Bound to Blog: Wonder Woman #5

Thanks to Glaurung, I now know that Marston wrote WW up through issue #28. So, 24 more to go, starting with this one:



In a post a couple of days ago I mentioned that Marston doesn't actually seem all that interested in magic, myth and imagination in themselves. It's true, of course, that WW's origin is informed by Greek mythology, and that the Amazons are essentially supposed to be ancient Greeks, worship Greek Gods, and so forth. But there's little effort to mine those myths for mystery, or awe as Neil Gaiman does in Sandman, or as Marley does in Dokebi bride. Instead, Marston mixes magic and science together more or less indiscriminately in the interest of goofy fun and/or catering to his fetishes around mental control, hypnosis, and so forth.

Thus, issue #5 features a villain who is part scientist, part spiritualist, and all...god knows what, really.



Doctor Psycho is this little scientific genius with a beautifully ugly caricatured face who hates women because his fiance betrayed him and he ended up in jail and then he goes and hypnotizes her and uses her to conduct spiritual experiments and turns himself into an ectoplasmic doppelganger of George Washington who issues oracular pronouncements about the dangers of allowing women to contribute to the war effort. Also somewhere in there he makes his rival in love swallow radium. Oh, yeah, and he's inspired by Martian emissaries from Ares who don't want women to contribute to the war effort because then women will become too powerful and will dominate men.

What was I talking about, anyway?

Oh right. So, as I was saying, the point here is that Marston veers back and forth between science and magic — seamlessly isn't the right word -- more like with an unconscious, drunken stagger. In the page below, for example, we start at the top with our villain killing a victim with radiation poisoning, move right on to hypnosis (no explanation for how he learned how to do hypnosis, incidentally) and end up (below the cut) with ectoplasm spilling out all over the place -- ectoplasm that Dr. Psycho can use to turn himself into a dead ringer for John L. Sullivan, we learn at the top of the following page.



One of the reasons this sort of crazed shifting of gears works so well is the art. Peter is a deceptively supple illustrator; his stiff poses tend to bely how fluid his lines are and how quickly he can switch modes. For instance, in this illustration, where Steve (as per usual) is getting pwned:



Steve's body and face are, in typical Peter fashion, stiff and not especially expressive. But then you've got Dr. Psycho standing there with his enormous head and preposterous eyebrows, looking for all the world like he's strolled in from an editorial cartoon. And, of course, there's the very gestural curly smoke-ectoplasm just sitting there on Steve's chest. It's a preposterous image, with different levels of reality clunking against each other apparently unconsciously — it's almost like an incongruous arrangement of clip art. Except that Peter's style, his moving hand, really does pull everything together — the lines on Steve's uniform, for example, have the same tactile motion as the ectoplasm splot. Peter creates a world where both scientific laws and magic seem equally hokey and equally vivid; where anything can become part of the clunky tableaux.

Here's another example of what I'm talking about:



What's that, you ask? Why it's Wonder Woman and her scientific genius friend Paula riding a giant Amazon Sky Kanga to the moon in order to rescue the goddess Diana from the cruel grip of Ares. What else would it be? And, more importantly, why hasn't DC taken this image and blown it up and released it as a wall-sized poster so I can fucking buy one? Because holy shit is that completely, insanely beautiful. The different weight lines making up the space-kangaroo's hide are just so lovely -- and the bizarre way Peter has the creature foreshortened makes it look truly cosmically sized, like it's head is just disappearing into the distance. It reminds me of some of Winsor McCay's animal drawings, though clumsier and less finished in a way that really sends me. (Also, I love that whip in the lower left; all one snaky, narrowing line.)

The full-page extravaganza has to be the Sky Kanga image that owns my heart...but it's a close battle between that and the ones where we see the space kangaroo hanging out next to Grecian architecture. (Did you know the Greeks actually trained kangaroos? For space travel. God's truth.)




There's actually a pseudo-scientific explanation for why the Kangaroo is able to fly through space, incidentally; "upper space is not empty but dotted with thousands of gravity-marooned fragments from whirling planets" y'see. So it's a scientific Grecian sky kanga, rather than a mystical Grecian sky-kanga. But the real point is clearly not any kind of effort at actual scientific verisimilitude (such as with Spiderman, or even Superman), nor mystical wonder, but trippy adventure nuttiness. I mentioned in my last post that Marston's WW reminds me a lot of the Oz books...and it's also reminiscent of the Doctor Doolittle stories — in fact, if I recall correctly, Doolittle flies to the moon on the back of a giant moth. I wonder if Marston was thinking of that?

Oh, okay, I can't resist: more sky kanga porn:





I love how the kangaroo has seemingly grown to about twice the size to accommodate all the people who need to ride on it.

Again, last time I talked a bit about the way that children's literature can dovetail with eroticism, and how that fits nicely into Marston's fetishes. And there's certainly plenty of bondage in this issue too, what with the hypnotism and the mersmerism and scenes of all of Ares' female slaves on Mars, and Diana's archers penchant for using arrows that tie you up rather than kill you and so forth. But I think it's also worth pointing out that writing in a children's literature tradition is just in general a good way to appeal to children, of whatever gender. Silliness and lots of action; kids like that. Marston gave it to them. Why wouldn't these comics have been popular? I'm just remembering a Kyle Baker quote where in describing the Hawkman story he was working on, he said, "There’s also action on Dinosaur Island, because dinosaurs are always cool." I feel like the giant Kangaroo has a similar rationale. Kangaroos jumping to the moon...that's always cool. (Well, I think it is anyway.)

Along those lines, I was also thinking about the Steve Trevor romance, such as it is. A commenter (I can't find the exact comment; my apologies) said recently that he really liked the Steve Trevor/Wonder Woman romance, because it seemed like they were really in love; he pointed especially to the fact that Steve always uses terms of endearment like "angel!" to refer to WW.

I have to say, I really don't see this. For the most part, the romance between WW and Steve seems more notional than actual. Steve does refer to her with excessive endearments...but that just seems part of their general lack of communication. For instance, in the scenes below, Steve's life has been threatened, and WW is worried...and Steve just keeps laughing and laughing like a jackass.





For an actual relationship, that's deeply wrong; even if he isn't worried about getting hurt himself, he should be worried about how WW feels.

And despite all the endearments, they never exactly seem all that intimate; even when she rescues him, the closest they get is holding hands at arms length. Not even a chaste kiss:



Compare the very next panels, in which WW rescues Dr. Psycho's wife:



This woman who WW hardly knows gets significantly more cuddling than Steve does. This is typical, I think; WW has plenty of close, even sensual relationships, but they're all with other women, not with Steve. Here she is with her Mom, for example:



I don't think I've ever seen her share such casual intimacy with Steve. And, then, of course, she's always getting tied to other women, like her buddy Paula.....




I've talked a little in other places about the importance of romance to genre literature for girls. And I think that that holds true. However...I think there is some sort of age cut off there. I mean, from my experience with my son's classmates, even 4 and 5 year old girls are more interested in marriage and romance, in some sense, than their male peers. But that interest is pretty abstract — you know, they say, "I'm going to marry *that* boy!" but they don't mean they actually want to marry that boy, or even hold his hand at this stage. As Eric B. said in comments to my much maligned Spider-Girl post

My daughter hates female superheroes that are directly derivative of male superheroes. She likes Wonder Woman ok when the story is decent (a dicey prospect), but prefers The Flash (Silver Age reprints) as her favorite. Perhaps it does make sense to market (and write) a title like "Spidergirl" to young girls...but will they be buying? I'm not so sure. Maybe some 8 year old girls want romance, but I think what they actually want is action, adventure, and humor...just like 8 year old boys. For these things, superhero comics are perfectly fine.

I think young girls do like a bit of romance...but they don't want you to go overboard with it. Given that, it seems like the Steve/WW romance is just about right; it's there, but it's not especially obtrusive or fraught. WW isn't constantly worrying about whether Steve likes her, or even whether he's going to find out her secret identity, the way Clark Kent worries about Lois Lane. She doesn't pine after Steve except in the most perfunctory way; she just saves him and he's grateful and then she moves on to share intimate moments with her real friends — and just as is the case with most young girls, her most important friends tend to be other girls.

And, when there are close physical relationships with boys, they tend to be worked out through other means:



That's Dr. Psycho coming at you, giant mug dead center, while Etta and the Holiday College gang chases him with paddles.

Again, it's amazing how competent and generally tough Etta is, and how much she gets to do in these stories. Originally, looking at her, I wondered what the hell Marston was doing. This goofy, obese, monomaniacal buffoon — are we supposed to laugh at her? Identify with her? Or what? But the more I read it, the more it's clear that the answer is, yes, both. How different is Etta, really, from Cookie Monster — certainly one of the most beloved creations for children? Kids love to eat and fight; Etta loves to eat and fight; ergo, kids would like Etta. She certainly gives Peter a chance to show he can do visual slapstick with the best of 'em:




I love those giant swoops, and you can feel that woman's face hitting the floor. Or how about this:




I mean, who would you rather hang out with, poncy Steve with his oh-so-proper "oh, excuse me, I'll accooooomodate you," pole so far up your butt that you've got perfect posture even in a fist-fight — OR, with Etta, who beats up two guys at once while yodeling and apparently having the time of her life? It's not much of a contest...which is why it's Etta who gets to put WW's lasso back on her hip while Steve is off somewhere in the background playing with his gun.



_________________

I did drift away from talking as much about the bondage in this post. So just in case you're suffering withdrawal:






Hopefully that'll hold you till next week.

Dreamwork

I began reading comics intensely as intellectual escapism from grad school. My other escape was film theory. So I had many elaborate, comics-form dreams starring Eisenstein.

Last night I mixed the two again, dreaming an R. Fiore column in The Comics Journal. In just a couple of short pages of copperplate prose, no plosives, he eviscerated all the Journal's writers for not liking Mel Gibson's movie The Passion of the Christ. Gibson's poor treatment at their hands was a case of "wholesale intellectual fraud," he wrote. Then he cut the writers down, one by one.

Since I'd regularly sniped at Gibson in my column, calling his movie "a pornography of violence" and such, I skipped ahead to see Fiore take me down. Seeing my name in the last paragraph, I flipped back to finish the article. But my eyes got stuck in a loop in the second-to-last column, going over the text without seeing anything.

So I set it down and started on the new Kevin Huizenga book. It's a new direction: movie reviews as comics short stories. After reading his cheerful take on that Mayan Gibson movie, I skipped to the book's end. He starts to use empty pages as he goes on, two or three tiny panels hovering over nothing garnished with type at the very bottom (Helvetica Neue, mind). Then the same problem; I couldn't finish the book for strange reasons.

So I looked over my shoulder at an old pen-and-ink drawing of mine. It didn't look half bad.

***

The seeds for this weren't Rick Veitch's dream comics, which I admire, nor Iou Kuroda's movie review comics, which I don't. Most likely one seed was Fiore's long, precise dismantling of once-columnist Bart Beaty's book. The Comics Journal: They Eat Their Own.

The other seed has been watching the comments threads for Noah's posts on fanfic and Wonder Woman. I know little about either, so I just watch, impressed with Noah's modulation of snark and patience as 700 Anons drive-by to tell him he sucks. Social media! Were I more of a business ninny, I'd start quoting Seth Godin's latest while huffing venture capital.

Except that as tribes go, this blog's more of a confederacy.¹ I know that whenever I post something, likely the first comment will be from one of my comrades, taking apart whatever I said. Three of us write for the Journal, which means precious little in terms of sharing a critical lens.

Talking about which, I need to pick at Noah's argument here in lieu of full review today.

¹ J. K. Toole jokes, go to town.

Better the Misogynist You Know

The entire HU crowd has been debating Kyoko Okazaki's fashion and feminism classic manga Helter Skelter in the comments to this post. If you have any interest, you should scroll down through the whole comments section; Miriam, Bill, and Tom all make really interesting points.

Anyway, where we ended up was with this comment from Tom, suggesting that I don't like sexist stories:

As we discussed upthread, it doesn't matter to you what the rights and wrongs of the matter are within the terms of the story; you just dislike stories that are arranged to put men in the driver's seat at the expense of women.

There's some truth to this. But for me I don't think it's only, or solely, about stories that are arranged to put men in the driver's seat. Such stories do tend to be sexist, but that doesn't necessarily mean I won't like them.

D.H. Lawrence's stories are an example; he's ideologically committed to male supremacy. But he's also intensely interested in gender politics and sexuality. As a result, he tends to have interesting things to say about those topics, even in the context of male supremacy. There's generally a recognition in his stories of women's perspectives or women's voices.

As an example, if Lawrence were writing this story, Asada's sexual investment in Ririko would almost certainly be a lot clearer, and she'd get at least a moment or two where she explicitly resisted the logic of male supremacy. Ultimately, the final story would be even more explicitly male supremacist -- but there's be a much firmer grasp on the dynamics of how that works and what that means for people's lives.

My objection here isn't (or isn't solely) that Okazaki gives the man control of the narrative, but that he's given unquestioned moral carte blanche. There's not even a recognition that his actions could be morally questioned or contested, really. That's what's so infuriating about it. Someone like Lawrence is interesting because, while he's a male supremacist, he recognizes that that doctrine can be questioned — therefore he defends it, and in so doing brings up interesting issues and even allows the other side a voice, if only to quash it. Okazaki just blandly accedes in male supremacy; she seems not even to realize that she might need to make a case for it.

That's why it's very hard to see this as a feminist book. Not just because no feminist argument is made, but because Okazaki doesn't even seem aware of what the sides in the debate would look like. Again, that could well be for cultural reasons...but for a Western reader (or for me) it's still really irritating to see the male detective treated as the long, courageous crusader for justice at the same time as he's acting like a stalker, and not see any suggestion on the part of anybody in the manga that this might be creepy or wrong or, you know, kind of stupid.

Right Once Again

Specter jumped parties after all; Newt and some fellow ne'er-dowells put the matter in perspective here.

I made an impulsive prediction that Specter would go Democrat here, then foolishly backtracked in the face of news reports, as seen here.

The Hill tells us:

Reid also pledged to campaign for him, one of several concessions he made to woo Specter.

Getting Harry Reid to campaign for you is a good thing? I mean, I like the guy, but I'm one of the few.

From the same article:

He [Specter] would continue to oppose card-check legislation, a high priority of organized labor, unless it was rewritten, he added. 

So we get one used senator who votes the wrong way. Ah well. Still, the turnabout reminds us once again of the O'Reilly principle: nowadays being an anarchist is better for public image than being a Republican. Which is all right by me: anarchists haven't done all that much harm.

People Hate Me! They Really Hate Me!

Various members of the When Fangirls Attack crowd explain why I was wrong, wrong wrong in this post.

The only thing I really wanted to respond to was that a couple people accuse me of being prejudiced against fan fiction, and (by extension) kind of sexist (since fan fiction is mostly written by women writers.) I just want to say, again, for the record: I have no problem with fan fiction. Some of my closest friends write fan fiction: notably kinukitty, who is now writing a yaoi column for this site — a column which, I am informed, will also probably discuss slash fiction at some point in the not too distant future. In my Gay Utopia project, I included a number of fan fiction related contributions by Kinukitty and others (here; here and here.) I'm a fan of Clamp, a collective that started out doing dojinshi, or fan-fiction Japanese comics. I wrote an essay in praise of Torchwood's fan-fiction roots.

I think fan fiction, like most genres, is prone to some characteristic weaknesses. I think those weaknesses are exacerbated in super-hero comics, where corporate stewardship tends to pander to the lowest common denominator and excise the more interesting visions (which in fan fiction often involve unexpected romantic pairings.) Given that, my guess would be that there's WW fan-fiction out there that's better than most of what has been done with the character since Marston died.

Garfield's Nine Lives

Garfield: His 9 Lives came out in 1984. We owned it when I was a kid, and I remember even then finding it odd. Now we've received an old copy for my kid as a gift...and it seems even odder.

Like the title says, the book tracks Garfield through his 9 lives, starting as a cave cat and ending up as a cat in space. Which certainly makes sense as far as it goes...and several of the segments are, in fact, more or less exactly what you'd expect — that is, they're Garfield gag strips with a different time setting. Here, for example, cave man domesticates cave cat:



Cartoony style, professionally accomplished basic slapstick schtick — that's what I expect, more or less, when I go to a Garfield comic. Similarly, there's a very funny Three Stooges riff in which Garfield is an exterminator, allowing Jim Davis to get a bit more squicky than he tends to in the funny pages:




Other parts of the book, though, are harder to parse. In the first place, little is done with the conceit of Garfield-through-time; almost all of the stories except for the cave cat and future cat ones are effectively set in the present. There is one story where Garfield is a Viking Cat...but then he gets frozen in a block of ice and ends up in 1984 anyway along with his Viking comrades. This sets up a confused and toothless Mad Magazine knock off, as the Vikings meet the modern day world and end up as factory workers, plumbers, and advertising executives. There's also a prose story about Garfield as a detective (I guess that does seem vaguely set in the 40s...) and a fairy-tale story with slick computer-surreal art which is too saccharine to discuss further.

And then there's this:



Yes, that's an incarnation of Garfield as atavistic monster. I don't have the equipment to scan the entire double-page spread at once, but basically he's leaping to slaughter his aged owner.

And the twist-ending horror shocker isn't even the weirdest of the tales. That honor would have to go to the tale which has Garfield as a laboratory animal who is injected with an experimental drug, escapes from his cage....and then changes into a dog. It's done in a more or less realistic style, and the whole thing is extremely creepy, from the traums of the vivisection to the apparently painful transformation; even the sort of winking ending (he escaped!) seems very creepy — I mean, surely an animal who this happened to would be terribly traumatized. It all seems very far from the jokey world of the Garfield strips; this is more like 2000 AD twist endings...except that crossing it with a children's comic strip makes it significantly more, not less, disturbing.

Part of what's going on here is that Davis is giving the folks in his studio a chance to stretch out. For instance, that creepy, atavistic cat above isn't drawn by Davis, but by Jim Clements, Gary Barker, and Larry Fentz. The saccharine fairy-tale is written and drawn by Dave Kuhn. But then, the oddest stories — the lab animal one, the atavistic cat one, are written by...Jim Davis. The same Jim Davis who has been writing essentially the same Garfield gags (coffee makes you crazy! cats are lazy!) for thirty years. The same Jim Davis who, when asked to talk about his strip, utters bland profundities like "This whole line of work is to make people happy and smile. Getting paid for is it just a bonus." If you were going to guess, you'd say that Jim Davis hasn't thought about anything in particular for most of his adult life. And then you find something like this, or Davis's appreciation of Garfield Minus Garfield and you start to wonder...

Oliphant Watch: The Pig Busts In

This one makes sense, which is a letdown, of course. No pointing and giggling.

Obama has got a ton of things to deal with, what with the breakdown of the financial system and the foundering of America's automakers. The financial firms and car companies are huge institutions, they have their hands out, and they have shone a good deal of selfishness, so thinking of them as pigs comes naturally enough. Now there is a new, large, very different, and unexpected problem called swine flu -- another pig, and it's busting down the door as Obama says, "What now?" So, yeah, all of that tracks.

We get the message only because the two little nattering figures at the edge of the cartoon bother to fill us in. But that's a technical blemish, not an example of craziness. The point of the cartoon, though not crazy, isn't all that interesting -- another problem for the president? damn! -- but what the hell. That's still a really good giant pig Oliphant draws for us.

Sorry, Matthew, if you're reading this. Maybe next time.

(For crazier Oliphant times, click here.)   

Bound for Glory

I'd posted a bit back about Alan Moore's proposal for Glory. Basically I argued that for the most part Moore didn't seem to understand what made the Marston/Peter run great; in his proposal he tended to take weird, absurd ideas (like the invisible plane), note that they were weird and absurd, and then go on to suggest changing them in ways that made them more conventional and boring (turning the invisible plane into a more mythologically appropriate, and therefore less goofy, transforming chariot thingee, for example.)

Well, my brother very kindly sent me the three issues of Glory that Moore actually wrote (numbered 0, 1, 2) — and I was pleasantly surprised. I think the actual book is a good bit better than the proposal.

Not that Moore has suddenly figured out the Marston/Peter run. There's no particular evidence that he has. Rather, it's that, despite some lip service to the WW history and mythos, he really largely manages to ignore Marston and get on with his own ideas. For instance, I noted that the most interesting part of the proposal seemed to be Moore's ideas about Glory's secret identity. WW did have a secret identity in the Marston run, of course, but it always seemed tacked on -- there because super-heroes were supposed to have secret identities rather than because it was an integral part of Marston's politics or fetishes. WW always seemed to be slumming as Diana Prince -- presumably because she wanted to be near Steve Trevor...but since WW always hung out with Steve Trevor anyway, the motivation didn't seem especially coherent.

For Moore, however, the secret identity expands and becomes essentially the entire point of the book (or of the couple of issue he wrote anyway). Glory wants to know what it's like to be human — which isn't an original trope, exactly. But the trick is that the person she chooses to become/inhabit, Gloria, is a waitress who's a schizophrenic. She's Gloria's secret identity, and Glory is her fantasy. The tension between those two perspectives is funny and poignant and even a little disturbing, especially at the cliff-hanger ending (never resolved), where the gap between Glory and Gloria, or between imagination and reality, swallows both of them up.

In the proposal, Moore suggested that the comic should be "disingenuous" and "coy" in its portrayal of cheesecake, lesbian subtext, sex, and so forth. I felt that this was really a fundamental misunderstanding of Marston, and overall just not a good way to go. And, indeed, the moments where the series goes that direction are, in general, not of the best. In issue #0, for example, there's a flashback/retelling of Glory's history which includes a lot of badly-rendered gratuitous cheesecake which is irritating and dull. And then there's the cameo by a female comic reader in a half-shirt who a skeevy old book-retailer keeps refers to as "child", and who behaves more or less like a kid (deferential to old skeevy guy, eager for new book,...she's an analogue to that comic-reading kid in Watchmen, actually), but who has the hard-bodied, half-shirted, butt-falling-out-of-her-bottoms look of a poorly-drawn pin-up.



On the other hand, the retro-bondage flashback story in issue #2 with cross-dressing, serious butch-femme play, and tongue-in-cheek parodically second-wave sneering at the bonds of matrimony was quite entertaining...though its knowing satire, its exploitation, and its clever plotting with the twist ending is world's away from Marston/Peter (it reads much more like Moore's own efforts for 2000 AD, actually, albeit with less explicit violence and more implicit sex.)

In any case, the point is, these are largely aberrations; the bulk of the series doesn't go for coy or disingenuous or cheesecake especially. Instead, it treats sex and love in an above-board, respectful manner. Gloria the waitress sleeps with a marginal drifter character, and its sweet and sexy and cute ("I like his name and how he talks," Glory thinks, "I like his bottom.") Similarly, Hermione, Glory's companion, has an unrequited crush on her...Moore threatened to mine that for titillation in the proposal, but in the actual comic it's played almost entirely for bittersweet pathos. Maybe Moore wrote the proposal figuring that Liefield wanted coy cheesecake? In any case, there's much less of it in the comic than he promised, which is all to the good.

Overall, I think the fact that this isn't actually Wonder Woman helped Moore a good bit. Glory's costume is no great shakes, but it's not the dreaded swimsuit of Americana. She isn't tricked out with bondage gear. She doesn't have tons of baggage about, for example, the mission of peace (Moore basically has her going to man's world initially because Hitler pisses Demeter off by being a jerk, and later just because she feels like it), or feminism (which Moore uses as an off-hand joke a couple of times, but doesn't otherwise bother with.) There isn't any need to make any homage to the idea that she's an icon of any sort. Though he takes some things from the WW mythos, Glory ends up as much less WW than Supreme was Superman. Instead of fetish and feminism, Moore uses the title to talk about magic, imagination, and relationships — his obsessions, not Marston's at all.

Maybe this is clearest in the retelling of Glory's origin, illustrated by Melinda Gebbie. The first image of the story is this:



This reminded me of the Ms. cover image where WW is shown as a giant. Here, though, the sexualizing effects of manipulating body size are much more thought through and under control; the children's book stylized whimsy, the girly outfit, the fashion pose, the skin, and the tiny figures showering her with adulation; she's powerful, but also a sexual object in a whimsical way. I mean, Marston wasn't exactly whimsical, I don't think — more cracked. But this seems like a nice nod to his themes; a way to point to them without pretending to take them as seriously as the man himself did. It is coy, I guess, but almost nostalgically or poignantly so — especially as those very elliptically suggested themes of sexual power and submission don't really play out in the following narrative at all. Instead, the story Moore tells is actually much more like a Neil Gaiman Sandman tale than like a Marston fever dream — it's a reworking of the Persephone myth, with Demeter impregnated by a demon in the form of a silver rain about halfway thorugh. There's no bondage or purple healing rays or caricatured masculine stereotypes anywhere in sight. Gebbie's artwork does share some traits in common with Peter — a somewhat simplified cartoony style, some frilly filigree, a penchant for stiff poses creating frieze-like compositions. Her faces, though, are much more expressive, and her linework less so. The feel ends up being more conventional and sentimental, as in the image below:




I really like that panel, with the diamond patterns in the back and the demon thinking in Lichtenstein melodrama. We get love and mystery and magic. It's nothing like Marston/Peter, the putative object of the tribute. But that doesn't mean it's bad.


This isn't to say that Glory is overall comparable in quality to the Marston/Peter WW run. In the first place, other than Gebbie's eight-page cameo, the art is typical mainstream crap; ugly stylistic nullity mottled in that horrible computer coloring. Moore tries for a couple of Winsor McCay effects and you just want to tell him to stop, man; nobody here has the skill for that. You're just embarrassing everyone. Give it up.



Art problems aside, Moore's authorial vision, in this title at least, isn't nearly as weird, as funny, or, I'd argue, as thoughtful as Marston's original. What with the flashbacks and the backstories and the diner drama and Glory running off to fight badness every so often...the characterization and plot are clever and fun, but they're too diffuse to really seem urgent or to add up to all that much. As with Supreme, you get the sense that Moore (like Glory) is slumming; running along and entertaining himself without breaking too much of a sweat. The themes around imagination are things we've seen from him before...stories affecting the world, stories breaking into the world, etc. etc. In a couple of sequences, characters in the comic are reading comics, and then the comic within a comic turns around and breaks the fourth wall and talks to the character in the comic...and you think, yep, whatever, Alan — comics are a metaphor for existence. Can we move on now?

The thing is, since I don't find these ideas that compelling in the first place, I'd just as soon see Moore treat them as toss offs; better that than Promethea, certainly. The air of improvisation doesn't hurt the book;on the contrary, I like the breeziness of it, and there's still enough depth to keep things engaging and even affecting. It's not genius, but it is one of the few versions of WW that isn't an aesthetic pratfall. Marston/Peter's character is impossible to deal with, and so Moore, very reasonably, refuses to, and comes up with something else entirely.

_________

One complaint though; Moore puts an Etta Candy analogue in one of his flashback stories...and she's thin and hot! What's with that? Did Liefield decreed that there couldn't be any fat women in his comics, no not even one?

Oh Christ. Just Fuck God in the Ass and Leave Him Bleeding

... a conscious effort to inscribe this “Trek” in the storytelling traditions popularized by Joseph Campbell, in which heroes must suffer loss and abandonment before they rise to the occasion. The filmmakers admit that this is a deliberate homage to their favorite films, like “Superman,” “Star Wars” and “The Godfather Part II.”

From the New York Times via The New Republic's Plank blog. The article in question discusses what J.J. Abrams has in mind for his reboot of the Star Trek franchise.

The quote is stupid because, as the Plank item points out, Godfather II ends with Michael Corleone's soul and family in ruins: he is corrupted and he is alone. The Godfather films aren't about someone being tested and rising to the occasion; they're about someone getting pulled in, just like it says in that goofy line from Godfather III  (you know, "they keep pulling me back in!"). Michael Corleone isn't young Luke Skywalker or Clark. He isn't callow and in need of challenge. From the start, he is a born leader, a paragon of competence and nerve, a decorated war hero and cool-headed tactician. He is the dream self-image of Mario Puzo, that poor shambling yutz who wanted to pretend he was hard, compact and capable. Corleone starts as a hero and always has the gifts of a hero, but he loses his way morally. This process begins, for all reasons, because he loves his father, who happens to be a Mafia chieftain. And that tragedy is the whole point of the Corleone story.

Doesn't this matter? Can't J.J. Abrams and the New York Times demonstrate some understanding of one of the most famous movies of our time? The story has nothing to do with Joseph Campbell. Nothing! If you want to feel important while talking about the Godfather films, just say "Shakespearean." Go ahead, it feels good. You won't be adding anything, but neither will you be demonstrating your ignorance.

UPDATE:  Another point.  Godfather II begins with Michael Corleone already in his father's place, a man with wife, kids, and responsibilities. It's in the first Godfather film that he's a young man whose life is taking form. Mr. Abrams and the New York Times couldn't even pick the right film to get confused about.

Two Things I Thought I Knew

I've been reading about Watchmen, the book and the movie. In the comic, I always thought the Gordian Knot Company was a bit of a stretch as names go. Yes, the Gordian knot was impossible to untie, but you don't really think of untying locks,  just opening them; to my mind, rope and metal are too different for one to easily suggest the other. Additionally, the legend of the Gordian knot is known but not widely known, at least not in the U.S. Not a likely name for a small-time consumer service company.

I figured Moore wedged the name in there simply to further his Veidt-Alexander parallels. But no. He said in 1988 that he just thought the name would be funny and that it was only as the book went on that he realized how it dovetailed with Veidt's monumental self-esteem.

Next, the movie gives us Dr. Manhattan always surrounded by an eye-repelling blue-white glow. I thought the glow was one further effect of the film's deadly CGI blight. Again no.  Peter Aperlo's Watchmen: The Movie Companion tells us the glow comes from the little bulbs on Billy Crudup's motion-capture suit. It was, what do you call, actual-source light or something. Only the big blue muscles were CGI.

Mysteries of Young Women

I live in the section of Montreal near McGill University. There are lots of college kids around. Right now it's finals and the 2nd Cup is jammed full of kids studying. I'm parked at my little table in a row of other little tables, all of them full except for the one to my left. It has a textbook placed on its far edge and a slim sheaf of papers placed atop the textbook. During the past hour four different people have tried to park themselves at the table. Each time the girl sitting one table over has told them no, "somebody's sitting there." But there isn't. Her friend, who had been there, took off to print something at home and so far has not returned. As mentioned, the coffee shop is jammed and, like the missing girl, the people who want to sit down are students frantic to get ready for big tests.

It amazes me how young women feel entitled to pull stunts like this. I've seen them try it at the gym too: "I'll just wrap my sweater around the handles of this elliptical machine and come back in 20 minutes, and meanwhile Monica will tell all comers 'somebody's using the machine.'" My theory is that men don't go in for such wanton abuses of "saving" because they're afraid someone will hit them. 

UPDATE:  A fifth character just got turned away. Agitated, I leaned over to the friend and said, "I've got to say, this is getting to be a bit unfair."

The friend: "I know, I know. I agree. I'll call her." She gets out her cell phone. So maybe western civilization is safe after all.

UPDATE:  The girl is back. To her friend: "Sorrryyy. Oh, sorrryyyy." She has one of those lockjaw drawls.

The Week That Was

I think this has been our biggest week os blogging here at HU. In case you missed it in the flurry, we had a roundtable on Kyoko Okazaki's Helter Skelter, a few more posts about Wonder Woman (one by Tom, even), the second installment of Gluey Tart: Adventures in Manporn by Kinukitty, this one about self-referential German pretty boys. Also Spider Man 2 and probably other things I've forgotten.

Also, if you'd like in comments, let us know if there's something you'd like us to address or talk about. I'm going to do a post on Alan Moore's Glory next week more or less by request; Tom did a post specially for a commenter last week; we are all about shameless pandering here at HU.

Nobody Much Is Watching the Watchmen

Thanks to patford at TCJ's message board, we have a link to this box office status report by Simon Brew at the site loudly named Den of Geek! The news is mediocre:

Seven weeks after its release, however, and Watchmen's legs have all but buckled. For the weekend just gone, its seventh on release, the film brought home $199,114. More worryingly, that makes for a total take of $106,848,750 in America. It's the 358th most successful film of all time in the US off the back of those numbers, and in 357th is Batman & Robin.

Oy!

The current international take for the film, and this has been petering out too[,] ... currently sits at $74,207,581, for a total worldwide gross of $181,103,123. For the sake of comparison, Batman & Robin drew over $130m overseas, for a total of $238m.

Out of Watchmen's receipts has to come the exhibitors' revenues, marketing costs, distribution expenses and such like. And then there's the film's budget, with the most conservative suggesting that it cost $120m to bring the film to the screen in the first place. Off the back of box office returns such as Watchmen's, it's perhaps unsurprising that we're not going to be seeing a mass market R-rated comic book movie for a long time to come.

...

Fortunately, for Watchmen its real money spinner is yet to come. ... it's a film that's going to have legs for many years on the home market, and Warner Bros will no doubt keenly exploit it with special and collectors' editions en masse over the coming decade or so. Watchmen will not, when the final numbers are totted up, be a business failure for the studio.

...

However, tomorrow - Friday April 24th - marks the film's 50th day on release, and it's just a shame that it won't be playing for that much longer ...

Well, no, there I cannot agree. Watchmen is not a good movie, especially when viewed in a  theater with a big sound system. There is much pain and tedium built into the Watchmen-viewing experience. Yet I do believe the predictions of a long home-theater afterlife are correct. I know I want a copy, as long as I don't have to pay retail. The Watchmen movie is bizarre and unique, and I still love the credits sequence.

Oh yeah, this link will start you on a magical mystery tour thru the posts Noah and I did about the film's many shortcomings and isolated virtues.

Sex and Fury

Japanese yakuza sexploitation; supposed to be a major influence on Tarantino's Kill Bill. It was kind of disappointing; the swordfights are not especially well-choreographed, and Christina Lundbergh is pretty much a dud as a lovelorn American spy speaking painfully stilted English. The plot is more complicated than it needs to be, the revolutionary good guy is incredibly lame with a lameness matched only by the police who keep letting him escape after his botched assassination attempts (that's pretty funny, actually). As you'd expect, there are a bunch of largely unmotivated sex scenes and a heaping helping of gratuitous violence, but none of it goes anywhere in particular, and the perversion and viciousness is all pretty rote (women on women whipping in front of a picture of Jesus while organ-music plays and a bunch of nuns look on...eh, okay.)

Still, it earns its reputation to some extent on the strength of the performance of the star, Reiko Ike as Ocho. The scene where she leaps out of the bathtub nude and cuts a swath of death through a passel of treacherous gamblers is probably the movie's high point...though the climactic scene, where, again mostly nude, she again chops away at a phalanx of baddies, is also great. She never actually looks like she's a master swordsman, necessarily, but she's very charismatic and intense; she's got the fluid stalking thing down, not to mention the deadly glare. There's a sequel which I'm going to watch shortly, so obviously there was some appeal.

Manga Screening

Footnote to our roundtable and especially Tom's fine dissection of Helter Skelter's art.

I noted the lack of patterning in the book compared to other manga for women. I meant not the hand-drawn composition of Okazaki's pages so much as large, flat areas of design. Like the pattern on the dress and tights in this image from Nana:

(Image nicked from Let's Fall Asleep, a manga & comics blog for librarians.)

The patterns are typically screentones (though I imagine more studios are doing this with computers). Either way, they're applied, not drawn. (Though at least one artist, Shizuka Nakano, draws with screentone specifically. ActuaBD has a couple of small samples.)

And you can get screentones for just about everything:

Limpid pool and doily patterns:
Clouds and trees:
City at night and magical feathers:

From the Beginners' Pack at IC, Inc. Pollocky splotches, your family's tartan, celestial fuzz of the kind that clouds your judgment when you see a really hot girl with bad morals? They've got it all.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

In a much talked-about essay, Peggy Orenstein has speculated that Facebook denies to young people “an opportunity for insight, for growth through loneliness”; it makes it harder for them “to establish distance from their former selves, to clear space for introspection and transformation.” Maybe it also eases — or hides from us — our displacements, and creates, etc., etc., etc.,

 

Oh, shut up.

Via Sullivan.

Drunk College Kids Speak

I'm sitting outside the 2nd Cup at 2 in the morning and the McGill kids are coursing up and down the street, drunk as cats fed on bourbon. Two college girls are standing a few feet from me, chatting, and a young fellow lumbers out of the Cup and spills hot tea or coffee on the sidewalk, right near their feet.

"Ow!" one girl calls after him. "Ow! That burned me."

The other girl says to her, and I have no idea why: "These things are going to happen. You can't, fuck, you can't take that on yourself." I think she means her friend can't blame herself

MR3 Part Too Late: the devil wears lancome

Firstly, as a non-manga-reader undergoing continuing education in these blog series, I want to agree with Tom that the Okazaki's artwork shocked and thrilled me at first glance. Her art looks more gestural than any other manga I've seen, and the thickish lines and largish facial features were much more relatable, for me, than the pin-thin perfect lines i'm used to seeing from our eastern brethren.

When manga characters elsewhere are composed so meticulously and in such delicate detail, it seems weird that their faces and bodies look all flat, whereas here, the flatness is right, cause they're just shorthand sketches (I think it's an important connection Tom makes to Andy Warhol: these characters strongly suggest 50s American gag and advertisement cartooning, which is a lot of why they felt so warmly familiar).

Of course, after the initial glow of recognition, Helter Skelter gave me the same problems I've had with most manga, namely the diffuculty of telling characters apart and the difficulty of distinguishing men from women. At first, I thought the makeup artist and the ingenue personal assistant turned sex slave turned hitwoman were different people, then I thought they were the same person, then at the end of the book I again thought that they were two people, and the makeup artist was in fact a man (reading Nana I learned to check for neck girth to determine a character's sex, here that doesn't work). But, I am still an outsider to the art form, and people have said my characters are hard to tell apart, so.

Like Noah and Tom, divasploitation doesn't read as particularly feminist to me, or particularly new. Okazaki does a lot of telling-not-showing, in the form of the voiceovers, the quotations, and then the burning-tiger lsd scenes, that she's getting at something bigger, deeper, more meta, but that part never really intrudes on the divasploitation enough to matter.

It's funny, though, and probably telling of our different gender-coloured perspectives, that I had a different conviction from my co-utilitarians of where this awfully tired and predictable story was going.

Tom says, "Hana was there to be a doormat and let us see what a beast Ririko was. The cop was there to delve into the dark doings behind Ririko's creation, to bring about justice at the end of the story, and in the meantime to give us some relief from Ririko's twisted bitchiness and that of her milieu." Cause I was sure that the cop was just an expositional device and a looming threat, whereas Helter Skelter would really be Hana's story, the old "innocent, better-than-that girl is tempted by shallow beauty & riches, almost succumbs, but manages to triumphantly turn her back on it in the end" (hence my title). I really thought that's where the Lancome-loaning scene, in particular, was going. ("No, Hana! She'll get you hooked on the devil makeup!")

But even though Ririko does talk about harming other people because she has been harmed, and refers to Hana in that context, she never actually harms Hana in the same way that she herself had been harmed. The makeup scene is actually just about Ririko's bait-and-switch affections; Hana never gets designer clothes or a makeover, let alone surgery (Ririko encourages her sister to get surgery, but it reads as misguided empathy rather than cruelty). She uses Hana for nonconsensual but mutually enjoyable sex slavery, and for inappropriate errands up to and including grevious assault, but she never tries to remake Hana in her own image.

But that's exactly what our conquering hero, the detective, does to Ririko. He renames her (it's interesting how men in literature who set out to objectify, remake and possess a woman often start with assigning her a new name... was Lolita the first or just the most famous example?), stalks her all over and announces they were feathers together in a past life, before (as Noah so powerfully pointed out) tearing down her whole life, ruining her body's chances of survival, and leaving her no recourse.

He's as bad as "Mom," maybe worse, because he's an outsider who gets to lecture smugly as he objectifies, rather than being down in the beauty trenches ("Mom" reveals offhand that she's surgically generated herself, so she is harming Ririko exactly as she was harmed). This is a feminist parable?? (This isn't really undone by the darkly happy-ending epilogue, which goes against all the established rules about the sinister abortion surgery.)

Sigh. I might as well conclude with some more clueless-outsider bitching about manga. Okazaki pays lip service to it's-bad-to-starve-yourself-to-get-supermodel-thin, but then every default female character has the same figure as Ririko, minus the breast implants and a couple of inches of height. Why aren't we concerned about how all of them, by extension, are starving themselves? All the highschool girls we occasionally cut to, absorbing bad values from their fashion magazines, already look like fashion models (the only women with any fat on them, are the women whose fat is integral to the plot). That's what happens when you draw a whole world in fashion illustration style, and that's what all shonen and josei manga i've ever seen does.

Also, how every woman shown having sex has to explain at least once that she's Not Really Into This Sort of Thing. Maybe it's the innocent 50s romance referred to in comments, back before they discovered the female sex drive, or maybe it's just another culture's gender norms, which who-am-i-to-say are more fucked up than ours, but the good girl who has to be coerced is so not a turn-on for me. (That was one of my favourite things about Nana, even though it has the fashion-illustration crap in spades: it seemed to not share the above sexual hang-up at all. The good-girl-naif is actually shown to be pretty promiscuous in high school, and it's just not a thing.)

MR3, part 2-c: Helter Skelter by Okazaki (cont.)

meta-UPDATE:  I analyze Helter Skelter's art, with a helpful image bank of the work's visual characteristics, right ... about ... here.

UPDATE:  Bill and Noah are agreed that the "To be continued" notice is a joke only. Ah well. The story still winds up in a very odd and unexpected place, the Asada-Ririko connection is not explained (as far as I could tell), and the story is apparently continuing full steam ahead even if the author never intended to tell more of it. So maybe we don't have a fragment, but, uh, it ought to have been a fragment. Oh, never mind. 

UPDATE  2:  The dialogue in Helter Skelter is quite good, very much especially Ririko's interview patter and the teen fans' little exchanges. I have no idea who the translator is, but as well as being a public benefactor he/she has a good ear. 

********

A couple of cleanup points.

Given that the plot of Helter Skelter leaves us unimpressed, it's worth noting that we have only the first half of the book. The first half of a routine action movie, to take one example, might be all you needed to tell that the second half would also be routine. But Helter Skelter has some odd things going on in its story, and during the second half they might have led the book into territory that created an entirely new context for the elements that Noah and I found so trite. Or maybe not. But we are forming our judgments about the story and theme on the basis of a very large fragment, not a whole.

When I say "some odd things," I mean two things: 1) the nutty police detective, and 2) Ririko's sadomasochistic affair with her gofer, Hada. The roles of the detective (his name is Asada) and Hada seemed clear enough thru the first few chapters. Hada was there to be a doormat and let us see what a beast Ririko was. The cop was there to delve into the dark doings behind Ririko's creation, to bring about justice at the end of the story, and in the meantime to give us some relief from Ririko's twisted bitchiness and that of her milieu. By chapter nine my assumptions had all been undermined. The cop wasn't just a quirky Joe Sensitive with his own intuitive way of getting at a problem; apparently he and Ririko were supposed to share some sort of telepathic connection and to have known each other in past lives. Hada wasn't just getting stepped on, she was also -- how does one say? -- getting into the relationship. This second point doesn't receive a lot of airtime in the story, but stray captions and pieces of dialogue indicate that the erotic power games forced on her by Ririko added up to the best sex of Hada's life.

To tell the truth, I don't especially like either development and they don't seem all that original. They strike me as baroque flourishes of the sort indy films over here use to tickle their audiences. But I didn't see them coming, and the business with the detective certainly indicates that there's a lot more we have to learn before we really have a line on Ririko.

The end of the first half, with Ririko still alive and beautiful years after her day was supposed to be done, points up a theme that is certainly present in the book but that I assumed was subsidiary. I mean the theme of the star as survivor who will do whatever it takes to stay on top and will not allow herself to be beaten. There's a reason Mama chose Ririko for starmaking when there were so many other desperate, homely girls. Presumably, the reason is that Ririko just won't quit, will not let herself sink. The theme is a perennial in star biographies and divasploitation, so seeing it here is not a surprise. But I assumed the main point was that the sinister beauty clinic had made Ririko and that the end of the story would come when Ririko and the clinic were both undone. Get to chapter 9 and those assumptions are in very poor shape.

Only One Can Wear the Pointy Ears

My good friend Bryan alerted me to the existence of this, a 1967 attempt at a Wonder Woman pilot commissioned by the producer of the Batman TV show.




Basically, Diana Prince gets berated by her mother for not having a man, then she runs through a revolving wall, emerging as Wonder Woman who (to paraphrase the voice-over by the regular Batman announcer) "knows she has the strength of Hercules; knows she has the speed of Mercury, and *thinks* she has the beauty of Aphrodite!"

It's certainly something completely different. And I did laugh a couple of times at the sheer unexpected snideness of it.

Ultimately, though, it's hard for me to get behind it enthusiastically. Part of what was so much fun about the Batman TV series is that the target of the humor was the establishment; Batman and Robin are basically policemen/boy scouts; in all their humorless do-gooding, they've got the law and the powers-that-be on their side. The show was a masterpiece of having your cake and eating it too; you get to sneer at the ridiculous dated morality (refusing to drive through red light; refusing to hit women, etc. etc.) while still rooting for that morality to win. Batman's the show where even cops could laugh at crime-fighting and even hippies could cheer for the establishment.

This Wonder Woman pilot, though...it tries to make fun of Wonder Woman the way that the Batman TV show made fun of Batman...but it's just not as easy to get the balance right. The main problem is just that Wonder Woman is a woman...and as such she can't be assimilated to the establishment the way Batman can. Instead, because she's a women, she's automatically marginal in certain ways. As a result, making fun of her doesn't feel edgy or clever -- it feels hackney and tired and dumb...and, yeah, sexist too. Jokes about aging unmarried daughters who are desperate for men; jokes about women's vanity; jokes about women being incompetent...where have I heard *that* before?

For WW humor, I much prefer Darwyn Cooke's pissed-off 2nd wave feminist version, which makes fun of WW for being overly sensitive and clueless, but also ridicules men for being venal and predictable and generally getting their asses kicked. Gender roles and wars of the sexes can be funny, and often are. But even when it's written with some wit, I just don't find sexism all that humorous.

________________

And as I've been pointing out at the end of each of these, this is the latest in a series of posts on post-Marston takes on WW. The whole series is here.

Gluey Tart: In the End

In the End, by Pink Psycho (Heath & Nheira)
English version published February 2008 by Tokyopop Inc.

Should we all take a moment to chuckle about titling a manporn sort of book In the End? We probably should, shouldn't we? Let's do that, just to get it over with. Ha, ha, ha!

OK. Now.

There's a children's book I like called The Important Book, by Margaret Wise Brown. It offers a series of facts about things, ending up with the fundamental truth, as it were. You know – my train is big. My train is fast. My train is filled with self-important Republicans from the suburbs, taking up two seats by spreading out their newspapers. But the important thing about my train is that it is late. No, not really. That's a friend of mine – I live on the south side of Chicago, and Republicans are thin on the ground here. But you get the picture.

Is there a point to this? A manporn point? Well, yes, and thanks for asking. The important thing about this week's manpornish manga, In the End, is Pink Psycho. Because the plot – oy, vey. Adolescent angst gone wild. The protagonist is so misunderstood, so miserable, woe is him, yadda, yadda. Well, look. I'm willing to cut it some plot slack, but you can either tolerate this kind of thing, or you can't. High school angst entertains me, especially Goth-flavored. But it is what it is. Assuming that you are not in high school yourself, you probably need another reason to read the manga. Because we are not in deep yaoi water here – it's not an "I didn't notice there was no plot because I was distracted by the constant and inventive sex" situation. It's more of a heavy yaoi-implied sort of thing. (Kissing and implied sex.)


Looking at this manga, you might assume it was Japanese – the layouts aren't as polished and effortless as one expects, and ditto the art, but it basically has the right look. It's certainly trying. In the End was produced for Tokyopop in Germany in 2006, though, and didn't get to Japan until the following year, when it was released to cell phones. I may be betraying an embarrassing lack of sophistication here (if such a thing is possible in a column about manporn), but – released to cell phones? Anyway.

There is something about the book, though, and that something is Pink Psycho. If you're like me, you saw the author was "Pink Psycho" and you were filled yea to the brim with a deep and abiding curiosity. I'll share my own process. "Pink Psycho. I find that vaguely annoying. Who the hell is that? An Australian/Indonesian/European manga group everyone else knows about but me? Is it a band? A band that does manga? Did somebody leave cookies in the kitchen?" There's sort of an explanation in the back of the book. I mean, it's an explanation in the sense that a Lean Cuisine is a meal. It offers you something but mostly leaves you craving substance. Although they do tell us Nheira is pronounced "Nahy-Ruh." Thanks, guys. Also that they drew the manga and are maybe in a band that might be called Nheira. "What the hell?" I asked. Is it a floor wax? A dessert topping?


So I did what one does when confronted with a question like this. A burning question. A question with many vowels. (I mean, really, Nheira. The name has a one-to-one vowel-to-consonant ratio.) I went to the Internet (after I ate a cookie). And while it pains me to boil down so bold and sweeping a story into so blunt a statement, Pink Psycho – Heath and Nheira – is – are – a fluke. A couple of German teenagers who got a manga published.

It's an interesting story. Or compelling. Or something. I find Nheira kind of fascinating. He wants to be an artist, a mangaka, a visual kei performer (singer, songwriter, lyricist). He moved to Japan to further his career, apparently losing Heath along the way. (Heath filled in the story and pictures in the manga and played bass in a short-lived band – and somebody does need to play the bass.) Nheira is pretty. Which is a good thing, since he mostly draws himself. Pretty, Goth pictures of Nheira. I'm OK with that, too, in an amused sort of way. He's young, y'all. And you want a beautiful boy to moon over? Oh, yeah.

Heath might be pretty too; I don't know. I couldn't find out a lot about Heath. For instance, did he name himself after the bass player for XJapan? I mean, he had to, right? But maybe it's a coincidence. Anyway, it looks like he still works for Tokyopop in Germany. I wish him well. It's like he's my distant cousin or something. What's he up to? I wonder. I sure hope that gay-ish cartooning thing worked out for him.

OK. Back to Nheira. (It's OK. I think Heath's heard that before.) Shyly glancing up through brutally thick lashes? Check. Double-pierced pout? Check check. Tiny, skinny little thing, dressed in those exciting and confusing visual kei Goth rags? Mm hmmmmmm. Jailbait? I think so, or not far from it. I don’t know how authentically distressed he is, though. A guess? Not as distressed as Kaito, his In the End doppelganger. Nheira comes across as kind of sweet-n-shy in his interviews. Did I actually watch online interviews with Nheira? In languages I don’t speak? Well, only two. And they were short. (Oh, shut up.) But as far as being an actual adolescent, I think he's the real deal. Or within spitting distance. I'd actually kind of prefer spitting distance, since I like them legal, even for fantasizing (that isn't a universal preference – cough cough, Harry Potter porn, cough cough), but there's something – I don't know, cute? – about a manga romanticizing adolescent pretty boy angst that's written by an adolescent pretty boy, angsting.

On to the art. Nheira needed more time to draw In the End. Which is another way of saying he wasn’t able to make everybody the same size. There are some might pretty panels, but that is the level we're working at. I liked some of the panels enough to want to buy the manga, but unless money's no object, you should probably look before making a commitment. Here's a fun project, though. Go to his
DeviantArt gallery. Go on. I'll wait. You'll see LOTS of photos, and you'll notice that, as I think I may have mentioned, he's pretty. (Also? You might want to check out his profile, where you'll find out fascinating personal information, like that his personal quote is "rip it off." I have no idea. Maybe it's a koan? And that he likes milk. That actually creeps me out.) There's some lovely art, too. This is beautiful. So is this. I cannot actually contain my love for those two drawings. Love, love, love. Did you get that? Love.

OK; now, that's what I'm saying, right? Did you notice he basically draws himself all the time? Huh, I said. I don't know what it says about his development. Or his marketing acumen, possibly. Because I like to look at him, and – well, check out at the comments on the DeviantArt site. Or his Web site. Or his MySpace page.

Anyway. I got a little acquisitive and wanted to buy his dramatically titled art book, Liberty, Raised Out of Dirt (I mean, oh, my God – it's fun to say that in a War of the Worlds newscaster voice, though) but not $50 plus shipping from Japan on eBay worth, it turned out. I probably would, if there were more of that Edo-print-looking stuff. Which, by the way, makes sense of the samurai mouth motif on the cover of In the End, which I'd already noticed and liked, although it doesn't follow through as a stylistic trope in the manga (which is maybe for the best, although I do like to imagine the whole book drawn that way – adolescent angst takes a whole new twist with samurai mouth).


I'm going to bring it back to Heath, in the end. (Get it?) He was banned from DeviantArt a few years ago. Oh, Heath. But his comments to Nheira remain. They don't make a lot of sense after you run them through Babelfish (I didn't! Oh, yes, I did), but they seem effusive. Also, they frequently end with little rows of hearts, which is just adorable. I will not spoil it by drawing any conclusions. I will leave you to draw your own.

MR3, part 2-b: Helter Skelter by Okazaki (cont.)

It looks clear that I liked Helter Skelter more than Noah or Bill did. (Me here, Noah here, Bill's first here and second here.) Apparently, the big difference is the art. Noah and I agree the fake beauty/diva-bitch material is pretty tired; Bill is more indulgent toward it, but a good deal less enthusiastic about the book than I am. At any rate, Bill tells us that "the art lacks the patchwork quilt of pattern common in girls' and women's comics." That surprises me. From what I see, patterning runs thru the book like an electric current; maybe manga art delivers more of a jolt to newcomers. But before I get tangled in cheesy metaphor, I'd better back up and address my subject as a whole.

I want to write about Okazaki's artwork and especially her page design. In my last post I talked about the high probability that she intended Helter Skelter to be a visual blast on the order of the sonic blast delivered by the Beatles song "Helter Skelter." Everything is taken to a high pitch, hysterically high. The epigraph sets the tone: "A word before we start: laughter and screams sound very much alike." 

The book, according to my theory, is supposed to be a shocker but one that doesn't count on a simple bludgeoning of the audience to get results. To quote myself, it's "an example of high-style assault, of art that uses velocity, technical skill, and shock to impose itself on the audience. You have to be very good to pull it off, and Okazaki does." What do I mean by all that?

I mean those pages move fast and they take a lot of hairpin curves. I'm talking about layout and page design here. The eye isn't wafted from panel to panel; the eye has to hang on like hell. On a given page, the eye will go thru zigzags and ups and downs and bounce its way from the top of the page to the bottom, and then on to the next page and the one after.

But when I say the eye has to hang on, it's more like the eye doesn't have a choice. Do a middling job of roller-coaster page design and it's easy enough to look away. Do a first-rate job, one where all the panels and visual elements lock together, and looking away gets ruled out. The reader is in for the ride and it's a blast. At the same time, Okazaki varies the eye's pace: the densest page will have panels that open up some space, a little here, a little there, sometimes an unexpected gulf of sky in the page's upper left or right. But then the gulfs create offbeat page balances that also pull the eye. Okazaki lets up, but then she's right back at you.

Let me underline a point. There are different kinds of speed in comics. Most manga, from what I hear, features biggish panels and smallish word balloons and therefore moves at a good clip. The speed achieved in Helter Skelter is different because it involves so much eye movement per page. You never float, you zip. And you're intruded upon; in a way, you're interfered with -- your eye gets runs ragged and there's nothing you can do about it. Not that that's a bad thing, or at least not here.

Underlining a second point: this isn't just a case of speed metal play it fast, play it loud, and run down whoever's in front of you [Noah says a lot of speed metal is highly crafted. Ah well]. Without Okazaki's high degree of technical skill, the pages would be reader repellent. The Beatles's "Helter Skelter" is similar. That is one loud, fast fucker, but it's also a highly designed fucker. I'm no music expert, but anyone can hear the song's variations in texture.

Moving on. I mentioned that the eye gets intruded on in Helter Skelter. Visually, it's a bitchy sort of work, bitchy toward the reader. You're always getting jabbed and needled. Here we get into the patterning mentioned above, into visual texture.  Helter Skelter works with right angles and straight lines, with grids and needles. There's a shortage of gentle curves; the only softness in the book comes from the round, blurry street lights that surface in the smaller city-at-night panels. Mainly, the book's curves get yanked into long stringy lines or segregated as pure circles, banks of them to go with the banks of squares and rectangles. These banks, the gatherings of hard-edged geometric shapes, keep popping up in different sizes and configurations thru the book. When I was talking about electricity up above, they're what I had in mind. It's not just a matter of shape, of course. Black and white are played for high contrast, crowded together in checker patterns. 

Finally, I have to agree with Noah that Okazaki is good at drawing bodies (well, he cited Ririko's body only, but I'll extend matters a bit) and not so good at faces [Wait, he says he does like her faces! Well, that's his problem]. In fact I would say her faces are not good enough; at their worst, they remind me of a drawing I once saw of a shoe that Andy Warhol did as a young freelancer.

All right, some examples of what I mean. Let's start with Okazaki's visual repertoire. 

String:

Grid and needles:

Circles and grid:

High-contrast black and white:

 The whole visual scheme condensed (we even have the stringy lines, what with the way the tower curves):

Now layout. An example of a very dense circuit:

And it's only one part of the page. Take a look:

That page is high density, even by the book's standards. Here's a medium-density page:

And down a notch (notice the low-freight middle panel; the lack of detail allows the page to move):

And now opened a lot wider. It's also a good example of the missing-calligraphy factor. With the calligraphy there, that central panel's void would lighten the page, not empty it:

And, by the book's standards, pretty damn wide. You've still got the dense grids to liven up and anchor the page:

Now some bad caricature. Dig these shoe faces:

But it's not like Okazaki is a page engineer who doesn't know how to draw. Buildings, bodies, etc., are great. And though she doesn't go in for heavy detail, she has a knack for the right detail. My example is this dream corridor. A weirdly configured hallway is not the most original item in a dream sequence, but I like the way Okazaki gets this one on paper. The image appears just twice in a very busy book, but she's taken the trouble to rig the details so that perspective gets thrown off in a few different ways:

All right, e-frigging-nough. I'm out of here.