Is Greater Than » origins of our communication

Origins of Our Communication: Rob Schrab

G.M. Levinson — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 20:03:38 +0000

Rob Schrab may very well be the epitome of a 21^st century Renaissance Man, at least in Hollywood terms: he is wrapping up the final chapter of his comic book Scud: The Disposable Assassin, he is in pre-production for the second half of the second season of The Sarah Silverman Program, and he still has a hand in Channel 101, the internet “TV network” he co-created with long-time writing partner Dan Harmon. In this installment of The Origins of Our Communication, Schrab shares with us his first online breakthrough and how he and Harmon ushered in the dawn of the internet celebrity:

For me, it was with a little thing called Summoner Geeks (originally known as Dungeons & Dragons). Dan Harmon wrote the script back in 1995 when we recorded it with our comedy troupe Dead Alewives. It was a shockingly accurate depiction of what it’s like playing Dungeons & Dragons where we had guys in a room playing an intense battle and then you hear a guy off in the kitchen yelling “Where’s the Mountain Dew? Where’re the Cheetos?” Really nerdy and funny. It got a lot of airplay on the Dr. Demento Show, which, for me, you know, I grew up listening to Dr. Demento. When Dr. Demento released the sketch on a “best of” compilation that year, that was my first “Now we’ve made it!” moment.

Summoner was a first person shooter, and our sketch was later released as an easter egg on the game. It was animated with characters from the video game acting out our sketch with our voices. It got leaked to ifilms.com (now known as spike.com) and that was our first internet success, our first viral thing. Since then you can find it on YouTube. The interesting thing about it today is that there are a huge amount of people reenacting that sketch. Type in “summoner geeks” and you’ll find video after video after video. I watched them as they were posted but I gave up after awhile, there were just so many videos related to it. Its kind of funny because we did that thing back in ’95 and it still resonates.

In 1998, we were selling Scud books through a website, that was back toward the end of the run. After that we did Heat Vision & Jack (right after Summoner Geeks went viral; once it became easy for people to upload stuff online and pass videos around). Then I did this short called Robot Bastard!, which turned into another viral video. It was this sci-fi space opera where everything is made out of cardboard, painted bright colors, with robots shooting zombies. Silly and stupid. Aintitcool.com reviewed it and it blew out of the water from there. Around that time, right after Heat Vision & Jack went nowhere, Dan and I were writing screenplays, trying to get TV shows off the ground and we were really frustrated with the business. We were creating property, coming up with scripts and doing a pretty good job. We had some good ideas, you know? But whoever you’re working for, jobs shift, all of a sudden the person up top who was championing for you is replaced with someone new and your idea that you worked and slaved for goes on the shelf. This happened again and again and again, ideas that never got shown.

This is when Final Cut and DV cameras become affordable and Dan and I started shooting these little movies just to make each other laugh. And we’d have challenges: “Don’t spend time or money and we watch them tonight!” And everyone would run around all over town and make cardboard space helmets and wrap up in tin foil and then we’d meet up and show it to each other. It started as five people in my living room, then expanded to thirty people in my living room, then we rented space and a projector for a hundred people, then we started showing it at Cinespace, where we get sometimes 400 people on a Sunday night to watch these shows. It was Harmon’s idea that if we’re going to do this, we should get serious and have a website. Our idea was that everybody’s doing DV film festivals, you know, these little “Show your video! Show your sketch!” but we wanted to do something different. Instead of this being a film festival, lets run it like a network. We don’t want shorts; we want series…we want properties with series potential. So you pitch it to the audience and the audience votes if they want to see more. That was basically the idea and it really kind of took off: audience participation with control, the excitement of competition with friends, everyone trying to outdo one another (not only in terms of craftsmanship but in comedy, in storytelling, in editing). When living in LA, and its really hard to get anywhere with your idea, come to us! Yeah, its not big and expensive looking, but at least it exists somewhere. There’s no money involved, you’re doing it for the joy of doing it. A lot of careers have started because of Channel101.

It’s all about creating your own luck because people are very narrow-viewed in this industry. If you’re a writer, it’s impossible to be a director. If you’re an actor, then the assumption is you can’t be a writer. You have to show them what you can do. And that’s what was great for me because I was a screenwriter for ten years constantly wanting to direct but all of a sudden it was like “Screw it! I’ll grab a camera and let them come to me.” That’s why I’m directing on The Sarah Silverman Program, it’s because of what I did on Channel 101. Channel 101 was the best film school I could ever have because I learned from doing. It was probably the most important thing I did for my career. (And it got a lot of my friends active. They started showing themselves on camera, proving they can…and now they’ve got agents and deals and they’re getting shows.)

In the beginning, though, the only thing I was seeing the internet for was emails. I was so technophobic at the time. The idea of actually putting together a website was so daunting for me, I just figured that’s never going to be in my world. Now positing a video is so easy, its on the internet and anyone in the world can look at it.

I go to the Channel 101 screenings every month, I star in a couple episodes, but as far as shooting and writing, I haven’t been able to in a while. I’m directing on Sarah’s show, doing the comic book and trying to get a feature career moving…its sad because with Channel 101 you just do whatever you want. You find out whether it’s working or not by doing it, instead of having so many people saying “No” to you. To me, I’m just like, “Just let me do it. Let me grab the camera and let me do it.” But because of this industry and all the money involved, there are still people that need to know without a shadow of a doubt exactly what you’re doing. With Channel 101 you pick up the camera and simply say “Let’s shoot something today.”

I’ve merged what I learned from the internet with how I work on television. I just got out of a meeting for The Sarah Silverman Program and there’re certain things I’m doing on the show going “Look, I’m just going to do it on the weekend, I’ll grab a camera and do it myself.” I don’t want it on the schedule because its just going to screw everything up. I need to be able to be in that Channel 101 mode and I say that, that’s my word: Channel 101 mode. It simply means just grabbing the camera and doing it. Its got to have that look and if we get everybody else involved it’ll look too slick. Sometimes it needs to be a little rough. Though it is a blurred line. As far as what I prefer, of course I prefer not being told what to do but at the same time when you get boundaries it forces you to not necessarily use your first idea. Sometimes when first ideas are shot down you think harder and then you think even harder and come up with a better idea. Though it can be the same way with low budget: we can’t afford the scope of what you’re thinking and you have to be more creative.

I don’t think we’re at a point where internet shows can compete with TV. Right now, the reason Channel 101 exists is to showcase people who are not getting a platform to show off what they can do. We’ve got some people from Wisconsin who did Chad Vader. Its big, the first short got something like five million hits. Its probably the biggest thing that’s come out of Channel 101. And these guys live in Madison, they shoot videos, send them our way to show at the screenings, they get put up on the net and they go viral. And people are asking if they’re going to move out here, to LA. But these guys ask “Why? We live at home. Its cheaper here, we live here and do what we want.” and that’s totally possible in today’s world. I think that’s great, that’s really cool. The only downside I see is you’re working super hard to get noticed and you’re not getting paid. But you can parlay that exposure into something else. Justin Roiland, who did House of Cosbys, he got two network deals with Fox and Cartoon Network. Now he’s a hot guy in town. Andy Samberg is from the group Lonely Island. They were making The’Bu, one of our longest running shows, and had to stop because [Samberg] got picked by Saturday Night Live. And J.D. Ryznar (creator of Yacht Rock) is working on a film with Jason Lee. In a lot of ways we’re like the new Groundlings, the new Second City. Come to us for the new hot talent: actors, directors, screenwriters, you name it.

Eventually your desktop will be in the living room and you’ll be watching stuff like YouTube and Channel 101 as easily as anything on cable. I would love it if Channel 101 could become the anti-viral video clip site. There’s a lot of viral stuff but its pretty much one-joke premises: a cat sounds like its speaking or a guy with nunchucks hitting himself in the head. What we offer is stories and characters and little mini shows that hopefully can one day compete with storytelling in TV networks and cable. That’s the hope, the dream.

Visit Channel 101: watch new episodes, catch up on old favorites, or submit your own.

The final two installments of Scud: The Disposable Assassin are coming out in April and May, and keep an eye out in June for the complete collection from Image Comics.

The Sarah Silverman Program returns to Comedy Central this October.

To find out what Rob Schrab is up to next, visit him here.

Origins of our Communication: John Kricfalusi

G.M. Levinson — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 19:15:07 +0000

Canadian-born animator John Kricfalusi is perhaps best known for warping the minds of countless generations when he gave the world Ren & Stimpy in 1990. Never one to rest on his laurels, Kricfalusi launched the first internet cartoon in 1996 (The Goddamn George Liquor Program). In 2007, he collaborated with animation auteur Bill Plympton for The John & Bill Show. Most recently, Kricfalusi was honored with the Winsor McCay Award, one of the highest honors given to an individual in recognition of his lifetime contribution to the art of animation.

For the third installment of The Origins of Our Communication, John Kricfalusi discusses the first time the “world wide web” came into his life and how his vision for Flash animation revolutionized the industry, for better and for worse:
It was right after Ren and Stimpy. Jenny Lerew was telling me about these Ren and Stimpy Newsgroups and I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. She invited me over and she printed out these old IBM computer sheets and tore them off for me to read. I was stunned.

Soon after, AOL called me and asked if I would make some content for them. This was around 1993. They gave me an account so I could get used to the net.

Shortly after that, Michelle Klein Haas started talking to me about “The World Wide Web” and I was getting mad. How many names are there for this internet crap? Then she showed me websites with images and stuff and it dawned on me that this would be the place to make cartoons without a network involved.

From Bj

Origins of Our Communication: Mister Quickly, Amazon Epicurean

G.M. Levinson — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 00:23:10 +0000

Since March of 2002, Mister Quickly has been posting concise, authoritative, and singular reviews of products sold on Amazon.com. His satirical and oftentimes hilarious work has earned him an unwieldy Internet cult status (Mister Quickly is cited in countless blogs, most recently Metafilter has opened discussion on this technocratic epicurean). At the time of this publication, he has posted only 79 reviews that range from the Ableware Anus Stimulator (“a true rarity in this vulgar functionalist age of uninspiring anus stimulators”) to Bonnie Gross’ Caring for Your Miniature Donkey: Second Edition (“I’m only thankful that this wonderful edition has helped me prolong the life expectancy of my current miniature donkey, Gerhardt.”).

What makes this cosmopolitan so discerning within the global marketplace?

“I select what to review the same way I choose whether or not I will wear my Etruscan cape: margaritomancy,” he explains. “I take a pearl and place it in a bowl of macadamia oil. I spend a few moments listening to Bruce Hornsby or Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, and thus relaxed the pearl begins to broadcast essential truths from Shakti, or as I call her, My Lady Soul. When it’s over I will retrieve the pearl by sucking it out with a straw. If anyone is uncomfortable with this method – and you will swallow the first 5 or 6 until you perfect it, or choose thinner straws – I recommend drinking the oil, then picking up the pearl. Do not pinch it too energetically, or it will greasily project across the room and chip your porcelains.”

Though he has declined several honorary degrees, Mister Quickly holds a BA in Egyptology from the Asia Theological Association and an MA in Rhetoric from the Distance Learning Council of Europe. He now divides his time between hotels across North America while periodically returning to the family home in Victoria, BC Canada “to cook and relax.” In this special installment of The Origins of Our Communication, Mister Quickly took time from his quest for “the perfect flavour to firmly establish the luscious hydrozoa’s clumsy hold in the culinary world” to talk to us about the Internet and the remarkable relationship that brought him here:
I was first introduced to the internet as a penpal of actor James Coburn. We were acquainted through a service that coordinated penpals by interest. I signed up based upon my love of porcelain as an unexplored artistic medium, eager to find soulmates who were as inspired by its potential. I was assigned James Coburn, and a heartfelt correspondence quickly luxuriated. Each letter James wrote would be signed in elegant calligraphic curls “Cobu”, accompanied by five mustard seeds, a sliver of licorice root, and a dried butterfly wing. Often he would send me carvings he had made in soapstone of his spirit animal, the otter. He had immaculate style.

After some time our correspondence had moved from porcelain onto film. Cobu, as close friends would call him, told me he was interested in adapting one of the classic board games for film. Adept at recognizing talent, Cobu knew I had the lyricism and intelligence to guide such a transformation, from board game to cinematic marvel. We began with Snakes and Ladders, for which I developed a treatment involving a richly imagined fantasy world not unlike Willow, but with ladders. Stirred by its artistry, Cobu asked me what I could come up with for other board games. He added the cryptic line “Do you have ICQ? We should continue over ICQ.” I was in the process of envisioning a treatment for Connect Four, with a sort of Logan’s Run meets Gene Roddenberry’s Earth: Final Conflict feel, but in a world where everything is stacked vertically, including sidewalks and strip malls, yet I was distracted by this statement. I assumed ICQ referred to International Comet Quarterly, a periodical I had read only 6 times. I sent two letters, one to International Comet Quarterly and the second to James Coburn. Because each letter was written with homemade cochineal ink, my forearms ached. I had manned the beetle-press all morning to extract enough writing fluid.

The next letter I received, sent in March of 2002, was written in very clumsy blank verse that regularly broke metre. Ordinarily bad metre causes me to sweat and dwell upon whether or not the subsequent itching is caused by scalp mites, but in this case I was too fascinated with the letter’s paradigm shifting content. James Coburn was describing the internet[1]. Within the next two weeks I rapidly acquainted myself with this technology, becoming as fluent in it as I am in Sanskrit. The most immediate change in life was the ability to transpose my reviews from recreation centre bulletin boards onto internet ones, though I do miss being able to scent my reviews with bergamot. But with the internet I was also able to order vast quantities of delicious lavender seeds. It felt only a matter of time before I became editor of Vanity Fair or Atlantic Monthly, positions I have since declined in spirit in order to focus on my paradoxical novel, Transparent Opacity: The Daytime of Afternoon Night[2].

[1] The internet and its ability to send scanned photographs strengthened my relation with James, but the million dollar question is whether or not the internet itself had a positive or negative influence on the actor. Most believe the internet weakened James, as he died in November 2002. I still believe it could have strengthened him had he ordered from Ebay an orgone pyramid sooner than he did. I’m glad he found peace though, a final security against the shadow men he feared. I made sure when buried he was shrouded beneath his moon cape, clenching a shadow knife.

[2] Transparent Opacity explores a concept so difficult to explain without using hand gestures I may be unable to write the book. And by the conventional, inaccurate means of recording time, I have been composing TO for three weeks. Yet, this could really be as many as 24 months, or as few as 3 hours. The disorienting reality revealed to us by the Phantom Time Hypothesis is chilling. Will I ever finish the book? An unfinished book is a companion. Giving him a form feels exactly the same as giving an affable but misshapen friend too many muscle relaxants. He becomes unnaturally flexible and I fold him away inside a trunk and padlock it. I have 32 other books I’m currently writing to suspend completion of Transparent Opacity. A few selections include; “Letters to Sree Albatap”; a biography of Bonar Law written in Grenadian Creole; a book of sonnets based upon Pink Floyd’s Division Bell; and a scathing polemic warning the EU against banning Brazilian beef, written from the point of view of a lake. They will all be completed in May 2008.
To read Mister Quickly’s reviews, click here.

Previously in The Origins of Our Communication series.

The Origins of Our Communication: BibliOdyssey’s Paul K.

G.M. Levinson — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 19:15:22 +0000

It is the technology that arguably defines modern society. It has revolutionized our media and our culture. Many people are in a constant struggle to adapt to it, while many more have embraced it for its limitless potential. Four decades ago, it was incarnated as a means of military communiqué (ARPANET) and since that time it has become a center of influence on our world. To a new generation, life without it is unimaginable In this exclusive Is > Than series, we have asked those behind some of our favorite websites to share their stories of when and how the Internet first came into their lives.

In September of 2005, Metafilter member Paul K. (or PK) of Sydney, Australia, began BibliOdyssey a blogger account of visual materia obscura. “I most enjoyed finding primary source material that had significance in terms of history,” PK explains. “I would track exhibitions and announcements about repository holdings and I suppose I got to the stage where I thought that I may as well corral all this info in one spot.” Finding his material in “off-the-beaten-path digital cloisters,” PK’s proclivity towards research is the backbone of the BibliOdyssey gallery, where his summaries provide the often fascinating and rich histories behind the astounding illustrations. Illustrations are “a kind of bait to learning,” he tells Is > Than. “[I have] belief in the web as having great educational opportunities.”

For the first installment of The Origins of Our Communication, PK traces the roots of an odyssey that, for him, began over twenty years ago:

Note:

There are three significant episodes of connectivity that stand out in my mind.

The first is about 1986/7 when I was working in a hospital emergency department and the newest toy at the time was a dumb terminal that connected to the pathology lab. It meant that we got the blood tests automagically on a computer screen in real time which also removed the risk of mistakes that come from playing phone tag and listening/writing under pressure. We could print the results out and add them to the patient charts. This was a big thing both for the work quality at the hospital but I remember thinking at the time that it was only the start of something, although I didn’t know what.

In the early 90s I finished a medical science degree and because I lived opposite the university, I was able to go and spend a couple of weeks on their computers which I had neglected during my studies. It was the internet, if only an early version – I don’t remember too much about the content; I do remember reading a lot of plain text. I was blown away, even then, by the amount of information that you could find – I do remember Lycos search portal was the place of pace back then. There was also the manic chatting on telnet bulletin board services (bbs).

In 1998/9 I moved into an apartment with a Russian computer programmer who had his own website and spent hours and hours at home on the internet. I couldn’t ask him enough questions and he wasn’t prepared to let me use his computer as often as I wanted so naturally I got my own pc (433 MHz chip I think) and learned to touch-type playing trivia games on mirc. I’ve been wired and addicted ever since.

Visit BibliOdyssey.

For more on the evolution of BibliOdyssey, read Elatia Harris’ in-depth interview with PK on 3QuarksDaily.

To purchase the BibliOdyssey book, click here.