Media, Culture, Technology

Tag: comics

Between American Comics and Hollywood

During the summer months, Dickinson College’s campus is largely uninhabited, save for a small collection of staff members, faculty, and students. So when folks who saw me at the college then asked me to explain why I chose to spend my vacation from the academic halls and the library—where I exhausted countless hours studying, writing papers, and snacking on Kashi granola bars and Chobani yogurt cups (I admit that I am among the few who survives without caffeine)—back in those spaces, you might imagine, reader, that I felt motivated to offer some spectacular response. To satisfy most inquiries, saying very plainly “I’m doing research on comic books” was an exciting enough phrase.

In the presence of interrogators who possessed stronger senses of doubt, though, I needed to elaborate in order to show them that research on comics is a real thing; “Greg Steirer, a professor in the English department who taught of few of the classes I have taken, is writing a book with Alisa Perren, a professor at University of Texas at Austin, about the relationships between Hollywood studios and American comic book companies,” I would start.

“What got you interested in that topic?” one questioner asked at some point.

“I haven’t read many comic books and generally enjoy films, but what interests me most is my professor’s approach: he intends to move away from looking at the language, be it words or images, of comics and focus on how they function as products of industry: titles and symbols are trademarks, characters are copyrighted properties, and markets change as printing and film technology becomes more sophisticated,” I typically responded.

“Oh, so you won’t be comparing stories to their adaptations?” another interrogator asked.

“Only if the differences revealed through that kind of comparison affect the legal actions carried out by a company or studio, the money earned by comics artists and directors, producers, etc., adaptations for television, spin-offs, or the promotions and selling of ancillary products like toys, clothing, DVDs, and video games,” I have replied.

“You know, I have not thought about it much before now, but I have noticed a ton of comics-related things around within the last few years. I can see how you could learn a lot using that kind of approach,” the freshly convinced admitted.

Though I experienced several a-ha moments of my own as I was working on my project, many of them were similar to ones I witnessed others having: there existed this shared notion that comic books as well as films and merchandise inspired by comics have been a part of American popular culture for a while, yet the fact that this phenomenon would be examined in academia is generally surprising.

“Where Did You Begin?”

My first task was to familiarize myself with the terms in use within the works that discuss comic books. Effective research addresses the basis of knowledge about a topic or field that is maintained by a particular academic community before covering new ground, by using either traditional methodologies to add information to that basis or by suggesting that different tools be implemented to expand the breadth of the topic. To do this, I looked to two texts—Jean-Paul Gabilliet’s Of Comics and Men: A Cultural History of American Comic Books (2013) and Sean Howe’s Marvel Comics: The Untold Story (2012)—that Professor Steirer assigned to me in order to gain a better sense of the history of comics as a medium and some of the prominent comic book artists who helped keep the art form alive (with some attention to its place within film, television, and other entertainment industries). Gabilliet’s book offers a comprehensive, yet not exhaustive, description of the birth and evolution of comics, highlighting different eras in which comic books were marked as pure entertainment, censored for being detrimental to the lives of American youth, hailed as art, and acknowledged as forums for ideological agendas.

Howe’s book focuses on the story of the founding and growth of Marvel Comics, one of the largest comic book companies to date, describing the artists, writers, corporate heads, organizations, and families involved in the creation of iconic characters, the most popular of whom are superheroes like Spiderman, Iron Man, Elektra, the Fantastic Four, Captain America, and the Incredible Hulk. Using personal interviews, recorded conversations, letters, and hearsay, Howe presents the company’s moments of decline and extreme commercial success during the Golden (late 1930s to the early 1950s), the Silver (late 1950s to around 1970), the Bronze (1970 to 1985), and portions of the Modern Ages (1985 to the present) of American comics. It is during this latter phase of time that comic book companies in the United States begin to integrate with Hollywood studios in order to build franchises around popular characters that inspire the development of ancillary products and allow both industries to thrive.

While I was reading through those books, Professor Steirer also shared with me his essay “The State of Comics Scholarship: Comics Studies and Disciplinarity,” in which argued that there is no established academic community for comics scholars and hence little opportunity for debate about what methodologies are to become standard and what theoretical direction ought to be taken within comics studies. He goes on to say that most of the research produced about comics either presents facts about the medium or puts forth critiques about the language within comics, their implicit ideological pretenses, authorship, the medium’s effect on readers (i.e. fan culture, social studies on children), and the comic book’s place as a commercial entity.

As a result of the prevalence of these kinds of isolated analyses, “comics studies” is often grouped together with traditional academic fields like literary studies, culture and media studies, and American studies rather than treated as its own discipline. Without any formal disciplinarity attributed to itself by comics scholars, research on comics does not have its own institutional locus. The solution to this lack of administrative organization and clarity of objective that Steirer offers redirects scholars’ attention to the fact that comic books were first printed to satisfy one goal: to earn money and continue selling products. Companies like Marvel, DC Comics, Image Comics, and Dark Horse have helped turn comics into a fully-fledged and continuously expanding industry. What is more, the Modern Age of American comics would likely have already ended and comics would largely be obscure by now if most comic book publishers did not combine forces with Hollywood studios such as Warner Bros., Sony, Disney, 20th Century Fox, and Universal Pictures, among others.

Both comic book companies and film studios in the United States now share the more sophisticated goal of mass-producing popular and accessible fare that is franchise-able. Thus, Professor Steirer identifies the industrial approach to the study of comics as the most productive mode of analysis on the subject of comic books because of their relationship to issues like production, marketing, consumption practices, and intellectual property law and because of the success of this approach in film and media studies. He does reference some examples of comics scholarship that explore texts through this lens, but he explains that these few pieces exist in the margins of an already marginalized scholarly space.

“What’s in the ‘doing’? What were you looking for?”

After I had finished reading through the basis of knowledge on comic books and comics studies, I was better equipped to search for information directly relevant to Professor Steirer and Professor Perren’s book. Since industry-oriented scholarship on comic books is not a common approach, the sources of information about deals between publishers and studios, legal battles over the copyrights on a particular character or name, and advertising techniques used to promote comics, movies, and ancillary products is buried, so to speak, in non-scholarly articles, reports, and databases. I was tasked with the job of searching through the digital archives of the trade magazine (a general resource for news targeted toward people working in a particular industry) known as Variety, which publishes articles about issues related to Hollywood. I sifted through roughly a thousand separate pieces using search terms like “Marvel Comics,” “Avengers movies,” “Batman,” and “comics and television” in order to find reports that could give Professors Steirer and Perren a greater sense of how issues within these industries are handled tonally in comparison to legal documents and other online forums that mention comic books, movies inspired by comics, or the individuals involved in the processes that maintain these industries’ activity and influence their success. I compiled these writings into a digital annotated bibliography that can be viewed at any point of the book project’s development. Currently, there are over 300 applicable entries listed and summarized.

“What have you gained from this experience and where do you go next?”

Professor Steirer and Professor Perren’s book is scheduled to be published a few years from now, so the work I completed for them was rather simple compared to the work that is going to need to be done at the later stages of the project. However, Professor Steirer and I have discussed the prospect of our picking up where I left off next year. Aside from the large amount of knowledge I have learned this past summer, I have discovered an interest in research and at the moment have not ruled it out among my post-graduation goals. Also, as a student who now has worked and studied using both techniques typically utilized in literary studies and those that are more unconventional, like looking at the commercial or industrial issues, I have become much more aware of and sensitive to what common words like “book,” “art,” “study,” and “American” can mean.

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Cosplay vs. Nerd Elitism

If you’ve been to any comic, manga, or video game convention within the past twenty years, chances are you’ve encountered some convention-goers masquerading as fictional characters in colorful, creative costumes. What you’re seeing are not amateur actors, untimely trick-or-treaters, or delusional folks going through cartoon-based identity crises. These are passionate fans, dedicated to representing their favorite TV, movie, game and comic book characters. These are cosplayers.

Cosplay, coming from the Japanese term, kosupure (コスプレ), is a portmanteau of the words ‘costume’ and ‘play.’ It’s a growing hobby in which fans create and wear costumes in order to show them off at conventions, enter contests, meet fellow fans, and further embrace their interests in the characters they’re portraying. Though originally the majority of cosplay was devoted to anime characters, the hobby has expanded to include characters from a variety of genres including science fiction thrillers, blockbuster action movies, and even occasionally characters that are entirely made up by the cosplayers themselves. Some are incredibly complex, such as the woman with sword and pink hair pictured on the left below, while some, like that handsome devil on the right, are a tad simpler.

Leigh and Theo in COstume 2

You’d think such a niche hobby would fit wonderfully into the sort of “nerd culture” associated with conventions and pop culture. And yet here’s what Pat Broderick, a popular comic book artist who has worked on such characters as Batman and Captain Marvel, had to say about cosplay via Facebook: “Today’s heads up. If you’re a cosplay personality, please don’t send me a friend request. If you’re a convention promoter and you’re building your show around cosplay events and mega multiple media guests don’t invite me. You bring nothing of value to the shows, and if you’re a promoter pushing cosplay as your main attraction you’re not helping the industry or comics market. Thank you.”

There seems to be a pushback against the hobby, even from some professionals in the comic industry such as Broderick. Broderick goes on to denounce cosplay as “selfies in costume” and as a blatant form of “narcissism” that has  been gaining a disturbing amount of support from fans and others in the industry. Complaints such as these put cosplay on the front of a growing conflict between casual and “hardcore” nerds.

A sort of elitism has grown around this conflict, leading to a form of “gatekeeping”–that is,  the process by which one group keeps another group out of its culture (Ravishly). Some self-proclaimed “real nerds,” such as blogger Tara “Tiger” Brown, seem eager to draw a distinction between themselves and those they view as “fake,” whom Brown, for instance, calls “Fake Geek Girls.” Tara Brown and those similar to her seem to believe that being a geek is something that must be earned, but that nowadays, people, especially women, want to “pretend” so that people will give them attention. A lot of nerds may feel as though they’ve been persecuted for their hobbies, and thus, feel more protective of those hobbies, taking any bullying they received as badges of honor and viewing those that bring popularity to the hobby as a threat to what makes that hobby unique.

So why is cosplay so tied to this conflict? Well for starters (and returning to the gender issues of the conflict), cosplay is one of the few female-dominated areas of nerd culture. It’s a much easier entry point into the subculture for women who may feel more intimidated going into a comic or game store and being surrounded by mostly men. But the backlash against cosplay also goes beyond gender. Cosplay is an easy way for anyone–male, female, or other–to get involved with geek culture in a casual sense. Video games require skills and money to spend on the tech, comics draw on decades of knowledge and convoluted continuities, but dressing up is easy to get started with if you have a little creativity and can find (or make) a costume. Elitists naturally find themselves against this easy point of entry for casual fans, and assume that cosplayers don’t care enough about the subjects they portray.

To assume cosplayers don’t have the same level of passion as “real fans” or that they’re just in it for the pictures is a gross generalization, however. For this article, I’ve interviewed a few cosplayers to learn about their experiences and wound up finding a wide variety of motivations. Here’s what some of them had to say when asked to talk about what draws them into the hobby and to respond to Broderick’s claims that cosplay adds nothing to the industry and that it’s a form of narcissism:

“Sure it’s nice to take pictures of your own costume and others because they look cool or you’re proud of your work and want to remember it or show it to people who didn’t get to see, but it’s also about the experience while you’re there. . . . It’s also a way to express one’s enthusiasm for a certain work by putting in all the time and effort to get a costume together, so I would think to some artists it would be flattering to have people so excited about wanting to represent a character that they created. . . . For me, I just love the atmosphere of cons. I go to a few panels, but for the most part I like walking around and interacting with all the like-minded people. A convention for a lot of people is a gathering of ‘comrades’ (if you will), and a big meet-up of people who enjoy the same things. Having cosplay is just another way for people to come together over the things they all love.” —Mackenzie Stricklin (on the left) cosplaying as Misty from Pokemon

Mackenzie as Misty

“For me personally, it’s that I get to be someone I’m not usually. When I cosplay, I get to place myself within the context of a world and a character, which I deeply admire, and it’s also a lot of fun during the creative process too. Part of my enjoyment is being able to construct a costume for myself and be able to watch it come together and look fantastic when I’m done.” —Leigh Parrott cosplaying as Black Rose from .Hack

black rose

“Creating a costume feels like an achievement when it’s done, and something fun to do in my free time while it’s being made. Usually the only people who get what I am are my friends, so when someone I don’t know recognizes it, it makes me feel happy, like I’m not an outsider. That’s why I want to go to more conventions. At Katsucon the Crunchyroll booth had a camera feed livestreaming on their website where the people at the con could see what comments the viewers were making, and when I stepped in front of it as Kurisu, a whole bunch of comments on it started coming through and I felt so proud and recognized. It’s a feeling I don’t have too often, so it’s really nice.”–Megan Hansen cosplaying as Kurisu Makise from Steins;Gate

Megan as science

At the end of the day, most cosplayers like to dress up for the same reasons comic fans read comics, gamers play games, and TV and movie fans tune in to watch shows and films: because it’s fun and they get to be a part of something greater than themselves. To respond to Broderick and other naysayers, what cosplay brings to “the industry” is both a new way to enjoy pop culture and a hoard of fresh new fans who may have previously missed out on the nerd subculture. There’s no reason to exclude fans of any kind, and artists, writers, and their followers aren’t doing any worse from a little extra attention. At the risk of sounding too preachy, perhaps what fans and creators who consider themselves more hardcore than others need to wrap their heads around is that they do not, and cannot exclusively own the right to enjoy any form of genre or media.

Frank Miller’s Martha Washington

Writer and artist Frank Miller is a sort of paradoxical figure among comic book readers. On the one hand, he wrote The Dark Knight Returns and Batman Year One. I mean, he basically invented the modern Batman. Those titles, along with his Daredevil run, helped usher in comic books “adult” enough for us to read in classes. But it’s also pretty widely understood that Miller is kind of, vaguely, a fascist. And sort of a racist. And I guess if we’re going to get into it, he’s not particularly fond of gay or disabled people either. It also seems really hard for him to write a female character who isn’t a sex worker and he certainly doesn’t like Muslims. These exaggerated, though not entirely unfounded, accusations make for awkward conversations about the roots of modern comics. Though Miller’s written some of the greats, he’s also written a few of the worst. Miller is thus one of the last people we would expect to write a strong, believable woman of color as a main character or deal with real social issues without being preachy or disrespectful. And this is weird, because he wrote Martha Washington.

Martha Washington first appeared in Give me Liberty, a 1990 4-issue miniseries published by Dark Horse, written by Frank Miller and drawn by Watchmen’s Dave Gibbons. Give me Liberty begins in the not-so-distant future of 1995 with the birth of Martha Washington. The following year Martha’s father is killed in a protest against the economic policies of President Rexell, a thinly veiled caricature of Ronald Reagan. The story follows Martha surviving in the government created slums until her eventual enlistment in the military.

Although the comic focuses on Martha, it is situated in a developing story about the political climate in America. Rexell is replaced with an idealistic liberal president when the white house is blown up by Saudi Arabian terrorists (I mentioned Miller’s feelings on Muslims, right?). The new president decides to deploy forces to save the rain forests (which I guess is what environmentalists cared about before climate change). This is when the story starts getting really weird. The rain forests are being threatened by Fat Boy Burger, a multinational fast food restaurant that wants to cut down the forests so that they can grow cattle on the newly cleared land. The Fat Boy Burger corporation fights with giant piloted robots that look like fat boys holding burgers. They also fight with horrifying chemical weapons.

Something Give me Liberty does particularly well is pairing the surreal with the serious. There’s a beautiful splash page of Martha breaking down into tears and then brushing them aside and gritting her teeth after all of her fellow soldiers are killed with poisonous gas. It’s a pretty grim scene. Later she takes down one of the giant burger robots with a helicopter. The comic jumps back and forth between silly and scary without making either seem forced. There’s an earlier section where Martha is institutionalized at a mental hospital that is secretly doing experiments on children to turn them into psychic supercomputers. Then everyone in the hospital is sent out onto the streets because government funding for the hospital is cut. We have a very real issue, poor funding for mental health facilities, paired with the very fantastic idea of psychic supercomputers. Despite all the talk of Miller’s gritty realism, I think he excels when pursuing this sort of juxtaposition. He brings real issues into a world that is still distinctly a comic book universe. In this way, he touches on important aspects of our culture; but unlike many of the other authors coming up around the same time (I’m looking at you Moore), he doesn’t sacrifice the thing that make silver age comics great: absurdity.

I’ve mentioned that Martha Washington is a strong character and I stand by that. However, before I can recommend this comic, which I strongly do, I should mention that it’s not a perfectly progressive comic. There are a few more gay Nazi’s than I’m comfortable with. Miller is able to get away with so much partly because he makes fun of virtually everyone. Conservative or liberal, Miller guns for them and the only one who really comes out looking good is Martha. The story is beautifully drawn, fun without being stupid, relevant without being preachy; it exemplifies the nuance that characterizes Miller’s early works.

Ms. Marvel & The Power of Tropes

Bursting on the scene with the exuberance of youth comes the new Ms. Marvel, superhero extraordinaire. Premiering from Marvel comics in February of 2014 the story starts with sixteen-year-old Muslim Kamala Khan living in a New Jersey where spandex heroes are commonplace celebrities. She spends most of her time writing stories about them. Or hanging out with her friends at the 7/11 EXPY. After sneaking out for a night on the town, Kamala acquires shape-shifting and healing abilities. Now instead of only having to balance her identity as an American teenager with her Pakistani background and her faith, Kamala also has to balance it with new superhero responsibilities. Naming herself in honor of her favorite superhero, the blonde Captain Marvel who can lift cars over her head, Kamala decides to actively help her community, in the same way that the heroes she admired from behind her computer screen do.

Though not the first Muslim superhero in the Marvel universe, Kamala Khan is the first to have her own title. The talented writer G. Willow Wilson, artist Adrian Alphona, and editor Sana Amanat–who comes from a similar background as Kamala–work on the book. This helps create the realistic grounding for what is a fun fantastical premise. With her abilities, Kamala could chose to look like anything, which makes it that much more important that she choses to still look like herself.

When people recommend the new Ms. Marvel they talk about how original the title is. The story of a sheltered Pakistani American superhero with something to prove certainly isn’t one we get everyday. The discussions within the book about trolling, internet fan culture, and what it means to be Muslim in America are all more clearly relevant to the modern age than many other contemporary superhero stories.

However, the ways in which the work really shines are in the combinations of the old world of comic books with these newer socially relevant view-points. Kamala Khan, in fact, has more in common with what came before than is usually admitted. That’s because we genuinely love and want to celebrate this book, and so tend to stress its originality. But the use of familiar tropes should not by itself be seen as automatically problematic. It’s problematic only when these tropes aren’t given the breathing room they need for creativity to shine through. When a hero has to be a certain way because of old genre conventions, a story can end up strangled by its own pathos. And that’s not the case here.

With great power comes great responsibility is the Spider-Man mantra every moviegoer learns. Kamala comes up with her own: good isn’t a thing you are, it’s a thing you do. Her powers are played as a typical coming of age narrative. She’s sixteen and her body starts doing strange things beyond her control. She’s insecure about her looks, only to find herself suddenly able to shape shift. Her parental guardians love her but can’t possibly understand what she’s going through. Spider-Man. The story we’re deja-vu-ing on is Spider-Man.

But Spider-Man gets dated. We’ve seen so many variations of his story where only slight details are changed. At this point, superhero stories with a white dude dealing with his emotions on an explosive metaphoric level are boring. Though there’s some interest in seeing how storytellers pick at these narratives for new material, goodness, by this point it’s a little like beating a dead horse. Story elements start to lose their punch. In the 1960s the idea of a father disapproving of his daughter dating a nerd seemed more reasonable. In the most recent Spider-Man movie, the writers had to incorporate the idea of mental instability to initially explain Captain Stacy’s dislike of Peter Parker. Now Marvel studios has been given the opportunity to reincorporate the character into the cinematic Marvelverse and we’re going to see him struggle for the third time in thirteen years. Even the casual fan has to sigh at the state of the story.

Superman has similar difficulties connecting to an audience in the modern age. The multitude of his powers combined with his strong moral compass makes him a difficult egg to crack for DC Comics. The most recent solution that I’ve enjoyed has again taken him to this place of immaturity. The Spider-Man coming of age narrative is used as a young Clark Kent discovers and struggles to control his new powers in Smallville. Clark Kent sees a pretty lady and his heat vision starts to act up! However, the show begins to struggle as the cast grows older because they are trapped within the confines of this already established narrative. Clark has to become Superman. No matter how a character might grow over the course of a television decade their eventual place in the universe has a set path a writing team doesn’t have the power to change. This transforms characters like Lex Luthor, or hey inevitable Green Goblin Harry Osborn, from tragedies to foregone conclusions.

Ms. Marvel is a good story because it uses cliché superhero origins not as a crutch but as a spinal column on which to attach the meat of characterization. Kamala is carefully created to be relatable without having to veer into bland, to be admirable without being inhuman (though she is in fact an Inhuman). She is new and her supporting characters could be almost anything. Even so, the patterns they present are familiar to our brains. One character is the locked-out-of-the-loop best friend. Another is the beleaguered secret keeper. Kamala is going to struggle with her identity, her place in the world, and her new responsibilities. Presumably she may lose things she cares about and make mistakes. But the fun is not knowing what those mistakes are going to be.

So yeah. Go read it. I dare you.

Grant Morrison’s Multiversity

Ever since I really started reading comic books, I feel like I’vve been waiting for Multiversity. Each year since 2010, I read that this would be the year when Grant Morrison’s follow up to Final Crisis would come out. Multiversity became almost a mythical comic in my mind. I heard rumors of a page in it that had 300 panels, and that the series would change the way I read comics. Whether or not Morrison intended it to be, in my eyes Multiversity was going to be the writer’s magnum opus. With DC Comics’ New 52 revamp in 2011, I had all but given up hope of seeing the series. But here, at long last, it is. And it’s weird.

Multiversity is a 9-issue miniseries; so far 5 of the issues have been published. Each story is written by Morrison and set in a different universe with drawn by a different artist. The stories seem somewhat connected, but it’s not easy to summarize how. If I had to give a brief synopsis, I would say that Multiversity is a story about different universes, collectively known as the Multiverse, interacting with one another in the form of comic books (the comic books of one universe are the reality of another and vice versa). There is also a neigh-omnipotent evil force called The Gentry which may be the cause of the conflict in most issues. The eighth issue, titled Ultra Comics, while yet unreleased, seems to be cursed and may be the source of The Gentry.

If from my synopsis it sounds like I’m not exactly sure what’s happening in this series, then that’s pretty accurate. As with other titles that Morrison has free range on, Multiversity rides the thin line between brilliant and incomprehensible–often times leaning more towards the latter. The first issue, Multiversity #1, is particularly difficult to read (as does also the fourth, Pax Americana). Indeed, in both its tone and complexity Multiversity #1 is most directly reminiscent of Final Crisis; it shares the older book’s apocalyptic feel, strange characters, and bizarre ideas. The characters of this issue include Stubbs the pirate chimpanzee and Captain Carrot, who is basically Superman but a cartoon rabbit. The main character (if there really is a main character) is a “multiversal monitor” who travels between the comic books in a brightly colored, vibrating spaceship so as to fight threats to the multiverse. Despite all this silliness the first issue does a good job of instilling an eerie feeling of impending doom, partly through its unique (and distinctly Morrison) narrative style that directly warns the reader to “stop reading.”

Each issue of the series is so densely packed with information and ideas that a Dickinson humanities major could write an entire senior thesis on any of them. This is not necessarily a positive thing. Morrison’s style of storytelling can sometimes seem more like the ramblings of a madman’s diary that a finely crafted narrative. There are, nevertheless, certainly some stand out moments in this series. In Pax Americana for example, paired with longtime collaborator Frank Quitely (on art), we see Morrison really come into his prime.  Some pages can be read backwards (!) and the story itself–though it encourages many readings and still doesn’t always make sense–is engaging. All in all, it’s experimental, bizarre, and utterly fascinating.

Despite its flaws, I can still definitely recommend Multiversity. Although it certainly isn’t for everyone, in terms of unique ideas and interesting designs this comic is a breath of fresh air for DC comics. Whether or not you’ll feel it succeeds in pushing the envelope for superhero comics may depend on personal preference but it certainly tries. For my part, before I can offer a final judgment on this series I really need to wait till all the issues have come out. Then maybe I’ll read it backwards, alternating issues, or read it in one-minute intervals occurring only at noon and midnight, or read it while rollerskating through the Hub in a gorilla costume. This is the sort of experimental thinking that a series like Multiversity makes you consider. It’s shaping up to be either one of my favorite comics in recent years or a mish-mash of complete nonsense. Either way, every issue feels like another clue and I like to think that its leading up to something incredible that may have been there the whole time. It’s good to have you back, Mr. Morrison. I’ve missed you.

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