Splinter's reviews

Flash v2 #152-159 "the Dark Flash saga"

2012-01-06T18:02:00.000-08:00

In 2000, Mark Waid's tenure as the writer on "Flash" was slowly coming to a close. Thanks to a large swath of memorable issues that redefined the character for modern audiences, the superhero scribe used the opportunity to pen such acclaimed series as "Kingdom Come", and he must have felt ready to devote more of his time to new projects. The switch in focus is apparent in the latter part of his work on the Scarlet Speedster, as Grant Morrison and Mark Millar got to script a whole slew of issues, before Waid returned with editor Brian Augustyn as a co-writer. Following "Chain lightning", a space/time epic that extended the Flash family well into the future, the writer had only a single plot element to wrap up before he could leave the series, albeit a major one.

Just before Waid got into the super science that explained how the linage of Silver Age Flash Barry Allen got tangled up with that of Cobolt Blue, and how it impacted the family tree well into the 30th century, the writer slyly took Linda Park away from the series. Thus, all the while the comic showed blockbuster action involving Wally West participating in the most expansive plot since the original Crisis on Infinite Earths, the reader was well aware that the fate of Flash's fiance was purposely left to be resolved at another time.

Memorably, the writer had created a plot that enabled even the characters to forget all about her, furthering the intrigue of how the couple that was about to be married will ever find one another. Of course, this being a Mark Waid Flash comic, the eventual resolution was bound to be smart if complicated, in turn mirroring both his original "Return of Barry Allen" story arc, and acting as the finale of the whole 100 issue run. Adding to the ambition is Waid's decision to have the arc star a new character, introduced in the final pages of "Chain lightning".

The Dark Flash, as the mysterious newcomer has quickly come to be known, presents himself as a stocky, laconic force for good, while never stopping too long to make his identity known. Considering that the late 90ies were well after the initial boom of grim and gritty successors of traditional Marvel and DC heroes, Waid is adamant in presenting a sensible portrayal of a character that is first and foremost efficient, and then brutal. The key difference is that the tone of the story stays largely the same, as the rest of the cast duly notes the new speedster's no nonsense mentality, even as they acknowledge his connection to the Flash family. Dark Flash unmasks to select superhero veterans, both in these pages and in JLA, leaving the reader puzzled as to who it was that just gained the original Flash Jay Garrick's trust. Following "the Return of Barry Allen", a longtime Flash reader is unlikely to think that Waid would even tease the Silver Age Flash's return again, especially considering the finality which he retroactively added to the character's Crisis on Infinite Earths demise. If it was Wally, then why would he act so secretive and so unlike himself, never mind Dark Flash being established as ten years older.

Likewise, Linda's abduction by Abra Kadabra becomes the main subplot that seems bound to provide some answers, albeit in a scenario that is similarly protracted, taking several issues to be completely clear. Following her escape from the longtime Flash villain, the lone Rogue that Waid completely villifies, Linda resurfaces in what looks to be like another reality, where she has been declared dead, leaving the corresponding incarnation of Wally West to take revenge on his enemies and the world in the cruelest ways imaginable. Waid's mystery is carefully planned and seeded, with a solution that makes sense only in superhero comics, with their own blend of pulp, mythology and science fiction.

Meanwhile, Waid and Augustyn use modern Flash's second entry in "the Secret Files and Origins" to set up a completely new antagonist, who once again mirrors Wally West. In a lighthearted tale the supervillain tailor Gumbi's son narrates how he grew up near the Rogues, and how following Dark Flash's fight with Captain Boomerang the young man decides to take revenge. Gumbi does this by gaining the abilities of the Rogues he has idolized since he was the child, transforming himself into Replicant, a supervillain dead bent on beating the Flash. Along with the Folded man, who is presented in the same pages of "Secret Files", Waid and Augustyn were definitely offering a year on Flash that was complete and fun in itself, enabling the writer to leave the title in a big way.

Playing coy, Waid humanizes Dark Flash by having the speedster seek out a romance with new character Angela Marigold, with Linda being remembered only by Impulse, so strong was the magic Kadabra used when he kidnapped her. For a while, Waid was writing both "the Flash" and "Impulse" spin-off, thus enabling the scenes involving Bart in this arc to be very charming and a helpful break from the saga's darkest moments. Angela, on the other hand, with her involvement with the police, bears a certain resemblance to Patty Spivot, a one time Barry Allen love interest (revived in the latest Geoff Johns-penned relaunch), and summarily fills in the role of a superhero girlfriend. Except for some initial spunk, she is all to happy to be romanced and wooed away to distant romantic places by Dark Flash, pointing out that he has rescued her from her loneliness.

That this doesn't exactly jibe with Pelletier's rendition of Angela that sports the genre typical idealized female physique. It is not very believable that a gorgeous woman would be lonely in a workplace filled with men, but perhaps Waid and Augustyn amend this by the Flash's decision to make their time together special in every way. It's important to note how during Waid's stewardship of the title, taking such a simple approach, of embracing all that is positive about the superhero genre, and using it as a center piece for a lighthearted title worked so well coupled with smart storytelling and sound recreation of the character's mythology. When even such a troubled character as the Dark Flash uses superspeed to take his girlfriend to a dinner in Paris, it betrays an innate optimism and inventiveness about the genre, that can only be catching when this well executed.

Meanwhile, Waid has Flash confronting Folded man in a two part story that doesn't outstay its welcome, and enables the character to have a complete adventure before tangling up with the dueling menaces of Replicant and Kadabra. Despite the brevity of the conflict, the story works within to provide a diversion during the larger Dark Flash saga, and present the character as a credible superhero, even if the reader's aware that his tenure won't last beyond the solution of the mystery regarding Wally's disappearance and the return of Linda Park.

As for the story behind the character with the fourth dimensional suit, it's suitably modern to provide a techno thriller diversion, but is quickly set aside as Kadabra's subplot and Dark Flash's identity come to the foreground. It is certainly commendable that Waid provides a reveal relatively early in the arc, as the implications alone maintain the reader's interest into how exactly the switch was made and how and when will Wally return to the title. To say that it's a very unique scenario would be an understatement, but at the end of Waid's run it was more than clear that this was how the writer envisioned the title. Basically, he transformed the book into a team title centered around the concept of the Speedforce, which was unique enough that it enabled the title to weather the industry's hardest period. Ironically, it was well after the grim and gritty excesses and the resultant sensationalistic phase that almost destroyed American superhero industry in mid 90ies that Waid introduced Dark Flash to the title, and structured it as a detective story involving alternate dimensions and magic.

In such a scenario it would be easy to get lost, or even worse, to have the audience reject the title due to boredom and techno babble going over their heads, but Waid somehow remains clear even when dealing with Wally West emerging from the Speedforce to fight his other dimensional counterpart over returning Linda to their own continuity. Unfortunately, this scene is also the one where Paul Pelletier somewhat stumbles, as even with one Flash wearing the hood down there is still a confusion during some of the dialogue, but this seems to be the only instance where storytelling is unclear. The artist works in a house style that is familiar, even if a bit exaggerated, and while completely adequate, it never draws too much attention to itself, the way Mike Wieringo, or even Oscar Jimenez did under Waid's direction.

The reader may well be frustrated that the fight with Kadabre keeps spanning dimensions and the whole concept of the spell that made everyone forget Linda before she ever met Wally following her initial disappearance seems mainly designed as a storytelling challenge that Waid and Augustyn use to keep the spotlight on Dark Flash, while relegating Wally and Linda's actions in the main DC reality to a denouement that works to explain how they rematerialized following the escape from the parallel dimension. That Wally remains active even when off-panel works to set up a very fulfilling moment during the final showdown with the increasingly psychotic Replicant. Namely, for a while Gumbi and Kadabra are joined by Professor Zoom, which works almost as a callback to the very beginning of Waid's work on the title, before the truth behind Thawne's reappearance and his imprisonment of the Flash family gets explained in a very clever way.

In fact, seeing Replicant's breakdown besides Kadabra's turn into a major Flash foe seems somewhat redundant, and particularly displeasing given Gumbi's initial portrayal. Then again, when juggling such a large cast of characters and plots that really needed eight issues to be properly set up and executed, it goes without saying that some of the particularities were always going to be somewhat slighted. Yet, the most controversial part happens at the very end, when Dark Flash's proposes to Angela gets subverted by the JLA declaring the speedster a threat. In itself, this is a great, if poorly set up cliffhanger (Waid assumes that the reader was concurrently reading "JLA" where the character made an appearance) that could have served to remind the Flash family and the reader that the newcomer has a history filled with questionable acts that may not be redeemed through his acting as the Keystone city's champion.

Given the background revealed through the Kadabra subplot, such a twist would be sudden, but consistent with the story so far. Instead, Waid posits the problem around Hypertime, a "Kingdom" concept that was controversial at the time, and since abandoned. Basically, following the Crisis on Infinite Earths, DC has tries to do away with the parallel Earths that featured different characters (and different version of familiar characters) that the editorial felt confused new readers. Yet, the otherwise heavy focus on superhero fantasy, and even history of the genre continually lead fans to bemoan the lack of storytelling possibilities, and just plain disagree with the continuity implants used to explain the inconsistencies. When it came to fans who went on to became writers, all of their favorites were up for re-visitation if a sympathetic editor was to be found.

In Brian Augustyn, whose love for the character and the place "Flash" occupied in a market over-saturated with derivative books, Waid found a collaborator that understood his desire to utilize the full extent of the colorful genre. Thus, the use of Hypertime as a way to explain the need for Dark Flash to leave the mainstream DC universe seems very abrupt to a longtime reader, that has seen at least two major recalibrations of the continuity since. In any event, what's important is that the Superman's speech boils down to Dark Flash having to leave Angela and Keystone city as we know it, considering that his very presence is a threat to reality. Despite an instance of a character calling Jay Garrick Jack in the previous issue, Dark Flash hasn't affected any previous changes to reality, but it's understandable that on top of everything else that was going on during the conflict with Kadabra, Waid and Augustyn decided to leave that particular wrinkle to his final issue.

Much more importantly, the co-writers use provide a complete story in #159, using it as an opportunity to show the effects on the arc on the two couples, Dark Flash and Angela, as they try to come to grips with the separation, as well as Wally and Linda, who are trying to repeat the wedding that was sabotaged by Kadabra. The shotgun wedding proves to be a reaction to what they've both learned about the new Flash's background, and while Waid says goodbye to the characters with an appropriate send off, the other pair of wanna-be newlyweds fairs much worse. Dark Flash's frustration with losing Angela culminates in an ending that quickly changes from heartbreaking to weirdly metatextual. That Waid uses Hypertime to come to a very particular reality is one thing, but to have Dark Flash himself actually experience some kind of closure regarding Angela seems strangely inappropriate to anyone but the reader most charitable towards Waid.

Despite the epilogue, the reader would be unfair if they called "the Dark Flash saga" anything but a fitting end to Waid's run. If anything, the writer had by 2000 endeared the reader to the concept of Flash being a character with a very unique power, that he has went to great lengths to justify as scientifically possible, as well as providing a home for all of the characters connected to him. That the book was effectively taken over by Geoff Johns following several months of fill-ins (by Brian Augustyn among others), who countered with a particularly strong tenure of his own, speaks to the high quality that DC maintained with the brand for more then fifteen years. And while Johns has since advanced to became one of the company's publishers, the Flash entered a particularly infamous period. Following the reinvention of the title as a solo Bart Allen book, the property was returned to Mark Waid for a short run that met with lukewarm response from the fan base, before Johns again took to the book. For many readers, "the Dark Flash saga" remains a true ending to the writer's involvement with the character, the reasons for which are clear when taking into account the strong, competent work produced in concert with Brian Augustyn and Paul Pelletier.

XIII Mystery #2 - Irina

2011-12-12T05:49:00.001-08:00

Following up on the first XIII spin-off volume, Mongoose, Dargaud published "Irina" in the october of 2009. Done as the collaboration between veteran writer Eric ("Song of the Stryges") Corbeyran and artist Philippe ("Pin-up) Berthet, the second episode had a much harder task. Considering that the title character is showed up in the other half of the series, as Mongoose's lover and a trained killer who XIII disfigures, the creative team had a very unenviable task before them.

How does one expand an extremely unsympathetic supporting character's story into something gripping and interesting? As a starting point, Corbeyran takes Irina's relationship with Jessica Martin, another late addition, that ended up being co-star for several of the last XIII volumes. The character's bisexuality seemed somewhat forced when it appeared in the main title, and could arguably have been considered a shortcut to update the series into something edgier and more contemporary, but here it provides a key to understanding the character, along with the Eastern European milieu.

Similar to Mongoose, the follow up XIII Mystery volume takes place during the Cold war, this time from the point of view of KGB. And while tying up the series into concrete dates somewhat complicates the status of the continuation of the regular XIII title (considering that XIII should by now by all accounts be a middle aged man well past his prime), the historical context was always one of the main features of the title, and one can hardly fault Corbeyran for finding the inspiration in USSR wet works. The story is framed around a sequence that precedes Irina's role in the Vance and Van Hamme XIII volumes which is clear from the context. Likewise, the album tells a complete story that is entirely accessible to the new readers, especially considering that Irina herself was hardly developed during the parent series albums.

Similar to "Mongoose", the story covers her formative years, starting out in Belarus, when she was 16, and dating back to the horrible event that scarred her life. An incident in the orphanage involving the death of her best friend permanently impresses itself on the young girl's psyche, causing her to obsess over it to the point of literally subjecting everything in her life to the goal of finding the alleged perpetrator of the crime. Following the girl's escape, KGB agents get on her trail and act out on her ruthlessness by offering her to join the organization.

Corbreyan's script is continually narrated by Irina, which manages to puncture her emotional detachment and reveal the bitter humanity behind the gorgeous features. Berthet is given a task to alter between several designs, given Irina's role as the spy, as well as the changes she undergoes throughout the years. It's difficult to judge the consistency of design given the rapid jumps in the story, especially considering that even her final look differs from William Vance's version, considering that he portrayed a more unbalanced and physically scarred woman, which is difficult to connect with the more typically beautiful and understated Irina of XIII mystery, who only seems to come to life in the action scenes, where the focus shifts from her green eyes to the applying of KGB's brutal training.

On XIII Mystery, Berthet opts for a very paired down and classical style, featuring clear layouts and easily recognizable characters, with pages that are dynamic and easy to follow. Yet, the economy of his figure based style, coupled with Dominique David's use of sharp browns and grays, leaves a strange impression. Despite the traditional nine panel oversized format of a European comic album, Philippe's work almost invites to a smaller and denser presentation, with something like a manga digest perhaps being best suited for his work. His work filtered through David's cold colors even reminds of comics formatted for mobile devices. It is certainly in contrast with Vance's labored and detailed style, but despite the craftsmanship involved, seems very much in tune with Irina's quiet melancholy, leaving the reader with a sense of detachment.

Perhaps it's only fitting that the audience should warm up to the protagonist only so much, considering that despite Corbeyran's elaboration of Irina's motivation, she still chooses the role of a trained assassin to get close to the man whom he blames for her childhood's friend's death. The writer doesn't mince words, and he portrays USSR as a poverty stricken military dictatorship, that proceeds to make a monster out of Irina in order for her to survive and get back at her enemy. Her physicality defines each of her executions, as Corbeyran goes one step further then a typical "Nikita"-like narrative, and depicts her seductions as routinely involving sex, and not just the tease, as is typical with the media that employs such modern day femme fatale tropes.

Irina is equally adept at both seducing and killing men that KGB points her towards, but her heart is only in the steps that lead to the eventual capture of her prey. The brief moments of intimacy usually involve women, and even then largely involve manipulation on some level. Otherwise, she maintains complete control of herself, and basically sleepwalks through her assignments while she makes her play to officer that abused her friend.

The resultant story is as cold and efficient as Irina herself, but it still ends up with plenty of distractions. For all the work done in working on the protagonist's appearance, the resultant body type still seems uneven, as Berthet eventually endows her with a body type that simply seems too buxom, particularly given Vance's original design for the character. Likewise, the object of her search is depicted as on the model handsome officer, with little visible signs of aging, which is certainly not a deliberate creative choice, but a clear oversight on the part of the artist. Despite the presence of wrinkles, the elusive KGB officer looks somewhat close to his age only in the very last scene, where he finally confronts Irina on her own terms.

Most commendably, Corbeyran closes of the volume with a flashback depicting young Julia's death in a way that challenges Irina's motivation, and adds a sense of ambiguity to her single minded pursuit. Otherwise, the subplot involving Jessica feels somewhat slighted and mostly exploits the emotional foundation between the relationship of Irina and her orphan friend, that continues to define the protagonist, leading to a logical extrapolation regarding her sexuality. Otherwise, Corbeyran does little more then set up Jessica's role in the wider XIII story, with most of the pages given the two lovers being ultimately plot oriented.

Mongoose likewise appears late in the story, but he at least impacts directly on it, which cannot be said for Colonel Amos, whose role is little more than an extended cameo that could have been used to bring closure to the other most important relationship in Irina's life, that of her and her KGB husband. Colonel Wladimir Svetlanov is presented as a fairly complex figure, a company man who arranges marriage with Irina in order to further his own interests, which bring her closer to the officer that she blames for Julia's death. The complex dynamic between the two characters is somewhat cut short as Corbeyran arranges the Colonel to help her get to America, where she starts receiving orders from another father figure. That the familiar elements of Van Hamme and Vance's XIII eventually take over the story come as no surprise, as Mystery is primarily designed as a series of prequels by different creative teams, and the volume certainly contains a regular the resolution that climaxes the plot, enabling it to work as a story in its own right, its just that it feels like a misstep not to return to a very interesting dynamic that gave a little color to the otherwise familiar revenge story.

Another missed opportunity can be seen in abandoning the angle of Irina's attraction to her quarry, as some of her narration at one point hints that she finds him attractive. This is an angle that could have made the story of a woman as a spy more unique in itself, but Corbeyran ultimately decides to use it to realize the tension in their final confrontation, providing a definite mix of sex and death to the volume that features copious amounts of both.

It should be noted that "Irina" containts two very brutal torture scenes involving female body that serve to justify the protagonist's hatred toward the KGB officer that robbed her off her friend and her childhood, which might seem logical, but still strike the reader unprepared. As for the sexual content, it feels very subdued, despite being graphic. The creators opt to depict sex as the weakness on the part of the characters, but even then they shy away from using it as fan service. For what it's worth, Corbeyra and Berthet's take on XIII Mystery contains about as much exploitative poses as a typical genre representative (with the exception of a hotel room fight that deliberately goes overboard on cheesecake, and thus stands apart in what can hardly be called a light hearted story). For the most part, the creators maintain an even depiction of sex and violence as basically being tools of trade of a damaged woman, exploited by the intelligence agency. Irina goes through with it as long as it furthers her own agenda, but as soon as her relationship with her superiors changes, she chooses to go her own way, which naturally means taking her place as a XIII supporting character, which is how she first came to the attention of the audience.

Red Skull - Incarnate 1-5

2011-12-06T18:13:00.000-08:00

Along with Joe Johnston's summer blockbuster "Captain America - First Avenger", Marvel launched a slew of mini-series. Hidden among them was Greg Pak and Mirko Colak's "Red Skull - Incarnate", a project that was the spiritual successor to the writer's previous "Magneto - Testament" mini-series. Pak and Garmine di Giandomenico's 2008 effort garnered some acclaim as an unorthodox Marvel mini-series, exploring the plight of Jews in World War II through the lens of the X-Men's premiere antagonist.

In "Red Skull", Pak sets out to do the same, by writing a well researched period piece looking at the pre-World War II Germany, albeit centered on Captain America's chief villain. On one hand, the Red Skull's lack of superpowers naturally leads to a story without the supernatural elements that come with the mutant metaphor. Yet, where Schmidt differs from Magneto is in that he's a very over the top villain without the benefit of Chris Claremont's measured characterization.

On the face of it, there is a clear need for a somewhat more measured Red Skull story, given the heavy push that Marvel gave Captain America in the face of the movie. It's all the more commendable that the editorial saw fit to support Pak's version, as the writer sidesteps the typical problems by simply focusing on Johann before he became Red Skull, in turn creating a piece of historical fiction that is both accessible and informative.

Editor Warren Simmons, who recruited Carmine di Giandomenico to illustrate "Magneto - Testament" has long since left the company, paving the way for penciller/inker's subsequent engagement on "All-Winners Squad - Band of heroes" (the book that was unceremoniously cancelled after the fifth issue of the projected eight). Despite both "All-Winners Squad" and "Red Skull" being edited by Alejandro Arbona, the original series' assistant editor decided to support Mirko Colak as the penciller on Pak's follow up project, breaking with the painted, European-style look of the 2008 mini.

The change is more then noticeable, as the two minis otherwise act as parallels, and even crossover at one point. "Incarnate" follows the same five issue format, where each episode takes place at least a year apart, as the protagonist slowly comes of age in a time of great turmoil for the German republic. The chief problem inherent in following Red Skull's point of view at any point but from his childhood would have been accessibility. Magneto as a prosecuted boy is inherently a more sympathetic character, while watching young Schmidt come into his own as a psychopath could have been a hideous experience. That Pak manages a nuanced portrayal, one that makes the reader actually care for, and even try to understand Johann speaks for the quality of the characterization, as well as Colak's propensity for drawing children as believable characters.

Young Red Skull is realized as a child with a pageboy haircut, whose dark brown hair rounds out his head in a way that both differentiates him from his friends, and even hints at the man he will one day become. Likewise, Pak could have chosen to simply use the more sensible Dieter as the protagonist, which would both enable him with a real narrator, as well as a device through which the reader gets to know Skull by proxy, which was the technique used by Derf in "My friend Dahmer". Pak bravely sidesteps such narrative crutch and persist in simply using Dieter as a link to Johann's humanity, or simpler, with their bond being the closest thing to a family that two boys share.

Interestingly, where Magneto goes through the horrible ordeal with his whole family, as well as his Gipsy girlfriend, Johann has a much different experience. Chiefly, despite the poverty, he stays in Germany throughout, with the conflict being which side he will chose, or more realistically, how he ended up with the Nazis being his only option. Pak covers a swath of years that lead the country through several governments and great economical and sociopolitical changes, in most issues devoting a single page that narratives some of the key historical points, but the main ideas remain clear.

Even the reader who is largely uninformed of the pre-war history will be able to follow the clash between German left and right, and the rise of extremism. That Johann spends the drab twenties looking for a father figure seems like an obvious plot, but Pak executes it in such a way so as to refrain from the easy choices. The hard, even intentionally cruel man he looks up to still want to teach him a lesson, albeit in the child's eyes it continually boils down to the conflict between the weak and strong.

Considering how easily the subject matter lends itself to cliches, it's commendable that Pak finds realism in simply drawing out the conflict, and letting real world events set the pace. Matthew Wilson's shaded browns violently punctured by reds likewise seem like an afterthought, and certainly have little in common with Matt Hollingsworth's rich blues and purples, that added the painterly feeling to "Magneto". The distinction is notable as the subdued hues over Colak's pencils create a completely different visual. Mirko is a traditional comic book artist in a way that he solidly composes his panels, having his characters act through carefully studied anatomy instead of Giandomenico's exaggerated expressionism.

The effect is a much more subdued and carefully posed work, with clear layouts carrying over the storytelling without the direct effectiveness of Giandomenico's work. As for the crossover, it consists of a scene in the penultimate issue that is completely logical given the context of the story and doesn't in any way penalize the reader who is not familiar with "Testament". Moreover, having made his holocaust story, Pak puts the Jews front and center only in the book's second episode, as a family tries to care for Schmidt as an orphan child find on the streets of Berlin. Of course, throughout the story there is no question that the Jews are constant victims of Nazi's bullying, it's just that the writer opts to present a wider take on the mania that lead Germany to invade Poland and the horrible excesses that followed.

Johann is shown to be bullied child who endears himself to the family through a mix of desperation and trickery, with Pak depicting his actions as stemming out of the survivor's instinct. Despite the blood on his hands, the writer maintains that a ten year old Schmidt is not defined by a malevolent streak, which is at this point still mostly a defense mechanism. Yet, he is continually being shown society in which there is no place for kindness, symbolized by his Jewish caretaker, and more importantly, where there is no direct reward for his own acts of humanity and caring.

In contrast, violence offers an easy answer, and hardens an orphan at a time of depression, where the society slowly devolves into barbarism, paralleling and empowering the growth of a young boy's darkest impulses. The space available to creators helps the story foundation from becoming too simple, and the time frame further contributes to a believable psychological make up that at the same time looks up to authority and seeks to destroy it.

The Skull's chief two impulses thus end up his desire to act like an adult and protect the people he cares about, while still trying to find an authority capable of withstanding his hate and nihilism. His repeated desire to destroy his mentors, whether they be a teacher at the school for wayward children, the local mobster, and eventually the Nazi leaders (culminating in his plot to kill Hitler), speaks out not for the evil in him, but for a world view of a child driven to madness through the collapse of society and the traditional role models.

The realization somewhat falters in the crowded scenes, as the abundance of figures goes contrary to Colak's carefully posed work. It's not that the scenes don't carry out the necessary actions in clear terms, as well as the period clothing, but that the backgrounds still suffer from the need to complete pages in a set amount of time. Colak is simply too young to adopt to Marvel's pace in a way that even his hurried lines maintain the style without sacrificing the quality to improvisation.

Otherwise, a motif of red borders for panels bursting with violence sometimes lead to the unintended effect of scenes seeming like they take the place in the protagonist's head, with the change of coloring seeming very abrupt and unnecessary. Colak's work is distinctive and brutal enough that there is no real need to saturate it in such heavy reds, where the whole series could simply have worked with a more creative choice than Wilson's familiar overreliance on the red.

Perhaps most emblematic of the writer's approach is the way in which he portrays Schmidt's association with the Nazi party. Where a lesser writer would simply jump at the opportunity to marry Johann's obsession with knives and violence into making him a perfect member of the party from the time he could read, Greg Pak chooses to return his school friend into the story. Dieter's presence goes beyond the need to complicate the story for the sake of tying into requisite real world events, once again bringing out the man in Johann and seeing how much he has changed in the intervening years.

At first, Johann is shown murdering a Nazi who was blackmailing his gangster boss, with the young man still weighing his allegiance in the forthcoming battle between the Socialists and the Nazis. As Hitler seizes power, Dieter ends up imprisoned with communists at Dachau, with Johann proceeding to work for the meanest boss around, the Nazi party. As the plot moves to 1933, Colak ages the character believably, with Johann both taller and more confidant, hiding his pageboy haircut with a uniform cap.

Tellingly, the cap falls down in the moment where he squares off against the SS, continuing his love/hate relationship with the authorities. At this point, Schmidt is still the outcast and though his superiors recognize the ruthless streak in him, they still manage to beat it out. He reacts the only way he's thought, by plotting their deaths, and proceeding to carry the insult all the way to Hitler himself. Dieter decides to join in, but it's quickly apparent that Johann's politics are a mess of personal injury and sick ambition, as he sabotages his own plan at first sight of absolute power, as exemplified by the presence of the Nazi leader and the actions of his bodyguards.

As his petty plan breaks down, and instinct takes over, the balding young man is finally confronted by someone who recognizes the cruelty behind his reaction, and simply accepts it. It seems that only by standing on the side of Reich's architect and supreme leader Schmidt finally feels secure, and part of something that is strong and durable. It goes without saying that this is where the series ends, as Red Skull sacrifices his childhood and friendship for the privilege of meting out violence and being protected from life's harsh repercussions.

Everything that follows could be said to deal with Captain America, whose complete absence legitimizes the story. The reader knows that Johann Schmidt eventually becomes Red Skull, but if not for David Aja's striking, propaganda style covers, as well as some of the symbolism pointing towards Jack Kirby's design incorporated into Colak's layouts, the story reads like a little boy's plunge into the negativity that his nation unleashed upon the whole world, which has nothing to do with superheroes. Simply put, Marvel's predecessor published a propaganda American comic during World War II, but Greg Pak and Mirko Colak choose to revisit the pre war years from a historical perspective.

Thankfully, the assistant editor of "Magneto - Testament" saw fit to help its follow-up came into being as an unassuming movie tie-in mini-series, yet despite the creators' success it is very doubtful that another similar venture will be forthcoming any time soon. Alejandro Arabona, former assistant editor to Marvel's EIC Axel Alonso no longer works for the company, as its currently restructuring to further concentrate on their most successful superhero properties. The cancellation of the aforementioned "All-Winner Squad" mini-series after five published issues currently serves as the signifier of the trend that will likely lead to the lack of tolerance when it comes to projects that are primarily a labor of love for the talent involved. In a certain way, the reader has gotten to see both sides to Pak's vision of the conflict that has come to define the 20th century, and hopefully Marvel will keep both books in print long enough to help them connect to the audience that may have missed them at the time of the original serial publication.

Adieu Brindavoine

2011-12-04T16:40:00.000-08:00

Before establishing himself as a versatile author either by the pulp adventures of "Adela Blanc-Sec", or the more serious efforts dealing with the war and human condition, Jacques ("It was the War of the Trenches") Tardi tried out his hand with "Adieu Brindavoine", a complete narrative in the style of Herge. Published in 1974 by Casterman, the pre WW1 adventure story was later fitted with an epilogue and linked to the "Adele" series of books, with Brindavoine joining the cast after the fourth album. Clearly, by then Tardi was feeling assured by the success of his new series, which explains the presence of several of the antagonists of "Arctic Marauder" in the climax of Adele's fourth adventure.

The eventual reprint of "Adieu Brindavoine" must have brought Tardi a belated sense of satisfaction, but despite the addition of the somber epilogue, the book still reads differently then the "Adele" cycle. Sure enough, the very beginning, with the mysterious caller coming to a detailed early 20th century mansion, filled to the brim with period objects, feels exactly like his most famous work, but what follows the exposition is markedly different. The elderly Basile Zarkhov encountering Brindavoine's model in full theatrical gear feels delightfully strange and oft-kilter, while his proposition to young Lucien seems as unlikely as the "Flash Gordon" inspired caller's immediate demise. Yet, the abruptness of the introduction imbues enough energy and directness into the plot that the reader feels engaged to stick with Brindavoine as he tries his luck in the Middle East.

Even at this stage in his career, Tardi's boards were meticulously detailed, albeit with a looser inking line, and fewer panels on the page, leading to a more natural and faster paced read then his later comics. Getting to the streets of Istanbul, Tardi uses most of the two pages to slowly zoom in on his arriving protagonist. Starting out with the establishing shots, the writer/artist follows Lucien's walk through the city streets, managing to incorporate some of the landmarks of the Turkey's largest city while never crowding out the page or slowing the plot down to a crawl.

The designated color scheme of reds and browns feels perfectly suited to the subject matter, and Tardi's style feels completely wholesale and integrated, whether depicting down on their luck journeyman, the detailed architecture that surrounds them, or the complicated machinery that they use to travel. Despite 44 pages probably being more than enough to tell a pretty straight forward adventure story, the writer/artists opts for a leisurely pace, deliberately leaving the elements of the plot in a strange balance.

On one hand, this means that even Oswald Carpleasure, the co-protagonist ends up being a delightfully hammy caricature of a bored colonialist Englishman, where there was clearly more then enough space to develop the character into a slightly better realized figure. Interestingly, Tardi is content to leave the moral ambiguity to Brindavoine, who emerges as the only realistic character, to the detriment of the rest of the cast, particularly the bizarre criminals seated in the Iron city.

On the other hand, it's very easy to explain away these kind of details given Tardi's artistic background and training in fine arts. Simply put, he approaches each of the panels as a completely realized sketch for a more expansive illustration, all the while never losing the continuity of the page. The Herge influence is perhaps most apparent in scene transitions, as he employs the device of the characters proclaiming surprise right before the reader turns the page to identify the reason of their sudden nervousness.

Other than this most direct of the story techniques that "Adieu Brindavoine" shares with "Tintin", the rest are present at an instinctive level, as any kind of Franco-Belgian comics narrative that stars a young man going to a different country on the chase of adventure operates from Herge's elaboration of Golden age storytelling. Yet, Tardi's characters speak in a much more natural way and their Middle Eastern adventure is much less meandering then those of Tintin and Haddock.

To show such a mastery of the form at such an early age, and not to receive the audience's attention justifies the talented creator's efforts to get Casterman to move the volume back into print, otherwise it's doubtful that it would still be debated, forty years after it's initial publication.

With the remote desert setting of "Adieu Brindavoine", the writer/artist actually always has a choice of blanking out backgrounds to concentrate on the figures. Again, that he uses it solely during the skirmishes in the desert, and later on, in the fights taking place behind closed doors in Iron city, goes to show the thinking that went behind each of the choices made during the production of the album. The action sequences are perennial fast reads, and additional background details are typically justified only when they are specifically needed for the fight, otherwise they slow down pacing in much the same way as the advent of unnecessary and unnatural sounding dialogue during the proceedings.

For such a commercial offering, with a couple of very long action pieces along several shorter ones, the overall tone is very strange. Tardi details all the equipment, with particularly vibrant vehicles always clearly posed on the page, likewise the weapons being appropriately threatening despite their antique make, yet a note of pervasive cruelty, and the protagonist's ambiguous approach hinting some of the themes the writer/artist will elaborate elsewhere, starting with the epilogue.

Starting with the opening set in France, Lucien is depicted as someone who is a victim of violence, an adventure seeker that doesn't want to hurt anybody and is actually mostly searching for himself, albeit in dangerous terraine, as a part of what eventually reveals itself as another's horrible plan. Given his defensiveness, the cruelty of his enemies seems that much more stubborn and pervasive, and one can hardly think of a more mischievous gallery of characters then ones offered by Tardi here.

After the initial terror fostered by a black assassin, who gleefully and demonically metes out nightmarish punishment, Tardi chooses Olga Vogelgesang as the direct antagonist, leading Brindavoine and Oswald to Iron city. The choice of a crazed German seems deliberate given the proximity of Great War, revealing the intelligence behind the employment of pulp tropes, but this still doesn't prepare the reader for the helter skelter feel of the last act. Simply put, following Lucien's expertly rendered nightmare and the sequence leading to his awakening in the Iron City, Tardi introduces the master plotter behind Zarkhov's mission, and it turns out a very puzzling choice.

It takes an expert stylist to creatively justify the use of intelligent apes and horribly disfigured villains in an otherwise relatively realistic scenario, and it's hard to say that Tardi accomplishes what he sets out to do. In this aspect, "Adele Blanc-Sec" works much better, as the whole work is stylized in such a way that the cast of mad scientists and assorted esotheria lends itself to a variety of strange phenomena, whereas "Adieu Brindavoine" climaxes in a very rushed ending that introduces character after character, each over the top and plotting demise of the other. The cumulative effect is still very problematic, as it breaks from the previously established tone and goes for the high camp, only to emerge back to the somewhat more internal narrative at the very end.

Unfortunately, despite the powerful ending sequence introducing the misguided Brindavoine to World War I, it's hard to imagine the series succeeding as Tardi envisioned it. Utilizing Herge's approach of featuring expressive characters in the dynamic adventures filled with well realized backgrounds, Jacques Tardi simply hasn't brought enough of his own identity and ideas when it came to developing "Adieu Brindavoine". In itself, the album is above average, in fact fairly entertaining and endearing, but despite the considerable technical prowess behind it, it treats the reader to a familiar story.

Thankfully, the epilogue, "La Fleur au Fusil" ("The Flower in the Rifle") hints in a different direction, as it puts the writer/artist's thoughts on Great War center stage. Considering the strength of an offering like Tardi's "It was the War of the Trenches", it becomes clear that the album is all the better for its inclusion. Starting out with an acquaintance of Lucien recounting his last days and the tragic conditions he ended his life in, it's clear that the reader won't be treated to another adventure story, and that the ten following pages aim for a completely different effect.

In many ways, Brindavoine's service shows him the war as seen by Celine and Remarque, as well as Tardi's own grandfather. The reader reconnects with Lucien just several months after the events of "Adieu", but Tardi offers a completely different character. Brindavoine's short hair and previously gaunt stature seems downright sickly and poised for short and messy death, the fate that his companion shares in the opening of the flashback. As the grenade bursts towards Lucien carrying his wounded friend, Tardi illustrates it as a typical comic book special effect, represented chiefly by bright colors and bold type face. What separates the writer/artist's work is the expressionism that the senseless death carries, as Brindavoine emerges from the smoke painted in water colors before coming to grips with the situation.

This short sequence of only four panels makes all the difference even from the rich, if somewhat minimalist longer story that preceded it. Brindavoine suffers a nervous breakdown right after, which turns the story to another flashback, followed by a long dream sequence depicted with a powerful surrealistic streak. Tardi feels so confident in his abilities that he goes to show his protagonist remembering a brief idyll at the start of the war in Russia (exhibiting the last of his "Adieu Brindavoine" self), followed by scenes of his recruitment before the disillusionment fully set in. These somewhat typical flashbacks are quickly set aside, as the writer/artist links them to his protagonist's earliest happy memory of playing a soldier for his parents' sake, before confronting his last patriotic feelings in a scene that borders on operatic.

To see Brindavoine find solace in a church with other deserters, making friends with the German that the French company proceeds to murder from behind upon entering the premises, exhibits a much more complex worldview then that shown by having Olga Vogelgesang as the antagonist beforehand. Thus, like millions of young men sharing his fate in the Great War, Tardi has his protagonist come of age in a way that damages him for life. Lucien is too smart to accept the reasons given for war and the behavior proposed by military as a way of coping with it, but at the same time powerless to stop the conflict, which in many ways rounds him out as the man cynical enough to confront Adele Blanc-Sec on even ground.

With the addition of "The Flower in the Rifle" epilogue, Tardi felt he could use Brindavoine to help revive Adele from the cryogenic sleep she was put to at the conclusion of "Mummies on Parade". The writer/artist felt that the Great War was no place for a female lead, deciding to preserve her adventures for its aftermath, where she could be joined by his other adventurer, whose colorful youth was cut short by the conflict. Simply put, Tardi's strong feelings on the matter benefited bringing together both of his serials, and contributed to the form by producing some of the most passionate comics art on the subject.

"Adieu Brindavoine", a very interesting piece of genre fiction that ended up serving as a prequel to "Adele Blanc-Sec" was serialized in America in the pages of "Cheval Noir" anthology #24-28, with the English translation of "The Flower in the Rifle" epilogue appearing in the 29th issue of Dark Horse's anthology.

Moon Knight v6 #1-7 "The Kingpin of Los Angeles"

2011-11-26T08:59:00.000-08:00

In a time when Marvel books are routinely underperforming, with a wide swath of cancellations affecting the lower tier titles, it’s doubtful what kind of future a title like “Moon Knight” has. Similar to their persistence with Black Panther, whom Marvel have tried everything to keep publishing for the last ten years, Moon Knight sticks to the pattern of volume after volume of new number ones, new creative teams, rejiggerings and a general feeling that the company is really behind the title, and would like it to suceed, no matter the logistic problems involved.

Therefore, employing Brian Bendis and Alex Maleev, the creative team behind a highly acclaimed run on “Daredevil”, and getting them to try and make sense of Moon Knight was a sound decision. In this day and age, such high profile launches are practically unheard of, with Marvel hesitant to keep the high profile A-rate earning pencillers on the art chores of low selling series for very long. Yet, at least for the time being, “Moon Knight” will be kept in the same configuration past its introductory arc, continuing the stance that the character could be as valuable to the company as Daredevil.

In the past, Marvel have tried a variety of approaches, with all of them to some degree following the basic premise of having a psychotic Batman-like superhero with a complicated operation designed to take down the most extreme of everyday threats. The writers were adamant to respect the continuity that came before them, while offering an accessible title with a special flavor. Typically, and starting with Bill Sienkiewicz, the company employed strong artists, but somewhere in the execution, actual stories usually felt uneven, not able to really carve out their own niche, and generally meandered through strange plotlines usually involving mysticism and hyper violence.

Despite all this, modern Marvel seems unable give up on the concept for the time being, despite the character lacking the appeal of the Punisher, or at least the novelty value of Ghost Rider, both of whom have proven valuable to the company outside of the publishing line. With Black Panther, it’s somewhat easier to understand the Marvel’s stance, as the character is by and large the first black superhero, a Kirby original capable of supporting different types of stories, while still operating from a simple functional foundation. Moon Knight has none of these things, and is at best the publisher’s most dangerous vigilante, whose psychosis the company is trying to turn into a selling point without the traditional appeal of colorful villains or a set-up truly unique to him.

In fact, when it comes to his continuing adventures, the company has always been content to head on without a concrete plan. In recent years this meant sticking with the title for a few meandering arcs before yet another cancellation. The Charlie Huston reinvention, trying to update Moon Knight’s operation for a new audience still felt too claustrophobic to catch on, leading to more extensive tie-in with the company’s event crossovers. The character was subsequently relaunched under Rick Remender into an even more Batman-like status quo, which Marvel quickly shied away from, trying to commit to a more thorough revisioning, perhaps the last one before putting Moon Knight to rest until the audience actually starts to miss him.

What Bendis and Maleev propose is a reading of a character as yet another Marvel superhero, integrated in the Marvel universe as a perpetual outsider, inspired by his past as a member of the West Coast Avengers. Thus, his new series is easily grasped by the new reader, as it transports Moon Knight to Los Angeles and a different status quo, where he starts forming a new supporting cast, without any real references to previous continuity. In fact, the creative team routinely comments on the action movie set up of the series’ original incarnation, today a distant past that a very Matthew McConaughey looking Marc Spector is trying to franchise as a TV series.

Clearly, both Bendis and Maleev are fans of the Doug Moench and Bill Sienkiewicz issues, and the parody is only meant as a tongue in cheek tribute. Alex Maleev particularly seems to work in a style that is a more articulate Siekniewicz homage, lending itself more to the feeling of an ongoing Marvel monthly series, while still retaining the chaotic beauty of the original. At the same time, Bendis is substituting each of Moon Knight’s classical neo noir tropes with a detail that would be somewhat more accessible to the fans of the company’s regular superhero titles. Clearly, the writer feels that getting the focus back on New York and Central Park (featured in the fight between Spector and his brother at the beginning of the character’s first ongoing), would be a mistake. Instead, Bendis seeks to avoid turning the title into something too closely akin to “Daredevil”, twisting the premise almost until it breaks.

Now a resident of LA, Spector is cognizant that any kind of superhero work in Marvel universe still works in relation to it’s mainstay Avengers members, leading to perhaps the greatest change in the series, that of substituting his regular alter egos with that of Captain America, Spider-Man and Wolverine. Clearly, this is a huge and very controversial decision, as the original Moon Knight more or less managed to be stay completely away from the dynamics of a superhero universe, (withstanding a fill in issue starring Daredevil and Jester), except for a Werewolf by night two-parter that made sense given the character’s origins. Bendis and Maleev’s outdo even the Tony Isabella written Moon Knight, that featured a nebulous crossover with Spider-Man and Gold Bug, before receiving assistance from Dr Strange to get a better sense of the Egyptian mysticism that haunts him.

Bendis is very aggressive in forcing the subsequent interpretations nods to the broader Marvel universe continuity into the new foundation of the character, one that is completely defined by his status as a C-lister that has stuck around the Avengers. It is a very strange take, dismissing with Khonshu and traditional flirting with the occult, to focus on what at first seems a very random series of circumstances, where Spector even impersonates two well known Marvel characters to further his own investigation.

The basic idea is that Moon Knight leaves New York to fight crime in an environment where he will basically be a hero in his own right, which makes sense on one level but completely fails on another. In Moench and Sienkiewicz’s hands, it didn’t matter that Moon Knight was just another in a series of vigilantes covering the same ground, as for the purposes of his series, he was the city’s only defender. For the duration of their run, the reader was getting the creators’ best, with the wider Marvel universe back drop alluded to, but never at the sake of upsetting the series’ own rhythm.

As long as he is in the shadow of better and more successful superheroes, Bendis posits that Spector is unable to get over his self-defeating personality and the mercenary past. As the long standing writer of "the Avengers", Bendis' solution is to tie the series into his other two ongoing team books, and force Moon Knight to present himself in the better light, so as not be looked won by the more experienced heroes. The cumulative effect is not that of a spin-off, but something akin to "Alias" tying in with his and Maleev's "Daredevil" work. The company's head writer has steadily built up the inter title continuity of his work for the publisher, thereby his featuring Avengers foe Ultron so heavily in the opening issues of "Moon Knight" works to get the attention of the broader audience that he's been teasing the "Ultron war" story arc for at least a year and a half.

Despite his success, the writer is regularly criticized for creating better stories when working on a solo title (as evidenced by his run on “Ultimate Spider-Man” that has been continually published since 2000), with his work on team books regularly coming into question despite the strong sales it has been enjoying for years on end. Bendis and his editors seem to be hoping that once the initial hook of the Avengers tie-in plays out, the readers will stick around for Moon Knight’s more traditional solo adventures.

Yet, by introducing Spider-Man, Captain America and Wolverine as colorful aspects of Spector’s troubled mind, there to debate each of his more complex decisions, as well as positing a long standing Avengers villain as the character’s new arch enemy, it’s clear that at least a semblance of an Avengers spin-off will stay around in his and Maleev’s work, however long the duo may actually turn out to work on the title.

Further complicating things is the addition of Echo, the Joe Quesada and David Mack created vigilante, that Bendis has continued to use outside of “Daredevil”. Serving as almost a more sympathetic version of Elektra, Maya Lopez was even a member of New Avengers during Bendis’ original team, before she fell on the wayside during one of the many reshufflings of the roster (with the actual fight against Elektra marking her last notable appearance). Yet, for all of the good will in giving prominence to newly created Marvel characters such as the Hood and Marvel Boy, Echo wound up being particularly ill-served, introduced as Ronin in a widely ridiculed ploy. Due to fan speculation, Bendis replaced Daredevil with Maya, making the big reveal of the new character’s identity turn out to be deaf vigilante wearing the male body suit, instead of the original idea involving Matt Murdock.

The Ronin controversy aside, Bendis persists in bringing Spector and Maya together, with their disabilities and ex Avengers status to connect them. Again, it’s a very unorthodox choice, but introducing it in the series from the start forces the readers to consider it, especially taking into account the craft behind it.

Simply put, where Bendis actually draws inspiration from isn’t his “Avengers” work, or even “Daredevil” for that matter, but “Jinx” and the creator owned titles that brought him to industry’s forefront, which makes all the difference. Using unusual double page layouts, and vertical panels that commonly feature repeated panels may seem common place to his fans, but seeing these techniques employed on the outside, and in the process of trying to build an entertaining Moon Knight series, creates a very solid new superhero title.

Unlike Maleev’s instantly affecting work filled with gritty details and very characteristic heavy inking, Bendis’ story at first seems meandering and non traditional, but when read as a complete unit, it works as more than the sum of it’s parts. The leasurely pacing and long dialogues attribute hugely to developing new characters, such as Buck the former SHIELD agent (consciously integrating Moon Knight even further into the Marvel universe) that quickly starts having his own identity resists type casting. Thus, Spector’s new technical consultant on the Legends of the Khonshu TV show feels uneasy about his role of moonlighting as Moon Knight’s back up, taking a realistically long time in getting used to the vigilante’s operation.

Likewise, Echo actively rejects the role of a girlfriend and damsel in distress that Marlene previously played. After the faliure of Bendis and Maleev’s long teased "Spider Woman" series, Bendis must be completely aware that Maya would not be capable of supporting anything but the shortest of limited series in today’s market, and considering Marvel’s recent cancelled of their last books starring female leads, perhaps having Echo play such a strong and self determined role in “Moon Knight” might not be a worst case scenario.

In a way, the title’s traditional focus on supporting cast elevates the series to almost an ensemble piece, which it would be if Moon Knight and Spector were one and the same. Such as it is, the book is definitely a solo title, that despite the semblance of reality sticks to the familiar superhero cliches. Therefore, Buck fakes going along with the villain's plan to gain their confidence, the up and coming kingpin obliterates his goons when they fail him after interrupting Echo and Mark's date, with Maya even introduced posing as an erotic dancer, a hoary old cliche that keeps reappearing in genre fiction. Yet, the little touches of humanity, like Echo phoning Carol Danvers to ask her opinion about dating Spector recall the best moments of "Alias" and the Jessica Jones and Ant-Man relationship depicted there.

Throughout Matthew Wilson's relentlessly grim coloring helps carry over the neo noir atmosphere, but fails in restoring clarity to Maleev's inks that routinely lead to a lot of confusion when it comes to the fight scenes, which flow in complete chaos of overbearing lines whenever there are more than two combatants involved. The artist's rendition of Mister Hyde likewise seems bland and uninteresting. The design used in the duo's "Daredevil" run was likewise very primal and savage, but the addition of the cape and shorter cape makes it too generic and uninspired. Hyde's role in introducing Ultron's body to the story could have been played by any villain, which feels like a misstep considering the much more inspired redesigns of the rest of the antagonists.

Despite the odds stacked against Moon Knight and the visual stylings that seem almost tailored made for a horror book, Bendis maintains a tone that forgoes the brooding insanity of the character’s previous darkest moments to have Spector at least try and function by focusing on the positive emotions. Remender and Opena’s previous take on the character helped smoothen out the transition, considering that Moon Knight’s optimism was a major concern during the Heroic age relaunch.

The idea of the main character striving for positivity without a clean bill of mental health on one level recalls the major post Shadowland relaunch, that of Mark Waid’s “Daredevil”. And where that book seems to be getting all the praise and accolades denied the lukewarmly received Bendis and Maleev’s new title, it’s still no reason to ignore the perpetually slighted Crescent Crusader. Perhaps part of the problem is that Daredevil is simply a better executed concept than Moon Knight, with Frank Miller’s run serving as a much better blueprint for dark anti hero storytelling than Moench and Sienkiewicz work, or the readers have simply already seen Bendis and Maleev working in a very similar configuration. In 2011, Waid working with Paulo Riviera and Marcos Martin seems a breath of fresh air, precisely due to the abandonment of the grim and gritty aesthetic, no matter how well executed, for a more retro modern style.

Bendis seems certainly writing a somewhat lighter story than the one Maleev is illustrating, and the readers have seen time and again, most recently on "Spider Woman". What Bendis is doing is actually

giving the readers a close approximation of what an intelligent, innovatively directed Moon Knight TV series might have looked like, if the producers ended up greenlighting the 2006 proposal. Waid and Riviera seem content to present their work as a classical Marvel comic, integrating the techniques that would work in no other medium, and presenting a very unique experience down to the lettering. On the other hand, Maleev is working with models with the captionless and dialogue-heavy script diverting attention from some the traditional stiff posing inherent with the approach.

Taking into account “Torso” and other work he both scripted and illustrated, it’s clear to see why Bendis has such an affinity for artists such as Maleev and Micheal (“Alias”, “Manhunter”) Gaydos. They have the talent and the ability to produce the exact kind of work he was striving for when he was still a full time cartoonist.

Maintaining the kind of layout that carries over his dialogue in the most natural way actually enables Bendis to have such a strong creative voice and command over his comics. When employed in his prolific work set in the shared superhero universe, this technique is exactly what irritates the long standing Marvel fans. In "Moon Knight", Bendis avoids the common complaint of all of his characters speaking in a similar cadence, by maintaining a strong individualistic streak in Marc Spector.

The vigilante spends most of his time obsession with taking down the up and coming LA kingpin, and proving himself to the superhero community symbolized by the Avengers. Yet, unlike Daredevil, he is not above admitting his failings, that extravagantly manifest in the scenes of his consulting with the Spider-Man, Captain America and Wolverine parts of his personality. The character tries his best to ignore the psychosis, but the execution falls short of the supremely demented supernatural excess personified by Charlie Huston's Khonshu. Bendis' troubled protagonist tries his best to drown out the voices of the Avengers, while enlisting allies to help with the plan of using the head of a deactivated Ultron robot to locate and confront the LA’s new leader of the underworld.

When it comes to the underlings of this elusive figure, the writer employs a wide variety of 1980s Marvel villains, redesigned by Maleev to better play the part of believable henchmen. The book treats the obscure super villains as characters in the story first and foremost, with their previous pasts regarded to plot lines in the other writers books from more then two decades ago. Snapdragon, a beyond the obscure character plays the role of the kingpin’s lieutenant, working out of a brothel and exhibiting both fighting skills and the connections needed to help her recruit muscle to oppose Moon Knight and Echo. In place of standard bodyguards, Bendis places the Night Shift. The West Coast Avengers foes receive extravagant Maleev redesigns that liven up the proceedings.

Foregoing the usual cacophony of shouted names of the bit players fighting for space during the fight, the writer spotlights Tick Tock, a more intelligent member with interesting superpowers, that still ends up living up to his unceremonious name.When it comes to the actual villain that seeks Ultron’s head to further his plans, his identity is perhaps the one element of marketing Marvel specifically designed to play up as a secret. The immensely powerful figure is actually shown in more detail each time, before actually saying his name in the final part of the arc. By that time, a long time reader had every opportunity to recognize the flamboyant design, which makes for one time that a character reveal was executed in a way that actually makes sense. The character has seen a broad use in Silver Age and has since continually appeared in the wide variety of the more typical superhero stories, yet the fact that he’s new to Moon Knight once again maintains that the uninitiated reader won’t be penalized due to their lack of encyclopedic knowledge of Marvel continuity.

The conflict itself is drawn out, with large portions of the story given to subplots concerning Echo and Buck’s gradual acceptance of the much flawed Spector into their lives, but Bendis finds a way to tie all of the plot threads into the character’s plan to confront Snapdragon and forcing her benefactor out of hiding. The Ultron’s head is used strictly as a McGuffin in these pages, but will no doubt have some wider implications on the upcoming Ultron war “Avengers” storyline.

Having proven himself as a hero in his own right, and forcing his adversary to a temporary retreat, Moon Knight has made his debut in LA a successful one. Despite the presence of a traditional police detective whose disdain for the recent outbreak of superhero violence in LA will no doubt have further consequences, Spector is at present left with a much more direct problem with Echo having stumbled upon one of his secrets. The final scene is not really a cliffhanger per se, as it expands on Maya’s supporting role in the confrontation with the criminal organization, teasing the forthcoming drama in the duo’s unlikely romantic dynamic.

Hopefully, a dedicated audience and the editorial’s continued support for having such a distinctive team of creators working on the low selling book means that Bendis’ and Maleev’s story will be brought to it’s natural point of conclusion. It would be a shame if such an above average book didn’t manage to last a year in the Direct Market, fueling the decision that the company should stay away from their less commercial titles. At the moment, the possibility of equaling the success of DC’s line wide relaunch with Marvel titles starring lesser known heroes seems beyond even the most skilled of the company’s creators. The forthcoming months will no doubt force some of the readers to return to their traditional reading habits, but for now it seems that the massive promotion their competitors have granted their entire line of superhero titles seems impossible to replicate on a smaller case. It seems a missed opportunity when even such names like Brian Bendis and Alex Maleev fail to draw a bigger audience solely for the fact that they are working on a book that is well out of the fans’ usual consideration, but there is hope that their continued good work will garner further notice and distinguish the effort at least when it comes to critical reception.

Secret Avengers #19 "Aniana"

2011-11-25T01:06:00.001-08:00

Marvel has already revealed that they won't be extending their collaboration with Warren ("Authority", "Transmetropolitan") Ellis on Secret Avengers, having announced the new creative team for February's #22. Meanwhile, the celebrated writer's six issue stint still has two issues awaiting publication, with solicitations listing Alex Maleev as the illustrator.

This week debuted "Aniana", the writer's fourth consecutive issue, done using Michael ("Gotham Central", "Daredevil") Lark's layouts, finished by Stefano Gaudiano and Brian Thies, previously responsible for Secret Avengers #5, a done in one story by the series original writer Ed Brubaker. Lark is a strong stylist whose work has somewhat fell under the radar due to his commitment on Marvel's "Dark Tower" adaptations, making his return to the superhero mainstream a welcome one. The penciller'r neo noir stylings have benefited both Batman and Daredevil families of books, lending a sense of reality to the crime/superhero genre hybrids, in turn making him a very solid choice for the spy fiction inspired "Secret Avengers".

The troubled title has come a long way from being a colorful companion to Brubaker's "Captain America" work, with the company's decision to keep on extending their support based primarily on the fan's continued support to the tertiary "Avengers" series. After Nick Spencer's short run, and Warren Ellis' decision not to stick with the series following the six oneshots, it's up to Rick ("Fear Agent", "Uncanny X-Force") Remender to try and retool Secret Avengers in a hopefully more cohesive and appealing title, but before he attempts what may well be the last shake up before Marvel dismisses with the title, Ellis has a few more chances to exploit Brubaker's line up to the full effect.

For the use in their East European mission, the writer uses Steve Rogers, Black Widow, Sharon Carter and Moon Knight, once again dismissing with Valkyre and War Machine, the extravagant heavy ordnance superheroes that have proven such ill fits to the book. When the full line up including the Beast and Ant-Man was announced, it was expected that Brubaker would somehow bring the disparate characters together, but in reality he felt more interested in teasing new members such as Nova and Shang Chi, then actually integrating the main cast into a believable fighting unit.

And while a lack of subplots might have been abridged by more strongly defined personalities, what appeared on a page was a strange hybrid of Avengers and GI Joe, where the Captain America served as a commander of anti terrorist unit, tasked with fighting Shadow Council, a secret society flirting with the occult. Ultimately, the writer left the book after the initial two story arcs, leaving the follow up to newcomer Nick ("Morning Glories", "Jimmy Olsen") Spencer, who ended up sticking around only for the "Fear Itself" crossover tie in. Once Ellis debuted with the first of his six short stories, it was clear that any kind of series continuity was largely abandoned to make for at least serviceable storytelling, while the company makes sense of where next to take the franchise.

In "Aniana", Ellis returns to wringing out spy action out of Eastern European conflicts, but decides to substitute #17's Serbia for fictional Symkaria (located on Marvel's map so as to take up a portion of northern Serbia territory). And while still tangently related to the battle against Shadow Council, the story is a classic example of stand alone fiction. Designed to have a band of Marvel's grittier characters team up to take down a narcotics cartel in a former political hotspot, it purposefully ignores any references to current continuity, offering accessible spy action, done without the company's typical reliance on overwriting and garish superhero costumes.

Starting with a scene that has Black Widow and Sharon Carter trying to infiltrate the building by posing as a couple of dim witted party girls, Ellis calls to attention the series debut. And while under Mike Deodato jr.'s pencils, Black Widow and Valkyre's masquerade quickly turned into a full blown superhero melee, Ellis prefers the subtlety of moving the characters to the restroom where they plan their next move. Captain America, who had flamboyantly dropped in to save his team mates Brubaker's series opening, proceeds to secure the back entrance dressed in plain clothes, fitting the bleakness of the crime stricken old country capital.

Recalling the first issue of his run, and moreover the "Global Frequency" creator owned maxi-series that serves as the blueprint for Ellis' take on "Secret Avengers", most of the action is centered around a single locale, that the cast has to pass through, recalling a typical video game level. The resemblance is further reinforced by the uniform design of the antagonists, that starting with the enforcer Captain America fights in a couple of pages utilizing the nine panel grid, before opening up to the double pager revealing the larger then life element justifying the fantastical backdrop of Marvel universe.

Namely, each of the bodyguards recalls the stereotypical biker thug, coupled with sideburns, long hair and leather clothes, much like the Shadow Council ninjas in Ellis' first issue all designed the same way, almost recalling "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" foes Foot-Soldiers. The hostility of the cold, unforgiving Symkarian climate is illustrated by Jose Villarubia's, who chooses the different hues of yellow, gray, brown and green, so that the occasional splash of red has the desired effect of standing out from such a drab lifeless backdrop.

Fittingly, Ellis calls for a costume redesign that dismisses with most of the costumes, boiling them down to realistic gear that maintains by preserving the color scheme. Thereby, Captain America's costume ends up represented on a T-shirt with his symbol on it, while Moon Knight spends most of the story in a white suit. By time Marc Spector puts the mask on, the story beat seems right out of a crime film, not a typical super hero slugfest.

Posing as millionaire Steven Grant, Moon Knight gains admittance to the brothel level of the boss' den, completing Ellis' positioning each of the primary players. Starting out in different parts of the building, they coordinate their attack by steadily climbing higher through the legion of thugs, until they get to Shadow Council's contact, and Symkarian arms dealer. The video-game level set-up serves the story well, enforcing clear goals that Lark and Gaudiano proceed to illustrate with clarity and the requisite dynamic. Moreover, Lark's layouts and figurework is impeccable, enabling the fights to exibit the requisite body weight of combatants needed to get over their running through the corridors and bumping into each other. Lark's work is precise and typically a bit stiff, but the layering Gaudiano and Thies add helps solidify the figures in finely composed panels, leading to a very satisfying reading experience.

On the other hand, Ellis purposefully introduces the supernatural element to liven up the dynamic of the fight with the bikers, foregoing the banality of the staircase as the backdrop, and adding a touch of mystique to the proceedings. The build up benefits the showdown with the head criminal, making the power hungry thug somewhat more interesting due to his dabbling with mysticism, while also making him a credible threat to the four veteran superheroes.

In order to make the story more believable, Ellis frequently casts one off antagonists in such a role that they seem somewhat forgettable following the fight's conclusion, and Symkarian crime lord certainly fits into that category. The self perpetuating cycle of episodic storytelling frequently leads to tales designed merely to carry over the property until a more memorable commercial period, and "Aniana" certainly fits the bill. Of course, Ellis is completely aware of conditions involved with working in pulp entertainment, with good reviews following his "Secret Avengers" stories precisely due to his commitment in making each story a complete unit that maximizes the entertainment.

Working in superhero industry, Ellis has to stay within certain bounds, hence the addition of flachette guns replacing the live ammunition as a way of dispensing with the countless generic goons. This is what separates Moon Knight's James Bond approach from either the movies or the Ian Fleming original, as the Secret Avengers' tactics hew more closely to the non lethal strategy of GI Joe then that of an actual black ops squad. Ellis was contracted to simply breathe some life into an already unworkable premise, which is exactly what he set out to do with the help of a cadre of strong genre artists. Issue 19 is a fine example of creators working their professional best, in the process creating a piece of solid entertainment that has already proven popular with the jaded readers of "Secret Avengers".

Captain America and Bucky #622

2011-11-24T14:53:00.001-08:00

As it currently stands, Marvel is in a very strange place when it comes to publishing Captain America. With the advent of Joe Johnston's "Captain America: The First Avenger" movie, the main title has effectively been renumbered to appeal to potential new readers, and hew closer to the film's continuity, albeit still written by Ed ("Criminal", "Gotham Central") Brubaker, who has helmed the title since 2004. Meanwhile, the original numbering was carried over to make a new ongoing title, co-written by Brubaker, and titled "Captain America & Bucky". Seemingly little more then a spin-off book set in the past and somewhat similar in concept to "Captain America: Sentinel of Liberty", it was to be co-written by Mark ("Torso", "Manhunter") Andreyko and drawn by Chris ("Thor - The Mighty Avenger") Samnee, spotlighting the role Bucky has played in the Marvel universe - from the point of view of Brubaker's somewhat edgier and more grounded interpretation. There was a brief period of confusion pertaining to Bucky's status when it comes to the role he played in the "Fear itself" crossover, but now that Marvel have seen their summer event to its conclusion, it became clear that "Captain America" will be spinning off another new title, that of the long in development "Winter soldier", focused on Bucky's current adventures.

Taking all this into account, and seeing that with the end of the original five part arc of "Captain America and Bucky" Andreyko and Samnee are already replaced with new talent, it seems unlikely that Marvel will be keeping the book around for too long. Yet, for all of the original arc's focus in providing some continuity to the many retcons that make up Bucky's current continuity, it can be said that Andreyko's narration is the chief link that connects the five stories, all set at different points in Bucky's career as Captain America's sidekick. It can be hard to infer to what extent Brubaker has worked on the title (and will continue to work with the new co-writer), it can safely be said that his role must have been in extending the context of his earliest issues of the title, and probably co-plotting the books with Andreyko, who seems to be in charge with the actual dialogue and breaking the script down to panel descriptions.

In any event, ever since the original Joe Simon and Jack Kirby original issues of the title, Bucky's role has been retconned. First it was Stan Lee that dismissed with the character in order to provide the reintroduced Captain America with a somewhat more poignant origin, and paving the way for Brubaker's eventual return of James Barnes as a much more jaded and realistic character (in the context of the Marvel universe). This is not to say that Bucky was entirely missing from since the early days of Silver Age, as Lee's Marvel successor, editor and writer Roy Thomas featured the character in his "Invaders" ongoing series, which #622 of "Captain America and Bucky" draws back on, highlighting the role of a non-superpowered combatant in a World War 2 allied commando unit.

And while flashback scenes featuring teenage Bucky ruthlessly paving the way threw German forces featured quite heavily in Brubaker's early issues, they were still in service of setting up the wider story including Red Skull and his allies, that is nowhere to be seen in this stand alone issue. As a rule, today's Marvel is very conscious of providing new readers with accessible stories wherever possible, making "Captain America and Bucky" completely accessible to a reader that has a basic understanding of the Captain America concept, therefore eventually making an ideal trade paperback to go with the purchase of the DVD, if historically the launch of a new ongoing title to coincide with the film mostly works on carrying over the existing audience that has likewise been hyped with the attention the character has enjoyed this year.

In addition to a full page recap recapping the previous two issues, Andreyko goes on to spend three of the story's twenty pages summing up the Invaders by using a familiar new reel presentation further elaborated by Bucky's narration. This kind of heavy exposition somewhat slows down the story, as it's naive to believe that many of the readers will find it useful, yet it fulfills the aforementioned role of introducing the central players in the story that could hardly be considered one without it. Samnee struggles a bit to integrate the different designs into functional layouts, as each of the characters feels pasted in from a different image, with the prologue's gray tones actually sapping some of the energy and flow of the drawings.

Thankfully, once Bettie Breitweiser comes to support Samnee's inks with a carefully chosen palette, most of the clarity problems disappear. Yet, Brubaker and Andreyko's decision to cut the provide a lengthy flashback just two pages into the actual story contributes to the jumpy feeling of the narrative, as the reader comes to doubt that Bucky's telling a story within a story won't entirely add up to a fulfilling reading experience. Thankfully, any doubt is quickly assailed as the flashback to three weeks earlier proves integral to the theme of the story despite consisting mainly of a well coreographed fight scene. By the time the conflict between Bucky and Namor is established, the reader has already seen these heroes launching twice into battle, yet the real suspense is saved for the story's third act.

What animates these typical genre scenes then is Samnee's art, depicting actual human beings with believable and even understated emotion. Invaders are by the definition garish characters, as they were grouped together years after their debut, having been designed by different artists to star in a variety of different Golden Age comic books, thus their grouping always seems random and visually contradictory. That Samnee manages to depict them as something resembling the team, aided by Breitweiser's blues, reds and greens, and actually have them seem just fantastic enough to provoke Bucky's response, and yet still somewhat fit in with the actual soldiers in Poland, speaks of his talent and the level of profession applied to what is little more then an origin mini-series.

And if the new reader picks up on Brubaker and Andreyko's "Captain America and Bucky" arc before getting to read the Simon/Kirby originals, or any of the related material, it can hardly be said that they are getting a workmanlike effort, slap dashed to fulfill a small niche in the bloated market. Seeing Namor's sneer and Captain America acting almost completely with his steel chin, makes clear the intelligence and subtlety behind the project. More importantly, Bucky comes over as a completely realized character, one moment seeming like a hurt child, and the other jumping into fray with the overjoyed boy's face, while all the while maintaining the unease and genuine surprise that comes with his lack of experience, and the plain unreality of coming of age in a grisly conflict, further complicated by the addition of superpowered soldiers.

Again, it's the attention paid to the details, such as Toro flying Bucky into action (with the Human Torch's sidekick's arms being the only part of his body that is not on fire), or the great care taken to ensure that Captain America's shield is highlighted just enough making the reader both surprised and delighted when it acts a turning point in the climatic battle. Bucky's bravery and respect for his mentor turn out as adequate substitution for his lack of super powers, but getting to such a common sense morale ending could easily have inspired a lesser story.

Where Andreyko and Samnee actually make the set piece worth reading is in their craft and commitment to the assignment. After all of the exposition and set up, actually reading the final eleven pages of the story feels flawless in execution and pacing. Gone are the expositions and character development expressed in nuanced dialogue, at the face replaced by a typical "Hellboy"-like Nazi castle with a customary mad scientist. Seeing the movie-inspired dr. Arnim Zola redesign could tip off readers that they are potentially reading a restrained, designed for children episode that merely clashes the notable characters into a familiar cliche, but Andreyko and Samnee are poised to prove more ambitious than that.

For a start, Zola's plan perfectly dovetails into Bucky's insecurities based around his place on the team, while at the same time providing him for a clear goal by which to prove himself. And while the Ubermensch he sets off against seems once again purposefully generic, designed to instantly recall Steve Rogers and proceed to establish himself as a physical threat for Bucky, the clever use of his powers, countered by Bucky's smart thinking leads to a very satisfying action sequence, that makes the only possible ending feel both earned and poignant.

Fitting for a story focused on James, even Captain America's contribution to Zola's defeat doesn't steal the scene, and merely continues their relationship in a believable way. Rogers is a stronger and more experienced fighter, and in this way he helps Bucky's plan, but doesn't work to undermine the closure Bucky's dialogue with Namor brings to the story.

Simply put, in Andreyko and Samnee's hands (and no doubt under close supervision and collaboration with Ed Brubaker) "Captain America and Bucky" was a very adequate read that justified the reader's trust in the quality behind Marvel's longstanding direction of Captain America. #622 serves as a prime example of this, as it recalls the impact of Mike Mignola's "BPRD" and assorted art centered Hellboy spin-off titles, that provide very fulfilling genre reads cognizant of the importance that pacing and careful attention paid to details can lend to a short story that substitutes shocking reversals of the status quo for commendable style, endearing the reader with classical comics entertainment.

Bucky's adventure with the Invaders leads to him coming to terms with the worst horrors of war in the very next issue, yet #622 shouldn't be looked down for it's lack of focus on Holocaust and the unspeakable cruelties committed by the Axis. In a weird way, "Captain America" had a genuine impression on the mind of American boys during the war, making for recalibration of real world events into this issue's pulpy fantastic completely justified, especially when produced with as much professionalism as displayed by Brubaker, Andreyko and Samnee.

Black Orchid #1 "One thing is certain"

2011-11-23T04:09:00.001-08:00

Following Alan Moore's initial success as a revisionist superhero writer, DC comics recruited several other distinguished British creators, among them Neil ("Sandman", "American Gods") Gaiman and Dave ("Cages", "Mirrormask") McKean. The latter have previously collaborated on the experimental "Violent cases", and they collaborated with the editorial on finding the existing DC property to revitalize. Gaiman picked Black Orchid, a character anecdotally unknown even to his editors, who eventually agreed on the proposal and accepted the project as a three issue prestige format mini-series. Essentially designed as three double sized issues reproduced with higher production values, the original "Black Orchid" mini-series has remained notable through it's connection to Swamp Thing, as well as being the project that brought Gaiman and McKean to attention to the American audience.

And while it goes without saying that both creators have since enjoyed high acclaim in the media beyond the superhero comics, Black Orchid has remained associated with what had become Vertigo's shared supernatural continuity, her appeal still coming largely from the fans' good will directed towards the 1988 series. Once again, it's hard to discuss the project without stressing the role Alan Moore's work has had on the medium at the time, with "Swamp Thing" particularly introducing the readers to smart, well layered writer-oriented comics.

Taking a subtler approach to a long dormant DC property, Gaiman followed his protege in taking (even demanding) what might have otherwise be regarded as a thankless assignment, and turning it into a chance to do passionate, experimental, creator oriented work. The chief difference in regard to Swamp Thing was that the Moore written vehicle was still being reasonably popular, as it served as a basis for two live action motion pictures, being conceived as a monster title with a clear hook. Black Orchid, as an elusive anti hero using her mastery of disguise to sabotage criminals was seemingly designed as a perpetual back-up story fodder, with the gimmick of the reader never really being sure of her in story identity obviously being very limiting both in commercial appeal and potential serialization.

Gaiman and McKean start their story at precisely the ending of a typical Black Orchid feature. The reader is invited to participate in the gorgeously rendered high end crime syndicate meeting in a skyscraper boardroom, with the Orchid narrating on her role in infiltrating the organization. Yet, the strong stylings of both creators, and the unusually long introduction quickly lead the readers to believe that they're in to anything besides typical spy adventure. Basically, even before the painted, mostly six paneled black, red and purple pages break up into a splash revealing the Orchid's fate (with the four vertical panels indicating motion in a shot that tellingly has no traces of purple), it's clear that Gaiman and McKean's relaunch will be a wholesale one.

Once the dialogue heavy sequence breaks down into violence, quickly abstracted by McKean's considerable talent, the narration stops and when the familiar six paneled layout reappears, Gaiman's new Black Orchid starts introducing herself to the readers, and the wider DC universe. And when scripting a scene where a lead character literally gets born through the flower's bosom, it's clear that she is anything than a typical superhero. Yet, on the other hand, having a female plant elemental in a poetic new series centered on ecological issues and insensitivity of then current times ostensibly realized as a horror title, seems completely sensible after the success of Moore's "Swamp thing".

In fact, for all of the differences in subject matter, DC's postmodern Thumbelina follows the same logic that the company operated on when they introduced Supergirl to their Superman line of titles. In taking another obscure DC backlister and turning her into a female Swamp Thing, Gaiman and McKean were basically following trends of the day, and contributing to the group of titles that will eventually form the core of DC owned Vertigo imprint. Of course, at a time, "Black Orchid" was just another prestige format mini-series, giving its authors a chance of trying to marry the more experimental tendencies in alternative comics with reviving interest in the periphery characters that have fallen off by the wayside.

Traditionally, DC and Marvel have resisted with putting such strong artistic visions behind their most successful characters. It goes without saying that the detailed, painterly approach McKean frequently employs in his comics would never be a possibility on a monthly "Superman" title, which was evident in the controversy that his next project, the "Arkham Asylum" graphic novel drew from the Batman fans.

"Black Orchid", as realized by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean was simply always designed to familiarize a new audience with their work, being a sort of bridge toward bigger and different things, even if they included a decade long commitment Gaiman had with "Sandman" at DC. Eventually, it is the attentive readers that are apt to rediscover the project, as it's hard to imagine a today's reader becoming the fan of the original iteration of the character without recognizing the Gaiman and McKean effort, and somehow acting in spite of it.

In any event, by posing Black Orchid as a larger than life character that is nevertheless the only supernatural element in the book's first issue, Gaiman resorts to a cast of somewhat more traditional genre types in order to ground the book. Using this approach, the writer enables the Orchid to maintain her appeal as a fantastical character, while still allowing for a story that reflects the reality (albeit seen through the filter of a postmodern horror series). For a start, the reader is introduced to Carl Thorne, a small time criminal with bigger designs, whose release from jail coincides with the incident involving the demise of the original Orchid. Thorne is a particularly lucid character, whose power trips are reminiscent of Moore's Matt Cable (himself an eventual "Sandman" regular), and rendered by McKean in a way that seems to rely a bit too much on photo reference.

In contrast, doctor Philip Sylvan is introduced as a much more sympathetic character, acting as a mentor to the new Orchid, with most of the first issue being taken up by her (and in turn, the reader) being informed about her predecessor. As excepted from the creators of the intimate "Violent cases", Gaiman and McKean provide an inspired and affectionate look into the past of both doctor Philip and Susan Linden (this is the name Gaiman comes up with, along with most of her origin). Interestingly, in deconstructing the character's original incarnation, the writer breaks with the spy based identity game that has provided for drama in her previous appearances, and gives her a real back story, which provides the impetus for the series' plot.

Once again, Gaiman follows Moore's ideas in separating the plant elemental from the original character's past providing for the complete revamp, to the extent where the writers are working on a new character of their own creation. The difference being that the Black Orchid revamp is so wholesale that the link to the original is largely relegated to a distant inspiration, with even the conflict in her past invented by Gaiman and disconnected from the DC's original stories. In a way, it could be said that Swamp Thing is a much more direct and logical percussor to Black Orchid, if the connection was limited to her being a plant elemental, but the shared storytelling techniques, and overall presentation bring into mind a much deeper bond.

In a way, Black Orchid, as solicited by the then unproven creators, follows the latter's lead in such a way that it becomes a spin-off with much less integrity than "Hellblazer" and "Sandman", perhaps explaining it's current status as being a collector's item of note to fans of Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. To their credit, the creators try their best to make the assignment their own, so that the atmosphere does not immediately recall that of Moore's swamp based series.

McKean's sepia toned pages regularly break up the claustrophobic urban melancholy with flashes of green and purple tones, avoiding the black and white look aesthetic but not really managing to integrate Gaiman's consistent narration. The characters have enough authenticity and poignancy in their monologues (because there is little actual communication in the book itself) that they escape the traditional two dimensional portrayal of a typical gangster and superhero scientist, but McKean's layouts never really manage to integrate with the prose to make the story flaw at an unobstructed pace.

Simply put, both creators seem to be too busy trying to impress the reader with their talents to really think about how well their story flows. It seems taken as granted that any of the perceived shortcomings could be explained as side effects of the experimentation. The latter part of 1980s were a period where American superhero comics were at a particularly interesting intersection, and a lot of unorthodox creators would up working on the fringes of DC and Marvel's superhero output, before finding new opportunities for their work. Thus, McKean's stripped down design of Black Orchid feels completely in tune with some of the more creative Bill ("Big numbers", "Elektra Assasin") Sienkiewicz designs, who has likewise had a very non traditional career following his Marvel debut.

Dave McKean basically presents Orchid with a teenage girl's body type, dispensing with the superhero costume altogether to focus on the female form, abstracted chiefly when it comes to her hair, and the elusive make up around her eyes. The design is not directly sexual, but instinctive and memorable, dominated by pink hues that carry over the subtlety as well as the implied sensuality that is not really touched upon in the first issue. In fact, Gaiman writes Orchid in such a way that she is mostly tabula rasa in the debut issue, as he introduces her to her predecessor's past, while implying a very different origin for her.

Gone are the genre classic hysterics typical of the new character trying desperately to come to grips with the nuts and bolts of his situation, replace by a much more intuitive and feminine approach, that is rare for a typical superhero comic. In fact, it's hard to imagine an editor actively advising against the objectification of a female form, particularly in the years since "Black Orchid" has been published.

Yet, for a comic book priding itself on it's subtlety, DC was thankfully wise enough to proceed with the subtler approach in what was essentially the protagonist spending the whole of the series completely naked. That the approach was successful and a considerable amount of fans ended up considering what has become known as Vertigo comics the epitome of the smart genre writing speaks to the strength of the creator's passion and the quality of their work.

That it would be a full ten years before DC had started to embrace the creative vision not chiefly inspired by Moore and Gaiman is an unfortunate side effect, and it's certain that a 1998 reinvention of the "Black Orchid" would have been closer to the tone of Peter Milligan's paranoia thriller "Human target" than the venerable "Swamp Thing". Be that as it may, in 1988 Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean saw it fit to realize their creative potential in a foreign market by following Moore's example and despite the common elements such as using Superman's foe Lex Luthor as an antagonist and the propensity of building up the narrative rhythm by quoting poems in the captions, Gaiman and McKean have quickly proven themselves to be outstanding creators with unique voices, whose talents have gone on to be highly recognized and rewarded in such crowded markets as Young Adult literature and fantasy movies, to name but a few that come to mind first.

"Buddy Longway" - How an homage was done

2011-11-20T11:20:00.000-08:00

"Buddy Longway" was a long standing revisionist western series, published by Belgian's Le Lombard. Written and drawn by Swiss-born Derib, it provided the francophone creator with a platform to tell kinder, and more realistic frontier stories, done by purposefully ignoring the classic adventure tropes, and trying for a style that had more in common with the writings of Jack London then a typical pulp western yarn. Still, it's hard to find an European western series that was not cognizant of Charlier and Giraud's classic "Lieutenant Blueberry", if not wholly referential.

Thus, even a comic that was so calm, assured and in tune with the nature as "Buddy Longway", came to exist almost in relation to the best seller, with the art alone making it impossible not to draw comparisons. And while it could be argued that beyond the stylistic similarity the two series had little in common, Derib's brushwork seems so alike to that of pre-Moebius Giraud, that it could only have been a conscious choice on the part of the Swiss born creator to present his work using the same template.

Interestingly, the series' eight volume, "Firewater" seems to dispel any notion of Derib simply utilizing a similar style to connect to the same audience, firmly declaring himself on the page as a Giraud fan. Interestingly, this was done in such a blunt way so as to actually insert the veteran comics creator into the album as a supporting character! Thankfully, Moebius receives just a cameo role, but he is such a famous figure that calling him by name and using a very close likeness of the artist actively takes the reader out of the story to ponder the back story behind the two page gag, and the kind of relationship the two creators enjoyed at the time.

The whole scene featuring Jean Giraud, a tradesman living in an army outpost actually serves the story, and resolves a subplot involving Buddy's wife convincing the trapper to purchase some of the farm animals, so that in itself, the use of Blueberry's co-creator doesn't seem gracious beyond the obvious idea of employing such a famous likeness to illustrate a bit player. Yet, even before the cow trader is mentioned by his last name, his appearance seems particularly distinctive, even for such a realistically drawn book that features a wide variety of physical models.

Derib's style is usually a bit looser, that when it comes to Giraud's cameo appearance, just seeing a character wearing eyeglasses in such a rugged setting triggers all but the newest of Franco-Belgian albums to the in-joke. Furthermore, even the use of a French name breaks from the pattern of deliberately using English names for the cast, in order to provide a distinct American western experience.

By the time the reader turns the page and discovers Jean's last name (an almost unprecendented feat for the characters fulfilling that kind of a role in the story), there is no room for doubt. In his earnestness, the writer/artist somehow diminishes the poignancy of the story, but thankfully, he has chosen a reasonably lighthearted scene to subvert.

Classical Franco-Belgian albums have long been continually praised for their accessibility, as they typically stick to a successive formula that leaves room for improvisation and individuality. Even as such, books such as "Asterix the Gaul" typically play around with in jokes involving both historical figures, as well as the references to then current real life events, but "Buddy Longway" has the distinction of not being a comedy book.

Seeing caricature after caricature of Goscinny in his and Uderzo's classical series plainly works when coupled with the book's tongue in cheek humour. Yet, even Derib's closest genre comparison, "Lucky Luke" (another Goscinny co-creation) steered clear of such visibly direct homages to French comics scene. Compared to "Blueberry", the Morris pencilled cartoony western, with a complete comedic shorthand of western lifestyle is a complete antithesis to the realism of "Buddy Longway", which makes Derib's addition of Giraud even more indulgent then it seems at first glance.

What is the most problematic with Swiss born author's decision is simply that it has no place in what is otherwise a very mature presentation. There are plenty of other comics, both primarily for younger readers and those that are not, that continue the medium's long tradition of using gimmicks and in jokes to create a playful sense of community which enables the readers to connect with the creator's vision and political commentary. "Buddy Longway", with it's archetypal stories of understatement, the struggle and coexistence between the man and the nature, the basic naivety and kindheartedness of it's protagonist, all seem resistant to such practice.

Derib must have felt so obliged to his creative predecessor that he deemed it fitting to formalize the connection on page, but the story involving the odd behaviour of young Native Americans causing distress in nature and the population of the region seems a wrong place to place his homage in. No doubt Charlier and Giraud's stories, many of them starring very sympathetic version of Indians, must have served as a direct inspiration for this, and no doubt several of the earlier entries in Derib's series, but perhaps an another two page sequence disconnected from the standard narrative would have illustrated the point much more directly, without trying to wink at what must have been an overlapping audience between the two titles.

Isle of 100 000 graves

2011-11-18T02:40:00.001-08:00

This year, Norwegian cartoonist Jason's annual effort has been a collaboration with script writer Fabien ("Seven psychopaths") Vehlmann, marking the first of the creator's original work that has not been completely authored. The master stylist has been behind some of the more amusing albums in recent years, such as "I killed Hitler" and "the Last Musketeer", providing an easy entry point into the world of avant-garde comics publishing. "Fantagraphics" provides the American edition, translated by Kim Thompson, and lettered in a signature style the publisher uses when it comes to the France-based creator's works. Breaking for a more mainstream presentation, Jason eschews using a genre mash up technique, preffering to simply apply his deadpan minimalist style to a pirate story.

Just utilizing his signature antropomorphic characters seems enough for the artist this time around, with even the usual gags inspired by silent movies and early animation gone, perhaps due to the presence of Vehlmann. In a way, the addition of a separate writer leads to a natural reliance on dialogue as the source of the book's humor, but it's clear throughout that "Isle of 100,000 graves" is primarily a Jason vehicle. Fabien seems simply content to spice up the atmosphere and provide a bit of a break from Jason's traditional work routine, providing the artist was happy with the collaboration.

In any case, what registers on the page is some very strong and confident storytelling, in service of a purposefully generic, and in turn widely accessible story (albeit one that still offers its fair share of distinctive eccentricities). In a way, such honest and wholesome production leads to pages that work both as pieces of narrative contained to their own frame, as well as chapters in a longer work, that is paced somewhat slower and more traditional than Jason's previous albums. The simple emotional truths concerning lonely people finding love in unusual circumstances, again lead to surprisingly heartfelt melodrama. It is unfortunate than that the somewhat uneven tone proves the "Isle of 100,000 graves"'s biggest problem.

Despite the plot clearly following an updated pirate story, the creators see fit to introduce a secret society of expert torturers, who come to dominate the proceedings to such an extent that the pirate connection disappears until the very end. In a way, seeing the cute little torturers with their red caps learning about killing and maiming almost turns the whole work into a typical webcomic, aimed at playing an unorthodox occupation as completely mundane. Somehow the extended focus on these faceless characters never amounts to anything approaching the wit and charm it's supposed to project, and comes of as long-winded and largely tangential to the point of the story.

Considering that the Hangman society has actually devised the legend of the Isle of 100,000 graves with the specific idea of luring the pirates to delight in their pain, perhaps the main plot was simply too brutal to begin with. Yet, with the protagonists being little Gwenny the wanna be pirate and Tobias the torturer in training, it stands to reason why there is little actual violence in it. Vehlmann and Jason do eventually end up showing the brutality behind the faceless bureaucracy, essentially dooming the pirates whose torture has previously mostly been referred to as off panel in-joke. Yet, for all of the trouble with balancing the torturers into comedic foils, little Tobias emerges as a very believable and likable character, justifying his role of the co-protagonist. The underachieving student at Hangman Academy has trouble with his emotions getting in the way of his duties, making the connection he strikes with "the ugly little girl" that much more believable.

Gwenny is likewise depicted as very smart, with a clear agenda of searching for her missing father using all possible means, which Vehlmann and Jason turn into a real emotional center of the story. Likewise, the book falters into stylistically uneven in an early scene involving her psychotic mother, that seems far too cruel and harsh for what follows, so that when it's eventually referenced in the epilogue it seems to have come from a different comic altogether.

Considering the many charms of the comic, and the continuously strong craft employed every step of the way, perhaps it's protracted length seems to have ended up going against it. The establishing of the premise, the arrival on the island itself, as well as the subplot concerning Gwenny and Tobias, along with the aforementioned final scene, all seem very strong and sweet, maintaining the typical Jason presentation. It is only in some of the excesses trying to exploit the most of the premise that the album works against the reader's goodwill.

Perhaps the greater focus on pirates would be placing an expectation for a more traditional story that in itself would be to asking to have Jason undercut his offbeat style. Yet, such as they are, the story's key roles of master Hangman and the ship's Cap'n still seem underdeveloped, with their quirks noted but not really elaborated upon.

Most fascinatingly, the creators seem to have instinctively spotted and commented on this shorthanding of characterization. Where a lesser narrative would have artificially added depth to these authority figures by revealing the connection to the girl's father, Jason and Vehlmann actually use it as the premise of perhaps the best joke in the book, working to considerably reassure the readers into being patient with the work. Interestingly, the very elaborations that outside scripting gives to a typical Jason story also serves to smoothen some of the quirks that have left a portion of his audience unsatisfied with some of his previous efforts, categorizing them as slight and jarring stories ending in a very abrupt way.

That kind of disconnect is avoided here, as Fabien Vehlmann makes the story very accessible to the reader who is not already in tune with Jason's sensibilities.This kind of commercialism often leads older readers to feel left out in view of a less risky and more typical presentation. And while it's hard to criticize artists for wanting to reach a wider audience by refining their style to appeal in a more traditional and obvious way, "Isle of 100,000 graves" thankfully sidesteps the more egregorius examples due to his newest album still being a pleasant surprise, as well as a primer for the new readers who will earn a lot by discovering some of his previous work.

Perhaps his latest effort can best be summed up by focusing on the development of Gwenny's unnamed pirate friend. The one eyed man playing a typical sidekick role is introduced as a lout who her due to a charming bit of trickery on "the ugly little girl"'s part, but quickly outlives his usefulness as anything other giving her someone to talk to. Yet, even after Gwenny meets Tobias, the older pirate remains a dim witted grown up, clinging to the gag that introduced him as the sole remaining point of characterization. Even his ineptitude doesn't serve as a set up for more then a few throw away gags. Once the protagonists finally get off the island, their pirate companion is disposed of in a strangely final way that contributes to the uneven tone of the album. Having finished their work, the creators opt to leave behind an unnamed character whose potential was wasted on account on giving faceless torturers a few more chances to fascinate the reader with a concept that never sets off, no matter the color of headgear.

Worse still, the pirate's very presence leads to a sense of confusion, as Jason uses a very similar looking design of a dog-like character appearing in a crucial new role, risking to confuse the reader in the otherwise flawless epilogue. As noted, the very ending redeems many of the story's problems, leaving behind a largely satisfying experience, surprisingly showing a mature outcome of Gwenny's search. That Vehlmann and Jason manage to bridge the huge climatical action set piece with a finale that wraps up the book's emotional arc with sweetness and dignity, shows them both as mature storytellers, whose upcoming work is certainly worthy of the reader's attention.

"Mystic" volume 2 #1-4

2011-11-17T00:30:00.001-08:00

Perhaps the creatively most interesting part of the Marvel’sacquisition by Disney so far, was the company’s decision to relaunch the“Crossgen” imprint. Conceived as a mainstream alternative to DC and Marvel, theoriginal Mark Alessi business venture unceremoniously wrapped up in 2004,before the still new publishing venture really endeared itself to any kind ofsignificant audience. The company’s assets were subsequently bought out byDisney, chiefly with the goal of rebranding “Abadazad”, a late in the dayCrossgen book as a series of children’s storybooks. Following the 2009Disney/Marvel merger, there was little clamor for the publishing arm to returnto characters broadly defined by Alessi’s original plan for the Crossgenuniverse, with most of the comics fans chiefly preoccupied with the eventualplans regarding the original Disney characters, and by the extension Muppetrelated projects.

Thus, there was little reaction to be heard when the companyannounced the return to some of the Crossgen properties, particularly as theannounced four issue mini-series seemed calculated to test the market’s pulsein the safest possible way cost wise. That the shape of the market has gottenso restrictive and conservative that the relaunches no longer warrant eventraditional trade paperback friendly six-issue arcs, for fear of cancellationdue to the lack of the retailer’s confidence and general reader disinterest inthe little promoted and underdeveloped new titles. Considering the recent newsof several more mini-series cancelled few issues shy of their projected lengthis reason enough to understand why the company didn’t even toy with the idea oflaunching “Sigil”, “Ruse” and “Mystic” as ongoings.

Yet despite these properties pretty much being the actionadventure comic book ciphers to the existing audience (with the exception of“Ruse” that has garnered attention outside the circle of the original Crossgenreaders), even back in 2004 Marvel was much more interested in extending theoffer for collaboration with some of the talent involved with them. With TonyBedard perhaps the most famous of the writing talents that have come toprominence under Allesi’s watch, the artistic part of the equation has proveninvaluable to the look of some of the best looking Marvel books for yearssince. Both Joshua (“Meridian”) Middleton and the more controversial Greg (“Sojourn”)Land made their names working on the company’s titles, but more importantly,Steve Epting and Butch (“Ruse”) Guice were some of the veterans that blossomedunder the traditional genre constrains into even greater craftsman, which alongwith the presence of talents such as Mike Perkins and Jim Cheung really helpeddefine Marvel’s house style into the clear, well crafted look some of theirbest drawn books pose even today.

Interestingly, the current Crossgen relaunch is primarilywriter led, with the greatest prominence given the only original Crossgencontributor Mark (“Kingdom come”, “the Flash”)Waid, who relaunched “Ruse” witha new artist, while Mike (“Lucifer”, “X-Men: Legacy”) Carey and G. Willow(“Air”) Wilson working on the other two titles. And while Brandon Peterson isnowhere near “Mystic” this time around, theEgypt-based creator was paired with the somewhat less prominent, but apparentlymore reliable David (“Fallen angel”) Lopez, whose style is very completelydifferent, yet complementary to the aforementioned computer oriented artist.Lopez is first and foremost a traditional penciller, working with his brotherAlvaro to achieve a look that is closer to the animated cells images than hisprevious work on, for example “Catwoman”. Yet for all of the innovation thathis brother uses to highlight his soft pencils, David is committed to simplyworking from the script in a fairly conventional, if somewhat more subtlefashion.

That is not to say that few of the characters ever seemstatic and detached, the way they appear in many a action oriented artist’s moreshowy work, but this seems to be at least a choice prompted by Wilson’s script. The primarily teenage castis simply so giddy, earnest and expressive, that even the sternest of the adultsmanage a range of emotions conveyed primarily through Lopez’s character work.In a way, such spirited reactions seem akin to some of the manga charactertypes, but beyond the same basic idea, there is little in Lopez’s work thatbelies a direct Japanese influence.

Namely, if this interpretation of “Mystic” is inspired byshojo, what registers in it’s pages is a much more well thought out product,that corresponds with the reader on it’s own terms, and not simply as acollection of appropriated story beats from another school of cartooning.Because, this 2011 Crossgen revamp is nothing if not well thought out, usingthe loosest foundation of the original title, but quickly establishing itselfas it’s own project primarily due to the stylistic choice involved. As awriter, Wilson approaches the world building from the point of view of the newreaders, throwing out bits and pieces of the setting’s magic and mathematics,but is ever mindful to keep the city of Hyperion as archetypal as possible,making it easy for the reader to view it as a modern day metropolis, masked by justenough background exotics to justify the fantasy tag. This is very importantconsidering the political undertones that are at the heart of the story,mimicking such contemporary topics as Arab spring and social unrest that willstay a global hot topic for much longer then they seemed only a year ago.

And yet, in order to make all of these disparate ideas work,Wilson insistson making “Mystic” character based, starting out as a simple story of twolaundry girls in an orphanage. Giselle and Genevieve are close as sisters, buttheir different personalities make them interesting from the start,particularly as they are both coming of age as friends and confidantes, whosesocial roles are still to be determined outside of the limited confines. Thesubtle French influence is mostly contained to the character names, as littlein “Mystic” calls directly to mind of Jules Verne, for whom the whole of theirplanet is named, but another, much more contemporary Young Adult author seemsto be the story’s chief inspiration. Saying that once the story gets by theintroductory issue the bulk of the plot takes place in Hogwarts inspired schoolfor wizardry seems somewhat disenchanting on the face of it, but the reader canbe hardly at fault for making the comparison considering that the book ismarketed with the tag “two teenage wizards, one destiny – can their friendshipsurvive its greatest test?”.

The little bits of the presentation, such as lovely Amanda(“the Pro”, “Power girl”) Conner covers, with the “Magic can happen… but onlyfor one of them”, as well as a typical Young Adult backcover blurb evidentlydidn’t force the retailers into changing their mind when it comes to orderingthe series (seeing the released numbers online), but the effort made to helpthe item of purchase seem unique in the contemporary comics market is laudableon its own.

The decision to package the series in a way that echoes themuch more popular novel efforts seems like a sensible decision, consideringthat Willow’s approach mimics J K Rowling in a lot of ways crucial to hersignature series’ popularity. Namely, just like with “Harry Potter”, “Mystic”endears the reader to itself by showing a clear compassion to it’s fictionalcast, who are all so earnest and full of life, with their thoughts andambitions freely given and shared between them, that the reader cannot but feeldrawn to care for them first and foremost, and only then for the mechanics ofthe plot.

To that extent, the idea to spotlight Giselle so heavily inthe latter three issues seems like a slight to first Genevieve, and then to themany secondary characters that all seem to have a life of their own, as well asa funny reaction to each of the situations they collectively find themselvesin. In fact, it’s easy to see that the whole arc might have been stretched afew issues longer, primarily so that the symmetry of the two friend’s livesmight work better, as well as utilizing the rest of the cast to the full extent.And yet, most of the themes tackled by the writer seem so universal andinteresting, that slighting them with tighter focus on the main plot strandstill doesn’t crush all the life out of them. The relative lack of on pagespotlight on Genevieve still serves a narrative purpose, as it keeps the readerin the dark considering progress in the underworld of Hyperion city’s politics,even as the reader is occupied with the much more genre suited magicaladventures of her best friend.

Willowactively makes their split the heart of the series, as the bookish, morefascinated by magic Genevieve falls on the wayside with the high society andAcademia’s acceptance of her street savvy friend into the ways of magic as anatural talent. Precisely what makes “Mystic” different than Rowling’s work isprecisely that it was influenced by its publisher’s world famous oeuvre, thatfor once being classical cartoons, and not overdeveloped superhero universes.The Young Adult nature of Wilson and Lopez’s work takes a hint directly fromit’s storybook inspirations, making it’s protagonist an unlikely Disneyprincess, and not a swashbuckling adventure knockout. What action there is inthe dialogue heavy series seems much more natural and even whimsical, comparedto the today’s typical male oriented teenage entertainment.

In Wilson’ hands, Giselle and Genevieve talk and behave likeactual women, and even at their most confident, betray a range of emotions thathave little to do with teasing their fans in what has long become a typicalapproach when it comes to the subject. It goes without question that both girlsare beautiful, as theirs is a tale meant to inspire it’s audience by example,not direct representation of high school cliques and teenage mentality.Likewise, the high positions both sisters aspire to (or don’t, which is thechief plot contention) and attain in the fastest possible way, may seemsomewhat far fetched, but are completely realistic given the fact that they aredevised as characters in a story so romantic that the reader is geared toexcept them to be revealed as long lost children of the princess of the Realmas soon as the climax of the second Act.

That Wilson continually avoids the redundancy of the overfamiliarity in this genre exercise, while at the same time perpetuating timeand again the oldest of clichés in the gentlest possible way, once again speaksout to the sheer positivity and enthusiasm with which this under the radarseries is presented with.

In “Mystic”, the plot seems as lively as it’s protagonists,whose hopes and dreams keep the reader wondering several times in what precisedirection the book will head in, seeing as the project is so wonderfullydetailed and full that any of them could provide for a very engrossing read.That the writer decides on both the most dramatic and emotional once againspeaks for how well thought out this, some of her earliest Marvel work has beendesigned as. The writer is clearly in love with her story and the possibilitiesit provides, inspiring her to show of all sides of her work, once again makingfor a compelling read overall.

This is not to say that the book is without it’s problems.As mentioned, the brevity of it robs some of the moments of their power,chiefly Giselle’s budding romance with a fellow student, but even her rivalrywith the deliciously scene stealing Felice feels short changed, as the rich andspoiled student doesn’t factor in the high stakes finale, except for themention that she is doing her part to foster the protagonist’s part in no lessthan saving the world’s financial and functional well being, off panel, inanother part of the city.

Considering there is a very real doubt that Marvel willreturn to the Crossgen imprint in this iteration, given the sales and generaldisinterest (the books have launched at the worst possible time, when themajority of their potential audience pondering preoccupied with thepossibilities of the much hyped DC relaunch) it is regretful that the readerwill probably be left without ever seeing the two character’s conflict broughtto fruition. In a way it is understandable given the role Genevieve and,through her, the crucial role of social unrest in the story. Simply put, whilethe talented Giselle is off in a the elite school for tomorrow’s Verne financialleaders, the rest of the society is falling into chaos, that has little to dowith the immediate concerns of it’s leaders, no matter how well funded they maybe.

Once again, as much as the high school drama setting may bedirectly familiar to the social life of “Mystic”’s potential readers, the worldwide financial crisis is a much more serious concern that Wilson chooses to useas the real foil in her high fantasy series. To understand the implications,one must read between the lines involving the use of aether that powers thehigh magical society, which for most of the story aptly substitutes theelectrical power in this Crossgen relaunch, but later on reveals itself as themajor point of contention between the rival factions in society.

In a way, seeing revolutions in fantasy stories is nothingnew, but watching what is actually nothing less than a socialist uprising inthe vein of French revolution that the material calls to mind with itsfrancophone tone, actually seems intellectually stimulating. It’s true thatit’s the revolution portrayed chiefly by displaying graffiti on the fewmedieval-like buildings, as well as a couple of crowd scenes set around amakeshift Robespierre, but this is where again David Lopez serves as a shorthand to indicate the wider context. Seeing his designs for the backgroundcharacters in these scenes, all of them rich, complex and, most importantly,individual, actually brings to mind that these are actual impoverished peopleexploited by a system that is unfair and exploitative.

And while an easy solution to the predicament of both theruling elite and the subjugated many seemed in cards all along, Wilson hasenough common sense to go for a more realistic ending, or at least its closestapproximation when realized through the climax that involves with preservingthe aether behind the world’s magic, that is being unjustly divided between theclasses.

Admittedly, it’s a slippery slope, as once the Gisellereconnects with Genevieve perhaps the fairy tale nature of the story is toofragile to handle both their growing rift and the wider theme of theimplications of the financial crisis, leading to the wrap up that is functionaland somewhat more sobering, yet at the same time at least several pages shy ofseeming natural. The subplot with Giselle’s whimsical romance with one of thestudents does manage to bring some levity to the proceedings of otherwise grimlast issue, but it seems that the story was robbed of a better resolutioninvolving on some level the manager of the orphanage that has figured soprominently in the debut episode, or for that matter given a larger role toanother student of the arcane that helps Giselle fit in her new surroundings.

Just like the sexual tension between Genevieve and theleader of the revolution, these details seem to fall by the wayside due to theshort length of the work, which still manages to make all of it’s points instyle without them. There can be no higher praise for a Young Adult series thanthat it leaves the reader wanting for more, no matter how unlikely that may be.With reports everywhere of Marvel refocusing on it’s largest superhero brands,it’s very doubtful that the company will proceed with paying for another run of“Mystic”, which justifies the brevity of the work in the way of making thetitle into a cohesive whole, even if it was designed as being the first in thetentative series dealing with the previously established Crossgen originals. GWillow Wilson and David and Alvaro Lopez’s work still manages to display all ofits strength and complexity, even if some of the exhibited designs and variousimplied paraphelia seem perfectly poised for further elaboration andcontinuation.

Hopefully, Marvel will see fit to collect the finish work,enabling it a longer life in its trade paperback program, and a chance toconnect with a broader audience, no matter how slight. Even if this incarnationof “Mystic” proves a great blueprint for a very entertaining cartoon Disneynever ends up making, it still provides a delightful run of books that willsurely serve to entertain any but the most cynical of the readers that comeinto contact with it, expecting a piece of genre entertainment with a soul of afairy tale.

Lady Sabre & the Pirates of the Ineffable Aether

2011-11-15T02:43:00.001-08:00

"Lady Sabre & the Pirates of the Ineffable Aether" is a webcomic launched this summer by celebrated writer Greg ("Gotham central", "Queen and country") Rucka, and veteran artist Rick ("Batman adventures") Burchett. The announcement registered as a little more than an offbeat Rucka side project following his long tenure at DC, with most of the mainstream news sources preferring to speculate on the hype surrounding the creator's previous publisher's major publishing initiative. And even if not for the relaunched DC superhero line's continued dominance of the comics news cycle, the traditional outlets would very likely devote little of their time to any kind of new webcomic, despite "Lady Sabre"'s popular genre trappings and the high profile of it's creators.

It goes without saying that such skepticism is unwarranted, especially when it comes to a free offering available twice a week in a tone that is completely accessible, embodying the best qualities of pulp entertainment. In short, "Lady Sabre" is a steampunk fantasy comic, opening with the first chapter that introduces the main character in action, reminding the reader of the opening of "Indiana Jones" movies. The audience is expected to pick up on the particulars without the need of lengthy exposition, and in this regard, the opening chapter of "the Pirates of the Ineffable Aether" does a commendable job. The protagonist is introduced in a lengthy action sequence, her previous relationship with the antagonist and the leader of the guard is alluded to upon in a manner that is both clear and subtle, and following their duel the creators tease the bigger picture by literally zooming out and revealing the rest of the cast in their nearby vessel.

Short and succinct, simple and effective, but not at all simplistic and superfluous. Rucka is a very methodical writer, and seeing him resort to such a slight plot is simply an exercise in understatement and world building, as a way of teasing the readers with the best the property has to offer when it comes to entertainment, before building up to a more elaborate story. A steady hand of a sure craftsman lies beyond every panel, indicating a tight script that called for a set of very specific moments, bringing an almost animated look to the sword fights (aided by the web layouts showing displaying several comics pages in a frame, when the story calls for it) that eases the reader into simply enjoying the presentation.

All the while, the carefully calculated choreography could have easily kept the reader from warming up to "Lady Sabre" if the hand of another skilled professional wasn't there to illustrate the battle in a classic steampunk locale. Rick Burchett proves a master storyteller in creating a clear flow, bringing an illusion of movement, and again clarity to the fight involving multiple personas that could have seemed too long and chaotic in another's hands. On the other hand, relying upon such archetypal characters and cliched adventure story tropes carries over a bit when it comes to character designs, with the protagonist particularly seeming as a too familiar unstoppable adventuress that is both beautiful and deadly.

This is a very real problem, as presenting a webcomic purposely done in a generic, action serial style could very well lead the potential audience to see it as somewhat backwards and not to their tastes. This certainly explains while "Athena Voltaire", a masterfully executed pulp webcomic that is both gorgeous and seemingly inviting to potential new readers hasn't found a bigger audience. Rucka and Burchett's effort tries to sidestep this problem by taking on the popular steampunk aesthetic, yet it feels somewhat artifical. The creators are clearly much more attuned to the Golden age of comic's own adventure story tradition, than the relatively more recent steampunk fad, but at this point, it's more a matter of branding than anything else.

A good comic will work in any kind of genre and the creator's professionalism leads to a wholesome and quality presentation that, while still in the process of exhibiting it's own unique voice, certainly takes all the right steps in teasing the reader to expect more from the subsequent installments. Yet, ironically, it's not the book's tendency to cling to the cliches that is it's chief point of contention (the website provides text pieces indicating that the Rucka has thoroughly set up the property and is building to a good story, something that is all too often forgotten in the gimmicky world of genre entertainment), but another matter entirely. Strangely, the whole presentation is affected by nothing less than the rushed coloring job, seemingly done by the artist himself.

The high cost of quality production values of new work in a crowded marketplace is traditionally the chief reason why so many of the new offerings come in black and white, despite the subject matter being much better suited to the presentation in color. Likewise, most of the artists receiving low or no pay for such journeyman entries can't or simply won't present the material in a way that utilizes the most of the black and white presentation, perhaps aware that their work, if not on the original episodes, will eventually be enhanced by the coloring studios, or a new contributor, once the financial benefits start coming in. "Lady Sabre" takes the opposite stance, and forgoes the sepia or gray toned black and white work, to be presented in full colors, but in doing so fails to utilize the extent of the modern coloring, leading to a shaky presentation. It is not that the colors are primary and completely without gradation, but they still look gaudy and oft putting when applied to such tight pencils and concrete storytelling.

And while an argument could be made, that what has been presented as primarily a fun adventure story would benefit from the clear, bright coloring, it's an entirely different matter when the resulting effects simply feel limited in specter, giving a strangely orderly and lifeless look. The gaudiness is tolerable and doesn't brings the whole presentation down, working to enhance the otherwise careful work of veteran creators, but most of it's power comes from effects, not separation.

In any event, "Lady Sabre & the Pirates of the Ineffable Aether" presents a strong an interesting new project, that would definitely be of interest to most of the comic fans with a soft spot for classical genre storytelling, and considering that it's presented free, twice a week, there is no excuse for any reader to avoid trying it out and consider jumping abroad the property this early on.

Optic Nerve #12

2011-09-15T03:12:00.000-07:00

Debuting as a mini comic in 1991, Adrian Tomine's "Optic Nerve" has just celebrated it's 20th anniversary with a new issue. #12 is a concentrated effort by it's author to return to the one man anthology form he started out in, the very subject covered in one of these new shorts. The last several "Optic Nerve" issues made up "Shortcomings", the writer/artist's most ambitious narrative so far, followed upon with the last year's "Scenes from an impending marriage", themed around his wedding. The new entry in the series offers up three stories told in different formats, built upon with equal skill and ardour.

The first and the longest one is "A Brief History of the Art Form Known as Hortisculpture", formatted as a newspaper comic strip, covering roughly the first month of it's "run". Thus, two black and white daily strips get presented on a page, forming a story that runs across six installments, corresponding to the Monday to Saturday format of the paper. Thus, the Sunday episode debuts after every three story pages, published in color and presented in a familiar double length. The story features a gardener undergoing a mid-life crisis, while his pregnant wife has to deal with her husband's new found delusion of self importance. It goes without saying that Tomine uses the storyline to gently mock the artistic process, but even at his fiercest, the writer/artist maintains sympathy with the aging, out of shape "artist" dedicated to creating sculptures interwined with plants, needing his monthly maintenance. Most of the comedy comes from the reaction Harold's sculptures provoke in his friends and neighbors, who while not being artistically inclined themselves, still uniformly feel awkward and disdainful at his new found calling.

Harold's wife tries her hardest to cheer him up, but their mixed marriage continually suffers from his ill tamper. The gardener's endless defensive monologue on the nature of art and the artist in the modern age turn into verbal abuse towards the spouse once she shows even an inkling of doubt, with this relationship forming the crux of the narrative. There is a sudden five year jump needed to get their child come to come of age where she can respond to her dad's work, but eventually the sculptor comes to a decision, and involves his family in the plan that finally gets them all on the same side.

Tomine's cartooning is loose but effective, fitting with the character based subject material. In keeping with the stylings of the newspaper strips, the writer/artist rushes some of the background details, but his Harold is continually on the form. The gardener is portrayed somewhat more cartoony, fitting with such an overblown character, with the rest of the cast rendered more typically in Tomine's understated, yet all too human stylings. The pacing is effortless throughout, with jokes being intelligent, if not too obvious, delivered as verbal punchlines playing on the protagonist's lack of maturity and perspective.

In many ways, "A Brief History of the Art Form Known as Hortisculpture" feels like an answer to Dan Clowes' "Wilson", covering similar ground of mid life crisis as told using formal tricks of the gag strips, but feels more restrained without the need for veering too much into the experimental. "Wilson" certinaly represents a more profound, philosophical work, while Tomine feels completely content in developing a single idea using one representational technique, with a clear idea of his thoughts on the subject. After the complicated morality of "Shortcomings", with it's take on relationships, friendship and same sex attraction, "Hortisculpture", much like "Scenes from an impending marriage" that directly preceded it, represents a more playful, observant side of the writer/artist's character, still enamored with the medium and the possibilities it represents, without being superfluous.

The unique anthology format allows the reader to get a deeper perspective on "Hortisculpture" as Tomine's own feelings on art get discussed in the third and shortest entry in the 40 page installment. Seeing the writer/artist himself pondering on the chosen format for the work in a two page autobiographical sequence feels both informative, as well as intimate. Tomine utilizes a large number of panels to get across not only a very atypical afterword, but an entry that espouses his own feelings on the matter of artistic choice and the audience's reaction. The Japanese American author directly references Clowes when discussing the prevailing preference for abandoning the pamphlet format in favor of longer, spine bound works. Tomine obviously felt very strongly towards continuing his original series in the more traditional comic book format, yet he illustrates the follow-through in a bitter sweet epilogue that anticipates the audience's indifference and hostility of the market that has changed so much in the twenty year of the publication of "Optic Nerve".

The middle section of the book also offers a revised edition of "Amber Sweet", the writer/artist's story from "Kramers Ergot 7". The full color somehow adds to the detached feeling of the short, representative of it's narrator, an introspective young woman sharing an uncanny similarity in both name and appearance with an adult film actress. Tomine covers her late teens, as the introspective character takes a long while to understand the derogatory reactions of the community, without any provocation of her own. Contrary to Harold's attempt to engage his middle class peers, Amber's own passivity and cluelessness seems to contribute to the problem, with her resorting to Internet twice and both times coming away shocked and dismayed.

Tomine's decision to resort to a long internal monologue broken up by outside snide comments, paints a portrait of a very lonely young woman, who simply cannot understand how her own beauty and femininity can become such a liability to her way of life. Amber is eager to learn, smart and attentive, but what she lacks in empathy she seeks to learn by investigation, signified by the sterile look of the technology that reappears at key points in the story. With only her status as an object of desire to keep her from feeling like an outsider, she seeks comfort in relationships, but is continually plagued by the presence of the doppelganger.

While avoiding the association with the porn star she resembles both in the name and looks, the young woman is continually challenged to question her own self worth and seek out an identity that would bring her happiness and a semblance of regular life. It is only when she finally acts out, and strikes out from a creepy boyfriend and changes her hair style that she achieves an intimate moment. That she meets her doppelganger face to face might seemed contrived, but Tomine offers the openness of the LA setting to make up for the needs of the story. That the writer/artist really utilizes the encounter between the two Ambers to provide a real human moment, and emotional pay off to the story, goes a long way to justified the story logic and proves essential to the protagonist.

Faced with the very same outside attention that became a source of frustration for her namesake, the porn responds in a casual, even patented way, which is crucial in understanding the "real" Amber. If the protagonist had only managed a way to deal with the association that used good humor, and had not let the rage swell up inside her, she would have lead a much healthier and relaxed life. Of course, her character, as shown in these eleven pages, certainly leaves room to connect her reaction to the events in her lives previous to the beginning of the story. That Tomine was able to so fully flesh out the narrator as a both vulnerable and very relatable speaks to his strength as a storyteller adept at utilizing the short story format for maximum effect.

The closure Amber gets from the encounter feels genuine and definitely earned, with the final panel acting to place the narration in the context of a new relationship that finally seems close and personal. Her transformation from someone that kept a deep resentment to an unknown woman with particularly brutal urges toward revenge, towards an adult that tries to talk about her feelings and the uncanny resemblance without just hoping that it never becomes an issue in a society that's increasingly open to Internet pornography, feels like a character arc important both to the character and the reader subjected to Tomine's mastery of the form that realized it.

Animal man #1-4

2011-09-11T10:44:00.000-07:00

In 1987, inspired by the success of Alan ("Swamp thing", "Watchmen") Moore, DC's talent division scouted United Kingdom for similar comics writers, hoping they would help rejuvinate their line of secondary titles. Looking for a smart and edgy take, they were drawn towards "Zenith", Grant Morrison's post modern superhero and asked the writer to pitch them a revival of one of their many moribund properties. The "2000 AD" magazine writer, inspired by Moore's work, submitted an outline for four issues, centered on finding a new take involving Buddy Baker, the Animal man.

The seldom seen character's profile has previously been boosted by Marv ("New Teen Titans") Wolfman's including him in his work on "Action comics" and "DC comics presents". The key DC writer of the early eighties gave Buddy a cameo in DC's first and most ambitious cross over event "Crisis on infinite Earths", and Morrison followed up with his revamp just as the company was starting to branch out to more risky Direct market exclusive material.

Thus, in 1988 the first of the original planned four issues debuted, pencilled by Chas ("Coyote") Truog and inked by Doug Hazlewood. For a start, the artistic team was standard for DC's lesser selling titles of the time, and brings to mind the Mike Grell written "Green arrow". Getting an indie penciller clearly uncomfortable with superheroes on a book with the stylized covers of one Brian Bolland seemed an industry practice, but certainly provided a jarring juxtaposition. Truog was certainly a strong storyteller even then, providing clear layouts, easily distinguished characters and a lot of energy to his pages, but was given neither the time nor the adequate compensation to proceed with a layered detailed approach allowed to Bolland and rare few talents of his caliber. From the start, it's easy to see that the initial four issues were designed with the goal of spotlighting the writer and, as such, relegated Truog to the role of a collaborator whose contribution is not to easy to discern.

Where Grant Morrison, the writer of the revamp started of with was by providing a look at a late eighties superhero trying to make a come back while still thinking of ways to provide for his family. As depicted, Buddy is a naivee, but well meaning common man, who loves his wife and their two children, determined to try and make a real break as a superhero. In doing this he seeks support of his illustrator wife, and proceeds to test out his animal mimicking abilities, mimicking Alan Moore's early "Marvelman" issues. Morrison is careful to realize the suburban neighborhood Buddy and Ellen live in, realizing that the neighboring forest, and the adjacent wild life, will play a larger role later on. Buddy is portrayed as a fan of punk and indie rock music, which the writer uses to justify the inclusion of a leather jacket on his original A-man costume.

Interestingly, this is about as much as Morrison ventures with Buddy's character. Beyond the character's empathy towards animals, the writer is pleased with leaving him a blank slate, deliberately steering clear of the retelling of Buddy's original Silver age origin, where "the man with animal powers" was treated as little more than a leading story novelty in a mystery anthology. Once DC comics decided to extend the mini series towards an ongoing run with the character, both him and Truog would get a chance for a post modern revision of Animal Man's first appearances in "Strange adventures" magazine, but interestingly Morrison decided on exploiting the back story of another failed 1960s try out superhero as a way of delineating Buddy in opposition to another similar character.

Thus, somewhat unexpectedly, the Bob Haney and Mike Sekowsky's original "Showcase presents" two part story starring B'wana Beast ends up impacting the plot of original proposed "Animal man" mini series much more than any of the title character's initial appearances. The Beast was recently featured in a "Swamp Thing" story, but Morrison was still mindful that at this point he was dealing with introducing the new audience to two long forgotten characters, and as such, provides the pertinent information in a way that was much more in touch with the then modern sensibilities. In a time when the image aware writer routinely had the characters tossing "Rolling stone" magazine with the Justice League as the cover feature, and a reference to an Ann Rice article inside, Morrison was intent to present a very polarizing post Cold war landscape. On the one hand, the reader was treated to Chas Truog and Doug Hazlewood's version of suburban LA paradise, with the downtown San Diego being presented as an urban nightmare where Animal man has to work in.

That the writer is very aware of his character's status as a one note joke superhero is directly referenced in the introductory issue, with Morrison reassuring the reader that he is very clear on the direction he's taking the character in. Even Buddy's ambition of rising to the status of regular working superheroes such as Blue Beetle, falls to the wayside in a scene where the writer plays up Buddy's relative similarity to the orange clad Aquaman, another blond character, and likewise a long standing foil for the audience disinterested in the underwater exploits of the unlikely ocean based superhero. Likewise, most of the popularity Blue Beetle had in what was until recently modern DCU stemmed from the Justice League writers essentially transforming him into a parody of a generic superhero, but Animal man of course isn't aware of any of this. To him, these are perfectly legitimate superhuman characters that he hopes will recognize him as a peer, while shunning the company of Element man (another Bob Haney creation), another oddball concept that never caught on as much as the company wanted to.

Most significant though, is Buddy's relationship to the original superhero, Superman, who Morrison smartly includes in these pages as an objective point of comparison. Thus, a TV sketch lampooning Animal Man's ability as a sort of pet detective gets him an S.T.A.R. labs call, with the scientist freely admitting that the only reason they proceeded with dialing the LA-based superhero was that Superman wasn't able to answer the emergency in time. This is not just a cynical aside but a crucial point Morrison makes, given that the case as depicted would seem completely ill suited to the DC's flagship books, whether by the logistics or the style of the story. Simply put, Animal man was entirely the right person to call when it comes to dealing with a science fictional/horror mash up, centered around another, long forgotten DC animal based superhero.

That Superman himself briefly shows up to introduce himself and promptly flies away to deal with an airplane emergency further drives home Morrison's point that there is more to the distinction between "Animal Man" and "Action comics" than the popularity of the characters involved. And seeing how Morrison's initial approach to Buddy Baker leans much more heavily on the Clive Barker and Steven King horror revisionism rather than the typical superhero inspirations, there is no doubt that the writer was right to call attention to the need for a separate approach, and a different kind of hero.

In a lot of ways, what Alan Moore did on "Swamp Thing" was simply to take the ideas in a more mature direction. The underlying template of a EC-style monster comic was still providing the structure behind the revision, but the advent of the Direct Market enabled the writers to approach the themes from a more informed stance, educated by the prevaling horror literature of the time, and the non-fiction work that supported the ideas. When it comes to "Animal man", Morrison was simply a vegetarian who elaborated on his contempt for the cruelty toward animals, and tried to present his informed opinion in the context of a superhero comic book.

That he took the stance seriously, and presented his case in these initial four issues reassures the readers that the writer-centered comic they are reading at least represents an intelligent and well thought out slice of pop culture. The layered approach, filled with foreshadowing, tight characterization and poetic narration certainly reminds of Moore's work, but the burgeoning sub genre of similar offerings, including Neil Gaiman's "the Sandman" quickly found a lot of fans sympathetic to it. Basically, the intelligent, well written superhero book quickly came to mean a revision of a little seen superhero, illustrated by a capable yet undistinguished up and coming artist, aiming at fan in late teens, and adamant on keeping his interest by sliding the envelope, virtuoso storytelling.

The obvious benefits of this approach were the high profile typically given by the superhero fandom to the riskier Marvel and DC material, a steady publication, and adequate financial reward, eventually including the royalties when it comes to the republication of the same material. In such a system, ignorant to the material outside the superhero genre and foreign publications, it's easy to understand the sudden and meteoric rise of the careers of Moore, Gaiman and Morrison. The talented scribes simply introduced intelligent, detailed scripts coming from the inspirations outside traditional pulp stories, and realized in technique that often had more in common with the work of post modern prose writers than Robert Kanigher, Stan Lee and Bob Haney.

Specifically, at this early point in his career, Morrison was still introducing himself to the audience, and just seeing the scene transitions the Scottish scribe utilizes is enough to brings to mind the technique behind Moore's "Swamp thing". The tightly plotted, allusion heavy work in a real way felt like the growth of the medium, and certainly makes sense when it comes to Bwana Beast's narration, as the trench coated psychic gets introduced in a creepy and detached manner, befitting a modern day vampire. Chad Truog is careful to concentrate on the silhouette of the Beast's helmet, certain that most of the readers wouldn't be able to recognize it, but at the same time helping convey that this is no ordinary stalker inflicting violence in San Diego's back streets.

Morrison is likewise careful to allude to the character's identity in broad terms, waiting patiently for the full reveal, while utilizing the chance to elaborate on the feral character's impressions of the big city. That these passages read similar to Frank Miller's "Daredevil" captions, describing a blind man's augmented perception of a busy streets of a polluted metropolis goes without saying, but Morrison is still very cognizant of his stated aim with this storyline. Compared to the lovable, easy going naivety of Buddy Baker, B'wana beast is simply delusional, driven to the point of madness in his grief over the cruelty perpetrated to his animal friend. By proceeding with the deconstruction of a superhuman Tarzan with a strange power to fuse animals, Morrison seems to imply why one character works in for the modern audiences, and the other doesn't.

Grant Morrison could be said to have basically reinvented Buddy from the ground up, but he still keeps his friends from the character's initial appearance in "Strange adventures". Both Ellen and Roger are still depicted as Buddy's friends and confidantes, with the writer adding two children to further cement Animal Man as a unique family oriented superhero. Buddy certainly likes animals, but he still lives a life of an ordinary person, and this seems to be how he manages to balance the two halves of his personality. On the other hand, by having the Beast's best friend murdered in the civil coup introduced in the pages of "Swamp Thing", and his strange gorilla confidante abducted and experimented upon, the Africa based superhero seems certainly to be the victim of a writer forcing his hand on a more innocent property from another age.

To be charitable to Morrison, B'wana beast is such an overblown Silver age cliche that it's difficult to imagine how the character could possibly appeal to the modern readers. When a property needs both a name change, a complete redesign and a rethink when it comes to the character's base of operations (nothing less than the mountain of Kilimanjaro in the original story), as well as his methods and powers, it's easy to see why the character could see life solely as a guest star, the like of Marvel's "Ka-Zar", a perpetual retro-flavored diversion. And while both Marvel and DC have certainly braved relaunching the characters whole cloth before (while retaining the trademarks), Morrison was certainly thinking that using the Beast as an antagonist in a well told experimental story would at least provide what might have been his last appearance some semblance of dignity, even when it comes to the destruction of the character. That Truog struggles with his original Silver age character design comes as no surprise, an leaves the reader without any real desire to see such a generic impossibly muscled, caricature again.

Again, the writer takes no easy routes, as B'wana beast lives to both have his revenge and hopefully somewhere down the line reappears as a better adjusted and realized character. In this case, this means returning in a later Morrison-written issue of the ongoing series to help an actual African character stylize himself alongside similar ideas. That the company failed to exploit the Freedom beast to it's full potential is a point that has little bearings on the way Morrison approached his initial four "Animal Man" issues. Suffice to say that the writer had more in mind when tackling B'wana beast then simply turning him into a delusional maniac and ending the story with his death, conveniently not at the hands of the protagonist.

Obviously, the whole point of replacing the arbitrary Silver age logic of the stories with an approach that was less instinctive but more topical, meant that the climax of the story takes the place at the San Diego ZOO, but the writer goes well and beyond merely choosing the appropriate setting for the long delayed confrontation between the two characters. First, in order to provide some of the foils for the title character, Morrison peppers the story with overgrown human animal hybrids, but even their presence goes beyond merely showing Animal Man's abilities. Namely, by giving Buddy a chance to rediscover the extent of his powers, the writer starts to elaborate on his protagonist, and truly begin him on the road to recognizing his true calling.

From the start, Buddy is shown things that go well beyond his knowledge and expertise, but Morrison portrays him as willing to learn and quick to react without making any major mistakes in the process. Buddy is certainly naivee but his good nature continually helps him with understanding his foes, even if his inherent pacifism gives them an immediate upper hand in the fight. Most importantly, the character takes his time to check up on the vanquished foe and sticks around to see how well off are the animals he has helped save from the Beast's fusion.

This is why the writer begins the fourth issue by having Buddy narrate the events following the previous episode's conclusion from the perspective of tucking in his young daughter after he has dealt with the hostilities. Morrison wants the reader to know that Buddy survives the tale, but at the same time that his family has shared their burden of horror in an unrelated incident. That he does not punish the protagonist for not being there to partake in their subplot, involving attempted rape, and again, cruelty towards animals, shows that Morrison understands that for the audience to take a liking to the superhero he's revamping means that first he has to genuinely like the character, and avoid using him as a target for the writer's neuroses.

Basically, the care that the writer went into fleshing out Ellen Baker and her neighborhood meant that he allotted Buddy's wife a co-starring role beyond serving as the Animal Man's voice of reason. The sitcom-like heaping upon stock character types populating the suburbia near forest grove gets thrown in a reversal, when a band of rednecks heads there specifically for animal hunting. That these broad caricatures quickly devolve into homicidal maniacs is nothing new, but seeing Ellen and her daughter Maxine, at the center of their rage works purposefully to drive the reader in a much more likelier scenario than Buddy and B'wana Beast's tussle among the San Diego's laboratories and back allies. These cruel drunks are shown to be hostile towards animals first, and then proceed to affect Buddy's family, in firm view with the writer's liberal agenda that animal cruelty leads to abhorrent behavior towards fellow humans.

This ties into directly into B'wana Beast's rampage, as the Africa's protector quickly loses sight of the emotions of his fellow man, as he heads to help his animal friend. The lack of attention he gives to human life is precisely what conveys to the readers that he has gone to far, and that his intentions, no matter how noble, never excuse the rampage that he leaves in his wake, which is also underlined by Morrison's updated origin of the character, showing the character's revenge on the soldiers that killed his one human friend in the local civil war.

Never settling for easy answers, Morrison again employs the reversal that feeds into the twists inherent in the genre, by having both one of Ellen's pursuers, and a previously docile cartoon neighbor show heroism and humanity when entrusted with the inhuman savagery of a psychotic redneck. Despite the depravity and perversion surrounding the modern day world, the writer seems to reaffirm his belief in the better side of the human nature. And while there are casualties on both fronts of the conflicts Buddy and Ellen partake in, Morrison finishes Animal Man's narration (a somewhat dubious concept in itself, given the character's expressive nature) with "There must be some hope. Just some".

Yet, the story goes for several more pages bringing the main, more elaborate plot to it's conclusion, which is much more fierce and controversial. Basically, Morrison ends up following the standard plot of two heroes fighting one another until they realize that they are basically on the same side and unite against the common villain, with having dr. Myers, the face of animal testing in the storyline, as the main antagonist ultimately responsible for both the abduction of the Beast's gorilla friend, and the new strain of Anthrax that the animal is dying of.

Thus, the main plot strand ends up bearing the brunt of Morrison's philosophical stance. And just as the disease was foreshadowed by a child wearing a T-shirt of the band of the same name (at the time seemingly important solely for establishing a realistic atmosphere), so does the chief theme of the difference between the treatment of humans and animals come to a head with dr. Myers developing a strain of Anthrax seeking to target animals without directly harming the citizens of the invaded country. Morrison shows us that the animal human hybrids B'wana beast creates are ultimately short lived, delusional creations, as well as the Beast himself as ultimately wrong in taking only the stance of endangered animals without regard for his fellow humans, with likewise dr. Myers experiments in military application of the disease with the goal of wiping out animals in order to starve the enemy's population during the hostilities, as misguided on a number of levels.

That Myers was hiding the true goals of the S.T.A.R. labs experiments with a cover story about working on an AIDS vaccine was both topical and benevolent without any side effects. The real story that ends up taking the life of B'wana beast's companion is much more ambiguous, scary and all too human. Every step of the way, Morrison implies that humans and animals should and must coexist together, with the civilized people using their elevated stance not to the detriment of the biosphere, but, like Animal Man, to take inspiration from it, and work for a better and healthier life for everyone.

Utilizing the intelligent gorilla Djuba as a theoretical missing link between higher primates and humankind, Morrison isn't merely deconstructing B'wana Beast's initial "Showcase presents" two-parter, but spotlighting the connection between humans and animals. The Beast's mental link keeps him in contact with all of the gorilla's pain as it's tortured by Myers' scientists, and it's eventual passing the strain of Anthrax on the African superhero further drives home that what affects one species affects the other. Eventually, with Animal Man using his powers to heal B'wana by affecting his white blood cells, Morrison is pretty much extending the borders of the Dave Wood and Carmine Infantino created superhero's powers to mirror Swamp Thing's eventual infinite powers, but what strikes the reader as much more jarring is a previous sequence where the two proceed with a battle of wills.

Despite the rapid cuts and zoom ins, the whole of the telepathic fight feels sap of the dynamic and misreading the genre strengths. Yet, by having the Beast survive his friend's death in this way, the reader is enabled to both feel it's impact, and see the troubled superman on the path of foregoing his madness for a clear cut revenge that finishes the story, and leaves the character to proceed in a saner direction. Having used his powers to fuse the dead gorilla with the still living Myers, enabling the scientists fittingly dressed in inhuman white mask to proceed with the research, Morrison is cruelly letting the tormentor finally feel the agony of his victims, finishing his four original issues as a cautionary tale of nature's ferocity getting back to it's oppressors by reintegrating them into the circle of life.

Interestingly, having said his piece on the need for human and animal cohabitation, Morrison was tasked to continue the "Animal Man" series. In turn, this lead to stories where the writer embraced his narrative voice much more, abandoning the Moore's "Swamp Thing" inspirations, as he embraced the original Silver age aspect of the character, and clashed it with then current sensibilities until reaching it's famous post modern conclusion. Chas Truog and Doug Hazlewood were in tow to provide visual consistency, but aside from spotlighting several different animal powered DC characters, Morrison's never allowed the series to extensively cover the issues presented in these initial four installments.

The Towers of Bois-Maury 2 - Eloise de Montgri

2011-09-10T10:02:00.000-07:00

Published in 1985, "Eloise de Montegri" was Hermann Huppen's second "Towers of Bois-Maury" album, and it was clear that commercial consideration wasn't on the author's mind. Of the characters introduced in the first volume, only Aymar and Oliver return, and then in a supporting role at best. Gone are also the vestiges of courtly duels and medieval courtesy, replaced by the desolation of a destroyed fiefdom. The volume opens with a ruse designed to plunder the castle walls and closes with a desperate attempt of the remaining peasants united around the underage scion to desperately wring out some of the spoils of their attacker's plunder, to try and rebuild their land.

Thus, the bulk of the volume takes place in dreary winter months in a desolate forest, where the survivors impatiently scramble, their goings on continually interrupted by the arrival of third parties, going across the land to further their own ends. This is how both the title character and Aymar and his page come to the dukedom and stay, however brief, to try and resolve the conflict in light of their own interests. Curiously, "Eloise de Montgri" also sports a clear villain in the form of the bandit leader, a disfigured man hiding under the guise of a shepherd, complete with a mask made out of the ram's hide. The shepherd acts as a sinister figure until his motives are revealed to tie into Eloise's own trek across medieval France, leading to his actions seeming downright sensible when faced with the peasant's siege at the album's climax.

Despite being bookended by two siege scenes of wholesome slaughter, "Eloise de Montgri" also offers a particularly ominous scene of Aymar and Oliver seeking the hospitality of the eccentric man, when they first arrive in the region. The reader is completely aware of the shepherd's cutthroat nature, but the sequence where the protagonists ask him for the shelter just keeps stretching, teasing out the confrontation that could happen at any moment. That it never arrives speaks not only of Hermann's mastery of pacing and atmosphere, but also of a realistic depiction of the bandit leader, who no matter the ferocity recognizes that he's surrounded by battle hardened nobility.

Yet, even with so much of the key plot points centered around the decisions of the down on their luck lords and ladies, Hermann is very careful to establish a common man perspective pertaining to the surviving peasant's attempt to get through the winter in their improvised huts. This is roughly the role Gereon played in "Babette", and which he will continue in the remaining albums of the first five volumes, but here it's shifted to a toothless old man, despised even by his family for not giving up his hen to the starving survivors. Where the stone mason roughly still fits into the role of a roguish action hero, the snide old man prefers to keep out of the way, and basically narrates the tribulations of the peasants, while talking to his cherished Adelgunde.

Such a passive character wouldn't be out of place in a period drama centered around the fatigued life of the impoverished in middle ages, but Hermann gives him almost a central role in "Eloise de Montgri". Ordered by young sir Basil to give up the hen if she doesn't hatch any eggs come spring time, his subplot is lighthearted and refreshing, if unexpected, serving to soften up some of the dire predicaments in the next to the lawless land. Following the shepherd's gang attack on the castle, the last vestiges of the order come in the form of surviving priest, acting as a mentor to the scion, and a single guard, who carried the boy out of during the carnage and now tries to turn the peasants into an army capable of fighting back if they find the bandits.

Introducing a third strain of several poor man hiding close to the huts and stealing grain from the huts illustrates the writer/artist's determination to provide a realistic narrative, which is all the more impressive given the brevity of the plot. Yet, despite the many narrative threads that intersects and work towards the loud conclusion, Hermann's signature slow pace and humanity still come out, based largely on the care given to details and a palpable passion the author feels towards the material. The old man, no matter how pathetic and demented, still feels sympathetic, and the reader likewise identifies with each of these characters, and their yearnings, no matter how petty or grandiose.

Given that most of these characters don't reappear in later volumes, Hermann seems to imply that it doesn't really matter whether their long term prospects work out completely in their favor, but only that in the short amount of time he covers in this period of destabilization in their lives, the author gets across a particular situation typical of the time, and rendered with utmost believability. Of course, this doesn't prevent the titular Eloise from achieving at least some kind of closure relative to her tragic past, but her situation still bears analyzing. Namely, along with the already glimpsed Alda, she is Hermann's strongest realized female character in "Towers of Bois-Maury", albeit the only one capable of defending herself physically. Armed with a crossbow and doing her best to look princely, her long trek still shows signs on her, which is never more apparent then in the compromise she is forced to in order to get Aymar on her and Basil's side.

Because, no matter her determination to get back to the man who destroyed her life, Eloise is still feminine and it's this quality that humanizes her when compared to the typical fantasy bad girl. Her attempt to convince Aymar to follow through on the peasants' decision to strike back at the shepherd is basically to seduce him, with the creator clearly showing the reader that this goes beyond the typical wink and an ambiguous comment such as in so much of genre's offerings. She gives herself completely to the knight, but perhaps the key to understanding her decision comes with the focus the creator pays to Bois-Maury's page. By cutting to the ever sacrificing Oliver, spending the winter night in the cold, Hermann seems to imply that her decision is also class based. Thus, the act of a desperate woman could be taken to imply that she is also seeking a long denied sense of physical pleasure from her peer, which certainly seems to go with the lush depictions of her body.

That Hermann waits for her almost motherly trek to the caves with Basil in tow to reveal details of her past, reaffirms Eloise's femininity and the psychological terror that lead to such a change. As depicted, the young princess was a nobleman's daughter whose innocent love lead her to the machinations of a jealous cousin, leading to the loss of innocence in the character, and her forthcoming compromise. Once again, the writer/artist elaborates on the notions of idealism and chivalry, when faced with the dreariness of unforgiving life in the middle ages. As always, the decisions these nobles make to reaffirm their class status parallel Aymar's greatest desire, to return to his lands, with the reader left to ponder which of these grapples with lofty goals and their subsequent follow through will equal that of Aymar and Oliver's, should they ever return to Bois Maury.

Thankfully, the outsider's perspective, and the humanity inherent in all of the author's characters, help ground the plot, and show how all of these interests still intersect in something resembling the benefit of all, save the shepherd and his group of bandits. By using the space available to depict the common people as banding with the nobles primarily as a means to benefit from the stability of feudal institutions, such as they are even in the ramshackle remains of the dukedom, it's easy to see how those further off would be enticed to band with the villain. To ensure warmth and food, everyone, from the serf to the pillager and the grain stealer is forced to admit that the unwelcome forest, with it's meager givings won't be enough to provide, orienting all of them in turn to the lord Basil's authority, however insignificant and unwanted. This gives the young boy the illusion of being at the front of both a personal vendetta and a real threat to his rule, but also forces the much older and wiser people in his vicinity to adhere to their roles in face of the catastrophe that reaffirms the feudal system.

The ensuing raid is surprisingly realistic and heartfelt, with Aymar trying to steer the hungry and downtrodden into at least some semblance of a strategy, with the peasants winning the day through cowardice and trickery. There is no feeling of victory at seeing the slaughter of shepherd's men, and the subsequent rebuilding of the fallen fiefdom. Just as with the early spring around these rugged characters, their efforts exhibit a notable progress, but only in the sense of returning to the familiar, less unbearable way of life. This because the attack is carried through in a way parallel to shepherd's own deception, as depicted in the opening pages of the attack on the nobleman's castle. Still, all of this brings Eloise face to face with the man who brought her so much pain, with the confrontation once again depicted as necessary, but also severely understated. Hermann tries to execute the act of violence with as much subtlety as possible, achieving a beautifully paced scene that is almost elegiac in what it leaves unsaid.

Except for some of the clarity problems involving a sudden shift to another new arrival to the forest, a seeming necessity of a dense plot carried out in the most naturally laid out way, the writer/artist's storytelling is nearly flawless. The chief problems any of the new readers could have is the complete break with epic fantasy inherent in the genre, as Huppen achieves perhaps the most down to Earth entry in the series. Despite the presence of a masked villain, two raids and a princess trained to fight as a man, the creator renders all of these with little details, telling of the banality common to all. The schemer and the sinister figure ends up being simply a warlord forced to use his cunning to attack smaller nobles in order to procures a wealth for him and his gang, who number less than a dozen, against the lord and lady who try their best to live up to their title, again it's the protagonists that are shown to rise above their assigned roles.

Both Aymar and the old man with his hen see the events as a necessary evil they must participate in some form in, before leaving to their own concerns, the first physically and the latter symbolically. Basil's lordship is reasserted, Eloise has had her revenge, but the protagonists don't feel like what follows need their continued attention. Aymar at least has a clear goal that contextualizes his wandering knight role as something more than a simple excuse for new adventures in exotic locales, and "Eloise de Montgri" can be taken as no more then a simple stop along the way, enabling the writer/artist to proceed with a singular medieval scenario, as he proceeds to continually rework the series to it's benefit, supplementing a clear formula to a finite narrative that is all the more engrossing as the result.

The Towers of Bois-Maury 1 - Babette

2011-09-06T05:58:00.000-07:00

In 1983, leading Belgian comic book artist Hermann ("Jeremiah") Huppen started producing his second major work, a realist medieval saga titled "the Towers of Bois-Maury". Starting with "Babette", the original ten volume cycle tells a complete story set around the exploits of sir Aymar of Bois-Maury, a 11th century knight-errant on the meandering road to regain his fiefdom.

The first five entries consist of self-contained albums acting basically as dual narratives, with the role of the protagonist shared between Aymar and Gereon the down on his luck stone mason, that the knight meets in the series debut. In order to have what is still a genre narrative, Hermann makes both of them essentially wanderers on a parallel road through different places, and never finding easy answers. It would be easy to say that the two protagonists enable the writer/artist to shine a light on both the privileged few, and the exploited masses surrounding them, but "the Towers of Bois-Maury" aims for a much more diverse critique.

From the start, Hermann's squiggly, endearing line depicts the titular Babette hard at work in the field, albeit with her thoughts centered around meeting with her stone mason boyfriend hiding in the brush, unwanted by her family. The local nobles come charging on a deer hunt, and in the ensuing confusion Babette's beauty leads to a horrible tragedy. A matter of a jealous peasant murdering a lusty nobleman would have been dealt with in a typical fashion, if not for the presence of the Aymar, a single knight traveling with a page, who has come to pay visit to the castle and takes a special interest in Gereon's fate.

When it comes to the material, Hermann duly breaks every cliche that comes with fantasy-tinged historical fiction. Gone are the ever present captions and a cascade of names and titles, the faceless slaughter in the name of higher ideals, and the good looks of the protagonists, wearing clean armor and clean, dully reproduced period costumes. The two attractive characters that appear in this debut volume and the bond that they share brings them nothing but misery, quickly shattering all of Gereon's illusions, and sending him on the road to hardship and poverty. And while Hermann's albums, formatted at only 44 pages reward the closer reading, he is hardly in the business of pointlessly introducing interesting designs and charismatic individuals of the epoch.

His are ugly, loutish characters that cannot escape their flaws, with the author going far to represent what the treatment of love and lust in such unforgiving times. Despite his more nuanced protagonists, most of their acquaintances, no matter their class, seem content only when partaking in a feast, with laughter heard only as part of a drunken tirade, except when in mocking. This does not stop the rare few to dream of bigger and better things, but there is always a steep prize that comes with breaking the rules of a feudal system.

Just as Gereon is beset on all sides by cynical peasants looking out only for themselves, and their place in the system, so is Aymar similarly trapped in the narrow castle corridors with hot headed nobles resenting his home sickness and elevated demeanour. Their stubbornness bring only the pain to their confidantes, and it quickly becomes clear that they must break out of the fiefdom in order o find more sympathetic compatriots, and clearer goals.

The church is depicted as sympathetic, but largely forced to neutrality due to the duke's laws, thus the two outcasts temporarily find solace in one another, with Aymar vowing to help Gereon escape the gallows that await him following his crime. That both characters leave the domain with a heavy prize paid goes without saying, but their remaining goals follow to define them henceforth. Aymar, the educated knight with a lofty goal of amassing enough treasure to buy out an army of mercenaries and reclaim his ancestral home comes to hire himself out as an escort to the pilgrim's journey to the Holy Land. But what real choice does a scarred stone mason have, with a history of murder that can not be decreed as chivalrous satisfaction? Without being able to make a honest living, due to the injury to the hand sustained while in captivity, he is gradually forced to concede that the life on the road is the only one for him.

Just experiencing a genre series that takes such a negative stance towards violence feels striking, as it's always depicted as a result of a desperate, cowardly, petty action, acting out the basest instincts, and leaving misery beyond the short term solution. And yet, despite such a dark disposition, Hermann's work seems always optimistic, with Aymar's obsession always providing forward momentum, while the less well of characters at least try to scheme their way to a better tomorrow.

Thus, colorist Fraymond's yellow permeats the book occasionally turning into dusky hues, breaking only for the depictions of the blue night sky. Hermann utilizes the late night outdoor depictions of castle walls usually as scene transitions, but a lot of the characters usually use the time before sleep to ruminate on the day's actions, and plot their course. The writer/artist's layouts are dynamic, but still break manage to break form when depicting the larger, more elaborate settings. The sense of place is ever present, without the reader feeling like the backgrounds are just so much tracing the research elements in order to provide some context to the figure work. It could be said that Hermann approaches some of his character's facial features in similar way, and the stylistic preference for a few different physical models can lead to some of the clarity issues. "Babette" is not a long album, slow paced and atmospheric, thus forcing the creator to a limited space when dealing with certain lesser characters, whose roles can be subtle, yet always clear to the attentive reader. A slight break in tension occurs in the extended epilogue centering on Gereon, going some way in setting up the next volume in the series, but it is very definitely in keeping the themes involved.

It cannot be overstated that throughout the creator's accomplished compositions feel like a real treat to a fan of the medium. Even the smallest of panels are perfectly realized and absolutely beautiful in their rugged rendering. The majority of them could be taken out of the context and admired on it's own, such was his skill and accomplishment as a storyteller, even still at what was still beginning of his most accomplished period. It cannot be overstated that "Towers of Bois-Maury" is a major work from an accomplished storyteller, working in the genre that is typically used to much more formulaic narratives. Huppen's patient mastery of the form, his he humanity and effort he puts in the work make for a truly mature title and an instant classic of European comic book storytelling.

The Quest For the Time Bird 1 - Ramor's Conch

2011-09-05T11:02:00.000-07:00

Beginning in 1983, writer Serge Le Tendre and artist Regis Loisel debutted "The Quest for the Time Bird" series, a lush fantasy comic aimed at the teenage reader. Conceived as a series of four entries, this French comic closely adhered to the quest structure, telling a single epic adventure akin to "The Lord of the Rings". Yet, Letendre and Loisel paint the Quest for the time bird in a much broader strokes, echoing familiar genre archetypes, albeit rendered in a gorgeous, vibrating art style. The collaboration thus acts like a bridge between the generic innocence of the "Dungeons and Dragons" cartoon and the more adult-flavored "Heavy Metal magazine".

As the beginning of a longer work, "Ramor's Conch" starts innocently enough, introducing Roxanna with a beautiful elegiac tone. The point of view character is quick to adhere to her duty, and ventures forth from her mother's witch kingdom to recruit an old friend. Conveniently, a well designed monster attacks, leading to an impromptu chance for Bragon to come out of retirement and get his grips with the epic quest that is presented to him. The threat of the rise of an ancient evil is adequately, if familiarly introduced, with a clear set of items needed carefully delineated, and the lighthearted adventure is set to begin.

The artwork, penciled, inked and colored by Loisel is very enticing and easy on the eyes, making for a very welcome change of pace considering the typically male-oriented action heavy entries in the genre. Some of the more juvenile instances in the dialogue, centered around Roxanna's curvaceous figure seem random enough to provide some energy to the script, but otherwise the beginning of the story seems adequate enough. Strangely, it's in the main section of the plot that the book falters, as the dragon mounted Roxanna and Bragon fly to the kingdom of the Grey-Grelons, a fantasy race of the authors' design. After a tedious encounter with an irritable local sprite, an obvious favorite of the creators, the most important section of the series' debut takes a turn for the unusual. For an artist devoting so much attention to the beautiful lush backgrounds of the world of Akbar, Loisel' basic character design for the denizens of the kingdom seems fairly uninspired. Worse still is the complete lack of character in the zombie-like Grelons, that seem excited only when Roxanne is near.

With their leader Shan-Tung posed as a power hungry strategist, ready to recruit Bragon to his cause of exploiting the titular Conch with the soom not to be dormant malevolent deity inside, the whole album long setup seems familiar to anyone even remotely versed in the genre. Thankfully, the Letendre arranged series of fantasy chestnut such as Roxanne's imprisonment and Bragon's false allegiance to the local tyrant are somewhat mitigated by the inclusion of a new, slightly better balanced character. Bulrog, despite sporting a very Tolkienesque name, and a character design similar to "Lord of the Rings"'s dragon riding Nazgul, still exhibits enough of a character that the reader genuinely wants to see more of him.That he ever so slightly subverts the role of a typical henchmen with his own plans and ambitions, tying with Bragon's own duties, may not seem like much when it comes to acclaimed European genre comics, but is still no reason to dismiss the series whole cloth.

The one notable bit of genuine surprise and mystery coming late in the plot in the form of a masked knight, and is quickly seized by Letendre, who uses it for maximum effect. Similarly, Roxanne's infamous way of distracting the zombie-like Grey-Grelons leaves subtlety for crowd pleasing, albeit still mindful to avoid controversy. The suitable conclusion to the first volume of the story somewhat mitigates these oddities in the slapstick heavy epic, with Roxanne and Bragon, aided by the "unknown knight" leaving the underground kingdom with the Conch, and heading into hopefully better developed parts of Akbar. That Letendre refuses to unmask the pair's benefactor, long after a discerning reader has passed any doubts concerning his identity plays into the over the top nature of the property, and the way the creators see to it's presentation.

Despite some objectionable scenes involving Roxanne, designed to tease the teenage fans, the book keeps perpetually trying for a very mercurial feeling. In wanting to be accessible to both the young fans warming up to the fantasy material, and the regular Franco-Belgian fans, the creators forgo the greater risks involved with presenting the medieval myth and legends to the modern reader. The basic idea is simply to present the usual blending of various culture's folklore into a coherent setting, strung together by the quest structure into a series of locales that the heroes have to go through in order to halt Ramor's return.

Truthfully, the key aspect of the story seems to be making "The Quest of the Time bird" a joyful look at one of the frequently epic fantasy worlds, with a slight nod to the implied history of Akbar, and the mark it has made on the older generation of heroes. In other words, a perfect showcase for an artist as talented as Loisel to cut loose, and carry over his imagination to the oversized pages.

And while his character designs on the average seem adequate enough, it is in the stylistic flourishes that he endears the readers to his art. The layered, lived-in look of the ancient dwellings, and heavy clothes the characters drab themselves in, their faces made up of craggy lines yet still not over rendered, certainly make up for most of the good will fans have for the series. It's easy to lose oneself in the talent and artistry illustrating such otherworldy scenes of fantasy quests, even if the panel to panel depictions turn toward the over the top nature of the scenario.

Loisel's characters seem always in motion, fulfilling their destiny, or trying to get at it's good side through trickery, while still keeping an air of individualism about them. Roxanne is cast in the role of a princess coming of age in a sword and sorcery setting, but the reader is never able to completely forget about her voluptuous figure, with her somehow managing to become more than an eye candy candy damsel in distress simply due to the fact that she's still the heroine. Bragon is somewhat less distinctive, as his demeanour of grizzled old warrior leaves little past the archetype. Still, the stubbornness of the character, and moreover, the implication of romance with Roxanne's mother in his heroic past, bring an element of uncertainty to the veteran fighter.

With the somewhat pedestrian world-building in "Ramor's Conch", it seems as if "The Quest for the Time bird" belongs to a time decades prior to it's 1980s debut, when a less discerning massive audience would have stuck with a promising series until it hones in on it's preferred voice. Considering that Letendre and Loisel envisioned the saga as a clearly structured finite series, it's perhaps unfortunate that it starts out primarily as an artistic showcase. And while it's very likely that the reader will warm up to the characters and their journey to save Akbar in a very short time, it's likely to be due to Loisel's mastery of the form, and the relative brevity of the material, with the main arc consisting of only four albums.

Yoko Tsuno 3 - Vulcan's Forge

2011-09-03T05:42:00.000-07:00

Originally collected as an album in 1973, Yoko Tsuno's third published adventure was serialized over a number of issues of "Spirou magazine". In "Vulcan's Forge", the creator of Yoko, Vic and Paul returns to setting of her original adventure, making for a science fiction episode that further elaborates on the civilization of Vineans.

The album starts innocently enough, with Yoko catching a late night TV newscast and hurrying to notify her friend Paul of the supposed reference to the their alien allies. In a charming scene, the two run into each other, with Paul determined to get the same message to his Japanese friend. Right from the start, it's clear that Leloup has reworked Paul's character design, resulting in bringing his facial features in line with the rest of the cast. Simply put, Paul's caricatural look was decided to be too pronounced, whether by the creator or his editors, with the idea being that his behavior was enough to convey the comic relief.

Otherwise, the character designs are familiarly Franco-Belgian, with no noticeable changes from the previous two entries in the series. Similarly, the plot proceeds with the familiar formula of involving Yoko, Vic and Paul into a mystery by the way of their job working for the television company. Typically, the characters pay lip service to their regular assignments, involved in the plot that could have proceeded precisely the same with Yoko having a completely different background. By having her spot the reference to the Vinean technology on television, and head out to the oil platform in the Carribean, Leloup is clearly wanting to get underwater as soon as possible, so that the real story can get started.

Thankfully, the problems drill workers run into consist of something larger than the crew simply running into a portal to an alien world that the main cast uses to get to their adventure. Thus, by tying the troubles of the oil company to the threat looming beneath the waves, Leloup at least achieves the feeling of a veritable ecological catastrophe that is about to break out if Yoko is unsuccessful in dealing with the return of Karpan. Unfortunately, Leloup hasn't gotten around making the the villain any more charismatic, but the relative lack of focus on the megalomaniacal Vinean, and with the added attention to his plan make up for any of the perceived shortcomings.

Even the pending catastrophe largely factors only in the closing pages of the volume, with the bulk of the pages showcasing the creator's real interests. And while certainly the long tour Khany takes Yoko on centers around the technical facilities involved with Karpan's diabolical plan of carving out a continent for Vineans to occupy using an underwater vulcano, Leloup uses every opportunity to elaborate in the world building he started in "Trio of the bizarre".

Such is the attention paid to the Vinean civilization that it could be argued that the creator would have been happy to simply set the series completely around the science fiction trappings. That he even clads Yoko completely in their clothes, with Vic and Paul conveniently vanishing from the plot for large portions of the book, seems to indicate that the writer/artist is more than convenient concentrating on the alien civilization. Of course, publishing a continuing serial based on such a scenario would be a tough sell for an audience accustomed to the pulp narratives one step removed from the real world. Still, by making this compromise Leloup is effectively working on two series at once.

In the self contained albums Yoko is basically a standard action heroine, suited to oppose a number of plots ranging from simple detective stories, to more elaborate adventures with a supernatural element. On the other hand, perhaps similar to the "X-Files" format, the mythological episodes with a full blown sci-fi feature in from time to time, continuing the narrative arc and, for better or worse, distinguishing the series from a number of similar Franco-Belgian comics.

From the technical point of view, the amount of detail Leloup puts into fleshing out the Vinean civilization is astounding. Compared to "The Trio of the Bizarre", the writer/artist seems determined to carve out even more of his strange new world, filled with elaborate technology. Just seeing Khany's ship sucked into the ocean and heading for the hollow earth beneath makes the reader aware of just how in control the creator is when he gets close to the Vineans. The complicated series of tubes that the blue skinned aliens use to travel in their domain, once again, seems fully functional and at the same time breathtaking to look at. And while a typical room, such as the one Yoko and Khany leave Vic and Paul behind in, as soon as they arrive underwater, seems like a familiar technological base design with a generically busy background, the moment the two women step outside, Leloup is ready to once again amaze the reader.

Not content to merely reuse the pipeline he had the characters take in the first album, the writer/artist relegates it to the use of Yoko's earthbound friends, while he devises a completely new way for the two heroines to travel. Centered around the impressively heavy lava pipes, that Khany drives a support vehicle to point out the background of Karpans plot, Leloup carefully takes his time until he makes sense of the complicated plot. The two fight scenes that bookend the exposition involve Yoko fighting the Vinean secret service that has quickly seen through her disguise.

That none of these encounters are particularly memorable goes without saying, as it feels like the creator is merely going through the motions of maintaining an action heavy adventure plot, where it seems quite clearly that his efforts are centered around world building. Thankfully, the long escape route Yoko and Khany take in order to get to another part of the facility feels much more exciting. Again, seeing Leloup's design of Vinean drill goes the spotlight the amount of respect Leloup paid his readers, determined to create an entire alien civilization whose technology is vastly advanced, yet with an implicit visual continuity in the designs. When the writer/artist draws a huge oil rig in Martinique it feels extremely solid, researched and breathtaking, but getting to see his own design in action feels much more fluid and comic book like.

That Yoko uses it to blast away at Karpan's ship using the water pipeline seen in the first album, and proceeds to escape with Khany using a pair of highly elaborate sleds further feels like Leloup is determined to reward the reader's loyalty by continually introducing new designs and technology. It's interesting then that he decides to follow all this with a short break, involving giant mushrooms and dinosaur skeletons. By reintroducing Vic and Paul to the story at the same time, the creator apparently tries to ground the adventure back in something resembling terrestrial features, however fantastic and distorted.

Yet, having assembled the characters Leloup still proceeds with a scene featuring the forward thinking youth of Vinea equipping the group of friends with weapons needed to try and put a stop to Karpan's plan. Using a method of non lethally dealing with Karpan's secret service Leloup doesn't just shy away from having his protagonist use cold blooded murder as a means to an end, but actually helps her create more allies once some of those guards have woken up. Her scheme is still extremely risky, involving the destruction of key lava transporting equipment. And while some of the new character appear way to late to make an impact on the reader, technological breakdown involved with Yoko's plan still makes for a gripping read. Khany's exposition certainly served to underscore that there would be no clean break from stopping Karpan's plan, as it's first stages have already bore fruit, and will leave at least some kind of impact on the planet's surface.

Thus, the volcano centered meltdown finally has the Vinean ship returning to Carribean to help save the workers that would be the first in line when the catastrophe starts spreading. The wrap up is fast,but effective, with Yoko and her friends once again having been separated from their Vinean allies, along with a gadget that enables some form of communication. Again, it's quite clear that Leloup was certain that he would not be immediately picking up the plot strands involving the aliens, but is determined to leave the reader with a sense of longing regarding the race he created.

Contrary to their first appearance, the Vineans here are not only involved with in-fighting and dealing with newcomers poking their noses into a race millions of years old. And while Leloup forgoes having such a clear message involving the tendency of losing the cultural identity when involved with excessive technology, the lack of a misguided computer as the behind the scenes villain is made up for with a much broader ecological message. And while it would be presumptuous to speculate the inspirations behind the nationalistic tendencies of Karpan and his brethren, it is certain that there is some rationale leading Vineans to continually back up the cartoon villain's byzantine plots.

The very resolution of the story, with Khany informing her new friends that Vineans are still planning for escaping the planet's core, only with the plans readjusted to return to their homeland, instead of carving out a territory for themselves on the Earth's surface, basically reaffirms the race's need chief goals in a more logical setting (given the science fiction trappings of the series). This is precisely the reason why Leloup goes to such great lengths to introduce several new Vineans, even Karpan's secret service members forced to turn to Khany's way of thinking, in order to point out that this is not just a race of evil aliens with a single notable exception, but a complete society with a set of goals that are in fact completely reasonable. Instead of opting for the conveniently small cadre of gifted children, not yet subdued under Karpan's doctrine, to stay hidden in a subterranean grotto, while the bulk of their evil older peers be handwaved a way to their native star system, never to be seen again, the writer/artist pushes for the more complicated solution.

By preserving a sociological reality when dealing with were basically technologically superior elves of the first album, the creator was simply adamant in not letting go of his effort and creative choices. When Yoko is given a scrying mirror, or even an elaborate version of Skype to keep in contact with Khany the reader is meant to feel melancholy for the circumstances that keep these new best friends away, wishing that they could continue reading their joint adventures. In a way, Roger Leloup was informing the reader to stick around for some of the more mundane Yoko Tsuno adventures, while waiting for the real story to continue.

Yoko Tsuno 2 - The Devil's organ

2011-08-28T15:17:00.000-07:00

Collected in 1973, "The Devil's Organ" is the second Yoko Tsuno adventure story, serialized in "the Spirou Magazine" by Roger Leloup. As is typical with Franco-Belgian comics, the album offers a complete story that is completely accessible to a reader unfamiliar with the events of the original album. Yoko is simply a resourceful young Japanese woman, traveling with her two friends, and encountering a complicated mystery plot along the way. Finding themselves in Germany, the previously dubbed "trio of the bizarre" are witness to a strange incident involving a beautiful local woman. Once again, the impulsive Paul is quick to respond to Ingrid's charms, while Yoko maintains an objective stance, tempered by her helpful nature.

The elusive Vic is once again continually on the sidelines. That Paul relatively quickly joins in and falls into the background, silent but for the occasional blunder and an aside, speaks to the archetypal characterization Leloup imbues the new character with, who plays the role of the victim right until the very end. Thus, most of the action revolves directly around Yoko, who is tasked not only with coming up with the solution to the murder mystery involving Ingrid's father and local folklore, but also saving the lives of herself and her helpless companions.

One could make the case that Yoko is a stereotypical Japanese woman in that she seems to be a string of racial attributes tied into an Franco-Belgian comic book hero, but ironically this is also what sets her apart. That her technical savvy is coupled with a knowledge of martial arts somehow makes her into a potent protagonist, and not a walking cliche. Leloup is careful to present her as a character having adventures in foreign lands, where her special skills are secondary to her intellect, curiosity and compassion.

Of course, having his Belgium-based character on a dangerous undertaking in a neighboring country, done by Herge's background assistant once again invites direct comparison to "Tintin". In this respect, "The Devil's Organ" appears as a relatively straightforward detective story, with some local flavor to make it more memorable. Where Herge seems somewhat broader in his assessments and more focused on his cast of characters and the specific style of humor he used, Leloup proceeds in a much more direct fashion.

His story takes place in Germany, revolves around the local legends and maintains a subtle note of occult terror throughout, but could otherwise very easily be reworked to star any number of Franco-Belgian protagonists, such as Gil Jordan, and even Colonel Clifton. Roger Leloup's work would be what would still distinguish it from the other albums in a similar series. Having a creator produce a single 44 page album per year makes for a staggering amount of artistic detail and a clear break between volumes. It seems that simply concentrating so much time and energy into a single story made the Franco-Belgian creators mindful to at least change the formula to include different locales in each of the entries in the series.

The resulting research and effort certainly pays off to produce visually startling work that both feels like a continuation of the series, and a pleasant diversion on it's own. Simply watching the Rhine vistas and the craggy hills ancient castles surrounded by the old fashioned town should feel like a typical middle European comics adventure, but in the hands of Leloup it becomes a real treat. The physical model of the castle itself, with the prominent tower and the adjacent area, feels completely realized, befitting it's importance as the story setting. This is particularly notable given so much of the similar locales in the medium typically looking like a cheap cardboard approximation of the same generic fortress. In Leloup's hands, the structure is depicted as looming over the river and the town houses, until it becomes the stage for the final act of the story.

Once again, the artist's attention to detail when it comes to the ferryboat and the train goes far and beyond the usual standards of realism in comics, with vehicles that have weight and mobility far beyond the look of being traced from a postcard in the work of a lot of the figure-centered artists. As befitting ligna claire style, the characters seem much more livelier than their surroundings, which is something of a problem when it comes to the artist's design for Paul, who simply looks like he belongs in a different comic book altogether. And while Yoko is kept in the realistic proportions, some of the side characters sport a somewhat looser style, which when compared to the main character's relatively calm and measured behavior, proceeds to somewhat distract from their surroundings. This is no doubt intended to ease up the characters acting out long swathes of dialogue, but the capable yet not too attractive figure drawings still betrays the artist's preference for depicting still life.

It stands to be pointed out again that this is a complete reversal from the typical comic book illustrations that tend to concentrate on the fast paced physicality of the characters in motion, with the background details provided to liven up the atmosphere, or more often, when the script specifically calls for them. When it comes to the story, in "The Devil's Organ" Leloup decides to mine the larger then life implications involved with having characters investigating a possible local cult, coupled with the depictions of medieval armor and, later on, a dungeon complete with a baroque organ that could hardly possess such a presence in a non-visual medium. Thus, despite the somewhat simple case of detective work Yoko encounters in the town of St. Goar, the writer/artist keeps maintains the aura of supernatural by using familiar tropes such as giant bats coming through the window.

That Leloup builds a peculiar sets of clues involving the audio tape left after the disappearance of Ingrid's father makes for an entertaining technology based investigation involving the town and it's river front. Still, what every 44 page comic book mystery story has to grapple with is the small number of suspects that can be previously alluded to in order for them to turn into the credible antagonists in the final act. Ironically, this makes for some realistic cases when Yoko and her genre colleagues pieces together the motives and evidence pertaining to the case, but still leaves a discerning reader with a mystery that could hardly have revealed a much different outcome.

Leloup tries to diversify the circumstances by coming up with a few final complications, but the explanation only becomes that much more convoluted because of it. Thankfully, such a bizarre set of contraptions that the technologically minded villain comes up with to undertake a simple interest fuel goal feels right at home when it comes to the medium. Reading the story about sound used to hypnotize the opponents and constructing a gigantic organ to echo the local folklore seems much better suited to the material then even watching it on screen, in what could only work as a very peculiar star studded blockbuster. But again, even a serviceable explanation seems more than enough when it comes to the story featuring as many action scenes as "The Devil's Organ".

Yoko in particular, seems to be continuously climbing up hills and falling off the walls, while the underground passages and secret rooms appear just where she imagines them to be, all flawlessly rendered by her creator. In a world where complicated machinery dominates every brightly lit room, this electrical engineer still relies chiefly on her instincts and rational mind to overcome threat against threat that is thrown against her.

That Roger Leloup manages to produce such a well thought out detective story, back to back with what was almost a space opera, belies a comics creator capable of every kind of work in the field. That the very next album represents the return to the series' origins could just mean that he was thinking of his own interests first, no matter the perceived audience's distaste for mixing the two.

Yoko Tsuno 1 - the Trio of the Bizarre

2011-08-24T17:47:00.000-07:00

Yoko Tsuno debuted in 1970, starring in a couple of try out short stories published in the pages of Belgian "Spirou" magazine. Created by Roger Leloup, Herge's assistant on "Tintin", the character has since gone on to star in the series of 25 albums, with her adventures being translated and published in several different languages. The first English edition of the material debuted in 1998 and covered two of the early albums, while Cinebook has since picked up the licence. Since 2007, the publisher has kept to the schedule of more or less a single album per year.

The adventures of a beautiful Japanese girl teaming up with Belgian television crew Vic and Paul are somewhat distinctive. While Yoko herself is certainly an independent woman, perfectly suited to the life of an action hero, Leloup treats her with respect and avoids concentrating too heavily on her figure. Her two friends are somewhat more familiar Franco-Belgian Silver age characters, with Vic basically playing the role of the reader identification figure, and the much flawed Paul being around for comic relief and a more pronounced touch of humanity.

In "the Trio of the bizarre", Yoko is introduced as an electrical engineer that is suspected of burglary by the two friends working in the movie studio. What starts as a spy story, all too quickly (due to the album being originally serialized in the course of several installments of "Spirou" magazine) turns into an adventure story, until it becomes apparent that Leloup is actually most interested in placing his characters in a science fiction milieu similar to that of "Star Trek: The Original series". A turn for the bizarre is, of course, nothing new for the Franco-Belgian comics of the era, with even the otherwise semi-realistic "Tintin" having oddball albums dealing with the more outlandish pulp elements.

In fact, 1968's "Flight 714" is particularly of note when discussing the origins of Yoko Tsuno. The second to last Herge album, featuring extensive work by Leloup, is notable for a light-hearted featuring a strange setting, and ending in a denouement that is very tongue in cheek. In the space of several pages, Herge attributes several unexplained phenomena as the work of aliens coming to visit the Earth, clearly inspired by the theories of Erich von Däniken. Däniken's "Chariot of the Gods" was published the same year as the collected edition of Herge and Leloup's work, and it's no coincidence that it plays with the ideas of aliens inhabiting the planet Earth in the past, which would theoretically serve as an explanation for some of the various culture's folklore and scientific wonders the ancient countries produced at seemingly far above the assumed technological level of the eras they lived in.

In any event, more notable then even the beautiful tropical backgrounds in the Tintin album, attributed to Leloup, the artist was reportedly responsible for the design of the airplane which plays a key role in the story and feels thoroughly modern and realistic, despite being the work of Herge's technically minded assistant. Interestingly, in Yoko Tsuno's long form debut, Leloup returns to Däniken's ideas, and crafts a story that takes the concept in a completely different direction that Herge's well meaning satire. Basically, while exploring a current for a possible documentary set in an unnamed Belgian cavern system, the characters stumble upon what at first seems like the remnants of some kind of modern Atlantis, and it's characteristically blue skinned denizens. Even more unlikely, at first chance the Vinean female Khany reveals their origins to the trio of total strangers, revealing that her race has originally come to the planet millions of years ago, while escaping from the destruction of Vinea.

The beautiful images showing the merging of the planet's suns are certainly the visual highlight of the volume, but by having his characters' original adventure, and subsequent supporting cast, integrated so heavily in the science fiction meant that Leloup was very conscious in carving out a niche in the Franco-Belgian comics industry. And while some of the succeeding adventures have featured the more realistic locales, the writer/artist has repeatedly returned Yoko and her two friends to the trappings of Vinean civilization, even going so far as sending them on Vinea. Interestingly, Cinebook has so far steered clear of the albums dealing directly with the Vinean civilization, and judging by the solicited material they certainly seem set on translating the more grounded material first.

It's a very peculiar situation for a reprint publisher to find themselves in, and certainly breaks away from the creator's original idea regarding the series. "The Trio of the Bizarre" is unapologetically an album featuring science fiction elements, and it certainly seems more reminiscent of "Flash Gordon" than "the X-Files". Namely, once Yoko and her friends come close to the Vinean settlement, Leloup drops all pretense of her companion's ambitions as journalists, proceeding with a long speed chase that highlights several of the book's key elements. Namely, the writer/artist's superbly executed vehicle designs, which seem both visually impressive and entirely plausible, given the setting. Leloup's fertile imagination immediately creates several challenges that use the exotic setting of an underwater alien train chase, making for an uncharacteristically long journey broken by every contrivance possible.

Again, this is certainly not a problem, as the creator uses the space to expand on the just introduced alien culture, introduce a major new character in Khany, and shows the traditional comic heroes coming to grips with the new locale and circumstances. Once Khany's equipment malfunctions after a cascade of problems that overtake their journey, it's transparent that the reader is dealing with a pulp yarn, but the array of tropes changes again as the story continues in ostensibly new issue of "Spirou", meaning that the final third of the album takes place in Vinean city, with only the threat of a villain serving as the dramatic thread and making the introductory album into more then a tour of the writer/artist's science fantasy setting.

It goes without saying that Leloup's architecture is on pair with his intricate vehicle designs, resulting once again in several breathtaking designs that he takes full advantage of. Returning Yoko, Vic and Paul to their civilian clothes serves to juxtapose these ordinary humans to the advanced alien civilization, but reading the story in 2011 means that her forty year old attire seems very dated and even disconcerting. The Vinean Vulcan-like hostility is on the sidelines through Khany's tour of the computer-colored complex, but in returning to the exposition Leloup once again breaks the suspension of disbelief as some of Yoko's questions seem far too direct to be given such extensive and matter of fact answers, given that she is a complete stranger to an alien civilization that has for millions of years been purposely hidden from the surface world.

Thankfully, in reasserting some semblance of loyalty to her people in Khany's character, the writer/artist manages to round out what has largely been a benevolent alien so far. Given that the otherwise goofy Paul gets the same treatment in the same scene, it's easy to see the last segment of the book as most interesting and dramatically the strongest. That Leloup follows the exposition with an action heavy climax featuring the peak of Vinean technology perverted and manipulated to be used against their people, and in turn surface world goes a long way to give the book some semblance of thematic resonance beyond the simple escapism. Truthfully, the allegorical reminder of the logical endpoint of computer-dominated society seems very familiar to anyone who has had experience with the genre, but it works to sufficiently raise the stakes for the final combat with the villain.

The stern Yoko directly opposing thoroughly evil Karpan is at least more notable then his initial appearance, but the character continues to be problematic, and seems very forgettable. His appearance is perhaps the strongest call back to "Star Trek", but the single minded obsession that the character displays makes him merely the obligatory antagonist, and not by any means a memorable villain in his own right. Still, perhaps it's to much to be expecting the series to launch with the album introducing the main characters, the setting they would remain closely linked throughout the series and a charismatic key opponent all at once. Most of the rest of Franco-Belgian adventure comics the same readership certainly acquired each of these elements during the course of many years they were published, with the creators routinely going back to the drawing board in searching for the appealing combination of the three.

The need for the immediate continuation of another new adventure with it's own set of action set pieces and cliffhangers, necessitated a familiarly quick wrap up of the main plot. In itself, a notable stranger coming to an ancient civilization with the fresh eyes for some of it's newer flaws, and dealing with them in short order is a stock plot that, along with the obligatory "techno babble" that follows most of the similar pulp science fiction scenarios, leads to a somewhat unsatisfying resolution, but Leloup dulls the effect with the advent of Khary's parting gifts to the main characters.

The mere fact that they were given actual items that hint further adventures, instead of some abstract McGuffin, goes a long way to differentiate the series. And while certainly having such a strange science fiction status quo to return to seems a challenge for both the readers and the writer/artist, Leloup has continued on to mine the concepts introduced in "The Trio of the Bizarre" for the following forty years. Perhaps that a simple fact of having such a strong, independent woman at the center of the book that is nevertheless a classic Franco-Belgian adventure story made such an impression on the readers. Considering that Yoko's chief rival was Dupuis' own "Natacha", focusing on much lighter cheesecakey depiction of the female form, it's easy to see why Leloup's heroine has remained such a strong presence in what was originally an industry catering to young boys' serial entertainment.

DC Retroactive - Flash 1980s

2011-08-05T10:43:00.000-07:00

This Wednesday saw the release of Flash 1980s, a part of the DC comics project centered around mainly rehiring the creative teams that made their mark on the superhero titles from decades past. With Flash, DC has solicited three specials, of which the William Messner-Loebs and Greg Larocque's effort is the second one, acting as a tribute to their run on then recently relaunched title.

Following the original Crisis on infinite Earths and the role Flash played in the mega crossover, his title was in a perfect place for the new #1. The new series starred Wally West in the title role, and was helmed by Mike Baron who left the title after little more then a year's worth of stories. William Messner Loebs, writer of independent hit "Journey" took over, and slowly adapted to writing the series on his own terms. Gone were Baron's superspeed themed villains, and Wally's immature characterization (carried over from New Teen Titans), and in their place Loebs put his own interests.

Typically for the 1980s superhero comic books, these included a more introspective take on the superhero tropes, and a turn from flamboyant supervillainy of the antagonists, to Flash tackling some of the more relevant social issues. A lot of times, the demands of the market meant that the final result was a not always successful mash up, that still read as heartfelt and genuine. Poised between Mark Baron's and the successive Mark Waid superhero heavy interpretations of the character, there was every indication that Loeb's and LaRocque's run was at least a pleasant diversion, that stands as an artifact of competent, if not overtly ambitious superhero storytelling of the day.

Following the writer's departure, Greg LaRocque stayed on to pencil the beginning of Waid's long association to the character, which was commercially and critically lauded, remaining one of the better remembered runs in a very specific moment of DC's history. In this respect, reuniting the 1980s creative team was a decision targeting primarily the collectors nostalgic to the era. Considering the modus operandi behind next month's wide scale relaunch, the Retroactive specials may well be the last time many of these creators tackle these characters in those particular iterations.

Specifically, in regards to "Flash 1980s", everyone involved seemed very conscious of all those factors. Packaging the resulting story with a reprint taken from early into their run, DC's editorial has essentially produced a 5$ Annual. Still, the new material is inoffensive enough to be function perfectly as a standalone piece, reflecting a different sensibility then current material involved with the character. The continuity basically hinges on the incarnation of Flash being less experienced then either Wally or Barry who are both currently married and ill fit for a story dealing with an obsessive fan willing to go great lengths to get together with their celebrity fantasy boyfriend.

Just like the best of Loeb's work, the basic theme is timeless and not tied into the continuity minutiae, even if he tries his best to dress it up in the superhero tropes. Interestingly, the focus is in the sick woman's interaction with the Rogues, the loose network of Flash's over the top enemies. Captain Cold, Mirror master and the rest of the original Barry Allen's Silver age antagonists were rarely the focus in the writer's original work on the title. What's more, the garishly colored characters were depicted as more or less reformed, as the thrust of the series was in establishing Wally West as his own character in the role of the Flash, with his villains in tow. That this was only partially successful, as evidenced by the other writers going back to the Rogues, does not really condemn Loebs and Larocque's work.

Simply, the creators were poised to tell a different kind of story, and it's interesting to see their working in a large number of those characters in Retroactive. Loeb's take on mental illness and the issue of identity aside, the offering is still somewhat limited by it's original premise. Simply put, the writer was seemingly asked for a competent script, featuring a version of the character that is little seen these days, and this is what was delivered. A professional, if not overtly complicated superhero plot designed with nostalgia as it's selling point.

But this does not elevate the rushed feeling of the whole enterprise that is exemplified by Larocque's artwork. It stars very thorough and detailed, and as the pacing slowly picks up, the backgrounds fade to non existence resulting in some very ill defined art that seems as if it was hastily put together to meet the deadline. Greg both pencils and inks his work here, and while his layouts remain clear and reader friendly, a lot of the finesse gets lost along the way. By the end of the twenty five pages allotted to the segment, the reader is reminded how inessential such a contribution is to DC comics on the whole, who regularly put more of their time and resources into more pretentious projects.

As for the cast, interestingly it consists mostly of Flash, Golden Glider and Pied Piper, with Dr Alchemy substituting for the voice of all the other Rogues duped into helping Flash's obsessive fan carry out her attention grabbing plan. Interestingly, Golden Glider, a good example of throwaway Silver Age character sports such an overblown hyper sexed design that she serves as the source of distraction in most of the panels she appears in. The otherwise seldom seen character's previously subdued sex appeal is so magnified in these pages that it distracts from her ice skater superhero gimmick. Of course, the highly idealized female form is nothing new when it comes to superhero comics, but the portrayal is so much at odds with Loebs' script that depicts her as a Captain Cold's younger sister, that it creates a curious juxtaposition.

It doesn't help that the garish colors fail to spotlight the blade of her skates in one panel where the character draws attention to it. Glider's appearance is particularly spotlighted given that the rest of the cast, Flash's physique aside, sports realistic human anatomy. Pied Piper particularly looks like overweight with long hair making for a distinctive sidekick look, that is in keeping with Loeb's original run on the title. Unfortunately, due to the writer's perpetual uneasy when it comes to typical superhero storytelling, the character ends up completely forgoing the use of his superhuman abilities, making him little more then a clown serving as another voice commenting on the strange events in Central city.

Dr Alchemy makes for a very unsettling visual, seeming like a self-conscious parody of a caped archetype. Sporting an unkempt beard and spending most of his page time in his underwear, the character's appearance is somewhat distracting, but ultimately makes sense plot-wise. Unfortunately, the way the Flash deal with doctor's own mental illness is very troubling, albeit ultimately somewhat amended when it comes to the showdown with powers stealing Alex, whom he subdues in a way that is thankfully somewhat less controversial.

Curiously, the presence of Captain Boomerang in the closing scene makes little sense given the previous plot, and the character's more modest power level. It suggests that Alex has made her way through even more of the Rogues' operations then identified in the dialogue, but it would been more logical if Larocque used Heatwave in his place. The flame-themed villain's powers feature into the plot, thus it would have made sense if he was present at the big showdown.

Finally, Alex herself is rendered as a more or less ordinary young woman, bereft of impossibly perfect superhuman physical attributes. Once again, this is more present in the story's opening pages, that go somewhat overboard in identifying her love for Flash as one-sided. Following her contrived plan that drives Flash, Glider and Piper on a mad chase around the crime scenes of Central City, the character returns with a much more lithe form. Due to the presence of superhero antics such as her leaving notes in battered jewelries and museums, her final idealized appearance doesn't stick out too much, but it's still inconsistent with her initial look, no matter the character's personal delusions.

Complete with an end sequence that opens the possibility of the character's further appearances down the line, Loeb's scripting is much more tighter then his original run on the title. In a way, it seems that "Flash 1980s" was written to play to the expectations of a current Geoff Johns' Flash fan regarding what the title must have been like some twenty five years ago. The presence of the Rogues aside, this is reinforced by the Silver Age elements that were much less pronounced during the writer's original run on the title.

For evidence, the reader doesn't need to look much further then the reprint included after the original story. Featuring the third part of Loeb and Larocque's original "Flash" storyline, the story was conceived to wrap up some of the departing writer Baron's plot threads, and is pretty much inaccessible to the reader uninitiated with these never reprinted comics. Albeit, a cursory look through the pages reveals Flash as the only costumed character within, coupled with Larocque's art that seems much more refined and earnest, if understandably old fashioned. The characters are easily recognizable due to the, admittedly exaggerated, facial features, but the work on the whole feels like it could have come from any of the alternate genre publishers of the day.

Forgoing some of the amateurish touches, Larocque illustrating the Retroactive event Flash comic is much more concerned with putting a modern sheen on his work, robbing it of some of it's uniqueness. In the process he achieves a somewhat more moody artwork, that certainly benefits from stronger line and better staging, but it's to a large percent workmanlike, the product of yet another contributor painfully aware of the limits of the editorial mandate and the finite appeal of the material he was commissioned to produce, which is never as apparent as in the final panel. Still, the very inclusion of such a tongue in cheek commentary on the whole of Retroactive project versus the upcoming relaunch of DC's entire superhero line, belies the creators that at least approached the arbitrary endeavour with a sense of playfulness and humor.

League of extraordinary gentlemen Century II - 1969

2011-07-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

This week saw the official belated release of "Century 1969", the middle chapter of the third volume of Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill's "the League of extraordinary gentlemen". The complex work is a long time fan favorite, and in many ways this latest release represents everything the series has been about since the creators finished their commitment to DC, and moved their property to the new publisher. Under the auspices of Top Shelf, Moore and O'Neill were free to follow the acclaimed first two volumes, which featured a complete story of Victorian era horror icons reimagined as a superhero team.

Following the conclusion of the original storyline, the first glimpse of the eventual evolution of the series came with "Black dossier", a companion volume playing up the back matter that was a treat for the series' biggest fans. The controversial graphic novel was produced largely for the literary afficionados, with numerous text pieces homaging mostly popular novels, with the actual comic book parts being relegated to a strange and moody spy chaser that culminated in a psychedelic explosion, celebrating the eternal power of human myth and culture.

The ambitious tome served as a final Moore/O'Neill collaboration with Wildstorm/DC, with creators deciding that the forthcoming three part epic would be better served with the indie friendly publisher, that previously collected Moore's seminal "From Hell". The plan was to release the three parts of the story reasonably fast, with the time travel plot still serialized at an irregular pace, but at least bundled into larger chunks than the typical 23 page pamphlet comic book. The first part of the Century debuted in 2009, returning the series to the good will of the majority of it's fans, but the follow up appears only now, two years since.

"1969" continues the themes introduced in "Black dossier", best represented by the addition of Virginia Woolf's Orlando to the team roster. In the rethinking of the series, following it's original 1999 publication, the tongue in cheek guessing game represented by a constant barrage of homages started turning into something more profound. Not content to simply wink to their audience and connect their most popular adventure novels and pulp trivia into a single timeline, the creators have ventured to really use the unique series set-up to explore the world of fiction in a way that was to be both metafictional and still entertaining.

Orlando's role was to quietly get the readers to accept the new addition to the line up, while the deeper plot centers around the place of decades old fictions in the increasingly modern world. By their definition, comic book characters never age, and in some cases wind up meeting a bevy of familiar archetypes in their endless adventures. Using the most charming of "Dracula"'s ensemble cast as his protagonist, Moore has found a very oblique way of dealing with changing times, by showing the reader the effects of Mina's endless youth in the every changing world, as her life spans the beginning of another new century.

The complicated plot that facilitates what is ostensibly this is another game, a sprawling, hundred year old caper of connecting the identities of various occultist Aleister Crowley homages in popular culture. Judging by Moore's arcane interests, using of a major figure in the field must have come as an afterthought, in much the same way as the Jack Ripper pastiche he used in "1910" (Top Shelf's own "From Hell" documents the writer's extensive research on the subject).

"1969" tackles a different era in which Mina's League tackles Oliver Haddo (the pseudonym Moore uses as Crowley's "real" name), and it necessitates a completely different cultural backdrop than the original two volumes of "the League". Namely, the adventure novels and penny dreadfuls are replaced by the much more visual icons of counter culture, such as the fictional surrogates of the Beatles and Rolling stones, as well as the popular English movies of the era. As always, the pages of the "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" are bursting with in-textual references to a myriad of period trivia, much in the same way as the artist O'Neill seemingly feels every inch of the page with veiled references to the ephemera of the day.

It goes without saying that most of these in jokes are readily apparent only to those most knowledgeable of the 1960s popular culture, but once again Moore and O'Neill make a concentrated effort to make the plot and it's main details clear, no matter the background clutter that is there only for those who get the references. And, just as it was with each of the entries in the League series, a sympathetic reader will find it hard to resist reading Jess Nevin's thorough panel by panel annotations, trying to force the series into making more sense than it does on the surface level for most readers.

It's a tricky balance, and frankly lost years ago for the benefit of the readers who are prepared to work on their research, which is not necessarily a bad thing. The inside knowledge feeling that the series challenges the reader to keep up with is certainly a part of it's charm, but it can hardly be said to function as an entertaining pulp comic book any longer, no matter the effort on the part of it's creators. Simply put, reading successive pages laid out in nine panel grids filled with oblique dialogue and draped in posters and references from beyond the obscure, saps a lot of the energy of the story.

In a way, the notoriously expressionistic O'Neill, saddled with photo references of Moore's invention, becomes another in the line of outstanding creators working from the writer's baroque scripts, having a monumental task of breathing life into a very formal way of storytelling. Thus, the artist's style that in "Marshal law" had already found a way to marry both the background details and frantic storytelling into a work of a real veteran cartoonist, here actually suffers from the excessive research. It's difficult to praise a three part story that's already stretching into four years and more due to simply overcrowding the artist with period detail and research.

That said, it's difficult to find fault with O'Neill beyond the delays. The mere fact that he still manages to make the layouts clear despite the clutter that eats away at every corner of the panel, belies his strength as the storyteller in the sequential medium. Unfortunately, at a first glance, what's bound to strike most readers is the excessive depiction of sexuality, that is continuous and relentless. It's not just that the creators concentrate on two detailed depictions of same sex foreplay, it's the very deliberate way that they chose to illustrate every condition of human body as a depiction of a normal part of a human experience that is disconcerting in it's execution. Eventually, the reader becomes desensitized, which was no doubt part of the creator's ambition, but it could have been done in a subtler and more story sensitive manner.

In fact, the era the comic takes place in seems "1969"' sole defense for this creative choice. Namely, the free love years that the creators go to great lengths to exploit and parody, and specifically the occult and musical scene are certainly no stranger to erotica and drug consumption (that is likewise ever present in these pages), but despite the latter actually amounting to a plot point later on, the excessive nudity is much more problematic. Forgetting for a second Moore's dislike of any kind of censorship, which was a chief reason for his departure from Wildstorm/DC, one can argue that the severe nudity can even be seen as crass and not at all stylish. Considering that the trend has begun in the preceding "1910" and "Black dossier" tome, it's much harder to ascribe the relative nudism of the cast merely to the parody of the hippie movement.

It seems almost that the creators use the obscenity to further establish that these fictional characters inhabit a reality that is very similar to our own, in the process utilizing the crassest possible way to achieve this. It quickly goes beyond shocking into plain diverting, but on a closer reading perhaps a certain logic can be ascribed. The whole of Century, the third volume of the "League", seems poised to deconstruct the formerly successful Victorian group, that served as a basis of 2003 cinema blockbuster. Discounting that the second volume ended on a downbeat ending serving much the same function, Century is devoted to taking apart the beloved children's characters, forcing upon them stylings of different eras and seeing if and how they can possibly survive the change.

It seems that in order to discover the big question of the continuing use of yesterday's fictions, Moore and O'Neill are poised to batter their protagonists almost into nothingness, going from an expansive team in "1910" to a much more concentrated, albeit even more dysfunctional group of "1969", and teasing a completely pared down league of one, at least for the beginning of forthcoming 2009". No doubt, by the end of the complete third volume, the creators will show us the new, higher purpose for their strange concept, but that point's still a ways off.

For the moment, the creators' seem to hint a possible immediate follow up taking place in 1964 and featuring the superhero characters, whose base Mina currently uses to house herself and her two partners. And while the references to this still untold story connecting to the textual story back matter do somewhat intrigue, they still beg a question of the real need to force the direct superhero trappings to the world of the League. In the original League concept there are no doubt some superhero parallels (with the series title itself being a tongue in cheek elaboration of the "Legion of superheroes"), deciding to directly tackle the superhero tropes seems somewhat misguided. While there is no doubt that superheroes make for a very distinctive piece of 20th century pop culture ephemera, the obvious profusion of those kind of books in the American market makes a disconcerting effect when they rear their head again in a rare commercially successful project by the very mainstream creators that have made their name working for DC and Marvel.

Thankfully, for the moment at least, the matter can be glossed over in the larger Century narrative. As for the cultural aspirations that make up a much more direct influence on "1969", they derive primarily from the movie "Performance", starring Mick Jagger, with the outside sources making reference to Aleister Crowley (beyond the occultist' book "Moonchild" that has a bearing on the whole of Century's plot), being pretty much nonessential. The avant-garde movie touches upon the link between rock music and occult, which is precisely Moore's focus this time around, when it comes to the plot and style. The fact that the frontman of Rolling Stones, a notorious rock icon himself, plays an even more flamboyant and narccisistic character goes hand in hand with his role in the "1969". Likewise, a distinct tragic moment in early Stones biography forms the backbone of the creator's tale, with band co-founder Brian Jones' mysterious death, and the follow up tribute concert in Hyde Park serving as respectively the strange beginning, and the explosive climax of the comic that is even subtitled "Paint it black".

Despite the obligatory name change and the removal of fifty years from said events, it's still somewhat disturbing to see a real life tragedy lightly turned upside down and exploited to fuel a plot about Aleister Crawley's legacy. Despite the obvious affection Moore and O'Neill bring to "1969", where it's clear that they're treating the events as part of a rock legend, the story feels too aggressive towards tragedy that has characterized then young Rolling Stones' beginnings.

When one gets to the said Hyde Park concert, the pacing finally seems to pick up. After two thirds of the story spent in endless conversations, with a cast that is increasingly paranoid and out of touch with one another, the events finally come to a head. Yet, after dozens of pages filled with talking heads where every measure was taken to stall the book and confuse the reader with a maze of references and little actual plot, it takes a very subjective reader to pretend that the experience was completely enjoyable. Despite going to great lengths to quote "Get Carter" and numerous other genre movies of the era, the book effectively substitutes action tropes with those of a blue movie. Strangely, what little suspense the book builds, it does on the back of the villain scenes, that in turn mostly undermine the suspense in Mina and her group's search.

The reader is already privy with every step of Haddo's master plan, making the reader wait patiently until the League puts together the clues on their own. Perhaps the most effective is the scene showing Mina trying to infiltrate the occult bookstore. Unfortunately, despite the great use of tension in the proceedings, the character's continual inquiry into the order's upcoming plans, almost undermines the whole sequence, which is saved at the last moment by Moore revealing the shop keeper's motivation for such frank discussion of what are the utmost secrets of the cultists.

The simple fact that "1969" contains the appearances of Michael Moorcock's Jerry Cornelius and Ian Sinclair's Andrew Norton, Prisoner of London in the same book speaks out to the kind of work Moore and O'Neill have decided the League to be. Both of the appropriated characters talk in the roundabout way, while the League tries to gain useful information regarding Haddo's order from them. And while Jerry Cornelius ends up being a somewhat obnoxious curiosity, there is really no excuse for the sequence featuring the time traveler Norton. Despite appearing in "1910" and seemingly being one of the rare characters that exist in all three eras, the Prisoner of London is deliberately made to be mysterious, expressing himself in free associations when talking with the League, resulting in a very tiresome reading experience.

For a series that is already concerned with being as smart and it can be, about the various connections between the known and little known miscellany, there is little excuse for Moore and O'Neill to adopt a character that takes exactly those qualities and amplifies them to the next level. Perhaps a fan of "Slow chocolate autopsy", the novel where Norton originates from will find his appearance amusing, but from the storytelling point, despite the information that he imparts to the League, he is likely to leave a very bad impression on most of the readers. Even when the book finally builds up to the confrontation between Haddo and the League, taking place on several fronts at once, all connected by the Purple orchestra (Rolling Stones)' concert in Hyde Park, the way Alan Moore writes the scene is undeniably his own.

By having the Mick Jagger surrogate recite the writer's replica of "Sympathy for the devil", the volume's second chapter echoes some of the approximations of Brecht songs in "1910", and is certainly fitting considering the subject matter. The problem lies in the following sequence, where Moore constructs an homage to Percy Shelly's "Adonais", which the Rolling Stones singer recited in memory of Brian Jones. The lyrics start stretching from page to page, until it becomes obvious that they've become a counterpoint to a complicated series of events that overlap during the League's two-pronged confrontation with Haddo's cult. Seeing the little oddly colored balloon constantly punctuating each successive panel, by foreshadowing Haddo's plan and also slyly commenting on the action depicted in the drawing quickly gets tiresome, and starts acting almost as a parody of the similar techniques Moore has used to greater effect in his previous works.

The climatic battle on astral plane, likewise feels excessive and hysterical, showing the reader once again that the League has yet to have a convincing villain, beyond their own shortcomings as a team. Yet, amusingly, the carefully constructed dynamic actually pays off by providing a very interesting set up for the next volume. Seeing elements from the Harry Potter series of books in "1969" seems arbitrary and goofy at first glance, but Moore leaves them of in a perfect place to achieve interesting reverberations in the next volume. Likewise, Mina's fate following the concert is both chilling, and utilized to maximum effect considering her characterization throughout the story.

The short epilogue taking place eight years later finds her companions in a very different state. While listening to a punk rock act, Orlando and Allain ponder the future of the League, before the book ends in a way that echoes the closure of the second volume. As for the third song forced upon the reader in the book's closing scene, the less said the better. At that point it's very hard to find any resemblance the vulgar lyrics have to the story's themes, nor is the average reader likely to try to hard after being subjected to the same trick three times in little more then a dozen pages. Allain Quartermain's plight certainly seems moving, but that is precisely because of O'Neill staging the page to echo his previous work, and not because the reader was particularly invested in the character this time around.

And while it goes without saying that the self centered braggart and transvestite that is Moore and O'Neill's Orlando comes of as vain and cold-hearted, it's very difficult to get any kind of reading on Quartermain throughout "1969". He seems continually disinterested in anything besides his id, ignoring Mina and everything else to concentrate on debauchery. Seeing as how the character sports a design that has little similarity to the way he was previously depicted, it's very easy to ignore him, or even think of him as a different character altogether. To a large degree this is precisely what Moore and O'Neill must have intended, so as to isolate Mina both professionally and emotionally, but he still feels largely irrelevant until the epilogue, where his previously established character flaw is reasserted.

In the end, "1969" feels like a necessary middle chapter that ends on a very bleak cliffhanger, forcing the reader to empathize with these strange characters, who don't feel like themselves anymore, and continue with the story until it makes more sense. Mina and Allain are far off from the laid back way in which their fellow immortal Orlando carries himself, as a time tested archetypal warrior. In trying to fit in and explore life to the fullest, be it through various sexual permutations and lifestyle changes, by the end of "1969" they have lost track of what has characterized them before, and what they are. Judging by Orlando's occasional sex changes, which Virginia Woolf's character uses to provide some variety in his make up, the Victorian League members are still a ways of from finding that kind of balance. No doubt, by the end of "2009", Moore and O'Neill will show us what is the best kind of behavior for these old fictions in the present day, and in what way they must carry themselves in order to continue to endure in ever changing times. Hopefully, Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill will find a way to produce the final chapter of the Century in time, so that the readers get the answers as soon possible.

the Deathwish of terrible Stone

2011-07-17T06:08:00.000-07:00

A lone police lieutenant, on the verge of retirement decides that he's been stuck on the sidelines of the superhero fights for too long, and in the middle of a savage brawl, threatening to destroy an urban metropolis, decides to make his stand. Barging in amid amazingly powerful figures claiming celestial powers, a single mortal man risks everything to bring in a savage madman, no matter his towering size, or beastly physique. Despite seemingly having no chance of stopping the lunatic bursting with power, the veteran lieutenant prevails by sheer force of will, stopping the invading lunatic amid rooftops toppling all over, in the process helping the superheroes avert a deadly outcome.

At first glance, this amounts to be a summary of what is arguably one of Jack Kirby's highlights in working on the sprawling Fourth World saga, "New Gods #8", that has long been recognized a classic superhero moment. The saga was a logical extension from his work on "Thor", and even hints at taking place in the future after the fall of Old Gods. The implied connection aside, Kirby's work has long been one of the chief artistic influences on creators working in mainstream superhero industry that he helped define in his mountain of prolific work.

Thus, seeing creators working on the books he created routinely leads to some amount of homage to "the King", which has always been respected, if not outright encouraged by the fans. When Tom DeFalco and Ron Frenz got tasked with continuing "Thor", after Walt Simonson left the title, following a change in the editorial direction, the mandate seems to have been to go back to the title's roots. Bit by bit, the character was restored to a semblance of his original Silver age incarnation, as imagined by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. Forgoing Simonson's take, heavily inspired by Norse mythology, DeFalco and Frenz deliberately proceeded in a different direction, first by returning the character's original costume, then by preventing him from returning to Asgard, the home of his fellow Norse Gods, and finally, by restoring Thor's secret identity.

Having recreated Thor as the Silver age Marvel book Lee and Kirby pioneered the concept as, DeFalco was free to construct stories inspired by mythology, and taking place on the streets of New York. In all this, he was aided by collaborator Ron Frenz, a Kirby inspired penciller who excelled equally at superhero fights, as well as the soap opera amid the newly created human supporting cast, centered around Thor's new human host. Inked by veteran artist Joe Sinnott, Frenz' adoration of Kirby extended past figurework, and extended to include layouts, and even panel shapes.

It's clear that DeFalco and Frenz, following their collaboration on "Amazing Spider-Man", envisioned their "Thor" to be a callback to Kirby, but even then, #414 is guaranteed to surprise the reader cognizant of the King's DC work. Simply put, a major subplot in the issue doubles Kirby's "New Gods #8" almost scene by scene, and there can be no doubt that this is intentional. Using the introductory paragraph of this review as the deliberately generic approximation of the actions of a supporting character in a superhero comic, fits both Metropolis' lieutenant Dan "Terrible" Turpin and his opposite number Marc Stone from NYPD.

For a start, creating in 1990, DeFalco and Frenz could routinely make their supporting character African American without feeling the need to stress it out. Working two whole decades previously, Kirby's two major Fourth World minority characters were named Vykin the black and Black racer, which is understandable considering the comicbook standards of the time. In fact, despite a minor Jimmy Olsen character being a stereotypical African American sidekick, Kirby's Silver age work was still forward thinking enough to produce the first major African superhero in Black Panther, and it's clear that the King at least tried to be respectful when in comes to the racial issues in his later work.

Considering that Dan Turpin has since been recognized as a stand in for Jack Kirby in "Superman the animated series", the race issue is largely irrelevant when making the comparison. Marvel's lieutenant Stone has gone on to become a long standing Thor character (continuing into Frenz' run spin-off "Thunderstrike"), while Turpin's popularity still stems from New Gods #8, and the defining moment Kirby crafted for him in the soon to be cancelled title. It is no mistake that many have recognized parallels to the King's own past in the tough as nails police lieutenant, raised on the suburbs of the urban metropolis, and determined to make his voice heard. This same scrappy and individualistic streak can be seen in Fantastic Four's Thing, another fictional stand in for Kirby, at least as some of his fanbase is concerned.

In both cases, the writers wheel out a traditional cop fiction trope of a police officer determined to make a stand when faced with a chance of an early retirement. When it comes to comics, perhaps this is epitomized in Frank Miller's "That Yellow bastard", which can be said to be completely devoted to a Terrible Turpin's fighting back against forces beyond his control in Sin City, albeit stylized in such a way that pays equal tribute to creator's past in superhero publishing and the crime fiction that inspired him. It goes without saying that Kirby's passionate portrayal and a career high point overshadows DeFalco and Frenz's effort that is even advertized as nothing more than another fight between Thor and Ulik.

Perhaps the most direct comparison lies in the choice of villain in Thor #414, as the rock troll is look virtually identical to how Kalibak was depicted in "New Gods". It goes without saying that Ulik is another Kirby creation, but even then both are portrayed as hideous giants sporting wild manes and full beard, spending most of their fight against respectively lt. Stone and Turpin with most of their costume in shreds, or non existent. The effect is primal, designed to pit an ordinary man against a savage giant, and have him somehow manage to survive overwhelming odds stacked against him.

In fact, considering Kirby's inspirations when it comes to creating the Fourth World, it should come as no surprise even if the original scene was inspired by the biblical battle of David and Goliath. DeFalco and Frenz certainly harbor no such ambitions, and it can be seen that by reappropriating the original Turpin/Kalibak fight, the creators merely wished to extend their run, or even Thor's mythology, to include such an iconic moment, executed in the rival company's books. In fact, considering the nebulous state Kirby's original Fourth World books assumed in DC's continuity following the reboot of the Superman continuity they were ostensibly linked to, perhaps a deeper goal can be inferred in their New Gods homage.

They can be said to have brought back to Thor ideas that Kirby has reportedly saved away from future non-Marvel use, when he was finishing his first run with the company. And even though DC has continued to use New Gods since, the status of Kirby's original stories is still nebulous, due to successive creators sporadically and non consistently reintroducing parts of the King's Fourth World lore to the Superman family of titles.

In this aspect, by introducing the Turpin/Kalibak fight to the burgeoning Stone/Ulik feud, DeFalco and Frenz have made it a part of their story, and as such, it even works as a parallel of the Thor's secret identity dynamic. Marc Stone is presented as a man who has to choose between family and his vow to protect the innocents, which is the traditional inspiration for the superhero's troubles with keeping a private life separate from the constant barrage of villain of the month threats.

Yet, how DeFalco and Frenz continue their "Thor" run has little to do with the original point of comparison. By the time they started on the character, it was quite clear what were the limitations on working on company owned properties, and even the amount of influence a new take can have on the generation of creators that follow in their steps. If anything, by following Walt Simonson's run on Thor, both Tom DeFalco and Ron Frenz seemed determined to return the character to his roots as a Kirby creation, and envisaging their own stories around it.

This is where the homage most importantly diverges from the inspiration. Coming to DC in 1970, Jack Kirby was given a guarantee that he will be able to publish three whole books, completely created, written, drawn and edited by himself. The only succession readily apparent was his work on Jimmy Olsen, and even then, he used the book to launch the other Fourth World titles. The King was reportedly working for a much higher fee than DC's standard creative roster, and everything that followed until the books' eventual cancellation was a unique experience at that point in superhero comics. To this day it's unheard of that a single artist can be able to write and draw four bi-monthly books, with three of them at the same time being completely created from his own ideas. Even today, it's pretty unlikely that a company would let a single individual, no matter how talented and influential, basically create his own imprint in the middle of their publishing line, and proceed to do work that his little to do with the other titles of their line.

Of course, the hard lesson behind "Death wish for terrible Turpin" and the plethora of other stories, both teased and realized, was that the work was still company owned, and there quickly came a point where DC decided to let Kirby refocus his efforts in creating new properties that they would have more control over. Thus, the King was forced to unceremoniously cancel the Fourth World titles, and concentrate his efforts on tying in to the "Planet of Apes" popularity by creating a DC comic book approximation in "Kamandi". Even "Demon", the supernatural anti-hero realized as a superhero comic was purposefully divorced from the Fourth World concept.

That DC has continually returned to the New Gods concepts following Kirby's return to Marvel is of little consequence, seeing as how it was overshadowed by the King's fighting for intellectual rights to the characters he created and developed into perennial sellers for the Big Two superhero publishers. Kirby was always adamant that he preferred working on his own characters, and his one advice to the up and coming creators was always to try and develop their own heroes and setting, and not to continue retracing his steps.

In that respect, it's very strange to see lieutenant Stone fight Ulik in exactly the same way Terrible Turpin fought Kalibak, and have it all take place in the pages of Kirby's "Thor". The love and respect DeFalco and Frenz no doubt harbor toward Kirby's work informs every one of their pages, but there is little doubt how their idol would have looked at the work they created. Even if it was only to amuse themselves and play at the times they were already creating in "Thor", DeFalco would recently publicly complain that he was being type cast into writing a certain kind of company comic.

This was in context of his and Frenz's run on "Spider-Girl", but it nevertheless speaks to certain underlying truths of North American Direct Market publishing. Mainstream creators are encouraged to nurture their own sensibilities, but the financial reward is certain only when working on decades old company owned characters, whose stories have been told and retold countless times from their original creation. Arguably, it can be said that a Kirby fan reading "Thor" comics looks for precisely the kind of New Gods recreation DeFalco and Frenz exhibited in Thor #414, but is there any surprise then that a potential new audience keeps resisting these decades old characters and storytelling techniques?

ADVANCE REVIEW: TORN OGN

2011-07-16T08:29:00.000-07:00

Gestalt is an Australian publisher, behind some of the Oscar winner Shaun ("Arrival") Tan's comic work. The company has chosen to debut some of their most recent work during next week's San Diego Comic-Con, including "Torn", an original graphic novel drawn by Nicola Scott. The Australian artist has won fame in American comic book industry by working on DC comics superhero titles, most famously through her collaborations with Gail Simone on "Birds of prey" and it's spin-off "Secret Six".

Yet, by all accounts, "Torn" is the brainchild of debuting writer Andrew Constant, and his passion for the project shows through on every page. It's somewhat unclear in what way Joh James contributes to the story's artistic aspect, but judging by the comics traditional divide of labor, his role seems to be that of an inker, or even co-artist.

Gestalt is certainly promoting the book in the right direction. Both the name and the cover are perfectly chosen to depict the story behind them, and that's even before reading the solicitation text itself. From the chapter breaks contained within, it also seems that the company had decided to retroactively solicit the book into a graphic novel, as it's structure quite clearly shows that it was originally intended as a four issue mini-series.

By publishing it in one piece, and forgoing a possible webcomic approach beforehand, Gestalt are more or less banking on the wolfwere premise, and Nicola Scott's name to draw attention from potential new readers, and why not, movie producers. Yet, in the sea of hastily put together high concepts populating the world of independent and "independent" comics, it's quite clear that "Torn" is a labor of love for the talent involved.

The tale opens with a swift and brutal prologue, that sets the pace for the story. The action packed horror with a sympathetic narration is laid out in these pages, showing the origin of the main character illustrated very clearly and directly. That the very same plot points are instantly retold with the start of the first chapter proper leads one to believe that the prologue was potentially used to pitch the whole project, or even tease it in a local anthology of sorts.

In any event, the outlandish premise is established in all it's grisly detail, and what follows is a more traditional urban fantasy, drawing upon influences both sequential and cinematic. If the casually cited "Miller street" is any indication, the script calls upon Frank Miller's work as a direct inspiration, but it's clear that a myriad of outside sources contributed to it, whether they be manga or the more traditional Western comics. The black and white pages depict a brutal city, perpetually at night, and seemingly designed to torture the misbegotten on it's streets, whether through failed institutions, or brutal crime that goes on in it's alleyways. The protagonist has fled the forest where his transformation has taken place to try to live in the place where his new human form fits in, but the process is anything but smooth.

Speaking in broken sentences composed of few, carefully chosen words, he is unable to leave his birthright behind. Yet, by the very fact that he sleeps on it's streets, the wolf is forced to interact with it's denizens, which he does chiefly by forming a bond with Sarah, a fellow homeless girl. The severely traumatized beauty forms an instinctive bond with the strange newcomer, deciding to repay him for his protection by helping him understand the new world he has found himself in. Still, there is no time for the wolf to learn how to stop hunting for food, when his past catches up with him, and the grizzly event of his transformation rears its bloody head in again, terrorizing his new home. It is in how he responds to the terribly personal threat that this new wave of violence brings that will seal the protagonist's fate, and solve his dilemma once and for all.

The most interesting parts of the story deal with wolf's past and a terrible rivalry that replays itself on the streets of suburbia. The threat is clear and diabolical, but never feels wheeled in for the sake of a conflict, despite the antagonist's somewhat less than defined character design. In fact, following the very clear artwork of the opening pages, Scott's line art keeps getting looser, with blocky characters bursting from non-traditional panel borders to hurt one another, which makes for some confusion clarity wise. The spontaneity this grants some of the best pages complements the pacing, but unfortunately leaves a rushed feeling throughout, even for the book starring monstrous characters who never seem to stay still.

As for the other subplots, involving Sarah, and the pair of detectives that are trying to sort out the hideous crime scenes, they start out familiar, but eventually build up to the powerful climax, that the book capitalizes on in it's final pages. Perhaps most importantly, what gives context to the nightmarish events and scene shifts from misery to desperate fight for one's own life is once again, Constant's narration. Throughout he maintains a deep concern for the characters involved, and helps voice their fears and aspirations.

As for the dialogue, perhaps it bears the strongest Miller influence, and much more directly then the scenes of thugs harassing Sarah. Constant's characters speak in a familiar cadence of short bursts, complimenting narration, which is very reminiscent of the way Miller worked in "Sin city". As the story advances, the dialogue starts slipping more and more into instinctive, broken sentences, echoing the frenetic events that are coming to a boil.

In the end, the creators bring their story full circle, as the nightmarish cycle of brutal events claims its victims, and offers what little consolation possible regarding the circumstances. That such a bleak story does end on something of a positive note goes a long way toward calming the reader after taking him on such a high octane bloody thrill ride. The simple lessons of nature that informed the quieter parts of "Torn" are reaffirmed without the work ever resorting too much to cliches. It goes without saying that it uses the tropes inherent in the genre, but it doesn't offer easy answers, nor does it treat the main characters as cyphers.

A very distinctive comic book that stays behind it's premise, instilling it into a fast paced and heartfelt story, that could have benefited from the publisher polishing it up a bit before publication.

Scalped 43-44 "You gotta sin to get saved" prelude

2011-06-11T13:12:00.000-07:00

Following "Unwanted", the Vertigo's longtime title ambitious story arc, a break was called for before the beginning of another multi-parter. Traditionally, the DC imprint commissions the one-off short stories in order to allow the lead artist time to advance with the artwork enough so as to prevent any breaks in the publishing schedule. Although by definition slighter than the RM Guera pencilled arcs, these episodes usually spotlight a peripheral player, and act largely as foreshadowing for the future events. Typically, a certain amount of back story is related to in flashback, framed by the present day trigger, and narrated by the character in question.

Lately, though, Jason Aaron has opted to tie these one-offs even more directly to the narrative, in this case going as far as extending the theme of the larger arc to the two preceding short stories. The first of these, "A come-to-Jesus" at first feels very superfluous, starring a minor character from one of the previous arcs. Yet, the Jason Latour pencilled and inked issue acts as much more of a bridge toward the "You gotta sin to get saved" five parter, than it's somewhat more crucial follow-up, starring agent Nitz.

The reader is first invited to partake in the snapshot of sheriff Wooster Karnow's regular routine which is filled with lies spun to make a local hero out of a seedy aging bureaucrat. The story consists of him encountering a visiting war veteran turned US marshal. Seeing how a real hero deals with a situation involving a highly dangerous criminal, forces sheriff Wooster to reevaluate his bullying and exploitative ways. Following a near-death experience, he eventually comes to a decision that promises to tie him in more directly with the regular "Scalped" ensemble cast. Read on it's own, the issue seems almost a generic noir morality tale whose main importance seems to be in fleshing out a side character for future use.

Yet, taking into account the arc that it precedes, it's apparent how it introduces the main conflict and plays it out on a much smaller field, before the basic ideas are introduced into the more complex #45-49. Unfortunately, some of the detail of Latour's caricatural figures gets lost in Giulia Brusco's murky atmospheric coloring of the central part of the issue. The rough linework and extreme closeups make for a very involved atmosphere that only breaks up when the John Wayne-styled sheriff stops in his tracks, surrounded by contradictory backgrounds all around him. The artist's expressive cartooning at times reminds of Sean ("Joe the Barbarian") Murphy's work, but even then Latour still manages to channel the "Scalped" atmosphere perfectly. Much more importantly, Jason is a natural storyteller, equally adept at character design, as well as layouts and the sense of pace. The one time the book feels a little unclear turns out to be done on purpose and is used to maximize the intended effect.

By the time the book opens up again to daytime setting and brighter colors, it's clear that the writer is leaving nothing to chance. In utilizing the narrative captions on the final page to return to a point made in the opening scene, Aaron seems to underline the irony. Yet, the writer makes the subtext explicit, doubling as both the morale of the story, and the credo for the character's future actions.

Rereading the story in lieu of "You gotta sin to be saved" reveals the underlying depth of Aaron's approach. Basically, the writer uses "A come-to-Jesus" as a way to introduce a spiritual dimension to the complex psychological underpinnings of his established characters. This is in keeping with the general approach regarding his and Guera's flawed and all too human cast. Explicitly in #43, Aaron's larger idea is in trying to recontextualize Wooster's painful emotional journey of facing his demons as a test of fate.

Every man's got somethin' out there, waitin' to test him, he's just gotta be willing to find it, and face it

The idea is put to action in the second oneshot, pencilled by Guera's regular replacement on the series, Davide Fuerno. "The night they drove old Dixie down" is a very frantic experience, as befits protagonist agent Nitz' more energetic personality. During his work on the fill-ins, Fuerno's art has improved so much, that he's today a very different artist than he was when first tasked to fill in for Guera. For a start, he's work on this issue is much less angular, with characters realized in such a way that the story is told mostly through their emoting faces. That the backgrounds seemingly exist only when specifically called for is hard to notice when faced with such strong layouts and excellent panel flow.

At the same time, the artist works so well with colorist Giulia Brusco, that it appears as though one person alone has handled all of the art. The final look seems almost like it has been reproduced directly from Fuerno's pencils, skipping the inking stage altogether. In what is a very fast paced story, Fuerno and Brusco do a lot to flesh out agent Nitz' mental state, going so far as to render some of his narration unnecessary. Arguably, the key three conversations that make up the issue reveal all the information the reader needs to understand the extreme circumstances agent Nitz has found himself in.

Aaron duly lists the reasons the FBI has for questioning the current state of the investigation, but there is still something contrived about the manner in which the events unfold. By the time Nitz decides to take matters in his own hands, the way in which he proceeds to confront Red Crow seems absurd. What's worse, on the page it reads not so much as shocking but almost like a dream sequence, which is surely not the intended effect. Yet the casino scene is merely the set up for what follows.

In a true noir fashion, Aaron plots the issue so as to make sure that Nitz's downfall is all but certain, playing with the reader's expectation of a last minute reversal. It's important to note that despite the realistic milieu, "Scalped" has always been a genre book, so in itself, the writer's adherence to the noir tropes is not a problem in the slightest. Yet, even for a genre book, the gimmick Aaron comes up with is completely unrealistic.

Adding a political element for the sake of plot convenience is very sensationalistic, and the fact that it enters the story without any kind of set-up certainly goes against the book.Upon further examination the reader finds that Red Crow's men brought Nitz almost to the exact location of his controversial "blaze of glory", yet there is no clue that they knew about the complication the disgraced agent would get himself in, nor is it clear how they could have benefited from his actions. A very forgiving and creative reader could suggest that they manipulated him into eliminating the competition, but even this seems as a stretch compared to how they were treating him just minutes before.

In any event, it brings a lot of drama to the story and leads to the specific conclusion the writer was going forward, perhaps inspired by "the Wire". Yet, getting back to his overall statement regarding "You gotta sin to get saved" it's easy to recast the huge coincidences in Nitz's story in a new light. Using sheriff Wooster's terminology, one could look at the FBI agent's sudden fall of grace as another near death experience, allowing the character to continue his life from a different point of view.

And while Nitz's arrogant smirk certainly doesn't double as a typical sign of wisdom on the face of the tested, it can be said that it serves the same purpose. At first glance, The FBI agent seems simply to recede back to his arrogant self, but perhaps the knowledge he's gained through the ordeal will become more apparent later on. Even if it he remains pretty much the same character as he was before, which seems implied in his limited page time in "You gotta sin to get saved", the renewed focus on his work certainly seems a positive outcome. It's doubtful that even such a cautiously optimistic pronouncement can be made concerning the primary characters of the next arc.

Walt Simonson's Avengers (#291-300) Part one - the Fate of Marrina

2011-06-11T11:48:00.000-07:00

THE MARVEL UNIVERSE ASPIRATIONS

Walt Simonson is primarly known for his groundbreaking run on "Thor", but even then it was apparent that his love for the Marvel universe in it's original incarnation, cannot find full expression in his mythology-heavy take. As a self-professed science fiction fan, Simonson has found a way to integrate some of it's conventions in the title, most famously with the inclusion of Beta Ray Bill.

Particularly a curious "Thor" storyline featuring Titanium man and his gang of assassins shrinking into playing cards seemed much more suited to an oddball Iron Man Annual. Yet, it was Simonson's work on "Eternals", wrapping up the 1985 maxi-series that directly lead to his stint on "Avengers". Jim Shooter, then editor in chief at Marvel was allegedly dissatisfied with the series writer Peter ("Strikeforce Morituri") B. Gillis' work on the Eternals revamp that lead to Simonson stepping in to write the final four issues.

A typically thankless job lead to a serviceable script, dealing with the final act of the bloated and severely flawed Gillis work. Yet, it was only in the last issue that some of the Simonson's peculiar quirks came to the forefront and breathed some life into an otherwise troubled and uninspired maxi-series. It could be said that the writer's creative choices went somewhat against the previous set-up, but in a way they ended up directly informing his "Avengers" run, and it's eventual "Fantastic Four" follow-up.

And while the aftermath of the fight against the Black Celestial was only hinted at in his work on the Earth's Mightiest Heroes, it was the idea of bringing in the Avengers to assist the Eternals in the final conflict that has defined his work for the publisher since. Namely, casting Thor in a supporting role seems a constant in the writer/artist's subsequent work for the publisher. The character certainly didn't seem out of place in the context, considering that Roy Thomas spent the majority of his run on Marvel's premiere mythology title providing the wrap up for Jack Kirby's original "Eternals" series.

The King's ideas were still influencing the creators for the better part of the 1980-ies, and while this was not at first apparent in his "Avengers" scripts, it was only because Simonson started his run by deconstructing the Roger Stern team, that he inherited. Thankfully, he got to keep the title's then current penciller, a comics legend John ("Silver Sufer", "Conan the Barbarian") Buscema, who coincidentally also provided the art for the aforementioned Roy Thomas' run on "Thor".

THE GATHERING STORM

Yet compared to the freedom of his own run on Marvel's God of thunder, Simonson's work on "the Avengers" was plagued by compromise from the start, due to interconnectedness of the Marvel publishing line, featuring many of the same characters appearing in several different titles. Even his pencilling the company's best seller "X-Men" spin-off didn't really prepare him for rigors of working with the Avengers. During his tenure illustrating his wife Louise Simonson's scripts, the "X-Factor" was more or less kept separate from the rest of the mutant titles, and even then, the occasional crossover meant collaborating chiefly with the core title which originated all of the characters.

His "Avengers" on the other hand, even started not only following the previous writer's popular run, but also directly continuing from a story featured in "Thor". This was perhaps to be understood, considering that Simonson brought Odinson back to Avengers, but it set a precedent for interference that would ultimately be the run's undoing.

Anyhow, the circumstances of Thor's return are largely glossed over in the debut of the Avengers, with the new writer instead focusing on providing a brief moment of serenity for the whole group. Following Stern and Buscema's epic "Under siege" storyline, the remaining heroes were pretty much limited to their appearances in the team title, which is something that Simonson immediately set out to remedy (the writer also brings back Avengers' butler Edwin Jarvis, with an eye patch that serves as the remainder of the previous conflict). In order to do, the writer opts for something of a controversial approach, effectively derailing half of the team by their own hidden flaws, and not directly at behest of a master villain.

His first arc is thus devoted to bringing to the fore the tensions implied in the origin and subsequent appearances of the Alpha Flight character Marrina. At the time, the character had joined the Avengers and married Namor, with Simonson showing the pair being blissfully happy during the repairs on the team's Hydro-Base headquarters. The writer painted a bright picture of the newlyweds precisely with the idea of contrasting it mere pages later, when the biological imperatives of the character's alien background kick in. Seeing the creators going over the top with the depiction of her transformation is at first bizarre, and even disconcerting.

Seeing the beautiful, if somewhat generic companion to Marvel's original anti-hero transform into the monster to be fought by thea team for the subsequent two issues is certainly distinctive, but potentially problematic on multiple levels. It can be said that Simonson simply lead her story to it's ultimate conclusion, but somehow seeing the John Byrne created character treated so callously still seems brutal. It is doubtful that her creator would have used her back story to mimic Superman's origin so extensively if he merely intended for her to turn out to be nothing more than the threat to her friends and the world at large. Simonson is not so blunt to use that sympathy for emotional resonance, but it's still very disconcerting and even somewhat silly to see the nimble beauty turn into a serpent like behemoth, no matter the number of times her creator previously hinted at the prize of her dual heritage.

The writer intentionally omits the extensive summary of her origins, which feature a more elaborate version of Superman's classic arrival on Earth, instead concentrating less on the science fiction behind it, and more on the implication of Marinna's attacks on the high seas. Simonson stresses out the Biblical Leviathan reference to add gravity to the proceedings, but they more or less serve to convince the team that her alien manifestation necessitates immediate termination.

Once again, this feels somewhat contrived as the writer purposely leaves little room for Marinna's redemption and survival. At first, it seems that the character is simply no longer capable of subverting her brutal ancestry, which goes some way to dispel the idea of the story devolving in the familiar, if even sexist, genre trope of superheroines being emotionally unstable to deal with the tremendous power at their disposal, exemplified perhaps most famously in the X-Men's "Dark Phoenix saga", and even with the Avengers' own Scarlet Witch. And while the wide scale event that was "House of M" was still decades removed, Simonson basically executed his own version in three issues, without the need to tie in additional titles in the process.

Which would be fine on it's own if it wasn't for the conclusion, which ties in to her marriage with Namor and is potentially severely insulting, if the reader is to look at it from a certain point of view. Basically, Simonson reveals that the cause for Marinna's rampage towards trade ships the world over was the idea of building her own nest to hatch the alien hybrid offspring. The storyline is certainly memorable, but the implications it makes on the female psyche and motherhood could certainly be taken as offensive.

That aside, it's still strange to see this whole arc as anything other then a "Namor the Sub-Mariner" story, seeing that Marinna wasn't even created as an Avengers character. This is perhaps why all of the other subplots deal much more directly with setting up the Simonson run. Beside writing Namor out of the title, Simonson made certain to create almost as much friction with the remaining members. This is most notable with Black Knight, who due to coming to Namor's assistance against Marrina suffers a hideous bout of the symptoms relating to the curse of his Ebony blade. Ironically, in his brief writing the character, Simonson was left with this fatal flaw substituting for the character's personality, but this was again to be expected, considering that his main focus was elsewhere.

Namely, throughout the Leviathan crisis, Dr Druid undermines the team leader Captain Marvel's direction at every turn, who in turn pretty much vanishes during the said conflict, that has already severely decimated the team. At first, her not rejoining the fray seems an afterthought, an ambiguous subplot that would be picked up immediately following the end of the storyline, but in turn it marks the character's exit to be revamped later on.

The implication is that Druid is under control of a beautiful woman who haunts his dreams, which ties in with another subplot running alongside, that of the fate of the team's primary antagonist, Kang the Conqueror. In Simonson's run, Kang remains a presence throughout, most notably in the second arc that the writer has been building up to since taking over the title. Contrary to Druid's tragic descent into madness and fault, Kang is written like a much more three dimensional character, determined to weather the events that keep him going from one predicament to the other. Under Simonson, the character seems formidable and resourceful, if pragmatic to the extreme, making him almost an anti-hero like Namor, and very unlike the traditional super-villain.

The retrospective of Walt Simonson's "the Avengers" run will be split in three parts. This entry covers Avengers #291-293.

Witchfinder - Lost and gone forever

2011-06-03T19:07:00.000-07:00

This week has seen the conclusion of Dark Horse's second "Witchfinder" mini-series. Published under the banner "from the pages of Hellboy", editorially it primarily serves the purpose of being one of the projects that vie for the spot of being the third ongoing series set in Mike Mignola's supernatural universe, behind Hellboy and BPRD. But more importantly, the real question is whether it has any value aside from being another peripheral addition to an already complex mythology, two decades in the making. And while the first Witchinder project, "In the service of angels" (illustrated by Ben Stenback) certainly felt engaging on it's own, it is this second outing that has proven much more wholesome.

Perhaps this is because it actually started development first, with Mike Mignola and his co-writer John ("BPRD") Arcudi itching to do a weird western serial with their Victorian detective protagonist. As all of the Hellboy verse books are art-centered, the series seems actively developed so as to spotlight the artwork of industry legend John ("Two-fisted tales", "Mad magazine") Severin. The fact that the veteran penciller is currently 89 years old, and still producing detailed inked artwork cannot be overstated. And while Severin had previously pencilled a memorable oneshot for the BPRD "War on frogs" anthology mini-series, his talent is utilized to the full extent in the new Witchinder series.

As for the character himself, Sir Edward Grey is a curious case. Conceived to be a pastiche of the Victorian supernatural detectives in the vein of Carnacki the Ghost-finder, yet the co-writers maintain that there is more to him than that. On one hand, the character exists to be Mike Mignola's proxy in working with the period-related material, much like the role Lobster Johnson is designated to play when it comes to publishing the material taking place in the pre-World War 2 pulpy setting. Again, the twist is that Witchfinder is a more complex character, whose adventures leave their mark on him, a man of secrets and a devout Christian.

In several ways, Witchfinder was already a part of the mythos, due to the cameos and oblique mentions Mignola kept making in his Hellboy stories. And judging from what the creator has said in interviews, the character is posed to renter the main title for what may yet be his definite role in the series. But moreover, what's interesting is the way that Mignola uses the character in context. Every time Sir Edward Grey gets a mention, it was in a milieu that he felt a natural part of, and hasn't drawn attention to himself. And this is not only because of the large tapestry the writer/artist has woven, where he keeps making mentions of curios sighted, or inspired by his research. A reader committed enough to re-read the Hellboy material will no doubt appreciate the foreshadowing that Mignola has seeded his saga with, but he or she won't be left clueless if they discover Witchfinder with these minis. This is no because each time they are approaching a Hellboy related project, the editorial makes sure that it stands on it's own as a compelling action horror book.

This kind of commitment to the material is key to the success each of these projects have, and is primarily the reason why a (so far) very minor player in the Hellboy universe continues having his adventures told in a market notoriously resistant to new titles. The tightly knit mythology that editor Scott Alley has assisted Mignola with developing has simply won enough of the fans' trust that they will continue to support it, seemingly no matter how tangential the link to the main book. It must be said that this is fairly unique in the industry, considering that Mike Mignola himself has a reasonably decreased role with the development of that much spin-off material. In fact, Hellboy's creator and primary writer/artist is listed as only a co-writer on this second Witchfinder mini, which is historically a very loose enumeration that many fans have justified reason to be suspicious of.

Yet, even despite Mignola admitting that some of his and John Arcudi's scripts have little of his own input, the strength of the brand is such that it continues, simply because of the underlying quality running through the franchise. "Lost and gone forever" is a perfect example of the care that goes into making a Hellboy verse story stand on it's own. This is done simply by everyone involved never forgetting the underlying principle that inspired the story arc being simply the desire to a Weird Western. Everything else is subjected to this notion, nuanced and having a very good reason to be in it.

And while the original mini-series starring Sir Grey had several direct links to Hellboy mythos, this time around they are pretty much non-existent. Formally, Witchfinder's reason for coming to Utah had to do with chasing down a henchmen of a secret society that has robbed him of his chance of happiness, but even this much is not directly stated in this second mini-series. The co-writers are primarily interested in Sir Grey's current emotional state, and are treating his whole western adventure as an escape from a tragic event into a new series of circumstances designed to reinstate the confidence in the character. Thus the chase he is on ends up being a classic McGuffin, as he stumbles upon a completely different local scenario, that sure enough eventually links somewhat to his quest, but makes it clear that the new threat is much bigger and more immediate than carrying over the revenge from the previous series.

Considering the number of western genre tropes introduced in it's pages, in many ways, "Lost and gone forever" could have ended up an arbitrary western series, primarily notable for John Severin's presence on art duties. Being tenuously related to the main books could have created a number of problems, despite avoiding the contrivances that come with working with prefigured continuity. Again, being a fairly generic Weird Western pencilled by Severin would be at least a tolerable book in it's own right, Mignola and Arcudi achieve something more. They manage to transform the Hellboy formula using his detective predecessor into an interesting genre piece.

This is notable considering that so far the material featuring Lobster Johnson, and even the two BPRD flashback minis featuring Hellboy's own surrogate father, professor Trevor Bruttenholm, and covering the Cold War years of Mignola's mythology, have yet to transform into narratives that carry somewhat more of an emotional impact beyond the era specific monster hunts. Perhaps it's due to the air of doom and mystery around Sir Edward Grey that his adventures ask questions that are somewhat lacking in the other two outings, considering that the reader is already familiar with the life, and especially the demise of the two aforementioned characters.

In any event, Witchfinder' emotional arc revolves around a very deliberate plot, which revolves around the western town, and a mystical curse that is working against it. At this stage in his work, it should come as no surprise that a witch is at the heart of the strange events befalling the mining town of Reidlynne. Yet, most of the action takes place around in the desert around it, under the unforgiving sun, or after it's setting, which is where some of the most disturbing parts take place. Admittedly, there is certainly a lot of fight scenes, with some of them somewhat contrived and even superfluous, but it's easy to justify their presence considering that the dual nature of the story's serialization. Simply, there had to be some action in every one of the five issues making up the storyline, for the express purpose of entertaining the reader picking up each of the installments. And although it certainly makes most sense reading the collected edition, Dark Horse was careful to attend to the readers who wanted to actually sample each of the chapters they were buying at the time of publication.

The lack of expository dialogue and some pretty offbeat cliffhanger endings might have made this a short and unwieldy experience, but on returning to the books the reader gets to see how much of the natural storytellers is in each of the creators involved. The expert pace is maintained throughout, and on rereading it's apparent that there are quite a lot of fully scripted pages, with only rarely a silent panel being used for effect. The creators are simply mindful enough to make it all seem natural that it becomes a showcase of how to do genre comics that don't talk down to the reader, or attempt to wrestle with the artist for the control of the atmosphere by inserting the character's inner monologue in a series of never ending captions.

Mignola and Arcudi simply trust their carefully picked artists enough to use the visual aspects of the book for most impact, without trying to second guess them at each point, or trying to make their own contribution apparent at all costs. In doing so, they free up an artist like John Severin to present his visuals in the most powerful way, with his detailed rendering bringing to the fore all of the emotion and background that the tale calls for. The artist excels in every part of the craft, serving up memorable character designs, coupled with detailed backgrounds that really distinguish each of the several locations in which Sir Edward Grey and his guide, Civil War veteran Morgan Kaler ride through. Not only that, but under Dave Stewart's controlled coloring, even the weather becomes shaded and continually slightly altering, while preparing for the climatic final scene. The key characters in several places are "lit" in such a way that further calls attention to the particular Severin figure in a crowded scene, again in a very subdued manner.

Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, the book offers several double page spreads that mostly serve to draw out an action scene by utilizing a dynamic that is gained by having a cascading number of panels in one place. Again, Severin presents a lot of impact even in such familiar set pieces, such as time killing zombie attacks. His work is precise, yet at the same time convincingly emotional due to the slight fuzziness of the inking. The intended effect certainly doesn't betray insecurity or the lack of ability, but an expressive style used to bring a sense of humanity into otherwise fantastical scenarios. The book's key sequence is a trip to the surreal that exemplifies both the protagonist's spirituality, his need of emotional closure, as well as a crucial plot point. Dave Stewart opens these pages up to the richest palette in the book, which again makes them stand out without artificial narrative tricks.

As for the reality of the American turn of the century West, beyond Severin's meticulous detail, the co-writers make it their mission to present a particular piece of folklore, centered around Paiute Indians. Once again, what separates these books from their pulp inspirations is the attention of the detail paid to the real world conditions that were often abbreviated in order to perpetuate the cliche. Alongside the realistic characterization of the protagonist, and the portrayal of ethnicities without the need to ridicule, such a modern day Western can be said to be ultimately better suited to the tastes of modern reader than it's original inspirations. And while nobody will mistake Mignola and Arcudi's effort for the bizarre brilliance of Joe R. Lansdale and Tim Truman's "Jonah Hex" work, and it's unlikely "Lone ranger and Tonto" follow-up.

It seems that Mike Mignola and his collaborators simply didn't aim as high. Stylistically, the goal was to bridge the Hellboy formula with John Severin's genre expertise, and provide just enough diversity to entertain during the course of reading. Perhaps the continual unashamed spin-off status of much of the Hellboy related material does make the regular "BPRD" comic book stand out as much as it does, considering that it also succeeds as a distinct project of it's own, a team book dealing with the supernatural in a modern way, that has already inspired a slew of imitators. So far, "Witchfinder" does not seem to have any loftier aspirations on it's own. Perhaps it's because of the lack of visual continuity, but it certainly remains to be seen how well the series stands on it's own. "Lost and gone forever" is somewhat ill-suited to illustrate that fact, seeing as how it particularly deals with an oddball scenario before returning it's protagonist to the more typical Victorian setting.

Taken as such, even Sir Edward Grey's emotional journey is to be picked up and developed more directly in the subsequent material, with the western episode acting as a crucial, yet transitional part of his personality make up. In a way, it seems that perhaps the most direct impact of the book will be felt later on, with the creators returning to Morgan Kaler, who is shown to be in a perfect position to act as a proxy to Mignola's interests, if the creator ever has an idea for another Western adventure. or even simply to spotlight a bit of American lore that his 19th century paranormal investigator could have stumbled upon.

Still, as presented, Morg is a very stoic character, hinting at occult happenings in his past, but otherwise a picture of a seasoned veteran with little conflict of his own. He makes for a solid supporting character, but it's difficult to imagine Mignola and Arcudi getting back to him without further developing at least some of the events hinted in his past. It is fair to say that the story revolves around Witchfinder and the mystery he encounters in Utah, with the rest playing a secondary role.

Interestingly, most of the villain scenes take place in their own subplot which collides head on with Sir Grey and Morgan's investigation only in the book's finale. This somewhat renders the threat impersonal and akin to the adversaries in some of the Hellboy short stories, which is somewhat strange considering the amount of exposure the character gets. Despite the complicated plan, inspired in Indian legends, and the obligatory origin sequence, the villain still seems evil for evil's sake, which seldom makes for a memorable adversary.

All in all, "Witchfinder - Lost and gone forever" is an interesting piece of comics work, certainly worth the read if the reader is at all interested in western, work of a skilled illustrator John Severin's, both of which are underrepresented in the North American comics publishing. The Hellboy connection should be taken as merely a means to gather attention to a story that would otherwise have a very hard time today succeeding on it's own.

XIII mystery #1 - Mongoose

2011-05-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

THE BACKSTORY

With the conclusion of the original creative team of Vance and Van Hamme's take on the "XIII" series of albums, the authors decided to let the publisher continue to exploit the profitable franchise. Thus far this has consisted of "Dargaud" establishing a spin-off series titled "XIII mystery", with the idea of spotlighting some of the characters featured in the original albums. So far, each of the three published albums has included a different creative team, which is also implied to be the case in the details listed for most of the upcoming releases. Meanwhile, the publisher is much more careful with the main "XIII" title, whose new writer and artist's work has yet to be presented before the year is over.

The "XIII mystery" debuted in 2008 with "Mongoose", a collaboration between writer Xavier ("le Troisieme Testament") Dorison, and artist Ralph ("Ian") Meyer. With the eponymous Mongoose being the code-name of the chief assassin in the main "XIII" series, this debut of the new series had a complicated task to perform. Obviously, it had to convince the readers that there is a reason to pick up this continuation of the decades in the making popular series, which came to a stopping point long after the original creators planned to end it. In that regard, any fan that stuck with Vance and Van Hamme had already got accustomed to contrivances enabling the byzantine plot to lurch forward a few extra volumes more, making another return to the series seeming much less artificial than it might appear to the uninitiated.

The real problem was convincing the readers to stick around while accepting that the they will be presented with anthology-style offerings, keeping the franchise in circulation while the publisher puts together the new creative team for the main title. On the face of it, it's very easy to dismiss the whole enterprise as strenuous, with the different creators basically adding superfluous bits of information to the past exploits of the series' regulars, that the original creators obviously didn't intended, and thus had no impact on their behavior in "XIII". Still, with the projected publishing schedule of one album per year, "Dargaud" executives must have felt that a solid enough effort could make the nostalgic reader interested enough not to feel that their time and money would be directly exploited.

THE EUROPEAN COMIC SPIN-OFF

On the whole, the main strengths of Franco-Belgian school of comic book storytelling lie with the idea of letting the series' creators focus on the books, taking enough time to make each entry stand out, while adding up to the effort that in the most successful cases makes for particularly distinctive books. And yet, despite this creator-friendly approach, the major publishing houses still try to extend their profits to the new releases, resulting in a slew of spin-offs, not unlike their American contemporaries.

Yet, with the exception of "Spirou" (whose major creative success came with Franquin, himself the second creator continuing the original strip) and "Lucky Luke", there is usually a very clear distinction between the work of the creators and the talent contracted to continue producing the new stories. The best case scenario is to have the new creative team contribute something that is actually distinctive and stands up as a success in it's own right, such as Tome and Janry's "Young Spirou". Unfortunately, typically the effort is something akin to "Young Blueberry", which is marketed as a generic western supposedly continuing the pre-Fort Navajo adventures of it's star ad infinitum.

DORISON/MEYER

In any event, Xavier Dorison and "Dargaud" have decided to continue "XIII" in a way that sticks very closely to the Vance and Van Hamme original. This is already notable in the idea of framing the story in such a way that it spotlights a crucial part of XIII the character's back-story. Thus, in order to show the reader the life of Mongoose, his would be assassin, Dorison decides to employ the story within a story approach, which provides a direct link to the main series "XIII mystery" is spinning out of.

At first though, the effect is distracting, leading the reader to try and remember at which point exactly does the action takes place, but thankfully the confusion is clear as soon as Mongoose shows up. At the same time, the story shifts from filling in the points of the already implied continuity to his remembering the life that has lead him to that point. But the reader shouldn't take this break for Dorison completely abandoning the "XIII" style of storytelling. In fact, he largely embraces it, albeit indirectly.

By having Ralph Meyer, a somewhat more expressive artist than Jean Van Hamme, draw in a similar reference-heavy style, "Mongoose" basically feels a lot like a "XIII" album flashback. Once again using the recent past as a stage to conduct the spy thriller, Dorison deliberately sticks to Vance's model, making it clear to the readers that he's taking no creative risks in following up the popular series. This time, the backdrop is East Germany, in which an orphaned child makes his first steps on a road to violence that will eventually bring him high in the criminal conspiracy. And for all of the original "XIII"' flirting with realism in the past, the writer takes the right cues to maintain just enough of the everyday to provide some color to the scripts, but not at the cost of the brutal action scenes that cynically end every attempt to concentrate on the reality beyond the book's designated genre.

Yet, neither is "Mongoose" really a Cold War type story. With the bulk of action taking place in America, where a young killer comes of age with the help of a surrogate father, and a deadly inspiration, it presents more of an emigrant experience. We are given just enough to empathize with the young man as he partakes on a rigorous training that will one day lend him the best paying contracts in the business, but at the same time the decades spanning plot mechanism prevents the creative team on dallying too long on his motivations. After all, despite some of his musings on his methods and the life style, the book never turns into Matz and Jacamon "the Killer". That slow-moving internalization of a mercenary in comic book form is after all, a distinctive property in itself, and not a 50-odd page spin-off that has to cover more than three decades, while seemingly operating as it's own series, working at it's own pace.

This is where "Mongoose" works best, with Dorison paying particular attention on making his story feel organic and motivated, and not rushed off in a halfhearted attempt to quickly churn off an inferior product. Seeing Mongoose as a human being, adapting to a very peculiar life-style, while also acting out of his own personal goals almost has the reader forget the image of Vance and Van Hamme's take on the character as a fully formed antagonist. Thankfully, the writer never forgets to stop before making Mongoose too altruistic, which is why he introduces the character as an orphan and devotes very little space to his assumed name and the East-German home he was adopted into. In a very mature storytelling decision, Dorison progresses the character gradually, distancing him from his purported goal as subtly as Meyer ages him before our eyes.

The first-person narration helps maintain the illusion of the character's original motivation until he finally has his altruism judged beyond the complicated charade of half-truths and principles he's constructed around himself. The character is given no time to deal with this development, as the complicated assignment that has driven him to deal with his personal underpinnings also represents the start of the "XIII" conspiracy. The wider series plot thus actively proceeds to deconstruct even the character's then-present day position of being a contract killer, destroying all of his attachments and positioning him solely in regards to the conspiracy.

As his narration ends, he is once again caught up in the precise moment that proved a turning point for the life of XIII, which is again where a great deal of subtlety helps Dorison. He first shows us the character declining the offer to rededicate himself to work for the conspiracy, but then immediately reverses it, revealing himself as having already become the Mongoose of the "XIII" series.

This final scene was set up as a real test of the writer's work, with the reader either accepting the psychological transformation undertaken by the character as realistic, or rejecting the whole volume as misguided and superficial. Thankfully, by layering his work so densely amid the familiar tropes of a visual crime story, the writer achieves the effect of Mongoose's internal musings on the nature of crime and his role in it actually being instrumental in making him the man he becomes, instead of remaining as just so much tough guy talk.

Bluntly, in his own mind his life is a misguided tragedy, but through Dorison choosing exactly which panels to give Meyer to spotlight, the reader is instructed to look beneath the self-deception, and see the truth that Mongoose glimpses, if only at the moment. That such an elaborate psychological profile was presented in a plot-heavy crime comic tying in with the existing series is as much a testament to the writer's carefully constructed story, as much as the strength of the underlying "XIII" franchise. The script really feels in synch with Vance's work, feeling just as credible, as each of the flashback-related earlier volumes did.

And yet, it's difficult to say that Ralph Meyer's work has quite managed to make such a transition. The series co-creator Van Hamme is a very disciplined artist and a true professional, whose attention to detail seems much more organic than what is presented by the follow up artist. Simply put, Meyer's work is much more expressive, even in quieter scenes, lending the work a subtly different quality. And while the artist dully proceeds to illustrate the furnishings in his establishing shots, most of the follow-up panels usually concentrate mostly on his figures emoting against the sparse backgrounds. In this way, the story feels much more personal and energetic, but the baroque plot keeps constantly challenging the artist to succumb to working from reference material. Meyer's work is certainly credible, his character designs distinctive and figurework realistic, yet there is a distinct impression that he's working in someone else's stylings, which only enables him to reveal his professional best.

Ralph Meyer is an artist whose work is very dynamic and solid, much more modern and instinctive than Van Hamme's classically rendered set pieces, yet when it comes to anatomy and the employing his predecessor's designs, his work suffers in comparison. Meyer's contribution is most apparent in the crucial character of Hans, whose design and body language are particularly well presented, at a glance distinctive from the original "XIII" penciller's body types.

In retrospect, it seems much easier for Dorison to emulate Vance, and not have his contribution being so easily compared, as is the case with the artists in a visual medium, such as comics. Both Vance and Van Hamme have created "XIII" to be a very precise and distinctive mechanism that only seemed over-elaborate when looked at as a whole, thus their successor's work, limited at all sides by scope and ambition, never really had a hope of being something more distinct than a spin-off portraying a charismatic figure of the mythos.

This is in some ways a good thing, as the work on "XIII mystery" raises the profile of it's creators, and enables them to continue with their own projects. On the other hand, it's difficult to imagine "Dargaud" deciding on accepting a more experimental approach in what was the debut in the series that even now sketches out some ten odd potential albums, each in a varying state of development. Hopefully, all of them will be as competent as this debut, even as their story will likely remain peripheral to the main series. With the fall release of the Jigounov and Sente's new "XIII" album, continuing where Vance and Van Hamme left of with the character, time will tell if there's enough interest in the franchise to support two ongoing projects.

"XIII mystery" could very well establish itself as appealing only to the collectors and hard core fans of the series, but when taking into account the popularity of the title, this should still guarantee it tens of thousands of readers. Whether this will prove enough for "Dargaud" to extend the property beyond the designated albums, remains to be seen. Admittedly, even the success of the main "XIII" title, marketed as the direct continuation of the Vance and Van Hamme's work, could depend only on the quality of their successor's work. The series' originators could be counted to return to these characters over and over again, but it's up to "Dargaud"'s quality control to make certain the franchise keeps resonating with the readers in the years to come.

Jack of Fables 46-50 "The end"

2011-04-01T03:05:00.000-07:00

FROM THE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN

After prolonged delays, this Wednesday brought the last issue of "Jack of Fables", which doubles not only as the finale of the "Fables"' spin-off, but the ending of it's last story arc as well. Writers Willingham and Sturges have spent five years working on solo adventures of Jack of stories, foreshadowing both the long time in planning "Great Fables crossover", as well as laying the seeds for this final storyline, which sees the ending on their satirical take on the character, at least for the moment.

The majority of the run has been illustrated by Tony Akins, a capable cartoonist who gave the title a distinctively manic look, that much better to differentiate it from the main "Fables" esthetic. Where in Marc Buckingham's hands the parent book sports a urban fantasy look, "Jack of Fables" was made to give off a more lurid atmosphere, mirroring the constant pattern of a never ending dirty joke that the writers strived for. Essentially, for all intents and purposes Jack of Fables had it's own tone, which is paramount for a successful spin-off. Even then, it was always a part of the broader Fables setting, even if purposely working in opposition to the more successful title.

A lot of the main Willingham/Sturges themes were resolved during the crossover, which was the first time the book close to matching the sales of the main title, but the writers were determined to continue for one more year of Jack's adventures. The sales swiftly returned to their previous levels, with the usual trend of continual decline, coming to roughly the half of monthly number of "Fables" copies sold in the Direct market (at least judging from the ICV2's estimates, which can be used to somewhat accurately describe the trends in American comic book publishing). At the time of cancellation, this was still a much higher average than that of a lot of Vertigo's ongoing series, but the creators are reportedly content with the decision, having already told all of the stories they wanted to tell with the character.

THE ULTIMATE JACK OF FABLES STORY

In any event, their last story arc serves as the finale to their work on the book, tying up all of the plot threads that weren't directly resolved during the "Great Fables crossover". Willingham and Sturges slyly start off with the spotlight on the three page sisters, and setting up their current agenda. Basically, the feisty librarians are trying to rebuild the Great library by tracking down the specific books they need to reinstate their Literal status. This is more or less typical Jack of Fables storytelling, serving to slowly reintroduce the reader to the status quo. The first sign of something unorthodox comes with the reintroduction of Jack and Gary, whose current predicament is illustrated in the manner of a Sunday page retro comic strip. And while the jokes told using this rigid layout are refreshingly straight forward, the context behind the change in Tony Akins' style is much more interesting.

Namely, there is a sense of a long time having passed between the story arcs which is finally made apparent by switching to Jack Frost's current whereabouts. Namely, that the de facto usurper of the book's previous two arcs is now relegated to a mere subplot should by itself be notable. Furthermore, seeing Akins' redesign of the character, who has transformed from the slender well-meaning fantasy protagonist to a full blown universe wide hero, further cements his companion, talking owl MacDuff's, 's endless prattling of their noble exploits. To put it bluntly, Jack Frost now looks like "Escape from New York"'s Snake Plissken, and his writers finally have him reconnect with the title's previous continuity. By giving the eye patch wearing, hyper muscled veteran one last mission in which he is to confront his father, now a caricature of a fairy tale dragon, Willingham and Struges are at first glance transparent about their motivations.

But it's only when the story continues, by shifting back to (present day?) Earth, and the rest of the supporting cast stuck working in a diner, that the full scope of their plans become revealed. That is, not only are Raven and his troop of runaway Fables also coming to the foot of Jack the dragon's cave, which is predictably where the Page sisters also find themselves going to, but that almost a decade has passed while the writers stubbornly kept the focus on his heroic son. This is no doubt the effect the creative team was going for, as the number of people finding their path leads them to Canadian countryside starts increasing, from every which way they are coming, all unaware of the company of the others.

Willingham and Struges seem to be saying that all of the characters previously encountered by Jack cannot move forward even after all these years of him going into retirement, and are seeking some kind of a resolution by confronting the reclusive anti-hero. The clever twist is that some of the foretold intruders upon Jack's soil never actually show up, but the sheer number of the ones that do more than dwarf them. Most importantly, Jack Frost, himself on the verge of retirement, rushes to meet the hideous dragon, one last act he needs to prove himself a true hero, even though MacDuff serves to remind the reader that his owner has done just this time after time, and across the whole galaxy. This is important on a metafictional level, as following the "Great Fables crossover", the book has basically jettisoned it's original, heavily flawed protagonist, in order to spotlight his estranged son, who as proven himself a hero without peer in the two story arcs preceding this last one.

Willingham and Struges went purposely so over the top with depicting a scenario that was the anti-thesis of their heavily post-modern parody of typical male, that they predict that the original "Jack of Fables" reader has by now found himself missing the original Jack. Horner's sexist power play and selfishness turned him into no less then a literal dragon, lying on the heap of the riches accumulated by tricking the other characters and thinking only of himself, but seeing his perfect son get all the glory since, it makes sense that two would go head to head for the book to return to it's meandering metafictional exploits.

THE WIDER POINT

Only, this confrontation is designed for the precise purpose of ending the book. The controversial choice actually makes sense on some level. "Fables" was always the more optimistic book, designed to find a place for fairy tale characters in the modern day and validate the struggles of fantasy authors trying to marry the two in literature. On the other hand, "Jack of Fables" from the start took to the negative of just this approach, singling out the various twist and turns the original fairy tales have taken in lesser hands, and trying to breathe some life in seemingly empty husks of Alice of Wonderland and Paul Bunyan, driven bland and lifeless after numerous revisions and adaptations. It was the book written by two people who admit that they have read a lot of bad writing in their decades long love of the genre, and are not afraid to call upon it.

By using this basic principle, Willingham and Sturges have created a very strange and obtuse storyline that kept hinting at it's most interesting parts, before being derailed by one or the other of Jack's completely unsympathetic schemes. Still, where it breaks off from "Fables" and establishes it's own take is that the role of characters in fiction still managed to be a central theme. The parent book launched from this premise and proceeded in world building, with the idea of contrasting the comparative fairy tales and making a coherent setting to place the fantasy adventures of lovable characters in. To it's credit, "Jack of Fables" never had such aspirations. It delighted in contradictions, and while being tangentially related to the overall Fables universe, the creative team insisted in telling a very particular story.

It was an exercise in using the least likable Fables character, and turning him into something even more monstrous, a horrible parody of manhood, while leisurely making their wider point. Meanwhile, the plots that were to further all these ideas were increasingly offbeat and manic, a far cry from the tongue in cheek romanticism of the parent book. Yet, that they were serious about their intentions, and that all of these ideas fed into the overall direction of the brand was clear during the "Great Fables crossover", that drew heavily on "Jack of Fables" plot lines.

Still, it's clear that, as imagined, the solo Jack book was never going to find the praise of the broader audience, and frankly, it's mainly on the strength of the franchise's overall popularity that it managed to survive as long as it did in the market notorious for it's resistance to new and experimental work. Willingham and Sturges actually make all of this a story point, stipulating that it was Jack Horner's sheer notoriety that kept the title from winning over new fans.

THE END

Still, by devoting two whole arcs to little more than a standard genre storytelling in order to subvert the expectations found little echo in industry. The joke seemingly fell flat, and thus a regular reader had every right to look forward to bringing back the rest of the supporting cast (along with the former protagonist), in what seemed the return to tackling the more nuanced stories a little more directly. Yet, the elegiac tone emanating from the surprised looks on the familiar faces, now supposedly several years older, preceded the official confirmation of the #50 being the book's conclusion.

Even then, the final storyline was plagued by delays and art assists (by Russ Braun), as well as the ink assists, that resulted in some of the pages sporting a hurried look, but did little to hinder the excitement of the fandom. Namely, the major comic book websites and it's devoted blogosphere took little note of the title's existence, and where likewise neutral to it's passing. Which is not to say that Jack of Fables#50 isn't an extra sized final issue precisely targeting a certain type of comic book fan.

A fantasy story featuring a battle to the death featuring the mythic hero and his dragon counterpart, told (mostly) using splash pages is certainly a call back to Thor #380, the high point of Walt Simonson's famous run on the character. Willingham being a creator debuting his own fantasy inspired superhero series at roughly the same time, "the Elementals" creator was surely aware of his colleague's work, that is still remembered favorably to this day. In lieu of the Simonson constructed poem that served to caption that 1987 Marvel comic, the "Jack of Fables" creative team reply by substituting it with color commentary, as if the final battle between their two competing leads was a football game. Likewise, without any kind of explanation one of the journalists is Jack Horner, as originally designed, who does not shy away from gives his own particular take on the proceedings.

What transpires certainly is certainly interesting, as the creative team envelops to tie up all of the multiple going concerns of their rich supporting cast in a huge one sided fight. The results are certainly amusing, and actually line up with the title's underpinnings. With the cancellation of "Jack of Fables", Willingham and Sturges are aware that all of their many problematic side Fables have no place to reside in, and once again directly refer to it in the story. This is done by having Raven, Jack Horner's Indian guide and protector, bring the assortment of escapees from the first story arc's Golden Boughs retirement village to Canada, on pretense of leading them to Fabletown. That none of these many quirky characters with impossibly complicated back story (particularly in relation to the their "Jack of Fables" adventures) seem destined to rejoin the main title seems an afterthought.

Thus the writers happily give them all, for their fate to be sealed, as much as any of the Fables can be effectively written off, at the hands of Tony Akins' wonderfully inventive full page showdowns. That the reader is meant to be caught in the unfairness of all of this is par for the course, but as always with this title, the initial shock is quickly replaced by the sense of elation, as Willingham and Sturges continually insist that these are all fictional characters designed to first and foremost to entertain. And considering "Jack of Fables"' trade record, that usually comes out as a deeply ironic black comedy, best illustrated by the revelation of the fate of tortoise that tried to escape Golden Boughs.

The final scenes show the eventual fate of Jack Horner. This is done by brining up a loose end from early on in the series, that nevertheless echoes a popular "Hellblazer" storyline, which might come at the expense of punchline, considering the potential overlap of the Vertigo imprint's audience. In any event, as the cover promises, the long time misadventures of Jack of stories come full circle, only with the character undergoing an obvious change in the process. Whether this means that following his solo outing Jack will still somehow be reintegrated back into the "Fables" main cast is still to be seen. Story wise, what is promised by creators (albeit in the back matter following the story, and not in any kind of formal epilogue) is that the baby introduced in the beginning of "The end", as well as presumably it's father, were slated to reappear in the Fables universe sometime down the line.

FABLES FUTURE FORETOLD

Once again, this ties into the speculation regarding the upcoming "Fables" plot lines. As for the overall strength of the brand, it is important to note that Vertigo is currently publishing the second "Cinderella" mini-series, written by Chris Roberson who penned the canceled title's solo fill-in issue in "Jack of Fables"#35. This not only indicates that DC's imprint is content in producing the material outside of the Fables' creator Bill Willingham's direct involvement, but more importantly, that they might as yet delay in authorizing another ongoing spin-off. This seems to mirror the decision to capitalize on the imprint's other current success, "American vampire", by likewise producing only a related mini-series.

In many ways, such caution is warranted, as the Direct market certainly doesn't seem to be receptive of the new ongoing commitments, even when tied to a more successful existing franchise, which mirrored Willingham and Sturges' experiences in writing the "JSA" and it's "JSA: All stars" spin-off respectively in the main DC Universe. And while the February cancellation of "JSA: All stars" seemingly has little to do with the Sturges co-written "Jack of Fables", it speaks to the same argument - whatever new projects the company plans around it's popular franchises should follow only after a serious rethinking at the company's part. That "Jack of Fables" was as ambitious as it was, and as long lasting, still doesn't guarantee that the potential "Cinderella" ongoing series would have a better chance of winning over the typical "Fables" reader.

At a time when existing comic book readers are already overtaxed with buying too many titles due to sheer loyalty or overblown hype, perhaps the best approach would be to continue with the mini-series until the company is sure exactly what kind of spin-off the majority of their readers are interested in,

John Byrne's Iron Man (#257-277)

2011-02-15T06:41:00.000-08:00

In 1990, while still at the peak of his greatest commercial success, John ("X-Men", "Superman: Man of steel") Byrne decided to revamp Iron Man with John ("Uncanny X-Men", "Daredevil") Romita Jr. Positioned in a very particular moment of their careers, the "Invincible Iron Man" collaboration resulted in the publication of the ambitiously titled "Armor wars 2" nine-part storyline, following which Byrne continued on as a writer for nearly a year, with the bulk of his scripts illustrated by Paul ("Squadron Supreme") Ryan.

Historically, these Byrne written issues follow on the heels of the highly regarded David Micheline and Bob Layton character defining collaboration. As such, and as was the editorial mandate of the day, the new creative team tried their best to frame their take around the soap operatic effects that preceded them. And while the unnecessary complicated plot line of the public believing original Iron Man dead and replaced with a new, also unknown pilot gets formally acknowledged, Byrne successfully managed to tie his creative overhaul to a part then current status quo.

ARMOR WARS 2

This meant directly referencing Iron Man's recent spinal injury, as a way of setting up his current predicament. All the while, the "Armor wars 2" subtitle worked only as a cheap gimmick - nothing in the story had to do with any kind of follow up to the Micheline/Layton epic about Tony Stark getting back at the villains who appropriated his technology in their weapons. Byrne's broader idea was simply to get Iron Man into the state where the writer he could be at his most archetypal, while still telling a typical Iron Man story in the process.

In effect, the long set up for the forthcoming Mandarin story feels a bit arbitrary at first, given how disconnected the two plots are. Still, it definitely works when the run is taken as a whole, and the parallels to both Stark and his opponent's predicament, heavy handed though they are, speak of a larger plan that was there from the outset.

Design-wise, Romita jr.'s second run on "Invincible Iron Man" succeeds to once again, set up the entirety of Byrne's vision. James Rhodes sports a convincing African American physiognomy (if burdened by the then-current fashions), which is something that some of the previous artists have at times struggled with, the result of which made Rhodey appear as a "blackface" character. Moreover, Romita jr.'s Mandarin sports a very noble look and dignified outfit that is miles away from the misleading, racial caricature look he debuted with, and much more practical than seemingly any of the many clunky armors he was presented wearing previously.

That said, Byrne really opts to utilize most of the artist's abilities as a penciller of action based comics, with panel after panel of Iron Man tearing up bulky equipment and hurling it into his opponents, seemingly slowing down only to focus on the conversations between Stark and his best friend and employee. As such, "Armor wars 2" starts of as a seemingly typical Iron Man tale, teasing at the mystery of the reason behind Titanium man's return, while hinting at the identity of the true villain behind it (a little game that extends to the title of the issue itself). Still, the larger plot is quickly to intrude, as Byrne quickly reveals that his intention isn't in revitalizing the assortment of Iron Man's rogues gallery. As is apparent in the scenes constantly intercutting "Armor wars 2", the writer is very clear as to his decision to first and foremost restructure Stark's nemesis Mandarin into the threat he is supposed to be.

Similarly, the corporate takeover angle that comes to dominate the opening arc's plot line doesn't extend beyond Romita jr.'s departure. It seems like Byrne purposely decided to start his run of with the familiar elements of an Iron Man story, while slowly preparing the reader for the more ambitious Mandarin story. To achieve this slight of hand, John Byrne uses the Marss corporation, the antagonist in "Namor, the Sub-Mariner", his other Marvel ongoing series at the time. The sprawling, nine part saga interestingly features a clear antagonist in the guise of scientist Kearson DeWitt, who continually references a grudge with Iron Man that is never really revealed in the pages of Byrne's run. Suffice it to say, that despite this dangling plot line, Byrne and Romita jr. manage to bring "Armor wars 2" to a satisfying, action packed conclusion.

Simply put, there feels like there's a lot at stake for the title character's industrialist complex, that experiences even a worker's strike during the proceedings. This is done not only in the complicated ways Tony Stark engineers to avoid the Marss company's hostile influence over his life, but in the very scale of the fighting. The creators achieve a palpable level of danger to Iron Man's health and sanity without resorting to the familiar scenes of his armor slowly shutting off due to the energy discharged during the fight.

Unfortunately, despite Byrne's lofty plans for reshaping the character and the core of his mythos, the kind of consistent and entertaining storytelling evidenced in "Armor wars 2" is not really achieved later on in his run, except for late in the "Dragon seed" saga. With Romita jr. leaving to work on the "Cable" mini-series, honing his style to it's current look, a lot of energy seemingly leaves the pages of "Invincible Iron Man". Of course, Byrne continues his stated mission, to rehabilitate Stan Lee and Don Heck's early Marvel character for the 1990s, but for a while the focus seems squarely on the internal side of the development. Leaving the corporate angle for his Namor work, with precisely one scene showing Stark discussing the future prospects of the company ravaged by the assaults and crippled by the protest of the employees. And even then, it's to stave off the problem while focusing on his own personal problems.

This is not to say that John Byrne's version of the character is the typical scoundrel he is sometimes presented as, far from it. Stark is simply shown to be in mortal peril, with a continuing dire threat against his personal health, and even while attempting to survive, he proceeds to provide help on a truly heroic scale. From the opening issue in which he dismantles a nuclear reactor, to the closing ones in which he helps prevent the WW3 salvo of missiles, he is squarely a heroic figure. There is next to nothing of his playboy nature on display, which presents the character in a truly mature light. He repeatedly renounces his previous lifestyle, openly declaring himself as a former alcoholic, but one that has put behind him his dandy-like ways, to focus on the more pressing problems. And truthfully, despite the short assistance of West Coast Avengers at one point in "Armor wars 2", most of the threats that he combats seem far beyond his league.

Particularly, what becomes the main thrust of the book's run, Mandarin's rise to power in China, and the consequences of his alliance with the mentor-like figure of Chen Hsu results in a conflict that seems at least on the level of threats the Avengers try to put a stop to, if not possibly even a basis of a crossover encompassing all of Marvel universe. But Byrne knew better then to dilute his vision of the character in such ways.

As designed by Lee and Heck, Iron Man is a superhero, first and foremost, and as such should be capable of dealing with any threat with the help of his supporting cast. In this iteration, Iron Man chiefly interacts with Rhodey, who is somewhat surprisingly left without any real goals beyond helping Tony as best as he can. But this should come as no surprise, considering how focused Byrne gets, once past "Armor wars 2".

ORIGIN RETOLD

Namely, the writer promptly retells Iron Man's origin in a two-part story framed by the continuing plot involving his health problems. The familiar events are depicted without a direct reference to the Vietnam war, instead taking place in the South-East Asia, where a Stark compound is having trouble in the politically unstable part of the country. Without overt reference to any kind of war, Iron Man's subsequent captivity is handled as a part of an attack by the local crime lord. Wong-Chu's actions are retold as petty and short-sighted, with Byrne revealing that the real megalomaniac behind the capture of professor Yinsen and Tony Stark is the Mandarin, who has kept to the shadows the whole time.

And while certainly nothing in Iron Man's debut contradicts what Paul Ryan is given to pencil, the retcon seems forceful and makes for somewhat of a stilted story. Likewise, Ryan's clear layouts, and competent superhero art seems somewhat perfunctory after Romita jr's pages, that bursted with dynamicism and stylized figures. It is certainly clear that the editorial believes in Byrne's vision enough that they deemed to provide him with a capable artist, but it still makes for a somewhat drab mid section of the run. And while Wong-Chu certainly isn't a villain remembered for anything beyond being the catalyst of Stark's creation of the Iron Man armor, there was no reason to burden the relatively simple coming of age story by additional Mandarin scenes, just to drive home the point that the two were adversaries from the start (especially considering that Mandarin himself is a very early Iron Man villain).

But, nevertheless, Byrne continues on with his story by sending Stark and Rhodey to China, basically beginning the "Dragon seed" saga at least two issues before the official designation. Interestingly, dealing with Iron Man's beginnings has brought the writer to revisiting the character's stance against communism. And while coming to China, Stark certainly displays a paranoid and superior attitude to the conflicting ideology, Byrne doesn't go completely overboard in his attack at the communist state. Certainly his opinion is negative, and he has Stark being fairly open about the government's policies as it pertains to the common men, but he avoids the one sided paranoia of the Marvel Silver age.

To the contrary, Stark strikes a deal with the Chinese government, one that would help him solve his medical problems, if he decided to help with the threat Mandarin poses. As part of the continuing soap opera, Byrne has opted to have "Armor wars 2"'s effects on the protagonists cause him severe complications. It would be easy to point out to the change of editors mid-run as the writer's soon departure from the title as the reason for leaving behind a major story thread unresolved. But, considering the guiding principle that seemingly inspired him, it would probably be a mistake to blame him leaving Tony in such a dire predicament a genre tradition, with the writer openly inviting the new creative team to resolve plot line as they bet see fit, in the continuing saga of the lead character's adventures.

But on a closer examination, there is every reason to believe that Byrne wanted to restore Tony's fragile health and dependency on the armor from his earliest Silver age days. Conversantly, once the writer's did away with his alcohol dependency, it seemed the wisest to restore the grounded aspect of the character by returning to the original set-up. Thus, Stark, a man depending on increasingly complicated ways of using his technology to save his life and protect thousands of others, once again returns to his status as a conflicted Silver Age Marvel character. But Byrne certainly acknowledges the passage of time in his run, by giving Tony a love interest in dr Su Yin, a Chinese scientist, working on his recovery.

Unfortunately, due to the plot-heavy nature of the main four parts of the "Dragon seed" saga, Stark's attempt to seduce her, and his following emotional outbursts seem contrived. The whole ordeal seems slightly out of character for Marvel's womanizing hero, who despite his stated maturity seems slightly out of touch in these scenes. Perhaps Byrne was simply realistic, knowing how hard it is to depict a relationship that feels true in a superhero comic, that is inherently tied into it's protagonist being continually driven away from everything else to continually risk his life against the endless barrage of super villains.

THE DRAGON SEED SAGA

In any event, when approaching the title, the writer was aware how hard it would be to implant any kind of major change in the protagonist, given the popularity of the runs that came before him, as well as the nearly three decades of publishing that has pretty accurately defined the characters for whole generations of readers. Thus, he focused most of his energy on Mandarin, whose character arc is much clearer and precise. Byrne correctly poises that the over the top villain has been somewhat overshadowed by the corporate opponents his predecessors have introduced to the series.

Reestablishing Mandarin, as if he was created at the beginning of the 1990s was a much more difficult predicament than the relatively minor tweak he's given the protagonist, and not only because of the difference in popularity. Perhaps more than any other arch villain, Mandarin is fierce racial caricature, saddled with a megalomaniac ambition that was not so glaring in the comics publishing on the 1960s, but has had to be severely retooled since. Byrne approaches the idea as literally featuring Mandarin as a crime boss of a syndicate fallen on hard times. In the opening of "Armor wars 2", the villain discovers that one of his underlings has actually succeeded in replacing one of his rings of power with a simple copy, and that prompts him to start his long journey towards finally living up to his goals.

As if approaching a hero of the piece, the writer accomplishes this by pairing him with a mentor, who is himself at first seemingly another stereotypical Asian. This time though, the stereotype is intended to hide Chen Hsu's true nature, as the wizened old shop keeper begins training Man's nemesis. The sorcerer forces Mandarin to accept that his previous defeats lie in his brash and impulsive ways, and starts helping him find focus, before revealing his plans for the would-be ruler of China.

Here John Byrne and John Romita jr. reveal their decision to cast Tony's arch rival as Stark's complete opposite, by focusing on the mysticism behind his origins. The decision is further elaborated by bringing in another early Lee/Kirby creation, that of the giant dragon Fin Fang Foom. And while all this set-up preceding Stark's arrival in what feels like something resembling then-contemporary China certainly feels strange and oft putting, the creators treat it with out-most seriousness. It's hard to really be offended by their depiction of the Valley of the Dragons, from which Mandarin starts his conquest of 1/3 of China, in that it is so clearly divorced of the reality, that the reader is forced to simply accept it, as just another of the fictional locations in the Marvel universe.

With the initial attack perpetrated by the now fully trained Mandarin over, the subplot connects back to Tony Stark with the starts of his negotiations with the Chinese government. Interestingly, even then, Byrne decides to put off the direct conflict between the two adversaries until establishing the complete scope of "Dragon seed". This is accomplished by having Jimmy Rhodes take Tony's place as Iron Man, while his employer stays in Beijing to contemplate his health and his chances with Su Yin.

Once again, Byrne lapses into exposition, as he finally retells Mandarin's origin, by tying it into the wider "Dragon seed" saga. The descendant of Genghis Khan's accidental discovery of the alien space ship still feels very contrived, but the writer doesn't concern himself with it, opting to spotlight the role of the mysterious race whose weapons he has appropriated. This is where the reader's suspense of belief is stretched to the limit of what constitutes an Iron Man story, given that Byrne decides to tie in the Jack Kirby designed giant monster Foom into the back story of the space aliens, with a direct link to the sorcerer Chen Hsu.

In a way, the story works because it keeps developing Mandarin's character by revealing that he still doesn't use the full extent of his weapons, which was retconned into Iron Man's origin in the previous storyline. But the very nature of the threat in the "Dragon seed" saga still feels very over the top and out of touch with Iron Man. By opting for an archetypal approach that is a complete opposite from Dennis O'Neill's run on the character, Byrne almost loses sight of his own mandate, before bringing in Tony Stark for the final showdown in #275. It is largely thanks to the success of the dramatic finale that the storyline, and the arc as a whole succeed, but even then, it's easy to see why Byrne's efforts didn't resonate as the work his predecessors did.

The epic (almost fantasy) feeling of "the Dragon seed" is likewise undermined by the efforts of Paul Ryan, that even at his best simply doesn't match the energy Romita jr. has imbued these characters with as he was redesigning them for "Armor wars 2". The scenes of Fin Fang Foom and his cohorts bringing down mountains around Tony, Rhodey and Mandarin all present clear storytelling and strong layouts, but serve to largely focus the reader on the character, and not the stylistic merits achieved during the composition of the pages themselves. For what it's worth, Byrne provides a powerful moment when Tony finally meets up with Mandarin, who having achieved full power due to Hsu's manipulations opts for the only real choice in the resulting crisis.

This is where the real strength of John Byrne's work on the series shines - he has succeeded in transforming the stereotypical villain into a three dimensional character that actually feels responsible for the events that erupted in the Valley of dragons. For one brief moment, Mandarin seems almost an anti-hero, which is perhaps the peak of morality in a typical superhero comic. But tragically, Byrne chooses this same moment to unleash the explosion that actually resolves the plot in a very organi and constructive way. The aftermath sees Stark return to America, but the journey has made an effect on him that once again has nothing directly to do with Mandarin, as seen in the Tony DeZuniga drawn back-up. The short piece is melodramatic but the artist manages to get across at least some of the subtlety in Tony and Su Yin's feelings.

But compared to Tony, it's once again Mandarin that manages to appear more convincing in his own epilogue. Seeing the ultimate price paid in the events for his attempt to rule China, as well as balancing his cruelty with temper leaves the honorable antagonist utterly devastated by his ally's betrayal, both physically and mentally. After such a powerful conclusion, it's hard to accept Tony's unresolved health problems as a long term problem. Departing the series, Byrne was certain to leave the new creative team an Iron Man that can still use his armor, no matter the doctor's predicaments. It's just that the very core of the character is tied into the idea of a man surviving by building an armor to protect himself and then the others. The fact that the other writers stretched the metaphor of Stark bettering himself while continually adapting his armor doesn't change the fact that developing an addiction to alcohol is just as severe a health problem as Tony's original heart defect.

OKTOBER PROJECT

And yet even though his story was by and large told, John Byrne had two more issues with Paul Ryan to complete his run. Interspersed throughout the "Dragon seed" saga, and a couple of issues preceding it were short vignettes featuring Black Widow as she suddenly remembers the threat of a secret KGB project, and the way she goes about contacting her colleagues in the spy community and the new Russian government about what she knows about the ominous Oktober project. Eventually, she decides to approach the Avengers, before finally deciding on Tony Stark being the one to contact considering the possibility of WW3 that could result out of their inability to stop the former KGB's protocols.

In what is mostly an action story, Stark proceeds to once again retell the history of his current health affliction, while the Widow wisely chooses her words. Byrne's portrayal of Natasha as a fierce and independent woman is very convincing, and is largely in line with Ryan's depiction of the Avenger as a physically fit, attractive woman, without much in the way of the usual superhero excesses when it comes to the female form. And while Widow's then-current costume seems a bit generic, it also reinforces the concept of Natasha as a somewhat more realistic character compared to Marvel's typical stars.

In any event, for a character that debuted in the pages of "Iron Man" (back when he was a "Tales of suspense" headliner), to so successfully take over two whole issues of Tony Stark title feels a bit unusual, particularly considering the circumstances. And while Byrne has certainly set up her return to the title in the preceding episodes, Iron Man's role in the Oktober conflict steel feels arbitrary. The closing pages indicate that the story was perhaps cut short, but Byrne still manages to give Tony a lot of space to shine as the hero, once past the contrived way in which the Oktober project is actually set in motion. All in all, a decent two issues featuring Stark that despite his medical problems still manages no less than to save the world, somewhat echoing his actions in Byrne's opener. And following the extensive work he did to bring back the character to his origins, one could say that John Byrne simply used these two issues to spotlight a solid superhero tale that could be done with the current set-up following his run on the title.