Publicly admitting you read comics means you’re willing to put up with a perplexingly persistent notion of the medium as the exclusive domain of the super heroes. Even in the current realm of savvy pop art dabblers as likely to pray at the altar of independents like Image Comics as they are the Big Two there’s this lingering idea that in the beginning there was only the cape and spandex set and it’s just in the past three decades that we’ve really let in the serious Graphic Novelists and autobio peddlers. Sneering intellectual jokesters will spit at the funnybooks without recognizing the origins of that alternate name and basement dwelling dilettantes will tell you it was only when the bearded British men came to our shores that we got hip. But comics have always been weird. Comics have always contained multitudes.On a weekly basis at the start of the 20th century, Winsor McCay cranked out surrealist panel breaking masterpieces lushly detailed enough to inspire both Dali and Moebius decades down the line, with nary a cape in sight. Before Marvel was even an idea, Joe Simon and Jack Kirby created romance comics, presaging the soap operas that would eventually inspire Chris Claremont’s convoluted narratives in that other misbegotten Kirby co-creation X-Men. And then there was Herbie. Continue reading…
Posted June 25, 2009
“It’s nice to hear all the old songs,
–the Devil, The Black Rider
I was surprised to hear the old songs
in Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s The League of Extraordinary
Gentlemen Century: 1910 (Top
Shelf, 2009). I probably shouldn’t have been. The chapter title, “What Keeps Mankind Alive”
distracted me, but I kept
reading my water-damaged copy and ran smack into, “Mack
the Knife.” Like the chapter title, it’s a song from Bertolt
Brecht and Kurt Weill’s The Threepenny Opera.
In 1910, Mina leads
the league—Raffles, the dapper cat-burgler; Carnacki the
Ghost-Finder; Orlando, Virginia Woolf’s ageless hermaphrodite; and
Allan Quatermain, Jr.—against an occult threat, the coming
Moon-Child. Moore and O’Neill try to capture the feel of the era—the
early Twentieth Century’s eroticism and spiritualism. The cover’s
even kind of Klimt.
I’m not really thinking about Crowley or Klimt. I’m thinking about
music in comics. Captain Nemo’s daughter, Janni dives into the
ocean to escape the life Nemo has planned for her.
In England, she takes the name, “Jenny Diver.”But Moore
has taken the name, too, from The Threepenny Opera.
In German, she is Seeräuber
Jenny or “Pirate Jenny.” And she isn’t the only The
Threepenny Opera character in
Century: 1910. Mack
the Knife himself* and Suki Tawdry
frame the book in song. Jenny’s Nautilus
(the Opera‘s ship with
eight sails), becomes the Black Raider, which in such a cabaret
context, sounds a lot like the Black Rider.
In a review of Tom Waits, Robert Wilson and William S. Burrough’s The Black Rider, an adaptation of Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freishütz, Edward Rothstein writes:
The real ancestor of this work may be not Weber’s opera but John Gay’s “Beggar’s Opera,” which in 1728 played an iconoclastic role in London. It passed over the typical escapades of royalty in favor of the actions of the city’s criminal underworld. It deliberately undercut the dominant operatic style; an excerpt from Handel’s The work was designed to undermine. Its polemical charms were updated in “The Threepenny Opera,” in which Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht entertained the bourgeois audience of Weimar Germany with a related tale. Weill captured the spirit of the German cabaret; the catchy, mordant songs satirized the very audience that gave them acclaim. Moore and O’Neill’s book shares In fact, the As with the The *Sung here by Bertolt Brecht Just a jackknife has Carol Borden / and she keeps it out of sight.
“Rinaldo” was satirically sung by a chorus of thieves.
the same ancestry. The polemical charms of Beggar’s Opera
and The Threepenny Opera
and even, The Black Rider,
herald MacHeath’s return, warn against the unforeseen consequences of
a rape, are sung
on the gallows and then by a chorus of prostitutes and their
protector at the story’s end. These dire lyrics resonate with the
League’s dread of a coming apocalypse, but they also provide
structure for the story. I have written about music in comics before. I said that in Lilli Carré’s The Lagoon, the
creature’s song was
unknowable. In Moore’s book, knowing the tune is helpful, but
unnecessary and the Brecht/Weill songs’ didacticism melds pretty well
into a libretto for a comic operetta.
lyrics’ silence might make them less didactic. Musicologist Susan
McClary says that the emphasis on lyrics in so much folk, political
and religious music reflects a distrust of music’s direct effect on
people’s bodies (McClary. “Same As It Ever Was: Youth Culture and
Music.” Rock She Wrote: Women Write About Rock, Pop and Rap,
eds. Evelyn McDonnell and Ann Powers. (New York: Delta, 1999)). But
in a comic, words and songs are silent and images are visceral, so
all the corporal raunchiness comes through color-separated and
directly into your brain. And in Century: 1910, there’s plenty
of raunchiness, lots of erotic and sacred breasts and nipple slips.
Jenny Diver is becoming a wrathful goddess and I suspect there might
be more Crowleyan Scarlet Woman action in the next volume. (And if
you were wondering, there’s at least one repeated motif, the question
mark that keeps appearing whether as a curled mermaid, Orlando’s robe
or a pattern on Mina’s dress).
previous League books, there’s a final collection of prose that will
build in importance and revelatory power. At least, it should. And it
is cosmic, erotic and full of pop culture promise, including The
Story of O and the punishment of Fletcher Hanks’ Stardust. The
prose should also bridge the decades between this story, set in 1910,
and the next, set in 1969, then from 1969 to now.
volume is laying so much groundwork for later that it doesn’t really
feel like a story in itself. At the same time, so much is compressed
in the volume. I feel like it could be a longer work with more time
for these characters and their adventures. Maybe there will be. As
it is, the Jenny Diver and the evil cult stories sit a little
awkwardly together. Are they competing narratives or counterpoints?
Was The Threepenny Opera a rack to hang
only this volume on? But while I hate writing about parts rather than
wholes, I will just trust that the story will be awesome in its
whole because, as the
song says, fancy gloves wears Moore, so there’s not a trace of
The real ancestor of this work may be not Weber’s opera but John Gay’s “Beggar’s Opera,” which in 1728 played an iconoclastic role in London. It passed over the typical escapades of royalty in favor of the actions of the city’s criminal underworld. It deliberately undercut the dominant operatic style; an excerpt from Handel’s
The work was designed to undermine. Its polemical charms were updated in “The Threepenny Opera,” in which Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht entertained the bourgeois audience of Weimar Germany with a related tale. Weill captured the spirit of the German cabaret; the catchy, mordant songs satirized the very audience that gave them acclaim.
Moore and O’Neill’s book shares
In fact, the
As with the
*Sung here by Bertolt Brecht
Just a jackknife has Carol Borden / and she keeps it out of sight.