How to make a Fantastic comic book adaptation

This summer's blockbuster, 'Batman Begins', employed an approach to its creation so ingenious that it now seems self-evident. Its creators adopted the premise that, over the 70+ years of the character's existence, substantial talents had from time to time made major contributions to the many Batman titles. This suggested that there was market-tested, proven Batman material in DC Comics' archives, waiting to be mined and repurposed.

This approach was substantially different from most comic book film adaptations (including the earlier Batman series), which assume the actual comics have little of substance to bring to a film (partly because comics' creators have traditionally been snubbed in favor of pricier screenwriters). At the other extreme, the flawed 'Sin City' slavishly traced over Frank Miller's 'graphic novels', committing the comics' ideas and images to film in the most literal fashion possible, and making few accomodations to the needs of a different medium. (This was because Miller, having been burned by Hollywood in the past, had rejected years of offers to make the film. When Miller finally gave the nod, the movie was made 'by the book', for better or worse.) 'Begins' creators Chris Nolan and David Goyer were under no such constraints, and were free to cherry-pick the most promising ideas from years of the best work of numerous artists & writers, crafting them into a coherent, original film. It might be argued that 'Begins' has as much in common with Ken Burns' 'Civil War' as it does with Brian Singer's 'X-Men'. It's more of a documentarian's than a screenwriter's approach, similar to the screenwriting philosophy employed with great success in the precedent-setting 'Spiderman' films.


Unfortunately, this summer's 'Fantastic Four' movie took a far more pedestrian approach to its subject. Like all lesser comic book adaptations, the film was made with insufficient understanding of or respect for its source material. As a result, the characters are - and fall - as flat as the drawings they're based upon. Like Batman without Gotham City, the FF were divorced from the context and subtext that once made them one of the world's best-selling and most passionately followed comic books.


During the 1960's, when today's CGI science fiction films were, well, science fiction, The Fantastic Four comics were roughly the pop-culture equivalent of Star Wars films. They took their readers on new, amazing adventures each month, regularly featuring a wildly popular villain who in form and style was the precursor to Darth Vader. For all their flair, the books' creators never took themselves or their creation too seriously. In the early issues, the characters were even aware that they were comic book characters. Lee and Kirby knew exactly when to play it straight, and when to stick a fork in the soufflé.


One unique aspect of these books was the "grand comic opera" approach of their covers. This began toward the end of their second year, when the comic began to develop a powerful sense of itself. Kirby's over-the-top, melodramatic poses built upon potboiler story titles (a perfect fit for the books' angst-driven teenage readership of that time) that sounded more like Cecil B. DeMille spectacles than comics. Scenery-chewing headlines such as 'Death of a Hero', 'Those who would Destroy Us', 'The Coming of Galactus', and 'The Sentry Sinister' would often include tongue-in-cheek subtext such as: "You are not likely to read a tale like this ever again! Truly, it is a Marvel Masterwork of most compelling excellence!" and "Never before such daring drama... such raw realism!". The juxtaposition of Kirby's compelling, Lichtenstein-inspiring pop-art (note that one cover shown here employs that very term) with grandiose yet self-parodying dialogue was inspired. The FF covers and comics of that era are unparalleled in any media, before or since.

If the '60's were the time to blow one's mind, the FF accomplished the task much more efficiently than Timothy Leary - and for only 12 cents. Their adventures took them everywhere on earth, under the earth, under the sea, in the sky, on distant planets, and in other dimensions (although Galactus saved them at least one trip, by landing on their roof). Kirby and Lee maintained their epic dimensions by returning repeatedly to commonplace points of reference. Ben Grimm could hurl a bus a hundred yards, but he was helpless against 'those blamed Yancy Streeters' who taunted him about his grotesque form. While battling Galactus (who was up on their roof, remember), a godlike being preparing to consume the Earth like a cosmic cheeseburger, the FF took a break to eat, bathe and shave. (When did you ever see Superman pause long enough for even a cup of coffee?) And like any family, they had their squabbles (theirs merely caused more collateral damage than most). While these crucial subtleties seem to have been mishandled by the FF film's creators, keener minds at Pixar beat the FF to the draw by incorporating them fully into their wildly successful 'The Incredibles'.


A major challenge to creating a transcendant Spiderman or Batman adaptation is in finding the right researchers. David Goyer, Begins' screenwriter, has admitted to 'knowing more about Batman than the folks at DC'. This suggests that the best insights into Superhero Culture may not exist within the hierarchy of the increasingly-corporate comic book industry itself, but among its fans and occasional contributors (bringing us back to 'Sin City's' Miller, considered to have contributed more to the Batman oeuvre than anyone in the last 20 years or so). Compounding the challenge is the fact that the combination of such insight, and the ability to weave the threads into a coherent screenplay (as Goyer did), is quite rare.


[above] Character research for comic-based films should include poring over art, searching for defining poses, situations, and lighting. Particularly helpful for Nolan and Goyer was the fact that superstar superhero painter Alex Ross had opened eyes and stirred imaginations with his iconic 'realistic' renderings of classic characters, including Batman. Ross' years of work in this area meant that Nolan had a leg-up in his quest for a 'grounded' look-and-feel to Batman. Similar study of 'Spiderman' artwork led to the inclusion of many iconic poses and characterizations in the recent Spiderman films. Unfortunately, the FF movie won't bear any trace of 'King' Kirby's (generally) beloved eccentricities, as far as we can tell from the released stills and trailers.

The Batman images above offer insights as to how Nolan and Goyer built on the character's culture. They understood that the rayon-like texture of Ross' watercolor renderings of Batman's cape look flimsy and absurd if filmed. (Think Adam West, the 60's Batman.) Nolan understood that Ross and other artists needed this kind of shimmering look to give life to unmoving, printed images, but a filmed version demanded something different. In fact, this was understood at the time of the Burton-era films. However, the heavy rubber used in the Burton films made the costume heavy and awkward. This made it impossible to actually do the stunts required of a real Batman, and the films of that time had to shoot around that awkward fact. For 'Begins', new cape materials were tested and decided upon, so that the character could move more freely.

Then there was the matter of the iconic 'bat pose', in which the arms hold the cape out. This was done early on in both the TV series and the Burton films - but not more than once or twice. As iconic as the pose was, it was strictly theatrical and had no real purpose. (Actually, it would have placed a real-life Batman in harm's way, with arms outsretched and in an awkward position for either attack or retreat.) In fact, capes in general tend to reveal themselves as purposeless, even dangerous eccentricities (a point that was brilliantly spoofed in 'The Incredibles'). This put the creators in a quandary - allow the iconic poses and sacrifice 'reality', or eliminate them and lose the imagery best-identified with the character? Nolan and Goyer devised a pragmatic yet inspired use for the cape, which in the film is capable of stiffening and allowing for a sort of 'winged' flight. In this way, they managed to put more 'bat' in Batman without the usual sacrifice of credulity.


As was the case since Burton's first film, Batman is pragmatically given full-body armor. He is even blacker than his film predecessors (for greater invisibility), the only holdout being that bright gold utility belt. As the excellent 3D fan art above demonstrates, a real-life Batman would probably mute that, as well.

This depth of insight was applied to all aspects of the character. Changes to the comic rendition were made only when that rendition would fail in the transition to film. But when changes were made, 'Begins' creators were always mindful of maintaining the truest spirit of the original, and enhancing it where possible. Contrast this with the usual comic book adaptation process, designed almost exclusively to expedite the film's production.


[above] The type of detail missed by the FF adaptation is shown here. In the comics, the Thing's 'It's Clobberin' Time' tagline was always portrayed as a shout. In the film, it's mumbled through prosthetic 'thing' teeth. This could have been easily addressed - had anyone thought it significant.


[above] Two clips from the trailer, where a truck hits the Thing, and a crudely Photoshopped version of the scene below it. Right off we have a problem where Ben Grimm is standing too upright - his center of balance is too high. On impact, he doesn't move (as if bolted to the ground). Kirby handled scenes like this by having the action fill the frame (note all the extraneous road activity in the top two shots). So: in the bottom frame, we bent Ben over further and allowed him to be pushed toward the viewer by the momentum of the impact. (We also widened the truck slightly - Kirby liked to shred metal and have it explode outward, so this was a rough rendition of that.) The impact would have filled the frame (eventually showing just Ben's upper body wrestling with the truck and containing the impact) - in the best Kirbyesque tradition. The impact would also have torn up a lot of asphalt - note that almost every FF cover shown here involves some sort of broken masonry. (Of course, his fallen comrade would also be shoved back by the impact, but would remain behind Ben and safe from actual harm.)

In the trailer, Ben simply disappears inside the crumbling truck - along with an opportunity for a more dramatic rendition of his heroism. Kirby did everything possible to place his reader at the very center of scenes such as this - whereas the FF trailer merely renders it. We would have also slowed down the actual moment of impact, making the most of the close-up of Grimm containing the crash. The trailer then goes on to show a new angle showing the truck flipping up, which is fine - but our 'Kirbier' version would have pulled back to also reveal a hundred yards of shredded asphalt and other scattered debris, adding visual punch and dramatic resonance to the scene.


The FF movie failed to rise to the challenge of mining and translating the sublime, subversively self-aware, pulpy pleasures of its source material to the screen. This same failing doomed 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy', which sank from sight, unmourned, shortly after it appeared some weeks ago. The FF no doubt will suffer a similar, equally undeserved, fate. Where the FF failed to capture the original effort's spirit, Begins' creators all but held a seance. Begins found Batman's edgy, dark and resonant center and infused the cast and crew with an infectious enthusiasm for their iconic project (and likely sequels). The FF's original self-mocking, pulp sci-fi wit and sweeping scale were lost on its cast, who treated the project as just another gig.


One film is destined to push our hot buttons at a Star Wars level, the other will be swept into the yawning pop culture remainder bin. The expectations for films of this type have been raised along with the stakes. The potential rewards from film franchises such as a Star Wars or Matrix are enormous. But because there is so much product that has been or will be made, only the most outstanding efforts will see reward. Such is the state of the sci-fi and comic film marketplace.


Now, how do we get Ken Burns to tackle 'Magnus, Robot Fighter'?

{More 'comic-book lit': Batman vs. Bayonne, Hulk vs. Yourish, and Men in black (capes)}

{A 'nuts & bolts' guide on another site re how comic book adaptations are made.}

{UPDATE: Quite a few FF fans took exception to our post's 'jumping the gun' on 'their' film. While Batman opened to mostly positive reviews (and more than a few raves), here's some of what the New York Times' A.O. Scott said about the Fantastic Four: "If you like your special effects- driven summer action blockbusters slick, seamless and state of the art, then "Fantastic Four" may not be for you. While the superpowers and their consequences - flames, stretchy limbs, force fields and so on - no doubt required a great deal of money and expertise to bring to the screen, they look cheap and cheesy. Which may be the point. In an era when movies based on comic books have become increasingly solemn and serious, this one is content to be trashy. Compared with the psychological probing and spiritual brooding of "Batman Begins," "Fantastic Four" is proudly dumb, loud and inconsequential. It is not an allegory, an archetypal tale of good and evil, or the cinematic equivalent of a graphic novel. It's a comic book. ... The group's movie debut is a standard origin story, in which the characters acquire and master their powers and confront their nemesis, one Dr. Doom. With its clumsy rhythms and indifferent acting, the movie ... is more like a television pilot than a big-screen epic, and its sequels would probably play best in half-hour increments on Saturday morning. These days, though, television is probably too smart for a lowest-common-denominator product like "Fantastic Four," which is fantastic only in its commitment to mediocrity. If the filmmakers are trying for a spoofy, light-hearted tone, they succeed only to the point of making the picture unintentionally funny. ... Mr. Chiklis, under 60 pounds of latex, gives the most affecting performance in the movie. The others read their lines and stand around waiting for the special effects to kick in, and for the villain to work out his identity crisis and drop the "Von" from his name." This has been the tone of critics right across the board. We continue to maintain that one CAN tell how a film will turn out by the way its creators approach it. 'Nuff said?}