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Contributions by Apryl Alexander, Alisia Grace Chase, Brian
Faucette, Laura E. Felschow, Lindsay Hallam, Rusty Hatchell, Dru
Jeffries, Henry Jenkins, Jeffrey SJ Kirchoff, Curtis Marez, James
Denis McGlynn, Brandy Monk-Payton, Chamara Moore, Drew Morton, Mark
C. E. Peterson, Jayson Quearry, Zachary J. A. Rondinelli, Suzanne
Scott, David Stanley, Sarah Pawlak Stanley, Tracy Vozar, and Chris
Yogerst Alan Moore's and Dave Gibbons's Watchmen fundamentally
altered the perception of American comic books and remains one of
the medium's greatest hits. Launched in 1986-"the year that changed
comics" for most scholars in comics studies-Watchmen quickly
assisted in cementing the legacy that comics were a serious form of
literature no longer defined by the Comics Code era of funny animal
and innocuous superhero books that appealed mainly to children.
After Midnight: "Watchmen" after "Watchmen" looks specifically at
the three adaptations of Moore's and Gibbons's Watchmen-Zack
Snyder's Watchmen film (2009), Geoff Johns's comic book sequel
Doomsday Clock (2017), and Damon Lindelof's Watchmen series on HBO
(2019). Divided into three parts, the anthology considers how the
sequels, especially the limited series, have prompted a
reevaluation of the original text and successfully harnessed the
politics of the contemporary moment into a potent relevancy. The
first part considers the various texts through conceptions of
adaptation, remediation, and transmedia storytelling. Part two
considers the HBO series through its thematic focus on the
relationship between American history and African American trauma
by analyzing how the show critiques the alt-right, represents
intergenerational trauma, illustrates alternative possibilities for
Black representation, and complicates our understanding of how the
mechanics of the show's production can complicate its politics.
Finally, the book's last section considers the themes of nostalgia
and trauma, both firmly rooted in the original Moore and Gibbons
series, and how the sequel texts reflect and refract upon those
often-intertwined phenomena.
It is my hope in this book that I can give you a few ideas of what
the ogham is, where it might have come from, and how I (and others)
use it as a spiritual tool. There is much we do not know about the
Ogham. It is not known for sure if the ogham was ever used for
divination. And finally, it is not known if the letters were ever
used to designate lunar cycles. What is known is that there were
many oghams - the letters themselves, bird oghams, tree oghams,
etc. The letters being symbols for certain words, not all trees as
it thought by most today. What we have is a system that uses
several oghams in combination that is not necessarily historically
correct but that which works for us as a tool for learning. This
book deals with those teachings set in a framework of the lunar
year.
Try to imagine beautiful women working together in love and trust,
honoring their Goddess, provider of all. These women are wild
women, which mean they are free spirits - connected in all ways
with their environment - in tune with the energies about them, in
tune with their own energies, unafraid and bold in how they live
their lives. This is your birthright - to live freely and without
fear. You cling to what you know is right in your heart. You trust
that you will always have what you need. You allow yourself to be
vulnerable and open to love. You dance with the wind, revel in the
warmth of the sun, and play like a child in the rain. You are these
Amazon Women, now, in this place, in this time, wild and free,
strong and beautiful.
Contributions by Apryl Alexander, Alisia Grace Chase, Brian
Faucette, Laura E. Felschow, Lindsay Hallam, Rusty Hatchell, Dru
Jeffries, Henry Jenkins, Jeffrey SJ Kirchoff, Curtis Marez, James
Denis McGlynn, Brandy Monk-Payton, Chamara Moore, Drew Morton, Mark
C. E. Peterson, Jayson Quearry, Zachary J. A. Rondinelli, Suzanne
Scott, David Stanley, Sarah Pawlak Stanley, Tracy Vozar, and Chris
Yogerst Alan Moore's and Dave Gibbons's Watchmen fundamentally
altered the perception of American comic books and remains one of
the medium's greatest hits. Launched in 1986-"the year that changed
comics" for most scholars in comics studies-Watchmen quickly
assisted in cementing the legacy that comics were a serious form of
literature no longer defined by the Comics Code era of funny animal
and innocuous superhero books that appealed mainly to children.
After Midnight: "Watchmen" after "Watchmen" looks specifically at
the three adaptations of Moore's and Gibbons's Watchmen-Zack
Snyder's Watchmen film (2009), Geoff Johns's comic book sequel
Doomsday Clock (2017), and Damon Lindelof's Watchmen series on HBO
(2019). Divided into three parts, the anthology considers how the
sequels, especially the limited series, have prompted a
reevaluation of the original text and successfully harnessed the
politics of the contemporary moment into a potent relevancy. The
first part considers the various texts through conceptions of
adaptation, remediation, and transmedia storytelling. Part two
considers the HBO series through its thematic focus on the
relationship between American history and African American trauma
by analyzing how the show critiques the alt-right, represents
intergenerational trauma, illustrates alternative possibilities for
Black representation, and complicates our understanding of how the
mechanics of the show's production can complicate its politics.
Finally, the book's last section considers the themes of nostalgia
and trauma, both firmly rooted in the original Moore and Gibbons
series, and how the sequel texts reflect and refract upon those
often-intertwined phenomena.
Over the past forty years, American film has entered into a formal
interaction with the comic book. Such comic book adaptations as Sin
City, 300, and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World have adopted components
of their source materials' visual style. The screen has been
fractured into panels, the photographic has given way to the
graphic, and the steady rhythm of cinematic time has evolved into a
far more malleable element. In other words, films have begun to
look like comics. Yet, this interplay also occurs in the other
direction. In order to retain cultural relevancy, comic books have
begun to look like films. Frank Miller's original Sin City comics
are indebted to film noir while Stephen King's The Dark Tower
series could be a Sergio Leone spaghetti western translated onto
paper. Film and comic books continuously lean on one another to
reimagine their formal attributes and stylistic possibilities. In
Panel to the Screen, Drew Morton examines this dialogue in its
intersecting and rapidly changing cultural, technological, and
industrial contexts. Early on, many questioned the prospect of a
""low"" art form suited for children translating into ""high"" art
material capable of drawing colossal box office takes. Now the
naysayers are as quiet as the queued crowds at Comic-Cons are
massive. Morton provides a nuanced account of this phenomenon by
using formal analysis of the texts in a real-world context of
studio budgets, grosses, and audience reception.
Over the past forty years, American film has entered into a formal
interaction with the comic book. Such comic book adaptations as Sin
City, 300, and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World have adopted components
of their source materials' visual style. The screen has been
fractured into panels, the photographic has given way to the
graphic, and the steady rhythm of cinematic time has evolved into a
far more malleable element. In other words, films have begun to
look like comics. Yet, this interplay also occurs in the other
direction. In order to retain cultural relevancy, comic books have
begun to look like films. Frank Miller's original Sin City comics
are indebted to film noir while Stephen King's The Dark Tower
series could be a Sergio Leone spaghetti western translated onto
paper. Film and comic books continuously lean on one another to
reimagine their formal attributes and stylistic possibilities. In
Panel to the Screen, Drew Morton examines this dialogue in its
intersecting and rapidly changing cultural, technological, and
industrial contexts. Early on, many questioned the prospect of a
""low"" art form suited for children translating into ""high"" art
material capable of drawing colossal box office takes. Now the
naysayers are as quiet as the queued crowds at Comic-Cons are
massive. Morton provides a nuanced account of this phenomenon by
using formal analysis of the texts in a real-world context of
studio budgets, grosses, and audience reception.
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