Barriers

In the comment thread for my post about Inside, Bruce Baugh writes:

I’ve thought for a while that the distance metaphors like “too far” don’t really serve. In my head there’s a taxonomy that builds on the image of pushes and shocks emerging from the zero point that is the movie, heading out in all directions. Things that could be measured, notionally, include the direction of the push, its speed, and its relentlessness – the difference between a single bottle being lobbed in the direction of someone’s head and a bulldozer blade crushing everything that might resist it.

Each of us in the audience rests behind a set of barriers that surrounds the movie point. In some places are barriers are close up to the point and flimsy, so that not much gets through – like you, I’m that way with cruelty to animals, and also with certain specific kinds of head and face deformities. (Which is why one part of the excellent Vanilla Sky was so grueling for me, and why I just can’t go see The Dark Knight at all.) In other places, our barriers are far back and well supported, so that we aren’t overwhelmed even by a lot of whatever it is.

I think Bruce is probably right about the utility of “too far.” It’s tough to argue that killing a cat is “further” than, I dunno, hanging a girl on a meathook while you dismember her boyfriend with a chainsaw, just to name the first example that comes to mind. (Although I’d imagine the cat was dispatched in a far more visually explicit fashion than either of those unfortunates from Texas Chain Saw ultimately were.)

Regarding Bruce’s notion of different barriers for different things, I’ve thought about that before in terms of phobic reactions, which to me are very different things than one’s usual gradated responses to various scary or disturbing or unpleasant things in horror movies. For example, my wife is emetophobic, so vomiting, gagging, dry-heaving, and certain kinds of throat-trauma, choking, or coughing just plain hit the panic switch in her brain. It’s not a question of the imagery being one level too extreme or too frightening for her to take, being just powerful enough to break through a given barrier–there is no barrier.

I am the same way, not quite as bad but getting worse even as she gets better with her phobia, about skin growths and growth-like structures, and to the extent that their bodies and multiplicity can evoke growths, bugs. Again, it’s not like there’s a level at which I can handle it that can be surpassed–I go from zero to curling up and shaking in a second. If it hits that anti-sweet spot for me, panic! Based on what Bruce is saying, I think that’s what’s going on for him with facial deformities, though I could be wrong.

On the other hand, I think there’s something different about animal cruelty, which you and I and my wife are all very sensitive about. My wife also has a real problem with people soiling themselves with fear. I’ve thought about this hard and I’m pretty sure that there’s something different going on here than there is with my phobia. It feels more thoughtful, more considered, more fleshed out a reaction to the stimulus than the reflex response of a phobia, you know? Like I said, I really do think there are contexts in which I’d be able to accept animal cruelty in film, because it’s happened with me before, though I would always find it very, very troubling. But there’s no context in which I’d be able to handle my phobia–if it’s triggered, it’s triggered. That to me says that there’s something different at play, even if my reaction when the animal-cruelty barrier is violated can be just as extreme and binary.

Carnival of souls

* Wolf Man and Rocketeer director Joe Johnston will apparently be handling the obnoxiously titled First Avenger: Captain America for Marvel Studios. I am filled with lack of feelings about this, although I will say that I remember his Jumanji being pretty effective in a “My First Movie About Uncontrollable Hordes of Hungry Things Trying to Eat People” sort of way.

* This strikes me as being pretty weak tea to actually be worth reporting, but for now at least, Danny Boyle himself may direct the sequel to 28 Days Later and 28 Weeks Later. I have a bad feeling that this will set up a reductive and unhelpful “skip the second movie” sentiment somewhere down the line, but still, it’d be neat.

* I’m not going to read Jog’s review of The ACME Novelty Library #19 until I read the book itself, but for now I want to note that I like the Jog-suggested idea of being “that guy in the comics blogosphere who really loves animals.”

* Tim O’Shea interviews Frank Santoro of the mighty mighty Comics Comics and the anxiously awaited completion of Cold Heat. Tim also reveals that there’s a Cold Heat blog/webcomic on the horizon. Memo to my friend Josiah: help me out with this bit?

Comics, how they are composed, is like an architecture, right? Well, I’ve become obsessed with the structure of comics of how one reads comics and how comics spreads are composed. I’ve also come under the spell of Pythagorean Theory and how it applies to image making and Architecture. That all might sound really pretentious but it’s really the most un-pretentious approach to creating images ever. Basically, it’s all the perspective tricks that we all learned in 6th grade art class but way more complex than three point perspective. Pythagorean Theory and The Golden Section are the building blocks of Renaissance perspective. In oil painting all of these compositional techniques have been used for centuries. There are “harmonic points” on a canvas that can be used like one would use harmony in music. These points can be measured. In comics, these ideas are often used WITHIN the borders of each panel but the overall design of the page is often muddy and bottlenecked and this undercuts the power of the image inside the panel borders. The whole structure of the spread should be “in key” with the images. And, for the page or the whole two page spread (all comics are read as two page spreads when they are in a book) to “sing”, to really be clear, the structure has to be “open”, and have a symmetry that is dynamic as opposed to static. Again, it’s like Fractals. I’m writing a book on it for Picturebox. People go nuts, in a good way, when I show them how simple it is to do. It’s like comics are just figuring out certain approaches that Painting and Architecture have understood for centuries. It’s fun stuff, and I wished someone would have hepped me to it years ago. But, honestly, people just look right past it. Who needs to learn perspective when a digital camera and a illustrator program will do it all for you?

HALP!

* Monster mash: Stacie Ponder reviews The Mist and CRwM reviews The Cave.

* Why does Zack Snyder hate gigantic telepathic exploding squids?

Nope

How far is too far? At what point does a horror movie cease to be entertainingly disturbing and become just plain unpleasant and unenjoyable? I wondered this going into Alexandre Bustillo & Julien Maury’s Inside/À l’Intérieur, given that what little I knew about it was that it was a movie about some nut or nuts menacing a pregnant woman. The bloody scissors on the DVD itself, moreover, indicated it would be a movie about someone’s attempt to cut the baby out of the pregnant woman’s stomach. This is all, needless to say, rather difficult material to “enjoy,” but you know me, I’ve probably seen worse. Did I mention we had a miscarriage a couple months ago? God help me I actually thought I’d enjoy the movie more because of that. It’s a trauma I’m close to, and I come to horror for the trauma.

Anyway, given the air of menace that surrounded the very idea of the film for me–reminiscent of Hostel in that regard–I knew I’d be in for a rough evening, but like I said, that’s what I’m here for. And early on the movie didn’t disappoint. I mean, hey, it starts with a fetuscam view of a fatal car accident in which the pregnant star’s husband is killed. Then there’s some obligatory business at the hospital and with her mother and her editor (she’s a photojournalist) to show that she’s lost the lust for life. Then she goes home and someone starts menacing her, sure enough. There are the expected homages as one would find in pretty much any indie-ish horror movie these days–Aliens, Hellraiser, The Descent, Halloween. There’s the expected business with threatening the pregnant woman’s belly with sharp objects. It’s all pretty tense and engaging. Then it gets a little silly when some unexpected guests arrive, and things go down in sort of the most pat and/or over-the-top ways possible, but hey, lots of horror movies have missteps here and there. The gore is unflinching and, for the most part, not splattery but genuinely brutal; the score is creative and impressive, clearly building on John Carpenter but doing its own unexpected things with some frequency. Like all great kill-or-be-killed thrillers it seeds little clues here and there as to what will happen later in the film, and keeps you guessing as to which guns on the mantel will go off and which won’t. It makes you wonder what the killer’s connection to our heroine is and why she’s so nuts, and whether her vague ethnicity has something to do with the banlieu riots constantly being referenced by the news reports and the editor character or whether that’s just a headfake. In other words, it’s disturbing but in a good way.

Then the killer grabs the heroine’s cat.

Sorry, folks, that’s all she wrote for me! I’m not trying to make any kind of grand sweeping political statement about what’s okay to show in movies and what’s not. In the past I’ve enjoyed a decent number of movies in which pretty rotten things happen to animals–usually at the hands/paws/claws/teeth of other animals/dinosaurs/xenomorphs/whatever, but certainly not always, right, Christofuh and Cosette?–and I expect it can and will happen again. But no, no thanks, not for me, not in this movie, not when the point of the movie truly is to be maximally brutal and unpleasant about everything it touches. I mean, on one level it just reduces everything to a kind of bloody white noise, like an attempt to push every button and it all cancels each other out–you could object to it that way. On another level it seems like a bit of a gimmick, like “hey, this lady’s really awful, look, she’ll kill an innocent cat, what a psycho, look out for your unborn baby there, heroine!”, like cheesy. On still another level it was predictable in that gun-on-the-mantel way–I swear to god, the second the pregnant lady opened the door to her house and the little black cat meowed a greeting to her I said to myself “Oh Christ, they better not hurt the goddamn cat.”

You can object on all those levels. Maybe I object to it on all those levels! But really the only level I object to it on that matters is that I just don’t enjoy watching movies about people killing cats. Maybe, maybe if I felt like the movie was up to more than just trying to be really scary and brutal, maybe. I think there are horror movies that have Something To Say, and not just in the American Nightmare/George A. Romero way, I mean something to say about life, something to say about the real horror of life, the horror that strikes you at 1 in the morning or 1 in the afternoon and you look at the world and you imagine your life stretching in front of you like a gray ribbon into the future and all around you and all in front of you are death death death, that horror, I think there are horror movies that have Something To Say about that. And to those movies, I say, if you wanna kill a cat, I’m probably okay with it. I think Inside is a movie about how scary it is when psychos chase pregnant ladies with scissors, and I don’t want to watch them kill the cat. I turned it off without finishing it, without letting them finish, and I’m gonna send it back to Netflix and in my head, the cat’s still alive, Schrödinger be damned, the cat’s still alive.

Comics Time: An Anthology of Graphic Fiction, Cartoons, and True Stories

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An Anthology of Graphic Fiction, Cartoons, and True Stories

Ivan Brunetti, editor

Robert Armstrong, Peter Bagge, Lynda Barry, Gabrielle Bell, Marc Bell, Jonathan Bennett, Mark Beyer, Mat Brinkman, Chester Brown, Jeffrey Brown, Ivan Brunetti, Charles Burns, Daniel Clowes, David Collier, Robert Crumb, Henry Darger, Gene Deitch, Kim Deitch, Julie Doucet, Michael Dougan, Debbie Dreschler, Lyonel Feininger, Phoebe Gloeckner, Justin Green, Bill Griffith, John Hankiewicz, Sammy Harkham, Rory Hayes, David Heatley, Sam Henderson, Gilbert Hernandez, Jaime Hernandez, George Herriman, Walt Holcombe, Kevin Huizenga, Crockett Johnson, J. Bradley Johnson, Ben Katchor, (pause for breath), Kaz, Frank King, James Kochalka, Aline Kominsky-Crumb, Harvey Kurtzman, Jason Lutes, Frans Masereel, Joe Matt, David Mazzuchelli, Richard McGuire, Tony Millionaire, Jerry Moriarty, Mark Newgarden, Onsmith, Gary Panter, Harvey Pekar, John Porcellino, Archer Prewitt, Daniel Raeburn, Ron Regé Jr., Joan Reidy, Joe Sacco, Richard Sala, Charles M. Schulz, Seth, R. Sikoryak, Otto Soglow, Art Spiegelman, Cliff Sterrett, James Sturm, Adrian Tomine, Carol Tyler, Chris Ware, Lauren R. Weinstein, Wayne White, Karl Wirsum, Jim Woodring, Terry Zwigoff, writers/artists

Yale University Press, 2006

400 pages

Price

Buy it from Yale University Press

Buy it from Amazon.com

I have to admit I’m a little tempted just to let the contributor list for this anthology serve as my review. I mean, look at that thing! And indeed I think I’d be somewhat justified in doing so. If the purpose of this anthology is to demonstrate the depth and breadth of style and effect possible in the comics medium as evinced by its best practitioners, well, the defense rests, you know? Provided your non-comics-reading buddy is a short-story guy rather than someone who needs a big long self-contained tale for their fiction fix, this book is an A-#1 Christmas gift.

But the strengths of this first volume in what I sincerely hope will be a long series of Ivan Brunetti-edited comics anthologies published by my alma mater go beyond the names in the table of contents. (Where they aren’t listed at all, now that I think of it–Onsmith provides an illustrated TOC featuring drawings of the main characters in each story or strip.) As a curator, Brunetti knows not just who to include, but nine times out of ten what to include from them. Therefore, your Jaime Hernandez story is his masterpiece, “Flies on the Ceiling.” Your Ron Regé Jr. contribution is drawn from his little seen, much loved, then-uncollected collection of haiku-like sex comics with Joan Reidy, Boys. Your Dan Clowes story is motherfucking “Gynecology.” Mark Newgarden’s “Love’s Savage Fury.” Phoebe Gloeckner’s “Fun Things to Do with Little Girls.” Richard McGuire’s “Here,” an ass-kicker if ever there was one. Kevin Huizenga’s “A Sunset” (albeit just an excerpt, which sort of dilutes the power of what to me is the comic of the decade, but still!). The sense I get is of Brunetti in front of his bookcases, selecting what should go into the anthology based on which sections of which comics are the most dogeared, read and re-read, loaned out and repurchased. It’s like when your friends come over and you go “oh man, you’ve gotta read this one!”

But it’s not just a collection of shorts that run one into the next haphazardly–it’s like the really well-made mixtape of comics anthologies. I was intrigued to read in Brunetti’s introduction that he ordered the comics roughly by length, starting off with mostly gag-driven one-pagers and ending with long stories and excerpts. That’s a smart and engaging structure in that the books trains you to read it as you go along, starting simple and gradually growing more demanding. Within those overall parameters Brunetti frequently arranges his selections in noticeable sub-sections, determined either by subject matter or artistic style: there’s a crosshatcher’s club with Robert Crumb, Joe Sacco, and David Collier; a childhood trauma section with Justin Green, Phoebe Gloeckner, and Debbie Dreschler; the Three Amigos of Canadian Comics, Joe Matt, Chester Brown, and Seth; an outsider-influenced section kicking off with Henry Darger and Rory Hayes and continuing through Aline Kominsky-Crumb, Mark Beyer, and Mat Brinkman; a Jewish ghetto of Julius Knipl, Maus, Berlin, and The Golem’s Mighty Swing; and whether this is intentional or not, closing with Chris Ware and Dan Clowes seemed a deliberate crowning of those two artists as the giants of the modern era of comics, which I personally have always thought them to be. If I’m making this sound easy or rote, I don’t mean to at all, by the way. Discovering what section you’ve just read your way into is a lot of fun, a big part of the pleasure of the collection.

Now, to draw pleasure from the collection in the first place, it probably goes without saying that you must be capable of drawing pleasure from astute depictions of misery. I’m sure there are broadsides against this book out there from people who want a little less dreary awfulness in their funnybooks than you’re going to get from the contributors listed above. I think this complaint has some justification. The near-total lack of genre material of any kind, save only the horror-tinged monster-y comics of Jim Woodring, Mat Brinkman, Rory Hayes, and Charles Burns, offers a somewhat lopsided frame through which to view what people do with comics, narratively and emotionally. You’re basically dealing with sadness and black comedy, with the occasional gross-out gag and “gosh weren’t things beautiful in the olden times” nostalgia to leaven it a little. Of course, nostalgia and misery go hand-in-hand for many of these comics, particularly for the memoirists–between Seth, Crumb, Joe Matt, and several tributes to Peanuts, you will probably get tired of cartoonists complaining about how ugly and awful their lives are compared to their old clothes/houses/comics/records/etc. General self-pity is a running theme, too, and while the occasional cartoonist manages to convey it in a novel fashion–Ware’s flat-affect trip down memory lane, incongruously set to a mocked-up Golden Age superhero comic–there’s no way to get around the fact that you’re gonna see a lot of funny lookin’ dudes in glasses kvetching about themselves with a lot of exclamation points. I’ve never minded that tendency in the overall altcomix gestalt all that much, but when you put a lot of it between two covers, it gets harder to ignore and sometimes harder to take. And even when the nostalgic elements are presented as-is, those presentational choices can be a bit cloying. Most of the old-time newspaper strips we see, for example, are reproduced Chip Kidd-style as photos of the original pages rather than, you know, just taking the comics themselves and putting them on the page. Presenting old comics as fetish objects dulls their impact, whatever else doing so may have going for it–“Here’s a Chris Ware strip, here’s a Charles Burns strip, and here’s something I found in my grandpa’s attic.” Similar moves done to emphasize the unique publishing circumstances of more recent projects–throwing a photo of a Jonathan Bennett minicomic in front of the actual strip contained therein, reproducing Jeffrey Brown stuff by photocopying them straight from the tiny diary-like books he originally draws them in–are sort of haphazardly done and to minimal understandable effect.

But none of that really takes much away from the impact of the collection, for all of the above reasons and one more: Is there something to be gained from having so much work from so many different artists all in one place, even when many or even most of them already grace your bookshelves? Sure, and it’s gained through juxtaposition. I found myself noticing all kinds of things about work I already knew pretty well–Joe Sacco’s art runs full-bleed. R. Crumb’s “trademark” style shifts far more radically than I’d ever noticed. You really can see Hayes in Kominsky and Beyer. In all honesty I feel like I got as much out of this book as any newbie might. That’s the mark of a great anthology.

How to read the Hellboyverse

What order should I read all of the Hellboy and BPRD books in? I’ve been wondering about the answer to this question for a while. Fortunately I’ve read them all already, most of them in the order they were released–as should you if you enjoy genre comics at all, because all of them really are that good, whether Mignola’s drawing them or not at this point–so it hasn’t been that pressing a problem for me. However, I now have a nice empty bookshelf with all the Mignolaverse books’ name on it, and I really wanted to shelve them all in proper order. After all, they are meant to be part of one massive overarching storyline and should probably be treated as such. And with character-specific collections starring Abe Sapien and Lobster Johnson now joining in, it’s getting more and more complicated to keep everything straight. However, I’ve googled high and low for a proper reading-order list and come up empty.

So, I did some digging around on the official, if sporadically updated, Hellboy site and on Amazon.com’s Mike Mignola search-results page, and I think I’ve nailed down the order in which to read everything that’s been released in trade paperback so far.

Hellboy Vol. 1: Seed of Destruction

Hellboy Vol. 2: Wake the Devil

Hellboy Vol. 3: The Chained Coffin and Others

Hellboy Vol. 4: The Right Hand of Doom

Hellboy Vol. 5: Conqueror Worm

BPRD Vol. 1: Hollow Earth and Other Stories

Hellboy: Weird Tales Vol. 1

BPRD Vol. 2: The Soul of Venice and Other Stories

Hellboy: Weird Tales Vol. 2

BPRD Vol. 3: Plague of Frogs

BPRD Vol. 4: The Dead

Hellboy Vol. 5: Strange Places

BPRD Vol. 5: The Black Flame

BPRD Vol. 6: The Universal Machine

Hellboy Vol. 7: The Troll Witch and Others

BPRD Vol. 7: Garden of Souls

BPRD Vol. 8: Killing Ground

Lobster Johnson Vol. 1: The Iron Prometheus

Hellboy Vol. 8: Darkness Calls

Abe Sapien Vol. 1: The Drowning

BPRD Vol. 9: 1946

I think this will be the next release, by the way.

BPRD Vol. 10: The Warning

I left off Hellboy Junior, since that’s kinda obviously not canon unless you’re feeling extremely generous (I also left out crossovers and cameos for the same reason), but it would go between Weird Tales Vol. 1 and Soul of Venice if you’re feeling like a completist.

So there you have it! The reading order for all of Mike Mignola’s Hellboy universe books. My public service of the day!

Headline of the day

Beyonce would like to play Wonder Woman

BREAKING: Sean T. Collins would like Beyonce to play Wonder Woman

“I want to do a superhero movie and what would be better than Wonder Woman?” she asked the newspaper. “It would be great. And it would be a very bold choice. A black Wonder Woman would be a powerful thing. It’s time for that, right?”

Golly, is it ever!

“I would definitely have to keep it right for that costume.”

I have faith in her ability to do so, don’t you?

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Carnival of souls: special in-depth edition

* You might recall that back when Grant Morrison & Frank Quitely’s All Star Superman #12 came out, I found myself slightly underwhelmed. You might also recall me mentioning that a (the) big reason for this was that the comic’s final splash page–Leo Quintum unveiling the big 2perman logo–didn’t click with me on an emotional level the way that the closing splash pages of The Filth, Seven Soldiers, and (iirc, which I may not ) New X-Men did. So I was rather pleased with myself to discover this nugget in Zack Smith’s Tim Callahan-assisted epic 10-part interview with Grant Morrison about the series:

What he’s doing at the end of the story should, for all its gee–whiz futurity, feel slightly ambiguous, slightly fake, slightly “Hollywood.” Yes, he’s fulfilling Superman’s wishes by cloning an heir to Superman and Lois and inaugurating a Superman dynasty that will last until the end of time – but he’s also commodifying Superman, figuring out how it’s done, turning him into a brand, a franchise, a bigger–and–better “revamp,” the ultimate coming attraction, fresher than fresh, newer than new but familiar too. Quintum has figured out the “formula” for Superman and improved upon it.

[…]

In one way, Quintum could be seen to represent the creative team, simultaneously re–empowering a pure myth with the honest fire of Art…while at the same time shooting a jolt of juice through a concept that sells more “S” logo underpants and towels than it does comic books. All tastes catered!

I’m glad to see that that final image is intended to be ambiguous; I’d hate to be one of those guys who “doesn’t get” Grant Morrison all of a sudden, particularly if this is due to some sort of innate failure on my part to cotton to his relentless pop-positivity, a sensibility I greatly appreciate even though I share it infrequently at best. Anyhoo, need I even say “read the whole interview”?

* That catch-all link comes courtesy of The Gold in Us, Will Survive in You, a new blog dedicated to chronicling the continuity of Grant Morrison’s DC comics with the revelatory enthusiasm of the superfan. So far the pseudonymous blogger Zibarro has focused on connections between All Star Superman and DC One Million such as the Chronovore, the Prime Superman, and Solaris the Tyrant Sun. This should be a lot of fun to follow.

* Speaking of enthusiasm: Have you ever heard me tell my comic-book origin story, about how when I was in college I more or less stopped reading comics, except for stuff I’d borrow or get recaps of from my roommate, who eventually turned me on to The ACME Novelty Library and Savage Dragon. That roommate’s name was Josiah Leighton, and he now has a blog called Consequentialart he uses for a class he’s teaching on comics. I think my favorite thing about it is how it combines really open enthusiasm and awe for the art he’s talking about, a relentless focus on art (layout in particular) as opposed to writing, and razor-sharp little insights into what makes it all tick. Here’s a sample:

When I was in Japan, I had a very long and fascinating conversation with Naoki Urasawa, the creator of Monster, about [Akira creator Katsuhiro] Otomo’s use of his characters’ gaze. Urasawa found this usage, leading the reader across the page from panel to panel, very Western. He cited this as further example that Otomo was affected to the core by European and American comics and film, not just in the superficial trappings of his style (which obviously owes much to Frenchman Jean “Moebius” Giraud.) By contrast, he showed me that most homegrown manga had the character’s eyes always facing out towards the viewer. He attributed this to the filmic style of Yasujiro Ozu, director of Tokyo Story. He said it was Ozu’s belief that the character should not avoid looking at the camera, but rather face it directly. The camera is always the first-person subjective point-of-view, he claimed, and therefore the characters should address it as a means of telling their stories directly to the viewer.

I know, right? Man I’m pleased to introduce the GZA, as he was known to us, to the comics blogosphere. You also might see some previously unreleased stuff that he and I did together in there, who knows.

* And while we’re on the subject of image-making, I think my favorite link of the past few days is this impressively sized gallery of photos from throughout Barack Obama’s presidential campaign.

Comics Time: Bone

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Bone

Jeff Smith, writer/artist

Cartoon Books, 2004

1,344 pages!!!

$39.95

Buy it from Boneville

Buy it from Amazon.com

Rarely have I gone less far out on a limb than by calling Jeff Smith’s “cartoon epic” Bone universally beloved. One need look no further than the acknowledgments page, which offers sincere thanks to supportive comics-industry players ranging from Marv Wolfman to Art Spiegelman, Harlan Ellison to Craig Thompson, Wizard to The Comics Journal. Frankly it’s not tough to see why everyone’s wild about the thing. A lushly drawn and ostentatiously cartooned fantasy epic starring funny animals self-published over the course of 12 years? There’s really something for everybody in there.

Let’s start with the part that wasn’t for me: The cutesy comic business left me flat for the entirety of the saga. Simply put, this book didn’t make me laugh out loud a single time, and given how much of it is dedicated to supposed-to-be-funny schtick involving the titular Bone cousins, rustic villagers, cowardly rat creatures and so on–especially in the early going–I think that’s a real problem. To be honest, if this wasn’t BONE, if I hadn’t been hearing about it for as long as I’ve read comics, I wouldn’t have gone much further than the opening chapter or two. I think there was one gag that kinda made me snort, but now I have no idea what that was, which is revealing in its own way. (It certainly wasn’t the recurring bit about quiche.)

Obviously, what draws you in and keeps you involved even when the “Tolkien as Saturday morning cartoon on Nick Jr.” humor drags on is Smith’s cartooning. I know I tend to tout character design a lot on this blog, but the effortlessly classic looks Smith comes up with for his major players are almost in a class by themselves. I’m not saying they’re necessarily all brilliant or innovative–there’s a certain slick Disneyness to a lot of it–but in a way that’s the selling point right there: These characters and creatures look like you’ve been seeing them all your life. The droopy-eyed, floppy-eared Great Red Dragon; Mammy Yokum-esque Gran’ma Ben; giant, dead-eyed, rictus-grinned Kingdok (he’s like a huge furry Jaws!) and his rat-creature minions; the eerily faceless Hooded One and the solemnly robed stick-eaters; gorgeous, shaggy-haired Thorn, especially early on; and the part-Pogo, part-Snoopy, part-Smurf, all-Bone Fone, Phoney, and Smiley…that’s a helluva batting average. Having characters that unimpeachably solid running around makes the narrative all the more seductive–a must when you’re dealing with something this long and sprawling.

But you know, sprawling might not be the right word. It is a massive, massive story, and God only knows what it felt like to read it parceled out in individual issues over the course of a decade rather than in single volume that’s heavier than my laptop computer. Even still, each chapter moves rather smoothly and inexorably into the next, like a prose fantasy epic would. This is a very different reading experience than a 1300-page collection of even the most cohesive superhero-comic run, where individual stand-alone issues and even storyarcs would diverge from the main narrative. And again, I think this linearity is a necessity for what Smith is trying to accomplish. Over the course of the story there is a pretty massive tonal drift, but looking back, I couldn’t pinpoint precisely when it happened; all of a sudden you look around and the line is thinner and harsher, the pages look speckled with dust and debris versus the clean black and white of earlier chapters, and the story has gone from cow-racing and meet-cutes to internecine warfare between religious orders and attempts to thwart the beast of the apocalypse. This is accomplished with such a lack of herky-jerky shifts and seams that you hardly even notice it happening until it’s already happened.

Does Smith fall back on standard fantasy archetypes and narrative tropes to do some of this work for him? Of course. The whole set-up–cute, diminutive, innately noble little guy and his cousins do the fish-out-of-water thing to save the tunic-wearing folk and secret, hidden royalty of a fallen kingdom against a resurgent and vengeful dark lord–is lifted directly from The Lord of the Rings. And as the common complaint against that work goes (a complaint I’ve never shared, but then I have the White Tree of Gondor tattooed on my arm, so I probably wouldn’t), Bone‘s early, comparatively inconsequential chapters feel drawn out while the conclusion seems rushed. As I said, lingering on the unfunny comic business of the hapless Bones learning the rules of the road in the fantasyland they’ve stumbled across is a real obstacle to enjoying the book; by the end that stuff is mostly gone and replaced with what is to me a much more fun fantasy war/adventure story, but not even a geek like me is blind to how many key plot points there at the end are revealed through dreams and visions rather than earned, for want of a better word, and how rapidly key enemies and obstacles are overcome.

Unsurprisingly, Smith’s fantastical worldbuilding and storytelling shine brightest at their most idiosyncratic, from both a narrative and artistic standpoint. We’ve all seen hooded, faceless villains before–again, see Tolkien–but when Smith’s Hooded One speaks, the word balloons seem to ooze directly from the cavernous folds of the hood. I wasn’t 100% sold on doing cartoony dragons instead of dragons who are actually scary and intimidating, but then you get a look at the whole dragon bestiary, and seeing every possible variation of cartoony dragon gives the concept a dizzying, zany punch. The creation myth and cultural hierarchy Smith devises are personal enough to somewhat transcend the elements they share with countless other such mythoi. I’m still trying to figure out why the giant mountain lion Rockjaw comes to dominate the middle third of the book and then reappears later to do…nothing; he’s like the book’s somewhat sinister version of Tom Bombadil. And there’s one really chilling, batshit crazy sequence where the theocratic tyrant ruling over the abandoned kingdom confronts the Hooded One, only to be completely one-upped and outclassed in the insane and hideous and violent departments–that one will stick with me for a long time. The final fate of the big adversary was also quite memorably done–I saw the basic contours of that confrontation coming, but their final shape was not one I predicted at all.

I found reading Bone in a short timespan over these years to be a pretty engrossing experience, all told. Particularly toward the end, I’d anxiously look forward to my next train ride or pre-bedtime read to find out what happens next. But it never knocked my socks off, which seems to be what this kind of story is meant to do. I’m glad I read it, but had I never done so I think my life would have gone on just fine. There’s no tattoo of the Crown of Horns in my future.

Carnival of souls

* Here is the trailer for the next Clive Barker-based movie, Book of Blood. The Radiohead remix adds hella production value, I think. Also, how nice is it to see a Barker adaptation retain the original English setting and accents?

* And here’s a promo reel for the next Barker flick, Dread–featuring interview snippets from Barker, director Anthony DiBlasi, and the cast, as well as boobies and some pretty horrifying things involving bleach.

* Meanwhile, I still haven’t seen Midnight Meat Train–I didn’t have it in me to try to OnDemand it the night before the election as originally planned. I know reviews from those I trust have been lukewarm, but Christ, if ever there was a movie I need to see for myself! Meanwhile, just so I can keep it straight in my head, I think the two Films of Blood on the way after Dread are The Madonna and Pig Blood Blues. Even if all of these films turn out kind of dull, I’d rather the horror section at Best Buy be filled with dull churned-out shingle-based horror movies based on great Clive Barker short stories that theoretically could find a new audience through them than dull churned-out shingle-based horror movies based on nothing in particular.

* Looks like George A. Romero’s next …of the Dead flick is, in fact, going to be called …of the Dead. I can get behind that. Please be good.

* I really admire the obvious amount of thought and heart that went into Shaun of the Dead star Simon Pegg’s Guardian-published essay about why zombies should be slow, but I also find it really silly (albeit admittedly so) when it tries to support that assertion on the grounds that fast zombies aren’t “realistic,” and really wrongheaded when it claims that speeding up zombies strips them of metaphorical power. Eve Tushnet, Bruce Baugh, and I beat up on that idea pretty good in a comment thread a while back. (Via Jason Adams.)

* Speaking of Bruce, here he runs down World of Warcraft’s creation myth. Actually, that’s an inaccurate word to describe it because in the game world, these things factually, demonstrably happened–there are Old God corpses lying around to prove it and everything. Anyway, it’s an intriguing, “art of enthusiasm”-style mix of Lovecraft, Greek mythology, and Tolkien.

* If I had to rattle off the names of, I dunno, the 10 people most directly responsible for my life being what it is right now in terms of the prominent role comics play in it, Joe Quesada and Bill Jemas would be on there thanks to their construction of so-called “Nu-Marvel” in the early ’00s. Therefore I’m really enjoying their reunion interview with Jonah Weiland at CBR. Jemas in particular is an interesting case: His ideas and approach really did shake up the company and make superhero comics much, much better on a qualitative level, but then as best as anyone can tell he kind of went a little ego crazy, and he was relatively quickly shuffled aside by his superiors. I think there are similar executive trajectories one can point to that were not brought to an end nearly as early, with the results you’d expect.

* This interview with Dan DiDio offers the first hints of an official confirmation that the art changes and scheduling delays for Final Crisis are due at least in part to tardy scripts from Grant Morrison. God knows I love the Mad Scotsman, but his work does tend to run into these kinds of problems, and the common denominator is, well, him. I’m not even complaining about the lateness (the calvacade of artists, now that I have some beef with from time to time)–it just has long seemed a shame to me that it all got laid at the feet of either the artists or the editors or the executives.

* I’m also excited to read that my friend and former boss Brian Cunningham will be involved via his new editorial capacity at DC in the upcoming Green Lantern (and i think overall DCU) event Blackest Night. If you look back at the past couple of years at DC, a lot of attention was given to Countdown and its countless spinoffs and tie-ins, none of which really merited it; but at the same time, you’ve seen pretty tremendous and momentous work on Green Lantern, Superman, and Batman from Geoff Johns and Grant Morrison. If, after 52, DC had done everything exactly the same–published Countdown, Countdown to Adventure, Countdown to Mystery, Countdown Presents the Search for Ray Palmer, Countdown: Arena, Salvation Run, Amazons Attack et al–but just made the mental and promotional adjustment of declaring Johns’ and Morrison’s main titles and events–Batman, Green Lantern, Action Comics, The Sinestro Corps War, The Resurrection of Ra’s al Ghul–the so-called “spine” of DC’s superhero line instead, I think you’d have a very different landscape to look at right now. Anyway, I think these missteps have badly undercut Final Crisis in terms of fan reception, but clearly the emphasis placed on it and Batman R.I.P. and Superman: New Krypton and Flash: Rebirth and Blackest Night indicate that DC is now aware of where its bread is buttered.

* They’re gonna make a movie out of Paul Pope’s yet-to-be-published cyclopean fight scene graphic novel Battling Boy.

* What can one say about being married to a woman whose first thought upon the election of the new president is “this reminds me of ‘The Battle of Evermore'”?

Comics Time: Alan’s War

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Alan’s War

Emmanuel Guibert, writer/artist

First Second, November 2008

336 pages

$24

Buy it from Amazon.com

You immediately judge Alan’s War against two separate non-fiction genres: World War II books and graphic memoirs set against major historical backdrops. You’ll find it a low-key affair when stacked up against either. Culled from “The Memories of G.I. Alan Cope,” as Guibert’s subtitle puts it, Alan’s War is as different from, say, Ken Burns’s The War as the possessive proper noun is from the definite article. As a matter of fact, Alan is barely in the war; the vast majority of his recollections are of times before or after his entry into hostilities, such as it was. To hear Alan tell it, he appears to have been involved in combat only one time and never saw his attackers. The most horrific incidents he recounts both took place during Germany’s surrender. It’s not D-Day or Iwo Jima by a long shot. Nor is it Maus, where Vladek’s experiences spoke directly to the central horror of the war. Nor even is it Persepolis, where Marjane’s forceful personality made the conflict with Revolutionary Iran feel a lot more direct than events actually bore out. Instead it feels a lot more like Siberia, a sort of meandering, matter-of-fact presentation of a gentle soul who couldn’t help but butt up against a cataclysmic world-historical scenario. In Siberia’s case the inhumanity of the totalitarian USSR was really just another challenge for Nikolai Maslov’s depressive personality; in Alan’s War, life in the Army simply pushes Alan in a different direction but still is primarily viewed through the lens of the friendships it enables him to form. We come to see that interpersonal relationships are the way Alan learns about himself throughout his long life, culminating in a spiritual and philosophical “rebirth” late in his life owed to acquaintances he made in occupied Germany. This particular narrative throughline is obviously constructed by Guibert’s editing of Alan’s story, which begs perhaps the most interesting unanswered question in the book, that of Alan’s possible homosexuality. The frequency with which Cope’s reminiscences star friends and fellow soldiers coming to terms with their own identity led me to wonder whether that was the one act of self-examination the kindly intellectual was never quite able to perform on himself. In its way Alan’s War is an compelling little book, its idiosyncratic protagonist going a long way to humanize art that is occasionally static and obviously photoreffed in the way that those rotoscoped credit card/financial adviser/whatever they are commercials that subtract a bunch of lines from a person’s photo can look, but is just as frequently endearing in its simplicity.

11.04.08, 11pm EST

My favorite song from my favorite album of the trip-hop era is a tribute to Barry White, which I didn’t realize for a long, long time. The point of it is the liberation of dancing, and after a long build-up of groove and falsetto vocals, the keyboards finally kick in, and it’s glorious, and this is what it feels like.

Gus Gus – Barry

Oh Barry, you should have danced with me

All night long, yeah

All night long

‘Cause you’ve got so much to give

Carnival of souls

* The moment I have been waiting for has arrived! I’m talking, of course, about Bruce Baugh discussing the mythology of World of Warcraft. What did you think I meant? Bruce’s initial post on the topic praises the game’s writers for creating a fantasy world that’s both sprawling and, in some ways, actually post-apocalyptic.

* One thing Bruce touches on that I myself picked up on right away is the presence of more than two opposing forces. When I was a kid, I was always drawn to characters who, though evil, constituted a “third way” that was distinct from both the good guys and the main bad guys: Destro in G.I. Joe, Hordak and those snake guys in He-Man, the Rat King in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Jabba the Hutt, Boba Fett, and the bounty hunters in Star Wars, Shelob, Old Man Willow, and the Balrog in Tolkien, and so on. In essence, WoW boasts several such factions, which align and realign in such a way as to force alliances and conflicts out of a variety of configurations of the opposing powers. Now, in some ways that’s just common sense–the real world is not a bipolar one, and even during roughly bipolar periods like World War II or the Cold War you had any number of independent actors out for themselves. (Stalinist Russia during the former and Maoist China during the latter are really the Destros of 20th-century geopolitics.) But in the context of a fantasy world I’m viewing through the eyes of my inner eight-year-old, realism has nothing to do with it–it’s sheer magic.

* In a second, somewhat related post, Bruce takes a look at a major facet of the game as it stands these days–massive, organized attacks on the other races by a legion of demonically spawned undead called the Scourge–in terms of how it’s manifested as gameplay. The mechanics of the Scourge’s invasion are unique and greatly enjoyable–giant floating necropolises!–but in terms of my love of third-way villains, I could be wrong but I think this is a case of the game’s third-way villains becoming the main antagonist, like if in the ruins of the Empire some surviving minion of Jabba the Hutt got ahold of another Death Star and some cloning facilities and went buckwild. I love it!

* Moving on, I’m sorry but I can’t see any reason I shouldn’t be predisposed to liking a movie in which you can see this:

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* There used to be a piece on Splash Page in which Grant Morrison reveals that he’s been involved in some way with preparations for a Flash movie, but I think it’s gone now? Anyway here’s what he said:

“The thing with Hollywood stuff,” Morrison started to explain, “is that I’ve signed all these NDAs, so I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to get myself in trouble for saying the wrong things. There’s a lot of projects I’m not ready to talk about. I can’t. It’s just not allowed.”

So we thought we were shifting gears by asking him his thoughts on the upcoming “Flash” film — after all, he’s resurrected the Flash in “Final Crisis.” But it appears that we may have hit upon another sore spot, since it appears he’s pitched a “Flash” film.

“Yeah, that’s the kind of thing I can’t talk about,” Morrison said. “Yes, I have talked to them. I’m deeply involved in those discussions. I know what’s going down with all of that, and it’s actually really exciting. But beyond that, I can’t say anything. I wish I could tell you. I’m sure announcements will probably be made at some point, but I can’t say anything.”

* Non-indie-comics reader Ben Morse ponders Matt Kindt’s Super Spy.

* Cryptid squid!

(Via Kennyb.)

Orbital – Belfast

Over the past week or so this has become my default song. Walking to the train in the morning, walking to the train in the evening, riding the train, writing, reading, working. A few nights this past week I’ve put it on my headphones just before bed and just lied on my back, listening, letting sleep creep over me. Short of being under the influence it’s the closest I’ve come to experiencing the song as a physical thing–the bass hitting me like a soft gust of air, each tinkling high note gently tapping its way across my head. And like most of Orbital’s best tracks it will switch gears and lock into a new thing every so often–that insistent piano triplet, the moment when everything but the rhythm drops out and you’re left skating across the black before the colors creep back in.

Carnival of souls

* OMFG KATE WINSLET

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(Via Jason Adams.)

* Another massive, massive interview with Clive Barker has been posted at his official (and sadly RSS-less) site Revelations. Topics include the fourth and fifth Abarat books, the film adaptations of Midnight Meat Train, Dread, and The Book of Blood, and a lengthy stroll through Barker’s prodigious notes on various and sundry other projects past, present, and future. Two-dicked demons are mentioned, as is so often the way of such interviews. (Via Dread Central.)

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* Lots of news on George A. Romero’s next Dead film: USA Today quotes Romero as saying that the film will be about a factional schism between people who want to kill the zombies and people who hope they can be cured. Dread Central clarifies a point made in the USAT article regarding the return of characters from Land and Diary, saying that while some actors will return, there will be no characters from the former and only arguably one from the latter. Fangoria doubles down on the “character from Diary returns” angle as confirmed by executive producer Peter Grunwald, and characterizes the film as the story of a Hatfield/McCoy-type rivalry inspired by the William Wyler Western The Big Country. I just hope it’s not a terrible, terrible movie like Diary was.

* I don’t do industry commentary that much anymore, but the other day Tom Spurgeon posted a long piece on the possible ramifications of the recession on comics, and I submitted a brief reaction to it.

* Also at Tom’s you’ll find my response to his latest Five for Friday reader-participation feature, about scary comics moments. You’ll really want to click over to this one–the responses, and the illustrations, are pretty unnerving.

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* The story of how Terrence Howard lost his job as War Machine in the Iron Man sequel is actually kind of funny–apparently he was a bit of a dick on set of the first flick, but more amusingly he was paid more than Robert Downey Jr., Jeff Bridges, or Gwyneth Paltrow because he was the first person Marvel Studios signed and in retrospect they realized they fucked up.

* Jeph Loeb is the worst of the eight to twelve contemporary superhero comics writers who can sell a project on their name alone. Apparently he didn’t do such a hot job on TV either, because he’s been fired from Heroes.

* My pal Ben Morse tells the tale of a Wizard feature we never got off the ground–the mother of all “who would win in a fight?” features, limited to hand-to-hand specialists. It woulda been sweet.

* “Barbara?” “Yes, Bruce.” “Is the water warm enough?” “Yes, Bruce.” “Shall we begin?” “Yes, Bruce.” (Via Kevin Melrose.)

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* Finally, please do your part to end the bottomless horror of America’s torture regime, a horror I foolishly and disgracefully supported, by voting for Barack Obama tomorrow.

Comics Time: Siberia

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Siberia

Nikolai Maslov, writer/artist

Soft Skull Press, 2006

98 pages

$19.95

Buy it from Soft Skull

Buy it from Amazon.com

Originally written on November 1, 2006 for publication in The Comics Journal

Martin Scorsese’s Casino ends with narrator Sam “Ace” Rothstein declaring of the story he’s just told, “And that’s that.” There’s nothing that straightforward and simple about the movie itself, which is an absolute masterpiece of excess; but as an imaginary capstone to Nikolai Maslov’s memoir of Communist life Siberia, it works perfectly. From Maslov’s barely-there pencils-only art to his story’s episodic “and then this happened, and then this happened, and then this happened” structure, everything about this graphic novel evokes the feeling that Maslov is telling his tale not to find meaning within it, but to ascribe meaning to it – as if the simple act of recounting a life of grinding poverty, ubiquitous alcoholism, mental illness, and utter hopelessness will lend it a purpose that the Soviet structure relentlessly denied it. Maslov’s figure work and portraiture are startlingly effective; they never rise too far above the level of “very talented high-schooler,” but the pathetic ugliness of nearly all of his characters, including himself – they all look mildly retarded – is an almost perfect mechanism for chronicling a life and a society gone sour. The intimacy of the art’s soft gray makes some of the sourest moments, like the scene in which an alcoholic peasant literally laps spilled wine up off the ground, an almost unbearable intimacy. Siberia lacks the sort of narrative through-line that characterizes most memoir writing, which can be both a curse and a blessing. Like a Harvey Pekar of Stalinism, Maslov doesn’t always convince us that these anecdotes are worth relaying. But there’s an undeniable frisson to be found in the fact that he and the rest of Russian society escaped from the grip of authoritarianism – if, as is now apparent, only for a little while – to relay them at all. That seems to be Maslov’s message, to the extent that he has one beyond trying to come to terms with his own life. And that’s that.

Tim Curry – I Do the Rock

Somewhere between plastic-soul David Bowie, “Sweet Transvestite,” and “Werewolves of London.” The veneer of 1970s cocaine-sprinkled* sophistication provided by the name-dropping lyrics and indeterminate-origin Eurotrash accent is really something to behold. I would be totally fine if Curry had entirely dropped acting for a music career, and I like his acting!

* “Sprinkled” may be lowballing it a bit.

Carnival of souls: special “keep the Anti-Christ in Halloween” edition

* I think my favorite of all the bloggy Halloween festivities I’ve spotted today can be found at Jason Adams’s My New Plaid Pants, where he’s basically wallpapering the site with context-free horror:

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* My pal “Beardy Kiel” Phegley’s trip down Halloween-costume memory lane was pretty neat too.

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* So was Not Coming to a Theater Near You’s tribute to the best and worst covers, titles, and taglines from their monthlong look at VHS horror. Be sure to move your cursor over the box art!

* Midnight Meat Train is now available OnDemand! Something tells me this isn’t the Missus’s idea of Friday night viewing, but maybe I’ll be able to report back on Monday evening.

* I can’t decide what to go with here: “That’s no anthology–that’s a space station”? “Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair”? “My God, it’s full of stars”?

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* I thought CRwM was making a provocative, if ultimately unpersuasive, argument that horror critics need to see the Saw movies to be worth taking seriously and I responded to it as such, but apparently it was a joke? Dang.

* Plenty of interesting books to discover in Eric Reynolds’s belated SPX report.

* This font is getting a little overused on horror promos at this point, but I thought the poster for The Broken was quite striking, and not just because it’s of the gorgeous Lena Headey (well, part of her at least):

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* Eerie work from Renee French. I know, shocking, right?

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* This reel of sneak-attack murders from the video game Manhunt goes from disturbing to hilarious to appalling to even more hilarious and back again three or four times during the course of the clip. I wish the blood spurts were more realistic. (Via Joystick Division.)

Imogen Heap – “Just for Now” (live)

It’s that time of year

Leave all our hopelessnesses aside (if just for a little while)

Tears stop right here

I know we’ve all had a bumpy ride (I’m secretly on your side)