Feature: Shapes Shifting - pt. 3

Part III: The Manhunter from Mars

One would think the superhero genre would be filthy with interesting stories featuring shape-shifters: no special circumstances or explanations are required as shape-shifting is no more outlandish an idea than unaided flight, super-strength and heat vision. It isn’t the case. No doubt there are a decent number of superhero shape-shifters and stories that contain, but in almost every case their powers are used for infiltration or some derivative thereof.

There are other options for storytellers to choose. So far we've looked at the shape-shifter's kinship with creativity itself, and how that kinship allows shape-shifters like Merlock Jones to play tricks on the reader that a character with a concrete form cannot. In contrast to Merlock, and his creator E.C. Segar, who may not have intended the effect outlined in the previous installment, there are certain creators who not only fail to play tricks on the reader using their shape-shifter, but who make no attempt to tell a story in which a shape-shifter's presence creates a unique experience. Even if Segar didn't intend Merlock's month of haunting, he intentionally used Merlock's abilities as a master of disguise for a unique comedic effect similar to the classic mirror scene in Duck Soup.

There are several shape-shifting superheroes/villains who are complete failures judging by the above criteria, but there’s one whose track record is interestingly pockmarked. The Martian Manhunter first appeared in the iteration which fans now recognize him in the November 1955 edition of Detective Comics, #225.* In “The Strange Experiment of Dr. Erdel,” written by Joe Samachson and drawn by Joe Certa, a brilliant scientist named Mark Erdel wrenches J’onn J’onzz, Martian, from his home world. Erdel greats J’onn with a convenient heart attack, trapping J’onn on Earth as Erdel is the only man alive who can operate the accidently-steal-an-alien contraption. Within that same strip, J’onn decides to take the form of a human man in order not to frighten all who see him. Again, here our hero’s aim is infiltration, this time into the entire human race. This is a better use of the infiltration plot than most: perhaps because as the character grows infiltration might meld with the themes of human intolerance and the other among us. Sadly, though, from 1953 until the 1959 episode, “The Unmasking of J’onn Jonzz,” the Martian is more or less confined to his human body, and whenever he does change to his true form he stays invisible, always solving crimes unnoticed and ending every strip with a wink to the reader: the sole witness to his feats. This leaves no room for a shape-shifting theme because each episode is concerned with what crazy new power J’onn will have in order to keep them winking moments fresh.**

Eventually The Martian Manhunter’s abilities are codified to match those of Superman but with telekinesis and shape-shifting to boot. J’onn could, then, in the hands of an intelligent creator, branch out on his own and become his own character rather than a poor substitute for Superman.

For one of the best examples of how his shape-shifting abilities make him unique, we turn to issue #24 of the Martian Manunter ongoing series that began in 1998. This particular issue was written by the series’ regular writer John Ostrander and penciled, thank the sweet Martian Christ, by fill-in artist Doug Mahnke. (Tom Mandrake was the regular artist on the series, and his pages are unerringly sloppy.) The Martian Manhunter, you see, has a bit of an obsession with Oreos (chocos, they’re called), and apparently, when J’onn doesn’t get his chocos, shit gets real. Here J’onn’s partners Booster Gold and Blue Beetle not only hide J’onn’s personal stash of chocos, they buy up all the chocos in the stores immediately surrounding Justice League HQ causing J’onn to go into a comedic, choco-withdrawal induced rampage through the city.

J’onn’s shape-shifting abilities grant the story two very special features. The first and more obvious is along the lines of what was discussed in the first post of this series, namely, the changing of shapes based on whim or, in this case, blinding rage. As the rampage progresses and his rage builds, J’onn grows more and more monstrous, eventually coming to resemble The Hulk almost to the letter.*** Which leads us to the second feature of the story—parody. And not just parody, but iconographic parody more effective and natural to comics than a snarky bit of dialogue.

Taken together, these two features make the prospect of a Martian Manhunter story much more appealing: that although we know for the Martian mind and body are linked in a unique fashion, the changes he undergoes are not always what he wills. What better an allegory for the addictive process in which the subconscious mind affects so much of what we do? That part of the mind most mysterious having control over his form, what new and interesting shapes might the Martian Manhunter and his stories take?

Admittedly, a list of three is a poor census of the shape-shifting population, but the three examples do illustrate the important distinction between shape-shifting and “solid” characters: in one way or another they are possibility personified, be it in plot, theme or character, and have the ability to teach us about ourselves and the medium in which they exist simultaneously. 

-- Ian Burns

*The reason I’ve chosen The Martian Manhunter over Jack Cole’s Plastic Man, arguably the more obvious choice for a superhero shape-shifter, is that the latter is entirely too successful by this essay’s standards and an analysis of him would yield too similar a conclusion to part one of this series.

**Within only months J’onn gains “molecular hypnosis,” which he uses to fix a baseball game in order to thwart a fixer; “Martian lungpower,” which he will later use to fly; x-ray vision, the ability to walk through sold objects, and my personal favorite: “super-willpower,” which … well, J’onn should do the talking. “Through deep concentration, I can will my body to any part of the world! I want to be downtown … Downtown … DOWNTOWN!” He then appears downtown.

***Darwin Cooke uses J’onn as a walking pop-culture reference as well in his New Frontier books.

Read More

Feature: Shapes Shifting - pt. 2

Part II: The Ghost of Merlock Jones

Compared to those in comics, animated shape-shifters are deficiently mysterious: not concerning their roles in the narrative, but the way in which they change and the effect of the change upon the reading experience. Rather than changing with the help of fluid motion, comics shape-shifters have to pass through gutter. If they were to undergo a change within one panel, they run the risk of muddling the action with what could be interpreted as two separate characters, or the sense of time may simply disappear. The comics gutter actually gives shape-shifters more space, specifically, blank space, negative space, in which they do nebulous, invisible tricks.

Again, as with “Duck Amuck,” we’re reading the following example by transplanting ourselves into the world/medium of the character rather than wrenching him into our own. The laws of cartoon physics (if there are any at all) are frighteningly different from our own, and if we insist on placing a cartoon character in 4-D, conforming to the law of gravity, or the conservation of mass, their abilities and personalities become negligible and boring, respectively.

            
Merlock Jones first appeared in E.C. Segar’s Thimble Theatre in June 1932, preceding the start of a new Popeye adventure called “The Eighth Sea.” Castor Oyl, Popeye’s frequent cohort and partner with whom he founded a detective agency in a previous story, fears Popeye will be hurt or killed while visiting the dangerous hide out of Woo Fong, keeper of the precious black parrot that holds the secret to a great treasure. Castor tasks Merlock Jones, a master of disguise, with tailing Popeye and later, once Popeye and his crew are set to sail, with stowing away and guarding the worthless King Blozo. “Merlock Jones,” Castor says giving the sleuth his orders. Merlock, it should be known, has already taken several guises in three daily strips’ time. “...Won’t you let me see your real face?” Merlock replies: “No living man hath seen my pan—not even myself.”

            
Previously, when he trails Popeye on the way to Woo Fong’s dockside hideout, Merlock’s shape-shifting is drawn as a flurry of hands and motion lines and takes up one panel of space per change. The base form is in the panel preceding the change, the new one following. But when he aims to stow away, the change is quite spectral. We never see Merlock stowing away. It happens in the gutters, so to speak, and in fact the reader, because an entire month passes between Merlock receiving his orders and reappearing aboard Popeye’s ship, could wonder whether Segar redacted Merlock from the adventure entirely. If we re-read the “The Eighth Sea,” returning to this point of absence it’s clear here is where Merlock initially shape-shifts, and that it is indeed absence the non-shape he assumes. Merlock, if our attention is on his whereabouts at the beginning of “The Eighth Sea,” haunts the strip until he reappears a month later.* One week after Merlock receives his orders from Castor, a stow-away appears aboard Popeye’s ship: an old granny named Missus Snoodenbocker who claims to have mistook Popeye’s boat for a ferry. Now, for all the reader knows, and in fact what makes the most sense to believe, is that Missus Snoodenbocker is none other than Merlock Jones. Even though we don’t see it, we know Merlock stowed away, and based on past experience we know he can take whatever shape he chooses. That Missus Snoodenbocker turns out not to be Merlock is less important than that for an entire month her character is possessed by Merlock Jones, and it isn’t until he reappears that she regains her identity: her “self,” effectively. Any other member of the cast would be ill equipped for a haunting such as this. It is the privilege of the shape-shifter.

            
Besides his ghastly non-presence, his idea-shape that possesses Missus Snoodenbocker, Merlock’s absence does have a concrete representation: the strip-shaped (or page-shaped depending on the format) latticework of the comics gutter. This is the shape that symbolizes the ghostly nature of the shape-shifter that Merlock taps into for an entire month of story. It is a symbol, like the capricious, frenetic illustrator in “Duck Amuck,” of the possibility inherent in the white page. And a shape-shifter, again, because of its kinship with the basic creative process in comics and cartoons, is an accessible tool to help recognize the ethereal properties of cartoons and comics.

-- Ian Burns

*The Fantagraphics collection, Popeye Vol.3, “Let’s You and Him Fight!” provided the structure for Merlock’s absence and return. Specifically: They have created a chapter heading titled “Presenting: Merlock Jones.”

Read More

Feature: Shapes Shifting - pt. 1

Part I – “Ain’t I a stinkah?”

The first and most symbolic barrier between imagination and a complete story in comics and cartooning is a blank page.  The blank page represents possibility, and there, at that simple, stripped down level of creation, imagination collides with possibility and the resulting shock, when ideas turn into shapes, into characters, scenes and stories, wildly displaces possibility in favor of concrete, two-dimensional illusions. It’s their kinship with this basic element that makes the shape-shifting character a representation of creation, in cartoons or comics, within the space that gives that character a reason for existing. In their space on the page, with each change, they reenact the collision of imagination and possibility. Just as a model of the Solar System that simulates the revolution of the planets around the Sun, the representation has no meaning without that which it represents.

Shape-shifters aren’t necessarily superior to any other type of character just because they shape-shift: they don’t possess any inherent sympathies with readers that other types of characters don’t have. However, shape-shifters do broaden our knowledge of cartoon and comics territory that they inhabit.

The page is a space, and lines, shapes, colors are tools which, a shape-shifter can use to direct a narrative to the brink of cartoon possibility. Or perhaps, more accurately, he is directed. Such is the case in Chuck Jones’ and Michael Maltese’s phenomenal Looney Tunes sketch entitled “Duck Amuck.” Aired in 1953 and voiced by the incomparable Mel Blanc (a shape-shifter in his own right), “Duck Amuck,” in which Daffy Duck falls prey to a malevolent illustrator and is forced to improvise a number of costumes, styles, dances, gestures and anatomic disfigurements under an increasingly capricious brush, is basically a treatise on the lack of space between one form and another in cartoons. If the illusion of the cartoon is stripped away, the illusion of three-dimensional space, it becomes apparent the only thing stopping cartoons from losing consistent form is the force of their creator*—that is, consistent form within a relatively small amount of time rather than over a large span in which several illustrators draw different interpretations of the same character. It’s true a cartoon gets its vitality from human interaction, but the quality of life is determined by which quality of mind an illustrator harnesses when drawing. In other words, the rate and manner in which shapes change is dependent upon temper.

In “Duck Amuck” the creative process is artificially accelerated to show just how volatile the mixture of temper and cartooning can actually be. For most of the cartoon Daffy moves from right to left along a conveyor-belt style canvass. Each new section of the canvass (roughly two to five seconds in duration) is a new set, new scenery, but Daffy takes it all in stride. He’s a professional, after all. When the illustrator draws a scene with no color, Daffy exclaims, “It may come as a complete surprise to you to find that this is an animated cartoon, and that in animated cartoons they have scenery.” When French hills give way to alpine snow, Daffy becomes a skier; when a Hawaiian island appears, Daffy wields a ukulele and lei. The illustrator within “Duck Amuck,” Daffy’s antagonist**, at one point erases Daffy completely, to which he cries, “Alright, Wise Guy … Where am I?” Daffy undergoes auditory changes as well: trying to throw a tantrum, he’s thwarted by a starling chicken cry coming from within his bill, and at one point he’s stricken mute altogether.

What’s special about Daffy’s role in “Duck Amuck” is that he isn’t a shape-shifter normally: it isn’t a recognizable part of his character. So rather than touting an “anything is possible in cartoons” message, even though that’s entirely true, he shows us that any comics or cartoon character can become a shape-shifter depending on the temper of their illustrator at the time of creation. Anything may be possible, but more importantly it must be acknowledged that a creator is capable of anything. “Duck Amuck,” in seven odd minutes, brings to the forefront everything we already know about cartoons, but that which we gloss over for entertainment’s sake forces us to consider how much can happen on the page when possessed by imagination.

-- Ian Burns

NEXT: Merlock Jones and the masters of disguise!

* This is, I admit, an idealistic view in which creators exist in a vacuum wherein the trials of the industry don’t affect the creative process. The reader can assume, then, that I’m speaking about creation at its most primal, pure level.

**SPOILERS!!! It’s Bugs.

Read More

Review: Orc Stain vol. 1 by James Stokoe

Orc Stain vol. 1 - James Stokoe (w/a)
Image Comics, $17.99, ISBN: 978-1-60706-295-0

The thing about Orc Stain… It’s full of dicks — purple-and-green-headed monsters… cocks, dongs, peckers, peters, pans, rods, meat poles, tallywhackers, ding-a-lings, ding dongs, dorks,  dicktators, love pumps… heat seeking moisture missiles… one-eyed wonder worms… wangs, willies, wieners, units, noodles, knobs, schlongs, tube steaks, red rockets, meat puppets, John Thomases, johnsons, trouser snakes, Mr. Happies, Lincoln logs, Alabama black snakes… boners, choads, hard-ons, helmets, main veins, man muscles, meat popsicles, one-eyed monsters, skin flutes, pocket rockets, pricks, shafts, steamin’ semen roadways, third legs, tonsil ticklers… melted-marshmallow squirt guns… Power Swords (or the keys to Castle Grayskull)… wankers, weewees, Mr. Winkies, beaver cleavers, meat thermometers, sausages, bologna ponies, bone coasters…

Orc penises.

Now, comprehensive and rude as the above list à la George Carlin may be: compared to the number of orc gronches* savagely diced and mutilated within the first six issues of Orc Stain, it’s about as darling as a small child farting while blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. Severed gronches line the belts and necklaces of orc warriors, wrap around warlords’ necks like furs and hang from shamanic staves as if they were mystic wards.

To emasculate a fellow orc is a sign of violent potency and supremacy which, in a race that, at this current point in the story, is completely devoid of females, makes for a cultural identity that is entirely neurotic. But the gronch is at once sacred and powerful and a commodity, for if an orc who’s claimed another’s gronch wishes he can skin, slice, dip and fire a gronch to turn it into chits: the orcish currency. It can only follow, then, that the greater the number of severed gronches that exist in the orc world, the greater the amount of wealth.

These are not, however, the only dicks in Orc Stain. The Orc Tzar, leader of the Jungle Clan and Ganga-Gronch** obsessive, is a huge dick; Boss Beard and his deadly Shaktu shock troops are hairy and four-armed dicks respectively, and lastly, Pointy Face, who perhaps deserves all that comes to him, is a very nasty dick.

Were it not for one unequivocally important piece of the story structure, all this dickery might amount to nothing more than a very pretty comic drawn by a dude obsessed with orcs and penises. Thankfully, though, there is a balance between Orc Stain’s male and female actors, and it makes good sense that a culture that is basically one giant penis, a culture without flaws in the minds of its people, entirely healthy, be threatened by walking, talking STDs.

To date, the Swamp Rambas are still quite a mystery. We know they are adept apothecaries, Poison Throwers to the orcs, and that when an orc is infected with their poison they bloat and fester, growing intense sores and boils until they burst. And of course, most importantly, judging what we know now they are a race made up entirely of women. Up until the reader meets the first Ramba, Bowie Enocraz Yaramund, the women in the world of Orc Stain are used for sex only. These “love nymphs” are seen as second class objects made for fucking, and in no way do they hold any power over their orc lovers. Perhaps this is because they do not threaten the orc cocks. They promise comfort and escape from the constant dick-on-dick action of orc culture and smile all along.

The Rambas, though, not only find the orcs repulsive, but in the case that some unlucky warrior idiot wanders into their swamps, they waste no time turning them into piles of puss and slime. If to be an orc, a real orc, means keeping one’s manhood intact while depriving your peers of there own; to be a threat to an orc one must become a threat to their entire system of sexual dominance: a promise that in any one encounter, the most an orc can hope for is to walk away an abomination, their gronch too horrible to be worth a single chit.

-- Ian Burns

*Gronch is the orc work for genitalia. If that wasn’t already clear…

**Gronchiest of Gronches.

Read More