Since first writing my post on Osamu Tezuka's Black Jack, I have obtained and read a book collecting the history of his works, and I feel there is much more that needs to be said both on Black Jack, and Tezuka himself.
Black Jack was one of Tezuka's most important, and personal, characters. As he was closely tied to Tezuka's medical background, Tezuka saw a lot of himself in the character, to the point where he insisted on animating all of Black Jack's character animation for a TV special by himself.
A fundamental piece of Tezuka's work is the concept of a Star System, or in layman's terms, "fake actors." Tezuka grew up very closely tied to the Takarazuka Revue, a famous all-female theater group whose actresses decided the best roles for themselves, rather than executives. Tezuka became very fond of the idea of specific actors and actresses playing different roles, and worked that into his comics, regularly reusing character designs (given names like Rock, Hamegg, and Shunsuke Ban) and playing with audience expectation by placing well-known "actors" in startling roles. It speaks to how personal Black Jack was to Tezuka that he only EVER appeared as himself, never "playing" another character (whereas his partner Pinoko would rarely be used to play other "young girl" characters).
The medical accuracy involved in the series was simply another testament to how important it was to Tezuka, a fusion of the two great passions in his life, medicine and cartooning. The decision to take up the pen instead of the scalpel was reportedly the hardest one Tezuka ever made, and in a way, it can be seen that Black Jack as a whole was his own way of making things up to the doctor in himself.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Watchmen
It's very hard to say anything about Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons' Watchmen that hasn't already been said, so I won't really try to. I read the original graphic novel a few years back in preparation for the film adaptation, and it took me a few readthroughs to understand the true nature of the series. There are layers upon layers upon layers upon LAYERS to sift through with this novel, and the sheer level of symbolism involved is staggering. Although not nearly as relevant now as it was back in the days of the cold war, Watchmen is an amazing tale of the dangers of paranoia and the concentration of power given to "heroes."
It is a deconstruction of the idealized "superhero" universe, where the heroes, while toned and trained to their peak physical condition, and utilizing private resources, aren't really the kind who have "superpowers" with the single exception of Dr. Manhattan, who is godlike, but entirely disconnected with humanity or reality on an individual level, and feels trapped as a nonlinear being in a purely linear timesteam. There are real consequences to the heroes actions, the line between heroics and vigilantism is blurred and twisted, and the "savior" character's grand resolution to the looming Cold War is delivered in the package of the single worst terrorist attack in history.
Watchmen is not really a series in which we are intended to root for any single character, as the morality involved is blended into a deep grey that could spur arguments that could (and have) lasted decades. It is a character that jumps back and forth from being darkly cynical to cautiously optimistic in the subtlest of fashions. It is intended to warn, inspire, question, but most of all, it is intended to get us thinking.
It is a deconstruction of the idealized "superhero" universe, where the heroes, while toned and trained to their peak physical condition, and utilizing private resources, aren't really the kind who have "superpowers" with the single exception of Dr. Manhattan, who is godlike, but entirely disconnected with humanity or reality on an individual level, and feels trapped as a nonlinear being in a purely linear timesteam. There are real consequences to the heroes actions, the line between heroics and vigilantism is blurred and twisted, and the "savior" character's grand resolution to the looming Cold War is delivered in the package of the single worst terrorist attack in history.
Watchmen is not really a series in which we are intended to root for any single character, as the morality involved is blended into a deep grey that could spur arguments that could (and have) lasted decades. It is a character that jumps back and forth from being darkly cynical to cautiously optimistic in the subtlest of fashions. It is intended to warn, inspire, question, but most of all, it is intended to get us thinking.
Cheech Wizard
I read Vaughn Bode's Cheech Wizard and it was... definitely an experience. It's very obvious that the comic-makers of the underground reveled in their freedom to include whatever material they wanted, as there's no limit of profanity, drug references, and sexual content. Cheech Wizard himself is a very bizarre character, utterly deplorable and spiteful toward everyone, yet also treated in-universe (mostly by himself) as a sort of mystical Christ-like figure.
While there were some clever moments, such as the running gag of no one knowing what Cheech Wizard's face looks like (there are two stories that imply that seeing his face drives men mad or catatonic or blind), on the whole, a lot of it feels purely self-gratifying as a comic. Women show up almost exclusively as scantily-clad objects to be used by Cheech Wizard and then left unsatisfied and offended, for instance. I'm not really a big fan of the whole period in general, as a feel like the sudden influx of people suddenly having the opportunity to publish through underground channels, without having to deal with censorship, meant that sometimes things went in the opposite direction, and focused too much on the crude and lewd.
I can understand the cultural significance of comics like Cheech Wizard and the works of Robert Crumb, but I don't think I'll personally be seeking them out on my own time.
While there were some clever moments, such as the running gag of no one knowing what Cheech Wizard's face looks like (there are two stories that imply that seeing his face drives men mad or catatonic or blind), on the whole, a lot of it feels purely self-gratifying as a comic. Women show up almost exclusively as scantily-clad objects to be used by Cheech Wizard and then left unsatisfied and offended, for instance. I'm not really a big fan of the whole period in general, as a feel like the sudden influx of people suddenly having the opportunity to publish through underground channels, without having to deal with censorship, meant that sometimes things went in the opposite direction, and focused too much on the crude and lewd.
I can understand the cultural significance of comics like Cheech Wizard and the works of Robert Crumb, but I don't think I'll personally be seeking them out on my own time.
A Contract With God
I read Will Eisner's A Contract With God and immediately felt slapped in the face by how stunning the inkwork was. Within the first few pages, Eisner renders several pages in a row of a man walking through the rainy streets, and the sheer detail and craftsmanship he manages to get out of hatched lines is a thing to marvel at. The content of the stories themselves are impressive as well, with very adult themes and situations, such as death, rape, adultery, and blasphemy. Eisner's Jewish background forms a very large element in this book, being a semi-autobiographical set of stories taking place in the Bronx.
This book is a fundamental part of comic history, being one the earliest labeled as a "graphic novel," a term Eisner says he came up with on the spot while on the phone (although he later discovered it had been use beforehand), and it certainly feels much more engaging and stark in comparison to some of its contemporary comics at the time.
The first story in the collection (and the titular one) was born out of the death of Eisner's own daughter, and it feels suitably personal. It's hard not to read Eisner's own words being conveyed through Frimme Hersh's anger at God's "betrayal," and it becomes almost hard to read when you know the backstory.
This book is a fundamental part of comic history, being one the earliest labeled as a "graphic novel," a term Eisner says he came up with on the spot while on the phone (although he later discovered it had been use beforehand), and it certainly feels much more engaging and stark in comparison to some of its contemporary comics at the time.
The first story in the collection (and the titular one) was born out of the death of Eisner's own daughter, and it feels suitably personal. It's hard not to read Eisner's own words being conveyed through Frimme Hersh's anger at God's "betrayal," and it becomes almost hard to read when you know the backstory.
Carl Barks' Donald Duck/Uncle Scrooge comics
I took the time to read some of Carl Barks' Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge comics, as well as the later comics by his successor, Don Rosa (Particularly, the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck). I've never really been one for the shorter gag-based comics, but I've always enjoyed the longer "Adventure" comics, so it was nice to get a collection to look through.
I've always liked the main ducks of the Disney universe more than any of the other characters, because they all tend to be stubborn, curious, and/or selfish enough to go after any situation, and it makes them especially easy to insert into fantastic adventures. Donald and Scrooge are both fun to watch just for the great visual gags their temper-fueled rages tend to inspire. There's a great moment during Scrooge's flashback in Back to the Klondike, where a furious McDuck, cheated out of his gold nugget by Goldie, confronts her in her saloon and then literally punches out enough men to use as a staircase to follow her to the second floor, rather than just using the stairs himself. In a few ways, it's very much like the old Popeye shorts, where logic took the backseat for the sake of a great gag.
It's taken to another level by the later works of Don Rosa, who would revisit and flesh out several of Barks' stories, and he was well known for his immense level of research and adherence to established canon. I would wholeheartedly suggest both Barks' and Rosa's comics for people looking for both adventure and solid doses of comedy.
I've always liked the main ducks of the Disney universe more than any of the other characters, because they all tend to be stubborn, curious, and/or selfish enough to go after any situation, and it makes them especially easy to insert into fantastic adventures. Donald and Scrooge are both fun to watch just for the great visual gags their temper-fueled rages tend to inspire. There's a great moment during Scrooge's flashback in Back to the Klondike, where a furious McDuck, cheated out of his gold nugget by Goldie, confronts her in her saloon and then literally punches out enough men to use as a staircase to follow her to the second floor, rather than just using the stairs himself. In a few ways, it's very much like the old Popeye shorts, where logic took the backseat for the sake of a great gag.
It's taken to another level by the later works of Don Rosa, who would revisit and flesh out several of Barks' stories, and he was well known for his immense level of research and adherence to established canon. I would wholeheartedly suggest both Barks' and Rosa's comics for people looking for both adventure and solid doses of comedy.
Little Nemo
I was exposed to the legacy of Little Nemo long before I knew who Winsor McCay was, or even that it had been a comic strip. The 1989 film was one of the first films I ever saw and it left a large impact on me as a child. I later discovered the strip itself, at an age where its artistic value could be more appreciated, and found myself fascinated by McCay's sense of scale and perspective almost as much as the sheer whimsy and cleverness of the content of the strips.
I was so familiar with scenes like Nemo's bed growing long, rubbery legs, or flying off into the night sky, that seeing them in the original strips felt all the more magical to me. I think the most interesting thing about the comic was that McCay set a "final" goal for Nemo to achieve (Meeting with the Princess of Slumberland and becoming her playmate), but was able to find ever-more creative ways of avoiding it, knowing that it would mean the end of the strip, usually having Nemo come ever so close, only to get pulled away at the last moment by waking up too early for one reason or another. The "dream" setting also allowed him to experiment heavily with the environment, characters, and even the fourth wall without being bound by logic or rules.
His willingness to experiment so heavily was probably also what led him to attempt some of the earliest animation work, and it can't be stressed nearly enough the impact that McCay has had on illustrators, cartoonists, and animators alike.
I was so familiar with scenes like Nemo's bed growing long, rubbery legs, or flying off into the night sky, that seeing them in the original strips felt all the more magical to me. I think the most interesting thing about the comic was that McCay set a "final" goal for Nemo to achieve (Meeting with the Princess of Slumberland and becoming her playmate), but was able to find ever-more creative ways of avoiding it, knowing that it would mean the end of the strip, usually having Nemo come ever so close, only to get pulled away at the last moment by waking up too early for one reason or another. The "dream" setting also allowed him to experiment heavily with the environment, characters, and even the fourth wall without being bound by logic or rules.
His willingness to experiment so heavily was probably also what led him to attempt some of the earliest animation work, and it can't be stressed nearly enough the impact that McCay has had on illustrators, cartoonists, and animators alike.
Understanding Comics
Scott McCloud is an artist I already greatly respect, having read not only Understanding Comics before the semester, but also Reinventing Comics, Making Comics, and his graphic novel Zot! in my own free time.
Understanding Comics and its sequels are certainly his best known work, and for good reason. McCloud shows off his intense knowledge and passion for the comic industry through a series of books that intend to teach much like any school text, but are presented as delightfully self-aware, full-fledged comics in their own rights. Each chapter covers a different aspect of comic presentation and integrates the concept into its own presentation to provide examples, using an approach that can be best described as "show AND tell." McCloud doesn't simply tell us that a more cartoony representation of a character is more approachable toward audiences, he literally draws a photo-realistic image of himself and asks us "if we would even be listening to him if he looked like this."
McCloud also cites a wide variety of different comics from around the world in his examples, from Disney to Tezuka to Herge, and he showed that he was already considering the future potential and possibilities of comics on the web. back during a time when the internet had yet to get the ball rolling, a prediction that would later turn out to be very true.
Understanding Comics and its sequels are certainly his best known work, and for good reason. McCloud shows off his intense knowledge and passion for the comic industry through a series of books that intend to teach much like any school text, but are presented as delightfully self-aware, full-fledged comics in their own rights. Each chapter covers a different aspect of comic presentation and integrates the concept into its own presentation to provide examples, using an approach that can be best described as "show AND tell." McCloud doesn't simply tell us that a more cartoony representation of a character is more approachable toward audiences, he literally draws a photo-realistic image of himself and asks us "if we would even be listening to him if he looked like this."
McCloud also cites a wide variety of different comics from around the world in his examples, from Disney to Tezuka to Herge, and he showed that he was already considering the future potential and possibilities of comics on the web. back during a time when the internet had yet to get the ball rolling, a prediction that would later turn out to be very true.
The Arrival
Shaun Tan’s “The Arrival” is a great example of visual storytelling, using absolutely no words to tell a complicated and engrossing story. The main character is an immigrant freshly arriving in a strange and fantastic land, full of bizarre creatures and devices that are just as alien to us as they are to him. The sepia-tone visuals and “tattered-photo” look of the panels give a very vintage, 1930’s feel to the presentation. As the protagonist discovers the different facets of the setting, so do we, and it reinforces our suspension of disbelief to see a character just as confused and fascinated as we are a new development.
The overall theme is clearly immigration in general, with the protagonist at one point meeting a fellow immigrant who tells him of their story, drawing parallels to fleeing from war as giants with hoses suck up people in the streets. Throughout the story, the main character sends letters to his family as he waits for them to eventually arrive as well, and there is a great cyclical moment as his daughter then greets another new and confused arrival and shows them around, just as a stranger had done for him at the beginning, with his family now being in the position of experience.
"The Arrival" proves that you don’t need words or exposition to tell a cohesive story with complex themes, and this is driven by its fantastic and imaginative landscape and designs, extremely realistic rendering, and comparative real-world basis.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Webcomic: Gunnerkrigg Court
A webcomic that I have long kept up with (and continue to do so, as it is still running) is Gunnerkrigg Court, by Tom Sidell. It is a comic with a very obvious progression in its art from its first comic to its later chapters, both as Sidell's overall artistic talent grows and as his style comes into its own. Gunnerkrigg Court is a series that very literally interprets the conflict of Man Vs. Nature, with the eponymous court/boarding school and its machines and alchemy on one side of a gorge, and the wild forestland ruled by the trickster spirit Coyote on the other. Caught between the two is a court student, Antimony, who takes a neutral, diplomatic stance between the two morally grey sides. She and her robotics expert best friend, Kat, finds themselves digging deep into the history and mysteries of the court and forest, and the strange creatures and magic that occupy both.
GC takes a very engaging approach to its plot, often answering one major question in a chapter while opening two or three more. This, combined with its large, likable cast, well-integrated and often silly sense of humor, and Mr. Sidell's staggering degree of research and presentation of obscure mythology make it an absolutely engrossing comic that encourages several read-throughs. In addition, Sidell keeps a well-stocked 30-page buffer at all times, and as such, has unfailingly updated every single Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since 2005, which is very rewarding for his loyal readerbase. I would recommend this series to anyone who has any interest in fantasies, mysteries, or character-driven storylines.
GC takes a very engaging approach to its plot, often answering one major question in a chapter while opening two or three more. This, combined with its large, likable cast, well-integrated and often silly sense of humor, and Mr. Sidell's staggering degree of research and presentation of obscure mythology make it an absolutely engrossing comic that encourages several read-throughs. In addition, Sidell keeps a well-stocked 30-page buffer at all times, and as such, has unfailingly updated every single Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since 2005, which is very rewarding for his loyal readerbase. I would recommend this series to anyone who has any interest in fantasies, mysteries, or character-driven storylines.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)