Motion Comics: Why, why?

This strange but fascinating genre consists of sparsely animated, page-by-page narrations of comics books. These videos (inadvertently?) destroy the very qualities that make graphic novels unique: that interplay between image, text, and space between panels which results in what Alan Moore calls “under language.”

Viewing a motion comic feels like a badly pantomimed version of the original comic’s experience. What accounts for the existence of this “emerging style” – why half-heartedly wander the line between print comics and animation? Can it–or should it–be more than a promotional tool?

According to the blog MediaFreaks: Marvel Editor-in-Chief Joe Quesada said during a panel discussion at ComiCon: “It became very, very evident to me that as technology moves forward, there will come a day where we’ll be able to not just create animation based upon our comic books and our characters and stories that we’ve told, but there will come a time when eventually we’ll be able to take existing comic art, the flat, static art, and be able to animate it.”

What can we infer from Marvel’s wish to take “flat, static comic art” and “animate” it? Here exists a disturbing notion that static comic art isn’t already interactive.

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The Power of Pictures: Boys & Comics

Last year, two of my most typically under-achieving students produced complex, subtle, and fresh fictional stories for the “Design Your Own Assignment” project — a task that asked students to chose a text to first read and reflect upon. Every student then wrote a piece in the genre of their choice stemming from an essential question they identified in the text.  Neither student (both boys) was exactly excited about this project; they were lost at what text to choose and did not meet the assignment’s first deadline.

Eventually Boy 1 chose a brief graphic novel – “Wolverine: Old Man Logan” and Boy 2  a manga webcomic series (the name of which escapes me now). I noticed something was different when both Boys demonstrated rather sophisticated analysis of their respective texts. Boy 1 talked about the complication of revenge in his novel, and Boy 2 discussed  the symbolic nature of the characters in his.

Their final written products struck me as the best either had submitted in my class. I believe comics accounted for the difference in their creativity and confidence as writers; since they had intimate knowledge of comic rhetoric (being avid readers), they more easily identified significant story, character, and theme elements.

For these boys, the comic offered traditionally challenging elements (complex narratives and literary devices) in a more easily digestible format.

I often wonder where comics will eventually settle in the American classroom — will they be eternally relegated to the supplement shelf, while our more “important” canonical works remain in the spotlight? Will they be touted as merely carrots-on-sticks to reluctant readers, or can academia truly embrace them as important tools for teaching rhetoric and other devices?

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I Love Griffin & Sabine

A little gem of a book series by Nick Bantok.

I happened upon Griffin & Sabine: An Extraordinary Correspondence in a shabby bookstore in Sante Fe, New Mexico behind a pile of used graphic novels, although G & S’s lack of linear narrative and sequence wouldn’t fit Eisner’s definition of the genre.

The combination of G & S’s 3-D elements (as in, paper letters you can remove from envelopes attached to the book’s pages) and sweetly mystical yet subtly haunting artwork made me feel like I had peeked through a magician’s notebook.

I desperately want to incorporate the Griffin & Sabine trilogy into next years’ classes; however the uniqueness of the book’s “pop-out” elements prevent me from distributing good .pdf scans. Short of each student buying the book, I don’t know what to do. A .pdf scan will relay the general gist, but I don’t want to settle for that.


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Planning Papers with Pictures

“Telling stories, understanding people. [Cartooning] is a good way to approach a story, an  idea, a concept….because you can do it that much easier, and it becomes more clear.” – Neal Adams

“That’s exactly what ‘cartoon’ means.” – Will Eisner (from Shop Talk)

I imagine Eisner referred to the etymology of the word, which harks back to a “pre-painting” technique employed by Italian artists who drew simplified sketches as outlines for their intended frescos.

Do we not teach students to plan out their compositions in a similar way? We ask they outline an essay before beginning; to most students this means bullet-pointing the scope and sequence of their main ideas, and then maybe, or maybe not, sticking to this original, linear plan. If outlining is not required I doubt most create one for their own benefit, though so many struggle with organization.

What if I introduced a less linear planning process? What if I ask students to think of their ideas in circles or mandalas, or ask them to visually represent the ideas and evidence they plan to use in a persuasive essay via a cartoon storyboard? The shape and/or color of the boards may represent paragraphs of varying importance, according to the students’ mental “key.”

A student from last semester’s English 121 class wrote the following thesis statement for an essay assignment based on the social impact of advertising:

“Advertisements make Americans’ wants appear to be a necessity, while confusing, manipulating, and altering the thought process of young consumers on a daily basis.”

She concentrated on  advertising from the basketball shoe market and its impact on young teenage boys. She supported her argument with these ideas: 1. “Advertisers use star athletes commonly looked up as role models to sell their shoes, thus establishing the shoe company’s credibility with the young male demographic and consequently increasing peer pressure to purchase from their company,” 2. “Advertisers purposefully overwhelm the young buyers with choices of style, fit, color, and various ‘game-enhancing’ elements so that the buyer is vulnerable to suggestion,” 3.”Young buyers, under pressure from peers and from manipulative suggestion by said shoe company, depend on purchase for self-identity and/or identity with a desired group.”

board

The student’s solid supporting arguments were thwarted by her weak ability to sequence these ideas progressively. If I had asked her to draw a story board depicting a young buyer’s experience (wherein first the shoe company establishes credibility, then overwhelms the buyer with choices and pressure, and lastly causes the consumer to “crack”), would she have quickly realized how and when to introduce each idea?

I know teachers rely on “graphic organizers” of all kinds to introduce and reinforce the planning process – but I don’t want the kind of “fill-in-the-blank” handouts so abundant in traditional classrooms.

Much to think about, much to do…

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Borders Ink – Gimme a Break

borders

ASTERIOS POLYP and SUPER HEROES? Why not?!

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Another Reason I Love SJVHS

I teach at  St John Vianney High School, a private Catholic institution with 1:1 Tablet computing and a wonderfully progressive administration. The “New Books” section in our Library Media Center boasts The Watchmen and Hall of Best Knowledge, a quirky little graphic book by Fantagraphics.

When I asked our librarian why she picked these two to add to our collection, she said she had heard “these were the best.”

I took a chance and asked her if she would like to know more about graphic novels. The next day I came to school with a bag full of books for her: Epileptic, American Born Chinese, What It Is, Fables, Persepolis, and Maus. We’ll see if SJVHS gets any of these on the shelves.

Would like to be writing about Epileptic now, but my English 122 syllabus calls…

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What Can We Learn from Big Box Bookstores?

Fifty years after the “golden age” of comics, the art-form is at critical mass in popular American culture. The once marginalized medium now has claimed entire sections in our local libraries and bookstores.  This is a good thing, right?

Although I buy many of my books at  Comic Fusion or via the net, at times I find myself wandering the aisles of that big chain bookstores looking for discounted finds. Recently I visited the massive retailer Borders and was surprised to clearly see a large space designated for “graphic novels,” and alongside it, “manga.” In the same distinct section was  “young adult fiction” and “fantasy.” Hmm.

Perusing the racks, I found all the usual suspects and more — Watchmen, Bone, Blankets, and Maus nestled up to brightly colored Japanese candies, Batman figurines, and paperbacks of the Twilight series.  I’m intrigued by the marketing initiative that would put a holocaust memoir beside a variety of hard-to-ignore vampire collectibles.  Nearby was a large display of the newly adapted Pride and Prejudice and Wizard of Oz and an impressive array of Watchmen toys – everything from holographic bookmarks to 4-inch tall Doctor Manhattan with movable arms. Looming over this cache of seemingly unrelated items were red and black signs for Borders’s “Ink,” a Facebook fan-page for “info on all things teen lit and graphic novels.”

inkApparently the administrators of the fan-page think the demographics for  L.A. Candy overlap with those of Marvel’s Pride and Prejudice.

What’s going on here?

Borders is obviously responding to what it perceives as a market need; what teens want are GRAPHIC NOVELS! no matter the subject or story line. The same people who read Scott Pilgrim are likely to pick up up Sandman, right? This is like assuming because I read one book of nonfiction I will like all books of nonfiction; within the genre of nonfiction are a variety of choices, from autobiography to journalism to historical narrative.

Shelving a work with a seriousness of purpose like Maus or From Hell next to a row of manga dolls reveals an innate disregard for and misunderstanding of the comics medium; but is it Borders who misunderstands, or young adult Americans?

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Publisher’s Weekly on “Classics Illustrated”

Found this article, “New Books from Old: Turning Classics into Comics,” in Publisher’s Weekly, thanks to GraphicNovelReporter.com.

In the article, Thomas LeBien, editorial director of Hill and Wang, publisher of Fahrenheit 451, which was adapted by Tim Hamilton, says, “I aspire to do more than a 64-page reduction exclusively for students who need this opposed to the original. With the length and sensibility, I’m thinking of it as a translation rather than adaptation.”

Although I was glad to read what the publisher regarded Fahrenheit 451 as a “translation rather than adaptation,” I hesitated over how he categorized adaptations in general – “reduction[s]” for “students who need [them] opposed to the originals.”

What kind of student “needs” a graphic adaptation? What kind of teacher “needs” a graphic adaptation of a text in her classroom? I would never substitute a “translation” of a literary classic if a student had trouble reading the original. Once again I am confronted with the problematic nature of adaptations. Is there any other art-form in which “adaptations” of original classics are acceptable? Could we imagine attempting to adapt an obscure and abstracted painting into a more palatable version for students?

Who decides when the “essence” of a literary work is successfully adapted? One of the greatest pleasures of reading master works is absorbing and studying the details – the word choices, the punctuation placement, the rhythm of the original sentences – a graphic adaptation, however noble in its purpose, simply cannot stand as a representation of a literary classic.


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Reluctantly Hopping on the Twit Bandwagon

twitAfter just searching Twitter for “Asterios Polyp” and finding that one of my grad school friends tweeted(?) about the book 17 hours ago—— OK, OK, I give up — I made a Twitter.

That pic is of me last Halloween — as Silk Spectre.

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The Strange & Wonderful World of Asterios Polyp

“Asterios Polyp,” a graphic novel by David Mazzucchelli.

Sure to join the ranks of the canon with the likes of Maus, Mazzucchelli’s first graphic novel is an exquisite blend of a strong aesthetic voice and a complex, engaging story on the posturings of academia, the difficulties of intimacy, and the philosophy of design.

And to put it simply, one of the most visually provoking novels I’ve ever read.

Mazzucchelli’s main characters – protagonist Asterios Polyp (whose unusual last name was the product of a clerk at Ellis Island who was frustrated with the length of his father’s last name), his  delicate wife Hana Sonnenschein , and the ghost voice of his deceased twin brother Ignazio – interact in a kind of non-linear dream world which is both abstract and concrete.

asterios2 Asterios is an architect and professor whose draftsmanship and design ideas are renowned, yet whose blueprints have never actually been built (Asterios our flaccid and tragic hero).

Hana is a young and sensitive sculptor who falls for Asterios despite his nearly unbearable ego and little patience for Hanna’s quiet artistic genius.

The panel on the left, illustrating the dissolution of Hana and Asterios’s relationship, is an example of how well Mazzucchelli unifies form and content: the ever-logical Asterios is depicted as a transparent combination of geometrical parts, while Hanna is drawn with a soft, pinkish body with obvious depth and weight.

Would I love to introduce this book to my 12th grade class? Yes; but the complex themes, allusions, and design concepts warrant placement in a comics-studies class, or at least a class that has some time to devote to both aesthetic and literary theory. However, an ambitious 9-12 teacher whose students have studied comics before, there is a lot to pull from this book, most obviously the concept of the tragic hero (the hero whose tragedy is his/her failure to recognize his/her missteps).

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