Here, Fraction brings his A-game. As in his Fantastic Four #1, it's a very formulaic script, with character's being introduced one at a time, but those introductions are more thorough, involve more characters and come out in conversations. Additionally, there are a lot more panels in it, so it reads more like Fraction's Hawkeye then his Fantastic FOur (that is, it won't be over two minutes after reading).
(There is still, unfortunately, a dumb-ass "AR" thingee in at least one panel, but it's thankfully a bit smaller than the dumb-ass "AR" thingee in the panels in Fantastic Four #1; replacing asterisks and editor's notes with something you need a machine and software to access is maybe the dumbest fucking thing I can think of and, honestly, almost reason enough to trade-wait this stuff).
Now, the reason I picked this up at all was that it features the artwork of Mike Allred, one of those few artists on the I'll Buy Anything They Draw list. He and color artist/wife Laura Allred do not disappoint; in fact, this may be the best I've seen Allred's art look before. That, or it's been a while since I've seen it at great length (No, that can't be it; he just did a wonderful Daredevil fill-in not long ago).
Look at this:
He does the same with backgrounds and the float-y, semi-transparent sci-fi computer screens; usually that stuff looks like special effects in a Marvel comic, but the Allreds actually, like, make it look like something that belongs in the same reality as the characters looking at them.
The costuming and character designs are all great; the character's are all distinct from one another, perhaps most notably in the varying body-types of the female characters; the "acting" is amazing.
This here is pretty much perfect, and exactly what I'd expect a Marvel comic book to look like or, at least, what I wish I could expect a Marvel comic book to look like. It makes me a little more disappointed in Fantastic Four than I was while reading it, and I kind of wish Marvel would have chosen someone whose style more closely resembles Allred's for FF's sister title (Nick Dragotta? Rick Burchett? Jay Stephens? J. Bone? Mike Norton?) and coloring more akin to Laura Allred's, so the books would at least look like part of the same universe, let alone companion books (and I like Mark Bagley's art; it's just very, very, very different than what we see here).
Story-wise, this is first issue 101. The Fantastic Four pick out a substitute Fantastic Four, should something go wrong with the journey they're preparing to take, and each of them pick replacements, with the exception of Johnny; we meet his recruit, but don't learn the details of how she comes to be wearing what looks like a Thing suit.
Mr. Fantastic chooses Ant-Man II, or "the dead one," who is apparently alive again (and his daughter Stature is dead...?), Invisible Woman chooses Medusa of the Inhumans and The Thing chooses (the original, green) She-Hulk.
The issue is divided into one-page, six-panel interviews with the children of the Future Foundation, followed by the recruiting sequences, until a climax that puts everyone in the same room.
Unfortunately there's no text telling us what's up with the feature, like when these particular Redeemer pages were written or draw. The art doesn't look 20 years old, at any rate, although the writing and designs are extremely dated looking, even old-fashioned. That could just be the fact that, in his 80s, Kubert's writing might have been a bit old-fashioned.
The story is about a devil-like figure with a castle in the Himalayas who looks a bit like an evil Shazam and is known as The Infernal One; he recruits some followers to help him defeat the title character, a hero who does good deeds in each life time, which he only vaguely remembers from reincarnation to reincarnation. Then it flashes forward to the year 2557, which looks like the future as it might have been envisioned in the 1960s, a time when space-robbers wore Beagle Boy hats, drop the g's at the end of their words and worry about being hanged if caught.
Kubert's narration is mostly completely unnecessary, given how clear his artwork and storytelling are.
That's followed by a neat prose feature in which Kubert discusses artist Sam Glanzman's life and work a bit, the pages full of Glanzman's original sketches from the ship he served on in the 1940s, which serves as a sort of introduction to Glanzman's U.S.S. Stevens story.
And, finally, there's another installment of Brian Buniak's take on Angel and The Ape, which continues the storyline from the previous issues.
Overall, it's a very strange package that feels all the stranger now that the guy whose name is on the cover is no longer with us, but, as strange as it is, there's no arguing with it's quality—there isn't a poorly drawn panel in its 48 pages.
This issue, like the previous six, was super-funny and super-cute.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
"Sometimes I love you so much, comics"
It's a pretty dramatic moment for him, obviously.
The way this page is laid out just...excited me, for a lack of a better word. Flowers is printed right-to-left, remember, so the first two panels are the tall, vertical one featuring Saeki and profil and the one of a flushed, wide-eyed and terrified Takao.
The way the dialogue bubble is placed in those panels, Oshimi shows the reader two different people from two completely different angles at the exact same time; that's what Saeki looks like while she's saying "What is this..." and that's what Takao looks like while Saeki, standing next to him, says "What is this..."
It's basic stuff, of course, using the grid of the panels to show the same moment from different perspectives; Comics 101, really. But it's so elegantly handled and, I don't know, maybe I just read too many comics, but when I hit that transition, with the dialogue co-existing in two moments like that? It just really struck me how well comics can do the things that only comics can really do.
Maybe I just read so many bad ones, that when I encounter one that works, it's able to impress me that much more strongly...?
Posted by Caleb at 11:22 PM 1 comment:
Labels: flowers of evil, manga, shuzo oshimi
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Review: Penguin: Pain and Prejudice
Crime novelist-turned-comics writer Gregg Hurwitz took that one passage of Aaron's story and repurposed it for the 110-page "Pain and Prejudice," a new, "New 52" origin story for the Penguin published as a five-issue miniseries—presumably because DC couldn't decide which of the five monthly Batman books to stick it in.
Hurwitz draws Aaron's scene out, and while the latter writer had a neat little one-page reveal in which the Penguin's girlfriend learns of it—in keeping with the EC horror comic vibe of the Joker's Asylum series, it is presented as a twist—Hurwitz devotes several scenes of his story to the Penguin similarly taking people's lives apart behind the scenes. It's apparently a "thing" of his, like his obsessions with birds and umbrellas, and while its sort of tiresome to see a writer so thoroughly quoting another, it grows even more tiresome the more times Hurwitz re-quotes it. (In case you missed Aaron and Pearson's shorter, sweeter, better-drawn version, it's actually included in the trade paperback collecting Pain and Prejudice, as if it were a back-up story).
Which isn't to say that Hurwitz doesn't add his own touches to The Penguin's story. He does, and some of them are pretty dramatic, even, I'd argue, out of left-field.
In this version, the Penguin was still a funny-looking, terribly bullied child who loved birds, and he grows up to be a Gotham City crime boss who runs a club called The Iceberg Lounge. This new Penguin was part of a large family of healthy, normal-looking brothers, and, one-by-one, he murders each of them (and his father) while still a child, sparing only his mother, whom he continues to care for as adult, when she has grown so old and frail that she seems to be in a semi-vegetative state.
Oh, and he's also an ingenious robotics expert now because, um, why not...?
Extremely brutal, he not only goes to great lengths to completely destroy his enemies—usually by killing their friends and family—he also hires thieves to steal jewelry in showy, ultra-violent ways that don't seem all that efficient (a celebrity's earrings are stolen by ripping her ears off as she walks past paparazzi and fans with her bodyguards; a society maven's necklace is stolen by beheading her with a machete as she steps out of a limousine, etc).
As in Aaron's story, The Penguin is trying to woo a decent woman with whom he cares for more deeply than any of the other beautiful women he uses his money and power to surround himself with, and he's doing so by hiding his true self—in a particularly melodramatic twist, this woman is blind, and he won't let her touch him, so she can't judge him by his physical qualities.
He's also built a bunch of penguin-shaped guided missiles that emit some kind of bird-controlling sounds that cause birds to flock and attack children. Batman doesn't appear until the last page of the first issue/chapter, and Hurwitz and artist Szymon Kudraski try to keep him off the page as much as possible, generally showing only parts of him in each panel, although as the story progresses, naturally Batman appears more and more, as good has to ultimately triumph over evil, which means Batman has to stop Penguin from having all of the children of Gotham City pecked to death by flocks of wild birds.
Kudranski's artwork is of the photo manipulation variety, with everything so heavily photo-referenced and with so many bits of the images dropped-in that few pages of the comic look drawn instead of assembled. Paired with the dark, murky coloring, it is not a nice-looking comic by any stretch of the imagination, but, beyond that, it's barely legible.
Here, for example, The Penguin slips on what I believe is supposed to be his own boutonniere, which fell off when he jumped in surprise at Batman jumping through his skylight:
Here is the end of his first encounter with Batman:
This is the worst part. I literally have no idea what happened. To set it up, Cassandra is on The Penguin's bed, thinking he's playing a videogame while he's controlling his The Birds bombs (Hey look, those pigeons lifted a car in the third panel. And then Batman...does...something...?
Is that right...? It's awful, awful artwork, a sort of anti-comics that makes any of the weakness of the writing, plotting or conception seem trivial.
Who cares how goofy The Penguin building a robot penguin to provide home health care for his mother is, or how depressing it is that a clever, trifle of a story from five years ago was expanded into a dark, turgid melodrama when the guy putting the penguins on the page can't even be bothered to move them slightly between panels...?
And that person or those people? Paid professionals too.
Posted by Caleb at 7:48 PM No comments:
Labels: batman, gregg hurwitz, szymon kudranski, the penguin
Monday, November 26, 2012
Some picture books of note:
When Bronto, the young brontosaurus the title refers to, complains of a terrible stomach ache to his parents, he is put in "a special dinosaur ambulance" (a flatbed truck with a red siren on its hood) and rushed to the hospital, where he is examined by a doctor "so pale, you could see right through his skin":
"He must be a Paleontologist," whispered his mother.A paleontologist is, of course, a person who studies dinosaur bones, but an "ontologist" is a philosopher who studies existence and reality.
Is that what they were going for here? The doctor is a pale ontologist...? (I woulda had Bronto's dad shoot back, "Don't be silly, honey; he's obviously a pale oncologist." Ha ha ha ha ha ha!)
I don't know; it leads to a not particularly funny segue—"since you can see through my skin, I'd like to look through yours," the doctor says before taking an X-Ray of Bronto—so perhaps not.
What the doctor finds is a little boy in Bronto's stomach; dinosaurs and modern humans live side by side in this story and, apparently, when Bronto was eating a tree, he accidentally swallowed the boy climbing it and that much "meat" upsets his herbivore belly.
After running through their options, they choose the least dangerous and disgusting one, and the boy ends up with quite a story to tell...although no one believes him, since dinosaurs are supposed to be extinct, dinosaurs ambulances and hospitals notwithstanding.
Maloney and Zekauskas have a pretty grabby title, including an obviously, curiosity-stoking contradiction and, paired with the cover, it was more than enough to inspire me to give the book a look.
It's not a great book, although it does contain images and scenes I imagine a lot of children will find amusing—the one of Bronto sitting on a toilet springs immediately to mind—and is probably a good one to read with a kid.
The most striking image, for me, was that of a carnivore atop a heap of femurs and skeletons, holding a severed arm in one hand and chewing on a human being, it's contorted limbs sticking out of the sides of its jaws.
What I found most alarming, however, is that Bronto is specifically identified as a "Brontosaurus" rather than an "Apataosaurus,", but we've already got human beings and dinosaurs living side by side, and the latter with their own medical system, so perhaps that's not such a big deal in context.
I know that descriptions of Bigfoots and other big, hairy humanoids range in size, shape, color, toe-number and any of many other details, but the Sasquatch in writer Kent Redeker and artist Bob Staake's book bears no resemblance to any 'squatch I've ever heard of...and not simply because he wears a suit and rides the bus.
He's also green, and has serrated forearms, not unlike the claws of a praying mantis, although that could just be the cut of his suit. He does have long, somewhat ape-like arms, huge feet and a long stride, and a compact, neckless head that seems to sit directly between his shoulders.
It's the word "sasquatch" that the book is most interested in, however, and the way it sounds when juxtaposed against "squished" and another "s" word that comes at the climax. Senor Sasquatch wants to ride Mr. Bloblue's bus, but he doesn't like being squished on a crowded bus. Unfortunately for him, Blobule picks up a series of commuter monsters who are composite creatures with at least one large animal in the mix (Mr. Octo-Rhino, Miss Goat-Whale, and so on). (The cryptozoologically inclined might like to know one of these commuters is named Miss Loch-NEss-Monster-Space Alien, and she looks more-or-less like a sea serpent, albeit one with a flying saucer around her neck and a pair of antennae on her head).
Staake's expected flat, simple art rendered in jaunty, occasionally irregular shapes and brilliant colors power the book forward, and make even the repetitive nature of the story a joy for grown-up eyes to glide through; in addition to the crazy character designs, he fills the backgrounds with wonderful drawings of random buildings (the bus passes barns, haunted houses, department stores and so on) and, in at least one image, bus ads). The end pages featuring icon-like images of Staake's green Squatch wearing variously Crayola-colored suits as a sort of wall-paper or wrapping-paper pattern is beautiful too. Like, I actually woulnd't mind wall-papering a room with that exact pattern.
I imagine this is one kids would like being read, shouting along to—if I've learned anything from Mo Willems, it's that kids like shouting instructions regarding buses—but me, I came for Staake's art, which is always worth a look.
Adam Rubin and Daniel Salmieri's fun, funny books about dragons and their love of tacos opens with a kid who is a little more skeptical on the subject than I, however. Judging from his bedroom, full of dragon toys and books and what not, he is apparently something of a dragon expert, but, based on the look on his face (and his dog's face), he doesn't quite buy it:
Among these facts are that, as much as dragons love tacos, they don't like spicy tacos, as it sets off their flame breath, and, naturally, can ruin a good taco party, like the one the kid on the first page throws in order to make friends with some dragons.
Salmieri is a great taco artist and a great dragon artist. While his tacos are uniform in appearance, his dragons are not, and they vary widely and wildly, from your more-or-less standard fantasy dragon seen on the cover (red, horns, bat wings, tail) to some much more idiosyncratic dragons with unusual head shapes and other features.
His lines are super-thin, and his characters have spindly-limbs and tiny eyes, but, despite the relatively alien appearances of most of the characters in the book (there's one boy, one dog and a bunch of dragons), he communicates emotion quite effectively with the few lines he uses.
Scott Campbell, often referred to simply as Scott C., who illustrates Robyn Eversole's funny little story about the culture clash between Asian dragons and European dragons, or, more precisely, the story traditions around each type of dragon. Campbell is responsible for comics like Hickee Comics, the weird "Igloo Head and Tree Head" series form the Flight anthologies and the "Great Showdowns" online images that have since been collected into a book.
After a few pages introducing us to the two types of dragons and their differences—a prime one being that East Dragon and his family were pals with the Emperor, whereas West Dragon had to deal with the knights of a king—Eversole sets in motion the plot which brings the two dragons together.
Seeking to rid himself of the king's knights—which, according to Campbell's delightful illustrations, are something between infesting mice and unruly neighbor kids, all poking him with their tiny lances, jumping on his bed and breaking vases—by giving them a big map that takes them on a very, very long adventure that terminates in the East.
The story is charming, and has a nice little lesson in it, but Campbell's artwork offers plenty of pleasures to the most casual readers as well. The majority of the images are big, long ones, with each two-page spread of pages being filled with an illustration. Campbell's artwork is obviously quite abstracted, and light on certain types of details—dot eyes, little line mouths, if there are mouths, no noses, etc.—but each picture is packed with rich details and little, suggestive mini-stories to find and digest, thanks to how thoroughly he fills the big spaces with small drawings of the giant dragons, and tiny drawings of the much smaller humans.
The dragon party, for example, features some 70 characters engaged in nine different group activities. If you check out only one of the books in this post, it should probably be this one. Well, this one, or maybe the next one...
By the way, wile I've recently learned that dragons love tacos, it turns out they also love pizza:
Once upon a time, Willems re-tells us (as this is a story "re-told" by Willems), there were three dinosaurs who "for no particular reason...made up their beds, poisitoned their chairs just so, and cooked thre bowls of delicious chocolate pudding at varying temperatures."
Why chocolate pudding instead of porridge? Well, who would you rather eat, someone full of porridge or someone full of chocolate?
"OH BOY!" said Papa Dinosaur in his loud, booming voice. "IT IS FINALLY TIME TO LEAVE AND GO TO THE...uhhh...SOMEPLACE ELSE!"
The dinosaurs, having apparently read, or at least heard, the story of Goldilocks and the three bears before, have set a trap, hoping she'll come to their house, so they can eat her.
Eventually, Goldilocsk, a little girl who "never listened t warning about the dangers of barging into strange, enormous houses," sees the dinosaurs' strange, enormous house and barges right in, acting out the familiar elements of the story as best she can, given the circumstances (Dinosaurs, remember, are a lot bigger than bears).
Everything works out for the best...or for the worst, depending on whether we're talking about the Goldilocks or the Three Dinosaurs, and a Willems offers a very valuable moral...and a very valuable moral for dinosaurs.
Having called attention to Maloney and Zekauskas' use of the word "brontosaurus" earlier, I feel compelled to note that one of these three dinosaurs is not your typical Theropod, but looks like a weird composite, with the head of a Styracosaurus, a Stegosaurus-like spiked tail, sharp carnivore teeth and a bipedal gait. It's possible it's meant to be a Dracorex, but some of the details don't quite match up.
Of course, the third dinosaur is referred to as "some other Dinosaur who happened to be visiting from Norway," and while I do watch dinosaur documentaries in my free time a lot, I don't think I've ever seen one specific to the dinosaurs of Norway, nor do I feel like googling Norwegian dinosaurs at the moment, as I still have a half-dozen more picture books to discuss.
That said, Willems is a great artist with amazing cartooning chops, and these particular characters continue to offer him the venue through which he does his most dynamic and expressive character work.
Stephanie Buscema's artwork, and I particularly enjoy the painted-looking texture of it—I rarely see an images of hers that doesn't look like I should be able to rub my fingertips over it and feel the grit of paint or the tiny little ant head-sized bumps of high-quality paper, but I've yet to find a picture book featuring her illustrations that I liked as a whole, rather than just as a vehicle for her art.
This one, written by Maggie Miler and Michael Leviton, comes closest.
The premise is teased on the cover, and thoroughly delineated on the first page:
"CONGRATULATIONS! Your house is now officially haunted!" the text on the next page reads, above a two-page image of a friendly-looking ghost flowing out of an open book in the hands of a surprised and delighted little boy. The ghost is of the eyes, mouth and sheet variety, although it has a purple ball-cap and red and orange-striped arms and hands on the sides of it's white, comma-shaped body.
Different children appear throughout the story, as do different ghosts; there's a boy ghost, which we see first, and a girl ghost, who accompanies little girls. The girl ghost has a bow instead of a ball-cap. Both genders wear what look like red Converse All-Stars (or a generic knock off) on their invisible feet; the boy ghost wears high-tops, the girl ghost wears, um, the other kind.
Because ghosts are invisible, silent and intangible, there's no way for a reader to prove that a ghost didn't come with the book, and the narrators do offer a few types of ghostly interaction:
If you shiver even though it's not cold, it means you bumped into your ghost...When you get the hiccups, it means your ghost is tickling you. When you yawan, it means your ghost is hugging you.
The text offers a few facts about ghosts, their virtues and their drawbacks, and suggestions on how to care for and play with your ghost, while Buscema's artwork draws various children going about their days with their variously ghostly friends.
Tad Carpenter's gorgeous Christmas book, Santa Claus suffers from a combination of seasonal affective disorder and post-holiday blues: After another successful Christmas, Santa Claus feels sad: "There were no toys to make, no cookies to eat, and no presents to wrap..."
Presumably feeling a bit empty and deflated after the biggest day of the year, Santa feels down, and while his wife, his elves and his reindeer all try to reason with him and cheer him up, nothing they say or do, no matter how true or how well-intentioned, seems to be able to shake him out of his funk. He just doesn't enjoy the things he used to enjoy as much as he used to enjoy them. It's a pretty good picture of what depression feels like, honestly, but Depressed Santa probably isn't that great a title.
And Carptenter's illustrations of a despondent Santa, his circle of friends and family all casting concerned looks his way, is heartbreaking enough as it is (The spread on page seven and eight, for example, shows Santa wearing the same expression he has on the cover, holding his head in his hands as he sits at a table littered with boxed-up Christmas decorations. A gingerbread man on his plate and a little snowman in a snowglobe look up at him with similarly worried looking face, and, off in the corner, unseen by Santa, an elf and a cat similarly sadly regard the once jolly old elf.
Santa gets his groove back eventually, without benefit of medication or therapy, and I won't spoil it, should you want to check the book out. What sold me on it was how powerfully Carpenter captured the two words of the title in the image he put on the cover. The art inside is fantastic.
Carpenter has a very cute design style, and his characters and art are all quite flat, with little depth or dimensionality. They look something like cookies, homemade Christmas card character or grade school craft projects, only with a professional polish. The art work is done atop a very grainy paper that looks like a particularly pulpy brown paper bag or, perhaps, cardboard, and there's an extremeley limited color pallette of white, dark brown, red and turquoise employed quite creatively to render the various familiar characters in striking and unusual ways (choosing red for Santa and the elves skin color, for example, which marks them as different from regular human beings, three of whom are seen on the first page with white, light brown and dark brown skin, without assigning these magical, shared-by-everyone characters a particular race or ethnicity).
It's really fine work, and now is perhaps the second-most perfect time to read it. The most perfect time would, of course, be somewhere between December 26 and January 6 or so.
He talks to some various monsters with prosaic names like Wayne and Martin, asking if he can borrow a sock, in broken, monster English:
"What need?"And so on.
"No sock. Just toes."
There's not a whole lot to Frank W. Dormer's short, simple, sweet story of a Socksquatch looking for a sock, but what is there is golden.
Leo Landry draws the cutest goddam ghost in Oliver, a little ghost who is planning a Halloween party for all of his spooky friends: Witches, skeletons, spiders, black cats and other ghosts, mostly. On Halloween day, when he's flying around passing out invitations, he drops one that falls into the hands of two little boys.
After greeting "Skully and Jake! The Spooky Bones band!" and the bats the two skeleton brought with them, Oliver hears another knock on the door and who should arrive but...
I love that image; how happy the kids look, how uncomfortable the pumpkins look and, especially, Oliver's blank, stunned expression. (I also love that one of the kids dressed up as a cow for some reason, instead of a more traditional generic Halloween costume).
Well, Oliver and his friends let the cow and jack-o'-lantern come in and dance and go for broom rides and a good time is had by all. So good, in fact, that he is invited to one of the kids' birthday parties!
Again, this is a very simple story, and there's not a whole lot to it, but the artwork and designs are just darling, and the expressions Landry draws on many of the characters cracked me up repeatedly.
There's a weird, but fun, disconnect between the nature of the story and they style in which it's illustrated, between the presumed audience and the stars.
"Monster Island was the home of all the Earth's giant monsters, and every day the monsters played on the island's sunny beach," the book begins, before describing the playful activities of Gigan, Megalon, Anguirus, Varan, Manda and Rodan (Only about half of whom I could match the name to the image of; say, IDW should put out a Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe style comic featuring all the Godzilla monsters).
"But not all the monsters played together," we are told, "One monster sat alone..."
Godzilla was the biggest, strongest, and toughest of all the monsters. Because he was so powerful, the others were afraid of him.Yes, I had the same problem in school.
That's where the story ends, so I don't know what happened next. I assume they all fight, kill and eat one another at some point.
Posted by Caleb at 6:19 PM No comments:
Labels: mo willems, not comics, picture books, staake
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Say, wait a minute...
But The Amazing Spider-Man wears a red mask, not a blue one! Why, the only person I can think of who wears a blue-colored Spider-Man mask like that would be Web-Man, the twin of Spider-Man's that Dr. Doom created in 1977's Spidey Super Stories #25, whom Doom affectionately refers to as "Webby"...!resident clone expert Chris Sims' classic Invincible Super-Blog posts on Spidey Super Stories #25 here, here and here.)
So does that mean Web-Man was in that Amazing Spider-Man movie that came out this past summer, which I still haven't seen, even though there's a DVD of it sitting right here on this end table, where it's sat all week? Man, I would have ponied up the cast to see it on the big screen if I knew The Lizard was going to be joined by Webby in opposing Spider-Man!
(Let me now take this opportunity to once again request that Marvel release Essential Spidey Super Stories ASAP: "Marvel, please collect and release a few volumes of Essential Spidey Super Stories.")
Posted by Caleb at 9:36 PM 3 comments:
Labels: links, not comics, phoning it in, spider-man
Saturday, November 24, 2012
As individuals and as a team, the creators have built-up large bodies of great work that the mention of their names is all a lot of readers will need to know about the style and quality of the book, and "living, killing castle" gives the reader the core, compelling premise.
All that really remains to be discussed then, is perhaps where the book might fall on a scale of past Strnad and Corben collaborations and solo projects, and the specifics of that premise. For the sake of a meatier post, then, I'll keep going...at least for a few more paragraphs, but suffice it to say this is a very good horror comic by two guys who are very good at making horror comics.
Corben's highly-textured art is presented in a very stark black and gray, with particularly luminescent whites appearing to render light sources and planes where the light has, um, alighted. The full-cover colors, some of which contain quite a bit less black than that of the collection's cover, are quite jarring when they appear between issue/chapters.
The story is a bit of a pastiche, beginning in a decrepit castle which lends the comic its title on a very dark, very stormy night. Liberal inspiration is taken from H.P. Lovecraft: In the ultimate extraterrestrial origin of supernatural threats, the presence of tentacled horrors worshipped by primitive cultures as gods and in the exposition delivered through a fevered, mad dream. Oh, and there's also the word "chitinous," which is one of a handful of words I don't think I've ever read or heard outside of a Lovecraft story...or a story deliberately referencing Lovecraft's oeuvre. (The specific usage is "Damn your chitinous hide," which has been stuck in my head like a snatch of a pop song over the course of the last 24 hours).
Inspiration is taken also from Edgar Allen Poe, whose word Corben has spent a great deal of time and energy adapting in other projects, particularly in the second chapter, during which the protagonist relates previous events in the form of an Annabell Lee-like poem.
There's great risk in talking too much or too specifically about the story, as I think it offers greater delights the less you know about it. The most enjoyable parts for me were when it would take a quite unexpected turn for the weird, which it does several times; each was quite unexpected, and each ratchets up the insanity of the narrative to another degree. And remember, it begins with the story of a living castle, so Robert E. Howard-style plot points, magical realist acknowledgment of the bizarre living side-by-side by the more real and a Hammer Films-like low-camp delivery of lines like "I have baboons to feed" or anything said by or about Tristano.
While so many of the sources of the, um, pastichement are from outside of comics, it's Corben's particular designs and their application in the comics medium that are the strongest selling point (as pleasing as the weirdness is, it's the way the weirdness is rendered that makes it so delightful—see panels three, four and five on page 38 for a good example).
Corben's baboons, which live in the lower sections of Ragemoor for some reason, are drawn as if he based them on written descriptions of the first Englishman to encounter them, rather than from the easily-available image reference of, say, Google Image—they look like furry human beings with tails, wearing the elongated skulls of some kind of carnivore, perhaps a "real" baboon, over their true heads, so their white, pinpoint eyes stare out from the black cavities.
Comics are a pretty good place to render a living castle, as it turns out. While the castle in movement is shown in multiple instances, usually when quaking to rearrange itself, or when a gargoyle comes to life and rips a victim's chest out in a big, gory arc or when a stone hand sinks into the earth in a three-panel sequence, the movement is sometimes quite subtle—there's a page featuring a panel of five stone pillars standing erect, and, further down, a panel where they've closed.
Because the time that elapses between panels is up to the reader's imagination to fill-in, the effect of stone moving so slowly that a person can't be sure they are imagining it or not is possible in comics—although, I should not, Ragemoor is paced so that no such mysteries are dwelt upon. No sooner is the castle's particular nature revealed, beginning on page two, and a skeptic announces his disbelief than we see the castle itself in action.
As active as Castle Ragemoor may be, as in-control of it's own destiny as it may be, it is still a setting, and perhaps more enjoyable as a setting than as a character—after all, it's as a setting that it provides Strnad and Corben a place to put all of these delightfully weird moments.
Okay, one minor spoiler. There's a couple drawings of dinosaurs in the book:
Posted by Caleb at 3:03 PM 1 comment:
Seen today at Walmart*
They see them in the movies, and the cartoon shows and the video games. I don't know, maybe they even see them occasionally in the comic books. When they can scrape together enough birthday money and allowance to buy a stack of $3-$4 pamphlets, convince an adult to drive them to the nearest comic book store (which might be quite a ways away, depending on where they live), and succeed in finding some with too few beheadings, dismemberments and rape references for their parents to notice and blanch at.
And, obviously, they see the superheroes in the toy aisles of the various big-box retail outlets their parents shop at, like the Walmart.
How much do they love the superheroes? They just kind of love them in general. They don't have to be the name-brand ones from DC Entertainment and Marvel Entertainment; they just like superheroes, regardless of name or trademark. Which is why Walmart sells not only toys featuring licensed characters from the latest Spider-Man movie and cartoon, and from that Avengers movie everyone liked, or wares featuring Batman and the Justice Leaguers for every age group, they also sell these generic play sets, pictured above.
Six bucks (the cost of 1.5 issues of, say, the brand-new Iron Man or Indestructible Hulk comics) will get you a silver black domino-like mask and matching black and silver cape, or a set of red "power bands" and matching belt.
Or hey, how about this red,
Why, I believe that's the same shield that Agent America or perhaps The Fighting American, used to carry...
*I wasn't shopping there, I swear! I was just accompanying two beloved family members who shop there on the regular. I'm a dues-paying member of a union, and was at my previous day-job too! I ain't no scab! Alright, yes, I did eat some cookies that one of those family members bought. Does that make me a bad person? Oh God, I am a bad person, aren't I?
Posted by Caleb at 12:52 PM 1 comment:
Labels: not comics, phoning it in
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Comic shop comics: November 21
Not sure I understood the first few panels of the next page, but then, the super-science is murky enough that I couldn't tell you how it worked anyway.
There's one more issue to go in this story arc, and I'm rather eager to see it, as there's a reveal in this issue that makes it clear that what I thought was happening—because the villain told me it was happening—isn't actually happening, so I want to see what's really happening.
Anyway: This really great book remains really great.
The fill-in artist is Javier Pulido, and you could hardly ask for a better one, although it's worth noting that Pulido's presence has altered the look and feel of the book fairly dramatically, as he provides much bigger panels and less elaborate layouts calling for fewer panels. The leads look awfully off-model, but that is largely the fault of Marvel not having models any more, and thus the Hawkeyes won't look like themselves whenever someone other than Aja draws them (and to nitpick, there's an action scene in which a couple of people try to pick Clint Barton's pocket while he's inside the backseat of a cab that doesn't really work; I had to slow down and reread it and think about it for a long while, and I still couldn't get it to visually make sense in my head).
This is also the first story that isn't a strict done-in-one, although it does have something of a beginning, middle and an end of it's own...it's just that the ending is itself a cliffhanger.
This is also also the first story that seems to take into account events from another Marvel book, which I assume is Secret Avengers, but it could very well be that writer Matt Fraction is inventing something that seems like it took place in another book, simply because we didn't see it take place in this book and that, in fact, it wasn't something that took place in a published comic book.
I don't know; I don't really get it. The maguffin is a VHS tape (hey, didn't I read a similar story in the also-edited-by-Stephen-Wacker Daredevil a few months back? Involving a flashback and Stilt-Man?) of Hawkeye "committing the assassination of the world's most wanted criminal terrorist," and, I don't know, "assassination" and "criminal terrorist" don't really go together. I mean, the President of the United States of America kills criminal terrorists and/or anyone nearby them pretty much constantly with robot death planes, and no one seems to consider that "assassination," nor does anyone in the U.S. seem particular embarrassed about it. So I'm not sure why an Avenger doing it with a bow and arrow is such a big deal. Maybe they'll get to that next issue...
Oh. Also: Wolverine. That dudes an Avenger, and he stabs dudes to death with greater frequency then I update my blog.
Well, what began as a semi-charming impression of Silver Age/Bronze Age super-comics has grown to be more and more tedious with each passing issue. In this one, we get writer Jamie S. Rich calling back to plot points from a previous series (like, more than a decade previous...?) from a different publisher featuring these characters, answering questions no body asked and finding connections to the past instead of forging a future like a 1970s Roy Thomas.
The only thing about the book that's not nostalgic...? The story arc is taking forever; this is the fourth chapter of a story that should take about two issues, tops, to tell, and there's a fifth on the way, and there aren't even really any sub-plots to justify the amount of time it's taking to tell (It Girl's sister has an evil duplicate, created when she was brought back to life during the Oni Comics series).
This is definitely my last issue of the series, although if what was said in earlier issues regarding guest artists like Chynna Clugston doing one-shots between story-arcs, I suppose I'll be back every once in a while for those.
the first one, in which they used their bare hands, but it's still pretty scary, as this time they are armed with such makeshift weaponry as Smurf-sized pitchforks, rolling pins and hammers (Gargamel fed 'em a potion that transformed them variously, if you're wondering why so many of 'em look so weird).
Also, I'm not sure which song I find more annoying: The cartoon Smurfs' high-pitched "La la la la la la", or the comics Smurfs' lyrically redundant "It's the Smurf smurf smurf who goes smurf smurf smurf"....
best "Under the Radar" books of the year (Yeah, it's just too bad The New 52 didn't attract more attention, isn't it...?), regular artist Cliff Chiang is MIA, and even the usual fill-in artist Tony Akins is reduced to just doing lay-outs, which Dan Green and Rick Burchett finish.
Wonder Woman is a rather rare book in that even the fill-in art tends to be exceptional; here, the fill-in artists for the fill-in artist provide higher-quality work than the regular artists for the vast majority of DC books. (Honestly, I wouldn't mind Burchett finishing Akin every month, even though I do like Chiang's art quite a bit. In a perfect world, Burchett would be illustrating a well-written DC superhero book on an ongoing basis but, alas, ours is not a perfect world).
Perhaps the most noteworthy event of this issue, aside from the change in artists, is that we get the first good look at the New 52 versions of two Jack Kirby creations, Orion (who appeared briefly in silhouette for a few panels a few issues ago) who, I am happy to report, is not the mysterious giant who ate the dude's brain last issue (that dude, by the way, has, like, no penis; no wonder he's so irritable).
Highfather appears on-panel, but in silhouette, with only his hair, beard, eyes and teeth showing. The space they move in is empty, and features only a few "props;" a door, a map of earth, some floating screens with rows of blue, vertical lines blipping like hospital heart monitors on them. It's a very subdued look for the usually bombastic world of the New Gods, but it is, after all, just a peek.
Posted by Caleb at 7:08 PM 2 comments:
Labels: comic shop comics
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)