I
don’t know about you, but when I see Tintin reviews that use terms like
“spiritual,” “mature,” and “deeply personal,” I get nervous. I know what I like
about Tintin, and those ain’t them.
So
I came to Tintin In Tibet with trepidation, not only because it came while
author Hergé began losing interest in his towheaded brainchild but
also because it has the reputation for being very different from those earlier
volumes that entertain me so.
Here’s the thing: Tintin
In Tibet is different, yet very enjoyable. And despite what critics say,
it’s still Tintin; at times jagged and at other times very efficient, yet consistent in delivering the same joys as yore. So dig in!
The
story begins with deceptive quaintness as Tintin and Captain Haddock are on
holiday in the French Alps. Haddock can’t understand Tintin’s enthusiasm for
mountain hikes (“Mountains should be abolished,” he huffs) but Tintin is serene
from his exertion, at least until he dozes off and is struck by a vision of a long-ago friend in peril:
“He
was lying there hurt, half-buried by snow… He was holding out his hands and
calling to me, ‘Help, Tintin! help!’ It was all so terribly real.”
And
so it was, Tintin discovers after reading a letter from that friend, Chang, and
a newspaper article. For Chang was on a plane that crashed somewhere in the
mountains of Tibet. Convinced the rest of his dream was also true,
Tintin sets out to rescue his pal, taking along his faithful pooch
Snowy and a reluctant Haddock.
This
set-up does challenge us with an unusually dogmatic Tintin, quite certain that
Chang survived the crash despite both what the newspaper says and logic
dictates. But this is an involving opening delivered with both vim and humor.
How
invested are we by Tintin’s quest? Readers may remember Chang as Tintin’s pal in The Blue Lotus back in the 1930s, but the guy hasn’t been mentioned
since. Hergé
stresses the point that Tintin and Chang shared a strong emotional bond, but Tintin
endangering himself and his companions on a trek into the formidable Himalayas
is a lot for us to accept, even before Hergé throws a yeti into the mix.
The magic ingredient that
makes Tintin In Tibet work boils down to one word: friendship. That is,
the friendship between Tintin and Haddock, which has been driving the series
since the war years and arrives at its fullest expression here.
This comes through most
clearly because Haddock is not sold at all on the wisdom of Tintin’s trip. More
than ever, I think, he is here as the audience surrogate, the one who says what
we the readers are thinking:
“Go to Nepal, go to
Timbuctoo [sic], go to Vladivostok
for all I care! But you’ll be on your own, remember; I’m not coming and that’s
flat! And when I say no, I mean no!”
In the next frame, we see an airport in New Delhi two days later, with Haddock and Tintin waiting to
board a connecting flight to Kathmandu.
The
Indian part of the story is brief, but stands apart as a kind of playful romp,
even more than the way India did back in Cigars Of The Pharaoh. That
time Tintin learned elephant; here Haddock rides a sacred cow who won’t let the
captain step over her.
Such
scenic larks are usually a Tintin staple; here the story becomes more somber
and monochromatic as we reach the snowy foothills of the Himalayas.
That’s
the challenge as I see it, once the story settles into the title destination in
its second half. How much action and energy can Hergé get from this inhospitable place?
I also wonder
about a guy who brings his little pooch on such an expedition, but that may just be me.
For me, the success of Tintin
In Tibet is how it continuously finds ways of engaging me while pulling me
deeper into the story. There are no comic sidetrips with Thomson and Thompson
or Jolyon Wagg (all of whom are absent from this book) or Professor Calculus, who
shows up only briefly in the Alps. As many note, there is not even a villain here.
We do have the yeti, who
provides some menace and also amusement, particularly when we discover its
taste for the Captain’s scotch. But he remains out of view for most of the
story, more a perceived threat (especially by the Nepalese escorting Tintin and
Haddock) than actual.
What we do get instead is a
lot of hiking. Attention to detail is quite strong; Tintin and Haddock even
wear sungoggles as protection from the snow glare as they look for signs of
Chang.
That is, Tintin looks for
Chang. Haddock is more concerned about that yeti who made off with his booze:
My whisky…you Cro-Magnon!
…My whisky, you Mameluke, you! …Vampire! …Dipsomanic! …Body-snatcher!
Haddock’s ranting is so
explosive it triggers an avalanche – and through it all, Haddock rants on. I’m
amazed the porters hung around him as long as they did.
Considering how Tintin In
Tibet is a more mature work, the humor is surprisingly solid throughout.
Haddock gets himself into a few comic scrapes, yet he does so in ways that make
more sense than just ducking off for a drop of the hard stuff or doing
something stupid for the heck of it, which can be a frustrating source of
Haddock humor in other books.
In fact, Snowy is more the
miscreant in this story. A couple of times, we watch him weigh whether or not
to do some bad thing while an angel and devil provide competing counsel. Snowy’s
conscience is fairly advanced for a dog; just not that advanced.
But a heavier tone is always
there: in Tintin’s driven manner; in the frequent reminders of the hopelessness
of any rescue attempt; in the emphasis on cold and isolation.
In one scene, we watch
Haddock and Tintin argue over which one of them should sacrifice himself to
save the other. That’s a helluva box for Hergé to put us in, but he finds two
ways to make it pay off, first by puncturing the tension with some amusing Haddock
clumsiness, then following it with a nifty surprise reveal that feels lifted
from a Spielberg movie before its time.
Speaking of reveals, the
book ends on one of the most poignant reveals in the series, a single wordless
image that gently pulls the reader out of the story just as it ends. It boils down
to that word again. So glad we don’t get a gag!
In short, while Tintin In
Tibet does present weightier themes and a more grown-up Tintin than
expected, the book fits in quite nicely with the larger mission of light
entertainment established in earlier volumes. It’s not a departure so much as
an augmentation.
I haven’t talked about the
art, which is really fantastic throughout, or Hergé’s sense of pace or
narrative, which is as polished as it ever was. This is a story about a boy on
a mission, delivered by an artist on his own mission to revitalize what inspired
him to create Tintin in the first place. The result brings together the passion
and skill that made this series so much fun for so long.
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