First off, no Dapper Dan this morning. Sorry folks. I know a lot of you were hoping he would tell you whether or not the new cinematic superhero extravaganza was worth watching, but somehow the publicity department neglected to send him screening information. (I wonder why?) So you’ll have to make up your own mind.
But here’s another comics related film worth watching. I’d seen links to it going around all week, but didn’t think the concept (Ken Burns meets the history of comics) sounded very promising—or at least I thought what it promised was not the kind of humor I’m interested in. But after Jeet e-mailed it to me last night, I finally took the plunge and watched it, and it’s pretty funny. (TCJ.com columnist R.C. Harvey is a prominent figure.)
Today on the website, Kristy Valenti reviews Jess Fink’s Chester 5000 XYV. It’s an, um, erotic robot comic book.
Over the course of these essays I’ve talked about how The Invisibles returns time and time again to the metaphor of things lurking on the outside as a stand in for the denied and forgotten in our own lives and how these things, while alarming in the first instance, can’t be ignored because they give shape to our world.
And elsewhere, internet fiends:
-In case you somehow missed it, Life Magazine has a photo history of Mad on its site. Awfully fun stuff.
–Here’s a fine, slightly, but lovably, awkward Atom-age SF British comic strip. Those elements can only add up to something worth viewing.
-Over on my own PictureBox, Beth Kleber has posted a fine appreciation of West covers by the great James McMullan, an illustrator who, while not in comics, has taught many a cartoonist, and whose evocative sense of line and color should be an inspiration to anyone drawing.
-I don’t entirely understand this, but this blog will chronicle one man’s recreations of Miller/Janson Daredevil comics, along with commentary. I will check that out again for the sheer obsessiveness of it.
-I love reading comics gossip of bygone days and Greg Theakston’s new blog is no exception.
-And finally, fans of Jacky’s Diary (featured in Art Out of Time) should be sure to check out the new Alter Ego, which has the first part of an interview with Jack Mendelsohn, whose comics career has run the gamut from anonymous funny animal work to his own strip to… much more.
Today we introduce a new column, Mad About Music: My Life in Records, which is more or less what it sounds like. The surprising part is its author, one of the greatest working cartoonists alive, Kim Deitch. This should take some unexpected twists… First installment here.
Also, we have a review of Sam Kieth’s Arkham Asylum: Madness, written by a new reviewer, Nicholas Gazin. You may know him from his regular comics column in Vice.
We have missed sending you to many, many links lately. Here are a few of them.
Finally, two convention reports from this year’s HeroesCon, one from Shannon Smith, and another from former organizer Dustin Harbin. I’ve only been to one of the HeroesCons, but it was one of my favorites, and I like keeping up with the event’s evolution.
Finally, this doesn’t sound like a good idea, but somehow I doubt it will happen. Dapper Dan is already contacting publicists.
Richard Gehr returns with his third installment of Know Your New Yorker Cartoonists, this time with the great Roz Chast. If you haven’t been following Richard’s journeys into New Yorker country, you better catch up! It’s best ride. Next up is Lee Lorenz.
And elsewhere, in case you missed it:
-Over on Daniel Best’s blog he has the filing papers for a since-closed 2004 lawsuit by Carmine Infantino, claiming ownership over some characters. The most interesting aspect in the post is a letter from fellow old pro (and now deceased) Mike Esposito. All these lawsuits, all these claims. All the hoopla around the relaunched DC, in all its silliness, just makes me think about lawsuits.
Welcome to the working week. The rolling wave of previews from our long-awaited issue 301 continue this morning, with an excerpt from a conversation between the legendary Mad and Humbug artist Al Jaffee and the Tales to Thrizzle cartoonist and funniest man on Twitter Michael Kupperman. Gary Groth moderates.
Also on tap this morning, TCJ.com’s Star Reporter Sean Rogers reviews the new Jim Woodring graphic novel, Congress of the Animals. Here’s the first paragraph:
Have we ever been asked to actually root for Frank before? As the star attraction in Jim Woodring’s oddball menagerie, the purple-furred, minstrel-gloved naïf is usually just a little shit. Whether he’s stabbing the craven Manhog in the ear or apprenticing himself to the diabolical Whim, Frank is often little more than a dastard, a rogue, a loafer with a blank stare. Despite the occasional glimmer of fellow-feeling, Frank pursues his desires and exacts his revenge with few pangs of conscience and little concern for the future. Strange, then, that with Congress of the Animals, Frank has for once become our hero, our champion, our semblable.
If you were on the site this weekend, then you already saw Frank Santoro turned in one of his inimitable and highly entertaining travel reports, this time documenting his time visiting Kevin Huizenga, Dan Zettwoch, Ted May, and Sacha Mardou in St. Louis. As is Frank’s wont, the piece also includes an elegy to the pre-internet minicomics world, a behind-the-scenes glimpse at art methods behind Huizenga’s new Ganges issue, and a seemingly unending stream of recommendations for comics and art tools. In other words, it’s a good one.
Last Friday, we invited 4CP’s John “The Scan Master” Hilgart to provide our daily blog post—you read that, right?—and so it falls to me to make sure you didn’t miss the fifth entry of Michael DeForge’s Cartoonist’s Diary, this time with Risograph images. Thanks, Michael!
Also on Friday, in easily one of the best essays I’ve read on Chester Brown’s Paying for It written thus far—well worth checking out even if you’re sick of hearing about that book—Ken Parille splits himself into three and argues amongst himselves. You kind of have to read it to understand.
Superman’s problem is that no one can see him. Trapped in the premise of secret identity without a disguise, he becomes by necessity the invisible man, unrecognizable to his closest friends, all of whom he has held close on countless occasions as both Superman and Clark. He is the world’s most generic man, unidentifiable as himself.
It’s no wonder he’s fought so hard, for so long, to foil plots aimed at discovering him. He’s waiting for Lois or Lana or Jimmy or Lex to look into his eyes one day and say, “Jesus, Superman, you’re Clark,” or vice versa.
The Superman comic book is the visual paradox of Magritte’s “ceci n’est pas une pipe” turned into an identity crisis that never ends. Throughout the Fifties and Sixties, the problem metastasizes into narrative fixation, with countless panels containing both Clark and Superman, or two Supermen, or two Clarks, or a dozen identical Superman robots.
Like a Warhol series out of control, Superman’s face is a single photograph iterated into infinity, until it is no longer individual or even iconic, but instead a cipher that is wholly without visual interest. Lois Lane can’t really see that face, and neither do we, except perhaps when it is defaced.
Superman was a perfect superhero for exactly as long as he was the only superhero. He created the category – it’s named after him – and in doing so, he rendered himself generic, redundant: He’s the super superhero man. He went from being unique, to being the Platonic form, to being the boring one. Batman is a super man, but with more bat. The purity of Superman’s conception meant that every subsequent superhero was Superman with an interesting twist, or at least some additional visual interest.
And then there are the things that could only be learned after 100 stories and the birth of 100 more superheroes. Masks are really cool, and very handy in a secret identity scenario that is going to continue for 70 years, especially if it’s going to revolve around a love triangle in which the superhero plays two of the three roles.
It’s an Archie scenario in a superhero comic, a whole world that springs from and depends almost completely on a single, absurd suspension of disbelief. Archie can’t decide. Clark and Superman are different people. Archie’s version burns with the power of a million yellow suns; I can buy his comics in my grocery store checkout line. Superman, however, lost his struggle against the narrative kryptonite inherent in his original conception.
Having your superhero’s head look less interesting than that of his boring civilian alter-ego probably isn’t the best idea. Creatively and conceptually, undressing to become a superhero is brilliant. It’s sexy, for one thing, but putting on a different face has proved to be the most convincing way to “change an identity” – in both the reader’s and the character’s minds. Imagine Batman without a mask, or The Hulk with Bruce Banner’s face. Batbruce (The Dark Playboy) is a joke, whereas Superclark is an apt summary of the problem around which Superman revolves. You can see it written all over his face.
And this is why Superman actually remains unique. He is the unfinished and irresolvable superhero. There have been debates about which of his aspects is the ego, and which is the alter ego, but really it’s a chicken and egg scenario; neither had priority. He arrived as an infant, tabula rasa, and the very first time his adoptive parents concealed his super-baby traits, he was split in two by a super-secret concerning his identity. He was always both Superman and Clark, or he is forever neither of them, two possibilities that are equally chilling.
As an adult reading those mid-century comic books, I am torn between campy amusement and a horrified sympathy for the poor guy. When I encounter all those stories that turn out to be “what ifs,” dreams, imaginary weddings, and events that might actually have happened in an alternate reality, I should see generations of comic book writers struggling to overcome the inherent narrative kryptonite. Instead, I like to imagine that these stories are Superclarkmankent’s desperate, blissful, and surely inevitable fantasies of a self who can finally come to rest.
Michael DeForge is back again this morning (or the Michael DeForge from March is, anyway), this time with a look at a Toronto-based psychoanalytic group, the kind they don’t make ’em like anymore.
Also, the indefatigable Rob Clough reviews the latest volume of Joann Sfar and Louis Trondheim’s Dungeon Monstres.
*When I saw who was involved with the Paying for It critical roundtable over at the Savage Critics (part one, part two), I got pretty excited. Up to this point, it’s been a lot more dismissive of Brown’s work than most reviews have been, and the participants are perhaps just a bit too in sync in their views (at least so far) for this to be quite as much fun as roundtables sometimes can be.
Based solely on the subject matter, I expected there to be a lot more angry denunciations of this book than have appeared so far. Responses have been unusually measured in general. I also expected at least a few reviews to be entirely positive, extolling Brown’s politics as obviously correct, and so far I haven’t read any at all. They’ve got to be somewhere right? On a libertarian blog somewhere, or a prostitution website?
*Seth’s father, who wrote the memoir Bannock, Beans, and Black Tea, has passed away, and the cartoonist wrote a tribute to him on the D&Q site.
-Patrick Rosenkranz returns with a rare profile of Diana Schutz, who has had a fascinating career in comics and, as Patricks susses out, an also intriguing career as a teacher.
-TCJ Talkies gets the great cartoonist Howard Cruse on the line. I’ve admired Cruse’s comics for a long time. I remember going to a signing for Stuck Rubber Baby in St. Louis many years ago and still think of that book as a landmark in ambition and execution. Cruse is a true trailblazer, and I greatly enjoyed and heartily recommend his recent book from Rizzoli, The Complete Wendel, which collects his longtime comic strip, Wendel, which was published in the Advocate. Besides featuring Cruse’s excellent, lush cartooning, the book is one of the only records of the gay community in the 1980s in comics form. Don’t miss it.
* I loved Richard Merkin‘s wonky, heartfelt artwork. It used to appear in the New Yorker before his death. Evocative, blurry images. He was also a prolific collector, and some of his fabled accumulation is now up for auction. Here is a 1910 Tad Dorgan advertisement up for auction. Beauty itself.
* Via Will Sweeney: Hawkwind on the Marc Bolan TV show. And no, I didn’t know such a thing existed.
What did Hawkwind have to do with comics? Barney Bubbles, man! What did Barney Bubbles have to do with comics? Well, he did some good Druillet swipes and…Uhhh, I’d hazard a guess that the future 2000 A.D. blokes kinda liked this:
Not to mention this:
* Oh, and don’t forget about Forcefield. Seriously.