An anatomist on The Dark Knight

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After seeing The Dark Knight, I had one burning question (sorry): were the depictions of Two-Face’s injuries anatomically accurate?

To answer this question, I turned to anatomist, choreographer and Bentfootes creator Kriota Willberg.  Kriota is the only person I know who has actually dissected a real live — er, I mean, real dead — human body.  This is what she had to say:

Harvey/Two Face’s anatomy seems pretty accurate, of course, and I liked the ooze that had seeped onto his pillow in the hospital. That was a nice touch. He probably would have been a bit more scabby and cracky and oozy, but it’s a family show, so I can forgive that. All in all, they did a great job (it reminded me of The Mummy a little in the way they rendered the face) but the problem of course was in the sound of TF’s voice. Frankly, if you have no lip on half your mouth, your pronunciation is going to be slurry. You won’t be able to hold air behind your tongue and lips and it’s going to present a problem. If you think about what it’s like to talk after dental procedures and anesthetic, you only have a partial inkling of how difficult TFs speech would be, unless the dentist accidentally removed one of your cheeks. Speaking, eating, drinking all get super difficult.
Speaking of cheek removal, salivation would be an issue and TF’s mouth would be pretty dry on the left side due to the lack of the left parotid. Of course, he’d still have use of the submandibular and sublingual glands, but there’d still be that wind whistling through the left side.
Speaking of salivation, I couldn’t tell if TF’s lacrimal glands were intact or not. The way the medial canthus of the eye was scarred up, I bethe couldn’t use the lacrimal canals of that eye in any case. This means that that left nostril, sucking up all that unfiltered-by-nose-hair-air wouldn’t be getting any moisture to it from tear drainage, which would make TF more likely to get nose bleeds and possibly infections. (Wait, if half his nostril is missing, would he still get nose bleed? How high up do those usually occur? I’ll ask a colleague.) So his eye could be as wet as it appeared, but it would be kinda drippy, or his eye would be pretty dry. Either way, w/o tearing or just w/o a lid, he’s going to be much more vulnerable to infection of the eye as well. Moving it might be pretty painful, too.

There you have it. Subtracting the pain and shock that would naturally occur in such an instance (or, as my wife put it, “you’d go insane” — to which I reply “well…”), The Harvey/Two-Face look is perfectly plausible (and, I’m sure, somewhere in this world there is someone, right now, surgically adapting their face to look more like Harvey Dent). Now, just imagine the final act of The Dark Knight with Aaron Eckhart not only looking like Two-Face but sounding like him too. With the uncontrolled saliva constantly roping off of his open jaw cavity. He’d have to wear a bib. I wonder if the Dark Knight folk considered addressing these issues, or if that would have made the movie a little too horrifying.

MEMO

TO: Hollywood

FROM: Todd Alcott

As of 2:00am, 8/7/08 —

Post on Labyrinth: 155 comments.
Post on Act V of Schindler’s List: 3 comments.

FYI.hitcounter

Spielberg: Schindler’s List part 5

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Schindler’s List is a movie about a man who is powerfully motivated to succeed in business. His journey, from Act I to Act V, shows how he comes to define that success.

In Act I, Schindler sets up his business in the context of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to exploit history and human suffering. In Act II, history responds in the form of Goth, a purely evil man who takes Schindler’s business away from him. In Act III, Schindler exploits Goth’s character flaws to make a deal with the devil and re-build his business. In Act IV, Goth’s boss, Hitler, shuts down Goth’s business and, in the process, shuts down Schindler’s business again as well. As he moves through these acts, Schindler becomes aware that success in business comes with a price, and the price is paid in human lives. This, after a long process of changes, forces him to consider the balance of materialism vs life.

In Act V, Schindler rebuilds his business yet again, but this time with a completely different focus. Instead of creating a business that exploits human lives and makes him a fortune, he structures his new business to squander a fortune but preserve human lives. In this way, it becomes not a “Holocaust movie” or even necessarily a “WWII movie,” but a drama about the hidden costs of capitalism.

Again, my timecodes are keyed to the DVD’s format — so, starting with “side two” of the DVD…

13:00 -15:03: The final act of Schindler’s List, like the acts preceding it, begins with a roll call: another list of names, another recitation by Germans. The difference here is that where there was once a sea of faces, a panoply of “humanity,” now there are only a handful, and by this point we recognize almost everyone’s faces, and this roll call, instead of announcing the names of the doomed, is announcing the names of the saved (Act V of Schindler’s List is structured, in many ways, almost as a mirror of Act I, as we will see). There’s the kid in the cap, somehow alive after being rejected from the latrine during the last selektion, there’s the little girl in the glasses, now with her mother, there’s Helen Hirsch, and there’s even Goldberg, the “Bad Jew” from the ghetto who turned into a policeman when the going got rough. His inclusion on the list I find intriguing and hopeful: Spielberg seems to be saying that, in spite of his behavior, Goldberg, as a Jew in Cracow, is more sinned against than sinning, as it were, and thus deserves to be saved along with the people he betrayed. It’s a small moment but it keeps registering with me. The last boy named is a one we haven’t met before, a gawky, bespectacled kid named Edward Hillman, who bears a startling resemblance to a teenaged Spielberg: it seems he felt a need to include himself on the list of the saved.

15:03-17:00: Welcome to Brinnlitz! The trains out of Cracow arrive in Schindler’s home town — at least the trains carrying the men. The Nazi officer in charge of overseeing Schindler’s new factory is anxious to make a good impression with the millionaire industrialist, but let’s face it, he’s no Goth, he’s an ordertaker, and Schindler baffles him — another point where Act V reverses the actions of Act I, the Nazi officer tries to ingratiate himself with Schindler instead of the other way around.

17:00-30:13: The train carrying the women from Cracow arrives not in Brinnlitz but in Auschwitz. In a movie bristling with striking, powerful sequences of human suffering and evil, Spielberg here seeks to get to the kernel of the Holocaust, a look into the mouth of the beast. He puts the women of the story (the same ones who, an act or two earlier, were shown talking themselves out of the possibility of the existence of Auschwitz) through the most degrading and horrifying ordeal imaginable — and then, oddly, pulls his punch. Not that we want the women to all die, quite far from it. But the sequence, for all its power, and as unblinking as it is visually, for me somehow sits uncomfortably in the rest of the narrative. As we see the women stripped down, shaved and degraded, I can’t help but be reminded by Mamet’s comment that holocaust movies are a form of pornography, a fantasy of absolute power and absolute submission. If that notion is true, this sequence comes close to literalizing it, and, with its desire to show but not show, to take us to the edge of mass death and then back off, feels like a kind of a tease. Spielberg seems all too aware of the moral quandaries involved in making an entertainment about this kind of atrocity at all, and the viewer is implicated in that quandary several times in Schindler’s List: we want to see, we want to know, we want the experience, but at the same time the notion of consuming these kinds of images is, or should be, deeply troubling. Maybe that’s why Spielberg takes us all the way to the brink of the realityof the Holocaust but then spares us the ultimate truth — there are some places he simply can’t bring his camera to look. (Kubrick said that Schindler’s List isn’t a “holocaust movie”, because holocaust movies are about the six million Jews who died, and Schindler’s List is about the 1100 who lived, and the Auschwitz sequence boils that notion down to 13 minutes.)

(It’s my understanding that the Auschwitz sequence is not part of the historical record or the novel on which Schindler’s List is based. This does not affect my appreciation of the sequence, but it does raise questions about why it was included. It seems as though Spielberg, understanding that his would be considered some kind of “definitive” Holocaust movie, felt that it must include a glimpse of Auschwitz in order to feel comprehensive. This is also troubling, as it implies that a movie-going audience would walk out of the theater griping “What kind of a Holocaust movie was that? He didn’t even show us Auschwitz! What a rip!”)

In another inversion of a scene in Act I, Schindler, in his pursuit of getting the women freed from Auschwitz, goes to a Nazi officer and makes the same deal he made to Itzak Stern: in the coming months, “portable wealth” is the only kind that will mean anything. He bribes the officer with a pouch of diamonds, and officer dyspeptically admits that the trouble of clearing “his” Jews is largely one of troublesome paperwork.

30:13-31:36: The women and children, now rescued from Auschwitz, arrive in Brinnlitz. In a kind of echo to Goth’s Act II speech to his soldiers, Schindler lectures the Nazi guards as to what he considers proper behavior in his camp. The shoe is definitely on the other foot in Act V, and yet Schindler, still the good-time Charlie, follows his veiled threats with a welcome-basket of beer.

32:50-33:15: In yet another inversion, Schindler tracks down his wife and assures her of her place in his life. In his shedding of his identity as a businessman, he seems intent on acquring a new identity as a mensch.

33:15-34:40: Stern asks Schindler about the nature of this new business. Again, this is an inversion of Schindler’s Act I dealings with Stern: then, he was the grinning smoothie who understood nothing about running things and Stern was the man with all the secrets, now Stern is the confused accountant and Schindler is the man with the secret. Here, the secret is revealed: Schindler’s new business is designed not to make money but to shed it, and to shed it in great quantities. Stern worries that the plan might attract the attention of the authorities, which Schindler answers with yet more money — it seems like he won’t be happy until all his money is gone.

34:40-36:44: Schindler reminds Rabbi Levertov of his duties. The factory shuts down on a Friday sunset and sabbath is observed again. The candles used in the scene bloom into color, linking them to the candles of the title sequence, symbolizing the renewal of hope.

36:44-37:15: In a few brief minutes, and after an explanatory title card, Schindler’s impulse for Act V is fulfilled: he is broke, worse off than he was at the beginning of Act I.

37:15-38:00: Just in time, the war ends.

38:00-47:28: Schindler assembles the cast in his factory and delivers a speech, outlining the ironies of the current situation. Once a prosperous businessman, the end of the war has turned him into a war criminal. This is quite a bit worse than where he began his journey. A lot of people lose their patience with Schindler with this scene, with its grandstanding tone and sanctimony, and it bugged me for a while too, but now it’s one of my favorite scenes in the movie. At the end of a long movie filled with intense conflicts and extensive degradation, Schindler here brings the story to a place of universal truths (and, not coincidentally, a place where Spielbergis very comfortable): the family. Schindler has worked to bring families back together, and he enjoins the Germans in the room to go back to their families as well, while they still posess shreds of their humanity.

Out in the railyard, Stern, the “good Jew”, Schindler’s Jiminy Cricket, gives him a ring, forged from the gold tooth of one of his workers (an echo of an Act III scene). The ring’s enscription reads “He who saves one life saves the world entire.” For years I thought this beat was simply too much, all we need, dramatically, is for Stern to approve of Schindler, to say, essentially, “That’ll do, pig,” it seemed a little over the top that Stern would present Schindler with a ring like a high-school quarterback after winning the big game. Then I found out that this is, apparently, exaclty what happened. So go figure.

In any case, Stern’s climactic approval of Schindler gives Schindler the exact opposite of comfort. Instead, the man who was once obsessed with making a fortune in business is reduced to a quivering mass of sorrow and regret as he realizes how much more he could have achieved by giving more away. His suit, his car, and finally that Nazi pin, the pin we first saw him put on in his introdutory scene in Act I, all could have been traded in for more lives. The “things vs lives” motif, developed from the beginning of the movie, is here focused down to a literal pinpoint.

47:28-end: Schindler, whom we met as he was getting dressed up in his nice suit to go impress the Nazis, we now leave as he sheds his suit and puts on the clothes of a prisoner. “His” Jews are left behind in the rail yard: why they don’t wait inside the factory I’m not sure. In any case, they are greeted, one morning soon after I suppose, by a Russian soldier come to “liberate” them. Their liberation is short-lived, as the Russian soldier (who, I’ve learned, was also a Jew) informs them that there’s no place in the area they are welcome.

Then comes the curtain call, which, I’m not ashamed to say, just floors me every time. I know it’s manipulative, I know it pushes the boundaries of taste, but something about seeing the movie’s cast members standing next to the people they’re playing as they file past Schindler’s grave just gets to me every time, brings the narrative into the “real world” in a way that I’ve rarely seen replicated (until, of course, Saving Private Ryan).

Fairies and Fantasy: Labyrinth

For a new project I’ve taken on, it devolves upon me to watch movies dealing wih dwarfs and goblins, fairies and ogres, wizards and witches, spells and enchantments. To begin this journey into wonderment, I chose to begin with Labyrinth, Jim Henson’s 1986 fantasy project starring a young Jennifer Connelly as The Maiden and a not-so-young David Bowie as the Goblin King. I have not seen the movie since its release 22 years ago.hitcounter

Ho. Lee. Crap.

First of all, I love David Bowie. Love love love David Bowie. I even loved David Bowie in 1986, after Let’s Dance and Tonight made him officially irrelevant (or, as my friend

puts it, “once you’re on the cover of Time, your career is officially over”). I own both Tin Machine albums, plus the ultra-rare live Tin Machine album Oy Vey, Baby. So I think my cred as a David Bowie fan is pretty high. And the casting of David Bowie as the Goblin King sounds perfect. Bowie is at his best when playing enigmatic, otherworldly creatures — space aliens, Andy Warhol, Nicolai Tesla.

But Oh. My. Freakin’. God.

I could look past the Tina Turner wig and the overwrought kabuki eyeshadow. I could sort of look past the Mad-Max-goes-gay-Nazi wardrobe. I could even, if pressed, look past the fact that the writer (Terry Jones!) hasn’t given the Goblin King anything in particular to do. But I find I cannot look past the aspect of David Bowie’s performance in Labyrinth that should have been the strongest: the songs.

I spent far too muchof the running time of Labyrinth wondering what the hell happened. Bowie has a rich understanding of song forms, why didn’t he write anything remotely appropriate to the narrative of the movie he was appearing in? It honestly sounds as though the Henson people approached him to star in their movie and then, as an afterthought, said “oh, and will you come up with a few songs?” and Bowie, the ink not yet dry on the contract, looked up and blinked and said “uh, yeah, sure, why not?” and then, as the shoot date loomed, hastily scraped together some scraps of unfinished jams from the Tonight album and gussied them up in the studio.

In a great musical, the songs advance the plot. In a middling musical, the songs entertain. In Labyrinth, the songs neither advance the plot nor entertain. They are, in fact, obstacles to overcome. Labyrinth repeatedly says “We’ve got some more movie coming up folks, but in the meantime we’ve got to get this woefully misbegotten song out of the way.” Harold Arlen this is not.

The lack of a plot doesn’t help matters (how can a song advance a plot if there is no plot to advance?). Labyrinth is about a maiden, Sarah, whose step-brother is kidnapped by the Goblin King. What does the Goblin King want? Good question. The Goblin King, for some reason, wants Sarah’s infant step-brother. But wait — the Goblin King, immediately after snatching Sarah’s step-brother, sets her a challenge — 13 hours to negotiate his fiendish labyrinth and rescue the boy. So, wait, does he want the kid or not? If he wanted the kid, why would he give Sarah the opportunity to get him? Why would he cut her any kind of deal at all? She has nothing on him, she has no leverage. If he wants her infant step-brother, he would just take him and be done with it. And, as he is the Goblin King, “fair play” cannot be the answer. No, obviously the Goblin King wants Sarah to negotiate the Labyrinth for some other reason. What might that reason be?

Sarah, the viewer will note, is a spoiled brat, a snotty princess with a room full of tchotchkes who considers an evening of babysitting to be the Spanish Inquistion (hey, don’t look at me, I’m not the one who brought Terry Jones into this). Maybe the Goblin King wants to force the rash Maiden into growing up a little, maybe he wants to teach her a lesson. Well okay, but then he’s not a very good bad guy, is he? The Wicked Witch of the West doesn’t want to “teach Dorothy a lesson,” she wants to kill the little bitch — the “teaching a lesson” part of the story falls to Glinda, who gives Dorothy the ruby slippers to protect the maiden on her journey to self-actualization.

So the Goblin King doesn’t want Sarah’s brother, and he doesn’t want to kill her, and “to teach her a lesson” makes absolutely no sense. Why is he doing this then? The reasoning the Goblin King gives at the end of the movie was that the Labyrinth is meant to be a kind of seduction of Sarah — he put her through the test of the labyrinth in order to break her down, erase her ego, and then make her suseptible to his gobliny predations.

This makes a certain amount of sense, and it is perfectly satisfying in fantasy-movie terms. The Maiden’s job in a fantasy scenario is often to be seduced by the corruptions of adulthood before regaining her senses. But here the notion is utterly undeveloped. If the Goblin King’s intent is to seduce Sarah, why doesn’t he do anything to achieve that end? Indeed, the Goblin King, once he’s set Sarah on her course, barely stops to think about her again. Once he gives her his challenge, you know what the Goblin King does? He goes back to his lair with his goblin puppet buddies and waits. He lounges on his Goblin King throne, he plays with the infant step-brother, he sings excruciating 80s pop to him, he shows off his grey tights with their penis-enhancing cut (David Bowie’s Penis should really have its own credit in this movie — there’s a shot where he thrusts it, in close-up, into the face of a dwarf, that literally snapped my head back in revulsion). When he learns that Sarah is successfully negotiating the labyrinth, the Goblin King is startled and enraged, and then goes and throws a monkey-wrench in her path, but otherwise he pretty much just sits around, stares out of windows and sings his clattering, tuneless crap. The Goblin King, apparently, has nothing to do, and yet he can’t be bothered to actually participate in the narrative he has set into motion; when he does act, it’s with petulance and impatience. Some villain! It’s as though we’ve caught the Goblin King on a bad day; what he’d really like is to be in another movie, but this one will have to make do for the time being. It’s as though the Wicked Witch of the West, once her sister is killed, were to threaten Dorothy’s life and then go back to her castle and sit around bored for a while. Yeah, yeah, ruby slippers, okay, um, how about flying monkeys?

Imagine the worst Bond villain in the series. Imagine Scaramanga in The Man with the Golden Gun. Imagine Scaramanga, with his third nipple and his midget sidekick and his stupid fucking plan to somehow corner the energy market and, oh yes, develop a death ray, and, you know, as long as we’re at it, kill James Bond. Scaramanga is one of the worst villains in the history of motion pictures, but his story arc is the goddamn Dark Knight compared to the Goblin King in Labyrinth.

As I’ve said, the plotting of Labyrinth is, essentially, nonexistent. The movie has a setup and a finale, and then “a bunch of stuff” in the middle. I can hear the story meetings quite well — a group of talented designers and puppeteers — no, but really quite talented — sitting around a table saying “Oh! And you know what would be great?!” without any sense of plot, theme or character. Hey, you know what would be great? A dance number where the puppets’ heads come off! Hey, you know what would be great? A big drill contraption! Hey, you know what would be great? A big orange beast thing! etc. And let it be said that the design, apart from the horror of Bowie’s costumes, is quite excellent indeed. The optical effects have not aged well, but the practical effects are all charming and wonderful, the talking doorknobs and the snakes that turn into feather boas and the walls that seem to be there but aren’t. There is real imagination making its way through Labyrinth, but almost no sense of structure. Or, to put it another way, it has a Gilliamesque approach to design, and a Gilliamesque approach to structure as well.

Sarah meets a handful of characters. There is Hoggle the Dwarf, Ludo the Beast or Ogre or Something, and Didymus the Creature Who Both My Wife And I Thought Was a Fox But Turned Out To Be a Yorkie. The purpose of these characters is, or should be anyway, to reflect some aspect of Sarah’s problem. And I guess in some vague way they do. Hoggle kind of but not really teaches her something about friendship, Ludo teaches her the value of kindness to strangers, and Didymus teaches her about chivalry. Then, none of these lessons turn out to have any value whatsoever in Sarah’s goal of “retrieving the baby.”

And let’s look at that goal again. Sarah is 16 or so and, in spite of the fact that she looks exactly like a teenage Jennifer Connelly, we are told that she has never had a date. And, as far as the narrative is concerned, she doesn’t seem to want any dates. Is she “saving herself”, somehow, for the Goblin King? If she is she doesn’t demonstrate that desire — she just pouts and whines and refuses to take care of the baby. When the baby is taken away however, she instantly regrets her actions and feels compelled to rescue it. So Sarah goes, in one plot point, from “maiden” to “mother” without having the pleasure and/or terror of any of the steps in between — no courtship, no romance, no wedding, no initiation. You’ve never had a date? Boom! Too late, you’re a mother now — deal with it!

And so the movie actually ends with Sarah, having (spoiler alert) rescued the baby and abjured the Goblin King, going to her room and putting away all her dolls and games and fairy tales and tchotckes. In Labyrinth, you’re either a child or an adult, there is no in between.

As always, I invite my faithful readers to submit their favorites of the genre under discussion.  What should a screenwriter well-versed in the Fantasy genre see?

Book news! Typhon, Bond, Garfield

ITEM! It turns out I am a contributing artist to the first issue of Danny Hellman‘s new anthology series TYPHON. Master cartoonist R. Sikoryak turned a monologue from my 1989 play One Neck into a comic strip featuring a not-at-all-Droopy-Dog-like-character named Loopy. Mr. Sikoryak, who is also occasional commenter

, also did the splendid cover for the issue.

Typhon, for those not in the know, was a creature from Greek mythology, a terrible beast with a hundred heads who tried to take over the world by attacking Zeus. Obviously, Mr. Hellman is trying to make a point here about the nature of independent comics, a hundred-headed beast taking on “the man.” Yeah! Go Typhon! Lay some boulders on that Zeus!

In the myth, of course, Zeus doesn’t put up with that shit and drops Mt. Etna on Typhon’s head. Which, in the real world, I’m guessing has something to do with Diamond Distributors. (Or maybe Ted Rall — I don’t know any more.)hitcounter

Anyway, for those interested in buying a copy of this astonishing new volume, why not go to Jim Hanley’s Universe, certainly the premier comics store in New York, and buy a copy from the creators themselves!

From an email forwarded to me from Mr. Sikoryak:

NYC area comics aficionados are invited to join us for a TYPHON book signing at Jim Hanley’s Universe on Wednesday, August 6th from 6-8PM!

Pick up a copy of the brand new, 192 page, full-color comics anthology TYPHON Volume One, and get it signed by these TYPHON contributors:

Gregory Benton
Victor “Bald Eagles” Cayro
Mike Edison
Glenn Head
Danny Hellman
Cliff Mott
Bruno “Hugo” Nadalin
Chris “Steak Mtn” Norris
R. Sikoryak
Doug Skinner
Matthew Thurber
Motohiko Tokuta

Wednesday, August 6, 2008
6:00pm – 8:00pm
Jim Hanley’s Universe (Manhattan)
4 West 33rd Street
New York, NY

NOTE: I won’t be there. I live in Santa Monica. But I can vouch for the brilliance of at least half the people on this list.

ITEM!

Bond aficionados — but I mean real Bond aficionados — will have their minds blown by The Battle for Bond by Robert Sellers, which has just come out in paperback. This is a very rare kind of book, a book that outlines, in excruciating detail, the machinations that go into making a movie in Hollywood. The movie in question is Thunderball, and The Battle for Bond does not overlook one single step in the project’s development, which extends back to before the shooting of Dr. No and then forward, 18 years after Thunderball was actually made, to the shooting of Never Say Never Again. The author, who cares much more deeply about Thunderball than probably any sane person should, has tracked down every single screenwriter, producer, director, editor, actor and production assistant who worked on these projects, and a few more who almost did and then didn’t. We learn a lot about Ian Fleming’s development as a writer, the development of Bond as a character and as a property (Hitchcock was interested at one point, with Jimmy Stewart as Bond), and the hubris and failings of any number of British producers and movie people. The thing I like about the book is that it shows just how much work, fretting, guesswork and frustration goes into the making of any movie, whether it’s a sure-fire hit or a risky, challenging auteurist puzzle, whether it’s Lawrence of Arabia or, well, Never Say Never Again, that no one ever hears about.

ITEM!

I’m super excited about the announcement of Garfield Minus Garfield, a book of comics based on, yes, Garfield Minus Garfield, comics that remove Garfield from Garfield and thus magically change it from a drab, irritating eyesore to a comic of great emotion, clarity and aesthetic beauty. I marvel at Garfield Minus Garfield on a daily basis and you should too. The fact that Jim Davis approved the project and, apparently, sees both the humor and beauty in it, gives me a level of respect for him I’ve never before had and, honestly, probably never will again.

The Venture Bros: The Lepidopterists

Or, as one might call it, “The Rules of the Game.”hitcounter

As Brock explains it, it seems that the conflict between the Guild of Calamitous Intent and OSI exists as an elaborate game to keep costumed supervillains occupied. The intent, as I understand it, is that if demented freaks like The Monarch were let loose in the real world, they could cause genuine destruction and hurt real people. By sanctioning and directing the malediction of their members against “super scientists”, who can presumably take care of themselves, the Guild and OSI collude to make the world a more orderly place. The Guild-sponsored supervillains attack the OSI-protected superscientists, nobody gets hurt (except for the occasional henchman, and then only for dramatic purposes) and the world, somehow, keeps spinning.

The Monarch’s arc for this season stems from his discomfort with playing this game. Or does it? What, in the end, does The Monarch want? Does he want to kill Rusty Venture? His encounter with poor Dr. Dugong strongly indicates that he does. And yet, when he had the chance to invade the Venture compound, he planted no bomb, installed no secret trap — his vengeance was shocking and obscene, but nowhere near lethal.

Besides, if The Monarch were to kill Rusty, then what would he do with his life? We’ve seen that he’s not happy arching anyone else. What would happen if his ambition were fulfilled, if Rusty was blown to smithereens by The Monarch’s lightning cannon? Would The Monarch then take off his costume, let go his henchmen and live in suburban comfort? Doing what? What is he qualified to do, besides supervillainy? We’ve seen that he steals all his weapons from others, it’s not like he could get a job designing flying cocoons, the market for which seems extremely limited. And would Dr. Mrs. The Monarch stay with him, or would she become, finally, her own supervillain instead of someone else’s sultry sidekick? How could she live without appending a title to her name?

The Monarch, and all the Guild-sanctioned supervillains it seems, are addicted to the game, as surely as the Sea Captain is addicted to tranquilizer darts (and to feigning outrage, but that’s another story). Where does this addiction come from? What is the source of the need for this game? Well, the 60s-era shows and movies that The Venture Bros salutes and parodies were a product of the Cold War, when the US and the USSR were locked in a cat-and-mouse game of one-upsmanship, a game where billions of lives theoretically hung in the balance, but where both sides seemed to understand that any actual fight would be absurd. And so the two nations rattled their sabres and made their childish threats, but the missles stayed resolutely in their silos and the casualties were all peripheral — North Korea and South Vietnam were the “Scott Hall” or “Henchman No 1″s of the Cold War. The US and USSR, it could be argued, never really hated each other, never wanted to destroy each other, but created the Cold War as a safe way to create a set of national identities (just as the Monarch desperately needs his status as a supervillain to create a personal identity) and, yes, to create a permanent military-based economy. Benton Quest and James Bond, GI Joe and their costumed nemeses were cartoon versions of the East vs West conflict, and “The Lepidopterists” suggests that the Cold War’s basis as a meaningless game of cat-and-mouse is reflected in those cultural artifacts. Benton Quest would never kill Dr. Zin, Bond would never kill Blofeld, GI Joe would never defeat Cobra. There could be no “end” to the game — to end the game would be to end the series. And just as the point of the series is to make money for the corporation who owned the network or studio, the point of the Cold War was to make money for the military-industrial complex.

The USSR “lost” the Cold War and the world’s conflicts are quite differently-structured now, which is where The Venture Bros comes in. Rusty has inherited the military-industrial complex created by his father, but the cartoon nemeses of the Cold War (like, you know, Castro) have been downgraded to demented freaks like The Monarch.

We’ve read in recent weeks about how The Joker = Osama, but a more legitimate question might be does Monarch = Osama? The Monarch, we see in “The Lepidopterists,” wants to “play the game” of harmless (if expensive) Guild-sanctioned attacks (he’s outraged when Jonas Jr — gasp! — fights back) but in his heart he is a true cold-blooded killer, a man who truly hates the Ventures and wants to destroy them and everything they stand for. It’s as though Al Qaeda had somehow become a Soviet-sponsored state. OSI (and the Guild, for that matter — although I, for one, won’t be surprised to learn that they are actually the one and the same — they almost say as much in this episode) is at a loss as to dealing with The Monarch — they are both bound by the code of their elaborate “game” and also perfectly willing to crush him like the insect he pretends to be. The Lepidopterists of the title are caught in this bind (if they are, indeed, agents of the OSI) and so, oddly, is Brock. Brock, who helped the Monarch re-build his cocoon this season, and who seems to want the Monarch back in Rusty’s life (to give it some sense of order?) here gets addicted to the game as well, cozy with the Lepidopterists and desperate to shoot off Jonas Jr’s giant laser (boy, try to type that sentence without feeling dirty).

The schism between the us-and-them clarity of the Cold War and the what-the-fuck-are-we-supposed-to-do confusion of the War on Terror is reflected by the b-story comedy of the henchmen. Henchman 1, the only competent henchman we’ve seen so far in the Monarch’s story, represents the super-capable agents of the Cold War, while 21 and 24 represent the modern way of warfare — a couple of incompetent, wise-cracking idiots who, thanks to the construct of “the game,” manage to keep wandering from mission to mission, laughing at the deaths of those who care while they have no clue as to what’s going on.

Meanwhile, Jonas Jr, for a guy who has spent most of his life inside someone else’s abdomenal cavity, seems to be pretty well-adjusted.  He leads a family/team of adventurers damaged even by VB standards and unifies them — I especially like the Ventronic robot, which literally creates a “whole man” from the sum of its parts (well, near enough anyway).  He’s managing the whole “make your family your adventure” thing well — he even takes care to include Ned on his adventures. Indeed, he seems to think more of Ned than he does the Sea Captain — either that or the Sea Captain is simply more sensitive to Jonas Jr’s backhanded geniality. If Jonas Jr and Sally are the “dad” and “mom” of this team of Venture castoffs, Ned and the Sea Captain must be the “children”, with Ned as the “baby” and the Sea Captain as the Rebellious Teen. (This is, of course, a reflection of the Fantastic Four family — Reed is the father, Sue is the mother, Johnny is the rebellious teen, and poor Ben, with his diaper and his tantrums, is the baby of the Richards family.) The Sea Captain seems unhappy with this role, in spite of the fact that he plays into it at every opportunity — he’s sensitive to his “parents'” opinions, and he compensates for his misery by getting addicted to drugs.

Aside from all this metaphorical mumbo-jumbo, I found “The Lepidopterists” to be the most tightly plotted episode of the season so far. As a bonus, the Monarch constructed a plan that, due to the efforts of the one competent henchman on his staff, actually worked.

(Another clue that Brock is working for the Monarch: the “Dark S-7 Maneuver” [or as I like to think of it, “the Speed trick”] affects only the video surveillance of Spider-Skull Island, yet Brock reports that the Monarch’s Cocoon is “twenty miles off” or something while looking atsomething other than a video monitor — why is he helping with the Monarch’s plan, if not to bring the Monarch and Rusty together again?)

Mantis update

How my pretties have grown! It seems like just yesterday (but was actually more like eight weeks ago) they were teeny tiny little things. Ceiling shed her (I’ve decided she’s a her)latest skin yesterday, and is now ginormous. She looks like she could eat Snacks for snacks. Meanwhile, li’l Booie has gotten big enough to catch adult crickets.hitcounter

This calls for a change in housing assignments! Booie, straining against the confinement of his yogurt container, has been moved to the “green terrarium,” which was, until recently, the prime domain of Snacks. Snacks, meanwhile, has been promoted to the larger “white terrarium”, where he will, no doubt, enjoy eating the crickets left behind by Ceiling. Ceiling, meanwhile, queen of all mantids as far as I’m concerned, has moved into the enormous five-gallon “black terrarium,” and has a roommate, namely, the Giant Black African Millipede. The Giant Black African Millipede is a strict vegetarian, so Ceiling should be able to escape his wrath. Plus, the Millipede mostly lives under his log and Ceiling lives, well, guess where. Ceiling, for her part, I cannot imagine will try to take a swipe at the Millipede, which is about ten times larger than her and has heavy body armor to boot. Mostly, I doubt either one will know the other is there.

Booie stretches out in his swanky new digs.

Snacks contemplates his newly inherited crickets. Soon they will be in his belly.

Ceiling looks a little overwhelmed by the rapturous splendor of her new home.

Giant Black African Millipede has no comment.

Dad, Sam, Kit and Space Chimps

Dad took Sam (7) and Kit (5) to see Space Chimps. In terms of artistic achievement, Dad found the movie placed a little south of Kagemusha, but acknowledges that it is most likely not intended for an audience of cranky, middle-aged screenwriters. However, the movie did get one genuine laugh out of him, and if you were one of the handful of people in the movie theater with us, you might have witnessed this scene:

ONSCREEN:

Two chimps in a rocket ship. (all dialogue paraphrased)

CHIMP 1. Let’s face it, I’m not a real astronaut.
CHIMP 2. Are you wearing an aluminum suit?
CHIMP 1. Yes, but…
CHIMP 2. Are you inside a space ship?
CHIMP 1. Well, yes…
CHIMP 2. Are you in space?
CHIMP 1. Yes, but I…
CHIMP 2. Are you David Bowie?
CHIMP 1. Nnnooo…
CHIMP 2. Then you’re an astronaut!

IN THE AUDIENCEhitcounter:

DAD. (laughs)
SAM. (noting Dad’s laugh) What does that even mean?
DAD. (beat — how to put?) David Bowie is a singer. He had a famous song about being an astronaut. So it’s a joke about that.
SAM. (beat, then, trying it out) “Are you David Bowie?” (laugh)

(Dad did not go on to explain that the real reason for his laugh is that there is another, slightly funnier aspect to the line for him, which is that Chimp 2 is voiced by Patrick Warburton, who also voices the character Brock Samson on the TV series The Venture Bros, a show which also prominently features David Bowie as a character. One step at a time for teaching Sam showbiz in-jokes.)

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