Just gray

There's something primal about certain media in black-and-white. Most noir films were done in the pre-color era and the tone and atmosphere of all of them suits that presentation. Bright colors just don't speak "noir"; quite literally, since it's the French word for "black" or "dark." The Glass Key wouldn't be what it is if that first dining room scene was in a nice set of peach and olive pastels that could've represented the average decor of the time. No, it needed the grays and the shadows implied by them to give the sense of menace that shrouded the politics and the maneuvering of the various characters to make the film a classic, in addition to the writing and the performances, both of which are excellent. Likewise, many comics are just suited to that more stark presentation. Quinn and Vigil's Faust just wouldn't have had the same visual impact if it was in color, since a lot of Vigil's excellent fine line work would've been washed out by color, some by the printing process and some by the failure of the human eyes to discern detail when distracted by other stimuli. This is to say nothing of the requisite blood spray in every third panel. Indeed, although we were doing all of Fifth Panel Comics' output in black-and-white because of economics (color printing was far more costly at that time), I soon decided that our presentation was better because of the lack of color and when Jeff suggested we do the Webcomic, I was still scripting while imagining everything in monochrome. (I usually still do.) That's why when I heard about Spider-Noir and that it could be watched in the old visual style of the period in which it's presented (the 1930s), I was kinda geeked about it. I mean, yet another Spider-Man production wasn't particularly thrilling, but doing it in the style of a Dashiell Hammett story sounded great. Having watched the first episode (in the lack of coloration, as intended), I have mixed feelings as yet.

I have a fondness for noir, even if some of it seems relatively staid in the succeeding decades that so much storytelling has been built upon its foundations or has tried to emulate it. Just like with jazz, I can both see and understand the underlying meaning of those stories and the style and appreciate the building blocks that they represent to a lot of more modern drama. Miller's Crossing is my favorite Coen brothers' film for more than one reason, but a primary one is that it's clearly an homage to the noir films of old, even as it retains the Coens' famed quirkiness in many of its scene changes and reaction moments. But the other reason it's a favorite is that all of the characters are fully developed people. This is, of course, a sticking point for me in all media. If you're going to tell me a story, you have to tell me a story about humans (or at least really interesting demons/aliens/whathaveyou.) If your characters are just serving the plot, rather than living their lives, a lot of the shine is going to come off your story, no matter what style or genre it happens to inhabit. That means you have to sell me on the first episode of any series with real people. Spider-Noir, unfortunately, didn't really do that.

Why can't I find any good black-and-white pics of Reilly? Should tell you a lot.

Part of it is the Nicolas Cage effect. I don't like Cage as an actor, really, because he's a capable character actor trying to do the Leading Man thing. While he was brilliant and believable as a dying drunk in Leaving Las Vegas, in all of the rest of the roles I've seen him in, he's still doing Nicolas Cage. It's the same combination of faux world-weariness and occasional jarring surprise at being in these circumstances in the first place when everyone can see said circumstances except him. Every time. This has been the same pattern since The Rock (Why am I forced to be doing this incredibly exciting thing?!) with one exception in Adaptation. Even then, half of his dual role in that film was still Mr. Put Upon Who Doesn't Understand Why Life Won't Change. And, yes, Ben Reilly is still Nicolas Cage. It's just not interesting anymore and here he has an entire role built around that perspective, as the failing PI (stereotypical) who's a retired superhero because of a tragedy and who is alternately pitied and held in contempt by everyone around him who don't understand why he can't snap out of it. Yes, a lot of noir leads are supposed to be cynical, as that's the style, but just like another of Marvel's characters, Jessica Jones, if anything Reilly is too cynical, to the point that it gets tiresome, rather than remains humorous or otherwise entertaining.

Meanwhile, we also have the intrepid reporter who knows the truth (Lamorne Morris, playing Robbie Robertson of Daily Bugle fame), the disgusted secretary who, like Cher, doesn't understand why Reilly can't pick himself up (Karen Rodriguez), the femme fatale/important client who clearly has motives beyond the central thrust of the plot (Li Jun Li as Cat Hardy, another prominent Marvel character (no spoilers!)) and the powerful crime boss whom half the city lives in fear of for one reason or another (Brendan Gleeson as the notorious Silvermane.) In the end, the only one of those who delivered an interesting performance was Gleeson and he had the least screen time. Why? Because all of them are filling stereotypes, rather than actual roles, but Gleeson adds the one thing that Cage sorely lacks in all of his leading man attempts: gravitas. Yes, he's still Brendan Gleeson, but he's not the Gleeson of In Bruges or 28 Days Later or Cold Mountain. Why? Because he can leave at least part of himself behind and inhabit the character of all of those roles, which is something that Cage has never really been able to do. Of course, that's a writer issue, too, in that all of those other roles I mentioned are stereotypes, which means there's not as much for those actors to work with and Oren Uziel may be capable at his craft but he sure isn't Martin McDonagh, Alex Garland or Anthony Minghella, respectively.

There is, of course, a little Marvel cachet with the aforementioned roles, plus the appearance of Flint Marko (the comics nerd in me immediately blinked in memory and mumbled: "Sandman?", later confirmed by the requisite fight scene) and I totally appreciate the reframing of all of said characters in the 1930s style, in which Reilly's former identity wasn't "Spider-Man" but was instead The Spider, akin to The Phantom or the original The Spider. I like all of these things because I'm a comics nerd and a noir nerd and, consequently, it would seem like this series should be right up my dark and shadowy, newspaper fluttering alley. But I'm not sure that either Cage or Uziel are the ones to make it work. I'm not bailing out immediately. I'll give it a couple more episodes to see more of Gleeson and to hopefully see Tombstone, whom I've been told is present in the series and was one of the last interesting characters I remember from the days when I was reading Spider-Man titles (the late 80s...) But it wasn't a great start (i.e. it didn't do a The Wire/Breaking Bad/Chernobyl, even if that is a very, very high bar to reach.) We've also seen the first season of Sons of Anarchy in the last few days and I haven't written anything about it because I haven't really found it worth the time. Maybe later.

Batman: TAS, episode #21: Vendetta

Right from the opening, we get the steady rain, down by the docks, at night. We know our noir atmosphere has returned. There will be no junior sleuths, caped or otherwise. This is just The Batman and his perfect environment. We have all the proper elements for a great Batman (and great noir) story: potential police corruption, Gotham crimelords (including Rupert Thorne), bad weather, and actual detective work. This really can't get much better if it doesn't involve The Joker. It instead involves Killer Croc, who was one of a newer generation of Batman foes created in the early 80s by previous series writer, Gerry Conway. There was always an element of tragedy that accompanied Croc's appearances, given his mutant origin and the general public distaste that came with it (not overly dissimilar to The Penguin, by the by...) But that came with a general sense of savagery that is unusual among The Batman's regular foes. The sense of danger that came with Croc was physical and brutal, even beyond what could usually be implied by menacing thugs with guns that are regular parts of any noir story (whether you get your nose sliced or not.)

That physical element is part of The Batman's nature, as well, and it's on full display here, as he not only threatens Thorne, but tosses him over the edge of a building, not to extract a confession, but simply because he can. This is a harder Batman; a darker one. In my mind, it's the ideal approach to the character and this episode had every inch of it and is a refreshing change from the more normalized version of the previous two episodes, in which this kind of behavior in front of the junior partner or the local children just wouldn't have worked. Batman the Upstanding Citizen wouldn't have used Thorne as a body shield, even though that's a perfectly natural reaction when facing the latter's henchmen armed with Tommy guns, including the comment that "You better hope your men are good shots!" This is the terror of the underworld. The Batman also turns the screws on Commissioner Gordon with his suspicions about Harvey Bullock, perpetual 'bad cop', but Gordon's character shines through here as he defends his man. We also get a proper insight to Alfred, who expresses the incredulity of a toothpick proving anything, one way or the other. But this is proper storytelling, right? The Batman is carrying a bias and following clues that confirm it, when the real culprit is elsewhere. However, it is something of an eyebrow-raising moment when he immediately jumps to a conclusion about crocodiles from Alfred's casual "microwaveable crock" comment. After studying the "human substance but reptilian structure" scale and then immediately running to the zoo for confirmation about crocodiles living in underwater caves (not actually true, since they tend to dig their own burrows), we get a little too plot jumpy but, as always, 22 minute episodes, yo.

The fight scenes with Croc are, of course, supremely reminiscent of this moment which was actually released right around the same time (1992) as this episode, so no borrowing really possible. Sewer fights just must have been on the collective consciousness at the time. Of course, that final scene also begins from The Batman starting a fight with Croc from the back of a moving car, which is perhaps not the wisest course of action for genius, Bruce Wayne. While that final scene hits the right notes of tension and fisticuffs, it's at least mildly disturbing to see a few bricks lead to what looks like a major cave-in of Gotham's sewer system (Infrastructure week!), but that's still just part of our atmosphere: the crumbling city, abetted by its corrupt cops and significant crime networks. That's why we need The Batman to protect us! Of course, as it turns out, Bullock's character is in question, but not an issue here. A significant element to our overall story is watching his reaction to the absence of his file which is, of course, illegally obtained by our hero. There are ethical layers to this, which are key to any kind of noir storytelling. "We may have different ways of enforcing the law, but we both believe in it!" says the vigilante to the actual police officer...

On top of all that, we have our minor characters that continue to be key threads in our overall tapestry. Not only does Alfred continue his advisory and mildly acerbic role with Bruce, but Renee Montoya also makes a couple appearances (seemingly always with Bullock around) as a routine presence in the force. This is part of an ongoing story, not just a one-off Batman adventure. Thorne and even thugs like Spider Conway (voiced by the same actor as Killer Croc, Aron Kincaid) are living breathing parts of Gotham, which Bullock is, as well (despite him being the occasional master of the obvious: "It ain't him getting to the hearings that's got him spooked, commish! It's somebody else getting to him before then!") This is an ideal BTAS episode, even if the major threat isn't a cerebral challenge for The Batman, as much as it is a more physical and visually bizarre one. My one note of complaint about those visuals is that they chose a more fish-like color for Croc, as opposed to his original olive green and, thus, more crocodilian one. But that minor complaint aside, it has to be said that this ranks right up there among the best episodes we've seen so far; for atmospherics, for storytelling, and for simply getting the main character right.

Next time, we encounter a strange cult in Prophecy of Doom.

Creatures of Light and Darkness

For those of you that are New Wave SF nerds like me, you'll recognize the title of one of Roger Zelazny's more esoteric novels. Originally envisioned as simply a writing exercise, Zelazny never intended to publish Creatures of Light and Darkness. But once friend and fellow author, Samuel Delany, heard about it, he encouraged an editor to take the manuscript from Zelazny and put it into print, for good or ill. It has one chapter devoted entirely to poetry and the end is written like a screenplay. In other words, it's a very stylized approach to telling another of Zelazny's stories about futuristic beings of myth and their very human motivations. Similarly, Michelle MacLaren, director of the latest episode of Better Call Saul, used a backlighting technique throughout to indicate moments of tension, where the conflict between characters was subtle but significant to the story; where decisions kept the direction of the story for those characters balanced on that edge between light and darkness that scientists call 'the terminator' as sunlight creeps across the spinning ball of our planet. Would their decisions move them wholly into the light or the darkness or would continue to inhabit the halfway point, not quite sure how or if to proceed?

The first example was Jimmy and Kim, as the former putters around the kitchen, determined to flee from having to talk with Kim about recent events, and to reassure himself that he can still be of value, even without the law license that his now dead brother wrested from him; the only real thing of value that Jimmy has ever acquired in his life. Jimmy's face is shrouded like his soul is and looking away from the light just shows how unwilling he is to face his role in what happened. The next example was Ignacio, who faced his father in darkness, trying to reassure him that the threat from the Salamancas to launder money through his car business was finished, although his father cannot look at his shrouded son. Nevertheless, still fearing for the safety of the son who so wounded him by involving himself with criminals, pays the tax, anyway. Ignacio tries to convince him not to and then surrenders to what he knows he cannot change. The next example was the meeting between Mike and Lydia, as the latter cringes from Mike's bold play at the warehouse, thinking that continuing as normal is better than laying the defense against his inevitable discovery by someone. Mike knows better, but still has to convince the person who effectively outranks him. Here is the former cop, still walking in the twilight with his new partner who covers the drug business contained within the parent corporation; meeting in a darkened conference room, as if someone might discover them with the lights turned on.

The technique is still in evidence when Kim accosts Howard over the backhanded estate settlement that she knows will only further demoralize Jimmy. Their conflict is much more prominent and not subtle, so the contrast is fainter, as Kim's fury lights up the scene. But there's still the faint shadow that symbolizes the undercurrent of Howard wanting to get a last jab in at Jimmy, whom he knows tortured his friend and partner of many years, and Kim, despite her vociferous defense, knowing that Howard is probably justified in wanting to do so. But it comes back in full force in both instances when Gus' men tell him about the results of Hector's tests, as the light streaming through the window in the car and in his office leaves Gus partially in shadow as he struggles with himself and how he should proceed with his attempt to keep Hector alive so that only he can exact the full extent of the vengeance he desires ("I decide what he deserves. No one else.")

There is no shadow in the moment of direct conflict. When Ignacio and Arturo confront Gus' men over the number of kis that they're picking up, everything is brightly lit. The conflict is overt. The threat is real. There is no shadow across it. Everyone knows the motivations at hand and what actions they will drive. But the contrast returns when Arturo is killed and the implications of what Ignacio has done and what he will now have to do are spelled out to him by Gus. As direct as the threat may have been to Arturo, the shadow returns for Ignacio, denying him the assertion that he made to his father about how he was working on getting out of a bad situation, as he is now only that much deeper into darkness with someone who is far more dangerous than Hector.

I've really enjoyed Michelle MacLaren's work over the years on Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones, precisely for her deep understanding of story and how to present it in a visual manner. This may have been her finest effort yet in that respect. It doesn't hurt that Gilligan's writers continue to outdo themselves in presenting the cast with so much red meat to work with. Take Jimmy's interview with Neff Copiers. He knows they'll reject him as unsuitable for a sales job after having been a lawyer, whether it's because of a lack of actual experience or a belief that he'll decide the job is beneath him and they'll have to find someone else when he moves on to another law gig. So he goes back in to convince them that he has what it takes and easily does so. But his own self-loathing; the recognition that that kind of hucksterism is what he's been doing his whole life, prevents him from accepting the job that he wins. All he can think of is how these guys are precisely the kind of marks he's been working since forever and how he won't be able to respect them for giving in so easily to his routine. And, of course, how he can't stand himself at the moment for everything he's done to Chuck and how he doesn't deserve anything good to come his away, especially when it was achieved by Slippin' Jimmy.

Full marks to Rhea Seehorn in this episode. Her scene with Howard was one of her best moments in the entire series, as she ate him alive and confronted him with his own ulterior motives, while she took the opportunity to vent her frustration at the situation that Jimmy still keeps her in. She's doing amazing work and I hope it lands her other solid roles in the future. Similarly, Michael Mando as Ignacio has been getting progressively better as the series has moved along. The emotion on his face when Gus corners him and he realizes just how deep his personal hole has gotten was great. It was extremely entertaining to see Gus doing some of his own dirty work again, too. Other little details, like an appearance by The Cousins at Hector's bedside, and Jimmy and Kim deciding to watch White Heat, a noir film in this most noirish of BCS episodes and a film about a man confessing to a lesser crime to hide a larger one, pushed this one among the best of the series, in my opinion. I was still intrigued by episode one of this season, but episode two has launched BCS back near the top of my TV agenda (right behind Liverpool games.) The series can't get much better, which only makes me want to see how they're going to outdo themselves as we move along.