Can style trump substance?

Inspiration from the dream-like storytelling of Suspiria (1977)

In storytelling, particularly visual storytelling like comics, the way in which a tale unfolds carries as much significance as the narrative itself. Sometimes, how a story is told can overshadow the narrative entirely, turning the concept of "style over substance" from a critique into a recognition of the ability of visuals alone to express emotions, enrich themes and inject complexity into a traditional narration. This philosophy influenced the creation of my upcoming comic, A Story We Tell Ourselves, set to debut here in the coming weeks.

As I hammered out the beats for Story, it quickly became apparent that the plot had the potential to grow into a much larger work. I didn't want the next comic I created to be too much longer than a single issue of a monthly book, so I set my page limit to 30 pages and started investigating techniques that would allow me to cut to the heart of the story while avoiding lengthy narrative or dialogue.

I'm sure I'm not alone in this, but when I'm in a tough creative spot, I like to check out works I admire to see how they did it. For Eternal Gaze, my inspiration was very obviously the work of Junji Ito (imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness). For this comic, I aspired to echo the aesthetic and feel a 1970s noir-thriller. Possession and Stalker were key films for me while I was writing, and both films have some fantastic lessons to teach about storytelling—but I needed something far more vibrant and dream-like to help me solve this problem.

So, I revisited a favorite, the 1977 Giallo horror film Suspiria, written by Dario Argento and Daria Nicolodi and directed by Argento. In Suspiria, Suzy Bannion (Jessica Harper) is a young American ballet student who travels to Germany to study at the famous Tanz Academy, only to run afoul of a coven of witches. The film does little to develop the plot further than this, and it never needs to because what it does instead is far more memorable.

Suspiria, also known as the film that invented the color red, is celebrated for using color, lighting and sound, almost in excess, to create a hypnotic dream of a movie that makes perfect sense as it makes no sense at all. Suspiria delivers a spectacle that stands apart from traditional storytelling. As a quintessential example of the Giallo genre—Italian thriller-horror films noted for their intricate plots, mystery, and stylized presentation, It was this approach I toyed with adopting in A Story We Tell Ourselves.

The film's use of vivid color takes center stage, with each hue embodying a different emotion—blue for mystery and secrets, red for malevolence and the witches' corrupting influence, and green for enlightenment and knowledge. Suspiria's use of color and sound to convey emotional and thematic elements offered a blueprint for using visuals to communicate nuanced emotional and narrative themes.

The comic medium shares a unique affinity with the techniques employed by Suspiria. Comics depend on the interplay between art and text, with pacing, panel design, and layout playing pivotal roles in the narrative's progression. Where Goblin's haunting prog-rock soundtrack amplifies the narrative into a sensory experience, becoming growling witches' spells or the howling of the damned, I endeavored to use the visual arrangement and the rhythm of panel transitions to foster an immersive experience. To give readers clues that hint at a larger understanding of the story unfolding and draw attention to what might be happening between panels.

There's a scene in the film, one of the meanest I've seen in horror cinema, where the killer is chasing one of the dance students. It's Suspiria, so it's a frantic but not overly speedy chase until, finally, our bloodied student reaches a room that promises salvation. It's some type of bare-bones tool storage room she accesses by laboriously stacking boxes atop one another until she's up high enough to crawl through a small window. At the other end of the storeroom is a doorway to freedom! Desperate to escape, our student leaps from her perch—and falls into a pit of barbed wire hidden just below the frame of the film.

There's no explanation as to why she didn't see a massive pit of barbed wire just below her; perhaps only the vague idea that she couldn't see it because we, the audience, couldn't see it; it was hidden below the frame. It doesn't need explanation because the point of the scene is not to build a story but to surprise the audience.

This technique of utilizing the unseen to generate suspense and surprise underscores the shared narrative strategies between Suspiria and comic storytelling. It highlights the importance of what lies beyond the immediate frame, inviting readers to engage with a narrative that suggests a world beyond the panel's edge.

In A Story We Tell Ourselves, I sought to integrate this method of storytelling, employing visual cues to suggest a broader, unseen universe, thereby instilling a sense of greater mystery. An exploration of how style can transcend substance, not by detracting from the narrative but by enhancing it in ways that words cannot.

Here's an example. The main character of Story has a rare form of amnesia (is there any other kind?), and to make memories, she needs to document her experiences rigorously. This conceit allowed Anna and I to build up signs of life around our main and depict her journey through visual clues.

We also made sure to take the opportunity to play with how a person who cannot fully form memories in the moment might perceive the world.

I'm eager for everyone to see the work Anna's putting into this. With each delivery of pages, I get more excited for you all to experience this comic. A Story We Tell Ourselves will be released on this Substack soon. If you'd like to support the comic financially, you can pledge using the below button. Pledge at any amount that suits you, but be aware that Substack sets the minimum pledge at $5.

Once Story starts, your pledge will automatically convert into a paid subscription at the frequency and amount you pledged. When the comic concludes, subscriptions will be turned off.

The story should run for about five or six weeks, about one month, which might help you decide on your pledge level.

Regardless of whether anyone chooses to pledge, Story will be accessible to all, and any funds generated will be reinvested into paying artists for their invaluable contributions to creating more comics.

Your support, whether through pledges or simply following along, allows me to continue creating. So, stay tuned for updates and the official launch of A Story We Tell Ourselves.

Adventure awaits!