arts // no. 8

Comic Corner:

The rise and fall of the Phoenix

Brittney MacDonald
Life & Style Editor

 

kreknkrk

I: the past, I have made no
attempt to hide my utter love
of the X-Men. I have been a loyal
fan of the franchise since I was
that little girl pretending to be
Rogue in my backyard. But I have
done a disservice to the franchise
by never acknowledging one of
the most quintessential story arcs
to ever grace a comic’s page: The
Dark Phoenix Saga. So prepare
yourself for some feelings and

a whole whack-load of bias.

Even if you dont follow the
X-Men, if you are at all into comics
you should know the basic gist
of what the Dark Phoenix Saga
is. Written by Chris Claremont,
it is most notable for its tragic
plot, following Jean Grey and the
Phoenix Force. It is one of the
earliest examples in comic lore

of a character being consumed
by their super-human abilities.
Grey is not defeated by some
outside force—though she does
suffer some manipulation at the
hands of the Hellfire Club—it is
instead her inability to control
an ancient, cosmic consciousness
that lives within her that
ultimately causes her to turn on
not only the X-Men, but all of
humanity. Thus, she becomes
the enemy, and the reader is
made to watch as the X-Men are
forced to fight one another.
Though this idea of a team
turning on itself isa common story
trope nowadays, in 1963—when
this story arc first began—this
type of narrative was still relatively
new. Readers were used to seeing
heroes fight the bad guys, not each
other. Couple that with the fact
that there was already established
character intrigue regarding
the Jean Grey/Wolverine/
Cyclops love triangle, and you
have the recipe for a shocking

 

story arc of epic proportions.

Admittedly, the art by John
Byrne and Terry Austin is dated
by today’s standard, though it
does have a unique and endearing
quality about it. It is a very classic
example of the aesthetic that most
people think of when they think
of comics—bold colours and
heavy inks within a traditional
medium. I enjoy the stylization,
but ifyou are used to more
modern titles, you might find this
art to bea little simplistic due
to its lack of colour blending.

I think it goes without saying
that I would recommend this title.
Having the ability to experience
the Dark Phoenix Saga in its
entirety within a single volume
makes the story more linear and
easy to understand, which will
help for people unfamiliar with
this particular story arc. As far as
why people should be interested
in this arc at all—it is simply a
classic. The comic version of
Dickens, as far as I’m concerned.

(Uncanny

 

 

Get Lost

> ‘Labyrinth’ board game review

Ed Appleby
Illustrator

 

A a kid, I always dreamed of adventure,
of searching caverns and battling
monsters. I slew many a dragon with my
wooden sword and shield, and I wish I had
known about this one game back then.
Labyrinth (1986) is a thematic shifting
tile game for two to four players designed
by Max J. Kobbert and published by
Ravensburger. In the game, players take
turns placing tiles into a set board and
moving their pieces through the shifting
maze in order to collect treasure. The
first player to collect all of their treasure
and return to their starting space wins.
Labyrinth is a great of example
of a complex design leading to simple
gameplay. The game is very easy to pick
up and is suitable for younger players.

Illustration by Ed Appleby

There is a strategic element that more
advanced players can utilize, but the game
definitely lacks the advanced rules and
complexity to feed the hunger of players
who seek a more difficult challenge.
However, the sliding dynamic makes for

a more complex game than other tile
placement games such as Tsuro (2004).

Don't confuse this game with Jim
Henson’s Labyrinth (2016), a much
more complex game licenced wholesale
from the movie. I haven't played it,
but from what I know about licenced
games, it’s not worth the risk.

If you have a copy of the 1986 game, I
would recommend bringing it out once in
a while for a bit of nostalgia. Otherwise, I
would recommend getting a copy for any
fledgling gamers you might know, as it
makes a great introduction to the world of
more complex thematic strategy games.

theotherpress.ca

> ‘X-Men: The Dark Phoenix Saga

X-Men 1963 — 2011)’ review

Panel art by John Byrne

A picture of a few
hundred words

> How ‘This is Where I Leave You’
transitioned from book to movie

Chandler Walter
Assistant Editor

 

ovels adapted into movies have a

bad track record when it comes
to truly living up to the expectations
held by fans of the original books.

Occasionally, however, the author
of the original material is given full
rein on how the adaption is played
out on screen, and the transition
of medium is made less jarring.

Such is the case of This Is Where
I Leave You, a 2009 novel by Jonathan
Tropper about a dysfunctional
family, death, manhood, and
cuckoldry. The movie adaptation
of the book—released five years
later in 2014—had Tropper himself
as the main scriptwriter, and the
loyalty to source material is evident
for anyone who has both read the
book and watched the movie.

Entire conversations are played
out word for word, and scenes are
presented as more of literal visual
depictions of the novel than what
would be expected upon hearing the
word “adaptation.” So closely does
much of the story follow the plot
of the book that the few instances
where it differs slightly become all
the more noticeable. Changed names
here and there, a dropped plot point
between two brothers, and a more
definite end resolution are a few of
the divergences made for the movie
version, though the most important
difference is what all movies pale

in comparison to written work in
achieving: Explaining the thoughts
and emotions of their characters.
Although the long, sad stares of
Jason Bateman’s Judd Altman (Judd
Foxman in the books) manage to hint
at the despair of this man who has
lost his job, wife, and father, it simply
does not—and cannot—do justice
to one of the book’s most attractive
offerings: Judd’s own depressingly
witty thoughts on who he is, who he
is with, and what is going around him.
The wit of the character is
displayed in the movie version through
interactions with other characters,
but it is the wit of the writer himself
that is seemingly diluted in the
transition. Tropper’s shameless
metaphors, rambling musings, and
often-touching insights are hidden
inside the skull of Judd on screen,
unable to be tapped into without the
use of a severely out of place soliloquy.
Reading the novel before
watching the movie version made
seeing the visual story a better
experience, because it unlocked
the character's depths in a way that
simply can’t be done in a 103-minute
runtime. That Tropper’s strength
as a writer was somewhat lost in
translation is a shame for those who
only experienced the 2014 film, though
the consistency in sticking to the
original plot, dialogue, and characters
of the book makes the movie version
a truer-than-usual depiction of
the story an author was telling.