduce me to repeated fits of ugly crying: Dancer in the Dark, E.T., Watership Down, and now … Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 3?!? I did NOT see that coming.

This latest Marvel installment in the lives of Star-Lord Peter Quill’s merry band of space-faring misfits landed in theatres about a month ago. I’m behind. Hell, I’m only halfway through Ant-Man and Wasp: Quantumania on DVD. (It’s not nearly as compelling.) Nonetheless, I will try mightily to avoid spoiler territory while still warning my animal-loving, humanitarian friends that this damn movie is TRIGGERING. But toward good (I hope) ends. Director James Gunn has somehow fashioned a high-flying summer blockbuster from a timely, haunting cautionary tale against the evils of eugenics and animal experimentation. The man swings BIG and it lands (mostly) in a powerful way.

The film centers chiefly around the beloved miscreant Rocket Raccoon – voiced terrifically again by an unrecognizable Bradley Cooper, giving classic film mobster with heart of gold vibes. We finally learn Rocket’s backstory (although fans of the early 80s Rocket Raccoon mini-series by Bill Mantlo will see that Gunn doesn’t stray far from that source material). Told in flashback as the team races to save Rocket’s life after a random attack by literal golden boy Adam Warlock (a pouty Will Poulter, criminally underutilized given the vast potential of THAT trippy godlike character), we bear witness to Rocket’s deeply disturbing origins. He is a sweet, gentle raccoon cub plucked from his pack by the menacing High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji walking a fine line between outright scenery chewing and method acting tortured madness) and turned into a cyborg killing machine through relentless surgical and emotional abuse and manipulation.

Rocket has an adopted family in the Evolutionary’s HQ – similar cast offs: an otter, a walrus, a bunny … at least I think that last one is a bunny. They love each other, they are kind to each other, and they lift each other up in the most daunting of circumstances. Think the Plague Dogs by way of Frankenstein. Linda Cardellini, per usual, is particularly luminous and warm as the voice of otter Lylla. She offers the film’s central thesis with this line: “There are the hands that made us. And then the hands that guide the hands.” In an era of such ugliness toward all creatures great and small in America, this message of “found family” or “framily” couldn’t be more needed.

When Rocket, still hopeful for a better life, volunteers a scientific insight the Evolutionary has overlooked, Iwuji turns all “no wire hangers” Joan Crawford and things get EVEN uglier. Ain’t that always the way? Sadly, Rocket’s pals bear the brunt of Rocket’s “punishment.” It’s one of the hardest things I’ve witnessed on screen in years. It’s a really tough watch. Be prepared. Is it kid-friendly? Probably not. Is it essential and brave of Gunn and sends a piercing message about how all beings deserve grace and kindness? Darn tootin’. PETA should send screeners of the film to every household in America.

Further note, for those who worry about such things as I do, there is a wonderfully redemptive “button” toward the end of the film, where the menagerie of remaining animals imprisoned by the Evolutionary are all rescued Noah’s Ark style to live the rest of their days in peace and happiness in the Guardians’ Knowhere HQ. I know that’s a spoiler, but it’s the kind of spoiler I like to know going in. So you’re welcome. At the film’s climax, Rocket does get his revenge on the evolutionary but not as you might expect, ultimately delivering the kind of compassion Rocket was never shown. Rocket solemnly intones, “You didn’t want to make things perfect. You just hated the way things are.”

In parallel to the flashbacks to Rocket’s origin, the Guardians are scrambling in real time to find one MacGuffin after another that will save Rocket’s life. It’s all done in epic, manic, classic rock-soundtracked style – per prior films in the series. Gunn ensemble standby Nathan Fillion has great fun as a stoic, slightly dim, very uncollegial security guard, dressed like the Michelin Man … in creamy yellow. The best comic bits are offered by Guardians Drax (Dave Bautista, a lovely goof throughout), Mantis (Pom Klementieff, who does earnest rage better than anyone), and Nebula (Karen Gillan, who arguably has had the best arc of all in the series, never losing her ill-tempered ferocity but layering in beautiful moments of grudging compassion). At one point, Mantis cuts Nebula to the quick when Nebula has been disparaging Drax’s value as a teammate: “He makes us laugh. And he loves us. How is that a liability?” It’s a wonderful time capsule moment, capturing the dynamic authenticity of this great trio.

The film is far too long – I’m not sure what could have been cut, but a 30-minute shorter run time would have made the flick more of a jet-fueled roller coaster. Chris Pratt just seems worn out as Star-Lord at this point. He appears to have one note – one might call it “smugging” (read: smug mugging). It’s fine. It serves the role, but I think he (and we) need a break.

All in all, go for the incredibly deep message around animal autonomy, stick around for the day-glo shenanigans, enjoy your popcorn, and then have a thoughtful conversation at home about the crucial role we all must play in being better caretakers for all living beings. Bambi ain’t got nothing on Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 3.

Musings from the bleak midwinter … family, friends, memories, reflection, and writing. (Oh, and dogs, breakfast, novelty tees, heirloom quilts, and Jack Kirby.)

23 January 2022

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Musings from the bleak midwinter … I woke up here in Grey Gardens cranky – the pandemic and life’s obligations weighing me down. I know everyone is feeling it.

But then I saw these little footprints of Hudson’s in the snow which gave me some warmth and perspective. Life continues in beautiful ways.

John Doordashed some unhealthy but tasty and comforting breakfast treats, and I had some lovely NSFW check-ins from my adopted siblings (whether they like it or not) Blaine Fowler and Diane Hill.

I took a much-needed shower (why are we all so averse to bathing in pandemic?) and threw on my new 80sTees.com Mister Miracle shirt (thanks, Kevin Stecko!), which reminded me how much the escapism (pun intended) of comic books thrills me.

Jack Kirby created Mister Miracle (a cosmic Houdini) and the rest of DC Comics’ bonkers New Gods at the height of his most unfettered creativity. Kirby had jettisoned Stan Lee’s reportedly toxic self-promotion from his professional life and let his freak flag fly. This was after already gifting the world Captain America, the Fantastic Four, Black Panther, Thor, the X-Men, Hulk, Iron Man, and so many other incredible characters.

I found kinship in Kirby by inadvertent means. In the mid-80s, Kenner toys released arguably the greatest super hero figures ever with their SuperPowers line: a well-constructed, detailed (for that era), heady mix of characters both popular and obscure. I was gobsmacked when I saw Dr. Fate and Red Tornado hanging on the pegs alongside Superman and WonderWoman at our local KayBee.

But my favorites among all of the figures in the line were the New Gods – Darkseid, Steppenwolf, DeSaad, Kalibak, Orion, and, yes, Mister Miracle. They were day-glo Shakespearean – epic, fun, transfixing. It would be years later that I would learn the New Gods are suspected to have inspired (in part) my other geek love at the time (and still) Star Wars. (Also, an incredible Kenner toy line over which I obsessed.)

So, I put on this shirt, and thought what lessons can I take from King Kirby? How can I live my life as boldly and creatively? And maybe inspire others as he had inspired me?

One of the treasures my dad Don Sexton unearthed these past few months was a beautiful quilt my great grandmother Money had made. (At least I hope I have that right. My mother Susie Sexton is somewhere saying “I KNEW you weren’t listening to me!”)

After brainstorming a bit with dear friend Aaron Latham about the merits and downsides of framing it (ain’t no wall big enough for THAT!), it occurred to me to order one of those plexiglass display cases you find in jewelry stores and trade shows. Thank you, Shoppopdisplays, for coming to the rescue and delivering on Sundays!

I spent far too much time trying to figure out how to fold this damn thing, but I’m thrilled that it is safe and displayed now in our TV room.

That little moment of creative endeavor and honoring the past did my heart good. I’m no Jack Kirby, but this artistic activity – not to mention that quilt’s bold colors and beautiful lineage – will brighten my January/February days.

My crankiness has subsided, and that is all due to family, friends, memories, reflection, and writing (this right here if you made it this far). Food, shopping, and cute dogs help too!

Yes, I overshare, but social media and blogging for me are (as they were for my mom) the perfect combo of bulletin board, journal, and party that never ends. Thanks for being there. ❤️

Glorious fairytales of hardship: Peacemaker; tick, tick…BOOM!; and Being the Ricardos

16 January 2022

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I spent this afternoon with John Cena. It was heaven. HBOMax’s Peacemaker is brilliant. A dash of Netflix’s Cobra Kai, a smidge of Fox’s Deadpool, some of Amazon’s The Boys, and even a little of HBO’s Watchmen. (That last reference comes full circle as Watchmen’s “The Comedian” was a riff on the original comic book “Peacemaker.”)

The show is bonkers, irreverent, subversive, and more than a bit poignant. Yes, Peacemaker is a study in male arrested development and will appeal to the naughty and vulgar 8th grader in all of us.

But Cena also conveys a tragic sadness amidst the rampant silliness, a beefy Willy Loman in spandex. And the smart ensemble trapped in an unceasing series of Rube Goldberg-esque dead-ends owes as much to The Iceman Cometh as it does to the X-Men.

See? Not all of my references are comic book-oriented.

Danielle Brooks as a comically green field agent (who might not be as inept as she telegraphs), Jennifer Holland as her more seasoned (read: wryly, candidly cynical) colleague, and Freddie Stroma as adorably homicidal and overeager wannabe sidekick Adrian Chase (aka “Vigilante”) are standouts.

Showrunner James Gunn takes the merry melody he began in last year’s The Suicide Squad and turns it into a symphony. Whereas that film occasionally was mired in its own fan service, Peacemaker builds upon its predecessor’s promise and avails itself of the expanded real estate serial television provides to develop its characters without sacrificing any gee whiz puerile shenanigans.

And watching The Suicide Squad is not a prerequisite. There is a brief recap in the first episode, and, in many ways, Peacemaker is the far stronger production. I almost wish I HADN’T seen The Suicide Squad first (which nonetheless I did enjoy).

Even if you loathe superheroes – or ESPECIALLY if you do – you’ll find it endlessly entertaining.

A week or so ago, I caught up with Netflix’s tick, tick…BOOM! and Amazon’s Being the Ricardos, which also could be dubbed the “late bloomers double feature” (not just because I saw them well after their respective premieres). Both films explore the challenging intersection of art and commerce, a limbo often riddled with casualties who *just* haven’t quite made it yet but keep hitting that show biz gaming table for one last hopeful spin.

tick, tick…BOOM! is the autobiographical musical by the late Jonathan Larson, Pulitzer Prize-winner for Rent. Detailing his 30th year of living, the piece reads like a Gen X bohemian Company with its protagonist bouncing from well-meaning friend to less-well-meaning friend on a journey to find himself and a backer for his long-gestating musical (no, not Rent … yet).

Director Lin Manuel-Miranda displays a sure hand with the material, fueled no doubt both by love and respect for his contemporary Larson but also from his own career’s stops and starts.

The film is a glorious fairytale of hardship, and its leading man Andrew Garfield (always a marvel) turns in a career best performance, deftly walking a high wire of being inspiring, endearing, maddening, and self-serving. Oh, and he sings (gorgeously), plays the piano, and (sort of) dances, all while painting one of the clearest-eyed portrayals of the white hot isolation of a creative spirit I’ve ever seen.

Supporting players Alexandra Shipp, Robin de Jesus, Vanessa Hudgens, Joshua Henry, MJ Rodriguez, Judith Light, and Bradley Whitford (as Stephen Sondheim no less!) are all stellar, sharply capturing the earnest if ephemeral nature of relationships in the theatre community. There are Broadway cameos aplenty, and I won’t spoil the fun, but I will give shout outs to Laura Benanti (always a comic delight) and Judy Kuhn who are positively larcenous in their all-too-brief respective scenes.

Comparably, Being the Ricardos is shaped by the endless, thankless years performers toil in an effort to “make it.” While the film focuses on Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz at the peak of I Love Lucy’s fame, we learn, through flashbacks and writer/director Aaron Sorkin’s signature rat-a-tat dialogue, the steep challenges through which this legendary couple powered to achieve blockbuster success relatively late in their respective careers.

The film clarifies without belaboring that Lucy and Desi’s success came with a steep price. Years of working in obscurity created hairline fractures that would eventually blossom into infidelity, but throughout they remained a united front in art and business.

Notably, while Kidman doesn’t look one whit like Ball, she does nail Lucy’s husky smoker’s voice and overall demeanor. We leave the film with incredible admiration for Lucille Ball as an entrepreneur who transformed the industry, as a comic visionary with an artiste’s obsession for detail, and as a social progressive who beautifully didn’t give a damn for mid-century social norms.

Kidman and luminous Javier Bardem (as Desi) conduct an acting master class in how to portray beloved historical figures, channeling their essences, while making them uniquely their own. Consequently, they land a timely and timeless message of living in one’s moment.

They are aided and abetted by JK Simmons and Nina Arianda as William Frawley and Vivian Vance respectively. Despite Arianda being saddled with an unfortunate body shaming subplot, both Arianda and Simmons sparkle brilliantly as showbiz workhorses who simultaneously value and resent their “second banana” success.

And, for those who geek out over sumptuous scenic and costume design, there is lush Eisenhower-era eye candy aplenty, with one postcard-perfect image after another of Hollywood’s (and television’s) golden age.

The film’s politics get slippy at times. Sorkin seems intent on force-fitting a modern liberal’s gaze onto Lucy and Desi’s history, but tricky details like Richard Nixon exonerating Lucy from her communist party past get in the way. Be that as it may, the performances transcend any pedantry to detail lives fully lived in service to art and cultural progress.

Roy Squared: Guest Roy Schwartz joins us on Legal Marketing Coffee Talk to discuss the power of narrative in legal marketing AND to answer the question “Is Superman Circumcised?”

9 July 2021

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FACEBOOK VIDEO: https://fb.watch/6DwRoV3AGZ

YOUTUBE VIDEO: https://youtu.be/92KYuklUXT0

LINKEDIN VIDEO: https://www.linkedin.com/posts/activity-6818254923092910080-IVnt

On today’s episode, we chat with the divine Roy Schwartz about his book Is Superman Circumcised? from McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers and the Jewish context for comic book icon Superman. Schwartz is an accomplished legal marketing professional, and he details how his appreciation of storytelling, graphics, character, and effective narrative have enabled him to help lawyers discover their business development super powers.

We *may* also talk (a lot) about comic books.

Rob Kates and I also chat with my mom Susie Sexton about fleas, the Olympics, and the joys of marriage. Other topics addressed in today’s show, in no particular order: Britney Spears, Bill Cosby, Jack Kirby, Stephen Colbert, cosplay, pool toys, Richard Donner, Christopher Reeve, Superman and Lois, writing, Halloween costumes, Schneider, and heaven knows what else.

Shout outs include Richard Pinto, Scott Neitlich, Merry Neitlich, Andrew Laver, Jessica Aries (happy birthday!), Kimberly Schwartz, and more!

A tale of two comic-book-loving “Roys” – Roy Schwartz joins us this Thursday, July 8 at 3 pm ET on Legal Marketing Coffee Talk

6 July 2021

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Looking forward chatting with Roy Schwartz! THIS THURSDAY AT 3 pm ET …

Facebook Live: https://www.facebook.com/155057871244919/posts/4197126857037980/?d=n

LinkedIn Live: https://www.linkedin.com/posts/activity-6818254923092910080-IVnt

YouTube: https://youtube.com/user/katesmedia

Legal Marketing Coffee Talk is back this Thursday, and Roy Schwartz, Director of Marketing and Business Development at Vishnick McGovern Milizio LLP, will be our guest, hosted by Roy Sexton (ME!).

Roy Schwartz handles his firm’s marketing and business development strategy and operations, including market positioning and growth, lead generation, and practice building, and he is an accomplished author and culture critic, recently publishing Is Superman Circumcised? The Complete Jewish History of the World’s Greatest Hero with McFarland & Company.

So, we’ll have two comic-book-loving “Roys” on the show, and they’ll discuss the intersection of a career in legal marketing, a passion for writing and cultural analysis, and an obsession with superheroes.

Legal Marketing Coffee Talk is brought to you by: Jessica Aries’ By Aries and Rob Kates’ Kates Media: Video Production. Thank you, as always, to Katelynn McGuire for the promotional support!

Able to leap into readers’ imaginations in a single bound! “Is Superman Circumcised? The Complete Jewish History of the World’s Greatest Hero” by Roy Schwartz

24 May 2021

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Is Superman Circumcised? The Complete Jewish History of the World’s Greatest Hero is a new (cheekily titled book) by my pal Roy Schwartz – a fellow “Roy S.”, legal marketer and comic book fan.

Beautifully written and consummately researched, Is Superman Circumcised? extends its analysis well beyond the character’s Golden Age origins and authorship to assess the full 80+ years of the Man of Steel’s pop cultural history.

Schwartz marries biblical, literary, and sociocultural scholarship effortlessly. This is a breezy yet substantive and profound read, deftly navigating real world and DC Comics in-universe history as well as religious and mythic iconography. The portrait of Jewish history, culture, and faith as channeled through the Superman mythos is comprehensive and revelatory.

As for the titular question, I won’t spoil any surprises. Rather inevitably, logically, and reasonably (for a character so ingrained in the public consciousness), Schwartz leaves his reader with an answer akin to what might only be described as … Schrödinger’s prepuce.

Highly recommend for both comics fans and casual readers alike.

Schwartz will be conducting an author talk at the University of Michigan on June 16, 3-4 pm. It’s free to attend via Zoom – register here: umlib.us/superman.

Is Superman Circumcised? The Complete Jewish History of the World's Greatest Hero

About the book:

SUPERMAN is the most famous character in the world. He’s the first superhero, an American icon—and he’s Jewish!

Introduced in June 1938, the Man of Steel was created by two Jewish teens, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the sons of immigrants from Eastern Europe. They based their hero’s origin story on Moses, his strength on Samson, his mission on the golem and his nebbish secret identity on themselves. They made him a refugee fleeing catastrophe on the eve of World War II and sent him to tear Nazi tanks apart nearly two years before the US joined the war.

In following decades Superman’s mostly Jewish writers, artists and editors continued to borrow Jewish motifs for their stories, basing Krypton’s past on Genesis and Exodus, its civilization on Jewish culture, the trial of Lex Luthor on Adolf Eichmann’s and a holiday celebrating Superman on Passover.

Exploring these underlying themes of a beloved modern mythology, Is Superman Circumcised? The Complete Jewish History of the World’s Greatest Hero is a fascinating and entertaining journey through comic book lore, American history and Jewish tradition, sure to give readers a newfound appreciation for the Mensch of Steel!

Roy Schwartz

About Roy Schwartz (from his website):

Roy is the author of Is Superman Circumcised? The Complete Jewish History of the World’s Greatest Hero (McFarland ’21) and The Darkness in Lee’s Closet and the Others Waiting There (Aelurus ’18).

He has written for newspapers, magazines, websites, academic organizations and journals, law firms, tech companies, toy companies, and production studios. He has taught English and writing at CUNY, the City University of New York, and is a former writer-in-residence at the New York Public Library. When not writing he is the director of marketing & business development of a regional law firm.

Roy graduated magna cum laude from the New School University with a BA in English, majoring in creative writing with a minor in journalism, and cum laude from NYU with an interdisciplinary MA in English and social thought, focusing on 19th century British and 20th century American literature. He interned for Marvel Comics.

Originally from Tel Aviv, Israel, Roy grew up a voracious reader of everything from Israeli novels to British plays to American comic books. He taught himself English from comics and cartoons, which is why he’s comfortable using words like “swell.”

Roy lives in Long Island, NY with his wife Kim, a bestselling author and editor, and their two children. He has a penchant for caffeine, candy, and a quality-over-quantity wardrobe.

Baby Roy Sexton loooooong ago

Supermodel. You better work!

24 May 2021

2 Comments

Well, this was a fun surprise in today’s mail! Thanks to 80sTees.com, Inc. for including my #SilverSurfer Instagram post in their new catalog. All of my supermodel dreams are coming true! 🤣

And my friend Heather Harrington’s adorable Life and Whim #IAmNotACat painting is in there too!

https://www.80stees.com
https://www.lifeandwhim.com