Pop Goes The Brilliance

Another genius idea shot down in its prime. We pitched this as a merchandising extension for the Penguins of Madagascar product line. But alas it was deemed inappropriate and was rejected. So it lives here now.

Remember when eating crayons was enough? Well, now you can drink them. Perhaps the paraffin that sticks to your teeth when you chew on solid crayons can be diluted, washed away and ingested with each fruity-flavored can of "all natural" Crayons drink. Select the proper color -- you wouldn't want to clash against the color of crayon that you've been gnawing on -- then knock one back and feel the color coat your throat. Once the chewed crayons and drink are in you, your stomach acids will go to work, mixing and churning the colors into a kaleidoscope of swirly bright belly juice. When it's time to evacuate your bodily waste, you'll want to open up your favorite coloring book and begin your own Picasso masterpiss -- uh, piece. Be sure to let it all loose and by all means, stay inside the lines. Cheers!

Spanking King Julien

The Penguins of Madagascar toys are coming to a toy store near you. Be on the look out for Flightless Figures (except of for the pictured Spanking King Julien), playsets and plenty of plush.

The show keeps getting better -- but the toys were great from the beginning! Because of the economy, buyers have been hesitant to take on too many new items, so the roll out on this line is slow, but steady. Try TRU and Target!

The entire line debuted at the October Toy Show in Dallas, Texas in 2008 -- well before the show had established itself. Since then, we've tweaked it accordingly and the stuff looks fantastic! Excellent follow through from Hooga Loo!

Jeff is Orson Welles

So we thought we had a fun and somewhat final cut on our hands. We posted the Quicktime movie and waited. After a few minutes, the phone rang. "Yeah, it's... uh... very good. I like it." It was the voice of Jeff. I sensed there was a proverbial "But" coming. "But," he said -- ah ha! I knew it! "I think I can make it better. You mentioned that any tweaks could be done easily enough, as long as I don't get all Orson Welles on you. Well, you're not gonna like this. But I AM very Orson Welles-like."

We buttoned-up the MacBook Pro, brought along that fun mocha-colored portable drive, and headed over to Jeff's. After we got all set-up, he sat down next to us with a glass of red wine in his hand. "Okay, let's get down to work now." My God, was that really poured from a bottle of Paul Masson?

Damn if five hours didn't pass. We made all the changes he asked for -- and the piece was shaping up just like Orson wanted it. It was his piece, after all. He loved it. Absolutely loved it. We enjoyed the whole process simply because the man was unabashed at wearing a dress and red wig.

We were pleased that we had made him happy. And he promised that everyone at the National Cartoonists Society would be rolling on the floor in hysterics. Well, that was good enough for me. Mission accomplished. And we didn't even have to land on a carrier.

As we packed things up, Jeff disappeared for a moment, then returned from his studio. He was dressed all in black. "Sit down," he demanded. "Sit down and shut your mouths. I'm going to perform magic."

We were incredulous. Jeff had taken this Orson Welles thing way too far. "Hold this, Merv," he said. "Now behold as I wrap this rope around the cage."

My mind was reeling. I thought back to the funnies... Sunday morning's in Ohio... page two. The classic one panel page. I saw the familiar circle of art: Mom was in the middle of the kitchen. The sink was brimming with dirty dishes; the trash can was knocked over; the dog was begging for food; the baby was crying in his high chair; and the washing machine was rattling away as the other two kids ran in. I still recall the caption: "Mrs. Hagan's hobby is oil painting and Mrs. Ditzen's is golf! What's yours, Mommy?"

I sat back and enjoyed the rest of the magic show. You just can't question genius.

Amazing Time Travel Experience!

Folks, it feels like about 20 seconds and yet, somehow, a lifetime. Since our precious blog entry on September 20, 2007 -- what is now well over a year and nearly three months -- so much has changed.

Who would have guessed that a client would have called us on September 21, 2007 and told us to take the next flight to Switzerland to pursue a project that would change the very shape and course of not only our business, but our very lives -- and the lives of those who care to follow us.

And so it was that Little Dog and Big Dog put down their laptops, slipped their iPhones into their pockets and entered the security maze at LAX, that very evening. Red eyeing to Switzerland -- just like we were told -- as soon as possible.

This blog entry could take up more than a terabyte of space if we were to chronicle all the details.

What's important is that we looked at each other in disbelief when we disembarked the aircraft. Waiting for us at the gate was none other that Igor Volovich and Irina Aref'eva, our dear phenomenologists friends. And who dared to challenge their bold assertion did not notice they were more than qualified to make such claims. But let's not get bogged down in the blogosphere about endorsements. Let us focus on the exciting news!

The CERN's Large Hadron Collider has been tested, ladies and gentlemen! We were the guinea pigs, though you will not hear about this beyond this posting for reasons of international security. For now, Little Dog and I chortle at those who declare us mad -- who say we are hoaxsters. Okay, we're putting on a rouse. There. We said it. We did not go time traveling. Despite our compelling evidence we have in our possession.

For the record, we did not enter a traversable wormhole. We did not spend over one year of our lives traveling at will into the future and the future of the future. That never happened. Clearly, how could we have initiated time travel before time travel was possible? The fact that this news is just now becoming mainstreamed on the internet means absolutely nothing.

By the way, the winning lottery numbers for December 8th, Evening Daily 3 Draw in California, are 1, 3 and 5. Don't be a fool and check it out. If those ARE the right numbers (and they are) that isn't proof of anything, except that we're good guessers, right?

The facts are, PANGEA is now PANGAEA. And if you want to know what to do, you need only ask.

Lead in Toys

When I was growing up, there was lead in the paint on the walls which surrounded me in my house and in school. For jollies, we shot bent paperclips into the acoustic tile and practically ate the asbestos which fell from the ceiling. After school, us boys would ride our bikes home and run out onto the freeway construction zone and play among all the backhoes and heavy machines. It was great. It was paradise. When we got tired of playing in the dirty work area, we'd go back and play with our Major Matt Mason figures. We relished in the way things worked, so we would bend the limbs back and forth rapidly to get them to snap-off, exposing a hard and lethal wire frame -- a metal armature running through the Major kept him heroically stiff and action pliable. With good hard play, the Major would lose his paint detailing. Where that lead paint went I never knew. I know I did not put the Major in my mouth. Even then, I knew that was gay. And as far as I knew then, I wasn't gay, though I had gay friends. Look, it was Catholic school, where many boys discover such things. I liked girls -- and I was pretty sure that putting Major Matt Mason in my mouth would not lure girls my way. Truthfully, I probably tasted some lead toys at a much earlier age and decided it wasn't very smart to do so. Perhaps I lost a brain cell or two. But somehow, I knew that Communion wafers were okay and that lead painted toys were not okay. Why can't kids learn that today? Where have we failed? We have raised boys who are afraid to play on the freeway as it's being built. As I think back on when this trend started, it was shortly after society started acknowledging and condemning promiscuous behavior at the same time. Kids today are mixed up: they don't know if they are coming or going. They are taught to say no to drugs, but then see their parents or teachers indulging in them. I suggest we simply let our kids explore the wilderness of youth -- it teaches them all kinds of subtle stuff and weeds the herd along the way. I remember being taught "caveat emptor" at an early age. Heck, I remember being able to buy caustic chemicals for my chemistry set at the local drugstore -- by myself! Now as an adult I can't even buy an antihistamine without having to go to the counter to ask the pharmacist, show my driver's license and leave a thumbprint. I say, let the lead toys in. China needs to reduce their cost of goods to give our market a fair price. If that means a few lead toys make it into the playroom, so what? What's a little lead in our diet? Honestly. Some folk act like eating lead will make you gay. As I said, I have friends who are gay -- and lead in their toys had nothing to do with it. Next thing you know they'll be regulating plastics because it makes girls more fertile. Incidentally, that much is true. I left an Arrowhead bottle on my wife's nightstand and five weeks later she was pregnant.

You Can't Kill the Boogie Man or Rob Zombie

The latest atrocity in cinema is the announcement from rock star cum filmmaker, Rob Zombie, that he has secured financing from Miramax Films (once famous for producing quality indie films) to write and direct an all-new "Halloween" bloodfest feature. The allure this time out is that the movie will not be a sequel or prequel or remake of the original franchise of films. Instead, this flick will feature a whole new interpretation of the anti-hero Michael Myers, as imagined through the brainwaves of Rob Zombie himself. Ooo-ah!Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this development is that Rob Zombie noted that notorious killer, Michael Myers, over the years of sequels and licensing, stopped being a frightening figure in cinema because of saturation of the visage of the murderer. Evidently, once a Halloween mask was marketed to kids, allowing casual trick-or-treaters the opporuntity to pretend to be Michael Myers, the fear of him dissipated. Says Zombie: "...over the years, Michael Myers has become a friendly Halloween mask. When it came to the point where you could buy a Michael Myers doll that was cute-looking and press its stomach and play the 'Halloween' theme, you knew the scare factor was gone." Touché!

William Shatner or Michael Myers?!

The logic follows that the original "R" rated film suddenly became acceptable for children, since the masks were being worn by kiddies and the dolls diminished the menace of the murdering

Myers. Call me old-fashioned, but the original film, though lovingly stylish and lacking in the type of blood flood depicted in more recent horror movies (like Zombie's "House of 1,000 Corpses"), is still a scary movie; indeed, it suggests violence kids should not be exposed to until their teen angst years. Why? Because I believe in preserving the innocence of a young mind, until it develops through the unfortunate and inevitable stimuli of life itself (like hearing about the Holocaust via history books or Mafia murders through a report on the "Today Show" -- curse you Katie Couric!)

You know, for kids!

Now, as far as mass exposure of masks eliminating our cultural fears... maybe there's a point here after all. Let's see: the same fear loss occured when Richard Nixon became a popular Halloween mask. Oh, and the unnatural fear I had of Pokémon was quieted several years back when ten kids appeared at my door, all donning the famous yellow mask of Pikachu. So maybe Zombie is onto something. But the, dare I say, very subtlety of John Carpenter's "Halloween" is why that film survives and has remained a cult classic. It insinuates and rarely over indulges in the excesses of the genre -- like graphic depictions of decapitations and severed limbs. Sure, there are penetrations of sharp things, gouging of eyes with hangers, shocking impalements and the like, but they are done, shall we say, lovingly... in tribute to the masters of the genre, like Hitchcock. It's often the scenes where an implication of violence occurs that remain the most terrifying. The mind has its way of filling in the horror.

We do not have to wonder if Zombie's version will allow the mind to explore its own fears and horrors. There will be no question -- when a victim gets killed by Michael Myers, it will be complete, resolute and flowing in blood. The dripping excesses of Zombie's filmmaking are mean-spirited, compared to the expressionistic manners of directors like Sam Peckinpah. Or the implied horror resident in Hitchcock films. Is there a place for Zombie's "Halloween" in today's world? Sure, the fringe underground. Thank you, Miramax, for raising the fringe underground, like a Zombie, to the surface and delivering bloodstains on over 1,000 screens nationwide.

Lil Kim's Incarceration

Remember when she was cuffed? That spunky poster punk of nearly nude hip hop kulture? Lil Kim learned -- or is learning -- the hard way that perjury and conspiracy are really illegal -- and it's all been documented in a reality show of her final days of freedom, "Lil Kim Goes to the Big House." Not that going to jail is a fun thang, but having a show made of your life right before you saunter into the slammer -- that's gotta be good for ratings, right? -- and then timed with the release of your new album... hmm... makes ya wonder if Lil Kim went to marketing school and studied Perjury 101 and Introduction to Conspiracy. Remember when going to prison was punishment?

For those of you wondering how she's doing -- or those anxious who can't wait for the reality show to air, here are a few words excerpted from Lil Kim's blog: "I want all my friends, family and fans to know that I am in good spirits and I will be fine. Contrary to the rumors, I am in general population at FDC and I have adjusted to the facility and to my fellow inmates who are all cool people. Each day, I read, sharpen my focus and grow. Of course, I wish I could be out to celebrate the release of my new album this week, The Naked Truth but instead, I am looking to take advantage of this time to work on my personal development. Thank you to all for your continued support."

And according to her attorney, L. Londell McMillan, she's done just that -- focused on her personal development. Barrister McMillan had this to say: "I was amazed at just how good Kim looked on my two visits to see her in prison last week. Even in a jumpsuit, Kim still has the style and swagger of a star. Kim respects her inmates and they respect her. She will turn this experience into a positive reality for herself as well as her fans and community. She is evolving into a remarkable person of faith and courage."

But thank God, she still knows how to lie. And she dares to take on rapper 50 Cent. For that alone, she should be championed for her courage. One must celebrate her spunky, silicone shape. Towering in well under 5 foot tall (her bro says she's 4' 9"), Kim is a figure larger than life itself. She's shown how to be in control and take charge, even behind bars (which coincidentally are the same letters used to spell 'bras'). Legions of fans must be proud -- must be figuring out a way themselves to use deception for a better glory.

Check in for more Courage and Faith updates by visiting Lil Kim's blog.

Resurrection and Racing

Lent has gripped us again, with its urgency for sacrifice in the form of meatless Fridays and an abstinence of your choosing. Sacrifice. It is a powerful word that perhaps defines the very essence and meaning of the glory of Easter. Even if you are not Christian, you can follow the pure simplicty of God sending His only Son to die for our sins -- to redeem us through His own death and Resurrection.

But how did we get from the Resurrection of the Lord to chocolate NASCARS?

Us PANGEALS get out often and we frequent the seasonal aisles at drugstores for jollies. It has been said that a man can learn a life's worth of knowledge by monitoring the seasonal aisles of drugstores. They are the closest thing to Heaven on Earth, because the merchandise is focused and intense. If it's a theme you want, then this is your best destination. The Easter theme has recently been pushed to its most extreme. Historically during Easter, for decades, we have all seen the Easter aisle grow from simple candy eggs to the now legendary marshmallow Peeps -- and beyond. Paas anyone? Wax crayons? Wind-up bunny toys. Yeah, it's all been done and it's all there.

But when we all went off to live our lives beyond Lent, whilst we were all throwing Frisbees and preparing pumpkin pie and wrapping Christmas gifts, a marketeer slyly slipped in one of the most incongruous Easter items of all time -- the chocalate NASCAR. And it's not just one, but teams of chocolate NASCARS, in assorted scales and fillings. Really, what delight does a child of Easter have in rooting through his basket to discover Jeff Gordon's car is filled with nuggat? For a high octane Easter racing experience, perhaps a cherry cordial center should be added, in lieu of the transmission. Now, we've seen little cute carrot cars driven by bunnies -- they kind of make sense. But, a chocolate stock car wrapped in foil? What can that possibly mean? "It's the end of the world."
It's a simple question for a very simple season: how did we get from the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus to chocolaty delight under the hood? Wasn't the Easter Bunny a stretch enough -- albeit a logical leap? Surely with the advent of NASCAR chocolate cars at Easter, we are witnessing the checkered flag End Times.

"Now entering the track from the pits, replacing driver Tony Stewart, in Car 666, Peter Cottontail!"

Next year, we're thinking a crucifix car launcher could be a big item with kids -- you know, so your chocolate NASCAR can make a lap before being consumed. For the real collector, the Jesus Eastertime Pit Crew Set is a must have. Your marshmallow tires can be changed by the Lord Himself. And the dark chocolate windshield? That gets cleaned by the Holy Ghost, of course, who Himself is made of a fluffy marzipan. But can you really trust Judas to change those velvety tires?

All of this new product must come with the obligatory warning on the package: Be careful you don't eat too much, because in three days, it will rise again. Amen.

Spamalot on Ice

It's 10 degrees in New York and still the hottest ticket in town is Spamalot, the Monty Python, Eric Idle musical shenanigan. We just trudged across the snow-covered, black-iced streets to check the box office and were offered seats for this evening's performance at a mere $310 a pop -- gosh, that's only three times the regular price. Which raises the question: is Monty Python -- nay, is Eric Idle funny if you've paid $620 for a pair of tickets? Add to that that the Booth Theatre is so small that if John Wilkes jumped from this balcony he would not have sprained his ankle.

So we passed on the "opportunity." Two nights later, thousands of miles from wife and family, we tried again -- on Valentine's Day. Sure enough, there had been a few spats earlier in the day -- and a couple of tickets were now available at a much more reasonable, laughable price. We snatched them up and proceeded to our seats. Should this show be a hot ticket? Of course -- and if you see the show, that gives you an idea of how healthy the musical comedy is in the 21st century. My only two complaints: in the first Act, the princess plays her role almost straight and doesn't dip too deeply into the campy style of acting -- and her part works beautifully and hysterically.

Act II, unfortunately, has her show up way over the top, as if to say, "if you didn't know I was here schticking it up earlier, well, I'm here now and I AM really schticking it up." The other complaint will be easily dismissed as time passes: one of the Knights Who Say Nee makes an aside, alluding to our Vice President's hunting skills. I have no issue with poking fun of the VP peppering buckshot in the face of an old man; what bothered me is that the joke is not placed anywhere in particular, does not come from any action or inaction in the performance. It's just delivered, like a bad stand-up comic would throw out material on the Joey Bishop Show.

Otherwise, the show was a hoot and worth a number of howls.

Miles to Go Before Toy Fair Sleeps

One can only imagine that the woods are lovely, dark and deep. In Central Park, the woods are covered with a record snowfall of 26.9 inches. In the City, cars are bulldozed into a state of frozen impermanence as plows pile and carve the blizzardy storm blast into the curbs, making it more treacherous for pedestrians to walk than motorists to drive. The New Yorker spirit thrives with passersby willing to push a taxi that in normal weather would otherwise run them over.

So what did this mean for Toy Fair? The spirit of Toy Fair Past pushed many into the Javits Center and fewer into the Toy Center, where a few diehard companies maintained their showrooms. The sentiments were varied, but our unscientific poll had Toy Fair next year in Vegas. It wasn't so much the snow storm that compelled many folks to think about the February Toy Fair closing down in New York. Indeed, the snow was but a metaphor -- imagine a soft white blanket being placed upon a corpse -- the corpse is the show itself. There's no hope that the blanket of snow will revive the dead show; but there is a quiet resolve that the snow was the final cap on what was inevitable. The snow blew into town faster than most people could set up their booths. And its firm but temporary paralysis gave one just enough time to pause. Buses kept running, but few rode them.

That a lack of energy was missing from what will hopefully be the final February show in New York is an understatement. Even at the Javits, one could feel a certain sense of being dupped for the last time. With the bigger toy companies having their own private shows with the major toy buyers and the mid-sized toycos being further compressed by the market, it makes sense for the industry to accept the inevitable and change -- otherwise, there's no reason for the trade show OR the industry association to exist. Spinning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot see the falconer. Javits or Toy Center or one of the buildings near Toy Center or some midtown hotel or -- how about this: Vegas! You know, what happens there, stays there.

Dump the October Pre-Show -- where will it be held -- Church Street? That's not a likely destination for companies that manufacture fun. How about -- oh, I don't know -- Vegas?! In order to make the show make sense -- it needs a bigger reason to exist -- like it's a preview of what's to come in Hong Kong, so hold the show in November. Or it's a follow-up to Hong Kong, so hold the show in May.

With a new faction and fraction of the industry now doing its own independent hunt for a building, presumably still in New York, it's clear that the industry needs to get smart leadership and wrangle together what's left of the small to medium-sized companies and make a run for it. Where's the glue holding this industry together? Stop sniffing and start mending. This was a convention of convulsions. For those who attended Toy Fair, you could see the light at the end of the tunnel, as the paddles of life were drawn away one last time. The death knell sounded several years ago for the February Toy Fair -- the year companies stopped doing giveaways. Indeed, what's a trade fair without tchotchkes?

Jihad Comics

In case you haven't seen the 12 "offending" comics that are turning Europe upside-down, read this.

Here's the story that explains the start of it all, months ago.

I think it's important to show support to both our Danish friends and our Muslim allies. Overall censorship is intolerable and not evidence of a free thinking society. Without free thinking, we wouldn't have Ikea or Swedish pornography. Jutland, as we know it, would not exist! Yet freedom of speech does not mean you can trounce on the sacred and get away with it. You put down my prophet and I'll burn your flag. You make me laugh at my prophet and I'll salute your flag. Really, it's all about whether the comics are funny. Why risk offending someone's religion unless you make them laugh? It's not about offending them for the sake of offending them. Aren't we all in it for the yucks? Of course we are. So the lesson to learn is: if there are no comedy clubs in the country, then lay low on the comics in the newspapers. Comedy, by its very nature is subversive. And if you don't "get it," if you don't laugh at it, then it's not subversive -- it's OFFENSIVE! Nobody likes bad attempts at humor. Nobody. It's offensive.Now, with that in mind, here's my list of comics we should target in the U.S. to have a jihad against:

• Beetle Bailey
• Marmaduke
• Apartment 3G
• GarfieldSure, there are plenty others, but we must establish a value system to the ones that have caused the most pain and have been the most disruptive to our society and popular culture. Once we get these comics taken care of, then we can set the rest of our priorities. I'm thinking ahead here, but maybe fifth on the list would be all editorial cartoons in the New Yorker.

I chose Beetle first and foremost because of its blatant mockery of military authority and the fact that it has not made me laugh once in its decades of being in print. I don't have anything against Beetle himself -- it's really the one-toothed Sarge who bothers me the most. Look, Sarge, if it's so easy to drive a jeep, why don't you drive it yourself?! Perhaps it's his weight, his arrogance, his overbearing presence in the midst of the ever-so slight Beetle -- I'm not sure. But I am sure that jihad against this comic is clearly warranted.

Marmaduke -- can anyone argue the point to NOT have jihad against this comic? Careful, Clifford, the Big Red Dog isn't too far behind, wagging his tail and sniffing Marmaduke's butt. Just to put it all in perspective -- Marmaduke is the kind of dog that would hump Muhammad's leg. So, ai-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi! to Marmaduke.

Apartment 3G -- what the hell is going on? I always thought comics were supposed to be funny. Isn't that why they're called the Funnies? What's funny about some whiskered bloke visiting one of the girls and offering a toast for the New Year? I mean, really. Who honestly follows these psychiatric-driven soap opera comics? By the way, down the hall from Apartment 3G is Rex Morgan, MD., who also almost made the jihad comics list. One more case of herpes and he would have. I forgive Rex Morgan, MD somewhat, because of bizarre contemporary comics like this one, where he only appears in the title panel, swilling down a therapeutic brewski. I'm sorry, but the panel about a bomb going off in the guy's face and the bartender's reation is funny to me. Make me laugh, no jihad. It's that simple.

Garfield -- were it not for the feature film, I would probably have allowed the lazy cat

alone. The only thing endearing about Garfield was when he was voiced by Carlton the doorman. But the film -- the DVD -- the merchandise. Much damage has been done to society by this cat. So enough is enough. Garfield! Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!In the meantime, make mine Andy Capp. And wake me when the paper comes in so I can see what Zippy and Pogo are up to these days.

The Electric Lie

‘Tis the season to be swindled once again by the promise of baby smooth cheeks without the risk of razors. Three pivoting "heads," comforting cream and no irritation is the false prophet's promise blasted on high over the Christmas cavalcade of commercials. Every year more and more unsuspecting chin-scraping fools fall for the Happy Norelco pitch. And every year, more and more stubble free dreams are dashed like puppies at the quarry. We’ve all been there, we have all given the electric razor a try and we have them all jammed in bathroom cabinets, where they collect dust atop the tad bit of beard dust they excavated one week after Christmas. Indeed, in less than a year, a perfectly respectable gift gets swallowed by the mighty mouth of the bathroom sink cupboard. There must be hundreds of them down under there already. And yet every Christmas we are once again drawn by the siren’s silky smooth call of the electric lie -– but be warned and heed the wisdom of wily whiskers; resist these Satanic stubble sirens! Or you shall surely suffer the clattering clutter that these so-called cutters leave in their whisker whacking wake.

The Ninnies of Narnia

So we went under special invitation to the Writers Guild screening of Disney's long-awaited and breathlessly ambitious production of "Chronicles of Narnia: TLTW&TW." Present following the screening was the film's composer, Harry Gregson-Williams, whose previous scores for Shrek, Shrek 2 and Shrek 3-D made him the most unlikely candidate for "The Chronicles of Narnia."

It was a pleasure to hear his accent though (refined to a new height of snobbish aristocracy), and his brief references to his mentor Hans Zimmer is, of course, as ironic as it gets, given neither had formal training to compose film scores in the grand tradition of Max Steiner, Erich Wolfgang Korngold, Jerry Goldsmith, Elmer Bernstein, Miklos Rosza, John Williams - well, just about anyone pre-James Horner who writes film music. Even sans formal training for scoring films, Harry still gets to proclaim in outbursts that are as subtle as master film composer Bernard Herrmann, who told Alfred Hitchcock through the grapevine that the orchestra comes from the same place as the lights, the sets and the director when Hitchcock asked why there should be musical passages in "The Lifeboat," which takes place in the middle of the open sea on a lifeboat. "Where would the music come from?" Hitchcock allegedly said. What? Was Hitch suggesting that music would be an aural intrusion to the sounds of the waves? Gregson-Williams said something similar in concept about dropping out music during the big battle sequence in Narnia. It was more powerful to hear the clanging of swords than some little leitmotif that could speak from an inner sensibility (but how could it, since no such themes were established earlier in the picture?).

Now for those who hear electronica in the Narnia score, Mr. Gregson-Williams declares, "There can be any kind of instrument you can imagine in Narnia -- including electronic violins!" Touché! Having Hans Zimmer as a film composing mentor is like having Tony Danza as your talk show host mentor. Ever since Brian Eno declared he knew very little about music and composing, but proceeded to mentor through the likes of David Bowie, U2 and notable others, it's become rather cool and vogue to tout you know not what you do -- isn't it grand and wild? And people keep hiring me! Ah-ha! So, it was only fitting that a flock of PANGEALS made their way into the screening, if for no other reason than to expose this trend. As for the score itself -- it's no "Metal Gear 3." But then, what is?

Phalangeal Fun

Driven to boredom one Sunday afternoon we here at PANGEA decided to give the world The Finger. It was a lark that lashed back with such furious vengeance that we were, to say the least, shocked. We wished no ill will; merely we were attempting an experiment to create a new character through the magic of digital video – a character who could stand alone, in vulgar defiance of the status quo – a character simply called, “The Finger.”

The Finger

PANGEA Flush with Pride

Stan Lee, a man of unquestionable talent and explosive creativity, called us for a favor -- how could we refuse? Mr. Lee needed to squeeze out a short video for C.R.A.P. (Constipated Retired American People). Taking our cue from the man who heaved-up the gigantic character of Bruce Banner we produced the following PSA. (With special thanks to Ang Lee, fellow sufferer and avid anal ailment advocate.)

Got?

Zorro Sets Silver Screen Afire!

On October 16, 2005, the Pangeals were honored to attend the big downtown Los Angeles/Hollywood premiere of "The Legend of Zorro." We got choice seats along the red carpet, right in front of the propane-fueled blazing "Z" (witness this shot of the two stars, Zeta-Jones and Banderas).

We couldn't help but notice the fire got hotter and hotter and blazed all the more as Catherine and Antonio approached. As we sat and watched the film, we applauded at every use of a cart and barrel, gunpowder and any swashbuckling hijinx, as this was the cornerstone of the toy line we developed in concert with Zorro Productions and Giochi Preziosi.

Though our favorite villain we created, Senor Muerte,

didn't make the final cut in the film, we were overwhelmed by the performance of Adrian Alonso, the son of Zorro and Elena. Complimenting the action every step of the way was a fantastic score by James Horner, the heir apparent to the recently deceased Jerry Goldsmith. The party afterwards was equally breathtaking. Our thanks to our psychophysiologist friend and film producer, John Gertz, for inviting us and showing us a grand time. And good luck to director Martin Campbell on his next picture, a remake of the Peter Sellers classic James Bond film, "Casino Royale."

No More Picking On Dim

PANGEA has often leapt from the precipice of public perception without regard to the onslaught of lawsuits. It was in just such a state that we foolhardily produced this trailer for “A.1.” It flagrantly flaunts itself as a loving tribute to the brilliance that was Stanley Kubrick, a brilliance so aptly imitated by Mr. Spielberg in the film “A.I.” So with blatant disregard to the cease and desist order signed by Superior Court Judge Karen Nudell we present “A.1.”

A.1 Trailer

No Child Left Behind

It has been a long held belief here at PANGEA that education is the key. A magical key with unearthly powers held just out of reach by the mind-sucking aliens who control our precious educational institutions. We here at PANGEA have begun the revolution to take back the minds of our moronically educated public school kids with our own primer. A primer tuned to provide the youth of today with the alien killing tools of tomorrow. It’s our hope, nay – our destiny, to provide every school going child who can afford $29.95 this PANGEA primer entitled Prim & Proper. Read it and weep alien overlords!

Prim & Proper

A Flight of Fancy

Back in the days when “One-eyed Willie” referred to only one man, the great and often overlooked documentarian Boris Baktov began his most ambitious work ever on the elusive Wiley Post. Though left uncompleted when Boris was forced to flee the country under pressure of prosecution (word had traveled from Purcell, Oklahoma to the state capitol that Baktov was a Russian spy and was teaching art history at the University of Oklahoma), we have recently recovered some film previously thought destroyed. It is incriminating evidence for a man on the run, but also a tribute to a man who felt the American spirit like it was a seething, beating thing which could be surgically removed. Here now for the first time we present the lost footage of Boris Baktov's masterpiece in the making, "Wiley Post."

Wiley Post