“Strummer, obviously driven to make up to this audience the loss of energy by the last two nights’ crowds, is an angry live wire whipping around the middle of the front stage, divesting himself of guitar to fall on one knee in no Elvis parody but pure outside-of-self frenzy, snarling through his shattered dental bombsite with face screwed up in all the rage you’d ever need to convince you of the Clash’s authenticity, a desperation uncontrived, unstaged, a fury unleashed on the stage and writhing in upon itself in real pain that connects with the nerves of the audience like summer thunderbolts, and at this time pogoing reveals itself as such a pitifully insufficient response to a man by all appearances trapped and screaming, and it’s not your class system, it’s not Britain-on-the-wane, it’s not even glandular fever, it’s the cage of life itself and the anguish to break through which sometimes translates as flash or something equally pretty but in any case is rock n roll’s burning marrow.”
I went to Comic Con and all I got was this lousy sense of ennui and a sneak preview of ‘Penguins of Madagascar’
For my first Comic-Con, I decide to jump in with both feet. At 3:30AM on Thursday morning, I wake up and get in line for Comic-Con’s biggest venue, Hall H. The lineup for the day is a mix of things that no one could possibly care about (clips from Penguins of Madagascar) and things that will probably be cool (a mystery presentation by Paramount Pictures). Surely something interesting will happen inside. But first I have to get in.
If all goes according to plan, this will be the last thing I ever write about Comic-Con.