ALI

In class last week, we dove down the rabbit hole debating the ethics and implications of attractive actors and actresses appearing in all of our favorite roles.  Buffy the Vampire Slayer was not exempt from this discussion—fundamentally calling Whedon’s championing of female characters into question.  But after the dust had settled, one notion stuck with me.  Another classmate raised the concept of attractiveness beyond physical beauty and I was left questioning… are Whedon’s female characters beautiful or “attractive”?  

To answer this question, I decided to more closely analyze the character of Buffy as she appears in the first episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  When it comes to beauty, Buffy is immediately represented as the chosen one and that comes with some allure.  But more importantly, her first interaction with a character (other than her mother) involves that character—Xander—falling off his skateboard and immediately gossiping about her attractiveness.  Right out the gate, Buffy’s physical appearance is her most important characteristic.

However, as the story progresses, the reality of her persona gets a bit more fleshed out. Alternative to her skate-board falling beauty, Buffy’s opening conversation with the principal presents her as immediate trouble—and the discussion of the recently burned down gym begins allusions to her potentially dangerous nature.  She seems to present an almost ignorant danger with a past that will undoubtedly cause trouble.  

But, Buffy is by no means hardened.  Following a brutal bullying encounter with Willow, Buffy shows her softer side being kind to some of the outsiders in the school and appearing extremely humble.  That however is contradicted by her dismissive conversation with her mentor at the concert—during which she seems flippant and aggressively averse to aid from anyone.  Scene-to-scene Buffy waffles from kind to aggressive and back again.  It’s hard to pin point how she will react each time and you often find yourself guessing what she might do next. This very real human behavior is attractive and goes beyond beauty.  The audience is drawn to the person Whedon has created, not simply the actress embodying her.

So what does all this point to?  Buffy may be beautiful, but she is also flawed—just like many real individuals.  No person—and no woman—has a cookie cutter version of themselves and how they handle the world around them.  If Buffy were to seamlessly handle each and every encounter in the first episode, there would be nowhere for the story to travel. 

While I still have my qualms about generalizing beautiful women to represent all women, in this case Whedon did champion his female character.  Buffy is a complete person with a very real background and set of flaws.  These realities make her attractive and far more than beautiful.

I’m a big fan of wasting my own time.  From coloring books to stuffed animal collecting, my days are filled with classically busying and unproductive pre-kindergarten activities. Personally, I don’t blame myself.  In a world with dizzying levels of information and responsibility, I believe most Americans would agree that it does us all some good to zone out from time to time.  Netflix and other streaming services seem practically built for it.  But when does the consuming of entertainment shift from transportive imagining to a full time job?

In the comic book world, it is undoubtedly true that universe collaborations and cross-overs have been hugely successful.  This is perhaps the most true within the movie industry.  Consider Marvels 2012 film The Avengers.  A box office smash earning over $1.5 billion dollars, the summer hit combined multiple heroes and universes, many of which had their own accompanying prequels and sequels, often three or four times over.  Four years later, that film continues to spawn spin offs and follow ups.

While this is certainly a feat of incredible marketing (one the Marvel universe largely has The Hulk to thank for), it does seem to weigh on audiences with a strange sense of responsibility as well.  In each and every film, the fate of the world hangs in the balance. And, as audience members, we hold on for dear life hoping and praying for the futures of our favorite heroes during these 2 hour journeys.  But when the film ends and we go home, how do cross-overs alter the film we have just seen?  And why does that feeling of responsibility to the characters seem to follow us?

How do cross-overs effect films individually?

Two major things come to mind.  First, cross-overs between universes make new types of content possible.  Consider Captain America in The Avengers (2012).  While his jump into the future out of WWII is explained in depth in his own film, the separate humor of his presence in a millennial world becomes a touchstone of The Avengers series.  Other characters of the modern age are able to interact with this phenomenon that only his franchise could provide.  Similarly, characters without accompanying filmed back stories–like Black Widow–nod more directly to the comic book world attracting fans of lesser known plots.  Alluded to relationships and origin stories make the film richer and more powerful.

On the other hand, cross-overs can also have damaging effects on a film’s integrity.  In that same film, Black Widow and Hawkeye were considerably under represented as complete characters.  Deep descriptions and portrayals of main characters are glossed over to make room for the incredible number of heroes present and the monumental effects of the action they create.  Somehow the effect of combining these heroes isn’t cumulative–but rather a bit thinning and cheapening to the material.  And as these narratives spiral further and further out of control, often the plots themselves seem less believable.

It is clear films are effected by this form of narrative–both positively and negatively. But…

Why does the effect of cross-overs seem to inspire a sense of responsibility in the audience to follow that franchise?

When epic characters enter the public eye, an instant obsession with their worlds and perspectives is almost guaranteed.  But more so than any other type of character, great heroes of sagas seem to beg audiences to follow their every move.  And while franchises–like the Harry Potter films–work with a finite amount of material for audiences to experience, cross-overs demand audiences to buy into a domino effect of narratives.  The first portrayal is often so enthralling and captivating that their is an almost obligatory like effect on fans.  Not only do they want to see what happens next, they must.  Suddenly, that one film you loved can spiral into as many as a dozen separate trips to the movies.

As plots evolve and more and more characters are introduced, comic book worlds can feel a bit more like overcrowded Thanksgiving dinner than a form of entertainment.  The Hulk began this craze in the 60’s and now appears in The Avengers films himself–the next installment is set to hit screens in 2018.  So in short, for all the good and the bad of the actual content of these cross-overs more than anything I am left asking… when is this gonna stop?   Will The Avengers retire first?   Or will I?

 

 

Captain America has become an iconic hero for comic book readers–standing side-by-side the likes of Spiderman, Superman, Thor, Black Widow, Iron Man, and many others. But Captain America isn’t simply a patriotic remix of the same hero trope… he represents a time period and a way of thinking that reads more like a history snapshot than an animated fairytale.

Consider the first introduction we have to the hero and the world that so directly surrounds him.  Within one page the reader is introduced to four major concepts: (1) patriotism as a heroic identifier (2) the presence of politics in the action (3) the direct juxtaposition of Captain America, our hero, and Hitler, the villain, and finally (4) Nazi forces as direct threats to the reader.

Let’s take these one at a time. (1) Patriotism is a clear identifier of the hero in this case.  The hero, sidekick, and even comic book title are star spangled to the highest power.  This thematic representation encourages readers to not simply root for the hero, but for the country at large.  The first page’s representation of army recruitment generalizes the fight to the entire country–encompassing the readers.

(2) The patriotism continues with the clear presentation of the Capitol building and an Uncle Sam poster, indicating that the heroism does not only come from the fighters, but also from the politicians.  This point is further emphasized with the presentation of FDR and his advisors–shown below.  Washington backs Captain America in his fight and as such the reader must appreciate the political cause that accompanies the hero’s journey.

(3) On the first page that Captain America is introduced, so is the weighty presence of Hitler.  By introducing the “war-mongers of Europe” and “the Fuehrer” within the first few moments of the comic, the writers acknowledge this force as one comparable to Captain America in importance.  This is who our hero will take on.  This will drive the story. The two are juxtaposed to some extent on the first page (see arrow.)  Additionally, Nazis are more aggressively depicted in the above panel.  Referred to as “vermin,” the spies threatening the nation drive the plot.  “The resulting wave of sabotage and treason paralyzes the vital defense industries.”  This quote drives the plot and brings Captain America to the forefront.  Without Hitler and his henchmen, Captain America wouldn’t exist to fight them.

(4) Again, the Nazi forces are labeled generally–not just Hitler–as a massive concern, directly threatening America and the comic readers.  The reference to the “dreaded fifth column” directly nods to the common propaganda advertisements of the time.  This group would allegedly overturn the country from within–threatening the readers that so vehemently support Captain America.  The Nazis aren’t simply Captain America’s villain–they are our villain, to fight as a country.

Later in the section, this small advertisement seems to again point out the threat to the reader and the call to support Captain America.  You aren’t simply rooting for a comic book character, you’re fighting the “war against the spies” and enemies “who threaten our very independence.”  This last advertisement plays more as a piece of propaganda than a fan club.

In summary, Captain America isn’t simply a character to add to our list of favorite heroic depictions.  He stands for a time and a way of thinking that played out in the real world–through not sometimes biased and not so heroic eyes.

 

It may come as a surprise that Krysten Ritter’s portrayal of Alias‘ Jessica Jones was in fact not her first portrayal of a comic book character… and not even her first one to appear on Netflix.  Don’t Trust the B— in Apartment 23, a short-lived ABC sitcom, follows the life of Ritter’s outrageous character Chloe as she flounces about Manhattan.  Although the series had little to do with comic books for its two seasons, one particular episode may have answered a major question about the screen to print gap and the role comic books may play.

Ritter’s character is featured in a graphic novel popular in Japan called Shitagi Nashi.  The episode’s plot revolves around her relationship with the fandom, but a number of comic book/action sequence hybrids create a level of depth and specialized portrayal that is somehow quite familiar.  Something one might even liken to the experience of reading a comic book.

W.J.T. Mitchell writes in Comics as Media: “As media, comics are more like cinema and the computer, capable of remediating every other medium” (p 259).  This is a difficult concept to grasp for some.  If you are a formal literature reader or a harsh realist, it is easy to see comic book creations as little more than elevated picture books.  But the worlds they can create somehow seem to jump off of the page.  The scenes become all encompassing and the written portions become almost audible.  Suddenly, one can find themselves feeling quite literally in the middle of the action–enjoying what may seem like a movie, but because of the undivided attention necessary for reading can feel like much more.

How exactly is this bizarre effect achieved in a film format by this unsuccessful sitcom?  And what exactly did it entail?  The description just provided has three major elements that create the comic book effect.

1. All encompassing visual scenes
2. Almost audible written components
3. Undivided attention from the reader

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1. Bright, colorful graphics are displayed on the screen as they might appear in a comic book, but subtle motion and implied depth is added to the surrounding world–animating it slightly and bringing the two dimensional creation much closer to a real life scene.  The imagination when reading a comic book as well as the pace of the fast dialogue seems to create this same reaction in readers.
2. In terms of audio, the typically written words of a comic are spoken aloud by a narrator and force the resulting effect quite bluntly.
3. But how is that sense of undivided attention achieved?  The short answer is that it is not.  (You may note that the beginning of this post commented that this episode may have helped bridge the gap in replicating the comic book effect, but not entirely nailed it.)  As you watch the notably short sequences of comics within the TV show, it is still very much possible as a viewer to lose your attention on the screen, room, and world around you.

Comic books are capable of fully engrossing a reader because they demand full commitment to be enjoyed–having readers follow the action continuously by participating in its progress.  If the reader doesn’t read, the action can’t continue. It is for this reason that comic books exist as a transmedium, successfully bridging the gap between film and print.

As 2016 consumers, people are asked to give their focus and interest away like currency.  One no longer pays to see a movie with a few dollar bills and two hours on a Saturday.  We are asked to re-watch and re-watch as thick plots become thinner and thinner.  We mourn, celebrate, romanticize, and judge the characters we come to love through countless hours of not only watching them struggle and strive–but also through researching, investigating, and discussing the universes they live in.

Consider Batman.  Countless spin-offs.  Countless demises. Countless tales.  From George Clooney to Michael Keaton, Batman is a beloved character who has found his way into American culture.  But when we watch him jump out of a window to save Cat Woman, where are we?  Because we certainly aren’t in a movie theater… but we are certainly not in Gotham.

McLuhan writes, “Our conventional response to all media, namely that it is how they are used that counts, is the numb stance of the technological idiot” (32).  He argues that we cannot accept DC Comics’ story as the remarkable thing here.  Rather, we ought to be amazed and almost suspicious of any medium’s ability to transport us without our consent or knowledge.  In discussing books, he comments, “The ‘content’ of writing or print is speech, but the reader is almost entirely unaware either of print or speech” (32).  When reading about rural Alabama in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, we must be comfortable with suddenly existing on an “in-between” street with a rabid dog and a mysterious alleged killer.  How can we live safely and comfortably when we often don’t even know where we are?

W. J. T. Mitchell addresses this very concept in his work, Addressing Media.  He comments on these elusive locations and argues that the real uncertainty and discomfort “arises when we try to determine the boundaries of the medium.”  How can we figure out where these locations and roads intersect?  When does one stop existing on their couch and begin existing in the middle of a war zone with GI Joe?  Mitchell argues that no clear boundaries exist.  “The medium does not lie between sender and receiver; it includes and constitutes them.”  He asks again as does McLuhan, “What does it mean to go to the movies?”

At this point, who knows where Gotham is.  It may be 15 minutes into an action sequence.  Or exist within a screen.  Or  maybe even we–the viewers–are Gotham itself.  Though this may be an overwhelming concept, it is important to remember as McLuhan does, that it may also be a dangerous one.  For how can we exist with agency when mere pictures, writings, and other mediums seem to remove all choice… and take us where we never thought we could go?

Sources:

Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, McGraw-Hill, New York, NY, 1964

W. J. T. Mitchell. “Addressing Media.” Media Tropes 1 (2008).

(Option #2)