Robert Duvall

I've seen many fine and touching testimonials to the late actor Robert Duvall, with mentions of his great performances in "The Godfather," "Apocalypse Now," "The Great Santini," and more. But very few have mentioned this, my favorite scene of his ever, from the movie "Secondhand Lions." 

If you haven't seen it, it's a good movie with a great cast, and even a bit of artwork by "Bloom County" cartoonist Berke Breathed. Recommended.

When I began my "Last Mechanical Monster" webcomic back in, oh, 2012 or 2013, I thought of two actors whom I'd love to portray my old mad scientist, Sparky, if anyone ever wanted to make a live-action movie of it. First was Christopher Plummer. Second was Robert Duvall. Both are gone now, and since nobody's clamoring to make that movie I guess I lost my chance. 

Sparky in action. See if you can imagine Duvall in the role.

250 Words on Stuff that Isn't for You

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

One of the milestones of maturity is realizing that not everything is made or meant for you. 

Other people can love music, literature, entertainment, food, or sports that you find inexplicable, confusing, repulsive, inane. It’s fine! Believing that is a big step in accepting you’re not the center of the universe. 

Too many argue the opposite: “I hate it, it’s bad, and anyone who likes it is stupid.” How small-minded. 

Take Taylor Swift.*

Early in her career, I was dismissive. Lightweight pop. But as her career grew, so did my appreciation for her work and work ethic.

Swift’s songs weren’t made for middle-aged men like me, and I wasn’t living the lives of kids to whom her lyrics spoke. She was an artist for them, not me, and while I’ve come to like some of her songs, I could never love her like they do.

She also seems like a decent person, a refutation of the axiom that there are no ethical billionaires. Millions pay money to hear her sing. I see no crime. 

I try not to judge any art as “good” or “bad.” De gustibus non est disputandum. I prefer Roger Ebert’s standard: Does the work achieve its intended purpose? If so, it’s a success. The strongest criticism I’ll level publicly is, “It’s not for me.”

Of course, the corollary of “Not all art is meant for you” is “Your art isn’t meant for everybody.” Accept some audience indifference and trust that the right people will find you.

*Or Bad Bunny.

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Lost and Found on the USS Hornet

Here's a neat TV news story from my daughter Laura's aircraft carrier, the USS Hornet Sea, Air and Space Museum: a museum volunteer poking around some compartments of the ship that have been locked up since the Hornet was decommissioned in 1970 found a sailor's old high school class ring. The ring provided enough clues to identify the sailor and locate his family! 

Aside from the heartwarming story, I love the idea that there are still deep recesses of the ship that have yet to be fully explored. An aircraft carrier, even an old one like the Hornet, really is like a small city at sea.

250 Words on Thunder and Lightning

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

Thunderstorms are my favorite meteorological phenomenon. The flash, the boom, the gut-thrumming rumble. The familiar world is transformed into something alien and frightening. You are small and nature is immense, but indoors you’re reasonably safe and can enjoy the show. 

Thunderstorms are rare where I live now, in northern California not far from the Pacific. We don’t have the violently colliding air masses and geography to create them. But I grew up in South Dakota, where the smell of ozone in the wind was a herald announcing their imminent arrival. You could see the front advancing toward you, black clouds gathering over the horizon, lit from within by arcing sparks. 

Ball lightning is an unusual phenomenon that scientists aren’t even sure is real, but my grandparents always swore they saw a cloud of sparkling light float down their chimney and dance around the living room before evanescing into the air. I’d pay good money to witness that.

Probably the most awe-inspiring natural phenomenon I ever saw happened one night I was flying out of Dallas during a thunderstorm. Our plane broke through a deck of clouds to find another deck above us, with rain filling the gap between them. Every few seconds, lightning flashed between the decks, illuminating distant funnel clouds connecting the layers above and below us, like pillars in a vast and empty warehouse. 

We quickly broke through the top deck into clear skies, but I’ll never forget that vision of Hell or Heaven, I wasn’t sure which.

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Viva Bad Bunny!

Bad Bunny with Lady Gaga

So I guess I'm a Bad Bunny fan now.

I'm not compelled to speak out on all the passing controversies of the day, but I had some thoughts on Mr. Bunny's Super Bowl performance I haven't seen anyone else express.

First, no, I don't speak Spanish. That's not a deal-breaker for me. I don't speak Italian, either, but I'd still go to an opera. Plus, the sound quality in Levi's Stadium was such that I doubt even native Spanish speakers understood many of his lyrics unless they already knew the songs. 

I was impressed by three things. First, the propulsive energy of Mr. Bunny's performance. It reminded me of Bruno Mars's Super Bowl show in 2014. Before that I was aware of Mars, of course, but he attacked that performance with such joyful intensity that I instantly became a fan. Same with Mr. Bunny yesterday.

Second was the stagecraft. He and his team built and then disassembled a Puerto Rican cane field, a casita, a bodega, an entire community of musicians and dancers and street vendors and power poles, in the middle of a football field during a break in the game. The choreography was astounding--everyone had to be in exactly the right spot at the right time, from a bartender who handed Mr. Bunny a shot glass to a kid sleeping on a bench (who a lot of people are saying was Liam Conejo Ramos, the boy in the blue knit cap who was kidnapped by ICE, but it wasn't him). 

Third was the storytelling. I didn't know the words but I certainly understood the story Mr. Bunny told of community, tradition, hard work, family celebration--you know, all the classic American values. The entire show was as wholesome and, dare I say, as conservative as could be, right down to the real wedding performed in the middle of it and his "God Bless America" (in English) at the end of it. 

I found it all much more interesting and entertaining than the usual band standing on a stage singing their greatest hits. As a storyteller myself I admire and appreciate masterful storytelling from others, and Mr. Bunny delivered for me. Your mileage may vary.

250 Words on the Secret

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

Occasionally I’m asked to critique someone’s writing or cartooning, and give them advice on how to build a career.

I’ve learned to be wary.

First, nine out of ten people who ask my opinion don’t really want it. They want to be told their work is fantastic and they don’t need to change a jot. So the first thing I try to figure out is whether I’m talking to one of those folks, or to the one out of ten who genuinely wants feedback and is professional enough to take it.

Sometimes people want to know “the secret”: the password, the trick, the right person to approach with the right pitch. Once in a while, they’ll even ask me to do it for them—make the connection, grease the wheels, get them in the door to make a deal.

Of course the real secret is that there isn’t one, and I don’t have the influence they think I do. Even if I wanted to, there is nobody I can call who would offer them the “Standard Rich and Famous Contract” that Orson Welles gave Kermit the Frog. 

Every successful creative person I know has a different story about how they made it. Their way probably won’t work for you. Sit down, do the work, and put it out into the world however you can. If anyone likes something you did, do more of that. Get rejected. Get experience. Get better. Get noticed. Get paid. 

That’s the only secret I know. 

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