Imperial Dreams - Tim Gallagher

Gallagher was part of a search in the mid-2000s to determine if the ivory-billed woodpecker still existed in a remote tract of swampy forest in Arkansas. They supposedly spotted some and later there was even a video taken, though that evidence is apparently disputed by many authorities and the broader consensus is seemingly the species is extinct.

This book, however, is about several trips Gallagher and a variety of other interested parties made to Mexico's Sierra Madre mountains in the early-2010s, searching for signs the imperial woodpecker, the ivory-billed's bigger relative, still existed. While there are scattered reports of sightings from the 1940s up to a few years before Gallagher's trips started, what real information we have on their habits, in terms of breeding, diet, social structure, habitat preferences, came mostly from a Norwegian named Carl Lumholz, who spent a couple of years in the 1890s riding a mule the length of the Sierra Madres, writing mostly about the people he encountered, but also the wildlife. So if we want to learn anything further about imperial woodpeckers, including whether there's a species to preserve, time was getting short.

SPOILER ALERT, Gallagher doesn't find any imperial woodpeckers. I imagine the book would have been somewhat different if he had. Probably more like what I was expecting. But if you can't find it, you can't find it, so the book focuses on the people and the place they inhabit. It's in some ways a history, as those mountains have long been isolated enough to be used as refuges for a variety of people. Pancho Villa hid out there from the American military for a time, some of the last holdouts of the Apaches in Mexico lived there. Gallagher travels through several villages he presents as not having changed in their ways of living in centuries. No electricity, no phones or anything like that. That isolation likely worked in the woodpeckers' favor, as basically all the evidence we have says they preferred old-growth pine forests at altitude.

Unfortunately, time marches on, and where there's old timber, there will be people trying to get to it and cut it down to sell. Which is what Gallagher thinks may have done the imperials in; the logging industry destroying a lot of their habitat. He speaks to a lot of people along the way, looking for any hints of places that might hold imperial woodpeckers. Which gives the reader a good sense of what a longshot this is, when the people he speaks with are in their 70s or older, talking about how they remember those birds vividly, but they haven't seen one since the 1960s or even further back.

The other thing that apparently moved into the region is drug cartels growing opium. Their looming threat hangs over the entire book. Gallagher often mentions people who advise him against going on this trip, or tell him he absolutely can't search beyond a particular mountain range, because that's Zetas cartel turf. There are more than a few encounters with men in SUVs or trucks, often with AK-47s, demanding to know what they're doing, or wanting to see identification. There are people he planned to speak with who are too grief-stricken because one of their relatives was abducted and murdered days earlier. To an extent, the book is Gallagher slowly coming to realize that risking his life to try and find this woodpecker might be a little crazy and/or stupid. 

'It's hard to say what motivated him to embark on such grueling and dangerous journeys. He had an excellent income from his dental practice, a nice home, and no children, so he and his wife could afford to indulge themselves. Instead, he chose to drive south with a few buddies and spend up to two months at a time roughing it in the outback of Durango, living on beans, booze, and tortillas.'

Overdue Movie Reviews #11 - Identity (2003)

A prisoner is being transported for a last-second hearing that may save him from execution, if the psychologist (Alfred Molina) can make a convincing argument. At the same time a disparate group of people find themselves stranded at a shitty motel in a downpour. Among them, an ex-cop turned limo driver (John Cusack), a family of three (the father played by John C. McGinley), a pair of newlyweds, a sex worker planning to open an orchard (Amanda Peet). Oh yeah, and a cop transporting a prisoner (Ray Liotta and Jake Busey, respectively.)

Then people start dying.

This may be the shortest of these entries, but I did give my copy of this movie to Alex years ago, then accept it back on an impulse when he was about to get rid of all his DVDs, so maybe that's to be expected. The movie revolves around a twist. Possibly two twists, though the second builds off the first. Once you know the first twist, there's not much else going for it. The characters are broadly-sketched outlines - actress disconnected from reality, hooker with a heart of gold, creepy convict, burnout ex-cop, cherub-faced little kid, etc. - so it's hard to say I feel any investment in their attempts to survive. Especially knowing the first twist.

The attempts to find the killer isn't really the focus, because the movie is busy dropping hints and clues leading towards the twist. Busey escapes and thinks he found a place to hide in another building he spied in the distance. Once inside that building and looking out the window, he's back at the motel. Dun-dun-dunhhhhhhh! And how is he on the loose at the motel, but another prisoner shows up for the hearing? Why do they all have the same birthday?

In practice, Cusack and Liotta spend a lot of scenes walking past motel rooms as rain pours over the gutters, while Peet periodically gets fed up with the suspense and runs into the rain to scream at the guilty party, whoever they are.

The ending is second twist, in that you thought there was a happy resolution but, surprise! It's not! You know what? Fuck beating around the bush, the movie is 23 years old. I'm spoiling ALL the twists. The people at the motel are personalities within the mind of the prisoner on death's row, (mostly) unwittingly fighting it out to see if an innocent one can survive. You think Peet was the last one standing and is going to have her orchard (inside this serial killer's head, but whatever), but no, here's McGinley's cherub-cheeked little kid, not blown up as the others suspected. Because the prisoner was traumatized as a kid, so that's where the murderous rage is. The kid engineered all the deaths and he kills Peet. In the real world, he now has sole control of the body, kills Molina and the transport driver. End movie.

Except, he's a pre-pubescent kid and she's a grown woman. He is standing there, holding some sort of rake, looking menacing, so it's not like he struck from the shadows. Beat his ass with a sack of your oranges. Or the limes, whichever. Give him a wedgie and then jam him headfirst into your fertilizer pile until he suffocates. Run over his throat with a wheelbarrow. Fucking do something other than cower, goddamnit!

Making Friends is Madness

By all means then, let that guy teach children. What could go wrong? 

Volume 4 of Soul Eater: The Perfect Edition, consists of the second half of the fifth volume and all of the sixth in the original release, and is focused entirely on the students at the DWMA trying to stop Medusa and her lackeys from releasing the Kishin.

Spoiler alert: They fail. The Kishin gets loose, takes out Black Star and Death the Kid in one hit each, then eludes Lord Death by getting beyond the bounds of the city that Lord Death's soul is tied to. that said, the way that the Kishin is portrayed is pretty cool. It apparently exudes madness so strongly that people start hallucinating once they get close, even while it's still sealed up.

Yeah, that right there? That witch-lady is hallucinating that experience but have your face tore off in weird, hand-shaped strands would be a trip for sure. 

However, most of the material in here revolves around two fights. In one, Dr. Stein and Maka's dad try to take down Medusa, the powerful witch behind all this. It's a back-and-forth fight with Stein's strengths running to close combat, but Medusa having abilities that make getting close dangerous. There's also the fact Stein's got more than a little bit of a dark side in him, and so Medusa's offer to join her might be more appealing than he lets on.

The remaining attention is on Maka and Soul's rematch with Crona, the Demon Sword. The last time around, Soul got badly injured protecting Maka, which caused some tension between the two of them. Despite Maka changing her approach to stop trying to cut her opponent and try bludgeoning instead, they aren't making much more progress. Crona shrugs off their best hits.

So Soul accepts the offer of the weird little demon representing the black blood he's infected with, confident he can get the power without the madness. But, because he and Maka are in "soul resonance" she's involved as well. Which is fine, because she thinks if she's crazy like Crona, she can reach them.

Which makes for a bizarre fight, Maka cackling and staggering about like a drunken boxer, getting stabbed with a sword in the middle of her forehead and just shrugging it off. It's a sharp change from how she's fought up to that point, where she's usually charging straight ahead, all business.

End result, this somehow gets her able to connect and slip inside Crona's soul. Which is a big desert where he confines himself to a tiny circle and won't answers questions his shadow asks. The shadow is his fear, or self-doubt? I'm honestly not sure. It seems to give up and, as it puts it, go on ahead. I'm not sure where it went. Like this was a spiritual death, some part of himself Crona couldn't accept or embrace because he's too afraid to be open with anyone, even himself, and so it's gone?

Anyway Maka barges in, obliterates the line, and makes a friend. So that's one thing that went right. If Medusa was actually dead, it'd be two things, but unfortunately there's at least one snake left.

Sunday Splash Page #422

"The Big Chair," in Punisher: The Cell, by Garth Ennis (writer), Lewis LaRosa (penciler), Scott Koblish (inker), Raul Trevino (colorist), Randy Gentile (letterer)

While Ennis was writing his MAX imprint Punisher ongoing series, he also wrote an assortment of one-shots and mini-series. The Cell takes place at an undefined point in Frank's story, where he surrenders himself to get into a prison with five particular mob guys, who are finally all together after many years.

Most of the story is spent on Frank engineering circumstances so he can get time with the five of them. Which involves manipulating the sadistic head guard - not difficult, the man's both aggressive and aggressively stupid - and igniting a race war among the prison population. The reveal at the end - coming after Ennis writes a bit where 4 of the 5 admit to something awful they each did, even by their standards, in the idea they need to confess to atone, but really feels like Ennis either going for shock value or to really sell us on the notion Frank should kill these guys - is these 5 are responsible for killing Frank's family. The consiglieri tried to whack the don, there was a lot of shooting without regard for anyone else in the vicinity by the hitman and the two bodyguards, people died.

The five die, although even in a MAX book, the violence is kept largely off-panel. Frank kills the brothers that were the don's bodyguards by beating them with a nightstick, but LaRosa just shows us the nightstick rising and falling as blood flies. He also continues to use Eastwood as a visual reference for Frank (and Danny Trejo for one of the bodyguards.) The don chokes out his consiglieri himself, but has a heart attack in the process. As he dies, Frank tells him that he can escape the prison whenever he wants, and go right back to killing criminals, until there's none left. Which is in conflict with what he told himself in The Slavers arc, that he knew he couldn't stop them, any more than he can the drug trade. He knows there's always going to be more of these guys.

Also, the don strikes me as a person that wouldn't really care what happens after he dies, but whatever. Frank's having a ball, I guess. "Look what you unleashed on your people, old man."

But it makes for a interesting tie to Punisher: The End, which Ennis did with Richard Corben. I don't own it, but I read it when it came out. Basically, some point much further down the line, the world is dying. Nukes, I think. Frank's been locked up a long time, but with everything falling apart, another convict helps him escape, hoping Frank will protect him long enough to find an underground bunker the wealthy have somewhere in the city.

Frank ultimately kills the people in the bunker, I think because they helped engineer all this. Even when they plead they've heard nothing from the other bunkers, meaning they might be the last of the human race. That done (and the convict who led him there also killed) Frank, dying of radiation exposure from the journey, heads back onto the surface, to spend his remaining time killing any other criminals he finds. There's no such thing as extenuating circumstances, no reprieve or possibility of redemption. That's something he told Micro in the first MAX arc, after Micro helped the CIA catch Frank to try and sell him on working for them. Frank ended up blowing Micro's head off.

At least in that sense, Frank does keep his promise. He keeps killing until all the men like that godfather are dead. Unfortunately, it's possible everyone else is dead, too. If so, to him, that just means there's no one left who requires punishing. The mission is complete, or he's dead. Which, in a sense, is also a way of completing the mission. Frank might not see it that way, but he almost certainly meets his own definition of needing punishing. During The Cell, he doesn't acknowledge that someone could be incarcerated and actually be innocent. He kills one guy simply because the man is a cellmate of the guy Frank wants to kill to ratchet tensions in the prison. Doesn't even know the guy's name, just kills him because he's in the way and in prison, so he must be guilty. 

Saturday Splash Page #224

"Question of Faith," in The Question #3, by Dennis O'Neil (writer), Denys Cowan (penciler), Rick Magyar (inker), Tatjana Wood (colorist), Gaspar Saladino (letterer)

Steve Ditko created The Question at Charlton, but I've not read his work with the character. DC bought Charlton, and Denny O'Neil and Denys Cowan went a very different route with Vic Sage.

O'Neil's Sage is a reporter, in Hub City, a rotting post-industrial city that is a national joke for its crumbling infrastructure, drunk mayor and bent cops. Cowan shows us dirty streets, apartments with holes in the floor, peeling wallpaper, boards over windows. The streets aren't crowded, but most of the people we see are either looking to commit a crime, or appear too exhausted to even contemplate that. Just worn down, lines etched deep in their faces.

Vic has a rep as a reporter who is fearless in exposing corruption, with the Question as his method to get information, but also as a cheap thrill. An excuse to release the anger inside him through violence. He gets in over his head after Lady Shiva beats him nearly to death, and then gets shot, but something about Sage impresses Shiva enough to bring him to Richard Dragon.

The Vic who returns to Hub City a year later is a changed man, at least temporarily. He moves differently, thinks differently. Speaks in circles. When people ask who "No-Face" is and he replies, "A good question," you wonder if it's a joke, or something he doesn't know himself. Zen, letting answers and paths come to him, rather than always trying to force his way through. As I said, at least for a while, but we'll come back to that.

Sage's supporting cast consists of basically three characters: Aristotle "Tot" Rodor, an elderly professor who serves as Vic's Alfred. Patching him up, asking questions so Vic can explain things to us, providing information from his various backgrounds. Myra Connelly, an old flame of Vic's who begins the series married to the useless, drunk mayor, but later runs for mayor herself. Lastly, Izzy O'Toole, a particularly bent cop who cleans up his act after the Question saves him from being killed by a couple of crooks Izzy objected to robbing a suicide victim. 

If I had to summarize the foes the Question faces, it would be people looking for meaning, or maybe acceptance. The Reverend up there is looking for some meaning in what he saw as a chaplin in Vietnam. He uses a bomber at one point, a thin, glasses-wearing, quiet, boy, desperate to live up to his father's idea of what a man is. Desperate enough to burn his own face with acid, to prove he's not a "sissy boy" for a father he loathes, a fat, sweaty, ignorant brute who taunts his son for being shy around girls. Disillusioned soldiers, trying to prove their strength, or that their strength has some meaning or purpose behind it. A doctor who treats patients with great humanity - and kills the ones who hurt them because he thinks there's a balance to redress. A sadistic Latin American drug kingpin that hopes to use a particle accelerator to transmute himself into something better, like turning lead to gold.

How effective the Question is in dealing with these threats in up for debate. Many of them end up dead, though not by his hand. (The reverend dies by Myra's hand.) Perhaps by his voice. Vic Sage is a bit of a silver-tongued devil. Maybe it's something about what he went through that opened his perspective. Grants him greater understanding of others, but also lets him see the flaws in their philosophies. The doctor didn't consider that the people he killed were not simply evil, that they could change, as Vic had changed from his directionless, violent youth. The soldiers realize they're not following a man with some higher purpose, just one with a desire to prove he wasn't weak when he broke as a POW. But all of them end up dead, so what purpose did the Question challenging their perspective accomplish?

That's something Sage struggles with, the limit of what he can do, and how best to do it. Because as the series progresses over its 36-issue run, Vic backslides. His anger returns, his calm recedes. He may not go out as the Question for thrills, or strictly to hurt people, but he begins to see problems only in the manner in which he can use violence to solve them. He ignores what he can do as a reporter speaking to the people of Hub City to make them aware of issues. When Myra's opponent in the mayoral election hires a bunch of bikers to try and intimidate people at the polls, Vic opts to try and fight an entire, massive gang, rather than make it publicly known this is happening. Given the choice between using his fists to do all one man can, and using his voice to possibly get thousands to act, he chooses to go it alone.

Myra wins, but it's questionable how much Vic or the Question had to do with it. She fires her campaign manager - I think replacing him with her make-up artist - speaks honestly, speaks bluntly about the problems the city faces. The Question does convince Izzy, who's by then built his rep back up as an honest cop, to give a public message supporting her, but it's ultimately Myra who gets herself elected. A real poisoned chalice. When we first see her, Cowan draws her like a fashion model. Long hair with lots of bounce to it, sweaters that hug tight to her figure. She's more Vic's old flame than anything else, a woman trying to survive a bad situation for the sake of a daughter that stays at an orphanage. By the time Myra's running for mayor, her hair is cut short, she wears suit jackets and business skirts. Cowan's lines get harder, making her jawline sharper, the bags under her eyes more prominent. She's trying to seize control of her life, do something with it, but being mayor of Hub City is like buying a house while it's in the process of burning to the ground.

And that's maybe the most interesting thing O'Neil does with the book: Hub City breaks Vic. The Question can't save the city, and he can't use fighting for it (or in it) to save himself. The questions he has about himself, where he came from, who his parents were, why they didn't want him? He's not getting those answers, and that uncertainty about himself erodes whatever foundation Richard Dragon helped him build. Ultimately, he has to be carried out and taken away. To South America, if I remember the stories in The Question Quarterly right. Myra stays, Izzy stays, to keep fighting for the city, but for Vic, it's over.

What I Bought 4/8/2026

I feel I've hit a wall on most of the games I'm playing. Granted, I'm not playing anything all that often, but whenever I try, it seems like a lot of quick deaths and no progress. I'm learning things in Outer Wilds, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with the information I'm learning.

D'Orc #3, by Brett Bean (writer/artist), Jean-Francois Beaulieu (colorist), Nate Piekos (letterer) - Well, pull on a dwarf's beard and you ought to expect them to try and drive you into the ground like a tent peg.

The angry dwarf is hunting D'orc. This plays out as D'orc doing helpful things and the dwarf then killing the people D'orc helped. A white mage offers some new intel, but it doesn't help the dwarf. Except in terms of giving him more people to terrorize, which was probably not the mage's intent, since the mage is actually D'orc.

I'm unclear on what D'orc was hoping to accomplish. He says he's ready to deal out a beating to the dwarf for the damage he's done, but dude, some of those people got damaged because you sent him in their direction! Why didn't you just kick his ass sooner?

Oh, because you can't actually kick his ass. All attempts at sneak attacks fail, but the beating gives D'orc a chance to swipe the potion meant to erase him, and hit the dwarf with it instead. The dwarf says it's supposed to burn away any mistake it's hit with, but he just kind of falls over the cliff when he takes it in the face. So, did the Bone Witch who made it sell him a bum deal, or is it just a strict definition of mistake? 

Moonstar #2, by Ashley Allen (writer), Edoardo Audino (artist), Arthur Hesli (color artist), Clayton Cowles (letterer) - Aw crap, Papa Smurf has gone to the dark side, and he's grown to enormous size!

Moonstar and Kian travel to China, because there's some vessel deep in a cave that will let Kyron collect more souls. There's some arguing, and then they reach the bottom and - the vessel is gone. Great work! There's a meaningless fight with some undead - unless each of them saving the other at some point is going to be significant later - and Kian stalks out to try and contact some people.

And then Dani's grandfather appears, carrying the cursed sword and talking about how she didn't avenge him, so he's gonna do it himself. By killing Dani? I know I'm not well-versed in her backstory, but I think I'd have heard about her murdering family members.

OK, it's actually Kyron, trying a disguise. They fight a little, Dani grabs the sword, gets some sad backstory for Kyron about watching a sister die of some illness and him not accepting that nothing could be done. And then the sword got it's hooks into him, with some spiel about how it would keep everyone he cares about safe inside it forever, rather than letting their souls go wherever it is souls go in the Marvel Universe, I don't even know any more what the theological cosmology is after Ewing made such a big literal thing about The-One-Above-All in his Hulk stuff.

Anyway, Kian saves Dani from getting killed, but the sword still took her soul? I think. Well, Strong Guy ran around without a soul for awhile, right? No big deal. Though I guess he lacked empathy, which might be an interesting twist on what we've seen of Dani so far. If she didn't care about the cost of being wrong, and just dove into whatever plan she'd settled on. Though there'd still be the question of why she was bothering to stop him at that point. 

The Many Faces of Art Forgery - William Casement

Casement divides his book into 3 parts. The first is a broad history of art forgery, what we know of, anyway, going to back to people in Rome creating sculptures and then carving the names of famous artists of ancient Greece on them. This section covers not only forgers, but what he calls "copyists", who apparently make reproductions of famous pieces, but are open about it. You know it's not an actual Rembrandt or Donatello, but something done to look just like one of their pieces.

As he moves into the 20th Century, he delves into greater detail about the backstories of known forgers, their techniques, preferred styles to work in, their trials (if there were any.) This was the part that dragged the most for me. He includes photographs of forgeries in the book, but I'm not knowledgeable enough about art to be able to tell anything, even when he puts a picture of the original alongside the fake.

Part 2 is largely a discussion of the concept of forgery, or perhaps the idea of what makes the actual artwork. Early on, Casement discusses how some people define a "fake" as someone reproducing an original, a copyist that doesn't admit it, while a "forgery" is when you make an original painting, but in the style of a more famous artist, and try to pass it off as one of theirs. Yet others would reverse those definitions. So Han van Meergen made Vermeer paintings, including one, Supper at Emmaus, that Vermeer never actually painted. Forgery, or fake?

This was the part I found most interesting, as it also looks at the notion of work-for-hire, or having "studio" artists like Rubens or Warhol, who may create all or part of the actual painting based off a conceptual sketch or design by their boss. From there, it looks at the notion of appropriation, first in taking an image or work someone else created and repurposing it into something else, and eventually cultural appropriation, in terms of who gets to make art in the styles of various cultures, but also, who gets to define what is the art of a given culture.

Casement talks a lot about Indigenous Australians in that section, and a Richard Bell who points out there are many Indigenous Australians who live in urban settings and whose work reflects that life. Does that mean their art isn't part of their culture because it doesn't match the conceived notions of what their art is "supposed" to be?

Although the main takeaway I had from Part 2 was that I consider conceptualism, where guys like Damian Hirst and Jeff Koons argue they're the artist even all they contribute is the idea and someone else actually paints or sculpts it, bullshit. When I go to a comic convention and ask someone to draw me a picture of a character, I'm not the artist because I suggested the idea, the person who actually drew it is. But Hirst and Koons come off as hypocritical tools in this book, arguing it's fine for them to appropriate other people's work, then getting huffy at the slightest hint someone might be doing the same with their work.

Part 3 is a discussion of moral arguments around forgery. Those used by forgers or others to justify their actions, but also the question of authenticity and historical value. Little bit of a Ship of Theseus situation over at what point in restoring an old painting is it no longer the original, but in fact a reproduction? Is it more important to leave the painting as is, allowing it to degrade over decades and centuries but always being the work of the true artist, or touch it up to try and maintain something approaching its original state, recognizing it may be subtly altered in the process? That gets into a discussion of the "perfect fake", whether such a thing can exist, the relative aesthetic value of such a fake relative the original, and so on.

The aspect I hadn't ever considered was the potential historical damage. On a individual scale, a forger can provide a false impression of an artist's style or focus based on the forger's level of skill and what pieces they choose to reproduce or create. If Vermeer didn't actually create many paintings, but van Meergen paints several that he passes off as heretofore unknown Vermeers, that gives people the wrong idea about what Vermeer was doing. Or suddenly we think van Gogh's "blue period" was much longer or more prolific because someone makes a bunch of fakes in that style.

But Casement also discusses a guy who created fake sculptures of Mesoamerican peoples that we don't necessarily have much art from. And in some cases, the sculptures weren't based on anything other than the man's own whims. Not knowing those were fakes, archaeologists and historians were reconstructing belief systems for those people that incorporated deities and styles that were never part of that culture. So that was a new thing to consider.

The writing is a little dry at times, but Casement seems to be pretty thorough in examining the different sides of arguments and theories, providing direct quotes from forgers, artists, art historians, critics and legal statutes, where applicable. And the book certainly did not fill me with the desire to create forgeries, especially since it sounds like the actual forger usually makes a fraction of what the art dealer who sells the forgery does. 

'Eric Hebborn, in making a thousand fake Old Master drawings, capitalized on the fact that the artists he faked seldom signed their works on paper. He was known in London and Rome to be knowledgeable about art and active in searching out old works, and often approached potential buyers with "finds" while leaving the determination of authorship up to them.'