Showing posts with label Jason Lutes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jason Lutes. Show all posts

Talk Over Balloons: Jason Lutes, Donna Almendrala, and Bingo Baby


Last year, cartoonist and teacher Jason Lutes recruited a few of his recent students from the Center for Cartoon Studies for a session of the game Fiasco, which they would then turn into a comic. Bingo Baby, the book that came out of that session, is the first project for Lutes's collaboration focused publisher Penny Lantern Press, and is now being funded through Kickstarter (go help them out if you can!). I recently spoke to Lutes and Donna Almendrala about the project.

Josh Kopin: First, how did the two of you and the four other creators of Bingo Baby [Bill Bedard, Joseph Lambert, Amelia Onorato, Dennis St. John] decide to produce a comic using a role playing game?

Jason Lutes: In the spring of 2011, I flew down to North Carolina, to speak at the first annual Comics Fest at the Durham Country Library. While I was there, my friends at the library passed along a copy of Fiasco, which had been left for me by Jason Morningstar (who couldn’t make it to the Comics Fest itself). Jason and I had corresponded briefly about my ongoing comics series Berlin and his work in independent tabletop games, but we had never met face to face. I was excited to receive a copy of Fiasco, since I love tabletop and roleplaying games, but had only a passing knowledge of the indie game scene in which Jason is a big player.

I host a weekly boardgame night at the Center for Cartoon Studies, which is a great opportunity for me to socialize and introduce a younger generation to the sorts of games I love. At one of these game nights, soon after returning to Vermont from North Carolina, I pulled out Fiasco and gave it a spin. CCS students are cartoonists, and cartoonists are storytellers, so they took quickly to the way Fiasco creates a compelling, structured, yet improvisational narrative. The game was a huge success, and we played it a number of times over the following weeks.

I had been looking for some kind of hook for a project I had been mulling over, and Fiasco provided that hook. It's fun, fast, spontaneous, and structured so that it allows a group of players to contribute equally to the central narrative. By its nature, the game is also a set of constraints, and constraints give you clear boundaries and focus, reducing the scope of creative decision-making so that you can concentrate on whatever aspects you decide are essential. In the case of this project, I wanted spontaneity, interaction, and a story with multiple voices, so Fiasco was perfect.

Thumbnails for a page of Bingo Baby, done by Joseph Lambert and Jason Lutes
JK: Jason, how did you bring the rest of the collaborators together?

JL: The idea for the project germinated in early 2011, when James Sturm (co-founder of CCS) and I were at a dinner party. We were talking about how successful a particular class project -- called "the Golden Age Project" had gone that year, and how we should expand upon the basic idea and move it outside of the classroom. For the Golden Age Project, we break the class up into teams of 5-6 students and give them two weeks to produce a complete 32-page, full-color comic book based on a genre from the Golden Age (superhero, western, etc.). It's a great experience, and one of the best parts is that each book's story is hammered out in the first 2-4 hours of the first day, with every member of the team contributing. tehre's a real feeling of seat-of-your-pants storytelling, that gets pushed through the classic production line before emerging in short order as a complete, polished package.

So we had a basic model for what would become the "penny lantern method," but I needed a team to pull of the first book. It was really important to me to have everyone in the same room as much as possible, much like a classic comics bullpen. Instead of a two week time frame and 32 pages, I settled on 3 months and 72 pages, with those 3 months being June, July, and August. For a while I was calling it the "Secret Summer Project." So an immediate limiting factor on whom I could recruit was that they would have to be sticking around White River Junction (the Vermont town where CCS is based) for the summer. I also needed to draw only from the alumni pool, since I didn't want this project to interfere with classwork, and/or create any tension around the idea that favoritism was at work.

Donna had been my T.A., and a general all-around superstar in the classroom, so she was an easy pick. She had been planning to head back to California after graduation, but I proposed this idea and, thankfully, she decided to stick around for the summer. I don't know how we would have gotten it done without her. Bill and Mia (Amelia) both graduated with Donna in 2012, and I had worked with them as their editor on the Golden Age project, so I knew they had the chops for the job. Joe and Denis both graduated back in 2008, but they have made White River their home, so I knew they weren't going anywhere. In the end, I couldn't have been happier with the team and everything they ended up bringing to the project. Which was pretty much everything.

Denis St. John's background pencils for that page.
JK: Did knowing that you were recording the gaming session, which you were then going to transcribe and turn into a comic, change the way that you played the game?

Donna Almendrala: We all knew that this game would set the foundation for the narrative of our upcoming comic venture. However, Jason was sneaky and actually told the group that we would be playing a round of Fiasco just as a warm-up exercise or a practice round, not the actual thing. This was partially to deal with potential nervousness that could have disrupted the game flow, and also to provide us with a way out in case our "practice" was an actual fiasco (not the good kind). Luckily, I think everyone played the game as normally as one can play the game, and any nerves seemed to disappear because we were actually having a fun time playing.


JK: Can you give me a sense of how the game is played?

DA: I'll field this one since it's pretty straightforward. The objective of Fiasco is for a group of players (3-5) to create a Coen brothers-like story on the fly and in the span of 2-3 hours. It sounds pretty intensive and it is due to all the active listening and thinking one has to participate in, but it is also really fun and hopefully generates lots of laughter. There is usually a winner at the end of the game, but you don't necessarily try to win, your goal is more to fulfill your character arc, good or bad, usually to the bitter end. Everyone sits around a table with a playset of random character relationships, wants and needs, objects, locations, etc. and by rolling dice each player assigns these random characteristics to other players until every person has a defined relationship to the person next to them and often some time of goal or object in common. This random assignment is not unlike rolling your character in any other tabletop RPG. Each player then creates their character based on this assignment of relationships and needs. The rulebook advises all players that the best way to play Fiasco is to think about their own character's needs, and to pursue them relentlessly. This in turn creates the foundation upon which the ensuing narrative is built. The rules of the game follow similarly to improv, when one player sets up a situation each other player must respond with an attitude of "Yes, and..." which essentially means that you must accept ideas that a player comes up with and then contribute something more to the story to further it along. There is a pool of dice in the middle of the table, half are black and half are white. One color indicates a positive outcome and the other color indicates a negative outcome. A person's turn consists of either setting up a scene involving his character and once it is set up, another player will hand him a colored die indicating whether this scene will end well for this character or poorly. Conversely, a player can request to be given a scene involving his character to resolve and then choose the colored die himself and whether the outcome will be good or bad. Each turn goes around the group clockwise with each person trying to further the goals of their character; there aren't really any rules besides "Yes, and..." and throughout the game, players can jump in to other people's scenes, act out supporting characters that sometimes appear, etc. Halfway through the game, there is a "Tilt" that gets thrown into the mix which throws characters out of their comfort zones and introduces another element of chaos. The game ends after everyone has gotten a "turn" four times, and there is usually an elaborate and disastrous story that has emerged from it which is perfect for translating to the comics page!

Amelia Onorato's penciled figures

The greatest lesson I learned while playing this game is realizing how compelling and unique a story can be if you bring many different personalities together and pursue character driven plots. Sometimes, as a creator, I can get bogged down in figuring out all the little details of world-building and making the twists and turns of the plot. But the best and organic stories usually arise from developing strong and interesting characters just experiencing their world in the same way we experience ours.

JK: Once you had completed the game, how did you go about turning it into a comic? Did all those personalities begin to clash a little bit?

JL: We recorded the session digitally, and transcribed the recording. Then, we had another meeting where we read it over and talked about things we needed to cut, change, or expand upon. Once we had hammered out the kinks in the plot and established an overall scene-by-scene progression (which mostly followed what had developed during that initial play session), I assigned each contributor scenes to "thumbnail," or turn into a comics draft with page and panel composition roughed out. Each contributor was given leeway to edit the transcript and shape the dialogue of their assigned scenes. Then, Donna and I took everyone's thumbnails, collated them, and revised them over two more drafts, until the characters felt consistent, the pacing was right, and the story felt solid.

At that point, we were ready to kick into assembly-line art production, which meant handing the pages to pencilers first -- Amelia handled all the figures, while Denis, Bill, and Donna handled props and backgrounds. Once the pencil pass was complete, Donna took on the monumental task of inking all 72 pages. And how long did that take you, Donna? I forget.

The compiled pencils
DA: Haha, yeah that was fun. I think I was trying to do maybe 4 pages a day. We finished around Sept-Oct.

JK: Donna, was it difficult to collaborate with so many other pencilers? And was there a particular reason that you did all of the inking yourself?

DA: Penciling was a tricky process because we tried to save time by having Amelia pencil the characters on every page separately from whoever did the backgrounds (not sure if this really saved time in retrospect). Sometimes the background penciler would have to draw the backgrounds before the characters were filled in. When I got to ink, I would composite the characters over the background, using Photoshop to transform the objects to make the perspective look right. Jason is king when it comes to drawing backgrounds, and he taught us one of his learned techniques called freehand perspective (this is just one of the secrets he shares with us in his classes at school) which really speeds up the process and gives you key things to look for when making things look correct. I think we wanted to have one main inker to smooth out the overall art style and have some kind of consistency at the inked level. I think it was also mostly out of necessity since everyone already had packed schedules and we barely were able to squeeze this thing out in time. It was really tough learning to ink someone else's pencil lines, but about 20 pages in, I got the hang of it and now the book is done I feel like I got a lot better for it.

JK: Do you think you approach penciling differently now that you have this experience inking
someone else's work?

DA: Well, I've always approached drawing pretty methodically. I really liked inking Amelia's pencils because I got to feel the way she draws figures and was great for practice because I'm not really good at that. Inking Jason's pencils was pretty thrilling since he's one of my favorite cartoonists.

Donna Almendrala's inks. 
I think I did a lot of absorbing through the whole drawing process. I drew another comic recently since Bingo Baby, and it ended up looking like partly Amelia's figures and similarly Jason-esque backgrounds.

JK: Given that, would you describe this sort of collaboration as a kind of learning experience?

DA: Definitely, individually as a cartoonist and on the whole. This was was the first of many experiments in collaboration. I think most of us rarely work on comic projects of this ambitious and aggressive of a schedule in a group setting. I was sort of curious to if this was going to end up a success or you know, a fiasco.

JK: How important was CCS's environment to the incubation of a project like this one? Do you think it would have been possible to put something like this together out there in the world?

JL: Everyone involved had to commit a lot of time and energy to get the majority of the work done within a three-month time frame, with the understanding going in that we had no idea what we would end up with on the other side. There had to be a of trust. I think you could pull that off in another context, but it would take a lot more effort and energy. Group chemistry is also a big part of the equation. The two CSS-related factors that really helped out were the sense of community that surrounds the school, and the fact that I had all of these guys in class for two years, so we had a shared language and understanding of how comics works.


Bill Bedard's and Joseph Lambert's colored page
JK: How are institutions like CCS important to the community of comics makers and readers? 

JL: I think this is impossible to really quantify, but I can try to answer the question in a general sense.

CCS students sometimes encounter a negative reaction from other cartoonists in regards to the fact that they are studying cartooning at the graduate level. The criticism is usually framed along the lines of "you don't need to go to school to learn how to make comics," or "real art can't be taught." And both of those things are true to a degree. But in my role as a teacher, I have witnessed three inarguable facts about CCS students: they form a community that becomes the foundation for their professional network; they become adept at giving and receiving constructive criticism; and during their two years in White River Junction, their cartooning improves at a phenomenal rate.

So CCS is important to comics makers in that we are helping to turn more of them out into the world, equipped with skills that well help them make the most of their lives as authors and artists. And we are important to readers in that our focus is on helping each individual cartoonist find a personal voice, and then find the best and clearest way to communicate to whatever audience may be ready to listen to that voice.

That all may sound pretty high-falutin', but I genuinely believe it to be true.

DA: I think CCS is a hotspot for attracting people who love comics and are passionate about creating their own ones. It's a really unique place that gives cartoonists a refuge to study and hone their craft. I personally found CCS's classes to be invaluable to my growth. At our graduation ceremony, commencement speaker Tom Devlin gave us parting advice saying that now as we re-enter the real world, we have a duty to share and teach others who might also want to learn the craft. It's one of the best ways to honor what we do and also to give back in something that has changed our lives for the better. CCS does pretty much that.

Thanks to Jason Lutes and Donna Almendrala for taking the time to talk to me. Go kickstart Bingo Baby!



Ich Bin Ein Berliner!

"Berlin" #17 from drawn & quarterly

American jazz musicians, Communists, Socialists, Jewish immigrants to Berlin, a self-hating writer and Hitler himself have all been characters at one time or another in Jason Lutes' long-running series about the Weimar Republic and its slow, sad, disintegration into the despot state that was Nazi Germany.

I LOVE "Berlin". (I also didn't mind Berlin, incidentally. Beautiful city.)

With all that said I felt let down by this issue. Is this issue at the same quality level as the other issues? Or are my opinions colored by the long wait since the last issue? Issue #16 was my first flush with the pleasure of reading Jason Lutes' brilliant work. Followed by a slow process of collecting most of the previous issues of "Berlin" finally allowing me to read the earliest ones. In which I discovered, in issue #3, Lutes' brilliant use of sound effect lettering which I detailed recently in an editorial here on The Long and Shortbox Of It and which I used as an example in my college Senior thesis.

(For the sake of accuracy and honesty, you should know I have not read "Berlin" #5 through #14. Certain details are lost on me as a result.)

"Berlin" is broken into eight-issue arcs; there will be three of them when the series is complete and then Lutes will move on to another project. So this issue is the first of the third, and final, story-arc of the series. I wonder if the series suffers from the same effect that many superhero series do: after the exciting feeling of an arc's conclusion the shift to an arc's beginning leaves the reader with the 'nothing happened here' feeling. This issue will undoubtedly go down as an important one in the series as it is the first time Hitler himself is shown on-panel.

"Berlin" #17 details several character interactions that don't lead much of anywhere:

-Four farmers work in a field. A very good scene.
-Hitler speaks with a propaganda man (Goebbels, I presume) in a dimly lit train-car.
-Our quasi-main character, the writer Kurt Severing, walks into the Communist Party headquarters, argues with an old acquaintance and leaves disgusted with what he sees.
-Silvia, a young girl, leaves the Communist headquarters and has a night-time conversation about the nature of political organizing and sabotage. Excellent scene!
-Finally, we are treated to young lesbian lovers being discovered in bed but treated as an innocent pair of friends comfortably naked with a member of the same sex. Another great scene.

Only about half of these scenes include involving details or revelatory moments, all are probably necessary set-up for what is sure to be a brilliant final story-arc bringing the entire sad story to the finish line, but still... What gives? 'Writing for the trade' in an underground comic? If there is over two years between issues, there should be a modicum of a self-contained nature to the story. drawn and quarterly's website even bills the new issue as:
"The beginning of the third book of the acclaimed historical trilogy. The long-awaited first chapter of Berlin: City of Light, the final volume of Jason Lutes' epic historical series."
~ publisher's online product description
Come now. Any product should awesome on its lonesome and the story feels incomplete here. Though, the issue undeniably ends well.

Lutes' art is as sharp as ever. Smooth and fluid. Never a line out of place. Beautiful street scenes. A character's facial reaction upon being kissed is ever-so-slightly spied in the quarter of her face visible to the reader while adorable squiggles and a sweat drop (synesthetic visual character 'emanata') spring out of the spot their faces touch.

THE LONG AND SHORTBOX OF IT?
A bit of a lagging story in this one, but gorgeous art and smart storytelling more than make up for it. I am unshaken, still looking forward to more. I am a "Berlin" fan.

It's still the best indie comic-book coming out right now. Ich bin ein Berliner.

~@JonGorga

The Transmogrification of The Indie Comic-Book into The Indie Graphic Novel (Series)

Jason Lutes' "Berlin" has been coming out since 1996 in a slim 30-page saddle-stitched format (that's just fancy talk for: it's a comic-book). But things have changed since 1996. Are "Berlin" and Adrian Tomine's "Optic Nerve" the last of the great indie comic-books?

Chris Ware's "Acme Novelty Library" became a hardcover graphic novel series when Ware began self-publishing the title at issue #16. Los Bros Hernandez' "Love and Rockets" became an annual paperback graphic novel with restarted numbering under the title "New Stories" in 2oo8. Finally, Seth's "Palookaville" jumped ship this year: with "Palookaville" issue #20, the series is now 'hardcover graphic novel volume' #20.

"Acme Novelty Library" changed formats like most people change their clothes but "Palookaville" now exists as nineteen comic-books and one graphic novel-ish thing. Seth is to be congratulated in at least one way: "Palookaville" Vol. 20 is a pretty gorgeous book object but doubts linger in the forefront of my mind.
"The expansion into hardcover from pamphlet is a parallel that illustrates Seth's growth ... into a book designer, hobbyist, editor, essayist, and installation artist."
~ "Palookaville" #20 (marketing writing on the book-band)
A slightly different tune from Seth himself (a slog of text yes, but worth it):

"It's not like I wasn't aware that the comic book format was coming to an end. A shift had occurred (this last decade) in the sales of comic books and people simply weren't buying 'alternative' comic books any longer-- they were waiting for the book collections instead. Books were the current 'healthy business model.' ... I was torn. I have a deep and abiding love of the old pamphlet form of comics. I grew up with them, and it is the most simple, austere and unpretentious format you could invent. ...

all the great alternative comics were gone ... Hate, Yummy Fur, Eightball, Yahoo, Dirty Plotte, Peepshow, Jim/Frank... they'd all vanished. Even Love and Rockets had turned into a large squarebound book. Only Optic Nerve seemed to be strongly carrying on. I hadn't truly realized how much of a dying breed we were. Was I leaving now too? It seemed a minor betrayal of something to quit the format. ...

It's difficult to do a long story all at once and putting it out a bit at a time was a method that worked for me. There was an era when the comics reader was more willing to go along with this approach ... Then they'd buy the book collection as well. I appreciated that too. I guess that day is done. ...

In fact, the less constrained page count would actually allow me to present larger chunks of the long story as well. ... I suspect that this format change itself will influence how my next long story is told. ... So, goodbye, comic book format. It was good to know you. I leave you with no regrets."
~ Seth from "Palookaville" #20: Introduction

So where does the 'comic-book' end and the 'graphic novel' begin? Well, somewhere in the middle of the 'graphic novella' I guess? At over 100 pages? Other than that I'll be damned if I know anymore.

Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie's "Lost Girls" was an indie comic-book slowly released over several years. The series was canceled and eventually finished when published as a bound book set and then a single volume "graphic novel". If the only way to get the entire story is to buy the trade, does that lend credence to the concept of a serialized graphic novel?

"I suspect that this format change itself will influence how my next long story is told." Of course it will. If I gave anyone alive one page a day to write something, the writing would be different than if I gave them 100 pages at once. Artists, like all humans, are adaptable. They expand or truncate to fit the space they're given. This affects the way these stories are told and if ALL indie creators switch over like this I fear we will begin to see an English-language paper-marketplace with very similar comics. I am working on a review of "Berlin" #17. Will my review of "Berlin" #18 (in 2o13 or whenever) be of a hardcover book? In which case, webcomics-in-print may become the new go-to source for a variety for voices who wish to do something in short formats without a superhero in it (not that there's anything wrong if there is) at a comics shop or box chain bookstore. Truth is: webcomics already rival the indie comics in that regard. Turn on your computer, type "recommended webcomics" into Google and you may be amazed at what you find.

But should not the talented creators of limited financial means be also given credit for surmountting the problem Seth clearly stated: "It's difficult to do a long story all at once"? As a creator of limited financial means (who believes himself to be talented) I myself know that to be true. Time, food, money. These are troubling obstacles to sitting at a computer/typewriter/drawing board/lightbox all day long. I believe those who do so, indie or otherwise, without immediate recompense and publish their hard-fought work all at once, are creators who deserve the term graphic novel.

In the end, I have little doubt that just as digital comics will take off, people will find a use for paper comics; so too, as the ongoing graphic novel series becomes more common, people will find a use (most likely an entirely original and unexpected one) for the comic-book.

Here's looking forward to whatever that may be.

~@JonGorga

Only in a World of Sequential Art

24 frames-a-second? No, I prefer thinking in panels-per-page myself. More flexible.

Poetry or Prose? No, I can choose between romantic or constructivist, photo-realistic or cartoony, impressionist or classical as I build my story (or afterward). More variety that way.
"I really think comics are more fun when they play to their strengths, and do the things that movies can’t do, and go to places in the imagination where movies can’t go. Let’s take up the type of storytelling that movies daren’t do, you know? Why are we conforming to Hollywood storytelling styles and losing sales when we can do anything? ... Comics begin with a guy, with a pencil and an imagination, or a guy at his word processor, and after that anything can happen. And so rarely does."
~ Grant Morrison interview in Comic Foundry, final issue, Spring 2oo9 (& readable here)
Comics are not 'movies on paper'. Nor are comics 'visual literature'. Those statements aren't strictly speaking wrong, they are close to the truth-- a version of it. But comics are something else entirely and to limit them by what other media can't do is... just limiting.

Josh's recent post about investigating form and a recent conversation with comicsmith Jason Little at the Brooklyn Comics and Graphics Festival has got my brain flowing with old academic thoughts. "More academic than usual," I hear the multitudes scream? Yes, more academic than usual.

Can you imagine the distinct world of the comics medium?

the opening pages of the Luna Brothers' "Girls" #1
Image: A young man in the throws of orgasmic physical pleasure. Image: A young woman lays with her clothes in disarray. What just happened? Not what you think.
The magic of comics is in the 'sequential' part of sequential art. Two images in sequence create a moment of time, but a moment made up of two frozen images can create particular illusions other mediums can't. A momentary trick that makes the status of the Lunas' main character painfully obvious. The second panel is a close-up. He holds a pornographic magazine and not a woman's love, as he wishes he did.

the faux-prose at the end of "Watchmen" #1-11 and "Superman: Earth One" and probably thousands of places
Whenever a comic visually displays something with text in the fictional world in such a way that it can be read as if it were actually prose, something unique has happened. A film that zooms in so close that the viewer can read some text on the screen would be awkward and slow the film's pace to horrible effect. (It was common in the 1940s, sure, but it was awkward.)

In a comic, the reader can stop to read the text as if it were prose, give it a quick scan, or choose not to read it at all and simply accept it as another two-dimensional prop existing in the world of the comic (at peril of missing out on part of the story, of course).

the typewriter sound effects in Jason Lutes' "Berlin" #3
The "tak" "takketa" "takka" sounds coming from Kurt Severing's typewriter transform suddenly into snippets of words being pounded out by the writers across the street, at least in Severing's imagination. All in typewriter font.

Environmental onomonopeia becomes a representation of a character's perception of the world in the very image of the environmental element's effects on paper! Or something like that. Either way, it's beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the moment where musical notes in the air become birds in flight.

the entirety of Jason Little's "Jack's Luck Runs Out"
The WHOLE THING is drawn in an imitation of the classic playing-card illustration style, everything from the characters and their props in the foreground to the environment of Las Vegas in the background.


The same stiff poses, the same blank stares from your game of 52 pick-up, but now in the service of a disturbing narrative about vacuous gamblers, show girls, con-men and the spiteful things they do.

the 'thought balloon-storm cloud' in Brendan Leach's "Pterodactyl Hunters in the Gilded City"
As a young man walks the streets of New York City circa 1904 turning over and over in his mind the current events of his life (like we all do) snippets of the last conversation he took part in dance around his head, mixed up like a tiny abstract poem surrounded by rough, uneven, random lines.


Comics can use any visual art styles or tools, any design elements, any written languages, and any typographic fonts the creator chooses! These examples I've given are only a fraction of the tricks and experiments out there that could only have been done in a comic.

Can you imagine the world of sequential art? A world where time exists frozen forever in snap shots, yet feels animated in sequence? A world where text can be read like prose, but the story can be told in bold visuals like film? A world that moves without motion and speaks without sound.

I can, and it is so damn beautiful.

~ @JonGorga