I'd like to preface this post by responding to the obvious immediate criticism: that things I'm describing are "White People Problems"; trivial and unrelatable and, in the grand scheme of things, not worth think about. To an extent, this label is accurate, but really, this isn't about me complaining that the San Diego Comic-Con has become to mainstream (though that happens) or talking about how awesome this event can be (though that happens too). More so, however, this is about how I lost touch with something I'm passionate about.
I've been going to SDCC for eight years now, and for nearly every year it's been the highlight of my summer. However, it's become a bigger and bigger event each year, a nexus of all things popular culture to the point that comics (y'know, the third word in the title) have become something of an afterthought. Now I love going to the big panels promoting my favorite TV shows and upcoming films, despite the effort it takes to get into these panels. This year, however, broke me of that.
Today (Saturday, July 14th), my plan for Comic-Con hinged on me getting into Hall H and spending my day there (as rooms are not cleared between panels). At 6500 seats, Hall H is the largest venue at the San Diego Convention Center and is thus reserved for the most special of programs. Today was no exception: panels included Quentin Tarantino's Django Unchained, Warner Brothers' The Hobbit and The Man of Steel, and Marvel Studios' Iron Man 3. If was going to get in, I would have to get in line pretty early. Apparantly, not early enough.
I woke up at seven (which is early for me), took a bus and a trolley to the Convention Center and got in the staggeringly long line at nine. I was nervous, but confident enough that even if I missed Django (which I could live with), I could still get in for Warner Bros. After much waiting the line moved from the San Diego Marina to the tents outside Hall H, the last leg on the journey to panels. I missed Django (unsurprising), but was still optimistic that enough people would leave after that or after the following panel (the new Silent Hill movie). Django came and went and halfway through Silent Hill, the line hadn't budged a damn inch. An convention center employee then informed us that no one was leaving the hall and that we were very unlikely to get into Hall H. This was when I decided to leave.
The time between getting in line and leaving it was 9 AM to 2 PM. That means that for five hours, I waited for something to happen and walked away with nothing but distinct feeling of disappointment and a sore ass.
The day was filled with further minor disappointments, though I did manage to score a Team Fortress 2 t-shirt, an exclusive plushie of Wheatly from Portal 2, and a signed copy of Axe Cop volume 2 (lotta 2's in there I just noticed). But the final nail in the coffin happened later.
Determined to see at least ONE panel today, I decided to get in line for the last Hall H panel, one I was sure I could get into: the Q&A with Kevin Smith. I arrived in line an hour early (as is protocol for any Hall H panel) and got in ten minutes after it started to a room that was only half full. I spent six hours in lines today, and could accomplished the same thing I did with fifteen minutes.
Comic-Con has simply become too big. Don't get me wrong, there's still stuff to love: yesterday's Breaking Bad panel, for instance. It wasn't about revealing an exclusive scoop or special footage; it was about a writer, some actors, and four-thousand people sharing in a passion over an incredible drama. Another good example was Joss Whedon's Dark Horse panel; he spent two minutes reiterating his work with Dark Horse and fifty-eight minutes talking with fans. This is what I love most about Comic-Con: smart, talented, creative people talking about their passions to a crowd that shares them. Animosity and bitterness are put aside so that for one hour, a room full of strangers can agree that they love this one thing.
What I hate most about Comic-Con is days like today, when your love and dedication isn't enough, when you can wait five hours for something to happen and have nothing to show for it. I fear with the constant expansion of Comic-Con, the negative aspects will outweigh the positive, and I just can't be part of that. Comic-Con, I love you, I love the eight years we've spent together, but I just don't want to jump through these hoops and execute these protocols anymore.
Thanks for letting me vent, I'll see you next time for more positive thoughts. Maybe.
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