Utopia

What's a conspiracy thriller from Channel 4 doing with an entry on a comic book blog? It's not adapted from a comic, it doesn't focus on themes that are particularly synonymous with comic books, and it's not written by someone who even appears to have an interest in comics, let alone someone who's actually written one. It is, at first glance, a strange thing to include here.

Utopia is a part of the subgenre of shows that has become popular in recent years. It takes bits of alternate history and conspiracy thriller and whirls them together in a near future setting to produce something compelling. In Utopia’s case the near future sees a world plagued by food shortages and a skyrocketing global population. Setting it apart from its peers is the fact that the answers to everything regarding this conspiracy have been hidden in the original manuscripts of a comic book series called (cue metafictional gasp) Utopia.

The general idea is that the comic was written by one of the conspiracy’s architects after he went mad. Somehow this madman managed to script and draw a comic book and get a first issue published. The second, unreleased, issue is what the various factions in the show are after, as it reveals the truth of the conspiratorial plans.

Truth be told what we see of the comic doesn’t make it seem particularly interesting. It’s basically something to keep the narrative moving. Channel 4 missed a trick there. Had they brought in someone ambitious and or clever enough I’m sure a standalone issue two could have been produced that fitted in with the show and could have been sold to make the channel a little extra bunce.

There’s more to Utopia’s mention here than it featuring a comic book though. The show feels like it could have been written and worked as a comic. We frequently get stylish shots that wouldn’t look out of place in a comic. Even something as simple as a trip to a petrol station looks like it would be at home in the four colour world thanks to the way it’s shot here: the screen filled with primary colours and every movement happening for a reason. It’s a very well-produced programme.

It’s that use of colour that’s particularly comic book. I’m not in any way knowledgeable about technology but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the show had been treated visually to emphasise certain colours more. Skies are a brilliant blue, leafy fields are an intense green, lilac fields are an intense shade of… erm… liliac. The opening scene alone is enough to tell you that the show is going to be like a comic book in motion, featuring as they do a memorable set (a comic book store, no less), actors who wouldn’t look out of place in a comic wearing clothes that are incredibly distinct, and a visual homage to the red blood smear that Watchmen made famous. Even the show’s logo is striking: Utopia written in all caps on a bright yellow background (look up at the top if you don't believe me). You can envisage it on the shelf in a bookstore.  

If it were a comic book Utopia would be a grisly one. Violence comes often and is almost always gory. Across the six episodes an astonishingly high body count wracks up and there are some particularly gruesome scenes. The first episode features an unnerving torture scene involving a spoon and a man’s eyes while episode three boasts a high school shooting. These are not things that should be glorified or included in works of fiction lightly. Thankfully they make it into Utopia for a reason, but it still marks this as a show that’s very much for a mature audience. Channel 4, quite possibly the Vertigo of British television.

Being that it’s in the subgenre that it is Utopia is obliged to use certain standard character tropes. There’s the social misfit unstoppable thug, the computer expert who can hack anything, the girl who’s not all she appears, the nutter child, the secret agent who’s not all they appear, and the outcast who operates on the fringes of existence, well versed in the ways of surviving the rigours of their near future hellworld. Such familiar characters can make for predictability in places but as the cast is uniformly excellent (with the sole exception of Emilia Jones’s dreadful portrayal of schoolgirl Alice) the show gets away with it.

Also, by using such well-worn character tropes Utopia is able to get on with characterisation quicker: we know what computer hacker Wilson Wilson is all about within about three lines because he is so clearly being written as a standard issue computer hacker. That frees writer-creator Dennis Kelly and his team up to drop in information specific to Wilson. It also allows him to more easily wrong-foot us later on.

This approach is suitably comic book. There are dozens of comics scattered on the shelves these days that fit the near future conspiracy thriller tag, and Utopia further ties itself to the printed world by giving us characters that don’t tend to appear on television outside of comic adaptions. Mr Rabbit, one of the men who masterminded the conspiracy, the aforementioned Wilson Wilson, and Jessica Hyde, the character who operates outside of society’s conventions to get the job done, all spring immediately to mind there. They all seem far more comic book than TV.

Events in the sixth episode were deliberately written so as to leave things open for a second series should Channel 4 wish to commission one (which they’ve since done). That meant tying up certain plot elements while leaving others dangling. One of the threads that seemed to be neatly dealt with was the importance of the comic book manuscript. That means I’m unlikely to cover Utopia’s second series on this blog, but I’ll still be watching it. And I strongly recommend the first to anyone who likes good TV. Being a comic book reader is just a bonus.

Planetary

 

 What if the Fantastic Four turned bad? We’ll come back to this…

Planetary is a comic series published by Wildstorm comics from 1998 to late 1999. Despite that lengthy period it consists of only twenty-seven regular issues, three crossover issues and an introductory short. It was written by Warren Ellis, drawn by John Cassaday and coloured by Laura Martin. It’s set in the Wildstorm Universe (which has since been assimilated into the DC Universe) but in actuality has very little to do with the company’s established characters or titles. It’s a thematic successor to Ellis’s run on Stormwatch and The Authority.

The series focuses on the Planetary field team. Comprised of Elijah Snow, a man who can subtract heat form the atmosphere, Jakita Wagner, a woman blessed with super strength, and The Drummer, who has complete control over all technology, they’re tasked with uncovering the secret history of their world. That sounds a little broad, and it is. It’s basically the creative team’s excuse for the team getting involved in the plots they do. They have unlimited resources and answer only to the mysterious Fourth Man, the identity of whom becomes one of first of many mysteries in the series.

This is a completely accurate summary but it also fails to do Planetary justice. There’s so much more to the title.

The central conceit of Planetary is Ellis’s use of history to create a world of wonder. There’s an ongoing plot threat and a few loose arcs but all but two of the issues are self-contained stories (the two that aren’t are a two part story). This allows Ellis much more creative freedom than the traditional approach does. There’s no regular base or lengthy, convoluted explanations about how bad guys that were definitely killed last time we saw them are able to return.

Ellis makes use of a number of literary sources for Planetary. Issue two, for example, draws heavily on the tradition of Japanese monster movies. Issue eight is a cross between Cold War paranoia and fifties B movies. Australian creation myths are the basis of much of issue fifteen, although John Carter of Mars is also a source of inspiration for that issue. That should hint at how broad the series can be even within one issue. Action movies, Sherlock Holmes, The (Steed and Peel) Avengers, Norse mythology, and the X Files all provide ideas for Ellis at various points too. It’s an eclectic mixture of literature, pop culture, TV shows, and, of course, comic book history.

It sounds incredibly busy but it’s all perfectly judged, the sources never overshadow the central plot or the characters Ellis has created. Ellis uses the fiction we’re all familiar with as a storytelling shorthand. It’s a little like Alan Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, only broader in its reach and less focused on using the sources it uses as the centre point of its tale.

And I’ve yet to mention the comic book sources Ellis draws from. Throughout the series characters appear that are clearly based on characters from Marvel and DC, names changed partly because of legal reasons and partly because Ellis presents them, to a greater or lesser extent, as alternate versions of those established characters. He’s more interested in subverting the known aspects of the characters than the characters themselves, which is a healthy approach to take. We see Nick Fury, Captain Marvel, John Constatine, and Spider Jerusalem reimagined, and the work of several comic book greats referenced, most obviously and frequently Jack Kirby.

And then there are The Four. They’re the Fantastic Four done as though they were bad guys. The starting point for the idea was an issue Ellis has with the Marvel version of the group: they have great powers, resources and inventions but use them only to fight bad guys. There’s no attempt from the group to better mankind. That becomes a central idea of Ellis’s Four.

We see them slaughter the population of an entire planet just so they have somewhere to store their immense weapons collection. We discover that they created they internet (although it’s never actually revealed why). Most notably we see them eliminate Wildstorm versions of Superman, Wonder Woman and Green Lantern before they can have any positive influence on Earth. And none of this is done for the sake of it. By the time Planetary finishes we know exactly what motivated The Four and how and why they’ve done what they’ve done.

Understanding all of this in relation to the source material is obviously fun and adds another level on which to enjoy the book. If you don’t recognise something enough to know what the source material was you stil follow what’s going on within the context of the tale. You aren’t isolated because of ignorance but knowledge and understanding of pop culture and comic books specifically is rewarded.

I would like to add that the creativity is not limited to the stories told within Planetary. The covers are an integral part of the book’s experience, mirroring as they do the chief themes and inspirations of their contents (see the selection posted at the top of this review. Issue 23, for example, is the pulp heroes story, its cover done up to emulate a cheap disposable paperback from the thirties. The John Constantine issue perfectly replicates the original style of Vertigo titles. Meanwhile issue fifteen evokes ancient Australasian tribe art. The covers alone contribute more to the stories Ellis and Cassaday tell than most authors pack into twenty-plus page issues. 

Cassaday’s artwork is just as important to the book’s success as Ellis’s writing. A lesser artist (and there are many) would have been incapable of transferring Ellis’s more outlandish ideas to the page. There are few artists who could have produced work that was one moment awe inspiring and the next detailing the unspoken emotions of an office drone. Cassaday perfectly captures The Drummer’s neuroses and skittishness, Jakita’s confident swagger (just look at the perfect panel at the bottom of issue eight’s twelfth page), and Elijah’s deliberate pondering. In lesser hands this could have become just another superhero book. Cassaday helps it to become something incredibly special.

The links to the Wildstorm Universe start out infrequent and vague and are pretty much gone by the halfway point of the series. That’s no bad thing. Ellis does more to create a cohesive history for this fictional universe in Planetary than everyone else had done combined. Instead of trying to make everything tie together he focuses on threads he’d started up in other books. Such as the century babies.

Anyone who’s read The Authority will be familiar with the idea of a group of people with special powers sharing the birthday of January 1^st 1900. That’s elaborated on in Planetary, although ultimately we’re left with more answers than questions on the topic. The concept could very easily support a comic series in its own right. It’s a testament to Ellis as a writer that he hasn’t ruined the mysterious air he worked hard to cultivate by taking on such a project. The idea works best when used as an unresolved thread in the background.

With Planetary Ellis wanted to reintroduce wonder and discovery into comics, something he (rightly) felt had disappeared from comics throughout the course of the late eighties and the nineties. He essentially writes Planetary as a creator owned title and uses the Wildstorm Universe as little more than a backdrop. It’s not something that could have been done with the continuity heavy worlds of Marvel or DC. It works here because Wildstorm is (or was now, I suppose) so much younger as a company. Ellis gave it an identity of its own with this title, and wrote a series that will be enjoyed for a very long time. You could not hope for a more inventive comic.

Jimmy Corrigan, The Smartest Kid On Earth

Jimmy Corrigan, The Smartest Kid On Earth is not the sort of comic book I usually read. I tend to like things with superpowers and fights and characters that first appeared fifty years ago. Jimmy Corrigan is none of these things. For starters it’s probably one of the few books in the world that could accurately be described as a graphic novel in the non-pretentious usage of the term.

It’s a depressing story about a socially awkward man who lives alone and has very little contact with other people. He has an overbearing mother, has never met his father, and doesn’t know how to talk to women. The sense of loneliness is clear from the very beginning and becomes more evident as you witness the isolated existence Corrigan has and see flashbacks to his equally remote childhood.

The story that unfolds across the book is pretty simple to summarise. Corrigan meets his estranged father for the first time and is sparked into doing a handful of things outside of his usual routine. What makes this generic story worth reading are the details that writer-artist Chris Ware includes. Watching Corrigan mumble his way through scenes, seeing other people judge and pity him, is heart-breaking.

Depressing as it is the book is popular. I think this is because of how relatable and sympathetic the central character and his problems are. The book doesn’t shy away from upsetting its readers. When so many comics these days are more concerned with working in references to a crossover arc that happened twenty years ago than giving readers something to invest in emotionally Jimmy Corrigan is something to be cherished. It’s also something that has an appeal beyond the average comic book reader, which can’t have hindered sales either.

In all honesty I suspect the greatest reason for the book’s success is Chris Ware’s artwork. He works with graphic design tools such as rulers, T squares and compasses to produce precise, geometrical artwork. Sometimes he’ll dedicate an entire page to one panel, drawing a scene of a wrecked city, a sprawling harbour or a group of people sitting in stands. Other times he’ll crisscross his page with dozens of tiny panels and cram an impossible about of story into a small area. It’s the smaller approach that I prefer. It allows Ware to tell stories visually rather than relying on cumbersome dialogue bubbles stuffed with exposition.

Just leafing through the book you can come across some interesting visual points of interest. Old fashioned ads for fictitious brands litter the panels of the book, joined occasionally by a picture of an infant Jimmy striding across a landscape eating tiny people or a cutout page that allows you to make a miniature model paper house. If you get the hardback edition of the book (Jimmy Corrigan is a rare example of a book that’s kept in print in both hardback and paperback) you get some unadvertised extras. The inside of the front and back covers and covered with small text detailing Ware’s views on comic books and the history of writing Jimmy Corrigan. Pulling off the dust jacket reveals more stories that can be glanced through (I say glanced because there are no words and you can’t read pictures). One side is dedicated to the history of the Corrigan family, the other to the endless tedium that comes with being Jimmy Corrigan. It’s easily worth the extra couple of quid.

Chris Ware is fantastic at creating work that evokes a sense of exploration and discovery. His artwork can’t simply be read. It has to be pored over in order to uncover every last detail. Jimmy Corrigan is his most lauded work and entirely deserving of being so.

Sin City

Considering the nature of comics it’s surprising how often artwork gets overlooked. Good artwork gets pointed out, yes, as does bad artwork. But that’s praising or chastising the quality of someone’s work. It’s not looking at art as something that contributes to the overall feel of a comic. I think this is because all too often artwork doesn’t really add to a comic’s themes. It’s almost always there just to give form to the words of the author.

Take Watchmen, for example. Dave Gibbons deserves, and usually gets, just as much credit for the book’s success as does writer Alan Moore. Without Gibbons Watchmen would not be the book that it is but it would not be as different as it would be without Moore. With another writer it could have succeeded to the same degree. It might even have been better.

The point is that what Dave Gibbons did with Watchmen was sterling work, but he did nothing that couldn’t have been done by somebody else. He worked from a script written by Moore. That could have been done by anyone, professional artist or not. Watchmen’s art is good, but there is nothing about it that cultivates a feeling that Watchmen achieves something no other comic could have. The script may do that. The art does not.

Sin City is different because of its art. Writer-artist Frank Miller makes artistic choices that set the series apart from everything that came before it. The book would have worked just as well had another artist provided the visuals (Dave Gibbons, for example) but had they not made the choices Miller did the books would just be fairly well written crime capers.

So what are these artistic choices? Well, Sin City is drawn almost exclusively in black and white. This allows Miller to achieve a couple of things. Firstly, it evokes the feeling of crime noir films, all clever lighting and moody shadows. Even those who have never sat through a crime noir film will be aware of the visual cues the genre is known for as they’ve become common on film and television. Keeping his pages black and white allows Miller to make easy use of these cues himself.

The second thing working in monochrome (can art be monochrome?) lets Miller do is make clever use of colour. Every so often a character will be drawn partially coloured. In Daddy’s Little Girl it’s the titular girl appearing in pink, helping to establish a sense of femininity and helplessness for the titular girl. Blue Eyes sees streetwalker Delia drawn with blue clothes to match her famed blue eyes. Red is used sparingly in another tale to emphasise the lipstick and slinky dress of an unnamed femme fatale. The most extravagant use comes in Hell and Back where it’s used to depict the hyper reality of an LSD trip. It’s a fantastic approach to drawing a comic that creates a wonderful “feel” for the books.

Of course, looking at the examples in the last paragraph you may notice one of the book’s major downfalls. It’s fairly sexist. Women are depicted as either objects for men to lust after and fight over or battle-hardened Amazonian prostitute warriors. There is no middle ground and it’s noticeable. Male characters are slotted neatly (but less offensively) into camps too. They’re either corrupt officials or hard drinkin’ PIs with women troubles and hearts of gold.

But Sin City saves itself from being a vehicle for Miller’s rampant misogyny and right wing zeal by being a thoroughly good read. The misogyny and zeal are present throughout but they’re made just about acceptable because Miller is, with Sin City, striving to create a world without hope, overrun by greed and ruled with fear. His disturbing world views make him incredibly good at that.

All of Sin City’s seven volumes are set in the titular city. Its full name is Basin City, the B and A having been dropped by the locals when they realised the corruption had set in. Across the various stories Miller creates a fascinating metropolis. Characters reappear throughout, civic leaders are shown, and the various neighbourhoods are shown. Miller is creative when conjuring backstories for these areas and displays a knack for naming them too. He even sketches out the history of Basin City itself. It’s a compelling display of world building.

Characters deliver their internal monologues in short bursts, which helps it to be read in the staccato fashion you’d see in films. As mentioned, every male character seems motivated, in some manner, by his love for a woman. And practically every character a story focuses on is a cop or PI. If they’re not they probably meet one during the course of their yarn. But as repetitive as it is it never gets boring, I suspect because, being comics, they can be read quickly enough to not outstay their welcome.

For all its faults Sin City is a fantastic achievement in the world of comic books. It’s something that established its own visual style while at the same time evoking TV and film and drawing inspiration from comics of the past such as Will Eisner’s The Spirit. A visual style that borrows from film and TV is often taken for granted with modern comics, but it was a far rarer occurrence when Miller started this. If the black and white views on the sexes didn’t match the black and white art Sin City would be about as good as it gets. As it is it comes pretty close.