Blueberry 7 the Iron horse

In early 1970, French premiere comics magazine "Pilote" saw the beginning of the serialization of "the Iron horse", Jean Giraud and Jean Michel Charlier's seventh Blueberry adventure. By this time, the creative duo was so productive that they were basically producing two complete 48 page albums a year, which also impacted the storyline in a major way. Following a brief interlude after the epic Fort Navajo saga, the creative team had decided that their new multiple volume saga should center around railroad.

Following Civil War, two different train companies competed with the idea of building a transcontinental track in the land that was still settled claimed by Indians, which certainly makes for a broad Western concept the likes of which Giraud and Charlier tackled in Fort Navajo. In fact, it's remarkable how much their new 4 volume railroad adventure draws from the story that introduced Blueberry. General Dodge sends for Mike's presence precisely because of his role in the negotiations with Indians, but what follows is remarkably similar to his previous experience. The Natives are once again lied to and manipulated in order to serve a third party interest, and it's Blueberry who gets stuck in the middle.

Where the two epics largely differ is abundantly clear in "the Iron horse", and that's the experience of the creators. With Fort Navajo, Charlier and Giraud were new to the story, working as if from a broad outline that still allowed for a lot of major changes along the way. Their next Blueberry epic feels much more tightly plotted, with creators knowing fully well that they intend to produce four complete albums in the space of two years. Thus, the first part feels much more expository and slow pace, with the authors knowing fully well that they already have an audience that will follow their tale to the end.

In this way, they introduce a completely new supporting cast, consisting of Blueberry's superiors in Union Pacific, as well as their employees, courier Red Neck, and free agent Jethro Steelfingers. Red Neck, a gaunt, quiet man would stick around long after the whole saga, and become Blueberry's other permanent sidekick, contrasting Jimmy McClure's buffoonery with a more sober point of view. In any event, he follows McClure's path of going to Fort Navajo to request Blueberry's assistance, with creators once again using the scene for comedic effect. Once again, Giraud and Charlier stay away from becoming self-referential and basically use these scenes to provide the reader with a knowledge of just what kind of a man Blueberry is, and proceed to follow through with the plot.

Similarly to the original Fort Navajo album, the first half of the story features an extended scene of massacre, designed to provoke the reader's emotions and set out the stakes involved in someone's grand plan. This time it's a herd of stampeding buffalo, who are first presented as a threat, almost a natural disaster, that the heroes must overcome, before they are made witness of the first signs telling that the tragedy was engineered by outside forces. Interestingly, Red Neck is presented as a veteran cowboy, who repeatedly offers sound advice amid as the hostilities with Indians start becoming a reality, but mostly gets ignored by the atypically rash and impulsive Blueberry.

As soon as he arrives to the Union Pacific's camp, Blueberry established a feud with Jethro Steelfingers, which he wants to settle immediately, without any kind of plan. The protagonist's hurried actions seem somewhat mirrored by a plot that devotes too short a time to Blueberry's introduction with his superiors and the beginning of his mission as a negotiator. Before he can even start in the official capacity, the rival Central Pacific forces are already plotting against him, which he makes disturbingly easy due to his single-minded obsession with defeating Steelfingers.

The duel finally takes place during a long scene set in a typical western saloon, where Blueberry confronts Jethro with the aid of Jimmy McClure, who has since been shoehorned into story in a slightly contrived way. Despite it's length, the showdown works to build tension, present a nicely paced standoff between key players, and ends with literally tearing the building down, as the two rivals proceed to settle their differences with their fists. Steelfingers is an interesting foil for Blueberry, in that he is completely different from Fort Navajo's Lone Eagle. And while he certainly possess a rude cunning, Jethro is defined mostly by his strength, which exhibits in his using the prosthetic arm as if possessing superhuman powers. Seeing Steelfingers using what is illustrated almost like a karate chop, seems slightly out of place in the heavily labored semi-realistic atmosphere of Giraud and Charlier's Wild West, but it's nonetheless effective.

The scenes that follow depicting the train ride he's been forced on, present the villain in all of his ruthlessness and further cement his presence as a serious obstacle to Blueberry's plans. Unfortunately, with the saloon scene taking up most of the scenes in the Union Pacific camp, there is no space to set up the mystery of the CU saboteurs. The creators thus opt to reveal their identity from the start, which is likely for the best, considering the story's range far surpasses that of a static guessing game between a myriad new supporting characters. In any event, those that are introduced in "the Iron horse" are all notably more realistic in their outlook than Blueberry, who continually seems out of his element, which makes up for a lot of his bewildered behavior in this album.

As the last segment of the first episode starts unraveling, it becomes apparent that Charlier has tailored the plot to peak with the race between the new lethal enemies. Whether Blueberry will get a chance to finish his negotiations with the leaders of Sioux and Cheyenne tribes depends entirely on Steelfingers' ability to get to the meeting place and set the ambush in time to present the threat to Mike's agenda. The set piece involving the valley is large and complicated, but Giraud's layouts never fail to clearly portray the distance between each of Blueberry's allies, and their part in securing the area. The arrival of Steelfingers' men and the reaction of each side of the conflict is depicted so clearly that the reader can ease up and follow the rapid succession of shots with just enough dread and excitement that the creative team expected them to experience.

Once again, Giraud and Charlier finish on a high note, providing a fast paced train sequence that leaves little time for the characters to reminiscence on the gravity of the events set in motion. And although they avoided ending on a cliffhanger, the creators were content to count on their readers to simply continue reading the Blueberry segment of "Pilote". On it's own, "the Iron horse" feels adequate but still fundamentally incomplete, seeing how most of it's plots continue directly in what was eventually published in album form as "Steelfingers". And while perhaps not as ground breaking as Fort Navajo, the saga of building the continental railroad is by all means a formidable Western comic book, featuring the work of storytellers whose best ideas were still some years away, to be released when they finally stopped thinking in such rigid terms as the story cycles limited to four or five albums united with a clearly defined common theme.

Blueberry 6 - the Man with the silver star

In 1969, Charlier and Giraud finished serializing their original Fort Navajo saga in the "Pilote" magazine, featuring the break out character Blueberry. In the same year, the creative team have decided to follow it up, and proceeded with offering "the Man with the silver star", a decidedly more relaxed take on the Wild West story tropes. And after the epic that was Fort Navajo, it's certainly easy to understand why the creators felt the need to slow down and focus on character development, before deciding how to proceed with the series. In retrospect, "the Man with a silver star" turned out to be unique, in that it's the only album that truly stands alone without ties to any of the subsequent volumes.

That said, however slight it may appear, the sixth album in the series is certainly not without it's charms. First off, the creators don't hide their intent to homage "High noon", going so far as to feature a sheriff modeled on Gary Cooper in the opening segment. In presenting a more realistic version of the events that form the basis of the cinematic classic, Giraud and Charlier achieve a pleasant comedic effect, that doubles as providing the set up of the album. Interestingly, "the Man with the silver star" could easily be passed off as a McClure spin-off, seeing as how is both the catalyst for the story, with a character arc that only feels subdued due to Blueberry's presence. Admittedly, the old miner's story veers heavily in the direction of making him a two-dimensional character, by once again highlighting his weakness for strong spirits, but thankfully by giving it so much prominence, Charlier does manage to make it a plot point.

Thus, just as the reader is eased up in writing off Jimmy as the comedic sidekick defined by his relationship with Blueberry, the writer uses a last minute twist to reveal his intentions for the McClure. It's important to note that this kind of character growth is achieved by misdirection, amid a myriad of expertly shuffled subplots. Nominally, most of the album deals with the people of Silver Creek being terrorized by a nearby gang, and willing to enlist a military officer to restore order to the town. Taken on it's own, it's a cliched story, but the creators still find a way to derive a lot entertainment from the scenario. And while a lot of the album carries an irreverent tone, the creators do manage to provide the appropriate suspension when the scene calls for it.

When it comes to Blueberry, the reader is reintroduced to the character wholesale, with little to no mention of the Apache Wars, basically reverting to his previously established personality of a skilled soldier who has little regard for military discipline. In any event, his leaving for Silver Creek city is played as a gag, as just the first of the many obstacles he and McClure must confront to restore order to the terrorized settlement. Perhaps most interestingly, beyond the typical roles of scared townsfolk and their malevolent oppressors, Charlier and Giraud devote a lot of space to setting up a clear victim of the present situation, in Miss Marsh, the grade school teacher. Just like exploration of far reaching consequences of the racism factored heavily into the set up for the Fort Navajo storyline,so does the division of gender roles inform a major theme in "the Man with the silver star".

Unfortunately, following a fitting ending to her storyline in this album, Miss Marsh was neglected by the creative team following this album. This is unfortunate, considering that she is likely the series' highest profile female character following Chihuahua Pearl. In any event, her relationship with Blueberry shows us Donovan still at his shiest, which is in line with how he behaved with miss Daisy in Fort Navajo. Looking past his relationship with Miss Marsh, the reader can recognize the same infallible anti-hero that Mike has been prior to his association with Jimmy McClure.

Blueberry is once again a charming rogue, with Giraud illustrating panel after panel of people's wide eyed reaction to Donovan's quick wit and ingenious solutions. Once again a master strategist, the protagonist's plan goes awry only due to his helper's incompetence, which is thankfully somewhat reversed by the end of the album when two of his cohorts find a way to be of direct assistance. In any way, despite the nature of the trope-filled story that is little more than Charlier and Giraud's tongue in cheek "High noon" homage, the creators show remarkable skill in producing a very readable diversion.

Despite the nature of the conflict, most of the story is relatively slow paced and believable, with the bandits particularly sporting a very realistic outlook. "The man with the silver star" certainly won't be the volume anyone associates with the most memorable moments in the saga of Mike Steve Donovan, but even as a typical genre piece it remains a strong and adequately put together story, that is certainly much easier to sample than each of the multi-album epics that were published around it.

Fort Navajo: the Trail of Navajos

With the beginning of 1969, Jean Giraud and Jean Michel Charlier set out to complete their Fort Navajo cycle of stories in the pages of Belgium's "Pilote" magazine. Each of the five albums dealt with the fictionalized version of the Apache wars conflict, but the initial outline didn't factor in the popularity of the lieutenant Blueberry character. Thus, the middle parts of the Fort Navajo circle became somewhat less epic, and more focused on the characters. Yet, even though it was apparent that Blueberry would soon continue his adventures in the broader Wild West setting, it was unavoidable that his involvement with the Fort Navajo mission be much more plot driven.

Thus, the book begins with the Indian council, focusing on the state of affairs between Cochise and his Mexican benefactors. And even though Blueberry, accompanied by Jimmy McClure sticks close to the initial brokering of the terms of the negotiations, it's another of his Fort Navajo friends that unofficially establishes contact with the Indians. The entirety of the first third of the book, largely follows Mike's fellow lieutenant as he tries to prepare the War council for Blueberry's approach, promising to end the hostilities by carrying out the presidential message.

The slow paced, tense and serious storytelling is a welcome break from the burlesque portrayal of the Native Americans in the previous volume, and a clear statement from the creators that they have gone a bit too far with the "Lucky Luke" flavored antics in the "Mission to Mexico". Once again, Lone Eagle's presence provides for the drama in what started as largely static opening, leading to an impressive chase with some very real consequences for Blueberry's friend. Once again, despite the lethal nature of the gun fights, Giraud renders them skillfully and without much gore. The relatively long chase feels energetic the whole time, masterfully coreographed, and ends at a cliffhanger. With the reader unaware of the exact outcome of the encounter, the creators maintain tension throughout Blueberry's subsequent late arrival at the scene, that in turn sets up the events to come.

With Blueberry now harboring a personal grudge against Lone Eagle, propelling him to come up with the new plan, the creators enable this volume to stand on it's own, as it requires no previous knowledge to understand, and more importantly, connect with the events and the characters involved. In plot terms, this means that in order to make sure the negotiations with Cochise lead toward piece for both sides, Blueberry must find a way to cut off the supply of guns and ammo promised by general Armendariz. In the terms of Apache wars, this meant once again substituting the work of the United States Army and it's intelligence for a Wild West pulp plot starring a single soldier. By now, the reader has had to accept the terms of the creative license which lead to Blueberry being assigned an important role in all the key events of the conflict. In "the Trail of Navajos", Charlier and Giraud are very clear as to their intentions - while they are certainly inspired by the Bascom affair, the goal was to still present the reader with a genre comic that is easily understood by the audience uninitiated with the historical facts.

This is achieved by giving Blueberry and McClure a clear goal, sabotaging the Mexican mine, and by treating the bulk of the album as the heist story. The bulk of these scenes show just how much Giraud's art has advanced in the span of these five albums. The craggy hills, and the barren plains underneath them are rendered with such detail and efficiency that they transport the reader into Wild West, as rendered by the authors. There's hardly a trace of the somewhat stiff poses that characterized Giraud's initial work on the Blueberry saga, with the presentation being wholesome and breathtaking. The art is not only painstakingly detailed, but at the same time unmistakably personal, with the artist rendering both the figure work and the backgrounds as part of the same style.

The fact that a lot of the scenes in the middle of "the Trail of Navajos" take place in open spaces, at night, unfortunately does work to hide some of the richness of Giraud's texture. The murky blues and grays don't really add up to the cumulative effect a drawing designed purposely to be left in black and white sometimes has, when rendered by masters of the form. Giraud was seemingly unaware of the color separations that his publisher would decide upon, ending up with a series of scenes that, while not really making the storytelling unclear, still detract from the layouts.

Charlier on the other hand, doesn't really bother with establishing the Mexicans as the threat, and basically has Blueberry and McClure solve the problem by in their usual roundabout way. This means establishing contact with the Jay Hawker deserters, who enter into the agreement in order to provide diversion to the protagonists' plan, which is how creators thankfully restore at least some semblance of reality to the proceedings. For all his cowardice and buffoonery, Jimmy McClure actually continues to prove useful to young Blueberry, and indeed it is through one of his contacts that Donovan is able to think up a strategy for avoiding the Mexican defenses.

In a very critical moment, McClure provides vital help to the lieutenant, sealing their friendship and proving that the creators have successfully managed to create another character versatile enough to outlast the Apache wars inspired saga. As for the trickery employed in getting to the shipment of arms meant for Indians, and the inspired bouts of heroism perpetrated by the pair in the process, they make for some intriguing, if somewhat familiar action scenes. What stands out is a carefully executed sequence showing the sabotagers climbing the mountain. And while the characters are poised to overcome a nominally simple problem, it is hard to imagine any other artist rendering the predicament as clearly as Giraud. Expertly laying out the pages, he makes the whole scene clear, from the characters coming upon the unexpected situation through to dealing with it.

Unfortunately, most of the following drama feels mechanical, despite the hurried actions of the characters, and the explosions that directly threaten their life at various points. It's by all accounts serviceable genre storytelling, but somewhat weightless past the aforementioned moment between McClure and Blueberry. Using another page to wrap up the Jay Hawkers part of the plot brings the book to the finale of the whole saga. And it's clear that all of the Fort Navajo saga couldn't wraps up satisfactory in following four short pages. Instead, Charlier and Giraud devote their efforts to end the album on the strong note, without any kind of formal epilogue. Reading the albums in sequence, it surprises that even if the creators decided they would not be providing a broader sweep of the aftermath of their dramatization of the Apache wars, then they could have certainly devoted a couple of pages to provide some closure regarding Blueberry's friends at Fort Bowie.

But nonetheless, what Charlier and Giraud offer works as the ending of what was primarily a Wild West genre approximation of the real world events. By boiling down all of the conflict to a tomahawk fight between Blueberry and Lone Eagle, the creators are at least sincere towards where their intentions lay all along. And though it may feel like somewhat of an anticlimatic finale to a sprawling epic adventure, one should keep in mind that it was a representation of the military conflict that every step of the way scaled back to allow for smaller moments of stealth and trickery, and never really focused on larger army battles that took place in the early 1860s. Fort Navajo was all about Blueberry substituting for a complex military machinery and endless historical personas that contributed to the resolution of the conflict, and as such it's only fitting that in the process he developed beyond the archetypal gruff but honorable soldier.

It is this promise of moral complexity and charm that's lead the audience to react so strongly to Donovan, as designed by Charlier and Giraud, enabling them to continue exploring the Wild West lore using the same point of view character and the stylish feeling they've started establishing. And considering the quality of the work, and their constant effort to perfect the storytelling, the best and most iconic of Blueberry's adventures were still to come, propelling both to international fame and their collaboration into an European sequential classic.

Fort Navajo - Mission to Mexico

Serialized in 1968, "Mission to Mexico" was the fourth entry in the Fort Navajo cycle. Publishing their stories in French's premiere "Pilote" magazine, writer Jean Micheal Charlier and artist Jean Giraud were rapidly developing the lieutenant Blueberry style and feel.

What differentiates "Mission to Mexico" is that it takes a strong step away from the previous three albums, and is definitely the first entry in the series to give off the feeling of the creators thinking beyond their Apache wars inspired story. Even though the bulk of the story deals, more than ever before, with direct conflict with the groups of Indian warriors, for the first time it feels like the conflict is merely a framework for a more traditional Western story. This laid back feeling is epytomised by the introduction of Jimmy McClure as Blueberry's guide to the Indian territory, who subsequently goes on to become a permanent supporting cast member.

From the start, almost instinctively, Charlier and Giraud seemed to be rejecting the leaden stereotypical soldiers that have served with Blueberry in Fort Navajo. Giraud dully tried to render them as both stoic and emotional, but they always felt too robotic and cliched, their appearance almost entirely photo referenced.

"Mission to Mexico" starts with Blueberry searching for lieutenant Graig, who has gone missing while carrying the president's response regarding the negotiations with the Apache. The following situation is both elaborately set up and cleverly executed, drawing on the traditional Indian lore, yet on the other hand, it feels as staged and dated as a typical pulp adventure hook. Also, using Lonesome Eagle as the head of the hostile group so soon after the previous volume feels even more stilted and campy.

It is precisely after this lacklustre introduction, and Blueberry's return to Fort Bowie that the album, and the series as a whole even, starts finding a new voice. The basic set up of a possible love triangle between the heroic lt. Graig, his friend Blueberry, and young miss Muriel gets basically abandoned between the lines, as the anti-heroic protagonist finally starts easing up in a more natural manner. Gone is the crusader against alcohol of the very previous volume, and especially the suffering universal hero of the "Thunder in the West".

With McClure on his side, Charlier finally feels at liberty to make Donovan capable of making a wrong choice, and indeed it is Jimmy who becomes somewhat of a father figure to him at various times in this volume. The hard-drinking, elderly rogue stands in sharp contrast to the various soldiers we have already seen in this series, and Blueberry immediately takes a liking to him. And not only is Jimmy Captain Haddock to his Tintin, but the unkempt overweight prospector is initially to be very capable in his role as a scout of the Indian territory. Counting on the Indians' continued tolerance of his comedic appearance, he plays a key role in leading Blueberry to Mexico, where he is to contact Cochise.

Along the way, our protagonist actually learns from Jimmy, and the two make a very interesting pair. This is not to say that they manage to avoid all danger that comes their way, as the genre work tries to maintain tension at all times. Yet, for once both Charlier and Giraud's interest in the historical background of the Indian conflict seems to be waning, as there is little direct involvement with any of the events that happened in the old West.

Thus, the encounters with Indians, and later on, Mexicans, have a feeling of status quo to them, with Blueberry's trip to Mexico serving almost like a McGuffin stringing together the necessary dangerous situations. The threat of the Indians likewise continually devolves, as the capable warriors of the previous albums, are increasingly rendered in buffoonish and stereotypical manner. Of course, their relative incompetence was always a key factor in keeping the protagonist alive, but in those previous situations, they have at least proven capable of decimating the ranks of unknown soldiers surrounding him. This time, they resort to empty threats and continually manage to have Jimmy and Blueberry slip under their noses, due to their gullible nature.

A particularly egregious example is Jimmy's ruse to escape the Indian patrol by tricking the warriors into drinking a special brand of beverage. Truly, this time around, under Giraud's directions, the proud tribesmen behave little more deadly then their fellow comic book villains, the Romans that plague Asterix and Obelix in Goscinny and Uderzo's classic albums (even those creators previous "Oumpah Pah" Western series seems to have treated the Native Americans more sympathetically than "Mission in Mexico").

Unfortunately, all of these encounters have had a direct impact on lessening the threat of Fort Navajo's chief antagonist, Lonesome Eagle, who has direct involvement in most of the Indian parties going after Blueberry in this album. The ingenious hunter and at every point Blueberry's equal of the previous volume seems to have been replaced with a pulp villain, who is continually beset and incapable of doing serious harm to the hero. With every encounter, the Indian's threat diminishes to the point where he feels almost like a nuisance, an authority figure that keeps turning up to sober up the relaxed adventurers. By the end, even his allies shy away from him, which seems logical, but still feels like Giraud should have built some kind of framework from keeping the Eagle from being directly responsible for all of the crushing defeats that he suffers in this volume.

Once in Mexico, the creators pick up on some of the historical backdrop of the time, which works to somewhat lessen the generic style of most of the preceding pages. The Jayhawkers expatriate soldiers feel like a very nice addition to the series, and provide for a lot of the color and excitement in the book's final pages. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the Mexican authorities, whose late addition to "Mission" seems slight and necessary only because of the historical framework that the story is set in. It is not that they deter from the plot, only that the manner in which they are presented is too overly familiar, almost perfectly their perfunctory role in Giraud and Charlier's depiction of the conflict.

The return of lieutenant Crowe serves a function to the plot, but does little to further develop the character, following his emancipation in "Thunder in the West". Once again, despite their role in the events, the original Fort Navajo characters feel stiff and both Giraud and Charlier have trouble with them. Even with the redesign and the greater role Crowe has got to play following his somewhat low key introduction, he doesn't really feel like a presence that could be maintained following the Apache wars conflict, which was exactly the fate his creators have eventually assigned him.

Going back to Jimmy McClure's status as the new sidekick to Blueberry, his very presence seemed to be inspiration to the creators. Seeing Mike drop his guard, get back to cards, and in doings so all sense of time and hurry, while under the pretense of helping Jimmy out of an unfortunate situation, shows exactly where Charlier and Giraud were doing the penultimate chapter of their Fort Navajo epic. The creators have quickly found their niche in dramatizing American history, but five years into doing this, they have certainly earned their right to try and breach out into the more creative direction. Hence, the Apache war being relegated to finish in the very next album, enabling them to try something new, that would bear the name of Lieutenant Blueberry, and not his former military facility.

And it is exactly in the image of Jimmy McClure that the reader can see all the difference. His derelict appearance is full of character, and also much more universal to the old West than that of the soldiers serving with Blueberry. But even more important, Jimmy seems like the first character that Giraud is completely at ease with. His lucid look, the careless way he goes about, mash perfectly with the Spaghetti western sensibility that characterized all but the original military premise of the series. While rapidly distancing themselves from the classical Western storytelling, the creators are merely acknowledging the complex morality that was always apparent in their stories. It is only that with Jimmy in tow, Blueberry finally starts navigating Giraud's astonishingly detailed and life-like backgrounds with much more charm and humanity. And this is exactly what has lead the series to attract such a huge following in the years subsequent to the Fort Navajo cycle.

Scalped #39-42 "Unwanted"

Vertigo's "Scalped" has recently seen the conclusion of the four part "Unwanted" story-arc, featuring a sustained narrative by the regular creative team of Jason Aaron and RM Guera. Their newest effort follows up directly from the themes introduced in the preceding issue, spotlighting the protagonist's father. The publisher has already decided to group both "Unwanted" and the several issues before, into one extra-sized collection.

Structurally speaking, the four part arc is very methodic. Each issue starts with a flashback detailing the previous generation's struggle with the same issues concerning their children in the present. The start of the arc makes this connection apparent by intentionally obscuring the identity of the woman until the reader identifies her as Carol's mother. Aaron breaks this theme of flashbacks in the final chapter, by teasing a possible flash forward or a genuine time jump, before drawing the reader back in the present day, which has itself been transformed through the heft of the preceding three issues.

As for the drama that unfolds in the main narrative, it's anything but the bloody neo-noir storytelling that has preceded it. And while "Unwanted" definitely takes place in the Prairie rose reservation, the arc centers on the fate of Dashiell and Carol's individual lives, when they're briefly separated from their self-destructive relationship. Basically, it's an arc of "Scalped" without a gunshot, where even the strong language Red Crow uses to fend of Dash's father seems coarse and unwarranted.

The everyday of the Lacota tribe after the turbulent 70s being what emotionally draining for all of these characters has everything to do with their predicament, but it offers no help when they try to break from the lifestyle they have been trapped in. Both Carol and Dash are fixated on the past, but the gravity of the situation suddenly changes when Red Crow's daughter decides to no longer ignore her pregnancy. By leaving Dash for the time being, her main concern is shared with grandma Poor Bear, an aging wise woman, incapable of having her own children, and acting as a caretaker of sorts, for her tribe members wary of institutional social services.

Dashiell similarly finds himself being offered help from Red Crow's lieutenant Shunka, who drags him off to a traditional but nevertheless highly unsympathetic way of dealing with the situation. Similarly, the return of his long-absent father appears to only further aggravate young Bad Horse. This comes as no surprise as the younger generation of the tribe residents uniformly react by lashing out, incapable of really dealing with the pent up anger at the mistakes of their parents, when they yet again start affecting their lives.

It's interesting to contrast Carol's reaction then. The long suffering young woman has a much direct problem at her hands, in that dealing with pregnancy has previously affected her to such an extent that she blames many of the aspects of her current erratic behavior on the past. Yet, the traditionally hot tempered Indian woman displays a much firmer grip on the current situation then her lover. By taking grandma Poor Bear's advice and trying to struggle with the crisis brought on by unrestrained life style, she shows a much more focused approach to the unenviable position she finds herself in.

Dash on the other hand, starts panicking, which is reasonable considering he's dealing with the after effects of substance abuse, and isn't even aware of Carol's pregnancy when the arc starts. For him, the problem at hand is only the culmination of everything that's happened since his return to the Rez, and he still has no idea how to approach solving it. With Red Crow being the one initiating his return to sobriety, it goes without saying that what he goes through can only be described as a horrible ordeal.

Even without the threat of violence, these characters simply have no way of slowing down and dealing rationally with a bad situation, and are therefore forced to confront the enormity of it head on, and suffer through the consequences every step of the way. This means that R.M. Guerra gets to illustrate page after page of naked bodies falling into fetal positions, of panels centering on aggressive dismissals, and the general air of bleakness and claustrophobia that makes up their Prairie rose surroundings.

It's three issues full of characters struggling with indecision and trying to overcome the predicament by finding a firm ground to stand on. Both Carol and Dash reach this point by the end of the third issue, which is where they finally confront each other. Thus, it makes sense that Aaron would postpone their conversation in the concluding episode by featuring yet another of the time displaced opening sequences. Following this, their interaction is almost too serene - enough so that the writer feels the need to generate drama by spotlighting their second thoughts in narrative captions.

But despite this, and the horrible weight of the decisions they have had to shoulder to get to this point, both of them do emerge from the conflict with a new found sense of purpose. For the time being, the series will no doubt favor centering upon the after effects of the "Unwanted" from Dash's point of view. Simply, the decision that is fostered upon him by his father's simple question dovetails neatly with answering many of the wider plot threads, and as such provides a clear break which will be continued upon in the next arc.

As it stands, the four-parter is a great example of "Scalped" at top form. The slow-paced, character-based storytelling, that still advances the plot in a logical and realistic way is exactly what has lead readers to warm up to the series. It goes without saying that all of this is achieved through Guera's superbly atmospheric artwork. And just as the series starts once again enlisting guest artists to provide time for him to illustrate the next story arc, the "Unwanted" goes to rem how strong the book is at the it's peak.

And to top it all of, what Aaron and Guera have produced is such a distinctively defined storyline that could even be characterized as neo-noir soap opera. It's a testament to their strengths as creators that they have taken a highly controversial theme, filtered it through the genre mash up and made it succeed at every stage as part of the book's preexisting storyline. The regular readers can only hope that the succeeding arcs will be as strong as this one.

Blueberry Fort Navajo 3 - Lone eagle

Serialized in 1967, "Lone eagle" had it's premiere in "Pilote", continuing the saga of Civil war veteran Mike Steve Donovan "Blueberry". In the third entry of the Fort Navajo cycle, both Jean Michel Charlier and Jean Giraud were already so comfortable with their new comic, that their hard work turned into page after page of solid western storytelling, without the experiments witnessed in the previous volumes.

In fact, the creators confident grip of the story is evident from it's very first scenes. Following the always dubious use of a map when it comes to depicting larger then life events, Charlier proceeds to recap the story so far. This is done using completely new characters, that serve to be introduced to Blueberry in his present state, and disappear as soon as their role is served. Yet, it's hard to find fault in this kind of a decision, considering the complicated events that are to follow. The reason for starting small is apparent as soon as the protagonist reaches Fort Quitman, for it is here that Charlier and Giraud's fiction meets it's real life inspirations, and the plot starts connecting to the important events in the previous albums.

Once again, Blueberry is put in front of the major action in the Apache wars, acting as a fictional surrogate replacing many of the important players in the events that took place in the old West. Interestingly, the long march connecting the rest of the military outposts with the ammo that Blueberry's new regiment is carrying, turns the story into a real thriller. In fact, almost all of the first half of "Lone eagle" plays almost like a detective story, with an unknown outside force sabotaging the convoy. Unfortunately, employing such specific genre conventions while restricted with page count, often leads into mysteries that are much too obvious, considering the modest number of introduced suspects.

Charlier must have been aware of this, which is why he proceeds with a scene cut, revealing the identity of the saboteur to the reader, before Donovan and his men are able to figure it out for themselves with absolute certainty. In doing so, the creative team manage to spotlight the Lone eagle character, revealing him to be a perfect foil for the protagonist, and certainly the first clear villain as such, in the series so far.

Following the trickery needed to alert the Indians to the approach of the military convoy, the story turns into a much direct confrontation between the opposite sides, making it feel like a truly well executed military serial. But again, Fort Navajo effectively turned into the Blueberry series with the previous album, thus most of these skirmishes are overshadowed by the game of wits, between two skilled hunters. Seeing someone else employ the wilderness savvy strategies that have saved Blueberry and his friends so many times before, certainly brings a welcome dynamic to the proceedings.

Yet, Lone Eagle isn't the only foil Blueberry has to endure throughout the long trek to reconnect to the other outposts. The men he's leading are dozens in number and generally virtuous, yet their given commander is a highly improbable Irish caricature. Sporting red hair and a hard drinking problem, O'Reilly is to blame for many of the mistakes that the creators are simply unwilling to let their protagonist make. Ultimately, the heroic Blueberry is cognizant of his fellow soldier's simple failings, but in recognizing O'Reilly as only human, Donovan somehow reasserts his own status as an archetype, standing in for the real world military personnel that have made the decisions attributed to him. "Lone Eagle" is thus definitely not the volume that spotlights the character's anti-hero side, but still falls short of "Thunder in the West"'s almost mythological treatment of the character.

Interestingly, Charlier uses the closing scenes for the reintroduction of a major "Fort Navajo" character, with lieutenant Graig, returning to participate in the final set piece. And following several literal highly orchestrated cliffside skirmishes, the last chance to stop the army from reconnecting with the rest of the troops in Fort Bowie, Lone Eagle uses to stage an elaborate trap. It goes without saying that Giraud used most of the album's rugged settings to get the most authentic and life-like atmosphere, but in that last ditch Indian effort, the artist advances to provide a visually spectacular scene of frantic chase and high stakes action.

In as dense a plot as "Lone Eagle" has developed over the serialization in "Pilote", the proceedings are still very clear, despite at one time the army being split in three directions. Giraud's faces are still somewhat less relaxed and natural, going against his style of clean layouts and detailed textures. Despite this, all of the main characters have distinctive designs and it's always clear what their role is, even in the most complicated of setups, dealing with false tracks and advanced strategic thinking employed by Blueberry and Lone Eagle, trying to sway the outcome to the benefit of their own respective sides.

And even though the closing scenes dully set up the following events in this fictional recreation of Apache wars, "Lone Eagle" is effectively the first time the readers were treated to a complete story by Charlier and Giraud. Their third Fort Navajo album has a very definite beginning and the end, which cannot really be said for the preceding volume, with it's last minute Mexico adventure.

Shadowland: Moon knight #1-3

After several years of centering their whole publishing line around event mini-series, from "Civil war" to "Secret invasion", the last couple of years saw the company taking a step back and turning attention back to the individual titles. This is especially evident following "Siege", with the following crossovers being limited in scope and impact to their respective "family" titles. This has been a regular X-Men practice for decades, but in 2010, Marvel decided to use Daredevil as a center piece of just such an publishing strategy.

With "Daredevil"'s history of being traditionally the most successful of Marvel's street level superhero character titles, it made perfect sense to use the book's long foreshadowed "Shadowland" storyline as a lynchpin for spotlighting that particular part of their line. When it comes to the ongoing titles participating in a crossover event, Marvel has been very particular of late, usually commissioning a separate tie-in mini-series, so as not to derail the regular creative team's plans for the title. This has lead to a slew of clearly labeled three parters, readily available on the stands, with intentionally peripheral stories that serve to entertain just such a customer interested in a very specific product.

Where "Shadowland: Moon Knight" defers from the rule is that the character's ongoing series has been cancelled just before the crossover, thus making the following tie-in mini-series something of an exception. Written by the regular "Vengeance of the Moon Knight" scribe Gregg Hurwitz, adamant on providing some sense of closure to the cancelled titl, and pencilled by the "Deadpool the Merc with a mouth"'s Bong Dazo, the series had a complicated task of balancing between two previously unrelated storylines, while ostensibly trying to appeal to the average reader.

From the start, it's very easy to identify which of these plots the writer is more interested in, as he duly follows the editorial mandate of actually spotlighting the role Moon Knight has to play in the proper "Shadowland" mini-series, but otherwise steers clear of the connection, building the story he really wants to tell around the crossover. This approach definitely benefits existing "Vengeance of the Moon Knight" fans, but can hardly be considered fair to the readers who picked up the obligatory tie-in, interested in seeing the wider event story to the fullest. This is perhaps understandable, seeing as how the potentially interested members of wider superhero audience don't really have a place to continue reading Moon Knight's solo adventures if the character starts sparking their interest in this very moment.

On the other hand, the grim and disturbing atmosphere to be found in the pages of "Shadowland: Moon Knight" clashes even with the tone of Hurwitz' cancelled ongoing. And while a disturbing ending for this part of Moon Knight's fictional life was always an alternative judging by the set-up in the writer's opening arc, it seems that somehow Shadowland's own brutally grim outlook impacted on the crossover, beyond the obligatory Daredevil scenes. This is nowhere as apparent as in Dazo's pencils, whose work seems particularly intense the whole time, starting with the oversized first issue.

His work with inker Jose Pimental on Deadpool's likewise cancelled second ongoing title, likewise felt exaggerated and raw, but maintained a fitting sense of immaturity. On Moon Knight, once again under Matt Milla's colors (supplemented by Chris Sotomayor's work for the first two thirds of the mini-series), following the very first page, this playfulness turns into a perverse exploration of the darkest parts of the Marvel universe, with crooked and bent characters leering maniacally, through gritted teeth, while sulking through the story that echoes of madness and supernatural.

There is literally no respite for the the character, as the body count starts piling up from the moment Daredevil enlists the aid of Profile, designed by Charlie Huston and David Finch as Moon Knight's chief human opponent. The criminal genius finds a way to once again shake up the protagonist's status quo, by creating a threat that proceeds to shake up all of the parts of Jake's past, that he thought he's managed to deal away with. Thus, the conspiracy comes alive in the form of Shadow Knight, composed equal parts of Moon Knight's paranoid connection to the Egyptian mythology, and his darkest personal failings, that sets out to endanger his current fragile balance, under the auspices of securing an item important to the wider crossover.

The gauntlet the character's been put through is severely rigourous and mirrors the darkest excesses of 1980s superhero "realism" when the character starred in first ongoing series. And while his status as Marvel's answer to Batman, with all of the tortured heroism that entails, always made for severely brutal stories, rarely has a single adventure seemed this bleak and depressing. The threat comes from Moon Knight's past and starts severely punishing him, on every level imaginable, leading to some very questionable creative choices. And while it's one thing to attack the constantly changing array of the character's alter egos to represent the psychological cost of the emotionally catastrophic events engulfing Jake, it's quite another to so severely attack his longtime partner, Marlene.

And while the superhero girlfriends have been longtime defined by the careless status of damsels in distress, the personal cost of the title characters' crime fighting has long surpassed the slight inconvenience witnessed in their Golden age debuts. Paralleling the complicated maturation of the genre, an accidental trend of graphically depicted torture to the female form, has been getting it's louder and louder opposers, thus it's difficult to see the reason for it's continuation, in the pages of a tie-in mini-series, of all places.

The way it's handled, this kind of development certainly raises the stakes in the final showdown between the two avatars of Khonshu, it would have likely provoked a severe outcry, if it had been more extensively featured in the main Shadowland mini-series. Just looking at Dazo's brutal drawing of Marlene, bruised and battered, but still showing a provocative look at her cleavage seems beyond cynical. It's telling that her subsequent appearance amounts to exactly one panel designed to spotlight Moon Knight's current state of mind. Her recovery relegated to a side-glance shot in the mirror reveals not so much a lack of space devoted to the character, but more or less a complete disregard to the deeper motivation behind Moon Knight seeking vengeance, beyond driving the plot where the editorial saw fit.

On the whole, this whole project does fulfill a lot of the promise set up in the early Hurwitz-Opena issues, it's just that the execution itself is very particular. The themes of whether Moon Knight could find acceptance in the wider Marvel universe by avoidance the use lethal force against his enemies, and the possibility of his continued mental well being have been directly dealt with, in this unlikely tie-in mini-series. The only problem is that the execution behind it doesn't carry through on the relative strength of the plot.

It's hard to look at Dazo's tortured work and think that the story has inspired him beyond potentially raising his profile in the industry. He does some of his character work by utilizing the shadows to show Jake's fractured mental state, but even these decisions, when noticeable, seem like narrative tricks long familiar to the Batman readers. The artist fares much better with the introduction of New Orleans as the setting of the final duel, with no doubt the lack of actual Shadowland tie-in scenes inspiring him to end his commitment on a high note. The somewhat more whimsical atmosphere really seems to bring forth the artist's interest, making his work in return have that much of an added weight and definition, to help smooth out the increasingly bleak outlook of the fight.

It's not so much that he renders a local fortune teller Jake encounters with a particularly memorable design, but the care that Dazo and Pimental show in rendering almost all visitors of the Mardi Gras with a distinctive design, which then colorist Milla proceeds to generalize with subdued colors, so as not to interfere with the chief kinetic elements of the page. And while it's unfortunate that the artistic team finds so little inspiration in the Shadowland scenes that dominated the parts of the earlier issues, it would be unfair to say that the event has in any real way clashed with Hurwitz's plans for the rest of the story.

For instance, Shadow Knight, despite the overblown nature of the threat he poses, gets a very natural introduction to the story, his presence foreshadowed by the events depicted in flashback. Those particular character beats, rendered in distinctive sepia tones, certainly work much better in developing the relationship with the title character, than the brief segments devoted to Marlene.

Likewise, Hurwitz treats the story's McGuffin with a serviceable in-story reason that connects the Daredevil and Moon Knight trappings. Still, it's hard to escape the feeling that all of the writer's efforts were merely compromises, realized through the medium of a sympathetic editor. Yet, for all of the effort of Axel Alonso to preserve as much as he can from Hurwitz' initial pitch, it's hard not to wander what would have happened if the proposed "Vengeance of Moon Knight" run continued to it's logical conclusion, under the artistic development of the title's original penciller Jerome Opena.

It surely couldn't have lead to such an intense and repulsive arc finale as the Shadowland tie-in mini series, and along the way would have clearly returned to the rematch with Bushman, whose reintroduction formed the main plot of "Shock and awe". Unfortunately, the economical realities of North American superhero marketplace have once again worked against any long term planning, which shouldn't really come as a surprise, considering Moon Knight's history with the company. The 35-year old property has seen multiple perspectives, relaunches, and different creative teams tackling the character and his supporting cast, with all of them seemingly very honest in their attempt to produce their most professional work.

Unfortunately, Moon Knight, as well as most of the participants in the Shadowland crossover, hasn't been able to lay claim to Daredevil's success of more or less uninterruptedly producing hundreds of monthly issues. With the recent news of the avatar of Khonshu being announced as a cast member of the Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning incarnation of "Heroes for hire", even his place on "Secret Avengers" seems to be in question. Meanwhile, the editorial doesn't seem willing to completely abandon the concept of the character's solo series, as evidenced by "Shadowland: Moon Knight"'s ending.

Just like the previous Huston/Finch launched series, that ended with Mike Benson and Jefte Palo providing a transition to the "Vengeance of Moon Knight", a title that was apparently already in preparation at the company. What's interesting is that this time, Marvel has committed the award winning "Daredevil" creative team of Brian Bendis and Alex Maleev to redefine the character, in what is not yet as being a mini-series, or a continuing project. The creators promise a scope rivaling their previous collaboration, that has firmly established them, both together and separately, as major talents in the genre.

The resulting effort remains to be seen, but for now, Moon Knight remains Marvel's substantially less popular answer to Batman than the superhero in whose story he just guest starred in. Just like Black Panther, who is expected to have a more direct benefit from the Shadowland event aftermath, Marvel is continually investing in Moon Knight, no doubt with the mind to once develop the property outside it's inherent medium. And while the cancellation of the "Vengeance of the Moon Knight", and the Hurwitz-Opena take behind it certainly doesn't bode well for any plans such as the once discussed Moon Knight TV series, the editorial's continued enthusiasm is bound to turn up interesting material along the way.