Cosplayers #1-2

Cosplayers By Dash Shaw.
Cosplayers and Cosplayers 2: Tezukon
By Dash Shaw

Cosplayers is surprisingly accessible for a Dash Shaw comic. It’s missing his requisite fantasy elements. And on first impression, it feels oddly familiar. The two books were released as pamphlets by Fantagraphics, a noticeable contrast to most of that publisher’s line of graphic novels from indie creators who've gradually abandoned the serial format over the years. Cosplayers' everyday milieu even seems to recall the listless urban settings populated by man-child heroes affecting some form of ennui found in alternative comics from the mid-nineties. But there’s a certain playfulness about our mediated reality that marks it as a Dash Shaw book.

The art is unmistakably Shaw’s unique combination of loosely drawn black-and-white line-work mixed in with computer coloring that often appears half-finished. Some panels look like basic flatwork. Others are modelled with simple two or three-color gradients. And others are filled with cheap digital effects. It might sound awful when being described, but this computer-generated form of minimalism actually reinforces the raw energy and naiveté of the comic’s mostly adolescent cast, as well as effectively speaking to their regular online activities.

Cosplayers By Dash Shaw.

A peculiar feature of the comic are the various pin-ups of random cosplayers that interrupt the narrative. The images themselves may have been copied from actual photographs. The cosplayer poses certainly have that stiff, photographic quality to them. They’re mostly portrayed floating over the kind of repeating patterns that could have been found either within the graphic software being used or downloaded from the Web. For me, this harkens back to when mainstream comics from a decade ago began to experiment with digital workflows. A lot of the coloring from the era looks rather primitive today. But a lot of artists found the new methods liberating and responded by designing page panels that were basically gratuitous pin-ups. This isn’t the case with Shaw as his art naturally subverts the usual function of the pin-up by contrasting the slick representations of these commercial properties with the less than ideal physiques of normal human beings dressing themselves in form-fitting outfits. But the digitized nature of the imagery can also refer to the pivotal role of the Web and social media in the dissemination of the cosplayer way of life.

Cosplayers 2: Tezukon By Dash Shaw.
The book’s subject-matter clearly marks it as a work that could have only been created in the 21st century. Sure, cosplay has been around almost as long as geek culture itself, but it’s become truly ubiquitous within the last several years. More importantly, it’s a form of expression favored by the current crop of fans, many of whom are women. The principle protagonists of Cosplayers are a pair of teenage girls who’re drawn together by their mutual hobby. One is an aspiring actress who dreams of fame while the other is a budding photographer who views the former as her muse. Their desire to reshape their lives with the fantasies they’ve consumed leads them to experiment with guerrilla film-making on unsuspecting strangers. It’s a dangerous task, both physically and emotionally. Not only do they risk the ire of irate individuals not wanting to be filmed, their actions eventually open a small crack in their friendship as more people fall victim to their deception.

In the 2nd issue, the duo attends a small anime convention called “Tezukon” - named after the great Osamu Tezuka. While their relationship is further strained by participating in a cosplay contest followed by a chance encounter with a pair of fanboys who know them through their Youtube videos, the most memorable character is a nebbish Tezuka scholar who’s so frugal he’d rather sleep in the nearby alley and dumpster dive than pay for a hotel room. The scholar is very much a throwback to the passive, self-loathing protagonists of Chris Ware and Daniel Clowes. But he differs in one crucial respect - he actually feels awe and admiration for all the cosplayers at the convention. While there’s something creepy about a middle-aged man ogling people half his age wearing revealing costumes, his adulation is undifferentiated and an expression of envy at their youth and untapped potential. And that’s a more positive way to react to the noticeable generational shift in fan conventions.

Plus, he gets to interact with a character from another comic.

Cosplayers 2: Tezukon By Dash Shaw.


Animation: Landing

Go to: xkcd by Randall Munroe (via Lauren Davis)



Thor #1 and Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #1

Thor #1 By Jason Aaron, Russell Dauterman, Matthew Wilson, Joe Sabino, Frank Martin, Sara Pichelli, Laura Martin, Esad Ribic, Andrew Robinson, Alex Ross, Fiona Staples, Skottie Young.
Thor #1

By Jason Aaron, Russell Dauterman, Matthew Wilson, Joe Sabino, Frank Martin, Sara Pichelli, Laura Martin, Esad Ribic, Andrew Robinson, Alex Ross, Fiona Staples, Skottie Young.

Thor created by Stan Lee, Larry Lieber, Jack Kirby.

The new status quo for the latest Thor series relaunch begins with the Asgardians assembled on the surface of the Moon to watch a moping thunder god. Having recently returned from yet another period of self-imposed exile, Odin finds his son hunched over his magic hammer Mjolnir, inexplicably no longer worthy of lifting it. His response to this sight is to blame his wife and interim leader Freyja for letting the emasculation of one of Marvel’s manliest heroes happen on her watch. This bit of dickishness being exhibited by one of the publisher’s more awful father-figures provides a not too subtle setup for the grand entrance of a much publicized, all new, unmistakably female Thor. But she only makes an appearance at the very end of the issue, so the reader’s denied the great pleasure of witnessing Odin’s horrified reaction.

What this issue does offer is a cantankerous Odin and sharp-tongued Freyja trading verbal barbs (in which she usually gets the better of the exchanges), Malekith behaving like a complete sociopath by happily tormenting a couple of mere mortals, and Thor acting depressed until he’s snapped out of his funk by the call to action. Always be the hero, even if only an unworthy one. While previous artist Esad Ribic drew in a more classic fantasy vein, Russell Dauterman finds a balance between the fantasy and superhero approach, which suits the demands of the story. His facility with faces allows him to portray perhaps the most emo version of Thor I’ve encountered in the series. And he seems comfortable recreating a variety of sci-fi and fantasy settings, whether deep space or the bottom of the ocean, immortal gods, frost giants, or killer sharks. He’s capably aided by colorist Matthew Wilson, who keeps everything bright and saturated with judicious use of a limited palette tied together by carefully shaded blues, greens, reds and yellows. Probably my favorite panel is a two-page spread portraying in dramatic panorama an army of giants attacking an undersea base, their skin faintly illuminated by the artificial lights. This is a comic of high stakes realized in the widescreen format.

Discovering someone other than Thor who can lift Mjolnir has become a bit cliched at this point. But if you don’t count alternate continuities, the candidates have all been invariably male. Writer Jason Aaron emphasizes the significance of this point through revealing some of the misogyny found within Asgardian society. Putting gender roles aside, the story does strongly imply that the new Thor is a supporting cast member who’s decided to step up to the big leagues. But unless her identity is quickly revealed next issue, this could be a form of misdirection.

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #1 By Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, Robert Hack, Jack Morelli.
Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #1

By Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, Robert Hack, Jack Morelli.

Sabrina the Teenage Witch by George Gladir, Dan DeCarlo, Rudy Lapick, Vincent DeCarlo.

Sabrina the Teenage Witch’s various media adaptations have tended to play to the Disney Channel/Nickelodean/ABC crowd through employing inoffensive tween humor. By contrast, her first appearance in the short story written by George Gladir and drawn by Dan DeCarlo portrays a character with a sinister edge to her. She’s been tasked to interfere with the lives of her fellow high school students, which she does by making them fall in love with each other, or by altering the outcome of various sporting events. As dastardly acts go, it’s still relatively innocuous stuff. But that darkness at the heart of the character forms the basis for this latest, horror-driven, reimagining of her.

Visually, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina smartly moves away from the seductive imagery of the legendary DeCarlo by using more realistically drawn figures. Robert Hack’s heavily textured surfaces and inky blotches certainly imbue the otherwise bucolic setting in an uncomfortable, claustrophobic haze, making everything look like they're covered in soot. Adding to the level of uneasiness is the intense yellow and orange color scheme. The whole story sometimes looks like it’s set on Mars, or a post-apocalyptic desert landscape. Everyone shambles around like zombies. Nothing about this world would make me want to live in it.

If I have one complaint, it’s that Hack still doesn’t have a firm grasp on the characters yet, especially the main protagonist. Sabrina’s jawline and eyes keep changing every few panels, and that’s pretty distracting.

Storywise, this issue jumps around a lot, feeling a little disjointed in places. It starts with an origin tale featuring Sabrina’s parents, followed by a montage of Sabrina’s upbringing, ending with her first day in Greendale High School. Many of the classic supporting characters are introduced from aunts Hilda and Zelda, cat familiar Salem, cousin Ambrose, school crush Harvey, and teenage rival Rosalind. In keeping with the horror angle, the witches worship Satan, practice the dark arts, and are casually cruel to mortals. Sabrina herself comes across as a mostly amoral figure with a touch of Carrie and the Anti-Christ. There’s this unexpected subplot involving two famous Riverdale characters being members of another coven that’s largely disconnected from Sabrina's narrative. But the creepy cliffhanger raises some questions as to how the supernatural is supposed to interact with the mundane world.


Read an Online Copy of Action Comics #1

Action Comics #1 by Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster et al.

Go to: CGC Comics, by Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster et al.



The premise for Doctors would have formed the basis for an expensive, effects-laden Hollywood techno-thriller where the cast engages in spectacular battles for the fate of the world within elaborately-constructed virtual settings. There’s some interplay between the real and the illusory in these kinds of blockbusters. But for the most part, the difference between the two realms remains clear. But for an artist like Dash Shaw, such epistemological plot devices are employed to chip-away at the borders separating the land of the living and of the dead. This serves to illuminate his characters’ own pathetic experiences, desires, ambitions and fears. And this complicates the choices they make when confronted with their own mortality.

Ever the restless experimenter, Shaw’s artistic choices are designed to enhance the reader’s disorientation. Doctors is a terse graphic novel, barely under a hundred pages. Virtually every page is a vignette, which keeps the dialogue short and to the point. And each is dominated by a minimalist color overlay. On one hand this emphasizes the graphic quality of Shaw’s unadorned black and white drawings. But his selection of muted tones can often obscure its finer details. And the choice to give each page a different color overlay forces the reader to recognize the abstract nature of art and the illusory nature of the comics medium.

Towards the end, certain background details and oft-repeated patterns suddenly come to the foreground in rapid succession. There’s no clear symbolism to these objects, just a random assortment which seem to only have personal significance to the characters. It’s fragmentary, subjective, and an appropriately confounding way to end the story.

Doctors by Dash Shaw.

The book’s titular characters are a Doctor Cho, his daughter Tammy, and medical assistant Will. They run a clandestine business that revives the recently dead. Cho has invented a device he ironically dubs “Charon”, which allows the user to enter into the mind of the deceased (apparently confirming the mind-body dichotomy). When people die, their minds enter a kind of afterlife molded from that individual’s memories, hopes, and desires. This condition is only temporary and the mind itself will eventually “fade to black.” The trick to reviving the deceased is to convince them that the afterlife they’re experiencing isn’t real.

The story begins deceptively enough with the introduction of a wealthy widower referred to as Miss Bell. One day, she meets a young man named Mark and after a brief courtship, begins a May-December romance with him. For Bell, it sounds too good to be true. But their idyllic relationship is eventually disturbed by the presence of Bell’s daughter Laura, who begins to utter several cryptic remarks. Bell initially believes that Laura has joined some kind of religious cult. After awhile, she realizes that Laura is actually an avatar being used by the doctors to establish contact with her in the afterlife. This revelation causes her to return to consciousness. Shaw’s portrayal of her resurrection is particularly unnerving, a horrific process signalled by the zap of a defibrillator. She wakes up in a makeshift operating theater surrounding by medical equipment connected to her by various tubes and wires. The doctors inform her that it was the real Laura who had arranged for her to be brought back to life after she suffered a fatal accident.

Doctors by Dash Shaw.

Turns out though that resurrecting people has tragic consequences because everyone who was ever revived was just too traumatized from being torn from their afterlife to successfully return to their old self. After witnessing the toll it takes on Bell, Tammy begins to openly express her simmering doubts about the usefulness of Charon. But she’s unable to stand up to her more callous and overbearing father (whom she nicknames “Dr. No” for his ability to reject all of her requests and suggestions). Cho could care less what happens to his patients afterwards as long as new clients are lining-up to pay for his services. But has Cho bitten off more than he can chew when he agrees to help his friend Clark Gomez, a self-centered, hedonistic man who refuses to succumb to a terminal condition?

Ferrying people between life and death causes the doctors to suffer in their own way. Cho has lost all empathy and has become obsessed with controlling every aspect of his life. Tammy continually questions whether she’s even truly alive, and can only cultivate a meaningful relationship within the confines “The Sims” video game. Both have lost the ability to connect with each other and with the outside world. How can anyone remain convinced that what they experience is real when they spend so much time inside their own heads while invading the minds of others? Shaw does allow them a reconciliation of sorts. Even there, the reader is left adrift with an epilogue in which life and death cascade into one other like a recursive dream.

Doctors by Dash Shaw.


Webcomic: The Underdog Myth

The Underdog Myth by Mike Dawson

Go to: Medium, by Mike Dawson (via Heidi MacDonald)


Cartoon Essay: Writing People of Color

Writing People of Color by MariNaomi.

Go to: Midnight Breakfast, by MariNaomi et al.



Journal Comic: July Diary (2014)

July Diary by Gabrielle Bell.

Go to: Lucky by Gabrielle Bell

Webcomic: Graveyard Quest

Graveyard Quest by KC Green.

Go to: Gunshow by KC Green

Being good to each other is so important

Being good to each other is so important, guys by Nate Swinehart.

Go to: Naterade by Nate Swinehart


Codename: Sailor V

Codename: Sailor V Created by Naoko Takeuchi. Translated by William Flanagan.Codename: Sailor V Created by Naoko Takeuchi. Translated by William Flanagan.

Created by Naoko Takeuchi.
Translated by William Flanagan.

Anyone coming to Codename: Sailor V from Sailor Moon is going to experience a certain degree of déjà vu. After all, the latter began by cannibalizing its predecessor for ideas, then simply proceeded to annex it wholeheartedly. Sailor V went into hiatus, returned after a prolonged absence, and completed its arc after Sailor Moon had already concluded. So this manga is both the defacto starting point of the Sailor Moon saga and its prequel. The reader can spot when this change occurs by the obligatory Usagi Tsukino cameo. And the rest of the inner senshi drop by at various points in their civilian identities, as the Sailor V timeline takes place well before Usagi had assumed the Sailor Moon mantle. Since all the truly epic stuff will only take place in her manga, nothing of great consequence to the cast can happen here.

This does free Sailor V to be its own thing. And what a goofy thing it is. The two manga's respective casts have often been compared to each other given that Sailor Moon recycles much of Sailor V’s character designs. Naoko Takeuchi was not the most inventive cartoonist in that regard, and it’s hard not to notice the close resemblance of everyone's faces, especially the supporting males who function primarily as interchangeable bishonen. Even the heroes Usagi and Minako Aino posses a “siblings separated at birth” similarity to them when placed side by side. On a metatextual level, that actually makes sense. Minako is the cooler, tougher, more physically capable, boisterous, and overbearing older creation who’s used to getting her own way. Even after the animal familiar Artemis unlocks Minako's mysterious superpowers and instructs her on their noble purpose, she feels just as entitled exploiting them for petty gain as she does for fighting crime. But it’s played for comic effect, so the reader simply laughs it off when Minako ignores Artemis’ admonitions by using her magic items to cheat on school homework.

Speaking of which, those two have a pretty adversarial relationship due to Minako’s total lack of interest in taking her mission seriously. Sailor Moon fans will of course be aware of the high stakes at play in the future. But at this stage, Artemis is either unable or unwilling to reveal too much to Minako outside of telling her to kick evil's butt whenever it appears. The manga hews closer in mood to the early Sailor Moon anime episodes with its monster-of-the-week structure and the arch villain still only a vague threat. Heck, the second antagonist Minako confronts is an obnoxious otaku who can’t stand that girls now hang out at his favourite video gaming spot. Wow. Nice to know that the “fake geek girl” complaint isn’t actually that recent an invention.

Two recurring plot elements are used to emphasize the action-comedy nature of the manga. The first is Minako wielding her magic to assume different disguises before revealing her Sailor V identity. It’s a trope popularized by past magical girls from Cutey Honey onward, and Minako uses it to similar effect here. Usagi dropped this tactic as Sailor Moon became more serious, but Minako simply can’t resist the desire to keep changing her appearance. Each transformation sequence works as crucial story beat. And gratuitous as that sounds, Takeuchi’s art comes alive when she’s showcasing her characters in various outfits.

These pinups are also signposts of Takeuchi’s artistic evolution. I have complained in the past about the busy page compositions of Sailor Moon, but they’re positively claustrophobic in Sailor V. Takeuchi sticks to more grid-like layouts here, and her figures have a slightly blockier look to them. It’s as Takeuchi fears the negative space. The overall effect is frenetic, and perhaps a little inelegant. It’s only in the later chapters where she gradually drops the number of panels and gives her transformations space to breathe on the page.

The second is Minako’s propensity to keep falling in love with the wrong guy. The opening chapter has her crushing on the BMOC, who naturally turns out to be evil. She keeps fantasizing about every cute boy she meets, only for her hopes to be dashed at very turn, usually because the boy has his eye on someone else. Minako's bumbling efforts to land a beau even get lampshaded by the supporting cast. But midway through the manga her latest failed attempt ends on a more melancholic note when she helps reunite two star-crossed lovers. This prophetic incident is followed by an encounter with a masked hero named Phantom Ace. Fans will recognize him as a variant of Tuxedo Mask who prefers to toss playing cards instead of roses. Most of the remaining chapters have Minako and Ace teaming up to fight the bad guys. So does this mean she'll find true love?

Given how Minako Aino was introduced in Sailor Moon, the answer is a definite “no.” What awaits her in the final chapter instead is an unexpected escalation of hostilities. The art for the climactic showdown provokes the most drastic stylistic shift found in the entire series. Its participants begin to unleash enormous waves of energy more characteristic of Sailor Moon's world-shaking battles, which succeeds in finally warping the panels of the traditional grid. This precipitates Minako's ultimate, and excruciating transformation. But she emerges from her ordeal as a more mature Sailor Venus.

It’s a majestic scene overflowing with self-awareness, but also a peculiar downer of an ending for such a bubbly shojo adventure. Minako may have started out a typical magical girl protagonist, but during the manga’s run, she became destined to be the supporting character in someone else's love story. A happy, romantic resolution to her manga was no longer in the cards.


Journal Comic: Eleanor Davis

Journal Comic: Eleanor Davis

Go to: The Comics Journal: Pt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, by Eleanor Davis


More NonSense: Ferguson Edition

The Militarization of Officer Joe by Desmond Devlin.  From MAD Magazine.
The Militarization of Officer Joe
Go to: MAD Magazine, by Desmond Devlin (via Kevin Melrose)

The militarised response to protests over the police killing of unarmed African-American teenager Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri has provoked outrage among many in the comics community. Brett Shenker collects a sampling of their tweets.

On the other hand, Casey Johnston notes how Facebook's tendency to filter for uncontroversial feel-good content makes it more difficult to discover Ferguson-related posts.

Everyone else is linking to this Jon Kudelka cartoon.

Mike Dawson muses on the Kajieme Powell police shooting.

Sean Howe's profile of Frank Miller, who's currently in the spotlight for Sin City: A Dame to Kill For, is the best comics-centric summary of his career so far. His portrait of the man paints the rise, fall, and possible redemption of one of the industry's most influential, not to mention outspoken, figures from the last 30 years.

According to Alan David Doane, the accompanying photos taken by Richard Burbridge have generated speculation about Miller's health. Bill Sienkiewicz quashes the rumours. I really admire how Miller has successfully retained his firebrand persona. It's something that animates everything he draws. But my one takeaway from these articles is how much he's weathered as a person and as an artist. 9/11 galvanised Miller in a thoroughly unpleasant way. His divisive rant on the Occupy Wall Street movement exhibits no empathy towards the concerns of people half his age.  And that's a little disheartening for even a curmudgeon like me.

Milo Manara's alternate cover to Spider-Woman #1 has sparked outrage for its suggestive pose, dredging up the usual issues of female representation and the industry's systematic failure to attract a larger female audience. Manara's own confused response did him no favours by ranging from the "women are naturally sexy" excuse to mentioning Ferguson, the current Ebola crisis, and Islamic fundamentalism. Meanwhile Tom Brevoort defends the publication of the cover. Tom Spurgeon and Amy Reeder each give a more nuanced response.

The marriage of Manara's sensibilities to American superheroes is actually rather atypical. The resulting image is erotic, but in a freakish rather than a seductive way. I'm not sure if I like it. But if Manara was trying to emphasise the inherent weirdness of superheroes, I think he might have succeeded.

Yale Stewart has put his webcomic JL8 on hiatus after admitting to sending unsolicited photos (NSFW) of himself fondling his privates to two women with whom he was involved. Before that, Stewart was threatened over the phone. He has since apologised for his gross behaviour.

What's interesting is the indirect manner in which the social media firestorm arose in the first place. Ulises Farinas initially accused Stewart of cynically capitalising on tragic events as a means to self-promotion, most recently the selling of his Ferguson desktop wallpaper. This prompted references to the existence of various "dick pics." Now, sending erotically-tinged messages isn't odd in this day and age, but the practice turns ugly when its unasked for. Stewart's actions can't be condoned, but neither should the making of threatening phone calls. Turns out the Web is still a very clumsy tool when wielded as a means to mete out justice. Who'd have thunk?

Only Stewart knows what was on his mind when he fashioned the Ferguson wallpaper, so I'll give him the benefit of doubt. But given the circumstances, employing the military-style Green Lantern Corps to call for unity might not have been the best choice.

Chris Sims on the splendid mess that is "Crisis on Infinite Earths." Even I could tell back then that the motive behind the series was editorial's desire to mold its diverse properties into a much more homogeneous unit. In retrospect, that it didn't succeed wasn't all that surprising. Not that it stops DC from continuing to shoehorn Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman into the same milieu.

I contribute to Twitter Nation.


Sketch: So What He Stole A Box Of Cigars?

So What He Stole A Box Of Cigars? by Dan Archer

Go to: Medium, by Dan Archer (via Tom Spurgeon)


Cartoon: You Might As Well Live

You Might As Well Live by Darryl Cunningham. But how did the man feel after the adrenaline wore of?

You can also listen to this podcast for another perspective on the very same anecdote.


Gallery: Tribute to Robin Williams

Robin Williams by Alex Fine
Alex Fine

Go to: Vice (via Tom Spurgeon) and Robot 6


The Playboy: a comic-strip memoir

The Playboy: a comic-strip memoir by Chester Brown
By Chester Brown

Playboy magazine has been around for so long that its boudoir-inspired aesthetic has practically become the very definition of kitsch.  And yet, it’s arguably due to the publication’s historic success that the tale found in a high school memoir like The Playboy isn’t really all that remarkable for the countless number of adolescent males growing up in the suburbs. Sure, the multimillion-dollar publishing empire has dwindled away over the decades. But its legacy continues in the constant stream of moderately titillating, slickly produced, and slightly pretentious imagery of half-naked women now ubiquitous in pretty much all visual media, despite the objections coming from both the more puritanical and the more progressive. It wouldn’t be surprising if this larger societal conflict informed the experiences of a young Chester Brown as he goes through the typical cycle of lust, attraction, anticipation, satiation, emptiness, guilt, paranoia, self-loathing, loneliness, only to circle back to lust. But Brown carves out a small niche for himself by navigating between the more familiar territories of self-flagellation, the blatantly pornographic, the polemical, or the farcical. Brown’s approach is to crystallise the inner turmoil he felt as he recalls his oft-repeated encounters with Playboy during the mid-70s. Everything else recedes into the background.

What’s at first striking after reading TP is what’s being left out of the main narrative. Brown’s minimalist self-portrait effectively converts him into a blank slate, which allows readers to project their own anxieties on to him. They won’t delve too deeply into his religion or politics. His family or friends. Or his love life. But they will be able to gaze at some of his favourite centerfolds. Observe his odd masturbation technique. And identify with his frantic attempts to hide/get rid of his magazine collection. The terse narrative inadvertently functions as a kind of Rorschach test. Some readers might see in it a tacit condemnation of all pornography. Or a confessional about a youthful addiction Brown eventually outgrew. Or a cautionary tale of how Playboy might have irreparably damaged his ability to form healthy relationships with flesh-and-blood women. Some might even remark on how he never makes the transition to more hardcore material.

The Playboy: a comic-strip memoir by Chester Brown

For my part, I detect no real moral disapprobation. Brown uses an interesting narrative device where his older self from the 90s visits his teenage self in the 70s as a tiny bat-winged figure. The daemonic avatar enlivens what is otherwise a visually monotonous and lonely pursuit. The supernatural appearance works in conjunction with Playboy being viewed at the time as forbidden fruit, but the interaction is entirely one-way. The older Brown doesn’t tempt his younger self but merely provides commentary on his actions while the latter remains completely oblivious to his presence. Older Brown might express occasional frustration with himself, but never any remorse for having possessed multiple copies of the magazine in the first place. And who knows what other forms of pornography he's gone on to consume since he outgrew this obsession? The book only focuses on Brown's relationship with Playboy during a very limited time period. Unsurprisingly, this provoked speculation about his sex life since TP's 90s publication. Brown has tried to address some of them in the 2013 revised edition through copious additional endnotes. This adds another layer of commentary, which complicates the book's overall impact. But this tactic is preferable to making significant revisions to the original comic itself (though he does make several minor changes), as that would have altered its rigorous structure.

The other thing that made an impression on me are the visual juxtapositions. Brown doesn’t come from the realist school of cartooning, and TP is representative of his earlier deconstructed style were the pages contained only a few panels in order to let the negative space dominate the composition. In contrast, he’s remarkably literal when reproducing the magazine's pictorials. The June 1975 issue in particular becomes an important motif as he goes through the act of buying, then throwing away his own copy, only to purchase another on a later date. As a medium, photography takes advantage of the sensuous qualities of light, colour and atmosphere. But when Brown translates the original glossy magazine images into black and white inks with his own awkward style, what ends up mostly coming across isn't the glamour but the artificiality of the poses and facial expressions. Yet when these conscientiously hand-drawn copies are placed next to Brown’s less detailed, wispier, big-headed characters within the book, they transform into something both more static and larger-than-life. After almost 40 years, it's evident that they still have some totemic power over the artist.

The Playboy: a comic-strip memoir by Chester Brown


The Karate Kid (1984)

The Karate Kid (1984), from Columbia Pictures. Director: John G. Avildsen, Writer: Robert Mark Kamen.

It’s been said before that 1984 was a really amazing year for the kind of movies that would go on to play an indispensable role in contemporary pop culture. So to celebrate this 30th anniversary, I’m going to ramble on about my personal favourite from that list, The Karate Kid, a movie that has helped forge my individual nerd identity and awareness of how Asia is portrayed in the West.

I was still a kid living half a world away from Hollywood back then, and one of the first things my peers commented on after seeing it was that the karate sucked. A lot of it was blamed on the character of Daniel LaRusso (Ralph Macchio), who starts out as the proverbial 90 lb. weakling, but happens to know a few karate moves, and ends up as a 90 lb. weakling with a few more karate moves under his belt. None of the main cast looked particularly impressive by the standards of traditional martial arts cinema. And yet those awkwardly executed techniques shorn of accompanying acrobatics and complicated stunt work were a curious revelation. TKK debuted during the tail end of the “kung fu” craze and the crest of the even wackier ninja craze. But whether portrayed by Hong Kong or Hollywood, Asian martial arts were still largely set within a pseudo-fantasy world. They had to be taught in monasteries or small villages hidden high within remote mountaintops as far as the movies were concerned (and still are). And they were usually performed by larger-than-life action hero types. But when high school bully Johnny Lawrence (William Zabka) threw an unremarkable front kick at new kid Daniel, causing the latter to keel over in extreme pain, the raw violence drew attention to the fact that many perfectly ordinary teenagers were already practicing martial arts up and down the country and were using those same skills on each other, whether through tournaments such as the one seen in the movie, in the dojo, or on the streets. TKK presented a far more mundane portrait for the Asian martial arts, making it impossible to dismiss them as mere bunk that could only happen in the movies. It wasn't necessary be a f*%#in' Bruce Lee or Sho Kosugi since any dweeb could mosey on down to the nearest class and learn how to "Keith Nash" someone in the nuts.

TKK did still draw from its fair share of classic martial arts tropes, which I quickly picked up on in the style-vs-style clash between the Cobra Kai karate dojo and Keisuke Miyagi (Noriyuki Morita). The former is an analog of Japanese karate, or perhaps more accurately an Americanized freestyle version of it, which emphasizes speed, power, athleticism and forceful movements. On the other hand, Miyagi's surname is a shout out to the Okinawan founder of goju-ryu karate Chōjun Miyagi. In the movie, the students of Cobra Kai were training to execute fast and hard-hitting punching combos with military precision ("Strike first, strike hard, no mercy, sir!") while Daniel was being taught a series of gentle, flowing parries that resembled a bird flapping its wings by carrying out a succession of dull household chores. Just in case anyone watching missed the point, the movie’s signature move is called the “crane technique”, a reference to the White Crane school of Chinese boxing (kung fu), believed to have strongly influenced the local karate traditions the real-life Miyagi studied. This animal symbolism is kind of a big deal to martial artists. For example, the famous sifu Ip Man was probably borrowing from White Crane and Taijiquan folklore when he penned the story of how the legendary figure Ng Moy invented Wing Chun boxing after witnessing a crane taking on a snake. So when puny Daniel mopped the floor with the beefy Cobra Kai members at the “All-Valley KarateTournament”, it’s meant to be a slight dig at modern karate’s extravagance. By practising the older, more "authentic" Okinawan art, Daniel had access to a store of wisdom that emphasized ideas like softness conquering hardness, technique overcoming raw power, and gentleness diffusing aggression. Now, if you could have at the very least told me all of this at the top of your head and still can't wait to tell me more, then congratulations! You're probably a martial arts otaku, or maybe you just had a strict sensei.

Hercules (1997) from Walt Disney Pictures. Written and Directed by Ron Clements and John Musker.

I was less able to recognize the geopolitical components since my Asian upbringing left me largely unfamiliar with American history. I wasn’t yet aware that the Vietnam War was a national tragedy for the United States. It would be two years before Oliver Stone’s Platoon taught me how America saw Southeast Asia during the Cold War as some kind of quagmire. And it didn’t occur to me that Cobra Kai head instructor John Kreese's (Martin Kove) “no mercy” philosophy, boot camp style training, mischaracterization of Miyagi’s peace offering as a challenge, and underhanded tactics could be blamed on him being a “Crazy Vietnam Veteran”. If Kreese were a real person alive today, he’d probably blame TKK for contributing to the pussification of America. As for his opposite Miyagi, his membership to the all-Japanese 442nd Regimental Combat Battalion was the first I ever heard of the unit. So it took a bit longer for me to grasp that Kreese vs Miyagi embodied another message: “Vietnam War bad, World War II good.”

Later viewings would impress on me just how much the movie’s subtext comments on Reagan-era America. Behind a superpower bullish of its military prowess (this was the decade when he-man types like Chuck NorrisStallone and Schwarzenegger would occasionally stomp around the jungles of hapless third world countries) were nagging doubts about the negative impact of US exceptionalism abroad (sometimes manifested in the era's ambivalent media representations of the Vietnam War). And there was a growing suspicion that the country’s prestige would eventually lose to the increasing economic clout of the Far East, especially former enemy Japan, the very country that was turning their kids on to the benefits of fuel-efficient cars and martial arts.

Things have changed a lot since then. While Japanese pop culture has become a staple component for American youth, karate and other forms of budo have lost some of their luster, and Japan itself is downplayed as a threat to American self-interests. The 2010 version recognized China's ascension as the new center of power combined with the growing suspicion that America's best days may already be firmly behind it. So Dre and Sherry Parker would leave the Motor City behind for the rapidly expanding megacity called Beijing in search for a better life.*

Johnny Bravo (1997-2004) from Cartoon Network. Created by Van Partible.

But back in 1984, sunny California was still the land of opportunity. So Daniel and his mom Lucille (Randee Heller) uproot themselves from the rustbelt state of New Jersey to seek out new opportunities in San Fernando Valley. Daniel feels immediately out-of-place as if they had moved to Paris, France. Even the more enthusiastic Lucille thinks they’ve alighted on the land of the blondes, confirmed when Daniel catches the eye of the pretty Ali Mills (Elisabeth Shue), then gets into a fight with the equally Aryan-looking Johnny. There’s classism mixed with personal jealousy with an undertow of ethnic rivalry. Both Ali and Johnny come from wealthy families, and there’s no way Johnny is going to lose his ex-girlfriend to some working class, greasy-haired, soccer playing, Italian interloper sporting a thick Joisey accent.**

What has often been described by critics as a coming-of-age tale acquires the features of an assimilationist fantasy when Daniel and Miyagi bond over bonsai trees, and later over karate. Given the murder of Vincent Chin two years earlier, the Miyagi character is a carefully assembled collection of personality traits designed to counter the era’s anti-Japanese xenophobia. The movie takes great pains to point out that he’s more Okinawan than Japanese. He’s a decorated soldier who fought for the Allies while his wife and unborn child were sent to the infamous Manzanar prison camp. And he doesn’t drive a Honda, he owns a fleet of classic cars made in Detroit. “Wax on, wax off” isn’t just good karate training, it’s a patriotic act when used on the proper vehicle. Miyagi is a model citizen who contributes his knowledge to society, in the process Americanizing the Okinawan martial art, through teaching Daniel.

And I’m certainly not the first to point out that Miyagi is basically Yoda - an orientalist image of the exotic-looking, pidgin-speaking, balding, ageing martial arts master counciling his impatient young padawan through the use of pithy (and eminently quotable) statements not to give in to fear, anger and hate.*** If the increasingly ruthless Kreese preaches “Mercy is for the weak. Here, in the streets, in competition. A man confronts you, he is the enemy. An enemy deserves no mercy…” Miyagi instructs Daniel on how karate can be applied to life: “First learn balance. Balance good, karate good, everything good. Balance bad, might as well pack up, go home.” Miyagi symbolically heals the racial rift, first during his youth by serving as a valiant soldier, then later serving as a mentor to the Caucasian Daniel, who then goes on to kick the crap out of his tormentors.

The Matrix (1999) from Warner Bros. Pictures. Written and directed by "The Wachowskis".

If that last part sounds implausible, that’s because it is. A plot in which a rank amateur learns to beat the experts after training for under 2 months using some very unusual methods of approximation? A comically over-the-top arch villain? The eccentric sensei that embodies every trope of the genre? The old-fashioned notion that you can earn the bully’s respect by beating him up? It’s just as hokey in 2014 as it was back in 1984. And yet, it still kind of works. The movie’s interactions still sound fresh and genuine, and the generally excellent cast inhabits their characters with utter conviction. Miyagi in particular could have been a dud, but Morita’s nuanced performance keeps the character from turning into another dull stereotype. Instead, what comes across is the warmth and humour from an actual person. That scene where Miyagi drunkenly re-enacts his own shocked reaction to the news of how his wife and child died during childbirth is surprisingly gut-wrenching even after 30 years. Macchio and Morita have an undeniable onscreen camaraderie that emotionally anchors the movie, but even the supporting characters come off pretty well despite being given little screen time (Needless to say, the story doesn't pass the Bechdel Test). What I particularly liked when I viewed TKK for this post were the scenes between Macchio and Heller, as they have the kind of relaxed verbal exchanges expected from a single mother and her teenage son.

If any character threatens to unbalance the movie, it’s the hissing, sneering, swaggering Kreese. His all-consuming hatred for everything weak doesn’t rise above the level of classic pulp villainy. When he instructs one of his students to put Daniel “out of commission”, I could practically see him twirl a virtual moustache. The character feels like he stepped out from the kind of movie which would have featured a s#@tload of guns and the requisite zombie horde. But then again, Kove also plays him as such an amusingly detestable human being that he raises the stakes and energizes every scene he’s in. So if Miyagi is Yoda, then I guess this makes Kreese a sandy-haired, musclebound Emperor Palpatine.

Kung Fu Panda (2008) from DreamWorks Animation. Directed by John Stevenson and Mark Osborne. Written by Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger.

Taking advantage of its gorgeous backdrops, TKK is a delightful visual treat. It also helps that 80s Southern California looks positively wholesome and innocent from the perspective of a 30 year gap. The same could be said about the cinematography. In contrast to the frenetic pacing and busy camerawork of today’s movies, TKK’s pacing is leisurely, especially the iconic middle section where Daniel and Miyagi hunker down to train. It’s all about the journey as Daniel learns to wax the cars, sand the floor, and paint the house.  I found myself still taken in by the surrounding natural beauty of Leo Carillo Beach where Daniel tries to master the crane technique, even though the smart-ass within me is irked that all he’s doing is clumsily attempting a stylized jumping front kick. On the other hand, the climactic tournament scenes are surprisingly brisk by today’s standards. The famous fight montage set to the corny youth anthem “You’re the Best” by Joe Esposito is a marvel of simplicity that efficiently conveys the necessary information. The final freeze frame of Miyagi smiling at the camera might seem almost too abrupt. Wouldn’t a Michael Bay have shown Daniel and Ali sharing a passionate kiss while the enraptured crowd swells around the two, accompanied by an exploding fireworks display in the background synchronised to a booming power chord progression played on an electric guitar, and Kreese being arrested for paederasty to the jeers of his now former students? God, how I hate the Transformers.

Like many youth-oriented movies from the 80s, TKK is sincere with its message, lacking in irony, and devoid of any self-aware winking at the audience or clever metatextual devices. It's unlikely that this movie would have been shot today, unless you count the 2010 remake. And its producers felt compelled to lower the age of its characters from teenage adolescents to tweens in order to make the story more plausible to current fans. TKK quickly spawned a bunch of Hollywood imitators using similar plot devices: The persecuted and inept White hero, the Oriental master, the training montage, the tournament as showdown. But none of them could follow the original’s advice and find the delicate balance between the hokier elements and the human drama. When Bloodsport came out 4 years later, the genre had already moved away from the adventures of an affable pipsqueak. The cheesy fantasy and the strongmen had made their way back, although in truth they never really left. This was still the 80s, after all. Come to think of it, the closest thing I've recently watched on television which reminded me of the spirit of TKK was Dodgeball. "If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball" is so "Paint the fence".

One thing that stands out after 30 years is how much the movie encapsulates a shift in the East-West exchange. Karate and other martial arts had traditionally been associated with the counterculture in the West, along with a host of other Asian cultural imports. But by the 80s these "traditions" were being co-opted by the mainstream. With that, the mystique surrounding them, as well as the belief in their authenticity, was perhaps irretrievably lost. By the end of the decade the orientalist image of the little Asian master was being forced to share face time with the CEO quoting from The Book of Five Rings and The Art of War. The sensei running the average dojo was more likely to resemble John Kreese than Mr. Miyagi. Dojos had to be run smartly, just as any other successful business. And its members would ineluctably include more well-heeled yuppies made from the same mould as Johnny Lawrence and Ali Mills. Martial arts had progressed from being underground knowledge to just another consumer good sold on the open market. The promise of personal liberation fetishized and reshaped to better fit into the economic system. When Daniel LaRusso rejected the expensive, efficiently run, but inhumane Cobra Kai dojo only to form a tightly knit teacher-student bond with Miyagi, TKK was applying no more than the mildest social critique against this trend. That the martial arts could mirror the broader friction between mainstream and marginal might actually have been the movie's most prescient insight. But within our present media landscape where Asian culture is more ubiquitous, commodified, and fragmented than ever before, and where the most prevalent modes of martial art displays have morphed into the public spectacles of hyper-real combat sports, TKK's gentle admonitions are just as likely to evoke nostalgia from the general audience.

Oh well. I'll just finish this post with a panel of the original Karate Kid taking down a slithery Superboy, because Val Armorr is the boss!

Karate Kid #12 (1978) from DC Comics. Written by Bob Rozakis. Pencils by Juan Ortiz. Inks by Bob McLeod. Colors by Anthony Tollin. Letters by Milton Snappin.

*The Chinese title for the 2010 Karate Kid translates as Kung Fu Dream, a much more literal description since Japanese and Okinawan culture plays no significant role in the movie.

**While I wasn’t initially impressed with the 2010 remake, I did like how the casting of Jaden Smith is a nod to how Asian martial arts have played a huge role in African-American life. The dearth of African-Americans (and other people of color) in the 1984 original is a much bigger omission when watched in 2014. How would the movie have turned out if Daniel LaRusso were cast as Black?

*** Interestingly, the stylistic clash between the Sith-controlled Galactic Empire and the Jedi-inspired Rebel Alliance in the Star Wars film series has been described as an allegory of the Vietnam War.