Sound has been a crucial part of the design of Doctor Who, from the very first appearance of the series on British screens on November 23, 1963. The first ghostly images of the original, swirly title sequence are accompanied by Delia Derbyshire’s landmark electronic arrangement of Ron Grainer’s theme tune. In a matter of seconds, Doctor Who has announced itself as new and alien, and it’s the sound–generated by various tone generators, oscillators, and hundreds of feet of tape loops at the BBC Radiophonic Workshop–that clinches it:

Note that as the theme fades out, the next sound we hear is the mysterious hum from a Police Box in a junkyard. Such sound effects were fundamental during the series’ first few years, as Derbyshire, Brian Hodgson, Dick Mills, and others in the Radiophonic Workshop created alien atmospheres, high-tech laboratories, weapons and tools, monsters, and of course, the most famous sound of all, the TARDIS dematerialization: 

At times throughout the 1960s (and at various points in the 1970s and 1980s as well), electronic sound effects and music bled into each other (occasionally even credited as “Special Sound”), emphasizing the relationship between the sound and image of “SF.” That is, electronic sounds (later generated by dedicated synthesizers) reinforce the mystery and otherworldliness of “proper” SF.

In contrast, music and dialogue are relatively secondary in the sound mix in the early years. Of course, the dialogue has to convey the plot, and the music (usually in brief “stings”) punctuates the emotional moments. But the sound effects are the basis of the series’ world-building, and what make it inescapably Doctor Who. In the first six seasons, these sound effects (and musical cues) were even piped into the soundstage during primary recording, helping the actors and crew locate themselves on alien worlds (post-dubbing music and sound effects became standard in the 1970s).

As the show’s style changed, this general emphasis on sound effects remained, with “alien” sounds locating the Doctor and friends (and us) in “alien” environments (or, in the Pertwee years, familiar spaces made “alien”…)

Along the way in the 1970s, however, the music changed from otherworldly compliment to more familiar counterpoint. After spending much of the Pertwee years favoring synthesizers, Dudley Simpson switched to more acoustic, chamber-like scores in the second half of the 1970s (with a half-dozen musicians, usually french horns, clarinet, piano, and percussion). This was the sound of this era, as alien atmospheres receded in favor of Simpson’s “organic” duets with Tom Baker’s velvet baritone.

When John Nathan-Turner took over as producer in 1980, he aimed to overhaul the look and sound of the series. Simpson was an immediate casualty, as the composers of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop (including Peter Howell, Paddy Kingsland, Roger Limb, Malcolm Clarke, and Jonathan Gibbs) took advantage of rapidly developing music technology to craft all-electronic scores. By this point, electronic sound effects were still a mainstay, of course, but meshed more clearly with the music, particularly since they came from the same production house for several years.

In the embattled last three years of the classic series (1987-89), and despite a dwindling budget, the sound mix changed again, with more melodic, motif-driven music up front, and a new focus on the sound and texture of dialogue. Sylvester McCoy’s Seventh Doctor was far and away the most vocally expressive and varied Doctor to that point, and when paired with Sophie Aldred’s (sort of) working-class Ace and a wide range of expressive guest roles, the net result were voices that were not only conveyors of verbal information, but (finally) conveyors of character.

When Doctor Who returned in the mid-00s (setting aside for the sake of space the one-off 1996 TV Movie, which faithfully followed 1990s American genre TV conventions in its design), its sound design completely inverted the original formula. Television itself was, of course, now over fifty years old, rather than still fresh and weird, as it had been in 1963. Accordingly, as episodes are now tighter and faster, having to compete more for attention, dialogue is now king, and Murray Gold’s earwormy, wall-to-wall music is its queen. Sound effects are still there, of course, but are much more ad hoc and functional, rather than immersive (e.g., the new series’ ubiquitous sonic screwdriver). The scope of the SF sensibility is now carried primarily by the relatively sumptuous visuals and music, with most of the remaining “alien” sound effects being conveyed by various alien voices.

Moreover, in contrast with the general “BBC English” of most of the previous Doctors (save Hartnell’s “old man” tics and McCoy’s indulgent Scottish burrrrrrr), each contemporary Doctor has a very particular verbal style: Christopher Eccleston’s unabashed “Northern” patter:

David Tennant’s emo mockney (though it’s a shame he couldn’t go with his native Scots):

and Matt Smith’s Oxbridge nerdisms:

Starting with Billie Piper’s council estate princess Rose Tyler, each of the companions has also had a distinct vocal style. This emphasis is reinforced with the increased function of dialogue in the narrative: there’s not enough time to linger in as much in spaces and silences, and so dialogue conveys not only plot information, but also character (usually variations on biting wit), and greater subtext.

So, while sound of course continues to structure the series (and in more complex constructions and mixes), it’s important to consider the overall function of sound effects, music, and dialogue within the context of particular moments in the series’ history.

I’m posting now because I’m off to Chicago this weekend to participate in A Celebration of Doctor Who, a one-day event at DePaul University’s Loop campus, organized by fellow aca-fan Paul Booth (thanks, Paul!). All day on Saturday there will be one-hour panels featuring many Doctor Who scholar-fans, and screenings of classic and current series episodes. The format of the sessions is geared, correctly, towards conversation rather than presentation; more like Gallifrey and less like SCMS. We won’t have a whole lot of time to present our individual piece of the panel, so I thought I’d present my pieces in more extended form here. This post concerns my thoughts about Doctor Who‘s DNA; the next post will offer my assessment of sound in Doctor Who.

Every long-running media story or setting (what the industry also calls a “franchise”; see Derek Johnson’s excellent new analysis of the concept) carries the DNA of its origins through every iteration. Consider:

• Sherlock Holmes – rooted in 19th century urbanism, Victorian morality, ascendent forensic science and criminology, pop fiction
• Star Trek – A product of the Sixties: the Cold War, the space race, changing geopolitics, the civil rights movement, and even the counterculture, all tempered with a strain of militarism and the flying fists of mid-60s action-adventure TV
• Star Wars – A soup of Seventies neo-mysticism, mythology, Tolkien, movie brat cinephilia, and early Silicon Valley technophilia

No matter what happens down the line, that original formula is still there, passed on, if also modified along the way. Each of these particular franchises currently has major iterations in imminent release and/or production, and all of them still very much bear these original marks (even Sherlock and Elementary, which each somehow manage to successfully transfer Doyle’s Victorian London to the 21st century London and New York, respectively).

In the case of Doctor Who, while its original manifestation is still primary, it has had three more alterations significant enough to affect the current series. Like other strands of DNA introduced and passed on in other living things, these aspects will always be part of whatever Doctor Who will be in the future (more or less, as we’ll see).

First, and fundamental, is the series’ origins in the BBC of the early 1960s, which launched its function as a national institution. Famously conceived as Saturday family tea-time fare meant to bridge the afternoon into the evening, with the ostensible function of being broadly “educational” as well, Doctor Who in its first 17 seasons (1963-80) represents the cultural assurances of public service broadcasting in its prime. While it still adjusted to changing styles and producers over this time–the differences between, say, “The Daleks’ Master Plan” (1965-66) and “Spearhead From Space” (1970), broadcast exactly four years apart, are much starker than the differences between the similarly spaced “Planet of the Dead” (2009) and “The Bells of Saint John” (2013)–the series still functioned primarily as a national broadcast institution, alongside many others from the BBC of the 1960s and 1970s.

This sensibility is clear throughout this span. The Doctor is an emphatically English (not quite British yet) agent of disorder: he may not do things the “right” way, but he always gets the “right” result. Established history can’t be altered, but humanity (i.e., England) will persist far into the future. Those Troughton-era “bases under siege” survive and face down real monsters. Jon Pertwee transforms the Doctor into an English action hero on English soil, sometimes facing down reactionary and destructive national powers, and ultimate Doctor Tom Baker channels the classic cool of Englishmen from Oscar Wilde to David Bowie as the unflappable eccentric.

Times change, though. Around the time producer John Nathan-Turner (known by fans as JNT) assumes the reins in 1980, Doctor Who gradually shifts from being a national institution to a cult institution. The series, like so many other pre-Thatcher British institutions at the time, finds itself increasingly marginalized and abandoned by the new establishment. It was literally displaced from its institutional home on Saturdays at this time, and aired instead in the middle of the week for most of its last decade.

At the same time, however, it began to be fervently embraced by a newly organized and rapidly expanding (thanks to international distribution) fandom. With the mainstream turning away, Doctor Who, led by JNT, embraced its cult status. The producer and his cast made regular appearances at conventions around the world. The series both ran from its past (in storytelling style) and towards it (in increasing use of old monsters and continuity). The Eighties Doctors symbolized this turn away from comfortable hegemony and towards brash marginality: Peter Davison’s Fifth Doctor may have the most obviously “English” wardrobe of all, but  is nonetheless seen as a crazed outsider in many of his stories. Colin Baker’s Sixth Doctor brandishes his contrarian aesthetic and demeanor like a knife. Sylvester McCoy’s Seventh Doctor clowns like Chaplin to mask a brooding, deceptive heart. By the time McCoy’s Doctor had picked up his trademark question-mark umbrella in 1987, the series made its last turn down Cult Alley, because that seemed all that was left to go. Accordingly, Doctor Who closed out with some of the most unusual, bracing, and divisive stories in its history, including “The Happiness Patrol” (1988), “The Greatest Show in the Galaxy” (1988), and “Ghost Light” (1989).

With no more TV series in production, and almost no interest from the BBC (aside from the aborted attempt to relaunch the series in 1996), the “cult” essentially assumes ownership of Doctor Who in the 1990s. While known as the “wilderness years,” these are more precisely its “indie rock” years, when fan writers, greatly inspired by the tone and style of the McCoy era (but drawing concepts and characters from the series’ entire history, as well as tropes in Eighties and Nineties SF and politics) wrote and edited licensed novels “too broad and deep for the small screen” (as the original Virgin tagline put it).

The Virgin and BBC novels were Doctor Who at its most experimental: with darker themes, complex plots and characters, and long-running narrative arcs. This was also Doctor Who at its most “adult,” although in retrospect (from the viewpoint of one of those “adult” fans of the books at that time), and despite some stunning additions to the saga (such as Paul Cornell’s Timewyrm: Revelation  [1991], Kate Orman’s The Left-Handed Hummingbird [1993],  Gareth Roberts’ The English Way of Death [1996], Ben Aaronovitch and Kate Orman’s So Vile A Sin [1997], Lawrence Miles’ Alien Bodies [1997], and Lance Parkin’s The Infinity Doctors [1998]), it was, on the whole, more the sort of earnest, slightly callow “adult” material that only those in their smitten twenties could produce. In 1999, inspired in part by the success of the novels at keeping Doctor Who alive and kicking, fan-led Big Finish Productions began releasing full-cast audio dramas (with stories featuring, by 2012, regular appearances by all five of the living classic series Doctors, and almost all of their companions) which faithfully recreated the sensibility of the TV series while retaining some of the more experimental innovations inspired by the novels. Big Finish has released some of Doctor Who‘s most original and compelling adventures, with Colin Baker’s unfairly-maligned portrayal of the Sixth Doctor particularly rehabilitated in stories like Rob Shearman’s The Holy Terror (2000) and Jubilee (2003), Jac Rayner’s Doctor Who and the Pirates (2003), and Gareth Roberts and Clayton Hickman’s The One Doctor (2001).

And then, seemingly out of the blue in 2003, the BBC takes Doctor Who back to television, reclaiming it as a national institution in the classic mold. However, now the model national institution isn’t reassuringly English, but rather pitched as a global media franchise, the flagship of a solidly entrepreneurial BBC. While the “wilderness years” DNA clearly influenced the new iteration’s respective showrunners (Russell T Davies, who actually wrote one of the Virgin novels, and Steven Moffat) and many of its writers, and has been tacitly acknowledged by long-term fans, publicly it’s been elided, as if the show disappeared “sometime in the 1980s” and miraculously reappeared in 2005. Thus, the DNA of the 1990s is effectively hidden in the 2000s-10s, though its influence persists.

Doctor Who is now both populist and cult, a combination that couldn’t have existed back in the 20th century. It’s unabashedly promotional, clamoring for attention across multiple media and product platforms in a very crowded media marketplace. Davies and Moffat have been incessant MCs, propelling a global hype machine, because they have to be. On-screen, the staid pacing of the classic series and meditations of the novels and audios have been replaced with a slick, thrill-ride ethos. The new series Doctors are younger, extroverted, and more than a bit narcissistic, “clever boys” needing and seeking attention in a way that never mattered as much before. Plots–in particular, under Moffat–have emphasized time travel, alternate realities, and long-running narrative arcs, as well as a much broader emotional spectrum than was ever seen previously on screen.

All that said, the flexibility of the concept–a strange, seemingly immortal being has adventures in time and space in a small blue box–has certainly been proven time and again.  Unlike Holmes, Star Trek, or Star Wars, who remain tied to stricter confines of character, tone, and setting (countless parodies notwithstanding), Doctor Who can continue to regenerate. Every time it does, however, it will continue to carry the DNA of its previous incarnations.

The obvious point of comparison is with academic conferences. I’ve been going to both fan and academic events for almost the same amount of time (over two decades), and in many respects, fan conventions have a remarkably similar vibe, but with the critical difference of less anxiety and judgement. As with academic conferences, the main engine of cons is social: striking up conversations with strangers, or just picking up where you left off with old friends. While there are differences–not everyone can be on a panel or have an awesome costume or hang out in the green room–cons are a far less hierarchical space than any academic conference. Almost nobody’s actual real-world career hinges on their demeanor or appearance at a con; given most of the con goers, including many of the celebrity guests, hang out in the lobby talking and drinking till the wee hours, this is a very good thing indeed. Because of this lack of rank, discussions at Gally were always as relaxed, open, random, profane and long as they could be (once past that nerdy awkwardness that all of us shared, and that Radio Free Skaro podcaster Warren Frey pointed out is now, bizarrely, a trendy affected hipster trait). Indeed, many of the best conversations I had at Gally did not even involve Doctor Who, or television.

The Tiki Dalek, or, as I called it, Gilligan's Dalek (Flickr photo credit: jtrummer)

As at MLA, NCA, SCMS or every other academic gathering, there were also many discussion panels at Gally. However, rather than a series of anxiously scripted presentations, panels were instead joyfully rambling gatherings that nonetheless produced much more engagement than the usual scholarly session. A panel of SF writers discussing managing their creative lives was particularly energetic and direct, offering up seasoned, pragmatic, and occasionally contentious advice on work-for-hire, creative control, and finding an agent. Interaction between panelists and audience throughout the weekend was always informal, with a minimum of restraint, especially given the rapid 55-minute sessions. Understandably, some sessions, in the large main room, functioned more formally, with media-savvy fans interviewing guest actors, directors, and writers. But even then, discussions were lively and intriguing, as was especially the case in the revealing “Doctor Who in the 60s” panel which featured long-time fan/producer/writer/editor Gary Russell interviewing original 1963 actor William Russell and director Waris Hussein, and 1965 companion Maureen O’Brien. While certainly not all panels were as coherent or engaging as they could have been, that’s always the case at SCMS and every other academic gathering I’ve ever attended as well. In that regard, thankfully Gally doesn’t go rigidly non-stop from 8 till 6 in two-hour chunks, but rather has a more open and sociable schedule that encourages sleeping in and staying up late. Nothing “officially” started till 10am at the earliest each day, and in addition to the perpetual “lobbycon” (the unofficial party that ran nonstop in the Marriott lobby from Wednesday through Monday nights), there were many late-night events and panels, a few starting as late as 1am, each night of the con.

Moreover, the vibe at Gally was also very distinct from that at Comic-Con, and most other cons, for that matter. While the sheer scope of Comic-Con insures its own particular appeal to geekdom (myself included; this year will be my fourth), it’s also a much more impersonal experience. One cowers at the foot of the temple of pop culture amidst tens of thousands of teeming pilgrims at Comic-Con. In contrast, Gally, while growing rapidly (with a record 3183 coming this year, a 45% growth from the previous record set in 2011), still feels homey and informal, rather than public and anonymous. It’s a huge party, vs. a massive festival. In comparing the events, a few of us reasoned that the physical exhaustion of just one day of Comic-Con is about equal to that of three days of Gally, with the net enjoyment of the latter much greater than the former. Moreover, given that all involved at Gally love love love Doctor Who, there were no turf battles over space or influence of particularly distinct demographics or fandoms (as has unfortunately been the case at Comic-Con, especially in the recent years of its massive growth).

That said, as undeniably enjoyable and community-building an event as Gally is, there are certainly a few issues with the way time and space are manipulated there (see what I did there?). Despite an overwhelmingly positive and welcoming atmosphere, and a near gender balance (on the whole; see below) and diversity of sexualities, the con is still not as racially diverse as I thought it would be. Then again, neither are academic conferences, unfortunately. Diversity of fandoms is also an intriguing tension, as Emily Kausalik examines in her account of the weekend. Gally provided panels on many avenues of interest–from interviews with the series’ actors to discussion of its works in other media forms to explorations of its production history to critiques of its representations of sexuality to discussions of fancraft–but this resulted in some Balkanization along interest and (to an extent) gender lines. I missed a few more typically female-oriented fannish panels (on topics like shipping and cosplay) that I had planned on attending in favor of hanging out with several of my old, and admittedly mostly male, fan friends. Again, a situation not unlike SCMS, sadly. I owe fellow acafan and feminist Doctor Who blogger Courtney Stoker a particular apology for missing her late-night cosplay/crossplay panel in that regard, but look forward to her write-up (until then, here’s a great interview she gave to io9, along with some excellent photos).

Acafans cosplay too! Here's Courtney Stoker, as the TARDIS (Flickr photo credit: bio_grrl)

Speaking of cosplay, this was an area which frankly blew me away at Gally. I’ve been going to cons off and on for over 25 years, and have  probably seen thousands of costumed fans. But the creativity and craftspersonship I saw at Gally was at another level of awesome. There were the expected sea of scarves, bow ties, fezzes, and skinny bespoke suits that you’d expect from the most popular Doctors. But there were also many companions, obscure villains, and even more obscure one-off characters, all in amazing detail. Most impressively, however, were the overwhelmingly female cosplayers who “versioned” particular characters or themes. I lost count of how many incredible crossplay and femme Doctors, Captain Jacks, Daleks, and even TARDISes I saw; the pictures here indicate just a fraction what went on all weekend. The typical Comic-Con costumes seem like castoffs from the Halloween rental store by comparison.

The great level of dedication and love shown to Doctor Who by the most devoted fans–most clearly in cosplay and other fanart, but also in more archival endeavors, such BroaDWcast‘s mission to catalog every run of the classic series in every country–is probably what most discomforts academics. However, it’s also fandom’s greatest similarity with academia. Who other than the academic or fan devotee would trawl through dusty archives looking for discarded bits of knowledge, or frequently re-read or re-watch a text with an eye for new analyses and interpretations, or critique and reconfigure the very acts of devotion? While I still don’t agree that everything is/could be fandom, or that “acafan” is a useful long-term designation, I left Gally more encouraged than ever that these worlds are not only compatible but could powerfully work together. I’m working on a few projects that hopefully do just that.

In the meantime, of course, I’ve already registered for The 24 Hours of Gallifrey One in 2013, celebrating 50 years of Doctor Who. Hopefully I’ll see you there as well!

The Amy Who Waited and a Femme Eleven (Flickr photo credit: bio_grrl)

More Gally coverage…

Twitter hashtag: #gally (unofficially; the con itself prefers #gallifreyone, but most of the attendees favor #gally)

Forum: Gallifrey Base (the largest, and one of the longest-running, Doctor Who online communities)

Some Reviews:

Emily Kausalik, “Gally Rewind: A Tale of Two Cons” (with an excellent back-and-forth between Emily and Courtney Stoker in the comments)

fangirlknitscarf, “Geek Girl Gushes: Gallifrey One’s Network 23″

Kyle Anderson, “The Wrath of Con,” Nerdist.com

Armillary Observations, “The Maturing of Doctor Who Fandom, or 3 Reasons Gallifrey One is a Must-See for Who Fans”

Crave Online, “Gallifrey One 2012 Video Interviews”

Teresa Jusino, “Gallifrey One 2012: The Who-iest Place on Earth,” Tor.com

Andrew Reynolds, “Gallifrey One Review,” Kasterborous.com

Aca and fan at Comic-Con. That's me on the right.

This weekend I will be in Los Angeles at the 23rd annual Gallifrey One convention. Gallifrey One, or “Gally” as its attendees call it, is the largest, longest-running Doctor Who convention in the world. I’m finally going back after a six-year absence, during which time the revived series (starring Christopher Eccleston, David Tennant, and, currently, Matt Smith in the title role) has achieved massive global and American success. This in turn has fueled attendance at the con: at my last Gally in 2006, attendance was about 750; this weekend, over 2500 people are expected to turn out.

This is my fourth Gally. I attended the very first one way back in 1990, and did not attend for years due mostly to living in Madison as a grad student of limited means for the remainder of the decade (though I did regularly attend the midwestern DW/SF con of that time, Visions, held down the road in Chicago; the original site, last updated in 2000, is still up). I finally went back in 2005 and 2006, but haven’t been able to justify the time or expense since then, until now.

So, why go back? This is complicated, but cuts to the core of my identity.

While I’ve long loved SF and SF media, I’ve always had a mixed relationship with organized fandom. I’ve known and admired many amazing people actively involved with fandom (some of whom for over twenty years), and shared their passions and interests in person at cons, through newsletters and zines, and online. However, at the same time, I’ve also always been unable to “fully commit” to fandom. In large part, this has been a matter of time, particularly during grad school, and when my children were very young. But overall, I’ve realized this reluctance is more a longstanding result of my scholarly orientation, which, while generally supportive of the political idea of fandom, has not been especially welcoming to its affective expression. The party line in cultural studies has generally gone like this: fandom is great if it’s for or against something substantial (and especially subversively); but fandom for fandom’s sake is kinda embarrassing. Cultural studies’ primary theorist Stuart Hall crystallized this sentiment in his 1981 article “Notes on Deconstructing the Popular,” which ended with his dismissal of the idea that popular culture mattered beyond the political.

While this view of popular culture, and fandom specifically, has certainly changed in cultural studies over the past three decades, and “fannish” modes of engagement have become arguably dominant across media culture, there remains a whiff of suspicion in academia about active participation in affective cultural engagement, as if you can’t “cross the streams” between the two worlds. Attempts to bridge these gaps, most notably through the concept of the hybrid “academic fan” or “acafan,” have explored intriguing conceptual territory over this period, yet have remained unsatisfying, as the series of discussions at Henry Jenkins’ blog last summer bore out. (bonus: here’s my colleague Suzanne Scott on her own misgivings about the term and fannish identities) I’m uncomfortable with the term “acafan” primarily because it leaves out many other possible perspectives (producer, consumer, citizen, viewer, owner, etc.), reducing the range of viable encounters with media texts to a narrow band of intellectual and/or affective engagement.

Rather than continuing dodging the issue, however, I’ve come around to embracing the contradictions; it’s either that or continued frustration, after all. I am an academic. And a fan. In that order as well, for what it’s worth. Moreover, I am also a producer of media content and media knowledge, a consumer of media products, a media mentor to my children and students, and a citizen of media-facilitated states. There is no one “hat” I, nor anyone else, can decide on. Accordingly, I’m trying to grasp experiencing the world through these multiple conceptions. My growing appreciation for comics has led me to new courses and research projects, but it has also given me a greater understanding of the variety of cultural production, distribution, and consumption in the digital age; fostered an addiction to Wednesdays at Keith’s Comics in Dallas, and inspired me to attend the San Diego Comic-Con every July, as both a scholar (observing the cultural economies of fandom up close) and a fan (standing in line for hours to see Matt Smith and Karen Gillan). When I talk about my experiences at Comic-Con in class, students always ask if I go to enjoy it or study it. I always say, “Yes!”

My return to Gally this week extends this embrace back to my roots with old friends, and my first fandom, Doctor Who. The scholar in me is looking forward to seeing how the con has grown and attracted a new generation and new modes of fandom; the fan in me just wants to hang out, meet friends, and talk about Doctor Who, SF, and whatever else comes up for three days. I see this as not only reconnecting with this milieu, but forging new models of engagement across these streams. Indeed, with the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who looming in 2013, I’m hoping to make enough connections to spark a new collaborative project (that’s both “aca” and “fan” in the best ways, but also engaged with broader contextual issues), but more on that later…

I’ll report back on Gally. In the meantime, I challenge all of us to think more about how our streams cross (outside of academia, fandom, and every other box we live in), and how to cross them with others.

Again, here’s my ratings scale:

Pull = I’m putting it on my pull list, picking up every issue

Ponder = I’m wobbly with it, and may stick with it for another issue or two, but haven’t yet committed.

Pass = No thanks; not working for me, and there’s too much else out there to give this any more attention.

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All Star Western #1 – Written by Justin Gray and Jimmy Palmiotti, art by Moritat
While crime, fantasy, horror and SF all contend and mix with the dominant superhero flavor, other genres are few and far between. The western, ruler of the roost a half-century ago, is one that keeps flickering along on the margins. Here, DC promises a serialized anthology of their stable of wild western characters, though this first arc is led by their most famous creation, Jonah Hex. And it’s not technically a western, but more of an “Eastern,” with Hex brought in to 1880s Gotham City to deal with some gruesome murders. While this is somewhat standard Sherlock Holmes/League of Extraordinary Gentlemen stuff, its urban American setting is a nice variation. Moreover, this past will connect with the further reaches of the DCU past as well as its present. In addition, Moritat’s direct yet grotesque art, and Gabriel Bautista’s outstanding sepia coloring, keep this stylistically separate from the present. While I hope we do get out west, and see some other characters (e.g., the much-neglected Cinnamon), this is a great start.  Recommendation: Pull.

Aquaman #1 – Written by Geoff Johns, art by Ivan Reis
Poor Aquaman. Always the after-thought of the top level of DC characters, and usually considered a joke (based largely on his exposure in Super Friends in the 1970s and 1980s) as the guy who talks to fish. DC’s continually tried to make him relevant (and frankly, butch him up a bit), going so far in the 1990s as to lop off his hand in favor of a big hook. The reboot gives yet another chance to redo Aquaman, though it’s doubtful that this version will fare any better. Johns acknowledges that most people in the DCU don’t think much of Aquaman, with criminals, cops and civilians shown dismissing and laughing at him. However, he’s still a pretty powerful being, on land or water, much to their surprise. He even eats fish and chips. Noble intentions here, with a creepy new deep-sea menace and the trademark solid work from Ivan Reis (this generation’s Gene Colan). However, the chip-on-his-shoulder-”I-am-too-a-superhero!” tone could get tiresome quickly. Recommendation: Ponder.

Again, here’s my ratings scale:

Pull = I’m putting it on my pull list, picking up every issue

Ponder = I’m wobbly with it, and may stick with it for another issue or two, but haven’t yet committed.

Pass = No thanks; not working for me, and there’s too much else out there to give this any more attention.

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Batman #1 – Written by Scott Snyder, art by Greg Capullo and Jonathan Glapion

This is one of the most assured books in the reboot, smoothly continuing Grant Morrison’s setup, and locating Bruce Wayne at its center. Most importantly, this isn’t a one-note brooding Batman: he’s got a dry wit and a definite soft spot for his three sons (Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne). His detection skills are on full display as well, leading to the shock climax (with repercussions with Nightwing in particular). Capullo is a good match for this style, similar to Cameron Stewart or even Kevin O’Neill, with just enough exaggeration and flourish to keep the tone fantastic rather than grim. One of the definitive cornerstones of the new era. Recommendation: Pull.

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Bonus: Here’s another Laura Hudson piece, with comics creators discussing the representation of women, and what can be done about it.

Again, here’s my ratings scale:

Pull = I’m putting it on my pull list, picking up every issue

Ponder = I’m wobbly with it, and may stick with it for another issue or two, but haven’t yet committed.

Pass = No thanks; not working for me, and there’s too much else out there to give this any more attention.

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In order to make this even clearer, I’ve indicated my thoughts on each title at the end of each review:

Pull = I’m putting it on my pull list, picking up every issue

Ponder = I’m wobbly with it, and may stick with it for another issue or two, but haven’t yet committed.

Pass = No thanks; not working for me, and there’s too much else out there to give this any more attention

Action Comics #1 - written by Grant Morrison, art by Rags Morales

One of the two most controversial relaunches, this takes us right back to the ur-moment of the entire DC Universe: the beginning of Superman. Morrison is the perfect choice for this task, steeped as he is in superhero mythology and lore, but always with a more meta sense of genre and medium. Here, in an arc set roughly six years back in the new continuity, Superman is a freakish mystery figure picking fights with crime lords and protecting the powerless. This is a deliberate revival of the original 1938 Superman,who had an attitude, and a stronger sense of social justice. Given the similar economic and social times, this Superman seems appropriate. However, he’s also clearly just starting out: his “uniform” is a beat-up t-shirt, jeans, work boots, and (nicely incongruous) a short red cape. Clark Kent is a dirt-poor struggling social activist journalist; he hasn’t even met Lois Lane yet. Lots of familiar landmarks, of course, but bracing nonetheless (and all without having to go all the way back to Krypton, Smallville and the Kents, which we’ve seen umpteen times in recent years). Rags Morales’ art is a great compliment to this style, being classic (in a Neal Adams or George Perez way) without being an overt rehash. Recommendation: Pull

Animal Man #1 - written by Jeff Lemire, art by Travel Foreman and Dan Green

A-Man’s Vertigo run was legendary, though he’s not been much in the mainline DCU for a while (a great run in 52 nothwithstanding). As many of the Vertigo and Wildstorm characters are now fully part of the DCU, the trick is to maintain that slight edginess while keeping it stylistically consistent. Lemire (currently writing the acclaimed Vertigo post-apocalyptic oddity Sweet Tooth) has a great grasp on this challenge, balancing conventional superheroics and Vertigo weirdness. There’s a deliberate resonance with Alan Moore’s Watchmen (the first page, a mock magazine interview, in particular), and some nice, vaguely David Lynchian moments as well (the last page, which pegs high on the weirdometer). Moreover, there’s an intriguing cast of characters (Buddy Baker’s family), and a compelling serial pull already. Really looking forward to seeing where this is going. Recommendation: Pull

Batgirl #1 - written by Gail Simone, art by Adrian Syaf and Vicente Cifuentes

This is arguably the toughest relaunch of the entire line. While the wider public might remember Barbara Gordon as the original Batgirl, in the DCU for the last 20 years she’s instead been Oracle: paralyzed after the Joker’s assault (in Alan Moore’s classic The Killing Joke) and limited to a wheelchair, but functioning as the strategic and technological leader of the Birds of Prey (alongside her “soldiers” Black Canary, Huntress, Zinda Blake and others). She was the smartest, most powerful woman in the DCU, and didn’t need a spandex costume to prove it. In addition, her successors as Batgirl, Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown, had become compelling, popular characters in their own right. In a case of well-intentioned misfiring, DC has opted to bring Barbara Gordon back to Batgirl (the other two characters are rumored to be “out there” in the DCU ready to be reintroduced, however). Awkwardly, the events of The Killing Joke happened in this relaunch: Barbara was paralyzed for three years, but “miraculously” recovered (i.e., probably as one of the many side effects of the Flash’s universe-reconfiguring run in Flashpoint #5). So, we’ve got a powerful differently abled character “saved” from the wheelchair and reintroduced as a smart young hottie in spandex. Oof. That said, Gail Simone is hands-down the best writer to take on this task, having written Oracle for many years in BoP. While the narrative box will unfortunately be tighter than what she was able to do on BoP (and the deliciously twisted and criminally underrated Secret Six), I’ve no doubt she’ll invest the character and title with as much as she can under the circumstances. As a clean start, it’s not bad, with Babs as a kind of Veronica Mars with a cape. It’ll ultimately succeed on how much it can escape the shadow of this mourned past. Recommendation: Ponder

Batwing #1 - written by Judd Winick, art by Ben Oliver

One of the most intriguing characters to emerge from the past year’s Batman Inc. storyline (as Bruce Wayne/Batman mentored and bankrolled similar heroes across the planet), Batwing takes the idea of Batman to central Africa. The main character’s (David Zamvimbi) alter ego is a police detective, and this provides a great narrative perspective. This is also an Africa that’s based on real situations (e.g., child soldiers, warlords, stressed states), but also firmly in the DCU (with superheroes and villains). This setting alone is intriguing, and a great change from the usual Gotham City/Metropolis/outer space DC locales, although it does share Gotham’s penchant for gruesome, bloody villains, apparently.  Judd Winick’s always had a great ear for crunchier dialogue and intrigue, and is well-suited for this title. That said, Ben Oliver’s gorgeous and terrifying art is the star attraction; this is one of the best-looking and compelling of the new books. That said, occasional incoherence (the uncanny valley of photorealistic, Alex Ross-ish comic art) crops up in places, but I’d expect that to subside down the line. Recommendation: Pull

Detective Comics #1 - written by Tony Daniel, art by Tony Daniel

This is the Coke Classic of the reboot, with a violent, down and dirty Batman vs. Joker first course to set the tone, but leading to a larger menace (as the jaw-dropping last two pages indicate). We’ve certainly been here before, but if there’s one thing the last few decades of DC has shown, it’s really hard to go wrong with Batman snooping around at night and busting the bad guys. No revamp necessary; everybody gets Batman by now. If you’ve read just about any post-Dark Knight Returns Batman story, this is tasty comfort food. Fantastic Tony Daniel art as well (love the early two-page spread of the Gotham skyline in particular), but I’m guessing he won’t be able to keep up with both writing and pencilling the title for long. Recommendation: Pull

Green Arrow #1 - written by J.T. Krul, art by Dan Jurgens and George Perez

Green Arrow (aka Oliver Queen) has long been a cult favorite of DC fans, the snarky wiseass with a proudly bleeding heart, a taste for a fight, and a stormy relationship with Dinah Lance (Black Canary). He was still a fun character in Judd Winick’s mid-00s run, but has gotten less interesting with each readjustment. They went with a full-on reboot, the most jarring of any of DC’s front line (then again, we haven’t gotten to Wonder Woman yet…). After being a 40something cranky liberal playboy for decades, Ollie’s now a 25 year-old cocky idealist tech wunderkind, with a small support team and HQ. The overall tone is reminiscent of a 1990s syndicated action series, full of action poses, flashing computers, and pious moralizing. On top of that, Jurgens and Perez’ art, while certainly up to their usual high standards, is sadly unadventurous, standard superhero style. Nothing wrong with the book, but nothing all that interesting either. Recommendation: Pass

Hawk and Dove #1 - written by Sterling Gates, art by Rob Liefeld

I’ve never understood the appeal of these gimmicky one-dimensional 1970s characters, but some fans love ‘em. Hawk is all anger and aggression, while Dove just wants to solve problems and keep the peace. Get it?  This reboot delivers standard action set pieces and typical first-issue exposition. As with Green Arrow, the story isn’t taking any apparent chances, or detours from usual superhero drama and shenanigans. The two diversions it does make (both concerning Dove) actually require some knowledge of previous continuity to register in any significant way. Rob Liefeld’s art is notoriously polarizing: while some hailed him as a maverick and genius in the 1980s and 1990s, others despised his spiky, overbearing style. I’m in the latter camp, and this issue did nothing to sway me: everyone’s jagged and grimacing, as if constantly constipated. You really don’t want to see that in comics, or anywhere. Recommendation: Pass

Justice League International #1 - written by Dan Jurgens, art by Aaron Lopresti and Matt Ryan

This is one DC’s greatest concepts of the past 25 years, and was ripe to revive. This has a great pedigree, as Jurgens has been writing and drawing many of these characters off and on for years. There’s lots of potential for ensemble drama and comedy, as it was in its “bwah-ha-ha” heyday under J.M. DeMatteis and Keith Giffen in the 1980s and 1990s. That said, this version is relatively straight-up so far, with a more serious Booster Gold and Guy Gardner facing off. The story and style aren’t pushing any envelopes, but at least they’re going more interesting places than either Green Arrow or Hawk & Dove. That said, new character Godiva adds some spicy wisecracking, as does Rocket Red (though they need to keep a leash on his Yakov Smirnoff dialogue). As a team book that’s not exactly Justice League, this might fit the bill. Recommendation: Ponder

Men of War #1 - written by Ivan Brandon, art by Tom Derenick; backup feature written by Jonathan Vankin, art by Phil Winslade

This was certainly an intriguing concept, updating the classic WWII-era Sgt. Rock war comic to a contemporary, DCU setting. However, it feels surprisingly satisfied with knocking off Call Of Duty videogame cliches (e.g., lots of callout boxes explaining acronyms, as if the reader just pushed the “menu” button on their controller), instead of engaging more with possibilities at a narrative and meta level. After the compelling accounts of war in Vertigo’s DMZ and the Unknown Soldier, as well as many indie works of the past decade, and some revealing graphic journalism, this feels like a retrograde step that avoids controversy in favor of mundane soldier stuff. The title should have been a dead giveaway in this regard, I suppose. On top of that, the art is even fairly pedestrian as well, aiming for Joe Kubert-level pathos, but not getting there. Recommendation: Pass

OMAC #1 – story and art by Dan DiDio and Keith Giffen

Speaking of emulating the masters, here’s some rehashed Jack Kirby. This is the weakest of the books so far, attempting to revive this Kirby character and milieu in a full-on replication of Kirby’s art and sensibility. In the wake of the Kirby estate’s ongoing lawsuit against Marvel, it’s probably not the best idea they could’ve gone with. Longtime DC writers and editors DiDio and Giffen loves them some Kirby, and they’re clearly having fun with running with this concept. However, it feels a bit much like this was funnier and more exciting for them than for us. If we want Kirby-esque action, we can go back and read some actual Kirby, rather than an odd homage (or even the brilliantly nuts Gødland). Recommendation: Pass

Static Shock #1 - written by Scott McDaniel and John Rozum, art by Scott McDaniel, Jonathan Glapion and LeBeau Underwood

This is more what this reboot should have been doing: focusing on interesting, underutilized (and unburdened by too much continuity) characters. In this case, Static is one of the handful of great and much-missed African-American Milestone characters introduced in the mid 1990s and then sadly ignored for many years. Unlike the rest of those characters, Static’s had a somewhat wider media life, including a DC Animated series, and has been popular enough to surface every now and then. Hopefully this title can be a launchpad for other Milestone characters (Hardware looks to be a regular, for one), because it does exactly what it should do: lots of action (propelled by McDaniel’s dynamic layouts and expressive pencils), and just enough serial intrigue to hook new readers. Nothing paradigm-shattering, but certainly satisfying superhero drama and action. If anything, it feels a bit like DC’s answer to Bendis and Bagley’s Ultimate Spider-Man, which is not a bad place to start. Recommendation: Pull

Stormwatch #1 - written by Paul Cornell, art by Miguel Sepulveda

One of the boldest of the new titles, by one of the boldest comics writers today, Stormwatch folds the cult Wildstorm team into the DCU, and it’s a perfect fit. While the team was essentially the Wildstorm universe’s Justice League, here they’re more like the Torchwood of superhero teams: secretly protecting humanity from all sorts of magical and extra-terrestrial threats for centuries. Cornell elegantly introduces the team and starts unfolding the story in witty and intriguing scenes as some of them track down and recruit a new member (with a nice shout-out to real people slash fiction), and others investigate mysteries in the Himalayas and on the moon that look to be setting something big indeed for the whole DCU. Martian Manhunter, always one of the oddest ducks of the JLA, is a perfect addition to this motley crew. And Apollo and Midnighter? Still comics’ top gay superhero couple, and here we see them meet for the first time. My favorite new book thus far. Recommendation: Pull

Swamp Thing #1  - written by Scott Snyder, art by Yanick Paquette

This reboot was planned to come out of Brightest Day, but was pushed back to be part of the new 52 relaunch. While those initial scars are still there (including probably a bit too much continuity and fanwank for a first issue), this looks to be one of the more thought-provoking and challenging of the new books, as befits the character’s legacy. Alec Holland’s not quite sure about this “swamp thing” figure in this first issue, but is haunted by foreboding nightmares about plants. This is as good a place as any to set this series in motion again, though dragging in Batman, Superman and Aquaman from the get-go is a bit much. Still, Snyder’s given Holland an interesting voice, and Paquette’s meticulous artwork is gaudy and gorgeous; the layout alone in the last several pages is reason enough to give this a shot. Not a knockout debut, but certainly compelling enough to continue. Recommendation: Pull

Each piece situates particular questions about comics at these practical and formal junctures, and they’re all well worth a read. Greg Smith’s search for pragmatic comics pedagogy and scholarship is especially resonant for any television scholar, where similar issues of the parameters of the text have long been debated. The most important thing is that we keep doing”comics studies,” regardless of field or approach. Comics have always been a poorly understood and relatively fragile medium (particularly and somewhat peculiarly in the Anglophone world), and the least we could do is expand the former so that we bolster the latter. While I agree with Bart Beaty, that it may be too tempting to make a direct analogy between comics studies now and film studies in the 1960s, at least film, and other media, offer models of not only scholarship but discipline-building that comics scholars can and should examine (while certainly not expecting to copy).

There’s never a bad time to start reading and studying comics. UK comedian/TV host/writer/comics superfan Jonathan Ross has a particularly nice justification along these very lines. That said, right now is particularly great moment to start. Finding a “jumping-on” point has never been easier, with decades of work from dozens of publishers in print and increasingly available on digital platforms. As DVD distribution has opened up exposure to decades of film and television, the last decade has seen a similar explosion of older works (especially newspaper strips) being restored and reprinted. Moreover, comics criticism is plentiful as well these days. Aside from the copious news from The Beat, Bleeding Cool, CBR and Newsarama, great commentary and reviews can be found at CBR (here and here), The AV Club, and at Douglas Wolk’s weekly round-up. If you like your comics criticism a bit tweedier and crunchier (leaning more R. Crumb than J. Kirby), try the Comics Journal.

In addition, at least one publisher has boldly proclaimed “START HERE” with its entire line-up, as DC Comics “new 52″ reboot kicks into gear this week. Last week saw the pivot point between the old and new continuities (in one two-page splash panel in Flashpoint 5, below), and the launch of the new Justice League. I’m going all in on all 52 titles for at least their debuts, and I’ll report back here each week with some thoughts about them, and what the whole endeavor augurs for comics, and for its place in media studies.

As you can see from the lack of new CSI reviews, my interest in writing granular single-episode criticism more or less vanished. While I certainly respect the diligence of the many critics currently writing in this form, and enjoy reading their work, I’ve found it difficult to maintain engagement at that level. I’m admittedly even finding it difficult to maintain engagement in even watching television (not just CSI) at that pace anymore, let alone writing about it. So what you’l mostly find here instead this year, in the interest of more consistent output, is a wider, big-picture scope.

One of the areas I’m going to address more directly this year is comics. While my film and TV viewing is still in flux, I’ve returned this year to the relative pleasures of “juxtaposed pictorial and other images in deliberate sequence, intended to convey information and/or produce an aesthetic response in the viewer,” as Scott McCloud put it in his famous definition in Understanding Comics. More specifically, I’ve returned to the medium’s traditional place on paper. While I’m certainly intrigued by the aesthetic, cultural and industrial possibilities of digital comics, I appreciate the particular, irreplaceable qualities of ink on paper. Just as some insist on the primacy of film as a “big screen” event, I’m still quite attached to actually holding comics in my hands. That said, I’m much less medium-phobic about the written word, which might as well be digital.

My renewed interest in comics is broad, taking in the form in its many iterations. While I considered abandoning superheroes entirely after years of disappointing and redundant mega-events, I’ve decided they’re still a fascinating component of the medium, and popular culture more broadly. Still, “capes” are only a sliver of all that’s out there in comics; imagine if the full extent of television studies was the traditional multi-camera sitcom. We–and I include myself in this admonition–have neglected the range of comics for much too long. The recent Cinema Journal In-Focus essays on comics’ place in media studies reiterated the importance of both broadening and deepening our understanding of the medium. So there will be a major emphasis on comics this year, beginning with some thoughts on the issues brought up in CJ, followed by an examination of DC’s controversial “new 52″ reboot of its entire universe.

Beyond comics, I’m continually interested in what I like to call Things We Used to Take For Granted, like cable TV subscriptions, blockbuster movies and pop stars. These and similar practices and concepts have been shifting for quite a while, but I suspect the next 5-10 years will see some significant changes as creators, consumers and industries adapt to new circumstances. To take one example, we cancelled our cable subscription in April, so these four months have been a relative terra incognita for this TV scholar, who’s frankly never gone without it. It’s compelled us to explore alternatives to the expectations that “cable TV” has long promised, a journey I highly recommend (not least of which because it will save you $50-100 a month).

Additionally, lest you think everything’s all new and shiny here, you’ll see a renewed commitment to history. At the risk of sounding too much like those stodgy commenters in articles on digital humanities in the Chronicle of Higher Education, in our rush to do more, faster, and probably with fewer resources, we run the increasing risk of neglecting our histories. In this new era of the thoroughly “digital generation” (born since 1993), my primary concern in this regard is for my students, and particularly the coming generation of media scholars. As I stated in my reflections on the field of media studies at last spring’s SCMS conference, all of us are stewards of scholarship, and of the very idea of higher education. While we should of course continue to explore the ramifications and qualities of “the digital” and new technologies in media and in our lives, we shouldn’t sacrifice our understanding of the past. Sometimes I fear that access to the past will become another one of those Things We Used to Take For Granted, and that we’ll lose it entirely if we’re not careful.

Finally, a word about politics. In case you haven’t noticed yet, these are trying times. They’re certainly the most trying times in my forty-odd years of existence. Moreover, the scope and depth of the issues we face are catastrophically ill-served by what passes for context and understanding in what’s left of the news business (that Thing We Used to Take for Granted as “journalism”). The only thing more disappointing? The deepening inefficacy of the political class, which in this country at least, now runs the gamut from timid corporate apologist on the “left” to bellowing apocalyptic fascist on the “right,” with a grotesque array of slick operators and tea-stained brownshirts in between. The events of the last decade (and particularly of the last three years) have convinced me the problems we face are far, far beyond any party affiliation, nationality, religion, gender, or category of identity. The good news is that the tools to deal with them are right in front of us. So, while you might not expect such commentary from a media scholar’s blog, it’s all connected; indulge me.

So: welcome to 2011-12! I’ll be right back. In the meantime, check out the discussion I had with Alex Juhasz and Jay Bushman about the contentious concept of the “acafan” (i.e., the academic who also self-identifies as a fan…and/or vice versa) over on Henry Jenkins’ blog. I haven’t yet caught up with the other discussions in this ambitious summer series, but I’ll offer some extended thoughts on them here as soon as I do.

"I wear a lanyard now. Lanyards are cool."