Achille Talon / Walter Melon in English

In my Mathematical Equivalence of Comics, I introduced a a two-page example for the typical European page, using Achille Talon as a base. I've now updated the previously untouched pages with a rough translation so we can see what he and the brush salesman were talking about.


































































For the uninitiated, Achille Talon is a fat man in a buttoncoat who's a pretentious blowhard who thinks he's more sophisticated than he really is. There's no subject too outrageous or mundane that he won't hesitate to ramble on at length at, regardless of whoever is unfortunate enough to listen. Usually, his dastardly neighbor Lefuneste (Bitterbug in English) is often the intended victim of his rants, of which he delights paying back whenever he gets the chance, which is often. He also has a tendency to spout nonsensical words, such as his trademark "Hop" and "Bof", which I've taken the liberty of converting to "Yup" and "Bah". These kind of sounds are prevalent in multiple BDs, and usually require some imaginative writing to find an English equivalent. They're similar to Anime characters using "no da" from Fushigi Yuugi, and "nyo" from the Digi Charat mascots.

The TVtropes page has the following description of the character from the author which goes as follows: "he knows everything and improvises the rest of it. Apart of this, he's generous, petty, pacifist, aggressive, progressist, bourgeois, selfless, jealous, intrepid and a bit of a coward. In sum, honest and brave just like you and me..." His style of speech was a big influence on my way of talking, even though I couldn't understand a word he was saying. I could get the underlying tones of what he was talking about and implement my own interpretations of what he might've been saying.


































However, despite its cartoonyness, it's held back by the multiple wordplay and French puns that litter throughout a typical work. The names themselves are more complicated than a typical Asterix comic, where the main character's name mostly remains the same. Achille Talon is a pun on Achille's heel. Hilarion Lefuneste is hilariously fatal/disastrous, and also describes his glasses as well. Virgule de Guillemets (Magnesia) translates to Virgule of the commas. It suffers a bit from being too French, and while its strongest point are the one-two page gags, there are also album-length stories that are weaker in execution. It requires complete mastery of French to properly give an accurate version, and can't simply be done with a simple google-translate check. In fact, there was a comic where an accountant complained to Achille Talon that the translation fees for his comics were twice compared to the usual rate. (Thanks goes to LeChatVert to helping out with the translation.)


































Commercial distribution of this comic has been less than stellar, given its uphill struggle to present an unknown property to the wider world. Only one book, Magnesia's Treasure was released in English. This sample from the anniversary shows a rare example of the typical wordplay that's so prevalent in the comic. Can you spot the differences?










There was an animated adaption of the character, but he bore so little resemblance to the actual comic that they might as well have been two totally different properties. It had as much in common as the movie Constantine did with the comic Hellblazer. If their likeness hadn't been used without permission, it could've been sued for copyright infringement. If I'm going to do any future English versions of this comic, they're likelier to be the shorter, more slapstick ones than the overly verbose ones that Achille is best known for.















You're on your own here. I'm not helping you with this one, save that the last word is "ME!"

Mathematical Equivalence of Comics

With the recent analysis of the musical outline of a Tintin page, I thought it was long overdue that I reproduce a topic I chose for a powerpoint presentation a year ago. The people I showed it to weren’t quite as versed in comics as I was, so my observations went a little over their head. Hopefully, I’ll have more success here.

The basic purpose of comics is to show an idea / story in an easy-to digest manner. The difference lies in how that information is processed. Using an example, here’s the basic concept of 99 Ways to Tell a Story by Matt Madden; where a man goes to a fridge and forgets what he opened it for.


































This simplistic formula is expanded to include other examples in other mediums, genres and parodies. It can be condensed into one panel...


































Or expanded into 30 panels. Either way, the same information is evident, but the outcome is completely different.


































Scott McCloud noted that there wasn’t a dependable model for how time is perceived in comics since depending on the story told in between panels, any amount of time could happen in the space of a gutter.























However, I’ve noticed that depending on the format they’re told in, a certain amount of information is revealed depending on the comic. I’ll start from a base that general audiences are likely to be most familiar with - the newspaper comic strip.

Newspaper Comics

With slight variation, most comic strips have this basic outline:









Setup / Recap - Framing the current dilemma or refreshing the reader’s memory of what happened yesterday or a week ago.
Interlude - A leading stage into where the characters go next.
Beat - The pause that usually leads to the...
Finale / Joke - No explaination needed here.

This isn’t strictly adhered to, since sometimes you’ll have the interlude and beat panels switched around. If a cartoonist is particularly prolific, they’ll have a recap combined with a later panel. In recent years, the number of panels of newspaper comics have reduced to the point where just the interlude or beat is used instead, usually resulting in a silent penultimate panel.

The second-most common feature of the comics page is the single-panel comic. Scott McCloud may feel that these don’t quite count as comics, but I’ll include this for another reason that’ll be explored later. Jim Unger of Herman said “Cartooning is basically an art of reductionism.” That’s reducing things down to their most basic elements. Its condensing the entirety of the Pacific Ocean into a teaspoon. Granted, that’s one big teaspoon.

Here, we can see from this single-panel comic the distillation of business people’s tin ear for their own products.






















After a week of these daily comics, we come to the big finale at the end, the Sunday comic.

Sunday Comics

Despite having more panels than a daily, the layout of a Sunday comics page is ironically enough, just as restrictive. As Bill Watterson pointed out in his 10th anniversary book, the layout of a Sunday page is dependant on where those panels fit. If they don’t match the specifications that newspapers require them to fit, then they can’t be used, since they can’t put & paste comic panels wherever necessary.


































In most cases, the panels that’re most likely to be discarded are the first two “throwaway” panels, usually consisting of the title page and a mini-joke that could count as half of a daily comic. They might not be deemed necessary, but I always enjoyed them. When they weren’t available, I would be wracking my brain over what could possibly prelude or describe the main comic. When I actually got a chance to see them, they were always the last thing I could've thought of, since I wasn't in the cartoonist's mindset. Here’s an example - what single panel could explicitly summarize this Broom Hilda comic?























Take some time to think over it...





The answer of course is this:





















These throwaway panels and single-panel comics are also a close cousin to a similar feature found elsewhere in the newspaper - political comics.

Political Comics

In this, the job is even more difficult, since not only do cartoonists have to quickly summarize recent events, but they also have to do so in a timely manner and produce something that’ll resonate with the public.



















Sometimes these cartoons might be able to stand the test of time, and sometimes they'll be a spur-of-the-moment thing that'll only make sense to people aware of current events. Not everybody can be a Bill Mauldin, and caricaturists can be some of the most reviled people on the planet for "telling it as it is". If you're going to branch out into this field, you better be prepared to take your lumps whenever you're going to get them.

BD (European Comics)

Here’s half of a typical Asterix page. As you can see, BDs are arranged similarly to a Sunday comic page without the throwaway panels. If you look closely in the lower right hand corner, you'll notice that there’s a numbered letter.





Every page has a designation of 1a, 1b, 2a, 2b, etc. The average French page is actually made up of two "plates" that’re combined together. This is how they’re able to cram in more detail by paying more attention to a specific row of panels rather than the page as a whole.














The only difference is that unlike Sunday comics, BDs don't always have to worry about ending on a joke. However, despite the apparent freedom, there's still limits. The average European album only contains 48-62 pages of material, which can make the pricy hardcovers a hard sell.


































Nowadays, this isn’t a tried-and-true rigid formula, but for a long time, it was the considered accepted model. The restrictions of BDs is very similar to the rigid 3-row, 6-panel layout of American comics.

American Comics

When American comics were first printed, they were collected versions of early newspaper Comic Strips. Later, when experimenting with other genres, the most popular stories were crime, horror, war and even romance comics. Many of these were written by pulp writers who were paid by the word. As a result, these comics had more text than usual, often repeating what the images were already showing.


































That's the opening page for Watchmen. It's a classic image - a zoom out shot that's imposed with the narrative of Rorschach's journal. When viewed from a distance, it's easy to make out even without the captions. But every other page in the book looks like this:


































Here, each panel is vying for competition, wanting to be important in some way. Of the relevant frames, only the lower tier could be considered a continuous flow, and even then, it's hard to make out upon first sight. As a result, no specific image stands out, and the result is a jumbled mess. And this is considered one of the classics of the medium.

This is why even the most faithful film adaptions of American comics take a lot of liberties in removing entire chunks of exposition between characters. There’s a scene in Brian Michael Bendis’ Fortune & Glory where he’s talking to a friend in the Hollywood biz about adapting one of his noir comics into a movie. Upon transcribing his first draft, his friend tells him that his script’s a little long.


































Later when trying to cheer up Bendis' apparent lack of natural film instinct, he tells Bendis to relax and watch a typical movie - any movie - and pay attention to how little actual dialogue happens on the screen. Narrative prose can be astounding if done well, but not everybody has a lyrical formula that can be easily duplicated on a consistent basis. An alternative storytelling style wouldn't be conceived of until much later. It would take the popularity of another overseas comics market to show the viability of using images that were appealing to the eye.

Manga (Japanese Comics)

A little warning - the following panels are flipped to read from left to right, unless noted otherwise. Here’s some commentary from A Drifting Life:



























Even back in the 50's when Manga was being influenced by movies, Tatsumi realized the importance of keeping the reader’s attention. He also had to learn how not to waste countless panels of suspenseful scenes of nothing happening. No point in introducing a gun in the first scene if you’re not going to use it as a hammer later. If American comics suffer from verbal diarrhea, then Japanese comics suffer from visual diarrhea. The difference is that American comics spend plenty of time on a page, and figure that the best way to make their audience appreciate their attention to detail is to sprinkle it with tons of narrative. But all that does it clutter up the page with needless exposition. By contrast, Japanese comics spend just as much time on an image, but give their panels very little dialogue.



































































































From the example shown, you can see how much faster the action flows with minimal commentary. Also, even at reduced size and scanned quality, you can still tell what’s going on. The whole point of creating multiple images that’ll be glanced at only briefly is to give the reader the sensation of being immersed in the action on the page. It makes them want to know what happens next. This is how in Japan, the average reading speed of Manga is 3.75 seconds per page. Even in a typical 192 page book, that’s still 12 minutes of enjoyment right there.

More has been said by Telophase about the layout of the typical Manga page, so I won’t attempt to repeat what’s already been said. However, her livejournal is currently missing the images she used to illustrate her argument, so for posterity’s sake, I’ll be reproducing them here. (These images have been left unflipped)


















Even if we don't zoom in on the relevant text, we can still gleam the emotional context from the scene alone. Removing the text from the balloons doesn't even slow down the meaningful looks. We're still dealing with a bratty kid causing emotional turmoil on an innocent girl.


















Likewise, the arrow going throughout the blank balloons shows that the thin line between where a panel begins and ends is very sketchy.


















Most serial Mangas usually introduce one concept at a time in a magazine issue. That way they have time to draw inspiration from their ideas or give time to explain them. Otherwise it would take them longer than it usually would take than if it were published elsewhere. This is why it's more satisfactory to read American Shonen Jump chapters when collected in batches of four chapters at once, since they're usually broken down in easy-to-digest collections that demand immediate reading.


So, to summarize, here’s a handy-dandy conversion chart:

Newspaper comic = Basic unit
Sunday comic = Newspaper comic +
Sunday comic Extra = Political comic / 1-2 panel joke
European comic page = 2 Sunday comics
American comic page = 1.5 European comic page
Manga page = 1 American comic panel

This isn’t an exact science, and there’s bound to be exceptions, but I think it’s pretty close.

Bibliography

99 Ways to Tell a Story: Exercises in Style by Matt Madden
Men of Tomorrow: Geeks, Gangsters and the Birth of the Comic Book by Gerard Jones
Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud

Can you hear me now?

A week ago, at a dinner gettogether, we were talking about various subjects around the table, and somehow the conversation drifted to a serious medical condition my mother had when she was younger. She talked about how one day she was so sick that she could barely function. Her throat was so sore, she could barely croak out what she wanted on the phone.














Her condition was so destabilizing that she couldn't even contact her doctor properly. This was back before we had our family doctor, and she was seeing somebody else at the time. Her substitute doctor said she would call the pharmacy to send some medication. However, due to either forgetfulness or a misunderstanding, the meds were never delivered.










Finding his recommended doctor to be unreliable, my father decided to take matters in his own hands and brought her to the ER. It was a good thing he did, because there was a very real risk that she could've died from less attention, since the infection had spread from her throat down to her heart. As somebody who suffered a rare case of late-stage Kawasaki during my high-school years, I could certainly relate.

As par for the course, halfway through her story, rather than contemplate the mortality of never being born, I was already thinking of a similar comic I'd recently read. I wanted to show it to her, since it fit perfectly with what she told me. However, since I'd already returned the comic back to the library and it was closed, I had to make do with the next best choice, that being the For Better or for Worse strips shown here.

When the library opened again, I was able to find the relevant comic in question here:


































Understanding what the long-winded characters are saying isn't important. It's how they say it. You just need to look at the pictures to understand what's going on here.


































This is my talent. No matter what anybody is talking about, I'm somehow always able to dimly recall an obscure long-forgotten comic or funny paragraph I read ages ago. Too bad I can't include it on my resumé without fear of copyright infringement.

Ripping off Her Man

This Wednesday's Blondie seemed very similar to me, and possibly a few other humourists as well:








It's an exact retelling of a classic Herman comic, almost down to the exact wording used. Only substitute "messing around" with "fooling". Who'll tell the difference?






















Well, I did, and sadly, we didn't get to see the visual image of Dagwood with a large button on his shirt. If it makes things easier, just mentally superimpose Bumstead's head where Herman's is. (I won't ask you to transfer Blondie's head, since that would be punishment enough)

This isn't an isolated incident. A Nu-Shoe comic done by Jeff MacNelly's family shoes - I mean shows - (typographic error) this particular strip, shown on the Comics Curmudgeon:








Which was eerily reminiscent of a Sunday Herman that was never reprinted:


















Keep in mind that this isn't the first time someone's plagiarized someone else's work for their own. History is rife with examples of artists drawing someone else's popular art style to attempt their own take so they'll be popular themselves. Comedians have outright stolen other people's schticks without batting an eye. And cartoonists do it to themselves too when they run out of ideas.

There used to be a comic magazine that would find comparisons between old and new comics, and show them side by side. I can't remember the name of that magazine, but I remember an example showing the same joke involving a Mickey Mouse prank, back when the mouse was actually mischievous and not a blank state.

The premise went something like this:

Mickey finds a fancy top hat, and gets the sadistic idea of putting a brick under it. He puts it in the middle of the street where an unsuspecting passerby might feel like kicking it, much like Captain Haddock did near the end of The Seven Crystal Balls. Goofy readies himself to kick the hat, then suddenly has second thoughts.


































He looks at the hat again, then slides the top hat out of the brick and puts it on his head. Then he takes his dumpy hat and puts it on the brick. Then Goofy winds his leg back and gives the hat a good solid kick, and is surprised at how painful it is, much to Mickey's amusement.


































The French comic that stole this (one-page) idea was Achille Talon (a play on the name Achille's Heel), who's also better known as Walter Melon. The Achille Talon comic is much more verbose than shown here, and oftentimes veers off into irrevelant nonsensical tangents. Oftentimes, it seems like he talks more than a Claremont character.















Try saying the above in one breath.

In that panel, he thought he was receiving a mail from a destitute orphan looking to him for inspiration, when in actuality it was a letter from a 53-year old man complaining about the quality of the magazine.

In truth, Achille is more of a pretentious blowhard who thinks he knows more than he actually does.