Nima Yousefi's Equinox of Insanity

Dinosaurs, Asian Cinema, and Helvetica

Gary Hustwit’s documentary Helvetica explores the details of what is easily the most popular typeface in the world. It is a fascinating look at not only the prevalence of the Helvetica, but also how it’s use informs about our culture. The film is gorgeously shot, is well edited, has a great soundtrack, and features a lot of amazing interviews with interesting, and informative, subjects. Hustwit really did a magnificent job with this film ((I don’t care what your political views may be, but there’s no way you can see a film like this and think that Michael Moore is anything more than a hack. This is quality documentary filmmaking here, folks.)), and I think everyone — even people who couldn’t care less about Helvetica, typography in general, or design — should see it. It’s easily one of the five best films I saw this year. ((It’s available from Netflix, and if you have a Windows PC you can even watch it streamed through the “Watch Instantly” feature. Honestly, I installed Windows on my Mac Pro just to use this feature, and I’m glad I did, as the original Battlestar Galactica is also available via “Watch Instantly.” Woot!))

There were two things in the film that really struck me. First, Helvetica might possibly be the greatest typeface ever designed. It’s ubiquitousness is a function of it’s near universal applicability. The film goes to great lengths to give a fair voice to a dissenting view on that, but it all rolls back to the truth that every time they show Helvetica on screen it feels so nature and perfect that you forget that there might be other typefaces that could have been used instead. After acknowledging that the myth of Helvetica as the ultimate font isn’t true, typographer Jonathan Hoefler says the following:

There’s something about it that has a feeling of finality to it. This is the conclusion of one line of reasoning, was this typeface, and perhaps everything after it was secondary in some way.

I find evolutionary dead ends to be fascinating from the standpoint of: how does one continue forward when one understands that they will never exceed what has come before? In this regard, how does a type designer approach the task of creating a new sans-serif typeface when Helvetica is staring them in the face?

Matthew Carter, designer of the famous Verdana and Georgia typefaces, says, quite elegantly, in the film:

It’s very hard for a designer to look at [Helvetica's] characters and say ‘How would I improve them? How would make them any different?’ They just seem exactly right. I’m glad no one ever asked me to second guess Helvetica, because I wouldn’t know what to do.

I think there is such a thing as a perfect piece of art. That’s what typography is — a work of art. I think the question of how you move forward from a perfect work of art as what defines you as an artist. That Carter went on to produce Verdana and Georgia speaks to the quality and strength of his artistry.

Of course, this sort true in all areas of art. In film, I immediately think of the Chinese movie Infernal Affairs, and Scorsese’s remake of it, The Departed. ((You do know The Departed is a remake, right?)) Infernal Affairs is a marvelous movie. The tone is perfect. The character arcs are perfect. The plot is perfect. It is a perfect film, and every single change that Scorsese made in The Departed was, I believe, to the detriment of the story. The only thing that really worked in The Departed’s favor was the spectacular view of Boston, which is to say that the film just looked different, but not necessarily better. I don’t understand what Scorsese was thinking. What was it he was trying to get out of remaking Infernal Affairs? I guess the answer is, “an Oscar,” but what does that say if your crowning achievement is a copy of someone else’s far superior work? I guess Scorsese can start a club with the guy who copied Helvetica to make Arial.

I think this is true in writing as well. Having studied molecular biology, whenever I mentioned an interest in writing someone (like my mom) would inevitably suggest that I write a story about science. “It would make a great story,” they would say. Yes, it would. In fact, it did. It was called Jurassic Park. The story is about molecular biology, and dinosaurs. Seriously, how could I possibly compete with that? There is nothing you could clone that is more interesting than a freaking velociraptor. As a result, I have zero interest in even considering to write a scientific — let alone molecular biology based — story, because I know nothing I write will ever be better than Jurassic Park. For me, I see it as a futile endeavor, and I wonder if typographers don’t feel the same about sans-serif fonts.

This brings me to the second point of interest in Helvetica — the film takes time to examine the use of type in posters, flyers, brochures, corporate logos, street signs, government documents, album covers, MySpace, magazine covers, and soda advertisements, but there’s no mention of books. In fact, there’s only one mention by David Carson of anything even remotely related to the use of type in an article of text (granted, it’s a spectacularly awesome use of type). What does this mean for writers?

Now, I understand that in a film about Helvetica there’s not going to be much, if any, mention of literary works, where Times and it’s siblings rule. That’s not really the problem. What worries me is that the type designers themselves tended to speak about type — in general, and not specifically Helvetica — strictly in terms of its value to graphic design. This is consistent with what I’ve observed outside the film, where typography is correlated to graphic designers, and not really to writers.

The reason I got interested in type was because, as a teenager, whenever I would get writer’s block sitting at the computer I’d start fiddling with fonts. If I couldn’t imagine the next part of the story in Times I’d try it in New York. If that was a bust I’d move on to Palatino. As an adult, I’m interesting in how the typeface can affect the way in which my writing is communicated.

The way type communicates in short flashes — as in a poster or logo — seems clear to me, and Helvetica does talk about this. For a novel, which can communicate a variety of different emotions and ideas between its pages, I think this becomes more complex, and beyond what my limited understanding of typography allows me to see. Do typographers think about this when they design a type? And, I wonder, what can I learn about typography that can help me as a writer? Can it help me at all?

Ultimately, my problem is that I don’t know any typographers. Ideally, sometime in the next, oh, ten years I’d like to get a chance to sit down with a typographer with some beers and nachos and talk about how it is they approach their work. I find it difficult to even conceptualize the thought process of a type designer, and that strikes me like if a builder didn’t understand the thought process behind the guy who makes hammers. Type is the tool I use, and the people who make it are a bit of a mystery to me. In the case of Helvetica, it’s creators Max Miedinger and Eduard Hoffmann might as well have been sorcerers. Helvetica really is a thing of wonder.