Morrison, Mamet, and storytelling in superhero comics.

29 Comments | Posted: October 27th, 2008 | Filed under: Thinking About Comics | Tags: , ,

1.
A disproportionate number of existing superhero comic book readers – they who use the term “civilian” to describe those who don’t hit up their local establishments on weekly basis, as if they’re in the front lines in Iraq – want their stories spoon-fed to them, leading to an equivalent percentage of superhero comic book “stories” that aren’t worth the electricity it took to email the files to Quebecor.

2.
Obvious, I know, but I figured that the reiteration of the obvious is germaine to the discussion. I was just looking at a recent Hulk comic in which the first page served as a text recap: there’s two Hulks, one’s Green, one’s red, and the red one (given the idiotic portmanteau of “Rulk”) has done something really awful. The first page of the actual comic is narration: “Oh, hey, Bruce Banner here, I’m The Hulk! There’s another Hulk! He’s red! They call him the Rulk! He did something bad.” While I am, as regular readers know, all about making sure titles are as new-user friendly as possible, losing a page of storytelling at the front of a book (that’s cut into two halves right now, mind) to a recap means that you should go straight into the action.

3.
One of David Mamet’s better pieces of advice (and the man throws out many worth paying attention to) is that you can lose the first ten minutes of any movie, as they’re generally exposition and little else. By picking up a comic book or sitting into a seat at the multiplex, the audience has already said “I trust you. Give it to me.” Thus, by having Banner reiterate the situation, Jeph Loeb (a screenwriter by trade, it should be noted) oversells his goods and creates a moment where, consciously or not, the reader sees the puppet’s strings.  Banner’s bemoaning the setup that’s just been recapped is the Marvel Comics equivalent of Jackie Chan making sure we see his face when he does those crazy stunts: it places the writer/performer ahead of the story.  I’m more than happy to let Jackie Chan do his thing; that’s why I’m there.  I’m not reading a Hulk comic to watch Jeph Loeb write dialogue circles.

4.
One of the reasons I enjoy Grant Morrison’s work with superheroes so much is that trusts the audience to follow along and very deliberately slices out narration and expository dialogue, letting the medium tell the story and exemplifying Mamet’s tenet. This is why Morrison’s reveals and relevatory moments are so memorable. “I can see you!” and “You’re Martians, aren’t you?” stand out because they’re organic and when they hit, chunks of the rest of the story suddenly make perfect sense. Morrison’s work may occasionally suffer due to artists who can’t quite pull off his scripts (Tony Daniel on Batman being an obvious example) but it’s obvious that he respects his audience more than contemporaries like Mark Millar.

5.
Morrison also trims the fat out of his stories whenever possible: rarely is someone seen walking out of a room or driving a car unless the narrative is furthered by it, and he’s fond of cutting off either end of those scenes to move to the next piece of the script.  Very rarely do people sit and talk: they’re in motion.  Witness the majority of “talky” scenes in his JLA run, or All-Star Superman #6, in which the Chronovore’s attack and the explanation of its importance to Superman’s life overlap, leading to a final moment that is better for the lack of outre sentimentality.

6.
Having to read and look at the art and think isn’t what the majority of the comic book audience wants to do, however. They’ll throw up any number of excuses or complaints, saying that it’s hard to follow or that they shouldn’t have to “work” to enjoy a story with Thor in it. I’m not going to say that Morrison is not without his opaque moments – his masturbatory opus The Filth, for example – but his superhero material places only the slightest of demands on the readers and is thus reviled by many, even as those in editorial (and snot-nosed, self-important bloggers) reward him for at least trying. When so little change is permanent in superhero comics, someone with the bravura of Morrison is to be admired. There’s a reason I’ll pick up anything with his name attached to it. Even when he makes storytelling choices I disagree with, it’s plain there’s thought behind them.

Review: Redbelt

Comments Off | Posted: May 10th, 2008 | Filed under: Reviews, What I've Been Watching | Tags: ,


I’m fairly sure that regular readers here know how I feel about David Mamet’s work. Even with all of his obvious quirks (the elliptical dialogue technique “borrowed” by Brian Michael Bendis,) and faults (the remarkable inability to create a female character that’s believable,) Mamet consistently does more to make the writer-portions of my brain sing than any other writer-slash-director working. I’ll champion movies like the underappreciated Spartan as if I were their father and when his material disappoints me, such as in the loathsome and excruciating Edmond, I take it as a personal affront.

In other words, it’s very, very weird for me to walk out of one of his films with something like mixed feelings for the work, but that’s exactly what happened this afternoon when I saw Redbelt.

The brief version of the plot: Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Mike Terry, an honor-bound, financially-strapped jujitsu trainer that finds himself involved in a typically Mametian plot. It begins with an accidentally-fired gun and a Hollywood star involved in a nightclub fight, passes through a flirtation with the film industry, works in getting screwed by completely unprincipled fight promoters, and ends with a well-handled fight for not only Terry’s honor, but that of the martial arts he holds so dear.

Everyone in this film – with the notable exception of Rebecca Pidgeon (whose sole purpose seems to be appearances in films made by her husband) does an impressive job with the material they’re handed. Mamet’s emblematic dialogue, particularly when he’s directing, is not easy on actors: repetitive and stripped to the point where the absence of nuance becomes its own trope, but the cast, including Emily Mortimer and Tim Allen (who I’m glad to see actually acting versus being a Disney Corporate Puppet) alongside mainstays like David Paymer and Ricky Jay, hold up their end of things with nary a grumble. The centerpiece, however, belongs to Chiwetel Ejiofor, who’s the sort of actor I love, able to convey emotion and thought without opening his mouth or making exaggerated facial expressions, it’s easy to see why Mamet picked him as Mike Terry.

So, what’s the problem? That’s the bugaboo – I can’t really go into it without spoiling the film’s ending and I loathe spoilers, spoiler-devoted websites, people who issue them, and the DC Comics character of the same name (albeit for an entirely different reason.) Suffice it to say that where Mamet normally goes for the unconventional and clever, the resolution to Terry’s travails is far too simple for the amount of buildup the viewer experiences, particularly after its revealed how deep the plot against him goes. For a good 90% of the film’s running time, I was very pleased with what was being unfolded in front of me. The unlikely, near-random turn of events in the dojo that occur very early in the picture and the amount of coincidence and good fortune that comes Terry’s way may have been scented with incredulity, but I accepted it as I accepted The Spanish Prisoner and House of Cards and their unlikely setups because the end result, the final knife-twist in those pictures, it brings everything together.

But this time, it…doesn’t, but it does. It provides the kind of finale that Mamet’s never done before, one that’s closer to The Karate Kid than Heist and even if it feels as if Mamet thinks he’s done the work, it’s strangely unsatisfying. A stretched metaphor would be if you took a first-class flight to Paris, got a luxurious limousine ride to your hotel, checked into an opulent room, and were then informed that the only food you’d be allowed to eat was McDonald’s. While it’s not quite the final-act disaster that movies like Sunshine have become known for, it’s still disappointing.

Even with all of that said, there’s an awful lot to like about the final product. Mamet shows signs of directorial growth in several scenes, opting for quiet over chatter in a few key moments, thereby letting his actors tell the story with their bodies and faces with unheard dialogue, and giving the audience a break from his rat-a-tat wordplay. Perhaps even more surprising is Emily Mortimer’s portrayal of an attorney who finds herself being taught by Terry – she comes mighty close to being the first female character in a Mamet film that I like, which can be nothing but a good sign as far as I’m concerned.

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