The Illustrated Man

via This Magazine

A friend just sent me this brilliant book, The Shatner Show which documents 76 images/illustrations/portraits by various artists inspired by the man hisself. This is exactly why "we stand on guard for thee".

This Animated Life

Chris Ware & John Kuramoto bring you this animation featured in season two of This American Life.


There's something fascinating to me about the foibles of New York life. It is a city both real and imagined, in which intellectual and whimsical pursuits seem equally valid and rewarding. In recent years, I think I've become aware that I participate in one of the many brands of New York. There exists a tribe of foreigners who somehow feel an affinity to Fairytale NYC that we can't quite explain. It might describe your politics, cultural aspirations or material desires but I'm going to just start calling it "New York" the way a font is called New York. NYB – New York Brand. I say a "brand" but it could just as well be an "attitude" or a "feeling" but whatever this is, it seems to be encapsulated by certain media or personalities that you can easily group together. That's how I feel about this cartoon. It's as though, this is my wish; I want to be walking in Manhattan, on a lovely spring day, discussing some celebrity I spotted. Unfortunately, that happens to be the height of my ambition at the moment. I think films made me want to desire this. Maybe this guy is right.

Now a Major Motion Picture.

Now a Major Motion Picture.

A couple of years ago, I read a book review of Persepolis, an autobiographical comic book by Marjane Satrapi (pronounced "Mar-shahn Sah-trappy" I'm writing this out because I've been reading the book without a clue how to say her name which makes it difficult to tell people about it). It's the story of a young girl's experience growing up in revolutionary Iran. I decided to wait until the previous two books came out in a combined volume before picking it up. The book is more than just an insight into a country we know little about but also a remarkably moving tale of being true to oneself and recognizing where you come from. Now I'm keen to see the film which had its North American premiere in Toronto at the Film Festival. Better yet, it's an animated film. Only in Europe or Asia do studios make animated films that are not necessarily about fairy tales or children's stories. For all of Ratatouille's sophistication, it is still a "family" film. If Persepolis was made here, it would have quickly been switched to live action without a thought for how it would affect the telling of the story.

For years, my only view of Iran was that of deranged fundamentalists who had taken American citizens hostage in the Tehran embassy. I made no connection whatsoever between historical Persia and these Muslim fundamentalists. Let's back up a little bit. In 1979, I was 11 and I distinctly recall a conversation while we were watching the news about how the Shah had been exiled and how basically this seemed good news. An American placed dictator had been ousted, removing overt foreign influence in the region, allowing the founding of a new republic with a distinct Muslim voice. Sounded good to us. My brother and I reasoned that these were pious religious folk and surely a country that showed that kind of faith would be good and peaceful. My father wasn't so sure saying the religious leader, Khomeinhi, was known to be well educated but may be a "a bit of an extremist". I couldn't understand how you could be "a bit of an extremist" but my Dad said we'd have to wait and see how it would turn out. How, you might ask, would an 11-year-old know what "extremist" was? This was the seventies. It seemed every week a flight was being hijacked by "Arab extremists" - later, Anwar Sadat would be killed by one. Violence in the Middle-east defined the news as much 25 years ago as it does today. Then came the "Hostage Crisis" in Tehran and anything you may have thought of Iranians went out the window. In the simplified view of TV news, every Iranian man was a screaming religious nutjob and every woman, a repressed and suppressed victim forced to wear the veil.

There was (and probably still is) a complete disconnect between the historical cultures of the Middle East and their present day counterparts. When I was a kid, I could not understand how Egypt went from advanced culture to near third-world status? Similarly, I could not equate the civilisations of Mesopotamia and Persia and their advances in math, astronomy, engineering, architecture and art with the images of crazed Muslims chanting and climbing fences in Tehran. Then came the Iran-Iraq war and to be honest, the presiding opinion was, "let them bomb each other back to stone-age, when the dust settles, we'll all be better for it." Except of course, it took eight years for the dust to settle and no one was better for it. That war was a stalemate for so long, it was easy to forget it was still going on. Then I went to university and for whatever reason (uh, the Islamic Republic, violent war in the region) there were Iranian ex-pats everywhere. The one thing you heard over and over from Iranians (and even occasionally from an Iraqi or someone from Turkey) was that the view the West had of the country was entirely wrong. Tehran was a city of well-educated multi-lingual, metropolitan and cultured citizens, not slogan chanting religious fanatics. Most of all, Iranians were/are not Arabs, but Persians and speak Farsi not Arabic. Actually, you'd get an earful about Arabs in general (come to think of it, it would be really interesting to redo "Lawrence of Arabia" from the opposite side. Not that of a British hero, but that of meddling Imperialist operative whose actions would have decidedly violent implications in today's political landscape).

That's the baggage I bring to reading Satrapi's memoir, "Persepolis" and with incredible clarity, Starapi knows this. She writes and illustrates the story as someone with a foot in both the "secular West" and an Islamic Republic, who struggles to be herself in a world that makes that difficult. Her story is even more fascinating given her family's connection to Iran's past political and intellectual elite. My only criticism is in some ways, Satrapi's depiction of the "secular West" mimics how Europeans thought about Iranians in that many of the characters she meets in Vienna are stereotypes of shallow, spoiled, bored, over-indulgent, disengaged youth who rebel for the sake of rebelling and in the end have little focus or meaning to their lives. Only one person she meets (the mother of a friend) has any knowledge or interest in Iran. Yet, even this made me want to read on and discover more about how you survived in a world where music, jewelry, public affection or having a beer were all punishable offences. I kept thinking how would you allow your society to be taken over by such extreme forces? The answer is simple; fear. How can I be critical of that? Here in Canada we not only allow intolerance, we voted for it (and will probably do so again). Similarly, American voters voted in a party that had a record of stomping on civil liberties and personal freedoms by manipulating their fears and exploiting their faith. How does it happen? Unfortunately it happens very easily.

Listen here to hear Marjane Starapi talk about her experiences and book (from an NPR interview).

Things I've Learned from Television No.1

Things I've Learned from Television No.1

Re: Quicksand. Struggling just makes it worse.

Exit and Entry

Exit and Entry

Last Saturday was a bookish day. I went to the IFOA to see Rutu Modan read and present her work, "Exit Wounds" and James Sturm, founder of the Center of Cartoon Studies talk about his book, James Sturm's America.


It was busy in our 'hood, with all the Toronto FC fans clogging the street cars but somehow I made it to the talks in time. After getting my copies signed (nay, sketched in) I made a feeble attempt at conversation with the artists. Let's just say, that won't happen again. Despite that bit of awkwardness, it was still inspirational hearing authors discuss their work, so I decided to find a place to take a break, read the books and enjoy a pint. With a slight buzz of a too-quickly downed beer in my empty stomach, I again made my annual vow to write and complete a comic. I shouldn't be too disheartened at my inactivity and should know by now, these things take time. Like our friend, Gail Vanstone's recent publication "D is for Daring" which she has been researching and writing for almost as long as we've known her. I said to A. that it's been like a week out of a Woody Allen film for me. I rarely get out but in the span of 3 days I'd been to a gallery opening, an author's reading, and a book launch. That's the funny thing about T.O. - it really is a media centre, with film, TV and publishing companies here. Here here for the cultural index, I say.

Ahhhh sweet Internet, what gems does thy Pandora's box hold? Well, this one for a start.

Dupuy & Berberian at IFOA
Originally uploaded by bigdaddyhame.

I've said it before, I'll say it again, you don't have to take a camera anywhere anymore, because if other people are there, then someone else has photographed it and posted it to the web (specifically, Flickr). This photo was taken from someone else's Flickr set, but it was from the event I attended yesterday.

The really funny thing was the fact that all three of these very established artists still say that their families have no idea of what they do.

"You draw comic books?"
"Yes, but not children's books, for adults."
"Oh (winking) pornographic books..."

Which I guess is a problem when you call comics "Graphic Novels" - I mean, are they novels that are 'graphic' - sexually or violently explicit? By that meaning, "American Psycho" is a "graphic" novel. While the debate rages on, I thought it was great that Phillippe Dupuy said at one point, the next time someone asks me "what are you doing these days?" he would respond that he was a dentist.

Yesterday, we saw/heard Jaime Hernandez at IFOA - one half of Los Bros Hernandez, creators of one of the most important comic book series in the last 25 years. What can you say really? You get to hear an author and artist whose work you've admired for years and that person becomes sort of unreal in a way. He certainly wasn't what I expected. Quiet, gracious and even a little reserved. I suppose I really expected someone who looked more like a member of Los Lobos than an author. Based on his Love and Rockets stories, you might think Jaime Hernandez might be brash, loud or just a touch more punk. Maybe he was that way 20 years ago. Perhaps time soothes youthful noise. When looking at his artwork, the one thing that really comes across is confidence. Those big, bold, black lines scream confidence. He has every right to be arrogant but thankfully he wasn't.

Despite a terrible cold, I'm still glad we went and I'm glad that the International Festival of Authors has, for the last three years, included at least 2 or 3 comic book artists in their line-ups of interviews and readings.

Earlier in the day, I attended another great interview. Seth interviewed two distinguished artists from France, Phillipe Dupuy & Charles Berberian whose successful series "Mr. Jean" has just been compiled into a new book published in English by Drawn & Quarterly. Needless to say, I ended up dropping $60 on books yesterday. At least there was free Starbucks coffee.

Gerald McBoing-Boing

God bless Bob Cannon and UPA. Hopefully this cartoon will stay on uTube for awhile - it's such pleasure (especially the sequence when Gerald runs away).

(comic) book shelf
Originally uploaded by rowdyman.

After a week or so of having pieces of cut plywood leaning against the wall, then another week of applying paint, then sanding, then adding layers of varathane, I decided to put this project out of its misery. I guess I shouldn't have thought a few layers of paint would have hidden the flaws of some crappy plywood or that such an endeavour would be a quick fix but by Friday I could take it no longer. Because the bookcase was destined for the third floor, I assembled it on the deck - in the afternoon sun. Perhaps not the best idea. What should've been an hour of assembly became a 4 hour Sisyphean ordeal. I'll never understand why they sell 'knock-down' hardware in sizes that don't match common drill bits. You know you can't put a 3/8" nut in a 3/8" hole so why should I need to buy a 7/16" bit? Couldn't they just make it that much smaller - say 5/16"? It's the whole, 6 buns/8 hot dogs math of it all that drives me nuts. Anyway, after much dehydration and cursing a streak blue enough to remove paint, I eventually got the thing together. I photographed it almost as much as proof to myself as to the rest of the world.

When Angela suggested I move my comic books from the living room to the new bookshelf, my first thought was, "What? Embarrassed by having comic books in full view?" but I quickly realized she was right. I like having these books close at hand. I refer to them all of the time. It's a strange thing that I rarely re-read my comics, but I'm always perusing them, tracing their panels for revelation or truth like Champlain trying to find the route to the Pacific. It is a sorry admission, that some of my favourite comics are not the new classics like Maus or Jimmy Corrigan (stories so depressing, laying in front of a moving car might seem a reasonable response), but the cheesy 70's style comics.

There is a single "Conan the Barbarian" that has several panels of our anti-hero atop a galloping horse, or a Conan knock-off, with a name and premise too stupid to mention that has a stringy, messy inking style that I can never take my eyes from (maybe it's the sexy witches in their fur bikinis). Even stranger is my affection for an Italian comic, pulp detective novel, Dylan Dog - I actually swiped a scene set in an abandoned rail tunnel for a student film while at Sheridan. The story seems absurd, even though I can't read the Italian text, yet the absolute black and white (not a single shade of gray), the balance of the heavy and fine line, holds my attention for ages (and after). Lastly, there is a wildly convoluted story of Cadillacs & Dinosaurs drawn in emulation of a Wally Wood sci-fi comic that I love so much that it pisses me off to have to flip through the inferior filler sections drawn by a lesser (much lesser) artist.

What's the worst part of these trysts? All of these books favour style over substance. Comic books must be the only medium that can get away with this. Few music fans put up with protracted guitar solos and certainly there are plenty of films that have amazed the audience with their beauty, but disappointed with their plot, or characters. We watched a poetic, eccentric and vision filled film last night, The American Astronaut, that was like a cross between Plan 9 from Outer Space, a Guy Maddin film and the Rocky Horror Picture Show, but without a reasonable story or characters, large portions of the film, that on their own may have been charmingly odd, just seemed tedious. The style alone could not carry you for 84 minutes. Comic books never have to worry about this as you don't have to read it all - just look, if you feel like it. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of my comics that I love both the style and the story; Chester Brown's "Louis Riel", the Hernandez brothers' "Love and Rockets", Dan Clowes "Ghost World", Seth's "Palookaville" or Joe Sacco's "Palestine". Still, it persists that there are some terribly vapid comics that I can't let go off.

Thankfully, I'm not obsessive-compulsive about comics, I wouldn't even call the few I have as a collection (THIS is a collection). Still, I may have to build another book shelf.