In Praise of Unfaithful Movie Adaptations

For whatever reason, I decided to watch The Eagle today. It's a 300-lite adaptation of The Eagle of the Ninth, which used to be the kind of dusty thing elementary kids were assigned to read, like Johnny Tremaine but without all the silver-deformed hands. Anyway, I read it sometime when I was 10 or 11, so my recollection might be foggy. But I'm fairly sure the book ended with the protagonist disillusioned with the glory of Rome. Instead, the movie has our hero (Channing "Mr. Poutylips 2012" Tatum) and his sidekick (Jamie "Billy Elliot Got Buff" Bell) striding out the door and into a buddy comedy.

But oh well. A sick side of me actually enjoys it when movie adaptations stomp all over their source text. Like that version of The Scarlet Letter with Demi Moore, where a bunch of Natives ride in at the end to save the day. I figure by that point screenwriting was happening on a day-to-day basis, and having run out of excuses for Demi to get her frock off, the writers decided to wrap it up quickly. Credit also goes to Timur Bekmambetov's Wanted. Mark Millar's comic books might not have the same cultural capital as Hawthorne's AmLit 101 staple, but they get hacked just the same in the 2008 adaptation. The title's the same, and so are the characters' names, but... that's about it. And I loved it. Here's to faithless movies made from better books. They allow me to quietly disrespect my English degree and eat hot buttered popcorn, all at the same time.

Reflections on Canzine

Last Sunday, I went to Canzine with some cash in my wallet and the stated goal of finding a zine about backyard chicken raising. I never did succeed in the latter, but did return to Guelph with a bag of zines and the following observations, shared below for your edification/amusement/ire.

1. Cupcakes Are Our New Overlords
The most popular product at tables at Canzine? Zines, of course. It's in the name. Second? Screenprinted posters, probably. And third? Cupcakes. You could buy homemade versions along with your handmade journals at many a stall, or go for the slightly more ambitious cakes being sold as part of the Underground Food Fair. Remember when folks said the cupcake trend had crested, and it was for whoopie pies and macarons to fight to the death for our love? Well, cupcakes were there all along, waiting for the other baked goods to destroy each other so they could hog all the sweet, sweet glory for themselves. Victory tastes of buttercream frosting. And costs between $2.50 and $3.25 a pop.

Conclusion: Cupcakes are here to stay. Unless if fatigue finally sets in next year, in which case I'm fully planning to bring a doughnut frying machine to Canzine.

2. Digital Technology Has Not Killed Print (Yet)
The vendors at Canzine ranged in age, but generally skewed- based on a lazy visual appraisal- heavily to the 20 to 30 year old range. Admittedly, zine culture is a niche thing, but there was still a roomful of people who had taken the time to write, draw, stitch, photocopy, staple and in whichever way create printed artifacts. And it wasn't the work of a colony of strange youth who had rejected Twitter and Facebook, grabbing their butter churns to go back and crank a letterpress, either. I checked out some of the scheduled readers and presenters the day before. Most of them at least had a blog.

Conclusion: Calm down, New York Times, Globe and Mail, or whomever. I know that as the new moon rises, another, often hysterical, obituary for the printed word (the book in the particular) appears under your masthead. But at least for the time being, young folks are finding ways to integrate both print and digital media as creative outlets and entertainment.

3. People Can be Sickeningly Talented, and Often Nice Too
A few highlights: Raymond Biesinger, who produced this clever graphic poster of World War I. It already contains more information about The Great War than I was ever taught in a high school history class. He's also really friendly, so buy from him and you support the cause of niceness. Jonah Campbell, who writes about food in Food and Trembling in a wry, critically sharp way. The man understands the power and the glory of the Montreal zaatar, so clearly he's to be trusted. Aaron Costain, who has some pretty but sinister prints of cityscapes, along with cat zines and comics about transportation disasters. A true Renaissance man, that one. There were also tons of social justice zines, and although I neglected to do my duty and pick some up (apologies, I had cupcakes on the brain) they still made me feel a bit better about the world.

Conclusion: We must harness their power for our ends. Or at least make them fetch zaatars for us.

Goddess of the Longbox: Brian Azzarello's Wonder Woman

Up until two months ago, I thought of Wonder Woman more as a brand than as a book. She could be bought on journals, t-shirts, wallets and more. But not so much in comic books I wanted to read. I knew about her first, bondage-heavy incarnation thanks to a collection of golden age Wonder Woman stories which randomly appeared in my grade 8 classroom. Everything I could find at the library told me we then passed through a Lynda Carter/George Perez heyday, only to get bogged down in the 1990s with convoluted stories and low sales numbers. After that, good things could have happened. But so did The Dark Knight Strikes Again. Wonder Woman having sky-shaking sex with Superman was bad enough, but the digital colouring job gave it a particularly mind-searing quality. I decided I no longer had the fortitude for her. Who could guarantee I wouldn't see her boffing Darkseid, printed on glitter paper? But the big DC 52 reboot brings renewed faith, in the form of Brian Azzarello's Wonder Woman.

Issue #2 has just been released, which means it's still simple and fiscally responsible to catch up on the series. So far it's shaping up to be less about typical superheroics than Maury among the gods. Zeus has been fooling around on Hera again, and Diana and Hermes try to protect his latest mortal conquest and the unborn demigod she carries. The family tree gets further complicated at the end of issue #2. Strife lets slip that Diana is also Zeus' daughter, instead of clay brought to life.

Perhaps my Maury comparison is unfair. Wonder Woman aims higher than that- Apollo, Hermes, Hera and other superstars of Greek mythology all make unannotated appearances, for example. For a truer ancestor, something about the dense, allusive writing reminds me of the Sandman series, Azzarello sounding as much like Neil Gaiman as his earlier, 100 Bullets self. Cliff Chiang's pencils are worth noting too. Although all of the female characters are drawn within society's set parameters of female beauty, Diana gets to look more athletic than pneumatic. It may be too early in Azzarello's run to get excited about his Wonder Woman. But there's something exciting about a book that aims for Mount Olympus while so many others settle for the gutter and a pretty thin conception of grit.

I feel as if a link to this Dresden Codak comic about Wonder Woman's costume is only appropriate: Why Cleavage Is Bad For Crimefighting

Love Hurts, And Sometimes Steals Your Tea

Even my dreams have begun to sadden me. Last night I was dreaming about meeting a guy in some sort of meet-cute situation in an apartment. For most of you, normal, happy people, the next part of the dream would have involved some sexy adventures of at least Cinemax standards. However, I dreamed I went to his apartment the next day, only to find the loose tea he had stolen from my apartment. It was all there- the Earl Grey, the genmaicha, the rooibos, the bougie green tea with the little fruity bits in it. There was a confrontation, dramatic tears were shed, doors were slammed, he admitted that he had a compulsion and I gave him the ultimatum that "I'll only see you if you get heeeeelllllp!"

It was kind of like an episode of Intervention, crossbred with a Lifetime movie of the week and sponsored by Tetley.

I woke up remembering the "green tea with the little fruity bits" detail distinctly, and the rest of the dream with some concern. Really, if my dream guy is a tea-hording klepto, and not a bare-chested English 19th century lord with suspiciously good dental work and a disdain for the social conventions of his time, my real-life prospects have got to be depressing. Which reminded me of a recent conversation I had with a friend, where I confidently promised to "work harder at, you know, that whole aspect... of life" once I found a job in Toronto and moved there.

Really, that was just a way of buying time, and even that looms oppressively in my future. My anxiety was not helped by a post on a Toronto city blog that offered a glimpse into that very future. It was about a singles event with an ugly sweater theme, held at a bar with an awkwardly long name. That kind of name is usually a good indication that it will house equally (and endearingly) awkward men, so at first I was all like "Whoah, I could get a head start on my vow!!", then was more "That bar name is actually mildly annoying" and finally: "I would likely want to burn down that bar and the be-sweatered men it contains, mostly out of misdirected self-loathing, but also because of drunkenness."

So, now that I've saved myself the trouble of finding an embroidered cat sweater at Value Village, I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't also save myself from this doomed vow. Some people are good at dating- I'm not one of them. Some people are good at learning how to be good at dating- I'm not one of those either. I don't even know how to blow dry my hair. My temporary conclusion is that, yep, I'm still planning to move to Toronto, and if nothing works out in the suitor department, that's fine. But if something does work out, that's fine too. I'll just have to remember to keep an eye on my Elf Help (organic) tea, and put out the Lipton as decoys.

Book Covers I Have Loved, Liked and Loathed: Wuthering Heights

Realities may be plural and meaning may be fluid... but anybody who goes about thinking Wuthering Heights is a template for true love is a stone-cold idiot. Postmodernism can only take you so far. Of course, the actual content of the book hasn't stopped legions of hormone-addled folks (and some older people who should know better) from taking Heathcliff to be the dreamiest of dreamboats to ever sail, or at least stalk, the moors. Thus, a certain kind of terrible cover could be expected for Wuthering Heights. Bare, yearning, extremely buff chests. Terrible Twilight tie-ins, even. But I sure wasn't expecting this:


I couldn't bring myself to open the book, although I'm sure Heathcliff exhuming Cathy's corpse was rendered with the same kind of apple-cheeked wholesomeness. I understand that this is part of a series of classic stories and novels digested for the children. And because of that, some darker elements would have to be left in the original text. But this is more than missing the mark. This is aiming for Wuthering Heights and landing somewhere deep in Magic Treehouse land. Perhaps writers, librarians, parents and anyone else who cares about kids should stop presenting pulverized classics and give children good, original works instead. It seems more likely to create dedicated readers who'll find the real Wuthering Heights (and Jane Eyre, and heck, Agnes Grey) on their own.


This next cover (for the complete text) would definitely appeal to those kids, particularly those tormented souls who are simultaneously going through a Tim Burton phase. The cover is by Ruben Toledo, and it's part of a set of three Deluxe Classics he illustrated for Penguin. I can't decide whether I like it or not. Sometimes I think it has the right mix of superficial prettiness and barely hidden rot. Other times, I find it irritatingly gothy-cute, with Catherine looking like a consumptive Hello Kitty.

(Photo from Etsy seller CalloohCallay)

But I would love to track down a copy of this Wuthering Heights, which features woodcuts by Fritz Eichenberg. Published as a box set with Jane Eyre in 1943, I think it's just about perfect, with the emphasis being as much on the environment and atmosphere of its setting than Heathcliff himself, looking here- unlike that awful Real Reads cover- like a real adult.

A Very Merry X-Oween

It's not an original sentiment, but... the X-Men the Animated Series intro is just balls out awesome, isn't it? Seriously, I want to loop that song and play it for 20 minutes whenever I run. Things would quickly go south however when I confuse myself with Rogue and attempt to fly off the curb while punching the air, but with the healing powers of Wolverine (or my delusions of such) I would quickly recover and finish my run. Or at least limp home to the X-Mansion, aka my house.

On a related note, I am strongly considering making Rogue my 2011 Halloween costume of choice. Unfortunately, one thing is kind of stopping me. Three syllables, starts with a vowel, heavily featured in American Apparel catalogues... no, not areola. That's four syllables. I'm talking "unitard." I mean, for 19.95 I can buy a green unitard from Value Village that promises, somewhat sinisterly, "one size fits most." Judging from the model photo though, a more accurate description would be "gives cameltoe to all." Oh well, slap some yellow spandex patches on it, add some superfluous belts, bleach a streak in my hair, and I'll be cooking like early '90s classic Rogue.

Book Pile for October 13

This month's book pile, from top to bottom.
1. The Itty Bitty Book: Music From Big Pink, John Niven
2. Book Most Likely to Take Another 8 Months to Finish: The Magus, John Fowles
3. The Tome of Misguided Self-Improvement: How to Get Any Job: Life Launch and Re-Launch for Everyone Under 30 (or How to Avoid Living in Your Parents' Basement), Donald Asher -> Too late!!!!!!
4. Let's Get Critical, Critical Reading: American Movie Critics, Ed. Phillip Lopate
5. Current Non-Fiction Reading: The Best of The Best American Science Writing, Ed. Jesse Cohen
6. Future Novel Reading: A Meaningful Life, L. J. Davis

Lucille by Ludovic Debeurme- Review

The teenager, whether as subject, intended audience or both, has been well-served by graphic novels. Well, well-served in quantity, at least, but not so much in quality. Nearly every adult superhero team has a youth league (Teen Titans, Generation X, Young Avengers, etc.) but when Batman angsts more than a sixteen year old, the actual teens can seem like toddlers. Which is why Ludovic Debeurme's Lucille is so surprising and necessary.

Originally published in French by Futuropolis in 2006, Lucille appeared in English earlier this year through Top Shelf Comics. If you were expecting, based on its continental heritage, lush backgrounds and smoothly symbolic figures, you'll be disappointed. This isn't that kind of bande dessiné. But if you've read King Cat Comics and liked John Porcellino's minimalist, sketchy illustrations, you'll probably enjoy the kind of style Debeurme is working with. And it's a good fit for the story, allowing readers the space to mix their own experiences with those of the characters.

That kind of projection will be more effective if you're either still in, or still reeling from, your that time. Hopefully, few of you are as put-upon as Vladimir (né Arthur) and Lucille though. Vladimir is the scion of a long line of suicidal Poles and Lucille is an anorexic French girl. But this isn't an issue-driven YA novel, with no hotline phone number on the back page. Lucille and Vladimir are written like plausible, intelligent and troubled teenagers. That is: As people who are more articulate on the interior than they can express to the exterior. It's not surprising then that Debeurme leans heavily on interior monologues instead of dialogue, but pages completely free of text are common too. Coupled with Debeurme's aversion to the square, thickly bordered look of the traditional comic panel, Lucille feels like a graphic novel that's fighting against traditional expectations of the form while still having to work within some of them. And that's not unlike your average teen's life experience, helping this book to become one of the truer, sadder looks at those in-between years.

On a related note for Toronto folks, two events of note are coming up:
Canzine Toronto, which should have some great indie comics for sale, among other artifacts of the zinely sciences (October 23, 2011)
Toronto Draws Tintin, in honour of everyone's favourite Belgian, which features history, local artists, and provides support for the Comic Legends Legal Defense Fund. (November 2-27, 2011)

The Avengers Trailer, or Iron Man and His Marketable Friends

Was there any need to actually make a teaser trailer for The Avengers? Most likely anyone who needs to know about The Avengers- a demographic that consists of anyone who loves air conditioning, loves theatre popcorn, likes movies and tolerates paying up to $13 to enjoy any of the former- is already planning to do it. From Hulk to Captain America, they've had entire films that were essentially teaser trailers for this movie. But here it is.

Of course, Iron Man hogs the trailer, but his movies did the best, so why not? The explosions look competent, and I'm glad they brought Loki back from the Thor movie. But poor Hawkeye is barely in it, although maybe they're just saving Jeremy Renner for the Oscar campaign. And seeing Scarlett Johansson really makes me wish they had found a way to work the Scarlet Witch in as well. Sure, maybe they're going with the genetically enhanced version of the Black Widow, but the ability to look Vogue cover-ready for decades is pretty lame when you're standing next to a Norse god and a big green bag of testosterone. Even Hawkeye gets a crossbow.

Why I Quit on this Kai Nagata Article, Or: Honey, Press Delete Sometimes

Hey, remember Kai Nagata? He wrote that article about why he quit his CTV gig, which got sent around to most of Canada, pissing off a few, being shared by many more, and likely read in its entirety by none. This is because Kai, who I am sure is an articulate, well-dressed young man in person, gets a bit windy when place in front of the keyboard.

His "Why I Quit My Job" post comes in at just over 3,000 words, about twice the length of the average New York Times news article. My brain has interpreted this as a sign to give Nagata's words as much weight as anything I've read lately about the Euro zone crisis or Occupy Wall Street. Although, full disclosure: both Nagata's quarterlife crisis and world events take up a fraction of my mental real estate when compared to pictures and/or videos of corgis. Arf.
Since that went viral, Kai got himself hired by The Tyee, an independent lefty-ish online magazine based out of B.C. And, as The Tyee likely mandates from all of its columnists, he grew out the contractual beard. But, long in facial hair as Kai may now be, he is even longer in print. And "Why Harper Wants You to Know that He Loves Hockey", his most recent article, is a few hundred words longer than his most famous post.

But maybe Kai Nagata is just stretching out his rhetorical muscles online, in preparation for lecturing us all through the medium of CPAC. In short: he wants to be the prime minister. The first third of the article is Kai comparing himself to Harper on the three things Harper is supposed to love most- hockey, the military, and Tim Horton's- and then detailing how he wins each contest. Harper says he loves hockey? Well, Kai Nagata played hockey with a ragtag band of scrappy Vancouver kids so ethnically diverse CBC is probably casting for a commercial right now. Harper loves the military? Well, Kai was actually in the army... reserves. Harper loves himself some Timmy's? Well, Kai HAS A TIM HORTON'S TRAVEL MUG. Suck it, creepy lips Steve!! Something's riding shotgun in the cup holder of Kai's car, and it's a little something called AUTHENTICITY.
It was a competition that Harper was bound to fail, because Stephen Harper... is a robot*. And robots cannot truly be said to understand the human emotion we call "love", even when we're talking about a sweet, sweet double-double. But still, I don't think winning these games makes Nagata a better Prime Minister, or even a better Canadian. Nagata is not writing about how a politician fails to live up to the standards of being a useful public servant, but instead on how they're failing to be the author, and by the end it starts reading like so much literature for a campaign that's only happening inside the writer's mind.

And it's also, sadly, a way of letting the other side win, by letting them set the terms of the debate. You might eat more Timbits than Harper (or care more for immigrants than Jason Kenney, or like Dan Mangan more genuinely than James Moore, etc. etc.), you might have won that battle, but it's a pretty hollow victory when you're still yelling their talking points than talking about what really matters.

But my irritation at the structure of Kai Nagata's piece has obscured, for me and for this post, the important observations he makes about the message Harper is selling, and the techniques he's using in the process. However, it's hard to find them under the heaps of Naga-trivia. So, some suggestions to The Tyee: hire an editor, put Kai on a 1,500 word limit and tell him to talk about himself less and listen more. And maybe shaving that beard would be a good idea too.

*Note: I do not think that Stephen Harper is a robot, just a truly regrettable prime minister.