if power's all they really understand

There was a time when I made an active effort to keep up on the various comings and goings on in my areas of interest across the world wide web, but as my free time has dwindled over the past couple years, I’ve gotten to rely more and more on a handful of trusted linkblogs to pre-separate the wheat from the chaff for me. This is especially true for comics-related blogs and websites. There are simply too many to keep track of, and even Google Reader isn’t much help in organizing and prioritizing the endless flow of posts.

One of the most useful comics-related linkblogs is When Fangirls Attack, a well-curated and regularly updated clearinghouse of links to blog posts and articles dealing with feminist and gender-issues in the comics scene. Ragnell and Kalinara do a great job in presenting an inclusive collection of views, kept free of their own personal biases (which is how topic-themed linkblogs should ideally be. I’m an avid reader of Antiwar.com, despite the paleo-conservative/libertarian ideology of its maintainers because they make the effort to include a wide range of articles and commentary on the subject from across the political spectrum).

So when Dorian, the man behind the always-entertaining Postmodernbarney, started up Comic Gays, a linkblog along the lines of WFA, but with a focus on LGBT issues and subjects in the comics scene and related areas of fandom, it was welcome news, indeed. Even if the actual reach of the comics blogosphere is far smaller than what many of its members assume, it’s great to see new avenues of discussion open up, especially in areas where they intersect with egalitarian principles. There’s a strong current of knee-jerk conservatism in fandom which needs to be roiled from its ingrained opinions. Besides, a flippancy-free discussion of homosexual subtext in Silver Age romance comics makes for far more interesting reading than yet another shrill “DC is raping my childhood (by not publishing stories mirroring my fanfic)” rant.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before the linkbaiters crawled out of the woodwork. For those not up on hip ‘net lingo, linkbaiters are the Japanese beetles of the blogosphere’s rose garden -- folks who write deliberately provocative posts in hopes of getting their site/post referenced by the relevant linkblog. If one were to create a widely-read linkblog dedicated to ham sandwiches, five will get you ten that there will suddenly be a marked increase in blogposts concerning that particular comestible. It’s a quick and dirty means of generating attention (and hits) closely related to that “NOTICE ME” fan pathology I discussed yesterday. It wouldn’t be so bad if these attention-starved voices had something to add to the discussion, but all too often their remarks tread into the realm of outright trollery, being either contrary for the sake of getting attention or just skitching behind the issue du jour. The sincerity of writer (and in too many cases, sadly, the views expressed are sincere) matters less than the ready-made opportunity for virtual face time.

The Rondelles – Pay Attention to Me (from The Fox, 1999) - Sure, as long as you're communicating though femvox indie pop, and not through incoherent rants about why "femisitim" or "guy marrige" is harmful to society.

I’ve had a few of my posts linked to on When Fangirls Attack, but never did I sit down and begin writing with that being the express purpose of the piece, although I can usually predict what will get picked up by the site. (The exception being the Satin Satan post.) I write a lot of comics-themed posts and I’m a strong exponent of egalitarian principles; it’s a given that the streams will cross every so often. That said, I’ve been trying out to figure a way to get a post linked to by Comic Gays. I don’t watch Torchwood (though the ads are intriguing), I tend to steer clear of out-of-context “OMG Batman is SOOO gay for Superman” vintage comic panel humor (because only a rare few can do it right), and the posts I have made about gay rights issues are straightforward political polemics. The trollery route is right out, as I really don’t have it in me to convincingly play the part. (I can’t even bring myself to take the Dark Side path in the Knights of the Old Republic games.)

What’s a poor aspiring link-baiter to do except discuss Carol Channing’s performance in the 1968 flop Skidoo and its lingering effect on my psyche? Skidoo was Otto Preminger’s attempt at the most failure-prone of genres, the counter-culture comedy. Many ambitious directors tried their hand at pulling off such a feat, but even the best of the lot (Head, a bizarre and confusing self-skewering of The Monkees) fall into the category of “interesting failures,” and Skidoo doesn’t even reach those modest heights with its mix of familiar character and comedic actors (Jackie Gleason, Groucho Marx, Carol Channing, Mickey Rooney, among others) and very 60’s drug culture humor.

A critical and financial bomb upon its release, Skidoo became a legend among aficionados of cinematic trash, with the lack of a VHS or DVD release boosting its allure. I managed to acquire a copy a few years back, and finally got a chance to compare the legend to the real deal. It wasn’t the worst film of its type -- an honor that goes hands-down to The Phynx, an attempt to combine The Monkees with an endless parade of celebrity cameos. Skidoo didn’t so much pain me with its incompetence as cripple me with a sense of embarrassment for everyone involved. The feeling I got watching Jackie Gleason trip out on LSD and Groucho Marx smoking reefer was the same one I felt when my mom got tipsy on port wine and sang an out of key rendition of “Smooth Operator.” (Or watching Street Fighter: The Movie and realizing that this was Raul Julia’s last film role. Or seeing Robert Vaughn in TV ads for ambulance-chasers.) It’s a painful, but not an insurmountable experience for the hardened schlock enthusiast familiar with the mortifying sensation of witnessing People Who Should Know Better doing terrible things on screen.

If that were all the film had to dish out, it would be just another seen it/survived it/bragged about it bad cinema experience, but just when you think you’ve survived the worst, it pulls out a particularly nasty shiv from the waistband of its BVD’s and proceeds to twist it repeatedly in your gut.

I don’t have an opinion of Carol Channing one way or another, except as one of the familiar popcult presences of a 1970’s childhood, but her performance of the Harry Nilsson-penned “Skidoo,” at the film’s finale is the raw stuff of which nightmares are made. Something about the way her trademark raspy voice wraps itself around the chorus unlocks a deep-seated sense of primal terror within me, especially in conjunction with the manic choreography, relentless grin, and pirate costume with which she accompanies the song. It all leads to the bedroom, where it is implied that her character and Jackie Gleason’s will bump ugiles.

Sweet Blessed Providence, I’m going to have to sleep with the lights on tonight, and I just know that won’t hold off the night terrors.

Carol Channing & Harry Nilsson – Skidoo/Goodnight Mr. Banks (from the Skidoo OST, 2003)