Comic Review: Drifter (Issue #1) by Ivan Brandon and Nic Klein
As I’ve read more and more comics, I’ve come to the realization that one of the things I am sorely missing is a good sense of the non-Marvel/non-DC comics worldview. Thus, I have turned to Image Comics to find those gems that I would otherwise miss. This is, of course, hardly a challenge for me, since I’ve enjoyed Saga as much as Wake and Wytches. Still, the more I look at what I read, the more it becomes apparent to me that I’m not diversifying as much as I should — and that I’m not reading enough science fiction that doesn’t involve superheroes. And so I have turned to Drifter #1, the first in a new series by Ivan Brandon and Nic Klein from Image Comics, where one of my comics-reading friends buys 99% of his comics because he likes the weird stuff they publish (so do I, it turns out). I have some mixed feelings about Drifter #1. Though the overarching narrative is compelling, its subplots are somewhat mixed, leaving an introductory issue that, while intriguing, also misses something crucial in the narrative space. The narrative follows Abram Pollux, a pilot whose spacecraft is severely damaged, presumably by the man chasing him. Pollux is forced to crashland on Ouro, an alien backwater world; upon extracting himself from the wreckage, he is shot by the assailant and left to die. But he doesn’t. Instead, Pollux awakens in Ghost Town, a settlement populated by equally unfortunate rough-and-tumble humans. In an attempt to track down his ship, and the man who tried to kill him, Pollux reveals that things on Ouro may not be what they seemed and that his notion of reality could be just a little bit false… (this is me being vague so as to avoid ruining the ending of the first issue, which is pretty awesome) As a comics reader, I am mostly picky about two things: the depth and pace of the narrative and the art. Though it is difficult to judge the former in a single issue, the latter is largely why I picked up the first issue in the first place. Nic Klein’s artwork is simply gorgeous. Though I wouldn’t call Klein’s art original, it is functional. Klein conveys action with a deft hand and indulges in gorgeous wide shots when necessary for a sense of scale (one such shot is provided below). At times, the level of detail is stunning, while at others, the details fall away as if the washout of text within an action sequence is also washing out the definition of the visual landscape. I love this sort of variation when it comes to comics, especially when the artist puts more attention into the details than on a some kind of stylistic signature. In this case, Klein is certainly focused on the details, not the style. From a narrative perspective, Drifter is hard to judge. Perhaps the strongest aspect of the narrative are its characters, however briefly explored. Though Pollux will likely remain the focal point for every issue, Sheriff Carter, a medic-turned-law-woman, bears the brunt of the narrative’s backstory, with Arkady, the priest, serving as the text’s punching bag. Given the discussions of representations of women in sf/f, and in comics in general, I suspect Carter will be a focus for many. From my perspective, her character, though undeveloped as of yet, provides the sort of “product of circumstance” nuance that will make for interesting conflicts in future volumes. Carter is not quite the idealist, but she is the one who seems most practical when it comes to her role in Ghost Town, and she is likely the one who Pollux will most rely on because of his disruptive presence as an outsider and her authority as Sheriff and as “one who has already been here for a long while.” Carter also benefits from having her gender largely ignored, except as a visual cue. Brandon doesn’t essentialize her as any particular kind of “woman;” rather, Carter is allowed to “be,” even in a secondary role. My hope is that future volumes will give her more of an arc so we can understand why she views Ghost Town the way she does. The narrative proper also shows promise. I can see where Brandon intends to develop a thematic “man vs. nature” subplot and even where the brief interactions of the main character with the townspeople will produce some nuanced relationships for later parts of the narrative. There is potential here for the narrative to escape its Western trappings to become something more than “outlaws doing outlaw things.” This is my hope, as the familiarity of the setting and some of the subplots can act as a trap for the narrative. That said, there are flaws in the plot, particularly since it answers too few of its most basic questions. Who is the man who shot Pollux? Who is Pollux, and why does he have an inconsistent attitude with regards to violence? The more complicated answers would be revealed over time, obviously, but the snippets are needed here not only to give Drifter‘s narrative arc depth, but also to avoid an attempt to alienate the reader without something to also ground them. That level of estrangement disrupts in a way that draws too much attention to itself, which Drifter certainly doesn’t need. Part of this problem stems from the occasional poor transitions between dialogue sequences and from the occasional clunky dialogue. Brandon attempts to convey a vernacular of sorts here, but one which is more rooted in a gritty Western aesthetic than something along the lines of Burgess’ Nadsat. Often, this feels unnatural. Phrases like “What kind of place, I guess we’re working at” occasionally grace the pages of Drifter #1 along with the use of various contractions (ain’t, why’m, etc.). The strategy is the same: contracting the language into something more rugged than direct; these contracted sentence structures draw attention not to the ideas under discussion, but to the words
Merry Holiday Things
Merry Christmas, everyone, from my weird family to yours. And may your new year be filled with mostly positive things and lots if pie.
On The Interview, Terrorism, and the Artistic Expression
By now, you’ll have heard that Sony had opted to cancel the release of Seth Rogen and Ethan Goldberg’s The Interview (2014)(starring Rogen and James Franco) in response to threats against their employees and movie theaters (many of which have refused to show the film). They have since announced that the film will play in select theaters on Christmas Day and that they are still trying to find places to play the film so it will have a proper release. Now, it seems, the film’s future is up to theaters. Update: On Christmas afternoon, Sony will also release The Interview via several streaming sites, including Google. So at least we can all see it if we want to. Chuck Wendig has already written an interesting post on the situation, and if it’s not already obvious, I have a few thoughts. But first, a quote from Wendig: This proves that hackers, terrorists, and enemy nations now have a vote as to the media we make and the stories we see. That’s blood gone cold scary. This sounds like the plot of a Neal Stephenson or William Gibson novel, or worse, the plot of a novel by someone trying to emulate them. (“The sky was the color of a movie theater screen not carrying Sony’s THE INTERVIEW.”) Disagreeable and controversial art is an essential element of our cultural discourse. These are the two points that I want to address here. Precedents and Cowardice The first is actually more terrifying than Wendig indicates. It’s not that hackers, terrorists, and enemy nations now have the vote, but that anyone perceived as representing the interests of such groups have the vote. Sony and the theaters which pulled The Interview didn’t need to know with 100% certainty that anyone would be attacked, nor that any 9/11-level events would occur; they only needed to believe that the threat was credible. This gives far more power than I think Sony or anyone realizes. Extremists of any stripe can dictate the terms upon which art is presented to the public based on perceived threats, rather than real ones, and corporations will listen. Those threats needn’t be credible beyond the scope of the corporation. The U.S. government, after all, doesn’t believe the threats are credible (and neither do a lot of Americans, apparently), and it’s unclear to me whether anyone actually consulted the U.S. government in any capacity (or any government, for that matter) about the matter (though they certainly did not Free speech isn’t an issue here (well, it is, but not in any legally binding way). We’re not talking about whether a company has a right to withdraw its own artistic products, whether businesses can refuse to carry something, or whether criticism of any kind should be ignored simply because art is art. This is about precedents. Sony and theaters have now set that precedent. North Korea, or any entity which has the means to present credible threats, can dictate terms and expect a response. So, congratulations, Sony and every theater which pulled The Interview. You’ve set the precedent. Now Paramount Pictures has recalled its 10-year-old comedy, Team America: World Police. A Steve Carell vehicle entitled Pyongyang will never see the light of day, too, since its studio decided to can it. And by doing so — by responding — North Korea has been granted power. They now know that when something they don’t like occurs somewhere else, they can issue a threat and be heard. A nation which most of the world views with contempt or pity now has the validation of the international community, or at least a portion of it. In the end, I agree with President Obama that Sony’s decision to cancel the release of The Interview was a mistake, even more so because Sony never consulted the U.S. government about the matter. This sets a terrible precedent, one which we all should find disturbing regardless of our political affiliations. That art can so easily be stifled by the threat of violence should give us pause. This is not the first time, and it won’t be the last. If this is the trend for the future, then we should all be deeply concerned. There’s hope, of course. Sony has retracted its cancellation, and the community of viewers seems to have roundly rejected the notion that Sony should have caved at all. Thus far, that’s had an impact on Sony, but we’ll see if the other studios and the theaters which pulled the film, cowards that they are, will do the same. At least Sony listened. Controversial Art To the second part: indeed, controversial art is not just essential, it is required in our cultural discourse if culture is to advance in any discernible way. Controversial art challenges existing cultural patterns, not necessarily to uproot them but to introduce advanced thought about our traditions, our everyday lives, and our cultural vices. In that respect, The Interview is a necessary feature of our artistic world, even if the film itself isn’t all that great (I haven’t seen it, so I cannot assess its merit). That fact became apparent the moment North Korea responded to it with threats. Any artistic work which is met with (threats of) violence is a work that deserves careful attention. Communities which resort to such threats are ones which have insulated themselves from criticism, and by doing so, they have stagnated, as North Korea has. The same thing has occurred in the science fiction community (albeit on a much smaller, perhaps less violent scale) and in gaming (regardless of what GamerGaters may think, there are people who identify with their group who have attacked women for criticizing gaming). Insularity breeds violence, literal or figurative, and to the insular community, artistic expression, particularly of the satirical mode, is perceived as a threat. For that reason, art must continue unabated. It must be shared. It must be free to satirize and mock. It must be free to be controversial. And that means it must have a place to be shared. Without controversial art, insularity
On the World Fantasy Award and H.P. Lovecraft
(Correction: a previous version of this post attributed the Guardian article to Damien G. Walter rather than Daniel José Older. That has been corrected below. My apologies for the mix-up.) We’re still talking about the World Fantasy Award and H.P. Lovecraft’s bizarrely shaped award-specific head. Daniel José Older, who created the original petition to replace Lovecraft’s bust with that of Octavia Butler, recently revisited the discussion in his Guardian column, remarking that “the fantasy community cannot embrace its growing fanbase of color with one hand while deifying a writer who happily advocated for our extermination with the other.” I won’t rehash the whole discussion here. If you don’t already know the happenings, then you can use the links I’ve provided here to fill in the blanks. As for Lovecraft: his racism is infamous enough that it required its own section on his Wikipedia page (albeit, a somewhat sanitized section). I won’t go into all the nitty gritty details about Lovecraft’s views on race; rather, I’ll point you to this post from Slate (which is hardly an extensive or thorough analysis of Lovecraft, but it’ll get you on the right track). My personal view on this subject is fairly basic: It’s almost impossible for anyone in our community to stand up to the scrutiny of future generations. Our social values evolve, and what might be considered acceptable for one generation could very well become taboo, immoral, or offensive in the next. There are certainly exceptions, but the farther back you go, the less likely that person would stand up to the values of the present. If individuals are unlikely to stand up to scrutiny, it makes little sense to choose a person as the “face” of an award, no matter how great they might look today. Again, exceptions may exist. I agree with Carrie Cuinn that a person is not representative of an entire field. Fantasy, after all, is global in scale and encompasses a wide range of identities. There is no single individual who represents fantasy as a genre, nor is there a single individual who by any stretch of the imagination represents the people who participate in fantasy in any capacity. There is no such thing as a single fantasy fan who is all nationalities, all races, all genders, all sexualities, etc. etc. If the problem with Lovecraft is that he doesn’t represent the fantasy field today, then how can we say that anyone else represents that field? In light of that, I can see why many would like the award to be changed. Indeed, I think it should be changed for reasons that have nothing to with whether Lovecraft was a racist (though that’s valid, too, and should not be discounted). I don’t understand how Lovecraft can remain as the figurehead of the World Fantasy Award when he is a) not a universal figure, and b) hardly a writer of fantasy at large. Yes, he wrote fantasy, but he is recognized for a particular brand of fantasy. He wasn’t an epic fantasy writer. He didn’t write fantasy for young adults. He didn’t write urban fantasy. He didn’t write whatever weird fantasy might exist. He wrote his particular form of fantasy and had a profound influence on the field as a whole. That makes him important from a historical standpoint, but it doesn’t make him, in my mind, a valid figurehead for an all-encompassing award. The World Fantasy Award needs to account for all of fantasy. Not just the fantasy of the one particular form. Not just the fantasy written by one particular author identity. Not just Octavia Butler or H.P. Lovecraft or J.R.R. Tolkien or George R.R. Martin or N.K. Jemisin or Nalo Hopkinson or John Chu or Laura Anne Gilman or whomever. ALL of fantasy. Anything less would be exclusionary by default. And that’s no good.
Cancer Free Since ’03
For those that don’t follow me on Twitter, you’ll have missed the whole “Shaun had a cancer appointment today” stuff. As it turns out, I remain cancer free, and have done so since the conclusion of chemo in 2003. And that’s good news indeed. So hurray to me. Good news for the holidays and all that jazz. Now back to doing whatever I was doing…oh, right. Stressing out about work!
6 Thoughts on 1.5 Seasons of CW’s Arrow — @cw_arrow
I’ve recently become a fan of CW’s Arrow. If you haven’t seen the show, it’s easily one of the best superhero TV shows on air at the moment. Don’t let the CW label fool you. Arrow is good stuff. It’s one part action thriller and one part superhero camp, all mixed together in a magic blender and served in an edible cup made of fruit or something. Look, it’s just really enjoyable, OK? And this is coming from the guy who has found DC’s output since Man of Steel pretty pathetic (the comics, the movie announcements, all of it)(yes, I know that Arrow came out before all that). So here are some of my thoughts on the first season and a half of the show. Yes, you can expect some spoilers. 1. The flashbacks are pretty clever as a narrative device. Throughout the show, we’ve been presented with Oliver Queen in his “I play rich turd by day, but at night I’m an arrow-shooting vigilante” form alongside his “rich boy left alone on a dangerous island full of mercenaries, warriors, and military wackos” form. This is hardly the first time we’ve seen this sort of thing (Lost had its own version of it, and shows like Heroes, X-Files, and so on have played around with the tactic), but the amount of attention paid to these flashbacks — as narratives unto themselves — is at least noteworthy. I particularly appreciate the attempt to connect what is happening in the present with what has already occurred; there are moments in Season Two, for example, in which the present only makes sense if you know what has already occurred, a fact that is punctuated by the slow development of these narratives in side-by-side fashion. Season Two even goes so far as to sort of “retcon” Oliver’s original “story” about what happened on the island, revealing that even we, the viewers, have been lied to. It creates a great deal of tension and puts the past and present in conversation in a way that may actually be quite unique (or at least rather uncommon). 2. I’ve been genuinely surprised by the quality of the action in this show. By comparison to Agents of SHIELD, whose action sequences often seemed lazy and dull (normal TV fare) in the first few episodes (it improves by miles as the show develops), Arrow is slick and, at times, brutal. This, of course, serves as an excuse for the various “fit” characters to prostrate themselves in glorious gladiator fashion. Muscles and tight tummies are glorified to the max. The show also gives play time to its less trained members, such as Felicity and Roy (the future Red Hood), the latter of which is some kind of parkour ninja. I love that this isn’t just a show of muscly people punching really hard, but of muscly folks actually having to be competent at what they do (mostly). Arrow doesn’t always get it right, though. I think the choreography and editing for Sara Lance’s Canary fights have lacked the same intensity as those of Oliver’s/Arrow’s. I’m not sure why there’s such a marked difference. Lance is supposed to be just as trained as Oliver, if not more because of her association with the League of Assassins. So she should be quick, agile, and brutal. But there are moments when her action sequences seem out of sync or slowed down. Maybe this has to do with the fact that Caity Lotz hasn’t had the same character foreknowledge to be prepared, or perhaps they simply put less time into her physical presentation because the Canary is technically a secondary character, and one that probably won’t stick around for too long either because of her association with the League of Assassins or because Arrow intends for her to take the mantle of the Black Canary (no, not this), which was originally Laurel Lance’s superheroine role in the comics. As much as I love her character, I do feel that there’s something missing in how her physical self is portrayed. My hope is that they will correct this. 3. I am at a point where I can honestly say that I despise Laurel. She was a sympathetic character in Season One, but since the death of Tommy, she has spiraled down into a pit of alcoholism and general asshole-ish-ness. It would be one thing if she were only destroying herself; however, throughout the first half of the second season, she’s been oblivious and, at times, downright vindictive. I don’t know if the writers thought it would be interesting to switch the roles of Laurel and her father, but that’s certainly what happened. Except, Laurel’s transition does not make her sympathetic. Sure, she’s begun attending AA meetings and trying to get her life under wraps, but even in her sober state, she’s just not a likable character. In some sense, I think her post-sobriety personality is less complicated than the Laurel of Season One, and that makes her less likable and far less interesting. Worse, she’s untrustworthy, flipping back and forth between standing by the people she loves and stabbing them in the back — granted, her stabs are less mean now that she’s sober. It’s just not a good path for the character. The father, however, has become a lovable figure — loyal to friends and family and loyal to the Arrow (at first for reasons of necessity — the police won’t let him do his job — but later due to a kind of shared trust; the scene where he monologues on why Laurel shouldn’t tell him the identity of the Arrow was probably my favorite moment from him since I started watching the show). 4. Oliver Queen’s character development is going to hit a wall pretty soon. And that wall is “the present.” I like Oliver. Sure, his present self is rather simplistic in the aggregate — one-directional, if you will — but given where he began in Season One (vengeful vigilante/murderer)