Category: Comics

Until about a year or so ago, I hadn’t read much, if any, of Warren Ellis’ work. His rise to fame overlapped my time out of comics, so I missed his early Marvel work and his rise to fame with The Authority and Transmetropolitan. (I still haven’t read Transmet, though I have the first volume of his run on Authority.)

Over the last year, though, Ellis has quickly risen to the top of my list of favourite writers. I still find most of his straightforward superhero books to be quite dull, but when he’s free to experiment, he’s one of the most interesting creators around, mixing high-concept sci-fi and freaky fetishes and ultraviolence.

The last two weeks saw new issues from two of my favourite Ellis books: Desolation Jones and Nextwave. While the latter continued its irreverence and general wackiness, the former abandoned most of its quirky tendencies to descend into a very dark place.

Nextwave, along with Grant Morrison’s All Star Superman, is probably one of the most fun superhero comics on the market. While Morrison’s book is steeped in more reverential and traditional tones, Nextwave is all about the silliness and stupidity inherent in the genre.

In this issue, for example, we finally get to see the origin of The Captain (“Not actually a captain of anything.”). Already something of a buffoon, he really doesn’t improve much here: He got his powers when he got drunk one night and ran into a couple of aliens looking for a saviour of humanity. After they gave him great powers, he beat them up, thinking they’d turn into gold coins – a nod to Scott Pilgrim‘s game logic, perhaps – and then threw up on them. Back in the present, he gets shot out of a giant gun. Not a great thinking man, our Captain.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team fights the corrupt cop who’s turning into a giant robot, while Elsa Bloodstone blows up some more broccoli men. Boom Boom blows up a bunch of stuff, Machine Man shows off some more of his extendable parts, and Monica gets knocked unconcious.

It’s all terribly silly. As with most parodies, not every joke is funny, but there’s enough of them to make for a decent average. It’s still a minimalistic, lowest-common-denominator kind of humour – things blow up and catch fire, people are hit on the head, and then everyone beats up a cop. It’s a classic “I Love Lucy” kind of thing.

Consequently, much of the comedic burden falls to Stuart Immonen, who carries his burden like a particularly proud and well-endowed mule. In lieu of actually analysing his artistic contributions, I simply present this panel:

Really. You just can’t top that. Da Vinci may as well have drawn with crayons.

I’m not entirely sure how much longevity Nextwave might have – apparently the commitment is currently to a dozen issues – but there’s little question it’s one of the least sane and sensible books to be found.

Ellis was channelling an entirely different vibe when he wrote the opening arc of Desolation Jones, the story of a British secret agent in exile in Los Angeles. The first five issues were slightly dark and disturbing, but punctuated by humour and quirky characters. The lead character was an odd, off-key, and disturbed, yet still generally a likeable sort as long as you didn’t cross him.

That setup largely goes out the window with the final installment of Made in England. This is just about as dark as it gets without actually resorting to overdosing on Joy Division and contemplating suicide. Jones has finally sorted out the business revolving around Colonel Nigh’s missing Hitler porn and the Temple Farm incident. After being jerked around and nearly killed over the past few issues, he finally sorts things out: First with the would-be porn kings, then with Colonel Nigh and his three daughters.

Ellis’ story has been very elusive in pinning down exactly who Michael Jones is. At various points he’s been intelligent, charming, clever, considerate, kind, and funny. But he’s also been ruthless, brutally violent, and manipulative. He is largely a chameleon, altering his manners depending on who he’s dealing with: Go back to past issues and review his conversations with Emily Crowe, the porn actress, Robina, or Tapper. But it’s perhaps his relationship with Emily, who makes a return appearance here, that’s the most telling.

Emily plays a minor plot role here, but more significant is the reminder
of her peculiar physiology. Jones is the only person who can stand being around Emily, thanks to her genetically altered pheromones, while both Robina and Paula Nigh just want to get as far away as possible. As Jones said earlier, and he echoes here, “Nothing disturbs me.” While one can fake compassion and empathy, it’s next to impossible to pretend to like being around Emily Crowe.

And so Jones resolves the whole sordid affair in the sort of way that’s only available to a man who’s nearly cut off from his humanity. It’s the sort of thing many writers try to pull off, or at least try to hint at, but usually pull back from because they’re afraid of the audience losing touch with the tough-guy protagonist. Ellis doesn’t flinch, though: Jones is capable of incredible violence, sadism, and cruelty, and while the finale may well make him less relatable, it only serves to make him a more compelling and complex character.

Just as Stuart Immonen deserves equal credit for the success of Nextwave, so too does J.H. Williams III deserve many temples, statues, and sacrificial virgins in his honour. Even if the story weren’t so fascinating, I’d be tempted to buy Desolation Jones just for Williams’ work. He’s the sort of visionary talent we’ll all be looking back on in the years to come, and if he doesn’t win the Eisner for best penciller they may as well call off the whole thing. Williams makes the dark and dirty story feel elegant and graceful without abandoning the mood and the plot itself. He mixes traditional (and fantastic) pencils with stark black-and-white and gorgeous painting. The tragedy of Williams moving to Batman is twofold: He’ll clearly be missed on Desolation Jones, and it’s also unlikely he’ll have the opportunity to experiment with styles and layout like this on a mainstream monthly. Williams, along with esteemed colourist Jose Villarubia, turns in one of the most beautiful and disturbing books I’ve ever seen. Kudos to DC, too, for running the issue uninterrupted, with only house ads appearing at the back of the issue.

With Williams moving on to another book, the immediate future for Desolation Jones seems in question. It’s impossible to actually replace Williams, and in a way I’d rather wait for him to return – even if that takes another year or so – and continue the series with him and Ellis together. But on the other hand, Ellis has a knack for picking talented artists, and I really don’t want to have to wait any
longer than necessary for more Jones, Emily, and Jeronimus stories. While I’m a fan of most of Ellis’ work, Desolation Jones has turned out to be one of the best books on the market today, and it would be unfortunate if it lost the incredible momentum it’s gained in Ellis & Williams’ opening act. Wonderful, fantastic, and completely messed up book.

There’s the awesome news that Scott Pilgrim 3 is done. There’s the less awesome news that it probably won’t be out until late may. But then, courtesy of Bryan O’Malley‘s site, we get the awesome news of this awesome postcard he’ll have at the Toronto Con next week:

Next, I want to see Scott in a hammer suit.

My review of Warren Ellis’ Apparat is up over at Popmatters. Quite a good book, with a nice dose of Ellis’ craziness and some fantastic art, particularly from Jose Ryp and Carla Speed McNeil.

Warren Ellis’ Apparat project is an attempt to look at what comics might have become if the breadth and depth of the pulps had been translated into comics. Apparat’s stories are full of heroes, villains, weird science, and high adventure — none of which are foreign to superhero comics — but bypass the specifics of the capes and cowls crowd.

It’s not an entirely original experiment. Alan Moore’s ABC line — particularly Tom Strong — was an attempt to capture the spirit of the pulp magazines. But while Moore’s stories were more of a cultural transplant, complete with the whimsy and absurdity of the original era, Ellis looks at the idea as if multi-genre fiction has been alive and well in North American comics for the past half-century.

Go and read the full review. You know you want to.

So J.H. Williams is apparently leaving the relative obscurity of Desolation Jones, Seven Soldiers, and Promethea to draw Batman.

It’s not really a big thing. Williams deserves to be a superstar, and if drawing Batman helps, then good for him.

But it’s what it symbolizes that’s started to bother me. It’s tremendously unfortunate that an artist of Williams’ calibre needs to abandon groundbreaking and creative books by writers like Grant Morrison, Alan Moore, and Warren Ellis to find fame and stardom in the comics market. (Never mind my suspicion that his work with those writers will likely sell far more in the bookstores than Batman ever will.)

You can’t blame him. Everyone else seems to be following the trend. Just look at his colleague Morrison: Two years ago, Morrison produced Seaguy, WE3, and Vimanarama, all wonderfully crazy books he created and owned. Last year, he turned his Crazy-Vision on a bunch of C-listers with Seven Soldiers, where he was effectively able to do whatever he wanted with a bunch of characters no one cared about. But this year, he’s finishing up Seven Soldiers, continuing All-Star Superman, then taking over Detective Comics, WildCATS, and The Authority.

I imagine it’s a result of his contract with DC: Do some creator-owned Vertigo books, a bit of superhero experimentation, and then make DC some serious money on the big guns. And it’s Grant Morrison, who could sell books in his sleep, so I doubt he’s doing any projects he’s not really interested in. I shall not weep for Grant.

But it’s still depressing. It’s not at all new, but it’s depressing. Many comic fans simply don’t care about writers and artists unless they’re on one of 5-10 spandex books; as soon as someone makes a name elsewhere, the fans start clamoring for him to draw X-Men or Batman. People complain about Alan Moore somehow shafting the industry by writing From Hell, Promethea, and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen instead of a supposedly groundbreaking run on Green Arrow.

Why can’t Williams be a superstar on Desolation Jones, which runs on the incredibly inaccessible concept of an ex-spy living in Los Angeles and could surely be a success on television or film? Why on earth wasn’t WE3 one of the best-selling comics of 2004-05? Why is Infinite Crisis given marketing precedence over the far superior Seven Soldiers? Why can’t Greg Rucka make Queen & Country one of his comics priorities when he can clearly make good money telling similar stories in novels? Why is it almost impossible for a creator to find fame and fortune without writing something about mutants or the Justice League?

I know, it’s old news and I should be used to it. And yeah, I suppose I’m probably an elitist snob and just miffed because the books I love frequently get lost in the shuffle of crossovers and variant covers.

It shouldn’t bug me, but it does.

I’ll be more cheerful tomorrow. I just wanted to get that off my chest.

I have to admit I was getting worried about Greg Rucka.

He’s never managed to really grab me with his corporate work – though Gotham Central is very good, even if DC is perversely collecting it at a rate of one volume per year – and that work has been dominating his schedule for the past year. He hasn’t written an issue of Queen & Country for a long time, and the recent Declassified mini was both unimpressive and plagued by massive delays. Rucka’s major work on his creation has come in novel form, with 2004’s Gentleman’s Game and last year’s Private Wars continuing the story of British secret agent Tara Chace. Private Wars was an enjoyable read, with most of the attention to detail and twisting plots that make the comic such an enthralling read. But it just hasn’t been the same without the comic version around. Thankfully it’s back, and it turns out I needn’t have worried about Rucka.

Rucka’s playing something of an odd trick with this storyline: It’s set between Gentleman’s Game and Private Wars. I can’t recall seeing this sort of inter-medium crossover before, but I’m not sure it should pose a problem, since I’d imagine most fans of the comic have read the novels. I haven’t read Private Wars yet, so thankfully don’t know much about what’s going to happen next, though it remains to be seen if this storyline will amount to more than just a bridge between the two novels.

But even if Red Panda turns out to be inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, it’s still a triumph of details and character. This issue is dedicated to the fallout from Gentleman’s Game, which saw Tara betrayed by her own government and operating her own rogue mission to redeem herself. As is par for the series, Tara is once again beaten and bloodied, both physically and emotionally. Just off the plane from the Middle East, Tara is greeted by her boss and hauled off for questioning. While Tara tells her story to MI5 and the department shrink, her superiors argue her fate: Donald Weldon wants her removed from service entirely, while Paul Crocker wants her back on active duty, regardless of the psychiatrist’s opinion of whether she’s ready.

As usual, Rucka mixes office and national politics with characters and emotion nearly flawlessly. Tara obviously made a huge mistake on her mission in Saudi Arabia, and broke any number of rules, regulations, and laws making up for it. But she’s still the best operative available, and SIS has already got two relatively inexperienced minders.

Tara’s still a wreck – perhaps more than before – and still hiding her pain with liquor, cigarettes, and sarcastic wit. Her conversations with Dr. Callard are reminiscent of their first meetings in Operation: Morningstar, though with more familiarity. When Callard manages to cut through Tara’s defences, Rucka exposes both Tara’s bloodied soul and one of Crocker’s methods for ensuring loyalty and effectiveness in his agents.

Chris Samnee joins the list of distinguished artists who have worked on Queen & Country, and immediately distinguishes himself. He has a simple style that matches up well with the work turned in by Mike Hawthorne and Mike Norton on previous arcs, but shows even more versatility: He has some very noir-tendencies, occasionally producing some stark black-and-white panels and pages that wouldn’t seem out of place in Sin City. But he’s also superb at conveying Tara’s emotions, both the obvious ones of devastation and her more subtle distrust at being roped back into operations again. As with other Queen & Country artists, Rucka places a great amount of faith in Samnee, scripting several pages – including the opening four – with little or no dialogue. Samnee executes wonderfully with style and clarity, and the storytelling is superb.

Queen & Country has always succeeded on not just the basis of international politics and espionage, but on character development and subtle professional and personal relationships. Rucka puts them all on display here: He continues to explore Tara’s damaged psyche, as well as Paul Crocker’s relationship with his operatives. Rucka may have decided to move the really important Queen & Country stories to his novels, but as long as he keeps telling stories like this in the comic, it’ll remain one of the best books on the market, and Rucka’s crown achievement in the medium.

So apparently Fantastic Four #536 has sold out. Some sort of “Civil War” thing about a guy with a hammer.

When the sellout was announced on Wednesday, Marvel had “no current plans to go back to press for a second printing.”

But now – two whole days later – they have announced a second printing. With a new cover by Bryan Hitch.

So. On Wednesday, they had no plans to reprint. On Friday, they have plans to reprint, along with an entirely new cover by one of the most popular artists in the industry. Either a) they honestly had no plans to reprint a popular and apparently crucial issue and suddenly changed their minds; b) they completely lied, or at least took the most incredibly literal meaning of “current plans” – ie. “at this very moment, we don’t have a specific plan to reprint.”

Obviously, I lean heavily towards Option B. Option A is plausible, but would have us believe that Marvel has random covers by superstar artists just lying around the office waiting for use. Maybe this is why Ultimates is always late.

I’m sorry. I feel very cynical today.

Hawkgirl might be most high-profile and star-studded relaunch that absolutely everyone seems to have ignored.

Walt Simonson and Howard Chaykin have probably created more comics on their own than the entire remainder of DC’s creative lineup combined. (That is, of course, an exaggeration, since they’ve got the absurdly prolific Kurt Busiek and Keith Giffen working for them.) Putting them on a mid-range book like Hawkman seems odd, and switching the series over to Hawkman’s partner and lover is even stranger.

I have to admit I’m not a huge Howard Chaykin fan. He’s always seemed like the runner-up to Frank Miller, both as a writer and artist. His in-your-face style can be good, but is best taken in small doses. (Embarrassing confession: I haven’t read American Flagg.) But my love for Walt Simonson easily makes up for that – he was one of my favourite artists way back when he was drawing X-Factor. In a way, I wish the two had switched duties: Chaykin’s story might be a bit crazier, while Simonson’s art is always wonderful.

But that wasn’t to be, so we’ll have to make do with the actual book we got. Which isn’t bad, but isn’t particularly great, either.

Since it’s One Year Later, things have changed. Hawkman is missing, though no one is saying where he went. Kendra has taken over his job at the museum, and maintains his duties as St. Roche’s winged protector. She’s begun having disturbing dreams about winged skeletons, and the museum is experiencing unexpected and mysterious earthquakes. Weird things are going on.

And that’s about it. This is what we call The Setup Issue. It’s disappointing, yet understandable: This book features one of the biggest OYL shifts, yet it feels less abrupt and mysterious than those seen in Detective Comics or Aquaman. Simonson takes time to establish the new status quo, in terms of both setting and character. Kendra’s an appealing character, a take-charge and intelligent woman who’s convincing as a lead character instead of just a sidekick. Her museum co-workers are pretty dull, but there’s a nicely cynical and suspicious cop for her to play off of.

It’s odd, when you think about it: Many of today’s writers are accused of spending more time on setup than action, and some fans seem to long for the old school approach to superheroes. Walt Simonson is a pretty old school kinda guy, yet he’s turned in a script with only five pages of the costumed hero. To be fair, he spends a lot of time on setup and exposition, though it’s not as well-developed as it could be: It’s here Simonson shows off his old-fashioned tendencies, offering lots of expository monologues and thought balloons that tend to seem dated nowadays.

Chaykin’s art still looks nice. He still manages to mix dark and gritty with clean and light, usually finding the right balance for scenes. And while his Hawkwoman might fall a tad on the bosomy side, mild-mannered Kendra is attractive yet realistic. If there’s a flaw, it’s that he falls back on tight facial closeups too often – it’s an effective tactic, but not when it’s happening every other page.

This was one of the OYL relaunches I most anticipated, and I have to admit some disappointment at the final product. Part of that lies in perhaps unfair expectations: So far, Simonson and Chaykin are aiming for more of a mystery and suspense book than an all-out superhero book, than that takes some time to establish. While I admit that I might not bother with a second issue from a lesser creative team, these guys are too good to turn in a so-so product on a regular basis. There’s definite potential here; hopefully it breaks loose soon.

I have deep and analytical thoughts to think about the conclusion of Mr. Miracle – I think I like it – but their expression will have to wait until I’ve sat down and re-read the whole series. And maybe a bunch of other Seven Soldiers issues.

But there was still plenty of other good stuff this week:

Seven Soldiers: Frankenstein #3: Dear god, yes. This book seems to be Morrison’s repository of ideas that were just too bizarre to use elsewhere, and it just works so well. It’s mad, crazy badness. In this issue alone, we have Frankenstein, the Bride of Frankenstein, killer cows, evil water, decapitation, and a nuclear explosion. It’s a totally over the top action extravaganza. The only visible connection to the Sheeda narrative appears to be a reason to send Frankenstein to Tibet (Frankenstein vs. Nebula Man?), but it’s just too much fun to care. And do we even need a reason for Frankenstein to go to Tibet to fight the Nebula Man? I think not. And Doug Mahnke is just awesome – everything looks so amazingly unpleasant and ugly.

American Virgin #1: Picked up mostly on a whim, thanks largely to Becky Cloonan’s gorgeous artwork. It’s a great bit of satire on religion and society – an easy target, yes, but it’s still nicely done: Adam Chamberlain, leader of a virginity movement, is afflicted by an absent fiancee, ambitious parents, jealous cousins, a pothead brother, and young girls who keep throwing themself at him. The groupies are particularly entertaining, and the cousins have an interesting approach. After a mostly light-hearted issue, Seagle comes in with a surprisingly sober ending, which leaves me wondering how on earth this can be an ongoing series. Four issues? Easy. Twenty? Dunno. Great start, anyway. Definitely the best of the latest Vertigo wave: None of DMZ, Exterminators or Testament really grabbed me.

Firestorm #23: Okay, I give up. Let’s face it: The only person who can make Firestorm interesting is John Ostrander. Okay, Alan Moore could probably do it, too, but he’d write Archie first. This is a competent story with competent art… But I don’t care. Alas. One Year Later stands at 2 for 3 right now.

Down #4: Christ, this went bad in a hurry. This series started out so well, a great dark and violent trip into the underworld. But the final two issues tried to cram in four or five issues’ worth of story, and now it just feels like a jumbled mess. To wit: Despite just meeting the man, Deanna now desperately feels the need to save Nick River’s life. Bonus points for dedication to your work, but huge minus for going completely and utterly insensible. Nice resolution to Deanna’s character – okay, yes, she is insane, but with a twist – but just way too much, way too fast. Cully Hamner’s art is also seems to take a hit with this issue. Big disappointment for Ellis, who’s been on such a roll lately.

Retro Rocket #1: Fun. Fluffy, slightly derivative and predictable, but fun. I like my giant robot stories, and this is probably one of the better entries in the genre. (I mean, really, there are a lot of crap giant robot stories out there) Though having to spend the first half of the issue trying to figure out exactly what Retro Rocket (yes, the call him that) is was puzzling: Is he a robot? A guy in a robot suit? No, he’s a brain in a robot. Which is kind of cool, but that feels like the sort of thing that should be out in the open right off the bat. Jason Orfalas has a nifty animation style that actually works quite well on the page, which makes for some cool yet still fanciful giant robots. I don’t know if I’ll bother with the second issue, but I’ve no regrets in buying the first.

Aquaman is one of the bolder OYL shifts, completely replacing the title character (sort of) and adding a new subtitle that angles the book as an undersea fantasy epic.

It’s probably necessary. It seems like Aquaman has always been around, has always had his own book, and yet no one really knows anything about the character. At best he’s a supporting member of the JLA and the star of a third-tier solo title, and at worst he’s one of the more ridiculed and pointless comic book characters around. Everyone knows the basic deal – talks to fish, king of Atlantis – but few could come up with any significant stories about the character from the past decade.

So Kurt Busiek, hot off his run on Conan, throws out all but the most basic concepts and backstory and starts from scratch: A new undersea warrior finds himself adrift in the Atlantic after a storm. A voice in his head leads him to Nanaue the King Shark, a monstrous warrior under attack from unknown warriors. After rescuing Nanaue, the two are led to the Dweller in the Depths, who speaks of prophecies and legends pertaining to the man who can live under the sea. The only problem is that he’s not entirely sure who he’s talking about.

The Dweller is obviously confusing the new “Aquaman” with the old Aquaman, though the structure is confusing to the reader as well. The premise is fairly simple: The new guy obviously looks like Aquaman, has the same powers as Aquaman, and pretty much acts like Aquaman… but he’s not Aquaman. The problem, though, is that someone who doesn’t really know Aquaman – like, for example, the majority of people this book is aimed at – might not know the difference, either. There’s a storm, a guy falls into the sea, and the next thing we see is him swimming through the sea, speaking telepathically to fish-people and fighting off evil fish-people. All things one might expect Aquaman to do, if one weren’t familiar with the intricacies of Aquaman’s origins and abilities.

Busiek doesn’t get around to establishing the identity of the new guy, and stating conclusively that he’s not the old guy, until the final third of the book – after, even, he’s appeared in costume. Of course, it’s not conclusively proven that there isn’t some connection between old Aquaman and new Aquaman; obviously there’s something going on when they share the same name and similar powers, but the new character’s origin feels somewhat artificial and contrived, a mere cover for something else, like Alan Moore’s retcon of Swamp Thing’s origin.

Though the structure of the plot leaves something to be desired, the details come out just right: There’s a distinctly epic feel to the story, a great sense of destiny and heroism; it’s no coincidence Busiek titles the story “Once and Future”, referencing T.B. White’s King Arthur books. And while Aquaman himself is something of a cipher thus far, King Nanuae and the Dweller form the basis of an excellent supporting cast.

And of course you’ve got Butch Guice providing his usual high standard art; it’s genuinely puzzling why he’s not getting more high profile assignments after seeing the work he’s done here and on Warren Ellis’ JLA: Classified arc. Everything is big and bold; he captures the fantasy epic feel Busiek is trying to attain perfectly. He’s also got a nice grasp of the setting: everything is still dark and foreboding, suiting both the mood of the story and the fact that it’s all taking place at the bottom of the sea. The one hitch is Guice and Busiek don’t seem to agree on the new Aquaman’s age: While characters keep referring to him as a boy, Guice is drawing him as a man at least in his mid to late twenties.

Many have tried to make Aquaman interesting and relevant, but there’s been little success. Recent attempts have tried to darken and grit up the character – chop off his hand, replace it with a harpoon, then a mysterious water hand; long hair and a beard – but they’ve met with limited success. Sometimes the best approach to revolutionizing a character is to go back to what worked in the first place; in the case of Aquaman, that means playing up the mythological and magical elements of the character. It’s a bold attempt at separating the character from his superhero brethren – no one was reading Aquaman the Superhero, so is anyone going to bother with Aquaman the Warrior King? Expecting a best-selling Aquaman book may be too much to hope for, but Busiek and Guice at least have the makings of a promising run on the character.

So it seems that DC’s One Year Later gambit is an effective marketing tactic after all.

The idea of having all their titles leap forward one year is an interesting one, providing something of a fresh start for new and old readers. It puts everyone on the same footing, a rarity in continuity-crazed superhero books. Everyone is missing the same information, and nearly everyone gets the same clues. The wild card in the event’s success will ultimately rely on how much of the pre-OYL continuity is essential to understanding the book, as well as the reliance on 52, DC’s weekly chronicle of the missing year.

The other drawing card is the impressive creator lineup DC has assembled for many of the books. The obvious highlight is the forthcoming Hawkgirl by Walt Simonson and Howard Chaykin, but DC has plenty of talent to spread around. It’s that talent, combined with the nice jumping on point, that managed to convince me to try two books I’d probably never consider otherwise.

Detective Comics #817 is the more traditional relaunch. James Robinson, acclaimed Starman creator, takes over both Detective and Batman to define the Dark Knight’s new status quo. It’s more of a setup issue than anything else: Batman has been missing for a year. Harvey Bullock and Jim Gordon have both returned to the police, reasons as yet unknown. Harvey Dent, no longer Two Face, has assumed some of Batman’s vigilante duties (including taking down the KGBeast, who I thought was some sort of insanely elite killer). And then, Batman returns, with Robin in tow, just in time to witness Poison Ivy kidnapping a bunch of CEOs.

The main thrust of the issue is on putting things back in their place. It’s just not quite a Batman comic without Commissioner Gordon, and both Gordon and Gotham clearly need the Dark Knight. The momentous unveiling of the bat signal is appropriately impressive – if somewhat reminiscent of Dark Knight Returns – and it certainly feels like we haven’t seen Batman for a long time, even if there are still 50 Bat-Books on the shelves.

Robinson drags the One Year Later gimmick a bit too much at time. Bullock is back due to some amazing deed he did… several months ago. Gordon is back… but we don’t know why. Some weird stuff happened with the Gotham Police… but we don’t know what. Robinson lays it on too thick, too fast: Spread it out over several issues and it would probably be fine, but instead it feels like a reverse mystery the reader needs to be worrying about.

It’s quite nice to see Andy Clarke make the leap from 2000AD to DC. (If he did it before, I wasn’t aware) Doing finishes over Leonard Kirk’s layouts, he shows off a great Brian Bolland influence, made all the more clear by the Batman connection. Everything is dark and grim, yet still clear and detailed. He knows how to draw Batman: Dark, imposing, serious. The one flaw is his seeming interpretation of Robin as some sort of Mexican jumping bean: He jumps into the book with Batman… fine, Robin jumps. But he’s still jumping on the next page. And again 3 pages later, he’s hopping around for no apparent reason.

Batman’s post-OYL return is nicely accessible, yet still relying heavily on the missing year. That’s only natural: DC needs readers to flow from their established and popular books on to 52 in order for the latter to not become a staggeringly embarrassing failure. Its success will ultimately depend on how quickly and clearly it answers its own mysteries, and whether it falls back onto the convoluted Batman chronology or forges ahead with something new. As it stands, Robinson is running a tricky balancing act.

Next up: Aquaman. (Yes, Aquaman. Shut up – I told you it was an effective marketing strategy.)