The Wrath Of Con

Kind thanks to all those who expressed concern that the abrupt halt in blog updates might have been related to a particularly violent nerd stampede at this year’s Comic-Con, but I’m happy to report that the only scars I have from San Diego are mental ones (let’s just say that some people shouldn’t wear latex body-suits and leave it at that.) That’s right, last weekend was my company’s trip to the San Diego Comic-Con, a.k.a. Nerd Prom. It’s the one weekend a year that rabid comic fans and Ain’t-It-Cool-News contributors get out of their parent’s basements, dust off the ol’ Klingon forehead appliances and mingle with their own kind, descending en masse upon the unsuspecting border town as if part of some hubristic retribution for San Diego having dubbed itself “America’s Finest City”.

This isn’t to say that the Con hasn’t been a blast – albeit in a “Gorillas In the Mist” kind of way – ever since Hollywood set its come-hither gaze on the capacity crowd of males aged 18-25 a few years back. Since then, the convention has slowly shifted from the sole refuge of those who boldly sidestep cultural mores of personal hygiene, becoming a gathering place of industry players who recognize the importance of connecting with their most febrile – and vocal – fan base. And while Comic-Con’s stage has played to the advantage of almost every major summer blockbuster released in the last half-decade, one interesting side-note is that it puts filmmakers in the remarkably awkward position of being in direct contact with their biggest fans. While one-on-one interaction with admirers is a huge ego boost for some – like Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez, who played the crowd like a sweaty, bespectacled violin at this year’s GRIND HOUSE panel – others filmmakers seemed a bit at odds after being bombarded with the same question ad nauseum.

Notice I wrote “question”. Singular.

For every worthwhile anecdote from a reputable filmmaker that somehow found himself on a panel, there was a lineup of a dozen young guys asking how they can make movies just like him. Big movies. Great movies. The kind of movies that have their own panel at Comic-Con.

While it’s a great to think that there could be some lynchpin pearl of wisdom to filmmaking for the ages, the ad nauseum repetition of this question makes it seem as if members of the audience genuinely believe there’s some sort of conspiracy afoot. As if someone on stage might finally slip up and reveal a Freemason-coded message that’s been handed down from the Spielbergs to the Lucases to the Zemeckises; some ancient incantation that allows them to make memorable movies. Or perhaps directions to go to the southwest corner of the intersection at 66th and 6th to meet a man known only as “El Diablo” at the twelfth stroke of the witching hour… It was, somehow fittingly, Tarantino who answered the question best. While most of his responses were lighthearted and encouraging, he told everyone who asked this question to “go out and make RESERVOIR DOGS. ‘Cause man, that was a great fucking movie. Do that and you’re set.”

Hearing this, the inquiring audience member would typically give an uncomfortable little laugh, shift his weight from foot to foot and then finally relinquish control of the microphone, returning to his seat to ponder how, if ever, he’ll remake Tarantino’s movie without further stoking his wrath.

Or, for that matter, the wrath of Con.