Category: Comics

If you’re a regular reader, you’re probably aware that I was a huge fan of Mike Carey’s Lucifer, and that I eagerly anticipated his new book, Crossing Midnight. His exploration of Japanese spirits interfering in the lives of a set of twins was good, and had many intriguing elements, but it wasn’t great. Perhaps I’m just impatient, but I wanted great right out of the gates. The latest issue isn’t quite great, but it’s a big leap forward from an already good book, and it solidifies the book’s place on my reading list. There’s no question about it: Crossing Midnight is quickly becoming one of my favourite books.

(Incidentally, I’m going to try and write this review without referring to Lucifer. If you were a fan of Carey’s Miltonian epic, you’re probably already reading Crossing Midnight; if not, then all the glowing comparisons in the world probably don’t mean much to you. Still, though: Go and read Lucifer. You won’t regret it, particularly once you get to the second trade.)

Carey changes tactics with this issue, switching focus from the mystical world to the “real” one. He explains the threat to Toshi & Kai’s father, revealed by Nidoru, spirit of needles, last issue: The very real, very dangerous, Yakuza gangsters. After noticing some accounting and shipping irregularities, Yasuo Hara is told by his boss to keep quiet and mind his own business. The local Yakuza, led by the blind Mr. So, is unhappy that anyone noticed the problem, and sees that Yasuo is promoted after his boss unexpectedly vacates the position. After a fairly gruesome initiation, Yasuo finds himself in the Yakuza’s pocket, cooking the books and making sure the money laundering goes smoothly – a task that becomes considerably more difficult when an auditor arrives for an inspection.

It’s a fairly straightforward crime story – Yakuza are almost always cooler than the Mafia – though Carey adds his quirks, such as Mr. So demanding descriptions from his sighted lieutenant. So has a flair for the dramatic and the gruesome, testing loyalty and punishing failure with equal vigour. It’s only in the final pages of the story, as Yasuo approaches a choice with no right answer, that Kai and Nidoru reappear. Even then, it’s not quite as simple as an ancient and powerful spirit dispatching some Yakuza thugs: The spirit world and the real one have been mixing long before Kai and Toshi’s story began. The story is less about Yasuo himself than it is about his exposure to a new world: Like his children, he is plunged into something he knows nothing about, a bizarre existence dominated by powerful players.

Carey had previously hinted at the role the real world would play in his story – Toshi’s attempted defence against Lord Aratsu, and the detective who knows more than he lets on – and he brings Nagasaki’s other underworld to light most effectively here. He also builds nicely on Yasuo, who, along with Toshi and Kai’s mother, had previously been merely concerned, set-decorating parents. It’s another layer to a book that was already getting fairly complex, but Carey manages to keep the story intriguing and mysterious without veering off into confusion.

Jim Fern also turns in some of his best work on the series thus far, though he hasn’t quite answered my concerns about his work. As he’s already demonstrated, he’s a very capable artist when it comes to the real world and regular people, and has a nice flair – aided amply by colourist Jose Villarubia – for dark and moody scenes. It’s the obvious and impressively magical beings he has trouble with: Nidoru looks somehow out of place, like a cartoon character who wandered into a Takashi Miike film. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for a while longer: He obviously has talent, and perhaps a bit of improvement combined with some different scripting decisions by Carey will even the book out a bit. Like Carey, Fern is still finding his footing – though quite a bit more slowly than his partner – though he manages to hit the notes exactly with the final pages, as Yasuo sees a vision of his daughter in danger:

The final page is even better, and offers a hell of a tantalizing view of the future of the series. But I’m not going to tell you what it is, of course.

This issue works quite well even on its own; while it’s obviously improved by knowing a bit of backstory, such as where Nidoru came from, it’s surprisingly self-contained. It’s still just the second half of a two-part story, the second story arc which began to build on the promise shown by the opening arc. Crossing Midnight is already my favourite Vertigo book being published, and it’s got the legs to go much, much further than that. If the first issue or two didn’t wow you, come on back: It’s beginning to hit its stride, and it could easily become one of the best books around if it keeps going in this direction.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Or not. Adrian Tomine doesn’t do happy endings. He barely even does “endings” in the usual sense: His stories tend to be snapshots, moments in the life of the protagonist that keeps going on after the story ends. Epiphanies and revelations are in short supply, and those that do come along don’t always change someone’s life for the better. Often, the life-changing moment comes only in the final panels, and the audience never sees what effect it ultimately has.

Tomine has stuck with this structure while increasing the length of his stories. The latest issue of Optic Nerve concludes his epic three-part story (told over three years – people who complain about DC and Marvel books being sporadically scheduled are wusses) about Ben Tanaka and his trouble with women.

Ben is still kind of an asshole. Not as much of one as he appeared in part 1, but not as sympathetic as he seemed when he was being jerked around by crazy women in part 2. He’s self-involved, hostile, and paranoid. He’s obsessed with racial biases, both real and imagined, and he’s generally pretty tactless and socially inept.

Like many of Tomine’s protagonists, he’s not terribly sympathetic. Unless, of course, you happen to have something in common with him; unless you’re kind of self-involved, maybe a little hostile, chasing after some vague ideal you heard about when you were 10, and generally have no idea what you’re doing with your life.

I don’t know anyone like that, though. Nope.

Ben doesn’t really elevate or redeem himself, but Tomine reveals kind-of-ex-girlfriend Miko to be less than blameless in causing their relationship woes. It’s both a cliché and an avoidance of one: The obvious resolution to the story would be for Ben to realize he was wrong and plead for Miko’s forgiveness. Tomine doesn’t fall for the predictable sentimentality, though: Even at this crux in his life, Ben doesn’t now whether he should be angry or sad, whether he actually wants to be with Miko or not. His final lines make one wonder whether he’s learned anything at all.

Ben’s turmoil is only increased – though he barely knows it – by the life of his best friend Alice, the former radical, commitment-phobic, who actually appears to have settled down in New York. Alice is a lot like Ben: She’s moderately hostile and self involved, and generally pretty blunt, if not tactless. But she’s managed, even if it’s subconscious, to look at her life and make a change for the better.

Ben, on the other hand, is just stuck and confused: He honestly doesn’t seem to understand what happened to his life, not even the parts that are his own fault. And while some readers will just want to smack him, others may end up with an eerie, creepy sensation that this all seems just a bit too familiar.

Not me, though. Nope. Upcoming thirtieth birthday has nothing to do with it.

Ben could be a hero or a villain, though he wouldn’t fit either role terribly well. He’s just a guy with some faults who makes some stupid choices and has some bad luck. He’s kind of an asshole, a bit of a fuckup, but he’s not really a bad person. In typical Optic Nerve fashion, Tomine just presents Ben as he is at this moment in time, and lets the audience decide how to feel.

In Optic Nerve, Tomine takes an “art as a mirror” approach. His lack of commentary or conventional narrative lets the audience decide what to feel about the characters (if such a thing can be decided consciously). For some, Tomine’s stories all look the same, borderline nihilstic tales of unlikeable losers. But for others, who maybe see something of themselves, he continues to tell compelling stories about real people in unfortunate circumstances.

For my money, no one does “real life” like Tomine. Every issue of Optic Nerve is a cause for celebration, and also for a bit of sadness: As much as I enjoy each issue, it always comes with the knowledge that it will probably be another year or so until the next issue arrives.

But it’s always worth the wait.

Hawkman is much cooler when he’s an alien than when he’s just some guy who found some stuff in a tomb.

(also, just about everyone is cooler when written by John Ostrander)

Jason Aaron seems to be pretty hot stuff lately. I’d never heard of the guy before last year’s The Other Side, in which he teamed with Cameron Stewart for a gruesome and morbid look at the Viet Nam War. It wasn’t the most original voice, but Aaron established himself as a strong and distinctive voice, even if he didn’t quite seem sure of what to say with it yet. He’s followed that mini up with a Vertigo ongoing, a fairly impressive gig for a guy without a lot of comic work to his credit.

After three issues, I’m still not sure what to make of Scalped. Aaron’s still got style to spare, but the substance ain’t all there yet.

The basic story is fairly simple: Dashiell Bad Horse swaggers back onto the reservation, stirring up shit and breaking faces. This quickly brings him to the attention of the corrupt Tribal Leader Red Crow, who decides he can use the take-no-prisoners Bad Horse in the reservation police force, which sees duty both legal and extra-legal. But all is not as it seems, as Bad Horse is quickly revealed (to the reader, if no one else) to be working for the FBI.

The hook to the series is that it’s a crime drama set on an Indian Reservation. But thus far, Aaron hasn’t done much else to distinguish Scalped. I’m not convinced the series would change significantly if it were relocated to Cleveland, as Aaron has loaded up on all the crime genre standbys you’d expect to see: the badass antihero with a mysterious past, the corrupt crime boss, the dangerously sexy babe, the one honest cop, the manipulative Feds. It’s about as generic a setup as you could imagine, spiced up only mildly by the locale.

But as with The Other Side, Aaron shines with the details. It’s tough to explain – the last two paragraphs certainly don’t read like descriptions of a book towards which I have mixed feelings. There’s just something about the book that makes me want to stick with it. The characters seem aching to bust out of their formulaic restraints: For all that he should be a walking cliché, Dashiell Bad Horse is a compelling main character. He’s just completely full of rage towards nearly everyone: I want to know what’s keeping him on this assignment in a town he loathes. Also, I want him to get his nunchuks back, because that’s kind of a cool idea.

Everyone just seems better than they should be: Even Carol, Red Crow’s daughter and Dashiell’s old flame. Even Officer Falls Down, the One Good Cop who has the bad tact to embarrass Red Crow. (He also gets a great name – as he laments, not everyone gets cool animal names) Scalped is a book that’s just bursting to be better than it is: Aaron is teasing and taltalizing, but not quite delivering.

While Aaron’s shortcomings on The Other Side were masked and compensated for by the outstanding Cameron Stewart, he isn’t paired with such a gifted artist on Scalped. R.M. Guera has the gritty, atmospheric feel of the book down – he’s downright ugly at times, but in all the right ways – but he’s not the strongest storyteller, particularly when it comes to fast-paced action. The first issue’s introductory confrontation isn’t terribly clear, and the gunfight and car chase in the third issue could use more clarity and oomph. Scalped has an emphasis on character and backroom politics than shootouts, but Guera’s going to need to crank up his action sequences if the book wants is going to succeed.

It was unfair when I mentioned J.H. Williams’ covers for Crossing Midnight, and it’s probably unfair here, too, but one can’t help but wonder how the book might have been improved if cover artist Jock were providing interiors as well. Jock’s one of the most dynamic artists around, and most books would be significantly improved by his interiors – and, frankly, I’d rather see his work on the upcoming Faker, anyway – but hey, the cover’s there – I can’t help but judge some of the book on it.

Jason Aaron has loads of potential, but both he and Guera need to tighten things up if they want to make Scalped a must-read. It’s an entertaining enough read, but that’s not always good enough – Aaron’s given it a strong voice, but he needs to firm up exactly what he wants to say with it. I’ll probably stick with it for a few issues more – another story arc or two – but eventually there will come a reckoning. I’d love it if Scalped took the big step up, but right now I can’t say I’d be crushed if the book ended after ten issues. There’s a lot of wiggle room, and some great things to be done if the creators are up to it.

I loved the first issue of Jeff Smith’s SHAZAM! And the Monster Society of Evil. It was just such a perfect and adorable vision of what that franchise should be: Family friendly, funny, light, adventurous.

The second issue is pretty great, too, with the even-more-adorable introduction of Billy Batson’s long-lost sister, the inevitable Mary Marvel. Seriously, if you don’t think Mary is the cutest thing ever, you may be a robot or something. Possibly a communist.

But the second didn’t wow me quite as much as the first, despite possessing much of the same (if not more) charming and entertaining qualities. And it’s dawning on me why: Smith is really just setting up.

It’s two issues in, and only now do we have the full cast (complete with Talky Tawny, Dr. Sivana, and the as-yet-unseen Mr. Mind), fully comfortable with the basic concepts. And that’s fine, except for the fact that this is all there is: Smith has another two issues in this four-issue mini, then he’s off for parts unknown.

It’s not enough. It would be one thing if this were an ongoing series, or even a 6-to-8 issue series. Or if there was the promise of follow-up series. (Maybe it’s been discussed – I certainly hope so – but it hasn’t been announced.) But Smith seems to be doing his version of the Marvel Family Origin and then abandoning it. And while it would be nice to think DC would follow up on Smiths’ vision, they have few creators with the talent, and even fewer with the inclination. (Maybe Darwyn Cooke could take a break from The Spirit?)

Granted, Captain Marvel doesn’t have the same problems as Batman or Superman, where it seems everyone wants to take a crack at their legendary origins. Captain Marvel isn’t all that well-known – while most people are probably familiar with the basic concept, the actual origin isn’t exactly common knowledge. Perhaps Shazam! needed this injection to get it back on track.

But I can’t help but feel like it’s a bit of a waste, like I wanted something more from Smith. Mostly, I suppose, it’s that I do want more – more great Captain Marvel minis like this one. And it’s possible, though Monster Society of Evil took so long to see print that I doubt we’ll see a sequel any time soon.

Still, it’s a testament to Smith’s talent that the series is only half-done, and yet here I am complaining about it. Comic fans really are a greedy, ungrateful lot, aren’t we?

I understand why some people don’t like Frank Miller. He has his faults and quirks as a writer that can rub people the wrong way, and many of them seem to have become exaggerated during his rise to fame. But much of the criticism of 300 – that it’s xenophobic, homophobic, racist, pro-US, anti-US – honestly seems to be missing the point, because the book is probably the simplest and purest distillation of Miller’s writing to be found: It’s all about macho.

This shouldn’t be surprising to anyone familiar with Miller’s work. Batman got shot or beat up by Superman, had his butler patch him up, then got back to work. Sin City was full of tough guys who could probably stay out of trouble if they thought with their heads instead of their fists and dicks. But those characters are nothing compared to the Spartans.

The original tough guys. The greatest, fiercest soldiers the world has ever seen. Real men who faced death with only the most basic necessities a refusal to back down. They held off the greatest army known to mankind with only 300 men, a strategic choice of where to fight, and sheer, manly determination.

Yes, it’s a romanticization. An ideal that probably wouldn’t hold up to much scrutiny. As a historical document, 300 doesn’t hold much water. But then, it’s not really meant to, any more than The Adventures of Robin Hood is meant to be a serious examination of medieval society. 300 is not Age of Bronze, and there’s no reason why it should be.

That idealization, the perfect society, requires an opposite, and Miller isn’t dealing in shades of grey. And so we get the Persians as total opposites: Luxurious, overwhelming, and glorious. And the very embodiment of that empire is its king, Xerxes. Yes, he’s pierced and kind of effeminate, but sexuality is less important than philosophy: The Persian king travels in a massive throne carried by servants, covered in gold and useless, frivolous jewellery. He is a god king, above all else, while the Spartan King Leonidas marches with his troops, no better or worse than the greenest recruit.

Yes, it’s a stereotype. But it’s not one of race, nationality, or sexuality. Miller has taken his ideal, the root of the tough guy tree, and adapted its enemy to suit the epic scope of his story. And while the Persian lords and their vanity are derided by Miller and his Spartans, their soldiers are not: The Persian Immortals are “The deadliest fighting force in all Asia,” lethal and disciplined. The conflict of 300 is ultimately between Leonidas and Xerxes – between Freedom and Tyranny, if you accept Miller’s story at face value – not Greeks and Persians. Miller’s not one to find fault with an honest fighting man.

300 isn’t Miller’s best work – it’s simplistic and more concerned with epic notions of bravery and honour than plot or character. But it’s remarkably pure of vision and almost entirely lacking subtext. It’s Miller glorifying an ideal, villifying its opposition, and ignoring nearly everything else. It’s about being Macho. Looking for other themes or messages is merely grasping at straws: 300 simply isn’t that deep.

Prior to a couple months ago, I don’t think I can recall reading any interviews with SLG publisher Dan Vado. That’s not saying a lot – it’s not like SLG gets weekly coverage at Newsarama or anything, and when it does it’s usually EiC Jennifer DeGuzman talking. (Amusing side note: When Marvel and Top Cow announce vague digital distribution plans, everyone goes nuts; when SLG actually debuts their online comics service, no one seems to notice.)

But man, I hope he does more. He’s just so unrelentingly blunt, as evidenced by his recent, apparently outrageous comments at Wondercon about what he’d do differently if he were starting the business over again. (other than, you know, not doing it at all) His general rebuttal and commentary is even better.

Perhaps I’m just a cynic who refuses to take things at face value (in fact, there’s no “perhaps” about it), but I don’t understand how anyone could assume he was entirely serious when he said creator ownership was bad business, or that there wasn’t more to it than that. Obviously he was serious about the purely business aspect: Vado probably could have made more money if the somehow retained the right to put together more Johnny the Homicidal Maniac comics while Jhonen Vazquez was off at Nickelodeon making far more money.

On the other hand, how many corporate-based comic book publishers have been around for 20 years? Many have come and gone, while SLG continues to put out good books year after year after year. At the same time, Vado and SLG seem to have engendered a great deal of loyalty from creators they have published: Andi Watson keeps coming back (even if he does work with other, better-paying publishers), and they continue to attract great talent like Jim Rugg, Jamie Smart, and James Turner. Vado might be a terrible businessman (by his own semi-admission), but he makes a pretty darn good patron.

But apparently, after one answer to a hypothetical question at a convention panel, he’s a mean old robber baron out to exploit the working artist. Even if he is an internet hermit, surely 20 years of running a successful (creatively, if not financially) and creator-friendly publisher speaks louder than any blog?

I haven’t actually written about any comics lately. Last week didn’t produce anything that absolutely demanded commentary, but I know you, my loyal readership, demands quality content; here, at least, is content:

Crossing Midnight #4: Mike Carey’s Vertigo fantasy is this close to joining my favourites, but the art continues to hold it back. Jim Fern’s not bad by any stretch of the imagination – though this issue is his weakest yet – and he’s ably assisted by inker Mark Pennington and colourist extraordinaire Jose Villarubia, but he’s still not bringing the wow factor. Yet another supernatural player takes an interest in the twins: Nidoru, the ruler of needles and pins and rival to Lord Aratsu. She helps put Toshi & Kai’s mother back together again, and offers to assist their father, but not without a price. She also dispatches a horde of soul-eating goblins, but that seems to be a freebie. Meanwhile, Toshi is groomed, literally, as Aratsu’s servant.

Carey’s creating a storyline that’s mysterious without being confusing, and introduces an interesting new player with every issue. But Fern’s art still isn’t conveying the magic the story requires, and the big revelations lack the oomph they need to make a real impact. It’s not talent, I suspect, but technique, and hopefully that can be improved; one could probably learn a great deal just from studying J.H. Williams’ gorgeous covers. Crossing Midnight remains a good book with the potential to move into great territory.

Omega Men #5: Apparently this is tying into 52 in some way, which rather annoys me. Also, it explains why everything seems kind of vague and convoluted: Obviously I needed to read a bunch of other books to understand this seemingly stand-alone mini starring a bunch of Z-list characters.

Still, it continues to be a fun ride, even if I’m not entirely sure what’s going on. This issue: Evil alien spider queens, sentient lovestruck gel computers, and Vril Dox being an asshole and dooming the universe. What’s not to like? Mostly, I admit, I’m buying this for the fantastic art by Henry Flint, who’s perfect for this sort of bizarre alien-filled sci-fi. His weaknesses show on the more human characters, like Lianna the Zamaron nun, but thankfully there aren’t many humans to be found: Just alien weirdos. It’s like the Muppet Show in space. (but more diverse than Pigs In Space.

Firestorm #33: I want to like Firestorm, but every time I’ve picked up an issue of this volume, I’ve been bored stiff. Dwayne McDuffie takes over for the final story arc before cancellation and brings the New Gods with him – and thankfully, he’s brought a pretty good story with him, too.

Mister Miracle shows up to explain Something Big and Important to Firestorm. I’m not sure when he got all expository – when last we saw him in Seven Soldiers, he was just getting over being dead – but McDuffie still writes Shiloh as pretty cocky and arrogant. Then Orion – who’s even more cocky and arrogant – shows up, and everyone fights. It’s not the most original plot twist in comics history, but there’s a good fight scene with snappy banter and some creative uses of superpowers. Can you really ask for more than Firestorm hitting Orion with a giant titanium bat?

The art is a tad on the bland side, but it’s a fun superheroes-hitting-superheroes romp.

Blue Beetle #12: Speaking of fun superhero romps, Blue Beetle takes a step down from the past two issues of New Gods craziness, but still turns in a solid story that gets into the business of explaining where the Scarab came from. That’s something of a relief: I was afraid the book would fall into the horrible comic cliché of forever teasing the sordid secrets of the book.

After a nice twist on the usual secret identity schtick – it seems like everyone knows Jaime is the Beetle, but no one wants anyone else to know that they know – we get a partially dismembered cow and a giant alien thingee that goes around smashing and blasting things. Blue Beetle and Peacemaker thwart it and do some snazzy bantering along the way, and then a blue guy shows up to explain everything, conjuring up a nice Manga Kahn vibe along the way. Rafael Albuquerque’s art is a bit fuzzy in the fight sequences, but Blue Beetle continues to be an enjoyable read.

Nextwave #12: The final issue. On the one hand, alas. On the other, better to have loved and lost and all that jive.

There’s no explaining this issue. Nope, not at all. It doesn’t even try to make sense. Unlike previous issues, which tried just a little. This finale ultimately comes out as more of a “Wait, what the fuck is that?” than a “ha ha, he got kicked in the head” sort of humour, but I still love it.

Seriously: Devil Motherfucking Dinosaur. Baby MODOK. You know you want to read it.

Local #8: Hey, there’s no spandex here. What happened?

But seriously, I was happy to see another issue of Brian Wood & Ryan Kelly’s oustanding series hit the stands: I was beginning to fear it had fallen in to Oni’s growing Pit of Disappeared Books. Unfortunately, it’s one of the weaker issues so far. It’s a fairly simple love story, with Megan – happy and reasonably well-adjusted, thank goodness – falling for two men: The poor cook or the rich client. The cook is kind of a jealous jerk, while the rich guy seems kind and sympathetic. There’s some misdirection on Wood’s part, but not enough real direction: We don’t know anything about either potential lover. The story works well in portraying Megan’s dilemma and indecision, but doesn’t really convince us that she ultimately makes the right choice. Still, Ryan Kelly continues to improve with every issue, and #1 was pretty darn good on its own. And if nothing else, it’s nice to actually see Megan happy: As Wood comments, Local has become her book, and she’s one of the better comics creations I’ve seen in several years.

A disappointing issue, but only by the otherwise high standards set by the series.