Interview: the writers of Carmilla

  Carmilla, J. Sheridan LeFanu's 1871 novella that predates Bram Stoker's Dracula, is a seminal work of genre fiction.  It introduces the idea of the lesbian vampire, something that later writers would expand into its own genre (check out Hammer's The Vampire Lovers for a fairly faithful, if overtly sexed-up, version).  It's also surprisingly contemporary in its writing style.  So Read more

Movie Review: Mythica, A Quest for Heroes

Back in 2011, I stumbled on Arrowstorm Entertainment's Dawn of the Dragonslayer, a low-budget fantasy epic that had the look of a much more expensive film. But what really got my attention was the care given to the performances: leads Richard McWilliams and Nicola Posener really dug into their characters, and director Anne Black gave them the time to Read more

Dramatics Interreptus

My younger son turns seven in about a month, and the other day I realized that I was about that age when I realized just how important stories were to me. My parents left me to stay with friends of the family for an afternoon; I have no memory why. But while I was there, I started watching the TV Read more

Seeing It a New Way

In my teen writing class at the Mount Horeb Public Library last week, we segued into discussing Catcher in the Rye, and one of my students made the following observation (which I'm paraphrasing): Some of my friends have said that, since the characters in the book were rich, Holden's problems weren't that significant. But in so many other books I've read, Read more

A True Story of Frog-Gigging and Disappointment

I wrote the following piece for a memoir class taught by Michelle Wildgen, best-selling author of Bread and Butter and You're Not You (soon to be a movie starring Hilary Swank). When I was a kid growing up in rural Tennessee, my dad determined that I would follow in his footsteps and leave a trail of dead small animals behind Read more

Interview: the writers of Carmilla

Posted on by Alex in Horror Films, Uncategorized, vampires | Leave a comment
Carmilla (Natasha Negovanlis) and Laura (Elise Bauman).

Carmilla (Natasha Negovanlis) and Laura (Elise Bauman).


Carmilla, J. Sheridan LeFanu’s 1871 novella that predates Bram Stoker’s Dracula, is a seminal work of genre fiction.  It introduces the idea of the lesbian vampire, something that later writers would expand into its own genre (check out Hammer’s The Vampire Lovers for a fairly faithful, if overtly sexed-up, version).  It’s also surprisingly contemporary in its writing style.  So contemporary, in fact, that it’s been turned into a 36-episode web series.  Here’s the first installment:


I love this show. It’s funny, sweet, goofy (wait until you get to the puppets), and suspenseful. It takes its limitations and turns them into strengths, embodying Nicholas Meyer’s maxim, “art thrives on restriction.” More, it’s post-modern in the best possible way: the attractions between and among the female characters are never remarked upon, but simply accepted, creating an endearing level of innocent romanticism.

The show’s writers, Jordan Hall and Ellen Simpson, were kind enough to talk to me about creating the show and the many ways they brought LeFanu’s story into the modern world.

What aspect of LeFanu’s original novella spoke to you most vividly, and why? How did you decide to present the show from a single laptop’s POV?

Jordan Hall

Jordan Hall

Jordan Hall: The fixed camera POV was built into the concept, because Smokebomb was looking for a Lizzie Bennet Diaries-style adaptation. As for Carmilla– what struck me most about the novella was the simple fact of two indelible female characters. Le Fanu’s Carmilla is fascinating, and compellingly drawn, and that remains, despite what a contemporary lens allows us to recognize as problematic in the novella’s politics of representation. Her dialogue is striking and rich and thoughtful, and I love that. There’s also this insinuation of an entire hidden world of vampires in the second half of the novella, which struck me as unusual for the “singular monstrosity” style of the gothic genre which Carmilla seems to be a part of. And, of course, just a huge treasure trove of “Good god, woman, She’s a vampire!” moments that I needed to make a lot of jokes about.

Ellen Simpson

Ellen Simpson

Ellen Simpson: Yes, the “Look at the vampire, Laura, look at her attempting to eat you, look at her avoiding the sun and sleeping all day!” moments were some of my favorite in the novel.  They were just so striking in their transparency at times that you just wanted to reach into the book itself and shake Laura for being so oblivious.  There was a certain charm to that though, that I think we’ve managed to capture pretty well in the show.  As Jordan said, the fixed-camera was built into the concept, but I think it really helped to narrow what the viewer was able to see and allow us to play up some of those same moments of Laura’s lovable naivety from the book, while also providing some more modern interpretations of some of the more problematic elements of the story.  Le Fanu’s prose, as well, draws the reader in and holds their attention beautifully.  I fell in love with the writing, but also read the story at an age where seeing two girls falling in love, even if presented in a problematic way, was very important to me.

What’s the most frustrating thing about being locked into single POV for the entire series?

Jordan: I don’t actually find the single POV frustrating. A challenge? Definitely. But also a kind of gift– there’s a way in which the single POV both makes a lot of decisions for you, and forces you to be creative within the constraints of those decisions. I think many writers would tell you that they do their best work by setting limits for themselves and working within them.

Ellen: This is actually where the social media elements of the show can be really helpful!  Because we’re seeing such a narrow view of things, almost exclusively from Laura’s (rather biased, at times) perspective.  Having Carmilla have a presence on social media helps to provide a larger view of what’s going on, on top of some great foreshadowing.  And using the twitter and tumblr accounts we’ve been able to expand the universe presented in the show and show more of what’s going on at the university.

In LeFanu’s novel, Carmilla initially plays the victim to gain Laura’s trust, and in the series she mentions using this approach in the past. Why did you choose to have her more abrasive and/or assertive in the series?

Jordan: That character choice emerged very naturally from two decisions I made about the narrative, fairly early on. (And, uh– spoilers for the first season here:) One, I knew that I didn’t want to have Carmilla as the ultimate antagonist, and two, I knew that I wanted to essentially retcon some parts of the second half of the original novella– basically approach it as a kind of contested history. From those decisions came the idea that 2014 Carmilla wasn’t so much a willing participant in her mother’s plans, and her callous, rebellious teenager attitude just developed itself from there. As a bonus, that also allowed me to steer directly into “terrible roommate” territory, which was very much a place we wanted the relationship to go.

Ellen: When I got Jordan’s original one sheet, I have to admit that I was a little skeptical that it could work, because, as you said, I saw Carmilla as playing the victim, not rebelling against her mother’s actions. But as we worked through breaking story and plotting things out, I gotta say that Jordan was right: it was a very natural progression in terms of Carmilla’s character. I think doubly so when you consider what she’s been through in order to retcon the second half of the novel.

The plot brings a lot of original elements to the story, such as Carmilla’s “mother” being a more active antagonist, and her “brother” being around.  Why did you depart so strongly from the novel?

Jordan: As I’ve mentioned above, and in other interviews, one of the things I knew I wanted to do was grapple with the way the original text depicted the “monstrous lesbian”, and part of doing that definitely meant that Carmilla wasn’t going to be the villain of the piece. Looking at the original text, Carmilla’s mother–who definitely seemed to be in charge of their vampiric con-game–seemed like a strong choice. And of course, any villain worth her salt needs minions…

Ellen:  You have to remember that Carmilla is the original evil lesbian vampire.  She is the one who first personified all the tropes that we’ve seen in every piece of media from 1871 on.  In that sense, it would have been to the show’s detriment to present Carmilla as that same villain.  It’s 2014, we no longer suffer from the lesbian panic of the 1870s, and if we were to approach the story in exactly the same way, you’d run up against all sorts of problems regarding queer representation, female representation and a whole slew of consent issues that frankly make me uncomfortable to think about.  She doesn’t work as well as the villain in a modern interpretation, but her mother, shadowy but definitely with an ulterior motive leaving Carmilla with Laura and her father, works fantastically as a bad guy.

Will we ever catch more than a glimpse of Carmilla’s “mom”? 

Jordan: Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?

Ellen: Indeed it does.

Thanks to Jordan and Ellen for taking the time to talk to me.  You can find season one of Carmilla on YouTube, and the producers recently announced there will be a season 2, beginning in spring of 2015. And here’s the video for the series’ captivating theme by the band Soles:

Movie Review: Mythica, A Quest for Heroes

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Mythica poster

Back in 2011, I stumbled on Arrowstorm Entertainment’s Dawn of the Dragonslayer, a low-budget fantasy epic that had the look of a much more expensive film. But what really got my attention was the care given to the performances: leads Richard McWilliams and Nicola Posener really dug into their characters, and director Anne Black gave them the time to do so. When you’ve seen as many bad performances in genre films as I have, you really appreciate that sort of thing. (You can read my full review here, and an interview with director Black here.)

Arrowstorm’s upcoming release Mythica: A Quest for Heroes, the first of a projected five film series, has the same good qualities, and improves on some of the earlier film’s weak spots. Whereas Dawn was visually rather sparse, Mythica is lush: the interiors bristle with detail, and the lighting makes the most of the atmosphere. The music is suitably exciting. The script, by Jason Fuller, director Anne Black, and producer Kynan Griffin, pulls together a rich fantasy world. And the CGI is particularly good for an indie fantasy.

But what I really like is the attention to characters, particularly the female ones. The protagonist is Marek, a slave girl in this faux medieval world. She has a club foot, a defiant attitude, and is learning magic on the sly from wizard Kevin Sorbo. When she finally has enough of her brutal owner she runs away, determined to seek a life of adventure using her magical skills. Marek is played by Melanie Stone, and she’s flat-out terrific; she provides the emotional center the film needs.

Marek (Melanie Stone) and Teela (Nicola Posener)

Marek (Melanie Stone) and Teela (Nicola Posener)

Marek visits a tavern where mercenaries gather to hire out on bounties for various mythical creatures (one man brings in what looks like a gorgon’s head), but the only one willing to take a chance on a novice is Teela, a priestess seeking the orcs (it’s always orcs) who kidnapped her sister.

Teela is played by Nicola Posener, who was so good in Dawn of the Dragonslayer, and is just as good here. In fact, the central relationship in the film is the one between Marek and Teela, and it not only passes the well-known Bechdel test, it completely shatters it as a convention. Marek and Teela behave like reasonable adults in a crisis, not like female characters written to be ogled by men.

Not that there aren’t any men.  Marek recruits a drunken soldier (Adam Johnson) and a smooth-talking thief (Jake Stormoen) to join them on their quest.  They each have their moments; the thief Dagen is the flashier role, but I really like the way sullen warrior Thane kept getting mortally hurt and needing Teela’s magical skills to heal him. He’s secure enough that he doesn’t resent her; he accepts her help graciously.

The action is handled with skill by director Black, who once again understands the importance of the quiet scenes between characters. There’s one exchange between Marek and Teela, where the runaway slave asks Teela to heal her club foot, that is really the emotional heart of the film, and the two actors bring it to life with grace and poignancy.

As many of you know, I worked with Tara Cardinal on a novel, Sword Sisters, that focused on the friendship between two young women in a fantasy setting. Tara had already pulled off the Herculean task of writing, directing, producing and starring in a female-led fantasy film, Legend of the Red Reaper. Mythica, co-written and directed by a woman, featuring two wonderfully vivid female characters, is working the same side of the street. Hopefully it’s a sign that indie films will fill the niche left by mainstream studios too timid to put women both in front of and behind the camera for fantasy and action films.

Mythica: A Quest for Heroes will be released on DVD in 2015.  Keep an eye on the Arrowstorm website for more info. And here’s the trailer.

Dramatics Interreptus

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Timmy and Lassie

My younger son turns seven in about a month, and the other day I realized that I was about that age when I realized just how important stories were to me.

My parents left me to stay with friends of the family for an afternoon; I have no memory why. But while I was there, I started watching the TV show, Lassie. In the episode, someone is diving in a local pond for some reason, with full diving gear. Timmy, the human main character, finds tracks from swim fins and assumes there’s a monster in the pond. At the climax, the diver gets trapped underwater (I think a rock fell on his leg), and his air is running out.

And that’s when my parents showed up.

I desperately wanted to see how the show came out. I mean, desperately. So much so that forty years later, I can still remember how badly I wanted it. They, however, wanted to go home, no doubt so my dad could sneak a drink and my mom could look the other way, and even the five-minute delay to finish a thirty-minute TV show was too much to ask. And I vividly recall what my dad said as he pulled me out the door.

“Don’t worry, Lassie’ll save him.”

Really? A dog will dive down and move the rock? And you’re not letting me see this?

Of course, my dad could care less. It was just a TV show to him. And in a way, he was right. Certainly it wasn’t any great shakes as drama, and there was absolutely no doubt that the diver would, in fact, be okay. Most likely Lassie summoned help, rather than doing the actual heavy lifting. She was, after all, a dog.

But that was my first experience with dramatics interreptus. Premature climax, if you like. And even back then, just as now, it was important to me. And I’ve tried to never do that to my own kids, although sometimes it’s difficult, since so much of their media (i.e., Minecraft) is open-ended.

But there’s a larger point to this as well: art matters. All art. When someone’s watching, or reading, or listening, that act deserves respect (I’ve written about this before, too). Interrupting it because it’s “just” watching, or reading, or listening, cheapens not only everyone involved, but our society. If we can’t have respect for things like this, then we’re backsliding as a civilization. We’re prioritizing primitive activities like sex, violence, revenge, brutality, hatred, and avarice.

And it might already be too late.

Black Friday Shopping

Seeing It a New Way

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | 2 Comments


In my teen writing class at the Mount Horeb Public Library last week, we segued into discussing Catcher in the Rye, and one of my students made the following observation (which I’m paraphrasing):

Some of my friends have said that, since the characters in the book were rich, Holden’s problems weren’t that significant. But in so many other books I’ve read, the problems seem to come out of the poverty and economic situations of the characters, or at least be so connected to it that it all gets blurry. When the characters are rich, you know that that’s not the source of the problem, that it’s something from within the characters themselves, and it makes it their problems much more vivid and clear.

I’ll admit, this idea had never occurred to me. I really doesn’t enjoy reading about the “first world problems” of people with no economic worries, which is one reason why many books, not just Catcher in the Rye, irk me (for example, don’t get me started on Eat, Pray, Love). But my student forced me to re-evaluate my position with this simple observation.

This was reinforced when I discussed this with a friend who’s also the editor of the local paper.  He said that’s exactly the reason he likes Batman so much. Again paraphrasing:

People complain that Bruce Wayne is just a rich do-gooder, but that’s part of the point. He’s trying to correct the one thing that all his wealth and power can never fix: the death of his parents.

In my teen class, I try to share mainly the practical aspects of being a writer, stuff I’ve had to learn the hard way since I had no mentor to guide me when I was their age. I never tell the students what to write, or how to write about it. As I say at the beginning of each six-week session, I can’t make them great writers, but I can make them better writers.

But as this indicates, it’s not one-way learning. These students are not burdened with thirty-plus years of experience; they see with fresh eyes, and uncluttered perspectives, and to negate that as being foolish simply because they’re chronologically young would mark me as a fool.

So after this epiphany, what did we do?

We spent ten minutes discussing what sort of noise zombie ducks would make.


A True Story of Frog-Gigging and Disappointment

Posted on by Alex in alcohol, biography, children, family, fatherhood, home, memoir, Parenting, tennessee, Uncategorized, west Tennessee | 4 Comments

I wrote the following piece for a memoir class taught by Michelle Wildgen, best-selling author of Bread and Butter and You’re Not You (soon to be a movie starring Hilary Swank).

When I was a kid growing up in rural Tennessee, my dad determined that I would follow in his footsteps and leave a trail of dead small animals behind me. We never hunted anything epic, like deer or bear; we went after squirrels, rabbits, and the occasional quail.  And, in the hot summer months, we went frog gigging.

This sport (and I used the term loosely) is how you acquire frog legs. You carry a long, six-to-eight-foot pole with a barbed trident on the end. You also use a flashlight, or ideally a miner’s light worn on your head, and creep around the edges of ponds, lakes or swamps in the dark.  The goal is to spot eye shine from bullfrogs.  When you do, you hold the light on it, to make it stay still. Then you stab it with the gig.

Frog Gig on Stick

The business end of a typical frog gig.

I was one of those weird kids who liked to catch frogs rather than kill them, and had no real taste for their meat.  It was fun, in a macabre way, to watch the disembodied legs jump around in the pan as they fried, but not so much fun that I wanted to go get those legs myself.

The other issue was that my father had to be the worst person in the world to try to teach you anything.  He had no patience, no concept of cause and effect, and no idea why once he’d explained something, it might need to be explained again.  And he was a drunk.  Not an overt one, but one of those sneaky drunks who hid his drinking from everyone.

So on those few instances when he’d insist that I go frog gigging with him, I was a nervous wreck.  His disappointment in me was never violent, but it was always withering, and heavy with the sadness that I, his only son, was such a failure.

My dad (far left) and me (second from right) at about the time of this story.

My dad (far right) and me (second from left) at about the time of this story.

I was twelve years old the night we went to a pond that seemed to be miles from where we left his old station wagon. We crawled through weeds, under fences, and across fields before finally reaching the tiny round pool, which was no more than forty feet across and perhaps six or seven feet deep. The deep thrump-thrump of bullfrogs told us we’d come to the right place.

We fired up our head-mounted lamps and split up, each of us taking a different direction around the pond. We had to walk right at the edge of the water, and shine the light ten or fifteen feet ahead, watching for the distinctive eye shine.  I heard the snick-THUNK! of my dad’s gig right away, while all I managed to do was startle every frog within range.  They leaped from the shallows and dove gracefully into the safer, deeper water.

Finally, though, I spotted one that was big enough, and transfixed by my light.  I crept through the weeds until I emerged onto a flat patch of mud, almost in range.

Then something moved in the corner of my eye, by my feet.  I tried to look down without moving the light off my quarry.  It wasn’t a frog, and it was the wrong shape for a turtle. My brain classified it at the same instant my head involuntarily turned and shone my light on it.

It was a snake. A fat, poisonous water moccasin.

A water moccasin, also known as a cottonmouth, for obvious reasons.

A water moccasin, also known as a cottonmouth, for obvious reasons.

I had no time to react, because it was already reacting.  It struck out and sank its fangs into my foot, right through my rubber wading boots.

I’m not a courageous person by nature, and I certainly wasn’t brave then.  My recently-descended testicles shot back up to their original spot, and my voice grew high and shrill as I screamed, “Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!”  I jumped in the air and tried to kick the snake away, but it was well and truly determined not to let go.

My dad ran over to me as fast as he could, saw the snake and quickly stomped on it.  Then he pushed me down on the bank, tore away my wading boot and ripped off my sock, exposing my foot.

My entirely bite-free foot.

We both stared at it, pasty white in the combined illumination of our lights.  I wiggled my toes.

Then my dad picked up my boot.  The snake hung from it, smashed and dead, fangs still caught harmlessly in the rubber seam where the sole attached.

We went home after that.  Dad had gotten enough frogs anyway, and I waited for my testicles to decide it was safe to come out again.  I’d like to say this marked some sort of change in our relationship, but it didn’t.  Since I don’t know how drunk he was that night, I have no real idea if he actually remembered it the next day.  And I’d like to think there was some sort of symbolic aspect to it, mirroring our relationship.  But truthfully, it was just one more instance of a man with too many problems and a son with no appreciable life skills failing, as always, to meaningfully connect.

Dad's Cross

This cross was put up in honor of my dad’s service to his church.

The Great Rock and Roll Secret

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Suppose the great rock single had flickered over the airways just once, on the night you had passed out in the back seat?  Probably not, but still…rock and roll has always had this sense of possibility.

 –Dave Marsh, Born to Run: The Bruce Springsteen Story, page 93

I originally read the above quote in the 1980s, when the first edition of Marsh’s Springsteen book came out.  It’s stuck with me over the intervening decades, and at some level has informed a lot of my writing. That idea, filled with drama and potential, that I might’ve just missed the greatest thing ever, is one of the things that drives me to write stories that, regardless of their apparent genre, are at their hearts, mysteries.

But of course I thought about the idea literally as well as metaphorically.  What song might fit that description–a serious contender for the greatest rock and roll single that hardly anyone–well, anyone in my social circle–has ever heard or remembers?

And this is it:


This was also the very first music video I ever saw, sandwiched between two movies on HBO at a friend’s house.  MTV hadn’t been invented, and I remember wondering exactly what I was watching: a preview, or a commercial, or what?  And for years I had the actual 45 of this single.

Herman Brood

The late Herman Brood (1946-2001) is far from an unknown in his home country of the Netherlands. In fact, there he’s legendary. But it’s safe to say most music fans younger than me (which is most of them, sadly) have never heard of him. This was his one hit on the American charts, and even then it only rose to #35.

But as a contender for Marsh’s award, it’s perfect. It’s about something universal in rock and roll (i.e., Saturday night, the night the rules are broken and the boundaries shattered in so many other songs). It has an instantly recognizable guitar lick for a hook. It’s the perfect single length at roughly three and a half minutes. The name of his band–His Wild Romance–is so good I truly wish I’d thought of it. And it makes you want to enter the nighttime world it conjures, where the deadness of your mundane existence would vanish in a night of “chicks dressed to kill/surrounded by the boys like bees and their honey.” That, to me, is always at the heart of real primal rock and roll.

But that’s my take. What’s your contender for the greatest rock and roll song that no one’s heard of? Tell me about it in the comments.

Review: The Making of Day of the Dead

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Making of day of the dead cover

When I heard there would be a book entirely about the making of George A. Romero’s third zombie movie, Day of the Dead, I was surprised. The movie had not been a financial or critical success at the time, and while its reputation has risen since its 1985 release, it’s still nowhere near as well-known as its predecessors, Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead. Still, it’s one of my favorites, and I was very curious to see what the book would be like.

 My initial response is…wow. No, wait, that should be…WOW.

A bit of background here: I’m been a longtime fan of several genre directors: I admire John Carpenter for his clean visuals and amazing genre range, I used to like Tim Burton before he became a parody of himself, and if James Wan continues as he’s started, I’ll add him to the list. But George Romero has always been special.

For one thing, he introduced me to horror, via a Sunday afternoon broadcast of Night of the Living Dead. And I’d never seen a midnight movie before I saw Dawn of the Dead in 1979, made memorable by a nurse loudly announcing to her date, “I see this shit in the ER all day, I ain’t paying to watch it now!” before she stalked out. But it was his non-horror film Knightriders that made me a real fan. It’s Arthurian tale of an SCA-like troupe battling the dragon of the modern world resonated (and still does) with me, to the point that it was one of the movies I showed my wife on our honeymoon. (Read my about my real-life encounter with this film’s Merlin here.)

That meant Day of the Dead, as the third film in his original zombie trilogy, came with high expectations. The first time I watched it, I was uncertain if I really liked it; although it was particularly suspenseful in its final twenty minutes, the prior seventy were about as different from Night and Dawn as you could get. Finally, though, I realized that was part of the point: why do the same story over? It’s a lesson I’ve tried to internalize as a writer, so that my own series don’t just repeat themselves.

Then there was the character of Sarah, played by Lori Cardille. A full year before Aliens made a splash, Romero gave us an emotionally tough yet entirely believable female lead who–and this was especially notably in the 80s–never takes off her clothes (not even for a shower scene), never relies on a man to save her in a pinch, and is resourceful, but not unrealistically so, in a crisis. It’s a shame that Cardille wasn’t able to use this as a career springboard, because she, again like Sigourney Weaver, was basically a total unknown who effortlessly carried her first film.

Lori Cardille

The Making of George A. Romero’s Day of the Dead by Lee Karr is the kind of obsessive tome that (and I’ve seen this observation elsewhere) I wish I had for all my favorite films. Not only did Karr collect the usual stories that all fans have heard, but he recreated day by day (no pun intended) the shooting of the film. Each day of principal photography is covered in detail, richly illustrated and laced with interviews from the participants. It’s also well written, with little of the amateurishness that tends to mar fan-driven works like this.

When I was a kid, in the days before any sort of home video, every major movie had a “making-of” book, usually written by someone in the studio publicity department. These tended to be just as one-sided as the “making-of” documentaries you now find on most DVD releases, so none of the really interesting stories got told. But this book is no PR fluff piece; it’s cinematic archaeology. The raunchy hijinks of Tom Savini’s makeup crew are detailed, as are the contentious relationships between writer-director Romero, producer David Ball and cinematographer Mike Gornick. You get a real sense of what it must have been like working in the Wampum mine during the winter of 84-85, creating what is now rightly regarded as a classic horror film.

I don’t know if a casual reader will enjoy this as much as I did, or even a student of filmmaking in general. This is for fans. And I sure hope there are enough of us to make it successful, because this book deserves it.

You can read an interview I did with author Lee Karr here.

A Radical Notion on Internet Misogyny

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | 5 Comments

My friend, director Lexi Alexander (Punisher: War Zone and Green Street Hooligans, among others) has recently come under fire for her pro-file-sharing stance. You can read her argument, which is more nuanced than my simple summary (she’s mainly against the criminalization of file-sharing), at this link. Needless to say, there’s been some controversy. So much, in fact, that she’s had to leave Facebook.

Director Lexi Alexander

Director Lexi Alexander

First, let me say that Lexi doesn’t need me to defend her, and that’s not why I’m writing. Again, you can find her article here, and believe me, she’s quite capable of making her own points, and dealing with any fallout.

Second, just so you know, I disagree with Lexi on this. I think file-sharing and e-piracy are wrong, no different than any other kind of theft and, certainly in my case, damage an artist’s bottom line.

But you know what?

(Watch this: I want to demonstrate something.)

I disagree with Lexi, and I’ve explained why, civilly. Her gender never even came up.

See what I did there? I said, “I understand, but I disagree.” I did not evaluate her position based on her gender. I have no desire to call her names, or imply things about her intimate life. And I certainly don’t feel the need to assert my masculinity by threatening her physical safety.

Someone asked me why I wanted to write this, since I very deliberately wasn’t white-knighting Lexi Alexander. It’s because as a man, as a father, as a partner and as a human being, this stuff pisses me off. It’s an old story now, one with a depressingly familiar refrain. A woman–in any forum, on any topic–says something provocative or against the norm, and the trolls emerge. But calling them “trolls” minimizes both their effect, and their responsibility.

These trolls aren’t mythological creatures: they are actual human males, usually with actual human women in their non-virtual lives (certainly a mother, at least). Yet online they’re so threatened by a woman’s mere presence that they assert themselves the only way they know: by tearing her down. Not her arguments: her.

Think about that. Thousands, maybe millions, of boys and men are so frightened of a female perspective that, when faced with one, they can only attack like a cornered animal. It’s not motivated by outrage, or even anger: it’s fear. These guys are, quite simply, terrified of women.

Why? It doesn’t matter why. Perhaps many of them don’t realize that their anger and misogyny comes from a place of fear. But to the rest of us, it’s pretty damn obvious. You’re scared of something, so you hate it, and you try to destroy it.

There’s only one cure, and it’s also obvious. It’s something people have been doing since we crawled down from the trees and developed these irrational prejudices. It’s called “maturity.” It’s a sign of adulthood.

Or simply put, guys: grow the fuck up.

Our society doesn’t encourage that, I’ll grant you. That’s what makes it the “radical notion” mentioned in this post’s title. But you’ll like yourself better if you do.

Do We Just Not Want Heroes?

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | 25 Comments

SPOILER ALERT for Man of Steel.  And, for that matter, for Superman II.

I remember, back in the 90s, seeing a promo for the TV show E.R., then starring everyone’s favorite bachelor, George Clooney. Over footage of Clooney carrying an unconscious woman into the emergency room, a grave voice announced, “Tonight on E.R., a hero falls.”

I remember thinking then, as I do now: who would want to watch that?

Lately my sons and I have been watching Star Trek TOS, them for the first time, me for the gazillionth. And I’ve grown to appreciate all over the primal appeal of telling a self-contained story in 50 minutes (fewer commercials back then). Further, there’s something incredibly pleasurable in watching characters you admire try to do the right thing whatever the circumstances. They’re not perfect–I wouldn’t want to work for Kirk, and Spock is one step from an emotional breakdown way too often–but they are heroes.

We don’t get that much anymore.

Even Superman, the quintessential modern hero, is now little more than a flawed character who, in Man of Steel, not only kills General Zod with his bare hands, but allows the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, of people in Metropolis. This ain’t Superman, pal: this is just another alien-visits-earth movie disguised as a Superman flick, written and directed by people who, for whatever reason, don’t see Superman as a hero.* They let the villain, Zod, determine the kind of character Superman is going to be, instead of having Superman define himself. Superman becomes a killer because Zod makes him.



Because he can’t think of anything else to do, Superman has to kill Zod. That’s not super, man.

Why is that?  I mean, I know the world sucks right now, and there simply aren’t many real-world heroes, especially in positions of power. But have we totally lost the ability to even conceive of one?  Can we not accept a Superman who (as he did in Superman II) finds a way to outsmart General Zod rather than snap his neck? Can we not imagine a Superman who is a super man?**


Not only does Superman trick Zod, he tricks Lex Luthor into helping him.

I write a lot of stories, and not all of them have a hero: many feature a protagonist, which is a different thing. But what I don’t do, and never want to, is to take a legitimately heroic figure and de-heroicize him (or her; for me, “hero” is genderless). That doesn’t mean you can’t make him or her flawed, and interesting, and even dark; it means that, at the end of the day, they fight against their flaws with the same drive, and with the same success, as they do battling the villain.

I mean, I’m unashamed to say I like heroes. I like Indiana Jones, who always seems to be working at the absolute limit of his abilities. I like Treasure Island’s Jim Hawkins, a boy who’s neither a fool nor a coward. I like Huckleberry Finn. I like Selene in the Underworld series. I like Philip Marlowe, going down those mean streets and trying not to turn mean himself. I like John McClane in the first Die Hard movie (he’s a caricature in all the subsequent films). I like Captain America, particularly in the films. I like Atticus Finch.

I could keep going, but the point is, these characters are heroes. Superman should be in their company, but as David Goyer, Christopher Nolan and Zack Snyder have given him to us, he’s not. He’s in the company of Walter White, Tony Soprano, Tommy Gavin from Rescue Me, Rayland Givens from Justified. And while I enjoy all those characters, they’re not heroes. And neither, alas, now, is Superman.


*You want to see the true nature of director Zack Snyder’s soul? Watch his pet project Sucker Punch, if you can. I only made it about twenty minutes. And this is the guy they’re trusting with Wonder Woman.

**One of my favorite bits from Superman II is, as Superman rescues a boy from Niagara Falls, someone in the crowd exclaims, “He’s such a nice man!” No one would say that about the character in Man of Steel.

[An addendum about Superman II: the fate of the three Kryptonian villains is rather ambiguous in the final version, but scenes exist that show them, as well as Luthor, being arrested and taken away by law enforcement officers in special snow vehicles (see image below; you can find these scenes as special features on the “Richard Donner Cut” version). In addition, the overall tone of the scene implies they are not killed, but simply placed in some sort of confinement (it’s not a natural ice structure, remember, it’s the Fortress of Solitude).  Superman II was completed in chaos, and the fact that it holds together at all is a tribute both to the skill of the two respective directors, and truthfully, to sheer dumb luck.]



New Firefly Witch collection on the way

Posted on by Alex in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

A new Firefly Witch collection, Sight for Sore Eyes, will be available shortly.  Kelly Crimi designed the cover, which is my favorite in the series so far.

blue eyes A Sight for Sore Eyes FINAL 1000 Pixels

Watch for the release announcement, coming soon!