Why you should care
Because it’s about much more than putting “super” in front of your name.
Once upon a time, famous writers like Budd Schulberg and F. Scott Fitzgerald supplemented their incomes scribbling novels like What Makes Sammy Run? and The Great Gatsby. In order to? Write screenplays. The lure of Hollywood cash proving to be too damn much. And the great films of the 1960s and 1970s? Written by directors who had had literary notions, like Robert Altman and Lina Wertmüller.
But the 1980s and 1990s saw a raft of writers who drew on TV shows as their templates, and so … the terrible Flintstones live-action movie and the equally horrible Beverly Hillbillies movie.
Through it all, though, were the forgotten little living storyboards we called comic books. Overheated, dramatic, sometimes hysterical stories with flawed characters plunged into heroic action, issue after issue. Dirty little secrets that we who loved them always hoped would get made into movies.
Well, they are now, but the reality of it is the ink-stained scribblers of the comics themselves in this case are calling the shots, since no one is making movies of comics that people hate. But are comics and their creators getting to eat from the grown-up table now?