Characters on parade
All manner of costumes turn out with Comicpalooza in full swing.
The shouting began about 3 p.m. Saturday at the George R. Brown Convention Center. “Clear a path! Clear a path!” Comicpalooza attendees parted, opening the large middle aisle on the ground floor to make room for what was certain to be emergency workers carting out somebody who had ended up on the wrong end of a fight over “The Walking Dead” characters. But no, this is the city’s annual comic convention, not a sporting event. So through the space instead marched three red velvet-clad Royal Guards, followed by Darth Vader and, despite continuity issues, Kylo Ren. About a halfdozen Stormtroopers followed, as well as a biker trooper and a few TIE pilots.
These are the sorts of commotions that happen at Comicpalooza.
The annual event always opens quietly on a Friday and peaks on Saturday. The stream of fans was formidable, as usual. A child with admirable hair stomped about as a 3-foot-tall God of Thunder, Gene Simmons from KISS. A bearded man in black jeans, a black Stetson and a neatly trimmed beard looked just like Comicpalooza guest Chuck Norris. Only it wasn’t Chuck Norris. Not all costumes are alien.
A full-scale model tauntaun — the braying cold-temperature-resistant bipeds from “The Empire Strikes Back” — was available for photo ops. At least two attendees sported thigh-spanning tattoos of Wolverine from “The X-Men.” Presumably, if that’s your thing, this is the place for you. A few city blocks where all fictional universes converge.
A cosplay repair station was added this year, a remarkably sensible idea hit upon by festival
organizers and executed by the Da Vinci Maker Labs in Alvin.
“This trailer is not designed for cosplay repair,” said Christopher Harris, the director of Da Vinci. Which was confusing, because his trailer sat beneath a banner that read “cosplay repair.”
Harris’ trailer is typically dedicated to work on model rockets. But a lot of the materials used for its intended purpose were well suited to help attendees who had endured some sort of costume malfunction. Harris said Friday was a little slow, but on Saturday he guessed at least 50 people dropped by for all manner of costume repairs, from busted shoes to broken steampunk sunglasses to issues with armor. The trailer offered hot glue, duct tape, a sewing machine and other implements for costume repair.
“It’s been wildly successful,” he said. “And a lot of fun, too. We don’t charge anybody. There’s a jar if they want to contribute. But we’ve just enjoyed helping people. Some of them have issues that would have made them leave or drop out of a costume competition.”
One favorite was a stand operated by Dragon Pets, a Willis-based operation that naturally spans both Ren Fests and comic conventions. Their slinky dragons — flexible so they can wrap around arms, necks or backpacks — were hand made from either silicone and polyurethane. The creator, Richard Terry, wasn’t present, but his salespeople ensured, “No polyurethane was harmed in the creation of these dragons.”
And while the pitch is funny, there’s also something endearing about the pursuit. Terry is a petrochemical industry veteran who left that work behind to follow an artistic path he felt he’d left behind years earlier. At this wonderful gathering where commotion is caused not by fights but rather a “Star Wars” parade, that mix of artistic sensibility and chemical company know-how felt quintessentially Houston.