Producing a Feature Length, Horror-Themed Motion Comic Based on a Comic and Screenplay

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Exploring The Panel: Producing a Feature Length, Horror-Themed Motion Comic Based on a Comic and Screenplay

Hardie James Tucker BA (Hons)(Sydney); MA(Middlesex)

A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Design

September 2019

This research was supported by an Australian Government Research Training Program (RTP) Scholarship

Candidate Details:

Name: Hardie James Tucker Student No: C3252071 Email: [email protected] Supervisors: Professor Mario Minichiello (Principal), Associate Professor Mark Roxburgh (Co- Supervisor) and Jane Shadbolt (Co-Supervisor) Institution: University of Newcastle Faculty: Education & Arts School: Creative Industries – Design Course: PhD (Design) Course Code: 10728 DESN 9501 – Research Thesis Full-time Word count: 55,847

i PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

Statement of Originality:

I hereby certify that the work embodied in the thesis is my own work, conducted under normal supervision. The thesis contains no material which has been accepted, or is being examined, for the award of any other degree or diploma in any university or other tertiary institution and, to the best of my knowledge and belief, contains no material previously published or written by another person, except where due reference has been made. I give consent to the final version of my thesis being made available worldwide when deposited in the University’s Digital Repository, subject to the provisions of the Copyright Act 1968 and any approved embargo.

Hardie James Tucker

Acknowledgement of Authorship:

I hereby certify that the work embodied in this thesis contains published paper/s/scholarly work of which I am a joint author. I have included as part of the thesis a written declaration endorsed in writing by my supervisor, attesting to my contribution to the joint publication/s/scholarly work.

By signing below I confirm that Hardie James Tucker contributed as the leading author to the paper/ publication entitled:

The Motion Comic: Neither Something Nor Nothing. Hardie J. Tucker, Mario Minichello, and Mark Roxburgh, The Journal of Communication Studies, Vol 3, Issue 1, (2018).

Professor Mario Minichiello

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ABSTRACT

This screen media practice-based research examines the design of the horror-themed motion comic, Family Slaughter. A motion comic is a hybrid format that combines affordances from comics, animation, film, graphic design, sound design and interactivity. The primary research question is: With specific reference to the motion comic, what are the implications of hybrid media formats for contemporary media scholarship and media design practice? This research project combines both a literature-based theoretical investigation into the hybrid media context of motion comics and an exegesis of the design context of the artifacts—Family

Slaughter comic and screenplay—and the subsequent design strategy for their remediation as Family Slaughter Motion Comic. The theoretical investigation reveals that the motion comic emerges from fluidity produced by softwarization and hybridization of media, wherein the process of remediation (see p. 44) operates as a key dynamic. It was found that hybrid media have blurred the lines between established media, including comics, whereby ‘comics’ perception’ has become part of the cultural interface of screens. The intersection of the comics’ panel with digital film and the screen circumscribes a domain of hybridity and partial immersion. With the motion comic, comics sacrifice the exclusivity of their spatial map and fuse with elements of temporal continuity acquired from animation and cinema. In turn, animation and cinema are also compromised – diminishing their characteristics of live-action recording and fully posed and rigged characters. The exegesis examines the unique context of Family Slaughter Comic (1989) as a movie tie-in whose design objective was to convey a low budget horror film. The motion comic redesign objective was to construct a compelling motion graphics feature narrative by remediating the comic panel assets. I have characterized motion comic design strategy, based on self-imposed creative constraint, as panel exploration. The implication of hybrid media is the warm aesthetic of the hybrid, a ‘medium in between’, neither hot nor cool (see p.47). Hybrid media disrupt the separation of media defined in formal scholarship and media aesthetics. The motion comic does not achieve the immediacy of live action film or cell animation. Immersion and immediacy remain partial and oscillate together with the hypermediacy of the graphics plane.

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MOTION COMIC & HIGH-RES THESIS LINKS

The full feature, Family Slaughter Motion Comic, can be viewed on YouTube at this link: https://youtu.be/G0fW3aHufvQ High resolution version of this thesis (174Mb) – Dropbox link: https://www.dropbox.com/s/a74rwt6uvvozlr7/TUCKER%20Hardie%203252071%20- %20Thesis%20Examination%20Submission_HiRes.pdf?dl=0 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to express my gratitude to my supervisors, Professor Mario Minichiello, Associate

Professor Mark Roxburgh and Jane Shadbolt, for their guidance, support and advice. The completion of this thesis would not have been possible without their knowledge, wisdom and enthusiasm. Thanks also to John Laidler, who has supported this project from day one and worked as a primary and inspirational creative collaborator. To Tim Pigott, whose vision, feedback, ideas and crazy one-liners are embedded in the project. To all those who supported the project by donating their time and their voices: Bernhard Huber, Matt Holden,

Erika Jobling, Edwin Laidler, Nicola Huber Smith, Salif Hardie, Louise Tucker, Craig Tudman,

Chris Bright, Arthur Lee, Wolfgang Spranz and John Bennet. To Sonya Jeffery for her insights and commentary. I would like to salute the memory of Nigel Gurney, a great Australian comic artist. I also acknowledge the Australian Government for support from the Research Training

Program Scholarship for this research.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT...... III

MOTION COMIC & HIGH-RES THESIS LINKS...... IV

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS...... IV

TABLE OF CONTENTS ...... V

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION AND LITERATURE REVIEW ...... 1 1.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 1 1.1.1. BACKGROUND TO THE PROJECT ...... 1 1.1.2. PROJECT TITLE AND RESEARCH QUESTIONS ...... 2 1.1.3. OBJECTIVES ...... 2 1.1.4. RESEARCH APPROACH: SCREEN MEDIA PRACTICE RESEARCH...... 3 1.1.5. INTRODUCTION TO MOTION COMICS...... 5 1.2. LITERATURE REVIEW ...... 7 1.2.1. FLUID FORMATS ...... 7 1.2.2. HISTORICALLY...... 10 1.2.3. MEDIA HYBRIDIZATION ...... 11 1.2.4. SCREENS...... 12 1.2.5. MOTION COMIC PRODUCTION ...... 13 1.2.6. MOTION COMIC AESTHETICS ...... 14 1.2.7. REVIEW OF PRACTICE: MOTION COMIC TITLES...... 15 1.2.6. DISCUSSION ...... 24

CHAPTER 2: MEDIA THEORY AND HYBRID MEDIA ...... 27 2.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 27 2.2. MEDIA THEORY...... 28 2.2.1. MEDIA AS EXTENSIONS OF THE SENSES...... 28 2.2.2. MEDIA AS PSYCHOTECHNOLOGIES...... 30 2.2.3. NEUROCINEMATICS...... 32 2.2.4. MATERIALITY OF MEDIA...... 33 2.2.5. MEDIA NETWORKS ...... 35 2.2.6. SUMMARY OF PART 1 ...... 38 2.3. HYBRID MEDIA ...... 38 2.3.1. CROSS-FERTILIZATION OF SENSORY EXTENSIONS ...... 39 2.3.2. HARDWARE HYBRIDS...... 40 2.3.3. REMEDIATION...... 43 2.3.4. SOFTWARE AS METAMEDIUM ...... 46 2.3.5. MEDIA HYBRIDS AND DEEP REMIXING...... 49 2.3.6. MOTION COMIC AND DEEP REMIXABILITY...... 53

CHAPTER 3: PANEL AND SCREEN ...... 54 3.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 54 3.2. CULTURAL INTERFACE AND DIGITAL FILM ...... 55 3.2.1. THE CULTURAL INTERFACE ...... 55 3.2.2. WHAT IS DIGITAL CINEMA?...... 56 3.3. GENEALOGY OF SCREENS ...... 59 3.3.1. VIRTUALITY AND THE SCREEN...... 59 3.3.2. CLASSICAL SCREENS ...... 60

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3.3.3. THE PHYSIOLOGICAL OBSERVER...... 63 3.3.4. DYNAMIC SCREEN ...... 64 3.3.5. KINO-EYE ...... 65 3.3.6. ELECTROMAGNETIC SCREEN...... 67 3.3.7. MULTI-SCREENS, WINDOWS AND THE GRAPHICS PLANE ...... 70 3.4. THE COMICS PANEL ...... 73 3.4.1. THE GRAPHICS PLANE...... 73 3.4.2. COMICS AS A MEDIUM ...... 74 3.4.3. OPERATIONS OF THE PANEL ...... 76 3.4.4. CLOSURE ...... 78 3.4.5. COMICS PERCEPTION...... 80 3.4.6. PANEL AS SCREEN ...... 81 3.5. INTERSECTION OF SCREEN AND PANEL...... 82 3.5.1. WHAT ARE DIGITAL COMICS?...... 82 3.5.2. COMICS PERCEPTION AS CULTURAL INTERFACE...... 85 3.5.3. MOTION COMICS AND PARTIAL IMMERSION: ...... 87

CHAPTER 4: SCREENPLAY AND COMIC ...... 91 4.1. INTRODUCTION ...... 91 4.2. FAMILY SLAUGHTER SCREENPLAY ...... 92 4.3. FAMILY SLAUGHTER COMIC...... 94 4.3.1. FILM STRATEGY AND COMIC TIE-IN ...... 95 4.3.2. SCREENPLAY TO COMIC...... 97 4.3.3. PANEL LAYOUT...... 98 4.3.4. ARTISTIC COLLABORATION ...... 102 4.3.5. LETTERING ...... 104 4.3.6. ARTISTIC STYLES...... 105 4.3.7. BLACKNESS AND MOOD ...... 106 4.3.8. COMIC NARRATIVE...... 109 4.4. CONCLUSION...... 110

CHAPTER 5: FAMILY SLAUGHTER MOTION COMIC ...... 111 5.1. INTRODUCTION: CREATIVE CONSTRAINT...... 111 5.2. PREPRODUCTION AND PROTOTYPING ...... 116 5.2.1. PROPOSAL...... 116 5.2.2 MOTION COMIC SCRIPT...... 118 5.2.3. PROTOTYPING...... 120 5.3. AESTHETICS AND WORKFLOW:...... 124 5.3.1. MOTION COMIC AESTHETICS ...... 124 5.3.2. EXPLORING THE PANEL...... 127 5.3.3. TRANSITION ANALYSIS: ...... 128 5.3.4. MOTION COMIC WORKFLOW ...... 132 5.4. PANEL PREPARATION...... 133 5.4.1. SEPARATION OF PANEL ELEMENTS ...... 133 5.4.2. COLOURING, TEXTURING AND GRAPHIC ASSETS...... 136 5.4.3. LIGHTING ...... 144 5.4.4. PANEL MOCK-UPS ...... 146 5.5. MOTION GRAPHICS AND VIDEO EDITING ...... 150 5.5.1. MOTIONIZING...... 150 5.5.2. PANEL MOTION ...... 151 5.5.3. CHARACTER MOTION ...... 154 5.5.4. OBJECT AND ENVIRONMENT MOTION...... 156 5.5.5. TEXT MOTION...... 156

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5.5.6: VIDEO EDITING...... 158 5.6. AUDIO POST PRODUCTION...... 159 5.6.1. AUDIO POST OVERVIEW ...... 159 5.6.2. VOICE ACTOR CASTING ...... 160 5.6.3. VOICE RECORDING AND EDITING...... 162 5.6.4. SOUND EFFECTS ...... 164 5.6.5. MUSIC COMPOSITION ...... 168 5.6.6. AUDIO MIXING AND TEMPLATING ...... 170 5.7. FEATURE LENGTH MOTION COMIC...... 172 5.7.1. FIRST CUT...... 172 5.7.2. RESTRUCTURING ACT 1 ...... 173

CHAPTER 6: IMPLICATIONS OF HYBRID MEDIA...... 179 6.1. HYBRID THESIS...... 179 6.2. SEPARATION OF MEDIA? ...... 179 6.3. HUMAN + TECHNOLOGY = HYBRID ...... 180 6.4. MEDIUM IN BETWEEN...... 181 6.5. AUTOMATION VERSUS ARTISANAL...... 182 6.6. MOTION GRAPHICS FEATURE...... 183 6.7. THE DJ AND MOTION COMIC DESIGNER...... 184 6.8. DUCKRABBIT...... 185

REFERENCES...... 188

APPENDICES ...... 196 1.1 APPENDIX A: INTERVIEW WITH TIM PIGOTT ...... 196 INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT TIM PIGOTT (03/12/2017) ...... 196 TIM PIGOTT CONSENT FORM ...... 203 1.2 APPENDIX B: INTERVIEW WITH SONYA JEFFREY ...... 204 INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT SONYA JEFFERY (01/12/2017)...... 204 SONYA JEFFERY CONSENT FORM...... 209 1.3 APPENDIX C: INITIAL PROPOSAL FAMILY SLAUGHTER MOTION COMIC ...... 210 1.4 APPENDIX D: PLOT POINT BREAKDOWN OF FAMILY SLAUGHTER MOTION COMIC...... 217 1.5 APPENDIX E: AUDIOBLOCKS ROYALTY FREE LICENSE AGREEMENT...... 221 1.6 APPENDIX F: FAMILY SLAUGHTER - TREATMENT AND CHARACTERS ...... 222

vii CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION AND LITERATURE REVIEW

This place was not France. Neither was it Sudan, nor Afghanistan. It was some strange hybrid of all of this; everybody’s and nobody’s.

—Natasha King (2017)

1.1. Introduction

1.1.1. Background to the Project

This research is based around a 30-year project that began as a screenplay and comic tie-in for a low budget horror movie, Family Slaughter (Pigott & Tucker, 1988). The screenplay was adapted into a 56-page greyscale comic book (Pigott, Gurney, & Pound, 1989) and sold in a limited run through comic outlets in Australia; there is a brief mention in Caroll’s (1996, p. 1)

History of Australian Comics. When I first contemplated reactivating this project, I was unaware of the term ‘motion comic’. Further investigation revealed that developers have used various terms for the format and positioned their projects to anticipate audience attention and expectation—typically associated with established media. Current scholarship suggests that the motion comic is a form of hybrid media. According to Smith (2011, p. 20) the motion comic, ‘requires ongoing analysis in terms of a sustained canon of work’. As a designer, the motion comic format—a motion graphic, narrative technique for fusing the comic assets with cinematic, graphic and animation elements and voice acting—presented me with an opportunity to further develop Family Slaughter and achieve the initial vision of the project. As a researcher, I want to understand more fully the implications of hybrid media formats, such as the motion comic, for contemporary media scholarship and media designers. As a developer my background is in writing, multimedia design and audio engineering. I have no illustration experience. The project provided the challenge of sourcing all the illustrations from the comic panels.

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1.1.2. Project Title and Research Questions

TITLE

Exploring the panel: producing a feature-length, horror-themed motion comic based on a comic book and screenplay.

PRIMARY RESEARCH QUESTION

With specific reference to the motion comic, what are the implications of hybrid media formats for contemporary media scholarship and media design practice?

QUESTIONS ARISING FROM THE PRIMARY QUESTION

Media scholarship:

• What is the current industry and scholarly context of the motion comic?

• What is the media theory context for hybrid media and the motion comic?

• How does the motion comic function as an intersection of screen and comic panel?

Media design practice:

• What are the creative vision and historical/cultural context of the Family Slaughter

comic and screenplay?

• With consideration of various creative constraints, what is a suitable design strategy,

and aesthetics for Family Slaughter Motion Comic?

1.1.3. Objectives

The objective of this project is to investigate designing a feature-length, horror-themed motion comic based on the comic book and screenplay of Family Slaughter. To do this, I will:

• Examine motion comic practice, industry developments and motion comic

scholarship.

• Examine aspects of media and hybrid media theory related to understanding the

motion comic in contemporary media evolution.

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• Situate the motion comic in the context of the theories of screen media evolution and

the comic panel.

• Produce a feature-length motion comic (90–100 minutes) by utilizing assets from the

published comic book Family Slaughter and the screenplay Family Slaughter.

• Investigate the design strategy and historical/artistic context of the Family Slaughter

comic and screenplay.

• Discuss issues of adaptation and creative constraint in motion comic production.

• Design an appropriate motion comic format for the narrative of Family Slaughter.

• Develop an effective workflow for producing Family Slaughter Motion Comic

1.1.4. Research Approach: Screen Media Practice Research

There are a number of research approach formulations with key words ‘practice’ and

‘research’ in current methodology literature from Australia (Fletcher & Mann, 2004, p. 1), and

England (Niederrer & Roworth-Stokes, 2007, p.5; Brown, Gough, & Roddis, 2004, p. 1).

The term “screen media practice research” is used by John Dovey (2104, p. 63) in the title of his article Screen Media Practice Research and Peer Review. This term encompasses the disciplines of media, art, design and performance as regards to practical production of screen-based media. The overlapping areas of theory coupled with a practical focus on screen media production, makes this formulation the most compact and precise for the purposes of describing the current research project. The motion comic has emerged in the early part of this century in conjunction with the proliferation of screen media in everyday life

(Elias, 2013, p. 4). Motion comics were designed for a variety of screen-based platforms, including cinema, television, desktop, tablet, mobile and games. Motion comic design is pre- eminently screen media based.

As commonly agreed, research at a doctoral level must make an original contribution to knowledge. ‘Practice-based’ research includes the ‘creative artefact as the basis for the contribution to knowledge’ (Candy, 2005, p. 3). The creative output does not stand alone; it is

3 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker integrated with scholarly analysis, relevant methods of data collection and contextual exegesis (Hamilton & Jaaniste, 2009, p. 7). This doctoral project pursues both research and practical objectives with corresponding research and practice-based questions. In practice- based research, addressing these questions can result in original knowledge at both the scholarly and tacit levels (Niederrer & Roworth-Stokes, 2007, pp. 13-14). Praxis emerges where tacit elements cross into the scholarly discourse, and scholarly elements inform and shape the tacit knowledge. The ‘packaging’ of the exegesis and the artefact produces a compelling synthesis—a type of ‘knowing-in-action’ (Schön, 1995, p.4).

This exegesis seeks to establish a theoretical framework for hybrid media and the motion comic based on a review of literature encompassing several intersecting areas of scholarship:

• media theory: McLuhan (1964, 1977), Bolter and Grusin (2000), Manovich (1993,

1995, 1997, 2001, 2006, 2007, 2008), Kittler (1999), Castells (2004) and Zielinski

(2006).

• comics and motion comics scholarship: Craig Smith (2011, 2015), Elias (2013),

McCloud (1993, 2000) and Eisner (1985).

• theories of screen media: McLuhan (1964, 1977), Manovich (1993, 1995, 1997, 2001,

2006, 2007, 2008), Crary (1992, 2001) and Friedberg (2006).

The thesis outlines convergences and divergences in contemporary motion comic practice through the identification and examination of exemplars of motion comic form. It focuses on the diversity of examples and aims to describe a heterogeneous field of hybrid media practices to critically inform and elucidate the practical development of the motion comic project.

Semi-structured interview data (See Appendices A and B) were collected from the Family

Slaughter comic book designer Tim Pigott and independent publisher Sonya Jeffery. This data collection and analysis addresses the research question: What is the creative vision and historical/cultural context of the Family Slaughter comic and screenplay? As the artefacts

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(screenplay and comic) were developed in the late 1980s, it is important to collect testimony from the original production team. It is also useful to establish the contextual background of filmmaking, art and publishing in Australia in the late 1980s. The interviews provide facts and insights on the cultural, artistic and historical context of the comic and screenplay, and help sharpen the design strategy. Elements of this context include creative vision, artistic influences, design approach, techniques and workflow, industry positioning strategy, budget and copyright, distribution and publishing.

1.1.5. Introduction to Motion Comics

The motion comic is a hybrid, digital narrative format that remixes the main features of the comic book with elements of animation, motion graphics, film and photography, sound design, music, voice and interactivity. Early experiments in extended-length motion comics include

The Watchmen Motion Comic (2008), Godkiller: Walk Among Us (2010) and the NAWLS

(2010) interactive, online web comic. Also called motion books and illustrated films, motion comics have become established as an output of comic industry publishers like DC Comics, and Madefire Inc. (2017).

According to Smith (2011, p. 20) the motion comic is an ‘amorphous bricolage of digital artefacts’. Functioning as a cultural interface, the comic book—illustrations, visual grammar, panelling and dialogue bubbles—is the foundation upon which the motion comic is developed: either as an adaptation of a pre-existing publication or a wholly new project. This foundation operates as both creative constraint and enabler of the motion comic project and may partially account for why the motion comic attracts mixed responses and is often perceived as not animation, not film and not a book. As motion comic developer John Cassaday (as cited in

Richards, 2009, p. 4) observed, it is ‘something new and, also, something strange, to be honest. It's a medium trapped in the middle’. The cultural expectation is for an adaptation from one media format to another; however, motion comics present a repurposing of comics’ art and panelling and blending with various media particles. The term ‘motion comic’ might suggest association with established formats; however, this very in-betweenness is indicative

5 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker of the format’s hybrid composition, exposing how traditional media itself is remediated and hybridized within a software environment that encourages a flux of media objects.

At a broader scholarly level, the topic of screen media hybridity also remains underexplored.

Commenting on the rise of motion graphics, Lev Manovich (2007, pp. 1–2) states:

The transformation of the visual language used by most forms of moving images

outside of narrative films—has not been critically analysed. In fact, although the

results of these transformations were fully visible by about 1998, at the time of this

writing (spring 2007), I am not aware of a single theoretical article discussing them.

This screen media, practice-based research addresses Cassaday’s dilemma, Smith’s requirement for canonical motion comic research and Manovich’s call for an exploration of motion narratives that operate in a space outside narrative film. The exegesis engages with both the theory of hybrid media and the examination of a specific hybrid media practice. The discussion also applies Bolter and Gruisin’s (2000) concept of remediation–where a specific medium reworks the formal aspects of another medium (see p. 50) – in order to understand the fluid combination of media remixed in the motion comic format.

Software production and transmission tools remediate and remix film, text, audio, animation and graphics as design elements rather than as separated and siloed media. Increasingly, these are becoming less capturings and more designs: ‘After Effects interface makes filmmaking into a design process, and a film is re-conceptualized as a graphic design that can change over time’ (Manovich, 2008, p. 287). Underneath, the cultural conventions associated with these media—reading, watching, listening and playing—are also remixed. By way of a formal aesthetic, this thesis puts forward the notion of media hybrids as warm media. This is with reference to McLuhan’s (1964, pp. 24–35) definitions of hot and cool media –hot media

(e.g. radio) are considered more immersive and require less user interaction than cool media

(e.g. comics). The discussion on page 47 of this thesis draws parallels between McLuhan’s distinction and that by Bolter and Gruisin (2000) between Immediacy and hypermediacy.

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In the process of sketching a theoretical and practice-based framework to examine the motion comic, this research does not seek to ascertain the definitive model for the motion comic, fitting it neatly into a media box with explicit language and taxonomy. To do this would continue to deny what Bruno Latour (1996, p. 24) calls ‘the expanded proliferation of hybrids’.

Instead, it has another set of objectives: to identify the options and constraints available for a motion comic project; examine the fusion of assorted media variables; connect these to thematic, stylistic, aesthetic, expressive and resource issues; and examine the proposition that within the ambiguous space that is opening up, contemporary media are more flux than fixity.

1.2. Literature Review

This section reviews an industry context of increasing media fluidity, scholarly literature and opinion on motion comics and concludes with nine motion comic case studies. It addresses the research question: What is the current industry and scholarly context of the motion comic?

The aim is to develop the argument that the motion comic is less a thing and more an indication of a domain of probability emergent in a fluid, hybridizing software media environment. The case study analyses are not exhaustive, merely indicative of variety.

However, they do provide an opportunity for observations on the effectiveness of certain technical and creative decisions and the underlying design dilemmas. There are three published works in motion comic scholarship: two by Craig Smith (2011, 2015) and one by

Elias (2013). Blog postings by Morton (2011) and Albrecht (2008) discuss key characteristics of the motion comic and provide a venue for fan discussion and feedback. Reviews and motion comic developer interviews (Mahadeo, 2010; Richards, 2009) present developer perspectives and comic industry critiques of this emerging format. Published critical responses provide indicators of how end-users interact with the various motion comic formulations.

1.2.1. Fluid Formats

The emergence of the motion comic—the ‘medium trapped in the middle’—is symptomatic of broader trends in the creative media industries. The publishing industry, both for books and

7 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker comics, is currently exploring a number of hybrid or augmented options that incorporate various mixes of audio and motion with static page content. There is an expectation that audiences will demand multiple formats for the same or overlapping content. As Donald Katz

(as cited in Olshan, 2015, p. 1) from audio book publisher Audible, who works with Amazon on Whispersync for Voice, says, ‘I think that will be what people expect at some point. That everything will be available together in every possible format’.

This trend exemplifies a fluidity of formats. Whispersync technology (Audible Inc., 2016) operates on the synchronization between printed word and spoken voice via cloud computing.

The Whispersync application synchronises to an ebook, allowing the end-user to toggle the book’s text and audio tracks and oscillate between reading and listening. Following this logic, a future consumer of narrative may be able to jump, in sync, from reading to listening to watching to interacting in a game. The developers state, ‘a consumer no longer thinks of categories of textual experience, visual experience and oral experience as being based on these legacy physical formats’ (Olshan, 2015, p. 1). The term ‘legacy physical formats’ refers to traditional media such as print, sound recordings and movies. An end-user jumps and switches between reading, listening and visual highlighting of the same narrative material in what Whispersync developer Audible calls ‘immersion reading’, a deeper narrative experience, which they claim is ‘a valuable tool to boost reading comprehension and overall retention of content’ (Audible Inc. 2016, p. 1).

Further industry developments in intermediality include the transformation of videos and gameplay into comics. Researchers looking to solve the problem of browsing through vast online video libraries have demonstrated algorithms that scan video animation content and convert the output to comic panels and pages (Chu & Wang, n.d.). Other researchers suggest a similar conversion from live-action movies to comics, a conversion that incorporates the creation of dialogue balloons from the screenplay (Hong et al., 2010). Chan, Thawonmas and

Chen (2009, p. 3589) describe a system that generates comics ‘in a fully automatic manner’ from a massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) player’s log and screenshots. Action sequences are broken into panels and chat sequences are displayed as word balloons. These semantic web technologies apply pattern recognition algorithms to

8 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker content such as videos and MMORPGs, generating metadata analyses of character, sequence, scene, shot, lighting and dialogue to map these into ‘comics language’—panels, character action and composition, different types of word balloons, motion blur lines, lighting and textural aesthetics. The movie devolves to storyboard. The metadata cartoon presents a familiar format to the end-user; a visual synopsis or ‘comic-style summarization’ (Chan et al.,

2009, p. 3590 ) that captures and encodes the underlying media experience.

Table 1.1: Summary of fluid media publishing formats

Format Description

1 Audio Book ebook and voice

2 Audible Whispersync ebook synchronised with reader (Audible Inc., 2016).

3 Graphic Audio Audio only adaptations of comics (Deadpool, Captain America)— ‘movies in your mind’; combining music, voice actors and sound effects (The Cutting Room Corporation, 2017). 4 Adaptive Audio Adding background music and sound effects to the digital comic (Marvel Unlimited App) reading experience (comiclist.com, n.d.). 5 Motion Comic Comic art remixed with audio, motion and interactivity

6 Cartoonization Automatic generation of comics’ panels from animations, live-action films and MMORPGs. (Chan et al., 2009).

These industry trends, which are summarized in Table 1.1, situate the motion comic in a broader, dynamic media transformation with categories splintering into interconnected hybrid media niches—'media in the middle’. However, these are not scattered, but interlinked by platforms into the consecutive and simultaneous activities of reading, listening and watching: an ‘all at once’ immersion literacy. Meanwhile, the imminent automation of comic production— the ‘cartoonization’ of movies, animations and gaming—establishes the comic format as a favoured intermedia lingua franca that facilitates, to borrow McLuhan’s (1964, pp. 24-35) terminology, the cooling of hot media into comic summarization.

This remediation of legacy media generates hybrid formulations that exploit comics’ narrative and sequential image culture. The remixing is multiple: comics’ assets form the substantive foundation for repurposing into motion comics, motion books and graphic audio, while simultaneously, new comics can be spawned from other media such as animations, games and movies. The motion comic emerges within this shifting nexus of remixing forces; the term

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‘motion comic’ itself seemingly providing a convenient categorization of an unstable process with a variety of manifestations.

1.2.2. Historically

Historically, motion comics’ technique can be linked to a tradition that includes Indonesian shadow puppetry and early forms of pre-cinematic and optical devices such as the magic lantern and the praxinoscope, incorporating rudimentary animation styles and layering techniques (A. R. Smith, 2015). These prior forms relied on handmade preparation of assets and manually induced motion. In the 20th century, the direct ancestors of motion comics were the DC and Marvel television animated adaptations of comic art produced in the 1960s

(Morton, 2011). Science fiction novelist Philip K. Dick describes a motion comic in his 1964 novel, The Zap Gun. There are also stylistic precedents in the television show Captain

Pugwash (1958-1967) and the paper cut style animations of Terry Gilliam and South Park

(1997–).

Initial motion comics released by DC Comics, including The Watchmen: Motion Comic (2008), which coincided with the first use and appearance of the term ‘motion comic’, attracted both public and critical attention. Earlier progenitors of the form included Broken Saints (2001),

Saw: Rebirth (2005) and Metal Gear Solid: Digital Graphic Novel (2006). Although often-direct remediations of the page versions, motion comics can also present unique content; whether as part of a transmedia model (Astonishing X-Men: Gifted, 2009), or as standalone narratives

(NAWLS, 2011). In Japan, a similar popular form is called the visual novel; a type of interactive fiction featuring illustration, limited motion, dialogue boxes and voice acting.

In contemporary media, the blockbuster success of comic-derived franchises, such as

Batman, Spiderman, X-Men and others, has highlighted the influence of comics on contemporary narrative in film and animation. As the era of print and paper gives way to the era of the screen, comics’ unique form of panel-encapsulated sequential narrative that establishes persistent worlds and characters, intersects with a culture of the screen fed by a stream of graphical assets and fuelled by major players jockeying for platform dominance.

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The rise of motion comics has coincided with this period of intense platform innovation and rivalry in the first decade of the 21st century, which culminated in the proliferation of handheld screens. The retrieval of the pre-cinematic in digital formats emphasises the spectacle of the entertainment device, but also demonstrates that within the software media environment, film and animation now exist on the same graphics plane as comics’ art.

1.2.3. Media Hybridization

In the process of media hybridization legacy media interfere with each other via software remediation; hence, decohering into intermedia objects. ‘All in all,’ Lev Manovich (2013, p. 65) writes in Software takes command, ‘it is as though different media are actively trying to reach towards each other, exchanging properties and letting each other borrow their unique features.’ Media hybridization connects the proliferation of hybrids to software as a ‘metamedium’, emanating diffusely through the networked computing environment, redefining workflow practices and end-user platforms, ultimately influencing culture by rearranging and reconfiguring the languages of various legacy media:

In hybrid media the languages of previously distinct media come together. They

exchange properties, create new structures, and interact on the deepest level.

Instead, we end up with a new meta-language that combines the techniques of all

previously distinct languages, including that of typography. (Manovich 2013, p. 169)

As Elias (2013, p. 7) notes, ‘the motion comic appears as a new medium composed of ingredients from previous media’. Motion comic production is distinguished by the

‘appropriation of an existing static artwork’ (C. Smith, 2015, p. 8) and comics’ narrative. Smith separates this static drawing approach from animation practices that develop pose-based character sequences. There are similarities between motion comic techniques and paper cut or cut out animation. Media ingredients are assembled in a remix of comic book elements with animation, graphic design and layout, photography, cinematography, 3D modelling, sound design, music and voice. Interactive screen embellishments or an interface may also be included. Motion comics are produced in a motion graphics pipeline and designed for

11 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker consumption on the electromagnetic screen, fixed or mobile. Hitherto, motion graphics compositions are mostly confined to use in short formats, such as titling, commercials and music videos. Utilizing comics’ narrative language, the motion comic materialises a key space of long-form motion graphic storytelling, both episodic and feature length.

1.2.4. Screens

Some critics argue motion comics are part of the popularization of the handheld platform.

Lister, Dovey, Giddings, Grant and Kelly (2009, p. 146) suggest that this retrieval of the ‘pre- cinematic’ in digital formats emphasises the spectacle of the entertainment device. Elias

(2013, p. 6) similarly concludes that the motion comic enhances the marketability of screen devices, positing that ‘the dilemma of the motion comic has to do with the hybrid nature of platforms. The era of Gutenberg, paper and printing, has given way to an era of screen that is not over.’

The proliferation of handheld screen devices, where hybrid platform serves hybrid media, induces a ‘blurring of the lines between comics and animation’ (Granov, as cited in Mahadeo,

2010, p. 3). As previously mentioned, in seeking access to a broader market, the publishing industry is exploring new ways to augment the reading of narrative content presented in a traditional sequential image form. According to motion comic developer Granov (as cited in

Mahadeo, 2010, p. 3):

I feel motion comics are a good way to make comic books more accessible to the

people who aren't their traditional audience. I think the technology, especially the

handheld devices, has opened a new world of opportunities for all publishing

industries. Just as the Walkman allowed us to listen to our music on the go, digital

and motion comics now allow us to access entire libraries and enjoy them wherever

we are.

Elias (2013, p.13) speculates on the impact of screen literacy on a generation of Millennials who literally grew up with a life on the screen, a ‘screen society that feeds on complex images’. The distinction between text and graphics is eroded: ‘now all are graphics’ How do

12 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker we read a motion comic? The question of motion comic literacy opens onto the broader issue of the emerging literacy of the screen and motion graphics. Reading a motion comic becomes a hybridized motion graphics experience, combining literacy elements and semiotic systems from the remixed media that contribute, however uneasily, to motion comic aesthetics. Elias

(2013, p. 18) believes this issue has not currently resolved itself, leaving the end-user

‘oscillating’ between reader and viewer: ‘Thus, the greatest dilemma of motion comics is the oscillating between viewing and reading; between the page and the screen, leaving the reader also responsible for bystander condition and user’.

1.2.5. Motion Comic Production

According to Craig Smith (2015, p. 15), motion comic production is distinguished by the

‘appropriation of an existing static artwork’ and narrative, that is subsequently assembled within a motion graphics software pipeline. Smith is careful to distinguish this ‘static drawing’ approach from animation practices that develop pose-based character sequences. He draws similarities between motion comic techniques and paper cut or ‘cut out’ animation (Smith,

2015, p. 2). Motion comics also resemble the animatics phase of animation development—a type of animated, key-frame storyboard with sound.

The hybrid form of the motion comic derives, at least in part, from the design workflow in a software environment that allows the different media elements to be combined, enhanced and processed. Manovich (2008, p. 25) has argued that a hybrid’s ‘deep remixability’ is achieved through the shaping of material in a small number of key applications that have interoperable compatibility. This ‘compatibility between graphic design, illustration, animation, video editing,

3D modeling, animation, and visual effects software plays the key role in shaping visual and spatial forms’ (Manovich, 2008, p. 148). Understanding motion comic design workflow is thus relevant in appreciating the range of possibilities that are emergent in this hybrid medium, beginning with the creative constraints of illustrative, comic artwork. Chapter 5 of this thesis contains a detailed case study of the workflow and design strategy for Family Slaughter

Motion Comic.

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1.2.6. Motion Comic Aesthetics

Craig Smith (2015, pp. 4-9) dedicates a major portion of his article to the identification of core motion comic aesthetics. His formal analysis examines key motion comic variables that are explored in a variety of design strategies by motion comic developers. In identifying and summarizing motion comic aesthetics elements, Smith encompasses a range of design choices that may occur within any specific element. Table 1.2 summarises Smith’s elements. I have added three extra elements, highlighted in dark blue. Motion comic designs exhibit a wide variety of combinations and choices from within these design elements. In my observation, colour choice is also important for the motion comic look and feel, in addition to the integration and/or replacement of comic illustrations with photographic, video and 3D assets. The use of typographic variety and animation can also vary considerably as separate or inclusive elements of speech bubble text.

Table 1.2: Summary of Craig Smith’s (2015, pp. 4-9) motion comic aesthetic elements with new elements added in blue text Element/Affordance Option 1 Option 2 Option 3 Panels Multiple panels Multiple panels animated Panel fills screen separately Motion Actor/object movement or Moving camera: pan, Combination of moving ‘articulation’ zoom actors/objects, camera motion and lighting effects Audio/Literary Speech bubbles with voice Voice only, no text Soundtrack (music & SFX) combined with speech bubbles or voice, or both Narrative Fidelity Story constructed 100% Story is abridged; original Original motion comic from original comic panels comic elements are narrative excluded, rearranged or new assets are added Spatial Depth Depth of field created via Layers not separated; flat Moving camera with fx and layering & virtual camera depth of field blurs conveys partial depth Adaptation Cinematic approach: Comic book approach: Interactive approach: panels and speech panels and speech comic book artwork is balloons are omitted, balloons are retained retained, but the viewer is replacing comic book encouraged to navigate language with cinematic through the story Genres Dominant genre; that is, Indie comic book Comic tie-in to film, TV or superhero characters videogame Distribution and Delivery Computer screen: Mobile device: Television: DVD or downloaded or streamed downloaded or streamed broadcast. Cinema release. Production Approaches Cinematic: full screen mis- Reconstructed: comic 3D: comic art combined en scene elements retained within a with CGI characters and cinematic mis en scène backdrops with conventional mis en scène Color Grey scale exclusively or CMYK RGB combined with color Visual Assets Illustrations only Illustrations augmented No Illustrations: with textures, photographs, video photographs, video elements and/or 3D elements and/or 3D models only models Typography/Typographic No text Onomatopoeias and Fontagraphic variety and Cinema slogans in different fonts animation for all text elements, including speech bubbles

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Elias (2013, pp. 1-3) conducted a survey of motion comics. The initial distinction was between

‘passive view’ and interactive motion comics. His research identified 55 viewable motion comics and two video game style motion comics. These relatively early releases of Comix

Zone (1995) and Takeru: Letter Of The Law (1998) embed comic panels in a gameplay format. Elias (2013) highlights interactive elements and visual quality in graphics, cinematics and animation as the defining features of the emergent motion comic hybrid. Craig Smith

(2015) takes a case study approach and examines three motion comics as exemplars of the cinematic, comic book and interactive forms.

The hybrid nature of the production phases—a mash up of comic book, film, animation and game—helps in understanding the hybridity of the emerging aesthetics of the motion comic.

The balance of these elements in the completed motion comic can direct the end-user to an appropriate oscillation between reading, viewing and interacting, and induce various modes of immersive dramatic experience. This balance pivots on enhancing the central vision and mood of the narrative and effectively exploiting the component assets—the comic artwork and underlying narrative script, the role of typography and the mood induced by the sound design.

McLuhan’s (1964, pp. 24-35) contrast between hot and cool media is useful here. Compared to big screen blockbusters, animations, AAA games and the allure of virtual reality, the motion comic aesthetic presents a cooling of cinematographic and immersive media. Alternatively, when compared to the leisure of reading a comic book, a dramatic staging of this reading is presented, the comic book is heated up and the reader experiences ‘partial immersion’

(McCloud, 2000, p. 212). McLuhan’s (1964, pp. 24-35) original formulation clearly separates hot and cool. As a hybrid of hot and cool, the motion comic could be considered a warm or medium-cool medium.

1.2.7. Review of Practice: Motion Comic Titles

This section examines a selection of titles that could be considered within the scholarly definition of the motion comic posited by Craig Smith (2011, 2015) and Elias (2013). My analysis will focus on variety within the form and observations on the effectiveness of certain creative decisions and underlying design dilemmas. Where available, published critical

15 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker responses will also provide some indicators of how the end-users interact with the various motion comic formulations. The titles are arranged in chronological order of first release date.

SAW Rebirth (2005): At 6 minutes and 54 seconds, this motion comic, adapted from the comic book of the same name, was released as a trailer prequel to the second movie in the

SAW horror franchise. The trailer is an early transmedia application, as the narrative never appears in the movie. Fast paced and intense, the story fleshes out the origins of the SAW serial killer and is presented from a first person narration perspective. For its time, this title was an innovative exploration of multi-panel effects (see Fig.1.1). Panels are presented in split screen, stacked on top of each other, stretched and squashed and segued on and off the screen. Intrapanel pans and zooms frequently occur as panels are shuffled like a pack of cards.

Synchronization of panel animation with jarring sound effects and an up-tempo electronic score sustains the mounting tension, climaxing with the transformation to the Melodyne maniac voice of the SAW killer. Characters are separated from backgrounds, and sometimes drift on the screen for extra dramatic tension, but there is no anatomical animation. Artwork is straight off the page CMYK in a classic noir style; the graininess of the scans complement the grimy, pulsating static that infuses the work. Text is presented in commentary boxes, floating as separate panels. Revealing the text word-by-word proves to be a retrograde feature in this motion comic, underscoring the reading-versus-watching balance that is at the heart of the motion comic.

Fig. 1.1: Still from SAW Rebirth (2005).

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Afterworld (2007): This title stretches the motion comic format into episodic science fiction television drama. The show is comprised of 130 three-minute episodes, released initially on the web but also broadcast on cable television. The protagonist is a survivor journeying through a post-apocalyptic world, encountering other survivors while unravelling the mysterious origins of the calamity. The artwork is composed of CGI modelling and is separated into characters and environments. However, unlike typical CGI animation, there is minimal character animation and 3D rotation. The environments appear closer to concept art than hyperreal 3D assemblages. Instead, there is compositing in two dimensions enhanced by the cinematics of panning, tracking, blurring and scaling.

The story is narrated through protagonist voiceover combined with an orchestral score and sound effects. Afterworld is unique in that, apart from static artwork, nothing overtly signifies the cultural interface of the comic—no text, no panels, no original illustrative artwork. Each episode begins with the flipping of pages in an illustrated journal. As the silhouetted protagonist journeys across an open page, inviting the viewer to watch a reconstruction of this journal, a fictionalised print to motion graphic remediation is initiated. In this way, motion comic aesthetics are imported via a motion journal format into an episodic television narrative

(see Fig. 1.2). In a review Rachel Hyland (2011, p. 3) highlighted this aesthetic bind:

Oh, it was hardly a wonder of computer-animated imagery. The series is CGI, but told

in a very stop motion manner, like it’s a picture book with narration and the occasional

voice actor. Even the lamest of motion comics is more sophisticated than this

particular effort, and the photorealism of the series will never be considered…well,

terribly real.

Despite this critique, the writer confesses to being hopelessly hooked on the show—as a televised event—while steadfastly ignoring the YouTube version: ‘I enjoyed the anticipation, and I loved my daily halcyon dose of Afterworld so much that I wanted it to last as long as possible’ (Hyland, 2011, p. 3). The cultural routine and habit of a medium like synchronous television, conditions aesthetic appreciation and acceptance of content. The problem with a hybrid medium such as the motion comic is precisely its in-betweenness, suggesting that the

17 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker end-user is culturally conditioned and tuned in to the medium before they accept the message and show a willingness to commit their attention.

Fig. I.2: Still from Afterworld (2007).

The Watchmen Motion Comic (2008): Released episodically on iTunes and then on DVD as

The Watchmen: Complete Motion Comic, this motion comic is based on the graphic novel and produced with the participation of illustrator Dave Gibbons. It is a close fit with Craig Smith’s

(2015, p. 9) category of cinematic motion comic, in which comic panels fill the screen with the elaborate cinematics of tracking, closing and pulling, and blur and focus, choreographing the detailed shot list that comprises the original artwork. Exploration of panel assets is dramatically comprehensive: pulling back from the detail of photographs to reveal a room and characters; the opening panel of an extreme close-up on a smiley face, pulls back to a full overhead shot from a rooftop to reveal city streets and the perched character of Rorschach

(see Fig.1.3).

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Fig. 1.3: Still from The Watchmen Motion Comic (2008)

The colour is lifted directly off the printed page, an essential element of the distinctive neo- noir illustration style. The separation of panel elements is meticulous, allowing for the animation of characters, objects and the dynamic interplay of foreground, mid-ground and background. The sense of the world of The Watchmen—streets, alleys, rooftops, tenements, basements and skyscrapers—is vividly enhanced by motion, camera and shading. The sound design comprises a sombre orchestral score peppered with spot sound effects. Just one actor, Tom Stechschulte, voices all characters, imparting an audio book quality to this motion comic. Dialogue balloons and commentary text maintain continuity with the graphic novel.

The Watchmen Motion Comic has received many critical reviews, including those collated on

Rotten Tomatoes (2009). The positives focus on the faithfulness to the original graphic novel, but this is also perceived as the main negative. Ben Jones’s (2009, p.2) comments best illustrate this ambivalence:

Just like a condom machine in the Vatican, Watchmen Animated Comic (sic) is

completely useless. Although well put together, in all honesty, I cannot see the point

in it. If it was to give newcomers to the Watchmen universe a way to catch up without

having to actually read the comic book, not only is it useless but it’s completely

counter productive … the animated comic is neither something nor nothing.

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Godkiller: Walk Among Us (2009): In a comment posted on YouTube (20 December 2012), developer Matt Pizzolo claims that this feature-length production is not a motion comic but an

‘illustrated film’:

The main difference between Watchmen Motion Comic (and motion comics in

general) versus Godkiller is that Godkiller’s illustrations were created specifically for

this format. Also, we treated this as experimental cinema and our concept from the

get-go was to drive the pace through the audio like an illustrated radio-play with very

limited animation.

Subsequent to the illustrated film’s release, which included a brief run in cinemas, the

Godkiller franchise has evolved transmedially, including graphic novelization. Promoting the initial feature as an experimental film produced a culturally familiar object and helped banish the perception of in-betweenness. The visual narrative of post-apocalyptic gods, punks, prosthetics and organ snatching unfolds as a fast-paced combination of 2D, vividly coloured, hand-drawn illustration and 3D motion graphics. Illustrations are scanned and separated into characters and paper-textured backgrounds. Full screen panels, with occasional split panels slicing through, are panned, zoomed and tracked as the splatter-punk characters are moved and scaled through an urban wasteland.

Fig. 1.4: Still from Godkiller: Walk Among Us (2009)

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These motion illustrations (see Fig. 1.4) are riven with violent particle eruptions: explosions, blood splatter, vomit, dense smoke and particle storms dissolving into a typographic cinema of slogans. Pizzolo is one of the few hybrid media pioneers to emphasize the vital role of soundtrack, which he likens to a radio play. The synchronization of character voices, sound effects, swells, swooshes and pulsating punk rock music operates like dramatic glue, viscerally cohering the mise en scène of illustrative washes and 3D particle smears. Godkiller is a feature-length motion graphic narrative positioned as a movie. By downplaying the comics’ cultural interface, the end-user is not placed in the bind of reading versus watching.

However, the dialogue bubbles are a convenient placebo for characters whose lips do not move. In the absence of this mechanism, the soundtrack takes over as dramatic driver and linkage to the shadow play of concept art on the screen. In Elias’s (2013) survey of motion comics, Godkiller was ranked as the least popular. Contrastingly, Godkiller was a best seller for indie distributer Halo-8.

NAWLZ (2008–2011): This web-based comic is described as an ‘interactive comic book … combining animation, interactivity, music and text to create a never before seen digital panoramic comic format’ (NAWLZ 2011). There is no prior paper comic. The NAWLZ cyberpunk vision, designed by Australian illustrator Sutu, was initially assembled in Flash and embedded as an .swf file in the NAWLZ website. Utilizing a side-scroll interface, the reader navigates through the futuristic cyberpunk city of NAWLZ, accompanying the protagonist,

Harley Chambers, who is heavily jacked up on a variety of mental stimulants.

The current version of NAWLZ, redesigned for the iPad, represents a significant evolution of the original episodes released in 2008, having become a more complex, ever-shifting, multi- layered exploration of the cyberpunk world. As comic merges with interactive interface, designer Sutu plays with almost every dimension of the comic book convention. On a general level, NAWLS presents a panoramic parade of horizontally organised panels; panels shaped from a skewed geometry; panels that pop out and retract before and behind, as embellishments or parallel subplots. Dotted lines slice across panels as lines of sight that suture together interpanel assemblages, shuttling attention into the ping-pong of cross- connections. The positioning of the scroll button is ever changing: part of the game of NAWLZ

21 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker lies in locating the tiny scroller arrows and clicking them to reveal a screen embellishment.

The scroller may unlock a panel, activate an animated embellishment, reveal more commentary or dialogue, advance or regress the panorama. Mouse-overs activate sonic and visual tremors that reverberate through the panels, producing a pulsating, electrified environment as if the entire layout is part of some over-stimulated brain.

Nominally, the illustrations are greyscale. Zones of neon colour—turquoise, reds, electric blues and yellows—infuse the illustrations like an electric mist (see Fig. 1.5). In later episodes the colours become dynamic, strobing light shows are synchronised with the electronic loops of sub-bass, machinic blips, warbles and vocal snippets emanating from the cyber-industrial soundscape, which contributes a strongly visceral element. Text is presented like the outpourings of a beat poet: variations in font, size, thickness, line spacing and word positioning. The designs of NAWLS constitute a different species of motion comic hybrid— one that does not attempt to locate a balance of various media syntaxes to engage attention by association with a legacy medium to avoid the uncanny valley of in-betweenness. The comic is dissolved into loops, layers, impulses and finally particles, and, as in a game, many narrative elements are emergent.

Fig.1.5: Still from NAWLZ (2011)

Astonishing X-Men: Gifted (2009): The first in a series of Marvel’s Astonishing X-Men motion comic, illustrated and co-directed by John Cassaday, this title closes the distance between

22 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker remediation of static comic book art and 2D animation. Resonating with the 1960s Marvel television animated comic art adaptations, the developers have opted for a fully cinematic motion comic design, featuring character animation and rigging that mimics celluloid (cel) animation techniques, including bodily movement, facial expressions, eye-blinks and eyeball rolls, and lip twitching to synchronise with the voice actor dialogue. Panels function as shots assembled into edit sequences, which is particularly effective in sustaining long dialogue exchanges and interactions between the large gallery of mutant characters while developing their individual arcs; an effect not unlike series television or series anime. The artwork is a contemporary Marvel photorealistic style. Motion graphics effects include lighting, blurs, camera movement and masking. The soundtrack integrates voices, orchestral score and sound effects into a dramatic level comparable with television and anime (see Fig.1.6).

Fig. 1.6: Still from Astonishing X-Men: Gifted (2009)

The extensive credits for this title illuminate its big-budget underpinnings: adding together a full roster of voice actors with six ‘motioneers’ and a host of artists responsible for cel redraws, this ambitious production is far removed from the scan and separate motion comic pipelines with more modest budgets. Commenting on this motion comic release, comic critic

Chris Sims (n.d., p. 3) states:

Motion comics exist in this weird No Man’s Land between comics and animation;

they’re essentially just the art from the comic being shown to you while a bunch of

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people literally read the comic out loud … I think that’s a problem that’s going to be

inherent in the form, as it’s repurposing art that was created to be static on the page

and work within a structure of panels and layouts, and it’s being used here for an

entirely different purpose than it was intended, with predictable results.

1.2.6. Discussion

The motion comic arises within a media environment that is exploring various media amalgams or hybrids through processes such as remixing and metadata conversions. We have seen that the motion comic is primarily produced as a remix. I note from scholarship that motion comics have a close connection to the comic culture industry. In Craig Smith’s (2015, pp. 1-2) view, the motion comic is one strategic step in the branding and exploitation of comic- derived characters, narratives and worlds. The format has historical precedents in 1960s television comic book animations, the visual novel in Japan and even paper cut style animations. The foundational element of the motion comic is comic art, panelling, and indeed the very language of comics that is then adapted and remixed with elements from other media. This leads to the common observation that motion comics are a ‘medium in between’.

Elias (2013, p. 18) has observed that this quality of in-betweenness places the end-user in a dilemma, forcing them to oscillate their attention between the various functions of reading, viewing, interacting and listening. I have likened this to a type of intermedia uncanny valley.

Reviewer feedback on motion comics tends to reinforce this observation, as do various developer strategies that attempt to solve this discomfort for the end-user by positioning the title as legacy media, with the formal qualities of graphic novels, movies, TV series or interactive multimedia. This eruption of the ‘in between’ as dilemma, as disruption, as oscillation of attention, is the very process of remediation making itself manifest when attention is momentarily interrupted.

The connection between motion comic development and motion graphics software has been briefly highlighted. The ability to separate and recombine comic illustrations and other assets is at the heart of the motion comic remixability. The development of motion graphic software

24 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker tools since the early 1990s, including Director, After Effects, Flash and HTML5, has provided a production platform for combining graphic, textual, cinematic, sonic and interactive elements. The motion comic introduces the possibility of combining a comic narrative framework with motion graphics remixability and provides an avenue for various types of long- form storytelling—be they episodic, feature-length, novelistic or teledramatic.

The rise of motion comics has coincided with a period of intense platform innovation and rivalry. The platform wars gained great momentum in the first decade of the 21st century, culminating in the proliferation of handheld screens and the dominance of social media.

Tablet and mobile screens and the competing operating systems of Apple, Android and

Microsoft challenged established platforms such as desktop and DVD. Content display has ranged from huge crowdsourced portals such as YouTube and Soundcloud, to fenced off content zones such as the App Store. I have noted that motion comic titles often become platform-specific. Sometimes, as with the case of Tron Legacy: Interactive Graphic Novel

(2011) developed with HTML 5, the motion comic has literally been stifled by the platform and is no longer accessible in this format. Similarly, NAWLZ was originally developed and released in a Flash format that has now lost support from Adobe. Currently, both have been repurposed as iPad applications.

Thus, platform, rather than content, is king. Content, in the form of transmedia branding, skates across the surface of platforms and legacy media. Commentators, including Elias

(2013), Manovich (2007), Crary (2001) and Gunning (2006) have drawn parallels between the early decades of the 21st century and the period from the mid-19th to the early-20th centuries; a period where entertainment often emphasised the novelty and spectacle of competing media apparatuses, or what Gunning calls the ‘cinema of attraction’. Crary (2001) identifies this period as coinciding with the formation of a new type of ‘attentive’ subject, as audiences were encouraged to explore their own sensory perceptions amid a newly forming industry that was trying to figure out the most efficient methods of delivering a consistent, organized and routinized spectacle. According to Crary (2001, p. 148), this ‘standardization and regulation of attention constitute a path into the digital and cybernetic imperatives of our own present’.

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As the motion comic interlude becomes a fixture of contemporary television series such as iZombie (2015–2019) and Limitless (2015–2016), no doubt many will see the motion comic as a step towards achieving standardization and regulation—a momentary exploration, a footnoted ‘little machine’ in the journey towards a great machine:

The hundreds of little machines in the nineteenth century destined for more or less

clumsy reproduction of the image and the movement of life are picked up in this

‘phylum’ of the great representative machine (Comolli, 1980, p. 122).

However, the underlying assumptions of this renascent modernism require further investigation. Certainly, Comolli had in mind cinema and its ‘realist’ representation, but remixability is comprehensively redefining the ‘realism’ effect inherited from 20th century cinema. The motion comic hybrid is caught up in this redefining moment.

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CHAPTER 2: MEDIA THEORY AND HYBRID MEDIA

There is nothing prior to or outside the act of mediation.

—Bolter and Grusin (2000, p. 56)

2.1. Introduction

The review of literature, based on industry, scholarly and case study examples, provides a snapshot of a shifting and fluid media environment in which motion comics emerge. Scholars, industry practitioners and end-users agree that the motion comic is a hybrid, a ‘medium in between.’ Currently there is little, if any, standardization of the motion comic format, which is a mix of comic artwork and panels, text, 2D and 3D graphics, photography and video, voice, sound effects and music, and interactive interfaces. Motion comics seem to be part of a larger, ongoing experiment of media. In this chapter and the next, by reviewing literature from a range of media theorists, I will address the conditions and circumstances in the media environment that have given rise to the motion comic in its current digital form with the research question: What is the broader media theory context for hybrid media and the motion comic?

In asking what the conditions and circumstances of this flux of media are, the implied answer seems resoundingly tautological: digital media are the cause of … changes in digital media.

That is, digital media are both cause and effect. The motion comic was caused because media have become digitised. Yes, today’s motion comics are delivered and retrieved as digital artifacts. When I produce a motion comic, I work in a software environment. But important things remain unsaid: prior assumptions about media—digital or otherwise—are implied but often unstated. A statement about contemporary or ancient media comes laden with the unsaid, the assumed, the forgotten, taken for granted, hoped and wished for. These background assumptions form the basis of an unspoken media theory. We all have one.

Possibly it is unspoken because it is assumed we know the narrative; yet, it is not my intention to uncover and challenge a master narrative, I only wish to make explicit my assumptions.

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In this chapter, I cover two main points. First, based on literature, I identify and clarify my own assumptions about media dynamics and sketch a theoretical framework for understanding media. Second, within this framework, and again borrowing from the literature, I outline a theory of media hybridity with a focus on hybridization within a software environment. This will pave the way for me to address, in the next chapter, the explicit conditions that have given rise to the motion comic.

2.2. Media Theory

2.2.1. Media as Extensions of the Senses

In the opening paragraphs of his book Understanding Media (1964, p. 6), Marshall McLuhan defines different media as extensions of the ‘senses and nerves’. A medium is distinguished both by technical operation—for example, mechanical or electrical—and by the specific human sense that is extended and amplified. Typically, the extension occurs across space or time, although for McLuhan (1964, p. 47), electronic media are in the process of ‘abolishing both space and time as far as our planet is concerned’. Recorded media are extensions across time; transmission media are extensions across space. Process media alter the characteristics of the content while in transmission or recording. Electronic media ‘abolish’ these distinctions by overcoming delays in information flows, so we can no longer tell if the content is transmitted, recorded or processed, because all three occur simultaneously at lightning speed—'action and reaction occur almost at the same time’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 6).

For McLuhan, these media extensions are our technologies. His discussion suggests an intimate connection between humans and their technologies: ‘as an extension of man the chair is a specialist ablation of the posterior, a sort of ablative, absolute backside, whereas the couch extends the integral being’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 7). The chair and the couch, as technologies, are not separate from the human; they become part of their everyday being, an extension and externalization. We can talk of a man-couch, the human-chair assemblage: the psychiatrist and couch potato. McLuhan taught that we cannot discuss human thought and behaviour—indeed human cultural activity—without due consideration of the

28 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker mind/body/technology assemblages we find at the heart these everyday practices. Inspired by

McLuhan, fellow Canadian David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983) depicts the hand and the gun literally fused together into an assemblage of flesh and metal: a hand/gun (see Fig. 2.1).

Fig. 2.1. The hand/gun from Videodrome

Paraphrasing Empedocles, Siegfried Zielinski (2006, p. 46) encapsulates this permeability of the inner and outer through mediumship:

Empedocles presents all living things with a wonderful gift. He wraps them in a fine

skin, or film, which not only protects them but is also permeable in both directions.

This is affected by the skin’s fine, invisible pores, which have different shapes.

Passing back and forth through them is a constant stream of effluences that are not

directed at anyone or anything in particular.

Reading Empedocles’s metaphor through McLuhan’s insight: we are wrapped in the skin of media. In this thesis, media technologies are not treated as ‘something out there,’ as if ‘we’ are separate from ‘them’. Neither do they form a type of ether between sender and receiver in a communication model. We are them, fused together in techno-assemblages (Deleuze and

Guatari, 1983) and networks (Latour, 1990). Technologies of media are endemic of human existence, part of the condition, bridging the inner and outer in bi-directional permeability: outering the inner and innering the outer. As hardware, technologies are fused to our bodies; as software they are fused to our brains (Munsterberg 1916) – conscious and unconscious; in

29 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker all cases, the senses are extended, embodied, and perceptual. To paraphrase Donna

Haraway (2004), we have always been cyborgs, both in relation to the material properties of our bodies and in the mental capacity of our minds. Where the material technologies of media extend, amplify and condition our physical capabilities, media themselves extend, amplify and condition our perception and imagination (Hayles, 1999).

2.2.2. Media as Psychotechnologies

In his book The Photoplay, first published in 1916, Hugo Munsterberg sets out to understand the connection between ‘the inner and outer development of moving pictures’:

We want to study the right of the photoplay, hitherto ignored by esthetics, to be

classed as an art in itself under entirely new material life conditions. What we need

for this study is evidently, first, an insight into the means by which the moving pictures

impress us and appeal to us. Not the physical means and the technical devices are in

question, but the mental means. What psychological factors are involved when we

watch the happenings on the screen? (p. 83)

In tackling this question, Munsterberg drew on the considerable body of psychological theory on visual perception and cognition that had developed over the preceding 80 years alongside the innovations in visual technologies and the blossoming motion picture industry. He concluded that every visual effect in film had a psychological correlate, a type of soft technology. That is, a correlate that was not a secondary epiphenomenon conjured by the film hardware but an active perceptual and cognitive mechanism associated with motion pictures:

The eye does not receive the impressions of true movement. It is only a suggestion of

movement, and the idea of motion is to a high degree the product of our own reaction

... The theater has both depth and motion, without any subjective help; the screen

has them and yet lacks them. We see things distant and moving, but we furnish to

them more than we receive; we create the depth and the continuity through our

mental mechanism. (Munsterberg, 1916, p. 81)

30 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

Three important elements of the photoplay—apparent motion, continuity and depth of field— are revealed as mental and perceptual mechanisms ‘furnished’ by the observer and shaped within the art form. Munsterberg (1916) uses the term ‘psychotechnology’ to characterise the interplay and effects of a medium as that between the subject’s perceptual and cognitive actions and the technical mechanisms of that medium under artistic direction. As Friedrich

Kittler (1999, p. 166) states:

Psychotechnology relays psychology and media technology under the pretext that

each psychic apparatus is also a technological one, and vice versa … The chaos of

the surrounding impressions is organized into a real cosmos of experience by our

selection, which, in turn, can either be voluntary or involuntary. But because voluntary

selection would separate spectators from the spell of the medium, it is not

considered. What counts is solely whether and how the different arts control

involuntary attention and hence ‘play on the keyboard of our mind’.

McLuhan’s premise that all media are extensions of the human sensory and cognitive system resonates with Munsterberg’s theory that the functioning of a medium includes the adaptations of the human sensory and cognitive apparatus, expressed through interacting and evolving psychotechnologies and their interconnection to hardware apparatuses within regimes of attention. Further, by fusing bodies, minds and technologies at an inter-subjective level, media psychotechnologies operate as components of cultural machinery and networks.

According to Commolli (1980), the motion picture assemblage is comprised of ‘machines of the visible’ that are material, perceptual, social and economic; what Adorno and Horkheimer

(1944) had called ‘culture industries’. Media are often portrayed as disseminators of culture rather than as cultures in and of themselves. However, following McLuhan and Munsterberg, it can be said that that dissemination is but one aspect of the praxis of a medium that constitutes its culture.

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2.2.3. Neurocinematics

The emerging science of neurocinematics seems to confirm Munsterberg’s (1916) claim that the arts (e.g., cinema) ‘play on the keyboard of the mind’. In an experiment by Hasson et al.

(2008), subjects were shown two contrasting film sequences while their neural activity was measured using functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI). One sequence, from The

Good, The Bad and The Ugly (1966, directed by Sergio Leone), demonstrates directorial techniques typical of the psychotechnologies exposed in The Photoplay: continuity editing, controlled use of the long shot, mid-shot and close-ups. This sequence was compared to an undirected sequence in a home movie style that displayed an inconsistent directorial approach. The methodology of this neurocinematic study was inter-subject correlation (ISC):

The ISC compares the response time course in each brain region (e.g., in a small

region of the visual system of the brain) from one viewer to the response time

courses obtained in the same brain region from other viewers. Because all viewers

were exposed to the same film, computing ISC on a region-by-region basis identifies

brain regions in which the response time courses were similar across viewers.

(Hasson et al., 2008, p. 2)

ISC, in conjunction with neural imaging, is a recent version of attention metrics or

‘psychometrics’, a science of measurement of subjective cognitive responses to visual and audible experiences that can be traced back to the 19th century (Crary, 2001, p. 26). The most common form of visual attention metrics is tracking eye movements in response to visual stimuli such as movies, books or comics. Coincidentally, eye tracking was routinely measured in this example study, which found:

A movie can evoke similar time courses of brain activity across viewers. First, some

films have the potency to ‘control’ viewers’ neural responses. By ‘control’ we simply

mean that the sequence of neural states evoked by the movie is reliable and

predictable, without placing any aesthetic or ethical judgment as to whether the

means to such control are desirable. Second, under the assumption that mental

states are tightly related to brain states (a hypothesis that is widely believed to be true

32 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

by most neuroscientists and many philosophers), controlling viewers’ brain states, for

our purposes, is the same as controlling their mental states including their percepts,

emotions, thoughts, attitudes, etc. (Hasson et al., 2008, p. 2).

The results, demonstrating a synchronicity of brain activity across the group in response to

Leone’s directorial control of filmic language, should not be surprising, confirming the establishment, after over 200 years, of a culture of cinematic visual technologies. The inter- subjective psychology of the visual, what Crary (2001, p. 26) calls the ‘attentive human observer,’ has evolved concurrently with film technology throughout the 19th and into the 20th centuries.

Earlier, Munsterberg (1916) was able to summarize this ‘progress’ and diagnose the necessary next step: the ‘aestheticization’ of film, film as art and supremely, as entertainment.

In other words, the technologists have got it right, the psychologists have got it right, now directors have to get it right: focus and sustain attention, and teach film culture to their audiences by refining and implementing an artistic language of film. In discussing the close- up shot, Munsterberg (1916, pp. 87–88) correlates this with fixation of attention in the cognitive system: ‘the close-up has objectified in our world of perception our mental act of attention’.

2.2.4. Materiality of Media

The materiality of media—their atomic properties—are grounded in the coherence of quantum states. The nanoscale represents the threshold where the coarse-grained world of predictable media—Ohms law, bits on a hard-drive—crumbles into the fine-grained world of wave– particle duality. Below this threshold, the time and space of the observer also breaks down.

Matthew G. Kirschenbaum (2008) discusses the technique of Dip-pen lithography as a nanoscale form of writing. Kirschenbaum is keen to draw attention to this physical, subatomic layer of media, especially for digital media, which he argues are more often treated at a cultural and symbolic level, while its materiality is overlooked. He refers to Kenneth

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Thibodeau’s (2002, p. 3) three levels of classification of a digital object as a way of clarifying the ontological layers of a digital artefact:

Every digital object is a physical object, a logical object, and a conceptual object, and

its properties at each of those levels can be significantly different. A physical object is

simply an inscription of signs on some physical medium. A logical object is an object

that is recognized and processed by software. The conceptual object is the object as

it is recognized and understood by a person, or in some cases recognized and

processed by a computer application capable of executing business transactions.

For example, an event (musical, sporting, political, etc.) conveyed and stored through a digital network can be physically distributed over various recording surfaces, logically stored within a variety of databases with a number of recorded elements being playable by compatible software, such as sound recording, video and text display. At a cultural and semiotic

(conceptual) level, this event remains relatively integral and unified as a narrative

(homogeneous or disputed; true or false); whereas, at the logical and physical levels, the object dissolves into a finer granularity—distributed and heterogeneous.

The three levels and their interactions help in understanding the ontology of a digital media object compared to an analogue object; for example, a digital film compared to celluloid film or an ebook compared to a paper book. According to Thibodeau (2002), recorded media— analogue and digital—are constituted at the physical level as inscriptions, whether on paper, celluloid film or a magnetic surface such as tape or disk. The difference is the syntax of the paper book or the projected celluloid film is read and decoded by the human reader or viewer.

As previously discussed, Munsterburg (1916) had referred to the encoding and decoding of film as a ‘psychotechnology’; what is often referred to as film literacy and film grammar.

Reading a book also involves decoding its syntax, the act of literacy; what McLuhan (1977) characterised as a form of rapid guesswork on the part of the reader.

Binary code—the syntax of digital media—is physically recorded as the digital object and then read by a software ‘reader’ or ‘viewer’ at the logical level, in what is commonly called an

34 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker application. The only instance of binary code being read or decoded directly by humans on a regular basis was with early telegraphic messages in Morse code, which were inscribed onto paper tape and ‘read’ by the telegraph operator. Digital processing involves encoding analogue data into digital data that is then decoded by software at the logical level to reconstitute and retrieve the object as a ‘film’ or ‘book’ at the conceptual level. Therefore, the difference between analogue and digital inscriptions is in the format of the inscribed syntaxes and the way these are commonly decoded. Digital films and books are doubly decoded—at the logical level by software, and then once more at conceptual level by the end-user.

With the addition of the logical level, which involves encoding, decoding and recoding performed by software agents and computer processors, the integrity of the ‘film’ or ‘book’ is restored at the conceptual level, or not. The artefact is accessed for human enjoyment through the action of the logical processing of the physically inscribed bits:

To access any digital object, we have to retrieve the stored data, reconstituting, if

necessary, the logical components by extracting or combining the bit strings from

physical files, reestablishing any relationships among logical components, interpreting

any syntactic or presentation marks or codes, and outputting the object in a form

appropriate for use by a person or a business application (Thibodeau, 2002, p. 11).

Digital media do not copy, duplicate or reproduce in the analogue sense; their primary mode of operation is one of retrieval. Depending on the configuration at the physical and logical levels, instances of access and retrieval can differ widely while often remaining unnoticed at the conceptual level. Variations in the physical and logical layers of retrieval are fundamental for a preservationist such as Thibodeau, and they can be just as significant for a mutationist.

It is at the logical level, through the process of softwarization, that media hybridity can emerge as a form of media design—what Manovich (2008) has termed ‘deep remixing.’

2.2.5. Media Networks

Media proliferate as mutations: physical, logical, sociocultural and economic networks.

Psychotechnologies are interconnected with hardware, intertwined and enmeshed: pores,

35 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker organs, brains, interfaces, cables, recording surfaces, databases, software encoders and decoders, electromagnetic waves, antennas and screens. Castells (2004, p. 4) has written on the entrainment of humans and media technologies in the internet era:

What is specific to our world is the extension and augmentation of the body and mind

of the human subjects in networks of interaction powered by microelectronics-based,

software operated, communication technologies. These technologies are increasingly

diffused throughout the entire realm of human activity by growing miniaturization.

Networks are not exclusive to digitally layered media technologies. Thomas Hughes’s (1983) study of the early years of electric power systems presents a detailed historical examination of how networks are distributed across the different material levels (physical, logical and cultural). He states that ‘technological affairs contain a rich texture of technical matters, scientific laws, economic principles, political forces, and social concerns … Electric power systems embody the physical, intellectual, and symbolic resources of the society that constructs them’ (Hughes, 1983, p. 8).

Carolyn Marvin (1999, pp. 60–61) reports on an imaginatively improvised hybrid network from

1884 that incorporated the telephone, telegraph and visual display. The aim was to organise a

‘vivid view’ of a baseball game in Chattanooga for an audience in a Nashville hall. A telegraph operator telegraphed the play from the field to a second operator, who announced the play to telephone subscribers, while a third operator in the theatre moved player cards around a poster board depicting the playing field. This demonstrates how human agents connect physical systems and other human agents in relays of information that effectively abolish space and time for everyone on the network, and convey a ‘vivid view’ or spectacle.

According to Marvin (1999), improvised hybrid networks such as these later became institutionalised networks within broadcast radio. An interim step was the popularity of

‘telephonic news’ in the United States (US), whereby the telegraph and telephone companies collaborated in 1900 to bring breaking election results to thousands of subscribers in

‘telephone parties.’ Marvin (1999, p. 64) quotes a newspaper from the era: ‘The news was,

36 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker literally speaking, scooped up in this great telephone net and talked into one’s ears from unexpected distances’.

Jumping ahead some 132 years, WIRED magazine (Stole, Williams, Mitchell, & Pandell,

2016) reported the mushrooming of live streaming networks in response to the successive shootings of African American men in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and Falcon Heights,

Minnesota, and the murder of five police officers in Dallas, Texas. These networks connected participants, witnesses, observers, activists, journalists, law enforcement officials and technical staff:

Within hours or even seconds of each shooting, cell phone footage captured by

nearby witnesses—much of it livestreamed—flooded social media, prompting

massive protests (themselves documented via livestreaming). Not only did we see

the pain and horror firsthand, we began to see how these new, relatively simple tech

tools would play a deep role in our national conversation in the future. (Stole et al.,

2016, p. 2)

Network characteristics are described in Bruno Latour’s (1990) actor network theory as nodal systems that lack regulated shapes and topologies and resemble assemblages of proliferating

‘filaments,’ similar to the rhizomes described by Deleuze and Guatari (1987, pp. 3–25). For

Latour, (1990, p. 4) ‘literally there is nothing but networks, there is nothing in between them, or, to use a metaphor from the history of physics, there is no ether in which the networks should be immersed’. By redefining notions of scale, proximity and containment, actor networks accomplish McLuhan’s ‘abolition of space and time’. Nodes on a network are unconstrained by physical proximity; they resist clustering into social groupings such as family, state or political party, and they lack a clearly defined inside and outside.

A network is produced by the effort of actors or ‘actants’—something that acts or whose activity is granted by others. There is no specific requirement for an actant to be human, singular or collective, as ‘an actant can literally be anything, provided it is granted to be the source of an action’ (Latour, 1990, p. 7). Increasingly, as Thibodeau (2002) has

37 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker foreshadowed, software operates as an actant—in everything from settling balances in online banking operations to ‘correcting’ the spelling of a tweet or driving an automatic car.

2.2.6. Summary of Part 1

In this first section, I have outlined a media theory from several different, interconnected perspectives. First, following McLuhan, media are characterised as sensory and psychological extensions that operate as normative, inter-subjective cultural apparatus. In this view, the hardware and software of media operate like a skin that interconnects to the wetware and cognition of attentive subjects, where psychotechnologies operate as artistic languages that circumscribe the aesthetics of attention.

Second, I have dealt with the materiality of media, following Thibodeau’s categorization of media into three layers: the physical, the logical and the conceptual. This builds from the physical layer up to the cultural. These levels interact in complex ways to define the ontology of the media object—analogue or digital. It was noted that the logical layer has assumed more importance within digital media’s endless play of retrieval. Finally, I have covered the theory of media as networks, with reference to the works of Castells, Hughes and Latour. Networks are expressions of the total sum of components operating in media practice and include social, technical and economic forces that may shape, constrain or unleash media practices.

2.3. Hybrid Media

Explicit discussions of hybrid media are quite rare. In addition to the intermedia movement, there are mentions by McLuhan (1964), Kittler (1999), Latour (1996), Jenkins (2004) and

Bolter and Grusin (2000). One scholar who has advanced a coherent theory of hybrid media is Manovich (2008), although his scope is limited to computer-based media; specifically at the software or logical level. In this section I will review the literature on hybrid media and connect this to the general media theory advanced in the previous section.

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2.3.1. Cross-Fertilization of Sensory Extensions

For McLuhan (1964), the effects on the sensory extensions of media are of primary concern, and media such as television, radio and film are portrayed as media systems that interact with each other within a complex media environment to produce formal and cultural changes that appear as disruptions or ‘breaks’. Thus, ‘one of the most common causes of breaks in any system is the cross-fertilization with another system, such as happened to print with the steam press, or with radio and movies (that yielded the talkies)’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 49).

Cross-fertilization produces a hybrid, a ‘meeting of two media,’ fusing functions of established technologies into new technological forms, causing a break that institutes a new system of

‘environmental side-effects [that] impose themselves willy-nilly as a new form of culture’.

(McLuhan, 1964, p. 49). For McLuhan (1964, p. 64), hybrids release great cultural force and energy that ignite readjustments in collective sense ratios as the various sensory extensions are mixed together:

What I am saying is that media as extensions of our senses institute new ratios, not

only among our private senses, but among themselves, when they interact among

themselves. Radio changed the form of the news story as much as it altered the film

image in the talkies. TV caused drastic changes in radio programming, and in the

form of the thing (sic) or documentary novel.

In the above example, radio, film and television interact, each medium stealing and reworking from the other in a process Bolter and Grusin (2000) refer to as ‘remediation’. Radio news appeared as a hybrid, combining the immediacy of the spoken word with the structure of newspaper reporting, which in a previous turn had itself been drastically hybridised by telegraphic transfer. Subsequently, television appropriated radio news and added the visual of the newscaster and another hybrid was born. At roughly the same moment, radio remediated sound recordings and morphed into a hybrid jukebox for the music industry.

For McLuhan, media hybrids are correlated with retuning the sense ratios by amplification and amputation. As the media environment hybridizes, sensory extensions are also hybridized.

39 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

One example is the ‘break’ between television and radio. By the 1950s, the new hybrid of broadcast television was replacing radio in the home, amplifying the eye and backgrounding the ear. Simultaneously, radio lost its immediacy but flipped into a portable, background music channel via the handheld transistor radio. When a sense is amplified, ‘immediacy’ rises as the amplified sense becomes engorged by the content therein represented. When immediacy diminishes, the medium as interface becomes apparent due to amputation and dissociation. Bolter and Grusin (2000, p. 31) call this state ‘hypermediacy,’ whereby the surface of the medium is exposed and sensitised and the content, another medium, is accessed through this surface. Under threat from television, radio reversed from the immediacy it enjoyed in the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s into hypermediacy, as it began to take on the properties of a personal music player—a machine of desire, defined by its shape, colour texture, dials and features—as much as by the musical content of the radio channels it accessed.

2.3.2. Hardware Hybrids

Media hybridity occurs across cultural, material and logical levels. The material elements of media and other technologies are assembled into hybrids. Gutenberg’s printing press fused moveable type setting derived from China with a screw-press used for wine and olive oil production. Elisha Gray’s electro-harmonic telegraph utilised piano keys to trigger multiple telegraphic impulses at different audio frequencies (120years.net, n.d.). Henry Jenkins (2006, p. 112) points out that a characteristic of a hybrid is that it ‘exists betwixt and between two cultural traditions while providing a path that can be explored from both directions.’ Gray’s device was intended as a sophisticated telegraphic messaging system, but it is now regarded as one of the first electronic musical instruments.

When considering the materiality of different media in the late-19th and early-20th centuries, it would appear as if there was a separation of media information flows that was further consolidated into different media industries of publishing, film, radio, gramophone, telegraph and telephone. Friedrich Kittler (1999, p. 14) was explicit about this separation, noting ‘the historical synchronicity of cinema, phonography, and typewriting separated optical, acoustic,

40 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker and written data flows, thereby rendering them autonomous. That electric or electronic media can recombine them does not change the fact of their differentiation.’

Using the inventor Thomas Edison as an example, Kittler counter-poses Edison’s early vision for cinema as incorporating both recorded sound and image with the historical reality of silent film that followed, whereby recorded and broadcast sound and visuals maintained their separation through the early decades of the 20th century. This separation of media seems to ignore the hybrids that were proliferating underneath since the dawn of cinema. As Edison (as cited in The Sprocket Society, 2010, p. 1) explained of his vision for sound and film:

In the year 1887, the idea occurred to me that it was possible to devise an instrument

which should do for the eye what the phonograph does for the ear, and that by a

combination of the two all motion and sound could be recorded and reproduced

simultaneously ... I believe that in coming years by my own work and that of ... others

who will doubtlessly enter the field that grand opera can be given at the Metropolitan

Opera House at New York [and then shown] without any material change from the

original, and with artists and musicians long since dead.

Indeed, Edison’s prediction was wholly correct. From 1894, with the release of the Edison

Company’s one-minute experimental sound-on-cylinder, until 1927 when the talkies were publicly acknowledged to have arrived with the release of The Jazz Singer, a variety of sound on film hybrids blossomed, including Edison’s Kinetophone system, Lee DeForest’s

Phonofilm, Warner Brothers’ Vitaphone and the Fox-Case Movietone system (The Sprocket

Society, 2010). Hybrid systems proliferated at the material layer and were promoted by the various companies through their exhibition chains. However, these visual/sound hybrids were a cinema of mild distraction in an era mesmerized by the immediacy of the silent screen. The difficulty with sound and film was synchronization at the hardware level, and the subsequent amplification of sound for a cinema audience, as Edison and others attempted to mechanically connect the phonograph with the film reel or record sound directly onto film. The question as to which medium is the hybrid is clear; they are all hybrids. Yet, one hybrid

41 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker became standardised while the others remained interesting anomalies in the history of sound on film.

Supporting the network theory advanced by Latour, Bolter and Grusin (2000, p. 59) postulate that taking into account the heterogeneous nature of networks, that all media are effectively hybrids as actants, materiality and languages cannot be sufficiently separated in a pure state:

The phenomena of contemporary technoscience consist of intersections or "hybrids"

of the human subject, language, and the external world of things, and these hybrids

are as real as their constituents—in fact, in some sense they are more real because

no constituent (subject, language, object) ever appears in its pure form, segregated

from the other constituent.

It is possible to argue that at the material level, all media are hybrids; that is, cross- pollinations of other technologies. While certain media assemblages become established materially and economically—and thus culturally normalised—others may never shake off their hybrid character. The purity of a medium is established in the cultural layer by a combination of normative cultural convention, reinforced psychotechnologies, entrenched business and production models, intellectual property laws and government regulation.

With reference to the discourse of intermedia (Herzogenrath, 2012), it may be useful to distinguish between hybridizing as a primary mechanism of mediation and specific hybrid formations that result from the process of cross-fertilization. Using the term ‘intermedia[lity],’

Herzogenrath (2012, p. 2) states that ‘there is one intermedia[lity] that comes first, which is the quicksand out of which specific media emerge, and a second intermedia[lity] that focuses on the various interconnections possible, from the very perspective of these specific media forms’. In other words, the foundation of all media is flux: a state of perpetual intermedia, the

‘quicksand,’ the remediation of the remediation. Cultural convention, network ossification, business models and hardware regulations produce distinct and separate ‘media,’ between which an interplay of hybrids is seen to emerge, as if the tail is wagging the dog.

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2.3.3. Remediation

The term ‘remediation,’ coined by Bolter and Grusin (2000) in their book of the same name, refers to the process whereby a specific medium reworks the formal aspects of another medium or other media: the representation of one medium in another. Similar to McLuhan’s initial insight that the form of one medium becomes the content for another, remediation attempts to explain how film remediates theatre and literature, television remediates radio and film, and digital media remediate all others. Bolter and Grusin (2000) argue that the main characteristic of any medium is that it is capable of remediation. The act of mediation is an act of remediation. As a result, through processes of remediation, far from media streams being separated, they are intimately bound together:

It would seem, then, that all mediation is remediation. We are not claiming this as an

a priori truth, but rather arguing that at this extended historical moment, all current

media function as remediators and that remediation offers us a means of interpreting

the work of earlier media as well. Our culture conceives of each medium or

constellation of media as it responds to, redeploys, competes with, and reforms other

media. (Bolter & Grusin, 2000, p. 55)

Despite this remediative struggle between multiple media, Bolter and Grusin (2000) discern two antagonistic tendencies at work in Western media—immediacy and hypermediacy— reflecting an age-old obsession with achieving higher levels of realism of representation within media forms. They define immediacy as the transparency of a medium in presenting its content, such that the spectator is so enthralled by the content that they ignore the characteristics of the medium. As Walter Benjamin (1936, p. 13) eloquently stated in regard to sound film, ‘the equipment-free aspect of reality here has become the height of artifice; the sight of immediate reality has become an orchid in the land of technology’.

At the time of writing Remediation (around 1996), virtual reality represented the frontier of immediacy for digital media. In contrast, a hyper-mediated representation draws attention to itself as a medium, similar to Gunning’s (2006) cinema of attraction. For Bolter and Grusin

43 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

(2000, p. 22), as the various media remediate each other, immediacy flips into hypermediacy and vice versa:

Like other media since the Renaissance—in particular, perspective painting,

photography, film, and television—new digital media oscillate between immediacy

and hypermediacy, between transparency and opacity. This oscillation is the key to

understanding how a medium fashions its predecessors and other contemporary

media. Although each medium promises to reform its predecessors by offering a

more immediate or authentic experience, the promise of reform inevitably leads us to

become aware of the new medium as a medium. Thus, immediacy leads to

hypermediacy.

How would immediacy and hypermediacy interact in hybrid formations? Referring to early visual devices of the 19th century like the stereoscope and the phenakistoscope, the authors suggest these hybrid devices embodied—even oscillated between—characteristics of both immediacy and hypermediacy. For Bolter and Grusin (2000, p. 37), ‘these devices, characterized by multiple images, moving images, or sometimes moving observers, seem to have operated under both these logics at the same time, as they incorporated transparent immediacy within hypermediacy.’

Fig. 2.2: Illustration of hand-held Phenakistoscope operation circa 1832 (cited in Jobson, 2015, p. 1)

44 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

At the physical level, the phenakistoscope (see Fig. 2.2) combines remediated lithographic prints arranged on the circumference of a pinwheel or whirligig toy, together with a slit-viewer reminiscent of the camera obscura, and a mirror. While spinning the disk that contains the phases of a short animation loop and looking through the moving slits at the disc's reflection in a mirror, one could observe, in the phenakistoscope, a brief and fairly fluid animation loop

(Jobson, 2015). The realism of the motion was counterbalanced by the artifice of the operation and the implication that the observer’s own visual and motor skills were involved in producing a convincing illusion. As Crary (2001, p. 133) discusses:

A crucial feature of these optical devices of the 1830s and 1840s is the undisguised

nature of their operational structure and the form of subjection they entail. Even

though they provide access to ‘the real,’ they make no claim that the real is anything

other than a mechanical production. The optical experiences they manufacture are

clearly disjunct from the images used in the device. They refer as much to the

functional interaction of body and machine as they do to external objects, no matter

how ‘vivid’ the quality of the illusion.

According to Crary (2001, 366–375), the desire of audiences for greater immediacy in the second half of the 19th century led to their outgrowing and abandoning these visual toys in favour of the more engrossing experience of cinema. However, in recent times, with remediation by digital technologies, interesting reversal hybrids have emerged. In Richard

Linklater’s 2006 movie A Scanner Darkly the digital footage was rotoscoped—the process of tracing an image from a photograph—such that the actors were remediated as animated characters and the filmed backgrounds remediated as illustrations (see Fig. 2.3). The rotoscoping process was automated at the software level, whereby the digital footage of the actors was traced frame-by-frame using an ‘interpolated rotoscoping’ software program.

The effect of this remediation technique on the immediacy of the film produces an oscillation with hypermediacy, whereby, as with the phenakistoscope and other devices, the viewer, even while trying to focus on performances by popular culture icons Keanu Reeves and

Robert Downey Jr, is reminded that the movie is literally being redrawn frame-by-frame. The

45 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker rotoscoping interpolation renders artifacts of shifting lines and gradients that seem to play across the faces and bodies of the actors, distracting attention so it oscillates between in- depth focus on characters, actors and story, and the shimmering and shifting visual surface of the film.

Fig. 2.3. Still from A Scanner Darkly (2006)

Bolter and Grusin’s (2000) theory of immediacy and hypermediacy is similar to McLuhan’s

(1964, pp. 24–35) seminal hot versus cool media. High definition in details and low in end- user participation, hot media equate with immediacy. Conversely, cool media, with less sensory details that require more end-user participation, exhibit hypermedia characteristics. In

McLuhan’s theory, hot and cool were less fixed categories than indicators of conditions in the media environment, like a temperature gauge. Hence, media that were once cool could heat up and already hot media could overheat or become cooler. In Chapter 1, using the motion comic as an example, I advanced the hypothesis that the effect of remediation within this hybrid medium embodied contradictory tendencies of heating up and cooling down, resulting in an overall ‘warm’ result.

2.3.4. Software as Metamedium

In his book Software Takes Command (2007), Manovich posits a comprehensive theory of media hybridity, driven by what he calls the ‘softwarization’ of media; that is, the transfer from physical media into software that began in the 1970s. Manovich advances an historical

46 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker argument for the rise of software as the key transformative element in the changing media environment over the last 50 years. He draws attention to the ubiquity of software in contemporary media practice, contending that the software layer has permeated all domains of contemporary society:

All social, economic, and cultural systems of modern society—run on software.

Software is the invisible glue that ties it all together. While various systems of modern

society speak in different languages and have different goals, they all share the

syntaxes of software. (Manovich, 2007, p. 3)

Media from previous eras were heavily reliant on physical transformations and cultural practices that extended the hardware into everyday lives. The layer of software appears to be underdeveloped in earlier eras, but only if we ignore the dimensions of what are commonly called soft technologies. McLuhan (as cited in McLuhan & McLuhan, 1988, p. 9) had fully appreciated the role of soft technologies in the media environment:

It makes no difference whatever whether one considers as artifacts or as media

things of a tangible 'hardware' nature such as bowls and clubs or forks and spoons,

or tools and devices and engines, railways, spacecraft, radios, computers, and soon,

or things of a 'software' nature such as theories or laws of science, philosophical

systems, remedies or even the diseases in medicine, forms or styles in painting or

poetry or drama or music, and so on. All are equally artifacts, all equally human, all

equally susceptible to analysis.

Therefore, every medium relies on this participation of hard and soft technologies. The telegraph depended equally on the emerging practices of electronics engineering and the

Morse code that formed the basis of the messaging syntax. Scientific theories, mathematics and geometry, principles of aesthetics, engineering, logical argument and deduction work in tandem with designing, implementing and augmenting hardware function as extensions of human perceptions and network practices. Software is an application of soft technologies.

Mathematical algorithms and Boolean logic are the foundations of computing. Software has a physical component as well as a logical component. Since the 1980s, computer chip designs

47 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker have been achieved by writing the programming and software first, then compiling it into silicon (Lavagno, Martin, & Scheffer, 2006).

The software layer bridges the gap between hardware and human thinking, as software is an extension of practices of human thought that can be automated by machines. Hence, the term that Alain Turing (1950, p. 4) used for the computer, a ‘thinking machine’:

The idea behind digital computers may be explained by saying that these machines

are intended to carry out any operations which could be done by a human computer.

The human computer is supposed to be following fixed rules; he has no authority to

deviate from them in any detail. We may suppose that these rules are supplied in a

book, which is altered whenever he is put on to a new job.

Turing (1950, p. 8) further defined a computer as an imitation machine, based on its capability of ‘mimicking any discrete state machine.’ Manovich (2007, p. 36) traces the history of computing through to the 1970s when Alan Kay conceived of an imitation machine that imitated media:

Kay wanted to turn computers into a ‘personal dynamic media’ which can be used for

learning, discovery, and artistic creation. His group achieved this by systematically

simulating most existing media within a computer while simultaneously adding many

new properties to these media. Kay and his collaborators also developed a new type

of programming language that, at least in theory, would allow the users to quickly

invent new types of media using the set of general tools already provided for them.

Following Bolter and Grusin (2000), Manovich calls such a machine a ‘remediation machine’ because all previous media could be represented or remediated within software. Software becomes a new medium, what Kay referred to as a ‘metamedium,’ and all previous media become content for this metamedium. Manovich notes several important consequences of this shift to the softwarization of media. First, software-produced media are not exactly the same as the media objects they imitate. Their ontology has altered and we now interact with dynamic ‘software performances’. As stated previously, digital media do not follow the logic of

48 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker mechanical reproduction. Their existence as ‘documents’ or ‘photos’ is ceaselessly reconstituted through performative retrieval that allows for endless variations of the object to emerge: variation of size, texture, colour and ordering, as any dimension can be reshaped by software because the media object is a soft object; that is, an imitation within the metamedium. Understanding this capacity for performative variation of the soft media object, leads directly to the second consequence of the metamedium, which is the potential for the emergence of new and hybrid media.

2.3.5. Media Hybrids and Deep Remixing

In Manovich’s (2007) historical overview of media softwarization, he identifies two phases: the phase of simulation of previous media followed by the phase of hybridization. According to this schema, the first phase was established by the early 1990s and the second phase began with the commercial release of software that combined different media together, notably

Photoshop, After Effects, Director, 3D Studio Max and various web development tools. As

Manovich (2007, p. 72) recounts:

Once the computer became a comfortable home for a large number of simulated and

new media, it is only logical to expect that they would start creating hybrids. And this

is exactly what is taking place at this new stage in media evolution. Both the

simulated and new media types—text, hypertext, still photographs, digital video, 2D

animation, 3D animation, navigable 3D spaces, maps, location information—now

function as building blocks for new mediums.

Manovich is careful to separate the process of media hybridization from two adjacent media trends of multimedia and media convergence. He argues that multimedia is not a hybrid form, but a method of arranging separate simulated media in the same space, where these components maintain their individual integrity as formal media elements. In contrast, hybridization remixes elements of different media together into formats that function according to combinations of new and inherited characteristics. For instance, Manovich (2007, p. 73) argues that Google Earth is a media hybrid remixing traditional media of maps and

49 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker photography with a vast database of GPS coordinates and 3D visualization, providing an infinite series of planetary views.

Further, the processes of media hybridization do not reflect an underlying logic of convergence, which is the prevalent notion that as media have become ‘digital media’ or a

‘stream of ones and zeroes,’ there is a compression of media outlets, consumers and companies, although the underlying packets of content essentially remain the same, even as the method of accessing them is changing substantially. As Henry Jenkins (2004, p. 13) puts it, a sound recording is always a sound recording, even if the ‘delivery technology’ has changed from tape and vinyl to mp3 streams. This is an immediacy effect, where the medium of software makes itself transparent to the realism effect of the content that is being remediated and the object announces itself as a ‘real’ movie or a ‘real’ sound recording.

Conversely, Manovich (2007, p. 112) argues the forces of softwarization of media are transformative of the fundamental media formats as they interplay with one another, producing new ‘crossover effects’:

While particular media techniques continue to be used in relation to their original

media, they can also be applied to other media. Here are a few examples of this

‘crossover effect’. Type is choreographed to move in 3D space; motion blur is applied

to 3D computer graphics; algorithmically generated fields of particles are blended with

live-action footage to give it an enhanced look; a virtual camera is made to move

around a virtual space filled with 2D drawings. In each of these examples, the

technique that was originally associated with a particular medium—cinema, cel

animation, photorealistic computer graphics, typography, graphic design—is now

applied to a different media type.

The new media space opened up by Kay’s metamedium of software produces a hothouse of hybrid interactions. With hardware simulated by software plug-ins, software media are more fluid than classical hardware media of previous eras.

50 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

In Chapter 1, I reviewed various examples of this hybridizing fluidity in publishing, as books, audio recordings and comics were blended together into audio books, graphic audio, adaptive audio and motion comics. Manovich (2007, pp. 109–114 has called this process of fluid, soft- mediation ‘deep remixability.’ The depth of this hybridizing process encompasses a number of intersecting levels from the range of media content, different production techniques and workflows, and intersecting modes of representation, interpretation and delivery.

For example, Amazon’s Audible platform transforms a traditional book into a soft, intelligent object that is capable of morphing from text to audio, or a combination of both, and tracking the real-time behaviour and location of the end-user. The ‘book’ is distributed through a network and operates with agency on that network. With the performative aspects of the software-book, with the decomposition of its elements into text, graphics and audio, and with the remixing of these elements in a process of constant retrieval, we have drifted far from a

Gutenberg model of publishing.

Contemporary software culture co-exists with, but has not erased, other media cultures such as those associated with mechanical reproduction in publishing and the cinema system associated with the traditional film industry. However, my interest lies in how hybridization is remixing the artistic languages of film, animation, writing and graphic design with specific reference to the motion comic. Earlier in this chapter, following Munsterberg, I identified artistic languages as psychotechnologies—neurosensory media extensions that normalise or standardise a culture of organised attention while forming an artistic bridge between creator and audience. With respect to the computer metamedium, Manovich (2007, p. 117) calls these techniques of attention ‘metalanguages,’ and contends these languages participate in the logic of deep remixability:

If we define artistic language as a patterned use of a selected number of a subset of

the techniques available in a given medium, a metalanguage is a patterned use of a

subset of all the techniques available in a computer metamedium.

51 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

Following the logic of simulation inherent in the metamedium, artistic languages are remediated and remixed as they become integrated into a software culture that simulates film culture, book culture and comic book culture. Within the metamedium, the metalanguages are fluid and free to intermingle, resulting in ‘a hybrid, intricate, complex, and rich media language—or rather, numerous languages that share the logic of deep remixabilty’

(Manovich, 2007, p. 117). The opening title sequence for the Netflix series, Marco Polo

(2014), provides an example of the interplay and ambiguity of artistic languages that in turn produces ambiguity and depth of symbolism and meaning (see Fig. 2.4).

Fig. 2.4: Still from Marco Polo title sequence. (Marco Polo, 2014)

The sequence is presented on a backdrop texture that is similar to both sand and paper.

Illustrations of characters, animals and scenarios are presented as if in the process of being inked by an unknown calligrapher, at the same time as dark rivers of blood splash and course to fill out the runnels of the shapes (see Fig. 2.4.). The silhouetted characters, rotoscoped from the main photoplay, appear as murky, half-filled illustrations. The remixed media are simulated and ambiguous: sand becomes paper, ink becomes blood, photograph becomes illustration. At an artistic level, we see a remixing of the languages of calligraphy, illustration, photography and motion pictures. At a symbolic level, two complementary meanings emerge that add to the richness of the presentation: the first, a story of carnage and intrigue unfolding

52 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker on the desolate sands of central Asia; the second, an epic written in blood across the pages of history.

2.3.6. Motion Comic and Deep Remixability

This chapter has addressed the research question: What is the broader media theory context for hybrid media and the motion comic? Within a selective literature review of media theory and the theory of software hybridization, I have presented a broad framework that explains current media fluidity, opening the space of possibility for the motion comic as hybrid. I began with McLuhan’s fundamental assertion that all media are extensions of the senses at the material, logical and network levels, and these extensions undergo reconfiguration as they metamorphose through a process of hybrid proliferation. Media environments are interconnected to human bodies and brains by psychotechnologies that institutionalise the cultural languages of media. Bolter and Gruisin (2000) identify and elaborate on the fundamental media mechanisms of remediation and the interplay of immediacy and hypermediacy, revealing the important insight that hybrid media oscillate between these two states and are constituted as warm media, neither hot nor cool. Further, I covered Manovich’s theory of hybridization for digital media, where software rather than hardware is the main driver or metamedium. Once we understand software as having agency within a network, we can grasp the notion of media fluidity: a flux that would accelerate as algorithmic machine learning remixes and reworks vast galaxies of media particles.

53 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

CHAPTER 3: PANEL AND SCREEN

There is, of course, no visible not held in a look and, as it were, always already framed.

—Jean-Luis Comolli (1980)

3.1. Introduction

The previous chapter’s media theory framework described contemporary media as composed of three interacting layers—the material, logical and cultural—that together constitute a dynamic environment of heterogeneous networked assemblages. My discussion then focused on the logical or software layer as the site of hybridization of the various traditional or ‘legacy’ media to understand how the possibility of the digital motion comic could arise; a possibility that functions as a type of serialism—that is, a patterned use of techniques—producing subset variations across a range of the motion comic affordances identified in Chapter 1. The review of literature suggests that the motion comic is often viewed with ambivalence as a hybrid, a ‘medium in between’ and an entity that is neither wholly comic, animation, cinema nor game. Following the logic of hybrids, languages and aesthetics are remixed in motion comics. As an emerging aesthetic, the motion comic is a hybrid that we have not yet learned to love.

The media affordances of the digital motion comic hybrid are comics’ panels and artwork, animation, cinematic composition, text, graphic and photographic elements, sonic elements and interactivity. As the case studies in Chapter 1 demonstrate, while the blending of elements varies considerably, several core elements are always present in a motion comic:

1. comics artwork

2. motion—movement of characters, objects and text; movement of virtual camera

3. sound—music, voice and sound effects; either separately or mixed together

4. text.

54 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

Additionally, of paramount importance for the digital motion comic is screen presentation: the transformation of the encapsulation of the comics’ artwork and text from page and panel to electromagnetic screen as a digital comic hybrid. In this chapter, I will address the question:

How does the motion comic function as an intersection of screen and comic panel? The chapter is divided into three sections that examine the motion comic from three overlapping perspectives: digital film, the screen, and the comics’ panel. The scope of this chapter is exclusive of a discussion of sound and only peripheral mention is made to the role of text. As the case studies have revealed, interactivity is a design option and remain outside the scope for this study and project.

3.2. Cultural Interface and Digital Film

3.2.1. The Cultural Interface

In The language of new media (2001), Manovich explores the cultural layer of media; specifically, how languages of traditional media have become remediated and co-opted by digital media. Manovich uses the term ‘cultural interface’ to describe how digital data are accessed via interfaces comprising cultural traditions derived from previous media practices.

He states, ‘I will use the term cultural interface to describe a human-computer-culture interface—the ways in which computers present and allow us to interact with cultural data’

(Manovich, 2001, p. 70). He proposes three intersecting cultural interfaces: cinema, print and the visual language of the human-computer interface (HCI). Rather than specific films or books, terms such as ‘cinema’ and ‘print’ refer to cultural conventions that have emerged over the histories of these media. In Chapter 2 I referred to these conventions as

‘psychotechnologies’: languages for directing end-user perception, attention and cognition.

The conventions of cinema cover frame composition, camera movement, spatial representations, narrative structures and audience response. Over time, the conventions of

‘cinematic perception’ have emerged as modes of perception (neurocinematics): an elaborate film literacy that permeates the layer of contemporary visual culture. For Manovich (2001, p.

55 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

180), ‘the visual culture of the computer age is cinematographic in its appearance; digital on the level of its material, and computational in its logic’.

The concept of cultural interface gives us an insight into why, at a cultural level, we continue to regard a ‘digital film’ as a conventional movie, comparable to celluloid films in cinema history. Yet, at a software and material level, the digital film is a different entity than its celluloid ancestor. However, as software takes command, the elements in the cultural interface do not remain unaffected; soft media are remixed into hybrid formulations:

The language of the cultural interface is a hybrid. It is a strange, often awkward mix

between the conventions of traditional cultural forms and the conventions of HCI—

between an immersive environment and a set of controls, between standardization

and originality. Cultural interfaces try to balance the concept of a surface in painting,

photography, cinema, and the printed page as something to be looked at, glanced at,

read, but always from some distance, without interfering with it, with the concept of a

surface in a computer interface as a virtual control panel on a car, plane or any other

complex machine. Finally, on yet another level, the traditions of printed word and

cinema also compete between themselves. (Manovich, 2001, pp. 92–93)

Manovich argues that it is difficult to distinguish between the interface function, the surface, and the deeper immersion in content; for example, the exploration of a 3D game world using virtual cameras or scrolling and jumping through pages of hypertext. Indeed, he argues it is hard to separate form and content as defined in a classical sense. The observer oscillates between hypermediacy and immediacy, surface and immersion, constructing a relationship to media that is highly spatial and exploratory and, as will be examined later in the chapter, with the screen as the venue for this exploration.

3.2.2. What is Digital Cinema?

In developing my discussion of digital comics and motion comics, I want to start by examining how this question has been approached for another media transformation that is well documented: cinema. In the chapter entitled ‘What is digital cinema?’ Manovich (2001)

56 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker examines how computer-based media redefined cinema and filmmaking practice. Prior to digital film, Manovich pinpoints cinema’s core identity in a lens-based practice, like photography, that purports to ‘capture reality’ within a cinematic image that is held to be an indexical representation of that reality—a capturing and trace of some past event. Film also has a mechanic character: the automated capturing of images uniformly sampled at a regular frame rate. As Jean-Luc Godard famously proclaimed, cinema was ‘truth twenty-four frames per second’. Manovich traces the origin of film in the late-19th century within the context of animation-based, motion producing imaging devices such as the zoetrope, praxinoscope and the tachyscope. These animation devices, which preceded and competed with the early cinematic capturing and projection devices of Edison and the Lumiere Brothers, were composed of manually painted image cells—sometimes with a separation between characters and background—producing loop-based, animated motion through an action such as spinning a cylinder or a wheel.

In the 20th century, as the cinema industry established itself, animation techniques were adapted and promoted as a sub-genre of cinema: cartoons. With the exception of avant-garde film makers (see my discussion of Dziga Vertov in Section 3.3.5), mainstream cinema strove for immediacy through continuity of perspective by immersing the spectator in the realism of the motion picture illusion, while simultaneously concealing traces of its own production processes via the application of special effects such as matte painting, back projection, manipulation of film speed, optical effects and the use of miniatures. In contrast, animation presented manually drawn and frame-by-frame photographed fantasy, folk-tale and slapstick that highlighted the elasticity of line and shape and often featured blatantly impossible actions and motions.

In digital film, software remediates and reverses traditional film practice as animation techniques migrate to the core of digital filmmaking. The realism of live action footage is now enhanced, if not replaced, by the hyperrealism of 3D animated sequences captured by virtual cameras; sequences that seem real but could never have really happened. Rather than being downplayed and ignored, special effects now take centre stage. Converted to pixels, live action footage is data-based: an elastic, graphical asset mixed, merged and composited with

57 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker other graphic elements in the hybrid world of computer-simulated media. Summarizing this role reversal for film and animation, Manovich (1995, p. 5) provides the following equation:

Digital film = live action + painting + image processing + compositing + 2D computer

animation + 3D computer animation … Digital cinema is a particular case of

animation which uses live action footage as one of its many elements ... Born from

animation, cinema pushed animation to its boundary, only to become one particular

case of animation in the end.

At the software level, the media identity of cinema undergoes a transformation, a reversal.

Digital film is an instance of digital animation, driven by software tools designed to manipulate pixels—regardless of the format from which they originated—through the primary operations of selection, cut and paste, painting and colourizing, algorithmic distortion and compositing, and arranging these operations vertically in layers and horizontally across a timeline. In this process, the manual, handcrafted production techniques of painters and animators, combined with the collage methods of the 20th century avant-garde, are retrieved.

Describing their ‘laws of media,’ McLuhan and McLuhan (1988, pp. 129–214) proposed a

‘tetrad’ of media transformations—enhancement, obsolescence, retrieval and reversal— emergent in a media environment when the ‘old ground becomes content’ and is remediated by the extreme force of a newly introduced medium. Adapting McLuhan and McLuhan’s original conception, I have applied their laws to summarize the transformations of cinema to digital cinema:

1. Obsolesced: celluloid, indexical film and cinematic realism.

2. Enhanced: the graphics plane, the icon and the hyperreal.

3. Reversed: the roles of live action filmmaking and animation. Live action photography

becomes the first stage of post-production as filmmaking becomes an instance of

animation practice.

58 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

4. Retrieved: the artisanal and avant-garde—manual painting of frames and layering

techniques associated with pre-filmic and filmic animation and the collage techniques

of the avant-garde.

There is a complexity of associations and contradictions embedded in any contemporary discussion of terms such as ‘cinema’ and ‘film,’ especially when we add the word ‘digital’. I have identified film as content, film as interface and contemporary film practice as an instance of digital animation and graphics. This separates film into multiple functions as a cultural object, a set of languages and conventions, and a mode of production and assembly. The

McLuhans’ laws of media are a useful tool for mapping the dynamic tensions between various media and help us understand the confusion about why some things may not be called by their real names. The discussion confirms that contemporary digital filmmaking is a hybrid media practice, remixing live action footage with painting, animation and graphics. Motion comic production overlaps this terrain, albeit where the focus shifts to the remediation of comics’ panels and artwork.

3.3. Genealogy of Screens

3.3.1. Virtuality and the Screen

Even as the techniques of digital filmmaking have increasingly leveraged animation, painting and graphics techniques while the language of cinema has become pervasive as a cultural interface, electronic screens equipped with cameras have multiplied and proliferated. At the cultural level, there is now an increased tension between cinema and print. The cultural conventions of print literacy are being eroded, even eclipsed, by the presentation of information in audio-visual formats. The medium of the screen now replaces paper as the primary information surface: page-based media of text and comics are simulated by software and remediated into televisual formats, replacing page-reflected light (CMYK) with the direct light of primary colours (RGB). In this section, I will briefly discuss the genealogy of the screen

59 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker to highlight how its cultural operation and association with cinematic perception intersects with the functions of the comics panel.

Commentators, including Friedberg (2006) and Manovich (2001), agree that the screen emerged in Western history as a space for the visual presentation of virtual content.

According to Friedberg (2006), the virtual can be defined as a space of ‘immateriality’ within which objects of representation, simulation, illusion and phantasm are visualized. The space of the screen is material in nature—painted surface, projection screen and electronic monitor—whereas the objects displayed within the screen are virtual and immaterial, be they representations of real things or constructions of the imagination. For Friedberg (2006, p. 9),

‘the virtual is a substitute—"acting without agency of matter”—an immaterial proxy for the material. “Virtual” refers to the register of representation itself—but representation that can be either simulacral or directly mimetic.’

The virtual image of the screen has a long history that traverses a diverse range of visual systems including—but certainly not confined to—paintings, mirrors, the camera obscura, film projection, television and computer monitors. In the most general sense, a screen is composed of the surface and the frame, where the frame operates as the perimeter and divider between the material and the virtual. The screen functions in relation to an observer, who is required to adjust their embodied presence—physical position, perceptual acuity and cognitive attention—and to acquire the necessary cultural conventions for extracting visual satisfaction and intelligibility from the screen. As a medium, the screen, in various instantiations, operates as an extension of the senses: an assemblage composed of an interface, the human body, psychotechnologies and discourses.

3.3.2. Classical Screens

Traditionally, a screen was part of architecture, where its liminal boundary could literally be a window, a wall or an arch, the ceiling, or indeed a whole room. Portable screens, typically rectangular in shape, emerged with the oil paintings of the Renaissance. The window is an architectural metaphor for the perspective painting technique first coined by Leon Battista

60 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

Alberti in 1835–1836 (Edgerton, 2006, pp. 9–10). Utilizing Euclidian geometry and a grid system, Alberti’s window (see Fig. 3.1) is a technology for mapping three-dimensional space onto the two-dimensional surface of the picture plane with a single point perspective. The window frame forms the master rectangle that is then subdivided into a grid of smaller rectangles, arranged in a veil stretched between the painter and the scene being captured.

The spectator, positioning themselves before the painting as if before a window, could perceive the scene and its elements in exact proportion.

Fig. 3.1: Illustration of the operation of the Alberti’s window (Edgerton, 2006, p. 10)

The camera obscura (see Fig. 3.2), resembling a projection wall in a small, darkened room, provided a different type of perspective screen to Alberti’s window. Light emitted through a pinhole illuminates the back wall with a shadowy image that is an inverted representation of the outside space. Mirrors are used to reflect and reinvert the image for the spectator, peeping in from outside the darkened space. Although its operation had been known for centuries, the term ‘camera obscura’ became popular in Europe in the 16th century. This version of the apparatus experimented with lenses at the pinhole in an attempt to concentrate more light on the back wall.

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Fig. 3.2: Illustration of the operation of camera obscura (Wikimedia, n.d.)

The camera obscura’s projections give the observer access to not just perspective, but also motion. From the middle of the 17th century, magic lanterns made their appearance as a theatrical device. A development of the camera obscura, the magic lantern projects an image from a slide using a concave mirror to concentrate energy from a light source that then passes through a lens and onto the screen. Etienne-Gaspard Robertson’s Phantasmagoria, presented to Parisian audiences in the 1790s, was set up in pitch darkness, so that both screen and projection device, called the ‘phantascope,’ remained hidden:

The images seem to loom suddenly out of the darkness. This ‘looming effect’ was

greatly enhanced by the second major innovation of this new form of lantern

entertainment—a new illusion of motion. The Phantascope could move towards or

away from the screen on wheels that rolled smoothly along polished brass rails.

Combined with new controls that made adjustments in focus easier, such movement

caused the projected image on the screen either to enlarge or decrease in size.

(Gunning, 2004, p. 4)

Phantascopic motion anticipated a dolly combined with focus pulling, as these early projection devices prefigured cinema by almost a century. The observer is not peeping into the chamber from the outside, they are inserted and immersed within the darkened camera obscura chamber, as the looming virtual phantoms projected onto its screen challenged audiences to suspend their disbelief and abandon themselves to the flow of sensation. The application of magic lanterns in Phantasmagoria began the remediation of the camera obscura from a screen technology for tracing perspective into a projection booth for a theatre of sensations;

62 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker one where, increasingly, the ‘powerful spectatorial effect’ (Gunning, 2004, p. 4) on the physiological observer would take centre stage.

3.3.3. The Physiological Observer

Like Alberti’s window, the camera obscura is associated with a virtual, two-dimensional perspective rendering of three-dimensional space. In the classical view, scientifically and artistically, perspective is considered an objective rendering of reality, a type of monocular

God view (Friedberg, 2006, p. 65) that fixes the observer’s vantage point from a single abstract position in space. According to Crary (1992, p. 68), Romantic thinkers of the late-

18th and early-19th centuries, such as Goethe and Schopenhauer, embraced subjective perception and vision of an embodied subject, a ‘physiological observer’:

Goethe's instruction to seal the hole, ‘Man schliesse darauf die Offnung,’ announces

a disordering and negation of the camera obscura as both an optical system and

epistemological figure. The closing off of the opening dissolves the distinction

between inner and outer space on which the very functioning of the camera (as

apparatus and paradigm) depended.

The Romantics challenged the worldview that the camera obscura and its disembodied, perspectival psychotechnology had come to represent in classical visual culture of the

Enlightenment. By positing the subjectivity of perception, these thinkers opened the doors for the study of the physiological observer who operated as ‘the autonomous producer of his or her own visual experience’ (Crary, 1992, p. 69). The stereoscope, developed by Charles

Wheatstone in 1836, separates two slightly dissimilar images to the left and right of the observer, who then views their reflections centrally in a pair of mirrors angled at 45 degrees.

The eye-brain fuses the dual image into a single composite with depth of field, what today is called ‘3D.’ In contrast to the coherence of the perspectival window, the functioning of the stereoscope screen relies on the active, apperceptive synthesis of the observer: ‘there is no longer the possibility of perspective under such a technique of beholding’ (Crary, 1992, p.

135). Writing in the 20th century in Perspective as Symbolic Form, Erwin Panofsky (1991)

63 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker identified techniques of perspective as cultural and historical constructs based on mathematical abstractions of homogeneous and infinite space that differed greatly from subjective optical impressions:

It [perspective] forgets that we see not with a single fixed eye but with two constantly

moving eyes, resulting in a spheroidal field of vision. It takes no account of the

enormous difference between the psychologically conditioned ‘visual image’ through

which the visible world is brought to our consciousness, and the mechanically

conditioned ‘retinal image’ which paints itself upon our physical eye. (Crary, 1992,

p. 31)

Panofsky’s insight suggests that perspective functions as a psychotechnology, a symbolic language and cultural interface that can be loaded into the screen, ‘mechanically conditioned,’ while insisting that this differs from the visual system of the physiological observer. Thus, the tension between the classical perspective—translated into the techniques of cinematic composition, continuity and depth of field—and the avant-garde exploration of ‘the artist’s power to manipulate sensation’ (Gunning, 2004, p. 15), where the retina becomes the screen, is underscored.

3.3.4. Dynamic Screen

By the third decade of the 20th century, perspective dominated the movie screen; the observer’s viewpoint was conditioned by the monocular view of the motion picture that could trace its lineage back through photography to the camera obscura and Alberti’s window.

Motion pictures facilitate the automation of perspective, simultaneously adopted as techniques of surveillance, engineering and scientific observation (Ivins, 1938). Cinema remediated perspective as part of the dominant language of the camera, and Munsterberg’s psychotechologies regulated immersion and immediacy for the collective, inter-subjective eye-brains: the index. Thus, ‘cinema emerged out of the same impulse which engendered naturalism, court stenography and wax museums, Cinema is the art of the index; it is the attempt to make art out of a footprint’ (Manovich, 2001, p. 406).

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The cinematic screen normalizes the dynamics of virtual motion, first introduced by animation devices in the 19th century, along with the fixation on the physiological spectator. Screen motion is virtual and can be separated into the movement of objects on the screen— described as ‘apparent motion’ when compared to movement in real life—and the tracking, zooming and panning movement of the camera that imparts a sense of ‘induced motion,’ the illusion of the spectator moving around in space (Block, 2013, p. 167). Through this dynamic revolution, the properties of the classical screen prevailed. Indeed, they became more aggressive as motion entices, mesmerizes and retains the observer’s attention within the frame:

Although the screen in reality is only a window of limited dimensions positioned inside

the physical space of the viewer, the viewer is expected to concentrate completely on

what she sees in this window, focusing her attention on the representation and

disregarding the physical space outside. This viewing regime is made possible by the

fact that the singular image, whether painting, movie screen, or television screen,

completely fills the screen. This is why we are so annoyed in the movie theatre when

the projected image does not precisely coincide with the screen’s boundaries: it

disrupts the illusion, making us conscious of what exists outside the representation.

(Manovich, 2001, p. 96)

In the darkness of the classical cinema, film frame merges with screen as the dynamism of virtual motion and the flow of editing directs the visual narrative, unfolding from moment to moment as a temporal montage.

3.3.5. Kino-Eye

On the margins in art and film, avant-garde screen experimentation proceeded. Examples include multiple perspectives in the single frame (Cubism); the flat, non-perspectival screen of

Georges Meliés; the multi-screen extravaganzas of Abel Gance; and the multi-frame kaleidoscope of Dziga Vertov. This activity suggests that filmmakers and artists, since at least the beginning of the 20th century, were stretching beyond the screen as a flat picture surface

65 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker that provided the ‘realistic’ illusion of depth. Panofsky (1947, p. 4) provided a glimpse into the possibilities of cinema, what he called the ‘dynamization of space’ and the ‘spatialization of time,’ with the ‘spatial montage’ (Manovich, 2001, p. 322).

As with Panofsky, Dziga Vertov was keenly aware that the camera was used primarily as a monocular apparatus that imparted within its abstracted gaze ‘life as it is’ - the framed perspectival index and the temporal montage. Vertov opposed this with his theory and practice of ‘kino-eye,’ where the camera was used to depict ‘life as it is’ as seen by the

‘imperfect human eye’: ‘Kino-eye = kino-seeing (I see through the camera) + Kino-writing (I write on film with the camera) + Kino organization (I edit)’ (Vertov, 1984, p. 87). ‘Kino-eye’ is the human eye, the physiological observer, plus camera assemblage: the camera as sensory extension, demonstrated in Man with a Movie Camera (see Fig. 3.3).

Fig. 3.3: Still from Man with a Movie Camera (1929, directed by Dziga Vertov)

Like Cezanne, Vertov ‘sought ways to exceed those limitations and make the eye into a new type of organ’ (Crary, 2001, p301). In a visionary statement that anticipated the contemporary culture of image sharing networks and live streaming, Vertov (1894, p. 90) declared: ‘kino-eye means the conquest of space, the visual linkage of people throughout the entire world based on the continuous exchange of visible fact, of film-documents as opposed to the exchange of cinematic or theatrical presentations’. In Vertov’s manifesto, time is also ‘conquered,’ as

66 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker separate temporal events can be visually reordered at varispeed. Film effects—acceleration, miniatures, reverse action, animation, camera movement and double exposure—often regarded as illusionary tricks, are considered normal in kino-eye practice. In his theory of montage, Vertov (1894, p. 92) introduces the concept of the ‘visual interval,’ ‘the movements between shots’. Montage builds from a collection of imperceptible film frames that provide the material substance for a shot that resonates as a visual interval, a note or chord in the filmic composition. Montage is concerned with the transitions, the connections of the visual intervals:

To find amid all these mutual reactions, these mutual attractions and repulsions of

shots, the most expedient ‘itinerary’ for the eye of the viewer, to reduce this multitude

of ‘intervals’ (the movements between the shots) to a simple visual equation, a visual

formula expressing the basic theme of the film-object in the best way: such is the

most important and difficult task of the author editor (Vertov 1894, p. 92).

In Vertov’s assemblage, the screen connects to the observer via the psychotechnology of the visual interval to the camera and kino-eye of the film frame—frame after frame, frame within frame and frame upon frame. The physiological observer’s eyes, cognition and other senses are actively involved and extended through the kino-eye screen. Vertov’s cinematic screen functions differently from the monocular view remediated from the camera obscura.

Simulating the saccadic movement of the eyes, partial images, fragments and multiple views are assembled and dissolved in the montage. Manovich (2001, p. 237–243) has hailed

Vertov’s approach to montage as ‘database cinema’: the retrieval and assemblage of visual assets from a vast repository of kino-eye footage.

3.3.6. Electromagnetic Screen

The genealogy of the screen is often portrayed as the history of visual technologies. The eyes and their play of images are treated in isolation from the other senses and their extensions: telegraph, telephone, radio, newspapers and comics. The intermedial and hybrid has been overlooked in the race to prioritize the segregation of media. For Friedberg (2006, p. 251),

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‘the segregation of histories of telephony, moving-image, and computing technologies appears—in postmillennial retrospect—to have been a set of arbitrary separations that disregarded the intermedial complexity of technological development’.

When McLuhan (1964) announced that with radio the ear became like a window to the mind’s eye, he was proclaiming radio as a screen. In turn, the radar screen as visualisation of the diversity of electromagnetic waves initiated the technical base for the computer monitor and the TV screen, wherein visual light becomes part of a wider spectrum. As the 20th century unfolded, acoustic and electromagnetic space began to extend visible space and modulate its emanations: what McLuhan and McLuhan (1988, p. 39) saw as a muting the visual. The contemporary screen, proliferating throughout the media environment—from giant displays through computer monitors to handheld devices—is materially rooted in a different technical system to optical, perspectival, photographic and motion picture technologies. It originated in the technologies of electronic broadcast and surveillance. Radar, an acronym coined in World

War II for ‘radio detection and ranging,’ is a system that measures the time differential between the transmission of a radio signal and its echo or bounce from an object (Bryant,

1994). The detected object is represented as a bright spot on the radar screen—typically a cathode ray tube—the same technology used for television sets in the 20th century. The radar screen extends the eye beyond the visible light spectrum, embracing sensitivity to potentially the full range of energies emanating throughout the electromagnetic spectrum. Radar is one of many electronic imaging or remote sensing technologies, including sonar and multispectral photography, to be developed during and after World War II. Manovich (1993) argues that remote sensing technologies do not abolish perspective, but extend the spatial continuum with greater precision. Drawing on Jacques Lacan’s argument that perspective is a technique of abstraction for identifying and comparing points in space—whether these are sensed by the eyes, the ears, tactilely or by some other means is not important—Manovich (1993, p. 8) argues that perspective, at the core, is a technology of ‘geometric vision, perspectival vision that extends beyond the visible’.

Radar, and later television, presents a different type of screen; one that currently dominates visual culture in the form of computer and TV monitors. What is unique about the

68 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker electromagnetic screen is that it can be updated in real time; a technology of virtual display via arrays of pixels and bit-mapped graphics relentlessly scanned and rescanned. The radar screen updates itself to show the movement of the detected object, just as the computer monitor is updated to indicate changes in the processing of data. Photography processes a single image all at once, and cinema spools forward one photographic frame at a time. In contrast, raster and video images are refreshed and updated on the screen line by line in a discrete set of point samples (A.R. Smith, 2015). The plane of the photograph is obsolesced by the graphical plane, the screen of reflected light remediated by the screen of direct light— what McLuhan and McCluhan (1988) called light-through as opposed to light-on. They recount an experiment in which an audience, divided into two groups, watched the same motion picture presented in two different formats: projected cinematic image (light-on) and a television image (light-through):

In their remarks, the 'light-on group adopted an objective, detached tone, and was

analytic as to narrative, continuity, cinematography, editing and workmanship, and so

on. Whereas they reported 'how the movie looked/by contrast, the 'light-through'

group was mainly concerned with 'how the movie felt’. Their responses were

subjective and emotional: they discussed themselves, how they felt, and the mystical

or archetypal significance of characters or actions. (McLuhan & McLuhan, 1988,

p. 71)

The change to the electromagnetic screen produces a change in visual culture, even if the audience is watching a remediated movie on TV. As McLuhan (1964, p. 77) states, 'in watching television, our eyes function like our ears.' Through altering the mode of sensory extension, the culture of spectatorship is also transformed. The objectivity and distance of indexical cinema are replaced with the subjectivity of present time immersion, where the index is now tracked and graphically emergent, like a stock market chart or a weather map. The photograph displays the past, it allows the eye to be extended across time. Like radar, television unfolds in real time and extends the sensitivity of the eye and the other senses across space.

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3.3.7. Multi-screens, Windows and the Graphics Plane

The marketing brochure Meet the Screens (n.d., p. 3 ), which is partially sponsored by

Microsoft, begins with:

Not long ago, there was just one screen in our lives. The TV. It was front and center

in the living room; everyone surrounded it at predetermined times. Now screens

surround us—they’re on our desks, in our laps, in our pockets. They’re in airports, on

airplanes, in cabs, in grocery store aisles, and on gas pumps. We’re entertained by

them, informed by them, challenged by them, connected by them. We watch them,

write on them, work on them and play on them.

The electromagnetic screen has proliferated into a multi-screen environment: the collective campfire of the television set giving way to individualized, multitasking frames. This multiplication of screens has proceeded in step with the transition from the circular cathode ray screen to flat panel LED screen that has widened the video-safe area, allowing for clearer presentation of simultaneous panels and split screens.

As McLuhan predicted, this is a world in which the screen has become a subjective,

‘archetypal’ extension, reflection and identity fragment of the physiological observer, who has moved from spectatorial omniscience to an agent of attention management. Leisure flips into the labour of multitasking. The survey research presented in the brochure asks one question:

‘If this screen were a person, it would be__.’ Different screens, different personalities, different archetypes: ‘people don’t view screens as tabulae rasae, mere sheets of inanimate glass through which content is consumed’ (Meet the Screens, n.d., p. 7). The screen reflects its relationship and bond of intimacy with its user, and also presents its own agenda and platformed variety (see Fig. 3.4).

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Fig. 3.4: Image from “Meet The Screens” market research brochure (BBDO & Proximity Worldwide ND).

The survey reveals 12 archetypes of the screen: outlaw, jester, lover, caregiver, everyman, innocent, ruler, sage, wizard, hero, creator, explorer. Screen culture is one relationship with individualized screens that is loved or ignored, trusted or distrusted, partners in activities and journeys, sources of stories, social connections and information.

In contemporary computer culture, the function of the screen moves to that of ‘monitor’— observing, checking and updating the data stream. The screen monitors not just an individual computer, but also its inputs and relationships to other computers on the network. The networks of telegraph, telephone, radio, television and satellite interoperate as (constrained) peer-to-peer communications between computers; that is, the internet. The main function of this network is the electronic retrieval, transmission and exchange of files and data. The monitor screen is no longer singular but plural: the screens are windows that provide fragmentary monitoring of ‘an infinite flat surface where individual texts are placed in no particular order’ (Manovich, 2001, p. 75). According to Thibodeau (2002, p. 3) this surface of information is a projection from a pervasive media environment, sedimented into three layers:

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1. Material: the inscription of data onto hard-drives and memory circuits, retrieved and

circulated across networks.

2. Software: the dynamic amalgamation of this data by software agents.

3. Cultural: representation on the screens as virtual iconography, both 2D and 3D,

embedded within and overlaying the physical environment.

Graphics processors (GPU) transform streams of data into clusters of images and words. The screen is now multiple, divided into soft screens called windows, which, within the limits of memory, can be tiled and overlapped into a potential infinity of fragmented views:

As a screen-based visual system, the ‘windows’ interface subtly exponentiates what

Erwin Panofsky described as the ‘unique and specific possibilities’ of the cinema: the

dynamization of space and the spatialization of time. On the computer, we can be two

(or more) places at once, in two (or more) time frames, in two (or more) modes of

identity, in a fractured post-Cartesian cyberspace, cybertime.’ (Friedberg, 2006,

p. 250)

The contemporary electromagnetic screen remediates numerous previous visual frames of reference. In as much as computing and software provide a meta-medium of simulation of previous media, the screen presents a virtual, graphical surface that simulates the spaces of manuscript, print, illustration, painting, photography, telephone, cinema, television and comics. The contemporary screen has an increasingly intimate multisensory association. The guiding metaphor for the observer/screen assemblage is the multisensory extensibility and immersion of virtual reality. For the observer, the screen or screens create a multiplicity of visual frames that while using the language of classical cinema as a cultural interface, more closely resemble the fractured spatial montages of Dziga Vertov’s ‘life as it is.’

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3.4. The Comics Panel

3.4.1. The Graphics Plane

The surface of the monitor screen radiates the graphics plane, the ‘infinite page,’ upon which are arranged what Ivins (1938) called the ‘symbols of visual awareness’; that is, the visual languages identified as the cultural interfaces of the HCI, the printed word and cinema, both as traditional perspective view and the multiple frames of kino-eye. In Papers on

Rationalization of Sight Ivins (1938, p. 9) traces the history of printed graphics in the West, beginning around the end of the 14th century, when ‘someone somewhere in Europe began to make woodcuts.’ Ivins argues that the printing of pictures with woodcuts represents ‘the beginning of the duplication of pictorial symbols for visual awarenesses’. In a footnote, Ivins makes an important observation about the history and study of the impact of graphic techniques:

The history of the graphic techniques is neither more nor less than the history (1) of

the extension of the ability exactly to duplicate the symbols of visual awareness and

(2) of the extension of the power of those symbols sensuously to define unique

personal characteristics that transcend purely formal or conventional notation. The

historians of ‘fine prints’ … have with remarkable unanimity disregarded both the

expansion of the social utility of the graphic media and their functional growth and

intellectual importance as tools of knowledge and thought. (Ivins, 1938, p. 9 footnote)

Almost by stealth, woodblock-printing techniques began to establish a graphical culture, one of ‘social utility’ in the West; a culture overlooked for centuries due to an obsession with fine arts. Ivins builds his argument for the wide-ranging epistemological implications of the fusion of perspective techniques of Alberti’s window with picture printing giving birth to a visual scientific language, one of precise measurement in spatial dimensions. However, I want to draw on this insight to understand more fully the genesis of comics, in their printed form, that was similarly overlooked, consigned to a vaudeville sideshow on the margins of serious literature and fine arts. Comics, as an extension of woodblock printing in 20th century,

73 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker proliferated along with other graphical design practices as a culture of visual symbols, with unique, sensuously defined characteristics.

3.4.2. Comics as a Medium

The claims of comics as a medium coincide with the rise of comic scholarship. McLuhan

(1964) understood comics as a cipher between print and television. Identifying the origins of comics in the woodcut, a low resolution form of print, McLuhan viewed comics’ quintessentially iconic form as evidence of the pervasive effect of electronic media on print in the 20th century, most explicitly expressed in the mosaic form of the newspaper. Like television, comics are a deeply participatory medium, ‘a do-it-yourself form of experience,’ that share with television the characteristics of cool media (McLuhan, 164, p. 181).

Comics guru Will Eisner (1985) identified comics as a hybrid, a ‘cross-breeding of illustration and prose.’ Eisner asked fundamental questions about the particular mode of comics’ literacy, wherein ‘reading’ a comic requires both the deciphering of a combination of sequential images and a linguistic script; alphabetic or otherwise. The iconic nature of comics implies a reliance on the shared visual experience of creator and audience to communicate narrative, mood and characters. Eisner (1985, p. 7) is close to McLuhan in characterizing comics’ literacy as a mode of perception, cognition and sensory extension:

The format of the comic book presents a montage of both word and image, and the

reader is thus required to exercise both visual and verbal interpretive skills. The

regimens of art (e.g. perspective, symmetry, brush stroke) and the regimens of

literature (e.g. grammar, plot, syntax) become superimposed upon each other. The

reading of the comic book is an act of both aesthetic perception and intellectual

pursuit.

The proliferation and popularity of comics—sequential images paired with recognisable symbols—has seen the re-emergence of a ‘grammar of sequential art’ in 19th- and 20th- century media. For Eisner, the comic is, in part, a retrieval of ancient forms of pictographic

74 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker inscription such as hieroglyphics, combining both ideogrammatic and phonetic representations.

In his book Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud (1993) begins with Eisner’s definition of sequential art, while moving to banish hybridity and distinguish comics as a medium separate from other printed forms. For McCloud, the panel is a key distinguisher of the comic. Reading a comic is the act of resolving the differences and similarities between two or more sequentially presented panels: ‘a sequence of panels, even two, transforms art into comics’

(McCloud, 1993, p. 8). Hence, McCloud (1993, p. 9) defines comics as ‘juxtaposed pictorial and other images in a deliberate sequence intended to convey information and/or to produce an aesthetic response in the viewer’. He is keen to establish comics as separate from film and animation as well as other types of printed media such as books and newspapers. Key to this distinction is the spatial arrangement of images within a framework of panels, which, according to McCloud (1993, p. 8), differs from both film and animation that present visual information within single frame in a temporal sequence, whereby ‘space does to comics what time does to film.’

Like McLuhan, McCloud sees a resonance of comics with woodcuts. He traces comics’ history through the sequential painting of Hogarth, and suggests that the founder of modern comics was Rodolphe Töpffer: the first to combine illustration, text and panel borders in a printed format for mass consumption; sequential narratives featuring comedies of manners and slapstick humor. Töpffer used autographic lithography—writing and drawing using a special ink and paper and then placing a reversed copy onto a lithographic stone—for printing his ‘histoires en images’. According to Philippe Willems (2013, p. 3), Töpffer produced a hybrid blend of the novel, street theatre and the satirical cartoon that ‘broke new ground by modulating the width and frequency of individual panels within strips to create unprecedented effects of rhythm, visual rhyme, and synecdoche in pictorial storytelling’.

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Fig. 3.5: Rodolphe Töpffer (1831), sequence of panels from Monsieur Pencil in Willems (2008)

Töpffer invented a dynamic, slapstick art emphasizing action and movement between panels, along with a sense of rhythmic interplay and contrasting duration. The sequence shown in

Fig. 3.5 is a demonstration of interleaving of alternate panels depicting one character writing as another character struggles in a waterfall, providing an early example of what Manovich

(2001) has called a ‘spatial montage’. Further, it supports McCloud’s (1993, p. 100) claim that comics spatialize what cinema would temporalize: ‘in learning to read comics we all learned to perceive time spatially, for in the world of comics, time and space are one and the same.’

3.4.3. Operations of the Panel

The theory of panel function and operation occupies a central place in the work of both Eisner and McCloud. For Eisner, the panel simulates the film frame, in that they both encapsulate moments in time that function as dramatic beats to form a narrative arc. Conversely, he recognizes the numerical limitation of comic panels compared to film frames. McCloud, while not denying the role of timing in panel arrangement, concentrates more on panel transition and the cognitive mechanism of closure. However, both writers approach the central problem of panel design as being one of engaging and sustaining the reader’s attention.

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Eisner uses the keyword ‘encapsulation’ to describe the panel. Comics’ narrative flow unfolds by inscribing the movement of images, such as people and things, through space. Comic images are framed within the encapsulation of the panel as a ‘sequenced segmentation,’ with each panel operating like a freeze-frame of the flow of reality, capturing actions, motions and sounds and conveying emotions and ideas, while arousing empathy in the comics’ reader. A comic presents itself structurally as a series of levels of encapsulation from the page, through panels, to various forms of lettering balloons. Eisner shares with McCloud the conception that this arrangement of sequential images and symbols represents, from the reader’s perspective, a spatial arrangement of temporal events:

Albert Einstein in his Special Theory (Relativity) states that time is not absolute but

relative to the position of the observer. In essence, the panel (or box) makes that

postulate a reality for the comic book reader. The act of paneling or boxing the action

not only defines its perimeters but establishes the position of the reader in relation to

the scene and indicates the duration of the event. Indeed, it 'tells' time. (Eisner, 1985,

p. 28)

In a manner similar to sentences, or even musical bars in a score, the arrangement of panels directs the eye and the reader’s imagination to assemble icons and symbols into the comics’ narrative arc. The panel frames—the gutters—function as ‘punctuators’ in the comic reading process. Eisner considers the unavoidable fact that a comic always provides a spatial montage of temporal events, as both the main limitation and key asset of comics design.

Compared to film or theatre, where the director has more leeway to conceal from the viewer what they wish to reveal later, the comics’ reader can always look ahead and the eye can always wander and explore the spatial montage. Therefore, Eisner (1985) considers the overall arrangement of panels—including the ‘meta-panels’ of the pages—when directing the reader’s gaze through the comics’ narrative. His design approach postulates a hierarchical order of reading, where the page view is followed by the ordered left to right, top to bottom (in

Western cultures) scanning of the panels and reading of the dialogue balloons to extract the narrative. Panel size, shape, positioning, style of gutter and even removal of panel gutters—or

77 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker their integration with iconic elements such as doors or windows—are identified as design variables.

Composition within the panel sets up and manipulates the perspective or orientation of the reader as well as their emotions. Iconic and written information are arranged spatially as dramatic, narrative elements: depth of field, organisation of subjects, position of viewer vis-a- vis subjects, elements of light and dark. In this respect, Eisner stays close to classical cinematic considerations of perspective and continuity, while simultaneously acknowledging that these visual devices function differently as a spatial montage.

3.4.4. Closure

Central to the difference between the sequence of panels and the sequence of film frames is the break in continuity produced by each panel gutter, where panel encapsulation breaks up the flow of action into a sequence of ‘frozen’ instances. For Eisner (19885, p. 38), what happens between the panels is a ‘filling in,’ where the reader ‘may fill in the intervening events from experience’. McCloud delves more deeply into this process, which he calls ‘closure’.

Derived from Gestalt theory, closure is defined as a cognitive perceptual mechanism of observing the parts and perceiving the whole. According to Rudolph Arnheim In Art and

Visual Perception (1974, p. 430), ‘when the incompleteness of a well-structured pattern is displayed to the eye, a tension toward closure is created’. For McCloud (1993, pp. 65–66), the reader’s active and wilful participation through closure while navigating and transitioning from panel to panel, is definitive of the comic reading experience:

In comics closure is the agent of change, time and motion … Comic panels fracture

both time and space, offering a jagged staccato rhythm of unconnected moments. But

closure allows us to connect these moments and mentally construct a continuous,

unified reality … If visual iconography is the vocabulary of comics, closure is its

grammar.

McCloud compares reading comics to watching electronic media and film, where closure is less abrupt, more continuous and largely involuntary. Retracing McLuhan’s observations on

78 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker cool media, McCloud asserts that comics engage the reader in active participation in completing the narrative. By ‘making the reader an equal partner in crime,’ panel-to-panel transitions perform a reconstruction of time and motion (McCloud, 1993). Panel composition is now linked to panel adjacency. As the reader visually compares two panels, there is an assessment of the type of content in each panel, the amount of overlap of similar information, and an extraction of difference that becomes the measure of movement in space and duration in time. Hence, in McCloud’s formulation, closure is an effort, an energy that is expended by the reader in proportion to the amount of visible differences detected in a sequence of panels.

McCloud (1993, pp.69-72) identifies six panel transition types (see Table 3.1) that range from small, momentary changes to the same subject material, all the way to the non-sequitur transition, where there is complete contrast in panel-to-panel content.

No. Transition type Description Example 1 Moment to Small changes in single Change from close-up to extreme close-up moment subject of the character 2 Action to action Change in action from the Character moves from sitting to standing same subject 3 Subject to Transition from one subject to Cut from first character to second character subject another in the same scene in the same location—shot to reverse-shot. 4 Scene to scene The location of the subject and More from interior to exterior with same action changes characters 5 Aspect to aspect Spatial exploration Different aspects of the spatial location are explored from panel-to-panel 6 Non-sequitur No logical relationship A jump in space, time, character and mood between the panels that seems to make no sense based on the preceding panels Table 3.1: McCloud’s six transition types (1993, pp. 69–72)

According to McCloud’s survey and analysis of American and European comics, action, subject and scene transitions predominate, compared to Japanese comics that display a more even distribution of all six categories. This suggests that Japanese readers are more engaged in actively assembling aspect transitions to establish mood and a sense of place.

McCloud (1993, pp. 78–79) further surmises that there is more emphasis on acoustic space in

Japanese comics, where ‘the reader must assemble a single moment using scattered fragments’.

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3.4.5. Comics Perception

The limitation of the number of panels and the subsequent choice of types of panel transitions establishes comics’ design as a subtractive process: visual information is reduced and the reader is required to fill in the fragments that are simultaneously arranged on the page. The aesthetics of closure and panel transitions—similar to Manovich’s (2001) ‘spatial montage’ and Vertov’s (1984) ‘visual interval’—has a connection to the simultaneity of events resonating through acoustic space to register on the radar screen. In Laws of Media (1988, p.

55), McLuhan and McLuhan characterize this mode of visualisation as a ‘mosaic approach’:

The mosaic approach is not only ‘much the easier’ in the study of the simultaneous,

which is the auditory field; it is the only relevant approach. In the iconic and mosaic

form there is no attempt to reduce space to a single, uniform, and connected

character such as was done with perspective: it is a simultaneous field of relations.

Mosaic, iconic form is discontinuous, abrupt, and multileveled, as is iconic art. The

‘two-dimensional’ mosaic or painting is the mode in which there is muting of the visual

as such, in order that there may be maximal interplay among all of the senses. Such

was the painterly strategy since Cezanne, to paint as if you held, rather than as if you

saw objects.

The mosaic arrangement of comic panels represents an effective remediation of three- dimensional perspective art into a two-dimensional collage. The discontinuities of the mosaic are today manifested in the fractured multiplicity of screens and windows—McCloud’s (1993)

‘unconnected moments’. Reading a comic is the act of closure; deciphering the tension between the surface arrangement of panels and the perspectives presented within each encapsulation; an oscillation between the hypermediacy of the panel interface and immediacy of a narrative etched out in a mosaic of frozen moments. Beginning with Topffer, comics— similar to the hybrid visual devices of that era, including the stereoscope and the praxinoscope—present a disengagement of the observer from the classical perspective as enshrined by the camera obscura, to be relocated ‘within the unstable physiology and temporality of human perception and cognition’ (Crary, 1992, p. 70).

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As McCloud (1993) explains, comics culture lies in the cultivation of ‘comics perception’: an extension of the senses through a remediation of the visual, that extends from the zero sensation of the gutter, through to the visual simulation of motion, sound, smell and touch within the panel. This is the archetype of a cool medium. McCloud (1993, p. 89) echoes

McLuhan’s insight of maximal interplay of all senses within comics that, ostensibly, appear as a mono-sensory, visual medium, when he states, ‘between the panels none of our senses are required – which is why all sense are engaged.’ Conversely, within the panels, a range of

‘synaesthetic icons’ that have elaborated and enlarged the comics’ vocabulary, visually simulate sensory impressions. Motion is depicted through lines, the ghosting of freeze-frame poses and the blurring of figures or backgrounds. Where surfaces collide, explosion lines emanate, as if through the very molecules of the page surface. Word balloons and lettering styles, often hand-drawn, convey the sounds of voices by emphasizing stress and tone. Sonic events, slaps, slams and bangs, are captured in onomatopoeic fonts.

3.4.6. Panel as Screen

Topffer’s 19th-century experimental hybrid, what he termed the ‘picture story,’ expanded in the 20th century into an autonomous segment of the publishing industry. Topffer (as cited in

McCloud, 1993, p.45) never underestimated the impact of this visual mode of communication:

‘the picture story, which critics disregard and scholars scarcely notice, has had a great influence at all times, perhaps more than written literature’. In recent times, McCloud (1993, p.

97) has argued for comics to be assessed as a separate medium, stating that ‘it is a mistake to see comics as a mere hybrid of the graphic arts and prose fiction. What happens between these panels is a kind of magic only comics can create.’ The iconic simulations encapsulated within the panels match the operations of closure. Unlike film, which is said to be an index of realism, comics remediate representations—film, photography, painting, novels—iconically simulating their visual appearances while muting their visual realism by subtracting details of continuity, synaesthetically evoking the multisensory world and distributing these across the mosaic surface of panels. This suggests that the comics’ panel functions as a type of screen, the comics’ page presenting framed, virtual content on a printed, graphical, multi-screen surface. Commenting on the eruption of graphics and cartoons into 20th century media, Scott

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Lash and Celia Lury (2007, p. 184) identify a ‘non-metrical space’ of abstraction that comics have come to occupy: ‘it is the surface of an “abstract space” that disrupts the metric and two- dimensional space of narrative representation: a non-metric space, a non-metric surface. Yet this surface is very much a question of the graphic, a question of line.’

Whereas paper comics continue to be printed, digital comics are now popular across a range of screens and handheld devices. Understanding the motion comic in its digital form can be partially addressed within the question: “what is a digital comic?” At the opening of this chapter, I suggested that the hybrid remix culture associated with the current software environment has remediated conventional media into cultural interfaces. Manovich had identified three such interfaces: cinema, print and HCI. Having examined the function of comics and the operation of the panel, it is clear that they too constitute a distinctive and popular visual language, in addition to both the printed word and cinema. Digital comics are more than panels on a screen: comics culture and comics perception get thrown into the hybridizing remix.

3.5. Intersection of Screen and Panel

3.5.1. What are Digital Comics?

Unlike digital film, discussed elsewhere in this chapter, there has been very little sustained discussion on the topic of digital comics. In Chapter 1 I covered the augmentation of comics in the digital domain and the automated generation of new comics from games and animation; events that suggest the operation of a software-driven remix culture of hybrid remediation.

Having now reviewed respective theories of the screen and the comics’ panel, I want to examine aspects of the intersection of comics, screens and digital media.

McCloud has pioneered this discussion with his book Reinventing comics (2000). In a chapter entitled ‘Digital comics: The infinite canvas,’ McCloud (2000, p. 200) reiterates his definition of comics as ‘juxtaposed pictorial and other images in a deliberate sequence’ with a 3,000-year history that encompasses narrative visual iconography painted and inscribed on walls,

82 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker windows, scrolls and tapestries. It was only with printed comics that panels in conjunction with text balloons were introduced, circumscribing the familiar comics form. Comics, McCloud

(2000, p. 202) says, ‘changed their shape for print’ and will change their shape again in a digital environment.

For McCloud, ‘digital comics are comics that exist as pure information.’ He acknowledges that printed comics have been ‘swallowed’ or remediated by digital media and their shape perfectly simulated. Further to this, all other media, defined by their hard technologies, have been similarly swallowed and simulated in the software environment. McCloud (2000, p. 205) contends that what is left to distinguish these media, and the ‘art forms’ they represent, within a digital environment is conceptual, ideational: ‘the resultant media landscape will be populated with art forms not rooted in a particular machine or physical substance but in the implementation of their respective ideas.’ McCloud refuses the remix of software culture for comics and the technical materiality of computing, and instead searches for the essential, the ideational.

McCloud (2000) defines the essence of comics as ‘an artist’s map of time itself’. This is reminiscent of his previous formulation, along with Eisner, of comics as the spatialisation of time. Central to comics’ essence is the arrangement of temporal events in the panels forming a spatial map or montage. McCloud does not deny that mutation will occur with digital comics.

He realizes mutation is necessary for comics’ survival and adaptation to the new media environment. However, he is concerned that a ‘durable mutation’ should emerge that will maintain the distinction between comics and other simulated media. Comics can be remixed with text, 3D graphics, motion and sound, much like a motion comic. McCloud (2000, p. 210) calls this ‘the goal of making comics “come alive”, where sound, motion and images create an immersive experience’. However, he remains sceptical of what is only ‘partial immersion’; that it will not be satisfying until total immersion is achieved, where there is nothing to distinguish comics from full motion animation of a virtual reality experience. Then, comics would lose their essence and their identity:

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As the goal of ‘coming alive’ is fulfilled more and more by sound and motion which

represents time through time—comics’ multi-image structure—the portrayal of time

through space—becomes superfluous, if not a nuisance, and isn’t likely to endure …

If you were a Spiderman fan would you want to see him in partial motion or full

motion? Would you want to see him in 2-D or 3-D? In little boxes or on a full screen?

(McCloud, 2000, pp. 210–212)

After this rejection of the motion comic, McCloud advances his pursuit of a post-print version of temporal mapping by examining the sequential art of pre-print eras: cave-paintings,

Egyptian hieroglyphs, Trajan’s Column, the Bayeux Tapestry and the pre-Columbian art of the

‘Codex Zouche-Nuttall’. In these examples, sequential art is inscribed on a diverse range of surfaces, where the spectator can behold the entire surface at once. It is an illustrated expanse that nevertheless, as McCloud (2000, p. 219) demonstrates, maintains narrative sequentiality and continuity from one image to the next; to be read linearly as an unfolding of time within space: ‘all stayed true to the nature of the map—and never violated the basic tenet that to move in time is to move in space’.

With printed books, this expanse of space became ‘folded upon itself’ and ‘packed into tiny boxes,’ as ‘this small, rectangular canvas we call the “page” has been the only venue for long- form comics throughout the century’ (McCloud, 2000, p. 221). McCloud (2000, p. 222) argues that with digital comics viewed on the screen, the monitor acts less like a page and more like a window frame: ‘a comic as wide as Europe or as tall as a mountain can be displayed on any monitor simply by moving across its surface’. He proclaims this vast comics surface, ‘the infinite canvas,’ a new and challenging design frontier for comics’ artists in the digital age.

McCloud is not recalling Alberti’s window, a technique for perspective construction on a painted canvas bound by a rectangular frame; an invention in many ways resonating with the

Gutenberg revolution. McCloud’s ‘infinite canvas’ is a retrieval of pre-print sequential imagery.

He envisages a ‘monster comic,’ viewed like a Google Map, as if from a great distance—a galaxy of interconnected panels, or up close on one panel or the details within. The monster comic could be read vertically, horizontally, spiralling or through hyperlinked jumps, diving through panels embedded within panels in infinite regress.

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Fig. 3.6:The monitor and the infinite canvas: Scott McCloud (2001, p. 222)

This retrieval is performed within the virtual, elastic, electromagnetic space of the monitor screen. Despite McCloud’s allusion to ‘inch by inch, mile by mile’ (see Fig. 3.6), the space revealed within the screen is non-metrical and does not exist (in the same visual form) outside the borders of the monitor. The materiality of the infinite canvas lies in the organized flows and inscriptions of databases, image maps, streaming from latency reduced graphics processors, illuminating and refreshing the surface of the monitor screen. McCloud (2000, p.

222) suggests, ‘our monster comic may exist as many documents in storage—yet only one in the mind’s eye.’

3.5.2. Comics Perception as Cultural Interface

McCloud’s digital comics’ vision is tilted towards defending the ‘essence’ of comics, as both art and medium, from the remix software environment. His discussion provides some useful insights regarding the repositioning and reorientation of digital comics as a cultural interface and also the ongoing transformation of the comics’ format. It is often at the point of remediation of one medium by another that commentators will reach for the ‘art’ word.

McCloud (2000, pp. 26–27) recount’s Rube Goldberg’s response to Will Eisner’s claim that comics designers were artists: ‘That’s bullshit kid. We’re not artists. We’re Vaudevillians and don’t you ever forget that.’ Goldberg was defending the cultural roots of comics as a satirical, slapstick form, like street theatre, that can be traced back to Topffer. By the second part of the

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20th century, comics struggled to be recognized as art. In the 1960s, Andy Warhol and Roy

Lichtenstein enshrined comic art as Pop Art. The underground comics movement experimented with avant-garde approaches to comics’ design, many of which were adopted by the mainstream. The emergence of the graphic novel in the late 1970s sought to establish comics as a form of serious literature. As McCloud notes, by the 1990s original edition comics had become valued collectors’ items.

According to McLuhan (1964, p. 179), the remediation of comics coincided with the rise of broadcast television. As previously noted, comics and TV share the qualities of cool media: participatory, low resolution, mosaic, synaesthetic. For McLuhan (1964, pp. 179, 180), ‘the cartoon is the clue to understanding the TV image … [TV remediates] the previous hot media of photo, film and radio into a comic-strip world by simply featuring them as over-heated packages’. However, the effect of TV on comics was different. The two media resonated and amplified each other: ‘the cartoon is a do-it-yourself form of experience that has developed an ever more vigorous life as the electric age advanced’ (McLuhan 1964, p.187). Due to similar graphical and iconic qualities, the comics’ panel and the electromagnetic screen share many commonalities, making it convenient for comics to be remediated as a cultural interface for the screen. With the rise of computing, this process has accelerated. The fractured, mosaic character of the computer monitor and the proliferation of screens and soft windows demonstrates the intersection of panel and screen. The language of the screens is that of comics’ perception, the language of panels, the language of incessant rupture and closure, the language of Vertov’s visual interval. Printed comics reversed into art at exactly the same moment that comics became a cultural interface and language of the screen. Meeting ‘the panels,’ McCloud’s (2000) ‘little boxes’ become elastic in the space of the ‘infinite canvas.’

They intersect with the boundaries of the screen, split the screen into a mosaic of panels, stretch across multiple screens, shrink to the size of a mobile phone, expand to fill the entire wall, float side-by-side or overlap in separate windows.

As per my analysis of digital film, I have applied McLuhan and McLuhan’s (1988) laws of media to summarize the transformation of comics into digital comics:

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1. Obsolesced: the printed comic and the panel. An obsolesced medium does not literally

disappear; it becomes the ground upon which the figure of an emerging medium is

highlighted.

2. Enhanced: The graphics plane and automated drawing—'the infinite canvas’ layered

with soft panels and overlapping windows—comics combine with other visual forms

including cinema, graphics, animation and HCI to form hybrids. Comic art sequences

are automated and traced from videos, animation and games.

3. Reversed: from subtractive to additive. Comics’ production becomes a stage of post-

production as comics, like film, become an instance of animation and motion graphics

practice; for example, The Marvel Universe. Also, printed comics reverse from low to

high art.

4. Retrieved: the hieroglyphic that combines both phonetic and ideogrammatic language

forms (emojis). The infinite canvas of the scroll replaces the golden rectangles of the

page and the panel. Comics remediated as a cultural interface and a language of the

screens.

3.5.3. Motion Comics and Partial Immersion:

How does the motion comic function as an intersection of screen and comic panel? The motion comic is not an instance of a digital comic. McCloud (2000, p. 211) explicitly denies the motion comic as being within his concept of the comic essence—the image map of time— stating, ‘comics in a digital environment will remain a still-life.’ The motion comic is assigned to the hybrid, the intermedial, the ‘in between.’ The digital motion comic is a screen-presented hybrid that remixes elements of the cultural interface—print, cinema, HCI and comics—driven by the logic of motion graphics software. The intersection of the comics’ panel and the electromagnetic screens—multiple, fragmented, iconic, multisensory and spatial—the graphics plane refreshed and redrawn on multiple windows into mosaics that engage the attention of the physiological observer in the new work order of opening, closing and connecting visual intervals. In this environment, McCloud’s spatial map inevitably becomes corrupted, interpenetrated with intermedial elements: text strives to become cinema that becomes animation that becomes comics that becomes speech that becomes screen

87 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker hieroglyphics. Each medium reaches out to other media and seeks to simulate their modes of expression.

The television series Fargo (2014–2017) has drawn comment for the use of split screen in the narrative. While this is not new for filmmaking, I want to examine Fargo’s use of split screen as an example of the application of the comics’ panel in contemporary film narrative. Notably, split screens featured in every episode of Fargo’s second season, teasing out an extensive repertoire for this trope. Fig. 3.7 shows the Fargo characters Peggy and Ed, spatially adjacent in the car, yet the shot is fractured and separated by the black gutter, the panel; compositing a spatial montage with a subject-to-subject transition. The viewer is asked to make sense of this separation, to actively interpret and produce closure. Fargo creator, Noah Hawley, uses the hypermediacy of the panel to disrupt the immediacy of this in-car two-shot, perhaps to meditate on the separation and isolation of the doomed couple. In this example, we see

McCloud’s notion of closure, Vertov’s concept of the visual interval, and Panofsky’s

‘spatialization of time’ as formulations of a similar psychotechnology—one that explores the space of the screen as a graphical mosaic.

Within each discreet panel of this graphical diptych, motion occurs—camera and character movement—as if the film reel was played back alongside itself, suggesting database filmmaking, where assets are retrieved, recycled and juxtaposed.

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Fig. 3.7: The use of panels in split screen in Fargo: Season 2 (2015)

Fig. 3.8: A still from Family Slaughter Motion Comic (2017)

The Fargo split screen composition can be compared with Fig. 3.8. from Family Slaughter

Motion Comic. The coincidental similarity is indicative of an emergent aesthetic, a recombinant space remixing elements along the cultural interface; that is, an intersection between panel, frame and screen. Despite one being derived from live action and the other from comics artwork, these two examples occupy the same space; one expressive of incremental differences caused by the polarizing tensions that operate between the hot and the cool, the immediate and the hyperimmediate, virtual realism and hyperrealism. Noah

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Hawley (as cited in Marinauzelac, 2016) explains his split screen design intention: ‘now you sit in Transformers 5 and you’re seeing things the human eye has never seen and yet you’re bored. My goal is to do something ... more’. Paradoxically, this ‘more’ is simultaneously less.

The Fargo split screen employs the subtractive logic of the comics’ panel, and deliberately lowers the temperature, reduces the immediacy and accentuates the emotional tone in keeping with the narrative intention. In contrast, the Family Slaughter split panel, by adding colour, texture, motion and sound, heats up the comic elements to accentuate the emotional tone, also for narrative intention. In both cases we see in operation an aesthetic McCloud calls ‘partial immersion.’

In upcoming chapters I will address the application of the aesthetic of partial immersion with reference to designing a long-form, motion graphics narrative, the Family Slaughter motion comic. The challenge with motion graphics, according to Manovich (2001), is to develop an

‘aesthetics of continuity’ that moves beyond short films and music videos, and to ‘discover ways to employ this aesthetics on a larger scale … regardless of the origin of the images, they all acquired a certain visual coherence.’ My hypothesis is that the application of comics as a cultural interface can supply raw assets, narrative framework and sustainable continuity for a feature length motion graphics story. Yet, this is neither an animation nor film in the traditional sense. The basic foundational unit is the panel that, as McCloud asserts, has its specific mode of transition. The intersection of the comics’ panel with digital film and the screen circumscribes a domain of hybridity and partial immersion. Comics lose their essence by sacrificing the exclusivity of the spatial map by fusing with elements of temporal continuity acquired from animation and cinema. In turn, animation and cinema are also compromised— diminishing their characteristics of live action recording and fully posed character animation.

The challenge, as Manovich (2007, p. 6) summarizes, is for ‘various media [to] seem to peacefully coexist, occupying the same space.’

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CHAPTER 4: SCREENPLAY AND COMIC

Somehow, I found that in a certain way, dramatically, the darker you get the funnier you get, because after a while you have to laugh.

—Frank Miller (2003)

4.1. Introduction

This chapter examines the two artefacts at the core of Family Slaughter Motion Comic—the screenplay and the comic—and addresses the research question: What is the creative vision and historical/cultural context of the Family Slaughter comic and screenplay? Both were produced almost 30 years ago. The objective is to uncover and articulate the creative vision in the two works and analyse the design strategy of the comic, as preliminary preparation for an analysis of the design approach to the motion comic. The chapter provides contextual documentation on the design decisions, influences and inspirations, themes, collaborators involved, and historical details and cultural context. Having co-written the screenplay and functioned as co-executive producer for the comic, my own recollections are included. This is supported by interview data collected from screenwriter and comic designer Tim Pigott (see

Appendix A) and independent book publisher and distributer Sonya Jeffery (see Appendix B).

Unfortunately, comic artists Nigel Gurney and Peter Pound were unavailable for interviews.

The story of Family Slaughter, the intellectual property, is that of an unmade film that spawned, and is survived by, two design documents: a screenplay and a comic. The story is not dissimilar in its trajectory to Alejandro Jodorowsky’s unmade adaptation of Frank

Herbert’s sci-fi novel Dune. Jodorowsky and his design team, which included H. R. Geiger,

Moebius, Chris Foss and Dan O’Bannon, created the film entirely on paper: costumes, vehicles, characters, sets, camera movement, casting, dialogue and music, all recorded in

Jodorowsky’s ‘giant, 30-pound book’ (NPR.org, n.d.). This chapter will detail Tim Pigott’s vision for his ‘little movie in black ink on paper,’ the Family Slaughter Comic. This is a prelude to formulating the Family Slaughter Motion Comic as a further design iteration. Like

Jodorowsky, we strive to produce an unproduced film that will, like Schrodinger’s cat, become

91 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker both made and unmade, realized and unrealized, a breath of half-life into the resuscitated dead.

4.2. Family Slaughter Screenplay

The second draft of the Family Slaughter screenplay was completed and registered with the

Australian Writers Guild on 10 October 1990 and represented in Australia by Tim Pigott’s agent Tony Williams and in Los Angeles by Beth Swofford of the William Morris Agency. Tim

Pigott and myself, Hardie Tucker, wrote the screenplay from Tim’s original idea. We completed the second, revised version after the publication of the Family Slaughter comic book, and incorporated images from the comic in its layout and front cover. Family Slaughter was conceived as an original, low budget horror film, set in Australia that could be made for around AU$1,000,000. The screenplay was planned around two locations, a small cast and a series of horror special effects.

The narrative unfolds over one weekend in the family home of Dr Ray Rousseau, situated in the Sydney suburb of Killara, where he lives with wife Jean, daughter Tuesday and older son

Al. Dr Rousseau is obsessed with the case study of 19th-century German judge Daniel Paul

Schreber. Patient Schreber’s back-story in Sonnenstein asylum intercuts with the main plot.

Family tensions boil over as militaristic second son Junior Rousseau returns home and the

Doctor’s sexual predator accusations are made public. Meanwhile, Schreber’s ghost is homing in on Dr Rousseau. Eleven special effects apparitions of Schreber are distributed through the narrative (see Appendix D) as the vengeful patient taunts and harangues the

Doctor, pushing Rousseau to breaking point. Sleep deprived and drinking compulsively,

Rousseau is dragged deeper into a nightmare universe where doctor and patient collide head-on. The third act follows the unhinged doctor’s murderous rampage through the family home, culminating in a final showdown between patient and doctor. For the short treatment and character notes of the screenplay please refer to Appendix F.

Tim Pigott created the story concept for Family Slaughter. His first important inspiration was the psychiatric case study of Daniel Paul Schreber, as presented by Morton Schatzmann in his book Soul Murder: Persecution in the Family (1972). Schreber is conceived as a vengeful

92 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker ghost haunting not just Dr Rousseau but the entire medical world: an educated patient and senate judge that recorded the experiences of his illness in minute detail in his book Memoirs of My Nervous Illness (2000). Schreber’s visitations, streamed through 1980s media, were conceived as horror tropes in the spirit of David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983) and Wes

Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), as well as evoking the German gothic expressionist tradition of Murnau and Laing. For Pigott, the key to adapting Schreber for a horror film was ‘his ghostliness. He is like some sort of spirit or ghost with classic Germanic qualities’ (see Appendix A).

Family Slaughter was partially inspired by a news report of murder–suicide by a prominent psychiatrist living in Sydney’s North Shore accused by a patient of sexual assault. This forms the basis for the character of the psychiatrist Dr Ray Rousseau and joins together a psychiatric doctor–patient duel between Rousseau and Schreber with a contemporary murder–suicide plot in an upper middle class suburban setting: a psycho-social suburban drama. Another important ingredient is the character of Junior Rousseau, the militaristic son.

The character was written for the actor Sayers Ludbrook, who funded the writing of the Family

Slaughter screenplay and co-funded the subsequent comic production.

The story for Family Slaughter was initially designed as part of a compendium of three stories—a ‘three-hander’—similar to the five stories of Creepshow (1982), that feature a

1950s comic book horror style treatment. Subsequently, the writers decided to build the story into a full horror feature with special effects sequences typical of 1980s low budget horror, utilizing makeup, prosthetics, camera effects and green screen video. However, the comics’ tone was not lost and inflected many aspects of the screenplay that were subsequently amplified in the comic adaptation. With the exception of Schreber, characters are introduced and developed with little or no back-story. Dialogue is sparse and filled with grim and caustic one-liners. The use of a Crypt Keeper-like commentator, created in the Family Slaughter comic, is carried over to the motion comic. The plot, as with most horror, develops as a barely disguised excuse to showcase scary and gruesome scenarios featuring harsh, noir style lighting; clashing, oversaturated, nausea-inducing colours fused with stock scary devices like skeletons and skulls; and an overall tone of grim, pessimistic-humour.

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Co-writer and comic designer Tim Pigott was also inspired by the vision of horror filmmakers

George Romero and Tom Savini. Their films Night of the Living Dead (1968), Dawn of the

Dead (1978) and The Crazies (1973) depict the Vietnam War experience exported back into the suburban heartland, spreading fear, paranoia and militarism. This influence is evidenced in the tagline for the Family Slaughter comic: ‘home is where the target is,’ scrawled underneath a suburban home in the crosshairs, as a skull-like Schreber intones, ‘They lock themselves in fortresses, but some things can’t be left outside’ (see Fig. 4.1).

Fig. 4.1: Suburban paranoia and militarism. A Family Slaughter Motion Comic still, reworking the Family Slaughter comic inside front cover (Pigott, Gurney, & Pound, 1989, p. 2)

4.3. Family Slaughter Comic

The Family Slaughter comic was released in 1989 and comprises 56 pages, including a full- colour front and back cover and 54 black and white pages. Overall, 200 copies were distributed via newsagents, specialist comic shops and independent publishing distributor

Manic Exposeur. The core production team of Strange Cargo Productions comprised Tim

Pigott, Nigel Gurney and Peter Pound. Guest comic artist Mark Morte contributed several panels. The executive producers were Hardie Tucker and Sayers Ludbrook. The following section discusses the film strategy and the design approach for the comic, as well as observations about publishing the comic at that moment in the Australian publishing industry.

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4.3.1. Film Strategy and Comic Tie-in

The goal of every screenwriter is to turn their screenplay into a movie. This was no different for Tim Pigott and I, as we tried to move the Family Slaughter script around and get meetings with producers and executive producers. At that time in the Australian film industry, there was a general resistance to the low budget horror format despite the notable successes of

Kennedy-Miller’s Mad Max (1979) and Philippe Mora’s The Howling III (1987):

Low budget horror films were very popular, but with the exception of Mad Max, they

were not understood in the Australian industry. The mood in the Australian film

industry was very much focused on art films like Picnic at Hanging Rock. They

wanted to make a masterpiece; they used words like that. People in the industry said

to me—you like Nightmare on Elm Street? How could I go for that crazed American

rubbish? (Pigott, 2017)

In that moment, Pigott was having some success with another horror film he had co-written with Euan Keddie entitled The Laughing Death (1987), a zombie movie set in Papua New

Guinea. In 1988, two music business executives took out an option on The Laughing Death and Pigott convinced them to finance the production of a comic entitled Cargo Zombies

(1988). Historically, it was possibly the first time in Australia that a comic was developed from a film property: a movie comic tie-in.

Whereas the contemporary film industry is saturated with comic-film and film-comic tie-ins, in the 1980s these interconnections were just beginning. More specifically, a comic produced from a screenplay of a yet unproduced film was very unusual; yet, today specialist companies that deal exclusively with this type of adaptation exist. With Cargo Zombies and Family

Slaughter, there were a number of compelling reasons for developing a comic from a screenplay as part of an overall strategy for trying to sell the respective screenplays:

1. Pre-visualization of the film: visually enhance and promote the screenplay. A clear

vision of the story, characters, dialogue, genre and mood of the film can be illustrated

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in a comic format. Drawing a picture for a film executive can be much more

compelling than presenting a script alone, that could be sidelined to a reader.

2. Develop branding with the target audience. Today this is fully understood and

leveraged. In the 1980s the closest connection was literature that already had an

audience that could be adapted into a film. Many aspiring screenplay writers were

told to write a novel first as an exercise in readership building.

3. Consolidate copyright ownership and control of the screenplay, story and characters.

Assuming that the screenwriter controls the copyrights of the comic, they are in a

strong position to negotiate the filmic rights for both interconnected properties. More

importantly, when the comic is released into the public domain through publication,

the associated screenplay is protected from plagiarism. Furthermore, the comic can

be circulated freely within the film community, whereas an agent or a lawyer acting on

behalf of the writer must handle a screenplay on its own.

4. Self-publishing a comic was, at the time, financially cheaper than trying to self-publish

a book. However, finances would restrict the number of pages, sometimes quite

drastically upsetting the continuity of the plot. The Strange Cargo team members had

each been heavily involved in producing self-published comics and art magazines.

5. According to Pigott (2017), from a writer’s perspective, there was one more

compelling reason for producing a comic from a screenplay: it was ‘like doing a little

cheap movie on paper. That’s what it felt like making them. We were drawing a movie

page by page on paper in ink.’

Commenting on the Cargo Zombies comic, Pigott clarified the strategic visual goal of a movie comic tie-in: ‘It came out as a really good little comic. Some of the drawings of the female character [Connie Archer] in Cargo Zombies are beautiful. They look like a movie, they look and feel like a still from a movie except in black ink’ (Pigott, 2017). Visually, the aim of the comic tie-in is not to produce a storyboard but movie stills: key shots that capture camera

96 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker angle, lighting, location, action, character expression, movement, dialogue, sound and mood.

As discussed in Chapter 3, comic panels simulate other visual media and convey a multisensory experience for the reader. This is the ‘little cheap movie on paper drawn in black ink’:

A lot of people got a sense of the film from the comic and they didn’t get the sense of

the film from the script. At that time that would have been a really unusual script,

compared to the other scripts going around in Melbourne and Sydney. It was really

different. (Pigott, 2017)

After reading Cargo Zombies, Hollywood executive producer Edward W. Pressman (Conan the Barbarian, Platoon) expressed interest in producing Cargo Zombies, with George Romero directing. Even though, sadly, this deal later fell through, the comic had achieved its purpose.

4.3.2. Screenplay to Comic

In mid-1989 Tim Pigott and I decided to produce a comic tie-in for the Family Slaughter screenplay. The Strange Cargo team was employed for around six weeks to assemble the comic artwork. As with Cargo Zombies, the aim was to produce a cheap movie on paper with black ink. The artistic approach was to present a combination of American horror and gothic film genres fused with comic genre influences.

Fig.4.2. Family Slaughter comic front cover (Pigott, Gurney, & Pound, 1989)

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As Pigott (2017) observed, ‘I like the illustrative work of Nigel and Peter. It [Family Slaughter] is deliberately a genre comic. It’s not like that because the three people doing it didn’t have the imagination to do something more eccentric’. Nevertheless, despite Peter Pound’s horror genre cover, the Family Slaughter comic is quite ‘eccentric’ and eclectic, and departs significantly from comic genre and format expectations. As the discussion will highlight, the final design of the comic resulted from the creative tensions produced by not just genre requirements but also budget restrictions, a unique collaborative workflow, requirements for expression of filmic mood and a fluid approach to panel layout.

4.3.3. Panel Layout

The first stage in the workflow for producing the Family Slaughter comic was a page-by-page mock-up of the panel layout for the entire comic. Pigott and Gurney completed a ‘pencil version’ that grew from 44 pages to the final 56 pages. The layout included the panelling for each page, the distribution of the screenplay narrative across the panels, plus dialogue and text for each panel:

The first layout was forty-four pages. Then we went to forty-eight, and then finally to

fifty-six. And unfortunately each time we changed the pages the budget went up. I

don’t think we could have done it less than that. There are still some parts that jump

too fast. You can see that there were space problems and everything couldn’t be

fitted in. The hardest decision of all when you take that first step to do the initial

layout, which is the structure of your project of the comic, is fitting an hour and a half

screenplay into that many pages. (Pigott, 2017)

Revisions and compromises were made: the screenplay’s narrative flow was altered, lines of dialogue were excluded or rewritten and commentary text was added to help link continuity from panel to panel. However, what strikes the reader most when leafing through the comic is the variety of panel mosaics adorning the pages. Page 50 (see Fig 4.3) is an example of the use of traditional panelling, subdividing each page into three rows of three panels, uniformly distributed with action and subject transitions. But this is rare. The flow of pages through the

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comic had not been planned around a consistent,

underlying grid (e.g., 3 x 3). Indeed, there are pages that

are 4 x 4 and 4 x 3. In addition, there are a number of

‘splash’ pages displaying an open and fluid approach to

panel geometry, where no formal panel grid is apparent:

Fig.4.3: Uniform 3 x 3 panel grid Family Slaughter comic (Pigott, Gurney, & Pound, 1989, p. 50)

The comic deliberately has different styles of layout in different sections. The actual

pages were much bigger than the shrunk, printed ones … I’m very glad we made that

choice to have big splashy feature pages. I reckon they work well and they are

always exciting … It was unusual for then. It was unusual to have that many panel

ideas in one comic. (Pigott, 2017)

The Family Slaughter comic’s ‘splash’ pages are reminiscent of Will Eisner’s (1985, p. 65) concept of the page as ‘meta-panel,’ where individual panels are ‘subordinated to the totality of the narrative’. To achieve this goal, Eisner (1985, p. 65) underlines the importance of ‘the breakdown of the plot and action into page segments’; precisely the plan followed by Pigott and Gurney, albeit with a strong cinematic intention. Conveniently, they had a whole screenplay on which to base their breakdown. Inconveniently, the page count was less than adequate. Eisner presents a design strategy of organizing comics’ pages as units of narrative and character expression, with the consideration that the reader breaks their attention—like a fade to black—upon turning the page, while simultaneously exercising retention when decoding the subsequent page. Eisner suggests assigning pages to encapsulate one or several entire narrative sequences. This overlaps conveniently with film narrative design and editing frameworks that are also sequence driven, each sequence containing its own rising action and climax (Block, 2013, pp. 177–180).

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An examination of Family Slaughter comic pages demonstrates the application of this meta- page design strategy, and also indicates where compromises had to be made due to lack of pages, with several sequence threads encapsulated together, albeit within a parallel film editing framework. With Junior Rousseau’s war-game re-enactment of the Battle Dien Bien

Phu (see Fig. 4.4.), the panelling becomes subordinate to the double page and the narrative is distributed in a radical spatial montage—text boxes provide the only panelling—as sequential time is supplanted by non-sequential spatial exploration, gamifying the double spread. However, in terms of narrative, the battle sequence is incomplete and spills over onto the next page subdivided into nine equal panels. The climax of the Dien Bien Phu sequence is presented on this page, but is intercut with panels depicting parallel edits of other plot points occurring in the house. This strategy aligns with Eisner’s (1985, p. 65) assertion that

‘page interest should always be subordinate to internal story-telling’.

Fig. 4.4: Dien Bien Phu splash double (Pigott et al., 1989, pp. 42–43).

Overall, the variety of panelling is a feature of the comic. Unlike many commercial comics that have a consistent underlying panel grid, the Family Slaughter comic is characterized by fluidity of panel forms, displaying an irregular panel geometry: a variety of panel sizes, shapes and page grids; panels superimposed and overlapping each other; objects protruding out of panels across other panels; the margins of pages decorated with thematic design motifs. On

100 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker page 49 (Pigott et al., 1989) the panel gutters are replaced by snaking leather straps as

Moritz Schreber’s apparatuses come to life. On the splash page where the Rousseau brothers fight in the backyard as the fire rages, the bottom left corner of page 33 is flaming, revealing a section of page 35 underneath. Pages and panels are used to blur the space–time continuum. Page 21 depicts a mingling of two dance events, one in 1898 and the other in

1989, that are blended together across the page with no clear geometric panel lines (See Fig.

4.5.).

Fig. 4.5: Swap heads and dance of the demons (Pigott et al., 1989, p. 21)

Summarizing his panel design approach, Pigott (2017) reflected:

Doing all the panels and panelling it out and working out how many different styles of

panels we could have and how many feature pages. How many double pages we

could have … It is one of the most interesting things about the comic.

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In the Family Slaughter Comic, each separate panel functions as a shot. The splash pages blend a variety of shots together. Overall, the comic is a limited shot list, or, more precisely, an incomplete edit decision list, but by no means a storyboard. It is an assemblage of sequences of still shots that present the cinematic look and feel of the possible movie. Only some decisions about shots were made in the planning phase:

Shots were made it up as we went along usually from our favourite shots of films.

Panel transitions were developed as sequences wherever possible, like an edit

decision list. Close-ups were very important and powerful. We also had establishing

long shots and weird canted angles and overhead shots. (Pigott, 2017)

4.3.4. Artistic Collaboration

The Family Slaughter comic is the product of a close artistic collaboration between Pigott,

Gurney and Pound. Eschewing the production line approach of the comics industry, the team worked on panels and pages collectively. Pigott (2017) admitted it was unusual for artists to work so closely together, but insists there were never any arguments:

I like the idea of working at the layout table, all three, much more than say the writer

in one room who writes a script and then walks down the hall and giving it to the

layout artist who then walks down the hall and gives it to the illustrator. I understand

why Frank Miller insisted on doing it all himself. They both [Nigel and Peter] had very

different styles, yet they often collaborated on the same panels. Most pages are

collaborations, although the two covers were drawn by Peter. And some of the

layouts were also mine where Peter did the drawing. I did the concept in pencil and

Peter produced the pages over a weekend.

Sometimes the artists did separate work within the same panel. Page 38 is an intense collaboration where, according to Pigott, Peter Pound drew the Schreber apparition coming out of the TV set and Nigel Gurney drew the heads of the family members clustered around the television (see Fig. 4.6). In the double page courtroom scene on pages 28 and 29, that boasts a gallery of characters and rogues, Gurney and Pound would work together,

102 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker sometimes even on the same head. Pound displays excellent skills as a drafts-person, apparent in his sketch of the Killara Railway station in Sydney’s North Shore and his external drawings of the Rousseau suburban home. According to Tim Pigott (2017), Nigel’s strength was capturing body movement and facial details. These are evidenced in the illustrations of

Tuesday’s dance poses and also the various combat poses and portraits of Junior Rousseau, based on the likeness of actor Sayers Ludbrook.

Fig. 4.6: TV apparition collaboration (Pigott et al., 1989, p. 38).

Regarding the depiction of the main characters by the artists, Pigott (2017) responded:

Very happy with the way Schreber came out: German expressionism with a touch of

Freddie Kruger and a wisecracking style. Junior is also well established, and we had

a model in the actor Sayers Ludbrook. The depictions of Tuesday are some of the

most cinematic in the comic. Jean Rousseau is a little underrepresented in the comic.

The character we had a problem with was Dr. Rousseau. Getting a mood for him,

especially panic and fear. We often resorted to the old trick of drawing sweat drops

on his face.

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4.3.5. Lettering

Nigel Gurney undertook the job of lettering for the Family Slaughter comic. According to Pigott

(2017), Gurney did not agree with extending collaboration to group lettering, arguing that different handwriting styles would throw the reader off in an unconscious way. The lettering in

Family Slaughter is divided between dialogue bubble text, commentary text and onomatopoeia text. An unusually large proportion of the various letterings are in white, contrasting with the extensive use of large zones of black ink. Page 27, ‘The Deep Drop’ (see

Fig. 4.7.), displays a variety of lettering applications on a single page: traditional black on white dialogue bubbles; bristling, ghostly black on white bubbles for Schreber’s utterances;

Junior’s un-boxed scream; small commentary text boxes in white italic lettering on black; and a variety of hand-drawn fonts evoking the screech and ‘KLANG’ of the descending elevator.

Fig. 4.7: Nigel Gurney’s lettering in the Deep Drop, (Pigott et al., 1989, p. 27)

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4.3.6. Artistic Styles

In Understanding Comics, McCloud (1994) classifies comic artwork across a three- dimensional continuum composed of language, reality and picture planes (see Fig. 4.8.).

These art dimensions represent three combined approaches that an end-user takes to decoding a comic’s illustrations. Artwork that is abstract and cartoon-like functions like a symbolic language, requiring more cognitive effort and specialized decoding to be understood; that is, ‘perceived information’. Realistic drawings, being more iconic and thus rapidly decoded by the visual pathways of the brain, require less formalized knowledge; that is, ‘received information’. The third dimension, that of the picture plane, is the form of ‘non- iconic abstraction where no attempt is made to cling to resemblance or meaning’ (McCloud,

1994, p. 49). The picture plane is purely formal, the medium itself is ink on paper. McCloud

(1994, p. 49) classifies the styles of prominent comic artists within this grid, although he points out that an artist may not fit exclusively to one style, as ‘each creator employs a range of styles though and many occupy several places on the chart during a given project.’

Fig. 4.8: McCloud’s (1994, p. 51) three dimensions of artistic styles.

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The artwork of Family Slaughter comic exhibits just such variations in style as applied to characters, objects and environments. The artwork style is of often representative of two artists working on the same panel. Two examples of headshots of Ray Rousseau demonstrate a cartoonish style versus a film realism style (see Fig.4.9A.). A three-character panel shows a cartoonish Schreber in telephone tie-up with Jean and Rico, whose faces have been reduced to picture plane emojis of lips and sunglasses respectively (see Fig.4.9B.).

Additionally, hyper-realistic illustrations—realistic-looking but physically impossible—are deployed to visualize Schreber’s apparitions; for example, his face swarming with the ‘little men’ (see Fig. 4.9C.). The TV game show Who’s That Child? is drawn in a cartoonish style that is suddenly shattered by a hyperrealist apparition looming from the TV set (see Fig. 4.6).

Environments range from the realist depictions of Rousseau house to a schematic architectural plan populated by the cartoony characters.

Fig. 4.9: Range of artistic styles: A: Ray Rousseau, B: 3-way telephone hookup, C: swarming Schreber (Pigott et al., 1989, pp. 46-47, 10, 40).

4.3.7. Blackness and Mood

The mood of Family Slaughter comic is indelibly linked to its presentation in black and white.

According to Pigott (2017), the aesthetic was to use a lot of deep black tones, indeed a lot of

106 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker black overall, and to avoid greys and crosshatching in favour of a stark, neo-noir style of black-white contrast:

I very much liked the black and white graphic quality of Family Slaughter. I like black

Indian ink in comics. I like a comic that is very bordered and has heaps of Indian ink

framing it. Thick black panels: lots of the comic’s drawings are great because there is

lots of black. And there are many pages where there is white lettering on black. It is a

theme of the comic. Black and white contrast, that’s what I like. I don’t like very subtle

pencil drawings. Not strong enough. Not cinematic somehow. They veer too much

towards a fine art tradition. I love graphic black and white.

With the application of this aesthetic in every page, the cinematic look and mood of the comic is greatly enhanced. Many pages are blacked to their edges. Darkened rooms, exaggerated shadowing on characters’ faces, silhouetted figures, striated lighting and spotlighting effects intensify the grimness and starkness of the mood and construct gothic and noir lighting schemes inspired by the German printmaking tradition of Grunewald and Albrecht Durer. As

Pigott (2017) reflects, ‘artists like Grunewald. He was fabulous at graphic qualities, and so was Durer. I love those drawings of knights riding horses that were like the spirit of the plague.’

The Family Slaughter comic is printed on inexpensive paper with a rough quality. The texture of the paper penetrates through the black ink, reducing the depth of blackness and diminishing the overall black-white contrast. Publisher, Sonya Jeffery (2017, see Appendix B) also agreed that the paper stock was a limiting feature in the printed reproduction of the artwork: ‘the way it was printed in terms of paper stocks … It would probably be easier to do something like that now because of different printing technologies available to get the right product in terms of feel and look, whatever suits the ideas more’.

Additionally, as the original artwork dimensions were reduced to fit the standard comic page foolscap size, this would have reduced the resolution of the fine white lines and white

107 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker lettering. Pigott (2017) points out that at times, an abundance of black can induce a ‘wash’ effect at printing, where detail within the panel is obscured:

I don’t like wash that blacks out things that you should be looking at. And that’s a fine

line; sometimes you can easily make a mistake there. Some things in comics, if you

make a mistake you can go back and do it again, but you can’t do that with printing.

And printers hate to be asked to fool around and do special things. They get very

impatient. When the press is running it’s running, that’s it.

During our interview, Pigott and I agreed that the ghostly family tableau panel (see Fig. 4.10) suffers this wash effect where character facial details are diminished by a blurring of light and dark, when compared to the original artwork, which unfortunately no longer survives.

Nevertheless, the mood of ghostly desolation and worn out family ritual is hauntingly expressed in the panel (see Fig. 4.10.).

Fig. 4.10: Black wash example (Pigott et al., 1989, p.16)

Despite these acknowledged distortions, Pigott (2017) remains upbeat about how accurately the comic captured and conveyed his vision of the mood of the movie:

108 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

I think the comic captures the mood of the film really well. I reckon the mood of

Family Slaughter is really well captured in the comic. I think the illustrations are

excellent. And getting mood is not as easy as it sounds. I think mood is essential.)

4.3.8. Comic Narrative

Conveying mood was essential for presenting the horror vision of the screenplay. However,

Pigott (2017) agreed that plot and narrative flow were equally important, if not more so: ‘when

I watch a movie I actually like to know what the plot is’. However, despite a higher page count than Cargo Zombies, ‘there are still some parts that jump too fast. You can see that there were space problems and everything couldn’t be fitted in’ (Pigott, 2017). When compared to the underlying screenplay, the compression and twisting of the plot into the comic panels is very noticeable. The comic design often weaves parallel strands of the plot together in one page, by juxtaposing just single panels for plot points. The sequence of events outlined in the screenplay, particularly for the Saturday evening section, was fragmented across pages 22–

25. For a reader who was not aware of the underlying plot, deciphering the story is confusing:

The most common criticism I got of Family Slaughter was that it was too cramped in

to fit into the pages and at times they lost the plot. They really liked the drawing and

liked the story. We jumped events to make it fit into that many pages. I guess the

ideal version might have been two forty-page books. That would have been the

perfect version of the full script. (Pigott, 2017)

Sonya Jeffery (2017) concluded that the audience for this comic was still latent, especially in

Australia, where the attitude that comics constituted a ‘lower art form’ persisted; at least until the graphic novel arrived. This was made more complex by the designers’ American, genre- oriented approach, which rankled the tastes of the art-book scene in a way similar to how

American horror was viewed disdainfully by the Australian film industry:

I think with Family Slaughter and Cargo Zombies it was hard to find an audience, the

right audience for them. It was difficult because on the surface they seemed like a

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conventional comic, like the covers, but inside they weren’t really like a conventional

comic. (Jeffrey, 2017)

So the comics readers did not ‘get it,’ the art-book community did not get it and, ultimately, the film industry did not get it either, as the screenplay was not picked up. Artisoftwarrifacts from a submerged world, the screenplay and the comic glisten like Joderowsky’s book, inhabiting an alternate reality where his unmade film version of Dune remains … a film.

4.4. Conclusion

This chapter addressed the research question: What is the creative vision and historical/cultural context of the Family Slaughter comic and screenplay? The initial vision of the screenplay was of a low budget horror film, whose comic adaptation can be appreciated artistically as an energetic and moody exploration of comic layout and art styles harnessed into capturing this cinematic vision. The Family Slaughter comic was not a graphic novel. The primary function was to convey a movie concept on a shoestring budget, resulting in details of plot and character—affordances that comic readers traditionally look for—becoming hidden or hurriedly glossed over. A major challenge of the motion comic redesign was how to reconstruct and embellish the screenplay vision utilizing solely the panel assets inherited from the comic. Another was the question of how to remediate panels with excessive black wash.

Finally, there is the issue of adapting the spatial montage of splash pages into pseudo- cinematic temporal montages.

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CHAPTER 5: FAMILY SLAUGHTER MOTION COMIC

Comic panels fracture both time and space, offering a jagged staccato rhythm of unconnected moments.

—McCloud (1993, pp.65-66)

5.1. Introduction: Creative Constraint

This chapter addresses the research question: With consideration of various creative constraints, what is a suitable design strategy and aesthetics for Family Slaughter Motion

Comic? According to Biskjaer and Halskov (2011, p. 1), constraints in a design project set the limitations on action and the boundaries for creative solutions. A design approach navigates and engages constraints through formulating and enacting an appropriate ‘constraint management’ strategy whereby constraints can be appreciated as overarching rules of the design process, thus becoming enablers of design action. Constraints impose themselves in every creative project, and are considered as either intrinsic (in the material), externally imposed (costs and deadlines), or self-imposed. As the authors point out, ‘self-imposed constraints as a resource for creative productivity is widely used among certain artists and is not an uncommon subject for art historians and philosophers of aesthetics. Currently, it is very scantily explored in design studies’ (Biskjaer & Halskov, 2011, p. 2). For this project, it is difficult to separate the design process and the product; indeed, an integral element of the project aesthetics is an appreciation of the process of the remediation of the Family Slaughter comic into a motion comic and how this was shaped by creative constraints, particularly those that are self-imposed. It is the aim of this chapter to provide a detailed account of the design process as a constraint management strategy and identify an appropriate aesthetic.

The tripartite constraints for this project can be summarized as:

1. Extrinsic: time, resources and budget

2. Intrinsic: motion comic format

3. Self-imposed: project is restricted to assets from Family Slaughter comic and

screenplay for its visual and narrative elements.

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With respect to extrinsic constraints, this project has had a relatively long time period of four to five years and is self-financed, except for some support for technical assets from the

University of Newcastle. As for human resource constraints: the original illustrators were no longer available, and budget did not permit hiring an artist of equal capabilities, a situation which certainly predisposed the self-imposed constraint of solely utilizing illustrative assets from the comic. Other human resource constraints will be discussed within the course of this chapter. The intrinsic constraint of the motion comic format has been covered in detail in the previous chapters. Overall, the main focus of this chapter is to examine the strategy for managing self-imposed constraints and the subsequent creative solutions. To begin, I want to provide a short case study of a project with self-imposed artistic constraints. Although the project is musical, there are many points of resonance with this motion comic project.

In 2007, German composer Ulrich Kreiger and his orchestral ensemble Zeitkratzer, performed a transcription of Lou Reed’s 1975 double album Metal Machine Music (MMM). According to

Reed’s biographer Anthony DeCurtis (2017, p. 204), Reed’s album was a recording of three guitars and two amplifiers, with the ‘guitars wildly feeding back, essentially playing themselves, for a bit over an hour’. Releasing this album was considered at the time to be career suicide for the artist. Years later, Kreiger’s approach to transcribing and performing this work of generative process music constituted a remediation of an electrically generated soundscape for performance by an acoustic ensemble. The process of transcribing the arrangement to produce the MMM score represents the overarching creative constraint. The composer is constrained by the sonic assets on the MMM recording to exclusively provide the shape and content of the orchestral score. Kreiger’s (2016) retrieval, in-depth acousmatic listening and detailed analysis, demonstrated a deep appreciation for the original work, and yet made adjustments for the work’s recontextualisation—a translation of sonic texture into musical phrasing:

Feedback in general consists of a fundamental pitch and its overtones. So if you hear

a feedback and it jumps into higher tones you can be pretty sure it is one of the

overtones of the main pitch. Therefore, it actually is not much different than any other

tone in music, which all follow the same rule. Therefore, it can be 'played' because

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specific pitches can be attributed to a feedback and its deviants. And specially wind

instruments can 'mimic' feedback sounds, if the play very purely, without noise

components in the tone and without vibrato, very steady, nearly emotionless.

The overtones generated by the squalls of feedback in Lou Reed’s original recording were separated through intensive listening and assigned to instruments with duration, pitch, dynamics and suggested playing style. The result is a hybrid musical work where the ensemble utilizes both acoustic and electro-acoustic techniques to perform the arrangement.

Kreiger (2016) calls this a ‘redefinition of instrumental, acoustic playing through the

(re)influence of electronic music.’

The design process for remediating the Family Slaughter comic into a motion comic requires a similar intensive breakdown and reconstitution of panels and in some cases whole pages, mining the visual, illustrative assets, augmenting them for reassembly; unpacking and choreographing the gestures of printed pages. Design rule: visual assets are derived from the pages of the comic to be adapted and elaborated. Narrative and dialogue assets are derived from both comic and screenplay. By adopting this rule the designer accepts the associated limitations and constraints.

As presented in Chapter 4, the Family Slaughter comic provides a variety of creative challenges for the motion comic designer:

1. Scenes and sequences from the narrative condensed into one or several panels

2. A variety of panel shapes and page grids

3. Page designs that presented spatial montages in the form of meta-panels

4. Black wash obscuring characters and scene details

5. Rearrangements and compressions of the narrative when compared to the

screenplay.

By accepting the comic as the sole source of graphic visualisation of the narrative, the designer accepts the above challenges as qualities and limitations of the motion comic design process. During the course of this chapter, I will detail specific design strategies that evolved

113 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker to address these challenges; they represent qualities of the comic I have learned to love. After documenting the comic design story from Tim Pigott (see Chapter 4), I am aware of the design challenges and constraints faced by the comic artists in producing the work. In dealing with the comic panels and pages, for weeks and months at a time, I have come to greatly appreciate the compression and overlay of dramatic information that has been packed into the 56 pages.

By way of example, I will refer here to the ‘DADDY DID IT’ page (Pigott et al., 1989, p. 49).

Fig. 5.1 shows the original page scanned from the comic. All five design challenges are present in this page: a densely overlaid spatial montage that occurs in the extended dramatic climax of the story, depicting the unhinged and possessed Doctor Rousseau dragging the bloodied and unconscious body of military son Junior down a flight of steps to the gym. The action unfolds as the father strings the son’s body to the roman rings, only to be confronted and ridiculed by the spectre of Schreber. Slashing out with Junior’s military sword, father eviscerates son, only to become enmeshed in the snaking straps and tentacles of Moritz

Schreber’s Kinhalter. Meanwhile, the two surviving members of the Rousseau family (Al and

Tuesday) are shown in their respective rooms, oblivious to the horror.

Examining the architecture of the page, we see a division of eight panels. Panel gutters are drawn as snaking straps that provide a bondage framework across the page. Overlaying this grid diagonally is a vertical staircase cascading the full length of the page, obscuring bits of the action sequences unfolding underneath. The stairs provide a powerful spatial metaphor connecting the different rooms in the house from dancing in the attic to late night movies in

Al’s bedroom, as well as the inside to the outside. Background details are obscured by black wash. The comic designers have shown great economy in designing so much dramatic action into one page that resembles a gothic game of snakes and ladders, with a narrative that snakes and folds back on itself. Unpacking this page for display in a motion comic presents a great challenge. Dramatically, a balance needs to be struck between maintaining the integrity of the visual structure while exploring the page and the embedded panels in order to construct a temporal montage with rising action and dramatic continuity. This is an exemplar of the

114 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker challenges faced in this motion comic project. The following sections will outline a design strategy and workflow adapted for these challenges and creative constraints.

Fig 5.1. ‘Daddy did it’ meta-panel from the Family Slaughter comic (Pigott et al., 1989, p. 49)

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5.2. Preproduction and Prototyping

5.2.1. Proposal

Preproduction for the motion comic began in February 2012 with a short proposal (see

Appendix D) circulated to the collaborators who would become the core of the Fleeting

Features production team: sound artist John Laidler and writer/comic producer Tim Pigott.

The proposal included the following encapsulation of the project:

The developers will produce and electronically publish an online interactive comic

book (webcomic) adapted from the original, published comic book ‘Family Slaughter’

aka ‘The SchreberMachine.’ The aims of this project are to produce an interactive

webcomic featuring user interactive elements and cinematics (cutscenes) plus audio

enhancement through recorded dialogue, original music soundtrack and sound fx.

Design features to include:

1. Comic artwork by Peter Pound, Nigel Gourney and Mark Mort.

2. Original comic direction and writing by Tim Pigott.

3. Original low budget horror story and characters written by Tim Pigott and

Hardie Tucker in the “Family Slaughter” screenplay.

4. Adaptation of original black and white artwork through colourization and

animation.

5. The addition of interactivity: side scroller panelling, in-panel embellishments

such as mouse triggered animation, text, dialogue and audio.

6. Cinematic clips: cut scenes and YouTube videos.

7. Recorded dialogue with extra dialogue added not in original comic.

8. Original soundtrack composition by John Laidler.

9. Sound fx and foley fx.

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A colourized panel from the first page was included (see Fig. 5.1.). The more generic term

‘webcomic’ was used, as I was unaware of the term ‘motion comic’ at this time.

Fig. 5.1. First colourized Family Slaughter motion comic panel included with the proposal (Feb. 2012, see Appendix D)

Three key influences had framed this initial proposal as a remediated comic:

1. Afterworld for episodic packaging, voice actor work and the fact that the show was

televised as a serial.

2. NAWLZ for its mouse-over interactivity, side scrolling movement of panels and

ambient soundscapes.

3. South Park’s dark sarcastic humour and paper cut style animation.

The proposal continues:

Short comic “webisodes” of 10-15 interactive panels are published regularly to the

site and can be accessed by triggering episode 1. Once within the webcomic the

reader can scroll through the comic or jump between webisodes. The experience is a

hybrid of reading a comic, watching an animated movie and playing a graphic

adventure game. (see Appendix C)

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In this early phase, the idea of a hybrid media experience was intimated. As the literature reviewed in Chapter 1 reflects, by remixing elements from traditional media, the motion comic extends a hybrid media experience for the end-user. A16:9 aspect ratio with 1280 x 720 HD resolution in the Flash movie format was considered for the initial prototyping. A number of cut scenes in .mp4 format were also planned. Breaking the project up into short episodes was a fundamental creative decision for project management and quality control, as well as allowing for self-publishing on the web.

A crucial paragraph about comic panels was written in this proposal:

The panel is the fundamental structural element of the webcomic. Each panel is

based partially or wholly on a panel from the original comic. Embellishments of the

panel will be both interactive and cinematic. Designing each panel within a

comprehensive design document is essential to developing the Family Slaughter

webcomic. (see Appendix C)

The statement formulates the design high concept for Family Slaughter motion comic: that of panel remediation and exploration. With the exception of interactivity—dropped after prototyping—the statement accurately articulates the design goal. As established in Chapter

4, the Family Slaughter comic compressed a feature length horror narrative screenplay into

56 pages of an ‘ink on paper movie.’ This compression rendered sequences and scenes into panels. The task of producing the motion comic is that of unpacking this compression, making one or several panels function as a scene or a sequence, while combining them with actions, dialogue and narrative sequences from the screenplay. To achieve this, each panel is disassembled into separate assets: characters, props, sets, lighting, camera angles, text, and other embellishments such as motion lines. These assets are inevitably partial and incomplete, requiring varying degrees of rectification, substantiation and enhancement.

5.2.2 Motion Comic Script

Pivotal to the motion comic production process was writing and rewriting a comprehensive design document; that is, a motion comic script (see Appendix D) that began in preproduction

118 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker and continued to be modified throughout the project. This motion comic is broken up into 23 episodes, each with an anticipated three to five minutes of playing time. Each episode was shaped into a three-act structure with rising action and a cliff-hanger as an episode climax.

Crafting the long-form narrative is thus interconnected with the self-similarity of short-form narratives contained within the larger arc.

The three collaborators—Tim Pigott, John Laidler and I—agreed to have regular Skype meetings to review script episodes. The comic pages were scanned separately at a resolution of 600 dpi yielding .tif files with workable sizes of 23–33 megabytes. The pages were then cut up into separate panels and stored as RGB Photoshop files (.psd).

The script format is organized within a five-column table structure:

1. Panel-number by episode: 1.1 is episode 1 panel 1

2. Panel-thumbnail: a thumbnail of the panel scanned from the comic

3. Visual mis en scène: description of the action, camera shots and movement, lettering

such as onomatopoeias, interactivity

4. Dialogue: character dialogue derived from the comic and screenplay

5. sound design and music: ideas and suggestions for audio post-production.

The initial design approach encompassed page-turning interactivity: a side-scroller function inspired by NAWLS (Sutu, 2011), that allowed for backwards as well as forwards movement, and jumping from one episode to another. While working through each episode as a script, it was realized that not every episode could be presented interactively. This was particularly true of splash pages, where the overall page or double subsumed the individual panels.

Consequently, eight episodes were designated as cut scenes without a page scrolling function. The cut scenes could be triggered from within the side-scrolling structure (see Table

5.1).

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Table 5.1. Family Slaughter Motion Comic episodes with interactivity or cut scenes indicated

Episode Episode title Interactive(I) / No. Cut Scene(CS) 1. Beyond Midnight I 2. Junior’s Trainride I 3. Remember The Family I 4. Suicide Radio CS 5. Crossed Lines I 6. Homecoming I 7. Glance Across The Centuries I 8. Rooftop Raider CS 9. Swap Heads CS 10. Twilight of the Godless I 11. Through a Glass Darkly I 12. Sex Pest Shrink I 13. Nightmare on Legal Street CS 14. Sleep of Reason I 15. Fire and Rain in Suburbia I 16. Who’s That Child? CS 17. End of the Medical World I 18. Dien Bien Phu CS 19. Skull to Skull I 20. Deathdrive I 21. Daddy Did It. CS 22. Hacker from Hell I 23. Morning Becomes Electric CS

5.2.3. Prototyping

Two episodes were prototyped. Episode 2: Junior’s Trainride was designed with red target scroll buttons and assembled in Flash. Episode 23: Morning Becomes Electric was a short, linear video cut scene and also designed as a trailer for the motion comic. This episode was assembled in After Effects. This allowed for understanding and comparing the processes for two pipelines and the respective end products.

Prototype 1: Episode 2 Junior’s Trainride

Junior and his army buddies hurtle homewards on the overnight express. Separation of characters, objects and backgrounds was minimal and restricted to midground, background and foreground. Zones of colour and texture were painted across the panel, highlighting the visual assets. No individual character movement was attempted. Sonic Comics font was used for both dialogue bubbles and the red commentary text. Version two of this prototype included spoken commentary text, which became a standard for the entire motion comic. Assembly in

Flash was smooth enough, but it became clear that the program could not deal with a large number of high resolution bit-mapped files. Many motion comics are drawn in vector graphics programs such as Adobe Illustrator. However, in Family Slaughter I was producing

120 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker increasingly high resolution bitmap files in Adobe Photoshop as the amount of separations grew and became more precise. Exploring within a panel requires the capacity for extreme close-ups. The resolution that Flash produced was overall quite grainy, once the panel was magnified. This issue was compounded by magnifying the thicknesses of the black lines in the scanned illustrations. The frame-rate had to be kept fairly low at 18 frames per second

(fps).

Fig. 5.2. Prototype 1: Still from Family Slaughter Motion Comic, Episode 2 Junior’s Trainride.

The audio quality was restricted in Flash, where voice tracks overlaid premixed music and sound effects loops. Post-production was also restrictive compared to having a dedicated audio program to sync and mix the soundtrack precisely to picture. Small red target buttons appeared on screen for the user to scroll to the next panel and scene (see Fig. 5.2). Audio tracks were required to loop seamlessly across panel transitions, which placed yet another restriction on audio flexibility. Anecdotal feedback suggested the end-user was engaged in reading mode, and dramatic timings seemed very slow compared to the pace of film and television drama.

Prototype 2: Episode 23 Morning Becomes Electric.

In the final episode, police and media swarm the Rousseau home, lawyer Coop arrives and

Schreber gets the last laugh. This episode functioned as a trailer by intercutting the logline

121 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker with red tinted panels: ‘One family. One haunted weekend. One case history rewriting itself across space and time inside the minds and bodies five atomized suburban existences.’

Assembled as a non-interactive cut scene in Adobe After Effects, this episode generated a heavier bit-mapped footprint than Prototype 1. Colourizing techniques advanced with separations of characters, objects and architecture, and introduction of stock photographic assets and textures to augment the panel remediation. As a result, the exploration of a panel such as the early morning suburban front yard (see Fig. 5.3.), which is presented as a spatial montage, could be represented as a temporal montage of plot points, beginning with birds and ending with a full crisis team loading body bags. For thorough, un-blurred panel exploration with an output screen resolution of 1280 x 720 ppi, the input file of the panel needs to be two or even three times this size and separated into multiple layers.

Fig. 5.3. Prototype 2: still from Family Slaughter Motion Comic, Episode 23 Morning Becomes Electric.

Uncompressed clips from After Effects were edited together in Adobe Premiere with the final cut exported in HD .mp4 format at 29.97fps. Audio post-production was accomplished in the cross-platform program Reaper, allowing for a synchronized mix of sound effects, voices and music to be fine-tuned and sweetened. Comparing the two prototypes against the five design criteria for panel preparation, output quality, interactivity and platform, Prototype 2 was a clear winner (see Table 5.2).

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Table 5.2: Family Slaughter Motion Comic prototype comparison.

Design criteria Prototype 1 Prototype 2

1 Preparation of panels Flash not suited to working with After FX works well with many hi res large bit-maps. files. 2 Graphics output quality Medium resolution graphics and low Higher resolution graphics with frame rate (18fps) standard frame rate (29.95 fps) 3 Audio preparation and output Loops and voices mixed in Flash. Import movie files into dedicated quality audio post environment. 4 Interactivity/non-interactivity No advantage gained with the A feature motion graphics movie is a interactive version. Many more desirable outcome for this restrictions. project. 5 Platform Adobe had removed support for Streaming movies consolidated Flash movie format. through YouTube and Netflix.

The quality of the graphics resolution, audio and frame rate were superior. Interactivity did not seem to add anything to a project that initially began as a movie script, and it was clear that

Flash was on the decline, with Adobe dropping support for the interactive format and the tool.

Further, Prototype 2 was consistent with the vision of the script and the comic: a feature

movie rendered in motion graphics. Retaining the episodic structure for the first long iteration

of the production cycle was sensible for establishing regular milestones for review, refinement

and participant feedback. This approach was especially suitable for casting and recording

non-professional voice actors—who generously donated their time and effort—by affording

short recording sessions and the time for reflection and constructive re-recording where

necessary. Following the prototyping phase, interactivity and the elements of HCI having

been excluded, the design specifications for Family Slaughter Motion Comic (see Table 5.3) were formulated to encapsulate the primary requirements of the project.

Table 5.3. Design specifications for Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Element Family Slaughter Design format Motion Comic Based on previous IP Yes: Comic book and screenplay Narrative form Episodic (23 episodes) and feature length (95min approx) Genre style Horror/Thriller – Indie Deliverable/Platform Internet video and DVD Resolution 720p (internet) and 1080p (final print) Frame Rate 29.97 fps Illustrative visuals Yes: Greyscale print transformed into RGB Perspective/Dimensions 2.5 D Photographic elements/textures Yes Use of panels Multiple panels and full screen Captions Yes – commentary text Dialogue Bubbles Yes Motion Cinematics Yes – pan, zoom, tilt, field blur and lens blur Onomatopoeias and motion lines Yes Motion/animation Yes – movement of camera, objects and characters. Limited character animation. Music Yes Sound Effects Yes Voice Yes: multiple voice actors and commentary voice Interactivity No

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5.3. Aesthetics and Workflow:

5.3.1. Motion Comic Aesthetics

At the completion of the prototype phase, the design strategy of the project was clarified and

refreshed and an effective approach to project management was identified. This motion comic

project retrieves, enhances and explores the panels, and therein contains visual assets, from the Family Slaughter comic. The realisation of the panel exploration engages a remix of cultural interface elements of cinema, sound design and text together with comic panels and artwork

Table 5.4. Summary table of the motion comic aesthetics of Family Slaughter Motion Comic based on Smith (2016), where the aesthetics applied in this project are highlighted in blue.

Element/Affordance Option 1 Option 2 Option 3 Panels Multiple Panels YES Multiple Panels animated Panel fills screen YES separately Motion Actor/object movement or Moving camera: pan, Combination of moving ‘articulation’ YES zoom. actors/objects, camera motion and lighting effects Audio/Literary Speech bubbles with voice Voice only, no text. Soundtrack (music & SFX) combined with speech bubbles or voice, or both Narrative fidelity Story constructed 100% Story is abridged. Original Original motion comic from original comic panels comic elements are narrative. excluded, rearranged or new assets are added. Spatial Depth Depth of field is created via Layers not separated. Flat Moving camera with fx and layering and virtual camera depth of field blurs conveys partial depth. Adaptation Cinematic. Panels and Comic book approach: Interactive approach: speech balloons are omitted, Panels and speech Comic book artwork is replacing comic book balloons are retained. retained, but viewer is language with cinematic encouraged to navigate through the story. Genres Dominant genre i.e. Indie comic book Comic tie-in to film, tv or Superhero characters videogame Distribution and Delivery Computer screen: Mobile device: Television: DVD or downloaded or streamed downloaded or streamed broadcast. Cinema release. Production Approaches Cinematic: full screen mis en Reconstructed: Comic 3D: Comic art combined scene elements retained within a with CGI characters and cinematic mis en scène backdrops with conventional mis en scène Colour Grey scale exclusively or CMYK RGB. combined with colour Visual assets Illustrations only Illustrations augmented No Illustrations: with textures, Photographs, video photographs, video elements and/or 3D elements and/or 3D models only. models Typography/Typographic No text Onomatopoeias and Fontagraphic variety and cinema slogans in different fonts animation for all text elements, including speech bubbles.

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In Chapter 1 of this thesis, the key formal elements of motion comic aesthetics were summarized, based on the work of Craig Smith (2015). It should be noted that these aesthetics encompass the form of the motion comic hybrid and are distinct from genre aesthetics that are covered later in this chapter. In Table 5.4, I have outlined in blue the choices of motion comic design aesthetics that are relevant for Family Slaughter Motion

Comic. Whereas Smith provides options, this motion comic project often combines several options in the design strategy. All forms of panel presentation are utilized. Although the design is based on 100% comic panels, abridgment and rearrangement do occur as a result of incorporating narrative and dialogue elements from the screenplay. The presentation is both cinematic full screen, while retaining speech balloons, commentary text, onomatopoeias and motion lines from the comic panels. The motion comic can be delivered across all screen types.

This motion comic design exemplifies a reconstructed comic with a cinematic mis en scène.

Spatial depth is 2.5D. The separated panel elements have not been arranged into a 3D environment. Rather, the 2D surface of the comic—within which is embedded each panel’s perspective view—has been retained and photographed by virtual camera, with use of blurs to convey depth of field. Extra depth is supplied by processing with Photoshop layer effects— bevel and emboss, internal shadow, satin, gradient and drop shadow—to enhance the lighting and shadowing indicated in the original illustrations of characters and objects. Additional background and foreground gradients applied within the panel are used to produce spot and ambient lights and gels. Since the original comic artwork is black and white, it was decided after prototyping not to pursue a printed colour comic look in simulated CMYK. Instead, working directly in Photoshop, all assets are converted into RGB, projecting a direct light, digital colour palette. These same assets are then enhanced and augmented with photo- graphical elements—textures and full and partial objects derived from stock photographs— where similar layer styling has been applied, plus processing through artistic filters such as

Dry Brush and Cut-out to make the photographic elements appear more illustrative. This is in line with an overall aesthetic whereby the final outcome is not photography, not illustration, not film, not animation, not print.

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As previously discussed, the question that inevitably arises with the motion comic: Is it an animation, an illustration, a film, a comic or a text? The answer is both yes and no: as a hybrid remix of simulated elements, the motion comic is both something and nothing when compared to traditional media. To state that the motion comic is a media hybrid is like asserting that the various multimodal elements exist in a state of superposition, immanent to the graphics plane until their retrieval as remixed cultural interface elements.

Not Illustration: the substance of this motion comic is black and white comic illustrations.

Unlike many motion comics, these illustrations are transformed and not simply colourized.

The illustrations form the shape receptacles for colours, textures and partial objects derived from photographic sources. The best word for this is ‘remixing,’ a term first used in electronic dance music to refer to the work of a DJ in recombining previously recorded elements into a new work. The DJ is neither a composer nor a musician in the traditional sense. By analogy, the motion comic designer is neither an illustrator nor an animator in the traditional sense.

Not Photography: photographic samples are remixed and altered with filters to appear more illustrative.

Not Cinema: the comic panels present cinematic mis en scène in terms of lighting, camera composition and editing framework. As these panels are unpacked and photographed, virtual camerawork is applied: tracking, pulling, panning, focus changes along with edits and film transitions. Yet, this is a cinema of the graphics plane, the trajectories of graphic elements that must move even if only to avoid screen burn-in.

Not Text: from the earliest incarnations of comics, text is presented within the screen of the panel as fundamentally different to Gutenberg text. Hand-lettered text, according to Gurney

(see Appendix A) bears the signature of the letterer and is closer to a medieval manuscript.

The motion comic is not-comics, as McCloud (2001, pp. 201–212) has highlighted. The text of the motion comic constitutes a typographic cinema within the cultural interface of simulated writing: a text of line, blur, motion, shape-compression and fontographic variety.

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Not Animation: as defined as a genre of cinema and a companion of the index focused on the posing of characters in 2D or 3D. In contrast, the motion comic recalls the pre-cinematic animation such as the hand assembled and projected loops of Reynaud’s praxinoscope and the loosely articulated assemblages of paper cut animation.

In a motion comic, the balance of visual modes plus sound determines the overall tone of the work. In previous chapters I have suggested that this tone is one of partial immersion with the characteristics of a warm medium, whereby there is an oscillation between immediacy and hypermediacy. Softwarisation produces a collective amputation from traditional media, with text, cinema and comics now performing the roles of cultural interfaces to access digital content. The motion comic appears as a hybrid because of the deep remix of these cultural interface elements—purely any of which it is not. It is the sum of the parts, yet as a whole does it not fully constitute any of these parts. As such, the parts are apparent, like bits of tape or handheld movement, suddenly becoming visible and disrupting immersion. The motion comic operates through oscillation between depth and surface, watching and reading and listening, working and breaking down; at once flowing with cinematic continuity and then fragmenting into panels; presenting a page and then animating the elements; vocalisations that are part acting and part reading of the texts. It is an exploration of a surface of surfaces; an exploration of panels.

5.3.2. Exploring the Panel

As stated in the original proposal for Family Slaughter Motion Comic: ‘the panel is the fundamental structural element’ for this project. A theory of the panel and screen was presented in Chapter 3 of this thesis, positing the panel as the fundamental structural element of comics. Further, I argued that the panel now operates as a cultural interface, alongside that of cinema, text and HCI in a fluid media environment increasingly driven by softwarisation across the graphics plane and multi-screen networks. This project highlights panel exploration. The Family Slaughter comic contains a wide variety of panel designs and transition sequences. In the Chapter 4 discussion of the Family Slaughter comic, I identified a heterogeneous approach to panel patterning throughout its 56 pages. This included a variety

127 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker of panel shapes, panel grids and splash page designs. An analysis of the Family Slaughter comic reveals seven meta-panel instances (see Table 5.5) where a single page (4) or a double page (3–4) encapsulated a sequence of panels to present the reader with spatial montages that present multiple pathways for exploring both within and outside a panel grid system. Further, the motion comic design strategy is required to negotiate and integrate the pattern of panel transitions contained within the Family Slaughter comic (see Table 5.5). Due to budget, time and page constraints, the comic often compressed dramatic sequences into one or several panels.

The high concept of panel exploration in this motion comic involves unpacking and elaborating the narrative by magnifying and rearranging panel elements into sequences of dramatic gestures. This panel exploration occurs in two modes: within the panel (intrapanel) and from panel-to-panel (interpanel). Intrapanel exploration is all about unpacking each panel: separating and embellishing individual assets then planning and executing a motion graphics montage of these assets in a sequence of dramatic gestures. Interpanel exploration links panels together—separate or multiple on-screen—to present the unfolding narrative. Issues of transition that arise out of the comic should be resolved in the motion comic in a way that presents and enhances dramatic arc and mood.

5.3.3. Transition Analysis:

Table 5.5. Breakdown of proportions of panel transitions in Family Slaughter Comic. Meta-panels are counted separately as a unique transition type. Comics Moment to Action to Subject to Scene to Aspect to Non- Meta-panel Moment Action Subject Scene Aspect Sequiter 72 62 101 60 59 13 7 19% 16.5% 27% 16% 16% 3.5 2%

Total 374 Transitions:

The transition analysis of the comic, based on McLoud’s six panel transition types, reveals a total of 374 transitions. Each meta-panel is counted as a unique transition, that’s specific type is multiple, due to the variety of subpanel transitions contained within a meta-panel. Clearly defined, guttered panels embedded within a meta-panel were attributed a transition based on the closure experienced between the inside of the panel and its exterior environment. Though

128 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker approximate, the resulting figures for this transition breakdown provide a snapshot of the transition proportion profile of the comic. This can be compared to established comics culture profiles collected by Scott McCloud (see Fig. 5.4).

Fig. 5.4: McCloud’s analyses of comic transitions from US, Europe and Japan (1993, p. 75).

Table 5.6: Panel transition proportions in the Family Slaughter comic

When compared to McCloud’s analyses of transitions in US, European and Japanese comics

(see Fig. 5.4), Family Slaughter Comic’s transition proportions present a very different profile

(see Table 5.6). McCloud’s ‘random samples’ from the three comic cultures exhibit a high

129 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker proportion of action transitions compared to the rest. In contrast, Family Slaughter Comic reveals itself as having the highest incidence in subject-to-subject transitions. It is interesting to note that 34 of these subject-to-subject transitions occur in one sequence: the Who’s That

Child? television show, where the panels flow consistently from talking head to talking head. If this sequence was removed, the five common transition types appear quite evenly balanced.

What accounts for this departure from the McCloud’s stated norm and what consequences does this have for this motion comic design?

McCloud (1993, p. 76) argues that the norms he has uncovered are extremely efficient methods of telling a story with comics: ‘types 2–4 show things happening in concise and efficient ways.’ Moment-to-moment transitions are not as narrative-efficient as action-to-action in this respect. However, Family Slaughter Comic is visualizing a film narrative: a story with a number of overlapping narrative threads across both space and time. As stated previously, due to low budget, the comic’s design often restricts the exploration of each of these threads to within one or two panels, in which case sequential action-to-action transitions could be regarded as inefficient.

Page 5 (see Fig. 5.5) of the comic is a good example of the balance of transitional proportions typical of the entire comic. The page incorporates the parallel action of the subplots of the three Rouseau children unfolding simultaneously in two locations, interspersed with radio updates. The page begins with a scene transition from the previous panel, followed by an action transition as Tuesday moves from switching on the boom box to cutting fruit. A moment transition closes on her fearsome mask, then a spatial transition to her hand holding the knife, which then cuts through the pineapple in an action transition. An aspect transition to a cup of coffee is followed by another, as we return to Tuesday’s face in close-up, followed by a subject transition to Al’s face and then a scene transition to guitar player Dirty. Next, there is a subject transition to a mid-shot from outside the train carriage, and finally a moment transition as we close on Junior’s scowling face. Table 5.7 provides a summary of the transitions and the balance of percentages of each transition type, which can be recognized as very different to McLoud’s formula.

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Fig. 5.5: Page 5 of Family Slaughter Comic showing a pattern of transitions typical of the comic design

Table 5.7: showing the balance of transition proportions on page 5 Family Slaughter Comic

Moment to Action to Subject to Scene to Aspect to Aspect Non-Sequiter Moment Action Subject Scene 2 2 2 2 3 0 18% 18% 18% 18% 28% 0% Total 11 Transitions:

To conclude this section, the panel transition design of Family Slaughter Comic, by simulating a film edit decision list or cinematic editing framework, sacrifices elements of its ‘comic-ness,’ as defined by McCloud (2000). Consequences for the motion comic design include, rather than sequencing a cascade of interpanel action transitions, the emphasis shifts to unpacking the action from within each panel and reshuffling panel sequences from their fixed positions on the page.

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5.3.4. Motion Comic Workflow

There is no handbook on motion comic production. More importantly, the diversity of motion comic formats, as explored in Chapter 1, makes it difficult to imagine a homogeneous workflow in every instance, particularly, as in this case study, where there is an absence of digital illustration files. Additionally, it was only by working through the panels and episodes sequentially that I consolidated an effective workflow, initially by a process of trial and error.

The production workflow for Family Slaughter Motion Comic can be broken down into three phases: preproduction, episode assembly and feature production (see Table 5.8).

Table 5.8: Production workflow for Family Slaughter Motion Comic

1. Preproduction: Scriptwriting and 2. Episode Assembly: 23 episodes— 3. Feature Production: Episode Prototyping. panel assets developed, motionized, content revised, edited, remixed and ! edited and mixed with sound. ! assembled for feature length narrative.

Having already covered Phase 1 in this chapter, I will now discuss Phase 2: episode assembly. Working through the comic, literally page by page, panel by panel, in a linear fashion—quite unlike film or animation production—was indeed sensible project management.

The initial comic book panel sequence had been rearranged in the motion comic script, so it is more accurate to say that the motion comic narrative was assembled linearly. This strategy suited the low budget scenario where collaborators were available for short periods of time on an ad hoc basis. Organizing the Phase 2 workflow (see Table 5.9) by episodes, 23 in total, was the key to developing a quality standard, because a series of small motion comics were produced that cycled through each phase of production, from preparation through motionizing, to video editing and audio post. Lessons learned were applied to successive episodes and could be applied retrospectively to earlier episodes during Phase 3.

Additionally, assets developed in earlier episodes, such as environments, textures, colours and layer styles, were reused in later episodes.

Table 5.9. Phase 2: Episode assembly workflow for Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Panel Preparation. ! Motionizing. ! Video editing. ! Audio Post Production

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5.4. Panel Preparation

Panel preparation was by far the most time-consuming activity in the entire motion comic production process. The primary visual assets for Family Slaughter Motion Comic were derived from the 375 comic panels plus elements from the front and back covers and seven meta-panels. The narrative arc is traced through these panels and was consolidated in the motion comic script, where each panel was associated with dramatic action, dialogue and sound. Panel preparation refers to a workflow process (see Table 5.10) applied to each scanned panel, starting with the separation of panel elements and finishing with a completed panel mock-up that could be imported into Adobe After Effects. The primary tool for panel preparation was Adobe Photoshop.

Table 5.10: Panel preparation workflow for Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Scanned Separation of Colouring/ Lighting/ Flattening layers Addition of text Panel ! Elements. ! Texturing/ Levels ! into (Dialogue bubbles, Graphic Mock-up file. commentary, Assets ! ! onomatopoeias).

5.4.1. Separation of Panel Elements

Analysis, identification and separation of panel elements constituted the first step in remediating a panel for dramatic exploration as a motion comic. Each page of the comic was scanned as a .tif file and then sliced into panels, each of which was saved as an individual

Photoshop RGB, 8-bit file. Separations are to be divided into primary and secondary elements

(see Table 5.11).

Table 5.11. Panel separations: primary and secondary elements.

Primary Elements Secondary Elements 1. Characters Body parts, clothing, adornments, black lines/shading 2. Environments Architectural and natural environment elements. 3. Objects Parts of the object 4. Text Individual letters or words 5. Motion and impact lines Individual lines or clusters 6. Panel gutters Unique gutter details

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Primary elements are the fundamental assets of the panel. Secondary separations divide primary elements into subsidiary assets, such as body parts, doors and walls, ropes and rings. The motion comic script guides the separation process: each primary element performs a dramatic role in the mis en scène of the motion comic. Secondary elements enhance the dramatic performance of the primary elements. Some elements may be partially obscured or even invisible in the comic panel, but were retrieved from the original screenplay or in some cases, duplicated from other panels. The motion panel is created incorporating these extra primary elements. The example panel from the script—Episode 21, Panel 8 (see Fig. 5.6.)— serves to illustrate the complexity of unpacking the panel. Many panels were much more straightforward; however, I wish to highlight the role of the combination of comic and screenplay in the final rendition of this motion comic.

Fig. 5.6. Panel 21.08 script from Family Slaughter Motion Comic

The sample panel exhibits each of the five challenges associated with creative constraint of the project: compression of action and narrative, unusual panelling, black wash obscuring visual details and, panel incorporated into meta-page spatial montage. Characters are partially obliterated. The remediation of a comic panel into a motion panel often requires the retrieval of elements from other completed motion panels to fill out the dramatic assets. Table

5.12 shows the full breakdown of primary and secondary elements for this motion panel.

Initially, each separate asset is presented as a black and white shape with shading, literally cut out from the comic. Elements that were obscured by one another are filled out in black and white. Often simple symmetrical copying can be used reconstruct elements; for example, filling out half a face, or arm reversed from left to right. Parts of the primary elements that exist beyond the panel gutters are excluded from the motion panel. In the sample panel

(21.08), Rousseau’s legs are cut off by the panel and he has a body composed solely of upper torso, arms and head elements. Schreber’s full body and face were retrieved from

134 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker another panel, and Junior’s body was copied across from previous panels within this meta- panel (see Fig 5.1). Architecture is an instance where sets were designed based on certain panels and then composited as backgrounds to a range of other panels: in this case the gym.

Table 5.12: Breakdown of primary and secondary elements for sample panel 21.08

Elements Primary Secondary 1. Characters Rousseau (foreground), Hair, face, eyes, torso/neck, arms Schreber (midground), upper/lower, legs, spectacles, blacks Junior (background) 2. Objects Roman rings, sword, blood and gore Rings, rope, blood splashes, guts, 3. Environment Gym Floor, ceiling, walls, window, light bulb 4. Text 2 x dialogue balloons, graphic text ‘HA 3 x HA HA HA,’ onomatopoeia: SPLATTER 2 x black serrated dialogue balloons white text 5. Motion and Sword slash motion lines NA Impact Lines 6. Panel gutter Bondage straps. Individual straps and buckles

After the shapes for primary and secondary elements are separated and filled out, a further separation extracted the blacks (or sometimes whites) from within these elements. Black separations are used to preserve black lines for body details such as nose, eyebrows, lips, ears and fingers. The separation is achieved by setting levels to exaggerate black/white contrast and then using the colour range selection tool.

Fig 5.7. Panel 21.08 separations.

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The final separations for Panel 21.08 can be seen in Fig. 5.7. The Schreber ghost has been shifted to the left to show the three character separations. The panel gutters of strapping were pre-composed to provide the framework for the entire meta-panel. Motion lines were drawn in.

The background environment is camera-blurred portion of the gym architecture, composed in a previous panel. Text elements are added during the composition of the mock-up panels.

5.4.2. Colouring, Texturing and Graphic Assets

In this stage, the various separated primary and secondary elements were embellished with colours, textures and graphic assets. The mechanism for this process is the clipping mask.

The elemental shape operates as a stencil, stamping its imprint across a colour swatch, a texture surface—even a graphic object. The advantage of a clipping mask is that the underlying shape can be painted or shaved at any stage in the development of the panel.

Table 5.13 summarizes the application of colours, textures and graphic assets across the six element classes. A texture or a graphic asset is also coloured or tinted, hence the ‘Yes’ in the table. Text and motion lines were neither textured nor comprised of graphic assets. Gutters and dialogue balloons were coloured, with the single exception of the bondage strap gutter.

Table 5.13: Application of colours, textures and graphic assets across the six element classes

Element Colour Texture Graphic Assets Characters Skin, Blacks, Blood, Hair, clothing, parchment Eyes, clothing, shoes, jewelery, nail polish, teeth (Schreber skin), bone, leather spectacles, skeletal parts, raven. Objects Yes Metal, wood, paper, leather, Weapons, toys, microphone, flames (video), Leather boombox, books, tv, violin, computer. Environments Yes Wall surface, floor tiles, carpet, Doors, windows, fixtures, plants, bricks, stone, roof tiles, metal, rails, furniture, sky, food, cutlery, wood, cement, grass, gravel, decorations, water Text Yes No No Motion lines & Yes No No Impact Lines Gutters Yes Leather Brass buckles and rings

Characters, especially their heads, required the most detailed and consistent application of colour, texture and graphic assets. Skin tone swatches were assigned for each of the major characters (Ray, Jean, Al, Junior, Tuesday, and Rico). Schreber’s skin is a parchment texture to give a wrinkled, leathery feel of the undead: a face fashioned from an ancient manuscript

(see Fig. 5.8.). The separated blacks are then superimposed across the clipped figure of the

136 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker face, shaped to remove excessive wash and shadow and a small amount of drop shadow is added for thickness. Black lines are removed from the exterior and replaced by a black stroke outline. In many faces, eyeholes were created with eyeballs and eye-whites placed behind the mask of the face. The hair shape was separated from the head and used to clip hair textures, as were the eyebrow blacks. Additional colour was applied to lips and teeth. The panel assemblage in Figure 5.9 shows a typical reconstruction of the faces and bodies of four family members Jean, Al Tuesday and Junior.

Fig. 5.8. Skin tones and textures for Schreber and Rousseau

Fig. 5.9. Couch potatoes: showing reconstruction of characters’ faces and bodies: Jean, Al, Tuesday, Junior

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Character wardrobes were assembled from a combination of Photoshop filter textures, graphical textures and stock photo assets (see Table 5.14). Wardrobe items were clipped out from body part shapes typically for arms, torso, legs and feet. These separations allow limited paper cut animation style movements of body parts. In Fig 5.9, Junior’s head and eyes, hands, legs, arms and torso are separated and reassembled. The flattened, illustrated character from the comic is replaced by motion graphic character in 2.5D. This is not a posed, animated character that can be rigged; the parts of the body not shown in the frame do not exist.

Table 5.14: Character wardrobes

Character PS Filter Textures Graphic Textures Graphic Assets Schreber Judge’s coat White calico texture, 19th C jacket, bow tie, waistcoat, pinstriped brown pants texture. shirt. Ray Shoes (leather and sole) Grey Pants, Sweater, grey pants, blue striped business shirt, white medical coat, brown leather shoes. Jean Yoga pants, slip-on shoes. Blue jeans, dinner dress, ethnic sleeveless top, stripy top Junior Jungle battle fatigues, boots, utility belt, Prussian army coat & pants Al Grey casual shirt, Grey jeans Grey jeans, sneakers Mechanical Bride t-shirt Rico Jacket, white shirt, tie, sunglasses, crucifix chain Tuesday Tibetan mask, Ethno- Saffron calico, 80s top, sneakers, mini skirt, kimono, Danceteria t-shirt Tibetan mask, high-heel shoes

Objects were also assembled from combinations of filter textures, graphic textures and stock photo assets. Key objects associated with the main characters (see Table 5.15) were drawn in multiple panels, often at different angles, necessitating different construction strategies.

Junior’s gun, modelled on an Uzi semi-automatic, was assembled from a bb gun graphic asset grafted onto a gun stock graphic from an Uzi semi-automatic (see Fig. 5.10). The completed object was given a rough, blue gunmetal texture using the film-grain filter.

Alternatively, in one scene with a rear, overhead shot of the gun, the entire object was assembled from metal textures (see Fig. 5.11). Schreber’s piano was based around the graphic assets of keyboard and soundboard, embedded into polished wood panel textures

(see Fig 5.15). The boombox that becomes a murder weapon is a photographic asset created by collaborator John Laidler, who shot the object from multiple angles to suit the various dramatic panel stagings.

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Table 5.15: Characters’ key objects

Character Key Objects Schreber Piano, gavel, book (Memoirs) Ray Books, computer, desk, Freud portrait, Moritz Schreber devices Jean Boombox, telephone Junior Gun, Toy soldiers Al Data (Books, newspapers, magazines), TV set Tuesday Dolls, Walkman, telephone Rico Microphone, audio console

Figs 5.10/5.11. Comparison of gun object: side-view L and top view R.

Fig. 5.12: Asylum cell, Schreber and piano

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Fig. 5.13: Boombox in bathroom

Environment assembly was crucial for establishing the dramatic context for Family Slaughter

Motion Comic by presenting a compelling spatial construct and perspective around the characters. The narrative unfolds substantially within two locations: the suburban Rousseau residence and the asylum cell (see Fig. 5.12). Fortunately, comic artist Peter Pound was a skilled draftsman, and many of the locations were well visualized in the comic panels. To help visualize the action I drafted a guide floor plan of the Rousseau home: an A-frame three-story construction with attic and basement, including exterior back and front yards (see Fig. 5.14).

Fig. 5.14: Floor plan of Rousseau residence

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Fig. 5.15: Three environments: house exterior front; lounge room; Dr Rousseau’s den

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Assembling motion comic environments is time and asset-intensive and complicated by the obscuring of significant parts of most panel environments by characters and objects.

Perspective lines were teased out from the panel and points of convergence identified.

Separations were made to isolate environment elements such as floors, walls, windows, wooden panelling and roofing. These separations were then used as masks to clip texture assets, whose perspectives were then adjusted within the mask using the perspective tool.

Dozens of textures and graphic assets were combined in the environment construction (see

Fig. 5.15).

The motion comic environments are not 3D dioramas; their function is like a movie set and, on occasion, a game surface. Once constructed, motion comic environments are reusable, typically providing field-blurred backgrounds for the fore-grounded panel drama. Nothing exists outside the panel, and diving into the panel for deep exploration reveals the richness of the visual assets, especially when the environment encompasses the spatial montage of a meta-panel. The Family Slaughter comic and motion comic feature several instances of meta- panel environments, where the drama unfolds spatially across the environment framing the meta-panel. For example:

1. The 19th century courtroom: sex pest Ray Rousseau is punished and tried by Judge

Schreber and a jeering rogue’s gallery. In this example, the extra characters are an

integral part of the environment (see Fig. 5.16).

2. The Rousseau house visualized as an architectural plan within which Jean Rousseau

gives house-hunting Suzukis a property tour (see Fig. 5.17).

3. Junior Rousseau’s topographical map of Dien Bien Phu, upon which the historic

battle between the French and the Vietnamese, is re-enacted with toy soldiers (see

Fig. 5.18).

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Fig. 5.16. Nightmare on Legal Street: Courtroom environment constructed from double page meta-panel

Fig. 5.17: House hunters—environment based on architectural plan of Rousseau residence

Fig. 5.18: Dien Bien Phu—wargame with topographic map and toy soldiers constructed from a double page meta- panel

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In each instance, the environment’s physical structure was assembled before being populated with characters and objects:

1. Wood panelled courtroom with vertically arranged gallery

2. Architectural gridlines and room sketches

3. Terrain of contour lines.

Setting up separations between environmental elements, characters and objects, maintains flexible options for the motionized exploration of the panel in subsequent phases of production. All elements within this phase can be altered or touched up with assets and layer style characteristics transferred to other panels. Although a given panel is remediated from a frozen pose, motion is immanent in the design and the potential for motion backwards and forewords in time is built into the panel assembly, like the halos of echoing and intersecting motions composing the figures in Cubist paintings.

5.4.3. Lighting

A lighting scheme, in the form of gradients and level settings, was applied to each panel to enhance look and mood. The panel lighting scheme boosts shadings baked on the surfaces of the panel’s various primary and secondary elements through a combination of layer styles and separated blacks derived from the comic’s original black and white composition. Chapter

4’s discussion with Tim Pigott underscored the proliferation of black ink in the comic design, producing panels with gothic, neo-noir chiaroscuros and silhouettes. In contrast, there are panels of bright daylight, muted twilight and the gloom of the asylum cell (see Fig. 5.12). An additional consideration is the application of colour to the lighting schema. Horror’s use of clashing colours is a well-established generic convention. Aesthetically, the goal was to produce a garish lighting effect simulating blue, red and green gels.

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Fig. 5.19: Unstoppable panel before and after the application of lighting schema.

Fig. 5.20: Fall of the House of Rousseau. Natural light decays into a vision of desolation.

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In Fig.5.19, the ‘Unstoppable’ panel is compared before and after the application of its lighting schema. The lighting in this panel is one of extreme contrast with a neo-noir grid pattern. A powerful backlight is filtered by a gradient grid and then further filtered by red, green and blue gels. Extreme shadows on the face and arms were captured from the blacks of the original drawing. Bevel and emboss layer styles add extreme light reflections from the spectacles.

The slanted positioning and pentagonal shape enhance the mood of gothic menace in the panel. The Rousseau family lunch is depicted in natural light. Patient Schreber, in sepia tone, plays his piano across the centuries, the notes stirring a ghostly shimmer that spreads like a pestilence across the sunny scene, replacing it with an atmosphere of entropic desolation and decay (see Fig. 5.20).

5.4.4. Panel Mock-ups

A mock-up file is made from a copy of the panel file as preparation for motionizing in Adobe

After Effects. Mock-up design is carried out with reference to the motion comic script: it is essential that the panel elements be manipulated to express the dramatic requirements of the script—a script that also contains extra dialogue retrieved from the Family Slaughter screenplay. With each iteration, the script was modified and more detail of dramatic action added, just as impractical scenarios were eliminated. There are two primary activities associated with making the panel mock-up—text creation and layer preparation:

1. Text Creation ! Dialogue Text + Dialogue balloons + Commentary text + Onomatopoeia text

2. Layer Preparation ! Flattening + combining + grouping

The review of practice in Chapter 1 revealed that there is no standard approach to dealing with text in motion comic production. Examples ranged from a slow reveal of the text (SAW), experimentation with fontography (NAWLS), sloganizing (Godkiller), elongated dialogue bubbles following the action (The Watchmen), and no text all (X-men, Afterworld). There is an apparent redundancy of text once voice, sound effects and music are added, as if the comic cultural interface is now remediated by that of cinema; shifting from reading to watching.

However, the most pervasive visual cue in sound cinema is lip-syncing, where dialogue is connected to the actor because the audience can see their lips moving. Contemporary

146 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker animation—remediated by cinema since Steam Boat Willie (1928)—takes the lip-synch approach with its character rigging. In preparing Family Slaughter Motion Comic, I have taken a positive view that the inclusion of the full gamut of comics’ interface text elements can have an intensive dramatic impact, taking into consideration that the motion comic is neither cinema nor animation in the traditionally accepted sense. The combination of synchronized voice and text can be extremely powerful for dramatic mis en scene; similarly, the synchronisation of sound effect and onomatopoeia. If properly timed and positioned, the dialogue bubble issuing from the character can emulate lip-syncing, intensifying the dramatic connection between the character and their utterance and contributing to a deep remix of the cultural interface elements of comics, film and animation.

The design approach to lettering in Family Slaughter Motion Comic is summarized in Table

5.16. Dialogue and commentary design anticipates the pacing of panel exploration, where the presentation of each text element unfolds as a specific dramatic gesture, or cluster of micro- gestures, within the overall motionization of panel elements in synchronisation with the sonic elements. Dialogue and commentary text styles were kept clean, simple and consistent throughout. The use of different shaped and coloured dialogue balloons closely followed the comic design. Schreber’s dialogue was often depicted as white text enclosed in a black, spiky balloon with a ghostly shimmer (see Figs. 5.20 and 5.21). The word count for each dialogue balloon was kept low—less than 25 words—as suggested by Eisner (1985, p. 28), who states that dialogue balloons and commentary boxes function as panels within the comics interface.

Commentary—the red text—was kept un-boxed and separated from the general motion of its associated panel to reduce the clutter of panels within panels, and to emphasize the non- diegetic detachment of the commentator (see Fig 5.21).

Table 5.16: Lettering design in Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Text Element Font Style Colour Dialogue Sonic comics. All capitals. Horizontal = 100% Black, White Vertical = 140% Letter space = -25 Line space = 8pt Size = 6pt Commentary Sonic comics. All capitals. Horizontal = 100% Red with black stroke 2pt. Vertical = 140% Letter space = -25 Line space = 10pt Size = 12pt Onomatopoeia Hand-drawn, custom Various Various

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The use of onomatopoeia text also closely followed the comic, elaborating on the page design. In the motion comic, impact sounds resonate across three registers: text, impact lines and audio. Nigel Gurney’s hand-drawn font designs were sometimes so unique that they were preserved in the motion comic. Figure 5.21 shows a hand-drawn ‘KLANG’ with flying nuts and bolts. In other instances, custom fonts were used (see Fig. 5.22).

Fig. 5.21: Judgment Basement featuring Nigel Gurney’s hand-drawn onomatopoeia lettering

Completing the mock-up involves layer preparation: reducing the number of layers and the overall file size, as well as grouping related layers into folders. The objective is preparation of panel elements for motionizing, where elements are kept separate if they require independent movement. These include character body parts, objects and text elements. Environment elements are often combined together, as are the various parts of an object. Layer styles are rasterized as part of this process, unless that style itself is to be motionized in After Effects.

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Fig. 5.22: Skull to Skull—red commentary text and custom font

Fig. 5.23: Mock-up of Little Men panel showing the arrangement of element tracks and folders

Fig. 5.23 shows the arrangement of element tracks in a panel mock-up. Text elements are at the top followed by the panel rectangle and lights. The body part elements of Rousseau and

Schreber are contained within folders that will open in After Effects as separate compositions within the overall panel composition. I have opened the folder called ‘Ray’ to display the body

149 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker parts for the character prepared for motionizing. The main objects are the door and desk with a pile of books. The environment elements are the den and the lobby stairwell outside the room.

5.5. Motion Graphics and Video Editing

5.5.1. Motionizing

Each of the 23 episodes of Family Slaughter Motion Comic was assembled using the workflow outlined in Table 5.9. The next phase was combining and motionizing the panel mock-ups. Motionizing was accomplished using the motion graphics program Adobe After

Effects. The output renderings of various short clips were then assembled with the video editor Adobe Premiere. I use the term motionizing (or motioneering) rather than animating. In my view, this is a more precise definition of the process and aims to dispel the notion that this motion comic is an animation project. The design strategy is the motion graphical exploration of comic panel elements to produce dramatic, narrative expression. Motionizing bears an affinity to paper cut animation: literally cutting up paper illustrations into elements that can be arranged for stop motion photography, this method differs from traditional cel animation and subsequent forms of digital 2D and 3D animation. In a motion comic, pages are cut up into panels (where possible), and the panels cut up into elements. Animation, in the traditional sense, focuses on character motion, whereas in this motion comic the focus is on panel motion.

Motionizing with a virtual camera captures the positioning and repositioning of assets on the graphics plane and utilizes the cinematic language of virtual motion as summarized by Block

(2013, p. 7):

1. Apparent motion: objects and characters appear to move within the frame of the

camera.

2. Induced motion: the camera and viewing subject seemingly move relative to the

objects and characters in the frame.

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3. Relative motion: objects and characters are seen to move relative to each other and

relative to the perspective/depth of field of the scene.

4. Movement of the eyes: the gaze of the viewing subject is directed to different parts of

the screen.

Insofar as the screen, the frame and the panel intersect, the motion comic presents a hybrid variation of virtual motion. Indeed, this variation is a type of restraint, as the camera can only capture what the panel presents. Outside the panel there is nothing—typically signified with black in this project. Thus, object and character movement is restricted by the panel in ways markedly dissimilar to that of either live action or cel animation, presenting a deep remixing of the comic cultural interface with that of cinema.

Panel assets are motionized within the panel (intrapanel) and from panel to panel (interpanel).

Panel exploration involves identifying and unpacking a sequence of dramatic beats and gestures immanent in each panel and interpanel sequence. The primary tool for beat identification is the motion comic script that operates like a score, orchestrating the panel’s internal dramatic expression through the loading and weighting of each dramatic beat across the three primary registers of visual composition, motion and sound. In this section, I will examine the various modes of motion design: panel motion, character motion, object motion, environment motion and text motion.

5.5.2. Panel Motion

Panel motion is the highest level of motion applied in motion comic design. As the panel moves, its elements—unless expressly uncoupled—move as well. A panel’s motion is fundamental to unpacking its dramatic beats and gestures. Narrative elements that were presented in spatial montage for the comic reader are repurposed in the cinematics of temporal montage.

One simple method of controlling primary panel motion in Adobe After Effects is to assign all the panel’s elements to a null object, either directly or indirectly. The null object is then manipulated by scale and direction, in most cases pivoting within a two-dimensional axis to

151 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker achieve a simulation of camera movements: tracking, dollying, panning and pulling. The utilization of these cinematic tropes imparts immersion and immediacy to panel exploration, heating up the panel by conveying a sense of induced motion to the viewer. However, whenever the panel gutters become visible on the screen, a primary rule of traditional cinematic immersion is transgressed, as the screen is no longer entirely occupied by the image that segues from the cinematic to comic image and panel geometry. This blurring of the line between cinema and comic occurs consistently in Family Slaughter Motion Comic and is illustrative of motion comic hybridity: the oscillation between immediacy and hypermediacy, heating up and cooling down.

Fig. 5.24: Textbook Massacre—three dramatic beats

Figure 5.24 shows three successive dramatic beats linked through panel motion. The camera begins on a shot of Schreber staring down the gun barrel. We pull up and back as Schreber’s body swells to tower above Dr. Rousseau, some dotted lines of the panel appearing. In the final beat, as the doctor blasts away at the ghost, destroying the library, the full circular panel with its anamorphic lens distortion, is unveiled.

Interpanel motion involves two or several panels being motionized and choreographed within the same screen space. Typically, a meta-panel is created to contain the panel action. The meta-panel can be an empty black container, or even one of the comic panels operating as a container for others. A null object is created in the meta-panel to control the motion of the encapsulated panels, which may also have their own intrapanel motion if so desired. The key to interpanel motion is orchestrating the motion of several panels within the meta-panel.

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Fig. 5.25: Hey Family: three panels from Family Slaughter Comic (Pigott, Gurney, & Pound, 1989, p.36).

Fig. 5.26: Hey Family—interpanel motion in Family Slaughter Motion Comic for comic three panels

Figures 5.25 and 5.26 illustrate how both interpanel and intrapanel motion combine to blend three comic panels into a narrative sequence. In Panel 1, a close-up of Jean tending son Al’s burnt hands, tracks up as Tuesday enters and chides her mother. Meanwhile, the face of Al from Panel 2 materializes in the foreground. Al recedes to screen left as the rest of Panel 2 slides in from screen right and Junior enters, looming above his brother. Finally the meta- panel shifts sideways to the left as Panel 1 closes on Tuesday and Panel 3, the TV Zone magazine, materializes centre screen. The final shot superimposes details from all three panels. This design strategy leverages creative self-constraint and coaxes the maximum amount of dramatic expression from a bare minimum of visual assets.

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5.5.3. Character Motion

Character motion occurs simultaneously with panel motion and presents various forms of partial animation designed to amplify the dramatic expression of the motion comic characters.

A motion comic character is extracted from their context in the comic panel. In keeping with the design rule of creative self-constraint, body parts drawn in the panel will undergo limited motionization, whereas other character elements are excluded unless retrieved from another panel. Characters in the comic are posed in states of dramatic gesture and the role of character motion is to enhance this gesture. As described in the previous section, a motion comic character, based on its panel depiction, is separated into the various visible body parts.

In the mock-up, the character elements are flattened and grouped into a folder within the panel document. This folder then opens in Adobe After Effects as a sub-composition nested within the master panel composition and controlled by the panel null object. Within the character composition, registration points are reset for each body part element to facilitate limited rotation.

Fig. 5.27: Parenting diagram for motion comic character motion

Body parts are normally linked together under the control of the torso (see Fig. 5.27) to encompass forms of primary, secondary and tertiary character motion. The aim is not full body articulation, merely simple dramatic gestural control based on the pose of the character inherited from the comic, and in line with the narrative sequence defined in the script. Head movement was extremely common and the eyes move with the head. The left eye controls eye movement, whereby the right eye follows. Arm and hand movement was also often

154 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker required, with the hand connected to an object like a book or a glass. Typical character movements include:

• whole character moves into, out and across the panel

• hand/arm gestures

• head nodding

• eyes rolling

• leg/foot movement

The most common use of character movement in this motion comic can be found in combinations of head, hand and eye gestures that are coordinated with dialogue delivery.

Character eye motion heats up the character and engages the observer by directing their eyes, and thus attention, to targeted areas of the panel. The use of eye-blinks as part of character naturalisation was deemed outside the scope of this project.

Fig. 5.28: Dance of the Demons—character motion

Tuesday’s dance of the demons (see Fig. 5.28) is an instance where the full body was available for motionization. The character cannot stand, and remains as drawn in the squatting pose, rocking backwards and forwards and shifting the weight from left to right. The

155 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker arms display more breadth of movement and swing dramatically across the body as the head follows. The characters’ right hand is connected to a small skeleton puppet separated into controller, string and skeletal body. As the right arm swings the puppet moves and rotates like a pendulum on the string. This full set of character motions is repeated as a loop several times before the puppet flies off onto the heap of stuffed toys at screen right.

5.5.4. Object and Environment Motion

In this motion comic, an object is seen to move either on its own or, as with the previous example, in direct linkage to character motion. Objects are lifted, dropped, thrown, thrust, smashed, wielded, coupled together and bumped into. Uncoupled from the character, the object typically enters, exits or traverses the space of the panel, undergoing degrees of acceleration, deceleration, deformation and rotation. The Dien Bien Phu wargame sequence

(see Fig. 5.17) features an intensive use of object motion in a choreography of toy soldiers, weapons, vehicles and artillery fire. In one dramatic beat, a toy helicopter with rotating blades sweeps across the map as a toy gunner within sprays machine gun fire, igniting flares and explosions across the map.

Environmental motion can be applied to a singular part of the environment, such as smoke, steam or mist floating across the panel. Alternatively, the background environment can be motionized to produce a sense of induced motion in the observer with a type of Ken Burns effect: a simulated tracking shot produced by the separation of foreground and background in a photo. From my observation of motion graphic compositions in general, continuous motion is the overriding rule. Environment motion in combination with panel motion is useful for sustaining momentum in a motion comic, particularly while the viewer is engaged in reading a dialogue bubble.

5.5.5. Text Motion

Whereas the motion of panels, characters, objects and environments is highly choreographed in the motion comic, the different types of text—dialogue bubbles, commentary text and

156 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker onomatopoeias—require relative stasis to be read. Therefore, text motion is often restricted to its introduction onto and disappearance from the screen. Conventions are set for the motion of commentary and dialogue text, so the observer quickly learns these rules and can apply them in their quest to decode the various dramatic arcs. Contrastingly, the motion design for onomatopoeia text allows for more variation, according to the specific requirements of dramatic expression. Additionally, the timing of text presentation on the screen is linked to the length of audio events; that is, voice and sound effects.

The red commentary text is conventionally placed in the lower left portion of the screen and, depending on other forms of motion occurring at that time, the commentary can slide in from the right, or up from beneath. Decoupled from the panel motion null object, the red text floats above any other form of movement as if detached from the dramatic action, and may even overlap the panel gutters into screen blackness. The convention is to resist presenting more than a single line of red text at any one time. Further, the line of text can occasionally be successively revealed by the use of a mask.

The dialogue balloon is the most frequent form of text used in Family Slaughter Motion

Comic. As a text associated with character utterance and dramatic expression, the dialogue balloon is an integral part of the comic cultural interface and constitutes a clear sign of media hybridity when paired with cinematic tropes. From my investigation of motion comics presented in Chapter 1, it is evident that there are diverse approaches to dialogue text design.

My experience with this project is that the simultaneous presentation of text with voice goes beyond subtitling and can enhance immersion in the motion comic narrative. It is important that the text does not impede the flow of dramatic, motionized pacing described previously, and that a convention is actualized for the observer that blends and enhances dramatic gestures. Motion design for each dialogue balloon considers the following points:

1. Timing of the voice with the appearance/disappearance of the dialogue balloon

2. Positioning of the balloon vis-a-vis the character

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3. The perception that the balloon has issued from the character in the proximity of the

mouth/face/head/room location

4. What happens to the balloon when the character, the panel, or both, are

simultaneously motionized?

In a typical motion design scenario, the length of the utterance is estimated across the timeline. The registration point is repositioned at the tip of the balloon that is then actualized by rapid resizing from zero, giving the impression of the balloon opening as the speech begins. The positioning and size of the speech balloon may require control as the utterance unfolds. For example, if the camera moves towards the character, the balloon changes position relative to the screen and enlarges along with its encapsulated text. The solution is gradual resizing of the balloon relative to the camera motion or, in some instances, the decoupling of the balloon from the panel motion.

Onomatopoeias in motion design is a form of dramatic exaggeration made famous by the

Batman TV series (1966–1968) and represent further hybridizing of the comic/cinema cultural space. Instigated by a sudden, motion-designed action issuing from a character or object, onomatopoeia texts such as ‘THUD,’ ‘BLAM,’ ‘CRACK,’ ‘BONK’ evolve with an ADSR (attack, decay, sustain, release) envelope that is synchronous with an appropriate sound effect.

Onomatopoeias can be opened and closed with a mask, or by rapidly scaling the text up, holding for an instant and scaling back down. The text may also fly across the panel or simply dissolve and vanish. Onomatopoeia motion often occurs simultaneously with the movement of motion and impact lines—splashes of coloured shape or vibrating lines that issue forth in sync with the sound design.

5.5.6: Video Editing

Motion graphic clips were output from Adobe After Effects in an uncompressed .mov format using the animation codec at HD 720 resolution and 29.97 frame rate. The clips were then loaded into Adobe Premier for assembly of each of the 23 episodes. This was a fairly

158 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker straightforward process, as the more complex visual design actions had been performed in the previous stages. The important considerations for episode assembly were:

1. trimming each clip to the required length

2. matching continuity of motion from one panel to the next

3. transitions: short film dissolves (0.5 to 1 second); fade up/down to black

4. duration changes to segments of some clips

5. addition of stereo mix soundtrack

6. render compressed file .mp4 (HD i720 codec)

The video editing phase proceeded in tandem with the audio post-production phase. The first version of the assembled episode is silent. This version is used as the basis for building sound design and voice synchronisation and presents the opportunity to alter the timings of dialogue balloons for a closer fit with the vocal expression. Typically, a number of successive episode versions were generated so the emerging dramatic arc and pacing of each episode could be polished in finer detail.

5.6. Audio Post Production

5.6.1. Audio Post Overview

Sound, in some form, is integral to all motion comics. While it may be assumed that the dramatic immediacy of motion comic design is defined by the use of panel motion, it is equally impacted by the use of sound as a modality of panel exploration. Given the self-imposed creative constraints of this project, the audio track represents an area of relatively less constraint and provides a set of resources that can boost and compensate for the restrictions on the visual assets. Sound design is responsible for constructing dramatic tone, mood, narrative pacing, character expression, ambience, genre signification, gestural enhancement and visceralization in the motion comic. The sound design for Family Slaughter Motion Comic mixes voice, music and sound effects in ways similar to film, television and radio drama. Each

159 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker character has a voice actor. Original music was composed by John Laidler or licensed from

Audioblocks. Sound effects were obtained from royalty free sources or the licence (see

Appendix E) purchased from Audioblocks, a music and sound effects archive.

The sound design process has pushed this project in the direction of greater collaboration and exposure to creative input from a number of sources. I am greatly indebted to everyone involved in this effort for donating time, effort and creativity to this project (see full credits in

Appendix D). Specifically, John Laidler has worked as consistent collaborator throughout the entire project. Besides being a versatile voice actor, John has provided the resources of his

Cut Snake Studio for voice recording and his services as recording engineer, sound editor, mix engineer and soundtrack composer.

5.6.2. Voice Actor Casting

Voice recording and re-recording have proceeded continuously across the entire project. The iterative, episodic approach to project management has proved an effective strategy when working with non-professional voice actors who donate their time and voices. By contrast, in a traditional animation project, the majority of voice recording is done prior to the creation of animated sequences, to ensure timings are precise between visual character expression and vocal utterance. An alternative approach is automatic dialogue replacement (ADR), where the actors watch the footage and synchronize their voices with the action. Neither of these approaches was feasible for Family Slaughter Motion Comic, which has operated on a no- budget basis and the casting of some characters remained uncertain for a long period. In this case, we preferred to work directly off the script in short recording sessions based on the availability of cast members. As noted previously, the dialogue was rewritten during development; it was therefore prudent to maintain the flexibility to make changes at every level from the script, to panel, to motion graphics and sound editing. If necessary, the actor could re-record their lines at a later date.

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Table 5.17: Voice actor credits for Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Voice Actor Character John Laidler Commentary Voice Dr. Frank, Sigmund Freud Dumb Cop, Dirty Guitar Player Bernhardt Huber Daniel Paul Schreber Moritz Schreber Tim Pigott Al Rousseau Smoking Detective Matt Holden Dr Ray Rousseau Edwin Laidler Junior Rousseau Erica Jobling Jean Rousseau Nicola Huber Smith Tuesday Rousseau Salif Hardie Rico Marinetti Louise Tucker Sally Molloy Bettina Holdforth Craig Tudman Coop the Lawyer Chris Bright Real Estate Agent, Michael Ridgely Arthur Lee Wilber Wired Wolfgang Spranz Dr. Flechsig Hardie Tucker Smoking Soldier John Bennett TV Truck Guy

Each actor in a main role (see Table 5.17) has crafted a unique vocal tone for his or her character. The emergence of each character has benefitted from short vocal recording sessions in which the actor could view and review their previous work and perform re- recording when necessary. We were extremely lucky to cast Bernhardt Huber as Schreber, because he is both German and an experienced performer who can work with a microphone.

Bernhardt was able to accurately enunciate Schreber’s regional accent from Dresden in North

Germany. Bernhardt has brought a bombastic, theatrical approach to the Schreber character, reminiscent of classic Hammer horror stars like Christopher Lee. Edwin Laidler, as Junior, conceived his character having a ‘bogan’ Western Sydney voice. Erika Jobling’s natural

British accent immediately distinguishes Jean Rousseau and gives her an appropriate, plummy, upper-North Shore tone.

Two of the actors, Tim Pigott and Matt Holden (Ray Rousseau) lived in Melbourne, which necessitated a portable recording setup in lounge rooms and hotel rooms. As Ray Rousseau,

Matt Holden had perhaps the most difficult role to perform. Matt was very shy, but with successive recording sessions became more adept at modulating his vocal from entitled and supercilious to monstrous, as Ray’s character metamorphoses across the narrative arc. Tim

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Pigott inspired the character of Al Rousseau. Nigel Gurney has captured Tim’s likeness in the comic and it was logical that Tim would perform Al’s voice with his wry and world-weary tone.

The fact that the cast members are related has provided an extra emotional incentive for their performances. For example, Erika Jobling (Jean) plays the mother to her real-life son Edwin

(Junior), making it easier for her to find the emotional space as Jean welcomes home her military son and puts on a lavish lunch. Nickola Huber Smith, Bernhard Huber’s daughter, undertook the role of Tuesday and would record with her father directing her voice work. For a show that some may consider a negative portrayal of a particular type of family, the production process blossomed as a family affair.

5.6.3. Voice Recording and Editing

Voice actor recording involved both technical setup and voice actor direction. Wherever possible, the recordings were done in the studio with a controlled acoustic environment. As previously mentioned, location recording was unavoidable in some instances and recording sessions were conducted remotely. Microphone and preamp selection varied for each actor

(see Table 5.18). For location recordings, we experimented with both dynamic and small diaphragm condenser microphones, before opting for the latter option. Maintaining consistency in voice recording over such a long period of episodic production was important, and provided a starting point for further processing with equalization and compression. This was in line with an overall sound design aim to maintain the constancy of audio signal flow across the 23 episodes. The actors’ voice characteristics were optimized by custom recording setups. For example, Schreber’s voice was captured with a large diaphragm condenser, whereas Junior’s voice, which was deliberately pitched down for a gruff tone, worked better with a larger diaphragm condenser microphone. The commentary voice was also recorded with a dynamic microphone, the classic Electro-Voice RE20, to achieve a radio voiceover tone.

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Table 5.18: Microphone and preamp selections for voice actor recording

CHARACTER MICROPHONE PREAMP NOTES

Daniel Paul Schreber Oktava MK219 LDC FMR Audio RNP8380 Junior Rousseau Heil PR40 LDD Golden Age Preamp73 Al Rousseau ElectroVoice 635 Behringer UMC404 Location Recording Oktava MK012 SDC Ray Rousseau ElectroVoice 635 Behringer UMC404 Location Recording Oktava MK012 SDC Tuesday Rousseau Golden Age Preamp73 Pitched down 1.5 semitones Jean Rousseau Oktava MK219 LDC FMR Audio RNP8380 Commentator Electrovoice RE20 LDD FMR Audio RNP8380 Dr Frank Shure SM7B LDD FMR Audio RNP8380 Freud CAD Trion 8000 LDC FMR Audio RNP8380 Pitched down 2 semitones Rico & Sally Blue Yeti LDC Built-in Location Recording Others (default) Oktava MK219 LDC FMR Audio RNP8380 LDC=large diaphragm condenser SDC=small diaphragm condenser LDD=large diaphragm dynamic

Actors were recorded individually; ensemble recording was not possible due to the actors’ limited availability. The actor saw the script when they arrived to record. As mentioned previously, the episode scripts were updated regularly so the latest script was made available, together with the motionized draft of the episode to be recorded. The actor was often given the first run at delivering the lines, followed by our suggestions for variations on the delivery.

The actors were extraordinarily amicable and happy to redo lines from earlier episodes whenever this was requested.

We often faced the issue of the actors delivering their lines too fast, or, as in the case of

Bernhardt Huber, too slow. Considering the synchronisation between voice and dialogue bubble and the convention that the viewer is simultaneously a reader, the connection between voice and character in a motion comic is quite unique. Setting the tempo of the voices requires locating a balance between dramatic pacing and expression, the presentation of dialogue text, and the pace of onscreen motionization. The episodic approach enabled both designers and actors to locate this balance, in conjunction with post-recording manipulation of the vocal tempo. In my observation, voice tempo and delivery in a motion comic differs from that associated with live action and animation. These approaches are combined with that of audio book voicing, which has a recitative tone, whereby, when combined with music, voice delivery attains a poetic quality. In a motion comic there is less movement than various cinematic formats with their richness of gesture and body language, and the voice is required to carry a scene when there is not much happening visually. Voice actor delivery takes

163 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker account of this through exaggeration of certain words and a tempo that is not conversationally normal. In an extreme example, extra dialogue from the script was performed in a panel of darkness, as there were no visual assets from the comic to support the action.

Another layer of difference in this motion comic is the commentary voice and associated red text that narrates and comments upon the action, imparting a literary and poetic quality to the motion graphic substructure and an additional perspective in the story. The initial inspiration for the vocal tone is the Twilight Zone’s Rod Serling: detached, wry, sardonic. The tone and function of the commentary modulates over the duration of the narrative, from a whisper to a shout. There is a lot more commentary than is usual for cinematic forms. The commentary voice harks back to the poetic roots of drama, such as in ancient Greece when the narrative was spoken, sung and acted, often by the poet and a small ensemble. The commentator is non-diegetic, yet their sarcastic, pun-laden, mood-inducing asides contribute to the immediacy of the drama and there is a sense that they are standing just out of sight, urging the action onwards, providing continuity and exposition where the visual panel was lacking.

This is an example in which the restricted resources of this motion comic are leveraged to intensify immediacy by design redundancy: layering both spoken word and associated text together.

5.6.4. Sound Effects

The sound effects, consisting of spot effects, ambient effects and whooshes, were licensed from the Audio Blocks sound library (see Appendix D) or were available online, royalty-free.

Sound effects in this motion comic are valuable resources for intensifying the immediacy of dramatic action in terms of onscreen and off-screen movement, dramatic mood and narrative pacing. The horror genre in movies has always been highly reliant on sound—both effects and music—to convey the unsettling presence of the unseen, as well as to emphasize the terrifying reality of the seen. Overall, due to the restricted visual resources and the aesthetic of partial immersion, the sound design in Family Slaughter Motion Comic is more comparable to a radio play than the dramatic realism of movies.

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Spot sound effects are associated with sudden actions such as body movements, doors opening/closing, things falling and gunshots, and are designed and positioned to dramatically empathize actions and sudden movements, either unique or repetitive. In a motion comic, the bodies of characters are often partial; that is, we do not see legs and feet, for example. By supplying footstep sound effects, the designer can enhance the illusion of the immediacy of full body motion. What is interesting about the use of spot sound effects in this motion comic is the syncing of the spot effect with a visual onomatopoeia such ‘THUD’, ‘KLAK’ or

‘CRUNCH,’ as the words often paired with motionized impact lines. As exemplified in the

1960s’ Batman TV series, the sounding of onomatopoeias provides an example of the incursion of the comic cultural interface into the television screen. We may think of this as designed redundancy; that is, a redundancy that intensifies the visceralization of the dramatic gestures and beats, enhancing the immediacy of the action.

Fig. 5.29: Television jump-scare.

Two classic horror tropes that can be enhanced by sound effects are the jump-scare and gore. A jump-scare combines visuals and sound to produce a sudden and unexpected fright for the character and audience. There is a classic 1980s style jump-scare in the motion comic when the Schreber apparition leaps out of the television set at Ray Rousseau (see Fig. 5.29).

The main sound effects are bursts of TV white noise static as the apparition flickers on and off and lunges menacingly at the terrified doctor. The sounds of gore in horror encompass sound

165 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker effects intended to convey the breaking, rendering, crunching and splattering of body parts and organs. Gore sound effects are grossly exaggerated and often derived from diverse sound sources, including smashing pumpkins and snapping celery sticks. Bone crunching sound effects were used extensively throughout the asylum skeleton dance-macabre of the

Swap Heads sequence (see Fig 5.30). Splatter effects sonically depict the evisceration of

Junior Rousseau by his demented father. In my observation, the utilisation of horror sound tropes in a horror motion comic does not make it the same as a horror movie. Because it can never attain the immediacy of the cinema genre, the horror motion comic conveys only the sense of a horror movie, like a quotation, and in terms of impact, it more closely resembles the radio play.

Fig. 5.30: Bone crunching sound effects in Swap Heads sequence

Whooshes are sound effects that encompass whooshing, swishing and launching sounds.

Theses sounds are synchronized with motion and thus, could be considered as a sub- category of spot sound effects. Some whooshes in this motion comic are connected to the movement of objects and bodies: waving a whip, slashing with a sword, emphatic arm gestures, objects flying through the air. However, what distinguishes whooshes from other spot effects is their synchronisation with transitions and fast camera movements. The whoosh is used as a sonic index of mood in motion and is a tool for making motion graphics more

166 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker visceral. In the context of a motion comic, where the sum of movements is reduced and restricted in comparison to live action and animation, whooshes become an asset for squeezing the most affect out of onscreen movements. It is not over-exaggerating to suggest that the rule for sound design in a motion comic is, if it moves give it a whoosh. Searching through the Audioblocks’ database (see Fig. 5.31) reveals hundreds of whooshes in dozens of categories with their distinctive sound envelopes. Whooshes have distinctive moods and those chosen for Family Slaughter Motion Comic were typically dark, ghostly, violent and horror-themed.

Fig. 5.31: Ghostly whooshes in the Audioblocks database (2019)

In an effort to increase immersive quality, Family Slaughter Motion Comic utilizes a range of ambient sound effects designed to create moods associated with locations, times of the day, narrative themes or a character’s psychological state (see Table 5.19). An ambience or soundscape is longer and more sustained than spot sound effects, and is not synchronized with any particular action but with a rising or sustained mood. Soundscapes are derived from real world recordings such as crickets, birds, voices or traffic noises. Other soundscapes were designed with synthesizer tools like Native Instruments’ Reactor, musical instruments or sonic manipulations of tempo, duration, pitch and delay. Blending and manipulation of real world recordings with musical elements is also a common technique.

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Table 5.19: Examples of mood functions and associated ambience effects in Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Mood function Ambience Effects Suburban Night Crickets Suburban morning Birds Suburban twilight Synth tones Train carriage interior Looped train recordings Gymnasium Synth tones, delays Emergency Police sirens, siren sounding instruments Rays Babbling and whispering voices, synth tones, electricity sounds Littlemen Pitch-shifted voices, synth tones Anxiety Heartbeat, bass drum Dread Sub-bass

Daniel Paul Schreber, in his asylum cell, experiences his body penetrated by rays that also speak to him (see Fig. 5.32). Synthetic, musical and recorded elements are combined in a series of layered ambiences to evoke the dread and isolation of the patient in the cell, the physical convulsion of ray penetration, and the ceaseless whispering and calling of the voices.

Fig. 5.32: Rays can speak: rays in the asylum penetrate Schreber.

5.6.5. Music Composition

The music soundtrack for Family Slaughter Motion Comic was derived from several sources: original compositions by John Laidler, musical underscores and stings licensed from

Audioblocks, and, in one instance, a piano score with a free use licence. The majority of the

168 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker music is original and designed to elucidate the narrative, characters and moods of this motion comic. John Laidler composed over 90 minutes of music, comprising 70 different tracks.

During the writing of the script, John and I would make notes of suggested musical influences that included John Carpenter, Ennio Morricone, Bernard Herman, Joseph Bishara, Steve

Reich, Philip Glass, John Cage, Eric Satie, Richard Wagner, Trent Reznor, David Byrne and

Brian Eno.

As horror composer Joseph Bishara (2018, p. 6) has said, there are ‘no rules’ when composing for horror: ‘where it’s a pulse and a groan, and you’re just really feeling this energy

… In horror more than in other genres, it seems, because you’re really personifying the essence of the film, sonically.’ Film music often uses melody as a sonic signature (motif) and the horror genre is no exception, as exemplified by John Carpenter’s memorable piano ripples for Halloween (1978) and Ennio Morricone’s sparse and grim bass textures for The Thing.

(1982) However, horror music moves beyond melody into the realms of atonal and noise- based compositions. As a genre that is open to techniques, ideas and experiments, it is not surprising that horror music overlaps and becomes indistinguishable from sound design, because they share the common design goal of enhancing and amplifying the visceral impact and mood of horror and suspense depicted in the visual dimension: a maxim of some urgency when sequencing the restricted visual assets of a motion comic.

Overall, the music for Family Slaughter Motion Comic is quite diverse and departs from a single tone soundtrack: a blues song and an afro-beat dance track are notable examples.

However, the soundtrack’s dominant musical characteristics are minimalism, atonalism and noise/industrial. Musical motifs were designed for characters, mood, location, theme and action. Instruments and musical styles were associated with each main character and their associated spaces (see Table 5.20). Rousseau in his den has a minimalist violin motif; later, as he rampages across Tuesday’s bedroom his foot is caught in a violin, producing blood- curdling screeches. The Doctor’s epiphany of fire in skull to skull is captured by wailing, distorted, electric guitar (see Fig. 5.22). Junior’s militaristic character is expressed with brass and percussion, his lone gunslinger mentality with a tremolo electric guitar and his passion for the battle of Dien Bien Phu with Vietnamese percussion and mouth-harps. Historically,

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Schreber was known to play the piano obsessively in the asylum. Three different piano compositions were designed: a Satie inspired ambient piece that collapses time as a glance across the centuries (see Fig. 5.19); a prepared piano piece; and the Schreber honky-tonk music where bars of the sheet music (Smit, M.D, 2008) rain down in the panel. Themes of

Schreber’s childhood are captured at various points with a lullaby, a children’s playground chant and the theme music for the game show Who’s That Child?. Tuesday Rousseau dances to both techno and Balinese: her bedroom and surrounding dolls are expressed through a gamelan ostenato.

Table 5.20: Summary of main character motifs and associated locations in Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Character Location Instrument/motif Dr Rousseau Den, Gym, Bathroom Violin, distorted guitar Junior Rousseau Roof, Gym, Als’ room, Military brass and percussion, Tremolo Electric Guitar, Dien Bien Phu, backyard Vietnamese percussion, action music Tuesday Rousseau Attic, boombox Gamelan and tuned metal percussion, 80’s electro dance music Al Rousseau Bedroom, backyard Wagnerian motif, Ondes martinot Jean Rousseau Kitchen, Master bedroom, New age electronica, moonlight sonata, cello, cocktail music bathroom, balcony, boombox, Antarctica Schreber Asylum, police radio, Den Piano, Mongolian chant, children’s songs,

5.6.6. Audio Mixing and Templating

Mixing the audio for a motion comic is a type of audio post-production and involves combining the audio elements into a sonic narrative that accompanies, enhances and embellishes the visual mis en scène. An audio software environment was configured for track editing and mixing. After a period of experimentation, we created a standardized mix format that functioned as a mix template for each episode. Prior to multi-tracking and editing the sonic data, mix parameters for compression, limiting, ambient reverb were configured and replicated for each episode. Once set up, this ‘templating’ approach maintained audio consistency and matching levels and frequencies across the 23 episodes and over six years of the project lifecycle. An episode’s mix could be easily retrieved and edited in the final phase of production. The mix template is composed of four sub-mixes: voice, music, soundscape and sound effects (see Fig. 5.33). A sub-mix is like a subfolder that contains a number of related tracks each of which can be individually edited and its levels varied. The

170 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker four sub-mixes then feed the master stereo bus. VST Plugin FX were inserted at track, sub- mix and master levels (see Table 5.21).

Table 5.21: Signal flow episode mix template, Family Slaughter Motion Comic

Individual tracks Track FX Sub-mix Buses Sub-mix FX Master Bus FX Dialogue (mono) -> Isotope Nectar Dialogue Sub -> 1. ReaComp (compression, EQ, 2. Ducking trigger delay, pitch shift) -> Music (stereo) -> None -> Music Sub -> 1. Reacomp: 1. ReaccompX multi- Ducking response band compressor from dialogue trigger 2. Stereo field 2. ReaccompX multi Manipulator band compressor 3. MGA JS Limiter (Unlinked stereo) Soundscape -> EQ -> Soundscape Sub -> 1. Reacomp: (stereo) Ducking response from dialogue trigger 2. ReaccompX multi band compressor Sound FX (mono) -> Echo, EQ -> Sound FX Sub -> 1. ReaccompX multi band compressor 2. Reaverb Reverb

Of particular importance for this mixing schema is the use of compression plug-ins, where a successive compression approach is adopted. For example, with the dialogue voices, the schema applies mild compression at each of the three levels of the signal flow: track, sub-mix and master mix. Sub-mixes for music, soundscape and sound fx have compression applied via a multi-band plugin that controls and balances in three separate parts across the full frequency spectrum (20Hz to 20Khz). Multi-band compression is also applied at the master bus, together with a limiter to stop the levels going into distortion. The end result is a dynamic mix that is neither too low in level, nor too over-compressed and breathes. The dialogue sub- mix was configured with a side chain compressor connected to the music and soundscape sub-mixes. Whenever there is vocal activity, the music and soundscape tracks are automatically attenuated or ducked by 1.5 dB. With this design, standard for radio and TV, the dialogue is not overwhelmed by music and other continuous sounds.

Synchronizing sound with the images for this motion comic was an intriguing and satisfying process. The details of the image track, particularly movement, are highlighted and emphasized and the mood is heightened. Sound can enhance visual perception and cognition, compensating for lack of fidelity or graphic detail in the visuals. According to Rojas et.al. (2014), who examined the impact of sound effects as compensation for low bandwidth visuals in games, ‘motion-related sound effects allowed slow animations to be perceived as

171 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker smoother than fast animations and that the addition of footstep sound effects to walking

(visual) animations increased the perception of animation smoothness’. It follows that where there is a restriction in visual assets, such as a motion comic, the soundtrack—both sound effects and music—can enrich the mis en scene and increase immediacy.

Fig. 5.33: Screenshot of mix template environment for Family Slaughter Motion Comic showing the four sub-mix folders and their respective tracks.

5.7. Feature Length Motion Comic

5.7.1. First Cut

The final phase of the project was the assembly of the full, feature length motion comic. This phase began upon completion of the 23 discrete episode drafts. The first full cut literally joined together all the episodes and was clocked at 98 minutes and 38 seconds. It was anticipated that the main issues would be associated with the first 20 minutes, covering the opening five episodes, which turned out to be substantially correct. This expectation was based on the knowledge that I had spent the first five episodes developing and consolidating a consistent motion comic design strategy: the strategy of panel preparation, motionizing and audio post-production detailed within this chapter. Additionally, within the context of the self-

172 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker imposed creative constraints, there are underlying narrative weaknesses associated with

Act 1, inherited from the script and comic.

Table 5.22: Design strategy for addressing problems in the assembly of Family Slaughter Motion Comic full feature

No. Problem Proposed solution Area of application 1. Blacks: Untidy and inconsistent Separate and clean up blacks in all First 5 episodes + Schreber + especially for Schreber panels, other panels character. 2. Separation of body parts was Separation of body parts First 5 episodes absent from early episodes. 3. Lingering dirt around separated Clean up. First 5 episodes + other panels panel elements 4. Inconsistent text sizes, letter Resize and make consistent, First 5 episodes + other panels and line spacing. 5. Animation of body parts and Additional expressive, gestural First 5 episodes + other panels eyes movements + refinement of existing animation 6. Weak or inaccurate dialogue Rerecord dialogue lines with voice First 5 episodes + other panels delivery actors. 7. Remix audio Consistent application of mix template First 5 episodes + other panels + editing dialogue, sfx and music 8. Slow pacing and structure of Edit script, + more movement + more First 5 episodes + other panels Act 1 (first 20 minutes). synchronized sound effects and whooshes + video editing

Table 5.22 summarizes the eight problems identified in the first feature cut. The majority of these problems were concentrated in the first five episodes that constitute the opening act of the feature motion comic. Further, Problems 1–7 are related to polishing and refining the motion comic in terms of the consistent application of the design strategies hitherto outlined in this chapter. There is very little else to discuss about these. Problem 8, a structural issue that required a rebalancing of conflict and exposition in Act 1 of the feature, is highlighted below.

5.7.2. Restructuring Act 1

Script specialists (Field, 2005; McKee, 1997) and visual story expert Block (2013) adhere to the Aristotelian paradigm of dramatic three-act structure with rising action (Aristotle, Butcher trans., 1961). In the assembly of this feature, the three-act structure of the motion comic was analysed and the passage of rising action across 97 plot points tabulated and charted (see

Appendix D). Conflict, expressed as contrast, is the motor of rising action and increasing narrative intensity. Exposition, expressed as affinity, is important for establishing characters, their backgrounds and relationships. However, although often vital for plot twists, exposition can flatten the narrative intensity. Inevitably, to set up the story for the audience, Act 1 contains more exposition than the other two acts. Designing the balance of exposition and

173 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker conflict in Act 1 is central to drawing the viewer into the narrative by arousing intrigue, setting the pace of the story and establishing the genre atmosphere.

Act 1 sets up the story by introducing the main characters and their relationships, establishing the dramatic premise of the confrontation between doctor and patient and defining the dramatic context of the 19th-century asylum and the dysfunctional suburban Australian family.

The end of Act 1 contains the inciting incident that triggers the escalation of dramatic events:

Jean Rousseau’s public exposure of her husband’s sexual harassment and the crossed telephone line with Schreber in the asylum. Act 1, in both script and comic, begins at plot point 1.1 (see Table 5.23) with Dr Rousseau entering Schreber biodata into his computer.

This beginning lacks tension, conflict and atmosphere. Schreber does not appear until plot point 5.14, more than 10 minutes into the narrative. This a weakness of the narrative structure as Schreber’s character is a key motor of conflict—a gothic, horror character who opposes himself to everything; the asylum, the medical system, humanity and God.

The structural design objective focused on re-organizing the action in Act 1 to inject an early dose of conflict, horror and intrigue, thereby increasing the tension and pacing of the opening sequences—within the confines of the self-imposed creative constraints. A prologue (plot point 1.P, see Figure 5.34) was created by combining assets from the script and the comic.

An unused scene from the screenplay depicts Schreber hearing the voice of his father, Moritz

Schreber, and reliving the torture of this demagogue’s educational contraptions. The dialogue from this scene was merged with the asylum panel from Plot point 5.14. Moritz Schreber’s illustrations of his devices, including the chinstrap or ‘kinnhalter’—originally contained in the appendix to the screenplay—float through the asylum window and down to torment the stiffened and shaking patient.

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Table 5.23: Restructured plot point breakdown of Family Slaughter Motion Comic Act 1, showing patterns of exposition and conflict, additional prologue and arrangement of episodes.

Ep No Description Function Time of day Pp.No. 1.P Sonnenstein Asylum, 1898. Conflict and Prologue 1898 Schreber, rigid and shaking in Exposition SFX apparition 1 his cell as rays emanate from the window and speak to him. We hear the voice of his father Moritz Schreber and see the restraint devices of his childhood. Schreber screams. TITLE: FAMILY SLAUGHTER MOTION COMIC. 1.1. Killara, Australia 1989. Exposition 1am Saturday Computer screen and typing morning with the voice of Dr Ray Rousseau. Schreber back- story. Ray in the den. Conference deadline. 1.2. Daughter Tuesday sleeps, Son Exposition Al is awake and scrap-booking 1.3. Jean Rousseau awakes. Exposition 6am Saturday morning 2.4. Junior Rousseau on overnight Exposition, Conflict express. Argues with soldiers. 3.5. Breakfast: Al and Tuesday with Exposition 7am Saturday Rico radio show. morning 3.6. Gymn: Rousseau visits his Exposition Schreber shrine. Interrupted by Jean. 3.7 Jean and Ray have breakfast. Conflict Ray is remote and obsessed. 2.8 Junior confronts Smoker who Conflict/ Climax 8am Saturday predicts death in the family morning 5.14. Asylum cell: patient Schreber Exposition 1898 is penetrated by rays and voices 4.9 Jean in the kitchen with Rico Exposition 10am Radio show talkback Saturday morning 4.10 Rico in Radio studio – open Exposition line show subject is suicide 4.12 Junior arrives at Killara railway Conflict Radio suicide monologue station V/O 4.11 Tuesday does dance exercises Exposition Radio suicide monologue in the bedroom. Ray asleep at V/O desk, 4.13 Jean dials Rico open line Conflict 11am Saturday morning 5.15 Schreber “dials in” to open line Conflict SFX apparition 1 1898 show 5.16 Radio Studio: Schreber, Jean, Conflict/ Climax SFX apparition 1 1898/ 11am Rico telephone crossed line. Saturday Jean publicly shares PLOT POINT 1, morning suspicions of her husband’s INCITING INCIDENT sexual misconduct with patients. 5.17 Asylum cell: patient Schreber Conflict, Exposition, END ACT 1 1898 humiliated by Dr Fleschig. resolution

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Fig. 5.34: Screenshot of prologue panel from Family Slaughter Motion Comic Act 1

The plot breakdown in Table 5.23 shows that Episode 2, ‘Junior’s Trainride,’ is intercut with

Episode 3 as the action shifts between the Rousseau house and the train. Junior Rousseau’s character is another motor of conflict in the story. His belligerent confrontation with his army buddies increases narrative tension and multiplies intrigue as to where and how violence can erupt. Table 5.23 reveals an interleaving of conflict with predominant exposition until plot point

5.15, when the narrative intensity lifts into Act 2.

The full trajectory of the narrative arc across the 23 episodes is plotted in Graph 5.1. This

Freytag plot shows the division of the three-act structure, key plot moments—inciting incident, crisis and tipping point—and the regular distribution of Schreber apparitions. The weaker points of intensity are shown in the first four episodes of Act 1. There is strong and consistent growth in intensity from Episode 5 across the entire second act. The beginning of Act 3 is marked by the appearance of the Genghis Khan Schreber, war is declared and Rousseau is transformed into a murderer, accelerating the intensity of horror and violence. The full feature is finally complete.

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Graph 5.1 Freytag diagram of the rising action in Family Slaughter Motion Comic. SFX refers to the distribution of Schreber apparitions across the narrative arc.

5.8. Conclusion

This chapter has presented a detailed breakdown of the design strategy and aesthetics for

Family Slaughter Motion Comic. At the core of the design strategy is the management and leveraging of a self-imposed creative constraint: that the motion comic is a remediation of the visual and narrative assets of Family Slaughter screenplay and comic. Building on previous chapters that have examined motion comic format variations and hybrid media aesthetics propelled by softwarization of media, I have proposed the aesthetics of partial immersion for this motion comic. Additionally, Chapter 4 exposed the design strategy and aesthetic for the comic and its feature film intentions: the comic as simulation of a low budget horror film. The motion comic version continues to pursue these intentions with the goal of producing a motion graphics, horror feature in a motion comic format that simulates a film by intensifying the immediacy of the comic assets and sustaining narrative continuity and rising action across a traditional feature story arc. I have characterized the subsequent design methodology as panel exploration, a necessary strategy that emerged from the comic assets themselves

177 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker when it was revealed that action transitions were far less than the average for American and

European comics.

A motion comic script was created that combined screenplay with comic panels. The comic was deconstructed panel by panel. The assets for each panel—elements and fragments of characters, objects, environments and text—were separated, enhanced and arranged in sequences of dramatic motion gestures. In contrast to filmmaking and animation practice, a linear, episodic project management approach was adopted. This allowed for both experimentation and then consolidation of design standards on an ultra-low budget. A detailed soundtrack and audio design strategy has contributed greatly to the immersive quality of the final work. However, the motion comic does not achieve the immediacy of live action film or cell animation. Immersion and immediacy remain partial and flip into the hypermediacy of the graphics plane.

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CHAPTER 6: IMPLICATIONS OF HYBRID MEDIA

Much of the best work being produced today seems to fall between media. This is no accident. The concept of separation between media arose in the Renaissance. The idea that painting is made of paint on canvas or that a sculpture should not be painted, seems characteristic of the kind of social thought—categorizing and dividing society

—Higgins (1966)

6.1. Hybrid Thesis

This chapter addresses the primary research question: With specific reference to the motion comic, what are the implications of hybrid media formats for contemporary media scholarship and media design practice? The thesis is fairly evenly divided to address both sides of this question, from the perspectives of media scholarship based on literature review, and design practice based on a single motion comic case study. The writing in this thesis is itself a hybrid: comprising theoretical and exegetical writing. Further, the hybrid thesis extends beyond the words to the project: Family Slaughter Motion Comic. The project/thesis operates as a mixed entity. Both the practical and theoretical elements of this design study are demonstrated and expressed in the motion comic.

6.2. Separation of Media?

The implication of hybrid media is that it challenges the notion of the separation of media at each of the three levels: material, logical and cultural. Fluidity refers to an intermingling and exchange between hitherto separated media elements; indeed, elements that historically may possibly never have been that separate. Indeed, this thesis has advanced the counter- hypothesis that distinct media emerged from hybrid media as sustained business models.

Hybrid hardware hides in plain sight: phones that take photos, speakers that compile a shopping list, watches that check blood pressure. Chapter 1 summarized procedures in softwarization that are capable of automatically remediating content into different formats: films and games ‘cartoonized’ into comics, books that can be listened to and read, comics that talk and move. Software accelerates and automates remediation and drives hybridization.

The various media associated with print, transmission and recording are simulated and

179 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker subsumed by processing media—their formats and content remediated as the mechanism of recorded media shifts from playing and replaying to retrieval. Retrieval is always an act of remixing, even if nothing seems to change, unpicking the certainty of mechanical reproduction—where everyone sees the same movie or reads the same book—such that separated formats can interfere with each other through automated software manipulation.

For example, a video database can be remixed in accordance with a text that corresponds to recorded dialogue snippets (Thompson, 2019). The subject in a photo is aged by 10 years.

We should expect that machine learning will accelerate media fluidity, to reach the point predicted by Donald Katz where ‘everything will be available together in every possible format’ (Olshan, 2015, p. 1).

Media hybridization is symptomatic of an underlying flux of media particles that have increasingly miniaturized, at the material level, towards quantum dimensions. The implications of this shift for media scholarship could be to adopt quantum theory as a description for media dynamics. For example, the theory of Quantum Darwinianism (Ball, 2019) tries to account for how the stable, ‘classical’ reality of concretely perceived objects is derived from the decoherence of an underlying superposition of quantum particles where entangled particles replicate their state or ‘spin’ across an environment, interconnecting phenomena and observer. As Ball (2019, p. 1) notes, ‘the state of the nitrogen spin is “recorded” as multiple copies in the surroundings, and the information about the spin saturates quickly as more of the environment is considered’. A similar process could describe the retrieval and remixing of media particles by software agents to stream convincing simulations of classical media objects. As this thesis has hinted in Chapter 3, further research could attempt to connect media theory, specifically derived from Marshall McLuhan, with a quantum materialist ontology, such as exemplified in the work of Karen Barad (2007), and her detailed analysis of

Neils Bohr’s quantum ontology and epistemology.

6.3. Human + Technology = Hybrid

Humans are hybrids too—post-human cyborged assemblages, as first intimated by Donna

Haraway (1999). Media technologies extend individual bodies into inter-subjective, networked

180 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker assemblages of humans, software agents and indeed organic components of nature. Soft technologies are modes of collective perception—the languages of film, writing, music and comics—and have reformed as cultural interfaces of the electromagnetic screens where software as meta-medium performs the hybrid remixing along the graphics plane. Fluidity usurps the safety and security of distinct categories. News is fake, fiction is fact, comedy is drama, film is animation, male is female, white is black, left is right, and vice versa. The centre is lost. Purity in separation is dispersed. The allegedly polished mirror of reality held up by writing, cinema, sound recording and photography is replaced by the dark mirror of quantum uncertainty: the screen is a radar of immanence, like the Star Trek holodeck, displaying shifting patterns of data, refreshing the sense of something ‘out there’. As sensory extensions become ever more fine-tuned new objects appear: gravity waves, the Higgs boson, merging black holes.

Already, media extend beyond the scenario discussed in this thesis, where the screen is the portal to the graphics plane. Having reached market maturity, the screens will soon become outmoded by visual aids implanted in spectacles, contact lenses, even the brain, and be themselves remediated as virtual portals in a hybrid landscape. Augmented reality (AR) is poised as the next wave in digital technologies and has long been referred to as a hybrid space: the overlaying of the material world with its own virtual map, the ‘mirror world’ (Kelly,

2019). AR pattern recognition software separates and then reintegrates the material world into virtual objects, characters both human and artificial, and environments. Text tags float like dialogue balloons. Strange cartoon-like creatures (Pokémon, virtual home assistants, robots) populate the mirror world, and time is stretched backwards (levels of undo) and forwards

(predictive modelling). In AR, the graphics plane is melded into the fabric of the material: the proliferation of real/virtual hybridity.

6.4. Medium in Between

Fragmenting both space and time, screens are multiple encapsulations, intersecting comics’ sensibility with the graphics plane. The logic from screen to screen, window to window, is one of comics perception—that of panel closure and Vertov’s interval. The motion comic is a

181 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker hybrid creature spawned of this intersection. It exists because it can and because there is now a sensibility to appreciate that format. That sensibility itself is hybrid, a specific marriage of comics’ perception with those of text, cinema, animation, audio, HCI and graphics— psychotechnologies arranged on the cultural interface of the screens. Hence, according to

McCloud (2000), the motion comic is not a comic. The motion comic has a specific patterning or imprint: a probability set that makes a selection based on a single rule—the remediation of the comic panel. This is the design rule of creative self-constraint for the motion comic.

The investigation has revealed that not everyone loves motion comic hybrids. Assuming the categories and sensibilities of legacy media, a motion comic seems redundant: better to have the film, the animation or the graphic novel. It is a medium without a business plan. One always knows that a motion comic has these repurposed comic elements: this aura of in- betweenness that places the end-user in a dilemma, forcing attention to oscillate between various functions of reading, viewing, interacting, and listening as—like 19th century animation devices—the observer is reminded of their own perceptual participation. I have suggested that this oscillation between immediacy and hypermediacy is characteristic of hybrid media and is manifested as partial immersion: the aura of the hybrid. As a medium in between the coolness of comics and the hotness of radio and cinema, the motion comic is a warm medium. Self-consciously low-fidelity, the motion comic is something one to learns to love.

6.5. Automation Versus Artisanal

Design practice is situated at the point of inflection between networked habits of pattern recognition and the serialism of pattern creation. Automated, machine-learning media function as pattern recognition technologies that attempt to simulate and automate psychotechnologies: if multiple brains recognize the directorial style of Sergio Leone, why not create Spaghetti Western software that could produce a veritable Westworld (2016–) of entertainment options. That is a truly uncanny valley. The consequences of automating design practices as a new type of mass production are balanced against its opposing tendency of the artisanal and the handcrafted. Under Mcluhan and McLuhan’s (1988) laws of

182 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker media—amplification, redundancy, reversal and retrieval—amplified software renders filmmaking redundant, reverses film into animation and retrieves preindustrial artisanal practices. Motion comic, as a form of contemporary, software-driven, media design practice, is caught within the interstices and vicissitudes of this media dynamic.

While the production of Family Slaughter Motion Comic is software driven, the process is not automated. Indeed, as the account in Chapter 5 attests, the design of this motion comic involved thousands of hours to handcraft (or mouse-craft) the final 95-minute feature. The artisanal nature of the work is apparent throughout, the sense that human craft and decision making has been applied. The motion comic has a different quality to film: the setting up, capturing and editing of an automated process. Reflecting upon the stages of production presented in this research, it is feasible to imagine an automated system or systems dedicated to motion comics’ production. Doubtless Madefire Inc. (2017) is already working on this in the commercial sphere. Simultaneously, thousands of digitized comics, many from the

‘Golden Era’ of comic publishing, now exist in the public domain, siloed in repositories such as the Digital Comic Museum. These artefacts provide abundant illustrative and narrative resources for artisanal remediation into motion comics.

6.6. Motion Graphics Feature

The project, Family Slaughter Motion Comic, is a systematic exploration of the production of a motion graphics feature: a dramatic, horror-themed narrative. The exegesis has chronicled how the comic as a cultural interface can supply raw visual assets, narrative framework and sustainable continuity for a feature length motion graphics story. Contemporary media practice begins with the choice of design of format. This cannot be taken for granted. This choice will indicate a design management strategy dictated by budget, format and creative self-constraint. The core asset of the motion comic is the panel. The mechanism of the motion comic is intensive panel exploration.

Primary lessons learned for motion comic designers: The foundation of this motion comic project is the remediation of assets from Family Slaughter screenplay and comic—the

183 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker prototype for an original, feature length low budget horror film. As described by Pigott (2017), the comic was deliberately designed as a ‘little movie in black ink’. It had unusual features for a comic: an array of splash pages, a variety of panel grids, a predominance of black ink, a low number of action panel transitions and panels co-drawn by two artists. Budget and time constraints shaped the comic into a compressed and condensed feature, with narrative affordances crammed into the panels of its 56 pages. The motion comic project unpacks and decompresses, retrieving the feature film haunting the pages and panels of Family Slaughter comic. In the design process, each panel is retrieved and intensively remediated. The first step was to match the comic back to the screenplay and write a motion comic script that connected narrative plot points to visual panel assets. The second step was an intensive visualisation of each panel through separating and enhancing panel elements—characters, objects, environments and text—before finally motionizing these assets and combining them with a soundtrack.

6.7. The DJ and Motion Comic Designer

It is useful to liken motion comic design to that of electronic music composition, and a motion comic designer’s role to that of a DJ. The motion comic designer works with pre-existing illustrations, remixing them with graphic fragments, visual effects and sound elements while applying motion in the form of simulated cinematics and partial animation. This type of bricolage simulates elements from motion pictures and animation in the same way that electronic sounds and samples simulate musical structures and phrases played by musicians and captured in sound recordings. Electronic music is an evocation and remediation of performed and recorded music that relies on the psychotechnology of music to function as cultural interface, interacting with the physiological subject who knowingly agrees that what they hear and decode is ‘music,’ because the patterning (rhythm, orchestration, tonality and harmony) is familiar as ‘music’. Like all hybrids, electronic music is not about the music it is about the listener, the participant and what they know and hear, how they summon music from samples, loops and wave forms with preconceived patterns and templates. In this sense, the DJ retrieves, and processes (remixes) as they retrieve: an intensive listener whose main tools are the psychotechnologies of the ear/brain.

184 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

Similarly, with the motion comic designer - they are not an illustrator, animator or filmmaker but a remixer of the patterns of comics, film, animation and text, whereby the observer is simultaneously tantalized and frustrated by the interplay of partial codes within a narrative exploration of comic panels. It seems like narrative but you sense the gaps between the panels. The array of comic panels is like sequences of complex sound objects—separated from their sources—enhanced, remediated, repeated. The DJ samples, slices, loops and forces (with the aid of software automation) these sound objects into a tempo, a harmony and a timeline. The motion comic is composed of panel elements, visual fragments bounded by the panel, partial characters, objects, environments and texts remixed and motionized across a time line whose tempo fluctuates while traversing a narrative arc. Just as electronic music is post music, the motion comic is post film, post animation and post comics and yet composed of bits and pieces of all of these.

6.8. Duckrabbit

In Chapter 1 the motion comic was declared ‘neither something nor nothing’ (Jones, 2009, p.2). The motion comic is a hybrid that pulses with ambiguity. To use the example of a favourite perceptual amalgam, it is neither duck nor rabbit but duckrabbit (see Fig. 6.1). The implication of hybrid media is that a thing can be two things, or multiple things simultaneously and in varying degrees. According to Vanderbilt (2014), perceptual scientists suggest that the human cognitive/perceptual system can only see duck or rabbit. The studies infer that perceptual ambiguity (perceptual dissonance) cannot be tolerated by the cognitive system and must be resolved one way or another, ‘but while everyone, at some point, can be made to see duck-rabbit, there is one thing that no one can see: You cannot, no matter how hard you try, see both duck and rabbit at once’ (Vanderbilt, 2014, p. 4 ).

185 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

Fig. 6.1. Duck-Rabbit illustration: drawn by Anon and first published by Joseph Jastro (as cited in Vanderbilt, 2014, p.

2).

What we ‘see’ is the superimposition of two visual patterns with a majority of affordances in common: ambiguity. The entity is a hybrid, a chimera, we can see both figures via the oscillation of a single affordance—horizontal orientation—where the overall shape and grain of the texture are cleverly organized to support this oscillation. Focusing on the single eye and scanning to the right retrieves rabbit as gestalt, scanning to the left retrieves duck. Just a slight shift in observer’s eyes produces the effect. Focusing directly on the eye produces the duckrabbit sensation—in rapid oscillation we can indeed see duckrabbit. Immediacy cannot be sustained and collapses incessantly into hypermediacy. The problem with resolving duck and rabbit lies less with the demands or limitations of the perceptual system, but of the cultural interface that extends that system: the deep learning that extends across the networks; pattern perceptions that are shaped by centuries older media extensions and psychotechnologies. The study goes on to discuss experiments in bias—for example, racial and gender bias—as cognitive necessities; that is, the need to resolve black or white, male or female. If we refer to duckrabbit as multiple and hybrid we would use the collective pronoun

‘they,’ we avoid the imperative of having to say whether Schrodinger’s cat is alive or dead,

‘they’ is both simultaneously duckrabbit. As Stephanie Golden (2018) points out, the use of

‘they’ to replace the singular pronoun is currently unacceptable as grammar:

A sentence like ‘Carey makes themself coffee every morning—they hate tea’ violates

deeply engrained rules of grammar. Saying ‘Lisa told me they love gardening’ calls

186 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

into question basic categories of being. For many people, ‘they’ is the untuned string

that portends discord and chaos.

The implications of hybrid media ripple outwards to a culture, an ethics and a politics of hybridity: one that embraces multiple, not binary, ambiguity not certainty, hybridization as radical conservationism, mixed and remixed rather than separate and pure. The motion comic, like duckrabbit and all hybrids, is ‘neither something nor nothing’ (Jones, 2009, p. 2).

187 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker

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APPENDICES

1.1 Appendix A: Interview with Tim Pigott

Interview Transcript Tim Pigott (03/12/2017)

Q: What was your main inspiration for the Family Slaughter screenplay?

TP: There were three inspirations. One was the character of Schreber. I read a book called “Soul Murder” which I think was a marvelous book, really excellent. I just thought, like of lot of people have since, wow what a guy. Also because of his paranoia: I liked all of his paranoia, the actual things he thought. I remember thinking that right at the beginning. Secondly: the character of the psychiatrist and calling him Rousseau, after Jean Jacques Rousseau. Also, one military son, that was important. It seems obvious now, but it was before Iraq was invaded.

Q: Also, an actual murder suicide in the Sydney North Shore.

TP: Yes, I think so too and I had forgotten that. And there were lots of really good horror films by DePalma, Romero, Cronenberg, Craven and Carpenter. There were about five or six. And we all loved them. They were so sarcastic and in your face; did not give a shit about anything.

Q. You talked to me about a three hander of which Family Slaughter was one story. Like Creepshow and Tales from the Crypt.

TP: Yes, Romero and Stephen King and the whole 1950s comic book approach. In general, George Romero was a big influence. The “Night of the Living Dead” movies: especially the second one, “Dawn of the Dead”. I loved that sensibility of Romero and Tom Savini. I reckon Romero had a brilliant view of America, especially the Vietnam era. And he had been in Vietnam. He came back and I remember he said; Vietnam was like living in a nightmare. Very lucky to come out alive really, most of the people in the thick of it lost legs and stuff.

Q. The vision of horror that comes from the realism of war and the B movie production values, documentary style cinema verite and working on smaller budgets.

TP: Yes. For Romero and Tom Savini I reckon America itself was a B movie production. It was a B movie to them. “The Crazies” was like a little metaphor about America and the hysteria of ideas; everyone was panicking all of the time.

Q. So this was poured into the vision for Family Slaughter?

TP: A bit, but probably not enough. It was hard because it was suburbia. At first I thought it was a really good choice, but then I realized we can’t do certain things because its suburbia. But it all comes in to the map and battle of Dien Bien Phu in the loungeroom.

Q. There were horror directors who specialized in Suburbia: Wes Craven, John Carpenter.

TP. Yes. I think Wes Craven is a bit of a genius. Nightmare on Elm Street 4 is a masterpiece. It is vision is right up there with Pabst. Where the Freddy character actually came out of the television screen. Family Slaughter has some qualities like that.

Q. The Idea here is developing Daniel Paul Schreber as a horror character.

TP. Yeh. I don’t know whether we did or not.

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Q. Your vision for Schreber?

TP. His ghostliness. He is like some sort of spirit or ghost with classic Germanic qualities. Like Bach or a German musician. For me that is Schreber at his most Schreberish: sitting there playing the piano.

Q. In the early feedback we received for the screenplay, the style of the picture was summarized as a combination of Gothic and American horror, but with a British art movie beginning, which at the time was felt as out of character with the rest of the film.

TP. I agree. That seems like a fair assessment.

Q. Do you think there is some influence from Vertigo City?

TP. Probably. Which I hadn’t thought of - but I think there is - Family Slaughter is a bit like a myth of the near future. If Ballard ever read a book about Schreber I reckon he would have been fascinated by him. He was a medical student before he became a writer. I think there are connections between Family Slaughter and Vertigo City. Of course the money amounts were very daunting. Even, the rights for the book (Highrise) were surprisingly expensive.

Q. Which brings us around to discussing the business strategy for Family Slaughter. We had an investment from Sayers.

TP. Yes we had a small investment from Sayers Ludbrook (Void), the actor. In return he wanted to get a shot at the playing the Junior Rousseau character. In the (Family Slaughter) comic the likeness of the Junior character is modeled on Void. I definitely looks like him.

Q. And we had your agent, Tony Williams.

TP. That’s right. Tony was very sophisticated but he wasn’t what I would call a dynamic agent. He was very careful. There were projects that he had been involved with that he totally believed in and they didn’t happen.

Q. Family Slaughter – where did it fit or didn’t it fit at the time (1989)?

TP: Both. It fitted and it didn’t fit. Low budget horror films were very popular, but with the exception of Mad Max, they were not understood in the Australian industry. The mood in the Australian film industry was very much focused on art films like “Picnic at Hanging Rock”. They wanted to make a masterpiece; they used words like that. People in the industry said to me - you like Nightmare on Elm Street? How could I go for that crazed American rubbish? They couldn’t understand why it was so popular. A couple of meetings I had in Australia trying to convince people of the viability of the screenplay ended up with me acting like a character in the Crazies. Which started to affect my confidence. Can’t they see what a magnificent film George Romero’s “Night of the Living Dead” is? Of course they didn’t read the same books. None of them knew who Philip K Dick was.

Q. The screenplay did circulate to some executive producers; Alan Bickford showed interest.

TP. Yes he loved it. I remember him saying to you and me I have no doubt you will be just as successful as Guy Pearce. But Alan lost his financial backers so that deal fell through.

Q. Who was making low budget horror films in Australia at the time?

TP. Philippe Mora had success with “The Howling”. Anthony Ginane, he made a lot of films, most of which I thought were rubbish.

Q. You had an agent at William Morris in the US at the time.

TP. That’s right Beth Swofford. She was thanked at the Academy Awards for her efforts in “American Beauty”. She said the problem with the film Family Slaughter is that it really had a lot of knowledge in it. She loved how Freud was in the film, his ideas and as a character. She found that really interesting.

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Q. Did you know of the connection of Phillip K Dick to Schreber? Dick read Freud’s “Five Essays on Psychoanalysis” and he wanted write a book about Schreber? He loved the paranoia.

TP: I didn’t know that.

Q. At the time it was quite confronting to deal with murder suicide and the idea that no gets out alive except one guy and he’s already dead. Now we have a film like ‘Get Out’, that builds to such a level of paranoia that the protagonist kills the whole family: a sort of horror version of Black Lives Matter.

TP. It used to be quite a daring thing to put two genres together twenty years ago. Now you have films that mix lots of different genres.

Q. What was the strategy for the comic-film tie-in for Family Slaughter and “Cargo Zombies”? This type of tie-in was quite new at the time. Today in Hollywood there are companies that will turn a screenplay into a comic to enhance the marketability of the screenplay.

TP. They were both visually to enhance and promote the movie, but they were also like doing a little cheap movie on paper. That’s what it felt like making them. We were drawing a movie page by page on paper in ink. Which was a very exciting and interesting thing to do. Budget comes into it. Money. We deliberately made Cargo Zombies only forty pages because we decided that’s what we could afford. The person who did the deal for that was Rob DuRose; he paid for the wages and the printing. He was very supportive and helpful and he didn’t interfere at all, which we appreciated. He trusted us to do it although he wasn’t sure if we would finish the job or not. He loved it when it came out.

He said something very interesting to me once. He knew some of the history of the things we were doing. When the letter from Ballard came and we got the offer, he said this may be the peak of your career in film. He said its so hard to sell a film and get one up. So hard. This moment may have been the peak moment in terms of a successful project, which turned out to be a reasonable remark. He thought it was incredibly difficult to get a movie off the ground.

Q. How does making a comic differ from making a storyboard?

TP. I reckon it is different. Some storyboards are just stick figures, and what they get right is the angle of the camera. Each square has got the camera shot right, but the drawing is quite sketchy, the artist doesn’t put a lot of time and effort into doing a perfect drawing. A storyboard is much more detailed for shots. A comic is an abridged and edited version of the script. You can’t fit a 120-page script into a forty-page comic. But a storyboard literally has every shot of the movie.

Q. There was no film deal at the time for either Cargo Zombies or Family Slaughter. If you take it back to Cargo Zombies, you got Rob DuRose and Sebastian Chase to invest in the comic. They must have seen that a strategic goal could be achieved through that?

TP. Yes. Rob thought it should have become a movie. But he knew it was difficult to get the money. In Australia at the time there were some people who were really good at it. Peter Weir and Fred Schepisi were evidently very good at getting projects off the ground.

Q. Did anyone at the time give a budget valuation for Cargo Zombies?

TP. Yes but they varied enormously. A couple of people put a small budget on it like Euan Keddie (co-writer) did. Someone else reckoned that if the film was made in New Guinea it would need a real lot of money, just because of the logistics of making a film in New Guinea. They felt it could even be around 20 million. Most people felt it would be much more sensible to make it in either Queensland or the Philippines. It was talked about a lot as a comic book. The comic book went around a lot.

Q. So you think in that sense the idea of generating the comic was very valuable.

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TP. Yes. It got talked about. And meetings got set up.

Q. It is very difficult to get anyone to read a script. You have to have an agent for that, whereas you don’t have to have an agent for a comic book.

TP. Yes. That’s right. I was very confident about the art level of the project. I knew it was going to be, between the three of us, Nigel and Peter and myself, I knew we were going to do a good job. It came out as a really good little comic. Some of the female body drawings of the female character in Cargo Zombies are beautiful. They look like a movie, they look and feel like a still from a movie except in black ink. I was all for using a lot of black. I always have been like that with every print project I was involved with. I love using lots of black. I don’t like wash that blacks out things that you should be looking at. And that’s a fine line sometimes, you can easily make a mistake there. Some things in comics, if you make a mistake you can go back and do it again, but you can’t do that with printing. And printers hate to be asked to fool around and do special things. They get very impatient. When the press is running it’s running, that’s it.

Q. To cut to the chase with Cargo Zombies: you actually succeeded because you got an executive producer, Edward W. pressman, interested. And that was directly through the comic.

TP. Yes. Lots of people looked at the comic and loved it. And a lot of people got a sense of the film from the comic and they didn’t get the sense of the film from the script. At that time that would have been a really unusual script, compared to the other scripts going around in Melbourne and Sydney. It was really different. Euan also had a lot of contacts.

Q. Family Slaughter screenplay and comic came next. Fifty-six pages.

TP. Yes. It changed twice in the layout. The first layout was 44 pages. Then we went to 48, and then finally to 56. And unfortunately each time we changed the pages the budget went up. I don’t think we could have done it less than that. There are still some parts that jump too fast. You can see that there were space problems and everything couldn’t be fitted in. The hardest decision of all when you take that first step to do the initial layout, which is the structure of your project of the comic is fitting an hour and a half screenplay into that many pages. I think a couple of times there we didn’t quite get it right.

Q. With the motion comic, the real question is how can we stretch the visual assets from the comic to incorporate more elements of plot and dialogue from the screenplay: example of the ‘glance across the centuries’ panel.

TP: But I think the comic captures the mood of the film really well. I reckon the mood of Family Slaughter is really well captured in the comic. I think the illustrations are excellent. I like the illustrative work of Nigel and Peter. It is deliberately a genre comic. It’s not like that because the three people doing it didn’t have the imagination to do something more eccentric. And in Nigel’s case, he loved genre comics. And getting mood is not as easy as it sounds. I think mood is essential.

Q. Do you think that the mood is the central most important thing for the vision of the comic?

TP. Probably not the most important thing, but it is really important. If it isn’t there the whole project might just be as flat as a pancake. Say talking about Fritz Lang. His films are saturated with mood in the most brilliant way.

Q. What’s more important?

TP. In the most conventional sense, narrative is really important. When I watch a movie I actually like to know what the plot is. I think characters are terribly important too. Sometimes at the very beginning of a project I would write down a list of characters and then I would start on the narrative. I think we shuffled out Jean Rousseau a bit in the narrative. Often one character is squeezed out and she was the one in both comic and screenplay. Probably, if it had been made in America, they would have written up the daughter (Tuesday) a lot to grab the teenage girl demographic.

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Q. Can we discuss influences on your design approach to the comic?

TP. The comic deliberately has different styles of layout in different sections. The actual pages were much bigger than the shrunk, printed ones.

Q. Some pages such as pages 50-51 use traditional paneling with action and subject transitions. Other pages such as 42-43, the paneling breaks down into full pages with the narrative spread across in a radical spatial montage. Who at that time, would do a page like that apart from Will Eisner?

TP. Eisner was an influence on this comic. Eisner had a huge influence on Nigel Gurney’s drawing career. He loved Will Eisner. He thought of him as one of the most important comic book artists that ever lived with more ideas than everyone else and better at drawing. I think he is a genius, Will Eisner. I reckon his influence is in here.

Q. Eisner talks about the page as being the ultimate meta-panel.

TP. Yes

Q. And how you can use a page or even a double, which happens in the Family Slaughter comic, and everything that goes into that is connected up inside. Eisner talks about how you can use all sorts of things for panels like a door or straps like page 49. Or an outside setting, like page 33 where the brothers fight in the backyard.

TP. I’m very glad we made that choice to have big splashy feature pages. I reckon they work well and they are always exciting.

Q. Do you think it was unusual at the time to have such a diversity of panel ideas?

TP. It was unusual for then. It was unusual to have that many panel ideas in one comic. Nigel and I spent a lot of time on the layout in pencil before the artwork commenced. We did the layout very carefully and knocked up a pencil version before Peter Pound and Nigel began the drawing. Doing all the panels and paneling it out and working out how many different styles of panels we could have and how many feature pages. How many double pages we could have. I’m glad we did. I reckon it worked. It is one of the most interesting things about the comic.

If you remember back, you can also remember different pages done by different artists. A lot of the time it was Peter and Nigel together. However, one page (45) was done by Mark Mort. The Genghis Khan page. He was terrific at that heavy metal style of drawing.

Q. How many comics do you know where someone just contributed one or two pages?

TP. Very rare.

Q. I’d like to ask about the differences in drawing styles between Peter and Nigel.

TP. The both had very different styles, yet they often collaborated on the same panels. Most pages are collaborations, although the two covers were drawn by Peter. And some of the layouts were also mine and Peter did the drawing (pp14-15). I did the concept in pencil and Peter produced the pages over a weekend. Page 12 Tuesday rehearsing, was drawn by Nigel, he was so good at bodies.

Q. These close-ups of the gun assembly look like a different style.

TP. I think those four panels may have been the second thing Mark Mort did.

Q. McCloud classifies comic art styles on a three-way continuum: cartoon, realist and abstract. In fact the Family Slaughter comic veers between these three poles.

TP. Yes, it does, doesn’t it? I love the pages where both artists are working on the same material.

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Q. Nigel and Peter must have collaborated on the courtroom double page?

TP. They did that whole thing collaboratively, that whole double spread. Sometimes they’d even both worked on the same head. That’s very unusual. They never had an argument.

Q. Normally you would assign different characters to different artists, but this is not the case here?

TP. No. This was very collaborative project. Peter never read the screenplay, but Nigel did.

Q. Some panels are composed with characters in the foreground having more realism than those in the background that appear cartoony. Some sections such as the house hunters and the tv show are also more cartoony, which suits the mood and narrative.

TP. I remember “Whose That Child?”, a lot of that was done by Nigel, especially the little tv screens, and the Gene Siskel which he got perfectly right with his black moustache and everything. Page 38 is another interesting collaboration where Peter drew the apparition coming out of the tv set but Nigel drew the heads all around it. With that one they did separate work within the same frame. Most of the lettering is Nigel, he took that on board as his job. He came up with the idea that two people lettering in different hand-writings, or three, wouldn’t work. I realize now he was right. It would throw the reader off in an unconscious way.

I think Nigel did a beautiful job of lettering. Lettering’s fun if you like it. If you don’t it’s too time consuming and too specific. Every couple of hours you have to stop and have a coffee because your hand is aching from repetition strain.

I like the idea of working at the layout table, all three, much more than say the writer in one room who writes a script and then walks down the hall and giving it to the layout artist who then walks down the hall and gives it to the illustrator. I understand why Frank Miller insisted on doing it all himself.

I think Nigel was a very good draftsman. Peter was good at some things but he was very limited, like he’s not good at bodies. Great at machines and cars and houses. And he did two good Schrebers, including the one on the back cover. I think that is a great drawing. That cover would get you a job at a top American comics publisher as an artist.

Q. Let’s talk about the cinematics in the comic. Did you decide on a shot list at the beginning? How did you decide what shot you wanted?

Shots were made it up as we went along usually from our favorite shots of films. Panel transitions were developed as sequences wherever possible, like an edit decision list. Close- ups were very important and powerful. We also had establishing long shots and weird canted angles and overhead shots. Lighting varies and sometimes clashes across panels on the page. Same problem, not enough pages.

Q. There seem to be instances where the black was too overpowering for the details in the panel. The frozen family tableau on p.16

TP. That to me is a panel with too much black wash. Much too much. That one we were very disappointed. It looked good on paper but not when it came out of the printing press.

Q. The idea on page 33 of the corner of the page burning away, exposing the page underneath. What a great idea.

TP. Yes. I tried to do a lot of things like that.

Q. Do you see an artistic connection between Lockjaw and Family Slaughter?

TP. Yes there is. Family Slaughter and Cargo Zombies are both real Dreamflesh products. They are the two ones that came after Cargo.

Q. But the artists were not Dreamflesh people.

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TP. Yes I agree with that.

Q. The comic has a feeling of visual layering, similar to photoshop, which is also very Dreamflesh. Lockjaw is a masterpiece of layering.

TP. Yes. I think a lot of things in Dreamflesh products certainly influenced Peter and Nigel.

Q. What was some of the criticism you received for Family Slaughter?

TP. The most common criticism I got of Family Slaughter was that it was too cramped in to fit into the pages and at times they lost the plot. They really liked the drawing and liked the story. We jumped events to make it fit into that many pages. I guess the ideal version might have been two forty-page books. That would have been the perfect version with the full script.

Q. For McCloud transitions are everything. In the gutter, the gap in between, the reader has to figure out what’s happening on the other side of that gap. The panel transitions are sometimes very abrupt in the comic. Sometimes it is even hard to figure out what is a panel and what’s not, which is also part of the attraction of the layout.

TP. Yes I agree.

Q. Hence the attraction of the geometrical simplicity of gridded panels, like nine per page, that allows for a quick read.

TP. Yes. Lots of readers love that. That’s how they like a comic to be served up to them best of all. Sometimes unusual comics haven’t been successful when they first came out. They become successful often years later. Like Eisner at first wasn’t praised a lot. He was considered a bit of an eccentric. He did a lot of things that were against industry conventions.

Q. What is your vision for the visual mood of the comic?

TP. I very much liked the back and white graphic quality of Family Slaughter. I like black Indian ink in comics. I like a comic that is very bordered and has heaps of Indian ink framing it. Thick black panels. Lots of the comic’s drawings are great because there is lots of black. And there are many pages where there is white lettering on black. It is a theme of the comic. Black and white contrast, that’s what I like. I don’t like very subtle pencil drawings. Not strong enough. Not cinematic somehow. They veer too much towards a fine art tradition. I love graphic black and white. I think lots of people do. It’s something Germans have been very good at throughout history. Not in comic books so much but in art. Artists like Grunewald. He was fabulous at graphic qualities, and so was Durer. I love those drawings of knights riding horses that were like the spirit of the plague. Fantastic bits of art, he would have made the greatest heavy metal comic book artist. His graphics style was fantastic. He did lots of black and white work.

Q. The motion comic is colour. But the blacks are extracted. Then I take the shape and texturize and colour it and shade it and then put the blacks back on again.

TP. That’s a good way of doing it; I like the way it has very bright vivid colours, I think that suits it.

Q. Where you happy with the depiction of characters in the comic.?

Very happy with the way Schreber came out: German expressionism with a touch of Freddie Kruger and a wisecracking style. Junior is also well established, and we had a model in the actor Sayers Ludbrook. The depictions of Tuesday are some of the most cinematic in the comic. Jean Rousseau is a little underrepresented in the comic. The character we had a problem with was Dr. Rousseau. Getting a mood for him, especially panic and fear. We often resorted to the old trick of drawing sweat drops on his face.

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Tim Pigott Consent Form

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1.2 Appendix B: Interview With Sonya Jeffrey

Interview Transcript Sonya Jeffery (01/12/2017)

Q. Can we discuss your background and how you became involved in independent publishing?

SJ: I lived in London in 1981 because of the music scene at the time. There were a lot of different sorts of publications coming out at the time. There was still the fanzine thing, but there were also a lot of things that were bridging art and popular culture or bridging genres. I was interested in that so I started importing a lot of those publications back into Australia. I had a little shop in Perth where I sold publications both from overseas and local and also second hand clothing. Needless to say I didn’t make any money out of having a shop, but people started asking for the publications. These weren’t available anywhere else, so then I started distributing them nation-wide. Then I moved to Melbourne and started distributing. The publications really did bridge art, music, and fashion – a lot of related genres. At the time these areas were a lot more mixed up than they became in the 90s.

Q. So focusing on the 80s, can we discuss the Indie publishing scene in Australia?

SJ. There was a whole mixture of things. There were fanzines that came out of the independent music scene of all different levels of sophistication in terms of production and writing. Because of the policies of the Australia Council at the time, there were a whole lot of small, publicly funded arts publications that bridged art, cultural studies and theory and other areas. There was a small indie comic scene. David Vodicka (Fox) in Melbourne had a magazine that was like a compilation of different comic stuff. There were odd comics coming out that were self produced or independently produced. It wasn’t a big part of what I was doing, but it was significant. It sort of tied in to things that were happening overseas like RAW Magazine in New York and Escape Magazine in London where people had got interested in a sort of artier comic that wasn’t part of the big publishing stables. Sometimes these were influenced by the more continental tradition of comic art – Italian, Spanish and French. This was pre the interest in Japanese manga/anime that seemed to hit Australia a bit later.

Q. What was the range and style of publications that you encountered during that period?

SJ. There was a real range of things. There were a whole lot of photocopied, self-published publications of different sorts. Sometimes things that followed the artist book tradition like with foil or fur on the cover. There were a few lineages. There was the Punk, Post-Punk thing and the 60s/70s artist books and mail art. Those things sort of joined up. Then there was a slicker printed product. It was much more expensive to print then, and also to typeset. My partner Matt (Holden) and I did a few magazines ourselves. By the time we got to the third one we stopped using typesetting that we actually sent out and instead we used a digital typewriter called Canon Typestar that was pre-computer but post-typewriter. So bearing in mind these technologies, there were some people who were trying to make their publications look quite slick. People who got funding would use printing. So there a number of formats and people were experimenting with formats. Now that might seem commonplace, but at the time it wasn’t. Even things I was getting from overseas, that people tried to do similar things here, were large formats that you may not have got in the past. And sometimes people did tiny little things. And then content was quite different across the publications as well. Magazines were very popular. There has been a bit of a cycle in magazines. In the 90s it became harder and harder to sell magazines and to get bookshops or shops to take magazines and mainstream magazine circulations were really dropping.

Then these new magazines were born that was almost like going back to the 80s and had a niche market and magazines became trendy again. What I have seen, from a historical

204 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker perspective, there was a flurry of experimentation in the 80s, then the 90s became a lot more standard and mainstream and slicker. Then, because of digital technologies and it being relatively cheaper to print, and because of being able to print in Asia and print on demand, I have seen in the last 10 years a boom in small publications. This is partly due to something that never died, the artist book and art book movement, which has become a lot bigger. Internationally, Printed Matter, who had a shop in New York that was for artist books, started to hold art-book fairs where anyone could get a table, that was relatively cheap to exhibit. They have become bigger and bigger and are now almost everywhere. Loads of cities have art-book fairs. Sometimes they are more specific, like photo-book fairs, because there has been a big boom in photography publications – self-publications and small publications. Then there are print fairs, like in the UK, organized by people interested in the older print technologies and produce high quality, tactile stuff, but in much smaller numbers.

Q. People are going back to typesetting now.

SJ. Yes and people going back to old litho-printing techniques and the old ways of doing colour separation. So there are a lot of things going on at the moment, its like you’ve got a lot of eras together. I distribute now some of that type of stuff, but because I do a lot more of established publishers, that whole area has got its own economy and logic and dynamic. Some publishers from that movement would break through into more conventional publishing and be sold in the same outlets and regularly published books, but some of the things published in that area would only be consumed within that circuit. Online shops and online sales have made a big difference as well. In the old days when I was trying to find interesting publications, I was scouring other magazines – scouring for listings and all this information, then you have write them a letter and wait for a reply and sometimes you would swap things – it was a long, drawn-out process that took quite a lot of work and time. I guess this suited people who liked sourcing things and had a type of collectors mind.

Q. Did you distribute any comics during that time?

SJ. Not a lot of actual comics, except Fox. I did Escape Magazine from overseas and I did Cargo Zombies and Family Slaughter. Initially comic shops often stocked other things from small publishing culture, but then it started to separate again and comic shops had their own logic and it was sometimes hard to even get comics into comic shops. I know that sounds silly, but then it was quite hard to get other places to take comics. That was probably before the graphic novel thing happened in a big way, which probably opened things up a lot more again. You had a literary culture that didn’t respect the comic in Australia, whereas in France, Italy and Spain and Japan the comic was not a lower cultural form than the book, it was the same – everyone read comics, everyone read books. I think in the literary and arty circuit, except for RAW, people didn’t really respect the comic. But then the people in the comic shops often were fairly conventional. After the whole 80s experimentation they became a lot more rigid in what they would stock and they often just sourced everything from big wholesalers in the US. They weren’t really open to really independent things. Now there is a comic shop in Melbourne that stocks indie publications. But overall its like the whole comic scene separated more from small indie publishing and just became its own thing. We weren’t able to sustain distributing it because we didn’t really have the right channels for it.

Q. Do you think that shows a difference in target customer/ reader?

SJ. No not really. Since the graphic novel comics have become more respected, so you have a certain amount of bookstores now that have a really good graphic novel and comics section. So they are the places we actually managed to sell to at the moment, which for us is mostly Japanese stuff. And a certain amount of graphic novels will be quite accepted in the literary circuit now, just really since Art Speigelman’s “Maus”. Also some were published by book publishers like Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis, things that sometimes have been made into films as well. And also because of things like Studio Gibli movies have been made into books. There are distributors that focus on this. Like here in Melbourne you have Madman Distributors that do movies and anime and distribute quite a lot of comics. And then there are various overseas ones. You also have stores like Kinokuniya in Sydney that have a really big comic section. They would be our top place for selling stuff now. With the actual bookstores it would be a bit hit or miss. Another interesting thing about then and now is that we used to

205 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker sell a lot of stuff in record stores and then that just really died off. There’s not that many record stores anyway. There are specialist vinyl stores but publications are a big part of what they do. They would have been a place in the past you could have sold comics. So some cultures became more separate I guess. We sell now to a lot of design, gift, multi-focused shops and you need something’s that is really in their style. In America there is a chain of stores called Urban Outfitters who do a lot of publications as well as clothing. I know distributers who have managed to sell a lot of comic, illustration type stuff through there. I think what has happened is that there is a lot of stuff that people see as illustration right now and there’s a genre of things that aren’t exactly comics and they are not exactly graphic novels. I have an Italian publisher, for example, that publishes work by people who are known as comic artists, but the focus is much more on the actual illustration so the format is different. There are a lot of things that are more separate and refined, not so mixed up.

Q. In all of that sea of different influences in the 80s, how would you position Lockjaw?

SJ. Lockjaw is probably a publication not that many people understood at the time or even might understand now. It is a pretty unique mixture of comics, cut-up artist books, ideas. It was a real amalgam of different things, but it was done a cut-up, fractured style so you really had to make an effort to follow the thread. Visually and ideas wise it really was like nothing else at the time and since. Because it was so layered. Personally, I prefer Lockjaw to either of those comics, not because of the stories of the comics, I didn’t like the illustration style of those comics, they weren’t really the type of comic illustration style I really like. I grew up on comics from mainstream to whatever because my dad had an account at the newsagent and we were allowed to just bill anything to the account. We used to read as kids all the comics that were in the newsagent. I really liked the illustration style of the artier, Italian comics. I found the illustration style of Cargo Zombies and Family Slaughter; to me they were too American. I think the ideas were really out there but the format was quite standard, relative to Lockjaw. I know in ideas there was some continuity from Lockjaw to those two comics.

Q. Are you referring to the illustration style as separate from the paneling?

SJ. Yes illustration style not the framing, that’s not a problem.

Q. In American comics in that period you wouldn’t have found a whole page laid out where you had to work your way through it? That is more European.

SJ. No, that’s true. It’s more the illustration style, the aesthetic of the comics and probably the printing. The way it was printed in terms of paper stocks. Then you were working with illustrators who weren’t well, you. They were working with you up to a point but it wasn’t quite the same.

Q. There is almost a schizophrenia of styles across the pages in the comics.

SJ. Probably certain pages were certain way and some were a different way.

JL. I thought certain parts of Family Slaughter could have been in Lockjaw.

SJ. They were probably the ones I liked. But I just never gelled with the other bits in terms of style. Not in terms of story or ideas. I think with Family Slaughter and Cargo Zombies it was hard to find an audience, the right audience for them. It was difficult because on the surface they seemed like a conventional comic, like the covers, but inside they weren’t really like a conventional comic. It would probably be easier to do something like that now because of different printing technologies available to get the right product in terms of feel and look, whatever suits the ideas more.

Q. This is a question about contemporary publishing, your own opinion of hybrid publishing formats such as audio books, particularly Audible which they claim has published over 10,000 different audio books.

SJ. I have the impression that audio books were mainly popular with older age groups. I know people listen to pod casts, but I don’t know much about audio books or anyone who consumes them. In terms of the publishing world I have been in, there doesn’t seem to be

206 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker much linkage. Some people were trying to produce physical books that would then have links or downloads that would enrich the content. But people seem to some degree to have abandoned that because it seems like a completely different area. So publishers don’t seem to be doing that so much any more. Like you could get an art book and then download more stuff. Even the graphic design books that had CD ROMs with all the fonts have gone out of vogue because you can download that stuff really easily. The publishers I know tried that then seemed to have abandoned it.

Q. With cloud computing, where the book resides in the cloud, this provides the ability for the reader to switch in and out from reading mode to audio mode.

SJ. That could be something. However eBook sales have stagnated, I think globally, but particularly in Australia. Still a lot of people are interested in the physical form of a book. E book formats do not seem very central in publishing. However it may be in a whole different sort of area. I know booksellers are trying to find ways to be able to sell audio books, and things like the cloud computing approach, I’m sure there is an audience for this but its not an audience I know.

Q. Moving to the comic side, there’s a lot of comic book adaptations, or remediations, variously referred to as motion novels, graphic audio, adaptive audio and motion comics.

SJ. That makes more sense to me in terms of distribution; often people who distribute comics will also distribute anime DVDs. It’s not about the actual medium it’s the area. It doesn’t really matter what the medium is, its all one area. And so the idea of publishers in that area experimenting with those formats - in a way makes more sense to me. As I said before, in Australia Madmen distribute comics, graphic novels and DVDs. If you look at their catalogue, they will distribute all Studio Gibli films and all the comics, which the majority weren’t done as originally. In Japan amongst manga/anime culture that’s all quite common.

Q. Yes in Japan you can buy DVDs of manga with voice actors.

SJ. Yes in this area, it makes sense. But for printed books, the main outlet is still a book seller, they have often tried to get into these other areas, but a lot of the time these areas are controlled by tech companies who are trying to keep all the sales to themselves. For example, ebook readers and eBooks are proprietary, such as in the ibook or Kindle platforms. And so there was a big attempt to have an independent eBook reader that would enable bookstores to sell the ebook readers and eBooks. None of that seems to have worked because the tech companies are so proprietary driven. Amazon and Apple have cannibalized the literary culture, which is still being funded by conventional publishers, and they are not giving a proper slice of the pie to the other parts of that chain. For example with Amazon selling eBooks, most of the money is probably made selling the Kindles. The whole economics are so different. Say someone self publishes an eBook, statistics show that hardly anybody is successful. If you sell a lot of copies of something but you only take one cent, in terms of tech companies, you are still making lots of money because all the processes are automated. It is a completely different logic to a printed book.

Q. The business models are different?

SJ. Yes quite different. This has why there have been all these conflicts between the publishers and the tech companies and it ends up affecting authors because if everything goes the way the tech companies want a whole lot of authors won’t be able to be authors any more. The dispute between the publishers and Amazon was because Amazon kept reducing the price of eBooks. Because the authors get paid a royalty based on the price, it meant their royalties would decline. And so a whole lot of mid-level authors, who aren’t mega best sellers, but were actually able to make a living from writing, they could get wiped out. It seems like this might not happen because eBook sales have stalled. And also because, the traditional literary culture, for all its faults, has got the capability to fund authors to do two or three books that the publisher makes no money out of, but the author is still getting an advance and some money for, because they see potential in an author. Eventually they could write a best seller, but the publisher could lose money on four or five books. The digital model doesn’t have this set -up for authors. For television, the models are different with Netflix and HBO fund whole

207 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker series and they obviously have to invest quite a lot. Amazon Prime and others are also doing content like that. It’s just not fully worked out. In the end you can’t really trust tech companies because their whole aim is quite different. Amazon are not really a publisher or even a retailer in the conventional sense, they are logistics company and most of their money comes from cloud computing. They are not putting resources into areas to sustain things. And I’m not necessarily defending conventional publishers where there may be problems as well. But you can see things are at a bit of a stalemate. The other thing is that however digital everything is, there is a reaction against it as well. People have to spend all day looking at computers, a lot of people are seeking a more tactile experiences. It might not be the majority of people but it is significant. That’s why there’s been a huge boom in things like craft, and the handmade.

Q. Working in the reverse way: generating comics directly from pre-existing graphics material like anime or MMORPGs. When something exists in the graphics plane, even if it began as an illustration today it will inevitably end up in the graphics plane, either as vector or rastar graphics. Whoever owns that, publisher, tech-company or indie, is going to exploit that asset once it is in a software version. The tendency now is to swap these assets from medium to medium, because that’s what it lends itself to. A lot of the research I have read about comics and anime is often not from the West but from places like Singapore, Taiwan and China where they generate so much graphic material that what they are looking for is different ways to represent and remediate that material for their audiences.

SJ. This is a big area in every way and also you have audiences that are very attuned to those formats. In Japan that format has never been seen as inferior to any other format. When I was in Milan I went to see an exhibition of Kuniyoshi’s works. It’s just astounding the almost direct links from that work to manga and comic art. It was called manga, Hokusai has a book called “Hokusai Manga” which is like eight or ten volumes of different illustrations. In the Kuniyoshi exhibition there is so much both taken from that and put into manga, like lots of the scary creatures. Some of Kuniyoshi’s images could be straight out of an anime or manga – like the creatures in “Spirited Away”. Also the way they were published and done. In Edo, which was the biggest city in the world at that time, they all had publishers. So they weren’t artists in the Western sense, they had publishers who published their series of woodblock prints but also published these printed collections and they did them in runs of about two thousand at a time and it was a popular art. The prints weren’t bought by the aristocrats but by the merchants. Edo had a really high literacy rate because they had all these neighborhood schools. Merchants were considered like the plebian class that lived in one bit of Tokyo. There is now a Tokyo Edo museum that houses a reproduction of a street in Edo that includes shops that were like bookshops and libraries where you could buy or borrow woodblock prints. So you can see this direct lineage as a popular literary art reproduced in multiple. The cultural lineage is very different, and swapping between mediums is not really a big deal.

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Sonya Jeffery Consent Form

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1.3 Appendix C: Initial Proposal Family Slaughter Motion Comic

FAMILY SLAUGHTER: INTERACTIVE WEB COMIC

PROPOSAL (Draft 1: 09/02/2012)

Developers: Tim Pigott, Hardie Tucker & John Laidler

One family, one haunted weekend, one survivor…. and he’s already dead!

NOTE: This proposal document is presented for the purposes of ongoing discussion and development. After initial discussions, the following aims and goals have been proposed, although there is no formal agreement. (Hardie Tucker, Feb 2012)

Purpose:

The developers will produce and electronically publish an online interactive comic book (webcomic) adapted from the original, published comic book “Family Slaughter” aka ”The SchreberMachine”.

The aims of this project are:

• To produce an interactive webcomic featuring user interactive elements and cinematics (cutscenes). • Audio enhancement through recorded dialogue, original music soundtrack and sound fx • Episodic publication of webcomic on dedicated website/blog

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• To capture a niche online audience following a “transmedia” business & marketing strategy • To develop branding for “Family Slaughter” and “SchreberMachine” • To archive and redevelop original works by Tim Pigott, Hardie Tucker, John Laidler and other collaborators. • To help position the development team as individual and collective content creators

Project Outcomes:

The project will test the concept of developing, branding and marketing niche content through the internet. The projected outcome is a compelling and innovative work that expresses an original vision of dark tragi/comic horror. Design features include:

1. Original comic artwork by Peter Pound, Nigel Gourney & Mark Mort 2. Original comic direction & writing by Tim Pigott 3. Original low budget horror story and characters written by Tim Pigott & Hardie Tucker in the “Family Slaughter” screenplay 4. Adaptation of original b&w artwork through colourisation & animation 5. The addition of interactivity: side scroller panelling, in-panel embellishments such as mouse triggered animation, text, dialogue and audio 6. Cinematic clips - cut scenes and Youtube videos 7. Recorded dialogue with extra dialogue added not in original comic 8. Original soundtrack composition 9. Soundfx and foley fx 10. Writing esp. by Tim Pigott both in the comic and the blog 11. Shreber character has potential for horror franchise

Synopsis – Narrative:

The basic horror concept is murder suicide with a crazy ghost. The FS narrative explores the horror angle that people are the victims of their own most cherished ideas. FS is a caustic, wisecracking and darkly exaggerated thumbnail sketch of alienated suburban lifestyle – militarism, unemployment, divorce, media persona, professional practices, ethnic confusions etc. The characters of the Rouseau family, Ray, Jean, Junior, Al and Tuesday are less “realistic” and more “stereotypical”. In Schreber’s words, they are “fleetingly made men”; existing in an 80s suburban twilight zone of exhausted social rituals and frantic, obsessive dreams. At the centre is “family”.

From another century, Schreber is archetypal, a man who could have achieved political office, but instead “triumphed” through embracing his own psychosis, transforming into a psychotic spirit propagated memelike through media appliances. In Schreber’s psychosis he is omnipotent and all powerful. In the real world of the 1890s he was consigned to an asylum. Schreber became a famous case study of Sigmund Freud, who bestowed upon him archetypal status, the “Schreber syndrome”. Psychoanalysis transforms Schreber from man into disease; a transmissable entity. And now he’s ready for a home invasion. Riding the conduits of 80s media, Schreber homes in through every channel of the Rousseau household: telephone line, radio chatshow, computer terminal, tv primetime and finally emerging from the pages of his own memoirs.

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Schreber expert, psychoanalyst Dr Ray Rousseau, can see the disease and talk to it. Tragically, he cannot immunize himself; there is no talking cure. As his career, marriage, family and grasp on reality crumble and increasingly horrific Schreber apparitions taunt and torture, Ray Rousseau seeks a final solution.

Synopsis – Worlds of Family Slaughter

The dimension of interactivity in the web comic opens up a new challenge for the developers. Classic transmedia franchises (eg Matrix, Star Wars, Resident Evil) create worlds for the audiences to explore, revealing new aspects of the world, story, characters etc. Direct linear narrative is augmented with end-user immersion, exploration, puzzle solving, even role playing. So what are the “worlds” of FS and how can they be accessed in a webcomic with limited visual assets ?

The combination of narrative, characters, theme and their visual expression in the comic, provide opportunities for interactive embellishment. Additional animation, text and sound elements can fill out new dimensions, without the need for generating more drawings.

The following is a summary of the characters and the obsessive worlds they “inhabit” in their respective spaces in the Rouseau household.

• Dr Ray Rousseau: Psychoanalytic obsession with patients and case studies. Has affair with patient Sally Molloy. Den, gym, minibar, books, journals, lawyer, Schreber paraphernalia, Freud. • Jean Rousseau: Obsession with escape – travel, selling the house, gossip, radio. Kitchen, Dining room, bathroom. • Junior: Militaristic obsession manifested in hyperactive bootcamp behavior, political extremism and war-games. Absails the roof and fights for personal space in the bedroom with Al. • Al: Unemployed and withdrawn into research activities of late night tv, obscure publications, and scrap-booking. Passive aggressive. • Tuesday: Obsession with dance, ethnic culture, celebrity-hood; bedroom, dolls, boyfriend. • Schreber: the world of 19th century Schreber; the asylum, and the Schreber apparitions throughout the Rousseau house; fleetingly made men, Genghis Khan, the SchreberMachine.

Entertainment style and genre

The Family Slaughter interactive web comic is a synthesis of various styles, genres and platforms:

• The narrative style is tragi/comic horror as derived from classic low budget horror films from the 70s and 80s including Evil Dead, Last House on the Left and Reanimator. The japanese cult classic “Crazy Family” is also an influence. • The visual style is expressionist/noir as depicted in graphic novels by Frank Knight and DarkHorse comics. • The cinematic style is influenced by graphic novel animatics such as “Afterworld”, released as a series of 3min TV episodes. • The interactive style is heavily influenced by the NAWLZ interactive comic; a dark future cyberpunk tale. Also graphic adventure games such as Myst and early survival horror like Seventh Guest.

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• Other influences would include dark humor tv shows like South Park, Simpsons and 6 Feet Under • Musical and sound design influences required here????

Delivery Medium/Platform:

The audience accesses the comic through the Family Slaughter website that also houses a blog, presskit, story synopsis and character bios, developer profiles and various social networking links. Short comic “webisodes” of 10-15 interactive panels are published regularly to the site and can be accessed by triggering episode 1. Once within the webcomic the reader can scroll through the comic or jump between webisodes. The experience is a hybrid of reading a comic, watching an animated movie and playing a graphic adventure game.

The current release is planned to be in Flash format, suitable for viewing on HD displays with aspect ratios of 16:9. This tends to exclude the mobile market at this stage.

The “panel” is the fundamental structural element of the webcomic. Each panel is based partially or wholly on a panel from the original comic. Embellishments of the panel will be both interactive and cinematic. Designing each panel within a comprehensive design document is essential to developing the Family Slaughter webcomic.

Marketing Strategy:

The internet has proven potential for aggregating a distributed niche market or “Long Tail”, and raising interest in what would otherwise be “fringe” projects. Utilising a low cost media development strategy and released in an episodic online publication format, “Family Slaughter” may actually find more of the audience it missed in the 1980s when limited run comic book publication was the only option.

Pratten’s Transmedia business model shown below summarizes the strategy based on developing and exhibiting low cost media over appropriate platforms to gradually aggregate a niche audience for FS.

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Pratten’s model shows an iterative cycle of Develop, Implement, Measure and Monitor.

This treatment addresses issues of development first in the context of an implementation strategy. Measure and monitor is carried out with the use of both quantitative and qualitative web-tools.

Without a compelling story and characters one would not have anything worthwhile to exhibit. This Proposal is inspired by the conviction that, after more than 20 years, the quality of the FS comic book is strong, although decidedly offbeat. The development task at hand is to enhance and match, if not exceed this quality with the webcomic adaptation.

Legal Stuff:

Legal issues for the FS can be divided into copyright and business aspects. The aim should be to arrive at concise legally binding agreements with all parties involved. No lawyers required.

1. Ownership of comic book and screenplay:

Family Slaughter comic book is an adaptation of the screenplay Family Slaughter by Tim Pigott and Hardie Tucker. Two contracts exist, one each for ownership of screenplay and comic. In these contracts (1989), screenplay and comic ownership is split between the writers and investor Sayers Ludbrook. The contracts also state that the two writers, Pigott and Tucker have together, decision making power independent of the third partner Ludbrook. Consequently, it is within their power to license or transfer copyrights associated with FS screenplay/comic, without Sayers Ludbrook’s consultation or approval.

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Comic artists Peter Pound, Nigel Gourney and Mark Mort are “work for commission“ and have no copyright ownership of the published comic. No original artwork will be used in this motion comic, scans of the published comic will form the basis of the visual assets. However their respective credits would remain intact.

2. Ownership of Family Slaughter Webcomic

It is proposed that the Family Slaughter webcomic be jointly owned by the development team of Tim Pigott, Hardie Tucker & John Laidler. In order to acquire these rights the development team must negotiate a transfer of adaptation rights agreement with the owners of the comic/screenplay. This is a fairly straight forward formality that explicates the chain of title over the entire Family Slaughter franchise. A royalty agreement for the transfer would ensure a financial slice for Sayers Ludbrook, should profitability ever emerge from the current project or spinoffs thereof.

3. Development Agreement for Family Slaughter Webcomic

It is further proposed that the development team negotiate a development agreement. The terms of this agreement would cover: Ownership split, roles and credits, resources investment, financial investment, financial compensation, decision making, power of attorney/agency etc.

4. Agreements for External Parties

It is inevitable that external parties will become involved. For example, voice actor casting is a consequence of the creative decision to have dialogue.

To protect the commercial potential in the project, close attention must be paid to the originality of assets, visual, written and recorded. Performance rights releases need to be obtained from all “talent”.

The contractual options are: a) Work for donation: release is given freely without obligation for payment at any future time b) Work for deferred payment: release is given in exchange for possible payment or partial payment at a later (unspecified) date. c) Work for commission. Release is given in return for lump sum payment.

Project Operations:

A two-phase operation is proposed:

PHASE 1: OFFLINE PREPRODUCTION, PROTYPING AND TESTING

Main objectives of this phase: 1. Complete a comprehensive webcomic script/design document 2. Complete cinematic teaser trailer 3. Complete prototype interactive webisode 4. Audience testing prototype content 5. Comprehensive workflow documentation 6. Voice Actor casting plus other collaborators 7. Completion of contractual negotiations, formulation and agreements 8. Research and Business & Marketing plan development

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Projected time period for phase 1: 12 months.

PHASE 2: ONLINE IMPLEMENTATION, MEASUREMENT & MONITORING

Set up website, implement promotional strategy, webisode production.

Specific objectives to be determined.

Projected time period for Phase 2: 12 - 24 months

Resources:

1. Hardware/software resources will be restricted to toolsets the developers have at their disposal. A comprehensive list would be required to ascertain limitations and any impact on quality.

2. Webhosting: to be sourced/costed.

3. Human Resources: • Development team. • Voice actors • Others.

4. Money: Budget & accounting to be written and implemented to track the valuation/monetisation of the above resources.

Critical Risks and Problems:

1. Problem: Conducting regular and effective meetings and communications. Use of Skype for Developer conferencing and Dropbox for content sharing and updating. Solution: Need to plan logistics of getting Tim regularly to Skype enabled terminal and sharing updated info with him.

2. Problem: Resolving issues between restricted visual resources, narrative structure and animation, interactivity. Solution: Script, script script…

3. Problem: Maximising the use of audio Solution: Write a comprehensive audio design doc.

4. Problem: Establishing & achieving high quality standards Solution: Establish main dramatic objectives and high concept. Maintain critical attitude and troubleshoot for weaknesses. Identify areas for more research. Effective documentation: script, workflow, checklists. Audience test and feedback. Compare with benchmark references. Make a plan and stick to it.

5. Problem: Lurking legal issues Solution: Negotiate and document a business strategy & contractual framework and stick to it.

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1.4 Appendix D: Plot Point Breakdown of Family Slaughter Motion

Comic

Ep No Description Function Time of day Pp.No. 1.P Sonnenstein Asylum, 1898. Conflict Prologue 1898 Schreber, rigid and shaking in SFX apparition 1 his cell as rays emanate from the window and speak to him. We hear the voice of his father Moritz Schreber and see the restraint devices of his childhood. Schreber screams. TITLE: FAMILY SLAUGHTER MOTION COMIC. 1.1. Killara, Australia 1989. Exposition 1am Saturday Computer screen and typing morning with voice of Dr Ray Rousseau. Schreber back- story. Ray in the den. Conference deadline. 1.2. Daughter Tuesday sleeps, Son Exposition Al is awake and scrap-booking 1.3. Jean Rousseau awakes. Exposition 6am Saturday morning 2.4. Junior Rousseau on overnight Exposition, Conflict express. Argues with soldiers. 3.5. Breakfast: Al and Tuesday with Exposition 7am Saturday Rico radio show. morning 3.6. Gymn: Rousseau visits his Exposition Schreber shrine. Interrupted by Jean. 3.7 Jean and Ray have breakfast. Conflict Ray is remote and obsessed. 2.8 Junior confronts Smoker who Conflict/ Climax 8am Saturday predicts death in the family morning 4.9 Jean in kitchen with Rico Radio Exposition 10am show talkback Saturday morning 4.10 Rico in Radio studio – open Exposition line show subject is suicide 4.11 Ray asleep at desk, Tuesday Exposition Radio suicide monologue does dance exercises in V/O bedroom. 4.12 Junior arrives at Killara railway Conflict Radio suicide monologue station V/O 4.13 Jean dials Rico open line Conflict 11am Saturday morning 5.14. Asylum cell: patient Schreber Exposition 1898 is penetrated by rays and Conflict voices 5.15 Schreber “dials in” to open line Conflict SFX apparition 1 1898 show 5.16 Radio Studio: Schreber, Jean, Conflict/ Climax SFX apparition 1 1898/ 11am Rico telephone crossed line. Saturday Jean publicly shares PLOT POINT 1 morning suspicions of her husband’s sexual misconduct with patients. 5.17 Asylum cell: patient Schreber Conflict, Exposition, END ACT 1 1898 humiliated by Dr Fleschig. resolution 6.18 Junior jogs military style Exposition BEGIN ACT 2 12 noon though Killara saturday 6.19 Junior reaches front gate, Conflict bangs on door awaking Ray 6.20 Jean and Ray greet their son Conflict at front door 6.21 Drinks, Junior unpacks gun Conflict

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menacingly. 6.22 Schreber memoirs glowing in Conflict the den 7.23 Family lunch with Junior and Exposition 1pm Saturday sister Tuesday. Al is absent. 7.24 Schreber in asylum plays piano Exposition 1898 as if spying on family. 7.25 Frozen family tableau with Conflict SFX apparition 2 1pm honky tonk Schreber Saturday/1898 7.26 Tuesday and Junior argue. Conflict Ray senses Schreber 7.27 Ray in bathroom. Mirror Conflict dissolves into vision of asylum 7.28 Nurses1 and 2 discuss patient Exposition Schreber 7.29 Schreber plays piano and Conflict SFX apparition 2 curses the medical system 7.30 Ray is shocked to see “TOMB” Conflict, Climax 2pm Saturday scrawled in excrement on the bathroom mirror 8.31 Junior and Tuesday argument Conflict escalates. Junior slams fist on table and heads for balcony 8.32 Junior abseils over the roof of Conflict the house as the family watches. 8.33 Junior crashes into brother Al’s Conflict, climax, bedroom. Junior challenges Al resolution over his collection of “data” 9.34 Schreber in asylum courtyard. Exposition SFX 2 1898 He harangues the other patients and laments his own death. 9.35 Schreber conducts zombie Exposition 1898 patient ballet. Announces his plans to escape into the future. 9.36 Tuesday practices Balinese Exposition 5pm Saturday dance performance. Chats with boyfriend Rico on the phone. 10.37 Ray and Jean drink cocktails Exposition, Conflict on the balcony at twilight. They discuss their meaningless marriage and Ray’s obsessions. 10.38 Phone-calls: Ray talks to Exposition, Conflict. 6pm Saturday lawyer Coop, Jean plans escape, Tuesday gossips to Rico. 10.39 Junior clears up brother Al’s Conflict ”junk”. Divides the room in half with a painted line. 11.40 Den: Dr Rousseau panics over Conflict 11pm deadline and reaches for Saturday Schreber’s memoirs. 11.41 Schreber emerges from the Conflict SFX apparition 3 pages of his memoirs and addresses Ray. 11.41 Spooked, Ray trudges upstairs Conflict and gulps down whiskey. 11.43 Slacker son Al is getting a Conflict midnight snack. Father and son debate. 11.44 As AL watches TV evangelist, Conflict/ MIDWAY POINT Midnight Schreber issues a warning and climax/Resolution Sunday a fog descends over the morning Rousseau household. 12.45 Tuesday returns from date as Expoisition 7am Sunday Junior plays reveille. morning Newspaper thuds on den window. Rousseau asleep. 12.45 Ray reads newspaper. Conflict CRISIS POINT 9am Sunday Headlines announce sexual harassment scandal with prominent psychiatrist. Sally

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Molloy accusations 12.47 Sally appears and in feverish Conflict Nightmare vision and taunts the Doctor 12.48 Schreber crashes up through Conflict SFX apparition 4 Nightmare the floor in an elevator. 12.49 Elevator descends with Ray Conflict SFX apparition 4 Nightmare onboard. 13.50 Judgment basement, a Conflict SFX apparition 4 Nightmare courtroom convenes with Judge Schreber presiding. Sally Molloy screams accusations with a jeering crowd. 13.51 The doctor is whipped as Conflict/Climax Nightmare Schreber controls the court proceedings. Witness Sigmund Freud is called 13.52 Court is dissolved. Freud is Resolution Nightmare interviewed outside 14.53 Ray awakes in den and is Exposition SFX apparition 4 taunted by a celestial apparition of Schreber 14.54 Jean announces lunch: Exposition 12 noon Tuesday, Jean and Ray. Rico Sunday arrives and recognizes the caller, Jean from his radio show. 14.55 In a paranoid fever, Ray spills Conflict the wine and panics under the table and Tuesday taunts him. 15.56 Rain on the skylight. Plume of Conflict/Exposition 4pm Sunday smoke and yelling from the backyard. Rico and Tuesday embrace and discuss sibling rivalry. 15.57 Junior works out in the gym. Conflict/Exposition 3pm Sunday Obsesses over his slacker Flashback one brother Al. hour earlier 15.58 Jean shows the house to Conflict/Exposition Asian house hunters 15.59 Ray in den on phone with Conflict Coop. Wants to divorce his family. 15.60 Junior sets fire to Al’s data in Conflict/ Climax the backyard. The brothers argue and Al dives into the fire, emerging with blazing hands. 16.61 Jean tends Al’s burnt hands. Resolution 6pm Sunday The family gathers for their favorite TV show. Ray is absent 16.62 “Who’s that Child” TV show. Exposition Subject is Schreber and father Moritz. Family tries to guess the mystery child. 16.63 Mystery child is revealed as Conflict SFX apparition 5 Daniel Paul Schreber. Rousseau arrives. Schreber lunges out of the tv set 17.64 The siblings discuss their Exposition 7pm fathers’ increasing paranoia. 17.65 Schreber in the den, his head Conflict SFX apparition 6 crawling with “little men”. Rays medical authority is shattered as Schreber pelts him with little men. War between doctor and patient. 17.66 Junior prepares his war game Exposition on the billiard table 17.68 Jean tries to de-stress with Conflict yoga. 18.69 Junior’s war game: French Exposition 3-5 minutes 8pm establish garrison/airbase at Dien Ben Phu

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Junior’s war game: Conflict 18.70 Vietnamese assemble their resources around the garrison 18.71 French launch offensive Conflict 18.72 Vietnamese surround garrison conflict and attack 18.73 French defeated. Junior Climax, resolution END ACT 2 salutes the gallant commander. 19.74 Jean prepares bath. Resolution BEGIN ACT 3 19.75 Rousseau tries to erase Exposition/conflict Schreber data from hard drive 19.76 Genghis Khan apparition on a conflict SFX apparition 7 pile of skulls. 19.77 Ray’s skin on fire as Schreber conflict hurls flaming skull 19.78 His skin blazing, Ray comes to climax PLOT POINT 2 a terrible realization 20.79 Jean relaxes in bath with Exposition 10pm boombox 20.80 Ray takes the death drive and Conflict heads for the bathroom 20. 81 Ray kills Jean in the bath, Ray Conflict and climax is shocked 20.82 Junior ponders Dien Bien Phu conflict massacre as Ray approaches from behind. 21.83 Ray wacks Junior with gun and conflict drags his unconscious body to the gym 21.84 Schreber apparition mocks climax SFX apparition 8 Ray who kills Junior with military sword. 21.85 Al watches TV as Ray heads conflict upstairs. 21.86 Ray kills Al with flaming conflict baseball bat 21.87 Lights go out, Tuesday is exposition dancing in attic. 21.88 Ray appears in Tuesday’s conflict room. Tuesday fights back.

21.89 Father overcomes daughter Conflict and climax 1am Monday and strangles her. morning 22.90 Schreber types in the den. Exposition SFX apparition 9 Blood writing on the wall. 22.91 The doctor confronts the ghost Conflict in the den. 22.92 Final showdown. Ray attempts Conflict to shoot Schreber and massacres the books. 22.93 Ray realizes the endgame and Climax CLIMAX ACT 3 commits suicide 23.94 Morning breaks as police Resolution 6am descend on Rousseau residence 23.95 Lawyer Coop surveys the Resolution carnage 23.96 Schreber gets the last laugh. Resolution SFX apparition 11

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1.5 Appendix E: Audioblocks Royalty Free License Agreement

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1.6 Appendix F: Family Slaughter - Treatment and Characters

FAMILY SLAUGHTER – SHORT TREATMENT

Cocooned in the leafy lyricism of a sedated suburbia resides Dr Ray Rousseau noted psychoanalyst, and his family – wife Jean, teenage daughter Tuesday and oldest son Al. Plagued by a cash and career crisis, the Doc is on a downward slide. Over the weekend, as Rousseau struggles with a medical conference deadline, family tensions and sexual assault allegations morph terrifyingly into a deadly confrontation with his deepest, darkest obsessions. Dr Rousseau’s case study nemesis, German judge Daniel Paul Schreber, a patient incarcerated in Sonnenstein Asylum in 1898, is homing-in from another century. Schreber is the vengeful patient that won’t be ignored. “All miracled-up” - extended by radio, telephone, television, book, newspaper and computer - Schreber invades the Rousseau home and the Doctor’s mind. As this doctor/patient confrontation intensifies, fracture lines within the Rousseau family are pushed to breaking point.

DAY ONE: On Saturday morning, as the doctor broods alone in his Schreber museum in the gym, Jean Rousseau blabs on talkback radio about her husband’s sexual harassment of patients. In Sonnenstein Asylum celestial rays penetrate patient Schreber as crossed-lines connect him to Jean and the radio station. “Crossed lines. Crossed fates.” At lunchtime, second son Junior, cashiered from the army, returns home to knock his family into military shape - coolly assembling an assault rifle in the lounge room. What begins as a family reunion escalates as the bellicose Junior scales the A-frame roof, crashes through slacker brother Al’s bedroom window and sets up camp. Meanwhile Dr Ray Rousseau is having visions of Schreber, now stalking him across the centuries. Preparing to launch himself into the future, the patient conducts his asylum inmates in a zombie dance of the swapped heads. “Dance down the walls!” That evening, as Ray and Jean bicker on the balcony in a tired cocktail ritual, the two brothers have a tense stand-off in Al’s bedroom when Junior divides the room: military zone, civilian zone. As the Doctor agonizes over his deadline, an apparition of patient Schreber materializes from the pages of his own memoirs. “Some case, some history!” Shocked and shaken, Ray staggers upstairs and hits the booze. “Can the critique of the hallucination lead to the hallucination itself?” Spread out across space and time, Schreber has arrived.

DAY TWO: Sunday morning: Junior’s bugle blows reveille and the front page of the Sunday newspaper blows Rousseau’s mind: “Sex Pest Shrink”. Ray’s guilty secret goes public. Harangued by his victim Sally Molloy, the delirious doctor takes the big drop into a jeering courtroom with Judge Schreber presiding and Sigmund Freud as witness. Nightmare on legal street: Ray is flogged in the dock: “The prisoner has been punished, now let’s have the trial’. Back in suburban banality, an exhausted and alcohol-fuelled Rousseau lurches under the lunch table. “Get a life dad. Join a tennis club”, quips sarcastic daughter Tuesday. Later in the afternoon Jean tries to sell off the house to a Japanese couple and Ray plots with his lawyer Coop to divorce his family. Meanwhile in the backyard, Junior burns brother Al’s treasured research. “I’m gonna give him a second chance. An uncluttered future.” That evening the family gather around for their favorite television show “Who’s That Child?” The Doc’s last short straw: Schreber is the mystery child. Schreber is family: “They can all see him now.” As Schreber’s “little men” swarm over Ray, Junior restages the Battle of Dien Bien Phu: swarming Viet Minh overrun the arrogant French garrison. The fearsome Schreber reappears as Genghis Khan, straddling a pyramid of skulls and hectoring Rousseau on the decline of the West. Skull to skull, a fiery lightning bolt dials M for murder in Rays fevered brain.

Inflamed by the warlike visions and engulfed by paranoia, Rousseau snaps! Taunted by Schreber, the berserk medico embarks on a murderous rampage. As a police radio squawks out a list of domestic crimes, Rousseau bursts into the bathroom, choking Jean and electrocuting her with the talkback radio. Junior, engrossed in his war-game fantasy, is knocked unconscious with the butt of his own rifle. The father drags his son’s body to the gym, only to be confronted by a heckling Schreber phantom. Straps and gym equipment

222 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker come alive like jungle vines, enveloping the doctor, who slashes out with a military sword, disemboweling Junior. A dark figure stalks the Rousseau home. Al watches the late night movie. Daddy appears with a flaming baseball bat, bludgeoning his son and setting him alight: “You’ve cashed your last welfare check”. Immune to the pain, Al burns like a torched Buddhist monk. At the climax of this murderous rampage, daughter Tuesday is attacked and strangled in the attic after a frenzied death ballet. Daddy did it. The avenging angel of Killara has struck.

Rousseau returns to the den. Schreber is sitting at the desk typing Ray’s case history. “What are you?” Ray screams. Schreber replies with implacable psychotic logic: “I am the man who diverts death onto others in order to be spared it myself. Only I shall be saved by the healing rays of outer-space”. Textbook massacre: Rousseau slaughters his library with the assault rifle in a vain attempt to destroy his nemesis. But some things can’t be killed. As Ray puts the gun in his mouth and prepares to pull the trigger, he hears Schreber’s final comment: “Why blame your head Ray?”

DAY THREE: Dawn breaks on Monday morning. Media and police swarm across the lawn. The Rousseau family no longer exists. Who knows where Schreber will strike next?

CHARACTER NOTES

SCHREBER: The Schreber character is based on Daniel Paul Schreber (1842–1911), senate president at the Court of Appeal in Dresden, who suffered three serious mental breakdowns over his lifetime. The narrative covers his childhood torment by obsessive educationalist father Moritz Schreber, and his incarceration in Sonennstein Aslyum (1893-1901) under treatment from Professor Paul Flechsig. It was during this period that Schreber wrote his Memoirs of My Nervous Illness, detailing his delusional system and upon which Sigmund Freud based his famous case study in paranoid schizophrenia: The Schreber Case. In the screenplay, Schreber appears as a vengeful presence; a horror character that is part Fred Kruger sarcasm and part Hannibal Lecter erudition. The patient turns the tables on the doctor. Rousseau becomes ensnared in Schreber’s implacably constructed delusional system of miracles, rays and an “eternity” that allows him to reach out across space and time, to invade the Rousseau home. Expositional material on Schreber’s life is filleted into the narrative. Like a black hole, space and time collapse around patient Schreber as he drifts in eternity. His body transformed into a “divine miracle”, Schreber is penetrated by countless rays conveying souls from different periods of time and all parts of the universe. The rays speak to him as voices but he is petrified to respond. During incarceration Schreber indulges in compulsive behaviors including bellowing, piano playing and incessantly requesting his photograph be taken. He is convinced that Professor Flechsig is leading a conspiracy against him, and that even God is involved in this plot. Schreber believes that Flechsig has engineered his death through soul murder. Throughout the narrative, Schreber appears in many guises: pitiful patient, piano player, a talking book, courtroom judge, a face swarming with tiny men, television monster, Genghis Khan -apparitions loosely inspired by Schreber’s personal accounts of his miraculous states.

DOCTOR RAY ROUSSEAU: Psychoanalyst and burnt out patriarch who takes refuge in his den compiling psychiatric case histories and treating patients. Ray is under deadline stress to complete a conference paper entitled “Reworking Schreber”. His obsession with the 19th century German judge is evidenced by his Schreber museum in the gym and his desire to see and hear Schreber and his family: Ray gets a lot more than he wished for. In the early parts of the narrative, Rousseau comes across as a withdrawn and brooding character, caught in a crumbling marriage and alienated from his wife and children. As a psychiatrist, he projects a pretentious aura of superiority, with a disdainful attitude towards all patients and a conviction that his role as a doctor of the mind is under-appreciated. He has abused his professional privilege by

223 PhD Thesis: Hardie Tucker taking advantage of his vulnerable female patients, which has not gone unnoticed wife Jean. When Schreber materializes and taunts Rousseau in the den, the doctor struggles to reassert his medical authority. Sleepless and drinking heavily, the crisis is triggered by a Sunday newspaper article, with sexual misconduct allegations from former patient Sally Molloy. As Schreber establishes his vengeful presence in the Rousseau home, the Doctor’s downward slide into hallucination and paranoia accelerates.

JUNIOR ROUSSEAU: Kicked out of the army for super-militaristic tendencies, Junior wants to knock the family into shape. Looking for trouble, the confrontational younger son returns to the Rousseau family home on that fateful weekend: assembles an assault rifle, abseils the roof, argues with his sister, bullies his brother and espouses unhinged survivalist rhetoric. For that era (80s), the idea that everybody dies except the monster (who is already dead) was quite challenging. It is clear from the title Family Slaughter that there will be a slaughter of the family. The complications in the script set up a Red Herring to keep the question open as to who commits the murders. Junior’s subplot functions as a motor of conflict, while the tension between Dr Rousseau and his ”case study” Schreber comes to a boil. Unlike some Red Herrings, Junior’s subplot is not abandoned; his war-game re-enactment of the battle of Dien Bien Phu plays out as a doom laden curtain raiser to the ensuing domestic meltdown.

JEAN ROUSSEAU: Upper middle class Anglo, Jean is weary of her role as perfect mother and host. Secretly pining for wanderlust and the wilderness of Antarctica, Jean comes to view the family as a type of suburban prison. She takes her suspicions of Ray’s sexual indiscretions with patients live to talkback radio; a stream that is monitored as a miracle ray by Schreber in his asylum cell in 1898. Her elaborately prepared homecoming lunch is spoiled by Junior’s abseiling antics. Her desperation boils over into a favorite Australian pass-time – real estate – when she tries to sell the family home. As the events of the weekend develop, Jean’s increasing disillusionment with family as a social unit unravels to levels of depression and despair. “Family: survival of the weakest”. Facing down her imploding and deranged husband, too late she realizes that the family is also the most dangerous of places.

Al ROUSSEAU: Oldest son and long-term unemployable, Al is a late-night TV watcher and introverted media documenter of obscure facts. Obsessed with his “data”, Al’s world is shattered when brother Junior smashes through the window and annexes the bedroom. Junior proclaims Al’s precious files to be junk and builds a bonfire in the backyard. Bravely, Al attempts to retrieve his data, badly burning his hands in the process. Al is the only family member to engage his father, the Doctor, in intellectual debate on Freud and Schreber. Al’s ingrained pessimism foresees a grim future for the family.

TUESDAY ROUSSEAU: Youngest child, daughter Tuesday is a late adolescent dance student fixated on a showbiz career. Tuesday is introduced surrounded by dolls and she wears a menacing Balinese mask to breakfast. Her sharp tongue and sarcasm are aimed at her brothers and father; they are all losers without any sense of marketing. Tuesday’s boyfriend is Rico, the talkback radio host. She has a soft spot for her mum, in whom she can sense a deeper unhappiness. Tuesday hears Jean on Rico’s morning talkback show. When Rico comes to lunch on Sunday, the cat gets out of the bag. Tuesday’s performance of dance of the demons, overlaps with Schreber directing the zombie dance of the swapped heads.

RICO RADIO MAN: An Italian-Australian regional radio announcer and talkback jock in his late twenties, Rico hosts a suicide segment on Saturday morning, before being hooked into a telephone three- way with Jean Rousseau and the ghostly Schreber. Boyfriend of Tuesday Rousseau, his laid back and inclusive Catholicism is in stark contrast with the uptight, self-obsessed Anglo- protestant Rousseau clan.

SALLY MOLLOY: Sex harassment victim. Exposing Rousseau through the Sunday papers, Sally howls for the Doctor’s blood in Schreber’s 19th century kangaroo courtroom.

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COOP: The family lawyer and Ray Rousseau’s confidant. He is first on the scene after the Killara massacre. Coop is a master of non-disclosure, yet deeply skeptical of the family institution.

SIGMUND FREUD: His photograph in the den gazes implacably at his disciple, Doctor Rousseau. Later, Freud is called as a witness in Rousseau’s mock trial for sexual harassment.

MORITZ SCHREBER: Schreber’s fanatical father. Famous German educationalist and mad theorist, who designed a number of rigid contraptions for cruelly forcing the posture of children: devices fetshized by Dr. Ray Rousseau.

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