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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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Cash Rules Everything Around Eddie Campbell in 'The Lovely, Horrible Stuff'

John Parker — 2012-04-02T15:30:00+00:00

Filed under: Top Shelf, Graphic Novels, Reviews, Indie

Money. Money, money, money, buzzing around in the news, whirling past your eyes and into your gas tank at light speed while the pump excitedly displays your negative winnings like a slot machine from the Bizarro Universe. Unless you're very rich, money has to be on your mind more than usual. It's been on Eddie Campbell's mind too. And being the fertile, inquisitive and well-informed mind that it is, it eventually just had to result in a new book. The Lovely, Horrible Stuff coming from Top Shelf Productions this May dives Scrooge McDuck-like into the topic of cash and comes up with pockets full.Across a long career of portraying his own life in autobiographical (or semi-autobiographical) comics, Eddie Campbell has tangled with the subject of money before from time to time. The earliest Alec strips, were all drunken escapades and relationship drama, where trips to Europe seemed to be paid for with couch money. But he "Alec" went on to have a wife and family, his sobriquet disappeared, and "Eddie" suddenly had to deal with financial reality. Over the last ten years, money has become a more frequent topic for the Scotsman, and the freewheeling Kerouac chaos of early Alec was replaced with the minutiae of self-employment and family life. To an even more engrossing affect.

With typical anecdotal ease, Campbell chronicles the rises and pitfalls of living off of intellectual property, ruminates on the very concept of compensation, and explores the impact money has on family relationships. As usual, it's sly, funny, and meandering without ever losing course. Campbell is perhaps the most natural storyteller in comics, and makes manic little leaps through tales, always maintaining the reader's rapt, giggly attention.

In his comics, Campbell has tended to wear his cheapness proudly, but in The Lovely, Horrible Stuff, he goes into greater detail. Campbell's philosophy regarding money is a simple one: money equals time. Time for the artist to delve into his own head for months at a time and return with something new, which would earn the artist more money, giving him more time, and so on. Intellectual property is something Campbell keeps coming back to, and the financially wobbly tightrope it can be, filled with dizzying peaks and stomach-churning lows.

Like How To Be an Artist, there are some comics industry behind-the-scenes moments that are as dumbfounding and entertaining as the industry itself. As a self-publisher, Eddie dictates hilariously pointed and borderline-sociopathic letters to late payers; as a freelancer, he has to go through the nightmare of forming a corporation just so he can write and draw Batman: The Order of Beasts. At one point, Campbell is deep in development on a television show based on After the Snooter and family life, only to have it yanked out from under him by the 2008 financial crisis. It's comedy in the greatest Shakesperean sense. The bard even makes an appearance, dictates his own barbs to the faulty, and headbutts a television producer. Literature!

The two stories that dominate the book, though, have little to do with the creative life. In a time when the tightrope is bounding skyward, Eddie makes the uncharacteristic move of lending a large sum of money to his father-in-law. It doesn't work out, of course, and the end result is the effective estrangement of his wife's father from the family. Even after all of the frightfully honest work in Campbell's biographies, the candor he uses in relating the story feels like something new. Campbell recognizes the similarities between himself and his in-law, and braces himself for the possibility that his own stubbornness will one day find him in the same position.

The last portion of the book tells of Campbell's vacation to the Micronesian island of Yap, and its unique system of discerning wealth. For hundreds of years, the Yapese have used carved stone discs to denote wealth, ranging from a foot or so across to more than ten feet. And though the rai can be used to buy things, it doesn't necessarily have to change hands; it stays displayed outside the carver's home. Campbell hints at something really interesting here: in a way, the money itself is like intellectual property. It's a product of creativity and imagination; as long as it exists, it represents a source of income, and though the owner of the stone changes, it will always be recognized as the creation of the carver. It can even be used to buy another tribe's dance, another intellectual property.

As a writer, Campbell has always been freakishly natural, and he continues to progress. The Lovely, Horrible Stuff is enjoyable on so many levels: the mundane daily grind, the wacky family life, encyclopedic dissertations and history lessons, and riotous moments of un-reality all thread together in his easy, poetic voice. As an artist, the man has probably never been more relaxed. After working in black and white for so long, he appears to be deeply in love with color now, utilizing bright photo backgrounds and watercolor like never before. He shifts from loose sketches to hard realism to kooky explosions of icons without ever breaking his easy rhythm.

While writing about the island of Yap, Campbell spends a few pages ruminating on fables and legends, perhaps he's aware of how parable-like his own life has become. Over the course of thirty-plus years, he's recounted mad adventures and, whether he intended to or not, passed valuable lessons on to his readers. Generous with his wisdom but quick to point out how unwise he is, he is both the storyteller and the story, entering the fourth decade of his career with a book on money that's lively, poignant, and never dull. Tight as times are, The Lovely, Horrible Stuff is worth every hard-earned penny you can find.

Read a 7-page preview of The Lovely, Horrible Stuff:

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G.I.Joe Comics: The Amazing World and Life of Larry Hama

John Parker — 2012-03-14T14:30:00+00:00

Filed under: IDW, Vintage, Culture

G.I.Joe: Retaliation makes its theatrical debut on June 29th, with plenty of licensed G.I.Joe comics on the way from IDW Publishing to greet it. Though the first movie wasn't that well-reviewed, it was still highly watched, and the excitement over the sequel has grown steadily since the undeniably awesome Superbowl trailer. Before the fervor builds to a level that goes on to devour the earth and stars, let's take a moment to appreciate the work of the man who made the whole G.I. Joe phenomenon possible: artist and writer Larry Hama.

Go to enough "How to Write Comics" panel discussions and you're sure to hear several pieces of advice over and over again: how to build a plot, create complete characters, dramatic rise and blah blah blah everything else you should realistically already know. The most important piece of advice is the one that only comes up at the best panels: go live a life. Go out into the world and learn and experience things, so you'll actually have something to write about. For living proof, you'd be hard-pressed to find a better example in comics than Larry Hama.

Reading Hama's Wikipedia page will make you feel pitiful and unimportant, and not just for relying on Wikipedia. Here's a man who has been a writer, artist, editor, veteran, actor, musician, political activist, and martial artist who studied judo, Japanese archery and swordmanship.Hama attended the prestigious Manhattan High School of Art and Design, where he had the opportunity to learn under one of comic art's first true masters, Bernie Krigstein, he served a tour in Vietnam as an explosive ordinance expert for the Army Corps of Engineers.After discharge, he worked as a graphic artist, actively participated in New York's burgeoning Asian artistic community, and joined EC legend Wally Wood's studio, assisting on strips like Cannon and Sally Forth.

After a stint as an inker in Neal Adams' famed Continuity Associates studio, Hama went on to succeed Gil Kane as penciler on Marvel Premiere's "Iron Fist" feature, beginning his long association with martial arts-related characters. And in between all of that, he appeared on Saturday Night Live, M*A*S*H, and the original Broadway production of a Stephen Sondheim musical. I can't even drive stick.

Eventually, Hama seemed to find his true calling as a writer/editor. After spending the late '70s with DC Comics, he jumped to Marvel in 1980. When Hasbro sought to relaunch the G.I. Joe franchise in 1981-82, they partnered with Marvel for a licensing strategy that included toys, cartoons, and comics. Editor-in-Chief Jim Shooter recalled a Nick Fury project Hama had pitched that drew heavily on his own military background... after everyone else Shooter offered the project to had passed on it. Which is insane. These days, it's practically aneurysm-inducing to imagine anyone but Hama steering the ship, as he was the absolute perfect choice.

Working closely with Hasbro in character creation, Hama injected his own life experience and diverse interests into the franchise, a gave it a life, humor, and purpose that transcended the military appeal. A very unique congregation of influences went into Hama's work on G.I.Joe. Hama possessed an extensive military knowledge and one tour as a bomb expert in Vietnam. He was also raised Buddhist. He seemed to embrace that dichotomy in the creation of several characters and the yin-yang architecture of Joe and Cobra. (Cobra and Cobra Commander were the legendary Archie Goodwin's ideas, but Hama did the rest.)

He named characters after men he served with, some of whom died in service. He gave the Joes rich backstories and vibrant personalities to go along with their specialties and service records - several characters had even served in Vietnam. Hasbro's 3 3/4" wartoys were transformed into fascinating people with complex biographies, all through their compelling file cards, most of which were written by Hama. In a relatively short time, G.I. Joe became one of the most successful toy lines of all time.

Hasbro's G.I. Joe resurrection went beyond the toys, of course. The Marvel/Sunbow-produced animated series elicited near-religious afterschool followings. Though there were some decent stories, the compromise that was necessary to make a children's show dulled the potential that the action figures and file cards offered. Though the toys came with guns modeled after actual weapons, in the cartoons they fired antiseptic lasers that just seemed to knock Vipers from their vehicles. No one ever died, they just got a few scrapes and occasionally fell into comas, which they always came out of. Hama's comic books bore little similarities.

Marvel's G.I.Joe: A Real American Hero, pretty much entirely written by Hama for 155 issues and occasionally drawn by him, went much, much farther than the animated series. It was life and death combat in the comic books. Guns fired bullets. Characters that readers had emotional ties to like Quick-Kick and Doc were blown to Hell, because Joes were soldiers and often, soldiers die. Cobra Commander, portrayed as a buffoon in the animation, was a frightening aggregation of radical fundamentalist and corporate terrorist.

Hama's G.I. Joe run brought a depth and realism to the concept that the cartoons could never hope to achieve. Even with that seriousness, it still managed to be funny, soulful, and emotionally complex. Characters felt the tension of combat and broke it with humor, got into squabbles and romantic entanglements and interacted just as entertainingly as the Chris Claremont-written X-Men.

His run developed the rough sketches of the file cards into sculptures, complete characters who continued to grow and change throughout the series. Joes like Roadblock, Dusty, and Scarlet were sent through emotional wringers; even Cobras like Destro and Zartan were given depth and internal conflict, even positive traits like courage and loyalty. Devastating plot twists and shocking reveals awaited around every corner. Like all those boys and girls throughout the 1980s staging megafights with their action figures, Hama played with his toys, but in a way that made them fight and love and hate and die.

The most iconic character in G.I.Joe is without a doubt Snake Eyes. The soldier with blood on his hands and ghosts in his head, the white ninja with a past draped in shadows, the man without a face or a voice, Snake Eyes was the central character in many of the comic book's classic stories, including issue 21, "Silent Interlude." Touted on the cover as "The Most Unusual G.I.Joe Story Ever!!" (it was 1984), it featured Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, and Scarlet in a totally wordless story written and drawn by Hama that is both exciting and serene. A pop ballet that was later recognized as the best issue of the series, this sterling example of visual rhythm and pacing influenced its own genre, and helped make silent issue superhero comics a fairly regular occurrence.

The series was forward-thinking and ahead of its time in so many ways. Hama fearlessly explored militias and misplaced American outrage, the psychology of the soldier and the cracked worldview of the fundamentalist for twelve years. The toy franchise's popularity peaked and crested in the eighties, and waned into the nineties. Hasbro seemed to think that ridiculous day-glo costumes fake weapons were the wave of the future, and they definitely were not. The toys got dumb, the cartoons got even worse, hurt by a startling loss of military authenticity. But the comic books were still good up to the end in 1994, when Marvel canceled the title and the Joes were decommissioned. Marvel let the license lapse.

Over the next few years, the rights to produce G.I.Joe comics bounced from Dark Horse to a company called Benchpress Comics, who planned to relaunch the whole franchise with Larry Hama writing once again. Good plan, but you have to not go bankrupt to publish comics, which proved more problematic. In 2001, Devil's Due acquired the rights and began publishing, first through Image, stories that picked up the G.I.Joe story in real time, seven years after decommission. Though Hama was not initially involved with Devil's Due's reinstatement, he was lured back into the fray for G.I.Joe: Frontline, G.I.Joe: Declassified, and seven issues of Storm Shadow.

When the license jumped once again, this time to IDW in 2009, it seemed almost a foregone conclusion that Hama needed to be involved. Hama writes the ongoing G.I.Joe: A Real American Hero, which picks up in numbering, continuity and in spirit right where the first series left off, and has contributed arcs to other series in IDW's G.I.Joe line. Meanwhile, IDW continues to publish reprints of the original Marvel series.

Larry Hama put so much of himself into G.I.Joe, it seems ridiculous to think of them existing independently from one another. Like Tomax without Xamot (which actually happened, didn't it?). Other imaginations went into G.I.Joe's formation, and other writers have done good work in the universe. But all those bits and pieces of Hama's life and philosophy and personality are what binds the whole damn thing together. Now that his creations are venturing to the big screen and being revamped, his work is poised to influence a new generation, to temper their sense of right and wrong, and foster their imagination. It's a remarkable creative achievement.

And if Hama brings Bucky O'Hare back, I'm just going to s*** my pants.

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'The Playboy': Chester Brown's Unflinching Autobiography of Sexual Awakening [Sex]

John Parker — 2012-02-29T16:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Reviews, Indie, Drawn and Quarterly

Sexy is an interesting word. When we say something is sexy, we're implying that it's nice to look at, that it inspires pleasure. It only implies those positive aspects of sex, the joy and luridness. But when you actually think about sex, there are a lot of uncomfortable feelings and confusing emotional experiences involved. We never consider these parts of sex when we call something sexy. So here's the sexy comics reality-check. The Playboy, by Chester Brown. The shame, discomfort, loneliness, and excitement of self-discovery in one easy-to-read package. And weirdly, there is something sexy about it.

Initially, Brown's had been weird, surreal, gonzo comix like Ed the Happy Clown, a stream-of-consciousness bad acid trip through the crustier parts of his unfettered id. Eventually, Brown grew tired of unending, surreal narratives and scatological humor. He needed to do something different.

Inspired by the works of fellow Canadians Seth, Joe Matt, and Julie Doucet, he re-focused his work on autobiography. And like Joe Matt and Doucet, he seemed totally unashamed to delve into his own sexual history. It didn't take long for him to gain a reputation as a cartoonist willing to push the boundaries of decency and portray the grotesque, as a result, Yummy Fur was highly controversial, often shipped in a plastic bag marked "Adults Only," at one point dropped by both its printer and distributor.The Playboy collects issues 21 to 23 of Yummy Fur, which recounts Brown's experiences as a fifteen-year-old boy in mid-1970s suburban Canada, discovering sex, women, masturbation and shame through Playboy magazine. It's told with remarkable, unflinching candor, leaving nothing to the imagination, never sparing the sticky visuals for bashful eyes. It's definitely not for everyone: Readers with conservative attitudes towards what should and shouldn't be portrayed in comics needn't bother.

Narrated by a miniaturized, demonic version of Brown himself, the story begins with young Chester and family in church. And it's here, in church, where those first nagging thoughts of Playboy and its mysterious innards begin. Immediately there's a strong juxtaposition between sex/perversion and family/religion, a powerful but subtle dichotomy that informs each nervous experience.

Right after church, Chester rides his bike to the store where he first spied the magazine, barely overcoming the fear, embarrassment, and shame evoked by such a public admission of sexual urges. It's a nerve-wracking ordeal, pulling that first issue down from the stands and mustering the nerve to pay the cashier, worsened by running into his parents' friends from church.

It sounds like a scene from a thousand teen sex comedies, but nothing in The Playboy is ever played for laughs. All of his experiences are conveyed with a stunning real-ness to them, a nauseating mix of self-loathing and fear that never brushes aside the joy of self-discovery. Also important: You can buy Playboy in Canada when you're fifteen? And free health care? Canada and Xanadu are only two letters apart, that can't be a coincidence.

With that first issue of Playboy, Chester enters a new world. It quickly becomes an obsession for him, as he buys every issue he can find, memorizes each sultry detail of the buxom nudes languishing in soft-lit sun rooms, and goes to great lengths to keep his fascination a secret from friends and family. And of course there's the masturbation. Lots of it. It becomes a ritual -- cracking open a new Playboy, masturbating over it (literally) and then hiding it, each moment heightened by the fear of discovery.

Chester's obsession with Playboy goes on to inform his entire adult life. The constant tension, the push-and-pull between self-pleasure and self-disgust, gnaws away at him through the years. He feels completely isolated in his own sexual journey -- an effect heightened by the use of spare, floating panels over a black background -- and goes back and forth from acceptance to denial. He destroys issues only to buy them again later, over and over throughout the years. As an adult, he has difficulty relating to women, messy flesh and blood and emotions so much more complicated than the flat, glossy ones. When he does eventually get a girlfriend, during sex he can only maintain an erection by picturing the soft-eyed pinups that linger in his imagination.

The real, raw truth of The Playboy can be shocking, disgusting, and uncomfortable in all manner of ways. Brown openly discusses topics that are supposed to be private, hidden under a facade of self-denial. Eventually, the honesty with which he tells his own story overshadows the uncomfortable bits, and allows him to convey what is essentially a universal story. The particulars are different, obviously, but the roiling emotions of sexual awakening is something everyone in post-adolescence can relate to. In today's current hyper-sexualized culture, Brown's story might even come off to new generations as quaint or old-fashioned: a throwback to the days when sexual initiation was a simple matter of buying a magazine. The very idea of going to a store and buying an issue of Playboy seems almost laughable today.

Nonetheless, The Playboy is a classic comic book, and shall remain so for quite a while. Guilt, joy, confusion, loneliness -- these are experiences that transcend age and and gender. And in a weird, uncomfortable and simultaneously comforting way, that is sexy.

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Spawn 20 Years Later: Looking Back at the Quintessential '90s Comic Book

John Parker — 2012-02-02T14:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Image

In stores this month is Spawn Compendium Volume 1, a gargantuan tome collecting the first fifty-ish issues, marking the 20th anniversary of Spawn's creation. At 984 pages, this collection may even be as heavy as the subject of Todd McFarlane and his most popular creation. Marty McFly heavy. It's a metaphor. When the series debuted it was an amazing success, becoming the highest-selling independent comic book of all time, but it's impossible not to see Spawn now through the lens of time. For those read the comic during its initial publication, the Spawn Compendium is a virtual time machine, whooshing us back to the joy and confusion of our teens. For entirely new readers it must be like studying artifacts. Spawn is the quintessential '90s comic, inseparable from the trends and events that lead to its creation, and its subsequent impact on the industry.In the late 1980s, Todd McFarlane quickly worked his way up the ranks at Marvel. After a high-quality but tumultuous run on The Incredible Hulk with Peter David, and a mega-popular stint on Amazing Spider-Man with David Michelinie, he convinced editorial to give him his own series. Spider-Man, written and drawn by McFarlane, sold 2.5 million copies in its debut, aided by the sudden comics collecting boom, a willing direct market that included national retailer Wal-Mart, and Gold, Silver, and Platinum variant covers. With the money rolling in for his comics at Marvel, McFarlane began to wonder why he didn't get a bigger piece of the pie.

Conversations with other highly popular artists like Jim Lee and Rob Liefeld lead to the realization that they were in the same boat: drawing comicbooks that were regularly selling in the upper six figures, but without any claim to a share of the rewards. When they organized and demanded more, Marvel said that it didn't matter who the artist was, it was the property that got big sales. Rightfully so, McFarlane and the others took offense, and elected to leave Marvel and form their own company. In all, there were seven creators -- Todd McFarlane, Jim Lee, Rob Liefeld, Marc Silvestri, Erik Larsen, Jim Valentino, and Whilce Portacio -- and the result was Image Comics.

The anticipation cultivated by the grand announcements and sheer gall of the move practically guaranteed Image's early success. It was the biggest story in the comics community at every level. It was what the pros discussed, it was all the expanding journalistic level could write about, and it was all the fans could talk about. Everybody and their comics-collecting uncle knew they would be buying first issues of Spawn, WildCATS, and Youngblood long before they actually got a look at them. It was inevitable. Just how popular was still in question.

Spawn #1 sold over one million copies. 1.7 million, actually. That's how popular. Though several thousand of those copies were certainly unread collectibles, doubles, bagged-and-boarded and furrowed away forever, there were still around one million people reading Spawn, an independent comicbook featuring a creator-owned character. Wheels were set in motion for toys, animated series, and movies in short order. Everyone was reading it -- the metal kids, the jocks, the cool teachers, and several others who didn't normally read comics. The TMNT phenomenon had returned, dunked in blood and guts and adorned in chains.

The first issue of Spawn showed a darker side McFarlane had only hinted at in Spider-Man. Spawn was a resurrected agent of Hell sent wandering and brooding through the violent streets -- and lightning-kissed Gothic cathedrals -- of New York City. It was the grim and gritty movement amplified through an overdriven Marshall and blasted across splash pages.

McFarlane had great influences that he wasn't afraid to wear them on his sleeve, and the first nine pages of Spawn #1 practically list them off. After a seriously decompressed opening heavy on the Frank Miller, there's a single page of an Alan Moore nine-panel grid, then a few pages paying tribute to Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, and Jim Steranko. Spawn's introduction to the world ends with a splash page into a two-page spread. And there's even a "removable" poster stapled into the center of the issue. 'Twas only the beginning of the full-page heroic pose phenomenon, though. 'Twas.

At the time, McFarlane's visuals were state-of-the-art: striking, dynamic, and fast-paced, but still fluid and cartoony. Subtlety had no place in McFarlane's looping, nasty layouts. On Spawn, he shed all the formal conventions of figure and perspective and just went for it. The results were mixed. Constant full-page poses -- which sold for much higher on the original art market -- threw off the story's rhythm. Some pages, even full issues, look last-minute and dashed off. But as the series went on, there was a definite progression to his approach, and several issues justify his status as a superstar artist. There was just something about his pages that made you want to look at them.

As a writer, McFarlane had a decent skillset; he had an artist's sense of pacing, knew how to strike a mood, and even in that first issue we saw some snappy dialogue, especially with Sam and Twitch, the detectives on Spawn's trail. But his plotting skills left a lot to be desired, and Spawn's internal monologue comes off like a weak imitation of Miller that for some reason breaks into second-person for no reason at all. Perhaps that was a deciding element in his decision to draft several high-profile guest writers for a run that may be one of the most significant nexus points in recent comic history.

Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Dave Sim, and Frank Miller four of the most-celebrated writers of the 1980s and early 1990s, took over Spawn from issues 8 to 11. Each contribution is significant and controversial in its own way. Moore was first, with "In Heaven", a basic Alan Moore Swamp Thing-like tale of child molester Billy Kincaid's trip through the Spheres of Hell. Not ground-breaking, but it served as Moore's re-entry into superhero comics, which he had sworn off a few years before in favor of works like From Hell and Big Numbers. From here, Moore went on to work on Jim Lee's WildC.A.T.S., Rob Liefeld's Youngblood, Glory, and Supreme. Supreme was easily his best work in Liefeld's "Awesome Universe," an analogous take on Superman with masterful art by Rick Veitch that revived the thrill of invention of the Silver Age.

The next issue, written by Neil Gaiman, is the source of a long-running legal dispute between Gaiman and McFarlane, which concluded this week. The dispute centers around the ownership of the characters Angela, Medieval Spawn, and Cogliostro. Though Gaiman has always maintained they were created by him specifically for that one-issue story, McFarlane added them to Spawn lore when Gaiman wasn't looking. These were recurring characters, and ones that got their own toys, and appearances in the animated series and 1997 film. McFarlane's image as a champion of creator's rights was seriously tarnished, which was particularly ironic considering the subject of the next issue.

Dave Sim can be called many, many things, almost all of them true. In 1993, the word most-often used to describe the writer/artist was "genius." (Or Genius. Inside joke.) His then-fifteen-year-long, self-published Cerebus was the independent comic book of the era: beautiful, intelligent, experimental, and at a higher readership than ever before. Spawn readers had no idea. Sim's contribution to the Spawn legacy is easily the most compelling of the lot, delivering a story that is both dreamy and articulate. "Crossing Over" is an emotional/metaphysical plea for creator's rights that breaks the plane between fiction and reality.

After some of McFarlane's best work on the series in the depiction of Creator's Hell, Sim appears as Cerebus to extol the virtues of self-publishing to Spawn/McFarlane. There was a big response for the story, and somewhat prophetically of the title, many readers did in fact cross over to begin reading independent comics. Cerebus's readership jumped, and at just the perfect time: about a year before the infamous issue #186, which cemented Sim's reputation as a misogynist and cut his fanbase in half. Essentially, it gave Sim a bigger audience for his meltdown.

The last of the guest-written stories is issue 11, by Frank Miller, a collaboration that led to the Spawn/Batman crossover written by Miller and drawn by McFarlane. Even in retrospect, it exceeds expectations, and reads like a war poem performed by a coked-up caveman. While working on the project, McFarlane handed the reins over to Grant Morrison and Greg Capullo for three issues. In doing so, he became an administrator, and began his journey to entrepeneur.

He never needed to work another day in his life. Certainly not in comic books, anyway. The Spawn property had eclipsed comics; there was the movie to think about, McFarlane Toys to consider. He took the Stan Lee route. He drew a few more issues, then went on as writer and inker to Capullo's pencils for a couple years, then left the series completely. He did contribute to the 200th issue "bi-Spawntennial," but not much, and it did not receive good reviews.

Time creeps up on you. Perception shifts and tastes change, and things that once got your heart beating make you hate yourself now, but Spawn is still important. It drew new readers in, and then sent them outward. Those four issues especially provided an entry point into better comics for many readers, myself included. It inspired the wave that ruined superhero comics, and the resultant backlash in the late 1990s that has resulted in better storytelling even today.

Spawn got people to read comics. And then encouraged them to read better comics than Spawn.

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The 15 Best Free Comics on the Kindle Fire

John Parker — 2012-01-26T12:30:00+00:00

Filed under: Digital Comics

Like some lucky readers out there, I got a Kindle Fire for the holidays. It was a complete surprise, especially considering that I didn't ask for one, and didn't even really want one. Despite all the good news I'd heard about the Comixology app, my tactile orientation made it hard for me to get along with the idea of digital comics, but being so poor I only bought maybe a dozen comics last year has changed my opinion. Discounted digital comics are making things easier, and even though same-day prices are still too high, there are literally hundreds of free issues on the Kindle Fire to peruse. And peruse I have! Since Christmas, I've downloaded and read literally dozens of free comics. For you! The following is a list of the fifteen best free issues I've found, based on device readability, likelihood of drawing in new readers, and how badly they make you want more.

HALCYON, Image Comics

Stories of self-contained superhero universes nearing crises are hit or miss with me, but Halcyon is definitely a hit. Scripted by talented television writers Marc Guggenheim and Tara Butters, muscularly rendered by Ryan Bodenheim of Red Mass for Mars, Halcyon takes place in a world where superheroes may soon be irrelevant. As crime statistics drop at impossible rates and terrorists execute their own leaders, Oculus, the world's greatest supervillain, suddenly turns himself in to authorities. And the resident superhero team Halcyon have no idea what it all means.

ELMER, Komikero Publishing

Gerry Alanguilan may be the best-kept secret in comics. Known for his work as a top-notch inker for the likes of Whilce Portacio and Leinil Yu, his work as writer-artist/cartoonist is appreciated by a very small but well-informed subset of readers who came to his work through Wasted. With Elmer, it's likely that that subset will grow, and it's about damn time. Funny, intelligent, heart-wrenching, probing looks at family, modern frustration, and racism all told through a chicken protagonist trying to make his way in a man's world.

BUTCHER BAKER, THE RIGHTEOUS MAKER, Image Comics

Casey's best work has always been his creator-owned projects, where his freakish mind is allowed to run wild. With astounding art by Mike Huddleston, Butcher Baker takes post-Frank Miller comics to its logical conclusion, with all the sex, violence, and commentary you could hope for. Except not from a crazy person. Or maybe the right kind of crazy person. Another brilliant entry in Casey's impressive library.

FEEDING GROUND, Archaia

One of those rare comicbooks that reminds you there's so much left to do with the medium. A moody blend of social commentary and horror, Feeding Ground takes place not far from The Devil's Highway -- the U.S./Mexican border -- in an impoverished Mexican village nearly taken over by Blackwell Security. As the residents scramble to survive, or save up enough for a coyote, Blackwell protects local farm fields from trespassers. But something is lurking in those fields. Tense, intelligent fiction from Swifty Lang and Chris Mangun, with fantastic art by Michael Lapinski.

MOUSE GUARD, FALL 1152, Archaia

This book appeals to everybody. Nieces and nephews, wives and girlfriends, moms and dads, and even superhero-hardened comicbook nerds. Dark Ages adventurism told with mice protagonists, Mouse Guard is an anthropomorphic tour-de-force that puts Disney to shame. New readers hip to David Petersen's work on TMNT would do well to follow that river back to the source and pick up this book. Or download it and never actually have physical contact.

WASTELAND, Oni Press

Wasteland is a post-apocalyptic story that has just about perfected the genre. Taking place in a world where an event called The Big Wet destroyed most everything, Wasteland follows a scavenger named Michael and his struggles to survive, to make it to Newbegin, and decipher the strange electronic device that may lead to salvation. Even after one issue, the breadth of the story and richness of Antony Johnston's world-building are apparent. Christopher Mitten is a perfect match as an illustrator, with a great feel for visual dynamics, excellent use of negative space, and tense, jagged lines. Apocalyptic fiction that demands to be read.

SIXTH GUN, Oni Press

Wow. I really missed out on this one. Just totally whiffed it. And like a dejected Little League player shuffling back to the dugout, I hate myself for it. Cullen Bunn and Brian Hurtt have molded a true 21st-century comicbook, an enthralling mix of Western, horror, and spy genres complete with black-hatted anti-heroes, deadly inheritances, dark lineages, and the real excitement of never knowing what's going to happen next. Though I'll probably be going into debt to get caught up, I have the feeling it's worth it.

CHEW, Image Comics

There's a reason Chew is the hottest creator-owned comicbook in the world right now -- it's really good. No, like, really, freakishly weird and crazy and quirky and original and good. John Layman and Rob Guillory take an amazing idea -- a detective who solves cases by eating the victims -- and run wild with it from the very beginning. If for whatever reason you haven't been picking up Chew, do yourself a massive favor, check out the free first issue, and chow down. It's fingerlicking good. With tasty visuals. And a meaty story. Consume!

THE KILLER: MODUS VIVENDI, Archaia

American noir may be dark and dangerous, but the European variety will always be sexier. This translation of the French edition by artist Luc Jacamon and writer Matz was an under-the-radar success in 2008, nominated for an Eisner and winner of Newsarama's "Best Comic You Didn't Read This Year." Maybe 2012 will be a good year for the discovery of this slickly meticulous story of an unnamed assassin and the bloody world he inhabits.

MALINKY ROBOT, Image Comics

Technically this isn't a complete issue - instead, it's the first 30 pages of Sonny Liew's Malinky Robot: Collected Stories and Other Bits. Simultaneously recalling Blade Runner, Tintin, and Astro Boy, Liew's charming elliptical approach brings a sense of childlike wonder to the world of cyberpunk, something that's long been missing. As an artist, he is without flaw, and his hodgepodge style and sense of design make for real eye candy. There's a reason this book is on so many creator's lips. Download the free thirty and find out why.

MIDNIGHT SUN, SLG Publishing

Great books often slip under the radar, sometimes for several years. Especially if they're traveling on an airship. Midnight Sun from 2005 tells the true story of The Italia, the first airship expedition of the North Pole. In keeping with the subject matter, cartoonist Ben Towle uses a quiet, measured approach, allowing for copious white spaces and ample silence. A fascinating look at largely-forgotten events, Midnight Sun draws you in and keeps you there.

ATOMIC ROBO, Red 5

Brian Clevinger and Scott Wegener tapped into something with the creation of Atomic Robo, an "automatic intelligence" who fought in the peripheral "Weird War" during WWII, and that pure, bombastic joy of the absurdly adventurous spirit that's guided comicbooks since their inception. In other words, it's just downright awesome. Action science, mysterious artifacts, mysterious settings, heaps of battered Nazis, and a hero who makes you wonder why you ever thought Spider-Man was clever.

GUERILLAS, Oni Press

Available the very first week of the Comixology app's existence, Brahm Revel's Guerillas may be one of the most frightening war comics you will ever read, with an exceptional twist. A bold, stark portrayal of The Vietnam War through the eyes of unlikely volunteer John Francis Clayton, whose fear practically assails you through the ink. A powerful mix of war and sci-fi that offers 52 free pages. Probably because they know you'll be wanting more.

Y: THE LAST MAN, DC Vertigo

Finally, an appearance by one the The Big Two. Though the series was long-ago finished and optioned for film rights, Brian K. Vaughn and Pia Guerra's story of Yorick, the last man to survive the mysterious plague that wiped out every other Y chromosome on the planet. Taking advantage of cliche and expectation while always subverting them, there was never an issue without a brain-tingling twist or inversion. A perfect entry/re-entry point for mature readers discovering, or re-discovering the art form.

INVINCIBLE, Image Comics

Yes, yes, everybody knows about Invincible, everybody reads Invincible, and everybody can recite in detail what happens through the course of eighty-plus issues. Except for those who've never read it. Invincible may be the perfect book to hand (or upload?) to a 14-year-old kid who's never even thought of comics. Tight, succinct, action-packed and compelling, there's good reason Comixology chose to include it in their "Recommended Freebies" section. My list is still better.

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The Legacy of Tarzan: 5 Heirs to the Lord of the Jungle

John Parker — 2012-01-25T15:00:00+00:00

On shelves now is the first issue of Dynamite's Lord of the Jungle, the beginning of a brand-new retelling of Edgar Rice Burroughs' original "Tarzan of the Apes" story. Promising a more faithful interpretation of a story that's been retold several times in several mediums, Dynamite is hardly entering into new territory. Tarzan is one of the most enduring fictional characters of all time, and one that has inspired oodles of homages, ripoffs, analogs, and apers. As he marks his 100th anniversary this year, lets take a look at 5 wayward sons and daughters inspired by the character of Tarzan.

Also, in the spirit of the recent SOPA/PIPA protests, this article was written without that much use of Wikipedia. Let's find out if that makes it more or less accurate.

KA-ZAR

Ka-Zar! Tarzan is a cool-ass name, but you've got to give the edge to this guy. After the death of his family, David Rand was forced to survive in the wild, befriending the animals - in particular the lion who protected him, Zar (thus the name Ka-Zar, meaning "brother of Zar," in case that wasn't obvious). Ka-Zar began as a pulp novel by Bob Byrd for Martin Goodman, later put into comics form for Marvel Comics #1 alongside The Human Torch and Namor, The Sub-Mariner.

The character didn't last that long in his initial iteration. In the early sixties, the rising creative forces at Marvel took another look at Ka-Zar, updating the character much like they did with Namor and Human Torch. The new Silver Age version was given a new identity, crazier surroundings, and a much better physique. Now Kevin Plunder -- also a badass name -- Ka-Zar Lord of the Savage Land, a hidden area of Antarctica populated by dinosaurs. Yes, dinosaurs! Ka-Zar has flitted in and out of popularity, usually through his relationship with the X-Men. Mixing the regal side of Tarzan with Joe Kubert's barbarian Tor, Ka-Zar is both a mongrel character and a classic one. He hasn't had too many of his own comics, but for the absolute best, check out the series by Mark Waid and Andy Kubert, a cult classic.

SHEENA, QUEEN OF THE JUNGLE

As Red Sonja is to Conan, Sheena is to Tarzan. The original female takeoff of the jungle lord, Sheena was created by Will Eisner's studio partner S.M. Iger under the pseudonym W. Morgan Thomas, probably with at least some input from Eisner. Combining the the jungle orphan adventure of Tarzan and other characters in literature with bouncy, rippling girl-flesh rendered fantastically by Eisner, Robert Webb, and Bob Powell, Sheena was an instant success, becoming the first female character to have her own title.

She was so popular that at one point she even seemed to threaten Tarzan's place atop the jungle, with her own television series in the fifties inspiring millions of future pervs, and literally dozens of her own imitators: Cave Girl, Camilla, Lorna the Jungle Girl, Shanna the She-Devil, and Fletcher Hanks' insane Fantomah among them. Daughter of some highborn twerp named Cardwell Rivington -- not a cool name, that sounds like a law-firm that got a fratboy off for rape -- and raised by a witch doctor, Sheena could communicate with the animals, but in most cases seemed to prefer fighting them. Feisty.

Throughout the years the rights to Sheena have been held by several publishers, currently Devil's Due, and there have been updates, revamps, and even a movie starring Tanya Roberts, the "hot" mom from That 70's Show. (That's right. Airquotes.) For a more in-depth look at the character, check out this great article by El Santo.

KRAVEN THE HUNTER

Sergei Kravinoff, a.k.a. Kraven the Hunter, is the cruel mirror held up Tarzan. Hear me out. Like Tarzan, he's an orphan, but not by plane crash or shipwreck. After the Bolsheviks murdered the Tsar, Kravinoff's family were chased out of Russia and forced to live in abject poverty in foreign lands, an experience that eventually killed his parents. Sergei survived by learning to hunt, and eventually made his way to Africa, where he became Kraven, the most famous big-game hunter in the world.

When animals no longer appease him, he moves on to men and then supermen, with Spider-Man as his primary quarry. Like Tarzan, he reveres animals, hunting only with his bare hands. Whether it was initially intended or simply accumulated through years of storytelling, the perverse mix of nobility and savagery of Kraven can't help but make you think of Earl Greystoke, so-called King of the Apes. Unlike Tarzan, Kraven indulges in shamanistic hunting rituals like the ingestion of toxic substances and adorning oneself with freshly-skinned costumes. Allegedly.

LORD BLACKSTOCK

Analogues count! The fantastic Planetary by Warren Ellis, John Cassaday, and Laura Martin used alternate take on classic pulp characters as the bedrock for its rich history of the impossible. Ellis's take on Tarzan was a concise exploration of the inherent racism of the character without tarnishing the qualities that make him iconic.

Unfortunately, yes, Edgar Rice Burroughs was a racist. And he wasn't even that good a writer, he just had good ideas. Except for the racist ones. Burroughs believed that white people were naturally superior to black people, and that even under the worst circumstances, whites would eventually rule blacks. Thus you have a white orphan rising up to rule not only the apes, but the African tribes that helped the ungrateful little sh*t survive.

In Planetary, Kevin Sack, the orphaned Lord Blackstock, befriends the hidden African society of Opak-Re, a highly technologically-advanced society of native Africans. Ellis quickly implodes the theory of natural white rule with evolutionary law: hoever has the best toys wins. Though Blackstock feels his lineage makes him superior to all non-aristocracy, Opak-Re demands blood purity in their society, and rejects the child fathered by him, future Planetary team nut-buster Jakita Wagner. Perhaps the best single issue of the series, Planetary 17, tells the story of Lord Blackstock and Opak-Re, and the fallacy behind Tarzan's adventurous veneer.

TOM STRONG

Like many of Alan Moore's America's Best Comics characters, Tom Strong was a hybrid/amalgamation/mashup of classic characters. In Tom Strong, Moore and artist Chris Sprouse combined the origins of Tarzan with Doc Savage to fantastic effect. Marooned in a savage environment, the Strong family had the distinct advantage of scientific genius on its side. While living on the mysterious island of Attabar Teru, Tom's parents performed "gravity experiments" that gave him superhuman strength.

Though not raised by or lord to animals, Tom Strong goes on to have great relationships with the island's native inhabitants, ingesting his tribe's life-lengthening Goloka Root, marrying a local girl and conceiving a daughter, as well as a strong friendship with King Solomon, a talking gorilla. In a way, maybe Tom Strong was more like Doc Savage dropped into Tarzan's environment and given the same task as Planetary, debunking Burroughs' fallacy. If anything, Strong is a beneficiary of the generosity of the people of Attabar Teru, but it helped that Strong kicked the crap out of a few hundred Nazis.

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The Many Sidekicks of Captain America

John Parker — 2011-12-30T14:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Marvel

Now on shelves is Captain America and Bucky: The Life Story of Bucky Barnes, a hardcover collection by Ed Brubaker, Marc Andreyko and Chris Samnee detailing the untold origins of Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Bet you thought you already knew those origins, didn't you? And now, post Fear Itself, with Steve Rogers resuming the Captain America mantle and Bucky presumed dead (but actually still alive and operating as the Winter Soldier again), Cap is once again sans-sidekick. For a guy who's had as many sidekicks as him, it's fair to presume he may be considering a replacement. So what does Captain America look for in a sidekick? Let's take a look at his previous partners and determine why they're so valuable. Why use a shield when you have a human one?

Bucky

Well, of course there's Bucky. The original teen adventurer! James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes has been an orphan, a mascot, a partner, a soldier, dead, a cybernetically-enhanced and mind-controlled killing machine, a solo hero, Captain America, dead, and presumed dead. The last seven or eight years have been busy for James. The original Bucky was a great character elevated to near-mythic status by his continuity-rewriting death in the early sixties. When writer Ed Brubaker resurrected Bucky early in his exceptional and still-ongoing Captain America run, he gave the character the epic he deserved. He's the yardstick by which we measure all others. And beat them with when we find them wanting.

Nomad (Bucky II)

Ah, Nomad. Most famous for appearing as the baby-and-shotgun-toting Nomad in his own series, Jack Monroe first showed up in the early 70s Steve Engleheart/Sal Buscema run, in another big retcon in Captain America's story. Since the new Cap had been frozen throughout the 1950s, the ridiculously anti-Communist stories of that era could easily be explained with a different Captain America and Bucky behind the bullying. So the government enlisted surrogates for Cap and Bucky, injected them with the Nazi version of the Super-Soldier serum (always a good idea), and used them to root out commies. When the serum drove them crazy, they were put into suspended animation. After being awakened, the Cap replacement becomes the Grand Director, Jack is eventually broken from his brain-washing and enlisted into service as Nomad. We like Jack for his moxie, the way he stood up for the LGBT community, his willingness to inject himself with stuff, and the Lone Wolf and Cub vibe of his solo adventures, but we love that he named his adopted daughter Bucky. R.I.P. Jacky Boy.

Rick Jones (Bucky III)

Okay, let's get this over with. Rick Jones is a cool character who's vital to the history of the Marvel Universe. He's also a dick. Let's consider: Gecause he was out teenybopping with some strange in what we're sure was a clearly-marked nuclear testing site, he caused the creation of the Hulk, ruining Bruce Banner's life and unleashing the most destructive force on Earth. Then, after a couple of months glomming onto the Avengers, he totally abandons Hulk because of one near death, then just walks up to Captain. America. And says "Hey old timer, mind if I assume the mantle of your dead partner? To serve as a constant reminder of your failure? And then never, ever even compare to him as a hero?" And then just wears the old costume? Jones must not be able to read body language. Cap did not take it well.

Jack Flag

You have to love Jack Flag. Just look at him! He's American Grifter! Once part of Captain America's support network, Jack Harrison took up crimefighting in homage to the star-spangled one, and boy was he slick. He fought street crime at first, then got powers in the lamest excuse for a chemical transformation ever. Soon, he ended up under Rogers' wing, and is still active in his support network. Along with one other...

Free Spirit

Mnnh... Uh, there was this coed who was given meta-human abilities and brainwashed to hate all men. And then she met Captain America, broke her mental bonds, and fought crime at Cap's side, wearing things like that. Because women didn't have enough reasons to hate comics.

Falcon

It would be insulting to refer to Falcon as simply a sidekick, but he's spent more time at Cap's side than any other on this list. After the reformed ex-con Sam Wilson hooked up with Cap in 70s, he's been more like a partner than any other on this list. He's even gone so far as to mentor Cap's short-lived replacement when Steve Rogers gave up the mantle, even wear the costume to keep up appearances, and stay on as Bucky's partner at Rogers' posthumous request. Just like your favorite pet bird, Falcon is incredibly loyal, and would do anything Captain America asks. I wonder if he sits around thinking of degrading things for Falcon to do. Mmmm, debasement.

Golden Girl

Ready for more retroactive continuity? Too bad! In the original comics, Betsy Ross met and fell in love with Steve Rogers while in the Army. Captain America (who couldn't be Steve Rogers) inspired her to create an identity for herself as Golden Girl, and when Bucky was sidelined due a gunshot wound, she joined Cap as his sidekick. The retroactive continuity that kicks in when Kirby and Lee revive Steve Rogers changes her story a bit. The Steve Rogers she was in love with was actually Jeffrey Mace -- an adventurer known as The Patriot -- who replaced Rogers when Captain America went missing. And Jeffrey Mace was actually the second guy to replace him. Golden Girl and The Patriot (as Cap) had several adventures, until they retired and married. And because there truly is a circle of life, it turns out she's Betty Ross's aunt. Warm feelings of completeness and harmony. Feel 'em?

Fred Davis

Hah! What a f***ing Red Shirt! If you're a costumed adventurer, and your name is Fred Davis, then you're going to die. The second retroactive Cap replacement was William Naslund, a.k.a. Spirit of '76. There are two more horrible names for you. Spirit of '76? Can you imagine the Red Skull saying that over a loudspeaker? With all those S-sounds and that accent? Gah! Naslund and Davis were the first replacements for Rogers and Barnes, and they died quick, horrible deaths. In brighter news, Davis used to be a bat-boy for the Yankees! That's like sidekicking for the Devil!

Nomad (Rikki Barnes)

Technically, this Nomad sidekicked for the Cap of an alternate universe, but that only makes her cooler! Rikki Barnes is the female Bucky from the Heroes Reborn universe, created by none other than Jeph Loeb and Rob Liefeld. And she's still cool! After winding up the mainstream Marvel Universe, the gutsy and whipsmart Barnes assumed the Nomad identity and formed the Young Allies in an attempt to get the real Captain America's attention. Things have been busy for Cap what with death and time-travel and everything, but who knows what the future brings?

You!

Why, we're all Captain America's sidekick! Every time you buy a war bond, go spotting for Nazi subs, or turn in suspicious-looking individuals, you're helping Cap out in his fight against evil! Even in the midst of a decade-long conspiracy action epic about the importance of personal freedom and defiance of institutions! Junior Caps unite!

(This article is purely for fun and not a rallying cry for psychos in their own Cap costumes. Those boots aren't entirely red, they're just sort of reddish-brown, and mostly just slopped on the bottom and the sole... oh...)

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'Baja': The Best Noir Comic Set in the Desert

John Parker — 2011-12-24T09:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Graphic Novels, Reviews, IDW

Good crime comics used to be so hard to find. After the Comics Code Authority spelled doom for the genre after their heyday in the '40s and '50s, they virtually disappeared from the medium for decades. Thanks to the efforts of creators like Ed Brubaker, Darwyn Cooke, Brian Michael Bendis, Brian Azzarrello and the inimitable David Lapham and books like xxxx, the 2000s saw a resurgence in noir that helped the genre gain a foothold once again. Now, in the 2010s, I believe we're entering the second generation of the noir comic resurgence. And there lies IDW's Baja.From newcomers Ben Wagner on script and Nathan St. John handling art, Baja is a story of love, theft, heartbreak, and betrayal set in the sun-bleached xeric of the Baja California Desert. It's an apt setting for noir and crime - the heat and desolation of the environment provide a perfect metaphor for the isolation and desperation of a life on the fringes of society. Many stories have been set in these environs, but it's hard to recall one so deeply embedded in the barren stretches of sand and baked earth.

Baja is a story that takes advantage of multiple perspectives, intertwining stories, and non-linear time. It's daring enough to begin with a scene that actually occurs at the end of the story - a trick that's more often used in film, many times unnecessarily, but here it works. A man and woman - Zack and Hil - on a drive through the Baja Peninsula, obviously looking forward to their place in the sun after a big score. Before they can reach their destination, though, a mysterious truck is on their tail and harassing them. It's frantic and mysterious, and right when things look really hairy, Part One of the book is over, and we're in a different time and place entirely.

At the center of the book is Zack Townsend, a normal guy made minor celebrity by a random act of heroism. Months before meeting Hil, the genre-requisite femme fatale in the car, Zack is married to Moira, with whom he expects a baby. Though he loves Moira, he has no interest in being a father, and his indifference is apparent. Returning from a fresh sonogram, Zack and Moira stumble into an active bank robbery. As the robber attempts to flee, he tries to commandeer a vehicle, killing the driver and wrecking the car in the process. When he turns his gun on Zack and Moira, Zack does what he thinks any man would do: guns the accelerator and mows the shooter down.

Afterwards, Zack is treated like a hero, honored, even being written up in Time magazine. But the trauma of the event causes Moira to miscarry, driving a permanent wedge between the two. They split up, and even as Zack's profile continues to rise, the guilt weighs him down. After drifting in this conflicted state for a while, he meets Hil, who treats him like a celebrity, and a hero, and immediately provides the spark he had been missing. As she encourages him to cash in on his notoriety while he still has time, it becomes clear Hil is the type of girl who is always looking for something more. That's almost never good.

Parallel to the story of Zack and Hil is the story of Blaine and Lana, a highly successful couple just on the verge of biting off more than they can chew. They're about to make a 250,000 dollar payment on a new, one-million dollar house, and Blaine is clearly not as comfortable with the situation as Lana. Though obviously uneasy with the financial strain, he's willing to bear the burden to keep his relationship stable. But a pair of masked intruders even manage to throw that to hell.

Baja is about relationships. The couples in this book -- Zack and Moira, Zack and Hil, Blaine and Lana, Hil and her Mystery Boyfriend (a nice twist) -- are all in and out of various stages of love and tolerance and trust, and all things they're willing to do to get what they feel they deserve. There's some very good character work here, with fully-shaded people making interesting choices, and the reasons behind those choices being revealed in time. There's some nifty writing on display, especially when Wagner works with the couples one-on-one, and dialogue that doesn't refer on cliche. In one of the more fascinating bits, Blaine talks about keying his own car: "I was distracted, I was aiming for the lock and missed. I jabbed the paint. Made a little ding. Then I just...scraped it across the paint to hear the noise. Left a six inch gash." Gems of original speech like that glitter here and there throughout.

Nathan St. John's artwork is original, too. Thick and moody ink washes set some evocative scenes, particularly when in the desolation of the desert itself. His sense of mood and setting is impressive, and the blacks and grays of his brushlines against shifting gray backgrounds always make interesting pages, especially in those few instances of red color pops. His character work leaves a lot to be desired - everything is done with brush, and there's a mild abstract bent in his approach, so it can sometimes to difficult to tell who one is actually looking at. But clearly, there's a lot of talent to build on.

There are still nits to pick about Baja. With all the time-skipping and perspective-shifting, there seems to be an affinity for the films of Christopher Nolan, and the games of disclosure that implies. It's occasionally hard to tell where and when you are because of St. John's artwork and the minimal detail used in establishing scenes, though that may be partly intentional, and the lettering is all pretty hard to read anyway, usually against black backgrounds. More could have been done to make the book easier on these bloodshot old eyes.

Those are just gripes, though. Baja is a moody crime story told with strong characters and agile narrative twists, and a fitting entry into crime comics' growing lexicon.

Buy Baja at your local comic shop or online.

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'Red Skull Incarnate': Best Use of Horrifying Real-Life History in a Superhero Comic

John Parker — 2011-12-14T15:30:00+00:00

Filed under: Marvel, Reviews

Dealing with characters in a historically accurate environment can be tricky. Origin stories for villains with vague, unspecified pasts can be pretty hard to pull off, too. Typically, unsuccessful forays are quickly sloughed off in continuity sheddings, relegated to "imaginary story" status, and brushed away as interesting, but non-canonical, non-essential chunks of ignored lore. That's when they're unsuccessful. When they're successful, when they're challenging and new and good, they're lauded, embraced, and cemented into the official story.

Red Skull Incarnate by Greg Pak and Mirko Colak is due for some embracing, so get your arms loosened up.Certain aspects of Red Skull's origin have been continuity for awhile now. We know that he used to be Johann Schmidt; that his mother died in birth and his father committed suicide; for a short time he lived with a Jewish shopkeeper and his daughter, and that while serving as a hotel bellhop, he was recruited by Adolf Hitler himself. The rest of the story remained murky until Red Skull Incarnate, which explores the origins of the Red Skull in the historically accurate, "real world" setting of Germany preceding World War II. Finally.

It's a story that's been begging to be told for years now. In fact, it was even attempted at one point. When Mark Waid and Andy Kubert attempted to tell the Skull's origin through his own eyes in Captain America #14, it was re-written at the last minute, without Waid's knowledge, leading to his resignation from the title. Recently, the original, unaltered story was printed in the Captain America: Red Glare collection, and readers finally got to take a look at the inner workings of the Skull's mind. As great as that story is, Incarnate goes farther into Red Skull's past, and much, much deeper into the world that made him possible.

When trying to understand real despots like Adolf Hitler, or fictional villains like the Red Skull, you have to understand post-WWI Germany, and Red Skull Incarnate does a good job of providing that essential background. (It's not Jason Lutes' astounding Berlin or anything, but it doesn't need to be.) Following Germany's defeat in WWI, the country was broken both financially and spiritually. The Versailles Treaty required complete disarmament and demilitarization, and reparations paid to other countries that totaled over 400 billion 2011 US dollars. Germany went from one of the richest nations to one of the poorest in short order. The imperial government was replaced with the Weimar Republic, and with no reserve and no infrastructure, the country lapsed into hyperinflation, massive unemployment, rampant poverty, and a powderkeg of political turmoil.

This is the cauldron where the Red Skull is born. Johann, nine years old, lives in an orphanage in Munich where the children get just enough to survive. The headmaster is cruel and abusive, bordering on sadistic, and constantly drilling his hatred of Communists, the sad state of the German race, and the superiority of the emerging National Socialists into his charges. Though already cynical and mostly interested in his own well-being, Johann is also loyal and empathetic, but the hard realities of a life oriented around survival soon change that. When Johann sees an opportunity to escape the orphanage, he does so without hesitation, leaving his friend Dieter behind.

There's something almost fable-like about Johann's years on the streets. After eluding the cruel headmaster, he learns a valuable lesson from a dog-catcher, finds shelter and a sense of self-potential with a kindly Jewish shop-owner and his daughter, and takes up with a fatherly gangster. Each temporary father figure imparts a cruel truth to Johann, and the brutal realities of life in Weimar Germany hack away at his suspect moral core, tempering him into something much more dangerous.

With Communists and Nazis clashing almost daily, and gangs taking control of the streets, Johann's capacity for violence and manipulation increases. He aligns himself with whomever can provide protection, then gladly turns on his protectors as soon as it benefits him. By the time he joins the Nazi party, he's already killed several Nazis. Ideology doesn't matter to him. Schmidt only believes in himself, and the only way for him to survive is the acquisition of power. When Schmidt finally meets Hitler, it's not by accident. Through murder, manipulation, and betrayal, Johann places himself at Hitler's side, cementing his place in the Third Reich while posing as nothing more than a bellhop.

Red Skull Incarnate is a thorough psychological portrait that savagely avoids cliche. Pak never makes the easy choices in his storytelling, and each major turning point is delivered in unexpected ways. The ending, which everybody knows is coming, is still surprising, fulfilling, and even more ominous than foreknowledge prepares us for, and the characterization is on another level entirely. Watching Johann transform from an orphan boy into a powerful sociopath is seriously engaging, and Pak performs these feats without making excuses for Johann, and without making him unsympathetic. It might be Pak's most skillful work to date.

The artwork is fantastic throughout, cover to cover and everything in between. Literally, there's not a bad panel in these five issues. Colak's interiors are precise without being rigid, with smart layouts and thin, only slightly-sketchy lines. The character work is rich and impressive, conveying a lot of emotion in just a few lines, and the subtle changes in Johann's affect are downright creepy. The backgrounds, though sometimes spare, are perfectly staged, and his talents for architecture definitely shouldn't go unnoticed. When he draws the crowd scenes of political rallies and riots, he's able to convey the size and manner of the mob without overloading the page. And David Aja's covers are, simply put, perfect.

With little hoopla surrounding this series, it managed to fly under quite a few radars. But as we approach the end of the year and the best-of lists are compiled, Red Skull Incarnate has definitely earned some consideration. By navigating the ruddy waters of history, real history, to provide context for the Red Skull, Pak and Colak have delivered the definitive work on the character. And there's no reason why it shouldn't be accepted as the official, canonical, not-ignored and absolutely essential origin story.

Buy single issues of Red Skull online or at your local shop, or preorder the trade paperback collection.

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I Hate it Here: 'Transmetropolitan' and the Election Season

John Parker — 2011-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Filed under: DC, Vertigo

Mmmm... election season. The time of year when total fabrications and superstitions are tossed through the air like footballs at photo shoots. When absolute morons strut handed-down opinions around like they can actually form thoughts, and people who say things really were better in the 1950s aren't openly laughed at and informed that they're just racist. Local elections are just behind us, but that's for stuff that doesn't matter, like water purity, and the right to wear sidearms to nude beaches. The primaries and the big show are quickly on the way, and there's no better time to read Warren Ellis and Darick Robertson's Transmetropolitan (out now in new collections from Vertigo Comics), and remind yourself that the twisted grade-school freak show of our elections could be a lot worse. Spoilers follow.Welcome to The City! It's actually called The City! Probably because all the other names were taken, or maybe just because it's cool and totemic! We never really find out! Ha ha! It's probably a conurbation of New York, D.C. and a couple other eastern cities, thousands of miles across, populated in the high eight digits, and overall just a massive, squirming cross-section of hundreds of genetically-modified races, mutant religions, and ravenous political motivations. The modern American metropolis blown up and wigged out on steroids and speed, shot several hundred years into the future. How far into the future, we don't know. We never learn what year Transmetropolitan takes place because no one in The City knows what year it is! Ha ha!

Written by Warren Ellis with art by Darick Robertson, Transmetropolitan is a study of modern day politics, media, religion, consumerism, social injustice, and corruption filtered through the distorted sci-fi of classic 2000 AD. The City is one of the most complete examples of proper world-building in comics, a nervy clash cultures, classes, and ideologies moving to the twitchy soundtrack of constant motion, rendered by Robertson with a weirdly minimalistic approach. It is a setting saturated with images and ideas that had never been seen in comics, and explored by a protagonist whose insides bleed at the thought of returning there.

Our protagonist, Spider Jerusalem, is a gonzo journalist cut from the same cloth as his apparent real-life inspiration, Hunter S. Thompson: disdainful of authority and those who give it to them, willing to risk his safety for the story, more interested in the truth than the facts, buzzing at a cellular level with every drug known to man, and holed up in a fortified compound in the mountains. Forced to return to The City after a five year absence and cover the Presidential elections, Jerusalem is the romping, stomping avatar of HST, Warren Ellis, and every outraged voice disgusted at government-sponsored social injustice.

Immediately, Spider is embedded in the weird struggles of City life, covering a trans-human riot, neglected revivals from cryogenic preservation, sham religions, and evading an assassination attempt from his ex-wife's frozen head. His column, "I Hate it Here," makes him a star, and naturally, he hates being a star. Before long he's forced to cover the elections and endorse a candidate, and as usual, it's like picking between an anthrax-infested slab of donkey meat and a pile of sentient dog turds that give you chipmunk rabies.

The incumbent President is The Beast, whose corruption, self-service, and abuse of power has bankrupted the country and practically eliminated social programs in The City, widening the gaps between classes, deregulating industries, and offering no assistance to the poor. The name was given to him by Spider in the elections for his first term, and it was so apt that no one in The City, the media, or even the man's own children ever refers to him by anything other than The Beast. The Opposition Party candidates are Bob Heller, whose right-wing hate rhetoric will win him "gun country," but never The City, and Gary Callahan, whose cheery optimism and promises of "a new way" seem to lack conviction. Jerusalem calls him The Smiler.

Spider hates The Beast so much that after he was elected to the presidency, Jerusalem's response column was the f-word repeated eight thousand times. He would do anything to oust him from office, but everything about The Smiler is fake. The only thing to like about Callahan is his political director, the sharp-tongued and attractive Vita Severn. She also knows that The Smiler is fake, but she argues for the lesser of two evils, and trusts her ability to get him to affect real change. Without endorsing Callahan, Spider sends votes his way by bringing attention to Severn and her conviction, eventually earning her a level of celebrity that threatens Callahan's. And as Spider digs further into the truth behind The Smiler, Severn, Jerusalem, his Filthy Assistants and even The Truth become vulnerable.

Though Spider exposes a major scandal involving The Smiler's running mate and their ties to Senator Heller's right-wing hate group, Callahan wins the election off of sympathy votes after the public assassination of Vita Severn -- an assassination he orchestrated. To his horror, Jerusalem blames Severn's death and Callahan's landslide victory on himself. Rightly so. As readers learn very early, Jerusalem's guerrilla journalism has its consequences, and its victims. He's so focused on finding the truth, he's willing to use people, even the scant few he cares about, to get the story. And Spider, a character with real richness and depth, nearly crumbles under the hard choices.

The following three years send Spider on a tear through the foundations of Callahan's America, battling censorship, media blackouts, a militaristic police force, and the erosion of personal freedoms. That might not sound like a lot of action, but this isn't the measured investigative journalism of All the President's Men, with Spider's assistants Channon and Yelena slowly going through voter registrations. It's attack journalism, with bowel disruptor guns, every possible variation of the f-word, and numerous steel-toed boots to the guts of the oppressors.

When The Smiler orders D-Notices -- government-mandated censorship -- on Spider's stories and shuts down his paper, "The Word," Jerusalem goes underground, posting his articles to "The Hole," an anonymous news feed that essentially predicted WikiLeaks. Ellis's prescience doesn't end there - The Smiler's reduction of internal structure leaves The City vulnerable for a massive "ruinstorm," a weather event that kills thousands, and leaves thousands more without help. Yes, that does sound like Hurricane Katrina.

Transmetropolitan's one-of-a-kind mix of extreme sci-fi, insane humor, hard politics, and even harder violence make it a great read. The messages the book imparts make it a classic. Whenever you do step into the voting booth to make those big decisions, you would be wise to remember Spider, and consider what he might do. Then take a shit on the ballot box, kick an official in the balls, adorn your naked body with "I Voted Today!" stickers and go celebrate democracy like a true patriot.

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The Evolution of The Joker: Still Crazy After All These Years

John Parker — 2011-11-07T14:00:00+00:00

Batman's Rogue's Gallery is a twisted trip through the darkness and horror of modern life; for every anxiety that plagues us, there's a Batman baddie to personify it, accumulating the most impressive array of villains in comics. And standing out like a knife glinting in the darkness is the Joker. With a new metamorphosis in the works in the 52 and the HC edition of The Joker: A Visual History of The Clown Prince of Crime now in bookstores (remember them?) it seems like a capital time to look at the various interpretations of the Joker throughout the years.The Joker was created by Jerry Robinson, Bill Finger, and Bob Kane -- Robinson and Kane disagreed on who did what exactly, but the initial sketch came from Robinson, which reminded Finger of a 1928 German Expressionist film called The Man Who Laughs, and the ghastly appearance of the lead actor, Conrad Veidt. The figure of the Joker was immediately arresting, his pale, cachinnatory psychoses wet and apparent at first glance and cast an interesting visual dichotomy with The Batman. Batman, was dark, and physically menacing while this new breed of villain was a gleaming pop of color and life.

Even now, 70 years after his first appearance in Batman #1, the initial Joker stories seem a little disturbing. Killing three of Gotham's most powerful with "Joker venom," leaving them all with a permanent rictus grin, he made a game of his murders, predicting his crimes with radio broadcasts, playing shell games with the police, and seemingly motiveless. He announces his plan to steal the Claridge diamond and kill Henry Claridge at midnight, so the police post a guard around he and his diamond.

Suddenly, Claridge drops to the floor, his face transforming into a gruesome mask as he dies. The cops then open the safe to discover that the diamond has been replaced with a fake, the theft and poisoning having occurred twenty-four hours before. In addition to his intelligence and psychoses, the original Joker was a physical threat, knocking the Batman out in their first scrape. To be fair, Bruce Wayne was a smoker at that time.

The Joker remained pretty consistent throughout the Golden Age, vexing Batman and the police with the unpredictability and spectacle of his crimes, and becoming sillier, more colorful, and larger-than-life along the way. Batman and the Joker maintained a Holmes-Moriarty dynamic, and on more than a couple of occasions, the Joker appeared to have died, with no body found. In Detective Comics 168, in 1951, it was revealed that he had once been a criminal called the Red Hood, and revealed an origin of sorts: 10 years earlier, costumed as the Red Hood, the attempted robbery of a playing card company led to Batman's intervention and a leap into chemical waste runoff, and the Red Hood emerged with bleached skin, green hair, and a new outlook on life. In truth, it wasn't a great story, and really seems almost unnecessary. But some interesting broad strokes were put in place, and the chemical bonds that linked Batman and the Joker were given new strength.

With the administrative heat on comics in the late forties/early fifties, Joker's homicidal tendencies were seriously curtailed. With the enactment of the Comics Code Authority, violence and mayhem were lanced from the form, and throughout the Silver Age the diabolical monster was reduced to a mildly threatening trickster. Some good stories were still told using this tamer version, and great groundwork was laid for broadening the culture's awareness. While no longer a serial murderer, he was still crazy. The addition of schtick like trick guns, acid-spitting posies, and silly, elaborate crimes added to the mythos and over-the-top personality of Batman's defining archvillain. This was the Joker that made the transition to television in Cesar Romero's 1966 portrayal, adding a cackling soundtrack to the clumsy ha-ha-has that had been mocking Batman and the Boy Blunder (hah!...classic) since 1940. By the early 1970s, though, the character's use had tapered off significantly.

When Denny O'Neal and Neal Adams revived the Batman franchise they did so with a return to the darker edge pre-Comics Code prohibition, and that naturally involved a revamp of the Joker, who apparently hadn't even appeared in the comics in four years! O'Neal and Adams's second-generation approach brought a new sense of sophistication and realism to the character's lunacy, and the looser restrictions of the age allowed the character to return to his sanguine roots while refining the ridiculousness of his modus operandi into a demented pantomime. All interpretations of the character since, in all mediums, have been enjoyed the dichotomy of O'NAdams's totemic run.

That razor mix of mayhem and camp rearranged mental continuity, finally allowing those previous versions of the Joker to come together in a perfect point of contention for Batman, emerging from time like a gaudy mutilated butterfly as the Dark Knight's defining villain. The kind of villain that not even the ultimate detective could figure out, one who might go on a murder spree because he can't patent smiling fish. (He wasn't allowed to patent it because you can't trademark things that just grow, even if you alter them. Can somebody tell that to the companies that try to patent genetically-altered seeds?)

For the next decade-plus, the Joker ran wild through Batman and Detective Comics, racking up a pretty impressive body count. More and more realistic violence crept in, peaking in Batman: The Killing Joke by Brian Bolland and Alan Moore. Though seriously flawed by a formal approach that seems almost like a clumsy impression of Moore's own Watchmen, the one-shot brought depth and pathos to the character while still ramping up the insanity. Having escaped from Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane once again, the Joker shoots and paralyzes Barbara Gordon/Batgirl, kidnaps Commissioner Gordon, tortures him in the rape carnival, and tries to prove that all it takes is one bad day to turn a good man insane.

As the Joker's flashbacks in Killing Joke recall, he too was once a normal guy trying to make it as a stand-up comedian and expectant father, and all it took was one bad day. After a couple of goons convince him to let them into his former place of employment, he's given the Red Hood costume to hide his identity. Just before the job, though, he discovers his pregnant wife has been electrocuted and killed, and they force him to perform the job anyway, leading to his fall into the chemical waste and transformation into a demented force of nature. The plotting is good and Bolland's artwork is ecstatic, but the story is too abrupt to answer the questions it asks, slipknotting around the points it raises with an admittedly unreliable narrator and an ending that seemed really awesome when I was twelve.

The late 1980s were especially rich in stirring portrayals of the Joker. Shortly before then, he appeared in Frank Miller's Batman:The Dark Knight Returns as a slick David Bowie pop figure; in 1989 as a disfigured agent of chaos in Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth; in '89 Jack Nicholson imbued his portrayal with a greasy sexual danger that helped cultivate the character's coolness. And in regular-ass comics continuity, he went ahead and clubbed Jason Todd to death at the fans' request. A composite of these eighties sources dominated his portrayal in comics for the last twenty years. Recently, though, there have been attempts to update the character once again.

When Grant Morrison took over Batman in 2006, he immediately set to work to reshape the Joker for a new audience, having the character shot in the face in issue 655 to set up a return in 663 as a permanently-scarred Thin White Duke of Murder that jibed better with Heath Ledger's portrayal. The current doings in the DC Universe's new continuity seem to have derailed that direction, though, turning the character into a workout fetishist, and restoring his face only to have it seemingly ripped off? Spoilers. Really, I wouldn't know. You think I can afford comics?

Sooo I guess the joke is on me. That's okay. Continuity is fluid, great stories immortal, and the pillars of the Joker's myth firmly intact.

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Comics We Love: Vertigo's '100 Bullets' By Brian Azzarello & Eduardo Risso

John Parker — 2011-10-17T13:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Vertigo, Reviews, Comics We Love

If a stranger offered you a briefcase containing a gun, 100 completely untraceable bullets, and incontrovertible evidence identifying the person responsible for the worst thing that's ever happened to you, and the promise of full immunity for your retribution, would you take it?

The mysterious man in question is Agent Graves, and he and his briefcase full of hot flaming death are the center of one of the most important comics of the last decade. And beginning this week with a 456-page inaugural hardcover collection, 100 Bullets finally receives the deluxe treatment it deserves, a fitting format for the book that changed Vertigo and cast a cold, hard light into the unexplored areas of noir comics.

DC Comics' mature readers imprint, the house of Vertigo was built on the foundations laid by the British Invasion of the 1980s and early 1990s - gothic, surreal, and typically supernatural horror stories that could never fit in the superhero-centric DC Universe. And for years after the imprint's inception, that remained the zeitgeist. The Vertigo "genre" was a broad one, and allowed for many excursions, but it was never hard to identify stories that fit the Vertigo mold. Surprisingly, for the longest time that model didn't include much noir.

Though most of what Vertigo published had an aura of darkness, there were few, if any, straight forays into the crime/noir tradition. Sandman Mystery Theatre was a steadfast exception, with 70 issues of adventures based firmly in the pulp vein, but even that series lacked the hard edge of real crime fiction. For the first decade and a half of its existence, Vertigo lived off the model established by the Brits, and stuck to that even when there weren't many Brits left for the publisher to hang its hat on. Vertigo seemed to realize that in the late 1990s, and through a series a short stories, one-shots, and limited series, subtly influenced the imprint's focus to matters of the street. In 1998, the dark, quirky, and violent Jonny Double teamed writer Brian Azzarrello with Argentine artist Eduardo Risso, and all the elements were in place to enact a dramatic shift in Vertigo's publishing line.

That shift came with 100 Bullets. Combining the best elements of Frank Miller's hardboiled Sin City with the cool intrigue of pulp novelists like David Goodis and Richard Stark, and the crystalline structure of Watchmen, the series immediately ensnared readers and established American comics' new interest in dark, twisted tales of revenge populated with dirty slang, deadly ingenues, and lots and lots of corpses.

The powerful hook of the case of 100 untraceable bullets is just the lure that draws the readers into a bigger, deeper, darker story of power and retribution. The first three major story arcs, collected in the first Deluxe Hardcover from Vertigo, take the conceit of the untraceable bullets and begin building a much larger idea, one plot thread at a time.

The first to receive Agent Graves' gift is Dizzy Cordova, a young woman fresh out of prison and still hurting from the deaths of her husband and infant son. Dizzy is the template for recipients of the case: those at rock bottom or close to it, morally flexible, but possessing a potential that even they don't seem aware of. The complete cast of 100 Bullets characters is long and inclusive, from minor players to big shots, each of them encumbered with some sense of loss. They're all offered the briefcase at a crucial nexus in their lives, and their choices - to take or refuse, to kill with impunity or enact their revenge - drag the readers through the muck and horror of a real hard-knock life.

100 Bullets is unflinching in its portrayal of crime and the lives of its perpetrators, and the realism Azzarrello and Risso establish very early on is convincing. Like a David Mamet script, real cons probably don't talk like the offenders in 100 Bullets, but they should. There's a post-modern awareness to the dialogue that is sometimes too apparent, but overall Azzarrello manages a fine balance of an Alan Moore-type self-reference with the snappy, rhythmic beat-speech of classic noir, with great care taken to convey the rhythm and cadence of speech. Azzarrello's characters are all rich with secrets and hidden depth, never failing to make unexpected choices that keep the reader guessing. The game being played is a long-con, and each moving piece affects the outcome.

The style, pacing, and intensity that Eduardo Risso brings to the story is phenomenal. The sense of life he imbues to the characters with his cartooning is on a level few can claim. His halting, dynamic blacks frame the action in a startling bleakness, with a touch of sensationalism that recalls Metal Hurlant. Every page in 100 Bullets is a joy to look at, even when portraying the worst possible things you could imagine doing with a rusty meat thermometer.

Harsh storytelling is on display in 100 Bullets, complete with dirty sex, graphic violence, and a skull******* ****load of offensive ****** language. Ass damn hell. The book took Vertigo's hard-R as far as it could go, and portrays sleazy, violent acts as realistically as possible. But despite all the hardboiled action, the stories are never without heart. These characters being offered the case are complete people, morally complex and capable of violence, but also capable of love, of caring for someone or something other than themselves. It's that dichotomy that the first quarter of the series, collected in this volume, explores. What these people love versus what they desire; a life of violence versus a life of peace; the value of one person's life over another.

100 Bullets isn't cheap and tawdry for the sake of being cheap tawdry; it's a twisting, bloody journey through the nature of crime in America, back to its origins in the greatest crime in American history. The shadowy backgrounds of 100 Bullets and Agent Graves are slowly revealed in the stories of Dizzy Cordova, Loop Hughes, Cole Burns, Lono, and dozens of others who come in and out of focus, throw events into motion and disappear, unleash pure chaos on perfectly-laid plans, or just plain die after they've already become important to the reader.

In its decade-long run, the series was consistently one of the sharpest, edgiest, best-looking books on the stands. (One assumes DC Vertigo's Deluxe treatment will include a cover gallery, hopefully each of the 100 individual issues wrapped by the wildly innovative Dave Johnson.) 100 Bullets changed the way a lot of people were thinking about comics at the time, confirmed the resurgence of the crime genre and led the way for new philosophies at Vertigo, ensuring the line's relevance into the 2000s. Along the way, it nabbed numerous Eisner and Harvey awards, for everything from series, writer, artist, colorist, probably even the guys who stapled it. There's currently a series in development for Showtime by David S. Goyer (screenwriter of the Blade trilogy and co-writer of The Dark Knight), and even the most staunch purists would have to admit a rated R 100 Bullets television series would be awesome.

Though the comic wrapped up in 2009, Azzarrello and Risso have already cranked out a number of collaborations, including the chilling Batman story for Wednesday Comics, and the upcoming Spaceman, also for Vertigo.

So c'mon newbies. Get on board, completists. Take the briefcase. I would.

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Comics We Love: 'Kamandi, The Last Boy on Earth'

John Parker — 2011-09-28T17:00:00+00:00

Filed under: DC, Comics We Love

Thudding onto shelves everywhere this week is Kamandi Omnibus Volume 1, a hardcover collection of the first twenty issues of Jack Kirby's massive post-apocalyptic epic adventure. Under-appreciated in its time, the classic series has a chance to find a new audience thanks to Kamandi's recent appearances in Wednesday Comics, Countdown, and Final Crisis. But informed readers already know that the sprawling, innovative series is a real gem, one of the most creative and underrated comics of the 1970s, and perhaps the best of Kirby's DC canon."Does the Earth flip its lid every ten thousand years or thereabouts?" Jack Kirby posits in "The Great Earth Cataclysm Syndrome," a fun, erudite, and illuminating essay in the backmatter (they didn't call it that back then) of Kamandi #2. "Is planetary cataclysm part of some continual 'adjustment' Earth must make in its endless swing around the sun?" What Kirby's referring to is the cataclysmic hypothesis, the idea that a series of global disasters have shaped the world over and over again, with polar shifts and worldwide floods hitting Earth's reset button every few millenia.

The idea is given little credibility by mainstream science today, but it's still an awesome idea, and it got Kirby's brain boiling. The storytelling possibilities were endless. When given the task to create something that could capitalize on the success on Planet of the Apes, he drew on the polar cataclysm hypothesis, filtered it through whatever magical mechanism resided in his brain, and out of his fingers came Kamandi.

In a move that would drive today's decompressed origin epics to commit ritual suicide, much of the info on Kamandi and his world is spelled out in a handful of captions. Untold years ago, a catastrophic radioactive event called The Great Disaster wiped out nearly all mankind. Kamandi is the last descendant of a group of survivors who occupied a bunker called Command-D, for which the character was named. (It's better than Brooklyn.) Educated on the old world by a microfilm library (if you know what microfilm is, congrats, you're old), after the death of his grandfather, Kamandi ventures out into the world to see if it remains habitable. It's a qualified yes.

What remains of the world is controlled by bipedal, intelligent creatures: tigers, dogs, rats, apes, and others altered by radiation and the after-effects of a genetic experiment. A few pockets of mankind remain, but they've devolved into savagery, without even language or intelligence, surviving only as wild things, or occasionally drafted into subservience, as slaves, or pets of the anthropomorphic new rulers of the Earth.

This is where we can start sticking the metaphors in, and view it as a sort of sci-fi/fantasy coming of age tale. Kamandi, still a teenager, sets out into a world he doesn't understand, with no home, no family, and no foreseeable future. It's an interesting way to look at it, especially when Kamandi begins to scrape together something resembling a life, a family, even a home. Though the various animal kingdoms are mostly hostile, and view humanity as a nuisance, there are friendships to be found, bonds to be forged. Dr. Canus, the brilliant dog-man scientist (if the name didn't tip you off) curious about the talking human, Tuftan, the young heir to the Tiger Empire, who treats Kamandi more like a mascot than a friend but cares for him nonetheless, and Ben Boxer, leader of a society of descendants of physicists and engineers, genetically altered to withstand the radiation that continues to affect the planet.

Kamandi is, at heart, a classic boys' adventure story set in a world altered by man's own hubris. Cataclysmic polar shift or not, it's clear that men dug their own graves. First published in 1972, smack dab in the middle of the Cold War, Kamandi examines nuclear culture in some interesting ways. Kirby's talent for world-building is sharper than ever, and everywhere Kamandi travels, he seems to come face-to-face with the impacts of disaster and man's misplaced faith in forces beyond his control. From Ben Boxer's society of mutated scientists to the nuclear warhead worshiped by the Tiger Empire, parables both subtle and pronounced find their way into the storytelling to wondrous effect.

Kirby receives plenty of deserved credit for so many things: his innate understanding of the possibilities of the form before it had even been considered; the brash, energetic nature of his illustrations; his seemingly endless ideas for characters and worlds and stories. Something that doesn't seemed mentioned enough is just how smart he was, how cleverly he took his opinions on life and society and translated them into sci-fi parables that have captured readers' imaginations for decades. In Kamandi, we get to see just how bright Kirby was, how completely he seemed able to take his worldview and stick it into comics. It's magic stuff.

"Recorded history, as we know it," his essay continues, "is littered with debris of monuments once thought to be miracles of invulnerability. But they've been buried by common mud. The sea hides them in numbers from our eyes. And others stand tilted and broken where tourists gather round them like flies."

As far as monuments go, Kamandi Omnibus is relatively small, less vulnerable to the erosion of time, and easily transferred from hard copy to soft with the simple act of reading. The joyous madness and sense of wild discovery in these pages is something eternal.

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Comics We Love: 'Mister X' and Its Retrofuturistic Architecture of Madness

John Parker — 2011-09-02T16:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Dark Horse

Dark Horse continues its efforts to revive the long-out-of-print Mister X comics in June with Dean Motter's Mister X: The Brides of Mister X and Other Stories, the second massive hardcover collection of the series that got about a dozen all-star careers started, married sequential art with the principles of design, and drastically altered the way comics looked.

You might never have heard of Dean Motter's Mister X. You might be so young and mainstream as to have never even read a black-and-white comic. (Laugh if you want, these people are out there.) But whether you realize it or not, you've been seeing signs of Mister X's presence in so much of what you read that you've practically been raised on the mad bastard....For me, the golden age of comics will always be the 1980s. I know that statement officially makes me an idiot, but keep reading: There's more idiocy where that came from. Technically, I know, it's considered the modern age, or the dark age. My view of the eighties as the golden age probably has a lot to do with growing up in that generation -- like when politicians refer to the "simpler times" they grew up in, except I'm not a liar, and nothing is ever simple. The 1980s are the decade in which comic books took giant steps. When the perpetual adolescent grew up and moved out of his parents' basement to look for a place of his own. When comics decided they were cool.

Dean Motter had a lot to do with that. Though he'd had some experience in comics and illustration, he was most known for his design. As the art director for the Canadian division of CBS records, Motter had a hand in the creation of some memorable album art, including Loverboy and Anvil. (1980s weren't so much of a golden age, musically). In the early eighties, Motter unconsciously created Mister X while doing jacket illustration for house music forebear Patrick Cowley's Megatron Man. The cover was better than the song, by the way.

The character was so visually striking, he stuck with the illustrator and eventually made it into a potential project he'd been bouncing around with another designer/illustrator, Paul Rivoche. Working in animation, poster art, and magazine illustration, Rivoche brought meticulousness, craftsmanship, and a love for noir, art deco, and Bauhaus that mirrored Motter's own. Over the course of a year, the two roughed out the concept of Mister X and the world he inhabited. And brother, it's a weird one.

Radiant City was built to be a paradise, a city of dreams. A metropolis founded and forged on principles of aesthetic beauty that would enrich and inspire its denizens. Instead, it became a city of nightmares --- an unforeseen result of the "psychetecture" designed to enhance the residents' states of mind. Instead of a city of thinkers and dreamers, Radiant City fostered mental illnesses, manias, and mass psychoses. All of its citizens suffered from the flaw in its construction, and crime and corruption were rampant. An epidemic of sleeping sicknesses and delusions plagued the entire population, and the city came to be known as Somnopolis.

Against this dark backdrop of false art deco angles and skewed geomancy, Mister X emerges. Much more than just a stock vigilante or night detective, Mister X is a murderer, a terrorist, a clinically insane man who takes a drug called insomnalin so he never has to sleep. He claims to be one of the original architects of Radiant City, and for twenty-four hours a day he plots to correct the fatal flaw in his own creation, bringing him into conflict with crooked politicians, psychotic mob bosses, and ex-girlfriends.

Before Motter and Rivoche completed any comics, though, they suffered a philosophical split and parted ways on the project. Rivoche continued to provide a few covers, and the pair collaborated on other projects, but they simply couldn't come to terms over Mister X. Motter did some straight scripting for large portions, and wrote and illustrated a few stories over the years, but for the most part Mister X was farmed out to an impressive list of creators. For the first volume, the Hernandez Brothers, Gilbert, Jaime, and Mario came in to produce the book under Motter's story outlines and art direction. After they departed, Motter took over full scripting, with art from singularly named indie luminary Seth.

For the second volume in 1989, the bulk of The Brides of Mister X, Motter recruited stark, black-and-white art from highly overlooked Shane Oakley and another singularly named indie luminary, D'Israeli. The twelve-issue story was scripted by Jeffrey Morgan, a writer whose main experience took place in the much cooler area of rock and roll journalism. As a writer and editor for CREEM, Morgan hung out with the likes of The Stooges while learning from the most accomplished prose stylist of the magazine trade, Lester Bangs. Overall, it's a much darker take on the themes and characters than the first volume, carried off in a style that's strangely reminiscent of the music of the Berlin period of David Bowie, Lou Reed, and Iggy Pop. No, really.

Mister X remains one of the most influential comics of comic books' second most influential decade. The list of artists and writers captured by its unique vision is an impressive one that leaps mediums, genres, and generations. Its odd concoction of retro futurism, art deco and noir inspired a wide group of writers and artists alike: Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Dave McKean, Scott McCloud, Chris Sprouse, Gene Ha, Tony Harris, Paul Pope, and many more than my embattled brain could ever recall.

Motter and Rivoche's vision even went on to influence films, including Tim Burton's Batman, The Shadow, Dark City and Brazil. Magazine and album illustration weren't immune; Paul Rivoche was heavily involved in crafting the look of Batman: the Animated Series, and it and several over cartoons have dabbled in the design concepts Mister X propagated. It was the first thing that looked this way, regardless of medium. An innovator.

Mister X continues to live on, not just in Dark Horse's impressive collections. In 2008, Motter wrote and drew Mister X: Condemned, a sort of reboot of the character, a cementing of concept and continuity, and though it didn't necessarily sell like gangbusters, it looked and read the part. According to Motter's website, there's a forthcoming volume of new story, Mister X: Evicted, set for release in 2012. For now, we have to settle for big, fat, impressive slabs of innovation that, like retro-futurism, take one step back while still looking forward. That's not so bad. Weren't you reading?

Preview of Brides of Mister X, via Dark Horse Comics:

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'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles': A Short History of Being Radical

John Parker — 2011-08-30T14:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Indie

A newly relaunched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comic recently hit comic shops from IDW Publishing and Nickelodeon in a book that aimed to recapture the feeling of the original comic book series.. Despite the three decades that separate the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from the heights of their exposure, the TMNT maintain a healthy popularity with the 13-and-under crowd. Though nowhere near the levels of pop-culture dominance in the late eighties and early nineties, the franchise has been kept alive with a series of revamps, updates, re-imaginings, in comics, cartoons, and feature film. But no matter what form the four heroes on a half shell have taken, comics fans should never forget the TMNT franchise's origins in comics...In his most-infamous extended essay, Cerebus creator Dave Sim once relayed a parable about comic book stardom: During an in-flight conversation with another passenger that I'm paraphrasing from memory because I don't feel like reading through a crapload of Sim diatribe, he mentioned he made comics for a living. The other passenger, a mother, talked about how much her son loved TMNT comics, and how she had even taken him to a show to get an autograph. "Who signed it?" Sim asked. "Kevin or Peter?"

"Donatello," she answered. "Who are Kevin and Peter?"

Kevin and Peter are Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird, co-creators of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles who started out as two poor New England artists trying to make something happen in comics. One night while brainstorming, Eastman doodled an anthropomorphic turtle wielding nunchacku. They went back and forth on the idea, got a loan from Eastman's uncle, and were soon publishing what would become the most successful independent comic of all time.

The original TMNT comics are hard to describe; they always seem to be described as a parody, but that's not entirely accurate. There are elements of parody, yeah -- the wraparound covers were copies of Frank Miller's Ronin, and the Turtles' origins were cleverly entwined with Daredevil's, but that's about it. It was an urban action book birthed in the heyday of punk and wet and sticky with that energy. Not the L.A. punk scene that guided Los Bros. Hernandez, but the New York punk of CBGB's, the Ramones, and Richard Hell.

There was a real dirt and grit to the stories; Frank Miller might have been spinning tales of the grimier side of New York in the pages of Daredevil, but only rarely did he actually get down in the muck. Eastman and Laird lived there, and dedicated themselves to portraying their versions of waste and decay in all the falling-down crosshatched glory they could. Amid the sci-fi ninja action laid interesting looks at growing up in a land of decay. The Turtles came from nuclear waste, lived in the waste of the sewers of New York (the Superbowl of American sewers), and cobbled together lives from the junk and refuse that surrounded them. An actual teenage wasteland.

Between 1984 and 1986, the sales of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles rose steadily. Low print runs became one of the biggest contributors to their popularity, as they began selling out every issue, making each copy a true collector's item. As their popularity continued to increase, the licensing opportunities must have been apparent to Eastman and Laird. TMNT was a concept ready-made to appeal to an audience wider than the one within comics: fresh and new, yet to be encumbered by years of continuity, and with a little tweaking, a perfect sell to the 12-and-under crowd.

The man who made the Turtles famous, and Eastman and Laird multimillionaires, was a licensing agent named Mark Freedman. After a successful line of Dark Horse Miniatures and First Comics collections, the trio approached Playmates Toys with the concept. Soon after, a line of action figures appeared, with a slightly different, all-ages approach to the characters meant to build an audience for a potential animated series. The hardcore violence of the comics was out, but the weapons and ninjitsu remained. All-red bandanas were out, replaced with individual colors for each Turtle, but maintaining the slit-eyed intensity of the comics.

Characters' personalities from the comics were refined in the cardbacked bios, and within a short time the raw materials combined to become something iconic. Everyone could easily recall that Leonardo wore blue, used katanas, and was the leader; Donatello wore purple, used a bo staff, and was the nerd; Michaelangelo, orange, nunchackus, the joker; Raphael, red, sai, the loner. Sales were strong, and even though much of the country had never heard of the comics, soon toy aisles in major retailers became choked with TMNT figures. The nation's children were primed, and an animated movie was ready to push the fad into phenomenon.

The animated version of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles rocketed the franchise into the stratosphere. The original miniseries led to a Saturday morning syndicated cartoon on CBS, which by 1989 became a daily series. New lines of action figures seemed to appear every six months, with variations on character and costume becoming more surreal with each turn. Marketing opportunities went nuclear, with the Turtles appearing on clothing, shoes, Halloween costumes, birthday party packages, skateboards, swim trunks, even officially-licensed bath soap. Anyone else get the Turtles toy shaving kit? Just me?

The outlandish success Laird and Eastman enjoyed was definitely a double-edged katana (those don't exist, so don't look for one); while they raked in millions, their administrative duties prevented them from making comics, and they brought in others like Mark Bode, Rick Veitch, and Eric Talbot to help. As their success brought new readers into the world of independent comics, other creators aimed their jealousy and derision at them even as their own readerships increased.

Cerebus appeared in TMNT, bringing Dave Sim more money than any other comic he'd produced (until his appearance in Spawn), Stan Sakai's Usagi Yojimbo was added to Mirage's stable, even appearing in the cartoon and receiving his own action figure. While instrumental in the drafting of The Creator's Bill of Rights and generously helping to fund others' projects, Eastman and Laird were considered sellouts, even though they had reached their gargantuan success through literally not selling out. By retaining ownership despite their many opportunities to sell, they were assured a piece of every action figure, every of issue of the cartoon-friendly Archie Comics series, and each and every frame of film that went into the live-action movies.

Released in 1990, one year after Tim Burton's Batman had piqued audiences' interest in comic book movies, the first TMNT film is still one of the best adaptations ever made from comics. At the zenith of the cartoon's success, the movie went back to the comics for inspiration, adapting several storylines and bringing back the edge of violence and danger to surround Jim Henson's fantastic live-action realizations of the turtles. The grime and decay of the city established a perfect mood for a movie that had action, humor, and heart. The film grossed over $100 million in U.S. box office and and kicked off the next big stage in Turtlemania.

The comics begat the toys, the toys begat the cartoons, the cartoons begat the movies, and the movies begat the Pizza Hut concert tour and mall appearances, and Eastman and Laird continued to get their piece of everything.

Turtlemania died out somewhere around the mid-nineties. The original fans had gotten too old for it, the phenomenon had watered down the edginess of the concept, and the Power Rangers were ready and waiting to steal aspiring martial artists with some weak-ass Johnny Shinto action. From 1990 to 1993, though, it was mania. It got too big, too crazy, and burned itself out. Whenever and wherever exactly it occurred, by then writing was on the wall, and it was in slimy, nuclear-green letters: Turtlemania was reaching its conclusion.

Somewhere during Turtlemania's biggest days, however, Eastman and Laird quit working together. It doesn't appear to be an acrimonious split' they just wanted to do different things. Laird wanted to stay in New England and handle the franchise, do some comics, and foster and new talent. Eastman wanted to move to California, buy Heavy Metal, and marry "Queen of the B-Movies" Julie Strain. Each has continued to make an impact on comics beyond their most famous creations, though.

In 1993, Peter Laird established the Xeric Foundation, a yearly series of grants that awarded over 250,000 dollars to self-publishing comic creators like Farel Dalrymple, Megan Kelso, and Jason Lutes. Eastman founded Tundra Publishing, a short-lived company that published a handful of the most impressive comics of the last twenty years. Eastman had an abundance of money and used it to acquire an abundance of talent. Books originally under the Tundra banner include Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell's From Hell, Dave McKean's Cages, and Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics. Founded on the principles of the Creator's Bill of Rights, though, Eastman had no stake in the ownership of any properties, favored high production values, and paid royalties half in advance. It's estimated that he lost around ten million on the brave venture.

In 2000, Eastman sold most of his rights to Laird and Mirage, then in 2008 sold all that remained. Then, in 2009, Laird sold the rights to Viacom/Nickelodeon. So in these days when a new, calmer, healthier franchise flourishes, it's no longer the two New Englanders reaping the majority of the rewards. Laird retains the rights to produce black-and-white TMNT comics, but squashed the idea of continuing his well-received Volume IV. Eastman, though, unexpectedly returned to the franchise, co-writing the new series from IDW, a strong reboot of the original creations that has potential to claim a corner of the new interest, which should be peaking again around 2012 with the planned release of a new TMNT film. Unfortunately, it's apparently being produced by Michael Bay.

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'New Worlds': One of the Most Influential Sci-Fi Magazines Returns This Fall

John Parker — 2011-08-20T11:00:00+00:00

Few literary publications have had an impact like the British sci-fi magazine New Worlds, which ran from 1946 through 1971, when it stopped regular publication. Over the course of a generation, it transformed science fiction that changed the way it was written, published, and perceived by culture at large. Its impact naturally extends to comics as well, and whether the influence is direct or by osmosis, it's fair to say that a majority of comic book creators are doing work to some degree under the shadow of New Worlds.

Now, after a several-decade gap in publication, the magazine is set to return this fall in both print and online editions as Michael Moorcock's New Worlds, with editorials and guidance from the sci-fi icon and former editor. So for absolutely no reason at all let's talk about the magazine and its influence on comics. Just for gits and shiggles.Most people consider the Golden Age of Sci-Fi to begin in the late 1930s and end around the mid-to-late '50s, and it did a lot of growing up in that time. War does that. (Said the guy who's never been in a war.) What was once light-hearted, imaginative adventure became serious, hard science what-ifs colored by the bloody prism of world events. Utopias became dystopias; pulp traditions were shed and the space opera emerged, with John W. Campbell and the Futurians piloting the ship. Campbell was the Editor of Amazing Stories, the first sci-fi magazine, with a group of contributors that included Frederik Pohl, Isaac Asimov, and Damon Knight. Also a great name for a band.

Across the second half of the 1950s, though, something
started happening. Stories got weirder. Prose got prettier. It got harder to tell whether a book should be considered genre work or literary fiction. Writers like Ray Bradbury, Alfred Bester, and the incomparable Kurt Vonnegut kept pushing the form along with Fahrenheit 451, The Stars My Destination, and The Sirens of Titan. (Bester is also the creator of the Green Lantern's oath, btdubs.) Then literature at large took a sudden turn: Allen Ginsberg's Howl started the Beat Generation with a war cry, and William S. Burroughs chimed in with The Naked Lunch, and even genre writers took notice. Real science started to outpace writers' prescience; the Space Race was on. By the early 1960s, sci-fi was practically nervous for a big change, like a wave stuck at the crest, unable to crash.

When Michael Moorcock (yes, it's a very funny name) assumed editorship of New Worlds in 1964, the New Wave of science fiction landed. It's an observed beginning, at least. Under his first issue as editor, the May/June volume, hard science fiction was no longer welcome. The publication was set apart from others immediately with striking artwork and stories that played loose and free with science the expectations of the form, like J.G. Ballard's Equinox (which became The Crystal World) and Barrington J. Bayley's anti-space opera The Star Virus; essays like "A New Literature for the Space Age" by Moorcock and "Myth-Maker of the 20th Century," an exaltation of Burroughs by Ballard.

Over the next decade, New Worlds rewrote the syllabus on what was acceptable, maybe even what was expected in science fiction. Stories weren't about the hard, flat science of it all, the rules of physics or robots. They were about people. The characters were always more important than the events, and on whatever weird precipice of possibility they stood, it was always the people who held center stage. People who did things real people do: swear and drink and have sex and take drugs.

Liberties were taken with form and structure; magical realism and the rhythm of the Beat bled into the genre, and experimental prose and fractured narratives pushed the boundaries of science fiction writing. The covers got more and more abstract; poetry was published alongside SF; non-fiction articles covered Pop Art, the sexual revolution and recreational drugs. Sci-fi wasn't just cool, it was sexy and dangerous and weird. Frankly, for those readers who experienced the change first-hand, it must've been kind of a mindf***.

The sheer density of classic stories in New Worlds is staggering. Few publications, even those within the realm of straight literary fiction, can claim a productivity on par with it. Dozens of novels and maybe hundreds of stories that appeared in its pages went on to become touchstones in sci-fi, and they were all churned out in the turmoil and energy of the cultural revolution. Ballard's amazing kink-think-pieces on the intrusion of technology and media -- The Atrocity Exhibition, Notes Towards a Mental Breakdown, The Assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy Considered as a Downhill Motor Race (collected with others as The Atrocity Exhibition with illustrations by none other than Phoebe Gloeckner) -- paved the way for cyberpunk. Brian Aldiss practically populated his own subgenre with quirky epics like Acid Head War, a messianic tale of freestyle narrative set in a post-war Europe in which hallucinogenic drugs had affected entire populations, and Report on Probability A, a very experimental story about the observations of three characters named G, S, and C.

Eventually American writers appeared in the magazine as well, including punch-happy maven Harlan Ellison's A Boy and His Dog (adapted into comics by Richard Corben and film starring a twenty-something Don Johnson), Roger Zelazny's Love is an Imaginary Number and Philip Jose Farmer's simultaneous tributes to Burroughs Edgar Rice and William S., in The Jungle Rot Kid on the Nod. Even the iconic Thomas Pynchon contributed.

The influence New Worlds had on comics is so profoundly direct, it nearly goes without saying. When superhero comics were transformed in the 1980s, it was at the hands of British writers who had grown up with stacks of New Worlds at home. Alan Moore's roots clearly run back to Ballard and Pynchon and Philip Jose Farmer. Neil Gaiman's creation of The Sandman drew much inspiration from Moorcock's tale of a melancholic albino, the Elric stories. There's practically a Jerry Cornelius genre in comics, with a clear line running from Bryan Talbot's Adventures of Luther Arkwright to Grant Morrison's Invisibles to Matt Fraction's Casanova. In response to the news of New Worlds' return, Warren Ellis blogged that the original "reshaped fiction and captured invention in the culture at large." And if you don't agree with him, he can kill you with his brain.

Aside from the obvious imprint it left on comics are the interesting parallels in the stories of New Worlds and comic books. Like comics, New Worlds repackaged and reinvented itself to be taken more seriously. In the 1980s, comics asked to be called "Graphic Novels;" in 1967, New Worlds was printed with the byline "Speculative Fiction." Like comics, when New Worlds tried to push the boundaries of its genre, it ran into problems with censorship and distribution.

Those problems eventually led to the demise of the magazine's classic period. It's hard to believe that the new incarnation coming this fall could have the impact that the original did, but in a new age, with a renewed sense of direction, there's no telling what might be accomplished. Keep your eyes on http://www.newworlds.co.uk/ for more when the site goes live sometime this summer. For now, keep all three eyes glued on the Facebook page. That's right. The third eye is an inner one.

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Comics We Love: 'We3,' The Heartbreaking Story of Cuddly Killing Machines

John Parker — 2011-08-16T15:00:00+00:00

...to your nearest comics retailer to pick up the new We3: Deluxe Edition this week and you will be treated to the most heartfelt, kinetic, violent, and universal lost-animals-going-home-story ever told. A compact slice of minimalist storytelling mastery, We3 is Milo & Otis meets "Call of Duty": a simple, touching story of three scared animals looking for a home remixed to the mayhem of the first-person shooter. And if you're wily enough to pick up the hardcover Deluxe Edition, you will be treated to no less than 10 pages of story that previously went unpublished. I know!

But We3 is more than a cute and fuzzy tale wrapped in latex and razorblades. It just may be the very best comic to introduce a new audience to the uniqueness and potential of the modern medium...Back in the heady, exciting days of "comics activism," there was a frequent topic of discussion on the boards: what was the best comic to hand to a non-reader to get them interested in comics? Answers were all across the spectrum, from sensible to quirky to seriously? (Really? Palookaville?) The consensus opinion, though, was that the book would have to be short, self-contained, non-superhero story that appealed to an audience of all tastes and ages.

Boom. We3. The "comics activism" movement faded a couple of years before the book was published, but it's a clear contender for the imaginary title of "crossover grail." I'm not sure that the crossover grail exists, especially since I just made up that title. But such a comic would be that perfect example of the forms, traditions, and possibilities of comics in neat package that could be read by pretty much everybody. If it does exist, it's gotta be We3.

Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely have both had long, storied careers in comics independent of one another. If they had never even worked together, each would still have to be considered one of the top innovators in the field. They've each dissected comics to its inner workings and probed around in the guts of art and story. So when the two work together, which they've done frequently over the last 15 or so years, the result tends to be mind-bending.

Flex Mentallo, Man of Muscle Mystery, a Morrison/Quitely team-up that will finally be collected next year, explored the potential real-world power of superheroes as Quitely constructed a passageway into the form that almost seemed to have its own gravity, making you lean in and tilt at the pages. JLA: Earth 2 obliterated every other comic that claimed to be "widescreen," ripping out at the reader in roller coaster upside-down angles. All-Star Superman, New X-Men and Batman & Robin wrote new guides on the 21st-century superhero. And dammit, We3 might actually be better than all of them.

We3 is the story of three animals -- Bandit, Tinker, and Pirate -- a dog, cat, and rabbit engineered into living weapons and given the call-signs 1, 2, and 3. Escapees from a remote-controlled soldier program of cybernetic enhancement and control by greasy, sadistic nerds, they flee from constant military pursuit and slash through every obstacle towards that place that once meant safety and comfort: "home." And the level of craft and ingenuity on display in telling that story is absolutely berzerk.

Morrison and Quitely have often described their approach to We3 as "Western Manga": nonstop kinetics and wildly dramatic angles given the weight of line and photorealism of Western comic books. Not a comic book western. (That's what I thought, too.) But it's more like an anime you can watch without a screen. There's a liquidity to Quitely's black-guttered panels, a heft of realism given to the animals wearing manga supersuits that's oddly filmic (aided by the super-wicked coloring of Jamie Grant), but in a way only comics can be. The narrative pulse of the visual story and Morrison's acute sense of pace keep the story constantly flowing, frameless, just occurring on its own tempo. Sound effects are nowhere to be found, replaced with iconography and the reader's imagination, deepening the collaborative relationship and allowing the reader to add their own soundtrack.

Everything they try in We3 works. When they parse six pages into eighteen panels of silent surveillance footage, it works, erupting into a miraculous two-page spread unlike any you're used to. When Morrison writes dialogue for weaponized animals who can speak, it works, convincing you that's exactly how it would be if (when) that ever happens. 1, 2, and 3 speak in an approximation of commands and rewards, engaging the reader with emotions in the simplest vocabulary. The effect is primal, haunting, and sad. In perhaps the most heartbreaking moment of the book, 2 asks 1 "?HOME IS?" 1 replies "HOME. ? IS RUN NO MORE." If you don't at least tear up at that moment, I will come to your house and kick you in the face so that you do.

We3 isn't just a visual marvel, or a clinic on form. It's a morality piece with an emotional core that taps the audience's primal empathy. It's compelling storytelling, and for anyone who has had a pet or cared for an animal, it's a must-read. Yes, that's pretty much everyone. That's the point. We3 is the crossover grail because its appeal is nearly universal. Age, race, gender, and comic geekdom are wiped away by the simple fact that nearly everyone has loved some kind of animal, and nearly all of them would be jarred by the emotional impact of the story. And within limits, even kids can read it.

Children have always had violence and death in their animal stories -- Bambi, Old Yeller -- We3 just turns it up a bit. Morrison and Quitely take the realities of desensitization fully into consideration: the violence is given the flash of manga and video games, but the results of the violence are never brushed aside. The action is never amoral, or grotesque, but it's never ignored, either. Death is death, and the cruel results of a bad experiment are delivered with the even temper of a dad explaining why your dog died. It's simple enough for kids of about 10 or so to understand, so go buck wild, former comic activists. Buy a copy of the deluxe edition for your niece or nephew, and be the one to introduce them to comics, heartache, and ultra-violence.

So: We3: The Deluxe Edition is a short, self-contained non-superhero story of amazing craft that appeals to readers of all tastes and ages. Here's a short preview, courtesy of Vertigo Comics:

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Hulk Smash Preconceptions: Peter David's Epic Run on 'The Incredible Hulk'

John Parker — 2011-08-12T13:00:00+00:00

Filed under: Marvel, Comics We Love, Opinion

If you own Volumes 1 through 7 of Marvel's Hulk Visionaries: Peter David series, then it surely is a good week to be you, friend. Get this: there's a Volume 8, and it's out this week. I know, right? Champagne all around! Way to count, Marvel!

Though some of the choices in Marvel's Visionaries line of collections seem a little dubious, Peter David's run on The Incredible Hulk is not. Over the course of his decade-plus tenure on the title, David reshaped the inarticulate slab of the Hulk into an action-packed psychological study; Bruce Banner and his opposite were fully-realized characters locked in a fascinating tug-of-war that dragged the readers through studies of personality disorders and abuse. And it was hilarious.

Before David came on board, the success of The Incredible Hulk television series from 1978-1982 had secured the Hulk's simple, steadfast dichotomy of man and beast in the collective consciousness of a generation, and introduced the world to the talents of the immaculate god-being known in this plane as Lou Ferrigno, who bear-hugged bikers and hillbillies before moving on to the next single mom needing help. But moving to the comics must have been a real mind-hump for crossover readers back in the day, where Hulk battled gods and science freaks while Bruce Banner wrestled for control of his emotions, his destiny, his very soul. Like going from John Denver to King Crimson.

Despite some truly great stories by Bill Mantlo during the height of the character's exposure, by the late eighties, The Incredible Hulk was a title nobody wanted. Poor sales, a moribund conceit, and the dictatorial nature of outgoing editor Jim Shooter soured whatever iconic qualities appealed to both readers and writers. In 1987 new editor Bob Harras offered the reins to David, a member of Marvel's sales team with a few stories under his belt. It's the now-classic situation in comics: a tarnished icon in need of a polish, so under the radar that when creators with fresh ideas come aboard, they're given the freedom to go wild.

David quickly cleared the table with a simple, striking shift of the color wheel, returning the Hulk from nuclear green to his original deathly gray. (Something a lot of folks don't know, when Hulk first appeared, he was gray, then went to green in the very next story. Coloring error or racial commentary? You decide.) Nowadays Hulks change color with alarming frequency, like they're auditioning for every Corps in the emotional spectrum, but back it 1987 it was pretty freaky. Lots of people dismissed it as a gimmick, but the change didn't end at skin tone.

The Gray Hulk was smarter, meaner, more cunning than Green Hulk. No longer a dumbfounded toddler lashing out at the world, he became the sharp-tongued teenager no longer afraid of his dad. Mr. Fixit, as Gray Hulk came to be known, was clever, brash, and always looking for an advantage. Green Hulk was easily manipulated, but Mr. Fixit formed and broke alliances and played enemies against one another. If the Green Hulk was a manifestation of Bruce Banner's rage, Mr. Fixit came from a place even scarier, personifying Banner's ego, his greed, his primal desires for food and sex and conquest. As Banner's Gamma mutation continued to evolve, nighttransformation (again, part of the original Hulk) brought out the nerdy loner's dark opposite to inflict mayhem on anyone or anything that got in his way.

And yet Mr. Fixit was still somehow likeable. Funny, even. Maybe it was his very selfishness that appealed to fans, that fantasy version of themselves that got clever revenge on the mean old world. With a young Todd McFarlane penciling the bulk of the new stories, sales got back to a respectable level and continued climbing all throughout David's run, culminating in Hulk's popularity after his third transformation, with rocketing superstar Dale Keown on art, about ten years into the story.

The history of childhood abuse that Bill Mantlo had introduced for Banner, David made clear and integral. Bruce's father had abused him and his mother, eventually killing her, planting the hidden-away pocket of rage that would become the Hulk. As David and his artists wound their way through throwbacks to horror comic origins, emotional drama, and nuclear allegory, the guiding concept was revealed: Banner had serious emotional problems and an intense personality disorder, and like all of us, he had to deal with it.

The Hulk that emerged in the final years of David's story blended the best elements of each personality. Banner's intellect combined with the Green Hulk's power and Mr. Fixit's assertiveness. A man transformed, an adult who been to his darkest places and embraced them, and returned, at last, complete.

After a few years of New Hulk, though, Marvel brass pushed David to return to the Savage Hulk. David, who wasn't done telling stories of the complete Hulk, held his ground and was summarily cut from the title. They did, however, grant him a farewell story. The Incredible Hulk 467, beautifully illustrated by Adam Kubert, is probably still the best single issue David has written. Fueled by the emotions of his divorce, he wrote a future Rick Jones discussing what had happened to Bruce Banner after the death of Betty Ross. It's likely the definitive statement on the character.

If you love hilarious, action-packed, emotional stories of internal conflict in the nuclear age, Peter David's tremendous run on Hulk is required reading. If you're already taking out your issues on the world around you while hearing that haunting end-credits music in your head, don't worry about it.

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Wonder Woman: A Look at the Controversial 1970s Take on the Amazon Princess

John Parker — 2011-07-20T15:45:00+00:00

Filed under: DC

Buzz and controversy have been swirling around Wonder Woman a lot these days. The politics of retcons and reboots have thrown interested parties into an absolute tizzy over the lineage, age, and even the fashion sense of the original super-heroine. The looming post-Flashpoint status of the character, pants or no, is sure to be another in a long line of questioned portrayals and continuity shoehorns -- from J. Michael Straczynski's Americanized teen to John Byrne's "Goddess of Truth" and beyond.

Perhaps in anticipation of this, DC Comics today releases Wonder Woman: The 70s, a new look back at yet another controversial turn in her history, as part of the DC Retroactive line.This may turn out to be a useful strategy. Because as controversial as the new Wonder Woman may be, it's doubtful that it will live up to the fervor surrounding Denny O'Neil's well-intentioned take on the character in the 1970s...Look, the '70s were a crazy decade, okay? There was a gas crisis, a nation searching for its identity after Vietnam and Watergate, coke was suddenly everywhere... Wonder Woman's "lost decade" is certainly much less severe than, say, Sly Stone, but despite the lack of any illegitimate children or visits to rehab, comics luminary Denny O'Neil displays a fair amount of shame about the whole thing. Chances are, if you're the type to watch History channel documentaries or listen to podcasts about comics, you've seen or heard him apologizing for it.

"I thought I was on the side of feminism," he says in this clip, shrugging his shoulders like a top-notch Woody Allen impersonator. And according to an extensive interview with LanternCast, he does in fact view a new story on the character as an opportunity to redeem himself. What did he do that was so wrong?

When O'Neil assumed scripting duties for Wonder Woman in 1969, he was one of the most forward-thinking writers in the field. Like Stan Lee and Dave Sim, he's always been a bit of a preacher, willing to use his art to express moral or political ideals. Of course there's the classic example of the socially conscious Green Lantern/Green Arrow, illustrated by another preacher, Neal Adams, where O'Neil chiseled away at class divisions, racial divides, and the inherent injustice of the system. Even in Batman, again with Adams, O'Neil funneled his frustration with environmental issues through the eco-terrorist Ra's al Ghul. So when DC provided O'Neil the opportunity to update Wonder Woman for the Women's Lib generation, he undertook it with an altruistic approach, under the guidance of artist and master storyteller Mike Sekowsky.

Everybody seems to forget that Wonder Woman's transformation from Amazon to modern girl was the brainchild of Sekowsky, an illustrator and storyteller of the highest order. Hoping to encourage female readers to strive for independence, Sekowsky, DC, and O'Neil stripped the character of her powers, her lasso and bracelets, and her red-white-and-blue costume, and made her a strong, intelligent working woman who also happened to be a superspy of the highest caliber. You have to admit, it's not a bad idea.

Within the first few issues of their run, Wonder Woman renounces her mystic skills and lineage as granddaughter of Ares (an origin point that wasn't added until the late '50s), giving up her powers and embracing the identity of Diana Prince, boutique owner, martial artist, and all-around adventurer. And frankly, she's not a bad example for anyone, male or female: she's smart, self-reliant, loyal, and fearless, and giiirl, she know how to dress!

Though O'Neil and several others have denounced this version of the character and the resulting work, there's little negative that can be said about Wonder Woman's new look and the dynamic draftsmanship that Sekowsky brought along with it. Visually, "The New Wonder Woman" (issues 178-190ish) is pretty stunning. Sekowsky is a firecracker layout artist, throwing all the momentum he can into the action, with vertigo-inspiring slash panels and creative cuts. The attention to the look and style of Diana's clothing is impressive: She settles on sleek Bruce Lee-style unitards for action, but in life she wears all the modern fashions, all the marvelous little pieces of pop art that populated the industry in the '60s. Again, Sekowsky's work is gorgeous, as Romance comics, ad design, and a hint of Steranko inform the interpretation.

Over the course of a couple years, reaction went from mixed to negative to staunch opposition presented in letter form in a national publication. Hey, any mainstream reaction is good, right? Gloria Steinem, principal icon and activist of the Women's Liberation Movement, the very movement that Denny O'Neil was trying to show his support for, published an article in Ms. magazine arguing that it was in fact an anti-feminist interpretation. And she and other detractors weren't without a point.

Steinem argued that O'Neil and Sekowsky failed the moment they removed her powers. As Diana Prince, she was a powerless woman learning martial arts from I-Ching, mysterious master that he may be, he's still a man. As Wonder Woman, she was stronger than men. Better than men, from a society untouched by the wars of men. By removing her advantages and her Amazonian traits, they had dulled the impact of the character, reducing her from goddess to an average gal living in a man's world.

Wonder Woman is a unique invention. Other iconic characters, Superman and Batman, can be dissected to show Jungian traits and patterns consistent with the uber-myth. Unintentional traits. Wonder Woman was created with direct knowledge of these concepts, and intentionally imbued with those traits. Created by psychologist/lie-detector inventor/three-way marriage havin' sonofabitch William Moulton Marston, Wonder Woman was specifically designed to spread WMM's philosophy: that the world would be a better place if women were running it. While setting a strong example for girls, Wonder Woman also enticed and entrapped boys with suggestive scenes, bondage fantasies, hot 1930s girl-fight action, and frequent reminders that penis = death.

Point being: there have always been totemic qualities in Wonder Woman's story, ambiguity in her presentation as simultaneous feminist icon and male fantasy, and as the first woman superhero, she has always been a mechanism of the portrayal of women in America. Modernizing her and realizing her wasn't a bad idea, it was just improperly executed. O'Neil and Sekowsky's work isn't bad - it's shiftless at times, unsure of what it wants to be, and written with the fingers of a man trying to tell women how cool he is with the whole Women's Lib thing. (No offense, comics legend.) There are several interesting things happening in the work: Its independence from the DC Universe, the astounding visuals of Sekowsky, the ten years early introduction of the comic book "realism" of the 80s. But ultimately the whole event is the comic book industry equivalent of a husband unsure of what he did to piss off his wife.

Now, with (deep breath) DC Retroactive Wonder Woman: The 70s, O'Neil has a chance to tell an untold tale of Diana Prince the boutique owner/superspy, with versatile artist J. Bone intepreting into pen and ink. Alongside this shot at redemption, DC presents a backup story from the original "New Wonder Woman," for readers to compare. So judge for yourself, intelligent, well-informed readers who don't sling caps and insults for the sheer rush of blood pressure. Is Sekowsky and O'Neil's version of the character a feminist creation, or just another way we men take away women's power?

The more important question: Why does it matter as much as we think it does?

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