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For A Good Time, 'Dial H': Inside Mieville And Santolouco's Innovative Cape Comic

John Parker — 2013-04-17T11:00:00+00:00

Filed under: DC, Reviews

As often as it happens in comics, updates are tricky, difficult-to-tame beasts. Any time an old series is dusted off and re-imagined, half the fans are upset that it's not the same as it used to be, and the other half is miffed that it's not new enough. It's difficult for comics to find the balance that pays appropriate respect to what's come before while twisting it and reshaping it for a new audience. When one does attain the perfect equilibrium, it's worth noting. Such is the case with Dial H by China Miéville, Mateus Santolouco, and others. The first trade collection, Dial H: Into You is in stores this week, and it forgoes gritty deconstructionism, maintains what makes the concept great, revamps it without rebooting it, and urges it forward into wider, weirder territories.Even though the concept has never had a big-name hero to go with it (that's kind of the point), and only occasionally had its own series, mostly living through stories in anthology books like Adventure Comics and House of Mystery, "Dial H for Hero" is another great idea from the wacky sixties. With the use of a mysterious device called the H-Dial, users are able to transform themselves into a litany of superheroes, each with their own unique powers. It's been revamped twice before: in the 1980s with new "dial-bearers," and in the 2000s with a complete lack of joy.

In Dial H, the "dial-bearer" is Nelson Jent, and he's in dire need of some self-transformation. A fat, chain-smoking, self-hating loser, Jent is still under thirty and trying to get over a heart attack. His only friend in the world is Darren, a low-level thug who's actually a better-adjusted member of society than Nelson is, who keeps pushing Nelson to get in shape and quit hating himself. When Darren is attacked by his crew for skipping on a job -- because he was helping Nelson -- Jent frantically tries to dial for help in a nearby phone booth, unwittingly operating the H-Dial, and cracking his world open like a bloody egg.

Assuming the powers and identities of several ridiculous heroes, Nelson discovers a writhing, gnashing level of weirdness just behind the veneer of his pathetic life, all connected to the dial. There are other dials and other dial-bearers. One of them, named Manteau, is living in the same town as him, and she's on the case of a "nullomancer" named Ex Nihilo and an alien named Squid. For some reason, they're only interested in coma victims, who are possibly dial-related. And as badly as Nelson wants to quit hating himself and be a hero, the more he uses the dial, the more danger he's in of losing his self-identity entirely.

It's safe to say that Dial H is probably the darkest, weirdest version of "Dial H for Hero" that's ever been on the stands, and it's about as hard to describe as an acid trip. If you're old enough to recall how difficult it was to explain the greatness of Grant Morrison and Richard Case's Doom Patrol only to be met with quizzical stares, you may be in store for some déjà vu. The heroes Nelson invokes are some of the weirdest since the earliest Dial H stories from the sixties, with names like Boy Chimney, the Iron Snail, Baroness Resin, Captain Lachrymose, Shamanticore, Rancid Ninja, and Cock-a-Hoop, all with powers to match.

Miéville, whose imagination has always seemed darkly odd, clearly revels in this aspect of the story, and he and Santolouco throw down weirdo after weirdo, never failing to make you twist your head at their peculiarity. And while a lot can obviously be said about Miéville's skills (if you haven't read any of his novels, get right the hell on that) let's not forget Mateus Santolouco, a versatile, slippery artist whose cartoons are perfectly matched to the material, able to go ridiculous one minute, menacing the next.

But probably the weirdest thing about Dial H is how, unlike every other title in the New 52, it seems more concerned with adding to its continuity rather than restarting it. There are several significant references to the past of "Dial H for Hero" -- so much, it actually seems like the series dovetails with Pre-Crisis canon. In Dial H, Nelson and Manteau live in Littleville, Colorado, a hotbed of dial activity. Which makes sense, considering it's the setting of all the Robby Reed stories of the 1960s. There's an appearance by Gary King, the brother of Chris King, one of the dial-bearers from the 1980s stories, and Squid and the "big bad" actually both first appeared in a classic "Dial" story, from 1983's Action Comics #490.

It's hard to say for sure at this point, but Miéville's approach appears to be the same that Grant Morrison took with Batman's fictional history: everything happened and nothing is ignored. Rather than rebooting like H.E.R.O. did, it draws on the history that's already there, makes it new, and adds gravity and depth. With the constant revising that takes place in the New 52, like a perpetual motion machine spitting out new mythologies, it's refreshing to read something that actually embraces its own past while adding something new.

Within the first seven issues, Miéville and Santolouco delve deeper into the origins of the dial than any previous version has. There's a wealth of unseen history that's being slowly, tantalizingly revealed in these pages. The idea of the H-dial becomes much bigger and greater, without ever detracting from the sheer, weird joy that has always made it sparkle. Sure, there are aphotic, conspiratorial tones, and massive, frightening possibilities making chitinous sounds in the background (that's kinda China Miéville's thing) -- but it's also big, giant comics fun that recalls the pure golden cheer of the earliest "Dial H for Hero" stories.

If you want to see a revamp done right, prefer equal parts light and dark, and don't mind confused looks, then this is the book for you. Dial H for hdamn hfine hcomics.

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Sean Murphy's 'Punk Rock Jesus' Asks All The Right Questions [Review]

John Parker — 2013-04-02T13:30:00+00:00

Filed under: Vertigo, Graphic Novels, Reviews, Sci-Fi, Opinion

They say two things you should never discuss in polite conversation are religion and politics. It used to be sex, religion, and politics, but we all have raging porn addictions now, so, realistically, that topic is no longer off limits. But in business, at the dinner table, in barbershops and bars, the maxim holds that the latter two subjects remain taboo: to maintain civil discourse, one should never delve into matters of politics or religion. But as any punk will scream at you, "politeness" and "civility" are Victorian inventions designed to oppress the lower classes, and you need to wake up and see our capitalist theocracy for the despotic terror that it really is.

In stores this week is the trade collection of writer-artist Sean Murphy's Vertigo series Punk Rock Jesus. It's the most innovative, intelligent, and moving comic book to deal with religion and politics in a long time. And it may be just what you need to shock you out of your whitebread fantasy-land. Sheep.Punk Rock Jesus seems like it might be based off of something called the Second Coming Project, supposedly a group of crazy Christians who ran a web campaign to raise money to clone Jesus Christ in time to be born on December 25, 2001. As they stated in their solicitation for funds, "We have the technology to bring him back right now: there is no reason, moral, legal or Biblical, not to take advantage of it."

Of course, that part came right above the part where it asked us to send contributions to what turned out to be an underground book publisher. It was a hoax, of course, but as far as hoaxes go, it was a pretty good one. It was wacky and controversial, and it asked an interesting question: we can clone sheep, so why not the shepherd?

In Punk Rock Jesus, creator Sean Murphy asks that question and many other, even more interesting ones. With a skill for world-building that's mind-bogglingly detailed and expansive, Murphy takes some of the most relevant and controversial issues of the present day and accelerates them to escape velocity. The relationships between faith, politics, and science, the ever-increasing role of corporate powers in daily life, and the very nature of religious fervor are examined in a story that's inquisitive, convincing, and filled with a series of shocks that will turn your Mohawk white.

In 2019, an entertainment conglomerate called OPHIS (Greek for serpent) initiates the J2 Project, a plan to resurrect Jesus Christ with cloning technology. Using DNA extracted from the Shroud of Turin, a cloned zygote is implanted in a virgin mother, born on December 25th, and raised on a reality show watched by nearly the entire world. But it's not a plot to bring about the Second Coming or kickstart the Rapture: it's a ratings grab. A money-making enterprise built around the world's biggest, brightest star, who is simultaneously the most loved, feared, hated, and worshiped person on Earth. So there's absolutely no way that Jesus #2 doesn't end up being a world-hating punk.

Raised on a private island, with nearly every moment of his life broadcast to billions, the new Jesus -- called Chris -- is screwed even before birth. The J2 reality show -- run by Rick Slate, the most ardently amoral character you're likely to come across -- controls every aspect of Chris's life, from conception on down. In a couple of the great little moments that seem to populate every page, before Chris's zygote is implanted, Slate demands that his eyes be changed from brown to blue because it will skew better; the virgin mother, Gwen, can't even breast-feed Chris because as part of her contract, she was given plastic surgery and breast implants to appeal to more male viewers.

After years of manipulation and exposure, after being taught to believe that he was the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, Chris gives himself a Mohawk, escapes the show, forms the world's most popular punk band, and spreads a new gospel: religion is just another form of oppression, and there is no God. But the great thing is, by the story's end, all of that's still up for debate.

I could never get into Preacher. I'm that guy. There were no questions about whether or not God existed, no moral ambiguities, and there was nothing really faith-challenging about it. Just "God exists, he's a dick, we're gonna kill him." Whooooaaaa. That really got me thinking.

Punk Rock Jesus is much more even-handed and complex. Sean Murphy has always gotten the credit he's deserved as an artist -- he's like Bill Sienkewicz, but with Manga and Saturday Morning Cartoon influences, what's not to love? -- but Punk Rock Jesus proves that he's also an enormously talented writer who can deal with sophisticated themes and complex characters while maintaining a powerful emotional core and delivering explosions, the occasional knife-fight, and frequent kick-ass action.

The details that Murphy puts in to the story are not only freakishly dense, they move the plot forward, keep you rapt in fascination at the tangled mess of moral ambiguities that surround Chris, and are ridiculously convincing. Don't be surprised if you mumble "yeah, that's probably what would happen" to yourself eight or ten times. He throws the competing perspectives of religious fundamentals, atheists, secular super-media, and the scientific community into a cage and gives them an enormous steak to fight over. Throughout a story that spans fifteen years, Murphy never suggests anything that seems truly implausible, and asks pretty much every question that could come up in such a scenario, both moral and practical.

If we really did clone Jesus, what would that mean? Would he unite the world or further polarize it? What religion should he be taught? Would he even be Jesus? Is it proof of God? Are we God now?

In Punk Rock Jesus, there's an entire cast of characters, each with their own agendas and beliefs trying to answer those questions, including Chris, and it's hard to say who is definitively right or wrong. Fascinating and intense, it may be the most brilliant and entertaining comic book to ever deal with the topic of belief. Skip church before you skip this.

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'Five Ghosts: The Haunting of Fabian Gray' #1: Pure Pulp [Review]

John Parker — 2013-03-21T11:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image, Reviews

Some of the best comics come from the simplest ideas. Those ideas that seem to straddle the line between inventive and obvious so delicately, you want to hit yourself for not thinking of it first. Image's Five Ghosts: The Haunting of Fabian Gray by Frank Barbiere and Chris Mooneyham is built around such an idea. The concept is lip-smackingly good: a dashing adventurer is possessed by the spirits of five literary ghosts: Merlin, Robin Hood, Sherlock Holmes, Miyamoto Musashi, and Dracula. You had me at hello, right? Ridiculously simple but still pretty awesome, it's so dumb it's brilliant. And that's an actual compliment, not a backhanded one. But even the greatest idea means nothing if the execution is faulty. So how does Five Ghosts do with a great idea?Pulp adventure is a genre that has been largely overlooked for the better part of five decades in American comics -- ever since superheroes took over, the genre has slowly dwindled into a niche market with only a few strong examples popping up a couple of times a year. Wishful thinkers like myself keep hoping for a full resurgence of pulp-style stories, but know deep down in our painfully hollow cores that we just have to get our kicks where we can and enjoy the handful of sterling books that show up from time to time.

They're still out there. Right now, we're drooling over ComicsAlliance favorites like IDW's new Rocketeer comics and Francesco Francavilla's Black Beetle. Even though the genre is mostly dead (or slightly alive), there have been some good pulp comics over the last few years. Maybe not enough to fill that desolate hole where joy once lived, but enough books of high quality to at least throw some sand in there or something. Five Ghosts is probably the only one that really seems like it actually could have been created in the heyday of the genre.

Five Ghosts: The Haunting of Fabian Gray is a throwback comic that reaches back long before the days of post-modernism and irony, forgoes deconstruction, and genuinely behaves like a pulp adventure comic magazine. And it never feels like it's just doing an impression, or that its creators were experimenting in styles. From the concept to the cover, it all seems like it could hop into a wayback machine and blend into the newsstands of other eras -- eras when comics were actually on newsstands.

The plot seems like it was ripped out of some anonymous comic book writer's head in 1938. After coming into contact with a magical artifact called "the dreamstone," treasure hunter Fabian Gray (squee!) becomes the vessel for the spirits of the five "literary ghosts": The Wizard, The Archer, The Detective, The Samurai, and The Vampire. Against the backdrop of 1930s Europe, he uses their abilities to hunt for mystical artifacts, desperately trying to find a cure for his cursed twin sister and rid himself of the spirits that possess him.

It has everything a classic pulp adventure needs -- a concept that's simultaneously amazing and ridiculous (just what is a "literary ghost?" Wasn't Musashi a real guy?), mystical shenanigans, bi-planes, Nazis, a studious sidekick, African spider tribes, ghostly images of heads floating in empty space, a beautiful, tough-as-nails love interest, and an entire cast that smokes two packs of Lucky Strikes a day. The only thing that would make it feel more authentic is Fredric Wertham's testimony.

Beyond the characters and the plot, the whole execution is decidedly pulpy. The writing adopts several characteristics of older stories without ever seeming like a straight pastiche. The captioning and dialogue reads like an old comic -- it's more polished, more artful, and less cluttered than most adventure comics of the Golden Age, but it has the same feel, like it's borrowing the rhythms and tenor of comics from decades ago. Dialogue that would seem awful anywhere else, i.e. "Ha ha ha...is that the best you can do?" just seems to add an authentic feel of un-sophistication.

It's even paced almost like a serial, with several short episodes of four or five pages that each end with a full splash page of an explosion, or a villain laughing maniacally. It's a little herky-jerky at first, but once you get what Barbiere is going for, it's fun, and it works.

But the star of Five Ghosts:The Haunting of Fabian Gray is artist Chris Mooneyham. With a style that could easily be described as classic comics illustration, I genuinely wouldn't be surprised if he's actually from the early sixties and just got stuck in a time vortex that brought him to 2013. Frank Miller is the most obvious influence, and probably the most modern -- everything else looks like Neal Adams, Gil Kane, Joe Kubert, Alex Toth, and a gaggle of EC guys. With a thin, malleable line, good sense of layouts and action, his style seems to ignore everything that's happened in comics art since 1990 -- and yes, that's a good thing. Mooneyham is an early frontrunner for best debut. Does that award category even exist? Let's make one.

Overall, Five Ghosts: The Haunting of Fabian Gray is an exciting new series, with creators who not only clearly love classic pulp adventure, but are able to recreate its novelty and excitement in a genuine way. Fast-paced, exciting, exotic, and comfortingly familiar, it's worth picking up, and available online and in finer comics shops.

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'Hellblazer' #300 Marks The End Of An Era For Constantine And Vertigo

John Parker — 2013-02-21T13:00:00+00:00

Filed under: DC, Vertigo, Opinion

With the 300th and final issue of Vertigo's Hellblazer, out this week, several tumblers shift and lock into place. John Constantine moves to the New 52 on a full-time basis, with a new title beginning in March; the reset button is pushed on his continuity, and the most writer-driven character of the last thirty years is yanked from the comfort and promise of a Mature Readers label and forced to grow up again in a PG-13 world; and the longest-running title in the Vertigo line concludes a twenty year run, as the imprint focuses exclusively on creator-owned comics. It's a sad time for misfits everywhere, as Hellblazer is one of a handful of comics from the late eighties that helped comic books and their readers grow up.The impact of the British Invasion can't be overemphasized. Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Grant Morrison, and others completely changed the way people thought about comics. They introduced readers to sharper prose styles, darker perspectives, and more sophisticated sensibilities, and defined the shape of mainstream American comics throughout the eighties, nineties, and well into the 2000s. You can't overemphasize an influence that's still being measured. But that effect may have not even been possible if those writers weren't allowed to work with the freedom of a Mature Readers label.

Like John Constantine, the trend began in Saga of the Swamp Thing. Less than a year after Alan Moore had taken over, the Comics Code Authority rejected issue #29, "Love and Death," on the basis of a two-page spread by artists Steve Bissette and John Totleben, and that the issue as a whole was a little too incest-y, entirely missing the point. Fortunately, their objection came too late for DC to do anything about it, and Karen Berger and the powers-that-be decided the issue was too good to scrap. Rather than redo it and resubmit for approval, they published it without the CCA's stamp, and lo and behold the world didn't end. So when Berger and crew got tired of the CCA's continued objections to what she and others felt was a high-quality series, DC just stopped submitting it. They decided that Saga of the Swamp Thing was special, and deserved its own special category: Suggested for Mature Readers.

It's into this world that John Constantine came to be - in the only mainstream comic that was created for adults. Artists Bissette and Totleben, at the peak of their powers, wanted to draw a character who looked like, of all people, Sting. (It's extremely important here to note that this was 1985 - Sting was still in The Police, artistically relevant, and decades away from picking up a lute, so the idea wasn't as ridiculous as it seems today.) They drew him for the first time in the background in Saga of the Swamp Thing #25. He's the one who looks like Sting. Actually, he's the one who practically looks into the camera and says "I look like Sting." The idea of a character with the likeness of Gordon Sumner latched on to an idea Moore had for a street-level magician, what he called a "blue-collar warlock," and John Constantine was born. During Moore's run, the character appeared in over a dozen issues, and had become popular enough to warrant his own series.

Hellblazer #1 appeared in late 1987, about a year before Morrison's Animal Man and Gaiman's Sandman. Over a beautiful cover by Dave McKean -- another British import -- the tag read "From the Macabre World of Swamp Thing 40 Pages of Sheer Terror." And up in the left corner, in the space where a CCA stamp would be, was the proclamation "Suggested for Mature Readers." And it's there that what would become the Vertigo imprint really begins to take shape -- two Mature Readers titles, entwined in shared history, effectively quarantined from DC's monthly continuity. They could interact with the DC universe proper, but they didn't have to; it wasn't mandate.

If you're forgetting how groundbreaking an idea that was, let me remind you: it was pretty groundbreaking. It helped that the comic itself was an instant classic, by two more Brits: artist John Ridgway, and one writer who often seems unfairly forgotten among the others in the Brit Wave, the supremely talented Jamie Delano. With a prose style that surpassed even Alan Moore -- you're goddamn right I said it, nearly all of his captions were jewels of odd beauty -- and a unique way of channeling his rage into horror stories, Delano debuted Hellblazer with a tone unlike anything else on the spinner racks.

Delano returned Constantine to his home in London -- in Swamp Thing, Moore took him all around the world, but never really explored his relationship with London, which seems almost laughable now -- haunted him with the literal ghosts of his failures, and pitted him against the real life terror of Thatcher's England. Bigotry, poverty, addiction, racism, greed, the AIDS epidemic, environmental collapse - social issues dressed in horror metaphors. The atrocities of modern life stitched up in devil costumes.

Over its first eighty issues, Hellblazer maintained a level of quality that few books could match, in voices that were impossible to duplicate. Delano wrote the first forty issues, save for a two-issue fill-in by Grant Morrison and a single issue by Neil Gaiman, which were excellent too. After Delano's run ended, Irish car-bomb Garth Ennis took over for another forty, starting with "Dangerous Habits," probably the most popular Hellblazer storyline, and generally regarded as the quintessential John Constantine story (though Delano's run remains my favorite). After Ennis, Paul Jenkins assumed the title for four years, and though he struggled initially, he eventually turned out some of the most memorable stories in the title's history. After Jenkins left, Warren Ellis was set to take the title for an extended run. However, shortly after his first story arc -- the amazing "Haunted" -- DC refused to publish an issue that dealt with high school shootings, due to the Columbine massacre, even though the issue was finished before the event and that would seem to be the perfect time to have something that dealt with the phenomenon. Ellis resigned, ending what could have been a very long, very special run. (The issue, "Shoot," was eventually published in Vertigo Resurrected #1 in 2010.)

Hellblazer was a writer's book. With all due respect to the artists who illustrated Hellblazer over the years -- and there were some very, very good ones -- it didn't really matter who was drawing it. Within its first few years, the book established a tradition unlike anything else. The quality of the character, uniqueness of the setting, and freedom of the Mature Readers labeling attracted great writers like a corpse gathering maggots. After some fill-ins by the first non-Brit, Darko Macan, the first American, Brian Azzarrello produced a fantastically violent run. After Azzarrello, Mike Carey. After Carey, Andy Diggle. After Diggle, and two fill-ins by Jason Aaron, Peter Milligan took over the title at issue #250 and wrote it up to its conclusion with issue #300.

It's so strange to write that Hellblazer is coming to an end. It seemed like it would always be there; maybe we took that for granted. Hellblazer never produced amazing numbers, but it was extremely popular among the Vertigo faithful -- it sold more than enough to get by. But those numbers have steadily waned. As great as Peter Milligan's run was -- and it was -- few years ago, the title was selling around twelve to thirteen thousand; recently it was around seven or eight thousand.

When DC reclaimed Swamp Thing and Animal Man for the New 52, the writing was on the wall. When they introduced a younger John Constantine, stripped of his Vertigo continuity, to the New 52 in Justice League Dark (at first, also written by Milligan), the writing turned to blood and started glowing. When Karen Berger resigned from her position as Executive Editor of Vertigo, it didn't matter anyway. Three years ago, I wrote that it wouldn't be a bad idea for DC to reclaim its Vertigo properties. I can see now how wrong I was.

The Vertigo of my generation is dead. Today's Vertigo is great too -- as of now solely publishing creator-owned material, the line is still a safe haven for anyone seeking great comics outside the norm. But for how long? It may only be a matter of time before DC does away with Vertigo completely -- when they take characters away and put the guiding light of the movement in a position where she feels forced to step down, things certainly aren't looking good. Hopefully, like John Constantine, Vertigo will keep finding ways to cheat death.

In a way he's done it again, leaving behind the changing landscape of Vertigo to land in the mainstream universe again, with Constantine debuting in March. With plotting by Jeff Lemire -- one of the greatest voices to emerge over the last few years -- scripts by Ray Fawkes, and art by Renato Guedes, Constantine returns the character to his roots in the superhero world, as he was in his very first appearances in Saga of the Swamp Thing. It also returns the character to stricter ratings, forces him to interact with the world of superheroes, and seems unlikely to deal with London's criminal underground, labor strikes, and poverty, demons that pose as financiers or take the form of addiction.

Hellblazer #300 is a powerful conclusion to an amazing story, and Peter Milligan, Giuseppe Camuncoli, and Stefano Landini send Vertigo's John Constantine off in proper fashion. It's a fitting, heartbreaking goodbye. As far as Constantine goes, my love for the character and respect for the creators involved means I'm going to give it an honest shot -- and you should too. But it already feels wrong. It's too colorful; it looks too much like a superhero book. He can't even say f**k anymore.

It's already not like Hellblazer. But then again, nothing ever was.

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Genius, Illustrated: The Life and Art of Alex Toth Vol. 2 [Review]

John Parker — 2013-02-13T11:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Reviews, IDW

Now available from IDW Publishing and The Library of American Comics is Genius, Illustrated - the middle entry in a three volume project that examines the life and career of the undeniably great and simultaneously vastly unappreciated artist Alex Toth. Written and compiled by Dean Mullaney and Bruce Canwell, Genius, Illustrated gathers original comics pages, storyboards, animation model sheets, advertising art, correspondence, and sketchbook pages, and combines them with a detailed and touching biography to form the only truly definitive work on one of the most talented and quixotic men in comics history.The first volume of this series - the Harvey Award-winning Genius, Isolated - covers Alex Toth's career from his debut in 1945 to the early 1960s, a span that saw his light-speed progression from talented newcomer to masterful innovator, his conscription during the Korean War and rollicking Jon Fury comics while serving in Japan, his triumph-slash-debacle on Dell Comics' Zorro, and the work he did for DC, where he excelled at war comics, romance, horror, crime, westerns, and pissing people off.

A strict perfectionist who refused to compromise, Toth eschewed superheroes, tore up his own work if he found it lacking, and frequently re-wrote or ignored scripts if he felt his visuals could tell the story better - and it's hard to believe that they couldn't. His enormous talent made him the envy of many who touched pencil to bristol, while his irascible nature made him very difficult to work with. Genius, Illustrated picks things up there -- with Toth frustrated with comics in general and DC in particular, eager to provide for a family he was recently separated from, desperate to do more work in other fields, and shortly before he made the best decision of his professional life.

As Genius, Illustrated recognizes, if Alex Toth had never gone to work for Hanna-Barbera, his legacy would almost assuredly still be in question. Though his work in comics up to that point was among the very best the medium had to offer, it had hardly cemented his place in popular consciousness. His work in animation did. Creating model sheets, designing, and story-boarding for Hanna-Barbera in stints spread across the decades, Toth defined the look of Space Ghost, Birdman and the Galaxy Trio, The Herculoids, The Fantastic Four, Super Friends, Sealab 2020, and others. While pushing himself to refine his style, eliminate the unnecessary, and break visuals down into the simplest forms possible, he also created the imagery that helped characterize the youths of entire generations (including the one that's grown up with Adult Swim, who based most of their early programming on shows that Toth designed).

(Click image to enlarge)

In between his stints with Hanna-Barbera and story-boarding for films, Toth returned to comics with a line that was even tighter and more controlled, and storytelling instincts that had been honed diamond-sharp. As the book clearly illustrates, Toth continued to evolve his style even though he had already been in the funnybook business for three decades, and it's arguable that his greatest work came in the period after he began his fruitful relationship with Hanna-Barbera. His sense of lighting and use of blacks, camera angles, character work, page design and line consistency reached new peaks in the late sixties and continued throughout the eighties. In case one needed proof, several of Toth's signature stories are reprinted in full: the Archie Goodwin-written "Burma Sky," the definitive Hot Wheels story "The Case of the Curious Classic," "White Devil...Yellow Devil!" with Robert Kanigher, and many more.

Really, the amount of material collected in Genius, Illustrated is bordering on the ridiculous. Being an Alex Toth aficionado has been extremely difficult over the years - the majority of his work in comics is out of print, or was never even collected. There have been some good anthologies through the years, but none that gathered as impressive an amount of material from as long a time-span, or from as many publishers. All of those anthologies are out of print now, anyway. But between the first and second volumes of The Life and Art of Alex Toth is the definitive collection of his art.

(Click image to enlarge)

Apart from the complete stories mentioned above - and even more, like "Surfside Saga," or the freewheeling "Taps" - are pages and scenes from dozens of other comics, including some that had previously never been published. There are also several pages of animation design (though most of that material is being saved for the forthcoming third book in the Toth project, Genius, Animated), sketchbook drawings, film storyboards, even doodles he peppered throughout his frequent correspondences (note: he writes with a lot of exclamation marks and disregard for emotions and his career). Much of it is printed from the original artwork, and presented in high-quality black and white with gray tones, a fantastic decision by the authors. It's rare that color adds anything to an Alex Toth story - most of the time, it just muddies up the lines and distracts you from the amazing blacks.

As an anthology, Genius, Illustrated is a soaring success. Add to that a nuanced, heavily-researched, and even-handed biography, and you've got one of the most fascinating books about comics in recent memory. All aspects of Toth's personality -- the good and the bad -- are explored: his fervent perfectionism, his at-times difficult relationship with his family, and erratic behaviors (including sometimes bringing a gun to the Hanna-Barbera office) are neither ignored nor glorified. His misanthropy is examined and presented honestly, and countered with aspects of his story which many are completely unaware of: his compassion, how he met and lost the love of his life, his renewed relationship with his children and his return from a legendary seclusion. With interviews with Toth's family, followers, and fellow legends, the biography that Genius, Illustrated gives us is honest, intimate, and heartfelt, and shines new light on a man who seemed well acquainted with darkness.

A beautiful, compelling, and comprehensive grimoire, Genius, Illustrated illuminates him and us.

(Click image to enlarge)

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Neil Gaiman's 'The Books of Magic' Reintroduced Fans to the Occult Corner of the DC Universe [Review]

John Parker — 2013-01-29T11:00:00+00:00

Filed under: DC, Vertigo, Reviews, Opinion

On sale this week is a new edition of The Books of Magic, collected in hardcover for the very first time, over twenty years after it first appeared. Written by Neil Gaiman and illustrated by four of the most refined artists of the era, it's a book that seems to have been a little forgotten in recent years. But with the heat surrounding Justice League Dark, and Guillermo Del Toro's alleged desire to make a movie starring a gaggle of DC's supernatural characters, it may be a great time for Books of Magic to finally get deluxified. Long before JLD brought Timothy Hunter together with John Constantine and Zatanna, Books of Magic introduced the twelve-year-old English kid to every mystical character in DC's canon, solidified a corner of what would become the Vertigo universe, and evoked a powerful metaphor for the pitfalls, potential, and magic of youth.The Books of Magic came about specifically because DC wanted a comic that threw a spotlight on its horror and supernatural properties, which had reached a new level of popularity after years of dormancy. After Alan Moore's success in reviving and re-imagining a host of forgotten properties for The Saga of the Swamp Thing in the early eighties, Neil Gaiman's Sandman and Jamie Delano's Hellblazer continued the trend, building the supernatural line into a formidable one. From about 1983 to 1989, quality work, primarily by an influx of British writers headhunted by Karen Berger, stoked enthusiasm for an area of the DC universe that had been mostly ignored since the 1970s. Attempting to build on that interest, "The Book of Magic" was conceived to define DC's "magical community." Originally to be written by J.M. DeMatteis, with art by John J. Muth, Kent Williams, and Dave McKean, they eventually all dropped out (No, really. See Comic Book Legends Revealed #271).

The project ultimately ended up in the hands of Neil Gaiman, which was of course the best possible thing that could have happened.

By the time The Books of Magic landed in his lap, Gaiman had gotten over the awkward hump of the first few months on The Sandman, and was regularly turning out one of the most imaginative, literate, and unique comics of the era, in which several of DC's mystical properties had already appeared -- Cain and Abel from House of Mystery, John Constantine, Etrigan the Demon, etc. It's actually kind of hard to fathom why Gaiman wasn't pegged as the writer in the first place - J.M. DeMatteis is a great writer who was at the peak of his powers, but Gaiman was so perfect a choice for The Books of Magic, it's hard to imagine anyone else having written it.

They stuck with the multiple artists approach. Gaiman was teamed with four spectacular draftsmen, in order by issue: John Bolton, Scott Hampton, Charles Vess, and Paul Johnson. And rather than use an existing character as the lead, Gaiman (with John Bolton) created an entirely new one, able to act as a stand-in for the readers, who sees everything with fresh eyes.

Timothy Hunter is twelve years old, British, and destined to become the greatest wizard of all time. He also has dark brown hair, glasses, and a pet owl. If that sounds familiar, that's because you haven't been living under a rock for two decades. The superficial similarities between Tim Hunter and Harry Potter are many, and though it's been suggested that J.K. Rowling ripped off Books of Magic, Gaiman himself has always dismissed the idea, offering that they were both just borrowing from T.H. White's The Sword in the Stone. Ultimately, the similarities really are only superficial -- Timothy Hunter doesn't get initiated into a magic Disney castle by wearing a talking hat. As his guides, he gets a distant weirdo, a con-man, a man who sometimes changes into a woman, and a psychopath.

The Phantom Stranger, John Constantine, Dr. Occult, and Mister E, or "The Trenchcoat Brigade" as Constantine mocks, come together to give him the news of his potential and take him on a walking tour through the magical history of DC, and pretty much every character who treads on the darker side of continuity makes an appearance. Jason Blood and his counterpart Etrigan, Dr. Fate, Sargon the Sorcerer, Zatara, Merlin, Deadman, The Spectre, Madame Xanadu, Baron Winters, Felix Faust, Nightmaster, and several more. There's even an appearance by Amethyst. Tim is shown ancient myths and the land of Faerie, and with everyone he meets and every story he's told, he's shown the price of a life of magic and educated on the merits and danger of what may await. And he's warned that, despite his best intentions, he may turn out to be an evil piece of #### and destroy the world. No pressure.

Shortly after meeting Timothy, it's evident that his power may not be a great thing. When asked if he believes in magic, he admits that he wishes it was real, so he can, you know, make people pay. "If I could do this stuff they'd have to treat me different. That's for certain," he thinks. "I wouldn't have to take any crap from anybody. Not ever."

That's not the internal monologue you want to hear from the kid who may grow up to be the most powerful wizard of all time. The potential of Tim's power, and the potential for it to corrupt him, made for high stakes in what became the Vertigo line -- it fueled the best moments of the eventual monthly series for years (particularly a fantastic 25-issue run by writer/artist Peter Gross). But more than that, it made for a powerful metaphor for the self-discovery of late adolescence.

So many of the magicians Hunter comes in contact with are portraits of youth corrupted or pushed aside. Teenage Merlin is the greatest wizard of his era, but he's also the son of the devil, knows exactly how he's going to die, and can't do anything about it. Zatanna's endless positivity doesn't hide the fact that she's still dealing with Zatara's gruesome death (in Swamp Thing #50) and reckoning with the bloody heritage imparted to her by her father while she was still a child. The best example is obviously Mister E, a powerful magician who can walk through time, but has been permanently corrupted by a father who blinded and abused him.

The message is clear: magic, like youth, has it dangers. But they are nothing compared to the joys.

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The ComicsAlliance Guide To Comic Book Movie Casting Redundancies

John Parker — 2012-12-12T11:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Movies, Culture

How many comicbook movies are on your gift list for Christmas or Hanukkah? Does it already include The Dark Knight Rises, The Avengers, and The Amazing Spider-Man? Are you chuffed enough to request the The Dark Knight Trilogy on Blu-Ray, or are you nervously holding your wad for April 2013, when the 10-disc Marvel Cinematic Universe: Phase One drops like a ton of bricks? When it finally comes time to plop down and watch your superhero flicks, new or old, you will have to come face to face with a startling fact: throughout the relatively short history of comicbook movies, a whole lot of actors have played more than one character. How can you reconcile that in your OCD-afflicted, comicbook nerd brain? To help combat the cognitive dissonance your'e likely to experience, ComicsAlliance has compiled a list of actor-based continuity errors you might come across. It is by no means complete, as we're not counting Stan Lee. We just don't feel like being cute today.

JAMES MARSDEN

James Marsden, as dreamily handsome as he is, doesn't seem to get his due as an actor, so it's fitting that his comicbook movie characters tend to get dumped-on. Though Cyclops has been the most interesting character in the X-Universe for years, in the movies he was little more than Wolverine's c-block who died like a chump. He was treated even worse in the underrated Superman Returns, where he played Richard White, Lois Lane's fiancé, and raised Superman's bastard son until boy blue showed up again to take it all back. Don't be sad, James. Some day, scientists will build an alternative energy source powered by your smiles.

BEN FOSTER

Uniquely talented at playing scumbags, criminals, and psychopaths, Foster has been great in most of his comicbook work. As Spacker Dave in The Punisher, he was grubby, funny, and lovably pathetic. In 30 Days of Night, he stole the movie with his performance as a feral, unnamed harbinger of doom. As Angel in X-Men: The Last Stand, he was the victim of bad casting and a crappy movie. He stood around with his shirt off, said some bad dialogue, and flew around for a minute in his ridiculously blonde hair. Nah bro, Foster is at best when he looks like he hasn't showered for four days and just got in a fight with a rabid badger.

PARKER POSEY

The "Queen of the Indies" has actually been in three movies based on comics characters: in Josie and the Pussycats, she was Fiona, the evil CEO of MegaRecords. In Blade: Trinity, she was hilariously malicious as Danica Talos, the vampire who once turned Hannibal King. And in Superman Returns, she played Lex Luthor's bubbly, conflicted concubine Kitty Kowalski. And though she's always played a villain, you can't help but love this woman. I would murder my girlfriend for a chance to sack Posey's groceries. You decide if that's a euphemism.

DONAL LOGUE

A versatile, sensitive actor with impressive range, Logue has had a bit part in American Splendor as a stage actor playing Harvey Pekar and a more involved role as Johnny Blaze's buddy Mack in Ghost Rider. But way backs in the nineteen-ninety-eights, he had the role of a lifetime as the vampire Quinn in the first Blade movie. Nobody says "I got his pig-sticker" like Donal Logue says "I got his pig-sticker."

JON FAVREAU

We all know that Jon Favreau appeared as Happy Hogan in the two Iron Man films he directed, but you may not have seen him as Franklin "Foggy" Nelson in Daredevil. You lucky bastard.

RYAN REYNOLDS

Reynolds is another three-peat. Way back when, he was the action-comedy relief in Blade: Trinity, as Hannibal King, and it was great. In 2009, he played the merc with a mouth, Wade Wilson/Deadpool in X-Men Origins: Wolverine, and it wasn't very good. In 2011, he portrayed Hal Jordan in Green Lantern, and it kicked off the series of events that will come together on December 21st to end life as we know it.

REBECCA ROMIJN

Mmmm, nudity. Decked in blue body paint, pasties, and a vag patch, Rebecca Romijn brought some much-needed subtlety and class to the X-Franchise. As Mystique in three X-films (and a cameo in First Class), she commanded the screen with her exotic presence and complete lack of clothing. In The Punisher, she was just unconvincing as the down-on-her-luck, ex-junkie waitress Joan. If her life sucked so much, why didn't she just try modeling or make guys buy her stuff or something? Way too beautiful to play that role.

RON PERLMAN

At the opposite end of the looks spectrum, we have Ron Perlman. He had the best lines of the movie as the vampire soldier Dieter Reinhardt in Blade II, then went on to play the titular character in both the Hellboy movies, infusing the role with an amazing mix of gruffness and heart (alongside castmade Doug Jones, who also played the Silver Surfer in Fantastic Four 2). A great performance to go with perfect casting. And if they ever make a movie out of Spaceman and Perlman isn't playing Orson, I'm going to kill myself.

SAM ELLIOTT

General Ross in Ang Lee's The Hulk and The Caretaker in Ghost Rider, but in a bar fight my money's always on Wade Garrett.

CHRIS EVANS

Five-peat! In Fantastic Four and the sequel, Evans was easy to hate as the gratingly cocky Johnny Storm. In The Losers, he played a mouthy nerd named Jensen, in Scott Pilgrim vs the World, he played arrogant action star Lucas Lee, and for the animated TMNT feature, he provided the voice for a seriously-wussified Casey Jones. When Evans was cast as Captain America, thousands of nerds experienced grand mal seizures. But Evans portrayed Steve Rogers with all the courage, hopefulness, and humility that the character deserved. Fifth time's the charm.

NICOLAS CAGE

Man, Nic Cage. What happened there? Cage is of course a well-known comics fan - he took his showbiz name from Luke Cage and was slated to play Tim Burton's Superman, which of course never happened. He made up for it by playing Johnny Blaze in both Ghost Rider movies, and Big Daddy in Kick-Ass, in which he's simultaneously pretty good and absolutely ridiculous. Such is Cage.

RAY STEVENSON

Stevenson, a British actor who looks like he could easily play a tank, took on the role of Frank Castle for The Punisher: War Zone in 2008 (and some hilarious voice-work on The Super Hero Squad Show), then followed it up with a turn as Volstagg in Thor in 2011. By all accounts, he will be returning in 2013's Thor: The Dark World. Murderous sociopath to gluttonous god in just a few years. That's a tank with range.

JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN

The Comedian in The Watchmen, Clay in The Losers, Jeb Turnbull in Jonah Hex, and that shirtless guy in your mom's fantasies.

THE SIN CITY PLAYERS

Rosario Dawson was in Josie and the Pussycats, Josh Hartnett played Eben Oleson in 30 Days of Night, Bruce Willis was in Red and The Surrogates, Jessica Alba previously played the Invisible Woman in the Fantastic Four flicks, Mickey Rourke went on to play Whiplash in Iron Man 2, and Frank Miller has lost his mind.

IDRIS ELBA

Idris Elba appeared as Roque in The Losers and Moreau in Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, and pissed off a bunch of Nazis as Heimdall in Thor. If that's the case, let's just make Thor: The Dark World an all-black cast. Black Heimdall, Black Odin, and Black Thor go back in time and stop Hitler. Come on, Hollywood, let's make this happen.

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'Scene of the Crime' and 'Rock Bottom' Find New Homes At Image [Review]

John Parker — 2012-11-15T12:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image, Reviews, Opinion

Here's something that's never been said before: it's an interesting week for reprints. On Wednesday, Image Comics released new editions of two books which used to have homes with other publishers - a hardcover edition of Rock Bottom, the OGN by Joe Casey and Charlie Adlard that used to be with AiT/PlanetLar, and a deluxe hardcover collection of Scene of the Crime by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, and Sean Phillips, which was originally with Vertigo. And even though you're probably already selling blood, semen, or ovaries (or all three?) to pay for this disgusting little "comic" "book" habit, you'd be well-rewarded if you squeezed out a little bit more for both of these beauties...

SCENE OF THE CRIME

The last decade-plus has seen some of the best crime comics published since the days of Jack Cole's "Murder, Morphine, and Me," and the stark tension of Johnny Craig's pages in EC's Crime SuspenStories. Though the eighties and nineties flashed with rare bright spots of noir, those eras were overall bereft of great crime stories. The 2000s, however, were stupid with them.

Over the last fifteen years, crime comics have experienced a rebirth and an evolution that's produced some of the most enduring stories in recent memory. David Lapham's Stray Bullets, Darwyn Cooke's Parker adaptations, Jason Aaron and R.M. Guera's Scalped, Brian Bendis' Torso and Powers, Whiteout by Greg Rucka and Steve Lieber, Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Risso's 100 Bullets and many others have peppered the last decade-and-a-half like buckshot, with smart, edgy, tightly-written stories from the fringes of society. Now, a second generation of revivalists have thrown their fedoras into the ring with great books like Chew, Sweets, and Tumor, and more than a dozen years after the genre's renaissance, high quality crime comics continue to be pumped out at rate that once seemed unheard-of. Scene of the Crime may have a lot to do with that.

Back in 1999, good crime, noir, and detective books were definitely trickling around the outer edges of the mainstream - Stray Bullets was a critical success and Whiteout was a smash - but nothing captured quite the same energy or attention as the first issue of Scene of the Crime: A Little Piece of Goodnight. Written by Ed Brubaker at a time when he was only beginning to get recognition, and drawn by Terminal City architect Michael Lark (Sean Phillips came on as inker for issues 2-4, right after The Minx was cancelled for being too awesome), the book showed readers something they had never seen before: a detective who looked like them. The protagonist was a modern answer to a Raymond Chandler detective while never looking or sounding like one - just a guy in his late twenties who looked like that dude in that band that sucked.

And it. Was. Perfect.

Jack Herriman is a private investigator with a past full of loss, heartbreak, and darkness, and who is nevertheless instantly likable and easy to relate to. A hero who gets the crap kicked out of him and doesn't even get laid. Living above the art gallery of his uncle Knut, a legendary crime scene photographer, Jack works a kidnap case that soon becomes a murder, drags him through the dark side of San Francisco's hippie scene, and sucks him into a family history of pain, betrayal and sickness that dredges up bad memories and unresolved loss from his own life.

The new edition from Image collects the Little Piece of Goodnight mini-series, the amazing short story "God and Sinners" from the Vertigo: Winter's Edge anthology, a foreword by Brian Bendis, and scores of additional material. And while ComicsAlliance doesn't condone lying, cheating, or stealing to pay for it, it would certainly be keeping in the spirit of things.

ROCK BOTTOM

Rock Bottom is about a man named Tommy Dare who turns to stone and does not go on to fight crime or battle super villains. Because Rock Bottom is not a superhero story - it's a human story about life, and all the mistakes, regrets, and chaos that it entails on the way to an inevitable conclusion.

A pianist with a popular band in Los Angeles, Tommy Dare is not instantly likable or easy to relate to. In fact, he's kind of a scumbag. He's fresh off a divorce after he cheated with another woman and got her pregnant not long after his wife suffered a miscarriage. He's a selfish man-child obsessed with hanging on to his youth and eager not to get his "ass raped" in court. His words. So if something bad were to happen to Tommy, you couldn't necessarily be faulted for not caring. Until it does. And you do. Beginning with his most valuable commodity, his fingers, Tommy Dare slowly, literally, turns to stone. It's not the genetic gift of mutation, it's not a superpower. It's a terminal disease, and it's going to kill him.

What unfolds is an emotionally powerful drama that unearths everything we try so desperately to ignore. Failure, insignificance, loneliness, and that paralyzing fear of the unknown, the abyss that's always nearby and also just out of sight. It's completely unlike anything else written by Joe Casey - who holds his love of black humor and frantic action in reserve to quietly explore the psychology of a man hurtling towards death. Casey's script sucks you in like a vortex and holds you there; hits every pitch perfect note that you didn't expect but couldn't avoid. It's arguably his most powerful work.

The same might be said of prolific artist Charlie Adlard, who employed a style on Rock Bottom that suited the subject matter so perfectly, it's impossible to imagine any other way. Done in black and white with jagged, scraggly lines, the only shading in the book is the increasing amount of slate gray on Tommy's body. The affect is arresting. Don't let his work on White Death or a zillion issues of The Walking Dead fool you -- Rock Bottom is the bleakest thing Adlard has ever done.

A powerful metaphor for terminal disease, Rock Bottom is not a superhero story. It's a complex, melancholic human drama that you won't soon forget.

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Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Risso Create A Bleak And Plausible Future In 'Spaceman'

John Parker — 2012-11-08T13:00:00+00:00

Filed under: DC, Vertigo, Graphic Novels, Reviews, Sci-Fi

The creative team of writer Brian Azzarello and artist Eduardo Risso shouldn't just be well-known by now, it should be feared and respected. After first meeting on Vertigo's Jonny Double miniseries back in 1998, the pair have been regularly collaborating ever since. In 1999 they worked together again on the stylist noir conspiracy thriller 100 Bullets, which clocked-in at one hundred issues and nabbed a slew of Eisner and Harvey awards for the pair. Even after ten years of working together, they apparently still hadn't had enough, and went on to create a few critically-acclaimed Batman comics, for DC's Flashpoint event and the Wednesday Comics weekly. They collaborated once again in late 2011 for DC Vertigo's Spaceman, which is collected in deluxe hardcover this week. And though the duo have made their names in the world of noir, Spaceman is an entirely different type of monster.

It's getting a lot harder to discern which science fiction is "post-apocalyptic," or "dystopian," and which science fiction is probably what's just going to happen. If a story takes place on a world that's teetering on the brink of total devastation, yes, it's apocalyptic. If a story is based in a future where an agency exerts control over people's lives - yep, it's dystopian. But if a story is set in a time and place where ecological devastation has destroyed entire cities, the gap between the rich and the poor is wider than ever before, and reality television stars probably have more power than some countries, that's just good, probably prophetic world-building that just predicts how much life is going to suck in the future. Instead of calling Spaceman "post-apocalyptic" or "dystopian" science fiction, we should just classify it as "stuff you should get ready for" science fiction.

The titular hero of Spaceman is Orson, a hulking, ape-like humanoid who is just trying to be a good man. Genetically engineered to terra-form Mars, Orson and several other "spacemen" were bred with bigger frames and thicker skin, denser bones and more muscle mass, all of which is realistically needed for longer space exploration. As much as George W. Bush pretended to like the idea of a manned mission Mars, we're realistically still pretty far away. Over an extended period in zero gravity, the human body breaks down: muscles atrophy, blood volume drops, and bone density decreases at a rate of 1-to-2% every month. When Azzarello heard about this real-world limitation to space travel, he came up with an interesting solution: genetic modification. Unfortunately, in his own estimation, it will probably cause a religious uproar and help bankrupt the nation.

The world of Spaceman is pretty bleak. Global warming has led to a rise in sea level, neatly dividing the one from the ninety-nine. The majority of the population - Orson included - live in The Rise, the submerged remnants of the country, and they're all about as poor as that kid from school who never took baths. The rich have all absconded to The Dries, which are exactly what they sound like: anything not destroyed by environmental collapse, protected against the rabble of The Rise with security forces and a retaining wall bigger than God. It's good world-building, but of course Azzarello gives it a twist: dwellers of The Dries still need people to clean their houses, so of course they mostly employ denizens of The Rise. It's a clever socio-economic situation that adds depth and structure to the story while seeming entirely plausible.

The relationship between The Rise and The Dries, the haves and have-nots, is a major theme of the book, and Azzarello provides several fascinating, insightful twists throughout. Yes, I will provide an example! In the world of Spaceman the most popular television show in is The Ark, a "realtee cast" about a Brad-and-Angelina-like couple who hold season-long competitions to determine the next orphan of The Rise they will adopt. You have to laugh, but nervously, and only for a second, since it feels like this could start happening tomorrow.

In Spaceman, Azzarello creates a world by simply extending current trends to logical conclusions. He even applies this formula to language - the cool slang, clever turns, and double entendres remain, but almost all the dialogue is written in a bizarre text-message-based grammar that's absolutely brilliant. "We? No--I work lone." "Not nomo. You want to hide her-- when you can't hide yersef?" "I braind I was doon okee." "Okee fokee you! All bodies kno--you a spaceman." People don't even laugh anymore - they actually say "LOL LOL LOL!" It may take a little work at first, but the astute reader's attention is rewarded with speech that is funny and entertaining, but still able to convey all the venom and threats you'd expect an Azzarello script to contain.

The world of Spaceman is not only logical, it's plausible, and the pair display their prodigious talents for great science fiction throughout. Of course, Spaceman also tells an addictive crime story, one involving kidnapped celebrities, meddling e-hookers, drug-dealing street urchins, and flashbacks to Orson and brothers' mission on Mars. It's an engaging morality tale acted out in a world where mankind continues its daily drudgery amid catastrophe, and visually, it's ravishing from cover the cover.

Artist Eduardo Risso is a gargantuan talent with the dynamic range to go from scenes of abject terror to moments of touching sincerity. His quirky, cultured, and impossibly thin pen lines make every panel a living scene, and even though almost everything in the future is garbage, it's still beautiful garbage. His page choreography and use of foreground and shading compliment an uncanny knack for visually distinctive characters that go from sexy to scary to goofy and everything else in between -- it's practically animation. Of course, that doesn't stop Patricia Mulvihill's coloring from stealing the show occasionally. At her best, which she is at for Spaceman, her colors don't just paint the scene, they convey perfectly-crystallized moments. And even though Dave Johnson's covers may not be collected in the HC (who can ever tell?), his work on Spaceman represents some of the best of his prodigious career.

Spaceman has everything: a likable hero, a unique world, social commentary, apes in space, wiseacre kids, and a working prediction for how awful your life is going to be someday. At the very least, you should read it just so you're a little more prepared.

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Ed Brubaker's 'Captain America': The Red Skull, Death Threats and Deregulation

John Parker — 2012-10-29T13:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Marvel, Opinion

With last week's Captain America #19, writer Ed Brubaker bid farewell to the title after eight explosive years. During his tenure, Brubaker brought Bucky back from the grave, killed Cap, traveled through time to bring him back from the grave, redefined the core concept for an entire generation, and earned the title a place as one of the most popular of its era. But beyond the huge events and never-ending series of shocking reveals lies Brubaker's real triumph. By capturing the conflict and uncertainty of America's war with itself for the last two presidential terms, the writer returned Captain America to his proper standing as the most politically relevant icon in pop fiction.

Ed Brubaker's first issue of the relaunched Captain America was published in January 2005 - the first month of George W. Bush's second term. His last issue hit the stands on October 24, only two weeks ahead of the 2012 elections. It almost seems intentional. During Brubaker's run, he had the unique opportunity to create high-octane, intelligent superhero espionage during the two most divisive and controversial presidential terms since, what -- ever? Though it has kind of been a slow, wallet-emptying, teeth-grinding, soul-crushing nightmare for many of us, Brubaker has consistently managed to mine our national indigestion for allegorical gold. Which is better than metaphorical silver, even with the exchange rate.

While resurrecting Bucky as the Winter Soldier and laying the groundwork for Cap's assassination, Brubaker was also exploring the America that Cap inhabited: embroiled in two wars, up to its neck in debt, and allowing private corporations to dictate all the rules. So pretty much the real world, but with superheroes. In the real world, the housing market came shuddering to a halt, millions in pensions and retirement funds disappeared, while the oil industry raked in record-breaking profits and titans of finance went begging for bailouts in private jets. In the comics, all of that happened pretty much the same way, but one of the greedy dicks taking advantage of rampant deregulation was the Red Skull.

Just before his apparent murder, the Red Skull embedded his psyche deeply in the mind of Aleksander Lukin, a former General in the Russian Army and CEO of Kronas Corporation. Starting with weapons sales, and with the help of the Cosmic Cube, Kronas grew to be one of the biggest corporations in the world. Kronas is a giant, multi-national conglomeration of smaller corporations, with stakes in housing, energy, and manufacturing. Even though Captain America and SHIELD are convinced Lukin is responsible for a bombing in Philadelphia (though unaware of Red Skull's role), because Kronas acquires Roxxon Oil and stands to make a lot of money for a lot of politicians, as Cap puts it, "he may as well have diplomatic immunity." Know what solves that? Roger Murtaugh and a gun.

Brubaker's plotting was masterful not only in its intricacy, but in its back-and-forth with reality, and the first three years of his tenure came to a crescendo in "The Man Who Bought America." Using Lukin's body and resources, Red Skull enacts a plan that takes years to unfurl, and only begins with the death of Steve Rogers. With Kronas, Skull tries to destroy America economically - by doubling oil prices, foreclosing on thousands of mortgages, and cutting thousands of jobs. He buys an American Senator and backs him for President as a member of "The Third Wing," an offshoot political party that blames everything on the government and wants even more deregulation.

Which is almost exactly what happened in real life. (Close enough anyway.) The Tea Party's real life super villain backers are Charles and David Koch, whose Koch Industries sold millions in oil equipment to Iran during a U.S. trade ban, and stole oil from Native American Reservations. Koch Industries are even rumored to have a history with the Nazi party. Actually, can we even be sure the Kochs didn't get the idea from Captain America? The conclusion to "The Man Who Bought America" had to have been written around early 2008, and the Tea Party was formed in early 2009, so Brubaker obviously wasn't making any comment about the Tea Party, he was just especially prescient. When he finally did make a comment about the anti-tax movement, not even the Tea Party in particular, it was of course the end of the world.

It's a story that's well-known by now, practically infamous. In Captain America #602, William Burnside, the insane, Commie-hunting Cap from the fifties is working with The Watchdogs, an extreme right-wing militia who hate just about everything not straight and white. In infiltrating the Watchdogs' hometown Boise, Idaho, Bucky and Sam Wilson come across an "anti-tax" rally where protesters carry signs that read "Stop the Socialists!," "America Not Americant," and "Tea Bag The Libs Before They Tea Bag YOU!" When Bucky suggests they infiltrate the group, Sam says "I don't exactly see a black man from Harlem fitting in with a bunch of angry white folks..." The end! Nothing happened after that, because it was a complete non-issue! Hah, no, of course not. That would be ridiculous.

What really happened is that conservative blogger Warner Todd Huston wrote a piece entitled "Marvel Comics: Captain America Says Tea Parties Are Dangerous and Racist." I'm not going to bother linking to it - you should already be able to guess how dumb it is. If not, here's a hint: it ends with the zinger "Nice going Marvel Comics. Thanks for making patriotic Americans into your newest super villians." Though anybody could easily see how the blogger blew things out of proportion just by reading the issue, somebody at Fox News picked it up and it somehow became a story. Brubaker has never been afraid to let it be known that he's left-leaning, but he pointed out that he had never designated the protesters as the Tea Party in the script, that the "Tea Bag The Libs Before They Tea Bag YOU!" sign had probably been added by somebody else, and he didn't think it was funny. Joe Quesada used Cup O' Joe to point out that it was specifically mentioned in Captain America #602 that the anti-tax protesters weren't affiliated with the Watchdogs, and that most of what Huston complained about came from a false premise. He apologized for the sign that implied the Tea Party, and Marvel have removed the text from all other editions. But apologies, explanations, and corrections weren't enough to stop death threats.

Captain America's life in fiction has been a tumultuous one. There are the scores of readers, retailers, and parents throughout the years who have hated that Captain America went after Adolf Hitler before America did, that he retroactively didn't hunt Communists, took on a black partner, implied Richard Nixon to be the leader of a terrorist organization, or refused to use September 11th as an excuse to kill brown people. And who could forget the racist uproar over Captain America: Truth?

You'd like to think it's not as bad today as it was in 1941, but it is. As Brubaker reminds us in his swan song, way back when, Captain America creators Joe Simon and Jack Kirby received death threats from American Nazis (for the record, I think Kirby could have taken them); as a result of the non-event in Captain America #602, Brubaker cancelled his public email account because of all the death threats he was receiving. Death threats. Do other characters elicit this kind of reaction? If The Punisher calls a group of right-wing extremists a bunch of fascists, does anyone bat an eyelash? Nope. If Captain America says the same, it's a talking point on Fox News, The Savage Nation, and other right-leaning organizations.

There must be a little extra pressure when working on Captain America. Must be. Any portrayal of the American public, government, and politics could be placed under such scrutiny, it could ruin your waking hours. Anytime a creator involves politics in Captain America, any time a stance is taken - whether it's Cap's or the creator's - somebody somewhere is going to be offended. By deciding what Captain America is supposed to stand for, a lot of readers think the creator is deciding what America should stand for. Only Ed Brubabker can say if he was proselytizing, but he was never afraid to make clear what he believed Captain America would stand for. Think of that as the good thing you can take away from eight years of a broke, maniacally confused, and startlingly racist "post-racial America": it made for awesome stories.

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Matt Kindt Unlocks The World's Greatest Mystery In 'MIND MGMT' [Review]

John Parker — 2012-09-26T11:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Dark Horse, Reviews, Opinion

After first gaining widespread recognition on the fantastic Top Shelf espionage series Pistolwhip (with writer Jason Hall), Matt Kindt has been on a run that's made him one of my favorite stars in the comics medium. With his uniquely impressionistic cartooning, subtle watercolors, intuitive sense of storytelling logic, and improbable mixture of sci-fi, espionage, and magical realism, the cartoonist has created some of the most memorably idiosyncratic graphic novels of the last decade, including Super Spy, 3 Story: The Secret History of the Giant Man, and Revolver. He's currently the writer of DC Comics' Frankenstein: Agent of S.H.A.D.E., a mainstream favorite of just about everyone with a blog. But over at Dark Horse Kindt has been writing and drawing the most fascinating, mysterious, and unconventional title of 2012: MIND MGMT. As issue #5 drops this week we wanted to introduce Kindt's bewildering world of mind control, shadowy organizations, immortal secret agents, and talking dolphins.

MIND MGMT is one of those titles that is difficult to properly describe, but that's partly why it's so cool. If I were to say "MIND MGMT is about a government organization with agents that have mastered all the latent potential of the human mind," you'd probably respond with, "Thanks, John, that only sounds like a thousand books I've already read, none of which were memorable or remarkable in any way. Your opinion sucks and I hate you. Lose some weight." So let me try this: MIND MGMT is about the world's greatest mystery, the shadow history of every major event in modern history, and a woman with no memory chasing down the ghosts of truth all across the globe.

In 1965, the US Air Force-commissioned American Institute for Research released a study titled "Psychological Phenomena Applicable to the Deployment of Psychological Weapons," a report on the feasibility of psychological warfare. Many of the techniques discussed are currently employed in non-lethal warfare.

Two years ago, an entire commercial flight was suddenly stricken with amnesia. With no warning and in in mid-flight, 120 people had their memories completely wiped. On the two-year anniversary of the so-called "Amnesia Flight 815," none of the victims have been able to recall any aspect of their prior lives. Only one passenger was spared: a seven-year-old boy whose life was nonetheless destroyed because he was travelling with his parents, who still have no memory of him ever being born. Of the 121 passengers who boarded the plane, only 120 officially debarked. One passenger named Henry Lyme seems to have disappeared in the air, with no record of him ever getting off the plane and all attempts to find him since being unsuccessful.

Before stepping foot on that same flight, our hero Meru was an author of the best-selling novel "Premeditated," which cracked a series of unsolved cases that a number of detectives called "perfect murders." Her world was wide open, her prospects aplenty. Two years later and she's barely scraping out a life, with no money, no prospects, no memory of the foster parents who raised her, no significant other, and no significance. While watching a TV special on the anniversary of the Amnesia Flight, Meru decides that with her next book she will do what no one else has been able to: find Henry Lyme, the man she believes to be the key to the mystery of Flight 815. Although she doesn't know it yet, it's the most dangerous decision Meru's ever made.

The CIA's MK-Ultra project practiced behavior modification through hypnosis, sensory deprivation, sexual abuse, and secretive administration of LSD. Former Nazi scientists were involved in the program.

Meru is on Lyme's faint trail. Teamed up with a CIA agent named Bill Falls who's after the people who killed his partner, they narrowly dodge several assassination attempts by "The Immortals," who seem to be able to recover from any type of injury, no matter how severe. Meru's path is a strange and tumultuous one, taking her to a town in Mexico where an entire adult population simply let themselves starve to death. She meets a psychic writer in Zanzibar who has been typing on one roll of paper for perhaps years, and later encounters "miracle dolphins" in China who can read and spell. With every step the danger seems more acute, the mystery deeper, the questions only multiplying. This is only four issues in, folks. The insanity and intrigue is just going to keep ratcheting up from here.

The Navy Marine Mammal Program trains dolphins to detect and mark sea mines and other objects.

Though Kindt has reined-in some of the more unconventional storytelling techniques he's known for, MIND MGMT is still peppered with his simple-but-effective tricks, codes, and puzzles. There are little clues and optical illusions to be found in each issue: The background is as important as anything happening in the foreground, as it's typically filled with characters who aren't properly introduced until later. Even the blue borders of Mind Mgmt "field reports" are important. The letters column also gets involved in the fun:"The Official Letter Column and Correspondence Re: Mind Management." ("Help me." Aaaahhhh!!) There are even additional stories on the back covers of each issue.

The Lost reference in the naming of "Amnesia Flight 815," intentional or not, is a fitting one. Indeed, Lost co-creator Damon Lindelof has a pull quote on the new issue of MIND MGMT. Fans of the long-form supernatural mystery have a lot to love in the Chinese puzzle box that is this series: the nature and history of the organization, its training center Shangri-La, its impact on the world and corruption of youth, and the role of the powerful but withdrawn Henry Lyme are mysteries that are only beginning to unfold. But perhaps the biggest mystery of the book is Meru herself. How did she come to solve a series of seemingly random murders that took place all over the globe? How is that she seems to be so adept at evading the greatest spies in the world? Who are her birth parents and why does she only seem to have one name?

The Stargate Project studied military applications of remote viewing -- the practice of psychically projecting and observing distant locations. Though cancelled in 1995, the program noted a "statistically significant effect."

In Hindu mythology, Mount Meru is the center of the universe and home of Lord Brahma and all the devas. Was Meru the target of the Flight 815 mind-wipe? Why aren't you reading it and finding out for yourself?

MIND MGMT issues #1-5 are available in finer comics shops and digitally from Dark Horse Digital, where you can also read the pre-release MIND MGMT Secret Files parts 1, 2 and 3 for free. This teaser series from earlier this year offers additional details on the perplexing history of the Mind Mgmt organization and the series protagonist Meru. Below is a preview of issue #5, courtesy of Dark Horse.

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'The Sixth Gun': The Supernatural Western That's Turning Cullen Bunn Into A Superstar

John Parker — 2012-09-12T15:30:00+00:00

Filed under: Oni, Reviews, Indie, Opinion

Cullen Bunn is a name you should be getting to know. Over the last few months, the writer has been one of Marvel's fastest-rising stars, penning books like the rambunctious Captain America and... team-up book, a memorable arc on Wolverine, co-writing and then taking over Venom, co-writing the last few issues of Captain America with outgoing Marvel icon Ed Brubaker, and just ending the world with the hilarious and psychotic Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe. In short, if you're not familiar with Bunn's work, you soon will be. If you're already digging his stuff then you should be aware: his best book is not with Marvel Comics.

The Sixth Gun, illustrated by Brian Hurtt and colored by Bill Crabtee, is owned by Bunn and Hurtt and published by Oni Press. And it's the weirdest, wildest, best damn Western to come along in ages. Really, it's anything but a pure Western. The weird, Joe R. Lansdale-influenced elements of horror and adventure make Questern feel like the more appropriate term. But blending traditional elements of the Western with the supernatural, weird pop fiction, and high adventure, The Sixth Gun is a comic book that satisfies on several levels. It's as if the Stranger from High Plains Drifter met Indiana Jones on the road to the mythical city of El Dorado. Wrought with tension and taut with otherworldly suspense, it delivers heaps of riotous action and pure, undiluted fun.

Set just a few years after the conclusion of The Civil War, The Sixth Gun is the story of six mysterious pistols with otherworldly powers, and a race towards the end of the world. The first gun strikes with the force of a cannon; the second spreads the fires of perdition; the third kills with a flesh-rotting pestilence; the fourth can call up the spirit of any man it has shot down; the fifth grants eternal youth; and the sixth grants visions of the future and much, much more.

Recently the guns were the property of Confederate General Oliander Bedford Hume, his wife Missy, and four murderous bandits who razed a path of destruction through every line of resistance they crossed. A monster who committed countless atrocities in his mad quest for power, Hume was finally brought down, only to come back undead and ornerier than ever. For now, though, the pistols rest in the gunbelts of an unlikely pair: deadly gunman Drake Sinclair and step-daughter of the pastor who killed Hume (the first time), Becky Montcrief.

As great as the ideas, the concept, and the breakneck plot are, it's the depth and uniqueness of the characters that cement The Sixth Gun's cred as a great book. Post-Civil War is an interesting moral playground, and the themes of destruction and transformation are very apparent within the main characters. As a professional sonuvabitch and former ranger with Colonel Mosby's Raiders, Sinclair is a constantly unfolding origami of motives and moral ambiguities. Much as you may love the character for his steely calm and cool, measured badassery, his self-interest is evident from his first appearance, and you will find yourself questioning every decision he makes. Similarly, as an innocent Becky Montcrief breaks convention and propels the story into some interesting ethical areas, but there may not be much innocence left in her. As the possessor of the sixth gun, she's under the influence of its power, an immortal weapon and conduit to forces of pure evil. Though she might have once been a farm girl with a heart of gold, she's developed into a finely-honed killer of men, with an ever-increasing collection of bodies to mark the path she's tread.

The secondary characters also offer scores of revelations. As Drake and Becky's support, Gord Cantrell is a fount of occult knowledge. A former slave who became a leader of men, Gord is the most intelligent character in the book, and perhaps the most morally centered -- but not without his own share of demons, figurative and literal. And of course there's the instantly likable Billjohn O'Henry, whose presence continues to remind Becky and Sinclair of the power of the pistols and the consequences of their actions. The cast of characters expands to include a prophet turned living mummy named Asher Cobb; the rakish and handsome Kirby Hale, who is even more dangerous than he seems; The Sword of Abraham, an ancient monastic order sworn to destroy the weapons and prevent the apocalypse; and The Brothers of Solomon, a Templar-like organization intent on gathering them for their own to increase their own power. In addition, there are demons, voudoun loa, cowboy mages, and several others, each with an agenda they are willing to die for, each of them in a mad hunt for the weapons that may be able to rewrite the world, and each of them rendered beautifully by the pen of Brian Hurtt.

After years spent developing as an artist on Queen & Country, Gotham Central, and Hard Time, Hurtt has honed his smooth, confident lines into a style that seems such a perfect fit for The Sixth Gun, it's positively baffling to think of anyone else handling the material. (If anyone else did take over, it would have to be Tyler Crook, who did a great job filling in on issues 14 and 23 -- but still, perish the thought.) The setting and landscapes draw you into the story immediately - it's as if you can hear the eerie whistles and bass harmonica of an Ennio Morricone film score. Deserts, mountains, swamps, monasteries, mining encampments - nothing is ever clumsy or incomplete, and everything looks exactly as it should.

The cartooning is so spot-on it feels like Hurtt may be drawing from some Platonic source of all Westerns. Every yellow-belly, codger, and varmint is drawn like they're the ideal yellow-belly, codger, or varmint. And it would be absolutely unfair to go without mentioning the coloring of Bill Crabtree, whose palette can go from subtle to vibrant in the blink of a panel, as the story dictates. With a crisp approach to light and shade that perfectly complements Hurtt's illustration, it's hard not to be reminded of the very best in classic cel animation. To match the artwork, writer Cullen Bunn (whose name sounds he should be a character in his own book) writes at a very high level. Maintaining the novelty and awesomeness of the concepts, he still manages to keep his metaphors subtle, his dialogue sharp and concise, and constructs plots that thrill like an out-of-control mining cart.

Altogether, The Sixth Gun is unlike anything else on the market. Conceptually unique, ever rising in quality, and crafted by three men with talents that set them apart from the rest of the industry, each just beginning to hit their creative stride. Now, near the half-way point of a planned 50 issues, with a possible SyFy original series looming on the horizon, new readers should hop on the train before it starts moving too fast. Oni Press collected editions of the first four volumes - Cold Dead Fingers, Crossroads, Bound, and A Town Called Penance - are available at finer comic book stores everywhere. And lucky for you, the first issue can be previewed for free or downloaded through Comixology.

There's a reason Cullen Bunn is becoming a name everybody should know. There's a reason many of the biggest and brightest names in the industry love this book. Start picking up The Sixth Gun now and find out why. 'Less you're yella.

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'The Invisibles' Omnibus Collects The Essence Of Grant Morrison In 1500 Pages

John Parker — 2012-08-23T14:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Vertigo

Thirteen years after its completion, The Invisibles has finally been collected in one massive volume. Weighing in at nearly ten pounds, over 1500 pages, and costing $150 US Dollars, The Invisibles Omnibus is one of the purest and most unique experiences in comics. Using the language of superheroes, writer/genius/counter-cultural icon Grant Morrison introduced readers to an entirely new world of pulse-quickening ideas, and stamped his unique brand of other-dimensional thinking to a whole generation of writers and artists, whose voices are now among the most influential in the field. What was it about The Invisibles that resonated so deeply with so many?

Though it's very difficult to boil down a book as wild and complex as The Invisibles, the basic plot is actually very simple: No one is free. The Archons of the Outer Church, a group of inter-dimensional aliens/gods, have secretly worked to enslave mankind for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Through their machinations and representatives in government, media, royalty, law enforcement, organized religion, and other vehicles of oppression, The Archons have prevented human beings from achieving their full potential and ascending to a higher plane of existence.

Opposing the Outer Church is The Invisible College, a worldwide network of terrorists who combat the conspiracy through consciousness-expansion, sexual expression, high fashion, and healthy amounts of ultra-violence. The cell that the story follows is made up of characters who defy every traditional type comics had produced. There's Ragged Robin, who is either a time-travelling psychic or just insane; Dane MacGowan, a juvenile delinquent from Manchester who might be the reincarnation of The Buddha; Lord Fanny, a transsexual Brazilian witch with the best one-liners in comicbook history; and the undeniable star of the book, science fiction writer and superspy King Mob, who wears fetish gear, racks up a kill count in the triple digits while quoting George Orwell, and acts as Grant Morrison's "fiction suit," his 2-dimensional stand-in sent to directly interact with the story's reality. Yep.

If you can't already tell, the book gets into some pretty weird territory. As he says in his comics theory/autobiography Supergods, "I decided to do a book where I could contain and address all my interests," and that's a very long, very weird list. As such, reading all three volumes collected in the omnibus in one sitting may just entirely rewrite your personal cosmology. Proceed with caution. Chaos magic, LSD, tantric sex, the sunspot cycle, neuro-linguistic programming, memes, William S. Burroughs, Timothy Leary, Terrence McKenna, Robert Anton Wilson, Michael Moorcock's Jerry Cornelius stories, the Mayan calendar, alien abduction, Gnosticism, Manichaeism, Situationism, Discordianism, Dadaism, shamanism, transcendentalism, and several other -isms all find their way into the book, providing numerous pathways of discovery for the adventurous reader willing to stop and write down every eclectic reference and thought-provoking idea contained in every issue.

Which was essentially what Morrison wanted: to provoke thought, to encourage consciousness-expansion, and to disseminate the types of ideas that he believed might go on to infect and motivate readers. Repeatedly referring to The Invisibles as a "hypersigil," a long-form magical act meant to alter reality in accordance with intent, Morrison was actively trying to make a better world through fiction. (In fact, he started the project with a sigil he charged while bungee-jumping from a bridge in New Zealand; when it looked like the series might be cancelled early, Morrison used the letters column to teach readers the art of sigil magic and asked them to participate in a "wank-a-thon" to imbue the book with lasting power. The book never got cancelled, and you can't argue with results.) While that may seem like absolute crap to many, it's hard to argue with the fact that some of the ideas he was trying to spread between 1993 and 1999 ended up in The Matrix, several other comicbooks, and at least a small portion of the popular consciousness.

Prior to The Invisibles, Morrison was a respected weirdo, but he wasn't exactly widely known. Arkham Asylum was the best-selling original graphic novel of all time, but it was the art of Dave McKean that stole the show. On Animal Man and Doom Patrol, he wrote himself into the story and pushed the boundaries of conventional narrative, and though he gained quite a few fans and copious amounts of professional respect, he still wasn't really considered a star on the level of Neil Gaiman or Alan Moore. The Invisibles changed that - it's the book where Grant Morrison the writer became Grant Morrison the icon. As Morrison wrote his life into King Mob and vice versa, his personality grew, eventually eclipsing the work. Morrison fans were not just fans of the writing, they were fans of the man: the shaven-headed nutball who wore skintight leather, spoke of an experience in Kathmandu akin to an alien abduction, and regularly extolled the virtues of psychedelic drugs.

Though it's been discussed to death in numerous other blogs, tons of interviews, Morrison's own book, and the Talking With Gods documentary, without a doubt the most fascinating aspect of The Invisibles is the autobiographical one, and the uncanny give-and-take that seemed to exist in a weird conjunction between fiction and reality. Just as the ichthys symbol (or Jesus fish) in Gnosticism represents a higher reality and lower reality intersecting, Morrison appeared to have discovered a meeting place between reality and un-reality, where the two planes came together in a living Venn diagram. It ended up being a blade that is sharp on both sides. (If only there was a euphemism for that.) Morrison took a lot of risks with the comic. By making it very personal, by intertwining his own life with fiction, he opened a lot of doors that couldn't be closed. Shortly after King Mob was brainwashed to believe he had necrotizing fasciitis that chewed its way through his cheek, Morrison got a staph infection that nearly chewed its way through his cheek, eventually sending him to the hospital, where he hallucinated Jesus, a scene that appears in volume 1 issue 24. He openly discussed, through his characters and then in interviews, breakups, letdowns, and his own experiences with cross-dressing, which certainly turned a lot of people off.

Lots of people don't understand Morrison, think he's just drugged-out and writing nonsense, and they love to make their opinions known. There will probably be a few comments on this story proclaiming that Morrison can't write, doesn't make sense, needs an editor, and drops too much acid. Those people are seriously, intensely wrong. Here's a serious proclamation for you: if you can't recognize the craft and invention that he puts into everything he writes - particularly the sprawling occult conspiracy thrill-ride that is The Invisibles - then you're either not paying attention or you simply don't get it. The amount of writers and artists who count Morrison - and his work on The Invisibles in particular - among their biggest influences is a list of the most important and impressive creators of the current ruling generation. The best writers in comics think Morrison is the best writer in comics. Matt Fraction's highly-praised super-spy autobiography Casanova probably wouldn't exist if not for Morrison's example on how it could be done. In fact, Morrison is considered such an influential creator, he's even getting his own convention, with luminaries Robert Kirkman, Johnathan Hickman, Gerard Way, and Jason Aaron - who almost named his first son Grant - attending as special guests at MorrisonCon in Las Vegas September 28-29. And The Invisibles is arguably the writer/icon's most influential, most important work. Even thirteen years after its completion, it's still forward-thinking and prescient, a claim that very, very few comics could make.

Now, with Morrison proclaiming (again) that he'll be leaving superhero comics shortly, with this gargantuan collection now on the shelves, with MorrisonCon creeping around the horizon, with December 21 2012 lurking not far behind it, the synchronicities are too blatant to ignore. If you've never read The Invisibles, if you were too young or naive to have understood it the first time around, now is the time to get going. It may send you on a strange trip into areas of your own psyche you never imagined exploring - it may contain the answers you were already looking for, as it did for hallucinatory, mid-mental collapse 18-year-old me. At the very least it will be one of the most interesting, unconventional, and memorable comicbooks you've ever read. Charge the sigil, make the jump, pull the pin, and remember to smile.

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'Prophet': The Barbarian Space Opera You Should Already Be Reading

John Parker — 2012-08-09T11:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image, Opinion

One of my favorite genres in comics is the space opera. There have obviously been great space operas in television, books, and movies, but to me there's something about the medium of comic books that makes it especially effective for the genre, particularly when in the hands of Europeans, or at least European-style artists. Moebius, Enki Bilal, Alejandro Jodorowsky and Juan Gimenez, Phillipe Druillet and a handful of others set to work defining the genre and re-defining the medium in the 1970s, and there's been little done in American comics to rival the weird, wild, and ethereal worlds they invented. Until Prophet came along, clubbed them over the head, and ate them.Under the guidance of King City cartoonist Brandon Graham, Prophet has become the premiere science fiction experience in comics. With regular artist Simon Roy of Jan's Atomic Heart, fellow Meathaus alum Farel Dalrymple, and Greek artist Giannis Milonogiannis, Graham has re-engineered Prophet into a book that recalls the very best in European space opera, and what may be the most fascinating new comicbook to come along in years.

Yes, that's right. The most fascinating comicbook to come along - in years - is Prophet. If you heard that ten years ago, you'd laugh so hard you'd piss yourself.

Way back back in 1992, Prophet made his first appearance in Youngblood #2 as a purple-suited, headguard-wearing supersoldier with comically large guns, hair that looked like he'd been ousted from Cinderella, and shoulder pads even bigger than Paula Poundstone's. So of course he was an instant hit. (Too many references for one sentence? Cinderella was an awful 80s glam metal band, Paula Poundstone an awful comedienne, I believe we're all caught up.) A Rob Liefeld creation, most of the early Prophet comics were illustrated by Stephen Platt, a rising superstar, and the character was quickly swept along in fervor that typified most early Image, popular despite its flaws. It didn't last too long, though. The publication schedule was far from rock-solid, and when Liefeld left Image and formed Extreme Studios, interest in Prophet took a dip. The second volume lasted up until issue 20. When it disappeared, it was natural to assume that it would never return. So if you're unfamiliar with the character's not quite long and storied history, you're not alone.

Gaudy, misguided, and derivative as the character was, it's actually not an awful concept, and the origin ain't half-bad. (I only write backhanded compliments.) Destitute and homeless, in 1937 Jonathan Taylor Prophet volunteered for the medical experiments of Dr. Wells, a time-traveling scientist who modified and enhanced John, turning him into a living weapon in service of a villain named (coincidentally, I'm sure) Phillip Omen. When Dr. Wells turned good guy (it happens) he re-programmed John to fight against evil by imbuing in him a belief that he was fighting a type of religious war, hid him by time-travelling him to different eras, and placed him in cryogenic storage, where he remained until eventually discovered by the Youngblood team.

Of course, none of that actually needs to be known to read the relaunch. Picking up at issue 21, right where Extreme left off, in the current run of Prophet the original concept is adapted, expanded, and transformed into something very familiar and remarkably different. Set approximately ten thousand years in the future, the human race is all but extinct. Years after a war that spanned galaxies, Earth is overrun by xenomorphs and parasites. After what's perhaps generations of silence, an Earth Empire signal awakes dozens, maybe hundreds of cryo-sleeping John Prophet clones embedded in alien worlds all throughout the universe. And so far, it's been wild, weird, epic, and nothing less than brilliant.

Combining the violence and savagery of John Buscema's Conan comics of the 1970s (Graham's primary influence on the book) with the odd beauty of French sci-fi masters like Moebius and Enki Bilal, Prophet takes readers on a journey that no other comic does: to other worlds that actually seem like other worlds. As many alien planets we come across in comics, a whole lot of them seem a lot like Earth. In Prophet, Earth is so infected and overrun with four-jawed mutants, it doesn't even look like Earth, and alien worlds are so freaky and convincing, you might actually throw up in your mouth a little bit. The level of ingenuity put into the world-building is unreal, and it only takes moments to be swept along into whatever schizophrenic environment each issue is set in. Even at the frantic pace it's setting, that ingenuity has yet to lag.

The density of great ideas is probably equal to anything by the best imagineers in the medium. The first story arc alone - which takes place on an Earth taken over by parasites and alien species - is pregnant with bizarre invention, featuring a jell city populated by a smell-based caste society of gloopy insectoids; the "dolmantle" - a living shield/weapon/environmental adapter made out of slime; a "human centipede" of giant insects serving as a living factory; and a race of sentient crystal-beings engaging in forced child labor. Uncluttered by dialogue and unnecessary captions, there's an eerie silence that amplifies the strangeness of reading it. The third-person narrative voice is sparse, almost anthropological. And no matter which of the four artists is drawing these feverish nature films, the art is always immaculate.

Each illustrator has something entirely different to bring to the comic, and as each story takes place in a remarkably different setting, the transition from one illustrator to another is never jarring. That may be due in part to the very organic manner in which the book is written and drawn. There's constant back-and-forth between Graham and the artists (unless Graham is writing and drawing it himself, like in the poetic issue 26), with much of the writing being done on layouts. Each artist's personality really comes through the artwork, and whether it's Simon Roy's chitin and viscera, Farel Dalrymple's mix of classic Marvel illustration and indie cartooning, Milonogiannis' speed-lined action panels, or Graham's wispy Otomo-Moebius fantasies, it all works to tell the same story. Thank the Great Eye, it looks like that story is going to be a big one.

The concept is so rich, there are potentially hundreds of stories for the Prophet team to tell. Each "Brother John" cocooned in his "hyber pod" is the hulking, hungry seed for a great story, every environs a new playground that Graham and company can explore. But the larger story is just beginning to come into focus, of the war that consumed the universe and felled the Earth Empire, and why the white-haired Old Man Prophet doesn't give a damn. Originally planned for six issues a year, after the rapid success of the first issue, Prophet was bumped up to twelve, with all four artists planning to contribute. The first trade collection, Remission, will collect issues 21-26, and is scheduled to emerge the week of August 22nd. But by then this asphyxiating drought in the Midwest will have destroyed most of our food crop and reduced us all to hunting and killing just to maintain our meager survival. So maybe you should grab some issues of Prophet and pick up a few survival ti--holy s***, is that Diehard!?

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ComicsAlliance Reviews 'Spawn' Year One, Part 4: 'Flashback'

John Parker — 2012-07-05T13:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image, Reviews, Humor, Opinion

Three weeks ago, Image Comics shipped the 220th issue of Spawn, marking 20 years of continuous publication of the supernatural antihero series created by Todd McFarlane. To help commemorate the 20th anniversary of Spawn, ComicsAlliance is embarking on a venture that is every bit as ambitious: a four-part overview of the first "year" of its publication (Being an early Image book, Spawn sometimes shipped late)!

All good things must come to an end. Also: month-long, four-part reviews of 20-year-old comic books that have managed to alter the inner architecture of my brain and reduce me to a vocabulary of 5000 words, all Spawn-related. Those must end as well.Todd McFarlane's first year of Spawn was a pretty ambitious one, and he put Al Simmons through wringer after wringer: killing him (just to get started), marrying his wife to his best friend, stealing his sense of manhood, and robbing him of his cultural identity, and that's all before the first issue even started. Simmons was forced into league with a devil, given a fat, insane demon clown as an arch-nemesis, and pitted against a murderous pedophile, a stupidly-named cyborg assassin, one bloodthirsty angel, two gangs of heavily-armed street punks, and the comic book industry itself.

Despite all the obvious negatives implicit in McFarlane's writing -- again with the unnecessary second-person? -- there's at least one thing he does very well: he hurts his character. He does everything he can to make Spawn's life as bad as it can possibly be. He strands Spawn in a tree during a piss-flood and chucks rock after rock at his big, ugly, stupid head. He also plots pretty darn well, and by the conclusion of the first year, the A, B, and C-plots are strong and connected, and a major question is ready to be answered: Who killed Al Simmons?

To begin "Flashback," Spawn is once again striking a pose on a church steeple, pondering the 24-hour crap-fest his life has become, and wondering why he's always drawn back to this church. In his former life, atheist Al Simmons had only stepped foot in church once, for his wedding to Wanda Blake. Of course, remembering his wedding and nicely recapping the last few issues leaves Spawn in a particularly mopey state. Not even a Mopey-o-meter would be able to measure it. Only a dramatic two-page spread would be able to contain it.

Meanwhile, in Washington, D.C., we finally get our first non-flashback-or-hallucination look at spymaster Jason Wynn, Al Simmons' former boss. And within about a second, we find out he really is the giant, festering hemorrhoid everybody said he was. Powerful as he may be, Spawn's actions have consequences, and after breaking in to government offices to steal files and raiding top-secret weapons stashes, Wynn's office has formed a list of suspects. Topping the list? Simmons' best friend, husband to his widow, and father to the child he could never have, Terry Fitzgerald. Taking a moment to lament the disappointment that Simmons turned out to be, Wynn orders a couple of guys over to Fitzgerald's house to put a fright into his former agent and his dead pupil's wife.

Moved by memories of his wedding, Al pays a visit to his favorite in-law, Wanda's Grandma Blake. Since he now knows for sure that there is an afterlife and spoilers haven't been invented, Al spills the beans to Grandma. But Grandma Blake is magical and wise: She already knows there's an afterlife and quickly recognizes Al's voice behind the gravelly black-and-grey borders of his word balloons, believing him to be an angel. Because gloominess "spawns" (eh?) know-it-allness, Al informs Grannie that he literally went to Hell. Because that's the type of thing you say to an old relative. But Grannie is old and stubborn and refuses to believe that Al's crispy status isn't part of a benevolent God's master plan. Simmons leaves feeling better than he has in a long time, his misery temporarily averted. It's truly one of the nicest moments of the infant series, and a scene that probably 500,000 little punk fanboys laughed at for its inexcusable lack of hardcore violence.

But hey, life sucks and little punks are rewarded: Sam and Twitch are on suspension after the body of Billy Kincaid appeared in their office spit-roasted on popsicle sticks; a couple of goons from the United States Security Group (finally, Simmons' old agency has a name) pop by Fitzgerald's to inspire a little fear; and no matter how faithfully Al bellows "Wilma!" in his hobros' (homeless bros) sing-along of The Flintstones theme (seriously, a classic moment), he can't seem to stop having flashbacks. This one is different, though.

The visions of his own flag-draped coffin and disembodied, smiling skulls that harassed Al since his resurrection pointed to something, as did the mysterious draw that the church seemed to have over him. They were all just trippy clues to the identity of his murderer: a government assassin who became a superhero, who wore a skull as his sigil, and whose name was another word for church. Youngblood's resident gun-toting, skull-painted killer, Chapel.

It was a huge reveal handled nicely, with only a few clues along the way, but clues that added up and actually made sense. It was also straight-up ballsy. Rob Liefeld's Youngblood was insanely popular, and their memorably ankle-less "monthly" exploits nearly rivaled Spawn in sales. Every character had a rabid following, and Chapel's was among the biggest. To expose him as the murderer of an even more insanely popular character was clever and risky of both McFarlane and Liefeld, and it paid off. In spite of every bad thing one could say about the pair of outspoken and idiosyncratic creators, it would be an outright lie to say that McFarlane and Liefeld weren't fond of taking risks.

Of course, it helped that Chapel was, especially as portrayed by McFarlane, a gargantuan douche. A womanizing alpha-male nihilist who cared only about his career, Bruce Stinson was a supersoldier-enhanced member of Operation Knightstrike alongside Simmons. At the order of Jason Wynn, he killed his partner with no remorse whatsoever. Because that's what a gargantuan douche would do. But there is some justice even in the early Image world: as part of his supersoldier treatments, Chapel was also infected with a strain of AIDS that could be activated by his handlers should he ever turn on them; and oh yeah, that pissed-off Hellspawn with cosmic powers and a bad attitude.

Easily getting past the Youngblood HQ's defenses, Spawn sneaks by a video-gaming Badrock (64-bit graphics!? No way dude!) and absconds with Chapel before Shaft (heh) and Diehard (hah!) even know what's going on. Though he could atomize Chapel at the snap of his pointy fingers, Simmons wants to beat him on his own terms; he wants Chapel to know who he is and where he came from; and, most of all, he wants Chapel to suffer. After beating him in hand-to-hand combat, Spawn expends a mere fraction of his limited powers to shear the flesh from Chapel's face -- down to the bone, making the skull face paint thing just a little redundant. Spawn #13 ends with a chilling image: Chapel beaten and bettered, less one face. A great conclusion to the first year of this most crucial comic book of the early 1990s.

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ComicsAlliance Reviews 'Spawn' Year One, Part Three: Writertown

John Parker — 2012-06-27T10:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image, Reviews, Opinion

Roundabouts issue #4 or #5, Spawn carried full-page ads teasing a series of upcoming guest writers. "FRANK MILLER WRITES SPAWN," boasted the first in 168-point type, soon followed by similar proclamations for Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, and Dave Sim. To a very large portion of readers, this meant pretty much nothing: Spawn's core readership were young, uneducated, comic book fans who were mostly unaware of anything that happened before 1990. Older, more seasoned, better educated readers freaked out: just a few months after its debut, Spawn had nabbed four of the most important, awarded, and respected comics creators of the era. Even back then, if you had arranged all their Eisners and Harveys and Eagle Awards in a row, they would stretch around the earth six times. Look it up.

The guest-splosion began in Spawn #8, penned by the floppy-hair soothsayer Alan Moore, which was a huge get for McFarlane. Moore had effectively retired from superhero comics a few years before, cutting ties with DC (Marvel was out of the equation long before) over issues that have since returned to the forefront and focusing on more personal and esoteric works like From Hell, Big Numbers, and A Small Killing. Somehow, the Toddster was able to coax Moore out of semi-retirement to take another stab at the cape genre. The result is a single-issue tale that seems like it could have been plucked right out of the pages of 2000 A.D.

The ironically-titled "In Heaven" explains what happens to child murderer Billy Kincaid after Spawn's double-dip of justice in issue #5. Rousing from dreams of Spawn coming after him like a wraith, Kincaid wakes inside a Matrix pod of green goo, part of an orchard that houses hundreds -- maybe thousands -- of other after-lifers. Soon Kincaid falls in with others who have broken free from their pods, but of course, the one he's really interested in is Jessica, the little girl who seems to know way more about Hell than she should -- even if her word balloons are yellow.

"In Heaven" is a good story, and a nice re-entrance into genre comics for Moore. It again demonstrated his gargantuan talents for world-building and structure, but like many of his short stories is fairly predictable. Demons of every type pick off the members of Kincaid's group one-by-one, until it's just down to the little girl and "mister chill-ee." When he succumbs to his urges, "Jessica" turns out to be the human-suit for the Vindicator, one of the five Phlebiac brothers along with the previously introduced Violator character. Vindicator then takes Kincaid on a breakneck tour of the ascending spheres of Hell, passing by the seventh, called Erebus, and ending on the eighth sphere, where Kincaid's enlisted into Malebolgia's service as a Hellspawn and engulfed by the same kind of parasitic living costume worn by Al Simmons, which is literally the most frightening thing Kincaid's ever seen. The issue is good pop storytelling that undoubtedly raised the literary value of the Spawn title.

That trend continued with issue #9, which had a lot to offer: Neil Gaiman, a new glossy paper stock, three new characters, and over a decade of legal battles concerning ownership of its contents and spin-offs. If you don't know everything about that, you can learn about it in lots and lots and lots of places. How was the actual comic book? Pretty good. Like everything Gaiman writes, it's done with his inimitable voice and spin on mythology. Opening in the 12th century, Gaiman and McFarlane introduce two of "the properties in question" -- Angela and Medieval Spawn -- with the nifty device of an angel's text explaining how to stalk and kill Hellspawn. In a hierarchy of angels that's run like a Fortune 500, Angela is part of an order of Valkyrie-like freelance Spawn hunters who do the dirty work of taking out Malebolgia's potential officers. Angela makes quick work of Medieval Spawn.

Meanwhile, in shantytown, Al comes to know his homeless friends a little better, including a long-bearded bald man in a toga who refers to himself as Count Nicholas Cogliostro. This guy knows Spawn's real name, his role in the grand scheme, and teaches him how to create cheap liquor out of thin air. Before Cogliostro can explain how he knows all of these things, Angela appears and pot-shots Spawn, but finds former mercenary Al Simmons a tad more difficult than Sir Lanced-a-lot. Al sends her screaming back to Heaven before making the rookie mistake of touching an angel's lance, which weirdly blinks him off to another plane of existence. Even weirder: McFarlane uses negative space.

The best thing about the story is Spawn's relationship with the homeless he camps with. McFarlane kept trying but hadn't made any good points about their dynamic, but Gaiman nailed it down -- they were all just guys down on their luck. They accepted Al and protected him, just as he protected them, because every one of them knew what it was like to live a better life. Another well-written issue that articulated corners of Spawn's world that McFarlane had a little trouble with.

The Dave Sim-written issue #10 provided a much bigger picture of Spawn's world. The Cerebus creator had little interest in Spawn, The Violator, or anything else that would later sell toys. What Sim was interested in was what McFarlane represented -- a highly successful comic creator who owned his own character. When Spawn touched Angela's lance, he zapped himself right into meta-fiction, where Sim's Cerebus makes Spawn aware that he is a creation and, in part, his creator; and that Erebus, the seventh level of Hell seen in the previous issue, is a prison for licensed superhero characters and the creators who gave them up. And it's much better than it sounds. The image of the prison cell, with several heroes' arms sticking between the bars, is one of the most enduring of early Spawn.

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Sim has always possessed an ability to write about mundane things at a magical level; he breaks the fourth wall and stretches into meta-fiction more naturally than several of comics many practitioners. Issue #10 is an Imaginary Tale about real things -- creators' rights, making a living in the industry -- that somehow ends like a romance comic, with Spawn (McFarlane) snuggled in his giant home with his wife and daughter, and a big, juicy "Spawn is trademark and copyright Todd McFarlane...Forever." Aww.

But who needs that kinda crap when you have Frank Miller to explode your Commie insides? For issue #11, the man himself, McFarlane's unabashed big crush, stomped into Spawn and dragged readers back from all the flowery British and otherwise non-American planes of existence into the mutated neon wasteland that they all deserved. Spawn awakes in the alleyway, where everything he just experienced feels like a dream, and a high-tech gangwar just kinda pops up out of nowhere. It turns out that Al's alleyway is a prime piece of real estate in a war between the Creeps and the Nerds.

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Yes, the Creeps and the Nerds. It gets more awesome. The Creeps and the Nerds are armed with high-tech military weapons and cyborgs and straight-edge clean and sober. "White middle class computer geek street gangs," Miller's Batman-voiced exposition points out. Thinking back to his military training, Spawn creates an opportunity for the gangs to wipe each other out. When only one Creep is left -- the cyborg Byron -- ~~Batman~~ Spawn says, "let's play Alien," teleports inside Byron's chest and rips his way out through Byron's stomach.

Mission accomplished: readers taken back to status quo and over-the-top violence; Commie insides exploded.

Next week in our final installment: Who killed Spawn?

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ComicsAlliance Reviews Todd McFarlane's 'Spawn' Year One, Part 2: Justice & Payback

John Parker — 2012-06-19T10:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image, Reviews, Opinion

Two weeks ago, Image Comics shipped the 220th issue of Spawn, marking 20 years of continuous publication of the supernatural antihero series created by Todd McFarlane. To help commemorate the 20th anniversary of Spawn, ComicsAlliance is embarking on a venture that is every bit as ambitious: a four-part overview of the first "year" of its publication (Being an early Image book, Spawn sometimes shipped late)! Last week we covered issues #1-4, "Questions," and all the awesome disembowelments, so-bad-it's-good dialogue, and endearingly unnecessary leg pouches of the character's grim origin story. Now we delve into issues #5-7: "Justice" and "Payback" Parts 1 and 2! Exclamation point!In Part One of our four-part look at the first year of Spawn, we covered the character's origin story: Al Simmons, former mercenary, has made a deal with the devil-like Malebolgia to be resurrected as a Hellspawn; his former wife, Wanda Blake, has moved on by marrying Al's best friend, with whom she has a daughter named Cyan; New York City Detectives Sam and Twitch are on the trail of a mob-connected murderer who removes his victims' hearts; and Violator, the true culprit of said murders, has been demoted by Malebolgia and locked in Danny DeVito form. With the origin story and first arc completed, Spawn #5 finds McFarlane getting down to the nasty business of Spawn's encounters with the evil and depraved. And there's no better candidate for a chain-and-spike beat-down than Billy Kincaid.

Todd McFarlane has been accused of a lot of things, but it's a safe bet that subtlety has never been among them. Fortunately, in this instance, that's kind of a good thing, because the nature of Billy Kincaid and his heinous crimes is made undeniably clear on the first page. Bathed in darkness, an off-page voice goes on about how the man has been cured and is now free to leave the "Windgate Institution." It only takes one look at the face McFarlane draws to know that "Kiddie Killer Kincaid" is definitely not cured.

"Just look at his eyes..." says Detective Burke, "...and tell me that man's cured!" It almost feels like McFarlane's bringing attention to his own fantastic cartooning -- bad things are obviously happening in that man's head, and The Todd does an insanely effective job of conveying the sickness of the character in one drawing. Further explanation is almost unnecessary, but luckily Sam and Twitch are there to help flesh out the backstory: as an ice cream truck driver, Kincaid kidnapped, tortured, and murdered 27 children. Unfortunately, Sam could only make one murder stick, Amanda Jennings, the eight-year-old daughter of a disgraced former U.S. Senator. With time off for good behavior, a hard-working scumbag lawyer, and some obviously shady behind-the-scenes doings, Kincaid's sentence was reduced to a paltry five years.

(Which is pretty much 100% totally unbelievable. Not just that a convicted child murderer would be released so soon, but that he would immediately be able to go out and find a job as, you guessed it, an ice cream man. Really? Does Mister Softee just hand out keys to their trucks?)

Kincaid's back on the streets, singing "You scream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream." Naturally he comes into possession of another victim, whom Kincaid tortures by chopping off his fingers for "finger-painting" before before murdering him. But Sam and Twitch (whose office is numbered #201 but seems to be on the 30th floor of the NYC skyscraper) are on the case, and so is one resurrected, pissed-off, super-powered antihero.

It turns out that in his former life as Al Simmons, Spawn was hired by Senator Jennings to kill Kincaid, murderer of the Senator's daughter, for no less than one million bucks. Before Al could pull the trigger, though, Kincaid was arrested, evidence was "lost," and the Virginia shack where Kincaid hid the remains of his other 26 victims was blown up. It was all part of the shadowy government guy Jason Wynn's web of conspiracies: Kincaid was hired to kill Senator Jennings' daughter, on assurances that he would serve minimal time. Hungry to make sense of the world, Spawn dishes out some poetic justice to Kincaid in short, gruesome order.

Violence of this kind hadn't been seen by many Spawn readers at this point in their young lives. Even during the darkest days of the grim and gritty age, Marvel and DC comic books were subject to the Comics Code, which restricted graphic and topical content to the degree that those publishers were unable to present more than a hint of the repercussions of horrific physical acts. And though Frank Miller's Sin City could certainly go toe-to-toe with Spawn on the level of violence, Miller's book still carried a "Suggested for Mature Readers" tag, which ensured that most 12-year-olds wouldn't be able to walk into their comics local shop and snag a copy. Spawn had no Comics Code seal of approval and shipped without any warnings or labels. As such, hundreds of thousands of preteens were given access to some of the craziest, goriest scenes in comics.

And. We. Loved. It. Over-the-top, mad, sensationalistic violence that never once toned things down or treated us like children. It was magnificent.

The uber-violence continued in the two-part "Payback," which introduced the Mafia hitman cyborg (good name for a crappy band) Overt-Kill. Who was referred to as Overkill. So why wasn't he just called Overkill? Because Overt-Kill doesn't really mean anything and Overkill is just a better name, right? Well, because there was already a comic book character named Overkill in Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy. But c'mon, look at this guy. When a character is co-created by McFarlane and Rob Liefeld as a challenge by none other than Stan "The Man" Lee, visually, no other name works but Overkill.

Inflamed by the killing (and heart-removal) of several bosses, the Twistelli Crime Family enlists the cyborg to take out Spawn, believing him responsible (though it was actually The Violator). After having several of Spawn's homeless companions killed in order to draw him out, Overt-Kill (ohmygawd, I feel dumber every time I type that) confronts and quickly wipes the floor with Spawn, who doesn't want to use any of his limited powers (gauged by the Spawn Power-o-Meter). Instead, the former merc takes his beating, bides his time, and robs an advanced weapons armory he used to frequent in his work for the government. Armed with several big fuggin' guns that look like hairdyers from the future, Spawn blasts the cyborg to smithereens, taking a certain amount of sadistic joy in reducing the stupid-named villain to atoms. Find your pleasures where you can, folks.

Seven issues into the series, McFarlane's art and storytelling had seriously progressed. Layouts got wilder and more inventive; the cartooning -- a seriously overlooked aspect of McFarlane's style -- continued to get better and better; and while the violence kept getting crazier, Spawn's backstory nagged at him through trippy, Steve Ditko-like visions that became stronger. Was everything really covered in "Questions?" Who else was to blame for his situation besides Jason Wynn and Malebolgia? Who was the skeleton-like figure who called Al a traitor and blew him away?

Perhaps we'll find out in Part 3 of Spawn Year One!

We won't, actually, you'll have to wait until Part Four, but still...read Part 3 next week!

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ComicsAlliance Reviews Todd McFarlane's 'Spawn' Year One, Part 1: Questions

John Parker — 2012-06-12T10:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image, Reviews, Opinion

Last week Image Comics shipped the 220th issue of Spawn, marking 20 years of continuous publication of the supernatural antihero series created by Todd McFarlane. To help commemorate the 20th anniversary of Spawn, ComicsAlliance is embarking on a venture that is every bit as ambitious: a four-part overview of the first "year" of its publication (Being an early Image book, Spawn sometimes shipped late)! For the next four weeks, we'll run a fine-tooth comb over every splash page, every line of bombastic dialogue, every graphic disembowelment, and every fluttering of cape to grace issues #1-13 of this classic series that helped launch a venerable publishing house and gave a hideously scarred but inescapably cool face to one of the most exciting decades in comic book history.

Published in 1992, the first issue of Spawn sold 1.7 million copies, dramatically changed the look of mainstream comics, and kicked off a four-issue origin story for the most popular character of the decade. "Questions" begins with what became the most prevalent motif of 1990s comics: characters standing on top of churches during lightning storms. It's our first glimpse of Spawn - - apart from the cover, tons of promotional images, and just about every issue of Wizard: The Guide to Comics. So there was a bit of a drop-off in terms of shock effect. Nonetheless, that's where Spawn begins, atop a church steeple, a "mysterious" caped silhouette ringed by a wide, electric-blue lightning strike that probably went on to hit James Caviezel or something, going on in his internal monologue about the darkness in his soul.

It that seems heavily reminiscent of something you might see in Frank Miller's Batman: The Dark Knight Returns, that's because it is. Though McFarlane drew inspiration from the likes of Walter Simonson, Michael Golden, and George Perez, the Frank Miller node is the strongest influence here, and it's apparent. Really apparent. Directly after the moody opening theatrics, McFarlane devotes a page to talking heads news reporting that while not quite as clever as Miller's depictions of media is clearly ripped from the same cloth. Then when Spawn encounters street thugs attempting a sexual assault (Miller motif), they use ridiculous slang that never really existed (Miller motif), and for some reason there's always a punk with a mohawk (Miller motif).

When it comes to artistic style, though, McFarlane stood on his own. Throughout the course of his runs on Marvel's The Incredible Hulk and Amazing Spider-Man, T-Mac cultivated a thick but detailed pen line, and dynamic contortions of characters that recalled more of Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko than Miller. Having developed a trademark interpretation of Spider-Man's webs (a visual approach that is still being used today), McFarlane turned that energy towards the similarly iconic depiction of Spawn's capes and chains, which flow around and throughout every panel of the comic, following their own rules of movement and gravity like anemone (such incongruities will later be explained brilliantly: the costume is alive). Miller possesses a fantastic sense of light, shade, and negative space, while McFarlane doesn't even seem to believe in negative space -- every morsel of page is covered with something, and there never even seems to be an attempt at depicting shadows. Maybe that's because the story takes place in the shadows. Hardcore, right?

Even with the attendant cynicism of 20 years of perspective, Spawn's origin story is still pretty cool. As a mercenary in the employ of the U.S. government, Lt. Colonel Al Simmons killed a lot of people, butted heads with boss Jason Wynn (Simmons felt bad about killing a lot of people, Wynn didn't), saved the President from an assassination attempt, and was voted one of the "Ten Sexiest Men" in 1985 (What?). In addition to his awesome career as a government-sanctioned killer, Simmons had a beautiful and loving wife named Wanda Blake, for whom he would do absolutely anything, including making a deal with the devil. After his murder, which was orchestrated by Jason Wynn, Simmons strikes a bargain with Malebolgia, a nasty-looking demon ruler of Hell with a uterine bulge that looks like a kangaroo pouch. Simmons is allowed to return to Earth as a Hellspawn, a dark being of immense power, in order to see his wife one more time. Killed in 1987, he's resurrected five years later, finding himself in the seedy alleyways of New York City (where else?) with few memories of his former life. Meanwhile a psychotic killer is on the loose.

Enter the best characters in the Spawn canon: New York detective Sam Burke, his partner Maximilian "Twitch" Williams, and The Violator. Though McFarlane's dialogue was never worth writing home about, it was never sharper, funnier, or more inventive than when coming from the mouths of these three characters. The back-and-forth between Sam and Twitch -- mostly Sam -- is as natural as Spawn's dialogue is overwrought. Their search for a killer who dispatches mob members by removing their hearts and shoving them down their throats is a genuine highlight of early issues of Spawn.

The killer Sam and Twitch are searching for is The Violator, a Hell-born demon whose mission is to test, torment, and guide Spawn towards his destiny as a general in Hell's army in a war on Heaven. The Violator accomplishes this best in his human form as a fat, disgusting, psychotic-looking clown (one can only assume that the Insane Clown Posse were paying attention). Despite the crudeness and ridiculousness of the character, there are moments when Violator's really funny, like when he takes the time to boast of his skills in disembowelment to a kitty cat. His primary joy, though, is torment. And before they even meet, Spawn endures plenty of torment.

Slowly recovering his memories and gaining understanding of his powers, Spawn learns the location of his former wife, Wanda Blake, and readies himself for a face-to-face. Though his skin under his costume is charred and maggot-ridden, Spawn discovers he has the ability to change his appearance. Unfortunately, he can't return to his original appearance, that of a black man. Now, Simmons can only appear as a white dude with blonde hair, which as you can see in the sequence below, came to Al as quite a shock:

Meeting his wife at her home in Staten Island, Spawn discovers two things that nearly crush him: Wanda has moved on, married his best friend Terry Fitzgerald, and fulfilled her greatest wish of having a child, a wish that Simmons could never grant. It's the most emotionally resonant moment of the origin story, when Spawn feels like he's gone as low as he can. He's wrong.

Shortly after returning to his new home in the alleyways, Spawn has his first battle with Violator, in which they disembowel and dismember each other to no avail. The fight is broken up by Malebolgia himself, who paints an even worse picture for Spawn. The deal truly was rigged: Spawn's powers are finite, measured "on-screen" by a branded Spawn-Power-o-Meter, as it was sometimes called by fans. The more power Spawn uses, the quicker his soul belongs completely to Malebolgia. If he doesn't use his powers, the less chance Spawn has of stopping whatever evils he encounters -- and in the gritty, Frank Miller-style streets of NYC, that's a lot of evils. However, every violent street punk, rapist or murderer Spawn kills just ends up in Malebolgia's army for a war against Heaven. It's a Catch-666.

Throughout the first four issues of Spawn, numerous references are made to Youngblood and Savage Dragon, and the new age of heroes that inhabit the early Image "universe," such as it was. Spawn's not like them, though. He's no hero, he's a prisoner, forced to carry out his days to what seems an inevitable end: service in an assault on God. And even as a former atheist, Spawn is uncomfortable with that. He's no more than a pawn, forever caught between a rock and a hard place.

"Questions" is a good origin story for the quintessential '90s antihero. There is one huge, burning question, though: why does Spawn have a utility belt strapped around his leg? Of what possible use could this be for a cosmically-powered demon spawn? Is anything in there? Does Spawn ever reach into it for something?

Perhaps we'll find out in next week's look at the first year of Todd McFarlane's Spawn!

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Brian Wood's 'Channel Zero': The Unofficial Bible of Comics Activism

John Parker — 2012-05-30T14:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Dark Horse, Indie

When Dark Horse's Channel Zero: The Complete Collection lands on the shelves todays, it may introduce some Brian Wood fans to work they were unaware of before. Collecting Channel Zero, his first work in the medium, Jennie One, the sequel with another then-newcomer, Becky Cloonan, and material from volumes 1 and 2 of Public Domain, Wood's photography and design books, the collection presents the earliest work of one of the medium's most unique voices. Politically aware, socially conscious, and highly motivated, Wood has long maintained his activist streak through comics like DMZ, Local, and The Massive. For those who were there for the beginning, they can't help but be reminded of what it seemed to represent: the potential for change.Before comics activism had a name, it was just something to do. At a time in the late '90s when it seemed like comics may have been dying, when great books were being cancelled left and right, when the overall readership seemed to plummet every month, it was a convenient security blanket for the passionate and frustrated to hold onto. It required thought, demanded action, and provided an outlet for creative expression -- even if you couldn't make comics, you could still make people read them, or make them better. Maybe. Actually, big maybe.

It's hard to say where it started, but the easiest answer is the Warren Ellis Forum and the writer's call-to-action/dare for everyone reading the WEF to express their love of comics through creation, whether those creations were comics, 'zines, or websites about comics. And it's not as if these things had never existed: the first comicbook fanzines appeared in the late '60s/early '70s, that movement spearheaded by none other than Roy Thomas. But when cranky old Warren Ellis spoke, people listened. The result was an explosion of new material. It was like a Big Bang of content: websites sprouted quickly, and those who ran them set to the task of bridging the gap between Wizard and The Comics Journal, and promoting good comics that had more than a fighting chance to appeal to non-readers.

For many, Channel Zero topped the list. Published as individual issues by Image Comics in 1998, it didn't reach a wider audience until the 2000 collection from AiT/PlanetLar. And that audience freaking loved it. It quickly came to occupy the same space that books like The Sandman had done for years -- highly cherished, heavily defended, and if you hadn't read it, you just weren't that cool. It was original, blatantly prescient, and ahead of its time. And it met several very important criteria for comics activists: self-contained and intelligent, with a female protagonist who absolutely destroyed comics stereotypes.

Channel Zero follows Jennie 2.5, a performance artist living in New York in the late 1990s, during the age of The Clean Act -- a bill that whitewashes all media for a right-wing Christian audience and effectively isolates America from the rest of the world. Told exclusively from the perspectives of third-party narrators who are never revealed, Jennie 2.5 strikes a one-woman revolution with pirate television broadcasts which eventually get higher ratings than the programs they interrupt. From beginning to end, it defies conventions of plot, dynamics, and storytelling, subverting the reader's expectations and consistently challenging them with its core message: DO SOMETHING.

Written and drawn during Rudy Giuliani's nightmare term as King of New York, when media censorship, free speech violation, and police brutality seemed a daily occurrence, Wood honed CZ into the razored point of his anger and created his own language of dissent. Wood's skills as a propagandist are, for lack of a better word, ridiculous. Though he had a lot of room to develop as a sequential artist, he possessed enormous talents for design and iconography, and man could he turn a phrase.

Throughout CZ, a flickering stream of propaganda and anti-propaganda flashes by the reader, practically inspiring cognitive dissonance. Trust your technolust. The truth is a wall. The truth is a concept. Progress backwards. Freedom is a virus. Your mind is a weapon. Use it. In each issue, Wood included a page of copyright-free images that he encouraged readers to photocopy and turn into stickers, flyers, and t-shirts, and they're possibly the best pages in a great book. Lost in Generica written over a remote control. Make them understand and a video camera. Make them listen and a machine gun.

It was unsurprising, then, that Wood went on to help define the aesthetic of comics activism. If it can be said to be an actual movement, then Wood is without a doubt its official propagandist. He provided the grenade design for one of the most-respected sites on comics criticism, artbomb.net, and t-shirts that quickly become iconic within the movement. The best (and one I still wear occasionally and get to feel punk rock) was black, with a white stencil of an AK-47, that simply said "Defend Comics."

The links between Wood, Channel Zero, and comics activism were apparent, even if unintended. When creating, Wood wasn't thinking of the survival of the medium or bringing new readers or new voices to the industry. He was thinking only of making his voice heard, of acting out in whatever way he could. (And graduating art school.) But these messages of awareness and activism, combined with its traits as a story, it's easy to see why Brian Wood and Channel Zero become so important to "the movement."

Over ten years later, we can look back on comics activism with a more-than-healthy level of cynicism. I did put "the movement" in quotes, after all. But even with that cynicism intact, it seems impossible to call the whole thing a failure. Comics survived, after all. Throughout the 2000s, the quality of work got better and better, readers become more informed, and the standard image of the comic book geek was amended to include the sort of coolness that the rest of the world seemed unconvinced of. Would Free Comic Book Day even exist if not for the clamor?

It was a strengthening of the infrastructure, really. Maybe new readers were brought in to the fold, maybe not. Without a doubt, the existing fanbase grew stronger, smarter, and more demanding. They read better comics, redirected their money from crap Big Two ongoings to smaller, more deserving books. The smaller books got bigger, and the creators of the smaller books got opportunities to write and draw big ones. Which is exactly why comics activism petered out. Like Jennie 2.5, many activists wanted to do their part and change things - and like Jennie 2.5, they were also in it for at least a little bit of fame, hopefully a bit more money. That's realpolitik; that's pragmatism.

But Jennie 2.5 got her Jennie Underground, and we got to read better comics. I'd call that a win for all of us.

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Reality TV and Comics: The Impact of Fiction on Reality on Fiction

John Parker — 2012-04-13T14:30:00+00:00

Filed under: Opinion

How long has it been? Fifteen years? More? There really was a time before reality television, when everyone got along fine without a weekly dose of unbalanced rednecks, craven housemates, dance instructors, and wannabe-models wolfing down plates of deep-fried baboon testicles. Whatever television, entertainment, or culture used to be, it was eviscerated, consumed, regurgitated, and consumed again by that first ghastly kiss that concluded Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire? Now comic books are turning to reality TV for inspiration and marketing strategies in earnest. Does that make superheroes more real, or reality TV more fake? With America's Got Powers by Jonathan Ross and Bryan Hitch on stands, and more reality TV-based comics on the way, it's time to dig in. To the discussion, not the baboon balls.America's Got Powers is a concept that really pops. When a strange event gives thousands of San Francisco children superpowers, they grow up to be reality television stars in "America's Got Powers," a brutal tournament to determine who gets to join the world's only superteam, Power Generation. With smart writing from Jonathan Ross and Bryan Hitch's typical double-page-spread artillery, it's novel, exciting, and relentlessly clever.

AGP looks at the what-if of superpowers through a cynical lens, positing that the government would simultaneously please the so-called "Stoners" while keeping them under control. The solution is to sedate them with fame, entering them in a televised competition that's nearly as grotesque, lucrative, and violent as American Idol. It's an interesting take on the phenomenon of reality television in a world suddenly full of reality comics.

The comics/reality TV trend has been growing slowly but steadily over the last few years, and 2012 seems to be the year that it's going to blow up. Four months into the last year of the Mayan calendar and there are half-a-dozen comics on the stands or on the way where reality television is central to the plot: Hoax Hunters from Image; A.D.D.: Adolescent Demo Division from Vertigo; "Challengers of the Unknown" in DC Universe Presents,;AGP; Aspen Comics' vote-in comic Idolized, and probably so many more that I don't know about. And of course Stan Lee -- who once hosted a reality show, Who Wants to Be a Superhero? -- is getting into the mix with Stan Lee's Mighty 7. The reality television phenomenon is on its way to conquer comics, and it's riding a lightspeed toboggan from hell.

The thing is, it's hard to say when it started. Stan Lee's Mighty 7 advertises itself as "the world's first reality comic book." Whatever that is, Mighty 7 ain't it. There was Marvel's reality TV-themed New Warriors in the mid-2000s, which went on to figure heavily into the era-defining "Civil War" event. The first English adaptation of the manga Battle Royale rewrote military project "The Program" to be a reality show. Peter Milligan and Mike Allred's quirky, cynical runs on X-Force and X-Statix made a group of mutants television superstars, dripping with satire on media and superheroes. Along with those starring attractions, reality shows made cameos in 52, Marvel's "I Am Captain America" marketing initiative, Final Crisis' "Super Young Team," et cetera. It's especially hard to say when comics started involving reality tv, since reality tv existed in fiction long before it existed in reality.

Before it came into being, before it even had a name, the idea of reality television floated around in science fiction and comics. The Deadly Game Show motif is a classic, with practitioners running from Stephen King to The Joker. George Orwell offered surveillance as entertainment in 1984. As soon as writers began to comment on television and media, Phillip K. Dick, Harlan Ellison, and others explored the idea of reality television. If someone out there with a ridiculously encyclopedic knowledge of all things sci-fi knows when and where, please, tell me. I must know the width and breadth of this thing.

In comics, again, it's hard to say when reality tv made its first appearance. In John Byrne's Next Men, a group of superpowered test-subjects became the subjects of mid-1990s media frenzy. In 1989, Grant Morrison and Richard Case's Doom Patrol featured an appearance by a Japanese superhero with his own tv show, "The Adventures of New Sunburst." Again, there are probably several earlier instances far beyond my sphere of awareness, which is admittedly mid-sized, a sedan at best. Ultimately, the when and where isn't even that interesting.

The interesting thing is that we can clearly see the impact fiction has on reality, and vice versa. The relationship between the real and the imagined, if you believe that type of thing can be observed, is on display like never before. Am I making sense here? The concept of reality television is imagined and hangs around in fiction for a few decades. In 1999, it becomes real, and after a few years, reality shows outnumber and outdraw fiction programs.

Then fiction pokes back, following the initial craze with an era of scripted shows generally agreed to be a new crescent for the medium. Reality television spawns a subset of obviously scripted shows. Then fiction takes its idea back, with countless TV shows, movies, and stories about the phenomenon. Now 2012 looks like it might be the year of "reality comics," USA Today thinks America's Got Powers is awesome, and more significantly, The Hunger Games threads arrow after arrow into Twilight's gooey preteen heart.

If you hate "reality comics" or whatever you want to call them, too bad. They're here. The invasion has only begun, and it was over before it began, and it began a long time ago anyway.

Preview of America's Got Powers:

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