(Along those lines, accusations of “ballot stuffing” are misguided. It’s not about stuffing — which generally implies a surfeit of questionable votes — it’s about a lack of participation giving those few professionals who do bother to submit nomination lists disproportionate power to affect the results.)

In the spirit of setting a good example, herewith are my suggestions for possible improvements.

1. Create an awards committee. There’s too much work for any one person to do in running the awards. Careful selection could also result in more balanced representation. I would recommend picking members with different areas of comics knowledge, such as superheroes, art comics, manga, or webcomics.

With a committee, the awards would not be dependent on just one person and could ensure current and diverse knowledge of the field. With that awareness, it would be easier to make eligibility rulings on whether a comic has to be carried by Diamond in the previous year, or whether a limited release hand-selling to customers at conventions counts. Or how reprints should be considered. (This is different from the Eisners because the committee members would not be judges but administrators.)

Plus, having more than one person running things would mean splitting up the workload and having continuity if, heaven forbid, something happened to someone or other obligations arose.

2. Require publisher and/or artist submissions, similar to how the Emmys work. A submitter would send in her/his/their best work for evaluation. This would help winnow the field while still allowing a kind of “campaigning”, but only those from who were willing to spend some money instead of just sending email to all their friends. (Later, these works could then be donated to a library or university for an archive.)

3. Provide guidance in nominations. It’s understandable that nominators don’t want to face the blank page in determining the best of last year. A list of suggestions could be created from submissions above, and/or committee members could create a comprehensive list of options in their particular areas of awareness.

4. More outreach to publishers. (Although this has been done in the past few years, and it doesn’t seem to make much difference.) If every publisher could be counted on to distribute ballots to their list of working professionals, with or without suggestions, perhaps more would participate to build the nominating ballot.

5. Reward nomination participation. This is perhaps the goofiest part of my suggestions, but maybe something could be done to recognize those who submit valid nominating ballots. Not in public, of course, not with names, but some kind of bonus to be sent to those who submit? A discount offer at an online comic store?

6. Here’s an even worse idea, but I provide it for discussion: You have to be present to win. Very few nominees are present to receive the award, which again creates the perception that it’s not very important, leading to more people not taking it seriously. The awards deserve more respect than that.

Which sums up this catch-22 — until creators take the awards more seriously, they won’t participate, and if they don’t participate, skewed results will continue to occur, making people take them less seriously. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, when potential voters say “I won’t nominate manga because the awards are all about superheros” or “they’re indy focused, no point in me recommending a great webcomic”.

Update: Or, like Tom Spurgeon, you could just say “kill ‘em and be done with it.” He’s much nicer about it, but he says they don’t add anything special and people obviously don’t care. He also has this take on the award history:

… the Harveys have always been subject to the manipulation of one or two devoted individuals, it’s just that it used to be the very smart and genial Kim Thompson and his admirably, relatively catholic-comics reading circle of influence on behalf of a certain kind of comic instead of random and self-interested flashpoints popping up year to year on behalf of specific projects.

Now, I’ve worked press registration for the Baltimore Comic-Con, and I know that there are a lot of people out there who may not qualify as traditional press, and their online credentials may be skimpy or questionable. But to say “yeah, you can cover our show, but you still have to pay” … that strikes me as rather odd. Certainly, it’s the first time I’ve run into such a policy. Especially from a group that bills themselves as “an educational non-profit that promotes understanding and appreciation of Asian culture”.

Are there any other shows that operate this way? Is it a clever or greedy approach?

I’m trying to look on the bright side and see this as a fresh start in getting to Inbox 0, but it’s not easy. It’s not just that I lost messages I wanted to act on going back a year, it’s that I’m not even sure what I lost. (Who knows everything that’s in their inbox right now?)

I used to love anthologies. They were wonderful ways to discover new artists and sample alternative comics. But now we have the web for that. I know they’re easy for young creators, who only need to put together a few pages instead of a full comic of their own, but not many of them have the experience to create a really satisfying piece in a shorter space.

My least favorite kind of anthology is when a group decides to put out an anthology to draw attention to themselves or even for a charitable purpose. In these cases, the contents can be of widely varying quality. They give the impression that they don’t have many submission guidelines, or that knowing the right people overrides standards of entry, or that good intentions (helping out someone in need) can take the place of good work.

As a reader, it’s tough evaluating them. There’s a tendency to remember the worst stories instead of the best and to judge the value of the cost on that basis. There’s never enough of the good work and too much of the bad. Plus, for a reviewer, they’re an awful lot of work, if you’re going to cover them thoroughly, since every story and its creators needs to be mentioned. In the time it takes to read and write about an anthology of 10 stories, I could cover at least half that many graphic novels or manga volumes.

What do you think? Do you enjoy reading anthologies? Has their time passed or is there still a place for them? What are the really good anthologies today, the ones that put the lie to everything I’ve just said?

MOCCA Festival 2009 starts tomorrow! I’ll be attending for the first time. In case you want to say hi, I’ll be carrying this lovely large red tote bag to carry all my wonderful comic finds and wearing this black floral scarf. (This is a compromise, since I don’t like posting pictures of myself.)

Probably no blogging tomorrow as a result, but I’ll be back on Sunday.

Me, it’s using this ringtone for my cellphone. It’s the sound used for the special phones on the unsuccessful Global Frequency TV pilot. I don’t think anyone but me recognizes it, but whenever my phone rings, I’m reminded of just how obscure that is.

How about you?

There are a ton of not very good ones, but which ones really capture the feel of the original material? Just for discussion, let’s stick to TV shows. It would also be nice if they were good comics whether or not you know the characters. Here are a couple of my suggestions.

The Muppet Show — Maybe it’s too early to declare, with only one issue out, but it was really good. This title also has the advantage of not having to match likenesses of people, since it’s about puppets.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8 — Having the original creators involved means a lot.

Historically, KC nominates Dobie Gillis for its great Bob Oskner artwork. He also mentioned that Alien, by Archie Goodwin and Walt Simonson, is generally considered one of the best adaptations of all time, but that’s different, because it wasn’t new stories with the same characters.

Licensed comics are difficult. Artists need to be able to do likenesses and have a style well-suited for the property. Often, they’re selected on other qualities (like availability). The reader often misses the subtleties of performance and movement and the actor’s personality that they got on the show. What you wind up being left with is plot, and then you can’t do much with that, because the show wants to maintain control. If it’s still running, then nothing big is going to happen in a comic, and if it isn’t, then many of the viewers aren’t going to care. Writers also can’t make a change the series isn’t going to reflect.

Given all that, maybe it would be smarter to adapt sitcoms instead of the big-deal science fiction properties that are frequently chosen, but the latter has more natural audience crossover with comics.

Another advantage was demonstrated in the recent Eureka miniseries (which was disappointing otherwise): they were able to use characters played by actors who they couldn’t or didn’t get to return and continue working with them.

Has anyone read the Ghost Whisperer adaptation? That seems like it would be a good property to use, since the material is episodic, and there isn’t a lot of character development on the show anyway.

Ultimately, it boils down to creators — if someone talented knows, likes, and respects the property, you’re going to end up with something better than someone doing a job on a book that exists just because the publisher could get the license.

So, which licensed TV comics are Worth Reading?

Update: Now I see that Tokyopop is going to be doing a book called CSI: Interns. That appears to be the most minimal level of licensing: name only. The characters and story sound like they’ll be different from the show.

In addition to the expected material (lots of Star Trek mentions), these were some of my favorite things to see:

* The Rocketeer costume and props.

* Barbarella’s crossbow.

* A Muffit costume and a copy of the TV Guide article about the chimpanzee (!) that wore it. (I can’t believe I didn’t know that.)

* The occasional dress. They had a cute little frock that Anne Francis wore in Forbidden Planet, as well as Farrah Fawcett-Majors’ costume from Logan’s Run.

* Ship models and the Twiki suit from Buck Rogers. They looked a bit shabby, which reminded me just how long it’s been since that show aired.

The best thing about the exhibits was the way they grouped props and books by theme, highlighting how particular subjects were covered in different stories and eras. (Although there were a couple of movie posters for lesser-known films where I would have appreciated plot descriptions.) I found myself making notes of books I needed to read or movies I wanted to see based on the descriptions (once just on the cover). I’ve now got a reading list of novels to try or re-read. It was always fun to get that thrill of recognition, when I saw a particular paperback edition I had owned and read. I wanted a lot more discussion of the concepts raised and key points in the science fiction canon, but I suppose that kind of material is better found on the web these days.

My biggest complaint is that what should be entire galleries on their own are simply single exhibit cases. I wanted so much more, both in terms of content and depth. What’s there is great, but it only scratches the surface. The more you know and enjoy the eras covered — 50s and 60s print, 70s and 80s movies and TV — the more you will get out of the material. I found myself wondering what defines science fiction for today’s kids. What could they include to seem relevant, the way Star Wars was cool to people my age or Star Trek was to our parents?

I enjoyed the experience, but I’m not sure it’s worth the price (especially since parking fees doubled my cost of admission). I found it easy to do everything I wanted in three hours (for both), although I will say I didn’t do very much with the interactive exhibits. With an adult admission price of $15, it’s expensive for what it is. I wish I could have visited next month, when a traveling Smithsonian exhibit about the Muppets will be on display.

1. Misspell the name of your comic. If you can’t bother to re-read the thing before you send it to me, I can’t bother to pay attention to it. In the particular case I’m thinking of, spell-check would have caught the error, since it turned a word into something that wasn’t English.

2. Forget the basics. If you’re promoting a convention, every message should include the full date of the show and the location (with city AND state for those not local). If it’s a comic, include the title, publisher (or URL for a webcomic), creative team, and when/how it’s available for purchase. (Presumably, that’s the final goal: to allow people to buy your product.) I once got a press release that somehow had neglected to include the title of the comic they were trying to promote. That was dumb. I’ve also gotten PR that left me wondering whether I could buy the item now or later, since there was no mention of release date.

3. Confuse me. Your press release should have a clear message. After reading it, I shouldn’t be left wondering what the “news” is you’re announcing. If you want me to talk about your product, I have to know what makes it special or interesting.

4. Be demanding. I got a message recently from someone who told me to review their comic on a particular day of release. First off, I’m too backlogged to make that happen, but more to the point, you don’t get to tell me what I write about when. Now, it is a very good thing to mention when you’re trying to time your publicity, but do so professionally and politely. In this case, the wrong tone was the problem.

5. Clog my email. Don’t send me 8 or 9 meg attachments out of the blue. Send me a query, first. A link to a private download site (that doesn’t require creating some kind of account) is much better.

Just some thoughts on how to make things easier for all of us.

The Remains of Tom Lehrer
Buy this CD set

Like most impressive Rhino box sets, it is now out of print. However, the individual albums are still available (and often at very reasonable prices), such as 1965’s That Was the Year That Was, from which this track comes. I’m astounded that satire written over 40 years ago can still be so fresh and funny (and boy, that’s what I needed to listen to this week, hilarious skewering of sacred cows). Take, for example, the pro-porn march Smut, which begins, after a spoken-word intro,

Smut!
Give me smut and nothing but!
A dirty novel I can’t shut,
If it’s uncut,
And unsubt (le).

I love his wordplay! Who else could rhyme quibbled, ribald, and nibbled? The couplet about Peter Pan and the Wizard of Oz, well, that takes on a whole new context these days, doesn’t it?

Anyway, this might have been more timely a month or two ago, given the last comic blog round-about on obscenity, but I couldn’t resist sharing. Sign me up for the movement, Tom! Dirty books are fun!

He said it was like watching the best Pink Floyd laser light show. He’s fine now but still resting up. Just in time for me to feel like I’m coming down with a cold.

Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk about. Here’s the dilemma I face:

If you accept complimentary copies, some people call you unethical and greedy. (”You’re only in it for the freebies!”) If you don’t, your reviews are limited and repetitive (especially when it comes to comics).

If you tell people you accept comps, some people call you amateurish (because apparently, professionals get everything for free so there’s no need to mention it, which means there are no professional comic reviewers). If you don’t, then some people call you unethical and biased for “hiding” the key fact that you didn’t pay for what you’re talking about.

That last is why I run standard comp lines at the end of reviews to which they apply. Just as “real” magazines reveal conflicts of interest (such as when Entertainment Weekly writes an article about a Warner Bros. decision and says they’re part of the same parent company), I thought it was relevant to readers who’ve said they wanted the information to help judge how fair my opinion was.

I understand why some would feel it’s not necessary, but I don’t understand why some are arguing you shouldn’t say it. What’s the point in hiding it? Making publicists feel better? They may dislike the disclaimer because in some people’s eyes, it adds a caveat. (See comments at the link above, where an artist refused to submit copies of a book he worked on if the reviewer was going to say the book was given for free. He thought that would “taint the process.” I think he wanted people to think that the comic was more popular than it was, and he wanted it to seem like the reviewer thought the book was worth paying for.)

I also got tired of answering the question, “If you didn’t like it, why did you write about it?” Revealing that something was submitted to me helps the reader understand one of the factors (not the only one) that determines coverage. Picking something to talk about, given the quantity of material available, can serve as a kind of endorsement, saying that the item, whether good or bad, was worth the time and space to cover it. Readers also like to know whether price factored into that decision.

By the way, it’s fascinating to see what some commenters are inferring from the simple statement of fact “The publisher gave me a free copy to write about.” Some accuse the reviewer of trying to stake out some mythical “ethical high ground”. (Says something about the low point when that’s considered high ground, doesn’t it?) Others jump to some conclusion about how “they’re bragging about getting free books.” (That one stinks of envy.) Someone thinks it’s a way of saying, “I’m better than you.” (Sounds like a self-esteem issue to me.) Another thinks it’s a way of asking for more stuff for free. (No, thanks, I’ve got plenty.) Probably lowest is accusing those who are clear about their sourcing that they’re saying they can be bought. That one’s easily shown to be false by looking at how many reviews with that line are negative. In short, this debate is a litmus test, showing as much about those responding as it does about the reviewers being judged.

Comparing net standards to the way they do things in print may be informative, but it may also be pointless. Print outlets have a bureaucracy to insulate the reviewer from the publicists. (Which leads to costs, which is why those outlets are suffering so badly and going under.) Out here, I’m on my own, without an editor to serve as go-between, and I’d rather be honest about sourcing, whether or not someone deems it “professional”. That should be judged, in my opinion, on the content of the reviews, not the format add-ons. (Maybe print reviews would be improved as well if the reviewer had to say that they got a free invite to a cushy theater down the street instead of having to hunt down the one place within 50 miles that’s showing the latest art picture?)

The fact is, no one can determine whether or not you’re a professional, especially since there’s not even an agreed-upon definition for it. Hold to your own standards (if you want some guidance, here’s some of mine), and remember, if someone really wants to change someone’s behavior, creating a blog post calling them names is the least effective way to do it, because it only gets their back up.

So, I leave it to my readers. Whattya think? Should I change my disclaimer to “The publisher sent this copy, and I wouldn’t have read it otherwise.”? How about “Now you know why you’re seeing coverage of this book on 17 different websites this week.”? Seriously, if someone here wants to make a reasonable case why noting a comp copy is a bad idea, I’d love to hear it. (Note: “Because print does it that way” isn’t relevant. I don’t want to follow their lead into bankruptcy, thanks.)

Need to figure out: Why’s he available on holidays?

Possible twists: A nice young woman instead of a nice young man.
Sub-twist A: Their friendship deepens into something more. (It’s Brokeback Mountain via Sex in the City!)
Sub-twist B: Opposites attract. The nice young woman is an activist college student demonstrating against the excesses of capitalism and the objectification of women.

Another twist, the ironic ending: The beautiful woman makes good (I’m sure she wants to be an actress or model or singer or something), sends rich guy back to his wife, marries well, and starts keeping her own young man on the side. (Inspired by Material Girl.)

Because I don’t know what else to do with any of this, I’m sharing it. Fly, little idea, be free.

This month I celebrate my first year as a reviewer for Comics Worth Reading. Johanna asked if I would consider doing a reflections piece about my experiences. Kind of a “What have we learned, Charlie Brown?” entry. Let me start off with my theory of reviewing and then speak specifically about some of the challenges and joys this past year have brought.

What Makes a Review?

I see reviewing as a continuum where one end is the simple review and the other end is the extended critical essay. At its most basic, a review is simply a recommendation with a reason. “This book sucks.” isn’t a review; it’s barely a recommendation. “This book sucks. The art is bad.” is a review, not a satisfying one, but one nonetheless.

A critical review, something of a midpoint on the continuum, would be like some you see in the Comics Journal or the longer pieces that can be found online. These are generally several pages in length and discuss more than just the plot and art. They usually explore some of the underlying themes found in the book.

The extended critical essays are usually chapter-length articles found in academic journals; they also include book-length critiques. Here you have detailed analysis of the themes of work and its historical context.

My Goals as a Reviewer

I have no allusions or illusions to grandeur. I’m not trying to compete with the professional critics. What I hope to do with my reviews is provide a thoughtful reaction to the books I read. That’s why I’m aiming to place myself in the middle of simple review and critical review. There’s certainly room to debate if I’m giving myself too much credit and I should be much closer to the simple review.

The truth is I became a reviewer to justify my reading habit. So it’s very important to me to preserve that love of reading. This means I begin my review process by simply reading the book. I try very hard to put all thoughts of reviewing or critical analysis aside and just enjoy the book as if I picked it up off the shelf for pleasure reading. For me, books are living beings (metaphorically speaking), and reading is like having a conversation.

I naturally interact with books I’m reading, and I do make judgments as I’m reading. If there are passages I really like, I might stop to study the art more closely. I might find something ludicrous, or I might find something thought-provoking and so set the book aside to think out what the author is saying. The heart of my reviews is my reaction to the book as a reader.

How I Write a Review

Once I’ve finished a book, I like to live with it for a few days. I love to mull over the book and let it wander around inside my head. I think about the characters I’ve met: whom do I like, who frustrates me, do I agree with their actions, do I find them sympathetic, and so on. I reflect on the book’s structure: did I like the plot, did I understand the plot, how well is the book paced, what did I think of the ending. Finally, I look at the art. (Here I’m the weakest.) I try to study the page composition, the anatomy of the figures, the backgrounds, how well the art flows so I’m not left wondering what order to read the panels in, do I find the art attractive.

Occasionally, I’ll go back and read the book a second time with a critical eye to try to break apart the mechanics of the book: what method did the author use to move the plot along, how did the author give us history about the characters, how are the characters developed, how did this scene function in the overall story, etc. I don’t have any deadlines, but I try to write a review a week. I don’t always have as much time to live with a book as I like, but I have nothing to blame but my own poor time management skills.

Those who’ve read my reviews know I have a fairly set format. I start with a summary of the plot, move on to discuss the literary elements of the book, then comment on the art, and finish with a short conclusion. This is a self-imposed format; you’ll notice Johanna has a much more open style in her reviews. I use this structure as a way to help me focus my thoughts. Actually, for me, the summary is an important part of the review process. If I can’t summarize the plot, then the odds are I don’t have a good understanding of the book. The summary also helps remind me what the central elements of the story are so I can focus my review around them.

High Points of This Year’s Reviews

Enough with the mechanics; on to some of my experiences this year.

My attitude from the start has been, “I’ll review anything.” One of the pleasures of being a reviewer is that I get exposed to books I normally wouldn’t pick up on my own. The best example of this is Tail of the Moon. A shojo book about ninja love set in the Feuding States era of Japan doesn’t sound like something I would enjoy. Johanna asked if I wanted to review volume nine, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to at least read it and see what happens. Boy, was I surprised! Ueda crafted a warm, intimate story with appealing characters that hooked me immediately. It encouraged me to continue to try manga I might normally pass by.

Other pleasant surprises this past year were Toto! The Wonderful Adventure, Yumekui Kenbun: Nightmare Inspector, Alive! The Final Evolution, and Rosario + Vampire. All are series I plan to follow and review in the coming year.

Two Disappointments

Of course, reading anything and everything is a double-edged sword, and there were a few books that disappointed me. Two that proved challenging from a review perspective were X Diary and Red Angel. X Diary was the first time I read a book, and as soon as I closed the cover, completely forgot about it. It elicited no reaction from me. I struggled for a couple of days trying to figure why I couldn’t connect to the book. Writing that review taught me as much about my expectations as a reader as it did about bad character development. The book got started as a thought experiment by the author, but she obvious hadn’t put a lot of serious consideration into constructing the characters, their history, their circumstances, and their relationships.

Red Angel taught me about the mechanics of storytelling. Here was a book that had the right parts and should have been a good read but fell flat. It took me a while to realize that the parts weren’t working together properly. It was like looking at a watch and seeing that there were no missing gears. The problem was that the gears were out of tolerance with each other, so the watch didn’t run. The book taught me a new way to look at how stories are structured to see the way plot, characterization, setting, pacing, etc. all interrelate. It made me appreciate the craftsmanship of the stories I do like and especially the stories I find most exciting.

Goals for the Future

Like I’ve said before, at heart I’m a reader, and manga constantly shows me new horizons for the potential of comics. It wasn’t until I read Planetes that I ever thought you could do hardcore sci-fi in a comic format. Ghost in the Shell is still one of the best meditations of what it means to be a sentient being. I think the best shojo art simply transcends the current vocabulary used to describe comics. Manga rewards her devotees well. I find the best critics are the ones who love their subject matter passionately and write from that perspective. I want to follow that model and try to let my love of manga fuel my writing.

Reviewing has been a wonderful learning experience for me. I’ve learned, and am still learning, a lot about myself as a reader. I’m discovering what kind of characters I connect to deeply, what stories move me, what kind of trade-offs I’m willing to make (like accepting bad art, if the story is engaging), what turns me off, etc. I’m also learning more about the crafts of storytelling and drawing. I’m beginning to see how a writer creates suspense, what devices are used to move plots forward, how to use humor as an emotional release, etc. I still have so much to learn about art and its mechanics, but I’m taking notice of things like; page composition, tone use, how to tell a story with just pictures, how to suggest, but not show, an action. All of this has made me love manga that much more.

My goals for the coming year are to improve my writing style, to try to be more penetrating in my reviews, and to be a faster writer without sacrificing quality. I would like to thank the following people who directly, or indirectly, informed my thinking and helped me put my thoughts together: The members of the SPX State of Comics Criticism panel (Gary Groth, Tim Hodler, Dan Nadel, Douglas Wolk, and Bill Kartapolous), Melinda Beasi, and of course, Johanna.

From the top, that’s the Justice League statue with Starro. (We’re afraid to unbox it — no place to display it.) Then come 2 ½ shelves of DC Archives (most all of them, I think — the yellow-and-red spines are the Spirits), a selection of Showcase volumes, various books on artists, and on the bottom shelves, Absolutes and other oversized hardcovers. The packing box in the front is something we keep meaning to unpack “someday” — I think it’s been there at least two years now. This bookcase faces a 6×8 foot handmade companion, not shown, that contains the “real” books.

In a nook off the main living room lives another four shelves. Here’s two of them. (The other two have books on TV, animation, and classic comic strips, but they’re positioned in such a way I couldn’t get a picture.) Up top are some Lulu Archives and other oversized volumes (DC gift sets, some Comic Journal collections). This is all DC, with superheroes in the top left down to the complete Paradox collection in the lower right. Vertigo has a couple of shelves, WildStorm and ABC have one, and there’s also some stacks of the novels based on the characters.

Where’s Marvel, you ask? The Masterworks (the ones that aren’t on DVD-ROM) are in a bookcase in the converted garage, with all the boxes of single issues. (Except for the Archies — they take up 25 or so short boxes in an upstairs windows alcove.) I’m not allowed to go in there, because the stacks make me hyperventilate. Anyway, back to the shelves. Let’s go upstairs to my office.

Here’s the indy shelf. Mostly just my favorites at this point — I’ve set a self-imposed limit on myself that I can’t overflow this space. If something new comes in, something not as enjoyable may have to go out. The top has Wonder Bear (a gift from an old friend), Bouncing Bear (a gift from KC), a couple of kit-bashed Shrinking Violet figures, and Lost Girls. To the right is my desk.

The half-size bookcase contains digest-sized books (like Oni) and smaller, so they don’t get lost. The glass-front antique to the right has the current manga series I’m following and the best of the perennials. (The rest are in six boxes in the closet.) It’s a lovely place to work, in front of the windows, but most of the time, I write in the master bedroom, since I can have old movies going on the TV at the same time. Which is the location of the last shelf.

This one is my working setup. From the bottom up, it’s reference books and those about craft (Understanding Comics, Manga! Manga!, Trina Robbins’ books, and more). The sideways shelf has magazines I’ve appeared in and some scanning projects (someday!). Then comes books I’ve bought and want to read, followed by books that have been sent to me to cover (two shelves plus the top, with some minicomic stacks as well).

I’m actually doing much better this year, based on a resolution to keep the review piles manageable. I’m only looking at work from last year at the oldest, a definite improvement.

I’m at the movie theater this weekend, and I hear a kid telling his dad there is a new superhero movie coming out. He then points to this poster:

The dad has to explain to the child that it’s a horror film, not a superhero film. This gets me to thinking about how the kid could make this mistake. I looked at some recent superhero posters, and it became all too obvious.

This makes me wonder what our movie posters are communicating about superheroes, if you can’t tell the difference between a homicidal sadist psychopath and the good guys.

An additional note from Johanna: I thought this tied in with John Jakala’s recent post about gory violence in Marvel comics. He asks similar questions:

Is this just a fluke, or are scenes like this becoming more common in “mainstream” superhero comics? Is this the latest trend in superhero decadence, hardcore torture porn? … Are creators having to up the shock value ante in order to provoke a reaction — any kind of reaction — from desensitized fans?