Another Low Content Post

My days fill up a little too quickly.  I'll have a new post on Wednesday, but until then take a look at the Finder website.

Spacegirl (Day off)

Low content mode today. Enjoy Travis Charest's sporadic scifi/action strip Spacegirl.

Persepolis 2

Author: Marjane Satrapi

Translator: Anjali Singh

Yes, this is the second volume in Satrapi's autobiography. No, I have not read the first volume. Persepolis is one of those comics that I've wanted to read for some time, yet never confident enough to spend the money to read it. I blame the art work. But the other day I found a damaged copy (the dust cover was ripped to shreds) at Barnes and Noble for a dollar--a single dollar because of damage to the dust cover. So I bought it. I'm glad I did.

Persepolis 2 chronicles Satrapi life after she left Iran in her teens, her bouncing from place to place, and her eventual return. It's a fascinating story largely focusing on inter- and intra- cultural conflicts. More importantly, it is simultaneously about topics common to all cultures (teenage rebellion, finding an identity) and topics uncommon to modern anglo-american culture (fundamentalist government, war). The fact that Satrapi is going through both sides of this equation at the same time makes her story accessible, yet alien. The draw of this kind of autobiography is clear.

What is not so clear is why the art is appealing. It is in a very similar style to fellow L'Association artist David B in it's similarity to woodcuts. Yet, Satrapi's art lacks any of the intricate and complex symbolism that fills David B's art. At the same time, they are clearly of the same school of thought. Why does this style of art work? Part of its charm is its cartoonish nature. Because it is so far from realism it is able to convey movement and emotion in a more fluid manner--such art doesn't have to worry about breaking the illusion of reality--exaggeration is an incredibly effective tool.

Beyond the art, the storytelling itself is very well done. Like most autobiographical comics of the big picture variety (as opposed to slice of life autobiographies), Persepolis 2 is very word heavy and a large percentage of the storytelling consists of fairly static panels (depicting actions during conversation) or scene to scene jumps accompanied by narration. Overall, this tends to not make Persepolis 2 an impressive comic book, but it doesn't take away from the impact of the story itself. Realistic art would have served to keep the reader at arm's length from the story, but Satrapi's use of cartooning gives the story an immediate impact that makes it all the more effective, while allowing Satrapi a shorthand way of conveying action and emotion that would not have otherwise been available. I think I'll have to pick up volume 1 now.

Status: Bookshelf

In which I talk a lot and little is solved

I talk a lot about the balance between story, art, and the narrative tools of comics, but in truth I'm not even sure how they all come together. Story is simply that--the story being told. Art, again, is straightforward--the style and quality of the image being used. The narrative tools of comics are something else entirely--how comics works is a topic that has filled many a book (Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics probably being the most widely known). And even as simply as I've painted the role of story and art--the relationship is not that simple. It may be the case that certain stories and art are better suited to the medium of comics than others--that comics may be not just a medium, but something of a genre. Likewise, the storytelling devices that we take for granted--that I include under story as a category--like first, second, third -person perspective and narrative structure all have to be thought of in terms of the medium within which they are presented. There are certain storytelling devices that work in film that cannot be made to work in the written word. Likewise, there must be some storytelling devices that work in some mediums that won't work in comics, and vice versa.

It doesn't help that comics is such a nebulous category. What makes something comics? McCloud defines comics (basically) as the use of sequential images. This disqualifies images paired with text (like the Far Side comic strip). Intuitively, this disqualification seems both right and wrong. Right because the prime means of storytelling of comics does appear to be the juxtaposition of images. Wrong because there must be something in the relationship between words and images, even if that relationship is outside the panel (And McCloud seems to put undo emphasis on the use of panels). Certainly, someone like Eddie Campbell would disagree with McClouds definition (although if I remember his views correctly--it's been awhile--defining is precisely part of the problem). This issue alone causes many a headache. As a result, coming to grips with the interplay between story, art, and the narrative tools of comics is especially slippery.

In a lot of ways, the quality of a story is the most subjective aspect when talking about the worth of a comic. Certainly there are aspects of any story that will cause them to be bad regardless of medium, but beyond that much comes down to personal taste and, beyond that, the skill with which the story is told. But art is not much less subjective. It may be, as McCloud says, that the more realistic the art the less it allows the reader to unconsciously use the narrative tools of comics (although there are reasons to doubt this, which I'll deal with another day), but ultimately the appeal of a specific art style is very much in the eye of the beholder--the independent comic scene has long been beholden to a lack of criticism for generally poor art skills.*

The actual balance between story, art, and the skillful use of comics' storytelling tools seems the main point of focus that any review should take into account. Some comics may be so successful in one area that their deficiencies in other areas can be overlooked. For example, I would suggest that in general Paul Pope's skill with the medium of comics--both in art and use of storytelling tools--overshadows any flaws in the stories themselves. Meanwhile, Alex Ross often gets a pass for the realism of his art, even though his stories and use of storytelling tools are sometimes flawed. But all comics have to succeed at the most basic level with each of the three elements. A great comic needs to succeed brilliantly in all three areas.

*and I certainly don't mean this as any serious criticism in itself (or as a blanket generalization).

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Black Dossier

Writer: Alan Moore
Artist: Kevin O'Neill
Design: Todd Klein

I'm not going to do a normal review of this book because the only sensible way to view this particular installment in the league is as a side trip--very dependent on the previous volumes. In the next couple weeks I'll be doing a post on the league series in general, but for now I wanted to deal with a seriously problematic portion of the Black Dossier: the "Galley-wag."

I guess it's best to note here that spoilers will follow, but most likely anyone who will be interested in this post will have already read Black Dossier.

Black Dossier is a very British book. More specifically, Black Dossier is a very British book about children's fiction from a certain period. At the heart of the big mystery of the book is a series about British schoolboys. In this context it makes sense that the Golliwogg would make an appearance--it is an important part of childhood for a segment of the British population. And also now an understandably controversial part of the past. From what I've read of the initial Golliwogg book, there's nothing particularly racist in his portrayal--the story is about toys having adventures and the Golliwogg is representative of one type of toy from the period. But, that type of toy is inexorably wrapped up in racist practices--it has a history (For an excellent in depth look at that history go here).
To a certain point, I can conceptually follow Moore's use of the Golliwogg's in the league--I can see where it makes sense in terms of Black Dossier because of the theme of British childhood. I can also see why Moore disassociated the Golliwogg from the racist origins: as a character he simply had no background at all, so Moore gave him one. Alright, but . . . . Once Moore has one of the Dutch Dolls make a comment about the Golliwogg's large manhood, well, we're right into racial stereotypes and the whole racist history of the Golliwogg comes bubbling up--Moore did it to himself.

Frankly the decision to use the Golliwogg seems hardheaded. The league has not been much of a place for reform. Sure, Moore has changed characters and played around with some biases of the era, but ultimately the league is about playing with toys from other people's works. It can deal with big themes, it can be complex, it can handle nuance . . . but don't fuck around with racism if you aren't going to deal with it.

As I said before, I could have let this pass in what I take to be Moore's intention of associating this with British childhood if he hadn't fallen into what I politely call racial stereotyping. But he did, so it can't pass. Defending the Golliwogg as a symbol of British culture has always been like the American South defending the Confederate flag. Yes, it's a symbol of your culture--it's also a symbol of a history of racism. You can't simply whitewash racism out of a cultural artifact.

Even worse, Moore makes a point of lecturing about the role stories have in shaping who we are, but seems oblivious to the negative impact oppressive narratives can have. It's impossible not to see the conclusion of Black Dossier from the approach to the Blazing World on as a blundering mistake--there is a lack of self-awareness operating here that is astonishing.

A good part of me really hopes that this whole thing will be addressed by Moore and O'Neill in the future (perhaps in Jess Nevins' forthcoming annotations), but I'm having a difficult time seeing this as anything but willful ignorance. I expected better from these creators.

Yes, Black Dossier is still on my bookshelf . . . I . . . I liked it overall . . . but the return of the Golliwogg may be the last straw for this series.

Status: Bookshelf

The Private Files of the Shadow

Writer: Dennis O'Neil
Artist: Michael Wm. Kaluta

I'm a fan of the Shadow as a character. I've never really been satisfied with the most of the material he appears in (even the original pulps), but I like the idea of the Shadow. Where I have found satisfaction in the Shadow was in Kaluta's work with the character, so I sat down with this collection of Shadow comics from the 70's (featuring Kaluta's early work) with some hope. Unfortunately I was let down.

The biggest problem with this collection of stories is the writing. Kaluta's art and storytelling is in an early stage, and his art is a bit of an acquired taste in the first place (his penchant for bizarrely structured faces comes to mind), but he ultimately does at least a passable job. The same cannot be said for the writing.

O'Neil's stories make little to no sense. For an example: a mob boss has taken over the prison, killed most of the guards, and is using the prison as a boss to help gangsters. There is no indication that there is any awareness on the outside world that this has taken place. This type of absurd setup is typical for the stories in the volume and with each story the problems increase (the final straw was the fake twin created by standing next to a mirror . . . in front of tons of people . . . and moving around). The success of a straight up action-adventure book like this depends entirely on the successful suspension of disbelief, but O'Neil crosses any acceptable line at least once in every story. Combined with Kaluta's formative art there's very little to recommend from this volume.

There is one exception in an addition not from the original run of the comic. Kaluta has contributed a new short story to the volume and this piece is very well done. It is essentially a silent piece with the Shadow confronting a Chinese Triad to rescue a kidnapped child. The exposition is excellently handled, the action is tight and tense, the art is excellent, and the narrative storytelling is in third gear. There is absolutely nothing I can find to criticize in this piece--short, sweet, and to the point. If only the rest of the book at been like this. If you get the chance, pick up this book, read the last story, and then put it back down.

Status: Disappointingly kicked to the curb

Popeye: Vol. 1 - "I Yam What I Yam"

Author: E.C. Segar

Popeye is not simply a gag strip--it is also an adventure strip with plot lines running for months upon months, each running in to one another. And it's really good.

Forget the cartoons. This Popeye doesn't rely on a formulas where Popeye is beaten until he gulps down his spinach and wallops the bad guy. There are develop storylines with each strip leading to a punchline, but also filled with physical comedy. Physical comedy in a comic strip depends largely on the art. Luckily, there's a cleanness and feeling of movement in Segar's work that really draws the reader along. It's clear that Segar has a good eye for movement from left to right, and he makes good use of his sparse panels.

There's very little more to say. You're either going to like this or you're not. There's absolutely nothing in the art to put the reader off, but if you're not that interested in physical comedy you might as well stay away. At the same time, physical comedy isn't usually my thing, but I find this entertaining --there's something so absurd and simple in what's going on on the page that it transcends the typical confines that modern comic strips run into when they attempt physical comedy.

At the same time, I can't see myself going any further with this series. I appreciate the craft in this work--the sweet simplicity of it all. There's very little need for more material.

Status: Bookshelf

Two-Fisted Science

Authors: Various

A collection of science related stories done by various different artists and writers, Two-Fisted Science is a slight piece of work that does very little in giving the reader anything new.

The biggest problem with this book is that almost half of it's length is made up of adaptations of Richard Feynman stories. While this is all fine and good, Feynman's own writing is already incredibly accessible and entertaining to the casual reader. In addition, neither story has very much to do with science! If anything, that's the biggest flaw in this volume: there is very little science. In and of itself, this isn't a particularly fatal flaw. However, combined with the fact that the stories (with the exception of Feynman's) give very little insight into the scientist, there's not much to recommend from this book. The art varies from contributer to contributer (as should be expected), while the writing and narrative are either sub par (Newton versus Leibniz!) or borrowed whole cloth from another work (Feynman, again).

I have nothing particularly against the Feynman stories, after all they are entertaining and competently told, but they display nothing special to explain why they are being told at all. If there had been a single story this would be no problem at all, but Feynman after Feynman just raises the question why!? The volume gives enough recommended reading to have pointed the reader to the originals without such a need for adaptation. My guess is that each author was left to their own devices in choosing what scientific story to tell and, given Feynman's widespread popularity, chose independently a Feynman story. But this just makes the whole volume seem weakly edited: why is this not simply a comic dedicated to Feynman--with a few more additions, it could have easily been so. This seems largely like a failure on the editor's part.

There is one story that stands out from the rest. Steve Leiber's Heavy Water is a fascinating discussion between two physicists on two sides of the war in Nazi Germany. The art is expressive and the story itself fascinating. At the same time, it makes one focus again on how focused this book is. Here is another story about the nuclear bomb. Out of the entire history of science, half of the book (possibly more) is devoted to a very small period of scientific advancement.

While seemingly an interesting idea, Two-Fisted Science has too little coherence as a result of an imbalance in it's topics. If you are looking for stories about scientists lives in the early 20th century, you may find something of interest here--but it will most likely be slight.

Status: In the trash can

100%

Author: Paul Pope

100% takes place in the future, but it's really just a collection of love stories that coexist with one another. They are stories that could have been told in any time: a boy falls in love with the girl who can't stand to be tied down, a girl falls in love with an artist struggling to get by, and a man struggles to give his woman the life he feels she deserves. The futuristic trappings are just Pope's natural environment--where he feels most comfortable.

Pope has a distinctive art style that conveys a feeling of raw energy--this is his greatest strength. Even when his characters are simply sitting around talking, there is an energy in their faces and in their pose that many artists fail to convey. In any comic, the art, the narrative style, and the story are going to be of varying importance. For Pope, the emphasis is on art and narrative. It is how Pope tells the story that is most important, not what story is being told. Pope has variously told a sci-fi epic, a heist story, and a slice of life tale, but none of these stories are all that unique. It is Pope's attention to motion and emotion that make his stories powerful.

Despite the strength in Pope's art in general, 100% is not perfect, as it shares the same flaws as the majority of his work. Pope often goes overboard with detail and overall kinetic energy to the point of obscuring story flow. This is most obvious in the scenes set in a cityscape--the detail of the city overwhelms the eye and makes the action hard to decipher. This particular flaw is just demonstrative of a larger problem in Pope's work. Pope has difficulty balancing whites and blacks. In his early THB work the black detail often overwhelmed the composition. In 100% the gray coloring of backgrounds serves to muddy the action. If you compare the areas of 100% where backgrounds are shaded with the panels sans gray tone, you can make out a clear difference. In fact, the gray tone issues indicate a positive move in Pope's art: he's begun to understand the importance of balance. It's merely unfortunate that in this work, what I can only assume is computer shading overwhelms the balance.

Still, Pope's strengths outweigh his weaknesses. Here, art overcomes art. At heart, this collection of love stories involves little in the way of action (dancing provides what little there is). However, Pope's panel composition and line work makes even the most basic and pedestrian scene seem as active as an over the top Hollywood action flick. Pope's art imbues the story with an energy that is rarely seen and is well worth marveling at.

Status: Bookshelf

Halo and Sprocket: Welcome to Humanity

Author: Kerry Callen

A woman has two bizarre roommates: a robot and an angel. Why they are there is not quite clear, but it's not incredibly important to the book. Callen describes the basic set up as pairing two different points of view on the world and letting comedy ensue. While the set up is interesting, the payoff is not entirely satisfactory.

Halo and Sprocket is a gag strip at heart. The book is made up of a series of stories that each revolve around a situation, in most cases meant to highlight peculiarly human experiences and how alien they are to an outside perspective. Halo is meant to represent an otherworldly perspective, while Sprocket is meant to represent a "rational" perspective. Katie, the woman, provides the human perspective. Because Halo and Sprocket is ultimately about the various punchlines and comedic payoffs, it's success depends largely on the success of this clash of perspectives. And it is because this comedy does not succeed as well as it should that Halo and Sprocket falls flat on its face.

The art here is clean and professional and does a good job of conveying what it needs to convey. While overall the art comes across as a little sparse, this is understandable given it's gag strip origin--the back and forth of the characters and their interplay within dialogue is of prime importance--the comedy plays out in mostly in the words. In a way this is a strength because the visual comedy is mostly weak simply because Callen's line is too strong and does not allow much flexibility for character expression. Despite the range of emotion that Katie goes through, her expressions are never quite fluid--always correct and reflective of the situation--yet stiff. At the same time, there are some very nice instances of visual narrative in the construction of the stories like when Katie recalls a story about a boy chasing a dog and the visual of the story is played out in the same panel as the telling. In fact, it is when Callen relies primarily on visual storytelling that he succeeds the most: the the very brief "Aw heck" is pitch perfect mostly because it is such an unexpected outcome for such a straightforward gag. In addition, the short also allows Callen more flexibility in his visuals, which he takes full advantage of. What is most frustrating is that Callen seems best when he is relying on visuals, yet he relies mostly on words.

It is Callen's words that are the biggest problem. Callen's setup has great potential. But it rarely plays out in a satisfactory way. All the strips play out over misunderstandings about some human tradition or superstition (or saying) on the part of either Sprocket or Halo--Sprocket becoming confused because he is too literal and Halo becoming confused because it holds itself above humanity. The end result in both cases is that these human complexities are shown to be specific to human experience and beyond the understanding of those outside humanity. This is fine, the trouble is that too many stories rely simply on this inability to understand. Far too few of the stories rely on Sprocket's or Halo's individual assimilation of human culture. Sure, it is humorous for Halo to point out that we've forgotten the ears on a t-rex or to turn a painting of a mermaid into a fish eating a woman, but these are only passing jokes that don't lead to any larger humor. As a situational comedy, there needs to be more focus on the comedy coming out of the situation, not simply passing jokes. The greatest flaw in this book is that not nearly enough is done with the setup.

A large part of these criticisms are extremely subjective--humor being just as subjective as art. And, appropriately, it is probably very easy to disagree with me my judgment on the art--someone may find the style perfectly appropriate. Overall, however, Halo and Sprocket fails because it does not derive enough humor from the characters and the setup. There is too much incidental humor that, while funny, doesn't hit the mark in the way playing off the characters would. There is potential here, but it is not fulfilled in this book.

Status: Up for sale.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Vol. 2

Writer: Alan Moore
Artist: Kevin O'Neill

Right from the start, I was sure this one wasn't going anywhere and a read through (including the almanac) confirmed my gut reaction. Volume 2 of the league is a very different beast from the first. Because of the Martian Cutaway that opens the book, the main story line actually only covers five chapters as opposed to volume 1's six--thus doing away with the possibility of the simple structure of the previous volume. Instead of being neck deep in the major events taking place, the league is actually on the sidelines just trying to survive. With Wells' Martian Invasion forming the framework for the events of this volume, it's no surprise that Moore decided to focus on character interactions rather than large scale set pieces. Don't get me wrong, those are here too, but the battles that punctuated the first volume's main storylines are represented in the second by the Martian Cutaway--in other words, the climactic battle is played out at the beginning leaving the end to conclude with a whimper (a sneeze?).

It is in this second volume that Moore and O'Neill start solidifying the core of the league--laying the foundation for future volumes. At the heart of the book is team leader Mina Murray and it is her interactions that provide the focal points of the story: her relationships with Hyde and Quatermain, and the consequences of Griffin's actions towards her. Unlike the first volume where missions were peppered with interpersonal interactions, the second volume reads like interpersonal interactions peppered with missions. The all encompassing nature of the larger story gave Moore the room to tease out what he thought important about the team. Of course those answers may not have been satisfactory to every reader.

Likewise, O'Neill's art is extremely well polished in this volume and his story telling ability has improved. With that complement has to come recognition of the fantastic coloring job that Ben Dimagmaliw did on this volume. His nuance and use of multiple palettes for various locations made an intense impact and helped give O'Neill's work a clean, finished look.

Unfortunately, volume 2 falls apart a bit near the end, where Moore's habit of writing one draft of a work, as the work is serialized, reveals its flaws. To Moore's credit, it is a rare occurrence when this flaw rears its ugly head, but it certainly does so here. In addition, the last chapter makes clear the focus of this volume and the detriment that had to certain aspects from volume 1. The prime example of this is Nemo: while all the other characters receive some sort of character development--far in excess of the previous volume--Nemo is maintained at the same level of character development, meaning he receives very little focus here. The ending brings this to the forefront with Nemo's departure. It is so sudden and uncharacteristic that it feels shoehorned in--like Moore planned it in advance and then found he didn't have the time to set it up.

So, despite the improvements and the interesting developments that take place in volume 2 of the league, it's difficult to recommend this volume any more or less than the first volume. Be aware, however, this volume is very different and an indicator of the tone and focus to come. Personally, I found it extremely enjoyable (almanac and all), but your mileage may vary.

Status: Bookshelf

Daydream Lullabies: a Billy Dogma Experience

Author: Dean Haspiel

I wanted to like this. Haspiel's art has a solid look that taps into the Kirby vibe without actually being a copy, and which is highly appropriate for what story is being told. I like what Haspiel is doing with Billy Dogma: having the individual versus conformity play out in a mix of flowery speech and dramatic action. It's an appealing concept. But in this volume (which is a collection of various Billy Dogma stories of differing length and style), everything doesn't come together. After the first story--where Billy battles the oppressive culture of capitalism that crushes the individual--there doesn't seem to be much more that can be said. The majority of the rest of the stories play out the same battle for Billy's right to be an individual, but not much new is really expressed and the bright concepts (like the living bar code that measures each individual's worth) sizzle out before they have a chance to cast any real light on the proceedings.

Regardless of all this, however, there are moments that shine through in this volume--almost entirely centered around the relationship between Billy and Jane Legit. Out of this entire volume, the moment that shines the brightest is when Billy and Jane--after having traveled through a portal and replaced the weapons of the robots chasing them with flowers--embrace one another in a growing pile of flowers. Luckily, it seems that Haspiel has recognized (or perhaps succeeded in focusing) on this relationship with his more recent work with the character, which gives me hope for the future of Billy Dogma. I can't recommend this particular book, but I can point your way to Immortal, where Haspiel has refocused both his story and his art into a much more appropriate operatic style.

Status: Kicked to the curb . . . but ever so lightly.

Mary Perkins on Stage: Vol. 1

Author: Leonard Starr

More than comic books, comic strips are drastically limited by format. Early comic strips may have had full pages in which to play out their stories, but by the fifties and sixties when Mary Perkins ran the space for the weekdays and Sundays had shrunk a great deal. Starr had to fit plot developments into three, maybe four, panels a day, while at the same time making sure that the information from the previous strip was summarized at the start of the next strip and leaving a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of the strip. In inexpert hands, this essentially pares down developments to the space of one or two panels a day, which hardly seems like enough space to tell a story. Yet Starr not only did tell a story, he told a good story and told it well.

Mary Perkins (On Stage was the actual title at this point) is the story of the titular small town middle America girl and her attempt to break into show business. In a soap opera strip like this, needless to say, much more than simple theatrics take place--there is a wide range of drama on the scene. No matter the focus of any given storyline, however, what they all share are a measured sense of pacing, a focus on character, and fine, workman-like art. There's something to be said for something that is straightforwardly well put together. Reading these strips one after the other, it's easy to admire the ease with which Starr hides the necessary info dumps. The rare cases where the mechanics do stand out just bring out how astonishing it is that this collection of daily strips reads so well as a whole.

It's fascinating to look at the storytelling leaps Starr as to make in order to pull everything together in three panel chunks. In the course of a three panel daily, Starr might change scenes two times--perhaps flashing between two different settings where characters are developing conflicting strategies. It's a credit to Starr that these changes develop a rhythm of their own. At the same time, Starr could effortlessly switch over to a more decompressed style of storytelling, as in one strip that consists almost entirely of several smaller panels showing Mary smoking. It was in the Sunday strips that Starr was most able to stretch his legs because while the Sunday format provided a larger space, it also couldn't make progress in the story--some papers didn't carry the Sunday strip, only the dailies. As a result, Starr made the Sundays the place for in depth focus on character, a deeper understanding into certain events (which are simply implied as happening between Saturday and Monday in the dailies), or sometimes just to demonstrate some terminology or details about show business. Whatever he was doing, he made the best of the space.

Obviously I was won over by this collection and I think I'll have more to say in the future about comic strip storytelling versus comic book storytelling, but for now head on over to Rules of Attraction to read the article on Mary Perkins on Stage.

Status: Bookshelf

In Review: 8/03-8/09

Finder: Talisman
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Vol. 1
The Dark Knight Returns


This week just reveals to me the importance of story. Both Talisman and League strive only to tell a straight forward story, while Dark Knight attempts to tell a more complicated story with themes weaved throughout. The trouble with Dark Knight Returns is that in attempting to be ambitious it ends up falling flat on its face. When the story fails it has to be compensated for in the story telling and the art.

League tells a straightforward adventure/espionage story and so only needs to be competent in the storytelling and art--it surpasses competent in both aspects. Talisman is different because it is an introspective story. There are three options in this comics: depend on text heavily, depend on pictures to convey the correct feelings, or attempt to find a balance between the two. In most cases in comics, the best choice is to find the correct balance between words and pictures. In introspective stories, many writers depend heavily on inner monologue because of a lack of confidence in the ability of the art to tell a story. Sometimes, however, exactly the reverse happens and the content of the introspection is lost. Talisman manages to strike the correct balance between words and pictures--giving content and expression to the introspection without either aspect overpowering the other. Because of its focus on character, Finder is especially suited to this type of story.

The Dark Knight Returns on the other hand is primarily an action/adventure story. Commonly, these types of stories can depend very heavily on the art, and this is largely true here. However, Dark Knight Returns also strives to layer an exploration of Batman on top of this story. Ultimately, the superficial story is used as a means to this end. As I've already discussed earlier in the week, the problem with this added layer is that it raises expectations at the same time that the execution of the layer dashes those expectations. The depth of Dark Knight Returns never reaches below the surface. The inability of the story to maintain a level of coherence in the themes only underlines the superficiality of the story as a whole. If Miller had only strived to tell a simple action story he may have been able to get away with the incoherence, but he invited deeper critique.

These three works just reveal to me the importance of story in comic books. If the story is light narratively, as in Talisman, it can be carried off well if the art and storytelling is up to the task. Likewise, if the story is good it is only amplified by excellent storytelling and art, as in League. However, if the story is lacking in coherence even the best art and storytelling can't make up for this absence.

The Dark Knight Returns

Writer/Artist: Frank Miller

Well. I remember this very fondly. This is the super bad-ass Batman. The gritty, dark Batman. The Batman, which, not surprisingly, appealed to me when I was younger but not so much now. In all honesty, this comes off as a bit of a mess now.

The whole thing starts off fine with an introduction to the "future" we'll be living in and the return of Batman. It sets up the conceit that was new at the time that Batman is the truth and Bruce Wayne just a mask. Excellent, fine. The story builds to the reveal of Batman and then goes off on its merry way to a conflict between Two-Face and Batman. All fine. And that's what's so frustrating about this book. Everything starts off so well. Yes, Miller's . . . quirky . . . social/political views are there in all their one-dimensional glory, but it's easy to let them fall to the wayside when you're enjoying a kinetic interpretation of Batman. Miller keeps the storytelling lively with his use of small panels, his tight control of pacing, and the expressive character designs. Lynn Varley keeps that electricity up with her smart color choices. As with much of Miller's important later work (DK2, 300) Varley's colors prove an important part of the comic as a whole.

But the first frayed threads begin showing up very early on. During the first scene with Harvey Dent there is a clever splitting of the panels that both informs the reader and represents the split underlying Dent's character. The problem is that the split continues onto the next page where it serves no narrative purpose. This seems minor, but it's symptomatic of larger problems. Miller doesn't know how to control his concepts, his conceits--they quickly spiral out of control. Whether the inconsistencies in the book are a result of lack of control or just lack of planning, they exist nonetheless.

Case in point: In the third section, Batman faces down the Joker and must deal with the consequences of his decision to never kill. This scene culminates with Batman's inability to kill being reinforced. The problem is that in the previous two books there are sequences that seem to depict Batman killing the bad guys. It might be argued that these instances aren't clear and that they should be retroactively read in the appropriate context. But that is precisely the point: if Batman's code was so important, it should have built up before the Joker storyline, not seemingly undermined. The entire book suffers from this problem--a lack of cohesion.

And the Superman fight screams of fan wank.

I love good formal use of the medium. I love lively art. But ultimately these things have to be held together by a good, coherent story and the Dark Knight Returns just doesn't have it. All it gives is surface.

Status: Garbage Heap

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Vol. 1

Writer: Alan Moore
Artist: Kevin O'Neill

One of the joys of this book and the series as a whole are Moore's and O'Neill's grasp of visual storytelling. There is a never a moment in this story when the eye is led to the wrong place of the action becomes confused--everything is perfectly placed for the eye to slide smoothly through the tale that Moore and O'Neill have to tell. There are some drawbacks to O'Neill's art. Because O'Neill is self-trained he has some problems with perspective that are obvious in a few panels. Luckily, his detail oriented (and slow) drawing style makes sure that any errors of this sort are far and few between.

This particular volume of the League is split rather neatly into three two chapter stories: the gathering of the league, the mission against the "devil doctor," and the final confrontation. As a result, volume one has a steady and consistent flow that is not apparent in the later books of the series. While it is debatable whether this volume is the best of the series (O'Neill's art improving and Moore taking more chances narratively in later volumes) it certainly deserves any and all praise it receives.

Status: Bookshelf

Finder: Talisman

Author: Carla Speed McNeil

Delving into my comics, I know that this one isn't going anywhere. Finder is one of my favorite series and although Talisman is a minor story--a meditation on the creative process--it is still as solid as any of McNeil's other stories. What surprised me in revisiting this piece was its strong thematic connection to the next story Dream Sequence. In fact, McNeil gives a firm visual reference to this connection with the concluding page of Talisman and the concluding pages of Dream Sequence--the former being an image of a hand with a pencil preparing to draw on a blank page, the latter being an image of McNeil herself talking to the audience about telling stories. Given the involvement of Talisman's main character in a segment of Dream Sequence, Talisman can act as an effective extended prologue to Dream Sequence.

Status: Bookshelf

The Lynchian Film

It is generally recognized that there is a division in David Lynch’s films between personal films and more commercial projects—this division is most often invoked when talking about the 1980s when Lynch made the majority of his commercial films in order to have the chance to make a personal film. But this division is flawed because it does very little to explain what separates commercial films from personal films. Beyond the division between The Elephant Man and Blue Velvet, this division is no more illuminating than if it had been completely arbitrary. Where in this personal/commercial division does a film like The Straight Story fit? Or Wild at Heart? Or even Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me? A much more fruitful division is that between what I term Lynch films and Lynchian films. A Lynch film is simply a film directed by David Lynch. In the feature film category, there have been ten films total which meet this requirement: Eraserhead, The Elephant Man, Dune, Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, Lost Highway, The Straight Story, Mulholland Dr., and Inland Empire. Of these films a full fifty percent are “merely” Lynch films. The other fifty percent are Lynchian films.

It has been argued that the major focus of Lynch’s films has been on the hidden darkness lurking beneath the surface of small town America, but this interpretation seems to have arisen from Lynch’s peak of popularity with Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks where hidden darkness is clearly a prominent theme—there appears to be little evidence for this theme throughout the body of Lynch’s work. Removing the stipulation of small town America from the theme does make for a more compelling case; however, in order to make it fit all the personal films of Lynch, darkness must be defined too broadly. While darkness is a major part of all of Lynch’s films, it is going too far to claim that any form of darkness lurking below the surface constitutes a Lynchian film experience.

Commonly associated with Lynch films are the use of bizarre images in an opaque way. This is a universally recognized attribute of Lynch’s films and I see no reason to challenge the view. Although Lynch’s films vary wildly in the use and opaqueness of the images (see The Straight Story versus Inland Empire), it is simply blindness to argue that this does not exist in every Lynch film. Every Lynch film involves bizarre and opaque images. Likewise, every Lynchian film contains darkness in some form or another. But the presence of this darkness is not enough to mark a film as Lynchian as this darkness is present in nearly every Lynch work. What marks a film as Lynchian is a specific use of darkness and imagery.

The Lynchian film is a representation of a subjective experience. Closely affiliated with a single character, the Lynchian film presents a world that is a reflection of the character’s mental and emotional state. It is out of this subjective limiting that the darkness and imagery of the Lynchian film emerges. Inevitably, the focus of the film is experiencing extreme psychological trauma, which leads to nightmarish develops in the world, as the world acts as a mirror to the character’s experience. The reason for the trauma can be minor or major, caused by the character themselves or some other outside actor. Whatever the cause of the trauma, the horror of the experience intrudes upon and transforms the world. Most prominently in the Lynchian film, the transformation of the world is experienced as an alienating experience in which the character disassociates itself from the world either through complete illusion that is broken down throughout the course of the film, or through a distancing of the self from the world by making the world something foreign.

In a continuum of films running from least Lynchian to most Lynchian, Lynch’s films run: The Straight Story, Dune, The Elephant Man, Wild at Heart, Blue Velvet, Eraserhead, Lost Highway, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, Mulholland Dr., and Inland Empire. Inland Empire in particular is exciting because it appears that Lynch may be evolving away from what I am calling the Lynchian film to something more focused on a web of disparate narratives overlapping and intertwined. Only time will tell what direction Lynch will move next. But because of the possible transitional nature of Inland Empire, it does not serve as the best example of the Lynchian Film—this honor falls on Mulholland Dr. Further, the most enlightening example of a non-Lynchian film is not The Straight Story, but instead Blue Velvet, which shares many traits with Lynchian films yet fails to be a Lynchian film itself.

Mulholland Dr., like Lost Highway does a fairly clear job of separating one world from the other, but like that less successful film, Mulholland Dr. immediately again blurs the line between the worlds making it unclear what the reality of the film truly is. Mulholland Dr. does a good job of representing both varieties of Lynchian films. In the first three-quarters of the film, the viewer is given a clearly delineated world from the last quarter of the film. At the same time, as the last portion of the film seems to reveal some of the reality of the majority of the film, it calls itself into question by being an almost purely subjective account shown through memory. The last sequence of the film with its threatening seniors and silent audience of one throws even what might seem to be reality into doubt. The inability to fully separate the different worlds of the story is an important aspect of the Lynchian film as it goes a long way toward unifying the two varieties.

The first variety of Lynchian film—disassociation from the world through creation of an alternative—is represented by Lost Highway, Mulholland Dr., and Inland Empire, although I’ll refrain from discussing Inland Empire because of its difficult status. As can be seen in Mulholland Dr., the hallmark of alternative world variety is that they breakdown and give way to the style of the second variety of Lynchian film. The second variety of Lynchian film—distancing from the world by making the world something foreign—is represented by Eraserhead, and Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me. What separates the second variety from the first—which inevitably breaks down into the second—is that there is no attempt at separation in the second variety. Instead, all disassociating components are included in the world. These components can serve to change the image of the world, but they don’t completely sever the character’s connection to the world.

In Mulholland Dr., the majority of the film is played out in a fantasy world where the problems of reality are transformed into clichéd mysteries that have to be solved. But because of the involvement of reality in the fantasy, the elements of reality slowly take hold and destroy the fantasy world. In the final section of the film, the main character is forced to face reality, but through the subjective devices of the second variety of Lynchian film. In the second variety, reality is faced, but the subjective experience emphasizes the traumatizing elements until they overwhelm the reality of the world. In truth, the second variety of Lynchian film always overcomes the first variety, but the emphasis of the elements is important.

Blue Velvet is not a Lynchian film because it fails to take on a subjective quality in anyway. Although it shares imagery and story traits with Lynchian films, the point of view of the movie is the major determining factor. Perhaps if the film had been told from Dorothy’s perspective, Blue Velvet would be considered differently. The fact remains that Blue Velvet remains merely a straightforward story. The dark elements, the bizarreness that infests it, are merely elements of a story that have no connection to an individual’s perspective and so fail to invest the story with any true terror. Alone, Lynch’s imagery and tropes fail to have a strong impact. It is only in attaching his bizarreness to a subjective perspective that Lynch succeeds in conveying and form of darkness. Still, whether a film is merely made by Lynch or Lynchian is not the major determining factor in whether that film is good or bad, successful or a failure. It is the combination of Lynchian elements that ultimately determines the quality of the film itself independent of its status as a Lynchian film.