FanX

A couple of years ago, Salt Lake City developed a hankering for some Comic Con (or ComiCon), ushering in a new wave of geek ephemera and focus on fandom. While my wife and I missed the first one or two, we decided to attend one of the cons when some of the Lord of the Rings actors (particularly Sean Astin) showed up for the experience. Gayle put together a dress that looked like Arwyn from The Return of the King and I wore some Hogwarts robes. We got a picture with Sean and generally had a good time.

Since then, we've attended each convention, always going in costume. We've worn steampunk, Hogwarts, Cinderella and Fairy Godmother, and Queen Elizabeth with her Shakespeare. The boys sometimes come, wearing superhero costumes, dressing as Leonardo da Vinci, and even dressing up as dinosaurs. In short, we go and we participate and we enjoy the experience.

Now feeling fairly familiar with how a convention works--how much there is to see and enjoy, how much time one is standing around, the exorbitant prices of the food--I've been able to reflect a little bit more on what interests me about these gatherings.

Geek is Chic

Certainly, a large part of these conventions runs on the current cachet that superheroes have. Richard Dutcher, the controversial "father of Mormon cinema", in an interview that I remember but cannot find, once said of American cinema, "We're in our adolescence. We love superheroes who wear tights and capes." That's a paraphrase of his distaste, but I don't think he's wrong (at least, about the teenage-level of our cinema; I disagree that it's a bad thing we like superheroes). We do love our superheroes, and there are a lot of different analyses about why that is. I personally like the conceit posited by Dr. Andrew R. Bahlmann in his book The Mythology of Superheroes, which is that the unifying myths of ancient civilizations provided a shared identity. The modern iteration of that concept is found in our fascination with superheroes.

It's clear that we love us some Spandex-wearing defenders. I remember how gobsmacked critics and the mainstream media was when Spider-Man debuted back in 2002. Sam Rami's gem took people by surprise, in part because of how well it was done, but also the idea that CGI could be used to make a thrilling, enjoyable cinematic version of what had always been somewhat stodgy or--in the case of Schumacher's Batman films--campy. 

But 2002 was unique beyond Spider-Man: Peter Jackson's ambitious adaptation of The Lord of the Rings had hit in very late 2001, bringing in enthusiasts who knew Tolkien's work from before, as well as attracting new fans (like my then-girlfriend, now-wife). The fantasy of Middle-Earth captivated audiences and really set the standard for how a massive genre--typically ignored* in the cinemas--could be explored.  

And how could we forget the Boy Who Lived? Harry Potter--and, more importantly, his school of Hogwarts--came out at the same time. Within six months, some of the largest film franchises of the early aughts all landed, each attracting a Venn diagram of clientele that has grown up in the last decade and a half--and who has a lot more discretionary money.

More than Comics

So, yeah, there's a lot of money to be made in exploiting, celebrating, and personifying these fandoms. The interest in science fiction goes back decades, of course, and conventions celebrating the more esoteric corners of fandom likewise go back a long ways. What's great about Comic Con, however, is the fact that there is so much genuine enjoyment. I saw today two people, easily in their sixties, dressed as hobbits, complete with fake fur on their feet and slightly pointed ears. Men in their mid-forties grow out their beards and part their hair to look like Hugh Jackman's Wolverine. Creativity follows creativity, and the way cosplayers, artists, and performers render that positive feedback is heartening.

Of course, these cons don't come without downsides. Economics is certainly part of it. While the convention itself likely generates quite a bit of cash, there is an underlying assumption about identity commodification and exploitation of enthusiasm for cash payment. And though many of the artists who sell their talent are as enthusiastic as the customers, there are definitely people whose interests run more mercenary. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, but there is an exploitative element within the entire convention. 

Also, there have been cases in the past of convention goers being stalked, harassed, and even assaulted. The Salt Lake Comic Con has a specific anti-harassment policy on its website (I don't know how well they enforce it), and there is always an undercurrent of judgment from some of the less savory purists within the fandom that can trickle into convention attendance. "Not a real geek" (or an equivalent) can often crop up in online conversations about these types of conventions, as well as body shaming or other attempts to bully. 

Despite these downsides--which ought to be confronted and expunged wherever possible--I feel that, so far as my own experience has shown, Comic Con and its smaller derivative, FanX, are welcome diversions and worthwhile showcases of talent, enthusiasm, and a willingness to embrace a common form of unexpected chic-cool: Being a geek.

 

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* While I'm not a historian of cinema, I'm also not ignorant of the fact that there are plenty of excellent examples of superhero films that precede Rami's Spider-Man or fantasy films that came before Jackson's Rings. However, I think it's safe to say that, in terms of mainstream consciousness and acceptance, these films did a great deal to push "geek" toward broader audiences.