Who Makes the Comics?

The second issue we need to address is the maelstrom surrounding the question of the individual contributions of Lee and Kirby (and to a lesser extent, other artists) to the creation of the 1960s Marvel heroes.

American Theology, Superhero Comics, and Cinema 
Anthony R Mills, Routledge, 2014

Mills' interest is not so much in the revolutionary changes made by

Marvel comics during the 1960s but the way that they represented a shift in American values. Moving away from the 'monomyth' of the USA - broadly conservative and patriarchal - Mills sees the Marvel Age and its subsequent cinematic interpretations as a platform for a series of discussions about the shifting emphases of theology in the recent past. 

Ultimately, he contends that Stan Lee is the 'best point of focus' because Lee has spoken most frequently about the characters and remains 'the public face of Marvel'. It also allows Mills to discover a continuity between Christian theologians and the values of the Marvel Universe: while Lee offers a vague belief in 'The Golden Rule', many of his collaborators - notably Steve Dikto (objectivism) and Kirby (Judaism) - explicitly followed different spiritual or philosophical traditions (2014: 103).

Since Mills is interested in the general thrust of Silver Age comics and their assent to a particular brand of American liberalism, the choice of Stan Lee is obvious. As a writer, he provides both serviceable quotations on his story-telling and determined the

dialogue of the comics. However, the study of comic books on their own terms, and not as an adjunct to theology, renders this decision hugely problematic. It removes the importance of the artist, ensuring that the comic book remains within literary studies. 

The mode of production is not examined, and Lee's statements about his creative process and intentions are 'word of God' rather than subjective arguments that bolster Lee's own legacy. A more complicated, and precise examination of the nature of comic book creativity is dismissed: Mills describes the alternative process as 'Lee merely became a transcriber of Kirby's scripts' (104), which is merely the mirror extreme of Mills' belief in Lee's primacy.  

The question, then, of the dramaturgy of comics is reduced to a formula: it is the writer who holds the creative keys, and the artists are reduced to secondary collaborators. In this approach, the ontology of the comic is reduced to that of a novel, with a few illustrations. While it may work for Mills' particular project - to isolate the morality contained in comic books and observe the shift towards a form of 'realism' - it does little to open up the form to wider questions of authorship or do justice to the intensely collaborative nature of 'sequential art'.

Three Kinds of Critic

Actually, I use this to think about how I approach things.

If you are feeling too dizzy to do any proper research into semiotics, there is always a laugh to be had on The Guardian website. Today, I shall pompously lecture everyone on why their article on female bishops is yet another example of how fuzzy the liberal brain is getting. 

I say this with a literal fuzzy liberal brain, because I was late picking up a repeat prescription and am experiencing withdrawal from my meds.

1. The Headline
Why female bishops could be the Church of England's saviour

Never mind the bizarre theological implications (I reckon Jesus is still top o' the saviour charts in any Christian organisation): there is a grandiose tone here that rivals any click-bait headline. There is a certainty that the consecration of a female bishop is going to be important - not that it is a long overdue decision. 

2. Reliance on Authority

I am keen on rational argument, and do respect authorities who demonstrate a long term awareness of a particular issue. It is possible that Professor Linda Woodhead is indeed the leading sociologist of religion - a quick look at her biography does back this up - but the article fails to give enough information to back up her position.

“Women will humanise the Church again,” she says, based on the Danish move to allow women bishops in 1995. “People in Denmark say they made all the difference in the world. The men were interested in their clerical politics but the women went back to basics: caring for people, pastoral stuff, healing, things that matter on an everyday basis. That completely transformed the Church and saved it. People saw it still had a crucial role in society, doing things that were needed.”

Okay. I want evidence. Not 'people saw', not 'people say'. I'd take a quotation from one of these people, but how about some numbers? The statistics of people in Denmark attending church in 1994, and then a year later? That might suggest the relevance of the church. Even a few examples of how the church has done something new in the past decade that reflects the 'back to basics' approach. 

3. The Lack of Dialectic

As the comments beneath the article reveal, there are plenty of people who don't think that women bishops will matter - either it's against God, or a last ditch attempt to drag an institution that is fundamentally wrong into the modern age. Some of them even have the same level of anecdotage that Professor Woodhead displays.

(Footnote: I am not dissing the professor here, just the use of her comments by the journalist. She probably did give proper evidence and balanced her argument. It's the writer who turned it into a soundbite.)

Anyway, instead of presenting an optimistic rhetorical routine, the writer could have considered both sides and drawn a conclusion. Like they get taught in English GCSE, eh?

4. The Lack of Knowledge

My theology is a bit haphazard, but I know that the issue of women bishops isn't one of the fundamentals of Christian faith. In a period in which both rationality and scientific method are dominant, theism is a hard sell. So is the concept of a divine being incarnating as human... arguing about whether women can be bishops is like rearranging the deck-chairs on the Titanic. 

Equally, the church tends not to develop ideas according to social mores - although they are an influence. Women bishops are a theological statement about the role of women in spirituality. This is an argument that has been going for a while.

the church's uniform was controversial

(Footnote: The Bible is full of evidence that a more female sympathetic theology did exist, even in the Torah, but it was challenged by a patriarchal movement of priests: the masculine character of the Abrahamic religions is the result of the latter's victory. Possibly. Can someone check this?)

5. Me

I apologise to The Church of England, Cole Morton and Professor Woodhead. My theory that the audience co-creates meaning ensures that I am more guilty in interpreting the text than they are in building the context for my interpretation. As a fuzzy brained liberal, I want to hear that women bishops are a good thing. 

This little list is really a way for me to consider how I write about stuff. And now I have articulated my weaknesses, I impose them on other people. My mother must be so proud of her mud-slinging, dogmatic son. 

My doctor says I ought to stop letting my tablets run out.

O'Connor and Theology

Martin O'Connor remains one of Scotland's most gifted writers. As he demonstrates in Theology part 2: A Govan of the Mind, he can polish Glaswegian dialect into evocative poetry without losing its essential roughness. His fierce wit and literary intelligence allows him to parody the mass and take on big issues, like sectarianism or urban decay: never slipping into sentimentality or impatient reformism, he imbues his scripts with compassion and dramatic tension.

Theology is a two part study of the 'place of religion in Glasgow today': in part 1, he cleverly recasts the Mass as a commentary on how Papal visits, the name of The Lord and cultural identity have gradually lost their spiritual dimension. The Pope is mistaken for a celebrity singer, football fans remember their allegiances only for fighting, and Jesus is called upon not in pious prayer but blasphemous desperation. By using a choir to sing his poems, O'Connor conjures the sanctity of the Mass alongside a lairy belligerence. When he takes to the pulpit to pray or read the Gospel, he reveals the fragmented, distorted remains of Christianity that inform and infect his understanding of daily life.

Turning tales of the apostles into stand-up routines, he connects to the proud tradition of Christian artists re-imagining The Bible in their own times: the tension between a secular outlook and spiritual longing is tantalising and tense. Yet O'Connor is quick to laugh, sending up the pomposity of religious moral teachings and his own doubts. It's only when he describes the detail of the Mass (in his normal voice), or tries to give a homily on recent newspaper articles that he slips out of character and loses focus.

Eventually, he sends the choir on their way, and goes solo in part 2. This is a soundscape with live poetry, a mash-up of O'Connor's previous work. He rattles out his 'greatest hits' - sketches of conversations or monologues that bring to life characters found around Govan - and offers a few thoughts on Govan's disintegration. Visually, this is weak (O'Connor is charismatic, but the lighting design here is poor, especially the attempt to have flashing lights at a dramatic moment), while Nichola Scrutton's sound design is an ambitious ambient yet engaging score that lends the words a dark subtext. Humour and tragedy are side by side.

Unfortunately, parts 1 and parts 2 do not enrich each other: part 2 may imitate the Novena, but lacks the spiritual investigation of part 1, feeling like a separate performance. The contrast between the community and the lone poet is too broad and the narrative arc lent by the Mass structure is squandered in part 2's more impressionistic selections.

Theology: part 1 is a profound commentary on how religion, although lost, remains influential and an occult aspect of human identity, stopping off to make swipes at its use as an excuse for Old Firm ruckus. The lightness of touch, and satirical bite, are O'Connor trademarks, and he twists dialect into eloquent forms. While part 2 contains adventurous use of sound and many excellent individual poems, its energy is too diffuse and distracts from O'Connor's skill.

Bestiares as Theology?

Duda Paiva is a perfect example of how blurred lines are far more acceptable in performance than in pop videos. Paiva was trained as a dancer (in Brazil), arrived in the Netherlands, discovered an aptitude for puppetry and mixed it all together into art that is choreography, puppetry and something beyond the two. A series of shows have developed his distinctive style, which encourages a dialogue between puppet and dancer: like a good post-modern artist, Paiva reveals the way he creates through the way he performs. And while his website boasts that he has represented the Netherlands in many festivals, it is fortunate that manipulate has a wide yet clear remit: Bestiares is unlikely to fit into a simple category.

Bestaires plugs into two competing ideas about the nature of gods and puppets: one I nicked from Grant Morrison's Invisibles, the other from Jurkowski's survey of European puppetry. Bestaires offers an evening's entertainment hosted by the god Cupid - in puppet form - and brings the gods of the classical pantheon back on stage. It's not just that, as a former classicist, I am always pleased to be reminded of things I know a little about. I think there is no better place for divinities than in a performance.

Following Morrison, Bestiares is a sharp reminder of the fiction of theology. While Morrison's post-modern mash-up of paganism, conspiracy theory and action adventure can be difficult to follow, there are repeated hints that the various gods and demons that appear are little more than masks or puppets. When one Invisible is introduced to magick (sic), the question of 'who is wearing the mask of the gods?' suggests that these gods are puppets and the strings are being pulled by people. A dancer and a puppet of cupid would be the perfect visual representation of this...

Interestingly, Alan Moore, Morrison's great rival for magus of the UK/best British comic book writer, has a similar theory. He spent some worshipping a snake god because - and here's the catch - he knew that its original incarnation was as a puppet in a Roman con-man's religious rip-off. The reminder, for Moore, that this was not an animate being, was crucial as a balance against his various encounters with what appeared to be supernatural beings. 

Jurkowski goes the opposite way: noting that the medieval church was a bit touchy about the matter of puppets, he postulates that they held a religious potency - that they represented the divine. While the idea of a puppet as an icon might clash with more familiar religious art, the mystery of the puppeteers art lends the uncanny to their performance. 

Bestaires is the start of manipulate: and what better way to begin than with a ritual that is, in both of these senses, fundamentally spiritual?

Thaemlitz Ain't Got No Soul

For reasons I cannot yet divulge – although it may be the allure of anti-theology sparkling at the centre of the ideas being slowly unpeeled – Terre Thaemlitz’s Soulnessless is the most intriguing of Arika’s offerings in Episode 5 (Hidden in Plain Sight). I am not sure whether its promised slot will add much more to its description in the pamphlet, but the challenges it presents to the conceit of identity certainly pleases my cheeky deconstructionist soul.

Did I say soul? What I ought to say is something less spiritual. Thaemlitz is having a good look at the language used to describe transexuality, and seems worried that it buys into the sort of gloopy, new age humanism that is the closest thing late capitalism has to an original religion. When there is talk about a person “becoming” a gender, it applies a positive process, a bit like the process whereby someone becomes fit by going to the gym, or maybe becomes more fully themselves by doing fifteen minutes meditation a day and going to therapy for fifteen years.

Thaemlitz goes in the other direction: isn’t transexuality an act of unbecoming, as it says in the pamphlet, “stemming from an inability to live with your birth body.” While Thaemlitz is using this description to challenge the idea of an essential self, which a person can evolve into, I have a feeling that this way of putting it is likely to be controversial.

The assumption might be that the very concept of an essential self is a trick, a fiction used by religion (and later, capitalism through its advocacy of individualism). Rejecting this can make the transgender expression as process of liberation from those nasty ideas about souls and selves.

Unfortunately, unbecoming doesn’t really have such a good set of associations: while becoming can imply a transition from one state to another, to unbecome sounds a bit like disappearing. It’s a negative process. This might escape the religious implications of the self – although I am not sure that religion is really that big a bother these days – but it also ties nicely into those opinions that see transexuality as destructive.

But hey – game on.