The latest graphic novel from Burns follows a group of young white suburban friends, centering on the sputtering relationship between a warm, friendly redhead and the awkward artist making her the focus of his new story.
Brian would rather sit in the kitchen and draw tentacled aliens than join the party out in the front room. But when Jimmy, his longtime home-movie collaborator, casts Laurie, a new addition to their friend circle, in their next 8 mm film, Laurie’s warmth and beauty tempt Brian to step out of his mind and fully into the present. Brian’s art (ranging from the uncanny to the explicit) and the fleeting moments of connection between them keep Laurie in Brian’s orbit, and the story alternates between their perspectives, capturing both Laurie’s sense of isolation when Brian gets lost in his appreciation for and creation of movies and Brian’s bittersweet awareness of his drifting, ever-creating mind. As Brian attempts to translate the strange visions in his head (and sketchbook) into a science fiction film shot with friends at a secluded cabin, he sinks deeper into his cinematic escapism while Laurie engages with more immediate pleasures. An aura of horror infuses the pages, with bulbous aliens floating through blue skies and raining down mysterious capsules, dead-eyed stares and skipped medication setting nerves on edge, and time’s unyielding march robbing even pleasant moments of lasting significance. Burns’ clean lines, heavy shadows, and rich colors sumptuously convey the pebbled texture of alien flesh and the rolling waves of Laurie’s hair, while his dialogue and narration crisply capture everything from flirty, friendly banter to awkward and painful self-analysis. His paneling swiftly moves the story along, through both slice-of-life moments and fantastical worlds, occasionally juxtaposing character moments with shots from the films Brian loses himself in, evoking the massive gap between fixation and passion.
A striking celebration of cinema’s power and a chilling acknowledgment of its limitations.