Summary: A weak protagonist and an even weaker ending overwhelm what could have been a strong and thoughtful novel.
2312 presumably takes place within the same universe as Kim Stanley Robinson’s Mars trilogy, but it fails to live up to the thoughtfulness and epic scope of those books.
The protagonist is a silly, shallow, self-absorbed dilettante who flits about the solar system, moving from one distraction to the next like a 24th Century Paris Hilton. We’re told that she was intelligent once, but apparently her penchant for novelty via various body and brain modifications has rendered her a vacuous sensualist with an implanted AI. Indeed, one of the major discussions threading the novel is whether an AI could achieve consciousness, and if so, how could you tell if it had? In one of the major ironies of the book, the main character is someone who is so one-dimensional that you’d have a hard time distinguishing her from a simple AI.
A weak protagonist can be easily overcome with a strong plot, which this book has for 90% of its length. There’s a mystery surrounding terrorist attacks on spacer colonies in the solar system, coupled with odd and potentially dangerous qube (quantum computer) behavior. Throw in an increasingly desperate and depressing Earth (which is the novel’s stand-in for the third world), and you have a story threading together various inferences that seem to lead toward an epoch-shattering conclusion.
Alas, ’tis not to be. The general malaise throughout the book remains unresolved and humanity continues along its meaningless path. The problem with the qubes, which could have represented a new era for humanity by having a novel, alien intelligence with which to interact and learn, is quickly resolved and dispatched in a few paragraphs. The central mystery of the novel–terrorist attacks on spacer colonies–turns out to be nothing more than an unintended consequence of a minor real estate dispute involving characters who are barely mentioned in the novel.
The slow, gathering surge toward an epic conclusion merely peters out in the end. It’s almost as if the author, after painting a picture of humanity as a stagnant people who are merely distracting themselves until they die, was afraid of the potential transformative power his qubes represented and pulled back for reasons unknown.
As I read the book, I actually thought the protagonist was the avatar for a moribund humanity who’d reached the limit of its abilities. It was almost as if the human race was bumping up against a wall which, for all of the mind and body enhancements, it could not conceptually break through due to fundamental flaws in its construction. There’s a lot of movement and apparent progress, but when observed from the macro level, the species is just spinning its wheels. There’s a lot of heat, but no fire.
The qubes, who appear to be evolving and perhaps even self-aware, are appearing in human bodies that are indistinguishable from the genuine article, much like the cylons in the rebooted Battlestar Galactica. It seemed like the book was heading to a point where these qubes would in some way transform human society and break it free from its stagnant state. Instead, all of the build-up involving these new qubes is swept away with not much said about what they were or what they could become.
The book could have ended with the genesis of a post-human society, or at the very least a humanity with some sort of hope for the future. Instead, it ended where it began and reading it turns out to have been an exercise in futility, much like humanity’s existence in the book.
Despite all that, I would still recommend picking up this book at the library since it does generate some food for thought (if only incidental to the main story), plus it features some high imagination, from surfing Saturn’s rings to a city crawling along Mercury’s terminator (and what happens when it stops). Just don’t expect to be treated to the epic breadth and depth of ideas presented in Red Mars and do not expect a big, world-changing ending.
I’ve been going through Wired’s first issue on the iPad and it barely resembles the safe, neutered magazine that bears its name today. I didn’t buy the first issue, but I did read most every issue up until around 1997 or so. I had always been a fan of the cyberpunk genre and a huge technology enthusiast, so Wired was a magazine tailor-made for someone like me. It was a garish mix of absurd pretentiousness and genuine art. I liked it in spite of itself and enjoyed it without irony.
The thing that kept me coming back, besides wondering what heights of self-importance it would reach in the next issue, was its focus on people, ideas, and culture rather than a dry recitation of some beige box’s specs. It seemed plugged-in to the Silicon Valley scene, plus Interesting People wrote for it, so it felt like a magazine that was actually commenting on the digital revolution instead of obsessing over the actual devices that were making the revolution possible. It was the only technology mag to ask, “What does this all mean, anyway?”
It was the first place I’d seen the word “colophon.”
Going through the first issue made me somewhat sad, but not really from any sense of nostalgia. It was a painful reminder of how much the magazine has changed from a weird, dangerous, avant-garde magazine from the future to basically PC Magazine with a goatee and cargo shorts. This was a magazine whose cover, in addition to a rogues’ gallery of provocative thinkers and technologists, once featured the Apple logo encircled with a crown of thorns over the word “Pray” to mark the return of Steve Jobs to Apple. It was a fairly controversial cover to people who had never heard of the magazine, much less actually read it, but it was keeping with the magazine’s attitude.
Now, the magazine has a cover with a “Geek Dad.” Seriously. They might as well just fold it into Men’s Health or something.
I stopped reading Wired regularly in the late-’90s, as the web finally became interesting and informative in its own right (rather than people talking about how interesting and informative it was going to be). Combined with newsgroups and IRC, Wired instantly seemed old-fashioned and quaint. The digital world it heralded had finally arrived. The hackers, crackers, phreaks, and other Genuinely Smart People were moving things along at a furious clip, far faster than anything as mundane as a monthly magazine could hope to keep pace with.
Wired had its own website, Hotwired, but it never really caught fire with me. Once you’ve tasted digital ambrosia yourself in far more interesting places on the ‘net, you can’t really take a comparatively safe and mainstream website seriously–especially one tied to a supposedly forward-looking, underground magazine. The arrogant seriousness of the magazine didn’t really mesh well with the culture of the ‘net in those days, which was far too experimental, self-aware, and sarcastic for a magazine that took itself way too seriously.
Wired was supposed to be about the future, but it turned out the future was ASCII dicks and spam.
Wired was very much a product of its time. It’s deeply embedded in ’90s cyber-culture and the world it foresaw has largely come to pass. In a sane world, the magazine would have shutdown with dignity at the turn of the millennium; alas, anything that turns a profit, even it has long outlived its mission, shambles along like a shadow of its former self, forgetting who it was or what it was doing here in the first place. So it goes with Wired.
At any rate, revisiting the first issue was an interesting look into the future, courtesy of the past, when we knew what was going to happen before it actually did.
Except for Comments sections. No one saw that train wreck coming.
If you’ve grown tired of the frustration machine known as San Diego Comic-Con and you’re casting about for something that has a bit of that old comic con magic, then do yourself a favor and head on over to Phoenix next year, because Phoenix Comicon has got it going on.
In a word, the Phoenix Comicon was fun. In another word, it was friendly. In yet another, it was fantastic. As we stepped off the train (Phoenix has a light-rail system) we noted the distinct lack of scantily-clad women desperately trying to rid themselves of glossy ad stock. In San Diego, you would be laden with three pounds of ads, brochures, magazines, and other assorted debris before you could make it to the convention center. Many cannot bear the load; so many ads litter the street that you could walk from the Gaslamp to the convention center and never touch pavement.
Briefly taken aback by the lack of barkers, balloons, and speakers blasting bass lines, we casually strolled to the convention center–yes, our little band from the train actually strolled along the sidewalk as if enjoying a casual walk in the park, instead of rushing headlong into the unknown like a dozen doughy battering rams, only to be absorbed into the ever-expanding blob of flesh, as is the norm in San Diego.
The entire vibe of the con was accepting, laid-back, and just plain fun. People weren’t all stressed-out about getting to a panel, or bored-to-death from standing in line for hours, or exhausted from being packed like sardines into a tiny space filled with some of the whitest people you will ever see. We didn’t witness packs of aggressive young men pushing and shoving each other out of the way to snatch worthless trinkets being thrown indiscriminately from a booth, like some obscene parody of third-world folks desperately vying for meager rations of food distributed from the back of an aid truck.
Everyone was happy to be there and it showed. You were able to take things as they came, instead of feeling pressure to do this now so you can get there then and oh god, I’m never gonna make it to–no, none of that harried exhaustion was in evidence here. People were happy to stop and talk for as long as they wanted. It’s amazing how enjoyable a con is when everyone you meet doesn’t have that sense of urgency to be somewhere else.
At San Diego, everyone looks like they’ve just felt the first burble of bubble guts and realizes they need to get to a restroom quickly, but don’t want to look like they need to get to the restroom quickly, even though it’s plainly obvious to everyone else that they need to get someplace else quickly. I didn’t see one person running or doing that weird, brisk walk that people do when they want to run but don’t want to look like Usain Bolt off the blocks, so they just keep their upper body stiff as a board while their legs furiously propel them forward at an awkward pace. Multiply that constant low-level stress and anxiety by 150,000 people and you’re exhausted by noon.
And the lack of people–oh god, the glorious lack of people! Phoenix had just the right amount of people so that it wasn’t too crowded, nor did it feel like a meeting of the LM386 Integrated Circuit Appreciation Club at the airport Hilton. It was just the right size for the venue with the right mix of people. They were all in a great mood and that mood permeated everything so that you were just happy to be there with them at that place. Mood is a force multiplier. A good mood can spread and grow and feedback on itself so that everything is enjoyable and little setbacks can be brushed away like the trivialities that they are. A good vibe is hard to spread and maintain, but Phoenix made it look easy. It was like a rock concert without the threat of imminent hearing loss. Unlike SDCC, Phoenix Comicon is to be enjoyed rather than endured.
The other great thing about Phoenix is that the con felt like it was organized by the fans for the fans. It had an organic, bottom-up feel, with dozens of little panels on the schedule that had limited appeal, but seemed equally valued nonetheless. The problem with San Diego is that it’s become just another stop on the Hollywood junket tour, with everything geared to promote movies and TV shows at the expense of everything else. It has a very top-down, authoritarian feel that leaves no mistake about who the con is really servicing. The sad thing about it is that people miss all of the great things about the convention by standing in line for hours just to sit in the same room and watch HD screens of movie/TV panels for the rest of the day. With the minor exception of a couple of panels where a little advanced planning was needed, you could walk right into any panel at the Phoenix con and check out something cool. You never felt like you missed out at Phoenix Comicon.
The only thing that could really improve the Phoenix con would be better support from the major comics publishers. Marvel and DC: send your artists and writers, but keep the massive booths and meaningless spectacle in San Diego. Hasbro and Mattel, just stay away. You can keep your Exclusive Con Giveaways and the ridiculous ticketing systems you use for them with the other BS in San Diego.
I really hope Phoenix is able to maintain the great organization and camaraderie they’ve fostered without being lost to the Dark Side like SDCC was. I can’t emphasize enough how incredibly fun Phoenix Comicon was this year and I’m already looking forward to going next year. If you can fit it in your schedule, you owe it to yourself to go. I’ll see you there.
As we feared, Comic-Con didn’t distinguish itself very well this year. We knew there were would be long lines for everything (it’s not called “LineCon” for nothing), but all of the con’s failings were magnified to a degree I’ve never seen before. People waited in lines for up to eight hours just to see one panel in Ballroom 20. People lined up at 3:00AM just to be able to buy tickets for next year (a process previously accomplished in 10 minutes). People who waited line all day outside for a TrueBlood panel were kicked out to make room for some actor’s entourage. Of course, the response by many people to this patently ridiculous situation is to succumb to a Stockholm-like Syndrome and view it as something not only to be expected, but actually valued.
The SDCC organizers have no impetus to change, because they know people will pay for whatever they’re given and wear it as a badge of pride. I suppose it’s a byproduct of the consumerism at the core of pop culture fandom. At any rate, our response was to buy tickets for only two days next year and accept that it will take more alcohol than usual to take the edge off the con.
Okay, enough of the bad stuff, of which there was plenty. Here’s a quick rundown of the cool stuff from this year’s con:
- My son went crazy with the Gundam models. He picked up three Gundam models (two exclusives): a Mobile Suit ZZ, an MG Zaku, and an RX-78
- We got to play a PVP session of the upcoming Star Wars: The Old Republic MMO (we played as the Empire and won), which is still in closed beta. The game looks great. It’s a bit of a WoW clone, but it plays really well. I’ll definitely buy it when it’s released.
- We attended “The Captain’s” panel, featuring Shatner, Avery Brooks, and Scott Bakula (more well known for Quantum Leap). We’d never seen any of these guys in person before, so that was really fun. Avery Brooks is a real cool cat.
- We also attended a panel focused on J. Michael Straczynski, who I’ve been a fan of for years. He’s really witty and engaging in person. He spoke and answered questions for almost an hour straight, yet it seemed only a few minutes had passed. The panel was over way too soon.
- This outfit called Robe Factory was selling Star Trek-themed robes, which were basically stylized original series tunics. They weren’t cheap crap, either. Very high quality and comfortable robes. We got a gold one and a red one.
- My son got a pretty cool messenger bag with Alex Ross artwork on it.
- We got some really good animation cels from the Star Trek animated series (which I’m apparently collecting now)
- We attended a DC comics “New 52” panel, where they were talking about the upcoming reboot of their entire comic line. I was always a Marvel kid, so I know that Marvel already did this and better (with their Ultimate series) without ruining their main line with a gimmick. Still, it’s a bold move for DC, which as a sub-division of a larger media conglomerate (WB), is tasked with increasing revenue with a product that caters to an ever-diminishing niche demographic. You can’t focus on aging Gen-X’ers forever, and I hope they’re able to do something that actually appeals to kids and adolescents, but I’m doubtful.
- The hullabaloo outside the convention was extremely impressive. I think it’s almost reached a point where you don’t even need to buy tickets to get the Comic-Con Experience™. Several companies are now running promotions that don’t require a badge to participate, and tons of convention attendees are always walking around, so you can have an enjoyable experience just by going down to the Gaslamp Quarter and hanging out for a few hours.
There you go – the good and the bad from our Comic-Con 2011 experience. We spent Sunday at the beach, which was a relaxing day to decompress and go someplace where we could sit down for more than two minutes without waiting in line to do something cool; namely, swimming in the Pacific Ocean.
Well, San Diego Comic-Con is only a couple of weeks away and the usual feelings of anxiety and dread well-up once more from the part of my psyche that really, truly hates crowds. Being around large groups of people exhausts me for some reason, and SDCC has crowds in spades. It’s no wonder that at the end of every day, when all I’ve really done is stand or sit most of the time and not physically exerted myself in the slightest, I am mentally and physically spent.
We usually attend preview night at the con, which is the night before the convention officially opens and the number of attendees is limited to around 15,000 people. There aren’t any panels or anything, but the floor is open to browse and buy things, if you want. The crowds are manageable and you can actually feel the convention floor’s immense 615, 701 square feet of space, unlike the following days when the crushing mass of humanity makes for a stifling, claustrophobic experience. If a sudden calamity befell the convention on preview night, I’ve no doubt we could make it out to safety. If we needed to make a quick escape on any other day, we’d surely be trampled to death by 125,000 people fleeing through a few exits at once.
Of the last few years we’ve attended, it seems like 2009 was the worst convention year for crowds. The number of people seemed to have jumped significantly from the previous year, and the organizers appeared ill-prepared to deal with the sudden increase in volume. The whole thing was barely-organized chaos as poorly trained volunteers, combined with knuckle-headed scheduling, produced a situation where the invisible hand of organization simply ceased to exist and disorder reigned supreme.
I wasn’t the only one with this impression. We escaped a few times to the quiet confines of the EA Gaming Lounge across the street from the convention center for some rest and relaxation from the ever-roiling chaos. While our son played betas of Battlefield: Bad Company 2 and Left for Dead 2, my wife and I sipped mixed drinks on comfortable couches in a peaceful courtyard under the sun. As we relaxed, we spoke to several people who’d also found this quiet eddy amidst the turbulent torrent of humanity, many of whom were ten to twenty year veterans of the con. While many acknowledged the rapid increase in numbers over the previous few years had changed the character and tone of the convention, nearly all felt something had definitely changed between 2008 and 2009.
A few dozen theories were offered, but no one could quite put their finger on what exactly had changed. These weren’t the usual suspects bitching about how the con had gotten away from it’s roots or similar nonsense, but people genuinely perplexed by the con’s apparent takeover by its mirror-universe evil twin.
A lot of people in 2009 liked to blame that year’s terrible convention on Twilight, but that’s a red herring. The only thing Twilight did was bring in some teeny-boppers and their creepy mothers. Oh yes, this sinister faction truly brought low a convention where pervs and unwashed sociopaths compete with each other to see who can creep-out and annoy the most people.
Twilight didn’t ruined the con; piss poor preparation and planning did. Twilight was just a single, hour-long panel in Hall H and despite what many publicists and over-caffeinated bloggers would like you to think, Hall H is not Comic-Con. It’s where the Bullshit Machine goes to peddle its wares. You could completely sever Hall H from the convention and send it into the Phantom Zone without sacrificing a single iota of the con’s character. It’s essentially the Hollywood Adjunct to the convention (though that might actually change this year, we’ll see). The only real good thing about Hall H is that it keeps 6,000 suckers off the show floor and away from the other panels.
The failure of the 2009 convention can be attributed to three critical areas:
- Poorly trained and supervised staff/volunteers
- Poor scheduling
- Poor crowd control
The people staffing the 2009 con were the most uninformed, poorly prepared people I’ve seen before or since. They consistently looked lost, confused, and befuddled. Imagine if someone had plucked your mother from the mall, put her in a red polo shirt, and plopped her in the convention center with no training and a single instruction: do something with these people. I can’t blame them for how they reacted to their situation. Most fell back on the age-old strategy of simply making stuff up to get people to go away, while others succumbed to that hobgoblin of small minds and bureaucrats: strict adherence to instructions.
A perfect example of both strategies in action occurred during the Burn Notice panel of that year. We’d just sat through a Women of Sci-Fi panel so we could see the Bruce Campbell (featuring Burn Notice) panel that immediately followed. A few of us needed to make use of the restroom during the break between panels, so we went to the exit and were handed a colored ticket for the Women of Sci-Fi panel. A few dozen people asked the woman passing out these tickets if these would be good to get back in and she said yes, the next panel didn’t start for another 10 minutes, so they’d still be valid. Five minutes later, we leave the restroom and hand our tickets to the man at the entrance to Ballroom 20 and he says our tickets were for the last panel and were no longer valid. No amount of reasoning would change him from his course. He had been told by someone as clueless as him to accept only yellow tickets and by god, he would not deviate one millimeter from that instruction. So, we went around the corner to the exit and told the lady who handed us the bogus tickets about the situation and to please talk some sense into the man up front, but she quickly feigned ignorance and forswore any knowledge of the assurances she’d provided to dozens of people only minutes before. I imagine our bags enjoyed the panel immensely.
The effects of the poorly informed and supervised staff were exacerbated by the bizarre scheduling. I understand the organizers cater to the big media conglomerates, but sometimes I wonder whether the people who declare themselves the largest popular arts convention in the world are completely clueless about the relative popularity of the properties promoting themselves at the convention. For instance, last year they scheduled a Mega-Man panel attended by maybe a couple hundred people in the third largest room at the convention center, while at the same time massive crowds had to be turned away from a Walking Dead panel in a tiny room seating only 150-200 people. How does a cult video game warrants a gigantic room, while a highly anticipated TV adaptation of a massively popular comic book series merits a glorified closet? You sometimes have to wonder whether the “juice” of larger companies is more important to convention organizers than fan appeal. That’s really the only way to explain how some no-name panels are able to snag larger rooms, while panels with huge fan appeal, but representing smaller, indie entities are relegated to the broom closet.
Additionally, the scheduling is often so poor that they’ll have multiple “big draw” panels in a row, each catering to a different fan base, yet all attended mostly by people who only want to see one of the panels. Why? The convention does not clear rooms between panels and no one has a guaranteed seat, so people sit through panels they don’t care about to see the one panel that matters to them. Meanwhile, people who really want to see these panels are left out in the cold, because they didn’t stand in a line six hours hours earlier than the people who got into the room.
It’s an odd state of affairs when 3/4 of a person’s con experience is spent standing in line or sitting through boring panels just to witness one hour of programming. If the wacky scheduling wasn’t evidence enough of the organizers’ inability to keep attendee satisfaction utmost in mind, then the unwillingness to reduce the long lines–indeed, they embrace and encourage them–should be proof enough.
It’s long past time the organizers started clearing the big rooms between panels and their stubborn refusal to do so reminds me of many Mom-and-Pop companies who experience rapid expansion, yet refuse to adapt practices and processes to accommodate their larger size simply because they don’t want to lose their peculiar culture and “go corporate.” Of course, what they never realize is they’ve already gone corporate and whatever peculiar culture they once had exists only their minds. By refusing to adapt to changing conditions, they only make their employees lives’ unnecessarily difficult and screw themselves over in the long run.
SDCC is in the same boat: the organizers like to boast about their size and prominence, yet at the same time they still run it like a little comics convention for 6,000 people. They refuse to change for fear of losing what they believe made them special, yet all they’ve really done is diminish everyone’s convention experience and made things worse than they really need to be. To have it within your power to make a more enjoyable experience for the attendees, yet refusing to do so out of misplaced nostalgia, is nothing more than pig-headed, selfish idiocy.
Finally, 2009 seemed like a year when the crowds finally overcame any serious attempt to control them. The meager resources devoted to crowd control were simply overwhelmed by the multitude. I can’t fault someone who, after running around all day plugging little holes in the dyke, decided to pack it in after turning around and realizing that the sea had already broken through and completely flooded the countryside. I’d give up as well.
The convention deployed too few resources to deal with the crowds, resulting in a situation that would have devolved into Mad Max-style, post-apocalyptic nightmare world where only the amoral and heavily-armed prevail, had not the overwhelming majority in attendance tended to avoid actual physical conflict at all costs.
These factors were critical in the overall failure of the 2009 convention and except for the organizers’ tenacious resistance to proper scheduling and room clearing, many seemed to have been addressed in 2010. The crowds were definitely better managed due to extra security and the volunteers seemed far more prepared than the previous year. Hopefully, the gains made last year carry will over to this year and perhaps the organizers have miraculously learned how to actually compose a properly organized schedule. I guess we’ll see. If not, well, I hear the whale watching tours are a good time.
If the San Diego Comic-Con ever decided to change its logo, it could do no better than to change it from the All Seeing Eye to a long, snaking, broken line. It’s the defining feature of SDCC these days.
There are lines to get across the street to the convention center.
There are lines to get coffee.
There are lines to get into panels.
There are lines to get crap at booths.
There are lines to get autographs.
There are lines to get into other lines.
Sometimes, it seems I’ve spent more time in line than actually doing anything enjoyable at the convention. I wonder how much I’ve missed by sitting against a wall and doing jack-all as the sun slowly traced its arc across the sky. It’s an unfortunate reality that if you want to see something that’s fairly popular, then you have to devote hours of time to see it. Do you want to see a panel in Ballroom 20 that starts at 1:00 PM? You better show up as soon as the doors open and race up the escalators to get in there (or even camp-out overnight with the way things are going). If you don’t, you will be in line for the next three hours to watch an hour-long panel. That’s four hours of your day gone.
Do you want to see something that you don’t think is particularly popular? Better check the program to make sure something popular isn’t scheduled to follow it one or two hours later, because everyone’s going to camp the room for the next three hours to see the panel that they really wanted to see. Oh, and there’ll be a long line snaking around the hallway full of people who want to see the popular program, plus those that just wanted to see the actual panels that everyone else is camping through.
The worst thing is happening upon a short line and getting excited that you might actually, finally get into a room. Then someone points out that the line picks back up across the hallway and heads out the door to the outside, where it twists and turns around various corners until you finally see the end and someone is holding a sign reading “Line Closed.”
That’s Comic-Con in a nutshell.
What about the convention floor itself? Raw, undiluted chaos. Unlike the neat and orderly lines for the panels, the convention floor is a free-for-all as thousands of people attempt to navigate narrow lanes of traffic to get to where they want to go. Unlike the lines for the panels upstairs, which are manned and monitored by convention personnel, the lines on the floor tend to be left to the discretion of the booth owners, who pay only scant attention to the line, due to the limited number of people manning the booth who are trying to do ten things at once. As you can imagine, this leads to general confusion and shenanigans, as the line grows past the perimeter of the booth and juts out into one of the aisles, blocking traffic, or jumps to another booth that has its own line.
Every so often, convention security will come by and tell people to clear the aisle, but the people standing there have no place to go. The people behind them aren’t going to move backwards and the line sure as hell isn’t moving forwards, so they either have to give it up and leave, or hope that the collective mass of 5-7 bodies is sufficient to convince the implacable line members behind them to give up precious ground. Of course, as soon as security leaves, four or five jokers see a seemingly small line and stand in it, blocking the aisle once more and courting massive amounts of passive-aggressive angst from those who were shoved back to the other side of the aisle.
Things get even more interesting when a booth has multiple lines for different products. Let’s take a “hypothetical” Paramount booth promoting the new Star Trek movie’s release on DVD. They’ll start one line for exclusive Spock Foam Hands, another one to sit in Kirk’s Chair, and a third to purchase some limited edition trinket. All three lines maintain coherence for roughly five feet, or the line of sight of employees herding people the last few steps to their destination, whichever is shorter. Beyond that lay only frustration and tears as the three lines merge, split, and merge again.
Occasionally, the continuous maelstrom of scattering and reformation will create isolated offshoots of the line, like some ersatz Galapagos species, comprised of 13-15 people who realize that they’re no longer in the main line, but don’t want to move for fear of losing their spot.
A lot of the time, the people in the line aren’t quite sure if they’re in the right line or not. One person will tell you the’re in line for the trinket, the person immediately behind them will say they’re in line for the foam hand, and the person behind them thought they were in line for an autograph signing at the Dark Horse booth.
Without fail, someone will think they were standing in the line for the trinket, only to find it morphed sometime during the past hour into the line for the Foam Hand. Since they’ve already devoted so much time in the line, they usually just go ahead and get the Foam Hand. So, after spending four hours upstairs and two hours downstairs on the convention floor, they now have a single panel and a foam hand reading “Live Long and Prosper” to show for their day.
None of these lines take place in a vacuum, either. Swirling around them are thousands of people walking hither and yon, or stopping to check out the booth displays. As you reach the middle of the convention floor, the density of people increases exponentially due to the close proximity of the “big” booths for Warner Bros., Fox, Nickelodeon, Paramount, and Lucasfilm. It is here that you must clear through the massive bolus of humanity if you want to move from one side of the convention floor to the other.
Sometimes you seem to be floating along with your companions in the general direction you intended to go, only to find yourself suddenly thrust from the main river of humanity into a crowded tributary before being deposited along the far wall of the convention floor. Other times, you can’t tell the slow moving traffic from the slow moving lines. No joke, two years ago I thought I was slowly making my way down the center aisle only to find that I had inadvertently entered a line and had been shuffling along in it for almost 10 minutes.
While walking the floor last year, I walked past a line of around 20 people that didn’t seem to lead anywhere. That wasn’t unusual in itself since the lines for some booths are so long that they need to be broken-up to allow foot traffic to pass. I asked the last guy what the line was for. He shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t know. He simply saw a line, figured it must be for something cool, and decided to stand in it.
I then walked to the front of this line and tried to see where it picked back up, but I didn’t see anything across the aisle, nor around the booth. I asked the guy in the front of the line what he was waiting for. He said simply, “My wife.” I pointed out the dozen or so people filed behind him. He let out a sharp laugh and walked away. The man behind him stepped up and each person in turn took a step forward. I didn’t stick around long enough to see whether the man’s wife would be flattered or horrified to see 19 men waiting their turn for her.
The same year, while waiting in line for the Burn Notice panel so I could see Bruce Campbell live and in the flesh, I actually heard some dork yell, with all of the gravitas he could muster, “We all have to do our time in the line!” I’m sure in his head he was Captain Picard, but it came out sounding like a screechy little door mouse.
Apparently, someone in front of him had four of their friends join the line with them after a good hour or so had already passed. Ensign Ricky took umbrage at this and bellowed his objection, believing that people were cutting the line. I suppose in a traditional sense this may have been true, but good lord, we’re at Comic-Con, buddy. These aren’t the usual mundanes who do this stuff because they don’t care about the rules and think they’re better than everyone else. These are our own kind and if they want to spend two hours walking the show floor instead of gazing at the boats out in the harbor, then more power to them. To be fair, they did ask the people around them if it was cool if they hopped into line and everyone assented. It was only Ensign Ricky who was all in a huff about it. I could understand if he was upset, since there were now more people in front of him than he thought and there was a slight chance he might not get into the panel because of it, but that’s just how things go in the line.
His attitude about it was what really got under my skin. Two years prior, there wasn’t even a line to get into Ballroom 20. Sure, in the intervening period, the scheduling was such that we had to stand in line for these things, but that was just a necessity. Ensign Ricky not only thought it was something to be endured, but a requirement for admission. If you didn’t spend the entire time in line, then you shouldn’t be allowed into the promised land. I wouldn’t be surprised if he flailed his back nightly with a limited edition Spock Foam Hand.
All this isn’t to say that standing in line is always a bad thing. In fact, a line for a Rifftrax panel (which we didn’t get into, by the way) was the highlight of the entire 2009 convention. We happened to fall-in with a bunch of Star Wars nerds. After the frustration and tears of the past couple of days, I had finally connected with my own tribe and we had a blast for 45 straight minutes. It was like being 9 years old again and joking about Star Wars, old Transformers toys, ’80s GI Joe, and all kinds of wacky stuff.
These weren’t hipster geeks with their ironic thick, black glasses and casual disdain for petty bourgeois sci-fi. These were OGs. Hell, there was even a guy dressed up like a Rebel Pilot from Star Wars who became our de facto leader and go-between with the convention volunteers, simply because he was dressed like a rebel pilot and was kind of tall. Those guys salvaged the con for me and I’ll never see them again.
That’s also Comic-Con in a nutshell.
Well, it’s June, so anticipation for our annual vacation to San Diego for Comic-Con is steadily ramping-up. This will be our fourth trip and my son is wondering whether a Trek-like curse applies to the con, with odd numbered years being less enjoyable than even numbered years, since both 2008 and 2010 were a lot of fun for us. 2009? Not so much. I guess we’ll find out this year, but there’s already one bad omen: Twilight will be at the con again this year.
The general consensus in 2009 was that Twilight ruined SDCC, but I doubt it. There were dozens of other factors at play, but I’ll dive into that subject in another post.
This being our fourth go-around, we’ve learned a few lessons and found out what really appeals to us at the con, so hopefully we can use those to make it more enjoyable to us this year in spite of the crowds and various setbacks we’re sure to encounter. For me, the most important lesson is that the big presentations in Ballroom 20 and Hall H are largely a waste of time, and not nearly as enjoyable or fun as the smaller panels going on in the various rooms on the other side of the Sails Pavilion. The reasons are twofold: creators are often more interesting than actors and “sneak peaks” of footage for upcoming movies aren’t worth the time expended to see them.
Take Hall H, for example. This is the 6,000 seat auditorium hosting the big event movies that the large studios are marketing for release within the next year. People will sleep outside for up to 12 hours the night before just to get a seat inside the auditorium when it opens, and then stay inside the entire day until the panel they want to see comes up (the con doesn’t clear the room between panels, so “camping” a room is common practice). No joke, people will spend the entire day seated on metal folding chairs within the black-walled dungeon of an auditorium just to witness a couple of minutes of footage that’ll be on YouTube ten minutes after the panel ends.
My experience with Hall H begins and ends with Watchmen in 2008. I didn’t wait in a line to see the panel. I just walked right in and grabbed a seat. The director and actors were introduced and they played an extended trailer for the movie. There was a brief Q&A afterwards and just like that, it was over. I was not impressed, to say the least. The director, Zak Snyder, wasn’t the best conversationalist and it’s clear the actors were coached by a publicist beforehand, because they sounded like they were talking to some vapid entertainment reporter on Access Hollywood or something. They all gave very brief, forgettable answers to questions. The only highlight of the panel was Dave Gibbons, the artist for the original Watchmen comic, who provided a lot of insight into his creative process in drawing the comic, as well as his collaboration with Alan Moore, the author of the series.
I left Hall H and met up with my wife and son, who were giddy with excitement, having just left a Stargate panel in Ballroom 20. Apparently, the entire cast from Stargate SG-1 were present–even Richard Dean Anderson, who rarely does these sort of things. It was by all accounts a fun and enjoyable experience, and a good time was evidently had by all, judging by the smiles on everyone’s faces as they left Ballroom 20. I immediately kicked myself for missing it, seeing as how I was a huge fan of the series and this was likely the last ever Stargate panel since the show had been cancelled a couple months prior to the convention.
The difference between their experience and mine was striking. The cast of Stargate had a lot of experience doing cons, plus the natural rapport that comes from working together for so long lent itself to a free-wheeling, anything goes atmosphere full of jokes and funny stories, along with clever jabs at fellow cast mates. It was in stark contrast the dour, joyless panel I’d just attended for Watchmen, which upon further reflection was just a typical Hollywood marketing gimmick aimed more at the entertainment press than the fans. People were smiling and laughing as they left the Stargate panel. The people leaving the Watchmen panel looked like they’d just seen Schindler’s List.
Combined with other experiences waiting in line for panels in Ballroom 20 and other rooms over the past three cons, I’ve figured out that I’d rather have a good time than waste time. Sitting in line or in a room for hours just to get a sneak peak at footage destined for the special features section of a future Blu-Ray release is a waste of time, as is seeing the actors from the film. Unless you’re sitting in the first couple of rows and can see them up close and personal, you’re just looking at them on giant video screens anyway, so you might as well skip it and watch it on YouTube later. Plus, unless someone has written something for them to say, actors usually aren’t all that interesting. They’re far better at reciting other people’s words than speaking their own.
There are exceptions, of course. Bruce Campbell is always a guaranteed good time, as is Torchwood’s John Barrowman. Plus, actors who have done a lot of cons and who know what works and what doesn’t are usually pretty fun as well. The key difference between these folks and the actors you see for the big marketing pushes in Hall H is that the former know they are there to entertain and have a good time with their fans, while the latter just view the whole thing as a contractual obligation to publicize a movie or TV show.
Through a series of happy accidents (usually sitting through one panel to see a following panel), I’ve found that I’ve had the most fun in panels dominated by authors, artists, and other creative types. Back in 2008, we sat through a Dean Koontz panel that turned out to be one of the more interesting we attended that year. Last year, we happened into a DC Comics panel featuring Geoff Johns, J. Michael Straczynski, and Grant Morrison. I don’t even know what that panel was about, but listening to those guys BS for half an hour was worth it. They’re prolific writers, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But without a doubt, the prize for best speaker so far is Steven Moffatt, who we saw at a Doctor Who panel in 2008. In addition to possessing preternatural comedic talent, he also had some interesting insights into the character of The Doctor, many of which have found their way into the series now that he’s the showrunner for it.
So this year, I think we’ll skip Hall H and Ballroom 20 in favor of the unheralded panels featuring potentially interesting people. Even better, why not skip any panel with a line and go to the ones where we can just walk right into the room? I don’t know if that’ll even happen or not, given the organizers’ relentless pursuit of poor scheduling, but we can give it an honest go. If not, well, it’s not like there’s a shortage of things to do in San Diego.