Yoko Tsuno 2 - The Devil's organ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoko Tsuno 1 - the Trio of the Bizarre

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DC Retroactive - Flash 1980s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

League of extraordinary gentlemen Century II - 1969

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the Deathwish of terrible Stone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ADVANCE REVIEW: TORN OGN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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