DC Comics announced a line-wide reboot last week in which 52 of their most popular superhero comics, along with a smattering of new titles, will start over from issue #1.
This is not even a remotely shocking move. DC has officially rebooted its entire line at least once, and that’s not even counting semi-reboots like the recent ‘One Year Later’ and countless restarts for titles with beloved characters and weak sales. The more significant news to come from this announcement—despite the insistence of major media outlets and comic snark forums that are wasting time analyzing the DC pantheon’s new costumes—is DC’s new digital sales strategy, which will see the publisher releasing digital versions of its comics on the same day as print versions. Besides siphoning a few customers from the comic book stores on Wednesdays and drastically undercutting the retailers the industry has depended on for almost twenty years, this initiative is a step in the right direction to grabbing the mainstream market.
The industry has been flopping around like a sturgeon on the deck of the Pop Culture Entertainment yacht for years now with sales decreasing, across the board, steadily since the early ‘00s. After its recent re-organization under the DC Entertainment banner brought it more closely in step with Time-Warner’s multimedia strategies, DC Comics quickly became a target for the bigwigs at Warner looking to actually turn a profit from “funny books”. The decision these clever folks arrived at after months of reshuffling DC’s upper echelons was to restart the line and go digital. An interesting strategy, but it’s not enough to capture the unicorn that is new readership and it will likely diminish the already
miniscule hardcore enthusiasts.
Assuming hardcore fans will stay, in some capacity—those who don’t might simply migrate to Marvel for a moment then drift back, but eventually most will age out of collecting—how does DC, and Marvel, capture the elusive mainstream niche. Simple, follow the models of television and film to make these stories more accessible, available and captivating. Today’s comic publishers and creators need to realize that consumption of media has changed significantly since the 1930s and to catch up with the times they need to seriously revise their approach to the quantity, frequency and style of comic storytelling.
Accessibility of material and story is the key to grabbing and retaining a larger, more mainstream, audience. Digital distribution is the most logical step for any comic publisher to take in today’s marketplace, but it’s not enough. Comic publishers need to push their comics through the same distribution channels that major film studios and television networks use. New issues of comics could be available not just through
iTunes, Amazon or
Comixology, but through cable providers’ On Demand services and video game marketplaces like the PlayStation Network (
PSN)—securely, of course—and
Xbox Live. Imagine downloading a comic to flip through on an
HD screen, using the remote to scroll and zoom from the comfort of the couch. Such an approach would give the art the chance to breathe and allow visually impaired readers a chance to see the words on page without squinting. Voice and soundtracks could even be added to make the comics come alive—not necessarily as motion comics, but closer to
audiobooks. To my knowledge Marvel sells some of its motion comics collections through the
PSN and
Xbox Live, which is genius because gamers are more of a target market for comics than they’re willing to accept.
If these companies really want to capture a growing audience like gamers, and impress casual audiences, they need to consider interactive comics in the vein of Square-
Enix’s mobile app
Imaginary Range.
Imaginary Range is an interactive comic that blends simple point and click
gameplay with elements of motion comics. The app lacks static images with creepy moving mouths and swinging limbs; instead, the camera sweeps and scrolls across panels like a movie allowing users to watch and read panels individually, outside of a page construct. Thus,
Imaginary Range unfolds like an animated movie rather than a comic. Square-
Enix adds value to the app by dropping in short click/drag/point mini-games—such as locating a lost character by dragging a rifle sight around the screen or pointing missiles at a killer robot’s weak spot—at crucial plot points. The plot progression that follows these games may be predetermined, but at least the readers
aren’t just passively responding to the material. The game-comic is
reloadable like a video game—complete with save points—and offers some bonus material like image galleries, all for free, which is more content for 100% less than the average $4 comic.
If a free mobile app can has the potential to offer more entertainment value and interactivity—a relative distinction, but one that
shouldn’t draw too much argument—than a costly weekly comic then there’s no reason to wonder why the industry is having trouble making significant profit. As publishers expand their digital distribution, either through Marvel’s subscription models or DC’s new initiative, they need to seriously consider reducing the prices of digital, and print, comics that will be available. DC is planning on continuing to charge $2.99 for print and digital versions at the time of the relaunch, which is roughly equal to the cost of purchasing or renting a TV episode on
iTunes or Amazon. An hour or 45-minute long TV episode, which is about 45 to 60 pages of script on screen, is the same amount of money as a 20-page comic—that’s not even considering shows available for free on network television. Makes sense.
Doesn’t it?
…
No, it
doesn’t. Publishers need to deliver content that is equal in quantity, frequency and form to that of their biggest competitors: television and film. As a writer-artist, I understand that developing a monthly comic is an often time-consuming, painstaking, solitary process. Most comic creators don’t have the personnel resources available to them that TV and film productions do—and asking these creative minds to increase their output is like asking a fish to walk—but they would need to increase their output for new strategies to work. In terms of scheduling and distribution, the closest analogue to monthly comic production would be the weekly, daily in some cases, model used by television networks. Yes, new comics are released every week, but generally readers must wait a month between installments for each series. As long as TV shows release new episodes each week and the Japanese have mastered the art of weekly/bi-weekly
manga, the monthly model of comic distribution will not stand.
Readers should not have to wait a month to find out if the Black Hand will upend Batman after a taught cliffhanger. Comic readers deserve to have content with, at bare minimum, the same frequency as television viewers. If the publishers are unsure of how to pull this off, they should consider this strategy: rotating creative teams produce a season (13-22 issues) well in advance of release, allowing publishers to distribute these “episodes” on a weekly basis, digitally and in print. Using this model, the publishers will not only rival the release schedule of television shows, but they will invariably keep readers hooked and prevent, to some degree, impatience among casual readers. The weekly/bi-weekly model has proved a boon to the Japanese
manga market, which releases new chapters of its series on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, and
manga thrives—maybe not as much as it used to, but more so than American comics—as a mostly mainstream form of entertainment in Japan.
Staying on the topic of
manga, Japanese creators publish monthly/bi-monthly
tankobons (paperback sized collections of ten chapters) at half the cost of American comics’ graphic novel collections. These tiny books are cheap and collectible, just what the hardcore fans like. More importantly, they offer nearly 200 pages of content each month for a few dollars more than the average 22-page American floppy. Publishers could follow this trend by swiftly compiling a 13/22-issue season of a comic—like a DVD set of a TV season—and selling it on Amazon or in the few remaining big box bookstores at a reasonable cost that will not alienate cost-conscious consumers of the casual or hardcore variety.
Traditionalist comic creators may balk that adhering to such intense scheduling would be impossible, nay blasphemous. However, if the medium—which is exactly what comics are—is to survive, this is the type of change that must occur. Change of this nature will have to stretch far beyond increasing distribution schedules. It will need to be supported by a renewed approach to storytelling that unchains itself from complicated continuity, stifling events and the insular, albeit colorful, elements that have defined comics for nearly a century.
The seasonal publishing schedule presented above is one of the most effective ways to push creators toward a more accessible storytelling model. Publishers and creators will find a great avenue for creating more focused, accessible stories by releasing comics on the 13- or 22-issue season schedule. Publishers can divide this schedule into two to three seasons (fall, spring, summer) per year, with a different creative team crafting the story for each season. The seasons will each focus on one extended arc that could be peppered with one-off stories as part of the main plot or as backup stories from other creators. Continuity—the age-old of enemy of the casual reader—can be loose with a few elements of character and plot development carrying over between seasons, but, generally, each new season will be a fresh start with a new story.
In-between or alongside the seasons, publishers can release mini- or maxi-series events that are divorced from the current season’s continuity—think
Elseworld, annual issues, or movies for
anime series—which could serve as source material for feature film releases. This new approach to event comics would eschew the tie-ins that most readers, hardcore and casual, loathe and focus on a central mini-/maxi-series based on major adventure affecting one family of books (i.e. the Bat-family) or a small number (1-2) of loosely connected books (e.g.
Teen Titans and
Justice League). These isolated event comics will serve not only as the high points of the year, as current summer events do, but they can also function like blockbuster films. Events will be independent of continuity and the excess of tie-ins, becoming quick, exciting, high profile reads that any reader can pick up and use as a gateway to the weekly issues.
Once the events and weekly issues hook readers, a dash—and nothing more—of continuity will keep them hooked. With respect to the intelligence of modern audiences, continuity will not be overwhelming nor will it be completely abandoned in either the weekly issues or event series. Instead, it will become loose, pliable to the whims of creators and, primarily, sound storytelling. Plot arcs and character developments that creators wish to retain or that publishers want to promote will be available to mold at their discretion, but the canon will be simple: an origin story plus a supporting cast and a rogues gallery, and nothing more. Much like any of the hundreds of variations on NBC’s
Law & Order, there is a foundation for the characters and the purpose of the series, but each week, or season, the leads face different criminals. Sometimes, plot threads carry over from season to season. Most of the time, they don’t. That degree of flexibility is essential to making comics as widely accessible as possible, and that is the cornerstone of DC’s new storytelling strategy, for now. The publisher who holds fast to that philosophy, long-term, will see readership grow and witness respectable turnover because the moat of continuity will be drained.
Loosening continuity will also allow creators to use superheroes the way they were intended, as archetypes that could be grafted onto and enliven a variety of narrative genres. Superheroes will no longer be the draw in and of themselves. Instead, Batman may become more of a gritty crime comic with cases dragged from the headlines that just happen to be committed by his creepy rogues.
Catwoman may be a weekly heist comic in the vein of
Ocean’s Eleven. Imagine Superman as a weekly reflection on immigration and the thrall of the American dream like an HBO series with earth-shattering battles and none of the TV-MA trappings.
This strategy could also work at Marvel. Spider-Man could exist as teen/young adult drama with a running commentary on the loss of innocence as reflected in his aging adversaries. Conversely, X-Men could work as a soap-
ish drama rife with racial tension and cover military action. Captain America could be Jason
Bourne with a slick jumpsuit and Nazi villains. Not that these series
weren’t already steeped in genre tropes, but going full bore could give each series a clearer voice. In addition to inserting superheroes into popular narrative genres, publishers can ease their way into releasing popular non-superhero comics based on westerns, crime drama or spy fiction. Publishers who apply a multi-genre approach to comics storytelling will not only widen the field for consumers who may desire more than flights and tights, but they will open the doors for creators who’
ve grown beyond writing superhero stories.
In truth, if the publishers really want to grab an audience beyond the hardcore, they may need to accept that contemporary audiences have, to a large degree, grown out of viewing superhero comics as they did at the height of the Silver Age. Many of the trappings that defined comics of that era simply don’t appeal to a majority of the contemporary audiences. The formatting of comics, the costumes, and some of the more explicitly fantastical elements can work for or against comics. These days, they mostly seem to hinder a mainstream audience’s desire to pick up the latest issue.
Creators should consider how audiences absorb visual information when formatting comics, as a way to make the panels easier to follow. Artists should learn from the lessons and mistakes of the first generation of
widescreen comics. Horizontal paneling would be a real draw to audiences who are acclimated to
widescreen HD viewing options. Publishers could also provide primers on how to read comics from panel-to-panel like many of the American
manga distributors did when
manga first hit the scene. Retaining the “Previously in…” sections and character guides at the front of issues will also help. Costumes, one of the most important visual touchstones of the industry, could stand to be toned down. There’s no need to eliminate costumes and switch to civvies for every hero, but give the characters something respectable, modern and realistic to wear so that when it comes time to adapt the characters to film they don’t look like plastic statues. Some of the hottest properties of the past decade—
Harry Potter,
Twilight,
Hunger Games, Vampire Diaries, Buffy, Heroes(I said hottest, not necessarily the best)—have found a way to ground the fantastic in a reality bereft of characters running around in gaudy armor or colorful speedos. In turn, these works do the same job as comics without the packaging that may keep a wider audience at a distance.
With the desire of expanding the audience comes the need to acknowledge that females will read comics. As such, the level of misogyny and objectification of female characters must disappear. Creators will need to cease storytelling that hangs on stuffing girlfriends in the fridge or finding new ways to stick powerful women in bikinis and bustiers. Also, publishers should avoid trying to appeal to female readership solely with rehashes of
Twilight or any other romantic twist on the medium. Not every female reader enjoys those type of stories, and many would relish a good superhero yarn as much as the next guy. This shouldn’t be news, but, in an industry where women and minorities are grossly misrepresented on both sides of the page, a reminder seems absolutely necessary. Respect the female audience and they will flock to the stories right next to the male readers. Fail to respect them and risk alienating over 50% of the potential audience.
Finally, and above all, creators and publishers must work together to make the fantasy of comics real and relevant. Comics are more than throwaway entertainment. It is a medium with the same inherent power as any art form. Unlike film or television, comics can swiftly respond to changes in the social climate and examine the human condition with the reverence of literature and the bombast of film. It is a medium where imagination can run wild, but it is also one where the fantastic can touch upon the mundane with profound insight. If creators and publishers can look beyond what comics where and push them forward to become more than what they are, they just might save the medium before the contemporary audiences find a cheaper, more entertaining and accessible alternative.
