Spirou and Fantasio: the Horn of the Rhinoceros

"the Horn of the Rhinoceros" stands as the fourth longer Spirou and Fantasio adventure, that Andre Franquin produced, originally serialized in "the Spirou magazine" in 1952. Interestingly, the creator's original intention was to publish two adventures starring his characters, with the eponymous one being the follow-up to the spy caper. Yet, when Dupuis serialized the work in 1955, they bundled the pair together, thus providing for a somewhat richer and more complete experience.

Yet, most of the book's problems stem from that very same decision, as the two parts never really cohere story wise. Through enough, the plot points are followed up and expended upon, but the reader is still left with a very concrete ending point at roughly the two thirds of the collected edition, rendering the continuation contrived in a lot of ways.

It's only the epilogue that brings some much needed closure to Spirou and Fantasio's long voyage, and saves the book from the pulpy Golden age adventure feel, with characters literally stepping from one adventure to another. Plot-wise, this is largely because of the role a particular McGuffin plays in the story actually pays off bringing a slight, and very Franquin-like, change into the book image-wise. Still, "the Horn of the Rhinoceros" is much more notable for the writer/artist's other addition, that of Seccotine, female reporter, and the book's first female character of note.

The narrative framework of having adventure comics starring journalists as the protagonists, often gives way to only so much lip service as needed to justify getting the primaries in contact with an interesting assignment. In "the Horn of Rhinoceros", Franquin starts off by actually focusing on his protagonists' work a moment, if only to provide context for the introduction of the new supporting character. The cartoonist uses the same opportunity to introduce the plot in a dynamic way, making for a very interesting beginning of the Spirou and Fantasio story.

Using a department story as the setting for the whole first act of what was originally "Spirou and the turbotraction", proves very fruitful for both Franquin's sense of whimsy and creativity, especially compared to the previous album's opening at the Zoo, similarly depicted past the closing time. A multi-level building housing a long chase sequence might have ended up serving as merely the backdrop for a lot of high energy action sequences, but in the writer/artist's hands, it becomes so much more.

Franquin relishes the opportunity to draw the budget appliances, but never for the sake of cluttering the background for the sake of getting the reader's attention to his bravado. No, in his depiction, all of the myriad objects end up serving a purpose, first for the sake of comedy, than to set up his plot, and eventually to marry the two in a jovial way. The whole of the first act of the story is "Spirou and Fantasio" at it's best, utilizing the department store setting to it's most, while providing for a typical convoluted mystery that will take the protagonists the rest of the story to get on top of it.

Interestingly, the scheme to steal the blueprints of the automobile prototypes ties into "Spirou and the heirs"'s second act, with the "Turbot" factory being the offended party. Franquin's use of continuity is noteworthy in that it mostly deals with recasting the two drivers into new roles, using their familiarity to entice the protagonists into taking action on their behalf. Other than that, Roulebille and Martin could have easily been recast as the a new couple of spy characters, which is what they essentially are in this story.

Unfortunately, the pair of gangsters instigating the plot never really emerge into any kind of credible foils. Thankfully, Franquin realizes this and centers the adventure around the world wide search for the McGuffin, which enables his stock character adversaries just the sort of nuisances used to appear at the most convenient and trouble Spirou and Fantasio that much more. In a longer work, they would have perhaps had the roles of henchmen to a more important villain that would appear later in the story.

As it is, the second act of the story is it's weakest, consisting as it does of a down time needed to get the heavy exposition out of the way, and set up the final part of Spirou and Fantasio's journey. This is done in a very heavy handed and belaboured way, with Franquin clearly being aware as to the true nature of his plot, and treating it as what it is, basically an exercise in thinking of inventive ways of structuring chase scenes around two distinct settings.

Once in Sidi-bou-bouk, Franquin's latest stand in for a stereotypical African country, Seccotine still doesn't get a lot of panel space. This is absolutely intentional because of the relationship that quickly develops between her and Fantasio. Theirs is a friendly rivalry that still infuriates her colleague to no end, which basically forces Franquin to tailor her role to appear mysterious even to the reader.

In any case, the writer/artist is to be commanded for having his female reporter be every bit as resourceful as his male leads, which translates into not so much as irritating but capable and charming in it's own way. For a first appearance, this is more than enough, as the mostly off-panel character still leaves the impression that she has her whole other adventure outside of Spirou and Fantasio, and achieving the same goals in her own way, which naturally ends up beneficial to all.

Thus her peculiar position makes way for the highlight of the book - a long chase sequence through the Arabian market. Franquin employs the quirky streets to their comedic best, supplementing the ludicrousness with fantastic details, such as his villains' wigs, and Fantasio's cheap souvenir. A lot of heart and energy clearly went into staging these comedic escapades, and their creator clearly feels amused at having constructed them.

And while all of "the Horn of Rhinoceros" can hardly be said to carry some sort of a concrete morale, it's still notable for it's sense of good humor. This is definitely the work of an artist that is still finding his feet with this series (judging by the complete absence of Marsupilami, who was just last volume certified as a credible member of the supporting cast), but Franquin's also continually enthusiastic, which shows best in his art, that continues to tighten up and be more and more unique.

The writer/artist unique brand of caricature is leaping in strides even this early into the series, thus reader can already see little of Jije's Golden age incarnation of the characters that preceded it. Franquin has literally abandoned his mentor's model that he started off emulating and has in many ways made the series his own.

This extends into finishing his stories when he feels that he's already said what he wanted, and this is literally how he follows up the masterful display of comics storytelling that was his Sidi-bou-bouk city-based piece. Spirou and Fantasio are given a new African address, and together with their new friend, they come to the journey's end, which quickly wraps up most of the plot threads.

Seemingly at the last minute, the creator and his publisher felt that the setting deserved another adventure, thus allowing for the immediate continuation. Following some inelegant exposition, Spirou and Fantasio start partaking in a truly African quest, for the horn of rhinoceros, giving the second story, and the whole of the eventual collection, it's name. It is, once again, a typically colonial rendition of the pulpy exotic adventure story, but thankfully, with a little more care given the natives.

That is not to say that they're not wholly insensitive racial caricatures, but they are at least given some differentiation, and more importantly, the whole short has a decidedly light-hearted feeling. "the Horn of the Rhinoceros" has none of the spy trappings of it's predecessor, but embraces the African myth wholeheartedly to deliver some of Franquin's bizarre logic, as it features some truly unique comedic scenarios using what might appear as the typical staple of adventure cliches.

For one, the creator uses a previously introduced souvenir so extensively that it becomes almost a character in the story. The effect is hilarious throughout, and certainly unique to Franquin's oddball sense of humor and his unique point of view.

As is the standard with his art, his designs for animals particularly stand out, and together with his satirical leanings help the reader ignore the overcomplicated plot that sends his characters in motion. It is Franquin's creative vision that takes spotlight front and center, and it culminates in the search for the aforementioned horn that takes on a comedic quality that has to be seen to be believed. Once again, the reader is free to judge the creator's attempts at humor on his own terms, but the wholly original situations that are set up in the comic can't be glossed over.

Once again, the writer/artist expresses in the most over the top way imaginable, that is not only endearing, but so self-assured that it projects a feeling that the creator is really trying to amuse himself first and foremost. And even when Spirou and Fantasio finally find the plans they have spent so much time searching for, having been the sole plot element carried over to address their continued stay in Africa, Franquin finally reveals why he chose to call back to the previous volume.

It is precisely because of the epilogue enables him to once again indulge into one of his obsessions, that was nowhere as apparent as in the overlong second act of "Spirou and the heirs". And having spent so much with these characters and developing their world, he can certainly excused for using every excuse to spotlight his passion for technology of the era. It is precisely because of his own interests and personality that these comics have developed such a following, and even today continue to be wholly original for readers interested in the medium and all of the forms it has taken across the world.

Spirou and Fantasio: the Marsupilami robbers

“The Marsupilami robbers” is the third extended Spirou and Fantasio adventure produced by Andre Franquin. After serializing it in the pages of “Spirou magazine”, Dupuis published it as an album in 1952. As with “the Sorcerer of Culdesac”, the story features a co-writer credit, this time to Jo Almo (a pseudonym of Geo Salmon).

Salmon was a sports journalist and a long -time friend, who drifted away from making comics to model making of some of the weird inventions Franquin displayed in the pages of "Spirou and Fantasio". His contribution to the third volume consists of a first draft, produced in collaboration with his wife, that served to convince Franquin of Marsupilami's value for the series as a whole. Thus, by having a hand in elevating the venerable character from a one time curiosity to the comic book icon, the Salmon couple have ended up playing a small but crucial role in the history of Marcinelle school of drawing.

Franquin has taken their cue to play upon his own frustrations with the ill treatment the captive animals see at the Zoos and circuses, and that parallel ended up serving as a backbone to the story. Unfortunately, no matter the inspiration, “the Robbers” is certainly a much less ambitious tale than its two predecessors, ending up a transitory volume that helped its creator step back, deciding how to integrate the many new ideas presented thus far.

The first half of the album stands up as some of the strongest work Franquin had done up to that point, with a chase sequence in the ZOO representing his characteristic eye for detail and a penchant for physical comedy. Despite the contrived plot of gangsters faking Marsupilami’s death as the cover for his subsequent kidnapping, once the night falls on the premises, the setup yields the series’ typical charms. This means that, in trying to find their new companion, Spirou and Fantasio are repeatedly beset by a typical incompetent groundskeeper, while the kidnapper is doing his best to get over the wall with his prey.

The writer/artist doesn’t let the gloomy backdrop rob the story of comic relief though. Indeed its early highlight is the pavilion sequence, where the nostalgic Nile monitor steals the show with his perfect comedic timing.

In any event, through the advent of some heavy handed clues, Franquin transitions the plot with a clunky scene, trying to add some ambiguity to the actions on part of one of the kidnappers. The manner in which the writer/artist communicates this idea ends up acting almost as a parody of a social realism drama. Yet, this is quickly forgotten, as mid-section goes on to provide the comedic highlight of the volume, portraying an encounter with the customs that goes horribly wrong.

Our always-rushed reporters are once again unprepared for the bureaucracy behind Franquin’s 1950s France, but the annoyance quickly culminates in a no holds barred showdown that has to be seen to be believed. Unfortunately, it appears that Franquin’s enthusiasm starts waning right after this over the top sequence, as if returning to the straight forward plot structure does not really interest him as a storyteller. Likewise, the protagonists’ catching up with the kidnapper and his subsequent moral decision feel too soon and would certainly have made for a more dramatic moment if placed at the conclusion of the episode.

As it is, the final third of the story, centering around the circus Zabaglione (yet another villain whose name starts with the final letter of the alphabet), seems oddly drawn out and anti-climatic. It’s not just that the ring master feels like a lazy and generic villain, the whole milieu feels tacked on and acts as a weak parallel to the album’s opening pages, set in the ZOO.

True, the writer/artist has Spirou and Fantasio try numerous plays in order to get close to Marsupilami, but the resultant physical gags feel played out and seen before. Interestingly, another recently debuting major player resurfaces in the closing scenes, carrying with him a unique McGuffin needed to finally bring the plot to it’s violent resolution. Still, this signature touch of weirdness does not make up for the weak ending that manifests none of the story's strenghts.

Circus ring master Zabaglione once again fails to establish himself as a proper villain in his own right, and ends up being a minor nuisance, needing the help of the strongman Goliath to take care of the titular heroes. In the resulting match, all of their new found allies show up for the grand brawl, but it nonetheless feels that nothing is really at stake ( with one of the kidnappers already having faced the accusations for his crime beforehand), especially following the iconic tussle with the customs.

On the other hand, Marsupilami’s scenes are succinct and convincing, going a long way to, if not make up for the convulted story that they inspired, at least convince the readers that the wonderfully strange animal is a welcome addition to the series. Salmon's storytelling instincts ended up making a smart choice considering the focus Franquin’s signature creation would end up getting in subsequent stories.

In the end, “the Marsupilami robbers” ends up being a minor “Spirou and Fantasio” volume, despite some of the charming details along the way. It definitely benefits from being read in sequence alongside the whole of Franquin’s 20 years in the making run, but some of it's deeper themes, regarding cruelty to animals feel glossed over and touched upon only in broad strokes, which is perhaps suitable considering it's intended audience.

Franquin certainly emerges as a creator with a much clearer grasp on how to continue the series, basically by following through with the ideas he more or less developed on his own. It is in that spirit of trying to amuse himself that he would definitely reach the most readers, even if it meant leaving the big city reporters angle that never really gelled with his version of Spirou and Fantasio’s adventures.

Scalped #35-38

With the release of the latest issue of "Scalped", Vertigo's premiere ongoing crime title has finished it's new spell of one-off stories. In preparation for a longer arc that is to come, Jason ("Other side", "Ghost rider") Aaron has scripted three accessible self-contained episodes, illustrated with the help of guest artists. Regular artist R.M. Guera was presumably so busy with the follow up story arc that he only found time to complete the final of these four issues.

Interestingly, the publisher has commissioned the work of expressionistic Danijel ("Plague", "Rex") Zhezhelj, with his issue being the first to open this latest cycle. The Croatian artist's style is so unique that anytime Vertigo uses him, he completely overpowers anyone's idea of a typical fill in. With his layered and painterly disposition, Zhezhelj is perhaps the publisher's most distinctive artist, which fits with Aaron's story providing a temporary break from the series' typical stylings.

Focusing on the farm life of an elderly couple, it brings to mind the independent work of recent Vertigo addition Jeff ("Essex county trilogy") Lemire, a slow, atmospheric work that seems an antithesis to "Scalped". Yet, the far more brutal ongoing still practices a leisurely pace, with it's frequent rotating points of view making such a connection possible. Zhezehlj picks up on this, and starts putting his rough brush strokes, and heavy inks at play, to try and capture a desperate family dynamic. Gulia Brusco's colors never let up from making the problems these people face appear anything less than bleak and unforgiving, while at the same time preparing the reader for the cathartic ending.

Acting as a complete break for the series, this is the most successful of the three latest short stories, yet it still falls short compared to some of the series' previous high points. As usual with these tales, Aaron's main writing contribution ends up being his choice of an interesting narrative perspective, for providing another view of the life on the Rez. This time, it centers on the farm outside the immediate casino surroundings, and it certainly provides for a distinctive experience. Yet, seeing the writer treat such a simple yarn through the medium of two dueling narrations, seems as excessive as some of the background recalled by the characters in captions. As a writing experiment, the story would have most certainly been better of by stepping back and leaving Zhezhelj to handle the bulk of storytelling with his distinctive visuals. Yet, even such an overwritten issue as "Listening to the Earth turn" doesn't prepare the reader for the story that follows.

And while it once again shares the writer's enthusiasm in creating a dense and layered backdrop, the very themes he chooses to spotlight provide for a very uncomfortable experience. On the face of it, by choosing to portray a solo mission the longtime background character Shunka is being sent to, it feels much more at home with the longer "Scalped" story lines. Yet, despite the plot-heavy approach, the writer once again aims for a decidedly simple emotional core, based on a very particular and polarizing aspect of Native American culture.

Davide Fuerno's art capably follows the series' conventions, easing the reader to deal with the controversial themes. Yet, the regular fill-in artist's work is so solid that it calls attention to itself, by reminding the reader of the artist's sheer improvement in technical prowess. Fuerno's soft penciling gives way for much rounder and realistic figures than before, instilling the characters with some much needed humanity and unique designs that are perfectly in tune with Guera's work, yet highly distinctive on their own. Gulia Brusco follows suit, with sepia toned coloring that maintains the pulpy black and white quality of the series' predecessors.

The story they illustrate is the one most adhering to the neo-noir conventions, which Aaron tries to subvert, while remaining true to the form at the end. yet, while the ending serves to bring the escapade in tune with the wider "Scalped" storyline, what precedes it is decidedly polarizing. On the one hand, the fractured narration, and chilling outbursts of violence are the series' forte, and they are used with great care and the precision in the first part of the story. Yet, the second half, with it's over the top narration that was it's only previous distraction leads to some very blunt storytelling choices.

And while the neo-noir trappings serve to round out the whole thing as an unexpected murder mystery, it still feels decidedly ham-fisted in both it's moralizing and the level of violence. Perhaps in retrospect, the excursion could be validated by picking up on the plot points down the line, and further integrating them with the larger narrative. As it stands, "a Fine action of an honorable and catholic Spaniard" is still certainly the most immediate of the short stories, and would likely headline the collection, should Vertigo decide to publish these issues on their own.

Finally, the last side story takes place completely in flashback, filling in the back story for Dash's father, and is once again a completely accessible entry to the series. It goes without saying that opening with a Vietnam war reminiscence takes a special note when taking into account Aaron's own biography. Being the nephew of the veteran combat correspondent Gustav Hasford, the writer was inspired to create his debut Vertigo work with "the Other side" mini-series, so that seeing him revisit the conflict in "Scalped" has much more than the immediate resonance. Even the issue's cover recalls the promotional poster to Stanley Kubrick's "Full metal jacket", that was adapted from his uncle's novel "Short timers".

That said, Aaron uses the opening pages dealing with the fighting to introduce Dash's father, exhibiting an air of the supernatural to his fellow troopers. This he proceeds to deconstruct, by detailing his life in the last days of the conflict. Even before Wade returns to America, Guera is once again set to illustrating the auto-destructive surroundings of a violent man's lifestyle, only set against a lush Asian backdrop, instead of the usual desert setting. Seeing the tragedy centered around a desperate man is nothing new to the series, and in fact the stylistic union proves something of a detriment to the episode as a whole.

The shootout that ends Wade's stay in Vietnam recalls Shunka's similar response in the preceding two-parter, and unfortunately brings to mind the many similar scenes from the accumulated thirty odd issues. That Aaron uses it to build up tension in the final scene taking place in America is a clever device, but one that doesn't make the story distinctive in it's own right. This is certainly fine in an ongoing series that needs to constantly redress it's core themes, but this far in "Scalped"'s history, a random graphic display feels largely inessential.

Moreover, the whole issue seems designed to close the short story cycle by returning the reader behind the typical parameters of Aaron and Guera's work, and it feels strangely limiting. "The Family tradition" ends up being memorable mostly for the regular series' artist returning in time to begin the next issue's "Unwanted" story arc, picking up on the shocking developments of issues 30-34. And with the series entering it's final phase, it seems that the self-contained stores that were so informative in it's beginning have settled into providing local color that is almost superfluous these days.

With three whole years behind it, "Scalped" has long since become the slow boiling neo-noir tale it's creators envisioned, thus making further fragmentation hard to justify. It could be excused previously, with the main character going into an extended seclusion, but certainly not now that he's in a different situation. Of course, the answer to that once again lies with Vertigo's decision to publish it's ongoing titles with no breaks in schedule. The editors count on the writer's fascination with the setting to provide for an entertaining diversion, but in doing so they harm the overall structure.

Faced with the artists increasingly incapable of fulfilling the monthly deadlines when producing highly detailed work, the imprint would do well to break the mold and at least try to publish their creator owned titles as series of mini-series. By forcing Aaron to adhere to a strict storytelling model employed by "the Sandman", the writer responds by saving the important story beats for the larger arcs, regularly bridged by short stories not illustrated by Guera, that seem to increasingly relish their tenuous grip on the series proper. One can't help but feel that with a looser artistic style enabling the artist to work faster, "Scalped" would have ended up a much shorter and more concise book, that still exhibits it's traditional methodical approach, without breaking clear to embrace the trivialities of it's bit players' background.

the Marvels project 1-8

This last Wednesday brought the conclusion to the eight part "the Marvels project" mini-series, by the celebrated "Captain America" creative team of Ed Brubaker and Steve Epting. In commissioning the story, Marvel must have wanted to celebrate it's 70th anniversary by green lighting a more ambitious project centering around the Golden age heroes, than the oneshot Specials published throughout the year. In many ways, this was always a risky proposition, considering that the company's heyday was always in the 1960s revolution of superhero publishing, but charging Brubaker with the project, they were certainly counting on the continually solid writer to approach the assignment with serious intent.

In itself, it quickly became labeled as yet another mini-series retconning the carefree days of the late 30is days of first superhero comics, a territory recently touched upon by series such as "the Twelve", and even "Ultimate origins", all striving for the prestige of an effort such as Darwyn Cooke's "the New frontier".

"Marvel projects"' basic outline consists of covering a time span of roughly two years, detailing America's preparations to officially take part in World War II, from the fantastical point of Marvel's early superhero characters. In choosing a narrator to smoothen out the jumps between such a large cast, Marvel has chosen to spotlight it's first superhero, the little known Angel, who has recently surfaced in the "X-Men: Noir" line of books. He is the focal point through which the reader slowly gets a glimpse of the huge conspiracy, that ends up giving birth to the Marvel universe, by basically getting America to war with Germany.

Unfortunately, the Angel's heroism and background of both being a doctor, and a son of a prison warden, somehow translate to the page as bland and unconvincing, therefore making him perfect for the role of the narrator. The framing story pertains to the company's modern day universe relevance of the tale unintentionally confirms this, as the new take on familiar events ends up being designed to propel a new character altogether, introduced in it's closing pages.

Truthfully, this was always going to be be a problem considering that one of the main challenges of the whole book was spotlighting heroes other than Captain America, the only one of these Golden age masked men to have an ongoing series in the present day, alongside the perennial guest star Namor the Sub-Mariner.

Yet, by evoking the word Marvels, the company was also intent on drawing a parallel to the seminal graphic novel of the same name, whose first chapter centers around providing the most recognizable modern version of the origins of some of these characters. The original Human torch, who was on the cover of the first issue of "Marvel comics" from seventy years ago, is even rendered using Alex Ross' updated character design. And for all of the care used by penciller Steve Epting and colorist Dave Stewart to translate the painterly interpretation on the pages of the traditional comic, the effort cannot help but seem derivative.

And so it is with much of the story, presented in a dense and competent way, yet reserving most of it's emotion for the book's final scenes. Tying the story around Captain America's frequently retold origin seems sensible, considering his status as an important superhero archetype, but it somehow ends up diminishing all of the other characters that "Marvels project" wants to introduce to the modern audience. In opting for a single plot tying them all together, Brubaker has once again relegated them to bit players, whose garish costume designs jump off the page, but despite the lightness of touch they remain curiosities defined by little more than their overblown code names.

This is particularly obvious in a scene involving the Human torch and Namor's epic clash, and the Marvel comic books' first historical crossover, depicted skillfully, yet slighted due to the scope of the project dictating it be cut short. It ends up as an excuse for a telling scene, pulling back the focus to the previously unmentioned effort of the therefore unconnected superheroes helping save the ordinary people from the tidal wave. The many Golden age characters get but a cameo appearance, before the real conflict is resolved by once again featuring Captain America, thus diminishing the Human torch's finest hour for plot purposes.

Among the curiosities spotted in Epting and Stewart's murky debris are some of the characters given attention in JMS and Chris Weston's "the Twelve", driving a sharp comparison to that series. "the Marvels project" ends up seeming much more general and laborious when measured up to what was an exercise in reintroducing the long forgotten Golden age characters front and center, one that is still talked about by the audience, despite the prolonged delay in production.

The simple fact is that Marvel's Golden age staple of characters hasn't been a draw for the audiences for a long time, even with the recent Alex Ross' "Avengers/Invaders" maxi-series, which the company must have been well aware of before green lightening this newest project. And with such a broad focus, they seemed to want to lay a classic all time foundation to their modern universe, but such an effort would seem to need much more passion than the workman-like attitude exhibited by Brubaker and Epting. And truly, they cannot be blamed for having left the series without much in the way of a personal touch.

By commissioning a book so heavily reliant on research, both of the Golden age comic books and the real world events of the time in order to foster largely a retelling of well known stories, a true success would have called for needed nothing less than the passion of Kurt Busiek and Alex Ross' series of the same name, that seemingly ushered in a market for large scale nostalgic projects. And such originality is nowhere to be found in Brubaker and Epting's work, perhaps precisely becasue of the number of interpretations that have inspired it.

Somehow, the dusty beautiful pages depicting the 1940s New York end up being continually driven through by precisely the same high end automobiles of the time, as if by using the best recognized model of everything relating to the book would somehow make it a classic in it's own right. Such a calculated approach on what must have been a very expensive mini-series recalls a big budget Hollywood period piece that still falters at it's humblest - the basic idea at the heart of the well costumed recreation.

Using John Steele as an example, the reader is treated to a very obscure Golden age hero, as he awakens to his potential, and starts combating the Nazi threat behind enemy lines. Yet, he does it in such a way as to appear utterly generic and hard to provoke any sympathy with the readers. Even his design is such a stock action hero look that he ends up being distinguished by name only, yet another player in a huge cast, whose plot relevance would determine the importance of his addition to the story. There is no real excuse for such a treatment, considering that John Steele is a completely new face to the modern audiences, and Brubaker and Epting had every right, perhaps even an obligation, to change him into a much more interesting character, no matter the inconsistencies with the original simplistic idea.

The duo are somewhat better at redeeming their inclusion of the less propaganda-inclined characters such as Phantom bullet, whose background ends up adding some dimension to his over the top unappealing costume. Unfortunately, such characterization is mostly implied via the Angel's caption boxes, as they typically set up a scene shift for another part of the planet, sometimes to further elaborate the role young Nick Fury is needed to play in his heretofore unmentioned having helped liberate doctor Erskine, the scientist behind the process that created Captain America.

As for the immediate plot, it sets to humanize the German spies playing the role of their masters in New York's suburban neighborhoods, replacing the typical prohibition gangsters as the standard Golden age comics foes. By having such strong motivations for trying to smother the superhuman boom in America, and eventually reverse engineer it in their own laboratories, the story gains some pace as a legitimate thriller, when not switching back to provide the origin of even such minor characters, as Human torch's sidekick Toro. Even when these scenes are somewhat integrated in the shady proceedings, they still break form by subverting the hard won 1940s atmosphere. It's very hard to get into the history/science-fiction mash up when faced with Golden age minutiae of the Torch enlisting as a police officer to get a better perspective on the humanity. In this aspect, DC's more fantastical "the New frontier" was much easier to consider, which, Kennedy's speech aside, didn't really consider itself with reality, beyond what was needed to retell the origins of Silver age superheroes, before uniting them to fight on the Dinosaur island.

"The Marvels project" employs a much more naturalistic art style, and the many panels illustrated with every brick in the wall visible, or a typical rooftop water tower in the background seem determined to drive home the subjectively more realistic Marvel universe. This shaky balance is especially the problem in later chapters, as the somewhat more sympathetic German spies get replaced by the much more fanatical supervillain foes. The problem is that there is no real conspiracy for any reader familiar with the broad strokes of Marvel's past, without even brining the real world events into play. The story Brubaker supplants as the connective tissue between the bevy of superhero origins works almost too well, as it seamlessly connects them to play out their familiar tales, with most of the surprises relegated to the very last chapter. It itself, the scope once again ends up becoming the problem, forcing the villains to act through the proxies, while the page count gets eaten up with Captain America, Namor and the Human torch reenacting the most iconic events of their Golden age past.

This is to be understood at some level, considering that with their elimination, the creative team would likely end up constructing a story that could have been done using any of the rival publishers' staple of superheroes, at a time when they were new and mass produced for the hungry audiences. Still, the lack of an actual new element, to act as a secret at the heart of the plot of the conspiracy, does rob the book of some much needed innovation. Brubaker and Epting are careful to try and pace the dense story in a way that it doesn't overpower a new reader, but they leave out a simple idea that was present in a project such as Brian Bendis and Jackson "Butch" Guice's "Ultimate origins" mini-series.

Leaving aside the tie-in to the "Ultimatum" line wide event, Bendis was constructing a story that still centered around the company's most famous characters, and not their Golden age predecessors. Captain America and Nick Fury (himself a Silver age character) notwithstanding, the story centered around Spider-Man and the Hulk, with the chief revelation concerning Wolverine and the X-Men. In such a way, the writer managed to both tie the Captain America's and Wolverine's origins into a story that provided direct foundation for the line, without getting bogged down in watered down history and underdeveloped obscure character revamps.

But then, "the Marvels project" seemingly never had such a clear set of goals, existing as it does to map out a history of the superhero universe, that was more or less created wholesale twenty years later by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko, working for a company that but inherited the rights to the previous publisher's back catalog. As such, they made rare references to the period despite propelling Captain America as the leader of the Avengers, while recreating Human torch as a completely different character. And when you have him recognizing Namor as a staple of Golden age comic books, before he goes to fight the rest of the Fantastic Four, it's easy to recognize the inherent discontinuity behind the late 1930s original "universe".

And even Ed Brubaker and Steve Epting at their professional best couldn't do justice to a time period more famous for it's subsequent retcons. In retrospect, Marvel is best to try and negotiate the completion of "the Twelve" series, which is justifiably becoming recognized as a rare successful effort in revisiting their Golden age past. Both Brubaker and Epting known to continue working on a serial such as Captain America, that is at least concerned with something of a current grasp of politics, while being rightly considered the publisher's premier superhero solo title, the irony of it's Golden age origins aside.

BPRD: King of fear 1-5

With this week's conclusion of the "BPRD: King of fear" mini-series, Dark Horse has promised a major turning point for the franchise. The Hellboy spin-off has up until now been remarkably stable and has lead the publisher to experiment with other similar projects. Ironically, amidst the many spin off minis, the main "Hellboy" series has been distinctively separated from the bulk of the material, leaving "BPRD" to act as de facto flagship title for the whole line. This is all the more remarkable, considering the limited engagement Hellboy's creator Mike Mignola has had with the series of mini-series that is "BPRD".

That Dark Horse is well aware of the virtues of writer John Arcudi and artist Guy Davis' work could not be clearer, considering that "King of fear" is poised to act as a break from the accumulated continuity, but only in conceptual terms. The creative team is set to continue with their roles, with their effort going a long way to provide hints as to the upcoming direction.

Structurally, the five issues are bookended by two long conversation, that fittingly, start and resolve the future direction of the team, albeit from an administrative stand point. In between, the cast is split in two locations, revisiting both the first mission of the team's current incarnation, and their last outing with Hellboy that preceded it. "King of fear" is at it's strongest when it centers on Kate Corrigan, the human face of the paranormal fighting organisation, as she reconnects with a potential love interest from the previous mini-series.

Leaving aside more iconic characters such as Abe Sapien and Liz Sherman, the creative team use those scenes for a trip down the memory lane, that resonates with the feelings of both elegy and horror. The tension is released through the carefully chosen interaction between the characters, as Kate and Bruno discuss their relationship along with the history of the organization. Although the precise incident that leads them to "Hellboy: Conquerer worm"'s Hunte castle feels a bit contrived, a stray plot from the previous mini-series, the rest of the recap works wonderfully.

By sifting through the ashes of that final Hellboy mini-series that was to serve as the ending of the character's adventures in fighting the remnants of occult Reich, the creators employ limitless patience in recapping large amounts of plot, in a way that is very accessible and inviting. Unfortunately, this whole subplot is cut short, as it simply ends with the immediate situation involving Johann Kraus is resolved at the close of the second issue. The back and forth with the scenes featuring Abe and Liz thus turns into two subsequent issues devoted solely to the situation at hand in the "Hollow earth" locale from BPRD's debut mini-series.

The shift is purposeful, as it enables the series to capitalize on the drama and the foreshadowing. A more direct kind of horror is encountered as the BPRD team start investigating the Agarthan monastery, but it still leaves a lot of room for reminiscing of the organization's adventures, following Hellboy's leave. Unfortunately, no doubt because of the amount of plot Mignola and Arcudi needed to reference and provide some kind of closure to, a lot of it requires the reader having recently (re) read the previous books.

Such as it is, the bulk of the sentiment comes of, but, as always with Mignola's epic mythology, some of the minutiae might seem distracting. This is not a problem when it comes to separating giant monster Gods Ogdru Hem from Katha Hem, but it seems a bit careless, when it comes to having one of the team's major foes reappear not only without a proper name, but also lacking the context that was so lovingly introduced in the Hunte Castle scenes just an issue before.

Still, analyzing the scenes for what they are, they reveal a typical adventure plot, with the group even further splintering, enabling the villain to monologue for a long time. This is followed by some contrived drama, giving way to a conversation with Abe Sapien, considering his origins. Having separated Liz Sherman in what turns out to be the action sequence receiving the largest amount of time, Mignola and Arcudi proceed to recreate what feels like the whole of her tenure with the organization. Thus, her scenes end up enacting a dream like sequence, proclaimed to be the definite future by her mystical contacts.

By and large, both Abe and Liz have been in the similar predicaments before, but the ending of the fourth issue suddenly turns out to bring a huge change to the mythos. With the final issue, it become clear that the many homages and call backs have served a definite purpose, and that was to provide an end point to what has been the previous decades stock of plots involving the team. And even more, it serves to set up the make up of the characters and their world that the creators seemingly can't wait to get to. Unfortunately, such a shift seems not only slightly arbitrary, but largely unclear, as the fifth issue starts some time after the directly preceding events. Perhaps the creative team would have been better off, had they used the designated space of "King of fear" mini-series to depict the rapid fire events in more detail, and simply leave the setting up of the new direction for the beginning of the next book.

Even with this, Dark Horse's latest effort mimics "Conquerer worm", that acted as the epilogue for a whole era of Hellboy stories. Yet, while Mignola's decision then certainly seemed noble, as everything in the remarkably dense and complicated plot seemed to indicate that the then-current direction has worn out it's welcome, the same couldn't really be said for "BPRD", at least not at this point. It stands to the testament of the creators that they feel so visionary so as to sidestep the problems that would befall them some time in the future, by making the change so well in advance. Only time will tell if the adventures of BPRD post "King of fear" indicate a turn for the better, or an arbitrary decision, brought on by enthusiasm.

In any event, the mini-series itself has interestingly spent a large amount of space tying in with Hellboy, who was up until now much more present in spirit. By explicitly featuring the dark future that the main series has worked towards, BPRD could well be on the track of realigning to the flagship that has somewhat distanced itself from it's spin offs. Then again, the series parallels the parent book's plot once again in hinting a role for Abe, almost as conflicting and important as that foisted upon his friend's shoulders. The only concrete sense of the book's new direction can be found in the team's next adventure, that could well serve as much of a drastic change of pace, as the initial BPRD mini-series has seemed to the Mignola's work thus far.

Yet, the book didn't really gel into feeling until Guy Davis and John Arcudi succeeded Christopher Golden and Matt Smith. Davis especially brought a distinctively different feel to the art that was missing from the slightly derivative "Hollow Earth" mini-series. And just as the readers warmed up to the war on were-frogs as the book's central plot, so was the new artist quietly accepted as inseparable from the title, a quality that he's retained since, and that is in full display in "King of fear". Interestingly, he is called to illustrate the flashbacks to scenes previously featured in the pages of "Hellboy", and while such a direct comparison to Mignola's iconic art certainly slows down the book, the artist more than makes up for it in the reminder of the series. As always, Dave Stewart is called to separate the mood by coloring David's work differently than the series' creator, bringing out both the bizarre and humane in the characters through his characteristic earthly hues. Again, just being able to read the solid, dynamic layouts of Guy Davis is a boon to any reader familiar with the series, and will no doubt serve to further cement their hopes that the continual stability of the creative team is for everyone's benefit.

John Arcudi was Mignola's second addition to the series, and his character based flavored storytelling is once again on display in "King of fear". And while smoothening out the BPRD creator's mythology is certainly a much less apparent when done in the elusive co-writer credit, he has certainly brought a lot the the series. In regards the just finished mini-series, Arcudi was certainly willing to carry out some swift twists and turns, while all the while keeping his characters grounded and sympathetic. It's a testament to his strengths as a writer that he has managed to keep the writing on a spin-off at such a high level, that it has remained both respectful to the characters, and the accumulated continuity, as well as always providing for interesting excuses to make for the backdrop of a very solid genre book that is BPRD.

All that said, "King of fear" remains what it was advertised to be, a drastic change for the series, and a culmination of almost seventy issues of plots getting to a head. It was also noted to make up a somewhat larger trilogy with the two preceding mini-series, which doesn't really cohere taking into account the continuity that was called upon, and still left partly unresolved following it's conclusion. In any event, it's another typically strong volume in a very particular series, that has persistently remained a fan favorite precisely because of the unusual care and caution employed by everyone at Dark Horse. And even better, there is no reason to think that it won't continue as a prime example of horror/science fiction at it's comic book best.

Jack of Fables 41-45 "Kings of earth and sky"

That "the Fables"' first spin-off was a controversial project was clear from the start. Putting the unlikable rogue Jack of tales in the lead role was always an ambitious choice, but the truly polarizing aspect of the Vertigo title's second ongoing series was always it's ambiguous co-writing credit. Yet, Bill Willingham and Matthew Sturges' "Jack of Fables" has preserved for years as the supporting title, with sales closely following the parent book. This has given it's creators a chance to freely enjoy their trademark multi layered self-aware storytelling that never tips it's hand to the readers.

Unlike "Fables", it's perennial troubled spin-off has always toyed with the metafictional aspects that fully acknowledge the difficulty of the ideas involved. It was always a title that spun some rather far fetched pulp inspired yarns, yet remained tongue in cheek the whole time, while teasing some rather improbable and unnerving events. Right alongside the black humorous bulk of the narrative involving Jack facing the basic tools of writing fiction, another subplot kept getting alluded to. And in "the Great Fables crossover", that was to wrap up the three years in the making saga, and have the character come full circle with Fables that he has come to stray from, it finally debuted.

Following on the heels of the parent series' new status quo, the mini event saw a new hero take center stage, and hinted at the changes to come for Jack's own series, all in a manner that was as literal as possible. yet, Jack's teenage son still seemed like merely one of the many new characters involved with the proceedings, while admittedly most of the others being even more obnoxious with their roles and titles. Still, following an unfortunately placed fill-in story, the co-writers stayed true to their promise, and started radically altering the series' premise.

The first arc of the new status quo still had to wrap up the loose ends of "Jack of Fables"' previous three years of stories, which in effect meant double billing the page count to host both the logical conclusion of Jack's adventures, and the introduction of his son's first adventure on his own. The shift in direction seemed sudden, but like always with the title, felt planned well in advance. In the new section, the reader was treated with an innocent fantasy episode played ironically typically, but there was still an expectation that the two narratives will collide in the last chapter. Interestingly, Willingham and Sturges had decided to play coy, and have Jack's tale end completely separately, while only soliciting his son's further pulpy adventures as a follow up. The reader, long treated to a purposefully murky storytelling and outright lies by the narrator as part of the standard comedy routine, expected everything but that, particularly considering the "Fables"' history, and the Vertigo's general trend of grown up fantasy storytelling.

And, of course, this is precisely where the co-writers decided to go next with the series. By transporting their hero to yet another new world, they opted for a full on epic fantasy science fiction mash up, with the previous protagonist mentioned only in passing. Thus, they got to graduate his long prepared successor to the title role, and even more importantly style the complete storyline after him. Even the opening text along with the hints at the end of each issue, long infamous for their sarcasm and general uselessness, thus turn into tried and ready hyperbole, hinting at the further adventures of the tragically noble hero.

The self sacrificing lead character is once again shown to be a complete departure from his egoistic father, which is exactly the point. Willingham and Sturges were well aware of how loathsome the never changing scoundrel Jack of tales has become, so following the crossover, they slyly set out to replace him with a much more likable new face. This meant making him the most naive and good-hearted of the protagonists, constantly trying to help those in need, while thankfully finding suitably grand quests lined up in wait for him. In "Kings of earth and sky", young Jack Frost has to try and liberate a whole kingdom from the giant ruler of the planet, while being constantly beset by the people he's trying to save.

On the face of it, it doesn't get more heroic than that, and also more bland. The co-writers have once again purposefully set out their new protagonist on a very generic quest, subtly following the tales that inspired his predecessor, and spiced it with typical subplots. The constant twists come at every turn, as Jack learns not to trust people unequivocally, while risking losing his only friend and mentor, the magical owl MacDuff. Seemingly, the reader is witnessing a slow coming of age story of a young man that could one day become a ruler of a magical kingdom, if he's not beset by sudden death. It's just that such stereotypical storytelling completely opposes the core concept of "Fables", and the entirety of the sinisterly clever "Jack of Fables" run.

The constant presence of Babe the blue ox's page (undergoing a particularly interesting blandification paralleling the main plot) reminds us that there is no chance that such a status quo will remain much longer beyond this introductory arc, meant to stun the readers into once again doubting the whole point of the series. Even the ending blurb hints at the return of Frost's father, by featuring a seemingly generic title of the next arc, that still reveals a clear link to the previous storyline. Willingham and Sturges are once again prepared to shock the readers, but the real question turns out to be how the ambitious idea is mean to work out.

Taking a lot of the readers' loyalty for granted, "the Kings of earth and sky" still doesn't stumbles in delivering it's promises. The execution is flawed on several levels, most apparently on the artistic front. Simply put, Tony Akins the series' regular penciller is called upon do deliver so much detail that he splits the artistic duties of the middle two issues of the arc with Jim ("Crossing midnight") Fern. This problem was sidestepped by having Russ Braun work on the whole of previous storyline, but in "the Kings of earth and sky", there's hardly a unity of style between the two different pencillers. Fern tries his best to continue Akins' initial ten odd pages each issue, but his figurework is completely at odds with the series' standard cartoony work. The jarring shift is very noticable in that the more realistic pages bring forth a completely different look to the "Jack Carter, warlord of Mars"-inspired storyline, immediately clashing with the pages surrounding them.

Thus, Akins' trying to incorporate layouts that echo Mark Buckingham's work on the main "Fables" series simply stop exhibiting the requisite dynamic in the fill in artist's pages, who more or less tells the story without any irony. This leads to Jack Frost's overblown heroics and his female friend's skimpy dressings turn from satire that was called for back into standard adventure story illustrations they were inspired by, before returning back to the norm with the start of every new issue. The colors maintain what little coherence remain, but the rest of the problems lie firmly with the writers.

While they are certainly to be complimented for presenting a well paced page turner, after so many "Jack of Fables" arcs that felt strained and overwritten, the most successful part of the storyline really belongs to their inspirations. And while they certainly find a way to channel the Michael ("Elric", "Jack Cornelius") Moorcock like pulp narratives steeped in the lurid haze of counter culture, Willingham and Sturges end up going too far in a single direction, risking the subversion of their own creative voices for the purposes of pastiche. And this is precisely what happens, as the series' traditional playful postmodernism becomes a distant subtext, easily overcame by ray guns firing through the sweaty psychedelic background.

Moorcock himself was always keen to stretch the form of the pulpy science fiction, but in sticking so close to his template, the co-writers gambled to entertain only the segment of readers familiar with his work, or otherwise generally susceptible to his hugely influential "Saga of the eternal warrior". What's missing is the concrete link to the series the readers have been following up till the beginning of this storyline, a knowing technique employed with potentially troublesome results.

It takes a lot of belief in the "Fables" brand as a whole to see "the Kings of earth and sky" for what it truly is, a middle chapter in the delightfully false new status quo that almost certainly won't last a year, before being tied together with the stylings that preceded it. It's just that read as a story in it's own right it might send a mixed signals message to its readers, who might not be so fond of the radical shift that "Jack of Fables" has undergone.

As an experiment in the continuing storytelling, the current direction of the series is in line with the title's constant ethos of subverting the readers' expectations of what they can expect from a spin off. Yet, as a story on it's own, it's completely dependent on future arcs to determine how the whole of this particular phase of the title measures up. This is certainly a bold decision, made by creators unafraid to follow their own creative impulses, instead of settling in the relative conformity of the tried and true status quo.

Wednesday comics: "Metamorpho"

"Metamorpho" was a one page feature that ran in all 12 issues of DC's "Wednesday comics" anthology. Scripted by Neil ("the Sandman") Gaiman, and pencilled by Mike ("the X-Statix", "Madman") Allred, it told a single continuing story, using the project as an excuse to give the character a rare high profile performance.

Obviously, when contacting Neil Gaiman to contribute to the anthology, editor Mark ("Batman: black and white", "Solo") Chiarello was well aware of the good will his fans will feel towards a story that even tangentially refers to his most successful project for the publisher. Elaborating on the back story of the obscure superheroine Element Woman, previously seen in "the Sandman", Gaiman still shied away from the series' adult fantasy storytelling, to go with the tone of DC's latest weekly series.

It's fortunate then that he was paired with Mike Allred, another contributor to his epic. And while their previous effort resulted in revisiting the company's long forgotten teenage president Prez, the tone of the new story called for still a different mood. The artist's trademark retro modern pencils and inks are still present, colored by his wife Laura, but the effect is much more nostalgic this time around.

Both creators seem to be trying their best to tell a classical Silver Age superhero story, concentrating their efforts by exploiting the unique structural opportunities of the newspaper format of the anthology. Thus, not only are all the characters on model, but their whole adventure could almost seamlessly fit in during the early days of the decades old character. That is, discounting the absurdly irreverent tone that is the creator's chief innovation. The knowing winks to the silliness of the characters and their basic set up are constant, but mostly kept in the background, except for the introduction of the reader's formal helpers, the bizarrely overenthusiastic 1960s children readers.

Yet, the exposition they deliver is actually vital to the story, once one gets past the constant jokes about the supposedly enormous popularity of the Metamorpho line of comic book titles. Even then, Gaiman leaves that idea on a sour note, admitting point blank that Metamorpho has nothing of the popularity he constantly alluded up to that point, that seems somewhat anti-climatic and unnecessary. As for the general tone of the script, the writer's imitation of the famously overwritten superhero comic books of the past is by and large enjoyable, except when it comes to constantly recapping the plot. This was necessary due to the anthology format, but still comes across just as tedious, as the strip's logo that "the Spirit"-like keeps getting integrating into surroundings of every new page.

Perhaps the biggest hurdle with reading Gaiman and Allred's pastiche comes in overcoming two whole pages of Gaiman trying to dramatize the periodic table of elements. Still, that kind of narrative challenge is exactly what a short story like "Metamorpho" was constructed for. The Allred family team follows every step of the way, taking on each page as a separate unit, and bringing forth the sense of adventure and irony that the script calls for. Reading it as a complete comic only accentuates the effort that went into coordinating the double page spreads, that were made to work even in their original form.

Of course, using "Wednesday comics" as a chance for playing with the form could never have worked as well in a DC Universe comic, if not for the solid character work throughout. In order to achieve the irony inherent in the outdated superhero concepts, the creators purposefully keep the characters on the model so much, that they start breaking from their two-dimensional confines to better reveal their comedic potential.

As such, the moment Gaiman and the Allreds figure out that the neanderthal bodyguard Java plays next to no role in the story, the creators turn him into a focal point for the deadpan delivery of some of their most inspired bits of comedy. The rest of the characters are so deeply enveloped in searching the ancient temple, all for their own reasons, that they mostly concentrate on getting to the bottom of a science fiction story that ties in with Element Man and Element Woman's origins. In order to achieve that kind of effect, the Allreds never stray too much from the characters' original Ramona Fradon designed forms, while retaining the "Madman" creators' signature physicality.

The story works even on that level, with Gaiman patiently imitating the rapid stream of child like display of super powers, romantic interest and a never ending stream of 1960s slang. The creators are still aware of how generic an adventure story they have put together, so they once again conscientiously overuse these Silver age plot devices in order to get their point across. And that is, no more and no less, an attempt to have a bit of fun with layouts of a superhero adventure short story, while still treating the Element Man with a nostalgic reverence the character hasn't seen in a very long time.

In the end, Gaiman and the Allreds' "Metamorpho" story is certainly not an attempt to update the character for a new audience, but exactly what it's supposed to be - an offbeat superhero short story, published in a weekly series celebrating the vitality of DC's decades old characters, by using the oversized newspaper format that most of their genre predecessors debuted in.