Heroes Never Rust #98: The Graphic Nature of Storytelling

17 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Heroes Never Rust

Tags

Heroes Never Rust #98 by Sean Ironman

Terror Inc.: The Graphic Nature of Storytelling

Terror Inc. is part of Marvel’s MAX imprint—a collection of comics geared toward an adult audience. The imprint was launched in 2001 and is known for featuring explicit content: sex, violence, profanity. Stan Lee, who co-created the Marvel universe, has spoken out against the imprint, saying, “I don’t know why they’re doing that. I don’t think that I would do those kinds of stories.” You see, some people do not want to read stories with sex, violence, and profanity. I know, shocking. Of course, I feel differently than Stan Lee, but I do understand that there are a lot of people who will not stand a story with questionable content. Check out these Amazon reviews:

One star review for Reservior Dogs: “All Tarantino dialogues sound like something a high school kid came up with. Just goes to show that anyone can make a lot of money with vulgarity and no talent.”
One star review for South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut: “This is a R-rated movie? Yea right! This sure seems like an x-rated movie! The languege is so awful! Those four foul mouthed boys should be given a bath!T hey say the F-word about 100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,0oo,ooo,ooo,ooo,ooo,ooo, ooo,ooo,ooo,ooo,ooo,ooo times in it!It sould not be viewed by anyone! I would have voted no stars,but no!Ii had to vote 1!”
One star review for season one of Game of Thrones: “Way too much explicit sex for a science fiction action story.”
Two star review for season one of Masters of Sex: “pretty much just porn”

Apparently, there is a common thought that only valid content should be used in storytelling. Of course, anything in a story can be too much (I’ve discussed this before). There can be too much sex in a story, too much profanity, just as there can be too many conversations, too many scenes of characters hand-holding. This seems to be the main topic when discussing popular fiction these days. How many articles about nudity in Girls have been written? How many people have announced they are boycotting Game of Thrones because of an act of silence in the newest episode? Just a few minutes ago, I saw that George R.R. Martin has once again been asked about his thoughts on the violence against women in Game of Thrones. We will never decide this matter. I can tell you how much I want my stories to reflect the real world, and in order to do so, a story must contain content that I do not enjoy. I can appreciate a graphic violent act in a story and not condone the actions in real life. I think sex and, especially, nudity creates an intimacy between me, as view or reader, and the characters. But, I am after something different when I read or watch a story.

A story is a complex creation, meaning it could be used for multiple purposes: entertainment or art. Escape or thought. Entertainment makes us feel good, while art challenges us. David Cronenberg said, “Entertainment wants to give you what you want. Art wants to give you what you don’t know you want.” Now, I believe a work could be both. It’s more of a sliding scale between entertainment and art than two disparate choices. But, that seems to be at the root of the matter: some people watch a TV show or a film, or read a novel or a comic book as entertainment. Others look for something deeper. There is no convincing a person who only wants to be entertained with a story lacking any difficult or graphic content that the story should have such content. And vice versa, a person looking for something deeper will continue to pick apart summer blockbusters.

Stories, in general, are capable of giving a reader, or a watcher, a different experience. Yet, each story is geared toward a specific purpose: entertainment or art. People will go on complaining about a story having inappropriate content, and others will complain about stories not having enough depth. The only thing storytellers can do is to make certain the audience knows what they are getting into before they start. Marvel’s MAX imprint does just that. If a reader prefers his or her stories without violently graphic content, then he or she can pass by the book on the shelf. There are enough people out there, enough possible readers. If someone doesn’t like the content, then it’s not for them.

_______

Photo by John King

Sean Ironman (Episode 102) earned his MFA at the University of Central Florida. Currently, he teaches creative nonfiction and digital media at the University of Central Arkansas as a visiting professor. His work can be read in The Writer’s Chronicle, Redivider, and Breakers: A Comics Anthology, among others.

Heroes Never Rust #93: Master Plans

13 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Heroes Never Rust

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, sean ironman, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #93 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Master Plans

So we have come to this. The penultimate issue of Watchmen. The issue when the villain is truly revealed and his master plan is set. Although a few pages are given over to some of the residents of New York City, most of the issue is set aside for Night Owl and Rorschach’s confrontation with Ozymandias, the comic’s villain. There is some action, with Ozymandias easily taking care of the two heroes. (I must say, on a side note, how interesting it is to make Ozymandias so much more powerful that the heroes in this issue. At no point, do the heroes really even stand a chance at stopping Ozymandias. I like it.) The problem that many stories have, not just superhero stories, is that the villain ends up explaining the whole plot to the heroes. A lot happens in Watchmen, and readers do need to understand how each piece fits, but usually, there is no actual story-based reason for a character to lay out the plot. Yet, here in the penultimate issue, Ozymandias tells Rorschach and Night Owl everything. And it works! The issue is one of the best of Watchmen.

The comic sidesteps the exposition aspect of revealing Ozymandias’ master plan by making the revelation less about revelation and more of a persuasive argument. Ozymandias, for all his power, does not show aggression toward his old teammates. When Rorschach and Night Owl first approach, Ozymandias is eating. He only strikes Rorschach and Night Owl in defense. Once the heroes are on the floor, Ozymandias asks, “Now…what can I do for you?” Ozymandias isn’t looking for a fight. He truly believes that what he is doing is the best thing for the world, and instead of beating Rorschach and Night Owl, he is trying to convince them. He wants his old teammates on his side. When Night Owl asks Ozymandias what he’s trying to do, Ozymandias responds, “What we all tried to do after our initial struggle to find our feet. I’m trying to improve the world.”

Ozymandias doesn’t just reveal what he’s trying to do, but what he has done. He goes back to his beginnings as a masked vigilante. He talks about meeting The Comedian, about meeting his old teammates. Ozymandias is building an argument. The physical fights that occur between his words are because Rorschach attacks him while he is speaking. Ozymandias wants to help the world, just in a different way than Rorschach and Night Owl. The death of a few to save the many. Ozymandias only got Doctor Manhattan off world because Doctor Manhattan is too powerful, and The Comedian was killed because he discovered Ozymandias’ plan. Rorschach asks, “Blake’s murder. You confess?” and Ozymandias responds with “Confession implies penitence. I merely regret his accidental involvement.” Ozymandias, in a way, is right in distancing himself from emotion. A doctor cannot get emotionally involved with his or her patients. Perhaps a superhero must be objective. Ozymandias does not revel in what he has done, but he believes that by destroying the present system in place then the future will be secured.

At the end of the day, the issue works when Rorschach and Night Owl refuse to let Adrian succeed. They have listened to his pitch, but they won’t let him do it. And, in response, Ozymandias utters one of the best lines of Watchmen, “Dan, I’m not a republic serial villain. Do you seriously think I’d explain my master stroke if there remained the slightest chance of you affecting its outcome? I did it thirty-five minutes ago.” The heroes are too late. Ozymandias isn’t trying to convince Rorschach and Night Owl to help him. He’s trying to convince them to understand why he did what he did. Being far from New York City, the location of the attack, the heroes don’t realize it’s too late to stop the attack.

The problem with the villain explaining the whole master plan is that, of course, the hero is going to get free and stop the villain. The villain is really just telling the hero how to stop the plan. But, here, the trope is turned on its head. As Ozymandias is laying out what he has done and why, readers will rely on what they have learned from stories so far, that the heroes will win. The villain’s plan will not succeed. But, the reader is proved wrong in Watchmen. It makes the comic more memorable and more shocking, not by the murder of the residents of New York City, but by making the reader feel comfortable and then pulling the rug out from underneath. Without Ozymandias revealing his master plan, even if the same attack was set and went off without the heroes standing a chance, the issue would fall flat. A surprise only works if readers are led to believe one thing first. By relying on the cliché of the overly talkative villain, Watchmen brings something new to the table.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #91: Sentimentality

29 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Heroes Never Rust

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alan Moore, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, This Side of Paradise, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #91 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Sentimentality

Watchmen presents a bleak world. Superheroes are no the superheroes many people are familiar with. The world, or at least a great deal of the world, seems to hate the vigilantes. But, there is one real moment of, not happiness, but positivity. At the end of the ninth issue, Silk Spectre convinces Doctor Manhattan to return to Earth. He feels that humanity is no different than anything else in the universe—a collection of atoms. By the end, though, he sees that life is special:

In each human coupling, a thousand mission sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter…until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold…that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermodynamic miracle.

In my Forms of Illustrated Narrative course a few weeks ago, as we discussed the second half of Watchmen, one student remarked that the ending to the ninth issue is a bit sentimental. I don’t view it that way, but I can see the student’s point, especially because it seems that when a work presents a bleak view, emotion is okay, but when there is some happiness or positivity involved, the work becomes sentimental. Sentimentality is looked down upon in literary writing. Many writers, especially those at the beginning of their careers, are so afraid of their work being labeled sentimental that the emotion is stripped from the story. The stories become bland and do not affect the reader. The stories die on the page. But, what is sentimentality, and how can a writer produce a work that feels alive that has emotion in it without the work being labeled sentimental?

First, sentimentality does not just relate to positive emotions. Sentimentality, at least in its current use, appeals to shallow, unsophisticated emotions with no regard for reason or logic. In This Side of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “I’m not sentimental—I’m as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last—the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won’t.” Sentimentality takes the reality out of the story and presents a simplistic view in an effort to get the reader to feel what the writer wants the reader to feel.

That’s a problem for a number of reasons. Instead of focusing on the characters and the story, the writer is trying to manipulate the reader into feeling a certain way. No one likes to be sold something. Present the story and let the reader feel what they will feel. Another problem is with the simplistic view. James Baldwin once remarked, “Sentimentality, the ostentatious parading of excessive and spurious emotion, is the mark of dishonesty…the wet eyes of the sentimentalist betray his aversion to experience, his fear of life, his arid heart; and it is always, therefore, the signal of secret and violent inhumanity, the mark of cruelty.” In sentimental work, emotion is contrived, dishonest. We, literary writers, are out to explore humanity. Honestly. We search for the Truth, for meaning. But, sentimental work is about controlling the reader, not exploring the story and the subject matter. Life is complicated. Situations are complicated. Emotions are complicated. That complication needs to be shown in the work.

In a work, like Watchmen, a writer must balance emotions. Watchmen is dark, not overly so, but it is about a world on the brink of nuclear war and deals with many superheroes who do nothing about the situation. Until recently, sentiment used to be the standard word for feelings. Now, it has been twisted to mean describe empty, meaningless emotion. That’s the issue with sentiment, really. It affects adult readers in the opposite way, making the reader not feel. Sentimental work is broad and deals with unearned emotion. Emotions are sloppy. Highly emotional situations are not overly sad, or overly happy, but a combination of emotions that leave a person not knowing how to feel. It’s not so much emotion that should be avoided, but expected emotion. In Watchmen, the end of issue nine works because it is one ray of positivity in the twelve-issue comic. The positivity interacts and counterbalances with the negativity, creating a story that the reader has to think about. The work becomes intellectual, not just emotional.

There are such things as simple emotions and complex emotions. This is supported by psychologists, by the way, not just my own rambling. Simple emotions are fear, happiness, anger, sadness, etc. Complex emotions, such as shame, pride, guilt, require us to know about the character’s situation and values. Simple emotions are basically like an animal reflex, according to Keith Oatley, a professor emeritus of cognitive psychology at the University of Toronto. In order to understand complex emotions, one must think, analyze, and interpret events—events that are complicated because there are multiple contradictory emotional triggers. Sentimental works try to get the reader swept up in emotion, controlling the heart instead of the head, but this doesn’t work well with adult readers. I do not mean to look down on YA works or younger readers, but biologically speaking, younger people have more difficulty regulating emotions, causing them to be more impulse and driven by emotions rather than logic and reason. Emotional reactivity grabs younger readers easier than adult readers, which is why there are many YA books that are sentimental, and that work even though they are sentimental. It’s all about audience.

But, adult readers need messier, more complex situations. Adult readers need to be challenged emotionally. At the end of the day, avoiding sentimentality in one’s writing is the same solution as just writing in an age that so much narrative is competing for readers—give the reader something new.

Make your writing as emotional as you want. But, make your writing complex. Don’t give the reader something that he or she already knows. Aim for an emotional ambiguity. It allows you as a literary fiction (or nonfiction) writer to explore the subject matter fully and create complex characters, and it avoids the sentimental.

I have told this my undergraduate nonfiction workshop many times—If you write an essay about a dead grandparent, don’t write about how sad you are that the grandparent is dead. That would be writing into readers’ expectations. Give readers something new. Write about how happy you are that the old hag is dead. Or don’t write about death at all. Remember, sentiment is socialized. Sentiment is expected, simplistic emotion. Sentiment is pre-conceived. Sentiment is controlling your reader and treating them like an animal, only allowing the reader instinctive, reflexive emotional responses. Allow the reader to think. Send your readers into the deep end and see if they can figure their way out. Emotion and sentiment are separate from one another. Emotion can be present in your work (positive or negative), but just make it complex enough that you are not telling the reader how to feel.

Ambiguity is a good thing.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #90: Skip the Door

22 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Heroes Never Rust

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #90 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: When Not to Show

Watchmen, for the most part, is devoid of action. There are blips on the radar, but the comic is very much a bunch of talking heads.

But the eighth issue is the most action packed. We get Rorschach taking on Big Figure and his henchmen, Night Owl and Silk Spectre breaking Rorschach from prison, and the murder of Hollis Mason, the original Night Owl. The issue is bloody and violent, but upon re-reading it, I was in awe of how little Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons show the violence. Many beginner writers go overboard with action scenes, and they could do worse than studying the eighth issue in finding a way to be violent without showing too much. This goes for every aspect of a story, really. When does a writer cut away? What does a writer show to the reader?

In the first action scene of the issue, Big Figure, a crime boss from the 1960s that Night Owl and Rorschach put in jail, uses the prison riot distracting guards to his benefit and goes to Rorchach’s cell with two henchmen. Rorschach pisses off one of the henchmen, who tries to grab Rorschach through the bars. Rorschach ties his hands so that Big Figure can’t open the cell. Wanting revenge, Big Figure has the second henchman cut the first henchman’s throat so they can get to the lock. In one panel, we see the second henchman with a shiv to the first henchman’s throat. But, we don’t see the throat cut. We get a shot of Rorschach with a stone cold look on his face as blood splashes onto his stomach.

Why change perspective there? Does it have something to do with the reader not being able to handle the grisly scene? Some might say so, but I wouldn’t. If someone didn’t want to read a comic with violence like this, they would not have advanced to the eighth issue. And if they miraculously did and still did not want to see violence, they still get a scene where a person’s throat is cut. They might not see the knife cut through skin, but they know what’s going on. The slitting of the throat is not shown because it does not matter. It’s unimportant. Skip the door and all that.

The henchman is barely a character. Readers are shown Rorschach’s response. He’s one of the main characters of the comic. And his response is that he has none. He doesn’t even acknowledge the man dying. The moment is used to support Rorschach’s characterization, not to give the audience a violent encounter. That’s the difference between violence being used gratuitously and violence serving the story.

Later, violence is used in a similar fashion when Night Owl and Silk Spectre proceed to rescue Rorschach from prison. At first, Rorschach refuses to leave until he settles the score with Big Figure, who has run into a bathroom. Big Figure’s death is not shown. Instead, readers stay with Night Owl and Silk Spectre as they wait in the hall. Again, Big Figure is not important. It might be “cool” to get a death scene, but the story does not require it. The story needs to keep the main characters front and center. So, while the reader can understand what is going on in the bathroom, the reader would not understand what Silk Spectre and Night Owl discuss while waiting. It’s more important for the reader to stay with those two and their conversation than to follow Rorschach. There is nothing surprising about what happens to Big Figure. Skip the door.

Now, the final action scene of the issue—the death of Hollis Mason, the original Night Owl, is a bit different. No main character is present. One could argue that the scene does not affect the main plot of Watchmen, and one would be right in that assumption. Yet, it still is an important scene. It deals with the aftereffects of the main plot. It gives the story weight.

In Watchmen, much of the public dislikes superheroes. A gang blames Doctor Manhattan and the other vigilantes for the troubles of the world, for the world being on the verge of nuclear Armageddon. Hollis Mason released a book years earlier revealing he was Night Owl. The gang, not understanding there is a new Night Owl, go to kill Hollis because they think they are stopping a superhero. They break into his house and beat him to death.

Instead of seeing him die, the scene is cut up. Readers are given one panel of the fight, and then one of Hollis in the past as Night Owl fighting criminals. Due to the break in the scene, the sequence becomes about more than just the death of Hollis Mason. It becomes about consequences.

About the aftermath. Doctor Manhattan, Rorschach, Night Owl, and Silk Spectre can’t save everyone. Their existence, in itself, is capable of bringing pain to others. And what happens years later to these superheroes, when they’re old and forgotten?

Watchmen, at its very heart, is a study about superheroes in the real world. The consequences of their existence. The effect they have on the world. That’s what makes Watchmen so interesting. But, superheroes can’t just affect the world in a good way. That’s not interesting. That’s not real. Bad things will happen, like they do with Hollis Mason. No one can save the entire world.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #86: Watchmen: Non-Chronological Storytelling

25 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alan Moore, Flashbacks, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, storytelling, time, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #86 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Non-Chronological Storytelling

The fourth issue of Watchmen is a centerpiece for delving into Doctor Manhattan’s character. At the end of the third issue, he teleports to Mars. There, he builds a massive clock tower and, basically, reflects on his life. Reflect might not be the right word. Doctor Manhattan is the one vigilante with superpowers. He sees time differently than we do, with events taking place simultaneously. He is, at once, in the past, present, and future. The issue with all of this, of course, is that the reader is not Doctor Manhattan. At the end of the day, no matter how experimental a comic is or prose is, a person reads one sentence at a time, views one panel at a time, in sequence. These smaller pieces add up. Letters to words to phrases to sentences to paragraphs to pages. Even in comics, a visual medium, the reader views events in a sequence. An issue that many stories may have (comics or prose) is showing non-chronological storytelling. When your story features a character who literally views the world non-chronologically, the problem may be exacerbated. The reader needs to understand the story, regardless of whether he or she likes the story or not. Understanding the events presented is important.

Doctor Manhattan goes through his entire history from being a boy wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps as a watchmaker to attending Princeton to meeting Janey Slater to falling in love to his accident and supposed death and eventually his rebirth as a superpowered being to becoming a vigilante and meeting Laurie, the second Silk Spectre. There are other events that I’m leaving out, too. All of this is taking place as Doctor Manhattan reflects on his life from the story’s present day on Mars. To keep track of all of these different time periods (over a few decades), the story is given a framing device of Doctor Manhattan searching/walking on Mars. The frame is returned to time and time again, actually similar to a car revving. Each time, the story leaves the frame, the story gets a little bit more confident going further into the time periods and returning to the frame less and less and jumping from time period to time period without being taken back to the present day. Readers are still firmly placed—they aren’t thrown around time, so they can keep track of events.

In visual design, like on the comic book page, a viewer/reader needs a line of sight. A viewer/reader needs to understand how to read a page—basically a line to move a viewer/reader down and across the page. A story needs a similar line. Readers need through-line to move them from scene to scene. The frame story of Doctor Manhattan on Mars is that line. It gives the reader a base to feel safe and secure. I have written about this before, but it is important for a reader to feel like the writer is in control, that the writer is not just throwing whatever is on the top of his or her head at the reader.

Comics have a bit more leeway on changing the scenery and time period suddenly because readers are capable of processing images faster than text. Just changing the colors and images between panels is enough to communicate to a reader that there has been a change in time and setting. So, comics can change scene faster and still have the reader keep track of what is going on. But, Watchmen also uses text. If there’s one thing I learned about transitions in prose (and I think this goes for nonfiction as well) is that beginning writers tend to overthink them. Elbows and knees are ugly. How many people can say that the most beautiful part of their partner is the elbow? There are exceptions, I’m sure, but the elbow serves a utilitarian purpose. It’s not meant to be beautiful. The same with transitions. Transitions are utilitarian. They serve a purpose to move the reader from one place in the story to another place in the story. Many beginner writers try to turn transitions into art. In Watchmen, readers are moved from one time period to another period in a simple manner—“It is 1985. I am on Mars. I am fifty-six years old.” You cannot really get simpler than that. Readers get the year, the place, and the age of Doctor Manhattan, the narrator. The text firmly places us into the time period. The transition is also written in a style befitting Doctor Manhattan—there is no emotion. Alan Moore uses the text as not only a transition, but also as a means for characterization. But, the transitions are not overdone. They fit the voice of the character, and they move readers from place to place. And that is it. The transitions do not do the heavy lifting. They get the job done, and the story moves on.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #85: Watchmen & Sex

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Erotic Literature, Heroes Never Rust

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alan Moore, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #85 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Sex

A great deal occurs in the third issue of Watchmen. Laurie and Dan get their taste for superheroics reinvigorated when they are jumped in an alley. Doctor Manhattan is confronted on television for allegedly giving cancer to people around him due to his super powers. He leaves Earth for Mars. Rorschach continues with his theory that someone is trying to plot against the superheroes. But, the scene that sticks out to me as the most interesting is Doctor Manhattan’s sex scene with Laurie toward the beginning.

The scene opens with Doctor Manhattan’s blue hands touching Laurie’s face. Then, a third hand appears. Freaked out, Laurie screams and the sex stops. Two Doctor Manhattans are in bed with her. When she goes to another room in their house, she spots a third Doctor Manhattan in some sort of a lab—his office, I presume. Laurie, upset that her boyfriend thinks so little of loving her that he duplicates himself so that he can continue his work, storms out. It’s a short scene, only two pages, but it’s a vital one that helps develop both characters and moves the plot along, giving Doctor Manhattan no reason to remain on Earth after Laurie leaves him.

Sex can be difficult for some readers to get through in a story. It’s not for me (as a writer or a reader) so sometimes I’m confused by certain readers’ responses to stories featuring sex. I can understand when readers feel sex scenes are gratuitous, and I feel the same in certain works, True Blood, for example. But, gratuitous can go for any type of scene. A conversation can be gratuitous. A gratuitous scene goes overboard long after the scene accomplishes what it was meant to accomplish for the story. If a conversation goes on too long, then it is gratuitous. The same with an action scene. Any scene. Of course, there are gratuitous sex scenes. But, just because sex is present doesn’t meant the scene is gratuitous.

First, there is little nudity in the sex scene in issue three. Laurie pulls the covers up. The reader knows she is naked, but showing her breasts would be gratuitous here. Readers are shown Doctor Manhattan’s ass, but he spends the majority of Watchmen nude, so that doesn’t really count. The scene is shown knowing full well that most people view sex as an intimate act. It’s personal. And because most readers would agree with that idea, the scene works well. Doctor Manhattan has become so distant from his humanity that he cannot even be present when making love to his girlfriend. If readers did not view sex as a personal and private act, they might very well agree with Doctor Manhattan as Laurie complains and storms out. Instead, readers are able to understand that Doctor Manhattan has become less interested in human acts. He would rather stick to his experiments. During the argument, Laurie throws a beaker filled with some sort of liquid at Doctor Manhattan. It smashes on the counter, spilling its contents. As one Doctor Manhattan tells Laurie he is prepared to discuss why she is angry, another duplicate fixes the mess and recreates the beaker and liquid. Even as he is fighting with girlfriend, his mind is really on his experiment.

Second, the sex portion of this scene is only in three panels (four if you count the larger panel of Laurie pulling away from the two Doctor Manhattans). Twelve panels show the argument and Laurie storming out. The sex is not the important aspect of the scene. (When are the physical actions of a scene the most important aspect? Most of the time it’s the mental or emotional responses of the characters.) The sex is presented to get to Laurie storming out. She can only stand so much of Doctor Manhattan not caring. In an act as intimate as sex, she needs him to care. To want to be there with her in the moment. The sex that is shown is only a close-up of Doctor Manhattan’s hands on Laurie’s face. It’s enough to have the reader understand what is going on, but that’s where the sex ends. Once a reader understands the choreography of a scene, the scene can focus on character development, show reflection, or show internal thoughts. Beyond that, a scene can become gratuitous.

Watchmen is a book for adults. In my opinion, if one is writing for an adult audience, nothing is off limits. Adults can handle it. If they can’t, then they need to take a look at their life. Hiding away from what’s in the world is not in the interest of art. At some point in the creative process, a writer must consider their audience. I don’t mean pandering to their audience. But, a writer should ask himself or herself who they are writing toward. I read Watchmen the first time when I was eighteen. Perhaps I could have read it a couple of years younger, but to truly appreciate it, readers must be mature. If I read Watchmen back when I was only reading X-Men comics and discussing them with neighborhood friends in my parents’ driveway, I would have hated it. Including sex in adult stories is not a necessity, but it does allow a writer to connect to readers and to get readers to think about an idea in a different way. I spent my childhood reading superhero comics, and when I read Watchmen, I finally understood what it would mean to have superpowers. Watchmen places superheroes in the real world—the comic makes them relatable. We have sex, and so do the superheroes.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #74: Knowing Yourself

31 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust, Memoir

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Carol Danvers, Kamala Khan, Ms. Marvel, sean ironman

Heroes Never Rust #74 by Sean Ironman

Knowing Yourself

Ms. Marvel finishes out its first story arc with the fifth issue. Kamala Khan finally gains confidence and control over her superpowers and no longer shifts her body to look like Carol Danvers. She becomes her own superhero and storms back into the villain’s lair and kicks ass. It took five issues, but Kamala learned that she’s perfect just the way she is. Her father tells her, “You don’t have to be someone else to impress anybody.” At first, I was disappointed in the ending. Kamala coming into her own. It seemed too simple. Yah! Kamala figured out who she was. Yah! But, I was also comforted by the ending. It may have been a bit simple and straightforward, but I felt happy and at peace with seeing Kamala learn who she is. I was torn between wanting something that was more complicated, more real, and getting something that made me feel good.

And, I thought, Who am I?

Sean Ironman. A New Yorker, who grew up in Florida and lives in central Arkansas. A reader. A writer. An artist. A man who says he hates people, and yet spends his time working in a field communicating with others and works on putting on community events. A man who says he loves dogs but has none. A college professor who tells his students to drop out of college and that academics suck. An essayist who wants to be a fiction writer and screenwriter, but in his spare time, only works on essays. A non-religious man who fears God. A man who came to Starbucks to write on Christmas Eve to escape family and who can’t keep his eyes off the beautiful barista.

It’s the end of the year now, and I feel like I am lesser that what I was at the beginning of the year, even though I have accomplished so much more. Perhaps the holiday season has depressed me. Perhaps. But, as I grow older, I believe that I have no idea who I am, who I was, or what I want (other than the barista).

The other day, I went drinking with my brother and sister. We are not close, but we get along well enough to make me wonder why we are not close. My brother hates Christmas, and my sister and I have searched for new traditions since our parents divorced, and we discovered this year that my brother is more than happy to make a holiday trip to a bar our new tradition. They said that I was an angry child, that our parents were afraid I would go to jail. For what, I do not know. Assault, perhaps. This revelation shocked me. When I think of my childhood, I am alone, or with my boxer, Jade. I am playing with G.I. Joes or reading comics. I preferred solitary activities. Even when friends wanted to play, I would decline to be by myself. My family remembers me as an agitator, someone who could not be controlled, someone who would not listen to reason. A couple years ago, my father said that among his children, I was the one he could not bribe. If I didn’t want to do something, I just wouldn’t. I was also the one to be spanked the most, punished the most. I remember so little of this that it scares me as a memoirist that I may be lying without realizing it. I think of myself as an easy-going man, a man who helps his family and friends, but perhaps that is only the dream version of me and I am something else entirely. Are we who we think we are or are we what others think of us?

Yesterday, I sat in the wrestling room at my old high school as the team practiced. My father, uncle, and brother are wrestling coaches. I wrestled for seven years and quit my junior year of high school. A couple of people who were around back when I was on the team spoke about what they considered to be my greatest match. It was against our rival, St. Thomas, and with the stands filled with screaming spectators, I went out onto the mat first and pinned my opponent and changed the feel of the night for the crowd.

No one seems to remember what I consider to be my greatest match. It was my first as varsity and I was knocked unconscious for a few seconds—something the ref didn’t notice—and I woke and came back and won in the final seconds of the match. That is the match worth remembering, but only I view it that way.

After practice, I went to Target with my dad and we ran into two of my friends from high school, Joe and Meryn. I haven’t seem them in over a decade. They started dating in the final weeks of high school—I had a crush on Meryn at the time—and now they are married with three children. Joe looked tired and beaten, like a horrifying ghost of what I could have been. Perhaps it was just Christmas shopping with three kids (one of whom ran off down the store, which ended our brief reunion) that made him resemble an extra from The Walking Dead, but perhaps that’s just his look now. Before his daughter escaped towards the toys, Joe patted my arm and said I looked twice as big as when he last saw me. I said nothing, not knowing what to say, and it probably came off as if I had no interest in catching up with my old friend.

In high school, I wrestled in the 103 weight class. If I wrestled today, I would be in the heavyweight class. Although I could afford to lose a few pounds (or thirty), I’m taller and more muscular than I once was. My father was surprised anyone could recognize me from high school. But, I don’t think of myself as being a big man. Never. I grew up small and I still think of myself as a small person. A woman recently texted me (as part of a longer conversation) that I was a big, strong man, and at first, I thought she was making fun of me, but I realized I am a big guy and she was most likely just pointing out the obvious.

As I get older, I find that I have none of the values that I had as a child, or a teenager, or even from my early twenties. Hell, even from January. In the fifth grade, I remember sitting in class, staring at a cute girl, and not understanding how men could be mean to women. I heard how men mistreated their girlfriends and wives, and I just didn’t get it. I decided that I would never be like that. I set values for dating, for women. Yet, now I look back on my relationships as an adult and I’ve been deliberately cruel to each girlfriend. I knew at the time I was treating them wrong and I still did it. I became the asshole that I never thought I could become.

I don’t say that to be hard on myself or out of some kind of penance for a regret. I say that because I understand that I was and that anyone could be. We tend to think of ourselves as better that we truly are, I think. Even the beliefs I once held that weren’t really about being a good person have long been forgotten. For example, sex. I always figured I would have sex before marriage, but I always believed I would have sex only with women who I would be dating at the time. A week ago, I made out with a woman at a strip club (not a stripper). I never thought I’d be the type of guy who’d go to a strip club, much less make out with a woman at one. After the club, I spent the night with the woman, and in the morning, she woke sober and regretted what she had done. And although my self-confidence was damaged, I just kind of shrugged and went about my day.

I believe I have finally given up on trying to hold onto a view of myself. I find that I am a man of contradictions. A man who is seen differently than he feels. And I think that’s normal. I think that’s what is going on with everyone. The beliefs I have today will change or just be forgotten. I don’t regret losing the values and beliefs that I once had. It’s a natural part of life.

I don’t think it’s change, though. I don’t think I’ve changed. Can we ever really change, meaningfully change? I used to view myself as one man, and I discovered I was a different one. Every year, that’s what I go through. I don’t change. I just discover new things about myself, about the world. I no longer think of myself as a fully realized individual. Instead, I believe I am just this mass, this body of water in which things flow into and out of.

I no longer think it’s possible to ever truly know ourselves. Countless times throughout my life, I’ve done things that shocked me. And I’m not just talking about bad things. A month ago, I won my first writing contest, but in the sixth grade I got a D in English. I wasn’t a writer when I was growing up, but I am now. Will I be in ten years? Maybe, maybe not. I think of myself as a funny, goofy person, but many of my friends make comments about me saying that I’m depressed or dark or angry.

Maybe I write nonfiction to discover myself. Maybe that’s why I’ll always write nonfiction—I’ll never know myself. Maybe that’s why I like comics like Ms. Marvel, why I find comfort in the fifth issue even though I find the issue too simplistic. Maybe that’s why we all get attached to these origin stories of superheroes coming into their own. Spider-Man. Superman. Batman. Ms. Marvel. It’s a kind of wish fulfillment. Life is too complicated—we are too complicated—to ever truly understand completely. We’ll never know our friends, our lovers, ourselves. But, I can be placed in Ms. Marvel’s shoes and see the world as she sees it. I can feel her self-confidence in who she is. Knowing what she is capable of and what she will never do. Perhaps that accomplishment is the most fictional aspect of the superhero tale. These fictional characters can have a set identity. Writers can change them, to an extent, but Peter Parker will remain Peter Parker. Kamala Khan will forever be Kamala Khan. And readers can find some peace from the confusion of their lives and identities in these fictions.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #71: Ms. Marvel vs. Possibly Offensive Imagery

10 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Heroes Never Rust, Kamala Khan, Marvel, Ms. Marvel, sean ironman, Willow Wilson

Heroes Never Rust #71 by Sean Ironman

Ms. Marvel vs. Possibly Offensive Imagery

In the first issue of Ms. Marvel, the Terrigen Mists were released and when Kamala Khan came into contact with the mists, she gained superpowers and transformed into Ms. Marvel, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed member of the Avengers. Kamala looked up to Ms. Marvel and wanted to be an Avenger, so when she gained the power to transform herself, she understandably went with Ms. Marvel, not having control over her new ability. This could be problematic if not handled carefully. Acquiring superpowers, especially for the lead in a superhero comic book, usually allows the person to become great. Even if the hero isn’t liked by many people (Spider-Man, for example), the reader relates to the character. And, let’s face it, kids want to be that superhero. Having a Muslim, brown-skinned girl turn into a character who is basically a model for the Aryan race is not the message the writer, or Marvel (now owned by Disney), wants to send. Telling girls that in order to be a superhero, they have to become light-skinned, tall, and blonde is probably the most offensive thing the comic could do.

But.

Willow Wilson, the writer, uses the idea of having to become someone else to be a superhero to provide conflict for Kamala. First, the idea that Kamala turns into Carol Danvers (Ms. Marvel) works to make Kamala relatable to readers. Even if a reader doesn’t like Carol Danvers (which is insane. How could someone not like her?), someone reading a superhero comic likes a superhero. The reader might like Captain America, or Iron Man, or Maggot. It doesn’t matter. Everyone reading Ms. Marvel can relate to Kamala because readers of superhero comics like at least one superhero, if not many. Even if the reader can’t relate to Kamala’s other life experiences, her idolizing of Carol Danvers gives the reader a way in to the character.

What saves the comic from being offensive is that Kamala is not comfortable with being Carol Danvers and rejects her new body. “I always thought that if I had amazing hair, if I could pull off great boots, if I could fly—that would make me feel strong. That would make me happy. But the hair gets in my face, the boots pinch, and this leotard is giving me an epic wedgie.” If the comic didn’t comment on Kamala’s new body, it would be offensive. But, it uses the new body as a source of conflict for Kamala. The character grew up like many of us. We can’t be superheroes because we’re not strong enough, not fast enough, not tall enough. Everyone at some point in their life has talked themselves out of doing something because of who they are. Kamala never thought she could be a superhero because she never saw one that was like her. In the dream sequence from the first issue, she imagines herself as Carol Danvers. Even in her dreams, she can’t be herself and save the day.

Though she hates the new body, and can’t really figure out how to return to normal at first, she realizes that what made her happy was that she saved another human being. “Maybe putting on a costume doesn’t make you brave. Maybe it’s something else.” The comic doesn’t ignore the fact that most superheroes are white and look like models. Not understanding that something could be offensive and ignoring it makes it worse. And, quite honestly, makes the writer look bad, like he or she didn’t really analyze the story being told. Wilson avoids falling into those traps because she has taken a hard look at comics today and understands where Kamala Khan fits in. She’s able to use Kamala’s specific characteristics to both make the character unique and seemingly universal. The second issue ends with Kamala looking at the Ms. Marvel poster she has in her bedroom and making the same pose. This time, however she stays in her own body.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #70: The Next Great American Hero

03 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Heroes Never Rust, Kamala Khan, Ms. Marvel, sean ironman

Heroes Never Rust #70 by Sean Ironman

The Next Great American Hero

Many decades ago, comic book creators figured out certain characteristics a comic book superhero needs to attract an audience. No matter how much power a character has or how many successes they earn, a superhero is an outsider. Superman is popular, but Clark Kent isn’t. Bruce Wayne is rich and successful, but he doesn’t fit in as Batman, who is even an outsider in superhero groups. The Fantastic Four are celebrities, but they constantly have money problems and stay in the tower. Peter Parker is bullied, and even as Spider-Man, he is hunted by the police. I don’t know whether the outsider characteristic is because creators have found most people who read comics think of himself or herself as an outsider, or if everyone just thinks of themselves as outsiders. Whatever it is, when a new character is created, he or she is usually an outsider.

The specifics of being an outsider change, though. Showing readers a billionaire who kicks ass at night might not work as well today as it did with Batman because of the ever-increasing class inequality. Even Peter Parker wouldn’t be an outsider today. Yes, he’s a nerd, but that’s not too bad anymore with computer nerds getting rich. I mean, c’mon, he was married to a model for many years. Peter Parker has become cool. In the mid-twentieth century, outsiders were people who were to themselves. They were people who had few friends, if any, and weren’t interested in the same things as their peers. Loners. Now, though, the culture has gotten so diverse. I don’t know whether it’s the rise of Psychology or the internet or whatever, and I don’t really care. But being a loner doesn’t mean as much as it used to. (Or perhaps that’s just me, a loner, no longer caring). So what’s the outsider of today that a comic creator can use for a new character?

Enter Kamala Khan, the new female superhero of Ms. Marvel.

Let’s face it, women are outsiders. It’s how the world is. Just look at this whole controversy with Bill Cosby. Nineteen women have come forward, at the time of writing this post, since 1965 and accused him of sexual assault. And what has he suffered? Production on his new show shut down? The “controversy” has devolved into whether these women are truthful or not. Women are not respected by our society. In a personal essay I recently finished, I used a character called Dr. Smith, a woman. After introducing the character by Dr. Smith, I used “her” to refer to “her gloves.” A person who agreed to critique the essay, a woman, said she was confused for a moment because the doctor was female and suggested that I say she’s a woman before referring to “her gloves.” I did not make that change. I don’t see why a doctor has to be specifically introduced as a woman, as if it’s an oddity for a woman to be a doctor.

There are other female characters, however. But, what about Muslim superheroes? I guess Grant Morrison introduced Dust in his run on New X-Men. But, a Muslim woman as a main character for a superhero comic? I can’t think of any. And, let’s face another fact. Ever since the September 11 tragedy, many Americans have not thought fondly about Muslims. Even recently, actor Ben Affleck (the former cinematic Daredevil and future cinematic Batman) got into a heated disagreement with Bill Maher on Maher’s HBO show, Real Time, because Maher argued that Islam is too often a religion of violence.

Now, sometimes, to be honest, I get tired of the effect political correctness has on storytelling. If the comic just focused on Kamala’s gender and religion, there would be a problem. That, to me, would be offensive. But, it doesn’t. Of course, the comic refers to her religion and she is clearly drawn as a teenage girl, those characteristics are used the same as Peter Parker’s nerdy traits—she is made to be an outsider. But, from that point, she is depicted as a capable young woman who is good at heart. Her religion and gender make her a real person, but the comic doesn’t rely on them to keep the reader’s interests. Honestly, this is the best new comic I’ve read since Hawkeye. Kamala is written to make her accessible to the audience. Everyone, or at least comic book readers, feel as if they are outsiders. In the first issue, Kamala deals with her bossy parents. She sneaks out of her house to go to a party. She loves superheroes. And when someone is in trouble, Kamala goes to save them, not thinking of herself. She reminds me of early Peter Parker. The cover of the first issue allows readers to hold it up to their own faces so that they too can be Ms. Marvel. I have seen countless photographs of children (and even adults) of all backgrounds doing this. The specifics of her character make her interesting, but her thoughts and desires make her relatable. Readers don’t have to have the same background as the character to follow that character on an adventure.

As you can probably tell by my photo below, I am a white male. I have heard other white males say that they don’t believe a superhero could do certain things because the superhero is a woman. I shit you not. Maybe companies like Marvel and DC think that all white males think that same way.

I guess I can only speak for myself, but I want my heroes like Kamala. Her character is a perfect balance between emotions I can relate to and a story that is not my own. In my creative nonfiction workshop, I tell my students nearly every week that they don’t have to agree with an author’s thoughts on life. I tell them that agreeing does not make the essay good and having a different opinion does not make the essay bad. I prefer to read about lives other than my own. I don’t want to read about my life. I live it. Why would I waste time reading about me?

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #67: The Power and Humility of Superman

12 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Bjarne Hansen, Heroes Never Rust, Jeph Loeb, sean ironman, Superman: For All Seasons, Tim Sale

Heroes Never Rust #67 by Sean Ironman

The Power and Humility of Superman

Issue two of Superman: For All Seasons covers the summer from Lois Lane’s point of view. It opens with Superman flying through Metropolis over Lois’s narration about Perry White, Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Planet, telling her not to believe what she sees and hears. But then Superman came and now she doesn’t know what to believe. With all the super-powered characters, along with other fantastical creatures, to which readers have been exposed, I think many of us forget, I know I do, just what it would do to see someone like Superman. We have learned certain things in our lives. We cannot fly without a machine. We cannot outrun a train. We cannot be shot or stabbed and remain unhurt. We cannot do the impossible. And then Superman comes along. He does all of it easily. He’s not like Batman, who trains for years, or one of the X-Men who have to focus their powers. He flies and runs and lifts as if the laws of physics mean nothing.

Halfway through the issue, a terrorist holds a gun to Lois in front of Lex Luthor and Superman. Lex, ever so full of himself, says, “I’ll handle this, Lois. I can negotiate with anyone, even terrorists.” Displaying the speed of Superman in still images is a tough act. Motion lines don’t really get the job done. Loeb and Sale show his speed by cutting Lex saying terrorists into three panels. He gets one syllable across in each panel. In the first, Superman stands beside Luthor. In the second, Superman is just a blue, red, and yellow blur. And in the third, Superman has the terrorists gun and stands beside Luthor once again. The other three characters haven’t realized what happened.

Superman does a lot in this issue. He dives into the deep waters and pulls a submarine full of terrorists up onto land. He stops a missile from hitting Metropolis. He puts out a fire and beats back robots Luthor created so that the city wouldn’t have to depend on Superman. He does the impossible throughout. Many people have commented on in the past that if Lois Lane were such a good reporter, she would recognize Clark Kent as Superman. Something I guess that the new movies have chosen to do away with by having Lois know his secret identity. But people are missing just what Superman does to Lois. Here is a woman who has grown up to be, in kind words, a realist. Like she states in the opening, she doesn’t believe what she sees and hears. She tells readers that, along with her sister, she once believed in Prince Charming. Then, she grew up. None of the men she met were Prince Charming. Until Superman. A man in a cape, who with all the power in the world chooses to help people because…well, he wants to do good. She can’t understand this. Superman, to Lois, doesn’t do the impossible by lifting heavy things or being faster than a speeding bullet—he’s a representation of the impossible because he’s good-hearted, and she hasn’t had much experience with that.

After she’s rescued, she narrates over Clark Kent alone in his apartment, “Where does he go when he’s not keeping a bridge from collapsing? Or stopping a train from derailing? Or answering a child’s cry for help?” The reason she doesn’t recognize Clark as Superman is because she can’t understand that Superman can be human. And, yes, he’s Kryptonian, I know, but he’s a human being at heart. A being with all this power pretending to be a reporter at The Daily Planet is too far out of her realm of thinking. Superman isn’t off in some castle somewhere. He’s not a god. He goes home to Smallville to visit Ma and Pa Kent, and when Ma Kent asks why he came, he says, “I don’t know…lonely, I guess.” Lois wouldn’t be able to understand that about him. To her, he has everything. He can take on whatever physical challenge there is and he doesn’t take shit from Luthor. He’s confident and capable. But that doesn’t mean he has no wants, no desires. Superman has done a lot of good for the world, but he’s lost. On the porch at night, he admits to Ma Kent that even Smallville doesn’t feel like home anymore. He went off to find his life, but he hasn’t been able to build a new home yet. He’s caught between forces, Kryptonian and Human, Smallville and Metropolis, helping people and living a nice life.

The issue ends with Lex Luthor tracking down a woman who was saved by Superman earlier in the issue. He comes into her apartment and she has shrine to Superman. Candles, photos, and newspaper clippings cover the walls and tables. To some, he is a god. Luthor wants to bring Superman down because Superman existing takes away from Luthor’s greatness. Lois is love with Superman because he’s everything she can’t find in a regular man. But Superman is so simple, and I don’t mean dumb. He just wants everyone to be good to one another and to help as many people as he can. He doesn’t want to see the evil in the world push around the good. He’s what we’re supposed to be, what we should be striving for. But he represents something that is so far away from where humanity is at that people either want to drag him down or raise him up, when they really should just follow his example. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so alone.

_______

Photo by John King