Imagine if you will, a world parallel to our own, identical in many ways, disparate in others. Long story short, in this mirror universe, Bands I Useta Like was optioned by a major independent film studio, and made into a hit movie. It combined animation and live action, and because the producers had deep pockets, licensing songs for a decent soundtrack wasn’t a problem.
Whether I allowed the film to be produced at all was contingent upon the quality of the music choices. If they balked at a crucial song, or refused to include it, I would walk off the project. Which I did, and they replaced me on-screen with a real actor. Like I said, the movie was a hit.
The 2-disc soundtrack sold out of stores overnight. Even though it came packed in that shitty double jewel-box, which just winds up broken, on the floor of a car.
All comics I produced from 2006-2008 were written and drawn during the production of my movie, John’s Arm: Armageddon. I jumped the gun by putting a “release date” on my shirt in the opening panel. Here’s why.
If you’re reading this on Christmas afternoon because your family is driving you nuts, and you have the technology, I suggest that you legally download The Iron Giant, from 1999. Gather everyone around, and watch it with them. It will make your holidays extra wonderful.
Watership Down is a book written by English novelist Richard Adams, published in 1972 to worldwide adoration, about a cluster of wild rabbits who leave their home after the weakest of them accurately foresees its destruction. It is generally regarded as a literary classic, and perhaps most delightfully, it includes appendices of rabbit mythology, and a glossary of the lapine lexicon. In 1978, it was adapted as an motion picture by director Martin Rosen.
In my eyes, this adaptation is the finest animated film ever produced. Ironically, I was first exposed to it as a kid, because it was mistaken for a kids’ movie.
It looks inspirational, but it’s actually a rabbit being strangled with a wire.
In 1972, there was a schism in the world of “underground comix”. Its poster boy, Robert Crumb, had licensed his controversial Fritz the Cat to a pair of Saturday morning cartoon men, for a feature film production. Depending on whom you ask, the final result is either the fault of Crumb’s intransigence, the director’s dabbling, or the distributor’s trepidation about the content. The reality is that Fritz was never meant for franchising.