The naïve city: sketches of the ‘60s and ‘70s’ Jakarta in romance comics

1

THE CITY is a place to fall in love. Perhaps because the city constitutes a dream, just as love is a yearning. But the dream of the city is often shattered by the reality of the city, just as the coveted love is often crushed by the reality of life.

That is at least the general impression I have after reading the Indonesian romance comics from the end of the sixties to the beginning of the seventies. Naturally, such a general impression leaves a lot to be explained. First of all, the ‘city’ that the comics refer to is generally the ‘capital city’ or Jakarta. During the early years of the New Order regime, Jakarta had been the pivot for the Indonesians’ dreams of modernity. This was not entirely the fault of the New Order regime. People have been basing their hopes in the capital city for long. Had the Youth Pledge in 1928 and the Proclamation of Independence in 1945, for example, not occurred in Jakarta? One, however, cannot deny the fact that it was the New Order regime that had affirmed Jakarta’s position as the center of modernization. The sign was obvious: the New Order regime confirmed Jakarta as the center of governance and simultaneously the center of Indonesia’s economic activities. Economic welfare was centered in Jakarta, and this affected the focusing of cultural lives in the capital as well.

Second, there is the issue of ‘love.’ As befit romance comics, naturally love becomes the main subject. What kind of love, though? Seno Gumira Ajidarma, in his analysis on the romance comics by Zaldy, has accurately and thoroughly dissected the ideas about romantic love in these comics.[1] Seno juxtaposed the ideas of love in the comics with the famous philosophical accounts on love by Erich Fromm.[2] Seno’s scrutiny saves me from the obligation to discuss deeply in this essay the narrative and thematic aspects of the Indonesian romance comics. I wish to map out immediately the traces of ideas about the city, which have found their visual manifestations in the romance comics, and I would like to do this without delving too deep into the search for narrative patterns and general messages that those romance comics want to convey.

However—and this is the third note—I could not avoid the problem of the dearth of the comic corpus that I could observe, which was also the problem that Seno had faced when analyzing Zaldy’s comics.[3] Seno wrote how he had to be satisfied with the eighteen Zaldy’s comics that he had in his collection, which he had gathered laboriously from many corners throughout Java. According to the data he had from Marcel Bonneff, the French anthropologist who did a research on Indonesian comics in 1969–1971, which was published as a book titled Komik Indonesia (Indonesian comics) [4], Zaldy had published around sixty titles of romance comics only in the period of 1966–1971.

Meanwhile, the materials I have in my hand that I can use to trace the development of the Indonesian romance comics are merely four comics by Zaldy and five by Jan Mintaraga [5], plus a comic by Jan Mintaraga in the Hai magazine in 1979, “Hancurnya Sebuah Tirani” (The Demise of a Tyrant), and a number of new comics on love (created in the nineties and 2000s) to use as a comparison. I also relied on secondary sources on the Indonesian romance comics, such as numerous articles as well as discussions with collectors regarding the romance comics.[6]

I therefore cannot help but provide a sketchy description about the dreams on the city and on love in the comics that I have with me. I feel, however, that the sketches I have thus obtained are enough as an impression and are adequate due to one thing: the romance comics are a comic genre that is highly static. Its makers are generally very loyal to the norms of the genre. This is true both in Indonesia in the sixties to the seventies as well as in the United States, where the genre first began.


2

Like in the US,[7] the genre of romance comics in Indonesia grew and flourished during a certain period, and then—seemingly abruptly—disappeared, losing its relevance with the market. The genre of romance comics is not merely a comic genre that tells stories of love.

The genre of romance comics, per definition, exploits ‘Romantic Love’ in its most exaggerated sense. The idea of ‘Romantic Love’ in romance comics is more or less similar to the idea of ‘love’ that we encounter in soap operas or TV series that are ubiquitous in the Indonesian television today. Or perhaps you can say that this idea is similar with the one we find in Harlequin romantic novels or in novels by Barbara Cartland, which might actually be suitable with the moniker ‘roman picisan’ or ‘dime (romance) novels.’ In Indonesia, popular writers of such romance novels are mostly male, for example Motinggo Busye or Eddy D. Iskandar. The romantic relationship described often constitutes fantasies, involving handsome males and beautiful females, with dramatic-melancholy troubles. In common parlance, we hear of ‘Romantic Love,’ ‘Erotic Love,’ and ‘Platonic Love’—all referring to love relationship between two adults (which might be of the same or different sex).

We can have a rather naughty take on the issue and observe how the three kinds of love are linked with the issue of sex. In Romantic Love, sex is the bonus given to two lovers who have overcome fantastic—or at least highly dramatic—obstacles. Generally, the sexual relationship exists within the institution of marriage, although it is not often mentioned in the story itself. The longed-for aspects among the lovers in Romantic Love are usually physical in nature, or involving sex appeals, such as the beautiful lips, luscious hairs, and slender body.

In romantic novels, as well as in romance comics, the sex element often dominates, and thus the Romantic Love there is often mingled with Erotic Love. But the main problem of Romantic Love, including in romance novels and comics, is whether or not the pair of lovers will eventually live together, happily ever after. The desired happiness constitutes eternal togetherness, an exclusive and absolute love relationship between two individuals.

In romantic stories, the longed-for dream is apparently so elusive. There are also cases in which extraordinary obstacles bestow a high value to the dream. That is also why romantic stories do not necessarily end in happiness. The ideal models for romantic stories, for example, have been Romeo and Juliet (by Shakespeare), Abelard and Heloise (historical legend), Tristan and Isolde (folk story), Roro Mendut and Pranacitra (Javanese folk story), and Siti Nurbaya and Syamsul Bahri (by the Sumatran writer Marah Rusli).

We can call them as models of ‘unrequited love.’ Seno mentions such a model in his scrutiny on comic works by Zaldy. To use Seno’s terms, there are two models of romantic stories in Zaldy’s comics that Seno observed: ‘unrequited love’ and ‘love triangle.’ [8]

Erotic Love, meanwhile, has a different problem. In the Erotic Love, sexual relationship dominates, and the main problem is how to obtain the perfect sexual relationship with the desired partner, as often as possible, and how to handle the moral consequences of such yearning. Erotic Love also finds a place in the Indonesian romance comics, with huge moral problems. Platonic Love is rather rarely found, but appears once or twice in the Indonesian romance comics.

Platonic Love, seen in the context of sexual relationship, is precisely meaningful and present when the sexual relationship is avoided. The sexual relationship serves as an obstacle in Platonic Love, but such avoidance does not mean denial. Sex is present as a negation.


3

From all the love predicaments presented in the romance comics that I have read for this essay, I immediately feel that there are a number of repeated narrative and visual elements.[9] It is clear to us that such repetitions create a pattern which we can read as the conveyance of messages, ideas, or even certain ideological constructions. In this essay, I focus my attention on the ideas about the city, which I find in the romance comics that I read.

In its history, comics and the city already had an organic relationship. If we use Rudolphe Töpffer (1799–1846)—who made a series of narrative drawings for educational purposes at his school (where he served as the headmaster)—to signify the birth of the modern comics, we can see that he was a man from Geneva, a city in Switzerland. This means that he was an urban citizen, with all the pertaining cosmopolitanism. His friendship with Goethe, who admired Töpffer’s comics, indicated this cosmopolitanism.

Another progenitor of modern comics had been the series of drawings by William Hogarth (1697–1764) about the exploits of the Londoners in the midst of the transitions that the industrialization had brought about. The two series of drawings and paintings, Harlot’s Progress and Rake’s Progress, had strong comic features (i.e. parody, humor). Besides, the works’ intention of being sequential was also proof of comic character, in the sense that Scott McCloud [10] or Will Eisner.[11]

A direct descendant from Hogarth’s works was the first comic magazine in the UK, Ally Slopper’s Half Holiday, which was published for the first time on May 3, 1884. The comic magazine was thoroughly geared to the British working class, a typical group in Charles Dickens’s novels, by depicting characters from the same class. The Dickensian London atmosphere, with its struggle with the industrialization, materialized in Ally Slopper’s vulgar, intoxicated adventure.

Eleven years later, Yellow Kid by FW. Outcault emerged. In various literature on comics written by American historians, Yellow Kid was considered as the first (modern) comics—a mistake due to the common historical and geographical short-sightedness. Yellow Kid, however, was an important work as it created a strong foundation for the modern American comic strip, which eventually influenced the West European comics (via Hergé, who was influenced by the American comic strips) and those of Japan (via Osamu Tezuka, who was influenced by Disney’s comics and animations).

There is another important aspect of Yellow Kid: its strong urban character. This series also signified another important landmark in the history of the dailies’ early popularity, i.e. it forced the newspaper to print its comics in colors. This started the appearance of colored papers in the United States. In terms of its content, Yellow Kid contained shrewd social and political remarks, usually presented in an urban realm that resembled that of Ally Slopper’s—albeit rather more wayward.

The modern Indonesian comics did not escape its organic unity with the city.[12] As Bonneff explained,[13] Indonesia’s first comic strip was the Put On series by Kho Wang Gie, which was published for the first time in the Sin Po daily in 1931. The comic series described the daily life of a Jakarta citizen with never-ending misfortunes and who is often foolish. Observe the pictures of the urbanscape that often appears and Put On’s exploits or activities: wearing swell clothes to try to catch the attention of unapproachable women, wanting to go to the movies, partying, picking garbage, bickering about debts, etc, etc. Unmistakably, this is how someone in the margins of Jakarta sees the urbanization of his city. The comic strip presents a view from “down under” about the roaring and razing urbanization.

From Put On to Lagak Jakarta (by Benny and Mice), across Sri Asih (by RA. Kosasih), Petruk Gareng series (generally made by Tatang S.), Delsy Syamsunar’s city sketches in the seventies, Doyok (by Keliek Siswoyo) and Ali Oncom (by Budi Priyono) series in the Pos Kota daily, to scores of indie comics that were mostly published in Bandung, Yogyakarta, and Jakarta since the mid-nineties—one could sense some shadows, longed-for ideas, about a Metropolis.

Such ideas gave rise to interesting contrasts if one compares them with those found in other comic genres that flourished since the fifties—i.e. the genre of fantasy-legend, whose background setting is invariably a world full of forests with large trees, and of villages untouched by electricity. Observe, for example, the martial-art comics that held sway in the Indonesian comic market in the seventies. Or, more interestingly, observe how the Indonesian superhero comics have mixed background settings, with large portions of woods and villages. A case in point would be Godam (by Wid NS.) who began his adventures in the work entitled Doktor Setan (Satanic Doctor), while his last adventure written by Wid NS. had the title of Setan (Satan). Similarly, Gundala by Hasmi often met criminals with magical evil powers.

The romance comics, therefore, form the only genre that faithfully longed for the metropolitan city. Does romance belong only to the urbanites?


4

The comics I have read for this essays consisted of five works by Jan Mintaraga: Kabut di Hari Tjerah (The Mist in the Sunny Day), Patahnja Sebuah Melankoli (The Demise of a Melancholy), Tonil (Drama), Tertiup Bersama Angin (Blowing in the Wind), Tjintanya Bukan Tjinta Kanak2 (Not a Child’s Love), as well as four works by Zaldy Impian Kemarin (Yesterday’s Dream), Mawar Putih (The White Rose), Setitik Airmata buat Peter (A Teardrop for Peter), and Tetesan Airmata Cinta (Love Teardrop).

Just as I had intended, it was the visual elements in the comics that served as my focus of attention and the realm in which I sought any possible patterns. There is only one non-visual generic element in these comics that I record here in this essay: the characters’ names. I included this issue because the names have a function similar to the visual elements in the comics; i.e. as a sign pasted on the surface of the dreams contained in the story.

The elements that appear in repetitions in the comics that I read are thus:


THE STYLE IS IN THE NAME
Erik and Shinta (Mawar Putih); Natalia and Peter, and Wanda (Setitik Airmata buat Peter); Susan and Frans (Impian Kemarin); Judith, Edmond, Harris (Tetesan Airmata); Nicko and Helen (Tonil); Alec and Inge (Tertiup Bersama Angin); Viera and Judy (Tjintanja Bukan Tjinta Kanak2)—these are all stylish names. If names are indeed prayers, what kinds of prayer do those Western names hold? Why are things of the West so cool? One thing is obvious: the names seem so stylish because they are very much “of the city.” There is a dream to become Western within such imaginings about the city.

There is something interesting about the female names in Patahnya Sebuah Melankoli (The Demise of a Melancholy) and Kabut di Hari Tjerah (The Mist in the Sunny Day). In the first work, the character of Chandra—the dream male, the star who never stops smoking and feels invariably restless because of love—is split between two women, Wanda and Christie. ‘Chandra’ itself is a name derived from the Sanskrit word for ‘moon.’ Why do the women, the subjects and objects of desire, have Westernized name?

In Kabut di Hari Tjerah, the name of the main character is very much Indonesian: Ira. But this is a comic work that claims to be half-biographical. In the last page, Jan Mintaraga wrote: “Dear readers! All of you, who like popular Indonesian songs, can certainly guess accurately who she is! And with this, she sends her warmest regards to all of you—especially those of you who love her voice.” And, on top of a drawing of a young singer, is a signature and words: “Sweetest greetings, [sign] Ernie Irawaty Djohan.” (Picture 1)

With the greetings from Ernie Djohan (who was a teenage singer when the comic was made in 1967), who was popular for the song Teluk Bayur, Jan Mintaraga was presenting an authentic world to his readers. The authenticity serves as the sign of the story’s “realism.” Such realism, however, has a cost: the portion relegated for the dreams would have to be reduced—and this includes the names of the characters, and the degree of the romance found in the comic. This story has only one ordinary problem: how Ira struggles emotionally as her mother prohibits her from having a boyfriend, while at the same time she needs to love a man.

The choice to reduce the portion set aside for the dreams precisely signifies an affirmation regarding the boundary between the world of dreams/desires/fantasies and a realistic world that is rooted in ‘reality.’ When a work of romance comics links itself with a form of ‘reality,’ it becomes less Westernized as well as less dramatic/melancholy.


SOMEONE READING A NEWSPAPER OR MAGAZINE
People reading newspapers every morning, while drinking sweet, hot tea or coffee. This is a habit that we can find in the villages, today. In 1966–1975, however, the period in which the nine romance comics were published, reading newspapers and magazines was not so common for villagers—except among the elites.

This has to do with the level of literacy that was still very low and disproportionate among the Indonesians, and also with the newspaper facilities at the time that had not been able to reach most of the people who lived outside the cities. In the eighties, the New Order government initiated the program of “Koran Masuk Desa” (Newspapers for the Villages). (On the openlibrary.org site, for example, there is a record of a 325-page document of the Working Meeting of the Ministry of Information in 1985, about the program of “Koran Masuk Desa.”)

One can simply conclude that, if one takes the “Koran Masuk Desa” program into account, for a long time prior to the commencement of this program, reading newspaper constituted an “urban activity.” This activity notably becomes the gesture that appears again and again in the comics that I read. In Patahnja Sebuah Melankoli (1966), Chandra is treated in a “sanatorium for sufferers of lung illness” and the picture shows Chandra, who is reading the newspaper as Wanda visits him (page 50, second panel) (Picture 2).

In Tetesan Airmata Cinta (Love Teardrop, 1975), the first panel on page 27 depicts a young man sitting and reading a magazine (or is it a book?) on the terrace, and a girl passes by. The caption narrates: “Fifteen years later, in quite a luxurious house.” On the second panel, the girl is walking across the living room, where there are two people, a man and a woman, who are reading newspapers. The text tells us that the two people are Harris and Judith, the girl’s parents. On page 28, panel 1, the man is no longer holding the newspaper (one hand is hidden), and instead there is a pipe in his hand. The mother admonishes the girl, “Vivin, why don’t you say hi to your Papie?”

The “quite luxurious” house, the term ‘Papie,’ the parents reading newspapers with the father holding a pipe. In such series of panels, the activity of reading newspaper is a gesture of the upper middle class.

Besides being a gesture of the middle class urbanites, newspaper reading can also serve as a means to run away from love. In Tertiup Bersama Angin (Blowing in the Winds), page 61 panel 2 (Picture 3), Inge is sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper. The text in the caption says: “But, no matter how hard she tries, Inge cannot fool herself! Indeed, since that time, the girl has never seen Alec again, or come across him as she goes home from school, unlike the old days. This makes her think a lot of the young man, although she tries to forget him…”


POP SONGS, AGAIN
Many of the Indonesian romance comics have derived their titles from the titles of pop songs that had been in vogue during the time when they were published.[14] Among the comics I read, I find a comic whose title had been derived from the translation of a well-known song by Bob Dylan, Blowin’ in the Winds. On the first page (Picture 4), the first lines of the song’s translation are published alongside the title: How many roads must I walk down–before they call me a man? How many ears must we have… before we can hear people cry? I hear no answer—everything [in capital letters and with hand-made graphic design typical for comic titles] IS BLOWIN’ IN THE WIND…

In Kabut di Hari Tjerah (Mist in the Sunny Day), the world of pop songs serves as the main background for the story about a teenage singer, Ira, who turns out to be the fictional version of the singer Ernie Djohan. On page 6, panel 2 (Picture 5), there is a scene in which two people are watching TV, on which a singer is singing: Why does the sparrow perch on the window?

In the same work on page 7, panel 2, one sees the relation between pop songs and the condition of being love-struck. The singer is depicted as reading a book by a table, with woolen turtle neck (which would generally be worn in cold countries). The caption says: “As a young girl, naturally she begins to be interested in the other sex! She has started to daydream—to like sentimental songs very much—and to write in her diary…”

Pop love songs, mellow, mawkish, full of yearning, are certainly the logical consequence for a romance comic. In the beginning of Impian Kemarin (Yesterday’s Dream), Zaldy lay the emphasis on a kind of adulation for the song The Last Waltz sung by Engelbert Humperdinck. Zaldy was fully aware of the mawkishness of the song, and it is precisely due to its sentimental quality that the comic characters, Susan and Frans, love the song. On page 3 panel 2, Susan follows the lyrics as a singer sings the song in a dance ball. The caption says: She likes the song very much, because its tune and words are highly sentimental. Her emotions would engulf her every time she hears the song… Typically, Zaldy also described how Frans also likes the song, on page 7 panel 2: The man doesn’t answer Susan’s question… Apparently, he is also touched by the ending of the story in the song… Especially with the phrase ‘the last,’ which has not been the desired ending…

Pop songs are not merely present in the lyrics and caption text about their effects on the emotions of the characters in our romance comics. They are also present visually in the romance comics, for example through posters of idolized singers or music groups on the walls in the characters’ rooms.

In Tjintanja Bukan Tjinta Kanak2 (Not a Child’s Love), page 10 panel 1 (Picture 6), there is a poster of the groups We 5 and Yardbirds. The presence of posters of rock groups signifies that rock music is not seen as distinct from pop songs here. Apparently, anything that the urban youth like at the time (in Jakarta, Yogyakarta, or Bandung, the centers of pop culture and the place where the Indonesian comic artists were hailed from), will be presented in the pictures.

In Impian Kemarin (Yesterday’s Dreams), page 13 panel 2 (Picture 7), there is the cover of Tom Jones’s vinyl, Isadora. On page 15 panel 2, on the wall, there is a Bee Gees poster. On page 27 panel 1, we can see another cover of Tom Jones’s vinyl. Page 30 presents a vinyl cover of The Beatles’ single, Don’t Let Me Down. In Tonil (Drama), page 90 panel 2, we see the poster of the music group Head on the wall.

The American and British popular music groups and singers seem to be the antithesis for Soekarno’s prohibition, during the Old Order regime, that banned people from listening to “ngak ngik ngok” sentimental songs from the West, which were seen as decadent or contra-revolutionary. The ban, as we know, had sent the pop group Koes Ploes to jail.


BOUFFANT HAIRS, MINI SKIRTS, “AMERICANISM”
The issue of being ‘Western’ had once indeed been such a significant matter. According to Iwan Gunawan, an avid collector of Indonesian comics, 1971 saw protests and burning of comics, triggered mostly by the romance comics which were seen as being too westernized or too Americanized.

Iwan admitted that the comics do indeed very much influenced by the West, if we observe how the characters are portrayed: women with bouffant hairs, with the fashion style that is in keeping with the trend in the West, such as the mini skirts, sweaters, you-can-see, or night gowns. The backcombed hairs suggest that the female characters in the Indonesian romance comics always go to the hairdressers, although I have never seen any scenes taking place in a beauty parlor. Beauty in these comics is portrayed in a certain direction, and such beauty is always a “given,” with no process involved. Perhaps it has a simple cause: the ones who drew the romance comics were the male, who had never set a foot in any beauty parlor. But was this a mere ignorance, or unwillingness to know?

The male characters are no less trendy, with clothes that we could see in the advertisements of products from the Western world, or in the teen-flicks of the sixties and seventies. The gestures, especially in Jan Mintaraga’s comics, were very uncommon for Indonesian males, but often encountered in visual products from the US or Europe at the time.


BRICK WALLS, LUXURIOUS HOUSES
The city is the citizens, their ideas about habitat and habitus in a certain place. Such ideas are often materialized in the design and arrangement of the space. The city where the stories in the romance comics take place also consists of spaces with certain architectural styles that are indicative of the ideas or imaginations regarding the city in the mind of the Indonesian comic artists at the time.

The romance comics invariably present houses with modern interior design. The popular style for walls in the comics is that of brick walls without the lime plasters and paints. This is an important sign, because brick walls were relatively new at the time. More importantly, as the visual attribute of the “luxurious houses” in the comics, the brick walls are the antithesis of the wooden walls, which were still common for the urban citizens at the time.

Such contrast can be seen, for example, in Mawar Putih, page 47, panel 1 (Picture 8). A beautiful bar singer, Shinta, is going home. The caption says: She walks alone, going in and out of the alleys, although it is already very late… Her dwelling is in the midst of a dirty and muddy urban village. Panel 2 depicts Shinta at the wooden door, entering. The caption tells us: …As she pushes the door to her hut, she finds her mother still sitting on the bamboo bed…

It is clear from this example how the visualization of the space also signifies economic dichotomies. The stage for love, however, remains the luxurious houses with living rooms and private chambers, or the restaurants or bars where the nightlife is happening, with Handsome Males and Beautiful Females as the characters.


THE PAINTING ON THE WALL
It is interesting how I often find in these comics framed paintings on the walls. From my quick reading over the romance comics that I have seen, there is nary a landscape painting that was commonly found in the Indonesian city houses until the eighties (today such paintings are still sold on the pavements).

It is often unclear what kind of paintings that are hung on the walls in the comics. They seem to be of the abstract genre. Perhaps it was not because the comic artists mastered or desired such genre the most (the Indonesian comic artists at the time usually learned to paint and draw in painting studios, under the tutelage of “real” painters), but because it was easy to draw: simple doodles would be enough.

Those paintings are also social attributes, a cultural sign that has shifted into becoming the sign of cultural commodification. The painting on the wall does not signify respect to certain aesthetic ideas, but instead is merely a decorative element, a complement for the interior design in the houses of the upper middle class.


5

Humans that have found forms in the names, hair styles, clothing styles, and life style; and the space that has been materialized in the architecture, interior design, with all the pertaining decorations. Both have provided us with a glimpse about the metropolis as imagined by these comic artists.

It is clear that the imagined city in the romance comics was a part of the society or of their reading audience. The city that the comics imagine, however, can be viewed as a naïve metropolis. A city devoid of complexities.

Structural and social problems are not present, except sometimes as a garnish to the dramatic love stories. In Mawar Putih (White Rose), the poverty that has been visualized in the form of the mother and Shinta in the shack turns out to signify a kind of punishment for what the mother has done in the past. At the end of the story, it is revealed that Erik’s father was the victim of Shinta’s mother, Lasty. In the past, Lasty was a bar girl who went out with Erik’s father because of his money. On page 122 panel 2, Erik’s father says, “Well, it was Lasty who had broken my heart… Lasty who went with another man as soon as she found out that your grandfather’s company had gone bankrupt…” Poverty is not understood, but instead seen as something appalling, a curse. Meanwhile, welfare is linked to happiness and love.

Shinta and Erik are married. On the last page, panel 1, the newly-weds receive a greeting card from Siska, “the third party” in this relationship, informing them that she is “married to a Malay trader, and I live quite happily…” The last panel depicts Erik and Shinta smiling happily (Erik in two-pieces suits, Shinta with bouffant hairs) aboard a plane (Picture 9). The caption says: Love has been woven beautifully in their heart, as they head for the future full of happiness.

This exemplifies the typical naïve view on love, happiness, and human’s problems. Such naiveté is inextricably linked to the naïve portrayal of the city in the romance comics. Such naïve narrative patterns unavoidably indicate how such romance comics are geared for escapist reading materials.


6

Strangely, the general impression I have is that the escapist comics have been rooted in the imaginations that were actually present within the society. I get this impression especially as I compare them with the love comics of today, made from the mid-nineties until today.

One of the things that gave me such contrasting impressions was the obsession to depict the space in the romance comics by Jan Mintaraga and Zaldy (and their contemporaries). Jan and Zaldy—even when their drawing skills were still barely adequate—were obsessed to draw all panels as “full,” not “empty.” Such obsession is nowhere to be seen today, as Arief Ash-Shiddiq elucidated in his essay published in the current Karbon journal,[15] which aptly describes how poor the spaces are in the comics by Indonesia’s younger comic artists.

To fulfill such obsession, Jan and Zaldy, as well as their contemporaries, required visual references, which they sought from films, foreign comics (there are similar spatial elements between their works and those of the American romance comics of the fifties and sixties), and objects which (we might surmise) were found around them every day.

Such reference to the real spaces that existed around the comic artists (and their audience) can be seen, for example, in the work by Jan Mintaraga in Hai magazine in 1979, in his serial comics Hancurnya Sebuah Tirani (The Demise of a Tyrant). This is one of the works Jan made at the height of his drawing mastery, when his personal trademarks would be present strongly in the lines he drew for his comics. In this series, which uses love as a garnish to the main story about the frictions between Jakarta thugs, Jan seemed to have a very strong grasp on how to portray houses of the commoners in Jakarta.

However, if you compare works by Jan and Zaldy in the past with the comics on love published in the nineties until today—for example Dealova, Komik Cinta (Love Comics, by Injun and Greg), and Understanding Love (by Wahyu HD) in a manga style—you would see how in the later comics discussions about love become more important than depictions of the space. Love becomes something that is, well, “theoretical”—or, to be precise, confined in the realm of ideas, and might be trapped in mere idealizations.

The “theories” of love in the later comics are indeed more sophisticated than those found in the era of Jan and Zaldy. Such “theories,” however, lose their dramatic gamble. And they remain juvenile, in the sense that they fail to portray the mental complexities of their characters. Understanding Love even resembles a “love for dummies” book for teenagers.

I feel that I have lost one significant thing in the midst of all the talks about the “essence” of love in the later comics: I lost a space that was the Indonesian city.[16] At least, I was still able to see the space, although in the forms of naïve fantasies, in the romance comics that I have read.




Jakarta, January 6, 2009
Translated by Rani Elsanti




HIKMAT DARMAWAN is an observer of popular culture, with the focus on comics and movies. He has been writing since 1994 in various publications such as Tempo, Kompas, Gatra, and Republika. His book, a collection of essays on comics entitled Dari Gatot Kaca hingga Batman: Potensi-potensi Naratif Komik (From Gatot Kaca to Batman: The Comics’ Narrative Potentials. Yogyakarta: Penerbit Orakel, 2005), is being repackaged along with his other collection of essays. He helped established a number of communities, for example Musyawarah Burung and Akademi Samali, and is now active in Urban Laboratory of Paramadina University. He now works as an editor in the Madina magazine and www.rumahfilm.org.