Find Inspiration in Lemire Memoir
By Dan Brown If you cried at the climax of Jeff Lemire’s Sweet Tooth series back in 2013, then 10,000 Ink Stains will be a treat for you. Fans of Southwestern Ontario native Lemire will love this newly released memoir, which covers the artist/writer’s first 25 years in the comic industry, from the time he was a kid to his days breaking into the business until now, when he has his own large following. It will be of secondary interest to DC and Marvel readers looking to get a glimpse into behind-the-scenes machinations at those companies from roughly 2010 to 2017. Lemire’s focus here is on the graphic novels and comics he has drawn and written himself. He follows a chronological structure, walking the reader through each stage of his evolution as a comic creator, giving the reader insights into his creative process, and fitting each book or series into the larger context of his career and life. So if you’re a fan of works such as Sweet Tooth, Essex County, the Underwater Welder, Trillium, Secret Path, Black Hammer and Royal City, you should check this one out. You’ll get Lemire’s creative thought process, details about how he achieved the look of each one, and his personal reaction to the public’s reaction. “Comics is such a deeply personal medium,” Lemire writes, meaning he doesn’t want to speak for any other creator. He also freely admits his scratchy drawing style is not everyone’s cup of tea – he made peace with that reality long ago. He also freely shares credit for his success with the people who helped him along the way, like how Chris Staros at Top Shelf was the one who took Lemire under his wing and coached him on storytelling during the making of Essex County, the book which garnered Lemire so much attention at the outset of his career. What may come as a surprise is when Lemire reveals how badly he suffered from anxiety and depression earlier in his life, which – until he found a medication that worked for him – he treated with drinking and chain-smoking. “I am a fairly private person,” he explains. The great part is how Lemire is an example of the school of thought that says no experience is wasted. Again and again, he shows how his failures led directly to his greatest successes as a cartoonist. Lemire has never really discarded an idea – if it doesn’t work for his current projects, he’ll file it away in the back of his mind, where it has a good chance of becoming the germ of his next book or comic series. His story is inspiring for that reason. What you won’t find here is a lot of gossip about the Big Two comic giants, DC and Marvel. But Lemire does talk about how he learned more about himself, his preferences, and his process by taking on assignments from the Coke and Pepsi of the comic industry. Ultimately, Lemire concludes that working on company-owned characters isn’t his favourite thing. He had to settle for having his own “weird little pocket of the DC Universe for a couple of years.” (One of the points that does come through is, if you thought DC’s New 52 marketing blitz was a chaotic mess when it launched, it was the same behind the scenes.) His eventual answer was to create the Black Hammer comic universe, a playground of his own making where he can scratch virtually any creative itch. Lemire doesn’t write extensively on his secret to being prolific, by taking the work ethic he learned growing up on the family farm in Woodslee, east of Windsor, and applying it to comics – to the point some consider him the modern equivalent of Jack Kirby. He also glosses over the book A.D. After Death, his 2017 collaboration with Scott Snyder, which I thought was an interesting omission. At the conclusion of 10,000 Ink Stains Lemire urges readers, if they like reading comics, to try making one of their own. We can only hope there is a young person out there with a creative spark who takes his advice seriously, because the world would be better for it. Dan Brown has covered pop culture for more than 32 years as a journalist and also moderates L.A. Mood’s monthly graphic-novel group.
Jaws is a Classic Because Spielberg was Powerless
By Dan Brown As you may have already heard, this summer marks 50 years since the release of Steven Spielberg’s Jaws, the motion picture that ushered in the age of the blockbuster. It was in 1975 that the great white shark of the title started his long career of gnawing on skinny dippers, water skiers, power cables and even a helicopter. Luckily for us movie fans, the original Jaws was made by Spielberg back when he had no power in Hollywood. The limits placed on him by the constraints of the studio system boxed him in, and indirectly made the movie a commercial and critical success. Moviegoers couldn’t get enough of Jaws that summer. It would eventually spawn three sequels. This lack of freedom forced the then-young filmmaker to make some daring creative choices. Sure, during the troubled shoot on Martha’s Vineyard he had a fancy mechanical shark to play the part of the monster. But the primitive robot proved unreliable. What Spielberg did in response flew in the face of moviemaking logic. Instead of using the rubbery-looking faux fish in the attack scenes, he took a page from Alfred Hitchcock’s bag of tricks and shot around the shark, intending to rely on the power of suggestion. Those who had seen the shower scene in Hitchcock’s 1960 thriller Psycho swore that they had been witness to a knifing in which flesh was violently ripped open; the truth was that no such shots existed – based on the rapid shower montage, the brains of viewers supplied the missing visual information, and they thought they saw a blade tearing through skin. Spielberg followed suit, aiming to achieve the same effect. What you have to bear in mind is that, back in the 1970s, the standard practice in Hollywood was to give ticket buyers a good look at the monster, putting the full special-effects budget on the screen in front of them. That’s the way things were done. What Spielberg didn’t have was a realistic shark (which becomes apparent in the film’s third act aboard Quint’s boat) but the special effect he did have was the minimalist score written by John Williams. Two notes. That’s all Spielberg had going for him. Added to the suggestive footage in which the shark didn’t appear, it worked. Spielberg’s audacious decision to hide the undersea attacker was a masterstroke. The suspense of not seeing the shark but being overpowered by the Williams score led to a lot of real anxiety – people in 1975 really were afraid to go in the water, even if it was a body where sharks don’t reside, like the backyard swimming pool. Viewers saw it again and again. It’s true Universal Pictures upped Spielberg’s budget as the hell shoot dragged on, and the gamble paid off handsomely for the company. But his hands were tied in so many other ways, a consequence of working within Old Hollywood. Studios didn’t like to take chances. And there was a real sense of shame if a filmmaker made an ostentatious flop, which Spielberg experienced when his disastrous 1941 was released four years later. (Late-career George Lucas is a telling counterpoint to early-career Spielberg. Lucas earned all the power he wanted to make films his own way, cutting the studios out of the power dynamic, and the result was . . . Jar-Jar Binks. Lucas made his best movies within the studio system.) The wheels falls off Jaws in the last half-hour or so, when the shark wriggles up onto the deck of the Orca. It was a laughable moment, and it’s a testament to the power of the film up to that point that the audience didn't hold it against Spielberg. Quint’s powerful monologue was clearly still echoing in their minds when Bruce is revealed. Some critics argue Jaws also tapped into the post-Watergate disenchantment of the times. The Amity mayor who ignores Brody’s entreaties in the first film to close the town’s beach is still mayor in Jaws 2, launching a million jokes about the importance of voting in municipal elections. All of which brings up the obvious question: Are there any movies from the summer of 2025 that will be celebrated a half-century from now, as Jaws was feted this summer? It feels like that’s a long shot. Instead of grassroots word-of-mouth, which propelled Jaws, the practice now seems to be for a studio to give even a half-baked release a $100 million marketing budget with the goal of winning the opening weekend before word gets around on social media, killing a mediocre picture’s earning potential. Dan Brown has covered pop culture for more than 32 years as a journalist and also moderates L.A. Mood’s monthly graphic-novel group.
Are We Over Origin Stories?
By Dan Brown SPOILER WARNING! This column contains plot points from the movies Fantastic Four: First Steps and Superman, both currently in theatres, so if you haven’t seen them yet and you value surprise, stop reading here. Is this a trend in the making? If you’ve seen this summer’s big superhero movies – I’m thinking of The Fantastic Four: First Steps and Superman specifically – you may have noticed something essential was missing from both motion pictures. The secret origin. Traditionally a staple of superhero movies, and the comics that spawned them, most DC and Marvel comic series have a common starting point. They explain up front, to satisfy the audience’s craving for continuity, how the hero came to possess their unusual abilities. How they go from mere mortal to crime-fighting powerhouse. So up until now, the launching-off point for these stories was the origin. In the 1978 Superman film, for example, a significant portion of the first hour is given over to showing life on Krypton before it exploded, including details about Kryptonian politics that wouldn’t pay off until Superman II. We see the future Clark Kent as he is dispatched from the doomed planet, years before he would don his red-and-blue costume to do battle with the likes of Lex Luthor. It’s the same with other superhero movies, such as 2002’s Spider-Man. That film, and the reboots that followed, gave viewers a good look at the events that birthed the title character. This summer’s Superman, however, does not start the same way. Krypton is never depicted, in fact, the movie jumps ahead to the point on the Superman timeline when Clark is dating Lois, and she already knows his secret identity. The same goes for First Steps. The story kicks off four years after Reed Richards and his crew of astronauts were bathed in cosmic rays, giving them weird powers. The movie begins not with their origin, but with Sue Richards finding out she’s pregnant with the couple’s son, so it’s Franklin’s origin that’s stressed. Neither film dwells on the secret-origin part, which is a startling development when you take into account how many filmmakers have felt obliged to put, say, Batman’s secret moment of inception on the silver screen. Sometimes it feels like Bruce Wayne’s parents will never get out of that alley, and Peter Parker has been bitten by an infinite number of radioactive spiders. In comics, there’s been much experimentation with this storytelling staple. Consider that in Action Comics No. 1, the Man of Steel’s origin was related in one page. Then compare that to the 1987 Batman: Year One storyline, which explained the Dark Knight’s beginnings over four issues. The makers of Captain Canuck waited until issue No. 5 to reveal to fans how Tom Evans had been zapped by an alien ray, doubling his strength. At their root, secret origins satisfy the reader’s need for continuity by explaining what happened before the first issue and answering the question, “Why does Batman hate criminals so much that he wages an unending war on them?” to name one example. Marvel impresario Stan Lee, perhaps weary after having to come up with so many origin stories in the 1960s, invented a whole class of characters – mutants – who had no origin story. X-Men like Cyclops, Marvel Girl, and Iceman were all born that way. The telling part is while some movie reviewers noticed what was missing from First Steps and Superman, none have complained that the omission made either of these films worse. Judging by online comments, ordinary fans don’t seem to mind, either. Have we reached some kind of watershed moment in the history of the superhero genre? Has fandom gotten over origin stories? The critical consensus seems to be that, after a period of lacklustre DC and Marvel films, this summer’s superhero offerings have reversed the downward trend in quality. Are moviegoers in 2025 more sophisticated than previous audiences? Are we witnessing the birth of something new? If you have any theories, I'd love to hear them in the comment box below! Dan Brown has covered pop culture for more than 32 years as a journalist and also moderates L.A. Mood’s monthly graphic-novel group.
Ozzy Osbourne, Menace to Society?
By Dan Brown I did a double take when Ozzy Osbourne died last week. Watching the wall-to-wall media coverage, I had to make sure this was Ozzy Osbourne the news anchors were talking about, not someone else. Had there been a mistake? The deceased was lauded as a warm human being, a musical innovator, and a devoted father. Could they really be talking about Ozzy “the Prince of Darkness” Osbourne? The same guy authority figures had warned us kids about in the 1980s? The guy who threatened to force the collapse of society? Who polluted the morals of an entire generation? Whose songs were spawned in a fiery place many fathoms below the planet’s surface? That dude? What the? I watched on, and it turns out it was the same Ozzy! Only now it was like people were upset he was gone, no longer a menace to polite society and all that is holy. Which makes the Black Sabbath frontman just the latest example of Mark Twain’s dictum that “politicians, old buildings, and prostitutes become respectable with age.” Funny thing about the Blizzard of Ozz. Back in the day, he was as close as it came to a mortal emissary of Lucifer. Or so we were led to believe. The way our parents talked in hushed tones about him, and the way religious leaders, teachers, and others referred to him, you would have thought Ozzy was the right hand of the Archfiend. Why, it was rumoured in the schoolyard that a bat had fallen on stage during one of his solo-tour performances – and Ozzy had snatched it up, gobbling the winged creature’s head. I guess, because it was a bat, this act was taken as proof of the singer’s evil nature. Around the same time, he was arrested for defiling the Alamo while intoxicated. Folks, he urinated on the historic building. Then, all but proving he was put on Earth by the Father of Lies to corrupt young people, he was the target of a lawsuit alleging he drove a young fan to suicide with a “backwards-masked” message hidden in his solo song Suicide Solution. Why Ozzy would want to kill his own fans, thus decreasing his potential income base, was never fully explained by those who railed against him. They even burned his records. With a rap sheet like that, it’s no wonder the people in charge of educating and guiding my generation had warned us about Ozzy’s depravity. But then a strange thing happened. The lawsuit was laughed out of court (only in Ronald Reagan’s America would it have been allowed to move as far forward as it did). More fans listening to his music did not end their own lives. He had some kids with his manager, Sharon, then settled down. All was quiet until reality TV appeared on the scene years later. As you may recall, one of the sensational new shows featured Ozzy in the role of doddering father. Sure, he still swore like a heavy-metal musician, but gone was any trace of the pact he had struck with Beelzebub for eternal life. As contrived as the show was, he came across as . . . sweet. Warm. Human. The passing of the decades had worn away the dangerous and rough edges, as Twain knew they would. So by the time Osbourne died, no less an authority on goodness as Pat Boone posted on social media to express his grief. So did Donny Osmond. And the Alamo’s Instagram page carried a message about Ozzy’s humility, saying “redemption and reconciliation eventually became part of his history as well.” Like old politicians, old buildings and old sex workers, Ozzy is now respectable. But that could be how the forces of darkness work. By eroding our standards of behaviour over a lifetime. Or maybe, just maybe, all those things they said about Ozzy weren’t true, that he was just a regular bloke from Birmingham all along, trying to do his best with the inner resources he had in this crazy thing called life. Dan Brown has covered pop culture for more than 32 years as a journalist and also moderates L.A. Mood’s monthly graphic-novel group.
Summer Mini-reviews
By Dan Brown Here are some brief reviews based on my recent comic-reading. As ever, there’s no logic to these choices – except the covers of each of these comics caught my eye when I was scanning the new-release wall at L.A. Mood. Ghost Rider Vs. Galactus No. 1: If you’re in the mood for some old-fashioned cosmic storytelling in the classic Marvel style, then this one-off is for you. Although it’s billed as a showdown between the two title characters, in writer J. Michael Straczynski’s hands the story becomes a meditation on the amoral nature of the gigantic planet-eater. Since he’s a force of nature, does Galactus feel any remorse for the trillions of lives he has snuffed out in the process of devouring worlds to sustain himself? Or ijs he beyond human concepts of morality? And hey, what is the purpose of the universe anyway? The gritty art from Juan Ferreyra is also amazing. Co-stars the ever-loving Thing. Mouse Guard: Dawn of the Black Axe No. 1-3: Mouse Guard is one of my favourite comics of all time. The only drawback with this now-completed Archaia/Boom Studios! series is it doesn’t feature creator David Petersen’s art. Gabriel Rodriguez, a powerhouse in his own right, supplies the pencils for this origin story of the side character Black Axe. I just wish Petersen could clone himself so he could get more comics done faster! If you, like me, are nostalgic for Petersen’s warm lines, check out the Belly of the Beast 20th anniversary reprint. The Mouse Guard, forest rangers of a medieval mouse society, are not to be trifled with! Marvel Swimsuit Special No. 1: This is a fun summer time-waster that ends with the Watcher face-palming. The story, as thin as it is, has Janet Van Dyne’s Wasp corralling Marvel’s superheroes to put out a swimsuit issue. Why? It’s part of a public-relations war with the evil energy company Roxxon. This is full of pin-ups, so parents should keep that in mind. I love the Adam Hughes cover, as well as the cameo by Deadpool, who asks, “Did someone start a crossover without me?” There’s a sly reference to the comics industry, when the Winter Soldier states, “Periodicals haven’t made money since I’ve been back from the dead.” Oh, there are also redundant pinups, like the Submariner, who is never NOT wearing his swim trunks. Pop Kill No. 4: The concluding issue of a story about an actual cola war from Mad Cave Studios. It is ultraviolent with lots of skin, so I recommend it for mature readers. This is the kind of comic I imagine Quentin Tarantino would love. Godzilla Vs. Spider-Man No. 1: One of the better one-shots featuring the giant lizard facing off against Marvel’s heroes. Played for laughs, this one takes place just after Secret Wars in Marvel’s continuity – you have to be an long-time fan like me to get all the jokes, and there is one idea in this book that deserves to be developed more: Godvenom. Godzilla Vs. Thor No. 1: This also takes place out of regular Marvel continuity and features “unstoppable Asgardian versus unkillable monster.” The metaphysical turn the story takes didn’t work for me because it feels like the creative team was trying to do too much, but I’ll still be looking out for the Walt Simonson variant cover! Bring on the Bad Guys: Doom No. 1: The selling point for this one is the art by Stefano Raffaell, which includes a two-page splash page of hell. Victor, can you say hello to Ozzy Osbourne while you’re down there? Star Wars No. 1, 2: This new series takes place after Return of the Jedi in the Star Wars timeline, with Luke, Leia and Han Solo dealing with the remnants of the Empire as the fledgling New Republic tries to gain a toe-hold across the galaxy. I would recommend this title for fans only. While we’re talking Star Wars, I have a suggestion: How about a comic exploring the connection (if any) between Andor’s Luthen Rael and Solo’s Enfys Nest? Did the latter fund the former, or were they involved in competing revolutions? I think there’s a story there to be told. Conan the Barbarian No. 21: The best part about this issue is the cover – Conan’s smouldering stare fixes on the reader. The illustration is by Dan Panosian, who also supplies the interior art. Reading Conan on glossy paper is a different experience than the pulpy paper of yesteryear – you can feel the barbarism! Also for mature readers. What comics or graphic novels have you been reading this summer? If you have recommendations from your own reading, I’d love to hear about them in the comment box below! Dan Brown has covered pop culture for more than 32 years as a journalist and also moderates L.A. Mood’s monthly graphic-novel group.
Network Talk Shows Are Played Out
By Dan Brown Given the fuss over the axing of the Late Show With Stephen Colbert, you might get the impression network talk shows matter. They don’t. Such programs haven’t mattered for years, and few TV viewers would notice if ALL of them went off the air. The format of a monologue, phony interviews, then a musical performance is played out. In a world in which seemingly every slightly famous person hosts a podcast, network talk shows are not the draw they once were. When was the last time you watched an episode of Colbert from start to finish? What about the likes of Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel, or Seth Myers? Contrast those guys with Johnny Carson. He was such a fixture back in the day that his retirement from late night in 1992 amounted to a cultural earthquake. Carson’s heyday was a different era. Network TV ruled the roost, with cable coming on strong. When the Carson-inspired David Letterman took off in the 1980s, his brand of late-night comedy was considered edgy, dangerous, subversive. You WANTED to stay up late to see what Dave was up to. Fast-forward to 2025 and it feels as though the list of celebrities who have hosted a late-night chat show at some point in their careers is longer than the list of those who haven’t. They aren’t special anymore. No one is interested in watching a procession of minor stars fake their way through a pre-scripted interview to promote their latest project. We can get our entertainment news in so many different places now, and the supply of celebs far outstrips the demand. The last late-night interview that mattered aired in 1995, when Jay Leno got to ask Hugh Grant why he had hired a prostitute named Divine Brown days earlier: “What the hell were you thinking?” in 2025, no one is eagerly anticipating the next guest who will step out from behind the curtain. Networks have hung on far longer than anyone thought they would, but according to the Los Angeles Times, the proportion of the television viewing audience watching streaming is now larger than that watching linear TV. Talk shows were relatively cheap to make when companies actually advertised their wares on network TV. In their day, they had cultural sway. A new generation has taken the format and is running with it, doing interesting things online. The idea of an interview show with the guests all eating spicy hot wings might sound loony, but it actually works. Or how about a parody of talk shows called Between Two Ferns on which every interview is hilariously uncomfortable? Maybe you would rather watch yet another minor movie actor talk about what a great time they had on set making the latest programmatic Hollywood sludge. You’re in a shrinking minority. If talk shows on network TV have accomplished anything down through the decades, they’ve killed interviewing as an art form with their rehearsed conversations. Which is OK. With a million podcasts to choose from, none of which are time-limited, on any number of platforms, we’ve got space for all the genuine follow-up questions imaginable. That’s where the real talk is taking place with hosts who don’t need to feign their interest. Oh, and just for the record, the best talk show ever was on pay TV – it was called Night After Night and was hosted by Allan Havey with sidekick Nick Bakay in the early 1990s. I taped it every night. So let’s retire network talk shows — all of them. At least for a few years or decades. Letting the genre lie fallow for a while can only lead to positive things for the entertainment industry. Dan Brown has covered pop culture for more than 32 years as a journalist and also moderates L.A. Mood’s monthly graphic-novel group.
