Published: Fri, 21 Oct 2016 00:00:00 -0400
Last Build Date: Fri, 21 Oct 2016 10:33:09 -0400
Tue, 07 Jun 2016 09:30:00 -0400
"The experience of having everybody around me on campus say the left is the way to go and then...seeing communism collapse made me think maybe the libertarians have a better handle on how these things work," says Todd Seavey, author of the new book Libertarianism for Beginners. "While the Soviet Union existed, the Marxists on campus were rooting for the Soviet Union."
A New York-baseed comic-book writer, one-time producer for TV's own John Stossel, and a contributor to Splice Today, Seavey found his way toward libertarianism while attending Brown University in the late 1980s.
His new graphic book, Libertarianism for Beginners, argues that the core message of libertarians is to "keep the government small and let people do what they want with their own bodies and property."
About 6 minutes.
Interview by Nick Gillespie. Camera by Todd Krainin and Joshua Swain. Edited by Swain. Additional editing by Ian Keyser.
Scroll below for downloadable versions and subscribe to Reason TV's YouTube channel to get automatic notifications when new material goes live.
Mon, 16 May 2016 16:40:00 -0400
(image) My latest Vox column looks at how the widescreen comics movement that started in the late 1990s helped make comic books bigger, more epic, and more cinematic—and paved the way for the era of superhero movies we live in today.
Here's how it starts:
In most tellings, the current age of superhero movies began in earnest in 2000, with Bryan Singer’s X-Men. That relatively modest film, built around a pair of classically trained Brits and an Australian actor with a background in musical theater, proved that audiences would turn out for reasonably faithful adaptations of classic comic book stories. And it set in motion a new wave of superhero films — from Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man series to Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy to Marvel's ever-expanding catalog of Avengers and Avengers-adjacent blockbusters, not to mention a host of less-successful efforts.
Of course, while that history of the modern superhero movie isn’t wrong, it largely ignores the role of comic books themselves, which over the years have served as a sort of testing ground for the types of storytelling devices and thematic questions that now dominate both the box office and the public’s pop-culture conversation.
In particular, it glosses over a strain that emerged in the late 1990s that became known as "widescreen comics." Widescreen comics were a reaction to the talky, cartoony superhero comics of the 1990s, many of which were mired in a kind of second-rate '70s revivalism, and which often had more in common with soap operas and professional wrestling than with epic Hollywood tentpoles.
They were drawn to mimic big-screen visuals, with wide panels that looked like movie-theater screens. The essential idea was to emphasize grand spectacle and visual storytelling, to insist that comic book creators should take advantage of their "unlimited budgets" — as afforded by the fact that comic book action was illustrated on the page, not CGI'd on the screen — to create show-stopping action that Hollywood, due to the limitations of finances and effects technology, could never afford to produce.
Tue, 29 Mar 2016 14:40:00 -0400
(image) Did you see Batman v. Superman over the weekend? If so, I'm sorry.
It's a bloated, incoherent mess of a movie, and it totally wastes the potential of both its premise and the comic-book material that helped inspire it, Frank Miller's 1986 comic book The Dark Knight Returns.
No, BvS is not a direct adaptation of Miller's graphic novel, but it draws heavily from his book in terms of both visuals and dialogue, particularly during the big showdown between the two title characters. Miller's version of that battle is one of the great fights in comic book history, and, it's basically structured as an argument about the nature of superheroes. All that is totally lost in Zack Snyder's lumbering, under-developed big-screen adaptation.
Of course, over the years, Miller also lost the plot when it comes to Batman, turning him into something that plays more like a parody of a Miller character.
All of this the subject of my Vox column this week, which looks at the way that Miller helped create Batman as we know him today, and how he eventually fouled up the character he helped define. Here's a sample:
Batman v Superman is not even a loose adaptation of Miller’s book, but as Snyder said on the Comic-Con stage, "It is the thing that helps tell that story." Imagery and dialogue lifted directly from Miller’s graphic novel appear throughout the movie, and were prominent in its advertising as well. It is safe to say that without The Dark Knight Returns, Batman v Superman wouldn’t exist.
The influence of Miller’s Dark Knight, however, extends far beyond this one movie. The four-issue comic permanently redefined the character of Batman, and is arguably responsible for making him the pop culture sensation he is today. Today’s Batman, from Christopher Nolan’s austere Dark Knight to the gothic hero of Scott Snyder’s contemporary Batman comics, is inseparable from Miller’s vision of Batman and, in some sense, from Miller himself.
But in the years since Dark Knight, Miller has continued to work with both the character and the brooding sensibility, with increasingly unpleasant results. And in the process, he has squandered much of what made the original so great. Miller gave us the best Batman — and the worst one, too.
Wed, 17 Feb 2016 13:01:00 -0500
(image) Deadpool, an outrageous, over-the-top, defiantly vulgar movie about Marvel Comics' wise-cracking, foul-mouthed mercenary hero, made a killing at the box office this weekend, smashing multiple records, including biggest opening for an R-rated film ever (a record previously held by The Matrix Reloaded).
Depending on how it holds up over the next few weeks, it could become the highest-grossing R-rated movie of all time.
Naturally, there's already a move to copy its most identifiable difference from contemporary superhero movie tradition: its R-rating.
A sequel has already been given the greenlight, and Fox, which owns the rights to the X-Men franchise that Deadpool is part of, has already indicated that the next solo Wolverine film, due next year, will also be rated R. Don't be surprised if you see a lot more R-rated superhero films put in the pipeline.
In some ways it's a little surprising that it took this long for studios to figure out that there's a market for R-rated hero films. After all, as I note in my column for Vox this week, one of the earliest films of the modern superhero era was Blade, an R-rated take on one of Marvel's grittier, less-known characters. Here's a snippet:
Deadpool’s clearest divergence from the mainstays of the superhero film comes from its R rating, which is uncommon in a genre that tends to stay pretty strictly within the maximally accessible bounds of the PG-13 rating. And that in itself is a reminder that part of the genesis of the modern wave of superhero films was in an R-rated comic book adaptation: Blade.
Released in August of 1998, Blade wasn’t sold as a comic book movie so much as an effects-driven supernatural action film and a star vehicle for the particular talents of its lead actor, Wesley Snipes. And why would it have been?
Aside from the struggling Batman franchise, which at the time was plumbing the depths of cornball irony under the direction of Joel Schumacher, superhero movies weren’t really a going concern in Hollywood. Rumors of big-budget comic-based films had circulated for years (James Cameron even wrote a script for a Spider-Man movie), but by the late '90s, comic books themselves increasingly looked like a fad that had passed. The comic book sales bubble that peaked earlier in the decade had popped, with newsstand sales effectively nil and the entire market reduced to a relatively small number of specialty shops. Less than two years earlier, at the end of 1996, Marvel Comics, where the Blade character originated, had filed for bankruptcy.
Tue, 02 Feb 2016 12:40:00 -0500Warning: This blog post spoils plot points from Monday night's episode of Supergirl (as well as several previous episodes). Supergirl represents CBS's efforts to wade into the superhero serial drama that is dominating both television and blockbuster films. It's the first of these hero shows from the DC Comics universe with a female protagonist, and, yes, it "leans in" to the feminism in ways that are sometimes effective, sometimes corny. "Sometimes effective, sometimes corny" is actually a good capsule review of the series after 12 episodes. It is entertaining, but often uneven (compared to more confident shows from the DC universe like Arrow and The Flash) and the dialogue is often lackluster. The solid acting tends to elevate the worst of the writing. For casual viewers the show can seem like a young adult, gender-swapped knock-off of Superman. She fights a lot of space aliens. There's another crop of evil Kryptonians attempting to cause mayhem. There's a definite familiarity of style. The show has its own version of Lex Luthor in the guise of Maxwell Lord (played by Peter Facinelli). Lord is a wealthy industrialist-inventor very much in the Tony Stark/Iron Man vein. He's also a hardcore libertarian who could have stepped right out of an Ayn Rand novel—he built a high-speed train, apparently without government subsidies. He is deeply distrustful and critical of government, explaining early in the series that his scientist parents died while following government-approved safety procedures that turned out to be inadequate. He doesn't trust Supergirl and doesn't think people should rely on her to keep them safe (the television show is tied to the most recent Superman movie, and Lord takes note of the tremendous destruction Superman's fighting caused in Metropolis). As of Monday's episode, Lord is also certainly the primary antagonist of the season. He experimented on a comatose young woman to give her the same powers as Supergirl—a "bizarro" version of the heroine, in a variation on the comic book version—and the two women fought. He also uncovered Supergirl's real identity and her foster family. As a result, Supergirl's foster sister Alex Danvers, a special agent in a secretive government organization that addresses threats from aliens, "arrested" Lord with no actual warrant and no real authority, and dragged him off into a secret detention facility with no legal representation. The show does not ignore the ramifications of this move like it might have decades ago. Lord, stuck in a high-tech prison cell, notes, "Holding people indefinitely against their will; can't get more American than that." Once it became clear that Lord was heavily influenced by libertarian and objectivist ideologies, I decided to keep an eye on the show to see how he developed. It wasn't clear at first whether he was going to become a full-on villain or more of a critical antagonist who wasn't necessarily evil (in the comics Lord has gone back and forth between heroic and villainous attitudes). I also wanted to see how the show represented Lord's beliefs—did the writers understand the underlying concepts of libertarian thought? If Lord became a villain, would it be portrayed as an indictment of libertarianism itself or would it be driven by Lord's personality? After watching the trajectory of Lord's development into a nemesis, I'm actually a bit surprised at the nuance on display (mostly because of the generally unsubtle writing). Lord has all the signs of a complex, interesting villain. The show doesn't paint his criticism and skepticism of government itself as wrong. Characters who disagree with his attitude are also heavily connected to the government, like Supergirl's sister, and not exactly dispassionate observers. Rather, what makes Lord a villain is how he acts in response to his ideology, which ultimately corrupts his own argument. There's nothing libertarian about experimenting on a non-consenting human in order to pr[...]
Fri, 06 Nov 2015 16:10:00 -0500It looks like it took Robert Drake 50 years and several girlfriends to figure out he was gay. Fortunately for him, because he’s comic book superhero, he’s nevertheless young enough to still get to sow his wild oats. As had been hinted in a comic book a couple of months ago, Drake, also known as Iceman, one of the original X-Men, is gay. There was not a lot of build up to it. There weren’t really hints that Drake questioned his own sexuality throughout his comic history, though there was some fan speculation based on the fact of his troubled history with girlfriends (I always found that an odd argument because every male hero who is not married has troubled histories with girlfriends). Well, there was that time he had a romantic interest who suddenly turned herself into a man. But then it turned out she was actually a sentient nebula who had taken on the form of two humans injured in a car accident. It happens. In any event, those who have read Marvel comics all their lives know full well that Iceman was neither conceived nor written for decades with the idea that he was gay, regardless whether he openly acknowledged it or acted on it. Even his appearances in the recent X-Men movies seem to be written with the idea that he’s heterosexual. But now he’s gay, confirmed in this week’s Uncanny X-Men No. 600. In comic book fashion he is forced to confront his sexuality by a teen version who himself who has been sucked into modern day (also the teen version himself was forced to confront his sexuality by the teen version of telepath Jean Grey, who read his mind). The retcon (that’s comic speak for “retroactive continuity”—storytelling that alters previously established history) explanation is that Drake decided to suppress dealing with his homosexuality because he had too much other crap to deal with. That this decision is transparently a choice to fundamentally alter who Drake is for the sake of diversity has both its supporters and its critics. Marvel has actually been introducing gay characters to the comics for years now (as has competitor D.C.). Over time, though, casts of these comic companies have bloated to massive numbers, and it’s difficult for new characters to gain traction and develop fan bases. Periodically, the complexity of the stories and casts gets so large that the comic companies plan out major stories to serve as resets or reboots, clearing a lot of the past storytelling away and setting a new status quo. Marvel is in the middle of doing such a thing right now with a miniseries called Secret Wars. The issue of the X-Men in which Drake is revealed as gay is the final issue of that volume. All the old X-Men-related titles have ended and a new set of series are being launched. It’s happening all over the Marvel universe, and it’s not just Iceman seeing changes. Thor has recently lost his hammer, and it has been picked up by occasional romantic interest Jane Foster. Captain America is no longer blond bohunk Steve Rogers. Former sidekick Sam Wilson, who is African American, has taken his place, abandoning his codename of Falcon. Ms. Marvel is now the name used by Muslim Pakistani-American teen Kamala Khan. It’s easy to dismiss this all as a marketing ploy. Well, yes, it is, but superhero comics are a popular culture form of entertainment that partly lives or dies based on successfully understanding its audience and marketing to them. And it’s absolutely not new. Marvel has made gestures toward cultural diversity for ages. Comic fans know full well that part of the metaphor of the X-Men—mutants whose powers originate from genetic abnormalities—was about cultural diversity, civil rights, and fear of the “other.” The original Ms. Marvel herself, introduced in the 1970s, was clearly a nod toward the feminist movement of that era. When I first started collecting comic books back in the early 1980s (actually drawn to them by Iceman’s inclusion [...]
Sun, 01 Nov 2015 12:00:00 -0500
(image) In the summer arc for Action Comics, the long-running Superman title, the Man of Steel takes on the heavily armed police force of his fictional home city of Metropolis as the officers advance on his quiet neighborhood. The story, which builds to a dramatic showdown between armored cops and angry local residents, relies on visuals reminiscent of the August 2014 standoff between cops and protestors in Ferguson, Missouri, following the police shooting of an unarmed black man there.
In Action Comics 41 and 42, a no-longer-invulnerable Superman is called back to Metropolis to stop an attack by an oversized superbeast. He arrives to find that law enforcement, armed with body armor, riot shields, and military transport vehicles, has begun transforming the city into a police state, forcing residents to submit to a battery of tests for alien particles.
With Superman distracted by the beast, the cops move toward his recently gentrified block. A standoff ensues, and nearly leads to violence-until Superman arrives to break it up by reminding everyone that he's what connects them all. It's a corny, earnest tribute to urban community that elides the real issues of police militarization, use of force, and cop-community relations that helped spark the Ferguson protests it so clearly alludes to.
Thu, 16 Jul 2015 17:40:00 -0400
(image) I thought Ant-Man was okay, but there were a few things that, um, bugged me. Here's the opening to my review...
When Marvel announced a few years back that it was finally going into production with a big-budget movie based on its decidedly not-so-big superhero, “Ant-Man,” the response, at least from those who are not longtime comic book readers, was more than a little confused.
Ant-Man? Why Ant-Man?
Marvel’s other big-screen hits may have been somewhat unlikely, but you could always see the case for the multiplex treatment: Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk and Thor were all, in their own way, iconic characters, well-recognized, even if not always well-read, outside of the comic-geek niche.
And with four of them in play, it was possible to set up a team-up movie, “The Avengers,” which, of course, went on to become a massive hit as well as one of the most beloved blockbusters in recent memory.
Even the intergalactic weirdos of “Guardians of the Galaxy” made a certain kind of sense: They provided an entry point into Marvel’s vast cast of cosmic characters; besides, the movie itself was just “Star Wars” in superhero drag.
But what about Ant-Man? He’s barely known, even in this era of Wikipedia-fueled comic-book completism, and he’s hardly anyone’s favorite hero. What could a guy who wears a suit that makes him small and allows him to control ants — seriously, ants — bring to Marvel’s never-ending comic-book movie party?
The only possible reason for making the movie was the involvement of writer-director Edgar Wright, the mind behind genre comedy classics “Hot Fuzz” and “Shaun of the Dead.”
But Mr. Wright left before the movie got off the ground.
Now that I’ve seen the movie, I’m afraid I still don’t know what Marvel saw in Ant-Man post-Wright, and I’m not sure the maestros behind Hollywood’s most successful interconnected universe know either.
Thu, 30 Apr 2015 17:21:00 -0400Marvel's latest superhero megamovie, Avengers: Age of Ultron, is set to smash all sorts of box office records this weekend, surpassing even the super-earnings of its predecessor. I enjoyed the new one, but in general I think it's weaker than the first film, which, despite being a multi-movie crossover event, maintained a clarity and a light touch that this one just can't quite manage. From my review: ‘The Avengers” was not only one of the most successful blockbusters in years, but it was also one of the best. Writer-director Joss Whedon, the geek auteur behind television’s “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “Firefly,” delivered a film that balanced, with almost superhuman ability, the franchise’s need for mammoth spectacle on one hand and careful character-building on the other. It was a movie that demonstrated that it understood its cast of iconic comic book characters just as well as anyone in the audience, and that it cared about them in the same ways — and with the same intensity — that lifelong fans did. Yet it was also easily accessible and enjoyable for those not steeped in Marvel Comics lore. It was a perfect summer blockbuster and a perfect comic book movie at the same time. The sequel, “The Avengers: Age of Ultron,” once again written and directed by Mr. Whedon, shows a similar regard for its characters and an equal zeal for effects-driven destructive spectacle, but it has a harder time balancing its many imperatives. Like its predecessor, “Age of Ultron” is alternately intimate and bombastic, funny and thrilling, with grand action sequences punctuated by genuine laughs. Many of the scenes showcase Mr. Whedon’s ear for zippy, character-defining dialogue. With his TV background, his heavy reliance on quippy back-and-forths and his frequent use of scene-capping monologues, Mr. Whedon sometimes comes across as the Aaron Sorkin of the superhero set. Read the complete review in The Washington Times. Something I mentioned in my review but didn't really get to discuss is how overloaded the movie is with super-characters. In addition to the four Avengers heroes who have starred in their own films (Captain America, Thor, Hulk, Iron Man), and the S.H.I.E.L.D. characters (Black Widow, Hawkeye, Nick Fury), who have been in previous Marvel movies, the movie introduces three more super-characters (The Vision, Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch) and two new villains (Ultron, and another character who I won't reveal but who will appear more prominently in a future Marvel movie). We're only two event-films in, and we're already approaching the point of overload. It's really a lot to follow, and a lot to manage, even if you've seen all 10 of the previous Marvel movies, and kept an eye on Marvel's primary Avengers tie-in TV series, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. And if you haven't, you're virtually certain to be totally lost. The opening sequence is an extended battle against a horde of Hydra agents led by Baron von Strucker, neither of whom the script makes any attempt to identify. Hydra has appeared in several Marvel films before, but wasn't in the last Avengers movie. Von Strucker, meanwhile, has only previously appeared in a single 90-second bit during the credits sequence of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. So if you haven't seen the last Captain America movie, or even if you did, but you left when the credits started to roll, you're not going to know what's going on. On the one hand, this suggests a fairly high degree of respect for the audience's ability to follow complicated continuity, and it's a victory of sorts for the sort of sprawling, complex, multi-threaded storytelling that moviemakers used to assume that audiences were far too dumb to grasp. On the other hand, I do wonder whether this will eventually start to limit the accessibility and appeal of[...]
Thu, 23 Apr 2015 20:01:00 -0400
Academia finally takes notice and pays homage: Reason's graphic journalist/contributing editor Peter Bagge, one of the finest American cartoonists and writers of our time, gets over a dozen of his interviews ranging from 1988 to 2014 immortalized between hard covers by the University Press of Mississippi.
The book is edited by Kent Worcester, and called Peter Bagge: Conversations.
One of the interviews was conducted, proudly, by yours truly and published in the lamented zine Ben is Dead back in 1997. I can remember the pleasure and pride of getting to meet the mighty Mr. Bagge in his own studio to this day. Soon, my lucky cup runnething over, I was issuing a 7" by his band the Action Suits on my record label Cherry Smash, and soon after that he began his long, storied career of commenting and reporting on everything from the Libertarian Party to attempts to unionize community college instructors in the pages of Reason.
Peter is charming, smart, a true supermensch and one of the great voices for libertarianism in popular culture. I highly recommend this book as the next best thing to having him sitting across a table telling you what's what.
Tue, 21 Apr 2015 09:30:00 -0400The Daredevil series on Netflix is about how one man, alone and with right in his heart, can change a city for the better using only one weapon: torture. Politically the Daredevil series, based on the long-running Marvel comic about a blind superhero whose alter-ego is a criminal defense lawyer named Matt Murdock, is a casual mess—a melange of half-digested, not especially coherent liberal and conservative talking points thrown together almost at random. The series' working-class Hispanics living in rent-controlled apartments under threat from evil developers is a basic lefty meme. The all-consuming corruption of government institutions, from politicians to police, is borrowed from libertarian or right-wing distrust of government. The Kingpin—a powerful crime boss and one of Daredevil's arch enemies—is a villain to liberals because he's super-rich. He's a villain to conservatives because he's a dreamy and hypocritical help-the-poor idealist. In short, there's a reason for people of every political persuasion to be flattered or irritated, as long as no one thinks about it too hard. But amidst the ideological confusion, the one consistent value is torture. To unravel the Kingpin's web of corruption, Daredevil resorts again and again to threats and violent interrogation. Most of this involves straightforward thuggish brutality. Daredevil (Charlie Cox) asks a question, then hits or kicks the poor schmo who isn't talking. Sometimes the torture is more elaborate, with Daredevil using his ninja fighting skills to break limbs or snap bones. And at least one incident involves elaborate, prepared interrogation techniques. In what is probably a crib from the seminal Batman comic The Dark Knight Returns, which was written by influential comics scribe Frank Miller shortly after he wrote a similarly character-defining run on Daredevil, our hero drags his victim up onto the roof, ties him up, and then takes advice from his nurse friend Claire (Rosario Dawson) on how to use a blade to inflict unbearable pain. On the TV series 24, torture is necessitated by the ticking clock. Harsh measures are underwritten by the certainty and imminence of terrorist apocalypse. Daredevil doesn't even bother with such shilly-shallying justifications. The show spends a lot of moral energy worrying about whether or not Daredevil/Matt Murdock will or won't commit murder. But violence short of actually killing someone is barely even greeted with a shrug. Claire, the nurse, has no compunction about using her medical knowledge in the service of torture, and the show doesn't even seem to realize that anyone might have such reservations. Daredevil doesn't torture any women—only the bad guys do that—but he cheerfully beats a 73-year-old man, a junkie who's barely able to stand, and various men who pose no immediate threat to the hero or anyone else. There's no time-bomb scenario—torture is just what heroes do. Daredevil even tortures one guy in order to find a new tailor. Superheroes strong-arming villains goes back to early Superman and the beginning of the genre. But it's unusually central in the Netflix series, where it's arguably Daredevil's main power. His super-enhanced senses allow him to detect increased heartbeats and therefore tell when people are lying. Coupled with judicious use of torture, Daredevil becomes a human lie-detector; an avatar of truth burning through the layers of shadows and falsehoods in which the Kingpin conceals his machinations. You could argue, perhaps, that Daredevil's torture has little relevance to debates about government torture. Daredevil, after all, is not a federal agent nor a cop. But even if Daredevil is not an agent of the state, his use of torture still serves (and arguably even validates) official power.[...]
Sun, 19 Apr 2015 12:00:00 -0400
"Any time you don't have to ask permission is awesome. And now you don't," says Jason McNamara, an award-winning graphic novelist based in northern California. McÂNamara is just one of many in the comics community turning away from traditional publishing and toward digital platforms like Kickstarter and comiXology to finance and publish their work.
It's a strategy that worked well for McNamara's last release, The Rattler, a graphic novel he co-created with Los Angeles artist Greg Hinkle. The writer launched a campaign through Kickstarter, the online crowdfunding website that lets potential customers contribute money to help get creative or business projects off the ground. His goal was to raise $4,600 to publish the book; he ended up collecting pledges worth more than three times that amount from 390 different backers. "By going through Kickstarter first, we could get a real idea of what the interest is for this book," McNamara says. "There is an element of entrepreneurship and there's a gamble that appeals to people. In Kickstarter, I've had better conversations with [fans] than I've had over the past 10 years of doing conventions."
The emergence of crowdfunding sites has provided fans with a more diverse selection of comics by allowing creators such as McNamara to sidestep editorial gatekeepers and bring their art directly to consumers. Before online platforms like Kickstarter came along, graphic novelists essentially had two choices: work with Diamond Comic DistribuÂtors-a company that boasts exclusive arrangements with most American comic publishers and stores-or publish, fold, and staple your books yourself, hoping you'll be able to sell them in person at events.
"In order to get in the comic shops you had to go through Diamond. They do have a monopoly in the comics community," explains Matt Silady, chair of the Master of Fine Arts in Comics program at California College of the Arts in San Francisco. "Diamond does a lot of great things for retailing, but they also have a business model that requires you to have a certain number of pre-orders for you to even be considered as part of their catalog. If you're not in that catalog, nobody is seeing your work."
Now artists and writers can showcase their offerings on a variety of websites and speak directly to fans without sacrificing artistic integrity or ownership.
"Diamond will turn a lot of stuff down based on whether they think it's worth it to them," says McNamara. "You have to appeal to their taste and what they think. But comiXology is more openâ€¦Kickstarter-there is no barrier of entry. Which is great, because if you want to make comic books, no one is saying 'no' to you anymore. You just have to find the right platform."
As more creators look online to publish their work, consumers are also embracing the digital marketplace. Comic book sales broke industry records in 2014, with digital comics contributing an estimated $90 million in sales, according to the most recent numbers published by IcV2, a news and data source that serves pop culture retailers. The rise of these digital platforms has only helped to expand readership-which has led to bigger profits in the comics industry and a reported 4 percent increase in the number of brick-and-mortar comic book retailers.
"Overall, comics is healthier than ever as an art form," says Silady. "There's nothing more exciting than the traditional barriers falling away and someone having art, showing it, and being able to put it out there without having to compromise."
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Mon, 23 Mar 2015 21:15:00 -0400Why might it not be a victory for free market, free culture that aggrieved people (who may or may not be the company's actual audience) are able to pressure a company into changing plans for its cultural product/art, as in the recent Batgirl "Joker variant" cover controversy, which ended with a planned cover cancelled? Between Peter Suderman and Nick Gillespie's writing on it here, I think you have most of the background necessary to understand what happened, and why, and why the principles behind the story might be interesting beyond the specifics of the grievance. This discussion will try to avoid the specifics of why people wanted to make the expression in question disappear—a comic book cover that showed the Joker menacing a weeping Batgirl (a fictional villain who has done terrible things to that fictional hero in a famous past story called Killing Joke, definitely including crippling her and by implication including raping her). Details both behind the scenes and in front might exist that those who actually care a lot about what is on the cover of a Batgirl comic book might have followed more closely than I have. (I am a fanatical lifelong fan and friend of comics, including superhero ones, but just don't happen to be reading or following that title.) Nothing foundationally and inherently libertarian is implicated in this story. The cover cancellation was, in its way, a market transaction. No state ordered anyone to do anything; no one threatened D.C. with anything other than something they have the perfect right to do, which is to not buy something or to denounce that thing and the company that distributed it. I understand that some people on the "keep the cover" side did more and worse than that, and threatened actual physical violence against their ideological foes in the debate. That is neither libertarian nor decent, though I question that the very violent fervor with which some assholes on the Internet stood up for the cover adds any extra legitimacy to D.C.'s decision to quash it. Grant everything there is to grant: it is anyone's right to denounce; it was D.C.s right to react to it any way they wanted; that artist Rafael Albuquerque stated that he wanted to kill it; that the creative team on the actual comic wanted to kill it; that it doesn't tonally fit with the current comic. It may even be great for the world and the future of humanity that this particular cover never appears physically on paper, stapled around a few dozen comic book pages, but merely will appear all over the Internet in profusion forever. Granting all that, what larger meaning is there to this story, if any, such that a non-Batgirl reader might care? One can see the controversy as either a merely interesting or even laudatory example of how in modernity concerned audiences for artwork or products (or, as I and others suspect but can't prove, aggreived folk on the Internet who weren't a big part of the potential audience) can communicate with artists and publishers, turning formerly one-way hierarchical relationships into more fluid and horizontal ones, allowing more people to get more of what they want and proving the power of the audience and the growing and responsiveness of Big Culture to consumer demand, just a sign that we are living in an age where consumer agency is growing in fascinating new ways.. That's not how I see its core meaning, and so can't celebrate the outcome. While that outcome is not inherently unlibertarian in an obvious way, it impacts various penumbras, as the Supreme Court might say, of what is valuable about a liberal culture of free and open expression. If this incident becomes a bellwether or how our culture will work from now on, it will be [...]
Sun, 22 Mar 2015 08:42:00 -0400As Peter Suderman noted a couple of days ago, a controversial proposed cover for an upcoming Batgirl comic has created a huge controversy about artistic freedom, online activism, and much more. In my lastest column for The Daily Beast, I argue that the story both is an instance of political correctness and illustrative of a new dynamic between creators and audience that is generally liberatory and not going away any time soon. Snippets: [Cover artist Richard] Albuquerque himself quickly apologized for the cover and asked for it to be pulled, and DC Comics announced it was yanking the offending image. “My Batgirlvariant cover artwork was designed to pay homage to a comic that I really admire, and I know is a favorite of many readers. ‘The Killing Joke’ is part of Batgirl’s canon and artistically, I couldn't avoid portraying the traumatic relationship between Barbara Gordon and the Joker,” wrote Albuquerque. “For me, it was just a creepy cover that brought up something from the character’s past that I was able to interpret artistically. But it has become clear, that for others, it touched a very important nerve. I respect these opinions and, despite whether the discussion is right or wrong, no opinion should be discredited.”... It’s easy—and totally legitimate, I think--to read Albuquerque’s barely coherent sentiments as capitulation to an online mob demanding that art be made subservient to ideological concerns about sexism and related issues. After all, what can it possibly mean to declare that “no opinion should be discredited”? If that’s true, shouldn’t Albuquerque’s original intent in creating the cover count for something? Yet the artist's (and parent corporation's) response to online criticism based on suggestions that the cover is somehow inappopriate or triggering or whatever is not the whole story by a long shot. Across virtually every area of human interaction, traditional hierarchies have been flattened. The lowliest person with a Twitter account can very publicly critique the mightiest politician or performer. Professors are now publicly rated by their students. Services such as Thumbtack.com and Angie’s List and Yelp! andCars.com have fundamentally altered the relationship between sellers and buyers. Ride-sharing apps allow drivers and passengers to pass judgement on one another. Critics can no longer singlehandedly make or break a new play, movie, or novel—we crowd-source information for all this. As Glenn Greenwald has noted, “the petulant entitlement syndrome of journalists” is in its final era, as once-insulated writers must now contend with comments sections and public traffic reports that show bluntly what the audience thinks of their work. “Social media,” writes Greenwald, “has greatly exacerbated this syndrome. Twitter by its nature is a confrontational medium. Its design ensures that anyone can force anyone else—no matter how prominent or established—to hear unrestrained criticisms about them from those with no established platform.” There has been, in short, a great leveling across virtually all aspects of contemporary society. This is without exception liberating and freeing, a net increase in giving voice to the voiceless and some small amount of power to the powerless. In the cultural arena, it means that once-mighty authors and creators must now engage in conversation with their audience, a humbling reversal in status and attitude. Artists must now effectively collaborate with their audiences—not slavishly giving them what they want, but seriously respecting their wishes and desires. Read the full article here. This new dynamic is not a simple [...]
Fri, 20 Mar 2015 15:26:00 -0400DC Comics’ decision this week to pull a variant comic cover depicting the Joker with a gun next to Batgirl’s bloodied head is mostly a symbolic gesture. The cover by artist Rafael Albuquerque remains available online for anyone to see, and because it was a rare variant, scheduled for a small part of the series' print run, relatively few people would have ended up with a copy even if it had been released. The immediate practical consequences, in other words, are fairly minimal. But the episode is interesting anyway for what it reveals about fan and consumer culture, about activist communications, and the ways that big companies are becoming more responsive to public conversations about their products, largely thanks to the Internet. First, some backstory: The cover, which would have shipped on some issues of Batgirl 41, was part of a collection of Joker-themed variants set to be released across DC’s lineup in June. Instead of a direct teaser for the content of the issue itself, Albuquerque’s image was designed as an explicit callback to The Killing Joke, a famous 1988 Batman story by superstar comics author Alan Moore that features as its centerpiece a brutal assault on Barbara Gordon (Batgirl’s alter ego) by the Joker: Not only does Joker shoot her in the spine and cripple her, he takes photos and forces her captive father, Police Commissioner Jim Gordon, to look at them. DC has taken the character in a less grisly direction since then, but the events of The Killing Joke still linger in the background, in part because the story is one of the most famous Bat-stories of all time, and considered a classic by more than a few comic fans. Yet it’s also stuck around because it has been held up as a prime example of the cavalier way that superhero comics have treated female characters—and, in particular, the way that they have often relied on sadistic, grisly violence toward women as cheap mechanisms for teaching their male characters life lessons. Editor Len Wein’s infamous response when Moore asked permission to write the story—“yeah, okay, cripple the bitch”—hasn’t exactly helped its reputation on this front. So while it’s easy enough to understand why Albuquerque chose the Joker-variant event to draw an alternative cover that looked back on a widely known event from Batgirl’s comic book history, it’s also, I think, not too hard to understand why Moore’s older story still makes some people uncomfortable, and why they might not be thrilled with anything that suggests a return to that approach. It’s that discomfort which led to a minor online uproar, mostly on Twitter, that eventually led to Albuquerque asking DC to cancel the cover, and DC agreeing not to run it. This is, unsurprisingly, not to everyone’s liking. Critics of DC’s move have complained that the company is bowing to pressure from a minority of activists, most of whom would never have bought or read the comic anyway. The controversy over the cover is mostly being discussed as the latest clash in the recent spate of comic book culture wars, the most recent previous episode being a similar uproar about an alternative Marvel comics cover featuring a depiction of Spider-Woman by an erotic fantasy artist. Marvel, like DC, cancelled its cover variant after an online furor. Clearly, there’s a power struggle going on between comic book traditionalists and progressive cultural activists, as comic book companies seek to expand beyond their traditional readership. But these are the sorts of debates that have long roiled fan communities, especially those driven by geek passions; one big difference is that now, thanks to the Internet, these debates are happenin[...]