by Mike Meginnis
In the Examiner's first issue, I asserted that I don't care about genre. It was true. I really don't. This has served me well in reading Louis: Red Letter Day. If I were the sort of person who cared about genre, I might find it extraordinarily easy to get all hung up on classifying Louis. This solitary comic has the aesthetic of a cute children's picture book, the cinematic language of a Charlie Brown cartoon, a dystopian subtext, and an atmosphere of equal parts numbing horror and wonderful delight.
The creative team Metaphrog has set out to create a truly complicated soup of a comic. The result of their endeavors is a murky broth. Within it lie wonderfully substantial meats and vegetables, but it's difficult to discern what it is you'll be eating. Surprises hide in each spoonful, and the ambiguity may be a bit much for many to stomach. But for those who enjoy seeking their own answers in fiction and cuisine, the experience will surely be a satisfying one.
The first element of the story to jump out at readers will almost certainly be the soft, picture book imagery Metaphrog utilizes. The world of Louis almost seems to have been painted on an egg shell. Pastels dominate each page, rendered in careful swathes of slightly blotchy watercolor paints. The result is childish in its connotation, but surprising in its deft draftsmanship. There are moments where the art definitely slips -- a panel where a strange, laughing man seems to have two mouths when he's only meant to have one, for instance, or the occasional bout of mishandled body language -- but these false steps are easily compensated for by truly shocking, awesome visual displays of subtle majesty. Early in the book, we are treated to an aerial view of Louis' town that had me thinking about it for days. True, you could argue that it's just a few houses and a couple fences with a view of the mountainside, but you would be missing the point. Look at those colors. Look at the subtle luminosity that filters through each and every square inch of the page by way of the white paper only thinly veiled by these Easter egg colors. Note the evocative use of perspective. These simple aerial views have received the kind of loving care that many other webcomics could seriously benefit from.
The second most striking aspect of this book is Louis himself. At first glance, his design is unremarkable. He's basically a potato with another potato for a head and a couple of chubby arms and legs. His vaguely futuristic outfit looks like something a little kid would absolutely love to wear. He's floppy and a little silly, but also sweet.
But on closer examination, Louis takes on a sophistication that you'll rarely find in characters nominally designed for children. It is rare to have a character that is unattractive in a children's book without this making him a joke. Kids like unaesthetic characters, but they've been taught to perceive them as humorous or pitiable rather than essentially the same as anybody else. Louis may not be pretty, but he is empathetic, and he is not pitiable. He is a whole person unto himself, whether we as readers are comfortable with it or not. It's always good to see a work (nominally) aimed at children dealing so frankly with issues of body and self image.
Much is made of this in the first few pages of the comic. The initial premise of the book grows from the fact that Louis, an impractical daydreamer with tendencies toward depression and self loathing that he doesn't really understand, believes he is corresponding with an aunt who lives in the mountains. Actually, he's writing to his neighbors, two cruel men who apparently don't have anything better to do than laugh at Louis' expense. They watch him closely every day, just laughing and laughing. Their most recent source of amusement: Louis' "aunt" has suggested that he grow a beard. He grows one curly, silly little hair and writes her back, saying that he feels it has improved his appearance considerably. This serves to introduce not only the uncomfortable theme of self image, but to make the point that Louis has very divergent perceptions of reality. His fantasy life is as rich and beautiful as it is tragic.
As we see Louis going through a routine couple of days, we are made increasingly aware of how precarious his existence truly is. On the surface, he seems to have an important job -- but once you take a moment to think about it, pumping air into a bottle which then goes through another tube so it can be expelled into the, you know, air, may not be as essential as it initially seems. A garbage truck picks up the vegetables he leaves on the lawn, inflated with his air machine so that everyone may eat. It's never explicitly stated, but this stuff sure seems like meaningless busywork, created to keep him inside of his house for as much of the day as possible. Allusions to degrading environmental conditions pop up here and there.
Two hallmarks of the dystopian sub-genre of science fiction (I know, I know, I'm not supposed to care about genre, but it is useful for descriptions) appear relatively early, as well. Every home in Louis' world is apparently furnished with a large television set. The informal rules of society suggest that everyone must watch it at all times -- and everyone apparently is, except for Louis. He protects himself from vapid programming with a large blanket hung over the television set. The noise hurts his head. When he pays a household appliance called The Comforter to tell him why he feels so hollow, it replies that he needs to watch his entertainment center more and buy more food. The second sign of trouble is a secretive man who looks rather like a transient, who does Louis a random, discreet kindness by bringing him vegetables, as well as the seed to grow his own. This is frowned upon. Louis is clearly in a hostile environment, but he doesn't realize it. He's too busy in his day dreams, which communicate this menace in their tone and occasionally their content, but never explain it. He basically believes that everything is okay. In spite of his obvious struggles with a numbing depression, he thinks himself to be basically an optimist. The poor guy is oblivious.
The horror in Louis: Red Letter Day comes from the certain knowledge that if he does not move fast, he will be crushed beneath forces he does not understand, and in fact is not even aware of. For adult readers, this gradually lends a sort of creeping, almost Lovecraftian menace to the eggshell hues of Louis' world. Even his only friend, a robotic bird named FC (short for Formulaic Companion), is ultimately a product of the all-smothering, institutionalized culture of consumerism Louis should know well enough to fear. This is where the murkiness begins to dominate the broth. At any given moment, it may be impossible for adult readers to know exactly how they should feel. Happy? Angry? Afraid? Metaphrog rarely display clear expectations of what reaction is appropriate - and when they do, it usually provides a counterbalance to whatever good or bad thing we just saw.
The ending comes suddenly and shockingly, with a twist that seems inevitable as soon as you see it, but which you would never suspect. With a bang and a thump, Louis: Red Letter Day has ended. There are sequels. Serializer doesn't have the rights to them -- yet. Here's hoping they get them.
Metaphrog has show a strong understanding of internet concerns in migrating Louis from its original print format to the web. In particular, they've taken care to make it work as a serial.
Every time they posted new content, something was clearly accomplished to advance the narrative. Sometimes this meant posting a couple of pages at a time. Sometimes this meant cutting a page in half for clarity. Metaphrog went the extra mile and restructured Louis: Red Letter Day so it would work online.
There's a lot to appreciate about Louis: Red Letter Day, but to get the fullest enjoyment possible, be prepared to embrace ambiguity. Be ready to feel childish and alien to the world all over again. Be ready, most of all, to forget all about genre. When the soup is this thick, it hardly matters anymore what it's made out of. The important thing is to dig in and stop worrying so much. Just enjoy, kids -- I promise that Louis is full of good stuff for any willing reader.
