A Flawed Dejah Thoris

It took me forever to paint this mini, and even with all that work I'm unhappy with the final result. As you can see, I messed up the skirt, couldn't figure out where skin began and clothing ended, and I'm not happy with the skin tone. Sure, she's supposed to have red skin per the novels, but this red? I was hoping for something more like the Michael Whelan art of the 1970s editions of the books--more red-tinged than literally red. Oy, me. 
 

Woola

 

Here is John Carter's pet calot, Woola. He didn't turn out as well as John Carter or Tars Tarkas, but he looks okay on the table. 

I tried to give Woola's skin some shading, but I think the contrast between colours was too subtle. 

John Carter Leaps into Action

Here's a 28mm John Carter of Mars. I like him well enough, though he didn't turn out quite as well as Tars Tarkas. I do like that he has some definition in his face, though, and the metallic parts of his harness provide a hint of realism. 

This side-by-side comparison shows that Green Martians are much taller than humans and the humanoid Martian species. 

Tars Tarkas

Last night I painted this 28mm-scale miniature of Tars Tarkas, one of the savage Green Men of Mars, loyal friend to John Carter. The miniature sculpt is quite detailed and accurately captures Tars' look from the Mars books by Edgar Rice Burroughs. 

In this case, I painted the model's separate pieces individually and then glued them together once the painting was done. This allowed me to reach spots on the model's chest, abdomen, and arms that I wouldn't have been able to access if I'd assembled the model first. It was a bit of a pain, but the effort was worth it. 
 

Of Inspirations Lost

Today at work, in one of those moments of clarity that sometimes appear as you switch from one task to another, I came up with a a great idea for tonight's post. "Aha! I like it. It's funny, original, and it's not recycled or lazy content!"

I was pretty pleased, since a good portion of my posts of late haven't been terribly special.

Of course, you're not reading that post, because I've completely forgotten what I meant to write about.  I really should carry a notebook. 

A Pastiche of Mars

I am a very young man; how young I do not know. Possibly I am but twelve, perhaps younger; but I cannot tell, for I have never aged as other men, nor do I anticipate adulthood. And yet I feel that I cannot remain a very young man forever, that some day I shall grow to full maturity from which there is no coming back. I do now know why I should fear adulthood, I who have stayed young at heart despite the abuses of a cynical world; but yet the horror of it remains, and it is because of this terror of maturing that I am so convinced of its inevitability.

And because of this conviction I have determined to remain young at heart for as long as possible and write down the stories that keep me that way, the interesting periods of my life and growth.

Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote many such stories, and it is because of that imaginative American that I found my heart ensnared by the wonders of pulp adventure: Tarzan yes, but above all, John Carter of Mars. Burroughs' twelve novels of Mars preserved my heart in a perpetual state of boyhood; in some sense, I shall always be the boy waiting to fall asleep one night on prosaic Jasoom to awaken in wonder on far Barsoom. And with ninth-ray pistol in one hand and sword in the other, I shall fight for fair Helium and the incomparable Sylvia Boucher, (other) Princess of Mars.

It was with such visions in my mind that I and my noble brother Sean ventured to west Edmonton's looming mall to partake in a motion picture, named John Carter; that being Disney's loose but thematically faithful adaptation of Burroughs' first novel of Barsoom, A Princess of Mars.

As a fervent admirer of Burroughs and a skeptic of the works of said Disney, I feared that John Carter, the film, would prove unworthy. What actress could possibly capture the power and beauty of the incomparable Dejah Thoris, Princess of Mars? What actor could embody the savage nobility of John Carter of Virginia? What special effects wizardry could bring to life the arid vistas of dying Barsoom, with its magnificent and terrible beasts - the great white apes, the Tharks, the banths? Could men (and of course women) of the 21st century understand and interpret faithfully stories now a century old?

My fears proved boundless. While John Carter is not the picture-perfect adaptation my twelve-year-old heart has been waiting for all my life, it is a splendid attempt - an adventure in the classic style, with twists and turns and coincidences and derring-do, and most importantly of all, romance. Fathers and daughters are reconciled; new love blooms despite the boundaries of space and time; foes are vanquished; steadfast allies and friendships forged.

Most impressive of all is the magnificent Lynn Collins as Dejah Thoris, here realized perhaps even more fully, if it were not blasphemy to say so, than in Burroughs' original stories. Dejah is lovely, yes, but more importantly she is courageous - the true courage of deep fears valiantly overcome. She is also brilliant, wry, passionate and true; but yet she is not perfect, nor overbearing. In order for the story of John Carter to work, for the titular hero to overcome his war-weariness, the film needed to give audiences a cause worth fighting for; and she is surely that. How unfortunate that Disney chose not to give the film its rightful title, A Princess of Mars, for truly this is Dejah's story.

That is not to sully nor minimize the fine work of Taylor Kitsch as the budding warlord of Barsoom, for he is a fine player who any man should wish to see overcome all his challenges, both within and without. Kitsch portrays Carter as a man who has lost his place in the world, but gradually, believably, finds it upon another. Marvellous too are the players - both actors and special effects artists - who bring the valiant and terrible Green Men of Mars to life, the Tharks, four-limbed, tusked warriors for whom compassion is a weakness; but yet the best of them possess it in full measure.

It is said that the best science fiction evokes a Sense of Wonder. John Carter is wondrous indeed, with scope, majesty, beauty and heart that makes the heart race and the spirit soar with awe at all the stories our vast universe might contain. Recapture your youth and see it today.

Thoughts on the John Carter Teaser Trailer

One day during the golden age of science fiction - that is, somewhere between the ages of 9 and 13 - I chanced upon a copy of Edgar Rice Burroughs' A Princess of Mars at the Leduc public library.

Michael Whelan's cover art, featuring brawny hero John Carter of Virginia standing victoriously over a field of defeated green-skinned Martians with a lovely mostly-naked princess Dejah Thoris of Mars in his arms arrested my preadolescent imagination, and I immediately snatched it up. For once, the story within lived up to the promise of the book's cover. I read all eleven of Burroughs' Mars books as quickly as I could retrieve them from the library, loving the high adventure, the star-crossed romance, the ray guns and swordfights and rescues and diabolical villains and flying ships. Burroughs may not have been the world's greatest prose stylist, but as a pure storyteller he remains one of the greats.

Burroughs' Mars stories are replete with violence and a fairly strong erotic subtext, what with all Martian inhabitants running around wearing nothing but leather harnesses, so I was disappointed when I heard that Disney was making a John Carter film. I worried that Disney would sap all the life out of Burroughs' work, not only the sex and violence, but the sarcastic social critique that Burroughs injected into many of his novels.

Based on the trailer above, however, I am now cautiously optimistic. The incomparable Dejah Thoris, the first book's titular Princess of Mars, may not be as scantily clad as many purists would hope, but she does seem to radiate the grace, intelligence and power that made her such an appealing character in the books. Similarly, John Carter himself seems a little wiry compared to the muscular brute most readers probably imagined. But acting chops are even more important than physique, so we'll see how it all pans out.

The airships of the trailer - at least, I assume that's what the flying machines are supposed to be - are visually arresting and elegant, but I admit I was hoping for floating galleons, absurd as the concept may be.

I'm most thrilled by the inclusion of Burroughs himself as a character, as he is in the books. I didn't think any filmmaker would incorporate this element of the books, but it seems they have. (In the books, John Carter is Burroughs' uncle, and Burroughs presents the stories as true, related to him by Uncle John.)

It's too bad they didn't title this film A Princess of Mars, after the first book. The film's original title was John Carter of Mars, named for the eleventh and final book, but it looks as though they've eliminated "of Mars," which I find a little annoying. Marketing trumps all.

The End is the Beginning

Jim Hole once asked me if I ever skipped to the last page of a book to read the ending.

"I might as well read the whole thing backwards," I said, "you'd spoil the whole book, knowing the ending right at the start."

"Maybe," he said, "But the beginning would sure be a surprise!"

I thought about that conversation tonight as I was doing laundry and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I came to Buffylate; I started watching it in season five, kept watching through the series' end, while at the same time catching up on the old episodes by watching the earlier seasons on DVD. Tonight, having just finished the final episode of season four, I realized that I have come back to the beginning of my Buffy experience - smack dab in the middle of the series.

Watching the first four seasons while knowing the ultimate fate of the characters adds a certain resonance to the proceedings; every line, every action, every revelation is coloured by my prescient knowledge of what's to come. This is especially rewarding with a show like Buffy, where story arcs were planned so far in advance. Emotions are more poignant, and the story's texture becomes deeper, more rich.

I guess this is why I keep my books and comics; the stories are always new, even if I've read them many times before. Reading A Princess of Mars at twelve is very different than reading it at thirty; you could even argue that the book was read by two entirely different people, two individuals merely perceived as a single entity because we share a few common memories and some physical characteristics. Whether Earl at twelve and Earl at thirty were the same person or not, the experience of absorbing that book was different each time, and each experience had its own rewards. We start out younger than major characters, seeing men and women in their twenties as impossibly wise and ancient; and then we suddenly discover, years later, that we have become a year or two older than those same characters. Our heroes and villains become our contemporaries, even our peers.

Stephen Hawking once theorized that at the end of the universe, time would start running backwards, and it would seem quite normal for us to assemble from ashes, grow younger and more vital, then smaller, smaller, more and more helpless, until at last we retreat into the womb and shrink to nonexistence, finally dividing into sperm and egg. If time really does work this way, if our experience of life is an illusion forced upon us by our physical limitations, then maybe reading books or watching television shows out of sequence isn't such a crazy idea. Perhaps we'll get to see it in the "right" order, eventually...even if we have to wait a few billion years.

I guess when you read a book for the first time, the book informs your life and alters your perception of the world. But when you read it again, your experiences suddenly alter your perception of the book, and the expected suddenly defies all expectations. We see what was once invisible, and perhaps lose sight of what once was clear. The same must be true when we examine any work of art.

I have a pretty large collection of books and movies, and sometimes people ask me if I've read them all, and why I don't just sell them off after I've seen them once. I think I have my answer now. My books, my comics, my movies - they are a part of me. They've helped me grow. They connect me to my past and hint at my future, and I hope that when at last I die, I'll have just finished a wonderful story, perhaps a tale that takes me back to the very beginning of it all.

I'll read The End, and then...

The End.