Author: WillJang

Over the break I found myself at a comic book shop called the Forbidden Planet in New York City. It is right next to The Strand, a bookstore located just south of Union Square Park along Broadway. Unlike the famed bookstore, the comic shop doesn’t have an eye catching bright red sign, or banners hanging from the upper floors, flowing downwards along the façade facing Broadway. Instead, along with the simple sign hanging above the front door, the nerdy merchandise lining the large front window tells you exactly what kind of store it is, without the use of words. Now that I think about it, how very appropriate for a place that sells comic books.

I haven’t been to many comic book shops (there was The Comic Shop in Vancouver, the Forbidden Planet, and, of course, the Vault of Midnight, right here in Ann Arbor) so I cannot really say much about the establishments themselves. However, while I was there, I picked up a book called Emitown as a Christmas present for myself. It’s a collected volume of the homonymous web comic written by Emi Lenox, an artist I talked about last year on my article about Plutona. I think it is obvious that I’m a fan.

The comic features daily entries, or almost daily, that cover an array of topics, from her getting angry at a new scanner, wanting to eat, romance, paying the bill, seeing friends, and etc. A great bulk of the pages is filled with extraordinarily mundane things. Yet, it’s still interesting.

The comic is acclaimed to be a unique way in the memoir comic genre, or rather, diary comics, something that I’m not all qualified to weight in on. But I do feel it to be captivating for reasons I can’t explain. Is it the use of just inks and a pastel blue as the singular use of color? Is it the honesty of her words and opinions? Is it the way she draws expressions with a cartoonish aplomb and infectious spirit? Is it how relatable a lot of her entries are? Or perhaps it is all the dogs and cats (or the occasional llama?) that sometimes interject into her loose panels. I’m sure I don’t know.

 
During a break where I just wanted to huddle up and do nothing, this was the perfect comic to get into. I didn’t want to be transported to a new world, filled with fantastical creatures, or in the middle of nebulous space, or in some different time. I wanted to read about other people who are into comics; I wanted to read about a comic creator I admired.

It’s nice to slow down once in a while, and read something that is not “serious” but still artistically and narratively interesting. I hesitate to use that word though, “serious”. Honestly, it’s a word that doesn’t mean anything to me anymore when applied to works of art. It doesn’t serve any real purpose that benefits anybody. Just a label – an empty label.

I’m having a hard time bringing this together. But I would like to conclude this with a thank you to the Vault of Midnight. While I was at the other two comic book shops I mentioned, I noticed that they shelved their single issues without any protection, ie, without a bag and board. It kind of bothered me, not because I collect comics with the intent of keeping them in pristine condition only to sell them in the future. But because after experiencing the luxury of already bagged and boarded comics at the Vault, I really did miss it. Who doesn’t like their comics to be packaged nicely when they buy them? Seriously though…who?

I find that the interview, as a format, is absurd. This absurdity becomes highly visible when watching late night. There are only two hosts that have actually made me laugh, Conan O’Brien and Craig Ferguson. The former makes me laugh only when he does his absurd goofball/slapstick physical comedy by swinging his head around in violent motions. But the later, made me laugh for the entire duration of his show. Unfortunately, the only way to see the marvel, that was the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, is through YouTube now (because he stepped down from the show earlier this year). I will not talk about James Corden because I cannot, because I haven’t seen the show since Craig left.

But what made the show so special for me is just how absurd it was, to the point where it didn’t feel like a show per say. But rather, it felt like I was tuning in to someone just messing around in front of a camera. The way he did his opening monologue, the existence of Geoff and Secretariat, and the way he did his e-mails and tweets – it was all so ridiculous. One small moment of absurdity that I could never get enough of, was when he threw a log into the fake fire.

During his time as the host of the show, he deconstructed each element of the late night format, from discarding pre-interviews and the need to fill the conversation with forced laughter or needless plugs about projects. Oh, he also swore the most out of all the late night hosts, but probably the best thing about that was the way he censored swears (you will see in the video).

But although first time viewers may think that this show is absurd and only absurd, upon further viewing they may be pleasantly surprised to see just how smooth of a talker Craig is – a personality that exudes the rat pack confidence (Like actually, watch any of his interviews with female guests. I’m straight and even I’m turned on.).

Sorry for the lackluster tribute, but I need to get back to my classwork. So I will just…

 

So, I kept hearing about how good Jeff Lemire is at writing comic books. Specifically, those who hyped up his work to me were talking about his book called Descender. So I flipped through the trade paper back of Descender at the Vault of Midnight. I must say, as deplorable as it may seem to some, the artwork does factor into my decision when choosing to pick of a book or not. Of course I am not suggesting that Dustin Nguyen’s art was bad, because if anything, it is stellar. But something did not feel right to me. It just did not pull me in. Also, I think I left that book on the shelf because I was all sci-fied out at the time. By “at the time”, I mean like, last week.

But I figured that there must be something else that Lemire wrote. There is no way that Descender was his breakout book. Turns out he did some books for DC, Marvel, Vertigo, and Valiant…basically…every other major publisher besides Image. Call me closed minded, but I was not ready to venture outside of Image, especially not into the daunting cluster fuck of a world that is DC and Marvel.

That is when I found Plutona, a new series co-created by Lemire and Emi Lenox, the latter of whom did the art. Lets just cut the story short and just say I dug the art and picked it up right away. Whenever I see an artist capture nuanced emotion in each panel, I just sit back in awe. These are the artists that really know how to observe people. The colors by Jordie Bellaire also contribute to the book by creating a light atmosphere that at once makes you happy, but also creates dread. Something is wrong and the art makes you feel it. A subtle uneasiness.

Of course you know something is wrong from the very beginning. But that is not what I am talking about. On that note, let me talk about the story. Lemire knows that this story is not about the dead superhero, it is about the five children that find her dead body lying in the middle of a vast forest. The world does not overshadow the characters, in other words, these characters just happen to be in a world where super heroes exist. A compelling character can be placed in any setting and they will remain true. Believe me, the characters are very compelling. Sure there may be some archetypes, reminding me of the experience of watching Goonies or The Breakfast Club, but there is an ambiguity about their characterization that makes you wonder which direction they will go.

This does beg the question though, how important is it for super heroes to exist in this book? I am not sure if I can answer the question at this moment because I have only read the first issue. But I do think the book itself is suggesting an answer starting from its debut. Plutona, the superhero, is seen dead from the first page. But the way Lenox draws the panels makes her body feel like an object, using various angles to observe specific parts of her body, never forgetting to include flies to suggest the time that has gone by. Plutona is established as if she is an inanimate object, the way some manga establish a house, with various angles. Then the next page is a view of the vast forest, where presumably, the body is. Superheroes may exist in this world, but they are far removed from our characters. The one character that has any proximity to them from the start, only knows about their activity through the radio and the Internet. He is also seen looking at the city through binoculars while keeping a log of any superhero sightings. Then there is another character that shows some interest about superheroes but other than that, nobody else seems to care.

This gives Lemire space to build the characters that are important, the kids. He puts Plutona in the background from the beginning – which in itself is genius, because like I said about the art, by having the knowledge of the dead superhero at the back of your head, it constantly nags at you as you find out about the kids. I think it is important that this book has superheroes in it, because the story is setting up a world that mirrors our own. What are superheroes to us? Sure they do not exist in our world, but at the same time they do. We read about them, we consume them. Lemire has a little vignette at the end of the book (That features a different art style. I believe he did the art for it) where he gives a little backstory on Plutona. It feels distant, almost foreign, like it does not belong. But at the same time, it demands to be seen, it demands to emerge into the foreground.

Ya, I see what the hype is about now. Lemire knows how to write and I do see myself picking up Descender sometime in the future (haha…future…cause it is a sci-fi book…never mind).

Will Eisner famously used the term sequential art to describe comics. But isn’t film also sequential? Scott McCloud talks about how film is similar if you look at the film itself, and not when it is projected and played. Film is just a series of images, a comic in slow motion if you will. McCloud notes that the difference between comics and film is the way in which individual images are juxtaposed. The comic is far more voluntary than film is. You are forced to see frame after frame while watching film but with a comic, your eyes can wander. But more importantly, with film, the way in which the images are juxtaposed with one another is through time, the chronology of the images as they get projected onto the screen, one after the other. However, with comics, it is space that juxtaposes one panel with the next.

Did you ever wonder if there was a term for the tiny margin of empty space between panels? No? Well I am going to tell you anyways. It is called the gutter. Not the most appealing name for such an important aspect of comics.

But why am I telling you all this? Why am I stressing the importance of space in comics? Well that is because I ran into one this summer that utilized it in a way that I had never seen before.

Asterios Polyp is a comic written and drawn by David Mazzucchelli. Basically it is a coming of age story about a famed fifty-year-old architect named Asterios Polyp as he seeks self-discovery. To me, it is so very important that he is an architect. Now there are many things to talk about when considering this comic. It’s dense, both in its written content and its visuals. But I want to focus on one mechanic the comic uses over and over again.

At the beginning of each “chapter”, if you will, is not the name of a chapter, but a single  panel that is directly in the center of the page. What is so special about this panel is that, first of all, it is not sequential, and second, the content within the panel is itself isolated elements. Let me provide an example of when this is used.

The very first page, we see inside the lone panel, raindrops – individual raindrops. From this we can assume that it is either raining, or we are possibly looking at drops of water on a window. In a way, the specificity of the image itself is defeated by the fact that it resides in a panel that is isolated from any other visuals. But that is not entirely true, for you can never forget about the white space that surrounds the panel. May I remind you, when you only have one panel on a page, there is a lot of white space. But all that space is directionless and aimless. But Mazzucchelli provides direction in the next page.

We then turn the page over and we see two panels now. One shows the raincloud that is precipitating, then the next one shows that it is raining on a city. We get even more context on the next page where we see a lightning bolt crash to the city below from the rainclouds perspective. Basically, Mazzucchelli keeps zeroing in on the subject at hand, page by page, till we realize that the lightning bolt hit Asterios’ apartment causing it to catch on fire. In the span of six pages, we go from the isolated specificity of the raindrops to the contextual specificity stating that this is where Asterios Polyp lives.

What I think is so genius about the use of that very first panel is that it shows how space can operate at a fundamental level. An element can occupy one space in a vacuum but the next page expands our understanding of that very space by showing how even the most isolated of elements are a part of a greater picture, a greater space.

In the next chapter, Mazzucchelli uses this to show a well-groomed Asterios with a cigarette then proceeds to show the sad, unshaven, and wet face of Asterios right after his apartment caught fire. He uses this over and over again. How fitting for a story about an architect. One that can design all these empty buildings while he himself has nobody to share his space with.
Mazzucchelli uses it once to show a grid of apples that are all drawn differently, only to go to the next page to show various people that are drawn differently, with the narration saying, “What if reality (as perceived) were simply an extension of the self?” This is one of my favorites.

We are all a part of a shared space and whenever we consider something as an exception to this, it becomes inscrutable or more importantly, not what it actually is – completely mutable based upon our own interpretive means. Which, in itself, also alters what the image is talking about, over and over again. For as much as we may convince ourselves of one meaning, we recognize that an isolated image invites countless interpretations. We get lost within our own mind. But when we recognize that there are others within the space with us, we find direction and a sense that our solutions are taking us somewhere, not leaving us stuck in the cyclical nature of an isolated mind.

The manga starts with Edward questioning what went wrong, calling out for his seemingly missing little brother, yelling that it wasn’t supposed to be like this, and we see that he is missing his left leg. A disembodied text says, “Teachings that do not speak of pain have no meaning…because humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return.”

This scene is the consequence of an action that we have yet to find out. But it is nonetheless gruesome and shocking and raises many questions. First time readers may be wondering about the part of a circle they see Edward’s hands resting on. What is going on?

Hiromu Arakawa, the creator of the manga series does not answer this right away. Instead, the very next panel you see is an objective view of an alleyway in a city, with again, a disembodied voice, but this time, it is preaching about the Sun God Leto and how through prayer and faith, salvation can be achieved. But how does worship compare to what was said on the very first page? It is puzzling to think about, when I have faith in a religion; I gain comfort, an existential shoulder to lean on. So by giving trust, I am allowed to…trust? Arakawa’s refusal to answer the questions raised by the first page right away also suggest that after the consequences depicted in the first page, everything has moved on, presumably, even Edward.
All actions have consequences – action and reaction. While reading Fullmetal Alchemist, it is hard to ignore this fundamental balance that exists in all universes, whether our own or one that is created through fiction. But can we relinquish said consequences? And if we can, how do we do so?

This is where the first volume, no, the first arc of Fullmetal Alchemist really shines. It is brilliantly efficient at creating the characters through which Arakawa will try to answer these questions.

Let’s look at Edward. After the first page, through the duration of the first arc, we get his motivations, history, ideology, his pride, his humor, everything. We find out that his brother, Alphonse, is indeed alive, but exists in an empty suit of armor, we see how much he hates being called short, and we see his skepticism for religion. Yet he states that he and his brother have paid the price for stepping on God’s domain. Edward is undoubtedly full of pride, which is further demonstrated in simple moments like when he introduces himself and Alphonse as being the famous Elric brothers while Alphonse just says that they are alchemists. Alphonse, being an empty suit of armor, is literally a disembodied voice but his is one that is slowly learning, and one that is not professing a self-declared truth.

The state of their bodies is revealed at such a genius moment – when they are fighting for the first time. Edward doesn’t go around showing everyone his prosthetic limbs. Nor does Alphonse take off his helmet and show everyone that there is nobody inside. Instead, only when a chimera lunges at Edward and tries to eat him, does he actually use the metal limb to defend himself.

At the end of the arc, Rose, a girl who was faithful to the Sun God, now finds herself directionless as Edward has revealed to people that the priest was a sham. Edward tells her, coldly, that she needs to move on, that she has a fine pair of legs so she should use them. These two brothers understand the consequences of their past actions. But more importantly, they have moved on.

Let me talk briefly about the next arc, which focuses on a mining town that is under the corrupt rule of a military officer. In the first arc, Edward and Alphonse dismantled a corrupt religious regime but now they must handle a different type of organization. But this is different, whereas the dismantling of the church of Leto caused many people to now exist in a directionless limbo, here, when the Elric brothers save the town, the power is returned back to the miners. It shows, that the Elric brothers truly do stand for justice but it also presents a situation where the results of their actions are perhaps more favorable. As we find out later in the series, the loss of the church of Leto causes that country to fall into war. Every action has consequences, even if you think your actions are just.

The second arc also reveals that the very military that Edward plans to join is corrupt as well. A plot point that is further explored in the last arc in the volume which showcases a train heist that is led by military deserters who have now resorted to terrorism in order to dismantle what they believe is a corrupt military body. It is also by the end of this arc that we are finally introduce to Roy Mustang, who ends the volume by literally creating an explosion out of thin air on the train platform, sending the charging terrorist leader flying away. He also introduces himself as the Flame Alchemist, telling the terrorist to never forget it. You can already tell that there may already be one too many huge egos in this story – cough cough, Edward.

This is only the first volume, so I say with confidence that Fullmetal Alchemist is easily one of the most efficient and complete stories that I have ever read. And when I say that, I am including all storytelling mediums.
I would like to draw more parallels to elements that appear later on in the manga, but I will bow out here so as not to spoil anything. Granted, this series and anime series (I am talking about Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood because that is much more faithful to the original manga series) has been out long enough for the whole spoiler warning rule to be null and void, I will still digress.

This is a manga that is smart, expertly told, filled with compelling characters, while being fun, and never forgetting that it is a manga. I cannot recommend this series enough to those who are still ignorant to the genius of Hiromu Arakawa.

It is axiomatic to say that Jurassic Park made many kids want to become paleontologists. Quite odd given how many people die because of dinosaurs in that film. To which I say, I suppose my initial statement excludes those children who were terrified upon seeing a man be eaten alive by a Tyrannosaurus Rex. But despite the necessary kill count of a monster movie, Spielberg still manages to dazzle the viewer with the marvel of the “veggie-saurus”.

But perhaps the marvel appears to soon? Jaws is probably the closest film to Jurassic Park out of Spielberg’s filmography. The critical difference is when the monsters appear for the first time. For Jaws, we never get a full visual of the shark until the final act. Prior to that, all we saw was its fin and the people getting thrown about in the water. However, Jurassic Park gives us a Brachiosaur when we haven’t even gotten halfway through the film. The difference in the timing of the big reveal is telling of what kind of monster film the two Spielberg classics are. Jaws is more horrifying and suspenseful because of the late reveal, while Jurassic Park is a spectacle, mirroring the purpose of John Hammond’s park in the film.

For the late Roger Ebert, this difference is what made Jurassic Park a lesser film compared to Jaws. However, I think the point of Jurassic Park was not the same as Jaws, and is thus, incomparable.

When we first see a dinosaur, it is stunning, majestic. The setting contains picturesque skies and rolling fields next to glistening lakes. Herds of dinosaurs graze about. It is nice, arguably, almost too nice. Afterwards, we see the Raptor cage. However, we do not see the carnivores, we only see the aftermath of their feeding session. As the two paleontologists, Dr. Grant and Dr. Sattler (along with the ever charming and hilarious Dr. Malcolm) see the first couple of dinosaurs; they begin to question how wise this all is. In other words, they wonder about the implications of having the revival of a long extinct species, like when Dr. Malcolm says, “Yeah, yeah, but your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn’t stop to think if they should.” How can anyone hope to control, let alone understand, such an ancient species from such an ancient environment?

Lets consider this question, first, through the plot elements that include dinosaurs. We initially see the herbivores and carnivores in isolation. However, as the movie progresses, we see the T-Rex hunting other dinosaurs. Also, as Dr. Malcolm predicted, the dinosaurs are breeding despite being all female. It is progression – nature finds its way.

An image that shows this progression frames the core plot of the film. When the characters first land, we get a close up of the Jurassic Park logo on the jeep door. It is clean, new, and pristine. When the film ends and they are leaving on the jeep, we get another close up of the logo. Now it is covered in dirt.

There is another thing that is covered in dirt, or rather, mud – Nedry’s can he uses to transport the embryos. Natural forces bring on even his demise. Despite his calculated manner in which he steals the embryos, once outside, he crashes twice because of the reduced vision caused by the rain. Honestly, you can even consider karma a natural force, and Nedry gets his fair share of it.

It is all an illusion of control. The control never existed. Comically, this mirrors Spielberg’s experience while making this movie – even Jaws. When they were shooting the scene where the T-Rex breaks free, the rain was causing the machine to be too heavy, meaning it would not move properly. The shark in Jaws also had a lot of technical difficulties. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. It is a stretch, but this film, the more you think about it, is actually quite meta. Maybe not blatantly so, but it is there, hidden beneath the mud.

Although I had seen this film many times before (I had a VHS copy and I would watch it over and over again as a child), this was the first time I had seen it on a big screen. I must really thank the State Theatre and the Michigan Theatre for constantly providing the opportunity to watch such classics that I was never able to watch in a theatre with other people – the atmosphere films were intended for. Seeing the famous moments in the big screen added a new sense of tension. The water rippling in the cup, the T-Rex roaring for the first time, the kitchen scene, the first dinosaur experience, the T-Rex chase scene, the ending fight between the T-Rex and the Raptors, and so on.

I just want to gush and gush. But I won’t.

I’m not saying that the film is perfect; for they’re quite a lot of blatant continuity errors. But, who cares? Who cares when you can watch fucking dinosaurs. NEED I SAY MORE? See what this flick reduces me to? I devolve into a little child. Only great blockbusters can do that (just listening to the score does it for me).

The Spielberg marathon is still going on. Films like Saving Private Ryan and Raiders of the Lost Ark are coming up, so I suggest you go watch it on the big screen. Get some friends to go with you. GOOD TIMES