“Then Protest!”

by James Romberger

François Truffaut’s films are most often analyzed in terms of their cinematic structure and the interpersonal relationships of their stories, and these qualities do account for a good part of their appeal. His films are not considered particularly political in the context of his contemporaries of the French New Wave. However, Truffaut does critique the forces that shaped his world: the destructive nationalism and militarism that crush people and culture in their wake, and the patriarchal structures that keep women the longest-suffering victims of oppression on the planet. Since women do not share equal rights with men, gender relations are political. Truffaut made some sincere efforts to explore those dynamics.

Truffaut’s 1962 film Jules and Jim bears reexamination in this light. In his adaptation of Henri-Pierre Roché’s semi-autobiographical novel Jules et Jim, the director compresses the whole to fit within the confines of a movie that is an hour and three quarters long. Truffaut chooses passages from the book and recombines them to create new meanings unique to his production. He alters the real people and events that inspired the original text, to construct a new narrative about female autonomy and fidelity in love, and affords key correspondences between the early pivotal scene on the bridge and the ending. Truffaut also extends beyond the WWI scenes of the book to incorporate his more personal references in the form of veiled and overt references to WWII: he “post-actively” incorporates his memories of his childhood in occupied Paris and his perception of the deep repercussions in France from the collaboration of some of the country’s citizens with fascism.

The credit sequence immediately foreshadows Truffaut’s intent. It recontextualizes an incidental dart game played in the book to become a metaphor of sexualized violence: a competition to penetrate a target. The title characters of Jules and Jim are young artists of bohemian Paris before World War I, who compete for the love of their lives. They and their relationships mirror Roché’s own experience. Jim is meant to represent Roché, an extremely influential high cultural connector who, among other networking flourishes, introduced Picasso to Gertrude Stein. But Roché’s acute sophistication and legendary promiscuity are not so present in Jim, in the film portrayed as a man without the courage of his convictions and underplayed by the tall, hesitant Henri Serre.
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Art, Politics, and Wisconsin

The editorial cartoon above by Phil Hands has sparked some interesting debate. Hands published the cartoon along with an editorial in which he noted that he’s usually liberal, but in the case of the current Wisconsin budget crisis found himself siding with the Republican governor against employee unions. Tom Spurgeon read the editorial and complimented Hands for his courage in stating his beliefs.

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Ecce homo?

by Michael Arthur

Update 8/9/11:

A little while ago, Noah asked me to put a few words together on my perspective as a gay male reading yaoi. I didn’t have any particular thesis pulled together on the subject but I was thrilled to be given a soapbox. What ended up happening was that in an attempt to pull together my unsorted notions into a cogent article, I talked waaaaaaaay out of school. What’s more, the glib tone I picked ended up fruitlessly teasing people for no reason and for some reason felt it was necessary to define women’s experience with something that they had done a good enough job defining for themselves.

It isn’t that I’m merely embarrassed to have my name attached to the thing because it makes me look like an idiot, but that I genuinely repent of the impulse for writing it in the first place. I’m reading more yaoi. It still isn’t my thing, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s hardly for me to be miffed about an air of exploitation with all of the BBC period costume dramas I consume. I mean, seriously.

I’ve asked Noah to remove the article but left the ultimate decision up to him, since the discussion in the comments is well worth preserving. If the text remains below this, keep in mind to disregard it, as I’ve changed my opinion about pretty much every point I brought up. I’m listening and learning people. Thanks for calling me out, and next time I write for HU, it’ll be about something I damned well know a little more about.

Thanks for reading. Hugs and kisses. Comics are awesome.
Michael

War, what is it good for?

Blazing Combat
Editor and Writer: Archie Goodwin
Original Publisher: Warren Publishing (1965-66)
Re-published by Fantagraphics Books

Blazing Combat was a war anthology edited and written by Archie Goodwin in collaboration with a dozen artists. It was also a commercial flop back in the sixties, getting canceled after only four issues. According to its publisher, James Warren, the tepid sales were due to politics. The book earned the ire of comic distributors (many of whom were veterans) for its perceived anti-war bias and they refused to sell it. It was outright banned from stores on military bases, meaning that active servicemen (who made up a sizable share of the market for war comics) could not buy it.

But authoritarian politics and government censorship are no match for comic book nostalgia. Decades later, Blazing Combat was resurrected by Fantagraphics, and it’s not hard to see why. Forget the stories or the politics; the list of artists who worked on this title is an aging fanboy’s wet dream. Frank Frazetta (on covers), Wally Wood, John Severin, Alex Toth, Gene Colan. And these artists brought their “A” game. As mainstream comic art goes, few books look as good as Blazing Combat.

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Reconsidering Tatsumi

EARLY TATSUMI: The Push Man and Other Stories (1969)

Everyone has to start somewhere.

For Yoshihiro Tatsumi and Drawn and Quarterly that beginning was the collection of short stories titled The Push Man and Other Stories, an anthology of stories dating from 1969 which was translated and published by Drawn and Quarterly in 2005 [1].

It comes with a prodigious list of accolades. Chip Kidd calls it a “revelation” which “[peels] away the lacquered layers of Japanese social and sexual surfaces to reveal the elemental heart beneath, and with such fearless depth of feeling.” Paul Gravett proclaims Tatsumi “a master of frank, unsentimental exposés of the human condition”, and Jaime Hernandez suggests that “Tatsumi’s comics are clean and straightforward without pretentious tricks. Storytelling at its best.”

The evidence on the ground is less convincing.

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