Writers of a television show adapted from a comic are writing for two very different audiences: avid fans of an already existing narrative, and those who've never read the comics and therefore need to be introduced to each element of the story.
Writing about comic-based television shows online while declaring a complete ignorance of the source material feels somewhat risque. Critiquing comic-based shows is often viewed as the domain of comic book fans. But as an aspiring tv writer and avid consumer of scripted television, I think my opinion is just as relevant, especially when you take into account the companies screening such programs are hoping to secure more than a niche audience.
I've thought about this topic a lot following the release of Daredevil and the subsequent tweets and posts in my social media feed. For me, Daredevil had a great freshman season. The series has a confident style (I think establishing a visual/editorial style is a key element of success on tv these days, but that's another blog). The script was strong, free from chunks of clumsy exposition, and the acting was high calibre. Yet I didn't find it groundbreaking or magnificent, like so many comic fans claimed.
Scanning the reaction of comic fans to comic-based television shows seems to be a lesson in extremes, a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows. Often when they're onboard it's in the form of overzealous praise. Good doesn't really exist; everything about the show becomes magnificent, incredible, unbelievable. On the other hand, disappoint them with your television interpretation of an adored character and the criticism can be scathing: no redeeming qualities acknowledged.
Trying to discuss a program by putting forward a mix of positive and negative reactions to different elements of the production can become tedious, and prove nigh on impossible. (Also because source material is so often cited in conversation, which means nothing to a viewer who draws a distinct line between the two mediums.) I haven't read any of the comics that provide the inspiration for the television programs I'm watching. Experiencing the story only in a television format made me understand how vast the gap between the uninformed viewer and the informed viewer can become.
Scanning the reaction of comic fans to comic-based television shows seems to be a lesson in extremes, a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows. Often when they're onboard it's in the form of overzealous praise. Good doesn't really exist; everything about the show becomes magnificent, incredible, unbelievable. On the other hand, disappoint them with your television interpretation of an adored character and the criticism can be scathing: no redeeming qualities acknowledged.
Trying to discuss a program by putting forward a mix of positive and negative reactions to different elements of the production can become tedious, and prove nigh on impossible. (Also because source material is so often cited in conversation, which means nothing to a viewer who draws a distinct line between the two mediums.) I haven't read any of the comics that provide the inspiration for the television programs I'm watching. Experiencing the story only in a television format made me understand how vast the gap between the uninformed viewer and the informed viewer can become.
You might argue films and television series' adapted from books are in a similar boat, but generally they don't seem to incite the same level of extreme reactions you encounter when discussing comic adaptations.
On watching The Vampire Diaries, my first reaction was apathy bordering on dislike for the lead character Elena, apparently a reworked version of the Elena found in the original novel. (I think the dreaded "relatable female character" trope came into play—another blog for another day!) I didn't feel compelled to read the books because watching the show as a separate entity has become more standard procedure for book-to-tv transformations.
Looking back, I experienced the same comic fan/non-comic fan conundrum when Arrow hit the small screen. The show was entertaining, beautifully done, and I loved Stephen Amell in the lead role. But many fans focused solely on disparate elements between the comics and the small screen: how his character was costumed differently, and his kill count. Commenting on the television show as a stand-alone experience wasn't really welcome online.
In a way, I felt like I wasn't part of the fan base for the show because I couldn't discuss what happened in Issue Whatever of the comics compared to what was unfolding on the small screen. On the other hand, becoming a hit series involves turning casual viewers into avid fans, separate to the comic-saturated portion of the fan base. It's the only way to pull big ratings, meaning my feedback was just as valid/of worth, even if it didn't feel that way.
The Flash is another example. Grant Gustin is brilliantly cast, as are most of the supporting roles. I think the show itself skews younger than Arrow, and I think it works. The series has heart, and an earnest sort of youthful optimism. The concept of the mentor is also a big theme. The Flash has it's own definitive style that comes together to create an entertaining hour of television. Still, a lot of online conversation stayed focused on the discrepancies between the comics and the small screen interpretation.
My only issue with both programs is the representation of women, problematic at best. Don't get me wrong, characters like Felicity and Caitlin are great, but the love interests our leads pine for from the pilot feel like forced plot points, becoming the program's weakest elements.
I sometimes wonder if this is because it's part of a comic trope from earlier years that isn't sitting as well in modern television? I'm not versed enough in the origin stories to say. But every time someone talks about "protecting" Iris on The Flash, I can't help wincing.
I sometimes wonder if this is because it's part of a comic trope from earlier years that isn't sitting as well in modern television? I'm not versed enough in the origin stories to say. But every time someone talks about "protecting" Iris on The Flash, I can't help wincing.
My core issue, though, is the inference Laurel and Iris are more sexually desirable than Felicity and Caitlin. You can't cast beautiful, slender actresses to play women who are geniuses, each with a successful, complex career, not to mention a great sense of humor (also styled gorgeously btw) and then write narrative that implies Felicity and Caitlin are obviously not as attractive/desirable in the eyes of the modern world as Laurel and Iris. Considering higher IQs seem to be the only real differences (to me as an audience member), between Felicity and Laurel, and Caitlin and Iris, I find the implied subliminal messages here quite disturbing.
Obviously over time the scripts are working—episode by episode—to change these dynamics and give us more rounded female leads, but I would say definitely at the cost of initial retention in audience numbers (especially those early days of Arrow). I didn't get the same impression from Daredevil. I really like the multifaceted female characters on that show from the outset.
I've since been told Daredevil is by Marvel, and Arrow and Flash are from DC. Once again, this aspect of their origins hadn't occurred to me, but it probably should come into consideration. I thought perhaps the fact two of the shows were on CW and the other on a different television format, explained part of the differences. Who can say?
I've since been told Daredevil is by Marvel, and Arrow and Flash are from DC. Once again, this aspect of their origins hadn't occurred to me, but it probably should come into consideration. I thought perhaps the fact two of the shows were on CW and the other on a different television format, explained part of the differences. Who can say?
Which brings me to Marvel's Agent Carter. This nearly slipped under my radar, and what a loss that would have been. The program didn't have the fanboy support shown for The Flash and Arrow. Someone whose opinion I trust recommended it, saying I would enjoy the series. I'd read it was about Captain America's girlfriend, and a girlfriend-of-a-superhero focused show sounded like a terrible idea.
Next I saw online that the series was set in the past. I remember thinking, who is going to watch this?! Eventually I checked it out and found the show to be absolutely fascinating. (But more on that later.)
Part of what makes the series so interesting, from a cultural perspective, is the way the show stacked the odds against itself. With no superhero lead, comic fan hype was low. But non-comic fans were staying away too, assuming the series was a kind of superhero thing. At the time, calling the show Marvel's Agent Carter probably seemed like an obvious positive, but in retrospect, I'd consider it a misstep, alienating the program from audiences who would have appreciated it the most: those unfamiliar with its comic roots, but appreciative of television with complex themes.
Part of what makes the series so interesting, from a cultural perspective, is the way the show stacked the odds against itself. With no superhero lead, comic fan hype was low. But non-comic fans were staying away too, assuming the series was a kind of superhero thing. At the time, calling the show Marvel's Agent Carter probably seemed like an obvious positive, but in retrospect, I'd consider it a misstep, alienating the program from audiences who would have appreciated it the most: those unfamiliar with its comic roots, but appreciative of television with complex themes.
Basically, Marvel's Agent Carter fell through marketing gaps left, right, and center before the pilot screened. When I watched the episode, I noted the stylized look. The series came across like an old-fashioned television show, in terms of angles and lighting. Even the editing seemed slower paced (although I could be wrong). An entirely different aesthetic. Beautiful, yes, but not really on trend.
Then I realized it was on trend, stylistically, when lined up next to a show like Mad Men. It just wasn't being compared to that, it was being compared to Arrow. Fans who would appreciate the wit and intelligence at work in the scripts weren't watching because they didn't consider themselves part of the target audience.
And then you ran into other problems. Peggy Carter was a feminist who loved glamor (always wearing lipstick), but wasn't hyper-sexualized. In the modern day, we're not sure if this is an iconic female hero. But Carter is much more complex and interesting than most women who've appeared in comic-related fare; Hayley Atwell's portrayal of the under-utilized agent hits the mark (and then some), making this by far my favorite of all the television shows linked to either the DC or Marvel comic universes.
(On a side note, seeing the openly sexist society of the post WWII workplace on Marvel's Agent Carter was sobering, partly because so many women have experienced echoes of such attitudes in the modern day. The show is an unsettling multifaceted mirror, reflecting both how far we've come, and how far we have to go.)
I'm not sure if the series is based on certain comics. No idea if Peggy has her own comics or is a side character referenced in other characters' adventures. I don't need to know because I enjoyed the series as-is. (I haven't seen the first Captain America film, so I had no idea who Carter was.)
I'm not sure if the series is based on certain comics. No idea if Peggy has her own comics or is a side character referenced in other characters' adventures. I don't need to know because I enjoyed the series as-is. (I haven't seen the first Captain America film, so I had no idea who Carter was.)
Maybe that's the point. Maybe the idea that comics provide a ready made fan base for television outings is only true to a certain point. As television shows with a link to comic-based narratives step further away from accepted traditional narrative forms and explore the opportunities a different medium provides, so must marketing adapt to bring a different kind of audience into the fold.
Comic-based television shows don't just belong to fans of comics: those discovering new heroes and inspirations are just as welcome audience members, even if, occasionally, it really doesn't feel that way.
Comic-based television shows don't just belong to fans of comics: those discovering new heroes and inspirations are just as welcome audience members, even if, occasionally, it really doesn't feel that way.
In summary, the current comic-to-television model is a strange one, relying on a difficult fusion of established fans of another medium and new fans completely unfamiliar with said medium. This also means offerings working outside a (roughly) standardized structure, no matter how entertaining, are at this point in time invariably doomed to slip through the cracks, which is a great pity. Hopefully, in the future, the dynamic will change.*
*Note: I haven't referenced Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Constantine in this post, as I barely made it through the pilots. I've yet to watch Gotham. It will be interesting to see if Gotham, also working outside the standard superhero format, suffers for it. Hopefully it will be another step in breaking the mold. (Also worth noting, this blog only addresses recent television productions sourced from comic material, and not classic examples of small screen superhero outings.)
