Sunday sketches

Pretty in Pink

A Study of The Class Struggle And Difference in Values Between The Proletariat And The Bourgeoisie Seen in The American Highschool. Actually, that was the title of the film, until they changed it for commercial reasons. Starring Jon Cryer, Molly Ringwald, Andrew McCarthy and James Spader, written by John Hughes, directed by Howard Deutch.

Yeah, I'm re-watching Pretty in Pink now, what's wrong with me? It's pathetic, I know. Anyway, of all the Hughes teen movies, I think this is my favourite. Breakfast Club seemed to try to say something important, but I'm not quite sure how much it succeded. Pretty in Pink was basically just a love story, and it's hard now not to notice how innocent the film is, clearly made before irony was invented! Also, in Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Breakfast Club all the adults are stupid - in this film Ringwald's dad is actually a sympathetic character. It helps that he's played by Harry Dean Stanton. I had one problem with the film. I don't really buy Spader falling for Ringwald. He's obviously more of a blonde with big tits kind of guy. And Ringwald's whacky girlfriend is sort of a big cliché. Okay, two problems.

It's strange, nostalgia for the eighties, a time when The Cold War between The U.S. and The Soviet Union was going on for full, and you expected the whole damn planet to blow up any minute, but what do you remember best from this period? Mullets, skinny ties and that song by Simple Minds.

The Clash

A drawing done for a Norwegian music paper. It's from 1988, so it must have been for a review of The Story of the Clash, volume 1. Okay, Mick Jones sort of looks like him, but I completely screwed up on Joe Strummer.

Colours

Hubert has started colouring my next book, Athos in America. Here's a page from the story The Smiling Horse. The French version of the book will be published by Carabas in October, the English version by Fantagraphics in December.

Sometimes...

...it feels as if the world has gone insane. What is happening? What is this supposed to achieve? At the same time, why should I be surprised? These things always seem to happen at places where "We never expected anything like this." " This is the most peaceful place on earth." The man behind the attack? "He was a shy and polite kid." "He always said hello when we met." "I never would have guessed." They never have horns. In this case it's a pathetic, delusional man, no monster, whose hate manifesto is ripped off from other sources. His evil isn't even original.

I've been thinking the last couple of days if I should write something on this blog, but what words should I use? Horrible? Catastrophic? The words almost seem to cheapen what happened. I was thinking of simply writing "My thoughts are with the victims and their families." Well, Norway is such a small country, it turns out that one of the kids missing at Utoya, presumably drowned, is a relative of mine. It's someone I've never met, but it brings the event even closer to home. And the photos showing the result from the bomb, those are streets I've walked hundreds of times when I lived in Oslo. How will I feel the next time I'm there? There's a before and after. Nothing will be the same.

Is there anything I can do, as a cartoonist? I wish there was a drawing that made people think "Hatred doesn't work?! Shit, what do I do now? Ten years down the toilet..." It would turn terrorists into meek accountants. There is no such drawing. The crying superheros, the Statue of Liberty with a tear in her eye, drawn after 9/11, I don't think they achieved that much. So these are just words. They're nothing, they're not even on paper. But I felt the need to write something down - it doesn't make me feel any better, but there it is.

House of Games

Psychiatrist Lindsay Crouse enters the world of con men, among them Joe Mantegna. Written and directed by David Mamet.

-This is a terrific, little film.
-Visually it's pretty basic.
-The dialogue...
-Yes?
-The dialogue has a theatrical quality
-Yes, but that's Mamet.
-Even a street scene is made to look as if it takes place on a stage, with a limited amount of actors. There are no big crowd scenes, every person you see plays a role.
-We all play a role.
-We do?
-Yes.

'Round Midnight

Paris, 1959. Dexter Gordon is an alcoholic saxophonist playing at The Blue Note. He forms a friendship with a young Frenchman, François Cluzet. Also starring Martin Scorsese, directed by Bertrand Tavernier.

I like this film. It made me discover jazz music the same way Amadeus made me discover classical music. Gordon really shines in his part. Everything he says becomes poetry. The director is French, so there is no Eiffel tower in the background every 10 minutes to remind us we're in Paris. There's also a slowness I think you'd only find in a European film. It reminded me a bit of watching Crazy Heart, the Jeff Bridges film, that has sort of a similar story, but I thought that film had clichés that you don't find in this one. And for that film, being such an American story, it could possibly have been improved with a European director, seeing it with fresh eyes. Atlantic City and Paris, Texas are two examples. Anyway, great film and great music.