Graphic Novel Review: Erased: An Actor of Color’s Journey Through the Heyday of Hollywood

  

reviewed by Matthew Teutsch, Associate Professor, Piedmont University 

  Loo Hui Phang and Hugues Micol. Erased: An Actor of Color’s Journey Through the Heyday of Hollywood. New York: NBM Publishing, 2024. 200 pp. US $24.99 (Hardcover). ISBN: 978-1-6811-2338-7. https://nbmpub.com/products/erased

         Who was Maximus Ohanzee Wildhorse, an “actor with a thousand faces”? Why, decades after his heyday in some of the biggest films of the 20^th Century, from “Gone With the Wind” to “The Maltese Falcon” to “Vertigo” and beyond, do we not know about Wyld’s legacy during some of the most important moments in cinematic history and in the history of the United States and the world? Loo Hui Phang and Hugues Micol’s Erased:  An Actor of Color’s Journey Through the Heyday of Hollywood seeks to rectify the fact that Wyld’s work, once the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) deemed him a Communist, because he went to Kyrgyzstan in 1955 to portray Genghis Khan in a film by Aktan Okeev, vanished from the studio vaults. As a result of the HUAC investigation, film studios blacklisted Wyld, and “to safeguard the integrity of their back catalog and contribute patriotically to the Cold War effort, studios decreed radical edits,” essentially erasing Wyld from the annals of cinematic history.

In the afterword, Lelan Cheuk notes that as he read Erased, he placed Maximus “alongside Anna May Wong, Paul Robeson, Lena Horne, James Hong, and countless other talented performers relegated to a career of supporting roles drenched in racial stereotypes.” Because of his Black, Chinese, and Indigenous ancestry, Maximus could veritably play any “ethnic” role on screen, portraying enslaved individuals, Indigenous chiefs, Mexican revolutionaries, Oriental dandies, and more. Yet, with all of the promises from Louis B. Mayer to make Maximus the first Black star to be at MGM, telling him again and again that he planned to have Maximus star in a film adaptation of Othello that never materialized.

While Erased resurrects Maximus from the depths of oblivion, it also serves as a commentary on the role that celluloid images have on our culture, and the ways that cinema allows us to escape reality, but also informs our reality. After Cary Grant “discovers” Maximus in a gym, we see Maximus in a theater watching a western with Father Magnani. Micol’s first panel shows a white cowboy chasing two Indigenous warriors as he shoots at them. In the foreground, we see a boy’s fist raised in the air as he yells, “Yippee! Whip’em good, redskins!” Father Magnani tells the boy to settle down and reminds him, “it’s just a movie.” Maximus pushes back, telling the priest that what they see on the screen is not just a movie, and that when he watches the action, he “want[s] to be a cowboy, not an Indian.” This feeling is what Franz Fanon and James Baldwin write about in relation to seeing oneself on screen as the “savage” or the “uncivilized,” and thus rooting for the white hero. Baldwin writes, “It comes as a great shock to see Gary Cooper killing off the Indians, and although you are rooting for Gary Cooper, that the Indians are you.”

Father Magnani tells Maximus that images and narrative have power and that, “[t]he cinema is but an adaptable tool.... It can be made to serve any ideology.” Still looking at the screen, Maximus replies, “Me, I just want the Indians to win.” Maximus takes Father Magnani’s advice, and he imbues his acting, specifically after the initiation of the Hays Code in 1934, with subtle gestures and signs that subvert the code. As well, he incorporated gestures and wardrobe choices to convey “secret messages,” such as references to African roots, Toussaint L’Ouverture’s initials in a movement, a raised fist in defiance, and more.

While the dialogue and textual narrative convey the illusion of cinema and Hollywood, Micol’s surrealist illustrations, which bring to mind the work of Bryan Talbot’s work in Armed with Madness:  The Surreal Leonora Carrington, work with Phang’s text to create an uneasy feeling of reality. Erased opens with seven out of the first eight pages being full-sized illustrations without panels. The opening page depicts a masked figure walking in the desert amidst images of various characters that Maximus plays throughout his career. These characters are ensconced as parts of a cactus, as bearing the weight of the scene, and as traversing the landscape as the narrator begins, “Hollywood is fiction, and like all fictions, it is myriad, changing, sincere, deceitful and unbridled engine of predatory fluidity.” It changes and morphs, relaying ideologies, as Father Magnani puts it. The next page continues to follow the masked figure as an eagle snatches the individual up in its claws, depositing the person into a seemingly bottomless cavern that reveals itself, on the third page, to be a woman’s head. Thus, the malleable, masked thespian becomes part and parcel of the audience member’s consciousness. The narrator reiterates, “Hollywood is a fiction. It feeds on stories. Manufactures heroes. Celebrates them. Torches them.” These “heroes” all become part of us as audience members, and the masked person, as they fall into the black hole of the woman’s hair, gets lost to the march of time, becoming one of the torched heroes.

When Maximus faces HUAC about his involvement with Okeev’s “Genghis Khan,” they torch him, turning him from a celebrated hero to a mere shadow haunting the edge of the frame. Micol’s depiction of this moment harkens back to the opening, placing the masked individual on a pyre, surrounded by burning film reels as the flames lick at the flesh while the head of a bald eagle stares at the audience in the lower right corner from behind the lynching. The image symbolically depicts Maximus’ erasure from the annals of cinematic history, burned alive by the very film reels that he made popular. The studios sought to protect themselves from HUAC, and “Maximus Wyld became an evil infecting Hollywood--one it was urgent to eradicate.”

Erased, at its core, does more than just resurrect Maximus Wyld’s career. Through the narrative and illustrations, it highlights the myths we tell and the ways that those myths, depicted on larger-than-life screens, impact our very beings. It dives into the illusion, even with actresses, such as Margarita Carmen Cansino (Rita Hayworth) and Julian Jean Turner (Lana Turner), that Hollywood creates, the shifting of identity and story. It dives into the history of racism in the United States, the censorship of media, the attacks on LGBTQ individuals, and more. While recovering Maximus’ story, Erased provides an all-encompassing history of Hollywood, early Black cinema, the United States, and the world from the 1930s through McCarthyism.

Ultimately, though, Erased itself is nothing more than an illusion, because Maximus Wyld never existed. As I read Erased, I kept wanting to look up and find more information about Maximus. I put the book down and searched for Maximus online, to no avail. I thought to myself, “Is Erased the only evidence of Maximus? Is it the only document of his life and work?” The answer to both questions, in the factual sense, is “No.” Maximus never “actually” existed, but now, through Phang and Micol’s work, he does exist as part of cinematic history, as a sign to the erased individuals of Hollywood’s “golden” age. While Cheuk and I both felt, during our initial reads, that Erased told the story of someone who lived and starred in these films, we came to the realization that Erased is fictional, but we each, as well, recognize the ways that Maximus’ story tells that while progress has been made, “there’s still a long way to go,” as Cheuk writes, “before actors of color are the heroes and antiheroes in our collective racial imagination.” 

Graphic Novel Review: Godzilla: Skate or Die!

reviewed by Cord A. Scott, UMGC-Okinawa 

Louie Joyce (w, a). Godzilla: Skate or Die! Sherman Oaks, CA: IDW Publishing, 2025. 128 pp. US $17.99. ISBN: 979-8-8872-4186-9. https://godzilla.com/products/godzilla-skate-or-die

 

      Godzilla is now a worldwide cultural phenomenon. This is no surprise to IJOCA's readers, but the idea that a movie from 1954 on the dangers of atomic weapons could inspire a variety of media decades later speaks to the longevity of the character. Godzilla:  Skate or Die is one such book in this wider pantheon.

Louie Joyce, who wrote and illustrated the graphic novel, has his additional influences. The culture of skating and urban life shows in the style of illustration that is presented. Set in Australia, it is an additional homage to the Japanese Kaiju.

The premise of the story is simple at its core:  four friends, who share the common bond of skating, have set up a secret skate park named “coin toss” in an abandoned office above a coal mine. While doing this, they witness a meteorite in the sky, and wish. After spending considerable time setting the park up, it is a prized goal that will not be easily surrendered, if it is threatened. The characters Egg, Sushi, Jules, and Rolly are spirited in their desire to try new ideas, even if it means “bending” the law concerning trespassing. As the four are gearing up for a day of skating, they are literally shaken by various tremors. Soon, it dawns on them that the area of Broken Hill, where the skating area is located, will become the epicenter of the tremors:  the Kaiju Varan, and the King of the Monsters, Godzilla.

When it becomes obvious that the two titans are heading to a conflict with each other at their hidden park, the four evade the police and a mandatory evacuation by authorities. From this point, they play a cat and mouse game with the police, all while trying to prevent the destruction.

As the carnage of the area continues, the four fall into a fissure in the earth, only to find that it leads to a series of tunnels below the admin buildings. As another quake hits, the floor collapses to reveal yet another subterranean level, this time much newer in appearance.

Amid this chaos and searching, the general in charge of the facility is trying to determine what the threats are, and how the facility may be saved from destruction. It is then revealed that many of the incidents are connected because of a meteorite that arrived on Earth on the day the skate park was built. This is also a power source for mechas on which this lab is working.

The meteorite seems to be both a power source, as well as a beacon, which will wake others. As things seem bleak, Rolly hits the meteorite, disrupting its pulse.

Towards the end of the battle, when it seems all is lost, the skaters are given assistance from a security guard at the base, who has admired their skating (to the point of having compiled security camera footage/montage).

When they get to the surface, it looks as though Godzilla will be defeated by Varan. Rolly, the most daring of the four, determines that it is important to save Godzilla, as he has a connection with him. Following a diversionary attack on Varan, Godzilla gains the upper hand and sends Varan into outer space.

The story is fast-paced, and stylistically interesting, but tends to be somewhat confusing at times. For example, there seems to be a connection between the general in charge of Sushi, but this is never really determined. There is sentimentality, with a skateboard deck that was given to Sushi by a dying mother. This board becomes a talisman of sorts, as it represents a connection to her mother. Finally, there is the requisite large-scale fighting that we have come to love and expect with anything related to Godzilla.

There is also the bigger connection between Godzilla, the skaters, and the location of their park. Was there something further that drew them all to the same location? There are some circumstances, but nothing determinate. Overall, it is an interesting crossover, but it may not appeal to many. 

Graphic Novel Review: Surrounded: America’s First School for Black Girls, 1832

 reviewed by John Craig

Wilfrid Lupano and Stéphane Fert. Surrounded:  America’s First School for Black Girls, 1832. New York:  NBM Publishing, 2025. 144 pp. US $24.99 (Hardcover). ISBN:  978-1-6811-2348-6. https://nbmpub.com/products/surrounded

Wilfrid Lupano’s Surrounded, illustrated by Stéphane Fert, is a graphic novel that explores themes of resistance, education, and racial injustice in the antebellum United States. The story is centered on the Canterbury Female Boarding School, the first school for Black girls in America, founded in 1832 by abolitionist, Prudence Crandall. The visual storytelling plays a crucial role in shaping the narrative, and the artwork enhances the story’s emotional weight. Fert’s distinctive and unconventional color palette adds depth to the storytelling, though the distinction between Black and White characters could have been more pronounced. The Black characters are depicted in light brown tones, whereas the White characters are rendered in a blend of purple and dark pink hues. While visually intriguing, a stronger contrast might have provided additional clarity in representation. One of the most notable elements of the graphic novel is its opening, which features an excerpt from The Confessions of Nat Turner by Thomas R. Gray. This choice immediately situates the graphic novel within the historical narrative of Black resistance. One of the key questions that arises while reading Surrounded is its intended audience. The themes and subject matter suggest it is unsuitable for young children, implying that it is aimed at middle school readers or older.

However, despite this assumed readership, the language remains relatively restrained. Given the graphic novel’s historical setting--the 1830s--it is surprising that it does not engage more directly with the racial terminology of the time. During this period, African-Americans would have most commonly been referred to as “Negro” or “Colored” rather than “Black.” Moreover, on Southern plantations, the n-word would have been prevalent. A bolder engagement with period-accurate language could have enhanced the graphic novel’s historical realism. Lupano also deliberately decides to forgo the use of “slave dialect” in the dialogue. While historically accurate dialect can add authenticity, it often risks reinforcing outdated stereotypes or becoming a distraction for readers. However, the graphic novel inconsistently incorporates elements of “slave vernacular” in certain moments, while predominantly using modern language. This inconsistency raises questions about the graphic novel’s linguistic choices--Lupano might have benefited from either fully committing to historical dialect or exclusively using modern language for accessibility.

The book’s depiction of anti-abolitionist sentiment in Connecticut is historically accurate and highlights an often-overlooked reality. While Boston was a major center of abolitionist activity, New England was not uniformly abolitionist. Many White Northerners, including those in Connecticut, were indifferent to, or actively resisted, Black liberation despite the presence of vocal abolitionist movements. However, strong opposition to abolition existed even in Northern states, making the graphic novel’s choice to highlight Connecticut’s resistance an important and accurate representation of the complexities of the time. Although the graphic novel successfully portrays the dangers faced by Black Americans in the antebellum North, it overlooks several key aspects of African-American resistance and survival during this period. Plantation owners in the South were deeply fearful of slave rebellions and conspiracies, and Nat Turner’s rebellion was only one of many uprisings that occurred. The graphic novel does not address the broader landscape of resistance, such as:

 

• The New York Slave Revolt of 1712
• The Denmark Vesey Plot of 1822
• David Walker’s Appeal in 1829
• The Amistad slave ship rebellion in 1839
• The Creole slave mutiny of 1841
• The role of Maroon communities--escaped Africans who established independent settlements throughout the South and the Caribbean.

 

Additionally, the graphic novel does not acknowledge the impact of the “Fugitive Slave Act of 1793,” which allowed enslavers to capture fugitives across state lines, making life in the North perilous for free and escaped Black individuals. Furthermore, Surrounded does not engage with the widespread influence of the Haitian Revolution (1791-1804), which profoundly shaped the fears of Southern enslavers and led to harsher restrictions on enslaved people in the U.S. Acknowledging these broader historical events could have provided a more nuanced and layered representation of the period.

As the graphic novel progresses, it exhibits patterns commonly seen in works by White creators depicting civil rights struggles or resistance during slavery. While Lupano’s intentions seem well-meaning, Surrounded risks centering whiteness in a narrative that should prioritize Black voices. The story increasingly shifts its focus to a White female teacher at the school, framing much of the narrative around the risks she takes rather than the agency of the Black girls she teaches. This structure echoes White savior narratives seen in films, such as “The Help” and “Dangerous Minds,” where Black struggles are filtered through the lens of White benevolence. From an Afrocentric perspective, the graphic novel misses an opportunity to present Black people as the primary agents of their own liberation. The theory of Afrocentricity, developed by Molefi Kete Asante, emphasizes the importance of centering Black perspectives and highlighting Black agency in historical narratives. Black individuals in the antebellum period actively sought education and devised ways to protect themselves from the dangers of White supremacy. Instead of fully exploring these dynamics, Surrounded leans too heavily on the perspective of its White protagonist, sidelining the Black women who should be at the center of this story.

Another significant omission in Surrounded is the presence of Black men. While the graphic novel depicts White men in heroic roles, protecting Black women and the school, there is a noticeable absence of Black men in these positions. Given the historical realities of the time, this absence raises questions about whether the graphic novel unintentionally reproduces stereotypes about Black male disengagement from the struggles of Black women. Historically, Black men actively participated in educational initiatives, abolitionist movements, and the broader fight for Black freedom. Their exclusion from the narrative suggests a missed opportunity to provide a more holistic representation of Black community resistance.

Certain character choices in the graphic novel also reflect familiar tropes found in narratives about the Black struggle. One such example is a Black male character who appears to embody internalized anti-Blackness. While it is true that some Black individuals internalized racist ideologies, his presence in the story feels more like a recurring archetype in White-authored narratives than a fully developed character. His eventual death reinforces an all-too-common trope in which such characters are included only to meet a tragic end. What this character contributes to the larger narrative is unclear beyond fulfilling a predictable storytelling pattern.

Additionally, the depiction of a divine Black female figure is both compelling and problematic. The moment in which a student envisions God as a woman of color is powerful in its subversion of Eurocentric religious imagery. However, the decision to depict her as nude is an odd and unnecessary creative choice. While artistic depictions of divine figures often engage with themes of vulnerability and purity, in this context, it raises concerns about the exoticization of Black women’s bodies.

Surrounded is an engaging graphic novel with a unique artistic style and compelling subject matter. The visual elements enhance the storytelling, adding emotional depth to key moments. The graphic novel succeeds in highlighting the hostility Black-Americans faced--even in the North--and brings attention to an important, often overlooked part of history. However, it also falls into several common pitfalls that often appear in White-authored stories about Black resistance. The overemphasis on White characters, the sidelining of Black women’s agency, and the exclusion of Black men all weaken its impact as a story about Black liberation. That said, Surrounded is a valuable contribution to historical fiction, as it brings attention to an important chapter in Black history. Stories like this play a crucial role in sparking conversations about history, representation, and the ongoing need to center Black voices in narratives of Black liberation.