Dr. Toon: Of Heroes and Zeros
It should be evident by now (except in certain executive suites in Hollywood) that some things in this world work, while others do not. Making a major motion picture with established and bankable stars works. Making one with the cast of a community theater company does not. Hiring experienced and literate scriptwriters with proven track records works. Hiring undergrads from Screenwriting 101 does not. Bringing on a director with extensive understanding of technique, cinematic conventions, and unerring skill at handling a diverse cast of talents works. Bringing on the director of the local elementary school's Christmas pageant does not.
Turning comic book properties into live-action films works.
Turning animated properties into live-action films does not. Not. Not. Not.
Oh, this isn't something I decided yesterday; anyone who has been a regular reader knows how much I loathe and despise live-action adaptations of animated features (LAAFs) and so, it appears, does everyone else. I warn the studio heads in vain, a cinematic Cassandra doomed to watch irredeemable miseries such as Underdog euthanized by audiences everywhere. It isn't long, however, before someone green-lights the next LAAF to the eventual sounds of Dolby Digital echoing in near-empty theaters across Multiplex Nation. "Now available on DVD" is the dreary epitaph for most of them within a month or two following wide release, but movie executives never seem to believe that Hell is full.
On the other hand, live-action movies adapted from comic books seem to be spectacular successes. They are met, on the whole, with a tsunami of ticket sales, enthusiastic reviews, and repeat business at the box office. One need only look at the statistics in order to be duly convinced. If the box office is indeed indicative of audience response, I offer the following: five of the top 25 top-grossing films of all time are comic book adaptations. So are 13 of the top 100. Only two LAAFs are in the top 100. The premier spot among them is held by Transformers (which technically began as an animated commercial for Hasbro toys aired during Mark Fowler's golden days of FCC deregulation).
Not impressed by box office rankings? Let's talk cold, hard cash, and I'll even throw in the disputed Transformers. Five LAAFs have broken the $100 million mark. Thirty-one films that originated in comic books have achieved this feat. In fact, of the 23 identifiable LAAFs produced to date, only nine of them have broken the $50 million mark. Forty-seven movies adapted from comic books somehow managed to do this. Twelve different movies with comic books as source material have generated sequels. Three LAAFs have done so at this time. This is not simply a case of one genre outclassing another; in a statistical comparison of attendance and profit figures, this is the Boston Celtics stepping on the court against Riverdale High.
We all know, either from bitter experience, wasted ticket money, or abysmal reviews, that LAAFs are mostly cinematic landfills. The best of them do little more than shame and despoil their animated origins. Live-action films that originate in comic books, as noted, seem to fare differently. Why, indeed, should this be? On the surface, it doesn't appear to make sense. After all, the comic book (and graphic novel) is a static art form, presented in pages and panels. It can be constructed, through use of perspective and color, to mimic cinematic form, but as Robert Crumb once said, it's only lines on paper, folks. Animated cartoons are kinetic and more freely make use of the motion picture medium. Shouldn't they have a leg up on comic books when the time comes to put them on screen? Actually, no, and for a number of reasons. What follows is an analysis of why LAAFs are trumped by comic book adaptations just about every time out.
The noted film reviewer Brandon Gray recently took a look at the contrast between Iron Man ($317 million gross) and Speed Racer ($44 million gross). Gray concluded that Speed Racer wasn't as "culturally prominent as Scooby-Doo or The Flintstones" and noted that LAAFs in general "have typically translated into box office failure" (Box Office Mojo, 5/14/08). I have to disagree with the first statement, although I heartily agree with the second. Speed Racer actually has lots of cultural capital and is a bona fide icon of Saturday Morning animation.
As one of the first anime imports, Speed Racer is easily more memorable among the American public than contemporary Japanese series Prince Planet, Marine Boy, or Kimba the White Lion. Speed Racer has spawned three animated series and a LAAF, and many of us can name the characters on sight. Most people cannot tell you what planet Prince Planet is from or the name of that mermaid in Marine Boy. Anyone can sing at least the first few lines of the Speed Racer theme song. Anyone know the lyrics to Prince Planet? No, Speed Racer did not lose a cultural popularity contest with Ol' Shellhead; both are iconic in our culture. The reasons for the failure of LAAFs go deeper.
One big strike that LAAFs have against them is that their source material dictates an insurmountable degree of rigidity, both in narrative structure and visual presentation.
For example, the characters in, say, Scooby-Doo are tied to model sheets that set a standard appearance for the characters. Oh, they can be modernized, as in the 1990s animated version of Scooby-Doo or Alvin and his chipmunk bros, but never to a radical degree. Cartoon characters also rarely change clothing from one episode to another, and they tend to have the same voices over time. When a voice artist moves on, another one usually replicates the previous voice. Animated characters tend to have distinct vocal signatures, and anyone who wishes to portray
Printer-friendly version
Post new comment