I thought the Citadel of Mhartis would be more fun. You figure, they’re young. Probably inventing new forms of lube or making video game walkthroughs… But instead I got dragged to the Lost and Found, or as I like to call the SAP’s corner (Silver Alert Pickup). Those Ricks looked half-scared and lost.
Set in the vibrant, Afropolitan community of Johannesburg’s Yeoville, Ayanda is a coming-of-age story of a twenty-one year old Afro-hipster, who embarks on a journey of self-discovery when she has to fight to save her late father’s legacy – a motor repair shop - when it is threatened with closure. She’s thrown into a world of greasy overalls, gender stereotypes and abandoned vintage cars once loved, now in need of a young woman’s re-inventive touch to bring them back to life again.
i miss the good old days of swtor rp, when what we called “role play plots” were things like: a rowdy young mandalorian woman tries to swallow a hot dog whole without vomiting, or a rowdy young mandalorian woman invents a game that’s just jumping down an elevator shaft and nothing else
A very unimpressed young man. Wanted to have a go at drawing Konstantine when he was younger. This scene is him being woken up at the middle of the night for his Harrowing. Idk why the skull is there tho. Perhaps it’s a necromancer thing. He’s gonna gonk a templar over the head with it.
(also he looks like a person who listens to The Smiths a lot :D how that happened idk, but i’m cool with it)
(also also I broke my mouse doing this, good times, luckily got my lines finished before that, I have a spare mouse, but it’s v stiff)
Hi and welcome to a new tumblr celebrating Spanish comics. I wanted to use this first post, in the late winter of 2015, as an overview of the past five years of Spanish comics, talking about (my necessarily biased and limited choices for) 25 pretty cool comics by Spanish cartoonists, writers, and artists published in this half-decade.
This cannot be a comprehensive list; I live in the US and don’t have infinite resources with which to check out everything interesting published in Spain. This is, if I’m being perfectly honest, a list of mainstreamish comics and graphic novels that has enough interest from genre aficionados and other well-established audiences to be widely pirated online. All of it is worth reading and perhaps more importantly worth looking at. Even if you can’t read Spanish. (Some of them are in fact available in English; others will be soon.)
It’s also more heavily weighted toward the front half of the decade, because the kind of comics I’m interested in take a little longer to get pirated than the average US punch/shoot/zap-em-up.
In no particular order:
David Rubín, El Héroe (Astiberri)
A post-Paul Pope epic-length two-volume deconstruction and reconstruction of superheroes informed by mythological heroes (or vice versa), splitting the difference brilliantly between Jack Kirby and Adventure Time. I haven’t seen pages this single-mindedly dedicated to thrill-power since Akira. Two volumes to date; English edition forthcoming.
Max, Vapor (La Cúpula)
The great stylist of the Spanish post-underground tackles the philosophical basis of asceticism, questions of identity, and dick jokes. English edition (not an ideal translation; we miss you, Kim Thompson) available.
Miguel Fuster, Miguel. 15 Años en la Calle (Glénat/EDT)
A former romance agency artist who burnt down his house and spent fifteen years a homeless alcoholic on the streets of Barcelona records his memoirs with dense, scribbly fortitude. Three volumes to date.
Lola Lorente, Sangre de Mi Sangre (Astiberri)
The debut graphic novel from a young art student with a striking style and bravura design sense, starring two children, one non-genderconforming, the other non-neurotypical, who forge a fraught friendship in the shadow of tremendous loss and instability.
Enrique Fernández, Los Cuentos de la Era de Cobra (Norma)
Animator and illustrator Fernández dives into a lushly-rendered high fantasy epic, more Arabian Nights than Game of Thrones (as befits Spain’s actual medieval heritage). First sold to the French market; but when the authors are Spanish, I count it. Two volumes to date.
Laura & Felipe Hernández Cava, Sarà Servito (Ponent)
Another of the post-underground generation, using her faux-naive line to illustrate the adventures of a female spy in seventeenth-century Venice. The script by one of the legendary Spanish comics writers allows Laura to indulge her interest in decadence, class war, lesbianism, and murder.
Juan Berrio, Miércoles (Sins Entido)
One of the twee-est motherfuckers in world comics, let alone Spanish, but with a design sense and line that is to die for. This snapshot of a single day starring a host of anonymous urbanites might belong more to the world of gag cartooning than graphic novels; Berrio’s triumph is that there’s no difference.
David Sánchez, No Càmbies Nunca (Astiberri)
Any of Sánchez’ deadpan, horrifying, and darkly hilarious graphic novels could have made this list; he’s heir to the satirical macabre tradition of David Lynch, Dan Clowes, and Charles Burns, with perhaps a more anarchic, post-Adult Swim sensibility. Which somehow doesn’t undercut the gut-churning effectiveness of his work.
Alfonso López & Andreu Martín, Máxima Discreción (Panini)
Two of the founders of socially-engaged Spanish comics-for-adults in the the late 70s unite for a gimlet-eyed noir with gorgeously fluid watercolor-and-dry-brush art. López was always a good artist, but in the last ten years he’s become great.
José Domingo, Aventuras de un Oficinista Japonés (Bang)
A surreal, 8-bit video game-esque travelogue “shot” almost entirely from a single angle. Goofy, gross, funny, deeply imaginative and oddly moving. English edition available, although only the title needed translating.
Paco Roca, El Invierno del Dibujante (Astiberri)
Spain’s premier “social cartoonist” of the 21st century tells the true story of the moment in the 1950s when five Barcelona cartoonists tried to break free of the powerful children’s publisher that kept their art and all rights to their work, and failed. A thoroughly-researched, deeply affectionate look at a vanished era, with some resonance for those who don’t know anything about Spanish comics history, but much more for those who do.
Bartolomé Seguí & Gabi Beltrán, Historias del Barrio (Astiberri)
Seguí’s chameleonic style, which morphs to fit the tone of whatever story he’s telling, was present from his earliest work in the mid-80s. Here he revisits that time with a script from a fellow Mallorcan, and nails the uncertainty of youth in post-dictatorship freefall. Two volumes to date.
Tony Sandoval, La Serpiente de Agua (Dibbuks)
Gothic magical realism from one of the more interesting mainstream European stylists (this was published in French first). More dreamlike than the cover suggests, it’s about relationships between young adolescents and their fantasy lives, beautifully rendered in fading watercolors.
Miguelanxo Prado, Ardalén (Norma)
One of the graphic geniuses of Spanish comics returns for his first major graphic novel since the 90s with an allegorical vision of memory lost and recovered, rebuilt, by the charting of suboceanic depths.
Montesol, Speak Low (Astiberri)
My affection for #spanish comics in the 80s means that the cartoonists who came of artistic age in that time are probably overrepresented on this list and in my interest; Montesol is another of the post-undergrounders who broke a long silence with this, a beautifully sloppy meditation on the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War on the generations that followed.
Carla Berrocal, El Brujo (Ponent)
One of the most exciting and inventive young Spanish cartoonists tells the story of a wizard and his coven, his familiars, his lost love, and his travels in the human realm. By using a variety of graphic techniques, no two pages alike, Berrocal creates a subjective world of magic and surrealism that could only exist in comics.
Carlos Hernández & El Torres, La Hulla de Lorca (Norma)
A biography of the famous Granadan poet Federico García Lorca, told through Hernández’ exquisitely-rendered duotone images and El Torres (who has experienced some success in the horror end of the US market) providing a surprisingly vinegary text.
Danide & Marcos Prior, Fagocitosis (Glénat/EDT)
A collection of satirical strips on the 2008 credit crunch and the particularly disastrous economic and social effects reverberating since then in Spanish society. (Phagocytosis, the reference of the title, means the absorption of a smaller organism by a larger; the cultural imperialism of the US is one obvious metaphor.) One of the few books on this list that probably wouldn’t translate very well outside its immediate context.
Alfonso Zapico, Dublinés (Astiberri)
A cartoon biography of James Joyce (the title means Dubliner) by one of the most underrated cartoonists of the twenty-first century. Zapico’s lively, detailed line and engaging compositional sense makes a heavy-duty literary biography a relative breeze. The companion volume La Ruta Joyce (Zapico’s travel diary of the research for this book) is if anything more fun. English edition available; I haven’t seen it.
Iñaket & Mikel Begoña, Tristísima Ceniza (Norma)
Yup, another one about the Spanish Civil War. (If I’d allowed 2009 to sneak in, there would have been two more.) This one focused on Robert Capa, the Hungarian photographer responsible for some of the iconic imagery of the war, and his German Jewish companion Gerda Taro. Iñaket’s loose, sketchy line is a lovely contrast to the seriousness of Begoña’s script.
Álex Fito, Raspa Kids Club (Glénat/EDT)
A collection of short stories and other pieces, tied together by the conceit of a kids’ club where the kids tell macabre and socially unconventional stories. Fito’s style is both slick and cutesy – not unlike a less astringent Chris Ware – which only makes the bottom-dropping-out of his mordant tales all the more piquant.
Pablo Auladell, El Paraíso Perdido (Huacanamo)
One of the least conventional comics artists of his generation, Auladell is comparable to Dave McKean or Kent Williams, a painter who sometimes tells stories in comics. This adaptation of Milton’s Paradise Lost is remarkable for his ability to create imagery that stands up to the Old Masters (Blake, Doré), who have rendered this saga of pride and damnation before.
Víctor Santos, Intachable. 30 Años de Corrupción (Panini)
Probably one of the most prolific, and certainly among the most stylish, representatives of the new Spanish mainstream, Santos is becoming a familiar name in US, where he’s drawn for Vertigo, Image, and Dark Horse, but he’s extremely popular in Spain for his high-contrast fantasy, historical, and noir comics. This juicy yarn of political corruption and crime in post-crisis Spain is only the tip of the iceberg.
Susanna Martín & Isabel Franc, Sansamba (Norma)
Franc is a gay Spanish novelist whose forthright lesbian novels were very popular in the 90s; in the 2000s she began collaborating with cartoonist Martín to tell the story of her mother’s breast cancer. Their second collaboration is also autobiographical, about Franc’s relationship with a Senegalese immigrant and the civil, religious, and sexual clashes that result.
José Luis Munuera & Juan Díaz Canales, Fraternity (Astiberri)
A dark but sweet fable about an ancient monster and the boy who loves him, by two Spanish creators best known for their work in the French market (and indeed this was originally sold in French). Reminiscent of The Iron Giant, and not only because of Munuera’s expressive, lushly digital art. There were two volumes in French; the Spanish edition is combined.
“Arthur Zang, a 24 year-old Cameroonian engineer, has invented the Cardiopad,
a touch screen medical tablet that enables heart examinations such as
the electrocardiogram (ECG) to be performed at remote, rural locations
while the results of the test are transferred wirelessly to specialists
who can interpret them. The device spares African patients living in
remote areas the trouble of having to travel to urban centers to seek
There’s a reason “Hounds of the Baskerville” is right under “Redbeard (see file)” on Magnussen’s list of Sherlock’s pressure points, and I think I know what that reason is. Redbeard was never a dog. Sherlock only thinks that it was. Redbeard as a dog is the symbol of Sherlock’s repression over his lost sibling. Sherlock does exactly what Henry Knight did when he suffered trauma at a young age. Sherlock “invented this to account for it”.
But what could be so bad about that loss that a young Sherlock would have to repress it in order to cope? Losing a sibling is hard, yes, but there are causes that children die from that aren’t so traumatic that one sibling would have a much harder time coping with the loss than the other, so much so that repression becomes the only option. One child wouldn’t necessarily be that much more traumatized than the other. Unless it was that one child’s fault. Whatever happened to The Other One, it was at least partly Sherlock’s fault and he invented Redbeard to account for it.
Where else have we seen trauma manifest itself as the memory of a dog? Sherlock genuinely believes that he lost a dog named Redbeard, just as Henry Knight believed that he saw a gigantic hound.
What we can learn from Henry Knight/HOB:
-The pub owner says “demon hound", and Henry says that Louise “thinks I have to face my demons” which aligns perfectly with the s4 trailer’s focus on demons.
- They never found his dad’s body. The Other One is still alive, that’s why there wouldn’t be a body.
-Sherlock explains the chemical aerosol dispersal as “pressure pads in the ground” which sounds an awful lot like “pressure points”.
-When they’re leaving the Baskerville lab, Sherlock tells John that “it’s time to lay this ghost” in reference to the hound. We all know how much Mark has loved talking about ghosts lately.
-Before Sherlock goes into his mind palace he says that the answer “has to be something, something very deep”. This is not only how repression works, but it is also exactly what he says/does in TAB.
-Sherlock tells Henry that “It wasn’t an animal, not a monster, a man” While Henry remembers the hound as the thing that killed his Dad, Sherlock remembers Redbeard as the thing he lost. What’s important is that if Henry’s wasn’t an animal, but a person, then so was Sherlock’s.
-“Couldn’t cope, you were just a child so you rationalized it into something very different” is what Sherlock says to Henry as he’s trying to get him to remember. Whether Sherlock realizes it or not, he’s familiar with this because it is exactly what he did.
-At the end, John says that the inn owners didn’t put down their dog because they "couldn’t bring themselves to do it” and Sherlock says that he doesn’t understand the sentiment that would prevent them from doing so. So, he never actually had to put a dog down. Or rather, he doesn’t have the latent emotional connection because didn’t actually care about it because it didn’t actually happen. He only reacts emotionally if the actual name Redbeard is said.
Sherlock’s reaction to the entire hound case is intense. He thinks that it’s because he can’t trust his senses, which is a valid thing to unhinge him. However, I think there’s more. I think his subconscious starts to get to him, because a part of him realizes that the further he goes into Henry’s case, the deeper he goes into himself. His panic attack by the fire and his desperation to figure out what causes the hallucinations are defense mechanisms, distractions, so that he doesn’t get too close and accidentally unravel his own, extraordinarily similar, circumstances. If you think about Sherlock comparing himself to Henry and his repression, it gives a whole new meaning to “There is nothing wrong with ME”. It could be as if Sherlock is defensively saying “I’m not the one with this problem, it’s Henry, this is about him not me!”
Finally, while there is a lot more that I could say comparing Henry to Sherlock (and many other metas far more detailed than mine have already done so) this last bit is, in my opinion, the clearest clue the show has given us that Sherlock’s traumatic loss has manifested itself in the form of Redbeard. John says to Louise “I have another friend, who might be having the same problem”. There we have it. Sherlock is having the exact same problem.
tl;dr Redbeard was never a dog, Redbeard is Sherlock’s “childhood trauma, masked by an invented memory”.
[Interview] Lee Kwang Soo Is Praised for His Selflessness by Park Bo Young and Lee Chun Hee
The stars of the new film “Collective Invention” have joined up with Cosmopolitan for a fun and fresh photo shoot!
Lee Kwang Soo, Park Bo Young, and Lee Chun Hee are currently promoting their comedy film “Collective Invention,” which just hit theaters on October 22.
During their interview with the magazine, the stars are asked if this is the first time they’ve all gathered together since they wrapped up filming. “Although it’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other, it seems like we just met up a day or two ago,” says Park Bo Young. “It doesn’t feel like ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you!’” adds Lee Kwang Soo. “Instead it’s like we saw each other yesterday and are meeting up again today.”
In the film, Lee Kwang Soo plays a man who suffers from a terrible mutation after taking an experimental drug. The interviewer asks him whether it was as difficult as it looked to act without being able to show any facial expressions due to the large fish head he had to wear.
“I worried a lot because of that,” says Lee Kwang Soo. “If you’re acting with your body, it’s really easy to make it look like overacting if you overdo it. At the same time, if you don’t use your body much at all then you don’t get the story across. So I practiced a lot in front of my mirror at home.”
The interviewer mentions that they’d heard it took Lee Kwang Soo five hours to get into his fish-man costume, and that the fish head weighed 7 to 8 kilograms. They’d also heard that because of the costume, Park Bo Young used to feed him at mealtimes during shooting, and when a scene was over, Lee Chun Hee would help him hold up the fish head.
Lee Chun Hee explains, “Because Lee Kwang Soo seemed to be having a difficult time, not only the two of us but also the staff would pay a lot of attention to try to make it so that Lee Kwang Soo could act even a bit more comfortably. When the director would call cut, he’d also right away say, ‘Lee Kwang Soo, you can take it off now.’”
He goes on to add, “But since it was cumbersome to take it off and put it on again all the time, Lee Kwang Soo purposely tried not to take it off. He’d always say ‘I’m okay’ because he was worried that the people who’d have to take his mask off and put it on again would get tired out.”
“Lee Kwang Soo is the kind of person who doesn’t want to say they’re having a difficult time or show it, even when they are,” says Park Bo Young. “For example, even on a cold day, when he took off his fish head his face would be soaked in sweat. He’d have to be hooked up to an oxygen tank because it was so heavy he couldn’t breathe properly in there. Despite his situation, he’d always think about other people first. That’s why we cared for him.”
“But thanks to that fish head, I got to be taken care of like I was a small child while we were filming,” laughs Lee Kwang Soo.
Are you looking forward to seeing this trio in “Collective Invention”?
Okay, so it was played with before, today is ‘Anders On the Run’ day of Anders appreciation week. So here’s a proposed timeline of Anders’ seven escapes:
Escape #1: Swam across the lake
Anders’ first escape attempt, not long after arriving at Kinloch Hold, was a simple matter of jumping off the dock and striking out across the lake. The Templar attempting to follow him forgot that plate armor is not buoyant and sank like a stone. Especially impressive for the stamina involved in a 12-13 year old swimming between five to ten straight miles across Lake Calenhad to the nearest shore.
Escape #2: Climbed out a window on a rope of senior enchanters’ undergarments
The doors were all watched, and so were the windows on the lower floors, but not the upper windows. Anders got himself assigned to laundry duty and filched undergarments until he had enough to braid himself 100 meters of rope, which he used to climb down the outside of the Tower to freedom. When asked why he had specifically chosen senior mage’s undergarments, the young apprentice replied they were “bigger ‘n tougher.”
Escape #3: Makeshift hot air balloon
Possibly the height of young Anders’ inventiveness; after many months staring out the window and daydreaming about being able to fly, he read a book about an innovative Antivan design for an airborne vehicle supported by drafts of hot air. While initially planning to build an entire hot air balloon out of stolen materials, Anders eventually resorted to just grabbing a large canvas tarp by all four corners and jumping off the Tower roof garden, using fire magic to heat the air enough to provide lift. Impressively, he managed to get all the way to the other side of the lake before the canvas caught fire and he crashlanded in the trees.
Escape #4: Hid in a crate
Apparently abandoning the air routes, Anders’ next escape attempt was to conceal himself in a crate among a shipment of potions due to be transported for sale. Protests of ‘No I’m not, I’m an elfroot’ were not believed.
-Hiatus of several years while in a relationship with Karl-
Escape #5: Drugged the Templars
Anders’ first escape attempt after Karl was transferred to Kirkwall showed a definite step up in ruthlessness over all previous attempts. He stole herbs from his potionmaking class until he was able to fashion a very powerful sedative, which he slipped to the Templars on duty at the gate. (Several years of good behavior had led the Templars to let their guard down around Anders, a mistake they would not make afterwards.)
Escape #6: Just fucking rabbited
Technically, this could be considered an extension of Escape #5, since the Templars didn’t actually get him all the way back to the Tower before he tried again. While escorting him back to the Tower after recapture, the Templars made the mistake of thinking him considerably more incapacitated from his injuries than he actually was; he managed to slip the cuffs and run for it in a moment of inattention. Several Templars were injured in the ensuing scuffle, which undoubtedly compounded the severity of the punishment that was to follow.
Escape #7: Disguised self as a Templar and walked out the door
Anders’ seventh and final escape was aided by the chaos at the Tower following the rout at Ostagar. Since many mages and Templars were away accompanying the King’s Army, normal patrol and guard schedules were disrupted. Anders was able to lay his hands on a set of Templar armor, which he used to disguise himself and pass among the other Templars with long practice of their training and mannerisms. He left the Tower only hours before Uldred and his co-conspirators were to return, which led to the significant delay of any pursuit or recapture efforts.