In the year when America celebrates the 75th anniversary of the modern comic (Japanese and European dates differ), the art form finds itself in strange shape. Internally, the medium is suffering-like all print media- from the encroachment of digital alternatives. Comics readers are getting progressively older, and the market itself is increasingly propped up by expensive hard cover albums and spendy ancillary merchandise (much of which appears absurd to all but the most woefully addled and obsessive collectors). Comics magazines of the the kind that Funnies on Parade inaugurated are an ever-dwindling portion of what constitutes "comics"; the cost of paper and the shipping of such small items has made individual comics close to prohibitively expensive, especially when one considers the extent to which the mainstream publishers pack a monthly comic with advertising.
And yet, while commercially speaking comics appear to be in trouble, artistically they are in the rudest of health. The perceived saviour of mainstream comics is branding and adaptation onto other media platforms, the main thrust of this post being three such endeavours. Yet the inevitable focus of these is on super-heroes, the majority of these originating from the forties, fifties and sixties. This masks the richness of 21st century comics (cast an eye over the nominations for this year's Eisner Awards- the Oscars for things with staples in the middle- and you'll find recognition of less then 20 conventional capes and tights books among almost 150 choices) and confirms the outsider's worst prejudices about the industry; that it's nothing but adolescent power/revenge fantasy and Freudian technicolour wet dreams.
Fewer people than ever are reading comics, but a larger audience than ever is consuming the fruits of comics artists and writers' labour. This summer, movie-goers will be given the opportunity to sample five comicbook movies (eight if you include the spoofs Hancock (good) and Superhero Movie (dire) and the animé inspired Speed Racer). God knows I'll probably see all of them, but there's three I'm specifically excited by: today's release of Jon Faverau's Iron Man, based on Stan Lee and Don Heck's 1962 creation; Guillermo Del Toro's Hellboy II: The Golden Army, the second collaboration with creator Mike Mignola, now in his fifteenth year of illustrating HB's adventures; and Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight, his sequel to Batman Begins and a film that looks like it'll owe as much to Bill Finger, Jerry Robinson, Frank Miller, Denny O'Neill, Neal Adams, Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale as Bob Kane, the man whose name has been most readily associated with the character since his first appearance in 1939.
These three characters have all, at one time or another, been favourites of mine and it's interesting to compare and contrast them. Both Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark are super-heroes bereft of super-powers, made extraordinary by their intelligence, their bravery and their wealth. Hellboy is super-powered, supernatural in fact, yet has a resolutely blue-collar demeanour. Iron Man and Hellboy seek redemption; one is a hawk turned into a dove, the other a demon trying to be a man (an angel's probably too much to ask). Batman is motivated by pure vengeance, often positively embracing the darkness that enveloped him as a child. Also separating him from the other two is his apparent distaste for sensual pleasure; he pretends to be a playboy billionaire to better conceal his personal war on crime, whereas HB would much rather kick back with a six pack than fight the forces of evil, and Stark is positively self-destructive in his vices. Indeed, it's impossible to point to a less healthy hero. Depending on which books you read, he's ravaged by shrapnel wounds, alcoholism, gunshot wounds, paraplegia, quadriplegia, nano-technological viruses and terminal cancer. Of late, certain comic book writers have been emphasising a streak of fascism in the character that was barely perceptible in the beginning but slowly emerged as he was portrayed as an ever-more wealthy Reaganite technocrat in his double life. In this respect he is again comparable to the vigilante Batman and unlike the resolutely anti-authoritarian and generally put-upon Hellboy.
All indication's point to an Iron Man film made with genuine affection by all involved. As previously written, Robert Downey Jnr is insanely appropriate casting for Tony Stark, and all the visuals have been superb. Reviews indicate a severe case of "first in a speculative trilogy" syndrome; once the character origin is well and entertainingly told, the film has nowhere to go in the remainder of its running time. Some form of partial resolution must be provided, yet aces must be held for future instalments. Cue big, noisy, shallow fight. On that point, I think the film will suffer too from the absence of a villain that's anything more than a bigger, badder version of the hero (ditto Spider-Man 3 last year and Incredible Hulk later this summer). The film makers can't be blamed for this entirely; Iron Man lacks a rich gallery of rogues and his main "big bad" is an embarrassingly outdated racial stereotype. Never the less, I think this film will be a much stronger stab at the Marvel Comics vibe than recent woeful efforts such as Electra or Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, thanks in no small part to the fact that its the first production from the publishers own and newly-established studio.
The Dark Knight arrives in cinemas in July, unshackled from the burden of franchise building or "rebooting" mentioned above. Christopher Nolan remains tight-lipped about whether he intends to weave further tales in Gotham City. This is perhaps due to the untimely death of Heath Ledger, his Joker, that has inevitably cast a pall over the film's publicity campaign. The movie's official web site remains little more than an obituary for Ledger, even at this late stage of the game. Warner Bros have instead invested in one of the most lavish poster campaigns and complicated and obtuse "viral" strategies ever mounted for a movie, climaxing in flash-mob events around the globe triggered by puzzle-based web sites. This strategy would seem more appropriate for a film featuring the Riddler than Joker, two characters often confused in the public mind. Nolan has gone on record to say he won't include outlandish villains like the Penguin. Perhaps the Riddler is too flamboyant for his tastes too, and so he's cherry-picked his penchant for clues but jettisoned the rest. We'll know more after the long-awaited trailer materialises tomorrow. As much as I enjoyed the first of the series and am eagerly anticipating the second, I think Nolan's films are far from perfect. Despite his attempt to rationalise every aspect of every character, he's missed a few tricks. To cite just one example, and like Burton and Schumaker before him, he tells a story about a man with a definitive and pathological aversion to hand guns who nevertheless makes liberal use of explosives and ballistic weapons. Check out the "Bat-pod" for example. What the hell are those on the front? Rolls of architect's drawings for the new Bat-cave?
Hellboy II: The Golden Army brings up the rear in August. Guillermo Del Toro is hot to trot right now, critically lauded on an international scale for Pan's Labyrinth, hand-picked to succeed Peter Jackson as the director of the prequels to the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Again, I've harped on before about the questionable albeit author-approved tinkering that went on the first Hellboy film, especially turning the character from perennially middle-aged to an over-grown adolescent and the recasting of the FBI-like Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defence to a sub-MIBs secret organisation. However the trailer looks like it will all but dispense with the BPRD and instead fling the main characters into a mash up of the European folklore that has entirely captured Mike Mignola's imagination recently, the kind of non sequitur weirdness that made seventies vintage Star Wars such a joy and the fever-dream visuals that where Pan's Labyrinth's hallmark, to whit:
Jaisus, I could barely sleep after seeing that for the first time.
I'll return to these films, and others, as I see them, but with a trip to San Diego in the offing I simply wish to declate the Summer of Ultimate Geekery officially: OPEN!
They're looking for editorial cartoons in an election year, as well as celebrating a host of anniversaries including the 50th of the Legion of Super-Heroes (referenced in the drawing, Golden Age geeks) and the 75th of the comicbook itself; more on that tomorrow!
Has anyone else noticed how the plot of pretty much every episode of "adult" Doctor Who spin-off Torchwood is either predicated or at least partly depends upon how stunningly attractive the main characters are, despite the fact they are played by a typically pasty troop of sub-Casualty jobbing actors? For example, in the first show of this second series guest villain James Marsters straight-facedly referred to this bloke as "eye candy". Last night, on BBC 3, Freema Agyeman turned up for a spot of inter-series nod and winkery. A genuinely attractive woman, by the internal logic of the drama all narrative should have ceased as our bunch of bi-curious alien-busters greeted her like a paragon of female sexuality, falling to the floor in paroxysms of orgasmic joy. Meh. Bring on Dave Ross, says I.
Speaking of hit-and-miss BBC 3 drama, did anyone else bother with Phoo Action? Jamie Hewlett's work is poorly served by live action adaptation; just how shitty the ill-fated Tank Girl movie is becomes clear when you consider the last ninety seconds of it, which constitute one of the most thrilling and well-executed pieces of animation seen on cinema screens in the nineties. Shame they had to be preceded by as many minutes of unfunny, lazy film. Based on his Get the Freebies comic strips, Phoo Action came off like a love child of The Banana Splits, the sixties Batman tv show and Kill Bill. On paper, that sounds like tv made for Tel, especially when you factor in the cartoonist author and presence of Spaced's Jessica Hynes (nee Stevenson) on the writers' list. In practice the hour long show was in need of liberal use of the red pen; the observations on celebrity culture and mass media- Hewlett's original target back in the day- were welcome. But it was overloaded with non-sequiters and half-assed jokes. The show looks fantastic, but it's not up to Hewlett's simian-themed best (be it Monkeys or Gorillaz). I note six more episodes have been commissioned sight unseen, all to be filmed in Glasgow. If nothing else, the increased chance of encountering a basketball-headed goblin on Buchanan Street is a reason to be cheerful.
That a bunch of hash heads couldn't see that the strip was, albeit in a pretty asinine way, criticising hash heads and their dated, dopey counter-culture, and were giddy at the very mention of spliffs, regardless of context, in exactly the same way as the 'zinesters the I was mocking, gave me an irony-induced nose bleed.
Oy.
Seeing as how it's ten years since I begat the little comic from whence the title of this blog came, I thought I might put some extracts from it in my new, neither fish nor fowl Morgue gallery.
Um, no.
It's bizarre, but one short decade later there's not a single drawing in the whole damn thing I can associate myself with. It's like someone else made it. Don't get me wrong, there where no surprises in there, I remember it all in terms of content, but execution? Yikes. And the humour? Well, it's mostly either warmed-over Evan Dorkin pop culture wise-assery:
Or sub-Jhonen Vasquez cute/nasty:
Schism Schasm was subtitled "A Can't Letter Comic", and by god, at least I was honest. Post-Kubert, where I'd been made to feel very self-conscious about my undisciplined and curly hand lettering, I can see myself going overboard in an attempt to make my alphabet legible, clear and consistent. This results in all lettering being over-sized, and in some cases completely throwing the balance between artwork and language in panels and even whole pages. This phenomenon reaches its apotheosis in the "slice of life" centre spread, which I reproduce here at a small size because it emphasises the over-bearing slabs of grey atop each panel:
That's atrocious. Even today, I struggle to keep my lettering proportional (only by drawing nice and big can I keep the letters as minimal as they really ought to be), but I'm a damn sight better than that. My only defence of that particular story is it did generate a bit of patter that I still hear used by certain people who read it:
As if further proof where needed, the most succesful page- as a bit of cartooning- among the thirty six I did is the least verbose of the lot (and one that weirdly prefigures how large France would loom in my later career):
I dunno, the past is a foreign country... Anyone else care to share past creative cringes?
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- Cartoons! Comics! Caricatures! by Terry
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