Thursday, March 29, 2012

Wednesday Is Handy For All I Care #140

Lobster Johnson: The Burning Hand #1
Road Rage #1
Thief of Thieves #1




Lobster Johnson: The Burning Hand #1 (Dark Horse, 2012, $3.50)
I saw the first movie and read a comic here and there, but I'm not well informed about Hellboy's universe. I don't know who Lobster Johnson is, and I probably don't need to. He seems to be a '30s pulp vigilante pastiche who battles crime and weirdness with two guns blazing. The story by Mignola and Arcudi is decent enough for a Lois Lane fan, even if this 1/5th of the total tale didn't exactly satisfy me to the extent that it cost in dollars. However, the art by Tonci Zonjic is a monster johnson, recalling Year One Mazzucchelli so vividly that your inner fanboy will want to swirl your tongue around it and attempt to swallow the whole goddamned thing. I will be spellchecking the name of this magnificent sunuvabitch again in the future, I'm certain.



Road Rage #1 (IDW, 2012, $3.99)
I thought this was going to be a Stephen King/Joe Hill mini-series where the son would do most of the heavy lifting after some bullshit plotting sessions with dad. Instead... well it might have been just like that, except it was for a novella in a Richard Matheson tribute book. It is adapted by Chris Ryall, and no flies on his writing. I'm sure he was as faithful as two issues allowed, but I'm not into this. The first seven pages are exposition heavy, which was fine by me, because it felt like a meaty story. Unfortunately, the other seventeen pages are mostly action and gore. The characters are established as a bunch of shitbags, so I don't give a fuck when a faceless trucker starts running them down. I'm not angry enough to cheer their deaths, and I'm certainly not rooting for them. I liked the art by Nelson Daniel, mostly because I love Zip-A-Tone effects, and every other modern artist/colorist has no use for any of that anymore. Still, no, away with this.



Thief of Thieves #1 (Image, 2012, $2.99)
This is so not a comic book. This is Robert Kirkman, after making TV money working with screenwriting teams, trying to sell another property. For instance, it's his company and he gets top billing, but it's only a nebulous "story" credit. He let rising star Nick Spencer go through the trouble of doing the actual typing up and scripting of said story. Then they got Shawn Martinbrough to do his best Dave Johnson impersonation, because people still love 100 Bullets and wish it was still around. Not Agent Graves enlists Not Dizzy Cordova to kill people steal shit, learning under the shit stealing master, hence the title of the book. There's a convoluted plot to steal some shit that only seems clever if you don't think about it at all, because seriously, you or I are smart enough to steal shit without having to "fake" being tortured while actually getting beaten up by our own people. Seriously, you and me baby, we can pull this off. After that, there's some character stuff that might be believable if it turns out to be part of a grand overarching conspiracy like in 100 Bullets, but based on the masterminding of the heist, would probably turn out to be stupid as shit. Finally, the twist! The Shit Stealing Master is done with stealing shit! Did I just blow your mind? Didn't think so, and stealing $2.99 is chump change, fuck-o. You're going to have to play the $9.95 trade card if you want another shot at grifting on me, bitches. Gotta spend money to make money...

Monday, March 26, 2012

nurghophonic jukebox: "Afraid" by Nelly Furtado

Written By: Nelly Furtado, Tim Mosley, Nate Hills, Tim Clayton
Released: June 7, 2006
Album: Loose
Single?: No

The album was very successful, and this was easily the best song on it not named "Say It Right," but it was never promoted on its own. A shame, as I could have done with a lot less "Maneater" on the airwaves.



Lyrics:
What they say what they say what they say

You speak out all you feel is defiance
All you need is some self-reliance
Cause this world is gonna always try us
And all you wanted was to run for cover
Well here's looking to yourself and no other
We're all searching for that special something
And we keep on running

We all have the choice to take the lead or follow
I want to feel the light shine on me

You're so afraid of what people might say
But that's okay cause you're only human
You're so afraid of what people might say
But that's okay you'll soon get strong enough
You're so afraid of what people might say
But that's okay cause you're only human
You're so afraid of what people might say
You're going to break
So please don't do it

You wanna spread your wings but you're not sure
Don't wanna leave your comforts
Wanna find a cure
We're afraid of who we see in the mirror
We wanna let go but it feels too pure
Who wants to be alone in this world
You look around and all you see is hurt
But the light it always finds us
If we move with a little trust

A diamond don't define what shine is
I don't need a Rolex to know what the time is
You got your let me find what mine is
I'm a survivor look how strong my mind is
I stand on my own it's all me
Regardless of whatever they call me

I'm a leader not a follower
And I'd rather be paid and popular
Ride homie get your dollars up
We're in the belly of the beast that already swallowed us


Saturday, March 24, 2012

Wednesday Is Something Old, Something New 52 For All I Care #139

Aquaman #6 (2012)
The Huntress #5 (2012)
Strikeforce: Morituri- We Who Are About to Die No #1




Aquaman #6 (DC, 2012, $2.99)
Out of all the conservative radio hosts, I have the most tolerance for Sean Hannity. He seems the most genuine, and as far as I know, hasn't kept any illegal aliens confined in his basement as sex slaves or anything. He isn't psychologically unbalanced like Glenn Beck, who could link Nancy Pelosi to the Mayan apocalypse, nor is he an ignorant, loathsome toad like Rush Limbaugh, who is, I believe, really a very stupid person. That said, Hannity traffics in the sane paranoid fear mongering, and is simply the least objectionable of a sorry lot.

Geoff Johns is the Sean Hannity of super-hero comics. If enough people believe Obama is a secret Muslim intent on forming death panels to put Mee-Maw on an ice floe, Hannity figures there must be something to that. Liberal writers like the recently returned Ann Nocenti often strive for ambiguity, as their politics are all about compromises and equality and shit. Meanwhile, the right are big on polemics and absolutes, and man, this comic is all over that. It isn't enough that Mera confronts sexual harassment. She has to break the arm of a guy she just met who was molesting her in a grocery store. It isn't enough that Mera's strained relationship with her father is reflected by a young girl that she rescues. Both their fathers have to be completely unreasonable homicidal maniacs out for their blood. Johns is going to be looked upon like Steve Ditko one of these days, with all his upright white males (and Vic "Cyber-Token" Stone) guiding the DC universe toward violent crusades against pure evil. Evil, I say!

The art? Guys like Terry Austin, Scott Williams, and Richard Bennett are by no means "tracers." These are artists who elevate their pencilers with their energy, detail, and depth. However, just as most pencilers falter when they try to ink themselves (and yes, you specifically, John Byrne,) the greatest inkers are typically pretty mediocre pencilers. See, besides speeding up production, an art team is put together to help tighten up the work and make up for individual weaknesses. For instance, breakdown artist Ivan Reis has a pretty solid command of anatomy, while inker turned guest artist Joe Prado's is fucking wonky. Every character looks decent, but off in disconcerting ways. Asymmetrical eyes, sloped facial profiles, elongated Barbie proportions-- that sort of thing. The book looks mostly the same, but every character has been possessed by Pazuzu or something. Prado is to Reis as Marat Mychaels was to Liefeld (has he ever inked?) or Art Thibert was to Jim Lee. It's not really bad, but Aquaman would not be outselling every Marvel title with Prado on his own, either.



The Huntress #5 (DC, 2012, $2.99)
You know how people have babies, and their kid's a year and some change old, but it's all about their being thirteen months and eighteen months until they're toddlers? I understand there's scientific/developmental reasons for that, even if it is kind of grating. For instance, I spent a few minutes reading the new Huntress, but it seems more precise to mark the time in seconds. This one was 120-180 seconds of entertainment value. That's what, nine cents per second? A rate of $324 an hour? Huntress is nice and all, but I think I could buy a few hookers for that money and get a lot more out of the transaction.

I will say I enjoyed this better than other issues, probably because there's less teasing and the end is in sight. Does she condone murder? Seems likely. Is she Helena Wayne again? Based on solicitations, it appears so. Can she beat the big Arab guy in a fair fight. Not so much, but fair isn't a requisite. Art still good? Yeah, but it's being wasted on a repetitive, overly long mini-series instead of maybe a nice one-shot. Maybe then we wouldn't suffer through yet another cafe scene, this time featuring the Exposition Duo sans Helena. Fuck, that was pointless. Or hey, maybe the leering rapist human trafficker wouldn't feel the need to butcher his own stock, just to up the ante enough to meet the business end of a crossbow. Any one of those occupational titles would have done the trick. When this is collected in trade paperback, I hope they subtitle it "The Belaboring." It works on multiple levels.



Strikeforce: Morituri- We Who Are About to Die No #1 (Marvel, 1986/2012, $1.00)
I didn't know what to make of Strikeforce: Morituri when it came out. It sorta looked like an Epic or New Universe series, but was too super-heroey. My brother's brother bought the first three issues, and ended up laminating the covers. I ended up with them somehow, amd wish I still had them, because that lamination was cool. You also really needed at least that many issues to get into the story. The first, reprinted in this special, is really just a prologue that explains the basic premise and barely introduces one of the lead characters. Curiously enough, it came out the exact same month as The 'Nam, with very similar leads and nearly the same story. Of course, The 'Nam did it more effectively in the one issue, which is why it ran for more than twice as long.

The premise is that aliens invade Earth, and we come up with a defense involving bestowing powers on human soldiers, but with a catch. As soon as you get the powers, you're on a countdown to metabolic meltdown within one year's time. As the series progressed, you got to know the characters and feel for them as mortality creeps up and the window of opportunity to accomplish anything closes. Unfortunately, the first issue is a slow build-up to the big twist, which is right there in the fucking title. There's also a comic-within-a-comic by pre-fame Whilce Portacio which serves as pastiche and counterpoint, but isn't actually very good. It's the human element, the life during wartime, that makes the series. Brent Anderson excells at that sort of thing, as he would later demonstrate on Astro City. Scott Williams is on inks, giving Anderson a crisp, clean line well suited for this fantastical sci-fi. Writer Peter B. Gillis had a good idea, but he doesn't sell it well at the entry point, so it's a shame Marvel didn't reprint a few issues for $3-4 as a sampler for their three volume trade paperback collection, instead of this buck book. It also hurts that they throw in a bunch of handbook style ancillary material culled from later issues, which manages to spoil every death and a bunch of plot points from the first year of the series. I didn't make it past that point myself, mostly because the book was published in approximate real time, so the turnover was a bit too heavy for my taste. Also, the book was eventually passed to other, less apt hands. I can't recommend the sampler, but the first trade might be worth picking up, if you're willing to plop down thirty bucks for a well regarded obscurity.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

The Walking Dead Volume 15: We Find Ourselves (2011)



The Walking Dead TV show debuted in 2010 as a six episode series, and I liked it well enough, but it wasn't the comics. The live action characters felt flatter and more arch; more "comic booky" than the source material. I came back for the second season, and things had settled down a bit, and probably a bit too much. The network had a huge hit on its hands, but they work cheap, so they tightened the budget and shitcannned one of the principle creative forces behind the show. It seems like author Robert Kirkman stepped up to fill some of the void, and the series has taken advantage of his economical tendency toward talking heads as the comic series progressed. I started a new job during the mid-season break, and now watch the show in its third broadcast for the night. It's gone from geek fare I could share with my girlfriend to a bit of a chore, as I end up staying up really late each week to watch a show padded in the extreme so that the interesting 5-10 minutes of each episode work for me. It doesn't help that I often find myself sitting through the repetitive and really rather pointless Talking Dead, and sometimes even the first quarter of the heinous Comic Book Men before I finally can't take it anymore.

The reason I share all this with you is because I got the same feeling while reading this trade. It's still better than the show, but it's such a soap opera. The first season's runaround with Merle was one thing, but I think Sophia's disappearance in the second season really pointed out the meandering tendencies of the property. This is the fourth trade involving the original cast working with a new group of survivors in a decently fortified subdivision, with at least a fifth to follow. By comparison, the group resided on Hershel's farm for one trade, although they spent six at the prison. The difference is that both settings offered new and interesting characters, as well as two epic arcs that gave the series its first great villain. The book had a major build-up to #50 that was the high point of the series to date, and while there have been strong stories since then, the book has never quite recovered from the toll taken by that last epic. I'd warmed to Glenn in the first trade, dug Dale by the second, was immediately intrigued by Michonne, became an Andrea fan after a few volumes, and took to Tyrese so strongly that I was ready to see him take over the lead role in the event of Rick's death. Since the introduction of Abraham Ford's group in volume eleven, I haven't found myself gravitating toward any of the newer characters to replace those who have passed. I don't care which of them is screwing another, or who is plotting against Rick. These new guys just aren't compelling, the setting is tired, and I'm actually losing interest in the few remaining players I do like. It doesn't help that I'm also watching the TV show drag on, and drag its already tainted versions of the characters through the mud. In the comics, we had a family of survivors who understood that they needed one another to keep going. On TV, almost everyone is a fucked up jerk with their head up their asshole. When I turn to the comics, it feels like they're running out of gas as well.

Carl continues to be poised as the John Connor of the zombie apocalypse, his father as bipolar but capable as Sarah Connor. Two of the series' longtime badasses seem to be getting closer to Rick, so that Carl might finally get himself a warrior mommy. The aftermath of "No Way Out" plays by the numbers, with way more asides devoted to poor performance than I could summon interest in. Glenn gets a nice spotlight, and there's a short-lived conspiracy to jazz things up toward the end, but this volume has the distinct aroma of stopgap.

Whether Kirkman is picking up bad habits from TV or his work on the program is distracting him, The Walking Dead is limping along as pale and lifeless as its monsters. Knowing that the Governor and Michonne are coming next season should keep me plugged into the TV show, and the expectation of an eventual pay-off will see me back for more trades. I hope Kirkman takes some satisfaction in my following his property by force of habit more than enthusiasm, as I've done in the past with Marvel and DC. Things are good enough for now, but who knows when the worm will turn...


Friday, March 16, 2012

nurghophonic jukebox: "Molly (16 Candles Down the Drain)" by Sponge

Written By: Sponge (Vinnie Dombroski & Joey Mazzola)
Released: August 2, 1994
Album: Rotting Piñata
Single?: #3 on US Modern Rock Chart



For the record, the two singles (this and Plowed) were far and away the best things on the album.

Lyrics:
Seen you naked in the bath
Cigarette stains on your hands
Wilted flowers in a vase
I ask how are you
Yeah how are you?

I see the lipstick on your glass
I think you're drunk, I start to laugh
I find your note, the letters ran
It said I love you
Yeah I love you

Don't ask why, don't ask why
Don't ask why, don't ask why
Don't ask why, don't ask why, don't ask why

Sixteen candles down the drain

I watch you passed out forever
I touch your face, you start to smile
And on your note is my reply
I wish I loved you
I wish I loved you

Don't ask why, don't ask why
Don't ask why, don't ask why
Don't ask why, don't ask why, don't ask why

Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)
Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)
Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)
Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)

Don't ask why, don't ask why, don't ask why, don't ask why
Don't ask why, don't ask why, don't ask why

Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)
Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)
Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)
Sixteen candles down the drain
(The drain)


Tuesday, March 13, 2012

The Big Kahn (2009)



In The Big Kahn, a Jewish family learns at the funeral of its patriarch that their father was not the man that they believed him to be. This understandably causes the individual members to question the foundations of their very identity, and to some degree begs the same question of the reader.

While a solid story, I found my questions related more to the industry that produced it. You see, this was published as part of NBM Lit, which I suppose is a way of adding extra prension to the term "graphic novel" by more closely associating it with literature. The Big Kahn is more of an independent motion picture whose budget only allowed for storyboards. Like most modern graphic novels, this is not a marriage of prose and pictures. There are no captions, thought balloons or text asides. These are figures at rest or in motion, talking to one another. The artist does his best to stand in for actors, and he works with the writer for direction. There are a couple of brief sequences that blur the line between fact and fiction in a more effective way than film, but otherwise, there's no reason why this story would need to be comitted to sequential art.

Even as a "graphic novel," it's more of a novella. The characters feel real and the premise is sound, but the plot falls into the trope of the two leads switching polemics, saint to sinner, sinner to saint. It doesn't read as tired as it sounds, but there also isn't a lot to the story beyond going through those motions. The youngest son is troubled, and helps to bring elements of the story to a head, but there isn't enough meat on his bones to stand as a character. Likewise, the matriarch sits in the background for three quarters of the story, just starts to get interesting, and then she's gone. As you're reading it, the story is entertaining, and there's a nice punch in the last panel, but on reflection there's too much left unsaid to be wholly satisfying.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Wednesday Is REH ERB BMW For All I Care #138

Conan the Barbarian: Queen of the Black Coast #1
Lord of the Jungle #1
The Transformers: Robots in Disguise #1




Conan the Barbarian #1/88 (Dark Horse, 2012, $3.50)
How many fucking Conan stories did Robert E. Howard produce, anyway? They've been adapting the things to comics since the goddamned '70s, and usually across multiple titles. For instance, while this is supposedly the first issue of a new Conan the Barbarian series, it's actually the eighty-eighth consecutive issue since 2003, and there's a King Conan mini-series running alongside it. Anyway, Brian Wood is supposedly a big enough name that he gets a cover credit where Howard receives none. I doubt that's how Roy Thomas would have done things, but then, he also wouldn't spend an entire issue on prologue to the introduction of the titular villainess, either. Look, what Wood wrote isn't bad, and this pacing might work in a trade, but as a floppy its nothing but a tease. Where Wood is reasonably faithful to the Conan legacy, its hard not to look at artist Becky Cloonan and assume this is the first hipster Cimmerian. With the ships and character designs, this looks like a nice Northlanders issue, but I don't see Conan here. Her take on Bêlit is choice. A quick google tells me most artists draw her as indistinguishable from every other sword and sorcery chica, but Cloonan depicts her as some kind of albino Shiva, which makes a serious impression. I'm just pissed because part of the joy of reading Conan stuff as a kid came from getting a complete story in each issue, not a preamble to one.



Lord of the Jungle #1 (Dynamite, 2012, $1.00)
It's funny that Tarzan barely appears in this book, doesn't progress in the story past infancy, and it still feels like more of a complete unit than that Conan tale. I guess we do cover the last months of his parents' lives, which offers a sense of finality to this issue. The art by Roberto Castro is interesting. It reminds me of of the Philippine pencilers thatr might have done this for Marvel or Warren in the '70s, but inked like Bill Sienkiewicz in the '90s, but with colored cel-animation style lines seen in the '00s. It simultaneously timeless, dated, and modern. I do like it though, and writer Arvid Nelson shows strong chops, as well. I'd consider buying a trade, but that assumes the Edgar Rice Burroughs estate doesn't sue this and the Dynamite John Carter books out of existence.



The Transformers: Robots in Disguise #1 (IDW, 2012, $3.99)
I never had much use for Transformers, and cannot become emotional invested in robots that turn into cars. It screams "toy" just a little too loudly, I guess. I went into this book with a lot of prejudice, but it turned out to be a quality first chapter of a series I surely won't follow. I assume IDW had a big blow-out with the franchise, and launched two new ongoings in its wake. This is the one with sectarian violence arising from the tension between Autobots, Decepticons, and NAILs trying to rebuild the revived but hostile world of Cybertron. It's fairly political, as the central concern is police brutality and perceived abuse of power, with an undercurrent of racism besides. I expect John Barber is trying to follow in the footsteps of the British in trying to reconcile their writing for licensing by telling a meaningful story. The art by Andrew Griffith is good, if a bit cartoony for the script, though clearly not the base material. His anthropomorphic approach favors life forms that happen to be robotic, rather than robots that would like to sell you merchandise. This allows a cognitive dissonance that allows the violence in the book to have impact without getting gross. If there must be a Transformers comic, you could do a lot worse than this.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Book vs. Movies: Lord of the Flies (1954/1963/1990)



I moved around a lot as a kid, and between all the schools I attended, somehow managed to never read William Golding's Lord of the Flies. I did see the 1990 movie in an English class once, and its influence can be felt throughout modern pop culture, so I finally set aside a few hours for it recently. I must confess my disappointment, because as with many classics, the storytelling is flat and the much imitated plot too secondhand familiar to truly involve me. Even with that understanding, I don't find the book to be terribly well constructed. It's fairly brief and to the point, employing one-dimensional characters to serve a dour view of humanity. The times the telling isn't matter-of-fact, the prose turns flowery to temporarily obfuscate a relatively obvious truth to offer some slight element of suspense. Verne's Two Years' Vacation passes through Conrad's Heart of Darkness on its inevitable and largely uncontroversial path to the Young Adult library. Is it any surprise adult authority figures like to hand this to children at the early stages of puberty, just as their thoughts turn to feuding, rebellion, and the sway of base hormonal urges? They surely hope to sway all those little Ralphs from Jack toward Piggy.



The scenario is simple. A group of English schoolboys survive a plane crash that strands them unattended on a deserted island. The jungle provides for basic necessities, but from the very beginning the tatters of their clothing represents a thin and unraveling connection to the civilized world. The most obvious intellect is rejected and scorned, and a fair-haired leader is selected mostly for looking the part. Ralph proves a poor, distracted whiner of a chief. Only after his rule breaks down does he seek council and embrace deep thought, too late as it turns out.



I was struck early on by how cinematic the book was, and I don't mean so much the strong visuals as its reading like a screenplay. The dialogue is accurately superficial for boys, but their interior monologue isn't much deeper. There's enough to give an actor motivation, but the performance would be expected to imbue the soul of life the text lacks. The story feels like stage direction, getting the performs from point to point, describing the visuals for set decoration. The story gets its message across through action, not explicit explanation. On paper, the tepid book reads like a great movie, and seems like it would translate seamlessly unabridged. It's ironic then that the two actual film adaptations cock it up so badly.



Peter Brook's 1963 version starts well on an artistic note. Recordings of school lectures and the like play over images from British academia, followed by ominous music and cold war imagery, concluding with a cheeky sparsely animated take on the plane crash. Aside from the boys being too neat, the jungle too tame, and the budget to skimpy, Brook captures enough of the novel to get by at first. However, it doesn't take long to recognize that his actors are completely inadequate, and his compensatory editing to amateurish. These kids are being spoon-fed strips of dialogue, or are reading from a page while off-screen, and the resultant performances are woeful. The parts are not well cast, particularly the uncharismatic Ralph and relatively fit Piggy. The production quality is so impoverished as to seem "Sweded" in modern vernacular. For instance, in the book, Ralph and Piggy discover a seashell that must be unearthed and pried loose from some muck by a lever. The hard won artifact becomes the "conch," a symbol of power among the tribe, but most especially for the initial duo that worked to gain it. In both film versions, the kids are just walking along a beach and the conch is just sitting there in the clear shallow water.



Harry Hook's 1990 version spends more money in its opening minutes than Brook probably had for his whole production, but it still seems slight. It also has the sad distinction of committing infidelity against the book from its opening shot. The book offers the striking visual of a burning scar across the face of the island that uproots trees and scatters children all about. Hook starts with an injured drowning pilot being rescued by Ralph as he and all the other boys climb into a newly inflated raft. Since everyone is already together, the conch gathering is rendered that much more meaningless, and Ralph's election as chief isn't the least bit arbitrary. He's already a hero, he immediately takes charge of the situation, he's the most handsome, and he was a colonel amongst a group of boys entirely from a single military academy. Did I mention this version is by and about Americans? Did I even have to?



In the book, Ralph isn't a particularly kind or intelligent boy, and his inadequacy as leader is made clear when a reasonable initiative gets tragically out of hand due to his lack of forethought. Brook omits the incident almost entirely, while Hook uses it as another opportunity to make Ralph a typical hero. How tone deaf could these productions be to omit a pivotal event that informs and ultimately foreshadows the rest of the damned story?



Hook is especially galling, because he has a far superior cast, but screenwriter Sarah Schiff insists on putting the wrong words in their mouths. In a misguided attempt at modernization, she gives the book the Stand By Me treatment, sprinkling in curse words and stock personalities. The dialogue and plot deviations not only completely undermine the essence of Golding's novel, but fail to develop the characters beyond his archtypes while inserting a bunch of rehashed crap from other movies. In fact, she simply paints the characters as more sharply black and white, dumbing the material down. It seems like Schiff felt there wasn't enough dialogue, so she inserts a bunch of jibber-jabber while ignoring the source material. It's just moronic nattering to fill the air.



Another important sequence from the book involves a signal fire being allowed to go in favor of hunting. It's a turning point for Ralph, as it shows the depths of his frustration with the tribe and a schism in his relationship with Jack. Brook is fairly true to the book, but fails to take the time or cast the talent needed to sell the moment. Hook is far worse, as the screenplay turns the start of a relationship's problems into the breaking point. It serves Schiff's compulsion to make Ralph a stoic and Jack a hooligan, and casts aside chunks of the book's narrative so that she can insert dream sequences and a subplot involving the surviving pilot wholly invented for the 1990 film to literalize a matter best left to the imagination. Again, let's make everything stupid and obvious for the U.S.A., even the act structure.



Despite some of the problems with Peter Brook's editing related to his child actors, there's no doubt in his directorial eye. You can pause the 1963 film at any random point and be treated to a crisp, stark image. Simon is the best handled character in his film, probably because he has few lines and the tweaked character allows them to be delivered awkwardly. Simon is the star of another essential sequence from which the book derives its name. While Brook can't capture Simon's vision quest fully, what is on film is potent. Later, as Jack's tribe has its barbecue, Brook does an excellent job of capturing the disorientation and atavistic frenzy that would mark the night.



Meanwhile, Harry Hook's direction is pedestrian, and his take on the barbecue does nothing but telegraph any actual tension out of the sequence. Sarah Schiff's screenplay renders Simon a cypher, so there's no investment in his character as he simply goes through the motions of serving the audience hamfisted exposition. Both movies treat Ralph and Piggy with kid gloves, pulling them out of the action. Given the pussy move, its funny that both movies leave in lines best left excised, though the '90 edition makes Ralph such a sensitive soul that it kind of works. He and Piggy are such sweethearts in that version, it's almost as romantic as Jack's mocking in the novel would make you think.



While the 1963 film is generally superior, it falters toward the end. The pace is too slow, and the naturalistic style doesn't work for action sequences. As Ralph comes into focus, the charmless actor does inspire viewer support. The big finale is a rush to cover the lack of much actually going on in somebody's overgrown backyard. Where the film needs to end on a gut punch, it is instead a sad spectacle of reach outstripping grasp. Almost to saw the tip off the point, this was where the filmmakers decided to drop all of the closing dialogue from the book.



Meanwhile, the 1990 flick finally pays off on its devotion to tropes. By making the entire tribe a bunch of monkey motherfuckers, the sensitive Anglo-Saxon lad must overcome devastating tragedy to triumph against all odds, the lovechild of Alan Alda and John Rambo. Music swells, stunts are coordinated, flames flicker in slo-mo, all that shit. You still don't quite get the proper "fuck you" of the book, in part because of the horrible music over the closing credits, but it's still a damned sight better than the previous try.



All in all, I think audiences will get the gist of the story no matter which incarnation they are exposed to. The 1990 film hangs on to a naively idealistic humanist concept fairly alien to the book, and paints everything in simplistic tones. On the other hand, its more coarse language and contemporary style make it the easiest sell. The 1963 film is gorgeous to look at, and is more faithful to the book, but comes off as somewhat silly and cheap. Ultimately, the old adage of the book being better than the movie still holds, but only because of some less than stellar attempts. I honestly do think Lord of the Flies' natural medium is film, but it needs better filmmakers to get the job done.



Sunday, March 4, 2012

Wednesday Is Brubaker Wood For All I Care #137

Fatale #1 (2012)
Winter Soldier #1
Wolverine and the X-Men: Alpha & Omega #1




Fatale #1 (Image, 2012, $3.50)
I'm glad Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips have ventured outside the Marvel aegis, specifically its creator boutique line Icon, in favor of the full independence of Image. I just wish they'd shown similar bravado with regard to their comfort zone. Fatale is yet another noir to go with the eleven others advertised at the back of this book. Well, I haven't gotten around to Incognito yet, but lets assume. This book involves an investigative reporter in the past falling for the moll of a dirty cop, as years later his son is pursued by gangsters, seemingly over a valuable unpublished manuscript. There's gunplay and car chases and mysteries to unravel. Where this edition breaks ranks is by borrowing Nazi demons and colorist Dave Stewart from Hellboy. That pretty much the sole variation. Hell, the protagonist even looks like Jason Blood. It's a decent amount of plot for twenty-four pages, but it still begs to be read in trade paperback. Maybe when taken as a whole it'll feel like it's more than simply competent.

As a reward for buying the floppy, there's a text afterward where Brubaker discusses his lack of creative courage. The best feature of the book is "H.P. Lovecraft and the Horror of the Unseen," a short article about the origins of existentialist "cosmic horror" from the late eighteenth century through to the name-checked author's time, and his impact on those who followed.



Winter Soldier #1 (Marvel, 2012, $2.99)
"So the son of Mohandas Gandhi turns his back on the peaceful resistance of his father, choosing instead the path of the samurai. The high mountain air of the Himalyas preserves him, giving him nearly a century to learn the martial arts before turning his Bushido blade on the Chinese occupation in Tibet. I call it Dalai Shogun."

I could take that more seriously than the Winter Soldier. I realize Ed Brubaker managed to sell many modern readers on the return of Bucky Barnes as some sort of retro Commie assassin Cable variant. I myself have read too many deaths and false returns to ever be able to accept it played straight, much less with all the contrivances Brubaker stacked on. I figured by Captain America #50 Brubaker would finally offer a "gotcha" and have him turn out to be Dr. Faustus' bastard son or something, but I think we've passed the point of no return, and I'm well past the point of shit to give.

I bought Winter Soldier #1 because it was offered cheap and I tried to keep an open mind, but I barely got through the first few pages before my brain farted. Bucky was Captain America for a while, everybody thought he was killed in that role, but he's really sleeping with Black Widow as they both track Soviet sleeper agents. I'll never understand why Marvel decided to date Black Widow by firmly establishing her as being alive during World War II. All I could think of was Natasha's always on some guy's arm, and they finally hooked her up with a fellow throwback. Poor dear, always the sidekick.

Another thing that put me off was the art of Butch Guice. It doesn't look bad, but in each panel I find myself playing "Spot the Photo Reference." It looks to me like he's also learned to work a computer, since it often seems like photos have been mildly digitally altered and Butch say "pay me." The Black Widow gives him an excuse to overuse shadows and silhouettes. Hooray for stick figures doing tumbles.

The plot is a half-assed set-up of the premise, and all that's left over is Monsieur Mallah and a couple of semi-obscure Marvel villains plotting against a major leaguer. Everything here has been seen before, better, and indicates the pointlessness of the continued production of most mainstream super-hero comics these days. I suppose that's why Marvel is happy to churn this out for just tens of thousands to cover the cost of maintaining copyrights.



Wolverine and the X-Men: Alpha & Omega #1 (Marvel, 2012, $3.99)
Another example of the type of comics that are fucking choking the life out of this goddamned industry. There's this pink haired little fuck with a limp mohawk who's anti-authority. Because he's a telepath, and doesn't like Wolverine, he decides to trap Logan and a fellow student in a psychic construct resembling a futuristic Grand Theft Auto. That's the premise, and that's the story. There is nothing more to it than that. The two sets of artists do decent work, even though I'm really over stuff from manga being directly referenced (like that robot cop from Appleseed.) It's just that Brian Wood's story takes a couple of minutes to read, and it boils down to meaningless nonsense beyond the indefensible mind rape. If the story doesn't end with Wolverine killing the responsible prick, and it won't, we know from jump readers will spend $20 on a circle jerk.

...nurghophiles...

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