Hawkeye (2012) - fine art
- Srinjoy Majumdar
- Jun 9, 2023
- 5 min read
A first for this blog, a one-of-a-kind post: a comic review. Yes, you would be right to ask: do I need therapy? As for the answer to that, let's just stick with "inconclusive".
It wouldn't be a stretch to say comic books and graphic novels are a world apart from films and TV shows. Truly, I don't have any precedent for what I'm doing, and if you've happened to have read anything I've written, you'll know that I never have a clue what I'm talking about. And yet, ignorance hasn't stopped me in the past, so why not venture into something new?
Clint Barton had the same idea when he became a superhero, in the loosest sense of the term. Perhaps, that's one of the reasons I love this entire run and his character. The aloof, deal-with-it, everyman doesn't make for a good role model. But that's who he is, much as we all are in some way. Regardless, he accepts it, flaws and all, much as we should. Flaws and all.
Yes, Hawkeye carries a bow and arrow, and he shoots them every time in a manner that can only be described as inconspicuously obvious. It's like he wants people to know he's the stupid underdog who's about to get mercilessly humiliated by every bad-something with a gun. And then, just as you think his time is up, he pulls out a pointed stick from his quiver, draws the stringed arch of his bow, strains his elbow, and repeats that same routine which has kept him alive against some of fantasy's most destructive and powerful antagonists. Yes, it's stupid. I know. He knows. The writers know.
Hawkeye (2012) by Matt Fraction and David Aja, is truly fine art. I know of nothing else finer. Spearheaded (see what I did there) by the writer-artist duo, in collaboration with a hound of other writers, artists, inkers, and pencillers, this 22 issue run is maybe one of postmodern literature's most enjoyable essays in what it takes to be a human. Not a great one, nay, not even a good one. But simply the sheer effort and strength it takes, to be one.
On their surface, comics are meant to be fun. They're marketed to kids. Nihilism doesn't make for good playground talk (I think). In any case, no parent wants to let their child learn how big, bad, and ugly the world is, at that young an age (unless they're Indian, in which case it's essential). Historically, creative freedom with subject matter extended to how crazy your imaginations and fantasies were, while compromising on the depths of realism, and the nature of the text's themes.
Perhaps, this is why audiences (young and old alike) greatly cherish those characters who tread that fine boundary. But at the end of the day, we can only empathize with their lives; we can't relate to them. You and I, our experiences and existences are entangled in reality; who we can relate to, is the ordinary person.
The guy whose life knows plenty pain, but who just wants to make it though the day without having something too awful happen to him. All he wants is a free sandwich or less screaming in the neighbourhood. He's the guy who gives food to the stray dogs and quietly sits in a corner during the barbecue. He wakes up, does his job, comes home tired, eats his food, and does the same thing all over again. Because he has to. His name is Hawkeye, and this series is his story.
I am very much a narrative person, and much as every fibre in my body is forcing me to write about the story, I can't bring myself to lend it credence over other things. Don't get me wrong, the plots, the conflicts, the woven narrative, they serve their purpose. But perhaps for the first time in my life, I have derived profoundly more satisfaction from a text's stylistic execution than anything else. I'm talking about the artwork, colours, production value, concept issues, variant covers, even the texture of the paper. Hawkeye is more than a comic book, it is a community that appreciates this fine art.
I cannot verbalise just how much of a challenge it is, not to put every frame and panel from the book in this review. As someone who deeply admires purple as an aesthetic theme, and minimalism as an aesthetic ideology, it was difficult for me to turn pages and not stare at them for hours. Every detail is immaculate and yet enough. Not a single line is out of place. Take it from someone whose received multiple failing grades in arts and crafts classes: not anything by Michelangelo or da Vinci or Van Gogh, has enamoured me more than that final page of the last issue in the series.
Each colour feels vibrant and soothing. There's a gentle calmness in the atmosphere when I read Hawkeye, regardless of the chaos that ensues in the story. Inherent to this trait, is perhaps an effective use of the economy of action: while stories and sequences are tense, they do not feel overwhelming. One can take one's leisure to thoroughly study each event in the comic panels and not feel assaulted by the density of things that are happening because of the 'minimal-first' agenda adopted by the writers.
Oh, the production value. Before every issue starts, there's a page crediting the team of writers, artists, and inkers, that helped bring that issue into your grateful hands. One usually skips those. You will never once feel that impulse when reading Hawkeye. Every line is funny, every detail is witty, every introduction is a hug. At the back of the issue, is a page full of brief letters from fellow readers expressing their genuine love for the book and the profoundly moving attachment they share with it. Alongside are music recommendations to accompany your reading of the issue (and they're incredible). These excerpts are dated 10 years prior, and yet I feel like I share every sentiment expressed with my fellow community of Hawk-guys (yeah, that's a nerd thing, they call themselves that and I felt obliged).
I haven't even gotten into the concept issues, or side-characters. I say side, I really mean the best - I'm talking about Lucky, the Pizza Dog, and Kate Bishop, the other Hawkeye. There's not enough I could say about either. As fictional characters go, they're so effectively developed, as are all supporting characters in the series, that narrative enthusiasts should explore the subtleties of conveying character journeys and thematic evolution employed in the text. And before you go, "what are you talking about, it's a comic", let me stop you right there and inform you: there's an issue where Lucky, the Pizza Dog, solves a murder (and it's award-winning literature). Enough said.
I don't want to be philosophical about Hawkeye, really. But there's something very authentic about his experiences and insecurities that I find admirable. Maybe I want to see myself in him. Maybe I don't. All I know for certain is that I'm also just a boy, standing in front of an audience, asking you to read Hawkeye (2012) by Fraction and Aja. (Notting Hill fans, this one's for you!)
yes good job