With its fifth and final season, Fringe has entered a new dimension. Or is that descriptor unavailable, lest the senses of the word be confused? The series has, after all, built much of its mythology on transdimensional travel to a parallel Earth — Over There, a.k.a. the Other Side, home to doppelgangers of our heroes and villains. Instead, Fringe's future lies in the actual (well, the actual fictional) future, as viewers had already been made aware through advance promotion and as was seen on Friday night in the Season Five opener...
I'll get back to the future shortly. First I want to take a few moments to welcome any new readers by way of giving these writeups (and their titles) some context.
The downside to not sharing my entries in hashtag sprees within a day or so of them being a thing on Twitter, whether as part of a "Twitticisms" post or in a Top X list like the one that follows, is, I've come to realize, that anyone interested in heading over to Twitter to see the full range of contributions will turn up zilch.
Maybe a hashtag comes back into fashion or someone joins in late or a totally different group of people hit on the same idea, maybe, but those earlier entries are gone. Twits seem to leave Twitter's institutional memory pretty quickly, unless there are tricks to its search function I don't know about (which is very, very possible). You can at least head to my own Favorites on Twitter, scroll down a bit, and see a heaping handful of others' offerings that I found amusing enough to save. It's not at all the same, though, as being in the thick of it — and this one, #unpromisingsequels, was a good one.
Here, in roughly the order I posted them, are my...
Top Twenty-Five Unpromising Sequels
25. The Day After the Day After
24. Hastily-Dressed Lunch
23. Monday in the Park without George
22. Acquaintances on a Train
21. Love in the Time of Cholera Vaccines
20. The Executive Producers
19. Fiddler at the Window
18. Evaporation Man
17. The Well-Scrubbed Dozen
16. Admiral EO
I dreamt the other night that someone who'd offered to subsidize my blog to the
tune of about $20,000 wanted to back out.
My blog in the dream wasn't quite this blog; it focused more heavily on analysis of TV series the way I'd actually like to but don't have time for, episode by episode, as Nikki Stafford has done most famously with Lost. This benefactor was upset that I wasn't covering an obscure-to-me British show — I want to say Time Bandits, had there been
a spinoff of the movie, although it might have been something similar that really exists and which only my subconscious remembers. I countered that what I was covering, Fringe and stuff, was the sort of thing, as with Lost and X-Files and Star Trek in past years, that people seriously glommed onto and discussed. We fought a bit, physically, and I told him that I was happy to return his money.
Right then, naturally, Johanna Draper Carlson approached me on behalf of a group of her friends who, based on a movie they'd seen, needed to acquire both a longsword and a dagger hidden far away. She knew that I could fly in my dreams and she wanted me
to fly her to the dagger. I obliged.
Kindred Posts: REM Brands • Head Space • Of Was and When
He was a sweet boy.
We had a storm the other night. I thought of Bamm-Bamm. A day hasn't gone by since he died that I don't think of him, really; it's just a matter of why I do.
For the past 15 years of my life, excepting the last 6 months, thunder has meant one thing — well, besides the fact that it was probably gonna rain and that I very likely had been or soon would be dealing with a migraine. It meant that Bamm-Bamm was about to run for cover.
He died on the first day of March after a see-saw week's worth of sudden, puzzling sickliness, and I'm still not used to his absence. Not seeing him sprint when thunder booms, not having him rub my legs when I get out of the shower, not feeling him curled up next to me when I roll over in bed... Il me manque, as they say in French. We translate it as "I miss him" but literally it's "He is lacking to me," which is so much more poignantly to the point. My life lacks the Bamm-Bamm.
Last Friday the title of the 2013 sequel to J.J. Abrams' 2009 Star Trek movie was announced. The site at the preceding link and other news outlets report it as Star Trek Into Darkness [sic].
I hope that, if the title sticks, someone at Bad Robot or Paramount realizes that it
either has to be Star Trek: Into Darkness or Star Trek into Darkness, with the prep-osition uncapitalized.
Art from Joe Kubert Presents #1 © 2012 DC Comics. Pencils: Kubert.
Joe Kubert died three weeks ago yesterday, on Aug. 12th, at the age of 85.
Anyone who follows comics knows this already, thanks to news sites, social networking, etc., and has almost surely seen a fuller portrait of the man than I can provide. I've been wanting to put up at least a brief post about him, though, for the benefit of readers who come here mostly for the non-comics stuff I muse upon yet still have some curiosity about this strange demimonde that's begun spawning billion-dollar movies. Jack Kirby, discussed the other day, may have been the King of Comics — to mix metaphors, perhaps part of American comics' Holy Trinity, with Will Eisner and Harvey Kurtzman, in terms of establishing its visual language — but Kubert was at least a Great Duke. Joe Kubert art is, to his eternal credit, as unmistakable as it is beautiful.
Splash panel of The Black Racer from The New Gods #3 © 1971 DC Comics. Script,
Pencils: Jack Kirby. Inks: Vince Colletta. Letters: John Costanza. Colors: Unknown.
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