This is in context of reviewing one of these barely disguised pitches.
And seriously, the movie pitch comics really do suck.
Abhay: HOMELAND DIRECTIVE | Savage Critics
Here’s how movies are paced: usually, 9 times out of 10, Ryan Reynolds (playing either an architect or a guy who works at a magazine about architecture) is given a microchip, and has to go on the run from a villain (Jeremy Irons, Charles Dance, Miranda Hart, anyone British will do). Katherine Heigl (playing either a dessert chef or the owner of an independent bookstore dedicated to cookbooks for desserts) trips and accidentally fellates a penguin, so that the audiences in Flyover States will root for her adorkable klutz character. Katherine Hiegel fellating a penguin usually marks the end of Act One. Thereafter, the stakes are supposed to constantly escalate– e.g., the only way for Ryan Reynolds to save the United States of America is to take a shit on the Lincoln Memorial and wipe his ass with Ben Franklin’s Secret Map of America’s Most Noble Whorehouses. Katherine Heigl has to either sabotage a wedding, or in the alternative, sabotage a wedding. One scene leads logically to the next. Finally, when times are at their very darkest, our heroes find a way to outthink the bad guys and save the day. Ryan Reynolds wears a wire and tape records the bad guys talking the shit, Katherine Heigl gets over herself and attends the wedding, the penguin ejaculates onto Ryan Reynold’s abs, credits roll, everyone goes home happy, $60 on 3-d glasses well spent.
Here’s how a serial comic book is paced: there’s a page of nothing much interesting happening so that the reader can settle in. Usually, there will be a monologue about someone’s pappy over a bunch of establishing shots of a road leading to a small town in Texas, the kind that only exist in comics where everyone spits and works at the spittin’ factory and carefully mentions Hank Williams (Senior!) in their conversations in order to prove their small town Texas credentials. There will be a caption in one of the first four panels telling you that this scene takes place “Yesterday” or “13 minutes from Tuesday.” Then, there are 18 pages of tedium, 10 of which will usually be double-page splash pages of government buildings, something exciting like that. (PSEUDO-FOOTNOTE: Creators used to get 20 pages of tedium, but there’ve been cutbacks which creators are quick to tell you has drastically changed how they go about creating tedium.) Finally, the 20th page is a CLIFFHANGER. Maybe, theoretically, it might be something exciting happening, but 9 times out of 10, the cliffhanger will just be a splash page of some dude sitting with his thumb in the ass saying something like “American farts come out red, white and blue,” promising to the reader that maybe next issue someone will fart and it will be colored red by some underpaid colorist. But the next issue won’t open with the red fart coming out of someone’s ass, though, like you’d hoped– instead, the whole cycle will start over again, and it’ll be another page of nothing much happening in small town Texas. Except it’ll be six months later and someone will just be narrating after the fact about what they were thinking when the red fart came out of their ass, and you’ll think, “Oh, I guess you had to be there, like that person was.” But oh well, that’s how comic books work.
A movie and a serial comic book are intrinsically paced differently. You notice when serial comics try to imitate movies– you’re watching a movie that’s lurching, a movie that starts and stops and starts and stops and starts and stops. A graphic novel written like movie except paced like a serialized comic book seems a gorgon structurally unlikely to satisfy fans of any of those three things.
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