I’ve been rereading The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, one of my favorite books as a kid. Naturally I can’t top the original Jules Feiffer illustrations, but I thought I’d try drawing some anyway. Here’s my take on Tock the Watchdog, who I’ve decided is a Doberman. More illustrations to come, maybe.
Size of dot reflects character’s proximity to camera. Orange line indicates the character’s duration within the series. Characters who never appeared on a cover: Stephenson and Ritchie.
Color swatches show basic palette of cover art. Apparently the best way to imitate a Sunrise cover would be to use a lot of gray, a little sky blue, and desaturated colors.
Speed: 65 MPH. Following Distance: 3 ft. Observed October 13, 2011, CT-95 N.
Perspective is always a challenge. This is doubly true when working with scenes that don’t exist. Some of the first scenes in Sunrise Issue 10 take place in an enormous hangar containing an airship. What’s an artist to do in this situation? Well, why not build an airship hangar?
Not a real hangar, obviously… a couple hours in Blender and I’ve thrown together this lovely digital hangar which has already saved me endless frustration. For those of you unfamiliar with the technology, this is a digital 3D model which the computer can render from any angle. Of course, the excitement doesn’t end with accurate perspective, because this is also a lit model! Take a gander:
My “people” are made of blocks, yes, but still, it’s nice to know where all the shadows fall.
With this in hand, I can go back to my paper and ultimately produce this:
Accurate perspective and realistic lighting, with no cursing or sobbing required. Computers, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s give them a big hand.
Quick, what’s the difference between Calvin and Hobbes and Star Wars? Naturally, the two have so little in common that the question hardly makes sense. The comparison which I’m trying to draw, though, is this: Bill Watterson ended his series early, when it was still in its prime, while George Lucas’s epic continues staggering along, soiling its legacy a little more with each installment. While I’d like to see more Calvin and Hobbes as much as the next guy, I have to admit that I’m glad Watterson ended it before it turned sour.
You can probably see where this is going. I am going to be ending Sunrise following the completion of Issue 10. This was not an easy decision for me to make, and I’ve given it a lot of thought. Sunrise has served me well. When I started it in 2008, the only long-format comics I’d drawn were my Zark stories. I hadn’t taken any figure drawing or illustration classes yet. I wasn’t yet reading graphic novels(!). Now, ten issues later, my artwork has improved dramatically and my writing has followed suit. (How strange to think that the most recent issue was more than twice as long as the first!) Sunrise has always been primarily a learning experience for me, and I’d like to think I’ve learned its lessons well. It’s time for me to graduate.
But why graduate now, when it’s only just becoming strong? Well, to be honest, I’m getting tired of it. The episodic format doesn’t interest me as it once did. I want to move toward working with long-form stories (e.g., graphic novels) and Sunrise does not lend itself to that. Secondly, I’m interested in moving away from genre fiction. While I do have some ideas for a sprawling space opera (and Realm of course) I think it might be fun to do something about the real world for a change. Finally, Sunrise has some inherent limitations that become more pronounced to me with every issue. It too often tends to have very long passages of dialogue, and in many cases there are no opportunities for interesting visuals. As I’ve said previously, Sunrise is based pretty closely on Star Trek, and Star Trek is not a comic. This kind of storytelling works much better on TV. In short, Sunrise is wearing thin, and I’m ready to try something new.
Which is, of course, what this really comes down to. While Sunrise is ending, I have numerous other projects, at least one of which will move up to take the spotlight that Sunrise is currently occupying. Realm is one possibility. I’m also planning a graphic novel which might be well-timed to start soon. And, dare I mention it, a silly science-fiction gag strip which I may run in the interim. Suffice it to say (and this cannot be stressed enough) I am not leaving webcomics. Sunrise or no, I will be making something, so do stop by and see what it is. Naturally there will be further announcements as the time grows near.
Oh, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that Issue 10 is going to be awesome. It’s got airships. It’s got action. It’s got drama. It’s got over 70 pages. It’s also the most Tintinesque issue yet, so some of you will appreciate that I’m sure. So don’t be glum. Buckle up and thanks for coming along for the ride.
Jonah Robinson, Raven, Albee… how can I ever forget them?
The character of Indiana Jones has become ingrained in our culture to the point of becoming an archetype in and of himself. His very name has become a part of our lexicon, representing far-flung and wild adventure of the highest degree. He is a cultural touchstone; a symbol so familiar that even those who have not seen his movies have at least a vague idea of what he represents.
With all that he’s come to mean, it seems incongruous to realize how small his repertoire actually is: while there are innumerable tie-ins, there are only four actual films in the Indy canon. With Harrison Ford aging and the intellectual property rights tightly in the clutches of Spielberg and Lucas, it seems unlikely that there will be any more. Given the dismal quality of the most recent installment, that is arguably a good thing. Perhaps it is for the best if the franchise is allowed to quietly die rather than to allow George Lucas to continue blundering along and ruining things.
Or perhaps it is time to turn the character over to someone who might know what to do with him. Here’s the thing: Spielberg and Lucas have created a character who’s bigger than they are. While both are seminal directors who’ve created many influential franchises, Indy has uniquely captured our society’s imagination in a way that few fictional characters ever do. Others enjoying this degree of recognition include Sherlock Holmes and James Bond, both of whom have been featured in many works of art produced by many different people. In terms of their potential for reinterpretation, these characters are so unfettered they make Indy look downright quaint.
Sherlock Holmes has been around for a relatively long time, and as such he has passed out of copyright. No one owns the character, and thus he has taken on a life of complete freedom. Anyone can write a new Holmes story. Anyone with the resources to do so can create a Holmes movie. The Guinness Book of World Records lists him as “the most portrayed movie character,” having appeared in over 211 films and played by 75 different actors. Holmes, like Indy, is part of our collective consciousness, but more importantly, the character himself belongs to anyone who wants him. He is free.
James Bond, by comparison, seems like small beans, having been portrayed by six actors in 23 films, but his case is still worth examination. While Bond is still under copyright (meaning his usage is still controlled by various interested parties), his canon of movies is vast and varied. It is, in fact, so inconsistent that fans are obliged to come up with original theories to improve its coherence. As the franchise has been open to new influences, Bond, while not technically free, is free enough to allow extensive reinterpretation. And, yes, some of the Bond films are considered inferior to others and dismissed even by some of his fans. Any large series is going to have a few stinkers.
Which brings me back to Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Indy’s newest movie. We won’t try to sugarcoat this: it’s terrible. There was some classic Indy action, yes, but also all kinds of Erich von Daniken silliness, bad CGI, annoying characters, bombproof refrigerators, and that scene with the monkeys. With only four Indy movies, it stands out as a weak link in an otherwise strong series. Some people would also nominate Temple of Doom for this position. That makes an overall success rate of only 50%–not very impressive.
Now here’s the thought experiment: what if, instead of restricting Indy to being played by one actor and managed by the same two jokers, he was opened to a wider audience of creators? Imagine if, instead of four movies, there were many, all produced by different people, with little or no oversight from the original creators. Some would be as bad as Kingdom. Some would even be worse than Kingdom, no sense in denying that. Some, however, would be fresh and enjoyable additions to the body of work. And some, dare I say it, might be so novel and daring that they would overshadow the originals.
We will call this “the democratization of Indiana Jones.” (People take ideas more seriously if they have pretentious names.) Indy is so ubiquitous that it seems only fitting that the opportunity to write his stories should be extended to others. At the very least he should be partially freed like James Bond. Ideally he would be completely freed like Sherlock Holmes. Indiana Jones is alive in our hearts, corny as that sounds, and it’s high time that he was liberated from his dusty tomb. He does not belong in a museum.
Disclaimer: I have not seen Temple of Doom, nor any Bond movies, so opinions on those topics are based on original research. Post any and all complaints to the comments section and I will do my best to address them.
All publicity is good publicity. – P.T. Barnum
I’m a bit late to the game on this, but I still feel the need to say something, because this is important. The issue is this: fans are being abused. The history is long and familiar: fans create derivative works, and copyright holders force a takedown. Granted, much fan-produced work is of little interest to others, but occasionally fans produce strong, original content that seizes the attention of the rest of the fanbase. These works present the source material in arresting and creative ways, building on the original while not detracting from it. As many have pointed out, these “derivative works” should be protected under the “fair use” exception, and yet copyright holders persist in ordering takedowns of fan-produced works, claiming infringement.
This hurts everyone–including the copyright holder. I will elaborate.
What led me to write about this was the expulsion of SF Debris from YouTube. For those of you unfamiliar with him, Chuck “SF Debris” Sonnenburg is an amateur reviewer of Star Trek episodes (among other things) and has for several years been creating video reviews using his trademark combination of silly jokes and insightful analysis. Prior to the takedown, he had posted reviews of over a hundred episodes of Trek on YouTube, including multi-part reviews of all the films through First Contact. Unfortunately, as Sonnenburg uses clips from the shows to illustrate his points, CBS views him as being no better than a pirate, and effectively forced him to remove his entire archive–the product of years of work–from YouTube.
While Sonnenburg is in the process of transferring to blip.tv, which attempts to protect its users from these kinds of claims, this nonetheless is a setback for him, as he now has to reprocess all these clips before he can bring them online again. This is also unfortunate from the standpoint of his fans, because we no longer have access to most of his archive. And, finally, this is bad for CBS, too. Here is what the studio fails to realize: fans are providing free advertising. I first found Sonnenburg’s work while looking for information regarding Voyager’s most notorious episode, the infamous “Threshold.” (In which Tom violates the laws of physics, turns into a salamander, and has salamander babies with the captain.) Sonnenburg had already posted a three-part review of the stinker at that point, and I was delighted by it. Naturally I began watching more of his reviews, and as I did so I was reminded of the fact that, flawed though it is, I actually kind of like Voyager. Suffice it to say I have since bought three seasons of the show (3, 4, and 6, which my research leads me to believe to have the best good/bad episode ratio). I likely would not have done so if not for these reviews.
When fans produce derivative works, they are not violating a copyright. They are celebrating the source material, and this can only lead to good things for the copyright holder. Fans are a precious, precious commodity, and persecuting them is perhaps the stupidest thing a creator can do. By eliminating sources of discussion within the fan base, they risk destroying the fan base altogether, and the fan base is, of course, where the money comes from. Honestly, who else is going to buy old episodes of Voyager anymore?
I will continue tuning into blip.tv every Saturday to see the new SF Debris reviews. I have faith that they will continue to be funny and insightful even as the Star Trek franchise continues its forty-year nosedive. And if CBS has a change of heart and allows him back onto YouTube, and they make more money thereby… too good for ‘em, I say.
I have not read very much manga. My only experience with it is Tezuka’s Buddha, of which I read the first volume about a month ago. Nonetheless, I have a passing familiarity with its elements, having read plenty of Scott McCloud, and I can see its influence spreading throughout the comics scene. McCloud was possibly the first to adopt its tropes in his Zot! series of the eighties, but today there is probably not a single comics artist alive whose work is not at least indirectly influenced by manga. Amateur cartoonists are especially prone to creating work that would be indistinguishable from actual Japanese manga were they not drawn with complete ineptitude. This is not to say that it’s impossible to create good work in the manga tradition, though. Jonathon Dalton’s A Mad Tea Party is proof of that much.
