Anugyan discusses the television shows Doom Patrol, Legion, Hawkeye and Swamp Thing, and their origins as comic books
In the mid-1980s, I was convinced that there was a lot of artistic talent involved in comic books, known officially as the ninth art. I just couldn’t find it. It mostly seemed puerile and shallow, something I’d loved as a kid but no more. Then one day I happened to open a comic called Swamp Thing. The opening page showed a bedraggled man in a trenchcoat, struggling out of a mudslide somewhere in the Amazon rainforest. He had an English accent in the way he was thinking to himself, wondering why, if it were now the end of the world, was he more bothered with the fact his last packet of cigarettes had been ruined? I’d had a few days like that myself.
This was stunning writing and art, capturing so much in a single panel. And I was hooked. Swamp Thing, written by Alan Moore, was at the vanguard of what is known as the British Invasion (after the previous, more famous one in the 1960s spearheaded by The Beatles). Basically, at that time DC were losing the ratings war against Marvel. An enterprising editor called Karen Berger hit on the idea of going for an adult market, and she knew where to find the talent: the UK, where it spoke the same language and had a small but highly creative comic industry of its own. This ushered in an exciting era for American comics, with creators who could quote great literature in their sleep, be forthright about sex, tackle major political issues head on (demon yuppie joggers, anyone?), and be extremely adventurous in their storytelling – as well as dangerous. So dangerous even meditation was a recurring concept in many of the stories, astral travel just par for the course.
Swamp Thing was joined by titles such as Animal Man, Doom Patrol, The Sandman, Shade, Hellblazer and others. Berger very quickly established a new subdivision of DC, Vertigo, aimed primarily at a mature audience. Not only that, but Marvel upped its game and started delivering more complex and even beautiful narratives. Gradually, American comics expanded to include talent from all around the world and are no longer so Anglocentric, having become more globally representative.
Fast forward to today when superheroes have taken over both big and small screens. The trouble is, much as it was all those years back when I was confronted by zillions of comics, how does one know what is good and what is bad? Of course, you don’t need me to tell you what you find entertaining. You also have access to any number of reviews online if you want to check if something might be worth seeing. But what I’m really interested in here, is a sense of something going beyond mere entertainment, further than what’s cool, or sexy, or just exciting. In other words, what here might be comparable to great literature and art? Of course, it is hard to tell at the moment what is great and what is simply fashionable. A professor at the Bodleian Library in Oxford told me that when they received the first Jane Austen novel there (long before his time!), they immediately dismissed it as ‘superficial trash’ – or whatever words they used then – and threw it away, not even bothering to file a copy.
It is difficult to tell what is great art at the time it is being produced, but it can be fun to try; and I do wish to honour the ninth art by putting forward a few candidates here, as they’ve been reborn as television dramas. I am focusing on television versions in part because I feel that the serial nature of a show works well with the serial nature of a comic book; and because we are, as is generally said, in a Golden Age of Television. That, combined with the best of the ninth art, is a perfect storm.
To that end, I wish to draw attention to four titles which air on various streaming channels.
The first you will recognise from the aforementioned British invasion: Doom Patrol, which still breaks many of the rules. First of all, it ignores conventions of story telling. A lot of the time it even seems to forget it’s meant to be telling a story, ignores the proper pacing of such, and the characters wander off in strange directions, or suddenly decide for spontaneous and unsupervised group therapy sessions. It also ignores the conventions of superheroics. One character tries, fruitlessly, pointing out throughout that although they keep saving the world, it’s only from problems they caused in the first place.
The group is composed of deeply damaged psyches who are forced to be together. I see the overall story as being about the lies we tell ourselves, and the sort of world that creates around and within us. (Smallville, about the teenage Superman, explores a similar theme successfully but in a rather more subtle, and much less funny, way.) The anarchic, wild quality of Doom Patrol makes it a treat, especially if you’ve been forced to work in a team with people you don’t get along with (and who hasn’t?). So if you can handle town-swallowing flatulent donkeys, a villain who isn’t really there, a cockroach with a god complex, an LGBTQ teleporting street, a time-traveller who can never remember why she travelled in time, sex ghosts, zombie were-butts (you read that right), the Sisterhood of Dada… I could go on, it’s a long list, but I’ll leave you to decide if it’s up your (LGBTQ?) street!
Next up is Legion, from Noah Hawley who also created the popular Fargo series. Legion is a character from Marvel’s X-Men stories who is capable of reading minds and changing reality. The series won praise for its exploration of mental illness, and the challenges of healing. It is not for the faint-hearted. Fargo throughout its different series very much championed the little man, ordinary people having to face forces much greater seemingly than they. (Aaron Copland’s music ‘Fanfare for the Common Man’ is always at the back of my mind when I think of Fargo.) Legion explores a similar dynamic, but from a different perspective in a world where giants battle and ordinary people don’t have much of a chance. The lead character’s sister is the Everywoman in the tale, and it is like she is doomed from the start amidst terrifying powers. One thing that makes all this manageable despite its intensity and darkness is the sheer creative force on offer: it is as if the creators discussed amongst themselves, what is television capable of, what are its boundaries, and how can we go beyond those boundaries? The show incorporates dance-offs, theatre, puppet shows and spy thrillers, to name a few. Never have madness and genius been so wonderfully entwined. If you can handle the intensity, it is worth it, I assure you. Yes, it goes into some dark places, but there is balance, plus the joy of seeing a large team of creatives at the top of their game.
It may surprise people that I include Hawkeye in this list, for unlike the others here it is intended for family viewing rather than focused on a mature audience. It is also very much a Christmas tale. Certainly on the face of it, it is simply a fun romp, in part about a man who wants to get home to be with his family but has an awful lot of bad guys to wade through in order to do so. Yet the show uses a classic magician’s trick of distraction, used by previous shows such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, appearing silly even by name in order to entertain, whilst quietly having so many more layers than are immediately apparent.
It establishes these depths right at the start as it opens with an alien invasion from another film, through the eyes of a child, Kate Bishop – a child who is about to lose her house and her father. This perspective is terrifying, grounding the narrative and giving weight to a grief that is at its core. Yet amidst the mayhem, Kate sees through the window a man fighting the invaders and leaping off the top of a building, even though he cannot fly, carrying only a bow and arrow. That sight gives her hope and a single-pointed desire that stays with her for life: to become an archer, symbolic of so many things.
That it was an ordinary human being which changed her life in a world full of superpowers and wonders, is again reminiscent of ‘Fanfare for the Common Man’. This theme is reinforced with the importance of the geeky LARPers in the plot, people who enjoy Live Action Role Play. Here they are mostly emergency responders such as fire fighters and police officers, again emphasising the importance of ordinariness.
The LARPers serve an additional function, that of the found family – a common theme in American TV dramas. If Hawkeye has one predominant area to explore, it is that of family. The titular character may be wishing to get to spend Christmas with his, but the turmoil around him reflects the greater questions being asked: What is family exactly? What are the strengths and weaknesses of being related by blood to someone? What other options are out there? How do you know whom to trust amongst those close to you? The show weaves in and out – excitingly, chaotically and often humorously – of these various themes, as the characters explore this for us.
One of the greatest delights for those who read the comics when she was introduced – presumably few reading this – was to see the Native American character Echo brought so vividly to life. She also reflects the deeper questions of family, with misguided loyalties trapping her in a criminal world that is not her true destiny, not who she is. Likewise, Kate’s mother, driven to make impossible choices. Whether entirely through love of her daughter, or for other reasons, is up for the viewer to decide.
I did surprise myself by discovering how seriously I ended up taking Hawkeye. It was only by returning to it many times, as I do with great literature, and finding nuances and depths hidden away each time, did I realise it was definitely much more than its colourful packaging. In fact, the spin-off series Echo suffered from taking itself much too seriously. It could have learnt from that which had spawned it. It didn’t have to be a comedy, it could just have been life-affirmative.
Swamp Thing is definitely not a comedy. Despite being horror it is, though, life-affirming. In part this is because none of the horror is gratuitous, it always serves a larger purpose within the tale. There is also the fact that the ‘monster’ is actually the good guy, acting as an environmental guardian. More than any of this, I would say, is how beautiful the cinematography is. I understand the series was cancelled after one season because it went way over budget, particularly with the studio water tank it built to create an artificial swamp. It was worth it. The set blends seamlessly with the real swamp footage. The camera is very much in love with the environment, which is fitting, as ecological health is shown as synonymous with psychological health. When doing my MSc, I used to argue that very point to no avail, that the world’s woes would not be solved by new types of solar panel, wind turbines etc. unless the deeper malaises were addressed. In Swamp Thing, horrors inflicted upon nature are due almost entirely to those who are sick at heart.
Elemental balance was always a key mythos in the Swamp Thing stories, with the creature itself born from fire and water. In the TV version I am aware how much – entirely intuitively, I assume – the Chinese system of elements comes into play. Water, symbolising the need for insecurity, fear and mystery is very much present obviously. One character, the Blue Devil, has his need for adventure and excitement curtailed through a blessing/curse that prevents him leaving the town, much as he would like to roar away to new horizons in his sports car. The Water element needs to be channelled and he has a role to play in coming events. Meanwhile, adrenalin is rife in the town as terror and the unknown take their hold.
It is the Metal element preceding Water however which may be at the root of the imbalance. For a start, Metal relates to our sense of values, and those ‘sick at heart’ in this story are largely materialistic and greed-driven. Those wishing to address the imbalance and bring some healing to the area are driven by an entirely different set of values. It is, in effect, a spiritual war. Metal, when healthy, allows us to experience loss and move on, to grieve. The supernatural quality of the swamp permits the opposite where nothing really dies or is forgotten. So, tied in with materialistic egos is a distortion of the natural order of things, where the past returns in such a terrifying manner as to make ghosts appear blasé.
It is fitting that I begin and end with Swamp Thing. The show may have ended too soon with just one series, but all those involved achieved something remarkable in those few episodes. As with the other shows featured here, they honoured the source material whilst taking it to new heights. And I feel I must reiterate how beautifully it is filmed. Even title credits, which I tend to skip through in shows, I watch beginning to end every time in this case. They are mesmerising, particularly when projected onto a screen like in a cinema. It is really like being taken into another world, seeing things differently, which is precisely what television does when at its best. It is all in the name: ‘Tele’ from Ancient Greek meaning ‘far away, at a distance, far from’ and ‘vision’. Another reason why I believe television excels when pushing boundaries of imagination, such as in science fiction, fantasy – or comic books. It takes us to other worlds so that we can understand ours better.
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