Sitting in the San Diego airport, latte and laptop at hand, I have plenty of time to make sense of the whirlwind four days (and preview night!) that is Comic-Con. Last Monday I stayed the night in Orlando to be on time for the 4:30 a.m. check-in, and until roughly the same time this morning, my life has been a series of long lines, strange and wonderful conversations, and unexpected experiences.
If anything, my Comic-Con experience could be a metaphor for life. It was amazing, but it went by too fast. I learned from creative people, made new friends, and took a few side trips to see the world outside where I was “living.” Sometimes I did everything right and played by the rules but still got screwed over. Sometimes I was in the right place at the right time for a magical experience. I savored excellent meals and gulped junk food. I was exhausted and exhilarated. I didn’t do everything I planned or hoped, but pleasant surprises spiced up the journey. In retrospect, SDCC was more (of everything) than I could have imagined.
When I look back, particularly at Friday, I feel the trip was worth the aggravation of crashed servers, long lines, misinformation, and the occasionally rude fan who felt the need to cut in line or dump my bag in the haste to get a seat. The majority of fans, exhibitors, guests, drivers, guides, and security personnel were friendly, helpful, and knowledgeable. They chatted amiably and shared tips for a successful convention. They smiled—a lot—and seemed genuinely happy to be there.
The highlights listed next are easy to enumerate by day but are more difficult to explain—the reasons for their significance are personal as only fan experiences can be.
Preview Night:
Doctor Who t-shirt. Check. SDCC comic book exclusives. Check. Beatles taxis. Check. The booth numbers I’d mapped before leaving home came in handy when I wanted to dart down aisles to make purchases.
And then I found the Weta booth.
Daniel Falconer, who designs weapons and armor and has worked on films like The Lord of the Rings and District 9, signed my District 9 book, chatted a few minutes, and even graciously agreed to a future interview. I’ve admired his work for years, and I now admire the man for his friendliness and genuine interest in Weta fans. If I had only talked to him at Comic-Con, I would've deemed the trip a massive success.
But the fun was only beginning. I lasted two hours in the crush/rush of the Preview before calling it a night and taking a shuttle back to the hotel.
Thursday highlights:
• TheOneRing.Net (TORN) panel—old friends, news of The Hobbit, and a strange introduction to some cast members [e.g., Benedict Cumberbatch (Smaug/Necromancer) was introduced via a photo of Sherlock and the actor’s reading of Jabberwocky—but then, I forget that not everyone is as enamored of Cumberbatch and familiar with his incredible voice]
• Indie film festival—a series of shorts or animated films, plus a Vuguru panel about web films, my first meeting with Dominic Monaghan and Ray Wise, and an unexpected meet-and-greet after the panel
• Wilfred panel—an episode screening followed by cast Q&A, fueling a hilarious and insightful meeting between the actors and fans who are seriously into the series, Jason Gann, and Elijah Wood
Friday highlights:
• Torchwood panel—an early morning run to get in a line that still left me 2000 deep in the herd heading to Ballroom 20, but—success!—a seat about halfway back, and a reunion of far-flung, naughty, extroverted “family” on stage or on the floor. But more about John Barrowman and panels later.
• The queue outside Nerd HQ—where I said hello to Elijah Wood and managed a shaky “Hello, fine, thanks” when Dominic Monaghan asked how I was doing as he walked past
• A Conversation with Dominic Monaghan—an intimate, funny, insightful, never-to-be-forgotten hour for the hundred or so fans participating in the conversation, which was streamed to a worldwide audience
• A Conversation with Scott Bakula—another memorable hour capped with a bonus signing session—and a memorable if impromptu duet from Bakula and Zachary Levi—All right, I have to boast that I received a “good question” comment from Monaghan and Bakula, which means a lot to someone who likes to interview actors.
Saturday highlights:
• TV Guide panel of “supernaturals”—a decidedly low tech (or no tech, when the clips couldn’t be correctly played) screening of television series, but the actors saved the session by giving their fans just what they wanted—plenty of sexy, irreverent comments that made this panel possibly the bawdiest and funniest of the con
• Toby Whithouse—No one was in line when I showed up a few minutes early for his signing session at the SFX booth! What was wrong with that crowd?! I blame my surprise at being suddenly face to face with one of my favorite writers for my incoherent gushing about Being Human. Usually I’m so much cooler. Seriously.
Sunday highlights:
• Anthony Head—I had hoped to gush about the Doctor Who panel, but I chose 1) to stand in an autograph lottery line that didn’t work out and 2) to meet Anthony Head at the BBC America booth. The latter was an excellent choice; Mr. Head was gracious and funny. He gave each fan his full, unhurried attention. I’m a fan for life.
A few experiences and comments deserve more than a list item; they, perhaps as much as a fan moment with a film maker, writer, or actor, determined the quality of my Comic-Con experience.
John Barrowman and a Tale of Two Panels
During Friday’s Torchwood panel, John Barrowman clearly was in his element, fielding questions with aplomb and double entendres, letting every panelist shine, and generally seeming to have a good time. Although he wasn’t officially the session moderator, that lack of designation was a moot point. Everyone on stage and in the capacity crowd of the extremely large Ballroom 20 only had eyes for John. Eve Myles was hilarious, but even she couldn’t keep up with Mr. Barrowman.
As is his norm during interviews or public appearances, Barrowman thanked his fans for their support. He emphasized his love of playing Captain Jack. He cracked jokes and played to the crowd. He sang, although in Saturday’s panel he seemed to wish he’d chosen something other than “Tomorrow” from Annie. He posed for photos. And he looked like he was having a good time.
To date, I’ve attended two of Barrowman’s concerts (the third coming up this Thanksgiving) and more performances of La Cage than I should admit to seeing. I’ve watched the man interact with fans via webcam and at stage doors. He knows how to relate to fans and make them feel that, although he and they may never say hello face to face, they are important to him. That inclusiveness was a big part of Friday’s Torchwood panel, a session less about cheerleading for Torchwood (although that was certainly its purpose) and more a love fest between Barrowman and his fans.
The vibe was very different at the TV Guide panel. Yes, John Barrowman waved to his fans, many who crowded the second or third row (where I sat) and took hundreds of photos during the session. Yes, he brought sexy back to 5AB and made a teen werewolf blush. And yes, he sang “Happy Birthday” and gave the birthday boy a kiss. But it just wasn’t the same level of energy or enjoyment provided by the Torchwood panel. Barrowman was a team player and applauded others’ series or quips, but the majority of fans in that room wanted to talk only with him. Barrowman participated graciously, but he wasn’t in charge, and the magical “family feeling” of the other panel never materialized. Say what you will about Barrowman, but put him in charge of a group of fans and he can unify a crowd while making each person feel special. That is a rare gift.
Fab Four
I don’t mean to be sexist, but I was most impressed with my encounters with these four men: Dominic Monaghan, Scott Bakula, Anthony Head, and Zachary Levi.
I have wanted to meet Dominic Monaghan since 1998. On July 22, 2011, that meeting materialized and exceeded my fantasies. (Keep your thoughts clean, people.) I sat in the front row for the Vuguru panel, and I learned a lot about film making and web movies. After the panel, the audience was invited to a meet and greet with the panelists—giving me the opportunity for a lengthy discussion with a scriptwriter and shorter but very pleasant conversations with actors. I asked a few questions, told Mr. Monaghan about the way I use DVDs of his performances in my “heroes” classes, and shook his hand. Absolutely brilliant.
On Friday, I attended Monaghan's "conversation" session hosted by the Nerd Machine. Those who know me will not be surprised to learn that, when there was silence in the “are there questions?" part of the program, my hand popped up automatically. During a break in the action while the mic went back and forth from me to the handler before it worked, Dominic Monaghan said he remembered me. Let the record show that he actually said we hung out together on Thursday. Somewhere there is a recording of the streamed video to prove it. My fan life is now complete.
I had a similarly wonderful fan encounter during Scott Bakula’s “conversation.” I last met Mr. Bakula in 1996 at a Quantum Leap convention, and both times he has impressed me with his honesty in answering questions (especially about the television industry then and now) and his kindness in talking with each fan.
What impressed me about these actors—and also Anthony Head, who graciously met everyone in the long line snaking around the BBC America booth on Sunday morning—is their complete focus on the (probably inwardly shaking) fan before them. They made each person feel important, unlike the cattle call or the 100-people-per-hour signings becoming more common at fan conventions. Unfortunately, what is construed as good manners in the "real world" is too often rare in the interactions between fans and those being adored. My Comic-Con experience benefited from brief, but very "real" interactions with these actors.
The man behind Nerd HQ is Zachary Levi. He bounced between headquarters next door and Joltin’ Joe’s, where the special fan sessions were held. He made the calls and gathered the talent for a whole schedule of fan events, the proceeds going to charity. Levi’s concept for the off-site mini-convention, his exuberance for fandom, and his shrewd business sense made the Nerd HQ one of the best places to be in San Diego this July.
Life, or Comic-Con, is What You Make It
My Comic-Con experience is unique. Every attendee has his or her stories, successes, and regrets. My clubbing nights are over, but I filled the days with panels, shopping, and exploration. I walked around the Gaslamp Quarter, but I also visited Old Town and the maritime museum. I saw (all but one) of the panels I really wanted to see. I also had the “queue” experience of waiting hours, sometimes in vain, for a panel, but rewarding in the conversations with other fans on line.
I talked with fans shut out of everything, line after line, day after day, although they waited two or more hours per line. I wouldn't want that to be the extent of my Comic-Con. Yes, I lost a few hours of my life in the Doctor Who line and an autograph queue that didn’t work out, but I can now say that’s part of my Comic-Con experience. But my Comic-Con wasn’t defined by long lines. I sometimes chose smaller events or panels that were expected to be less populated but were well worth seeing. I didn’t go to the movie premieres or win big prizes. (I did get lots of freebie pins, a t-shirt, a CD, and a DVD from the sessions, which thrilled me as much as some of the bigger giveaways would have done.) I did have some incredible fan encounters and got to see at least some of San Diego. Epic win.
Will I be back next year? Doubtful, even if I wanted to. I refused to stand in the ticket line four hours or more (the average reported from people who stood in those lines, including one woman who slept outside to be closer to the front). What would I have sacrificed to wait for next year’s ticket—the Torchwood panel or a conversation? Would I risk this year’s opportunities in the hope for next year’s Preview Night (and the chance to fight for space with hundreds of people wanting the same exclusive merchandise)? Nope.
So my first Comic-Con may be my last, even though it surpassed my wildest dreams, and my dreams can get pretty wild (although my partying is pretty tame). For such a large event, I thought it was adequately organized (outside of the Epic Ticket Fail of 2011), and the staff members I encountered were incredibly chipper and helpful.
What did I learn about the Meaning of Comic-Con? Maybe the answer to fan "life" isn't 42, or even Comic-Con, but Zach Levi and Nerd HQ.
Showing posts with label John Barrowman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Barrowman. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
All in the (Extended) Family
It's no secret that I like certain performers and tend to write about them. My mama taught me well that if I can't say something nice, not to say anything at all. Although that adage shouldn't apply to journalistic ethics, it can be applied to those topics I choose to research or review for entertainment. (If you've read my books, you know that I'm much more critical there than in blogs.) I've amended mama's adage so that it means if I can write something positive, I will. So--yes, I'm blog-biased--but here's a good example why.
During the current run of Aladdin, John Barrowman fell ill with flu and couldn't make some performances. His understudy, 18-year-old Greg Barrowman, stepped into Aladdin's pointy shoes and found himself in the spotlight. Perhaps this panto is really a non-gender-specific Cinderella story--or, as Broadway musicals and movies have shown through the decades, the understudy who gets the chance to star makes good and goes on to a fantastic career. Perhaps that will be the story of Greg Barrowman, a young singer encouraged to study his craft and polish his talent at the Glasgow Academy of Theatre Arts. As the Glasgow Evening Times points out, the understudy and the star are cousins.
Hmmm. Nepotism, you might be thinking. True, lots of talented young singers might wish their Cousin John had as much clout in the entertainment industry, but Greg has just been given a rare opportunity--now he has to make the most of it. (As well, if John didn't have the flu, this story about the older cousin mentoring the younger wouldn't have made the media.)
What strikes me most about today's article isn't that the understudy is related to the star, but that the star took an interest in a young talent and encouraged him to get to the point where he could be an understudy. And that, to me, is the moral of this story.
We often meet or know someone who is talented but may lack the encouragement to work toward a goal. I see it with some of my students, who shine in one area but don't know what to do with their skill or talent or how to network.
I once was one of those students who, in grad school, was given the opportunity to write a chapter in a textbook and was introduced to professional writers. I then was given the opportunity to co-author a book long before I wrote my own texts or branched into other areas of writing. I was too shy to interview someone until I was coached through the process a few times. I developed the confidence to introduce myself only because I once stood beside someone who showed me how to say hello politely and professionally.
My mama also taught me to be thankful for the opportunities I was given, but then to make sure I remembered how other people helped me when it was my turn to reach out a helping hand.
Now it's my time to mentor someone else--a student, a family member, a talented stranger. Whether I encourage with applause or a friendly comment after a performance, suggest a possible place to publish or write a positive review, or mention a name to someone looking for "fresh blood" to hire, it's my time to help the next generation to move forward.
We all can do that, even if we don't have high-level professional contacts. We can recognize that spark within a child and nurture that child's interest and potential. It's important that our families--biological or extended--are encouraged to try something new or potentially life changing.
I expect teachers or career counselors, for example, to mentor. I'm encouraged when those much more famous (and with higher socioeconomic status) do so. Would Greg Barrowman have his picture in the Glasgow Evening Times if he weren't standing next to his cousin? Maybe not yet. Would he be guest starring in a highly publicized panto playing in a huge venue? Probably not yet.
Looks like your mama brought you up right, too, John.
During the current run of Aladdin, John Barrowman fell ill with flu and couldn't make some performances. His understudy, 18-year-old Greg Barrowman, stepped into Aladdin's pointy shoes and found himself in the spotlight. Perhaps this panto is really a non-gender-specific Cinderella story--or, as Broadway musicals and movies have shown through the decades, the understudy who gets the chance to star makes good and goes on to a fantastic career. Perhaps that will be the story of Greg Barrowman, a young singer encouraged to study his craft and polish his talent at the Glasgow Academy of Theatre Arts. As the Glasgow Evening Times points out, the understudy and the star are cousins.
Hmmm. Nepotism, you might be thinking. True, lots of talented young singers might wish their Cousin John had as much clout in the entertainment industry, but Greg has just been given a rare opportunity--now he has to make the most of it. (As well, if John didn't have the flu, this story about the older cousin mentoring the younger wouldn't have made the media.)
What strikes me most about today's article isn't that the understudy is related to the star, but that the star took an interest in a young talent and encouraged him to get to the point where he could be an understudy. And that, to me, is the moral of this story.
We often meet or know someone who is talented but may lack the encouragement to work toward a goal. I see it with some of my students, who shine in one area but don't know what to do with their skill or talent or how to network.
I once was one of those students who, in grad school, was given the opportunity to write a chapter in a textbook and was introduced to professional writers. I then was given the opportunity to co-author a book long before I wrote my own texts or branched into other areas of writing. I was too shy to interview someone until I was coached through the process a few times. I developed the confidence to introduce myself only because I once stood beside someone who showed me how to say hello politely and professionally.
My mama also taught me to be thankful for the opportunities I was given, but then to make sure I remembered how other people helped me when it was my turn to reach out a helping hand.
Now it's my time to mentor someone else--a student, a family member, a talented stranger. Whether I encourage with applause or a friendly comment after a performance, suggest a possible place to publish or write a positive review, or mention a name to someone looking for "fresh blood" to hire, it's my time to help the next generation to move forward.
We all can do that, even if we don't have high-level professional contacts. We can recognize that spark within a child and nurture that child's interest and potential. It's important that our families--biological or extended--are encouraged to try something new or potentially life changing.
I expect teachers or career counselors, for example, to mentor. I'm encouraged when those much more famous (and with higher socioeconomic status) do so. Would Greg Barrowman have his picture in the Glasgow Evening Times if he weren't standing next to his cousin? Maybe not yet. Would he be guest starring in a highly publicized panto playing in a huge venue? Probably not yet.
Looks like your mama brought you up right, too, John.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Of Carols and Pantos Past
I’m of an age when I’ve begun reminiscing more often and more loudly, especially at Christmas. Fortunately, my students seldom hear my “remember whens,” and my niece only rolls her eyes and makes a snarky comment now and again. That doesn’t keep me from flipping through my mental scrapbook this holiday season, especially when I read reviews about panto or Christmas plays.
Today I came across two reviews of Aladdin, the megaproduction—in 3D!—playing the SECC auditorium. One is highly positive (The Herald review), one not so much (The List review). Surprisingly, both reviewers paint an accurate picture of panto at its most enjoyable, if not its finest.
One reviewer praises the fun quotient—kids squealing, parents laughing, everyone getting in on the absurdity. Another faults lackluster special effects and a crashed computer—certainly nothing to look forward to—and concludes with reserved praise for the “valiantly adlibbing” star who, nonetheless, probably wished that the CGI Genie could grant a do-over.
Even without the fact that in this production Aladdin is played by effervescent John Barrowman, so the crowd undoubtedly has a great time—or that, if someone has to adlib during a live show, the audience and producers are lucky to have Barrowman on stage—imperfection is at least half the fun of panto. Granted, as an American, my experience with this traditional holiday entertainment is rather limited, but even with that acknowledged limitation, I wish I could see Aladdin—or any one of a number of other pantos currently playing in the U.K. and Canada.
I look forward to the “what if” factor of live entertainment. Who knows what might happen during any show? I might see the performance of a lifetime, or technology might fail and lead to some glorious improv. Sure, a 3D Genie might be fun, but isn’t it just as thrilling when a glitch forces the show to take a different turn? (Performers and producers may fervently hope) this misfire may only happen once, but the resulting uniqueness of that performance can make it most memorable (or even more entertaining) because it’s spontaneous.
In the ‘90s, I took some family and friends to Toronto for two live performances that, by critics’ standards, probably suffered the “crapness” factor discussed in today’s panto review, but that’s not what I remember about them. At that time Camilla Scott starred in Due South, one of my favorite TV series, so I suggested we see her in the holiday panto, Jack and the Beanstalk. The show was OK, but I remember it because we laughed aloud and reverted to being children for a few hours. We interacted with each other and the performers—something not normally encouraged within the confines of a magnificently venerable theatre. Panto brought out the kid in us in a perfectly acceptable way, and it would have been Scrooge-ish to point out Giant flaws.
Panto is one of the last bastions of public silliness and absurd storytelling that is more fun than it should logically be. It allows performers to be most outrageous and audiences to get in on the act. It's communal role playing at its most liberating, if not most dignified. I miss it—perhaps because I often have trouble letting go and laughing out loud. Panto, like the celebration of Christmas, can be magical and memorable for reasons far beyond production values.
My other memory from that trip is a frozen tableau of what Christmas used to be, and it helped me to understand my mother’s memories of Depression-era holidays. Mom and I attended a performance of the Huron Carole. (If you’re not familiar with it, for many years actor/singer Tom Jackson brought together Canadian artists for a national musical tour, with all proceeds going to charity.) As the event grew bigger and more popular each year, the venue improved. However, when we first saw it, the performance was held in an old building away from the glitzy theatre district. On that winter evening, the heat failed, and the balcony was cold enough for us to wear coats and gloves all evening. Fortunately, our hands warmed from applauding hours of song, jokes—as with panto, focused on local celebrities or politicians, and finally, the Huron Carole.
Even better, on the street, during a delay while someone worked on the theatre's furnace, we joined the Salvation Army in singing carols. The band and choir began, but before long, the waiting audience sang along, always loudly, sometimes on key. Standing on a snowy street corner in Toronto, singing carols with dozens of strangers—that’s a memory to keep.
The local food bank was the recipient of that evening’s proceeds, and everyone was encouraged not just to donate cash, but to bring canned food. Building a tin mountain and tossing coins in the kettle reminded my mother of Christmases long ago and far away. Technically, this wasn’t a perfect evening. Temps were cold outside and in, the concert was delayed, and the venue wasn’t posh, but it was one of our best mother-daughter outings ever.
I’ve often said that my happiest moments have been either in a theatre or a bookshop, so it’s fitting that some of my favorite memories of public Christmas celebrations involve theatres and the joy of live performance. Sure, it’s fantastic when everything works as it should and the quality of the production merits the price of a ticket, but sometimes it’s even more special when the heat goes out, the Giant misses his mark, or the Genie decides to stay home.
Today I came across two reviews of Aladdin, the megaproduction—in 3D!—playing the SECC auditorium. One is highly positive (The Herald review), one not so much (The List review). Surprisingly, both reviewers paint an accurate picture of panto at its most enjoyable, if not its finest.
One reviewer praises the fun quotient—kids squealing, parents laughing, everyone getting in on the absurdity. Another faults lackluster special effects and a crashed computer—certainly nothing to look forward to—and concludes with reserved praise for the “valiantly adlibbing” star who, nonetheless, probably wished that the CGI Genie could grant a do-over.
Even without the fact that in this production Aladdin is played by effervescent John Barrowman, so the crowd undoubtedly has a great time—or that, if someone has to adlib during a live show, the audience and producers are lucky to have Barrowman on stage—imperfection is at least half the fun of panto. Granted, as an American, my experience with this traditional holiday entertainment is rather limited, but even with that acknowledged limitation, I wish I could see Aladdin—or any one of a number of other pantos currently playing in the U.K. and Canada.
I look forward to the “what if” factor of live entertainment. Who knows what might happen during any show? I might see the performance of a lifetime, or technology might fail and lead to some glorious improv. Sure, a 3D Genie might be fun, but isn’t it just as thrilling when a glitch forces the show to take a different turn? (Performers and producers may fervently hope) this misfire may only happen once, but the resulting uniqueness of that performance can make it most memorable (or even more entertaining) because it’s spontaneous.
In the ‘90s, I took some family and friends to Toronto for two live performances that, by critics’ standards, probably suffered the “crapness” factor discussed in today’s panto review, but that’s not what I remember about them. At that time Camilla Scott starred in Due South, one of my favorite TV series, so I suggested we see her in the holiday panto, Jack and the Beanstalk. The show was OK, but I remember it because we laughed aloud and reverted to being children for a few hours. We interacted with each other and the performers—something not normally encouraged within the confines of a magnificently venerable theatre. Panto brought out the kid in us in a perfectly acceptable way, and it would have been Scrooge-ish to point out Giant flaws.
Panto is one of the last bastions of public silliness and absurd storytelling that is more fun than it should logically be. It allows performers to be most outrageous and audiences to get in on the act. It's communal role playing at its most liberating, if not most dignified. I miss it—perhaps because I often have trouble letting go and laughing out loud. Panto, like the celebration of Christmas, can be magical and memorable for reasons far beyond production values.
My other memory from that trip is a frozen tableau of what Christmas used to be, and it helped me to understand my mother’s memories of Depression-era holidays. Mom and I attended a performance of the Huron Carole. (If you’re not familiar with it, for many years actor/singer Tom Jackson brought together Canadian artists for a national musical tour, with all proceeds going to charity.) As the event grew bigger and more popular each year, the venue improved. However, when we first saw it, the performance was held in an old building away from the glitzy theatre district. On that winter evening, the heat failed, and the balcony was cold enough for us to wear coats and gloves all evening. Fortunately, our hands warmed from applauding hours of song, jokes—as with panto, focused on local celebrities or politicians, and finally, the Huron Carole.
Even better, on the street, during a delay while someone worked on the theatre's furnace, we joined the Salvation Army in singing carols. The band and choir began, but before long, the waiting audience sang along, always loudly, sometimes on key. Standing on a snowy street corner in Toronto, singing carols with dozens of strangers—that’s a memory to keep.
The local food bank was the recipient of that evening’s proceeds, and everyone was encouraged not just to donate cash, but to bring canned food. Building a tin mountain and tossing coins in the kettle reminded my mother of Christmases long ago and far away. Technically, this wasn’t a perfect evening. Temps were cold outside and in, the concert was delayed, and the venue wasn’t posh, but it was one of our best mother-daughter outings ever.
I’ve often said that my happiest moments have been either in a theatre or a bookshop, so it’s fitting that some of my favorite memories of public Christmas celebrations involve theatres and the joy of live performance. Sure, it’s fantastic when everything works as it should and the quality of the production merits the price of a ticket, but sometimes it’s even more special when the heat goes out, the Giant misses his mark, or the Genie decides to stay home.
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