Baby’s In
Black - Arne Bellstorf (w/a)
First
Second, 208 pp., $24.99
Part of the métier of comics has been the proliferation and filtering
of mythology. In recent years, we have
abandoned our folk stories and instead have raised our own popular culture to
mythic status: Elvis, James Dean and, of course, The Beatles. In Arne Bellstorf’s graphic novel, Baby’s In Black: Astrid Kirchherr, Stuart Sutcliffe, and The Beatles, he works to actively
dispel much of the mysticism surrounding the band and return them to an
altogether more humble position.
The book does not concern itself too heavily with the band members
that most admirers will be familiar with, but rather focuses on a footnote in
their history — their former bassist Stuart Sutcliffe. His story is perhaps more compelling than
that of his band mates, and Bellstorf’s deft hand shapes it into a tragic,
poetic love story.
While the Beatles were struggling to find fame, they spent a few
months in Hamburg on dodgy visas, playing seedy nightclubs and sleeping on the
floor of an old theatre. It was there
that photographer Astrid Kirchherr discovered them and began a tempestuous
relationship with then-bassist Stuart Sutcliffe. The band introduced her to rock ‘n’ roll,
while she turned them on to art and philosophy.
Sutcliffe — an artist in his own right — became enamoured with this
world and left the band to stay in Hamburg where he studied under Eduardo
Paolozzi. He remained with Kirchherr
until his untimely death at the age of 21.
It’s a story familiar to many (not least of all due to the 1994 film, Backbeat) but through Bellstorf’s eyes,
it becomes more than mere biography, veering into the mythopoetic. His style is beautifully understated,
carrying the naivete of Franco-Belgian children’s comics in the linework, but
imbuing it with rich, symbolic qualities.
That the colour black — in a black and white comic — can become so
meaningful is truly an achievement.
He exacts this in a number of ways.
Primarily, there is Astrid herself.
She is practically the only blonde character in the book, so stands
apart on each page as a chasm of negative space, like she is waiting to be
completed and made whole. Working in
parallel is Sutcliffe’s artwork, which begins to use more and more black but,
like Astrid, never reaches completion.
The abundance of black in Sutcliffe’s life seems to reflect the onset
of his epileptic seizures and his inevitable end. Yet it is also infused with romance, as in the
many dream sequences that punctuate the book, Astrid sees Stuart wearing a black
scarf — a billowing, expressive swathe that seems to be the missing piece from
her life.
In addition to the lyricism of his art, Bellstorf also has a fine
knack for character and caricature — particularly in his rendering of the
Liverpudlian boys, who he manages to present humbly, but with an inkling of
their impending fame. The scenes of the
band performing feel like they’ve been taken directly from Kirchherr’s
now-iconic photographs, and manage to capture the subtle nuances of each player
with striking precision.
It’s hard to find fault with this work — it is obviously made with
tremendous affection, but without ever becoming mawkish. Even without the presence of The Beatles to
give weight and import to its story, this is as touching and tragic a book as
we’re likely to find this year.
-- Gavin Lees
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