Missing the Magical Mark
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By Xavier Lopez
Truth be told, I am always looking for magic, in everything and everywhere. It's what keeps things exciting, and part of what keeps me coming back to comics each week. I also have to admit that, more than just as the western spiral arm of a famous publishing company, I think of Vertigo, as a place of magic—that is, a locale, slightly off the beaten and well-trodden path, full of endlessly inspiring and intriguing adventures. In this way, each new issue becomes a kind of newsmagazine, filling us in on the most recent exploits of the heroes and villains of these distant lands.
Sometimes these periodic reports document huge battles, sudden deaths, the birth of new and exciting creatures, and sometimes the stories told are more quiet, building up to later things—they are, instead, more like a breather as the story sets itself in motion. These periods, while less exciting, don't exactly stall the main storyline, but they don't quite "wow" the reader with anything climactic either.
This is the case with the two titles that I am writing about this week—both Fables #83, "The Great Fables Crossover—Part 1" and Madame Xanadu #9 are at the beginning of brand new storylines. And in what has become the Age of the Graphic Novel (think Golden Age, Silver Age, Bronze Age. Trade Paperback Age, doesn't quite ring, does it?), this often means the slower meander of a snail's pace.
Hmmm, wait, perhaps this is not entirely fair as any good story needs to be able to build up, but, and I blame Geoff Johns for this, often times, with these post-modern chronicles, all you need is to turn to the last page because, many times, the entire issue is only building to that reveal anyway.
For those of you who do not already know this, over his years working on JSA, Hawkman and Green Lantern—Johns has "perfected" the cliffhanger-ish ending of the "surprise reveal." Lots of stuff might or might not happen within the actual issue, but either way, the story was just setting up for the last page when God or (in the case of Madame Xanadu #9) the captive Phantom Stranger suddenly shows up. The biggest problem with this kind of non-ending ending is that it has the distinct capability of leaving the reader feeling as though they just read an issue that really didn't much matter except as a vehicle for that last page.
This week's Madame X is far more guilty of falling into this particular sand- trap--but both issues stumble from the sense of having been filled with a bit more air than with any actual content. In the final analysis, there are some interesting moments, though more in Fables than Madame X. Sure, Bigby Wolf and Beauty's Beast slash at each other for a few pages of Fables, and Madame X bumps uglies with John Zatara the Golden Age sorcerer but, and this is my primary complaint, while either of these events could have had some gravitas and actually could have had some consequence to any future storylines, neither of these events, here, amount to much more than stalling before we get to that critical last page.
Which really is just too bad.
When I saw these two titles on the rack, I wanted to write something about how magic is being used in the two different worlds, not sputter on about lost moments and missteps. But since I am told that we are actually here to review comics, this might actually be a good place to cover what actually happens in both of these issues.
Let's see, Madame X finds her journey has taken her to the start of the Golden Age, where some big goings-on are in the offing, and the death of a rather corrupt police officer may lead X to a new position as guardian of the new age. In Fables, things are getting more agro as the effects of Mister Dark's presence are felt throughout the Fable world. A new religion has been built up around the recently deceased Boy Blue, and Jack of he-who-will-never-return-to-Fable-Town warns that the end of the world is nigh.
But rather than focus on the storylines of either of these, which are stuck in neutral, I would rather spend some time on something that is fast becoming a cause for me: inking and coloring, in general, and specifically in, both of these issues.
Perhaps this new focus has something to do with the fact that I am currently working on a large exhibition of my own paintings in Seattle, or perhaps it has something to do with a recent trip I took to the Huntington and the Getty, but for some reason, the effects that color and shading has on the viewer and the telling of a story—especially how it effects the mood—has started to become very important to me. In these two comics, inking and coloring chores are handled by some very talented people--Richard Friend and Guy Major in Madame X and Andrew Pepoy and Lee Loughridge for Fables.
The inking is very different in each of these two comics; they are almost polar opposites, in fact. Both inkers are very accomplished, Friend having worked on Batman, Countdown and Albion while Andrew Pepoy has worked on everything from Spiderman to Sonic the Hedgehog. That said, Friend's inks are light and unvaried, with a seemingly uncertain sense to them, one that can make them seem, at times, less controlled (and perhaps even less accomplished) than those of Andrew Pepoy. Pepoy's inks vary in strength, weight and texture and are far more stylistic in their handling.
It is Friend's lack of variation that is my main artistic complaint throughout Madame X #9--Friend definitely needs to experiment with various textures, thicknesses and to incorporate a greater variety of tools, including ink brushes and a wider variety of pens. In fact, there are times that his touch is so thin that, when the pages are dropped down to the size of a comic, they almost disappear.
Perhaps Friend could take a few lessons from Andrew Pepoy, whose line has masterfully blended with Mark Buckingham's pencils, mimicking a post-Kirby Kirbyesque fantasy-scape that is at once original, and also a loving homage to another age. Pepoy's inking seems to add to the magic of the comic, reinforcing the sense that we are looking at something that is--even where the story might not be--extraordinary and exciting, while at the same time conveying the inker's own style and abilities.
Inking and coloring should never be merely utilitarian, they should add to both the art that they are working with and enhance the story that is being presented.
But my biggest criticism of Madame X's visual presentation is in the coloring. Has no one at D.C. ever heard of chiaroscuro? This is supposed to be a dark mysterious tale of magic and suspense set in the Golden Age--and yet everything is as bright and garish as modern-day Los Angeles.
Perhaps it is just a pet peeve of mine, but comics set in the past should look like the greatest films of the same era: the film noir of the hard-boiled detective story, the glamour of Busby Berkeley musicals, even the slapstick comedies of the Marx Brothers included stark contrasts of light and dark that have been lost in today's movies and recall a different set of sensibilities, motivations and feeling.
It would sure be nice to see in comics depicting that era. Darkness signals mystery, intrigue and magic things that both of these stories demand, and their visual presentation should back up the main text.
Night scenes, especially, should look like they take place at, well, night. I'm surprised that John and Dame Xanadu managed to achieve any sense of romance with all the lights on, and for crying out loud, the inside of a theater should not have the same shadowing as a candle-lit salon/boudoir.
Again, perhaps the folks at Madame X should take some pointers from the folks at Fables: in total contra-distinction, when it is night in Fabletown, it looks like night. Loughridge even gives us a sense that we are looking through the hazy mists of "magic thinking" as a certain black bird speaks with the religious fanaticism of a new convert. He adds a haze to the first several of the pages, alerting the viewer that something is off, something is dreamlike.
The effect, while simple, is devastatingly effective. Loughride, in the intro, chose to eschew the regular bright colors of your average comic and chose a palette that is mostly grays and grayed-out primaries with gold highlights, fading characters out, and retaining those magic Kirby bubbles. These pages perfectly exemplify what I am talking about—the coloring and line work together with the initial art and the story.
But they do more than that—-they convey the feeling of the book, expanding upon the sense that the scenes are conveying. I'm not going to say that these pages are perfect; rather, I'm only going to say that this is the right track: it shows the possibilities that color and ink bring to the table in making a complete product.
I said earlier that I always look for magic, and unfortunately, I didn't find much in the main text of either of these two issues this time. But I did, ultimately, write about magic, just a different kind than I expected to. And just as the devil is in the details, it seems that magic is also often in the detailing, in the final touches. These two issues show what happens when the final touches are there, everything is fired up and working, and exactly what happens when these extras are truly lacking or only vaguely there.
And thus ends my last specifically Vertigo article for this website, but not my tenure here—we are still hashing things out so I won't make any big announcements. But I do want to welcome the new Vertigo columnist Erik Norris. I wish him the best of luck and can't wait to read what he has to say!
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