Welcome Back, Drums.

The Drummer's back!


Or, at least, the man who modeled the Drummer on himself is back, for the Rick Remender written Uncanny Avengers, one of the new series from Marvel to follow the conclusion of AvX.  Of the various announcements about the relaunch the company is calling, sort of insipidly, MARVEL NOW!, this is by far the most exciting. Cassaday, who has been absent from regular comics interior work since he and Warren Ellis finished up Planetary nearly three years ago, is one the Modern Age's great talents, an artist who has managed to meld almost photorealistic figures with an energy and movement usually lacking in a style that is mostly attended by an unfortunate stiffness. It'll be good to see his work on a monthly, or at least semi-monthly, or anyway regular, basis again. 

Above and Beyond Watchmen

Of all the questions that need to be asked about Before Watchmen, perhaps the most important one is the one that no one really wants to talk about. More important than whether or not DC has the right to publish such a thing (they do), more important than whether or not they should (that's a stickier issue, we'll get there in a second) is the mere fact that, despite everything else, DC Comics has begun to publish the meta-series, which begs the most important question in all of criticism:

Is it any good?

The answer, or at least the answer for the Darwyn Cooke written and drawn Minutemen mini is yes, it's very good. Of course it's good-- I'm not sure Darwyn Cooke even knows how to do wrong. Its is as if he picks up his inkpen and magic comes spilling out. Everything you've ever loved about his full color comics-- the compositional perfection, the visual puns, the soft edge, the cartoony style that manages to express grittiness, even revel in it, while ultimately rejecting it-- all those things are here. In the whole book, there's just one page that doesn't work, and that's because it doesn't take full advantage of the framework that Cooke has set-up for himself, a framework that he inherited from Alan Moore.

That is, of course, the two-hundred-and-fifty pound cigar smoking Comedian in the room; this story, this classic, if slightly cynical, coming together story, hasn't sprung from the mind of Darwyn Cooke. No, no. Not at all. It all comes from the mad genius of Alan Moore, the creator of Watchmen, over whose wishes this project was commenced. There's been a lot of hand-wringing about this; whether or not DC should have put these books together is one question, but there is absolutely no question that DC has the right to, since they hold the rights to the characters from probably the most popular and certainly the most significant superhero comic in the last forty years. They stand to make a lot of money from exploiting those rights, and they made a product that I wanted to buy, that I bought despite my reservations, so good on them.

No, there's no question about whether or not they could have and, obviously, they did. The bigger question is whether or not they should have and, if we're speaking in purely ethical terms, the answer is no. The fact that there are creators other than Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons associated with this project is absolutely insane; Moore and Gibbons obviously don't own the characters, not in the legal sense, but the characters certainly are theirs. No one else could have made the book that they made, and no one should be doing it now.

But, again, they did. And it's good.

But, still, we're left with another should they question, namely, should DC Comics have felt the need to tell these stories? We certainly don't need them; Watchmen is as close to perfect as superhero comics get, in part because it builds a world, mostly from scratch, gets its audience to care about that world and its concerns, and then it wraps itself up. There is, at the end of Watchmen, nothing more that needs to be said about Watchmen. But here I am, reading Darwyn Cooke's Minutemen series, adding to a story that is full and complete.

To be completely honest, because it is a problem of stories, a problem of complete ideas and finished thoughts, this addition, this fleshing out, is the most problematic thing for me about Before Watchmen. The existence of the meta-series means that DC has completely bought into the engine that drives mainstream superhero comics, that is, never ending storytelling. Batman's story, or Superman's, has been told at regular intervals for the greater part of the last century and comics, more than any other medium, support stories that can go on forever. We can follow Dick Grayson, for example, from Robin to Nightwing to Batman and back to Nightwing, because we've come to care about Dick Grayson, and because we want to know what happens to Dick Grayson next. This is often thrilling, and its part of the reason that comics have a rabid, and often unreasonable and uncritical, readership. Its why fandoms are built up around comics.

Of course, the fact that something comes next, the fact that Dick Grayson's story will never end, means that each story is necessarily incomplete. That something must follow in order for what comes before to have been meaningful. Because Watchmen, complete as it is, is already meaningful, because it is already important, the Before Watchmen comics, no matter how good they might be, are always going to be unimportant, barely meaningful, because they don't really add to Watchmen. They aren't going to make me care anymore about what comes next, and, more importantly, they aren't going to change the way I understand Watchmen because they can't, because Watchmen already is. The only stories that need prequels are stories that aren't fully formed. The only stories that need to be told forever are stories that are meaningful in part because they are told forever. Watchmen only really needed to be told once, only could be told once. And what we're going to get out of Before Watchmen are comics that are stilted, more concerned with moving the right pieces into the right place, like the assembly of chess game, than they are with playing the game that needs playing.

Rightly, no one is interested in how the grandmaster's king got onto the board. And we shouldn't be interested in Before Watchmen, because no matter how good it is, it can't ever really be any good.

Maurice Sendak

There have been a couple of fascinating comics tributes to Maurice Sendak bouncing around the internet today. Over at his blog, and reproduced below, Craig Thompson has a nice little tribute to Maurice Sendak, which I think speaks volumes more than words ever could:


I wish I could say that I had seen Sendak's influence in Thompson's work before now, but thinking about it, its there, clear as day. I would like to know specifically what Sendak told Thompson about his art, and I would have liked to know what Thompson took from Sendak, but, given that the two had a personal relationship, this seems a much more honest kind of tribute, in the voice that comes most naturally to Thompson.

There's also this old Art Spiegelman interview that's been banging about, which I think brings into focus why, exactly, Sendak's work is so important. We, culturally, like to believe that childhood is privileged, protected from the big-bad-wolf of the outside world and, in some ways, it is, but it's also got its own terrors, even for those of us who were lucky enough to grow up in safe and healthy environments. The crux of Sendak's work is to  admit that those big-bads exist, and then to do to celebrate their existence as part of what makes us us, and as what provokes the better angels of our nature.

Basically, Maurice Sendak was more honest about childhood than any other theorist (accidental or not) of the subject ever was; that honesty, that caustic, challenging voice, is going to be sorely missed. 

Graphic Narratives for Adults

From Judith Thurman's really excellent profile of Alison Bechdel, in the New Yorker:
Graphic narratives for adults, by a single author, unlike comic books, which are often produced by a collective, began to appear [Hillary] Chute [author of the academic study Graphic Women, which puts Bechdel's work alongside that of Aline Kominsky-Crumb, Marjane Satrapi, Phoebe Gloeckner and Lynda Barry] writes, only in the early nineteen-seventies, when a Catholic outsider artist named Justin Green, who was obsessed with evil "penis rays" emanating from his sex organ, published Binky Brown Meets the Virgin Mary. The genre, from its inception, has been raunchy and anarchic. Bechdel, with many of her peers, shares Green's impulse to commit sacrilege. They treat a serious subject-- abuse, persecution, pathology, with crude humor and raw imagery, and subvert a form of entertainment associated with the childhood thrill of defying parental strictures about "good" and "bad" books. "Sometimes I think I became a cartoonist because my mother simply doesn't get comics," Bechdel said. "They're like the ultrasonic ringtone on a teenagers phone."
There's a lot of really complicated, really interesting stuff going on here, but what strikes me more than anything else is how far out of her way Thurman has to go to avoid the term "graphic novel" in the first sentence. Bechdel, in Thurman's view, is following a tradition of long form graphic narrative and thus makes "graphic narratives for adults" rather than graphic novels. I don't like that latter term, so I sort of appreciate that Thurman is trying to use something different, but I think that she has to bend so far backwards to make the paragraph work in part because she (or, rather, Hilary Chute) isn't really talking about a matter of length, which is what separates, to my mind, "comic book" and "graphic novel" but is instead speaking about the alternative comics tradition, which includes Kominsky-Crumb and Art Spigelman but probably not Marjane Satrapi. Not only can I not really get behind using this terminology for this distinction, but, for what its worth, I like the phrase "graphic narratives for adults," even less than I like the phrase "graphic novels," which already reeks of a wildly ill-advised to legitimize a medium that, probably since Maus, no longer really needs legitimating for those with open minds.* Obviously, the "for adults" part is problematic in part because it presumes that comic books are for children (and, to beat a dead horse, because what Will Eisner did, for example, was intelligible by children but really for adults), but, again, why are we resistant to calling things what they are? Bechdel is a cartoonist, and she draws comics. It doesn't make what she does, and what Bechdel does is draw some of the highest quality comics that there are, any less legitimate to call the medium that she works in by its real name.

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*There's a post coming about Maus and the prejudice against comics, but its a few days away.

On Captain Marvel

We've talked before about how awesome the new Captain Marvel costume is, and there have been a lot of people having a lot of fun with it. To wit:


...and then there's Ed Mcguinness's sweet cover for Captain Marvel #1

These are all great and, like McKelvie's design, marvelously fun and cartoony, which is part of what makes the look work. For the book itself, though, we're stuck with these dark, sludgy, pointy, deadly serious Dexter Soy paintings. It's like Marvel is trying to get the book canned.