Biff Elliot, Film Star

When I tell people that my uncle Biff is a movie star, they usually react the same way.

“You have an UNCLE named BIFF? That’s so awesome.”

Then I repeat the part about him being a movie star, and thus a conversation is born. I say “movie star,” when in fact that is something of a misnomer. He was an actor in both movies and television. His list of credits is amazingly long - I’ve seen but a small percentage of his work listed on IMBD. To hear him talk about it, you’d think it was something he just dabbled in back in the 1950’s. But the Internet Movie Database doesn’t lie: Biff Elliot had a decades-long career as varied as any actor could hope for.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of recording a commentary track with Biff about his first starring role, 1953’s Mike Hammer movie I, the Jury. This movie was important in film history because Biff Elliot was the first Mike Hammer. Beyond “importance,” I, the Jury is a really good film noir that actually uses 3-D in a non-gimmicky way.

At first Biff was skeptical of the endeavor; I think he agreed to do it for me. But as the recording got underway, he was slowly won over by the then 50-year-old film. He got past the flaws any artist sees about his work and was able to appreciate the performances of his co-stars, the direction, and even a bit of his own acting flair. I was particularly moved when he described the decision for his character to shed a few tears at a climactic moment. Back in the 50’s, this was considered blaspheme: a man doesn’t cry. From the perspective of a new millennium, I found the scene played just right. A man who doesn’t cry isn’t tough - he’s a sociopath.

That commentary track - one of the best I’ve heard, and I’m an admitted DVD junkie - sits unused on my computer’s hard drive. It is in turns enlightening, engaging, and damn funny. Biff alternates between background information on the production and personal stories, with a little bit of acting advice sprinkled in for good measure. Biff is a champion talker. I knew going in that he wouldn’t run out of things to say, but I was surprised at the variety and depth of his topics. I had made a list of questions in case things got quiet, but quickly found I wouldn’t need them.

I am enraged I, the Jury has never been released on DVD. When every Rob Schneider movie ever made is available at the nearest Wal-Mart, why can’t a genuinely GOOD movie make it to the market? Mickey Spillane, the author of the Mike Hammer books, most likely didn’t allow the movie to be re-released in his lifetime. He even remade the movie in the 80’s because he was a giant egomaniac. But now Spillane’s ego is long gone, and good riddance. It’s time for Biff Elliot and I, the Jury to be reappraised by the public. That the film is locked away in some collector’s vault, only taken out for special occasions, is heartbreaking.

Biff’s career in television begs further research, but I want to highlight just one role today. You see, Biff was one of the ill-fated “red-shirts” in the original series of Star Trek. For those of you unfamiliar, a red-shirt is a guy who dies before the opening credits in an episode. This is a small but important role: the red-shirt dies, thus setting the plot into action. Without a dead guy, there would be nothing interesting. The whole episode would be Kirk and Spock playing chess.

Following is a summary of the fan-favorite episode Devil in the Dark:

The U.S.S. Enterprise answers a distress call from Janus Six, a mineral-rich planet with a long-established pergium production station and colony. Several miners have been killed and machinery has been damaged by a powerful corrosive. A pump for the pergium reactor is stolen, and Captain Kirk orders Commander Giotto to lead the security troops into the mine to search for the creature responsible.

Schmitter (played with aplomb by Biff) is the first miner we see the rock monster kill. His unfortunate fate gets Kirk and crew excited enough to go exploring on Janus Six. Eventually, Schmitter’s death is attributed to a great misunderstanding between the miners and the rock monster. I won’t give away the ending, but you can bet it is resolved in true Trek fashion: a fight, followed by a bit of inter-species diplomacy.

Hollywood is full of actors unknown in spite of their greatness; Biff Elliot is one. I hope this blog can bring a greater awareness of Biff’s career. And can we get someone to release I, the Jury? I’ve got a commentary track that needs to be heard.

self-serving link round-up

Cartoonists and bloggers (as well as the overlapping "cloggers") make great friends. In the past week or so I've seen an outpouring of news related to Stumptown, all of it good. I should point out that the majority of it is not about me, but the following is a list of links that do mention my name. In collecting them here, I wanted to prove that we cartoonists (and cloggers) are a generous and gorgeous breed.

From pre-Stumptown, this wonderful review of Falling Rock from partner blogger (and clogger) Stabbone and McGraw.

boy blue productions, the superhero alterego of Kenan Rubenstein, has a nice write-up of Stumptown including a mention of yours truly.

Midnight Fiction has a picture show of a few of the creators of Stumptown, including me in my Arnold Is Numero Uno shirt.

Neil Brideau, a guy who claims to have not attended Oberlin but hangs out exclusively with Oberliners, snapped this shot of Stumptown with me blocking a perfectly good view of the carpet.

Joshin Yamada took this picture, possibly the only photographic evidence of me in an Obama shirt. (Just kidding.)

In non-me related news, Stumptown neighbor Dennis P. (or D. Pacheco), creator of Neon Girl, finished drawing and coloring TEN BATMANS. I've only drawn Batman ten times in my whole life. Okay, maybe twenty. But never all at once, all in the same pose.

Thanks to everyone for your write-ups. I love you people.

the shining book cover

This post can now be found on my website.

ummm...beatles remasters

Apple and EMI must have been reading this very blog, because not a month went by between my rant about lack of Beatles remasters and the announcement that there will be Beatles remasters this year. September 9th. Mark your calendars.

And yet...after the initial surge of emotion, I reread the press release. This long-awaited remastering, rumored to be five years in the making, is more about what is lacking than what is included.

Consider this: the Rolling Stones albums came out in brilliant sounding SACD (that's Super Awesome CD, for those of you not in the know). SACD is essentially high-quality audio; for another comparison think Blu-Ray to DVD. Bob Dylan's oeuvre was also given the SACD treatment with one better: some of his albums came out in 5.1 surround sound. A few other old guy bands had similar deluxe treatments: The Doors, The Talking Heads, Dire Straits. Good bands, sure, but not on the same level as the freaking Beatles.

So what do we get for waiting 20 years for the Beatles to finally come around? The original albums, with no bonus tracks or outtakes. If we act quickly, we can get a short documentary on the making of each album, embedded as a Quicktime movie on the CD. Whoop-dee-doo. Will this movie include the ghost of John Lennon telling each of us, personally, how honored he is that we bought the album for the third or fourth time?

We live in a time when bonus features are expected. Especially when all the music's been recorded over 40 years ago, you really ought to offer something fresh.

We also have to buy separate discs if we want the original mono mixes of the albums. I'm told they're great. It would have been nice to easily compare the two, say if they came in the same case. Now I have to decide if it's worth spending twice the money on the same album.

This all reminds me of a scene in Men in Black. Tommy Lee Jones is showing Will Smith all the fantastic gadgets aliens tried to sneak into Earth illegally. Jones picks up a tiny disc. "These will replace the CD someday," he deadpans. "I'll have to buy the White Album all over again." We all will, Mr. Jones.

Am I happy that the Beatles are finally going to sound closer to what they did when they recorded in the studio? Absolutely I am. Am I disgusted that Apple and EMI couldn't see fit to give the fans what they've been asking for, after all these years? Again, absolutely. It's been a conflicting couple of weeks, dear readers. But fear not; I'll pull through just like I always do. On September 10th I might be deaf from listening to music at unacceptable volumes.

Friday Robots

If Friday Robots ever cut an album, this would be the front and back cover design. Jack Johnson would be featured on at least one song. I hope he knows how to play ukulele.

this machine kills faxes

We at Falling Rock National Blog have a deep and abiding love for robots of all kinds. That is no secret. However, this love is not unconditional, nor is it all-inclusive. There are some machines that invoke such hatred in us that we wonder whether a Supreme Creator would be angry at the human race for inventing them.

We are, of course, referring to the despicable fax machine.

Almost instantly outdated, the fax machine is still widely used across the planet. Why is this? How can the so-called civilized nations of the world allow this awful machine to waste our days and ruin our communication? Simply put, before world peace can be achieved fax machines must be dismantled one by one and shot into the heart of the sun.

Fax machines were invented by the Scotsman Alexander Bain in 1843. Here we must pause, because Scotland itself cannot be held responsible for creating a man as vile and detestable as Bain. No, fax machines arose from a fouler place, filled with sulfur smoke and liquid hot magma. While the first fax machine burped up in Scotland, that place is merely the victim in this story, not a willing accomplis.

Over the years fax machines developed from the Morse Code telegraphs to the truly awful contraption we know today. What we know today as the fax really took off in the 1980's, a decade so vile it produced absolutely nothing of cultural or historic value. Bob Dylan never managed to make a good album in that decade (save Oh Mercy, released in the twilight of 1989). Alfred Hitchcock deemed the 80's so repugnant that he died four months into the decade. Salvador Dali couldn't make it through and died in 1989. Possibly the only thing saving the 80's from complete oblivion is Paul Simon's Graceland. So thank you, Paul Simon.

Getting back on track, the fax machine quickly became ubiquitous in the office as a way to transmit data across great distances. Of course, we had a pretty good mail system back then, and in the 90's email became more prevalent. Yet, for some reason, people continued to buy the fax machine.

Using a fax machine, one quickly discovers why it is so bad. Fax transmissions are notoriously dirty. Even the cleanest document comes out riddled with black flecks on the receiving end. Fax machines often fail to send. How many times have you waited patiently for data to send, only for the machine to give you the message reading "Send Failed?" Fax machines are slow. Try sending more than 1 page through a fax and you'll find that mailing or scanning and emailing the document would have saved you time. Fax machines require excessive maintenance. They fail more often than any other office machine, for no reason.

There are many drawbacks to the fax machine and absolutely no benefits, yet people continue to use them in spite of a plethora of superior alternatives. This can only be due to mass brainwashing or sheer stupidity. I can't decide which.

Death to all fax machines.

anyone in Ireland need a calling card?

I didn't use mine up when I was there, so here's the info. Free calls until the minutes run out! Just don't ask me to top you up. I'm not running a charity, here. Plus, that phrase sounds unspeakably filthy.

29.5

On this day, twenty nine and a half years ago, I was born. Also twenty nine and a half years ago, Saturn was in the exact same spot as it is today. Saturn's orbit is 29.5 Earth years. If I was born on Saturn, I would only be a one-year-old.

Does anyone know how to sing "Happy Birthday" in Saturnian?

the cartoonist is [IN]

Stumptown was a blast. I stood, I talked, I sold and traded comics. I can't imagine a better first convention. It was great to meet people who had already heard of Falling Rock and to introduce Falling Rock to some new friends, too. My ego has expanded to galactic proportions. It now contains billions and billions of stars.

My neighbors, Dennis and Robyn, really made the experience for me. I mainly watched Dennis draw Batman over and over again. He's got this trading card project he's working on for DC Comics. (He draws sketches of superheroes and they put them (the originals) into a deck of cards. Sounds pretty cool.) My "help" consisted of making suggestions on how to draw Batman better. Draw him with a tail. Draw him sniffing cantaloupe at the supermarket. Draw him biting the head off a real bat at an Ozzy Osbourne concert. Dennis sighed and continued to draw Batman for the tenth or eleventh time.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention my across-the-hall neighbors Neil Brideau and Kenan Rubenstein. Definitely check out their work, accessible through the handy links provided. I would like to mention everybody by name, but this picture will have to do. If you want to know more about any of these books, leave a comment.
Between stints bothering my neighbors, I bothered my old college drinking buddy Alec. We used to brew up moonshine in our fraternity's basement and then go cow tipping until the sun came up. This weekend was more about comics, but I did see Alec secretly tipping back a flask every now and again. It's just like Picasso said: if you're not drunk, it isn't art.

There was so much talent in the Doubletree Exhibition Hall it would be impossible to describe it, let alone name all the names. Cartooning superstars Jeff Smith, Keith Knight, and Craig Thompson were there, mingling with us lesser known comic artists. It was a real positive weekend.

The good vibes will undoubtedly last me a long time. I hope to do more conventions; this was a highlight of my cartooning experience. We draw alone, we write alone, and there are many days when I wish for more interaction with those brave souls who read my comics. I can't say I'm a great salesman, but it was great to see so many people.

Thanks to the coordinators and volunteers of Stumptown 2009. I hope we can do this again next year. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

Stumptown Love Fest for Comics

You've been hearing about this Stumptown Comics Fest thingy from me, and now it's here. I will be there selling my comics to the lowest bidder. Stop by, say hello, or just walk past my table and give me a weird look.

10AM-6PM Saturday and Sunday, Lloyd Center Doubletree Hotel Exhibit Hall
Nearest MAX stop Lloyd Center

And if my presence wasn't enough incentive for you, Jeff Smith is gonna be there! I'm so excited I can hardly breathe.

Friday Robots: The Paintings

Third in a series of three Friday Robots paintings I finished recently. This one may be my favorite.

scenes of an irish jew

Back from Ireland yesterday. Just as wonderful as I imagined, only with better weather. Later today I'll post Friday Robots as well as a very special post about Stumptown!

Searching for The Shining

This post can now be seen on my website.

Friday Robots: The Paintings

Second in a series of three Friday Robots paintings I finished recently.

who is bigger than The Beatles?

In 1966 John Lennon did a magazine interview in which he said that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. He was kind of lamenting the fact that religion had become as much a commodity as rock music, and that as a result a pop group could be more well-known than a nearly 2,000 year old belief system. The point is, he wasn't exactly happy about it, and so it was therefore a shock when kids began burning Beatles albums in protest.

Times have changed, and the Beatles are no longer as big as they once were. Who is bigger than the Beatles (and therefore Jesus) today?

• The Spice Girls
• SpongeBob SquarePants
  
• Jesus (pronounced hey-seuss), my neighbor
  
• Malia Obama
  
• The next American Idol
  
• [TIE] Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana
  
• The Three Members of The Doors Who Aren't Jim Morrison
• The guy who wrote "Happy Birthday"
• Pete Best
• The Sneezing Panda
  
• Miss South Carolina 2007
• The ipod Nano

off to ireland

This was me the last time I was in Ireland. 9 years have passed since I visited the land of ire. What has changed in the intervening years? Maybe those rolling hills have been paved with Wal-Marts and McMansions. Nah, I doubt it. This isn't America we're talking about. It's Ireland!

Apologies in advance if you order a book and don't receive it right away. I'll be back and fulfilling orders just as soon as you can say "Nil moran Gaeilge agam."

Be well, dear readers. And fear not! I've lined up a few good posts to tide you over in the time that I'll be gone. It will feel like I haven't even left the computer.

Oregon's Greatest Newspaperman

In 1853, Portland, Oregon was a one-newspaper town. The weekly paper, the Oregonian, was nothing more than a collection of stories of the End of Times, gruesome logging accidents, and poorly drawn sketches that passed as comics. A young upstart by the name of Henry Pittock bought the paper for $12 and the promise to never, ever drop Mary Worth from its pages.

Henry increased circulation by printing lies, innuendo, and scandal. He tried to change up the comics pages, but reader outcry forced him to keep every strip that originally appeared in the paper. That is why today, after over 150 years, the Katzenjammer Kids can be found causing shenanigans next to Doonesbury.

With funds rushing in from his newspaper, as well as an above-average take from his sheep ranching operation, Henry began planning his masterpiece. It was to be the grandest house west of St. Louis. It would overlook the Willamette River, Portland’s early industrial center, and the grassland that would later become Gresham. Henry would also have a commanding view of Mount Hood, Oregon’s highest peak. Finally, Henry would install a giant telescope with which he could spy on every Portlander at his whim. He would collect this information to put into future editions of the Oregonian.
Pittock Mansion was built on Portland’s West Hills and stands even today as a symbol of the dominance of the American Newspaper. It is said that Henry, forward thinking man that he was, picked the spot for the mansion so that it would block TV reception for all of Portland.
Built on an ancient Indian burial ground, the Pittock Mansion took five years to complete. It started as a sketch on one of Henry’s many, many cocktail napkins and soon thousands of coolie laborers were hauling granite up the hill to begin construction. Over 400 of these nameless workers died during construction, a troubling fact that caused Henry to increase advertising in his newspaper to procure more cheap laborers.

At 16,000 square feet, the Pittock Mansion could easily have housed all of Portland’s orphans, but Henry had better plans.

There, among the clouds, Henry lived
with his wifeand their cat
and literally dozens of Pittock children and grandchildren [not pictured].

It was in his mansion that Henry Pittock, the man who brought the printed word to so many barely-literate Portlanders, breathed his last breath. It is said that among the countless curses to his enemies, Henry’s dying words were to his dear readers: “Please, whatever new news-carrying contraption that comes along in the future, do not forget your local paper. And for the love of God, give young cartoonists a shot.” Only time will tell if his last wishes are to be followed out.

Henry’s body, in accordance with his will, was taken into his backyard that looked out over all of Portland. There he was thrown into a giant bonfire fueled by a local rival newspaper, the Portland New York Times (its name was later shortened when it’s offices were moved to the East Coast). The ashes of Henry Pittock rained down on Portland that day, ashes that soon turned to mud because it was raining that day anyway. Though his physical presence is gone, we will never forget Oregon’s Greatest Newspaperman, Henry Nixon Pittock.

Falling Rock Book 3 on the Web

News of the third collection of Falling Rock strips is making its way across the web.

First up, the good people at Pinball Press have written up Book 3 on their blog. I happily recommend Pinball for all your printing needs, especially if you want to be just like me in everything you do. Who doesn't?

Second, the good people at Powell's City of Books now have a link to purchase Book 3 without ever having to go inside their store. This is not a drill, people. We're through the looking glass.

It's not just a bumper sticker: reading IS sexy. Pick up your copy of Book 3 today.

Friday Robots: The Paintings

First in a series of three Friday Robots paintings I finished recently. Hope you like!

April Fools

April 1st means I get to have some fun with Falling Rock. Today's strip combines my love of comics with my love for Easter Island heads. You can also see this strip in my BRAND NEW BOOK, which I believe I've mentioned a couple of times already.