Thursday, September 09, 2004

Monster

Question: When is a character not a character?

Answer: When that character was created by Steve Ditko.



It is standard and accepted practice for characters to be tweaked and altered every time they are relaunched or resurrected. There’s usually a new hook, some new twist or idea added to the original genesis in order to give the character a new lease on life.

But at the same time, the crucial defining elements of the character have to be retained. Ultimately, it’s a fine line to draw. There have been some extraordinarily wild reinterpretations of characters over the years, but respectful creators have always managed to keep healthy connections to the characters’ original incarnations. As much as Alan Moore’s Swamp Thing was a different book than Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson's, it was still essentially a book about a macabre half-human swamp monster finding his way in the world. Grant Morrison’s Animal Man was a long way from Dave Wood and Carmine Infantino’s conception of the character, but Animal Man was still recognizable as a super-hero with animal powers. Neil Gaiman’s Sandman was an entirely different Sandman than any of the previous incarnations. Although there were connections between the previous characters and the new version, Gaiman took great care not to undo any of the work that had preceded him (although you can certainly make an argument that he wasn’t kind to Kirby’s Sandman).

Imagine, for a moment, if Marvel decided to launch a new Silver Surfer book where the “hook” was that the Surfer was now an aggressive, militaristic social conservative? Wouldn’t the fans scream bloody murder about the character’s essential traits being altered beyond recognition? Regardless of your political creed, everyone knows and respects that the Silver Surfer is the prototypical bleeding-heart liberal.

Imagine, for a moment, if DC decided to launch a new version of Dr. Fate, wherein Dr. Fate was replaced with a knife-wielding maniac in a trench coat. Wouldn’t the fans bristle at such an obvious and unflattering deviation from the core concept? (This one actually happened, and the fans did reject it, as the book only lasted 22 issues.)

Imagine, then, if DC decided to field a relaunch of The Question. Imagine, just for a moment, that the character’s trademark hard-right moral creed was replaced by an interpretation that made the character seem semi-psychotic and far-left liberal. Then imagine that such an insulting revamp was actually embraced by fandom at large.

Huh.

I want to make one thing clear: I am not an Objectivist. I am not even slightly conservative in any way shape or form. I am about as liberal as you can get. But part of being a liberal, to my understanding, is respecting all rational creeds, regardless of whether or not you disagree with them. I disagree as vehemently with many of the tenets of Objectivist thought as it is possible. But I would never dream of whitewashing history so that the theories or the literature didn’t exist. Part of a productive civil society is the creation of a healthy and reciprocal dialogue on these matters of such grave importance.

One of Steve Ditko’s greatest contributions to the field of comics – if not his single greatest contribution – is the strident and consistent marriage of art and polemic. You can’t separate a Ditko creation from their moral underpinnings without changing the characters beyond recognition. To do so, as DC has consistently done with the character of The Question for almost twenty years (including another well-regarded run with the character by Denny O'Neil) , is an artistic insult of the most egregious caliber.

I would argue that the moral absolutism that defines the Question’s world is as vital to Ditko’s original conception of the character as the mythological trappings behind Thor. Take away Asgard and Odin and all that, and Thor’s just another strong man with a hammer. Take away the Objectivist philosophy, and the Question is just another mentally-ill costumed vigilante.

The writer of the revamped Question series, Rick Veitch, was quoted in an interview at Comic Book Resources as saying:

"We all agreed back in the very beginning that the Question needed some tinkering with to help him stand out a little more on his own while being true to his roots. He needed to be even crazier than Rorschach, but in a different and more creative way. I envisioned a Question who's spent so many years prowling the mean streets of Chicago in his lonely vigil that he's begun to see Chicago as a living entity. He talks to it and it communicates to him through his intuition. Like a native shaman who converses with nature spirits through the rivers and the mountains, the Question is in a dialogue with his city. He thinks that he walks in two worlds, the world of concrete objects that you and I perceive, and a hidden shadowy spirit world that only he a few others enter. He uses this knowledge to find criminals and bang heads in the name of truth and justice. But we never quite know if he's off his rocker or not."

The most fundamental tenet of Objectivism is the belief that reality exists independent of individual perception. There are hard-and-fast realities that govern the way we live and interact. There are no layers of perception in Objectivist theory: there is Right and there is Wrong, Black and White. The ambiguity that the existence of multiple, mutually exclusive perceptions allow for is anathematic to the very bedrock of Objectivism, and goes against the very heart of Ditko’s conception of the character.

Rorschach is one of the most memorable and fascinating characters in mainstream comics history, and his relationship to The Question is definitely an important facet of his genesis. But he was also a distinctive character in that he represented Alan Moore’s very pointed criticism of the right-wing vigilante archetype. Rorschach is definitely a more popular character than The Question, but that doesn’t mean The Question has to change.

I suspect the problem lies in the fact that the vocal majority of comics fans and creators have traditionally been liberal. Perhaps there has been little resistance to the liberalization of The Question because many comics book fans and creators are alienated and repulsed by Ditko’s hard-line conservatism. Well, I’m alienated by these ideas too, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t valid or deserve to be swept under the rug. If you have enough respect for Ditko to keep his character and his visuals in circulation, you should have enough respect to keep him at least slightly true to his origins.

The recent Spider-Man movies have presented a subtler - but no less insidious – transformation of their title character’s motivations and worldview. It’s common knowledge that the controversy over the Green Goblin’s secret identity was a large part of the rift that eventually tore Ditko and Stan Lee apart. The fact that the Goblin mythos, with the Osbourn clan and all their machinations, is regarded as the central axis of the Spider-verse is proof that Ditko’s conceptual contributions have been almost entirely forgotten. The second movie makes the greater sin of introducing Doctor Octopus – perhaps Ditko’s greatest villain – as a sympathetic and, ultimately, misunderstood character. Ditko’s villains are never misunderstood – they are evil, they are amoral and they are insidious, but they are very plainly wrong on a deep moral level. The one-dimensional nature of so many of the early Spider-villains is part of what makes the early Spider-Man stories so damned appealing. Peter Parker is a lone hero being set upon by an amoral world. He does what is right because it is right (“A=A”), not because he is rewarded or idolized for his activities. By the same token, his villains are gleefully macabre forces of nature, dedicated solely to their own avarice and egotism. Stan Lee was exploring shades of moral ambiguity wit hJack Kirby over in Fantastic Four, but Spider-Man was as much Ditko's baby as Lee's. By making Doctor Octopus not only a misunderstood and temporarily insane sympathetic figure, but a friend of Peter Parker, the movie successfully amputates every compelling trace of Ditko’s contribution, except for the colorful costume.

Steve Ditko’s address is supposedly listed in the phone book. If the creators of the new Question series, the creative team behind the Justice League Unlimited cartoon and the producers of the recent Spider-Man movies wanted to kick an old man in the nuts, they probably could have saved a lot of trouble and just done it the old fashioned way.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Automatic For The People

It seems that I go months without feeling the need to comment on anything going around this here blogosphere, and then two interesting posts catch my eye on the same day.




First, Tom the Dog takes a look at some recent movie trailers. This is not normally the type of thing I pay much attention to, but something in his write-up of the Sky Captain trailer caught my eye:

"I know that even the simplest of action scenes usually have some kind of CGI involved in them (if only to erase the stunt wires), but still, there's something more compelling, more viscerally engaging, about a stunt with one real person in one real car, than a million CGI robots fighting a million CGI aliens."

Admittedly, I am far from an action movie buff. I don’t really watch many of them at all – the explosions and the violence just gets tiresome. But if I do go to see an action film, I want to see something fun and unique, something that really makes me feel I am getting the most for my mindless popcorn-movie dollar.

I see violence every day. I’ve been in violent situations. I don’t get a lot of escapist thrill out of watching car crashes, because I’ve been in car crashes. But watching "a million CGI robots fighting a million CGI aliens"? That’s not something I can see outside my window every day. That sounds fun. That’s something that can only be created with CGI. Watching real violence – or a realistic portrayal of fantasy violence designed to titillate the worst instincts of the average moviegoer - is just depressing.




Dave over at Motime is finally doing something that he’s been threatening to do for just about forever – that’s right, he’s taking an in-depth and long-overdue look at Mark Gruenwald’s Squadron Supreme.

Although I’ve certainly had my differences of opinion with Dave, he never approaches his subjects with anything less than a sterling intellectual rigor. And the original Squadron Supreme is the rare mainstream superhero book that was actually designed to withstand the kind of rigor he brings to bear. It may not be the best thing Gruenwald ever wrote (which is an arguable statement in itself), but it is certainly the work that represented the most concentrated and considered distillation of his particular thematic preoccupations.

But the thing that stood out at me, and made me realize why Dave and I will probably never be able to agree on anything - other than our mutual love of Mark Gruenwald and Grant Morrison - is his statement that ”Squadron Supreme interests me more than Watchmen ever could.” This is a very interesting and revealing opinion. Despite my respect for Gruenwald, I disagree with it on a very profound level.

And herein, I believe, lies the key difference between David Fiore and Tim O’Neil. I prefer Watchmen to Squadron Supreme not because I believe Squadron Supreme to be an inferior statement of thematic principle, but because I believe it to be a genuinely better work. From the standpoint of pure craft, it’s a near perfectly constructed piece of work. My critical philosophy couldn’t be further removed from the cold and calculated creed of the structuralists, but I do appreciate craft. Watchmen holds up so well because it a perfectly constructed piece of fiction, and that “fearful symmetry” exists for reasons relating very intimately to the story itself.

One of the main reasons behind the fact that corporate comics very rarely scale the heights of serious critical esteem is the assembly-line method of production. The separation of creative duties – you write fill in the word balloons, you draw the pitchers – prevents the average superhero book from really exploiting the unique formalistic nature of the comics form. The fact that story and art are considered separate disciplines in most mainstream circles keeps the most powerful aspects of comics – story as art – from reaching fruition. Watchmen works so well because it was a complete thematic and artistic statement from beginning to end. Squadron Supreme just doesn’t hold up as well, because it was put together with all the skill and acumen of your average mid-80s Marvel comic book. In this case, the spirit was definitely willing, but the body was weak.

If Gruenwald had written Squadron Supreme a decade later, who knows what it might have looked like. But in my book, despite the interesting thematic content, it is nowhere near a completely successful work. It’s a strange artifact, obviously a great deal better than just about everything that came up around it, but not quite the masterpiece that it could have been. Story-wise it was many years ahead of its time, but from a visual standpoint it was very much a product of its era, and on that basis it suffers tremendously. It’s a wonderful polemic but a rather poor comic.




Tomorrow – Steve Ditko!








Oni Love Can Break Your Heart; Part VI

Days Like This

Days Like This is the story of a young girl-group on the cusp of stardom in the early days of rock and roll. The time is the early sixties: Elvis had already hit, along with the rest of the first wave of rock stars (Little Richard, Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis). The Beatles were just starting out on the other side of the Atlantic. The girl groups and pop acts that worked out of New York’s famous Brill Building provided another of the key ingredients that would ultimately cohere in the mid-60s when rock and roll began to mature.

The Brill Building was a model for the kind of “vertical integration” seen in Days Like This. There were artists and freelance songwriters and record companies all housed under the same roof. Songs were sold piecemeal to producers who placed them with appropriate artists.

This system produced some fabulous music. It was a short reign at the top, however. Although the first generation of British Invasion artists - such as the Beatles - idolized songwriting prodigies like Carole Kind and Gerry Goffin, the success of so many young groups and artists who wrote their own material in the mid-60s meant, to the record companies, that the era of the separate songwriting teams in pop music was at, or near, an end. Alongside these developments, the idea grew that artists who wrote their own material were somehow more “legitimate” than artists who merely interpreted other people’s words. Of course, there is something to be said for pure artistic expression – but it is also important to note that many rock artists who write their own material really shouldn’t.

As an evocation of a particular era in pop music, Days Like This does a splendid job. The plot involves a trio of high school girls who are discovered at a high-school talent competition by an up-and-coming label executive (who, in a nice touch, only starts a record label to spite her ex-husband). Their rising stars intersect with a young and talented songwriter, fresh out of high-school and hungry for a hit.

This songwriter is, of course, meant to stand-in for Carole King – even down to the fact that King was supposedly better at arrangements than lyrics. She meets a young dude – meant to be Goffin – who is a gifted lyricist, but a poor arranger. Of course, they hit it off. And of course, all this takes place at Harmony Plaza, not the Brill Building. Of course, I can understand why J. Torres and Scott Chantler made the decision to transfer their subjects into the realm of fiction, but its an obvious transposition.

Chantler’s art is superb. He’s got a knack for the type of small-scale, almost domestic storytelling that Torres’ story requires. There are some nice touches that keep things interesting throughout, like the Carole King character’s solid black wardrobe, and Miss Solomon’s white glasses.

My only complaint is the fact that, ultimately, this is a rather facile and toothless look at this period in history. The three female singers who comprise Tina and the Tiaras are black, and the record industry players are all white. Race is barely touched upon in this book – and when it is, by Tina’s father, it’s a reference to Elvis having stole from black music to boost his career. In the early 60s, there is no way that race could have been as pleasantly ignored as it was in the course of this story.

The high school where the initial talent competition occurs is happily integrated. Now, I do not know exactly when New York schools were desegregated, but with just a little bit of research I was able to find that there still were segregated school systems in the state until at least 1964:

"It wasn't until 1964 that the New York State Education Department issued a statewide desegregation order. By then African American parents had already sought relief from segregated schools through the federal courts. In 1964, in a case called Blocker v. Board of Education of Manhasset, the federal district court stated ‘...maintaining and perpetuating a segregated school system’ was an equal protection violation of the Fourteenth Amendment to the US Constitution."

So, is the cheerily mixed-race high-school in Days Like This plausible? I don’t know off the top of my head. But I have a feeling that in order to create a pleasant and affable fable, there might have been some proverbial white-washing of the historical record.

This is a fun book, but ultimately it doesn’t rise above the level of wistful fable. Its obvious that the entire creative team, from J. Torres through to Jamie s. Rich (who writes an informative afterword) was motivated by an affection for the music of this era and the people who made it. It’s a nice tribute, but Days Like This barely scratches the surface of the story potential that this era in music could ultimately yield.


Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Out of Time

Man! The hits just keep on coming! I still haven't fully gotten the word out about my first Comic Remix, featuring Avengers #500, and the good folks over at PopCultureShock have already put up the second installment, featuring Astonishing X-Men #4! Between you and me and the wall, I think that the Astonishing X-Men one is the best yet... even better than the Identity Crisis one, for which i am still receiving comments.

I know its a lot to keep track of, but the double whammy of the site posting a brand new look and the holiday weekend created the confluence of Comic Remixes. Hopefully, from here on in it will be a once-weekly occurrance. Which is good, because I hear that if you laugh too much you will die.

And yes, I have officially come up with the greatest contest in history. I am not going to announce it yet, however, because there is another contest going on around this here blogosphere that has yet to run its course. I do not wish to step on any toes here! But suffice it to say you will all have fun with this...





Texarkana

I really liked Mad Yak’s Subatomic, so my hopes for Texarkana were high. Well, not to belabor the point, I found Texarkana to be nowhere near as good.

The best thing about Subatomic was the beautiful coloring, and Anne Marie Horne’s coloring is also very good here. But the art that she’s been given is nowhere near as communicative as Jorge Heuffmann’s work on Subatomic. Donny Hadiwidjaja is just nowhere near as competent as it should be, considering the complexity of the story. His figures are unnecessarily elastic, his layouts are needlessly complex, and his action sequences are almost impossibly confusing. Basically, he’s in over his head, and it shows.

There is an interesting germ at the heart of the story. In an unspecified future where most of North America has been ravaged by an unspecified war, the state of Texarkana is apparently the last outpost of civilization. (As an aside, its rather interesting to regard Texas as the last outpost of anything relating to civilization, but these are merely my Blue State prejudices speaking . . .) Justice is meted out by four-person teams composed of a judge, defense attorney, prosecutor and executioner. They all carry guns and act like policemen while they’re conducting their kangaroo trials.

Its an interesting idea for satire – very similar to Judge Dread, but with a cowboy taste – but it is played unfortunately straight. There are layers of complexity relating to matters of politics and jurisdiction, but they are glossed over and questions are left unfortunately half-answered throughout. The characters themselves are woefully underdrawn, from the raw rookie straight out of the academy to the gruff and stoic veteran with a soft underbelly, to the crazy midget mastermind. There’s just nothing very interesting here at all.
As with Subatomic, the production values are high and the price ($12.95) is attractively low. But this isn’t half the book that Subatomic was, and that’s a shame.


Sunday, September 05, 2004

Chronic Town

I would like to apologize to everyone who clicked on the link to my first Comic Remix feature over at PopCultureShock.com – yes, it was broken, but now, it is working. If you missed it before, check it out.

I expect (hope? fear?) that it will only be a matter of time before someone pitches a Woodgod series, now that I’ve successfully reintroduced this fine character into the public imagination.



The sad part is that I had no trouble finding a picture of Woodgod on Google. True, it is courtesy of another site that was mocking the character, but still. When Mark Millar announces his new Ultimate Woodgod series at the next Comicon, you can all thank me.

I’ve got a question for anyone who reads this blog regularly: do you pay any attention to the music recommendations over on the sidebar, or the posted music reviews? I would be very interested to hear if anyone actually bought a CD based on my recommendation, and if they did, I’d be interested in hearing if they liked it. Just pure curiosity on my part, nothing more or less.



Oni Love Can Break Your Heart - Part V



Love Fights Vol. 1

I have a love/hate relationship with Andi Watson’s work. On the one hand, he’s a pretty good cartoonist, with a strong eye for design that comes across in his cover and pin-up work. His work is attractive, and definitley makes you interested in reading the books. On the otherhand, I’ve never read a Watson comic that I’ve really liked. I thought Breakfast After Noon was so bad that I wanted my money back after I finished it (I also had the same reaction, if there’s any consolation, to High Fidelity, and for much the same reasons). I have the Complete Geisha book, which I purchased based on the fact that I found the Geisha one-shot (which I received for free) very good. But of course, the bulk of the Geisha stories turned out to be not so very good. So, Watson has burned me twice, and I wasn’t exactly eager for a repeat performance.

To my surprise, the first volume of Love Fights wasn’t bad. It didn’t suck. That may seem like faint praise, but considering my history with Watson, I’m not being generous to call “doesn’t suck” a vast improvement over the mind-numbing craptitude of Breakfast After Noon.

I do have to wonder, however, at just who this book is aimed at. In the first place, it’s a romance, which is a decidedly underserved market for the domestic comics industry. But it’s also got these superhero elements featured very prominently. There’s been a movement in the last five or seven years to attack the problem of market diversity sideways, but producing superhero hybrid books. You’ve got superhero/crime (Daredevil), superhero/gritty espionage thriller (Sleeper), superhero/political drama (Ex Machina), superhero/sci-fi (most of Crossgen’s output), etc etc. The question is whether or not this type of hybridization creates authentic diversity or merely creates strange mutant genres that appeal to an even smaller demographic that straight spandex. Will a superhero/espionage book appeal to people who like superhero stories and people who like espionage stories, or will the spandex elements merely alienate the latter, while the strong espionage mood goes a long way towards alienating the former? Based on the market “success” of critically acclaimed books like Sleeper, I have to say that my gut tells me hybridization is a mug’s game. I could be wrong because there are obviously many more issues here than I am examining, but it seems to me that this is a classic instance of trying to be all things to all people, and coming up dreadfully short.

Will the romance elements appeal to the Average Potential Customer looking through the stacks at their local Borders, or will the superhero elements repel them? Good question, and if i had the answer I'd be a rich man.

According to a supplementary feature tacked on to the end of the book, the genesis of Love Fights dates back to Love in Tights, a late-90s anthology of superhero/romance stories published by Slave Labor for which Watson did some covers. I must admit, the confluence of the romance and superhero genres makes about as much sense as everything else. There's been a big segment of the superhero world that has floated almost solely on soap-opera elements since Stan Lee brought them to the fore back in the early 60s. (Of course, superhero books had always had soap-opera elements, but they had been in the far background compared to, say, Lee’s Spider-Man, where the sudsy soap stuff was brought to the extreme foreground.)

So while I enjoyed the romantic entanglements in Love Fights, there was nothing really original in Watson’s approach. The basic story is Jack is a comic book penciller works on the licensed & authorized comic book for the Flamer, a mid-list superhero who’se popularity is on the wane. Jack falls for Nora, who is an up-and-coming cub reporter at a gossip magazine dedicated to exposing the private lives and embarrassing secrets of superheroes. The first story Nora gets is an expose on the Flamer’s illegitimate love child, the revelation of which sends the Flamer’s comic magazine – and Jack’s career pencilling said magazine – into the toilet.

It’s not the most original story in the world, but you can pretty much say the same about most romance yarns. Guy meets girl, there’s a complication, they struggle, and eventually they end up together. If the struggle is tied intrinsically to their career advancements, all the better for squirmingly sadistic plot-twists.

The best parts of the book, however, have less to do with the romance than with the little subplots that are sparingly peppered throughout. For instance, Jack’s cat Guthrie accidentally gains super powers and sets off on a successful crime-fighting career as Future Feline. This is a great plot, and I for one would happily buy a Future Feline series. There’s another fun subplot involving a Vince Colletta stand-in – which would have been a lot funnier if they had somehow managed to show the character inking with his penis (I know that’s an old joke, but every Vince Colletta joke is old by now).

I’d be interested to know whether or not the gray tones throughout the book are charcoal, pastel or computerized. They give the book a very distinctive look. The art throughout is strong, but sometimes Watson’s design sense gets in the way of his storytelling acumen.

This is a likeable book, featuring likeable characters in generally believable situations. Many of the problems I have with romance stories have to do with the fact that oftentimes plot points have a tendency to hinge on unrealistic character traits. These are the kinds of stories where misunderstandings occur with frightening regularity because of the characters’ inability to communicate in a semi-functional manner, or because of frighteningly low tolerances for suspicion and jealousy. Thankfully ,Love Fights relies on relatively few of these contrivances to keep the plot going. (And they are contrivances – anyone with two brain cells know that most plot complications are just that, intended to keep the movie from ending an hour early.)

This is the first volume. I don’t know how many volumes are projected to follow, but there’s a tolerable chance that I might want to see how things turn out.


Friday, September 03, 2004

Document

Remember a while back when I said there was a big announcement on the way? Well, the time has come for that announcement!

Those of you who enjoyed my review of Identity Crisis #3 might recall that I said there were more of these reviews in the works. Well, thanks to the good people over at PopCultureShock.com, the Comic Remix is now a weekly feature. Check out the first installment, featuring my version of Avengers #500, here.

PopCultureShock.com is a smaller site, just starting out, and doesn't yet have the clout of a Newsarama or a Comicon. They're still trying to put together the type of original content that keeps people coming back to those aforementioned sites. Hopefully, their decision to let me offend the world of mainstream comics publishing on a weekly basis will do nothing to hinder their rise. Check them out - they're good people (and I'm not just saying that because they publish my stuff - or actually, I guess I am, but still, that's a good enough reason, isn't it?).




For some reason this was not a good week for blogging. I was able to post a couple nice things, but for some strange reason I just couldn't get down to the business of writing any reviews. I got a big pile of books here that need to be read and commented on, but its not something I can just "force". My wife and I have had a hectic couple of weeks and for some reason my enthusiasm for reading anything but ten-year old Valiant back issues is at a low ebb (best not to ask, really).

Hopefully next week will provide me with more enthusiasm. There are some nice looking books that I am eager to comment on, but for some reason I just don't have the enthusiasm for it right this moment. Bear with me - I'm sure waiting a few more days to hear my opinion of random Oni books will not kill you.




For some reason I have been getting really good reader mail lately. I would like everyone to know that I really appreciate everyone who takes the time and effort to write. Sometimes it might take me a bit to reply, but I try and respond to every letter in a timely and considerate fashion. It may not seem like a lot, but a kind and perceptive letter means a lot to those of us who make a habit of putting our thoughts out here on a regular basis. The fact that people are reading and actually appreciate what we're saying is really ... cool. That's the best word for it.




Maybe one of these days I'll run a contest. People seem to like contests, and everyone likes to link to a contest. The thing is, I can't really figure out anything to do. I don't even have a nifty squirrel name generator or anything. Maybe I could have a contest to make a contest... nah, that'd be stupid.

If we're going to be stupid, let's just go all out:









And I'm out, dog.