"Bloodstones" Part One
Writer: James Bonny
Artists: Wilson Tortosa(p), Jonathan Sibal(i), Tyson Wengler(c)
Publisher: Image
I went to see Lara Croft: Cradle of Life on opening night. I didn't see the critically fricaseed first movie. I never played the game, but the enthusiasm of the crew and the cast I inferred from various interviews suggested that perhaps the second film would be better than the first. I found Cradle of Life to be thoroughly entertaining and surprisingly thoughtful as well as inventive. Angelina Jolie made Lara Croft a person. The Jolie-Croft, like the Barrymore-Diaz-Lui-Angels, seemed to be a direct descendent of the pre-Crisis female super-heroes: powerful, confident, sexy women who were equal to if not better than their male counterparts. The Jolie-Croft was Indiana Jones' updated equal. I pity anybody who picks up the Lara Croft: Tomb-Raider comic book. The character to which Angelina Jolie bestowed a heartbeat cannot be found within these pages.
To be fair, James Bonny writes a semi-decent voice for Lara in the narration and her dialogue. She certainly does not sound as hollow as she did in the premiere of her comic book adventures, but the face does not match the voice. I'm not asking for a dead-on likeness of Angelina Jolie; though really would this be such a bad thing? Lara however should look like a woman not High School Tomb-Raider. Wilson Tortosa and Johnathan Sibal imbue little character to Lara's face. She looks like an underage blow-up doll.
Part of the pleasure in seeing Cradle of Life was to partake in Jolie's distinctive beauty and relative maturity balanced with a dangerous sensuality. The black bikini and silver wetsuit she wore on the film posters were not exploitive. They made sense. She wore these outfits in their proper environments: on top of and under water. All of her outfits in the film, in the same way Bond's costumes suit his missions, went with the territory and her characterization. To me this was the cast and crew of Cradle of Life saying we're going to entertain you in a serious rather than burlesque fashion. There will be no shower scenes.
A shower scene is an actress' way to apologize for a bad movie. It's her way of saying, "You poor soul. You've suffered through enough of this badly written drivel. Here are my ya-yas." Cradle of Life needed no apology. The comic book owes the entire industry--including the erotic comic book section--an apology.
The Tomb-Raider comic book is a cancerous growth. We open with a woman so endowed that her naked bounty dares to fall out of the robe she wears. This must be Lara Croft whose bosomy reputation precedes her, literally. She's sacrificed, and you pretty much saw it coming given that she happened to be tied to the slabs of Stonehenge and the whole affair smelled of poor-man's Hammer.
The scenario turns out to be a dream that at least would excuse her blossoming out of the robe, but Lara's reality isn't much better. In Lara's reality, her dumplings dare to pop out of pink, thin lingerie, which is patently ridiculous. Lara Croft's not going to be wearing something like that. Ask any non tomb-raiding woman, and depending on the weather, she'll likely tell you that she sleeps in the nude or a tee-shirt and briefs. Comfort is key. There's no reason for the thin lingerie and a silk thong, which so lovingly displays her butt cheeks. Any sex appeal the cheeks may have had for prepubescents is lost to me given that they're not even drawn with a steady hand. I guess Tortosa got a little excited.
Could the allegedly creative team rendered the scene in a way that was not sexually exploitive. With great ease.
Panel One (Close up on Lara's profile): Lara as a result of her nightmare gasps.
Panel Two (Close up, sideview on Lara's empty pillow and rumpled sheet): This denotes movement and the passage of time.
Panel Three (Back view; Camera pulled back): Her sinewy arms slightly behind her, Lara sits hunched over on the edge of the bed. Moonlight plays on the muscles of her back. Sweat beads on her shoulder blades. A shadow falls on a quarter of her back from her left hip up to the end-curve of her right shoulder blade.
Panel Four (backview repeated): Ringing sound added.
Panel Five (backview): Lara Reaches for the phone. The shadow on her back moves down to her spine to the tip of the lumbar region.
Panel Six (backview): Lara talks to caller.
There is absolutely no reason why she should wear out-of-character lingerie, fall out of that lingerie and then promptly moon the audience. The character is not aware of the audience, but the allegedly creative team seems to be directing her as they would an actress in a dime-a-dozen erotic thriller.
Things seem to pick up artwise on the next pages. Yes, Lara still looks far too young. So does her friend Maddie, a contemporary professor. You can in fact superimpose both women onto the character Angela, who is supposed to be younger. At least there's nothing offensive shown, and Lara's covered head to toe in smart motorcycle leathers. This is the calm before the storm.
On the next page Lara exhibits some of the acumen that belies her too youthful looks. This however the allegedly creative badly contrasted with an apparent lack of observational skills. Lara should be able to add a) the person who used a shovel to strike her in the head to b) the only person in the chamber who held a shovel, yet this logical conclusion escapes her. Not that brainpower apparently happens to be the main draw of this book. Evidence for the main draw can be found in the upper right corner where Bonny/Tortosa/Sibal emphasize that Lara isn't wearing underwear beneath her leathers.
So far Tomb-Raider has only been merely a teeth-clenching experience. It doesn't elicit angry shouts of protest--as in a mob of villagers with pitchforks and torches--until page twelve where the misogyny is in full bloom. Our impotent little maniac--the one with the shovel--snatched the shiny dagger that Lara has discovered and claimed his first victim. Her death is shown in the sleaziest possible manner. Angela wears a skintight uniform leaving little to the imagination. Think of Erin Grey's Wilma Deering wet, bloody and butchered and you'll comprehend exactly what's shown and what isn't shown. Her halter-top beneath the uniform has been pulled down in such a way to expose the maximum amount of cleavage, and she's been cut right between the breasts. The blood is everywhere. This isn't dramatic. It's explicit violence against women married by shotgun to sexploitation. It's plain nasty, and I'm shocked that the comic book isn't recommended for mature readers. Not that a mature reader had they read it closely would have anything to do with the book. Lesson learned: sometimes a cursory glance in the comic book store can be deceiving.
The nauseating feeling continues as we learn that the impotent little maniac has a female accomplice. So what's the message here? Women will betray their own kind into being sexually butchered? Trevor--oh, dear. I just gave away the identity to the man with the shovel and the knife--rips apart his accomplice, and again, the scene is done in such a way that it mixes sex and violence. Trevor grabs the betrayer's halter-top--lots of these being worn, tears it off as he throws her down and ignoring her pleas plunges the dagger right between the breasts. Although off panel, we know this is the case thanks to the violent porn splash panel on page twelve. If Bonny/Tortosa/Sibal thought they could get away with it, I'm sure they would have shown the phallic symbol penetrating the flesh between the woman's sex pillows.
Turn the page, and Lara proves our original assumption was wrong. She is wearing underwear under her leathers. The tiniest form of underwear ever seen in a comic book--or rather not seen in a comic book. It's not seen long however since yes, the book is complete. We have the shower scene. The amount of the actresses' bits that are shown is inversely proportional to the quality of the production. Applying bad movie law, Lara should not only be starkers, she should be giving a Playboy Playmate a massage that becomes a lesbian experience. However, in a show of restraint, Lara's nips and her genitalia cannot be seen, but the rest of her writhes in orgiastic bliss under a cascade of water. There are several reasons why this scene is so inappropriate. One "Bloodstones" isn't a cheerfully bad movie like say This Island Earth. It's a vile piece of hateful rubbish written as an I-loathe-you-all note to women everywhere. Having a woman protagonist changes nothing. Two, Lara's orgasm under water is unlikely to be the reaction of any hero who has just seen a young corpse. Anger should be her reaction.
Panel One (Close-up on Lara's face): Water pounds down on her skull, as her amber eyes enraged flare.
Her breasts and buttocks are immaterial to the emotions she is feeling. Three, the scene doesn't even warrant an out the blue aesthetic quality. There are masters of the erotic nude such as Alberto Vargas, and they all make Wilson Tortosa essentially a doodler of stick figures. The shower scene in Tomb-Raider has zero worth.
The Tomb-Raider comic book really makes my hobby worthwhile. If I can steer just one person away from this contemptuous filth, then I'm rendering a public service. I would also like to suggest that the editors who should have pulled the plug on this story before it saw print actually read the scripts once in awhile and perhaps glance at the finished art. Whomever was in charge of the licensing department at Eidos, the makers of the Tomb-Raider game, should have his brain put back into his skull so that he can maybe think things through: perhaps associating their video game character whose role is assumed by millions of teens--girls and boys--with a book that is violently and sexually derogatory toward women isn't the smartest idea. It is my sincerest hope that everybody involved in the making of this story is sacked.
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