Author: Ryan

Continuing our countdown to Seven Soldiers #1…

One of the unexpected highlights of the event was Klarion the Witchboy, a book I had few expectations regarding. But Morrison’s reinterpretation of the character, along with some gorgeous art by Frazer Irving, made this one of my favourite series. On display here, a brief snapshot of why the book was so awesome:

Grant Morrison is very good.

He’s one of my favourite writers and, along with Alan Moore, is in the very exclusive “Try Anything He Writes” club. He’s not always great, but he’s almost always interesting. He tries a lot of different things, and while he always brings that certain Morrison something, no two books are exactly alike. To demonstrate his talent, we’ve got two books that are a) very different and b) unlikely to attract me if written by nearly anyone else.

Wildcats used to be big. Really big. I remember when the first issue came out, and how it seemed like one of the most important things in the world because it was drawn by the biggest comic artist in the universe. I have no idea what it was about, and I’m not entirely sure it made sense then. Since then, the title has waxed and waned, I’ve read very little of it, and Jim Lee no longer impresses me very much. Now Lee is back, and his baby is serving as the flagship title to Wildstorm’s much-needed revamp, even if it is more than a month late.

The first issue of the relaunch suffers from one of the major flaws of Wetworks: There seems to be an assumption that the audience knows who everyone is and what they’re supposed to be doing. There’s a brief bit of exposition on the history of superheroes in the Wildstorm Universe, but after that it switches over to Spartan reassembling a superteam and scoping out old bad guys. He also has sex with Voodoo. Essentially, it reads like Volume 2 (or 3, 4, or whatever the franchise may be up to) which is supposed to immediately follow the previous volume – there’s a bit of catching up with the characters but not a whole lot of explaining. But Wildcats hasn’t had this much of a publicity push in nearly a decade, and it hasn’t had such a high profile creative team in at least a few years. All that seems to say “explain what the hell is going on a bit more clearly,” but Morrison only gives a general sense of the cast and setting.

Of course, a lack of focus on character also means you can jump straight into the action… But Morrison doesn’t really do that, either. Grifter beats up a few alien thugs, but that’s about it. The story basically treads water, updating the status quo of the characters without effectively reintroducing them or having them do anything.

The crux of the book is clearly the conversation between Spartan and Voodoo, where the former lays out the mission statement for the book: “All the widescreen battles and public displays of stupidity: It’s vulgar and frightening. Adolescent. How would truly adult superheroes behave?”

And then they have sex and we see a couple badass imposing villains who are probably significant but aren’t really explained. Morrison and Spartan talk a mean game, but haven’t put much on the table here. It feels like Morrison concentrated too much on resurrecting Lee’s prize franchise, and not enough on bringing his own vision to a title that’s stumbled about for an identity almost since its inception.

The Authority, on the other hand, is clearly where Morrison brought his Idea Hat. It’s not what one would expect from either the Authority or Morrison, but it’s still a tremendous first issue.

The Authority was kind of cool when Warren Ellis wrote it, but since then it’s been all about ultraviolent, in-your-face superheroics. It’s called “taking the concept and beating it into the ground,” and while that might be fine for X-Men, it’d be nice if Authority was ahead of the field in concept and execution instead of merely getting off to a good start and then being overtaken. So here, then, Morrison unleashes hs new approach: Superheroes in the real world.

Or, in the case of this issue, just the real world: The story here is given over to a mishap on a submarine. There are reports of violence, an explosion, and then the sub goes quiet. A rescue/recovery team is sent to investigate and retrieve what it can, though that means pulling the lead officer away from his rapidly crumbling marriage. When they reach the sub’s resting place, they find a disturbing lack of bodies and a large, unexpected mass that isn’t entirely natural.

And that’s it. There’s no Authority to be found here; the focus is entirely on the sub operator, his wife, and his mission. It’s a slow, deliberate pace intended to ground the story in the “real world,” complete with CNN reading recent headlines like “Pope offends muslims.” It’s an interesting tactic by Morrison, whose plots usually come at the reader like a charging rhino on steroids, and usually exist in a hyperactive reality full of wonder and absurdity.

Its success is largely due to the stellar work by Gene Ha, who’s always been good but shoots himself up into the elite with his work here. The obvious point of reference is probably John Cassaday’s more grounded work like I Am Legion – it’s stunningly authentic without being bogged down by needless details. Most important is the dull, ominous mood he brings to the book. The “real world” itself feels grey and drab, and the undersea expedition is dark and imposing. The final reveal of what caused the sub accident is impressive for what it doesn’t show, as well as what it does: A huge, imposing thing sitting at the bottom of the ocean, flitting in and out of darkness. Jim Lee might be the artistic star of Wildstorm’s relauch, but Ha is clearly the master.

Naturally, it’s not what Authority readers might expect: Not only is there no brain-splitting violence, there’s not even any Authority. But since I don’t really care about the team, I don’t have any problem with that. What is potentially problematic is the pacing: As much as this issue is a tremendous slow-burn that builds mood and tension, it might be too slow for a book that’s already bi-monthly. Slowing down the story can be an effective tactic, but it can be problematic if the plot advances only incrementally each month. This might make for a fantastic graphic novel, but a somewhat frustrating periodical.

Still, it’s a gorgeous, impressive, and daring book that doesn’t do much of anything you expect it to (aside from look really good). This is the first Wildstorm relaunch I’ve read that actually feels like it’s trying to do something new (indeed, at the expense of pissing off old readers), which is the sort of thing Authority used to be known for.

After an excruciating delay, Grant Morrison will conclude his Seven Soldiers epic next week. I’m more than a little miffed at having to wait another six months after the first 29 issues came out bi-weekly almost like clockwork, but what the heck – this is one of those books that I’m confident I’ll be re-reading in 5 or 10 years, and no one will care that much. It’s still been the best comics even of the past year, and it’s still going to be Grant Morrison and J.H. Williams together again. I have no idea how he’s going to tie everything together in 40 pages, but I desperately want to see him try.

So, in celebration and anticipation, each day for the next week I’m going to look back at one of the moments that made Seven Soldiers so utterly awesome. First up, we go right back to the beginning for J.H. Williams on Seven Soldiers #0, and a little bit of mass superhero slaughter:

I like war stories, but much like superhero stories, they tend to run into a problem: There have been so many over the past 50 years that it’s hard to tell one that’s original or unique. Of course, comic book war stories have declined in popularity over that time; what was once a staple of the medium only rears its head from time to time, and nearly half of those seem to be written by Garth Ennis.

The Other Side is something of a rarity, then: For one thing, it skips the more traditional World War II setting in favour of Vietnam. And while it’s not entirely original, it does present a unique spin on an old standard.

The book could very easily be called Both Sides, as that’s the essential concept of the story thus far: Writer Jason Aaron tells the story of an American draftee and a Vietnamese conscript as they go through training and prepare for deployment in the jungle. The young men have similar experiences, if different motives: Billy is drafted, trained, and sent to a country he probably couldn’t find on a map because that’s what the government wants. Vo Binh Dai enlists to fight the war on his own doorstep that has ravaged his country and taken his brothers and sisters. Neither wants to fight, but both are willing to do what they must; both endure training and are haunted by the ghosts of their fallen comrades, as well as the dreaded spectres of the enemy.

It’s not the most original of concepts, but Aaron gives both protagonists distinct character, even if they may veer a bit too close to “everyman”. More compelling than that, though, is the black sense of humour that pervades Billy’s part of the story: He’s haunted by the ghosts of maimed and mutilated soldiers, abused by his drill sergeant, and has a rifle that whispers sweet nothings in his ear that no one else can hear. It’s an absurd reaction to a ridiculous situation that Billy can’t quite understand, and it’s much funnier than it should be. Vo Binh’s story is more sober, as the war is much less of an abstraction for him: He’s far more sincere, and more eager to live up to the expectations placed upon him by society.

While Aaron has a nice take on the story, the real star of the book is Cameron Stewart, who’s about the last person I’d expect to take on a dark war book: His work on Seaguy and Guardian is about as far from realistic or grounded as one can get. But he knocks The Other Side out of the park with a style that’s still distinctively his, yet adapted perfectly to the story at hand. It’s no surprise that he perfectly conveys the absurdity of basic training, but the level of detail he employs for the ghosts is both comedic and disturbing at once. It’s still simple and clean, but far more nuanced than his superhero work, and he opens and closes the book with gorgeous splash pages that perfectly capture the mood of the war. I’ve enjoyed Stewart’s work for the past couple years, but he’s unquestionably elevated himself on the list of artists to watch with his work here.

I’m curious as to where the story will go from here, whether the two protagonists will meet or continue to mirror each other unknowingly. And I suspect that even if Aaron’s story stumbles, this will continue to be a highly readable book for Stewart’s art alone. The war story may be a hoary old cliché, but it’s still possible to tell a compelling tale in the genre; The Other Side is at worst an entertaining black comedy with some gorgeous art, and it has the potential to be a good deal more.

Doctor Strange is an odd character. Most of the time he comes off as the magical equivalent of Reed Richards: Brilliant, but kind of a dull character who’s only there to be the Magic Guy. I’ve read only a handful of Doctor Strange comics, and honestly can’t remember any of them. Most of the time, he’s the guy who shows up in other people’s books to explain the horrible magical problem that’s going on and to help out as much as possible without actually being terribly useful. I enjoyed his role in the Dead Girl series, but that was a more tongue-in-cheek role that had a bit of fun with Strange’s typical role in the Marvel Universe.

There’s not a whole lot that could persuade me to buy a Doctor Strange comic other than a very good creative team. Alan Moore or Neil Gaiman could probably do wonders with the character, but it’s still beneath either one’s talents. Peter Milligan wrote a good Strange, but probably not the kind that would hold up to serious, long-term storytelling. Brian K. Vaughan is probably one of the creators I’d least associate with the good doctor: His work is usually more grounded than one expects from the Master of the Mystic Arts, his stories more about average people put into extraordinary circumstances. It’s hard to see him writing “By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth”, unless it’s coming out of Yorick’s ironic and pop-culture-plagued head.

But Vaughan nevertheless turns in a good story with the character, though I haven’t the faintest idea if it’s consistent with history and continuity. The magical elements are present, but relegated to the background as much as they could be in a comic called Doctor Strange. The central story elements are as grounded as most of Vaughan’s work: Doctor Strange is shot by a robber and taken to the local superhero hospital by his trusty sidekick, Wong. After kicking Arana and Iron Fist out of the waiting room, Night Nurse sets about saving Strange’s life, with a bit of help from his astral projection.

It’s here that the story unfolds in flashback: When he found out that Wong was suffering from an inoperable, fatal brain tumour (is there any other kind in fiction?), Strange dedicated himself to helping his long-time friend and companion. The usual medical treatments being ineffective, Strange does what any other doctor would do: He travels to another dimension, fights a gigantic monster, and retrieves a mystical cure for Wong’s cancer.

For a story about cancer, The Oath is probably more fun than it should be: Vaughan brings a light, yet human, touch to the magical master. The opening scene in the waiting room is funny (“No, I don’t know where Power Man is. We’re partners, not a couple.”), and his portrayal of Night Nurse as a woman who’s almost seen it all very nearly makes me wish for a Night Nurse mini. Strange and Wong have an almost Odd Couple relationship, with Strange handling the big, important, magical stuff while Wong deals with the down-to-earth stuff like cleaning and beating up muggers.

As is Vaughan’s style, though, the humour doesn’t distract from the humanity: Strange and Wong clearly care for one another, and the way they look out for each other in their own way is touching. Nor does it get in the way of a compelling plot, as Vaughan gradually ratchets up the tension before concluding it with one of his trademark cliffhangers. Marcos Martin’s art suits the story’s tone, alternating between light and dramatic as Vaughan decrees. It’s a lighter, style that at times reminds me of Mike Allred, treading the line between humour and drama and only occasionally slips.

There was a time when Marvel churned out series starring their second and third-tier characters like a drunken butcher making sausages. Lately, though, they seem to be realizing that throwing a bunch of books on the shelves without much in the way of promotion or high-profile creators doesn’t really get them anywhere. Vaughan’s Doctor Strange is a book that approaches the character from an artistic angle instead of merely a copyright retention one. It’s certainly a step in the right direction, as it’s likely to produce at least one first: Me buying at least two issues of Doctor Strange in a row.

These people suck:

• People who post eBay autions with misleading titles. The title says “Justice League 1-50!”, but when you click the link they’ve only got 1, 3, 15, 35, 49-50. Yah for getting more people to look at your auction, but big SUCK! for pissing them off when they do.
• Potential employers who interview people for jobs and then never call back. It takes two minutes to call or email someone and thell them they suck.
• Me, apparently. Even though they won’t tell me.
• Greg Land:(image courtesy of CBR forums)

As a counterpoint, though, I bring you one person who doesn’t suck – J.H. Williams III:
Yes, it’s only six months late. Who cares?