Great Comic Book Writers -- it's a visual medium

 

  

In the history of comic books, it could be argued the 1980s ushered in the time of the superstar writer. Certainly, prior to 1980, there were notable writers in comics: the two Steves, Englehart & Gerber, Marv Wolfman, Gardner Fox, and Stan Lee had burnished his myth to a high sheen through editorials and essays, as well as his many speeches on college campuses. But the breakout of writer as commodity for selling and marketing comics certainly took place in the early 80s. And the vanguard of this movement emanated from the U.K. in the form of three particular authors--Neil Gaiman, Grant Morrison, and Alan Moore. 

  

Forests of metaphorical trees have succumbed to the writings examining the works of these three writers. They imbued their stories with an adult sensibility, refusing to talk down to their audience, in a medium historically marketed toward children. They had a distance to the material--American superhero comics, in the main--that allowed them to view these characters through a different lens and bring something new and innovative to the stories. And they brought a bit of magic to the medium that ignited a passion in a generation of comic book readers, including me. But what doesn't seem to get discussed as much in these pieces is the fact that all three of these writers were also, to a greater or lesser extent, artists. And that, in my opinion, made a huge difference in their facility in crafting comic book tales. 

  

Within comics, Neil Gaiman is best known for his dark fantasy, Sandman. Created with a multitude of distinct artists, including Mike Dringenberg, Jill Thompson, Marc Hempel, et al., the story of Morpheus is a poignant and tragic one, encompassing multiple genres. Unlike other comic series, Sandman benefits from the various artistic styles utilized to delineate its grand narrative, with Gaiman leaning into the strengths of his myriad collaborators, in order to tell the story of the Lord of Dreams. It is an epic tale wherein readers are rewarded with multiple readings of the entire series. 

Though the artists involved should obviously be accorded the bulk of the accolades for the artistic accomplishments within Sandman, I feel that Gaiman's visual sense need also be acknowledged. Gaiman has stated in interviews that he would often do thumbnails of an issue--smaller and sketchier artistic layouts for a comic story--before scripting, in order to see how the narrative flowed and whether the focal points of the story worked. He also wanted to know where the advertisements in the monthly issues would fall, within the page count, so that he could be sure that big reveals would occur on the left side of a two-page spread, as one turned the page, thus preserving the surprise for the audience. And although Gaiman's thumbnails for his comic scripts will probably never be published, his art has seen print. Two examples include the 24-hour comic Being An Account Of The Life And Death Of The Emperor Heliogabolus, which can be seen here, and the cover for Peter David's collection of his CBG columns, But I Digress... 

One of the best examples of this application of visual sense to a comic story can be found in issue #7 of Sandman. Morpheus is confronting Dr. Dee, who took the Dream King's ruby, which is infused with much of Morpheus's power, and corrupted it, making it a weapon in Dee's hand. They are battling over the amulet and Dee unleashes a furious onslaught, eventually destroying the ruby with the outpouring of oneiric energies in a blinding flash of red. Turning the page, we see a diminutive Dr. Dee on a completely white page, a vast emptiness stretching on to infinity, as far as readers are concerned. This continues on the next page, as Dee ponders what has just happened. Then he raises his arms, triumphant, having defeated Morpheus. And we turn the page once more, to find Dee, small and insignificant, standing in the alabaster palm of Morpheus's hand. It's a stunning bit of comic book storytelling, especially the first time you see it, and it all hinges on the understanding of the visual aspects of comic books and utilizing the "camera" of the comic panel to focus on the bits necessary to convey the story. 

Grant Morrison gained prominence in America with their revitalization of Animal Man. Taking what was considered a fairly silly character in a silly suit, Morrison gave Buddy Baker (Animal Man's alter-ego) a down to earth family life, made him a vegan and an animal activist (how could Buddy not be when he utilized all these animals' abilities?), and changed Animal Man from the butt of the joke to a complex and engaging character. And people responded. Initially contracted to write a 4-issue mini series, Animal Man was upgraded to an ongoing series, and Morrison went on to write a total of 26 issues, which are some of the best comics you may ever read. Certainly, Morrison's distinct point of view buttressed by wide-ranging interests helped to launch this title, as well as its young writer, to critical acclaim. But again, Morrison's artistic background and their understanding of comics as a visual medium must also be considered essential to the success of Animal Man and all their subsequent works. Morrison, like Gaiman, is known for thumbnailing his scripts, most notably seen in the anniversary edition of Arkham Asylum, which Morrison created with Dave McKean. In the back of that edition the full thumbnails for the entire story are available to examine. Morrison also drew a page for his seminal work, The Invisibles, and also contributed a well delineated sketch to Bryan Talbot's landmark comic series, The Adventures of Luther Arkwright. 

 

A prime example of this visual approach can be found in issue #5 of Animal Man, "The Coyote Gospel." In this tale, a coyote that walks on its hind legs and apparently cannot die has become a bogeyman across the deserts of Death Valley. One long haul trucker in particular, after having encountered the coyote a year prior, has come to think of this animal as the devil incarnate and plans to kill it, to be rid of its curse. When Animal Man comes across these two, the coyote reanimating its limbs after having been shot and blown up by an explosive charge planted by the trucker, the coyote wordlessly hands to Buddy the parchment it carries around its neck. On the parchment is laid out the story of the coyote, a being from an alternate dimension where the animals that live there only know strife, and the destruction and victimization is eternal, since their bodies instantly renew themselves when harmed. But Crafty, the name of this coyote, wanted an end to this and approached God and said he would do anything if only peace would come to their world. And God told Crafty that if he wished, he could be sent to live in the hell in the dimension above, and while he lived and bore the suffering of the world, peace would reign below. And so, Crafty was reborn in Death Valley, and he could not die, and he suffered. But with his immortality, Crafty hoped that one day he might be able to return to his world and throw God off his throne to build a better world for everyone. With this story, Crafty hoped to recruit other beings with powers who might assist him. Animal Man is the first of these recruits. 

And here is where Morrison reveals an advanced understanding of the visual aspects of the comic book medium. Throughout this origin story, the audience has seen images from Crafty's original world with the narrative shared through text boxes--this could be Crafty speaking, though it seems unlikely, and thus, in readers' minds, it must be the actual text from the parchment. But, as we reach the end, there's a glimpse of the parchment in Animal Man's hands, and then we pull back to see more of it--squiggles and markings that are gibberish to our Terran eyes--at which point Animal Man provides the emotional kick in the gut when he says: "...I can't read it." Morrison understood how readers would accept the text boxes for Crafty's tale as the text on the parchment, and only at the end, when the foreign alphabet is revealed, would the full realization of Crafty's tragedy become evident. It's brilliant and a revelation that might almost exclusively be achievable in comic book form. 

Moore started out as a cartoonist, selling two strips in 1979 -- Roscoe Moscow to Sounds, a weekly music magazine, and Maxwell the Magic Cat to his local Northants Post. He found his labor intensive style too time consuming and decided to focus more on writing than art. But the experience of writing and drawing a strip for publication would certainly lend itself well to his career that followed. In 1986, Moore (with artist Dave Gibbons) reimagined the Charlton heroes bought by DC Comics and created the landmark series, Watchmen, to great critical acclaim. Watchmen has become the touchstone for superhero comics and is considered by most fans as Moore's magnum opus. With this series, Moore and Gibbons worked together to exploit the unique aspects of the comic book storytelling medium, to great effect, storytelling aspects and approaches that, as should be obvious, revolved around the visual primacy of the medium. 

One of the unique aspects of the comic book that Moore & Gibbons wished to utilize was its format, i.e. the fact that, though a comic is like a book with its pagination and a dedicated reading order (left to right in America) and like a film or television show with its visuals, a comic book is, in fact, neither of these things. Unlike a book, a comic has a strong visual component. Unlike film, which is intended to tell its story from beginning to end without stopping, in a comic one can easily jump front to back within the story and make comparisons of imagery and scenes, in order to better understand symbolic, thematic, or other facets of the narrative. In Watchmen, there are myriad instances where these two creators take advantage of this aspect of comics. There are recurring visual motifs, within chapters proper as well as across the book as a whole, such as the bloody smiley face button or clock faces, that add layers to the story being told. Scenes, especially those set at the intersection in town with the newsstand, are told from various points of view at different times, with characters from prior scenes visible in the background, not only to enrich the whole, but also to, again, add layers to the story on the page. So much happens in the gutters and the backgrounds of Watchmen, it's more than can be processed with a single reading. And it all stems from the fact that comics is a visual medium. 

A great example in Watchmen of Moore & Gibbons utilizing the visual aspects of comics to full effect can be found in the mystery of Rorschach's true identity. What readers discover, with the end of issue #5, is that he was right in front of them the whole time. 

In issue #1 of Watchmen, pages 4 and 5, Moore & Gibbons introduce us to Rorschach, and with the layout of the panels actually reveal who Rorschach is (a fact only obvious upon a subsequent reading). In the final panel of page 4, in the light of day, we see the vagrant carrying his "The End is Nigh" sign, in front of a multi-story office or apartment building, an ad for 'mmeltdowns!' on the side of the building mostly obscured by shadow. In the first panel of page 5, the very next panel, we see the same scene, but at night, with the 'mmeltdowns!' ad now fully visible on the side of the building, and in the foreground is the top of the fedora that Rorschach, whose character introduction occurs on this page, wears. With this mirroring of the imagery between these two successive panels, Moore & Gibbons were showing the audience who Rorschach is. But it isn't obvious for a few reasons: 

One -- when we see the vagrant with the "End is Nigh" sign, Rorschach hasn't yet been introduced, so when he is on page 5, all of our attention goes toward that. 

Two -- the scene may look familiar to readers but it isn't readily obvious that it's the exact same spot, as the scenes occur in day and night, respectively, making certain details obscured or not, accordingly. 

Three -- the first image is at the end of one page, feeling like a summation of that scene, while the second is at the top of the next page, starting a new scene and providing a strict demarcation line between the two, which, along with the time differential, severs any connection between them in our mind.

  

In issue #2, three of the remaining heroes -- Dr. Manhattan, Nite Owl, and Ozymandias -- attend the funeral of their former comrade, the Comedian. Outside the cemetery, at the beginning of the service, we see the vagrant with his "End is Nigh" sign walk past the entrance of the cemetery. At the end of the service, after a mysterious attendee places a wreath of roses on the Comedian's (Edward Morgan Blake's) grave and exits the cemetery, we see the same vagrant passing by once more, following this mysterious attendee, who, it turns out, is Moloch, a former antagonist of the heroes. Back at his apartment, Moloch hangs his coat and hat and goes into the kitchen to prepare something to eat, when Rorschach launches himself from Moloch's emptied refrigerator (in the shadows of the middle panel on this page, Gibbons has drawn all the frozen foods, taken from the fridge to make room for Rorschach, in a corner out of Moloch's sight, one of myriad great visual details) in order to interrogate him about the funeral Rorschach "heard" Moloch had attended. 

Again, Moore & Gibbons are putting clues into the book that would allow readers to see who Rorschach is, if only they could focus on the invisible vagrant in the background and make the connection between him and Rorschach's sudden appearance with information that would have been challenging to get in such a short time. But these creators are counting on their audience to focus on the main point of the various pages, allowing the vagrant to pass through panels as something that fleshes out the world and makes things feel more real, rather than seeing what, upon reflection, feels like an obvious connection revealing Rorschach's secret identity. 

A final example of how Moore & Gibbons placed clues into Watchmen about who Rorschach really was comes in issue #5. We see Rorschach, in his civilian identity, eating in the Gunga Diner, as he watches his maildrop, a public trash receptacle, across the street. The scene is shown from Rorschach's POV, so readers never see his face, only his hands, in a few instances. Later, as the scene shifts to the newsstand owner on that same intersection where the diner is, the vagrant with the "End is Nigh" sign is seen, twice, digging through the trash receptacle that is Rorschach's maildrop. Again, Moore & Gibbons are showing their audience who Rorschach is "in real life," but our prejudices do not allow for dots to be connected. Having seen this vagrant earlier in the series, readers know his appearance to be less than shabby, indicating he is not well off and may even be homeless. So, to see him digging through trash does not seem that unusual, if we see it at all, since, again, this is done in the background of panels and  is never the focus. And just to make sure it does not feel like a cheat, Moore & Gibbons show the vagrant digging through the trash two times in the same day. Why else would he sift through rubbish a second time if he were not Rorschach checking on his maildrop? It's a wonderful bit of sleight of hand by Moore & Gibbons, and it is this that makes multiple readings of Watchmen so enjoyable and rewarding. 

With the "British Invasion" of American comics, Alan Moore, Grant Morrison, and Neil Gaiman were at the forefront of those U.K. creators who came to epitomize a certain type of storytelling in mainstream American comics and helped usher in the era of the superstar writer. They have only added to that legacy in the decades since, and their works in the comic book medium are often held up as examples of works one can share with non comic reading friends. Certainly, the point of view and varied interests of this triumvirate account for much of that, but the fact that each of them had a background in art, and comic art particularly, also seems to go a long way to understanding the impact they have had on American comics, as well as comics in general. And if you don't believe me, why not check out some of their books, I cannot imagine you would be disappointed. 

-chris

A Fistful of Single Issues -- Superhero Comics

Conceived and used with the permission of Matthew Constantine and Brad Gullickson, the original dorks.

Everyone has a “Top 5.”  But Brad and Matt, choosing to walk a different path, amended that to “A Fistful…” over at their blog, In the Mouth of Dorkness.  A film-centric blog where they also discuss comics and books and TV, these two regularly share their top 5, ranging from “Heroic Kids” to “Spies” to “Summer Movies” to “Punches” to all things in between.  Always fun, often insightful, and something I hope to regularly pilfer for Warrior27.  As they say:  If you’re going to steal, steal from those you know relatively well, who will not sue you.

I love comics.  Been collecting since 1984 (31 years for those who don’t want to do the math).  I have sixteen or so longboxes full of single issues, not to mention the collections I own and those I’ve read through the library.  I’ve ingested a helluva lot of comic books, across a wide swathe of genres and styles and formats—superheroes, mini-comics, autobiographical, black and white, fully painted, photorealistic linework or animation styles, manga, etc. etc. etc.  And for the most part, those comics have been at the very least entertaining, and at their best, mind-blowing (see: Alan Moore & Grant Morrison).  Even with all that, there are still only a relatively small number of comics I can re-read and be exhilarated with the experience every single time.  So, despite the tens of thousands of comics I have read, it was fairly easy to narrow down those five (+ 1) single issues of superhero comics that I go to whenever I want to recapture my youth. 

Note: Some might argue that I took slight liberty with the definition of a superhero comic in some of the choices below.  Technically speaking, there are two Vertigo books in the bunch, Swamp Thing & Animal Man, but both of these issues were published before the mature readers imprint was implemented.  And though Swamp Thing does not wear a costume and was actually created for DC’s horror line, I’m going to allow it because it’s my site, my post, and my rules, plus the Justice League and Batman make significant appearances in Moore’s run.  So, case closed.  And G.I. Joe—don’t know that there’s been a cooler superhero team in comics’ history with all the code names, cool skills, and various costumes.  But I’ve rambled on too long, something I am fairly good at when I sit down to the keyboard, so let’s get to it…

MY TOP FIVE SUPERHERO COMICS (in no particular order):

Incredible Hulk 340—

“Vicious Circle.”  Written by Peter David; Art by Todd McFarlane

Wolverine.  Hulk.  Battle royale.  ‘Nuff said. 

I don’t know how many times I’ve read this issue, but it’s easily a couple dozen.  This is a visceral story, with Hulk and Logan beating the snot out of one another as they both try to prove their superiority over the other.  Peter David’s script is great, but what really makes this work, for me, is Todd McFarlane’s art (something I’m not often heard saying).  His frenetic, overly hatched style imbues the narrative with a frenzied agitation that enhances what could easily be seen as a simple punch ‘em up.  I’m not a huge fan of McFarlane’s work, but I love his Hulk, and he puts it all on display in this issue.  Great, fun, cathartic stuff. 

Superman 400—

“The Living Legends of Superman.”  Written by Elliot S! Maggin; Art by a plethora of comic giants

I wrote about this comic for our 400^th post.  It is easily one of my all-time favorite comics.  The variety of stories on display, with art from a murderer’s row of talent, including Frank Miller, Steranko, Al Williamson, et al.  This comic, more than any other, beautifully captures the wonder and grandeur of Superman, while also evincing the humanity that is the core of his character.  Ever wondered why Superman is the pinnacle of superheroes?  Read this comic to find out.  And if you want a more detailed look at this issue, go here.

G.I. Joe 21—

“Silent Interlude.”  Written by Larry Hama; Art by Larry Hama & Steve Leialoha

For comic readers of my generation, few single issues have been more influential than this one – the Silent Issue.  Relatively early in the run, Larry Hama not only wrote but penciled this issue, wherein Snake-Eyes parachuted into Destro’s castle to rescue Scarlett, and a mysterious connection with the Cobra ninja, Storm Shadow, is revealed at the end.  As the title suggests, this issue is entirely devoid of word—no dialogue, no captions, no thought balloons—and it works amazingly well.  The body language, the action, the facial expressions, all add up to a very emotional and exciting adventure.  G.I. Joe was a gateway drug for many comic readers of the mid-80s, and this was the pinnacle of that magnificent run by Larry Hama and a host of talented artists. 

Saga of the Swamp Thing 21—

“The Anatomy Lesson.”  Written by Alan Moore; Art by Steve Bissette & John Totleben

This comic was my introduction to Alan Moore and his writing.  At the end of these 23 pages, I was all in with respect to Moore.  The issue opens with Swamp Thing, dead.  And from there, Moore, with lush, unsettling art from Bissette and Totleben, overturns all that readers and fans thought they knew about the muck monster, drastically resetting the status quo without ever changing what has come before.  The pacing, the imagery, the revelations throughout these couple dozen pages all combine to create a suspenseful, engaging, and exciting story.  Probably my favorite comic on this list.

Animal Man 5—

“The Coyote Gospel.”  Written by Grant Morrison; Art by Chas Truog & Doug Hazlewood

As Moore did with his second issue of Swamp Thing above, Grant Morrison, also early in his career, completely upended expectations in this fifth issue of his seminal run and provided a powerful emotional reaction in his readership (or in me, at the very least).  I have never felt such pangs of sorrow, when reading a comic book, as I did within the first ten pages of this issue.  Animal Man is confronted with a being from a parallel universe—a coyote-like being who comes from a Looney Tunes universe—who relays the injustices and physical abuses he’s endured on his alternate world to our hero, only to discover upon completing his narrative, at the same time the audience does, that Animal Man cannot understand anything he said.  This revelation hit me like a dead weight falling on my chest.  It was so painful, so real, and yet, did not feel forced.  Morrison, with art from Truog and Hazlewood, completely sold this moment, and I knew I’d found another writer whose work I needed to keep an eye out for.

HONORABLE MENTION:

Miracleman 16—

“Olympus.”  Written by Alan Moore;  Art by John Totleben

For the longest time this was the only issue of Miracleman I owned.  The culmination of Moore’s story, it was a final issue that tied up loose ends, while leaving some dangling, with which I hadn’t a proper context.  Miracleman and Miraclewoman made love in the sky, which the populace experienced as some mirthful lightshow, if memory serves me well.  Miracleman had created a utopia; Charles Manson was even rehabilitated; and now he could look down from his amazing crystal palace on high and appreciate what he had built for humanity.  It was epic, with Moore’s signature use of language on display, and the art from Totleben was breathtaking.  I read this single issue multiple times before I was ever able to find the collections of the earlier issues, and it is one of the singular memories from my hobby that is seared into my brain and brings a smile to my face and a chill to my skin every time I think of it.  Love.  This.  Book. 

[for me, MM is Moore’s “final word” on superheroes, not Watchmen, and someday I’ll get around to writing that post here]

-chris

What It Is – week ending 23 November [2014]

With apologies to Dave the Thune.

WRITING:

Every day.  1000 words.  That’s the goal.

Got sidetracked and took Sunday and Monday off from writing.  Which afforded my mind a chance to wander, and an incident from my childhood reared up (an abandoned and run-down home a few blocks over from my house, which had a single light on in a second floor room – prompting chills and the question of why the electricity was still on in the house).  Over the course of the week, I wrote a story using this as a springboard, something I’d wanted to do for a long time, and I’m fairly happy with the first draft.  A bit under 5,000 words, I know it will need some serious cleaning up.  But I like the point of view I took and the tone I tried to carry throughout the whole thing.  Anxious to revise this and set it off in the wild sometime next year.

Also:  9 Things You Need to Write A Novel

READING:

CINDER & ASHE by Gerry Conway and Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez.  Once you get past the horrendous Cajun accent Gerry Conway places in one of the main character’s mouths, this is a pretty good series.  Beautiful artwork, a compelling and multi-layered storyline, with a mystery that makes sense.  Good stuff.  If you can get past that damn accent.

THE FADE OUT & VELVET from Ed Brubaker (writer), Sean Phillips (artist: Fade Out), Steve Epting (artist: Velvet), et al.  I haven’t been getting new comics for a  number of months now, preferring to save my money and get collections through the library when they become available.  But Brubaker and his team of collaborators pulled me back in.  I was at the local independent bookstore/music store/video store/game store/comic store, Bull Moose Music, and saw a couple issues of the Fade Out and issues 6-8 of Velvet (I already have 1-5) and had to pick them up.  And they were fantastic.  The thing about these books, besides the engaging and exciting stories, is that they often include short essays in the back related to the narrative material.  They’re the extras you expect in the collection, but they’re in the single issues.  So, for that, and for the fact that I have loved most everything Brubaker has done, independent from the Big Two, I allowed myself to be pulled back in.  And I was not disappointed.  Looking forward to getting these on a regular basis.

THE MULTIVERSITY by Grant Morrison, et al.  And, since I was perusing the comic racks, I figured I should check out the fourth issue of Multiversity, Pax Americana, by Morrison & Frank Quitely, which was burning up my social feeds online this week.  Wow.  When these two artists collaborate, it’s always brilliant.  Taking on the Charlton characters, they infused the comic with many of Alan Moore’s best-known formalistic approaches to telling comic book stories (which, it should be pointed out, are not crutches he used but techniques utilized in specific stories).  In Morrison’s hands – and this could be due to the apparent feud between Morrison and Moore – these feel like tricks used to say:  “See, I can do this too.”  They are well done and enhance the experience of reading the book, but they don’t feel as essential as when Moore utilized them in books such as Watchmen and Promethea.  Could be my prejudice showing through, but I can live with that. 

The earlier issues were also available, and I picked them up too.  They’re just as enjoyable.  Looking forward to seeing where this all ends up.  (and man, that Cameron Stewart cover for the Shazam issue looks phenomenal!)

BATMAN: STRANGE APPARITIONS by Steve Englehart, Marshall Rogers, Terry Austin, and others.  Finished this book up this week.  It was really enjoyable.  Rogers’s art is amazing in this.  I don’t remember it being as good when he did the Silver Surfer, with Englehart, years later.  But it holds up in this.  And the stories are fun too, even if some subplots are too quickly wrapped up for my taste.  Overall, I would definitely recommend this, especially to a Batman fan.  Great art, good writing (for the most part), and some interesting twists that will keep you engaged. 

TURING’S CATHEDRAL by George Dyson.  I’m 100 pages into the birth of the digital age, and it’s fascinating.  So many names I’d never heard of, scientists, theoreticians, and thinkers – BIG THINKERS – all working toward the creation of a computer, in the early twentieth century.  Good stuff. 

WATCHING:

I’m always behind in my movie and TV watching (a not unwelcome result of being a father and writer – these both take time).  But this past week I finally decided to check out Peter Jackson’s THE HOBBIT: AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY, or the movie that should have encompassed the entirety of the book but did not.

Yeah, throwing my prejudice right out in front of this one.  The Hobbit was the first book that totally enthralled me and captured my imagination.  It was second grade.  Mrs. Corey read it to us.  I discovered that my uncle had a copy, and I borrowed it so that I could re-read each chapter at home.  I distinctly remember lying on my stomach, up on my bed, and reading my uncle’s hardcover edition – the smell of those, or similar, pages jolts my nostalgia-button in a manner that little else can.  I love that book.

So, it was with trepidation that I read about the three-film adaptation Jackson and his crew were planning.  And this is from someone who loved their Lord of the Rings films and felt them to be exemplary adaptations from Tolkien’s masterpiece. 

So, the first Hobbit film.  It’s entertaining, moves along at a brisk pace, is well acted and engaging, with beautiful scenery and amazing sets and special effects (though some scenes felt surprisingly awkward and not well done, but if you’re reaching beyond your grasp, that is, in general, a good thing).  Certainly, details were changed – as was the case with the Lord of the Rings films – and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  When translating a story from one medium to another, it is imperative that the creators understand the differing strengths of each and adjust accordingly.  In that regard, I would say Jackson, et al. have acquitted themselves nicely. 

That said, I don’t find it to be a good adaptation of Tolkien’s book. 

However, I don’t know that I can fault them.  The major issue I have with the film – and let me state that I did enjoy it, and the “issue,” as I see it, did nothing to lessen that – is that it is not faithful to the book.  Unlike the Lord of the Rings, this movie shies far away from the tone of The Hobbit, as written by Tolkien.  Whereas the novel is a book for children that can be appreciated by adults, the film is one that I could never recommend for children.  But, it does match nicely with the tone of the initial films, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, which makes a lot of sense.  The vast majority of those seeing these films will never have read any of the source material.  And creating a children’s story after the success of the epic Rings movies would be foolish.  I understand completely why they did it.  I just wish it was a film that I could share with my youngest boy. 

For that, I’ve still got the book, and the Rankin/Bass film.

MISCELLANY:

Thanksgiving next week, which means Christmas is coming up quick.  I’ve always loved this time of year – living in Maine, we used to get the type of snow and scenery you’d find in a Norman Rockwell painting; not so much nowadays.  I love Christmas trees and decorations and the classic TV specials and finding just the right gifts for everyone (we don’t shop at the mall, so it’s far more enjoyable than it could be), and I love the fantasy of the entire thing, the magic of Santa bringing joy to kids.  I prefer a secular Christmas – the holiday being a holdover of pagan rituals – and I really get into it.  So much so, that I have taken on something that J.R.R. Tolkien did for his children and write letters from Santa to my boys.  These always include some little adventure or mishap that occurred at the North Pole in the past year, which is the fun part.  I write them on nice, heavy-stock paper or, if I can find it, distinct handmade paper, using a dip pen, while sealing them in wax.  It’s one of the things I look forward to most, at this time of year.  It also means work on the novel will probably be put aside for a bit, but that’s okay.  This is more important.

SIGN OFF:

As always, check out my friends – Brad& Matt and Don McMillan for their own weekly recaps on things comic-y and geeky, and we'll see what's what in seven.  

-chris

NEW TO ME: JLA Strength in Numbers

This fourth volume of the (then)-revitalized JLA was a near-complete blast. My journey back to the late 90s that I missed – at least as far as big, superhero comics of the time – has been interesting thus far. These collected volumes of JLA feel a bit like the Star Trek movie franchise (the best ones are the even numbered ones). But of all the collections to date, this one, by far, is my favorite of the bunch. With the end of each chapter, I eagerly wanted to read the next one, and often did – devouring a fair chunk of stories straight through on a Sunday morning, from the end of the Prometheus Unbound arc up through the four issues penned by Mark Waid. JLA: Strength in Numbers showcases the best about this iteration of everyone’s favorite DC team.

The first thing I discovered, when I opened the book, was that Yanick Paquette used to be a Mike Mignola clone (which puts him in good stead, as Ryan Sook is another Mignola clone who has gone on to become an amazing comic artist, in his own right). This first tale, written by Christopher Priest for the second JLA Secret Files, brings together a new league (consisting of many who were part of the league disbanded at the end of the previous collection). There’s a nice call-back to the Bwa-ha-ha league with Guy Gardner, in his Guy Gardner Warrior We don’t get a one punch moment like the one provided by DeMatteis, Giffen, & Maguire, back in 1987, but we do get Batman silently putting Guy in his place. guise, assuming the pose he did then, as he prepared to tell everyone he was going to lead.

But this story, though well done, is disappointing. Why did Morrison bother to have the league disband in the prior issue, if there was only going to be a relatively unchanged roster in the next one? Sure, there are some new recruits like Huntress and Zauriel and Steel, but these are all in addition to the Big Seven. The quick reversal on Superman’s part just rings hollow and makes the ending of the “Rock of Ages” story arc feel forced and contrived. But that’s a minor nitpick because the stories with this newer, bigger, stronger JLA are a whole lot of fun.

First, we get Grant Morrison writing a three-issue arc titled “Prometheus Unbound.” In this narrative, readers get to see a new villain who appears to have thought his take-down of the JLA through completely. Stealing himself aboard the satellite by taking the place of someone who’d won a contest to be a superhero for a day with the JLA (thanks to Morrison being way ahead of the curve with regards to reality television), Prometheus takes down the members of the JLA with impressive efficiency, dispatching Steel, J’onn J’onnz, and Batman with relative ease.

Prometheus puts the rest of the league on their heels, utilizing the fact that a hundred journalists had also been invited to see the JLA Watchtower as leverage against the heroes, but is defeated through the ingenuity of the newer members like Steel and Huntress, as well as the surprise appearance of Catwoman (who stole onto the Watchtower disguised as Cat Grant). The arrival of Catwoman comes out of left field and doesn’t feel fully earned on Morrison’s part, but the way the rest of the team members managed to come together to overcome Prometheus, along with his meltdown due to an overload of information, saves it for me.

This story arc is followed by two two-issue tales from guest writer Mark Waid. Despite this being known as Morrison’s JLA, these are the best stories of the bunch and some of the best from this entire run, to date. Waid offers a story of probability gone wrong followed by an adventure with Adam Strange on an enslaved Rann. Waid employs big ideas as well as Morrison does, but there’s a definite tonal shift. Waid’s stories feel more lively and fantastic with a less serious undercurrent than is found in Morrison’s JLA work. Waid, like Morrison, understands these characters intimately and, though I might question his portrayal of Orion, his offerings in this collection are reminiscent of silver age comics, with the wonder and fun often found in those old stories. And, with the climax of the Adam Strange two-parter, Waid injects some very real emotion through Adam Strange’s sacrifice that really elevates this tale.

After those four issues written by Waid, which also included Superman’s re-integration into his traditional form, Morrison returns to write the final two-part story of this collection, wherein Starro the Conqueror returns to plague the JLA. It’s another typically well-written tale, with big ideas and the heroes’ ability to think overriding their brawn in order to send Starro away. And, despite the tonal shift to a darker, more serious narrative style, the climax is rather humorous, as it basically involves the heroes playing a prank on Starro and its invading force.

I wish there were more superhero comics like this. And I don’t just mean the high level of writing on display, but I also wish there were more two-part stories rather than the often laborious six-part “epics” that fit snugly into a trade paperback. JLA Strength in Numbers includes a single-issue story, a three-part story, and three two-part tales. They race along at a nice clip and both Morrison and Waid, along with Christopher Priest, pack a lot of story – relative to what we’ve become accustomed to in this current comic market – into the pages provided. For my money, I felt like I got far more value from this book, which has five different adventures in it, than I did in the previous volume “Rock of Ages,” which was a single six-issue storyline.

Now, I can’t wait for the next trade.

chris