Chick Chicky Boom
If you were a kid around 1994, you probably saw The Mask. For me, it was one of the few films I saw with my mom in a theater, so I remember it pretty well. I had always been a big fan of Tex Avery and his very particular style in Looney Tunes and MGM cartoons. The film was like one of Tex's shorts brought to life, full of wacky nobody-really-gets-hurt violence and innocuous lechery. Which made the comic that inspired it surprise me all the more.
Click to enlarge
Mayhem #2, Dark Horse Comics, June 1989
I've been reading the old Mask comics recently, and the fact that they inspired what is, for all intents and purposes, a kids' movie is staggering. Instead of the film's wacky, mischievous, the comic's Big Head (as the papers covering his murders call him) is a serial killer with a twisted sense of humor, more akin to the Joker than anything from a cartoon. The big change for the film was that, as Wikipedia states, while they “had problems coming up with a script that could show violence that was comical, but had more success with a story that had comedy that was violent.” As a genuine fan of cinematic violence, I never thought this would be a good thing
Honestly? From what I've read of the comic so far, it turns me off. The 80s were a period faulted by dark-for-the-sake-of-dark. The Mask comes off as indulgence with nothing to hold it up. As far as the IP goes, I'll stick with this:
New In Town
It was the mid 1990s, and comic books were still working the late-80s requisite grimness out of their system. Grant Morrison became the opening writer to JLA, DC's new Justice League book, meant to revive the franchise. Morrison strikes an odd chord with comics fans. Opinions of him run the gamut between those who welcome his sci-fi psychedelic romps and out-of-this-world revivals of old characters and comics, and there are those who think he is little more than a drugged-out Silver Age fetishist. If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, it's pretty obvious that I'm on the fanboy side of the equation. Anyhow, He had proved himself to be a reliable and inventive writer with long-form works like Vertigo's Doom Patrol and Animal Man. However, this was long before he was handed the keys to DC Continuity wholesale. He still had to follow the bizarre choices of the editorial decisions around him, which involved using the unfortunate Electric Superman for a spell (Yeah, let's hear your complaints about Wonder Woman's new costume again.) An aside: if a thirteen-year-old who considers DragonBall Z OVAs to be compelling and original entertainment finds your new Superman concept to be ridiculous, beat your word processor into a plowshare immediately.
Morrison opened JLA with an invasion. An invasion of new superheroes. The Hyperclan endeared themselves to Earth's population with a combination of superficial acts of charity – turning the Sahara into a forest – and the sort of ultraviolent, take-no-prisoners attitude toward supervillainy that made the Todd McFarlanes and Rob Liefelds of the time such roaring successes. Even if you were brand-new at comics, it was pretty clear where the storyline was headed around the time the Hyperclan roasted Wolverine and Doctor Doom at the stake.
After exposing themselves as conqueror-villains, the Hyperclan immediately disabled the newly-formed JLA. Except not the entire group. In one line, Morrison managed to convey the wonderful naivete of Silver Age supervillains, while taking the piss out of every grim-as-graveyard-dirt, man-sized-gun toting “hero” to grace the pages of Image comics:
I can't find any other word for that line of reasoning outside of “adorable.” Needless to say (and SPOILER ALERT for a 14-year-old comic storyline) Batman discovers the Hyperclan's secret weakness and saves the day.
Shave and a Haircut
The main villains of the 10-year-long, 27-issue Warren Ellis/John Cassaday masterpiece Planetary were a group who called ominously called themselves The Four. Basically, they were a perversion of the classic Stan Lee/Jack Kirby Fantastic Four, whose popularity maintains fifty years after their creation. Where the FF wanted to spread their technology and discoveries to advance mankind, the Four hid everything they found, jealously guarding their (usually stolen) technology and conducting bizarre experiments on human beings. Considering Planetary was an exploration of comics history, having the antagonists be a twisted parody of one of comics' longest-standing teams was a great touch on a great comic.
One of my favorite visual references to the old FF comics came from Planetary #6. I can't take credit for discovering this. I originally read it over at the Planetary Comic Appreciation Page, which, in my opinion, is the best source of Planetary annotations on the web. (Quite possibly, it is also the only complete one.) In the panel below, the disguised William Leather – the Four's Human Torch pastiche – reveals himself to Planetary field agent Elijah Snow:
Here is the original 1962 Lee/Kirby scene from Fantastic Four #4. Namor, the Sub-Mariner (missing since his Golden Age adventures) is revealed from his disguise by the Johnny Storm, the Human Torch we know and love:
SHHHIRT
I've recently been re-reading the grand Matt Fraction/Ed Brubaker run on Immortal Iron Fist. I have to say that I absolutely adore David Lanphear's noun-based illustration of the sound effects which appear in David Aja's segments (each issue takes place in two or three different timeframes, with a different artist for each.) I usually don't pay a whole lot of attention to that particular facet of comics, but he's got me looking at every issue real close now.
All from Immortal Iron Fist #1-6
I’ve Got A Real Red Wagon
In what may be one of the most tenuous connections I have ever made between two pieces of media, I think I found a reference to Christopher Guest's folk-scene mockumentary A Mighty Wind in issue #4 of Gregg Hurwitz/Jerome Opena's ongoing Vengeance of the Moon Knight. Here's the panel:
And the Fred Willard monologue:
In Praise of Brevity, Pt. 2
Click to Enlarge
All-Star Superman #10, 2008, Grant Morrison & Frank Quitely
Morrison and Quietly, as they tend to in this series, get along so many emotions and ideas in so few words and such very simple illustration. There a million reasons – some I can describe, some I cannot – but this panel gets me right in the gut every time I see it. There's a context to it revealed organically, previously in the issue: Superman stops a runaway train, riding which is Regan's psychiatrist. He is on other side of the telephone – that small pink thing Regan (nice choice of name, by the way) drops the lefthand panel.
Her facial and body expressions tell the story in a way that dialogue never could. There's sense of disappointment and resignation in her body language: one hand at her mouth, rendering her mute, the other hovering over the dropped phone, unsure of what it has done. With her eyes shut that tight, you know she doesn't want to do what she is about it, and inside that wide-eyed surprise at Superman's silent arrival, there is a sense of relief and closure; things have gone wrong for her, again, but this time it may not be so bad. She still tries to get away from him, almost by reflex, in that Tim-Burton-doll way she is exists, not believing his words but just as quickly embraces him for dear life.
Her sense of alienation is painted perfectly; she's a dark, scratchy splotch against the majestic impersonality of the Metropolis skyscrapers. Superman's speed, too, is conveyed brilliantly as faster than the speed of thought. He arrives silently enough to not spook Regan, in the midst of her last thought, and his touch is calm and soft enough to simply surprise her. He is much larger than her, as invulnerable but not as impassable and numb as the environment which has driven her to suicide. His embrace lets her know that there is a part of her just like him, and in that way, just like the buildings, just like everything in her world, and that she is in no way alone, nor can be.
Secret Indemnity
Along with the scene discussed in this previous post, my other favorite Justice League Unlimited moment comes from “The Great Brain Robbery.” The episode is your standard Freaky Friday scenario: the Flash and Lex Luthor have switched brains and chaos ensues. The Flash manages to, for the most part, get by undetected although not without raising a few eyebrows:
Luthor, on the other hand, is screwed from the get-go. The Justice League almost immediately figure out the trouble and begin to hunt down him through the satellite. Taking a quick break from attempting to escape, Luthor has, what is in my opinion, the single funniest line in the entire series:
Playground
I saw Iron Man 2 this weekend and enjoyed the hell out of it. It had pretty much everything missing from the first film: a superpowered villain from the get-go, alcoholism, Sam Rockwell … I could go on. Now, it wasn't a ground-breaking film that redefined how we look at crazy men in costumes and all such jazz I'd like to pretend people expect out of these films. No. It was explosions and witty dialogue and a drunk billionaire urinating in a giant metal suit to please a crowd. My expectations were met and, at the exact moment when Mickey Rourke (in a delightfully dead-on Russian accent) says the phrase “this software is sheet,” exceeded.
So, I got home and decided to read some Iron Man comics. It was suggested I start during Warren Ellis' “Extremis” arc. Right in issue one, something caught my eye. If you're not familiar with his craft, you should know that Ellis has worn his cultural interests on his sleeve throughout his entire career – Transmetropolitan's Spider Jerusalem, for instance, would repeatedly (and sloppily) quote the Pixies' lyrics as dialogue. The scene below, occuring at a Stark International complex in “Coney Island, NY” (my relationship to which I've written about earlier,) was a bit more unexpected:
If you're a fan of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, you'll recognize that as a rephrased version of the monologue which opens “Sleep” on Lift Yr Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Heaven:
Again, considering this is Warren Ellis, I'm wasn't too surprised, but it was nice to see a wink-wink-nudge-nudge sort of reference. As opposed to, in the next issue or two, having a character parrot out a brief summary of the works of Terence McKenna's. There's something to be said for both subtlety and pleasing the pretension of your audience.
Suspenso!
Sometimes you just need to sit back and watch some fan-made comic book film trailers. Like Grayson, for instance. It's the story of Dick Grayson's re-donning of the Robin mantle after the death of Batman. The trailer is surprisingly well made, especially the acrobatics.
...and then there's Italian Spider Man. There is nothing I can say about this that won't ruin everything.
Apparently it has been made into a web series. So, uh, if you have greater inclination to watch it than I do, let me know what you think of it.
Devourer of Paints
Suburban L.A. was not the most exciting of places to live without a job or a car. One spring day, I decided to develop a hobby. Down I went, hoofing it through three parking lots, to the local Wal-Mart. I picked up some undershirts, fabric paint and printing paper which had glue on the back, like a post-it note. Utilizing my awesome Photoshop skills and my girlfriend's pen-knife, I made some t-shirts. As far as original designs go, this was my crowning achievement. I did not use a pre-made stencil, although I'll admit that Jack Kirby's art takes to stenciling better than most:
Unfortunately, I only later realized that undershirts show off pit stains like they're proud of it. Gross. I still have the stencil, however and here's the PSD in case anyone wants to make a Galactus shirt of their own. There's two layers, each to be printed on a separate sheet to form the head. The text was just a standard stencil font.
Okay, now here is how you make it. It requires:
- Sticker paper
- A small paint roller
- Fabric paint
- A pen knife
- A t-shirt
- A smooth, thick surface that can be slipped inside the t-shirt - I've found that hardcover textbooks are perfect for this.
- Print each layer of the PSD on a separate page of sticker paper.
- Make the stencil by cutting the dark sections out of the sticker paper with the pen knife.
- Slip a surface inside the shirt so that it splays out. (I've found hardcover textbooks are perfect for this.)
- Align and apply the two halves of the stencil to the shirt.
- Paint over the stencil with the roller until you can no longer see the color of the t-shirt beneath the paint.
- Carefully peel off the stencil.
- Let dry overnight. Do not remove surface inside t-shirt until dry.
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