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Speculative
Friction:
a blog of comics and literary criticism written by Bill Baker
"the power of three"
So I had the pleasure of seeing some truly classic material performed
live by a group of high school students this past weekend. The Escanaba
Area High School's forensics theatre program, under the guiding
direction of J.R. Spaulding Jr., recently won the honor to compete
in the state finals at the District High School One Act Drama Competition.
And rightly so. Their staging of a one act version of Oedipus Rex
-- Sophocles's tale of a great man  whose
attempts to circumvent his fate only lead him to a hard and very
public fall from grace in one of the most horrific fashions ever
devised, via his realization that he has murdered his father, usurped
his crown and married his mother, even bearing a doomed brood with
her -- was presented with vigor, brio and some real skill.
I could easily spend the rest of this entry talking about how well
this show was staged, but one thing about this performance really
struck me, which got me pondering things, which all lead, not so
oddly enough, to some small insights into what I've been reading
of late. What got me thinking, even before the show ended, stems
directly from the fact that this particular vision of Oedipus Rex
was essentially meant to be a modern analogue to the ancient Greek
theatre. Essentially, the entire cast and crew researched the play
and the staging practices of the era when it was first presented
-- things like the use of masks, rhythmic movement and chanting,
call and response, and even a few iconic poses -- then through rehearsals
they created their own versions of these performance methods and
quickly incorporated it all into their production of Oedipus Rex.
Now, I'm sure
that you can immediately see or sense some of the interesting ideas
that might spring to mind once you see something like that, especially
when as well done as here. There's the idea of picking through the
metaphorical ruins of the best literatures of the great civilizations
for truly great plotlines to pillage and adapt, as touched upon
in last week's entry, "transformer." Then there's the
realization that the process the kids went through to create their
staging is also analogous to updating classic comic stories for
companies that want to do updated-but-still-true-to-the-original
"animated style" all ages comics and other books. And
the fact that this process is also akin to what I've heard some
manga publishers and editors refer to as "normalizing,"
which is basically going through a manga or other translated material
with an eye to substitute the best American English or slang for
those culturally incorrect or inapplicable phrases which inherent
to all material originating in another tongue. In each case, you're
diving into an original text and trying to present a version which
captures the heart and spirit and best aspects of what is often
a classic story in a way that is totally current, yet classically
inspired. All avenues ripe for exploration, true. But some other
time.
What I wanted to talk about this time is the idea that everything
on the stage -- or page, if you will -- has meaning. We all know
that, but often forget that it's vitally important that it also
all means something together, as a whole [or wholistically, if you
wish]. Also, it all has to mean something specifically. It all has
to do something, even if it's just to blow the audience's mind with
your skills. This is vitally important, and yet it's incredibly
easy to forget this all important fact.
So what does this mean in regards to comics, generally or in particular,
or even to the play performance. Well, here's the thing. As with
everything in life, the cast of Oedipus Rex represented a range
of abilities, acting-wise. So, while all of the kids performed well
individually and as a cast, there were times that something didn't
quite come across, or didn't work as well as it should, and the
like. And what I began to realize was that, while some of the kids
were comfortable on stage and with the conventions they were working
within, others were having a bit of trouble with certain aspects
of the movement. Nothing major, mind you, and certainly nothing
that undermined the show itself, but along with the usual nerves
and adrenalin, I sensed an occasional frisson of uncertainty with
a gesture or short sequence of movement, a vagueness to tiny parts
of their characters' lives. Again, these were fleeting and nothing
of major consequence, but it did get me to thinking about why this
was happening, and that's when I noticed that this phenomenon seemed
to be connected with certain movements the actors were making at
the time. And that's when it hit me what was going on...
Everything on stage has meaning, true. But it's vitally important
that the artist know, in their bones and souls if at all possible,
that each and every thing they present their audience means something
specific when they do it. Just as there should be no movement onstage
without a reason, even if it's to demonstrate that the person doesn't
know what to do with their hands and so they flutter about like
moths, there should be nary a jot on the page without some kind
of intention behind it.
And that brought me around to the amazing refashioning of himself
as an artist that John Buscema underwent when he took over as the
main artist on Marvel's The Avengers in the early days of 1967.
As Roy Thomas notes in his introduction to the latest Marvel Masterworks:
The Avengers volume 5, John had once been a Timely-Marvel mainstay
in years past, but he had left comics for the more lucrative commercial
art market for an extended period. However, when Buscema did eventually
come back to the fold, Stan immediately put him to work on the Incredible
Hulk feature in Tales to Astonish with good results, as the Marvel
Masterwork: The Incredible Hulk volume 3 with attest. And while
his illustrative approach to art really brought a weight and substance
to whatever Buscema drew, Stan felt that his storytelling style
wasn't precisely what Marvel needed from him at that time. So, according
to Roy, "Stan showed John specimens of Jack Kirby's work as
examples of the exciting storytelling needed by Marvel. John admired
Jack, and he amalgamated much of the style over the ensuing months,
while keeping his own more illustrative style" intact.
And the volume under question itself is almost a class in how to
do Marvel comics the John Buscema way. His somewhat blocky staging
and sometimes static figures, mainstays of the advert world of the
day, soon give way to a sense of unimpeded movement of both the
lithe figures and the eye through each panel and across every page.
Even in the most static of shots are filled with a sense of vibrant
energy shooting off the page, as so well demonstrated by the splash
page of the collection's capstone issue, # 50.
And it was actually this page which gave me a hint to how Buscema
anchored himself during this change. Notice that what we've got
in the splash page above is a classic triangle, with the heads of
Goliath, Hawkeye and the Wasp making up the three points. It's simple
one of the single best means of capturing and maintaining the audience's
attention, whether you're talking about on the stage or a page.
As I went through that issue, I ran across this triad pattern, in
all its various permutations and configurations, in panel after
panel, and page after page. So I then went back and scanned through
the book, looking for those kinds of patterns, where they occurred,
and how they worked together to empower the story. I found a bounty
of examples. Here's a few of them:
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| The
triangle pattern actually
started showing up even
earlier than this example of Buscema's Avengers work |
Page
11 of Avengers # 47 provides some nice the triangle pattern. |
Another
sampling of the artist's use of the triad, including one where
the final point of the triangle is off-panel. |
This
page from Avengers # 50 uses triangle patterns created between
the panels of this page with some real success |
So what does
this triangle have to do with the "frissons of uncertainty"
I noticed in an occasional actor's movement in a high school play?
Well, quite simply, if everything on the page has to mean something,
sometimes fitting a simple, seemingly random or arbitrary restraint
on your approach can actually free up the flow of both energy and
ideas on the page. In other words, it's a means of giving everything
you put on the page some real weight and meaning in the panel or
page's composition ...
Even if it's just to hold down one corner of the triangle, it still
works. Add in some real craftsmanship, commitment and application
of effort and thought, and you can accomplish amazing things.
Enough heavy mental lifting. Here's ..
What's Bill been reading this week?
2-1-06 to 2-8-06
 John
Buscema and Roy Thomas come into their own in this gorgeous full
color hardcover reprinting some of the Avengers' battles with the
weirdest and most worrisome foes in the Marvel Universe. Shortly
after Buscema jumps aboard as the book's central penciler with the
first issue in this collection, Thomas finally relaxes into his
role as a storyteller. This only eggs on Buscema and the other fine
artists in this volume, including Don Heck and George Tuska, into
doing some of their finest work of that period on this title. Still,
this is all but a glimpse of the wonders and radical changes to
come, as hinted at throughout this volume. But the fact that their
next year holds some of the best stories of the era -- including
the introduction of Yellowjacket and the Vision, and the moving
"Even an Android Can Cry!" -- can't diminish what these
good folks created here. Recommended for superhero fans of all stripes,
and especially for students of the art form. In all seriousness,
being able to study and chart John Buscema's incredible development
as a visual storyteller and comics artist is fully worth the price
of admission alone.
This is the 54th volume overall in the Marvel Masterworks
series of hardcover books, and the 5th volume featuring reprints
of The Avengers
Marvel Entertainment
www.Marvel.com
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