On Promethea

Promethea features a plethora of symbols; ranging from a broad spectrum of subject matter that reflects Alan Moore’s knowledge on the subject matter they were appropriated from. First and foremost, the titular and generational character (in the sense that the identity is passed down from channeled through a human medium) is named Promethea, the feminine version of the Greek god, Prometheus. Along with the gods of her father, or technically one conjoined god, Thoth-Hermes, they seem to represent old gods, of religions that are no longer worshipped like they were used to. This array of symbols revolving around the old gods is juxtaposed against the new ones, in some ways more obvious than others, example in point: the father being murdered by Christian believers, as seen from the hanging crosses around their neck. This could be a reference to how Alan Moore feels about monotheism; how it could be a danger to danger to a human being’s search for a true self. In contrast to the belief of a single god, for instance, Promethea is not one god, but many, channeled through various people throughout multiple generations, and in each iteration she is different from the last. Promethea used a staff that features the caduceus, carried by Hermes in Greek myth, and Mercury in Roman legend. In ancient myth, the caduceus was a symbol of occupation, and work of god; therefore, by arming Promethea with the staff, she becomes a symbol for craft as a channeling of the self or a God. Alan Moore is telling the reader to do what the inner-self wants them to do; a higher occupation or calling, as opposed to what the outer influences expect you to do.

I was able to connect with this notion of doing a higher calling; of having to make a leap in order to do the right thing, even if it brings little to no reward. Being threatened by the smee, or Semi-Mindless-Elemental-Entity, read as being attacked by stagnation, even if it might not have been Alan Moore’s intention. I admit to chuckling a little when I read what the acronym stood for, it felt like a coincidental delight, knowing how immobile people can become when influenced too heavily by the modern media, entertainment and advertising industries. By giving into these forces, it suggested in my own mind that we too, could become mindless entities, doing what someone else commanded us to.

If I were to adapt this story into a different medium, it would have to be animation. As great as a feature film would be, I don’t think it would be doing the graphic narrative any justice by compressing it. I doubt, however, that Alan Moore would see almost any adaptation as a good move, as the material was meant for comics in the first place. That said, I do enjoy animation quite a bit myself, and would love to see a story like Promethea move on a screen. As with any adaptation, there would have to be some changes. The panel compositions would have to be elongated to fit the screen ratio, and the images couldn’t always be placed one next to the other. That said, there are techniques and opportunities in animation that give it its appeal. Killing the Smee, for instance, could be animated as one continuous shot, tracking the beam or Smee as it flies from one end of the room, to the other, then out the room. The more decorative framing devices could be reserved for opening introductions and endings, or occasional pace breakers. Monologues might have to be simplified; thought I would love to keep the I am Promethea part, though I think she’d be muttering it to herself. Page 22 featured a long document talking about others who were channeling Promethea at some point of their lives, including a cartoonist, illustrator and poet: I would probably tackle full pages like these with a series of short cuts; cutting from one frame to the next, creating a montage, accompanied by a shortened version of the text.