Ian Gonzales reviews Batman #31, Sal Lucci reviews The Star Wars #8, Michael Edwards takes on Giant-Size Spider-Man #1, Jill Scharr looks at Nightwing #30 and Black Canary and Zatanna: Bloodspell and Stu Horvath gushes over C.O.W.L. #1 in this week’s edition of Last Week’s Comics.
There isn’t always a lighthouse… In a recent Team Unwinnable survey, members were asked to rank, in order of importance, four of our ongoing construction projects: digital distribution pipelines, members only forum, an official store and our fortress on Unwinnable Island. That last one was a joke. We don’t have a plan to build a secret island headquarters. We don’t even own an island (or do we?). Of course, the good people of Team Unwinnable voted overwhelmingly for Unwinnable Island to be our first priority. We hate to disappoint, so Matt Duhamel volunteered to create Unwinnable Island from scratch in
I don’t know if you heard, but we’ve been working on this Kickstarter thing and it got funded yesterday afternoon. We are currently celebrating, sleeping and celebrating sleep – something we’ve not had a lot of recently – but we will be back next week with the great stories you’ve come to expect. I formally thanked the Internet on Wednesday when we raised our goal, and I reprinted it yesterday when the campaign closed. That stands as a good representation of how I feel about the Kickstarter and its success, but I wanted to take this opportunity to thank some
In 1938, Raymond Chandler published a short detective story called “The King in Yellow.” It takes its name from the victim, a musician named King Leopardi. When the hotel dick, Steve Grayce, finds the man shot to death in his bed, clothed in yellow silk pajamas, he remarks, “The King in Yellow. I read a book with that title once.”
In 1998, someone gave Roland Emmerich $130,000,000 to make a Godzilla movie. This was not because Emmerich was a fan of the storied Japanese Kaiju film franchise, but rather was down to the fact that he had earned a reputation for producing popcorn spectacles in less time and with smaller budgets than other directors.
2013 saw the creation of Unwinnable’s Board Game Club. Maybe you’ve seen the hashtags on Twitter or the numerous photos on Instagram. On January 19, 2013, Stu asked the question, “Anyone want to play a board game tonight?” Like the Founding Fathers, four men descended upon Unwinnable headquarters that night to take part in a battle of wits and cunning. Nearly every week since, we’ve played board games.
It is easy to forget that games don’t spring forth fully formed, like Minerva from the head of Jupiter. That isn’t true, though. Games, unlike most other mediums, are constantly changing, like a snake perpetually shedding its skin. Every version is called a build. There are thousands of builds for Jostle Bastard. In terms of scale, it isn’t a game on par with Skyrim or Red Dead Redemption, and yet, there are thousands of iterations that chart its evolution from inception to completion. Every meaningful change to the game spawns a new build. Some seem hardly changed, others are hardly
One of the most interesting things about the creative process is the artifacts is leaves behind. I’m not talking about the art itself – the value of that is intrinsic. I mean the physical byproducts of process. Painters make sketches. Sculptors build maquettes, filmmakers leave behind elaborate sets. With videogames dwelling almost entirely in the digital realm of builds and iterations, what remnants mark the progress of their designers? For Pippin Barr, it is the scribbles and doodles in an unruled reporter’s notebook that mark the birth and refinement of Jostle Bastard.
Towards the end of the development of Jostle Bastard, I received an email from Pippin Barr that said: Have also pulled out all my diary entries on the subject [of Jostle Bastard], which I’m attaching. They sound a bit disjointed because they’re pulled from my actual diary, which of course includes a bunch of stuff unrelated to this game! The attached document was a kind of poem of doubt that oscillates between the heights of triumph and the depths of despair. After reading through it, I replied: The diary is great stuff. It kind of reads like Dracula or a
There it was, shattered as if by a falling tree branch, except there were no trees nearby to do the shattering. Someone had pulled into my driveway to turn around and hit the corner post of my fence. They hit it so hard that they dislodged the concrete mooring and the force shattered the top crossbar, splaying the pickets out like pick-up sticks. Then they drove off. It was the middle of the afternoon.
If you’ve been anywhere near the ocean, you’ve likely seen barnacles – the hard-shelled crustaceans that crust over wharves and rocks and the hulls of boats by the hundreds. Once they attach themselves to a solid surface, they are there forever, resting when the tide is out, feeding on plankton when the tide is in.
A few days before my flight to Los Angeles, I was sitting in my office working on the poster for Geek Flea VI. It was early evening and I was vaguely aware of the room darkening apace with the sky. Without warning and for no apparent reason, my heart starting pounding and my mind started racing around a singular thought: “Do not go to Los Angeles.”