Showing posts with label adaptations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adaptations. Show all posts

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Thesis: Zack Snyder Fetishizes Blood

I waited a little while, but this week my curiosity got the better of me, and I went to see the Watchmen movie. Here's my take on it. It wasn't terrible, but it seemed to miss the point of Moore & Gibbons's comic in a lot of important ways. A lot of the comic's complexity had to be streamlined and flattened out for the film, and although Zack Snyder obviously had time to put a lot of stuff in slow motion—and to extend a number of quick melees into fight-scene set-pieces—many of the subtler parts of the book got sped up so that they didn't have time to register properly. (The revelation and decision on Mars might be the worst example of this.)

There were also things I liked about the movie—Rorschach's death was played remarkably well, for example—but mostly it felt to me overly faithful to the surface properties of the comic while completely missing its soul. I'd compare it to a note-for-note cover of, say, an early Elvis Costello song, played on "updated" instruments and sung by someone who doesn't speak English and is only repeating the sounds of the words phonetically. Maybe all the right sounds are there, but everything about the rhythm of meaning is screwed up.

And then there's the question of blood, which is the reason I've gathered you all here tonight. Moore & Gibbons's Watchmen has some brutal violence in it, especially considering the context of mid-'80s superhero comics it was written in. (Many more violent mainstream superhero comics would eventually emerge, but that hadn't happened so much yet.) And when people are hurt badly in the original Watchmen, they do bleed. But watching Zack Snyder's Watchmen, I got convinced that he thinks the human body is a highly pressurized balloon full of blood and bones. It's an alarmingly gory movie, and many of the bloodiest moments are actually places where Snyder and his screenwriters depart from the text they're otherwise following so faithfully.

For example: Big Figure's tubby henchman never gets removed from in front of Rorschach's cell; he's killed quickly so that he won't suffer when the other henchman cuts through the lock with an acetylene torch. No bloody stumps waved at the camera.

When Dan and Laurie are ambushed by the knot-tops in the alleyway, they fight back brutally—the book certainly gives the idea that the way superheroes survive their tussles is by fighting dirty—and there are probably some broken bones. But click this image to enlarge it, and see if you can find a compound fracture:



When Dr. Manhattan is "fighting crime" at Moloch's gambling den ("Dante's"), we don't see human debris splattered onto women's faces or the ceiling. In fact, I'd always assumed this guy was just getting a face full of nitrogen or something like that.



Similarly, when Dr. Manhattan is winning the Vietnam War for Nixon, we don't see him exploding any people. In fact, the trio of enemies in the foreground (uniformed here; in stereotypical conical hats in the movie) seem to flee in fear pretty successfully:



I'm not sure whether these changes are meant to make Dr. Manhattan seem more distanced from human morality (something that's supposed to happen gradually, not all at once, so placing that change in his past is a problem), or whether they're just meant to make him seem more dangerous, or more of a badass. Given some of the other aspects of the movie, I'm inclined to guess that Snyder's driven here by the cheapest and dumbest motives, but I could be wrong.

Similarly, there's more blood when Rorschach fights people. As a boy, Walter Kovacs bites the cheek of a boy who has been teasing him. (That's fruit juice on young Walter's face.) The cheek never splits open to gush blood.



The man who kidnaped Blaire Roche doesn't exactly get off easier in the book, but his demise seems to require a more cold-blooded detachment or dissociation from Rorschach. It's not a crime of passion. (Killing the dogs might have been.)



(In the movie, Rorschach tells the kidnaper that "dogs get put down" before he swings the cleaver. If anything, Chapter VI figures Rorschach, not the kidnaper, as being like a dog: in the panel right after he bites the other boy, two different speech balloons say he's "like a mad dog." And of course the split dog's head has the same fearful symmetry as a Rorschach blot.)

When Rorschach dispatches Big Figure in the prison bathroom, it's pretty clearly a death by drowning. As he walks out of the bathroom, Laurie tells him they shouldn't "dive head-first into things," and he answers:



Somehow, in Snyder's Watchmen, that turns into a seeping puddle of blood, not toilet water. (I hesitate to speculate how Snyder's Rorschach got that much blood out of Danny Woodburn.)

In these instances, I can really only guess that Snyder just thinks blood spatters are kewl, and that a badass super-vigilante would be even more awesome and extreme if he left a trail of bloody carnage.

Remember that flashy kung-fu sequence in the prison riot? Well, in the book, Dan and Laurie incapacitate most of the prisoners who are still alive after the riot by turning on the "screechers" in Dan's Owl-ship. These seem to give the prisoners nausea and headaches. So here's the kung-fu fight sequence from the original prison break:



That's some adrenaline-pumping action, isn't it? (Again, I think Snyder is mainly at pains to make his superheroes seem like badasses, instead of like out-of-shape middle-aged people with sharp minds, a bit of preparation, and some martial arts training.)

Oddly, there are a few scenes of blood in Moore and Gibbons's Watchmen that get played less brutally in Snyder's movie version.

One of them is the moment when Adrian Veidt is attacked by a gunman in his corporate offices. In the movie, Snyder's camera lingers over the bullet piercing Veidt's secretary's calf (in the book, she takes the bullet in the chest, and bleeds a lot). This is one of the few moments when his Matrix-style slow motion is justified by the tempo of the scene in the book. But look at how harshly the original Veidt handles his assailant, compared to the movie's quick, balletic strike:



My guess is that Snyder's Veidt doesn't hit as hard because he's never as athletic as the original Veidt. Snyder seems to want Veidt to be merely an effete ultra-rich celebrity, not a match for all comers in hand-to-hand fighting.

In fact, one of the other places where blood disappears in Snyder's adaptation is in Veidt's super-fast dispatching of Nite Owl in their "final battle."



That hurts. And in fact, that's the last moment when Dan tries any sort of attack against Veidt. (Rorschach keeps coming, and Veidt almost absent-mindedly neutralizes him several more times while Dan stands around, pats a cloth against his nose, and talks to Veidt.) In Snyder's vision of Watchmen, Nite Owl isn't pudgy around the middle, and is still able to imagine taking Veidt in a hand-to-hand fight. Moore's Nite Owl knows better than that.

And of course, there's one other scene in which the blood totally disappears.



Snyder shows us a few immolations in the climactic attack on New York, but the only aftermath we really see is architectural. What do you think that says about Snyder, or about his fetishization of blood?

Saturday, February 14, 2009

I Saw You...: A List of the Lovelorn



Big news for us here at Satisfactory Comics headquarters this week: our work appears in a newly-published book. We have a couple of pages in a new collection edited by Julia Wertz and published by Three Rivers (an imprint of Random House) called I Saw You...: Comics Inspired by Real-Life Missed Connections.



The anthology collects about a hundred short comics by about a hundred cartoonist contributors, each responding to the request to tell a story based on a "Missed Connection" Craigslist posting. It's a fun book to read, an excellent late Valentine's Day gift, and a fascinating sample of the strange and diverse world of alternative / minicomics cartoonists.



There are some big names in the book—Mike and I are thrilled to be between two covers with Peter Bagge, for example—


... but for me, to tell the truth, the greater pleasure is to be in a book with so many of our cartoonist friends: it's great to see Damien Jay, Tom Hart, and Jesse Reklaw in the book, along with people I know less well but really like, like Cathy Leamy, Alec Longstreth, and Sarah Glidden.

(Here are a couple of panels from Sarah Glidden's contribution to the book, featuring a couple that fails to meet at a Dada / Duchamp museum exhibit.)



As I said, it's a lot of fun just to read I Saw You..., but for some reason I have also been thinking about the book in terms of its possible classroom uses, even though I know I'm not likely to be teaching "Creative Writing: Comics" any time in the immediate future. Maybe this is because the conceit of the book is almost like a creative-writing exercise: "Find a Craigslist 'Missed Connections' post and make it into a story."

And in fact, one of the most interesting things about the book, for me, is the number of ways that the contributing cartoonists have responded to this prompt. There are several straightforward or not-so-straightforward illustrations of the scene of meeting (or not-quite-meeting), like the Sarah Glidden story I just quoted. But there are also a number of other takes. Several of the pieces show the ad in the process of being written, often by a grotesque mass of lusting flesh, as epitomized in this drawing by Ken Dahl:

Humor can come from deliberately misreading or exaggerating some part of the original posting—"I'm sorry I didn't react better" is illustrated with the poster delivering an uppercut to an unsuspecting young man in The Ink Lab's contribution; and Kenny Keil's simple five-panel joke offers a positively Wenthean take on "exchanging smiles." There's plenty of fun to be had, too, in simply playing up the ridiculous strangeness that anonymous posting can allow.

A more poetic take on the recurring lonely monologues of the Craigslist board can be seen in Damien Jay's contribution.

Two of my favorite pieces in the book, the ones by Gabrielle Bell and Aaron Renier, don't quite follow the formula but instead tell autobiographical stories about undocumented missed connections and other uses for the missed-connections column, respectively. Both of those stories manage to pack a lot of complicated emotion into just a few pages, and they do a lot to extend the range of the book. Here are a couple of panels from Aaron's story:



But by and large I Saw You... is a really interesting casebook in transforming found materials into narrative. I imagine assigning it to a group of student cartoonists, then asking them to scour Craigslist and draw comics based on the postings without using any of the same strategies. It'd be a really hard assignment, though.

The other thing that I found fascinating about the book—and to tell the truth, even a little disorienting—was the way that it serves as an anthology of cartooning styles. There are no rules or house styles for drawing in the world of minicomics, and I Saw You... contains a really broad range of drawing styles, as you can already see from the images I've posted. The cartoons range from gawky naïve simplicity to photo-referenced hyperdetail, from clear-line elegance to exuberant brushwork, and from crude and sketchy to careful and tidy.

The best thing this book could do in a classroom for cartoonists, really, would be to liberate their sense of what good cartooning can look like. Would that sequence by Sarah Glidden be more effective if it were drawn more like this sequence by Kaz Strzepek?

Certainly not, but both of the stories work very well in the styles they're drawn in, and young cartoonists could easily learn a lot from both of these cartoonists.

There are even, necessarily, a few cartoonists that (for me, at least) would serve as negative examples. I'm not a fan of the stiff, photo-referenced, Photoshop-toned "good drawing" visible in the piece by Dan Henrick, for example ...

... though I do recognize that, as one of the book's reviewers pointed out, there's a clever detail in it: the book that the man's holding in this image should have told the woman that her chances were slim.

In fact, thinking about appealing cartooning styles reminds me that I Saw You... has tipped me off to a few cartoonists I'm going to have to watch—people whose work I don't remember seeing before, who seem to be really capable and interesting. These would include, for example ...



Indigo Kelleigh, whose cross-hatching is some of the most attractive in the book, and ...




Jonathan Hill, who has a really appealing brush line.

In short (as if that were still possible), I strongly recommend I Saw You..., and not only for Satisfactory Comics completists. It's a small book that packs a big punch. Just remember, in the words of Jeffrey Brown,

Sunday, August 19, 2007

A Bit of Good News



Why so broken up, little guy?

Haven't you heard the good news, that our story that features you was accepted for the I Saw You anthology today? That's the story based on two real "Missed Connections" posts from Craigslist -- the story in which you fantasize about writing an ad to attract the attention of a beautiful barista, then realize that posting an ad like that would be really creepy. It's great news that the piece has been accepted -- lots of people will read it!

Oh, I see. You're sad because your humiliating thoughts will be exposed in front of all those readers, aren't you?

Well, I tell you what -- we'll fictionalize you, okay?

(The image above was one of Mike's preliminary doodles for the strip -- supposedly those are the panels that happen right after the ending of our second page.)

Saturday, August 18, 2007

One panel from a new story

Last week, during the same session that produced those new shuffleupagus pages, Mike pencilled a new story, which we're going to be submitting to an anthology called I Saw You. The anthology is a bunch of short comics based on "Missed Connection" posts to Craigslist and other similar classifieds.

Anyway, earlier today I finished inking the piece, and although I'm going to hold off on posting the whole thing for a while, this panel more or less captures the spirit of the story:


Are you tantalized? (Y/N)

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Tales from the Classroom

I'm working on inking our "I Saw You" anthology submission, but I thought I'd go ahead and fulfill the promise I made last week and make a post about Tales from the Classroom, the collection of teaching case-studies that we drew for the Graduate Teaching Center at Yale over the summer of 2003. Here's the cover, which is loaded with little gags and fun details you may not be able to make out in this photo (though you can click it, like any of the images in this post, to enlarge it). Notice the way we used the Mike Mignola theory of triangular composition on this one:

Can you spot Zombie Mike and Isaac? If the GTC prints a second edition of the book (and they've been talking about doing that), I'd like to recolor the cover. Now that I know a little more about Photoshop (I don't think I had ever even used it then), I could probably make that color look a lot better.

Tales from the Classroom is a collection of seven stories or scenarios about problem moments in the classroom, drawn from real teaching experiences by graduate students at Yale. Everything in the book was adapted from prose "case studies" written up by the people who experienced the events. (These studies were fictionalized with respect to names and disciplines, but the events remained the same.)

Our idea with Tales from the Classroom was that, if prospective teachers learn well from reading and discussing prose case studies, wouldn't they gain even more from reading comics, where they could observe gestures, facial expressions, spatial relations, and so forth? Judging from the response we've received from this book, that's certainly the case -- though more often than not, people just want to talk to us about Millie and Charles.

Several of the cases lack closure (which is why I think of them more as scenarios than stories) and they often end with questions designed to promote conversation. Often, this takes the form not only of "What should I do next?" but "What did I do wrong?" or "How did I let this happen?" -- and we did our best to load the stories with clues as to the origins of the problems that finally come to a head and drive the teachers to seek help.

Here's an example of a truly awkward moment that the grad student in question probably could have headed off, where one of his freshmen starts to act on the crush she has on him:

(I've rearranged those panels slightly from the way they appeared in the original book, for your convenience.) If you read that story, our hope is that you can see how James could have prevented this situation, or what in his teaching style led to this predicament.

Here's a couple of sequences from the longest story in the book, a scenario that's not only about teaching but about the advice you can give to other teachers. In this one, Carl is an art history T.A. whose section seems to be going really well until he gets to the very end of class. The discussion is very lively, intense and interesting, right up until he asks the question that's supposed to connect the section's activities to what's been happening (on quite a different track) in lecture.

Animated discussion ...

... that leads to awkward silence?

Things actually get a little worse than just awkward silence before the end of this story, since this question and its subsequent discussion manage to offend one of Carl's students in a way he didn't anticipate. The whole thing is being observed by a grad student from the Teaching Center, and the questions at the end of the case aren't just about what Carl should be doing, but about what the observer feels it's fair to tell him.

Strictly in terms of cartooning, doing this much adaptation of "talky," dialogue-heavy narrative gave us plenty of chances to experiment with layout, and we had a lot of fun with that. Here's a sequence with the aforementioned Millie the Mumbler, a case-study from a foreign-language classroom, where one of the students simply will not participate at an audible volume:

(Obviously, I was taking a page out of Chris Ware's playbook for that one; imitation is supposed to be the sincerest flattery.)

Here's a nice little sequence of "scene-to-scene" transitions with very little change, from a piece called "Joe the Dreamer," about a student who sleeps through most of a summer Italian class, and what to say to his classmates when they mock him behind his back (but in front of the instructor). Again, I've rearranged the panels, and again, you really have to click to enlarge:

... And here's another contest! I'll send copies of two Satisfactory or Elm City Jams comics to the first person who correctly identifies (in the comments on this post) all four jokes in all four of Joe's t-shirts!

For those of you who don't win the contest, however, I'm also posting, below, the entirety of the case study called "The Silent Critic," which features Charles, the Creepy Colleague, a fellow T.A. who so gets under the narrator's skin that the narrator starts to doubt his own teaching and his own ideas. You'll want to click these images to enlarge them, naturally -- but the whole thing ought to be readable.





I don't have enough copies of this book to sell them, but if you'd like to get one of your own, I suggest that you follow the "Contact Us" link on the Graduate Teaching Center website and pester Bill Rando or one of the GTC staff about bringing out a second edition. It's high time this book was in the hands of more people, I think.

Thursday, July 5, 2007

Satisfactory Comics #6 (Jun. 2005)


Our sixth issue is a complex little anthology, loaded with extras. It features five stories on the inside of the comic, and one bonus comic inside each of the pockets (front and back) on its cover.

Inside the front cover is our adaptation of Ciaran Carson's sonnet "Fear," which appears in The Twelfth of Never. You can just see that tiny yellow minicomic peeking abashedly out of the pocket in the image of the front cover, above. Inside the back cover is a set of eight cards, each of which has a panel of comics on either side.


Dealing these cards out into five-panel strips will give you more than 215,000 possible comics, and although we can't testify that every one of them makes the most crystalline sense, the subject of these cards is a search for enlightenment, so there's no reason they should all be perfectly scrutable on first reading. (Actually, our readers report that most of the combinations work quite well.)

Inside the comic, you'll find our first two entries in the Mapjam project, plus three other pieces. First, there's an autobiographical essay called "Killing Time, or How I Beat Civilization." This seven-page piece was originally a submission for the 2004 SPX anthology (which was on the theme of war), though the editors didn't accept it. It's the story of Isaac's involvement with strategic conquest computer games, how he kicked that habit, and how the games still influence the way he sees the world. (As usual, you can click on this image to bring it to legible size.)


The second seven-page story in the comic is "The Case of the Shifty Shavian," a detective story that is also a sestina in comics form. (If you're not familiar with the sestina as a poetic form, its rules or conditions involve the structured repetition of a set of six words, one at the end of each line in the poem. Our comics version of the form has these end-words repeated as the final words (in dialogue, captions, sound effects, or ambient text) in each of the six panels on the page.) The hero of this piece, Beaumont Fletcher, is hunting for the missing literary critic Abraham D'Yiyef when he becomes embroiled in a murder mystery involving George Bernard Shaw.

Just to make things harder for ourselves, we also included (in this comics sestina) lines of dialogue from our friends and readers, whom we asked to supply a sentence or two that they'd like to see spoken in a detective story. These lines came to us from John Irwin, Paul Fry, James Cummins, Marie Borroff, H. Stern, and Matt Madden; Jeremy Jacobs, Micah Lapidus, Patrick Denker, and Bill Deresiewicz supplied four other lines that wound up as captions for single-panel cartoons elsewhere in the issue. (That's another one of the bonuses!)

The last story in the issue is our adaptation of chapter 41 of the book of Job, drawn up for this issue and for The Flaming Fire Illustrated Bible simultaneously. The entirety of the adaptation is visible if you follow that link, but Flaming Fire presents the illustrated verses one at a time, and they're also designed to work in page-by-page layouts.

All in all, Satisfactory Comics #6 is 28 pages of hard work, with two bonus comics in its pockets. Because of the extra work involved in making the pockets, supplies are limited. If you want to buy one of the last copies, they're available at our Storenvy shop.

$5.00 may sound kind of steep, but this one is packed with quality. Don't take our word for it: Rob Clough's High-Low Column picked Satisfactory #6 as one of the Ten Great Minicomics of MoCCA 2005!