An Archive Not of Their Own: Fan Fiction & Controversy in China

As my works have been translated into various languages other than English, I find myself pulled into controversies involving participatory culture and fandom in other parts of the world. For many of the foreign language editions of my books, we create new content by having a scholar who is more deeply embedded in that culture interview me, asking the questions that might most interest readers there.

Textual Poachers is one of my books which has been translated for the Chinese market. I recently received an interview request from a reporter for Sanlian Lifeweek, an important politics and culture publication there, to provide some context for a controversy which is brewing there around real person fiction, which resulted in the shutting down of Chinese access to Archive of Our Own, an important fan fiction platform, which I had recently written about for an Australian publication. You can read more about the events in Chinese fan culture here. In a situation like this, I resist the urge to directly comment on what’s happening in China. I am after all not an expert on Chinese fandom, though I know more about developments there than many Americans because I work with so many Chinese students at USC. So, I framed my comments in regard to the American context, though they were meant to speak implicitly to developments there. I was surprised by the scale of interest in these remarks.  The editors shared a snapshot of reader response on social media less than 24 hours after the interview was posted late last week.

Wechat: 80,000 Views, 2291 Shares till now.

Weibo: 2.19 million views, 9442 Shares, 9474 comments, 85,000 likes till now.

All reports are that the article has continued to circulate and gain interest there. The editors asked if I would be willing to share an English language version of the article through my blog and I am happily doing so. This version is expanded slightly from what was circulated in China, containing two questions and responses which were cut there for length.

Controversy & Xiaozhan’s fans

Sanlian Lifeweek

The main controversy surrounding this incident of Xiaozhan’s fans is about RPF (real person fiction) , especially when it involves depictions of restricted category. I noticed that you didn't discuss anything about it in Textual Poachers. Could you please introduce the situation of RPF in the west and your opinion about it?

Henry Jenkins

Real person fiction goes back a long time – much was written by American and British fans about the Beatles in the 1960s. And various forms of grassroots responses to Hollywood stars can be found much earlier. When I wrote Textual Poachers in the early 1990s, Real Person Fiction was relatively rare and still very controversial within fandom. Many of my informants asked me not to write about it and I consented, feeling that it was not my job to expose fandom at a point when it was still working through some of the issues involved.

Over the past few decades, real person fiction has grown as a category of fan fiction and is still more widely accepted by fans and performers, alike. Real person fiction is precisely that – fictions written based on fan fantasies regarding media celebrities (actors, pop stars, sports players, even politicians). Many of these celebrities live in the public eye having little to no private life already in part thanks to the ways they have become drivers of media coverage and their job is in part to stimulate the desires of their audiences. So, we should not hold it against fans that they have erotic fantasies about their favorite performers. When they write this fan fiction, it is a projection of those fantasies into a form which can be shared online with others who share similar desires.

These fantasies are as diverse in their content as the fans who are attracted to a particular performer, and they often involve experimenting with forms of sexuality which may be taboo elsewhere in the culture. American fans often do have some shared norms about what is and is not appropriate to write, mostly having to do with protecting the privacy of other people in the star’s life. Writing about the star is seen as fair game; writing about their family members is not. Some American stars ignore these stories but recognize them as communication amongst fans; a few take great pleasure in them; but fewer and fewer stars are taking offense at the fact people are writing and reading such fictions.

Sanlian Lifeweek

Another contention is that this fan fiction portrays Xiaozhan as a “transgender”. In fact, non-heterosexual content in fanworks is often controversial, How do you understand gender in fandom?

Henry Jenkins

Think of fan fiction as a space free of the commercial constraints that shape the media industry, where people can engage in collective storytelling drawing upon their shared investments in the raw materials popular culture provides them. Much of what gets written deals with romance and erotics because so much of what the culture industry produces also deals with these themes and because such subject matter is central to what makes us human. In our culture, as in yours, our norms about gender and sexuality are in flux and as people make sense of their own identities and those of people around them, they use stories as a vehicle to think through what it might mean to have a particular orientation or relationship.

We write fan fiction as a form of speculation and exploration. For some people, it may be one of the few spaces in the culture where they can express who they are, what they are feeling, what they are desiring. And for others, it is a place of “what if” where they explore in fantasy things they would not necessarily desire in reality. Imagine you were a fan of pirates: writing a story about a pirate does not mean you want to be a pirate. You might simply be wanting to imagine what it would feel like to be a pirate and the same is true for those who write these stories. But in the process of sharing these stories, fans with different sexual and gender identities can communicate and learn from each other about the changes already underway in the culture around them.

Sanlian Lifeweek

Besides, many people are criticizing the idol for losing his voice in this incident, because he didn't come out to stop his fans or apologize for this result. Do you think the idol should be responsible for the behavior of his fans?

Henry Jenkins

Fans are responsible for their own behavior. A performer may express their preferences regarding any number of things beyond questions of gender and sexuality– perhaps the star is a vegetarian and finds stories where they eat meat disgusting or perhaps they have strong political views and do not want other contradictory beliefs ascribed to them. Many fans will comply to that request out of politeness and respect. But fans also reserve the right to read texts on their own terms and that includes making up stories which are not sanctioned by the producers. Most stories include some disclaimer which is intended to signal that the producers do not necessarily approve of what they write and that these works are intended to be read as a product of the fan’s own imagination. Under these circumstances, I would not hold a performer responsible for his fans’ behaviors but the performer is responsible for their own behavior and fans may respond negatively to performers who over-react to the existence of alternative fantasies and insult or hector their audiences.  

What is AO3?

Sanlian Lifeweek

In this incident, AO3 was blocked led to the users to boycott Xiaozhan’s works and commercial endorsement. How to understand this strong reaction from users? What role does AO3 play in fandom?

Henry Jenkins

In the pre-internet era, fan productions were largely underground, traded among people who already knew each other, and limited to a small, insular, homogeneous community. With the rise of the internet, more people have been able to access and participate in the production of fan fiction. There’s been an enormous expansion in the number of source texts fans write about; fans around less known texts can find each other online and communities grow. This process is now more open to fans around the world and fandom has become one site for cultural exchange and understanding. The platforms are the spaces where such exchanges take place. Remove them from the equation and all of the practices of fandom will persist; fandom is good at working around all forms of censorship. But the scope and scale of fandom would diminish and with it, the kinds of social exchanges around stories that are today seen as one of the most valuable aspects of online fandom.

Keep in mind that AO3 is a particular kind of platform. Alongside Wikipedia, AO3 is one of the greatest accomplishments of participatory culture in the digital era. AO3 is not a commercial platform which profits from grassroots expression; the servers are owned and operated by the fan community, where fans deploy their skills in the service of creating a more supportive environment from amateur writers to create and share their stories with each other. Last year, the site was recognized with a Hugo Award, one of the top prizes given for genre fiction, at the World Science Fiction Convention. This award recognizes the accomplishment of AO3 and the Organization of Transformative Works by the top professional writers in American popular fiction. It is understandable that fans in China and elsewhere around the world are horrified at the prospect of closing down access to this site which has been so valuable to so many people who are finding their voices as storytellers for the first time.

Sanlian Lifeweek

However, there is a large amount of pornography, violence and other sensitive content on AO3, many opponents believe that it will have a negative impact on teenagers, who are the important participants of the fandom, and many parents even think that teenagers should not participate in the fan activities. What is your view on this?

Henry Jenkins

I recently wrote a scholarly study of AO3 and the many forms of literacy it helps to foster among its participants, one which built on work by many different educational researchers. Among my findings were that fan fiction sites can be a valuable space for young people to acquire skills (and receive feedback) on their writing from more experienced writers who share these same passions, and it can be especially important as a space for practicing English skills since it often involves cross-cultural communications around shared interests. It has been a space where young people also learn to critically read and reflect on stories, where they acquire coding and other technical skills, where they learn to navigate diverse cultural communities and acquire leadership skills. Work by American educators would describe this as connected learning, recognizing the role which informal, peer cultures play in shaping young people’s access to meaningful educational experiences and resources. Others have written about the distributed mentorship in fandom as people support each other throughout this learning process. I start with this focus on the educational benefits of fandom because the current debate focuses exclusively on risks and not what is lost from denying teens the ability to participate in what are otherwise rewarding experiences for them. The challenge is how to minimize the risks and maximize the benefits.

That said, while teens have participated in fandom, a large part of those on AO3 are adults, engaging in adult conversations on adult topics. Not everything that happens there is appropriate for teen readers and not everything teens write is appropriate for adult readers. Contributors to the site tag and rate their stories deploying a broad range of categories intended to tell the reader about degrees of explicitness,  recurring themes and dramatic situations, forms of gender and sexual identity, etc. As a consequence, the site provided far more information that helps readers fan storied they will enjoy and avoid stories that are inappropriate for their needs and desires than most of the institutionalized rating systems within the media industry. While readers bear responsibility for the choices they make from what is offered, they have the potential to make informed choices, knowing what to expect from the stories they choose to read.

How teens acquire knowledge about sexuality is always a vexing question. Adolescents around the world have tremendous curiosity about sexual matters and seek information as best they can. Commercial pornography can be alienating, depicting sex removed from the context of human relations and reduced to body parts and the ways they come together. Fan fiction consistently depicts sex within relationships (in part drawn from the source material), sex involving people the reader cares about, and stories about people working through the complex feelings that sexual relations stirs up in people.

The Formation of Fandom

Sanlian Lifeweek

When you wrote Textual Poachers, the fandom was still far away from public view and could only be active in informal place. This book was part of the process of the fan community to reshape its group identity, speak out to the public, and defend itself to the public. More than 20 years later, in your opinion, what important changes have taken place in the fan community?

Henry Jenkins

The internet pushed fan culture into the public view, ready or not, allowing it to be receptive to a broader and more diverse group of participants. The internet has sped up the process of fan reaction and fan creation so that fan communities may process new content at a speed previously unimagined. It has broken down national borders and cultural boundaries, allowing fandom to be one of the more important crossroads for global digital cultures. It has meant more and more people could create and share stories with each other. This expansion results in heated debates within various fan communities about what kinds of stories are or are not appropriate, a working through of what constitutes acceptable content within a space known for its tolerance for diversity and its openness to new ideas. These debates are now more and more being covered as news and the choices fans are making can and often do have consequences within the creative industries.

Sanlian Lifeweek

Textual Poachers focuses on the "media fan", which is fan of movie and television. In your opinion, what is the difference between media fan and celebrity fan?

Henry Jenkins

Media fans are concerned with popular fictions, often focusing their stories around characters, such as Iron-Man or Harry Potter, though there are thousands of different fan interests, including those around specifically Chinese media content, on AO3. Celebrity fans are concerned with performers, and they may express those interests in many different ways from collecting magazine photographs and sharing gossip online to writing fan fiction. What’s important to recognize is that when fans write about celebrities, they become fictional characters. Fans generally only know things about celebrities which have appeared in some other form of media and anything beyond that is speculation. In most cases, real person fiction is not even speculation about star’s private lives, only the same kind of imaginings of the star’s sexual identity as occurs when fans make up stories about purely fictional characters. There is not a single fandom but rather multiple fandoms which overlap and diverge along many different axis (celebrity vs. fiction being only one) and the same fan may belong to multiple fan communities. These different kinds of fans may sometimes share the same platform, engage in some of the same practices, but this should not confuse us into thinking all fans speak in the same voice.

Sanlian Lifeweek

In Textual Poachers, you talk about an important daily practice for fans is to establish a relationship with a particular piece of text, such as a piece of music, an album, a TV series, and other popular culture texts. Fans love multiple texts, "hunting" in different texts and reconstructing new ones. Text is an important foundation for the formation of fandom. So, in the new media era, has the concept of text changed?

Henry Jenkins

First, I would stress the proliferation of media texts at the current moment. In America, we are talking about the era of “peak television” or “too much good television,” but it is also the era of global television. We have access to a much broader range of media content than ever before and in this context, fans play a constructive role in curating that content, helping some shows get greater visibility. In America, it’s said that one fan brings as many as 20 additional viewers to a television series, and that is one of the many ways that fans generate value for the entertainment industry. Here, fan engagement has become a really important currency within the television industry as Hollywood has come to appreciate the intensity of fan passion, the value of fan publicity, and the importance of satisfying their most valuable consumers. Second, these texts have become more malleable: we can spread them outside their normal commercial circuits; we can offer critical commentary and conduct conversations around them; we can remix them and deploy them as sources of inspiration for our own creative expression; and we can then share those new works with each other online. In such a world, it becomes even more important than before for fans to distinguish between canon (that is, works produced and authorized by media producers) and fanon (ideas and works originating from the fan world). This is one of many reasons where the tags which fans attach to their stories on AO3 are central to understanding the status of these fan works and the ways they are read in relation to the source material they are responding to.

Sanlian Lifeweek:

Therefore, should the fandom formed around "bad text" be criticized? In China, when we criticize so-called traffic stars, we are also criticizing them for not producing “good texts” but still attracting a large number of fans. How to understand this phenomenon?

Henry Jenkins

I can’t say much about traffic stars because I am not a scholar of Chinese fan cultures. But I can speak to your larger question. I would shift the question away from “good” and “bad texts.” Rather, the question should be what are fans finding meaningful about these performers and the texts they generate. I start from the premise that human beings do not engage in meaningless activities. I may not immediately recognize why something is meaningful but my job as a scholar is to understand why cultural materials are meaningful to the people who cherish them. In some cases, cultural materials may strike such awe, may seem so complete in and of themselves, that they inspire little or no fan activity. In some cases, the original works may be promising (holding potentials to say something that matters to their fans) but flawed (failing to achieve those potentials). Here, fans may actively engage in reworking them to more fully develop the elements that speak to them in some powerful way. Fandom is born of a mix of fascination and frustration – if the works did not spark intense interest, they would not generate fandom, but if they fully satisfied fan desires, then they would not need to rework them and recreate them. Finally, I would suggest that in some cases, what is meaningful may not be obvious from the source material: it may have to do with the social relations which the fans forge with each other.

Understanding the Fan Community

Sanlian Lifeweek

Actually, one of the main reasons other groups find it difficult to build a relationship with fandom is because of their unique language. What do you think of that language and the influence it has?

Henry Jenkins

The language fans use grows out of shared interpretations and experiences which have built up over a long history and across multiple texts. Many of the terms were not meant to be broadly understood because they are ways that fans can communicate with each other within a precarious context where companies or governments might shut down their grassroots expression at any moment. Mastering that language allows for a certain sense of belonging which becomes all the more important as the breakdown of traditional civic and family structures leave us feeling more and more isolated and alone. That language reflects the history of fan communities to incorporate and respect people with diverse backgrounds as well as people who feel different from others in their local context.

Fandom, of course, is not the only community which has specialized terms and there’s no reason to expect that the conversations of a subculture should be understood by society at large. Various professional groups – accountants or lawyers, say – have their own specialized languages which allow for efficient communication of regularly recurring concepts, and sports or music fans have specialized knowledge that may seem obscure to people who are not similarly invested. Part of what’s valuable about the internet is that it allows people to find others who share their values and interests, who speak their languages, and to enable conversations amongst them that span both time and geographical space. Fandom is simply one of the most powerful illustrations of what such virtual communities look like

Sanlian Lifeweek

However, we are seeing more and more of this conversation being irrational, which is totally different from the rational position you assume. Cyber violence is everywhere in fandom. Some experts attribute this to the mechanism of new media platforms such as Weibo in China. Do you think this kind of platforms should share the responsibility to help build fandom better?

Henry Jenkins

These issues of cultural divides, flame wars, and yes, cyberviolence do not originate within fandom per se. Scholars, educators, political leaders, policy makers, parents, around the world, are grappling with how to deal with antisocial behavior online in many different contexts. We can certainly point to examples where fan groups took their disagreements too far, including directing massive letter writing campaigns, against producers, performers, critics, and others, to assert their perspective on the choices being made within a divisive cultural context. In many cases in the United States, these angry fans are further stirred up by outside forces, including underground political organizations that want to recruit them for their causes. And these often fringe exchanges get amplified by the news media who do not cover all of the many ways where fans are constructively working through these same issues. These issues are larger than fandom, larger than the platforms where they publish, and reflect a global political crisis. Platforms can play a constructive role in responding promptly, rationally, and fairly to complaints calling out hate speech and other antisocial behavior. Often, in the past, they have been slow to remove content which is offensive and hostile to other communities who share use of these platforms, claiming no responsibility over what gets posted on their sites, and we want to push especially the large scale commercial platforms to have more accountability for the consequences of their choices.

About the Fan Economy

Sanlian Lifeweek

In fact, the fan community is increasingly valued and harnessed. This has created fan economy. However, we can see that on the one hand, fans have an increasingly power in it. For instance, the film industry will choose stars with a large number of fans rather than actors with really good acting skills to participate in different movies. On the other hand, fans are providing more and more free labor. How do we define the identity of fans in this new economy?

Henry Jenkins

The idea that producers chose stars because they will draw larger audiences is not a new idea in the entertainment industry and is not a product of online fandom, even if such spaces increase the visibility and intensity of fan responses to these performers. Films, television, popular music are commercial artforms: certainly we can apply aesthetic criteria to think about what constitutes a “really good actor” but we should also look at how effective this performers is at engaging an audience, at stiring up their interest around a particular story. That is to say, commercial art is judged by a mix of commercial and artistic criteria.

In terms of the role of fans in this new economy, it has indeed taken on greater significance. Fans have taken seriously their roles as publicists, helping to direct attention around their own agenda, and the industries in turn are not only valuing these fans because they play important roles in a media-saturated culture; they also are seeking to control and exploit the energies of fans towards their own ends. The later often comes at the expense of fan control over their own conversations and at the expense of the grassroots creativity we are discussing here. Fans are thus part inside and part outside the media industries today. As I predicted many years ago, the core debates of our time center around the terms of our participation – who gets to participate in what ways under what constraints.

Returning to the Civic Imagination Project: New Publications

This spring, my Civic Imagination Project will release two books, reflecting the past five plus years of our collective research. The first, Popular Culture and the Civic Imagination: Case Studies of Creative Social Change (Henry Jenkins, Gabriel Peters-Lazaro,  and Sangita Shresthova)  is already out in the world, where-as the second, Practicing Futures: A Civic Imagination Action Handbook (Gabriel Peters-Lazaro and Sangita Shresthova), will be released late spring-early summer.

Popular Culture and the Civic Imagination offers 30 short essays documenting a diverse set of social movements and their relationship to popular culture. The book starts with an extensive theoretical overview backgrounding the concept of the civic imagination. Here’s a few brief excerpts that may help you to better understand the core concepts:

Through the diverse cases represented in this collection, we model the different functions that the civic imagination performs. For the moment, we define civic imagination as the capacity to imagine alternatives to current cultural, social, political, or economic conditions; one cannot change the world without imagining what a better world might look like. Beyond that, the civic imagination requires and is realized through the ability to imagine the process of change, to see one’s self as a civic agent capable of making change, to feel solidarity with others whose perspectives and experiences are different than one’s own, to join a larger collective with shared interests, and to bring imaginative dimensions to  real world spaces and places. Research on the civic imagination explores the political consequences of cultural representations and the cultural roots of political participation. This definition consolidates ideas from various accounts of the public imagination, the political imagination, the radical imagination, the pragmatic imagination, creative insurgency or public fantasy. In some cases, the civic imagination is grounded in beliefs about how the system actually works, but we have a more expansive understanding stressing the capacity to imagine alternatives, even if those alternatives tap the fantastic. Too often, focusing on contemporary problems makes it impossible to see beyond immediate constraints. This tunnel vision perpetuates the status quo, and innovative voices —especially those from the margins — are shot down before they can be heard.

When USC’s Media, Activism, and Participatory Politics (MAPP) research group interviewed more than 200 young activists for our 2016 book, By Any Media Necessary: The New Youth Activism, many felt the language of American politics was broken: it was, on the one hand, exclusive in that policy wonk rhetoric was opaque to first-time voters and repulsive in that partisan bickering displaced problem solving and consensus building (Jenkins, Shresthova et al, 2016). These young leaders wanted to address their generation on its own terms. Activists around the world were appropriating and remixing popular culture to fuel their social movements. This discovery informed our own thinking about the civic imagination. This collection’s three editors lead the Civic Imagination Project, funded by the MacArthur Foundation. Many contributors are members of our University of Southern California-based Civic Paths research group or of our expanded research network. Our project conducts workshops across the United States and around the world designed to harness the power of the civic imagination as a tool for bridge building and problem solving. Our conceptual work here is coupled with efforts to test, strengthen and expand these ideas through practice….

Like Peter Dahlgren (2009), we feel the term “civic” carries “the implication of engagement in public life—a cornerstone of democracy.” The Civic for Dahlgren always has an affective and imaginative dimension: “The looseness, openendedness of everyday talk, its creativity, its potential for empathy and affective elements, are indispensable resources and preconditions for the vitality of democratic politics” (90). As Dahlgren further specifies, the term civic is also connected to the pursuit of a “public good” as “precondition” for other forms of political engagement. Eric Gordon and Paul Mihailidis (2016, 2) expand on Dahlgren’s notion, observing that “while the concept of ‘common good’ is deeply subjective” the term “invoke[s] the good of the commons, or action taken that benefit a public outside the actor’s intimate sphere”. The civic supports community connections towards shared goals. Dahlgren’s (2003, 139) civic culture circuit model is composed of six dimensions: shared values, affinity, knowledge and competencies, practices, identities and discussion.  Neta Kligler-Vilenchik’s account of the Harry Potter Alliance illustrates how each of Dahlgren’s dimensions are built into this oft-cited example of fan activism (Jenkins, Shresthova et al, 2016), exploring how the group mobilizes youth around a shared fan interest (affinity), tapping fan skills to mobilize politically (knowledge and competencies), creating a shared identity around being imaginative, socially caring beings, building in supports for engaged discussion of social issues, and translating this new civic knowledge into a shared set of practices. We are building here on what was perhaps her study’s most controversial aspect —the idea that fantasies about wizards and magic might inspire real world social action, seeing popular culture as a provocation for civic engagement rather than as escapism. Let’s be clear that there is always a political dimension to culture and our definition of the civic contains a heavy cultural component, but we  are interested  in the ways cultural practices and materials are deployed towards overtly political ends, whether by established institutions or grassroots movements….

Many changemakers maintain a passionate relationship with popular culture, using that cultural vocabulary to broker relations across different political groups. Indigenous peoples are tapping Avatar to dramatize their struggles (Brough and Shresthova, 2012). Hunger Games’ three finger salute is being deployed by  resistance movements in Thailand and Hong Kong. Media makers  in the Muslim world and Russia are developing their own superheroes to reflect their own social mission (Jenkins, forthcoming). In her report, Spoiler Alert: How Progressives Will Break Through With Popular Culture, Tracy Van Slyke (2014) sums up the logic: “Pop culture has power. We can either ignore it, letting dominant narratives as well as millions of people who interact and are influenced by popular culture slide by, or we can figure out how to double down and invest in the people, strategies, products, and experiences that will transport our stories and values into mainstream narratives” (15). Michael Saler (2012) has coined the term, “public sphere of the imagination,” to describe the communities that form around popular narratives, spaces where discussions about hopes and fears are staged, often outside of partisan frameworks, one step removed from real world constraints. Not simply escapism, such discussions work through real world issues that participants might not be able to confront through other means.

If anything, I feel an even more urgent need to develop a more robust civic imagination today than when we first wrote these words. The conversations we had here last fall concerning ‘Participatory Politics in a Time of Crisis’ demonstrated the struggles to revitalize democracy which seems in crisis everywhere we look. Every day, we hear more about a lack of “empathy” and “vision” in public life. How might we achieve it? Our research group has been exploring ways that we might revitalize civic imagination and democratic participation at the grassroots level. Over the past few years, we have developed and field tested a series of six workshops through engagements with faith-based organizations, civic groups, educational communities, across the United States and around the world. Practicing Futures provides resources that other civic and educational leaders can use to engage their social circles towards greater reflection on their shared goals and aspirations.  The following is extracted from the foreword I wrote for the book:

Practicing Futures: a Civic Imagination Action Handbook can be understood as a workbook for people who want to help rebuild the civic infrastructure of American democracy, who are interested in how they might do democracy at the local level within their own community. It describes ways communities might come together to consider alternatives to current conditions, to imagine what a better future might look like, and to build worlds together that help them to articulate shared values, hopes, and dreams. Through these workshops, we often find the common ground that so often seems missing in more partisan political discussions. We rediscover social bonds, because we are taking a step sideways from the immediate problems and playing with possibilities together. Imagine that.

A tradition of academic writing has spoken about “imagined communities”: the term comes from Benedict Anderson (1983) but he captures something which is widely recognized -- the ways a group of people too large to know each other directly perceives each other’s presence, feels connected with each other, and comes to share a common history, identity, and vision for the future.  Anderson’s “imagined” is framed in the past tense, as if what links a group of people together to form, in his case, a nation-state is something which happened a long time ago, something we inherit from generations that preceded us. Often, the images we use to depict democracy -- the Spirit of 1776 or Norman Rockwell’s Four Freedoms, to cite two examples -- are images that evoke a sense of tradition, rooting democracy in the past, rather than as a living tradition. Yet, over time, those old symbols of shared identities and experiences wear out, they become stale as we see them used in far too many President’s Day themed advertisements -- they become “talk-democracy”. We stop listening as leaders talk down and talk past us with empty phrases and dead metaphors.

The work of the Civic Imagination Project embraces a different concept -- that of the imagining community which is actively generating new cultural symbols to describe their relationship with each other. Imagination is seen not as a product or a possession (not a fixed identity or predetermined set of contents). Rather, we talk about imagining as a process. Imagination is not something we consume or inherit but something we actively produce together, something we do. We can watch imagining happen; we can hear the voices of people engaged in acts of imagining. We are in the room where it happens…. This book describes some of the processes and practices which help free us to imagine together.

For those who have been on the front lines, making change happen on the ground, all of this talk of “imagining” together may seem loosy-goosy and frankly, beside the point. They want us to do, do, do, because the problems are too immediate, the stakes too high, the resources (chief among them time and energy) are too limited. Imagining, we are sometimes told, is a distraction -- mere escapism.  The civic imagination may seem all talk and no action. Yet, the work of freeing the imagination is transformative, it paves the way for meaningful action, it opens a space where those who have not yet committed to a specific agenda can work through options together, it allows otherwise opposing groups to find a path forward together.

Social Activist Naomi Klein (2017)  has written about her own experiences of sitting in a room with people of diverse backgrounds and concerns, groups that are often set apart and pitted against each other as they fight to be heard amongst the many distractions of a media saturated environment: “We had come together to figure out what connects the crises facing us, and to try to chart a holistic vision for the future...We also had come together out of a belief that overcoming these divisions -- finding and strengthening the threads that run through the various issues and movements -- is our most pressing task…. Our goal, and it wasn’t modest, was to map not just the world we don’t want but the one we want instead.” (232-233)  We embrace these same goals through our workshops, whatever groups we are working within and across.

Frankly, we have more work to do in terms of creating truly inclusive spaces around these workshops, tending to operate so far in relation with pre-existing communities with shared histories and beliefs, rather than seeking to bridge differences in the radical and transformative way Klein describes.  As a research team, we are actively seeking out and talking with diverse groups but we have not yet brought truly diverse people  into the room at the same time. But, then, that is the struggle of the current decade -- to overcome histories of discrimination and exclusion, to learn to listen to a broader range of voices, to bring more diverse perspectives to the table. Putnam’s bowling leagues were never as inclusive as our nostalgic celebration of the past might lead us to imagine, and we need to figure out ways to define communities other than through acts of exclusion.

We are not going to get past such problems if we can not learn to talk across our differences. Such exchanges will push us beyond empty talk about “civility” or “political correctness,” because they will proceed on the basis of shared understandings and trust. Sometimes, these conversations will be difficult, they require those who have felt left out to call out that history and question its logic, and some people -- perhaps many -- will get upset in the process. But we can only proceed when we start with a commitment to work through this together, to stick it out through the discomfort in hopes of getting to the other side. And even when these discussions are not as inclusive as we might hope, they do important work in our efforts to build a more just society. As Dahlgren (2009) discusses in relation to the notion of counter-publics, “To work out counterprojects...often requires some kind of temporary public withdrawal, an internal working through among like-minded citizens….Attaining new values, defining new needs, and developing new social visions is difficult to attain via consensus-oriented conversation, with universalists assumptions.” (90) So, there are times when a smaller, more homogeneous group needs to take stock of where it stands and what it will stand for, just as there are also times when the boundaries of the community need to broaden to incorporate a larger, more diverse mix of participants.

Sangita Shresthova and Gabriel Peters-Lazaro are the authors and architects of the approach described in this book, an approach which has emerged from our research together but which they have taken into the field and refined in partnership with a broad array of stakeholders. Over the past few years, as the principal investigator for the Civic Imagination Project, I have had a chance to observe these techniques in practice, as our research team has tested this approach in communities across America and around the world. We have conducted these workshops with participants ranging in age from middle schoolers to senior citizens, in labor halls and mosques, with policy makers and journalists, students and congregants, all of whom have things they wanted to share with us and especially with each other. I have seen what happens when you bring a group of people together in a room to share stories of memorable objects, to build a world, to create narratives that anticipate touch points in the process of social change, to remix favorite stories, or to reimagine their identities, their communities, and their surrounding environment. I have seen these playful tasks sparking social integration, breaking down suspicions, strengthening social bonds, and sparking fellowship and laughter. Agenda setting and mobilization planning can follow, building on the spirit of good will and trust these workshops generate.

Imagining together can yield unexpected insights as we discover common ground that we might previously never have anticipated. I was surprised when a room full of Arab educators and journalists, dressed in traditional garb, announced their desire for a world where no one -- not the government or their neighbors -- polices their religious beliefs and practices. I have struggled to understand how a group of former coal miners and tobacco farmers from Kentucky might simultaneously embrace the need for single payer health care and still vote for leaders dead set against such policies in part because they did not trust any of the social institutions powerful enough to deliver the kind of medical insurance they desired. I have been touched when my graduate students reported back on a session with low income middle school kids from Los Angeles whose vision of the future included many things taken for granted today by more affluent people living in their city or that a child begged for a world where there were no “bad drugs.”  I have listened to faculty and students of a Swedish university describe their desire for a better health care system having already achieved universal access but not necessarily the quality of communication between doctors and patients that maintained human dignity. And perhaps most profoundly, I have seen how the acts of imagining frees so many to think beyond current impasses. Through this process, some of the common tropes of fantasy or science fiction take on new meaning: magic often becomes a metaphor for power, the teleportation system in Star Trek helps Americans think about their carbon footprint, Europeans imagine more efficient means of moving across their Union, and Arabs express their fears of the risks refugees face in traveling to other parts of the world. A world which possesses teletransportation is also a world without border police or fixed boundaries: a world where anyone can beam anywhere at any time without having to show their papers. Sometimes the fantastic allows us to speak about realities too painful to confront otherwise or to imagine possibilities too wonderful to imagine possible.

Sangita Shresthova joined us for my podcast, How Do You Like It So Far?, to discuss the books and what we’ve been discovering as we have brainstormed possible futures with people around the world [Link to: ] .

This week, I want to celebrate the many current and former students who have contributed to these books through the work of the Civic Paths research group. Each week, some 10-15 PhD students from the Annenberg School of Communication and Journalism and other parts of the University of Southern California gather informally to share research insights and contribute to our ongoing activities. Some 15 of those students contributed essays to Popular Culture and the Civic Imagination. We read through and critiqued each other’s work. They helped us identify and respond to contributors. They were included in every step of the process of the book’s development. And now, through the blog, we are featuring conversations amongst some of the current members of the research team, many of whom came onboard too late to be included in the book themselves, but who are still helping push forward our thinking about civic imagination, testing it through both case studies and workshops. We will end this series with an update by Sangita Shresthova about where our research is taking us next.

We thank the fine folks at the Catherine T. and John D. MacArthur Foundation for their ongoing support of the Civic Imagination Project.

Remembering UK Comics: Series Index

REMEMBERING UK COMICS

Edited and curated by William Proctor and Julia Round

As editors on the ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series, we are both delighted with the generous wealth of material that contributors provided. Thanks to each and every one of you for keeping British Comics history alive and in rude health. As the series has closed, we thought it would be productive to share the full contents of the series with easy to access links to each of the essays, interviews and discussions. To British comics studies scholars, and comics readers in general, we know that we have barely scratched the surface with the series, but our first and only mission was to spread the word to those who may not know much about the rich, varied, and generically broad landscape that British comics inhabited for over a century, so we must also thank Henry Jenkins for being so keen on the idea, and for handing us the keys to Confessions of an Aca-Fan for the best part of three months or so. We hope you enjoy the series as much we have had in curating it.

Thanks to each of our contributors: Mel Gibson, Roger Sabin, Michael Connerty, Joan Ormrod, Dona Pursall, Dave Miller, Adam Twycross, Martin Barker, Andrew Edwards, Olivia Hicks, Zu Dominiak, John Caro, Chris Murray, David Huxley, Maggie Gray, James Chapman, and Will Brooker.

For scholars interested in learning more about British Comics History, the BBC ran a three-part documentary in 2008 titled Comics Britannia. The second part is difficult to track down, but here are links to the first and third parts:

Comics Britannia (Part 1, ‘The Fun Factory’)

Comics Britannia (Part 3, ‘X-rated, Anarchy in the UK’)

Contents

1.  Remembering UK Comics: A Conversation with William Proctor and Julia Round

Part 1

Part 2

2. Comics, Childhood and Memory: An Autobiography

Mel Gibson

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

3. Misty and the Horrible History of British Comics

Julia Round

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

4.  The Early Development of the Comic Strip in the UK

Roger Sabin and Michael Connerty

Part 1

Part 2

5.  Promoting Tommy Steel Through 1950s UK Comics

Joan Ormrod

Part 1

Part 2

6. On The Beano: Naughty National Icons and a History of Misbehaviour

Dona Pursall

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

7. The Beano’s Lord Snooty

Dave Miller

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

8. More than Mere Ornament: Reclaiming Jane

Adam Twycross

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

9. An Interview with Martin Barker

Part 1

Part 2

10. Less is More: Alan Moore’s 2000AD Short Stories

Andrew Edwards

Part 1

Part 2

11. Super-Cats and Fantasta-Cats

Olivia Hicks and Zu Dominiak

One-Shot

12. Celebrating Action: The Comic of the Streets

John Caro

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

13. Tracing Scottish Comics History

Chris Murray

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

14. Adventures Underground—UK Underground Comix (1969-1982): A Memoir

David Huxley

Part 1

Part 2

15.  UK Underground Comix: Ar:Zak, the Birmingham Arts Lab, and Street Comix #4

Maggie Gray

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

16. British Comics Go to the Movies

James Chapman

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

17..  Crisis on Inbetween Earths

Will Brooker

Part 1

Part 2

18. Preserving British Comics: A Call to Arms!

Julia Round and Chris Murray

One-Shot

Dr William Proctor is Principal Lecturer in Film & Transmedia at Bournemouth University, UK. He has published widely on various topics related to popular culture, including Batman. James Bond, Stephen King, Star Wars and more. William is a leading expert on franchise reboots, and is currently writing his debut monograph, Reboot Culture: Comics, Film, Transmedia (forthcoming, Palgrave). He is the co-editor of Global Convergence Cultures: Transmedia Earth (with Matthew Freeman, Routledge 2018), and Disney’s Star Wars: Forces of Promotion, Production, and Reception (with Richard McCulloch, University of Iowa Press 2019).

Dr Julia Round is a Principal Lecturer in the Faculty of Media and Communication at Bournemouth University, UK. She is one of the editors of Studies in Comics journal (Intellect Books) and a co-organiser of the annual International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference (IGNCC). Her first book was Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels (McFarland, 2014), followed by the edited collection Real Lives, Celebrity Stories (Bloomsbury, 2014). In 2015 she received the Inge Award for Comics Scholarship for her research, which focuses on Gothic, comics, and children’s literature. She has recently completed two AHRC-funded studies examining how digital transformations affect young people's reading. Her new book Misty and Gothic for Girls in British Comics (forthcoming from UP Mississippi, 2019) examines the presence of Gothic themes and aesthetics in children’s comics, and is accompanied by a searchable database of all the stories (with summaries, previously unknown creator credits, and origins), available at her website www.juliaround.com.

Politics and Cumbia in Chile: Participatory Culture for Democracy (2 of 2) Felipe Valenzuela

Source: Villa Cariño archive

Max Vivar, leader of the cumbia band Villa Cariño

How is the relationship between the band and the hinchada?

We have always approached the folks of “Locura Villana” and other communities around the band to make them feel that they are not a fanclub or a hinchada, that they are an autonomous collective that accompanies the band, that has rights and power, and that the band has an obligation towards them. There is an explicit search for reciprocity in our relationship. They support us, but we support them as well. We are not only a cumbia band, we also try to spread a political message. And they are actively involved in that dimension as well.

In which ways?

For instance, we regularly play in the “Vivas Voces” festival, that is organized by Human Rights organizations. In those concerts, the hinchada manufactures special flags and banners with political messages such as “Truth and Justice”, “Don’t forget nor forgive”, “Memory”, etc. And beyond that, they are totally aware of the political struggle behind this concert. And nowadays, in the context of the social movement, they have organized their own public groups of discussion to think about the writing of the new constitution.

We have also had very rich conversations about the different views regarding the situation in Venezuela or other contingent political topics for us.

Another example: we were recently invited to play in a festival that was organized to celebrate the social uprising, celebrating that “Chile had woken up”. It was free, but the organizers would make money by selling food and drinks inside. The hinchada approached us to tell us that they thought it was inappropriate to be part of this party, in the midst of brutal aggression by the police to the people and active violation of human rights by the government. We immediately agreed and declined to participate in the festival.

So they have a political view that goes beyond musical affinity.

So there is a more horizontal relationship that the usual between a band and their fan base?

Yes, we aim to break that relation of exploitation that some artists have with their public. We are concerned in Villa Cariño to avoid creating those kind of relationships. There is of course, some innate verticality to the relationship. After all there is someone who is leading the band, or writing and composing the songs, or producing the concerts, but there is a disposition from both sides to construct a more horizontal relationship.

How do you see that this affects their own identity as more than a fanclub, as a more political community?

I usually tell them “you are more than a hinchada”, you are a collective, you could have your own internal organization and debates about topics that go beyond music. And they have done so. For the last presidential election, I was very involved in campaigning for one of the candidates. And they would ask me who should they vote for. Instead of telling them who to vote for, I would explain the differences between the candidates. I could see that many of the new people that were getting into the hinchada would see the political messages in our lyrics and got interested in learning more about history and politics. Our song “De Política, Amor y Revolución” (Of Politics, Love and Revolution), for example is the story of a Chilean political activist that was disappeared during Pinochet’s dictatorship. And it is a younger generation that is connecting with these topics. In this way, the members of the community get away from the idea of being a ‘fan’ or a ‘soldier’ of the band, and embrace the idea of being part of a collective and having a responsibility of representing the deeper, political message that is related to the band.

And how do you see your role, politically, as the leader of this band and as an important figure for this community?
Well, I wouldn’t be a musician if I didn’t believe in art as a political tool capable of transforming the world. As a band, we mostly made romantic lyrics, which is the traditional type of song in the cumbia genre. But in every record we would include one or two songs with a clear political message. On the way, we decided that we could not solely work to produce hits for the radio, but we needed to be an instrument for struggle and social change. This also led to a deeper conversation within the band members of our own political positions. So, in these days of social uprise, the band as a whole has a clear notion of our responsibility to be on the side of the social movements, supporting in every way we can. This same phenomenon happens inside the hinchada. And as they understand the political significance of what is going on, they give us tremendously valuable feedback, even suggesting song themes to write about.

Which shows the type of relationship you have constructed..

Exactly. They don’t demand things from us, but they acknowledge the trust and familiarity we have, that allows these type of exchanges. They feel that they have a space within the band, and they truly have it.

There is a caricature of the fan that is real. The fan that idolizes the band members and that might develop a sort of childish love/hate relationship with the band. We have worked to develop a different type of relationship, between one collective, which is the band, and another collective, which is a group of followers that have decided to commit not only with the music of the band, but with the political discourse as well.

Now, I’m sure there is a mix of both types of followers, right? You must have some fans that resemble the caricature you described

For sure. “You were cooler before, now I don’t like you anymore”, or “You have betrayed the original sound of the band” and the classic haters on social media. We are not free from that. And sometimes in person, fans come to me to voice their frustration or disagreement with the musical decisions we have taken as a band. And I believe that my role there is to keep quiet and listen to them. We compose and perform the music, but once it is out there, it’s no longer ours, it belongs to the people. Sometimes it’s hard to fathom how important this music becomes to some people. I could decide one day to leave the band and start a new project, but for some people, the music that we have made has a degree of importance that is deeply attached to their lives and identities. And that is sometimes expressed by the fans as frustration or anger. Another fan sent me a letter to let me know that his psychiatrist told him to listen regularly to the band, as part of the therapy to prevent him from trying to kill himself, after a failed attempt. Or another fan, contacted me through Instagram saying “Max, I fucked up with my girlfriend, could you help me fix it?” And I was thinking that I can’t even fix those problems in my life, but you feel compelled to try and help.

So the community around the band has a special relevance to your project

Yes. I am more interested in the community that gathers around the band that the sole endeavour of composing songs and selling concert tickets. I am interested in understanding them, in communicating with them. That is why is important for us to be part of the community and not only looking at the public from the stage.

Has the relationship with the hinchada changed since the Estallido Social in Chile?

Yes it has. At first we played a lot less, because many concerts and festivals were cancelled. And the moment we usually had to get together was around concerts, either before or after we would have get together and chat. Happily, we have seen them participating in the political rallies we have been part of. And even more beautiful, we have seen that different fan communities, from different cumbia bands have started organizing and marching together. In any case, we feel the need to see them more, they are support for us, and is important for us to keep the contact, to make sense of what is happening in Chile right now.

Felipe Valenzuela is a Chilean Journalist, currently studying a Master in Global Communication at USC. He was Associate Professor in the Universidad Católica de Chile and is currently researching how technology affects the media and political systems in Latin America, as well as the ways that different communities are adapting to these changes. 

Politics and Cumbia in Chile: Participatory Culture for Democracy (1 of 2) Felipe Valenzuela

What is going on in Chile?

Chile has been in a state of civil unrest since the end of October of 2019. This situation, now generally referred to as “El Estallido” (The Explosion) is focused on a demand for dignity, autonomy and equality, which are elements that are present in other protest movements around the world such as Hong Kong, Catalonia and Lebanon. The Chilean Government Coalition has recently conceded to start a process that will create a new Constitution, replacing the one currently in use, written during Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship. This opens many challenges for the Chilean people. One of them has to do with finding new ways of social organization, outside traditional political parties and traditional democratic institutions, which are at an all-time low in trust of the population. Looking at the way that massively popular music bands serve as a hub for participatory communities that see politics and music as connected issues, might shed some light on the paths that can be followed to overcome this challenge. These already built social networks, if better understood, could be drawn upon to foster participation and enrich the democratic process for writing a new constitution, further demonstrating the power that participatory culture can have in relation with political activism.

Although much is still being debated about the meaning and reach of the ongoing protests that have shocked Chile, there is broad agreement that some of the common issues that fuel the social movements are inequality, abuses and unfair privileges. There appears to be a general complain against the individualistic, neoliberal structure and a call for the reconstruction of local-based communities.

source: www.elsiglo.cl

Political affiliation in Chile has been steadily decreasing since the end of the dictatorship, by the end of the 80’s. Currently, less than a quarter of the population claims to be identified with any party of the political system. In addition, trust in democratic institutions has plummeted in the last 5 years, after a series of corruption scandals. The President’s approval is around 6%, only 3% of the population trusts Congress and Political Parties approval is even lower, below the margin of error of the most reliable surveys. These are symptoms of an unhealthy democracy, where the political elite is seen as distanced from the people’s needs and the political system as a whole is perceived as being in the service of a small group of privileged people. In this context, existing active organisations such as fan communities, might play a crucial role in helping with the recovery of Chile’s debilitated democracy and facing the challenge of writing a new constitution.

Cumbia Fandom

The cumbia musical genre was originated in african slave communities in Colombia during the 17th century. Besides the strong African roots, it blends Native American and European influences. Nowadays it is massively popular all over Latin America, from Mexico to Chile. Traditionally, the content of cumbia songs have dealt with romance and love affairs, seldom addressing political issues directly. The Chilean band “Villa Cariño” is one of the most popular in the country, being known for their big and organized fan base. In addition, the leader of the band is highly active politically, having participated in electoral campaigns and including explicit political messages in his lyrics.

source: Locura Villana archive

Fan communities around new cumbia bands, call themselves hinchadas, taking the word that is used in football to describe a group of hinchas (fans). Despite the fact that most members of the hinchada “Locura Villana” are women, the community has embraced this symbolic repertoire from the football fandom, that is traditionally masculine, and explicitly worked to differentiate themselves from other fan communities, made particular emphasis on the traits that could be considered more emotional, feminine or related to the idea of groupies.

Rodrigo Urra, founder of the hinchada Locura Villana

How did your relation with Villa Cariño begin?

I have listened to the band for over 7 years now. And after going to many concerts, you start to see familiar faces. And those faces become acquaintances, and later friends. That is the genesis of our hinchada, Locura Villana, which we founded 2 years ago. 

How is your relationship with other fan clubs of the band?

There are a couple more communities and we have had some troubles in the past, but we get along well. We don’t call ourselves fan club, though. We are not groupies (laughs). 

What do you call yourselves, then?

We are an hinchada cumbiera, which is similar to what happens with football fans. Fanclubs consist of groupies that idolize the band members, and are constantly trying to take selfies with their idols, and are in some way in love with them. A hinchada cumbiera is not like that. We feel part of the band, but in the concerts we are not in the first line. We go to the cheaper seats, with flags and shirts, just like the supporters of a football team. We go to support the band during the concert so that they feel like they are playing as locals. 

And you don’t have such an emotional bond with the band members, you are not ‘in love’ with them, as you say...

Yes, but nonetheless, we get together with the band every time we go to a concert. We support each other, we hug, we talk a lot. There is a strong bond between us and the members of the band. 

How do you coordinate and communicate within the hinchada?

We mainly do it via Whatsapp. We don’t have formal leaders, although some of us are more active, or have been in the hinchada for longer and are, therefore, recognized by most of the group. People like Carlos Araya, Emily Llancafil, Karina Salinas and me are always involved and travelling across Chile to follow the band, but from the start we dismissed the idea of having a vertical hierarchy. So we inform via Whatsapp of the activities and people volunteer to take on different responsibilities.  

Do you do other activities besides the ones that revolve around the band?

Sure. We have social activities that have to do with working with our local communities. We have worked repairing public spaces such as playgrounds or town squares, we also organize regular activities to help bring warm food to homeless people. We talk with the neighbors and transform some abandoned public place into playground and name them “Plaza Villa Cariño” or “Plaza Locura Villana”.  

Has the recent social uprising changed your agenda of activities?

Well, we were marching long before the Estallido took place, to be honest. We would regularly march with the band, every Friday, in support of the organization of relatives of disappeared people by the dictatorship. We have participated in many of the main social protests of the last few years. This situation is, of course, bigger than anything we have seen before. So the hinchada has been put in service of the social movement, to help transmit information, help people and organize open talks to understand the situation and think about the writing of the new constitution. 

Do you feel that your relationship with the band has changed?

Well, we see each other less, but we are as close as ever. There was a concert/party a couple of weeks ago to which Villa Cariño was invited. We discussed it in our group and decided not to participate, because of the serious violations to Human Rights that were happening in Chile, we thought that it would be inappropriate to organize a party. We got in touch with the band, told them our point of view, and the band decided to decline the invitation.  

Felipe Valenzuela is a Chilean Journalist, currently studying a Master in Global Communication at USC. He was Associate Professor in the Universidad Católica de Chile and is currently researching how technology affects the media and political systems in Latin America, as well as the ways that different communities are adapting to these changes. 

Política y cumbia en Chile: Cultura Participativa al servicio de la democracia (2 of 2) by Felipe Valenzuela

fuente: archivo de Villa Cariño

Max Vivar, líder de la banda de cumbia Villa Cariño

¿Cómo es la relación entra la banda y la hinchada?

Siempre nos hemos acercado a nuestros compañeros y compañeras de “Locura Villana” o de los “Villanos Freestyle” y les hemos hecho sentir que ellos no son una hinchada, que ellos son un colectivo que nos acompaña y que tienen pleno derecho de sentir que la banda debe responderle en ciertas cosas, que si ellos nos apoyan, nosotros también tenemos un deber de apoyarlos a ellos. Hay una búsqueda explícita de reciprocidad en nuestra relación. Y nosotros no somos solo un grupo de cumbia, también tratamos de difundir un mensaje político. Y ellos también se involucran activamente en esa dimensión.

¿De qué maneras?

Por ejemplo, nosotros tocamos siempre en el festival “Vivas Voces”, que es organizado por agrupaciones de derechos humanos. En esos concierto, las hinchadas hacen lienzos y banderas especiales con mensajes como “Verdad y justicia”, “Ni perdón ni olvido”, “Memoria”, etc. Y además de eso, está súper claros con la lucha política que está detrás de este tipo de eventos. Hoy en día, en el contexto de las movilizaciones sociales, incluso han organizado sus propios cabildos para discutir sobre la nueva Constitución. También hemos tenido conversaciones muy ricas sobre las diferentes miradas sobre lo que ocurre en Venezuela y otros temas de la contingencia política que para nosotros son importantes.

Otro ejemplo: hace poco nos invitaron a tocar en un festival que se estaba organizando para celebrar el Estallido Social, celebrar que “Chile Despertó”. Era gratis, pero los organizadores iban a vender comida y alcohol para ganar plata. La hinchada se nos acercó y nos dijo que les parecía inapropiado hacerse parte de esta fiesta, en el medio de las agresiones brutales de la policía contra los manifestantes y de las violaciones activas a los derechos humanos del Gobierno. Nosotros inmediatamente les encontramos razón y decidimos restarnos del festival. Entonces, lo que te quiero decir, es que ellos tienen posturas políticas que van más allá de la pura afinidad musical.

Y además hay una relación más horizontal que la que normalmente se ve entre una banda y sus seguidores…

Sí, nosotros tratamos de romper ese aprovechamiento de poder que a veces tienen los artistas en relación a su público. En Villa Cariño estamos muy preocupados de evitar crear ese tipo de relaciones. Hay, por supuesto, algún grado de verticalidad, porque hay alguien que compone las canciones, que está arriba del escenario, que produce los conciertos… pero hay una disposición desde ambo lados a construir una relación más horizontal.

¿Cómo ves que esto afecta la identidad de la hinchada, como una comunidad política?

Yo por lo general les digo “ustedes son más que una hinchada”, ustedes son un colectivo, podrían tener su propia organización interna y debatir sobre asuntos que van más allá de la música. Y ellos lo han hecho. Para la última elección presidencial, yo estuve muy metido haciendo campaña por una de las candidatas. Y ellos se me acercaban preguntando por quién votar. En vez de decirle por quién votar, yo les trataba de explicar las propuestas que tenía mi candidata y las diferencias que veía con las otras candidaturas. Y muchas de las personas más jóvenes que se incorporaban en la hinchada, entendían el contenido político de nuestras canciones y se motivaban con conocer más de historia y política. Nuestra canción “De política, amor y revolución”, por ejemplo, es la historia de una detenida desaparecida en dictadura. Y uno ve como hay una generación más joven que se empieza a conectar con estos temas. Entonces, los compañeros de las comunidades se alejan de la idea de ser un “fan” o un “soldado” de la banda, y se acercan a la idea de ser parte de un colectivo, y tener la responsabilidad de representar el contenido político más profundo, que también tiene que ver con Villa Cariño. 

¿Cómo ves ese rol político tuyo, como líder de esta banda y como una figura importante para esas comunidades?

Bueno, yo no sería músico si no creyera que el arte es una herramienta política capaz de transformar el mundo. Como grupo, hacíamos principalmente canciones románticas, que son las canciones tradicionales de cumbia. Pero en cada disco incluíamos una o dos canciones con contenido directamente político. En el camino, fuimos decidiendo que no podíamos solo trabajar para hacer hits para la radio, sino que necesitábamos ser un instrumento en función de las luchas sociales. Esto nos llevó a una conversación mucho más profunda entre los miembros de la banda para definir nuestra propias visiones políticas. Y así, en estos días de movilización social, la banda en su conjunto tiene clara su responsabilidad, de estar del lado de los movimientos sociales, ayudando de todas las maneras que podamos. Y lo mismo pasa al interior de las hinchada. Ellos entienden la relevancia política de lo que está pasando y nos dan un feedback que para nosotros es tremendamente valioso, incluso sugiriendo temas para las canciones.

Lo que muestra también el tipo de relación que han construido…

Exactamente. No nos exigen cosas, pero reconocen que hay una confianza y una cercanía que permite este tipo de conversaciones. Yo creo que sienten que tiene un espacio dentro de la banda, y yo creo que es así.

Y es que hay una caricatura del fan que es real. Ese fan que idolatra a los miembro de la banda y que desarrolla una especie de relación infantil de amor y odio. Nosotros hemos trabajado para construir otro tipo de relación, entre un colectivo, que es la banda, y otro colectivo, que es el grupo de seguidores que han decidido comprometerse no solo con la música sino también con el proyecto político.

Seguro que ustedes conviven con una mezcla de ambos tipos de seguidores, ¿no? Deben tener seguidores que se parecen a esa caricatura que acabas de mencionar

Sí, claro que hay. “Me gustaba más antes, ya no me gustan”, o “Traicionaron el sonido original de la banda” y los clásicos haters en redes sociales. No estamos libres de eso. Y a veces en persona, hay fans que se acercan para hacerte saber su frustración o desacuerdo con alguna decisión musical que tomamos en el grupo. Y yo creo que mi rol ahí es quedarme calladito y escuchar nomás. Nosotros componemos y tocamos la música, pero una vez que está afuera, ya no es nuestra, le pertenece a la gente. Yo podría decidir un día irme de la banda y empezar un proyecto nuevo, pero para algunas personas, la música que hemos hecho tiene un grado de importancia que está profundamente atado a sus vidas, a sus identidades. Y a veces eso se expresa como frustración o como rabia. Otro fan me mandó una carta para contarme que su psiquiatra le recomendó que escuchara nuestra música, como parte de su terapia para evitar pensamientos suicidas, después que trató de matarse. Otro fan me contactó por Instagram diciendo “Max, la cagué con mi novia, ¿me puedes ayudar a arreglarla?” Y yo pensaba que no puedo ni arreglar esos problema en mi propia vida, pero uno se siente comprometido a tratar y ayudar.

Entonces la comunidad que se ha formado alrededor de la banda es un elemento especialmente relevante para este proyecto

Sí. Yo estoy más interesado en la comunidad alrededor de la banda que en la pura mecánica de componer canciones y vender entradas para conciertos. Estoy interesado en entenderlos, en comunicarme con ellos. Por eso para nosotros es tan importante se parte de esas comunidades y no solo mirarlos desde el escenario.

¿Ha cambiado la relación con la hinchada desde el Estallido Social?

Sí, claro. Al principio tocamos mucho menos, porque cancelaron conciertos y festivales. Y el momento en el que por lo general nos juntamos era alrededor de los conciertos, antes o después nos juntábamos y conversábamos. Afortunadamente, nos hemos encontrado participando en marchas y encuentros. Y lo más bonito es que hemos visto a distintas comunidades de seguidores de otras bandas se han empezado a organizar y salen a marchar juntos.

Felipe Valenzuela is a Chilean Journalist, currently studying a Master in Global Communication at USC. He was Associate Professor in the Universidad Católica de Chile and is currently researching how technology affects the media and political systems in Latin America, as well as the ways that different communities are adapting to these changes. 

Política y cumbia en Chile: Cultura Participativa al servicio de la democracia (1 of 2) by Felipe Valenzuela

Felipe Valenzuela wrote the following paper as part of my Fandom, Participatory Culture, and Web 2.0 seminar last spring. You may recall that I was taking steps to bring issues of race and nationality front and center in the syllabus. Not surprisingly, many of the students wrote about fan cultures in the countries where they came from. Valenzuela wrote this front line perspective on ongoing protests in Chile and the role which popular musicians and their fans play in sparking political resistance. At his request, we are posting the essay in both English and Spanish so that it can be read in Latin America. We begin with the Spanish version (in two installments).

Política y cumbia en Chile: Cultura Participativa al servicio de la democracia

Felipe Valenzuela

¿Qué está pasando en Chile?

Chile ha ingresado a un estado de movilización social desde fines de Octubre de 2019. La movilización, generalizadamente referida como “El Estallido”, se enfoca en demandas por dignidad, autonomía e igualdad, todos elementos que se encuentran presentes en procesos similares alrededor del mundo como en Hong Kong, Cataluña y el Líbano. Hace unos meses, la coalición de Gobierno concedió iniciar un proceso para escribir una nueva Constitución, que reemplazará a la actualmente vigente, escrita durante la dictadura de Augusto Pinochet. Esto abre muchos desafíos para el pueblo de Chile. Uno de ellos tiene que ver con encontrar nuevas formas de organización social, por fuera de los partidos políticos y de las instituciones democráticas tradicionales, que se encuentran en un nivel de desaprobación histórico. Algunas de las pistas para enfrentar este desafío pueden encontrarse en las comunidades participativas que se forman alrededor de grupos de música popular, y que entienden la música, el baile, la fiesta, las marchas, la política y la protesta social como fenómenos conectados, parte de un mismo continuo. Entender mejor este tipo de comunidades puede ser un elemento valioso para enriquecer el proceso democrático que ya empezó en Chile para escribir una nueva Constitución, profundizando el conocimiento que ya existe sobre el poder que subyace en la mezcla de Culturas Participativas con activismo político.

Aunque aún se está debatiendo mucho sobre el significado y alcance de las movilizaciones de los últimos meses en Chile, hay un acuerdo generalizado de que algunas de las demandas transversales que empujan el malestar social son la desigualdad, los abusos y privilegios injustos. Pareciera, además, haber un rechazo a la cultura individualista que la estructura neoliberal ha generado, contraponiéndola con un llamado a reconstruir vínculos personales en comunidades locales.

source: www.elsiglo.cl

La afiliación política en Chile ha estado declinando sostenidamente desde el término de la dictadura, a fines de los 80. Actualmente, menos de un cuarto de la población reconoce sentirse identificada con algún partido político. Además, la confianza en las instituciones del sistema democrático ha caído drásticamente en los últimos cinco años, luego de una serie de escándalos de corrupción. La aprobación del Presidente está alrededor del 6%, solo un 3% de la población confía en el Congreso y la aprobación de los partidos políticos es aún más baja, por debajo del margen de error de las encuestas más reconocidas en el país. Todos estos son síntomas claros de una democracia poco saludable, donde la percepción mayoritaria es que la elite política está distanciada de las necesidades de la gente común y el sistema político en su conjunto es visto como un dispositivo al servicio de un pequeño grupo de privilegiados. En este contexto, las organizaciones ya existentes, que además cuentan con altos niveles de actividad y participación, como las comunidades de fans, pueden jugar un rol crucial para ayudar al mejoramiento de la debilitada democracia chilena. Especialmente enfrentada al desafío de escribir una nueva Constitución.

Cumbia Fandom

La cumbia, como género musical, comenzó en las comunidades esclavas de Colombia, durante el siglo XVII. Además de las raíces africanas, la cumbia incorpora influencias europeas y de los pueblos originarios americanos. Actualmente, este género es masivamente popular en toda Latinoamérica, desde México hasta Chile. Las canciones de cumbia, tradicionalmente, han girado en torno a historias de amor y romance, esporádicamente tocando temas de política contingente. El grupo chileno de cumbia “Villa Cariño” es uno de los más populares del país, conocidos, además, por tener una base numerosa y organizada de fans. Además, el líder y vocalista de la banda es políticamente muy activo, habiendo participado en campañas electorales e incluyendo mensajes políticos explícitos en sus canciones y presentaciones en vivo.

source: Locura Villana archive

En Chile, las comunidades de fans se hacen llamar hinchadas, tomando el concepto del mundo del fútbol. A pesar de que la mayoría de las personas que conforman la hinchada “Locura Villana” son mujeres, la comunidad ha asimilado este repertorio simbólico desde el fútbol, actividad tradicionalmente relacionada al género masculino. Los mismos integrantes de la hinchada reconocen que esta es una manera de diferenciarse de otro tipo de comunidades, en que el énfasis está puesto en aspectos más emocionales, vinculados al imaginario del groupie y tradicionalmente considerados rasgos femeninos.

Rodrigo Urra, fundador y miembro de la hinchada Locura Villana

¿Cómo empezó tu relación con Villa Cariño?

Llevo siguiendo a la banda por siete años ya. Y después de ir a varios conciertos, empiezas a reconocer las caras. Esas cara se vuelven conocidos y después se arman amistades. Así empezó nuestra hinchada, Locura Villana, que fundamos hace dos años.

¿Cómo es tu relación con otros fanclubs de Villa Cariño?

Hay un par más de comunidades con las que hemos tenido problemas en el pasado, pero ahora nos llevamos bien. Nosotros no le decimos fanclub, eso sí. No somos tan groupies (se ríe).

¿Cómo se hacen llamar, entonces?

Somos una hinchada cumbiera, que es parecido a lo que pasa con los clubes de fútbol. Los fanclubs son más de groupies que idolatran a los miembros de la banda, que todo el tiempo quieren sacarse selfies con sus ídolos, que, de alguna manera, están un poco enamorados de ellos. La hinchada cumbiera no es así. Nos sentimos parte de la banda, pero en los conciertos no estamos en primera fila. Vamos a la galería, en los asientos más baratos, con banderas, papel picado, lienzos, poleras. Igual que una hinchada de fútbol. Vamos a darle el aguante al grupo para que sientan que están tocando como locales.

Y el vínculo con la banda es menos emotivo, entonces. No están enamorados de ellos, como dices tú…

Claro, pero igual, a cada evento que vamos, después nos juntamos con los chiquillos [de la banda], nos abrazamos, nos damos las gracias, nos apoyamos mutuamente. Y ese vínculo a veces es mucho más fuerte que el de los que se ponen en primera fila.

¿Cómo se comunican y coordinan con los demás miembros de la hinchada?

Principalmente vía Whatsapp. No tenemos líderes. Algunos somos la cara más visible, porque llevamos más tiempo y vamos a todas la actividades. Gente como Carlos Araya, Emily Llancafil, Karina Salinas somos las caras visibles, pero desde el principio decidimos no tener cargos ni un jerarquía. Así que simplemente informamos a través del Whatsapp de las actividades que vamos a hacer y distintas personas se ofrecen para asumir las responsabilidades que toquen.

¿Realizan otro tipo de actividades además de las relacionadas con la banda?

Sí. Hacemos trabajo comunitario con nuestras comunidades locales. Hemos trabajado arreglando plazas y espacios públicos, también nos juntamos a compartir comida con gente en situación de calle. Hablamos con los vecinos y transformamos espacios que estaban abandonados en plazas y les ponemos “Plaza Villa Cariño” o “Plaza Locura Villana” y las apadrinamos.

¿El Estallido Social les ha modificado su agenda de actividades?

Bueno, nosotros estamos marchando desde mucho antes del Estallido. Todos los viernes marchamos con la banda y la Agrupación de Familiares de Detenidos Desaparecidos. Y hemos estado en todas las marchas importantes de los últimos años. Lo que está pasando ahora, eso sí, es más grande que cualquier cosa que hayamos visto antes. Y como hinchada, nos hemos puesto a disposición del movimiento social, para ayuda a transmitir información, ayudar a personas y hemos organizado cabildos para conversar sobre la nueva Constitución.

¿Sientes que la relación con la banda ha cambiado?

Nos vemos menos, pero yo creo que estamos muy comunicados y con una relación súper cercana. Hace un tiempo atrás se organizó un concierto/fiesta e invitaron a Villa Cariño. Nosotros lo conversamos en la hinchada y decidimos que no íbamos a participar, porque sentíamos que no correspondía hacer una fiesta en medio de las violaciones a los derechos humanos que estaban ocurriendo en Chile. Nos contactamos con los cabros de la banda, les explicamos nuestra postura y ellos decidieron restarse del evento también.

Felipe Valenzuela is a Chilean Journalist, currently studying a Master in Global Communication at USC. He was Associate Professor in the Universidad Católica de Chile and is currently researching how technology affects the media and political systems in Latin America, as well as the ways that different communities are adapting to these changes. 

How Do You Like It So Far?: My Ten Favorite Episodes

How Do You Like It So Far?: My Ten Favorite Episodes

Two and a half years ago, Colin Maclay (the head of the Annenberg Innovation Lab) and I began to experiment with podcasting, seeking to tap our networks of contacts (fans, activists, journalists, critics, industry insiders, and academics) to provide some commentary on popular culture in a changing world.

We called it How Do You Like It So Far? as a provocation -- initially seeking comments on our experiment but later, asking us to reflect on the choices we are making about the nature of contemporary culture and politics. We’ve produced these podcasts using the facilities of the USC Annenberg School of Communication and Journalism and working with teams of student producers.

Our initial model had clusters of episodes focused on specific releases (Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Black Panther, Ready Player One) but we soon decided that we wanted to do a series of one-off episodes reflecting on a broader range of topics. Sometimes, we’ve done a cluster of related topics -- such as a series on the importance of getting more cultural critics of color or an ongoing focus on the nature of podcasting as a medium. Our most popular episodes have often dealt with popular culture outside the United States, reflecting the reality that we have a solid transnational listenership.

I wanted to take this occasion to celebrate, belatedly, our 50th episode, and to share with my blog readers some of my favorite episodes. I’ve restricted myself to ten which I felt reflect the range of what the podcast tries to do, but it’s painful to stop here since there’s so many great conversations that I did not include. My hope is that this list may entice you to try something and you will stick around for more.

Understanding Comics with Scott McCloud

This is the first of a series on comics, Here, McCloud, who has been a key figure in comics studies for almost three decades, takes us on an expert guided tour of the medium, its history, and how it is changing in response to shifts in technology, audience demographics, and industry practices. I will be honest: we geeked out a little on this one, but the conversation stays lively and accessible throughout.

The Great Eastern with Howard Rodman

Howard Rodman wrote an amazing book, which remixes Jules Verne and Herman Melville, This episode ended up a celebration of the late 19th century novel, but more than that, a reflection about the choices artists make about what to preserve from the past and which statues need to be knocked off their basel

Memes to Movements with An Xiao Mina

Memes are being deployed as a tool for political and cultural expression world-wide and this conversation took a global approach, comparing meme culture in China and the United States, discussing why cat memes are so popular and why goat memes are on the rise.

Radicalized with Cory Doctorow

Cory Doctorow is a science fiction writer, but he’s also a policy wonk, a new media activist, and a blogger. Be forewarned that this episode will make your head explode as his thoughts shoot out in all directions, starting with his recent collection of short stories, Radicalized.

Exploring the Dark Fantastic with Ebony Thomas

Ebony Thomas thinks about the stories we tell our children about race. She cares deeply about an imagination gap as some children enter worlds full of magic and others remain trapped in harsh realities. This episode is full of insights for parents and teachers, but also for writers and publishers, about the importance of fantasy and dreaming for all children.

Taking Risks: Comedy as a Tool for Social Justice

Caty Baroom Chattou and I met through the production of this episode, which we recorded in the basement of the Library of Congress. From her start working with Norman Lear to her recent partnership with Hasan Minaj, she shares her experience bringing comedians and activists together to think about how to use jokes to help change the world.

Critics of Color with Eric Deggans

This was the culmination of a series we recorded about the shortage of cultural critics of color to help interpret and advocate for the more diverse and inclusive mediascape we all hope to see. Eric Deggans, NPR’s television critic and fellow member of the Peabody jury, describes his role as a critic who has written about music and television and who has sometimes struggled with the ethics of when he should say bad things about minority artists.

Emily Andras, Mauren Ryan and Louisa Stein on Fans, Producers, and Queer Bating

This episode started with an email from a listener who wanted to weigh in about “queer baiting,” the practice of producers stringing along fans with promises of ships that are never going to arrive. To address her question, we pulled together a producer, a critic, and a academic, all of them fans, all of them passionate about the best way to build and sustain fan followings around cult programs.

Hye Jin Lee and Cristina Visperas on the Global Fandom of Hip Hop

More and more of my students are passionate about K-pop, and not simply those who come from Korea or its neighboring countries. Curious to learn more, Colin and I invited two of our USC colleagues who know a lot about this genre of music and the fan cultures that have grown up around it. This became one of the most popular episodes of the show ever.

Black Panther, Comics, and the History of Marvel

We invited comics critics Ramzi Fawaz and Rebecca Wanzo to come together and share their reflections on Black Panther, then newly released. The two barely stopped for breath as they reflected on what made this Marvel movie such a game-changer and how it fits within the larger history of the superhero genre.

Ahmed Best on Race and Star Wars

Our very first episode remains one of our favorites as Ahmed Best (the actor who played Jar Jar Binks) shares his thoughtful and informed reflections on the history of racial politics in and around Star Wars.

We continue to produce one episode a week when classes are in session. There’s a lot more where this comes from. Check us out and let us know how you like it so far.

Preserving British Comics: A Call to Arms!

Preserving British Comics – A Call to Arms!

Julia Round and Chris Murray

For half a century, British comics dominated children’s entertainment in the United Kingdom. They were diverse, exciting, irreverent, innovative, and worked on by some of the top talent in Europe. Their taut storytelling, dynamic layouts, and dramatic content are just memories to many old readers today – and in fact even these are fading. Memories from within the industry are equally precarious, as we have sadly lost a number of important creators over the past few years.  

In our introduction to this blog series, Billy and I reflected on the sad state of the British comics industry today, where just three print titles have survived. But due to a lack of archives, in fact this whole area of our cultural heritage is in very real danger of being completely lost. The comics themselves were low budget productions; printed on cheap paper and seldom properly stored, many copies are literally falling apart. Some public libraries have special collections, and the British Library has the collected runs of many titles, but even these are often incomplete. Ephemera such as free gifts and promotional materials, as well as supporting documents (publicity materials, sales ledgers, scripts, press releases) and any surviving pieces of original art are predominantly in the hands of private collectors. But as these owners age, their collections look set to be broken up and sold off in pieces, as was the fate of Denis Gifford’s legendary collection. Other collections have since been offered for sale, but so far a number of funding bids from UK scholars to obtain and preserve these have not seen any success. 

British comics represent a unique contribution to the culture of the UK. They are a way of understanding and interrogating our history, but they also represent a thriving creative economy, one with national and international reach. An international research strategy is urgently required to catalogue and map existing collections and archives, and to develop the resources required to ensure that comics, original comic art, and the ephemera that surrounds the comics (free gifts, advertising, information on fan clubs, and so on) is not lost. So much of that long history is at risk of disappearing, and not enough is being done to preserve the work being done right now. Although institutions such as the Cartoon Museum in London are doing important work with permanent gallery displays and public events, there are vast numbers of comics and research materials that are unseen, inaccessible, and in danger of being lost and forgotten.  

We hope that the ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series has not only been informative, but also a celebration of the rich history of British comics. As we move forward, we urge fans and scholars to consider the importance of creating and sustaining new and existing comics archives and resources that can be accessed by researchers and the public alike. We not only need to look to the past, but also to our present – how are we collecting and preserving the work of current creators? 

There can be no effective single strategy to protect and preserve this cultural history. Instead, this is a call for all fans and academics working in this field to do whatever we can to promote it and attract funding. We need to find new ways of understanding and experiencing the rich diversity of British comics, and to work together to preserve materials that can inform and inspire future generations of readers and comics creators. 

'Crisis on Inbetween Earths' (2 of 2) by Will Brooker

Grant Morrison and Richard Case later introduced a character named after another REM song, ‘Driver 8’, as one of Crazy Jane’s multiple personalities in Doom Patrol. The number on  his or her cap was turned to one side, and the eight became infinity.

Lines from Ulysses escaped my diary and spread across my bedroom wall, above the mirror.

At the same time, James Joyce’s style was also shaping Grant Morrison’s prose, in Zenith.

I think it was a coincidence – that I was into Ulysses anyway, rather than that I read Joyce because of Zenith – but at this distance, it’s hard to be sure.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes I said yes I will Yes.

At around the same time, Peter Milligan (author of Shade the Changing Man) and Duncan Fegredo released a Vertigo miniseries simply called Enigma. Again, I was more taken with one of the minor characters: in this case, Victoria Yes. The Envelope Girl.

Victoria’s pages were the colour of manila. She could transport her victims across time and space, from one time to another place. That was her one power. I was entranced by her.

It was a time when the boundaries between producer and reader, author and fan blurred a little more than they do now. Grant Morrison published reviews alongside mine in Fantasy Advertiser magazine. I spoke to Alan Moore for hours at the theatrical adaptation of Halo Jones, and published our conversation as an interview in one of my earlier fanzines, Frisko (itself named after the Halo Jones disc jockey). I wrote comics, and without even meeting the artists who drew them – we communicated by letter, of course – I seemed also to appear in comics.

I became part of a small-press network, pre-Facebook, pre-MySpace, pre-Friendster. We wrote and drew comics, and circulated them by post.

My first script was called ‘Vertigo’. It wasn’t very good. I found my style writing stories about a man who, like Victoria Yes, had a girl somewhere inside him, an envelope waiting to be opened. And when she came out, he saw stars.

When I re-read those scripts now, I cringe a little – but perhaps not for the reasons you imagine. They are texts of their time: the year was 94, and I was raw. I didn’t have a better word than ‘transvestites’, and — because I was so young — I thought it was all about passing on the outside, not how you identified inside. These are stories from before LGBT was an acronym; before I had anything more than a sparse, inadequate vocabulary and a briefly-glimpsed community.

I didn’t have the words, at the time. The right word would come later.

But meanwhile, pre-Facebook, pre-MySpace, pre-Friendster, how did we all find each other? Through pamphlets, through fanzines, through comics: through postal addresses in the back pages of magazines.

I wrote a letter to Shade The Changing Man every month, and it was printed every month: almost a regular column. And once, Shade wrote back to me. Artist Gavin Wilson sent me an original print of Shade, from his photoshoot for issue #23 (May 1992), ‘An Illusion of Real’.

So Shade was a real man, and we fans were a little like comic book characters. We were all so pretty, so seemingly-immortal. So young, so gone, as Brett Anderson put it in 1993. We’ll scare the skies with tiger’s eyes, oh yeah. (The opening lyrics to ‘So Young’ aren’t listed anywhere: Brett simply cries ‘Seeker! Star!’ a euphoric yell of yes.)

The Vertigo titles reflected us like a looking-glass. They showed us we could be a certain kind of superhero: shades, suede, leather, boots and buckles, broken parts and mosaic minds. Teams like Morrison’s Doom Patrol offered a gang of misfits we could all join.

I even performed in a Suede covers band. Funny, at the time I didn’t realise everyone in the house, everyone at the party, was gay.

But then, the boundaries were slippery. Brett Anderson claimed to be bisexual. Everyone I dated turned out to be bi. The binaries blurred. Shade the Changing Man woke up one morning as a woman, and went into a word-panic worthy of Molly Bloom: why man, woe man.

Milligan’s self-conscious wordplay – Joyce himself even featured in one episode of Shade – climaxed in a particularly slippery trick towards the end of Enigma.

‘Michael remembers the first time he stood naked in front of a strange girl…

Because that’s what he feels like now.

A strange girl.’

Like Shade, I was sharing a house with two or three other girls. I couldn’t always count them. That’s the kind of curious house it was: like Morrison’s sentient transvestite real estate from Doom Patrol, Danny-the-Street, things seemed to shift and move when you turned your back. I didn’t have the words, at the time, to describe the scene, the house, the carnival of sorts we were all part of – but later, I realised it had been starring me in the face all along, on the cover of a comic book.

Enigma, part 8, the final issue. A face stared straight out at the reader, with the caption ‘queer’.

Enigma is a remarkable comic: it seems obscure now, rarely-remembered, out of print. It’s astonishingly similar in its themes and approach to Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s later four-part series, Flex Mentallo (1996), but it’s not been examined or obsessed over to anything like the same extent.

It tells the story of an ordinary man called Michael who meets a superhero – a gorgeous, larger-than-life superhero called The Enigma, who comes to life from the pages of a childhood comic book. But where Flex only implies the homoeroticism of the relationship between fan and icon, reader and character, civilian identity and costumed alter ego, Enigma faces it full-on.

Enigma makes Michael gay. And then, in the last episode, offers to turn him back. And Michael says ‘NO.’ But it’s a no as positive as Molly’s final yes.

And as for me? I put the envelopes in the attic. I moved out, I moved house, I started a new life, I sold out.

I left everything behind and got a room in Cardiff, and began a PhD about Batman.

But that’s another story, for another time.

Will Brooker

November 2012

Will Brooker is Professor of Film and Cultural Studies and Head of the Film and Television Department at Kingston University, London. Professor Brooker’s work primarily studies popular cinema within its cultural context, situating it historically and in relation to surrounding forms such as literature, comic books, video games, television and journalism. In addition to the numerous essays and articles on film and fan culture that he has published, his books include Why Bowie Matters (2019), Forever Stardust: David Bowie across the Universe (2017), Star Wars (2009), Alice’s adventures: Lewis Carroll in popular culture (2004), Using the Force: Creativity, Community and Star Wars Fans (2002), and the edited anthologies The Blade Runner Experience (2004) and The Audience Studies Reader (2003).  He is also a leading academic expert on Batman and the author/editor of several books on the topic, including Batman Unmasked (2000) Hunting the Dark Knight (2012), Many More Lives of the Batman (2015).

'Crisis on Inbetween Earths' (1 of 2) by Will Brooker

In our final installment of our ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series, we have an essay by Will Brooker. Previously published on the now defunct website, Infinite Earths, Will has kindly permitted us to republish the essay in full, which we are very gratful for. I’m sure many scholars are intimately aware of Will’s work on Batman comics and other transmedia expressions in his Batman Unmasked: Analyzing a Cultural Icon (Continuum 2001), and Hunting the Dark Knight: Twenty-First Century Batman (IB Taurus 2012), but he was also a dedicated reader of the Vertigo comics line of the 1990s, an imprint of DC Comics that would not have had such an impact on the medium without the armada of writers and artists that came with the so-called British Invasion. Indeed, what was Vertigo’s gain turned out to be e a great loss for the British comics landscape..

—William Proctor & Julia Round

Crisis on Inbetween Earths

Will Brooker

The year was 94. Or thereabouts. It was a slippery time; I dig out my old diaries from the attic and discover that some of this happened in 89, and some of it in 96. But I think of it as circa-94, around the time that Vertigo comics entered me and I entered them. I was living in a tall house with two or three other girls.

This is what it looks like now, on a digital map. But that isn’t how I remember it. I remember it more like this: like the scene of Rose Walker arriving at her new home in Gaiman’s second Sandman story arc, The Doll’s House. (Looking it up now, I realize it was first published in 1989. You see what I mean?)

This was my bedroom, or part of it. It was on the top floor, and at night a beacon on the top of the newly-built Canary Wharf tower winked through my window There was a water boiler in the corner that heaved, breathed and gurgled. The room was maybe ten feet by ten, as big as the walk-in wardrobes in the hotel rooms I now occupy. But I loved it.  I painted Molly Bloom’s last lines from Ulysses on the wall, in affirmation. It was, in the words of Shade The Changing Man #9, my pink heaven.

It was on that top floor that I and my co-editor Alice Constance Ballantyne put together Deviant Glam, a fanzine about comics and cosmetics that was informed by, steeped in, swayed by, and segued into the approach and aesthetic of the Vertigo comics of the period.

Yes, a fanzine. It was printed out, photocopied and sent out by post. This was a time of inbetweenness: between the days of analogue and the early internet, when mix tapes were starting to feel quaint and clumsy, but long before Napster. It was a time when cut and paste meant scissors and clue, not control-C and control-V. It was a time when a folder meant a cardboard wallet, a desktop was where you typed your letters on a clunky machine or wrote them by hand, when file was the first syllable in filofax, and wallpaper referred to the collage – tickets, snapshots, pin-ups and posters – you stuck above your bed to make your space your own, as I did with that line from Ulysses above my mirror.

And looking back, that’s another line from Ulysses: stolen from chapter 11, Sirens, with Miss Douce and Miss Kennedy in a Dublin bar.

‘She laughed:
—O wept! Aren’t men frightful idiots?
With sadness.’

You wonder why every comic book and graphic novel cover by Dave McKean, Bill Sienkiewicz and their imitators between 89 and 95 was a mixture of postcards, pebbles, photographs and shells, with bits of lace laid over the top? Because our bedrooms looked like that. Because our diaries looked like that. It was a time of scraps, of bits and bobs. The Psychedelic Furs had a phrase for it, in their song Alice’s House (Mirror Moves album, 1984): ‘it’s a mess of souvenirs… there to remind you, telling the time.’

But Deviant Glam wasn’t just about comics (and not just about cosmetics). It was also – as the Fall put it, in their song Glam Racket, ‘entrenched in suede’. Brett Anderson’s indie band, dubbed ‘the last big thing’ by the music press, had released ‘The Drowners’ and ‘Metal Mickey’ in 1992. I bought all their singles, on vinyl, the day they appeared. It was a time of objects and physical artefacts. I was about Brett’s age. I became entrenched in Suede. The lyrics echoed and entered my diaries, which, I now admit, I often wrote when I was drunk.

‘I see you’re moving, see you’re moving

Moving in with her.

Pierce your right ear, pierce your heart, this skinny boy’s one of the girls.’

By coincidence, I’d bought my first Fall album (I Am Kurious Oranj, 1988) because of this frame from Grant Morrison and Steve Yeowell’s superhero epic Zenith, where minor character Penny Moon wears their badge on her leather biker jacket for a moment in Prog 606, December 1988. The panel is barely the size of a postage stamp, but it stuck with me.

I probably bought a leather biker jacket because of Penny Moon, too.

Or maybe it was because of Zenith himself. Fiction had a way of blurring into fact, after a few drinks. And drinking had a way of blurring into sobriety. And the week had a way of blurring into weekend. There was a constant, low-level sense of party that segued into hangover and back to party, up and down, midnight to midnight. In May 1991, I borrowed the title of an REM song to describe the mood.

‘Carnival of Sorts’ was included on Dead Letter Office, REM’s compilation of B-sides and rarities, their rummage through the attic, their archiving of old files. I bought it to celebrate finishing my finals. (I’d gone out to buy the Cure’s album Mixed Up, but I got mixed up, and came home with REM instead).

All letters are dead now – antique museum pieces – but that was our means of communication not so long ago: not mails, but letters, with pen and paper. Straight boys sent handwritten letters to other straight boys, and added love and kisses at the end. I’ve kept them.

For a while, I looked a little like Zenith. That’s me reading Grant Morrison and Steve Yeowell’s Sebastian O, near Comics Showcase in London, in 1993.

For another while, I looked a bit like Penny Moon. At another point, in another place, I looked a little like Kid Eternity, from the Grant Morrison and Duncan Fegredo reboot of 1991.

Will Brooker is Professor of Film and Cultural Studies and Head of the Film and Television Department at Kingston University, London. Professor Brooker’s work primarily studies popular cinema within its cultural context, situating it historically and in relation to surrounding forms such as literature, comic books, video games, television and journalism. In addition to the numerous essays and articles on film and fan culture that he has published, his books include Why Bowie Matters (2019), Forever Stardust: David Bowie across the Universe (2017), Star Wars (2009), Alice’s adventures: Lewis Carroll in popular culture (2004), Using the Force: Creativity, Community and Star Wars Fans (2002), and the edited anthologies The Blade Runner Experience (2004) and The Audience Studies Reader (2003).  He is also a leading academic expert on Batman and the author/editor of several books on the topic, including Batman Unmasked (2000) Hunting the Dark Knight (2012), Many More Lives of the Batman (2015).

British Comics Go to the Movies (Part 3 of 3) by James Chapman

Judge Dredd (1995) is another example of the throw-the-kitchen-sink-at-it-and-hope-for-the-best school of film-making. This was another ‘Hollywood British’ film, produced in Britain by Carolco, the American independent which specialized in action movies such as Rambo and Total Recall. Rambo himself, Sylvester Stallone, was signed to play Dredd, the futuristic Dirty Harry created by John Wagner and drawn originally by Carlos Ezquerra for the cult British science fiction comic 2000AD. Again, this should have been a hit. Films such as RoboCop, The Running Man and Total Recall had suggested there was a market for futuristic violent action movies. The monosyllabic, uncompromisng lawman Dredd was perfectly within Stallone’s emotional range as an actor. And $80 million was a hefty budget, even in the spiralling cost-context of contemporary Hollywood blockbusters. But critics were dismissive in the extreme: reviews were headlined ‘Dredd boring’, ‘Dredd-nought’ and ‘A slice of stale dread’. And while it grossed around $112 million (with two-thirds of that coming from markets outside the United States), that was a disappointing return for a would-be franchise vehicle and probably meant that the producer did not recover the cost.

To be fair Judge Dredd isn’t nearly as bad as some of the other films featured here. It’s reasonably close to the source material, combining elements of two classic early Dredd stories, ‘The Day the Law Died’ and ‘The Return of Rico’. The production values are all one would expect and the Blade Runner-influenced cityscape of the future is a visual feast. It’s clear that Danny Cannon, the British director of The Young Americans, had an ambitious vision for the film. He saw it as an epic in the manner of Ben-Hur, Spartacus or El Cid: ‘Those movies took themselves very seriously, just as the artists acting in them did, and I tried to incorporate that element of emotional honesty in Judge Dredd. It’s every bit as much an epic passion play as it is a sci-fi film.’ This claim is not as ridiculous as it might sound. If we take Dredd as Judah Ben-Hur, Rico (Armand Assante) as the bad brother Messala and Chief Judge Fargo (Max Von Sydow) as the surrogate father-figure Quintus Arrius, then Judge Dredd does indeed resemble the structure of Ben-Hur, with Dredd’s journey on the prison ship the equivalent of Judah’s imprisonment on the slave-galley, the crash landing in the Cursed Earth the equivalent of the sea battle, and the chase on Lawmaster bikes as the chariot race. That Judge Dredd did not, in the end, match up to Cannon’s vision for the film was probably due to drastic editing in post-production – invariably a sign that someone (usually the studio) has doubts about the box-office potential of the finished product.

Yet ultimately Judge Dredd became a text-book example of the compromises that occur when Hollywood attempts to turn a cult comic strip into a would-be blockbuster. In the end it was probably not authentic enough to the comic source material to satisfy 2000AD cultists but too close for the general cinema-goers unversed in Dredd lore but who make up the larger proportion of the audience. Judge Dredd outraged fans when Dredd removed his helmet and even shared a kiss with Judge Hershey (Diane Lane). It would be unthinkable for him to do this in the comic but it was necessary for the film which had to appeal to a wider audience than merely readers of the comics.

Of course there are some pretty dire American comic book movies too. I recently sat through (in the name of research) the infamous Howard the Duck (1985), aka ‘Howard the Turkey’, an experience that the CIA could surely adopt as an enhanced interrogation method.

But there’ve also been plenty of good American comic book movies to erase the memory of the duds. Dick Tracy (1990) is one of the boldest visual design jobs in American popular cinema, The Rocketeer (1991) is a cinephile’s delight, and Wonder Woman (2018) finally disproved the theory that there’s no box-office potential for a female superhero. There are also many ‘guilty pleasures’: I’m a big fan of Doc Savage: The Man of Bronze (1975) (PM me if you want to know the storyline for the announced-but-unmade sequel The Arch Enemy of Evil, which I found in George Pal’s papers) and I rather like The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003) even though it was disowned by Alan Moore. And of course the continuing popularity of the Marvel superhero cycle – extending back to the first X-Men (2000) – has placed comic book movies at the epicenter of the political and cultural economy of contemporary Hollywood.

British cinema has long ceased to be a mass-production industry, and I very much doubt there is scope for production on the scale of Marvel Studios. But plenty of British comics would provide strong material for low or medium-budget independent films. The recent success of Sam Mendes’s 1917 might persuade an enterprising film-maker to take a look at Pat Mills and Joe Colquhoun’s ‘Charley’s War’ (Battle). Paul Grist’s Jack Staff would make for a quirky, offbeat, alternative superhero flick in the manner of Deadpool. How about Sky Atlantic or Netflix investing in a serialization of Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta for television? And I still live in hope that one day we might see that film of Dan Dare: Pilot of the Future.

James Chapman is Professor of Film Studies at the University of Leicester and author of British Comics: A Cultural History (Reaktion, 2011) as well as several books on British cinema, including Licence To Thrill: A Cultural History of the James Bond Films (I. B. Tauris, 2nd edn 2007) and Hitchcock and the Spy Film: Authorship, Genre, National Cinema (I. B. Tauris, 2018). He is currently writing Comics at the Movies, a history of comic book film adaptations from the Flash Gordon serials of the 1930s to the contemporary Marvel and DC superhero cycles.

British Comics Go to the Movies (Part 2 of 3) by James Chapman

Tiffany Jones (1972) - produced and directed by British exploitation film-maker Pete Walker – was a sort of Jane for the seventies. Tiffany, who first appeared in a newspaper strip in the Daily Sketch, is a fashion model who, like Jane, tended to lose her clothes at the faintest narrative contrivance. The relaxation of censorship in the 1970s meant that, unlike The Adventures of Jane, Tiffany Jones was able to present its heroine in her natural state, though erotic it isn’t, even in the form of the New Zealand-born model-turned-actress Anouska Hempel, who reportedly later wanted to remove this abomination from her CV. Like other British films of the period, Tiffany Jones has the slightly jaded air of a hangover from the 1960s: its fashion model heroine is very much a throwback to the time of ‘Swinging London’ but that cultural moment had passed by the time of the film’s production. Walker was a low-budget director who specialized in exploitation fare including the sex comedies that were ubiquitous in 1970s British cinema (Cool It Carol!, Four Dimensions of Greta) and ‘punishment’ films in which young women fall prey to sinister oppressors (House of Whipcord, Frightmare). Tiffany Jones includes elements from both those genres: Walker’s penchant for punishment narratives surfaces briefly in a bizarre scene where Tiffany is threatened with torture in a restaurant kitchen – leering heavies menace her with hot soup and whip her with strips of spaghetti – while the climax conforms to one of the conventions of the sex comedy as Tiffany’s model girlfriends (describing themselves as the ‘South London Branch of the Model Girls’ Union’) strip naked at a garden party. Observer film critic Philip French thought it was ‘quite one of the most inept, witless, joyless and unerotic movies I’ve ever seen’.

Of course it’s easy to be dismissive about films that have little cultural ambition: these films are bad but there’s been many an American comic-strip movie of equal disrepute. Who today remembers Brooke Shields as Brenda Starr (1987) or Pamela Anderson as Barb Wire (1996)? But it’s a shame that comic-strip characters who represent something interesting about wider social and cultural discourses of femininity should have received such poor treatment in the movies. I’ve long believed that newspaper comic strips offer revealing insights into social mores and values, whereas the films based on them tend towards parody or camp.

It’s easy enough to make a bad movie on a low budget. To make a bad movie on a big budget, however, surely requires a special kind of skill. Witness for the prosecution: Modesty Blaise (1966). This is yet another film based on a female-centred British newspaper comic strip, which is evidently a subject for further research. Modesty Blaise was one of the so-called American ‘runaways’ produced in Britain during the ‘Hollywood, UK’ investment boom of the 1960s: British-made films backed by American studios, in this case Twentieth Century-Fox, which lavished £1.2 million on this dog’s breakfast of a movie. To put that in context, Modesty Blaise had over three times the budget of Dr No, the first James Bond picture, and was nearly twice the cost of Zulu. Modesty Blaise could – and should – have been a hit. Peter O’Donnell’s sassy adventure heroine, drawn initially by Jim O’Donnell for the Evening Standard from 1963, had all the hallmarks of a first-rate thriller in the style of James Bond. The strip itself was fast-moving, globe-trotting, took itself seriously enough not to be parody but was sufficiently aware of its genre conventions to remain on just the right side of camp. So how did it go so wrong?

What they should have done was commission a script from Brian Clemens, writer of some of the best episodes of the stylish British secret agent series The Avengers, bring in one of the Avengers directors such as James Hill or Robert Fuest to direct, and cast either of the Avengers heroines Honor Blackman or Diana Rigg as Modesty. Instead what they did was turn to auteur director Joseph Losey – director of such brilliant dissections of the British class system as The Servant, Accident and The Go-Between but hardly renowned as a film-maker possessed of a ‘light’ touch – and a miscast Italian art house darling Monica Vitti. Losey had no feel for the source material: indeed it’s not even clear whether he ever looked at the strip. The studio also rejected Peter O’Donnell’s script (which he subsequently used as the basis for the first Modesty Blaise novel, which is far superior to the film) in favour of one by Evan Jones that treated the material as camp in the manner of the contemporaneous Batman television series. There is a germ of an idea in Modesty Blaise, a sort of meta-fictional apparatus in which the ‘real’ Modesty performs as the Modesty of the comic strips. But the idea is poorly developed, Vitti fails to convince as an action heroine, and Dirk Bogarde’s camp super villain Gabriel is frankly an embarrassment. Only Terence Stamp as Modesty’s loyal sidekick Willie Garvin emerges with any credibility. As a result Modesty Blaise is the great lost opportunity of British comic strip movies.

Even so it had a surprisingly positive critical reception. The Monthly Film Bulletin felt that it perfectly captured the zeitgeist of the mid-1960s: ‘If a social historian were faced with the task of citing the film most representative of the spirit of the age, Modesty Blaise would be a strong contender. The film is a paean to the mid-sixties, the age of the ephemeral, the use-it-and-throw-it-away phenomenon, the era of the colour supplement, of paper plates and plastic toys and colourful gimmickry in the visual arts.’ The more serious and middle-brow critics seem to have welcomed it as a parody or deconstruction of the gimmicky secret agent movies exemplified by the Bond pictures. The broad approval at the time (it’s pretty much rubbished today) is revealing about a too-dogmatic adherence to the auteur theory: Losey was a critics’ director, and there was a sense in which he could not (at the time) be deemed to have made a bad film. But Peter O’Donnell was keen to distance himself from the film of which he later said: ‘It makes my nose bleed just to think of it.’

Modesty Blaise

James Chapman is Professor of Film Studies at the University of Leicester and author of British Comics: A Cultural History (Reaktion, 2011) as well as several books on British cinema, including Licence To Thrill: A Cultural History of the James Bond Films (I. B. Tauris, 2nd edn 2007) and Hitchcock and the Spy Film: Authorship, Genre, National Cinema (I. B. Tauris, 2018). He is currently writing Comics at the Movies, a history of comic book film adaptations from the Flash Gordon serials of the 1930s to the contemporary Marvel and DC superhero cycles.

British Comics Go to the Movies (Part 1 of 3), James Chapman

Before he became a film-maker, Lindsay Anderson wrote: ‘As, geographically, Britain is poised between continents, not quite Europe, and very far from America, so from certain points of view, the British cinema seems to hover between the opposite poles of Frances and Hollywood. Our directors and producers never or rarely have the courage to tackle, in an adult manner, the completely adult subject; yet they lack also the flair for popular showmanship that is characteristic of the American cinema.’

The same has often been held to be true of British comics, which are deemed to possess neither the cultural kudos of the French bande dessinée nor the wide appeal and popular mythology of American comics, especially the superhero tradition.

In my book British Comics: A Cultural History, I argued that British comics were worth taking seriously in their own right and should certainly not be written off as pale imitations of their American or Continental counterparts. Britain can claim talent to match the world’s best. I would maintain that Frank Hampson deserves a place in any pantheon of great comic-strip artists, and there is probably no more acclaimed comic writer in the world than Northampton’s foremost citizen Alan Moore. For British comic enthusiasts, it is a matter of pride that Dandy and Beano came before Detective Comics and Action Comics. And Britain made its own distinctive contribution to genre comics through such titles as Commando, Warlord, Battle, Roy of the Rovers and, of course, 2000AD

However, one area where we Brits have lagged behind our French and American friends is that so few British comics have made the transition to film – and even fewer have done so successfully. Indeed I am hard pressed to name a single film adapted from a British comic strip or comic book that is any good, though there are some that are very bad.

Why is this?

One reason might be that the adventure strip – the source of many of the comic book movie blockbusters since Superman (1978) – emerged later in Britain than it did in the United States. Until the Second World War most British comic strips were ‘funnies’: there were no real equivalents of Flash Gordon or Dick Tracy – both of whom made their celluloid debuts in Hollywood movie serials in the 1930s – let alone British counterparts of Superman or Batman. Britain’s own space hero, ‘Dan Dare – Pilot of the Future’, who made his debut in the Eagle in 1950, has never made it to the big screen, though there were abortive attempts to do so by the aforementioned Lindsay Anderson in the late 1950s and by entrepreneur Paul De Savery in the mid-1970s, who wanted to cast James Bond star Roger Moore. A deservedly forgotten CGI’d television series is the only screen Dan Dare.

Another reason might be that British cinema has historically had a smaller domestic market than Hollywood: insufficient to return the expense of a high-concept special effects picture. Alexander Salkind’s production of Superman and Dino de Laurentiis’ Flash Gordon (1980) were both technically British films on account of being shot in British studios and employing British technicians to qualify for the production subsidy offered by the Eady levy, but there was little or nothing culturally British about them. Superman’s Britishness derived not from its source material, its writers (Mario Puzo, David and Leslie Newman), its director (Richard Donner) or its mostly American cast, but from the fact that it was shot at Pinewood and Shepperton studios with a largely British technical crew by the British-registered subsidiary of a Swiss-registered subsidiary of Salkind’s Panama-based finance corporation. When it drew over £1 million of Eady money - a fund raised through a levy on ticket sales that was repaid to producers of ‘British’ films in proportion to their box-office revenues – it prompted the government to rethink the operation of the levy, which had been set up to assist struggling British producers and not to line the pockets of Hollywood mercenaries.

Most British comic-strip movies have tended to be low-budget affairs. The Adventures of Jane (1949), based on the famous strip cartoon heroine of the Daily Mirror and which by my reckoning was the first British comic-into-film adaptation, is case in point. Filmed around the seaside resort of Brighton during the off-season for low-budget specialist Keystone New World Productions, it is a dreary film in every respect: cheap production values, lacklustre scripting, flat direction and wooden performances. It exists now as little more than a historical curiosity, the only starring vehicle for original ‘Jane’ model Chrystabel Leighton-Porter whose acting ability sadly did not match the shapeliness of her legs.

‘Jane’ was very much a product of her time: the height of her popularity coincided with the Second World War when she represented an idealized girlfriend whose goodness and virtue provided reassurance for servicemen separated for the duration (despite her propensity to accidentally shed her clothes, Jane remains chaste and is unswervingly loyal to her boyfriend Georgie Porgy). Producer Harry Robertson maintained the wartime setting, sending Jane (Kristen Hughes) to Africa on a mission for the British government in Jane and the Lost City (1987). This film is surely a contender for the mantle of worst British picture ever made. It’s a sort of sub-Carry On version of Raiders of the Lost Ark, with Jasper Carrott camping it up as a German villain obviously modelled on Ronald Lacey’s sinister Toht who is so inept that he makes Herr Flick of the Gestapo (‘Allo ‘Allo) seem positively menacing in comparison. The production values are non-existent, the acting pitched at the level of a Comic Relief skit (though the film is not very comic and brings precious little relief) and the   crude ’foreign’ stereotypes make the Carry On films seem enlightened in comparison. It was picked up was picked by New World Pictures, a specialist in low-budget genre films that usually handled the films the major distributors did not want to touch, and disappeared without trace at the box office.

James Chapman is Professor of Film Studies at the University of Leicester and author of British Comics: A Cultural History (Reaktion, 2011) as well as several books on British cinema, including Licence To Thrill: A Cultural History of the James Bond Films (I. B. Tauris, 2nd edn 2007) and Hitchcock and the Spy Film: Authorship, Genre, National Cinema (I. B. Tauris, 2018). He is currently writing Comics at the Movies, a history of comic book film adaptations from the Flash Gordon serials of the 1930s to the contemporary Marvel and DC superhero cycles.

UK Underground Comix: Ar:Zak, the Birmingham Arts Lab, and Streetcomix #4 (3 of 3) by Maggie Gray

The Arts Lab Press

The Lab’s press itself operated as a kind of print workshop, with a similar experimental, interdisciplinary outlook and close ties to local community activity and activism. At first, Lab event publicity and programmes were produced using table-top silk screen and an A4 offset litho printer loaned from a local cash-and-carry. In 1972 the Lab expanded into the downstairs area at Tower Street, which allowed for a dedicated silk screen space, used by Hudson, Bob Linney and Ken Meharg to produce vivid, innovative posters. A better equipped darkroom was also set up, permitting image scaling, halftone screening, colour separation and production of printing plates, which enabled the press (having acquired its own second-hand A4 offset machine) to print a range of publications in significant runs, good quality and colour, including poetry magazines, music scores and, of course, comics.

But as well as printing their own material, the Arts Lab Press also partly functioned as a print shop for the wider community, used by local activist and cultural groups, students unions and bands to produce newsletters, flyers and posters. It additionally printed alternative local papers like Street Press – part of a movement of, often radical, localised independent media that flourished in the 1970s. As Emerson put it, the Arts Lab Press took a “more sympathetic approach than a normal commercial printer” (personal communication 2018). It was therefore part of a larger nationwide network of co-operative printshops supporting the community arts and alternative press movements which shared the Lab’s commitment to enabling democratic participation in arts, and was listed in directories of community presses. The Lab also ran its own magazine stall selling local and/or alternative publications.

Figure 5. Adverts from Streetcomix #4, Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press, p. 33; p. 22; p. 4. © the artists

Ar:Zak publications shared the same distribution channels as the wider alternative press movement, carried by the PDC distribution co-op, as well as Hassle Free Press (later Knockabout) – set up by Tony and Carol Bennett to publish underground comix, but also operating as a distributor of various alternative papers and magazines. Ar:Zak comics therefore sold through the same network of headshops, radical bookshops, record stores and comic shops that supported alternative papers, and equally avoided the de facto censorship powers of commercial wholesalers like WH Smith. This interconnection of comics and the alternative press was evident in the fact that many alternative papers carried comic strips – with Emerson’s work, for example, appearing in Street Press, Grapevine, The Moseley Paper and Muther Grumble, amongst others. It’s also apparent in the adverts in Streetcomix #4 (Fig. 5), which include ads for various alternative publications like The Leveller, Co-Evolution Quarterly, Undercurrents and Fanatic, as well as Alchemy’s Brainstorm Comix and Pyramidesx, and comic book shops like London’s ‘Dark They Were and Golden Eyed’ and Bristol’s ‘Forever People’ along with Birmingham headshops.

Figure 6. Mail order advert for Ar:Zak comics, Streetcomix #4, Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press, p. 4. Mr. Hepf’s Comix Briefs, Streetcomix #4, p. 49. © Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press

Ar:Zak

Similar ideas of making resources for independent media production democratically accessible, and supporting a wider movement in alternative publishing, framed Ar:Zak’s approach to comics. Emerson, who got a job at the Arts Lab Press in 1974 as a print operator, before taking over design and darkroom duties, had been self-publishing his Large Cow Comix series since 1972, using the print facilities at various ‘day jobs’ to run off small editions. The Arts Lab Press offered the perfect opportunity to print comics on a larger scale and in better quality, and so he teamed up with writer Paul Fisher (Streetcomix’ fictional editor Mr. Hepf), and Martin Reading (who had a background in theatre and came in to run the A4 offset litho), to form Ar:Zak. They were joined by cartoonists Suzy Varty (who co-founded Street Press), Chris Welch (previously involved with COzmic Comics and Nasty Tales) and Steve Berridge (‘a very young and angry punk’ by Emerson’s description), as well as Dave Hatton, who came in as a printer in 1976 to run a newly acquired A3 machine. Crucially, Ar:Zak didn’t just publish its own titles, like Streetcomix (first issued as a free insert in Street Poems magazine), or its members’ comics, like Emerson’s Zomix Comix and The Adventures of Mr Spoonbiscuit, but it also offered its services to others, printing David Noon’s Moon Comix and Mike Matthews’ Napalm Kiss, and thus supporting a wider UK alternative comics scene. Ar:Zak sold many such comics by mail order alongside its own titles, as advertised in Streetcomix #4, which also includes Mr. Hepf’s ‘Comix Briefs’ reviews  of these and other alternative comics in its backend editorial pages (see Fig. 6).

Notably, many of these titles were - like Streetcomix - anthologies, featuring work by a range of creators, with varying levels of experience, in a diversity of styles and genres. As stated, Ar:Zak offered wider participants in the Lab opportunity to get involved with comics. Playwright and journalist David Edgar, for example, (a board member whose shows were performed at the Lab and who acted there himself), collaborated with illustrator Clifford Harper on an anti-fascist strip for Ar:Zak’s most politically acute anthology, Committed Comix, published in 1977 at a time when a broad grassroots anti-fascist movement was confronting the neo-Nazi National Front. Perhaps the most important Ar:Zak comic in terms of British comics history, which similarly engaged with key contemporary political movements, was Heroïne, the first UK (near enough)-all-female anthology, put together by Suzy Varty. Varty was involved in feminist activism and had links to the U.S. women’s comix movement - thus Heroïne brought British cartoonists together with American peers like Trina Robbins, and included work by members of the Lab’s Women’s Art Group with which Varty was involved. Published in 1978, Varty sold the comic at the national Women’s Liberation conference taking place in Birmingham that year.

Figure 7. KAK ’77 insert, Streetcomix #4. © Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press

As well as sustaining the alternative comics movement by enabling creators to print their work more affordably than via commercial printers, and in higher print runs and better quality than was possible through self-publishing, Ar:Zak also helped it cohere by organising two national meet-ups. The first of these ‘Konventions of Alternative Komiks’, which included panels, exhibitions, workshops and jams, was held at the Birmingham Arts Lab’s Tower Street site in 1976, with the second at London’s Air Gallery in 1977. As well as printing posters and special souvenir comics KAK Komix and KAK ’77, Ar:Zak reviewed these conventions in Streetcomix. Streetcomix #4 includes a report on the London event in the form of a pull-out printed on blue paper, which the reader is invited to cut up and fold into a smaller, digest-size publication of its own (Fig. 7). It features photographs, the results of several of the comics jams, and summarises the key issues discussed. These included the financial and distribution challenges faced by those working in the scene, but in particular centred on heated debates over sexism and how it could be challenged without leading to censorship. Varty had taken artists whose work Ar:Zak printed, like Mike Matthews, to task for the way they depicted women (Huxley 2001, p. 84), and the Streetcomix write-up insisted that consciousness of misogyny had to be developed in the movement: ‘it is both sexist and defeatist for a man to give up and say “I’m just a boring old sexist fart and I’ll always draw tits and bums”’. In response to later accusations that Ar:Zak itself was sexist, Streetcomix #6 was dedicated to the issue, featuring interviews with Ar:Zak, Robbins and Clay Geerdes on the subject, alongside strips from a range of Ar:Zak stalwarts.

Figure 8. Table of contents, Streetcomix #4, p. 3, © Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press

M. Steven Fox of Comixjoint (2013) has argued that Heroïne can be seen as a bridge between the earlier U.S. underground women’s comix movement that kicked off in the early 1970s, and the later wave of alternative comics by women creators. Streetcomix itself arguably acted in a similar way, open to diverse contributions from a broad range of creators, it featured work which drew on an established underground vernacular, but equally pushed in a number of new directions. As its table of contents attests (Fig. 8), Streetcomix #4 includes work from Geoff Rowley and Chris Welch (whose strips had appeared in underground titles like COzmic Comics’ Dope Fiend Funnies), as well a comic by J. C. Moody supposed to have been published by COzmic before they went bust. Alongside this more ‘first wave’ work, are contributions from cartoonists with closer connections to the alternative press, such as Emerson and Steve Bell, as well as artists like Jerzy Szostek and Andy Johnson who cut their teeth in the punkzine scene. Experimental strips from Birmingham creators like Robin Sendak rub shoulders with work from Ray Weiland and George Erling of the U.S. newave minicomics scene – a connection augmented by the fact Ar:Zak titles were included in a list of ‘British new wave minis’ compiled by David Noon for the 1981 Collectors' Guide to Newave Comix.

Streetcomix’ content was thus diverse, but it generally featured, as Ar:Zak themselves put it,  creators ‘working in a less commercial vein that that usually associated with the comics medium’ (Streetcomix #2 1976, p. 3). This included work at the borders of the comics form, echoing the intermedial ethos of the wider Lab – in the case of Streetcomix #4, contributions from Szostek, Bell and Gary Hosty more akin to Hosty’s contribution (more illustrated prose, Johnson’s enigmatic fine-line illustrations, and even a Mr. Hepf editorial narrating a story of the characters Warbler and Yates who would appear in strips by Fisher and Welch in Streetcomix #5 and #6.

Figure 9. Hunt Emerson, ‘Large Cow Comix’, Streetcomix #4, Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press, p. 24; p. 31. © Hunt Emerson

The graphic design of Ar:Zak comics adopted the same innovative, experimental approach seen in the strips themselves, speaking to the fact it enabled cartoonists to also be involved as designers and printers. Typography is varied and bold, including playful typefaces made of human figures and prominent striped page numbers. Streetcomix #4 equally showcases an ambitious approach to printing, with Emerson’s ‘Large Cow Comix’ mobilising the rich colour possibilities offered by higher quality print reproduction (and better grade paper) to stunning effect, using colour to create evocative texture that adds to the silent strip’s enigmatic use of panel layout (Fig. 9). Having access to their own printing press and darkroom facilities enabled the Ar:Zak team to experiment with what the technology could do, including the machinery as a core part of the creative process. As Emerson recalls, ‘We were printing from photographic negative on to metal plates, and we used to work on the negatives, scratching out and painting ... We’d be getting effects in the drawings, collaging things with feathers and bits of rubbish’ (Emerson 2013). This is evident in Streetcomix #4, not only in comics like Blake and Sendak ‘s ‘Ice Age’, but in its broader design, with several of the strips overlaid on backgrounds that appear to be made up of some of this experimental photographed material (see Fig. 10). Fisher’s self-referential Mr. Hepf editorial similarly affirms the centrality of ownership of the means of production, and affective engagement with it, to what Ar:Zak was able to do with comics: ‘[Mr. Hepf] pulls a switch and the world is pushed aside by the rampant beat of the multilith. His eyes glaze over, as the pounding fills his veins’.

Figure 10. Pokkettz, Streetcomix #4, Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press, pp. 34-35. © Graham Higgins

For more on Ar:Zak and the Arts Lab Press, see Maggie Gray, ‘The Freedom of the Press: Comics, Labor and Value in the Birmingham Arts Lab’, in Thomas Giddens (ed.) Critical Directions in Comics Studies. University Press of Mississippi (forthcoming 2020).

Bibliography

Baetens, J. and Lefèvre, P. (2014) ‘The Work and its Surround’, in Miller, A. and Beaty, B. (eds) The French Comics Theory Reader. Leuven: Leuven University Press, pp. 191–202.

Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery (1998) The Birmingham Arts Lab: The Phantom of Liberty. Birmingham: Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery.

Emerson, H. (2013) ‘Back to the Lab: Hunt Emerson. Flatpack Festival: Projects.’ FlatPack Festival, March 24. Available at: https://flatpackfestival.org.uk/news/back-to-the-lab-hunt-emerson/

Estren, M. J. (1987) A History of Underground Comics. Berkeley, CA: Ronin Publishing.

Huxley, D. (2001) Nasty Tales, Sex, Drugs, Rock n’ Roll and Violence in the British Underground. Manchester: Critical Vision.

Long, P., Baig-Clifford, Y., and Shannon, R. (2013). ‘What We’re Trying to Do is Make Popular Politics: The Birmingham Film and Video Workshop.’ Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 33 (3), pp. 377-95.

Rosenkranz, P. (2002) The Underground Comix Revolution 1963–1975. Seattle: Fantagraphics.

Sabin, R. (1993) Adult Comics: An Introduction. London and New York: Routledge.

- (1996) Comics, Comix and Graphic Novels. London: Phaidon.

Streetcomix #2 (1976) Birmingham: Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press,.

Streetcomix #4 (1977) Birmingham: Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press.

Streetcomix #5 (1978) Birmingham: Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press.

Steven Fox, M. (2013) ‘Heroïne’, Comixjoint. Available at: https://comixjoint.com/heroine.html

Wakefield, T. (2015) ‘Beau Brum: Remembering the Birmingham Arts Lab’. Sight and Sound, August 7. Available at: http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/features/beau-brum-remembering-birmingham-s-arts-lab  

Maggie Gray lectures in Critical & Historical Studies at Kingston School of Art, Kingston University. Her latest book is Alan Moore, Out from the Underground: Cartooning, Performance and Dissent, Palgrave (2017). She is a member of the Comics & Performance Network and CoRH!, the Comics Research Hub. With Nick White and John Miers she co-runs Kingston School of Art Comic Club.

UK Underground Comix: Ar:Zak, the Birmingham Arts Lab, and Streetcomix #4 (2 of 3) by Maggie Gray

Figure 3. Hunt Emerson. ‘Birmingham Arts Lab 1970s’. Back cover, Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery, The Birmingham Arts Lab: The Phantom of Liberty (1998). © Hunt Emerson

The Birmingham Arts Lab

It’s useful to take a step back and identify what an arts lab was – an accessible, collectively organised, multidisciplinary, experimental arts space. Originating in London in 1967, they sprang up across the country in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, bringing together film and video, theatre and performance, music, dance and visual arts, as well as compound multimedia forms. The idea was to give artists a freer, more open space to develop and present their work; to facilitate experimentation in and across different forms and media through skills-sharing; to transform the way art was consumed via collaborative and interactive relationships with audiences; and to make the means of creative production more widely accessible and affordable.

The Birmingham Arts Lab was established in 1968 by a group of artists who decamped from the local council-funded Midlands Arts Centre to fundraise for a new, less creatively restrictive environment. In 1969 they acquired use of a building that had previously been a youth centre on Tower Street in Newtown, a working-class area of the city. They transformed the space with materials donated by local groups and appropriated from nearby building sites, creating a cinema with a home-made projection box (which screened a wide range of international arthouse films), a performance area for theatre, music, poetry and alternative comedy (adapted for immersive lightshows using hinged panels), workshop and rehearsal spaces and a coffee bar. Happenings and performances were also staged on the roof (where a show by visiting theatre company Sweetness and Light involving nudity caught the attention of the local papers), as well as in the city’s streets and open spaces. There was an emphasis on play and experimentation across disciplines, for example with a screening of René Clair’s Dadaist film Entr’acte accompanied by live piano, ballet dancers and experimental electronic sounds. Like many labs it also operated as a kind of commune, with members and touring theatre companies sleeping in the storerooms, water tank and even the spaces between the floors. Altogether it was an appealingly chaotic place, as captured by foundational Ar:Zak member Hunt Emerson in an illustration for the 1998 book The Birmingham Arts Lab: The Phantom of Liberty, which collated participants’ recollections (Fig. 3).

The Birmingham Lab was run on a co-operative basis and aimed to create an inclusive artistic space where ordinary people could get involved in creative practice, by making what was usually prohibitively expensive equipment publically accessible. It had strong ties to the local community, organising collaborative events and festivals with local arts organisations, colleges and community groups, running creative play sessions for neighbourhood children and involving local youth in an Arts Lab football team (Wakefield 2015). This was a key part of how the Lab connected to wider social movements, grounded in the conviction that creative autonomy was linked to political empowerment – that the ability to independently participate in cultural production was crucial to the self-determination of different social groups. Like many labs, Birmingham’s had a strong feminist presence, with a Women’s Art Group that organised exhibitions and participated in mail art projects like Portrait of the Artist as A Young Woman (and whose magazine, MAMA: Women Artists Together, Ar:Zak published and core member Suzy Varty illustrated). They also had close connections to local communities of colour, for example affiliated to The West Indian Narrative, a group exploring a distinctively Afro-Caribbean aesthetic.

Figure 4. Photograph by Derek Bishton, title page, Streetcomix #4, Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press, p.3. © Derek Bishton

Probably the most important way creative practice was made accessible to local people was via the Lab’s workshops, which included dance, music, sound, poetry, theatre, environmental performance, music and painting. Many of these workshops acted as a stimulus for broader community arts activity. For example, the film co-op based at the Lab initiated the Birmingham Film Workshop, which, by providing equipment, training and resources of production, distribution, exhibition and critical discussion, served to catalyse local filmmaking, notably film that engaged with the experiences of black and South Asian communities, such as the work of Yugesh Walia (see Long, Baig-Clifford and Shannon 2013). It was through involvement with such workshops that several key players in Ar:Zak  first got involved with the Lab – with Emerson joining Jolyon Laycock’s avant-garde sound workshop and Varty attending the dance workshop.

Thus involvement with the workshops opened doors to participation across the various artistic activities undertaken at the Lab and involvement in a range of creative outputs. This collaborative, interdisciplinary approach, and its connection to a broader community arts ethos, is also evident on the title page of Streetcomix #4. Above the colophon and beneath the table of contents is a photo by Derek Bishton (Fig. 4), a photographer and journalist who was the Lab’s publicist and involved in its photography activity. Bishton was highly engaged with community photography in Birmingham, establishing the design group Sidelines in 1977 with Brian Homer and John Reardon. Based in Handsworth, a multicultural area with significant British Asian and Afro-Caribbean populations, they worked with community groups producing reports, booklets and newsletters on issues like housing, unemployment, policing and racism, as well as projects like Handsworth Self Portrait, which enabled local residents to produce their own photographic portraits. They also began producing the magazine Ten.8 at the Lab, which showcased local photography while also discussing critical issues of politics, race and representation, strongly influenced by the work of figures like Stuart Hall at Birmingham’s Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies.

Streetcomix often featured such other, ‘non-comics’ work coming out of the Lab, including Siobhan Coppinger’s etchings and sculptures, illustrations by poster artist Ernie Hudson, and articles by poet and performer Nick Toczek and comedian John Dowie - evidencing the role played by Arts Lab Press publications in communicating and cohering the Lab’s identity as a multi-/interdisciplinary space. By the same token, Ar:Zak members also participated in collaborative work across different media, with Varty making costumes and props for the performance Dogman written by Paul Fisher (which then appeared in comic form illustrated by Emerson).  As Emerson later put it, ‘the Lab was always like that. People would suggest something and you would get involved and find yourself knocking together a film set out of rubbish’ (2013).

Maggie Gray lectures in Critical & Historical Studies at Kingston School of Art, Kingston University. Her latest book is Alan Moore, Out from the Underground: Cartooning, Performance and Dissent, Palgrave (2017). She is a member of the Comics & Performance Network and CoRH!, the Comics Research Hub. With Nick White and John Miers she co-runs Kingston School of Art Comic Club.

UK Underground Comix: Ar:Zak, the Birmingham Arts Lab, and Streetcomix #4 (1 of 3) by Maggie Gray

Figure 1. Streetcomix #4 November 1977, Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press. Cover art © Pete Wingham. Streetcomix #5 March 1978, Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press. Cover art © Hunt Emerson

A chance encounter with the UK underground

I first came across Streetcomix in 2006 at the London Comic Mart, which used to take place in the Royal National Hotel, just around the corner from University College London where I was doing my PhD. Although London Comic Mart mostly focuses on U.S. comics and collectables, you can also pick up the odd British title, and I was hunting for copies of Warrior, a later UK anthology of the early-to-mid-1980s in which several well-known strips written by Alan Moore (‘V for Vendetta’, ‘Marvelman’ and ‘The Bojeffries Saga’) were first serialised. Rifling through the boxes I was taken aback by the intense saturated colour cover of Streetcomix #4, promptly followed by Hunt Emerson’s striking issue #5 artwork, with its luminescent bugs threatening to scramble off the page onto my hands (Fig. 1). These comics had recognisable underground markers (‘-ix’ not ‘-ics’, poking fun at cops), and a dose of late 1970s punk attitude (brash, graffiti-like typography and lurid colour), but they were also quite lush material objects, with full back cover illustrations, high production values and decent quality paper stock.

My focus at the time had been on Warrior as a ‘ground-level’ indie comic, attempting to realise the artistic freedom and creator’s rights of the underground while competing via newsagent distribution with mainstream titles like 2000AD. But Streetcomix, the Ar:Zak imprint that produced it, and the Birmingham Arts Lab where Ar:Zak was based, grew increasingly relevant to my research as I became more and more interested in Moore’s earliest work for underground anthologies, alternative papers and the music press. This space of comics production carved out in Birmingham seemed to be a fulcrum of underground and alternative comics in Britain in the 1970s, bridging those scenes in ways that blurred the borders between them, and sitting at the centre at some of their core debates and developments (notably confrontations over sexism and the coalescence of a UK women’s comics movement). And Ar:Zak equally appeared to be deeply entwined in the same broader oppositional cultural formations, particularly the arts lab and alternative press movements, that had such a crucial impact on Moore and his creative practice.

Underground and Alternative in UK comics scholarship

Not much has been written about Ar:Zak, partly due to the fact that not much has been written about UK underground and alternative comics in general. In the historical narrative that does exist, most notably David Huxley’s Nasty Tales: Sex, Drugs, Rock’n’Roll and Violence in the British Underground - still the only academic book dedicated specifically to the subject - British titles are divided into two waves: the first underground, the second alternative. The first wave, catalysed by Robert Crumb’s Zap, spanned the late ‘60s to the mid ‘70s and was led by publications like Cyclops, Nasty Tales and COzmic Comics, spun out of hippie underground papers IT and Oz. This wave coincides most clearly with the chronology of U.S. comix as charted by Patrick Rosenkranz (2002) and Mark Estren (1987), and was impacted by similar issues of censorship (with police raids on publishers and high profile obscenity cases like the Nasty Tales trial), escalating costs in the wake of the 1973 oil crisis, and a wider waning of the counterculture. The second wave saw the sex, drugs and anti-authoritarian politics give way in late ‘70s and early ‘80s titles like Near Myths, Graphixus and Pssst! to greater concern with production quality, stylistic experimentation, narrative complexity and/or fantasy, horror and science-fiction themes, more in the vein of artistically ambitious European comics like Métal Hurlant or À Suivre. Distribution through hippie headshop networks was superseded by the emergence of specialist comic book shops, and publishers were more professionalised and market-minded.

However, as Huxley acknowledges, the contours of these waves are somewhat hazy, and it is difficult to situate Ar:Zak squarely in one or the other.  Huxley positions Brainstorm Comix, produced 1975-77 by headshop owner Lee Harris’ Alchemy Publications and prominently featuring Bryan Talbot’s work, as marking ‘the death throes of the underground movement’ in the UK (2001, p. 47). Yet others, like Roger Sabin (1993; 1996), situate it, alongside Streetcomix, as part of a partial, more regionally-dispersed revival of the UK underground in the mid-to-late-1970s, which maintained the counterculture’s ethos and organisational forms while registering the impact of punk.

Part of the challenge comes from Ar:Zak’s relative longevity, running from 1974/5 (when COzmic Comics was still going) into the early ‘80s (when Warrior was being hatched). But an inescapable factor is its foundation in the Birmingham Arts Lab, established as part of the counterculture’s autonomous infrastructure, which fought to maintain an experimental, collective and participatory approach to cultural production throughout its own comparatively extended lifespan from 1968 to 1982. As the UK’s longest running lab it engaged with the social and cultural movements emerging out of the hippie underground, above all the alternative press and community arts movements, which extended and developed many of its core principles in more decentred, networked, regional and local contexts.

The way Ar:Zak bridged the first wave of underground comix and later, more localised DIY comics publishing; its significance in sustaining an emerging alternative comics movement; and how that was contingent on its roots in the Arts Lab as a countercultural space; can all be read in those issues of Streetcomix I stumbled across at the London mart. And because Ar:Zak’s importance to British comics lies less in any one strip or artist featured than its overall role as publisher, printer, and coordinator, its significance can be most clearly discerned by looking at what Jan Baetens and Pascal Lefèvre (2014) call their ‘perigraphy’ - front and back matter, colophons, editorials, advertising, etc. Therefore this article will explore the perigraphic features of Streetcomix #4.

Figure 2. Colophon Streetcomix #4, p.3. © Ar:Zak, The Arts Lab Press

The colophon on the title page of Streetcomix #4 (Fig 2.) notes it was ‘Published, Designed and Printed by AR:ZAK, The Arts Lab Press’. This immediately tells us something crucial about Ar:Zak – they printed their comics themselves. And this was possible because the Birmingham Arts Lab ran its own press.  It additionally tells us that they addressed readers as potential contributors and ascribed copyright to creators, suggesting a less exploitative, more participatory and inclusive approach than the mainstream comics industry.

Maggie Gray lectures in Critical & Historical Studies at Kingston School of Art, Kingston University. Her latest book is Alan Moore, Out from the Underground: Cartooning, Performance and Dissent, Palgrave (2017). She is a member of the Comics & Performance Network and CoRH!, the Comics Research Hub. With Nick White and John Miers she co-runs Kingston School of Art Comic Club.

Adventures Under Ground: UK Underground Comix (1969 – 1982). A Memoir (2 of 2) by Dave Huxley

Regional Centres

The rise of several Free Press centres – community presses dedicated to cheap printing for local organisations - allowed for the creation of several regional centres of underground or alternative comic publication.

Birmingham: The most significant of these regional centres was Ar:zak in Birmingham. It’s most significant artist was Hunt Emerson, who became a major British underground figure, and also worked for mainstream publications like the BBC’s Radio Times magazine and drew Firkin the Cat for Fiesta magazine. His style was dynamic and easily accessible, and showed the clear influence of American cartoonists. Ar:Zak also featured the work of David Noon, who gave a bold design feel to the comics, which were already probably most graphically sophisticated of UK underground comics at the time.

Figure 11 . David Noon, Street Comix 2, 1976

Newcastle upon Tyne: The Junior Print Outfit was the brainchild of comic artist Angus McKie. As well as science fiction cover illustrations and commercial work for publications as diverse as House of Hammer, Metal Hurlant/Heavy Metal, McKie had been published in Cozmic Comics’ Half Assed Funnies. After an accidental meeting at the Tyneside Free Press in Newcastle upon Tyne in 1977 McKie joined forces with Mike Feeney, myself and Alan Craddock to form the Junior Print Outfit, and produced two issues of Either Or Comics. Difficulties with printing and full time jobs restricted output, leading to an A5 four page Neither Nor Comics.

Figure 12 . Neither Nor Comic, 1977

The final publication of the group was Comic Tales, a full colour hardback comic produced in conjunction with Titan books.

Figure 13 . Advertising poster for Comic Tales, 1982

Edinburgh: In 1978 Rob King’s Near Myths featured a range of artists, and most notably Bryan Talbot’s Luther Arkwright. The comic had full colour covers and was well produced, but it only lasted five issues. It also included early work by Grant Morrison.

By 1976 there were enough of these groups, and of course London based creators, to organise KAK – the Konvention of Alternative Komics (although notice already the dropping of underground for the more user-friendly alternative). This was followed by KAK 77, with both events organised by Chris Welch and Hunt Emerson. Interest in the field also led Mal Burns to produce Comix Index in 1977, which attempted to list all artists and writers who had appeared in British underground comics up to that point.

Figure 14 . Title page of Comix Index. Caricature of Mal Burns by John Higgins

This publication was invaluable to me when I later undertook a PhD on the subject, completed in 1990, which, with additions and changes, turned into the book Nasty Tales.

Decline

The general increase in interest in comics led the comics historian Denis Gifford to produce Ally Sloper, named after the important nineteenth century English comics character. However the mix of the nostalgic (reprints of work by earlier artists like Terry Wakefield) new work by major contemporary professionals (Frank Hampson and Frank Bellamy) and ‘underground’ artists (Hunt Emerson, Kevin O’Neill) seemed to be to just too diffuse to find an audience, and it only lasted four issues.

Figure 15 . Ally Sloper letterhead, latter to the author, 1976

As Cozmic Comics and Nasty Tales folded by 1975, the final phase of what might be called underground comics in the UK centred again on London, and the more professionally produced Graphixus and Pssst, despite their achievements, became the death throes of the form (although not in mainland Europe, but that is a whole different story). Graphixus was an ambitious title featuring, amongst many others, Brian Bolland, with his work sometimes being controversial, particularly his ‘Little Nympho in Slumberland’ strip. Yet again the comic failed to find a big enough audience, and editor Mal Burns explained its demise;

‘Graphixus, surprisingly enough, was doing better and better. It was actually let down by what was, in retrospect, was an extremely self-indulgent and obscure title. It was actually going to change to High Vision with number seven. The problem was my American distributor going bankrupt on me. I never got paid.’ (interview with the author)

Pssst was the most ambitious of all the later British ‘alternative’ comics. Bankrolled by Frenchman Serge Boissevain, it was also edited by Mal Burns, (and Paul Gravett amongst others). It featured some full colour strips and was vaguely based on similar French adult comic models. Despite a lavish outlay the comic struggled for good distribution and a solid market. It lasted ten issues and finished in 1982, but not before it had published work by veterans like Bryan Talbot, Mike Mathews, all of the Junior Print Outfit and newcomers like Glenn Dakin.3

Figure 16. David Huxley, ‘Mike Brutal’, Pssst, 10, 1982

Talbot comments, ‘Pssst was ahead of its time, but it was designed by committee and reputedly lost one hundred thousand pounds. There were five good issues out of ten.’ (interview with the author) The one exception to this decline was Hassle Free Press (an ironic title if ever there was one) which morphed into Knockabout Comics, although they were partially dependant on American material, in particular Gilbert Shelton and Crumb. Tony Bennett at Knockabout survived legal problems to import Crumb’s material, and Knockabout Comics became the home of Hunt Emerson, and published many other underground artists, including Bryan Talbot, Kevin O’Neill and Mike Mathews. History repeated itself in that Knockabout’s censorship problems and customs seizures caused great problems but lead to an outstanding comic in response – The Knockabout Trial Special, in 1984.

Figure 17 . Hunt Emerson, The Knockabout Trial Special, 1984

Legacy

One obvious legacy of British undergrounds was the nurturing of homegrown talent that went on to make significant contributions to comics as a whole (and particularly the US mainstream). Writers Alan Moore and Grant Morrison and artists Brian Bolland, Dave Gibbons and Kevin O’Neill all honed their skills on British undergrounds.

British undergrounds also helped to spread the idea, begun in America, that comics could address a whole range of issues in a whole range of styles. The listing of British underground comics done for my PhD and appearing in Nasty Tales ended in 1982 partially because new ways of producing comics (such as easily accessible and cheap photocopying) made any comprehensive listing impossible. The list, looking back, is woefully inadequate even for the earlier periods. On the other hand these methods, and all the technological advances that followed, mean that small run comics of all kinds are very easy to produce. The underground comics mentioned here provided the inspiration for many later artists. Thus a significant legacy of the underground is that it is possible in many cities across the world to find comics shops that stock a small number of eccentric, unpredictable small publications in amongst the mighty output of DC and Marvel.

Oh yes, I forgot to try and define underground comics, comix, alternative and ground level comics…

Notes

1. Leo Baxendale was the creator of many longstanding British comic characters (mainly for Dundee based D C Thomson) including the Bash Street Kids, Minnie the Minx and Little Plum.

2.  As well as the article in Art and Artists, Patricia Dreyfus discussed the impact of the underground on graphic designers in 'The Critique of Pure Funk' in Print, November/December, 1971, p.13.

3. As I drew and wrote comics, does this make me an Aca-Praca-Fan?

Bibliography

Bizot, J. F. 2006. Two Hundred trips from the counterculture Graphics and Stories from the Underground Press Syndicate, Thames and Hudson.

Huxley, D. 2001. Nasty Tales: Sex, Drugs, Rock’n’Roll and Violence in the British Underground. Critical Vision.

Huxley, D. (forthcoming) Robert Crumb and the Art of Comics in Worden, D. (ed) The Comics of R. Crumb. University Press of Mississippi.

Huxley, D. 1995: ‘Ceasefire: Women against the War’ in J Walsh (ed) ’The Gulf War Did Not Happen’ Politics, Culture and Contemporary Warfare, Arena.

Sabin, R. 1993. Adult Comics: An introduction, Routledge.

Sabin, R. 2001. Comics, Comix & Graphic Novels: A History of Comic Art, Phaidon. 7

Skinn, D. 2004. Comix: The Underground Revolution. Collins and Brown.

Regional Centres

The rise of several Free Press centres – community presses dedicated to cheap printing for local organisations - allowed for the creation of several regional centres of underground or alternative comic publication.

Birmingham: The most significant of these regional centres was Ar:zak in Birmingham. It’s most significant artist was Hunt Emerson, who became a major British underground figure, and also worked for mainstream publications like the BBC’s Radio Times magazine and drew Firkin the Cat for Fiesta magazine. His style was dynamic and easily accessible, and showed the clear influence of American cartoonists. Ar:Zak also featured the work of David Noon, who gave a bold design feel to the comics, which were already probably most graphically sophisticated of UK underground comics at the time.

Figure 11 . David Noon, Street Comix 2, 1976

Newcastle upon Tyne: The Junior Print Outfit was the brainchild of comic artist Angus McKie. As well as science fiction cover illustrations and commercial work for publications as diverse as House of Hammer, Metal Hurlant/Heavy Metal, McKie had been published in Cozmic Comics’ Half Assed Funnies. After an accidental meeting at the Tyneside Free Press in Newcastle upon Tyne in 1977 McKie joined forces with Mike Feeney, myself and Alan Craddock to form the Junior Print Outfit, and produced two issues of Either Or Comics. Difficulties with printing and full time jobs restricted output, leading to an A5 four page Neither Nor Comics.

Figure 12 . Neither Nor Comic, 1977

 The final publication of the group was Comic Tales, a full colour hardback comic produced in conjunction with Titan books.

Figure 13 . Advertising poster for Comic Tales, 1982

Edinburgh: In 1978 Rob King’s Near Myths featured a range of artists, and most notably Bryan Talbot’s Luther Arkwright. The comic had full colour covers and was well produced, but it only lasted five issues. It also included early work by Grant Morrison.

By 1976 there were enough of these groups, and of course London based creators, to organise KAK – the Konvention of Alternative Komics (although notice already the dropping of underground for the more user-friendly alternative). This was followed by KAK 77, with both events organised by Chris Welch and Hunt Emerson. Interest in the field also led Mal Burns to produce Comix Index in 1977, which attempted to list all artists and writers who had appeared in British underground comics up to that point.

Figure 14 . Title page of Comix Index. Caricature of Mal Burns by John Higgins

This publication was invaluable to me when I later undertook a PhD on the subject, completed in 1990, which, with additions and changes, turned into the book Nasty Tales.

Decline

The general increase in interest in comics led the comics historian Denis Gifford to produce Ally Sloper, named after the important nineteenth century English comics character. However the mix of the nostalgic (reprints of work by earlier artists like Terry Wakefield) new work by major contemporary professionals (Frank Hampson and Frank Bellamy) and ‘underground’ artists (Hunt Emerson, Kevin O’Neill) seemed to be to just too diffuse to find an audience, and it only lasted four issues.

Figure 15 . Ally Sloper letterhead, latter to the author, 1976

As Cozmic Comics and Nasty Tales folded by 1975, the final phase of what might be called underground comics in the UK centred again on London, and the more professionally produced Graphixus and Pssst, despite their achievements, became the death throes of the form (although not in mainland Europe, but that is a whole different story). Graphixus was an ambitious title featuring, amongst many others, Brian Bolland, with his work sometimes being controversial, particularly his ‘Little Nympho in Slumberland’ strip. Yet again the comic failed to find a big enough audience, and editor Mal Burns explained its demise;

‘Graphixus, surprisingly enough, was doing better and better. It was actually let down by what was, in retrospect, was an extremely self-indulgent and obscure title. It was actually going to change to High Vision with number seven. The problem was my American distributor going bankrupt on me. I never got paid.’ (interview with the author)

Pssst was the most ambitious of all the later British ‘alternative’ comics. Bankrolled by Frenchman Serge Boissevain, it was also edited by Mal Burns, (and Paul Gravett amongst others). It featured some full colour strips and was vaguely based on similar French adult comic models. Despite a lavish outlay the comic struggled for good distribution and a solid market. It lasted ten issues and finished in 1982, but not before it had published work by veterans like Bryan Talbot, Mike Mathews, all of the Junior Print Outfit and newcomers like Glenn Dakin.3

Figure 16. David Huxley, ‘Mike Brutal’, Pssst, 10, 1982

Talbot comments, ‘Pssst was ahead of its time, but it was designed by committee and reputedly lost one hundred thousand pounds. There were five good issues out of ten.’ (interview with the author) The one exception to this decline was Hassle Free Press (an ironic title if ever there was one) which morphed into Knockabout Comics, although they were partially dependant on American material, in particular Gilbert Shelton and Crumb. Tony Bennett at Knockabout survived legal problems to import Crumb’s material, and Knockabout Comics became the home of Hunt Emerson, and published many other underground artists, including Bryan Talbot, Kevin O’Neill and Mike Mathews. History repeated itself in that Knockabout’s censorship problems and customs seizures caused great problems but lead to an outstanding comic in response – The Knockabout Trial Special, in 1984.

Figure 17 . Hunt Emerson, The Knockabout Trial Special, 1984

Legacy

One obvious legacy of British undergrounds was the nurturing of homegrown talent that went on to make significant contributions to comics as a whole (and particularly the US mainstream). Writers Alan Moore and Grant Morrison and artists Brian Bolland, Dave Gibbons and Kevin O’Neill all honed their skills on British undergrounds.

British undergrounds also helped to spread the idea, begun in America, that comics could address a whole range of issues in a whole range of styles. The listing of British underground comics done for my PhD and appearing in Nasty Tales ended in 1982 partially because new ways of producing comics (such as easily accessible and cheap photocopying) made any comprehensive listing impossible. The list, looking back, is woefully inadequate even for the earlier periods. On the other hand these methods, and all the technological advances that followed, mean that small run comics of all kinds are very easy to produce. The underground comics mentioned here provided the inspiration for many later artists. Thus a significant legacy of the underground is that it is possible in many cities across the world to find comics shops that stock a small number of eccentric, unpredictable small publications in amongst the mighty output of DC and Marvel.

Oh yes, I forgot to try and define underground comics, comix, alternative and ground level comics…

Notes

1.       Leo Baxendale was the creator of many longstanding British comic characters (mainly for Dundee based D C Thomson) including the Bash Street Kids, Minnie the Minx and Little Plum.

2.        As well as the article in Art and Artists, Patricia Dreyfus discussed the impact of the underground on graphic designers in 'The Critique of Pure Funk' in Print, November/December, 1971, p.13.

3.        As I drew and wrote comics, does this make me an Aca-Praca-Fan?

Bibliography

Bizot, J. F. 2006. Two Hundred trips from the counterculture Graphics and Stories from the Underground Press Syndicate, Thames and Hudson.

Huxley, D. 2001. Nasty Tales: Sex, Drugs, Rock’n’Roll and Violence in the British Underground. Critical Vision.

Huxley, D. (forthcoming) Robert Crumb and the Art of Comics in Worden, D. (ed) The Comics of R. Crumb. University Press of Mississippi.

Huxley, D. 1995: ‘Ceasefire: Women against the War’ in J Walsh (ed) ’The Gulf War Did Not Happen’ Politics, Culture and Contemporary Warfare, Arena.

Sabin, R. 1993. Adult Comics: An introduction, Routledge.

Sabin, R. 2001. Comics, Comix & Graphic Novels: A History of Comic Art, Phaidon.

Skinn, D. 2004. Comix: The Underground Revolution. Collins and Brown.

David Huxley is the editor of The Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics (Routledge). He was a senior lecturer at Manchester Metropolitan University until 2017. He has written widely on comics, including works on various artists, underground and horror comics, superheroes and also popular film. He has also drawn and written for a range of British comics, including Ally Sloper, Either or Comics, Pssst, Oink and Killer Comics. His most recent publication is Lone Heroes and the Myth of the American West in Comic Books 1945-1962 (Palgrave MacMillan, 2018).

Adventures Under Ground-UK Underground Comix (1969 – 1982): A Memoir (1 of 2) by Dave Huxley

Definitions?

If there is some doubt about the definition of ‘underground comics’ then perhaps the material dealt with here will be constitute a working definition. For the moment I will lean on the ‘I know one when I see one’ defence. As for ‘alternative comics’, ‘comix’, ‘ground level comics’ …

USA, UPS, Oz and International Times

Whatever uncertainties there are around the field, there can be little doubt that British underground comics owed a massive debt to their American counterparts. And unlike the debate around UK/US punk, there is no doubt about who was first – the movement clearly originated in the United States. This is not to say that there was also some stylistic influence from UK artists. British underground artist Hunt Emerson, although hugely influenced by Robert Crumb and Mad magazine, comments, ‘Leo Baxendale is of prime importance to all English cartoonists. Whether they admit it or not. He’s formed part of our general world view.’1 (interview with the author)

I can remember first seeing the work of Robert Crumb and Gilbert Shelton in Oz magazine and International Times in the early 1970s. Both benefitted from the Underground Press Syndicate agreement that allowed free reprinting from the various underground publishers around the world. Thus articles and illustrations could be freely reprinted by any members of the international UPS movement.

International Times also published homegrown artists such as Edward Barker. The co-founder of the magazine, Barry Miles, explains that, ‘At IT we originated our own cartoon strips, not wanting to the paper to become too American, but after about three years the work of Crumb, Shelton, Spain, Clay Wilson and the other American underground cartoonists had become so good that we started to reprint it.’ (quoted in Bizot)

As I don’t believe in throwing interesting print material away I still have these publications. The Crumb comic ‘My first LSD trip’ was reprinted on the cover of IT (14 June, 1973) with the addition of two colour overlays.

Figure 1 . Robert Crumb, ‘My first LSD trip’ IT 14 June, 1973

Gilbert Shelton was the other artist who was most widely reproduced in the British underground magazines. His Furry Freak Brothers were a natural fit with the pro-marijuana stance of most of the underground. In Oz number 25 (December, 1969) reprints a full page strip where Freewheelin’ Franklin, hassled by two rednecks, destroys them with aid of amyl nitrate.

Crumb’s work was also used in spot illustrations, sometimes with only a peripheral connection to the article they adorned. Reading these magazines at the time, it was Crumb who was particularly striking. However salacious or shocking the content, his method of rendering his drawings in a cute rounded style reminiscent of the Fleisher brothers crossed with Disney (and turned up to eleven) helped to create a visual style for the underground. This phenomenon was noticed in British art and design magazines, such as the respectable publication Art and Artists.2

Figure 2 . S Clay Wilson, cover of Art and Artists (as Art ‘N’ Artists), December 1969

Given the current reputation of some of the work in underground comics – and particularly Crumb – it has to be said that, nevertheless, as art students at the time, many of us saw the use of comics to address issues of drugs and sex etc as a liberating force. Crumb directly influenced many British artists, including Hunt Emerson, Angus McKie and Steve Bell. Bell, who later became a major political cartoonist working for the Guardian, comments,

‘The only one I copied was Crumb…it was a complete eye opener just to think that you could deal with that very real topic in a strip cartoon. Sort of warped, but I love his pen work, so that was the one who influenced me directly. I certainly copied his style.’ (interview with the author)

In 1970 I was a fine art student at Birmingham College of Art, becoming re-interested in comics of all kinds. Post-Roy Lichtenstein it was the case that comics were also semi-respectable in some art schools, although at Birmingham, as I used comic book imagery in my paintings, I was told in no uncertain terms that ‘representational painting is dead’. The 1960s had seen a gradual change from the drab conservatism of the 1950s and the early 1970s seemed, at the time, to be taking new freedoms even further, and this was seen by many students as ‘a good thing’. Greg Irons, Jaxon, Corben and others produced strange horror titles that were something from Fredric Wertham’s worst nightmares. All good dirty fun, it seemed. Looking back some of the material that was produced on both sides of the Atlantic looks like naïve juvenilia, albeit not without interest. The best has stood the test of time, and is still in print.

Availability

For those so used to the internet it can be difficult to comprehend how difficult it was to obtain somewhat obscure publications (or even some mainstream American comics in the UK) at this time. Underground publications were sold in the street in some major cities in the UK, and at various rock concerts. There was the Dark They Were, and Golden-Eyed shop in London, which opened in 1969, but that covered a range of comic and science fiction material and did not specialise in undergrounds.

Figure 3. Steve Bell, Advert for Dark They Were, and Golden-Eyed in KAK booklet, 1977

In Birmingham there was a similar shop, Nostalgia and Comics, but this had the same kind of stock, and underground material was not their speciality. Thus although it was possible to obtain whatever undergrounds they stocked (and these tended to be major titles like Zap) it was necessary to use mail order to try and obtain other comics. It should be pointed out that for many there was a general interest in comics that extended to anything that seemed adult or challenging. Even underground papers such as IT covered interesting mainstream publications, particularly from Marvel. Fanzine publications such as Fantasy (Comics) Unlimited, from Alan Austin, contained detailed history of Marvel and DC characters, and a large mail order section. As a collector it’s best not to look at how cheap second-hand comics could be then. But these titles also featured artwork by artists who would be central to both underground and mainstream comics. Covers were drawn by artists as varied as Kevin O’Neill and Antonio Ghura.

Figure 4 . Fantasy Unlimited covers. Kevin O’Neill , October 1973, Antonio Ghura, June 1975

Some listings also began to carry more undergrounds, such as Eddie Walsh’s Fandom, which also had short columns about comics, television and film (e.g.. in issue 13 we have ‘The next Star Wars saga may be titled Revenge of a Jedi’). Mail order was also the only way to obtain rarer American undergrounds, and it was possible to get these direct from the US, from dealers such as Bud Plant.

Figure 5 . Bud Plant leaflet, 1977

Through this period comic conventions and comic marts began to appear with increasing regularity. Comicon in London was the largest annual event, with many smaller marts around the country.

Figure 6 . Comicon leaflet, 1972

Figure 7 . Comic Mart advert from Fandom 13, 1980

These all remained an important source of all kinds of comics, even as an academic. By the 1980s it was possible to find two academics (rather more mature bearded gentlemen, Martin Barker and myself) mixing with fanboys and fangirls as the burgeoning academic interest grew in the UK.

Some readers will undoubtedly be asking where are the female or ethnic minority creators in this story? Unlike the US, where there were key contributions by creators like Trina Robbins, Melinda Gebbie and many others, in the UK, at this period, there was one major female artist, Suzy Varty, working out of Ar-Zak in Birmingham. In 1977 Heroine Comics was produced by Varty and other female artists, including Trina Robbins. The comic featured a refreshing range of different styles, including Julia Wakefield’s ‘Bull Ring’, a comedic meditation on consumerism and sexuality.

Figure 8 . Julia Wakefield’s ‘Bull Ring’ in Heroine, 1977

Heroine was followed by Sourcream in 1979 and Sourcream 2 in 1981, the latter featuring thirteen female cartoonists, including Fanny Tribble. Some of the strips had appeared in the feminist magazine Spare Rib, and it was published by Sheba Feminist Publishers in London.

Figure 9 . Sourcream 2, 1981

It was not until the later 1980s, outside the period under consideration here, that some female creators, such as Myra Hancock came to the fore, and Carol Bennett formed Fanny, a group of female comic artists in 1991. This would eventually lead to greater engagement with comics, with organisations like Nicola Streeten’s Laydeez do Comics, formed in 2009.

Cozmic Comics and Nasty Tales

Cozmic Comics and Nasty Tales grew out of Oz and International Times respectively, and were the two major and most easily accessible British underground comics, running from 1971 to 1975. Much of their history has been covered elsewhere, so I will just mention some of the highlights, and lowlights, of these publications. Cozmic Comics branched out into various one-off titles such as Half-Assed Funnies and Tales from the Void. As well as reprinting American artists like Crumb these comics gave the opportunity for home-grown artists such as Edward Barker, Dave Gibbons and William Rankin to see their work in print. Nasty Tales was, in many ways, very similar in content. However it became most famous for an obscenity trial based around Crumb reprints in issue 1 (1971). Although overshadowed by the earlier and more famous Oz obscenity trial, the comic was defended by, amongst others, Germaine Greer and George Perry, and eventually acquitted. This also led to The Trials of Nasty Tales, a comic giving a detailed account of the proceedings at the Old Bailey with artwork by Dave Gibbons, Edward Barker and others. All this, however, spelt the end for both these titles, and it was left to other publishers to continue

It should also be mentioned that there were some eccentric individuals who produced their own comics virtually singlehandedly. Foremost amongst them were Antonio Ghura and Mike Mathews. Ghura, drawing in a distinctly mainstream American style, produced several comics, such as Amazing Love Stories and Raw Purple (1977) whose parodies centred on extremes of sex and violence. Mathews, although using a style closer to Richard Corben, mined a similar vein of sex and violence in titles like Napalm Kiss. Both artists, writing, drawing and publishing on their own seemed intent on offending even the liberal sensibilities of other underground creators. For the more minor publisher/artists like Mathews, both printing and distribution were still a headache as he explained in a 1985 letter.

Figure 10 . Mike Mathews, letter to the author, 1985

David Huxley is the editor of The Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics (Routledge). He was a senior lecturer at Manchester Metropolitan University until 2017. He has written widely on comics, including works on various artists, underground and horror comics, superheroes and also popular film. He has also drawn and written for a range of British comics, including Ally Sloper, Either or Comics, Pssst, Oink and Killer Comics. His most recent publication is Lone Heroes and the Myth of the American West in Comic Books 1945-1962 (Palgrave MacMillan, 2018).

Tracing Scottish Comics History (3 of 3) by Chris Murray

While much of Cartoon Art Production’s output was due to the industriousness of Reader, they had other talents, such as Crewe Davies, who drew Dane Jerrus, Agent One of the Interplanetary Solar Force, and Captain Magnet. Another key creator who worked between Glasgow and Dundee was Irish artist Paddy Brennan, who became a DC Thomson stalwart. His first published work was for The Magno Comics (1946), a one-shot published by Cartoon Art Productions, for which he drew ‘Jeff Collins - Crime Reporter’. Brennan then produced the wonderfully offbeat Marsman Comics (1948), a single issue also for Cartoon Art Productions (Fig. 15). He then went on to work for their flagship title, Super-Duper Comics, which ran until 1950, at which point the company seems to have shut down, possibly due to the fact that an exhausted Reader had quit by this point.  

The address given on many of Cartoon Arts comics was 141 Bath Street (Fig. 16). In the midst of writing about Cartoon Arts for my book The British Superhero (2017) I made a short pilgrimage to Glasgow to stand at 141 Bath Street and wonder at the marvels that had been created behind those walls. This was frustrated by the fact that this exact building has been demolished and replaced with a more modern building. This is just a short walk from Hope Street Studios, which I was also visiting as part of this comics pilgrimage. At this point I must acknowledge my long-suffering wife, who having driven me to Glasgow and being dragged around a comics inspired tour of the city, made every attempt to muster patience and understanding as I stood on the corner of Bath Street staring at a new building while lamenting another lost piece of Scottish comics history, lost in reverie at a place that had come to occupy an almost mythical space in my imagination.   

Fig. 15: Marsman Comics by Paddy Brennan (Cartoon Art Productions, Glasgow, 1948)

Fig. 16: Cartoon Art Productions annual, showing address as 141 Bath Street, Glasgow

Foldes Press

Another British superhero, Ace Hart, the Atom Man, starred in Superthriller Comic, which was initially published and printed by Foldes Press in 1947 (Fig. 17). Foldes was based in Joppa, Edinburgh, but after a few issues the title was bought by World Distributors Ltd (Manchester), who published the series from 1948 to 1952. After World Distributors Ltd took over Foldes continued to print the comic, and they are quite wonderful comics. The building where Foldes was based still stands in Joppa, but is now a MOT testing centre on one side, with the other side of the building having been converted into a row of houses. After the Bath Street debacle I knew the chances of getting my wife to take me to Joppa (she’s the driver in the family) were negligible. Upon explaining that I wanted to stand outside a MOT testing centre in a kind of comics history reverie, those chances shrunk to zero. Still, the wonder that is google maps street view allowed me to spend a long time examining the building in detail, trying to find of trace of its former life, but it’s just not the same. Some people have a longing to get away on a sunny holiday to some Mediterranean paradise. In wistful moments, my thoughts turn to Joppa. When I eventually manage to find a day when I’m not buried under the endless piles of paperwork, admin and teaching that come with academic life, I’m going to get myself to Joppa. I am not sure what practical or scholarly purpose this will serve. Maybe tucked in the back room of that MOT testing centre is a huge pile of SuperThriller comics, abandoned for decades, just waiting on me… a comics scholar can dream.

Fig. 17: Ace Hart in Superthriller Comic (Foldes Press/World Distributors Ltd, Edinburgh, late 1940s).

The comics produced by small publishers in Scotland tell an intriguing story, as do the spaces they once occupied. Tracing this almost lost and forgotten history of Scottish comics has become something of a weird obsession, but one that is currently finding a healthy outlet as I write my next book, Comicsopolis – A History of Comics in Dundee, which will hopefully make an appearance in 2020. There is so much more history to uncover, and, at the risk of stretching my wife’s patience beyond breaking point, so many places to visit. So, if you ever see me standing on street corner, staring in reverie at some old building, skulking about an MOT testing centre, or glowering at a Primark store, you’ll know why.  

Professor Christopher Murray is Chair of Comics Studies at the University of Dundee. He runs the MLitt in Comics and Graphic Novels (https://www.dundee.ac.uk/postgraduate/comics-graphic-novels-mlitt) and co-edits Studies in Comics (https://www.intellectbooks.com/studies-in-comics). He researches British Comics, and is author of The British Superhero (University Press of Mississippi, 2017) and Comicsopolis – A History of Comics in Dundee (Abertay Historical Society, 2020). Murray is director of The Scottish Centre for Comics Studies and Dundee Comics Creative Space, and is editor if UniVerse Comics. He has written several comics, including a number of public information comics on healthcare and science communication themes.

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is curated and edited by William Proctor and Julia Round.