(H/T Angry Asian Man)

It’s stuff like this that makes me wish I had the money and time to go to Comic-Con. Turns out that this year in San Diego, Circle of Confusion (the same production company bringing us this year’s AMC TV series based on The Walking Dead) is also working on a TV series adaptation of Chew.

Chew is an amazing, and incredibly funny, comic that follows protagonist Tony Chu, who is “cibopathic”. That is, he gets psychic impressions from any food that he eats (… except, weirdly, beets…). Chu uses those abilities to solve crimes — including murder. (You can use your imagination to figure out how he does that.) Chu lives in a world where chicken has been outlawed due to a mass outbreak of avian flu, where fried chicken is sold on the black market in underground fine dining bistros, and where the FDA is the most powerful agency in the United States.

Chew’s first few issues were so wildly popular, that they (and their reprints) immediately sold out. The series has also since won an Eisner Award for “Best New Series”. I first caught onto Chew when it was reprinted in full with a Walking Dead issue (explained in the letters section as a decision reflecting the high demand for the first issue). Since then, the first three issues of Chew are as hard to come by as two drumsticks and a wing – pretty much the only way to catch up on the series is through the book’s two trades.

What’s striking to me about Chew is how strongly Tony Chu visually and narratively embodies his inspiration, actor Ken Leung. In fact, the whole series exudes the kind of straight man, sardonic wit that Leung brings to each of his on-screen roles — which demonstrates the strength of the writing in the books. Couple that with the rich detail of the dark, chicken-less world in which Chu lives, and you’ve got yourself pure comic book genius.

So, with Circle of Confusion working on bringing Chew to television, I’m not even going to entertain the possibility that Tony Chu’s character will be white-washed. Twenty bucks down says that when Chew goes into the casting process, Ken Leung’s agent will be the first person called.

There is NO way this isn't going to happen...

And who couldn’t use more Ken Leung on TV?

R.I.P. Ryan Choi (aka All-New Atom)

I have to preface this post by saying that I have not been collecting comics lately. Thankfully, a friend of mine, who still keeps his finger to the pulse of the comic world, tipped me off to a major development in the world of comic books that has ramifications for the Asian American community.

Four years ago, after the presumed death of Ray Palmer, DC Comics introduced a new Atom, remarkable because he quickly ascended to being one of the foremost Asian American superheroes in comic-dom. He was one of the few Asian American superheroes to receive their own comic book title — All-New Atom — which was penned by Gail Simone. Simone developed Atom, and his alter ego Ryan Choi, as an Asian-American in virtually every sense of the word; although he was born and raised in Hong Kong, Ryan lived and worked as a professor in an American university. Part of his personal evolution involved struggles between his more Americanized identity with the expectations of his strict, overbearing father.

Now, when Atom first launched, I heavily criticized the book for its persistent dependence on stereotypical Asian/Asian American tropes. Choi was still one-dimensional and his book contained inappropriate racially-charged jokes that seemed out-of-place in a book that should’ve been a landmark for Asian American comic fans. Despite being set in at an academic institution, the series suffered from a bizarre absence of Asian American female characters. To me, All-New Atom was jarring — Ryan Choi had none of the ease in his Asian-American identity that Asian American characters written by Asian American writers do. Unlike the characters of Gene Yang’s American Born Chinese, or even the writing of Greg Pak’s Amadeus Cho in World War Hulk, Gail Simone’s Ryan Choi felt like a character forced into an Asian American skin. His relationship with his Asian-ness seemed fake and inauthentic. All-New Atom felt like a book about Asian Americans written by a non-Asian. 

Interestingly, when I wrote about my disappointment in All-New Atom, Simone came to this blog defending her writing. She addressed concerns about the inauthenticity of Ryan Choi. Simone even emailed me a little bit to exchange ideas about adding a female Asian American character to All-New Atom’s cast.

Sadly, soon after these exchanges took place, All-New Atom was canceled after just 25 issues. Ryan Choi went on to help find the lost Ray Palmer, Choi’s predecessor in the Atom mantle. Palmer and Choi worked together as members of Checkmate, but suprisingly, Choi was virtually absent in the major cross-over events that subsequently swept the D.C. Universe (e.g. Final Crisis, Sinestro Wars, Blackest Night). In fact, Electroman tells me that Choi appeared in only one panel in Final Crisis.

Last week, not content to allow Ryan Choi fade into obscurity, D.C. Comics made a decision to bring the All-New Atom back… in a gory death scene. In the first issue of Titans: Villains for Hire, a title contained under the year-long Brightest Day story arc currently sweeping the D.C. Universe, Deathstroke assembles a team of mercenary villains. As one of his first acts as leader of the new, evil Titans, Deathstroke breaks into Ryan Choi’s house in Ivy Town. After a brief battle, Ryan Choi is fatally impaled on Deathstroke’s sword.

Now, as Blackest Night has hammered home (and by “hammered home”, I actually mean, beaten like a “dead, dead, really really dead horse”), dead characters in the D.C. Universe rarely stay dead for long. If nothing else, comic book writers are very good at coming up with wonderfully creative ret-cons to undo a character’s death. Even Jason Todd, the second Robin, who was supposed to be the only character in D.C. Comics whom editors swore would never come back from the dead, was resurrected and now fights crime as the homicidal Red Hood.

So, it’s quite possible that Ryan Choi will be back.

But for now, Ryan Choi is dead.

And beyond merely being dead, Ryan Choi is pointlessly dead. It seems as if Choi died only to demonstrate how Badass(tm) Deathstroke and his new Titans are. And, as Justin Slotman commented about the recent deaths of Jin and Sun on Lost, “killing off beloved characters to prove that Bad Guy is Really Really Serious is the laziest kind of writing.” Some fans have argued that Choi’s death is racially motivated because D.C. Comics was uncomfortable with an Asian American wearing the mantle of the Atom; with Choi bumped off, Ray Palmer would be free to reclaim his superhero identity. Would a prominent non-Asian superhero have died so meaningless a death? 

While I think the phrase “racially motivated” is rather charged, I tend to agree with the notion that D.C. Comics sets a dangerous precedent for so casually eliminating one of the few prominent Asian American superheroes when he appears no longer necessary. D.C. editors seemed apathetic to persistent cries to have Ryan Choi treated better in the pages of his title, and, now, they seem callously unconcerned about killing the character off. Ryan Choi barely had the chance to become a “beloved” character — of Asian Americans or fanboys at large — before he was tossed aside in a gruesome and unnecessary death. In life, and in death, Choi served as a placeholder — first for Ray Palmer’s Atom, and now for Deathstroke’s evil plan. Choi never really manages to come into his own as an Asian American character and as a superhero — throughout his four year run, he stood perpetually in the shadow of Whiter, more well-known characters.

So, rest in peace, Ryan Choi. Too bad you never became what you could have been.

Update: Yikes. Don’t write a blog post while simultaneously watching the penultimate episode of Lost, kids! This post has been edited for grammar and clarity.

When I was in college, there sure as heck weren’t zombies, ghosts, and incredibly beautiful people having a bunch of sex with each other. Okay, at least there weren’t a lot of zombies and ghosts.

Filmmaker Quentin Lee has teamed up with artist John Hahn to write and illustrate an online graphic novel entitled Campus Ghost Story. Both Asian American, Lee and Hahn have set out to create a “fun and sexy horror story” that “[at] the heart of it is about how young adults construct their identity and fear against issues of race, gender and sexuality”.

Since I’m y’know me, I pretty much jumped at the idea of a couple of Asian American creators making a comic book about race and gender. And who doesn’t love a good comic with sexuality, right?

So, since I’m sitting here at my desk waiting for tissue to digest (I won’t bore you with the science-y details), I decided to check out the 13-page preview of Campus Ghost Story (which, it seems, represents the first of eight chapters in the book).

The first 13 pages of CGS set the environment for the tale. The opening panel shows the college quad at night, dominated by a large clocktower which, as I assume, is really the focus of the piece. And I was immediately drawn into the world of CGS; I could swear to you that artist John Hahn was given pictures of my alma mater (Cornell University) at night from which to draw his inspiration. Although, to be fair, Cornell’s clocktower isn’t (at least to my knowledge) haunted by the ghost of a dead student wearing a hoodie.

The rest of the chapter introduces us to one of the three primary protagonists: red-haired Julian who is feeling overwhelmed by college. His best friend / roommate, pudgy and Asian American Mark, wants to ditch his nerdy past and hopes to pledge a frat so he can be cool, but Julian is totally not interested. Further complicating matters is the implication that Julian is gay, although it’s not clear if he’s out to himself (let alone to anyone else).

After (literally) running away from a hot topless guy in the men’s locker room (which, I gotta say, was a little – uhm – on the nose) Julian meets a handsome guy in a hoodie named Darren. Flirty, tense, Dawson’s Creek moment later, and cue the climactic scene we kind of all knew was coming from the get-go. I’ll leave it to you to read that part for yourself.

CGS is definitely noteworthy for the art, alone. I’ve never really seen Hahn’s work before, but the stark line art that he uses in CGS nicely complements the story’s stated sociopolitical themes; the style reminds me, in part, of mid-twentieth century political and propaganda posters. This effect is augmented by the colour palette, which is particularly well-implemented during the story’s “spooky” scenes. Despite a few awkward panels (particularly in the third page of the preview chapter), Hahn’s art is generally subdued, while simultaneously gorgeous.

And, I certainly do like that the story focuses on a gay male protagonist, where his “gayness” (so to speak) isn’t entirely central to the story. Yes, Julian is attracted to Darren, and appears to be ramping up for some serious “coming out” angst, but the story doesn’t spotlight Julian’s homosexuality in a hokey and over-done way. It’s also noteworthy that Lee chose to write a story that, at least from the preview pages, includes Asian Americans in its cast of characters but that doesn’t beat us about the head and shoulders — sledgehammer-style — with classic APIA tropes and archetypes (as too many minority comic book and filmmakers feel the need to do).

That being said, it’s also clear that CGS is Lee’s first foray into comic book writing. While the overall story appears to be interesting, there are issues of pacing and dialogue that appear clunky for the comic book page. Either the art (or the page design) are simply inadequate to communicate some of the subtle interactions between characters (a problem that betrays Lee’s background in film) while some of the initial pages of this preview chapter drag on in slow (and seemingly meaningless) interactions between Julian and supporting characters. Some panels are crowded with dialogue (particularly the early scene at the frat party); furthermore, very little of the speech is written in a comfortable, colloquial fashion that would be believable emerging out of the mouths of blonde, beer-guzzling frat Neanderthals. In fact, few of the characters (Julian’s friend Mark being a notable exception) speak with a unique voice at all.

Also, the feminist in me winces at the fact that of the four women in the first chapter of the book, two are (apparently) APIA, and yet both of them are depicted in sexualized contexts. I’m hoping that’s not an indication of how APIA women fare, in general, on Lee’s campus. 

Nonetheless, I will admit that some of my criticisms aren’t entirely fair: in all likelihood, the issues of pacing and characterization might be resolved if I were to read further into the book, and many of my other issues are nit-picky quibbles that would diminish as Lee’s experience in the comic medium increases.

Over all, I’m delighted to see the growing democratization of the comic book medium as more and more independent artists choose to use the comic book format to tell their stories, and (in the grassroots spirits of the Interwebs) publish their work online. And, I’m definitely looking forward to reading more of CGS to see how Lee tackles the issues of race, gender and sexuality; conceptually, the book has me hooked.

Certainly, to me, the most exciting preview of CGS came from the trailer video (which I’ve embedded above), which shows some truly stunning panels from Hahn, and which suggests that CGS has a lot more blood, gore, and sex to offer than the rather minimalist first chapter suggests.

Campus Ghost Story’s website contains links for reading the free preview chapter, and you can download digital copies of the full book for an (extremely) reasonable fee over at NetComics.com (the whole thing would cost you less than $2.00). You can also buy the book in print at Amazon for your comic book collection.