July 1, 2010

Wonder Woman

So, they’ve created a new costume for Wonder Woman. Now she looks like an extra from a late 80s New Mutants comic. Or maybe she borrowed the jacket from the X-Men movie. I don’t read Wonder Woman, but her history and Marston’s philosophy really intrigue me. Wonder Woman is an Amazon warrior, so it seems to me she should look like one. Most often she looks like a supermodel, with big hair and no muscle tone. And in this new version, she looks just… dorky. Not the impression one should get from a hero with the powers of a Greek goddess. Actually, there are a lot of good costume designs out there, but here’s mine:

June 30, 2010

film version of “The Yellow Wallpaper”: the narrative of motherhood is too strong

So I often read “The Yellow Wallpaper” with my students and I just read it again this quarter. I’m always amazed at how it’s structured and how Gilman reveals subtle clues throughout the story. On this last reading, I noticed more closely how the descriptions of the room the narrator is in change. I don’t mean the descriptions of the wallpaper itself, but the other things in the room. For instance, the bed gets more gnawed as the story progresses, a sign that she’s been chewing on it long before she mentions doing so. But one of the amazing things about the story is that it’s still shocking today. Students are often confused at the mention the baby. I sometimes have to tell them outright that the narrator is a mother. Then the students are confused as to why she would abandon her child. Their narrative is that mothers just don’t do that. So they retreat to the easy answer that “she’s just crazy.” I try to get my students to entertain the idea that maybe taking care of the baby contributed to her going crazy. But post-partum depression is a difficult concept. Partly this is due to the fact that most of my students have never had to take care of a child. But part of it is the old narrative that being a mother completes a woman. “Women naturally long to be mothers and they are naturally good at it,” the narrative tells us. And since there aren’t many narratives that contradict this idea (partly because of shame on the part of the women who could tell us otherwise), most people accept the narrative.

All this is a long preamble to say that a film of “The Yellow Wallpaper” is in production. It may turn out to be a good movie in and of itself. Yet it’s hard for me not to see the changes that have been made to the story and shake my head.

I don’t care that they changed the narrator’s name to Charlotte (a nod to the fact that the story fits closely to Gilman’s own experience, I assume). I don’t care that Jennie is now the narrator’s sister and not the narrator’s husband’s sister. I’m not too upset about the couple being destitute, either. What really annoys me is what they’ve done with the baby. The baby is dead. She died in the fire that made the family destitute. So Charlotte’s madness is motherly grief at the loss of her child. Yes, parents lose children. Yes, it is probably the worst grief a person can face. I have a friend who lost her eleven-year-old son, so I’ve seen some of this first-hand. It is not the subject matter itself that I object to, but from that which it was changed.

You see, a mother grieving the loss of her child conforms to narrative of motherhood I mentioned above. In this movie, madness is caused by a woman not being allowed to be a mother, her “true” role. So the movie refuses to challenge the common narrative of motherhood. Which means that this movie isn’t as brave as Gilman’s story. Her story doesn’t only explore the feelings of a woman feeling trapped by conforming to the narrative of motherhood, but also trapped by a patriarchal system that governs marriage and medicine. The story attempts to challenge and deconstruct the many assumptions that pervade the narrative of femininity.  What this film version shows us is that 118 years later, challenging this narrative is still taboo.  How far have we really come?

June 20, 2010

I’d be able to work more if I didn’t have so much work to do

Still… reading… research… papers…

So check out Tom Spurgeon’s interview with Gene Yang. I’ve know Gene a long time and besides being a fellow comics artist, he is also a fellow teacher and father. He’s also an incredibly nice guy.  So it’s been nice to see his comics work get so much attention since the publication of American Born Chinese. I think his work has gotten more complex as he’s begun to delve into the complexities of culture and assimilation.

June 3, 2010

the succubus archetype

I was watching a snippet of a bad sci-fi movie on Youtube last night and the scene started with the main character, a man, making out with a scantily dressed woman. Yet just as they’re about to strip off their clothes and get down to it, the woman reveals herself to be an evil cyborg and so the main character pulls out a gun and blows two large holes in her head. Today, I was checking out the art of Paul Maybury (which I like, though he’s obviously heavily influenced by Paul Pope and Sam Hiti) and there were a few pages from a Conan comic and the same kind of scene occurred: just as Conan and the woman are starting to get intimate, she reveals herself to be a bloodthirsty monster, so he kills her. This made me think of how often this trope is used (the most memorable for me is in Wicked City). I’m not talking about monster women in general; I mean the specific plot device of having a woman who seems sexually available turn out to be a flesh tearing monster and the man then killing her. Obviously, this happens literally in horror, sci-fi, and fantasy, but the same basic trope appears in crime noir and spy fiction where a seemingly sympathetic woman reveals herself to be the main character’s enemy at the moment they are about to have sex, and instead of a petit mort there’s a grand mort.

The most common explanation for this is that it’s basic misogyny, that this pattern reveals a deep fear of female sexuality. While I can see that since this pattern displays an obvious lack of trust in women, I don’t think that’s a complete explanation. I think this trope is rooted in a fear of being vulnerable. If you are a heterosexual male, then that fear is projected onto women. In other words, I think this has to do with how masculinity is constructed.

Many people, such as Dr. William Pollack and Michael S. Kimmel, have pointed out that a large element in how masculinity is constructed in the U.S. is the fear of displaying emotion. Emotion is equated with weakness, which is also equated with being a woman. You can read the books by the people I link to above or you can just think back to your own playground experiences. Boys are ridiculed when they show any emotion. Any chink in the armor, any vulnerability, is immediately exposed by the other boys. So boys must be ever vigilant and repress the beginnings of any emotion. Obviously all this varies depending on one’s family, community, and biology, but it’s common enough that even mentioning it seems trite.

So I think this is what is at the root of this plot pattern in so many disparate works. In the trope, the male character is sexually aroused and is just about to get jiggy with the woman. Yet this puts the male character in a problematic position. To have sex, one has to vulnerable with another person. One has to display emotion. These are big no-nos in the über-male construction of gender. The only emotion a man is okay to exhibit is anger.  And so the male character pulls out his sword, gun, knife, or hands instead of his dick and does the only thing a man is cool doing–killing. It’s not the woman he fears or her sexuality; it is his own potential vulnerability.

Part of what makes me want to analyze this is that I like drawing female monsters. It’s not exactly the same thing as what I mention above, but there’s a connection perhaps.

May 19, 2010

the economy is not economic

Some things just hit you. Not that they are new or deep insights, but all of a sudden they feel tangible. My mother calls this the blinding flash of the obvious. So here’s my recent one.

I’m not a big fan of Thoreau; I find him to be a self-centered blowhard who lacks healthy self-criticism. Still, his writing contains so many little jewels that he’s worth it. In Walden, Thoreau defines economy as the easiest way to get one’s basic needs met. This is a broader definition than the one we tend to use. He isn’t concerned just with money, but all the resources used in doing something. And not just physical resources, but labor as well. So by this definition, he sees his society as lacking in economy. Take a bottle of milk for instance. The simplest way to get milk, the most economic in Thoreau’s sense, would be to have a cow. Instead of this, someone else owns the cow. The someone else ships the milk (another person may be involved with pasteurizing it). Then there is someone else, like a man I talked with on a plane once, who maintains refrigerated buildings to keep the milk cold along its route. Then someone stocks the milk in a store. Someone else takes your money for it. Then you take it home and drink it. According to Thoreau, these steps in the process make the whole thing uneconomic. Again, it has nothing to do with money.

And that’s the problem that hit me the other day. There are two examples that brought this to my attention.

Plastic water bottles. I was listening to Fresh Air and there was a discussion about what happened to the plastic water bottles that were actually recycled (most never are recycled, by the way). Well, the plastic is then put on a boat and shipped to China. Then that plastic is rendered into goods, such as toys and polyester suits. Then those goods are put back on a boat and shipped back to the U.S. Basically, the same hunk of plastic is shipped across the ocean twice. Terri Gross asked why they couldn’t just use the recycled plastic to make new water bottles. In Thoreau’s sense, that would be more economic. But of course, in the modern sense, it wouldn’t. There’s more profit in shipping a bunch of plastic half way around the world two times. The economy of the market has nothing to do with economy.

Sardines. I live on the west coast of the United States and there are sardines swimming a few miles from where I sit now. Yet if I go to the store to buy sardines they come from either Nova Scotia (the Brunswick sardines distributed by Bumble Bee) or Portugal (the Trader Joe’s sardines). Don’t we have people fishing sardines in California? Yes, we do. So why can’t I buy local sardines? Because California sardines are shipped to Japan. Then fed to tuna. Which are then shipped back to California. Halfway around the world twice yet again.

Now business owners aren’t constantly shipping things around the world over and over again simply because they can. They do this because it’s profitable. They make more money this way. Therefor, we have a world economic system that does not reward economy. In fact, we have a system that rewards this excessive use of resources. On the positive side, this creates more jobs. The more uneconomic the whole business is, the more fingers there are in the pie. Some argue that this is not sustainable. Some say that our dependence on oil will cause this system to come crashing down. There is evidence for this and it’s a very practical argument. My argument is more about principles. Like Thoreau, I’m disgusted by the lack of economy in the whole thing. What I see now is that the problem is not greedy business owners, but the system itself.

Again, this insight isn’t new, but the craziness of it finally became more real to me.

May 10, 2010

Obama in Mount Pleasant, Iowa

Mount Pleasant, Iowa is my mom’s hometown and the inspiration for the setting of “My Grandmother’s Funeral.” It’s also where my grandmother and grandfather are buried. Well, President Obama was there on April 27th. Just that is remarkable. At least to me. Mount Pleasant isn’t a big place and I’ve always associated it with the past, though that has to do more with my grandmother’s reality, which I entered every time I was there, than the place itself. The other remarkable thing is where he ate lunch: Jerry’s Family Restaurant. Now there aren’t a lot of good restaurants in Mount Pleasant to be sure, but I always went to the worst of them because my grandmother hated to spend money. So I know whereof I speak when I say that Jerry’s is the worst restaurant in Mount Pleasant. I still recall with a shudder the runny, undercooked eggs that my wife was served there once. And this, this… place is where Obama chose to stop? If Michelle had been with him maybe she would have advised him better.

December 30, 2009

modern irony

At first I thought this ad was a result of a lack of critical thought. But that would be more true of the people who loved Avatar and yet didn’t see anything weird here. I think this ad is more a sign of the marketing systems in place for movies and the jaded attitude towards them. Avatar is entertainment. It isn’t supposed to really challenge anyone’s way of thinking or behaving. The “messages” it conveys are just tools to make it more entertaining and to make the audience feel good about themselves. Yes, we care about native peoples. Yes, we care about rainforests. Yes, we oppose the exploitation of other civilizations and habitats. Aren’t we so moral? But that was a long movie and I’m hungry. How about a big mac?

October 8, 2009

the judgment of book covers

I’ve just started reading Artists on Comic Art and it’s a really nice book. Anyone interested in the process of drawing comics and laying out a page should give the book a look through. You get to read what professional comics artists have learned through advice from other professionals or by years of trial and error.

BUT…

Why do the covers of books about comics have to be so bad? Poor color choices, hard to read images, annoying fonts, the preponderance of poorly drawn men with capes…

You’d think that in a visual medium like comics that’s known for,  you know, its ability to convey information graphically that there’d be someone who knew a thing or two about graphic design.

September 18, 2008

One step forward, two steps back

Occasionally, I do a search for my name with the name of one of my comics to see what comes up. I want to see if anybody has reviewed my work or said anything about it. Usually nothing comes up. But I just found something I hadn’t seen before. It’s a 2007 discussion about webcomics on Comixtalk and not one, but two people in the discussion mention my stuff. The first is Derik Badman, who has written about my work before. The other is Brigid Alverson who says this: “I just discovered Nick Mullins this year, and I love Carnivale because he does such a great job of capturing emotions and even events without using words.” It’s not a lot, but when you’ve been creating work in anonymity for years like I have, it’s nice to hear some good words about your stuff. Here’s the link to the entire article.

But creating art is also frustrating. For many reasons. But I’ve had the same thing happen twice to me this year: finding out that someone else has had my idea. The first happened a few months ago. I have always intended to do a story about a circus, ever since I worked on Marionettes a decade (or more) ago. The story that formed in my head was going to be framed as the memories of an old man who had been in the circus. In the present, he is wasting away in a nursing home. The misery of his existence causes him to remember the past. Well, a few months ago my mother-in-law was telling me about this great book she read for her book club. It was about a circus. And– guess what?– it starts with a guy in a nursing home remembering his past. Arrrrggggh! I was heart-broken, because I had really liked the idea for the story. I could hear the character’s voice and I knew the scenes I wanted to have in the nursing home. But now, I don’t think I’ll do it. I’m sure my characters would be different than those in Water For Elephants, but still the connection is too close. I have already strayed too closely to another artist’s work, namely Paul Auster in my story “Detection.” I don’t want to do that again.

So this same thing just happened again. For awhile now, I’ve had this idea for a post-apocalyptic story about a father and his daughter. It was going to be a way for me to talk about parenting and what it means to me. This story idea had progressed so far in my head that I had begun thumbnail sketches for it this summer. I knew that the idea was perilously close to Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. My mother had told me about the book and the similarity between it and my idea worried me. But being a fan of McCarthy’s writing, I knew his story was probably a lot more violent than mine. I was intending to focus on the struggles of parenting, not about the human predilection for violence. Still, I decided to hold off on reading The Road just so it wouldn’t influence me. Now, one of the main images in the story I had in mind was that this father was wandering around the devastated landscape carrying his daughter in a shopping cart. This was a way to make a comment on our culture as well as an ironic nod to Lone Wolf and Cub. But now there is going to be a film of The Road. And what is the first image of it I see?

Arrrrrggggghhh!

September 7, 2008

chicken pox!

 

I went to Michigan with my daughter on August 27th. My wife picked us up at the airport. As soon as she saw me, she asked “what’s that on your face?” I looked in the mirror and saw the bumps. I was shocked. That night, more bumps appeared and my face began to swell up. Chicken pox.

Chicken pox are bad as a kid, but horrible as an adult. I had a fever, a headache, a sore throat, and itchy, aching skin. I had trouble sleeping. One night, I could only sleep in half hour stretches.

The thing that made it all worse was that I was stuck in a tiny hotel room. I didn’t want to go outside and infect anybody else and I had a fever for four days, so I kept cooped up. Elizabeth managed to get me food and made a kind of cooler out of a garbage can and ice from the hotel. Urban camping. She then took Natasha out and entertained her while I lolled around in the hotel room.

After almost a week, we got a great gift. The Adrian Dominican Sisters (whom Elizabeth is studying) offered us a retreat house they owned near where we were. So the last four days in Michigan, we got to stay in a big house and canoe around a lake. It was a nice way to end an unpleasant experience.

Anyway, chicken pox was awful and it’s why there haven’t been any posts here in almost a month. But I’m back home now and healing up. I’m covered in scabs and I’m sporting a beard (the last image on the movie above is of me today), but I feel good and it’s so nice to be home.