OCTOBER COMICS (2015): Gotham by Gaslight

Written by Brian Augustyn, art by Mike Mignola & P. Craig Russel, colors by David Hornung, with letters from John Workman

This was the first, unofficial, Elseworlds tale from DC Comics back in 1989, and it is great. 

As with the vast majority of DC’s Elseworlds tales, Batman is the character of note in this comic.  Set 100 years in the past—1889, at the time of its publication—this comic posits the narrative conceit of what might happen in a Victorian-era Gotham City if Jack the Ripper were to come to these shores and continue his killing ways here in America.  Combine this with the emergence of Batman as a dark force of the night, and you have a cross-pollinated story ripe for the telling. 

Brian Augustyn, known mainly as an editor for DC, does a fine job with the story.  It may be obvious to many, early in the story, who the actual Ripper is, but that does not take away from the finely structured tale he crafted.  All the pieces fit, and fit well, with characters we know, such as Bruce Wayne and James Gordon, acting in a familiar manner, even in this different milieu.  And the confluence of Batman’s appearance with the horrors perpetrated by the Ripper, in the dark, works nicely and makes sense.  The end comes as a bit of an anticlimax—the Ripper revealed by Batman, he confesses everything to Gordon, apparently so scared and scarred by this Batman  that he must confess it all—but that’s a minor quibble. 

  

If the story is good, though, the real stars of the book are the artists.  Sure, everyone remembers that Mike Mignola drew this, but many may have forgotten the inks were by P. Craig Russell (who also worked with Mignola on one of my favorite DC mini-series of the eighties, the Phantom Stranger).  Mignola’s distinct linework evokes the Victorian time period beautifully, while Russell’s delicate inks add yet another layer to these images.  Gotham City feels cluttered, dirty, a claustrophobic urban setting that will only grow larger and more congested over the next century.  And the costume design for Batman is iconic and appropriate to the time period.  This really is a beautiful comic wherein style matches setting and theme masterfully. 

Check it out!

chris 

W27 replay: OCTOBER COMICS 2 (Batman LOTDK, The Broadcast, & Coraline)

Three years ago, I did a short series here called "October Comics."  Like the over-arching title states, these were comics I felt epitomized this time of year - with the leaves turning color and falling, the temperature becoming colder, the nights longer.  It's a great time of year to curl up with a good book (or comic, as the case may be) and let that autumnal mood take you away on dark flights of fantasy and horror.  Here are a few books that can take you there.

BATMAN: LOTDK HALLOWEEN SPECIALS by Jeph Loeb & Tim Sale

I’m not sure why I picked up the very first LOTDK Halloween special. I know it had nothing to do with the creative team – neither Jeph Loeb nor Tim Sale was familiar to me at the time. It could have been the nice shiny cover, with that gold foil “enhancement,” but I like to think that wasn’t the case.More likely, it had to do with the fact that it was prestige format. When a publisher – most often DC comics – published a book in that squarebound format (see: Dark Knight, Longbow Hunters, Hawkworld, Killing Joke, etc.), it piqued my interest. So I bought that first special right off the shelf.And I loved it. The story moved along at a brisk pace, the artwork was stylish but appealing, and it was done in one.

With the success of that first Halloween special, it became an annual tradition for the next two years, with Loeb and Sale reuniting to tell other ethereal tales from Batman’s history. They too were immensely enjoyable and just plain fun reads. And, with each successive volume, I came to appreciate more and more the artistic talent of Tim Sale.

Sale’s linework is smooth and organic, with fluid inking that helps to suggest movement on the page in a similar manner to the inking style of Will Eisner. It’s a tough thing to accomplish in a static medium such as comics, and is a major reason why I have such trouble with many of today’s photorealistic artists – their work is just too precise, taking all of the energy out of their drawing.

Loeb’s writing has received a lot of criticism in recent years – not all of it undeserved – but in these specials, he really shines. The stories move along at a brisk pace and don’t collapse under the weight of a longer narrative. With the limited page count, Loeb was forced to pare things down and get right to the heart of the matter, and, similar to Chuck Dixon, Loeb can drive a plot forward pretty well. It doesn’t hurt that he was paired with a stellar talent like Sale.

I regularly return to these books, pulling them out of the longboxes to re-read every couple of years, usually during this season. These books help remind me why I love comics. If you’ve never given them a try, you should seek them out. You won’t be disappointed.

And, if you have the chance, read them late in the evening while the wind sweeps across your lawn – the creaking branches and rustling leaves will add to the atmosphere already present in Sale’s moody linework, and you might understand better why I cherish these stories.

THE BROADCAST by Eric Hobbs & Noel Tuazon

Since “discovering” Noel Tuazon’s work on Elk’s Run, with writer Joshua Hale Fialkov, I have become a huge fan of Tuazon’s work. His loose lines and cartoonist’s approach to drawing is far more appealing to me than the current flavor of the month at the “Big Two.” He, like many of the comic artists whose work I admire, is able to infuse his pages with more emotion and atmosphere than most artists working in the field.

So, when I passed the NBM table at last year’s Small Press Expo and saw they had only one copy left of Tuazon’s most recent book, The Broadcast (written by Eric Hobbs), I had to pick it up. And was I ever glad I did. This book, along with Tuazon’s return collaboration with Fialkov, Tumor, has solidly put him on my “guaranteed winner” list.

The Broadcast, Eric Hobbs’s first major graphic novel, comes from a brilliantly simple concept – how might a small group of rural Americans in early 20^th century America react if they believed Orson Welles’s “War of the Worlds” broadcast was real – a reality that earned Welles much criticism after that initial radio broadcast. I haven’t read The Broadcast since that first time last year, but the emotion of the book has lingered with me since then, rearing its head at unexpected times, so it is only appropriate that I write about it now, as best I can.

The Broadcast is more than just how people might react to a perceived Martian attack. It is really a story of how people under stress react to, and treat, one another and the hierarchy that quickly evolves in such an anxious time. This book is about these characters, about the injustices, perceived or otherwise, they manage to suppress until such a time as this, and the consequences of allowing one’s anxiety to dictate one’s actions.

None of the characters make it through this book in one piece, whether emotionally or physically, and Hobbs deftly handles the issues of that period – including most prominently the racism that was rampant, and is still a problem now, in our country. The Broadcast is, at times, a harrowing reading experience, but it is also touching in many instances. It’s a delicate balance of emotions that Hobbs and Tuazon manage to achieve wonderfully, and it elevates this book beyond what could easily have been a one-note story.

And the artwork from Tuazon is beautiful. His inkwash technique, coupled with Tuazon’s facility with facial expressions, perfectly evokes the atmosphere of the dreary, rain-soaked setting and the weight of finality under which these characters rest. Tuazon’s storytelling is on full display here, and any artist looking to break into comics would be hard pressed to do better than study The Broadcast, or any of Tuazon’s other work.

Although told in a quiet manner, this is a brutal book about the dark places of the human soul. It is a compelling read that shines a hard light onto the horrors of fear, very real horrors that feel more authentic than most of those found in graphic fiction, or fiction of any kind. Hobbs and Tuazon come together to showcase the best of what this medium has to offer, and I heartily recommend you seeking this book out. You won’t be disappointed.

CORALINE adapted by P. Craig Russell, from the novel by Neil Gaiman

I am a huge fan of Neil Gaiman and have read all of his published books. Coraline was an enjoyable read, but I would probably put it toward the lower end of my favorites by Gaiman. It was inventive and well-written, as I have come to expect from Gaiman, and he took me to another fantastic world that feels just beyond my reach, but there was a “weight” missing from it that probably has a lot to do with its intended audience. Ultimately, for me, Coraline wasn’t creepy enough.

As an aside, Gaiman’s “Graveyard Book” does carry that weight I so look forward to from his best fiction, and that was also intended for young adults, for what it is worth. (And it is only my opinion)

When I heard P. Craig Russell was going to be adapting Coraline into graphic form, I was intrigued but not overly excited. Boy, was I wrong to have that reaction!

Russell’s adaptation of Coraline was amazing. When I read it, I was thoroughly on edge. Something about actually seeing Coraline’s “other family” with those button eyes just creeped me the hell out more than Gaiman’s actual prose description, which is odd since Joe Hill’s similar description of the main ghost in his novel Heart-Shaped Box made me horribly uncomfortable when I read that.

Russell is known for his delicate linework, and he does not disappoint here. But I have to admit at how surprised I was with the manner in which he evoked the atmosphere of this eerie little novel. It is a testament to his artistry that he elevates Gaiman’s prose narrative to another level for me. This is one of the very few times I have thought that an adaptation of a work of prose was better – or worked better – than the source material.

I wish I could more precisely put my finger on what it is about Russell’s Coraline adaptation that makes it so much creepier for me. But, I admit, I can’t. I just know how I reacted to it when I read it – on an entirely emotional level that left me with that gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach. Check it out.

Go ahead, listen to the crisp leaves beneath your feet, the cool breeze rising to a soft shriek at your back, and watch for those long shadows growing deeper, with the coming of winter just over the horizon, and try to tamp down that shiver rushing up your spine as you spy something in the corner of your eye ... and turn to find nothing there. 

Then sit down to read these comics and try to tell me you don't get that same feeling of anxiety and anticipation as the words and images wash over you.  You can't.  

-chris

OCTOBER COMICS Coraline, adapted by P. Craig Russell

I am a huge fan of Neil Gaiman and have read all of his published books. Coraline was an enjoyable read, but I would probably put it toward the lower end of my favorites by Gaiman. It was inventive and well-written, as I have come to expect from Gaiman, and he took me to another fantastic world that feels just beyond my reach, but there was a “weight” missing from it that probably has a lot to do with its intended audience. Ultimately, for me, Coraline wasn’t creepy enough.

As an aside, Gaiman’s “Graveyard Book” does carry that weight I so look forward to from his best fiction, and that was also intended for young adults, for what it is worth. (And it is only my opinion)

When I heard P. Craig Russell was going to be adapting Coraline into graphic form, I was intrigued but not overly excited. Boy, was I wrong to have that reaction!

Russell’s adaptation of Coraline was amazing. When I read it, I was thoroughly on edge. Something about actually seeing Coraline’s “other family” with those button eyes just creeped me the hell out more than Gaiman’s actual prose description, which is odd since Joe Hill’s similar description of the main ghost in his novel Heart-Shaped Box made me horribly uncomfortable when I read that.

Russell is known for his delicate linework, and he does not disappoint here. But I have to admit at how surprised I was with the manner in which he evoked the atmosphere of this eerie little novel. It is a testament to his artistry that he elevates Gaiman’s prose narrative to another level for me. This is one of the very few times I have thought that an adaptation of a work of prose was better – or worked better – than the source material.

I wish I could more precisely put my finger on what it is about Russell’s Coraline adaptation that makes it so much creepier for me. But, I admit, I can’t. I just know how I reacted to it when I read it – on an entirely emotional level that left me with that gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach. Check it out.

chris

FYC Replay: The Magic Flute by P. Craig Russell

Adding to my collection of columns from the Pulse spotlighting small press comics - this one was a particular thrill, as I got the opportunity to interview P. Craig Russell, one of the best artists to ever work in comics. I always felt humbled when a creator of his stature was gracious enough to answer my questions. And, as a bonus, when the column originally went live in early 2008, Russell emailed to tell me how pleased he was with the choice of art I included with it. Anyway. I hope you enjoy.

Thanks,
chris

For Your Consideration: The Magic Flute

By Chris Beckett

FRONT PAGE: Operas and comics seem to be situated at either end of the creative spectrum, but when you boil it down, it’s all about creating an engaging tale. P. Craig Russell’s adaptation of Mozart’s The Magic Flute is a lesson in how well these two mediums can overlap. Click on in and see how a master storyteller brings the epic fantasy of Mozart to the printed page.

The 411:

The Magic Flute

Composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Adapted by P. Craig Russell

144 pp. full color

$17.95 tpb

NBM Publishing

What It Is (with apologies to Dave the Thune):

The Queen of the Night is pining away for her daughter Pamina, who is being held against her will by a despotic king, and will do anything to be reunited with her. She enlists the aid of a young prince, Tamino, offering her daughter as wife and lover to the young man if he will only bring Pamina back. Immediately falling for the girl’s beauty, Tamino agrees to help the queen, his bravado befitting his youth.

But the fiend holding the Queen’s daughter – Sarastro – is formidable and Tamino will not be able to do it alone. The Queen offers him a magical flute that can charm away fear and danger, allowing safe passage through the trials set before him. She also enlists the aid of Papageno, a feathered bird catcher whom the prince encountered as the story opened. Supplying Papageno – a cowardly and disloyal servant of the queen – with bells charmed in much the same way as the flute, she sends the bird catcher with Tamino in the hopes he might learn something of character and honor. And so, these two adventurers – one more eager than the other – set off into the forest.

With a verdant expanse before them, Tamino and Papageno choose to go separate ways in the hope of finding Pamina more quickly. As Papageno stumbles upon the princess, and finds himself surrounded by scores of soldiers as well, Tamino discovers an ancient temple which has the runic words for reason, wisdom, and nature inscribed upon its surface. Entering, he encounters an aged wizard. Tamino makes inquiry of the old man but finds the caretaker less than helpful. However, the prince is able to coerce a single response from the old man and is heartened to know that Pamina is indeed still alive.

Exiting the temple, the chime of Papageno’s bells is carried to the prince’s ear. Making for the sound, when Tamino finally comes upon Pamina and Papageno, he hides himself among the thick brush to better decide his next plan of action. From his vantage point, Tamino sees that the two fugitives are surrounded not only by Sarastro’s minions but also his fierce pride of lions. Papageno is working to talk his way out of this predicament while Pamina confronts Sarastro with the truth, and then Tamino is discovered.

Brought before Sarastro, the king orders the two rescuers blindfolded and taken inside where they will be interned while the council decides their fate. But Tamino demands to know why the queen’s daughter is being held against her will and discovers all is not as it seems. Pamina admits that her captor has done nothing to harm her in all her time with Sarastro. Rebuking the young prince’s accusation, Sarastro states that it is he, the prince, who needs to prove himself, to which Tamino boasts that he will accept any test given him. With that, he and Papageno are taken away as Sarastro wonders to himself, “Is it he? Is it he?”

Upon first thought, the mediums of opera and comics couldn’t seem to be farther from one another on the entertainment spectrum. One is perceived as entertainment for the elite, while the other, during the vast majority of its existence, has been demeaned as nothing more than a pre-adolescent power fantasy. However, when one peels away the layers surrounding each artform, one sees that the aim of both mediums is to tell an engaging tale. One utilizes music while the other opts for pen and ink drawings, but the bottom line is to grab the audience and move them. And for anyone who has not had the pleasure of reading P. Craig Russell’s adaptation of Mozart’s famous opera, The Magic Flute, this is an exciting and dynamic story that would appeal to any fan of political intrigue or high fantasy. Russell allows the story to breathe while ably moving the narrative along. Taking it out of the confines of the stage, Russell is able to open up the scenes and give form to the genius of Mozart.

There are few artists whose each new work is an event. P. Craig Russell would fall into that very exclusive group. His delicate lines and romantic sensibilities come through in each panel, and his stylized art adds to the magical feel of this tale in particular. His images feel more like classical illustrations and his storytelling ability is second to none. Russell understands well the unique manner in which words and pictures can be combined to tell a story, and he uses this understanding to create true works of art that anyone can appreciate. P. Craig Russell’s The Magic Flute is a masterful adaptation of one of the seminal creative works in human history, and once one starts reading, it will be difficult to put the book down before the final drop of the curtain.

An Interview with P. Craig Russell:

Christopher Beckett: Your line work hearkens back to classic illustrators such as Arthur Rackham and Joseph Clement Cole. What kind of instruction did you receive and what advice would you give to aspiring artists, whether they wish to break into comics or not?

P. Craig Russell: Cole I'm not so familiar with but certainly Rackham, Dulac, Harry Clarke and above all, the Danish illustrator Kay Neilson. Neilson's illustrations to East of the Sun and West of the Moon have been a never-ending source of delight and inspiration, particularly in my earliest years drawing comics. Neilson might be better known or at least recognized for his work on Disney's Fantasia in the visual design for the Night on Bald Mountain sequence. Before and during my apprenticeship in comics I was attending the University of Cincinnati studying painting. I received very little training in anything that applied to the drawing style I used in drawing comics. No anatomy. No costume design. That I picked up from pouring over Neilson, Rackham, etc.

I always encourage aspiring artists to study anatomy. You can never have too much training in that. I wish I had had more. Also visual storytelling. Analysing film and storyboarding is good for that. But nothing is better that just sitting down and doing the thing itself.

Beckett: For the most part, the majority of your work for some years now has consisted of adaptations – whether the operas, Oscar Wilde, or Neil Gaiman’s story “Ramadan” for Sandman 50. What is your creative process like for these works, and have you always preferred to work in this manner?

Russell: Strictly speaking Ramadan isn't an adaptation. True, Neil, at my request, didn't write it 'by the panel,' he gave me every word he wanted in it as if writing a play and allowed me to tell his story visually. But I edited out not a single word. With other adaptations where I'm taking one art form and turning it into another, one probably unimagined by it's author, I do a great deal of editing. Hopefully, or ideally, it should read as if nothing is missing. With Oscar Wilde's fairytale The Selfish Giant I left in virtually every word to see if it could be done but I was dealing with a very short story.

To over-simplify my creative process I would say I merely edit out prose or exposition that repeats what the picture is doing. If the prose says 'he picked up the gun' and the picture clearly shows that then the prose is redundant and is dropped. That's the starting point in an adaptation. A step beyond that is to clearly 'stage' the action. Characters, or even objects, entrances and exits must be clear and appropriate. That's when the form is closest to filmmaking or directing. Above all, to avoid the look or feel that I'm merely illustrating the author by taking chunks of writing and adding pictures to them I always try to make the visualization of the graphic story, conveying the essential ideas and situations of the source material to the viewer, without the words, work as a silent movie. If I can do that then I've succeeded.

Beckett: Why comics? What was it that attracted you to this storytelling medium and has kept you working within this medium over these years?

Russell: Not to sound flip about it but why not comics. Why does any artist choose the form he chooses? Probably because as a child he fell in love with it and then at some point found he had a talent that pointed in the same direction. Or maybe he loves the form because he innately knows, before he knows it, that his talents will lie in that direction. More prosaically since I've chosen, or been fortunate enough to be able to do so, to make a living drawing pictures, I've been kept at it by the simple fact that that's how I pay my bills. When my loving muse lazes out on me, the stern mistress of the marketplace tells me to suck it up and get to the drawing board. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing but I do tell her to stick it from time to time.

Beckett: Creating comics based on operas might appear on the surface to have little crossover appeal, and yet, you have managed to create a healthy body of work in this vein. What is it about the opera that speaks to you as an artist, and to what would you attribute the success of your operatic adaptations?

Russell: If I've managed to create a body of work devoted to opera adaptations it's because I've been willing to work with smaller publishers who don't pay as much as the big companies but are willing, even eager, to work with me and/or publish more esoteric material. What appeals to me are the stories if they're written by an Oscar Wilde or Maurice Maeterlinck. You need that to start with, not all operas...let's just say they have some pretty silly stories. But I like the similarities of problem solving between the two forms. In opera a composer is given a script, or libretto, and has to find music for its words and also use music to express what the words aren't saying. With a graphic story you have the same situation only with the artist having to find the right drawings and provide a visual structure to express or amplify the words and the stories meaning. Most of all, I enjoy the challenge of finding some sort of visual structure or series of pictures for those purely musical moments in the opera when 'nothing' is happening but pure emotion. You can't merely have the characters recite the lines and expect anywhere near the same emotional effect the music is providing. You have to find something, props, weather, anything you can use or focus on, that will somehow illuminate the musical situation. It's not easy finding pictures for Brunhilde's monologue preceding her immolation scene that go beyond her merely standing center stage and singing/speaking. I've done it but it wasn't easy.

Beckett: What other projects are you working on that you would like to tell readers about?

Russell: I just finished a 192 page adaptation of Neil Gaiman's children's novel Coraline that will be out in the spring from Harper Collins and I'm preparing a 122 page adaptation of his short story The Dream Hunters for release from DC Comics late next year.