Review of The Desolation of Smaug

This is an older post I never forgot to post and thought it would be appropriate to post so I’m doing just that. Enjoy. 

It’s December, and for some, that means decking the halls with lots of holly. For others, it means wielding ice stalactites like spear, defending oneself from the horde of Christmas carolers.

Plastered to my face as I gorge on overpriced popcorn is a huge, happy, gormless grin. That’s because for me, December means Hobbit season.

I went to the theatre alone, partly because I didn’t want my friends’ laymen understanding of the story to disrupt my popcorn eating and movie watching, but mostly to formulate my own, unbiased opinion on the film.

Like the first Hobbit film, I watched no trailers, read no articles or reviews and sat in my seat completely virgin to Peter Jackson’s rendition of the story. And like the first Hobbit film, I loved it.

Peter Jackson hasn’t let me down. In many ways he is a surgeon, dissecting the episodic nature of The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien, and reconstructing it into the classic three-part trilogy. I explain it to my friends like this —Think of Star Wars, in Return of the Jedi (the first movie), nothing that crucial happens. *Cough, Deathstar, cough* In The Empire Strikes Back, SHIT GOES DOWN. It’s widely considered the best Star Wars film to date. The final movie, A New Hope, has everything resolved and wrapped-up nicely. Classic trilogy.

The Hobbit seems to be going in this direction and I don’t have a problem with it.

As for the story, It’s a decent enough adaption of the book. Although, I think Tolkien would have a thing or two to say about the skittles-vomit color palette. But that’s okay, sprinkle in some lore, a dash of elvish, add one or two giant spiders and let sit for 3 hours.

You need to go into The Hobbit expecting a loose translation of the story, or else you’re setting yourself up for failure.

As long as it’s Tolkienian at heart that’s all that matters. Middle-Earth is grand, teeming with dirt-caked goblins and everlasting elves. But even grand is an understatement. A poet laureate would have a tough time penning Middle-Earth’s beauty. The Hobbit is another 3-hour window into this magical world. 

Maus means a lot.

Maus, by Art Spiegelman, is a personal narrative about his father’s trials as a Jew in Poland during the Second World War.

My father, a writer, has a room that is wall to ceiling books in his house. I have fond memories of spending my Saturdays in his library, reading whatever my stubby little hands could pull off the first shelf. He didn’t own any graphic novels, except for both volumes of Maus.

You see, my father’s father, my grandfather, was the only surviving member of his family to escape.  I think my dad felt a little like Spiegelman in this sense. That was the last time I had read Maus and I haven’t picked it up since, so it was pretty intense to read it some years later and have a better understanding of what happened.

Art does a visceral job at recounting his Father’s time in Poland. As someone who grew up hearing a lot of first, and second hand survivor stories, what’s in his graphic novel is pretty accurate to how they are told. I couldn’t help but notice some parallels between Vladek’s stories and my grandfather’s story. My great grandfather was the owner of a metal working factory in Poland, he bribed and persuaded Nazis to let my grandfather and his brothers go.

Neither of his brothers survived the war. My grandfather’s older brother, a violinist who would be on Polish radio stations before the war, had his hands broken and his violin shattered.

They ended up only having enough money to smuggle one to Britain. My grandfather found out later his brothers died in a death camp. There’s a lot more to the story, but the point of this blog post is to talk about how good a job Art did at reciting his father’s story through a graphic novel.

Maus is hard to read, but I think it’s crucial to read, for anyone interested in not having something like this happen again, to help curb racism, to understand a horrific moment in history. 

Tin Tin and the start of long form comics

Recently I read Tin Tin for class and I really enjoy how are class is basically going through graphic novels in a sort of chronological order. Tin Tin, by Herge is, at least for me, the first time comics seem to be made for long for and to start to become graphic novels. Earlier in the semester we read works by Winsor Mcay and George Herriman and while these works were good, each story seemed to end at the end of the page. (Even Little Nemo in Slumberland.)  

Tin Tin breaks that rule by becoming a long form comic. I think that this gives cartoonists more freedom to develop their stories and characters. I only read three volumes of Tin Tin, which encompass the first compilation of the Tin Tin stories, and I grew fond of Tin Tin and his Maltese/terrier Snowy. (I found it hilarious that Snowy was sentient and only Tin Tin could understand him.)

I think what Herge is doing is he’s picking up on what the readers want. Comic readers are getting older and there are more and more comic readers coming about around the time that Tin Tin is created so he’s responding to that by creating long form comics.

Other publishers are doing the same thing around this time like EZ comics, but I decided to read Tin Tin for this week because it’s one of those comics I’ve “always wanted to read but never got around to it.” You know, the indefinitely postponed kind. (The great thing about this class is that it gets me to read things that are on my list but would take me much longer a time to actually get around to.)

I think with Tin Tin, you start to see the blueprints of the graphic novel being set. At least that’s how I feel. These long form comics really paved the way for works like A Contract with God, Blankets, and others.

Blankets by Craig Thompson

Blankets by Craig Thompson, it’s a raw graphic novel that really shines as a confessional tale. When I picked it up I realized I couldn’t put it down. Graphic narratives like Maus and Blankets were designed to be read in one sitting. I haven’t read many graphic novels but I do think that Blankets is one of the best I have read and it’s easy to see why.

Unlike other graphic novels, Blankets is very cinematic in terms of flow and storytelling. I couldn’t help but think I was watching a movie while reading through it. Thompson had flawless transition from one panel to the next throughout the entire graphic novel. He also chose not to go in a strictly chronological order, instead opting to make points when he saw it best fit. I think this mechanism enhanced the story and made it feel more real.

Craig gives this book life by pouring his own into it. You learn more than you’d ever want to know about Craig and his relationship with those whom are in his life, and the change of relationships that comes with time.

I grew most attached to his relationship with Raina and her family. I think this idea of first love is something everyone understands. It’s a rite of passage and part of life. He makes it so relatable, and being able to understand his isolation, being able to see the rise and fall of his first love, gives this book life.

From a craftsman’s standpoint this book is pure eye-candy. I cannot fathom how long it took to create most of these illustrations. I’m not sure if there’s a version in color, but I’d like to get my hands on a copy if there is. Mine is in black and white and I’m still blown away by its detail.

You can tell that Craig Thompson poured his heart into the novel, and I believe that’s what makes him an innovate artist. He’s brave enough to let the world see him be vulnerable. Giving the uncut version of his life to complete strangers. There’s nothing braver and more liberating than that.