Tag Archives: Comic-Con

The Maddening Crowd

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.

Empty Convention
No crowds at night


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.

Batman addresses the media

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:

  1. Poorly trained and supervised staff/volunteers
  2. Poor scheduling
  3. 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.

Supes


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.

Captain Bromerica

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.

The Evil Eye


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.

Doing Lines at Comic-Con

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.

No Lines for Free Hugs, Though
No Lines for Free Hugs

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 be there 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’ll be in line for the next three hours to watch an hour-long panel. That’s four hours of your day already 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 will be a long line snaking through the hallways filled with 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.

Pikachu Monitors From Above
Pikachu Monitors From Above

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 they’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.

Achievement Unlocked: Bolus of Humanity
Achievement Unlocked: Bolus of Humanity

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’d 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.

A Line in a Mystical Realm Known as "Outside"
A Line in a Mystical Realm Known as “Outside”

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.

Again, Never a Line for Free Hugs
Again, Never a Line for Free Hugs

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 never got into) 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.