Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Comics about comics

Films about filmmaking practically constitute a genre unto themselves -- except, of course, that the stories told in these films range from the comedic to the emotionally wrenching. Hell, even within the subgenre of satirical films about filmmaking, you've got work as stylistically diverse as State and Main and The Player. Novels about novelists are, I daresay, even more common. I can't think of nearly as many graphic novels about the art of making comics; I'm not sure if that's because of an uncertainty in the form itself, or because the form itself hasn't been around long enough, or something else entirely.

Nonetheless, the topic for discussion here is precisely that. Specifically: Neil Kleid's Ninety Candles. It's a short work -- described on the cover as a "graphic novella" -- with the life of a cartoonist at its center. There's a rigid structure to it: each year in the life of its protagonist is shown in one panel, with some accompanying dialogue. It's not the sort of structure one would guess would suit a biography, and yet Kleid makes it work. My previous exposure to Kleid's work came via Stable Rods, a minicomic in which a father and son discuss -- I'll quote Kleid's Rant Comics site here -- "rules, society and the Jewish Defense League.". There, the story was told entirely through dialogue, with accompanying images that enhanced, rather than depicted, the events.

The obvious comparison here -- and one I'm about to make -- would be to Daniel Clowes's Pussey!, also a graphic novel telling the life story of a man involved in comics. And yet -- while Kleid's Kevin Hall does endure some wrenching moments in his story, Kleid is less concerned with making his protagonist suffer and more with exploring the idea of an art passed down across generations. Which is not to say that Ninety Candles will leave you grinning throughout: even when he's found success, Hall never quite looks happy; there's always a plaintive look on his face. (Kleid achieves a lot with a relatively minimal style). And while the ending's a positive one, it's a hardwon, bittersweet positivity.

There's something else taking place here, and I didn't honestly notice it until a few weeks after I'd finished reading. This is a story that, by its very nature, spans nearly a century. Protagonist Hall is, as far as I can tell, born into a post-Jack Kirby world -- and thus, Kleid is very subtly arguing for his conviction that comics, as an institution, will be with us for a very long time.

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